[Revised 29 July 2013]
Earth is not unique. Humanity is not alone in the universe. Logically, it is absurd that evolution could only produce one intelligent species in a plethora of galaxies and a myriad of planets. Practically, space is so vast that most intelligent life is too far away from Earth to make contact possible. Realistically, near-Earth intelligent life does not care to intrude into the matters of a backward, primitive population. Humanity will either grow up and stop killing itself long enough to look around itself and thus become worth the universe’s attention, or humanity will annihilate themselves and the universe will wait for the next intelligent species to arise.
On the outer edge of the near-to-Earth inhabited region of the Milky Way galaxy, a small Earth-like world orbits a red dwarf star. The star is called Rao by the inhabitants of Krypton, the planet which orbits the star.
Compared to the more primitive Earthlings, Kryptonians are gods. They live for ages. Their bodies are immune to most biological and environmental pathogens. Their living tissue and bones are nearly indestructible. They are highly intelligent. Ancient Kryptonian history, from before their star turned red, speaks of other innate abilities that Kryptonians once possessed: the power of flight. Hypersensitive sensory abilities. Heat vision. Freeze breath. Most Kryptonian scientists dismiss such claims as ancient evolutionary myth or as subspecies that went extinct long ago, merely tales of mutant variations, freaks of nature.
It is only a matter of time before the entire discussion will reside in the academic halls of some other galactic species. The Kryptonians are fighting a war that they are quickly losing. While the Kryptonians are known throughout the galaxy for their scientific advances, they are also known for their arrogance. Superior knowledge and understanding does not always breed superior magnanimity. While preserving their home planet, agents of Krypton spread throughout their corner of the galaxy as ravaging locusts. Every planet they encountered they exploited completely. Every natural resource, every unique element, every single thing of value they took. In the face of such ecological disaster, the leaders of Krypton were unapologetic. “The universe exists to be used” was their refrain. To their credit, Krypton’s mining crews left inhabited worlds alone, but any uninhabited moon or planet in their path was doomed. Other planetary societies were forced to mine their own planets to the point of disaster because there were no extra-planetary resources for them to cultivate.
There exists in the universe a military force whose duty is that of the preservation of peace. Their origins are told in other tales, but a corps of their ranks, the Black Corps, is tasked with death. When diplomacy and goodwill fails, when military intervention is necessary, the Black Corps advances. The Black Corps pursues total victory. Against them, there is no survival.
Led by the fearless and ruthless General Zod, the Kryptonian army has lasted longer than any other force the Black Corps has engaged. But it cannot last. Zod has ordered the full scale retreat of every Kryptonian warship. Amassed in orbit of Krypton, they make their final stand.
General Zod, assailed from without, is attacked from within. Leading the civilian population of Krypton is an elder statesman, and one of the top Kryptonian scientists: a man called Jor-El. From the beginning, Jor-El opposed war. When the diplomatic Green Corps first approached Krypton and demanded they cease exploitation, Jor-El favored acquiescence. Zod, a warrior from birth, argued for unlimited Kryptonian sovereignty. Zod persuaded Krypton’s ruling council to his way of thinking. Now that the war was nearly at an end, and Krypton herself on the brink of destruction, Jor-El cried louder for an armistice. “Surely we can yet sue for peace and save our civilization!” he cried. Zod was too proud to bow. Zod was ready for his last stand.
Jor-El is a man of peace. But even if he weren’t, he would still be fighting harder than anyone to ensure the continued existence of his planet for one simple reason: Jor-El is also a father. His unborn son will be born to a dead world. The pregnancy was a fluke, a one-in-a-million chance. Bringing a baby into a galactic conflict intentionally would have been unwise and cruel. But, life is not restrained by the eventualities of an impersonal universe. Life explodes wherever it can. At the moment when the Black Corps destroys Krypton, new bacterium will be created. Skin cells will regenerate. A flower will bloom. A seed will germinate. An insect will be hatched. Therefore, the unlikely fertilization of Kryptonian egg and sperm is no wondrous event. When Krypton explodes it will take with it a newly born baby boy.
“Fuck that.” Jor-El murmured to himself.
Jor-El strode with purpose down the deserted streets of Argo City, one of Krypton’s largest centres of population. Martial law was in effect. Every able bodied person was serving in the war. The young, the old, the infirm: they were sequestered in-doors. Jor-El was careful to remain undetected. As a member of the ruling council, Jor-El technically wasn’t under the military’s authority, but he could still be stopped and questioned. In these calamitous days, treason was a popular criminal charge, and Zod wouldn’t hesitate to remove Jor-El’s dissenting voice from the council.
Jor-El clasped his hands behind his back, beneath his cloak. The style of dress demanded a long cloak, or cape. It lent an air of regality, of formality. Jor-El’s cape was a deep crimson, contrasting with his long blue robes. On the chest of his robe, a stylized “S” character was embroidered. The crest of the House of El, it symbolized hope. In this case, hope for Jor-El’s unborn son.
Jor-El hoped he would not be the last son of Krypton.
a simple man 