This Miracle, This Curse
April 2, 1940
The world of mortals, as her mother called it, was much louder than Diana had anticipated. Much smellier too. It took a great deal of effort to not retch at the clinging stench of what Steve had identified as motor oil as they drove into the capital of his home nation, a place he referred to as Washington or D.C. Not to be confused with the other Washington, on the far coast. The geography of the world was still vague, continually updated as they continued their journey.
And what a journey it had been thus far. They sailed, walked and even flew north through the rest of South and Central America, with a long stretch in the nation known as Mexico. Enough trouble found them along the way that Diana grew increasingly certain that her presence in the wider world was necessary. It was only a week ago that they finally made landfall in a humid, overgrown state called Louisiana. She could tell that Steve was relieved to be back in his home country. There was a weight gone from his every action, a tension lifted.
"Not long now," he said, a phrase he liked to repeat.
Diana enjoyed watching him drive or in fact perform any task that demanded his attention. There was a solidity to him that she admired.
"I still do not understand why we could not contact your superiors earlier," said Diana.
"A matter of precaution. The information I've got is for their ears only."
She did not pretend to understand the byzantine nature of the organization Steve served. It was much like the car they drove in now or the ships or the plane. Diana could intuit the function and operation of these technologies, but they bore only a scant resemblance to comparable devices on Themyscira. The price of working without the blessings her sisters bore.
Washington was fascinating, even in the fleeting glimpses she got as they drove its streets. Electric lights lined the roads. Large illustrations and photographs hung on billboards, advertisements she was told, hawking products. Boxy vehicles known as trams rumbled along tracks.
The people on the sidewalks wore clothes that intrigued Diana, particularly those of the women. They were so much more conservative than her fellow Amazons, even in their most formal of dress. She had been dressing more like them since they reached the country, as Steve explained that her Themysciran garb would draw undue attention. She did not care much, but she could tell that it mattered to him, so she obliged his request.
There were elements that troubled Diana. The areas that were worn down, their streets poorly maintained, their buildings weathered, were predominantly populated by people with darker skin. A combination that she had seen repeatedly in her short time in America. In her few interactions with Americans, she could detect a reservation, brought on by the darker hue of her skin, as they tried to work out her place in the hierarchy. Steve's answers to her questions on the disparities were brief. She sensed shame in his response.
Diana was no fool. Their travels had shown her that her sisters' warnings about the mortal world were true in part. They were all too fond of separating one another by some arbitrary metric, a method of delineating power and virtue. America, for all its talk of liberty, was not an exception.
"Have you decided on how you are to introduce me to your superiors?" said Diana.
"Still working it out," said Steve.
"You appear to be running short on time," said Diana.
"You're hard to sum up," he said.
"You don't think they'll believe my story," she said.
"It's a hard sell. But, there's been a lot of strange stuff in this country the last few years."
"Now you're calling me strange."
"I might be."
"You know, from my perspective, it's you and your people that are the odd ones."
Steve just grinned at that, turning the steering wheel with practiced ease.
There was a crack down the road, as the windshield of the car splintered into a web of broken glass. Steve cursed, turning hard, nearly ramming them into a lamp post.
"What the hell?"
There were successive cracks. Gunshots. She could see people taking cover in shops and around corners. Some fled, their heads kept low.
"Was that at us?" Steve said. 'Wait, Diana, what are you doing? Wait!"
She was already out of the car, her lasso spinning around her, transforming her clothing back into the garb of her homeland. Subtlety be damned.
Down the avenue a group of seven men in cloth masks scrambled across the street, firing their guns as they moved. Diana could see a car riddled with bullets, a body lying still beside it. A few of the gunmen lugged sacks. She advanced on them.
Their shots were haphazard, sloppy, the bullets striking close to bystanders. Diana darted in the midst of the gunfire, her arms raised. Bullet after bullet pinged off of her bracelets, as she pressed closer to the group of thugs.
"It's one of them costumed types," shouted a gunman.
"Vic, Sully, show her some lead. The rest of you keep going," said a man in a red bandana that spoke with apparent authority.
The two named gunmen aimed longer weapons at Diana, which spit our a blistering barrage of gunfire. She quickened her pace, matching the spray of lethal projectiles.
"Dammit Vic, quit messing around," yelled one of them.
"I'm doing all I can."
Diana continued her march until their weapons ran dry. They fumbled with magazines in an attempt to reload.
"Please stop this reckless behavior. You're endangering other people," said Diana.
They continued their unwise course of action. Diana rewarded their stubbornness by smacking them together, knocking them senseless.
The others had continued their flight through the streets, causing mayhem wherever they went. A car swerved to avoid the gunshots, its tires jerking up onto the sidewalk, headed directly for an elderly couple. Diana interceded, her hands on the hood of the car holding it back.
"Good lord," said the woman with a fright.
"It's okay dear," said the man. "Thank you, thank so much."
She made sure the driver was unharmed before chasing after the criminals.
Two of the men had surrendered to the police, having been cut off from their companions. The remaining trio boarded a trolley, firing out the windows, unfazed by the screams of the passengers still trapped onboard.
Diana timed her move carefully, waiting for a window of opportunity. Her feet braced on the ground, she lunged onto the trolley, knocking one of the men out the other side. A blindingly fast kick put the other man on the ground, while a whirl of her lasso caught the ring leader by the wrist. A flick of her own wrapped him fully in the golden rope.
"Why did you do all of this? Why endanger so many?"
The lasso glowed, its powers flowing into the man.
"The money. I told the others it would make us rich, but Hank and I were going to double cross them when we had a chance. I just wanted to be rich. Buy a nice car, gamble a bit, get some women. Nothing deep."
"Do you regret that the harm you caused?"
"Not really. I didn't think much about anyone else during all this. I regret how it turned out."
"That's enough. Sleep."
The man slumped down. The people on the trolley were a mix of disgusted with the gunmen and in awe of Diana. She made sure that no one was injured, relieved to discover that the worst of their injuries were light scrapes from the broken glass.
Stepping off the trolley, the gunmen in tow, Diana came face to face with a wall of police officers, many of whom had their own weapons raised.
"Stand down ma'am. Put down the, um, the lasso," said one officer.
A crowd was forming behind the cops, now that the immediate danger was gone.
"I ask again, please surrender."
"I mean no harm to you. I only wished to prevent further danger from these men."
The array of cops murmured to one another, clearly unsure of what course of action to take. Diana spied Steve in the crowd, a look of abject concern painted on his face. She shrugged apologetically.
"I'm only going to ask one more…"
"Hey," shouted a member of the crowd.
"What's your problem," said another.
"She's the one who saved us," said a woman in a beige coat from the trolley.
The crowd turned their energy on the police officers, as the men began to lower their weapons, acutely aware of the changing mood.
An older officer ran up to them, out of breath and red faced.
"Stand down lads. She's one of those super folks. Not one for more trouble. Right miss?"
"I don't wish to prolong conflict," said Diana.
"See. Now quit harassing the woman and get these crooks."
The older officer came up and shook Diana's hand, a common greeting in this part of the world, as his subordinates retreived the gunmen, placing them in handcuffs. A larger car soon arrived, in which the criminals were loaded. Bondage was a common practice in Themyscira, but it was peculiar to see it employed on unwilling participants. Crime was infrequent enough in her home to be functionally nonexistent.
The crowd drew near to Diana, unimpeded by the vain protests of the officers. Many of them called out questions, mostly along the lines of inquiries into her identity or origin. They were of all all ages, a variety of races and gender. Unified in curiosity at least.
"My name is Diana of the island of Themyscira. I am here on a mission of peace and love for all humanity. I am here to help."
When a stone is thrown into a pond, can one truly track the ripples it makes? Note the full permutations they endure before they dissipate, returning to the settled sheen of the water's surface?
There was no reason for Diana to second guess her actions that day. She saw people in need and she reacted as she always did. As she always would. To fail in that capacity would be a betrayal of who she was at heart.
There was no way of knowing that a few blocks over, in a more affluent neck of town, a charity ball was being held, the main star a woman named Priscilla Rich. Ms. Rich lived delectably, the kind of life that did not request respect and admiration be paid, the kind that demanded it. A life borne on the backs of others every step of the way.
Therefore, it was a profound shock, when those in attendance of the ball found it more stimulating to join the impromptu gathering of citizens that formed around Diana, the one who would be Wonder Woman. A reasonable response would have been to endure the bruised ego and press on, confident that ones life could still be assured to be positively Dionysian by conventional standards..
As Diana would soon learn, Priscilla Rich was not a reasonable person.
The man in the yellow mask stood in the room full of monitors.
"You are certain that this Captain Trevor delivered the information to the Chief of the Army?" spoke the raspy voice.
"Completely sir."
"Then President Roosevelt will be appraised of it soon. This will only sway him further towards the course of war, even if it takes his country time to join him."
The yellow mask remained silent. He knew it was not his place to speak while his superior considered his actions.
"Do we know if he had decided on reelection?" said the voice.
"Not yet, but there are murmurs that it is likely."
"A risk not worth allowing. His vice president is disinterested in intervention. As are others who could have their profile raised in Roosevelt's absence."
"Are you suggesting?"
"Yes. Von Gunther and I will make the arrangements. We will relay any necessary information to you in time.
Roosevelt must die."
"Are you sure this is a good idea Rex?" said Kent Nelson.
"Positive."
"I'm out of my depth here."
"Good lord. Don't be a crumb, man."
Kent took a deep breath and followed Rex Tyler into the dimly lit interior. Rex pulled up a pair of stools at the bar itself, ordering them some drinks right away. A swing band was playing away in the corner, a number of patrons dancing around a cramped floor.
"Here, don't worry I've got the tin for it. Jay should be here soon."
Kent took a small sip of beer. He was not much for drinking, unlike his father, who loved nothing more than to knock back glass after glass in times of celebration. There was no sinister side to such memories of the man, just the wobbling, jubilation of his stories after he became sufficiently inebriated.
"I'm sorry. I don't have much experience here."
"Quit being sorry. Enjoy the atmosphere," said Rex. He had the look of a man very much at ease in these establishments.
"I haven't been out of the tower much since I returned to America."
"That's why we're here. You can't just exist, you've gotta live Kent."
He did his best to relax, but there was the ever present feeling of observation. He was unsure if it was the helm or the people in the bar. Likely neither, but Kent felt it all the same.
"See, the way I figure it," said Rex, "is if we're gonna be a team, we've got to get along. Get to know each other. That run down at the meeting was a start and I bet we've all learned more over the past few months, but a team's gotta have common ground."
Kent listened, ignoring the din around them as more people crowded into the space.
"Some of us already have a head start. Jay and Alan are buddies, I can tell. Dinah and Wesley are pretty close too, seeing as they arranged the whole enterprise."
Rex paused, downing the last of his beer. He immediately ordered another, his cheeks slightly flush.
"Dinah, now that is a quality dish. I have half a mind to take a chance on her, if I didn't think she'd bust my chops about it. What about you Kent? You got a filly waiting for you back in…"
"Salem."
"Salem!"
Kent muttered out a nonsensical answer.
"Come on pal, don't be shy."
There was one person who immediately came to mind.
"Um. There is a woman who I've enjoyed the company of in times past."
"So formal Kent. Well, spit it out."
"Her name is Inza."
"There it is, the man does have blood in his veins after all."
"I miss anything fellas," said Jay, who was just there at the bar next to them, with no fan fare. The band picked up in tempo as more drinks slid their way.
"Just learning that ol' Kent is a ladies man after all," said Rex.
"Is that so?" said Jay.
"I mean, I wouldn't phrase it in such a manner. We're not truly together."
"Our friend is far too humble for his own good," said Rex.
"Cut him some slack Rex. How about you?" said Jay.
"I'm between women at the moment. Though hope springs eternal…" said Rex.
They sat their drinking, talking about everything and nothing for the next hour. Kent joined in when he was prompted, but he was struck by the way that Jay and Rex could maintain banter back and forth, like two tennis players enjoying a casual match. His activities as Doctor Fate did not afford him much free time for socializing. For most of his life his lone companion was Nabu.
"Say Kent, do you know much about our most secretive member?" said Rex.
"You mean.."
"The Spectre," said Jay. "I haven't had the pleasure of working with him yet. Only seen him at the meetings."
"He isn't all that keen on conversation. I think I can count the number of times he's contributed on one hand."
"I don't claim to understand him entirely," said Kent. He was aware even without Nabu's urging that to divulge too much about their spectral ally would be ill-advised. His teammates were used to a level of the bizarre that was much higher than the average person, while still coming nowhere close to the absurdity that was the Spectre.
"We don't need his whole life's story," said Rex.
"Though this may seem far-fetched, the Spectre is a ghost of sorts. A spirit bent on obtaining justice."
"A ghost?" said Jay, incredulous.
"Indeed."
"A ghost," said Rex. "After what we saw with that Karkull fella, I'll buy it."
"I never did hear about how that went down," said Jay.
Kent and Rex shared a more somber look. They both hesitated to make the first conversation. Before the stalemate was broken, Jay was distracted by something on the radio.
"Barman, hey barman. Could you turn that up? Please?" said Jay.
The man obliged, exposing the men to a report from Washington D.C., where a woman with a golden lasso stopped a posse of bank robbers. It included a brief snippet her her voice, claiming her mission was one of peace. The press had already coined a nickname.
Wonder Woman.
A dove streaked with gold.
"A new one every day," said Rex.
"Maybe we'll meet her," said Jay.
"We will," said Kent.
"That's the most confident you've sounded all night," said Rex.
"In this instance, it's a matter of fate."