THE DCFutures Underground Fan Fiction group acknowledges that DC Comics owns the concepts behind Green Lantern and all DC characters that may be used here. These concepts are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DC Universe. However, the original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author. Quotations have been taken from the medieval poem, "THE GREENE KNIGHT," as edited by Thomas Hahn.
GREEN LANTERN:DCF #2
(Year One, Part Two)
"No Evil Shall Escape My Sight"
Written by D. David Lee
Edited by Jason Tippitt
Earlye, soone as itt was day,
The Knight dressed him full gay,
Umstrode a full good steede;
Helme and hawberke both he hent,
A long fauchion verament
To fend them in his neede.
NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 30, 2112]
The image on the holo-monitor started to flicker and fade in and out as Martin Ulster's body began to convulse on the hover-gurney.
"What's happening now?" asked Bryan, who leaned over his friend to try and pin him down, not an easy task considering Marty's superhuman strength, but Bryan was no slouch in the strength department, either. "Do something!"
"I'm trying!" exclaimed Beckett, his hands leaping from control to control, trying to stabilize his friend. Eventually, he was forced to inject Marty with a sedative, which did calm him down eventually. "Thank goodness."
"You can say that again! I don't think I could have held him down much longer. He's even stronger than I remember," said Bryan, wiping the sweat from his brow and massaging sore muscles.
"Yeah, seizures are known to do that, but he's stable now," said Beckett, preparing another hypo just in case. "Look, the holo-monitor is registering again..."
The Moon: Justice League Academy [January 16, 2108]
"Welcome to the Justice League Academy," said a holographic image of Hourman, standing behind a podium. "You've all surpassed many obstacles and made many sacrifices to be here. I know it couldn't have been easy, but you made it. You should all be congratulated, and I know that one day, you will all do much to make the Justice League proud."
His words were greeted by applause from all around, just as his image flickered away. The Justice League had several academies, but its lunar facility was reserved for those few candidates born with meta-human abilities. Indeed, there were only nine students total in the Class of 2112.
Turning to the student closest to him, Martin introduced himself. "Hi, my name is Martin Ulster, but my friends call me Marty," he said. That wasn't quite true as the nature of his upbringing hadn't really allowed him to make any friends, but he was hoping all that was about to change.
"Martin Ulster? What kind of superhero name is that?" said the teenager he'd addressed, who was wearing a gaudy blue costume with the letters BB in gold printed on his chest, with matching golden boots, gloves, goggles, and underpants. "I call myself Bugmaster Blue," he said with as much drama as he could muster.
"Bugmaster Blue?" asked Martin, not certain how to react. "Wow. That'll really strike terror into the hearts of evildoers," he continued, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
"You better believe it will!" said Bugmaster Blue, striking as gallant a pose as he could, planting his fists on his hips, and standing up straight and tall. He stood a good six and a half feet tall, and if not for the fact that he was rail thin, the pose might actually have been somewhat intimidating.
His lips trembling, Martin did his best to keep a straight face. "Well, my superhero name is Cu Chulainn. He was a hero from Celtic mythology, the legendary hero of 'Ulster.' Get it?" he asked, elbowing Bugmaster Blue in the ribs. His own costume was form-fitting, mostly black with a simple green mask worn over the eyes. The emblem of an emerald spear on a triangular field was emblazoned upon his chest.
"Did I hear someone say Celtic, now?" asked another student, this one dressed in standard Justice League body armor, but with a black trench coat over it. "Kieran O'Kennedy, at your service, gentlemen," he said, leaning forward into a bow.
"Glad to meet you," said Martin, taking Kieran's hand in his. "Martin Ulster, also known as Cu Chulainn, and this is Bugmaster Blue. What's your superhero name?"
"I call myself Mulligan," said Kieran, taking Martin's hand and then Bugmaster Blue's. "I have the rather unusual ability to reverse the flow of time, but only for about five minutes or so. What can you lads do?"
"Nothing quite that interesting," said Martin, scratching his head. "My body absorbs sunlight, giving me super strength and making me invulnerable. Pretty basic, I know, but the League provided me with this spear," he continued, presenting the emerald-colored weapon for view. "It fires an electrical discharge, kind of like a lightning bolt."
"How interesting. I was given something much the same," said Kieran, presenting what appeared to be an oaken cudgel for view, whose head consisted of a large, crystal sphere. "It can absorb, store, and project various kinds of energy. A very handy weapon, the latest thing from Tempest Enterprises."
"I wonder, why they didn't give me a weapon like that?" asked Bugmaster Blue, gesticulating with his arms. "Well, with my powers, I guess I don't need them. I can telepathically command the insect world, calling them to my aid!" he exclaimed proudly.
"And they didn't give you a weapon, too?" asked Kieran, somewhat perplexed. The Justice League was known for making sure that all of their agents had offensive capabilities. "Are you sure you don't have any other powers you haven't mentioned?"
"I don't think so," said Bugmaster Blue, looking pensive. "I mean, my power only works on insects. Every time I try to use it on humans or other animals, they start screaming and fall unconscious. Oh, and I'm also something of a scientific genius. Maybe they expect me to make my own weapons?"
Both Martin and Kieran raised their eyebrows upon hearing this, since neither of them had any defense against psychic attack. "Yeah, that might be right..." began Martin, who couldn't quite keep a low whistle from escaping between his lips. "Anyway, what's your real name? I mean, we're all friends here, right?"
"Well... okay," said Bugmaster Blue, fidgeting a bit, not used to being so personal with anyone. "My real name is Beckett Baker, but you can call me Beck..."
NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 30, 2112]
"Bwa ha ha!" said Bryan, erupting into an uncontrollable fit of hysterical laughter, clutching his sides. "I can't believe that's you..."
"Aw, shut up. I was just a kid, damn it, and I didn't know any better," said Beckett, whose face was reddening. "So I was a little gangly... and socially awkward and... aw, just shut up!"
NorAm: Canada, Patriot HQ [January 16, 2108]
Ian Marshall gritted his teeth, knowing that he wouldn't much like what he was about to behold. It had been over eight years since he'd stopped designing weapons systems for the Justice League as an employee of Tempest Enterprises and started making them for Patriot instead. Aside from the fact that he was now a terrorist, little had changed, but Patriot was nothing like what he'd imagined.
For the most part, the people in Patriot were ordinary people fighting for a better world, a better future. Granted, there were a number of people who just wanted to fight against the system, but most were people who had lost loved ones to the injustice that the UN represented. At its heart, Patriot consisted of those rare individuals willing to fight to make sure that what happened to them never happened to anyone else.
As for Patriot's headquarters, that was just as much of a surprise to Ian as the people. He'd always imagined that Patriot operated out of an underground cavern of some kind, not an ultra-modern facility. Easily as advanced as anything Tempest or LexCorp could offer, Ian had been given free reign to design the most advanced weaponry possible for use against the Justice League. He thought he'd done just that for what he now considered his surrogate family.
"What the hell happened?" asked Ian with a moan, looking at the damage that had been done to his latest mecha, a powerful armored suit larger than a tank. The STEELE Mk III had been his pride and joy. More than that, it was the most powerful armored suit he'd been able to design so far, but after one little skirmish with the Justice League, it was little more than a heap of scrap metal.
"Same as always," said the pilot, a young woman named Chris, the most skilled mecha pilot in all of Patriot. "It's too big and too slow. Don't get me wrong, Ian, it's a great design, and one-on-one, I'm pretty sure it could take out any Leaguer. The problem's that we're not talking about just one. It's never just one, and Patriot doesn't have the time or resources to build as many of your mechas as we need."
"It's the power core," said Ian, carefully examining the various blast points where the Mk III had taken damage. "There's just no fuel source compact enough to make a smaller design feasible, not without some kryptonite. Any luck yet?"
Removing her helmet, Chris shook her long, red hair free of it. She was breathtakingly beautiful, but Ian couldn't think of her as anything more than a comrade-in-arms, and to some extent as a daughter. "We've tried, but the kryptonite vault is too-well-protected," she said, caressing the broken mecha, which was her 'baby' as much as it was Ian's. "Patriot's spent decades looking for stray deposits with no luck."
"Are you sure about that?" asked Ian, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I've been looking through the history files, and I found an entry about a glowing green rock that someone found back in 2090. There's no follow-up report."
"That's because it was a dead end," said Chris, shaking her head. "The agent who filed that report disappeared, and when we checked out the coordinates he sent us, nothing was found. We can only assume that our agent is dead and that whatever was there, if anything, was confiscated by the Justice League before we could get our hands on it."
"Did the Justice League ambush the team you sent?" asked Ian, reluctant to give up on even this most fragile of hopes.
"Well... no, I don't think so," said Chris. "If they had, then there'd have been a record of it somewhere."
"Then there's a chance that it's still there! The coordinates led to where? Somewhere in the Arctic? Maybe there was an avalanche or something... maybe a cave-in in the ice..." began Ian, getting excited. "You have to check it out! If it is kryptonite, then even the smallest chip could be enough to..."
"I'm sorry, but no," said Chris, who hated having to be the one to burst Ian's bubble. "If any Kryptonite had been there, then a Geiger counter would have picked up on it. There's no kryptonite, Ian, and we don't have the manpower to spare for a fool's mission."
"I... I understand," said Ian, eyes downcast. Chris hugged him briefly before moving on to help the tech crews salvage what parts they could from the wreckage of the Mk III. But as soon as she left, the expression on Ian's face changed from one of defeat to one of determination. 'Maybe it isn't kryptonite, but maybe it's something else that would be just as effective. If you won't investigate, then I will,' he thought to himself.
NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 30, 2112]
"Kryptonite, huh?" asked Bryan, scratching his chin. "That would explain a lot."
"Yeah..." began Beckett, taking in what was going on, "but that armor was really powerful. I mean, all the levels were off the scales. If he did find kryptonite, then it would have to have been a pretty big chunk. We've been studying the remains of the armor we recovered, and the tech boys still can't explain exactly how it works..."
The Moon: Justice League Academy [January 17, 2108]
Sitting on the mat, Martin tugged on the electronic collar around his neck. It made him feel quite uncomfortable, not to mention vulnerable. Specially designed to neutralize his metahuman abilities, one had been specially constructed for every student in the class to facilitate their hand-to-hand combat training.
Rumor had it that even after graduation, these collars were kept in storage just in case a Leaguer proved to be a liability in the future. Supposedly, Justice himself kept these collars in a special locker for just such an emergency. No one really gave any credence to these rumors, but with the collar actually around his neck, Martin couldn't help wondering.
"All right, you lazy slugs! You've been screwing up long enough!" yelled the instructor, a stern man, with more muscles than anyone really needed, named Montoya. A retired NAF Drill Instructor, he had no meta-human abilities of his own, and just about everyone agreed that he didn't need them. "You think your powers make you special? Well, here, they don't mean squat! Ulster! Wilson! On deck!"
As fast as he could manage, Martin leaped to his feet in one smooth motion and stepped forward to face his opponent. Having been conscripted by the Justice League for training at a very young age, he was larger and in better shape than most of his classmates, but Samuel Davis Wilson was the exception.
Martin stood just over six feet tall and weighed two hundred and ten pounds, but compared to Samuel, he looked like the proverbial ninety-pound weakling. Calling himself 'Saracen' in honor of his Moorish ancestry, he was a giant of a man, standing just under seven feet tall and weighing over three hundred pounds. Even without his strange, mystical abilities, Samuel was a very formidable opponent.
"Man, this is gonna be good," said one of the students, generally considered a troublemaker by the instructors, who gave him slack only because his father was Gunfire, a Justice Leaguer and a member of Hourman's battalion. The students generally considered him too arrogant for his own good. Still, Gunsmith's ability to morph his arms into projectile weapons was quite formidable so they mostly kept their opinions to themselves.
"Shut it!" whispered Kieran harshly, not taking his eyes from the battle playing itself out in front of them. Bill Gates III was not his favorite classmate, and the future heir to the TrumpGates Corporation generally rubbed him the wrong way.
All of his senses on alert, Martin kept an eye out for all the telltale warnings of an attack. His eyes were trained on Sammy's pupils, just in case they darted out at him. His ears were on the alert for a sharp exhale. In the end, however, it did him no good. He tried a few complicated wrist locks when Sammy finally attacked, but they were quickly reversed. In a matter of seconds, Martin found himself up in the air and down on the mat.
Smiling and extending a hand to help him up, Samuel amiably took his hand. "Sorry, old chap, but that's the way things tumble every now and again," he said, his upper-class British accent flawless, and his voice unusually high-pitched for someone his size.
"You know, I'll never get used to that accent coming out of your mouth," said Martin, gladly accepting Samuel's help. They clasped forearms, and they both stepped out of the circle, resuming their seats.
"Thieving English bastard!" yelled Kieran playfully, his words greeted by laughter all around. As disparate as their personalities were, Saracen and Mulligan had become fast friends early on.
"Oh! You think that's funny...?" yelled Montoya.
NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 30, 2112]
Bryan and Beckett both shuddered visibly. "I remember that bastard, Montoya. Damn, I'll never forget that little space between his two front teeth," said Bryan, who still looked back on his Academy days as nothing more than four years of psychological terrorism, not that he'd ever say so publicly.
"Neither will I, but he wasn't such a bad guy..." began Beckett, staring at himself struggling to do pushups on the holo-monitor. "If not for him, I'd still look like that!" he continued, pointing at his image. Indeed, the bony specimen in the holo-monitor had grown into a healthy, reasonably well-muscled specimen, and Beckett would forever thank Instructor Montoya for being tough on him.
"Yeah? Well, if I never see that sadistic bastard again, it'll be too soon..."
The Arctic: The North Pole [January 17, 2108]
Stealing the stealth hover had been child's play for Ian. After all, he was the one who'd designed the damned thing, not to mention the days he'd spent programming the flight simulator for it. He knew he'd probably be missed fairly soon, and he knew that Patriot considered him too important to risk on field missions. Still, he didn't see how his work would do anyone any good unless a suitable power source could be found.
Homing in on the coordinates indicated in the report he'd discovered, Ian landed his craft and double-checked the seals on his thermal suit before opening the hatch. Carefully scanning the terrain with his hand-held G.P.S. unit, Ian saw that the coordinates led to a large, cliff face of solid ice.
Having reached its base, Ian quickly re-calibrated his scanner, which registered a cave-like entrance of some kind about one hundred yards up the side of the cliff. Activating his flight harness, Ian made it to the cave's supposed entrance point easily, only to find a solid wall of ice. Rubbing the surface with his hand, he quickly found that the entrance was only frozen over, blocked by a sheet of ice.
Drawing his blaster, Ian fired it at the ice wall and melted his way through it easily enough. Stepping inside, he rechecked his instruments and quickly ascertained that his blaster fire hadn't done anything to make the natural cavern unstable, as well as the fact that the cavern was some twenty miles deep. "Looks like I have a long walk ahead of me," he said to himself.
Several hours later, Ian found himself deep within the ice wall, his flight harness and night-vision goggles making the journey easier than it might have been otherwise. Finally reaching the bottom of the strange shaft, he found the ice cavern empty except for the remains of a military uniform, wrapped around a skeleton. "I guess you're the agent who filed that report," he said aloud to no one in particular.
Looking at the patch on the uniform's arm, Ian wondered what a Blackhawk was doing working for Patriot. Reaching for the man's dog tags, he read them aloud. "Ulster, Tristan."
NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 30, 2112]
"Ulster?" asked Bryan, his brow furrowing with speculation. "Do you think that's just a coincidence?"
"I'm afraid not," said Beckett, looking at Martin's face, wondering what he was really going through. "Tristan Ulster was his dad's name. He was an NAF pilot and a captain in the Blackhawks who died before Marty was born. Marty never really talked about him much. I guess now we know why..."
The Moon: Justice League Academy [January 17, 2108]
"That was a grueling workout, now wasn't it. Eh, mates?" asked Kieran rhetorically, trying to work out the kinks in his back. "Nothing but healthy food, tons of exercise, every now and then a decent brawl, but no pint afterwards. This is torture, mates. Torture!"
"Well, they do say that the first day is the worst," said Samuel, rubbing his own sore muscles. "But the instructor seems a most gentlemanly chap, even if he is a bit rough around the edges."
"Man, you're just too polite for words," said Bill, collapsed on the bench, too tired to even move. "What about you, Ulster? What's your take on Montoya?"
"Well, I..." began Martin, shrugging his shoulders.
"Ulster! In my office now!" yelled Montoya from his office, his voice booming through the walls.
"...I think he yells a lot," finished Martin, rushing off into Montoya's office. Saluting smartly, he stood attention until given leave to stand at ease.
"At ease, Ulster," said Montoya, still looking down at his paperwork. "Don't worry, I'm not hear to chew your ass. Not this time, anyway, but it'll probably happen sooner or later. By the end of the year, the entire class will probably have only half an ass left."
Martin could feel his lips trembling, the desire to laugh nearly overpowering.
"Oh, you think that's funny! You think that's...!" yelled Montoya, standing up and trying to intimidate his young student as much as possible. To his credit, Martin didn't even flinch, and Montoya was impressed. Making a show of calming himself, the instructor sat back down. "I see in your file that your father was one Tristan Ulster. Would that be Lt. Commander Tristan Jordan Ulster? Of the Blackhawks?"
"Yes, sir," said Martin, not sure where this was going, and then more emphatically, "Yes, sir!"
"I thought so," said Montoya, leaning back in his chair. "You look just like him."
"You knew my father, sir?" asked Martin, surprised by the direction that the conversation had taken.
"We go way back," said Montoya, trying to gauge his student's reaction to the news, "all the way back to O.C.S. Or at least we did. Then one day, he just up and disappeared. And he never once told me that he had a kid."
"He died just after I was born, sir," said Martin, who didn't really know much about his father beyond what his grandfather had told him.
"Is that a fact?" asked Montoya, drumming his fingers on his desk. "I didn't even know he was seeing a woman, but I guess these things happen. Just before he died, he'd been acting very strange, always out slipping out for some kind of secret meeting or other, but I suppose a relationship with a woman would account for that. At the time, there had been rumors of disloyalty, whispers of espionage."
"Sir?" asked Martin, still confused.
"One day, you're going to learn that military life is a rough business," said Montoya, finding his own words distasteful. "Nowadays, the only way to get promoted is to go after someone else's job. These things happen, but I knew your father. Rest assured that he was a good man."
"Thank you, sir," said Martin, somewhat relieved.
"Don't thank me for telling the truth," said Montoya, slightly irritated, "and don't expect any special treatment. It's bad enough I'm stuck with Gunsmith thinking he owns the place. Anyway, that's not why I called you in here. I called you in here to find out just one thing. How did you're father die?"
"Sir?" repeated Martin, again confused.
"He disappeared just before your grandfather reported him dead," said Montoya, drumming his fingers on his desk again. "No body was ever recovered, and no mention was ever made of how he died. His funeral service was more of a memorial than anything else. Tristan Ulster was a good friend, and knowing how he really died would set my mind at ease."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know," said Martin, wishing very much that he did. "I was recruited by the Justice League when I was nine years old. My grandfather never saw fit to tell me how my father died, most likely because he thought me too young to know."
Somewhat disappointed, Montoya just stared at Martin, studied him as if he were looking into his soul. Eventually, he was satisfied that Martin was telling him the truth. "Dismissed, cadet," he said, looking away and back to the papers on his desk. "That will be all."
NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 30, 2112]
Not sure what to make of this gentler side of the infamous Drill Instructor Montoya, Bryan could only stare wide-eyed at the holo-monitor. "Maybe the bastard wasn't so bad after all..."
The Arctic: The North Pole [January 17, 2108]
Checking and recalibrating his instruments for the fifth time, Ian hurled them against the wall of the cavern. "Damn it, there's nothing here! Nothing!" he screamed with frustration, shedding a few tears. "There's no hope... no hope at all..." he continued, now convinced that all of Patriot's efforts against injustice would ultimately be in vain.
Suddenly, the cavern was lit up by an emerald glow as a strange meteorite became visible, which burned with an unusual green flame. Finding himself drawn to the hovering meteorite fragment, reaching out his hand to touch it, ignoring the instinct not to burn himself. Strangely, the green flame didn't burn at all.
"WE ARE THE SPIRITS OF THE GUARDIANS OF THE UNIVERSE," said a chorus of voices in unison. Looking all around him, Ian found himself surrounded by phantasmal images of a multitude of alien creatures, short of stature, with blue skin and white hair. "THE STARHEART AND THE GREEN FLAME OF LIFE HAVE JUDGED YOU WORTHY AND YOUR QUEST HONORABLE," the strange chorus of voices continued.
Terrified by what he was seeing, Ian tried to remove his hand from the meteorite but found that he couldn't pull away. Writhing in his grasp, the meteorite started shifting its form into that of an unusual, metallic object, one that anyone from New Coast City would recognize immediately: a lantern. A green lantern.
"TAKE THE POWER BATTERY AND SERVE AS HERALD FOR HE WHO WILL FOLLOW, THE TRUE GREEN LANTERN. IN BRIGHTEST DAY, IN BLACKEST NIGHT, NO EVIL SHALL ESCAPE YOUR SIGHT. LET THOSE WHO WORSHIP EVIL'S MIGHT BEWARE YOUR POWER, GREEN LANTERN'S LIGHT!" said the chorus of voices, their words echoing ominously in the eerily illuminated cavern before the phantasmal images faded away.
"My God!" exclaimed Ian, hugging the lantern to his breast. "An Oan power battery! Enough power to fight the League! Enough power to make a real difference...!" he said, shedding a stream of tears and kneeling, humbled by the honor that had been bestowed upon him.
NorAm: New Coast City, JLHQ [April 30, 2112]
"Holy grife!" exclaimed Bryan, not believing his own eyes. Thinking back on the furious battle that had taken place earlier that week, a battle that had left two Leaguers dead and one comatose, he couldn't help but let out a low whistle of awe.
"Yeah, it looks like that guy in the green armor really was Green Lantern..." began Beckett, concern etched upon his features.
"...and that Patriot still has access to an Oan power battery," completed Bryan. "I think being in the Justice League just got a lot tougher."
That was a jolly sight to seene,
When horsse and armour was all greene,
And weapon that hee bare.
When that burne was harnisht still,
His countenance he became right well,
I dare itt safelye sweare.
- End of GREEN LANTERN:DCF #2 -