A full moon was sinking toward the horizon as Renee skulked through the sleeping wharves. A silent warehouse cast its shadow across a field of stacked cargo containers. She darted from one stack to another, taking care not to be seen. She glanced about warily. After so many years on the force, it felt weird to be the hunted fugitive this time around.
A greasy black rat scurried away at her approach. The rat's got it right, she thought. Stay in the shadows. Only come out at night. Run if you hear anyone coming.
Survive however you can....
Dirt smudged her face. Her grubby tank top and shorts looked like something one of the local beggars would wear. A scuffed leather satchel was slung over her shoulder. Huge banners, bearing the smiling profiles of Black Adam and Isis, hung from a crane above her head. A series of loud bangs nearly caused her to jump out of her skin. Then she realized that someone was just blowing off firecrackers outside the shipping yard. The city wide jubilation over the impending royal marriage had penetrated even the waterfront district.
This must be what London was like, she mused, the night before Charles and Di got hitched.
She crept up to a rectangular cargo container the size of a child's playhouse. A printed label identified the container 's point of origin as Gotham City. She rapped softly against one side of the corrugated steel box. "Charlie? It's me."
Nobody answered, and she experienced a sudden moment of panic. Had something happened to Vic while she was out foraging for food? No, please, not again, she thought frantically. Cris Allen's lifeless body flashed across her memory. Not another partner ... .
Freaking out, she slid open a metal panel and rushed inside the container. A battery-powered halogen lamp lit up the interior of the box. To her relief, she saw Vic sitting in a lotus position upon the floor of the container. Deep in meditation, he must not have heard her knock before. His unmasked face needed a shave.
Thank God, she thought. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad to see you, Charlie. For a second there, I thought I'd lost you for good."
He emerged from his trance. "I'm with you to the end, Renee," he promised. "We're in this together."
Lucky us.
She glanced around at their home of the last two weeks: The inside of the container had been converted into a makeshift hideaway, complete with a pair of rickety cots. Wooden crates, shipped from Gotham by Vic's buddy, contained spare gear for Vic and even that kick-ass ray gun she had picked up off Intergang back home. Empty food wrappers and plastic bottles littered the floor. Beady red eyes watched her from the box's murkier corners.
"What about you?" he asked. "The kids and I were starting to get worried, Renee."
She eyed the lurking rodents. "The kids give me the creeps, Charlie." Opening the satchel, she took out a bottle of water and a loaf of bread wrapped in paper. She had furtively converted most of her traveler's checks into Kahndaqi currency several days ago; she still had enough cash to pay for food for the time being, but how long would it be before she was reduced to stealing their provisions? They had been in hiding for two weeks now, ever since eluding those policemen outside the trashed shipping office, and she still had no idea how they were ever going to get out of Kahndaq without being arrested. Not for the first time, she wished that there was a local U.S. Embassy she could turn to. Unfortunately, America and its allies had broken off relations with Kahndaq after Black Adam took over the country.
"They still looking for us out there?" Vic asked.
Renee split the loaf of bread with her fellow fugitive. "Everyone's attention's on the king and queen."
"Ah, right," Vic remembered. "Today's the big wedding, right? Black Adam and Isis."
Attracted by the bread, a fat gray rat watched them intently from atop a nearby wooden crate. Vic playfully tossed the hungry rodent a few crumbs. Don't encourage them, Renee thought. Too bad I didn't think to grab one of those big boxes of rat poison from the crime Scene. She remembered the heap of boxes lying on the bloody floor of the office. God knows they had plenty of the stuff,...
A lightbulb went off above her head, and she instantly lost her appetite. "Get your shoes on," she told Vic urgently, scrambling to her feet. "Hurry!"
He gave her a puzzled look. "What? Why?"
"The wedding." She grabbed the ray gun and thrust it into her satchel. It all made sense now. "Intergang is going to hit the wedding!"
"This is crazy, Adrianna!"
Mary Marvel was Captain Marvel's sister, and a super-powered heroine in her own right. She wore a feminine version of her brother's uniform, with a short red skirt instead of trousers. Even though they had only met a few days ago, Isis already thought of the young American woman as the sister she had never had.
"I love him, Mary," she insisted. They conversed in Isis' private quarters in the palace. She stepped behind a translucent screen as she disrobed. A maidservant stood by, holding onto Isis' bridal garments. Isis blushed at the realization that, after today, she would be spending her nights in a different wing of the palace.
Mary sounded unconvinced by the other woman's declaration. "You've known him for ...?"■
"Thirteen weeks," Isis supplied. "But it feels like a lifetime."
Several lifetimes, in fact. She had lost her family, been shipped to a foreign country, faced a lifetime of bondage, and been transformed into a living goddess ... all in the space of about three months. Granted, this marriage was a hasty one by conventional standards, but what about her existence was normal these days? What was one more life-changing upheaval, especially when it felt so right? This was meant to be, she thought confidently. I know it.
"But he's psychotic!" Mary protested.
"He's driven." Isis was not offended by the other woman's blunt appraisal of her intended. She understood where Mary was coming from; Isis recalled, with a twinge of regret, how she herself had once called Adam a terrorist, even spit in his face. But how far they had both come since then!
Mary paced restlessly on the other side of the screen. "He's killed a lot of people." .
"But he's saved even more. And he's letting his anger go." She tried to make Mary understand. "Underneath his pain and rage is a man who only wants peace. A man who lost everything he loved and wants no one else to suffer that loss."
Like I did.
"He's the one doing the killing...."
The maidservant helped Isis don her bridal regalia. "But you should see what he's done of late. The lives he's improved. The children that flock to him when he walks the street." Her heart warmed at the thought. "His smile. His smile is always real."
Mary still sounded dubious. "Since when does Black Adam smile?" She peeked over the top of the screen as a new thought occurred to her. "You know, maybe the wisdom of the goddess is messing with your feelings. Perhaps you should change back into your normal self and think about it some more. Just to be sure it's not the magic,"
"But that's exactly what this is, Mary Magic."
She stepped out from behind the screen, now fully clad in her wedding raiment, which resembled a more elaborate version of her usual garb as Isis. Silken white folds draped her statuesque figure. Golden bangles and jewelry glittered upon her arms and ears. A ruby sparkled in her navel. Gilded high heels temporarily replaced her sandals. A long satin train flowed behind her The maidservant diligently held the tail of the train aloft, to keep it from trailing upon the floor. The bride's dark brown hair was elegantly styled. Black streaks of kohl highlighted her eyes in the manner of her ancient Egyptian ancestors.
"I've already changed back and forth many times," she assured Mary. "And my feelings remain the same." She stood several inches taller than the American teenager; unlike her brother, Mary did not change into an adult when she assumed her powers. "But if you're so intent on questioning them, why did you agree to be my maid of honor?" Her tone was not hostile, merely curious. "Because Captain Marvel asked you to?"
As much as she was grateful to the Marvel Family, Isis couldn't help wishing that her own parents and relatives could have lived to see this day Alas, she had no family left, except for Amon, who might be dead as well. She deliberately forced such grim musings aside. Today, at least, was meant for happier tidings.
"Well, yeah," Mary admitted, somewhat sheepishly. "He thinks Adam can change. And that you're helping that happen."
"Maybe I am." She laid a reassuring hand upon Mary's shoulder. "But he wants to change. And he has changed."
_ "That's what Billy says too," Mary conceded. "I don't know ... maybe?"
Just wait and see, Isis thought.
Together, she and Adam would overcome all doubters.
Elsewhere in the palace, Black Adam posed in front of a full-length mirror. He scowled at his reflection. "My hair looks terrible."
"Your hair never moves,". Captain Marvel teased him. His mischievous tone hinted at a truth that few knew, that the mighty hero was, at heart, just a young American boy named Billy Batson. He regarded his former adversary with amusement.
"It's receding." Black Adam ran a finger along the edge of his dark widow's peak. "Somehow I hadn't noticed."
"I don't think you cared before," Marvel said. The Big Red Cheese, as the Western press had affectionately dubbed him, sat upon an upholstered seat a few feet away. He casually rested his chin upon his palm.
"Can it be fixed?"
"You're over three thousand years old," Marvel pointed out. "Be thankful you still have any hair at all."
Black Adam reluctantly conceded the point. Turning away from the mirror, he lifted his cape off a nearby chair. A tiny brown spot caught his eye. "They couldn't get this bloodstain out," he complained. He vacillated, uncertain whether to wear the cape anyway.
Marvel chuckled. "I can't believe it." •
"What?" Adam asked irritably.
"You're nervous. I've never seen you nervous before."
"I am not nervous," Adam insisted. He held the cape up before his eyes. "Perhaps no one will notice...."
Captain Marvel's voice took on a more serious tone. "This means you're going to give up that coalition of yours, right? Your crusade to wipe out the world's super-villains with your own private Justice League?"
"It is under consideration," Black Adam admitted. "My time has lately been focused on other matters. Perhaps more fruitful matters." With a sigh, he fastened the blood-specked cape onto his shoulders. Now is no time, he decided, to discuss affairs of state. "Thank you for coming, Billy. And for agreeing to use your authority as the Keeper of the Rock to wed us."
Captain.Maryel rose to his feet. "I was surprised you wanted us here. Not that I couldn't use a break from the Rock of Eternity." He looked distinctly more relaxed than he had been back in Shazam's ancient throne room. "Though I do need to get back before nightfall. You wouldn't believe what the Sins did to the place last time there was a full moon."
Don't be so sure, Black Adam thought. I know rather more of sin than most.
He reflected on the irony of the situation. In times past, he and Captain Marvel had been mortal enemies. Yet here was young Billy, his replacement as Shazam's champion, officiating at his wedding. Truly, the Fates moved in mysterious ways....
"My family, all of them, are long gone," he said thoughtfully. He contemplated his boyish American counterpart. "I thought, you have made your Marvel Family. Perhaps it is not too late to make mine."
I'm such an idiot, Renee thought.
She and Vic hurried through the crowded streets toward the palace. Watchful soldiers and security forces patrolled the city, making life more difficult. Spotting an armed police officer up ahead, she grabbed onto Vic's arm and dragged him into the nearest alley. "Don't let them see you!" she whispered urgently.
"They're looking for a man with no face," he reminded her. Flis mask was tucked into the pocket of his jeans, just in case he needed it later. Thankfully, the police had no idea what his real face looked like. "Besides, if we didn't want to be seen, we should have stayed in hiding."
To her dismay, the alley turned out to be a dead end. A high stone wall blocked the way to the palace. Renee could hear a crowd of excited citizens celebrating on the Other side. Middle Eastern music played over loudspeakers.
"Dammit," she cursed. "We're going to have to go over." She started to scale the wall, digging her grimy fingers into cracks in the mortar. She glanced back at Vic, needing a boost. "Help me up."
"What's going on?" he demanded. There had been no time to explain it to him yet.
"The rat poison!" she blurted. "At the shipping place, where we found the bodies?"
He still didn't get it. "You may have noticed that Shiruta has a bit of a rat problem, Renee."
"No, that's not why it was there!" She kicked herself for not figuring it out before. "It's an anticoagulant, Charlie. Suicide bombers use it to coat their shrapnel so that the victims who aren't blown apart will bleed to death!"
She could thank a G.C.P.D. antiterrorism drill for that nasty bit of trivia.
"But Black Adam ..Vic began.
She knew where he was going. "Intergang's not after Black Adam himself. He can't be hurt." With Vic's help, she clambered onto the top of the wall, then gave him a hand up. She snatched a shapeless brown robe from a laundry line, the better to blend in with the locals. She hastily pulled the robe over her soiled clothes. "They're going to hit the audience. The bomber's in the crowd...!"
All of Kahndaq seemed to have poured into the vast courtyard in front of the royal palace. The rejoicing multitude crowded the open patios around the sparkling reflecting pool. Live music played from the domed spires of the palace. The sun god Re had blessed the day with a bright blue sky and golden rays of light.
Quite a turnout, Captain Marvel Jr. thought as he flew above the crowd. His bright blue uniform matched the sapphire sky. A gold-trimmed red cape fluttered in the breeze. The teenage hero found it hard to believe that so many people had shown up to witness the marriage of one of the Marvel Family's oldest enemies. Heck, I can't believe we actually got an invite.
Despite his name, Captain Marvel Jr. was no relation to his celebrated namesake. Freddy Freeman was simply a teenage boy whom Captain Marvel had chosen to share his powers with. Billy had done so to save Freddy's life after the innocent teen had been seriously injured by a bad guy named Captain Nazi. Now Freddy showed his gratitude by using his newfound powers to combat evil alongside Mary and Captain Marvel.
And, apparently, by assisting at a wedding.
He flew ahead of a long procession of children. War orphans, to be exact, rescued by Isis and Black Adam over the last several weeks. At the request of the royal couple, the children were to be given a front-row seat at the proceedings. "Coming through!" Freddy shouted at the milling throng in their path. Most of the men and women below stepped aside to let the orphans through, but a few stragglers weren't getting the message. Too excited to pay attention to the American hero flying overhead, they lingered in front of the procession. Looking around for assistance, Freddy spotted a familiar face waiting in line in front of a street vendor.
"I need you to help me out here, Tawny," he called out to his friend, an eight-foot-tall tiger wearing a neatly pressed white suit. The furry feline stood upright like a man, and seemed distracted by the mouth-watering odors emanating from the steaming lamb kabobs. "I told you to eat something before we left," Freddy scolded the tiger.
"I wanted to save up for the Kahndaqian cuisine," Mister Tawky Tawny explained. The sentient tiger was a longtime friend of the Marvel Family. His whiskers twitched as he licked his chops. "It will only take a minute...
No dice, Freddy thought. He figured they were already running behind schedule. "I'm in charge of crowd control, man, and you're supposed to be helping."
"But you know how I get when I'm hungry," Tawny protested, reluctant to lose his place in line. "You don't want me to eat a member of the Royal Guard, do you?"
He was bluffing and Freddy knew it. Despite his ferocious appearance, Tawny was a big pussycat at heart. Freddy shook his head. "Just help me clear a path, okay?"
Growling unhappily, Tawny stepped back ahead of the procession. "Let the kids through,"' he snarled at the slowpokes blocking the way. Not surprisingly, the stragglers were quick to retreat from the grumpy tiger. Together, Captain Marvel Jr. and his feline assistant escorted the homeless children to their place at the front of the crowd, facing the palace. Neither of them paid any attention to one particular orphan, a teenage girl in a green robe. A stuffed backpack clung to her shoulders.
Alone among the elated children, she wasn't smiling.
"Look! There they are!"
All heads were turned upward to behold Black Adam and Captain Marvel hovering in the air high above the reflecting pool. Black Adam recalled addressing his people from this very spot a mere four months ago. That speech had been a call to arms, announcing his intention to rid the world of those who would endanger it. At the time, he had never guessed that he would soon be embarking on a far more joyous new endeavor. He searched the sky impatiently for his bride.
It was almost time.
A riotous cheer rose up from the crowd as Isis and Mary Marvel flew into view, joining them above the courtyard. Adam barely noticed Mary's presence, so captivated was he by his bride's radiant appearance. Her womanly grace and loveliness took his breath away. Filmy garments rustled in the breeze, clinging to her supple form. A satin train billowed behind her like the tail of a comet. He chose to take that as a good omen. .
"She's beautiful," Captain Marvel whispered to him.
For once, he and Billy were in total agreement.
"Hello, Adam," she greeted him with a smile. They faced each Other in the sky, while the Marvel siblings looked on benignly. Her slender fingers reached out and gently stroked his cheek.
"Good morning, Isis." They clasped their hands together. The crowd cheered once more.
Renee and Vic were the only ones not cheering. So many people, she thought anxiously, as they made their way through the packed crowd. Their slow pace frustrated her, adding to the tension. Her eyes desperately searched the vast assemblage. How were they ever going to find the would-be terrorist in this mob scene?
"You said 'bomber,'" Vic whispered. "How do you know there's only one?"
"The boxes of rat poison," she explained, shoving her way past a clump of jubilant spectators. Their insistent progress, and sloppy attire, attracted a few stink-eyes from the people around them, who were all decked out in their Sunday best. Many of the celebrants clutched bouquets of flowers, or maybe just a single red rose. An elderly woman sniffed disdainfully in their direction. Renee guessed that she and Vic didn't smell too good. "Only three of them were empty. That's about one bomb's worth."
No doubt the bombing was in retaliation for that Intergang mobster Black Adam had ripped apart in Metropolis several weeks back. The gang's leaders wanted to send the dictator a message, written in the blood of his subjects.
Gory possibilities flashed through her mind. "Take a look at this crowd, Charlie. One bomb is all you'd need. A single blast could kill two hundred people, maybe more."
"Oh, good," Vic said, struggling to keep up with her. "I was afraid this was going to be easy."
Captain Marvel glanced down at the exuberant throng. "I think we have our witnesses," he quipped. "And then some."
And none more important than those children below, Black Adam thought, who owe their newfound freedom and happiness to the boundless compassion of the beautiful maiden before me. She is truly a goddess among women.
Oddly, he felt no guilt at taking a new bride so many years after the untimely death of his first wife. Or perhaps it was not so odd; somehow he sensed that Shiruta, wherever her spirit now resided, would want him to find happiness again after all these lonely centuries. Kahndaqi tradition allowed a man more than one wife after all, provided it brought no disharmony to his household. He could only hope that someday they would all share eternity together beyond this vale of tears.
He nodded at Billy, signaling him to begin the ceremony.
"Let us repeat the wizard's name in praise," Captain Marvel instructed, "to summon the Virtues." .
Ordinarily, the wizard's name would transform them back into their mortal guises, but apparently Captain Marvel's new capacity as the guardian of the Rock of Eternity allowed him to grant them a special dispensation in this instance. Without fear of falling, all four champions loudly called out the name of power.
"SHAZAM!"
Thunder sounded in the clear blue sky and a bolt of enchanted lightning suddenly appeared before the wedding party. Rather than disappearing in a flash, the coruscating pillar of energy crackled in the air alongside the floating heroes. The pure white light of the stationary thunderbolt was reflected upon the shimmering surface of the reflecting pool forty feet below.
"The Seven Virtues of Man are now with us in spirit," Captain Marvel proclaimed. "Courage, kindness, hope, faith, humility, patience, and love." His booming voice rang out over the courtyard, so that all could hear him. "Do you hear them bless this union?"
Black Adam felt the calming presence of the Virtues. For the moment, they silenced the angry demands for vengeance that never entirely stopped crying out from the darker corners of his soul. He felt happier, and more at peace, than he had in millennia.
"I hear them, Billy," he said sincerely.
"As do I," Isis affirmed. They stared blissfully into each other's eyes, seeing only joy and contentment ahead.
Captain Marvel smiled broadly. "I am delighted that I could be here to see this day. A day when the union between man and woman, god and goddess, looks to spell hope for the future of the world."
Captain Marvel Jr. swooped by overhead. Renee waved her arms and tried to get his attention, but all eyes were on the solemn ceremony taking place far above the heads of the spectators. Her frantic cries were lost amidst the hubbub of the crowd. She shared a worried look with Vic. They had been searching for several minutes, but seemed to be no closer to finding the suicide bomber hiding somewhere in the audience. As the wedding neared its climax, she knew they were running out of time.
"Hold on!" she told Vic as a new tactic occurred to her. She climbed up onto his shoulders, causing him to grunt beneath her weight. "Hold still!"
"Hey!" he blurted in protest. "A little warning next time?" He held her ankles in place as she rose to a standing position atop his shoulders, hoping for a better view of the packed courtyard. She tottered awkwardly, trying to maintain her balance.
"Keep me steady!" she pleaded, while she searched the swarm of people ahead of them. A raised hand shielded her eyes from the incandescent white lightning bolt overhead. "C'mon," she muttered fretfully. "Where the hell are you ... ?"
Her gaze fell upon the rows of orphaned children lined up at the front of the crowd. Her eyes zoomed in on a suspicious backpack strapped to one of the kids' shoulders. Unlike the other children, who were practically dancing with excitement, and laughing merrily amongst themselves, this kid seemed to stand apart from the others. The body language was all different, more subdued, less gleeful. A hooded, olive-colored robe shrouded the figure's slight body.
That's our bomber, Renee realized. Every instinct in her body told her that she had the right person. Then the hooded figure glanced back over her shoulder, revealing a youthful face whose fatalistic expression and somber eyes only confirmed Renee's suspicions. To her shock, Renee spied the winsome features of a girl who looked maybe twelve years old. Thirteen, tops. "Oh my God," Renee whispered. "She's just a kid."
"I ask all who bear witness to this spiritual matrimony to gaze up at their glory." The words were more formal than was usual for the unassuming Marvel. Adam suspected that Billy was channeling the wisdom of Solomon, or perhaps even the immortal spirit of Shazam himself. "The glory of Kahndaq's champion and his bride-to-be. Look into their light. Behold true love. And pray."
Captain Marvel solemnly addressed the bridegroom.
"Teth-Adam of Kahndaq, do you take Adrianna Tomaz of Egypt, Nature's blessed queen, to be your wife?"
He answered without hesitation. "I do."
Renee sprang from Vic's shoulders, landing onto the floor of the courtyard. Elbowing her way through the crowd, she sprinted toward the hooded girl wearing the backpack. She snatched the ray gun from her satchel as she raced against time. "I see her!" she shouted back at Vic. "It's some kid. They're using some girl!"
Angry protests and curses assailed her as she forced her way forward, roughly shoving uncooperative Kahndaqis to the side. "Out of my way!" she yelled in English, but her foreign tongue fell on uncomprehending ears. She glimpsed the hooded girl up ahead, still several rows away. "She's got a bomb!"
"Adrianna Tomaz, also known as Isis, do you take Teth-Adam of Kahndaq, Black Marvel, as your husband?"
Her smile outshone the sun. "I do."
"Take the shot!" Vic called out to Renee. She could hear him fighting his way through the crowd behind her. There was no way he could get to the would-be bomber before Renee. It was all up to her. "Dammit, Renee!"
"She's just a kid!" Renee cried out in anguish. Her fingers held on tightly to the grip of her ray gun, which felt impossibly heavy in her hand. She was close enough to the girl that she could hear the teenager praying quietly to herself.
Renee couldn't make out the words of the prayer, which sounded like Arabic, but she couldn't help wondering what kind of twisted devotion Intergang had inspired in the girl that would drive her to martyr herself like this. Had she been brainwashed by Whisper A'Daire or something? "I can't shoot a kid!"
Vic refused to let her off the hook. "You're not going to reach her in time!" There were too many oblivious people between Renee and the hooded girl. She pushed helplessly against their unyielding bodies. "You've got to do it, Renee! Take the shot!"
The girl opened the front of her robe, revealing a belt of C-4 plastic explosives strapped around her waist. She removed the firing mechanism from her backpack, touching it to her forehead as she closed her eyes in prayer. Most people were still watching the gravity-defying ceremony above their heads, but a few of the girl's nearest neighbors spotted the explosives and started to back away in fear. The press of the crowd hemmed them in, trapping the terrified orphans well within the bomb's blast radius. The same horde stubbornly blocked Renee's path, unaware that they were only moments away from being blown to shreds. She stared at the suicidal girl through the mass of bodies. Vic kept on yelling at her.
"Take the damn shot!"
Captain Marvel nodded in approval. "By the gods and goddesses of all universes and all worlds, I now pronounce you man and wife." Caught up by the emotion of the moment, Mary Marvel wiped a tear from her eye. "Now let's have some more lightning."
"God forgive me," Renee whispered.
A blast of corrosive energy erupted from the muzzle of the ray gun.
The girl didn't even have time to scream as a searing beam cut through her torso, vaporizing her explosive belt.
Her lifeless body collapsed onto the pavement.
Black Adam and Isis embraced passionately. Their lips met and thunder pealed overhead, drowning out every other sound, even the fervent beating of their hearts. Lightning electrified the sky. Lost in the kiss, Adam knew that nothing in heaven and earth could possibly spoil this moment. A glorious new era had begun . . . and perhaps a new dynasty as well.
"Mary, full of grace ..."
Renee dropped to her knees, emotionally exhausted. Nearby, the bomber's body lay sprawled across the polished stone tiles. Acrid fumes rose from her charred flesh. Blood spread from the gaping hole in her torso. Her lifeless fingers still gripped the firing mechanism. The startled cries of those nearby were lost amidst the deafening thunder and the cheers of the overjoyed populace.
"Just a kid," Renee murmured. Tears streaked her face. She felt sick to her stomach.
A gentle hand fell upon her shoulder. "You didn't have any choice," Vic said softly.
His words did little to comfort her. Disintegrating a scaly man-monster was one thing. Killing a deluded teenage girl was another. She looked at the girl's smoking body.
"Tell her that."
Clark Kent had no memories of his own funeral, of course, but he had viewed TV news footage of the event after he came back to life. Superman's funeral had been a massive affair, attended by pretty much the entire Justice League and every other super hero on the planet. Thousands of ordinary men and women, wearing black armbands that bore his distinctive S-shield insignia, had turned out in Metropolis to bid farewell to the Man of Steel.. . temporarily, as it turned out. Watching the footage much later, Clark had found the proceedings both impressive and deeply moving.
Booster Gold's funeral was something else altogether.
Corporate logos and trademarks were plastered all over the cheap pine casket. "Soder Cola mourns your passing" read one of the stickers pasted to the coffin. Similar sentiments were expressed by labels bearing the logos of Lit Beer, Pep Cereals, and some of Booster's other sponsors. Furthermore, the six pallbearers carrying the coffin out of the chapel were hardly the cream of the super hero community. Clark recognized:
The Blimp, an overweight member of The Inferior Five, capable of floating slowly through the air. A finned green costume heightened his resemblance to his namesake.
Mind-Grabber Kid, a former teen hero still clinging to what remained of his short-lived celebrity. He mostly signed autographs at nostalgia shows these days.
The Yellow Peri, an amateur sorceress whose spells tended to go awry more often than not. Clark had first encountered the witchy blonde in Small-ville years ago.
Beefeater, a would-be British crime fighter whose elaborate scarlet and gold uniform, resembling that of the Yeoman Warders of the Tower of London, was more impressive than his abilities.
The Odd Man, a clownish-looking individual wearing garish face paint and a motley-colored business suit. He was known (barely) for playing pranks on minor villains.
And Honest Abe, a lanky individual who was a dead-ringer for Abraham Lincoln. To be honest, Clark had no idea what his powers were.
The mild-mannered reporter shook his head in dismay. As far as he knew, the obscure heroes meant well, but... they weren't exactly League material. A handful of bored bystanders watched the proceedings. They looked disappointed by the costumed turnout. Clark couldn't blame them.
"Classy," he observed. He looked dubiously at Skeets, who was hovering nearby. "Two weeks to arrange this?"
“believe me, mr. kent,” the robot insisted, “i»m equally underwhelmed. BUT THAT’S HOW LONG IT TOOK TO FIND A HOST CITY FREE OF, SHALL WE SAY, ANTI-BOOSTER SENTIMENT.”
Clark peered through his glasses at the sorry spectacle. "Skeets, Booster's never even been to Cincinnati."
“exactly,” Skeets said. They watched as the coffin was loaded into a waiting hearse. No other reporters were on hand to cover the funeral, “but
HE HAS NOW, SIR.”
Relieved of their burden, the undistinguished pallbearers lingered on the sidewalk. They looked uncertain what to do next. Listening in on their conversation, Clark wondered if any of the costumed mourners had even met Booster before.
"This is chunkage," Mind-Grabber Kid complained. Despite his name, the "Kid" was pushing thirty. A metal helmet and tinted visor concealed his features. "I don't see a single network here." He glanced at the Yellow Peri. "Did your agent promise you media coverage?"
"I don't have an agent," she admitted. A Midwestern accent betrayed her corn-fed roots. Golden bracelets matched her flaxen tresses.
"Really?" Mind-Grabber Kid leaned toward her, eager to make a connection. "If you want to swap numbers, I can hook you up with—"
"No," she said curtly.
A few feet away, the Odd Man chatted with Beefeater. "I didn't know Booster/' the clown divulged. "I got this gig off HeroList, which kind of creeps me out." His squeaky voice hinted at years of helium abuse. "Didn't he have any family?"
"Oi," the Brit said with a thick cockney accent. " 'E was a time-traveler, remember? 'E won't be born for five 'undred years, guv'nor." A round-brimmed Tudor bonnet capped his head. A white ruff collar circled his neck. His scarlet tunic bore the emblem of the royal crown, above the traditional thistle rose and shamrock. "Oi."
The Blimp offered the two men a ride, and they clambered onto his considerable girth. He wafted into the air, carrying the pair of heroes with him as he slowly drifted after the departing hearse. The Yellow Peri, Honest Abe, and Mind-Grabber Kid had chosen to climb atop the long black limo instead. The blonde waved at the meager crowd as though riding a float in the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. Abe recited the Gettysburg Address.
"This isn't right," Clark said ruefully. "Booster didn't die in disgrace. He was off his game near the end, but this world is too quick to forget the good some men do." He could only assume that Green Lantern, the Flash, Martian Manhunter, and the rest were too busy saving the world to attend Booster's funeral. He knew that both Bruce and Diana had other matters to deal with at the moment. "I'll write this up for the Planet and hope that Perry doesn't bury it under the fold or behind a hyperlink." He glanced at the levitating robot beside him. "Skeets, do you want a ride to the cemetery?"
The robot didn't answer at first, apparently distracted by one of the civilians looking on from the sidelines. Skeets' sensors seemed to be focused on a blond-haired man wearing a loose flannel shirt and jeans. The thirtyish stranger bore a slight resemblance to Booster. Was that what had caught the robot's attention?
"Skeets?"
“I’ll fly on my own, mr. kent,” he replied. “I SEE SOMEONE I WISH
TO SPEAK WITH.”
His journalistic curiosity aroused, Clark watched discreetly as the robot zipped toward the startled bystander, “excuse me, sir, but you seem
VAGUELY . . . FAMILIAR. MAY I ASK YOUR NAME AND WHAT BRINGS YOU TD THE SERVICE?”
"Who, me?" The man was understandably taken aback by the robot's interest. "I'm Daniel Carter. I'm here 'cause ... I dunno. Had a lunch hour, felt like I oughta be here for some reason." He took a few steps back from Skeets. "Should I... uh ... know you, or something?"
Good question, Clark thought.
A metal probe extended from Skeets' gleaming carapace. A miniature scanner projected a ruby red beam that swept over Carter's face and physique. “genealogical analysis,” Skeets said aloud, his voice briefly taking on a more robotic tone, “subject: daniel jon carter, dna analysis of
ANCESTRAL LINK TD BOOSTER: 93.2% . . . 95.8% ... 1 DO%.”
Carter scratched his head, thoroughly baffled by the robot's technobabble. His face lit up as an idea occurred to him. "Hey, am I on TV?" He looked around hopefully, as if expecting a camera crew to emerge from hiding at any second. Maybe someone from American’s Funniest Super Hero Encounters?
“not yet,” Skeets informed him. “but contact me soon atthe number I JUST BEAMED TO YOUR CELL PHONE, DANIEL CARTER.” The robot
flitted away into the sky. »we need to talk about your future. . . .”
Clark watched the robot head toward the cemetery on its own power. What was that all about? he wondered. It sounded like Skeets thought this "Daniel Carter" might be one of Booster's direct ancestors. Always possible, Clark supposed. Booster's DNAhad to come from somewhere. Maybe Skeets is just trying to track down Booster's next of kin?
He made a mental note to find out if Booster had left any sort of will behind. In the meantime, he had to head to the cemetery himself. Someone from the Justice League needed to be present when Booster was lowered into the ground, even if Clark could only be there incognito. Whatever his motives, Booster Gold had saved himdreds of lives over the course of his career, both before and after the Crisis. He had lived and died a hero.
He deserved better than this.
The solemn ceremony took place within the royal hall of the palace. Towering marble columns supported the high ceiling. Carved Egyptian hieroglyphs embellished the decorative cornice running along the tops of the walls. Robed courtiers and advisors stood in attendance as Black Adam, with Isis at his side, addressed their honored guests. Or one of them at least.
"On the very day of our wedding," Adam declared, "a vile and sinister attempt to kill hundreds by means of a suicide bomb was averted by your heroic actions in the defense of Kahndaq and her people."
A profound anger simmered within him as he recalled the details of the nefarious plot. Enraptured by the beauty of his bride, and the joyousness of the occasion, he had failed to notice the life-or-death drama that had unfolded outside the palace that day, but his security team had soon made him aware of just how close his people had come to a grisly tragedy. Numerous witnesses, as well as the personal effects of the would-be assassin, had confirmed the foreigners' role in preventing a massacre.
Such valor deserved recognition, which was why he now held a cedar box before him. A pair of gleaming medals rested within the box, atop a black satin cushion. Polished sapphires were lodged in the medals, which were forged of electrum, an ancient alloy of gold and silver prized since the days of the pharaohs. Silk ribbons adorned the medals.
"Thus it is my pleasure to present you and your partner with the Order of the Scarab, the highest honor Kahndaq can bestow upon those not born of her soil."
Isis took one of the medals from the box and draped it over the head of the man standing before them. "Wear it with pride, Charles Victor Szasz." She smiled warmly at the American as the scarab settled against his chest. "And know that you and Renee Montoya will always be regarded as friends by Kahndaq and its rulers." •
"Thank you, your highness." The man wore a neatly pressed suit and tie, courtesy of the palace tailors. His clean-shaven face gazed back at them. He looked relieved not to be a fugitive anymore. "Always nice to have friends."
Black Adam could not fault Szasz's manners. He appeared suitably appreciative of the lofty honor being bestowed upon him.
His associate, on the other hand, was a different story.
"Where is she?" Black Adam demanded crossly. The former policewoman was conspicuously absent, her medal unclaimed. "Or does Ms. Montoya mean to insult myself and my queen with her continued absences?"
Such conduct was inexcusable, even for an American.
"I'm sure no insult was intended to either of you, your highness," Szasz insisted. He awkwardly fingered the medal upon his chest. "Renee ... is going through a difficult time right now."
"She had no choice," Black Adam said impatiently. For once, a Westerner had shown the courage to do what was necessary; must she now sully that accomplishment by wallowing in useless guilt? Black Adam found her squeamishness just as foolish and infuriating as that of the Justice League. "The girl had a bomb."
Szasz shrugged. "Yeah. Well, let's just say she doesn't see it like that." He shook his head ruefully. "And she's coping in her usual way...
Empty bottles and discarded clothing littered the floor of the hotel room. Heavy curtains kept out the daylight. On the rumpled bed, which hadn't been made in days, Renee lolled atop the satin sheets with a cute Kahndaqi femme named Zalika. Sweat glistened upon the women's bodies. A ceiling fan failed to cool their ardor.
“Onq ihny, Renee," Zalika whispered in her ear as she laid atop Renee. Her exotic perfume smelled of sandalwood and jasmine. "S'alyai runs...."
"Got no idea what you just said, babe," Renee slurred. So far, the language barrier hadn't posed much of a problem. If anything, it made things simpler. "But I love the way you say it."
Drunk on cheap date wine, she sank limply into the sheets, letting Zalika take the lead. The local girl certainly knew what she was doing all right. Renee felt the room shake. Then, beyond the foot of the bed, the wall crumbled. Sunlight poured into room, hurting Renee's eyes. Wincing, she raised a hand to shield herself from the glare. Zalika yelped and rolled off Renee. She covered herself with a pillow.
What the hell?
Black Adam hovered in the air outside the fifth-story hotel room. Powdered stone and plaster caked the knuckles of his clenched right fist. A spar-kly medallion dangled from his other hand. He glowered balefully at the two women. "By the gods," he thundered, "what do you think you're doing?"
Zalika hid behind her pillow. Renee didn't bother. "Uhm," she mumbled tipsily. "You don't really want me to answer that, do you?"
"You continue to insult me?" Black Adam's face flushed with anger. He landed indignantly onto the Persian carpet. An empty wine bottle crunched beneath his boot. As usual, he seemed annoyingly full of himself. "Do you have any idea who it is you're speaking t—?"
"Oh, shut up!" Renee groused. She felt a hangover coming on, and Black Adam's booming voice wasn't helping any She sluggishly rolled out of bed and started pulling on her jeans. Squinting into the sunlight, she saw Isis carrying Vic through the sky toward the hotel. A worried expression showed upon the Egyptian woman's face as she and Vic touched down on the floor behind her husband. Vic smirked at the compromising situation Renee had just found herself in. She decided she liked him better when he didn't have a face.
"And you," she accused Vic, shaking a finger at him. "Man, what is it with you, Charlie?" A vivid memory, of a no-faced stranger intruding on her one-night stand back in Gotham, surfaced from her soggy brain. "Every time I'm getting some, you have to crash the party?" She clumsily wiggled into a black tank top, putting an end to the peep show. "You gotta crush on me or what?"
Uninterested in her argument with Vic, Black Adam spun Renee around to face him. "There was a time," he warned her, "when I would have cheerfully killed you for speaking to me as you have."
"Don't let me stop you, big guy." Once a killer, always a killer, she figured. The dead girl's face flashed across her memory. She remembered squeezing the trigger of her ray gun. Just like me.
Black Adam waved his goddamn medal in her face: "Renee Montoya, you were to receive the Order of the Scarab today A great honor." He fumed as she rummaged about the room, looking in vain for a bottle that still had a little booze left in it. "But instead of attending the ceremony, I find you here, drunkenly taking pleasure with one of my citizens."
While Black Adam read Renee the riot act, Isis quietly procured a robe from the floor and draped it over Zalika. Keeping a wary eye on her irate husband, she escorted the trembling Kahndaqi babe from the room. Zalika kept her face turned away from Black Adam, no doubt hoping to escape his notice. Renee hoped she hadn't gotten the woman in trouble.
It's not her fault I'm bad news.
"I demand an answer," Black Adam insisted. He looked like he wanted to pop her skull like a balloon. "Do you mean to insult me and my new bride, or is there some other expla—?"
Jesus, Renee thought. Doesn't this jerk ever shut up? She angrily swatted the medal away from her. "Get that thing outta my face!"
Black Adam blew his stack. "You push too far, woman!" An iron fist clamped around her throat, cutting off her air. She grabbed onto his wrist with both hands, trying to pry his fingers away from her neck, but it was like trying to bend steel with her bare hands. He lifted her off the floor, giving her the full Darth Vader treatment. Her bare feet dangled in the air. "I am a changed man," he snarled, "but not that changed!"
"Adam!" Isis cried out. -
"Renee!" Vic blurted. He started to rush forward, only to be held back by Isis' superior strength. He strained against her slender arm. "Your highness, don't!"
A pitiful gurgle escaped Renee's Ups. Her hands fell away, her arms dropping to her sides as she abandoned her efforts to save herself. Starving lungs gasped for air. Darkness swiftly encroached upon her field of vision. Death was only moments away, but instead of her own wasted life passing before her eyes, she saw instead the somber face of the teenage girl in the courtyard, the girl she had burned a hole clean through. The crackle of the heat-ray echoed in her ears as, once again, she watched the deluded teenager drop lifelessly onto the pavement. Fresh blood spilled across Renee's tortured soul.
"That's right, go ahead...." she challenged Black Adam. Tears leaked from her bloodshot eyes. Maybe this was the only way to make the girl's face go away. "Just do it...."
But Isis would not let Black Adam put Renee out of her misery. The Egyptian queen stepped forward and placed her palm against her husband's chest. Kohl-lined eyes entreated him. "This helps nothing," she said softly.
The murderous fury fled his face, at least to a degree. Letting go of Renee's throat, he disdainfully flung her to the floor. Panting for breath, she lay sprawled upon the cluttered carpet. Vic helped her to her feet, and she plopped down onto' the edge of the bed. She cradled her aching head in her hands, emotionally and physically exhausted. Just my luck, she thought bitterly. The one time Black Adam shows mercy, it has to be with me.
Isis came between Renee and Black Adam. She gestured toward Renee as she spoke to her husband. "Her grief—and your anger—are both misplaced."
"Isis is right," Vic said. He dropped a gentle hand onto Renee's shoulder.
She looked up at him, despair written all over her face. "I killed a kid, Charlie."
"And you're going to be eating your liver—what's left of it—over that for years to come." His face and voice were more serious than usual. "But none of us are talking about why that girl was there in the first place." He turned to confront Black Adam and Isis. "And handing out medals, as lovely as they might be, or going on benders with the prettiest lass in Shiruta, doesn't solve the problem. It doesn't even address it." He paused for emphasis. "The problem is Intergang."
Renee lifted her head, taking an interest despite herself. She remembered why she had come to Kahndaq in the first place. And who was ultimately responsible for the would-be bomber's death.
Vic spelled out the mystery for them. "On top of everything else, along with their monster men and high-tech weapons, why are they using kids?"
"A good question, Charles," Isis stated. "It must be stopped."
Black Adam nodded grimly. His simmering rage no longer seemed directed at Renee. His arms were crossed stiffly atop his chest. "Then let us stop it."
Sounds like a plan, Renee thought. A trace of Zalika's perfume still lingered in the room. Once I sober up, that is.
"It was, no lie, one of the greatest moments ever in high school football."
Daniel Carter sat in an easy chair in his cruddy apartment as he relived the high point of his life for maybe the one zillionth time. Old football trophies filled the wooden display case to his right. A framed photo of the Manchester High Spartans, circa 1991, was mounted on the wall. A stack of unpaid bills laid unopened atop a cheap particleboard end table.
"A ninety-eight-yard touchdown run put me just over the all-time national rushing record. Half the state came that night to watch me make the history books, and I did." He sipped from a can of Lit Beer before getting to the next part. "And I didn't even get to score with the head cheerleader after." He winced at the memory of a three-hundred-pound linebacker slamming him to the ground. "Broke my leg in four places. Blew my knee and my scholarship." Even after fifteen years, the unfairness of it all still stung. "But not all was lost. I grew up to be Evergreen Insurance Company's fifth best term-life salesman." He cracked a bitter smile as he held up five fingers. "Fifth. Out of six."
“it could have been worse,” Skeets observed. The talking robot floated in front of Daniel, “you cduld have ended up a janitor at a
SPACE MUSEUM.”
What the heck? Daniel thought. "Uh, that's a pretty specific reference."
“IT’S THE PATH YOUR DESCENDANT FOLLOWED. WILL FOLLOW,”
Skeets corrected himself, “after a gambling scandal ended his own
FOOTBALL CAREER.”
"See, I thought just coming home and finding a bippity little robot going through my mail was creepy enough." In fact, Daniel had been out of town on business since dropping in on Booster Gold's funeral two weeks ago, only to find Skeets waiting for him when he got back. This is why I never called that number he beamed into my cell phone. Everything about this business is too weird. He took another swig of beer. "Dude, unless this is the greatest sweepstakes reveal in human history, and you're really a TV camera, I promise I am not the droid you're looking for." Part of him kept expecting this whole deal to be some sort of practical joke. "I'm sorry that Booster Gold guy is dead, but he and I were not related. No one in my family was a super hero."
“yet,” Skeets pointed out. “booster—michael jqn carter—was
YOUR DESCENDANT. WE CAME TO YD U R ERA IN PART BECAUSE WE BELIEVED ITS EVENTS TO BE A MATTER OF HISTORICAL RECORD.” The
shiny golden robot certainly looked like he came from the future, “but that
ISN’T SO. SOMETHING IS AWRY IN THE TIMESTREAM. BEFORE HE DIED, BOOSTER AND I INFILTRATED THE LAB OF A CHRONONAUT NAMED RIP HUNTER TO INVESTIGATE THE CAUSE OF THE ANOMALIES.”
Despite himself, Daniel found himself caught up in the bizarre narrative. "What did you find?"
“I’M not certain,” Skeets admitted, “my presence was required
TO KEEP AN ATOMIC TIME LOCK OPEN WHILE BOOSTER WENT INSIDE. HE CLAIMED NOT TO HAVE SEEN ANYTHING OF SIGNIFICANCE, BUT I’M
wondering if he didn’t OVERLOOK something.” Daniel saw his own
face reflected in the robot's metallic sheen, “you are one of booster’s
ANCESTORS. YOU WILL KNOW.”
"This is crazy talk," he protested. "When does Sarah Connor show up to stop me from inventing Terminators?" He lurched out of his chair and headed for bed. He had wasted too much time on this screwy sci-fi crap already.
“daniel!” A note of urgency entered the robot's electronic voice. He followed Daniel across the living room, “it’s vitally important that i
REGAIN ACCESS TO THAT LAB. ITS BIOMETRIC SECURITY SENSORS ‘KNOW’ BOOSTER NOW, AND YOU’RE ENOUGH OF A GENETIC MATCH TO FOOL THEM.”
He kept on walking away "Can't help you," he said, wondering if it was possible to get a restraining order against a robot. "I have plans this weekend that don't involve breaking and entering."
“i know,” Skeets declared, “a dentist appointment and a weekly
POKER GAME WITH SOME OF YOUR OLD HIGH SCHOOL BUDDIES. PRETTY EARTH-SHATTERING STUFF. SUPERMAN WOULD BE JEALOUS.”
Daniel had never realized that a robot could be so sarcastic. "What, did you read my date book too?" He spun around to glare at the hovering golden orb. "Nice salesmanship, spy guy" He nodded toward the door. "Get lost."
“BUT WHAT IF I COULD PROMISE YOU A MORE THRILLING EXISTENCE, daniel?” Skeets caught up with Daniel, “what if i told you i
COULD, USING BOOSTER’S DNA, BIOENGINEER A SUPER HERO IDENTITY foryou?” The robot was only a few inches away from him now, Skeets'
glowing sensors practically staring into his eyes, “what if, in return for
YD U R AID, I OFFERED YOU A CHANCE TO RELIVE THAT MOMENT OF FOOTBALL GLORY OVER AND OVER AGAIN FOR ALL TIME?”
Daniel hesitated. He knew he should probably drop-kick Skeets out the nearest window, but what if the robot could actually deliver what he promised? Daniel glanced around his dinky apartment, frowning at the chintzy furniture and high school mementoes. Preserved beneath glass, his old football jersey (#52) hung upon the wall. The jersey, trophies, and other souvenirs seemed to mock his pathetic existence. Thirty-two years old, and what did he have to show for it? Just a dead-end job and a roomful of reminders of what might have been. Sure, I’ve fantasized about being a super hero, he thought. W7io hasn't? Skeets' offer was tempting ... still, he couldn't help remembering that the robot's last partner had ended up dead. Did he really want to go the way of the late Booster Gold?
"I don't know," he said skeptically. "I'm being asked to entrust my future to a flying toaster. That's a pretty huge gamble."
An electronic chuckle emanated from the robot, “gambling runs in
THE CARTER BLOOD.”
. \
Three days later, Daniel found himself baking beneath the hot desert sun. Buzzards circled overhead as he faced a pair of ominous steel blast doors. I can't believe I'm really doing this, he thought. Sweat trickled down his back, and not just because of the oppressive heat. He was starting to wish that he had never heard of Booster Gold. I used up all my frequent-flyer miles for this?
“how does the visor feel?” Skeets asked. The chatty robot had made all the travel arrangements to get them here. A rented jeep was parked outside the chain-link fence behind them. The massive concrete bunker didn't look very welcoming.
Daniel adjusted the gold-tinted goggles. "Featherweight," he admitted. "My contacts are more trouble than this." The goggles and attached blue headpiece only heightened his resemblance to the real Booster Gold. He wore a jacket and jeans over the hero's spare uniform. "You can see through them too. Right?" .
“and hear,” Skeets confirmed. He inserted a metal probe into the atomic time clock. The dense metal doors slid open, exposing the dimly lit stairway beyond.
Daniel gulped and started down the steps. "What did you call this Rip Hunter guy again?"
“A chrononaut,” Skeets said. “A time-traveler.”
That's what I thought, Daniel thought unhappily. "Just checking." He muttered to himself as he descended the stairs. "What the holy living hell am I getting into ... ?"
Suddenly, selling life insurance didn't seem all that bad. He wondered if he should have taken out a bigger policy on himself.
The ruined laboratory at the bottom of the stairs did nothing to ease his apprehension. The abandoned bunker looked like a bomb had gone off inside it. A huge crystal bubble had broken into a million pieces. A toppled globe had graffiti all over it. Dozens of dead clocks were stopped at 12:52. A dusty blackboard was filled with loony scribbling. Time is Broken? What the heck does that mean?
Standing in the center of the trashed lab, he slowly swept his gaze over the wreckage, giving Skeets a good look at the place. He hoped the robot was getting more out of this than he was. "And this would be ... ?"
“HARDLY ANYTHING BOOSTER DESCRIBED ACCURATELY.” Skeets'
voice came to him via a receiver concealed in Booster's headpiece. It sounded like the robot was floating right next to him. “scan everything, leave
NOTHING TO BE PROCESSED BY MY IMAGINATION. BOOSTER TOLD ME NOTHING OF THIS, AND IT’S ALL CRUCIAL.”
Was it just his imagination, or did Skeets actually sound a little pissed off at his former partner? Daniel started to get a seriously bad feeling about all this. Maybe becoming a super hero was not such a great idea?
“there!” Skeets said emphatically, “the north wall, move
CLOSER.”
Daniel saw what Skeets was looking at. The wall in question had been covered with graffiti, apparently by a single individual. Daniel was unpleasantly reminded of Jack Nicholson in The Shining, typing the same phrase over and over again, right before he started hacking people up with an axe. A chill ran down Daniel's spine and he looked around nervously, just to be certain that he was all alone in the bunker. Had this Rip Hunter dude gone off the deep end too?
“what does the writing say?” Skeets asked.
Daniel leaned forward to get a better look. " 'It's all his fault,' " he read aloud. "I don't get it." Scratching his chin, he squinted at the repetitive scribbling. "Whose fault?"
A magazine cover was taped to the wall. Hand-drawn arrows pointed at a cover photo of Booster Gold. "It's all his fault," a Post-it note insisted. But was the arrow pointing at Booster, or the robot floating inconspicuously above him? It struck Daniel that his new partner hadn't said anything for a couple of moments now. "Skeets?"
An electronic voice murmured in his ear. “he knows.”
Without warning, Daniel heard the blast doors slam shut at the top of the stairs, trapping him inside the bunker. Crimson lights flashed overhead, casting a bloodred radiance over the interior of the chamber. A high-pitched siren went off, echoing loudly within the claustrophobic confines of the underground laboratory. An artificial voice, that sounded not at all like Skeets', stridently sounded an alarm:
"RED ALERT! RED ALERT! LAB ENTRANCE HAS BEEN TAMPERED WITH! RED ALERT!"
"Skeets, what's happening?" Daniel shouted to be heard over the ear-piercing siren. He ran frantically toward the stairs. "Skeets!"
"TRESPASSER DETECTED! TIME-LOOP VORTEX DEFENSE ACTIVATED!"
The air crackled behind him. A whiff of ozone tickled his nose. Peering back over his shoulder, Daniel saw7 some sort of glowing purple whirlpool forming in the middle of the laboratory. Reality seemed to ripple around the edge of the unnatural phenomenon, as though the very fabric of time and space was being distorted. A powerful suction tugged on Daniel. Loose papers and debris disappeared into the gaping maelstrom.
"Vortex?" He felt the suction growing stronger by the second, pulling him backward toward the time warp. "No!" he gasped as he realized that he had somehow set off the world's scariest burglar alarm. He raced up the steps, fighting the pull of the vortex every step of the way. A rush of wind whipped past his face as he reached the top of the stairs. "Skeets, open the door! Get me out of here!"
He pounded his fist against the sealed doors, which stubbornly refused to open. "Hurry!" he pleaded with the silent robot. "Something's pulling on me! Skeets, please!" The suction began to drag him back down the stairs. He grabbed onto an arm rail, but, unable to withstand the inexorable pull of the vortex, the metal rail came loose from the wall. He tumbled backward towards the lab below. "SKEETS!"
The globe, the blackboard, the shattered crystal sphere, the broken clocks ... everything in the lab was sucked into the luminous vortex. Clinging to the bottom step by his fingertips, Daniel felt his flesh and bones being stretched like taffy by an irresistible force. His bloody nails scraped against the floor tiles. "You promised me glory!" he reminded Skeets. "You promised me a chance to relive my moment!"
“and so you shall, daniel,” the robot said at last, “over and
OVER AGAIN, FDR ALL ETERNITY.”
The floor tiles came loose and Daniel was sucked into the heart of the vortex. "Noooooo!" he cried out pitifully as he vanished beyond the event horizon of the time-loop. Upstairs, outside the bunker, Skeets reset the atomic time lock for 1,000,000 a.d.
“I’M SORRY IT HAD TO BE THIS WAY, DANIEL. I TRULY AM.”TherO-
bot took off across the desert, leaving the bunker behind, “but you have
SERVED YOUR PURPOSE.”
Skeets had gotten the answer he had come for.
“HE KNOWS.”
The Batcave looked like it had been abandoned for months. Tarps covered the equipment and trophies. Dust coated the flat screen monitor of the primary computer station. Stalactites jabbed from the ceiling. Sleeping bats rustled in their roosts. Water dripped somewhere within the extensive network of caves beneath stately Wayne Manor.
Supernova floated silently down the steps from the empty mansion. His personal radiance lit the way, casting shadows onto the calcite-covered walls of the main grotto. He paused at the bottom of the steps to look around. A quick inspection confirmed what he had already suspected: Batman was not at home, and hadn't been for some time. Nor was there any sign of this mysterious new Batwoman who was rumored to be policing Gotham these days.
Good, the hooded intruder thought. That makes things simpler. He glanced at the various tarp-covered trophies scattered around the grotto. Now then, where could it be?
Touching down upon the tiled floor, he walked over to the nearest tarp-covered heap. He yanked the dusty sheet off the trophy to reveal a wooden display case containing a number of the Penguin's trick umbrellas. He took a moment to a boggle at the very concept of a flame-throwing bumbershoot before moving onto the next exhibit, which occupied a position of honor at the center of the grotto. Clouds of dust were stirred up as he pulled off another tarp, exposing a transparent plastic cylinder holding an empty Robin costume.
Supernova nodded soberly. The brightly colored uniform, he knew, belonged to the second Robin, Jason Todd, murdered by the Joker a few years back. Lately, though, Supernova had heard unsettling rumors that Jason had returned from the dead. Could be, he admitted. Stranger things have happened. He certainly wouldn't be the first of us to survive our own demise.. ..
Still, the gloomy memorial was not what he was looking for. Turning away from the vacant costume, he tugged a white sheet off another wooden trophy case. Beneath a pane of clear glass, an ominous-looking metal gauntlet rested upon a velvet cushion. Green and purple enamel plating gleamed upon the armored glove. Multicaret chunks of crystal, each a different color, were mounted in the gauntlet's knuckles. Supernova recognized five different varieties of kryptonite: red, green, jewel, blue, and black.
Talk about, jewelry to die for, he thought. Especially if you're Kryptonian.
The lethal gauntlet had originally belonged to Lex Luthor, Superman's greatest foe, but had come into Batman's possession after the Dark Knight and the Man of Steel joined forces to defeat one of Luthor's nefarious schemes. Supernova had hoped to find the glove in the Batcave—and here it was. fust what I was looking for.
He reached out and opened the case.
Bullets bounced off the armored carapace of the giant mechanical mantis. Its multifaceted compound eyes glowed like headlights. Spiked forelegs speared hapless security guards as the robot insect rampaged through the hangar-sized secret laboratory. Twin antennae scraped the ceiling.
"No! No! Naughty Mantichine!" its creator cried out frantically. Baron Bug chased after the berserk mechanism. The tail of his white lab coat flapped behind him as he ran. His fingers frantically stabbed at the buttons of a handheld remote control device, which appeared to be doing him no good whatsoever. His face was flushed and perspiring. "Stop, I command you! Stop!"
The rebellious mantis was about to throw a gun-toting guard through a large plate glass window when a coruscating violet energy beam struck the robot's steel-plated thorax. The amok mechanism was disintegrated on the spot, leaving behind only a charred black stain on the floor tiles. The captured guard fell twenty feet before landing with a thump.
Baron Bug glared angrily at the source of the disintegration beam: a partially assembled robot head mounted on a mechanical lift several yards away. Roughly the size of a freight elevator, the huge metal skull had not yet been concealed beneath a layer of synthetic flesh. High-voltage cables connected the head to the lab's generous power supply. Servomotors and hydraulic conduits dangled from the bottom of the head's titanium neck assembly. A purple glow gradually dimmed within the reflective lenses of the robot's eyes.
"You . .. how dare you!" Baron sputtered indignantly.
"Back to the drawing board, Bugsy!" T.O. Morrow mocked him. The outlaw futurist leaned against the huge robot head. He wore a garish Hawaiian shirt instead of a lab jacket and sipped urbanely on a mai tai. "Didn't I say that your precious Mantichine was no match for my All-Purpose Omnibot?"
A third scientist looked over from his own workspace. An acetylene torch flared in his grip as he lifted the face of his welder's mask. "Crow all you want, Morrow. When I complete the Super-Hood Mark II, you'll all be lining up to kiss the butt of Doctor Rigoro Mortis!" .
What a stiff, Doctor Sivana thought. He watched the brewing confrontation from a metal catwalk overlooking the ground floor of the lab. Franz Waxman's score for The Bride of Frankenstein played over the Muzak system.
Baron Bug was still irate over the loss of his Mantichine. "It's sabotage! One of you has-beens is jealous of my genius." He hurled the useless remote at the floor. "Afraid that Baron Bug will outshine you all."
"Hah!" Morrow laughed. "Your intellect is as weak as your Bug-o-Trons!"
"That's it, Morrow!" Baron Bug stomped across the lab toward the other scientist. Less than five feet tall and balding, the crazed entomologist looked more comical than threatening. "Put up your dukes!"
Sivana decided that this had gone on long enough. "Break it up, boys!" he ordered via a miniature microphone patched into the lab's loudspeaker system. He leaned out over the catwalk's metal rail to address his fellow scientists. "This is no way for the world's greatest minds to behave. We have work to do, or have you forgotten?"
You'd think they'd be.more appreciative of the cozy setup we've got here, Sivana thought. Although initially recruited against his will, the fugitive scientist had come to relish the abundant resources that were now at his disposal, thanks to Intergang's deep pockets and patronage. The elevated walkway looked out over an enormous industrial facility that made his old lab back in Fawcett City look like a high school shop class by comparison. Robots and death-rays, in various stages of construction, shared space with all manner of revolutionary inventions and experiments, employing the latest state-of-the-art equipment and materials. Right at this very moment, any number of intriguing projects were in progress on the floor below. Doctor Death, late of Arkham Asylum, was brewing up quicker and more undetectable new poisons in an enclosed fume hood. A translucent gas mask partially concealed his cadaverous features. The lovely Dr. Veronica Cale, a persistent thorn in Wonder Woman's side, occupied the adjacent cubicle, where she was presently splicing genes together in imaginative new combinations. Dr. Cyclops, best known for his notorious "doomsday stare," peered into the Fifth Dimension via a complicated array of crystalline lenses. Doctor Tyme, who had a clock face where his eyes, nose, and mouth should have been, wandered all over the floor as he scanned the premises with a portable sensor of his own invention. The minute and hour hands on his face drooped downward to approximate a frown as he shook his head at the readings. Instead of a sensible white lab coat, Tyme wore a ridiculous blue and green super-villain costume, complete with cape. "I seem to have misplaced fifty-two seconds," he called out to his colleagues. "Has anyone seen them?"
The buzz of illicit activity tickled Sivana to no end. So this is what you get, he thought, when the world's maddest scientists are given an unlimited budget and encouraged to run wild on the finest mind-expanding narcotics known to man.
He couldn't complain about the location either. The picture window at the far end of the lab offered a breathtaking view of a pristine tropical beach, complete with swaying palm trees and lavish amounts of sunlight. Ira Quimby, whose celebrated I.Q. had been accelerated by exposure to an irradiated space rock, was lounging on the beach at this very moment, soaking up rays while being attended to by bikini-clad female simulacra. Ira claimed that the solar energy enhanced his intellect, but Sivana suspected that this was simply an excuse to slack off. I need to lean on him sometime soon, he resolved. Our benefactors are going to expect a return on their investment.
Sivana admired the scope of Intergang's ambition—and their wisdom in placing him in charge of the nefarious think tank. Unlike the majority of his colleagues, many of whom were antisocial recluses if the truth be told, Sivana had once been the CEO of his own multimillion-dollar corporation— before Captain Marvel exposed his criminal activities. He was therefore the logical choice to head the operation, at least after Lex Luthor turned down the position.
Luthor was keeping a low profile these days, while rebuilding the empire that had been stolen from him during the Crisis. Probably just as well, Sivana thought. I don't need that kind of competition.
The sound of an approaching helicopter penetrated the walls of the complex. Right on schedule, Sivana thought. We got rid of that malfunctioning Mantich-inejust in time. He glanced up at the ceiling as he heard the copter touch down on the helipad on the roof. "Look lively, boys and girl," he announced over the mike. "We have company."
And now a word from our sponsors....
Heavy footsteps preceded the arrival of Bruno Mannheim, Intergang's undisputed boss. A tailored Italian suit was stretched over his stocky frame. Beefy arms swung at his sides. Pomaded black hair and a pencil mustache did little to civilize his brutish features. Flanked by two sullen bodyguards, he joined Sivana upon the catwalk. His pin-striped suit stood in marked contrast to Sivana's rumpled lab coat.
"Boss Mannheim," the mad doctor greeted him. "How kind of you to visit us."
"This ain't a social call," Mannheim growled. "We're mobilizing. And they tell me you have a solution to my problems in Kahndaq."
"Indeed we do," Sivana cackled. Besides their own pet projects, Oolong Island's resident brain trust had also combined their respective geniuses on a single endeavor of unparalleled ambition. "Weapons so terrible only one name seemed suitable." He rubbed his hands together in sinister anticipation. "We call them the Four Horsemen." ■
GOTHAM CITY.
"This is from three weeks ago, Mr. Mannheim," the pencil-necked flunky explained. "Our spy-eyes over Metropolis spotted Supernova rescuing a small child from a riptide."
A video monitor descended from the ceiling of the con ference room. Bruno Mannheim squinted at the footage on the plus-sized screen, which showed the mysterious new hero returning some squalling brat to her mother. The mother, whose bathing suit was clearly modeled on Wonder Woman's skimpy outfit, clutched the soggy child tearfully. Nameless beachgoers applauded in the background as Supernova took to the skies.
"If this footage is three weeks old, Strauss, why am I just seeing it now?" He scowled at the so-called intelligence analyst, jet lag from Mannheim's return trip to Gotham didn't improve his mood any. "How come I wasn't shown this earlier?"
"It... it took us awhile to retrieve the recorded data, sir." Strauss swallowed nervously. "We understand that we're under orders to track Supernova whenever he's sighted, but, as you'll see, he did what he always does."
On the screen, the masked hero stared directly into the camera, almost as if he was looking straight at Mannheim himself. A blinding light emanated from Supernova's head and shoulders as the screen whited out before going blank completely.
"He sensed he was under observation somehow," Strauss interpreted the images. "And used his power of disintegration on our cameras." He grimaced at the memory. "It took us three weeks just to reconstruct every pixel and byte that reflected off the satellite before it vanished."
Mannheim considered Strauss's report. "Intergang's billion-dollar comm satellite. Which he saw from hundreds of miles away." He brooded over the facts. "It certainly fits, doesn't it?"
Strauss looked baffled. "Excuse me?"
"Superman, you moron," the ganglord snapped impatiently. "The big blue Boy Scout."
Even though his ambitions were focused on Gotham these days, Mannheim kept a watchful eye over matters back in Metropolis. Having clashed with Superman before, he found it hard to believe that the Man of Steel would really leave his beloved city unguarded for so long, not unless he was dead and buried ... again. But the Crime Bible had not foretold Superman's demise this year, nor had it predicted that any new hero would rise in Metropolis at this time. The conclusion seemed obvious: Superman was posing as Supernova for some reason of his owti.
Who else had the telescopic vision to spot that satellite, Mannheim reasoned, and the heat-vision to destroy it?
"My orders regarding Supernova stand," he growled at Strauss. "And don't come back until you have some real evidence to show me."
" 'For Choice is the domain only of the strong, the way of true freedom. Trapped within thy Law, weak ye are revealed, and thus Choice ain't for ye.' And saying thus, the handcuffs snapped closed, and the beatings did begin. Yea, for forty days and nights did they torture the Detective, until his mind became as broken as his body." .
The hooded woman raised her eyes from the leather-bound tome laid open on the pulpit before her. Sputtering torches and candles illuminated a cavernous temple deep beneath the arid desert northeast of the capital. Shadows capered upon forbidding stone walls, into which were carved graphic depictions of murder, torture, slavery, and every other manner of crime and brutality. A black silk ribbon marked her place in the book.
"From the Epic of Moriarty, Book of Crime, Chapter Twenty-Seven, Verses Seven through Twelve." She threw back the hood of her ebony cloak, revealing long scarlet hair and slitted yellow eyes. Her slinky black dress, and matching corset, appealed to instincts more sensual than spiritual. A thigh-high slit in her gown offered a provocative glimpse of a lacy black garter belt. "Unto Cain," she preached.
"UNTO CAIN." Her flock, a motley assortment of beast-men and Intergang flunkies, answered her in unison. They bowed their misshapen heads, their assorted fingers, claws, and talons steepled before them in prayer.
No such invocations came from the dozen or so children chained to the stone steps between the priestess and her freakish congregation. Wearing only rags, dirt, and bruises, the miserable kids huddled upon the cold stone floor at the base of the steps. Scrawny limbs and exposed ribs testified to weeks of near starvation. Frightened whimpers escaped their lips as they tried not to look at the throng of chanting monsters only a few yards away from them. Repeated lashings had left welts upon the children's abused bodies.
"Bring forth the boy," the priestess demanded.
How sick is this? Renee Montoya thought as she furtively eyed the unholy ceremony. She and Vic were crouched behind the stone rail of a mezzanine overlooking the ground floor of the temple. Looking away from the enslaved kids, she turned her attention back to the flame-haired femme fatale presiding over the ritual.
"You were right, Charlie," she whispered. "It's her. Whisper A'Daire." Renee's skin crawled at the memory of Whisper's forked tongue licking her cheek. Her hand tightened around the grip of her ray gun. "I should shoot her right now."
"I want a look at the book first," the Question said. His "pseudoderm" mask rendered him faceless once more. Desert gear replaced his usual trench coat. An equipment belt and canteen were buckled around his waist.
"Forget your curiosity," Renee spat. "This is a damn Intergang reeducation camp. The girl I killed came from here, and the naughty mm down there is responsible." I'll be damned, she thought, if I let that scaly bitch brainwash another innocent kid.
But that seemed to be exactly what Whisper had in mind. Before Renee's appalled gaze, a pair of hulking beast-men dragged a teenage boy out onto the floor of the temple. One of the monsters was a shaggy wolf-man whom Renee recognized as Whisper's lycanthropic henchman, Abbot. His prisoner was a battered Arab youth who looked like he had already endured a couple rounds of beatings. Ugly scars and bruises covered his dusky skin. Disheveled black hair hung before his eyes. His head sagged downward, concealing his face. Trembling legs looked like they could no longer support his own weight.
"Amon Tomaz," Whisper declared solemnly. "For weeks now we have shown you and orphans like you the way of the Red Rage and the Rock...."
Renee started at the name. "Oh my God, it's him. Isis' brother!"
"And while others have taken the Word of Cain to heart, you have not." Whisper closed the book and pulled her hood back over her head. "This is the third time you have tried to run. It will be the last." She nodded at Abbot and the other beast-men. "See to it that his legs never obey him again." She turned away from the pulpit and headed out of the temple. "Start with his ankles."
Growling in anticipation, the huge werewolf grabbed Amon by the throat and lifted him off his feet. Foam dripped from his lupine snout. Before Renee could even think about stopping him, he savagely dashed the teenager onto the hard stone floor. More monsters, sporting various combinations of fur, feathers, and scales, surged forward to join in the carnage. With metal truncheons or their own oversized fists, they pounded the defenseless boy mercilessly. Fresh blood sprayed upon the carved walls of the subterranean temple.
Renee couldn't take it anymore. Even though Whisper was already disappearing down an adjacent catacomb, saving Amon suddenly took priority. She drew her gun and started to climb over the rail. "All right," she told Vic. "On three ..."
"Stop." To her surprise, he grabbed her from behind, holding her back. A kung fu move trapped her arms behind her.
What the hell? "They're beating him," she protested, trying to break free. "We can't just—"
He clamped his palm over her mouth. "We go down there, we'll die. Simple as that." His voice held none of its usual levity. "It stinks and it's wrong and it hurts like hell, but there's nothing we can do for Amon right now." He held tightly onto Renee as she swore into his glove. "Adam and Isis are on their way. They can handle this. We can't." She squirmed in his grip even as she knew, deep in her heart, that he was absolutely right. "There are some things you just have to accept, Renee."
Like hell, she thought bitterly. Trapped by both Vic's arms and cruel necessity, she could only watch helplessly as Abbot and his bestial cohorts beat the living crap out of Amon. The boy cried out at first, but his feeble protests were quickly replaced by the sound of cracking bones and the thud of heavy fists and boots against tender flesh. Renee couldn't even see Amon beneath the pack of vicious monsters piling onto him. Biting back sobs and screams, the other children either stared at the grisly scene with horror, or else buried their heads in their hands, trying unsuccessfully to hide from the awful sights and sounds. Would they ever be able to forget this nightmare? Would they even get the chance?
The beating lasted less than five minutes, but seemed to go on forever. Just when Renee thought she couldn't possibly stand another moment, however, the gang of monsters stepped back from their victim. Amon's pulped body lay facedown in a puddle of dark venous blood. His limbs were twisted at unnatural angles that made Renee's joints hurt just looking at them. Only the ragged sound of his breathing made it clear that he was simply unconscious and not dead. Renee guessed that Whisper intended to keep the crippled boy alive to serve as a living example of what happened to those who rejected the cult's teachings. Killing him would've been a mercy by comparison.
"Here endeth the Lesson," Abbot growled at the other orphans. The wolf-man took hold of Amon's limp right arm and dragged the boy down a shadowy stairway. Amon's abused body left a trail of blood across the dusty stone tiles. Vic waited until both Abbot and Amon were out of sight before finally letting go of Renee.
She glared at him. "You really are a bastard."
"Well, I was raised in an orphanage, so you're probably right." His featureless countenance gave no hint of what he really felt about what they had just witnessed. He nodded at an adjoining tunnel. "Now let's get mov—"
"CAUGHT YOU!"
Without warning, a huge monster charged at them. Over nine feet tall, with at least four hundred pounds of mutated muscle, the hairless beast-man was as red as a cooked lobster and twice as ugly. Jagged tusks jutted from his lower jaw. Yellow eyes blazed beneath a sloping brow. He had no nose, and only narrow slits where his ears should have been. A tattered loincloth spared Renee a peek at his inhuman private parts. Thank heaven for small favors, she thought.
"Oops," Vic blurted, embarrassed at being taken unawares.
Renee took aim at the oncoming ogre. "You were saying something about acceptance?"
"Not quite what I meant," Vic conceded. He leaned backward to give Renee a clear shot at the lobster-man.
"Didn't think so." Squeezing the trigger, she blew a hole right through the middle of the monster's torso. Bulging yellow eyes stared down in confusion at the gaping cavity in his chest.
Would that be enough to stop the beast? Vic didn't wait to find out. Grabbing onto Renee once more, he threw them both over the railing. "Remember to bend your knees!" he suggested as they dropped toward the floor of the temple.
Despite Vic's sage advice, she landed hard on her butt. "Ooof!"
"Cover me!" he shouted, after making a more nimble landing. To her surprise, he sprang for the pulpit behind them. Intergang hoodlums, human and otherwise, drew weapons from beneath their robes and opened fire on the intruders. Bullets chipped away at the elaborately gruesome carvings. Renee ducked behind a blood-stained baptismal font.
"Charlie, what are you doing?" She returned fire with her ray gun. For the moment, the crackling energy blasts seemed to be holding the cultists at bay. Behind her, the shackled children threw themselves onto the floor in order to avoid the gunfire. Renee prayed that none of the orphans would get shot by mistake. She wasn't sure she could live with herself if another child died because of her.
"Going for the book!" Vic explained. He leaped at the pulpit, snatching the heavy tome from its resting place as he hurled past the marble pedestal, then hit the floor in a roll and jumped back up onto his feet. He clutched the book against his chest. "Gotcha!"
Renee questioned his priorities. "I'm not sure now's the time to be boosting your collection!" Bits of stone flew from the font protecting her. The temple echoed with the blare of gunfire. An energy blast disintegrated a gun-toting acolyte, but there were plenty more where he came from. She was seriously outnumbered here, and could definitely use some backup. "Charlie..."
"Renee, watch out!" he suddenly hollered from several feet away.
A leopard-man dropped from the mezzanine, landing upon the floor right next to her. Feline claws slashed across her stomach, drawing blood. Gasping in pain, she swung her gun against the monster's skull. The blow stunned the spotted beast-man, but only for a moment. Blood seeped through her fingers as she clutched her belly with her free hand. With a ferocious roar, the leopard-man came at her again. Her gun came up too slowly....
I'm going to die here, she realized.
A thunderous rumble shook the temple. The leopard-man looked up in surprise as a slab-sized chunk of the ceiling crashed down onto his head. Black Adam landed on the slab, flattening the monster. Bullets ricocheted off Adam's back and arms as he shielded Vic and Renee with his own indestructible body. He nodded grimly at the two Americans.
The Kahndaqi cavalry had arrived.
"We came as soon as we could," Isis called out as she swooped down through the hole her husband had opened in the ceiling. At her command, thick roots sprouted from the floor, snaring several of the cultists. Back in Gotham, Renee had seen Poison Ivy pull similar stunts; she couldn't help wondering how Isis would fare against Gotham's most homicidal plant-lover. My money's on the goddess, she thought.
The remaining acolytes and beast-men fled the temple. Letting them go, at least for the moment, Isis landed next to Renee. "Are you all right?" Her dark eyes zeroed in on the bloody gash across Renee's stomach. "You're wounded...."
The deep laceration stung like hell, but that wasn't what was important now. "We found your brother, Isis! We found Amon!"
Isis froze as though struck by lightning. "Where?"
"They've taken him below." Renee tried to prepare the other woman for the worst. "Isis ... he's hurt."
Concern showed on Isis' lovely face, but she did not despair. "I can heal him," she asserted. "Just as I can heal your wound."
She laid her hand gently upon Renee's injured stomach. A purple glow radiated from Isis' slender fingers and the searing pain immediately ceased. Whoa, Renee thought. That feels better already. The blood stopped flowing as her torn flesh swiftly knitted itself back together. Within seconds, no trace of the cut remained. Only the slash marks in her T-shirt proved that she had ever been attacked in the first place.
How about that? Renee thought. Her smooth skin tingled where Isis had healed her.
Maybe it wasn't too late for Amon after all?
"We need support now!" a tiger-man growled into a handheld communicator. Three more monsters looked on anxiously. "Black Adam and Isis are here! Repeat, we need—"
Side by side, Isis and Black Adam smashed through a stone wall into a dungeon beneath the temple, where a makeshift medical facility appeared to have been set up. Her heart leaped as she spotted Amon lying atop a crumbling sacrificial altar that now doubled as an operating table. An IV poured cold plasma into his veins. Electronic apparatus monitored his vital signs.
Blessed Goddess, she prayed to her namesake, grant me the power to save him.
"Let all of your 'support' come," Black Adam raged. "Let all of Intergang come." A mutated brute with the head of a warthog and the body of a man fired a laser rifle at the avenging champion. A ruby beam bounced harmlessly off Adam's brawny chest, winging an ape-man nearby, before he tore apart the rifle with his bare hands. A titanic blow sent both the warthog and the ape-man flying across the chamber. An instant later, Adam crushed the tiger-man's communicator within his fist, before throwing the feline henchman up against the wall. "I welcome them!"
While her husband dealt with their enemies, Isis rushed to her brother's side. By the gods! she thought, shocked by the extent of his injuries. She barely recognized him, so badly had he been beaten. His once handsome face was now hidden behind fresh cuts and bruises. His eyes were swollen shut, so she could not tell if he was conscious, while the rest of his body also bore the marks of extreme violence and cruelty, hr particular, the bones in his ankles and pelvis looked as though they had been reduced to powder. Blood pooled beneath him.
"What did they do to him?" she said, aghast.
Victor Szasz and Renee entered through the breach in the wall. They stepped carefully over the fallen rubble. "Looks like Intergang didn't sell him into slavery like you thought," the Question explained. Isis found his faceless guise disturbing. "They were trying to brainwash him and some other kids into joining their religion of crime."
Isis had never heard of anything more obscene.
"He tried to escape," Renee added.
That sounds like him, Isis thought with a pained smile. Amon had always been a headstrong child, fearless and high-spirited; it was what she had loved most about him. A tear trickled down her face as she gazed down at his vandalized form. Was even the power of Isis enough to repair the damage?
"Adrianna?" To her surprise, his swollen eyelids opened slightly. The whites of his eyes were stained bright red. His lips parted, revealing cracked and missing teeth. His voice was so weak she had to lean forward to hear him. "Adrianna, is that you?"
"Yes, Amon." Her throat tightened as she gently stroked his head.
He struggled to keep his eyes open. A broken nose distorted his voice. "You look ... so pretty." -
Isis fought back a sob. In all the times she had imagined their reunion, she had never foreseen finding him like this. It's not fair , she lamented. If only we could have rescued him earlier... I
"Are these the ones who did this to him, Question?" Black Adam demanded, looking back over his shoulder at the faceless detective. Adam now held both the warthog and the tiger-man up against the wall. His powerful fists gripped their hairy throats. .
"Yes," Victor confirmed.
Adam's expression darkened. "Then let them feel their bones crushed and shattered. One at a time." His subhuman captives squealed and squawked as he squeezed their necks tightly. The tiger-man's claws slashed uselessly at Adam's mighty arm.
"No, Adam!" Isis summoned a mighty gale, which blew Adam away from the prisoners. Loose dust and debris swirled across the dungeon. "Winds, quell my husband's rage!"
The cyclonic gust slammed the beast-men into the wall, rendering them unconscious. Their grotesque bodies dropped limply onto the floor. Cheated of his vengeance, Adam spun around to confront his wife.
"Look at what these monsters did to your brother, Isis! He is my family now and he is dying!" A murderous wrath contorted his noble features. His fists were clenched so tightly that the blood fled from his knuckles. "They deserve a slow death! Plucked apart like the insects they are!"
"Please," Isis pleaded. Heartsick, she buried her face in her hands. "Too many people here—too many people in the world—are already hurting." Lifting her head, she laid her hands upon her brother's ravaged body. "Amon's wounds ... the fresh ones cover others from days before. He's been beaten many times before this."
Purple energy coursed over the supine youth, but the eldritch glow swiftly faded away, leaving Amon almost as mutilated as before. Only a few of his more superficial injuries had been healed. "His nerves have been twisted and severed," she sobbed. Kohl streaked her cheeks as she wept openly. "His wounds are too deep even for my powers over nature."
Raindrops suddenly fell from the roof of the dungeon. Renee looked up in confusion as the unexpected precipitation splattered against her face. "It's raining ... inside?"
"Isis," the Question said simply. Nature itself was weeping in sympathy with its mistress.
She sadly turned away from the bloody altar. Her teary eyes sought out her husband's. "My brother's flesh will heal, Adam, but he'll never walk again."
Her sorrow brought out his gentler side. The anger left his face, replaced by a look of profound sympathy for his wife's anguish. He nodded to himself, as though reaching a decision, and strode past her to approach Amon's bedside. His deep voice addressed the crippled boy.
"Amon, I am Black Adam. Your sister's husband and, by that right, your brother." He placed his palm upon the youth's black-and-blue chest. "We are family." , . .
The Question moved forward to get a better look. "What's he doing to him?"
I don't know, Isis thought. As far as she knew, Adam possessed no healing powers.
"We have a bond now," he declared. Rain spilled down from the ceiling, washing away Amon's blood. "Say my name, brother. Say it."
Through split lips, Amon fought to mouth the words. "Bl-Black ..
Sparks flared beneath Adam's fingers. Electricity crackled across Amon's ravaged flesh. His eyes lit up with galvanic fire. Renewed vigor suffused his voice as he shouted:
"BLACK ADAM!"
Thunder rocked the underground chamber as a mystic lightning bolt struck Amon, shattering the altar beneath him. Adam and the others were driven backward by the force of the strike. The blinding flash forced them to blink and look away. Hissing sparks erupted from the life-sign monitors. The
IV stand toppled over. Isis would have feared for her brother's life had she not survived a similar thunderbolt in the Rock of Eternity nearly three months ago. Hope surged within her heart. The supernatural rain stopped falling. Could it be ... ? •
Yes! Where once Amon had lain broken and bleeding, her brother now stood tall once more. Not only were all his grievous wounds and injuries healed, but he looked stronger and fitter than ever before. Starvation and torture no longer left their imprint upon him, and his blood-soaked loincloth had been transformed into a sleek black uniform that bore a marked resemblance to Adam's. A golden lightning bolt was emblazoned upon his chest.
Clear brown eyes looked down upon his restored flesh and form. He flexed his arm experimentally, stunned to find it working once more. "I hear voices in my head," he said, visibly baffled by his metamorphosis.
"They are the gods that power me," Black Adam said solemnly. "You now have the strength of your namesake, Amon."
Understanding dawned in the boy's eyes, along with absolute delight. "Yes, and the stamina of Shu! The swiftness of Heru! The power of Aton!" Testing his new abilities, he smashed what remained of the broken altar with a single blow. Solid stone exploded beneath his fist. He sprang into the air, defying gravity. "The wisdom of Zehuti! The courage of Mehen!"
Isis recognized the names of the Egyptian deities who granted Black Adam their divine attributes. She turned to her husband. "How?"
Adam shrugged. "I simply shared a portion of my power with your brother, just as Captain Marvel has done with Freddy Freeman." Isis recalled how Billy Batson had transformed a handicapped American youth into Captain Marvel Jr. "It is something I have always been able to do," Adam explained. "But I never had a family to share my gifts with."
Isis clutched her heart, deeply moved by her husband's strength and generosity. "Amon?" she asked, wondering how he was coping with his transformation. It could be disorienting, she knew.
"I am Osiris," he answered, taking on the name of the ancient Egyptian god of the underworld, who was also the brother of the goddess Isis. His youthful brow wrinkled in confusion as he touched down on the floor before her. "Even though I'm not yet sure what that means."
Black Adam smiled warmly. "It means you are family now, brother."
Fragrant roses sprouted from the walls as Isis joyfully embraced Osiris. "Let these lands bloom with life," she called out. Tears of happiness flowed down her face like the eternal Nile. "For mine has finally returned!"
The reunited siblings hugged each other as Black Adam proudly looked on. All but forgotten in the excitement of the occasion, the Question turned his non-face heavenward.
"Black Adam!" he shouted. "Shazam! Isis!"
Renee scowled at him. She was soaking wet from the rainstorm. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Seeing if it's catching."