The world was ending.

That's what it felt like that day back in 1989, when everything came down in a rain of smoke and ash. Martha remembered it. She remembered a day that start as normal as any other, as mundane. There was the thrilled crowd from Smallville High, carrying bright red banners and streamers of gold. There were the wild whoops and smiles.

In that moment, Martha was happy for them, for the town she'd adopted as her own, and yet, she couldn't understand that same joy. She'd lived in Smallville for four years after quitting law school. She'd fallen hard for the handsome Jonathan Kent was was everything her father was not, from his stalwart honesty and bluntness to the manual labor he loved. There was so much there that she'd never been able to get from her father, from the man who'd been more engaged in board meeting and litigation, whom she could never fully understand.

She wanted more than the clandestine and two-faced world of Metropolis high society.

At 25, she thought she'd found that.

Only she'd learned that the hypocrisy in a small town rivaled that of the most haughty debutante ball. Lana Lang was adorable in her fairy princess costume. Seeing her there, a daughter the age of one she should have had, could have had if she weren't barren, always brought a sharp pain to her chest. So, earlier that morning, she'd succumb. She'd let herself believe in a wish, trust herself enough to wish for what was impossible.

Of course Nell had been there. She was there to flirt with her husband and Jonathan was too dim to realize it was happening. He didn't see that Nell was being more than friendly or that Nell was always so contemptuous of her. That dig about tulips as ordinary flowers, said with pursed lips an inch to close than was proper to Jonathan's face left anger roiling through her, but she'd let that pass. Things were only a semblance of idyllic on Kent Farm.

She loved her husband, truly she did, but she hadn't been ready for a life of barely escaping the collection agent, a life of whispers behind her back because she was the "city girl," a life where there was a nursery at the far end of the hall but not a child to go in it.

As she rode down the stretch back to Kent Farm, Martha reached down and let a hand rest over her abdomen. She'd miscarried twice since she and Jonathan had started trying, the second time, she'd bled so badly, they'd needed to give her an emergency hysterectomy. It nagged at her that Nell Potter, former head cheerleader and date of the star quarterback that had been Jonathan Kent, could probably give her husband the one thing she couldn't.

The thing he wanted most.

Children to carry on his legacy and to tend the farm that had been in his family for generations.

"Honey?" Jonathan asked, reaching out and grabbing one hand. "You seem quiet."

She sighed and forced herself to smile. "I was just thinking about Lana."

"She is cute, isn't she?"

"And she made such an adorable fairy princess. She even granted me a wish."

"What did you wish for?"

"I'm not supposed to tell or it won't come true."

"Martha, you can say," he prodded.

She could but it didn't mean she actually should. They'd been having arguments about children lately. He'd never said anything about her, there'd never been any blame cast, but things were tense. She wanted to try adoption but he wanted to wait, try when the farm was more stable. She understood why. They were always on the verge of losing the farmland and the house. They wouldn't pass the muster of an agency with finances as tenuous. Even trying and be rebuffed would be too harsh, a reminder to Jonathan that he couldn't provide as well as he wanted to or, as Martha figured, antiquated sentiments told him he should.

"You know what I want. To see a little face."

His hand tensed in hers. "Martha, I know."

She didn't know how he could though, not when he wasn't defective, not when he hadn't felt the loss of a life within him not once but twice.

"I just, maybe we could try something."

"It's not a good time for the farm, sweetheart. If we just waited a few more months. I'm sure the next harvest will be better."

He'd said that the year before and the year before that. There was no time for a better harvest. Martha had excelled at math; it had been enough to propel her to the top ten percent on her LSATs. She could see the trends. In three years, if things stayed as they were, there wouldn't be a Kent Farm at all.

But she could see him trying to reassure her, the tension pain in the lines of his face. So she merely nodded.

"We can wait. You're right. You always are. It's just seeing a little fairy princess always makes me want one of my own," she gazed again out the window. It was too painful when she was this raw to look Jonathan in the eye. It was then she spotted it. At first, with the initial red streak, she assumed she was imaging it. Things just didn't fall from the sky.

Then there was a second.

And a third.

Huge green boulders hurtling through the sky, streaked red with fire, racing for the land around them. One hurtled close and landed yards from their car. She felt the concussion as Jonathan struggled to keep the car running straight ahead.

"What's happening, Jonathan!"

"I don't know," he replied, ducking as another rock streaked past.

The road bounced. It moved, shuddered with the impact. The car rattled and she put her head in her hands, scared the rocks would hit her and them.

She was right.

She remembered one bright streak, an impact, a jolt incredibly strong, and the smell of smoke and gasoline. Then she remembered nothing at all.

Martha coughed, something was jostled in her stomach, her chest felt tight and constricted and she feared she'd broken ribs. But that wasn't her biggest worry. She could smell the leak, the gas heavily wafting through the air. That, more than the pain, jolted her awake.

"Jonathan!"

To her relief, her husband's eyes popped open. "Martha?" he groaned.

"Jonathan, can you move?" she asked, pushing back a hiss of pain.

"I...yeah. My neck."

"I know," she replied, reaching out and undoing the seat belt. She fell to the roof and screamed at the pain in her left side. She felt the force as Jonathan's body landed beside hers.

"Martha?"

"I think I broke something, but we have to get out."

"I know. I smell it too. Lean back and duck," he replied, drawing long legs back. One kick, two, three and the shatter of glass. With the window broken out, he worked quickly, pulling her out of the truck. "Are you alright?"

"Now, we have to keep moving. I...has it stopped?" she couldn't even be sure. The horrible howling was gone. The sky was still choked with smoke, but she couldn't feel the ground quake. God, what if this was the calm before more of the storm? They were in the center of a field, open space, and sitting targets if another rock fell.

"I don't know. I just don't know," he replied, taking her arm and pulling her through the fields. The grass was scorched, crackling and burning in patches beside her, but that didn't begin to compare with the massive wall of dust and smoke drifting through the air in front of them, creating an almost wall.

"Jonathan?"

"I..." he started, but then the window rose up, whipping her hair and Martha gasped at the sight in front of her. There was a monstrous crater, easily a hundred yards in diameter, right before them. But that wasn't as amazing. There'd been a meteor shower. There were craters everywhere now.

What was unusual was the large, egg-shaped pod sitting in its center as well as the little boy standing beside it, blinking bright green eyes back at her.

Martha couldn't explain it then, though she'd be asked later, what compelled her. It was simply that one minute she was scared and in pain, but the next she was racing down the slope, her husband trailing behind her. The pain in her side was a minor concern. The only thing that mattered were those green eyes, that smile.

Something deep inside her had broken, like a dam. It was a wave crashing over her and screaming.

That boy in the field was hers and she just knew it.

The boy must have known it too. He didn't back away from her or cry, but broke into a bright smile. "Lara!"

Martha stopped a few feet from him. "What?"

He looked back up at her again and giggled, "Lara! Lara!"

In all this mess, in the fire and brimstone literally around her, with the spaceship next to her, this was the oddest part. The boy-her boy-was speaking what sounded like English, what seemed like a name. "Sweetheart?"

The boy ran and slammed into her legs, beginning to babble more, "Lara, osc er tim so ioy! Lara!"

It was then that Martha realized the "Lara" was a coincidence. Did it mean "mother" where he was from? Could he feel for her what she felt for him. Was their connection more than just one-sided from her perspective?

She scooped him up and balanced him on the side that didn't stab with pain. Jostling him on her hip, she cooed. "It's okay. Shh, Lara's here."

He nodded against her and grabbed a strand of long red hair. "Sol!"

"Exactly."

"Martha," Jonathan said and she could hear the reproach in his tone. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like? This boy needs our help."

"He's not just a boy and you know that. Kids don't just fall out of the sky."

"He did," she countered patiently, turning so that their son and, in her mind, his name was already Clark, just like her surname, could stare at Jonathan.

Let him say no to these beautiful eyes.

"Martha, that's...it's an alien . We just can't keep it like a pet."

"First, he's a little boy and he's perfectly fine. Second, he's perfect."

"For what?"

"We've always wanted a son."

Jonathan's jaw clenched. "He could be dangerous. We don't know anything about him, and we don't know how to take care of him. What if he's allergic to things? What if he's camouflaged and he's really like a Stegosaurus or something underneath?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not. He's going to have special needs, at the least. We can't take care of a toddler with whatever issues he has. What we need to do is turn him over to the right authorities."

"You mean like that army base outside of town?" she countered.

"Maybe."

She clutched Clark tighter. "You know what they'll do to him."

Jonathan didn't look her in the eye as he spoke. "They'll take care of him."

"They'll cut him into little pieces. He's just a little boy and he doesn't deserve that. I found him, Jonathan. I'm going to protect him and that's that."

"But he could be-"

"He's not!" she snapped and her harsh tone caused Clark to start crying.

"Shh, Clark, shh. It's okay, mommy's here now."

"Lara!" he wailed, clutching onto her more tightly than she thought a three year old capable, but that must have been her imagination.

"Shh, it's going to be okay, I promise you, Clark."

"Clark?"

"Like my last name. I...it just seemed to fit."

"I see," Jonathan replied, shaking his head. "Alright, we'll try this, but if anything unusual happens, we have to turn him over to the authorities."

"I won't agree to that."

"If he turns out to be dangerous, I won't keep him."

She smiled and kissed the top of Clark's head. "Well he won't be."

"Come on, I think I saw Bob Palmer's truck a mile back. We can get it and slip that thing onto it. We need to get it out of here if keeping Clark is going to work."

Martha nodded and, despite the time running down, started to circle the ship. "It's amazing isn't it?"

"Amazing and obvious. Martha, we have to hide this if keeping Clark is going to work."

She nodded and kept walking until she came to the other side, the back that had been obscured from her view. Then she gasped. "Jonathan! Come quick!"

"What's wrong?"

"There's another one."

Four Months Later

"Clark! Davis! It's time for lunch boys!" Martha called up the stairs. She grinned as she watched her two children run down the stairs. The grin widened as she watched them sit down at the small Fisher Price table (something she'd found the local kindergarten throwing out as it upgraded with a better budget). Clark started by digging into his carrots, while his older brother went straight for the fresh sliced turkey.

"Mommy, are we going to go see the town today?" Davis asked.

She smiled at her older boy, named for Jonathan's grandfather. He was bigger than Clark, more mature, possibly about seven or eight. He was also adapting faster to his new home. Clark was still struggling to learn English and tended to babble more often than not in whatever the boys' native language was. Davis had stepped out of his ship, as naked as Clark, speaking English perfectly.

Of course, he was older, maybe he'd learned other languages at school.

Martha didn't know.

Clark was just too little to share much and Davis swore he couldn't remember anything before the day of the shower. Not that either boy knew they weren't from Kansas. Davis simply thought they'd been adopted after a bad car accident. Either he was lying or blocking out the memories of their planet. Martha thought it was the latter. He seemed so scared and skittish, so traumatized by all that had happened that day and the mad rush to the hospital that he might not recall his other life at all.

Martha wasn't going to help them remember it.

They had the ship, that was true, but it would no longer open, and they'd left it and the small silver disc that had come with it, locked up tightly in their storm cellar. Perhaps, one day, her very special boys would be old enough to understand, but today was not that day and it wouldn't be for many years to come, even for Davis.

"Baby?"

"Mommy, when do we get to go back to town. We only went to take Lex to the hospital and I want to go back."

Clark started sipping his milk, babbling happily to himself about who knew what.

Martha frowned. They were working very hard to teach Clark English and to stop him from babbling at all. It was unlikely anyone would hear his strange garble of words and think the language was of extraterrestrial origin, but it was still a risk.

"Davis, don't you like the farm?"

He frowned and bit into his turkey again. "I do, but I want to see other kids."

"You have your little brother."

Davis frowned. "I know but he's still little. Shouldn't I be in school?"

She sighed. "I tell you what. Let's play hide and seek after lunch."

"Mom!"

"Let's play, the three of us, and then tomorrow I'll take you to Smallville elementary and we can talk to the principal about getting you started in first grade."

"Really?"

She bit her lower lip. Jonathan didn't want the boys mainstreamed yet. Sometimes she wondered if he was going to mainstream them at all. Jonathan was good enough with the boys, had taken them out with the old mare to learn to ride, had shown them the back forty and promised how the land would one day be theirs as well. All of Clark's and Davis's toys and most of their clothes were generous hand me downs from Jonathan.

But it still made her wonder.

Not enrolling Clark and Davis in school seemed to be a sign to her, another part of the mentality to prepare for the worst and for the chance that her babies wouldn't be on the farm forever. Martha didn't believe that. After four months, the boys were hers and she'd never let them be taken off to a base or a lab.

Not at all.

So mainstreaming seemed like the best idea.

Besides, Davis had been asking about starting school for over a month. He was bright, had already read through a lot of Jonathan's old Hardy Boys books, and she wondered how his parents-wherever they were from-had trained him in human languages.

She wondered so many things these days.

"I promise, baby, we'll get you enrolled there right away."

"Then I can have friends?"

"Of course," she replied, ruffling his hair. "There are lots of kids in town and I know they're going to like you a lot."

"And Clark?"

Clark, in his own quiet way, was still busy finishing his carrots. He'd figured out recently that if you spit out chunks, that it created bright orange piles everywhere. He had a small mountain on his plate already and the area around his mouth was neon bright. Martha chuckled to herself and went back to the sink, gathering up a collection of paper towels, and cleaning her younger son's face.

"Clark's a little too young for school."

"They have preschool."

"Lara!" Clark said, babbling happily and clapping his hands.

"I know, Davis, but your little brother's not ready."

"It's because he talks funny."

"A little, but Clark's not ready for school yet, but I think you are. I know it's late in the year, but the school might let you start. You're very far ahead."

"Okay, so," he said, hopping up and taking his and Clark's Sesame Street plates. "Do you think Clark can find me?"

"I won't have it, Martha. Not now!" Jonathan shouted and she flinched a little. She knew that Davis had a habit of listening on the stairs. She'd caught him and Clark trailing him almost like a puppy. It followed some of their more spectacular fights about finances. She'd come upstairs to the boys' room and found Clark with his thumb in his mouth and Davis stroking his hair.

She didn't want this to happen again.

The boys were scared. Jonathan was scared. Hell, she was scared but not for the same reasons.

Today, Clark had proven he was different. He'd been hiding under the large four poster bed in their room, and she'd slipped under there to try and find him, but she'd gotten stuck under the slats. She'd called for Davis to get her phone to call Nell Potter next door, but before he'd even picked up the receiver, Clark had picked up the bed.

The entire thing.

Over his head.

Martha had been so shocked that as she'd scooted out from under it, she'd yelped, startling Clark and caring him to drop it. It shattered into several large pieces and smaller splinters splayed out at her feet. It had been impossible to hide that from Jonathan, especially when Davis had been so excited by all of it to share.

He thought his brother was just like that character from the comics. What was it again? Watcher Angel? Something like that.

Jonathan didn't think the same way.

"Martha, that bed weighed over five hundred pounds."

"I was aware."

"He lifted it over his head. If he could do that at three , can you imagine what he'll do at ten? Or when he's a teenager? He's too dangerous to have here with us. What if it had been you or Davis?"

"What?"

"What if he'd broken bones or, God forbid, cracked your neck."

She stood up from the dining room chair and glared at him. "He's not some kind of monster."

"I didn't say that. Sweetheart, I know you're attacked to the boys but they're not really ours. They'd be better off somewhere where they can be properly taken care of."

"If by 'taken care of,' you mean tortured," she hissed, surging right up next to him. "I won't lose my sons."

"They're not our sons. We agreed to take them in and if anything happened..."

"No, you said that, and I told you that I'd never turn them over to those monsters. You know what'll happen if anyone ever finds out what Clark can do. It's too dangerous for him and for Davis too."

"Martha, we can't."

"I can. What you mean when you say 'we can't' is that you won't . Just give it some time. We've been getting better at weaning Clark off of babbling. We can train him when and how to use his strength."

"What if he hurts you?"

"He loves me and a broken bone in an accident is worth both of them."

"What if this is just the beginning? We don't know anything about what Davis and Clark's people are actually like. What if he ends up firing lasers from his eyes or being strong enough to shred steal?"

"Don't be ridiculous. He's just a little strong. That's all."

He shook his head and leaned against the sink. "I don't think we can keep them forever. We just can't."

"Watch me," she snapped before storming up the stairs.

Martha had barely made it to the front hall before she heard the scramble of little feet up the stairs. Sighing, she climbed the stairs and walked into the old office that was now serving as the boys room. There were a set of modest twin beds from the Smallville Good Will, a scattering of Watcher Angel (that was right, wasn't it?) posters on the wall, and at least one of Big Bird whom Clark just adored.

Clark was curled up asleep, his thumb in his mouth.

Davis was standing guard over him.

"Sweetheart?"

Her son turned to he and she expected to see his eyes wet with tears. Instead, after he turned, she could tell he was brimming with anger, barely able to stand still.

"What's going on?"

"I'm sorry you had to hear daddy and mommy disagreeing," she started, reaching out to stroke his shoulder.

"No, I mean what's going on with Clark? Dad says there's something wrong with him."

She stiffened and then sat on the bottom bunk, easing the bangs off her sleeping child's face. "He's perfect."

"He's strong and he talks funny, and I don't remember anything before I came to stay with you."

"I know but that's okay. The meteor shower was scary for everyone. It's okay if you don't remember it or if you blocked it out. That happens."

"But it doesn't explain why Clark's strong."

She looked back at him. "Does that make you upset that he is?"

"No, he's my brother. Do I get to be strong too?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, baby. I don't know why Clark could lift the bed and you can't."

"I tried though. I went downstairs and tried real hard to lift the cabinet where the TV sits and I couldn't make it budge. Am I sick? I'm bigger than Clark; I should be stronger."

"No, of course you're not sick. You and Clark are just different."

"Daddy doesn't like it."

"Daddy will adjust. He was just worried is all. Getting used to what Clark can do is very hard, but he'll learn."

"He doesn't like Clark, does he?"

"No," she said, kissing both of them, lingering on Clark's crown. "He loves both of you. We're just trying to figure everything out. Clark's not going anywhere. You're not going anywhere. We're all going to be fine."

Davis looked back at her and for the strangest moment, she could have sworn his eyes flashed red. "No, we're not."

"Martha! Martha! Dear God, you have to see this!" her husband shouted as he rushed into the farmhouse. She'd just finished cleaning off the plate from his morning meal of scrambled eggs and bacon. It was just six a.m. and she was waiting another hour or so to wake the boys for their own breakfast.

"Jonathan?" she asked, noticing how white he was. "What's wrong?"

"You have to see this."

"What?" she asked, throwing on her overcoat and boots already. "What's wrong?"

"Come with me now," he said and she followed him, not because of the order but because his commanding tone had left her stomach churning.

She scurried with him, quickly across the fields, until they came to the pasture. She could tell that most of the herd was gathered in one small corner of the snow-covered field. "What's going on?"

"This," he replied, opening the paddock and she followed him, coming to a stop when she found the snow drenched red in blood. She could barely tell that it was a cow left sitting in front of her. It's body was torn away to shreds, until all that was left were entrails and the occasionally spare organ-the heart, the brain, a splinter of bone. It was shredded, split to ribbons and left to congeal like a foul pudding.

Martha leaned over and retched. "My God."

"I know."

"I've never seen a coyote do that."

"It's not a coyote," he replied, pulling out a long, needle like structure. At first, she thought it was part of the cow but her eyes widened as she studied it. It was thick and gray, the surface jagged like a shark's tooth.

"What is that?"

"I don't know, but I've never seen anything like it. I don't think it's any animal around here. I've never seen anything strong enough to shred a cow to ribbons."

"I don't understand."

Jonathan threw the spine down between them. "I think it's Clark's."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Two days ago, you'd have said the same thing about Clark not being strong. Think about it, something completely foreign, something strong."

"Clark's not a thing."

"First the bed, now the cows. Martha, this is too much."

"You can't prove anything."

He picked up the spine again. "I think this says a lot. I'm calling the authorities."

"You can't."

"I let this go on long enough."

"Let it? They're our children. Together. We did this together. You didn't 'let' anything happen."

"Well I'm not going to keep something in my house that could kill you and that is killing my herd."

Martha panicked, overwhelmed by the thoughts of her beautiful boys alone in a sterile cell, at best. At worst, she could picture the scalpels, hear their screams.

No.

No one was going to do that to her babies.

"No, you're not."

"Martha, we'll try adopting real children. This is ridiculous."

"You don't understand me. I'll go to my father."

"What?"

"I'll go back to daddy and I'll ask him to buy out your loans. He spends more money every year on mistresses. I'll ask him to buy out this farm, kick you off, and bulldoze that damn farmhouse to the ground."

She watched Jonathan's complexion grow even paler. "You'll what?"

"I can do it. I'll go to William Clark, one of the most powerful litigators in the country and I'll ask him to buy you out or, better yet, when I file papers, I'll make sure I get everything in the divorce."

"What?"

"You heard me. If you really think Clark is some kind of monster, if you're solution to everything is the military, then I'm done with you."

"You see what he did," Jonathan hissed.

"I see what you want to believe, Jonathan. Clark's my son and I'm going to protect him, no matter what. I'm going to cut you a deal. Clark, Davis and I are going to leave the farm this morning. I'll send for our things."

"You don't have that much here. The furniture was from my parents."

"No, I mean the ship . I'll find a place to store it in Metropolis."

Jonathan shook his head. "Just think about what you're doing. You're going to throw everything away. I love you."

"I love you too," she said, taking his hand. "But I love those boys more and I promised to protect them. Goodbye, Jonathan."

Martha had taken the time to dress her sons in their finest clothes. Clark had spent the entire station wagon ride pulling at his tie. Davis was quieter; he had merely sat there with his hands shoved deeply into his blazer's pockets. Sullen and pensive as they'd driven to Metropolis.

Now they all stood outside the large oak doors (specially imported) to her father's penthouse in the city. Saying he had mistresses was a slight misnomer, maybe just old resent brought forth. Her mother had died when Martha was still a teenager. Behind these walls were just her father and his housekeeper from the hours of nine to five. If Jonathan hadn't been able to deal with her special children, she wasn't sure how William Clark would be able to.

But he had the means to protect her, the money it would take to procure fake identities and documents, the facilities to hide the ship, the power to keep people away from her sons.

She would start there.

Steadying herself, Martha knocked on the door.

The maid opened it. "Martha?"

"Cynthia, it's been too long," she replied, hugging the woman she'd leaned on after her mother's death, the only person she'd been truly sad to leave behind in Metropolis.

"Goodness child, what are you doing here? Where's Jonathan?" She frowned and eyed Clark and Davis. "And who are these little gentlemen?"

"Hello," Clark said and, for once, Martha was glad it wasn't a stream of whatever he'd spoken from before.

"Hi," Davis chimed in. Then, he pulled on Martha's sleeve. "Mommy, are we going back to Smallville soon?"

"No, baby, not today. Cynthia, is there room for a few more?"

"Of course, child, come on in."

Martha was sitting in her father's office. He'd come home, seen the boys and said nothing but a curt order for her to follow him. Cynthia was watching the boys and that made her nervous for Clark's sake. He'd not done anything with his strength since the bed, but she hoped he wouldn't, hoped that he'd wait a while longer so that she could break the news to her father.

"Martha, what's going on."

"Daddy-"

"It was William last time and that was one of the more polite things you called me," he reminded.

She nodded. "I know. You were right."

"Excuse me?" he asked, leaning forward. Everything about him was polished from his well-manicured nails to his tailored Italian silk suit to the sheen of his skin. Martha assumed he'd even kept up with laser peels to look as young as possible. To hide a bit of his sixty years.

"I said, you were right and Jonathan wasn't the man I thought he was."

"Was it sheep or a townie. I've heard talk about that Potter woman who runs with the Luthors from time to time."

Martha pursed her lips. Jonathan wasn't ready for her very special children. It didn't make him a hick or an adulterer, not by a long shot. "No, daddy. It's the boys."

"Where did they come from Martha?"

She didn't lower her gaze from his. Moot court had taught her enough about presence to keep hers. "The meteor shower left quite a few orphans in Lowell County. We've been caring for them because their parents are gone."

Into a different solar system.

"Are you working through the foster system?"

"Not exactly."

His eyes narrowed. "I know you've been sick and that you've had trouble adopting. A friend of mine at Metropolis Children's Center has a few contacts in Lowell County and..."

"You've been checking up on me?"

"What have you done to your life? I have been checking. The farm's barely solvent. I know you help keep it afloat by working basically as a hand. You're too destitute to pass muster from any adoption agency. This was not the life I wanted for you."

"I wanted to be independent. I didn't think I wanted the law and some power marriage."

"Didn't think?"

She was wrong. She wanted the law now. She wanted her father and the power that his position and hers-if she could become a partner at Clark, Thurston, and Howle-could afford her sons. They needed protection and she needed money and clout to do that. She needed something to lever against Jonathan if he were to ever talk.

"I want to come back. I have to take the bar, but I think I could. I...Jonathan isn't who I thought."

"He didn't want children, after all, did he?"

Martha swallowed but held her head high. "He wanted children, just not ones as special as ours. I lied when I said their parents are dead. I don't know if they are for sure."

"Martha, you couldn't have kidnapped."

"No, you don't understand. I don't know if their parent's are or aren't alive because I can't find them."

"Then they're abandoned children. We can start proceedings on that. Try and find the parents, get them to come forward, if they don't after a certain period, a legal adoption shouldn't be so difficult to push through."

"Their parents won't come for them."

"How do you know?"

Martha leaned over and pulled the small octagonal disc and the tablet from her purse. Both had been inscribed with odd symbols, akin almost to pictographs or heiroglyphics, but that wasn't the most unusual trait they shared. The metal was smooth, frictionless, something so fine and well made that it couldn't have been done on Earth. "They came with these."

"What are they?"

"What do they look like?"

"A prank. Something for heiroglyphics' nuts."

She reached into her purse and pulled out a sheaf of papers. She'd stopped somewhere first. It was why they'd not arrived until seven p.m., even with the packing. "Read this."

"I'm not a mathematician."

"It's chemistry," she corrected. She'd pawned off the work on a friend of hers from Metropolis Day who'd gone off to M.I.T. and now worked for Star Labs, a favor in exchange for a truly heinous blind date Irma had forced her on in high school.

"The end results say that the metal isn't of Earthly origin. So you show up with two boys, special artifacts, and a metallurgist's report and expect me to believe that you're harboring two aliens."

"They're little boys and they don't know, and they have a ship too. I'm trying to move it here after because of the divorce. I don't want Jonathan to show it off or try turning them in."

"And you think I won't, if this is even real?"

She passed him a picture of the ship. She'd taken over a dozen polaroids. "It's real."

"Martha, how can you..."

"I have proof from different sources. That's what a good lawyer does, works in facts. I have two sons whom I love and whom need a lot of protection."

"Martha, why doesn't Jonathan want them around. Even if I believe this isn't a ruse."

"I have the proof."

"Even if I see the spaceship in person, I have to admit that Jonathan was always so very protective of you."

"You mean controlling."

"It was always 'he just cares' before."

"Well not when he was ordering me what to do about my children. He made the ultimatum. I turn the boys over to a lab or he would."

"And he let you go without calling the authorities?"

"I told him you'd buy out the farm's outstanding debts and have it bulldozed."

Her father smiled for the first time in years. "That's my girl."

She didn't know how to take that but if it meant protecting her boys, she didn't care. "I need you to help me take care of them."

"Are they dangerous?"

"Clark's stronger than a boy his age should be but both boys are so sweet and kind. They're good boys. Jonathan's just-"

"Ignorant and intolerant. I see. I can't say that he's wrong on this. You don't know..."'

"Daddy, I can't have children. I resigned myself to thinking I could never have them and then the universe gave me the two sweetest boys there ever were. I want them. I'm vouching for them."

"Then, darling, take me to their leader."

"You're looking at her."