Mental discipline was one thing that Lex carefully cultivated. He still wasn't able to keep his mind fully on watching for the man they were following. Even contemplating the possibilities that the boy assassin represented was enough to make his head spin. It only made it more exciting that he was ignorant of his origins and nature. If the Kents found him wandering about and he had those extraordinary capacities at a young age, he must have either been born like that or made that way fairly soon after birth. Where had he been before then? Who had created or engineered him? Were there more like him? How had he ended up in Smallville? Was he inherently intellectually limited, and if so, was that deliberate? What about the seeming emotional immaturity? How was it stunted like that--physiologically, psychologically, genetically? His muscles and skin had to be different from ordinary human tissue, what about the other organs? Could he be x-rayed? The questions about the boy himself were the compelling ones to Lex--while the question about why the boy had been sent to kill him was certainly important, it was nowhere near as fascinating.
"Hello?" He hoped the phone had only rung twice before catching his attention.
"Lex. He's gone past the shuttles to the rental cars and looks like he's headed to the long-term parking. Mrs. Kent's taken the other rental and she'll go there and circle like she's looking for a place. Mr. Kent and I are following him on foot."
"It sounds like you're enjoying this, too, Lana."
He heard her laugh. "I'm actually disappointed that he didn't take a cab. I wanted to get in the next one and say 'Follow that cab.'"
"It's not over yet, you just might get your chance."
"See you soon."
Lex let the questions continue, but at least in the back of his thoughts. How was it that the meteors could half-kill him and a bullet to the head merely startle him? Why did they glow when he was around? What was the mutual chemical reaction? How old was he chronologically? Above all these questions rose the largest: Where would I find this out? And how?
This time the call was from Mr. Kent. "He got into a blue Camry, license plate TR 0849. Martha's following him out the lot. Stay where you are, Lana and I will come find you."
"Right. Wher-" All business, Mr. Kent, Lex thought as he was cut off. It seemed like an eternity between the time when the Camry left the parking lot, Martha three cars behind, and when Lana and Jonathan ran to the car.
They scrambled in and Lex pulled out. The thing about these cars, he thought to himself, is that they just don't inspire exciting driving. It's like trying to present a peanut butter sandwich in the grand manner. You can do it if you have to, but it just won't feel right and will make you feel ridiculous.
***
Clark finished his book, thinking, as he always did when reading about past wars, how much he wished he could have been there. He might have saved so many American lives. He checked the phone again, just in case there were any further instructions. Not knowing what to do next made him uncomfortable, as if his skin didn't fit any longer or there were suddenly somebody else's hands at the end of his arms. When one of his officers came in, Clark felt relief wash over him.
"Come with me."
"Yes, sir."
He followed the officer into one of the meeting rooms. Many of his superiors, though not all, were sitting along a table, all facing him.
"Sit down, Clark." It reminded him of pictures of a trial. In that case, everything was the way it should be, he reminded himself firmly. American trials are always just.
"What do you believe in?"
"Truth, justice, and the American way."
"How do you act on those beliefs?"
"I do what my superior officers tell me to do, without question or hesitation."
"Tell me about telling the truth."
"Only criminals and people who have something guilty to hide don't want the government to know the truth."
"We're going to ask you questions, Clark, and you will answer them honestly and fully. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"What did the target say to you when you told him his sentence?"
"He asked questions, sir, questions about me."
"What were those questions?"
"He asked, ma'am, if I was a robot or a human, and about my capabilities?"
"Did you answer his questions?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Why did you answer him, Clark?"
"He told me that, I can't remember his words, sir, but that knowledge was his faith and so I let him have the two minutes." He lowered his eyes. Away from that room and the target's strange, troubling questions, it sounded as though he'd done something wrong.
"Was that your only reason?"
"Yes, ma'am, but-"
"But? Answer completely."
"Yes, ma'am. It felt strange. When he asked me questions."
"What was it like?"
"Like...like...like I was looking in a mirror and seeing my reflection doing things that I wasn't. Sir."
He saw them look at one another and a few of them wrote something down.
"Then what happened?"
"The two minutes passed, maybe a bit longer, since I'd lost track of time, ma'am, and wanted to make sure that he had had the time the American government gave him. Then a girl came in and attacked me as I was strangling the target."
"Go on."
"Yes, sir. I don't know how to describe what it felt like. I was very weak and couldn't see properly and everything hurt. I-"
"Yes?"
"I thought that maybe I was dying, sir."
"Then what happened?"
"I think I lost consciousness, sir. I woke up locked in a jail cell."
"A real jail cell or an unauthorized civilian one?"
"I'm sorry, sir, an unauthorized civilian one."
"And then?"
"I still felt very weak and the pain was very bad, sir. This part I can't remember very clearly, sir, but one of them, the target or the girl, took away some of the green rocks and I felt stronger. The target questioned me but I didn't tell him anything."
"Go on."
"He brought me food, sir."
"And you ate it?"
"Yes, sir. I know now that I shouldn't have. I don't know how he knew about them but he gave me what looked like reports about some of my earlier assignments, ma'am." He looked down again at seeing the alarm this caused.
"How did you respond?"
"I didn't know all the words in the reports so I asked him what they meant. Then he left, sir."
"And after that?"
"I don't know how long, but I was alone for a while, sir. Then the girl came back in with two people." He drew a deep breath and continued quickly. "They said they were my parents."
"They were lying, Clark."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Why are you looking upset?"
"Because...because even though they were lying...I felt as though...as though things were right. I don't know how to say it, sir."
"Were you touching them or letting them touch you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Were you upset? Unhappy?"
"Yes, ma'am. They told me that I had killed innocent people."
"Did you tell them they were lying?"
Clark could barely whisper. "No, sir."
"Hello?" He hoped the phone had only rung twice before catching his attention.
"Lex. He's gone past the shuttles to the rental cars and looks like he's headed to the long-term parking. Mrs. Kent's taken the other rental and she'll go there and circle like she's looking for a place. Mr. Kent and I are following him on foot."
"It sounds like you're enjoying this, too, Lana."
He heard her laugh. "I'm actually disappointed that he didn't take a cab. I wanted to get in the next one and say 'Follow that cab.'"
"It's not over yet, you just might get your chance."
"See you soon."
Lex let the questions continue, but at least in the back of his thoughts. How was it that the meteors could half-kill him and a bullet to the head merely startle him? Why did they glow when he was around? What was the mutual chemical reaction? How old was he chronologically? Above all these questions rose the largest: Where would I find this out? And how?
This time the call was from Mr. Kent. "He got into a blue Camry, license plate TR 0849. Martha's following him out the lot. Stay where you are, Lana and I will come find you."
"Right. Wher-" All business, Mr. Kent, Lex thought as he was cut off. It seemed like an eternity between the time when the Camry left the parking lot, Martha three cars behind, and when Lana and Jonathan ran to the car.
They scrambled in and Lex pulled out. The thing about these cars, he thought to himself, is that they just don't inspire exciting driving. It's like trying to present a peanut butter sandwich in the grand manner. You can do it if you have to, but it just won't feel right and will make you feel ridiculous.
***
Clark finished his book, thinking, as he always did when reading about past wars, how much he wished he could have been there. He might have saved so many American lives. He checked the phone again, just in case there were any further instructions. Not knowing what to do next made him uncomfortable, as if his skin didn't fit any longer or there were suddenly somebody else's hands at the end of his arms. When one of his officers came in, Clark felt relief wash over him.
"Come with me."
"Yes, sir."
He followed the officer into one of the meeting rooms. Many of his superiors, though not all, were sitting along a table, all facing him.
"Sit down, Clark." It reminded him of pictures of a trial. In that case, everything was the way it should be, he reminded himself firmly. American trials are always just.
"What do you believe in?"
"Truth, justice, and the American way."
"How do you act on those beliefs?"
"I do what my superior officers tell me to do, without question or hesitation."
"Tell me about telling the truth."
"Only criminals and people who have something guilty to hide don't want the government to know the truth."
"We're going to ask you questions, Clark, and you will answer them honestly and fully. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"What did the target say to you when you told him his sentence?"
"He asked questions, sir, questions about me."
"What were those questions?"
"He asked, ma'am, if I was a robot or a human, and about my capabilities?"
"Did you answer his questions?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Why did you answer him, Clark?"
"He told me that, I can't remember his words, sir, but that knowledge was his faith and so I let him have the two minutes." He lowered his eyes. Away from that room and the target's strange, troubling questions, it sounded as though he'd done something wrong.
"Was that your only reason?"
"Yes, ma'am, but-"
"But? Answer completely."
"Yes, ma'am. It felt strange. When he asked me questions."
"What was it like?"
"Like...like...like I was looking in a mirror and seeing my reflection doing things that I wasn't. Sir."
He saw them look at one another and a few of them wrote something down.
"Then what happened?"
"The two minutes passed, maybe a bit longer, since I'd lost track of time, ma'am, and wanted to make sure that he had had the time the American government gave him. Then a girl came in and attacked me as I was strangling the target."
"Go on."
"Yes, sir. I don't know how to describe what it felt like. I was very weak and couldn't see properly and everything hurt. I-"
"Yes?"
"I thought that maybe I was dying, sir."
"Then what happened?"
"I think I lost consciousness, sir. I woke up locked in a jail cell."
"A real jail cell or an unauthorized civilian one?"
"I'm sorry, sir, an unauthorized civilian one."
"And then?"
"I still felt very weak and the pain was very bad, sir. This part I can't remember very clearly, sir, but one of them, the target or the girl, took away some of the green rocks and I felt stronger. The target questioned me but I didn't tell him anything."
"Go on."
"He brought me food, sir."
"And you ate it?"
"Yes, sir. I know now that I shouldn't have. I don't know how he knew about them but he gave me what looked like reports about some of my earlier assignments, ma'am." He looked down again at seeing the alarm this caused.
"How did you respond?"
"I didn't know all the words in the reports so I asked him what they meant. Then he left, sir."
"And after that?"
"I don't know how long, but I was alone for a while, sir. Then the girl came back in with two people." He drew a deep breath and continued quickly. "They said they were my parents."
"They were lying, Clark."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Why are you looking upset?"
"Because...because even though they were lying...I felt as though...as though things were right. I don't know how to say it, sir."
"Were you touching them or letting them touch you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Were you upset? Unhappy?"
"Yes, ma'am. They told me that I had killed innocent people."
"Did you tell them they were lying?"
Clark could barely whisper. "No, sir."
