[center][img]http://www.baku-panda.org/bounce/lor+tag.png[/img][/center]
[b]WHITE SANDS SPACE HARBOR[/b]
[color=skyblue]NASA Alternate Space Shuttle Landing Site
[i]White Sands, New Mexico[/i][/color] 

He'd gotten the call at two in the morning.

An hour before then, the Space-X [i]Exclaibur[/i], an experimental space plane, had been given the go-ahead to de-orbit after a NASA and Space-X joint venture to recover a piece of debris from the Krptonian ship for study. On board had been a crew of four. Two mission specialists, Reed Richards and Susan Storm, pilots Jonathan Storm and Benjamin Grimm. 

As for what happened next, he'd gotten the brief on the C-12 from Metropolis to the White Sands Testing Facility that doubled as an old Space Shuttle proving ground, ditching option, and emergency airfield. It had only been used one time in the history of the Space Shuttle Program. STS-3, the third flight of both [i]Colombia[/i] and the Space Shuttle Program, landed here when weather prevented landing at either Cape Canaveral or Edwards Air Force Base.

The [i]Excalibur[/i] had executed a de-orbiting burn for two minutes and nineteen seconds, at which time it had turned for re-positioning to enter the atmosphere. At approximately the same time, an electromagnetic anomaly lit of alarms from the International Space Station to Houston, Texas. As to whatever that was, a massive solar flare, sun spot activity, or just a complete anomaly within the Kuiper Belt, the [i]Exclaibur[/i] and it's crew had been exposed to massive amounts of cosmic radiation. Houston had lost contact with the crew on board the [i]Exclaibur[/i] and enacted emergency protocols originally designed in the aftermath of the [i]Colombia[/i] accident to remotely re-direct and land the experimental spaceplane here at White Sands.

An orange light was illuminating the horizon as the disheveled, unshaven man stepped off the C-12 and onto the tarmac. Silver oak leaf insignia stood out on the shoulders of the military flight suit that he wore. The patch on the left side of his chest was embroidered with gold wings embossed with the medical caduceus symbol, beneath which were the words:
[center][b]DABNEY DONOVAN
CDR MC USN[/b][/center]
As the sun was threatening to rise on the horizon, Donovan could see fire crews still working to extinguish the smoldering frame of the [i]Exclaibur[/i] there on the runway. As he started down from the plane's ladder, a man in a suit called out his name.

It was never good when it was a [b]man in a suit[/b]. The U.S. military wore their affiliations openly. NASA personnel were wearing lanyards with their names and credentials. Firefighters each bore either military or federal civilian IDs on their sleeves. But the guy in the suit? Nothing. And, yet, he was here. In what was almost certainly a highly classified area.

So what did that leave? FBI? NSA? If there was one thing that Donovan had learned to be skeptical of, it was obscure three-letter acronyms associated with the U.S. government.

"What's the condition of the crew?" Donovan asked, skipping the introductions, and doubting there would be any.

"Alive, though they appear to be suffering some effects of radiation poisoning," the man in the suit reported, falling into step beside Donovan as the doctor made a beeline toward the smoldering wreckage. "They've been evacuated to Walter Reed for observation."

Donovan came up short. "Evacuated?" the doctor echoed, turning to face the man in the suit. "I got a call at two A.M. and told to fly out here ASAP," Dabney stated, more than a little annoyed if he was in New Mexico and his supposed patients were at a hospital in Maryland. "This isn't a house call, so please state the nature of the medical emergency," Donovan uttered flatly.

If Donovan was pissed, the man in the suit was completely nonplussed. "You're here because of what the Richards' expedition recovered, Doctor," the man answered in an even tone. Gesturing toward one area of the wreckage, the man in the suit beckoned. "This way, please."

Stepping over burning hunks of metal, the man in the suit led the Navy and NASA flight surgeon toward a large, oval-shaped object. The coloration and design didn't match anything else there on the runway. It was almost... [b]crystalline[/b], albeit cracked and pitted as though it had just been through quite the ordeal.

"We'd thought it was just a piece of the Kryptonian ship," the man in the suit was saying, as Donovan walked past him to approach the strange, otherworldly object. Now the Richards' expedition made more sense. The public story had been that Reed Richards and his crew were going to install new capabilities and hardware on the Hubble Telescope. Recovering alien technology in orbit of the planet was a much more plausible excuse to blow money in this restrictive fiscal environment. 

If there was one thing that the U.S. Government didn't have time or money for, it was NASA funding.

Leaning in for a closer inspection, as Donovan peered over the crystalline formation comprising the strange, geode-like form, he heard the man in the suit say, "Now, however, we think it might be..."

Then he saw it.

A shadow. A flicker. At first, he'd thought it might only be a trick of the light. Except, the form had been distinct.

It had been humanoid.

"...life pod," Donovan breathed softly.