Greg Cox - Man of Steel

“HE WILL HAVE MADE EFFORTS TO BLEND IN. HE WILL LOOK LIKE YOU.”

Clark wrapped his arm around his mom. He alone recognized the name of the speaker—a name Jor-El had associated with violence and rebellion. General Zod had launched a bloody civil war, back on Krypton…

“BUT HE IS NOT ONE OF YOU.”

Lois’s gaze remained glued to the static-filled screens. She feared that she knew exactly who Zod was talking about, and so did Perry. They shared a worried look. Perry’s scowl deepened.

“TO THOSE OF YOU WHO MAY KNOW OF HIS CURRENT LOCATION—THE FATE OF YOUR PLANET RESTS IN YOUR HANDS.”

Lois gulped. Perry watched her carefully.

“COMPLY WITH OUR REQUEST, AND WE WILL REWARD YOU IN KIND.”

Tearing her gaze away, Lois walked to the window. The ship hung before the lambent moon, visible to the naked eye. The absence of the usual city lights made its silhouette all the easier to see.

She wondered what it looked like from Smallville.

“TO KAL-EL, I SAY THIS: SURRENDER WITHIN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. OR WATCH THIS WORLD SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES.”

Standing in the Kent family living room, Clark listened to the ultimatum. His mother shuddered in his arms. He had already shared his Kryptonian birth name with her, so she understood the decision he faced now— as well as the fact that his alien heritage had brought all this upon them.

The transmission ended abruptly. The faceless static vanished, to be replaced by the Emergency Broadcast signal. The lights came on so suddenly that Martha jumped in surprise. The power surge caused a bulb to pop overhead. He heard her heart skip a beat.

Clark did his best to comfort her, but his own thoughts were consumed by a name that should have never been heard on Earth. A name that should have been lost with the destruction of Krypton.

Zod.

The lights came back on at NORTHCOM, where General Swanwick was already on the phone with the White House. Numerous monitors continued to track the “Kryptonian” vessel.

“Yes, sir,” the general said. “We’re activating the Joint Emergency Evacuation Plan, but I’d advise against using Air Force One. I’m not sure the skies are safe.”

To be honest, he wasn’t sure anywhere was safe.

Lois stood at the window of her cluttered third-floor apartment, gazing up at the unnatural black shape that loomed high in the sky. Zod’s ship was still visible, even by daylight, and it didn’t look like it was going anywhere.

Not without Clark.

She had tried calling Smallville, leaving numerous messages on Martha Kent’s voicemail, but so far she hadn’t managed to get hold of Clark or his mom. She guessed that he was dealing with bigger things than returning her calls. She just wished she had a better idea of what exactly was at stake.

Who was this Zod ? And what did he want with Clark?

Her TV droned in the background. She half-listened as Woodburn—of all people—discussed the crisis with David Rowland, a network talking head with more phony gravitas than journalistic chops. He was barely a step above Woodburn when it came to professional ethics.

“I think the question everyone is asking this morning is, who is this guy? And why has he kept his existence a secret from us for so long? I mean, we hardly know anything about him. Isn’t that right?”

“We know nothing,” Woodburn declared. “And that’s why I’m speaking out right now. He could be a criminal for all we know. And if he is, why should we pay for his crimes?”

“Aren’t people innocent until proven guilty?” Rowland asked.

“Sure,” Woodburn conceded. “But this guy’s not human.”

Lois frowned, afraid that too many other people would feel the same way. She trusted Clark, and owed him her life, but to the rest of the world, he was just a scary alien infiltrator, posing as a human—and maybe a fugitive to boot.

She moved to turn off the TV, but her phone rang before she could locate the remote. She picked up her phone instead, and as she did, Woodburn kept right on with his rabble-rousing.

“Kal-El, or whatever his name is… if he doesn’t really mean us any harm, he should turn himself in to his people, and face the consequences. And if he won’t, then we should. Lois Lane knows who the guy is. She’s the one we should be questioning.”

“Terrific,” Lois muttered. She should have known he’d rat her out like that, just to get a little extra air time. Annoyed and distracted, she answered the ringing phone.

Perry spoke before she could even say hello.

“Are you watching this crap?” he asked. She could imagine him pacing back and forth in his office, watching the same channel on his snazzy LCD screen. Lombard and Jenny and the rest were probably glued to the tube, as well.

“It’s been running all day,” Perry continued. “And for once, I actually agree with Woodburn. Where is he, Lois? Do you know?”

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t say,” she replied.

“The entire world’s been threatened,” he argued. “This isn’t the time to fall back on journalistic integrity.”

“I’m not, Perry,” she said, struggling to keep her cool. “This isn’t about me grandstanding. He said he’s here to help us. And I believe him.”

The conviction—and passion—in her voice startled even her. When did she become the president of the Clark Kent Fan Club? When he carried her bags through the snow, or when he healed her busted insides with his laser eyes?

“Lois, listen to me. This is serious.” He lowered his voice. “The FBI’s here, interviewing everyone. And they’re throwing around words like ‘treason.’”

She heard brakes squealing outside. Cranky Metropolis motorists honked in protest. She dashed to the window and looked to see what the commotion was, afraid that she already knew the answer.

“You need to get yourself a lawyer immediately.”

Black vans pulled up at the curb outside the building. Men in dark suits piled out of the vehicles, accompanied by a paramilitary unit in full body armor. The Feds clearly weren’t taking any chances.

“I gotta go, Perry!” she said quickly. Hanging up, she scooted out of her apartment and sprinted to the stairwell at the end of the hall. She ran down four flights of stairs, wincing at the sound of her own footsteps, until she reached the basement.

Washing machines and dryers churned in the laundry room. She ran past the tenant storage units to the back stairs, which led to a back alley that ran behind the building. Rusty dumpsters crowded the narrow way. A cool autumn wind blew litter into a tiny whirlwind.

She started down the alley, only to spot some G-Men at the end of the block. Changing direction, she speed-walked toward the opposite end, hoping she could make herself scarce before the Feds surrounded the entire building. As a rule, she preferred asking the questions, rather than being interrogated herself.

Just a few more yards, she thought. Then maybe I can track down Clark and find out what the real story is.

“Hey!” A voice shouted behind her. “Stop where you are!”

Damn, Lois thought, and she broke into sprint. The agents chased after her, shouting louder and more urgently. She prayed they weren’t authorized to use deadly force.

“Stop where you are!”

She’d almost reached the end of the alley when another black SUV jumped the curb, cutting her off. Agents in suits and soldiers in body armor poured out of the van, brandishing automatic weapons. They swarmed toward Lois.