by Greg Cox
Perry hadn’t been expecting that. He stopped pacing, and peered at her over the tops of his glasses, making no effort to conceal his skepticism.
“Just like that?” he asked suspiciously. “What about all your leads?”
Lois shrugged.
“They didn’t pan out. The story’s smoke.”
“Really?” He still didn’t sound convinced. “Or did it just not gain traction like you hoped it would?”
She didn’t comment, knowing she was already on thin ice. Please, Perry, she thought. Don’t press me on this. I have my reasons.
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.”
C H A P T E R S E V E N T E E N
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 b
een 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.
“Anybody know where the toner cartridges are—?” she said.
But nobody paid any attention to her. Instead she saw Lombard and Jenny rushing across the bullpen. They looked as if they had a lot more than toner on their minds. Even Steve looked excited, and maybe a little scared.
Lois didn’t like being out of the loop.
“What’s going on?” she asked before they had passed.
“It’s on the news!” Jenny called out. “Everyone’s talking about it!”
Talking about what? Lois hurried after them to the other side of the room, where she found Perry and the rest of the staff staring at a bank of TV monitors, tuned to every major station. As much as the Planet regarded broadcast journalism as the competition, they still needed to monitor breaking stories as they happened.
Every channel—Fox, CNN, even the major networks—was running the same footage, showing what looked like a giant, three-limbed octopus hanging in front of the full moon. Lois stared wide-eyed at the ominous UFO. More than anyone else in the room, she knew that Earth was sometime visited by vessels from other worlds.
Could this have anything to do with Clark? Or that ship they’d found buried beneath the ice?
She glanced out a window and was stunned when she saw the lights of Metropolis going dark, borough by borough, block by block. Before she could say anything the wave hit the Daily Planet building and the power went out, throwing the bullpen and offices into darkness. Startled gasps and even yelps came from the group—even Perry. People stumbled and bumped into each other.
Lois reached out to steady herself against a cubicle wall.
This isn’t a coincidence, she thought. The alien ship had to be responsible for the sudden blackout. But are they doing it on purpose?
And what did they want?
* * *
Barely more than a hundred miles above the Earth, a disabled spy satellite drifted out of orbit. The high-tech hardware, pulled into space at an ever-increasing speed, crashed full-tilt against the Black Zero’s dark unyielding hull. It crumpled to pieces, yet the prison ship’s dense plating remained unscratched by the collision.
Far below, the entire continent was going dark, from the eastern seaboard on through to the west...
* * *
Clark was in the kitchen, drying dishes while watching a Kansas City Royals game on TV, when the lights went out. Puzzled, he stood in the dark for a moment before he heard his mother cry out in alarm.
“Clark!”
Abandoning the dishes, he raced out onto the front porch of the farmhouse, where his mother was gazing up at the sky with a frightened expression on her face. Moonlight shone down on the farm—despite the unearthly black silhouette drifting between Earth and its satellite. Clark couldn’t believe his eyes.
Another ship?
His eyes narrowed as his vision brought the mysterious vessel into closer focus. It appeared much larger, and was differently configured than the scout ship he’d found in the Arctic, but the bio-organic look of it definitely hinted at Kryptonian origins.
Had someone else survived the destruction of Krypton—and found him at last?
Suddenly he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“It’s a ship,” he told his mom.
Before he could say anything more, the TV set in the living room squawked and blinked back on, even though the rest of the house remained dark. Clark and Martha went back inside and cautiously contemplated the glowing TV screen, which provided the only illumination. Electronic snow filled the screen. Then a nameless, faceless voice emerged from the speakers.
“YOU ARE NOT ALONE. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.”
Clark knelt before the TV set and switched from channel to channel. The same visual static—and the same repetitive message—was on every channel.
“YOU ARE NOT ALONE. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.”
A chill ran down his spine. He was an alien, and even he found this creepy. He could only imagine how ordinary men and women were coping with it. Was this the beginning of a new era of extraterrestrial contact—or the end of life as they knew it?
Clark wished he had the answers.
* * *
At the Daily Planet, Lois and her colleagues were transfixed by the unprecedented communication. Every monitor was obscured by static. The anonymous voice issued from every speaker.
Lombard had retreated to his cubicle.
“It’s coming over the RSS feeds, too!”
“Same with my phone!” Jenny reported.
Every computer in the office had been hijacked by the ominous message. It was on Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, the message boards, even the Planet’s own interactive web page.
“—NOT ALONE. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.”
* * *
Then the message changed, and a voice addressed the world. Somehow it was translated into every language.
“MY NAME IS GENERAL ZOD,” it said.
At NORTHCOM Ops Center, General Swanwick listened warily. He stood with his trusted aide, Captain Carrie Farris, an up-and-comer with short dark hair and a no-nonsense attitude. The static-filled screens of the big board were the only lights in the op center, giving it the dim, nocturnal atmosphere of a submarine’s control room.
Dr. Hamilton stared at the glowing screens, rapt with fascination. He had been waiting his entire life for an encounter like this. The rest of the staff, however, looked more apprehensive than intrigued.
* * *
“I COME FROM KRYPTON, A WORLD FAR FROM YOURS.”
The sun was rising in Nepal as nomadic herders flocked around a single jury-rigged television set inside a tent made of hides. Nervous yaks lowed at the moon. The herders listened anxiously as the voice spoke in their native tongue.
“WE HAVE JOURNEYED ACROSS AN OCEAN OF STARS TO REACH YOU.”
Busy pedestrians, shoppers, and commuters froze in the streets of Shinjuku, Tokyo, which was ordinarily a bustling commercial district. They gawked at the many large video screens adorning the skyscrapers, all of which were broadcasting the same message in fluent Japanese. A sunny sky stood in ominous contrast to the frightening announcement.
“THE MESSAGE WE BRING IS ONE OF GREAT URGENCY.”
The sun had not yet risen in Moscow, but the crisis had driven confused and frightened Russians onto the streets. Speechless Muscovites gathered in front of a popular electronics store, staring at the big screen TVs on display in the window. Cyrillic text scrolled across the screens.
“FOR SOME TIME, YOUR WORLD HAS SHELTERED ONE OF OUR CITIZENS.”
Two wide-eyed teenagers sat on a couch in a basement rec room. Their Xbox controls rested forgotten in their sweaty palms as their screen was captured by an unknown controller.
“WE REQUEST THAT YOU RETURN THIS INDIVIDUAL TO OUR CUSTODY.”
At a busy international airport, jetlagged travelers crowded around banks of monitors that no longer displayed the usual departure and arrival times. Instead the screens announced the unexpected arrival of a flight from another world. The pilot of that flight had new instructions for the travelers.
“FOR REASONS UNKNOWN—”
A night game at a crowded football stadium had come to an abrupt halt. Dumbfounded players stood on the field, staring up in unison at the Jumbotron screen now bearing Zod’s message. In the stands, thousands of cell phones received identical communications.
“—HE HAS CHOSEN TO KEEP HIS EXISTENCE A SECRET FROM YOU.”
Locals clustered around a beat-up, secondhand TV in the squalid Nigerian shantytown, while casting nervous glances up at the sky. Plywood homes with corrugated metal roofs, assembled from scrap materials, suddenly seemed more fragile than usual.
“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.
C H A P T E R E I G H T E E N
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.
