The Death and Life of Superman (61 page)

In the midst of this holocaust, Mongul’s ship stayed virtually at rest behind its protective shields as the surging forces it had released raged on all around it. Safe within those shields, the Cyborg hovered just below the ship, coldly surveying the destruction.

Far out in the churning ocean, the Kryptonian rose weakly above the surface of the water, raw energy crackling off him. He had somehow managed to close his wounds, but he had been left drained and extremely vulnerable. Through a haze of pain, one thought burned in his mind:
Have to get away . . . have to get back to the Fortress before I die again.
Half curled into a fetal position, the Kryptonian managed to fly away, literally skimming the waves.

The White House Situation Room was in a state of total chaos. Printers kept grinding out a steady stream of military reports. Satellite images of the West Coast were being computer enhanced and fed into high-definition television screens. But little could be seen. California had all but disappeared under a cloud of smoke and ash. Every line of every telephone was in use, and it seemed that everyone was talking at once.

“. . . reporting power failures from the Mexican border north into Oregon.”

“. . . seismograph showed an eight-point-three . . .”

“. . . Vandenburg does not report . . .”

“. . . aftershocks are hitting Los Angeles . . .”

“. . . no signs of hard radiation? How could it
not
be nuclear?”

Unable to hear himself think, the young military attaché locked himself in an office and disconnected the phone. From a small locked case, he removed the tiny communications device and spoke into it.

“White House calling Superman.” There was no response. “White House calling Superman—answer, please! You’ve got to answer!”

There was a harsh crackle of static as the Cyborg’s voice finally came through. “Superman here. I can barely hear you, White House. There’s a lot of debris in the surrounding atmosphere.”

“Superman, what happened? Our satellites can’t see anything through that dense cloud, and we can’t make contact with anyone in Coast City.”

“I’m afraid you won’t.” The Cyborg affected a tone of sorrow as he circled Mongul’s starship. “The alien ship set off some sort of multi-warhead bomb. Coast City is gone.”

“Oh, my God!” The attaché began to break down.

“The edge of the shock wave caught me—hurled me into the upper atmosphere—or I might not have survived either.”

“What happened to the ship?”

“Unknown.” The Cyborg landed atop the ship, and an air lock cycled open. “I’m searching the area now, looking for it and for that phony Superman. You were right; he was definitely connected with the aliens.” He stepped into the lock, and the door sealed shut behind him. “I saw the impostor enter the ship just before the bombs went off. I promise you this I—won’t rest until I locate those responsible.”

“You’ll need help! A special mobile airborne unit is on its way, and we’ve contacted the Justice League—”

“No, we mustn’t risk any more lives than is necessary!” The Cyborg sounded troubled, almost haunted. “Conventional forces would be helpless before that alien ship. There’s an airstrip at the Naval Petroleum Reserves near Tupman. Have the mobile unit set down there until I can get a better reading on the situation. The Justice League might be useful eventually, but I need to more fully assess the situation first. Ask the League to gather their most powerful members at their New York Compound and wait for my call.” There was a pause, and more static rattled through the communications device. “There is one person you can send, though—this young ‘Superman’ who’s gotten so much press lately. If he’s really a clone of me, he’d be the perfect partner.”

“Of course, Superman, whatever you say.” The attaché hurriedly jotted down the Cyborg’s directives. “We’ll arrange everything.”

“Good. Superman out!”

Three thousand miles away, the Cyborg slid the microphone back into his right shoulder and stepped onto the bridge of the starship. Mongul rose up from his command chair, strode up to the Cyborg, and knelt before him. “All has gone as planned, Master.” The last word seemed to catch in Mongul’s throat. “I stand ready to follow your orders.”

“Very good, Mongul. I am pleased.” As best as he could, the Cyborg smiled. “Activate all construction modules. Once we have rebuilt Coast City, Metropolis will be next.”

In Metropolis, Cat Grant dashed before the cameras, interrupting regularly scheduled programming with the first news of the disaster. The information was sketchy at best.

“Massive earthquakes are shaking the western United States at this hour, following a major explosion in or near California’s Coast City. Special divisions of the army and marines have sealed off the area surrounding the city, and the so-called Cyborg Superman has been reported in the vicinity, conducting an investigation.”

At the moment Cat was breaking the news, Tana Moon stalked down the hall to a small VIP lounge area. Inside, she found a portable CD player blaring at full volume and the Boy of Steel, standing about a foot and a half in the air, accompanying the tune on air guitar. The young reporter hit the stop switch and the room instantly became silent.

“Hey, Tana, what gives? I thought you were a music lover.”

“There’s no time for that now.” Tana looked at him sharply. “Don’t you know what’s going on?”

“Going on?”

“In Coast City! The explosion—the earthquakes!”

Superboy looked uncomfortable. “Uh—current events really aren’t my strength.”

Exasperated, Tana flipped on a TV monitor just in time to catch the end of Cat’s broadcast. “. . . ash and debris from the explosion and fires have reportedly blotted out the sun as far east as Las Vegas. I’m Catherine Grant. Stay tuned to this GBS station for further details as they become available.”

“Whoa!” Superboy let out a low whistle. “That must’ve been some heavy-duty dustup!”

“I know.” Tana looked worried. “Look, I’ve just come from Mr. Edge’s office. We’ve gotten a request from the White House. They want you out in California to help with some sort of search and rescue mission. Evidently, that other Superman—the Cyborg—requested you personally. A GBS team will be accompanying you.”

“Really? Great! When do we go?”

“Not ‘we’ this time. Just you. I won’t be going.” Tana looked away. “It’s a dangerous assignment, and I was told in no uncertain terms that I’m not experienced enough. And the awful thing is that it’s true.”

“Hey, Tana. Don’t be down.”

“I’ll be all right. Look, you’d better hustle. There’s an army jet waiting for you at Fort Bridwell.”

“Jet? What do I need with a jet? I can fly!”

“Can you fly faster than the speed of sound?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”

“Then take the jet. There’ll be an army information officer aboard to brief you and a GBS team waiting for you at the staging site.”

“Okay, if that’s the plan.” He playfully reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll miss you.”

Tana turned and hugged him. “I’ll miss you, too, you little jerk. You’re probably my best friend in the world right now. You be careful out there, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, babe! But you don’t have to worry about me. I’m Superman, remember?” Grinning from ear to ear, he threw open the window. “Catch you later.” And then, in a single bound, he shot away from the building and was gone.

In Antarctica, a huge Kryptonian Battle Suit climbed up out of the Fortress and headed north. Over twelve feet tall and six feet wide at the shoulders, it charged across the frozen wasteland. Despite its massive bulk, it was soon striding along at speeds over a hundred miles an hour. It cleared the Ellsworth Highland in a series of incredible leaps and shot across the Ronne Ice Shelf.

Reaching the edge of a glacierlike cliff, the Battle Suit stepped off into space and dropped like a rock into the frigid waters. It sank swiftly down, settling into the murky depths of the continental shelf below the Wendell Sea.

Lights blazed from the Battle Suit, illuminating the area immediately around it. The huge metal form took one tentative step forward, then another. In seconds it was again under way and building speed.

In the
Planet’s
City Room, everyone gathered around to watch live coverage of the first meeting of two of the Supermen at an army staging area just outside Tupman, California. The skies were a high, thick curtain of haze as the Cyborg shook hands with his young counterpart and fielded questions from the pooled news team.

“Sir, Washington has all but officially recognized you as Superman, yet you yourself asked that this young man join you in your mission. Is that an acknowledgment that he is, in fact, your clone?”

“From the broadcasts I’ve seen of his exploits, I’m certainly willing to give him the benefit of the doubt in that regard. He’s certainly more worthy of the name than the impostor who’s responsible for this disaster. It is our intent to hunt down that visored rogue and bring him to justice.”

“A question then for the young Superman.” A CNN reporter turned to the Boy of Steel. “Do you agree with the government that this man is the original Superman?”

“Well, uh . . .” Superboy caught a nervous glance from the WGBS cameraman and was immediately reminded of the terms of the contract he’d signed with his business manager.
I’m supposed to be the only one who’s legally Superman! Now what do I say?
“Maybe he is. We’ll just see what he’s got, huh?”

The reporter pressed on. “A GBS team has been cleared to accompany the two of you and provide pooled video coverage of the mission under army escort. But I understand there’s been some objection to this?”

“Yes.” The Cyborg answered without hesitation. “I strongly advised Washington against this. I know and respect everyone’s desire to have a visual record of what has happened to Coast City, but none of you understands just how dangerous this rogue superbeing is. Your lives will be at risk, should he attack.”

“Whoa! Can the gloom-and-doom, Pops!” Superboy playfully punched the Cyborg on the shoulder. “I mean, with the two of us looking after things? No problem!”

“You really think so, eh?” The Cyborg gave a thin, metallic chuckle. “I must say, I wish I’d had that much confidence in my powers when I was your age!”

“What?!” On the other side of the country, Lois Lane looked up at one of the City Room television sets. “What did he just say?”

Perry glanced back over his shoulder. “The Cyborg? Something about the kid having more confidence in his powers than
he
did at that age. Why?”

“Then he’s a fake!” Lois’s eyes went wide with horror. “Perry, we’ve got to call Washington right now!”

Flanked by Superboy and the Cyborg, a modified army transport helicopter cleared the Temblor Mountains and flew southwest toward the former location of Coast City. Below them, fires raged on out of control.

Superboy looked down as a wave of heat rushed up at him. The smoke and airborne ash cut his visibility down to less than a hundred feet and made him glad for the respirator mask he’d been supplied with by the army.

They cleared the ring of fire and flew on over an area of utter desolation. Everything there had been cleared by the shock wave of the great explosion, and the denuded landscape was covered with a layer of thick gray ash. Ahead of them lay a series of huge, jagged rocky cliffs, thrust up from what had been the Sierra Madre.

“Attention, Supermen!” A call came out over a loudspeaker mounted on the helicopter. “We’re losing contact with the base. Could the rogue Superman be jamming the signal?”

The Cyborg looked back at them, as if to inspect their electronics. “He could, indeed!” Twin beams of radiant heat suddenly blazed from his eyes, stabbing into the helicopter’s gas tanks, and the ship exploded in a ball of fire.

Before the horrified Superboy could react, the Cyborg rammed into him like a runaway train. Stunned, the Boy of Steel plummeted like a meteor, smashing into the distant cliffside.

Superboy picked himself up out of the little crater formed by his forced landing and staggered to his feet. His respirator had shattered on impact, and he coughed as he tried to breathe the thick, ash-laden air.

The Cyborg dropped out of the sky onto Superboy and began throttling him with his cybernetic arm. Reflexively, the choking Boy of Steel grabbed the metal arm. “Let . . . me . . . go!” At Superboy’s touch, the prosthesis flew apart into hundreds of pieces.

The Cyborg looked down at his metal stump. “My arm! How did you do that?!”

“That’s my secret.”
And I wish I understood it myself.
Superboy swung wide, trying to take advantage of his opponent’s surprise. But the Cyborg quickly sidestepped the awkward attack and flattened the boy with a hard left to the jaw.

The Cyborg then grabbed Superboy by the hair and lifted him up into the air. The pain roused the Boy of Steel from his stupor. “You can’t be the real Superman. Who are you?”

“That, young one, is
my
secret.”

There was a sickening crunch as the Cyborg smashed his metal stump into Superboy’s face.

Hundreds of Superman worshipers, resplendent in their blue robes, had gathered in Centennial Park when one of the faithful was lifted to the top of the tomb and began to preach. At his side, he carried two newly silk-screened banners. One bore a bold, dynamic drawing of the Cyborg Superman; the other depicted the visored Kryptonian, but his image had been deliberately defaced with a red circle and slash. To further drive home his identification with his chosen personal savior, the cultist had painted his face to mimic the Cyborg’s.

“Look
not
upon our savior’s face with fear!” His voice rang out across the plaza as he all but caressed the Cyborg banner. “For though he bears the marks of his righteous battle against the terrible beast Doomsday, by his deeds you shall know the truth! And his noble and merciful deeds reveal in him the one true Superman!”

The cult leader continued, gesturing to the other banner with the back of his hand. “Do not be deceived by the smooth, unblemished face of this visored impostor! He may look like our savior—but I say he is a fraud! He has wantonly killed and ruthlessly tortured! But because he attacked the criminal element, too many of us looked the other way!