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     "No, Jonathan.  Absolutely not."

   Leaning against the tailgate of his father's old Ford, Jonathan shook his head at his wife. 

   "Martha, we agreed…"

   "No, Jonathan, you agreed."  Martha stabbed violently into the soil with her spade; she was covering the planting beds with a layer of mulch for winter.   "If you wanted to take him to some facility used to handling children, that would be one thing, but a lab?"

   She paused in her work to point at Clark, who was happily running in circles a few feet away. 

   "Does he look like he belongs in a lab to you?"

   Jonathan hardened his heart against the beguiling picture Clark made: running, laughing, his cheeks rosy red with cold in spite of a sweater.  There had been no more strange incidents around the house. Martha's scolding seemed to have convinced Clark such activities would not impress adults.  The child ate regularly, slept soundly, and otherwise seemed the picture of human health.  But Jonathan and Martha both knew better.

   "Martha, I spent hours searching, and S.T.A.R. labs really does sound like the best place.  They have a good reputation and they specialize in unusual things like this.  Did you read that article I brought home?"

   "Yes—and research on genetic mutations is all very well, but it doesn't mean anything when it comes to dealing with a little boy."  Martha set down her shovel.  "When they find out what he can do, how do you think they'll handle it?  How do we know they won't harm him?  Or worse?  Can we really take that chance?"

   "Martha, you know I care about Clark, and what happens to him, but…"

   "But what, Jonathan?"  His wife's eyes were luminous as she laid a hand on his arm.  "If you…if we both care about Clark, then he's better off here than in a lab where he'll never get a chance to have a normal life."

   Jonathan squeezed his wife's hand.  "We don't know what's normal for him, Martha.  And if there's any chance he could be a danger to other people…Think what would happen if the town found out he came with the meteors.  They might blame him for everything that's happened."

   "No one would blame a little boy."

   "You haven't spent much time in town, Martha, you don't know how angry folks are…"

   They both stopped talking as the sheriff's cruiser turned off the highway and into their drive.

   "It's Earl Coulter," Martha said numbly.  "What do you think he wants?"

   "I don't know."  Jonathan stepped protectively in front of his wife anyway.  "Let me do the talking, Martha."

   The door to the vehicle swung open and Sheriff Coulter stepped out.  He pushed his hat back on his head and smiled.

   "Jonathan, Martha.  See you two are getting the place ready for winter."

   "There's a bite to the air, and with the frost this morning we didn't want to put it off any longer," Jonathan explained feebly.  He glanced over at where Clark was playing in pile of fallen leaves.

   "Sure enough.  November's come on fast and strong.  Thanksgiving'll be here before we know it" the sheriff nodded.  He followed Jonathan's glance.  "That the boy you found?"

   "Yes.  Clark, come here for a moment, please," Martha said softly.

   The child threw two last fistfuls of leaves in the air, and then hurried over to Martha's side.  He rested one hand on her denim-clad leg, but smiled at the stranger.  Clark was slowly getting used to being around people, although they still seemed to make him nervous.  Jonathan wondered if perhaps the boy could sense his and Martha's anxiety.

   "Clark, say 'hello' to Sheriff Coulter," Jonathan coached.

   Clark blushed, but after a second he smiled.  "Hi."

   "Hello back there, young fellow," the sheriff smiled.   "Fine lookin' boy," he confided to Martha. 

     She only nodded as she combed small fragments of leaves out of the child's hair with her fingers as he stared curiously at the newcomer.

   "You all getting along all right?"

   "Right as rain," Jonathan said.

   "Just fine," Martha seconded.  She pulled Clark closer to her side when it seemed the boy might make a break for the shiny black and white squad car.  Clark loved anything with wheels—from the old pickup to the tractor.

   "Well, I wanted to tell you both we've still haven't had any luck tracking down his family."  Earl scratched his considerable belly.  "Darndest thing—you'd think someone would have missed him by now."

   "You'd think that," Jonathan echoed.

   "Anyway, the folks over at social services want to see all three of you, to decide what to do.  Oh, don't worry," the sheriff added hastily when he saw the expression on his friends' faces.  "I don't think keeping the boy will be much of a problem, if that's what the two of you want.  Both Doc McIntyre and I've put in a good word for you, and you've already talked with the county about adopting, right?"

   Jonathan nodded.  "A few months ago."  At that time the social worker had told them they were excellent prospects for adopting a child, but that few infants became available nowadays.  He and Martha had expressed their willingness to take an older child, or even a foster child…He glanced over at Clark again.  In a way they had ended up doing both, but this child had come from much further away than the county seat.

   Earl scribbled on his notepad and handed a piece of paper to Jonathan.  "Here's the number for social services—they'd like to see the three of you sometime next week, if possible."

   The Kents exchanged a glance.

   "Um, we'll do our best," Jonathan said.

   "I'm sure you will."  The sheriff smiled at Clark one last time.  "Pleasure meeting you, Clark."  Then his smile faded.  "Martha, would you mind if Jonathan and I had a word in private?"

   Martha glanced nervously at her husband, but tried to smile.  "No, of course not.  Clark and I should be feeding the chickens their evening meal about now, anyway.  He loves to feed the chickens."  She took the child's small hand in her own, and led him off towards the barn.

   Jonathan sighed, but it was Earl who put his thoughts into words.

   "Martha's real attached to that boy, ain't she?"

   Since the sheriff was not known for being a particularly perceptive man, Jonathan had to smile.

   "That she is."

   "Well, I'm sure it will all work out for the best," the other man nodded.  "Nice to know some good can come of all this mess."

   Jonathan frowned.  "What is it, Sheriff?"

   "Jonathan, I know you and Fordman and Travers all spoke out against Lionel Luthor coming here.  And I gotta say, at the time I thought you were all a bit cracked."

   "You and everyone else in town."

   The two men leaned against the fence.

   "But I gotta say that now I think you all were right."

   Alarmed at the defeated tone in his friend's voice, Jonathan turned to face him.

   "What's happened, Earl?"

   The sheriff stared out over the fields; the green grass of the pasture was just beginning to turn brown at the edges.  "Few days ago some men came and stripped off some of the equipment from the creamed corn factory.  Mark Ross said they had the paperwork to prove it was LuthorCorp that gave the order."
   "Damn." Jonathan's hands tightened into fists.

   "Of course, there might have been a reasonable explanation for that, but yesterday they came back and took the canning equipment.  And then this morning everyone got a pink slip from some yuppie in a suit as soon as they walked through the door.  Mark, too."

   Jonathan closed his eyes for a long moment.  This was exactly what he had feared, and yet he hadn't expected it to happen so fast…

   "How's Joe taking it?"

   Earl shook his grizzled head.  "He's in shock.  He and his boy Dale have been on the phone with lawyers in Metropolis all week.  Luthor won't even talk to them directly, but his lawyers say there was nothing in the contract to prevent LuthorCorp from stripping off the Ross holdings now they're his."

   "Sneaky bastard.  He couldn't sell the plant on, so he's selling it bit by bit." 

     Jonathan shook his head.  His father, schooled in the lessons of the Great Depression, had taught his son to always have a healthy distrust of businessmen and their promises.  Growing up in Smallville, Jonathan had learned to judge every man by his actions, not his words.  And Lionel Luthor's actions had show the man to be a liar and a cheat.  Oh, maybe he was within his rights under the law, but as far as Jonathan was concerned that only made his actions more despicable.

   "Some friend of Smallville," he growled.  "Talk about hitting us when we're down."

   "Tell me about it.  More than a hundred people out of work with the foundry closed down, not to mention all the small businesses that can't reopen until the government comes through with disaster relief money."

   "And Joe employed, what, five hundred people?"

   "More at harvest time," Earl sighed.  "It's a sorry day for this town, Jonathan.  Folks are saying Lionel Luthor coming here has been a bigger disaster than the meteors." 

   "And about as heartless." 

     Jonathan couldn't believe anyone could be so unfeeling.  He knew nothing about the world of big business, but he imagined that to LuthorCorp people were all just cogs in a giant wheel, to be used and then disposed of—after all, there would always been another cog to take your place. 

   "Just goes to show how far you can trust a Luthor," he grumbled.

   "Amen to that," the sheriff nodded.  "Your family's always been a good friend to this town, Jonathan, and I felt obliged to let you know where things stand."

   The younger man nodded.  "I appreciate it, Earl.  I'll go over and see Joe Ross tomorrow, see if there's anything I can do to help."

   "Doubt there is.  But I'm sure he'd like to see you." 

   Jonathan and Earl walked back to the sheriff's car in subdued silence.  As he opened the door, however, Earl glanced at him from under shaggy eyebrows.

   "And Jonathan?"

   "Yeah?"

   "No one's faulting you and Fordman for being right about Luthor.  We all just wish we'd listened when we'd had a chance."

   "There's no point in spreading blame around now, Earl.  What's done is done."

   Jonathan watched the sheriff slide behind the wheel and waved as the squad car pulled away from the house.  As he headed back to the barn to talk to Martha he shook his head.

   So no one was faulting him for being right, huh?  Like all men, he had his pride, but he would have been willing, happy, even, to be proven wrong in this case.  It made him sick to his stomach to think of the havoc Lionel Luthor would wreak on the town if he and his company stuck around. 

   Ever since the meteor shower things in Smallville seemed to be spinning out of control.  Lives and loved ones lost; property damaged; and now the two major employers in town folding within a week of each other.  It was almost more than anyone could bear.

   And Clark was the one bright spot in all the darkness.  And they couldn't keep him.

   Jonathan pushed all of his feelings down into the pit of his stomach and went to tell his wife the latest news.

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     "So what do the lawyers say?  If they've given us the green light then demolition should begin next week as planned.  We've got a schedule."

   The elevator doors opened and Lionel Luthor stepped out in the hallway of Metropolis General.  Even at the opposite end of the hall from his son's room he could hear the boy carrying on.  He cringed inwardly.

   "No, I want the crew out there Monday morning.  If the Ross' regret the sale there's nothing they can do about it now.  Public relations?  LuthorCorp will be employing five times as many people as the Ross' did, so don't tell me about public relations.  You handle the Ross' and leave the rest to me."

   Lionel impatiently hit the disconnect button on his cell phone and tucked it back into his cashmere coat.  As if he didn't have enough troubles at the moment, Joe Ross had apparently gotten cold feet about the deal when he'd discovered LuthorCorp intended to strip and sell off the creamed corn factory, not run it.

   He nearly laughed.  As if LuthorCorp would have any interest in creamed corn.  No, it  was the land that interested him, and Smallville's location, only three hours from Metropolis.  The papers were signed and the deal would go forward just as he'd planned.  Lionel had learned early on that with the force of his considerable will behind it, anything was possible.

   The one exception to that rule, unfortunately, was the boy sitting up in bed and yelling at the top of his lungs.  It looked as if the doctors had decided to draw blood for more tests, and his son was not cooperating.

   "Lex?  Stop that caterwauling this instant."

   The boy stopped in mid scream and stared at the doorway where his father stood.

   "You know better than to carry on like that."

   Lex ducked his head, and Lionel was appalled to see the child seemed even balder then before.  Every last trace of hair was gone, although his eyebrows and lashes remained.

   Lionel shuddered.

   Dr. Samsara looked at him apologetically as he crossed the room.  "I'm sorry, Mr. Luthor, but I wanted to run a few more tests.  Alexander is usually quite cooperative when your wife is here…"

   "My wife is nursing a migraine thanks to all his 'cooperation,'" Lionel corrected.  "She'll be here shortly.  But Lex knows I will not tolerate the way he's behaving.  Don't you, Lex?"

   The boy only tucked his head closer to his chest.  Lionel shook his head.  All his training, and the boy still didn't have the nerve to stand up to him.  Where had he gone wrong?

   "It hurts, Father," the boy only mumbled.

   "Of course it hurts—they're needles.  But the doctors need blood samples if they're going to help you."

   Lionel crooked a finger at the doctor, and the two of them stepped just outside the doorway.

   "Is there any point to this, doctor?  The boy seems well enough."

   "His white cell count is still a little high, and we'd like to get to the bottom of it before we let him go home."

   "Very well.  But this is the last round of tests, Dr. Samsara.  I see no point in keeping Lex here when you've already said you can't improve his condition."

   "The hair, you mean?"  The doctor frowned.  "As I told your wife, hair loss during times of extreme duress is not uncommon, although it usually isn't so complete as in your son's case…"

   "But there's no sign of regrowth, correct?  Even after two weeks."

   "No, I'm afraid there isn't."

   Luthor nodded.  "The last round of tests, doctor."

   As Samsara scurried down the hall with his blood sample Lionel turned his attention back to his son.  True, the child looked fit enough in a normal pair of pajamas, and Lionel could see he had stacks of books by his bed.  No doubt Pamela had disobeyed his orders, as usual.  Lionel hated illness, and he feared between the doctor's ministrations and the suffocation of his mother and his nanny, Lex would soon grow too used to his invalidism.  Still, his wife had begged him not to upset the child, so Lionel's let the issue of the books go for the time being.

   "How do you feel, Lex?"

   The boy looked at him warily.  "Fine, sir."

   "You look better.  Your color is better."

   There was an awkward silence. 

   "Dr. Samsara says my hair might still grow back," Lex offered.  "Maybe before I have to go back to school."

   "You'll go back to school as soon as the doctor says you're well enough, Lex, hair or no hair.  You cannot neglect your education for vanity."

   The boy's head ducked down again, but not before Lionel saw a flash of anger in his green eyes.

   "What?  Speak up, Lex, if you have something to say."

   Lex's bottom lip protruded dangerously.  Lily did the same thing just before she started to cry.

   "They'll make fun of me."

   "And what if they do?  You are strong enough to endure teasing, Lex, and a great deal more, if need be.  You're a Luthor, never forget that."

   The child only nodded, but Lionel could see he wasn't taking his words to heart. 

   "It's for your own good, Lex."  Lionel tried to gentle his voice.  "When you're older you'll understand."

   "Yes, sir," the boy said in a muffled voice.

   "Lionel, you're here early." 

   He turned around; his wife stood in the doorway, looking lovely in a pale green suit he'd ordered from Paris.  Lionel could see the strain around her eyes, however, and frowned.

   "Lily, if you're not feeling well you should stay home."

   "Nonsense."  She came to stand by Lex's bed and kissed the boy.  "I wanted to check on my baby.  How do you feel, sweetheart?"

   "They stuck me with needles, Mom."  Clearly the boy had no problem complaining when his mother was around.  "Father said they have to."

   "To help you get well, Alexander.  Now, why don't you lie back down, and get some rest.  I'll stay with you, I promise."

   Lionel stepped out of the way while Lily tucked their son in the bed.  He waited until the child's eyes were closed before he gestured to his wife.

   "Lily, I'd like to speak to you, if I may."

   "All right, but just in the hall; I promised Alexander I'd stay close by."

   When they were both standing by the door, Lionel frowned. 

   "You coddle the boy too much, Lillian.  The way you and Pamela dote on him he'll never want to get out of bed."

   Lily waved a slender hand in the air.  "He's been ill, Lionel.  Why shouldn't he have all my attention, until he gets better?"

   "He is better, Lily, ever Dr. Samsara says so.  You need to be careful of your own health as well."

   Lily smiled.  "I feel fine, Lionel.  It's just a little headache, and I rested all morning."   

   Her chin rose.  "And how can you say he's better?  His white blood cell count is still high, and his hair…"

   "Is still gone.  And likely it will remain gone for the rest of his life."  Lionel leveled his gaze at his wife.  "I've told the doctor there are to be no more tests after this last set, Lily." 

   "What?  You should have consulted me!"  Her eyes began to tear.  "I'm his mother, Lionel."

   "And I'm his father.  I see no use in prolonging this charade.  The child needs to get on with his life."

   Lily laid a pleading hand on his arm.

   "Please, Lionel, they might still be able to help him.  He can't go through life looking like that.  It will make things so hard…"

   "No, Lily.  Lex will just have to accept what's happened and move forward.  I won't let you and the doctors chase after a cure that doesn't exist."

   Lily started to cry, and although Lionel put his arm around her he refused to be moved. 

   "The sooner you accept it the sooner Lex will," he explained.  "He's never going to look like he did before.  He will always look…different from other people."

   Lionel patted his wife's back gently, letting her cry.  He knew once Lily got it out of her system she's accept his judgment, as she always did.

   Glancing over at the bed, Lionel could see Lex regarding him with a steady, glassy-eyed stare.  Clearly the child had heard every word they'd said.

   But he felt no inclination to apologize or soften his words.  He'd spoken only the truth.

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