Greg Cox - Man of Steel

Clark stared in shock, unable to believe his eyes.

The World Engine towered above the blasted landscape. The colossal machine was supported by three huge legs the size of skyscrapers. Lights pulsed along the engine’s armored carapace as it powered up. Clark identified it as the ancient device Zod had salvaged on the ice planet.

But what was it doing on Earth?

“For thirty-three years,” Zod said, “you’ve hidden yourself amongst mankind. But you can’t really believe that’s all your father intended for you. He knew that Earth, more than any other world we’d ever discovered, was a fitting home for us. He knew there was a Genesis Chamber on the scout ship and he wanted you to use it. He sent you here to revive our race.”

Clark wasn’t so sure. Why hadn’t Jor-El said so himself?

“Where is the Codex, Kal?”

Not so fast, Clark thought. “If Krypton lives again, what happens to Earth?”

As if in answer, the World Engine fired a titanic pulse of energy that spread outward across the wide Kansas plains, clearing away everything in its path. Acres of wheat and corn were flattened by the blast. Trees and telephone poles toppled. The blast swept over the Kent farm, instantly obliterating the farmhouse, barns, and silo. Caught in the midst of the disaster, Clark was momentarily blinded by a tidal wave of dust, ash, dirt, rock, and splinters.

In a heartbeat, his childhood home was wiped from the face of the Earth.

The shock wave passed and Superman found himself standing upon a barren plain that had been stripped clean by the World Engine’s power. His earthly clothing had been erased, as well, replaced by a forbidding black-and-silver version of the uniform he wore as Superman.

A cold silver “S” was inscribed on the chest of a matte-black skinsuit similar to the ones sported by Zod and his troops. A long black cape hung from his shoulders.

Quakes shook the scoured ground beneath him. Fissures tore open the exposed bedrock. Red-hot lava welled up from below, spewing smoke and flames. Through the haze, Superman saw that the surface beneath his feet was no longer composed of rock or soil, but was instead a bed of human skulls. A heap of charred bones, with empty sockets and death’s-head grimaces, lifted him above the coursing magma. A hot volcanic wind lifted his jet-black cape.

“A foundation has to be built upon something,” Zod said. “Even your father recognized that.”

“No!” Superman ripped the black cape from his shoulders. “I can’t be a part of this.”

He rejected Zod’s nightmare scenario, which flickered and began to lose integrity. The scorched wasteland and skulls evaporated as the holographic environment collapsed. Superman found himself bound to an examination table in a sterile science ward somewhere within the Black Zero. No longer black and silver, his suit had reverted to its usual colors.

A bright red “S” shone against a field of gold.

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.

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!”