20396/TC1.0: Spatial Anomaly

TC1.0: Spatial Anomaly
Date of Scene:	09 April 2025
Location:	Mars Observation Base
Synopsis:	Somewhere out in the cold, dead of space, a Kryptonian Escape Pod appeared with a flash of white light. J'onn J'onnz called Kara in to investigate, and while the Kryptonian's hope of finding another survivor were dashed, the pair were left with a new mystery to unravel. A Zhind'aoliur -- a dream device -- was found wrapped in a small, white blanket within. And while the device itself could contain a limitless trove of information, thoughts, hopes, and dreams of the long-lost Krypton, the pair lack a means to power, and to play it.
Cast of Characters:	Kara Danvers, J'onn J'onzz
Tinyplot:	Time Capsule

---

Kara Danvers has posed:
It can be lonely, way up here in space.

But the work keeps J'onn J'onnz company. A lack of an atmosphere is of deadly consequence for creatures who require oxygen to breathe, but as it so happens, it's particularly handy for observing objects in near-orbit of the Solar System's major planets. Currently, there are 3.47e7 of such objects of interest (OOIs) that the Mars Observatory's supercomputers are tracking. Their mass and velocities all plotted against the mass and velocities of those objects around them. That's all anything in space comes down to, really. Mass. Mass dictates gravity. Gravity dictates velocity.

It's a truism that a comet weighing the size of a city bus could bring more devastation to Planet Earth than an asteroid weighing the size of a barge. Why? It's a matter of speed. Physics defines force as the product of mass and acceleration... and acceleration? Well, that's just velocity over time.

And don't forget that time, gravity, and mass... are all intrinsically linked.

In any case, Earth will never know about how many near misses it has. How many of these OOI's are identified as potential hazards, tagged, and adjusted. Humanity cannot be reminded of how tenuous its existence really is. Not repeatedly, anyway. Not with something so... solvable.

Now, 3.47e7 orbital objects of interest is... shorthand. And I apologize, because I'm going to need to elaborate on this a touch. It's relevant, I promise. 3.47e7 actually translates to a total of 34,798,593 OOIs. The data of which streams through various computer screens, showing charts and graphs of shifting risk, though none manages to trigger an alert that would cause action.

Out of the corner of J'onn's eye, there is a blip of light.

The screen in front of him shifts red.

ANOMALOUS OBJECT OF INTEREST (AOI) IDENTIFIED.

3.47e7 is a funny number. It's... shorthand. Meant to say that all of the numbers after that first 7 don't really matter. But any mathematician who has actually gone outside can tell you that this is an ever shifting concept. Statistical relevance, I mean. In this case, 3.47e7 is no longer relevant to the long-form. And that's because the current count of OOI, that the Martian Observatory is tracking, is now 34,798,594.

It's gone up by 1.

J'onn J'onzz has posed:
There are times that J'onn J'onzz wishes that he'd paid more attention to his studies. But if he'd paid more attention to his studies, he might not have ended up in the Manhunter Academy, and an entirely different sort of life would have been lived. It turns out that a mediocre Martian education places him in a percentile of intelligence on Earth so far toward the end of the normal distribution curve that it no longer registers as a point on most graphs.

Which means that, among other things, the Martian Manhunter knows how to count.

The Watchtowers computers are arguably the most advanced in the solar system, but inarguably advanced enough for that distinction to matter only to those with interest in bragging rights. Standing behind the console with multiple arms operating the various keyboards and control panels, the Manhunter keeps his silent vigil, multi-segmented eyes filtering incoming data through a brain that extends nearly a foot behind his head.

And pulses creepily.

With one of his several arms free, this refugee from a doomed planet opens the pack of a sleeve of Oreos, breaking the pin-dropping silence within the Watchtower this time of day. Time of day is relative on the Moon, but so many of the Justice League's membership resides on the eastern seaboard of North America, that it's hard to remember sometimes that their mandate extends to the entire planet.

The Martian Manhunter never forgets.

As he pops a delicious, though highly unhealthy creme sandwich cookie into a large, wide, buglike mouth, the Manhunter absorbs the incoming data, and immediately realizes its import.

A free hand scrolls through the available members. Animal Man is on vacation. Red Tornado is currently disassembled. Zatanna has not been seen in quite some time.

There's always Guy Gardner? He swipes past that contact info so quickly he nearly gives himself the Martian version of acute carpal tunnel syndrome.

An interesting prospect... meeting all of the criteria that such a mission would require. But perhaps a bit untested.

The call goes out anyway, and the resonant, slightly unsettling alien voice can be heard within a mind far away, though his lips never move.

"Supergirl. There is an anomaly in nearby space. Are you available?"

Kara Danvers has posed:
----On Earth----

Supergirl, as Kara Danvers, is in a /very/ important work meeting. It's absolutely filled to the brim with some of the sharpest journalistic minds available at the Daily Planet, as well as some of the movers and shakers of the newspaper's branding. The point? To discuss quarterly earnings, as well as positioning strategies in an ever-shifting market and landscape. To discuss the maintenance of journalistic integrity, and how to maintain it while delivering faster, more readily-available information to American fingertips.

Why Kara is here? Oh, she delivered the coffee. But she also sat down at a corner chair just as the meeting began, which earned her a death glare from her boss, but... you gotta shoot your shot, right?

"SUPERGIRL. THERE IS AN ANOMALY IN NEARBY SPACE. ARE YOU AVAILABLE...!"

Kara's eyes lid and she twists her chair in her seat, murmuring lowly under her breath...

"Yeah, but... I'm busy... I'll meet up with you when I can, J'onn.

A couple attendees nearby blink and turn to look at her, and earn an apologetic smile and a wave of her hand in dismissal.

----IN SPAAAAAAAACE!----

J'onn J'onnz won't have to travel far to find the object. Well, not relatively, anyway. And there we go talking about space stuff again. Anyway, the object appeared in near-earth orbit, somewhere above the Indian ocean. Its mass and velocity are small and slow -- not dangerous in the most literal sense, but then, the unknown origin is dangerous in its own right. It is positioned roughly around the same orbit as many satellites, above planet earth. As well as a good chunk of... space junk. Rocks. But when J'onn approaches the object itself, some things will become increasingly apparent.

It is Kryptonian, in origin. And it is roughly the size... of an escape pod. There is no visible viewport upon first blush, nor is there a way to open the device, or any clear markings of what is within it. But it does look like it's been through Hell. Scratches mar the surface, some deep enough to spur worrying thoughts of depressurization.

A single blinking yellow light flickers towards the top of the pod. It pulses slowly three times, and then gives three rapid blinks, before repeating the pattern.

J'onn J'onzz has posed:
A protective suit is a wise precaution, even for those that can survive the vacuum of space. But it presents a challenge that limits the Martian Manhunter more than it might most of his teammates. For within its sealed environment, he is effectively stuck in one form. Though the humanoid form is relatively useful for putting humanoid creatures at relative ease, there are certainly occasions where one would be better off assuming the form of a Terellian Bugbeast or a Norlaxian Ghost Cephalopod.

As he soars majestically through the emptiness of space in a pressurized suit, the Martian Manhunter idly hopes that this will not be one of those occasions.

The escape pod looks to be intact from a distance, his Martian vision giving him an array of information not available to most of his less form-fluid peers. The suits sensors do not detect anything hazardous to his Martian form as he approaches, dedicating a portion of his brainpower to memorizing the pattern of the lights. It's a simple pattern, but the meaning of it escapes him at first. Perhaps with further pondering, though pondering might be best saved for when he is back at the Watchtower.

But the symbolism is not lost on him. Some of his best friends are Kryptonian. A few of his worst enemies as well. And some of their annoying children. What's clear to him as he scans the pod for signs of life with his telepathic senses is this:

"Perhaps you'd better hurry. I fear that this might be a job for Supergirl..."

There's no pushiness behind his telepathic voice. But to the trained listener, it might be possible that one could detect... a bit of a tone.

A gloved hand reaches out, touching the metal sides of the escape pod. The Martian closes his eyes, and lets the noise of the world below him wash away, his brain pulsing creepily within his official Justice League Excursion Suit.

Kara Danvers has posed:
There is something in that tone. A lot can be inferred in a tone, you know. A statement is as much tone as it is the makeup and arrangement of the words within. Even moreso, when the makeup and arrangement of the words within it are particularly sparse. Take, for example, Kara's hushed and a little worried tone when she replies with...

"Okay..."

J'onn reaches out a gloved hand and touches the metal sides of the escape pod, closes his eyes, and lets the world wash away...

His brain pulses, searching for thoughts, and signs of life inside. What he hears back is empty. Cold, mechanical, or dead.

It won'd take long for Kara Danvers to arrive. And while a protective suit is a wise precaution, sometimes things like tone and weight add to a bit of recklessness. When Supergirl appears beside the pod, she does so at an alarming speed. It isn't quite as fast as the Flash, of course, but then... the limits of perception are such that it still seems as if she's appeared out of thin air. Her own hands touch the metal, wide and pale blue eyes reflecting that flashing yellow light back towards it. Though a great many people might seem a bit awkward in the absence of gravity, Supergirl herself looks quite at home. The reality is that earth's gravity only effects her as much as she chooses to let it. Drifting out here in cold dark? That's how it really feels to fly.

"It's... an escape pod," Supergirl murmurs, slipping her hands over the top of it and leaning down to press her ear against the metal. "At least, I think so... it... looks like it's in really rough shape," she murmurs. And she gives it a little push, letting it twist in a spiral about its axis to turn it from front up to bottom up. She's searching for something and frowning at, presumably, whatever she finds. Or doesn't find.

"The emergency signal is on. The life support system within it is... erroring," Supergirl says, her brain finally beginning to catch up with what she's seeing.

"We need to get this somewhere where we can open it! There might be somebody inside!" Kara says. There is a heartbreaking sincerity to those words. A limitless, inextinguishable hope. Hope is a rare thing in this universe -- a flickering candlelight in the emptiness of space. So tenuous, and easily extinguished.

"Wh-what if it's my parents? What if... what if they really came for me?! We /have/ to get this somewhere safe, J'onn!"

J'onn J'onzz has posed:
"J'onn to Watchtower. Prepare to receive casualties."

A spoken command to the Watchtower's computer systems, yet broadcast to all within the facility. Some of the staff are robotic, networked into the main computer. But a small team of experts can be found as well, along with the heroes who tend to drift in and out as they please, and a few who live there more or less permanently, like J'onn.

As a creature so used to deciphering tones, the hope within Kara's voice does not go unnoticed. Gripping one side of the pod, he helps to pull the lifesaving vessel along, all the while dreading that it might simply be a very elaborate coffin.

He moves with the urgency that such a task requires, and the affirmative replies from the Watchtower suggest that already members of the staff are assembling for what might be an emergency surgery, or some sort of lifesaving intervention. None of them have any reason to suspect that what they will pull from this space trash will ultimately be another disappointment to the orphan girl from Krypton.

"Kara... I feel it is best that you be prepared for an undesired outcome. I understand your excitement, but as one who perhaps has unique insight into your situation..."

He finds himself stopping, to look over at the young woman. A vessel this size would be no issue to tug along if it were on Earth. Here in the void of space it is almost less than nothing to speed it toward the station.

No need to tell her that the life pod is probably dead. There are ways to block a Martian's senses.

"It is best that we manage our expectations."

The words are so cold, alien, and inhuman. But the tone with which they are delivered has a gentle warmth, from a man who has been where she is right now.

And found his expectations dashed.

Kara Danvers has posed:
"J'onn," Kara says gently, looking up and across the pod as the man lapses into silence. There's still that hope in her eyes, of course, when he elaborates. But it doesn't it from flickering. Wavering, ever so slightly, even if just for a moment. Her fingertips curl against the surface, dragging that soft, sky-blue nail polish against metal.

It's best we manage expectations...

Kara doesn't look up when he says it. She just lets the moment lapse into silence. When she speaks again, it isn't about hopes, or expectations. It's not about how important it is to have hope, nor is it a quiet acquiescence to the notion that it's sometimes better to temper such things, to preserve the heart.

"We need to go," Supergirl says.

And go they do. When the pod arrives to The Watchtower, the crew is ready to receive it. A team of specialized engineers and medical professionals wheels the device -- so light in space, but so heavy, even on the scant gravity of Mars -- into a sterilized room. There are many questions that Kara is meant to field. Familiarity with the device. Defense mechanisms. The flickering the light. She answers them as best she can, but she was just a girl when she was stuffed within one of her own. The only difference that she can muster?

"Mine had a... a viewport," Kara says. That it allowed her to watch the planet Krypton cave in on itself, as she looked on with the hope that she'd see her parents pods launch from orbit, she leaves unsaid.

While Kara is questioned by a team of engineers and medical professionals, J'onn is being debriefed on the technology that will open the pod. An emergency extraction is authorized, and a device is employed that is not unlike the Jaws of Life. Even in space, sometimes there is something considerable to be said about swift and brutal efficiency. A pair of metal pinches grasp the pod and squeeze, denting in the metal at the surface enough to begin to tear into it. The device groans beneath the strain, its hydraulics firing with an angry, agonized:

        *PFFFFKKK...!*
        *PSSSSSTKKK!*

"It's not coming open!" the engineer says, slamming on the control panel in the order as dictated by his various engineering degrees. The light on the pod changes from the slow strobing, fast blinking yellow... to a quickly flashing red...!

"It's the life support systems!" Kara exclaims. "They're starting to fail, we need to get it open!"

J'onn J'onzz has posed:
The pressurized Justice League Excursion Suit remains standing nearby, mere meters away from the scene where some of Earth's brightest minds work quickly to rescue whatever might be trapped within. Yet though the suit is still standing, its occupant has already left it behind, leaving it to slowly collapse to the floor under the weight of the Earth normal gravity within the Watchtower.

Moving swiftly, the form of the Martian Manhunter rushes toward the pod and its failing life support systems. Without his suit, his form is a bit less rigid, flowing toward it with a grace that belies his sometimes buglike features.

He passes through one of the engineers, leaving behind a chilling sense of having shared the same space with another set of molecules in violation of the laws of physics that this particular engineer is familiar with.

There is no time to pause as he reaches the capsule, and the body of the Martian Manhunter disappears within, phasing directly through its outer hull and into the capsule as the lights flash red on the exterior.

Once within, he is the first person to share this environment in an unknowable number of years. Already steeled against the discovery of the dead body he expects to find, he is nonetheless a bit stymied by what he actually does discover.

An empty tomb?

A misfire, perhaps.

But no, within the eerie darkness of the sealed escape pod, there is something secured. Something placed there intentionally, and wrapped within a blanket from home. A home that doubtless no longer exists.

There is a hiss, as the escape pod responds to the controls from within, and the door opens finally. But instead of a cheerful reunion with family or friends, or even another random survivor, there is only the already familiar sight of J'onn J'onzz, last Martian Manhunter, cradling an off-white blanket in one arm, and looking at the young Kryptonian through buglike red eyes that convey a devastated world's worth of sympathy.

"I'm sorry Supergirl. It is only a... memento."

Kara Danvers has posed:
There's a moment where Kara Danvers wants to tear into the pod. To rip it apart, like a little girl on Christmas, to surface whatever lies entombed within it. The light flickers from yellow to red, and if it weren't for Martian Manhunter, she very well may have done just that. In an instant, she's at the side of it, hands on the metal as her fellow alien slithers into the cracks and pores within it. There's a sound of anguish from her throat -- the sort of thing that can't be imitated or feigned. It has to come from genuine pain of the soul. But there's hope, too. Worry. Nervousness. Apprehension. So many things playing over the young woman's face as she watches.

And waits.

And when J'onn J'onnz reappears, he does so... alone. And he's greeted with an emotion not at all dissimilar to worry, nervousness, hope, and apprehension. It's painful like all of those, only colored a different shade of hue.

Grief.

Denial.

"No, you must've--"

There's motion that's imperceptible now. It happens too fast, Supergirl's suddenness. An intense moment of violence as she pries open that escape pod with her bare fingers. Baby blue nail polish cracks against metal as she sinks her fingers into it and rips it apart. The entire motion lasts less than a second, and is accompanied not only with a blur but also a sound like a canon erupting within the small space. Supergirl is clumsy, in her grief. A piece flies up towards the ceiling. It is small, but like the comet, the speed at which it flies does far more to alter the force of its impact than mass. It craters in the ceiling, flung faster than a bullet, and twice as heavy.

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Hallmarks of grief, but not exactly fair in their characterization. It's not... sequential. You don't just open up one box and then close it, and open up another. That would be nice. All of them tend to be torn open at once, and you feel them... so, so intensely.

--Missed something, or..."

Another blur, this time, the box and the blanket are pulled from J'onn's hand. This time, Supergirl is careful. She would never hurt anyone on purpose. Even in moments like this, where the dam has burst on her self control, it would never be intentional. But when you're as powerful as her, it doesn't have to be.

Supergirl 'reappears' on the floor. And again, all of this is happening within the space of two, maybe three seconds. She's sitting cross-legged, with the blanket in her lap, hands sort of hovering on where it wraps around the object within, though she doesn't quite seem to have the courage to open it.

"Or... or..."

J'onn J'onzz has posed:
"Cancel the emergency alert."

Only a fool would get between a Kryptonian and an object so intensely desired. Though J'onn J'onzz is only a simple Manhunter from the Martian countryside, he has rarely been called a fool. Except by other people from Mars, all of whom died centuries ago. Giving a wide berth to the red white and blue blur, he waves a hand to the assembled medics and engineers, all of whom also seem to be in the mood to give the young woman plenty of space. And there's no fight for the Kryptonian memento, despite a genuine curiosity to see what sort of relic could be worth this amount of fuss.

"Thank you all. But it appears we will not be needing your services so urgently. Please arrange for transportation of the pod to the laboratory and let Mister Terrific know what occurred. I'll contact Superman directly..."

As the emergency medical team begins to depart, they seem legitimately sorry for the outcome. It would have certainly been a great find, and these are the sorts of interesting occurrences that caused them to sign up to work on the Watchtower. But mostly, they seem to feel bad for 'the kid.'

The fluid, frequently-shifting form of the Martian Manhunter maintains a respectful distance as he kneels before her, draped in a cape that is as much a part of himself as his eyelids. There are no words for a moment. No assurances that he knows how she feels. Just a steady, hopefully calming presence, and a silent show of support.

And then he speaks, in a voice full of empathy.

"I'm sorry."

Kara Danvers has posed:
Cancel the emergency alert.

For some reason, it's that phrase that snaps Kara Danvers back into the here and now. She looks up from the blanket bundle currently resting atop her red skirt and towards the many different faces scattered throughout the isolation room. She can sense those bad feelings. That sympathy and empathy in abundance. It's an unfair thought, for Kara to have. To resent them, in some small way, for thinking that they could possibly understand how she feels. How could they know what it was like, to see their home planet crack at its core? To fall into itself, before disappearing into white hot oblivion?

How could they know that she does everything that she does, so no one will have to ever feel the way she feels? So that they could never understand -- because no one should?

She doesn't vocalize these feelings. She's not so... petulant, to give words to those ugly thoughts. And soon enough, they fade from her mind entirely, as she turns those eyes back to the memento that, in any other circumstance, she may have been elated to have found.

Kara peels open the blanket and retrieves it. The smooth, black object held in her palm. Flat, with soft edges, and a glossy finish. She recognizes it immediately, and reaches up to wipe at her eyes with her uniform-covered forearm. A small sniffle, and that wiping of her arm against her eyes, are the only signs of the tears that had managed to well up enough to the surface to spill out.

"It's okay," Kara says, when all of those others have shuffled out. She smooths her fingers over it and swallows, lifting her eyes for a moment to look at J'onn with a weary smile. How can she smile, at a time like this?

"It's a Zhind'aoliur..." she says, and lifts it up for J'onn to take once again. There's a kind of curious tip of her head now as she regards it, and then him, and then it again. "A... dream device. That's what it means, anyway. It stores thoughts, like... like a hard drive, I guess. That's the best way I can describe it, anyway. My people used them for a lot of different things. Recording dreams, or... little thoughts, so you didn't forget them. Music, and films, and art that you saw in your head. Or even silly little things like grocery lists," Kara says, and then gives a little laugh at the notion of it. If J'onn takes it, it'll feel rather warm to the touch, and a supple, pleasant sort of mixture of soft and hard. There is a weight to it.

"I wonder what's on it," Kara says. There's a growing sense of curiosity at play in her tone, now. And J'onn can likely feel that hope coming off of her, as her body shifts from that somewhat slumped posture to slowly rising up onto her knees. She reaches out to place her fingertips on it briefly, and bites down on her bottom lip. "I mean... it had to be important, right? To send it alone in the pod, it's... it's got to mean something, right? Have something in it that... that could maybe?"

And there she goes again.

That single, lone candle light of hope, fraughtly-flickering in the void of space.

J'onn J'onzz has posed:
Holding the Zhind'aoliur in a large green, borderline human hand, the Last Son of Mars considers the device and its import. Though it was not meant expressly for one of his species, Kryptonian craftsmanship is still renowned throughout the Galaxy. It's easy to understand, a function of the intuitive design mastered by a culture that was old when men on Earth were discovering fire. It would probably be a simple thing to activate it, even with his limited knowledge, and put an end to any mystery the device might contain. And perhaps more importantly to end the sense of suspense that he is feeling himself, and which must be many times more powerful for the young woman faced with what can be the cruelest of all known sensations.

Despair is certainly not any fun. But hope can drive a person mad.

"It's lovely."

Perhaps the polite thing to do would be to give it back. That is not what the Martian Manhunter does. Holding onto it, he turns it over in his hand, as if still pondering the importance of the device. A glorified notes app, from the sound of it, filled with bits of trivia. Utterly insignificant.

In other words, the things that really matter.

"I have to wonder, I confess, at the odds of such an object being placed within a self-contained pod. Multiplied against the odds of said pod being fired away from its planet of origin. A time capsule, perhaps... it would explain the effort."

He shakes his head. Looking at her with curious, bright red eyes, his soft, yet musing.

"Account once again for the odds of this pod then being launched upon a course where it would intercept THIS particular planet, across a Galaxy full of such planets."

"Factoring in the sheer odds for this pod being captured within the orbit of this planet, the only known planet where two of that world's survivors happened to have made a home for themselves..."

He seems to be gradually getting to a point, though taking the long way around.

"Only to be discovered on this day. The very day before the pod failed, and its cargo very well might have been lost to the indifferent and largely empty vastness of space?"

He hands the Zhind'aoliur back to her her, the beginnings of a smile on his strange, alien face. It's meant to be an encouraging sort of smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"I'm not sure that I believe in odds so remote, Kara. Which leads me to believe that you were meant to have this."

Slowly, he stands, his cape concealing most of his form, while red eyes burn beneath an overhanging brow and an imposingly sloping head.

"But what it might mean, I cannot say."

Kara Danvers has posed:
Supergirl can look so much more like Kara Danvers, at certain times, and in certain light. In vulnerable moments like this, alone with a mentor-figure who might be the only one who can truly understand her. The weight of Earth presses down on her shoulders, and in moments like these, it can feel impossible to carry alone. But as he ruminates on the odds -- the likelihood of coincidence -- Kara can't help but remember that she doesn't carry this weight alone.

She takes the Zhind'aoliur into her hand once more, and holds it in both of her palms, its smooth surface facing up towards the ceiling. And when J'onn J'onnz says that he believes that she was meant to have it, Kara shuts her eyes and lets out a soft, warm little laugh that starts somewhere from her belly. She doesn't laugh because she thinks it's a platitude -- she laughs because she knows he means it.

"I didn't know you were so sentimental, J'onn," Kara murmurs, her tone of voice as warm and fond and full of love as that laugh was. Those pale blue eyes open, locking on his curious, bright red eyes and holding his gaze as he speaks his final piece. Both of Kara's thumbs smooth over the surface of the device, before she wraps it back in that blanket and hugs it tight against her stomach, where that laugh had bubbled up from moments ago.

Her smile takes on a sadder texture now, and her eyes fall away from his to settle on some empty space behind him. They slip in and out of focus, as she comes to grip with the reality of the object held against her.

"I don't think we'll ever know. This... is just one part of the device. The hard drive, or... even an, um... a VHS tape?" she says, though that upward inflection is such that she's not confident in her own metaphor.

"I need something else to... 'play' it, and, mmmh..." she softly rolls her thumb along the inside, pressing down on a hidden depression that clicks audibly, but does nothing. "And it's out of power, anyway. We'd need to recharge it, and find the device that can play it," she says, before finally letting her eyes fall away to where her knees press to the floor.

"I wouldn't even know where to start."