Post by redsycorax on Nov 17, 2021 2:49:42 GMT
The Justice Guild of America could only attract six members. Why were there no more than that? Here's the hitherto untold story of Icarus, who would have been the seventh member of that august organisation...but...
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FEBRUARY 1961:
Carter Hall was one of the more reclusive boys at Seaboard High. He was always at the top of his class when it came to science, particularly when it came to physics. His other passion was history, particularly the time of the great Leonardo da Vinci. And then, one day, he awoke to find bloodstains on his upper back and his sheets. He ran to the bathroom to see what was happening there- and was startled to see two, small but rapidly unfurling avian wings. So that was it. He was one of those mutants he'd read about in class. How large would his wings grow? Could he become one of those mystery men, like the ones at the Justice Guild? Say, perhaps he could even try out for the JGA!
Unknown to Carter, however, he had an observer whose intent was malignant- a kindred mutant, who would undergo his own metamorphosis in time, named Ray Thompson, the deceptive youthful protege of the Justice Guild, but whose juvenile exterior contained a malignant and malevolent mind and intellect. His telepathic endowment caught a stray thought from the older boy as he passed him on the way to his own school and his eyes briefly shone crimson red, unwitnessed by anyone else. No, he wouldn't allow another member of the Guild to appear. It was bad enough that the Astriides woman had joined the organisation, although her aneurysm would resolve that problem in a year's time when it burst apart, even if that wasn't the end for her that he foresaw. If there were a seventh member of the Guild, his chance of exposure might increase. Sooner or later, Hall would realise that Thompson was a fellow mutant, albeit one incomparably more powerful. And he couldn't allow that. Still, it would be prudent not to intervene too soon.
However, he wasn't the only one aware of the development. At the Justice Guild brownstone, precognitive Cassandra had a sudden, awe-inspiring image of a young man, whose bared chest glittered in the summer night, with majestic white wings unfurled behind him, attached to his body. Then she saw Thompson gazing balefully up at the figure. An instant later, she saw him spiral and fall to the ground, and Thompson laughing, cruelly, over his broken body. Was this an inevitable or potential future? She'd be damned if she'd let that malicious little freak engineer the death of someone who would be a gift to humanity. And he didn't know she had observed his intentions, either- that was one reason that the two of them were in such enmity, because she knew full well what he was and would become after the forthcoming nuclear war, before which she would have been dead for six months. And he couldn't move against her because of the potential for experimental surgery to reverse her aneurysm were her neurological problem to become wider knowledge amongst the group. Effectively, they were stalemated and so, they circled each other. It was bad enough what Thompson had done to young Roy Harper back in 1955 and she was damned if she would let it happen again. For his part, Thompson lacked Cassandra's precognitive scope and could not foresee what would happen if he moved against her before her inevitable death. It was bad enough that she had let loose her vision of the looming spectre of nuclear war, even if only the Streak and his wife Irene believed her and Washington had acted on advice from the Green Guardsman to ignore her warnings.
She grabbed the keys to the Justice Guild film annex and looked through a recent Seaboard City newsreel. When she'd seen the young man's face, she had vaguely recognised him. But how would Thompson engineer his death? How? With his mind? No, that couldn't be it. If he did unleash that much energy overtly, he would cause disturbances in the surrounding area, particularly Tom Turbine's power belt, and then his secret would be disclosed. And the wings weren't artificial, she could see that and they were clearly aerodynamic. Would he manipulate someone into shooting him down? No, her vision hadn't witnessed any sign of bullet or shell impact. A contact poison? Could he use that to kill...ah. Here he was. Carter Hall, high school senior, who had won a school prize on an essay that had described the pioneering work of Leonardo da Vinci in the early sixteenth century.
In his garden, though, Ray Thompson was aware that his adversary had foreseen the event too. He cursed Astriide's interference and degree of prowess at her precognitive art. He then realised that he had crushed the baby bird that he had been holding in a simulation of childish awe and wonder at the beauty of the world around him. Looking around, he was relieved to see no-one else had seen his misstep and his eyes glowed crimson once more as his telekinesis agitated the molecules of the dead creature and caused it to briefly flare into flame before they were reduced to charcoal and dust. He stepped inside to clean his hands and pondered how Hall's first flight could be made his last. And how to keep his intentions from the infernal Cassandra... And then, Thompson realised something.
Came the night. Carter Hall extended his wings and took flight, although he was unaware of his audience- who were unaware of one another as well. Abruptly, Ray Thompson felt himself seized and a serrated leaden knife held to his neck:
"My, my, how edgy of you, Cassandra. Have you been reading those existentialist French Genet, Sartre or Camus novels?"
"No. You will not kill this young man. I won't let you. In case you don't realise, your psionic abilities don't work on lead."
"Well, now, that's true. However, there's something you've failed to foresee, "oracle." Remember what Tom told the rest of us about mutations?"
"That most of them were adverse, sterile and teratogenic anomalies that led to the early death of the affected individual. But obviously, that only applies to the likes of you. Not Hall up there. Look at him."
"Oh, I agree. From an aesthetic perspective, he's quite breathtaking and majestic in flight. Enjoy it while you can. And as for intervention? Perish the thought. You see, I don't have to do anything."
"What do you mean, you little ghoul? Stop gloating, or else."
"Do I have to spell it out, Astriides? Oh, very well. You see, humans were never meant to fly unaided, even variant ones like Carter Hall exultant high above us. Even given his wing length, his arm and back muscles weren't built for flight, even if he is a football fullback. His wings are moving as if he were a hummingbird. Think of the strain that must be placing on his heart. Ah, there he goes, now..."
Cassandra broke away from the taunting mutant as Carter Hall gripped his chest and started to spiral earthward. Although Cassandra did her best to position herself below him, it was no good. As he fell, Carter Hall gritted his teeth once and his open eyes froze, his mouth caught in the sudden realisation of what was happening to him. But it was too late- far too late. Hall was dead before he reached the ground, even if the impact broke his neck. Smirking, Ray Thompson got up and stood over the corpse.
"You can't fight destiny, Astriides. And you know you won't be around forever."
"What the hell is wrong with you, you monstrous freak?! Carter Hall died. At least show some decency or grief. Or is that completely beyond you?"
"Temper, temper, Cassandra. It's not my fault Icarus here turned out not to be viable."
And then, Cassandra had another vision. Impossibly, it was forty-one years from now, and the Justice Guild were...still alive?! No. No, there was something wrong in the way that they talked and behaved. And they hadn't aged. That was nonsense, unless "they" were illusions, with no more real substance than a mirage. And who were those other costumed mystery men and...woman? She flew. Intrigued, she watched as the story unfolded and then saw Thompson, impossibly still the same age. No, that was a lie, she saw, and grimaced for a moment as his true, monstrous form was concerned. Well, at least his external appearance now reflected what the cankered, warped little abomination was really like inside, she observed.
She didn't witness a simulacra of herself amidst the others. Perhaps that was just as well. How petty, how spiteful- he'd expunged her from the hallucinatory version of the Justice Guild and Seaboard City he'd preside over.
Finally, despite the tragedy that had just unfolded, Cassandra Astriides smiled. As she walked away, Ray Thompson was suddenly uneasy and tried to probe her mind, only to be refused access. What was she grinning about? Come to it, what did she have to smile at? Even at her graveside, a year later, the thought troubled him, only a year later.
Forty-one years later, she'd have the last, albeit posthumous laugh. By then, Ray Thompson had almost forgotten about young Carter Hall's solitary flight and tragedy, but that bird-masked woman made him shiver, despite his almost unparalleled power and prowess now. As it turned out, he was right to be worried, but several hours later, it was too late as karma caught up with Ray Thompson.
THE END
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FEBRUARY 1961:
Carter Hall was one of the more reclusive boys at Seaboard High. He was always at the top of his class when it came to science, particularly when it came to physics. His other passion was history, particularly the time of the great Leonardo da Vinci. And then, one day, he awoke to find bloodstains on his upper back and his sheets. He ran to the bathroom to see what was happening there- and was startled to see two, small but rapidly unfurling avian wings. So that was it. He was one of those mutants he'd read about in class. How large would his wings grow? Could he become one of those mystery men, like the ones at the Justice Guild? Say, perhaps he could even try out for the JGA!
Unknown to Carter, however, he had an observer whose intent was malignant- a kindred mutant, who would undergo his own metamorphosis in time, named Ray Thompson, the deceptive youthful protege of the Justice Guild, but whose juvenile exterior contained a malignant and malevolent mind and intellect. His telepathic endowment caught a stray thought from the older boy as he passed him on the way to his own school and his eyes briefly shone crimson red, unwitnessed by anyone else. No, he wouldn't allow another member of the Guild to appear. It was bad enough that the Astriides woman had joined the organisation, although her aneurysm would resolve that problem in a year's time when it burst apart, even if that wasn't the end for her that he foresaw. If there were a seventh member of the Guild, his chance of exposure might increase. Sooner or later, Hall would realise that Thompson was a fellow mutant, albeit one incomparably more powerful. And he couldn't allow that. Still, it would be prudent not to intervene too soon.
However, he wasn't the only one aware of the development. At the Justice Guild brownstone, precognitive Cassandra had a sudden, awe-inspiring image of a young man, whose bared chest glittered in the summer night, with majestic white wings unfurled behind him, attached to his body. Then she saw Thompson gazing balefully up at the figure. An instant later, she saw him spiral and fall to the ground, and Thompson laughing, cruelly, over his broken body. Was this an inevitable or potential future? She'd be damned if she'd let that malicious little freak engineer the death of someone who would be a gift to humanity. And he didn't know she had observed his intentions, either- that was one reason that the two of them were in such enmity, because she knew full well what he was and would become after the forthcoming nuclear war, before which she would have been dead for six months. And he couldn't move against her because of the potential for experimental surgery to reverse her aneurysm were her neurological problem to become wider knowledge amongst the group. Effectively, they were stalemated and so, they circled each other. It was bad enough what Thompson had done to young Roy Harper back in 1955 and she was damned if she would let it happen again. For his part, Thompson lacked Cassandra's precognitive scope and could not foresee what would happen if he moved against her before her inevitable death. It was bad enough that she had let loose her vision of the looming spectre of nuclear war, even if only the Streak and his wife Irene believed her and Washington had acted on advice from the Green Guardsman to ignore her warnings.
She grabbed the keys to the Justice Guild film annex and looked through a recent Seaboard City newsreel. When she'd seen the young man's face, she had vaguely recognised him. But how would Thompson engineer his death? How? With his mind? No, that couldn't be it. If he did unleash that much energy overtly, he would cause disturbances in the surrounding area, particularly Tom Turbine's power belt, and then his secret would be disclosed. And the wings weren't artificial, she could see that and they were clearly aerodynamic. Would he manipulate someone into shooting him down? No, her vision hadn't witnessed any sign of bullet or shell impact. A contact poison? Could he use that to kill...ah. Here he was. Carter Hall, high school senior, who had won a school prize on an essay that had described the pioneering work of Leonardo da Vinci in the early sixteenth century.
In his garden, though, Ray Thompson was aware that his adversary had foreseen the event too. He cursed Astriide's interference and degree of prowess at her precognitive art. He then realised that he had crushed the baby bird that he had been holding in a simulation of childish awe and wonder at the beauty of the world around him. Looking around, he was relieved to see no-one else had seen his misstep and his eyes glowed crimson once more as his telekinesis agitated the molecules of the dead creature and caused it to briefly flare into flame before they were reduced to charcoal and dust. He stepped inside to clean his hands and pondered how Hall's first flight could be made his last. And how to keep his intentions from the infernal Cassandra... And then, Thompson realised something.
Came the night. Carter Hall extended his wings and took flight, although he was unaware of his audience- who were unaware of one another as well. Abruptly, Ray Thompson felt himself seized and a serrated leaden knife held to his neck:
"My, my, how edgy of you, Cassandra. Have you been reading those existentialist French Genet, Sartre or Camus novels?"
"No. You will not kill this young man. I won't let you. In case you don't realise, your psionic abilities don't work on lead."
"Well, now, that's true. However, there's something you've failed to foresee, "oracle." Remember what Tom told the rest of us about mutations?"
"That most of them were adverse, sterile and teratogenic anomalies that led to the early death of the affected individual. But obviously, that only applies to the likes of you. Not Hall up there. Look at him."
"Oh, I agree. From an aesthetic perspective, he's quite breathtaking and majestic in flight. Enjoy it while you can. And as for intervention? Perish the thought. You see, I don't have to do anything."
"What do you mean, you little ghoul? Stop gloating, or else."
"Do I have to spell it out, Astriides? Oh, very well. You see, humans were never meant to fly unaided, even variant ones like Carter Hall exultant high above us. Even given his wing length, his arm and back muscles weren't built for flight, even if he is a football fullback. His wings are moving as if he were a hummingbird. Think of the strain that must be placing on his heart. Ah, there he goes, now..."
Cassandra broke away from the taunting mutant as Carter Hall gripped his chest and started to spiral earthward. Although Cassandra did her best to position herself below him, it was no good. As he fell, Carter Hall gritted his teeth once and his open eyes froze, his mouth caught in the sudden realisation of what was happening to him. But it was too late- far too late. Hall was dead before he reached the ground, even if the impact broke his neck. Smirking, Ray Thompson got up and stood over the corpse.
"You can't fight destiny, Astriides. And you know you won't be around forever."
"What the hell is wrong with you, you monstrous freak?! Carter Hall died. At least show some decency or grief. Or is that completely beyond you?"
"Temper, temper, Cassandra. It's not my fault Icarus here turned out not to be viable."
And then, Cassandra had another vision. Impossibly, it was forty-one years from now, and the Justice Guild were...still alive?! No. No, there was something wrong in the way that they talked and behaved. And they hadn't aged. That was nonsense, unless "they" were illusions, with no more real substance than a mirage. And who were those other costumed mystery men and...woman? She flew. Intrigued, she watched as the story unfolded and then saw Thompson, impossibly still the same age. No, that was a lie, she saw, and grimaced for a moment as his true, monstrous form was concerned. Well, at least his external appearance now reflected what the cankered, warped little abomination was really like inside, she observed.
She didn't witness a simulacra of herself amidst the others. Perhaps that was just as well. How petty, how spiteful- he'd expunged her from the hallucinatory version of the Justice Guild and Seaboard City he'd preside over.
Finally, despite the tragedy that had just unfolded, Cassandra Astriides smiled. As she walked away, Ray Thompson was suddenly uneasy and tried to probe her mind, only to be refused access. What was she grinning about? Come to it, what did she have to smile at? Even at her graveside, a year later, the thought troubled him, only a year later.
Forty-one years later, she'd have the last, albeit posthumous laugh. By then, Ray Thompson had almost forgotten about young Carter Hall's solitary flight and tragedy, but that bird-masked woman made him shiver, despite his almost unparalleled power and prowess now. As it turned out, he was right to be worried, but several hours later, it was too late as karma caught up with Ray Thompson.
THE END
