Greg Cox - Man of Steel

The ship roared past the base, vanishing over the horizon.

Daylight—and the barking of seals—woke Lois.

She found herself sprawled upon a rocky shoreline somewhere on the island. Jagged ice floes washed against the beach. An Army helicopter hovered above her, and was in the process of lowering down a rescue officer on a winch. Her side throbbed, but she guessed she was going to live.

Sitting up, she looked around, but “Joe” was nowhere to be seen. The rising sun suggested that she had been out for hours.

She wondered what she’d missed.

“What various military experts surmised to be a Soviet-era submarine was actually something much more exotic. An isotope analysis of the surrounding ice bores suggests that the object had been trapped within the glacier for over 18,000 years.

“As for my rescuer? He disappeared during the object’s departure. He was working with one of the private contractors assisting in the operation, but a subsequent background check revealed that his work history and identity had been falsified. Representatives from the Department of Defense declined to comment, other than to say ‘an investigation into the matter is currently on-going.’

“I understand the military’s cautious approach. The questions raised by my rescuer’s existence are frightening to contemplate. But I also know what I saw. And I have arrived at the inescapable conclusion that the object and its occupant did not originate on Earth.”

Lois read aloud from her laptop. Reaching the end of the article, she looked up from the computer and awaited the verdict.

Perry White, editor-in-chief of the Daily Planet, sat behind his desk in the corner office. A glass partition allowed him to keep an eye on the busy bullpen outside. He was a veteran newsman, whose dark hair was graying at the temples. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

A pained sigh escaped his lips.

“I can’t publish this, Lois,” he said. “You could’ve hallucinated half of it.”

But she had anticipated his response.

“What about the civilian contractors who corroborated my story?”

“The Pentagon is denying there was a ship,” he countered.

“That’s what they’re supposed to do!” she replied. “Come on , Perry. This is me we’re talking about. I’m a Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter—”

“Then act like one.” He kneaded the bridge of his nose, as though he felt a headache coming on. “Our circulation is getting hammered, and you bring me this crap?”

Lois sympathized, but she would not be silenced. This story was too big to bury.

“Print it or I walk,” she said flatly.

“You can’t. You’re under contract.” He leaned forward. “Drop it, Lois. There’s no way I’m running a story about an ‘alien among us.’ It’s never going to happen.”

She recognized the stubborn tone in his voice. He wasn’t going to budge.

Fine, she thought. I have other options.

“One Old-Fashioned for the lady.”

The bartender placed a tumbler down in front of her. The Ace O’Clubs was a waterfront dive in the bad part of town. Ordinarily, Lois wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this, unless she was on the track of a story. But she was working the gutters tonight. She removed a thumb drive from her purse and slid it down the bar to the sleazeball sitting next to her.

“This is the original article,” she said, keeping her voice low. “My editor won’t publish it, but if it happened to leak online…”

Glen Woodburn picked up the drive. He was a scuzzy, middle-aged newshound who reeked of booze and tobacco.

“Didn’t you once describe my site as ‘a creeping cancer of falsehoods’?”

“I stand by my words, Woodburn,” she said, “But I want this story out there. So if you post this, I’ll feed you more.”

He eyed her suspiciously, trying to figure out her angle.

“Why?”

She decided to stick with the facts.

“Because I want my mystery man to know I know the truth.”

Whatever that was.

A polar bear loped along the Arctic mountain range where the alien spaceship had come to rest. Half buried beneath windblown snow, the ship was anchored to the remote, inaccessible summit like a fortress. The bear growled at the object, and then gave it a wide berth.

Inside the craft, Clark heard the bear amble by. With any luck, that would be the only visitor to stumble upon the ship’s location. A short flight had carried it hundreds of miles away from Ellesmere, or any other human settlement. In theory, he finally had time to explore it at his leisure, now that he had left NORTHCOM—and Lois Lane—behind.

He hoped he hadn’t scared her too much.

Pushing thoughts of the attractive reporter out of his head, he inspected the lifeless bridge. A port matching the one he’d used to deactivate the mechanical sentry was located on what appeared to be a control cylinder. He took his key, which he’d retrieved from the other port, and moved to insert it experimentally into the console.

Here goes nothing, he thought.

Once again the key fit perfectly. A glowing threedimensional display appeared above the trunk-like cylinder. Streams of alien code spiraled across the screen as the console booted up. Clark braced himself for liftoff, just in case the ship decided to take off again. He still wasn’t quite sure why the ship had launched the first time, or chosen to set down here in the Arctic.

To his relief, it didn’t happen again. Instead, a threedimensional figure materialized upon the bridge. Clark recognized the bearded man as the stranger who had led him on a chase before, through the bowels of the ship. He realized now that the man was actually some kind of holographic projection.

Not a survivor then, he thought. I’m still alone.

The hologram smiled fondly. His deep voice was strangely reassuring.

“You made it,” he said. “We prayed you would, but actually seeing you here, grown into an adult.” He smiled ruefully. “Gods, I wish Lara could have witnessed this.”

Clark stared at the figure, who seemed know him.

“Who are you?”

“I am your father, Kal. Or rather,” he corrected himself, “a shadow of him. His consciousness… and conscience. My name was Jor-El.”

You have another father.

Another name.

Clark was staggered by the revelation—overcome with emotion by the sight of his birth father. This was far more than he had ever expected to find.

“And… Kal-El? Is that my name?”

The holographic figure nodded. “It is.”

“I have so many questions,” Clark said, unsure where to begin. “Where did I come from? Why did you send me here?”

The hologram, which was apparently tied into the ship’s computers, gestured broadly and an array of virtual display screens surrounded them. Alien text and images scrolled past. A colossal red sun appeared, and Clark shaded his eyes.

On another screen, horned beasts with armored hides roamed an unearthly landscape. Humanoid figures rode upon flying creatures that looked like a cross between a seal and dragonfly. A domed citadel was rooted to the top of a high cliff, much as the ship was currently anchored to the mountain. Multiple moons shone in the sky.

“You came from Krypton,” Jor-El continued. “A world with a much harsher environment than Earth’s.”

City-states spread across alien continents like time-lapsed images of growing coral colonies. Mighty starships, not unlike the one in which he stood, were built and launched into space. Their thrusters lit up the endless black.