At the control bank, he tried to shut down the reactor but quickly realized that it would take too long. The fuel rods were all in place. It was a water-cooled reactor, filled with boiling liquid that pumped out high-pressure steam. Graphite moderators surrounded the rods, and thick, hot pipes circulated the steam through turbines. Even the heavy lead shielding would not be sufficient to protect him.
With sick fatalism, Ceridov decided that the mutants would be more immediately lethal than the radiation. He ran to the hatch and activated the emergency releases. His throat was dry. He was panting too hard to think. Fortunately, the gulag’s engineers had not bothered to install safety systems or protective interlocks.
The monsters smashed through the main door just as Ceridov opened the bulkhead. Shoulder to massive shoulder, Endovik and Dubrov charged into the control room, their bestial lips drawn back to expose teeth ready to rip out Ceridov’s throat. Very little remained of their once proudly worn military uniforms.
Ceridov stumbled into the reactor chamber and swung the heavy bulkhead door shut behind him. Barely a second after the deep clang, he heard the creatures pounding at the thick barrier.
The air inside the reactor chamber had a sizzling humidity filled with crackling steam. Ceridov staggered backward, trying desperately to recall if there was a second exit. He knew the radiation was all around him, ripping into his cells, poisoning him. But if he could move quickly enough…
With a concerted effort, the mutated creatures tore the bulkhead door off its hinges and hurled it into the reactor chamber. The thick metal rectangle smashed into the nest of coolant pipes, shattering them. Geysers of steam erupted from pipe breaches, and reactor fluid levels began to drop as boiling water rushed out of the containment vessel.
Dubrov and Endovik reveled in the chaos, splashing through the water that swirled furiously around their ankles, not even feeling the heat. The mutated gulag slaves threw themselves into the destruction with primeval relish.
Automatic warning alarms began to sound, along with evacuation sirens. In the control room, all the gauges must have been well into the red, but the five mutants didn’t seem to care. They knocked loose pressure control wheels, smashed lights, waded forward into the thickening radioactive steam.
“Cer-i-dovvvvv!” one of the disgraced generals yelled.
Fleeing deeper into the deadly maze, the Soviet general burned his hand on a hot metal surface. Inside the containment tubes, coolant fuel bubbled and churned until the transparent observation windows blew out, spraying contaminated water everywhere.
A lattice of pipes was uprooted and thrown aside, and Endovik stood there, his glowing green eyes rolling and crazed. Seeing his prey, he yowled, and the other mutants came running. Their skin seemed to be rotting now, burned and scabbed, beginning to fall off.
General Ceridov scrambled for a way to get back out. The monsters had torn off the vault door. If he could just retreat outside, he could run past the fences, hide in the twisted forest.
Bathed in radiation, he knew he was already dead, being cooked from the inside out. But letting these mutants tear him limb from limb seemed the worst possible way to die.
Ceridov could barely see through the steam and flashing red lights as the monsters advanced toward him. Dubrov approached from the other side.
Spitting curses and shouting, Ceridov ran toward them. Dubrov and Endovik, grinning horribly, closed in to intercept him.
CHAPTER 51
LUTHOR’S ISLAND
THE CARIBBEAN HUMIDITY MADE LUTHOR’S ISLAND HEADQUARTERS a sweltering hot box, but Lois had plenty of other reasons to sweat.
When the battlesuited henchmen dragged her into the control center, Lex Luthor was staring at a wall full of screens like a businessman analyzing the stock market. Projected images showed the Kremlin, Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament in London, the Eiffel Tower in Paris, the United Nations headquarters in Metropolis. He had his eye on the whole world.
Luthor frowned at the interruption. “What have you found now, Bertram?”
Lois pulled her arm free. The armored gauntlets were powerful enough to crush granite, but they weren’t particularly nimble. She shook herself and stood defiantly. “So, is this a new subsidiary of LuthorCorp? I must have missed the ribbon-cutting ceremony.”
Luthor’s face darkened. “You like to trespass, don’t you, Miss Lane? Unfortunately, this is a bit more serious than your transgression at my munitions factory. You really must learn to respect personal boundaries.”
“I don’t respect you, if that’s what you mean. The whole world has seen Superman in chains, but what they don’t know is how you orchestrated it. He’s a hero. He’s saved countless lives.” Sure enough, mentioning Superman was like jabbing Luthor with a cattle prod. She could see it in his reaction. A thought occurred to her, and she smiled. “You’re jealous of him, aren’t you?”
He chuckled. “Jealousy is an emotion for children, or at least for those who have no self-confidence. Why on earth would I be jealous now that Superman has gotten himself caught?”
“Are you denying your involvement?”
Luthor’s smile was bland. “Of course not. I just wanted to know how you made the connection.”
“I’m not going to make it easier for you to cover your tracks.” She crossed her arms and fell stubbornly silent.
Luthor shook his head with irritated disgust. “Superman, Superman; he’s like a movie star for young girls to swoon over—James Dean, Jeffrey Hunter, Marlon Brando. It’s…undignified. All flash and no substance. People forget who’s really helped them the most.” His voice had begun to rise, but he controlled himself again by taking two deep, calming breaths. “Trust me, Miss Lane, I haven’t even gotten started with Superman, but I am pleased that General Ceridov has removed this pest.”
“Ceridov? How do you spell that, so I can get his name correct in my article?”
Luthor met her gaze with his cold, soulless eyes. “There won’t be any story about that freak Superman.”
“Freak? Says a man as bald as a cue ball!”
Bertram stiffened in the armored suit that made him look like some absurd beetle. He clearly wanted to defend his boss’s honor, but Luthor was quite capable of watching out for himself. “Now that Superman has been incapacitated by exposure to the green mineral, we can study him. Dissection should prove that he is in fact an alien, different from anyone else on Earth.”
Alarmed, Lois said, “He already admitted that—and he’s come to help us. The world needs Superman.”
“Can’t you see it’s a trick? How can an investigative reporter be so gullible?” He made a sound of disgust. “Maybe being a woman makes it impossible for you to be objective. Wake up, Miss Lane! Don’t just take him at face value—no one rescues people and saves the world as a hobby! It’s inconceivable.”
“Not to someone with a soul,” Lois quipped. “Is unconditional compassion such a foreign concept to you?”
He looked as if he had taken a large bite out of a particularly sour pickle. “He is powerful, and he is mysterious, and that makes him dangerous.”
“You’re far more dangerous than he is, Lex Luthor. And far less human.”
Luthor suddenly realized something. “You really care about him, don’t you, Miss Lane? Like a little lovesick schoolgirl.” His expression took on a more calculating look. She refused to answer, which was itself an answer.
Luthor continued, “We have an arrangement, Ceridov and I. Soon Superman will be turned over to my researchers. Think of the medical and pharmaceutical breakthroughs I could discover by peeling him apart—not to mention the wealth it’ll bring in.”
Lois was outraged. “Didn’t he more than prove his worth by saving our country from the Soviet missile launch?”
“You can’t count on Superman, Miss Lane. How can the United States place itself in his debt? It would be the greatest folly to rely on a man who might change his mind on a whim. LuthorCorp, on the other hand, is creating r
eliable technology that won’t be swayed by emotions. You’ve seen these new battlesuits—powerful defenses that can be used by anyone duly placed in command.”
“Someone like yourself?” Lois said.
Luthor shrugged. “There are more pressing threats than you realize, Miss Lane. Your own newspaper has failed to report on the most important danger to the people of Earth. The Communists are a red herring, as you will soon see. I intend to prove to the world that I am their real protector, not Superman.”
Lois glanced at the stony-faced Bertram, then back to Luthor. “What could possibly be a bigger threat than the Communists in the middle of the Cold War? They’ve already launched three nuclear missiles at us!”
“Such a disappointing lack of imagination.” Luthor regarded his fingertips, then turned to his bodyguard. “Bertram, keep Miss Lane in one of our guest cells for the time being. It would be easier, and certainly more efficient, if we simply disposed of her, but I don’t waste any possible resource. Superman has already demonstrated an affection for her, and she obviously loves him. Once General Ceridov sends his prisoner here, perhaps Miss Lane’s presence will convince him not to resist our investigations.”
“I won’t do it, Luthor. I refuse to cooperate!”
“Why, Miss Lane, who said your cooperation was required?”
As the battlesuited guards grabbed a shouting Lois and dragged her out of the control room, Luthor folded his hands and turned to stare at the screens. “With Superman out of the picture, it’s the perfect time for my next little surprise.”
CHAPTER 52
SIBERIA
THE BLACK CYCLE RACED ACROSS THE UNEVEN TERRAIN like a predator giving chase. Kal-El slumped on the back, still wondering about the mysterious yet strangely honorable Batman. What sort of true hero hid his features behind a dark cowl? And yet, of all the citizens in the USA, only Batman had taken direct action, had risked his own life to save him from General Ceridov and the deadly meteorite radiation.
As they put more distance between themselves and the quarry, Kal-El felt his crippling weakness begin to subside. The invisible chains that dragged him down were dissolving, and with each breath he felt more of his strength return. His vision became sharper. Closer to normal.
Batman guided the cycle expertly through the dark forest, seeing his way with an infrared night-vision visor. He passed through the last of the stunted trees, then out to an open, windswept ridgetop where a dark plane waited like a massive metal condor, ready to take them to safety. Kal-El had never seen such an exotic aircraft design, and he wondered whether Batman himself might have access to certain alien technology. Kryptonian, perhaps? Maybe he was even an alien himself…but that was too much to hope for.
Batman stopped the cycle and remotely opened the plane’s canopy. “It’ll be crowded, but there’s room inside for two. You’re not in any shape to fly yet, and I’ve got to get you out of here.”
As Kal-El climbed into the sleek aircraft, Batman stowed the cycle in the fuselage undercarriage, then swung into the cockpit. Sealing the canopy, he activated the controls, and the engines roared to life, causing the whole plane to throb. “We’ll be gone before the Soviets know what hit them.”
With a burst from the vertical launch boosters, the plane lifted straight into the air, then leaped forward with a screaming thrust of afterburners, climbing steeply.
Pushed deep into his seat by the acceleration, Kal-El looked down as the plane soared into the night, away from the gulag. There was no way he could have saved all those helpless political prisoners thrown into the camp by the Communist government. He vowed to come back—
Then a blinding flash occurred, followed by a searing, rolling shock wave that carried a burst of light, radiation, and heat toward them. A nuclear flash. He strained to see through the dancing black spots in his vision.
Batman clenched his gauntleted hands around the controls, holding the plane against the sudden buffeting of turbulence. Dials and gauges spun, blinking in the blackness. The sleek plane shuddered as it tried to outrace the shock front that tossed them about. Batman took the plane into a near vertical climb, not leveling off until they had finally escaped the spreading storm.
Kal-El focused again, concentrating as he pushed his eyesight, discerning more details through the blazing aftermath. “It’s gone. The quarry, the gulag, the barracks buildings. Everything, wiped out.”
“Including the meteor.”
“Including any prisoners that were left alive,” Kal-El said sadly.
“There was nothing we could have done.” They flew onward in silence, both lost in thought. Kal-El knew the other man was right, but he was simply not accustomed to failure, to being so helpless.
Though the debilitating weakness was dissipating, Kal-El could still feel his vulnerability, his weakness, and he needed to heal as much as he needed to understand what had happened to him. He didn’t wish to return to Metropolis until his powers were restored, not until he had a better grasp of this strange material that had crippled him. Luthor had possessed one sample of the green Ariguska mineral; how many more hunks of the glowing rock were out there for evil-hearted men to use against him?
“Let me guide you,” Kal-El said. “There’s a special place up in the arctic. We can stop there to rest.”
Batman turned, his dark cowl making him look inhuman in the red lights from the cockpit displays. “You have a secret base?”
“A fortress…my Fortress of Solitude. I usually fly there on my own, but I will show it to you. I…trust you.”
“Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”
The black plane soared into the uncharted polar wilderness, cruising over white wastelands of unconquered terrain and twisting frozen rivers. Kal-El was uneasy, yet he had made up his mind. This was a private place where he could ponder his Kryptonian heritage, where he could contemplate both his existence and his destiny. He had never taken anyone here before.
But he sensed something different about Batman. He had an unusual philosophy about fighting crime, to be sure, as well as a certain darkness to his personality, and perhaps he held even more secrets than Kal-El himself. But behind the steely resolve was also a kind of altruism.
Maybe they both fought on the same side after all.
Dawn had painted eerie blood-orange light across the rough ice fields by the time Kal-El guided them to the isolated range of glacier-covered mountains. Even from a great distance, he spotted the latticework of interlaced white crystal shafts. The gigantic angled spires formed an incredible alien palace at the base of a sheer icy cliff.
As new daylight reflected through the crystal faces, Batman found a place to land on the broad ice field. The plane dropped on its vertical thrusters, surrounded by spiraling whirls of ice and snow kicked up by the engine blasts. Batman had proven himself a man of few words, but he was utterly silent now. Kal-El pretended not to notice that he marked the plane’s position on his cockpit log.
When they emerged, the air was intensely cold. Kal-El was impervious to temperature, but he could see that Batman, even with his incredible suit and imaginative devices, was still just a man. Kal-El would take him inside the shelter quickly.
But Batman stood with his dark boots planted, his cape rippling around him in the arctic wind. He did not seem to be in any hurry as he stared at the amazing facade of the Fortress of Solitude. “I am not a person easily impressed, Superman. But this will do it.”
CHAPTER 53
THE FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE
OUT IN THE ARCTIC WILDERNESS, WHERE NO SPY PLANES or prying eyes would find it, Superman had erected a structure that surpassed anything millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne had ever seen: an incomparably alien cathedral built from clear crystal shards and white pillars.
Though the polar air seemed cold enough to break stone, the glowing light emanating from the fortress’s crystals made the interior crackle with life and heat. In the center of the primary chamber, where the prismatic spires focused the wan sunlight,
Superman seemed to be in his element, drawing power from the sun itself.
“This is what remains of my home planet, Krypton,” he said. “This is how I learned what little I know of my origin, my past, and my real parents.”
Behind his cowl, Batman frowned. How could any person not be skeptical about comments like that? “I read Lois Lane’s interview with you in the Daily Planet. I know what you claimed to be. I just…never believed it.”
Yet as he stared about him, how could he doubt the evidence of his own eyes? Even the brightest minds at Wayne Enterprises were not capable of building something like this fortress. Lex Luthor, on his best day, could not have conceived it.
Superman touched a green crystal. A misty cloud of turbulent air formed in the vaulted chamber, and the image of a white-haired head appeared within it. A somber yet noble visage spoke in an incomprehensible language.
“That’s my father, Jor-El. He predicted the end of our planet, warned the Kryptonian Council, but my father—Krypton’s greatest scientist—was defeated by politics, incompetence, and complacency. A dictator named Zod was his downfall, but the people of Krypton were responsible for the end of their own world.”
He touched another crystal, an amber one this time. A beautiful woman appeared, and Superman gazed at her wistfully. “My mother, Lara. I was just a baby when they placed me in a small ship and launched me into space, daring to believe that I might reach Earth and find a home here. As far as I know, I am the last survivor of Krypton.”
A child all alone…
A memory shuddered through him: How could the reflection of blue steel be so bright in such a dim alley? “He just wants the pearls, Martha. Just the pearls.”
Another set of lost parents, blood in an alley.
Surely that single gunshot must have been as loud as a whole planet exploding….
Enemies & Allies: A Novel Page 23