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     "Ladies and gentlemen, if you'll all take your seats we'll get started."  Emma Raleigh, the mayor's secretary, tapped on the microphone, sending a metallic thump echoing through the ancient public address system.  "Please, folks, take your seats."

   "Never seen the place this crowded," Ed Forman grunted, slipping into the last vacant seat in Jonathan's row.

   Jonathan nodded. The old Grange Hall was filled to the rafters with people—locals mostly, but also press and representatives from a variety of local agencies.  Up on the podium he could see Mayor Miller and Sheriff Coulter in deep conversation with several men in dark suits.  The other city council members milled about uncertainly.

   "Martha couldn't make it?"  Ed asked.

   "She's got her hands full with the little boy who's staying with us," Jonathan offered.  Actually, Martha had refused to leave the child long enough to attend the first official town meeting since the meteor strike.  In only three days she and Clark had become inseparable.  Jonathan helped care for the child as best he could, but in the back of his mind was only one thought—that whenever Clark left, it was going to break Martha's heart.  Jonathan would do anything to spare her that pain, if she would only let him.

   When the room finally quieted to a dull roar, the mayor stepped up to the microphone.  "Folks, I'd like to thank you all for taking time out from your families and from caring for the injured to be here today…"

   "Just get on with it, Mike—we haven't got all day," someone shouted.  Jonathan could see Miller's ears turning red with anger, but the mayor continued bravely.

   "Now, Tom, I know we all want answers, but we've got a lot to cover and not much time.  Now I've got the sheriff up here to talk to you about what the city's doing to get everyone through this difficult time."

   As Coulter stepped up the news cameras swung in his direction, whirring away.  Earl cleared his throat.

   "As of this morning, October 30, we've got a revised death toll of thirty four."

   Jonathan watched as every reporter in the room began scribbling frantically.

   "We're putting together a list and the Ledger will be printing it in tomorrow's edition.  Now, we've still got the emergency crews from Metropolis here, and I'm sure we'd all like to thank those folks for their hard work…"

   Only a scattering of applause followed his statement.  Even in a state of emergency Smallville wasn't a big fan of its massive neighbor three hours to the east.

   "Dr. McIntyre says Smallville General's up and running at full capacity again, so those of you who may have been putting off getting medical attention, please get yourself in and seen ASAP."

   "Doc, are those meteors dangerous?"  Harrison Keller shouted. 

    "I've got one in my back field the size of a baseball but it's still too hot to dig up and move!"  Fred Wilson seconded.

   The sheriff waved his arms for silence.

   "We've got here Mr. Gelson from the EPA to talk to you about that.  Why don't I bring him up here."

   A nervous looking man, one of the black-suited figures Jonathan had noticed earlier, came forward. 

     "The Environmental Protection Agency has been on the scene for the last two days.  We've taken core samples of the meteorites and have sent several to reputable labs for analysis.  We feel confident in assuring you that the meteorites do not pose any danger to human health."

   Next to Jonathan, Ed jumped to his feet.  "What about radioactivity?  I don't want my wife and kid around anything that might make 'em sick, even if it might take years."

   There were cries of agreement.  Nodding heads made a ripple across the room.

   "The meteorites are not radioactive, sir.  We have not yet identified their point of origin, but they are not dangerous."

   The mayor spoke up again.  "Mr. Gelson, would you say a few words for those folks who've been collecting them to try and get them off their land?"

   "Yes, Mr. Miller.  Um, there is no need to immediately remove any fragments of meteorites, particularly if they are still too hot to handle safely.  For those of you who are concerned, you can call the toll free number that Mrs. Raleigh will hand out and the EPA will handle the removal for you.  The safest thing to do in the meantime if you're really concerned is to bury the meteorites where you find them."

    A few skeptics murmured to themselves, but most seemed satisfied with that solution.  Jonathan was glad there had been no strikes on his property.  He didn't have time to scramble around burying chunks of meteors when he still hadn't figured out what to do with his and Martha's strange little visitor.

     The mayor took back the microphone, assuring his audience that the EPA would be in town for the next several days to answer questions.  He then spoke at some length about the need for everyone to work together to help the town recover as quickly as possible.  Jonathan couldn't help but notice the mayor included cooperation with the media in his pleas.   Miller had always loved the press, trying to get them to visit Smallville for any number of reasons.  Now he had all the press coverage he could have ever wanted, but at a terrible price to the town.

   Jonathan didn't really care one way or another what motivated Miller.  The first newspaperman who set foot on his property would be greeted with the business end of his granddad's shotgun.

   The audience began to shift in their seats as the mayor droned on, and beside Jonathan Ed shook his head.

   "Mike never did know when to stop talking.  Folks want to get home before dark."

    Seeming to sense he'd lost his audience, Miller paused.

   "Well, now, there's just one more quick item of business.  Joe, come on up here, would you?"

   Joe Ross stepped up to the podium, looking a trifle uncomfortable before the cameras.  But before he could open his mouth, someone in the back of the room shouted.

   "Sellout!"

   A murmur of agreement ran around the room.  Joe looked genuinely hurt, and Jonathan couldn't help but turn to Ed.

   "Now that's uncalled for.  Joe's been wanting to retire for years; we all know how the factory's struggled.  LuthorCorp made the only offer he got.  We may not want the Luthors here but there's no need to take it out on Joe."

     Fordman nodded.  "The Ross' have been part of this community since the Civil War.  Joe's always been a good man.  It will just be up to us to make sure Lionel Luthor doesn't get to sink his claws any deeper into this town."

   Joe Ross cleared his throat.  "Well, now, maybe I should let the mayor speak for me."

   Doc McIntyre patted him on the back.  "No, you go on ahead, Joe.  Speak your peace."  The doctor shot the audience a sharp glance, warning them to remain quiet.

   Ross shifted on his feet.  "Uh, well, as most of you know I got a passel of grandchildren at home.  And like most of you I've been so preoccupied with everything the last few days I'd forgotten all about what time of year it is.  But this morning Sarah Morse—stand up, Sarah…"

   A chubby blond girl in the front row of the audience stood up and waved sheepishly.

    "Sarah is the class president of Smallville High's Senior Class of 1990, and she came to me this morning and pointed out that with all the confusion most people have forgotten tomorrow's supposed to be Halloween."

   The parents in the audience groaned.  They had obviously forgotten, too.

   "I know my grandkids have been driving their folks crazy about whether or not the town will have a Halloween this year.  I think we can all agree that with all the destruction and the loss of loved ones, not to mention the curfew in effect, there's no way our kids can trick-or-treat."

   Forman shook his head.  "Damn.  I plum forgot," he whispered to Jonathan.  "And Whitney worked on his costume all last weekend, too."

   "But Sarah and the other kids over at the high school have offered to sponsor a little party for the kids tomorrow night in the school gym.  They came to me for help and I'm more than happy to handle the expenses.  So we wanted to let everyone know that if they'd like to bring their little ones over Smallville High starting at 6 o'clock tomorrow we'll have candy and games waiting."  Joe shrugged.  "That's all I wanted to say." 

   The other town residents forgot their earlier pique and applauded heartily.

   Forman beamed at Jonathan.  "That Joe always thinks of something."

   Jonathan wondered if it would be safe to take the little boy—Clark, he reminded himself hastily.  He nodded.  "If only we knew Luthor would be as good a neighbor."

   Ed snorted.  "Don't count on it."

    Mayor Miller took center stage one last time.  "I'm sure I'd like to thank Joe, too—what a wonderful gift to the town's children."  Miller was a lifelong bachelor.

   People began to gather up their belongings and head for the exit, but Jonathan stayed put.  He told himself he wanted to talk to Fordman more about the situation with Luthor, but truth be told he also wasn't anxious to go home and see Martha dote on the boy all evening.  Somehow he had to get through to her that the boy wasn't theirs, and that becoming attached would just make separation harder for everyone involved.

   Ed ran a hand across his closely cropped hair. 

   "So what do you reckon we should do about Luthor, Jonathan?"

   Weeks ago, when news of the impending sale of the creamed corn factory had leaked out, a handful of concerned citizens—families like the Fordmans, the Travers, and the Hansons--had met at the Kent farm to discuss what the buyout might mean for the town.  Jonathan and Martha had been relieved to find they were not the only residents worried about changes the presence of LuthorCorp might wreak.  Lionel Luthor, the "pesticide king," had a reputation for moving his factories into rural areas.  New jobs attracted growth; growth attracted sprawl, with LuthorCorp subsidiaries doing most of the building.  Not to mention the toll on the environment.  Smallville might not survive such an invasion.

    Jonathan shrugged.  "We'll have to see what Rich Travers thinks we should do next." 

     "The Travers are gone." Jake Guess, the plant manager at the Creekside Foundry, slid up to Jonathan and Mr. Fordman.  The two men shifted in their chairs to look at Jake, who smiled apologetically.

   "Sorry, didn't mean to eavesdrop.  But I thought you two should know first."

   Jonathan's head reeled at Jake's news.  Rich had lived in town his whole life.  "Killed?" he asked weakly.

     "Not dead. Just AWOL. Their names were taken off the missing persons list yesterday. The neighbors must have done that. I got an express letter from Rich today. He and the family must have reached California by now."
     Jonathan was stunned. "What? They're gone? How could they just get up and leave Smallville like that?"
     "And leave everything behind?  Who's going to help us stand up to the Luthors?" Ed added.
     Jonathan took a deep breath. "Jake. Show us the letter, tell us what happened."
     Jake pulled out papers from his jacket pocket and unfolded them. "Here. Let's sit down. This is going to take some explaining. First, the Creekside Foundry is completely wrecked. The main building stands, but I bet you a round of beers there isn't much to salvage."  The young man pounded one fist against the back of a chair.  "God damn it! We've been modernizing and retrofitting. All that equipment gone to waste. I've made sure the main gates are locked. No one's getting in. Thank God Rich decided to close the foundry that day for the Homecoming game. But he loved the Crows as much as any of us. Can you imagine what a disaster it would have been if the foundry workers had been on site?"
     Fordman whistled. Jonathan looked down at the scratched linoleum floor.  Thirty four dead was plenty already.
     Jake continued. "Anyways, Rich wasn't at the game. Ed, you didn't see him, right?  And he wasn't at the homecoming parade."

   Jonathan frowned.  "What are you implying, Jake?"

      Jake ignored the question.  "So the meteors hit.  And I have to take care of my family first before I start thinking about my job, right?   But this morning I finally get a chance to get away and drive out to the foundry. I drive out to the foundry and it's hell on earth.  Some places in the ground are still smoking. Big holes in the walls, the pavement, the equipment. You know what that means? One hundred and thirty people and their families out of decent jobs. So I start walking the interior and make it to the office. Glass is everywhere, filing cabinets turned over. But I could tell Rich had been there because there were his footprints in the dust.  I see Rich's pistol out on his desk. I don't think he was cleaning it, if you know what I mean. I checked it; all the bullets were there, unfired. I can't say for sure, but I think Rich was on the site when the meteors hit. God knows where he ducked and covered."

    Fordman smiled.  "Rich's always had luck like a rabbit's foot.  We called him 'Lucky Duck' in the Marines."

      Jake scratched his head.  "It's weird if you think about it, Ed.  If Rich had a death wish he had a gun and the meteors to take him out.  But I know he's alive; this letter I've got proves it."
     "Christ! Are you saying Rich was suicidal?"  Ed Fordman burst out.  "That's bull!"
   "The man had a macho streak a mile wide. Strength was everything." Jake gentled his voice. "But Rich and Betty were still struggling with Emily.  She wasn't getting any better, health wise."
     Jonathan's imagination turned to the five-year-old daughter of Rich, born with sickle cell anemia and recently diagnosed with cancer. The child had a strong little spirit, but she'd come close to death too many times. The community gave the couple emotional support, and when Emily was up, she was quite an angel. Martha and Jonathan had been close friends with the Travers.  They connected personally with the child and with the Travers' struggles to stay on top of their daughter's chronic ill health. The girl had been in and out of Metropolis General so many times...

     Jonathan couldn't help but wonder.  Had Emily and Betty been home at the time of the meteors, or had they been in Metropolis for another blood work-up?  The Travers carried on bravely, but a man can only take so much hardship. Jonathan tried to put himself in Rich's shoes. Was the man suicidal before the meteors hit because of his personal problems, or did he pull out his gun after he witnessed the complete destruction of the facility that his family had owned for three generations? Luckily, something made Rich keep that gun on the desk, unfired. Jonathan felt selfish suddenly; his farm was spared, plus they had a child now. Had the Travers lost everything?
     "I checked their house afterwards. Locked up. All the furniture is there. Looks like they left in a hurry. The neighbors said that they spoke to Betty as she and Rich were loading up the truck and trailer with suitcases. This was late in the night, like they were getting out quick. Betty was distraught, Rich was tightlipped. Betty just said that the loss was too much. Rich gave the neighbors minimal instructions to keep the house locked and expect movers to come sometime soon to move the belongings." Jake spoke in a monotone, telling the grim little story.  "The neighbors didn't even get to say goodbye to Emily when they drove off. Imagine that."
     "OK, the letter. I don't know how I'm going to read this to the foundry employees. I've been hiding out in case they see me on the street. I certainly didn't have the balls to say anything at the town meeting just now.  But I've only had this letter for a little while, maybe you can help me accept what it says."
"To Jake Guess and our employees:
Betty and I are distraught beyond words as to the damage brought upon our town. Our hearts go out to the families and businesses that have suffered loss in this tragedy. Furthermore, it is obvious that the Creekside Foundry, a successful industry that supported the Smallville community for decades, has to be closed. At this time, with a heavy heart, I must make the decision as to the fate of the property and how to care for the lives its workers. I promise that I will see to it that all employees receive their paychecks, health benefits, workers' comp, and pensions, and that I meet all guidelines and expectations outlined in our union contract. I will use all legal and insurance resources to make sure your families have what they need to rebuild. It's the least I can do to make up for the fact that my family and I will not be returning to Smallville. We will not rebuild the foundry.
As you know, I was never a supporter of Lionel Luthor and I still oppose his plans to enter our community.  I was vocal and stood up in protest, and I know many appreciated my concern for the well-being and future of the town. But that was before the meteor shower, when I had a successful company to stand behind. I fear that Luthor may use this meteor shower to his advantage. And this time I'm afraid that once the emergency funds run out, people will turn to Luthor Corp. out of fear and believe any promise he makes. But this town must be set right again. I don't know—maybe his plans to bring more industry and prosperity to Smallville may be exactly what the town needs. But I support any and all Creekside employees who want to apply for work with Luthor Corp. I will not be here to keep up the fight. I pray that Luthor does more good than harm.
Finally, it is time for us all to honor those lost to the meteor strike. My condolences go out to those injured and killed. We mourn along with you. At this time, Betty and I continue to fight for Emily's life. Life is so precious. We are moving west where Emily can have access to city hospitals with specialists. She is our primary concern now, and all we have left. Thank you for all your years of care and support. Good-bye to you all. We will miss you. Spirits Fly, Semper Fi."
     Fordman was losing his patience, trying to get a handle on the news. "So we just let Luthor buy up everything he pleases? Rich is a fighter! Why would he turn tail, sacrifice everything he's help build here? How many generations of Travers have worked this land?"

     Jonathan could understand why Ed was so angry. Travers and Fordman had survived Vietnam together. They were two men cut from the same cloth. Strong American sons of immigrant stock, the one Greek, the other, Irish.
      For Travers to leave when so many community members needed his voice of reason at the city council meetings? Not to mention that Travers had left without even facing his closest friends for a personal goodbye.  No wonder Ed looked like he was going to punch something. His face was turning crimson.

     Jake just sat in his chair, deflated.
     Jonathan started taking account in his mind.  Loved ones were lost.  People with families.  People with skills who contributed to the community. If the Travers abandoned Smallville, taking all their influence with them, what would stop other established families from leaving, too? The meteors might take an economic and social toll on the town in ways not yet calculated. LuthorCorp would be right there ready to mold the town into its own image.
     Jonathan felt his muscles tense at the thought but he forced himself to calm down. Disasters always hit. Tornados, floods, drought, and even meteors did hit every once in a while. His farmer's instincts kicked in.  Tragedy was meant to be overcome. Good times were still ahead as long as they worked hard and kept the faith.
Jonathan spoke in a soothing tone to reassure Fordman. "Rich is doing what he thinks is right to protect his family. Betty would never give up on Emily, and with the explosions and debris to be cleaned up, God knows the health hazards that Emily would be exposed to. She needs the doctors. Her entire life she'll need doctors. And if the city is where they need to go, fate has made sure that there is nothing left here to give them a reason to stay. And when a man hears the call, he must take action."

     Listening to himself Jonathan was shocked. How could he think so clearly when all he saw around him was confusion? Why did it suddenly make sense for a man to sacrifice everything for the life of a child? Were his fatherly instincts finally kicking in?
      Fordman and Travers had once made fun of Jonathan for not being a father yet. Carol Fordman and Betty Travers had been pregnant at almost the same time. Martha had also been pregnant that year, but she and Jonathan had lost that baby in a miscarriage. What was a man supposed to do?

     Fordman got the healthy son he'd always wanted. Travers was delighted with their daughter until he and his wife had discovered they had passed along a genetic disease to her. 

     The Kents had drawn the short straw. But that was life. Maybe even what God wanted.  Jonathan had never allowed himself to feel sorry for himself or let jealousy ruin good friendships. He still had fun with the other men at football games, poker nights, fishing trips, and weekend Harley rides.  Smallville raised good, strong men. They did right by their families, no matter what.
     "I'm going to miss him," Jonathan said sadly.

     The other two men nodded in agreement.

     "The community is in our hands now," Jonathan continued, "and we have a responsibility to life and how we choose to live it.   Jake, if you need any help, let me know.  It's what Travers would do in my shoes."
     Jake looked into Jonathan's eyes. The distraught manager let what Jonathan had said sink in.  He couldn't help but admire the farmer.  While so many residents shook with fear and uncertainty, Kent looked cool and collected.  His eyes gleamed with conviction and purpose.   Since Rich had dropped the torch, so to speak, would Jonathan be the one to pick it up?
     "I'll take you up on that offer, Kent," Jake said. He smiled and shook the farmer's hand. "Come on, Fordman, I'll buy us a couple rounds. Jonathan, you interested?"
"No, thanks. I have to get back to the farm," Jonathan said. 

   He suddenly felt more cheerful.  Thinking of Travers' and Fordman's commitment to their families, Jonathan suddenly wanted to see Martha and Clark.  Maybe he had a thing or two worth teaching a child after all.

p

     "Mrs. Luthor?"

   Lillian Luthor glanced up to see her son's nanny, Pamela Jenkins, standing in the doorway.

   "Pamela, hello.  Come in, please."  Lily held out a welcoming hand to her friend.

   Pamela set down the stack of books she carried and came to stand by her charge's bed.  She looked at the thin child in silence for a long moment.

   "I'm sorry, Mrs. Luthor, I wanted to come earlier but Mr. Luthor insisted…"

   "I know, I know—Lionel thinks he knows what's best for everyone," the other woman smiled tiredly.  "But I knew you'd want to be here."

   Pamela never took her eyes off the boy.  "Thank you for sending the car for me."  She gently stroked one of the child's clenched fists.  Even in his sleep Lex was frowning.

   "Has he opened his eyes at all?"

   His mother shook her head.  "No.  Sometimes he thrashes a little in his sleep, like he's having a nightmare, but he never completely wakes up.  The doctors still can't find anything wrong with him, but…Pamela, look at him."

   The nanny touched the child's bare scalp.  "He's alive, Lily," she said, momentarily forgetting the difference in their social standings.   "That's what's important."

   "But you know how cruel children are," Mrs. Luthor countered.  "They'll tease him, call him names.  I couldn't bear that."

   Pamela didn't have the heart to tell her that children already made fun of Lex—for his red hair, his asthma, his social unease.  Lillian loved her son intensely, but she actually spent very little time around him.  Lionel wanted her with him, not at home. 

     Since infancy Lex had cried on Pamela's shoulder, not his mother's.  But Pamela didn't want to hurt her friend more by admitting this.  "He's a strong boy," she offered.

   Lily shook her head, her red hair falling like a curtain across her beautiful face.  "Lionel's so upset he can't even look at Alexander.  I don't know if he'll ever forgive me for insisting he take our son to Smallville."
   "You wanted them to spend time together," Pamela said softly.  "Lex had just gotten back from school--your intentions were good."

   Lillian rested her face in her hands.  "I can't believe this is happening to us, to Alexander.  Lionel's always made me feel so safe.  He's always been the decisive one."  She smiled wanly through her tears.   "When my father refused to give us his blessing because he thought I was marrying beneath me, do you know what Lionel told me?  He said that it didn't matter to him what anyone thought of him.  That the only thing that mattered was that he wanted me to be his wife."

   "And Lionel always gets his way."  Pamela tried not to sound bitter.  She had never seen eye to eye with her employer, and it had gotten worse since Lionel Luthor had decided to take a firmer hand with his son.

   Lionel already had almost total control over his wife's life: her friends, her social engagements, even her wardrobe.  Strangely Lillian Luthor seemed to prefer things this way.  The sheltered daughter of a wealthy, eccentric father, Lily had never learned to fend for herself.  Even as an adult she remained as delicate as her namesake.  But Pamela knew Lex to be made of sterner stuff, if only his father would accept the child as a separate individual, and not just an extension of his ego.

   "My poor baby," Lillian said as she continued to cry.  "My poor, poor baby."

   Mrs. Jenkins took Lily by the shoulder.  "You mustn't speak like that, Mrs. Luthor.  Lex might hear you.  He needs you to be strong for him right now."

   Looking up at her friend, Lily blinked her wide green eyes.  "I want to be, Pamela, but I don't know how."

   "Of course you do," the nanny soothed.  "You're his mother.  Look, I've brought some of his favorite books."  She picked up the pile of books and set it on the bedside table.  "I thought we could take turns reading to him; he'll like that.  I've brought Treasure Island, and The Secret Garden, and Robinson Crusoe…

   Lily wiped away her tears.  "You're so good to him, Pamela."

   "I love him," the other woman said simply.

   "I know you do, and he loves you," Mrs. Luthor smiled.  "Why don't you read to us both for awhile."

   Pamela nodded, and pulled a chair up to the side of the hospital bed.  She selected one of the expensive leather-bound books Lionel had had imported from London.  Clearing her throat, she started to read.

   "When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen.  It was true, too.  She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression.  Her hair was yellow, and her face was yellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in one way or another…"

     Lily laid her head against the back of the chair, and while both women listened to the child's steady breathing Mrs. Jenkins read. 
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