JLU 2001 Fanfiction - JLA in JLU 2001 PRESENTS #7

My first memory is of my mother.

I remember her smiling down at me, her plump, pleasing face full of love and hope. Sometimes I even believe that I remember her scent, and the warmth of her embrace. She died when I was five. Pneumonia I believe, but back then it was just a hacking sickness.

Those were simpler times…

The INJUSTICE SOCIETY

in
Crimson Skies Pass Through My Years

An EARTH 2 Event

JLU: 2001
PRESENTS #7 - Featuring:
The Injustice Society

by Curt Fernlund

“And we care, why?”

William Zard leaned back, cocking his head ever so slightly as he considered one of his oldest friends. He used the term loosely of course, as they were never really friends by definition, at least according to Webster. At best they were comrades brought together by circumstance, putting up with one another to achieve a greater, common goal.

That goal most usually being the destruction of the Justice Society of America.

Richard Swift smiled bleakly and raised his snifter in mock salute. Zard realized that the Shade was simply being that that they were; antagonists barely held together by a common bond. He nodded, smiling in return as he sipped at his brandy.

“Simply setting down the groundwork, my friend. The Thinker is no doubt recording our every word and physiological discrepancy, so I figure it’s best to be up front.”

“As you wish,” the Shade said, sipping from his own snifter. Zard noticed that he grimaced slightly at the taste. Things were still slightly off here, including the standard of liquor apparently. “No doubt a few months down the road someone will want to write the biography of ‘Emperor Zard’. May as well get the facts straight.”

“I don’t wish to be emperor, Richard.” Zard swirled his brandy, his gaze glancing to the monitors once again. The battle was going nicely. “I simply want things to be as they were.”

“In your memory,” the Shade said. “I don’t recall any of the things that you’ve described. Multiple Earths and heroes and villains, people in general running their lives in varying settings. Who would believe a world where the Nazis won and Uncle Sam was fighting the alleged ‘Good Fight’ fifty years later? Another world where funny, cartoon characters held sway? Yet another where there was only one Meta? It’s just so ridiculous.”

“Never the less,” Zard said, setting his snifter aside. “It’s true.”

The Shade shrugged, willing to give Zard the benefit of the doubt. He had seen more than his share of strange things, including other dimensions in his long years. He glanced to the side to the Fiddler; the third member of their group slumped in his chair and asleep. His long, silver hair fell about his face in thin wisps like spider webs. Drool leaked from the side of his mouth, dripping onto his green tuxedo. The years had not been kind to their ally, the magicks in his violin not quite strong enough to help him repress the years.

William Zard followed the Shade’s gaze and frowned. He had liked the Fiddler, but it appeared that he was not long for the Brave New World that they were creating. He hoped otherwise, and maybe Degaton would come through in the end, but he suspected that Per Degaton had his own agenda. As did they all.

The Thinker…

Degaton…

Brainwave…

Zard simply hoped that they would all remember that what he was doing, he was doing for them all.

“I remember the Cossacks,” Zard continued. “The Czar was dead. His family too and the revolution was in full swing, raging across the land like a wild fire. Out in the fields, the politics meant little to us. My father was a farmer you see, but eventually the change in status quo came knocking on our door as well, far away on the edge of the steppes.

“I recall marveling at the fires, watching as our village, our home burned. I was screaming. My father was pulling me along, begging me to run as the dark shadows on horseback churned through our village. They raised their swords high, cutting down all in their path, torching everything in sight. They were led by a woman, oddly; an older woman with scarlet hair and a bald man riding a jack ass at her side.”

“I remember those times,” Swift said, nodding. “I was in St. Petersburg when the revolution hit. There was a gem. Little did I realize at the time that Sargon had beaten me to it.”

Zard nodded. “My father dragged me through the snow, little more than the clothes on our backs and heading east. We would have died but for his ability to hunt and trap. We ate mouse, mostly, and wolf, the occasional hare. I was sickly and gaunt when we finally reached Vladivostok.”

“I remember the press of the masses trying to escape the revolution. I was there too, for a time. So was Savage.”

Zard snorted. “I didn’t see you. Pity. Regardless, my father bought me passage on a steamer to Seattle. I was sick throughout the voyage, pressed tight with well over a hundred others hoping to escape the hell that Russia had become. I stepped from the bowels of the ship three weeks later. Filthy and smelling of the unwashed, staring blankly at the New World I stepped into the sunlight and warmth of a new day.”

INCOMING…

Both Zard and Smith hesitated as they looked up and around at the sound of the digitized voice, finally turning their gazes toward the teleporter pad erected there in the main Hall of the CSA’s Satellite. There had been a few moments of tension after the Owlman had set the satellite onto a path of self-destruction, but in the end Savage and the Thinker had won out. The pair had used their unique intelligence and capabilities to turn the tide and save the station, for the most part anyway. It was running on emergency batteries and what little power that the solar sails could collect. They had lost the main teleporter station, but after the Thinker had displaced Brainiac it was a simple matter to guide Savage through the intricacies of cobbling together a spare. There was simply too much information there that would have been lost had they simply allowed the Space Station to go crashing into Manhattan. Never mind the loss of life. A negligible consideration to be sure, but still…

Sports Master and Tigress appeared on the teleporter platform. They looked confused and disoriented at first glance, but Zard knew that after a bit of explanation they would be fine. Zard noted the slight dimming of lights and the dip in power as the satellite’s generators tried to compensate for the sudden surge. It took a lot of energy to transport between dimensions, and the power core had already been strained with Icicle Jr. and Rag Doll. There was still some question as to whether Rival would come through at all. It needed time to recharge.

Vandal Savage appeared then, strolling in from a side corridor and approaching the Wet Bar. He poured from the bottle of brandy, swirling the liquid and savoring the aroma before downing the liquor. He set the snifter aside and considered the trio at the Lounge, bathing in the glow of Earth 2 beyond the large view port.

“I have to admit, Zard,” he started, strolling to take a seat. “I am impressed. I truly didn’t believe that you could pull this off.”

“Oh ye of little faith.”

Savage chuckled. “To be fair, Billy, your track record has not been so great.”

Zard shrugged. “It was always our own discord that defeated us, Savage. We had many good plans that fell through because of our own avarice. Hold true this time, and we shall succeed beyond our wildest dreams and fondest memories.”

“You have the floor, William.” Vandal Savage raised his glass in salute.

Zard recalled the years of struggling, living on the streets, stealing every scrap of bread and crumb that he could. He had been in jail far too often, more times than he cared to count, a victim of survival in the end more than not. He had learned the arts of the streets; begging, pickpocketing, the sleight of hand of simple card tricks and poor man’s magicks. He mastered the Three-Card Monte as he made his way west, knowing that New York was where he’d rather be, or Gotham at least. But there of course was the Green Lantern, and the Batman…

He had actually made a name for himself in Vaudeville as a magician and Escape Artist. Houdini had nothing on him, and actually conferred with him once over a mason jar of Moonshine in a Speak Easy in Chicago. Of course, Capone had put a stop to that minor success.

Per Degaton stepped into existence with a weary sigh...

“I must rest,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There is much confusion in the Time Stream. Thrawne’s death set everyone on edge. Wave Rider’s about, and I’ve personally seen the Time Commander three times. Too, Rip Hunter and his Linear Men in all their incantations are making waves. Aside from that, plucking memories from thin air is no easy feat. ”You have really set this Multi-verse on its ear, Zard.”

“It does my heart good just to hear you call it that, my old friend.”

Per Degaton ran a hand back through his red hair and then shook his head. He did not understand, choosing to sit and relax rather than fathom the Wizard’s meaning. He was tired.

They were almost complete.

The Injustice Society would live again…

Port Jefferson, Long Island
New York
Earth 1

Josiah Power stared at the computer monitors, watching as the failsafe protocols cycled through the final stages of their programs. The power core buried deep in the bedrock of the sheer cliff face had already been breached, the radiation well on the rise to dangerous levels. The mansion was running on the back up generators as the computer shut down operations one by one. Within minutes the self-destruct codes would override and the countdown would begin.

He sincerely hoped that Zard was on schedule and had not forgotten him. Or worse, betrayed him like he had the Outsiders.

But, no. The television still broadcasting the CNN feed from Opal City showed that most of the Injustice Society had been spirited away, leaving behind not one but two Starmen. Jack Knight looked befuddled, if not blatantly stupid left standing there alone in the midst of carnage and the aftermath of the Spectre. And sad too, watching as the EMS technicians loaded his father into an ambulance. The old man would live, and another piece – two Knights in fact – had been removed from the chessboard. The Wizard had been correct. All was going according to plan.

Zard had gathered his magicks and his props, like the Cosmic Rod. He had rallied the old gang, though some of those faces were young and untouched by countless defeats. He had chosen his prize: the Earth, though luckily not THIS Earth, and he had made the grab for the golden ring.

And so far he clutched it tight.

WARNING

Powers heard the digitized voice of the Thinker and knew the time had come. He leaned forward and pressed his palm to the photosensitive plate, whispering the code words that would initiate destruction.

THANK YOU

He heard something pop deep below the structure in one of the sub basements as he grabbed his small travel bag and headed for the doors leading to the terrace. He stepped out into the warmth of the late October evening, only then realizing that it was Halloween. There had to be an irony in that somewhere, but as he heard a closer explosion from within the mansion he realized that he had little time to consider.

However, with the façade complete and the Outsiders history there was no longer a need for his own masquerade. Josiah Powers had served his final purpose, the last since Zard had convinced him to be a stable point in the band of villains, the mental rock hidden in the puzzle, layers within layers. It had been HIS Meta that had held the group of individual antagonists together, and actually formed them into a well-oiled fighting machine.

Which was why they had quickly fallen apart at Zard’s betrayal. That mental bond that the Brainwave had provided had disappeared, pulled out from under them like the proverbial rug. Now however, Brainwave hoped that the rug was still under his own two feet.

He took in the view of Long Island Sound for a final time as he stepped upon the teleport relay. Far across the water, the lights of Bridgeport, Connecticut were just beginning to flicker to life, and he could see the final fairy churning its way across the sound heading home. According to all Zard’s talk, that’s just where he would be soon enough as he toed the control beacon at his feet.

Home…

Three small explosions rattled the building and he heard the glass in the terrace doors at his back crack and shatter from the heat and pressure. He glanced back to see a plume of fire gushing up from the basement stairs. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he shouldered his bag higher and nervously licked his lips. He toed the beacon again.

“Gentlemen, beam me aboard.”

Brainwave heard the crack of timber beneath his feet and felt the terrace balcony shift, tilting lethargically towards the rocks and crashing waves over a hundred feet below. He could still save himself, he knew. There was time. One of his Brain Blasts would be enough to propel him back to the cliff and out of danger, but if he left the platform, he might never get another chance to join the others.

“C’mon, Dammit!” Brainwave hissed, trying to keep his feet planted as he latched onto the railing in front of him for support. “Damn you Zard! You wouldn’t have pulled this shit on my father!”

And as if on cue, the world faded away…

EARTH 2
Satellite HQ of the Injustice Society of the World

“Can we save her?”

Vandal Savage scowled at the Wizard only slightly. He raised an eyebrow, considering the man’s intent. On the monitor they were all watching they saw the Star Sapphire about to be beaten, if not broken by the Green Lantern.

“Getting soft already, Zard?” Savage asked, eyeing the controls of the transporter, checking the power reserves and stress levels. He heard Zard snort behind him.

“Hardly. It’s just, Camille’s been a part of this from the start. From the original inception of the Secret Society. We’ve worked much together, she and I, off and on over the years. Besides, our world once had a Star Sapphire all its own.”

“Truly?” the Shade asked, stepping up to the monitor along with Zard.

“She’s an old hag now,” Zard said, nodding. “Lives in her own little pocket dimension, ruling over a rogue band of Zamarons I believe. She used to antagonize Garrick.” Shade chuckled.

“She’ll be the last,” Savage mentioned pointing to the power grid. “We redistribute the power to snatch her, we lose Rival.” Savage shrugged. “Apples and oranges at this point.”

“I can live without Rival,” the Shade added. “Bit too psychotic and vendetta driven for my taste.”

“I agree,” Zard concluded, pointing to the screen as a green glowing fist threatened to crush the life out of the woman. “Save her please. And swiftly I think.”

Vandal Savage grinned, his fingers typing in the coordinates that the Thinker provided and starting the teleportation process. Puffs of smoke burst from the console as the machinery strained and lights flickered threatening to wink out all together. A sparkling golden glow flared on the far side of the room as the machine heaved and sighed.

The three men turned to find the Star Sapphire collapsed on the transporter platform, still breathing but unconscious.

“And that,” Savage said as he grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall nearby and started spraying the machinery, “brings our gang to a Baker’s Dozen. Or will as soon as Nash recovers and the Fiddler wakes up.”

“Let us not bicker my friends.”

William Zard knelt beside the unconscious form of Star Sapphire. The look on his face was almost one of… tenderness. At a silent signal, two small flying robots of almost Kryptonian design appeared, capturing the woman’s limp form in a vortex beam shared between the two and softly spirited her away. Zard watched the retreating golden forms until they disappeared, heading for the infirmary. When he turned, his visage had turned cold and hard once again.

“You came to me, Vandal, and helped me when I was at perhaps the lowest point in my adult life. You saved me from abuse and the bottle, and more importantly my own inner demons. Countless defeats had left me morally destitute and physically impoverished. You set me on my feet and pointed the way; one final joust with the JSA before leading me to Faust.” Zard grinned, holding up the sparkling jewel that adorned the handle of his walking stick. “Our fourteenth silent and unwilling partner, though perhaps the most important member we have.

“No, Vandal, I will not forget all that you did for me, but I journeyed through Hell itself to get here and I will be damned if I let your snide, sarcastic comments bring it crashing down.” Zard strode to the view port, jabbing the tip of his cane at the safety glass for emphasis as his voice grew higher and more determined.

“We have a whole world laid out before us, gentlemen. Practically a clean slate, a lump of clay to be molded to our will and desire. And the only heroes around to give us pause are second string villains in disguise and those mirror image mockeries already bent to our will. We cannot lose, don’t you see? Our wildest fantasies are there for the taking. Our dreams are realities…

“And there are none to stop us!”

22,300 miles and a few feet below…

Garfield Logan stared up into the darkening sky. He could smell smoke and vaguely see the swirl of low clouds roiling across the opening of the hole he had made when Hourman had smashed him down through the street.

He did not know just how long he had been lying there in what he assumed to be the subway tunnel. He could feel the irritating burn of cold steel and iron on his back where he was laying across the tracks. Thankfully someone had been smart enough to shut down the system when the fight had broken out. Or maybe he had done it himself, crashing through power conduits and cable lines, not to mention a water main or two. Thankfully Firefall had taken care of the gas.

He did know that he hurt however. Hurt bad, but that was good. He had been beginning to think that this rock body he had woken up in was little more than that; a rock. He could think and move and talk with effort, but beyond that there was no feeling. At least until now.

Now he hurt all over. It was like his body was covered in dozens of paper cuts, but the pain was magnified a hundredfold. He suspected the result of Hourman’s vicious chiseling and chipping away at his stony form with every punch he had connected. Chips here and there, all over and adding up to one big hurt.

Too, and he hoped he was wrong, but it felt like his back was cracked. That would probably explain why he could not move so well. Top no longer connected to bottom. Flap A no longer inserted in slot B.

He wondered if he would heal, or would he simply erode into the dirt beneath New York City. Heck, the Department of Street Repair would probably grind him up into asphalt before that happened. What a way to go for the one time idol of millions…

“Huh!” he grunted as a beam of bright light zeroed in on his eyes. He tried to focus in the brilliance, only to see a lithe form silhouetted in the glow drop from above to land on his chest. Not heavy, and by the flare of the spiky cape he figured he knew who it was, though just how she got here remained a mystery to him.

“Batgirl?”

He saw the blackened silver blade of a small knife shine in the glow of the flashlight beam before he felt the scratch of the blade on his rocky hide.

“Girl?” a definitely female voice said. “Yeah. I suppose. Not a bat though. You feel that?”

“Yes. Stop it,” he grunted as the girl dug the knife into one of the small chip holes on his chest. “It hurts.”

“Good.” The girl stood, but remained squarely on his chest as she slipped the knife back into the darkness of her silhouette. She kept the light trained on his face. “I was afraid that you were gonna be useless to me, beyond a pair of book ends and maybe a paperweight or two. I could probably make some money though, bustin’ you up to sell as Pet Rocks. Hmm.”

“Who are you?” Logan asked, frustration driving him crazy, little realizing that his fingers were digging into the dirt and stone at his sides. The girl standing on his chest laughed.

“Well, right now I’m either your best friend or your worst nightmare. But you can call me Owlgirl.”

To be continued: Follow the adventures of Owlgirl and Rocker in Outsiders #21 next update, and be sure to catch all the tales of EARTH 2 elsewhere at JLU: 2001!