52 - The Novel, Page 2

  Was this bozo actually hitting on her? Boy, was he ever barking up the wrong tree. ■

  "So, you hear about this big memorial service in Metropolis this weekend?" he persisted, slurring his words. "If the roads are open ... you wanna, y'know, go?"

  A memorial service. The humor in the situation evaporated as Renee suddenly remembered standing over the grave of her partner. Detective Crispus Allen had been a good cop and good friend. The fact that his killer was still walking the streets made the tequila in her mouth taste like turpentine.

  "No thanks," she mumbled, staring bleakly into her cup. She massaged her forehead in anticipation of the hangover to come. "I've had my share of funerals lately...."

  SHIRUTA.

  Black Adam seldom allowed his feet to touch the ground. He was above that.

  At the moment, he hovered over forty feet in the air above the capital city of his nation, the proud Middle Eastern kingdom of Kahndaq. A powerfully built Arab man, he wore a tight black uniform that contrasted sharply with his golden boots, belt, and wristbands. Sleek black hair met in a widow's peak above his brows. The golden thunderbolt emblazoned upon his chest matched that worn by Captain Marvel. His godlike powers, given to him millennia ago by the wizard Shazam, matched Marvel's as well, making him one of Earth's mightiest mortals. He had been Shazam's original champion, before he had rebelled against the wizard's foolish restrictions. It was then that Mighty Adam had first become known as Black Adam. Confident in his own righteousness, he bore the cognomen with pride.

  So let it be written, he thought. And may the world tremble.

  The people of Kahndaq—his people—thronged the sprawling courtyard below. By the thousands they filled the open plaza before the magnificent palace that Black Adam had inherited when he had deposed and executed the despot who had formerly ruled this land. The pellucid waters of a reflecting pool mirrored the palace's graceful domes and arches. Mosaic tiles, adorning almost every centimeter of the palace, created elaborate geometric designs. The Kahndaqi flag flapped triumphantly atop golden spires. The flag displayed three interlocking golden pyramids against a black background. The national anthem played over loudspeakers.

  Black Adam's heart swelled with patriotism. He had been born in Kahn-daq, over three thousand years ago. Indeed, the capital city was named after his beloved wife, lost to him so many lonely centuries ago, and the three triangles on the flag represented the immortal souls of Shiruta and his two sons, Gon and Hurut. The brutal death of Shiruta and his family had first taught him that evil had to be rooted out swiftly and severely. Recent events had only reinforced that painful lesson.

  With a wave of his hand, he ordered the music silenced. His people looked up at him expectantly. Like the rest of the world, they had suffered much during the Crisis, but Kahndaq endured, in no small part because of the decisive role Black Adam had played in the final battle. He had fought beside Superman and the other heroes in Metropolis, laying waste to the treacherous Secret Society of Super-Villains. Thanks to him, several villains would no longer trouble the world.

  Which was as it should be.

  "Friends and countrymen/' he addressed the crowd in Arabic. His deep voice required no artificial amplification. "In my attempt to protect our homeland, I turned my back on the rest of the world. And we were all the worse for it." Indeed, the entire planet had been stricken by catastrophic storms and earthquakes due to one madman's attempt to remake the universe. "I witnessed the true evil that lives within so many, and I realized that Kahndaq must teach the rest of the world how to deal with that evil. Ours is a glorious mission. I will be your ambassador of justice, and I shall lead the world by example." He crossed his arms atop his chest. "May the gods be with us ... because they will not stand a chance against us."

  The crowd cheered enthusiastically, save for one dissenting voice in the middle of the mob. The man's angry words were all but lost in the deafening uproar, but Black Adam's keen senses detected the disturbance at once. His dark eyes zoomed in on the insolent one.

  "You are no messenger, Black Adam!" the man shouted, shaking his fist. The madness of the true fanatic gleamed in his wild eyes. "You and all of Kahndaq are heretics poisoned by lies." He yanked open his worn khaki jacket, exposing a belt of crude explosives strapped to his waist. "My people reject your wis—"

  Perfect, Black Adam thought. I could not have asked for a better example.

  With the speed of Heru, known to the infidels as Horus, he dived down and effortlessly plucked the would-be suicide bomber from the crowd. He yanked the explosive belt from the man's body and hurled it into the sky, where the fiendish device detonated harmlessly over twenty thousand feet above the palace. The explosion was barely visible to the crowd below.

  "—dom," the bomber gulped, as he suddenly found himself held aloft above the gaping mob. Black Adam showed him more mercy than he deserved.

  Fie ripped the man's right arm from its socket.

  The severed limb splashed down into the reflecting pool, turning the azure waters crimson. Bright arterial blood spurted from the bomber's shoulder. He shrieked in agony.

  The West had its own heroes, of course, such as the so-called Justice League, but they too often lacked the will to do what must be done. Their sentimental and juvenile "morality" rendered them unfit to truly protect the world from the dangers ahead. Black Adam did not intend to make the same mistake.

  "You have three more chances," he informed the prisoner, "to tell me who sent you."

  FAWCETT CITY.

  Dr. Thaddeus Bodog Sivana watched Black Adam dismember the terrorist on the flickering screen of a modified RCA television set. The archetypal mad scientist, he peered at the TV through the thick, Coke-bottle lenses of his glasses. Acid burns and chemical stains marked his rumpled white lab coat. His bald dome gleamed beneath the fluorescent lights of his secret laboratory. His scrawny body was hunched in front of the screen. The television's old-fashioned rabbit ears antennae picked up bootleg signals from orbiting spy satellites.

  "Bah, this is no fun to watch," Sivana muttered to himself. "Where's Captain Marvel?" Bored with the televised carnage, he leaned forward and changed the channel to the daily news. "Black Adam is much too serious for me." Although they shared a common enemy in the Big Red Cheese, Sivana had always considered the ancient Egyptian superman insufferably pompous—and a living anachronism to boot. "And now he thinks he can 'change' the world." The mad doctor cackled at the very notion. "Ha! Magic doesn't change the world. Science does!"

  Heaving himself up from a rickety rocking chair, Sivana walked across his laboratory, which was cluttered with the detritus of countless diabolical experiments and inventions. A killer robot gathered dust in one corner of the converted basement, next to rusty cans of atomic rocket fuel. Cobwebs shrouded a bulky shrinking-ray projector that Sivana meant to get around to repairing one of these days. Vacuum tubes, spark plugs, 3-D glasses, wrenches, screwdrivers, microscopes, and a brand-new protein resequencer were strewn across, the disorganized shelves and counters. Blueprints for time machines and electrodynamic death traps were taped to the walls above the various work spaces. Sparks leaped between a pair of upright electrodes. Beakers and test tubes bubbled over with devilish concoctions. Rotating reels of magnetic tape chugged noisily inside a genuine 1957 supercomputer. A miniature flying saucer was suspended from the ceiling. The stuffy air smelled of ozone and Suspendium.

  Sivana gravitated to a shelf at the rear of the lab. A clear plastic cylinder, about the size of a Quaker Oats container, glowed atop the shelf, its contents bathed in unearthly blue radiation by a lamp installed in its lid. Sivana flashed a buck-toothed grin as he affectionately patted the vertical cylinder. "Science always trumps magic. Isn't that right, my little friend?"

  A tiny green caterpillar, no more than three inches long, wriggled inside the tube. Bulbous yellow eyes peered back at Sivana through the transparent plastic. Tiny forelegs waved in protest. A miniature microphone was strapped to the larva's tho
rax. Brownish red splotches ran along its back, so that it bore a distinct resemblance to the species Papilio polyxenes. Twin antennae twitched atop its head.

  But before the wormlike creature could respond, the basement doors were thrown off their hinges by a powerful blow. A corner of one door clipped Sivana in the head, knocking him to the ground. His glasses clattered across the floor.

  A pair of looming figures entered the lab. "Doctor Sivana?" a guttural voice inquired.

  "W-what?" Rising to his knees, the dazed scientist groped for his lost glasses. He squinted myopically at the intruders, but all he could see were the blurry outlines of two towering male forms. He got a vague impression that one of the invaders was covered in fur, the other in scales. One thing was for sure: Neither of them was Captain Marvel. "Wh-who are you? What do you want?"

  His fingers closed on his glasses just as a shaggy hand grabbed onto his right shoulder, yanking him to his feet. Reptilian claws sank into his other shoulder.

  "You," an inhuman voice growled.

  Safe inside its protective cylinder, the caterpillar watched silently as two monstrous beast-men dragged Sivana from his lab. Its antennae twitched excitedly for a few moments, then settled down as it became obvious that the mad doctor was not coming back anytime soon. The tiny invertebrate turned its attention to the television set, which continued to blare in the background.

  "Gathering since early morning, thousands are expected to show up for the memorial service, scheduled to take place in Metropolis later today...

  The caterpillar watched the broadcast with interest.

  METROPOLIS.

  A gigantic bronze statue of Superman, an American eagle poised upon his wrist, dominated the open plaza at the center of Centennial Park. Dozens of super heroes were gathered in the plaza, ready to take part in the solemn memorial service being held this afternoon. Costumed heroes enjoyed VIP status, while photographers and TV crews swarmed the sidelines. A few of the more enterprising journalists, including Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen, braved the throng of heroes, collecting interviews and photos. Police barricades held back hundreds of ordinary citizens who had come to show their support and gratitude for the extraordinary men and women responsible for ending the Crisis, and to honor the memory of those who had fallen in battle. Handmade signs proclaimed THANK YOU!, JLA FOREVER!, and similar sentiments. Cheers greeted the arrival of each new hero.

  Booster Gold savored the applause as he touched down amidst the other heroes. Pretty good turnout, he observed, checking out the impressive assemblage of costumed champions. Looking around, he spotted Martian Manhunter, Zatanna, Green Arrow, Black Canary, S.T.R.I.P.E., Stargirl, Blue Devil, Ragman, Nightmaster, Enchantress, Power Girl, Black Lightning, Gypsy, Vixen, Plastic Man, Geo-Force, Aquaman/the Ray, Bulleteer, Hourman, Wildcat, Mister Terrific, Tasmanian Devil, Doctor Mid-Nite, Katana, Jakeem Thunder, Metamor-pho, Mister Miracle, Nightwing, the Doom Patrol, the Teen Titans, various members of the Green Lantern Corps, and a few heroes he didn't even recognize. Firehawk came flying down from the sky, her glowing wings ablaze. Huntress swung onto the scene. Metamorpho gave Booster a friendly wave, but seemed to be busy chatting up the buxom new Bulleteer. Just as well, Booster thought. He was too excited to make small talk right now. Not when it was almost time to make history instead.

  “SUPERMAN, BATMAN, AND WONDER WOMAN ARE DUE TO BEGIN

  in less than a minute, sir.” As ever, Skeets hovered above his shoulder.

  “I’D SUGGEST WORKING YOUR WAY TO THE STAGE.”

  Booster spotted a podium set up in the shadow of the looming Superman statue. As he navigated through the crowd, he overheard snatches of conversation.

  "Assume Superman's going to deliver the eulogy," the Flash said.

  "Oh yeah, he has to," Black Lightning agreed, "Who else?"

  A green-skinned teenager looked about in confusion. "So, where are Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman?"

  "They'll be here, kid," Booster assured Beast Boy. "Just relax."

  He took a position near the front of the crowd, facing the vacant podium. The absence of the Big Three did not concern him. Knowing Superman, he was probably putting out a raging forest fire in Brazil or something, nothing that would keep him from showing up on time for the ceremony. Batman and Wonder Woman were bound to arrive at the last minute as well. He had no doubt that all three heroes would be here shortly. History said so.

  “four seconds To the big moment, sir,” Skeets alerted him. Booster checked his hair, using Robotman's polished exterior as a mirror. Skeets counted down the seconds, “three, two . . .«

  "One," Booster said. "Ta-daaa!"

  Nothing happened. The podium remained unoccupied. Superman, not to mention Batman and Wonder Woman, were nowhere to be seen. ,

  Huh? Booster looked around anxiously. He spun around, searching the crowd for that world-famous red S. His eyes worriedly scanned the sky;

  His initial outburst, and odd behavior, caught the attention of the, heroes standing nearby. "What's he doing?" Metamorpho asked. The Element Man's body was a jumble of multi-colored ores and minerals. "Announcing himself?"

  Firehawk shot Booster a disgusted look. "He would."

  Booster was too flummoxed to even register the flaming heroine's dig, let alone take offense at her contemptuous tone. He turned to Skeets for answers. "Where are they?" •

  “they shod i o i □□□ i be here, sir.” Static distorted the floating robot's voice, “the time—*

  "Is 4:32!" Booster yelped. More heroes took notice of his increasingly agitated state. Elasti-Girl and Robotman backed away from him, looking uncomfortable. Aquaman scowled at Booster's unseemly conduct. "And I don't see them anywhere!"

  J'onn J'onzz, the Martian Manhunter, tried to intervene. The beetle-browed green humanoid, whom Booster had known for years, was a respected pillar of the super-hero community. His deep, sonorous voice conveyed a sense of gravity. "Booster, a little decorum, please ... ?"

  But good manners were the last thing on Booster's mind. "No! You don't understand, J'onn!" he protested. Ignoring the concerned stares of his fellow heroes, he shouted at his robot instead. "Skeets, check the historical records again!"

  “I’M PROCESSING THEM AT TERABYTES A PICOD! ! OODSECOND,

  sir.” Another glitch in his voice indicated that something was seriously amiss. Usually, you couldn't shut the chatty robot up. “they all indicdoi i ote a

  4:30 APPEARANCE.”

  . "4:35 and counting, Skeets!" Booster's goggles projected an internal chronometer before his eyes. "Your clock is off!"

  This was a disaster. Of all times for the stupid robot to come down with a computer virus or something! A cold sweat broke out beneath Booster's uniform as he saw his glorious future slipping away....

  “atomic time, sir!” The levitating robr1 1"o— t- -r-_----»#—n,-

  The gleaming orb listed to the right, “something’s wrdooiidng!

  SDMI 1 DTHING’S WROOOO—”

  Skeets' voice devolved into a burst of incoherent static. Sparks flashed around the robot's invisible antigravity field. Electricity crackled loudly as

  Skeets shorted out before Booster's eyes. The robot crashed to the pavement, clanging against the scuffed stone tiles. Coruscating energy briefly flashed across the golden surface of the sphere.

  "Skeets!" ,

  By now, everyone in the plaza was aware of the disturbance. Huntress, Negative Man, and several other heroes shushed him. He could tell from their expressions that most of them thought that he was acting crazy or disrespectful or both. Power Girl, never the most even-tempered of heroines, looked like she wanted to knock his block off, but was being held back by Hourman and Wildcat. Klarion the Witchboy tsked in disapproval. Doctor Mid-Nite's pet owl hooted indignantly.

  "Booster, will you settle down?" J'onn said.

  "No! You don't understand! Where are they?" He was ranting like a lunatic now, but he didn't care. All that mattered was that history was going wrong. "Where the hell ar
e they?"

  J'onn spoke to him in a soothing tone. "Where are who, Booster?"

  "I'm talking about Superman and Batman, you extraterrestrial chucklehead! And Wonder Woman!" He yelled hysterically at the imposing green alien. J'onn was a telepath, but he generally refrained from reading his comrades' minds. Booster tried to explain just how bad things were. "The future depends on them! I know, I've seen it!"

  Attracted by the commotion, a photographer ran forward, holding a camera. Booster spotted the newcomer out of the corner of his eye. He recognized the man's red hair, freckles, and trademark bow tie. "Jimmy Olsen?" He lunged toward the startled photographer. "Take the picture!"

  "Booster!" J'onn shouted in alarm.

  "Take the picture, Olsen!" Booster demanded, heedless of the Martian's cry. This was his last chance to make things right. Maybe, he reasoned desperately, the Big Three had arrived while he was busy arguing with Skeets and J'onn. Maybe they were at the podium right now, just like they were supposed to be. "They're here!" he shouted at Olsen, afraid to glance back at the podium for fear of what he might see. "They have to be here!" Grabbing onto Olsen's camera, he yanked the lens toward the podium behind him. His fingers searched for the camera's shutter release button, trying to force the frightened photographer to take the shot. "This is your Howitzer!"

  "Great H'ronmeer!" J'onn exclaimed, invoking an ancient Martian deity. His elastic arms stretched out and wrapped around Booster. Alien muscles, whose strength rivaled that of Superman himself, pulled Booster away from Olsen. The contested-over camera slipped from both men's fingers. Booster's eyes widened in horror as the historically crucial camera broke to pieces against the pavement. Panicking, he fought to free himself from J'onn's powerful grip. Metamorpho and Geo-Force hurried over to help restrain Booster, who was completely out of control. "Hold him!" J'onn ordered his allies. The rest of the heroes looked ready to step in if necessary. Hal Jordan's power ring flashed ominously. Green Arrow' fitted a tranquilizer arrow to his bow.