Clive Arno looks up from the microscope, rubbing his eyes. He glances over to the sleeping form of his son, Carl, and sighs. He wonders whether this is the right sort of life for a teenager. At least now he has peers, he thinks, contemplating Speedboy and BEM, even though the first is sometimes jingoistic and the second has an odd quality about him that Arno can't quite place.
He carefully replaces the pottery fragment back in its case. He'll have to do more research about the food preservation habits of this ancient Hellenic peoples on some other date, he judges, as his eyesight was starting to blur.
When the blow comes, he barely notices.
The three intruders start to ransack the studio, overturning shelves and opening drawers, scattering their contents to the floor. The first is a man in a green bodysuit, trunks, and hood. He has dark gloves, a crest down the front of his hood, and pale green goggles. On his chest is an emerald scarab. The second is a man wearing a full body costume. It is mostly brownish-gray with red shorts, boots, gloves and belt. There is a red bear on the front of his cowl. On his chest and back are red and white stripes, with a red stylized hammer & sickle in a red circle on his chest. Accompanying him is a blonde teenage girl wearing a loose brownish-gray outfit with red accessories.
"Is this it, Scarab?" says the girl. She holds up a pair of objects: one a small silver coin, the other of which appears to be three coins, partially melted together.
The man in green whom she'd addressed comes over and examines them closely. "Exactly," he says, tossing them to the man in brown who secures them in a small belt case. "Watch over these, Agent Amerika. Our versions of this duo will find these artifacts very handy. Now let's make our way to the computer center, we have work to do."
They make their way through the building. "This is so freaky," says the girl, "it's like the headquarter we got from Doc Zilber, but everything's backwards. I can't figure out where I am."
Agent Amerika shrugs, "Don't worry about it, Spice. Everything's like that in their backwards dimension."
Finally, the trio wind their way to the main room with its high, domed ceiling; set into the wall is an advanced computer system with a wall-size computer screen, which at the moment is flashing through television news broadcasts from across the globe. Seated in a business-like red chair, leaning back with his feet up on the control board, Blue Beetle scans the emergency reports. He spies the intruders as they enter, and furrows his brow. "Who - " his question is cut off as they attack.
Blue Beetle and Scarab match blow for blow, eyes crackling angrily with electricity. Agent Amerika and Spice play tag team, never giving Blue Beetle respite between Scarab's repeated, powerful blows. Blue Beetle pulls Scarab up into the air, and the two duel for a moment before the former's blows start wear down his opponent. He slides against the other, slamming him downwards into Agent Amerika and Spice, then shocking the three of them with lightning from his eyes.
He floats downward. "Now let's find out what this was all about, eh?" He reaches for Scarab's mask to remove it, when the latter reaches up and grabs his belt buckle. "Khaji Da!" he shouts, and Blue Beetle shouts out in the ensuing explosion which draws his energy into the Scarab.
Scarab stands and grins, energy rippling through his muscles. "This feels great," he says with a laugh, "I should have done it long ago."
Agent Amerika wipes a trail of blood from his chin and helps Spice to stand. "Great, I'm happy for you," he says dourly. "Now let's access their computer files and get out of here."
"Yeah," agrees Spice. "It's time to save the world."
THE SUBSTITUTE LEAGUE OF AMERICA
Case Four: "The Curse of Volthoom"
Under gray skies, the desert of Texas echoes with the sounds of battle.
Mighty Eagle & Flamehair dodge through the skies, harassing the man on the flying horse as he blasts away at them with bolts of energy from what appear to be antique six-shooters. Finally the man sees the sun blocked from view, as Tall Tree rises behind him like a mighty oak. Tall Tree reaches out an immense hand, crushing the metallic horse. The rider topples to safety, slowing his fall by firing his blasters repeatedly at the ground, and then rolling to his feet only to be smashed in the face by Swashbuckler's fighting staff. "I think Terra Man's down for the count," says Swashbuckler.
His teammates descend, or shrink back to normal human size. "He should have known better than to go up against the Dust Devils," notes Flamehair.
Mighty Eagle nods in agreement, "I'll notify the folks at the Unusual Operatives Division, and we'll wrap him up and take him in." He draws out a micro-telephone from his utility belt.
Tall Tree mutters under his breath, "One less cowboy to worry about." He walks over to look at the crumpled remnants of the robotic horse.
Swashbuckler, overhearing, only sighs. Sometimes he preferred fighting crime solo back in Houston, but even his uncle, the hero known as the Vigilante, had joined a super-team before the seven of them vanished in 1948.
Mighty Eagle disconnects from his conversation. "No time to rest," he says. "UOD operative codenamed Yankee Doodle reported an attack on his external base, after which three of his teammates have apparently disappeared. His attackers apparently accessed their computer systems, and according to someone named ... " he tilts his head, "Goody Rickels, they appear to be heading our way. Flamehair, you stay here and guard Terra-Man until the authorities arrive."
"Aw c'mon," Flamehair complains, slipping off his domino mask and his headcover which simulates a shaved skull with a flaming red mohawk, to reveal a full head of dark brown hair. "I didn't give up the life of pop superstar Chip O'Doole just to be a prison guard. Besides," he looks up, "I think it's gonna rain."
Mighty Eagle says, "He can't be left alone, and this is too important for us to ignore. They're heading to one of the most ancient archeological sites on the reservation."
Tall Tree snorts. "I'm surprised you even care, you with all your fake spiritualism and white man's technology. You're just as bad as Terra Man," he says, holding the decapitated head of the robot horse, "transforming something magical and natural into something false and artificial."
Mighty Eagle glances at Tall Tree. "Just because you were hit by lightning and had it activate some sort of latent mutation, you shouldn't go around mocking science. We'll never get anywhere that way, unless you're satisfied being a beggerman and a thief."
Tall Tree extends a hand, "Listen you ... " but Swashbuckler steps between the pair, fighting staff balanced horizontally. "Listen, both of you. You can argue spirituality all you want later, let's take care of these invaders first, all right?"
Tall Tree pushes the staff aside, but keeps his silence.
Mighty Eagle nods, "That was all I ever wanted to do."
Later, the trio stand at the opening to a cave. Rain pours down, running off into winter creeks.
"Amazing to think this site dates back a thousand akkals, or ten thousand years," says the elderly, bespectacled archeologist Daniel Hardin from under his umbrella.
Tall Tree snorts at the man's poor pronunciation of his own native Apache dialect, but does not bother to correct him.
Mighty Eagle removes a flashlight from his utility belt and shines it into the cave, revealing a long tunnel which descends interminably into the darkness. He glances at his companions. "Inward and downward," he says wryly.
Swashbuckler had been leaning on his fighting staff. At Mighty Eagle's words, he swivels it up and slides it into a holster on his back. He peers at Tall Tree curiously. "Are you coming with us?"
Tall Tree closes his eyes for a moment, muttering a quick chant under his breath. "I have no desire to disturb what has lain peacefully for so long a time," he glances at the archeologist sourly. "But I have even less of a desire to see my people's history desecrated by invaders."
They glance up at the familiar sound of a Kandorian jet-belt as Flamehair lands aside them. The lad grins at Mighty Eagle, "Terra Man's under lockdown, boss. Now can I come along? What's in the cave?"
Daniel Hardin says, "According to legend, an ancient demon. Hundreds of years ago two great chiefs, Saganowahna and Xupakiglake Wicasa, managed to bind it there."
Mighty Eagle quirks a half-smile. "That remains to be seen. Let's go."
The quartet pass through the entrance of the cave and out of the rain. The maze continues on past the sun's reach, and they find themselves following only Mighty Eagle's flashlight.
"What is this place," Flamehair asks, "an old mine? That science guy said it's too old for that, but it sure looks like one."
Swashbuckler says, "I hope not ... the area is littered with old abandoned gold mines ... makes the ground weak, you can step out of your car in the wrong place and the earth underneath you will just cave in."
Mighty Eagle runs a hand along the wall of the tunnel. "I doubt it. Feel that surface? It's almost smooth, it's as if it was moulded out of clay."
Tall Tree says, "Maybe our ancestors had more ideas than you give them credit for."
"Maybe," Mighty Eagle admits, for the sake of avoiding argument.
Flamehair wrinkles his nose as they continue. "What's that smell?"
"Death," says Tall Tree.
"There's light up ahead," observes Mighty Eagle.
As the tunnel continues, the stale, rotted smell increases, and finally they find themselves in a large opening, illuminated from an unknown source. The room is circular, the walls moulded in the same uneven method as if it had been scooped out by an immensely powerful hand. Along the outside rim of the room are a series of empty pedestals, on which a colorfully garbed trio are arranging a series of black oblate spheres.
They glance at the newcomers. "Who the hell are you?" demands the Scarab.
Agent Amerika shakes his head in disgust. "They don't even look familiar. How many 'super-heroes' does this damned world have, anyway?"
Swashbuckler draws his fighting staff at the ready. "I was going to ask you the same question," he replies to the Scarab. "May I ask what you're doing here exactly?"
"We're saving the world," insists Spice. Agent Amerika silences her with a glare.
"Seems like an odd place to be doing it from," says Mighty Eagle.
Scarab raises his hands placatingly. "Listen, there's no need to fight this out. Let me explain. Years ago, a white Martian named S'ka M'axx came to our Earth bearing with him the curse of a Martian deity named Vulthoom."
Tall Tree blinks. Our Earth? He thinks to himself, what sort of doubletalk is that?
"After years of the curse passing from human to human, bringing death and life, Vulthoom took over a man named Joseph Harrolds, by tempting him with power. Some of us managed to negotiate with Vulthoom, arranging to provide an entrance here in order to spare our world," the Scarab continues.
Swashbuckler bristles, "We're just supposed to stand here and let you do this?"
"Of course not," says the Scarab. "Come to our world, you could do well there. Anything you want would be yours for the taking. Or, stay here and rule ... "
"I see you liked that idea yourself, from wherever you came from," Mighty Eagle says. "I think we'll pass, thanks ... "
"Then leave us in peace to save our world." Scarab nods slightly to Spice, who lights a torch and brings it close to one of the spheres.
Mighty Eagle smiles bitterly. "I think we'll take your earlier advice and not let you do this. Thanks all the same." He breaks out in a fearsome, eagle-like cry and the quartet spring forward into an attack. "The magic of a hundred serpents will put paid to your vile plan," he says as he tosses a handful of pellets at Scarab which erupt into flaming snakes which begin to slither over him. As his opponent recoils with a shout, Tall Tree doubles in size and grabs him from behind.
Swashbuckler lowers his staff to the ground and vaults forward in a single smooth motion, striking Agent Amerika in the stomach and then swinging the staff around for a blow to his head.
Flamehair jets across the alcove. "Let's play nice now," he says as he tackles Spice.
Scarab's eyes crackle with electricity. "Once that might have daunted me," he grins as he breaks free of Tall Tree's grip, knocking the giant backwards and striking Mighty Eagle with a bolt of lightning.
Agent Amerika evades Swashbuckler's strike and grips the other end of the fighting staff in his powerful hands. "I was created to be the ultimate secret agent to your country, and it is going to take a lot more than that to put me down." He flips backwards, dragging Swashbuckler with him as the other crashes to the floor.
Spice steps backwards at Flamehair's frontal assault, but braces herself and then flips him to the floor, striking him down with metallically hard fists. "Nice try," she smirks, as she lights three of the spheres.
Mighty Eagle soars, unaffected by the lightning blast while in mid-air, but finds his lungs filling with a flowery odor from the spheres, and wavers to the ground as he begins to lose concentration.
"I can't believe my dilemma is real
I'm competing with the man of steel ... "
Chip O'Doole finished his song, and the girls in the audience screamed their glee even louder. He shook his head for a moment, dispersing the odd superhero fantasy that had come over him while he sang. Maybe I oughta drop this song from the repertoire, he thought.
A girl with pale blonde hair, almost white, reached out to him from the front of the stage, tears running down her cheeks. He smiled, and leaned down to brush her fingertips with his. The girl lurched forward to grab his hand, pulling him off-balance so he landed in the crowd.
"Chip! Chip! Chip!" the girls shouted as they swarmed around him. He allowed himself to laugh, buoyed by the crowd, looking around for his security team. "Hey girls," he said as they started to tear at his clothes.
"More, god I love you, more more more, I need you," screamed the pale-haired girl, as she bit into his chest, drawing blood.
Chip yelped with pain and started to push her away, "Hey now girls," he said until someone pushed in from behind him and bit into the side of his throat. The sight of blood seemed to incite the crowd and the teenage girls swarmed around him in a feeding frenzy, "more more more" they chanted, their teeth tearing off gobbets of flesh, until he disappeared in the crowd ...
Chip O'Doole woke with a start. He was alone in the bedroom. God, what a horrible nightmare, he thought to himself.
He shivered and got out of bed, scratching at his week's worth of stubble and pulling the blanket around him to protect himself from the cold. He wandered through the hallway to his living room, stepping over the empty food containers and other garbage which littered the floor. He came to the living room, noting the people who slept dreamlessly, scattered about the furnitureless room.
He sighed to himself. "One-hit wonder," he muttered. He wished he hadn't had to sell the leather couch along with the rest of the furniture, though. Then he saw something familiar, and his eyes brightened.
He lit the candle and knelt down, wrapping the rubber tubing around his upper arm. "At least the morning isn't a total waste," he grumbled as he heated the metal spoon, finally drawing the sweet liquid through the needle. As the sharp metal pierced his inner arm, he undid the tubing and felt the rush. It's like flying, he thought to himself, and as his mind went upwards he heard a voice.
"You had sung all your songs," the voice said. "You faced this as your future, instead you found new allies and a life of adventure. You found it because in your darkest hour you came to me. You came to Vulthoom, and I showed you the way. Embrace me now."
The young boy stared aghast at the bear which stood aside the bodies of his parents. An orphan, he thought ... if only my spear hadn't broken ...
The great beast reached down and batted the small offending stick out of its fur. It had barely penetrated through the muscle. The bear roared its anger and the boy turned to run away, hysterical with fear.
The boy heard the thud of the paws against the ground as the beast followed him. If only I could fly like an eagle, he thought, looking up to the skies as he felt the paws tearing across his back.
The man known as Broken Spear jerked his head upright. He looked around the antiseptic, air-conditioned office and ran his finger inside his starched collar. Amazing he could fall asleep in here, he thought. I better cut out working all those nights.
He pushed himself away from the desk with a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. Enough of this survivor guilt, he thought. I can't let my parents' deaths run my entire life. I have other things to do.
He adjusted his tie and stared down at the reports about the uranium mines. They were being very productive, and the Mighty Eagle Mining Corp. was probably going to go public next year.
He glanced at the paperclipped sheet from his security department. Another picket line. He sighed. He hated writing press releases, but he had to counter all those stories in the newspaper about increased leukemia rates on the reservation.
He stood up, stretching against the crick in his back. He walked over the the small table where coffee was brewing, and sniffed to savor the rich smell. Now this is worth living for, he thought, as he poured some into a cup and took a sip.
He winced with pain and quickly put the cup down, to clutch his side. Damn ulcer is back, he grumbled to himself, I better cut out working all those nights.
He poured the rest of the contents of the coffee pot into the sink. As it whirlpooled into the drain he thought they resembled a dark pair of eyes, looking almost like his parents' for a moment. He heard their voices in his head: is this the life we wanted for you, our son?
He heard another voice in his head then, older and stronger. "You had lost your soul and betrayed your people and their traditions," the voice said. "You faced this as your future, instead you found new allies and a life of adventure. You found it because in your darkest hour you came to me. You came to Vulthoom, and I showed you the way. Embrace me now."
Michael Carter took aim and fired. The shot went wide, not coming close to its target. He felt a blow to the side of the head. "Ow!" he looked up, and he saw his uncle scowling down at him. Greg Saunders shook his head in contempt. "You're never gonna amount to a hill o' beans at this rate," he said to the boy.
Michael started to sniffle. Saunders rolled his eyes. "You're worse than that lily-livered father o' yours. Why my sister decided to marry that man I will never know." He placed a strong hand on Michael's head and forcefully swiveled it to face the target. "Now, try it again."
Suddenly, the center of the target started to swirl around, the darkness expanding into a nighttime sky, and reshaping to form the body of a man made of sky. "Ne-bu-loh!" the man said, and Michael felt the powerful gravitational pull the man exerted.
Greg Saunders started to topple, and he clutched at the gun rack desperately as he was sucked in. "Help me Michael!" he cried out. "Shoot him! You're the only one who can save me! Help me!" He screamed, as Michael held the gun with trembling hands, to watch his uncle disappear into the blackness.
Michael Carter blinked as he was suddenly blinded by the flashing colors. He drew back, taking a moment to recover from the images they had created in his head. "That supposed to frighten me?" he said, rejecting the false images of his uncle's fate and his own past as he faced down his opponent. "Takes more'n technicolor to scare off The Vigilante, Junior."
Rainbow Woman laughed, "You ain't half the man the original were, I mean was, I mean ... ahh crap!"
"CUT!"
The director scowled. "C'mon Sally, try to hold it together for the rest of the scene?"
She adjusted the top of her rainbow-striped bikini. "Sorry Charlie."
"Ok, let's break for coffee and try again. Carter, at least try for a convincing Texas accent, ok? You got your next line, right?"
Michael Carter sighed. "I say, 'Maybe not, but I'm sure hung like his horse,' and then I rip off the leather chaps."
The director said, "Right on."
Michael Carter sighed again. I hate myself. He walked over to where Sally was sitting, and leans back against the table. "Hey Sally."
She looked up and wiped her nose. "Hey Mikey. Wanna cut?" She offered him the mirror with the parallel lines of white power on top.
He leaned forward to take the offering, positioning the straw at the end of one of the lines. I hate myself, he thought. I wish I'd been the one to sacrifice myself instead of Wing, when the Law's Legionnaires had all disappeared.
Something worth dying for is better than nothing worth living for. Underneath the pleasant buzz running through his head, he heard a still small voice.
"You had never lived up to your uncle's legacy, so you slid into a life of degradation" the voice said. "You faced this as your future, instead you found new allies and a life of adventure. You found it because in your darkest hour you came to me. You came to Vulthoom, and I showed you the way. Embrace me now."
Tall Tree looked at his friends, Crazy Horse, Rain-In-The-Face, and Thunder Cloud as they sat by the Dallas city street, signs in hand soliciting donations for a school back on the reservation. It was a pretty harmless scam, he told himself, and it's not like they ever had a chance in the white man's world anyway.
As if from a great height, he saw Crazy Horse look into the painted basket they'd use for donations, having collected only $1.65 that morning. The words echoed familiarly through his brain as his friend prompted them to call upon their ancestors using an ancient Apache chant. No, he wanted to say, don't ...
As they chanted, a storm brewed above them, a bolt of lightning striking down from the heavens. In horror, Tall Tree smelled burning flesh as his friends perished in the super-charged electricity.
He felt the jolt, and opened his eyes again. The cold, clinical face of a doctor stared down at him as he felt a nurse unstrap the electrical wires from his temples. "There, there," the doctor said, "I'm sure you'll be feeling much better soon."
Dreaming again, he thought. Gotta stop that.
Later, he sat in the lounge, dressed in the same anonymous blue garment as the other patients. There were sparks in the sky and explosions outside, and he whimpered in a familar fear, wetting himself. Aw, nurse gonna be mad, he thought.
The door opened to the main area, and a man with a white goatee dressed in a garish red-white-and-blue suit came in, "Happy 4th of July, friends!" he said to the patients. "We can see the fireworks the county sets off from the window, if we all look carefully," he smiled in a false jocularity.
As some of the patients flocked to the windows, the man walked over to Tall Tree and slipped him something out of view of the nurses. "A little present for my favorite drunken Injun," he said with a wink, and Tall Tree felt the familiar sensation of holding a glass flask.
Tall Tree lifted the flask to his lips, and paused. "I"
The man dressed as Uncle Sam tilted his head, "Yes, redskin? What is it?"
"I ... I'm not ... "
"Sure you are," the man patted his head. "Drink up."
"I ... I am not this!" He threw the bottle to the floor, shattering the glass as he staggered to his feet.
"Oh Christ ... nurse!" the man shouted, trying to push Tall Tree back down into his chair. "The redskin's acting up again!"
"I am not this!" Tall Tree said again. "I was given power by my ancestor, the Apache chief Enukchuk! Great power!"
As he shouted, he began to increase in size, filling the room as the terrified patients and staff ran away. "Enukchuck! Enukchuk!" he shouted, again and again, until he felt a flood of water across his face.
"Enukchuck! Enukchuk!" he shouts, again and again, until he feels a flood of water across his face. His body fills the alcove, pressing against the interior walls and into an adjoining mineshaft, flooding the room with water and extinguishing the flames.
Scarab watches in despair as his plan goes awry. "It's a wash," he calls out to his allies. "Volthoom!" he shouts, vanishing into mid-air as he struggles against the flood. "Volthoom!" shouts Spice, as she too disappears.
"Volthoom!" shouts Agent Amerika, to no avail. "Volthoom!" As Tall Tree shrinks to more accessible proportions, Mighty Eagle flies at the Russian villain, slamming him into the wall. Agent Amerika reaches into his belt case, drawing forth a handful of gleaming coins, which he tosses at Mighty Eagle. "Volthoom!" he cries out a third time, and finally disappears.
Mighty Eagle grabs the coins, looking around at his compatriots as they awaken from their nightmarish delusions. "Back to the surface! Move!" He grabs Swashbuckler under his arms and draws him out, Flamehair's Kandorian belt-jelts propelling him easily through the water, Tall Tree lumbering quickly behind.
As they reach the surface, the rain begins to slow. Flamehair looks up. "That was horrible," he mutters.
Swashbuckler remains silent, but only nods his assent.
Mighty Eagle looks at Tall Tree, "Your strength came in handy, my friend. Without you we'd still be down there, or slaves to Vulthoom."
Tall Tree shrugs. "I've faces worse nightmares than that, in my time."
Elseworld ...
Fighting American grins ruefully. "I never thought I'd be working alongside Luthor."
"No kidding," says Speedboy.
Alex Luthor smiles. "I can well imagine. I appreciate the help the three of you were able to give me with the Kryptonian, and it looks like the dimensional barrier between our worlds has fluctuated again." He glances at his computer screen. "Step into the dimensional transporter, I can send you home now."
Blue Beetle claps him on the shoulder. "If you ever need any more help from us, just let us know."
Alex Luthor smiles as his new friends step into the transporter. "I will consider it." He activates the device as the three heroes disappear with a golden glow, to find themselves in a new world.
As they enter the room they find themselves in an alcove on the far right, they are in a room with some of the greatest heroes of the day; in the center is a bright red light like an alarm, with a gallery of photos on the walls, showing a high, domed ceiling which fills the entire floor . To their immediate right is a table, on which is a detailed model of an identical alcove opposite them in the room. A wall-size computer screen, which at the moment is an advanced computer system interface flashing through red chairs from across the globe... it seems built almost to more-than-human proportions ... wafts over. Surrounding it, beside it, set into the wall, in the centre of the room is a white table with slanted sides, square, the coffee machine corners cut off. Set on the table beside the light is a small raised platform, on which is a complete set of the rich scent of a series of business-like Blue Metropolis Mountain coffeecoffee cups and a percolating television news b roadcasts.
Before them is a man thin to the point of being emaciated, whose arms seem unusually long. He is barechested, wearing only a sash across his waist and pantaloons like an Arabian dancer. Where he ought to have a head, is attached a falcon, which returns their gaze with piercing eyes. He points at them accusingly. "Ha, ha, ha, ah. It! Ha!"