52 - The Novel
I'm wasting my time here.
He made a mental note to inform the authorities of the hidden lab's location, just so they could properly dispose of Sivana's potentially dangerous leftovers. Useless or not, he didn't want them falling into the wrong hands ... even if he had more pressing matters to deal with.
A bulletin board caught his attention. News clippings were pinned to the board, which had been shielded from the blast by an unfinished robotic torso. Supernova recognized the distinctive typefaces of several major newspapers, including the Daily Planet and the Gotham Times. He quickly scanned the headlines of the articles:
' "CURSES! FOILED AGAIN!"
FBI raid finds Baron Bug's lab empty
CRIMINAL MASTERMIND SKIPS BAIL, LEAVES LOOT.
Has Ira "I.Q" Quimby outsmarted himself?
"MAD DOCTOR" RIGORO MORTIS VANISHES FROM LAIR.
Neighbors hear "snarling sounds."
"DOCTOR DEATH" FAILS TO TESTIFY.
Mystery of the Disappearing Defendant.
T.O. MORROW GONE FROM LOCKED CELL.
Prison authorities baffled.
DR. CYCLOPS JOINS "EVIL BRAIN DRAIN."
Local super-villain 'missingfor days,' says henchman.
WHERE—OR WHEN—IS DOCTOR TYME?
Looks like someone is rounding up mad scientists, Supernova concluded, including Sivana himself. He glanced around the trashed laboratory. Despite all the damage, there was no sign of the evil inventor's body—nor any indication that he had left voluntarily. Supernova guessed that Sivana had joined his missing colleagues. But where? And what for?
He took a closer look at the headlines. The one referring to Doctor Tyme intrigued him enough to read further, quickly skimming the article below the headline:
Doctor Tyme, the crazed scientist behind last year's missing fifty-two seconds, has vanished. Dubbed 'the Tick-Tock Thief of Time,' he disappeared on his way to the high-security meta-human prison on Alcatraz Island after aging three guards to dust in Pelican Bay. When the overturned prison vehicle was found, the driver's watch was off by five minutes....
Supernova shook his head, concerned by the contents of the clipping. Fifty-two seconds missing, he thought grimly. According to the rest of the article, that stolen time had never been recovered. A lot can happen in fifty-two seconds....
Worried that he was running out of time, he turned to leave the lab and fly back to Metropolis. As he headed to the door, however, his foot accidentally connected with a fallen plastic cylinder and kicked it across the floor. Something rattled inside the tube as it rolled away.
Wait a second. What's that?
Curious, he walked over and picked up the transparent cylinder. Looking inside, he spotted the dried husk of an empty cocoon, only a few inches long. The crumbling specimen glowed faintly, as though radioactive. A peculiar chill ran down Supernova's spine.
Since when did Dr. Sivana, of all people, take up butterfly collecting? He held the mysterious cocoon up before his eyes. Behind his hood, his expression was grave. And what do you suppose hatched out of there?
BIALYA.
The slavery camp was hidden away in the heart of the desert, far from the nearest village or oasis. A chain-link fence topped with razor wire enclosed an ugly concrete building that stood out like a great gray eyesore amidst the endless sand dimes. Hot air rippled above the compound's flat roof. Foul-smelling fumes rose from a belching smokestack, polluting the dry desert air. The morning sun was low in the sky.
The very sight of the camp offended Isis as she swooped out of the sky beside Black Adam. His mighty fists preceded him as he flew toward the camp, while her own arms were stretched out to catch the obedient zephyr whisking her through the air. Her unbound hair streamed behind her as she flew. Despite the gravity of their mission, she found the sensation of flying under her own power exhilarating.
I pray I never become so inured to the experience, she thought, that I fail to appreciate zvhat a blessing it is.
Black Adam grabbed onto the edge of the heavy concrete roof and, with the strength of Amon, tore it free of its moorings. Sunlight poured into the factory below, exposing a heartbreaking scene.
Scores of innocent children, some no more than five years old, toiled at long worktables, assembling bits of costume jewelry and cheap plastic decorations. The scrawny, underfed boys and girls wore only filthy rags as they Worked in the oppressive heat of the dingy sweatshop; air-conditioning had apparently been judged an unnecessary expense. Scowling adults, armed with truncheons and automatic weapons, sipped on cold sodas and beer as they sullenly supervised the captive children ... until the ceiling abruptly disappeared overhead. Dust and powdered cement rained down upon their heads. They looked up in alarm. .
"Black Adam!" a startled guard shouted. Automatic guns and rifles immediately opened fire on Isis and Adam, but the blistering hail of bullets bounced harmlessly off the heroic duo. Frightened children dived for cover beneath their workstations. Isis caught only a fleeting glimpse of their faces, not enough to tell if her brother was among them. That would have to wait until the slavers themselves were disposed of.
She flew into the building, while Adam hurled the uprooted ceiling away from him. It crashed loudly onto the floor of the desert outside. Fie followed her into the factory, his eyes ablaze with anger.
"This slavery ring ends now!" he declared fiercely. Isis had no doubt that the pitiful children reminded him of his own murdered sons. He stalked toward the retreating slavers, his fists raised and ready. "As do your wretched lives!"
Isis instantly recalled the brutal way he had disposed of her kidnappers. Noose's blood and brains had literally splattered her robe the day she and Adam first met. "No, Adam," she beseeched him, laying a restraining hand upon his chest. The men's bullets continued to ricochet off her and Adam. "Let them be judged for their crimes in this life. And when Nature takes its course, the next."
She gazed fearlessly into the blazing muzzles of the guns. "Nothing escapes Nature," she assured Adam. "And as Isis, I am Nature." Raising her arm, she gestured at the retreating slavers. "Winds!"
At her command, a furious whirlwind came to life within the factory. The howling tornado snared the slavers, sweeping them off their feet and up into the sky high above the camp. Their panicked shrieks were lost in the roar of the wind, as it stripped them of their weapons and deposited them roughly across the burning sands, where they would have to choose between turning themselves in to the local authorities or dying of thirst and exposure. Alerted by Black Adam's ambassador, a division of United Nations troops was already en route to round the slavers up. Having experienced Nature's wrath, they were unlikely to put up much resistance.-
"They deserve more than a few broken bones," Black Adam objected. He began to lift off from the floor, intent on hunting the scattered criminals down personally. His irate tone made it clear that he had several summary executions in mind.
"No, Adam," she entreated him once more. She gently tugged him back down to earth and reminded him of what really mattered. "Not in front of the children."
Now that the angry shouting and gunfire was over, the children gradually crawled out from beneath their hiding places. Timidly at first, then with greater confidence, they flocked to Adam and Isis. Tiny hands reached out to touch their saviors. "Thank you!" said a chorus of childish voices. "Thank you, thank you!"
To her slight amusement, Black Adam looked somewhat at a loss. He was obviously more comfortable wreaking vengeance on his enemies than coping with the heartfelt adoration of dozens of grateful kids. He stood stiffly amidst the children, a stern expression on his face. Isis couldn't help wondering what he had been like with his own offspring, three thousand years ago.
She looked over the children herself, appalled at how dirty and skinny they were. A familiar sadness came over her as she searched their wide-eyed faces. "It's all right," she promised them soothingly. "You're all going home."
"Most of them don't have homes to go to, Adri
anna." He walked beside her as they began to lead the children out of the roofless factory. A convoy would soon arrive to ferry them to safety. "Before I retook Kahndaq, the dictator there dragged thousands of children from their homes, forcing them into hard labor and prostitution." He frowned at the memory. "The parents that argued were killed on the spot."
Just like mine were, she realized. "Then... then all the orphans of the world will be welcome in Kahndaq. All of them." She stroked the tousled head of a small boy. A powerful gust of wind blew down the wire fence. "All of them we can find..."
Black Adam did not miss the melancholy tone that had entered her voice. "Your brother isn't here, is he?"
"No, Amon isn't here," she admitted. Ironically enough, her brother was named after the very god who granted Adam his superhuman strength. "We've spent a week dismantling dozens of slavery camps across Africa, the Middle East, and Asia." And yet her little brother remained missing. "Maybe I need to stop hoping."
"Stop hoping?" He greeted her mournful suggestion with disbelief. He gestured toward the throng of newly liberated boys and girls surrounding them. They gazed up at her with breathless awe and gratitude. "Look at these children, Adrianna. Hope is all they are doing now. You show them hope." He turned toward her, looking deeply into her eyes. "You show me hope. And no one has done that in so long, in so many centuries...His hand gently lifted her chin. "We will find your brother. And we'll free all the children of the world while doing so."
She wanted to believe him, and perhaps she could. It was not so long ago, she recalled, that her own future had seemed absolutely without hope, after Intergang killed her parents and attempted to force her into slavery. Black Adam had changed all that. Single-handedly, he had brought hope back into her life—and given her a glorious new purpose. How could she not believe him when he promised that their future was only beginning?
We will find Amon . .. together.
"Isis ... Adrianna Tomaz. There is something I have for you." To her surprise, Adam dropped to one knee before her. He reached beneath his golden sash and brought forth a sparkling diamond ring. He held the ring out to her, much as he had offered the Amulet of Isis only a week before. "This diamond belonged to Cleopatra, given to her by Caesar on the eve of the Alexandrian War." She gaped at the size of the jewel, which had to be twenty-four carats at least. "I offer it to you, Isis, and I ask you on this morning to be my queen." Following Adam's lead, the children knelt and bowed their heads as well. "To be our queen."
Taken aback, Isis was suddenly overcome with emotion. She placed a hand against her heart and felt it beating faster than the wings of a hummingbird. Did he truly mean what she thought he meant?
Lifting his head, he beamed up at her. No trace of his murderous rage could be seen upon his handsome visage, only the hopeful smile of a man in love.
"Will you be my wife?"
Her answer was evident in her smile.
WEEK 14
SHIRUTA.
It was a thirty-one-hour flight from Gotham to Kahndaq. You changed planes twice, once in Paris, then again in Algiers. You changed twice because there was no direct service to Kahndaq from the U.S. or Europe.
That's because most people know better than to come here, Renee thought.
Hot, jet-lagged, and craving a cigarette, she peered sourly out of the window of a rickety old bus as it drove them into downtown Shiruta. Vic sat beside her, admiring the scenery. The bumpy ride jolted her already stiff back. Kahndaq seemed to-be long on potholes and short on shock absorbers. With every jolt, she had to remind herself why exactly they had come six thousand miles to a foreign country ruled by a super-powered dictator: because Intergang was moving weapons and personnel into Gotham, and Kahndaq was either a source or a link in the chain.
And because, like Charlie, I'm curious.
The bus pulled up to a curb and she realized that they had reached the medina, the walled heart of the city. She let Vic take care of paying the driver with the local currency, while she stepped out of the bus to experience Kahndaq firsthand.
It wasn't what she expected.
Judging from the coverage in the Western press, and Black Adam's sinister history, she had anticipated a Third World hellhole populated by frightened citizens cowering beneath the oppressive lash of a megalomaniacal super-villain. Instead she suddenly found herself in the middle of a festive street scene. Gleeful men, women, and children crowded downtown Shiruta, practically dancing in the street. Musicians played a cheerful air upon flutes, tambourines, and drums. Fragrant blossoms were strewn upon the streets and sidewalks. The tantalizing aroma of mint tea and spiced lamb wafted from the stands of various open-air food vendors.
She tried to take it all in. The exotic Arabic architecture with its graceful domes and archways. The men in their traditional attire: a fez, a loose tunic, slacks, and sandals. The women in their flowing robes and scarves. Laughing children running and playing amidst the open stalls and donkey carts. Brilliant sunlight cast a golden glow over the merriment, 'making Renee glad that she had unpacked her sunglasses. Palm trees provided a modicum of shade from the sweltering heat.
Giant banners of Black Adam and Isis hung from every balcony and gateway, smiling down on the celebrants. Renee did a double take.
Black Adam ... smiling?
Vic joined her on the sidewalk. He dropped their luggage onto the paving stones. "Huh?" he reacted. "Not exactly the Axis of Evil, is it?"
They had only a moment to adjust to their new surroundings before a throng of grinning Kahndaqis rushed toward them. At first Renee thought they were being attacked, then someone draped a flowery garland over her head. Ohmigod, she realized, they're giving us the world's most enthusiastic welcome. Friendly voices assailed her from all directions. Most of the babble was in Arabic, which left Renee in the dark, but a couple of their new best friends managed to muster some English.
"Welcome!" a teenage boy in a fez greeted them. "Rejoice with us at the start of Kahndaq's new golden age!"
A beautiful young woman bestowed a fresh garland upon Vic, who was thoroughly enjoying their warm reception. "Thank you, thank you very much," he said as the lovely maiden kissed him on the cheek. Renee noted, with just a twinge of jealousy, that the girl had the same haircut as Isis, as did many of the other young women. Wannabes, she thought, fust like all those trendy sorts who copied Black Canary's hairstyle a few years back.
"Please, share in Kahndaq's blessings!" Kahndaqi men surrounded her, attempting to adorn her hair with lilies and narcissuses. "Come, dance with us!"
"No, really ...," she demurred, trying to be polite. "You don't have to do this." She was tired and nicotine-deprived and really didn't like being touched, but the men seemed determined to include her in their celebration. She gently attempted to fend them off. "No, thank you ... no, that's enough...."
Vic smirked at her, amused by her unwanted makeover. "Lovely. Brings out your eyes." He took her by the arm, and she resisted the urge to pound his face into the pavement. "C'mon," he said. "I hired Achmed over there to deliver our bags to the hotel. He has an honest face." Renee wondered if she would ever see her luggage again. "Let's get cracking."
One of Vic's contacts had tracked down the Ridge-Ferrick connection here in Shiruta. A firm called Hni Hnak Shipping, located somewhere in the temple district. According to Vic, Hni Hnak meant "Here to There" in English.
Cute.
Wading through the mob of well-wishers, they began to explore the medina. Vic led the way, consulting a foldout map of Shiruta he had picked up from the Kahndaqi consulate in Gotham. They quickly discovered that the general atmosphere of jubilation was not confined to the courtyard they had just left. Everywhere they went, Renee saw people rejoicing. She hadn't seen a town so giddy since the last time the Joker slipped laughing gas into the water supply.
"What's with all the hoopla?" she asked Vic.
Naturally, he spoke fluent Arabic. "Seems Black Adam has declared a fortnight of feasting in honor of his new f
iancee, this woman they're calling Isis."
Renee had read about her in NezvsTime magazine. Some sort of Egyptian version of Wonder Woman. As far as Renee was concerned, this new heroine had big sandals to fill if she wanted to replace the missing Amazon princess.
Vic's cell phone rang. The theme from The X-Files served as his ring tone. "Hang on," he told her. "I need to take this call."
Renee lit up a cigarette, her first in over twenty-four hours. Cooling her heels, she glanced around the bustling Middle Eastern marketplace. Merchants hawked everything from handwoven carpets to cheap replicas of Isis' jeweled tiara. Donkeys plodded along the cobblestone road. Street urchins chased each other in and out of cramped shops and stalls. Exotic spices scented the air. Excitement over the royal romance could be seen everywhere. A clothing merchant was doing a brisk business selling knockoffs of Isis' costume, even though the skimpy, two-piece outfit wasn't exactly flattering to some of the young wannabes parading through the market. Framed photos of the happy couple were also a hot commodity.
"No, I can barely hear you, Tot," Vic informed his caller. "What's that? The package is on its way? Great." He glanced at Renee. "What, her? Pretty well. There's a lot of untapped potential." He looked away, concentrating on his call. "No, I will. Thanks again, Tot."
He put the cell phone away.
"So who was that?" she asked.
"A friend," he answered. "Name's Aristotle Rodor. Tot, for short. He handles my gear. Calling him a genius is underselling it." The only geniuses Renee knew were criminal masterminds. "He shipped out a Comdex container with some supplies for us. Should arrive sometime next week."
That wasn't what concerned her just now. "You were talking about me."