* [...]- notifies Alien Dialect
3rd June, 1985
4: 38 AM
Dighton, Kansas
For Jonathan Kent, it all began with a faint whimper.
Two snow-white paws were eagerly balanced on the edge of its modest bed, the faithful Farm Collie's head moving curiously as it eyed its sleeping master- its tail wagging as it continued to whimper. It was five months old at most, and although the canine had been in this elder man's company for all of its short life, it still refrained from licking the man's withered visage as it had often seen his peers do with their masters.
The man was exhausted from a hard day's work at the wheat fields as it was. At the ripe age of 55 Jonathan Kent was surprisingly well-preserved -there were patches of faded blonde among the short-cropped grey, and indeed he still had a head of hair when most near his age would have long encountered the annoyance associated with a receding hairline. Still, he certainly deserved this sorely required sleep- and sleep he did, like a weathered horse forced to draw carriages for as long as the poor creature could remember.
But then the whimper grew into a bark- and sadly any further continuation of Jonathan Kent's slumber was disrupted as the man shot up from his bed in a surprisingly quick motion- and he frowned when he saw the Collie standing by the bedside drawer, tongue hanging off jaw and animated beady eyes burning with curiosity as he reached for the glasses on the top of the drawer.
"Jesus, boy…" the man groaned as he flung his hardy legs off the bed, the dog running off to the doorway as he put on his working boots, "If this is about your food, I swear that you are going on nothing but hay for the next two weeks…"
The dog barked once again, running in circles around the open door for a good ten seconds before its master gave off a sigh and resolved to see what exactly had got the fledgling guard dog in such a fix- and such a late hour too.
His sleep-deprived mind and body were taking their toll on him even as he walked out the bedroom door and saw the dog sprint down the stairs and straight through the dog door in the front entrance.
By the lord, Jonathan thought as he himself went down the stairs, the wooden floor creaking ever so slightly as he made his descent, but that was one lively pup. And to think of the fact that he hadn't even named the dog yet…but how could he? Mary had insisted that she herself would come up with the name for the adorable creature….and now that she was gone, he had simply given up on that front.
He had buried himself in routine- not allowing himself to stop and dwell on the enormity of the loss that he had endured. But even that was starting to take the toll on him now- physically at least, if not mentally.
Presently, however, he had to push these troubling thoughts out of his mind for the time being- for when he walked through the front door and into the windy outdoors, his keen eyes immediately registering the cause of the dog's concern. There, not more than a mile or two beyond the imposing grain silos owned by the Kennetts and the Gustavsons, he reckoned, there burned a large, fire, its yellow flames reaching far into the starry skies.
To him, it hearkened back to the great forest fires of old, that he had heard of in stories told to him when he was still an eager boy- but any one of the two hundred and forty-seven people living in Dighton could tell you there wasn't any semblance of a forest around for hundreds of miles.
Whatever it was, it was happening smack dab in the middle of his wheat fields. Of that, he was mighty sure.
"..Hoodlums, perhaps," Jonathan said, more to himself than anyone else as the dog now settled near the door of the old truck, the vehicle's faded blue paint apparent even under the night, "..still, doesn't explain why anyone would bother to cause this ruckus at four in the morning…."
Nevertheless, he returned to his modest house to pick up the old rusty 12 gauge and his hat. It had been twenty-four years since his father had passed that 'family heirloom' onto him, and Jonathan had never had to fire that old rust bucket since then. He sure hoped he didn't have to do that now.
Jonathan had almost opened the truck door when the ever so sprightly dog started barking once again, this time its muzzle pointed towards a tiny object in front one of the front tires.
"That's it," Jonathan huffed as he slammed the door in annoyance and strode over to the dog, "If you want me to walk the whole three miles to the fields now, I swear I will have the shortest leash ever made by mankind put on that little white-"
Jonathan stopped short when he noticed the dim gleam of metal on the minuscule object. He crouched beside the dog and grabbed the material, a faint smile appearing on his wizened visage when he saw what he was holding: a nail.
Bless old Mary's soul, but perhaps the dog wasn't as useless as he thought after all.
"Well…you best make yourself comfortable in the front seat, boy," Jonathan offered as he opened the door once again, "We got ourselves a bit of a journey in front of us."
The faithful collie barked with his usual energetic fervor before jumping in through the open door.
4: 43 AM
The Pentagon, Washington
General Samuel Lane took a deep breath as he crushed the cigarette butt against the ashtray, his steely eyes always taking note of the quiet storm that had been brewing even in this inner sanctum of the world's most secretive executive complex. Some twenty-odd men and women of highly dignified nature were seated around the enormous long Maplewood table- some highly public faces that one could spot a mile away, however most being of the type who one wouldn't be likely to come across such a gathering. Indeed, it was a momentous occasion for such a wide array of the country's, and arguably the world's most powerful individuals to be collected at such short notice.
And the matter for which they have been gathered as such? To Samuel Lane, it was no less earth- shattering than it would have been if he had learned that the Doctrine of Mutually Assured Destruction had just been thrown to the winds by the Soviets.
Of course, what was being implied by this initial discovery could lead more or less towards that consequence, the man thought as he fished in coat pocket for the pack of cigarettes, not failing to note the faint displeasure in some of his colleagues of the military-industrial complex even as he smiled pleasantly at them in reply.
Obviously, these elder peers of his were finding it hard to cloak their chagrin at being in the company of such an…unconventional up and comer, who, by all tradition, should have never made it to the rank of a two star general at the tender age of 43. Even three years later, they could never live it down, he thought amusedly.
Presently, his attention was drawn by the clearing of a well-known throat- and General Lane turned around to see the Secretary of Defense smiling warmly towards him, a glass of water held firmly in his grip as he did so.
The elder statesman had an old-fashioned quality to him, his facial features and overall demeanor hearkening back somewhat to the 'golden generation' ideal that had been drummed into him by Sam Lane Sr.- and this kind of throwback was something he quietly admired.
"Hmm. Penny for your thoughts, General Lane?"
Lane smiled sheepishly at the man when he realized that he had been staring into the distance for a bit too long than he should have.
"…Forgive me, Secretary Weinberger," General Lane offered apologetically as he sat up straighter, "I suppose the enormity of it all is just something that's still making the rounds on my brain."
"Hah, don't let my poker face fool you now, Lane," the goodhearted statesman grinned before putting his glass down in earnest, "I am just as scared about this one as the next guy would be. Except…we really can't let the next guy know about this, can we? Imagine the panic the masses would be in. First we had the capes and the spandex-crowd pop up in the '40s, but then whatever the vigilantes and metahumans were…they were human. And you know what? By now, the playing field is pretty leveled out as it is. Reds have just as many of them, not to count the many unaccounted ones spread over the world…"
"But that's the dilemma isn't it?" Lane offered as the Secretary seemed to be at a loss for words, "If this is what the boys are implying…I don't know, are they right about this?"
"Son, are you doubting the intelligence gathering capabilities of your nation now? A dozen different satellites picked it up something like an hour ago. CIA, NSA, heck, even NASA confirms it. Now we obviously couldn't get the KGB to play ball with us, but we are pretty sure even they must have gotten wind of it by now. Good lord…"
Sam Lane nodded grimly, his mind silently deciding to strengthen it's resolve should all their fears prove true.
"Sir, I have a wife and child back in Metropolis. And right now, I honestly can't tell for sure if I can ever be certain that they will be safe, ever again. I wonder if this is how the Japs felt after we dropped the A-bombs on them…"
"It's okay, son. It's okay to feel this fear…this uncertainty. But you are on the world stage now- you can' let that overwhelm you. We must stand strong. First and foremost, for the safety of our nation, and then for the sake of the free world."
Presently, the entire room grew eerily silent as everyone looked expectantly to the door, for the entourage of Secret Service agents had started to arrive through it. And soon enough the man currently holding the office often colloquially termed as 'leader of the free world'- the President of the United States took his place at the head of the table, all others rising in respect and reverence as he did so.
"At ease, ladies and gentlemen…" President Reagan addressed the others as he glanced at the extensive array of files and document arranged over the table, "…Now can I be informed why exactly I have been snatched from bed at four in the morning? None of the fine men escorting me were able to impart any knowledge as to the situation, so I fully expect a sound and pertinent explanation about its nature. Cap- shoot away."
Secretary Weinberger nodded politely at being directly addressed by the President, though he paused a little before replying, as though trying to choose the exact words he should use to announce the news to the chief executive.
In the end, he opted to go it the simplest way- in the bluntest manner possible.
"…Mr. President, various intelligence agencies have confirmed that…something fell out of the sky a good hour and fifteen minutes ago, sir."
President Reagan stared bemusedly at the man, and indeed many of the Secretary's contemporaries were looking at him with annoyed glances- certainly they wouldn't have worded it like that. Or so they felt, at least.
"Oh?" the President finally spoke, curiosity evident in his tone, "And where would this object be falling upon, Casper?"
"Dighton, Lane County, Mr. President. Southwest Kansas."
"Hmm…now don't tell me that this fuss is all about Dorothy making her triumphant return from the Land of Oz, now will you?"
The President's good humor was certainly appreciated by those present- a brief chorus of laughs livened the otherwise deadly serious atmosphere- but it was brief after all.
And even the President could not hold back the sheer surprise and shock permeating his face when he heard what followed, no matter how fantastical or ridiculous it sounded.
"No, Mr. President…we are not entirely sure what it is…but the current consensus remains that an alien vessel may have crashed right into the heart of the United States, sir."
4: 45 AM
The Kent Fields, Dighton
Jonathan Kent held on to his hat as he exited his truck, while the other hand clasped on to the leash he had put on the energetic little collie, not that it had much effect in dampening its spirits though. But even that white bundle of joy couldn't help but whimper a little at the fiery sight around it and its master- though the wind had seen to it that the majority of the flames had subsided, as evidenced by the charred remains of wheat being spread out through the surrounding acre of farm land. But some lingering flames still remained, some off in the distance, while some not so far away. And whatever wheat remained relatively unscathed, they were all pressed to the ground, as though an unimaginably strong gust of wind had laid them all low.
"Well…this really throws the idea of it being the handiwork of hoodlums in the night out of the window, doesn't it boy?" Kent told his faithful companion as he led the dog around what little remained of the pathway between the successive fields, his other hand gripping tightly onto the Remington 12 gauge as he did so. His fingers gripped over the rusted handle even more so when he saw that the Thresher Carl Gustavson had lent to him had been brutally overturned, as though a couple of elephants had just rolled it along the ground a couple of times like a cat would with a ball of yarn.
He was positively struck by the fact that even though it had taken him a couple of minutes to make it here in that cantankerous piece of tin- there wasn't a soul to be seen here except him and his dog. Really strange, that the dog was the only one who had taken note of this…what should he call it? Natural disaster?
Well, he had never heard crops catching fire during tornadoes or dust bowls, that's for sure.
Dear old Mary would have called it an Act of God if she would have been with him at that very moment, he reckoned.
A minute or two later, Jonathan eventually noticed that the ground was sloping downwards as he progressed, as though a landslide of sorts had occurred in the middle of the fields.
It took him the entirety of the next three minutes, as the dog certainly seemed to have found something of interest in front and was now leading him through the derelict surroundings; but Jonathan Kent realised that he now walking in the middle of a veritable crater.
And smack dab in the middle of it, there laid something so…wonderful, and something so terribly frightening all at once that Kent could not help but gasp out loud, and his grip on the dog's leash loosened, which was not at all missed by the insightful collie- who simply ran straight towards the strange object with infectious enthusiasm, entirely oblivious to the dangers it might contain within. Or so it seemed to Jonathan at the very least.
"Goddamn…don't go near it, boy! I am telling you- don't go any further towards that blasted…," Kent yelled at the dog as he ran behind him, knowing very well that the dog might just be dragging him to his death with his little stunt, "For God's sake, it could be a bomb for all we know!"
The dog stopped just inches away from the shiny metallic wreckage, beady eyes wide with wonder, and for just this once, it made no noise whatsoever as its head darted this way and that, as though trying to take in the enormity of what lay in front of the canine. Whatever remained intact of the small object, it seemed to suggest as though it was shaped like a needle. Indeed, that seemed to be the case to the wary eyes of Kent, who saw the difference between the blue bulbous part at one end and the largely metallic sheen of the rest of body, some of it painted bright reddish orange while parts of it painted a faint bluish yellow. The paint was of a sort he had never seen, for even in this sorry state the object was in, the colors seemed to be as pristine as ever.
The first thing that popped to his mind as he stood there- and it seemed to him like he had stood there forever, the world refusing to move past that moment as he contemplated what he should do next- was that this was some missile of some sort. He may have been a man born and raised in a quaint little town- but there were very few people in the entirety of the United States who didn't have at least some rudimentary knowledge about the ever-escalating arms race between their country and the Soviets. Hell, for all he know, this could a dud nuke….or maybe some kind of newfangled napalm bomb, sort of like the ones he had heard from old Earl about his time in 'Nam- maybe that's why this thing caused all of them fires in the first place….but honestly? He had no inkling of an idea as to what this thing really was.
Then the darn dog started barking again.
He ran up to the side of the object- and then placed his paws over what appeared to be a chink in the metal- perhaps, Kent thought, trying to claw its way through the thing; but the dog turned his head towards Jonathan and then back to the chink again, and all the time it hadn't stopped it's incessant barking.
"Now what do you want?" Kent grunted as he approached the side himself, placing a hand on the metallic exterior and immediately withdrawing it, noticing that contrary to his expectations it was abnormally cold. After a few moments, he ran a finger along where the dog had placed its paw not long ago- and he noticed that there was, in fact, a slide at that very point.
It was at that very moment he noticed something else seeping through that chink- dark, crimson blood.
"Lord above," he gasped as he realized what the thing must be- a vessel of some sort. Maybe some new design of the ones they had used on the Apollo missions not so long ago- or maybe this was designed by the Soviets for one of their space missions- but to Jonathan Kent, it did not matter if there was a Cosmonaut or an Astronaut trapped in there.
Whoever was in there might be dying, trapped and helpless for all he knew, and he had to help that person.
He quickly gripped the slide-like opening, and then pulled with his hands as best as he could. Surprisingly, the slide titled over in an instant, some of the metal even twisting such a way upon intact so as to convince Kent that this was the most pliable material ever constructed- but what lay within, after the door-like object had flown open, was something which was infinitely more astonishing.
"Well, I will be."
The dog barked- and this time Kent could feel that it was a bark of joy and relief.
A man, shoulders broad and dressed in strange attire- a dull blue covered the majority of what seemed to be an aerodynamic, strangely threaded body suit; while there was slight patches of red here and there of intricate design near the thighs and the crotch, coupled together with a strange rectangular device banded to the man's right arm and slightly darker red boots- lay cramped in the little space afforded by the vessel, which even more so distorted by what was, obviously, a crash landing, Kent realised- and he was injured, heavily so. Although his slightly long, onyx hair was splashed upon his face, Kent could see that they were stained with blood, perhaps from a head- wound, he reckoned. Lastly, his left arm seemed to be tightly clutched upon a slightly elevated portion of the vessel's interior, and indeed Kent saw that the design in that portion was markedly different than rest of the metallic black sheen, interlaced with tiny white lines running throughout.
Needless to say, Jonathan Kent's simple mind was left spinning from all of this, as though he had just been thrown off a roller-coaster on the way to its neck-breaking descent, and he still was falling through the skies and waiting for himself to hit the ground.
Just who was this man? He looked to be young, perhaps around his late twenties to mid thirties- but his features looked so incredibly chiseled that Kent almost found himself wondering if this guy hadn't popped right out of some Greek mythology play.
And then the clothes…who on Earth wore clothes like that?
Was this vessel being commandeered by this man? Why did he, then, crash that into the middle of Kent's fields?
Just what the hell was going on here?
The dog's tugging of the sleeve of his work-worn shirt brought Kent's mind back to the ground- and he realized that he was simply wasting time, while the unconscious man before him continued to bleed. For how long he had bled, Kent had no idea- but he wasn't going to let that continue if he had a say about it.
He knew what Mary would have said to him now.
If this would have been his son- his own flesh and blood, lying there in a heap, would he have just stood there and did nothing?
No, he would do his best to help that man.
Help him he would, Kent decided as he proceeded to begin his efforts to lift the man out of the wreckage.
4: 51 AM
The Pentagon
It had taken some fair bit of convincing from the Secretary of Defense and several of his peers, but it looked to General Lane that the President was finally coming around to their point of view.
"My God…" President Reagan said at length, "…you people are saying that this unidentified object was slinging around the Earth's orbit for as long as an hour and we couldn't do a damn thing about it?"
"Sir," the Secretary began once again, "it was moving indescribably fast. The boys from NASA tell me that the fact they managed to get a decent photo of that vessel was a feat in itself."
The President shook his head, signs of despair creeping upon his hardened features as one hand gripped his temple, and another perused the folder in front of him, picking out the photo that Secretary Weinberger had referred to.
"Jesus H. Christ….this is the exactly type of thing for which something like the Strategic Defense Initiative needs to be in place for..."
The President took a moment to compose himself, before beginning again.
"Our people have been sent to secure where this vehicle landed, of course?"
The Secretary nodded, his facial features a bit more relieved than as he answered, "Yes, Mr. President. A team of scientists and special operatives handpicked from initiatives such as the Echelon from the NSA and the Guardian Directive of the CIA-"
"Ahh…I remember that one," the President interjected, "doesn't Jim Harper lead that unit? A mighty fine fellow if I remember correctly- a true patriot."
"Yes, Mr. President- in fact, the lieutenant will be in charge of this entire operation. Lastly, a squad of US Rangers will be tagging along to provide backup if needed, sir."
"Well, they better be all over this situation before any of the local populace get wind of this," the President added cautiously, "And who knows what strange things lie within that craft…?"
Many of the others nodded in agreement, occasionally providing a comment or two in between as the President continued conversing with the rest of the room.
"….And you know, General, that just the other day I discovered, from a map in some kindergarten I was visiting in Ohio no less, that there is actually a Moscow, Kansas? Imagine the irony if something like this had actually landed there, too…"
5: 12 AM
He found himself jerked awake by the strangest of animals- and in the strangest of environments. He moved a hand over his face, tracing the multiple cuts and bruises, surely from the landing, he presumed, and observed with curiosity the animal, somewhat familiar to the Lupine mammals to be found in the zoos of his world- pink tongue hanging out of mouth as it barked loudly and ran around the floor, which creaked and made strange noises ever so slightly.
He rose from the small piece of furniture- primarily used for sleeping probably, he guessed, as he cautiously set his feet upon the floor for the first time. Moments later, he realised that he felt infinitely lighter. The gravitational pull of this world must be multitudes weaker than he would have thought earlier.
He glanced downward for a moment- thankfully, whoever had tended to him had not removed his raiment. He was still clothed in the customary attire as required per planetary protocols for the Exodus initiative- and another peek at the Mother Box clamped on his right arm assured him that it was quite functional as well.
Now that the dizziness from the landing had subsided, he could distinguish between the minute details which differed substantially from what he had been accustomed to- the air for particular smelled strange, somehow…richer and less sterile than he had experienced for the duration of his on-going life cycle. His eyesight had become far keener, for some reason, and he could see clearly the primitive decorations of the abode he was in even though the hours well into late night and approaching dawn.
He was truly in a strange new world, he decided.
So then they had succeeded in escaping their doom after all? Cheated the wrath of the crimson light and found new hope of beginning life anew?
He longed to meet with his compatriots- especially those of his kin, who shared his bloodline.
"[….Unit Kel-Ex, locate fellow Kryptonians in the nearby vicinity. I would wish to share the joy of our newfound haven with them.]"
All the while, the animal had continued to keep on barking with no respite. He marveled at its boundless energy.
A moment later, the Mother Box beeped and replied in a monotonous tone, myriads of symbols, both modern and some archaic, flashing through its black screen.
"[Negative. There is no significant presence of similar lifeforms in the surrounding radius of two octillion Zaxurs. Initial scans reveal that, besides yourself-]"
He gasped out loud. Surely there was some mistake.
"[But then…what is the location that I am currently in? Did the on-board processors miscalculate somewhat and project the arc towards a different planet from our star charts…? Surely we can't be that off-course.]
"[…..Error. Failure in correlation of current location with existing data on star charts. Conclusion: Planetary location is uncharted. Search Expansion: Star System is exhibiting characteristics similar to class-4 archetype, yellow luminal…extrapolating with existing data…failure. Check with seventeen known galaxies travelable through sub-luminal methods…data not expansive enough to suggest any conclusive results. Conclusion: No existing data available to verify current location.]"
["By the crimson crown of the Wrathful Rao…how could such a dreadful divergence of this magnitude this have ever taken place…?]"
The Mother Box remained silent.
It was final: he was stranded in a world completely alien to him, even though he had centuries of spatial data accumulated by his race at his beck and call.
"Ahem." Jonathan Kent intruded, perhaps too politely he mused, as he entered the room, and he could see that the wounded man had found his intrusion particularly uncomfortable, for he tensed up immediately upon the other's arrival.
"Oh, sorry if I disturbed you- or better yet, if that damned dog had been driving your ears towards ruination…do you understand English, son?"
The man blinked a couple of times, before glancing towards the Mother Box on his right arm, and he muttered a few minuscule commands to it before he replied, in length, in a heavily accented form of English- almost entirely broken and disjointed, Kent noted.
"….I…under..stand."
By then, Kent had pretty much ruled out the notion that this man was any Soviet Cosmonaut- or even an American astronaut for that matter. No, this man carried himself in a way that was at once striking, and he was pretty sure that a Russian accent was nowhere near that strange.
"Who are you, son? Where are you from?" Kent asked at length as he sighed, dropping off into the recliner by the window.
The man fingered his long dark hair for a few moments, although his eyes were closed now and his temple seemed to be somewhat strained, as though he was concentrating on something. When he replied, this time his English was far smoother- indeed, he could have easily passed for one of those non-English speaking Europeans who only dabbled in the language occasionally when communicating with foreigners, Kent reckoned, like them Swedes or Norwegians and the like.
"My name is..El. I am come from Krypton."
"L? Like the letter that comes after K…?"
"Yes, Kel-Ex tells me it is the twelfth in line of your alphabetical order."
Kent marveled at the man's speech now- except for his peculiar choice of words, he now spoke with a perfect Midwesterner's accent. It was almost like he was copying right off Kent's own accent- but Jonathan dismissed the ridiculous notion immediately after.
"Krypton? Heck, isn't that the name of one of the elements in the Periodic Table? Or so I remember from my high school days…Chemistry wasn't exactly my strong suit…more like a Animal Husbandry kind of guy…"
The man who called himself El merely shrugged his shoulders, as he sat on the edge of the bed, though Kent noticed that it creaked a bit more loudly than it should have when he did so.
"It was the closest analogue to what the name of my planet would be once it is translated into your language. Look, sir, what is your name?"
"Jonathan Kent, Mister L."
"It's pronounced El. With an E before the L."
" Hmm….is that really all there is to your name?"
"That is the name of the house where I hail from. To refer to oneself by first name in presence of those who are not of the bloodline is seen as impolite in our culture."
"Well, that's a pretty strange culture, then," Kent concluded as El walked towards the window and pulled the curtains apart a bit, his eyes widening a bit at the yellow rays of sunlight seeping through the grills.
"Well, would you look at that…the sun's rising up. Mighty fine sight, innit?"
"Is that…your resident star? It bestows yellow light…" El almost whispered, observing the light falling on the palm of his hand with the utmost curiosity.
"Yeah, it sure does. Why, does it glow some other colour wherever you come from..?"
"Yes. It glows bright crimson, and its red rays have…" El stopped short, a heavy sadness suddenly creeping up on his features.
"I…this is not a matter I would wish to further discuss, Jonathan Kent."
Kent raised his eyebrows at the man as he walked through the guest room door, and then turned his head back towards Jonathan.
"I would wish to observe the outer environment, sir. If you will guide me to the exit…?"
"Of course," Kent replied, rising from the recliner. He proceeded to lead him towards the front door.
"Sir, I must say I am a bit perplexed about your…attitude about my presence. I did not expect you to be so readily accepting of my status as an off-worlder, to iterate the truth."
"Hah. Well, if you would have met my wife Mary -God bless her soul- she would have told you that one should readily believe in miracles when they are faced with one, Mr. El….Now there you go."
The door swung open, and El eagerly walked through it, eyes growing wide in wonder as he silently took in the new surroundings.
It was all so….lush, El decided; nature seemed to still maintain its foothold in the environment rather than let the dominant sentients overrun it without any second thought…though he shouldn't base his evaluation of the planet on just this one locale.
"Not too shabby a place, eh son?"
It was then, that El remembered he had forgotten something.
He had forgotten what he was supposed to protect during his entire journey.
By Rao, how could he have blundered about for this long without sparing any thought about that most important fact, that should be more crucial to him than his own life…?
"Jonathan Kent," El turned around to face the man, his face all grim and dark, "I require your help. Something very dear to me is still lodged inside my vessel."
5: 24 AM
"Jesus…" the US Ranger gasped aloud in wonder as he secured the perimeter alongside the others, several scientists closely examining the alien spacecraft, "this sure beats all those George Lucas movies, eh?"
Some of the other Rangers nodded in agreement- but most of the other personnel- especially the one dressed in black-bodysuits and wearing state-of-the-art night-vision goggles- remained impassive. And then there were the ones in charge of the operation- those newfangled spec ops type that dealt with any and all metahuman-related situations. They wore sleek, aerodynamically styled bodysuits- navy blue with streaks of golden running through- and dark gold headgear, looking every bit as deadly as the Echelon operatives, if not more.
For now, they were the few handpicked men and women operating in the Guardian Initiative, and there were many, of those few who knew of their existence, who held the opinion that this was the most finely-tuned singular task-force currently employed by the United States.
Suddenly, one of the Echelon operatives raised his hand- and a moment later, pointed towards the south-east, another hand set on the sides of his night-vision gear.
"Contact," he said simply, "Two men heading towards the site. Civilians, presumably."
Lieutenant James Harper walked up to the man as he pointed at the distinct silhouettes becoming more and more visible- and the Lt. signaled a few of the Rangers to apprehend them.
"Sergeant Stewart," he addressed the dark man in charge of the Rangers, who nodded at once, "apprehend those civilians and turn them around. We don't want any townspeople getting wind of this. The rest of you people, hurry up your efforts to arrange extraction. The more I stay here, the more I feel that this area isn't really secure."
Stewart moved forward at once, a couple of his men following him as he walked towards the two men- while Harper turned around and chose to better observe the rest of the team's efforts in gleaning some preliminary information off the vessel. But so far, it was evident that the scientists were having little to no success in getting anything out of the wreckage.
A minute had not passed when one of the Rangers tapped the Lt. on the shoulder, a sense of urgency evident in his voice as he uttered the next words.
"Lt. Harper…I think you should see this."
Lt. Harper turned around expectantly, and when he saw Sergeant Stewart standing by one of the Humvees with the two men he had just ordered to be sent back home- the instant reaction was one of annoyance. But that wholly subsided once he took note of the larger, and younger of the two men staring at him. He looked human enough- but his attire was otherworldly enough to convince Harper as to his origins.
"Greetings, gentlemen," El offered graciously, a pleasant smile plastered on his square jaw, "This is truly a momentous occasion. I am the owner of the vessel before you, and if you would just allow me, I have something of great import within it."
"El…Stay put. Don't say another word," the older man offered, his eyes not at all trusting of the men gallivanting about his fields.
El turned around to look back confusingly- but before he could say anything, Lt. Harper was inches close to his face, scrutinizing his every move and forcing him to face the man once again.
"You…speak English?"
"I learned the language, yes. But sir, I would exchange pleasantries later, I need to-"
"You. are. going. nowhere. Except in the back of that van. You too, farmer. You found this alien, I believe?"
"…What are you going to do with him…Lt. Harper?" Kent asked, gleaning the soldier's name from the name tag pinned above the blue chest piece.
"Whatever the government of the United States deems necessary. That is not mine to decide."
The entire team was now gathered around the Humvee, all eyes on El. Murmurs and hushed exchanges permeated through the otherwise silent night.
"I..don't understand," El began once again, "Sir, if you want something in return from me, feel free to ask. I just-"
"Wait," one of the scientists suddenly interjected- a mildly tall man in his early forties, one hand correcting the horn-rimmed glasses upon his nose, "I am Professor Hamilton, and I…sir, can you tell us just what kind of weaponry did you employ in the front underside of the spacecraft? I am absolutely fascinated by-"
"That would be enough, professor," Lt. Harper darted back as he motioned for the crowd to return to their stations, and that they did, although reluctantly so.
"I…I would rather not share data about advanced weaponry. Not at this initial stage of contact, no," El expanded, while Kent glared at the man, astounded by how oblivious the man could as to his position in the current situation.
"Oh..?" Lt. Harper offered, a hint of sarcasm present in his tone, "why would that be, o noble and strange visitor?"
"I can…glean your kind's capacity for violence. Violence ravaged my kind and one other for nearly twelve centuries. I would not share data that would bestow the same fate upon another world."
"Why thank you for your insightful speech, sir. Now…," Lt. Harper opened the door of the Humvee, "Get. inside. car."
El simply glared at the Lieutenant.
"…Got a bit of a swagger stored in there, eh?" Harper said, before driving the butt of his rifle as hard as he could on the man's skull, instantly driving him to his knees. Strangely, though, there was no sign of blood from the place of impact.
"Stewart, load these two up in the Humvee. I have had enough theatrics for the day."
Lt. Harper turned away from them and had begun walking towards the vessel, when he noticed a strange creaking sound from behind.
Suddenly screams and yells exploded into the air, and when Harper had turned around, ready to bury dozens of bullets inside any of the intruders if needed- what he saw simply froze his feet to the ground.
"Dear Mary, mother of God..."
El had grabbed the bottom side of the Humvee- and in an incredible feat of strength, he had lifted the entire vehicle up…with his bare hands. Now he balanced the underside, his hands shifting to so that he held the entire thing like a battering ram over his head.
El was overtaken with rage- and he paid no attention to this new-found strength.
A PFC corporal beside Harper was still screaming his lungs out when he regained his senses enough to leap out of the way- but barely so. El leapt off in the air by a good five feet, smashing the Humvee against the ground where he had stood, while untold bullets were fired against him, his clothes riddled with bullets. The vehicle simply crumpled into a wreck against his might, and it was done with such frightening ease as though he was but crushing an empty soda can.
The hail of bullets continued to fly towards him.
In the first second, one bullet managed to pierce his skin.
In the second, most simply crushed to a slug against his now rock-hard skin.
In the third, all bullets simply bounced back.
By the lord, what had Harper done…?
As confusion took hold of the most of the team, and many scattered away- El rushed towards his vessel with speed that would have put the fastest leopard to shame, his hands immediately settling on the elevated portion of the exposed interiors. El uttered access codes as fast as he could, but a moment later he realised that the entire onboard system was, of course, offline.
El simply grabbed the portion as hard as he could and then yanked.
"Halt! I command you to HALT!" Harper roared, finger pressed against the trigger as bullets continued to fly from the barrel. He couldn't believe his eyes- how on Earth could bullets bounce off-
"ARRGGHH!" Harper cried in pain as couple of the ricochets pierced his knees, and then another his arms. He fell to the ground, blood loss already making the rounds on his senses- through his bloodshot eyes, he saw the man dart away from the vessel, the uprooted portion tucked away under his right arm, scoop the other man from the ground- the farmer- up from where the Humvee had stood, and then leap right out of that crater.
"Lt. Harper," Professor Hamilton muttered darkly as he raised himself from the ground, "Do you have any idea what you have done?...Forget the Soviets. You may just have acquired the United States its most dangerous enemy yet."
5: 25 AM
El had overshot Kent's house by a mile at first, but by the time he had made it back to the man's modest abode, the rage and anger had subsided. And he marveled at what had just happened. That unparalleled strength, how the projectiles simply reflected off his metal-hard skin…it was overwhelming for even his mind.
However, his mind was dragged back to the ground once again when he had landed and laid Jonathan Kent on the ground- for the dog, leash tied to the front fence immediately started barking- but before long the bark turned into a long, sorrowful howl. He howled, again and again and again- and El saw the reason why. Jonathan Kent's hand lay clutched upon his chest, blood seeping through the dirty blue shirt as he struggled to remain conscious.
"No!" El roared, despair grabbing hold of his mind, as his hand ran over the wound, dangerously close to where the heart would be. Jonathan Kent smiled weakly at him, coughing blood through his teeth as eyes lifted up to the starry skies.
"[Unit Kel-Ex, select subroutines to carry out sutures on the man's wound. I cannot let his death be upon my conscience, I…]"
"[…Subroutine cannot be run. Sufficient medical add-ons not available.]"
"Damnation!" El screamed as he slammed his fists against the ground, and it shook mildly under the onslaught of his incredible strength. Tears threatened to overflow- but he could not let them break through. Tradition dictated that he must remain strong in the face of death, even those of loved ones…
"…Ahh…Now, Mr. El" Kent gasped, "Tell me..was that thing you went back for- is that thing inside that?"
He pointed one wobbly finger towards the broken compartment. El nodded, the pain and sadness evident on his features as he struggled to decide what he should do.
"Well…then at least this old timer didn't bite the bullet in vain, eh?" Kent tried to laugh, but instead ended up coughing a bit more blood, "Listen, I have this last request…just bury me beside my wife- there you see that grave marker? Yes, beside there…I don't have any next of kin left, and I….hah, you know what, El? In the hour we have been together- it almost felt like you were a son to me, you know? Hah…and take care of that dog for me will you? I didn't even name the poor sucker, and…"
The man's hands went limp- and he spoke no more. The dog howled as loudly as it could, trying to break free of the leash, but failing to do so. Finally, it slumped against the ground, wet tears permeating its milky white coat of fur as it stared longingly towards its master.
"…Rest easy, my friend," El spoke at length, grabbing the man's hand tightly, "You provided me safe haven even though I am but a complete stranger to you. And I failed to protect you. I failed, just like I failed my home world. Just like I failed my family…"
5: 34 AM
El rose up from the freshly dug grave. The broken compartment lay beside him- and now he picked it up- eyes still moist with held back tears as he looked towards the now risen sun.
He felt fresh, somehow, as he was bathed in the star's yellow rays- but they were not enough to wash away the guilt lingering in his mind. Not only had he cost Jonathan Kent his life, but those who were at the landing site…he wondered, if he had caused any of them fatal harm through his recklessness as well?
He hated it. That his first foray into this unknown world, this Earth had been full of violence and misunderstanding. He had hoped that it would all be left behind on Krypton. But it appeared that it was not to be.
"[….Master. I have successfully managed to activate the isolated operating system. Waiting for your command to open the hatch]," the Mother Box beeped unexpectedly, breaking El out of his reverie.
"[…Proceed, Unit Kel-Ex.]"
The Mother Box complied, and its sensors buzzed with activity, as it breached the isolated system's defenses. Within moments, the hatch flew open, and this time, El could not restrain the tears from flowing freely from his cheeks.
For these were not tears of sadness- but rather, tears of joy.
There, wrapped in the pristine, bright red blanket that Lara had made so lovingly over the past cycle- lay the most beautiful baby boy his eyes had ever witnessed. His bright blue eyes peeked through, as the tiny hands clawed at the edges of the red cloth.
His mother's eyes, El remarked proudly.
As he held his son forwards so the rays of the Sun fell directly on him, the boy seemed even more magnificent. El's eyes fell downwards, to the bright yellow shield emblazoned on the red fabric. It strangely mirrored a letter of the Roman alphabet of the natives- the letter S.
He remembered what the long-lost symbol meant once, to his people. Hope.
That was it. He must not abandon hope. Beyond all chance and reason, the two of them had managed to survive. He must cling to the belief that the others had survived as well.
"[Unit Kel-Ex, you are to record a message to be sent across all spatial directions via the electromagnetic spectrum.]"
"[Affirmative.]"
El turned around to face the pristine rays of the Sun, his eyes staring off into the distant horizon as he began narrating his message.
"[This is Jor-El of Krypton. I was the head of Terra-forming division of the Science Guild. Now that Krypton has been reduced to ashes, my position means nothing.
My evacuator arc has drifted drastically off course- and I have landed on an uncharted planet. The natives call it Earth. My arc is damaged beyond repair- and it has been requisitioned by the military of the nation I now find myself stranded upon.
But I have survived. And so has my son- Kal-El. And I know, deep in my heart, that my other fellow Kryptonians have survived as well. This is my distress call to those others- so that when receive this message, they may undertake a journey to rendezvous with us.
I am well aware that this message will take years to reach even the nearest possible destination. I am willing to wait. The baby I now hold in my arms as I record this message- my son Kal-El, who is no older than a half Kryptonian cycle- he may very well be the Last Son born on Krypton. But to me he represents hope. He represents hope for all of us.
And I am willing to cling on to that hope for as long as needed. We shall integrate ourselves in the local society. We shall try our hardest to remain out of public scrutiny. And we shall wait. Till one or several of our fellow brethren descend upon this planet, and are ready to take us off this planet and towards our new haven.]"
El took a little sigh as turned away from the yellow star, his eyes only fixed upon his adorable son as he thought about course of action would be best to pursue hereafter.
"[Until then….this Earth shall be our new home.]"
A New Beginning…..
A/N: This is my first foray into any DC fiction, so I hope I wasn't too shabby here. As specified in the summary, this is part of a larger line of titles under the "DC Ultimate" Imprint that is run over on the Marvel Message Boards. Obviously, this tale is originally titled as Ultimate Superman, but that title is probably so generic around here that I changed the title around here a bit.
This is inspired by minis such as Superman: Birthright and the recent Superman: Earth One, so you can see some elements from those pop up in this one from time to time. But mostly, this is going to be more of a character study superimposed on a modernized DCU and all that entails. This is about Kal-El learning, gradually, to be Clark Kent. In most cases, Clark Kent had to learn to fly to answer the call for justice- here, Kal-El would have to descend from the high skies in order to heed that call. Though this origin arc may not reflect that much, the point of this series is for him to discover the values in which he will put his trust and beliefs in- and it is then that he will become the symbol of inspiration to untold masses of the world.
Updating on this one will be a bit slow. Life obviously takes its toll, plus I have bigger commitments to my two other current on-going fics.