Greg Cox - Man of Steel

Trust me.

He scrutinized her for what felt like forever. Then his expression softened somewhat, and he sat down behind his desk, like a judge preparing to pass sentence.

“Two weeks’ unpaid leave,” he pronounced. “That’s your penance. And if you do something like this again, you’re done.”

Lois tried not to look too relieved. She figured she was getting off easy.

“Fine,” she said.

His eyes narrowed.

“Make it three, then. Since you were so quick to agree.”

“Perry—!”

He shut her up with a look.

“I believe you saw something, Lois,” he said, and she could tell that he meant it. “And I’m not buying for a second that your leads ran cold. But whatever your reasons for dropping this, I’m glad you’re doing it.”

Now it was her turn to be baffled. Perry was an old-school newsman with printer’s ink in his veins. Yet he wanted her to turn her back on the story of the millennium.

“Why?”

A pensive expression came over his face, replacing his usual hard-ass routine. His sober tone conveyed years of hard-won experience, and too much firsthand knowledge of what human beings were capable of doing, when frightened.

“Can you imagine what it would mean for Earth?” he asked her. “Knowing that someone like him was out there?”

Then she knew what he meant. Maybe Jonathan Kent was right.

Maybe the world wasn’t ready for a superman.

Clark found his mother on the front steps of the house, planting geraniums in a window box. Dusty, the Border Collie who had succeeded Shelby some years ago, heard him coming a mile way, and started barking.

“Hi, Mom,” Clark called as he headed up the walk to the house.

Dusty bolted to greet him. Clark knelt to pet the excited canine, who gave him an enthusiastic lick across the face.

“More geraniums, huh? I could never stand the smell of them.”

“Me neither,” she confessed, “but they’re hard to kill.”

He glanced around at the once-familiar setting, feeling guilty that he hadn’t visited more frequently. He scanned the venerable farmhouse, which was showing its age. His eyes narrowed as he studied the eaves above the porch.

“There’s dry-rot in the joists up there,” he reported. “You want me to fix them? I can get it done in a day.”

His mother shook her head.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means it’d look suspicious, getting done so fast.” She stripped off her gardening gloves and put them aside. He could tell from her worried expression that the time for small talk was over. “A reporter showed up here.”

“She’s a friend,” he replied. “Don’t worry.”

Calling a Lois a friend was probably a bit of stretch, but she had kept his secret—so far. He felt as if he could trust her.

His mother frowned. She seemed less than thrilled by the prospect of Clark sharing his secrets with a “friend.” And he couldn’t blame her. She’d spent most of her adult life guarding those secrets—and Dad had given his life for them.

But he hadn’t come here to talk about Lois.

“Mom, I have to tell you something.”

His tone let her know right away that this was serious. She waited apprehensively, visibly bracing herself for whatever he had to say.

“I found them,” he said. “My parents, my people—” He tried to contain his excitement, deliver the news gently, but it burst out of him. “I know where I come from now.” As he spoke, she relaxed, and a new look crossed her face.

“That’s wonderful, Clark,” she said softly. “I’m so happy for you.”

She hugged him warmly, yet he could feel her trembling, too. He knew she meant it, that she was truly happy for him, but he couldn’t miss the fact that she was clearly troubled, as well. Her anxious eyes gazed nervously into the distance.

“What?” he asked her.

“It’s nothing,” she insisted. “I just… when you were a baby, I used to lay by your crib at night, listening to you breathe. It was hard for you at first. You struggled. And I worried all the time. The doctors thought it was asthma, but your father and I knew the truth. You were adapting to our world.”

Clark remembered Krypton’s red sun and emerald magma. His homeworld had indeed been very different from Earth. He tried to imagine the challenge they had faced, raising a child from another planet.

“So what did you do?”

“We prayed you wouldn’t get sick,” she said. “And when you did, we never took you to the same doctor twice. We wouldn’t let them x-ray you or take blood. God knows what they would have found if they had.”

He nodded. “You were worried the truth would come out.”

“No,” she said forcefully, making sure he understood. “The truth about you is beautiful. We saw that the moment we laid eyes on you. And one day the world will, too.” She wrung her hands. “I just worry they’ll take you away from me when they do.”

Clark could feel the love radiating from her like the rays of the sun. He pulled her close.

“I’m not going anywhere, Mom. I promise.”

NORTHCOM’s main operations center put their Arctic base to shame. A small army of analysts were arrayed in front of the “big board,” a wall of state-of-the-art monitors presenting real-time data and visuals from all over the planet—and beyond. Smaller screens were positioned at every desk and workstation. Telemetry command systems collected data from orbital spy satellites and monitored the positions of suspect aircraft and ocean-bound vessels.

The assembled personnel sat up straighter as a five-star general entered the room, accompanied by a female aide. Both were in full dress uniform.

“General Swanwick, sir,” Dr. Hamiliton greeted the center’s commanding officer. Being a civilian, he wasn’t obliged to salute.

Swanwick nodded curtly. His stern features looked as though they had been carved out of dark brown granite. He examined the main screen, which depicted a time-lapsed view of a large dark object moving across familiar constellations. He assumed that this was the UFO that had demanded his presence tonight.

“What am I looking at, Doc?” he asked. “A comet? Asteroid?”

Hamilton shook his head, a frown appearing on his face.

“Comets don’t make course corrections, General.”

Swanwick understood. This was not a natural phenomenon. Someone—or something—was guiding it.

“Have you tried communicating with it?”

The scientist nodded.

“So far, it hasn’t responded,” he said. “The ship appears to be inserting itself into a lunar synchronous orbit directly between the earth and the moon.” He stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “Though I have no idea why.”

Swanwick hazarded a guess.

“I’m just speculating,” he said, “but I think whoever’s at the wheel of that beast is looking to make a dramatic entrance.”

Monitors captured satellite shots of an alien vessel. Its silhouette resembled a gigantic tripod, descending across the face of the moon. Three immense legs or tentacles hung beneath the bell-shaped mantle of the ship. Its size and ominous black shape made it impossible to miss—which may have been the idea. All eyes were on the unidentified vessel as it actually eclipsed the moon.

Swanwick frowned.

Shock and awe, he thought. That’s military thinking.

“Re-supply toner,” the laser printer blinked annoyingly. Lois resisted the urge to kick the recalcitrant machine. How was she supposed to make her deadline if technology refused to cooperate? She stormed out of her cubicle and into the hall. Tomorrow’s paper had yet to be put to bed, so the bullpen was still abuzz with activity. She looked around to find somebody who would assist her.