Gold Justice, Chapter 2: Investigations

Mount Justice: the team was busy doing absolutely nothing whatsoever.

Nightwing, true to his upbringing, was making use of the time to do some research. Many of the team members felt he sometimes overdid that, but truth was, that same research had saved their bacon on more than one occasion, so, really, no one had any complaints.

Currently, he was still locked in combat with the computer, trying to dredge up information on why Batman had not returned from the grave, the way so many other superheroes had, during the Blackest Night (as the media were calling it) episode. A great many heroes had resurrected as heart-hungry zombies. Many, but not all. Someone had pointed out that the original Dove, Don Hall, had not put in an appearance. And Don was decidedly dead.

Batman—Bruce Wayne—had been presumed dead. His friends and colleagues had seen the body, buried him in a private ceremony. But Batman had not returned as a monster. J'onn J'onzz, the Martian Manhunter, and currently de facto leader of the Justice League, had tasked Dick with the job of finding out why.

The more he studied the matter, the more he became convinced that Bruce Wayne simply wasn't dead. He didn't have any facts to back up his feeling; it bordered more closely on a hunch. Occam's Razor, which states that, in any given puzzle, the simplest answer is usually correct, tended to cause him to side with this theory. But he had no proof, either way.

The others were watching a football game on television, with a thoroughly bewildered Ragnar Rok among them. They'd tried to explain what "football" was and how it was played, but so far, he simply hadn't shown any indications of understanding it. The notion of people basically fighting over an inflated, inedible piece of animal hide struck him as outlandishly funny, though so far, he'd shown good manners and not laughed out loud.

Ragnar was trying to understand this "game," as his new friends called it, but every time he thought he'd made some headway towards that understanding, something, some new rule or regulation (of which there seemed to be a great many) would surface, and send him back into the depths of ignorance again. Finally, he just decided to quit trying to understand it. He just sat back in his place on the couch, and, rather than watch the game, watched his teammates, instead.

Everyone seemed very interested and even enthusiastic about the fate of the inedible object, and some of them shouted and showed signs of great excitement when one of the groups playing managed to acquire the "football" and made successful incursions into what was supposed to be the territory of the opposing team.

Miss Martian, his new friend, had told him about the food item they had tonight, something called pizza, which, to his tastebuds, was certainly acceptable. His first meal on this strange planet had consisted of some burritos, as they were called, and he had thought they tasted truly abominable. On the other hand, the cheeseburgers, another food item he'd encountered, had tasted very good indeed. Megan had said something about different metabolisms, chemical receptors, and just not being used to some kinds of food. She'd told him she'd introduce him to some kinds of food, which she called Mexican, by the way (and he wondered why a food item should be named after a country, a political entity?), that he'd enjoy. Privately, he'd made up his mind to at least pretend to enjoy whatever she showed him. He was coming to understand about human relationships, and the extremely complicated systems of interactions that existed between both individuals and groups. These were his friends now, a life-long dream come true, and he had no desire to alienate them, or give offense in any way. Had she directed him to chew and swallow broken glass, he probably would have done so, and politely asked for more.

But this pizza….

Well, it was good. Certainly adequate for a meal. He couldn't deny that. He didn't seem to have as much appreciation for it that the others did, but nobody held that against him.

One thing he did understand about the current entertainment was what everyone was calling the "commercials," during which various human spokespeople endeavored to get other humans to trade this money thing he kept hearing about for some item or service. That he understood, and resolved to seek out these products or services once he received some of this money. Although he'd bought items before—when his mysterious friend, whom he knew only as "Sarah," and who appeared in the form of a little human girl, had given him money and coached him into his first actual purchase on this world—he wondered how he should go about utilizing it. Some of the products/services didn't make a whole lot of sense to him, but others intrigued him, and he looked forward to a personal investigation of them.

"Isn't this exciting, Ragnar? It's nearly half-time, and the score's tied!" Megan was sitting beside him on the couch, a look of exhilaration on her face. She then noticed the bewildered expression that he was so desperately trying to conceal, and her own enthusiasm waned a bit. He hated that; he so wanted his new friends to have a good time, and didn't like to think of himself as what he'd heard someone call a "wet blanket." That term hadn't made much sense to him, but he understood the meaning. "That's okay, Ragnar. Football's a complex game. It'd be surprising if you did pick up on it right away, anyhow." She leaned against him, a comforting gesture that he seriously needed. Back on the world he'd come from, he'd often dreamed of meeting others, but he'd never had any idea that such meetings could get so complicated.

A buzzer sounded, and everybody's head turned. Kid Flash, with the remote, paused the game. "Okay, people," Nightwing's voice came over the PA system. "Meeting in the conference room, now. We've got some new marching orders."

"Aww, man. Not now!" Kid Flash's look said, it never fails.

"Yes, now. Hit the record button, Wally. Business first."

The conference room. "Now. First order of business is this: there've been a string of disappearances in and around the San Fran area. The victims are kids ranging from eight years old to sixteen. There doesn't seem to be any connection between them, other than that they're missing. The League wants us to look into it, find out the common denominator, and put a stop to it. So we will. Aqualad, you, me, Superboy, Kid Flash and Artemis are to go undercover, find out what's going on."

"Hey!" Megan gestured for attention. "Aren't you forgetting someone? Like, maybe, someone with shapeshifting powers? I'm ideal for undercover work."

"Sorry, M'gann, but I've got other plans for you. It seems something's come up. Arisia contacted the League—meaning she contacted Hal Jordan—and told him she was instructed to bring our new Lantern in to Oa." Some sounds of surprise went around the table. "No, he's not being arrested or anything." (And Ragnar breathed a private sigh of relief at those words…) "They apparently just want to ask him a few questions, nothing major. From what we've gathered, they're as puzzled as the rest of us regarding his ring changing like it did. And I'm sure they have some questions about this mysterious little girl, Sarah. Ragnar? You don't happen to have any more information about her, do you?"

"No, Nightwing, I do not. Up until very recently, I never thought of her as being anything more than she appeared to be. But events, as you have said, clearly indicate otherwise."

"Well, anyway, she's gonna escort you to Oa. Megan, I figured you might want to go with him." He paused. "To be perfectly honest, I'd feel better if you did, too. Sometimes the Guardians can be a little…well. Perhaps the word 'officious' is inaccurate, but it comes close. I find it hard to put my total trust in them. It seems like they tend to see the Big Picture, and that picture is, frankly, larger than my comfort zone. So. You up for an all-expense paid trip to Oa?"

She definitely was.

…..

The ship under Arisia's command conveyed them all, including Hal Jordan, one of Earth's Green Lanterns, to the homeworld of the Corps. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," said the golden Green Lantern, making an effort to reassure Ragnar. "You haven't committed any crimes or anything. But power rings don't just change like that. Frankly, I'm curious, too. Do you know at what point it actually changed?" The four of them were on the bridge of the ship, with Oa already looming up on the monitor. Although by no means overpopulated, Oa was clearly inhabited: lines of glowing green energy radiated outward from the central power battery, with Corps members flying to and from the planet.

"No." Ragnar drew his attention back from the viewscreen. "It had been refusing to fully charge for about a day or two, but I didn't think anything of that, at the time. I wouldn't have noticed that it had actually changed, myself, had not Sarah mentioned it."

"They'll probably ask a lot about her, too." She glanced at the screen. "You don't know anything about her?"

"Only that, whatever she is, or may be…she is my friend."

Arisia blew out a small sigh, blowing her blond bangs back from her forehead. I really hope so, Ragnar.

While Ragnar went into the council chamber to meet with the Guardians, Arisia, Hal, and Megan decided to spend the time in the large café style commissary, that served the entire Corps, or at least, those of them currently on Oa. While Hal went to place their order, Arisia took the time to study the young Martian. "So. I hear you've been helping our newfound friend adjust to life on Earth?"

"Our"? Thought Megan. When had her friend become an "our"? But she saw what the young Green Lantern was saying. "Yes, it's been…an experience, getting him set up to live on Earth. I'd forgotten all about how confusing Earth life can be, to someone not familiar with it."

"Culture shock, I get it. So." Arisia propped her elbow on the table, and rested her head on her hand. "How are things going between you two?"

"W-what do you mean?" Miss Martian stammered.

"Oh, come on. His own shadow doesn't stick any closer to him than you do. I've seen it. So. One girl to another: how's it coming?"

Hal rejoined them, carrying their preferred beverages: crystal water for Megan, coffee for himself, and some fruit juice concoction for Arisia. Miss Martian studied her water glass very carefully. "I…we're just good friends. I mean," she continued, flustered, "Somebody had to show him around, and I know from personal experience how, how confusing life on Earth can be."

Arisia smiled a knowing smile, nestling her chin in her hand. "Mm-hm. And, of course, that's the only reason you're showing him around. Right?" Her smile got wider. "Not!"

"What are you two talking about?" Hal's attention went from one to the other. Arisia appeared to be having fun, while Megan looked like a doctor had just told her she desperately needed an emergency enema on the spot.

"Oh, nothing, Hal. Just girl talk."

Sshurrre it is, thought Hal. Arisia looked like a cat playing with a mouse. He could guess what it was about. He turned to Miss Martian. "I heard the Cowboys won, last night." After all, I am a superhero; I'm LICENSED to rescue damsels in distress.

Spoilsport, thought Arisia.

….

Meanwhile, in the council chambers of the Guardians, Ragnar was fielding questions, both verbal and telepathic. The Guardians had scanned his mind quite carefully, but had not found any answers to their questions. {{So, this 'Sarah'…you've no idea where she could have come from, or even who or what she is, in actuality?}}

"That's correct," he replied. He was beginning to lose patience with these strange blue beings. "I've some questions of my own…."

{{We will ask the questions, here.}}

"And you will be asked one. How you respond will determine my level of cooperation in the future. The choice is yours." He paused a moment. "Perhaps the one known as Arisia spoke in error when she said you desired this." He stood before them, and crossed his arms, an expression of determination on his face.

Silence. The Guardians looked at each other. If they were communicating among themselves, they were not revealing that fact to Ragnar. Then, {{Very well. Ask your question.}}

"Where did I come from? My friend has probed my mind, revealing that my parents, at least, I assume them to be, fled what can best be described as desperate circumstances. I would know where they came from."

Another pause from the blue beings around him. For a moment, it seemed as though they weren't going to answer him. Then Ganthet gave out the telepathic equivalent of a sigh. {{The truth, young Ragnar, is that we do not know. Our records go back nearly ten billion Earth years, but that does not mean they comprise a complete account of all that has transpired all across the entirety of the universe during all those ten billion years. And we can find no record at all of anything relating to the events you relayed to us. From the images in your mind, it would appear that your people were fleeing some great disaster, and that your parents placed you in some sort of escape pod. How that relates to you, how you came to be here now, we are unsure.

{{We are, however, greatly interested in two seemingly unrelated events: one, the circumstances that forced your parents to send you off into the relative safety of the escape module, and that the ring you wear has apparently changed its complete nature in some manner with which we are not familiar. But it may well be the two are connected in some way.}}

"Then…I am no closer to the truth about me than I ever was." He couldn't keep the despondency out of his voice.

Ganthet considered for a long time. Then, {{Young Ragnar. This matter of your discovering your origins is of course a personal matter, but might I suggest another, perhaps more practical, perspective?}}

"I…am listening."

{{Where you come from is, of course, as we have said, a mystery. But some things are clear. Your parents were fleeing what gives all the indications of an extinction event, one of considerable magnitude. They evidently felt as that there was a good chance they themselves would not survive it. So they endeavored to save you. And while we do not know the nature of this event, which, admittedly, bears further investigation, it cannot be denied they succeeded in at least one of their goals. What happened to them…is not completely clear. We do not know if they perished before or during the crash of your ship or if their demise occurred afterward.

{{But if you will accept the advice of one who has lived long…perhaps, just perhaps, it might be better for you to focus more on your future than your past.}}

He bowed his head. "I… You are wise, Guardian Ganthet. My friend Megan has told me much the same. It would be, as the human saying goes, 'nice' to know my origins…but regardless of any of that, I must try to determine where I shall go from here."

{{Well spoken. We have no further questions for now. You may rejoin your friends.}}

But once Ragnar had left, Lianna turned to Ganthet. {{I did not know,}} she began, {{that you were of the habit of saying that in which you did not wholly believe.}}

Ganthet looked steadily at the door through which Ragnar had left. For a long, long moment he paused, his thoughts shrouded from the others. Then, {{There is a human term: haunted. It refers to events in one's past affecting one's present and future, usually in a negative way. I have never really given it much credence.

{{Until now.}}

To be continued…