-- Chapter 3 -- Tag You're It –
Beneath the still youngish trees at the outskirts of The Martin's Tree Farm, Chloe Sullivan picked her way around the doggie murder scene. The bodies were long gone, and she only knew this was the scene of the attack because Mr. Martin had shown her. Chloe sighed and clicked another frame of unhealthy brown grass into her camera's memory. This story wasn't exactly her idea of a front page special, but this week it was going to have to do. "Dog Massacre Under the Pines, sounds like a tabloid article, or maybe a bad mystery novel," Chloe muttered to herself.
An unpleasant trickle of sweat made its way down the center of her back and Chloe clicked her camera shut. Enough was enough. It was time to go home and put together a story out of the vague bits of information she'd been able to patch together. Some people would probably laugh at Chloe, out here wasting her afternoon on a dead-end story. Most people didn't understand what being a journalist meant. Journalism wasn't a possible career. It was an identity, a lifestyle. Each little story, every byline, was a stepping-stone to that future. It was the only life Chloe could imagine for herself.
After a moment's indecision about direction, Chloe pushed her way back toward the road. Mentally, she began assembling a to-do list: one sociology paper needs to get started, an article for the Torch for tomorrow's editorial meeting... Chloe slowed and then stopped. She should be able to see the road. Mr. Martin had warned her not to stray far, that it was easy to get turned around in the uniformly managed tree farm. Slowly she spun and tried to get her bearings. The only sound in the man-designed forest was that of the wind. No clues jumped out at her to point the way to the road and her car. "I am not lost."
Clark, her AWOL buddy, immediately came to mind. He would know which way to go. He grew up in the sticks. You learned things like how not to get lost in the woods if you grew up in them. "Where's a farm boy when you need him?" Chloe said. "I can handle this. I will not turn into the front page by being this stupid."
Muted lighting and furnishings so retro they were cool again, the Talon was crammed with young people, well as close to crammed as Smallville ever got. Just another one of those kids, Clark, leaned back in a plush red chair and tried to relax for five minutes. He should be on the road heading home. Dad had said they were going to talk, to make some decisions.
"Earth to Clark," Lana said. She idly pushed a strand of silky black hair behind her ear and smiled. "That cappuccino is growing ice-sickles. You keep staring at it, but I have yet to notice any drinking."
Clark froze for a moment like a deer caught in headlights. Lana always had that effect on him. He was recovering quicker lately though, and not just because she'd stopped wearing her meteor rock necklace either. "No offense to the beverage." Clark smiled and shrugged. "Guess I was just a little distracted. Ought to be at home anyway, harvest is coming in."
"All work and no caffeine makes Clark a dull boy," Lana said. She took the lukewarm cup of java and grinned. "I'll put this in some Styrofoam, since you need to get home." Behind her warm friendly smile, Lana felt exposed and confused. Clark was a friend. He was always there and ready to help. The way he looked at her sometimes though, it made her wonder if they really were friends. Maybe he wanted more? With a determine smile, Lana quashed that line of reasoning. Even if Clark Kent was in the throws of an infatuation, it wasn't love. It just couldn't be. Things were plenty complicated enough with Whitney in love with her.
Barely half a dozen steps away, behind a quasi-private partition, Lex held a phone to his ear. "I need the limo, now, at the Talon. Forget about the Porsche, a tow is already on the way." He dropped the Talon's courtesy phone into its cradle and sauntered up to the counter. Lex took the barstool across from where Lana was working. A somewhat frustrated smile spread over his face, and he glanced surreptitiously between Clark and Lana. Matchmaking with these two had proven a real challenge. "Let me guess, Clark's bailing on me?"
Lana looked up from her newly packaged cold cappuccino and shook her head. "It's probably hard to comprehend for a city boy like you, the whole harvest season thing, but this is an important time for the farmers around here."
Lex shrugged. "Oh I understand more than you know. Clark is plenty tense, with good reason from what I can tell. Must be hard to have to cross your fingers and wait when your home is on the line."
Lana frowned at Lex and tried not to show her surprise. The Kents had their debts and their problems. Everybody did. It wasn't like Lex to gossip about it though. Was he trying to tell her something? Were things more serious this year? "I better get this to Clark before I run him late," Lana said.
Lex spun slowly to watch Lana and Clark from a distance. Maybe they'd talk, bond, something. Lex rubbed a hand over his head and lounged back against the bar. Matchmaking with those two kids might be a challenge, but it was still worth working at. Perhaps the Kent family crisis would get Ms. Lang's attention. At the very least, she could probably help talk a little sense into Jonathan Kent.
A flash of color and a blast of sound marked the passage of the Eradicator, a woman shaped projectile soaring through the air. A distance, which had taken nearly a full day to travel when following the delicate tug of her locator crystal, vanished in a matter of seconds on the return trip. A hundred thousand statistics flashed behind her eyes.
-Probability of finding a live Kryptonian on this world - 97.3%
-Probability that the Kryptonian successfully integrated the primitive society - 93.1%
-Probability of returning with a Kryptonian at the impending Dodecanual Galactic Council - 73.4%
They were the best statistics of her mission. This world held the last Kryptonian. Her master was here, waiting for her. The statistics faded back against a certainty that had little to do with logic. The Eradicator knew her Kryptonian was here. She could feel it.
Once on the ground near her craft, the Eradicator paused to listen and wait. It was a simple technique, but very effective. If you were still and silent, all other sound was crisp and easy to detect. A hundred different creatures were moving, making noise. One was too loud, like a stampeding Falta Beast. Only a civilized creature would be so careless. The Eradicator turned her head slightly and focused her eyes through the trees until she spotted the noisy creature.
Different courses of action, possibilities, flashed inside the Eradicator. After an eternity, 2.36 seconds, she elected to use this creature, to learn what she could from it. Faster than the wind, the Eradicator ran toward her discovery. It was a bit of a shock seeing the creature up close. It looked too Kryptonian. "Greetings, alien being. I come without malice." The Eradicator spoke in galactic standard, a language all beings should know if they wished to communicate with the universe. She removed a small glowing blue crystal from her pouch. "This is Kryptonium, a very safe-stable element which I will use to learn from you. It will not cause any permanent damage or discomfort. If you remain calm and don't struggle, the experience should be bearable."
Hot and sweaty and completely lost, Chloe stopped kicking her way through the underbrush and froze. A singsong noise, like someone speaking French, only not, caught her off guard, and Chloe spun around. The woman standing there took her breath away. She had never seen a woman quite so striking. She was tall and fair skinned, with midnight black hair. A natural rosiness clung to her cheeks and lips. While strong, her bone structure was also delicate like a cat's. She looked almost familiar, blue eyes, black hair... "Do you speak English? Can you show me the road?" Chloe asked. She was beyond relief to have come across another human being.
The Eradicator ceased speaking. This creature did not understand. Best to simply move quickly then.
Chloe barely registered a blur before the woman was upon her, blue crystal pressed to her forehead. The last thought she had before the pain began was about the Torch. Now this was a front-page story.
There are no words to describe the agony Chloe felt when the Eradicator elbowed roughly through her mind. Physically it was like white-hot needles shooting through her skull, but emotionally it was a million times worse. She was being forced to relive her life, every moment with an interloper watching, copying, retaining. Private thoughts: fights with her parents, pettiness that she would never act out, sins of thought that should have belonged to Chloe alone, were ripped out, fingered though and discarded. It was an exquisitely degrading violation. When finally released, Chloe collapsed to the Earth. She couldn't find words to beg for mercy, or the presence of self to rise from the ground. A terrible rhythmic keening poured from her throat, and Chloe curled into a tight ball.
The Eradicator gazed emotionlessly at the being, Chloe. "You will recover. There was no permanent damage done." This time the Eradicator spoke in clear crisp English. "Thank you for your assistance, Ms. Sullivan."
The Eradicator began running probabilities in her head against the new information she'd gleaned and a smile crept slowly, unconsciously over her face. She didn't require any more information. Powerful, elite, intelligent, logical, reserved - different... She knew the identity of her Kryptonian with a 99.8% probability.
Alexander "Lex" Luthor.
