By Lantern Light
October 6, 1938
The night was pitch black, save for a handful of dying embers, which illuminated the warped prison of steel and soot. Remnants of the train and bridge still fell with chaotic frequency.
A green flame glided through the darkness, as it drove back the choke hold of the night. It weaved in hypnotic patterns, demanded that it be observed. There was a heat to it, one that rejuvenated rather than sapped.
A hand reached towards it, one that trembled, A hand stained with blood. Jimmy's blood.
"Alan?"
The flame was gone, replaced with the office in which Alan Scott sat. Martin leaned forwards in his chair, impatience writ across his face.
"Was that a nice vacation you just had? Is this boring you?"
Alan shook his head. He lit a cigarette. Martin leaned back and continued.
"I know this can be tedious, but it's important. This could make or break the company."
"I understand, Martin. Carry on," said Alan. He stood and walked to the window. The bustle of midday Manhattan carried on below their offices.
"I spoke with Julius again. He said that their confidence has been shaken. He can't offer the full contract again. They've brought in a few alternatives. Wayne Enterprises. Lexcorp, a handful of others."
"How bad is it?"
"Right now? Survivable. In the long term, though this shakeup could kill our progress."
Martin started on his own cigarette.
"Hell. I'll be damned if that bastard Dekker gets his way after all," said Martin.
"He won't," said Alan, with a coarseness that gave Martin pause.
Alan turned to his partner. He placed his hands on the desk, his tall frame dominating it.
"Give me a few days. I'll make some calls, see what I can find. We had to turn down a few proposals with the size of the last contract. Perhaps one of them still needs an engineering firm."
He took a slow drag.
"I've got that gala later tonight. That could be a good palace to see if there's any work to be found," said Alan.
Martin stood.
"You haven't let me down yet. Make sure you stay in the same room as them though. Wouldn't want any investors to catch you drifting off to Cuba."
Alan bid Martin farewell, then returned to his silent observation of the city. Martin was pressing him on this matter, but his concern wasn't entirely unwarranted. The meteoric ascent of their firm met the same catastrophic end as the train Alan rode on in the accident. Their rival, Albert Dekker, sought to sabotage their contract with the U.S government, one predicated on the significantly improved weight bearing quality of their bridges. Dekker was in prison, but his scheme had not failed entirely. Enough doubt was present that their firm was no longer spotless.
And Jimmy was gone.
He reached into his suit pocket to grasp the bounty of that tragedy. It was a small thing, diminutive relative to the power it was able to produce. He held the ring up. A green ornament, fashioned in the shape of a lantern. He slipped it onto his finger. For a time, Alan worried that others would note the peculiar piece of jewelry, but for some reason they appeared blind to it, unless he directed their attention.
The ring never left him. It seemed to be bound to Alan. More than once in recent weeks, he had awoken to it on his finger, sure that he left it on his nightstand. Its companion, the larger lantern, remained at his apartment. Alan spent a great deal of time casting his vision into the depths of its flame, the coils of green that danced within the frame.
There was a similar blaze within his chest, one that refused to be extinguished. Alan thought that with Dekker's fall, there would be a catharsis. An end to the book, one he could close and tuck away, content to leave its miserable contents at peace. No such fulfillment arrived.
Too often, Alan's destination as he slept was the ruin of that train ride. Over and over he watched the light in Jimmy's eyes fade, to forever be replaced by the green glow of the lantern.
Alan wondered how long the flame could sustain him.
How long till the dark took him too.
The gala did little to stir anything within Alan. It was held in the ballroom of a hotel in Midtown, a fashionable destination for the upper crust. Patriotic banners hung from over the doorways and stages. The stage was adorned with an ice sculpture in the make of Apollo.
He stood stoic and still, the champagne untouched in his grasp, merely an ornament to better fit in with the jubilant socialites around him. He was uncertain of the specifics of this occasion, some sort of political fundraiser. Alan seldom enjoyed this aspect of his career, even prior to the accident. He preferred the practical, the application of problem solving skills to a distinct task.
Alan had promised Derby, his stalwart driver, that he would make a real attempt to socialize before calling it a night. Derby was off somewhere in the hotel, probably playing cards with the cleaners and cooks. He contemplated finding his friend and joining him.
No. He could not let Martin down. Alan took an anesthetizing swig of champagne and dove into the crowds. He braved the choppy waters of small talk and gossip. For such a large city, New York could be downright claustrophobic when one traveled in certain circles. The worst were the people who knew of his accident. Alan nodded solemnly to their concerns for his well-being, as he offered shallow answers to their ghoulish inquiries. Many only cared for a glimpse of the carnage.
Alan found himself drawn into a conversation between a gregarious woman named Sandra Knight, her sleepy-eyed cousin Ted, an energetic brunette named Paula Brooks and a man with rounded spectacles named Wesley Dodds. Alan had run into Sandra before at a couple of occasions. Her father was a Congressman and she used all the currency that status provided. She had caught his arm and dragged him into their group before he could protest.
Ted was a scientist of sorts, his attention clearly bound up in the same astronomical phenomena that he studied. Paula was another debutante, and a popular one judging by the amount of male suitors that came near the groups orbit, angling for her favor. Wesley was an investor, a rather young one at that, though Alan failed to glean the specifics.
"Alan, we were all talking about how positively strange the world has become lately and I must get your take on it," said Sandra.
"What do you mean?" he replied.
"Why, these costumed mystery men that are running about, fighting crime and rescuing dames. You know, Superman, the Flash, even that creature in Gotham."
"I suppose I haven't really given them much thought," said Alan.
Paula leaned in with a conspiratorial glint in her eye.
"I find that our local variety is the most dashing. The Green Lantern," she said.
Alan coughed. He took a quick swig of champagne to clear his throat.
"He is quite keen," said Sandra. "Though I'd love to have Superman sweep me off my feet."
"Isn't there another one here in New York?" interjected Ted, returned from whatever voyage of the mind he had been on. "That chap in the gas mask. The Sandman?"
Sandra gave him a light punch in the shoulder. "Ted, we're not talking about creeps like that."
"I find them all rather strange, particularly the timing of their arrival," said Wesley, speaking up for the first time. "All it took was the appearance of Superman and they all start coming out of the woodwork."
Alan hadn't thought of that fact. It was as though a floodgate had been opened in the past year, one that poured the supernatural forth into the world.
"At least they're exciting," said Sandra. She linked arms with Alan. "Are you in need of excitement Alan?"
"Um, I suppose..," he stuttered. He was out of practice.
"Wesley? Wesley Dodds," spoke a voice out of the crowd. The group looked to the speaker. He took the opportunity to escape Sandra's grip.
A woman with rich brown hair and a green dress with frilled shoulders approached them. Trailing her was a man in a dour grey suit, with a thin mustache.
"Dian! How fortuitous! I wondered if you would be joining us tonight," said Wesley.
Alan noted that this was the first time the man lit up since he introduced himself. There was a spark of chemistry between these two. It had been some time since Alan felt it himself. Not since Jimmy. Wesley introduced Dian Belmont, the daughter of the district attorney, and her escort, Tony Burke, a lieutenant with the NYPD. He looked unenthused about the prospect of being here at all.
The conversation shifted to recent events, namely the burgeoning storm over Europe. Only a few days earlier, an armed force of Germans had crossed into Czechoslovakia, intent on a redistribution of territory more in line with the Nazi party's interpretation of the world.
"It's truly a dire situation," said Dian. "At this rate, the other nations of Europe will hand over their sovereignty to Hitler himself."
"Well, I hope France at least waits until my vacation there is finished," said Sandra. "I' m traveling to Paris early next year."
"Hopefully this marks the end of Germany's expansion," said Ted.
"I have little faith in that. Hitler and his party have made it very clear they'll take as much as they can get, consequences be damned. Roosevelt's reticence to get involved isn't helping things either," said Wesley, his expression turned glum. "I expect there will be another war before long."
"Is he always this upbeat?" said Paula. Sandra shrugged, while Dian gave Wesley a knowing look.
"I think Hitler has a few good ideas," said Burke. "Particularly about keeping undesirables out of their country. America could learn a thing or two."
Alan detected a slight flinch from Wesley.
"How about you, Alan? Any thoughts? You've been awfully quiet." asked Sandra.
He knew the question was on its way, but Alan required a moment to collect his thoughts. He had paid attention to the news from Europe, the rhetoric, the annexations, the ideology, but these last few months had reduced his capacity for much thought outside of his own person. It was as though the world around him was muted. He caught himself glancing at the ring.
"I think Hitler needs someone to put him in his place. He's just another demagogue, like Mussolini or Franco," said Alan.
"Typical," said Burke with a reedy smile. "I'm not saying we should march into Mexico. Only that America's gotta look out for itself. Avoid diluting the waters. Like Father Coughlin says on his program."
"Only the morally bankrupt could listen to that man and accept his message," said Wesley.
The others turned to the man with surprised expressions. Dodds had more hair on his chest than Alan realized. Alan quickly shifted back to Burke, whose smile had taken on a malicious quality. He prepared to step between the two men.
"What's the matter, Dodds? No love for the good father? You a Jew?"
Before this unpleasant course could continue, their group and many of the patrons of the gala, were interrupted by a sudden shattering of glass. Alan directed his attention to the source, expecting a drunken display and was instead met by another confrontation.
A woman with short black hair and a pale complexion had knocked the drink out of another man's hands. The target of her scorn was a man with a narrow, angular chin and thick brows. The two were arguing with one another in a language Alan didn't recognize. The argument was broken up by the people round them, the woman shepherded off, the man left standing by his broken glass. His face flickered from barely contained anger to one approximating calm. Gradually, the gala resumed its original atmosphere.
"That's Dr. Joar Markhent and the woman is Dr. Irene Kalda," said Ted Knight.
"Not friends, I assume," said Alan.
"I wouldn't know the specifics of their dispute this evening, but I understand they were colleagues on a project. Something to do with cryogenics. Are you familiar with the field?"
"Only in the broadest strokes," said Alan. "Say Ted, you seem quite tuned in when it comes to this stuff."
Ted grinned. "It pays to keep up to date with the march of science. Even those outside of your direct area of inquiry."
"Where did you say you were from?"
"Opal City. You should come out, see the observatory."
"Ted, I may just take you up on that."
Shortly after the incident, Alan excused himself from their group. He circulated through the gala for another hour. His persistence, lacking in enthusiasm as it was, was rewarded with a conversation with Ashley T. Cole, a lawyer who happened to be a part of the committee responsible for the World's Fair. It was nearing completion, with the opening due in April of 1939, but Cole offered Alan's firm last minute work on the project, to make sure it cleared the finish line. Martin's worries could shift from a lack of work to too much.
Alan was on his way to find Derby, when he noticed he could see his breath. A bout of laughter morphed into screams, as a chill spread through the ballroom. A sound reminiscent of a fire hose erupting rang out. The screams increased in intensity.
"He's got a gun!" "Look out!"
Alan watched as a hole opened in the crowd, the party goers instinctively retreating from the threat. In their absence was a pair of new ice sculptures, figures locked in expressions of fear. Alan realized that they were guests.
"Does anyone have any plans for heroics?" asked a figure on the stage at the front of the ballroom. He leaned casually on the sculpture of Apollo.
"I thought he could use a few companions."
The figure was clad in a white outfit, his chin adorned with icy points. His wore a pointed cap. In his right hand was a pistol with a wide rounded magazine sitting over the body of the gun.
A man from the crowd bolted for the door, with the costumed interloper lazily aiming his weapon at him. A stream of icy particles flew from the barrel. It struck the fleeing man. In seconds, he too was encased in ice.
"Believe me, there is enough to go around for everyone, so I suggest we all relax."
The man stopped leaning on the statue and walked to the edge of the stage. He fired his weapon off at two of the doorways on both sides of the room. Alan noted that only the stage entrance was unblocked.
"You may call me the Icicle. If all goes to plan, this will be but a thrilling anecdote. My associates have notified the police of your predicament, with a request for a reasonable reward for your release. If the authorities deliver it within the allotted time frame, all will be well," said the Icicle. His look of amusement grew sour. "If, however, they dally, or attempt to forcibly breach this room, I will be forced to add more ice sculptures to the collection. If any of you try and escape, I will freeze that person and two other lucky participants from the crowd. Do we understand each other?"
A chaotic affirmation came from the crowd, as they chattered in fear. Alan surveyed the scene. He counted at least five associates in the room. Four people had been frozen. They wouldn't have long, if they were alive at all. He caught the smile on his face. So much for normalcy.
Alan fell back to a corner of the room, where few people had clustered. He willed the ring to grant him passage. The aura of green appeared around him, as he shifted through the walls, into a neighboring room. The green light dimmed immediately.
He cursed himself. In his haste, he had failed to charge the ring. The best he could hope for was to slip outside and inform the police, give them a better chance to rescue the others.
Alan snuck through the halls. He avoided the elevators, searching for an outside stairwell. The henchman would be sure to guard the entrance, but he was doubtful that they had the entire hotel under their control.
He passed a hallway. A man's voice shouted out at him, prompting Alan to run. There was no destination in mind. He found himself backed into a dead end. He took to the corner and waited, an ambush his only choice. Footsteps grew closer and closer. He closed his hands to fists and prepared for violence.
Alan spun around the corner, his punch caught in the air as he saw Derby's surprised face staring back at him.
"You nearly cleaned my clock," said Derby.
"I thought you were one of them. You are aware that we have a hostage situation on our hands?"
Derby chuckled.
"A couple of those goons broke up our card game. I was cleaning up too. I waited till most of them left, then clubbed the remaining fellas when they let their guard down."
"I should've expected no less. There's a costumed man with some sort of ice gun back in the ballroom. He's already frozen people." Alan leaned back around the corner. "I'm looking for the stairs. My ring is out of charge."
Derby held up a palm.
"I guess its a good thing I brought this then."
In his other hand was an object shrouded by a white sheet. With a flourish, Derby removed the cloth to reveal the emerald lantern.
"Figured it was one of those better safe than sorry type situations. You got a habit of ending up in the thick of it."
Alan took the lantern.
"Derby, remind me to give you a raise. I may need your help, guiding the others out of here safely."
"You got it boss."
Derby left to aid the hotel workers. Alan stared into the vortex of the lantern's core.
He raised his right fist to the lantern and spoke the words that arrived from beyond mortal ken, the words that leapt to his lips in the night air of that awful crash.
"And I shall shed my light over dark evil…
For the dark things cannot stand the light,
the light of the Green Lantern!"
Green flames ran the length of his arm. He was enveloped, his suit gone, replaced instead by the red and green costume, the purple cape flowing with a life of its own. A domino mask covered his face. The ring pulsed out with power.
It was time for fire to meet ice.
The two henchman standing on the western end of the ballroom were ill prepared for the wall of green flame that appeared and smashed them into submission. Green Lantern burst through the ice, eliciting cries of shock.
He took advantage of his surprise and threw out a remote punch towards the other two henchman. The green flame morphed to that which he willed it, though it required deep concentration to maintain. They went sprawling by the time the Icicle had gathered his wits sufficiently to retaliate.
"I warned you all about deviations in the plan!" shouted the Icicle.
Green Lantern formed a shield to block the stream of ice. He could feel the chill, but it could not penetrate the bubble of fire. He pressed back against the flow of ice, sweat flowing down his brow as he forced the green energy to rise further and further against its resistance. The Icicle released the trigger and through his body out of the way of the stream of light.
"Hey, big guy!" Alan looked over. The one unaccounted for henchman had a gun pointed to the head of Ashley Cole. "Quit now or I'll kill him."
"I'll do what you say. Just let him go," Green Lantern said, floating to the ground. He took his time.
"Drop the glow," said the Icicle. "It's time for you to be put on ice."
Alan dimmed his protective shield. Behind the henchman, approached Lieutenant Burke. Burke raised his pistol to cold cock the henchman, right as Icicle fired at Alan.
The pistol struck the back of the man's head. The henchman stumbled forth and swiveled his pistol hand towards Burke. He was interrupted by a blow from Sandra Knight of all people, who knocked the man off his feet.
Green Lantern's shield returned, though not before his left hand was encased in ice. It went numb immediately He used the flame to melt it away quickly, a painful tingle returned. If that was what it felt like after a few seconds, those civilians didn't have long. He pressed the attack on Icicle.
The Icicle switched his target to one of the chandeliers above the ballroom. His ice beam weakened the cable holding it up enough that it snapped. The crowd screamed. Green Lantern aimed his arm and thought of a shield.
One appeared before the chandelier, as it smashed into the construct. Bits of glass and metal still rained on the crowd, but the worst of the impact was avoided.
The Icicle fled through the stage doors, knocking over the Apollo statue in the process. It shattered to fragments on the ground, the god's icy visage spinning on the ballroom floor.
Green Lantern began to pursue him, then hesitated. He needed to thaw the people out first. He landed by the first and produced a concentrated gout of flame. The act didn't take long, though he was careful not to burn any of the victims. He only recognized one of them, Dr. Kalda, suspended in a look of pure shock. One of the men he thawed out was no longer breathing, his skin pale blue.
"Get these people to medical attention," Green Lantern commanded. He directed the crowd to the entrance he had melted through the ice. It was time to find the killer.
He flew through the hotel. A trail of slick ice told him that his quarry had headed to the roof. Green Lantern followed, the floors between them little obstacle as he phased through them.
He found the Icicle, on the edge of the hotel, clearly making a calculation of his options. The villain looked over his shoulder at him.
"You've made a mess of all this planning. Weeks and weeks gone, just like that." There was a foreign lilt to his speech, one Alan had not noticed before.
"I suggest you surrender."
The Icicle spun around and fired his gun. Alan met the hostility with his own tide of flames. The two elements collided in a dazzling explosion, as mist and green sparks covered the rooftop. It would be breathtaking, if not for the lethal potential of it all.
Green Lantern feigned weakness. He let his stream fail, bit by bit. The Icicle cackled bitterly.
"I have to admit, this is all so much fun."
As the ice beam reached him, Green Lantern created a projection of his body, allowed the ice to freeze around where he once stood. A blast of steam filled the air as the last of the flame was extinguished.
"Unfortunate for you, but inevitable."
"I could say the same," said Alan, his left fist introducing itself to his foe's jaw.
Green Lantern laid on a sequence of strikes that dazed the Icicle. He staggered backwards towards the edge. His ice gun clattered to the ground, out of reach.
"I submit! I give up. Stop!"
Green Lantern held the villain by the front of his costume. Green flame writhed like a snake behind him.
He thought of the corpse in the ballroom. That vacant look, the blue lips, opened as if gasping in surprise. Like Jimmy's.
Alan shoved the Icicle back, his heel striking the edge of the hotel, as he tumbled over it with a cry.
The murderous impulse passed, though the deed was done.
Green Lantern leapt over the edge, as he dove after the falling figure. He envisioned a trampoline, like the ones used by firefighters to catch falling victims. He launched the construct below the Icicle. The man bounced upwards, then settled in the construct, which transformed into a set of chains.
Green Lantern lowered him to the ground, into the custody of a group of officers set up outside the hotel. He could see the partygoers streaming out of the doors. Derby had done his job.
"That man tried to kill me!" shouted the Icicle.
His protests fell on deaf ears with the police, but Alan felt his blood run cold. He was nearly a killer.
Alan bid them farewell and flew off, before he looped around to a nearby alley. His costume vanished. The Green Lantern was gone, Alan Scott had returned. He picked an opening and joined the growing crowd of people.
Derby found him before long.
"Nice work boss."
"You did an excellent job getting everyone out."
"About that. Strangest thing. I knew a few of those mooks were guarding one of the stairwells. But, when I got to them, they were all knocked out. Looked like they were in a deep sleep. Was that you?"
"No. Curious."
"Ah, well."
Alan spied a few of his companions. Wesley and Dian were talking and he gave Ted a nod as the man walked with Sandra, who looked positively exuberant.
"I heard a few of the coppers talking Alan. Turns out our costumed friend is Dr. Markhent. Can you believe that?"
The scientist. Alan thought of how he thawed out Dr. Kalda. Was the whole ransom a cover for a murder? Or merely an added benefit?
"Derby, I'm beginning to realize it matters little what I believe. The world is going to do what it wants and we just have to play catch up."
"Amen to that."
Alan patted his friend on the back as the two walked off into the night. A faint few snowflakes fell from the roof of the hotel.
In the coming months, it would be determined that Green Lantern held the dubious honor of being the first hero to battle a supervillain, at least in such a public display of power.
He would be far from the last.