Chapter Text
Clark cracked an egg on the side of the glass mixing bowl, pressing his thumb in gently before opening it up; the yellow tumbled out overtop the white, sizzling brown on the steel pan. He hummed quietly to himself, tossing out the shell and tidying up his mixes from the counter. Fried butter popped against his arm, the heat warm like a raindrop. He could smell the process of heat solidifying liquid. Putting the pan lid on top, he ignored the sudden grumble in his stomach and turned to the second burner: pancakes.
He felt the floorboards shift upstairs, the light thump of footsteps in his childhood bedroom. Flipping the food, he hummed louder, trying to tone out their voices from the edge of his hearing--they must have just gotten up. He’d have to tell Mom she was right; they must have stayed up late.
“Morning, boys,” he called over his shoulder, sliding the egg onto his tray of neatly arranged breakfast materials he set on the table. Rao, he could eat this whole setup right now.
“Morning Dad.” Jon rushed down the stairs, snatching one of the slices of stacked toast off the top of the pile. “Where’s Grandma?”
He raised an eyebrow at him. “Plate?”
Jon gave him a toothy grin, sidling over to the counter to grab one and handing another to Damian.
“She’s out for the day, gonna get brunch with some friends visiting town. She wanted to say sorry she didn’t get to send you off.”
Jon nodded, settling in at the table. “Can’t believe she chose brunch over breakfast. But, Damian, as I was saying--I’m so excited. It’s gonna be so much fun.”
Damian nodded while taking his plate. “I am looking forward to this ‘camo night’ you spoke of.”
“Sureeee,” Jon laughed. “I think you’ll like our ecology area more though. Usually we have turtles. And mice!” He chewed on his bread some more, adding sausage to his quickly filling plate. “Oh, and we can’t forget the mini-bears!”
Damian flushed. “Of course, it is only reasonable for me to assess their living conditions.”
Clark plated the last of the eggs, throwing the pans in the sink and rinsing off the crust. “Okay, Damian.” Clark leaned back against the counter, pulling out his phone, “And you’re sure Bruce is okay with this? I got a message saying Dick’s gonna be picking you up, is that right?”
He looked up; Damian nodded, hesitantly chewing through one of the pancakes with syrup spilling down the side of his plate.
“And he knows which day you guys will be getting back?”
“Yes. He has been made aware.”
“Excellent. Bruce wasn’t really specific so I just wanted to make sure.” He put his phone away, clapping his hands together quietly. “Okay. You guys ready to go? Everything packed? Toothpaste, underwear, socks?”
Jon leapt out his chair midway through a bite, heading back to his room. “I forgot one thing! I’ll be back!”
“You can finish eating first!” He called, but it was too late: Jon was already bounding up the stairs.
Damian was looking at his half-eaten plate, hands crossed over his arms.
Clark sat down, setting up his own plate. “Everything good?” he asked, looking at Damian a little softer.
“Are we going to fly there?”
He shook his head, brushing his hair back out of his eyes.“Nah, we'll take, uh,” he fumbled for the right words, “Grandma’s truck the rest of the way.”
“Why don’t we just fly the whole way? Walk over from a few blocks out?”
“It’s kind of out in the middle of nowhere, you know? It’d be a little suspicious if we didn’t have a car. Plus, it’s a nice drive. It’s scenic.”
Jon bounded back into the room, his bag slung over one shoulder and Damian’s over the other. “It’s tradition!” Clark pointed at Jon’s unfinished plate, sipping on his glass of water as Jon dropped the bags and plopped back down. “Are we leaving right after breakfast?”
“Pretty soon after. The drive will be a few hours.”
Damian, taking another stab at his blueberry pancakes, pulled out his phone with his other hand and started typing. Jon was practically vibrating out of his chair as he scarfed down his next few bites.
“Whoa! Whoa, slow down. You have to wait for me to finish eating too.”
Jon gave him a pained look but chewed his bites a little more thoughtfully.
“Be back in a sec,” Damian said, still staring at his phone as he got up, pushed his chair in, and headed towards the restroom.
Jon was still chewing dejectedly over his plate, staring at how much Clark had left.
“Hey Bud, we’ll be there soon. We don’t wanna be there too early. They have to set everything up, after all.”
“I know,” he whined, “but I just wanna hang out. We’re so close and I’ve been waiting forever.”
“Two weeks is not forever,” Clark reminded, pointing his fork with a smile. “I mean, I’m frankly surprised that all this worked out in two weeks. I didn’t expect him to be able to go.”
“Because of Bruce?” Jon muttered.
Clark rolled his eyes. “Yes, because of Bruce. He’s just protective.”
“Protective shouldn’t mean barring Damian from doing fun things. Kid things.”
“It shouldn’t…” Clark agreed hesitantly, “and it didn’t. He agreed for Damian to go. I was just surprised he agreed so easily. He didn’t have a lot of time to really look into everything.”
“Yeah, well, Damian has a way with words.”
“So I see. It's a long time for Damian to be gone, though.”
“It’s not the first time, but this is good! I’m excited to show Damian around.”
“I think so too; it was just a surprise with timing. I’m glad that he trusts our judgement.” I wish we had been able to discuss it in person though. He sighed audibly, taking another bite of his eggs.
Damian walked back over from the bathroom. “Slight change in plans. Dick’s going to pick me up from here. It’s easier on everyone this way.”
Clark nodded. “And Bruce knows Dick is picking you up?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Damian narrowed his eyes at him.
“Okay, all good! I was just checking.” Clark nodded again, raising his hands up in defense before standing up to take all the empty dishes over to the sink. “As a dad myself, I’d prefer to know if it were Kara or Kon picking Jon up from things. Was just trying to make sure.”
“Father is aware of all relevant details of this trip.”
“Good, good.” He gave everything a quick scrub and set them on a towel to dry. “Okay, all ready to go?”
Jon groaned at him, pulling at the doorknob to the house. “Yes! Now can we go?”
Clark shook his head. “Everyone needs to try to use the bathroom first. The trip is a few hours and the gas stations get fewer the further we get along.” Jon was running back through the house halfway through his statement. While he were occupied, Clark grabbed their bags and threw them into the backseat of the pickup truck. It was windy but warm. The forecast had predicted fairly good weather throughout the week, with a storm near the end. They’d have a good time out there.
Damian settled in the backseat, buckling before Jon even made it out of the house.
“I’m ready!” Jon stated, running towards the truck.
“You forgot something!” Clark smiled.
“What?”
“Your jacket. It might rain.”
Jon’s eyes widened. “Right! I’ll be right back!”
“Almost there kids, don’t worry. Just a few turns up ahead.” Clark mumbled, slowly releasing the wheel after his left turn down a back road.
“I think I recognize here!” Clark could hear Jon’s fingertips smudging the window.
The truck curved down a steep hill, riding back up the meandering path of the cliff-edge; erosion had eaten a considerable depth of the forest off the path leaving little room off the road before the drop. Clark could hear Damian shifting to lean further against the window as he sped up.
They pulled out from the shaded entrance and onto a sun-lit field where cars were parked in rows and a few youth in bright highlighter-yellow traffic vests out front directing the newcomers.
“Ready boys?” Clark called, looking at them from his rear-view mirror. Jon was gripping the edge of the seat, the fabric squished into indents. Damian was looking out the window, expression blank.
“Ready!” Jon almost jumped out of his seat, unbuckling quickly and sliding out. “I’m so excited. Damian, you’re going to love it here.”
“What are those tents?”
“Oh, those are for our health check-in. Don’t worry, it’s really fast. They check your temperature, heart rate, and hair for lice. Then you’re all good to go.”
“Hair for lice?”
“Lice? You know, the bug that lives in people’s hair?” Jon asked, hesitant. “I think it’s a parasite?”
“Oh. I don’t think I’ve had it.”
“Maybe not. I had them once, before my powers kicked in. They were super itchy.”
Clark nodded along, grabbing their bags from the back. “They’re unpleasant but pretty easy to get rid of.” He nodded towards the first table set up. “Okay, do you boys have your papers?”
Jon unzipped his backpack in Clark’s hands and pulled out a folder. “All in here!”
Clark slung the bag back over his shoulder, leaning back against the truck. Opening up the folder, everything was in place--except Damian’s parental permission slip. He’d seen it on the table with the rest of their medical information the night before. Clark had incorrectly assumed with the empty table this morning, one of them must have grabbed it. “Damian, did you put your overnight sheet somewhere else?”
Damian frowned. “Is it not in there?”
Jon’s eyes went wide. “Do we have to go back and get it?”
“Where did you guys put it last night?” He looked through the folder again with the same unsatisfactory result.
“Well, we were working with everything on the table…” Jon trailed off.
“Maybe we put it in the pile of things for Mrs. Kent, when clearing off the rest of the table,” Damian pondered aloud.
“Sorry Dad. I can fl—”
One of the vested volunteers raised a hand at them. “If you don’t got your sheet, we got extras at the blue table. You can just sign one up there for your kid.”
“Oh, he’s—” Clark saw Jon and Damian’s pleading looks out of the corner of his eye. Not my kid. Damn it. “Okay, you said the table over there?” He gestured vaguely.
The man nodded, pulling down on his hat slightly. “Yup! Just let’em know what happened’n they’ll sort it out for ya.”
He gave Jon and Damian a look. “I’m not going to get in trouble with your Dad for signing as your guardian, am I?”
Damian shook his head. “I was signed for already.”
“Okay.” He pushed Jon gently forward. “let’s get checked in then.”
The first few tables passed by fine. Clark skirted around some of the newer ‘is your child a meta-human’ questions the introductory forms tried to ask. He knew it was for the staff’s safety, but he still couldn’t bring himself to check it off. If anything happened, they could call him.
When he finally got to the blue table, both kids were checked over and camp approved. They had their bags and the last step was settling their permissions and handing over their phones.
“Do you have your sons’ slips, Sir?”
He smiled politely at the man sitting at the table, a box with alphabetized folders in front of him. “I have one of them prepared, but forgot the second at home. I was told you have extras?”
The man nodded, handing over a sheet. “The sheet just states you take responsibility for him, as his guardian, and that we have permission for him to be here and participate in our activities.”
Clark signed the sheet, signature wobbling a little near the end. He hoped Bruce would be fine with this. He was sending the kid here anyway. Would this cross a line? He was incredibly…protective. Clark swallowed. It’d be fine. Probably. Bruce might not even learn about it.
He handed the sheet back. “I might need to call them at the end of each week. How would I best be able to reach them?”
“The phone number on our website will suffice.”
“Can you write it down for me?”
The man grumbled under his breath about ‘damn helicopter parents’ but started writing anyway.
“This is it, boys. Remember, if you need me, you can always holler.”
Jon jumped forward to embrace him in a hug. “I’ll miss you.”
He wrapped his arms around him. “It’s only a few weeks. We’ll be back home before you know it.”
Damian shuffled his feet a little.
Clark opened an arm to him, but Damian didn’t move. “I’m gonna go now, but when I come to pick you guys up, I wanna hear all your stories. We can trade. I have plenty from when I used to come here.”
Jon smiled at him. “I love you Dad.” Damian shifted his bag over his shoulder.
“I love you too. I’ll see you both in three weeks!”
Bruce smashed his hand on his alarm clock, trying to shush the sound. The noise continued blaring, no matter how much he pressed. He groaned and turned on his side to see where the sound was coming from. His league communicator. The bright screen felt almost blinding to his watery eyes, reading:
[Meeting at the Watchtower: 13:00]
He slammed his finger down on the accept button, watching the notification fizzle away. It was still early, but he could feel the checklists and to-do’s starting back up in his head. It would be useless to try and go back to sleep again.
Rubbing his palms against the eyelids, he slid his legs over the side of the bed. His limbs were cold and sore, and he just wanted to curl back up. Instead, he took a deep breath, exhaling as he cleared his thoughts.
Bruce made his way downstairs, slowly dressing into uniform. He’d given it a thorough rinsing the night before after chasing down a lead in the sewers and parts of it were still damp even after he’d dried it. Rounding his way back over to the batcomputer, he pulled up some of the files they’d be addressing at the meeting later.
Dick vaulted off one of the ledges, landing behind him. “Hey B, getting ready for a League meeting, I see.” He looked around the room. “Dami not coming? I thought he usually went to these things on—”
Bruce grunted, shifting his cape so it’d wrap closer around him.
“Ohhhhh,” Dick sighed. “You two still aren’t talking, are you?”
“He’ll talk when he’s ready.”
“B, you’re his Dad. He wants you to go looking, at least a little. It shows you care.”
Bruce spun his chair around. “You didn’t want me to go looking.”
Bruce couldn’t help but notice the way Alfred emerged from the shadows to shift between them, offering Dick a cup from his tray. “Master Wayne,” Alfred whispered, eyes piercing Bruce. “I do believe it’s time you made your way upstairs.”
Bruce looked between Alfred and Dick, nodding curtly. “I think I’m going to be called in for this one. It’ll take a few weeks. Dick, can you manage Gotham in my absence?” Bruce looked at him expectantly.
Dick deflated, looking back at Alfred who nodded at Dick sympathetically. “Sure, B. I’ll take over for a bit. Let me know if you need anything.”
As Bruce walked up the stairs, he could hear murmurs of Alfred and Dick’s conversation. Damian was doing well, and had spent a bit of time with the Kents. He didn’t plan on being home anytime soon.
A familiar feeling swirling in Bruce’s stomach as he took the stairs two at a time. Guilt. Shame. They’d just argued, like any of their usual disagreements. It was a post patrol lecture about not taking unnecessary risks in the field that could hurt himself or others. He’d made the right choice, and Damian would talk to him about it when he was ready.
Bruce stared at the message on the large front screen of the Watchtower’s meeting room.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Hal whispered under his breath.
“As I was saying,” Diana continued, unbothered by Hal’s muted interruption, “Kyle, I do believe this falls under your jurisdiction?”
The lantern nodded, arms folded across his chest. “That it does. I don’t know how we missed this but we’ll be right on it. If you could forward the information you have?”
She nodded curtly. “I have been informed that you did receive messages from them, but I will forward J’onn’s communications along with any else relevant.”
Kyle nodded, pulling out a device and typing on it. “I’ll look into it to see how it slipped through. Thank you, nonetheless.”
Hal shifted on his feet, jaw tense and eyeing the exit.
“Is there a problem, Hal?” Diana asked.
“Just eager to take a look at what we’re up to, is all!”
Kyle gave him a look before glancing back at Diana. Diana sighed, clicking on the next slide:
W E HAVE
BEEN T/RYIN/G TO
RE_ACH //YO U//
Green Arrow scoffed from his seat. “What is this? Are we seriously about to sit through some lecture about scams coming in through League secure lines?”
Clark winced off to the side of the meeting room, face tightening. Diana pinched the bridge of her nose. “Everyone in this room, I need a show of hands. Who here received messages from this ‘spam sender’?”
There were a few hands. The most notable, in Bruce’s opinion, was Hal’s.
“How many messages did you all receive from this sender?” Diana asked.
Most of the room only put up one on their fingers; Hal frowned at the room and held up eight.
“Fucking christ, man.”
“What? What is it?” Hal exclaimed, outrage pouring off his body. “I did nothing wrong here! Why are they targeting me for their ads?”
“Were there ads attached?” Clark piped up.
“Yeah! Here, let me…” Hal pulled out his phone, scrolling through his emails while everyone watched in awkward silence. “Here! You can see.”
The date went back two months, but the message was the same. Under the heading was a request for information so a debt relief salesman could ‘assist’ in Hal’s attempt to break free from student loans and a late mortgage.
Bruce had recognized the message on the board as the one he had been discussing in his meeting with Diana, Clark, and J’onn before this one. It was how they had gotten in contact with the outer planet to pass on the mission to the Lanterns. He sighed internally. While their attempt to mimic one of Earth’s many languages was endearing, the fact remained that their styling did come across with less than pure intentions.
“Did all of them have this advertising?”
Hal frowned. “I don’t know, I didn’t read any of the others. I sent them to spam.”
Bruce watched Clark put his head in his hands across the room before speaking. "This kind of incompetency cannot be overlooked. I expect better from you in the future, Jordan."
“That’s not fair! What are you on about? They’re spam!”
“This is the message that the planet sent to request for aid. It took J’onn finding a fax from them before we were able to trace it back and get in contact. This problem could have been solved by now if we as a league were more diligent in checking our messages and where they came from.”
“You can’t expect us to read every spam message,” Oliver said coolly. “That’s too much to ask from us, on top of everything else we do.”
Diana shook her head. “Your league communicators are set up in a way that spam is already filtered. If you’re adding your league communications to your personal devices, I expect you to be able to decipher what is being sent to which account.”
Heads were nodding around the room. A few looked embarrassed after having put their hands down.
Diana looked at Clark again, him motioning with his hands for her to continue. “Spam can be an understandable issue, but now that we’ve addressed it, I expect everyone to keep a watchful eye over their League messages. If you receive something suspicious, please contact our support services and let them handle it.”
Clark nodded from the sidelines, satisfied with her response.
“Moving on,” She clicked her remote again. “We have another urgent issue regarding a space research station. Now, while space endeavors often get Lantern approval, they have their hands full with their recent planetary communication issues.”
She let her eyes stray to the door the two had just walked out, lips thinning as she continued. “This is time sensitive, as a distress beacon was sent out alerting the nations involved that the research station has been compromised. The specifics are unknown, even to the ground contacts here. We know they are multi-government endorsed, under lockdown protocols, and unable to effectively contact us. We need members to get in, rescue everyone onboard, and get out.”
“J’onn would be good for this mission, would he not?” Dinah asked.
Diana nods briefly, eyes going slant towards Clark. “He was one of the people we had been considering, but he has recently withdrawn his availability. This mission is going to take two weeks in space at best, and he has conflicting personal arrangements.”
Now, Batman and Kal-el have been requested by the people on board for this mission. Is there anyone who would like to volunteer to go with them?”
Bruce could almost hear the crickets from back in Jersey.
“Excellent, then we will prepare them shortly. This is all we have for our meeting today. The monitor schedule has been updated to take into account Batman’s and Kal-el’s absence. Please check in with them if you have any issues with the new times on your way out.”
Bruce made his way towards where Clark and Diana were beginning their huddle. “Is there a reason we are accepting that the American government is requesting us to rescue their station? Is this not something they have a military space operation to deal with?”
Diana pursed her lips. “I must have misspoken in our meeting earlier. This is an international space station. You were requested onboard by the one we assume is hijacking the station.”
“So, we are walking into a trap?”
“Most likely, yes.”
Clark piped up. “Do we have an estimate on the number of people on board?”
Diana shook her head. “Not a definite number.”
“I mean,” Clark glanced up from something on his phone, “the International Space Station usually holds what, seven to fourteen people? It can’t be much larger than that.”
Diana shook her head again. “This station is much further out and much larger. It will take a while to get there, even with our technology. If it weren’t for the Lanterns having their current issues, this would probably fall under their jurisdiction.”
“How much bigger are we talking?” Clark frowned.
“I’d say there’s probably sixty people maintaining the station.”
“Sixty?!” Bruce struggled to compose his voice. “Why is this not a league priority if—”
“This is the league's priority. We have too many events going on to be everywhere. I must handle a situation with Arthur. We cannot afford the whole team being gone for a rescue mission on uncertain terms.”
Clark interjected. “What’s going on with Arthur?”
“Having two of our founding members on the same mission is a lot. I have J’onn on stand by if you need assistance. You both said you were available for this. They need help.”
“What does a station need sixty people in space for?”
“They’re living there. The scientists, facility management teams, cooks and technicians have been staying there for several years. They receive food and deliveries, but have not returned to Earth since opening.”
“That’s a commitment.” Clark noted with furrowed brows.
Bruce crossed his arms, looking at the diagram of the station that Diana was pulling up. “What are they researching?”
“According to the file sent to us rather reluctantly by Ms. Waller, the facility has ties to CADMUS, but is ultimately a separately funded group. Leo Quintum has been working on a DNA P.R.O.J.E.C.T. with a new race of superhumans in mind. This satellite campus’ head scientist, Bob Reynolds, was previously unheard of and currently on a leave of absence for field testing in Malaysia. We’ve been told he took over most of the research and shifted towards adapting the current human condition. There have been some updates sent about making improvements to immuno-compromised conditions and developing therapeutic breakthroughs for addictions and PTSD. The methods of their results are currently classified.”
“Did one of their test subjects go haywire?”
“Uncertain, we haven’t been able to contact anyone directly.”
“What are these blank rooms?” Bruce pointed.
“Only the people on board know what goes on in them. Classified.”
Clark shook his head. “There’s an emergency and we don’t have the information we need because it’s classified?”
“Their primary and secondary emergency protocols failed, which is the only reason the distress beacon was sent. We are truly their final option.”
“They don’t have a docking bay so I suggest we land on top of the monitor room.” Bruce continued.
Clark raised an eyebrow, “Wouldn’t their central chamber be faster? It’s one room away from both evacuation sections.”
“It’s a blank room. We don’t know if we’d risk civilians or whatever experiments by entering through there.”
Clark frowned at him, then the map again.
“I’ll take my leave,” Diana said, backing away. “If you have any more questions, you know how to reach me. Your ship is currently preparing for take-off. Please board soon, as it will take a while to get there.”
“We should also prepare for contaminants. We don’t know what will be there.”
“I don’t think anything’s going to be able to affect me.”
“You never know. It’s better to play it safe.”
“Whatever you say, B.” Clark rolled his eyes.
“Hmm.”
“So what are our possibilities? Station malfunction? Subject containment breach? Chemical exposure? Mutiny? Intruders?”
Bruce let a small smile form on his lips. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
A green light flashed from the control panel, signalling they were aligning with one the station’s maintenance access hatches on top of the ship. Flipping the switch beside it, an extendable tube released from the bottom of their ship, sealing the small space between them. Bruce redirected oxygen flow into the small space before turning back to Clark.
Clark was encased in a suit appearing similar to what radiation scientists might wear when dealing with higher electromagnetic discharges. The titanium lead alloy was flexible enough he’d be able to move around, but stealth wouldn’t come as easily.
Each exhale fogged up the sheet of leaded-polycarbonate in front of his face. “Ready?”
Bruce grabbed his full-face gas mask from the seat beside him, nodding curtly as he made his way to crouch beside the escape hatch.
Turning the wheel, the ship hissed as cold air met warm. There was a foot between their hatch and the entrance to the ship. Without looking up, Bruce hooked his arm into the wheel and yanked until he felt the click. He could feel Clark standing behind him.
It took no time to pull up the lid and slide their rope down into the small chamber. Once both inside and having sealed up the two hatches, Bruce crawled towards their exit. He scanned the space: the small chamber was useful in making sure oxygen would stay in the ship, but might pose a risk if they were moving a larger group of civilians.
Clark was making his way towards the hatch a little further down, opening to what the limited schematics had proposed was the monitor room.
The monitors were powered down, their blank screens reflecting the room like glazed mirrors and drowned in the red glow of the emergency lights.
Goosebumps raised on his arms, the empty space unheated. The wheels of a desk chair squeaked as Clark set it right side up. Bruce shot him a pointed look, Clark shrugging apologetically as he moved to the shelving units on the other side of the room.
Bruce glanced over the notepads and sticky notes of the monitor room, then rubbed over the indentations with a pencil. Nothing mentioned the labs, but there were notes about glitches in a few of the cameras.
A map hung against one of the walls, identifying the first floor of rooms. A small asterisk in the bottom alluded to a lower level for facility use, but he couldn’t see any additional maps. There were some minor differences with the schematics they had planned with, including a daycare and some testing room structures, but everything else was nearly identical.
Clark stepped purposefully closer, Bruce hearing his approach before Clark put a warm hand on Bruce’s shoulder. He couldn’t stop the feeling of ease that rippled down his spine at the touch.
Clark held up a small file labeled ‘Study Participant List’. Nodding back, Bruce flipped it open to skim through. Next to the list of names were columns with designated area access and curfews. Quite a few were heavily limited in their whereabouts, predominantly being allowed in the lab and the crew deck.
There wasn’t any information in the room about the participants outside of this; everything else was basic evacuation policies, first day on the job binders, and small knick-knacks that decorated the front desk.
Bruce closed and set down the file after scanning the list of names with his lens. Clark was already at the door, stepping out in the hallway.
“Wow, that’s a chunk of Kryptonite they’ve got there.” Clark’s eyes were wide, staring at the scattered pieces going both directions in the hall. “I can make out a group this way.” he pointed, letting Bruce settle in step next to him before starting down the hallway.
They didn’t know what to expect. There wasn’t enough information about what went wrong. There weren’t any suspiciously close ships in orbit from them, but that didn’t mean someone with something smaller hadn’t latched on. Or that they hadn’t brought something in they shouldn’t have.
Bruce tried to examine the walls, the halls, anything that could be a clue as to what shut them down, but the red lights absorbed too much for him to see anything significant, even when he switched to night vision. Breathing out slowly, his exhale left his filter like smoke, steaming in front of his face.
Stepping through the small L passageway, Clark stopped in front of one of the adjacent connecting rooms. The small door was labeled ‘Storage’.
Clark’s eyes never left the door. “There’s someone in here.”
Hesitating, Bruce read the determined set of Clark’s jaw before he readied a batarang from his belt. The steel was smooth against his gloves. “Can you tell who they’re with?”
Clark shook his head, hand pressing down on the door handle. “No, but it looks like it’s just one.”
Bruce pushed the door open just a crack. Inside, the short doorframe gave way to tall ceilings and aisles of stacked wooden pallets. A gush of warm air washed over him, flooding his senses like a blanket before he could force himself to adjust.
There were metal shelves at least four times his height. Peeking his head in, Bruce felt Clark brace his arm against the door beside him. His heavy weight loomed just behind his back. In the tall room, the red lights looked dimmer, leaving sections of the room engulfed in shadow.
“Where?” Bruce asked, letting his eyes trail along the large stacks of supplies and inventory clipboards. His vision was better in the dark, but the ever-present red light threw off his filter. The shadows were still, the most noise in the room coming from his own respirator.
Clark nudged him aside, slowly entering the room. “I think he’s wounded?” Clark said quietly, floating cautiously into the darkness.
Bruce narrowed his eyes, looking about the room. Just because there was only one person didn’t mean there wouldn’t be traps. Towards the back, lights were buzzing faintly, pink and dim as the bulbs edged towards their slow death, the thin radius around it tinted red even without the light.
He didn’t know how to feel about the idea that the lights might go out on them the longer they were here. He pocketed that thought for later, creeping into the wide open space. The sides of the room were attached to open storage freights, the containers half-open with supplies scattered within.
The suppliers were scattered and overturned. Bruce thought about it for a second before deciding it wasn’t atypical for a freight to be a mess due to how people onloading and offloading these containers tend to be encouraged to toss boxes as they please. There were scattered medical gloves and toilet paper on the floor, knocked over in some rush. Some were drenched in blood, a faint smell of ethanol lingering through his gas-mask.
Clark was slowly curving around the center support beam, heading further towards the back aisle of crates and pallets. A part of Bruce wanted to call him back, strategize the best way to approach the stranger—but something else tugged at his gut.
He couldn’t stop looking into the openings of the attached freights, almost void-like in the way the darkness swirled. For all intents and purposes, they appeared empty except for speckles of dust falling through the air.
Stepping closer, the humid dampness of the room thickened, coating his covered skin in prickles. The hair on the back of his neck raised, a bodily response he recognized without understanding the reaction.
He crouched, eyeing Clark’s steady path towards the other direction. Clark looked focused, palms out at his sides as he glided soundlessly towards the back. The one person they’d found was back there, not here, he reminded himself—and yet.
Bruce turned back towards the empty shipping containers; he couldn’t see anything other than spilled supplies. There wasn’t movement or hiding spots, just the soft fall of light drifting into shadow. He felt a pull in his chest to keep watching, but slowly turned away to scan the rest of the room.
There were a number of freights along the side of the room, open and partially unpacked; aisles of pallets and boxes filled the space between each freight, except for the very back wall which had another line of boxes and shelving. There was some glowing green coming from the boxes at the back, to which he assumed it was Kryptonite from their previous scannings of the ship. There wasn’t any purpose in gathering all of it now; they’d need to secure the station and come back for it later.
The vents high on the ceiling, above each freight, were quiet, but particles swished further into the room with each gust of hot air. The warmth of the room seeped its way through his layers of armor and insulation. Something lint-like gathered on his suit like snowflakes.
Brushing them off, he followed after Clark, who had by this time rounded the back aisle. Bruce’s footsteps fell cautiously against the hard metal flooring. A faint echo reverberated under each step, giving voice to the hollowness of the floor.
Exhaling back into the humid room, Bruce’s gas-mask hissed. The trace scents of musk and metal were clouded by a tangy citrus in the air. Bruce sidestepped a pool of cleaning supplies puddled in front of him, the corner of a pallet half soaked and the puddle dotted with the lint-like substance he’d been seeing floating throughout the room. How long did a room take to collect dust?
Apart from the breath of the vents, the air was sterile, artificial with what he could only identify as the scent of a Wayne Enterprise signature bathroom freshener; it was hard not to squint his eyes against the harsh chemical smell. He made a mental note to fix that later.
He could hear Clark murmuring softly on the other side of the aisle. There went the opportunity to strategize. Bruce hoped this person was someone they were here for and not the other way around. He picked up his pace as quietly as he could.
He couldn't quite see what was going on on the other side. Clark was still a few steps back from the figure, who was huddled on the ground. Clark’s voice was soft, calming.
Bruce flattened himself against the shelving unit, where a box jutted out awkwardly. Dangling to his side was a yellow shipping label marked for the station, handwritten supplies listed below. If he had time, he’d want to come back to those. Maybe it’d clue him in on what they were doing.
Moving further from the mouth of the alley, he could make out the silhouette slumped back against a crumpled box. The contents of a container were spilled out around the man, a dark, viscous liquid pooled around his legs.
Clark was kneeling beside him amidst the scattered pieces of broken glass, soaked paper, and plastic tongs. Bruce approached behind cautiously, Clark’s words growing clearer as Bruce grew near.
“We’re here to help you. Are you in pain? Can you shake your head yes or no for me?”
The man stuttered out expelled air, voiceless with an open mouth. His head wasn’t moving.
Clark was kneeling and Bruce could see a man clutching his own arms. Scratches nicked the man’s knuckles and face. His eyes were closed, mouth parted slightly as he exhaled again.
There was blood painting his plain gray scrubs, his neck, and the side of his face. It dripped into the dark puddle at his side.
Clark glanced back for a split second before putting his hands out like he was about to soothe a wild animal. His first step needed to be getting the person to trust him. Only then could he treat their wound.
Bruce inched closer, reaching in his belt for medical supplies. “Is that blood yours?”
The man didn’t respond.
“Can we move you somewhere safer?” Clark asked.
The man pried open his eyes, a thick layer of crust blinking into his eyelashes. He squinted, a glossy and clouded layer over his unfocused eyes. The rise and fall of their breathing was steady, consistent. Bruce could see the man’s fingers clench into his own arm, digging.
The vent released another strong gust of warm air, blowing against their faces and shoulders. The man full-body shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut again. He moaned, pitifully, painfully. His hand trembled with the tension of his grip.
Bruce crouched down, shuffling closer to brush the hair out of the man’s eyes. The man tried to look at him, mouth slack but throat moving as if he was trying to form the words to say.
“Where are you hurt?” Bruce asked, looking softly at the man in front of him. He looked stable; it wasn’t going to be an urgent rush to save him. He was in pain but the wound didn’t look life threatening.
Clark spoke quietly. “I hear something. I’ll be right back.”
He could see the man’s tongue move in his mouth, thick and swollen as he attempted to mouth something. There was no sound, just a clicking of his jaw bone, loud enough to sound like cracked knuckles. The man’s body was mostly limp, melting into the floor. His pupils expanded around the blood-shot whites of his eyes. He groaned a little louder, fingers tightening as his nails dug into the skin. Blood dripped down his arm.
Bruce brushed back the man’s hair again, brushing it away from his face. ”We’ve got you,” he whispered, willing the comfort he was trying to imbue into those words. He scanned the man again. His left thigh was soaked, the blood staining the fabric in brown lines. He popped open the button on one of his utility belt pockets, pulling out a set of bandages and unwinding a bit to wrap around his leg.
Almost as if at the sight of the long strip of white medical bandage, the man jerked up, whimpering. His face was pale and clammy, eyes still holding that distant expression, but there was tension in him now, in the line of his shoulders, in his back and thighs. Bruce could see the blood leak faster out of his side.
For a moment, the man caught Bruce’s gaze. He was trembling, biting his lip and feebly trying to lean back. Bruce could see the line of his throat bob as another wave of heat gushed from the vents. The man tore back, head hitting the hard casing of the boxes behind him as he straightened out in a stiff line. His fingers still dug into his arm, blood flooding loosely from the new wound.
Bruce needed to move. He needed to get him back to the ship, and quickly. The man was steadily getting worse. He was panting, chest heaving until he slumped back, arm releasing and falling against the glass of the floor. He looked exhausted, sweat dripping down his jaw and ear.
Bruce leaned over him, reaching for his knee when he felt the man grab him. His grip was firm, dragging down his armor and yanking. Bruce fell forward, off-kilter, pushing back before he could think about it. The man lunged, mouth open and eyes wide. Gone was the distant distraction of pain. This was something else entirely.
Bruce shielded himself with his arms, letting the reinforced kevlar take the brunt of the assault. No longer was the man glassy and weak—he was fully forcibly pressing at him, nails digging into his armor for purchase.
Bruce forced the strip of bandages stretched out between his hands into the man’s open jaws. The man growled at him, spit flying. And in a sudden instant they were thrown apart. He heard the crack and felt the cool air whip past his face before settling. His strip of bandaging was in two pieces, having been sliced through by the man’s teeth.
Clark stood in front of him, a line forming between his brows as his hands grazed over Bruce’s arms, shoulders, and face, checking him over for any injuries. “B, are you okay?”
His hands were everywhere in an instant; he must have been afraid he’d gotten over too late. Bruce swallowed, pushing Clark’s hands away gently and turning towards where he heard the crack. “I’m fine.”
He couldn’t see the man. He had been certain Clark hadn’t thrown him that far. The crash he heard was nearby and he could see the small dent in the side of one of the crates--but the man wasn’t there.
“What was that?” Clark asked, looking around the same direction. He didn’t seem to be having much better luck.
“Someone injured, let me think. In the meantime, we need to be more careful. These boxes contain corrosive chemicals.” And potentially, explosives with these kinds of chemicals shifting. He rolled his shoulders, letting the loose pop center him again.
Wrapping up the clean part of his bandages, Bruce separated them from what he’d pulled off before, and placed them back in his belt. His arm was beginning to bruise from the pressure of the man’s squeeze. His pulse was steady, blood pumping just under the surface of his skin.
He looked back, Clark’s eyes still tinged with concern. “I said I’m fine. We should find out where he went.” Clark made another face and Bruce rolled his eyes. “They’re still an injured person, even if they attacked us. We’re getting them back home too.”
Clark let out a huff of air, straightening his back into his Clark form.
“There we go, let’s go Boy Scout.” And as he walked, he could almost see Clark rolling his eyes behind him.
There was a hand sanitizer station by the exit, the contents still shiny and with air bubbles. Shadows clung in the interior of the doorway, brightening the hallway as Bruce stepped out. The mundanity of the metal walls darkened as he glanced side to side.
If one worker had been infected, how many others? Was the rabies brought on as a containment issue, a result of faulty experiments, a byproduct of shipments? The man being in the storage room could be telling, but it was just him. There had to be more if the ship was shut down. If only he had the man to fully investigate and take samples from. He could still feel the grip down his armor. Clark was standing behind him.
There was a split in the hallways. Bruce could see the smooth signs pointing in either direction: ahead of them would be halls leading to the daycare, radiator, and dining room, with the daycare and dining room to the left and the radiator straight on. Behind them was the monitor, engine controls, and cockpit. Bruce stepped to the side of the room, letting Clark float out behind him.
The man looked down at him, eyes crinkled in a way Bruce couldn’t read before Clark blinked it away.
“I don’t know what’s in those vents, but we should be careful. Your dangerous materials scanner went off.”
“That’s for ingestion.”
“Something tells me there’s more to it.”
Bruce brushed past him, ignoring the concern laced Clark’s in voice. Clark trusted him, thought he was capable—but moments like these always watered the doubt in the back of Bruce’s mind. Yes, he was human—but he planned for it. Clark’s concern was misplaced.
The sound of his footsteps filled the walls, and the air grew warm and dry as he neared the radiator. The map showed the safe room as being on the other side.
The press of the man’s hands still lingering in his skin from where he had gripped him. The guy hadn’t looked normal. It was in his eyes.
Bruce had come into contact with a lot of mysterious ailments during his training and time as Batman, but this felt familiar. He’d crawled through enough sewers and condemned buildings to know the look of violent frenzy.
Friendliness shifting to violence with no precursor was something he had observed in diseased strays. Typically, there was still a look of understanding during the attack, when the animal was afraid. This though, there wasn’t anything. It wasn’t fear. Clarity slipped from this man’s mind like water leaking from cupped hands.
He’d been with Selina once, when she’d captured a cat who had contracted rabies. It was relatively rare for cats, even in Gotham. The cat had meowed, pawing at the door of its cage like any other might, but seemed relatively at ease. It had curled up and chirped when the two of them got close. When the change came, the signs were immediate. It wasn’t the anxiety and frustration of being in a cage; it was drool and violence.
Bruce had come across other instances through the years, but he’d only seen a human infected a handful of times traveling, each he hoped to forget. The similarities were too striking to ignore.
Working through the symptoms in his head, the onset of rabies symptoms could take place anywhere between four days and several years.
But the injured man had been sitting in a pool of liquid. Bruce went over the common symptoms again in his head, the hydrophobia sticking out to him like an open wound.
But still, not everyone developed that, and there were also recorded moments of lucidity and clarity between fits. The man was likely to have violent rabies rather than paralytic, if that’s what it was.
He zoned back into the hallway as they approached the next set of doors. The door security panel had a small light reading: emergency access only.
”What do you hear?” Bruce asked, waiting until he felt the familiar presence at his back.
Clark stared straight at the door, one eye twitching after a few moments. Clark blinked in confusion, letting his feet touch the ground beside Bruce. “It’s quiet, tinny.”
Bruce snapped his head over. Was there something wrong with his suit? Was there more lead in the ship than they anticipated?
Clark paused after a while, squinting at one of the walls. “I can’t—I can’t actually see through this.”
Bruce looked at the walls, thinking. There shouldn’t be lead in these walls. “How is the rest of you feeling? Can you still fly? Any dizziness? Headache?”
Clark floated to the ceiling and back down. “I can see some? But it looks smudged.”
Bruce pulled out the spare gas-mask he had been carrying from his utility belt, handing it over. “Carry this with you.” He could see Clark begin to protest. “Just in case your helmet cracks. I still need to do an air-sample analysis. I’m thinking it’s rabies, so it shouldn’t be in the air, but just in case.”
Clark’s lips pressed together before he took the mask, attaching it to a small loop above his suit’s pocket. “The map labeled their two safe rooms near both edges of the station. If we go through the radiator, we’ll be at the evacuation spot.”
Bruce pressed on the security panel, and a flashing “Warning. Do you wish to open?” sliding into view. He clicked yes and the door shuddered open, releasing with it a gust of heat.
The red lights were still present overhead, but the vast majority of the room’s light came from the softly glowing pipes on the far side of the room. The piping was mostly concealed behind vents, but the glow was bright enough to peak through.
Clark was looking about the room. “I didn’t realize we could make them so small for space stations.”
Bruce grunted. “Ships are faster with lightweight and emissive radiators. They’re probably using graphite or a darker metal.” He headed away from the large box he was sure was the heat exchanger, the pump, and the vents and towards the table further down.
“What use would a research station have in being fast?”
“It took us a few days to get here and we traveled in a compact spaceship built for transportation. Imagine transporting the entire station.”
Clark was looking in at the radiator now, the golden glow painting over his face. “Fair point.”
Brushing away to various tools, cut pieces of piping, and construction notes, Bruce picked up the manager’s activity log. The entries went back several weeks before the distress beacon was sent, and each with a number of observations and lists about the day. He skimmed over the post-shift entries:
Wednesday, June 11th: Unusual activity during unauthorized hours.
Monday, June 16th: Heat signatures spiking randomly.
Wednesday, June 25th: Group A Scientists say to tighten security, but won’t elaborate on why.
Tuesday, July 1st: It’s become urgent that we reinforce our doors and password protect our systems on a sporadic rotational cycle.
Thursday, July 10th: Study participant ‘loose.’ How can a voluntary participant be ‘loose’?
Sunday, July 13th: Some of the staff were sent home in the middle of the night. We didn’t even get to say goodbye.
A loud Bang interrupted his thoughts. There were two large cylinders next to the radiator, with small horizontal shaded windows near the top; one of them being banged on from the inside.
Clark met his stare before cautiously moving over to the small handle sealing the contraption shut. He turned it, and the door spilled open. What they could see of the man’s face was a pale green, lighter than J’onn’s. Half of his face had hair curled back, the same as Superman, and the other was concealed by a bat-cowl.
His costume was split down the middle, both exact halves of their uniforms even down to the seams of their capes. It was like someone had stripped them in half, dyed their skin green, and stitched them back together again.
His skin and suit were too realistic to be hazing gone wrong.
Clark held a hand out to the man from where he’d collapsed on the ground. “Can I help? We’re here to rescue everyone.”
The man looked up at Clark, eyes wide. “How can there be two of us?”
“Two…of us?” Clark frowned, keeping his hand outstretched.
“Who are you?” His gaze flitted to Bruce, who hadn’t moved since the encounter began.
“I’m Superman, and that’s Batman. Do you need help getting up? Why would someone put you in there?”
“I don’t—I can’t remember.” His expression was shifting to a clear shock.
Bruce cut in, voice gruff. “Come with us. We’ll get you home.”
“Oh god, I can hear them.”
“Hear who?” Bruce asked.
“They need help.” He was shaking, looking at the door they came through. “It’s a living death. Poor things can’t even think.”
“Do you know where the other survivors are?” Clark asked, reaching out to touch Composite’s shoulder. The green man jumped to his feet and squared his shoulders, cape curling around his shins. “Survivor. Yes. Perhaps that’s the only word for them now.” He looked at Bruce. “They need me. I have to save them.” And in a blink he was gone.
Clark hadn’t been able to find where Composite disappeared to, much to Bruce’s concern. His abilities weren’t as reliable as he’d grown accustomed to them being. They had patrolled the large number of adjoining rooms and hallways for nearly an hour before giving up. The station was too big to scour without more information.
They needed to get to the evacuation room and figure out what was going on, but first Clark slid down the wall in one of the empty rooms by the radiator. The buzzing of the lights was wearing on him, and they’d been walking for quite a bit. He could almost feel a headache throbbing in the back of his head, but he suspected it was due to annoyance that they hadn’t been able to find anything.
“B?”
“Hm?” Bruce stood, seemingly hesitant to sit down.
Clark couldn’t really see him through the cowl and gas-mask, but he looked tired. “Do you wanna take a break for a minute?”
“We can keep going.”
“I’d like a moment, then.”
Bruce looked at him, gauging Clark before asking, “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah. The lights are just a little strong.” He laughed awkwardly. “I just”—he swallowed— “need a minute.” He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes to try and block out the pulsing lights. It was still a red tinge behind his eyelids, but he could no longer see the spiralling of light cascading down the elongated ceiling bulbs.
He could hear Bruce slide down beside him and unscrew a latch in his gas mask; he attached a small tube to the side, connecting his hydration pack to the mouth section.
“Do you ever wonder if we’re doing the right thing?” Clark asked.
“No.”
“I should probably have elaborated. In regards to Damian, and Jon.”
“Dick turned out okay.”
“He was fighting for this life though. Would’ve ended up here—or, well. I guess most of your Robins would’ve ended up in their positions with or without you.”
“That they would.”
“I guess I just wonder if I’m stealing his childhood from him.”
“Anyone can bring their kid to help at a pet shelter. No one else can do what you and Jon can.”
“Does that make it right?” Clark pinched the bridge of his nose. His head still was getting worse.
“That sounds like a question you’ll have to answer yourself. My kids…I have my regrets. I won’t say otherwise. But I can’t deny the impact they had—not just on me, but on the city, and on the people we assisted.”
“I just—I don’t want him to feel like I’ve chosen him. There are other ways to be a hero than doing what I do. Other ways he can utilize his skills.”
“He’s young. He’ll figure out what he wants to do as he gets older. The only thing you can do is be a good role model.”
He opened his eyes, turning his head to look at Bruce. He couldn’t see any of him behind the mask, but the white lenses were looking back at him. Something in his chest loosened.
Bruce stood up, re-screwing the latch he’d opened for the water and extending a hand out to him. “You ready, Boy Scout?”
“I haven’t been a boy scout in years,” he responded, taking the hand. Even through Bruce’s gloves, he could feel the heat beneath his fingers.
“Were you…actually?”
Clark shrugged. “For a little bit.”
Leaving the radiator behind, the two of them started heading back in the direction of the first evacuation room. There were a few doors that were difficult to access—most had lost their power, leaving them jammed but unlocked. It didn’t take long before they stood at the entrance to the first evacuation room.
It was the first room yet with an active security door. Given it was one of two locations people were supposed to flock to, it made sense for power to be diverted here. Clark pressed on the access panel, typing in his reason for entry. The screen buzzed, horizontal pi-parting doors opening like jaws. The center room was filled with people pacing in different directions and yelling. Some of it was at each other, some of it was at devices, and some of it was just yelling.
He could hear at least three of the different languages from people yelling about how they don’t make enough money in their positions as directors and managers of staff for this kind of situation.
Clark stepped into the room, Bruce following at his back as the door clunked shut. A few people looked at them, but then they went back to what they were doing. It looked like a large group was gathered around a thick radio set in the center of the room. A man was speaking into the microphone, pressing buttons to transmit.
Clark cleared his throat. “Hello? Can any of you tell me what’s going on?”
The crowd parted where they walked, but no one really paid much heed to them. They walked towards the center table. Clark reached out to tap one of the women on the shoulder when a young boy pulled on his hand.
“Don’t interrupt them. My sister says they’re busy right now.”
Bruce kneeled down to be at the same height as the boy. “Can you tell us what happened?”
The boy nodded, his whole face moving up and down to exaggerate the motion. “There was a man. He had your clothes,” he gestured back and forth between the two of them, “but was green. Like a Martian.” The boy smiled and giggled at them. “I thought he looked like an action figure, but my sister said that he needed help. He was running around messing with things.”
“What kind of things?” Bruce had a hand on the kid’s shoulder, speaking loud enough to be heard over the chaos around them.
“I dunno.” The kid shrugged, his bottom lip extended in an almost silly reinforcement of his lack of knowledge. “I think he was trying to help people, but he kept getting confused.”
“Confused by what to do to help?”
The boy shook his head. “More like who to help. Too many people calling at once. I saw him picking up a guy in the ceiling once. Something about wires, I dunno.” He shrugged again. “But he dropped the guy before the job was done. Someone else had to come help because he’d heard a call on the other side of the ship.”
“Do you know what he is?”
“My sister said we made ’im! I think that’s why he looks like my toys.”
“Can you bring us to your sister?”
The boy’s smile brightened. “Sure!” He weaved through the crowd, ducking under people’s arms to head into one of the adjacent rooms.
There were a lot of people, all of them looking tired and worn. In the back of the room, Clark saw people were opening cans of spam and jello together, eating quietly. The boy brought them near one of the closets.
“Not now!” A woman’s voice sounded from inside. “I’m on the phone with Jared. Something happened to uncle Bill.”
“These people wanna talk to you…” The boy let his sentence trail off, waving and smiling as she opened the door.
“I’ll call you right back, Jared. You work on getting Liz on the line.” She slipped her phone in her pocket. “Batman? Superman? You guys are here?”
“Yeah,” Clark blurted, speaking without thinking. “Phones have signal this far out?”
Bruce stared at him, the white lenses burrowing into his soul.
“No, we have a tower for the station. It doesn’t transmit back to Earth, but there are a lot of us and it’s easier for us to communicate. Are you guys here to get us out?”
Bruce nodded. “That’s the plan. Do you know if there are any other spots on board that survivors might be hiding in?”
She shook her head. “Nothing other than the second evac. Sorry, I can’t believe you guys are actually here. We’ve been trying to reach other planets for days but nothing was a success. Were you passing through?”
“No, we were requested. Is there someone who organizes the rest of you around here, that we can speak to?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “No, not really. Even our highest ranking members have other people in separate departments of the same rank. What are you looking for?”
“Were the people on board experimenting with rabies, by any chance?” Bruce asked.
The woman shook her head. “Not that I know of, but the guys out there are crazy. Thankfully they don’t know how to open any of the more complicated doors, so the only people who make it in are fine. It’s been…” she laughed nervously, “unsettling, to say the least.”
“Do you know anyone we could speak to who might know more about them?”
She shook her head. “Everyone’s pretty busy right now, but I’ll check around. There’s stuff in our library, over there, if you want to look over any of it.”
She led them over to a small library shelf. There were some children’s books at the bottom, self-help books, a few children’s guides to vocabulary in different languages, and a stack of files. “I think some of the medic staff grabbed them during the evacuation. I don’t wanna touch it, but people were reading over them a lot when this first started.”
She walked off, leaving them standing awkwardly next to the squat shelf.
Clark pulled a chair over, sitting down to spread the files out over his lap. The papers listed methods, study participants—mostly animals but a few people entering testing phases,—and previous adverse reactions.
Bruce shook his head. “None of these align with the symptoms we saw.”
“Well, this isn’t necessarily all of their experiments. This station looks pretty lived in.”
“I don’t think they’d leave confidential files out where their medics can find them.”
Clark kept skimming. “Maybe they were trying to mitigate the risks by having the medics treat them early for issues?”
Bruce shook his head, thumbing through another folder. “Clark,” Bruce said, handing him the folder. “It says you commended her efforts for being a woman in STEM?”
Clark skimmed over the sheets. It was labeled ‘Avice’s Research: Faxed by Request.’ Passages were highlighted regarding her use of insect eusociality, synthesized insectoid pheromonal signals connecting to chemical transmitters, and hormones which override nervous system reactions.
He looked up at Bruce. “You think…the guy attacked because of insect pheromones?”
Bruce sighed. “Keep reading.”
Clark raised an eyebrow skeptically, but turned back to the report. There was a large red stamp on the folder labeled ‘Discard’ with handwritten scribbles he could make out to be “employs magic for full effectiveness.” It seemed the participants temporarily lost their symptoms of PTSD and addiction, but were unable to retain any critical thinking abilities.
It spoke about disregarding future research from Avice about insectoids, and then, at the bottom…Clark looked up, jaw set. “I did not commend her! I just said she was fully capable of doing good work as a woman in STEM. I would’ve thought the fact that I stopped her human experiments would’ve clued her in that I disapproved of her work.”
Bruce returned a thin lipped smile, humor in his tone. “Surely.”
“Hey!” Clark snapped the file shut playfully. “I didn’t!”
“Regardless, it doesn’t look like they were intending the side effects they’ve developed. Their methods are…nontraditional. I’d say potentially dangerous if they’re dealing with chemicals that risk the loss of autonomy.”
“But, this is an official station. Doesn’t all this have to be approved by an ethics board? And a trial tested on non-humans first?”
“I’m not sure this was originally tested on the participants, but either way, it’s unlikely to be our mystery ailment.”
The woman they’d been speaking to before tapped Clark on the shoulder. “I’ve found some people you can speak with, when you’re ready.”
The two of them looked at each other, stacking the files back on the shelf. They’d collect as much information as they could get before heading back out.