[FFML] Draft 1 - DC Comics - Not a Hero Ch 1

[Ragman Jack]

I honestly cannot remember if I posted this to the list or not. I will try to respond/acknowledge all C&C. 

—————————————————

Earth 951542
Metropolis Park Stadium

The Metropolis Marvels were tied five for five at the half against the Central City All Stars, the sun was about to set, and on the seventh level concourse, Clark Kent was contemplating quitting smoking even as he lit his third cigarette of the day. He was a tall man, an inch or two over six feet with broad shoulders under a white chef’s jacket. His black hair was combed back and his blue eyes were narrowed slightly in a scowl of frustration. 

It wasn’t that he was totally unhappy with his life, just his job . . .  his coworkers . . .  the fact that instead of being on the ground floor in the stadium’s restaurant where he normally was, he was filling in up here . . . and that he and his girlfriend seemed to have fallen into a rut and hidden in his sock drawer was a velvet box because he wanted to ask her The Question, but if they had fallen into rut, then maybe it was a bad time. Plus, there were things he needed to tell her about himself and he really should have done that before he had bought that velvet box, and in conclusion, Clark Arthur Kent was a moron.

He looked down at the cigarette. Why was he smoking? He’d picked up the habit when he’d first started working here and it wasn’t like they even did anything for him, but he found himself going through a pack and a half a week anyway, which was both frustrating and another entry on the Clark Kent is a Moron list. 

Which just made him more frustrated and he extinguished the cigarette with a pinch of his fingers because break time was over. Tucking the half finished cigarette into a pocket on his jacket, he started to turn away when something caught his eye and he turned back the railing. 

Metropolis stadium had been built in the industrial sector near the waterfront and there wasn’t much out here but the amusement park, some golf courses and the freeways. In the distance, he could see the towers of Hypersector, and he cocked his head, trying to figure out what had drawn his attention. Then down below in the parking lot, he saw a car fly into the air and there was someone running. 

Running towards . . . him. 

Oh god no. 

His feet moved on their own, backing away from the railing and then there was an animalistic howl and something was leaping over the railing and slamming into him with the force of a locomotive dropped from orbit. He had the briefest glimpse of eyes and teeth before he was being carried backwards by momentum and going through steel and concrete, the air filled with screams and he felt himself hitting the astroturf before being picked up and hurled into the seats, dimly aware of people scattering as metal, plastic and concrete bent and broke. Grunting, he jerked as something landed on top of him. 

“Prey is for eating,” a voice growled and the air was rank with the stench of rotten meat.  Opening his eyes, Clark stared up at a man, bulky with muscle, no hair, and the eyes of a mad animal. “Eat. Strong.”

Something primitive welled up in Clark’s brain and he kneed the . . . thing in the stomach which made it jerk back enough that he could kick it off him and send it tumbling back into the Astroturf. Standing, he thought about running away but then realized something. He’d spent his life learning to control himself, to maintaining that control no matter what because the consequences were too dire to even think about. On the other hand, whatever this was had just attacked him had jumped nine or ten floors, tackled him though steel and concrete, and then fallen those same nine or ten floors and was no more hurt than he was.

Which meant this was something he could hit. 

Almost gleefully, he leapt onto the field, and slugged the thing in the jaw. Without even blinking, the thing slugged him back and they started trading blows. The shockwaves from their punches doing damage to the field barriers and camera equipment. 

It was about then that the Justice League arrived.

——————————

Every so often, Wally West was reminded that what Bart Allen called logic, everyone else called chaos theory. 

“Impulse, I may regret asking this, but how did ‘give Kent’s girlfriend a call and tell her he’s all right’ become ‘kidnap Kent’s girlfriend and bring her here’?”

Bart actually considered this for a moment. “Well, I was gonna call her, but then she would have wanted to know where he was and when I told her she’d want to see him because even if I told her he was okay she wouldn’t believe me because she loves him and then she’d try to come see him and security wouldn’t let her in, and she’s a reporter so she’d try to sneak in anyway and then security again and there would be alarms and noise and then Batman would get all off mode and I’d have to clean the bathrooms on Chili Taco Night again.”

“Actually, that sounds about right,” offered the petite blonde standing next to Bart. “I mean, up until the Chili Taco part.” Wally wasn’t the keen observer of body language Batman was, but as calm and mildly amused as she she seemed, her eyes didn’t reflect her smile,  there was tension in her face, and her grip on her purse strap was white knuckled.

Wally took a deep breath. “Ms. Sullivan, on behalf of the League, I apologize for Impulse’s . . . impulsiveness . . .”

“Call me Chloe,” she replied and cocked her head. “Your accent. Kansas?”

“Close,” Wally admitted. “Nebraska.” He started walking towards the elevator. “Mr. Kent is in the med bay, we’re running tests.”

“Tests?” Wally swore he heard leather creak as her grip tightened. “What kind of tests? Is he hurt?”

“M-Gene. He gave his consent.” He gave her a considering look. “There’s a lot we still don’t know about the metagene or how it does what it does, so we try to get a DNA sample from every metahuman we encounter.”

“I’m not even sure what the metagene is,” Chloe admitted. 

“We don’t know either except that when active, it’s lit up like Vegas.” Wally wasn’t much of a scientist (he ran an auto body shop when he wasn’t The Flash), but you didn’t spend your teenage years following Barry Allen around at super speed without getting a solid grounding in the sciences. “In short, the current theory is that it exists in three states; inert, the same way we might carry the gene for black hair even if we have blond hair or whatever, dormant, which is essentially an inert state but why people get powers from things like getting electrocuted, and active, where people are born with powers. In a dormant or inert state, it’s next to impossible to test for, so we have to study DNA with an active metagene.” 

“So . . . Clark has an active metagene?”

“Yup. Strength, endurance- you didn’t know?”

Chloe shook her head. “It would explain why he lasts  . . . sorry. Mouth isn’t always linked to brain.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m well aware what that’s like,” Wally assured her. The doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the medical bay.

“Clark!” Chloe exclaimed and broke into a run, sliding neatly onto the bench Clark was sitting on and grabbing his arm. “What happened? Are you okay?” 

“Mr Kent was attacked by a metahuman calling himself ‘Wendigo’,” and Chloe found herself looking up at a large green-skinned man. “He’s a cannibal who believes that he can gain power by consuming metahumans.”

“Is that possible?”

“He seems to think so,” the green man replied. He looked down at a clipboard and then sat down on the opposite bench. “Mr Kent, where were your parents born?”

“Dad was born in Smallville, Mom in Topeka,” Clark replied. 

“Can that be verified?”

“The Kents have been part of Smallville since the beginning,” Chloe put in. “What’s going on? Is there something wrong?”

“No.”

“Then why are you asking about his parents? You make it sound like he’s someone else.”

“He may very well be. Mr. Kent is not human. We’re not even sure what species he is. Until we can determine that, Mr. Kent must remain in Justice League custody.” 

Clark and Chloe’s mouths fell open and then Chloe’s closed with a click and her eyes narrowed. “I really hope that’s a bad joke,” she said in a very quiet voice.

“Peace. Sister.” Wonder Woman said, stepping up next to the green skinned man’s chair. “J’onn is only trying to—“

“Don’t you ‘Sister’ me!” Chloe bellowed, rising to her feet. “I know this man! I’ve known him since we were in kindergarten! You make it sound like he’s some kind of alien invader and that’s about as likely as my cousin Lois getting married! I don’t know what kind of cockamamie machines you have in this place but I can tell you one thing, I . . . I am yelling at Wonder Woman. Great move, Sullivan.”

Wonder Woman’s mouth quirked in a smile. “Your passion does you credit, Sister. And him.”

Chloe’s legs suddenly felt like bags of pudding and she sank back down onto the bench, her hand unconsciously seeking Clark’s. “An . . . alien? That can’t be right. He was born during the big blizzard! The Kents just didn’t want to get  . . .” Chloe rubbed her mouth. “Holy shit.” She looked at Clark, who was staring at her with an equally shocked and horrified expression.

“Ms. Sullivan?” J’onn asked.

Chloe took deep shuddering breaths. “The Kents had been trying to conceive a child since they got married. They’d kept Clark a secret so as not to get anyone’s hopes up. Clark was born during the blizzard, Mr. Kent had delivered plenty of cattle in his time, so he played midwife. Clark was a miracle baby.”

“But . . .?” J’onn pressed. 

“Right before the blizzard hit, there was a meteor sighting . . . and after it, the Kents hiked into town, with Clark, to buy a new truck.” She lifted one hand. “I looked  up the blizzard for a report in science class and the meteor was mentioned. My father told me the rest.”

“They lied to me,” Clark said quietly, and put his head in his hands. “Everything I am is a lie!”

“Clark . . .” Chloe tried.

“Why? What didn’t they tell me?” They had time! I was old enough! They could have told me the truth!” He shot to his feet and walked off a ways, pacing.

“Time?” J’onn asked softly.

Chloe looked ashen. “We . . . we were at my house. Video games. Dinner. The Kents were supposed to come pick him up and . . . never made it. Car crash. Clark was placed with a foster family-the Jordans- by the state and the farm put in trust.”

“So . . . the Kents’ truck gets hit by the meteor, which is actually a spaceship, find a baby inside, and raise Clark as their son,” Wally concluded.

“The blizzard isolates them, and given their history with conception, nobody questions their story,” this was from a man dressed in green and black with a mask over his face. He seemed familiar, but Chloe couldn’t put her finger on why, and to be honest, at the moment, she didn’t really care.
 
“So, sixty-four thousand dollar question,” Wally added. “What happened to the ship?”

“Excellent question, Flash,” Wonder Woman said, crossing her arms. “Though we still need to know where Kent is from.”

“I’ve sent the data to Oa,” supplied the man in green and black, “but it’ll be at least twelve hours until a response.”

“Thank you, Lantern,” Wonder Woman replied. She looked over to where Sullivan had planted herself in Kent’s path, grabbed his wrists, and was talking to him. 

“She loves him,” J’onn told her quietly, “and he her. It’s like a gas flame, strong, steady.”

“But not bright?”

“More like turned down. Instead of passion, there is  . . . confidence. As though neither one sees any reason to question their status.”

“That can be either good or bad,” Wonder Woman noted.

As the group broke up, Wally sidled up to Lantern. “Hey, Hal. Aren’t you from some place with a name like Smallville?”

“Shut up, Wally.”

“And didn’t you say once that you had a foster brother? Named Clark?”

“Shut up, Wally.”

—————————————————

If there was any downside to superspeed, it was that it turned you into a metabolic furnace. Fortunately, the League had experience with this sort of thing and there was an entire menu crafted with foods to maintain and feed that furnace in the healthiest, most nutritious manner possible.

It was heartily ignored by every speedster there was.

Grinning, Wally hefted his tray loaded down with his usual five “Buddha Special” one with everything sandwiches, six servings of chips, some fruit, some veggies, a diet coke (regular coke gave him a headache) and looked around for a place to sit. 

Shining Knight and Vigilante were having one of their arguments about “practical morality”, Booster Gold was hitting on Fire and Ice, despite outward appearances Hawk and Dove were fighting - again, and in the far corner, Chloe Sullivan was repeatedly stabbing a grilled cheese sandwich with a spoon and glaring at the table as though its existence offended her on some deep personal level. 

Grinning, Wally headed over and sat down opposite her. “Yo.”

“Stupid”. “Wally heard the distinct clink of her spoon hitting the plate. 

“Sorry?”

“Boneheaded,” Sullivan muttered, punctuating her words by continuing to stab the sandwich. “Brooding. Byronic. Jackass!” The plate cracked in two on the final word and Wally cocked an eyebrow in appreciation. He’d never heard of Byron used as an insult and he made a mental note to tell his wife about it. She’d minored in English Lit and would probably find it funny. 

“Hey,” Wally said when Sullivan looked up, embarrassed at both the plate damage and that she hadn’t noticed him there. “Don’t worry, not the first time.”

“Sorry,” Sullivan muttered. “Just . . .”

“He’s not taking the alien thing well,” Wally finished. Technically, Black Canary was the League’s psychiatrist (Dinah had the PhD and everything), but many found it easier to talk to Wally for some reason. He didn’t mind, it kept him grounded and over time, he’d developed a sense for differentiating between those who just needed a friendly ear and some good advice, and those who truly needed Dinah’s help.

Sullivan nodded. “Yeah.” She sighed. “Usually, we get each other, you know? Been that way since the beginning. Not a ‘he pricks a finger and I bleed’ sort of thing, but just . . .  there.”

Wally thought about himself and his best friend Dick and nodded. “Yeah, I get that.” 

“But every so often, he just closes up,” Sullivan continued. “Closes up, won’t let anything in. Or anyone. Just sits there and broods, and broods and broods and all I can do is watch.” She stabbed the spoon down once more, this time bending it.

“Okay,” Wally murmured and plucked the spoon from her fingers. “Here, not quite a subject change, but you mentioned he had a foster family. Is he close to them?”

“The Jordans? Yeah. Kind of.” Sullivan scrubbed her face with her hands. “There’s issues.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah.” Sullivan made a face. “So basically, Mel Jordan is . . . was . .  some hot shot pilot in California but something went wrong and he washed out. So he went back to Smallville and opened a diner. He’s got two biological sons, Hal and Darien, and Hal’s not exactly the favored son since he’s succeeded where Mel didn’t.” She sighed. “Okay, that’s not true, Mel’s proud of Hal and all, it’s just that .  .  .”

Wally nodded even though she’d just confirmed what he’d suspected. “And Darien?”

“Following in Mel’s footsteps.” Sullivan shook her head. “So when Clark showed up, Mel figured he’d go two for two. I think that’s where things went wrong.”

“How so?” Wally asked, keeping his tone curious and non-judgmental.

“Flash!” A man with shaggy black hair wearing black and dark blue dropped onto the seat next to Wally and both he and Sullivan jumped because neither had seen or heard him approach. “Yo, man!”

“Damnit, ‘Wing!” Wally swore. “Don’t do that!” He turned to Sullivan. “Chloe Sullivan, this is Nightwing,. ‘Wing, this is Chloe Sullivan.”

“So totally whelmed,” Nightwing replied, taking her hand and kissing the air just above it.

“Whelmed?” Sullivan asked.

“Oh god, do not get him started,” Wally groaned. 

“What?” Nightwing demanded. 

“One, I had to listen to you and Artemis arguing about that for years, two, this one is a reporter.” He paused. “What are you doing here anyway?” 

“It’s Money Week, so Kori and Vic came up for the meetings.  Lord’s being an ass, so Wonder Woman asked Raven to come talk to him and Gar came with.” Nightwing shrugged. “M’Gann’s off with Icon in Alaska, it’s Red’s week with his kid, T’s in Atlantis Two with the new Aqualad, Mal, Bee, and Zee are with Palmer at JL West and Troia’s taken some of the newbies to Jamaica. Something about aliens in the sewers.” Nightwing lifted one hand and shrugged. “Anyways, Kori figured this was a chance for a reunion of sorts, even if it’s just the six of us.”

“Sounds cool,” Wally agreed and then had a thought. “Hey, ‘Wing, you’re a detective.” Quickly, he filled Nightwing in on Clark Kent as he finished his lunch. “So now we’re stuck waiting for word from Oa,” he finished. 

Nightwing nodded. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “the answers are probably in the ship’s memory bank.”

“Really?” Sullivan asked. 

Nightwing nodded. “Interstellar travel’s not exactly peanuts. Even the Thanagarians don’t do it lightly. So, barring some kind of do or die Dragonball Z thing, it’s a safe bet that Kent’s homeworld, and why he’s here,  is in the memory banks.”

“Did you seriously just compare Kent to Goku?” Wally asked. 

“Seriously, yeah.” 

“You’ve seriously lost it.”

“You seriously think I’m not serious?”

“I seriously think you’ve lost it. Seriously.”

“Okay, seriously,” Sullivan planted her elbows on the table and pointed a finger at each of them. “Is this some kind of frenemy thing or what?”

“Second one,” Wally clarified. “‘Wing and I grew up together in the costume set. Founding members of Gen three, baby!” He and Nightwing high-fived.

“That gives me an idea,” Nightwing said, rising. “Why don’t i round up the guys, you two go get Kent, and we’ll go find his ship.” 

“We don’t even know where to start looking,” Wally protested. 

“i do!” Nightwing called out as he hurried out of the cafeteria. 

————————————

“I do not mean any insult,” Koriand’r, (“Call me Kori”) said as they stepped out of the jet Flash had referred to as a “Javelin”, and onto the Kent farm, “but this is very . . .  quaint.” She was a tall woman and her long dark red hair spilled down her back in waves while the green glow of her eyes contrasted with the dusky orange of her skin. When she moved, she called to mind an Abyssian Cat, regal and graceful.

Wally couldn’t argue. The main house was across the yard, windows boarded up and the paint peeling. Night had fallen and you could feel the first bite of winter in the air. He turned as Kent walked to a tree and touched the swing that hung from one of the branches by a single rope. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sullivan looking around as well, a slightly haunted expression on her face as memories passed before her eyes. “All right,” he said, hands on his hips. “I’m Jonathan and Martha Kent. Our truck just got trashed by a spaceship carrying a baby, and there’s a blizzard coming in hard. What do we do?”

Behind him, Garfield Logan blurred into the shape of a bloodhound and began darting all over the yard, nose to the ground. 

“Hide the evidence.” Victor Stone was a a big black man whose body was at least half metal under the slacks and turtleneck he wore. 

“Right,” Nightwing agreed. “We’ve got a baby that fell from the sky, if we’re going to keep him, nobody but nobody can find out where he really came from.”

“So we can’t ask anyone for help, and the clock’s ticking.” Wally mused. “What do we do first?”

“The baby,” Kori supplied. “He will need shelter, food, clothing.”

“Okay, so we hurry back to the house and Martha takes the baby inside.” Nightwing rubbed his chin. “I’m Jonathan Kent, I’ve got to hide a spaceship and a truck. What are my options?”

“Destroy it,” Kori stated firmly. The snow will hide any remains.” Her people, the Tammarainians, were a warrior race and despite her sweet nature, it had left its mark. When Kori chose to employ violence, she went for maximum force.

“Only until spring,” Wally said. “Plus, this is farm country. You gotta stick together out here. A fire or an explosion is going to attract the neighbors. As it is, it’s a miracle that no one’s come looking for the ‘meteor’.”

“Burial?” Vic offered. 

“Blizzard’s closing in,” Nightwing disagreed. “Not enough time.” 

“So we have to move it,” Chloe put in, her eyes alight. “And on a farm, what do you use to move stuff if you don’t have a truck?”

“A tractor!” Wally exclaimed. He and Chloe high-fived.

Nightwing was trying not to laugh. “Okay, so I get the tractor and bring ship and truck back here somehow. Then what?”

“Hide it,” Clark grunted, looking interested despite himself.

“Yeah, but where?” Gar asked, coming back to them and resuming human form. “Even if he dragged them, it’s still gotta take at least an hour to move them. Back on the preserve, it was maybe three hours from seeing storm clouds to the storm actually . . . uh . . . storming.”

“Put a tarp over them and head inside?” Vic suggested, but Wally, Clark, and Chloe were shaking their heads. 

“Dad . . . Dad was a completist.” Clark said, “He’d work himself to exhaustion to finish something.”

Chloe nodded. “I remember overhearing Mrs Kent and Mom talking about how Mr. Kent was always working.”

“And even a tarp covered object in the yard might attract attention,” Nightwing agreed. “If this is going to work, then ship and truck have to disappear completely.”

Wally nodded. “In places like Smallville, any time there’s a major storm, the cops go around to all of the farms and ranches afterwards and make sure everyone’s okay. A tarp covered object in the middle of the yard is going to be noted at the very least.”

“So he has to hide them,” Nightwing said. He looked over at Clark and Chloe. “Think. Was there anywhere you weren’t allowed to go?”

Clark and Chloe looked at each other. “We were supposed to keep away from the bull, and the horses,” Chloe admitted.

“That’s because Scotch could have stepped on a car if he wanted and the horses weren’t ours,” Clark pointed out. We were boarding them.”

“Yeah. There was the chicken coop,” Chloe was ticking off points on her fingers. “But that was because the rooster was really territorial.”

“What about the barn?” Vic asked. “Or the shed?”

“The barn was where the horses and Scotch were,” Chloe mused, “and the shed was where Mr. Kent kept his tools and the tractor.”

“What’s that building?” Gar asked, pointing across the field.

“The old barn.” Chloe said. “All that’s in there is some old farm equipment  and . . .  and . . . oh my god.”

“Let me guess,” Nightwing said, “a truck?”

Clark nodded. “With a huge dent in the side. Dad told us it was because Scotch thought the truck was another bull.”

“Ferdinand, he was not,” Chloe agreed as they started walking across the field. 

“So,” Wally summed up, “i drag everything to the barn and then hurry back to the house right before the blizzard hits, and we buckle down.”

“Except where is the ship?” Kori asked. “It cannot be in the barn, or else it would have been seen.”

“Not in the barn,” Nightwing finished with a grin, “under it. Once the storm is over, dig a hole, insert ship, cover hole, park the truck on it, and then start storing stuff there. In a few years, it’s all junk and no one will care, least of all a couple of kids.”

————————————

“Has Kent ever decided what to do with this place?” Wally asked.  It had been the work of a moment for Vic to pick the lock and very little time to get the truck and the old farm equipment out so they could excavate the ship. Wally and Chloe had wisely decided to stay out of the way. So now he and Chloe sat on some old crates, while Gar, who had turned into a giant prehistoric badger, was scooping out dirt under Nightwing and Vic’s direction while Kori provided light. Clark had wandered back to the field and was staring at the house. Brooding.

Again.

“Well he can’t do anything until he turns 25 . . . which is in two months, actually.” Chloe said, kicking her feet. “I’ve tried talking to him about it, but he just clams up. To be honest, I’d like to move back here, get it running again.”

“Tired of the big city?” Wally teased. 

“I was thinking more of boarding horses, renting out a stud bull, maybe put in a small vineyard,” Chloe told him. “My dad is Editor-In-Chief at the Smallville Post, and he’s been hinting at me to come back and work for him and I gotta admit, I’m tempted.” She looked over at Clark again. “Question.”

“Answer,” Wally replied. 

She glared at him. “Back at the Watchtower, you and Nightwing said that you were third gen. What does that mean?”

“Ah yes, metahuman history 101.” Wally pulled out a protein bar and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. “Okay, so there have been metahumans since there were humans. Sometimes they dressed up in costumes, but they always stuck to the shadows, and it wasn’t until the the late thirties, early forties when they   . . . stepped into the light, for lack of a better term.”

“The Justice Society,” Chloe nodded.

“Right. We call that the first generation. After the war, McCarthyism and the Red Scare pretty much drove metas back underground and made the costumes more important than ever. The masks and costumes stopped being symbols and became armor because we had to hide not just from criminals. but from our people. Our government.” Wally shook his head. “The worst part was, for every meta who managed to establish themselves and stay ahead of the feds, ten more were scooped up.” He took a deep breath. “Anyways, jump forward about thirty years or so. The Justice Society is retiring. Being a metahuman slows your aging, but doesn’t stop it and the time has come to pass the torch. Second generation now. New people, new costumes, same names. Flash retired, my predecessor, the second Flash, picked up the name and ran with it.”

Chloe gave him another glare for the pun and then blinked. “Predecessor? You’re not the same guy?”

“Heck no,” Wally said. “Didn’t you ever wonder what happened to Kid Flash?”

Chloe stared at him. “Oh god.” 

“What?”

“I was a chapter president of your fan club.” Chloe whispered.

Wally couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed for her or for himself.

————————————————

Even without his mask, the Batman was intimidating. Everything about him suggested an implacable, unstoppable force of nature beyond any mortal ken. 

“Report.” His voice was level. Deep. It was the voice of something more than a man. A thing. It did not request, did not suggest, it commanded, and did so with the expectation that it would be obeyed. 

“Sure thing, Bossman,” Oracle replied. “Chloe Sullivan, twenty-four years old. Third generation journalist, probably has printer ink in her veins. Graduated magna cum lade from Smallville High, then fast tracked through the journalism program at Met U and started working for Daily Planet Media before the ink on her diploma was dry. Last year, she and Kent signed a lease on a one bedroom at the Garden Park apartments in Metropolis.”

“And Kent?”

“Mmm, that’s where it gets interesting. His health records all say he had his shots and his bloodwork done, but there’s no record of anything actually going to the lab. In fact, everything was through one Doctor A.C. Braine who doesn’t exist, but his name shows up on every single shot record Kent has and he was the one who signed the birth certificate.”

“And the state never checked when Kent entered the foster system?” 

“Doesn’t look like it. Anyways, Kent graduated ninth out of a class of twenty from Smallville High, has a varsity football letter for two seasons played, attended Topeka Culinary Academy and left certified as a grill chef. He immediately packed his bags and moved to Metropolis where he’s been employed as a cook at the stadium ever since.”

“I see.” The brain of the Batman was a well-oiled, finely tuned machine, capable of deductive reasoning to rival that of Sherlock Holmes and it took in this new information effortlessly, adding it to the puzzle. “Anything else?”

“Not really. Sullivan’s story checks out and so do the Kents.” You could almost hear Oracle’s shrug. “The only real anomaly is Braine. I did a deep ID search on him and it’s fake, but it’s pro grade fake. You or I couldn’t do better. And the thing is, this is someone with time, money, medical knowledge and the connections to get a pro grade fake ID setting themselves up in Smallville Kansas as a doctor just two years before Kent landed and then covering up that Kent is an alien. Call me crazy, but I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

“Agreed.” Batman turned his head slightly. Like the rest of him, his hearing had been honed and trained to perfection and he could hear footsteps in the hallway outside. “Did the Kents know?”

“That he was a fake, doubtful. That he knew Kent wasn’t human, I’m not so sure. The fact that the feds or Cadmus didn’t swoop down on their farm was probably a really big clue that he wasn’t sending off results, but whether anything was actually discussed or they had an unspoken agreement, who knows? The Kents are dead, and according the local paper, Braine retired to Florida a few months after Kent and Sullivan graduated high school. I’m looking for him, but so far, he’s in the wind.”

Behind Batman, the door opened and the light overhead came on. “Bruce, it’s time.”

“Diana!” exclaimed Batman. “I’m working!”

“It’s only Barbara,” Diana chided, walking over to her husband and kissing him on the head. 

“Hi, Diana,” Oracle chirped. “We still on for this weekend?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Diana replied, her eyes flicking over the screen. “Background check on Kent and Sullivan?”

“Yup. They’re exactly what they look like; couple of kids from Kansas, one of whom happens to be an alien with superpowers.”

“We need him in the League,” Batman said flatly.

“No,” Diana said, just as flatly. “Let Wally do it. Or Dick. Kent will respond better to a lighter touch.” She took his hand, pulling him to his feet. “This is what they do, Bruce. Let them.” She addressed the screen. “All the same, as soon as the results get back from Oa, notify us immediately.”

“Will do. Enjoy the party.” With that, the screen switched itself off as Oracle disconnected.

“You don’t think he’s a refugee either,” Batman noted as he picked up the tuxedo jacket from where it had been draped over the back of his chair and began to pull it on.

Diana fixed the collar of his shirt. “What I think is that it’s time for Diana Prince and Bruce Wayne.” She took his arm as they left the room. “Alfred will be cross if we’re late to the gala.”

Batman humphed, giving his jacket one last tug. “He won’t tell me; how is he?” Before Diana’s eyes, Batman shifted to Bruce Wayne. It wasn’t anything overt; a slump of the shoulders, relaxing his expression, his voice rising from bass to tenor, and a shift of body language. It fascinated her that he did it so well, so completely that it took a good hard look at his eyes to still see the Bat lurking there.

“As well as can be expected given his arm. He needs help, though. At least temporarily.” She smiled. “I had a thought about that . . .”

—————————————

It took only a few hours to excavate the ship. It really wasn’t much to look at; a diamond shaped with what looked like thrusters on the back and a small cabin. Emblazoned on the nose was a pentagonal shield with what looked like an S in it, painted in red on a yellow background. 

“So, like, is that your name?” Gar asked. 

“I . . . I don’t know,” Clark admitted.

“That symbol . . . ” Kori crouched in front of the ship, staring. “I have seen it before.”

“But you don’t know where?” Nightwing asked.

Kori shook her head. “No.” She looked at Clark. “I am sorry. I will try to remember more.”

“In the meantime we should get this back to the Watchtower,” Victor said. “Korl, you take the back, Kent and I will lift from the sides.”

—————————

After they’d gotten the ship back onto the Javelin and the old barn locked back up, they flew back to the Watchtower where the ship was taken to the science lab. Moments later, a black man with his hair in dreads entered followed by a taller blond man and short, extremely athletic looking black woman. 

“Hey, Big V,” Nightwing called out. “Got you a present.”

“And here it’s not even Christmas,” the black man grinned. “Who’re the new faces?”

“This is Kent and Sullivan. Kent and Sullivan, meet Static, Gear, and Unix, our senior techs.”

“But you can call her Shebang,” Static added. 

“No.” Unix slapped Static on the arm. “I dropped that, remember?”

“But you were straight outta the hood, gurl.” 

“Yeah, why you gotta give up the street?” Gear asked. “Why you gotta disrespect, yo?”

“I was fifteen,” Unix snarled, “it’s called maturity.” With that, she stalked over to the battered vending machine in the corner. 

“You do realize that when she finally snaps and shoves you both out the airlock, no one is going to blame her,” Gar pointed out. 

“Worth it.” Static’s grin faded. “And probably better us than Cadmus, much as I hate to say it.”

‘Specially after today,” Gear added.

“They tried to take her again? Cripes,” Wally facepalmed. “Haven’t they learned by now?”

“In broad daylight, and in public while she was with her folks. I think they were part of Milo’s crowd and she’s about the only success they’ve ever  had.” He shrugged. “Give Milo credit, he’s determined.”

“What I’m going to give him is a close up look at the Binary Fusion Cannon,” Unix replied, coming back with a cup of coffee that to Clark, smelled faintly of cheap scotch. “What is this anyway?”

“Alien craft of unknown origin,” Victor replied. “Crashed on earth about twenty-five years ago. Been buried ever since.”

“Pretty small cabin there,” Gear observed, running a scanner over the hull. “Power core’s got juice, but it’s inactive.” He showed Static and Unix the scanner’s screen. “Jump drive?”

“Maybe,” Unix walked around the craft. “I don’t see stabilizers. Or a warp ring..”

“Found the emitters,” Static was crouched at the nose of the ship. “Definitely a jump drive, no shielding. Whoever sent this out wasn’t expecting a return trip.”

“So probable refugee.” Unix was making notes on a tablet, typing one handed. “That cabin is small enough for a child of about . . . six months.”

“You’re assuming the occupant was a hominid,” Gear pointed out. 

Unix rolled her eyes. “Fine. Assuming that the ship was built to transport a hominid child aged six months. Happy?”

Victor crossed his arms. “Can you power it on and or pull the computer core?”

“Maybe.” Unix set the tablet down and picked up her coffee again. “The hull is some kind of crystal carbon alloy and we’ll probably have to cut through it to pull the core. Bee’s the one for that and she’s off with Doc Palmer. They won’t be back for another few days.” She glanced at the clock. “Ted went off duty about an hour ago and you know how Peeg is about making sure he gets his rest and meds.”

“What about Atom?” Nightwing asked. 

“On mission,” Gear replied.

Chloe held up her hands for everyone to stop. “Can we just call it a day?” she asked. “I mean, no offense, but I’m sick of everyone’s face and I want to go home.”

Wally blinked when everyone turned to look at him. “What?”

“Kent’s on lockdown, remember?” Nightwing told him with a grin. “And you’re on the governing council.” His grin got bigger. “If you let them go and something goes wrong, you’re the one who has to explain it to Batman.”

“Crap.”

Nightwing, Static, Gear, Unix, Victor, Kori, and Gar all nodded solemnly.

“Why does everyone keep thinking Clark is going to do something?” Chloe burst out.

“Hominid, told you,” Unix muttered.

Nightwing sobered. “A couple of years ago, we met a woman named Valerie.  Alien DNA, superpowers, no idea she was an alien. We sampled her DNA, sent it off to Oa, told her we’d be in touch. Not six hours later, multiple Lanterns showed up. Turns out she was a sleeper agent for a race called the Valek whose religion mandated genocide of other races in order to free their souls so that they might be properly reborn as Valeks. Worse still, there was organic nanotechnology in her blood. If triggered, it would have converted her blood into a plague that would have wiped out all life on earth in about three weeks.  Clark doesn’t have anything like that, but we still need to keep an eye on him until the results come back.”

“Oh,” Chloe, said in a very small voice. “How long until the results come back?”

“Now.” Green Lantern stood in the doorway. “Come down to Conference room one.”

“Is this good or bad?” Chloe asked. 

Lantern looked grim. “He’s not a sleeper.”

“So good?”

“Conference room one.”

———————————

“Krypton.” Lantern said as a photo of a planet appeared on the screen. “Single system star nation, red sun. Class 4 civilization.” The screen switched to show cities of glass, steel, and crystal under a red sky, with occupants dressed in layered robes of light cloth. “That symbol on the ship is from the House of El, which is pretty much the equivalent of the Kennedys.”

“So can we contact them?” Chloe asked. “Ask them why Clark was sent here?” She paused. “We can contact them, right?”

Lantern shook his head. “Krypton exploded . . . twenty-five years ago.”

Next to Clark, Wally laid his hand on Clark’s shoulder, gripping it once. 

“Do we know what happened?” Nightwing asked. 

Lantern shook his head. “Krypton was isolationist, and they had the firepower to back it up. What trading they did was confined to a single mostly automated space station at the edge of their system. Their High Council also refused to recognize the Lantern Corps. As a result, just about everything Oa has on them is either  way way way out of date or copied from the databanks of merchants who did business with them. ” He shook his head. “Whatever happened, someone saw it coming and wanted Kent out of the way.”

At that moment, sirens blared. “Fire, Lab one,” a computerized voice rang out. “Alert. Fire in lab one.” Then a second siren rang out. “Medical, lab one. Alert. Medical emergency in lab one.”

————————————

Wally’s super speed let him arrive first to find Static completely naked, covered in suppressant foam, and lying on the ground.

“Report,” Lantern said shortly, pushing Wally out of the way as a medical team rushed in. 

We were trying to see if there was an access panel,” Gear said. “Static touched the S and this electrical jolt threw him across the room. I mean, he absorbed the electricity, but it set his clothes on fire and the impact knocked the wind out of him.”

“Okay,” this was from Nightwing. “Someone did not want anyone touching that S.”

“No, just anyone who isn’t Kent,” Unix turned towards them. “Someone wanted Kent, and only Kent to touch it.”

All eyes in the room turned towards Clark and Chloe. Clark swallowed, and walked towards the ship, putting his hand out, but stopped before he touched it, drawing his hand back, clutching it to his chest. “I . . . I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t.” There was a note of fear in his voice.”Chloe, I want to, but I can’t. I can’t.”

“Okay, no, that’s fine.” Gripping Clark’s arm, Chloe gently turned him away. “When you’re ready and not before. It’s fine.” Gear opened his mouth and Chloe raised an eyebrow. Gear shut his mouth again and then left with the medical team as they escorted Static out.

“Holy crap! What happened?” Standing in the doorway was a leanly built man with brown hair and leaning on a cane. He was slightly pale as though simply standing was an effort, but his eyes were alert.

“Oh hey, Ted,” Wally said. “You know, surprise alien, surprise alien ship, surprise alien high voltage security system.” Casually, he kicked a chair towards the door and the man sat down, pushing off with his cane towards the ship.

“Business as usual, then,” Ted observed wryly as he came to a stop. 

“Dude, careful,” Wally added. “If you get shocked, Peeg is going to skin us alive.” He paused. “Should you even be up?”

“No, but lab emergencies are an exception.” He looked over at Clark and Chloe. “I’m Ted. Hi.” 

“I’m Chloe and this is Clark.” Chloe pushed Clark into a chair and he immediately doubled over, breathing hard, hands covering his face. “It’s been a long bad day.”

Ted nodded. “Been there.” He scooted the chair over and then froze when he saw the S. “Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit.” 

“What is it?” Wally asked, but Ted was keying a comlink. 

“Peeg, come down to lab one. And bring your dream journal.”

“Ted?” Kori asked, but Ted only raised his hand. 

“I want to be sure.”

Minutes passed before a woman entered.  She was as tall as Kori, but with broader hips and shoulders and far more busty. Her blond hair was cut short and she wore shorts and a tank top of thin cotton, leaving her muscular arms and legs bare. “What is it? What happened?” Mutely, Ted pointed at the S on the ship and the woman collapsed to her knees, mouth opened in shock, the book in her hand falling to the floor. “Ted . . .? She asked. 

Kori knelt, handing the book to Ted before pulling the blond woman into a hug, whispering in a strange language. 

“Peeg has had weird dreams for as long as she can remember,” Ted told them. “She’s talked to Black Canary about it, but her amnesia is pretty solid. When we got together, I suggested she keep a dream journal, see if writing and drawing anything down helped. Most of it seems to be random images, but one thing has shown up pretty consistently. ” He flipped through the book and then turned it so they could see. On the top half of the page was a series of alien writing. On the bottom  . . .

“Oh my God,” Chloe whispered. 

On the bottom of the page was the exact same symbol as the ship.

The symbol of the House of El.

—————————————
Author’s Notes:
Metropolis Stadium is based on Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara. California. 

I’m also going to take a moment to recommend the webcomic “Strong Female Protagonist”. It’s heavy on the Social commentary, which may or may not be your thing, but it’s also one of the better deconstructions of the superhero I’ve seen. 

Recorded instances of the metagene date back as far as Ancient Rome, although those same accounts imply that they  are merely transcribing oral tradition that goes back even further. Modern scholars believe that older mythologies, such as Greek/Roman, Egyptian, and Norse, may have been based on eyewitness accounts of powerful metas passed down through oral tradition. Attempts to reframe more contemporary faiths in the same manner have been met with heated resistance and even violence.  

Exact numbers remain classified but it’s estimated that Dr. Robert Cadmus or his associates performed experiments, including dissection, on as many as 2500 metahumans between 1952 and 1973. Although Project Cadmus has publicly disavowed Dr. Cadmus’ actions, much of its work remains classified due to government connections. As of this writing, the Senate Metahuman Affairs Committee has refused to comment on any calls for transparency by advocate groups.

The Kid Flash fan club was run by the Flash Museum in Central City with the profits going to the museum’s charity foundation and has been noted to be one of the more successful philanthropic ventures of modern times. 

When I googled Shebang to refresh my memory of the character, I found out Shebang is also a programming term in Unix. It seems logical that a grown up Shenice would change her superhero name.

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