Hominis Venturas

by Jeffery Harris

This is a thought-piece, not an action story; if you want a super-powered punch-out, then you'd best skip this one. And, yes, it's a tad bit odd.

HOMINIS VENTURAS

"I have no doubt that in reality the future will be vastly more surprising than anything I can imagine. Now my own suspicion is that the Universe is not only queerer than we suppose, but queerer than we can suppose." - John B. S. Haldane, "Possible Worlds and Other Papers," 1927

Clark (to his mother, Martha Kent, in an email): I can see this, I suppose you could call it, aura of colors that words can't describe, around living things. And when something dies the aura fades leaving something that's not easy to look at. It appears empty in a way that makes you feel empty too! - Mark Waid, "Superman: Birthright", 2003 - 2004

~~~~~~~~~ 3:00 PM ~~~~~~~~~

Clark stood on the porch of the small bungalow, easily filling it with his large muscular physique. He wore unfrayed jeans and a new shirt, white socks and clean sneakers, and a notepad with mechanical pencil. He moved the latter to his left hand and extended his right hand toward the man in the doorway. "Professor Oscar Quinn? I'm Clark Kent from the university. I called for an appointment...?"

"Welcome, Mr. Kent. Won't you come in?" The speaker's voice was a raspy, near-falsetto, and his appearance was a caricature straight out of the 70's: long ginger-to-gray hair tied into a pony-tail, malnourished salt-and-pepper moustache and goatee, with a skeletal-though-erect posture. He wore a golf shirt, Bermuda shorts, sandals, and a dazzling smile. He shook the offered hand. "I'm afraid I don't get many visitors these days, especially college students."

Clark followed Quinn into the small living room, which was kept dark and cool by the drawn curtains. A well-worn sofa and recliner occupied opposite sides of a coffee table, all facing a large-screen television mounted atop a bookcase. Clark could see the kitchen and breakfast nook through the doorway. He sat on one end of the sofa.

Quinn sat in his recliner. "What can I do for you, Mr. Kent?"

Clark noticed the photograph hanging on the wall, of a much-younger Quinn standing beside a much-celebrated Dr. Garrison Slate, founder of Scientific and Technological Advanced Research (S.T.A.R.) Laboratories, a nation-wide chain of research facilities, allegedly devoted to the study of sciences unconnected to the government or any business interests, and allegedly staffed with scientists and researchers who were felt under-appreciated or under-funded elsewhere. The key word in both cases was allegedly. "I understand you used to work for S.T.A.R. Labs..."

"I did, yes. For many years."

"According to the Daily Planet, you retired under abrupt circumstances."

"I suppose they were. We had a difference of opinion about ethics, morality, and the nature of scientific research. My opinion was in the minority, so I decided it was time to go. Is that why you're here, to discuss my departure from the Labs?"

"No, sir, I'm here because you have experience in what some would consider an arcane, if not exotic, field."

"Now, that does sound intriguing. Which part of my background?"

'Your studies of metaphysics, particularly the yoga siddhis."

"Ah. I should warn you, young man, that particular topic is not very respectable; it lacks credibility among the peer-reviewed literature, and no support at all from the administrators of pedigreed, non-aligned research facilities especially after investing years of time and money, who feel cheated when they don't get the expected results."

Clark simply shrugged.

"I see. Well, you have my undivided attention, Mr. Kent; how can I help you?"

"I've heard the yoga siddhis suggested as the source for certain...supernatural powers."

"The siddhis represent unlocked potentials, young man, a veritable wish list of divine attributes and abilities. There are dozens of them, though it is the Primary Eight that get the lion's share of attention."

"Let's start with the Primary Eight, then."

Quinn nodded, composing his thoughts before speaking. "Pata jali, a sage of ancient times, described them in his scriptures:
* Anima - The siddhi by which a yogi observes or affects objects at microscopic scale.
* Mahima - The siddhi by which a yogi observes or affects objects at macroscopic scale.
* Laghima - The siddhi by which a yogi reduces or eliminates their body weight, i.e. levitation.
* Garima - The siddhi by which a yogi magnifies or increases their body weight, i.e., densification.
* Prapti - The siddhi by which a yogi alters the focus of attention through extended senses, specifically, precognition, claircognizance, clairsentience, clairvoyance, clairaudience, clairsentience, and clairgustance.
* Prakamya - The siddhi by which a yogi enters the mind of a man or beast, to observe passively or subjugate actively.
* Vashitvam - The siddhi by which a yogi satisfies all desires through irresistible will-power.
* Ishathvam - The siddhi by which a yogi attains divine power, to control all matter and energy directly.

"That's quite a wish list," Clark noted. "Do you believe those powers are real?"

Quinn chuckled, scratching his scalp. "I spent many years in India, Mr. Kent. I studied yoga under three highly-respected masters. I witnessed many examples of the siddhis, like clairvoyance and healing. I even acquired a few abilities myself, like reading auras. I assure you, they are quite real."

"Where do they come from?" Clark asked.

"They are natural attributes," Quinn replied. "Thus, we are all potentially capable of acquiring them...though, sadly, the number that do is astonishingly small. And of that number, few gain much proficiency beyond the 'parlor trick' aspect."

"How do they work?"

"For thousands of years, Hindus, Buddhists, and Jainists have described a complicated energy network within the body that parallels the circulatory and nervous systems. The main trunk consists of three energy channels called nadis (sushumna, ida, and pingala) which interweave along and through the spinal column like ivy strands, with branches splitting off to follow the limbs, which correlates to the western descriptions of the central nervous system and the dual aspects of the autonomic nervous system, the parasympathetic and the sympathetic. Located at the intersection points of these nadis are the seven First-Order chakras, which route energy through the network like valves, and each one is associated with a major endocrine gland and a major nerve plexus:
* The first, or Muladhara Chakra, is at the base of the spine near the perineum and its corresponding nerve plexus is the sacral-coccygeal. The Muladhara Chakra affects the excretory, secretory, and reproductive systems.
* The second, or Swadhistana Chakra, is just below the navel near the spleen, and its corresponding nerve plexus is the prostatic. The Swadhistana Chakra affects the Leydig cells in the gonads and adrenals and the genitourinary system.
* The third, or Manipura Chakra, is in the upper part of the middle abdomen near the tip of the sternum, and its corresponding nerve plexus is the solar. The Manipura Chakra affects the adrenals, the endocrine glands, and the pancreas.
* The fourth, or Anahata Chakra, is located directly over the heart, and its corresponding nerve plexus is the cardiac. The Anahata Chakra affects the thymus gland and the circulatory system.
* The fifth, or Vishuddhi Chakra, is in the neck near the Adam s apple, and its corresponding plexus is the laryngeal. The Vishuddhi Chakra affects the thyroid and the respiratory system.
* The sixth, or Ajna Chakra, is located in the mid-forehead just above the bridge of the nose, and its corresponding nerve plexus is the pineal. The Ajna Chakra affects the pineal gland and the autonomic nervous system.
* The seventh, or Sahasrara Chakra, is located on top of the head, and its corresponding nerve plexus is the cerebral cortex. The Sahasrara Chakra affects the pituitary gland and the central nervous system.
"Scattered throughout the remainder of the energy network are constellations of Second-Order and Third-Order chakras, numbering in the thousands, transmuting their internal energy from one format into another and making it available for microscale activity within the body. Not surprisingly, the yogic and Ayurvedic literature maintains that this energy exchange occurs in both directions what emerges from the network affects the mesoscale or even the macroscale structure of the body as a whole. Still with me?"

"I think so..."

"Put simply: transmuting the energy from coarse to fine texture aids in overall health and well-being; transmuting the energy from fine to coarse texture enables some very mythic capabilities."

"The siddhis."

"Just so."

"Where does this energy come from?" Clark asked.

"Kundalini energy, which is said to reside in a reservoir at the base of the spine. Think of it as a latent battery which can be activated to turbocharge the body's inner energy network, and which provides a serendipitous venue for producing the siddhis."

Clark recorded the comment, his face expressionless.

Quinn leaned back into the chair and draped one knee over the other. "Most of us are wired at 110 volts, so to speak, with a few really gifted adepts boosting into the 220 range. You, however, seem to be an order of magnitude stronger. And, while your chakras all seem to be in the proper place and functioning normally, the signatures of your organs seem oddly distorted, enhanced perhaps...and you have a unique pair of etheric wings."

"Etheric wings?"

"A structure that appears within the auric field, located on the reverse side of the Anahata Chakra, between the shoulder blades." Quinn tapped his heart, then reached over his shoulder to tap his spine. "They appear in many different archetypes: Christian angels, Talmudic and Kabbalistic folklore, pagan fairies and pixies...all magical creatures of great power. The earliest known depiction of a human with added wings is on a Sumerian stele, dated at about 2,300 BCE., usually considered a graphic representation of a universal fantasy but could just as easily be an artistic rendition of a perceived physical phenomon. Etheric wings are a reflection of the psyche and spirit of the individual; thus, they manifest in a variety of shapes, colors, textures, and properties. Some individuals have tiny, fast-beating wings, others have huge, feathery ones. They can be transparent, organic, metallic, or endowed with any combination of colors. They can be gossamer-soft, or rigid and inflexible. They can be pointed, rounded, or any shape in between. Yours possess a very distinctive quality."

"What quality is that?"

"They are rather fabric-like, as though wearing a billowing cape that hangs from your shoulders. Very unusual."

Clark sighed and nodded, making careful notes.

"The typical structure of etheric wings is that of an energy spray which emerges from Second-Order chakra points on the shoulders and extend outward from the body, often rising a foot or more before arcing downward. The presumption is that they are an energy circuit which completes through the bottom of the feet, though I can't recall any definitive research on the subject. And as an energy construct associated with a living system, such wings will change over time, even becoming bigger and stronger when aided by regular meditation. In fact, they are said to be sensitive to certain crystals, such as the Raspberry Aura, Aqua Aura, Turquoise, and Aurora Quartz." Quinn canted his head, one eyebrow rising slowly. "Perhaps you should look into acquiring a few of those stones, young man, to test that ascertion."

"Are you suggesting that I should carry around some red- and blue-colored rocks, on the theory they will make my etheric wings grow bigger...?"

"Knowledge arises from many strange sources," Quinn grinned. "Relax, Mr. Kent, you are unlikely to become a literal Ornithanthropus anytime soon."

"What's an Ornithanthropus?"

"Ancient Greek for a Winged Human."

"Why wings?" Clark asked. "Why not some other structure?"

Quinn shrugged. "Best guess: they are extrusions of the energy networks within each half of the body, coincidentally located near the spinal cord. Remember, Mr. Kent, the human body does not stop at the skin; it is surrounded by clouds of moisture, heat, pheromones, and bacteria. Thus, external layers of electromagnetic energy like the aura are almost a certainty."

"So, to confirm: etheric wings are not made of solid material, so would be unable to provide real flight?"

"Correct. And etheric wings have no correlation to psychic levitation. Well...let me amend that statement: there is no known correlation. It would make a good topic for research, since (hypothetically) every human is capable of producing both levitation and etheric wings."

"I'm glad you mentioned levitation. That's the supernatural ability I'm most interested in."

Quinn cocked his head, one eyebrow rising as though tugged by a marionette string. "Why is that, if I may ask? Are you a budding magician? You don't look like someone taken to flights of fancy (pardon the pun)..."

"Actually," Clark sighed, lowering the pad and pencil, "it's because I've started levitating recently. Spontaneously at first, more controlled now. But I'm a living, breathing Peter Pan."

Quinn stared at him, probing. "Your aura says you're telling the truth, Mr. Kent."

"I never lie, Professor."

Quinn watched the interplay of subtle enegies around his visitor, noting the tendencies and patterns...and believed the statement.

~~~~~~~~~ 4:00 PM ~~~~~~~~~

Clark felt the sun shining on his neck and the wind ruffling his clothes, could hear the wind rustling the leaves and the birds chirping territorially, and watched his blob-like shadow bobbing gently across the grass beneath him. Truth be told, he didn't like being cooped-up indoors, and moving to Quinn's back yard with its wooden privacy fence and well-tended flower and vegetable gardens was a definite improvement to the awkward interview process. He hadn't objected when Quinn asked him to demonstrate his alleged ability outside, since the occupants of the surrounding houses were away at work; he hovered serenely a full six feet off the ground, watching the scientist watch him.

Quinn sat opposite him, perched on the pinnacle of a step-ladder like a ginger-haired gargoyle. He kept staring at the large, empty gap between Clark's shoes and the lawn. "I'm impressed, Mr. Kent. You appear totally impervious to the effects of the wind around you and the planet's rotation beneath you. Common sense says you should have drifted away like a balloon...of course, common sense denies this is even possible. At a guess, I'd say you are altering the molecular properties of your body and clothes (everything within your aura) vis-a-vis the planet's gravity, as opposed to a simple thrust-like effect. That would explain how you can remain more-or-less stationary."

Clark simply nodded.

"Actually, this agrees with the 300+ recorded cases of levitation. Generally, the levitator remains fixed in one place, despite the efforts of multiple individuals to pull them down. Sometimes, furniture and passengers are carried along as well. During the few instances of directed flight, the levitator is able to choose a destination and achieve it without issue. Tell me, Mr. Kent, can you move your arms and legs?"

Clark crossed his arms and tipped his head to the side, paddling the air gently with his feet to circle about the ladder.

"Interesting: the overwhelming majority of levitators are semi-paralyzed during the event. Consider yourself fortunate, young man."

"Thank you."

"According to Preston Dennett, there are seven main categories of levitation that have occurred in virtually every culture in the world:
* Ecstatic Levitation, most commonly experienced by individuals experiencing a state of divine union with their interpretation of the Almighty.
* Meditative Levitation, most commonly experienced by yogis, ascetics, shamans, mystics, sorcerers those who deliberately cultivate the ability through specific techniques, such as breath-control, meditation, fasting, chastity, mantras, or even drugs.
* Crisis Levitation, which manifests during a time of emergency, illness, or trauma.
* Mediumistic Levitation, which occurs mostly so-called psychic mediums, and is differentiated from meditative levitation in that it appears to be generated by an outside force, usually postulated as spirits, ghosts, or deities of of one sort or another.
* Spontaneous Levitation, an event with no obvious trigger, it occurs most often to children between ages 6 to 8.
* Sleeping Levitation, rare in nature, is overwhelmingly reported by witnesses, since the percipient is asleep.
* Traveling Levitation, also known as running levitation or supernatural agility, it involves moving horizontally rather than vertically, at unnatural speeds and distances, and is closely related to meditative and ecstatic levitation.
"You fit the description of a Spontaneous Levitator, even though you are well beyond your adolescent years. Let's reverse the pespective for a moment; what sensations do you feel, Mr. Kent? Do you experience any light-headedness, or nausea?"

Clark hesitated, considering. "Internally, there are areas across my hips and upper back that tingle, like a blush, or a feeling of inflation, like taking holding my breath. Externally, the feeling is much like floating in water, though without the wave action pushing me around."

"How about your dreams at night? Are they about flying? Falling?"

"They're no different than before this started."

Quinn tugged lightly at his beard, deep in thought. "Tell me, Mr. Kent, have you ever heard the term 'metahuman' before?"

"No, sir, can't say as I have," Clark replied. "What does it mean?"

"It's a term that originated in philosophical and psychological circles, though it's gaining fashion in the biological sciences. In essence, it has to do with emergent properties of body and mind...and the recent rash of discoveries over the last two decades of children born with three- and four-strand DNA, with hints of even higher numbers possible. These children are being labelled metahumans 'metas' for short."

Clark's pencil scratched a stoccato rhythm on his notepad.

"There are two main camps arguing about the significance of this discovery. One group states that such mutations have been around for a long time, merely increasing in numbers recently as a reaction to environmental pollution and and population stressors and noted for openly speculating how many legendary and historical figures might have actually been early-awakened metas. The other camp argues that these mutations are a new phenomenon, debating whether metas qualify as a separate species though retaining an overwhelming genetic and psychological compatibility with the remainder of humanity."

"What difference does it make?" Clark asked. "Species evolve and mutate continuously, or die out due to changing ecological conditions."

"Quite so," Quinn agreed. "But the presence of such expanded genetic options makes for some truly fantastic possibilities...just imagine what humanity could evolve into, where each child is born and bred with a fully and permanently awakened kundalini..."

"You paint a very optimistic future."

"Such a future has a pessimistic side, though," Quinn admitted, "due to the human tendencies for obsession and exploitation. For instance, S.T.A.R. Labs has taken a keen interest in metas, devoting ever larger resources to researching them...and there are always casualties and consequences of such uninhibited quests for knowledge."

"What are your feelings about metas, then?"

"An interesting subject for research, but one I won't be getting involved in. Not with S.T.A.R. Labs or any of their contemporaries. The research community is a very biased, very closed, very incestuous group...I'm persona non grata most everywhere these days."

"And you don't think this," Clark gestured toward the column of air between his shoes and the grass, "would be sufficient grounds to restore your reputation?"

"No," Quinn snorted. "They wouldn't believe it, and I won't go begging. Besides, Mr. Kent, anything and everything said here today is confidential."

"I see," Clark replied. "Do you think I'm a meta?"

"Well, that would explain your amazing ability."

Clark mused quietly for a moment, listening to his instincts. "There is another explanation, professor, possibly related."

"What might that be?"

"That such evolution as you describe has already occurred elsewhere; that humanity occupies many planets across the galaxy, all descended from an ancient source; that each colony has evolved at a different rate and with different priorities, with different degrees of metas."

"So, you're saying...?"

"I'm an extraterrestrial."

Quinn's first reaction was to smirk...but it faded as he watched Clark continue to hover.

~~~~~~~~~ 5:00 PM ~~~~~~~~~

Clark sat in a lawn chair, a cold beer in his hand. He watched the breeze ruffling the blades of grass like so many ocean waves, while pushing the clouds majestically far above; he listened carefully to the houses surrounding Quinn's privacy fence, to the sounds of their owners arriving home: car engines and banging doors and televisions and conversations.

Quinn nursed his own beer, tending to the steaks sizzling on the grill, humming tunelessly while considering the day's revelations. He watched Clark's reverie discreetly, his own thoughts drifting in a dozen different directions. He finally returned to his own empty lawn chair. "So, where are you from?"

"According to the records aboard my ship, a planet called Krypton," Clark replied. "I have no memory of it, since I was an infant when I arrived here. I was the last refugee out before it exploded into millions of gigatons of rock and debris."

"You're sure of that?"

"Positive. The ship's log recorded it with multiple sensors, just before the stardrive engaged. A slow, agonizing death, not some Hollywood CGI explosion that's over in a few seconds. It took hours for the crust to rupture into moon-sized chunks and fully break apart, spewing geyers of liquid magma and clouds of gas, water, and dust out into the vacuum. Nothing that big breaks apart very quickly.

"How can you read the records, then?"

"The ship's computer taught me Kryptonian. It was a quick, if unpleasant, experience."

"Very convenient. Any chance we could duplicate that technology?"

Clark shrugged, unable to guess, and not really interested.

"You know, you look surprisingly Caucasian for an extraterrestrial," Quinn said dryly.

"I do now," Clark admitted. "However, my mother told me that when they found me, I looked like an orange-colored, hairless, baby chimpanzee. Within a week, though, my appearance had changed into something normal."

"Normal?"

"Earth normal, like my mother and father."

"I see." Quinn idly watched the clouds before asking, "Who do you resemble more now, your mother or your father?"

Clark considered the question before answering. "My mother. Funny I never thought about that before."

It was Quinn's turn to consider. "That strikes me as an advanced form of imprinting. Imprinting is a biological phenomenon that occurs at a critical period of time early in an animal s life, when it forms social attachments and develops a concept of its own identity. On Earth, birds and mammals are born with a pre-programmed drive to imprint onto their mother; sounds like Kryptonian lifeforms do as well. Which would mean that you look Caucasian because your adoptive parents are Caucasian."

"So, if my ship had landed in Borneo, Baghdad, or Beijing, I'd look different?"

"Presumably." They lapsed into silence again, lost in thought, nursing their beverages. Finally, Quinn broke the spell. "How did you first realize that you can levitate?"

Clark shrugged. "As mundane as it sounds, I was straining to reach a burnt-out light bulb in a ceiling fixture. One moment I'm standing on my tip-toes, reaching for the bulb, the next moment my knuckles are brushing the ceiling. The more often I tried, the more often it happened; the higher I reached for, the higher I rose. All of my abilities started that way: whatever I attempted to do, got easier and stronger with repetition."

"What other abilities do you have?"

"What you called Garima and Prapti. For instance, when I first tried reading distant billboards, they filled my eyes, like looking through a telescope. So I tried looking into the windows of jet planes flying overhead, then looking at satellites in orbit...details are as clear as a newspaper headline. Same thing happened when I tried peering through the fog to see across the farm, then looking though people's clothes, then through their skin. Or lifting heavy bags of seed, then my father's tractor, then a loaded boxcar..."

"When did these events begin?"

"After my fourteenth birthday. Before that, I was an average kid, though maybe a bit stronger and tougher than other kids my age. According to my ship's library, Krypton's sun was a red dwarf, and the planet itself larger and denser than Earth. Could that explain these abilities?"

"Unlikely, young man. The only difference between a red sun and a yellow sun," Quinn gestured toward the orb in the sky, "is the wavelength of the light. Perhaps different wavelengths of light have an affect on your Pineal Gland, which doubtless has some advanced properites that ours lacks. And as for the heavier planet idea, the gravity couldn't have been much greater than ours, or you would be physically shorter and stockier to accommodate it. It might explain your adolescent strength and hardiness, but certainly not your other gifts."

Clark nodded, taking a pull on the beer.

"Did your ship crash here, then?" Quinn asked.

"No, it was sent here, probably chosen from a list of former colonies. My parents found it hovering in front of the house one morning."

"Mechanical levitation...? Well, then, it's safe to assume that whoever built the ship was thoroughly familiar with the phenomenon."

"My parents my Kryptonian parents built the ship. The cabin opened when my Earth parents approached it; once I was removed, it closed automatically, and wouldn't open again until I was fourteen...when it called me. I think it's still active, watching me and everything going on around it."

"And no one noticed it hovering over the driveway?"

"My father towed it into the barn with the tractor, and then threw some tarps over it. Since then, dust and hay and other stuff have collected on it. The neighbors just thought it was an old truck."

"Very clever, hiding in plain sight."

"Yes, sir."

"Did those records show people with abilities similar to your's? For instance, any examples of people wearing sunlamps tied backwards across their foreheads?" Quinn smirked at his allusion.

"No sir, no mention at all."

"H-m-m-m-m...perhaps there are side effects we aren't perceiving, similar to Seasonal Affective Disorder or the cumulative properties of anabolic steroids. You were unable to activate the phenomenon until after you'd reached puberty...perhaps your physiology contains an anomaly that filters the effects, or you were innoculated against the most egregious effects, or your gradual exposure to the sun mitigated the effects. Whatever the explanation, it's probably safe that an adult Kryptonian suddenly exposed to our sun would face integration much more quickly much more explosively."

"Kryptonian 'roid rage'?" Clark mused.

"A disturbing prospect indeed," Quinn concluded.

~~~~~~~~~ 6:00 PM ~~~~~~~~~

Clark paced quietly across Quinn's living room ceiling, his socks brushing gently against the painted drywall, while multiple floor lamps cast shadows as oddly-distorted copies that moved with him. His focus shifted back-and-forth between the featureless surface beyond his feet and the laptop computer screen that flickered on the coffee table.

Quinn sat on the sofa, his fingers tapping the keyboard of the laptop and scrolling its mouse, guiding their foray through cyberspace. He barely glanced at Clark, having quickly gotten past the novelty of the college kid walking above him. He navigated to the Daily Planet website and began trolling through the list of archived news articles.

"I've been drifting the last few years, since finishing high school, trying to figure out what to do with my life," Clark said.

"Were you in the military?" Quinn asked.

"I thought about it, but decided I'd be better-off on my own for awhile."

"But that didn't stop you from breaking cover long enough to help people..."

"Nope."

"Quite a long list of rescues in here; I'm surprised the newspaper hasn't put a reporter on your trail."

"I've been careful about not letting my face get seen."

"I commend your efforts to provide aid and assistance to people in need, but I think you're going about it all wrong. I would be highly suspicious of a masked vigilante appearing out of the dark of night, whether he foiled an attempted robbery, stopped my car from speeding off a bridge, or pulled me from a burning oil platform. If your face is masked, and your motives are hidden, you will only breed resistance to your efforts. If you're going to help people, do it openly and without complications...but keep your private life out of the public eye, or you'll never get a moment of peace. Just look at how the paparazzi make life hell for celebrities."

"I'll consider it," Clark replied evenly.

Quinn closed the laptop and pushed it away. "What was your childhood like?"

"I was raised in a small town in Kansas, a redneck bump-in-the-road smack in the middle of the Bible Belt: Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts, 4-H and FFA, county fairs and church socials, weddings and funerals...part and parcel of small town life in rural America. I wasn't much different from every other kid in the county...at least, not at first.

"I went to the Methodist Church every Sunday with my mother, until I was fourteen...when my abilities began to appear. I stopped attending services because I began learning too much about everyone's lives their problems, their secrets, 'way more than the rumor mill ever realized. My mother taught me to believe in people, to look for the best that humanity had to offer...and I felt like I was beginning to lose that belief. (For instance, I was afraid that I'd start treating people as if they are transparent, since I could now see right through them.) And most importantly, she taught me the reverence for Life."

"Why is that so important?"

Clark paused, his legs motionless, his eyes open but sightless. "I read once, back in school, that scientists think there are 8.7 million species of life on Earth, three-quarters of them mostly insects are on land; the remaining quarter are in the seas. That breaks down into 7.8 million species of animal, 298,000 species of plant, 611,000 species of mushrooms, mould and other fungi, 36,400 species of protozoa, and 27,500 species of algae. Those scientists didn't bother to estimate the number of bacteria. Remember: That's the number of species, not the number of individual plants and animals, which must number in the thousands of trillions...roughly 75 billion tons of biomass. No doubt Krypton had similar numbers before it exploded. All gone in one cataclysmic event. Billions of years of geology and evolution and history...even in your greatest moments of isolation and solitude, the living, breathing planet that birthed you keeps you in its embrace. You Earthlings take your world for granted; you over-populate it and over-pollute it carelessly. Since I learned about my heritage...that I'm the Ultimate Orphan and the Ultimate Immigrant...I see this planet and its residents for the marvel they are, and try to use my God-given talents to protect them from harm. Even if that means protecting them from themselves."

"And your father?"

"My father wasn't much of a churchgoer; Sunday is just another work day for most farmers, and hard to justify losing so much daylight to church. He was more interested in politics; a committed progressive, and just naturally curious about the way the world works, that decisions made in Washington could have a direct effect on his way of life. But he loved the land, respected his neighbors, and held the core institutions in high regard. He taught me to honor Nature, the Flag, the Law of the Land...and how important it is to live your life by your own personal Code of Honor."

"What, like 'Might doesn't make Right', the 'ends don t justify the means', "Do unto others...'?"

"Exactly. A set of principles carefully and deliberately chosen by you not given to you that are used to set boundaries and serve as a moral compass."

"So, what's your Code of Honor?"

"Truth, Justice, and the American Way."

"Seriously...?" Quinn smirked.

"Those qualities shouldn't be taken lightly," Clark said evenly, "nor spoken with cynicism. Too many have died defending them."

"Are your parents still alive?" Quinn asked.

"Yes, though they're struggling. The small towns throughout the midwest are shrinking; the old folks are dying off and the young kids are leaving."

"Like you?"

"Like me."

"That sounds like history repeating itself, though on a different scale," Quinn noted.

Clark shrugged and resumed his pacing.

"What were your Kryptonian parents like?"

"I don't know," Clark shrugged. "They left me a recording, some photos, and a family history, but nothing really about themselves as people."

"That's surprising, considering the technology at their disposal. Maybe they didn't have time, during the panic just before the end...?"

"I used to think that. Now, I think it was deliberate."

"Why?"

"A clean break with the past, so that I wouldn't be ungrateful for the new life I'd been given."

"In my experience, there's no such thing as a 'clean break with the past'," Quinn said quietly. "Karma can be a bitch."

~~~~~~~~~ 8:00 PM ~~~~~~~~~

Clark hovered above the front steps, listening to the sights and sounds of a suburban neighborhood settling-in for the night. Outside: tires on nearby roadways, wind rustling through atramentous tree leaves, the occasional dog barking at small creatures in the shrubbery, and the very rare sound of footsteps drumming on pavement. Inside: parents putting their children to bed, acquiescence and arguments in response, the relaxed chatter after success, and the squawking of dozens of out-of-sync televisions. He glanced around at the darkened street, at the rows of houses standing in shadows like so many gloved knuckles. At street-level: the star-like porchlights and the nova-like streetlights all cast lightcones onto ghostly slabs of cement, at structures bordered by clumps of cauliflower-like foliage dipped in drab inks. Looking upward: he could trace several aircraft across the sky by their nav-lights, or discern the few stars beyond capable of piercing those clouds washed-out by the lights of Greater Metropolis, whose urban center sprawled to the east and north. Clark knew that all these impressions were just a veneer of what was available at deeper levels; he had only to concentrate to peel back that thin layer to expose the rich variety beneath. But he chose not to, choosing instead to put distance between himself and Quinn's neighbors, to observe rather than to intrude. For now, anyway.

Quinn sat on the front steps, watching the silhouette floating above him with unbridled fascination. "Were you involved in many fights as a child?"

"I wouldn't say 'many'..."

"Did you win?"

"Not at first. Every beginner makes mistakes...but I'm a quick study. That, and I found out I could give and take a punch much easier than other kids my age. And I healed much faster. Puts a different perspective on things."

"Why did you get in fights at all, knowing those things?"

"There are always fights when when you put a bunch of kids together and leave them to work out a pecking order. And the bullies, of course...I don't care much for bullies."

"So, other kids asked you for help?"

"Yes, I helped them. I still help people. It's what I do."

"Why?"

"Because I can. Because no one else can do what I can do."

Quinn nodded. "Ever hurt anyone?"

"Not so far...unless you count frustration." Clark grinned briefly.

"Ever stolen anything?"

"No. I saw what kind of grief that brings. Besides, most of the stuff I see people drool over is just...fragile, not worth getting worked-up over."

"Ever have a girlfriend?"

"Yes, through most of high school. Trouble is, the more I found out about my past, the more uncertain my future looked. Kind of hard to think about farming and raising a family when you're turning into some kind of...metahuman. I had a discussion with my pastor about that once, about how many of God's creatures have souls. It wasn't a very satisfying discussion. Neither was the similar talk with my girlfriend. We split-up after that."

Quinn shifted on the step, watching the shadowy figure hanging effortlessly in mid-air. "I admire your restraint, young man. I'm not sure many people could resist the temptation to exploit those abilities selfishly. Reminds me of the Yamas that are the core tenants of Ashtanga Yoga:
* Ahimsa - Do no lasting harm.
* Satya - Stick to the truth.
* Asteya - Avoid material attachments.
* Brahmacharya - Avoid misogynistic or degradative attitudes.
* Arigraha - Devotion to ethics.
"You have the potential of becoming one of the world's greatest yogis."

Clark snorted softly. "I'm no saint, Professor. I just have a few different God-given talents than most, that's all."

"I think you should look into meditation, Mr. Kent. It might well be the method to sweep aside the drama of daily life, and stay focused on your true purpose."

"My true purpose?"

"Helping people. It's obvious that's what you're fated to do...and a very honorable fate it is. But, find a quiet place somewhere, a place of solitude, where you can meditate undisturbed."

"I'll think about it."

"I have something else for you to think about."

"What's that?" Clark asked.

"You haven't lacked for ethical guidance, and so far you've managed to maintain your moral beliefs without becoming distracted by your metahuman abilties. You're to be complimented for that. But, I think your grasp of the mechanics behind your abilties is limited at best. For instance, anyone able to read auras will easily pick you out of crowd. You need to learn to mask your aura. I can help you with that. I might be able to help you with other aspects of your abilities, too."

"Why?"

"Call it an Intellectual Challenge. It would give me a great deal of satisfaction to be a technical adviser to the first fully-manifested metahuman."

"What's the catch?"

"You disclose the details to the scientific community about it someday, at a time of your choosing."

"Why wait for future credit?"

"Call it a hunch: I suspect that the recognition for helping you will carry far more weight and respect than anything comparable from S.T.A.R. Labs."

~~~~~~~~~ Two Years Later ~~~~~~~~~

Clark stood quietly, staring at the small plaque set into the grass. He could look right through it if he chose to, and scan beneath the other plaques and stones artfully set around the hillside. A stone garden, as some writer once put it.

Instead, he listened to the birds darting among the well-manicured trees, to the traffic from the surrounding streets, to the myriad metropolitan noises reaching through the decorative fence, and even to the jets passing far overhead. The sounds of motion, deftly avoiding this place reserved for stillness.

He heard her footsteps long before her hesitant approach.

"Uh, hello...?"

Clark turned toward her, the motion rippling down his scarlet-colored cape and causing it to sway around his blue-and-red uniform. She was as ginger-haired as her uncle, though stouter and more graceful, and she carried a bouquet of flowers. "Good morning. May I assume that you're Oscar's niece, Nancy?"

"Yes, I am," she replied, visibly flustered. "He never told me he knew Superman..."

"Oscar was very good at keeping secrets," Clark noted, "especially his own."

She took a moment to regain her composure. "You didn't know about the cancer?"

Clark shook his head. The shadow of his chin swept slowly across the diamond-shaped emblem on his chest.

"Did you know him long?" she asked.

"Only a few years. He often gave me guidance and advice."

"Really? He never mentioned that to anyone."

Clark grinned, that now-famous crooked smile that opened one of his dimples. "He wouldn't...but I will."

* * * * * AUTHOR'S NOTES * * * * *

LEGAL STUFF:
Superman and all related elements are TM of DC Comics, Joanne Siegel and Laura Siegel Larson, Details available at: " dccomics/legal/". This story, its characters and author, and any content related to Superman, are not authorized by DC Comics or the Siegels. Use of these trademarked and copyrighted properties is not intended to challenge said ownership. Superman created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster.

EXPLANATION:
The above story is a result of too much beer-induced brooding about the uneven use of "retconning" and "revisionism" in some recent superhero movies. My definitions:
* "Retconning" involved changing elements of a character's backstory for the purposes of shifting focus or emphasis.
* "Revisionism" involves changing elements of a character's personality for the purposes of cultural relevancy or expediency.

EXAMPLES:
* Lucius Fox's presence in the "Batman" trilogy was expanded, retconning his role from the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, to the head of Wayne Enterprises' R&D Division (later CEO). Thus, his influence in the stories was revised to provide a credible source for Batman's tech. * Jor-El's presence in "Man of Steel" was expanded, retconning his role from visionary scientist to swashbuckling mentor, brawling heroically with the antagonist and later (by AI proxy) providing guidance and advice. Thus, this revised role becomes one of molding Clark's character in only a few conversations, while diminishing the role of Clark's adopted father, who in the comic books spent *years* helping the boy develop his trademark compassion and ethics.

CONCLUSION:
Retconning and Revisionism are spices that should be used sparingly; it worked in the "Batman" trilogy, but totally ruined "Man of Steel" and, by inference, the upcoming "Batman V Superman" film. YMMV.

Latin: Hominis Venturas
English: Man of Tomorrow

Professor Oscar Quinn, the eccentric scientist (played by Sterling Holloway) whose offbeat inventions invariably cause trouble for Clark Kent (George Reeves) and his fellow "Daily Planet" newshounds. From "The Adventures of Superman" (1952):
character/ch0053000/?ref_=ttfc_fc_cl_t22

"Human Levitation: A True History and How-to Manual", by Preston Dennett:
character/ch0053000/?ref_=ttfc_fc_cl_t22

Multi-strand DNA:

.
wiki/Triple-stranded_DNA
news/science-environment-21091066

"...I looked like an orange-colored, hairless, baby chimpanzee..."

.
wiki/Triple-stranded_DNA
news/science-environment-21091066

The Human Colour Wheel of Neil Harbisson:
wiki/File:Human_Color_Wheel_by_Neil_

Any questions or comments should be directed to:
Jeffery L Harris
Subject: "Hominis Venturas"