SUPERMAN and characters appearing in SUPERMAN COMICS are the property of DC COMICS and WARNER BROTHERS ENTERTAINMENT INC. The story featured is a work of unlicensed fan fiction.

SUPERMAN RETURNS (2006) is the 'film universe' in which this fan fiction story takes place. It is intended to serve as a PREQUEL to the events depicted in the film.

PART ONE:

The Doomed Ship Ojmurod.

Chapter One.

At the point between dreams and consciousness, thoughts raced and collided. A fever of directionless chatter invaded the peace guarded longspun by oblivion. Kal-El could not see faces in the nebula of color and...light? Yes, he was awake enough to see and feel the heat shimmering. As if sensing his tiny glimmer of awareness, from humming static rose voices. Words hurriedly overwhelmed him like a queued line of petitioners, each with their grievance. Over them all, he could hear the unwavering, modulated guidance of his Father drifting him back into slumber. Bedtime stories about the minutiae of the known galaxies, and then Mom banging on the door. In the seconds before his memory twinged, he was positive her hands jostled him. Up and at it Clark, or you'll be late.

The hull of the spaceship shivered. Life returned to the carefully curated atmosphere of nitrogen and oxygen outside the crystalline stasis pod, and as the diamond shell unfurled and split apart like a pair of angel's wings, the ship moaned, as did its passenger. Shivering and shuddering turned to ripples and quakes, and Kal smiled while he stretched his limbs and imagined the vessel doing the same. He regarded his groaning companion and ran his hands along the small grooved surface of the sleeping chamber's fissure. A small cup responded by unwinding and manifesting itself from the recesses of the glittering glass. He raised the transparent mug to his lips and tried to drink the contents without consideration. Ma Kent's orange juice it was not, though it was thick and as hardy as a breakfast at her table. Maybe, he realized as he stifled the liquid nutrients down, if the timing was right, he might be seated at that table very soon, and scouring over a sturdy helping of one of Martha Kent's patented morning meals, and somewhere between bacon repaid with chores around stately Kent Farm, mother and son would talk and have a good laugh at where'd been for five years and why he'd left without word.

His memory twinged again and pulled. No pretending he was rolling out of bed like any other day, not in Smallville. Not even thoughts of Metropolis and the safe routine of his old apartment could shield his trepidation. Sure, a cup of days-old coffee would hit the spot just right, and a freezer burned bagel would heat up nicely before work. That sad carbonized bagel, he thought. If only that were the biggest hurdle on his plate today. Then maybe the ever squeezing pressure on his chest could be chalked up to indigestion. However, this space-faring craft wasn't outfitted for java, and the task ahead was a lot greater than scorched bread.

Kal took his first purposive step out of the stasis chamber. The soft fall of his stride punctuated dancing traces of phosphorescence that seemed almost to ferry Krypton's last wayward son a short distance onto the observation platform. The radiance remained only where it could sketch his form and aide his vision. Darkness saturated irrelevancies and loomed profoundly. The immaculate glimmer of crystals rose to meet his outstretched fingertips and held back the gloom, if not the grief that clouded his spirit.
The seclusive darkness began to fill with tiny points of light. A blanket of stars filled Kal's vision, and it looked as though he could reach out and if he wanted to, snatch a pulsar in the palm of his hand and snuff it out. Like frost losing its grip on a cold window, the ship face had converted itself into a porthole as intuitively and as quickly as the cup of synthesized nutrients had answered his desire for nourishment. The awe of this majestic sight went unnoticed, for Kal had expected to be greeted by a far nobler and more daunting spectacle. The quiet yet commanding Earth—his adoptive home and source of his great anxiety. One angst was traded for another, more terrible fear.

For a singular moment, the twinge in Kal's abdomen churned and lit on fire. His eyes scanned back and forth frenetically. With a slight pull of his fingers across the gem-laden control panel, Kal called the spaceship under his direct command. Slow and steady the small, twinkling ship craned on an invisible axel and searched. No sign of debris that he could see, but his eyes were not as sharp as they once were, and he turned his focus to his console. He found one of the baubles that adorned the panel. It flashed impatiently, and he obliged with a stroke of his index finger.

With an enthusiastic, computerized whirl, a holographic display asserted for Kal's inspection. Star charts and text interlays clipped by but offered no comfort. The console lit up like a Christmas tree display, and a dull electronic alarm sounded. The repetitive toll played far too much like a funeral march for his liking. He swiftly appraised the information as it shifted and warped about the air.

VESSEL detected, read the plain text.

He reread it. Though he imagined himself composed, if he genuinely sought the Earth, he might discover twin terras in his irises if he looked hard enough now. Vessel. Not object. Vessel. Goose pimples prickled under his bodysuit. "Elaborate." His first words were hoarse and strained from disuse. The liquid-based sustenance still coated the back of his throat, and the aftertaste produced a flutter of air that soured his mouth. The computer acknowledged his voice command and promptly transcribed a more detailed response on the holographic image.

computer log:

stardate: 2817.6

long-range radiolocation scans began detecting OBJECT.

A star map ignited and superimposed inside Kal's field of vision. Amidst the digital subterfuge, a green dot flickered — his ship. A much larger red dot loomed on the edge of the map. "Not ominous at all." Boneyard humor doesn't suit you, son. He registered this silent opinion in his father's voice. The Earth one, anyway. He almost smirked. Almost. Instead, his heart sank. By the computer's reckoning, the journey to Krypton and back would take about five years, hence the need for metabolic suspension. He'd seen the remains of the doomed planet and when he reentered suspension the computer had registered the passage of two and half years. Right on schedule, but the calculations presented now estimated only about six months had elapsed since then. He was nowhere near the Terran system.

stardate 2817.7

OBJECT movement uncharacteristic for DEBRIS.

OBJECT moving to INTERCEPT

EVASIVE ACTION BETA-1 initiated.

VESSEL likely.

STASIS TERMINATED. INTERVENTION REQUIRED

END OF EVENT SUMMARY

ADVISE.

Well, what the hell was Kal supposed to do about it? "Cease alarm."

There was a start. Now what? Spacefarers were not known, at least to Kryptonians, to be frequenters of the path that Kal-El was to take to and frow. That was one of the reasons Jor-El had chosen Earth in the first place. Kal recalled his tutelage under the ghostly specter of his Father. The Space One. Between Earth and Krypton, there existed no civilizations, no impedance that might find his infant son suddenly captive of a carnivorous band of culinary marauders. There was that humor live and direct from the gallows again. Jocularity made the point no less accurate. Earth was out of the way and as far 'off road' as it got. Kind of like Smallville—you'd never find it unless you were looking for it and even then, you'd probably get lost. Moreover, if you got there, there wasn't a whole lot there that would interest a city slicker—or alien.

Kal suddenly realized he was probably about to make First Contact with an alien species. Probably. Hell, very likely if they didn't vaporize him on sight. He'd only ever had the pleasure of First Contact two other times. On the first occasion, he was three and a half feet tall, bare-assed in a field, and already the love of Martha Kent's life. Dimples had won him the day, then. The second time, well, things didn't go quite as well the second time. The latter encounter was contemplated heavily inside the tiny ship for several long moments. The unidentified vessel tentatively inched closer and closer to midrange. He reexamined the holographic record.

Evasive Action Beta-One was an automated defensive maneuver. It was programmed to respond to the detection of sentient intimidations. When initiated by the self-regulating computer, its function was to make it appear as if the ship was no more than another piece of floating rubble adrift in the vacuum of space. With Kal in stasis, the computer could restrict life support to minimal levels to avoid detection from scans or probes. That had apparently been a wash. And now the computer was begging for help. This other ship knew Kal was alive and well or at least something that needed to be poked at, and was coming out to investigate and meet a brand new 'friend.'

Were they friendly? Kal stared into the starlit void at about what direction he was to receive this visitation. "Well," he sighed. "Be you friend or foe?"

He envisioned a hatchway opening, and inside little green men in suspenders and straw hats waiting to greet him with a hearty handshake and a pat on the back. Indeed, just an association of aggregate farmers out ah-looking for martian seeds to sow. Yeah right.

Kal's eye caught the map. At the edge of its coverage, opposite his opponent, there was a particularly nasty cluster of—asteroids! With a flurry of pent up speed, Kal input the coordinates and the ship roared to life. He needed to get within midrange to get a better look at them. As it stood, they were his only real hope of avoiding this inquiring passerby. And he was committed entirely to reaching the outcropping the very second he decided to take off like a bat out of hell. He was a target from then on. The way he saw it, this ship was coming to call anyway, and that could lead to a very nasty altercation in the middle of dead space far from the comforting aura of Earth and its sun. He supposed he could have taken a chance and stopped and asked them for directions, but the growing apprehension in his stomach said otherwise. No yellow sun, no contact. A good rule he reckoned. No yellow sun, turn tail and run.

As expected, the vessel increased its speed and began a direct pursuit. Fine enough. He wouldn't outrun them for long, but he might beat them to the asteroid cluster, which he prayed the computer would identify as an asteroid field, and so much the better. In a dense domain of rock, he could lose them. His ship was small enough and less vulnerable than the rather large blip tracking nearer and nearer to him. A blip that the computer confirmed would overtake him just as entered the outskirts of the asteroid field. Indeed a field. The computer verified the density of the asteroid belt by buzzing frantically. Kal could hear in his head that robot from the old space wars movie shouting statistics about how badly he had just screwed up.

He could see with his own eyes now the faint hints of stone and rock and something else he couldn't rightly explain with just a glance when the first bout of weapon fire struck him. He recalled a gleam of metal, perhaps glinting out among the stone garden. The computer began spraying all sorts of statistical jargon onto the hologram. Not that Kal could make much use of it now. The image was fuzzy and blinking rhythmically to the shock. The ship rocked and swerved but kept the course. In fact, the collisions seemed to be creating a shockwave that was allowing his tiny craft ride along faster and faster.

The dense congregation of mass was before him now. Each surge pushed him closer and closer, and each time his misgivings doubled. He gripped the controls with all of his strength. His staccato maneuvers were narrow and rigid. Every jolt, he thought, would pull him away, snap the crystalline mechanizations from him. Each time he corrected his pathway, he could sense the menace of another incoming blow. And each time he believed he had his handle back another wave of rippling energy would thrust the ship wildly forward. At least his pursuer's aim had gotten worse. The afterthought of marks missed undulated all around him.

He could no longer gauge the ever-growing size of these monumental asteroids. The ship seemed to skim across them as though skirting across a long dirt drive. Might there be a manor house at the end? He could fold up this business and retire here. Of course, the neighbors would need a good talking to about being more hospitable. The ship came about after an extraordinarily long stretch and found not a mansion, nor another rockface, but another glint of shiny metal. He understood clearly now what he had recognized formerly. This wasn't just a home for delinquent asteroids — a long, smooth cylinder—a smooth manmade facade—tapered nose jutting out to the adventure no longer to be had. There was no mistaking a good oldfashioned rocketship, frozen in time, bruised and beaten, but still reliable enough to welcome Kal-El of the House of El to the local scrapyard. Kal bounded the ship toward the nose. Much of the old girl had been burned ashen, but there was no dismissing her Cockpit windows, dark and deep, threatened him with melancholy eyes.

It occurred to Kal that his brain had the time to manifest this disquieting little sentiment. The siege on his ship had desisted. The hologram was clear enough to understand again, and Kal sighed. The war-dog had backed off, and even retreated. "This far, no further, eh?"

Crewless cockpit eyes locked with his again and he didn't feel amusing anymore. He felt admonished, and something else. Dread. The ship coasted much slower now and settled composedly as if in reverence for the scene unfolding ahead. A memorial of sunken, sullen, shells greeted him and smothered the exhale of relief before it was finished.

The rocket was quaint compared to the twisted remains that lay beyond. They must have attended other weary travelers with stomachs stern enough venture deeper. Circumstances permitted Kal nothing less. He regarded the unsightly apparitions with an imperceptible nod as his ferry passed. It was reasonable, he thought, and necessary to ask permission from any haunts lingering in the depths. He half expected to see forms slink out of the twisted remnants to vote on the matter. Furthermore, if they had, would he have understood them?

Hollowed out skeletons of a thousand unfinished journeys spanned farther than Kal dared tally. He counted all manner of spacecraft that his imagination could conjure and even more that defied appraisal. He pressed a small pad on the console and outside, the Kryptonian craft responded in kind with a flickering ray of focused light. With the sway of his finger along coarse pad, concentrated beams played a game of eerie shadow puppets. The light shone deep into the gutted innards and generated the illusion of life, of fusion cores still warm. And if the vessels challenged his precepts, what had spilled out of them into open space boggled his mind. He could not begin to discern the gemish of scientific craftsmanship splayed to and frow.

How many cultures were out there? Kal's soundless mystery stirred in him sentiments never held before in his short lifetime. He was proof positive of life outside the Terran limits and yet in all those years confined in myopic Smallville, never did he broach the possibility with any serious measure beyond that of his own heritage. He'd been chased here by someone he could no more picture than the expanse of dead pilots whose ashes littered this necropolis. The vastness of the universe was but for a long few seconds squarely on that observation bridge, herald of a now much smaller legacy.

A great long face, no metaphor this time, of steel and alloy, glared gratifyingly into the ship's window and into the fascination of a phenom that might be readily explained away if only the great leader this adornment signified could orate. The etched snout of the colossus remained unmoved by Kal's wonder and did not speak. It sat serenely like the great Sphinx atop a monolithic triangular formation of fabricated alloys and strange glimmering composites that refracted the ship's search beams and enchanted its symbols to advance forth and tell their story. Glyphs and foreign emblems ornamented the animal form of the resting titan. Was this immense craft a monument to a people or a God? No answer was forthcoming. The features of the being had long eroded leaving only his judgemental brow and an elongated muzzle.

The total accumulation of all knowledge spanning the 28 known galaxies is embedded in the crystal which I have sent along with you. Jor-El's voice rang loud. Of course! The answer was at his fingertips. Surely, the computer could analyze these remains and give him some insights before he plotted his way home. He checked his map. Whatever had given chase wasn't coming back. That meant he had time to explore and better serve his newfound curiosities.

What an experience it would be to chart this area of space and give better context to the words of his Father. For the first time since he began this trip, Kal felt not alone. Unbeknownst to him, this was the literal truth. His mood lifted, and he let his digits dance along the console like a skilled piano player. Jor-El's instructions flowed unobstructed, freed from the cobwebbed steeple. He was about halfway to initiating a proper scan of the Sphinx wreckage when, according to his faint recollections of this moment, he became aware of a commotion outside and onboard his ship. His equilibrium lurched. There was a brilliant flash of heat and fire so intense that his mind tried to flee and dissociate. It succeeded. In the absence of memory and consciousness, there were voices, each in queue, each with a grievance. And the seething flames. They did not leave him for a long time.