Thus, in an impressive feat of engineering, worthy of their genetic heritage, his people married the exiled prison barge to the World Engine, creating a vast hybrid dreadnought even larger than the ship that had carried them here. Reduced to scavengers, Zod’s soldiers stripped the bones of the forgotten outpost before they resumed their quest for a new beginning. The Black Zero searched the cosmos, homeless and without direction, until one day they received a signal from across the galaxy…
Zod waited impatiently upon the bridge while Tor-An and the others attempted to track the signal to its source. His heart raced with anticipation. In all of their years of weary wandering, he had never forgotten the miniature starcraft that had escaped Krypton before its destruction, carrying Jor-El’s barbaric progeny—and their race’s best hope for survival.
Could it be that the stolen Codex had finally been found?
Finally Tor-An isolated the signal. A three-dimensional star chart, hovering above the control cylinder, zeroed in on the third planet of a distant solar system. Magnification revealed a watery blue world orbiting a bright yellow star. A pulsing icon pinpointed a location near the planet’s northern pole. The image zoomed again, and they saw a rocky island surrounded by icy seas.
“Then we detected a distress beacon, which you triggered when you accessed the ancient scout ship.”
Dusk began to fall over the cornfields. Clark listened intently as Zod concluded his tale. He drew nearer, his mien and manner serious, and looked Clark over, as if taking his measure.
“You led us here, Kal,” he said. “And now you have it within your power to save the rest of our race, as well.”
“How?” Clark asked. He sympathized with the trials Zod and his people had endured, but suspected there was a catch. What exactly do you want from me?
“On Krypton,” Zod explained, “the genetic template of every being yet to be born was encoded in the Registry of Citizens. Your father stole the registry’s Codex, just before the end. He stored it in the capsule that brought you here.”
This was news to Clark.
“For what purpose?” he asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Zod responded. “So that Krypton could live again… on Earth.”
Clark was stunned by Zod’s bold statement. He wanted to think that the other Kryptonians were simply seeking refuge, as would any displaced immigrants. But he feared that Zod had something far more ambitious in mind.
He was about to demand a fuller explanation when an unexpected sight caught his eye, distracting him.
A foreign object dropped from the sky, looking like a shooting star. Far larger than the compact starcraft that had brought him to Earth decades ago, the object struck the rolling farmland less than a quarter-mile away. The impact shook the ground for miles around, almost throwing Clark off-balance. A tremendous plume of debris was thrown into the air, rising higher than a tornado. A billowing cloud of dust obscured the crash site at first, but as the cloud settled, the object rose from a smoking crater.
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.