"Houston, hate to quote one of the Great Ones, but we have a problem."
It was February 1, 2003. The Space Shuttle Columbia was preparing to re-enter Earth's atmosphere, unaware that a piece of foam insulation had broken off the orbiter on launch. The vehicle was now entering Earth's atmosphere, and the heat was rising rapidly, though only a little more than usual.
"What is your problem, Columbia?" asked the ground control.
"Looks like we got parts falling of the left wing, and... " Static filled the transmission, then, "... what the hell?"
"What is happening, Columbia? Telemetry is giving us some unbelievable data," insisted ground control.
"We're... we're slowing down. And cooling rapidly – we're under Mach 10, and the exterior temperature is dropping... Two thousand Celsius... Eighteen hundred... Sixteen hundred... Fourteen forty... We're under Mach 8, Houston, over Utah, altitude dropping at steady rate, currently 210,000 feet instead of 223,000 feet."
"That matches the telemetry, but that's impossible! Can you see anything from the forward windows?"
A moment of silence, then, "Negative, Houston. Too much heat distortion still. Down to Mach 6, surface temperature one thousand Cee, and altitude of 180,000 feet. Preparing to cross over into Arizona, probably going to skip the roll reversal."
The world was watching, and listening. Amateur photographers and video fans were filming, and many saw what the shuttle crew did not – the tiny dot of blue and red on the underside of the nose. People began to debate what it was, as the time line of the descent began to stretch somewhat longer than usual.
"Houston, we're down to Mach One, surface temperature of four-fifty Cee, and an altitude of eighty thousand feet. We're still over Arizona, but barely, and would recommend all air traffic along our projected flight path be diverted. Speed is holding steady, but altitude still dropping. Estimated landing point appears to be... near Amarillo, at thirty-five point four North, one-oh-one point three five West."
At the speed Challenger was traveling, it took less than half an hour for it to become visible to the hastily assembled ground crew, but it was coming in at a far steeper angle than expected. The emergency crews, rushed in from Amarillo and all nearby counties and municipalities, rushed to be prepared for when the orbiter touched down. But when it was within a few miles of the projected landing point... it suddenly began to slow down.
"Houston, we're belly down, and now under three hundred kph. Surface temperature is only about a hundred and eighty cee, and altitude seven thousand feet and dropping gradually. Can anyone on the ground give us a clue what they're seeing?"
Houston would have answered, but they were staring with awe at what they saw on the feed from the landing site. Telescopic lenses, intended to track the orbiter, instead began focusing on the figure underneath the shuttle. It was a little over six feet tall – and humanoid.
"Houston, anything? We're about to touch... down? Houston, our airspeed is at zero, Zee Eee Arr Oh. But we're still at thirty nine hundred feet, not even three hundred feet above the deck! What the hell?"
Cameras flashed, Phones flipped open and text messages hastily sent. The orbiter slowly lowered itself to the ground, seemingly supported by the hands of a man.
He was perhaps six foot three, and massively built. Not quite bodybuilder proportions, but definitely big. He wore a suit that was primarily dark blue, with red accents, and a red flowing cape behind him. On his chest was a large red S on a yellow background. His face was exposed, showing a sharp, square jaw, bright blue eyes, and wavy black hair.
The orbiter stopped at about forty feet off the ground, and seemed to be waiting for something. One of the techs at Houston jolted himself out of his reverie, and said, "Err, Columbia, might wanna lower the landing gear."
"Why? What's going on?"
"Just... just do it."
XXXX
The brief, hasty interview played out across the country. A local reporter, one Cat Grant, had managed to snare it before the man in red and blue had flown – flown! Away.
"Well, ma'am, I had decided to shadow the flight as it re-entered, but when I saw the shedding of material, I had to intervene. I knew it wasn't normal. That wing was also a lot hotter than the rest of the ship."
"And who, exactly, are you?" she had asked him.
His feet began to leave the Earth, with no glow or aura. "A friend," he simply said, then he rose higher, and in a burst of unimaginable speed, was gone. Despite the vast acceleration, there was no sonic boom, and for a moment, it was like he simply was never there.
After fifteen seconds of awestruck staring, Miss Grant composed herself. "That was the mysterious superhuman man who apparently saved the Shuttle Columbia, today, from a horrible fate. I repeat, NASA has confirmed that the left wing heat shields had shattered at some unknown point either before or during orbit, and well before re-entry, which could have caused an accident of cataclysmic proportions. Back to you, Ted."
XXXX
Alan Scott was on the telephone. "Hey, it's been good to talk to you, Henry. Here's hoping that grandson of yours, Hal, stays safe in that new job of his."
As he wrapped up the conversation, and hung up the phone, he sighed. "You know, I have a door you could use." He turned, and glanced at the window.
"It would destroy the mystique to take the stairs or elevator," insisted the figure. It was mostly a black silhouette, with pointed, bat-like ears. A single detail was visible within the silhouette – a yellow stylized bat. "If one of your neighbors saw me..."
The former Green Lantern barked a short laugh. "Yeah, I can see that. Putting the mysterious Batman in a mundane situation and all.. So, why are you here. You're usually not social with the mask on."
"The Columbia. Could it have been one of your old allies? Or... enemies?"
"You mean Baron Blitzkrieg? He's about the only flying brick from back then who maybe, MAYBE could have done it. I'm not sure he could, though. Definitely wouldn't, it being an American craft. Heck, I'm not sure I could have done it. Do you know how much force that took?"
The Bat hopped in the window. "At the estimated moment of interception, the Columbia was traveling at Mach twenty-one point nine. The orbiter weighs sixty-eight tons unloaded, depending on the mission equipment this could be as high as ninety tons on re-entry. This gives an inertial mass of a minimum of fifty-five thousand metric tons. The individual..."
"Superman. The press is calling him Superman," clarified Alan.
"Hrm. The individual managed to intercept and match speeds, then apply retro-force sufficient to reduce that to less than Mach ten in roughly forty seconds, without significant g-force stress to the shuttle or occupants, which is a sign of telekinetic-based superhuman strength, like Blitzkrieg and... more tellingly due to that name... Ubermensch."
"But not only couldn't Ubermensch fly, there's no way he WOULD do that. And he was nowhere near that powerful," protested Alan.
The Batman inclined his head. "True. But this... Superman... could possibly be the end result of experiments similar to those that created the two Nazis." He started pacing the floor. "No matter his origin, there are three overall scenarios I must prepare for."
"And they are?"
"Scenario One, the preferred scenario: He is exactly what he seems to be. The voice on the interview tape has verbal clues that indicate a Midwestern United States origin, a Nazi sponsored experiment would have blond hair and not black, and he gave off hints of embarrassment when Miss Grant interviewed him. He might be an honestly good man, somehow gifted with vast superhuman power.
"Scenario Two, the most likely scenario. The individual wants to be the type of person in Scenario One, but is a normal man, otherwise gifted with these powers. Eventually he will be corrupted by them, and contingencies will have to be planned for.
"Scenario Three, which I hope is not the case. The individual is a front. He deliberately rescues the shuttle as an attempt to build goodwill, and perhaps performs a few more highly public acts, then reveals himself when he's firmly in the public's good graces, either slowly or immediately. This is a worst case scenario, as not only will he be powerful, but he will also have public opinion on his side."
Alan Scott shook his head. "Well, at least you're willing to even consider Scenario One. That's an improvement over the last year and a half."
The Bat glowered. "Paranoia keeps me alive. I don't have telekinesis based superhuman strength, or a magic green ring, to protect me. And the streets of Gotham are deadly at night."
XXXX
Diana, princess of Themyscria, flew with reckless abandon.
Though presented as gifts of items, such as the Sandals of Hermes and the Belt of Ares, the truth was the gods had granted her with powers innate. Only her lasso and bracers were what they were claimed to be, and that was the bonds of Truth, and the unbreakable Aegis, divested of Medusa's head and reforged into her own bracers.
And while she enjoyed her new-found power, it was flight she enjoyed most.
Now, imagine her surprise when, breaking through the clouds, her keen vision spotted a human figure, a man no less, simply floating above them. His hands were behind his back and his eyes closed.
Seeing the man was asleep, or at least napping, she raced up, and as he groggily tried to react, had him wrapped up in her lasso with the speed of Hermes.
The man blinked, and stopped struggling, when his eyes fully opened and he saw her. "Erm... hello?" he said.
Fortunately, Athena had gifted her with the knowledge of several of the modern world's languages, and this was apparently English. "Who are you, that you float among the clouds so?" she demanded.
"Umm... well, I don't want to say my name. But the newspapers have been calling me Superman. But you can call me... Cl... Claaaar... AGH! Sorry, but no, I have to protect my parents and I can't tell you my name." The man glanced down at his attire – some form of tightly woven cloth in the form of blue-gray pants, and a shirt made from a pattern of red and yellow overlapping stripes in both directions. "I'm not exactly in uniform right now..."
Diana was impressed. While no one could outright lie under the lasso's influence, it took a strong will to refuse to answer. "And how is it you can ride the skies, as I do?" she demanded.
He shrugged as best as he was able in his bonds. "I honestly don't know. Look, can we discuss this without the bondage? I'm from Kansas, and this kinda thing usually doesn't happen no matter how many dates you go on."
This flustered her, but she kept her grip on the lasso. "This is for my protection, and possibly yours," she admitted. "I have been sent by my mother to see Man's World, and judge if it is ready for Themyscria's return. And you will help me do that by answering my questions."
And ask she did. Question after question was asked, on everything from politics to science to society in general. But when it came to history, she found his answers reluctant, and almost ashamed of his race. Then, he came to recent history.
"I was... away, when this happened, but two grand, magnificent buildings were destroyed about a year and a half ago, by some very evil men. I didn't even know about it, or maybe I could have done something, but I hear that other, incredibly brave men and women rushed in, and, at the cost of many of their own lives, rescued a huge number of those trapped within." His eyes grew distant. "I heard that the Green Lantern tried to help, but could only hold up the buildings for a very short time. Other mystery men tried to help, but most of them were too old. They say that Hawkman, the Shadow, and a few others died saving people, as well.
"September the eleventh, two thousand and one. All because of a madman's religious intolerance and hate, and his evil. I wish... I wish I could have been there. But by the time I... returned... it was over, even the cleanup, and the search and rescue."
She paused, seeing a tear drip from the man's eye, and feeling through the lasso that this emotion was honest. Steeling herself, she whipped her end, sending a mental command, and the lasso untangled from around him. "I am Diana," she said, "And I apologize for accosting you."
He grinned slightly. "Nice to meet you, Diana. And... hold on a second..." He spun in mid air, faster than even she could perceive fully, but she saw him somehow changing his clothes at that speed. Before she could process what she had scene, he was now dressed in a blue bodysuit with red boots and a red cape, with what the Latin alphabet would call an 'S' on his chest. "I'm Superman."
XXXX
It had been a long several weeks. As Clark Kent, he had gotten a job with the Planet News Conglomerate by getting the scoop on the Amazon Princess's arrival to the US, and her visit to the UN building in New York. As Superman, he had BEEN a scoop, for one Lois Lane, also of the Planet News Conglomerate.
Choosing to live in Metropolis, near Planet News Headquarters, he had been called upon to act in his heroic guise a few times already, Most were simple, just catching a car that had fallen off a freeway overpass during a high speed chase, or stopping an organized crime gun smuggling ring. But that visit by the industrialist, Lex Luthor, somehow rubbed him the wrong way. The bald man had shark-like eyes – dead, cold, even cruel. And he looked at Clark like he was a potentially valuable tool.
His superhuman hearing caught the sound of his apartment window opening, so he blurred, making certain his civilian clothes were completely on. "Whoever you are, I know you're there!" he called out.
"Clark Kent, of Smallville, Kansas. New reporter for the print division of Planet News. Football letterman of Smallville High in your Sophomore and Junior years before suddenly leaving the team your Senior year. Journalism major at Metropolis University, with a minor in engineering and numerous classes in various sciences. And occasionally you wear a red and blue suit, fight crime, and stop a space shuttle orbiter from exploding on re-entry," came the gravelly voiced reply.
"I-I don't know what..."
"Spent four years, from 1998 until late 2002, incommunicado. Simply vanished, though no Missing Persons report was ever found, and your parents would claim you were 'out seeing the world'. Careful analysis of satellite records show anomalous heat buildup near eighty-eight North and 42 degrees West, in the Arctic Ocean, with commensurate heat downgrade in the immediately surrounding areas to cancel out albedo and heat transference. This anomaly was blamed on satellite malfunction, but the dates of the malfunction exactly match the day after you vanished, and the day before you returned."
'"Listen," began Clark, "you don't..."
"Adopted by Martha and Johnathan Kent, USMC Retired, on July Fourteenth, 1975. You were apparently two years old. No child of your appearance or age went missing or was put up for adoption in the entire state of Kansas, and your hand and foot prints match no known missing child or child up for adoption."
"Just because I was..."
"Ten days prior to the adoption, a large meteor strike occurred in central Kansas, with a force equal to half a ton of TNT. The meteor left behind no physical presence besides its crater, though the point of impact is clear – only thirty miles from your parents' farm, between Smallville and Topeka. And the impact point is not of a normal irregular petrolith, but of some sort of regular, symmetrical object – though this was not obvious due to the angle of impact."
"But I..." Clark's voice began to falter, as the truth of his origins, something he had only found out a few years back, came to the forefront of his mind.
"Clark Kent. Superman. And whatever your original name might be. I am the Batman." The figure in the window stepped forward. "I hope you are exactly what you appear to be," he continued. "But if you are not? I will find a way to stop you."
Clark straightened, and stared at the man – and saw, and recognized, the face beneath, one he had recently seen in the Society column of the paper. "I promise you this, if I go bad, I'll LET you stop me. Because if I go bad, I'd have to answer to my parents. Does that help any... Bruce?"
The Bat stiffened. "It does. I trust we have a mutual understanding, then?"
"We do."
Turning, Batman stepped to the window, and dove out. Clark kept an eye on his movements for at least a mile or so, then sighed, and got ready for bed.
XXXX
Once again, Barry Allen both cursed and thanked God for the television show "CSI". On the one hand, it directly led to a greater respect for his chosen profession, by both the public and the rest of the Force, but on the other it imposed unreasonable expectations from those same people. It had only been on the air for about three or four years, but people now wanted DNA evidence at every trial, and the cops expected him to be able to return the results of tests within the hour, or maybe a day, even if those tests took weeks.
"Come on, slowpoke, you can rush the tests for me, can't you?" would be a common phrase in his office. Then there was the yelling when he didn't get the tests done fast enough. "You are the slowest tech alive, I swear!" shouted one officer.
He was on-site for a homicide investigation – the victim had been found at the base of the main antenna for one of Central City's local radio stations, with multiple blood splatters visible, and others not so visible. He had a bag with the most common chemicals used, such as luminol, and began digging for that very concoction when he felt the hairs on his arms stand on end.
Glancing up, he saw a storm building. "Hit the deck! Lightning incoming!" he yelled, even as he flattened himself. Unfortunately, as the lightning struck, his hand brushed the radio antenna, and that was the last thing he knew in that moment.
Unknown to Barry Allen, he possessed a quirk of genetics left over from some unknown source – the metagene. It was not natural, and may have even been magical in nature, but under extreme duress, it would manifest, usually as a means of surviving the incoming danger, or in a manner related to the incoming danger. His eyes saw a yellow flash of lighting, and the metagene, not quite sapient, reacted. It strove to change itself, needing speed to avoid the incoming danger, but unable on its own to provide Allen with enough speed to move before the lightning hit.
And then something noticed him.
Flowing in the realms between worlds, the Speed Force was a concept without form. Those who lived and died for speed gave it strength, across countless worlds, and it had slowly grown somewhat aware. And it decided it wanted a champion.
Barry Allen would be that champion.
XXXX
Doctor Saul Erdel rested in his laboratory, though he did miss his homeland.
Born just a year after the end of the second World War, he was lucky enough to have grown up in the western half of Germany, near Munich, and had gone to many prestigious universities. His theories about the Higgs Boson, however, were laughed at, and he lost his position at the Technical University of Munich. Losing a job at such a prestigious university was career-shattering, and the only place that would hire him was here, the State University of Maringá, in Brazil. It wasn't... horrible, but it was a state university, with all the funding issues that implied.
Now, however, word had it that CERN was going to construct a Large Hadron Collider, with the intent of proving the existence of the Higgs Boson. While it would verify some of his theories, it would do little otherwise. He HAD to activate his device, and do so soon.
In theory, it was simple. The Higgs Boson could be manipulated by certain applications of exotic matter and energy, and then utilized to create a field of intense, localized gravity that could actually fold space and time. It would be one of the greatest achievements of mankind – if his theories were correct. If not? Well, oblivion was preferable to the depression he had been under since his release from TUM.
Now, it was time. The scanners, cameras, and sensors were all active, proccessing literally hundreds of gigabytes of data per second. The generator was warmed up and ready to provide the initial electric 'jolt' to begin matters, and all that was left was the single flipping of a switch.
He glanced at the ring that dominated the center of the room, and flipped the switch.
At first, nothing happened. At least, nothing visible to the naked eye. To his sensors, however, a gravimetric pulse was literally vibrating in the center of the ring. This pulse dropped off at a rate that could not be explained by the inverse square ratio, just as he had planned.
As the event horizon of a true Einstein-Rosen bridge began to form, alarms began to sound. He had planned to only fold to a point in the next room, where further sensors were set up, but the other end of the bridge suddenly moved. Somehow, too much exotic energy was interacting with the Higgs array, changing the position of the endpoint of the fold in space – and time! He had no idea where it would end up, most likely somewhere inimicable to human life!
He rushed to perform the emergency deactivation steps, cursing himself for making them take so long. But as he reached for the final switch, a bot of electricity sparked between him and it, tossing him painfully across the room. His heart began to stutter in its inexorable beating.
To his horror, something came out of the Einstein-Rosen bridge. It was somewhat humanoid, but also not, with pointed parts and angles humans never had. And... it was green. Pain wracked him as his heart faltered once more.
It grew deathly quiet as the emergency shutdown finally kicked in, except for the sound of the creature's footsteps. It walked up to him, and crouched.
Be Calm , he heard in his mind. But how...
Telepathy, his mind, but not his mind, told him. Your device has brought me here, even as the last of my brethren chose nonexistence. From you, I can learn about this world, if you will allow me.
He nodded, as his strength began to fade, then everything whirled around in his mind. Memories of childhood, adulthood, and now blended together, with the last image being that of the story about that Superman in Metropolis.
I cannot save you, continued the voice, for travel through your device has left me weak. But you may rest knowing that your theories were correct. Unfortunately, this region of space is filled with erratic dark energy eddies, a sort of storm of them so to speak, and will remain so for at least two hundred years.
But as you have saved me by bringing me here, I shall help to protect your people. The green... thing's form shimmered, taking on the mixed-ethnicity look of many inhabitants of Brazil. And your last act has helped to defend your entire world.
"I... can... live... with... thaaat..." were the last words of Doctor Saul Erdel.
XXXX
Hal Jordan was confused, but unafraid. The test aircraft he had been piloting, a prototye of a spaceplane intended to replace the aging Space Shuttle for emergency or for low-payload trips, had broken up the first time he reached Mach One, but a green cocoon of energy had ensnared the cockpit, and him, before it completely disintegrated.
"Hm. I thought the Green Lantern had retired years ago?" he wondered. His grandfather had regaled him for years with stories about the old hero, and this definitely looked like what his ring would create.
Soon, he found himself approaching what looked like a crash site, but not of any craft he had ever seen. It was too large, for one, and no plane or ship he knew of was that particular shade of... purple?
The cockpit was st down rather roughly on the sands of the New Mexico desert, and he popped the canopy, then dropped to the desert floor. Carefully, he approached what would be the cockpit of the ship, if it's plan was similar to any airplane he ever flew, or had ever seen, for that matter. Sure enough, he was right, as he saw what could only be windows on that end. A large rupture in the hull allowed him entrance.
A green flicker flashed on and off, calling to him like a beacon. He followed it around a large chunk of wreckage, and found himself on a small command deck, its roof partially caved in, and the... pilot? Pinned to his seat.
The pilot was... odd. He wasdefinitely not human, though mostly humanoid, and wore a green and black uniform of some sort. On his right hand, hanging limply, was a ring much like what the old Green Lantern supposedly had worn. And his eyes... his eyes drifted up and down Hal, and the pilot sighed in relief.
"You are here. Good. I do not have much time left, nor does my ring have much charge left." Even as part of his mind refused to admit he was talking to an alien, a tiny part noticed that the sounds that reached his ears did not quite match what the alien was doing with his mouth. The alien raised his hand, and the ring seemed to phase through his finger, and onto his palm. "Here – take the ring!"
Stunned, he did as he was told, and without thinking, put it on the middle finger of his right hand. "Is there..."
"No, there is nothing you can do. Now, man of Earth, hold out your other hand, and concentrate on summoning the lantern."
Raising his left hand, he so concentrated, and to his shock a stylized lantern made of green metal appeared. He almost dropped it in shock.
"Quickly now! Place your ring hand into the opening on the front, and repeat after me!
"In brightest day, in blckest night
"No evil shall escape my sight
"Let those who worship evil's might
"Beware my power, Green Lantern's light"
Again, Hal Jordan did so, and was stunned by the brilliance of the light. "Okay, now what? And are you sure I can't help somehow?"
"No. I am Abin Sur, Green Lantern of Sector 2814, and I now meet my end. The ring has a full record of what happened. And tell Kilowog I said you have potential! Ring, execute standard training override recall, authority Gamma Lamda two eight one four Prime!"
The green glow returned, this time launching Hal upwards at immense speed. He raced into the athmosphere faster than he ever thought possible, and even though he found himself in space, he had no trouble breathing. Then... he accelerated. It was almost like those science fiction shows when a starship was entering warp, and in a way he probably was. Soon, he stopped rather abruptly, and he didn't even have time to wonder why his insides weren't all on one side of his interior from the gee-forces before he saw the world below him.
Despite the lack of air in space, he clearly heard the voice behind him. "Got the signal a new recruit was being emergency recalled here."
He willed himelf to turn around, though he had nothing for maneuvering, and found he was. There, a seven foot tall, musclebound... alien, with an almost bulldog like head stood in front of him. "Umm... recruit?"
The alien nodded. "For the Green Lantern Corps. Don't worry, you ain't the first to not know nuthin' 'bout the Corps when you got here. I'm Kilowogg, your new drill instructor," he said. The alien grinned evilly, exposing almost fleshy teeth. "And you are about to be in a world of hurt from my training, poozer!"