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Supergirl: The Elegy of Stars
Chapter 2: Overture
"Day. Night. Light. Dark. Sol. Rao. Human. Kryptonian."
Her adoptive father had once said that talking to oneself was the first sign of madness. When she'd asked him what the second sign was, he'd wryly responded that the second sign was talking to him.
There'd been a third sign of madness, she recalled, but it escaped her memory. Here in this cell, surrounded by concrete walls and an iron door, cut off from any light bar the red LEDs that shone dimly above her, the memories of her old life steadily became one with the dark.
Day and night had no meaning for her in this place. Once a day, every day, a plate of slop would come through the flap in the door before her. Too small for her to squeeze through (she'd tried) just large enough for a small tray with a small bowl of brown liquid, and if she behaved well, a slice of bread. The food of Earth (or at least this country) had never come close to that of Krypton, but compared to the food she'd once ate, and the drinks she'd once supped (even now, she dreamed of hot chocolate), it was comparing sand and salt to roast rondor.
"Third sign," she whispered to herself in the gloom. "Third sign of madness. Third sign…third sign was…"
She didn't know. By her estimate, she'd learnt the third sign maybe a decade ago – a Sol decade, not a Kryptonian one, for the years of her homeworld, referred to as cycles, were shorter than those of Earth.[1]
When the man who had become her father had told her what the third sign of madness was, she'd laughed…ticking had followed…someone had kissed her (father, mother, she could no longer recall), and then they'd had a meal far better than the ones she received in this fortress of solitude, deep beneath the wastes of Siberia.
Some things she remembered. Some things she did not. And the list of things she did remember grew shorter by the day.
"Third sign," she whispered, as she leant against the back door of the cell. "Third sign…"
She'd long since realized that struggling to remember was still preferable to forgetting. Preferable to doing nothing at all within this Hadean prison.
Had this been a normal day, she would have spent it struggling to remember, before entering her dreams. That realm of thought that was her own, where what she beheld was clearer than any memory.
This wasn't a normal day.
She heard voices in the corridor beyond her jail – men's voices, as they always were. Hard voices. The only voices she'd heard for a decade. Her super-hearing, while diminished, had never been fully eradicated. None of her powers had, which was why once a week, every week, she was cuffed, taken out of her cell, and subjected to whatever tests the facility's scientists had cooked up. Usually nothing but a blood sample, and with her body now as frail as any human's, the needle went in without resistance.
Other times, the tests were more…elaborate.
"Put the subject in the cell opposite," a voice said.
"Opposite the alien? Is that a good idea, keeping them so close?"
"Orders from up top. Besides, we're in the maximum security wing. Safest place for the bitch to be."
She leant back against the wall, and held herself tight, trying not to glance at the single mattress and pillow that formed her bed. She'd learnt to endure the tests, the torments, the abuses. Endured them because she'd learnt that any resistance would make things worse, and each of her attempts had been more pitiful than the last.
"Light. Sun. Sol. Rao," she whispered, closing her eyes, rocking back and forth like a child. "Dark. Dark. No, night. Right. Might."
There was a 'clang' from a cell opposite her, followed by silence. She shivered – often, the worst sound of all was the absence of it.
Go, she begged, be it to God, or Rao, or anyone who might listen. Go. Don't mind me. Just go. Nothing to offer you. Have nothing left. I-
"How long has the alien even been in there?"
"Ten years. Eleven, soon."
"Bloody hell. Hey, is it true that she's identical to a human?"
"Please," she whimpered, rocking back and forth. Begging, praying that the guards would just move on.
"Physically identical. Same tits, same hole, if you know what I mean."
"Same hole?"
"Yep. Pretty dry though."
She couldn't help but let out a cry – soft enough that she doubted the guards heard it, but she couldn't be sure. In her moment of madness, she bit her arm, hard enough to draw blood…red blood…kryptonian blood…the same blood that still stained the end of the mattress where they'd…where she'd been…
"Come on, it's lunchtime."
She kept rocking back and forth, though her teeth loosened from her arm as the footsteps faded. She looked at her arm, the blood spilling out from her bite marks like water moving across rocks, as Eiu had across Lurvan over a decade ago.
In time, it would heal. If she was lucky, her arm would be without a scar. If she was unlucky, then it would be one more scar on her arm that was filled with marks where the needles had gone in. Scars that linger like the one further down on her body that she knew would never heal.
Her captors understood that she drew power from Earth's sun. It was why they kept treating her to barrages of radiation that simulated the wavelengths of a red sun, while also taking blood samples - an attempt to recreate her powers while minimizing the risk of her regaining them herself. A fear that was well founded, she reflected, because if she got them back, she'd run through this prison, break the necks of every guard she could find, and crush the skulls of every scientist.
"Hello?" whispered a voice.
But that would never happen. Could never happen. She was dozens of metres below the earth, bereft of sunlight or hope. She'd spent more time in this prison than anywhere else in her life, be it Krypton or with-
"Hello?" the voice repeated.
"Go away," she groaned, using the language that she had once used on a distant world. It was speaking in Kryptonese, so she knew she was going mad. Krypton was gone. Her people were gone. She-
"You're kryptonian too?"
..stopped rocking back and forth and looked at the door. That barrier which kept her contained, that which severed her from the infiltrations of hope. Sanity demanded that she ignore the voice. Desperation however…well, sometimes, desperation overruled sanity.
Her breath as slow as the heartbeat of the world. She rested her ear against the door.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
It might have been for naught, she told herself. Her enhanced hearing allowed her to detect voices from beyond the door, that didn't guarantee that the prisoner on the other side could hear her in turn. Maybe if she shouted, but then the guards would hear. And if the guards heard, they'd come in with their batons, and shields, and they'd beat her, and then, if they were particularly vindictive, they would…well, they'd done things…
"Hello?" whispered the voice again.
"Go away," she groaned.
"Can't. I'm in a cell."
She said nothing.
"Do you have a name?"
Her eyes lingered on the light above, its glow a mocking red. "I'm not talking to my imagination."
"But I'm real."
"You're not real."
"I am real."
"You're not real. You can't be." No-one real could speak my language.
The voice sighed. "We can go back and forth like drangs[2] caught in mating, or we-"
"You're not real!"
The voice was silent for a good sixty seconds. It was sixty seconds that she welcomed yet loathed alike. Welcomed because she knew it would do her no good to embrace insanity. Loathed, because insanity was preferable to reality.
"What is your name?" asked the voice eventually.
In the end, insanity won out. "Kara," whispered the only gene-scion of Zor-El.
"Kara," said the voice. "Kara…I know that name…"
Kara turned her attention to the door, hope sprouting within her. Many on Krypton knew of the only daughter of Zor-El and Alura In-Ze. Mostly as a disappointment, a blemish upon the House of El, but if there was another kryptonian here…
"Kara…a nice name."
Kara snorted. 'Nice.' The word had no meaning in this hellhole.
"How long have you been in here, Kara?"
She leant against the back of the door and looked upwards. The LEDs cast their red glow over the cell. Over her pale frame, over her white fatigues (the words "САМЫЙ ОПАСНЫЙ" written on them)[3] over the mattress, still stained with liquid the same colour as the lights above.
"Kara?" the voice repeated. "How did you come to be here?"
In a way, she welcomed the lights' glow. A red light above her, like Rao. The skies of Krypton a deep red – warm, as only heart and hearth could be. The scent of cinnamon and salt upon the wind, as a gentle breeze blew through Argo City. In a way, the red light reminded her of home.
But then, Krypton was no longer her home. Earth was, and had been for the majority of her life.
"It's a long story," Kara whispered.
"I have the time to listen."
There was an edge to the voice that made Kara squirm.
Nevertheless, even if she indulged in madness, she began to speak.
Kara of the House of El didn't want to die.
The problem was that looked very likely to happen right now. As she sat in her pod, her child's eyes staring at its interface, she could see this planet's atmosphere weren't conducive to her species, and ergo, her chances of dying a slow, painful death had gone up astronomically.
The display marked this planet as Sol III – small watery world, much cooler than Krypton. Its star was brighter, warmer, younger, yes, but it was the third rather than second planet from its sun, and in the end, distance was the dominant factor. Compared to her homeworld, its atmosphere had less CO2, a similar amount of nitrogen, and over 10% more oxygen.
Too much, by her readings.
Even in her pod, she could feel the gravitational difference – Sol III was only half the size of Krypton and possessed 30% of the mass, which meant that it had 0.3gs of Kryptonian gravity. Stay here for long enough, and her muscles would start to atrophy – like living on one of Krypton's ancient lunar colonies, before the advent of a-grav tech.
If nothing else, the lower gravity meant she might have some fun jumping around if she chose to exit. However, doing that would doom herself to a very painful, very drawn-out death.
For now at least, and ideally for as long as possible, Kara Zor-El wanted to keep breathing.
She sniffed as she recalled what her tutor had taught her about biology. Like most Kryptonian fauna, her species had evolved the ability to take in solar radiation to nourish themselves, under the pallid light of a red dwarf star. Not enough to offset the need for food and water, but enough to reduce the requirements for such things, and on an arid world like Krypton, orbiting a star in the last stages of its life, its species needed every evolutionary advantage they could get.
She'd learnt from her tutor that, in theory, being exposed to the radiation of a yellow star would give her body more strength and energy than it knew what to do with. Strength, speed, stamina, even flight without the need for an anti-gravity belt.
Of course, theory was nothing next to practice, and the reason why kryptonians had never tried to live under a yellow star was that the exposure would almost certainly kill them, and if not, drive them mad with pain. Like water being poured down someone's throat –your thirst would be quenched, but then you started drowning.
Of course, as he'd explained, there were uncertainties. Maybe a kryptonian child born under a yellow sun could adapt, maybe a soldier of the Warrior Guild would have the mental and physical fortitude to turn such energies to their advantage, but for the most part, any stars other than red ones were outside her kind's purview.
Not really an issue, as red dwarfs were the most common type of star in the universe, so even during the Golden Age of Expansion, her kind had come to reside under Rao-type stars more often than not, before the colonies collapsed. When asked, her tutor (a Rankless man named Zaltar) had stated that the Age of Expansion had been a colossal mistake in kryptonian history – lives and resources spent for no gain save pride.
Krypton was paradise. Why would its children ever seek to leave it? Even a Rankless man such as himself, indentured to the House of El in her family's citadel in Argo, had a far better life on Krypton than any other being amongst the stars.
By her perception of time, that had been two cycles ago, Kara recalled. When the Council was telling them to ignore the groundquakes and eruptions. Two cycles before her father's brother was excommunicated, before General Zod's short-lived rebellion was put down, and the general himself executed.
A fate that was too good for him, she reflected. Execution was rare on Krypton, but painless. Nothing like being burnt alive as an entire world collapsed. That day her life had ended. Torn out of her bed, not even allowed to find Stree-Kee, forced into this pod despite her wails and protests. Sent out to the planet Rado - a planet that was the nearest inhabitable world to her own.
The problem was, she most certainly was not on Rado.
Which meant that her parents had made a mistake, or…
No. They couldn't have. Her parents were members of the Thinker Guild – brilliant even by the standards of their species. The House of El was first among equals, its genes shaped by millennia of cultivated bloodlines. Alura In-Ze and her husband were the kindest, smartest people she knew, so…
She sniffed once more as their faces filled her mind's eye. Five cycles of memories ended in an instant. But all the tears of Krypton could not make the desert bloom, and like any child of scientists, destined to be one herself (despite her many inferiorities, hence the need for a tutor in the first place), she approached the problem methodically.
Am I still destined?
There was no scientific evidence for destiny, she reminded herself, any more than there was a chemical formula for love. Her species had long since moved from such practices, the scandal of her uncle and cousin notwithstanding…now dead. Gone, like the rest of them.
Steadying her breathing, she checked the navicomputer, instructing it to trace the pod's route from Rao to Sol. Her chin rested on her left hand as her right played the interface as one might a bachanus – she played the music, and the result was syncopated.
The computer provided no answer. Her memories, however…
"What happened?" asked the voice.
Kara remained silent – if the voice was a figment of her imagination, it should already know the answer. If it wasn't, however…
Even then, how could she have explained it? The pod's display had told her that nothing was wrong with its phantom drive. The navicomputer had explained that it had gone off-course from Krypton - travelled the intended distance of 2000 light-cycles, but in the wrong direction. Having emerged from the Phantom Zone, it had set course for the nearest habitable world (in the broadest definition of the sense), performing one last emergency jump to put her inside the Sol system, after which, sub-light travel was used, taking her to the small blue-white planet that orbited this distant star.
But what had driven the pod off-course in the first place was something that the navicomputer had no answer to.
Her memories, however, did. The moment of transit between real-space and the Phantom Zone. That which came before her…between her…
The golden sphere. A colour not dissimilar to this world's sun.
It had been a fraction of time. So small that most minds would have not been able to comprehend it. But she had been outside the sphere…within the sphere…beyond the sphere…
And then?
Darkness.
Silence.
Sol.
Light.
Golden light.
And therefore?
Death.
Kara screamed, hitting the pod's steelglass to no effect. Either Zaltar had been wrong about the properties of a yellow star, or more likely, the pod was doing its job in shielding her from its radiation.
She screamed. She cursed. Her parents would have sent her to bed without supper for using "language fit for a daxamite," but what did it matter anymore? Her parents were dead. Her family was dead, her noble house consigned to dust and fire. Her planet dead, her species dead.
Dead, dead, dead.
She screamed one last time before she drew up a map of Sol and its surrounding star systems, cross-referencing those with red suns, and those with habitable planets. As common as the former were, the rest weren't. Over 400 billion stars resided within this galaxy, but the number of inhabitable worlds were but a fraction of that – made all the rarer thanks to the depredations of species like apokoliptians.
Still, there was life to be found, and where there was life, there was hope. And did not her house carry its sigil? The black skinsuit that she wore, did it not carry its glyph?
Rado was obviously out of range, but in this corner of the galaxy, there were still a number of potential options.
"Computer," she whispered, "please plot a route to Arterius."
"Insufficient energy," it responded.
She tried not to panic – it was a miracle this Dioclenius-class pod had made the trip at all. Last she remembered, these machines hadn't been used for 1939 cycles, mere cyrangars[4] before the end of the Golden Age of Expansion. Over the last thousand cycles or so, her species had mostly been confined to its home system.
Her uncle and brother had always loved tinkering with spacecraft, even if the Council of Five had never reversed the Voice of Rao's edict. Much as she loathed Zod, the general had not been wrong in pointing out the Council's inanity.
Still, Zod was dead, as were his executioners. She, however, was not.
Not yet.
"Computer, please plot a route to Maaldoria."
"Insufficient energy."
Kara steadied her breathing. "Computer, please…please cross-reference fuel supplies with nearby red stars, factoring in planets with atmospheres compatible with kryptonian physiology."
It took one thrib of computation to deliver a number that was one less.
"Computer," she whispered, her hand trembling as she ran it over the interface. "Please locate compatible…"
She trailed off. The chance of Sol III having an energy supply compatible with kryptonian technology was astronomical. Its indigenous species was still in the Fossil Fuel Age last she checked her filmbook, and to her knowledge, they hadn't even mastered cold fusion, let alone FTL technology. And even if they did have the means of recharging the pod's phantom drive, what were the chances they'd provide it rather than shoot her on sight?
Heart thumping against her chest, her eyes stinging with salt worthy of her homeworld's seas, Kara's hands danced along the console. "Computer, please establish hyperlight communications. Parameters: kryptonian transceiver."
"Establishing..."
There was no way the native species (he-mans? Howens? She'd never done well in xeno-anthropology) would be able to pick up the transmission, so she had no qualms against using the pod's transmitter. She set it to wide-beam, so that it would cover every angle within this hemisphere.
"Link established."
"I…" She pressed the TRANSMIT button as if her life depended on it. "I…my name is Kara. I…need help."
She kept pressing because her life did depend on it.
"Can anyone hear me? I'm Kara Zor-El, the planet Krypton, it…" She tried to keep her throat from trembling too much. "Krypton is gone, and I…I'm alone."
There was no answer. She gave it a dendar.
Five. Ten.
"Is anyone out there?" she whispered. "This is Kara Zor-El, I…I want to go home, I…I need help, I want…I want my…"
Fifteen. Twenty.
"Please," she sobbed. "I can't be the only one left."
Thirty. Forty.
Fifty. Sixty.
There was no answer save the silence of the universe. Maybe they couldn't hear her. Maybe they didn't care. Maybe Sol III was too provincial, maybe no-one gave a damn about a lost kryptonian. You didn't reach the apex of galactic civilization without making enemies along the way. By now, much of this part of the galaxy was no doubt aware of Krypton's destruction, and some species would be rejoicing.
"This is Kara Zor-El," she whispered, still pressing the button. "I want…I want my mummy…"
She couldn't help it. She began to sob. She took her finger off the button as she wrapped both arms around her tiny body, began to roll back and forth.
On another world, in another life, her father would tuck her into bed. Her mother would sing her a lullaby. Tell her that there was nothing to worry about – that the quakes were anomalies. That there was nothing in the universe that could possibly harm them. On Krypton, they were safe. They were in utopia. She would grow up free from disease, never want for anything, be able to do anything.
Lies, as she now realized. But lies had a comfort of their own. Lies were preferable to the truth.
ALERT. ALERT.
For instance, it was the truth of the matter that the pod's atmosphere was compromised. The air of Sol III was seeping in, and while the difference was minor for now, give it a few rhels, she'd end up choking to death.
It was the truth of the matter, as Kara realized, was that she couldn't stop it from happening. The Dioclenius-class pod was a one-and-done type of ship, to get a kryptonian from A to B, where "B" would have the means of providing proper shelter and repair.
It was also the truth of the matter that she couldn't stay in here. That according to the pod, there was a single dwelling about two macrons[5] away, that might have a means of providing shelter.
Means that were slim. Barely enough shelter from the sun, no guarantee it could change its atmosphere, practically no chance it could simulate Krypton's.
"Computer," she stammered, "estimate planetary day length, and time to apex."
The computer gave her the answer – she'd crash landed in the morning (or at least, morning on this part of Sol III). The sun was rising, and wouldn't begin to set for over four rhels.[6] Meanwhile, the atmosphere of the pod would become dangerously compromised in less than half of that time. And Sol III's day length was approximately 36 rhels – being tidally locked with its star, Krypton didn't experience days per se, but Kara had been studying astrophysics since the age of three, and knew that while 36 rhels was quite fast by most planets' standards, it was still not nearly short enough.
"Damn it," she whispered, hitting the glass. "Damn it damn it damn it!"
Her mother would have told her off for swearing, but her mother wasn't here anymore. Tears escaped her eyes as she caught her reflection in the pod's steelglass.
Brown eyes. Black hair. A small chubby face, good only for pinching (or in Zeta-Rhee's case, punching). It was hard to believe the gene-sculptors hadn't messed up somewhere, given how much she despised her own body at times. How little she looked like her parents – tall, graceful, strong, not to mention more intelligent than she could ever hope to be. But now?
Gone. All of them. Leaving only her, the runt of her family, as the last kryptonian in existence.
If the universe had a sense of humour it was a cruel one.
Wiping her eyes, Kara peered beyond the glass - at the strange trees (green leaves! Nothing like the reds and browns of her homeworld), at the white sand, at the eerie blue sky and white clouds, and the blazing orb beyond both, rising from the east – so bright that even inside the pod, she was forced to shield her eyes when she looked at it.
If she went outside, she'd struggle to breathe, and would be exposed to dangerous amounts of radiation. If she waited in the pod, she'd be forced to leave when the sun was even higher. She'd done hypothetical exercises similar to this numerous times in her studies, but never in a billion cycles had she thought she'd actually have to apply such lessons.
Chance of death, or high likelihood of death.
Really, it wasn't even a question.
She took out the pod's survival kit, attached a wrist-pad, and programmed a heading to the indigenous structure. No breather, she noted bitterly, let alone an atmo-suit. She assumed that her parents had planned this emergency trip long ago (perhaps as soon as the groundquakes had started), but had been caught offguard as to how sudden Krypton's final destruction was. The skinsuit she was wearing would provide her some protection, help regulate her body's functions, but it would provide her insufficient protection against Sol III's sun, and only slightly more protection against any of Sol III's native fauna.
Fauna that she realized she knew nothing about.
At the very least, she could try running – sun or no sun, Sol III's lower gravity would make it easier to move.
In theory.
She took a breath – in part to savour an atmosphere like home, one that would be forever lost to her. In part because in doing so, she found it easier not to cry.
"Begin hatch ejection process," she said.
"Confirm request."
"…confirmed."
She waited as the computer began its countdown.
Waited to take first breath of this alien world.
And feel the lacerations of a cruel sun upon her skin.
"And then what happened?" asked the voice.
Kara smiled bitterly. "I was a five year old girl on a hostile planet, breathing a toxic atmosphere, and moving under a sun that was poisoning me. What do you think happened?"
Kara screamed as she fell into the white sand.
It was cool to her skin, but it couldn't stop the burning. The endless, excruciating burning as Sol beat down upon her.
It felt like she was afire. She could feel her skin being stripped away. Saw red patches spreading across its exposed parts, like some kind of disease (even if diseases were only something she'd read about in the histories). And even beneath her skinsuit, the sensation remained.
The air wasn't too bad – if anything, Sol III's richer atmosphere was helping her to keep going. And the lower gravity made movement easier – like swimming in water, or dancing in air.
But there was still the burning. The ravaging of her body. Sweat and tears mixed upon her face. Her entire suit was drenched in sweat – even the most basic skinsuit such as the one she was wearing was designed to help regulate her body functions, keeping her cool in heat, warm in cold, rejuvenate her epidermis, and even act as basic protection against weaponry. With a proper atmo-suit, she'd have had nothing to worry about in regard to Sol's radiation.
But in this star war, her suit was failing. Her body was failing. Even beneath the black suit, absorbing the sunlight rather than reflecting it, she could feel her skin peeling away.
Her cells changing. Dying faster than they could be rejuvenated.
She struggled to her feet, but such was the pounding in her head, she fell back down, welcoming the cool touch of the white sand. Welcoming the solitude.
Like so many things in her life, Kara's joy was tinged with disappointment as the solitude was broken, for upon one of the trees, a strange alien creature rested upon its branches. One Kara looked up at in dread, then curiosity.
It had two eyes, a strange pointy mouth, a pair of legs ending in small talons. It vaguely reminded her of a crystalbird – diamond-based lifeforms born of the Crystal Mountains according to ancient myth – but this creature, this not-crystal-bird, was, well, not made of crystal. It appeared to be made of white…stuff. Some kind of plumage that covered its body, like a thanagarian's wings, yet not ending there.
And as strange as all of that was, none of it compared to the sound that escaped its beak. A noise that assaulted Kara's ears, be it music or laughter.
It was the most bizarre alien organism she'd ever seen. And had she been in circumstances more benign than these, she might have taken the time to study it.
Or would have if its wings didn't carry it away in the hyper-oxygenated air. Impressive for such a small alien to be able to fly on such tiny things. Maybe it was due to this world's lower gravity. Or maybe it too had the ability to draw power from the sun.
The sun that was killing her.
Groaning, weeping, she crawled across the white sand. Inch by agonizing inch. Her skin didn't fit her bones. She was a puppet without strings, a corpse doing naught but shamble forward.
Think of something, she told herself. Anything…
In desperation, she recalled a particularly boring lesson in Extraplanetary History and first contact protocols. She would almost certainly encounter Sol III's indigenous lifeforms (right now, they were perhaps her only hope, as depressing a thought as that was), and if she recalled correctly, they'd yet to make first contact themselves.
Not necessarily a problem – Zaltar had explained that only 24% of first contact scenarios in the galaxy ended in violence, though that figure increased sharply if you factored in intentional conquest (in the case of apokoliptans, that rose to 100%). Not being of the conquering sort, or even with the means to carry out such an endeavour, Kara struggled to recall what she knew of the indigenous lifeforms here.
Not much. They were kryptonoid (two arms, two eyes, two legs), but even then, that wasn't particularly instructive. Many of the galaxy's sapient species were the same – evolution had found a form that worked, and applied it across countless worlds, be they kryptonian, daxamite, or…well, whatever this planet's species was called.
"Of all the planets…in all the galaxy…and I had to land…on this one."
She didn't laugh – it would have been too painful. The words by themselves had been an attempt to distract her from the pain the sun was inflicting on her, and they'd failed spectacularly.
She jumped for the sake of it. Jumped three times as high as she ever could on Krypton. But no higher than that, and certainly not as high as she dared dream under the light of a yellow sun.
She fell into the white sand. She coughed. Twice. Thrice. Blinked as globules of red liquid appeared on the white sand before her. She pressed her hand to her nose, and sure enough, more of her blood appeared on her palm. The sun was so bright, the world was so large, she could barely make out her own hand before her.
It shimmered in the light – strong from the radiation the sun provided, poisoned by that same substance. Whites and blues, dancing to discordant tune.
Her body was at war with the world, and so far, the world was winning.
She struggled to get to her feet, the low gravity of Sol III aiding her, the ferocious beat of its sun conspiring to keep her down. She managed to get to her feet, beheld the structure up ahead.
Maybe I can…if only…maybe…
She retched. Blood mixed with a dinner made 2000 light-cycles away fell on the white sand (she hadn't had time for breakfast after all).
She took a step, a second, then fell.
She didn't weep. She didn't cry. She could barely even breathe. Her chest moved up and down, weaker with every gasp – there was so much oxygen in the air, it was starting to poison her.
She was content to lay there. Let nature take its course.
It might have, if not for the vehicle that rolled up. Cutting through the white sand.
"O bozhe moy, posmotri!"
An alien language, and one she didn't recognize. Rough, harsh, but not too unpleasant, which meant that at the least, she wasn't dealing with warzoons.
She opened her right eye and saw two aliens rush towards her. Her first thought was that they were kryptonians, as they appeared physically identical to her own race.
"Chto zdes' delayet devushka?
But it was more than the language and fossil-fuelled four-wheeler that gave it away. For one thing, despite the thick clothing they were wearing, neither of them was having any trouble moving under Sol III's sun. For another, in comparison to her species, their skin was a little more weathered, their hair a little greyer, their bodies a little shorter. Small blemishes that came with ageing that kryptonian technology had conquered millennia ago, yet here, had yet to be overcome.
One of the pair, a female, knelt down beside her.
"Ty slyshish' menya?" the alien whispered.
A response died on Kara's lips. She didn't understand them, they didn't understand her, the alien's words cut through her ears like a knife through her skull. Even the sound of their feet upon the white sand was excruciating to hear.
They couldn't save her. There were worse species in the universe to encounter than Sol III's indigenous population, but the language barrier, the technology barrier…
Useless, she thought, unable to comprehend whether she was thinking of herself, or the alien female above her. The one who put her weathered hand against the kryptonian's forehead.
"Bozhe moy, ona gorit."
The man was gesturing to the burns across her face. The two began talking frantically in their strange language. She suspected they meant well, but she had no reason to believe they could help her. Certainly no reason to.
"Gde tvoi roditeli?" the alien female asked.
Kara remained silent.
"Vy ponimayete menya?"
Kara tried to reach up to her. Briefly saw a face that wasn't the alien's own. Whispered, "mum…"
She didn't really understand what happened next.
For a moment, she thought she was flying, before she realized that the female alien had lifted her up – for one who hadn't been spared the ravages of ageing, she was surprisingly strong. Stronger than the fevered girl she carried in her arms.
"Zaberi yeye v dom."
They got into their primitive vehicle. It provided some respite from the heat, but not the light. The sun blazed through its windows. Her skin still burnt. Carried in the alien's arms, Kara's chest moved up and down, weaker with every breath. Sweat saturated her skinsuit and the flesh beneath. And what skin remained exposed continued to burn. Her skinsuit had given out, and her wrist-pad? Fried by Sol's insidious radiation.
"Bystreye, Sergei, bystreye!" the female yelled.
"Ya idu tak bystro, kak mogu!" the male responded.
They were yelling about something, and Kara sniffed – she'd seen her gene-sires fight, seen her father fight with her uncle, seen brief glimpses of fighting as Zod's insurrection was crushed in the streets of Argo and in city-states beyond She'd never enjoyed it then, and she enjoyed it less now. Because as unpleasant as seeing her family fight was, she would have taken it, all the rage of all the worlds…if she could see her own again…
She wept. She coughed. The female alien holding her tightened her grip – firm, but not too hard. Began stroking her hair and whispering something in her alien language.
Kara coughed again. Blood erupted from her mouth onto the alien's tattered clothing. She flinched, awaiting the inevitable reprimand…but found none.
Maybe these aliens didn't believe in discipline. But she could scarce understand any other motivation for this apparent kindness.
The tenderness stopped as soon as the vehicle pulled up at their dwelling (made of wood of all things!). Still with Kara in her arms, the alien picked her up and ran inside.
Smells of all sorts assaulted Kara's nostrils. Smells that she wondered might have been amplified due to the sun's energy. The substance that was both empowering and killing her.
The house provided limited protection, as even within its wooden walls, she could feel its golden touch. Being inside could protect Kara from its light, but not so much its radiation.
Yet it was a difference all the same, and one that gave her some grace. She was better here than in the vehicle, and much better than she'd been on the white sand.
But still too weak to move, such was the pain gripping her body. The alien took her into some kind of tiled room, in which was some kind of pod device. Not that Kara could see a lid, but maybe these primitives weren't so primitive after all. Maybe they understood that the sun was killing her, and they had a means of protection.
Or maybe it was something else as the alien put her on some kind of weird chair while she turned the tap. The alien told its male counterpart to "vyzovite politsiyu," which could have meant anything from "contact the nearest civilized world" to "prepare the child for sacrifice."
Kara looked at the male. He looked at her from behind his grey eyes – suspicious, but not unkind – before he closed the door and departed to "vyzovite politsiyu."
Her head still pounding, she turned her attention back to the pod. Only to realize that it was no such thing as icy water poured out of its tap.
Oh, Kara realized. It's a bath.
Did these kryptonoids use these things to bathe in? She knew this species was primitive, but surely they'd invented sonic cleansers. Did they actually sit in these things to wash dirt off?
She supposed they did, as the alien put her into the tub.
Kara let out a yell - the water was so cold, it cut right through her, her skinsuit not reacting in time to compensate for the difference in temperature. She squirmed, she screamed, she struggled to get out, but the alien held her in place. Babbled away in her strange language. She wanted her to stay in the tub, and Kara began to realize why.
Her head still pounded. Her skin still sizzled. But the water was having some effect, as she felt her body cooling down.
The water came up to her chest and the alien turned the tap off.
She held up her hands before putting them on the skinsuit. Asking for permission, Kara supposed? The only person in El Spire who'd ever asked her for permission to anything was Zaltar, and that was because he was a Rankless who knew his place. These aliens were dominant over her right now, and yet the female was deferring to her?
Too cold, too weak to argue, Kara let the alien take the skinsuit off, revealing her skin beneath it. Much of it was pale – paler even than that of the aliens – but sickly red patches were spread across it. Warm to the touch even within the water.
It was humiliating, and in her five cycles, Kara Zor-El had known plenty of humiliation. But whatever dignity she had left dissipated into the freezing water.
The alien loosened her grip. Kara shivered, her teeth chattered, but the coolness of the liquid was offsetting the ravages of the sun.
Still, her head pounded. Her breath rasped, her lungs ached. Downstairs, she could hear the male alien talk in its alien language. She couldn't understand it, but…
She couldn't explain it. She could sense the alien's sound being converted into electricity. Sense it 'buzz' along a transmission line. It was like the entire world was at the edge of her consciousness. Begging her to sense it all.
She sniffed – she didn't want to sense all of Sol III. She didn't want to be on Sol III at all. She wanted to go home. She wanted her parents. She wanted to wake up back in Argo, and…
…well, she wanted so many things. But this wasn't a dream, this was the real world. And living or dying, she was trapped in it.
So as the alien woman got to her feet, ready to join her male counterpart, maybe that was what caused Kara to suddenly grab her arm.
Her grip was strong – stronger than a girl her age should possess – but not so strong that it harmed the alien.
Kara looked at her. Her wrinkled skin. Her brown hair. Her brown eyes. Kryptonoid, yet not. Older. Frailer. And yet, as she withdrew her grip…she wondered if her people would ever show such kindness had the roles been reversed. No aliens were allowed on Krypton lest they pollute it. So strong were Krypton's orbital defences, even the Green Lantern Corps was kept at bay, not to mention daxamites and other warmongers.
"S toboy vse v poryadke?" the alien asked.
Kara sniffed. Water dripped down her face, from the tub and tears alike. Her head ached with the weight of worlds, her lungs yearned for kinder air. Neither of those things were forthcoming, even as she let out a sob and threw her arms around the alien woman. Desperate to be held one last time.
To her surprise, the alien made no attempt to rebuff her. Instead, she hugged her tight in return. Stroked her hair, and whispered to her. Sang, almost.
Like a mother.
Footnotes
[1]: But not by much. While Krypton orbited closer to Rao than Earth did Sol, because of Rao's greater size, Krypton's year was less than sixty Terran days shorter. While kryptonians matured faster than humans, there was little distinction between years.
[2]: An organism native to Krypton, found primarily in the Scarlet Jungle. To human eyes, it would appear akin to a purple flying snake. The kryptonians admired the drang's mating ritual for its elegance, and it inspired the musical form of Shashin-Quo, first developed by the composer Eda-Ie.
[3]: Translated as "Most Dangerous" in English.
[4]: Kryptonian measure of time, akin to a Terran decade. With five fingers on each hand like humans and numerous other species, kryptonians came to adopt a base ten number system.
[5]: Kryptonian measure of distance. One macron is equivalent to approximately 2.2 Terran kilometres.
[6]: Kryptonan time measurement. One rhel is approximately equivalent to 1.5 Terran hours.