Tag: krypton

League of Justice #2.7: “He That Outlives This Day”

Metropolis

Clark Kent sat in a student lounge on the campus of Metropolis University watching the Weather Channel. He should have been studying for his economics midterm, but something had caught his eye. The anchor was speaking:

“Hurricane Chris is brewing in the North Atlantic. Chris was a tropical storm just yesterday and today it is a category three hurricane. It is off the Grand Banks, and doesn’t look to make landfall, it should spin itself out without harming anyone, except we now have news of a fishing vessel that hasn’t reported in yet. We go now to our reporter on the scene, Dave. Dave?”

“Thanks, Bill. I am here in Gloucester, Massachusetts, home base of the Abby Gale. The Abby Gale left port nearly two weeks ago. She has been last reported some 200 miles off of Sable Island. Her crew of six has not been heard from since. It is possible that their trajectory has taken them into the heart of Hurricane Chris. If that is the case, we fear they may be lost at sea.”

It suddenly hit Clark: I can save those people. I could fly there and I could rescue them!

It was a scary thought. Who was he to rescue people lost at sea over a thousand miles away? Well, who was he to not try? As a matter of fact, he was the only man on the planet that could do anything about it. With that, his mind was set.

Clark had no idea how far or how fast he could fly. He had been practicing in short bouts all his life, but feared to go too far or too fast in case something went wrong and he couldn’t fly back home. His father, Jonathan Kent, had forbid him from using his powers in order to keep his extraterrestrial origin a secret. But this time, Clark just couldn’t sit by and do nothing. He, for the first time in a long time, new exactly what the right thing to do was, and knew that he could do it. He would be damned if he wasn’t at least going to try.

Gathering his books, Clark stowed them in a locker. He slipped out the door and into the dark alley behind the student lounge. Zipping up his scarlet “MU” hoodie, he launched himself into the air. Rising fast, he soon was above the cloud bank that hung low over Metropolis. He was thankful for the overcast night, as it gave him cover from eyes that might see from the ground. He pointed himself east and was off. He kept his arms by his side, his legs straight out behind. He had never quite understood the mechanics of how he was able to fly, he just had always known he could. As a kid he had floated around his room, rather than walking, until his mother caught him floating and hanging from the ceiling fan, spinning in a lazy circle. From then on it was walk or be swatted on the butt.

But lately he had been experimenting a bit more, and found that the general mechanics of flight applied to him despite the specific mechanics of his flight. Clark knew that he could fly at least sixty miles per hour as he had once raced a semi (unbeknown to the semi) and had kept pace above it on the highway. But, at that speed, it would take way too long to reach the north Atlantic Ocean and the Abby Gale. So he pushed. It was more of a mental effort than a physical one, a quickening of the mind than body. It was mentally like kicking your legs in a pool to swim faster, though to do so physically would actually slow him down. Despite his defying of gravity, the physics of drag still applied. Clark mentally shook his head. This was why he was studying economics, not physics. Physics was confusing as hell.

Clark could feel himself going faster. For one thing, the skin on face was being pushed back. He had no idea how fast, but faster. He pushed even harder and flew even faster. He kept this up for an hour or more, but now he was flying into the dawn. Huh, that’s a problem, he thought. The only way to continue to keep out of sight was to go higher, which solved another problem: distance. He knew that planes often traveled in a parabolic arc over the earth to cut down on time while lengthening distance. The longer path is sometimes the quicker path over the surface of a sphere. So Clark banked.

A few hours later, in early morning, he had reached the eastern seaboard of the United States. He crossed over the ocean and was flying north. Off in the distance his super human sight could make out the clouds of the storm wall. This was it. Banking downwards, he entered the storm. He was pelted by rain and wind, which made it hard to see. He wished he had thought to wear something warmer than a hoodie. The hood had swept off his head some time ago and was fluttering behind him like a tiny red cape. Clark thought he probably looked a bit dorkish, but there was no one around to see him, fortunately.

His blue jeans were soaked by the swirling rain, but he flew on. He had no choice now. He couldn’t very well stop with nothing but stormy ocean beneath him.

There!

Clark spotted the ship. It was being tossed on seventy foot tall waves, the out riggings groaning and whipping in the weaving, bobbing motion. Now what? Do I grab them one by one and fly them somewhere? Hello, my name is Clark and I can fly you out of here. How do you think I got here in the first place? Clark shook his head. Too much explaining and too much recognition. His anonymity would be blown to hell. Well, there is another way… Clark knew he could lift heavy objects, but again, how heavy was unknown to him. Once, as a kid, he had lifted his mother’s car off the ground to stop it from rolling over a little kitten. His mom nearly had a heart attack, but the kitten lived, oblivious to its near demise.

Clark dove into the churning ocean beneath the boat, instantly soaking what parts of his clothes weren’t already. This is gonna suck flying home, he thought. Swimming up to the bottom of the boat, he placed each hand flat on the hull and pushed harder than he had ever pushed before. The boat began to rise slowly. It was hard to concentrate with the wind and waves and everything twisting and seething and all the noise and thunder crash and lightning flash and rain pelt and…Clark centered himself. His mother, long ago, had taught him to drown out all noise and confusion and to concentrate on a single thought, a single mantra. Higher…higher…higher, he thought and everything else faded away.

Being careful to keep the ship level, Clark steadily flew out of the ocean, and then up above the swirling clouds. He was sure the fisherman were startled and probably scared witless, but they couldn’t exactly see him. He changed his angle of flight ever so slightly so that not only was he flying up, but also out of the storm. It took some time, as he flew slower under such a heavy load, but he managed to fly boat and all souls out of the path of the hurricane. He took them south west, towards safe harbor, and lowered himself and boat back down onto a calmer ocean. He held his breath as he once again slipped beneath the sea. From under the ocean, he saw the ship’s propellor start turning, and the boat motored off towards shore. Clark waited until it was gone from sight before launching himself from the ocean into the upper atmosphere. Actually, the faster he flew the faster his clothes dried in the wind of flight. Soon he was only damp, not soggy. He turned west, and flew back towards Kansas.

Actually in mid flight he fell asleep, but his subconscious mind kept him on course, but not on course for MU, but home. Something in his subconscious wanted to be safe, and safe was home. Also, as he flew closer he flew lower, and just as he was out over cornfields and farms he flew over a lonely section of nearly deserted county highway. There was only a single motorcyclist on the road. The sound of the engine woke him up and he swooped up above the clouds. He hoped desperately he hadn’t been seen. Clark looked around in confusion. Where am I? but then he saw the familiar green silo of the Kent farm and figured out what had happened. Drifting in the direction of the barn, he flew into the open second story window and let himself crash into the baled hay in the barn loft.

He instantly fell back asleep.

In Boston harbor, a group of eight fisherman aboard a ship called the Abby Gale were having a hard time explaining how they escaped a hurricane.

League of Justice #1.5: “When We Have Shuffled Off”

Smallville, Kansas

Clark sat in the dim light of the bunker beneath his dad’s barn in the middle of Kansas. He was staring at a computer terminal, familiar and yet alien. It was built by a long dead society by his real father to yield to Kal-El (Clark’s real name) any information he needed.

The screen read: ENTER SEARCH TERM OR QUERY

Clark typed: KRYPTON

The computer loaded multiple articles on the planet, the word, history, economics, population studies…Clark stopped reading headings after the first 100. He sighed.

“What happened? Where are you?” He whispered to the semi-darkness. Without warning the hologram of Jor-El appeared.

“‘Pride goes before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall.’ As it says in Proverbs. Of course, the assembled wisdom of all Krypton couldn’t save us from ourselves.”

“Wait, you know the Bible?”

“It was written, partly, by ancient Kryptonians who visited earth in disguise to learn of the cultures and environment. Of course, we intended to only leave behind scattered writings as humans. We had no idea our thoughts would one day be thought of as Scripture.”

“Woah.” Clark just let that one sink in a moment. “But what does the quotation have to do with Krypton. What happened to you? Why are you dead?”

“We are dead because we were arrogant and stupid. Our pride preceded our fall. We exploited and ravaged every single fertile planet in our solar system and beyond. We visited a wreak of destruction everywhere we went. We were smarter and stronger than any race we encountered and we assumed any resource we found was ours for the taking. We stole and we pillaged and we burned. We left nothing for anyone else. It was our undoing. Eventually the White Lantern took notice and sent the Black Corps to punish us. When they arrived we…”

“Wait. White Lantern? Black Corps? Who are they?”

“The Lanterns are intergalactic Peacekeepers who have been around as long as time itself. There are various corps who are tasked with different roles. The White Lantern rules all. The Black Corps deals in judgment. When the Black Corps arrived and started attacking our outposts, we knew our time was up. The Black Corps used to simply reset the balance. They would force an aggressive species back to their home world and allow them to slowly rebuild and explore more wisely. But the ages corrupted their purpose and they only sought vengeance and death. They were intent on our total annihilation. All of this occurred while you were still in womb.”

“So the Black Corps destroyed Krypton? How did I escape?”

“Eventually they did. At first we held them off. General Zod, leader of our armed forces, mounted a furious defense. At first we stood ground, but we were outmatched. The Black Corps beat us all the way back to Krypton. It was then I knew I needed an escape plan, but not for me. For you. Our sector’s Green Lantern visited and…”

“What do the Green Lanterns do?”

“The Green Lanterns guard justice. They are peacekeepers and judiciaries of disputes. Our Green Lantern was Maskill, and he was from a nearby planet, similar to Krypton, and Earth, in many ways. He visited and told me there would be no stopping the Black Corps assault. I asked him for help, and he promised to talk to the White Lantern, intercede on the behalf of life. He was about to leave when General Zod landed where we were and attacked Maskill. I didn’t think Lanterns could die, but so great was Zod’s fury that he completely overwhelmed Maskill and killed him. During the battle I fled. I knew then that saving you was the only way to preserve Krypton.”

“How did you do it?”

“I’ll tell you…”

Krypton, 18 years ago

Jor-El rushed into his home, breathing heavily. Lara, very pregnant, wobbled over to him. “Jor, what is it?”

“Maskill. He came to visit me. But Zod showed up. Killed him.”

Lara gasped. “Why?”

“Zod is consumed with rage. He knows we will lose to the Black Corps and Krypton will die. He spends his rage freely on anything that is against him. We must act quickly, I fear now we have little time. With Maskill’s death, the Green Corps will join the fight. We have less time than we thought.”

“Our baby?”

“Yes. He must endure, and with him the knowledge and life of Krypton.”

“Then let us do this now.”

Lara and Jor-El had been planning during Kal-El’s gestation how to save him, at the least, if all went ill in the battle with the Lanterns. Jor-El had built an escape vessel, loaded with an intelligent artificial brain, and with it Kryptonian genetic material. Should their son survive, so would the Kryptonian race. If he came of age, he could artificially inseminate and Earth woman who would give birth to a new Kryptonian. They programmed the ship for Earth, a planet the Kryptonians had studied long ago. Earthling biology was very similar to, if less evolved than, Kryptonian biology. Kal-El would survive and be disguised by the local population. The AI would chose carefully of the millions of potential landing sites to pick an optimal spot.

Performing delicate surgery, Jor-El and a medical robotic technician transplanted Kal-El from his mother to the capsule. Not daring to lose any time, the fetus would finish maturing inside the capsule, and continue for at least a few years on life support, if need be. It wouldn’t take that long to reach earth, but it might take that long to find a suitable surrogate family.

Safely inside, Jor-El programmed the ship to leave, and it did, with a quiet whumpff of anti-gravity engines. Jor-El and Lara held each other close and watched their son rocket off world.

It was then the Black Corps arrived. Two alien beings, each with two heads, scales, and bright feathers trailing down the spine appeared. They were naked, but upon claws they held black rings. They spoke, rasping.

“What is on the pod, and where does it go, Jor of the house of El?”

“Please, it is our unborn son. He is an innocent. I have sent him to exile on Earth. He will know nothing of Krypton and his unborn hands are innocent of our crimes. Let him live.”

There was silence, then one head spoke.

“So be it. You will die. Your crime is known and your punishment will be swift.”

The black rings glowed and suddenly Jor-El and Lara were ashes.

Smallville, Kansas

Clark Kent closed the door to the underground bunker. His heart was heavy with the knowledge of his parents’ death. He walked over to the farm house porch. His mother was on her rocking chair, enjoying the evening, sipping a lemonade. Clark was 17, and leaving the next day for Metropolis and college life. He had won a scholarship and would have a free education. But tonight he was filled with sadness, both for the parents he never knew, and those he would soon leave behind. Ma could see her son was upset. She rose up, walked to him, and pulled him into a tight embrace.

Somewhere, out in the prairie, a bird sang to the dying sun.

League of Justice #1.4: “That Patient Merit”

Smallville, Kansas

Clark Kent, now 15, emerged from the bunker beneath his father’s barn. He had come to refer to it as his “fortress of solitude”. It contained an alien space capsule. A capsule he had been placed inside when only a few days old, a capsule that contained a hologram of his father. My space father. Clark reminded himself. His real father, Jonathan Kent, would be heading out into his fields to work after breakfast. Harvest was soon.

Clark had grown with the knowledge that he was more than he appeared, more than everyone thought. Clark had known ever since he had known anything that he did not belong on Earth, that he was an outsider, a loner, one of a kind, an entirely different species. The reality was hard to accept, most days, because he had arms and legs and hurts and dreams just like all his friends and everyone he knew, but there was that capsule. And, there were, well…other things. As far as he knew, none of his friends had nearly unlimited strength, quickness, or the ability to fly. Clark could hear the slightest sounds at extended distances, see the smallest objects or those far away. He could even shoot lasers from his eyes. He was a freak of nature that he didn’t understand. To make it worse, he had acne, often tripped over his own feet, and was incredibly awkward. In other words: Clark was a teenager with extra headaches.

When he was a small boy, he discovered that he could see and hear much more than anyone else, and more than he himself wanted to hear or see. The constant assault on his senses was more than he could bear. His mother, Martha Kent, had spent extra time training Clark to focus on the sounds and sights he wanted to see and hear and to let everything else fade away into a background buzz. Still, most times Clark wore noise canceling headphones that blocked a majority of what he could hear, making him almost normal, and he wore dark glasses that forced him to only see what was immediate. It was explained to his classmates and teachers all his life as a disability, but Clark knew the real truth: in human terms, he was the superior man, the ubermensch that obsessed Friedrich Nietzsche.

At key points in his life, five years old, ten years old, and today on his fifteenth birthday, the capsule that once kept him alive also would reveal history, information, science, or family details in the form of the hologram of his father, a man named Jor-El from a dead planet called Krypton in a far, far away corner of the galaxy. Today the hologram showed him an interface hidden inside a wall panel, an interface that would allow him to search for any piece of information the seemingly endless database held. The training hologram was finished, the rest of his Kryptonian education was up to him. What he would do with it, Clark had no idea.

He took the porch steps two at a time, which meant a single step from ground to porch, and walked into the old farm house. The screen door closed behind him with a slight bang. It was September, but Kansas was still warm. The fading summer warmth swept through the house on the prairie breeze. Clark could smell his mother in the kitchen, and more importantly, the eggs and bacon she was cooking. His father, from the sounds of it, was still dressing upstairs.

“Good morning, Ma.” Clark hugged his mom from behind while she flipped bacon and stirred eggs.

“Good morning, Clarky. What did your father have to say?” He knew she meant Jor-El. Jonathan Kent was always “Pa”, just as she was always “Ma”.

“The rest is up to me. No more guided lessons. He showed me a built in computer, and how to use it. I can look up anything I want to, read anything stored inside.”

“Wow. Well, Happy Birthday from Krypton!”

“Ma-a” Clark elongated the final “a”. He was less enthused by his galactic heritage than was his mother, but then, Ma always was fascinated by anything and everything scientific. It was she that speculated how he could shoot lasers from his eyes: she postulated light emitting cells embedded in his retina, much like those in bioluminescent animals on Earth, but more powerful, that were focused by Clark’s lens and cornea in the reverse way in which they worked for normal sight. But, speculation it remained since the Kents had never let anyone closely examine Clark for “abnormalities”. His special abilities remained a family secret for now.

Meanwhile, Clark poured some coffee into a “World’s Best Dad” mug, and walked it up the stairs to his dad. He knocked on the door.

“Come in” came from inside, specifically the master bathroom. Clark could hear the scraping of his dad’s razor against his face. He was shaving.

Clark opened the door and walked past the bed into the bathroom. Pa Kent finally smelled the coffee.

“MMmm. That smells good. Coffee for the old man? Thanks, Clark.”

“You’re welcome, Pa. Oh, you missed a spot.”

For a brief second Clark’s eyes glowed red, then a small beam of scarlet light leaped from his eyes, ricocheted off the bathroom mirror, and ended on Pa’s face. There was a small flash and a wisp of smoke curled up from just above Pa’s chin.

“Ow! Scamp! I told you not to do that!” Pa’s anger was a mascarade. In truth the laser felt like a bit of a pinch, and wasn’t all that bright, just enough to singe hair. Clark and Pa were close, and they constantly teased each other. It was around Pa only that Clark felt comfortable being completely himself, relaxing into the full range of his super human abilities. Pa rubbed his face ruefully and sipped the coffee.

“Hm. That’s good coffee. Your mother must have been awake this morning when she brewed it.”

Clark smirked, leaking a small laugh. Martha’s intermittent coffee making skills were a long established family joke.

“Ma says breakfast will be ready soon. Better hurry or I won’t leave any for you.”

“Yeah, right. Then you can walk to school this morning.”

“I’d rather fly!”

“Yeah, that’ll be the day. You keep dreaming, Clark.”

Clark floated down the steps just because he could. Today was a good day. Someday he knew that his powers would be used for more than just playing or showing off. When one could do what Clark could do, it wouldn’t stay hidden for long. And once the world found out about it all, it all would change. When that day would come, or what it would hold, Clark didn’t know. All he could do was patiently wait, and remember what his father told him that morning, in the dim light under the barn:

“You will change the earth, Kal-El. You will be an impossible standard for humanity. They will strive to master you, but will be unable to match even your shadow. Be better than we were. In our arrogance we invited our own end. Use your power only for good, reach down from the heights, and build humanity up. They are young and violent and proud. You will fly in the sun and they will run to catch up. You are an example of the best they can strive towards. They are mere men. You are the super man.”

League of Justice #1.3: “This Mortal Coil”

Smallville, Kansas

Clark was like any other boy, the first few years of his life. He burped, he messed his diaper, he learned to talk, he learned to walk. It was when he learned to fly that Ma and Pa Kent knew he really was from another world. Clark was five, and was hanging from the ceiling fan in his bedroom, spinning in a slow circle and giggling incessantly.

“Clark! Come down from there this instant!” Martha wasn’t going to put up with any horseplay. Not in the house, anyway. Clark released his grip on the fan blade and floated downwards. Martha snatched him out of the air.

“You know better than to do that!” It was only then that Martha realized what exactly had happened. She was so used to being unsurprised by anything that it took a few seconds for the surprise to hit her. She clutched Clark tight, who by now was squirming to be let go, and ran into the kitchen. There Jonathan was enjoying a ham sandwich for lunch.

“Jon…our baby can fly.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘our baby can fly’!”

“Yes. I heard you. Doesn’t look like it.” Jonathan gestured to the struggling toddler, still in his mother’s arms.

“He was hanging from his ceiling fan and when I told him to get down he just floated into my arms.”

“Well.” Martha expected her husband to say more, but he didn’t.

“Well what?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never encountered a flying baby before.”

“I’m not a baby.” Clark entered the conversation with indignity on his face. “Can I go play?”

Martha looked at Jonathan and he looked back. Eventually he turned to Clark. “Yes. But stay on the ground and inside, ok? No…” he searched for the right way to explain things to a child “…floating. Understand?”

Clark looked at him curiously for a second before he nodded and twisted out of Martha’s arms. He scampered off towards the playroom.

“So…our boy can fly. Or float, at least. That’s new.”

“Jon…what is he?” Martha, for the first time, appeared to be frightened.

“Our son, Ma.” Jonathan reached out to hold her hands. “No matter what else, he is our son. We always knew he was different. Now I guess we find out just how different he is. After all, he did come from somewhere else.” Jonathan gestured towards the ceiling, indicating the heavens. Then he paused. He remembered the capsule little Clark had arrived in.

“I wonder if there is anything in his basket.”

It took Martha a second to understand what he meant. “The capsule? Didn’t you say there wasn’t anything inside?”

Jonathan shrugged. “There was nothing inside where he was, but I never really looked anywhere else. I didn’t even open it myself. The canopy lifted on its own when I got close. It must have been set to automatic or something. I wonder now if there isn’t anything anywhere else in the thing.” He gave a half smile. “Well, we better look I suppose.”

Martha nodded. “Bring Clark, will you?”

“Why?”

“Well, it occurs to me that the canopy reacted to you approaching that night, and it would make sense that was a general sort of, I don’t know, trigger, to ensure the boy’s safety. Look, I don’t know, but whoever could build and launch that thing must have been smart and must have known about earth before they sent their child here. That’s what I figure. You wouldn’t just send your child off haphazard like. No mother would, without ensuring his safety.”

“Yeah…but what does that have to do with Clark?”

“Well, if there is any sort of information, about Clark or his parents or whoever sent it, doesn’t it make sense that it would only react to him? Maybe to keep it information secret until he needs to know it.”

Jonathan smiled. He loved that he married smarter. And prettier. “Sounds good to me. Clark! Come here!”

With a pounding of little feet, Clark ran into the kitchen and threw himself at his father’s leg. He clamped on and smiled, looking up.

“We are going on a little adventure. Your mom and I have something to show you.”

“A present?” Clark grinned, excited now.

“Sort of.”

The family headed towards the barn, little Clark suspended between his parents holding on to each by a hand. He would stand still while they strode forwards, then jump to land just ahead of them. Once in the barn, Jonathan led the way to a corner behind some old, rusted equipment. There he shoved a hay bale out of the way, revealing a cross patterned metal door. Grasping the handle, Jon heaved, opening the door. There was a quick rush of air as that beneath equalized with that above. A light flickered on, showing a ladder leading downwards.

“Ok, careful now.”

Jonathan descended first, then Clark, eagerly, but with halting steps as he slowly assessed each step before reaching with his foot. Martha came last. At the bottom of the ladder they turned, and saw a large, mostly dark room. Off to the side was an egg shaped object underneath a dusty blue tarp. Jonathan grabbed an edge of the tarp, and pulled it. It slid off the object, revealing Clark’s capsule, still as shiny as the day it crash landed.

“Wow.” Clark was wide eyed. He toddled towards it, reaching out a hand to touch it. As soon as he got within a foot, the capsule seemed to shimmer, and then, from nowhere, there stood a tall man, with a rugged white beard, long white hair, dressed in blue with a long, red robe. He spoke, in deep rich tones.

“Welcome, my son, Kal-El.”

Clark ran back to his mother, hiding in her dress, peaking out at the man. The man turned and assessed Jonathan and Martha.

“Identify.” Was all he said.

Martha looked at Jonathan, who himself seemed puzzled.

“Identify.” The man said again.

Jonathan looked at his wife. “I don’t think he is real. I think he is a hologram or something. A projection.”

At that, the man spoke. “I am a representation of Jor-El, of Krypton. I am father to Kal-El. Identify.”

Martha smirked. “I am Martha, of Smallville, and this is Jonathan. We are parents to Kal-El.”

The hologram man turned to her. “Martha of Smallville and Jonathan, I thank you for protecting my child. His mother and I were forced to send him into exile to save his life at the destruction of his home planet of Krypton. What you see here is how I appeared at Kal-El’s birth. I am an interactive information module. Over time, I am to inform Kal-El of his home world, of his nature, and of his history. Stored within this capsule is all the information Kal-El requires. It is time locked, so that when he is of age, he will know what he is meant to understand.”

Martha absorbed all of this. “But…he can fly. Is there information for us?”

The hologram Jor-El went silent and stared off absently. “Searching.”

After a moment he turned back to Martha. “It is suggested by the ancient scholars that at one time, when Krypton’s sun was yellow, it imbued the power of flight to all Kryptonians. Considered by many modern scientists to be mere myth, it appears my calculations were indeed correct. Earth’s sun has unlocked long dormant genetic abilities within Kal-El.”

Jonathan finally spoke up, but to Martha. “I guess it is some sort of computer. We ask it questions and it answers.”

Martha snorted. “Obviously.”

Overhearing, the hologram Jor-El spoke. “My interactions are limited. Please state a clear question.”

Clark stepped forward. “My name is Clark Kent!”

Jor-El looked down at him. “That is your earth name, and it serves you well. Your true name is Kal-El, son of Jor-El and Lara. You are from Krypton. You are the destiny of an entire planet, of an entire people. Return when you are of eight years and I will tell you more.”

The hologram of Jor-El abruptly vanished. Jonathan turned to go, but Martha called out. “Wait, what’s that!?”

The side of the capsule brightened, and a small door slid away. Inside was a leather bound book. Jonathan approached slowly and retrieved the book. The door slid back into place, once again presenting a smooth surface.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What is it?” Martha came to see for herself. Jonathan was laughing softly. “I guess babies do come with instruction books!”

On the cover of the book it said, in large, friendly letters:

RAISING A CHILD OF KRYPTON, TO THE CARETAKERS OF KAL-EL.

Martha suddenly turned. “Clark! Stop!” Eschewing the ladder, little Clark was floating up to the barn, content to propel himself by pushing down on the ladder rungs. Martha caught up to him rather quickly and swatted his butt.

“No flying!”

League of Justice 0.8: “What Dreams May Come”

Smallville, Kansas

The spacecraft was easy enough to hide. Jonathan Kent merely dug a bunker beneath the barn, and concealed the capsule within. But a baby was harder to contain. Martha Kent was determined to keep the child, and wouldn’t hear of any other strategy.

“What does a space baby eat?” She wondered aloud. She was rocking him, that much was easy enough to determine as he had been placed in his capsule naked. She had since wrapped him in a red blanket she found in the hall closet. Surprisingly the child wasn’t crying. He was staring around curiously, and Martha was struck with the feeling that he was more aware than any other babe she had been around. His age was hard to determine. His size made him to be a few weeks old, but his manner was that of an older baby. He had a handsome, chubby face, and thick black hair.

“Well, same as any other baby, I suppose. Give em milk, don’t you?” Jonathan was practical, as ever. That the baby had apparently come from outer space either didn’t register or didn’t perturb him in the least. Martha snorted from the rocking chair. “You do if you have mother’s milk. I guess we need some formula. Look in the cupboard. I think Mary left some the last time she was here.” Mary was Martha’s older sister who had six children of her own. They hadn’t visited in a few months, but when she had she was bouncing a fat new addition to the family. Martha walked into the kitchen, cradling the baby. Jonathan had found the formula, a powdered blend, and was mixing it according to the directions. “Oh! Goodness!” Martha exclaimed. “We don’t have a bottle.” “Yes we do.” Jonathan replied calmly. He walked over the corner and lifted a bottle out of a tattered cardboard box that was sitting by the door. “Just bought them. I was thinking of breeding a few calves this fall, maybe starting a herd.” The bottle was a little larger than the typical human infant bottle, but it would serve.

Martha sat back down, and introduced the bottle to the baby. Without hesitation he started sucking and drinking the milk with gusto. “Well, he certainly seems hungry. What did you do with his spaceship?” “I threw a tarp over it for now. What do you think, should we contact the government? Do you suppose they saw this thing come down?” Martha was cooing at her new charge, and didn’t answer right away.

“Well, I figure if they knew it had come down, they would be here by now to check it out.” “Maybe.” “And all they will do is take him away and study him. I doubt whoever placed him in that thing and sent him our way meant for him to live in a lab like a mouse and be studied. He needs a family.”

It was Jonathan’s turn to be quiet awhile. The baby had finished his milk and Martha was burping him against her shoulder. Jonathan stared into the child’s eyes for a moment. Then, in a moment, he came to a decision. He knew the right thing to do, and he knew what he had to do, and there was no contest between the two.

“How are we going to explain a baby? People tend to notice when you ain’t been pregnant and then have a baby.”

Martha stood up, love and joy shining from her eyes. Hiding an alien baby was not something done lightly, and her husband had done it for her. She blinked back tears and she bounced the babe in a rhythmic whole body bounce and thought. Jonathan was amazed at how nurturing was something women seemed to know instinctively. He was of course forgetting about the many children that Martha had practically raised, being the caregiver of the community that she was.

“We found him on our doorstep, didn’t we? My daddy always did say that honesty was the best policy. He just came in a big, shiny basket from out beyond the stars. But we can leave out that last bit. I never saw the need for total honesty.” Martha said this with a smirk and twinkle in her eye. It was Jonathan’s turn to feel a swell of love. “Works for me,” he said. “What are you going to do with the big, shiny basket?” Martha asked. Jonathan shrugged. “Always been meaning to dig a bunker under the barn for an additional tornado shelter. No time like the present, my dad always said.”

The baby had fallen asleep in Martha’s arms. She sat down again in the rocker and glided gently back and forth.

“What do we call him?” She whispered.

“You know, I’ve always liked your maiden name. It’s suitable for a boy, isn’t it? And then we give him our name.”

Martha patted her new son on the back.

“Welcome to earth, Clark Kent.”

All of Martha’s dreams came true, in an instant, when a mysterious capsule crashed to earth from the heavens.

League of Justice #0.4: “Slings and Arrows”

A streak of green light flashed across Krypton’s dark sky. Jor-El, head bowed in thought as he walked, did not see it. He did, however, hear the gentle whumph behind him. Slowly he turned. Standing before him, clad in green robes and a darker green cloak, was Maskill, of the Green Corps. Maskill was the Lantern whose jurisdiction included Krypton. Like the Kryptonians, he was humanoid. He was an old man, worn and tired.

Jor-El bowed to him. “Hail, Lantern.”

Maskill bowed back. “Hail, Jor of the House of El.”

Pleasantries aside, the confrontation began. Jor-El exploded quietly.

“What the hell are you doing, Maskill? The Black Corps stands ready to destroy Krypton! Is this justice? You know I don’t agree with the expansion, not in the way it was handled, but Krypton is a democratic society. I was overruled! Certainly there are many millions more who are innocent of the havoc our emissaries visited on the galaxy. Should they die to pay for the injustice of a few?”

Maskill stood quietly, absorbing Jor-El’s anger.

“Perhaps General Zod was wrong to refuse the Green Corps’ overture of peace, but is it a crime to fight for one’s sovereignty? Now that the Black Corps has forced us back to our own planet, have we not felt our punishment? You know the Black Corps will only stop once every last Kryptonian is dead. Where is the justice of the Lanterns?”

Maskill waited for the fury to dissipate into the night.

“The White Lantern has spoken. The crimes of Krypton’s children are too great to be pardoned. You stole what was not yours to steal. Your excessive mining operations severely damaged the progress of many worlds. Who can say how long you have doomed them to primitive dwelling in your lust for consumption?”

“The time for that argument is long past, Maskill! Your White Lantern is a fool if he cannot see that wiping out an entire planet for its sins is not justice. It is genocide.”

Jor-El had unconsciously strode forward, closing the distance between himself and Maskill.

“Regardless of what was decided, our end is at hand. The Black Corps will destroy us! Will you stand by and let it happen?”

Maskill regarded Jor-El silently.

“It is not for the Green Corps to interfere once the White Lantern has ruled. What was decreed shall be.”

“Damn the White Lantern! Damn his decree! My wife is with child, yet unborn. Shall he die without tasting life to satisfy the justice of the Lantern?”

For the first time, Maskill betrayed emotion. A flicker of sorrow tightened his brow, if only for an instant.

“I did not know your wife was pregnant. But the White Lantern will not relent over one life. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one, especially one who is unborn. The unborn die on countless worlds in countless numbers. This is the way of life. Even those who taste the air of their spheres do not often taste it for long.”

“Dammit, Maskill. Will you do nothing? You have been my friend and mentor since I was a young lad. I’ve always heeded your advice, your counsel. Will you abandon me now?”

“I have already spoken, Jor. The Green Corps cannot interfere. One lantern does not assail another. To invite infighting is to invite chaos.”

Jor-El whirled suddenly, pacing back up the street, then down towards Maskill. He grabbed the Green Lantern by the shoulder and stared into his eyes.

“Will you do nothing? Not the Green Corps, you. Will you allow an evil thing to pass because another has deemed it in a greater good?”

Maskill said nothing. He stared back into Jor-El’s eyes. Moments passed, the air charged with emotion as the two men waged silent war. At long last, Maskill spoke, putting a hand or Jor-El’s shoulder.

“I will not abandon you, Jor of the House of El. Long we have been friends. I will plead your case before the White Lantern. It may be that he will relent and recall the Black Corps. Only his word can stop their destruction.”

Jor-El sighed mightily. He pulled Maskill close for an embrace.

“Thank you, my old friend.”

The moment was shattered by the roar of retro-rockets. The men parted to stare up into the sky. A small craft was descending through the sky. It’s markings identified it as belonging to the Kryptonian navy.

“Zod!” Jor-El breathed. Turning to Maskill, he spoke urgently. “You’d better leave before he lands. Zod has no love for any lantern. He will kill you.”

Maskill smiled playfully. “I’d rather like to see him try, actually.”

Jor-El was in no mood for humor. “I do not jest! Lanterns can die. Zod has personally accounted for many Black Lanterns in this war already. One old Green Lantern would not delay his wrath for long.”

Maskill stood his ground, shrugging, but saying nothing.

Before either could act, the descending vessel opened its bay doors, and five dark shapes leaped towards the ground. Commandos. In an instant, Jor-El and Maskill were surrounded. The commandos were encased in armor, the heads hidden behind dark helmets. Jor-El tried to take command of the situation.

“I am Jor of the House of El, an elder on the Council of Free Peoples. What is your business here? You may not accost citizens without charge.”

One of the five stepped forward, his face mask sliding upwards as he did, revealing the scarred visage of Krypton’s greatest warrior: Zod.

“You may be free to wander dark streets alone, but the green one is named a criminal against Krypton and is a mortal enemy of her people. Are you claiming allegiance to an enemy?”

“Zod, Maskill the Green Lantern is guiltless here. It is the Black Corps that threatens us, not the Green.”

Zod roared. “ONE CORPS! ONE THREAT! I care not for colors and shades of morality. THEY attacked US. Their black knife is at our throat. I am charged with defending Krypton to my last breath. Move aside, Jor, or suffer his fate. Decide immediately.”

Zod lunged forward, battle knife drawn.

League of Justice #0.0: “Or Not to Be”

[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.