Beacon of Hope



Chapter Ten

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

Five days later, we buried my father. I wore a suit. With my car back in Illinois, Laura and the girls came with me to buy the suit. Hannah tried to convince me to wear a customary black dress with sensible flats and Madison somewhat encouraged this, but I repelled the efforts. I compromised with a sensible pantsuit from the women's section, but insisted on a tie. Laura was more accommodating than the girls and even found a suitable pair of loafers for me. We even managed to find Týr something to wear so he didn't look like we dragged him to a funeral from a Renaissance Faire.

My father had seemed to make an impact on the small village surrounding the Kent Farm south of Sheboygan, WI. Nearly two thousand people came to show their respects. I only recognized about a third of the faces. We held the ceremony at the Immaculate Conception Catholic Church because my parents both loved the interior. My family had been Catholic for as long as I could remember, but it never caught on with me. The priest had some lovely things to say during the mass and the choir sang some lovely songs. It was the dedications that really caught much of the audience. First, the priest said a few words about my father. Then, a couple of his friends. I had the responsibility of the official eulogy.

It hurt that I couldn't write it completely genuinely. Nobody was going to believe this seventeen year old girl in a pantsuit was actually the child of Jonas and Marian Kent. Thus, I wrote it like one of my articles and read it in a third-person voice. It started with an apology for the absence of their son, Christopher Joseph Kent. From there, it was a collection of all the things I could remember about my father, good and bad, with a few jokes thrown in – inside jokes, including the one he always told about his birthday. It told of his willingness to help others at the drop of a hat. It told of a man torn over the fact he and his wife couldn't have more children than one; that he took most of the blame for. It told of a warm hug awaiting anyone that needed one. It told of a man dedicated to his family and friends. It ended with my favorite quote of my father's.

"...and remember to always leave the world better than you found it." I concluded with a giant knot in my throat and tears streaming down my face. "Good bye, Jonas Kent."

I stepped away from the pulpit that we used for the podium and returned to my seat in the pew between my mother and my family. To my surprise, my mother still wanted me to be one of the pallbearers. Thus, at the conclusion of the ceremony, I helped carry my father to his final resting place. It was difficult to compensate for the other five people as I could carry the whole load as if it were a feather. We dedicated his grave at the cemetery and the priest gave his blessing. One toss of dirt later, everyone began to disperse. I stood and stared at the casket as the cemetery staff lowered him into the pit. Týr, again, stood in the periphery as did Laura and the girls. The only one that approached was my mother. She extended one arm over both my shoulders, holding my deltoid, with one arm and gently placed her other hand on my deltoid nearest her. Even in her own pain, she was trying to comfort me.

We stood there for an indeterminate amount of time in silence. I could hear Laura and the girls walking back toward the car. Once we knew we were truly alone, my mother spoke.

"He's already through the pearly gates, honey. They had a pass saved for him." She tried reassuring me.

"I can do all these things, but I couldn't save him." I sniffled. "I couldn't even give his eulogy as his son, Mom."

"Hush, now, child." My mother turned me toward her, keeping her hands on my shoulders. "You came the minute that text reached your phone. I can scarcely believe how fast you arrived or that you flew. Your only concern was your father's health. You did everything you could do. The almighty has plans for all of us, Christopher. If this be his will, then so be it. Funerals and eulogies are for the living. Your father is fully aware of how much you love him and what he meant to you."

I absently wiped a new tear from my cheek. "Thanks, Mom."

"Now, I have something to show you."

Arm over my shoulder, she led me a few plots down to a couple of older headstones. The first bore the names of James Harold Weber and a name I'd not seen before: Miriam Krista Weber (née Katzenberg). The second bore the names of Ernest Jonathon Kent and Astrid Karin Kent (née Johannson). The second was fairly aged, but the first seemed newer.

"These are your grandparents. You were really young when they passed away." She pointed at the second headstone. "Those are your father's parents. Your middle name starting with a 'J' came from them. They were all about boy's names with a 'J' somewhere in the name." She pointed to the first. "These are my parents. I updated the headstone after my mother passed. Daddy died first in a tractor accident. Nobody would plant in that field for a few years because of that. I had already found my mother's original birth certificate in her hope chest and discovered her true name while I was pregnant with you. I updated the headstone when she died of cancer."

She took a deep breath. "I never told your father, but I secretly hoped for a daughter. You almost had a little sister, but then the miscarriage. It broke a part of me, Christopher. It really did."

"Dad told me that he did, too, but never told you." My eyes looked down at hers. She was the same height as Hannah. "He told me that first night. Everybody else was asleep."

A single tear rolled down her cheek. "Thank you for telling me, honey." Her eyes returned to the headstones. "Your situation is very confusing. I don't understand it, but I want to help the best I can. I already told anyone that asked at the funeral that you are a foster child. Jonas and I took you in when your parents died in an accident about a year ago." She sniffled. "You need a name. I want to name you for my mother, if you'll let me. She went through so much in the war. She had to learn a new way of being, like you do now."

"Really, Mom?"

She nodded firmly. "Naturally, it won't be exactly the same. Your name 'Christopher' already came from her name. I've been doing a lot of thinking. 'Krista' might be a bit dated for someone your age now, but 'Kristen' seems fine. 'Miriam' is a fine middle name. So, what do you say? 'Kristen Miriam Kent'?"

"Did you talk with Dad about this before he... ?"

"I did. He agreed it was the most pragmatic. I don't know if you noticed, but he was only calling you 'Chris' before the end because both names have the same nickname. The new one would just be a 'K' instead of 'Ch'."

"Sounds fine, Mom." I took in a long breath. "I was actually going to talk to you about something like this. A friend of mine uncovered something sinister."

"That Larry Lang boy you've been friends with since high school?"

I nodded. "Her name is Lauren, now."

"Oh... so it changed him/her, too?"

"It did. Lauren found out that the government is going to start rounding up people like us through a federal contractor." I turned to look her in the eyes. "I can't let that happen, Mom. I can't let the things that have been happening continue. I intend to do just what Dad told me to do: leave this world better than I found it."

"What are you going to do, honey?"

"I'm going to get some kind of uniform and help people. At the same time, I can't put Laura and the girls at risk. If these federally sanctioned stormtroopers come for me and can't get me, I'm afraid they might do something to hurt my family. We're going to need to have another funeral. This time, it would be for Christopher Kent."

My mother considered my words for a moment before nodding. "What do you need from me, sweetheart?"

I smiled. "You just gave it to me. That... and we might have to redo my bedroom."

She nodded again. "It was getting dusty, anyway."

"Thanks, Mom. I'll call Lauren and have her get to work on all the logistics."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The days seemed to melt together after that. I called Lauren later that afternoon and filled her in on the situation. She offered some very sincere and very deep condolences. She promised to begin crafting some plausible reason why 'Lauren Lang' and 'Kristen Kent' existed while 'Lawrence Lang' and 'Christopher Kent' did not. My next communication was with Dr. Voss, informing her of the reason I'd not contacted her in six days. She, too, offered condolences. I made a promise to stop by the lab when I was back in Chicagoland.

Two days after the funeral, I rode with Laura and my daughters back to Arlington Heights. Discussing my new name and the situation going forward was not an easy conversation. Laura first objected because she didn't want to see me go and thought she might be pushing me away while she dealt with her own issues about me. Hannah shed a few tears for reasons she kept to herself. Madison was bummed that our growing closeness would stop. Olivia really didn't like the idea of my leaving. I reassured all of them that the idea to leave had not been taken lightly, that my love for them was not any less, and that I could just zip over from Wisconsin at a moment's notice. Their acceptance of the situation at hand did grow as we talked. It's a two-hour drive, after all. In all fairness, I really didn't want to leave them. I was doing the hard thing in an effort to keep them safe.

Back in Chicagoland, I drove to Northwestern that very day. It was still early afternoon and I confirmed with Dr. Voss that she was ready for me. Half an hour later, I was in her lab/office. She showed me several sketches, first. She'd drawn up some concepts of what the suit might look like at completion. They were mostly more modern adaptations of Supergirl costumes I'd seen in several comics, skirt and all. I stressed two things: the need to avoid copyright infringement and that I did not want a skirt. She rubbed her temples in frustration.

"Here's the thing: we'll start with the basics," She began. "The colors. They're the thing that's going to make you stand out. For the blue, I went with a staple: middle saturated azure. I borrowed from Christopher Reeve's costume and whatever I could grab from the trailers featuring David Corenswet's costume. It's bright and cheerful, which works for color theory. The red doesn't have a name. I went a little darker and a bit more bold. It compliments the middle saturated azure wonderfully. For the yellow, I put down the banana and went with a bright yellow gold to tie everything together and make it a good, modern look. Back in the day, all they had was primary colors, so that's why we have the pallet we do."

"Won't a suit made with those colors be claimed as copyright?" I wondered.

She shook her head. "All you have to do is change about twenty-five percent and you get plausible deniability. It's the 21st Century, honey. A lot of ideas are copies of what came before." She rolled her eyes. "Since you hate all my skirt ideas, I've got..." She had to dig deep in her pile of mock-ups to find the one she was looking for. When she showed it to me, it looked like a Superman costume with boobs. "That's the best non-skirt one I came up with."

I smacked my forehead. "Oh, Warner Brothers Discovery is going to come for my head if American Vanguard Solutions doesn't beat them to it!"

She narrowed her eyes on me. "You're looking to be a super hero in this world, honey. You've got all the powers, so why not lean into it? People are going to instantly recognize this uniform. The guy is, after all, the most well known super hero. Even people who have never read a comic book or watched one of the movies know who Superman is. They're gonna know you're there to help just by looking at you. That's the goal, right?"

I stared at the sheet of paper. "Yea, that's the goal. Did we have to do the trunks, though?"

Again, she rolled her eyes. "I'm not budging on those. For one, you're female so they're basically like hotpants. They're not a fashion faux pas. For two, I watched an interview with the new actor and I liked his take on the classic trunks. He thought they were intentionally silly. It was to make the guy approachable and show he doesn't take himself too seriously. On you, they'll look fine and serve to contrast and break up the suit a little. I also hired a graphic designer friend to envision an 'S' symbol for the chest. You're welcome."

"I don't even have a name and you're putting an 'S' symbol on my chest?"

She grumbled. "The total package is a statement! The blue suit, the red trunks, the yellow belt, the red boots that I will add a yellow band to the top of, and the pièce de résistance... the ankle-length billowing red cape with the yellow shield on the back! It's a look that will say 'I am powerful, noble, and approachable'!" She sighed like I offended her. "Suit first. You can figure out a name later."

I sighed in relinquishment. "Fine. What do you need from me?"

"I'll take you to the imaging suite where we will get a full 3D model of you. Then, you get naked," She shrugged.

"Cheese and crackers, I haven't been naked in front of anyone but my wife for twenty-three years!"

"It's the most precise way to take measurements. I'll show you where to stand when we get there. After that, you'll be alone. Yes, the 3D scan will come up on my screen but it never shows the really intimate stuff. You're perfectly safe, okay?"

My body squirmed. "I don't know about this..."

A small digital 'ding' sound emanated from the tablet on her desk. She spun around, strode over, picked it up, and glanced at the screen for a moment. "Oh, lovely. Your symbol is ready." She flipped over the tablet to show me. The design was similar, yet different in subtle ways. There was still the classic diamond-shaped shield design with three layers: yellow, then red, then yellow again for the background. The "S" itself was a more angular and somewhat digital design, a far cry from the looping and curvy nature of the English letter itself. "Thoughts?"

My eyebrows raised in appreciation. "Okay, that looks pretty cool. I did not know I could appreciate an angular 'S' shape and I lived through the '90s."

Her facial expression melted into a blank, unapproving glare. "You may want to tone down talk of 'the late 1900s' as the kids call it. If you're going to develop a secret identity, I suggest getting on TikTok and studying as much of the lingo as you can before they ban it for real." She started walking toward the door to the corridor beyond.

I shrugged. "I could just talk to my daughters. I've got two teenagers."

Stopping short at the door, she turned to me. "No, you don't. You're seventeen, remember?" She motioned for me to follow her with her head. "Let's get this over with."

Sighing, I started to follow. "Oh. Right. I keep forgetting."

She led me out of her lab and down the corridor with the click-clack of her heels echoing endlessly. The architecture of the Technological Institute at Northwestern was nothing short of a modern marvel. The floors were clean and coated with linoleum. The walls to the labs and offices were framed with wooden accents. The upper levels were mostly glass. Steel beam rafters framed the entire structure in a blend of industrial design and modern science. It was a wonder I never came into this building when I studied here.

Dr. Voss rounded a corner and ushered me into what looked to be a newer lab. It had fewer windows than many of the others. The byline on the door read: Digital Simulation Research for the Purposes of Digital Art and Interactive Media. Once inside, there was a corridor that branched in two directions. I was directed to the left while Dr. Voss moved to the right. The right seemed to be a control room of sorts. The left as a room with a giant white ring with all kinds of cords and hoses attached to it. It looked like it had been ripped right out of an episode of Westworld or, perhaps, inspired the design.

"I'll start up the imaging suite while you close the door and disrobe." She announced over a PA system somewhere in the room.

Turning around, I made sure to lock the door. Afterward, my eyes scanned the room. There were no windows, mirrors, or one-way glass sections. It was me and the Westworld scanning device. That's it. Taking a deep breath, I felt comfortable enough to disrobe. Folding my clothes and stacking them in a corner, I stepped into the marked area in the middle of the machine.

"Are you ready?" She asked.

"Let's get this over with." I answered.

She had me stand in several poses whilst the machine whizzed around me. From T-pose, to t-arms and spread legs, then A-pose, then A-arms and legs spread. She asked me to strike a pose like a superhero with my fists on my hips and legs shoulder-width apart. She even asked me to pose like I was flying so I hovered a little and obliged. After that, she asked me to do a "superhero landing" and I had no idea what she was talking about. She told me to think about Natasha Romanov from the Marvel films. I obliged but I felt really silly. There's no way to know if it was pertinent to anticipating the stretch the fabric would need to accommodate or if she was being facetious. When she cleared me, I hurried putting my clothes back on, unlocked the door, and stepped into the corridor.

After a moment, she joined me with her tablet in hand once more. She held it up for me to see. "These are the results," She stated plainly. With her finger, she panned through a 3D model of each pose I had assumed. The 3D models looked like a faceless, gray Barbie doll. "See? I got all your musculature and nothing I didn't need."

My eyebrows raised in astonishment. "Wow. I look like an athlete. Like... a girl that plays softball or volleyball in school or something."

Dr. Voss exited the imaging suite and started down the corridor toward her lab with me not far behind. She tapped on her tablet as we walked. Before long, we were back through the doors into her lab and heading toward her office. She kept her focus on the tablet for a few more moments, completely ignoring me. I simply leaned on the door frame with my arms folded and somewhat mindlessly glanced around the office and lab. Occasionally, she'd curse to herself in a volume she may have thought I might not be able to hear, but I heard it all. About the time I moved to pull my phone out of my pocket to play a game or something, she happily shrieked.

"Got it!" She exclaimed. She held the tablet to her chest for a moment. "Now, remember: this is really just a rough mockup. I'll clean it up and get to work on the production model. It's better than the concept drawing." She then turned the tablet to show me her work.

Grasping the sides gingerly, I pulled it closer in an effort to really examine what I was looking at. She'd used the hands-on-hips pose and put the suit with the trunks on my body. Admittedly, it looked pretty amazing. She pointed at different parts of the rendering as she spoke.

"The end product will have a hexagonal texture to the main blue of the suit. That happens with the materials and tech I'm looking forward to using. The emblem on your chest will be raised and embellished nicely. I'm going to work on adding some utility to the belt. Right now, it's only decorative. You can see the yellow-gold band at the top of the boots. The cape will flow nicely, I think. The emblem on the back won't be raised. What do you think?"

Offering a warm smile. "I think you're incredibly talented at what you do, Dr. Voss. It looks very nice. I'm excited to see what the final product will look like."

"It's going to be cutting edge, I assure you. I have a couple of my Bombyx mori that I think were impacted by the stellar inversion pulse as you were. Their silk is coming out stronger than any natural fiber I've ever seen. With a little contingency reinforcement and a little tech, it'll be a perfect suit for someone like you."

"I really appreciate everything you're doing for me."

She shrugged. "It's nothing, really. I finally get to indulge in my dream of fashion design and you get to be a guinea pig for some new materials. It's a win-win."

"How long until the suit will be ready?"

"Maybe two weeks? Give or take? Natural, sustainable fibers take a little longer to cultivate than the synthetics someone else might try to peddle you."

"Worth that wait. Thank you, Doctor." I extended a hand for a handshake.

She happily takes my hand and shakes it. "The pleasure is all mine. Now, get out of here. I've got work to do."

I gave her a cordial nod before turning to leave. Something inside was telling me the next two weeks were going to crawl by with how much I was going to anticipate the suit.