“And who might you two be?” Rock asked, walking over.
“You must be Mr.
Rock, the owner of this farm?” Agent Smith instinctively pulled out his badge.
“Special Investigator with the Department of Agriculture.
Regarding the meteorological satellite crash last night…”
“Ah, that.”
Rock nodded, then turned and waved at the two boys, shooing away a disgruntled Dio and a bewildered Clark.
“You see,” he put on an honest, rustic smile typical of an American farmer, “that satellite suddenly slammed into my field, blew up out of nowhere, and then mysteriously vanished.
It’s been driving me crazy—I didn’t even know what evidence to gather to demand compensation from you.”
“I didn’t expect you to come right to my door.”
Rubbing his rough hands together, Rock squeezed out a few worried lines on his tan face, looking every bit like a simple farmer fretting over his livelihood.
“Then why did you tell the kids this area was sprayed with herbicide?” Vank asked in confusion.
“Speaking of that, Officer…” Rock lowered his voice and pointed toward the tractor in the distance, where the two kids were poking their heads out to sneak a peek.
“I haven’t told the kids about this yet.”
“You know, if that satellite really has radiation, those two kids definitely wouldn’t keep their mouths shut.
By then, all of Kansas would know, and the oats I grew would…”
“You don’t need to worry about that, Mr.
Rock.” Vank adjusted his glasses.
“The radiation levels in this area are rapidly decaying.
In fact, if we had come a few days later, the radiation here might have completely decayed to zero—”
“What?!”
“You can guarantee it’s safe just by waving that iron gadget around twice?” Rock’s voice suddenly spiked, scaring several nearby Barred Rock chickens into flapping their wings and scurrying away.
“My second grand-uncle’s second cousin grew potatoes in Chernobyl, and now the eggplants growing in his field glow in the dark!”
“Can you guarantee my oats won’t glow in the future?!”
Agent Smith got sprayed with spit all over his face.
He wiped it off awkwardly.
The veteran agent recalled his cousin back home in Nebraska, who had almost gone bankrupt last year because his genetically modified corn wouldn’t sell.
He couldn’t help softening his tone.
“Mr.
Rock, I understand your concern…”
“Understand?” Rock grabbed Vank’s detector, leaving a few muddy finger smudges on the screen.
“Then why don’t you explain why this patch of grass looks like it was struck by lightning?”
“Well, Mr.
Rock,” Vank scratched his head.
“It’s actually because this metal is extremely unsta—”
“Ahem!” Smith coughed sharply to interrupt him.
“Agent Vank, the material is classified.”
An eerie silence fell over the scene.
Until Rock suddenly took off his cowboy hat, pressed it against his chest, his voice trembling slightly.
my whole family depends on these few acres to survive.”
“As you know, I’m just an honest farmer.” He pointed toward the small cottage in the distance with smoke drifting from its chimney.
“Do you see that barn?
To build it, I took out a loan that still has five years left…”
The sunlight shone on his slightly red eyes.
Even Vank felt a pang of pity.
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and old Smith remembered how his own grandfather had been forced to sell his land by an agricultural corporation decades ago.
*Sigh…*
How could he not know how miserably these honest, simple farmers had been squeezed by agricultural associations in recent years?
“Tell you what,” the old agent clapped Rock on the shoulder.
“We’ll help you run through the process.
That compensation money will definitely come through!”
“Mr.
Smith!” Vank tried to stop him.
“That doesn’t follow standard pro—”
The old agent glared at his younger colleague, then turned back and winked at Rock.
“We’re all children of farmers, Mr.
Rock.”
“Let’s just let this rot in the field as fertilizer.”
Ten minutes later, the black Chevrolet drove away from the farm.
Only after it completely vanished down the country road did Dio amble over slowly.
“Chernobyl?” He mimicked his father’s tearful tone from earlier.
“What’s wrong with our oats glowing?”
*Smack!* Rock slapped his son on the back of the head.
“You brat, who gave you permission to talk to strangers like that earlier?”
***
Inside the Chevrolet:
Vank listened quietly through his headphones.
The listening device transmitted the conversation between the father and sons.
Taking advantage of the moment when no one was looking before leaving, he had secretly flicked a wire into a gap in the tractor—
[Dad, can the compensation money buy a new game console?] [Buy your foot!
Go copy Rule 38 of the Farm Safety Rules twenty times first!
Who allowed you to drive the tractor secretly behind my back again?] [It was Clark’s idea.
He said let’s go for a joyride.] [You bastard, Dio, putting the blame on me again!]
Vank listened quietly to this long stretch of plain, mundane conversation until a sharp burst of static hissed through the receiver, followed by a crisp *crack*—
It had clearly been crushed accidentally by a wheel.
Yanking off the headphones, Vank couldn’t help rubbing his ears, which were sore from the noise.
“Damn it!” He slammed the headphones onto the dashboard.
“Another cut to our budget.” Visit g.com for the full chapter.
Driving the Chevrolet with one hand, old Smith casually puffed on his pipe, glancing through the rearview mirror at his colleague’s livid expression.
“Told you before, high-tech gizmos don’t acclimate well in the countryside.” He blew a smoke ring.
“If you ask me, let’s keep it simple and just send someone to stake out the place.”
“Send who?” Vank sneered.
“Your nephew who works as a bartender?
Or my cousin who spends all day obsessed with Japanese anime?”
He counted on his fingers.
“Surveillance requires stipends, compensation comes out of special budgets, not to mention if we need to call in the ‘Cleaners’…
Oh, and then there’s you—”
Seemingly unable to take Vank’s nagging any longer, Smith suddenly yanked the steering wheel hard, bringing the Chevrolet to a screeching halt on the shoulder.
“Hey!
Smith, why did you stop—”
Vank didn’t get to finish.
The old agent spun around, grabbed him by the tie, the sparks from his pipe nearly singeing Vank’s face.
“Rookie, farmers aren’t people you wanna mess with.”
“Look at that guy back there.
He seemed pretty mild-tempered, but I can tell that deep down, he’s got a nasty temper.”
“If you don’t shut his mouth, do you want him to complain to the higher departments?
To blow this up so the big shots upstairs find out?!” His voice dropped low, yet carried an undeniable authority.
“Vank, I’ve been in this department for thirty years.
I know how things work better than anyone.”
“I’ve gone through batch after batch of partners, but I’m the only one still standing here.”
“Now tell me.”
“Do you wanna keep complaining about the budget, or do you wanna stay alive?”
“I…
I just…”
Looking at Smith, whose hair and beard were bristling like a lion’s, the young agent—seeing the old agent blow his top like this for the first time—swallowed hard.
“I just wanted to save a bit of budget.”
“No need to save it.
We’re paid enough.”
Smith restarted the car, his tone returning to its casual idle.
“Transfer ten grand to that farmer from my account.”
“Fine.” Vank had nothing left to say.
***
Glancing at the listening device that Star Platinum had tossed under the car tire, Rock breathed a sigh of relief.
Can’t be too careful around people.
He had to admit, the little Superman was impressive.
He easily spotted details that two Stand Users couldn’t even catch.
“Clark, I’ll add a huge deer leg for you tonight.” Ignoring Dio, whose teeth were grinding nearby, Rock ruffled the curly-haired boy’s hair and encouraged him, “You can already spot things that Dio and I missed.”