Hawkman and Hawkwoman #1

It was not a spider. Spiders were small, eight-legged pests, easily crushed underfoot or swept out of doors. The creature that crawled out onto the Midway City Expressway, emerging from the Bi-State Tunnel, was enormous--- as big as two houses, with sixteen legs, giant razor-sharp pincers, and a pair of eyes on stalks that burned with a fierce alien intelligence.

It was pandemonium. The monster trampled over vehicles with its many legs, and snatched up smaller cars in its pincers, hurling them around like toys. Midway City S.W.A.T. set up a perimeter around it, but bullets bounced harmlessly from its armored carapace. The S.W.A.T. commander made the mistake of gazing at the beast directly, and became entranced by the weird, hypnotic alien stare. In front of the horrified members of his team, his unresisting body was snatched-up by two grasping forelegs and popped whole into the monster’s cavernous mouth.

“Fall back, fall back!” yelled George Emmett, chief of the Midway City PD. The old police veteran had no idea how to fight this monstrous thing, and he gazed up into the sky, searching for help.

They flew in out of the sun, coming in low and at speed, Hawkman and Hawkwoman. They were in tandem, but Hawkwoman peeled off, gliding over the police lines, while Hawkman dove straight for the monster.

“Get your men out of there, chief!” Hawkwoman called down to them. “That’s a Thanagarian Snarebeast! You don’t have anything that can touch it!”

Emmett waved to her as she passed overhead.



The Snarebeast reared up as Hawkman flew in close, multiple legs clawing the air.

“Careful, my love!” Hawkwoman called to him, pulling up to an altitude level with the monster but out of range of its deadly appendages. “I’ll distract it, like we planned!” She pulled from the harness on her back a plasma cannon, aimed and fired. The blast crackled around the alien creature, stunning it, and it jerked spasmodically.

While it was stunned, Hawkman swooped in close, under its flailing limbs. “There’s only one way to deal with a Snarebeast,” he gritted, hefting a huge, double-bladed battle-ax, swinging with expert precision. One of the creature’s eyes sailed off its stalk, trailing blood and landing with a disgusting “plop” on the concrete below.

The creature roared in pain and fury. Hawkwoman aimed and fired another blast, but the plasma charge barely fazed the enraged creature this time. She needed to give her husband time to get the other eye, but the Snarebeast was stronger than they had expected. It lashed out with all of its articulated limbs, venom dripping from the spikes at the joints: one prick and her high-flying husband would be paralyzed!

But Hawkman did not back down. He wheeled about, darting between the deadly appendages, the gruesome ax clutched in his hands.

“Katar, be careful!” Shayera called to him, as she got off another equally useless shot of the plasma cannon.

Katar dove in on the beast’s blind side, but it was faster than he expected. The monstrous hulking body twisted and lunged forward, its huge maw closing around Hawkman!

“Katar!” Shayera screamed. The Snarebeast had swallowed him whole! She emptied her plasma cannon at the ‘beast, to no avail, tears streaming down her face. On the ground, Chief Emmett looked up in stunned surprise at the fate of his superhero ally.

The one-eyed Snarebeast let out a bloodcurdling sound, and suddenly began shaking violently. Shayera Hol watched in disbelief as it collapsed, spasming. She was forced to shield her eyes as the armored thorax of the ‘beast exploded outward in a spray of guts and cartilage! Her husband staggered out of the belly of the now-dead ‘beast, the encrusted battle-ax in one hand, the other dragging the gasping S.W.A.T. commander!

“Well,” Katar Hol glanced up at his wife with a rueful smile. “I guess now there’s two ways to deal with a Snarebeast...”


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Back at their rooms over Midway City Museum, Katar stepped from the shower, towel drying his dark, wavy hair. Shayera turned from her seat at her vanity table crinkling her nose at him.

“About time. You stank of Snarebeast,” she gave him a crooked smile, and he came over to kiss the proffered cheek. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she admonished, with mock severity.

Katar laughed. “Don’t worry, darling. I don’t plan to make a habit of that sort of thing.” He belted on a robe and sipped the coffee she had waiting for him, his expression turning serious. “But what was a Thangarian Snarebeast doing on Earth in the first place?”

She glanced up at his reflection in her mirror as she brushed out her orange-colored hair. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. I sent a hyperspace message to headquarters, asking them to check in on Byth.”

“Could be the shape-shifter,” Katar stared into his cup, thinking. “This seemed like a message to us, personally. No one else on Earth would have recognized that creature as Thanagarian.”

“True. But what does it mean?”

Before Katar could ponder his wife’s question any further, a soft bell chimed on the hyperspace transmitter. Katar crossed the room to his desk where the device sat, Shayera one step behind him, and opened the connection. On the screen appeared the face of Andar Pul, Marshal of the Wingmen of Thanagar, and Katar and Shayera’s commanding officer. He was a balding man, lean and stern-looking, in an ornate uniform.

“Greetings from Earth, S’ri Andar,” Katar said jauntily. “How are things at home? You’ll never guess what we did today---.”

“Wingman Hol,” Pul cut in sharply. “Listen to me very carefully. We have declared a state of emergency on Thanagar. This is a planet-wide alert. You and Shayera are being recalled immediately.”

Katar and Shayera shared a concerned look.

“What is it, chief?” Shayera asked. “Is it Byth? Has he escaped?”

The Marshal’s face grew puzzled, then annoyed. “Byth? No. He’s still locked up, safe and sound. There’s… There’s been a coup. The High Mor has been deposed.”

“What?” Katar and Shayera said at the same time, aghast at the news. “By whom? And why?” Katar pressed.

Marshal Pul looked uncomfortable. “It was a people’s revolution. You two have been on Earth the last few years, while this has been brewing. Things have been bad Downside. Plague and famine led to riots… The Hierophants are in power now, in Thalrassa.”

“The religious radicals?” Katar interjected, incredulous. “Seven Hells!”

“The Wingmen have largely stayed out of the political fight.” Pul told them. “We’ve done our best to keep the peace, but there are too few of us. That’s why I need my two best people back at once!”

Katar stood up straight. “You can count on us, chief. We’ll leave tonight.”

Pul gave a brisk nod. “Good. Actually, one of our new Nth Drive-equipped ships has already been dispatched to retrieve you. They will be in Earth orbit within the hour.” Pul looked like he wanted to say something else, but the Marshal of the Wingman must have thought better of it. Instead, he said. “Report to me at the Aerie when you arrive. Pul, out.”

The screen went black.

“Seven Hells,” Katar exclaimed again, pacing the room, agitated.

“Katar, language!” Shayera reprimanded him, gently.

“I’m sorry, darling, but this… This is outrageous!” He threw his hands up. “High Mor Krandor Vat is a good man. I still remember the day he awarded me my Honor Wings. How could things come to this?”

“I wish I knew,” Shayera shook her head, troubled.


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Later, after the couple had made arrangements for their leave with the museum, Katar and Shayera flew side by side up through the Earth’s stratosphere, propelled by their mighty pinions and protected by their Nth Metal medallions from the cold; the Nth Metal also allowed them to breathe in airless space, and to streak through the vacuum, at least for a short period of time. Long enough to find the Thanagarian starship parked in low orbit.

It was of sleek, avian design, with the wings folded forward into points. The name of the ship was emblazoned in Thanagarian characters on the hull: Vorox, the name of one of the Seven Devils of Thanagarian mythology. Katar and Shayera shared a look of wordless concern at the sight of it, bristling with armaments; there was a time, not very long ago, when Thanagarian warships were the scourge of the spacelanes, conquering planets and plundering their wealth. It had been the first High Mor, a hero named Kalmoran, who had overthrown that Imperium, allowed the war-reft a home on Thanagar, and brought peace back to their galaxy. But now it seemed, those troubles had come home to roost, and neither one of them relished a return to the aggression of their homeworld’s warlike past.

A rear loading bay door was opened for them, and they glided in, touching down gracefully and pulling in their wings. The empty bay re-pressurized, and an airlock-wall slid aside.

There was a line of menacing figures waiting to greet them.

“Manhawks!” Shayera cried out, but Katar was already reaching for the blaster at his hip.

The line of humanoid raptors before them cawed and squawked, clutching their laser rifles tightly, but not raising their weapons. Something was not right. The feral savages were clothed in the attire of Wingmen, and were not attacking, as was their wont. Katar caught the glint of cunning in their eye, and though they held back, he knew here was a barely leashed animal.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Katar demanded, not taking his hand off the butt of his blaster, but not yet drawing it, either. “Where is the captain of this vessel?”

“I’m here, Hol.”

The Manhawks gave way to a man in familiar attire: he was clad in the colors and harness of a Wingman, but his helm was identical to Katar’s, bearing the Honor Wings of a true Hawkman, that only Katar had been privileged to wear.

Shayera hissed through her teeth. It was tradition among the Wingmen that there could be only one Hawkman a generation; whoever this was, by wearing the Honor Wings on his helm, had given her husband a grave affront.

Katar had gone completely still. “Andar,” he said, his voice icy.

Shayera gasped, a hand to her mouth. She thought the voice had sounded familiar!

The Wingman took off his helmet and shook out his long, brown hair, his sneering face uglier for the scar running down one side, a scar Katar had given him. It was a face that had been dear to Shayera Thal once, but that had been long ago.

The man who had been Katar’s rival--- the man who was the estranged son of their commanding officer--- passed his helm to a Manhawk and stepped forward, stopping directly in front of Katar. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time, Hol. The Thanagar you knew is gone, cleansed in a holy fire,” said Fel Andar. “I’m Hawkman now…!”