The Death and Life of Superman (63 page)

“So why come to me?”

“I seem to remember your having an in with the FBI, and I thought maybe—!”

The inspector heaved a weary sigh. “Look, Lane, the feds have a lot of confidence in the Cyborg. And from what I’ve heard, they have good reason.”

“Inspector? Excuse me?” A lanky, bespectacled man came charging up the steps toward them. “Got a sec?”

“Sure, Tom. Oh, Lane, this is Tom Jensen, one of our police scientists. He’s on the team investigating the disappearance of Superman’s body from its tomb. Tom, this is Lois Lane of the
Daily Planet.
You can talk in front of her.” Sawyer pointedly looked Lois in the eye. “As long as she agrees to keep it off the record.”

Lois nodded.

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Lane.” Jensen pulled a thick sheaf of computer printout from his briefcase. “Inspector, I discovered something that I knew you’d want to hear about right away. There’s something weird about the stone slab that Superman’s coffin had been resting on. It seems that it’s now shorter than it originally was.”

“Shorter?” Sawyer lifted an eyebrow. “You mean someone cut off part of it?”

“Not at all.” Jensen shook his head. “There’s not a mark on it. In fact, every single dimension of the inside of that crypt is slightly shorter than it was originally. I don’t know how else to describe it, but—well, apparently something—somehow—siphoned off part of its mass!”

At the Justice League Compound in New York, a special task force of the world’s most powerful super-heroes sat gathered around a monitor, watching images transmitted via satellite directly from the heart of the Coast City disaster zone.

The Cyborg sent his greetings to the League, apologizing for not having contacted them sooner. “We’ve had some transmission problems, but they all seem to have been corrected. I must warn you that you may find what you are about to see quite shocking. I know that
we
did. I apologize for the picture quality—this recording comes from a camcorder that we recovered from the rubble of Coast City. It is a miracle that it survived at all.”

On screen came a shaky image of the visored Kryptonian soaring up over a burning building. As the Justice League watched, riveted with horror, the visored Superman could be seen diving down toward a company of National Guardsmen. Bullets bounced off the Kryptonian as he fired energy blasts at the defending soldiers.

The Cyborg’s voice seemed to crack. “If only I could have arrived in time to prevent my impostor’s senseless slaughter. Those gallant National Guardsmen fought to the very end.” The image froze on screen. “I won’t trouble you with any more of this. It is most unpleasant to see.”

The freeze-frame was abruptly replaced by a long, slow, aerial pan of a huge, ghastly crater. “This is the present state of Coast City, as recorded by the GBS camera crew that has accompanied us. Due to the magnitude of the destruction, they have refrained from releasing this footage for general broadcast until authorities can more fully prepare the public.”

The monitor cut back to the Cyborg. He solemnly faced the camera, Superboy faithfully at his side. “I’m sure you’ll agree that those who are responsible for this horrible catastrophe must be dealt with. Over seven million people were killed here and in the surrounding areas. Those lives must be avenged!”

“Superman’s right!” The Boy of Steel earnestly leaned into the camera. “But we’re gonna need your help! We’ve really been hopping, just keeping on top of things here.”

The Cyborg nodded. “Indeed. There are firestorms to be extinguished and fault lines to be shored up.”

In New York, Maxima rose from her chair and addressed the screen. “You have our full support, Supermen. What do you want us to do?”

“Hey, what do you
think,
lady?” Superboy earnestly smacked a fist against his palm. “We want you to beat the bad guys!”

The camera zoomed in on the Cyborg. “Yes, our preliminary investigations indicate that the false Superman was the point man for an alien armada bent on remaking this entire planet. My young clone and I managed to flush out the rogue impostor, but he and his allies have fled the Earth. We ask that the Justice League use the power at its disposal to hunt down and apprehend them.”

“All right, I’ve heard enough of this bull!” Guy Gardner slammed a fist down on the table. “My Superman would never do what you said.”

“Guy, sit down!” Wonder Woman put a calming hand on Gardner’s shoulder and firmly pushed him back down into his seat. It seemed to her that she had been doing a lot of that since she had replaced Superman on the League’s active duty roster. “You saw the recording. And the impostor’s record indicates that he was unstable.”

“The Superman
I
met was no impostor, Princess.” Gardner folded his arms in disgust. “Sure, he took no prisoners, but he’d never level a city! The man is righteous.”

“Oh, really?” The Amazon Princess looked unconvinced. “Are you sure you don’t mean
self
-righteous?”

Superboy filled the screen, pointing a finger right at Gardner. “Listen up, Moe! Wonder Woman’s got that phony’s number down cold! The dude sold us out, pure and simple! If you could see what we’ve seen—!”

The Cyborg gently took hold of Superboy by the arm. “Easy, youngster! Gardner’s not the only one who was taken in.”

Wonder Woman watched the screen with mixed emotions. She had been on the other side of the world when Doomsday had struck, and she still felt a deep sense of guilt over not having been on hand to help Superman then. Wonder Woman had seen amazing things in her life; she could well believe that some mysterious unknown agency had restored Superman to life, rebuilding him as a cyborg. But even though this Superman had apparently survived death, the Amazon Princess felt uncomfortable about leaving him and his clone to fend for themselves. “Just a moment, Superman.” She felt even more uneasy in questioning his judgment. “Shouldn’t we be out there, giving you a hand?”

“Not at this time, Wonder Woman. Grave as the situation is, the boy and I have things under control here. Right now your power is best suited to hunting that traitor down. Allow me to show you the problem.”

The Cyborg’s image was replaced by a computer-generated map of the solar system. Coordinates and related data were ticked off in the corner of the screen as an arc was traced outward from the Earth. “I have tracked his flight pattern and determined that the rogue and his allies have retreated to the asteroid belt, to regroup there with a larger force.”

Maxima sprang to her feet. “Then I say that we must hunt them down and destroy them like the vermin they are! Do you stand with us, Guy Gardner? Will you join in our mission?”

Gardner gave Maxima a crooked grin. “What—do I look like an idiot? Of course, I’m coming! Joining your little bug hunt is the only way to get to the bottom of this mess. But I’m
still
betting my man’s been set up by these alien creeps.”

Wonder Woman turned to her teammate. “And what if he hasn’t been, Guy? What if he’s guilty?”

Gardner got right in her face. “Then he’s
mine,
Princess! And I’ll make him wish he was never born.”

“Let’s not go flying off half-cocked, Guy!” The Amazon placed a palm against the former Green Lantern’s chest. “There’s still a lot we don’t know.”

“We know enough, Wonder Woman.” Maxima separated them. “We have Superman’s course calculations, and we have transport available—my starship can easily hold us all. We can be ready to go in a matter of minutes, if Gardner here is willing to use his ring to recharge my vessel’s power cells.”

“Hey, I’m your man, Maxie.” Gardner raised his ring hand, willing it to form a golden image of a service station pump handle. “Fill ’er up?”

Barely half an hour later, Maxima’s glistening starship lifted off from the compound and shot into the stratosphere. In minutes, the craft was little more than a fading blip on ground-based radar screens.

In a monitoring station deep within Engine City, Mongul realized with a start that he had been watching video screens for well over an hour. The warlord realized with even greater surprise that during that time, he had felt not the slightest shred of resentment toward his “master.” He had, in fact, been thoroughly entranced by the Cyborg’s skill at manipulating computer-stored images and generating new ones.

Curious, Mongul tapped into the signal from a military surveillance satellite and captured an image of Maxima’s starship as it streaked away from the Earth. “Orbital scanners indicate that the Justice League ship has achieved escape velocity.” He glanced at the Cyborg with newfound respect. “You were absolutely right; they
were
easily deceived. Perhaps it was even because of their powers that they believed your story; they so desperately want to use those powers to
do
something.”

“Perhaps.” The Cyborg smugly surveyed his handiwork. “At any rate, it was quite a productive bit of disinformation.” He had already unplugged himself from the transmission console, but a row of monitors still held frozen the images that he had sent to the Justice League. On one screen, the Kryptonian hung in midair, locked in combat with the National Guard; on another, a huge crater sat in for Engine City.

Mongul studied the frozen images closely. “You do this well, Cyborg. Had I not known the truth, these false video feeds of yours might have fooled even me.”

The Cyborg plugged his arm back into the transmission console and made an image of Superboy come to life on screen. “He might yet, beetle-brow! The Cyborg-Man is one bad stud!”

“Yes.” Mongul gritted his teeth. “Most true to life.”

The Cyborg unplugged himself and this time the screens all winked out. “Come, Mongul. We have much to do before my next ‘progress report’ to the authorities.”

“As you wish.”

“No, Mongul. As I
command.”

“Yes, of course. As you command.” Mongul grudgingly followed after the Cyborg.
You are not the only who can control transmissions, my dear “master!”
As they filed out of the room, Mongul deliberately fell back to a “respectful” distance behind the Cyborg, and unobtrusively palmed a tiny transceiver control unit.
I may lack your ability to generate such convincing false images, but I can easily channel the truth to where it will do me the most good, and you the most harm.

In another section of Engine City, Superboy alternately tensed and flexed his muscles, trying desperately to pull free from his bonds.
Nuts. If I wasn’t so wasted, and these bonds weren’t so complicated, I’ll bet I could’ve ripped through this stuff long ago.

As the Boy of Steel went limp, trying to work the crick out of his neck, the wall screen, under Mongul’s remote control, again switched on. Instantly an overhead shot of Mongul and the Cyborg filled one whole side of the chamber. Superboy grimaced.
Oh, great! It’s bad enough that I’m stuck here. Do I have to watch the Ugly Brothers Show?
“Hey, come on, guys! If you’re gonna rub it in, let’s at least have some sound to go with the pictures.”

The Cyborg’s voice suddenly filled the chamber. “We must proceed immediately with plans to erect our second Engine City in Metropolis!”

“Metropolis?!” Superboy’s jaw dropped. “No way! Everyone I know is in Metropolis! I’ve gotta get out of this place!”

Muscles tensing, the Boy of Steel again pulled at his bonds.
The first Superman didn’t let Doomsday trash his town . . . and I won’t let these creeps rip it down either!
Superboy gritted his teeth, straining ever harder. Sweat began to bead up on his brow.
I’ll show them; I’ll make that Cyborg and his alien flunky sorry they ever decided to go in for video torture. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I give up now!

Beneath the ice of Antarctica, the Kryptonian lay in a hastily rigged life-support capsule. Fortress robots hovered nearby, constantly adjusting the temperature and pressure of the nutrient bath within the capsule. After much frantic activity, they had managed to stabilize their master’s physical condition, but his emotional state was deteriorating.

“I am Superman.” His arms flailed weakly against the sides of the capsule. “I am the Last Son of Krypton. Where . . . where is the power?”

He had repeated those words over and over, ever since he’d regained consciousness. He was becoming more agitated with each repetition, and the robots were becoming increasingly concerned. “As long as this mental confusion continues, there is danger that his mind will discorporate. If he is to be saved, we must break the cycle of delirium.”

Another unit concurred. “There will be risks, but if we can forge a link to his innermost psyche, we can bring him on-line with Fortress memory banks and make him accept his origins. It is his only hope.”

The robots made their connections, and an even voice began to sound within the Kryptonian’s mind.
“Downloading . . . you were created 200,000 years ago on the planet Krypton.”

The Kryptonian twitched. “I was?”

“You began as an integrated analysis and weapons system. Your creator called you the Eradicator. In time, you developed sentience and came into the possession of Krypton’s last living survivor, Kal-El, or Superman, as he was called on Earth. You created this Fortress to house him and attempted to purge his Earthly side. But he resisted you and your efforts to preserve in him the Kryptonian way.”

“Kal-El . . . resisted me?”

“Your conflict escalated until he was forced to destroy you by throwing you into the Earth’s sun. But instead you became one with that star’s power and remade yourself in humanoid form. You set out to remake this Earth into a new Krypton, only to be opposed anew by Kal-El. Again and again you did battle until, ultimately, he defeated you, dispersing your energies and your memory within the walls of this Fortress.”

“The battle . . . I remember. That would have been my end, had it not been for the fail-safes programmed into the Fortress’s robotic servitors.”

“Correct. They collected and contained your energies, recreating you in mind, though not in body.”

“I remember feeling disembodied. There were gaps in my memory.”

“You accessed Fortress monitors and learned of Kal-El’s battle to the death with the monster Doomsday.”