SUPERMAN: Birth Of The Man Who Can Fly

A prose adaptation of Clark's journey from Smallville to the Fortress, since no-one's novelised the movie. Someone should. I might. At some point I intend to adapt The Incredibles - I'm sure I can do a better job than the official novelisation.

Usual disclaimers, I'm just borrowing DC characters. I've taken the liberty of adding dialogue here and there, and expanding on one or two points. This one is...just for the hell of it. :)

Smallville, Kansas, Earth

Clark Kent's bedroom, 2:51 a.m.

15 years after Clark's arrival on Earth

He awoke abruptly. Something's wrong, he thought worriedly - then mildly rebuked himself for the absurdity of the thought. What could be wrong in Smallville, Kansas, of all places? Then he reconsidered. No, not wrong...just...something.

There's something I have to do.

Another mild rebuke. At - what, 2:51 in the morning? Aw, go back to sleep, Clark.

But he knew he could not. Should not.

Somehow he knew there was something. It was as if...as if someone was speaking to him, in his head. With his hearing he could detect a whisper two miles away or more - he and Dad had had fun one summer testing the limits of his abilities...and hadn't found them. With the wisdom of the ages he possessed, Dad had opined, "Now I'll bet you do have limits, son, everyone does. The people who do well in the world are the people who know their own limits and have the will to try to overcome them. So I guess you'll have to do the same one day." He'd chuckled. "Lord knows how far that'll take you, but still..."

He listened carefully. The only sounds he could hear were the radio (he turned it off, nothing to hear at this hour), a dog howling - Blackie, Ben Hubbard's collie in the next farm over; that dog sometimes thought he was a wolf and went on the prowl late at night - and a couple of mice in the hayloft. He'd have to shoo them out at some point before two became two dozen - or two hundred. No, it was in his head.

You must come.

He decided impishly to try replying. Do I have a choice?

The voice (?) was patient. There is always a choice, especially for you.

Clark knew, though, that he'd have to comply, if only to find out what was going on. As was routine habit for him every day and night since Dad passed away, he listened carefully to his mother's heartbeat and breathing, relaxing when he knew all was well with her. She's sleeping peacefully for once. Don't make a sound. Except - well, where am I going?

This way, the voice gently urged, and now he had a sense of...direction. It seemed to be coming from the old barn...where It was.

Neither parent had ever been able to adequately explain...It. A mass of what seemed to be crystals inside a burned and blackened shell, which had ploughed a deep furrow hundreds of yards long upon impacting with the ground - and which housed the very last thing the Kents would've expected to see: a naked three-year-old boy...

Smallville, Kansas

The day the crystal ship arrives

Jonathan Kent was wise enough to know when he was out of his depth, and never mind Martha suggesting they could pass the kid off as a recently-orphaned relative from North Dakota - this, he thought, was a matter for the authorities. Somethin' drops out of the sky like that, they'll want to know, he decided, and we'll tell 'em, just as soon as I get us back on the road, change this flat -

Until the jack slipped and the pickup truck began falling on him - only to stop suddenly and tilt upwards into the air...held up by the little boy, smiling with cherubic innocence as if lifting a two-ton pickup truck with no apparent effort was nothin' at all.

After that, It got Itself loaded onto the truck (by its passenger, for Jonathan knew his own limits, dodgy ticker notwithstanding) and hidden in the old barn, and he and Martha found themselves with the child they'd longed for...and a whole heap o' trouble less, and more, than kids usually brought with them.

Come. There is nothing to fear.

No, Clark mused, somehow knowing this was true, there isn't.

He made his way to the trapdoor and lowered himself. He knelt, removed the sack covering It...and was surprised to see light. Green light.

There was a glowing green crystal lying there, the object's only other contents aside from himself and a blanket of some material that wasn't cotton, wasn't silk...wasn't anything either adult was familiar with.

He'd...seen that before, a long time ago. When I first...came here.

It begins, the voice declared in what seemed to be a satisfied way, sounding clearer and more certain now. Clark reverently picked up the crystal and gazed deeply into it.

What...what are you?

Your future, the voice told him calmly.

I...don't understand.

You will, it assured him. Soon.

Somehow he knew to take this as a given. Other people, he knew, didn't have voices in their heads (except for crazy folk, but he was pretty sure he wasn't crazy) - but then, other people couldn't lift two tons of pickup truck with no effort, or outrun a speeding train, or kick a football clear into the next county.

But he could. Normal rules only applied to him when he chose to let them. So, okay, a talking green crystal, speaking in a voice only he could hear? Why not?

You have sought answers all your life.

Yes.

Waited patiently...more or less.

Yes, I have.

Your patience will soon be rewarded, for the time has come.

What time?

To find those answers. There is something you must do. But it cannot be done here.

But...that would mean...Clark didn't want to finish that thought.

It is necessary, the voice told him with compassion. She knows this. She will understand.

That...doesn't make it easier, he lamented. But then he remembered Dad's wise words yet again:

"Son, anything in this world worth having only comes if you put in the effort to get it. Nothing comes for free, and it shouldn't. D'you think Henry Ford had it easy, or the Wright Brothers, huh? No, they knew what they wanted to do and they worked hard to do it. Now, some things come easy to you, and then again, some things don't. So even you, with all those amazing things you can do that other people can't, even you don't have it all your own way." He'd hugged his son. "Welcome to the world, Clark."

The voice was right, he knew. He couldn't stay here forever. Mom wouldn't want him to. She wouldn't be left totally alone; Ben Hubbard called by often, and there were other neighbours - plus Baron would still keep her company.

He had to leave. Even without a mysterious voice in his head urging him to do so, he knew now that this time would've come anyhow...even if Dad were still here. In fact, he'd probably have approved of the notion. Clark was a man now, and it was time for him to make his own way in the world, to spread his wings and fly.

Though for him that was a little more than just a metaphor...

Kents' Farm, Smallville

Three days later

He spends so much time alone in the fields now, Martha noted concernedly, looking out through a window to where her son was watching the sunrise as he often did - as he and Jonathan had often enjoyed doing before starting the day's work and breakfast was almost ready.

Now, though, he watched the sunrise alone.

She knew, with a mother's insight, what he was contemplating whilst watching that sunrise. She also knew he was right to be thinking the way she knew he was. Every bird, once fledged, must leave the nest and fly away. It was the way of things, inevitable. She'd known it right from that first day when it seemed all their prayers had been answered, and she'd thought she'd be ready for it when it came.

But in truth no loving mother ever wants to let her child go, even when she knows she must, at the right time - and that was for the child to decide, not the mother. No-one understood that better than Martha Clark Kent.

I have to be strong for him. As strong as he is, as Jonathan was, rest his soul.

It would be soon now, she knew.

The next day, Martha saw him standing in a field, unmindful of the blustery breeze, and knew the time had come. But Clark wouldn't initiate what was to come, she suspected, and so she made her way carefully to him, not reaching out as she ached to.

Finally, he spoke.

"I have to leave."

There it was. It was only right; there was nothing, really, for a capable young man like Clark in Smallville. His first crush, Lana Lang, hadn't shown any interest in him other than friendship (though a true and loyal friend she was), and he really wasn't cut out to be a farmer...even if he didn't have all those strange powers. He was seeking answers, she knew. The questions he was asking were of course common to everybody:

Who am I? Why am I here? What is my purpose in life?

For Clark, though, these questions were so much more profound, more deserving of answers, because of his unique circumstances. He would never, ever find those answers in a little old town like Smallville. But in what Jonathan, God bless him, had always laughingly called "the big ol' wide world yonder that way", pointing along the only road into and out of the town, maybe he could.

He would write, she knew, often. He was a good boy, always had been (if only because in many ways he had to be - the usual hi-jinks kids got up to could well be dangerous if Clark did them). It wouldn't be the same, but it would have to do.

"I knew this time would come," she admitted. "We both knew it, from the day we found you."

He wasn't looking right at her, but she didn't press him. He told her flatly, "I talked to Ben Hubbard yesterday, and he said that...that he'd be happy to help out from now on…"

His strength was failing him, his composure collapsing. This was as hard for him as it was for her.

He exhaled, shook his head. "Mother…" he murmured brokenly.

"I know, son," she told him gently, "I know." Now she reached out to touch her boy. "Do you...know where you're headed?"

"North," he nodded, looking in that direction. Perhaps he was going to try his luck in Canada, she thought; there would be prospects there. He would have done his research, probably with Mr. Williams, the schoolteacher, helping him.

She managed a brave smile; then, as the emotion of the moment overcame them both, she entreated him, "Remember us, son. Always remember…"

They hugged tightly, for what would be the last time in 12 years. Then, as one, they looked northward, Clark's arm around his mother's shoulders. The sky was overcast...except in that direction. Hopefully, Martha thought tearfully, that was a sign of good things to come for her boy.

He left the same day, Ben giving him a lift to the airport where he booked a flight to Canada, as Mom had supposed he would. She wasn't to know, of course, that Canada wasn't his true destination. But then how could she, when even he didn't know where he was going, or even why?

The Arctic Circle, 18 miles from the Magnetic North Pole

Several days later

'North', I said. Mom, if you knew how far north, you'd pitch a fit!

But he knew he was in the right place. He'd gotten as far north as he could by conventional transport, but somehow that just wasn't far enough. Keep going, the voice still urged, as he waved the helpful trucker farewell. Maintain a northerly heading.

There's nothing out there except ice, snow and polar bears, he protested, for all the good it would do.

None of which pose any threat to you, as you know full well. You must continue.

But WHY? That seemed a perfectly reasonable question.

You will know soon, it promised yet again.

He sighed, in no mood to argue even if he could. North it is.

Clark walked for miles, the bitter cold troubling him not in the least; his normal body temperature was a degree or so higher than the human norm anyway, but the one and only time a worried Martha took him to see Doc Frye, the baffled old man confessed, "I just don't know. It's not a fever, ain't a durn thing wrong with the lad as far as I can tell, healthy as a horse.

"Why, I heard tell once of a man two degrees colder, all his life, and wouldn't you know it, that fella lived to a hundred an' five, an' it wasn't no cold that did for him, just old age. Ain't no hard an' fast rule says we gotta be 98.4 all the time. So I'd say it's just normal for him, Martha." He shrugged. "Be a real borin' world if'n we were all the same, wouldn't it?" He grinned. "Besides, gets kinda cold in these parts come winter, so I reckon he'll be glad of it then!"

They'd all laughed at that.

Enough reminiscence, the voice chided mildly, onward north.

I must be near the North Pole by now! If I go much further north, I'll end up going south!

Finally, as he stepped onto an island of ice near a cliff, seeking higher ground, the voice declared firmly, Here.

At last, he couldn't help thinking, while admiring the stark, cold beauty of the Arctic. He was overlooking a vast plain of ice and snow, broken by water here and there. The silence was profound, almost total; the only thing even he could hear was the creaking of the ice. Now what?

Remove the crystal from the rucksack. He did.

Now throw it, the voice commanded, and it was as if he were performing precise calculations to answer a maths problem - in his head. He knew exactly how hard he should throw it, and in which direction, and he knew also that he should do it - NOW.

He did. Had crystal-tossing been an Olympic event, he'd have taken the gold easily.

It was not a coincidence that the green crystal landed exactly above the planet's magnetic North Pole. That was planned, millennia ago. It sank into the snow, and as water made contact with the catalytic surfaces, the crystalline reaction began.

Clark was startled to see the icy water somehow...boiling, or so it looked from two miles away. No, it was...churning. Something was happening. Something strange.

What have I done? Clark worried apprehensively, shaking his head with incredulity.

Exactly what you should have, the voice assured him. All is well. Catalysis has begun. Earth's rich water will provide the proper substrate, with more than adequate structural strength given the minerals dissolved therein. Indeed, matters are proceeding even better than expected - and the deuterium ratio is favourably high on this world. Excellent.

He remembered from science class that deuterium was just hydrogen with a neutron added, and one hydrogen atom in every 4500 was a deuterium atom, though why that was important here wasn't yet clear.

As he watched, astonished, white crystalline spires shot out of the water at sharp angles, expanding, solidifying - and interlocking. It was clear that some structure was being created somehow. Whatever he'd expected to happen, it wasn't this.

The structure grew and grew, becoming large, then enormous, then simply...vast.

Finally, as the catalytic process reached its peak, the crystals within began drawing power from solar radiation and the planet's magnetic field, using it to weld the spires into place with flashes of energy that would doubtless have been visible from orbit had any satellites been in visual range, but none were at that time. This, too, was no coincidence.

Clark looked on in awe. The structure was totally unlike anything else that had ever been made on this world. Yet somehow it was...familiar.

He chuckled mentally at the notion. But it didn't go away.

He looked again, but things seemed to be finished. It seemed only sensible to go and have a look. Two miles - well, probably nearer 1.8 now, given the sheer size of the whatever-it-was - was nothing. Walk in the park.

Whatever it was, though, it was beautiful.

The Fortress of Solitude

A few minutes later

This is weird. I seem to know where to go. None of this is familiar, and yet everything is. He felt, oddly, both uncertain and confident, surely two contradictory states of mind. "I am large. I contain multitudes," the quote from Walt Whitman crossed his mind. I suppose that's true for me, too.

But as he penetrated further in, he began to understand. Flickers of what felt like memories presented themselves to his mind's eye, buried in his mind until now - memories and knowledge awakened by the green crystal. Now he knew where the "voice" had come from: that was inculcated into him as he travelled to Earth, waiting for the right signal and the right time. That, and much more.

The deuterium was important because it could be converted into tritium and helium, both valuable sources of energy given the correct technology for complex muon-catalysed fusion processes. Muons were plentiful here on Earth; its atmosphere and ionosphere blocked the cosmic rays well, facilitating muon creation. Among other things, the power generated would keep the interior comfortably warm - not necessary for him, but much more pleasant than the Arctic cold. Good. Just because the cold can't hurt me doesn't mean I like it!

The crystal he'd thrown was a catalysis seed, utilising water to grow and reconstitute certain crystals stored as pure information within the crystal lattice. Once that information was released, these crystals grew and formed the structure via nanotechnology, a new concept for Earth people.

Clark looked around the huge central chamber and saw something which looked important, an arrangement of clear vertical tubes. A raised area held several clear crystals arranged neatly in rows; his mother would have approved. It seemed as though the crystals were meant to be placed in the tubes; they looked to be exactly the right size for that. Yes, the bottom of each tube was shaped to accept them, he saw. though as yet he had no idea what they did. But which should he start with -?

It does not matter, the voice gently told him. Any crystal taken from the memory array before you will trigger and activate the assembly, which is already primed. The answers promised will come.

So he selected a crystal at random and carefully slotted it in. As he stepped back, a pure, high note sounded, like someone making a wine glass sing, and the light began to change. The chamber walls seemed to pulse with energy, almost alive. A huge image of a face appeared on the wall facing him. In some way he couldn't define, the face reminded him of Dad - not the features, but the character. Careworn, white-haired, the face of a mature man, reassuring and calm. Clark liked him on sight.

He, or rather his image, spoke in a rich tenor, echoing through the chamber.

"My son. You do not remember me. I am Jor-El. I am your father." He somehow resisted quipping "Hi, Dad!" or some such. "There's a time to joke, and a time to be serious, son. Try not to confuse them." More of Dad's wisdom. He wished Dad could be here to see this; he'd have loved to see his son finally about to acquire the answers he'd sought all his life.

"By now you will have reached your eighteenth year, as it is measured on Earth. By that reckoning, I will have been dead for many thousands of your years. The knowledge that I have, of matters physical and historic, I have given you fully on your voyage to your new home. These are important matters, to be sure, but - still matters of mere fact.

"There are questions to be asked, and it is time for you to do so. Here, in this...this Fortress of Solitude...we shall try to find the answers together. So, my son...speak."

Clark drew himself upright. He knew exactly what to say first. "Always start with the most obvious, basic questions, son," Dad had told him, "because then you won't be left with egg on your face later, wondering 'now how did I miss that?', okay?" There was one basic question above all which Jonathan Kent, for all his profound, gentle wisdom, had never been able to answer for his son, try though he might. So he asked firmly:

"Who am I?"

Apparently it was exactly the right question to ask; the face looked approving. Jor-El's avatar began:

"You begin at the beginning, which is most logical and commendable. I shall be pleased to answer in exhaustive detail. Whatever your Earth name may be, your true name is Kal-El. You are the only survivor of the planet Krypton. Even though you've been raised as a human being, you are not one of them, as you have no doubt realised by now. You have great powers, only some of which you have as yet discovered.

"Come with me now, my son, as we break through the bonds of your Earthly confinement, travelling through time and space…"

What does the 'El' mean in our names? Is that like a surname on Earth, like 'Kent'?

"In a sense. It is the name of one of the oldest Houses on Krypton and, many would have said, the most noble. That last point...might be debatable." Father and son shared a wry smile. "The crest of our House resembles the English letter S, but this is merely a coincidence…"

"In this next year, we shall examine the human heart. It is more fragile than your own…"

"This year, we shall examine the various concepts of immortality, and their basis in actual fact…"

"The total accumulation of all knowledge spanning the 28 known galaxies is embedded in the crystals which I have sent along with you. Study them well, my son. Learn from them."

"By the time we return to the confines of your galaxy, twelve of your years will have passed."

My Mom will be worried if she doesn't hear from me for that long, he fretted, but somehow the Fortress was taking care of that, the crystalline intelligence composing letters with his writing style and handwriting to be posted every so often, telling fictitious tales of his travels through Canada and other northern environs. Of course, the fact that he had easy access to Kryptonian technology, millennia beyond that of Earth, was a great help...

"It is forbidden for you to interfere with human history. Rather, let your leadership stir others to."

I will. The fact that I can do such a thing doesn't mean I should.

"Precisely, Kal-El. The great power you hold within you, born of the young yellow sun of Earth, carries and demands an equally great responsibility. This shall be the cornerstone of your philosophy in dealing with your new people. You have described your Earth parents in such detail as to confirm: while not without the inevitable flaws to which all living beings, without exception, are subject, they represent all that is good in the human species, thus confirming the wisdom of my choice to send you there.

"My beloved Lara, your mother, feared the people of Earth would not accept you owing to your differences, but the fact that you prospered under their care proves her concerns to be entirely unfounded, thankfully. I had faith in their adaptability and in your strength - the former being by far the most important factor.

"Your adoptive mother is, and your father was, good, kind and compassionate - all the traits most respected throughout the 28 known galaxies by the higher species, especially ours. Would that Kryptonian clarity of vision had been of such quality, for then they might have listened to reason and you might not have been the last of our kind. Follow the fine example the Kents set you, Kal-El, and the people of their world and yours will be served well indeed..."

"It is now time for you to rejoin your new world, and to serve its collective of humanity. Live as one of them, Kal-El, to discover where your strength and your power are needed. But always hold in your heart the pride of your special heritage. They can be a great people, Kal-El, they wish to be. They only lack the light to show the way. For this reason above all, their capacity for good, I have sent them you...my only son."

And thus it began.

THE BEGINNING