PROLOGUE
CRISIS: AFTERMATH
Tears, Tributes, and Unanswered Questions by Lois Lane Daily Planet
Metropolis—Twenty-four hours after the Crisis that nearly tore this city, and many others, apart, the rebuilding has begun. But many questions remain unresolved about the actual nature of the catastrophe, as well as what happens next.
What is known definitely is that, after several days of seemingly random attacks and disasters, the so-called "Infinite Crisis" culminated in a titanic battle between the Secret Society of Super-Villains and nearly every one of Earth's costumed defenders. Rex Mason, better known as Metamor-pho the Element Man, recalls: "The short of it is that, after years of hitting and running, all the super-villains—and I mean all of them—teamed up and declared all-out war on the white hats. Picked us off in twos and threes before mounting an assault the likes of which, by all rights, should have ripped this planet in half."
The resulting battle left much of Metropolis in ruins and cost the lives of many heroes, including Superboy, the Freedom Fighters, a number of former Teen Titans, and several others. A memorial service is scheduled to take place in Centennial Park at 4:30 p.m. Saturday. The Justice League of America and many other surviving heroes are expected to attend.
Yet as the world breathes a collective sigh of relief and slowly gets back to normal, one question remains on the lips of many concerned citizens: Where are Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman?
The three heroes, perhaps the most iconic of all, were last seen leading the battle against the Society, but have not been glimpsed since. In the absence of any official explanation, speculation is rampant that "the Big
Three" are injured, dead, or perhaps just taking some time off after saving the entire planet once more. Rumors and unconfirmed sightings abound.
Those close to the missing heroes are not worried, however. An anonymous (but highly reliable) source points out that many less famous heroes, including various members of the Justice League, the original Justice Society, and the Teen Titans are ready to pick up the slack until their celebrated comrades return. "Things are in good hands," the source insists.
This much is certain: A world without Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman is not necessarily a world without heroes.
Lois read' the article one more time, ran it through the spell-checker, then fired it off to Perry White for his approval. Not a bad piece, she thought, if I do say so myself. Hopefully, it would serve to reassure a worried public and cut down on the wild rumors—just as Clark intended.
Sitting at her desk in the Planet bullpen, she wondered what her readers would think if they knew that her anonymous source was none other than Superman himself. Part of her wished she could reveal the full story behind the Man of Steel's absence, but she and Clark had both agreed it would not be wise to publicize the fact that he had temporarily lost his powers in the wake of the Crisis. That would be like waving a red flag in front of Intergang and Superman's other enemies. Best to keep that info to ourselves.
Likewise, she had to keep quiet about what was going on with Batman and Wonder Woman these days. Only a handful of people knew that Batman, whose suspicious and paranoid nature had helped precipitate the Crisis, had decided that he needed to retrain himself from the ground up in order to achieve a healthier mental balance; he was also concentrating on rebuilding his strained relationship with his two young proteges, Nightwing and Robin. Lois hoped that Bruce Wayne succeeded in getting his head on straight; although Superman considered Batman a friend, she had never quite warmed to the Dark Knight, who had always struck her as somewhat grim and aloof. Then again, all heroes suffered in comparison to Superman, at least as far as she was concerned.
He's my husband, she thought. I’m entitled to be biased.
Wonder Woman was also taking a mental health break. After going through a number of traumatic events during the Crisis, including the loss of her native Paradise Island, Diana was attempting to get back in touch with her humanity by living as a mortal woman for a time. Lois wondered how the formidable Amazon princess was coping with her new secret identity. Rumor had it she had even taken to wearing glasses like Clark!
And why not? Lois thought. Lord knows those glasses fooled me for years.
Lois called up her article and read the last couple paragraphs again. "Things are in good hands/' Clark had insisted, yet, if she was honest with herself, Lois had to admit that his forced sabbatical gave her the occasional flicker of anxiety.' Sure there were plenty of other heroes out there, but could anyone really replace Superman? Especially with the Flash and Captain Marvel and assorted other heroes also out of commission?
Deep down inside, Lois wasn't so sure....
WEEK 1
METROPOLIS.
It was a sunny spring day in the City of Tomorrow. Uptown in a fashionable shopping district, people were taking advantage of their lunch breaks to enjoy the beautiful weather. A sidewalk hot dog stand was doing brisk business, while other citizens lunched at outdoor cafes. Schuster Avenue was crowded with buses, taxis, and private vehicles. Horns honked impatiently every time the lights changed. Speeding bicycle messengers risked life and limb to deliver their parcels in record time. Pedestrians window-shopped as they went about their afternoons. Pet owners walked their dogs. An elevated monorail zipped by overhead. A blue sky showed above the skyscrapers.
“LOOK! UP IN THE SKY!”
An amplified electronic voice, booming from high above the avenue, demanded attention. Pedestrians lifted their heads, while curious drivers stuck their heads out of the windows of their cars to see where the voice was coming from. Tourists and natives alike stared at the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of Metropolis's most famous citizen. Eager eyes searched for a flapping red cape or bright red S. Was Superman back in action?
But instead of the Man of Steel, someone else was soaring through the sky. An heroic figure in a bright blue and gold uniform flew (sans cape) above the busy street. Translucent yellow goggles partially concealed the man's face, beneath a head of wavy blond hair. A brilliant white smile gleamed in the sunlight. A handful of corporate logos adorned his uniform, rather in the manner of a NASCAR driver. His well-toned arms held a dazed super-villain high above his head. Mammoth, of the Fearsome Five, to be exact. A shiny golden ovoid, about the size of a football, hovered in the air nearby.
“booster gold, ladies and g entlem e n !” the sphere announced like a carnival barker, “he’s from the futures” The robot's breezy tone belied the electronic nature of its voice. “how cool is that?” He zipped about in the sky, taking care to maintain a safe distance from the villain's thrashing
limbs. “AND EVEN THOUGH BOOSTER’S way too modest to say it, I’M NOT ASHAMED TO SPEAK UP AND TELL. YOU THAT THIS MAN IS THE FRESH NEW FACE OF SUPER-HEROICS.”
You tell them, Skeets, Booster thought. Who needs a press ag'ent when I have my own cybernetic sidekick hyping me full-time?
"What the hell is all this, ya flamin' gala?" Mammoth griped in a thick Australian accent. A red-haired bruiser in a studded black costume, the superpowered strongman had frequently clashed with Superman in the past. His gruff voice held both anger and confusion as Booster carried him even higher into the air. "What are ya pickin' on me for? I didn't even know I was gonna nick those diamonds 'til I did it. Spur o' the moment!" Hundreds of feet below, an upscale jewelry shop needed a new front window. "How'd ya get up on me so quick?"
"Call it an inside tip," Booster said with a smirk, enjoying a private joke. This jerk's history ... in more ways than one.
Skeets continued to work the crowd: “boys, girls, and potential
CORPORATE SPONSORS! IFTHE DAY NEEDS SAVING, BOOSTER’S YOUR
buy!” Not for the first time, Booster was glad that he had "
borrowed" the levitating robot from that museum before traveling backward in time to this primitive era. Skeets had a real talent for promotion, among many other useful abilities, “in an uncertain world, it’s good to know there are
STILL SOME THINGS YOU CAN ALWAYS RELY ON.”
Twenty-fifth-century technology, built into the fabric of his uniform, enhanced Booster's strength while also providing him with a protective force field. Plus, he could fly.
Unlike Mammoth.
Taking full advantage of the suit's capabilities, Booster hurled the yowling villain down at an empty intersection below. Mammoth smashed like a meteor into the asphalt, giving the transportation department a massive new pothole to worry about. A cloud of powdered pavement rose above the newly formed crater before settling back down onto the unconscious brute. The nearest civilians fled the intersection in a panic, but the majority of the onlookers reacted with cheers and applause. Dozens of digital cameras and cell phones captured the scene for posterity. Admiring eyes gazed upward at the triumphant hero. Basking in the attention, Booster felt like Superman himself.
This is more like it! he thought. Relocating to the past to become an old-fashioned super hero was the smartest thing he had ever done. Here in the twenty-first century, he wasn't Michael Jon Carter, disgraced professional athlete, anymore. He was Booster Gold, super-powered idol and celebrity. And soon to be one of history's most famous heroes. Not to mention one of the richest. ...
TV news vans were already arriving on the scene, so Booster began to dramatically descend toward the crater below. Mammoth was flat on his back amidst the pulverized blacktop, covered by a layer of dust and debris. A groan escaped the big lummox's lips. He wasn't going to be giving anyone a hard time anytime soon.
Skeets zipped over and whispered in Booster's ear. "sir—"
"I see it," Booster assured the robot. He had already spotted the adorable little girl standing near the front of the crowd below. No more than five years old maybe, the moppet was sporting a Wonder Woman T-shirt, star-spangled shorts, and a worried expression. A plastic tiara crowned the girl's curly red hair. "Photo op deluxe."
The kid's eyes grew wide as he dropped smartly to earth before her. Kneeling, he flashed a smile at the girl (and the cameras) and mussed her hair. "Hey there, little lady. What's up?"
"My brother said Wonder Woman was dead," the child said, fighting back tears. Booster belatedly noticed an eight-year-old boy standing behind the girl, looking a tad sheepish. A Batman T-shirt suggested that he preferred the Dark Knight to the Amazon princess. "He said she was gone and she's never coming back."
"Is that right?" Booster looked sternly at the brother, while making a mental note to look into licensing his own line of T-shirts and plastic goggles. "Well, I've seen the future and I happen to know that Wonder Woman's fine. They're all fine." He rose to his feet. "Now step aside, kids."
A single bound carried him to the center of the crater, where he planted a foot atop Mammoth's beefy chest, like a big game hunter posing with a trophy. Digital cameras whirred all around him. The TV news crews shoved their way through the crowd to get live footage of Booster's triumph. With any luck, he'd be the top story on the evening news as well.
“terrific takedown, sir!” Skeets congratulated him, loud enough for all to hear, “you’re a real pro.”
"Thank Mammoth here," Booster quipped. "He's the one who kept it from being a dull afternoon." He yawned theatrically. "Nothing to see here, folks. Just doing my job." He casually produced a can of Soder Cola from a pouch on his costume, making sure that the label was facing the cameras. "Now, if you'll just excuse me, sometime even super heroes get thirsty."
Let's hear it for product placement. He drained the can in one gulp, then lobbed it into a curbside wastebasket. Sirens heralded the arrival of the Metropolis Special Crimes Unit, showing up to take Mammoth into custody. Booster was more than happy to let the S.C.U. handle the cleanup and paperwork; why waste his time on such less-than-glamorous duties? Waving at the cheering crowd, he took off into the sky. Skeets cruised alongside him.
"Did you see the look on Mammoth's face when I blitzed him?" Booster crowed to the robot. Sometimes his old quarterback skills came in handy. "I knew what he was going to pull before he did!"
“technically, sir,” Skeets pointed out, “tm the one holding all the historical data from this era.” Unlike Booster, the robot's shiny metallic housing boasted no corporate logos or trademarks. A panel of optical sensors served as his face. Tiny propulsion units orbited the sphere, “i can’t even get you to read the FILES.”
"And that's why we make such a good team." The wind whipped through Booster's blond hair as he soared above the city. "A couple of refugees from the twenty-fifth century come back to the Heroic Age, armed only with future weaponry, charm ... and every news headline for the next half millennium."
He glanced back over his shoulder. "I wish I could have told that little girl back there what tomorrow is. My big day." He grinned in anticipation. "I may have flunked twenty-first-century history—"
“AMONG YOUR MANY ACCOMPLISHMENTS, SIR.”
"But even I know that tomorrow is the defining moment of the new century, and I'm gonna be a part of it. The speech on Hope and Unity that Superman delivers will be taught in civics classes for the next five hundred years. And that photo of him, Batman, and Wonder Woman as they announce the new-and-improved Justice League? Jimmy Olsen gets a Howitzer for it."
“PULITZER, SIR.”
"Whatever." Booster was not going to let the robot's nit-picking kill his buzz. "The dawn of this century's JLA. And they're going to ask me to join, aren't they?"
And why shouldn't they? he thought. His knowledge of future events had proven incredibly useful to Batman and the others during the recent Crisis. The good guys couldn't have won without me.
"C'mon, you can tell me," he urged the robot.
“I ALREADY HAVE, SIR.”
"So tell me again. Make me smile." He couldn't hear about his destined good fortune enough. "Skeets, being a member of the greatest Justice League ever . . . let's work out how much my sponsors will pay for that kind of placement!" .
“FIRST THINGS FIRST, SIR,” SkeetS Said. “MY RECORDS SHOW THAT THERE IS A SHIPYARD DISASTER ACROSS TOWN THAT YOU’RE DUE TO
stop in exactly seven minutes.” Booster veered west toward the harbor. “HEROES MUST BE PUNCTUAL ... IF NOTHING ELSE.”
They jetted past an enormous billboard that showed a smiling Booster holding up a frosty bottle of Lit Beer. The Lit logo was emblazoned on the upper right corner of his tunic, across from the fruity trademark of The Banana Co.; Soder Cola was advertised on his left shoulder, but there was still plenty’ of room on his uniform for even more corporate sponsors. The various logos were momentarily blurred by speed as Booster and Skeets rushed to star in yet another heroic headline.
The future looked bright.
GOTHAM CITY.
The name of the tavern was 52 Pickup. Renee Montoya had decided it was her favorite bar. At least until tomorrow night.
Finding the right watering hole was tricky these days. Cop bars were out because she wasn't on the job anymore. The last thing she needed was the scornful or, worse, pitying glances of her former colleagues in the Gotham City Police Department. She could too easily imagine them whispering about her when they thought she wasn't listening. "See Montoya over there. Used to be a pretty good detective once upon a time, before her partner got killed and her life went into the toilet."
Serew that, she thought.
The gay bars were no good either. She might run into Daria, and no way was she ready for that just yet. It had only been three months since her ex had moved out, not that Renee blamed her. Not after the way I messed things up.
52 Pickup would have to do for now. Dim lighting helped to hide the cigarette bums on the bar counter and the scuffed tile floor. A neon sign advertised Lit Beer. A pool table and dartboard offered potential amusements to the largely blue-colla
r clientele. Yuppies and singles-bar habitues were mercifully absent; this was a place for serious drinkers who just wanted to get plastered as quickly and inexpensively as possible. The smoky atmosphere smelled of tobacco. A jukebox sat neglected in one corner, an Out of Order sign taped to its unlit exterior. Spilled drinks and stale beer nuts littered the floor. Let's face it: The place was a dive, but the booze was cold and nobody cared who she used to be.
Works for me, she thought.
Renee sat at the bar. An Hispanic woman in her thirties, she had on a black leather jacket, like the one A1 Pacino wore in,Serpico, a red T-shirt, and jeans. Her dark brown hair was tied up in the back. An empty bottle of tequila sat on the counter in front of her, next to an overflowing ashtray. She had a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Smoking in public places was technically illegal in Gotham, but nobody in the tavern seemed too worried about that. The G.C.P.D. usually had bigger things to worry about... and so did the Bat.
If he was still alive.
Seated to her left, a drunk white dude was going on about the insanity that had passed for current events lately. "Listen," he said to no one in particular. A cheap vinyl jacket proclaimed his allegiance to the Gotham Wildcats. "I'm a Gothamite born and bred. I've seen it all, right? Earthquakes, plagues, and poison in the reservoir." Renee wasn't sure, but she thought his name was Kevin. "And I swear, even I thought it was the end of the world last night."
"It was," Montoya muttered. She lit herself a fresh cigarette.
"What, you find yourself with an empty bottle?" the bartender quipped.
"Funny guy," she replied. He sure had her pegged already. She waved the tequila bottle in his face. The last few drops sloshed around the worm. "Keep 'em coming."
The bartender, a stocky guy with bushy sideburns and a receding hairline, hesitated. "Uh, you might want to slow down there,"
"Or you could pour faster." She shrugged her shoulders. If I imnted somebody to keep me from drinking too much, I would have never driven Daria away... .
The drunk dude (Kevin?) laughed at her suggestion. "That's a good one!" He clinked his own glass against hers. Bleary eyes looked her over. "I like your style." *