Clark and John finish off packing the last of the crates onto a truck. John has worked up a sweat but Clark hasn't even broken one.

"Damn Kent. What are you? Made of steel or something?" asks John.

"I'm sorry?" questions Clark suspiciously.

"Feel free to break a sweat at some point. That is actually allowed at this job." jokes John.

"Oh. Well, I grew up bailing hay on a farm. It takes a lot for me to break a sweat." explains Clark.

"You must have done a lot of it to be in this good shape."

"It's a farm. Hay kind of comes with the territory." Clark insists.

"I guess so." John loads the last crate onto the truck, "So what are you up to?"

"Up to?"

"After work. Are you doing anything important?" John elaborates.

"Thanks, but I don't really swing that way."

"Good to know. I'm sure my ex-girlfriends would be pretty upset to find out I was dating guys now. I was just trying to be friendly. I figure everyone has trouble making friends in a new job. Especially one like this. I might as well help you start somewhere." explains John.

Clark and John walk away from the last shipment of their work day.

"Thanks for the offer but I'm not really a people person. You're probably better off not being my friend." insists Clark.

"Isn't that my decision to make?" John questions playfully.

"I'm not the best of people to spend time with." Clark says trying to push the issue.

"Probably not. But you can't be any worse then the other people I've met around here. Come on, there's this place around the corner called Oracles. It's got some of the best beer in Metropolis. Let's go try it out." John tries again.

"I'm not really a drinker." suggests Clark.

"So have a rum and coke minus the rum."

"I guess that could work." relents Clark.

"Cool. Let's go."

John and Clark leave the Packaging Plant.

*     *     *

Lex drops a pile of papers on a desk in the laboratory.

"Leave your security badges on this desk and I'll be sure to have your things from your office sent to you if I can find the time to get someone to do that job for me." an upset Lex declares.

Mercy turns to Lex Luthor from talking with the code breakers, "Sir?"

"I'm not talking to you Mercy. It's everyone else that's incompetent." Lex says as he spreads out the stapled stacks of papers on the table, "You've been working on this project for a week and came up with a bunch of theories of possible algorithms for decrypting it. I spent twelve hours looking at the raw data and found this."

Lex turns one of the stacks of paper toward the code breakers.

"It's a mathematical algorithm built into the message. The whole thing just needs to be unlocked. So again I say. Leave your security badges on this desk and I'll have your office things sent to you."

One of the code breaker tries to object, "But Mr. Luthor..."

"You're fired. All of you. Is there any part of that which isn't clear?" Lex interrupts.

"No sir."

The code breakers all start filing out of the room, leaving their security badges on the table in front of Lex as they do. Mercy walks up to Lex when they are gone.

"Sir, was that really necessary?" questions Mercy.

"I don't tolerate anything but the best Mercy. You of all people should understand that. Now, let's see what we've got." Lex answers.

Lex Luthor picks up one of the stacks of paper and walks up to the main computer of the code breaker's laboratory. Lex enters in a series of numbers onto the keyboard which appear on the main screen. Once he finishes entering in the information, a message begins being decoded on the screen, it reads...

"I AM VRIL DOX OF THE PLANET COLU. MY MISSION IS TO SEEK OUT NEW FORMS OF LIFE AND MAKE CONTACT. IF YOU CAN READ THIS MESSAGE PLEASE RESPOND. DIRECT ANY RESPONSE TO SPATIAL COORDINATES 27839.76 USING A FREQUENCY OF 9982.43 WITH THE SAME MATHEMATICAL ALGORITHM ENCODED. I AWAIT YOUR RESPONSE."

Lex reads the message intently.

"Yes. YES! I knew it. All those years of searching. Years of struggling and waiting until I had the money and equipment to solve one of life's biggest questions of the last century. And I've done it. I need to prepare a response." a very happy Lex exclaims.

"But sir. Shouldn't we contact someone about this? The government? NASA maybe? It might be a good idea to let them construct a response. I mean, it is first contact with an alien race." Mercy suggests.

Lex turns to Mercy, "This is my discovery. The culmination of years of research and development when everyone around me told me I was insane for obsessing over something that never happened. I'm not about to hand it over to some diplomat who'll only end up taking all the credit. This is mine. Now leave me, I need to figure out the appropriate response."

"Yes sir."

Mercy leaves Lex alone in the Code Breakers laboratory. Lex types away on the computer in front of him.

* * *

Young Lex is sitting at his desk, drawing on a piece of piece of paper. The drawing is of a space ship in red and blue crayon. Young Lex's teacher is standing behind him, looking at his drawing.

"Alexander? What is that?" asks the teacher.

Young Lex looks up at his teacher. He quickly covers up the paper to hide the drawing, "It's nothing."

The teacher stares at him for a moment, "Then you won't mind sharing it with me. May I see it?"

Young Lex pulls the hidden drawing closer to him.

"No. It's mine."

"Alexander Luthor. Hand that drawing to me." the teacher insists, holding out her hand.

Young Lex eventually hands over the drawing to his teacher. She looks at the drawing.

"Lex. You know you're not supposed to be drawing things like this. It's not good for you."

"I know but... I thought maybe if I had a picture of the space ship people might believe me when they actually find it."

"We'll talk about this after class Lex."

The teacher folds up the paper and carries it to the front of the class to her desk.

* * *

Young Lex, his mother Lillian, and the teacher are sitting in the teacher's office.

"I'm sorry to have to call you here today Mrs. Luthor. Especially considering your health, but you expressed a desire to know if an event such as this happened again." the teacher explains.

"It's all right Ms. Thorpe. What's going on? Did my son do something?"

"I'll let the evidence speak for itself." Ms. Thorpe, Young Lex's teacher says, handing over the drawing to Lillian. Lillian unfolds the piece of paper and looks at the drawing.

"Alexander. Why?"

Young Lex looks at his mother, "I had to. They need to know what it looks like so they can find the space ship."

"We've been over this Alexander."

"But mom."

"No. We're not going to have this conversation again. You know there was no space ship. The Baker's used planes for crop dusting. Their plane went down and crashed into the house on the way. There was no space ship."

"Mom, I saw it."

"Enough Alexander. You know that's not true. Now please. Stop drawing these things. It's not good for you to be so obsessed."

Young Lex looks down shamefully, "I'm sorry Mom."

"It's all right Lex. Come on. Let's go home." Lilian insists.

Young Lex and Lillian leave the teacher's office.

* * *

Clark and John are sitting at a bar together. They each have a drink in hand.

"So Clark. What brings you to Metropolis?" John asks.

"I needed a job."

"Being a farmer and selling corn wasn't enough?" questions John.

"My father was the farmer in the family. I might be able to do the work my father taught me, but it's not really my calling." explains Clark.

"And loading shipping boxes is your calling?"

Clark smiles at the question, "Paying for farm hands to help my mother run the farm doesn't come cheap. We need the money."

"What about your father? Isn't he helping to make the farm any money?" John asks.

Clark looks down at his drink, "My father died."

"I'm sorry to hear that. When did it happen?"

"Six months ago."

"Do you mind if I ask how it happened?" wonders John.

"Heart attack." Clark says rather bluntly.

"I'm sorry."

"No more than I am John."

"So you took this job for the money, that's it?"

Clark looks at a John, "Doesn't everyone?"

"I guess you're right. And it's probably better that way. Just focusing on collecting a paycheck. The less you think about what goes on at the warehouse the better."

Clark Kent looks at John Smith curiously, "You know you keep saying that but I'm not exactly clear on what it is that goes on that I'm not supposed to know about."

"Like I said, it's better that way." insists John.

"So what about you? What made you take a job at a warehouse? A paycheck like the rest of us?"

"Obligation." responds John bluntly.

Clark looks at John again for a further explanation.

"My father had a job here and so did my older brother. I think my grandfather may have even worked here for a while when it first opened. So naturally, when I got old enough to pick up heavy objects, there was a job waiting for me with my name on it."

"Have I met them? Do they still work there now?"

"No, they don't work there anymore."

"Why's that?"

"They worked themselves to death." explains John.

"I'm sorry." says Clark sympathetically.

"So am I."

"Shouldn't what happened to your father and brother make you want to find another job though? If they worked so hard like that?" asks Clark.

John looks at Clark for a moment.

"Just because we got into the job for different reasons, doesn't mean we don't have the same reason for keeping it. We all have family commitments Kent."

Clark and John continue to sit at the bar and drink their drinks.

"Speaking of which, Kent. It's about ten minutes till the end of the last shift. I have to get going."

"I thought you were done for the day."

John looks uncomfortably at Clark, "Yeah, I know. But, I just remembered, I left something in my locker at work."

"Locker? I didn't realize we had lockers at work. The Foreman didn't mention anything about any when he interviewed me."

"Yeah, well he can be forgetful sometimes. About a lot of things. And I forgot something in my locker. So, I'll see you tomorrow." says John trying to end the conversation.

John throws a couple of dollar bills down on the bar to pay for his drinks.

"Okay."

John leaves. Clark watches John leave for a moment, curiously, and then goes back to his drink.