Issue #2: "Heroes or Traitors"

Well they'll call you a hero or a traitor
But you'll find out that, sooner or later,
Nobody in this world is gonna do it for you
Do what you gotta do

Pat Flynn, “Do what you gotta do”

“Do What You Gotta Do” written by Pat Flynn. Performed by Garth Brooks on his Sevens CD (Capitol, 1997)

Wonder Woman waited for the cameras to complete their sweep. Like Hawkman, her warrior spirit balked at stealth and subterfuge. Unlike her teammate, however, she could accept the need for it under the circumstances.

She made her way carefully to the South Portico and stood silently. Two security guards walked past the building, oblivious to her presence. A moment later the door opened, and a sandy-haired man wearing dark glasses and an earpiece beckoned her inside.

“Are those spectacles truly necessary at this hour?” she asked.

Her companion nodded. “It would be too conspicuous were I to leave them off.” He led her to the center of the lushly appointed parlor. “They call this place the Red Room,” he added.

Red, it certainly was. From the paint on the walls, to the draperies, to the gold-patterned red twill satin upholstery, one color was prevalent. She gasped, as her eye fell upon a gold frame that housed a painting of Niagara Falls. The artist’s skill and attention to detail in the landscape, complemented by the elegance of the frame was almost enough to take her breath away. “Incredible,” she managed.

Abruptly, she turned away from the picture and steeled herself to the task before her. There was a time for aesthetic appreciation, and there was a time for action. And this… this was most assuredly the latter. Diana turned to the Secret Service agent. “Shall we, J’onn?” she asked.

The Martian Manhunter moved toward the door. “I’ll go first,” he said. “You are familiar with the layout of the floor?”

“Batman briefed me.”

The lips of his human form twisted into a grim smile. “Then there’s no need for me to review it with you. If you are in true danger, contact me via mental link.” He opened a door in the west wall and checked to make sure that nobody was watching. “Come.”

Wonder Woman followed him to the doorway. The Martian gestured to the room beyond. “The State Dining Room,” he said. “Do you know where to go from here?”

She nodded.

“Go then.” He thought for a moment. “Hermes guide you.”

A surprised smile sprang to the Amazon warrior’s face, as she nodded and moved on. J’onn waited a moment before leaving the room via the main doors.

On the ground floor of the main residence, Green Lantern reported that the freezers in the kitchen had been completely turned off. At first glance, nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. The Secret Service agents that passed by him, however, moved stiffly and took scant notice of their surroundings. Hal wondered why they were bothering to patrol at all, if they were doing such a shoddy job of it. Unless…

J’onn. I don’t think that all White House personnel are under the Star Conqueror’s control yet. He relayed his observations quickly. If they were, there’d be no need for the show of security.

He felt the Martian’s thoughts in his mind. I concur. This may work to our advantage.

One more thing, J’onn. He thought about the deactivated freezers. I believe that the creatures may be vulnerable to cold…

There was something definitely wrong, Superman considered, when an ability that should have allowed him both to survey the building’s interior in seconds and to pinpoint the location of the president, could be effectively neutralized by a coat of lead paint a mere three mils thick.

His super-hearing was still functioning well—too well. Either the Star Conqueror, Lord, or someone on his staff was paranoid enough to have engineered the ambient noises in a way that confused his senses. He could hear perfectly, but the steady droning, whizzing, and pinging of electrical appliances, climate control, and security interfaces, coupled with the breathing patterns and heart rates of well over two hundred people within the White House complex confounded and confused him. Hal was right: not everybody was under the Conqueror’s control. Had they been, it would have been easier to filter out the synchronized heartbeats. But with so many of them pulsing, overlapping with each other, it was one more distraction added to the cacophony.

Clark Kent had interviewed Lord before—he knew his voice and the tread of his footfall—but there were too many other sounds blurring and overlapping it. He had to do this the old-fashioned way: room by room. Fortunately, on the third floor, there weren’t many.

The bedrooms were clear, as were the music, game, and workout rooms. He had just checked the diet kitchen when he spied another door leading out to the greenhouse. He frowned. Four heartbeats pulsed steadily within its confines.

Superman drew a deep breath and pulled the door open.

“Superman!” A woman’s voice, high-pitched and frightened, cried out. “Help meeeeeeee!”

Two men were restraining her while a third advanced. In his outstretched palm, a small starfish quivered.

“Keep back!” she shrieked. “Superman, save me!”

He was about to move toward her, but he froze. There was something wrong with the scenario before him. Something, aside from the three-against-one odds seemed off. Were there more people lying in wait? He listened intently. No, there were only four heartbeats… He went cold. …Four steady, synchronous heartbeats. That ‘victim’s’ physiological state was far too calm. Which meant…

Superman’s eyes narrowed as he relayed a request to J’onn. He’d just realized something else, too: the Star Conqueror didn’t seem to understand human reactions very well. At least it hadn’t made the connection between the speed of a pulse and an emotional state. If Starro—his lips twitched at the absurd nickname—wasn’t familiar with the civilization that it was trying to conquer, there had to be some way to turn that to the League’s advantage. Bruce would know, he thought.

To the woman, he said, “I don’t believe you need my help, actually. Everything seems to be well under control.”

The woman’s captors nonchalantly released her. She smiled. “Not quite everything,” she said evenly. “Not yet.”

With a speed that bordered on the metahuman, the third man lunged forward, and flung the Starro clone directly at the Man of Steel.

Reflexes took over, and Superman dodged, evading the psychic parasite by a hairsbreadth. The four humans advanced in an attack formation. Superman assumed a defensive posture. He didn’t want to hurt these people. They weren’t responsible for their actions. But they were going to keep coming until he was able to break the alien’s hold, or otherwise incapacitate its thralls. And he couldn’t allow himself to be captured…

A roof panel shattered and a winged form dove into sight. Without an instant’s hesitation, Hawkman swung his mace forward and swatted the tiny star with enough force to send it crashing against the far wall. It slid to the floor, and twitched once. Superman watched as its extremities stiffened and curled, before the organism went limp. It did not move again.

He dodged a swing from one of the men, then reached out, and grabbed his assailant’s arm. As he spun his captive about, he saw another small starfish clinging to the man’s neck. Hal said something about vulnerability to… he exhaled, blasting freezing cold breath directly on the alien parasite. Immediately, the star mottled and then went flaccid. It slid easily to the ground.

The man blinked. “S-Superman? Hawkman? What happened? The last thing I re—”

He broke off in alarm as Hawkman touched his mace, crackling with electricity, against the other three in the greenhouse, who were still in the Conqueror’s thrall.

“The charge isn’t high enough to kill,” he snapped as the last man dropped. Almost at once, though, the three showed signs of coming to. The Thanagarian cursed. “The shock should have kept them incapacitated much longer… Can you remove the parasites?”

Superman nodded and bent down to examine the victims for the small extra-terrestrials. “Thanks for the help,” he said, narrowing the focus of his breath so that he would only freeze the small area to which each parasite adhered.

Hawkman depowered his mace. “You’re welcome.”

In the basement of the West Wing, in a soundproofed conference room, President Maxwell Lord sat surrounded by his aides and by National Security Council staff, his hands steepled before him. He appeared to be lost in thought. Appearances were deceiving. In fact, it had been a long time since any thought had intruded upon his mind. There was now no need for him to think. The Star Conqueror took care of that chore for him.

When the phone rang in the Situation Room, shattering the eerie silence, Lord did not react. An NSC staff member picked it up and spoke briefly with the party on the other end. As he too was under the Conqueror’s control, there was no need to waste words relaying the contents of the telephone call. The thirty-two other people in the room knew the full details as soon as Twomey phoned them in.

Without discussion, several guards rose to take up positions near the doors. Simultaneously, Lord and two of his aides moved into a small office equipped with an array of security monitors. Although it was certain that there was no need for the president to observe the proceedings, there was always the possibility that the he would pick up on a maneuver that the Star Conqueror would overlook due to its limited understanding of human behavior. Better by far to allow the human some limited independent thoughts, so long as they were sublimated in the Conqueror’s service.

If the Conqueror were to confess to any emotional state, at the moment, it would have admitted to being perplexed. If the human called ‘The Atom’ was within the White House complex, surely the rest of the Justice League must be nearby. And yet, the cameras did not register their presence. The humans under its thrall did not observe them.

Lord peered closely at the security array, obeying his instructions to scan for any anomalous activity.

That was when every screen in the conference and intelligence management center that was the White House Situation Room suddenly went dark. An instant later, the lights followed suit.

When the emergency generators came online, the League was in the room.

“Excellent work, Atom,” Wonder Woman proclaimed, her hand flying to the lasso at her hip.

“Thank Batman,” the tiny crime-fighter said as he reassumed his full size. “He told me which wires to pull.”

One of the guards squeezed off a shot, which the Amazon queen deflected with her bracelet. Around her, the League sprang into action.

“Remember,” Batman gritted, “they’re not responsible for their actions. We’re going to have to hold back.”

“Don’t I know it,” Green Lantern said grimly, as he created a green-tinted forcefield with his ring, corralling a half-dozen of the Conqueror’s thralls.

Hawkman swung his mace defensively, in a wide arc, keeping their adversaries at bay. “Where’s Lord?” he asked, scanning the room.

Atom, now six inches tall, leapt from the presidential seal mounted on the wall, tucked, rolled, and slammed into one of the NSC staffers. The man fell as though poleaxed. “Conference room on the left. He’s not alone,” he called.

Hawkman! The Martian Manhunter’s thought was intense enough to cause almost physical pain to the Thanagarian. Be careful. The Star Conqueror feeds off of electricity. Do not allow it to make a meal of the energies in your mace.

Acknowledged. That, the winged warrior realized, explained why the humans in the greenhouse had revived so quickly.

The Flash watched as his companions battled Starro’s cats-paws. The fight should have ended by now—would have ended by now—were it not for the League’s need to handle their assailants with kid gloves. Any normal adversaries would have surrendered by now, but the Conqueror would not allow its thralls that luxury. Barry’s eyes narrowed. Lord had to be freed. Once out of Starro’s power, the president would be able to alert the country to the threat facing them. He would notify the other governments so that they could unite, as they would have done against Darkseid, given an opportunity. Also, he would call off the manhunt on the JLA, freeing the team to act without interference. But not as long as Starro was in control.

He dashed into the conference room that Atom had indicated. “Mr. President,” he exclaimed, coming to a standstill directly before Lord.

The expression on the politician’s face was one of malevolent hatred, a hatred so virulent that Barry took an involuntary step backwards. “Forgive me, Mr. President,” he said, cutting behind Lord, “but I think you’ll thank me in a minute.”

So saying, he slapped his hand on the small starfish he could now see clinging to the nape of the president’s neck. He pulled, but the parasite would not come loose. Lord twisted, trying to shake free of the scarlet speedster’s grip. There’s more than one way to skin a cat, Flash thought, vibrating the molecules of his hand, in an attempt to shake the creature off.

In the midst of the battle, the Martian Manhunter suddenly froze in his tracks. Something about the president… it couldn’t be, he thought. But from the psychic signature of Lord’s thought patterns, J’onn J’onzz knew that his surmise was correct. Flash, he thought desperately, you must desist from your course of action. You don’t know what you’re doing!

Barry blinked. I’m freeing the President, what’s it look like? The tiny alien’s grip was loosening. Another second and…

Not that way!

The parasite came off in his hand. Flash flung it to the floor and crushed it beneath his boot-heel. Worked fine from where I’m standing, he thought lightly.

No… J’onn’s voice was nearly a moan. President Lord is a telepath. And the Star Conqueror was taking full advantage of that through its interface! By removing the creature in such a fashion you’ve caused a psychic backlash in the victim which—

Lord let out a shriek, and fell to the ground.

That was when the main doors burst open, and an army of Secret Servicemen swarmed into the Situation room.

Too many, Wonder Woman thought. Manhunter, if we continue here, we will almost inevitably harm these people. We need to retreat and regroup.

Understood, J’onn acknowledged. The Martian Manhunter sighed inwardly. He did not enjoy using his telepathy to confound others. In this case, though, he could see the need.

The White House personnel did not realize that they had blanked out for one hundred fifty-four seconds. All that they registered was that in one moment there were eight costumed crime-fighters in the room. In the next, the League was gone.

And the president was in a coma.

WGSN Gotham City Counterview, 12:25

“So would somebody explain this to me? We’ve got a bunch of guys running around in costumes, claiming to uphold the law. But the truth is, they hold themselves up above the law. Why isn’t the Justice League willing to face justice? For Gotham City Counterview, this is Jack Ryder—In. Your. Face.”

The Next Morning:

He took a detour to don street clothes over his costume. The Justice League were definitely personae non gratae at the moment. This way was safer. Or, to paraphrase one Pavel Chekov, he reflected with a smile, I do not wish to be shot down on my way to my own funeral.

On the steps of the precinct, though, Barry hesitated. It wasn’t too late. He could still rejoin the League and help them plan their next move. It was only a matter of time before they stopped the Star Conqueror and cleared their names… and Lord would still be in a coma, due to his actions. He’d meant well. He’d had the best of intentions. He knew of a certain road that was paved with such thoughts. And he had a fairly good idea of where that road led.

He pulled open one of the heavy double doors. Once inside, he quickly ducked into an empty corridor, shed his civilian attire, and pulled the cowl forward. Then he squared his shoulders, and, ignoring the gasps and stares from those around him, resolutely approached the reception desk.