Young Justice / Green Lantern Corps: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 10: Temptation

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I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps. Please read and review!

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Temptation

Once upon a time, there were ten young heroes of unparalleled virtue. They were given great gifts, mighty powers granted to them by the Presence Himself, to fight and vanquish the forces of evil.

And this they did. They drove back the dark hordes and sealed them away beyond the boundaries of the universe…and then they realized something was wrong.

The universe needed something. It existed in the quantum substrate, a potential universe of great promise, but inactive, somehow. They gathered around it, curious. It needed to be activated to become real.

So, in the name of all those who would live in this new, young universe, one of the young heroes sacrificed himself. He gave himself up to the Fire. He became the Fire Eternal for the sake of All that Would Be.

Of course, as luck would have it, it wasn't quite enough.

…

The shelter: Rose came awake all at once, in the darkened room she shared with Ragnar. Evidently, she'd fallen asleep while talking to him, and he'd placed her in her bed. She was still fully dressed. It wasn't all that comfortable, but she'd far rather that than have him undress her for any reason.

She looked over at him. He was in his bed, and had his back turned to her, his breathing regular and deep. At least he doesn't snore, she thought. But now…now might be the time for a little recon.

Softly, every so softly, she padded over to the wall by the door, softly feeling for any hint of vibration lurking just under the cheap paneling around the door. She probed and felt, seeking any slight buzz or vibration or warm spot that might signal wiring in an unusual place.

She had no doubt but that their room was bugged, of course. But how was it bugged? Were there specific nodes concealed behind the walls, or were hidden microphones arrayed around the room?

She kept searching, patiently but with a growing sense of desperation. Unless she had some idea as to how the enemy was getting its information on them, she was hampered in making plans.

When Nightwing had sent them on this mission, he'd stressed to Ragnar that Rose was in charge. She had the experience, the skills, the knowledge. He, Ragnar, was to provide her with support, and he'd done this, though she wished they could've flown a little bit farther under the radar than they had. Their mission had been simple enough: gather information on the Church of New Enlightenment, see if there was any connection with the Sinestro Corps, or, barring that, seeing if the organization itself was dirty, in some way.

Well, she certainly had some evidence of dirt, alright. Not many charitable organizations force their clients to fight bears as a means of advancement. (But, the back of her mind had whispered, he hadn't fought the bear just to get a leg up in the organization; he'd fought the bear to protect her. She told that voice to shut the hell up.)

And she'd seen the way Brother Smith used fear: the fear of the unknown, the fear of the coming apocalypse, the fear of the authorities, and, just as important, the fear of being shut out of the organization. Not many people realized how powerful that fear could be in young people, who so often desperately wanted to belong to something, something to give them identity. So casting someone out into the cold wasn't an insignificant threat.

Still feeling over the wall, she happened to glance back at Ragnar. He had turned facing her, and his eyes were fully open. He was awake, and watching her every move. She nodded, approvingly. He hadn't said anything, or given any sound that might alert those listening in. Good. There might be hope for this boy yet.

Still feeling over the walls, she was about to come to the conclusion that the spy devices, whatever their nature, were too sophisticated for her to discover, when she felt a small vibration in the corner by the door. It wasn't on the side of the light switch…

Hm. Nothing much…just a small buzzing vibe. Most people would have never noticed it, putting it down to the vagaries of poor or shoddy architecture, but Rose had the experience to know what it was. Beneath this façade was a node, probably a listening device. The good news was, it was a good long ways from either of their beds. Now…was there one in the bathroom? Answer: yes, a small node by the door.

With a caution born of much experience, she scoured the rest of the room the same way. There didn't appear to be any such nodes in there, but she did find a small, expertly concealed video camera in the corner of the main room. She could have sworn it hadn't been there before.

The good news was, the audio pickups didn't seem to be that sensitive. So if they kept their conversation low, most of what they said would go undetected. "Alright," she said, "Now. Let's make some plans."

Mars: M'gann M'orzz was early for her next session with the Martian mystics, and appeared to have interrupted them from an argument they were having. That was unusual.

For thousands upon thousands of years, the scientist-mages of the planet humans call "Mars" had dwelt apart from the main Martian society, keeping mostly to themselves, save in matters of grave concern to the race as a whole. That they would offer to help M'gann at all was a testimony to the influence J'onn J'onzz wielded in Martian society.

{{I tell you, that is not an acceptable solution. We have not used that technique for the past hundred thousand cycles, and for a very good reason. No. There must be another way.}}

{{We have exhausted every avenue available to us. Even our powers are limited, after all. The science this 'Bertron' employed is very advanced, and he had ample time to study the biology of the subject. He knew exactly what he was doing.}}

{{Excuse me, Masters, but what are you talking about?}} M'gann was puzzled. She'd never even heard of the Martian Mystics actually disagreeing with one another. In fact, in some parts of Martian society, some tacitly believed that the Mystics were in fact one unified mind with seven different bodies. And now they were disagreeing? With each other? She wouldn't have thought that to be possible.

{{It is nothing, student M'orzz. You need not concern yourself with it.}}

{{Yes, Masters. How may we begin today?}}

The session was long and grueling, and M'gann was exhausted by the end of it. The Mystics aided her in probing deep into her mind, searching out the source of the implanted meme. It appeared to be thoroughly rooted within her subconscious, so thoroughly rooted that it defied even the magicks of the Mystics.

So it was a discouraged M'gann who left at the end of the session. One of the younger Mystics, O'nzz, accompanied her towards the general directions of the quarters she'd been assigned.

M'gann was silent. Then, {{Mistress O'nzz, what were you arguing about, when I first came in, this morning?}}

O'nzz grew reticent. {{It is really nothing of any concern, student M'orzz. It was…something that we came across, in our studies, that initially showed promise of being a solution, but further study indicated it was a desperate and unworthy plan. Very dangerous.}}

{{But what was it?}}

More reticence. {{You need not even ask. There is knowledge that is forbidden, and forbidden for a reason. This is such knowledge. It could easily—very easily—prove to be worse than the original problem to begin with. And it need not affect only you. So, no. I will not even tell you what it is called.}} She saw M'gann's expression. {{Do not be insulted. The fault is not yours, nor are we saying you cannot be trusted. If anything, the fault is ours. In a hundred cycles or so, we perhaps would have the knowledge and the skills to make use of this technique, but we do not have that now. Attempting to use it now would be dangerously irresponsible of us.}}

{{But…you could at least tell me what the process or technique is, could you not?}}

{{Not without going into some detail as to the execution of it. And please believe me when I say, this knowledge, this technique of which we barely know, could prove disastrous on a scale such as you can scarcely imagine.}} Again, she saw M'gann's expression, and attempted a comforting smile. {{I am not trying to belittle your intellect; I can scarcely imagine the repercussions myself. None of us can. For that reason, such knowledge of this technique has been vigorously suppressed throughout our history. Used wrongly—and without complete and whole knowledge of the technique in its fullest, it could easily be so used—it might easily alter fundamental constants on a universal level.}} M'gann looked up at her, eyes wide. {{Yes. That is how truly dangerous this method is. So, no, put such thoughts from your mind. I know you long for healing, and we are doing everything in our power to achieve that, but this is not the way to go about it.}}

M'gann nodded. Mistress O'nzz was, of course, right. No matter how much she wanted to be with Ragnar, there were some things it would just be plain ill-advised to do. But she had to wonder, somewhere in the back of her mind, if maybe they were just destined to never be. The thought brought a kind of coldness to her, and she shivered. No. Surely, Arisia and all the others were right; there had to be a way of undoing what was done. There just had to be.

Still…once she was back in her Spartan quarters, and purely out of curiosity, she began to look into Martian historical files. Had someone, in the past, found or theorized about a way of altering universal constants?

Now that was interesting. No Martian had, but an ancient mage from Earth, a scientist-priest named Klarkash-Ton, living in the days of Atlantis, of all times and places, had in fact theorized that reality could be described by a sufficiently intricate and lengthy number. Said number would, of course, be tremendously huge, infinite, in fact, but it was known to both Martian and Earth science: it was the number pi. Somewhere within that infinite irrational number could be found a series of numbers describing anything and everything….all that was, in fact.

What would happen if one should change one—or more-of those numbers?

Of course, she would never do that. No, as much in love with Ragnar as she was, she wasn't about to place all reality in jeopardy to be near him. If worse came to worst, she would simply have to live her life without him. Thinking that, her breath hitched a little.

Earth, the Shelter: It was after the evening meal, and Rose and Ragnar were wending their way back to the room they both shared. Ever since Ragnar's outburst the other day, the other boys had taken great pains to be extremely respectful of his "sister." That, plus the bracelet she was wearing, signifying increased rank, served to give them some breathing space in the crowded dormitories.

But Rose wondered when her test would take place. Brother Smith had already tested Ragnar, and there were no doubt other tests waiting for him on down the road, but she, herself, had not been singled out for any such test or rite of passage. She was prepared for the worst: it would either be something like what Ragnar had gone through, or else she would be required to bestow certain "favors" on Brother Smith…no doubt favors of a sexual nature.

She already charged Ragnar that, should it come to that, to let her freakin' handle it. She didn't need Mr. Knight In Shining Armor to save her sweet innocence; that wasn't the way these things went. Repulsive as the notion was, she was prepared to go ahead with it, sleep with him, in order to maintain appearances' sake. Ragnar hadn't looked too pleased about that, and she'd had to pull rank on him to get him to agree, but it was one of the least-publicized facets of undercover work: sometimes it really was undercover. In the most literal sense of the word.

And it was possible Ragnar himself could face similar "challenges." Brother Smith would want Ragnar's loyalty to be to him, and to him alone. As it was, his bond with his "sister" was the only one he currently had here. The two of them could simply leave, and there was nothing to keep them here.

"Except for that wristband," he'd pointed out, one night after lights-out. "He could detonate that by remote control."

"Oh, please," she replied, lying there in the darkness just across from him. "Look, I'll tell you all about that tomorrow." She had taken to performing her personal morning grooming at the same time as he normally showered off, as the noise of the water tended to cover their conversation. Plus, there was no video camera in the bathroom. "Look," she showed him. He glanced out from behind the shower curtain.

She simply unclicked the bracelet from around her wrist, then clicked it back on. "See? No explosive. An organization this big? On a shoestring budget?" She motioned to the quarters around her. "It's so much easier to just tell people there's explosive in the band, than to actually go to the trouble of manufacturing an exploding bracelet that won't be set off by the first stray cell phone signal. And it's in keeping with his character: controls you by fear, remember? This is way cheaper. And who's gonna risk it? "

He breathed an audible sigh of relief, one she could hear even over the rushing of the water. "I'm…glad. I was afraid that…"

"Yeah, yeah, well, I keep trying to tell you, I know what I'm doing here. That's why Nightwing sent me on this mission. Even if the thing had had an explosive in it, I could'a disarmed it, no sweat. So don't worry so. And that's what I meant: whatever he's got in store for me, you let me handle it. Don't go all overprotective on me, okay? 'Cause it's important."

He finished showering off, and stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around him, shaking his head. "I have never known anyone like you. This has been…an educational experience for me."

"I'm gonna take it you mean that in a good way. Just…just let me do my job, okay? If I need your help, I'll let you know. But until then, just…just try not to screw anything up." As she talked, she wondered: was it universal, this, this overprotectiveness men seemed to feel towards women? Here, Ragnar had grown up on a deserted planet, he hadn't even had a patriarchal society to model on, and he still seemed to want to build a wall and dig a moat around her. She could handle herself, and had, on many occasions. Not that she didn't appreciate the notion of backup, but anything can be carried too far. And carrying this, this cloistering chauvinism too far could lead to a confrontation that would blow everything higher than up.

The next day: Rose was summoned to meet with Brother Smith in his office, and, once again, given some yellow robes to wear. This caused her a bit of nervousness; the last time she'd done this, Smith had led them into the bear-fighting scheme. She hoped this wasn't a prelude to another such trial-by-combat.

The robes themselves reminded her of the cloaks and burkhas worn my women in the middle east. These didn't have any covering for the head, however. She grimaced as she examined the design: had they been of the midriff-baring design, they could easily have passed as harem-type outfits.

If Brother Smith thought to add her to his harem, he was in for a surprise.

"Ah, Kim. So good of you to join me. Please, have a seat." Brother Smith was sitting behind his desk, as he always was, reviewing something on a terminal that was turned in such a way that Rose couldn't see it. "Yes. I was most impressed by your brother, the other day."

Rose gave him a decidedly unfriendly look. "I should hope so. I've heard of throwing people to the wolves, but I've never actually seen it done before."

"Now, now, Kim. I had good reason to believe your brother would not only pass that little test, but that he would triumph. Dead bodies serve no purpose, mine or anyone else's. But it wasn't just his physical strength so much, as it was his devotion to you that impressed me."

"His devotion to me? What do you mean? He's my brother."

"You'd be surprised how many brothers would feel no such commitment to their own flesh and blood. That was part and parcel of why I told you about the bracelet, which, I'm sure you've determined by now, is not explosive at all. But he didn't know that. Even had he felt he had no chance of winning the battle, he still would have fought. I need that kind of dedication for what I intend to do. Oh, don't pretend to look surprised; I'm sure, once you took the time to figure it out, you realized I wouldn't have put an explosive device on you that might've gone off with me standing right there. I'm allergic to shrapnel.

"But as I said, it served to give him additional motivation. So now I know his motivation, what moves him.

"Now I need to know what motivates you."

Rose tensed. "What do you mean?"

Smith leaned across the desk as looked at her, his eyes seemingly penetrating skin, bone, and brain, making her feel naked, somehow, in a more than physical way. "Hm. There is much pain in your life. Much sorrow. And much fear. Yes. Such things…can be alleviated, if you will but let me." What made her even more nervous was that was almost what Ragnar had said, that day back in the motel, when he did…whatever he did to her. Did Brother Smith have similar powers?

She hoped not. One flake with freaky-deak powers was one too many.

"Er, Brother Smith…you…you're not trying to come onto me, are you?" Rose was careful to add just the right amount of fearful inflection into her voice, just as a young teenage runaway would normally feel when confronted with an older man, one obviously in authority, who seemed to be trying to manipulate her…

Trying, hell; he was manipulating her. In spite of her experience, Rose could literally feel an air of control skirting the outermost regions of her mind. Anyone else in this situation, especially a teenage girl, would be overwhelmed.

"Come on to you? No, my dear, not the way you mean. I mean, there is that which I can do for you, that no one else can. I can sense the pain you've felt, throughout your young life, and the fear. I can understand why you cling to your brother the way you do: he's all you have left. The same goes for him. What I'm telling you is, you—the both of you—also have me. The resources of my organization can be at your disposal." As he spoke, Rose was conscious of something edging around the outskirts of her mind, something very subtle…something an untrained person would never sense.

It was easy to see how Brother Smith could amass such a following. Take young people who had nowhere else to go, give them a place to call home, a sense of belonging, of identity…and a certain status in an enclosed environment, of being on the inside looking out, of being part of the in group…how many teenagers dreamed of something like that?

"Well, uh, I…that is, thank you, sir, I, I mean we, appreciate that. I haven't talked to Collin about it, but, but I'm sure he'd go for it. Uh, what—what would you have me do?" Even as she said it, she tensed. Here it came.

"Oh, nothing major, not right now, anyway. I recognize your talents lie in a different area altogether. For right now, I want you specialize in taking care of your brother. He…seems to have some issues, as I'm sure you've noticed." His voice turned introspective, almost as if he'd forgotten she was there. "There is…something about him, something I've never…sensed before. He is approaching a major turning point in his life. And there is nobody better suited than you to help him with those, even as, I'm sure, you've helped him in the past. In the process, you'll both be introduced to my organization, at a level higher than anyone else here, and its purpose, and you, yourself, will be trained in those ways in which you can best serve. Think about it: together we can make a significant difference in this world, and thus secure for ourselves a proper place in the world to come. For that world is coming, make no mistake. You don't even need me to tell you that; simply read a newspaper. We live in a nation, supposedly the freest on Earth, where, in some places, were the president to declare martial law tomorrow, nobody would notice any difference. And this is in America! Other places—also in America—would welcome the imposition of martial law.

"What I propose is simply what humans have done since the rise of intelligence itself: we band together, and take care of each other." He spread his hands, his expression completely open. "Nothing complicated or sinister about it. Just people helping people, the way we always have. The way you've helped your brother, the way he's helped you.

"Think about it. Go back to him now, and talk it over, just the two of you."

Elsewhere in the complex: the janitor was emptying out the garbage cans, taking care to separate the contents. And, in the process, she just happened to inspect said contents.

You can learn a lot about a place by what they throw away, Barbara Gordon thought.

She was stationed in a different part of the complex than Rose and Ragnar. They, of course, were unaware of her presence there, or her mission, which was both intel and if necessary, backup. Nightwing had not trusted to Ragnar's ring or Rose's experience completely; in spite of their abilities, the two of them could easily get in over their heads, especially if Sinestro Corps members were involved. This was more than mere undercover work; the Sinestro Corps were a cosmic level threat, each one of them approximating their Green Lantern counterparts in terms of power, and usually quite a bit more devious. Especially Sinestro himself.

Of course, she knew they'd not be so stupid as to throw out transcripts of conversations with yellow lanterns. What she was looking for were indications of illegal pharmaceuticals, the kind that might have killed the young people they'd found.

So far, she'd found a whole lot of nothing. Then, from one moment to the next, Batgirl froze. Although she could never say how, she knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that she was being watched.

Was her cover blown? She had her cover story prepared: just the janitor, sorting through and taking out the garbage. Carefully, yet casually seeming, she glanced around.

Nothing. The corridor was empty. It was after lights-out, and none of the shelter's inhabitants were out and about. Maybe it was her imagination?

So why was she getting goosebumps?

Once, when she was little, Barbara Gordon's father, police commissioner James Gordon had taken her on a hunting trip in the Rocky Mountains. Being her usual willful self, and wanting to prove herself to him, she sneaked out of the cabin where they were staying in the middle of the night, confident that there was nothing out there to be afraid of. She'd ventured to the edge of the forested area—and slightly into it.

What had struck her first was how absolutely dark it was. The stars shone overhead, but their light was insufficient to see by. She literally couldn't see her hand before her face, and she began to panic when she realized she was out of sight of the cabin. Then the fear had struck.

She knew she was being watched, and watched by something dangerous, something close by, something she couldn't see, in the darkness. She'd frozen, something telling her that to move was to die. And she'd noticed how still everything was: there was no sound of night animals, no rustling in the leaves, no calls of night birds. Just silence.

Then she'd heard her father calling her. He'd noticed her absence, and, knowing his headstrong daughter, come out to get her. Her sense of relief was immense, and as he drew nearer, she felt the malevolent presence nearby diminishing.

He'd found her, grabbed her in a hug, and dragged her back to the cabin, his rifle covering any and all suspicious patches of darkness. She'd sobbed, asking for his forgiveness, not because she feared punishment, but because something told her she'd had a very narrow escape this night.

The next day, they went out to where she'd been. There, not more than ten yards away were the tracks of a mountain lion. It had stopped and looked at her while she was wandering in the darkened forest, blissfully unaware of the danger that had lurked just outside her realm of vision.

On the way back from that trip, they'd heard about a camper who'd been killed and partially eaten by a large mountain lion. Another had been mauled, and permanently crippled. Of course, there was no indication that it was the same creature as had stopped to examine her…but Barbara Gordon knew, in her heart, that it was the same.

She felt that way now. Someone—something—was watching her. Something dangerous. Something she couldn't see.

Carefully, very carefully, she reached into the pocket of her coveralls and gripped her Taser baton. Given half a chance, she'd show whatever it was that she was no longer a helpless child. Normally, the security measures of the shelter would pick up anyone coming in with anything that might be a weapon, but thanks to Ragnar's and Doomsday's genius, all she'd had to do was store the mass in the quantum black hole, then have her belt replicate what she needed once past the scanners. Going out worked the same way: just shove everything back into the black hole's singularity: voila! No contraband weapons. The shelter's security system wasn't sophisticated enough to detect the replicator itself.

And then the feeling passed, leaving alone and shaky…and slowly returning the baton to its holster. What had that been all about? A Sinestro Corps member? But that wasn't their usual MO….usually, they were anything but subtle.

The next morning: Rose's and Ragnar's room. "So that's the story. He thinks there's something special about you—no point in lying about it, he's way too skilled at this sort of thing—and I guess wants me to be your 'handler,' so to speak. But I'm sure there's more to it than that." The pair were in the small bathroom, Rose brushing her hair and teeth, Ragnar showering off.

"What else do you see as happening?" he asked, over the sound of the rushing water.

She shook her head, more from reflex, since he couldn't see her, from behind the shower curtain. She'd laid down the law: it was one thing for her to groom while he showered—that was a necessity, since the sound of the water muted out their voices—but he was absolutely forbidden in the bathroom while she was. If that was a double standard, so be it. ("I know, I know," he'd said, with a smirk, when she'd told him that. "I haven't seen your 'junk.'" She'd chortled at that; "Not 'junk;" with boys, it's 'junk.' With girls it's 'treasures.' You haven't seen my 'treasures.'"

"I thought you were the one opposed to double standards," he'd said.

"Hey, it is what it is."

She could sense him shaking his head behind the shower curtain. "Again I say, I have never known anyone quite like you. You and your strange idioms.") "No clue. But I have a strong hunch we won't like it."

…

Mars: M'gann couldn't keep from reading the old texts about the ancient Earth mathematician-mage Klarkash-Ton. It made a weird kind of sense: both Martian and Earth cultures had their legends about some process or spell or artifact or something similar that could grant wishes, make the impossible happen—but always at a price. Usually a high price.

Would there be any harm in…she resolutely put the book, an ancient hardcopy, back on the shelf. Of course there would be.

Of course….if she could just locate the string of numbers in the universal code that described her, and made just one very tiny little change….

But one thing every ancient authority stressed: there were always repercussions. You couldn't just change one thing. Everything was interconnected, even those things seemingly not connected at all, were, somewhere along the way, part and parcel of the whole universe. And, from what she was seeing, this process might not stop with just this universe.

No. No way. Mistress O'nzz was right: it was just too dangerous.

To be continued…