Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. No copyright infringement intended. This story is written just for fun, not for profit. The story itself is my own. As are all the mistakes you might find within.
Tempus was pacing in his living room. Currently, he was staying in the 1940's, and his wife was expecting their first child. Of course, he couldn't have married her as Mr. Tempus, but getting another name wasn't that hard in that time – at least not with the equipment he had brought from Utopia.
"To hell with Utopia!" he thought. Everything was so prearranged, so mindlessly boring in the time he came from. He really had to do something about it. And he'd teach his son – for there was no doubt in him that he would have a son – to look out.
Tempus was startled by his wife's scream of pure agony. He resumed his pacing, thinking that there were some advantages to the future. Pain medication sure was a blessing. In order to forget about her pain, he returned to his thoughts on his son. What he could do for the little boy. Make sure he has the right connections from early childhood on. Tempus had no problem to access the information on his palm-sized computer about the important persons of the decades to come. Getting his son to befriend them at an early age was a piece of cake! He just had to find out which school to choose for him.
Oh, and he would teach his son, his heir, to hate all aliens the way he hated Superman. Aliens are a menace, and they change the society in a dreadful way. Just look at Utopia! Living there is worse than living a nightmare! Just as he thought that, his wife screamed once again.
Yes, he'd teach him to beware Superman. Although he could hardly use the name. But he could make his son suspicious of all aliens, especially the seemingly friendly ones. That should work... Of course, he'd have to tell him about kryptonite, too. Well, he might mention that something from an alien's home planet can prove fatal for same alien.
Oh, and he definitely had to tell his son stories about how horrible an alien invasion was. All he'd have to do is tell him about the battle in and around Smallville in his son's not-so-near future... If he made his boy predict that battle to everyone who'd listen, he'd be sought out as soon as it finally happened.
Suddenly, the door to his and his wife's bedroom opened. Out came the midwife with a bundle in her arms. "Mr. Trask, you have fine, healthy boy. Have you already decided on a name?"
"Jason. The boy's name is Jason."
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Author's note: As you can guess right now, I wrote this little vignette in answer to the "Twenty Minutes with Jason Trask" challenge. I typed this in about thirteen minutes, having run out ideas of what to put into it. I hope you enjoyed my take on Trask's background.
