The Gold Corps: Damel-Zahn

Metron's colleague levered his bulk into the command center and plopped down in one of the reinforced chairs. His head hung almost down between his knees, and was breathing in and out in a controlled manner obviously designed for attaining better self-control. This had to be bad.

"So," said the scientist, rotating his Mobius chair around to face him, after giving his friend enough time to collect himself. "How bad was it?" He was almost afraid of the answer.

Hesitation. Then, "We just lost another three hundred star systems."

"Three? Hundred? Three hundred? I thought…"

"…that the projections called for a max loss of twelve, right. But apparently Vastator has a few tricks up its sleeves. That's generously assumin' its even got sleeves, I mean." He sat up, spreading his hands. "It just…happened." Then he fell silent. There really was nothing else to say.

Metron sat in stunned silence. Though naturally reserved and seemingly unemotional by nature, he nonetheless felt, like all others of his kind, and could only imagine the cataclysmic conflict that it must have been. His projections had actually been skewed rather pessimistically, and now look.

Three hundred whole solar systems, gone. Obliterated, their populace scoured from the face of the cosmos. And that was a best-case scenario.

And in such a way that defied every law of science he was aware of.

…..

Earth, Mt. Justice, Tuesday morning, 0930 hours: Dick Grayson had ventured into the kitchen on a foraging mission, just to see if there was anything edible he could put in his mouth. He thought he'd spied a bag of Doritos, somewhere…hopefully, Wally hadn't found them first. Wally had a bad habit of eating all but a few of the chips, often at super-speed, then leaving the practically empty bag behind.

Even before he got to the small kitchen area, he acute hearing picked up on a rattling of pots and pans and other subtle sounds that signified someone else's presence. And…he could pick up the slight hitch of breath, the pronounced sniffle, and that ever so slight moist scent of someone who's been crying buckets. Particularly if that someone was female.

Miss Martian, Megan Morse, was standing listlessly at the sink, dressed in her nightgown and robe, trying, half-heartedly, to clean off some of the detritus from the previous night's pizza. Even though she was a shape-shifter, she still couldn't hide the reddened eyes, the tracks of tears running down her face… "Megan? What's wrong? Aren't you supposed to be in school now? And, where's Ragnar?" He immediately knew he'd said the exact wrong thing by the way her whole face seemed to crack, and she began weeping in earnest.

He came up to her and took her in his arms. "Hey. C'mon. What's wrong? I mean, I know you came back last night, all upset—okay, madder'n hell—about something. Did…did you two have a fight? Or something?"

For a moment, she just lay there, her head nestled against his chest, while she fought for control. "It….I….Oh, it was horrible! Dick, I…" She sniffled, and he got her a paper towel. She blew her nose into it, and tried to dry her tears. "It….He…oh, I don't know!"

"I heard that this 'Doomsday' thing got handled. Is Ragnar alright? He wasn't hurt, was he? I know he didn't report back in…"

More tears. "No, he didn't. A-and, I waited up for him, a-all night, b-but he…." But this only provoked a fresh round of sobbing.

Okay, this is bad, thought Dick. He was glad the others weren't in, especially Wally, who, true to his impulsive nature, usually just made matters worse. His intentions were good, though; it was just, sometimes he spoke or acted before he thought. Make that all the time. "Come on, come over here." And he led her over to the couch in front of the TV set. The fact that she was still in her robe and gown, at this hour of the morning, was in itself a worrisome sign, as she normally NEVER came out unless fully garbed either for school or duty. "Now. Settle down. That's it. Just lean back against the couch. Take your time." After a few minutes, she seemed to get herself under control. "Now, tell me what happened."

And so over the next few minutes, she related the whole story: her and Ragnar's discovery of the psychic booby-trap implanted in him by his geneticist parents, the purpose behind his going out to face the monster, his manipulation of her, her reaction to said manipulation, everything. "A-and, I, I waited up for him, so, so I could, you know…and we could…you know…I mean…." She leaned back, hands over her face, exhausted, her emotions wearing her out from the inside.

"Okay, hang on a minute." A quick call to the Watchtower: "J'onn, is Hal Jordan or John Stewart there?"

"Both are here. Do you need them?"

"Please." When Hal came on, Dick asked him what had happened the previous night, with the monster Doomsday's being sighted in the solar system.

"Yes, I wasn't there, but from all reports, your Gold Lantern and Miss Martian seemed to do an effective tag-team number on the monster. Only now, Ragnar's disappeared, and both the Corps and these New Gods are looking for him. So far, no-one's found him, or Doomsday's body."

"Do you suppose he could've gone back to his ship, back on that deserted world?"

"First place we checked. He's not there, nor has he been there. We dusted," Hal added, referring to the scanning process by which GL's and others determined whether or not a certain place had been revisited since the last time anyone had been there. This process differed, from case to case, but was usually fairly accurate with coarse data. "And I gather, from your questions, that he hasn't showed up there, either."

"Too right. Any way to trace him?"

"No. Ever since his ring changed like that, for some reason, it doesn't send out the same kind a signal, the same kind of energy signature, like yellow rings normally do. Any idea where he might could've gone?"

"Unknown, sir." But I have a personal interest in finding him. Behind him, that personal interest sneezed, coughed, and blew her nose again. She was calmer now, he judged, but….

After closing the connection, he went over and sat by Megan. "Okay, Megan. Now. Let's go over this nice and easy. Apparently, we aren't the only ones trying to find him. So…tell me everything, okay?"

…..

"Damel-zahn," muttered Metron, to himself. He was watching the latest readouts. They were anything but encouraging; the phenomenon they had labeled Vastator was slowly but surely making its way across the galaxy, and there didn't seem to be anything anyone could do to stop it.

If even gods can't stop something….

For now, they had a bit of a rest period, which he'd used to catch up on reports. Often, during these times, he found himself missing the support of Highfather Izaya. He and Highfather might not have always agreed on many things, but Metron had always appreciated the elder god's wisdom and leadership. But Highfather, along with Orion and many other of the New Gods, had been among the first to fall, not all that many years ago….

"What's that?" asked his partner.

"Damel-zahn. Or damel-zahm in some, depending upon the tense, context and usage." Metron sat back and rested his elbows on the armrests of his Mobius chair, letting his chin rest on his steepled fingers. "It refers to a concept more than a substantial thing, and not all cultures have it. Though it is sometimes used to refer to certain individuals. Only those cultures who have some knowledge or theory of parallel universes or alternate timelines have the term, or its equivalent. Damel-zahn refers to a turning point in one's world's timeline, a time when things could have taken a different path, so to speak. When events could have turned out a different way. A variation was known as the 'Butterfly Effect' on Earth."

"Earth," grunted his associate, "Never thought of Earthlings as having that much sophistication. They never developed time travel, did they? Not on any really workable basis. But I guess they had the concept." Earth had been one of the first of many star systems to fall before the literally inconceivable might of Vastator. "So. Why've you been thinking about that?"

Metron swiveled his Mobius chair to face his colleague. "If we could determine, at any one point in time, when a certain sequence of events could be altered so as to preclude our current plight…"

"I think I see what you're saying. Go back and stop all this before it actually gets started. But won't that cause a paradox in the time stream? Maybe make matters worse?"

Metron sighed and closed his eyes. "Making matters worse…is no longer a possibility."

"….a-and I told him I never wanted to see him again. I didn't mean it! Not like that!" Pause. "Well, maybe at the time I did, but.."

"I understand, Megan. We all say things we regret, sometimes. So you think he just took off, taking you at your word?"

Sniff. "Yeah. I mean, I guess, anybody else, they'd have…I don't know, kinda… something. Or at least not actually done anything, not gone off anywhere, and, and we…coulda worked things out. But, but how else was he supposed to take it? Oh, what could I have been thinking!"

"Megan, you're being too hard on yourself. Come here," he said, drawing her onto his shoulder. "Truth is, you were partially right. He did manipulate you. He might've had the best of reasons, but the ends don't always justify the means. So…try to look at it like that. It was…just an error in judgment. A hasty decision. But hasty decisions, mistakes…all those can be cleared up. They don't have to be forever. Maybe you just both owe each other an apology? See? That would fix things, wouldn't it? In fact, a good, heartfelt apology would fix everything." Pause. "Now, look, you're in no shape for school today anyway. You're a literal basket case; it's taking all your concentration just to stay in humanoid form. You get any worse, and I'll have to go find a five-gallon bucket to carry you back to your room in. Maybe two; you've put on a little weight lately." He waited. She didn't even glance at him. If even that didn't get a rise out of her…"So I'll call 'em and tell 'em you've got, oh, something. The flu, maybe. No, wait: we used that one two weeks ago. I'll think of something. You go on back to bed, and I'll contact J'onn and the GLs, maybe see if they can ask any of the other power ring types. Or L.E.G.I.O.N. Or the Darkstars….I mean, somebody's gotta have seen the guy. Okay?" He tilted her face up to his, smiled his bravest smile. "He can't stay hidden forever, especially if he's got Doomsday's body with him. That'd be kinda hard to conceal, wouldn't you think? He can't just slip it in a hip pocket or, or stick a lampshade on its head or something. So buck up. We will find him, somehow. Now, go on, try to get some sleep. 'Kay?"

She dropped her gaze. "Thanks, Dick." But once she'd gone, he allowed his expression to fade into one of doubt.

Space was vast. If Ragnar really didn't want to be found….

"I believe I have located a focal point, a damel-zahn, for our particular issue." Metron showed his scans to his friend. The graphs fluctuated wildly, but all converged on one particular point, not all that far in the past.

His partner grunted, over his shoulder, resting his hands on Metron's chair. "But what can we do with this? Can we really go back in time and, and, what? Change things? Make it so it didn't happen? How?"

"We not only can, we must; my projections indicate that the core worlds, the last hold-outs in this part of the universe, will fall within a week."

…..

Mt. Justice: "Hal? Nightwing. Look, are you guys sure you have no clue where Ragnar Rok could've gone? I know you need to find him for your own reasons, but…have you checked with anyone else? I mean, the Citadel, the Reach, other ringslingers, everybody?"

"We're in the process of doing so now, Nightwing. But I'm sensing something a bit more personal than a purely professional interest here."

Dick sighed. "Yeah. Seems…well, not to get into too much detail, Megan and Ragnar kinda got into it. Now she's convinced she's responsible for his absence. She's tearing herself up over it. And well, she may have a sort of a point. I mean, they did have an argument…"

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I don't know any more on the matter than I've already said. From what Kilowog said, they did have a bit of a spat. We're doing the best we can. And you don't know: he could turn up there. Maybe not at Mt. Justice, but somewhere on Earth. We can't seem to track that ring of his, so anything's possible."

"Thanks, Hal." He sighed. This wasn't helping, but he honestly didn't know what would.

Could this affair (and he winced at the word) get any more fubar'd?

The City of New Genesis: the influx of refugees had sorely tested the ability of the few remaining gods to place them all. They'd begun procedures to make the barren planet below them more habitable, but that required time, and Vastator wasn't giving them any.

They were also getting ready to attempt to move the entire world, but Metron privately doubted they'd have the time for that.

"Move along, come along, people," urged Metron's colleague, ushering frightened humanoids out of the boom tube, "just follow the guards there; they'll get you placed…"

One little boy was crying. "My snogrel! I had to leave him behind!" The others tried to shush him, but the lieutenant came over to him, knelt down, and placed a hand on the boy's shoulders. "Where is your snogrel? And what's his name?"

"He…he's back there…."The boy gestured back towards the still-open boom tube. "His name's Aoli."

"Aoli, got it." The giant stood up, and headed towards the boom tube, an expression of determination on his face. "I'll get 'im, kid." And without another word, he shouldered his way back to the endangered world.

Into the swirling eyes of the worst monster any universe had ever known. The boy's hopeful eyes followed the hero as he plunged back into the transuniversal nightmare they were all trying to get away from.

"Come on, kid," said one of the guards. "If anybody in all creation can save your pet, he's the guy."

Back on the endangered world: the figure stopped, getting his bearings. From what he'd gathered, the boy and his family had lived just a few blocks over. A good place to start.

The sky overhead bore that indescribable mélange of colors that always signaled the Enemy's initial attack. First the sky or space would be visibly affected, then—if all reports were accurate—reality itself began to go askew. Up was no longer up. It might be "down," or even some direction impossible for humanoid minds to comprehend.

Once that happened, the world, the star system itself, was lost. They had never recovered even so much as a pebble from a Taken zone. He had no desire to find out what happened to those beings trapped within such a zone. He had a hunch he really wouldn't like the answer.

C'mon, he thought. It's not over yet. He made his way through the rubble of the streets towards the city block he'd identified as being the boy's. His biggest fear was that he find the boy's pet already dead or….converted. (And converted into what? Nobody, not even Metron, was exactly sure. There weren't even any theories.) He wasn't sure how he'd explain that to the child.

But he and loss were old acquaintances…

His enormous strength enabled him to easily shift the broken walls aside, and he did so, throwing them behind him. There was no point in subtlety; and anyway, subtlety had never been one of his strong points. Nothing had ever stopped him before; a few measly tons of soft brick weren't about to now.

Underneath a pile of rubble was a small, long-eared animal, trapped and terrified by the strangeness all around. "I'm gonna hope you answer to the name Aoli," said the giant, fully aware that the animal couldn't talk back. "I told your boy I'd come get you. So c'mon, pal." He shifted another piece of wall, only to have it break in half. He elbowed it aside. "Let's blow this place. Neighborhood's going downhill, anyway." And he cradled the animal gently in his massive arms, turning back towards the boom tube aperture at a dead run…

Yes, he and loss were old acquaintances, indeed. But not today. Not this time.

…..

Miss Martian awoke, and was immediately conscious of her loss. How she wished she could wake up and just see his face….that same clueless, innocent face that had first attracted her attention. Just to see that blue face over her…or perhaps, even…beside her.

Or…maybe just not wake up at all. Just keep sleeping.

She shut her eyes against the pain. How could she go on like this? How much more could she take? She was no good to anybody like this.

She'd been infuriated with him for manipulating her. But hadn't she manipulated Conner? Hadn't she tried, in a way, to manipulate, affect others around her? Maybe that was why she had gotten so angry at him: it's hard to go from being the manipulator to being the one manipulated. He just hadn't used any psychic powers, that was the only real difference.

She didn't know all the particulars of his actions regarding Doomsday, but privately, she couldn't help but wonder: had he made off with Doomsday's body…

….or had Doomsday made off with his?

Surrounded by a black cloud of personal misery, she wandered back into the main rec room. Nightwing was not in evidence, but he'd left several computer programs compiling. Still sniffling, she made her way to the small kitchen. Just clean something, Megan. Or bake something. Clean something that's been baked, or bake something already cleaned. Or… It won't matter what. Just something to be doing something.

"*crackle* -on of New Genesis. Repeat: My name is Metron of New Genesis. Can anybody hear me?" What? What was this?

She moved back into the rec room. Immediately over the widescreen, a fuzzy holographic image seemed to be trying to congeal. It looked like a picture from an old cathode-ray television, distorted by static. "Repeat: My name is Metron of New Genesis. Can anybody hear me? Please respond if you can. It is a matter of utmost urgency."

Miss Martian hit the alarm button.

Soon, Nightwing, Aqualad, and Artemis had convened, along with her, all of them paying rapt attention to the voice from Somewhere Else. "Yes, we can hear you. Can you hear us?"

"*Crackle**static*…-sage repeats. I am Metron of New Genesis. Can anyone hear me? Please respond."

"We hear you, Metron of New Genesis. Can you hear us? This is Nightwing, the Team, Mt. Justice, Earth. Can you read us?"

"*Crackle*. Yes. I can read you. And it so happens you are the very ones I needed to contact. We…have something of a situation here, in what is to you the near future, and we've determined that one of the causes of our desperate conditions may lie within your purview. Are you able to receive files in this format?"

"Yes. Give me a moment to prepare an appropriate receptor…" Nightwing muttered, even as he readied a stand-alone computer to receive the files. Just because the image claimed to be Metron of New Genesis didn't mean it was Metron of New Genesis.

And, even it was, given their past associations, there was some understandable questions as to said party's true intentions.

"Alright. Send what files you have. But you mentioned 'desperate conditions.' Can you elaborate?"

"This transmission is being sent through time to what I calculate to be the correct year. If my projections are correct, your universe has less than twenty years left to live. Quite a bit less, in fact. Maybe less than a decade."

The team members looked at each other. Ten years?

"And, moreover, part of the crux of the cause for this universal extinction effect lies with you."

What?

"Ah, yes. I see the files being downloaded now. What else can you tell us about this…this event? You say we're the cause of it?"

"Not you personally. But the tides of probability swirl around you and yours, indicating that you in some measure have had a bearing on recent events. The files you are currently receiving will show the beginning of the source of our…problem. It coincides with your time, and there is indication that it appears to have taken place not all that far from you, though, be it admitted, that is a relative term. Lightyears are still lightyears, and I am handicapped by not knowing what you already know, or what has already transpired as of this receiving. However, from your questions and demeanor, it stands to reason that you are, at this point in time, in complete ignorance regarding our woes.

"As I said, this message is coming to you from what would be your future, approximately, if my calculations are correct, about twenty years into your future. In this time, the universe, indeed, the very cosmos itself, will then be in grave jeopardy."

"What's happening?"

"There is…something. It defies all logical and rational thought, and adamantly refuses to be analyzed in any useful manner. We have taken to calling it 'Vastator,' and it is threatening to overwhelm us all here, in your future." The projection of Metron's face grew very solemn. "Indeed, even though I very much hate to admit it, I would say the battle has already been lost. We are…simply waiting to be…claimed."

"Who or what is 'Vastator'?"

"Something that defies every law of physics or metaphysics I've ever encountered. You will see, in the files I've just sent you. It appears out of nowhere, and…consumes whole star systems, even whole galaxies."

"What about the Green Lan-*"

"All gone. Every color of Lantern has gone up against it, and has had no more effect than that of a droplet of water against a supernova. Oa…cannot even be found. Apokolips…Darkseid came to us, actually seeking help from us, albeit in his own self-serving way, when it first appeared. Perhaps that gives you an idea as to the…magnitude, not to mention the gravity, of the situation we face.

"I can do no more here. I would like to send my lieutenant—my friend—back to your time, in the hopes that, with his assistance, you and those who stand with you may be able to prevent this…this holocaust from taking place. I must remain here, and see to the…relocation of what few people we have been able to save. I've a theory, or maybe more of a hope: perhaps, somewhere in hypertime, there is a hidden worldline, a safe zone beyond at least the immediate range of Vastator. But I cannot do that from anywhere but here.

"My friend will be of great help to you, I believe. He is one of the greatest heroes of our age."

The team members looked at each other. This was a lot to take in, all at once. Just a few hours ago, the worst thing most of them were worried about was a pop quiz at school. This development gave new meaning to the term "comprehensive final." "We'll certainly appreciate his help, sir." With, of course, some perfectly reasonable precautions. Dick had learned the hard way that those who pose as friends were occasionally anything but.

"Excellent. I am sending him back with some files I told him shouldn't be sent through time. At least, that's my plan. I will actually be seeing to his transportation tomorrow at this time, but will set the controls so as to cause him to materialize there amongst you in ten of your minutes. Every second counts. And…I wish all of you well in this, our mutual endeavor."

"Alright. Wally! Initiate temporal reception protocols! Computer! We're going to be getting some company any second now. Command protocol over-ride delta phoenix: deactivate defense system. Also, ring up the Watchtower; tell whoever's on shift what's going on, and put 'em online. Anybody and everybody."

The face hanging in mid-air took on a sympathetic expression. "I understand your caution. But I cannot praise my ally enough. He is not only mighty and courageous, but also extremely loyal and, in the past, has proven to be more than willing to hurl himself in harm's way to save another. He has been invaluable to me…during this time of crisis. I hope he will be to you, too.

"I hope….that where gods have failed, you and he may triumph." And the image faded.

"Okay, people," Nightwing rose, already pointing out several team members. "Superboy, I need you…" He started to say, and Ragnar, but reminded himself just in time, "and M'gann to stand by, be here—at least I guess it's here—when this guy arrives. Megan? You, uh, up for this?" This might be just what she needed, he thought. Something to take her mind off things…

"Y-yes, Dick. At least, I will be." With a thought she changed her robe into her "work" clothes, the familiar red harness and modest blue skirt…(and which caused Dick to wonder: did M'gann normally wander about the complex actually naked, using her shape-shifting powers to give the illusion of wearing clothes? Not that it really mattered, right at that moment…)

Over by the wall, near the entrance to the cave that served as their front door, a form was materializing. A huge form, at least nine feet tall and almost as broad, a figure carrying a stack of datacubes…

…And every team member stepped back, staring in shock, mouths actually hanging open, as the massive figure stepped nimbly out of the time transporter's field of influence, and approached them.

"You must be Nightwing. Metron said you'd be needing these," said Doomsday, offering the cubes to Nightwing.

To be continued…