Man of Steel: The Official Movie Novelization

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Zod watched from the bridge as the expanding gravity field pounded Metropolis. Now nearly two city blocks in the diameter, the sky-high column sheared away the unlucky buildings along its growing perimeter. Crude structures of steel, glass, and concrete lost cohesion and collapsed to the ground, before being ground to powder by the pulsing super-gravity.

Panicked humans evacuated the endangered districts en masse, unaware that there would soon be no safety for them anywhere on the Earth. Their days as the planet’s dominant species were rapidly coming to a close. A better, stronger race had laid claim to their domain.

His race.

But there were still a few loose ends to be addressed.

“Faora,” he called out. “I’m handing you the command.”

“Yes, sir,” she acknowledged. “But where are you going?”

He turned away from his birds-eye view of the city’s destruction to contemplate a holographic display. A pulsing icon marked a location near the planet’s northern pole. He smiled in anticipation.

“To secure the Genesis Chamber,” he said, “and pay my respects to an old friend.”

Superman raced over the western half of North America, flying faster than he ever had before. Fierce winds and turbulence buffeted him, threatening to throw him off course, but he held to his heading.

He hated leaving Metropolis under assault by the Black Zero, but the World Engine was the greater threat. He had to bring down that machine before it rendered the entire planet uninhabitable for anyone except the Kryptonians.

Earth doesn’t belong to them, he thought fiercely. It belongs to humanity. Zod doesn’t have the right to steal their future from them.

Leaving America behind, he streaked above the North Atlantic, passing over the waves like a low-flying jet. Hundred foot-high walls of water, of the sort that would have capsized the Debbie Sue, were churned up in his wake. He heard whales crying out in the depths. They seemed to sense what the World Engine was doing to the planet.

The whales were in danger of extinction, too, along with every other Earthly lifeform. He wasn’t just fighting for humanity, Superman knew. He was fighting for the Earth.

Along with Lois and the others…

The Boeing C-17 Globemaster was a massive transport plane, nearly 175 feet long. Its generous cargo compartment was big enough to carry tanks, trucks, trailers, and even a secondhand Kryptonian space capsule.

Lois watched as Colonel Hardy oversaw the crew using a K-loader to install the capsule into the aircraft via the aft ramp. She started toward the C-17, not wanting to be left behind.

“Where do you think you’re going?” General Swanwick asked.

“You need me on that plane,” she insisted.

“Absolutely not,” Swanwick said. “This is a military operation.”

“And that’s an alien spaceship.” She glanced over at Dr. Hamilton, who was still sticking close to the general. “Do you or Mr. Wizard have any idea how to actually activate the Phantom Drive he was talking about?”

The men exchanged uncertain looks. Hamilton shook his head.

“Well, lucky for you, I do.” She held up the Kryptonian command key. “Superman showed me how.”

She chose not to mention that Superman’s dead father had originally briefed her for this mission. That was probably more weirdness than the military could handle right now.

Better I keep to that to myself, she thought. Along with Clark’s secret identity.

Swanwick sighed in resignation. He gestured toward Carrie Farris.

“Get her a flight suit, Captain.”

“Tower, this is Guardian. Approaching the hold short, ready for takeoff.”

Laden with its unearthly cargo, the C-17 taxied down the runway. Hardy manned the cockpit beside the copilot, anxiously awaiting clearance.

“Guardian,” the tower responded. “After takeoff, turn right, heading 090 then as filed. You are cleared for takeoff.”

Four powerful turbofan engines lifted the heavy cargo plane off the runway. It took off into the sky, escorted by a flight of four F-35 fighter jets. The fifth-generation fighters were sleeker and more high-tech than the Warthogs the Kryptonians had brought down over Smallville. Capable of breaking the sound barrier, the supersonic Lightnings could fly faster and climb higher than anything Zod’s forces had faced before.

Hardy wondered if that would make a difference.

Back in the cargo hold, the Kryptonian starcraft had been jury-rigged onto a railed delivery system built to convey more earthly bundles out of the back of the plane. The C-17’s designated loadmaster, a beefy grunt named Gomez, inspected the cargo to make certain it was secure, while Lois mentally took notes for the front-page story she hoped to write someday.

Like Gomez, she wore a helmet and flight suit. A radio headset—built into the helmet—kept her in contact with Hardy and the pilot. A pair of armed soldiers was there to provide security, although Lois wasn’t quite sure how they expected to fend off any attacking Kryptonians. The men probably didn’t know either, but they checked their weapons regardless.

She was grateful for their courage, at least.

Meanwhile, Dr. Hamilton had set up a makeshift workstation, from which he was busily monitoring the gravitational anomalies in Metropolis and the South Indian Ocean. He adjusted the settings as he established a link with General Swanwick, who had remained back at the command center.

“And we’re online,” he pronounced. “Are you seeing this, NORTHCOM?”

“Roger, Hamilton,” Swanwick replied over the radio. “We are.”

“General,” the scientist said, “the gravity fields are expanding faster than I anticipated. At this rate, I’d say Metropolis has less than an hour left.”

A display at Hamilton’s station showed the C-17 inching across the map toward the city, along with its lethal escorts. On the gravity map, the growing circle was consuming a larger and larger swath.

“Then we’re throwing everything we have at them,” the general replied.

Lois wished she could believe that it would be enough. She anxiously examined the gravity map. As nearly as she could tell, the destructive beam hadn’t yet reached the Daily Planet building, but it was getting closer by the second.

She couldn’t help worrying about Perry and her other friends and colleagues.

Even Lombard.

Confident that Hamilton and the soldiers could babysit the starcraft without her, she made her way up to the cockpit, where she joined Hardy and the co-pilot, Captain Brubaker. She arrived just in time to glimpse a flight of F-35s as they zipped past the cargo plane on their way to engage the Black Zero. With any luck, the fighters would distract Zod long enough for her to carry out Jor-El’s plan—and send the invaders back to the Phantom Zone.

Faora tracked the approaching aircraft on a holographic display. She presided over the bridge in General Zod’s absence, assisted by Jax-Ur and the senior officers. The scientist observed the display with interest.

“It would appear the humans are mounting a final defense,” he observed.

Excellent, Faora thought, eager for battle. “Then they will die with honor.”

The contours of the ancient scout ship were immediately recognizable, despite the heavy layer of snow that hid it. The ship had anchored itself to an icy mountain peak, much as the Citadel had been rooted to that steep basalt cliff back on Krypton.

It seemed as if the House of El had claimed a new fortress.

Zod brought his own craft down to the Arctic landscape. Exiting the ship, he set foot on the Earth once more. A force-helmet protected him, even as the memory of his debilitating weakness chafed at his pride. His slowness to adapt to Earth’s alien environment had left him at Kal-El’s mercy.

That could not be allowed to happen again.

He paused upon the wintry slope. Girding himself for the trial ahead, he deactivated the helmet and cast it aside. His senses once more came under assault as a riot of unfiltered sounds and color descended upon him. Prismatic hues, blindingly bright and intrusive, made his eyes blink and water. The wind whipping through the mountains sounded like a hurricane. He saw through rocky ridges and thick sheets of ice.

The world around him dissolved into a kaleidoscopic storm of shapes and colors and vibrations, not unlike the seething chaos at the heart of the Phantom Zone. He was tempted to lunge again for his helmet, to find relief from the disorientating barrage.

No, he resolved. I must master this. I shall master this.

He raised a hand before him, seeing past the glove. His skin, his flesh, were transparent to the bones and ligaments beneath. Skeletal fingers tightened in a fist, as he focused upon that hand, inhaling deeply to control his breathing.

The thin Terran air irritated his throat and lungs, but he stoically ignored the discomfort. He would not let this planet’s wretched atmosphere defeat him again. If Kal-El, a freakish product of random genetics, could adapt to this world, then so could he. There was nothing a true Kryptonian could not do—if his will was strong enough.

Zod closed his eyes and concentrated.

When he opened them again, his fist was solid once more. He slowly unfolded his fingers, watching with satisfaction as the raucous colors subsided until his gloved hand appeared perfectly normal to his eyes.

The deafening cacophony died down as well, making it easier to hear himself think—and maintain control of his heightened senses.

That’s better, he thought.

Leaving his discarded helmet behind in the snow, he confidently approached the fortress. He laid his hand on the ship’s outer hull, which responded to his touch. A doorway slid open and he entered the grounded vessel.

He easily navigated the fortress’s winding arteries until he reached the platform overlooking the Genesis Chamber. There he took a moment to savor the sight, knowing that he was gazing upon the very future of his race. After so many years of bitter exile, now at last he had the means to restore his people to life, and give birth to a glorious new chapter of Kryptonian history.

And this time, he vowed, we will not allow our sacred bloodlines to become weak. Only the strongest and purest genotypes will populate our new world, which will not fall victim to the weak-willed decadence and complacency that doomed us before.

Our new Krypton shall be bold and fearless, run with military discipline and precision.

He plucked a command key from the pocket of his uniform. The head of the key was blank, indicating that it fit all ports. A control cylinder faced the Genesis Chamber. He inserted the key halfway into a waiting port. A lambent radiance lit up the Genesis Chamber as the ancient incubator began to awaken. Budding branches waited to be fertilized with the data hidden in Kal-El’s blood. Bubbles oxygenated the swirling amniotic fluid.

Zod started to press the key all the way in, to fully activate the Chamber.

“Stop this, Zod,” a familiar voice said. “While there’s still time.”

He turned to find Jor-El—or, to be more precise, a holographic simulacra of his dead friend—standing behind him. Zod smiled wryly.

“I knew I’d find you here.” He circled the hologram, finding the illusion quite convincing. Lieutenant Car-Vex had reported seeing a similar apparition aboard the Black Zero, assisting in the human female’s escape. “Haven’t given up lecturing me, have you? Even in death.”

“Listen to me, please,” Jor-El said. “What you’re contemplating—”

“Is an act of creation. And if Earth has to die for Krypton to live, so be it.”

He should have known that Jor-El—or his proxy— would balk at what needed to be done. For all his unquestionable intellect, Jor-El had always been too squeamish when it came to the judicious application of force. That was what had driven them apart so long ago.

As a soldier, Zod knew that mercy was weakness. Jor-El had never accepted that simple fact.

Which is why I’m still alive, Zod thought, and he is long dead.

“I won’t let you use the Codex like this,” the hologram insisted.

“You don’t have the power to stop me. The command key I entered is revoking your authority.” Zod allowed himself the luxury of gloating. “This ship is now under my control.”

Jor-El was beaten—again.

Now all I need is your son’s blood.