Futility
Whenever he faced a threat, Superman was usually, if not always, the first to go in, fists flying. This time was no different. The dark-haired Kryptonian lunged forward, arm cocked back. Whatever distance that existed between the two aliens was closing and closing quickly. From his various experiences in fighting, his body was acting for him, picking the second to begin unwinding and throwing his right fist ahead.
It didn't matter that Brainiac was bigger and taller than him; the Man of Steel had faced threats that sometimes towered over buildings and had still come out on top.
Brainiac, for his part, stood where he was before calmly taking a step to the side at the best moment to evade the attack. Air rushed about the blue-wearing hero's fist as it harmlessly passed by his opponent.
Not deterred, Superman pressed forward, throwing his other fist at the larger alien. Again, Brainiac moved out of the way, his green eyes flickering as they followed the path the Kryptonian's attack moved before returning back to the man himself.
Several more punches were thrown, all were dodged, and then Brainiac mixed things up, moving faster than his large frame would hint at. A shockingly massive hand shot out and clamped down on Superman's throat, gripping tight enough that it surprised the Kryptonian with its strength. The next thing he knew, he was being picked up into the air, his feet flailing about while his hands gripped at the muscular green arm.
"I have analyzed the data from my probe. You favor your right side and attacks that require the use of your arms," the green being commented, his voice never raising an octave. "Evasion strategies were simple to devise."
Chokingly, Superman grunted back, "What about this?"
Tensing up a leg, he swung the limb in a kick, getting high enough to strike Brainiac in his head. Cables rattled against one another as the green-skinned head jerked back from the blow, but it was quick to return, no sign of humor or offense on that impassive face. Worryingly, the alien's grip on the dark-haired man's throat had not lessened one bit. Instead, it got tighter.
Alright, time for a different approach. Superman widened his eyes, readying his heat his vision. However, before he could fire the beams, his body was lifted higher into the air before being slammed into the floor. His concentration disrupted, the adopted Earthling felt the buildup of energy in his eyes fade away.
Then he was picked up again, the large hand never releasing his neck for a second. Brainiac then flung him away, the Man of Steel crashing in the rounded wall of the large chamber. The impact of his body hitting the metal surface sent a dull yet loud boom throughout the room. Air was forced out of his lungs due to the impact.
Before his body could fall to the floor or he could hold himself up, smooth, metal restraints slipped through the wall and wrapped around his arms, holding Superman tightly. Sharp-tipped ends fastened themselves down, cutting into the material of his costume.
"As I told you, you belong to me now," Brainiac stated, beginning a slow, methodical approach to the Kryptonian. "There is no escape."
"I don't belong to you or anyone else," Superman growled as he pulled at his restraints.
"You do, you always have," the larger alien refuted. "I had believed that Kandor to be the last and only vessel of Kryptonian data left in the universe, until my probe responded with your existence. Your very presence outside of my bio-shell allows others to share in Kryptonian science and culture." Coming to a stop feet away, Brainiac's calm and clinical mien hinted that anger lied beneath the surface. "I cannot allow my information to be shared."
Superman glowered back. "It's not yours to keep." With more strength than he imagined needing to be used, the dark-haired Kryptonian ripped himself out of the restraints, the sharp ends tearing pieces of his costume off. With Brainiac too close, there was no way for him to evade the right punch from decking him the face with a follow-up from the left.
And then a gut punch interrupted the assault, Superman's body practically jackknifing around the green, muscular arm. Another blow sent him flying away, bouncing off the floor before coming to a stop.
"What do you hope to accomplish here, Kal-El?" Heavy footsteps gave away Brainiac's approach. "You have accomplished very little here. By coming here, you have accomplished, for me, a great deal. You have saved me the time and effort required to find you and end your contamination.
"You now belong to me."
The device was long and thin. At least in the large hands of the Martian, it appeared that way. For a human, it would've been the size of a brick and as long as two put together. It was cylindrical in shape, one end flat, the other blossoming out to form a large mouth.
Or as Flash had put it, "What's with the flashlight?"
Unlike a flashlight, there was a panel that ran the length of the device, a few buttons forming a column down the shaft. That was the main operation panel that activated and deactivated the device.
"This is the final product of the countermeasure I have been working on," J'onn intoned, looking over the remaining members of the League. His two hands held onto the device, allowing it to be viewed by his comrades. Pointing one end towards them, he continued his presentation. "This end emits a powerful electromagnetic surge, one that can interfere with electrical output. It should disable the Brainiac probes, rendering them inoperable."
He then turned it so that he could show the panel. "The top button activates the device as well as deactivating it. The next two allow the user to strengthen or weaken the pulse. The bottom is the triggering mechanism that allows you to fire the electromagnetic pulse. It can be a short burst, or a long blast depending on the user's need."
A hand shot up, one belonging to Flash. "Question," he spoke bluntly, "what the heck are you talking about?"
"He's talking about a weapon, Flash," Hawkgirl answered for the Martian.
"And you have any idea on how it works?"
"Not at all," she shrugged. "All I understood was that it can turn the probes off. That's really all that matters."
That wasn't the reaction J'onn was hoping for. Flash's inability to understand his technical jargon was expected, but it seemed Hawkgirl's only care was of the final result. She didn't bother with understanding the mechanics so long as it worked.
"It's an EMP emitter," Batman suddenly spoke up, causing the two Leaguers to look at him. "It'll fry anything run by a computer."
"Oh," Flash responded. "Why didn't J'onn say so?"
"He did."
"I mean, why didn't he say it for, you know, laymen?"
Batman just looked at the speedster, the impression of him raising an eyebrow at the young man being given. J'onn resisted a sigh. Flash at least had a point on using less technical language. Perhaps he should have started his presentation that way.
"What if the probes are immune to the EMP?" Diana suddenly asked. "Would that render the EMP device useless?"
"All circuitry is exposed at some point or another," Batman replied. "While the circuitry can be shielded, at some point it has to be accessed, like at a computer terminal."
"And after extensive research, I have found that the probes are not shielded from the pulse's frequency," J'onn added.
"So will this work on only the probes, or maybe something larger, like the Watchtower?" Hawkgirl inquired.
J'onn paused at that, while Batman looked to him. "If I built the EMP big enough, it could," he admitted after awhile. "The handheld version will not, though one could cause enough damage inside such a facility if they used it at key locations."
"How soon could you get an EMP that size?"
"Months, I'm afraid. The power source needed to create such a pulse would be enormous. It was one thing to construct the device I hold now, but more power is needed to not only ensure a powerful pulse, but one that could travel to its target."
"At the very least, we can take out the probes," Batman said then. "We can worry about producing a larger model later. Brainiac will have its own transportation, a ship designed for battle. Right now we don't know what those capabilities are short of a weapon designed to destroy an entire city. We'll need to be able to defend against such a weapon."
"Not to mention finding a way to detect where Brainiac is and when it plans on attacking," Diana pointed out. "Do we have an early detection system?"
"That's what the Watchtower is for," the Gotham vigilante replied. "It has the best detection system on the planet; it was designed to detect an incursion like this."
"So we got that in place," Flash said. "How many of these pulse thingamabobs do we have?"
"I have made a few," J'onn responded. "And more are in development. I would like to have plenty in order to ensure ourselves and our allies are able to use them."
"Do that," Batman told him. "As for the rest of us, someone will need to be on the Watchtower to monitor any objects heading this way. We'll also need to make our own preparations. We don't know what this enemy is fully capable of, so we need to take steps for anything."
J'onn nodded his agreement. Looking down at the EMP, he began to mentally calculate how many he could have produced using the Fortress of Solitude's equipment.
Hopefully it would be enough.
Superman was taking heavy breaths. Usually this happened after exerting himself to the limit, and that usually took some time. Fighting Brainiac in a short amount of time had already brought him to this point.
As he pushed himself back on his feet, the Kryptonian readied himself for the next round. This was how he fought, going in, sometimes getting hit about, then thinking over his options when brute force was not enough. Sometimes inspiration would hit, a key detail he had seen would light the proverbial light bulb over his head, and then he would be able to turn it all around.
"I know what you're thinking. You are afraid," Brainiac stated, standing imposingly before him. "Like all lifeforms, fear is what drives you, as it does now. What you are, what you represent, will continue to live on, I assure. As with everything, it will live within me."
Ma could have been over exaggerating when she told him he was one of a kind, but he highly doubted that anything lived within this cyborg of an alien. Yes, he was afraid, but not for himself. What scared him more was if he failed here, what would happen to Earth, to Ma and Pa, to Lois, and everyone else. No, failure was not an option here.
"Sorry, but I already have a lease," Superman retorted as he went on the offensive. Giving it his all, he threw his next punch at the massive menace.
This time, Brainiac did not dodge. What the green alien did do was catch his fist, fingers biting down into the back of his smaller hand. Shock appeared on the Metropolis transplant's face. His strength, one that he was famous for had been stopped with nothing to show for it.
A blow snapped the dark-haired man's head to a side, and several jabs struck all over his torso. Brainiac's movements had changed, though what that meant escaped the pummeled man as he was hit again and again, then flipped down onto his back.
"You continue with the same approach, as if doing so will end with a different result," Brainiac remarked.
Fine, he wanted something different? Picking his feet up, he forced the rest of his legs to go above him, rolling his torso back so that he was balancing on his hands and shoulder blades. He fired his legs out, aimed right for Brainiac's gut, but the larger alien took up an odd stance, one that allowed him to parry the missiling feet and negate the attack altogether.
Large muscular arms snaked about the Kryptonian's legs and pinned them together. The next thing Superman knew, he was flipping about until he landed on the metal floor harshly.
"You are a brute," Brainiac continued. "You use force to overwhelm your opponent until they are beaten into submission. I, meanwhile, have downloaded into myself the combat skills and martial style associated with the Rak'tera, a species I acquired many orbits ago. Against it, brute force is arbitrary."
Did this bastard expect him to quit because of that? Rolling onto his side, Superman was slower to get up this time, but he was able to get back onto his feet. Concentrating, he attempted to go long distance for this one, using his heat vision to either hurt or distract the alien. The red lighting clashed with Brainiac's green skin, a contrast that jarred visually.
However, no beams of red energy shot from his eyes. The other alien showed no signs of being hit or injured. This...this did not make sense. Confusion would have to wait, because his enemy was beginning that slow, methodical walk of his. To buy time, Superman inhaled a large breath of air, then exhaled it through his mouth, hoping to freeze the looming alien and buy some time.
All that came out of his mouth was regular, unaltered air.
"Confusion outweighs your fear," Brainiac described. "The abilities you possess, that no other Kryptonian has ever possessed no longer are available to you. Long did I analyze the data I received, comparing it to my own, searching for all variables that would explain why you are so different from the rest of your species. I eliminated numerous factors, simulated others, before finally narrowing it down to one singular variable.
"The planet of which you adopted as your home orbits a young star, one that releases yellow light, while Krypton orbited an older star and was exposed to red light. My hypothesis was that the radiation from a young star is what inspires your abilities while radiation from an older star represses it. Thus, to test this hypothesis, I made upgrades to my bio-shell. The light of which you are now currently exposed to is emitting the same radiation as one would encounter from a red star.
"It seems my hypothesis is correct. You are now powerless."
With every word that Brainiac spoke, dread began building and building within Superman. He had thought that the red lighting had been an alert, one that was tied to Brainiac leaving that cocoon of his.
Instead, he had been gradually drained of everything that made him...well, super. It was why Brainiac seemed to be getting stronger and stronger as time passed while he only got weaker and weaker…
A hand pulled at the front of his uniform and pulled him up into the air, his feet dangling. Green eyes clinical bored into him, as if searching for something only they knew to look for. "Continued resistance is futile and pointless. There will be no victory for you this day."
That wasn't going to stop the Man of Steel, and he showed that by lunging with his hands forward for one more gambit.
"Talk to me, Happersen. What's your progress."
The alert from the head of this latest project of his had had Luthor speeding down to the lower levels of his corporate offices with a speed that would rival that blue-colored boy scout's. The lead researcher had been doing exactly as instructed, even though it had meant it interrupted a particularly delicate call with a foreign national who will remain anonymous for now.
This project was so much more important than maintaining healthy professional relationships.
"We've managed to break much of the code, Mr. Luthor," Happersen responded immediately. "Once we were able to identify common sequences, we were able to speed up the rate of translation. We're approximately eighty percent complete, but that isn't why I contact you. What is is that we have been able to uncover the means to reactivate the robot, sir. More importantly, we've been able to get into the programming itself. It's amazing."
Indeed, but Luthor was looking more for applications. To his side, Mercy stood as a testament to his stoicism. "I would hope there is more to this than what you have been telling me."
"Indeed. We're learning just what this robot is and was programmed to do. Based on the translation, it's more a probe with the sole purpose of gathering information. It's a scout, Mr. Luthor."
The bald CEO's eyes were now trained on the robot, already mulling over this new information. The machine was designed for reconnaissance, meaning a full military utility had not been its primary function. Yet it had given Superman a run for its money. If it could be upgraded to be fully combat oriented, what else would it be capable of?
"Now, we've run into a bit of stumbling block," Happersen continued, sounding sheepish with the admittance. "When we learned that it was suppose to gather intel, we tried to figure out if there was anything specific it was looking for—"
"And?" Luthor cut in, wanting to get to the point. His time was worth billions, several million for every second. As much as this was his pet project, he still had a multi-billion multi-national to run.
"That's just it. It was going for everything. Didn't matter if it was some comment on the internet or top secret intelligence, it targeted everything," the researcher explained. "Its memory capacity, though, it's enormous, even by our standards. The repository it has for data is so big, it could probably, easily, handle maybe a quarter of what's out there in cyberspace. It really is designed for scouting and reconnaissance."
So how would he be able to use this? The revelations, while intriguing, left much to be designed for application, which is what he really cared for.
"Weaponry?" It sounded and was spoken like a question, but it was anything but.
"Again, leagues above our own. Hell, it's advanced even when compared to the Kalanorian tech we were able to acquire," Happersen admitted. "Given the size of those cannons, shrink them down and make them portable and that's what we have here. The designer is like the alien equivalent of the Japanese."
Meaning taking something big and bulky and making it small and sleek.
"The armor is something we have, excuse the pun, not scratched the surface yet," Happersen continued. "It's not a material you find on Earth, at least in great quantity. Periodically, there's some artifact or ancient construct that has the material in it, but not in this quantity. Rebuilding it as is is not possible without considering different material, and even then that may compromise its integrity."
Mercy had left the business tycoon's side to stand beside the robot, its chest open with countless wires spilling out and into it. Eyes that were perpetually unimpressed with everything she saw, but were sharper than a knife's edge gazed into the humanoid machine while the scientist updated his boss of their progress.
It was from her when she asked, "Can you reprogram this thing?"
Luthor had turned only enough to regard his bodyguard questioningly, but found that the inquiry was one that had struck his curiosity. He turned back to his employee and made it known that he too would like the answer.
"Reading the programming and working the programming are two different things. With enough time, it is possible to reprogram it. We have been unlocking its secrets with our digital Rosetta stone, but whether Earth-based programming is compatible—"
"Regardless, I want you to get on it," Luthor interrupted. His green eyes now bored into this fantastic piece of machinery, demanding its secrets to be revealed to him. So many possibilities, all of which could take time, and even then there was so much room for error that it would make any lesser man of business run screaming away in terror.
He wanted so much to gain the advantage that this robot could give him, the edge that would allow the tycoon to finally put down that menace in blue spandex and red cape. Metropolis was his city, and he wasn't going to share it.
But, the threat that Superman truly was was not limited to just to himself. It was a point of shame that some clown from Gotham had been the one to truly tear off the facade of safety and nobility that alien had cultivated for himself. The destruction that had followed had held a silver lining; Superman was a potential threat and now everyone was aware of it. The months he had spent afterwards on the follow up smear campaign had been pure schadenfreude, and a period of time he hoped to one day make permanent.
Of course there would always be one new threat, one big enough that it was a job for only Superman to handle, and the goodwill near annihilation would make caused memories to become short.
From the skies came the curse of Superman. From these same skies came perhaps another means to destroy him, both in body and symbolic.
That his employees had been able to open up this godsend, both literally and metaphorically meant that he was one step closer to solidifying a legacy, one that would live on beyond himself and the business empire he had painstakingly created. The numerous wires that fed into or stuck out of the chest cavity symbolize an impending triumph. The humming of computers and various machines that worked without fail was an orchestra to the bald man's ears, a piece of music whose notes only sung victory with every second they played. The robots eyes lighting up with life could only—
Wait. Why were the eyes…?
Distantly, Luthor heard someone swear, "Oh shit!"
"Error. Physical shelling has been compromised. Sending transmission," the robot spoke, its voice loud amongst the technicians and their equipment. "Sending transmission. Error. Physical shelling has been compromised."
Some idiot had turned it on.
"Turn it off," Luthor said loudly, eyes widening at the implications. Then louder and angrier, "I said turn it off!"
"Turn the damn thing off!" Happersen roared as he spun on his heel, racing to the nearest terminal.
Mercy had pulled away, drawing her weapon while situating herself between the now activated robot and her boss.
"Error. Sending transmission. Transmission sent."
"Shut it down before it makes contact!" Luthor bellowed, not taking his eyes away from the disaster growing before him. Every second felt like an eternity, and each one continued to allow his godsend to send him back down to Hell. Then, what was almost second nature in such situations, the bald businessman snapped, "Mercy!"
Mercy responded, a woman more reliable than any machine at times. This time, she aimed her firearm at the various wires and began firing. Bullets pelted into the mess, but the bodyguard would not stop.
"Transmission sent. Waiting for confirmation of arrival. Transmission sent."
Mercy pulled out the empty clip and crammed a full one in. Happersen worked furiously at his terminal. Technicians and other employees raced about, trying to stop this before it became worse. All Luthor could do was stand there, his hands tightening into fists and his knuckles growing whiter.
"Transmission—"
Light left the robot's eyes, any and all movement ceased, and the rest of the facility came to a standstill. Gunfire came to an abrupt halt, and the only sound of importance was the hissing of severed wires, one of those had to have been supplying power to the animatronic machine. Without the constant flow of electricity, there was nothing to provide energy for the humanoid to operate.
Luthor could only hear the sounds of his own breathing, and he used it to calm himself down. For everyone else, this was their hell, waiting for however their employer was going to respond. One could hear a pin drop, if they bothered to listen.
One brave soul took the chance to say, "Mr. Luthor—"
A single hand shot up into the air, a gesture to say "shut up." The CEO was not in the mood to hear any excuses or apologies from anyone. Instead, he needed to take control of the situation and move ahead with it.
"Did you keep track of that transmission," he said at last, his words not a question in the slightest.
Happersen's fingers tapped several keys. "We did, Mr. Luthor. We can follow it...it went into the recesses of space."
"And?" There was more, information that the researcher was not saying, but Luthor would not wait to hear it.
"It was loud. No encryptions. Anyone paying attention to any broadcasting signals would have seen it," Happersen confirmed the CEO's fears.
Their time was now up.
"Who turned it on?" he asked calmly, his tone of voice betraying no signs of anger.
There was a moment before a technician, one whose voice he recognized from a certain expletive volunteered himself. "I...It was me. I mean. It was an accident. I didn't mean to hit the key, I…"
Luthor wouldn't look at the idiot. Instead, again calmly, he said, "Mercy. Take care of it."
He could get angry. He could become enraged. He could bluster and shout and roar, but he wouldn't do any of that. He was a man who had people who would do that for him. More importantly, he had Mercy.
Without watching the descent of his bodyguard, and fixer of inconveniences, Luthor redirected him energies towards Happersen. "Do what you can. Finish the translation. Download every bit of information you can. Draw up blueprints, do whatever you need to, and hide it all. I will handle anyone who pays a visit. One thing I want you to do, over everything else, is trace that transmission. I want to know it was received or not. Work as long as you need to, overtime is not an issue, but do it around the clock. No one clocks out until I give the word."
Happersen nodded before turning to his staff. "You all heard Mr. Luthor. Get back to work, no clocking out."
There was whimpering from a certain technician as Mercy manhandled him away and out of sight. Activity resumed and the hum that had been musical earlier was a distracting din that the tycoon needed to remove himself from.
Trouble was on the horizon, coming from two different fronts. The first, and graver, threat came from the stars themselves. If the robot had been able to reach whatever it was trying to contact, who knew what would answer? The second, and more manageable threat was one that he knew he could handle easily. Authorities from this planet was something he knew how to deal with.
Would they be happy that he had this robot in his possession? No, of course not. Would they hope to take him down at long last and tarnish his legacy? Absolutely.
But not to worry, he had a plan.
Spittle splattered onto the floor, a well-placed knee in Superman's gut being the culprit. His armed yanked upwards, a swift jab to his ribs followed, and then the world spun until cold, unfeeling metal welcomed his back.
It was not going well. Everything was slower now, every action he took whether it was simple movement or even breathing took too much effort. Sweat was pouring down his face, and drenching bruised skin and mixing with trails of blood.
Yet, the adopted Earthling was not about to give up. Not yet.
Brainiac stood there, waiting to see what he would do next. Large, muscular arms hung at the green alien's sides, able to snap into action without a second's hesitation. For the moment, there was nothing, but that would change with how the Man of Steel would chose to respond.
Lifting a hand up, Superman wiped at his mouth, then started to push himself back up. He was slower about it, something that was increasing with every second. The harsh reds of the room only highlighted what kind of shit he was in now, and Ma would not like that he had even thought of that expletive.
His legs were unsteady, and balance was becoming hard to come by, but the Kryptonian wasn't about to stay down, not when there was so much on the line.
There were those who called him an angel, and angels came hand in hand with miracles. Well, he may need one himself right about now, but outside of dues ex machina, he might have to make one.
Holding his arms in front of himself, hands balled into unsteadied fists, Superman took up a pose he had last since done back in Elementary School.. Wobbling, he edged his way closer to Brainiac, who continued to do nothing.
At least, not until Superman jabbed a fist forward, only for it be knocked aside. The Kryptonian's throat was seized yet again by a large, green hand, and now he was choking. Up he went as the muscular armed heaved him into the air, then reversed course and forced the dark-haired man down into the floor.
The boom that echoed throughout the chamber was felt in his bones, and he might have blacked out for a moment.
"Did you know that I have kept myself in stasis for nearly three hundred complete orbits of your adopted world?" Brainiac spoke, his deep voice the only thing that did seem to be weak, or shaky, or disorienting. "I needed to see this with my own eyes. I find that I am unimpressed, Kryptonian. Your intellect seems deficient, you show no aptitude for learning, and your bio-suit has shown to have no apparent purpose.
"The only thing you have accomplished is delivering yourself to me. Perhaps the contamination is mutual. You are a poor representative of the scientifically advanced Krypton. What detrimental effects have you experienced from...Earth, I believe is the name the dominant species has given their planet. To what extent has the cross-contamination had on you? This is a question I will answer."
Superman clasped onto Brainiac' wrist. "I...I...I won't…"
He was picked up again, and held up to Brainiac's cold, flat face. "You have no power to alter my decision."
The defiance Superman responded with was so satisfying, as was the glob of saliva that trickled down green skin. It also worth the punch to the face in received in kind, his head snapping back and forth like a bobblehead.
Brainiac was frowning, though. "That...was impulsive. I have not done such a thing, not even during my days in childhood. You inspire behaviors in me that are foreign. The contamination is contagious."
Superman managed a slight smile, even as he felt something wet flowing down the lower part of his face. It gave him something to keep fighting for, but if only he could use it somehow.
Then he was held away, allowing the green menace to gut punch him brutally. This was followed by a second blow to the face, and then a third to his ribs, and lastly a kick into his torso that threw him back until he was skidding across the floor.
This time, the Kryptonian wasn't getting up. The endless boundaries of energy that he normally had, the endurance and stamina that seemed to have no end were robbed from him from the persistent radiation of the red light his skin continuously absorbed. In some ways, it was like kryptonite poisoning, but more insidious as whatever damage he took was being deliberately done to him and not a side effect of mere exposure.
Kryptonite radiation did what it did because that was the way it was. It held no grudge against him, even if enough exposure would eventually kill him. Red sunlight wasn't as merciful, at least here it wasn't. He would only be at the mercy of the person exposing him to it, and so far Brainiac was proving to have absolutely none.
"You have presented so many problems, ones that will take much time and resources to correct." Footsteps were approaching him once more. "It is fortunate I have both in surplus. I will fix my error, I will find every world you have come into contact with, and then I will collect all of them. Your contamination ends, and my evolution continues.
"I will bring this all to its end."
Thanks to the collaboration with the Justice League, A.R.G.U.S. was starting to make some headway on these alien robots.
Though Steve Trevor was by no means an expert on robotics, he understood just how advanced these things were. Compared to the models the Earth had produced, those were tinker toys in comparison to these well-oiled machines. They were so far behind, it was almost insulting.
So he was taking this in stride rather than letting his ego take a hit. There were alien cultures that had successfully developed interstellar travel while human's had barely mapped out their own solar system with satellites. Naturally foreign technology would be more advanced.
It had been an achievement that they had unraveled the computing code these robots ran off. Everyone had been baffled by the sheer length—or lack thereof—when they first pulled it up. To learn the code was piled on top of itself had been surprising. Then they unfolded it and found more than they bargained for. Now they were in the process of trying to interpret it and progress had come to an instant halt.
This did nothing for the impatience of the big wigs and politicians. They wanted results now, now, now. They had little to no idea just how much effort went into deciphering such code. Steve was of the mind that if they thought it was so easy, they should bring in these egomaniacs and have them work on the code. Either they would interpret it, or they'd failed spectacularly; Steve was betting on the latter.
The Director was currently dealing with that, buying time and space needed for them to do their jobs. He did not envy her being in that position, surrounded by self-important people with the kind of patience that could fit in a thimble.
Thankfully, his counterpart in Waller had patience in spades. To his chagrin, Waller was put in charge of things until the Director returned, and that was after some persuasion from the Wall herself. When shown the code, she understood just how much work was going into interpreting the symbols. Sure, she wanted results, but she realized that if they couldn't make any progress, then they were at a dead end. Still, there were other aspects of the robot they could study and make some headway with.
Today just so happened to be her turn to be briefed on their progress. "Tell me what you have," Waller said bluntly as she marched right up to the blond man.
"Still no progress on the code," Steve replied. "We've managed to find common symbols throughout, but nothing that tells us their meaning. We have a team comparing the code to the alien languages that we know; right now they're applying Kalanorian to find commonalities. I'm planning on meeting with the Justice League to see if they've made any progress on their end, since they have other aliens that can examine it."
"What else do you have?" the dark-skinned woman asked then, not bothering to waste more time on the code.
"We're re-engineering the robots' weapon systems. Right now we're designing an electrical discharging weapon based off of what the robots use."
Waller looked up at the taller man. "And how useful is that going to be for A.R.G.U.S.?"
"Considering these things can fire out an electrical blast more powerful than any design we have, we're talking about a weapon that can fry a chicken at thirty paces."
"So can a bolt of lightning," she retorted. "All that is is just an updated version of our current electrical weapons. You're going to have to do more to impress me."
So much for patience. "Honestly, we're going to learn a lot more when we can crack that damn code. It'll tell us everything from operating systems to weaknesses. We'd be able to beef up our firewall and cybersecurity systems since its hacking program is a part of it. I could tell you we're trying to make an equivalent metal to the one these robots are made out of, but that's progressing slowly as well. Everything is going slow on this one, Waller."
The woman shook her head. "That's unacceptable. If we were making some kind of progress, we'd be able to shut the politicians down, but we can't do anything with what you've shown so far."
"Maybe we can bring them here and they can show us how easy it is," Steve suggested. While he doubted that would work, it didn't hurt to say it.
Waller actually paused at that. Then she snorted. "Nice one. Maybe I'll do just that." Oh crap, was she taking him seriously? "I'll see if I can give you another couple of days, but you better have someone we can work with. Otherwise we'll lose control and some other damn agency will get to putter around with it."
Suddenly, one of the computers made a sharp alarm. The two government officials looked to it just as one of the researchers came flying in, rolling across the room in a rolling chair. Coming to a stop in front of the terminal, he began typing frantically on the keyboard.
Without prompting, Steve moved towards the computer, Waller following close behind. "What's going on?" he demanded once he came to stand behind the researcher.
It took a moment, but the scientist finally answered him. "I'm detecting an active signal from one of the robots, but...it's not coming from any of the ones we have in our possession."
Steve and Waller shared a look with each other. "Is it the missing one?" he pressed as he returned his attention to the computer monitor.
"Possibly. I'm trying to…" he trailed off before he let out a triumphant shout, "I got it! I've isolated the frequency!"
"Trace it," Waller barked as she drew closer, placing a hand on the back of the man's chair. She damn near leaned over the researcher's shoulder as her eyes hardened on the screen.
"Working on it," the man quickly replied, his fingers dancing across the keyboard. "As long as it keeps broadcasting, I can give you a location in a couple of minutes."
"Trevor, prep a squad for reacquisition," Waller then ordered, looking to the blond man. "Take as many men as you'd like—in fact, I'm encouraging it. I want to send a message to this thief that you don't ever steal from the federal government. Excessive force is authorized."
"Copy," Steve replied. He'd stay long enough to ensure they had a general location on the robot's signal, then go see to his orders. He'd rather not be surprised in a few minutes if they lost the signal due to it being shut down. Already the search had narrowed the signal's source to the North American continent...scratch that, the New England area. It'd only be a matter of time now.
It had been a long time since Brainiac had left his bio-shell to personally confront any particular lifeform. Dealing with the renegade Kryptonian had been an anomaly, one important enough to leave the confines of stasis to handle himself, whereas he would normally assign the task to his AIs and programming.
The end was predictable and decided long before he had taken the small, Kryptonian vessel with its precious cargo. That cargo was receiving the last blows in a conflict that was ending here and now.
The Coluan could not deny the feeling of satisfaction he felt as he dealt the final blow, the combat skills of the Rak'tera influencing his movements enough to increase the effectiveness of the last attack.
Unmoving, but alive, the last son of Krypton lay at his feet. There was blood, tissue damage, and more than probable some broken bones. This would require medical attention, particularly if he wanted to continue researching this anomaly.
A Kryptonian with abilities never before recorded was an opportunity for research, and the knowledge gained would be absolutely priceless. Once, he had believed that he had learned everything there was to know about Krypton and its dominant species. For the first time since he had constructed this ship and had set forth on his self-imposed duty, he had been proven wrong.
It would take time to correct this error, finding every planet that the errant Krytonian had contaminated and excising them from the rest of the universe. In time, it would prove to be a minor setback, and nothing more.
First, the world that had taken the Kryptonian in would need to be found, its exact coordinates uncovered. The ship his prize had used to find him would be more than useful for this task.
A holographic screen appeared, a transmission received containing both redundant information and a set of coordinates from the planet it had transmitted from. A quick scan revealed that some of the redundant data was the same from the first transmission, the same information that revealed the existence of Kal-El.
Earth had been conveniently found.
With a thought, he inputted the commands to set the bio-shell's new destination. While awaiting arrival, time would be used to analyze and compare the new data with the rest, purge anything redundant, and identify the same to be collected.
Two drones were summoned, the robot arms hoisted up the defeated Kryptonian—if this man could even be called such. He was more like a brute, one far removed from his more cultured and sophisticated kin, enough that he may as well be a new species.
Still, much knowledge would be gleaned from this pseudo-Kryptonian, and only after the Coluan had learned what there was to know, the decision of whether to keep or terminate the specimen would have to be made. That could wait for now, as other tasks needed to be seen to.
Nothing would stand in his way of cataloging all knowledge the universe possessed.
Author's Note: Huh, everyone was predicting that Superman was going to have his ass handed to him this chapter. Are we falling into a rut if we're that predictable?