The night sky was filled with stars, more stars than Freeman had seen in years. It reminded him of nights back home in Australia at his uncle’s ranch. Stars so bright and so close you thought you could just reach out and touch them. Freeman had hated spending his holidays at the ranch. He had hated how the dry landscape simply went on and on. He had hated his cousins, their self-absorbed disdain for anything out of the ordinary. He had hated the sheep.
But he had loved the stars and the wide open skies.
“It’s not close enough to see,” Straker said in the darkness. The RV they’d rented in Wichita was dark. Freeman assumed the three youngsters were bedded down for the night. ‘Youngsters’ wasn’t exactly the proper term, Freeman readily admitted. All three were well trained SHADO operatives in their mid-twenties and he was sure they slept the sleep of the innocent and righteous – unlike himself and, seemingly, Straker.
“How long before it can be seen?” Freeman asked.
“It won’t be visible to the naked eye until it’s almost on us,” Straker said. “I’m told there’s a companion rock that’s ahead of it by a day or so. That one should miss the planet, but it should be noticeable.”
“Have you told Kate?” Freeman asked, referring to Straker’s wife of ten years.
“I didn’t have to,” Straker said. “She smelled the death on me when I came home after that little trip. She did some research. I never ask her or Jackson for details, but they both told me that the weave of reality was torn and there were two futures depending on a single frozen moment.”
“And what does that mean?”
“I have no idea,” Straker admitted. “But that’s why we’re here.”
-o-o-o-
Freeman wasn’t certain how long it had taken him to finally fall asleep. First it had been worry that had kept him awake then it was the quiet. Despite being born and raised in a small town in Queensland, Freeman was by nature a city boy. He loved the bustle of London and now Metropolis. Quiet was simply something that didn’t happen in the city.
In the morning, Westcott went out to look for Sherman while Madison and Lupinski went to talk to Sheriff Harris and Police Chief Parker. Freeman doubted the three would uncover much, but there was always the chance that Lowell County law enforcement knew something.
In the meantime, he and Straker were dressed in jeans, flannel shirts, and work boots, trying to not look too out of place while keeping an eye on Lane and Kent. Freeman didn’t look too alien, but Straker… Straker would never be mistaken for a farmer. Even in jeans and a flannel shirt he looked like he should be wearing a suit or a uniform. At least Freeman knew how to slouch properly.
Freeman was the one who ended up at the table at the open-air diner.
“This place has been here for I don’t know how long,” Straker had said. “As I recall, they had apple pie that was out of this world.”
Freeman settled himself at the nearest table to Lane and Kent. It was a good place to keep an eye on them. Straker was watching the crowd.
“‘Don't mind my friend, Lois. She's from Metropolis’,” Lane mimicked at her partner.
Freeman stifled a grin – it wasn't polite to get caught eavesdropping.
“You were coming off a little... 'intense.',” Kent said.
“Clark, intensity might be a crime in Smallville, but in Metropolis, it's a survival skill.”
Kent had the good sense to keep quiet as Lane put her cell phone on the red vinyl covered table.
“All right. Four hours in City Hall. What do we know?” Lane continued.
“We know that in twenty years, there were no permits and no citations on the Irig property,” Kent stated.
Freeman already knew that officially there was nothing of interest to the EPA or any other federal agency on the Irig farm. Irig had been an honest and careful steward of his land. But there was nothing official about Trask’s mission – assuming Trask was even here in Smallville.
His ruminations were interrupted by the arrival of the waitress with ice water and menus for both tables. He smiled a thank you. Her name tag read ‘Maisie’.
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” Maisie observed.
“Buddy of mine insisted I should start my retirement by seeing the famous Smallville Corn Festival,” Freeman told her, putting on an American accent. He’d been told it wasn't too bad.
“Retirement? Shucks, you look like you’ve got a lot more miles in you,” Maisie said with a grin. “Maybe I know your buddy.”
Freeman shrugged. “Name of Smith… moved away years ago. But he swears the Smallville Café used to have the best apple pies in all of Kansas.”
“We still do,” Maisie boasted. “I’ll be right back for your order,” she added, moving on to the next table. “Clark Kent! Your mom said you were here for the Daily Planet. So this must be Lois.”
“How'd you guess?” Lane grumbled.
“I'm Maisie. How’s the writing coming? I love to read a good romance novel.”
Lois glared at Kent. Freeman couldn’t see Kent’s expression, but his body language was telling.
“I must have accidentally mentioned it to my mother. She may have…”
“…accidentally told the whole town,” Land completed for him.
“Oh, that's just Smallville for you,” Maisie said. “Everybody knows everything about everybody else.”
“So why haven't I heard any dirt on Clark?” Lane asked.
“With Clark, what you see is what you get,” Maisie said as she handed them menus. “I'll be back in a jif.”
Again Freeman stifled a grin. ‘What you see is what you get’? Kent was Superman, an alien, so much more than just ‘Clark’.
“Ow!” Kent cried out, staring at his finger as a drop of blood appeared. “I'm bleeding.”
“Haven't you ever had a paper cut before?” Lane asked.
Freeman held his breath. Superman was bleeding. Element 126 was real. It could, and had, negatively affected Kent. And there was no way to tell how long it would last. Maybe it was already too late to save Earth.
Lane didn’t look up. “Put it in your mouth, Clark. Suck on it.”
Suddenly Lane’s cell phone rang. She grabbed it, knocking a glass of ice water over.
“Lois Lane. Mister Irig? Where are you?” Lane practically yelled into her phone.
Freeman could hear Irig’s voice through the phone speaker. At least Freeman assumed it was Irig. “I think I'm just outside of Salt Lake City…”
“Salt Lake City?”
“I just got in my Winnebago and decided to go visit my sister. Been on the road so long, hardly know where I am,” Irig said. Freeman pulled his own phone out. SHADO had access to technology that civilian companies could only dream about. He tapped in a text message to Straker and then one to his assistant back in Metropolis. Irig’s statements hadn’t sounded right.
“Mister Irig, I'm going to put you on with Clark Kent,” Lane said. She quickly handed the phone over.
“Hello, Wayne. Can you give me a phone number where I can call you back?”
“Can't see one here,” Irig said. “I'm at a truck stop.”
“What did the EPA guys tell you about the work they're doing on your property?”
“Just that they needed to do some digging.”
Once again, Freeman was hit with the feeling that something was seriously off with Irig’s response.
“Wayne, is everything okay?” Kent asked.
“There's no problem,” Irig insisted. “Looks like somebody else needs this phone now. Goodbye, Clark.”
Freeman heard the phone on the other end click.
“Wait! Wayne!” Kent yelled into the dead phone.
“He couldn't wait to get off the line, could he?” Lane commented.
“Wayne's never been much of a talker,” Kent said, but he sounded bothered.
“He said he was calling from Salt Lake City. But it could have been anywhere,” Lane observed.
“You mean like Smallville?”
“Anything's possible.”
Freeman’s phone chirped and he checked his text messages. ‘no rv registered to irig smallville’. Not exactly a surprise, but it confirmed that Irig had lied to Lane and Kent. And chances were very good that if Trask and his people were involved, then Irig hadn’t been taken far.
-o-o-o-
“Kent got a paper cut that bled,” Freeman told Straker when he caught up with him.
“Which means that someone has some Element 126 around and he was exposed,” Straker reasoned aloud.
“Trask?”
Straker shook his head. “I doubt the Kents would be so relaxed if they’d seen Trask around.”
Freeman watched the Kents as the three sat on a picnic bench watching Lane canvassing the locals.
“Did the kids come up with anything?” he asked after a moment.
“Sherman is lying through her teeth about the Irig farm being contaminated. She had a fax listing the farm as an EPA site, only Washington has never heard of it, and she was seriously stressed about something. Westcott’s credentials should have been good enough to get her full cooperation and full access to the site but Sherman denied her access, said it was too dangerous. Westcott also thinks she saw one of Trask’s men out there, but she can’t be positive.”
“And the local law?” Freeman prompted.
Straker shook his head. “Sheriff Harris didn’t seem too worried, but she did agree to check things out later today. Apparently Irig is something of a recluse, so him not being seen for weeks at a time wasn’t a serious concern until Kent mentioned it, and then Lupinski asked her about him.”
Movement at the Kent table caught Freeman’s attention. Kent had left the picnic table to walk over to one of the carnival attractions, the one where you swing the hammer, ring the bell, and win a prize. The top level on the bell pole had ‘Superman’ as the top rank.
Kent swung the hammer, but the ball only went up to ‘Better Luck Next Time’.
“That’s not good,” Straker murmured.
The dance band in the band shell had started a jaunty tune and Kent and Lane joined the dancers. To Freeman’s unpracticed eye it looked like the two reporters were at least average dancers and maybe even better than average. The dancing went on until well after dark and the pair looked like they were enjoying themselves.
When the dancing was done, Lane and Kent went back to the hammer and bell. Lane handed a ticket to the barker and Kent swung the hammer. The ball came closer to the top this time. Two more tries and finally the ball hit the bell with a satisfying clang.
The barker held out two prizes for Lane to pick from – a teddy bear and a Superman doll. After a moment’s consideration, Lane chose the teddy bear. Kent seemed surprised by his partner’s choice.
“Looks like he’s started to recover,” Straker said quietly as Kent led Lane into a crowd. Then he nodded toward two grim looking men who looked even more out of place in Smallville than Straker did. The men turned to follow the reporters. “And those look like two of Trask’s people.”
