Chapter 11: The Morning Star Squadron
"Well, that could be an entanglement," comments a Kriglo in the equivalent of a crow's nest. Both his corneas and a video camera canvass the countryside below the colonizing spacecraft.
Curious, of course, his commander queries, via radio, "What do you see?"
The look-out relates, "Four cute, winged warrior women carrying Wonder Woman toward us on a wide, sparkly net."
"Whoa! What? Really?" replies the skipper in the saucer.
"Check the visual feed in your vessel," verifies the vanguard.
In the vicinity, a Venusian quartet quickly conveys champion Wonder Woman toward amassed Martian men-of-war, maintaining the sky. The champion appears ready to challenge the entire arrived assembly of thirty ships and their allotted alien crews, adamant on invading Venus. Fairy wings furiously flutter her for the fleet and her fate—or its fate. As Diana is indefatigable, so Desira's loving lieges endeavor to determinedly deliver justice onto the arachnid interlopers who have annihilated and humiliated their people this day. They are a wee weary and wounded after the Thinker and Wizard wrung them, but they are most resolute. Wonder Woman and her valorous Venusians approach the "armada's" outer ring.
Off to the sides, Flash and Queen Desira seek to flank the foul fleet undetected. On another golden net, Flash and four helpers have flown very wide, and they now turn to rush the raiders' other rim. On the opposite shimmering seine to Flash's, semi-conscious Desira sits summoning her strength. In her mind, she should be proudly flying beside her peons who push themselves so arduously for her after the punishment that they received from the rapacious Spider-Men. However, the Glastonbury wand warped, rent, and robbed her will woefully, and the Thinking Cap seemingly crushed and mashed what mind remained after that torture. The monarch, between her resplendent wings, barely perseveres, her noble heart palpitating. Against Venus' heavens, she has resolved to uphold a royal presence to preserve morale and, perhaps, daunt the Martians.
Of course, neither Flash nor Desira can shock or surprise the Martians. So the Martians would say. Their saucers are set in a circle. Their sentries see the dual champions and desperate Venusians coming. Interconnected communications even send the video all along the web of Spider-People ships. Two hundred and forty foes anticipate fifteen—some fatigued and frazzled in shredded flimsy gowns. Fear is a minor factor for the mostly unfazed beastly fiends.
On the ground, Phantom Lady throws a major fracas at the Kriglo holding her cousin captive overhead. She taunts them to come fight like men, for this Phantom cannot float up to them. Cousin Sandra screams for the company of Kriglo to kite, as spiders do, down to her. Then, a Lady will give lummoxes a lashing. Up above, the aliens seem to have only contempt and amusement at the angry "ant" below.
Sandy's shouts could wake the dead, but they cannot rouse Spectre standing stark still beside her. The Ghostly Guardian is still fixed in fantastic fray with Mr. Mind.
With a motorized roar, Dr. Mid-Nite arrives at Phantom Lady and Spectre. He parks his steel steed, regal as Shining Knight's Victory, and dismounts. The doctor ably observes Sandra Knight's dilemma and din; he spots Spectre curiously stationary instead of destroying the whole damned Kriglo army.
"Spectre! Hey, Spectre!" the physician snaps his fingers by the entity's ear. Doc even dares slap supreme Spectre—who remains catatonic.
On another plane, off the planet's plain, the Spirit of Vengeance and the World's Wickedest Worm rumble. Each wondrous, wrathful, unwavering, wide will resists, wrestles, rams the other's head horrendously with utterly locked horns. If a spirit could sweat, Spectre would perspire profusely until his pate popped. If a worm could weep, Mr. Mind would excrete such copious cerebral slime that his itsy-bitsy eyes would shoot several miles—out his glasses. The Awesome Annelid also has the strain of staying invisible, via illusion-casting, on Phantom Lady's shoe. Now, he additionally has the strain of telepathically tricking Dr. Mid-Nite's noggin too.
Abruptly, Mr. Mind changes tactics. He needs to assail the Spirit of Vengeance more directly. This psychic strike and seizure shan't succeed. So, Mr. Mind must get physical and immodestly inch up Phantom Lady's leg—until leaping to Spectre's sternum.
In short order, she feels her skin crawl—and then doesn't.
Phantom Lady focuses on Ted overhead hung by a thread and cocoon. The crabby, costumed crimefighter goes quiet and contemplates a quarter-minute. She turns to Dr. Mid-Nite and queries him. Does he have any suggestions? Besides a Bugs Bunny catapult or a sudden Superman showing, how the heck do they get so high?
In the sky, soldier sylphs suddenly stop just short of expectant Spider-Men. Fairy folk and Flash face a fleet of foes. From the ships, itchy, twitchy arachnid fingers fire. One awry blast misses Flash and friends. Another poised barrel unexpectedly backfires and kills a Kriglo crumb ka-blooey! Across the way, a clattering saucer-craft cants such that it can't hit Queen Desira accurately. The good guys gander all these gremlins with great interest. After all, they are outnumbered sixteen to one. Gremlins are good for them.
"Execute plan!" announces Desira telepathically, while ailing pathetically, but enduring purposefully.
Paired pert pixies pirouette their magnificent meshes holding marvels. They spin and then sling Wonder Woman and Flash past the invaders' perimeter. And, the pests can only pop, puff, and poof perplexingly glitched guns, capriciously kaput. A few weapons fire properly, but they miss due to the fidgety, frigid hands upon them. In fact, one Kriglo hand falls off from frostbite. Feet from it, a duo of freeze-dried Spider-Men sit quite dead—as though unfortunately exposed to space.
You see, unbeknownst to the Justice Society, the newly-arrived Martians are not the military Martians met previously. These are the subsequent settlers following the Kriglo conquistadors who successfully commandeered Terran superhero stuff and slaughtered slews of Venusians. Those original eight were the Kriglo killer elite, and they had the finest equipment available to Mars' mutant minority. These further infringers have inferior military acumen and arsenal at hand. Plus, their interplanetary transports are, essentially, jalopies with flimsy ferrous hulls, faulty sanitation systems, finicky weapons systems, fatally freezing interiors, filthy air, fitful propulsion, and unfledged crews. The phalanx of fixer-uppers could prove formidable, or they could be ships of fools.
Flash and Wonder Woman land on the second circle of saucers in. Snappy-like, they scout their surroundings. Behind them, fifteen flying objects flutter in a circuit. Fortune willing, those won't fire upon the heroes who stand on one of ten spinning "tops" tilting and traveling about centrifugally. The Kriglo could hit their own people. Before Jay and Diana, five disks orbit a possible flagship finer than all others. For instance, it has fatter dimensions and a fancier finish, reflecting sun rays resplendently, while prominently wielding respectable ordnance upon its deck. Plus, in Martian, its escutcheon reads "mothership", although our heroes don't know that. Instead, they only notice that it is the lone vessel sporting a designation.
As the couple of champions canvass, two cacophonous crashes occur in the general area. Despite her heroic self, Wonder Woman, consummate combatant, kind of smirks. She respects when sly strategy and resounding results come together.
Around the outer ring, a moment before, two teams of fairy folk had empty nets free of Flash and Wonder Woman. Therefore, they were at liberty to spread those scintillating skeins quite straight and soar directly upon hovering hostiles. Smiling broadly, the fairy folk sicced their stretched fanciful nets, and the spread seines surrounded entire ships. The (rather) dainty, dear dames smashed the ships together like in demolition derby! And, thirty-two screaming spider-saps dropped to their deaths, staining the sand sixteen stories below, shrapnel from the collisions already embedded in them.
The Venusians delightfully withdraw their traps full of shattered saucer steel. Witnessing vessels commence shooting at the savage sylphs. So, they soar off. They swoop to Desira and shield her with the golden meshes.
Vicinally, the heroes also wreak some havoc. Close-at-hand, a hatch pops open, and a pair of swordsmen hop onto the hull. Hollering, they heave high their huge, honed blades—one in each hand. So, four heavy glaives heaven-aimed by giant aliens.
Never intimidated, an assured Amazon invites them to advance and attack. Apparently, she expects amusement. Ice ichor in their veins, the dual duelists vainly rush Wonder Woman. Blade blows reverberate frenetically, but the Bracelets of Victory block and parry with astounding dexterity. The most deliberate blow can neither dent Diana's defenses nor disembowel her.
Deeming Wonder Woman undistressed, Flash flits through the open hatch. Like the wind, he runs reconnaissance around the spacecraft. He explores the arachnid ark invisible to any buggy eyes. The Spider-Men see nothing. He exits to the exterior again.
Over yon, Wonder Woman raps one sword away and wraps its twin onto a wretch's wrist. His partner wildly waylays the Lady of Justice. However, brutish brawling accomplishes naught but nothing. Malicious swipes miss, and sword metal scrapes deck. Demurely, Diana decks feckless dope. He drops dazed.
"Diana!" Jay interjects, "You are the deadliest weapon we have. If you keep leading the charge, we could have these Kriglo conquered in no time."
The Amazing Amazon amenably advances and presses her attack. She leaps through the air and assails another ship.
Flash admires the pugilistic princess a tick. Then, theoretical physicist Garrick runs an experiment on the gyring ship beneath his shoes. The Crimson Comet is curious if his cleats can spin the saucer more swiftly, for Mercury muses that he can. Thus, Flash sets his "sneakers" and commences forceful running.
The hull whirls around and whips the two sword-wielders away. The excellent effort ejects the internal arachnid crew and shoots the six occupants across the sky. The Spider-Men urgently shoot webs to mayhap save themselves, but to no avail. Mischievous Mercury long-jumps from the merry-go-round, and the reeling saucer smashes into an adjacent.
Elsewhere, under the ships, Spectre sighs some and scowls stiffly. He supposes that a Spirit of Vengeance should be impressed by intrepid annelid Mr. Mind. The miniscule menace has managed to literally lay into Spectre's being. The little bastard has burrowed into his alabaster, boneless, bloodless, bodiless, boundless, beatified, bulwarked bosom and has brazenly attempted to inhabit the angel as an evil spirit, or intestinal helminth, might a mere mortal. The parasite keeps the sublime host passingly paralyzed and prays—to himself—to progress.
Mustering massive power, Spectre prepares to purge Mr. Mind. The Ghostly Guardian considers forming a stomach inside himself, the better to slowly and excruciatingly digest the little devil, but the Angel of Vengeance does not want the wicked worm combined into his constitution. Rather, Righteous Wrath simply turns intangible and lets the lodged lout drop to the dirt. Then, he immediately unleashes an unrestrained psychic bolt that would explode the head of Athena! Fiend Mind should be fried.
But, Maxivermus Mind is, rather, reeling and only half-wrecked, withered like a nightcrawler in daylight, woozy like Rocky Davis in the ring. (Rocky Davis appears in a later chapter. Keep reading). The wretched worm rallies himself—and his component compatriots. You see, Mr. Mind is at his most powerful while upon the Morning Star, Venus. His mutual metaphysical worms live there; deep down, they permeate Venus' very soil. And, their composite psychic energy amasses in their monarch Mr. Mind.
The accumulated might and will of the worm collective retaliates unto Spectre and his fellows Phantom Lady and Dr. Mid-Nite. Suddenly, several severe psychic bolts buffet the Spirit of Vengeance back, and Venus' very crust commences to vehemently quake.
Quite consternated, Spectre scans around, spots Mr. Mind, and steps solidly on him. However, hasty telekinesis inhibits total terminal tamping. But, the king of caterpillars can only take so much more before (sadly?) ceasing. The vicinity's sands rattle at his siren, sinister summons. Seemingly, the sediment smokes, sans impediment, as something witchy and wormy this way comes!
The grand groundswell strikes Dr. Mid-Nite and Phantom Lady gazing angrily at seized Starman in the sky. To their great surprise, the two superheroes have something else, more pressing, about which to worry. Rapidly rising ground raises them like whiplashed ragdolls and rolls them ridiculously "rear over tea kettle" backwards.
And, because worms live in darkness, neither blackout bombs nor a black light ray projector can effectively counterattack! (Just kidding).
Raucously grinding and grating, the earthen wave crests and crashes onto Spectre. And, the terrain collapses cataclysmically beneath his boot, which is atop Mr. Mind. Like a monstrous maw, Venus' sands gulp the Ghostly Guardian and engulf him into the globe's deepest interior. Taken by ten thousand wormy captors, the wraith disappears. Only a terrible traveling tremor—toward a tall temple in the capital town—indicates his upcoming fate. (Of course, let it be recognized. Anyone—even as a collective—is a fool to "futz" with the Spectre).
Fumbling over themselves, and each other, Phantom Lady and Dr. Mid-Nite get to their feet on the infirm earth. Overhead, amused Martians emit audible fitful giggles, for they find the pair's pratfall fabulously funny. From the steppe, the heroes fume and stare. They heartily hanker high stairs to sprint up to the saucers so as to serve some stiff justice upon extraterrestrial jackanapes, jugheads, jerks. Lower jaw jutting, Dr. Mid-Nite cogitates jerry-rigs that would reach the contemptuous Kriglo and captive Ted Knight. Beside Charles McNider, sassy Sandy Knight jeers back brutally. The brilliant beauty's vitriol is pretty damn effective, for it gets a desirable result.
"You Kriglo fight like cowards!" concludes she.
On the ship above, two Kriglos frown acutely, and one signals some party behind them. Soon, three more Martian militants assemble on the saucer deck. Five Spider-Men invite a scrap.
One announces, "Don't fuss, friends! We won't refuse a fight! You can come up here and flap your gums! 'Cause, feisty female and four-eyes, we will flay you alive!"
Abruptly, a tractor beam traps Dr. Mid-Nite and Phantom Lady. Foolishly, the mad Martians fling Justice Society members right to them. Coming kind of conscious, Ted Knight winks and smiles at his comrades whizzing past to pitched battle. They throw him friendly winks as well.
Then, Charles and Sandy get serious. Dr. Mid-Nite flies toward a fat cocked fist, ready to conk him. Immediately, the sailing swashbuckler brandishes two daggers. One dirk drives deliberately and deeply into a jabbed duke. Lymphatic juice dispenses largely. To the hilt, the knife goes between the knuckles; a squeal escapes wide-opened lips. Into the yawping yap, Dr. Mid-Nite surgically slings the other blade—burying it in a brute's back brain. The Martian monster drops dead, drooling blood.
His buddies freeze a sec surprised at their foe's formidableness and ferocity. Fast, Mid-Nite fits brass knuckles to both hands in his side-bags. Flickering fists threaten twelve-foot, fanged fiends as the hardy warrior rushes fearlessly forward. The hero heedlessly hops high. His hammering hand bashes a bulbous nose neatly. The cross-eyed Kriglo almost cries. His comrade creatures can't believe what they are seeing from a mere Earthling who is neither Amazon nor angel nor amazing runner.
After all, other evil aliens have obtained Phantom Lady apparently easily. The tractor beam brought her directly to their hulking hands. Their heavy digits have locked right rigid at her waist and legs. And, large lunkheads loom, leer, and laugh at their "lucky" acquisition, fighting a lead pipe cinch. The loudmouth, loose-lipped Lady could shortly become dismembered leavings or delicious lunch.
Creepy peepers consider nettled Miss Knight. "I don't know whether to wrap you in my web or relish you immediately like a Kigor cockroach."
Phantom Lady sits scowling in giant goons' stiff, salacious grasp, circumstance galling her from gams to gut. Swiftly, shirty Sandra studies the situation. The smarmy simpletons stupidly did not secure her arms. So, she shall keep her armed response simple. Phantom Lady pulls a pistol and shoots a beastly pair dead—through the heads—at point blank range.
Just like that, five foes are but one living.
Phantom Lady and Dr. Mid-Nite move to secure Starman hanging by a thread. However, the surviving Spider-Man has already moved to the suspended hostage. Hastily, he hauls up the captive and threatens to kill him—if heroes don't hold off. A hulking hand clutches Ted's crown, and it indicates that it could crudely decollate Knight with a twist.
Suddenly, more Kriglo craft crew charge forth from saucer quarters. With cross looks, the few crew surround Mid-Nite and really chew scenery: arms flailing, mouths wailing, fangs frothing, feet doing fancy footwork. In response, Dr. Mid-Nite just fleetly flicks brass bulbs—which bop and bruise two bugbear beanies.
"Ow! F***!" blurts a threatening fink.
Promptly, Mid-Nite fakes throwing a further projectile. He makes foes flinch.
"Phantom Lady!" he shouts to the side, "I've got this. Go free your cousin."
She would have assisted an ally. But, Sandra instead sprints for the sinister hand upholding her abducted kin. The Kriglo casts a warning eye and cants his wrist. Caught Ted, in cocoon, tips slightly over the saucer's side as though to be dropped to his death. Although, of course, he is actually tethered to the hull, and Phantom Lady can totally ken such.
Green boots stop short of the "suspenseful" scene, and matching gloves brandish the Black Light Ray. Phantom Lady states, "Listen, gruesome. Where I'm from, good always triumphs over evil, so let Starman go already."
"Listen, girl," the great, green goon gobs gunk, "Where I'm from, we do not fallaciously gloat. Your great umbrage and geegaw can't get me."
"Actually, that gadget is a Gravity Rod," wily Ted aggrandizes the Black Light Ray.
"Really?" remarks the wary Martian.
Sandy shakes the super-stick in surly manner to scare the spider.
"Sure," says Starman, "You don't think that I would assemble such miraculous innovation without sharing it with my family? Do you?"
"So, Phantom Lady is essentially Stargirl?" supposes the uncertain sucker.
"Sure," says Starman, "Cousin Sandy sports the same instrument as me, so you should surrender now. Also, unbind me before she gets mad."
Phantom Lady makes like she could dreadfully disintegrate the Spider-Man of Mars on the spot.
Suddenly, some staccato tumult takes place behind the beauty and before the bound's view. Oddly enough, the tumult sounds like rounds of a Tommy gun. Impressively, heroes Ted and Sandra, with titanium nerve, do not even tense. In contrast, the Kriglo trembles at what he hears and sees. It complements a Phantom's scare tactics.
Soon, sixteen paragraphs yon, I shall describe what startling stuff that the Spider-Man and Starman see.
Still, currently, the sentient spider-sort cerebrates and then speculates, "Say, if this saucy slip—in her scanty outfit from halter to hip—really had a Gravity Rod, wouldn't she have flown up here before? Wouldn't this spicy stereotype of mid-century serial storytelling have freed you already?"
Starman does not quite know of which wench rhetoric the rogue speaks. In 1948, metafiction has not been exactly invented yet.
Thus, Ted Knight notes, "I do not know about that. I only know that Queen Desira telepathically told me to delay you until she could deliver my deliverance."
The duped does a dubious expression. Then, he shows surprise! A cute cavalry arrives to assist and save some superheroes. Unforeseen fluttering fairy forces float forth from the flank—dainty, dazzling daggers drawn. Swiftly, a fey stiletto frees fay Ted from fayed bonds, which phantasmally fade into the ether. The four, fair, afloat, femme fatales throw fairy dust upon the arachnid ogre and freeze, paralyze, him in place.
Upon shimmering seine, Queen Desira comes, as on a magic teacup, to the saucer deck's shiny steel surface. Her ethereal foot steps upon the air just above the hard, cold hull, and her tippy toes but skim the steely surface as she—the very firmament alight behind her spread effulgent tresses—charmingly travels the short distance to Starman. In her honeyed hands, she holds forth his glorious Gravity Rod, sans which the great Starman would be incomplete.
"Viva, Venus!" vociferates a verveful valet.
"Your scepter, Sir Starman" says sovereign she to Knight.
Sweet Desira sweats slightly and delicately, but she does not do so for adorable Theodore. Rather, she weathers recent strain. A queen, she feigns fortitude with her last fiber until her people be preserved.
"How did you find this?" happy hero holds his hallmark.
Honestly, top technician Ted has never ascertained the trick to automatic retrieval. The cosmic rod does not simply return to him if wrenched loose, so he is curious.
Queen Desira explains, "I' faith, I am in-tune with the Venusian earth integrally and intimately. I experience its every ell and inch at any given moment. Thus, I asked this lovely orb's essence where your lost implement was. It answered, and we winged women regained the Gravity Rod for you."
"My heeero!" Starman imitates a silent movie starlet.
He blithely blows Queen Desira a kiss. Aptly, she swoons and succumbs—to her exhaustion. Attendants catch and comfort her immediately.
"Alright," Phantom Lady addresses Starman, "I am glad to see you freed, but we have got to get going after big green men from outer space. Dr. Mid-Nite has already dashed ahead." The pretty paladin, Sandy Knight, points.
Over yon, a certain superhero, Dr. Mid-Nite, is somehow on the adjacent saucer where he slugs, swats, smites despicable Spider-Men. Somehow, Knights' comrade can be "over there", for two hovering spacecrafts have somehow drifted near to each other. In fact, they threaten to crash in a short time, their proximity being but the short distance that a human hero can long-jump.
"How the hell?" asks surprised Starman.
Well, I wrote above that I would tell you what Starman and Kriglo captor saw when the staccato rang. Let me show you want happened.
Moments before, a heroine's green boots bounded toward trussed Ted (loping and hoping toward her loved one), and Dr. Mid-Nite turned back to the troublesome, extraterrestrial thugs and thieves who he had chased across an interplanetary expanse. They had exasperated him and the whole JSA. So, woe to them—in theory.
Right quickly, the remaining Kriglo came at Mid-Nite. Determined and demented looked they. Like distaff buddy Liberty Belle, the Doctor dexterously ducked, dipped, dodged, danced as a daredevil might while also appreciating her ongoing inspirational example, a credit to her sex, epitomizing the power of women. Resoundingly, rapid fists rained down at Mid-Nite, but the monster mitts nearly wrecked themselves by the blow. They missed badly and had the bloody knuckles to prove it. Belligerence and bale etched, the infuriated foes' features fell back a wee. The enraged drew ray-guns. They would devastatingly distance attack Dr. Mid-Nite.
However, our super hero suddenly spotted something more baneful than encircled blaster shootists. He spied an alarming reflection on the stainless-steel hull. Munificently, good man Mid-Nite warned "watch out, wrongdoers!" He pointed to port. Across the way, a great, green gunner aimed a quasi-Gatling intended to eliminate the Master of Darkness.
Directly, Dr. Mid-Nite hit the deck and got firmly flat. A foolish Kriglo cried "fie" and fixed his sidearm's sight. Instantaneously, adjacent armament utterly aerated Mid-Nite's foes with flechettes. All Kriglo fools, faithful to their cause, flopped fatally "fubar".
The fire paused. And, Dr. Mid-Nite posited that the machine-gunner must reload lengthy iron arrows. The JSAer jumped up and jerked two blackout bombs from his side-bags. But, they are not your everyday blackout bombs. These contained tear gas along with blinding smoke, and Charles had been chapping at the bit to try them. Thank God for World War I weapon innovations, from flechettes to tear gas! It was the Great War!
With tremendous arm, Dr. Mid-Nite tossed his grenades all the way to the abutting saucer. They blew-up and released gas about the gunner and some buddies. Blackness blanketed and blinded the bunch. Rank air induced robust retching and wheezing beneath rimy, reddened eyes.
Remarkably, the ruckus reached Mid-Nite's ears at such a range. Then, he realized that the noise progressively neared note-by-note and that the black cloud came closer. The deft Doctor deduced that saucers drifted toward one another; their decks drew dangerously closer. Dr. Mid-Nite did not quite know why. However, no dope, he speculated that some ship stabilizer somewhere was shot—probably by an irony arrow.
Several gassed Spider-Men staggered—sneezing, spitting, slobbering—from the obsidian smoke across the way. Cinching his fists, Dr. Mid-Nite sprinted to go slug spider-skulls. He long-jumped the short distance between spaceships.
Shortly after, Starman assesses, "Aha! Someone speared the saucer's stabilizers severely—if I assess the ship's schematics correctly." Static and sparks mark the short-circuiting machinery.
"Lovely," states Phantom Lady, "Now, let us supers support our intrepid associate like good chums." She leads the chase into Charles' furiously ongoing fight.