Author's Note: Some revisions have been performed. Revisions began 04-24-09 and affect all the old chapters. I had reasons for some of the things that were written into this book when it started, and I changed my mind about some things. Biggest change that might confuse a long time reader: Jonathan "Jon" Fisk is now named Joseph "Joe" Fisk. The logic for the name wasn't worth the confusion of two Jonathans in a Smallville fic.
Chapter 26 – Ignition
20,000 years ago on the planet Krypton
The city called Hale and the mountain of the same name slumbered under a thick blanket of winter snow and ice. Neat silver roads, swept to perfection daily by an army of efficient drones, cut through the otherwise pristine white landscape.
On the evening of winter solstice, the roads climbing the mountain hummed with unusual amounts of life. Steadily, a stream of pilgrims climbed the mountain, some running quickly, anxious to arrive, others strolling more sedately enjoying the journey. Few rode mechanisms or beasts of burden as simplicity dominated the cultural trends of the day.
While it was still early and the trickle of pilgrims relatively slow, a young man strapped a simple pack to his side and keyed his sliding, grey front door open. With any luck he would be up the mountain and in the presentation queue before anyone noticed he was gone. His sense of satisfaction died quickly. Regally upright and thin, with her brown hair coiled on her head intricately, his mother had not been avoided within, but found waiting outside. "Good greetings, mother. You rose early today."
"The gathering is today. I like to watch the last of the pilgrims make their way past. Clay-Ta, where do you think you're going?" his mother asked softly.
He turned toward the road, refusing to look guilty or furtive. "I'm headed up the mountain with the rest of them. I've submitted a paper at Hale."
"You never told me you were working on a paper. Your father's theory or your own?" she asked.
Standing a bit taller, he replied, "Thermokinetics of Kryptonite's Crystaline Structure and Potential for Controlled Combustion, I give him all credit as its originator..."
Emotion entered his mother's face for the first time as her eyes hardened with anger. "Do you really think I'm concerned about plagiarism? He died pursuing the practical application of his theory. I'd rather not lose a child and a mate to the same dangerous folly. You disappoint me Clay."
"It was never my intention to harm, anger, worry, or disappoint you," Clay intoned with a slight inclination of his head. "I have no plan of dying today or anytime soon."
"Do you think your father intended to die? He never struck me as unstable or suicidal, but perhaps you knew him better than me." She closed her eyes for a moment and willed serenity to return to her face. Her emotional display ended, she rose and smoothed her son's over-shirt and fingered one of his errant blond curls. Snow had begun to fall again and flakes decorated the intricate coils of her hair. "You are just like him. Hair too long, clothes too rumpled. You are not a child anymore, and I can no longer bound you in," she said at last. "I can ask that you please consider me and be careful; swear that you are not planning any practical application of that theory today."
"I swear to be careful and cautious and to come home tonight." Clay felt his mother's unexpressed emotions as though she were wailing. To have raised her voice in anger was so far from normal, he considered her display close to hysterical. Unlike other races, Kryptonians did not wallow in emotions or display those they felt. Dispassionate logic was the rule of not only social discourse but of daily interpersonal intercourse. "Will you be okay? Perhaps you would like to join me at Hale, rather than wait here alone with your concerns."
"I will wait here," his mother said without inflection. She nodded to him and gestured at the waiting road. Clay didn't wait for further permission. He escaped his overly emotional parent and sped away. His mother watched the snow falling long after her son was gone. She watched until the accumulation in the roads activated the automated servos to start clearing the drifts. Like the others of her race, cold did not bother her. She stood like a statue until the sun rose high in the sky and the pilgrims vanished, all gone away to Hale. She held vigil, like her ancestors had in less civilized times when wars were still fought, and lives of family were feared lost.
Smallville, Kansas – Present Day
You had to get up pretty early in the morning to out rise-and-shine a serious farmer. Each moment of finite daylight had value, especially in the fall when the days grew incrementally shorter and the work more crucial. Clark's digital alarm clock reported half past three when he opened his bedroom door and let it click almost silently shut. He was right on schedule. Moving with smooth silence, Clark dressed and grabbed his satchel with its dangerous lead encased cargo. He avoided every potential squeak on the stairs and entered the kitchen smiling grimly.
I can do this.
Ignoring the voice of fear and caution in the back of his mind, the voice whispering that he was broken and deficient and that this game he planned would be dangerous if he weren't brain damaged, Clark stepped out into the dark, damp morning with a box of kryptonite under his arm.
I have to try anyway.
There wasn't another option. The only living Kryptonian happened to be brain damaged, which made him Lola's only chance at revival. He owed her the attempt. First he would have a try with some green kryptonite. If he survived and managed the transition, then he would convert Lola. Of course, if he had the slightest clue what red kryptonite might do to him, he would make Lola his first attempt, but he didn't think any unknowns were a good idea for his first foray into thermokinetic kryptonite manipulation.
Crickets chirped amid a swirl of light fog while Clark lingered on the porch. He didn't speed off to attempt his experiment. His stomach churned with nerve induced nausea. He wanted more than anything to get Chloe. He wanted her with him when he tried to convert the dangerous stone. He wanted her to hold his hand, to smile at him. He wanted her heartbeat close enough to hear.
"You really want her there to watch you die if the worst happens?" Clark hissed under his breath. It was a selfish impulse, weak, and he couldn't do that to her.
Clark took a step off the porch, heading for the west fields, away from the crops and cows, and away from Reo's new campsite. He needed quiet and time.
I can do this.
More like a lawn than a hay field, the grass at the site Clark selected for his experiment barely reached ankle height. The cows had grazed this pasture less than a week earlier and the field would just have time to grow tall enough for hay harvesting in a month or so when the weather really started getting chilly. He recognized the bit of knowledge as a memory, a new one from the old Clark who grew up here.
That Clark could operate this farm from cow pasture to corn field. He knew every in and out of the complicated process. In some ways, he knew that he was becoming him, becoming the forgotten boy, both by remembering and relearning things that had been lost. But he was becoming something else too. He wasn't just a farmer. He wasn't just a student. And he was not just a human.
Maybe the old Clark would have made the same journey, discovering his otherness and embracing parts of it. Maybe he would have hidden and ignored his differences forever, emulating humanity doggedly like a mimic. It didn't matter what the old Clark would have become; he had metamorphosed through an irreparable injury. The new Clark was more than ready to lay the ghost of who he was to rest, to embrace who he was becoming.
And if it kills you? the niggling voice of doubt whispered.
"I can do this," Clark finally uttered aloud. Tossing his satchel aside, he set the lead box of green kryptonite on the ground and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. "Kryptonians did this for thousands and thousands of years."
Breathing rhythmically in and out, Clark recited Lola's lessons on Kryptonite manipulation, circling the box. "When Krypton was still a young planet and the race of Kryptonians still relatively primitive, all types of Kryptonite lived on the surface of the world. My ancient ancestors struggled with controlling the ever present rocks and the dangers they posed to a growing civilization."
20,000 years ago on the Planet Krypton
A room full of stern faced scientists and politicians stared up at the prime stage as a short, stout woman with severe gray hair completed a recital of her theory on harmonic energies and improving intragalactic travel. A polite silence followed her final words on the topic and she stepped off the stage after a few technical questions were cleared up.
Without any official introduction, Clay-Ta took the prime stage. Young as he was, he could not afford to show any nervousness or doubt. The assemblage would be reluctant to afford him much credit without displays of emotion muddying the waters, but like his mother, Clay often had a hard time containing his every emotional swing in moments of great stress. "Honored colleagues, you are addressed by Clay-Ta, on the topic of, topic..." Clay stumbled over his words and had to look at his paper to read the title. "Thermokinetics of Kryptonite's Crystaline Structure and Potential for Controlled Combustion; Theory Continued and Adapted from Prey-Ta's Original Manuscript of the Same Title"
Clay could hear the murmurs almost immediately, impolite in the extreme. Could they not give him a chance to speak before assuming his work was worthless? "As most of you are aware, this theory states that Kryptonite can be converted through a simple combustion reaction into any viable color form. Most advantageously, all dangerous forms can be converted to Kryptonium as it is of the lowest energy state."
One of the elders stood and Clay froze mid-recitation. "Forgive me Clay-Ta, but I have heard this theory before, as has nearly every personage in this room. Unless you have a practical demonstration or application of the theory, continuing this presentation seems a waste of time."
"Honored sir." Clay took a long moment to master his emotions so as not to embarrass himself any further. Rather than trust his voice, he removed his pack and unlatched it. Quietly he scattered two dozen small blue rocks onto a display table to the side. One at a time he thrummed them and set them to singing as only the blue form of Kryptonite could do. One of the rarest minerals on their world, few of the men and women of the gallery had ever seen a piece of Kryptonium, much less heard it sing.
All murmuring stopped. The elder who had interrupted his recitation, inclined his head in quiet, shocked deference and retook his seat.
"As we have established, you've heard the details of this theory before. With the hope of not wasting your time, we can skip to the practical application of the theory," Clay said with new-found calm detachment. "Applying heat to Kryptonite does nothing to change it. The energy applied must be specific and of great quantity. The stone is accustomed to feeding on our personages; they attack the small amount of energy we pull from our reserves to function. If we glut them, overfill them with our energy, we can break and reshape the bonds of their matrix. With your permission, I will demonstrate that conversion now."
Smallville, Kansas – Present Day
Clark could feel the energy in his cells, traveling along the tiny crystals that stored power in him. Breathing in, he began to exert his will on that energy as he had been instructed months ago. Deliberately he released the stockpiled energy, pooling it first in his chest, like a growing bucket of fire and then allowing it to flow down his arms and into his hands.
Clark began to feel light headed as he sent more and more energy from his core to his hands, depleting his reserves recklessly. If he held back, that would be dangerous, Lola had assured him over and over. He had to risk all the energy, flood the kryptonite's system, break the chemical bonds holding it together. It would take all he had stored in his life to manage it.
A soft glow shone through his fingertips, and Clark kept breathing and pacing, kept sending more energy. "I can do this." The glow in his hands was strong now. Clark stopped talking, stopped pacing, and sucked in a deep steadying breath. Virtually every spark of energy he had stored in his life danced just under the skin of his fingertips.
I can do this.
He flipped open the lead box.
20,000 years ago on Krypton
Clay's hands glowed white. He deactivated his Kryptonite's containment and poured his life's energy at the creature. When the chemical bonds broke, it was with a blinding outpouring of energy, far more than he expended to start the reaction. The wave of energy refilled and replenished him. He blinked his eyes until they cleared. Without turning to face his audience, he picked up the new blue stone and examined it. Like the other kryptonite he had converted, it was confused. For the first time in its existence it was not starving for energy. It was with food, a Kryptonian, and felt no need to feed. He sent it a wave of nonverbal reassurances.
Clay placed the newly converted blue rock among his collection and finally turned to the visibly stunned crowd. "I will be happy to take questions now."
A younger scholar, too young to have heard the original theory presented by Prey-Ta rose. "Sir, if you just expended all your energy reserves fueling this conversion, how do you stand here, unharmed, alive, and able to repeat the process."
"Simple energy conversion equation, the reaction is exothermic in the extreme. If you have the self possession to claim that energy for yourself quickly, before the chemical bonds try to reform, you guarantee the formation of only the lowest energy state of Kryptonite, blue, and you have restored your own energy in the process," Clay replied smoothly.
"It seems very dangerous," one of the politicians said. "Could you teach others to achieve this simple energy conversion? With an unlimited supply of Kryptonium and the technology that would facilitate, we could actually defend ourselves amongst the pirates and criminals that hinder our efforts in the galaxy."
"It can be taught," Clay said. "My father taught me."
"Your father died without ever making a single piece of Kryptonium," another scholar rejoined. "I don't think you owe him so much credit."
"We gain experience from mistakes. My father's mistakes cost him his life and saved me mine in the same endeavor. His first practical attempt at this conversion was performed outdoors, safely away from any population centers. In that open space, he missed the energy wave, lost all the energy and his life. To be performed safely, you need containment so that the energy can't disperse away before you claim it."
Smallville, Kansas – Present Day
Burning brilliant as a tiny sun, a shard of Ktyptonite ignited. Light filled the night, brighter than day, bright enough to blind. No sound or heat or percussion followed this fierce strobing. Pure white light burned for a few short seconds and without disturbing a leaf on a tree or stirring a blade of grass, the light was gone.
Author's Note:
How do you write a chapter explaining a fictional chemical reaction/conducting a fictional experiment and try to make it interesting? I wrote this chapter without the flashback sequence to Krypton, and it was a lot of Clark talking to himself about science. It really didn't work. I considered bringing in Chloe to "Gee wiz how does that work?" but decided to give her a rest as the person who has to have things explained to her. Hopefully, Clay-Ta served his purpose without causing confusion or too much annoyance.
In other news, book 2 is complete. I will post a chapter a week until the story is done.
