"Unca' Jimmy." Reilly said. "Why do you smoke?"
"Unca' Jimmy." Reilly said. "Why do you drink?"
"Unca' Jimmy..."
"Shut the.." Olsen bit his tongue, swallowed the curse and chewed his Cigar. "I mean." He said after another deep breath. "Let me be." He looked to the farm "See that?" He asked. "Miss Fox has just pulled up."
"yeah I heard her car a while back." Reilly sniffed disinterested. Then he said. "Are you mad at me Unca' Jimmy."
"No.
"No more than usual, any way. Less of the questions will ya?"
The farm hand sat on the main limb of downed tree. Partially divided into long lengths. The timber had been left to rest a while and dry. Distant across the fields was the Kent Farm. Beyond was a back drop of mountains that distinguished this fertile farmland in British Colombia from the endless flat expanse of the Kent's native Kansas.
Oslen looked at the boy. Jonathan's and May's adopted child. Truth was all this was alien to him. The whole Earth was.
"Mom says it's bad for you."
"What?" Jimmy growled.
"Smoking. Drinking."
Oslen shook his head. He managed a grunt that passed for a chuckle in his world. At four years old the boy was precocious, searching and always questioning.
"Is it?"
The Kent boy screwed his face, like he was tasting something strange for the first time.
"It is for most people." He said. Then after a long moment of uncharacteristic silence. "But not for you."
"You noticed I got that good healing flesh." Jimmy said.
The boy nodded. "Me too."
Olsen watched the woman the people in this part of the world as Silvia Fox Social Worker, walking their way.
He said to Reilly "Lets just keep this our little secret. Okay kid?"
Reilly nodded again, then winked. A habit he'd picked up from his adoptive father.
It made Jimmy grunt a chuckle. "You're a good kid." He said. A rare smile crossed his face as
Silver Fox crested the gentle incline from the farm.
"Your mother told me you'd be here Reilly." Silver called out to the boy, but she looked Olsen's way. "Run to the house." She told him. "I'll be with you shortly."
Reilly nodded. He moved his head around, scoping the land around them. In motion he was fast almost jerky.
Silver shook her head disapproving, and touched his shoulder. "Quietly and slowly. Remember like I told last time."
"Yes Miss Fox." The Kent boy replied his face petulant. "There isn't anyone any way, just Unca' Jimmy, and he don't count." Reilly added. "He knows I'm special. Just like I know you are special."
Silver bent her knee and crouched to eye level. "See here. You've got to learn. Make this a habit of looking and listening. Remember Reilly you're different, and that means you have to be careful. Other kids get it easy, they only have to remember to look around when the cross the road, you have to remember to stop look and listen always, with every step you take, in everything you do."
Reilly sighed. Looking down he inspected his feet. "Yes Miss Fox."
"You missed your way Miss Fox." Jimmy said. "You should have been a School Ma'am."
Young Kent looked around again saying. "Miss Fox why you don't just kiss Unca' Jimmy?"
"Huh... What did you say?" Silver Fox gasped. Then "James stop it." As Oslen began laugh, deeply.
Reilly frowned. He looked hurt and deflated. "Mom always kisses Pa when she looks at him the way you look at Unca Jimmy."
"Misses nothing, this kid." Jimmy chuckled.
"That maybe." Silver replied. "Reilly Logan Kent there are things you will see and hear. Things people do, things that should not be repeated. People need their secrets, they need privacy."
"He's not People." The boy whispered. "He's Unca' Jimmy." Then remembering his mother he ran.
"What do you estimate his speed to be." Silver Fox asked Olsen.
"Now?" Jimmy stood up. "I'd say Carl Lewis would struggle to beat him." He killed his smoke. "God knows where he'll be next year." Grinding the lit end of the cigar against the lumber. "Now my Fox, how about that kiss."
"James." Silver said, her tone full of caution, her eyes said something else. He stepped close.
"Watcha worried about. The coast is clear. Like the kid said." He grabbed her waist.
"Lionel has eyes everywhere."
"Funny thing that." James said as his lips brushed hers. "Lionel's eyes are proving remarkably unreliable. His mouth grazed her cheek, his nose inhaling the scent of her hair, whispering. "They tend to break a lot. Especially at night. Why whole sections of the Kent farm go dark for hours." He bit her ear.
"Like the sensor covering this spot." He added going in for the kiss.
-8-
"Frankly Norman it's not good enough." Lionel Luther said pushing a manila folder to one side across the polished surface of his desk. Stamped on the cover were two words; Project Aegis. "I'm beginning to suspect that your trading on my affection for your dear late father. Tortured soul that he was."
The older man relaxed, trademark Havana cigar in hand leaning back in the large Captain's chair, behind him was a large leaded portrait window through which the expansive formal gardens of the Luthor's New England estate.
Norman Osborn was a young man, blond haired with a short crew cut and intense eyes. He sat on a low armless chair although plush in appearance was both hard and uncomfortable. Lionel's office was oak panelled, and like the house followed the Victorian Gothic style. Shelves lined the walls stacked with row after row of collectors edition volumes of important works of reference and fiction. Over the imposing mantelpiece hung a large Pre-Raphaelite painting of barely clad nymphs prancing about a woodland stream. A fire crackled in the hearth however the high ceilinged room was not hot, even so Norman perspired.
"Mr Luthor, I'm sorry, I don't know why, the units are malfunctioning. I,.. I,... I'll get the team out the Kent farm straight away. I get to the bottom of this, I,.."
Lionel slapped his hand down on the leather arm of his chair interrupting the younger man. Lionel lent across the desk. His mane of red hair flecked with silver fell forward. "This project is too important for your division to screw it up." Lionel's face creased with clear contempt. "Norman my boy, I do hope you have not fallen, I'd hate to see you suffer the way your father did, he was never able to defeat his Demons, but I swore to him that I would look after you and your dear mother," Lionel paused, then added, "how is Kathy?"
"Mother is very well, thank you Mr Luthor." Norman gulped, he had grown up under the shadow of his father's alcoholism, his descent into mindless violence, not least against Kathy and his boyhood self. There was no questioning that Ambrose Osborn's brilliance, but his genius had been tainted by madness. Lionel Luthor had bought Osborn Industries cheaply, his father's firm had been about to go under, bankruptcy a consequence of his father's drunken mishandling of the business. Lionel had brought the competing petrochemical company into the Luthor Corp family.
"Good good, glad to hear that my boy. Send her my love, won't you. Now please prove to me that I was right to play so much trust in you, by living up to your responsibilities." Lionel jabbed the cigar at Norman. "Boy there is a great genius in you, I see it, for God's sake don't squander it like your father did."
Lionel relaxed back into his chair slowly turning round so the red leather back faced Norman indicating that their time together was over. Norman stood up and turned to leave. He heard Lionel speaking to his secretary in the adjoining room by intercom. "Marie please connect me to the Latverian Presidential Palace."
-8-
"I see the telephone engineers are working on the lines again." Jonathan Kent said to James Olsen. In the handful of years that have passed since Jimmy had ridden his Hog into the yard, climbed off the saddle and asked for work. He had changed a jot to look at since that day, however the bluff farmer had grown to trust and above all like the rough diamond Olsen have proven to be.
Even when it had become clear first to May, and then to Jonathan, that Olsen had been holding out on them at the beginning. Then there was his business with Silvie Fox. Jonathan however was no stranger secrets, his time in the army had taught him how necessary deception was part of life.
"It sure seems that way, I guess the lines are pretty unreliable aroundabouts, because they sure seem to breaking all the time." James noted, his round face pulled into a half smile half smirk.
Jonathan Kent nodded. "Yeah always coming and going, must be reason for that, reminds me of Ms Fox."
A silent understanding passed between the two men. James tugged on a cigar. He pulled on a beer. Sunset marked the end of the working day, and Jonathan shared a brew with his friend. He watched Olsen watching. Dark narrow eyes peering from under the dark wide brimmed hat into the distance following the ubiquitous white van painted with a familiar telecoms company logo.
"I was just thinking," Jonathan said, "it must be what, getting up seven years, since you started out here? That's a biblical amount of time for a man who was just passing through."
"What can a guy say?" James replied with a shrug of the shoulders. "Guess I like the way May bakes a fruit pie."
His fingers danced across the rail of the stock fence, tapping three times. Jonathan understood his meaning. There have been three different vans, in as many minutes, marked up with same paint green and orange scheme for 'O-Tel' had driven back and forth along the road to no where, middle of, that ran through the Kent farm.
"What's Reilly doing in the barn?" Jonathan asked, keeping his voice casual, but his grease stained finger nail picked at the beer bottles paper label.
"Cleaning the carburettor on the Indian." Jimmy replied.
" A-Huh." Jonathan smiled. " Just don't let May know, she's opposed to motorcycles on principle."
"Yeah I get that impression every time I bring another one to the barn.
"Do you think it's time, for y'know – that thing?"
"Yeah." Olsen said downing his beer.
Jonathan said. "Right. Thought so. That reminds me there's been something I've been meaning to tell that Silvia Fox." He winked again. "I think I'll just go and call her."
"Yeah about time you gave that interfering woman a piece of your mind." James scraped the earth from his boot on the bottom fence rail. He sniffed. "I know I'd like too.
"Guess I better go and see how Reilly is getting on." Olsen said as Jonathan left for the house.
-8-
Norman Osborn sat framed by the Toronto Skyline, graced by familiar needle that was the CN Tower. Floor to ceiling glass windows made up one wall of the large contemporary office situated in the Canadian Headquarters of O-Tel. A telecoms company that had grown up from the old Osborn Electronics division. O-Tel was a wholly owned subsidiary of Luthor Corp.
Norman's attention was focused on the bank of expensive new generation flat screen monitors that were destined to replace the old style CRTs. He wore a headset, phones and microphone.
The screens showed multiple camera feeds from a rural location.
"Patch that call through to me." He said into the receiver. The sound of a call being placed came over his headphones. A man's voice said. "Ms Fox. This is Jonathan Kent."
"Hello Jonathan. What can I do for you?" Silver Fox replied.
"Just a courtesy call. I wanted to tell you we can't do our usual weekend as scheduled. Can May and I fix another time?"
"Certainly. I hope everything is all right?"
"Oh sure, we're all fine, nothing but good news – you know us country folk we never complain." Jonathan coughed, clearing his throat. "An old Army buddy of mine, Ben Parker is passing through, he's planning to call by."
There was a brief pause. Osborn barely noticed.
"Jonathan, sorry to be a pain, but can I get back to you on this."
"Sure Silvie, you know where we are."
-8-
"How are you getting along there buddy?" James growled. Squatting down beside the grease smeared face of Reilly Kent. The boy was hands on, having fingers that gripped like pliers.
The young boy looked up. "Pretty much done here."
Reilly had grown up around Olsen, he was well used to his prickly personality, besides unlike his parents who were good people, but regular normal people too, Olsen was like him. They were special. Like Silver Fox, or Silvie as she pretended. Reilly was a smart boy, he had to be given the secrets he had to keep from the rest of the world.
Logan patted the old motorcycle. It was part way through a restoration. Still a long way from beautiful.
"You want me to see if she'll turnover?" Reilly asked.
"Your Ma and Pa want to see you." Olsen stood up. "Run on in."
"I'll just wash up." Reilly replied, turning in the direction the old steel utility sink in the corner of the even older barn. Long redundant the red and white timber building had been replaced across the yard by modern machine friendly steel and concrete prefabricated sheds the old barn served as workshop, while the hay loft had been converted into a simple one room apartment in instalments by James as a place to live.
"No, just go on up to the house. Move it kid."
Reilly frowned holding his black oil covered fingers as if to make a point. Then as he watched Olsen bound up the stairs to he old hay loft Reilly realised something was up.
He remembered what he had to do.
Reilly ran steadily, a sprint for anyone else, to the yellow cream British Colombian farm house. He'd been told this day might come, but he'd never wanted to believe it would.
I can't cry he thought. I can't let them know I know.
"Hello son." Jonathan said. He threw him an old towel. Reilly rubbed his hands hard and fast. Almost too fast. He had to think twice, and concentrate.
May Kent sat at her kitchen table. She looked pale. Reilly listened to her pulse and her breathing. His Pa's blood pressure was elevated.
The tap was running filling a large bucket in the Kitchen sink. The Kettle on the stove was whistling loudly as it boiled.
"Now listen to me Reilly." Jonathan said, leaning forward he rested his hand on the boy's shoulder. He spoke quietly, a bare whisper.
"This great strength of yours." He winked – Reilly understood. "You've got to hide it from people – or they'll be scared of you."
Rielly remembered asking his Pa once, why people did such evil things to other people. Jonathan had said, "Well son it's usually because deep down they are scared. An animal will usually run if it can, if it can't even the most timid critter with turn and fight."
That was then this was now, and this now was his goodbye.
Ma Kent took him by the hand. In a whisper almost broken by tears, she said. "When the time is right, you've got to use it. You've got to turn and fight. There's a hero in all of us, that keeps us honest, gives us strength, makes us noble."
She wiped her eyes. "Lord Above Us." May said loudly. "Turn off the tap Jonathan that ole' bucket is all a over flowing."
"Sure my love. If you'd stop that darn Kettle a whistling." Jonathan replied. His head tilted, eyes fixed on his son gesturing to he door.
Reilly ran.
Outside James was sat on his Harley Davidson, heavy duty lock box pannier were hung either side of the rear wheel, a third large storage chest was fixed above behind the seat.
"Get on boy. We gotta hit the road." Olsen said. He threw a large back pack at Reilly. A normal seven year old would have crumpled under the weight, but Reily just caught it and shrugged it around his shoulders. Then hopping in a smooth motion onto the rear pillion seat of the bike, behind the older man.
James didn't hesitate, he fed in the gas, and the big hog rumbled as the rear wheel snapped for traction, slipping sending up dirt behind them, as he accelerated out of the yard.
-8-
Osborn was shouting down the microphone of his headset. "What do you mean you can't clear up the audio? All I'm getting is the sound of water, and this high pitched whistle."
"Hang on I got that." Norman snapped. "It was the Kettle." He swore and rubbed his cropped blonde hair. On his screen were several video feeds from various camera's arranged in a grid pattern they showed the Kent farm from different angles.
Then he saw the bike in motion.
"Don't tell me that's the boy?" He shouted while jumping to his feet. The leather and chrome executive chair shot backwards away from him on its casters. Norman gesticulated at the screens. "There on the motorcycle with the farm hand." He bellowed down the microphone. Osborn hit the table with his fist. Could it be possible?
The idea frightened him.
Surely the child was just being treat to a joy ride? Norman hoped that this was true as he used his mouse to scroll through the numerous video feeds. There he saw it. The farmhands bike was moving fast. Osborn froze the feed, frame advanced picture by picture, until he got a good image in focus. It was then he saw panniers, and Reilly's large rucksack.
"All teams move in now. Dammit!" Norman roared, spittle flecked his lips. "The target is leaving the farm."
His heart sank like a stone. Could it be possible that the Kents somehow knew about Lionel's plans for the boy? This could all be some unexpected coincidence; but the eavesdropping logs recorded nothing about a planned outing or camping trip. Either way he couldn't disappoint Luthor. Lionel was expecting the boy to be delivered to him on schedule.
"All teams!" He barked across the open line. " Intercept them." Osborn switched to another live feed, this time from a head-cam, video from the helmet of armed man. Part of a team of armoured masked soldiers in black. They leapt from the parked van marked in O-Tel livery, and onto the road. Finding cover, readying an ambush.
"Mr Wilson." Osborne said over the line to their commander. "Target is approaching you on a motorcycle."
"Roger." came the response. "Firing protocol?"
"Unlimited. Get the boy. Tell your men not to worry - bullets won't do him any lasting harm.
"And Mr Wilson, I don't want any witnesses." Osborn said. "You understand me? I just want this done and the boy in transit to the facility as of five minutes ago."
Over the live line the response crackled over the headset. "Affirmative. Lethal force. No problem Sir, it will be my pleasure."