Two decades of recklessness and twenty of cleaning up. That was a good rough estimate to Lara, as she identified pieces of debris and tagged them for destruction or retrieval for recycling. They'd spent too long filling space with vehicles and abandoning them, only realizing after costly disasters that their desire to send more vehicles up was outpacing gravity's ability to drag them to a planet's surface, burning them in the process.
As the scanners found the junk, she matched them to her databases, pulling up a description that told her its component parts and origin. If it was worthwhile, it would be brought back to Krypton intact, if not, it would be sent into their solar system's star.
She'd sent the scanners fairly far out, which meant less debris and more time to think between decisions, which was a mixed blessing as far as she was concerned.
They'd finally given up hope of a child of their own. She laughed to herself as she wondered if her ratio of two decades of recklessness to twenty of cleaning up applied to their situation. She and Jor-El could be sure of a healthy child only if they chose to modify its genetic codes. She and her husband had so much in common, including remnants of genetic disruption from the two decades of the all-out war 130 years before their own birth. Neither she nor he wanted genetic modification.
She tagged the remnant of an ancient satellite for destruction and sank her chin on her hands again. As far as they were concerned, nature and natural selection were better than tampering, even if it meant less control. They didn't look down on the Mods, the ones who had chosen genetic modification or whose parents had--well, Lara didn't, Jor, on the other hand, had a particular kind of snort he reserved for talking about them in private--but they themselves were firmly Nats. But somehow, it was different when it meant choices about their own child. Or lack thereof.
The next object to come within the sensor range wasn't even close to anything in the database, but the computer had immediately classified it as of artificial origin. Oh, well, at least it was something else to think about. She tracked its progress and concluded that, making allowances for its somewhat erratic path, it was on a trajectory for Krypton. Definitely something else to think about.
She knew she should notify somebody, but really, wouldn't they prefer it if she brought it up with more information attached? She justified that easily, and sent a pod to intercept and scan it more fully.
It wasn't at all well-designed, by Kryptonian standards; the shape was inefficient and the materials, even though she couldn't even identify most of them, were primitive. Easy enough, given that, to scan the interior.
She blinked rapidly. It couldn't be a life form inside! Somebody would have to be desperate to entrust their life to that feeble kind of vessel. Her mind was racing with questions as she magnified the scan.
It was definitely a life form. It looked for all the world like a child. A child surely no older than three. She wondered why she felt a sudden fierce protectiveness for the child. Perhaps it was its defenselessness, alone and so precarious. She wanted to see it. She wanted to hold it, to talk to it.
Holding her breath, she carefully attached the intercepting pod to the fragile vessel, terrified that the beam connecting the two would be enough to rip apart the tiny thing and its inhabitant. It would take a few hours to bring it safely to the surface, and without even knowing exactly why, she merely labeled it as unclassified material as she directed the pod to bring it to a storage facility.
She couldn't wait to tell Jor about this.
***
A/N:
Yes, I know that Kryptonians wouldn't use terms like hours and natural selection and so on, so just pretend that this has been run though an incredibly sophisticated translation device, 'k? :-)
As the scanners found the junk, she matched them to her databases, pulling up a description that told her its component parts and origin. If it was worthwhile, it would be brought back to Krypton intact, if not, it would be sent into their solar system's star.
She'd sent the scanners fairly far out, which meant less debris and more time to think between decisions, which was a mixed blessing as far as she was concerned.
They'd finally given up hope of a child of their own. She laughed to herself as she wondered if her ratio of two decades of recklessness to twenty of cleaning up applied to their situation. She and Jor-El could be sure of a healthy child only if they chose to modify its genetic codes. She and her husband had so much in common, including remnants of genetic disruption from the two decades of the all-out war 130 years before their own birth. Neither she nor he wanted genetic modification.
She tagged the remnant of an ancient satellite for destruction and sank her chin on her hands again. As far as they were concerned, nature and natural selection were better than tampering, even if it meant less control. They didn't look down on the Mods, the ones who had chosen genetic modification or whose parents had--well, Lara didn't, Jor, on the other hand, had a particular kind of snort he reserved for talking about them in private--but they themselves were firmly Nats. But somehow, it was different when it meant choices about their own child. Or lack thereof.
The next object to come within the sensor range wasn't even close to anything in the database, but the computer had immediately classified it as of artificial origin. Oh, well, at least it was something else to think about. She tracked its progress and concluded that, making allowances for its somewhat erratic path, it was on a trajectory for Krypton. Definitely something else to think about.
She knew she should notify somebody, but really, wouldn't they prefer it if she brought it up with more information attached? She justified that easily, and sent a pod to intercept and scan it more fully.
It wasn't at all well-designed, by Kryptonian standards; the shape was inefficient and the materials, even though she couldn't even identify most of them, were primitive. Easy enough, given that, to scan the interior.
She blinked rapidly. It couldn't be a life form inside! Somebody would have to be desperate to entrust their life to that feeble kind of vessel. Her mind was racing with questions as she magnified the scan.
It was definitely a life form. It looked for all the world like a child. A child surely no older than three. She wondered why she felt a sudden fierce protectiveness for the child. Perhaps it was its defenselessness, alone and so precarious. She wanted to see it. She wanted to hold it, to talk to it.
Holding her breath, she carefully attached the intercepting pod to the fragile vessel, terrified that the beam connecting the two would be enough to rip apart the tiny thing and its inhabitant. It would take a few hours to bring it safely to the surface, and without even knowing exactly why, she merely labeled it as unclassified material as she directed the pod to bring it to a storage facility.
She couldn't wait to tell Jor about this.
***
A/N:
Yes, I know that Kryptonians wouldn't use terms like hours and natural selection and so on, so just pretend that this has been run though an incredibly sophisticated translation device, 'k? :-)