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EPISODE FOUR: A NEW HOPE- I mean SECRETS AND LIES
Last time on Lewis and Clark:
Acting on the orders of President Perry Whi- I mean, Thomas Jefferson, our heroic duo set off through Louisiana in search of a water route through America that could be used for trade purposes. Somewhere along the way, they came across a Native American tribe and encountered the sensual Sacajawea (Can you say S-E-X-U-A-L T-E-N-S-I-O-N? How about L-O-V-E I-N-T-E-R-E-S-T? Good. I knew you could.). In desperate need of a guide, Meriweather and William- each with their own ulterior motive- recruited Sacajawea. Unfortunately, they found out that Sacajawea's tribe wasn't too happy with the decision and wanted her back. Even more unfortunately, at least for our heroes, the learned about these unhappy feelings while moving precariously along a narrow path several miles up a high cliff. In the ensuing Indian attack, Lewis and Clark's covered wagon started to slip and would have plunged those several miles had not a strange flying man, clad entirely in long underwear and fur cape with an "S" on his chest, zipped down at lightning speed and lifted it back to safety. The man then turned and, using his own breath, blew an extreme wind at the attacking Indians, forcing them to take cover and leave the travellers alone. After depositing Lewis and taking his own sweet time to deposit Sacajawea (mysteriously, Clark was nowhere to be found) on safe, level ground, the mysterious figure flew off into the clouds above. Seconds later, a bespectacled Clark emerged from the bushes, blinking at the chaos around him and looking quite dishevelled.
Exciting stuff, no? Let's watch . . .
"Where the hell did thee go, William?" asked Meriweather Lewis of his partner William Clark as they trooped northward. "I mean, we've got Indians shooting from all over the mountains, the wagon about to hurtle into oblivion, and where were thee? Did thee stop to smell the daisies?"
"Actually yes," Clark said, ignoring Lewis' sarcasm. "Things were getting stressful. I thought it wise to take a little 'me' time."
He would have elaborated, but Lewis exploded.
"Thee time? THEE TIME?" he shouted. "Why . . . I . . . oughta . . ." he sputtered. "we would have died 'twere not for that queer birdman who flew out of the sky. Thee did spy it as well?" he asked Sacajawea, who nodded alluringly. Both men paused, distracted by the sight.
"Then I'm not nuts," Lewis finally murmured. Not entirely forgetful of his rage towards his partner, he returned- however reluctantly- his attentions back to Clark. "Watch out," he hissed. "Mayhap one day there will be trouble for thee. And mayhap I will be moved to take a little 'me time.'" With this warning, he stormed after the departing woman.
Clark breathed a sigh of relief. They didn't suspect him. They didn't know that he was different. It was a bizarre story, his life. Indeed, one that even an opium smoker would be hard-pressed to believe. He closed his eyes and remembered: His birth father and mother loading him into the foreign cradle and the bursts of light as they disintegrated before his eyes . . . Landing in Virginia's woods, and being discovered by the Clark family . . . His older brother, his hero, George . . . Their whispered assurances to a teary-eyed boy that his "abnormalities" would remain secret . . . The murder of a close friend, nearly a wife, that propelled him into action and made him realize he could utilize his powers for good . . . The birth of his alter ego, Sup-
"EEEEEEEEEEEK!"
A scream from the lovely lips of Sacajawea ripped Clark from his thoughts. Moving at lightning rapid speed, he zoomed into camp before remembering himself and ducking into a tent. Once inside, he removed his spectacles to peer through the heavy canvas.
A cat so unnaturally large it could uncontestedly be called a freak of nature growled as it approached Sacajawea. One of their travelling companions, an insignificant supporting character named Bob, lay at the animal's feet, bleeding from what seemed like every part of the body. Clark had heard of sightings of lion-like animals in these parts, but none so big as this.
Snarling, the predator reared back to spring. Leaping into action, Clark twirled himself into his Superman costume, cleaned up the camp's breakfast dishes, washed the laundry in the river, balanced the expedition budget (all the while cursing Meriweather's continued insistence on including Twinkies in the "Necessities" column
. . .What? You didn't know they had Twinkies back then? Guess we know who coasted through History class, hmmm?) and chopped enough firewood to last until Christmas before remembering that Sacajawea was in mortal danger.
The cat uttered a brief "Urk!" as he picked it up and spun it by the tail before hurtling it into oblivion. (Where it landed: some point in Episode 8) He turned around to check on the shell-shocked Indian woman, but was stopped short by a bullet.
Lewis stood a ways off in the distance, obviously aiming for the super mountain lion thing, whatever it was, but having failed to shoot the gun in time to kill his intended victim. While the bullet making contact with his body didn't hurt Superman (it didn't even break the skin; instead it bounced off of him and put poor Bob out of his misery), it did provide an impetus for his departure.
Hamming it up, he flew from the ground and over the trees, wincing and roaring as if mortally wounded, landing in some bushes two miles away.
By the time a guilt-ridden Lewis and a band of rescuers came upon him, he had changed back into his Clark clothes and glasses, and had dropped his drawers just enough to make them think they had come across a completed act of nature's call.
"Has thou seen a wounded birdman in yonder parts?" asked Lewis pensively, fearing a murder charge upon his head.
"Nay," replied Clark, barely containing the trace of a smile from sitting itself upon his lips. If Lewis only knew! he thought.
His partner must have seen a hint of the glee in his eyes, for now he exploded- the angst and guilt and grief erupting into inexplicable fury. "Tis serious, good sir! Dare I say, most serious, spelunkhead* (* Good taste, even though this is not exactly a family website, prohibits us from use of the actual profanity uttered. Rest assured, though: Lewis is pissed.)! A man may lie dying! A Life 'tis at stake. All thee can think of is thine own Excrement removal. A pox upon your house! Plague upon your children . . ." He collapsed, breathing shuddery breaths.
Clark instantly forgave him; the entire expedition was taking its emotional toll on Lewis. He patted his parter's shoulder. "Twould not be so hard," he said softly, lovingly " . . . for a flying man to be impervious to pain-"
His thought was interrupted by a whistle from Scout Dill, calling for their attention.
Lewis sat bolt upright amongst the pine needles, his eyes staring vacantly ahead. "They've found him," he whispered hoarsely, and rushed to Dill's side.
Mayhap so, thought Clark before realizing the impossibility of this. Then he too did run.
Dill pointed (our supporting characters don't have any lines)into the distance. Lewis inexplicably got to his side first. Clark, for some strange reason, felt winded.
"Missionaries," explained Lewis. Clark's vision was beginnig to get blurry, but he could just make out several tents and Bible-toting figures in the distance, obviously sent by the churches back home inorder to win over the pagans of the nether parts. Thy would think the President would wait until we at least MAPPED the region, he thought hazily, as his eyes, through tears, came to rest on the cross overlooking the tops of the missionaries' tents. Was it . . . glowing?
"Kryptonite!" he gasped, before collapsing at Sacajawea's feet.
Before Lewis could rush to his friend's aid, they were startled by footsteps behind them. A large, bald man with an aura sinister menace smiled at them.
"Good evening," he said in an untraceable dialect, charm and culture to his tone. "I am Alexander Alejandros, leader of the missions yonder. However, my friends and religious compatriots have seen fit to bestow upon me a shortned version of my first name and a last name based on the religion I am destined to preach."
Seeing their confused looks, the bald man tried his introduction again. This time, it was shorter. "I am called . . . (pause for dramatic effect) . . . Lex Lutheran."
- Tell your friends.