THE NEW GIRL IN SMALLVILLE, Part 1

By Christopher Leeson

The small spacecraft screamed through the Colorado afternoon sky, trailing smoke and the acrid smell of burning metal. Its hull glowed cherry-red from atmospheric friction as it spiraled toward the jagged peaks below, leaving a contrail of super-heated air that shimmered like a mirage.

Superboy spotted it during his routine patrol, the mountain wind whipping through his cape as his telescopic vision instantly assessed the situation. Single occupant. Female. Unconscious or struggling with the controls. The craft's trajectory would smash it against a granite cliff face in less than thirty seconds.

He didn't hesitate.

Heat vision lanced out, vaporizing the towering rock formation that blocked the ship's path. The scent of ozone filled the thin mountain air as Superboy streaked ahead, using freeze breath to cool the super-heated hull, then positioned himself to guide the craft toward a relatively smooth plateau scattered with hardy pine trees.

The ship hit hard, bouncing twice before skidding to a halt in a shower of sparks and twisted alien metal. Steam rose from its scarred surface as Superboy landed beside it, listening for signs of life within. The silence stretched long enough to make him worry.

Then the exit hatch hissed open with a pneumatic wheeze, and the pilot emerged, looking remarkably human—and inexplicably angry. She had plain features and appeared to be in her forties. Her garment looked like what Earth fashion magazines were calling a "mini dress." The dull violet fabric struck the Kryptonian as very inappropriate for space travel, and it also did not flatter a woman of her age.

Though the woman’s step looked unsteady, she was apparently uninjured. Suddenly, for no reason, she fixed Superboy with a withering stare.

"My name is Shar-La," she announced. Her authoritative voice echoed off the rocky canyon walls. "I am an administrator on the ruling council of Zephyria. We are a telepathic race, and I have heard every insulting thought in your weak mind!"

Superboy blinked. He didn’t care for the idea of his mind being read. He made no reply. In his young life, he had learned that an angry woman would be an angry woman, and it was better just to let her rant. As soon as he could see to the unpleasant lady’s safety, he wished to leave.

"I find your thoughts offensive," Shar-La continued, her eyes flashing with something threatening. "Your opinions about my age, appearance, and capabilities are both false and demeaning. I demand an immediate apology."

"Look, lady, why don’t we dwell on the positive. I just saved your life—" Superboy began.

"Another insult!" she exclaimed so loudly that she frightened the hawks on the ledges, sending a pair of them wheeling away from their cliff-side perch. "You address me as 'lady,’ which is how your people address inferior females. Your primitive mind tells me that this is a barbaric world—a place where women are denied their right to rule. This is a pathological culture, and it disgusts me!"

Heat rose in Superboy's cheeks, and his fists clenched. "I’ve done you a favor, and you should be grateful. Hopefully, your vessel is not so damaged that you will have to stay on a planet you dislike so much.”

"Grateful?" She’d spat out the word with contempt and crowded closer, putting Superboy on alert.

"Your thoughts,” she continued, “tell me you continue to believe women are weak, emotional creatures who need male protection in everything they do. You are actually blaming this accident on my sex instead of a mechanical malfunction!"

The accusation may have been accurate, but her bellicose attitude truly bothered him. He could not help but think Zephyria must be a hellish place to live as a male.

"Why is so important that my thoughts please you, when your telepathic power must reveal to you that I was only trying to help—?"

"Help!" Shar-La cried out. "You are maddeningly condescending. Women do not need to ask for help from men. And even if that were not so, a superior being requires no assistance from male primitives!"

Shar-La made a fist and raised her right arm. Superboy noticed the elaborate ring adorning her index finger. Its alloy displayed a matte finish and held a single inset crystal flush to its surface—hexagonal and faintly luminescent. In keeping with the rest of her displayed taste, it was not attractive.

Unexpectedly, the ring blazed with a brilliant energy, and a beam of coruscating light struck the Kryptonian’s center mass. It washed over him in pulses of warmth, but his invulnerable skin felt no injury. The sensation was like a mild tingle of static electricity—no more harmful than sunlight. The boy, standing his ground, crossed his arms with deliberate casualness.

"Whatever that is, it doesn’t hurt me. The only element that can harm me is a mineral from my home world." He gestured toward her damaged ship. "Now, are you all right? Do you need transportation somewhere? I’ll gladly take you into outer space if you wish to go home." Then he added, “You must have a mother ship nearby. Your tiny craft doesn’t look capable of interplanetary flight.”

Shar-La's lips curved into a wintry smile that never reached her eyes. "My race is capable of more than you know! Your inferior world is unworthy of entering contact with my people. I will soon be retrieved by persons who are worthy of treating with me. I will gladly leave you to live a new and more interesting life than the one you have known."

This strange phrasing carried a veiled threat of some kind, but before Superboy could respond, Shar-La had strutted away toward her ship. The vessel's engines screamed to life with a loud, sour sound. It was apparently unsuitable for flight.

However, since Shar-La had seemed confident of rescue by her own people, the young man felt his business was done here. With a shake of his head, he resumed his patrol by launching himself westward. This hadn’t been his first encounter with aliens, but it had been the most bizarre. Fortunately, it had ended without property damaged or civilians hurt.

Passing over a mountain lake, he saw his reflection in its still waters.

Or was that his reflection?

The Boy of Steel stopped mid-flight to get a better look with his telescopic vision.

The reflection he saw was a girl’s. He looked around to spot her. Where in blazes was she?

He looked back at the reflective water and made out that the girl wore a red and blue costume like his, as wells as long, black hair streaming in the wind.

And she was stopped and gazing up at him, too. She was much prettier than the alien woman he had met. The maid’s features were delicate and decidedly attractive—with high cheekbones and full lips. Her shape filled her imitative costume becomingly. Everything about her curves was decidedly eye-catching.

For a moment, Superboy hung aloft in the mountain air, wondering why he could hear or see the girl who cast that reflection. Studying here with his supervision he suddenly realized that the image was his own, but she—he—looked utterly unlike him. He looked down at his own body, and his changed shape was clear. With trembling hands, he explored an alien landscape, feeling a softness that hadn’t been there before. His arms had lost their muscles, and his body had assumed contours that were totally wrong for it. He couldn’t fathom this phenomenon, and his mind reeled.

Had Shar-La’s telepathy fogged his mind? He tried to banish the illusion with the force of his mind, but the female image below remained in place.

What in blazes had Shar-La done to him? He had to catch up with her again and let her sit alone on a hard, windy rock pinnacle until she did what she had to do to fix it.

Superboy shot back the way he had come. It would be a disaster if the alien psychotic were found and taken away by her own people before he could catch up with her.

Very soon, and with unaccustomed fear, he saw that both Shar-La and her tiny ship had vanished from its landing site, as though they had never existed. His telescopic vision furiously scanned the earth and sky all around for hundreds of miles. There was nothing. Nor were there any lingering energy signatures or unusual atmospheric disturbances. The blue vastness above was equally empty of any alien person or spacecraft.

#

In the Kent basement in Smallville, the elderly couple putter with brooms and dusters against the neglected clutter of months. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the small windows at ceiling level, casting long shadows across the brown-painted concrete floor.

They suddenly heard a sound coming from the underground corridors that Superboy had excavated years ago to come and go unseen, while also providing hiding places for the artifacts and trophies of his super career.

The secret entrance to the complex burst open with more force than usual. They expected to see Superboy hurrying into the basement, but they saw instead a girl stranger flying in wearing a costume like their son’s through the trapdoor. Her face fixed on them, pale and frantic, streaked with what looked like soiled tears.

Martha let her dust rag flutter to the floor like a fallen bird. "Who—?"

"It's me," said the girl's cracked voice. “I don’t know if this is real or an illusion.”
"Wha—What illusion? Who are you? Why are you wearing a uniform like…Superboy’s?"

“I’m your son! I’m Clark! Something crazy has gotten its hooks into me.”

Those words hung in the basement air like smoke from a house fire—impossible to comprehend. The stranger stood swaying slightly, seemingly aghast and jittery.

Being confronted by a stranger who claimed to be his son was a novel experience for Jonathan Kent. His weathered hands gripped the push-broom he was holding like a defensive weapon.

"That's..." He cleared his throat and started again hoarsely. "That's quite a claim, Miss."

"Dad, believe me!” the girl stated loudly. “Something happened during my patrol. An alien woman shot me with a ring, some kind of disguised weapon—"

"Slow down, honey,” Martha whispered with a tremor, approaching with careful steps. “If you expect us to believe you, you have to explain yourself better. "Please start from the beginning."

The girl—Clark—spoke rapidly. She told them about Shar-La, about the ring, and about when she realized she had changed. Her mannerisms and way of speaking were Clark's. She passingly alluded to things that only Clark should have known. Strangely, her gesturing hands reminded her of Clark’s.

And then there were her features. If Clark had had a sister, she might have looked like this girl.

This couldn’t be Clark? Could it?

"So that's it," the girl said, her voice hollowed out by exhaustion. "I don’t know how long I’ll stay this way. I can’t think of anything to change myself back."

Martha moved closer, her footsteps soft on the concrete floor. "Sweetheart, let me look at you."

She reached out with gentle fingers, tracing the familiar bone structure beneath unfamiliar soft skin. The face was unfamiliar, but the soul behind the eyes was unmistakably Clark's. Believing so had nothing to do with reason or logic. It was a mother’s instinct.

"Oh, Clark." The name came out as barely a whisper.

The sound of his name, that moment of recognition, broke something inside him. Clark collapsed into Martha's arms, sobbing like he’d never done since he was very young.
Jonathan watched his wife comfort this stranger, who might possibly be his son.

How did a man process this? How could he grasp what had happened inside his family? Twenty years of raising Clark hadn't prepared him for this moment.

"What do we do?" Clark whispered against Martha's shoulder, the question muffled by fabric and misery.

The words hung between them, heavy with implication. Outside, the late afternoon sun continued its journey toward evening, a world away from the crisis unfolding in the basement below.

"First thing," Jonathan said, trying to hold his voice steady, "we don't panic. We've gotten through tough scrapes before." He moved closer to the girl, and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. The person he touched seemed to be real and not an illusion.

Clark pulled back to look at them both. "This is different, Dad. What kind of life can I live if I don't change back?

Jonathan couldn’t remember how long it had been since he had seen his son registering so much fear. It encouraged his desperate hope that this girl and his son were not the same person.

"This isn't something I can fight my way out of. I don’t know what to do!"

Martha smoothed down the girl's long hair. She already half-believed that this was her son. As when Clark was a child, she tried to calm whoever it was before her—using hope when she had nothing better to offer. "Maybe it's temporary. Maybe what that woman did will wear off."

"And if it doesn't?" the girl asked in a tone of dread that made her seem more vulnerable than Clark had ever been since childhood.

Jonathan and Martha exchanged glances. Forty years of marriage had taught them to communicate without words, sharing burdens and fears through simple looks. The glance they shared now said everything: if this is real, it changes everything. Our son is gone. For the time being, we have a daughter.

"Listen—Clark,” said Martha. "We’ll help you through this. We’ll protect you and keep all the family secrets. But we do it together."

Clark nodded, grateful to hear statements of strong certainty. That was something to hold on to, while the rest of the world crumbled around him like autumn leaves.

"People will ask questions," Superboy said. "About where Clark went and…about who this new person is."

"Let us worry about that," said Jonathan as he settled himself on a wooden crate, the old wood creaking under his weight. Still not quite able to accept that this girl was Clark, he said, "Right now, you need to stay calm and stay hidden until we can work out a plan."

Suddenly, they heard footsteps on the kitchen floor above their heads.

"Mrs. Kent? Are you home?" a distant, maidenly voice called.

The family members froze, three sets of eyes looking at the ceiling. Lana Lang's cheerful tone drifted down from the kitchen above. Their redheaded neighbor was a neighbor of whom they were all very fond.

Martha’s hand flew to her throat. "Oh no! Now what?

Footsteps continued to creak across the floor above. "Mrs. Kent! I brought back the cookbook you lent Mom!"

Clair's eyes went wide. "I can't let her see me like this!" she exclaimed.

"The tunnel," Jonathan whispered urgently, gesturing toward the hidden passage. "Get into the tunnel!"

But it was too late. The basement door had opened, and Lana was descending the stairs.

"Mrs. Kent! What are you and—" the redheaded girl stopped in mid-question. Her gaze was fixed on the unknown girl wearing a superhero costume. "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company."

Martha stepped in front of Clark quickly, her mind racing. "Lana, dear, I'd like you to meet our niece. This is... Claire. She's visiting from back east."

Lana continued to descend, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she took in Claire. She was wearing an outfit just like Superboy’s. “Nice to meet you!” she said. “Are you in a play or something? That's a really neat costume!"

Claire opened her mouth, but no sound came. Standing there under Lana's friendly scrutiny, Claire felt humiliated to be seen in her new shape by someone from outside the family.

"I..." Claire stammered. Her voice came out high and uncertain. "I brought my Halloween costume from home. I wanted to show it to my…aunt and uncle because I know they’re such Superboy fans".

"Dear Claire might stay with us through Halloween,” said Martha. “She brought along her costume in the hope that she'll be able to attend a good costume party in Smallville."

"That's so groovy!" Lana beamed, stepping briskly across the basement floor with eager steps. “The Youth Club sponsors a party every Halloween. If you don’t want to become a member yourself, you can come as my guest.”

At that instant, Claire realized the tunnel entrance was still hanging open. She glanced urgently toward her father. Jonathan at once understood and let out a gasp. Pretending to stagger,he caught himself on the edge of the work counter and slumped over it.

“Mr. Kent!” the Lana blurted in fright.

With their visitor's attention diverted, Claire made a blurred dash to the trapdoor, closed, and covered it. She had resumed her place before Lana could look back her way.

“Does Mr. Kent need help, Martha?” she asked.

Jonathan shook his head and called for calm. “It’s just my sarcopenia acting up! It’s been getting worse. I’ll be lucky if I’m not using a cane soon!”

Martha brought a metal folding chair for her husband to sit on.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Kent,” Lana said, unable to be helpful.

She turned back to Claire with a smile. “It'll be nice to have another girl on the block. What Smallville is short of is young people visiting from outside."

Claire forced a smile of her own. “That may be. I—I haven’t seen much of the town yet.” Lana seemed to notice something for the first time. “Claire, you look so familiar, but I can’t place you. Have you ever visited Smallville before?”

The silence was like a taut wire, ready to snap. 

“You’re just seeing the Kent family resemblance,” Martha spoke up. "The Kents have strong genes."

Jonathan winced, hoping Lana wouldn’t remember that Clark was adopted and shared none of the Kent family's heredity.

"Yeah, I suppose." Lana shrugged. "Well, I barged in, so I ought to let you get back to whatever it was you were doing. Nice meeting you, Claire! I hope we can start hanging out soon!"

She bounded energetically up the stairs, leaving the three Kents in the basement gloom staring at one another. They said not a word until they heard the distant sound of the front door closing.

"Well," Jonathan said with an exhale," that could have gone worse."

Claire shook her head. “She almost recognized me.” With a grimace, the girl stepped closer to the wall mirror. “I still look a little like Clark. That’s a problem.”

"We need to make you look different. Maybe you can start wearing makeup. Your clothing has to be chosen to help your disguise."

Claire looked back at her mother. “What kind of makeup?” 

“As much makeup as the school policy allows. Fortunately, having long hair changes your appearance a good deal.”

Claire threw up her arms. “Fortunately?!”

“I know you don’t like having long hair, Clark, but in a crisis, it serves a purpose. Disguise is something we have to do to protect your secret identity.”

The reality settled over the three of them like drifting dust from the ceiling cobwebs. Lana would immediately spread the word that a new girl was living at the Kent home. And when Clark’s absence was noticed, they’d be asking about where he had gone.

"Maybe I should leave town and live among strangers,” Claire thought out loud, her voice having become small and uncertain.

“No!” exclaimed Martha. “You’re too young to be facing what you’ll have to face.”

Jonathan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his advanced years feeling like a lead weight. “I’m afraid that Clark might be right. Unless he changes back somehow, all of us might have to leave Smallville."

“All of us?” asked Claire, bemused. Jonathan nodded. “Otherwise it’s going to look strange that we have a niece staying here and Clark is absent. In a different town, people won’t have to ask us hard questions. We can tell our friends that my health requires us to live in a warmer climate.”

The old man’s eyes brightened. “We can say that Claire’s father is my brother Roger in Florida. We can say that he needs help remodeling his house before winter, and has promised to pay Clark good wages. The town lost track of Roger when he left Smallville right out of college. I don’t think anyone knows he doesn’t have a daughter.” 

“That’s a good idea, darling,” his wife admitted. “We can also say that Roger is letting Claire visit so she can take Clark’s place in helping you at the store.” She paused, trying to tie all the threads together. “We can say we’re selling the store and moving to Florida for your health. Before Clark is expected home, we’ll already be on our way to join him.

Her husband nodded. “We’ll say Roger will put us up until we find a new home of our own.”

Martha frowned. “Oh, drat! All our friends live here. We’ll start out all alone in Florida, except for Roger. I have to pray what’s happened to Clark is going to end sometime soon.”

"What if it doesn’t?” Claire asked with a tremulous voice.

Martha drew a deep breath and shook her head. "Whether you're our son or our daughter, our family will continue. You have Clark’s courage, and we'll be there to help you along.”

Claire gritted her teeth. She disliked being called a “her.”

Mrs. Kent reached took her daughter's hand. "We’ll tell Smallville folks that Clark has been offered a long-term job at his uncle’s business. In a couple of weeks, we can add that he’s found a new girlfriend in Florida and looks forward to attending school with her. No one will expect him to come back, not with the rest of his family joining him there."

Claire nodded slowly. This disaster was expanding fast. Her strange fate was only the first falling stone of an avalanche. Her parents would be forced to leave Smallville. Unless the spell on her broke, she couldn’t live as Clark. She’d have to adjust to living her everyday life as a girl named Claire.

"There's something else," the worried teen blurted. "Superboy. People will notice that Superboy has disappeared, too. Some people might think that it’s too much of a coincidence that both he and Clark happen to leave Smallville at the same time."

Jonathan rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache starting behind his eyes. Their problems were multiplying fast, with each possible solution creating extra complications."One problem at a time, son,” said her father. Jonathan was faced with the fact that he suddenly had a daughter. The family’s routines had suddenly gone down a side road. What could they expect of the days ahead, except that their tomorrows would not be like their yesterdays?

But another thought was seeping into the old man’s perplexed mind: What if Clark’s transformation wasn’t just physical? Boys and girls were different; that was born into them. Would their son’s—their daughter’s—inner nature change in some way?

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2