Now

The edge of the crater looms before them, the great mounds of dislodged earth and stones jutting far into the sky. The piles are coated in thick sheets of white ice, giving the cairn an almost ethereal quality. One of the team members lets out a low whistle while peering up at the icy spires.

"Looks like a palace."

Bruce surveys the formation; they will likely have to scale over the treacherous terrain to reach the point of impact. This will be a dangerous and taxing climb. His head begins to ache as he looks over the sharp, angular mass of ice and rock. Standing at the base of the monolithic slabs, he feels small and insignificant.

*More like a fortress.*

3 Months Earlier

"Are you sure you're up for this?"

Clark grins at Bruce, "Sure. Quit worrying."

Bruce's face fails to return the smile as he shakes his head, "Never."

He seats himself in front of a computer screen while Clark continues to poke about the various items stored in the subterranean cavern. He looks up from the monitor to see Clark picking up a leather bandoleer from a table.

"Please don't touch that."

Clark gingerly sets the belt back down, as if expecting it to bite him.

"Is it dangerous?"

"No, just very old, and expensive."

"Oh, sorry."

"You're fine."

Bruce looks back to the screen, the keyboard clacking away as he brings up a file to review.

"Remember, this is just supposed to be a test. Out to Mars and back, and if you feel any discomfort, no matter how small, you turn around immediately."

"Yeah, yeah. Just to Mars and back. But what if I get hungry, should I pack a snack?"

"Can you try to take this seriously?"

Clark holds his hands up in mock surrender, "Sorry."

His hands drop to his sides before snaking their way into his pants pockets as he continues, "Just a little nervous, I guess."

Bruce leans back into his chair, turning all his attention to his friend, "Nervous, about what, exactly?"

"I don't know, really. I guess I'm wondering what the point of all this is, you know? How does this help Barry?"

Bruce taps a few keys before flipping the screen around on it's mount, angling the monitor for Clark to view it. Bruce points to the image displayed.

A wavy line appears across the screen.

"This is a visualization of the signal present in your pod."

With a few more keystrokes, the image flickers.

The line is joined by a second, identical line, slightly offset below the original.

"This is a cross-reference of a signal that I suspect originated somewhere in the vicinity of Alpha Centauri."

Clark leans forward, studying the image, "So, it's the same wavelength?"

"Similar enough that there's reason to suspect it could be from the same original source. Namely, your home planet."

"You mean there's more people like me out there?"

Bruce frowns, he never has liked being the bearer of bad news.

"Not necessarily, no. But if there's any chance that someone could help us with Barry's problem, it would be the people who were able to create the technology that brought you here safely. We simply don't have any better options."

"So, we're hoping to find aliens that will help us. Did I get that right?"

Bruce sighs, "I don't put much stock in hope."

Now

The body lies in the center of the massive depression, a splotch of bright color among the dreary expanse of white. The team moves quickly, the medic taking charge as they rush to render possible aid.

Bruce can see in the doctor's eyes that there is no need for haste, there is nothing to be done. His friend's body is broken and twisted, his face bloodied nearly beyond recognition. The medic calls the time of day, reverently lowering the limp, cold arm to the ground.

"12:17 AM."

Superman is dead.

Bruce's gaze is drawn to the neckline of the iconic blue and red suit, where the edge of a crumpled paper is visible. With a trembling hand, he extracts the page from the dead man's costume, feeling the color drain from his face as he stares at the star chart printed on the glossy sheet.

3 Months Earlier

"What's all this?"

Clark looks up in confusion as Bruce slides a small stack of photographs across the polished wood table.

"A road map," Bruce pauses. Alfred appears at his side, proffering a platter of aromatic teacups.

Bruce takes one and waits while his aide turns to Clark, who graciously accepts the steaming drink and smiles, sipping at his beverage. He sets his cup on the table in front of him as his friend thanks Alfred.

"Much appreciated, this is amazing."

Alfred gives a tight smile, "Of course it is, sir, it's from my personal tea reserve."

Bruce hides a smile, lifting his own beverage to take in the delicate aroma, admitting to himself that it is quite nice. He nods in thanks as Alfred leaves the room, closing the ornately carved door gently behind him. Bruce turns his attention back to Clark.

"We've theorized that without the friction of Earth's atmosphere, you may be able to accelerate indefinitely. Eventually you could even surpass the speed of light. Theoretically."

"So, if I fly fast enough, could I go back in time?"

Bruce shakes his head, "No. Relativity doesn't work that way."

He sets his cup down and clasps his hands together, leaning forward to speak to his friend.

"I'm not sure exactly what is going to happen out there, but I do believe that if you're dead set on helping Barry, this is our best shot."

Clark leans back into the overstuffed chair, contemplating the coming task. The two sit in silence for a moment longer before the younger man speaks again.

"So, what's with the photos, again?"

"Star charts. They're numbered. I've had the computers generate images of how the stars will likely appear on your journey."

Flipping through the small stack, Clark chuckles.

"So you circled the right star in red, huh? Kind of reminds me of printing out directions for a road trip."

"Why would you ever print them out instead of just using your phone?"

"Bruce, I'm from Kansas. There's never enough signal to trust your phone."

The two share a laugh before settling back into quiet contemplation, watching the roaring blaze in the Wayne Manor sitting room fireplace.

Now

The rest of the team is gearing back up. Superman's body has been strapped to the lightweight aluminum sled, and the group is anxious to be under way. The crater feels alien and unwelcoming. In fact, the entire continent has felt almost hostile to human life since the adventurers arrived.

Bruce is startled as a hand lightly taps his shoulder. He looks up, into the face of the expedition leader. The bearded man motions over his shoulder with a mitten-clad hand.

"We found a route to get him out, we'll be leaving shortly."

Bruce nods in acknowledgment, turning his eyes back to the page in his hands. Muttering to himself about spoiled celebrities, the man moves to rejoin the group. The star chart is crumpled and torn in places, and the image has been damaged by the heat of Clark's re-entry. The handwritten '1' in the upper corner is still visible, and Bruce can still make out the tiny speck that is Alpha Centauri, circled in red.

He turns the sheet around in his hands, and once again feels a chill not associated with the frigid winds. The crude image drawn on the paper seems all the more threatening for it's brutal simplicity.

Eight black dots are arranged in a line from left to right, followed by a circle ringed with triangles. The obvious depiction of Earth's solar system is marred by a smear of red. The bloody mark encircles the third planet from the simple sun.