Clark sat in the pit beneath the barn once again, pondering the mysteries of the arc that had carried him to Earth. He could read the markings now. The vessel required no pilot and had no interface for one. It was a drone, preprogrammed to carry an infant Kal El from the dying planet Krypton.

He looked through the things that were in the vessel. There was a five-foot-long red cloth. Ma had said that he was wrapped in it when they found him. She imagined that it was a Kryptonian baby blanket, but he suspected that the sturdy material served to do far more than just retain warmth. He looked at it with his visual powers, and realized that he could not see through it. Apart from lead, it was the only substance he had ever encountered that defied his penetrative vision – X-Ray vision as his parents called it.

Emblazoned about a foot below what he assumed was the top end of the rectangular cloth was the glyph of the Kryptonian house of El—his house. To the casual observer, it would look like a stylized "S", but it was really a series of lines that wound their way across a field shaped something like a baseball home plate. He analyzed the molecular structure of the material and found that it had the tensile strength of titanium, but the elasticity of spandex, all while having the texture of silk.

On the back portion of the craft's seat, a seat that had carried him on an interstellar voyage, was a hand print, seemingly stitched into the fabric and made up of tiny spheres. The print matched the size and shape of Clark's right hand. Not Clark's, he thought; Kal El's. He placed his hand on the print and the seat opened to reveal a compartment wherein he found a cylindrical container bearing the same glyph upon it that the cloth bore.

Removing it from the craft and examining it, he found that it too had a hand print identical to that on the seat. He placed his palm onto the print and the container opened, revealing a collection of crystals and a twelve-inch square container that resembled clear plastic. Inside was some kind of blue material. On the top of the container was yet another handprint. He opened it in the same manner and removed from it a blue and red unitard made of what appeared to be a heavier version of the red material that was in the seat. On the chest was the same glyph, only this time, it was a deep red on a yellow field.

The suit—for that was definitely what it was—had a texture that reminded him of a lizard's skin. The upper portion was blue and the lower portion red and blue, but the torso area ended in a V-shaped point that terminated at his navel. A yellow band encircled the waist like a belt but ended just before the border between the red and the blue. At the crook of the blue V, where a belt buckle would have been, was another yellow glyph, similar to the one on the red cloth.

The legs of the garment were red down to the knees, at which point the red ended in an angled border just above his knees, where the fabric turned to blue. A pair of red boots that felt more like socks with a tacky tread on the soles were built into the garment, but these had a texture more like vinyl.

The cylindrical container also held a crystalline orb of a mineral like jade, roughly a foot in diameter, which likewise had a handprint. Placing his hand into the indentation, the sphere came to life, and energy coursed through his body.

Kal El closed his eyes, finding the energy warm and reassuring. When he opened his eyes once again, he found himself standing across from his Kryptonian mother, Lara Lor Von, in a place that was not the undercroft of the barn in Kansas.

Lara wore a similar suit to his own, one that emphasized her feminine curves. Hanging from her shoulders was a red cape, and he realized that it was the same as the red cloth he had found in the spacecraft.

"My son," she said warmly in Kryptonian. "I have much to teach you, and little time in which to do it. Let us begin with all haste."

"Mother …."

"Jor El, your father, was Krypton's preeminent scientist. It was he who toiled to prepare the starship that saved you from Krypton's destruction. I was once what humans refer to as an astronaut, but after the space program was canceled, I focused on my military career."

"You were a soldier?"

"At the time this program was constructed, I was the highest-ranking exponent of Klurkor."

Kal shook his head. "What is … Klur-kor?"

She smiled at him and bowed, placing her right fist into her left palm in a manner similar to what he had seen in chop-socky martial arts films. "What I am about to teach you."

-S-

Lionel Luthor pondered his children's request. Saving the Kent farm netted him nothing, and Lionel Luthor was not accustomed to gifting anything to anyone except his children, and even then, he considered his "gifts" to be investments in the kind of people he hoped they would grow to become.

What could the Kents give him? Jonathan and Martha Kent could never afford to pay him back, and apart from forcing Clark to work for Luthor Corp, the only thing he gained was making his children happy. Lex may have had an angle – he always did – but this time, Lionel thought not. Lex Luthor had gone through school with what amounted to practiced professional relationships with other children. Clark Kent, however, was a true friend, and helping the Kents meant helping a friend with no strings attached.

Lena never had an angle. She was brilliant, and had good business sense, but she was still pure hearted. She was never good at making friends, but for whatever reason, she had emotionally latched on to Clark, Pete, Chloe, and Lana. Doing this was bad business, but his kids were still his kids, and when everything else was stripped away, he loved them.

"I will contact the bank and see what their situation is," Lionel finally announced.

Before he could say anymore, Lena hugged him tightly. "Thank you, Daddy!"

Lex, however, grinned. "You won't regret it; Clark Kent is going to change the world."

Perhaps Lex had an angle after all.

-S-

Lois returned to her motel and replayed the conversation she had with Clark. She remembered his eyes. It was all she could do not to lose herself staring into Clark's eyes. The tall burley young man was pushing all of Lois's hot buttons. He was down to earth, but not a hayseed. He was tall and muscular with leading man looks, but he was reserved and lacked the arrogance with which jocks usually carried themselves. Kent was confident, no question, but his was a casual confidence.

Then there was his power. He wore it so lightly. If the stories were true, and clearly, they were, then Clark Kent could do almost anything. There was arrogance, and then there was aloofness, something highly educated or very wealthy people often displayed. Such people were so far removed from the man – or woman – on the street that they viewed themselves as somehow above. Clark did not have that quality either.

His smooth midwestern voice caressed Lois Lane's ears, making her smile. He sounded like a young Peter Jennings.

"I'd actually watch TV news if he were an anchor," she mused aloud. "Too bad he's underage."

-S-

While Clark was in the barn, the Kryptonian device prevented him from having any awareness of the world round him, including Lionel Luthor's arrival at the Kent home.

Ma Kent answered the door, and when she saw the elder Luthor grinning, her husband's ominous words about him came to mind. It was as though Lionel Luthor was the cat that had the canary. But who was the canary?

"Lionel … won't you come in?"

"Of course, Martha." The tall businessman walked elegantly into the farmhouse as Jonathan appeared from the kitchen.

"Lionel? What brings you all the way out here?"

Luthor just smiled again. "My children told me about Mrs. Clark's behavior, so … I made a few calls." He looked at Martha. "It seems that your mother has been more than just a passive observer, hoping the farm would fail on its own. She has pulled a few strings to keep your interest rates high, and to thwart some of your husband's attempts to make the farm profitable."

Martha's mouth dropped open. Jonathan sighed. He had suspected that this was the case, but Martha had refused to believe it.

"I knew it," Jonathan said shaking his head.

"I … I knew she wanted us to fail, but this?" Tears filled Martha's eyes and her voice was trembling. How could her mother set out to sabotage their family like that? It was just … evil.

"My children have asked me to intercede," Lionel informed. "I am a businessman, and I don't invest in agriculture. Clark coming to work for me is the only thing you have that I could possibly gain, but he intends to pursue journalism." Luthor was silent for a moment, allowing the words to sink in. "I do, however, invest in my children. I love them, and of all the kids they've gone to school with, yours is the only family that has opened its doors to them. Your son came to Lex's aid when nobody else would."

He looked at Jonathan and said, "I know you don't want to take money from me, and I respect that—too many people have a sense of entitlement these days, but you're an honest man who works hard, and I like that."

Then he looked at Martha. "Your mother is cut from the same cloth as those who have made my children's school days miserable, so I made a few phone calls myself. You'll find that your creditors are willing to renegotiate your interest rates, and some of your buyers that backed out at the last minute are open to buying produce from you once again. So, instead of bailing you out, I've leveled the field for you. This should allow you to keep your farm, and who knows? You may even be able to start turning a tidy profit. Consider it my thanks for your family doing the same for my children."

"I don't rightly know what to say," Jonathan replied. "Thank you seems too little. You're a good man, Lionel."

Luthor shook Jonathan's hand. "I'm a terrible man, Jonathan. I'm the man people dread sitting across the table from in the boardroom, and as a businessman, I am ruthless. I have certainly earned at least some of the things people say about me." Then he chuckled and added, "Though I swear that I have no horns, long red tail, or a pitchfork, and there are no sixes in my address or phone number."

Martha Kent hugged Lionel Luthor. "You're a saint, far as I'm concerned."

A man whom many thought of as the devil incarnate had managed to save the Kent farm without costing Jonathan and Martha their very souls.

-S-

Klurkor turned out to be a Kryptonian martial art. Though he was certain that the entire experience was contained within his mind, it felt as real as if his mother's fists were actually striking him. He had seemingly no powers apart from being an athletic specimen, while Lara Lor Von was a highly trained and experienced martial artist.

Kal El was a quick study, however, and he took in his Kryptonian mother's lessons, his mind able to learn in hours an art that had taken Lara a lifetime to master. He suspected that the program was designed to impart the knowledge to him quickly, taking advantage of his Kryptonian mind and enhanced powers on Earth.

Finally, he executed the last of the techniques she taught him, and in doing so, defeated her. The image of his mother smiled.

"You have learned all that I know, my son. I have sent a uniform in your ship—your father assures me that you will grow to the exact size and measurements that it was meant to fit. Wear it with pride, my son, and always carry the banner of the House of El."

"Mother … I love you."

The image smiled. "I love you too, Kal El. This is all that I have had the opportunity to impart to you. May Rao guide you and bless you. Fare well, my son."

Kal El awoke with a start. He had been in some kind of trance as he held the sphere, and now that he was awake, he had no idea what time it was. He carefully refolded the garment and the cape and placed them into the cylindrical container. Then he placed the sphere with them and closed the lid.

Clark Kent returned to his room, carrying the container, there to ponder what it meant to be Kal El of Krypton.

-S-

Lois arrived at the Kent farm promptly at seven. Punctuality had never been her strong point, but as a cub reporter already skating on thin ice, she could not afford to blow this story. She had enough to essentially prove that the Smallville Superboy was real, but she needed more. This had to be a real story, not just a credible version of something one might read in the Globe.

The door opened before she could knock, and Clark Kent stood on the other side, looming over her.

"Good evening, Lois." He stepped through the door, joining her outside, rather than inviting her into the house. The front porch had one of those wooden swings that Lois had only seen in movies and on television. Clark motioned to it and then held it in place for her to sit upon. Once Lois was seated, her feet dangling above the porch's wooden floor, Clark took his place at her side.

Lois could feel the chains and wood of the swing strain as Clark lowered his near six-foot four-inch frame onto it. She estimated that he weighed something in the neighborhood of two hundred and thirty pounds. He was easily as large as the Metropolis Meteors' quarterback, possibly larger. Unlike the Meteors' Jake Lars, however, Clark could probably throw a Jeep over a mile with perfect aim. His powers were overwhelming, and Lois had only had a sample of them. And in such close proximity to him … Can't allow him to throw off my objectivity.

"I was hoping to meet your family," she griped.

"And when I decide that's a good idea, you will."

She folded her arms and pouted for a moment, but then forced a smile. "I can understand that." Lois noticed how effortlessly he controlled the conversation, but there was no sense complaining about it—Clark Kent was not some corrupt politician or crime boss. He was just a high school kid with powers that he likely did not understand. Lois had gotten this far—no need to blow it now by being too aggressive.

Clark nodded. "We can talk here—I've made certain of that."

It was her turn to nod, wondering just how he had made certain that there were no prying eyes.

"Well then, Clark …" Lois turned in the swing to face him. "You've demonstrated powers and abilities only seen on Saturday morning cartoons or in the comics. On top of that, Chloe tells me you're like Copernicus in math class, Marcus Aurelius in history, and Johnny Unitas on the football field. What's your secret—radioactive spider bite? Cosmic rays? Overdose of gamma radiation? Or some kind of mutant?"

"Lois, have you ever read John Carter of Mars?"

"I've never heard of John Carter of Mars. Why?"

Clark sighed. "Lois, I'm not a mutant and I was not bitten by a radioactive spider or exposed to any kind of radiation." He paused, looking out at the rising moon. "I can fly there, you know."

"Bang, zoom, to the moon?"

This made Clark laugh. "You can quote the Honeymooners, which went off the air before you were born, but you don't know about John Carter of Mars?"

She shrugged. "What can I say? One's in reruns and the other's a book I've never read."

"You do realize that "bang, zoom, to the moon" was a euphemism for beating his wife up, don't you?"

Lois deflated at this. She had always enjoyed watching the show with her father. It was one of those happy memories she had of him before their relationship had soured.

"Did you really have to bring that up?"

"If you had a space suit, I really could take you there—and without any physical violence."

This got her attention. At first, she thought he had been kidding, but clearly, Clark was serious. "What about you, Clark? Wouldn't you need a space suit?"

"No."

"So just what can you do? I'm here to interview the Smallville Superboy, and the things that make you "super" are your powers, but just what are they?"

"Lois, my story is about far more than super powers." Clark had a grave look on his face that made him look older than his seventeen years. "I would like to tell it to you, but … I don't know if you're ready."

She folded her arms and shot him a perturbed glance. "I'm a reporter, Clark; I'm ready for anything."

"No, you're not. The fact that you think you are tells me that you are not."

Flustered by his response, Lois began sputtering. "How can you say that? You don't know me!"

"No, but I've known plenty of people who think their meager experiences prepare them for things so far outside the scope of what they know that they could not possibly be prepared." He frowned. "It was a mistake inviting you here." Clark abruptly stood.

Lois wanted to stand with him, but her feet did not reach the ground. She had to stop him from walking away.

"No, no, no, Clark Kent!" She tried to sound firm, but kicking her feet in the air as she tried to stand with him made her feel ridiculous, and all she ended up doing was pouting at him as her face reddened in embarrassment. Clark laughed, which only made her feel more embarrassed.

"You're cute when you're upset."

Lois' mouth dropped open in an expression of shock and indignation. How could he reduce her to such a state—and with such ease.

"I … am not cute!"

He laughed a hearty, deep laugh, visibly amused. "I'm sorry, Lois. I should be more polite." With that, he offered his hand.

Lois hesitated at first, still upset, but finally took his hand. Clark helped her from the swing. His apology and kind manner put her at ease, and her anger subsided. Quick tempered—that was what her sister, Lucy had called her. Maybe she was. Maybe Lois got that trait from her father, just like her mother and Lucy said she did. Maybe that was why Lois and her father did nothing but argue; they were just two quick tempered stubborn people, and however much Lois loved him, she was never able to reach him. Maybe it was why she had so much trouble with people in general.

Unlike most people on the receiving end of Lois' rising ire, Clark did not respond in kind, or dismiss her like an angry child.

"You already know what I can do, Lois. Chloe says that I can trust you, which is the only reason you're here right now—that, and I happen to like you."

Lois noticed his cheeks redden slightly when he said that last part, and she realized that perhaps she had more leverage than she had previously thought. She decided to test her theory.

"You know, Clark, I wasn't kidding when I said I'd talk to Perry. You and I could end up working together, you know." She intentionally stumbled forward as she stood from the swing, forcing him to catch her. His arms were strong, but his touch was gentle. Lois' experiment, however, yielded the result she hoped for.

Clark's cheeks reddened as he held her, and she smiled up at him. "Thanks, Smallville. A gal could get used to having you around." Then she batted her eyelashes as at him. "You say you like me. Mind showing me what you showed Lana?"

Though he was visibly affected, he did not give in. "Far too risky, Lois. I shouldn't have shown Lana what I could do—that's how Chloe got involved. When I saved the plane, Lena Luthor saw me, so now, she and Lex know."

This got Lois' attention, and not in a good way. "I keep forgetting you're friends with … the Luthors."

"Yes, and you don't like them, I know."

"Nothing personal," Lois clarified. "I know enough about the Luthors to know that you shouldn't trust them. Your parents didn't take the money from them, did they?"

"No; Doctor Luthor did some digging and found that my Grandmother Clark had persuaded the banks to keep our rates high and some of the local markets and stores not to buy our produce. Lex's dad leveled the playing field, so to speak, so we did not have to accept any money."

Lois breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good. Make sure you never do."

-S-

Perry White looked at Lois' story. Normally, he would dismiss that kind of story, but her sources were solid and everything checked out. She had photos, quotable sources, and solid theory. She never confirmed the existence of the Smallville Superboy; only that he was a phenomenon that gripped the imaginations of a small town in Kansas. Perry smiled as he read it. Lois had proved herself, just as he knew she would. Her job was never in jeopardy, but the fact that she thought it was forced her to be the reporter he knew she could be. He was certain that Lois knew more than she had written, but that was how it should be—always hold something back and force the readers to do some thinking on their own. As for the Smallville Superboy, Perry was certain that they had not heard the last of him.