Chapter Text
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In the far reaches of the universe, a peculiar space vessel the size of a large moon orbited a backwater planet hidden away in a remote solar system.
The host planet had been a very recently prosperous, resource-rich alien world. Recently, as in about less than fifteen minutes ago.
Its citizens gazed up in awe–not the good kind–crying out to the uninvited world ship perched predatorily above their meager atmosphere.
Upon arrival to a new world, the spacecraft known as the Cluster is always a spectacular sight for any halfway intelligent sentient beings. A marvel of scientific and technological engineering, far superior to the majority of space-faring races of the known universe.
The Cluster was aptly named. Its design, a conglomerate of shiny platinum spherical stations, all interconnected by jetway tunnels like the strings of a murder board. Each station housed the various product and storage warehouses, processing stations, navigation and acquisitions depots, and other centers needed for the day-to-day operations of the renowned Intergalactic Shopping Network.
Roaming the twenty-eight known galaxies, the Cluster and its shopping network expanded the interstellar marketplace far and wide, spurring a boon for the galactic economy.
All of which greatly benefited the self-proclaimed master capitalist of all space and time, Lord Manga Khan (and sometimes his most privileged clientele).
And to the despair and ruin of hundreds of worlds throughout the 3600 sectors of Oan-patrolled space.
Lord Manga provided this latest, unfortunate planet a reasonable opportunity to barter with the Cluster’s network. However, its leaders refused this worldwide-slash-lifetime offer. So, with ISN authorization, the Cluster proceeded to strip the planet of valuable resources and left its denizens to suffer for their selfishness.
“...And it’s such a shame this lovely little planet declined our most generous offer. The raw materials plundered from such a resource-rich world have been… merely adequate.
“However, the Cluster is ever hungry. MORE! We need more!!”
Clad in gleaming golden armor—an advanced containment suit for his otherwise incorporeal, gaseous essence—and majestic purple cape loomed the master of this world vessel, Lord Manga Khan. He stood at an impressive height, just shy of seven feet.
He cleared his (physically non-exsistant) throat. “Ahem, pardon me. I find myself shouting again.”
Lord Manga observed his domain from an upper-level balcony as his plunder moved along a complex conveyor belt system from the intake warehouse to various destinations within his ship. His loyal robots worked methodically at their programmed tasks, mindless drones who carried out their duties without question.
“And where is my attendant?! L-Ron!!” Lord Manga called without turning from his watch.
A moment later, a feeble bi-pedal robot with bronze plating, an oblong head, and insect-like yellow eye lenses waddled into the observation room.
“Yes, Lord Manga?” the robotic voice was just a hair away from grating on the nerves.
“Ah, L-Ron, my most loyal of servants, most dependable of secretaries, and least insufferable of lackeys,” the master praised.
“Would M’Lord like to plot a course to the next world queued for negotiations? It has been an hour into your soliloquy, and I know you like to be reminded of your responsibilities,” L-Ron replied, well used to the routine with his master. “Also, servant and secretary are most suitable titles… the lackey term is somewhat unnecessary.”
“Yes, yes. I’ll work on that, lackey,” Lord Manga said dismissively. “Now, before the Cluster makes its next jump, tell me… How is the status of our power reserves?” he asked, still gazing down below.
“Our most recent transaction included five hundred and twenty-three curiegrams of promethium, which shall supply enough fuel for approximately four more hyperjumps,” L-Ron replied, pulling up some data analytics from the intake report on his holo-tablet.
“Hmm, is that all? How disappointing. And what are our profit margins?”
“I’ve estimated a 7.31% profit margin, M’Lord,” he pulled up the statistics for Manga to review.
The master of the Cluster glanced at the holo-screen. A green gleam flitted from the eyeslits of his faceplace. “7.31%?! NOT ACCEPTABLE!” He cleared his voice. “Apologies, I started shouting again.”
Manga continued, “I am not pleased. I was assured this last planet would yield much higher margins than that,” his echoing voice sounding hollow from within his armor. “And the next planet? What sort of resources shall I be acquiring next? ”
“Well, the next…” L-Ron began. A pinging noise from his holo-tablet notified him of an urgent alert. “Hmm, what’s this?”
“Yes, well, what is that?” Lord Manga echoed.
“It appears J-Edgar from the bridge has picked up an incredible energy spike originating in space sector 2814.”
“Interesting… What sort of energy?” Lord Manga actually turned around, his cape flowing regally. His hands grasped behind his back, and a green glow sparkled behind his visor.
“Fascinating, it is identical to the radiation given off by debris in the Rao system. Except… the rate of decay of its half-life has somehow been slowed… Truly remarkable, M’lord! This sort of energy could last the Cluster decades! No, centuries!” The robot servant’s mechanical fingers twitched oddly, relaying his excitement.
“WONDERFUL!!” Lord Manga cried in his delight.
“M’Lord. You are shouting again…” L-Ron winced, taking a step back.
“Ah-hmm-hem. Yes, very good L-Ron. J-Edgar deserves a reward for such a discovery. Submit a body upgrade for the minion—“ His voice turned more amused as he added, “I’ve heard the summer models are quite fashionable.”
“Right away, Lord Manga,” L-Ron replied, tapping his holo-display. “I shall also send hyperjump orders to navigation for space sector 2814 if it pleases you.”
“It does! Let us be on our way,” Lord Manga agreed. He strode out of the observation room towards the mothership dome and the command bridge. His cloak billowing with his authoritative stride.
L-Ron bowed as his master passed and shuffled along behind.
“Oh, and contact the Czarnian. I believe we’ll require his services again,” the green glow in Manga’s eyes flared as he looked over his shoulder.
L-Ron would’ve grinned if he had a mouth.
“Certainly, M’Lord.”
The airlock doors closed with a definitive hiss and click.
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After leaving the Chief’s—er Mr. White’s office, Lois made her way over to the breakroom to get a cup of the dredge they called coffee.
She caught one of the younger research assistant boys just as he was exiting the breakroom himself. Lois had a million leads to follow up on and only so many hours in the day. It was a lifesaver having an extra set of hands to comb through the tedious tax records or highlight the fine print of some zoning regulations or such and such.
After just getting back from a foreign correspondent placement for a few weeks, Lois couldn’t wait to go home. Have extra spicy ramen for dinner with Clark, and then take a hot bubble bath.
Lois had dreamed of sleeping in her comfortable bed, using an actual toilet, and not dealing with sand in unmentionable places.
Clark would cook them homemade meals, and they’d eat out a few nights at their favorite restaurants—her treat, of course. Her mouth watered at the idea of anything besides MREs.
Coffee mug in hand, Lois headed over to her desk. Instead of taking a seat, she snuck around her cubicle, looking for Jimmy. Even with all his responsibilities for his Flamebird division, he was still her go-to photojournalist for the big stories.
Luckily Jimmy was working diligently for once. He had bulky headphones on and appeared to be scrubbing through some video footage from the last mutant monster attack. Lois couldn’t comprehend how often his wacky conspiracy theories turned out to be right…
Lois rested against the edge of Jimmy’s desk and took a sip of her dredge.
Jimmy glanced up, noticing her practically sitting on his desk all of a sudden. He adjusted one side of his headphones, freeing up an ear.
“Lois—”
Before either had a chance to speak, another colleague shouted from the other side of the bullpen.
“Hey, Lombard, turn the TV up!”
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Superman brushed his hands together just finishing up a rescue job helping with an emergency multi-vehicle pile-up on the interstate. He was thankful there were only a few minor injuries compared to the damage to the cars and trucks involved. He wondered if his “wearing seatbelts is super” campaign was making a difference.
After thanking the emergency rescue and the officers and swooping up, up and away, he pulled out his phone to check for missed texts. Seeing the time, he realized he needed to get back the the Daily Planet pronto to finish his article by the noon deadline.
Even with superspeed typing powers, he was starting to get a track record of cutting it way too close. After his second strike, Perry started keeping a close eye on him. Too close for comfort.
Flying over to his favorite alley for quick changes in and out of his civvies, Clark sped down in a blur and landed gently. A tabby cat with big, brown eyes startled, its fur raising on its arched back. The cat gave an angry meow and then sprinted away.
Clark pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and walked as casually as could be around the corner and down the sidewalk. He bowed his head, ruffling his hair back to standard mild-mannered reporter style.
He got about half a block before he noticed a large crowd begin to huddle together at an outdoor cafe. Even as a “nosy reporter,” Clark could usually temper his curiosity, but the dead silence of the crowd perturbed him. He made his way closer to see what was going on.
The cafe’s window was wide open, and sitting on the counter nearby was an old-fashioned radio. Whatever was broadcasting seemed to have caught this crowd’s attention. Clark shuffled over, standing behind the other customers, where he could also listen in.
“...dedicated to economic expansion throughout the cosmos. We have come to welcome your planet to the community of interstellar…”
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Lord Manga Khan sat regally upon his throne-like commander’s chair on a raised platform in the center of the bridge. His most loyal flight crewbots synchronously navigated the world ship through the uncharted star system.
The master of the Cluster gazed inattentively at the numerous holo-displays flashing the tedious results of the various system-wide scans. His servants would comb through the data and report anything worthy of his time.
Instead, he was preoccupied with thoughts about the wondrous energy sources his crew had detected earlier that led them to this unremarkable corner of the universe. Despite having traveled the hundreds of sectors of space, there was an incredible thrill in discovering new planets to plunder—ahem, trade with—finding rare resources of almost incalculable value.
After scanning various planets, the computers picked up readings of life and energy sources from the system’s third planet. With Lord Manga’s command, the Cluster traveled to that destination. While orbiting high above the planet’s atmosphere, further scans were initiated for various purposes: to locate the most populous regions and detect high-value resources such as Promethium, Duralumin, Moscovium, and the like.
What the scans detected ignited that thrill—hundreds of energy signatures of that unique radiative element. A source of power the likes of which even Lord Manga had only seen once before. Power sources wasted on such a remote, desolate little planet even the Guardians likely had no idea about.
If Manga had a flesh-and-blood mouth, he would have grinned ravenously like a wild wolf.
Speaking of, he would have to meet with his Czarnian friend soon. His most loyal L-Ron had informed him of his guest’s arrival not long before their departure into hyperspace. For what Lord Manga could offer for the Czarnian’s services, the brute could wait awhile longer.
A communications crewbot alerted his master that they were able to sync with the planet’s horribly primitive satellite comms network. Whenever their Lord was ready, he could take the stage.
Lord Manga Khan had a very important message to deliver to the pathetic, sapient lifeforms dwelling on the world beneath him.
—
“Greetings, denizens of Sol-3. I am Master of the Cluster and Chief Executive Officer of the great Intergalactic Shopping Network, the one and only Lord Manga Khan.
“The Cluster is the finest world ship dedicated to economic expansion throughout the cosmos.
“We have come to welcome your planet to the community of interstellar trade and commerce. The Cluster is the hub of the Shopping Network’s operations, and fortunately, your world has the great privilege of receiving our premiere bartering expertise.
“As you may or may not know, our Network caters to customers on thousands of worlds across the many galaxies. What your planet has to trade, another planet could need. And vice-versa.
“We will be conducting a survey of your world’s resources and technologies of value to trade.
“During our survey, we request that residents not interfere with our business operations or engage with our surveyors. Negotiations are to be conducted solely with an authorized trade representative.
“However, the Cluster will be doing business within your star system for a limited time only. We implore your people and leaders to open negotiations within one of your planet’s rotations.
“If the inhabitants of Sol-3, unfortunately, fail to engage in negotiations within this timeframe, the Cluster reserves the right to commence resource acquisition at the Intergalactic Shopping Network’s discretion.
“Furthermore, declining the Network’s attempts to barter may result in trade sanctions or penalties imposed upon your planet.
“Share with our growing intergalactic family of commerce! We are here to serve and to shop!”
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The TV transmission cut out, leaving the bullpen in silence except for the ominous static coming from the radio. Everyone was too stunned to talk, though everyone’s minds were surely racing.
Perry walked stiffly into the center of the room and clapped his hands twice loudly.
“Well, what are you all standing around for?!” He looked around with a stern gaze at all the dazed reporters.
“Get me a story! Multiple stories! All the stories! Who is this Lord Manga Khan? Are they some kind of aliens? Where do they come from? What kind of technology or resources can they trade us? What other intentions do they have, and are we in danger? How will the President, the military, the UN react? And where’s Superman??! Well?? Go, go, go!!”
The volume in the office suddenly tripled what it was normally.
People bumping into each other, coffee spilling, papers flying.
A mad rush of senior and veteran reporters ran back to their desks to grab their things, corral their junior colleagues, or head over the stairs and elevators to go out into the city to get the scoop.
Most of the less experienced staff fumbled around directionlessly. The interns looked like they were just trying not to get trampled.
“Lois!! This is the next story of the century! Another alien contact within just two years? A whole intergalactic community? Can you believe it?” Jimmy squealed, his eyes glittering with a mix of worry and excitement.
Lois could, but also could not. Ever since meeting Clark, they’d seen some of the weirdest stuff most average folk couldn’t even imagine. But not in her wildest dreams did alien CEOs arrive in a massive spaceship to barter goods with the fine people of Earth.
She could read between the lines and wouldn’t put it past some of her sharp-witted colleagues to have picked up on the not-so-hidden threat in this alien businessman’s words.
Trade with us, or we’ll take what we want. Deny us, and there will be repercussions. Just try to stop us—want to see what we can do?
Lois felt a cold chill go down her spine.
Lois could see that everyone around the bullpen wore various expressions of fear, panic, and distraught coming to similar conclusions. Anxious whispers and pale faces filled the room.
“Earth to Lois?” Jimmy called, drawing her attention again.
“Oh, sorry, Jimmy. My brain was going an mile a minute there.” She bonked herself on the head in jest. Not that there was a laughing matter to be had at the moment.
“I know, I know. So? Where should we start, Mad Dog Lane? Ooo, maybe the Chief will let us fly out to the Pentagon??” Jimmy asked as he grabbed a number of items from his desk and organized them into his shoulder bag.
Lois had to stop and give that some consideration. As the resident alien superhero journalistic expert, this kind of breaking news wasn’t so far removed from her regular beat.
But Jimmy’s idea of going to the headquarters of the United States Department of Defense wasn’t bad. She worried Earth wasn’t prepared to defend against an army of alien looters with highly advanced technology.
And would Superman be strong enough to defend the planet? Not that she doubted Clark’s abilities. But still.
“Good idea, let’s go.” Lois grabbed her handbag (and her coffee) and booked it to Perry’s office.
Jimmy jumped out of his chair, which went spinning from the quick movement. He pulled his own bag over his shoulder, and chased after the tenacious, award-winning reporter.
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Once the satellite transmission cut off from the cafe’s radio, Clark turned to look up into the sky.
He strained his vision well beyond the visible range of human eyesight, all the way past the upper atmosphere. He swept his gaze around slowly, searching for a sign of some space vessel hovering over the planet.
It didn’t take him long before he spotted the world ship. He inhaled sharply at size of the vessel.
And, after replaying Manga Khan’s message in his head, Clark worried about their true intentions. Despite the flowery business-speak, it didn’t seem like Manga Kkan tried to be subtle with his threats.
Hearing the concerned conversations of the city-dwellers, Clark confirmed he wasn’t the only one worried. Most of them could tell there was something off.
Clark dreaded if things turned ugly. His list of problems was already long enough.
He had a strong feeling Lois and Jimmy were already rushing around to coordinate their investigation.
Clark just stepped into view of the Daily Planet when his hearing—attuned to distress calls—picked up several panicked shouts from the other side of the city. He took off in a run by pure instinct, returning to the alley and changing back into his suit. Superman was in the air again, flying at breakneck speeds.
Barely seconds later, he arrived. The shouting led him to STAR Labs of all places.
Dozens of people dressed in office attire or white lab coats stumbled as they ran out of the building.
Those who appeared in authority roles directed others, gesturing and shouting over one another. Despite their efforts, the majority of the workers were clearly panicked.
The scene was pure chaos as people pushed and shoved and screamed.
Emergency lights began flashing, and klaxons blared, drowning out most of the shouting.
Clark superspeed through the building, weaving in between workers with limbs sprawled out as they tried to run but were frozen in time. Their expressions locked in panic and confusion with wide eyes and open mouths. The chorus of noises shifted into a deep, drawn out tone like from the leftmost key on a piano.
Clark had been to STAR Labs plenty of times, both as Superman and as a reporter on a story, but he’d never been to this part of the facility before.
Speeding into a large laboratory, rows upon rows of cylindrical tanks hung from the curved walls. Each pod was filled with some kind of cloudy fluid that glowed brightly in a neon green.
Clark froze at the sight. It was that neon green.
A number of uniformed security guards armed with police-grade handguns or patrol rifles faced the center of the room—their backs facing the door.
“Stand down or we’ll shoot!” ordered one of the guards.
Clark hastily observed the surroundings, seeing who or what the security guards shouted out.
Oh, uh. These are not good odds, Clark thought, eyes going wide.
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To be continued…