- Chapter 11 - Unwinding -

The desire to strangle another human being wasn't something Martha Kent spent a lot of time having to suppress. Generally she found the people around her at the very least bearable. Clark's guidance counselor was the exception. She hadn't quite been able to unwind after their abrasive visit to the high school. Cutting wood, normally a great tension reliever, hadn't helped. Cleaning in the kitchen definitely wasn't helping. Jonathan headed for the pastures when they got home and hadn't even come back in for lunch so she couldn't vent to him. Martha tossed her dish rag into the sink and headed for the tool shed.

Digging in the garden was more physically demanding, and she was still so mad that she wanted to be sweating. Mentally composing a letter to the board of education about proper demeanor for guidance counselors, Martha selected a hoe and headed for the tomato patch.

The rows of healthy blue-green tomato vines were nearly shoulder high and heavy with their last crop of the growing season. They only attempted two and a half acres, enough to keep their family and the local produce market supplied. That was the rule with the organic produce, just enough for local markets.

A smattering of yellowish morning glories dotted the rows, and Martha attacked them swinging. Where a gentle sweep with her sharp hoe would have decapitated the plants, Martha dug them out relishing the extra effort and the smell of wet earth. Shredding her way down row one, Martha almost felt relaxed by the middle of row two. She hit a stone, and pulled it up with her hoe to toss it out of the field, but it wasn't a regular stone. Crystal-green death to her son, meteor rocks, received an express trip off the farm after a short quarantine in the lead box over the refrigerator. Rather than pocket the rock and keep working, Martha propped the hoe against the vines where she was leaving off. School would be out soon and she didn't want to accidentally make Clark ill.

The porch wasn't empty when she made her way around to the house. Jonathan was sprawled on the swing with a glass of ice water pressed into his forehead.

"The sun was baking my brain," Jonathan said. He could tell from Martha's body language that she was less tense than when he'd headed out. Not that he left the meeting with Flutey at ease, but he didn't let it drive him crazy. Martha had been in perpetual mother-bear mode since Clark's return though. Jonathan couldn't help wondering if the acerbic Mr. Flutey knew how close he came to a serious confrontation. "I finished the final spray on the corn. We should be ready to harvest in a couple of weeks."

"You've been busy. I bet you're hungry. Would you like some tuna salad? I made some for lunch. Stay put and I'll raid the fridge for you," Martha said.

"I have two legs," Jonathan said. He made to rise but Martha shooed him back.

"It's on my way." Scooting her feet over the entry mat, Martha left most of the garden dirt behind before crossing her relatively clean linoleum. Groping over the top of the refrigerator for their lead box, Martha frowned because it wasn't within her reach. Jonathan or Clark must have shoved it beyond her limited range. She had to drag a bar stool over to get a good look. Her first thought was that she needed to dust up there. It was disgusting. Aside from an extra loaf of bread, their over-the-fridge cubby was empty though. The lead box was missing?

What could have happened to their lead box? Martha stepped down and sat on the stool properly. She pulled out the bit of kryptonite she'd unearthed and fingered it nervously. "Jon, did you move the lead box?" she called. A tendril of suspicion took root in her gut, tugging at her insides even as she asked her question. When Lola disappeared less than a week ago, Jon had asked her how you killed a rock. Martha had no idea how to kill a rock, but she knew exactly how to silence one. "Jonathan?"

When he walked through the kitchen door, Jonathan's smile was gone and his eyes strayed straight over the refrigerator. Martha willed him to be shocked. She willed him to walk over and grope around for the box. They didn't make family decisions solo, and Jonathan wouldn't have taken matters into his own hands no matter how much he despised Lola. He knew better. Damn you, be shocked, Martha commanded silently.

"What do you need the lead box for?" Jonathan couldn't look Martha in the eyes. He had expected this secret to last longer. It should have been weeks before anything raised suspicion about Lola's abrupt departure. Surely she hadn't figured it out? He just had to think fast.

"I found some meteor rock in the tomato patch," Martha said. She tossed the little stone across the room, and Jonathan caught it. "I was going to put it away before Clark got home. That's what we use the lead box for. So where is it?" His long pause was more answer than she wanted. "Are you trying to think of a lie? Jonathan, what did you do?"

Martha was right; he had been groping for a lie, a good one, anything believable. She'd know though. She could read him. And the betrayal and the anger he saw in her eyes, he deserved those. He could lie to the whole world, but he wasn't ever supposed to lie to her. It was sacrosanct to their partnership. Martha would forgive him for this though. She had to understand. "I just put Lola away. Things still aren't perfect, but it helped didn't it? Clark's better. Our family is better now that the leech is gone. She was poisoning his mind." Jonathan was proud of the even calm tone he used to explain, but he couldn't see a lessening to the storm building in Martha's eyes.

"You fixed it. That lead box made it all better. How do you know it wasn't time for things to get better? We talked Jonathan and he talked and we all listened." Martha started pacing the kitchen her breaths coming jaggedly. "You jeopardized our relationship, my relationship, with my son. If he finds out, he won't forgive us, Jonathan." Martha could still remember the lopsided physical confrontation that resulted when Clark thought they'd done something to his friend. She diffused that situation, assured Clark that they wouldn't betray him like that. Had she really been sure that Jonathan was innocent in that moment? No, but she'd had faith that he wouldn't act without her. She'd been stupid and naive and blind.

"I'm right. You have to know I was right." Jonathan tried to intercept Martha in her rapid pacing but she flinched away from him. "You can't tell Clark. What do you want me to do?"

"I wanted you to trust me and consult me. We've always been a team." Martha stopped her pacing and turned to face Jonathan head on. He didn't look contrite or ashamed. He looked fierce and stubborn and certain of his damn righteousness. "I hope you were right. I hope to God you were right. The bridge is burned now. Lola is an enemy, and we declared war." When Jonathan tried to touch her again, Martha stepped out of his reach. Her anger was cooling now to a thick bitter fear, fear of losing her son again, but this time losing him of his own volition. "Clark is convinced that Lola abandoned him. We have to make sure that the lead box stays shut. It's our only defense."


When the last bell of the day rang at Smallville High, thirty ninth graders ran out of algebra, leaving Clark Kent in their dust. He lingered behind, assuming that Mr. Timmons would want a word with him like his other teachers had. The algebra teacher was quite young compared with the other faculty Clark had encountered so far. He looked more like a handsome fraternity member than a high school math teacher.

"Mr. Kent, can I help you?" Mr. Timmons had to check the seating chart to find a name, and Clark smiled. For a change, someone Clark thought of as a stranger seemed to reciprocate the sentiment.

"I guess I thought you would want a word with me after class. Like the other teachers," Clark said. He gathered his books and headed to the front of the room. "If you don't need anything I'll head home."

Mr. Timmons frowned at his student, just a quiet, generic, flannel sporting kid by all appearances. Clark was one face out of two hundred and fifty some odd students he had encountered over the course of his day. "I'm new. This is my first semester teaching here. I'm fresh from Kansas State actually. If there's anything I should know, please, fill me in."

"Nothing big really, I missed half of my freshman year so I have to repeat it. Don't worry about the amnesia rumors you're bound to hear either. My brain is banged up but not busted. I passed a placement test to be here," Clark said. "That's pretty much everything."

Mr. Timmons started to ask for more details, but Clark had shared what he felt comfortable with already. The teachers' lounge gossip mill was bound to provide him with any pertinent information Clark had skipped. "Well, if you need to talk or you're having trouble with the work, let me know. It's why I'm here."

"Thanks, I'm just glad to have one teacher who doesn't remember me from last year. I've been hugged five times today by teachers I don't remember. Two of those were in the hall, and from the stares the student body gave us, I'm guessing that helps make for social pariahs...Things will probably be quieter for me after today. Thanks again. See you later."

"Yeah, tomorrow, algebra, same time, same place," Mr. Timmons said. He returned Clark's smile, relieved to have survived both his first day teaching and his first real student-teacher conversation.

Clark waved and headed off, proud of himself for the second time in one day. He felt very adult and cosmopolitan for seeing the humor in his bizarre situation. And there was a pleasant surprise waiting for him in the rapidly emptying hall. Chloe was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked different than the other humans but not in a bad way. Her pea-green wide-collared jacket had not been imitated by another girl that he'd seen, but it suited her. The freshmen girls had been mostly cookie cutters of each other, notable variations being few and far between. "How did you know where I was going to be at seventh period?" Clark asked.

"Like any good journalist, I have my sources," Chloe said. "Since we both survived today, I was thinking we could sip some overpriced coffee and chat it up."

"At the Talon?" Clark asked. Technically, he was grounded, and he wasn't in denial about deserving the punishment. But it was tempting to risk a little extra censure for the quality Chloe-time. Feeling excited and a little criminal, Clark decided not to bring up his grounding. "I was going to try a latte some time soon. Let's go."


A thousand dollar Italian gray suit-coat crumpled carelessly over a plush leather airplane seat. The rest of the suit and its owner lounged across the private plane's aisle, a picture of boredom and relaxation. Beneath his clean shaven deadpan, Benjamin Dreyer seethed. He wasn't accustomed to small towns, or working his way anywhere except up. Today he left a management position and a corner office at Luthor Corp Industrial in Chicago for the God-forsaken position of CEO of Smallville Fertilizer. Ben couldn't conceive a larger step down that didn't involve disgrace and prison. He'd done things worthy of prison over ten years working in Luthor Corp. He only answered to Lionel Luthor himself, and there had never been a hint of dissatisfaction, at least until that memo.

A single sheet of paper, a memorandum from Lionel, landed on his desk last week informing him of his transfer. The son of a bitch hadn't even notified him in person, or even over the phone. Ben had tried to contact Lionel, but the devil knew when to vanish. Well, Lionel wasn't the only business man with uses for an intelligent man willing to flaunt laws and social mores for profit. Despite his inner rage, Ben's expression remained impassive, and he stared out the plane window sightlessly. An explanation, had best be forthcoming in the near future, or this executive was heading for greener pastures.


On his all too short run for home, Clark tried to imagine what punishment his parents would tack onto his month-long grounding. His after school jaunt to the Talon hadn't taken long, and it was possible that he hadn't been missed, possible but not probable. Considering the overprotective duo he called parents, a full-scale search might already be underway. For a moment he almost regretted his rebellious cup of coffee with Chloe, but even if his parents totally overreacted, it was worth it.

Clark didn't stop to contemplate what that sentiment meant about his relationship with Chloe. She was his friend and he enjoyed the time they spent together. She was an insider who didn't seem overly disturbed by his short comings. While not a confidant on the level Lola had been, Chloe came as close as someone who wasn't directly exchanging thoughts could be. Clark couldn't help feeling abandoned and betrayed if he let himself think about Lola. So as a rule he refused think about her. If Lola could do without him, he didn't need her, and there was no way Clark was going to let the situation depress him. Forcing his mind back onto a slightly less distressing path, he tried to guess his impending punishment.

Clark didn't stop to notice the painting-perfect backyard his speed rendered. Allowing the motionless world to catch up, Clark stopped running at the porch. White fall blossoms that began their gradual descent from his mom's butterfly bush while Clark was stepping out of the Talon, found the ground as he headed for the front door. He paused with a hand on the knob, the sound of his parent's raised voices greeting him. Were they screaming about him? He hadn't expected them to get that angry about his late arrival. Maybe he miscalculated? Why would they be shouting at each other though? Rather than make himself later by dawdling, Clark headed inside.

Martha and Jonathan didn't seem to notice him at first. They were standing on opposite sides of the kitchen. Martha's face was splotchy and red and she looked like she might have been crying. Jonathan had his arms crossed over his chest and a hard set to his jaw. Over more than three months, the worst fight Clark had witnessed between his parents had been a polite discussion of what to watch on Wednesday nights. The only tension in their home seemed to revolve around Clark. Where had the tranquility between them gone? What happened? This fight couldn't be about his late arrival, could it?

Martha could feel her fingers ache from the death grip she had on her counter. She'd tried reasoning and crying and screaming, but Jonathan was so damn stubborn. He refused to tell her where he'd stowed Lola, as though she couldn't be trusted, as though she might betray him. He wanted her to trust him instead, as if she could. Searching for an argument, an answer to their impasse, Martha spotted Clark standing in the doorway. Her stomach flipped over, and Martha started praying. God, don't let him have overheard us. And seemingly her prayer was answered, because Clark didn't storm over angrily. He just seemed solemn and confused like he didn't understand what was happening.

Jonathan followed Martha's deer-in-headlights stare, and felt his own rush of adrenaline. Clark was home, for how long was anyone's guess. He could have heard everything or nothing. Jonathan's money was on nothing, considering that he wasn't back up in the air being flung around and interrogated. Playing his hunch, Jonathan cleared his throat, and nodded to Clark. "Hey there, is school is already out? Well, time got away from me a little there. I better get back to work."

Martha bit her lip, coming to the same conclusion as Jonathan that Clark hadn't overheard anything damning. "Come here," Martha said. She crossed the kitchen and pulled Clark into a quick hug, purposefully ignoring Jonathan and his excuse to get away. It was only a temporary reprieve, and he knew it. "Well, how did it go? Was the test okay?"

Clark didn't say anything for a long pause. Apparently, his parents weren't interested in sharing their disagreement, so much for their talk about being a team and a family. Maybe they just thought he was too stupid to recognize a serious fight when he walked in on it? "The test was fine. Mr. Flutey reenrolled me in 9th grade." Clark omitted the whole functional literacy issue. If they could keep secrets, so could he.

"That is fabulous," Martha said. She could see Clark's unasked question in his eyes, and she hated lying to him even by omission. Before the amnesia, Clark never would have let them get away without even a question, but this young man barely trusted them as it was. He didn't need excuses to doubt them.

"I knew you could do it," Jonathan said. He squeezed Clark's shoulder on his way out the door. It was time to escape Martha's cross examination, and his son's questioning stare. Clark had to stay out of the loop for now. And Martha couldn't seem to understand that she was better off knowing as little as possible. If Clark found out about Lola and didn't take things well, one of them had to be able to truthfully claim at least partial ignorance.

Clark accepted his parents' congratulations and embraces and tried not to be too worried or hurt by his their fight. This was probably how parent-child relationships were supposed to work. Mr. Flutey proved via standardized test that he didn't completely understand human society yet. With a somewhat cynical smile Clark decided to be glad his parents were distracted. They hadn't even noticed that he was nearly an hour late getting home.

"I should start my chores too," Clark said. Hesitating at the door, he added a quiet question. "Is everything okay?"

"It is okay," Martha replied. She forced a smile on her face at least until Clark closed the door behind him. "Except it really isn't."


And on a spaceship docked outside the Beta-Aught Regional Thelosian Translocator, two orphans stalked their reluctant caregiver.

Her short orange curls covered in a layer of dust, Luci motioned her little brother to follow her quietly. The service shaft they were navigating was narrow and cramped and filthy. There was no way Reo-Ra would even fit inside, but Luci would rather she didn't hear them before their raid. The old cow liked to control everything, to limit the kids to their sleep room and studies. Well Luci was tired of fending off Ford's questions about their parents. He was too little to understand that his parents were dead from the circumstantial evidence, and she wasn't ready to burst his bubble with cold hard facts. Instead she was going to distract him every way she knew how, and the little monster loved subterfuge.

Pushing back an access panel, Luci poked her head out and scanned the room for their quarry. Reo was parked in her usual spot. Monitor barely four inches from her nose and earpieces in place, a supernova probably wouldn't have been able to distract the cow from her stupid number crunching. Luci curled her lip in disgust at the woman's unkempt hair and clothes and the way her stomach bulged out unattractively. Why had Onlea, their mysterious savior, abandoned them with that thing? Sighing, Luci crept out of the service shaft.

Sliding in front of one of the other terminals Luci slipped on a pair of earpieces and pulled up the security system. Reo had programmed the ship to limit the children's access to everything, and Luci had no idea how to get around those barriers from the limited access they had in their rooms. The unrestricted terminal should be easier to work with. She was so focused on getting security changed that she didn't notice when her little brother wandered off.

Leaving Luci to her mission, Ford slipped away and stood by Reo-Ra. His sister was trying to be in charge at least as hard as Ms. Reo. She wouldn't answer his questions, and she thought that a fake game of spies would make him leave her alone. But whatever she thought of him, Ford didn't think of himself as little or stupid. He heard his sister cry in her sleep, and he'd heard the word death before. He suspected that his parents were dead. He wasn't a baby. He just wanted someone to explain it to him, to tell him the truth. Was death permanent or would his parents come back? Were they even dead?

Reo-Ra was a grownup, and even if she wouldn't answer his questions, it wouldn't hurt to ask. Ford reached a hand out and tugged at Reo's sleeve. The old lady jumped and almost fell out of her chair, but she didn't make enough noise to disturb Luci behind her own set of earpieces. "Can I ask you a question?" Ford asked. He saw Reo pull out her earpieces and he tried again. "Can I please ask you a question?"

"How did you get out here?" Reo gasped. She'd been hard at work, sifting through her old data, killing time, and trying to keep her mind off the strange project she was enrolled in. Keeping the children corralled was just one part of her shoddy denial scheme.

Seemingly oblivious to the terrified look in Reo-Ra's eyes, Ford continued with his question as though his request had been accepted. "Are my parents coming back? I think they might be dead. Luci talks in her sleep."

God help her, Reo had no idea how to deal with a small child. This one standing there covered from head to foot in dirt and asking her if he was an orphan, left her flummoxed. "You should talk to your sister."

"She won't talk to me," Ford said. He stared Reo in the eyes and tried to look strong and big. He wasn't a baby. "Tell me the truth."

"They died." In an instant, Reo decided to treat Ford as an equal instead of a child. The rules for dealing with peers were so much simpler. "And they aren't coming back." The boy's eyes got big and his nostrils flared for a moment, but he nodded as though the news wasn't unexpected.

"Thanks. If you'll just go back to work, me and Luci will head back to our rooms in a minute," Ford said with a casual gesture to his sister at the terminal across the room. For the first time since waking up on this ship, Ford felt calm and in control. A defense mechanism found in many alien species in one form or another had activated with Reo's declaration. Grief and pain that should have crushed him disappeared into a black hole along with the rest of his pesky emotions. He would be able to function and protect himself and his sister because of that coping mechanism. Ford didn't know why he felt better, but he embraced the chill objectivity. "We'll stay out of your way Ms. Reo."