I sat in the back of the Humvee, gathering my hair into a ponytail with an elastic band I'd slipped onto my wrist while still in my flat. Clark sat ramrod-straight beside me, his eyes on the mountainous landscape outside the tinted windows. As I put my arms down, my hand brushed against his red cape; it was soft and smooth like satin, and like a curious little kid I rubbed it between my fingers.
"Wrinkle-resistant," he whispered teasingly. I smiled back at him, decided to be a little more daring: I touched his arm, ran my fingers over his sleeve. The material felt like thin, flexible metal. Chain mail, I instinctively thought. But still some kind of fabric.
Clark didn't flinch when I touched him, not like he did in the cemetery. He simply watched me as if I fascinated him, and with something that could only be described as tenderness. My heart pounded a little too wildly at that thought, and telling myself not to let it go to my head, I drew my hand back and looked at my feet.
I still blushed, though. It was rather disconcerting.
The Humvee stopped behind a concrete barrier manned by several dozen troops and tanks. As I looked out the window I realized we were on a huge plain a few minutes below Cheyenne Mountain. The place was empty of vegetation and eerily quiet, even with all the cars, tanks, and men. Clark stepped out first, his cape rustling softly, and held out his hand to me as I unbuckled myself.
Normally I would've given a thanks-but-no-thanks shake of my head and jumped down by myself. As it was I gladly accepted the gentlemanly gesture, and as I did so, remembered him helping me out of the chopper on Ellesmere Island. My throat tightened and I threw my head back, trying to catch my breath.
"Just walk right out there to that boulder," Swanwick ordered. "The dropship is on its way."
"Thank you," Clark said, and walked away. I followed automatically. Swanwick laid a hand on my arm.
"You should stay here, Miss Lane," he said quietly. "You'll be flown back to Metropolis as soon as the dropship heads back into space."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "General, are you suggesting I stay, or commanding me? Because someone needs to be with him, and if I can be that person, I will."
Swanwick withdrew his gaze and to my immense relief waved me off with his hand. I jogged after Clark; hearing my footsteps, he looked over his shoulder and stopped in surprise.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.
"Standing by you," I answered, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and looking at the sky rather than him. Composure was of the utmost importance; neither of us said a word as we approached the boulder Swanwick had mentioned. Once there, Clark turned to me abruptly.
"Just in case I never come back," he said, "I want to thank you."
I gave him an incredulous look. "For what?"
"For believing in me." He frowned, as if the very idea amazed him. "You told me the world would need me one day, and that I'd be ready. And you didn't turn me in. You didn't think you had to. No one's ever had that kind of faith in me."
I shrugged. "It didn't make much difference in the end, did it?"
"It did to me," he said firmly.
I swallowed. It hadn't really occurred to me that my faith in him would mean so much . . . but to a man who'd been considered a freak all his life, maybe it meant everything in the world. I offered my left hand, hoping for a final handshake before I had to go back. He studied it for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to touch me. Then he took it with his right hand.
By doing that, it wasn't a handshake, not the proper, formal kind. He just held my hand like he would've done if he was an ordinary man and I was the woman who'd go to the moon and back for him, and we held hands simply because we wanted to. My breath caught at the mental image and at the long look he gave me as his strong fingers closed over mine.
A dull, distant boom made me jump. Clark looked quickly at the sky, seeing and hearing things I couldn't. "They're coming. You should probably go back now."
I drew a shuddering breath and didn't move. I didn't want expression turned desperate and his grip tightened on my hand.
"Go, Lois, please," he whispered.
It was the first time he'd ever said my given name. I blinked back tears and staggered away, and he held onto my hand until he couldn't anymore. Halfway back to the barricade I looked back. A dark object swooped down from the sky, growing larger as it approached; Clark faced it with hands clenched, his cape rippling softly in the breeze.
Goodbye, Superman.
I reached the barricade and saw, among the helmeted troops, Colonel Hardy standing beside Swanwick. I hadn't noticed him before; instinctively, I moved to his side. He glanced at me and offered me a look of guarded sympathy.
"Everything all right, Miss Lane?"
I nodded, turning to face the otherworldly sight of the descending ship. Dust billowed around it, settling again as the engines quieted down and a black ramp lowered from its side. The ship looked like a crab, I thought, and was about as big as a large fishing boat.
Almost as impressive as the ship, however, was the person who strode confidently down the ramp. As far as size went the alien was no larger than a tall human, and to my surprise the close-fitting black armor accentuated an undeniably feminine figure. But even the way she walked screamed authority, and the way she held her helmeted head told me, without ever seeing her face, that she was proud and haughty.
She stopped in front of Clark and said something to him; I strained my vision and saw that she'd lifted her visor. Then she brushed past Clark, making her way to the barricade. The men around me tensed and I heard a metallic click as automatic rifles were brought to shoulders.
"I am Sub-Commander Faora-Ul," the woman announced, as majestically as if she'd just said "I am Cleopatra" or "I am Helen of Troy." Her sharp features were beautiful and her black eyes took us all in before locking on Swanwick. "Are you the commanding officer here?"
"I am," Swanwick replied coolly.
"General Zod would like this woman to accompany me."
My mouth dropped open as she raised a finger at me. Instinctively I looked to Clark. He was watching the whole thing, and as soon as Faora pointed at me he stiffened.
Colonel Hardy stepped in front of me. "You said you wanted the alien, ma'am. You didn't say anything about one of our own."
Faora-Ul's eyes narrowed. "Shall I tell the general you are unwilling to comply?"
"I don't care what you tell him," Hardy snapped.
The woman's blood-red lips twitched. I had a feeling she wasn't used to people telling her to back off—and if she ever found herself in that situation, she wouldn't hesitate to assert herself. And if Clark, by himself, was capable of spearing logs through an eighteen-wheeler, what could this woman and her people do to Swanwick and Hardy with their men and tanks if I didn't obey?
"It's all right," I heard myself say as I stepped out from behind Colonel Hardy. "I'll go."
Faora-Ul turned her sly dark eyes on me and sized me up. I might as well have been standing before her completely naked; her gaze couldn't have been more intrusive or embarrassing.
"The woman has chosen well," she said smoothly, glancing at Swanwick again. "Be thankful she had more wits about her than you—or your subordinate."
She flicked her hand at me and turned on her heel. Hardy laid a hand on my arm but I shook my head and walked quickly after her. Strangely enough, my one thought was something along the lines of, What in the world is my mom going to think of this?
Unable to keep up with Faora's long, swift strides I reached Clark several seconds after she did. He stared at me like I'd lost my mind.
"I'm not letting you take her," he snapped, turning on Faora. "I'm the one you want. There's absolutely no need to bring an innocent woman into this."
Faora set her weight on one leg and cocked her head to the side. "The general has decided that question, son of El. If she is so important to them and to you, she is important to our mission."
"Which is?" Clark demanded.
She smirked. "To reclaim you. And as I and my crewmates were bred to kill without empathy or compassion, I do not think you wish us to decide the matter by force."
Clark was silent, and his eyes flew back to the troops behind the concrete barriers. Then, as if sensing that any sign of fear on his part would only unnerve me, he drew himself up and offered his hand to me. Once Faora started leading us to the ship, I squeezed his hand hard.
I'd seen enough science fictionmoviesto have a pretty good idea of what spaceships should look like. They should be clean and bright-looking inside, sleek and elegant on the outside. You should find yourself walking down well-lit and very wide corridors, preferably with a squad of stormtroopers behind you. If you wanted the full effect, that is.
Kryptonian ships were different. As soon as I entered the dropship I was struck by how dark it was. It certainly wasn't built for comfort; the décor was sharp and forbidding. It did remind me to a certain extent of the old ship in the Canadian glacier, but even that one had an elegance and a nobility to it.
Clark had told me less than an hour ago that Krypton's culture had decayed until it mirrored the planet's physical instability. Maybe the Kryptonians had lost all sense of beauty before they were all destroyed.
All of them, of course, except for General Zod, Faora-Ul, and anyone else on their mothership . . . and Clark Kent.
"Stay here," Faora ordered as the doors sealed behind us and we stood in a small, windowless boarding area. "And do not move. I will be flying the ship up there—" she pointed to a short staircase leading into the cockpit "—but I will know if you attempt to make any trouble. Kal-El, do I have your word you will remain here, quietly?"
"Of course," Clark said firmly.
She nodded, and with one nasty look in my direction, mounted the steps without so much as touching the stair rail. Clark followed her with his eyes, and when we saw her sit down in the pilot's chair with her back to us, he cautiously lifted a hand to his neck. For the first time, I realized he wore some kind of thin black cord around his neck that tucked into his suit. He pulled it out and I saw a small, slender object hanging from the cord.
"Take it," he whispered, slipping it into my hand with his eyes still on Faora.
I closed my fingers over it. Whatever it was, it was smooth and still warm from his body heat. "What is it?"
"Command key. Shh!"
"What's it for?"
Before Clark could answer the ship lurched and ascended so fast, I threw my hand out against the wall to keep myself from falling. The lights flickered. As the ascent leveled Clark took my hand and helped me regain my balance. I had clenched the key so hard, it left an imprint in my palm. I looked down and saw the same "S"-shaped symbol on his suit pressed into my skin.
I looked up at him questioningly, but he shook his head, lifted a finger to his lips. It was a good thing he'd given me the warning; Faora shot out of her seat and came down the stairs again with something tucked under her arm. I slammed the key into my pocket.
"The atmospheric composition on our ship is not compatabile with humans," she said, holding out a transparent respirator helmet. "You will need to wear a breather beyond this point."
Before I could react, she set the clear helmet on my head. It scared me; for all I knew it might give me poison gas rather than oxygen.
Oh calm down, Lane, she said Zod thinks you're important—though why, I have absolutely no clue—so it's not like she's going to kill you before he can question you. Be rational about this.
I took a deep breath. Clark watched me closely.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said, nodding as well as I could in the helmet. "It's okay, it's oxygen."
Faora went back to the cockpit and piloted the ship towards the squid-like mothership, which, she informed us proudly, was called Black Zero. Through what I could see out of the cockpit window, I watched an airlock open in the huge ship's side, allowing the dropship entrance; a heavy clank of metal told me when the airlock had sealed again behind us.
Faora then returned to us and with the push of a button opened the door and lowered the black ramp. She walked down first; Clark motioned for me to follow her while he made the rear. Cold blue light shone down on us from a vaulted ceiling; six armored Kryptonians waited for us at the bottom of the ramp.
Just behind the soldiers stood a tall, thin, ghoulish-looking man in fine robes that, while much less colorful, looked like they were made of the same material as Clark's cape. He moved to Faora's side as soon as Clark and I stepped off the ramp.
"General Zod is waiting in the main cabin," he said. "He says to bring the prisoners to him immediately."
"As if I didn't already believe that would be his request," Faora answered haughtily. "I do not need you to inform me of the general's intentions, Jax-Ur."
The man cut his eyes at Faora and his gaze landed on Clark. His lips curled in an ugly sneer.
"So this is our freeborn," he said. "He will be an interesting study for the laboratory . . ."
"Leave him alone," Faora snapped. "You will have your turn with him shortly. You heard, Kal-El. The general awaits."
She jerked her hand for us to follow. I glanced at Clark. His jaw was set and he blinked hard, as if he was having trouble adjusting to the light.
"Are you all right?" I whispered.
"Yeah," he whispered back, reaching for my hand. His fingers laced with mine and squeezed.
We followed her out of the cargo bay and into a cramped corridor; Clark had to duck his head in order to get through, and with his broad frame in front and the armored soldiers behind me, I felt claustrophobic. I still clutched his hand and he gently rubbed his thumb over my skin.
When we finally emerged into another huge room, the first thing I noticed was an enormous window looking down upon Earth. The sight of my home planet from this height would've been delightful under any other circumstance, but my attention was quickly diverted by a tall, armored, but helmetless figure standing in front of the window. He turned towards us as we stepped into the room and I gulped.
Zod. That's got to be him.
He carried himself with far more dignity than even my father or General Swanwick could've mustered, making me wonder if there was more than simple military bearing to him . . . maybe noble upbringing. His short-cropped hair was flecked with grey and a long white scar ran from the corner of one eyebrow to the cheekbone below it. His eyes fixed on Clark without any hint of animosity. In fact, he seemed more curious than antagonistic.
"Kal-El," he said, stepping forward quickly with a small, stiff smile. I shuddered. There was something creepy about his voice. "You have no idea how long we've been searching for you."
Clark released my hand and stepped forward like he was ready to finally give himself up. Some of the color had gone out of his face. "I take it you're Zod?"
"General Zod," Faora hissed. "Show some respect, freeborn!"
"It's all right, Faora," Zod said in that unsettling monotone of his. "We can forgive Kal any lapses in decorum. He's a stranger to our ways, after all. This moment should be cause for celebration, not conflict."
I fought to urge to make some smart-aleck comment about blackmailing Earth for the sake of a celebration. The second use of the word "freeborn" in ten minutes, too, confused me. Whatever it meant, Faora despised Clark for it; that much was clear from the way she glared daggers at him.
Zod laid a hand on Clark's shoulder. Clark drew in a sharp breath and staggered as if Zod had just backhanded him.
"Are you well, Kal?" Zod asked coolly.
I rushed forward. Clark was white as a sheet and looked like he might start throwing up at any moment. It was his eyes that scared me, though. I'd seen that same disoriented look in Afghanistan, when wounded men were brought into the infirmary. It was like the soldiers didn't know where they were; one man I'd seen, his leg half-blown off, was unable to tell the medic his own name.
"Clark—" I said, but before I could touch him he stumbled, choked, and fell on his hands and knees, vomiting hard. Alarmed, I dropped on my knees beside him, trying to comfort him; Zod made way for me without any sign of concern. Clark lifted a hand to his mouth and drew it back smeared with blood.
"What's wrong with him?" I cried, turning on Zod. "What have you done?"
"His body is rejecting our ship's atmospherics," Zod said, looking at me for the first time with stern blue-grey eyes. "He spent a lifetime adapting to Earth's ecology but he never adapted to ours."
Clark tried to push himself up and failed, falling on his stomach with a grunt.
"For God's sake, help him!" I screamed.
"I can't," Zod replied coldly. "Whatever is happening to him has to run its course."
And if it kills him? What then?!
Clark groaned, dropped his head on the floor, and went limp. I started to panic. I grabbed his shoulder and pulled hard, rolled him over onto his back. I cupped his bloody face in my hands and bent over him. His eyes were closed.
"Stay with me, Clark," I hissed, patting his cheek. No response. He was deathly white under all that blood. I clenched my teeth and slapped him as hard as I could.
"Wake up! Stay with me—don't you dare die on me, Clark Kent! Wake up!"
Two pairs of strong hands clamped on my shoulders. I gasped, tried to fight back, but Faora and another female Kryptonian were almost as strong as Clark and pinned my arms to my sides with very little effort. Four armored soldiers and Jax-Ur hovered over Clark; the scientist wore undisguised glee in his ghoulish face.
"You must be Lois Lane," Zod said as Faora and her companion jerked me towards him. "The woman who apparently knows more about Kal-El than most on your planet?"
I did my best to writhe against Faora's grasp, but she had a vice-like hold on me. Zod went on, his eyes slowly moving from my head to my feet and back again.
"You see, I've monitored Earth's reaction to my transmission last night, and a few hours ago your name came to my attention. Your own general informed me you were friends with my young countryman. Perhaps you could tell me what you know. Where he lived, how he grew up . . . what he is capable of."
I heard footsteps walking away and something heavy dragging across the floor. I tried to look over my shoulder, but Faora squeezed my elbow so tightly I gasped.
"Answer the general, human," she hissed in my ear.
I gritted my teeth and jerked my elbows back as hard as I could. It caught Faora's companion off guard and she lost her hold on me; Faora, however, wrenched my arm behind my back until I screamed and crumpled, moaning, to my knees. Zod looked down at me with hardly any emotion in his eyes except, maybe, a hint of distaste.
"She is a defiant one," he said, meeting Faora's seething eyes. "Very well, Sub-Commander. Do what is necessary."
"Yes, General," Faora said, yanking me to my feet so hard, my shoulder popped. "Car-Vex!"
Her subordinate, irritated that I'd bested her for even a short moment, grabbed my other arm again. They whirled me around and started dragging me out of the enormous room. I glanced around feverishly. Clark was gone; so were his captors. The bloodstains on the grey floor were the only evidences he'd been here.
