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#1
MAY 10 |
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“Savage Society” Part One
T,
Thanks for the tip on the whereabouts of my father. I was beginning to think that all the talk I hear along the circuit was all hot air. You do indeed keep your word and do good work.
Please know that you are to not send any additional contractors into my area. This is to be my job and I will not tolerate any outside interference. Any hint of treachery on your behalf will be met with swift and remorseless vengeance. I am my father’s daughter. Always remember that.
Through a grapevine of my own, I know who you are and where you reside. Do not cross me.
Regards,
S.
Washington D.C.
The opening ceremony for the new National Museum for the Preservation of World War II History was a globally televised event, translated into forty-three different languages and the museum itself was recorded into the history books as the most comprehensive collection of war documents and memorabilia in the world. Its opening brought celebrity and veterans by the thousands, all of whom experienced moving speeches and vivid recollections of the second Great War.
Joan Dale, war survivor and veteran’s rights attorney, was a guest of honor, speaking of her trials as a woman during the times of war and the struggles faced once the war was over. She used her heavy influence to get original members of the Justice Society of America to appear and each gave some of their own memories to the crowd. She never mentioned to anyone that she herself had been a member of the Society during the War, her secret identity still secret after sixty-five years.
Now, the crowd had dispersed and a gala dinner had taken its place in the ornate lobby of the state-of-the-art Lexcorp Hotel, a neighboring building to the new museum. Many important politicians and millionaires exchanged stories of money and business, bills, laws and rights.
“Looks like a regular Senate hearing in here,” Jay Garrick said to Alan Scott as they leaned in a doorway watching the crowd. “Except everyone’s standing up.”
Alan Scott smirked slightly, the lips looking strange on his usually stoic face. He was wearing a nice white suit with a black tie; an ensemble that slightly clashed with the purple mask he wore to hide his identity as the Green Lantern. Jay Garrick looked only slightly less out of place, wearing his winged metallic hat and using the speed of the Flash to vibrate just a bit to blur his facial features.
“Come on, Alan,” Jay nudged Alan. “Lighten up. This is a party, you should be partying.”
Alan did not smile. “We’re both over eighty years old. We don’t party.”
“True,” Jay replied, “but being eighty years old doesn’t make us dead. I’m going to find my wife and share a dance. You should go find Molly. Wives always love to dance, no matter how old they are.”
As Jay walked away, mildly disappointed with his long-time friend’s bad mood, he haplessly bumped into one of the staff waiters. The waiter bumbled the tray of drinks he had been carrying but Jay moved at inhuman speed to catch them all, every drop of loose liquid, and reset them on the tray before anything touched the ground.
Jay apologized profusely, straightening the young man’s suit lapels to make sure he was unharmed. Something about the waiter’s face was familiar but Jay could not place it. There was something about the man’s moustache that did not seem right.
As the waiter confirmed that he was okay, Jay looked to Alan to see if he had recognized the man, but Alan was dancing with Joan Garrick, Jay’s wife. Jay smiled to himself and left them to it, hoping that someone at this party was serving cranberry juice.
Carter Hall listened carefully from his seat at a round table to the string quartet as it played one of Mendelssohn’s lesser known masterpieces. He closed his eyes as he concentrated on the music. He wasn’t aware as he was approached.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Kendra Saunders asked as she pulled up a chair next to her frequent partner. “You’re either astral projecting or falling asleep. I can’t tell which.”
Carter smiled as he opened his eyes and was, as always, taken aback by Kendra’s physical presence. “I’m just remembering Mendelssohn. He was as good a friend as he was a composer. We’d sit up late at night and talk about the music. Did I ever tell you that he wrote what everyone knows as the Wedding Song for me and you all those years ago?”
Kendra smiled and shook her head. “You’ll say anything to pick up a girl, won’t you?” she asked as she tried herself to listen to the strings.
“You’ll remember someday,” Carter replied. “Then you’ll be able to tell when I’m really trying to pick up a girl.”
“Pardon the interruption, Mr. Hall,” a waiter disrupted them. “Do you or the young lady need any refreshments?”
Carter looked at the man silently, finding him vaguely familiar. After a few seconds of silence, Kendra finally answered.
“No, thank you,” she answered. “We’re fine.”
The waited nodded and departed without another word. Carter looked lost in thought, almost confused. After a bit, he shook it off and resumed listening to the sounds of Mendelssohn.
Ted Grant did not bother with a suit or a snooty tie; he wore his full Wildcat costume to the ceremony. His knuckles were taped and ready for action, as if an event like this was a magnet for fistfights. He sported a large smile and had obviously been indulging himself with the complementary cocktails. Hippolyta stood next to him wearing a stunning Amazonian formal gown of flowing blue silk and glistening golden accoutrements. She laughed and smiled with Wildcat, the two obviously enjoying each other’s company.
“Damn, it sure is good to have you back on this side of the pond, Hips,” Wildcat slurred, using a pet name that was thought lost to the ages.
“I would not have missed this for the world, Theodore,” Hippolyta replied. “Joan Dale has been a great friend of mine through the years. This was very important to her.”
“Well, speak of the devil,” Wildcat bellowed as Joan Dale approached and received an unexpected hug from a slightly intoxicated Wildcat. “How’s my favorite Nazi-puncher doing?”
“I assume you mean me,” Joan replied with a smile, carefully returning the embrace in a way that avoided any dress ruffling. “I’m doing fine, Ted. But you should be careful how you talk. No one here knows I used to be Miss America.”
Unlike her former Justice Society friends, Joan Dale looked every bit of the eighty-plus years that she had lived. Her frailty almost defied the memory of Miss America.
“You’ll always be my Miss America,” Wildcat grinned and took a swig of his cocktail, abandoning the straw and going straight for the gulp. He realized it was empty and jiggled the glass of ice above his head. A nearby waiter heard the noise and nodded to Wildcat in recognition. Wildcat thought he recognized the waiter instantly, but what he was thinking was not possible.
“I have confirmation on the presence of Hawkman and Hawkgirl, Number One,” the waiter whispered into his collar as he refilled a tray with small yet fancy snack items. “Add them to the list.”
“That puts us at six JSA in attendance,” a crackled voice replied into a microscopic device in his ear. “Do we proceed with the operation?”
The line of communication was dead for several moments until a graveled and rasping third voice finally answered. “Proceed as planned.”
The waiter looked around, controlling his nervousness to a point of perfection, sharing a gaze and a subtle nod to two of the other waiters. They both looked incredibly similar, with a minor discrepancy of age and slightly different facial hair.
JSA Head-Quarters, The Lab
“All I'm saying is,” Rick Tyler continued, rolling the empty test tube over his fingers with an absent minded, “All I'm saying is people don't give it a fair chance.”
Pieter Cross, AKA the Doctor Midnite shot a glance up from the microscope he was peering down to his super-heroic friend, and let loose a small, short sigh.
“I think there's a valid reason that they don't give it a chance, Rick. Probably because the scientific evidence doesn't back up what they're claiming that they can do,” Midnite reasoned, as Rick got to his feet. He knew how this would go. Rick would defend alternative therapies, trying to turn Midnite into a Pariah for the medical services and for science, and eventually he'd calm down and they'd end up talking about sports.
Pieter raised his hand to Rick and shook his head.
“Skip to the sports, Rick, I don't want to have this discussion tonight. I'm working,” Rick's jaw dropped a little, but as it raised itself his face crept in a smile.
“Yeah, Okay, Pieter. Y'got me this time,” Rick walked over to Pieter and peered over his shoulder.
“What're you working on anyway?” Pieter looked up at answer as Rick smiled and shoved his face against Pieter's.
“Modern Medicines contain equal parts mass produced chemical compounds that more often than not contain rat poisons and all sorts of other nasty things to bulk them out, while using alternative medicines contains more natural remedies that are able to sooth the body and the mind,” Pieter sighed at the barrage of information that he'd heard hundreds of times before. He shook his head and moved away from Rick.
“Fine, Fine. Whatever for today, Rick, just let me work.”
“What are you working on anyway?” Rick finally asked, Pieter looked up from his diligent notes and put the pen down. Clearly Rick wasn't going to let him get away with anything.
“We've been finding odd pieces of similar looking DNA at the scenes of a number of crimes. Nothing too special, just something I am looking into for the police. The DNA degradation time is much, much faster than normal. It appears as though it begins to break down into component amino acids after about four to six hours after being shed. I'm trying to find a way to halt the process, at least enough to identify the ear-marks of the DNA holder enough to get a positive ID,” Midnite looked up at Rick’s blank face and sighed.
“I'm trying to make sure I can find a way to keep it active so we can ‘CSI’ it later,” Pieter said a frown appearing on his face. Rick should know all this. In fact, Pieter was sure he did, Rick just enjoyed annoying him.
“Markus Clay?” Came a feminine voice from behind the man, as he knelt towards Mecca.
He said nothing, finishing his prayer to Allah. Jenna Raleigh said nothing as she waited for him to turn around and face her. She was a scientist, she did not believe in the faith that people like Markus had. She believed in empirical evidence, and proof. Peer reviewed papers, understanding and consistency reproduced through repetition. That was her way, the way of the scientist.
People like Markus confused her. They spent their time praying towards something they could not see, or understand, or comprehend, all they had to go on was a book that someone had written thousands of years ago filled with prophecies and lessons. Jenna did not doubt that they were good lessons, she just doubted the context in which they fit in society today.
Markus slowly got to his feet and turned to Jenna, his face somewhat grim.
“Yes?” he simply said, his eyes half closed in contemplation of who Jenna might be. She knew who he was, the Amazing Man. A man of Faith and dignity and integrity, but he did not know her. She must have looked strange, standing there in her full Red Bee armor. Her helmet was resting under her arm as she stood in a somewhat casual stance.
“My name is Jenna Raleigh. I'm here from the Justice Society of America. We want to offer you a place within the Society,” Jenna offered him a smile, as she ran a gloved hand through the red tinted peaks of her fringe.
Markus cracked a bemused smile before turning away from Jenna to pick up his hat.
“A place within society. Does that not sound a bit odd to you?” Markus asked, avoiding Jenna's gaze as he rolled up the mat on which he had knelt.
“No, I don't think so. Why should it?” Jenna asked, curious.
“I do not feel part of society, especially in this country. Since the advent of terrorism on the grand scale that is occurring now, people with my...faith do not feel part of America, even though we have lived here our entire lives,” Markus said, turning to Jenna finally.
“Well, I don't know if I agree with that…” Jenna began, as Markus interjected.
“Tell me, Jenna. Do you believe in higher powers?” Markus asked
“Define higher powers,” she retorted. Markus smiled.
“I did not think so,” He continued, pulling the mat up underneath his crooked arm, mimicking Red Bee's pose. Two opposites on the same spectrum. Markus was a huge man, well muscled with broad shoulders and thick arms, while Jenna was a slither of a woman, with tiny, slender limbs and a long, taught body.
“What, are you talking about a religion?” Jenna asked, as Markus walked closed to her.
Markus nodded and took a step back.
“I don't have religion. I have science. I don't believe in anything that I can't prove,” she began. Markus simply held up his hand as he walked passed her.
“Surely you'd have to prove it exists initially, and to prove it exists you must believe it is there, even if you cannot...touch it, or see it?” Markus began. Jenna shook her head.
“It's not the same as a god, or a deity. There has to be some evidence there to support the hypothesis,” Jenna continued. Markus smiled, and touched his bare chest.
“This is the proof that my God exists, Jenna. Within me there is evidence to support my faith and my belief, because he makes me believe that I am whole inside. I am complete when I surrender myself to him and his love for me,” Markus finished. Jenna shook her head and her face cracked in an almost angry smile.
“That's what I don't like, Markus. Surrender. I don't surrender. I will never surrender. Not the mantle of my grandfather, not my beliefs or my desire to understand. I will not be surrendering any part of myself to anyone, or anything,” Her voice was tinged with anger, and Markus smiled.
“I can see that you will not be easy to convert to my way of thinking, Jenna,” Markus said, touching her shoulder gently.
“No, I should bloody well hope not, Markus,” She said, looking at his massive hand on her tiny armored shoulder pad.
“I accept your offer then, if only to allow myself more time to educate you,” Markus said, pulling his hand away after registering Jenna's gaze.
Markus paused but before Jenna could say anything he continued.
“Your society and mine need token gestures, Jenna. I will work with the JSA because I need to prove to America that the religion of Islam does not endorse wholesale slaughter or fundamentalism anymore than Christianity does, or Buddhism. We are a religion of peace and understanding and love, as all religions should be. Do not forget that,” Jenna looked ashamed for a moment, her cheeks flushing with blood.
“I do not believe that I should have to prove myself to this country, where I have lived my entire life, but times are changing. Understanding and compassion is not as rife as it once was, I need to prove to the common man out there, that their god and my god are one and the same, they have but only to see it.”
“Hey, Hips,” Ted said, leaning in to The Queen of the Amazons. She hated that name. She was a Queen and she should be treated as such. The rest of the JSA did that. They spoke to her with manners and pretense, they observed the diplomatic boundaries between their countries, and looked upon her with respect.
All except for Ted Grant, the Wildcat. He was the most infuriating individual Hippolyta had ever met in her long and eventful life.
“Ted..” She warned, as he raised his hands, palm facing outwards as a gesture of defense.
“Hey, don't mind me none, Queenie. All I was going to say was that our little groups looking mighty sophisticated this evening,” He gestured towards the suited forms of Jay, dancing with his wife, and Alan standing as stoic as ever, then over to Hawkman and Hawkgirl. He cracked a smile.
“Lovebirds, huh?” He eyed Hippolyta with a narrowed, slightly beady eye and smiled an indecent smile.
“Wanna dance, Hips?” Hippoltya turned her nose up at the invitation, while Joan stifled a laugh.
“He is not as funny as he thinks he is, Joan,” Hippolyta responded, a slight smile on her face, as Ted plonked his drink down and grabbed hold of the Queen of the Amazon's upper-arm.
“C'Mon, Hips. With all the stuff you were telling Alan and Jay about, y'need some cheering up,*”
*See The Opening Arc of Wonder Woman, here at DCA – Special Ed
Joan smiled as Ted forcibly drug Hippolyta onto the dance-floor and clumsily attempting to join the other, more sophisticated dancers on the floor.
Ted meant well, and it meant a lot that they were here for this event. All of them. Even if Ted was a little unpredictable. The old guard stood together firmly and staunchly. Although, Joan was a little concerned, and a little hurt that some of the new members of the group had not appeared to the party.
At that moment, a woman with Amazonian physique, short blond and utterly vibrant hair walked through the main doors into the hall. Men gasped, and women were possessed with jealously, as the woman, dressed in a thin, and elegant ball gown, with the characteristic hole in it's chest, made her way through the crowd, ignoring the salivating men who had forgotten all about their drinks, and the looks of anger and irritation of the women.
“Joan,” Her voice was like silk, washing over her. Joan looked down at her frail, old hands and sighed, opening herself up for a hug with the beautiful young woman before her.
“Karen, I know you don't worry about your identity as much as I do, but..” She looked at the chest hole and then back up at her face.
“You're not really being discrete,” She offered a smile to the young woman who shook her head.
“Coincidence. Chest cavity's that show excessive cleavage are so in this season,” Karen smiled, and pulled out of the hug, as a waiter slowly walked towards her, holding a tray of drinks.
“No thank you,” Karen said, waving a shoulder length gloved hand at the waiter, “I'm the designated driver.”
The waiter offered a forced, and curt smile before turning around, nodding to the other two waiters who stood by trays of food. As the third waiter returned to them, Karen looked more intently.
“Do they look familiar to you?” She asked, narrowing her eyes. Joan narrowed hers and adjusted her glasses.
“I don't think so, everyone's beginning to look the same now, Karen. It's what happens when you get older,” she joked. Karen did not register the comedy, as she stepped forwards again. Her eyes widening as the waiters realized they had been made.
All three of the suited men pulled energy weapons from their coats, training them on Joan and Karen and letting loose a volley of energy blasts that tore through the air.
“Savage!” Karen's words were lost in the noise of the weaponry, as the energy bolts bounced off her body, and tore through her new designer dress. Three slightly different and younger copies of Vandal Savage were shooting up the party. She let loose a growl of annoyance, as she checked over her shoulder, as a driver would before pulling onto a motorway for Joan.
Karen double took as Joan lay motionless on the floor, steam and the smell of burnt flesh rising from the cauterized wound that marked her midsection.
“Joan?”
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To Be Continued...
Next Issue: In Justice Society #2: The Savage League!
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