by Greg Cox
Zod stood before him, accompanied by a gaunt Kryptonian male. His pale skin, sunken eyes, and hollow cheeks made him look more like a ghoul than a soldier. He wore a dark burgundy lab coat over a black skinsuit. Superman wondered what the man had done to be exiled to the Phantom Zone.
“Your parents are gone,” Zod said. “Mine as well— along with my children, everyone I’ve ever loved. For decades, the only thing that kept me going was the hope that one day I’d be able to rekindle our race. Are you really going to extinguish that hope for the sake of these people who cast you out? Who were willing to hand you over without hesitation?”
He drew closer to the table and its captive.
“You’re an alien to them,” he said grimly. “They would not show you such concern. They did not show you such concern.”
That much was true. Superman had been disappointed when the authorities had surrendered him to Zod, but he couldn’t blame them for being frightened. The Kryptonians were an even bigger threat than General Swanwick and the White House feared, and, to be honest, they’d had little reason to trust an alien who’d kept his existence a secret for his entire life. What else were they supposed to have done?
And then there was Lois...
“You’re asking me to betray them,” Superman said. “I can’t.”
“You already have,” Zod declared. “Why do you think we accessed your memories?”
Smallville, Superman realized. He knows about the farm... and Mom.
“You still need the scout ship,” he said, desperate to keep Zod away from his home. The apocalyptic nightmare he had just witnessed, in which the heartland was reduced to bones and ashes, was still fresh in his mind. He couldn’t let that doomsday scenario play out in real life.
“We’ve known where it was since we first entered the system,” Zod stated confidently. He turned to his cadaverous associate. “Continue examining him, Jax-Ur. I want to know precisely how this world’s ecosphere has affected him. How he can fly.”
The scientist nodded. He regarded Clark with pitiless curiosity, clearly intrigued by the challenge.
Zod began to exit the laboratory. Then paused and looked back at Superman. He contemplated the prisoner.
“Back on Krypton,” he said, “in the era of the warring states, if a foe died a noble death, custom dictated that the victor raise his enemy’s child as his own.” A flicker of guilt played across his face. “Your father acquitted himself with honor, Kal. I would gladly keep that custom alive.”
What?
Superman instantly grasped the implications behind what Zod was saying. His fists clenched at his sides and he strained against his bonds. He glared furiously at Zod.
“You killed him.”
“I did,” Zod confessed with uncharacteristic remorse. “And not a day goes by when I don’t think about it. But if I had to do it again, I would. The stakes were that high. They still are.” His face and voice hardened. “I have a duty to my people. And I won’t allow anyone to prevent me from carrying it out.”
Superman tried to break free from the table, but for the first time in his life, his strength met its match. The bonds refused to budge, so that he could only watch helplessly as Zod departed the lab, leaving him to Jax-Ur’s questionable mercy.
The Kryptonian scientist set about his work.
C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - T W O
On the big board at NORTHCOM, two red triangles inched their way over an illuminated map of the American Midwest. Dozens of adrenalized threat analysts rushed to interpret the data as General Swanwick rushed back into the ops center, accompanied by Hardy, Farris, and Hamilton. He quickly scanned the numerous video displays upon the wall.
“What’s the sitrep, major?” he demanded of the nearest officer.
“DSP pinged two bogeys launching from the alien ship,” the man reported.
Swanwick remembered the bug-like dropship that had collected Superman and Lane. What were the aliens after now?
“Retask Ikon-4 and get me a closer look,” he ordered. Maybe the spy satellite could shed some light on this latest development. He hoped to God that this wasn’t the beginning of an invasion, but knew that he needed to take appropriate action, just in case.
While his people redirected the satellite, he walked briskly to a secure land-line and picked up the receiver.
“Command Victor-Eight-Six-Whiskey-Three,” he barked into the phone. “The word of the day is ‘trident.’ We have two alien craft on aggressive approach. Request SECDEF set DEFCON 1. Put all combat and combat support airborne on Alert 5!”
“Ikon-4 coming online!” an analyst called out.
And none too soon, Swanwick thought. He replaced the receiver, just as real-time images of the Kryptonian dropships appeared on the central screens. The ships— which were identical to the one that had been piloted by Sub-Commander Faora—were flying low over America’s heartland. Acres of growing corn and wheat rippled in the ships’ wake. They looked like two giant locusts zipping above the amber waves of grain.
“Air speed?” Swanwick asked.
“Three hundred and eighty knots and entering Kansas airspace!” an analyst reported. He adjusted his headset. “They’re not responding to our hails!”
Swanwick did some quick mental calculations. He glanced at an illuminated map to see what resources were available to him.
“Get me Fort Anderson,” he ordered. “Scramble the closest AWACS.” He turned toward Colonel Hardy, who was waiting expectantly. “That’s for you, Colonel. I need your eyes on the ground yesterday. And bring me one of those bastards back alive.”
Hardy saluted and made tracks. He was good soldier who understood better than most just what was at stake, having been involved ever since the discovery on Ellesmere. There wasn’t a better man for the job.
Except maybe the one he had turned over to Zod.
* * *
Superman felt like a lab rat laid out for dissection. Gritting his teeth, he strained once again against his shackles, but was unable to break loose from the examination table. He had never felt so weak, so helpless.
“You’re wasting your efforts,” Jax-Ur said. “The strength you derive from your exposure to Earth’s sun has been neutralized aboard our ship.”
The lean Kryptonian scientist approached the table. His gloved hands gripped a bony, segmented syringe that looked more like some sort of petrified parasite than a piece of medical equipment. Razor-sharp pinchers clamped down on Superman’s arm while a hollow stinger penetrated his sleeve and skin. The prisoner winced at the unfamiliar stinging sensation—thanks to his parents’ studied secrecy, he’d never had blood drawn before. He watched with dismay as the grotesque parody of a syringe extracted a crimson sample.
“Here, in this environment,” Jax-Ur said, “you’re as weak as any human.”
Superman just hoped that Lois wasn’t being subjected to similar treatment.
* * *
Car-Vex tossed Lois into an empty cell.
Even worse, the female Kryptonian had refused to answer any of her questions. She wouldn’t reveal where Superman was, or if he was okay. When she’d last seen him, he was being dragged off by Zod’s goons, unconscious and looking like death warmed over. Since then, nobody on this space-age penitentiary had bothered to give her an update.
For all she knew, he was dead.
Fighting despair, she sat in the corner of her cell, staring down and hugging herself to keep warm. The air-conditioning aboard the Black Zero was set uncomfortably low, leading her to guess that Krypton had been a much cooler planet. Shivering, she tried to figure out what to do next.
She’d been in tight fixes before, but being locked up on a chilly alien spaceship populated by superhuman storm troopers was a new one. She couldn’t count on Superman to come to her rescue again, either.
Whatever her next move would be, it was entirely up to her.
The air that was being pumped into her cell had been adapted to her needs, so she didn’t need a
respirator anymore. Lifting her eyes from the floor, she examined her cell more closely. Rounded walls gave it the feel of a hollow cavity inside a living organism, which didn’t do anything to reassure her. The polished surfaces were largely smooth and seamless, but her questing gaze fell upon a glowing port set into the wall next to the sealed entrance.
An idea occurred to her, and she retrieved the nail-like object Superman had given her on the way here. Thankfully, Zod’s forces hadn’t bothered to search her—no doubt they assumed she was incapable of posing a threat.
She compared the head of the object, which bore Superman’s trademark “S,” to the empty port on the wall. Hope sparked inside her as she confirmed that they matched. Superman had silently hinted that she should hold onto the key until the time was right.
Was this the moment?
Might as well go for it, she thought. Who knows if I’ll get another chance?
Holding her breath, she inserted the key into the port. It fit perfectly, which she took as a positive omen, and she waited for something to happen. But, much to her disappointment, the cell remained as closed and claustrophobic as ever. The entrance stayed sealed.
Great, she thought glumly. Talk about a big black zero.
She turned away from the locked door—only to find a tall, bearded man standing behind her. She yelped in surprise.
“Where did you come from?” she demanded.
“The command key, Ms. Lane,” came the reply. “Thanks to you, I’m now uploading a copy of myself into the ship’s mainframe.”
What does he mean by that? Lois took a closer look at her unexpected guest. He was an imposing robed figure whose regal bearing conveyed a combination of wisdom and authority. His graying brown beard gave him the look of some space-age patriarch.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I am Jor-El,” he answered. “Kal’s father.”
She hadn’t seen that coming. Startled, she peered at the stranger’s face. On closer inspection, she thought she saw a family resemblance... maybe. He drew back his robes to reveal the “S” emblazoned on his chest.
Like father, like son.
She glanced around furtively, afraid that the entire discussion was being monitored. There were no two-way mirrors in evidence, but maybe the Kryptonians had a more advanced method of surveillance?
So she cut to the chase.
“Can you help me?” she asked.
“I designed this ship,” he said. “I can modify its atmospheric composition to human compatibility. And I know how to stop them.” Soulful brown eyes implored her. “Will you help me?”
“Yes, of course.”
This whole business was getting wilder and wilder, but if there was even a chance of blindsiding Zod and his troops, then she was determined to take it.
Jor-El gestured toward a holographic display pad. Helixes of Kryptonian code spiraled across the screen. Lois couldn’t make head nor tail of it.
“We will have to move quickly then,” he said. “The crew is already aware of my presence. You can send them back to the Phantom Zone, but you must give my son the following message...”
Lois listened carefully.
* * *
The dropships came in low above the cornfields outside Smallville. Their slipstream uprooted the crops and set the fields ablaze. Smoke rose from burning stalks even as the ships descended toward the town.
Ordinary citizens, going about their business, stared in shock at the extraterrestrial aircraft. A mother in a playground, pushing her child on a swing, froze at the sight. Pete Ross, hearing the commotion, dashed out into the parking lot of the pancake house. His jaw dropped as he watched the bizarre objects streak over the water tower. They screamed through the air like banshees.
Pete froze in place. He hadn’t been this scared since the bus crash, twenty years ago. And this time, there was no one to rescue him.
* * *
Jor-El’s data screen blinked off abruptly. The lights went out in Lois’s cell, plunging her into darkness. Alarms sounded.
“Remove the command key, Ms. Lane.”
If you say so, she thought. Fumbling in the dark, she extracted it from the port.
The cell door slid open. Lois poked her head out and took a cautious breath, afraid that the air would still be too alien for comfort. But Jor-El had adjusted the atmosphere, as promised. She could breathe easily.
That was one less thing to worry about.
She slipped out into the cramped, murky corridor, accompanied by Clark’s father. By this time she had figured out that he was a hologram, a computer program who apparently could traverse the ship at will. He looked deceptively solid, but he was as insubstantial as, well, a phantom.
For a brief moment she hoped they could get away undetected, but then Car-Vex spotted her. The female soldier charged, drawing a creepy-looking Kryptonian pistol.
Lois prayed it had a “stun” setting.
Right, she thought. I should be so lucky.
But before woman could fire, an emergency blast door slammed down from the ceiling, pinning her to the floor. Her pistol was knocked from her grip and went skidding across the nacreous tiles toward Lois.
Lois glanced sideways at Jor-El. “Did you do that?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “Take her sidearm. Keep moving!”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. Scooping the freaky alien gun from the floor, she sprinted after Jor-El, who guided her through a bewildering maze of arteries. Her sweaty palm was wrapped around the grip of the pistol. She had never fired a ray-gun before, but figured there was a first time for everything.
She wondered how long that door was going to hold Car-Vex.
C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - T H R E E
Blaring klaxons echoed off the walls of the science ward. Jax-Ur looked up from his work, his expression twisted in surprise. He triggered an intercom, but then found himself short of breath. He gasped and clutched his throat.
“What’s... happening?” he croaked hoarsely.
Superman smiled.
“It’s called a backup plan. Your ship’s atmospherics just switched back to Earth levels, which means I’ve got my strength again.” Steely blue eyes, with a hint of solar red, fixed on Jax-Ur. “So if I were you, I’d start running.”
Superman tested his shackles again. Straining beyond his limits, he ripped one loose, freeing his right arm. Jax-Ur’s sunken eyes grew wide. Coughing painfully, he staggered out of the lab as quickly as he could manage. He clutched the stolen blood sample to his chest.
Superman let him go. He took a deep breath, pulling the Earth-like air into his lungs. He felt his strength rushing back.
That’s more like it, he thought.
* * *
Lois hoped Jor-El knew where he was going.
They dashed through curved tunnels that branched out at wild angles—the weirdly biological architecture reminded her of the spaceship in the Arctic, but on a massive scale. Emergency lights provided only dim illumination, but her eyes soon adjusted to the gloom. She spotted another junction ahead.
“To the left,” Jor-El instructed. “Fire!”
She spun and clumsily fired the pistol, grateful that the trigger mechanism had been designed for humanoid hands. A white-hot plasma pulse knocked a Kryptonian soldier on his back. Lois grinned in satisfaction, but her momentary victory was cut short by the sight of reinforcements approaching from the corridor on the right. Boots pounded on the floor as they shouted at her to surrender.
Lois wondered how many shots her blaster held. Even though she had seen only a handful of soldiers aboard the ship, she was still outnumbered here.
Jor-El gestured toward the tunnel and another blast door slammed into place, cutting off her attackers. They pounded angrily on the other side of the thick barrier, and Lois decided Jor-El was a pretty handy guy to have around.
“This way!” he said.
She followed his lead, stepping over the fallen soldier. Swiftly they rounded another c
orner.
“Ahead you will find an escape pod,” he said. “Secure yourself. I’ll take care of the rest.”
A portal irised open, revealing a padded seat inside a spherical cavity. Lois climbed into the seat, which faced the corridor outside. She yelped in surprise as silken restraints automatically strapped her into the seat, and briefly wondered if it had all been a trap.
Then display panels pulsed to life as the pod powered up and was shunted into a long black launch tube. A transparent canopy began to lower. Lois felt as if she was stuck on some futuristic amusement park ride—one which was just about to get rolling.
“Safe travels, Ms. Lane,” Jor-El said. “We will not likely see each other again. And remember what I said. The Phantom Drives are the key to stopping them.” He paused, as though he had suddenly become aware of something, and offered a final piece of advice. “Shift your head to the left.”
Huh?
She quickly did so.
“Oh, shit!” she exclaimed as she realized why
Car-Vex burst through the hologram’s immaterial form. Red-faced and panting, she drove her fist through the back of Lois’s seat, just to the right of the reporter’s head, missing her skull by only millimeters.
The soldier yanked her fist back, leaving a gaping hole in the seat. Lois gulped.
Strapped in her seat, she was a sitting duck with nowhere to run. She hastily raised the stolen pistol and took aim, but the Kryptonian female snatched it from Lois’s grasp. With practiced skill, Car-Vex flipped the gun in her hand and pointed its skeletal muzzle.
She fired point-blank.
At the last instant the pod’s exterior hatch crashed down, deflecting the shot. Car-Vex ducked as sparks sprayed from the pod’s damaged plating. She swore in Kryptonian.
Lois gasped in relief. That had been way too close.
Before the frustrated soldier could fire again, a sudden burst of acceleration slammed Lois into what was left of her seat. She shrieked, clutching onto it with white knuckles, as the pod zoomed down the launch tube like a rocket sled, leaving Car-Vex behind. Spinning madly, it shot out of the Black Zero and into open space.