Basic Code

I

I.

Clark found General Zod knee-deep in the flooded bowels of the alien scout ship, swearing in Kryptonian. He had pried open a panel in the uncomfortably organic-looking wall of the ship and was fumbling with the metallic veinwork within, a podlike bot levitating tools by some kind of stasis beside his elbow. Zod glanced up sharply as Clark floated over the lip of the entryway, frowned, then turned back to the veinwork, pressing his fingertips to an ear.
"Ancient tech," Zod grunted, the translator tech turning incomprehensible, elegant vowels into English. "Thousands of years old. Belonged to your family. And you crash it."

"Maybe you shouldn't have tried to use it to destroy the planet." Clark pointed out warily.

"Have you looked at this planet? It's already being destroyed. By the creatures you care about so much. They're destroying their own ecosystem. And each other." Zod twisted two of the strange veins together and swore as they sparked against his fingers. Smoke rose from the panel, and Zod cursed, standing back as the pod helpfully sprayed it with some sort of clear extinguisher foam.

"General Dru-Zod, it is highly recommended that any further reparations to the ship be undertaken by an accredited member of the Spacefarer-Engineer Guild," Ship said, in a neutral, oddly feminine voice. Zod muttered something under his breath. "It is a very strong recommendation," the Ship added, somehow managing to sound faintly hurt.

"Moving the ship back onto the mountain, trying to repair it... what are you up to?" Clark asked warily.

"In case you haven't noticed," Zod shot back bitingly, "The ship's partly flooded and stinks of leaking bio-organic insulation."

"And?"

"What do you mean, 'and'? Do the humans like living in flooded housing? You've gone that native?"

"Kal-El's voice print identified. Updated records indicate that Jor-El was an esteemed roster-chief of the last generation of the Spacefarer-Engineers. This will very likely qualify Kal-El for the cadet program," Ship said hopefully. "With relevant training-"

"Live in hope, Ship," Zod growled, and glared when Clark, despite everything, started to laugh.

Zod slammed the panel shut and floated up, the gesture effortless now. It should be frightening how quickly Zod seemed to have adapted to Earth and the powers that the yellow sun provided, but somehow, even within here, he seemed strangely... diminished. Zod's hair had grown out over the months, feathering thickly over his forehead in an unruly mop, and his murderous anger had long faded to resigned bitterness.

"Did you want something?" Zod asked flatly.

"Just... checking in."

"Well. You've checked." Zod landed on the platform lip and stalked into the ship, bio-organic fluid squelching under his boots. Clark had to land and lengthen his stride to keep up. "The humans asked you to bring me in, did they?"

"They asked me to check on you. You did level a couple of their buildings."

"We did," Zod corrected coldly. "Also, what in Rao's name do humans make their buildings out of, parchment? Ridiculous."

Clark swallowed his temper. He wasn't in the mood to have yet another argument about responsibility. Like the last time. "We need to talk."

"We're talking."

"You're repairing the ship just to make it habitable?"

Zod rolled his eyes. "You destroyed the Genesis chamber and its terraform capacity. And it's flight capacity. What else in Rao's name is it good for now?"

"Why bother, then?"

"Why...?" Zod turned so suddenly on his heel that Clark nearly walked right into him. "Why? Because it reminds me of home," Zod hissed, low and venomous. "Satisfied? It's all that I have left that reminds me of my homeworld."

"I..." Clark hadn't been expecting that. "I see. Sorry."

Zod narrowed his eyes for a moment, then he grunted, seemingly appeased. "That uniform you're wearing. Where did you get that? I haven't seen anything like that out of the history vids."

"Ah... my father's AI presented it to me. Uh, from this ship."

"That's your House's crest. But everything else... you look like a walking histogram."

"You're trying to tell me that I'm out of fashion," Clark tried a faint grin, and got another glare for his trouble.

"This ship has been lying dormant here for thousands of years. What did you think, that Kryptonian society's been stagnant all this while? You look ridiculous. Red boots? Really?"

"I like it," Clark said mildly, amused.

"Of course you would. You're your father's son, Rao preserve us. A House of madmen. Your ancestor flying this scoutship so far into deep space, pah! Your father deciding to commit high treason not once but twice. And now you-" Zod cut himself off, with a sudden frown. "Kal-El, why are you here? Stop avoiding the question."

"I wasn't avoiding the question," Clark protested. Away from the flooded chamber, the ship smelled less like melting plastics and more like some sort of warm animal, big and clean and alive. It was... pleasant. He tried not to make it seem like he was breathing in deeply.

Clark was getting distracted. Zod was staring at him oddly now, and as Clark raised an eyebrow, something like pure exasperation twisted across Zod's severe face, settling back on resignation. "How old are you?"

"Uh-"

"Answer me."

"Thirty. Why?"

Zod huffed out a deep sigh. "Ever get headaches? Fevers? Once a month?"

"Yes, why?" Clark blinked. "Is that normal? For Kryptonians?"

"It hasn't been 'normal' for over a hundred years, boy." Zod let out a harsh, mirthless laugh. "Not since we finally decided to manually correct all the base animal habits out of our genetic code during the fetus stage. You, however. Your Rao-damned parents, instead of having you made in a Genesis Chamber like every other healthy Kryptonian baby... Natural birth," Zod muttered in distaste. "Unedited basic code. All the flaws."

"My father said he wanted me to have free will."

"I think your father was several qudat cards short of a full deck at the end," Zod growled. "Free will? Your parents were Genesis-made, and they had free will. Too damned much of it, in my opinion, what with stealing the Codex and natural birth and firing off their infant son in a spacepod to an alien planet."

"But-"

"Your father sold you the same load of krudak as he did your mother. He was curious about the birthing process, more likely. Especially since he wasn't exactly the one bearing all the risks. Your mother could have died. Pregnancy's risky and we haven't had midwifery or paediatric services for a century."

Clark set his jaw. "So what does that have to do with my headaches? Am I sick?"

"You're not sick," Zod said gruffly. "You just have a large number of recessive genetic traits. Congratulations," he added sardonically. "Blame your crazy Rao-damned father."

"What can I do to fix it?"

"Nothing. You seem to be getting through your problem fine. What do you do every month, hide out somewhere cold and wait it out?" At Clark's wary nod, Zod turned around and started walking again. "There you go. That's the best you can do. But the next time you get the fever? Stay away from me."