Justice League_The Gauntlet

by Simonson, Louise

  Her armor!

  Wonder Woman looked down and saw, shocked, that she was now dressed in rags. Her glorious red-and-gold armor, her silver bracelets, and her unbreakable golden lasso were gone.

  Once more her panic rose and this time she gave it full sway, letting adrenaline surge through her body to fuel her struggles. But without the aid of her armor, she still couldn’t break her bonds.

  Then, with a metallic clank, the cell door slid open. A hulking guard lurched into the cell, holding a cracked jar and a fist-sized gray cube.

  He tossed the cube into her lap. “Energy Block,” the man grunted. “Water too. Desaad must want to keep you alive for a while.” He put down the jar. “Pullin’ at them wires won’t do no good. Only old Himon ever escaped this prison in one piece.”

  Keep him talking, Wonder Woman told herself. Find out what you can.

  “Who—?” The question caught in her parched throat. She reached for the jar, gulped water, and tried again. “Who’s Himon?”

  “Nobody you’ll ever meet,” the guard snarled. “My name’s Kranx. An’ mine’s the last face you’ll ever see. Except for Desaad’s.”

  He shuffled out the door.

  Five levels above, in a laboratory packed with looming machinery, Desaad glanced at the video screen that was to be his private peep show into Wonder Woman’s psyche. He licked his lips in anticipation, waiting for her flood of memories to begin.

  And then he sighed.

  Wonder Woman is testing her bonds, he thought impatiently. Again. The unexpected delay was making him edgy.

  He studied the row of dials that measured her energy output and other physical data and smiled sourly. Without her armor, she had as much chance of breaking her bonds as he apparently had of breaking her lasso.

  Desaad had been running Wonder Woman’s lasso, armor, and bracelets through a series of experiments. He knew these artifacts enhanced her strength and speed and allowed her to fly. But, he had discovered, they had no effect on anyone else.

  The armaments were powered by an as yet unknown energy: what this Amazon savage would probably call magic. Desaad didn’t believe in magic. He was certain that once he had acquired sufficient data, he would be able to manipulate and exploit the power of her armor. And of Wonder Woman herself.

  It was only a matter of time.

  Slumped against the dungeon wall, Diana picked up the Energy Block. It looked, felt, and even smelled like a moldy sponge. But she would need all her strength to escape.

  She bit into the cube and nearly gagged. It tasted as bad as it looked, but it was apparently what passed as nourishment, at least in this dungeon. Quickly she washed the morsel down with another swig of water.

  Impulsiveness had gotten her captured, she thought. Her quickness of perception and reaction. No, she admitted. I have to be honest, at least with myself.

  Diana could have signaled the others. She’d had time. But she hadn’t been sure of what she’d seen. And she didn’t want to look unprofessional in front of Green Lantern and Superman and the rest of the Justice League. And so she had acted alone.

  And, she remembered, not for the first time either. . . .

  THE ARMOR

  Princess Diana stares up at the stars that twinkle above Themyscira. Except for Diana, the city of Amazons surrounding her mother’s palace is asleep. So only Diana sees the ball of fire streak soundlessly toward the invisible Dome of Magic, set in place by the gods to protect Themyscira.

  The asteroid—if that is what it is—hits the dome and explodes silently. And Diana sees the afterimage of a giant tripod shape.

  Should I sound the alarm? Diana wonders as a second missile strikes the dome. Should I wake my mother and the others? Isn’t this proof that the Earth is under attack by alien forces?

  But her goddess-mother knows about the attacks. And her reaction is predictable—the gods will protect Themyscira. She would see those explosions as proof of their magical aid. She would tell Diana, once again, that whatever happens beyond Themyscira’s borders is not the Amazons’ concern, and she would order Diana not to take any action.

  “Themyscira remains at peace—for now!” Diana mutters rebelliously. “But the human world beyond, what the Amazons call Man’s World, is fighting for survival. And if Man’s World is destroyed, how long will Themyscira remain unscathed?”

  Diana has been trained to be a champion of a land that needs no protection, she thinks. It is Man’s World that needs her abilities. Despite her mother’s commands, Diana decides that she will aid humanity. But what can one Amazon do—even a superbly skilled Amazon? How can she even reach Man’s World in time to help?

  Diana gazes toward the Temple of Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and War.

  And in a flash of insight, she has her answer.

  Diana stands in the temple sanctuary. The giant statue of Athena gazes serenely down at her. Despite her disobedience to her mother, Diana feels she has Athena’s blessing.

  At the statue’s feet lies the Sacred Armor of the Amazons, reserved for use by their champion in times of crisis—a red-and-gold breastplate that enhances the strength of the wearer and gives her the power of flight, silver bracelets that can deflect any weapon, and an indestructible golden lasso.

  In peaceful Themyscira, these magic implements have never been worn. Until now.

  Diana picks up the lasso.

  “Mother, forgive me!” she whispers, then reaches for the breastplate.

  “If you could see me chained here in this dungeon, Mother, would you smile and say, ‘I told you so’?” Diana murmured.

  Well, she probably wouldn’t smile. Diana’s loss of the armor was devastating. Not just for what the armor was, but for what it represented. No, her mother would be disappointed in her once again.

  Not since she was very small had Diana felt like she was the perfect daughter her mother had longed for. And after a while she had stopped trying to be, had even taken a guilty pleasure in matching wits with a mother whose will was at least as strong as her own.

  “So, Wonder Woman stole the armor. Not a squeaky clean little heroine after all,” Desaad murmured, staring into the video screen that displayed Diana’s memory of how she had gotten the armor.

  Of course, this is a very recent memory, Desaad thought. Diana had unexpected reserves of strength and it would take time to delve deeply into her past—to find out everything.

  When the vivid dream-memory ceased, Desaad turned away, bored. He was, in fact, not interested in Diana herself, but only in what her dreams could tell him about Themyscira. And, of course, in any detail he could use to increase her suffering.

  Most of Desaad’s lab was crammed with esoteric equipment whose main purpose was the creation of pain. He was a connoisseur, a master, who could cause agonies of exquisite subtlety or overwhelming power.

  He secretly resented that his hand had been stayed against his Amazon prisoner. His more obvious methods would have already extracted the information his master required. But Desaad knew that data gained through torture could lack depth. And his master appreciated richness of detail.

  Desaad shrugged. In time, knowledge would come. And another weapon would be placed in Darkseid’s arsenal. But for now, Desaad would toy with her.

  He would let Diana know that her memories themselves were betraying her island home, and that there was nothing she could do to stop them. Her helplessness would cut deep and bring an exquisite gush of psychic agony, thick and rich as her life’s blood. And Desaad would drink deep.

  He bowed his head in silent homage. Great Darkseid was right, as always. The fullness of time would meet his master’s agenda—and Desaad’s own.

  The door to Diana’s cell slid open and a hooded figure entered.

  Diana stood, her interest quickening. Maybe now she could find out what was going on.

  Desaad threw back his hood. “I have almost completed the analysis of your armor, Wonder Woman. If it proves practical, we will use it as a prototype to enhance the
strength and agility of our Dog Soldiers. Your lasso is another interesting artifact—”

  “It won’t prove practical.” Diana shrugged, apparently undisturbed. “The armor is powered by the goddess Athena and bonded to me alone. Only I can wield its power.”

  “I acknowledge that you believe that!” Desaad sneered. “But Themyscira is a particularly backward and unsophisticated little realm, with its marble temples and rustic glens. And that Temple of Athena, with its benevolent statue! Ah, well, you were brought up there, so what can one expect?”

  Diana was shocked into silence.

  Themyscira’s sun-drenched beauty had dominated her thoughts and dreams. A temporary escape into its remembered loveliness had provided solace. But Desaad was talking about Themyscira as if he’d seen it—as if he’d been there. And that was impossible.

  “Lord Darkseid will, of course, bring the place into the present,” Desaad continued. “He will rip the mineral deposits from its cliffs and build factories along its shores and—”

  “He can’t!” Diana cried.

  “He is Darkseid,” Desaad murmured. “He will do as he chooses with Themyscira, as he will with you.”

  “No!” Diana lunged forward, stretched her bonds to their limit, and kicked out with her foot. Desaad stepped nimbly backward and the blow narrowly missed his head.

  A close call, he thought, but taunting her is worth the danger. He could feel Diana’s anguish. He would see that it got worse.

  “You stole the armor and relied on its magic to give you an edge in combat,” Desaad continued. “Now Apokolips has stolen you. Once you are Bound to my master, Darkseid, I will return the armor to you, of course. And you will use it to carry out his will. Perhaps you will destroy the Justice League. Or Themyscira itself?”

  Diana didn’t yet understand, Desaad realized, but she would. Then she would fight him. It would take longer to force out her memories. But there would be greater pleasure in the victory.

  Desaad bowed and left, but Diana hardly noticed, so engrossed was she in the puzzle of where Desaad had gotten his information.

  I did take the armor, Diana thought. I left Themyscira secretly, against my mother’s will. But how could Desaad know that? Funny, she’d just been half-asleep, vividly reliving the night she took her armor. . . .

  And then she understood. Her dreams! Somehow Desaad had been tapping into her dreams. In dreaming, by remembering, she had betrayed her beloved island and its people.

  Even now, she felt memories welling up . . . felt herself beginning to sink into another reverie. But she fought against it as she had never fought before.

  Why is this happening? Diana asked herself.

  The guard shuffled in with an Energy Block and another pitcher of water. Suddenly Diana had her answer.

  I’m being drugged, she thought. There are drugs in that block of sawdust. Or in the water. Or both.

  Beyond her cell, down the corridor, she heard screams and moans. “Himon! Help us!” a voice cried. They were Lowlies, the guard had told her. Fodder for Desaad’s pleasure and Darkseid’s designs.

  But Himon, the legendary Himon, had escaped. Diana wished she knew how. Because she had to get out of here too. And soon.

  It was easy to disguise the fact that she wasn’t eating, Diana thought as she crumbled the Energy Block into sawdust and scattered it over the grime-encrusted floor. Not much of a sacrifice either, considering the menu, even without the piquant addition of mind-altering drugs.

  She trusted that, in the dim light, the guard wouldn’t notice a bit more grime. Or the water she spilled between the cracks in the stone floor.

  An old adage from her training days came back to her: “Hunger sharpens a warrior’s wits.” Well, this hunger was sure to. Of course, she would have to escape before she died of thirst.

  From time to time she would notice that she had slipped into a dream-state, would realize that she had vividly relived a fragment of a memory. Another piece for Desaad’s Amazon collection.

  Diana hoped that as her mind grew sharper she would be better able to resist.

  By the second day, Diana was very thirsty. Despite her best efforts to consider the problem of the present, her fractious mind kept veering back into the past. . . .

  THE HUNT

  The sun beats down, but Diana ignores her thirst. She’ll drink later, after she finds her quarry. This is more than a training session or one of her mother’s endless tests.

  The monster she stalks this time is real.

  Since Diana’s early childhood, her mother had been devising a gauntlet of trials, supposedly to honor Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and War, and to demonstrate Diana’s warrior prowess. Diana had always resented the tests and, as she neared womanhood, had begun to insist that she be allowed to honor Athena in her own way.

  For this Feast Day, Diana announced that she would hunt the enormous dragon that was decimating local flocks and had carried off a shepherdess.

  “The gods protect Themyscira from outside danger. But there are still dangers inherent to this island,” she had told her mother. “I need to use my skills to help our people!”

  Diana spots the dragon on a high crag, where it is devouring its latest kill. Tossing aside her shield and spear, she notches an arrow in her bow, takes careful aim, and lets it fly.

  The arrow strikes the dragon’s chest. But instead of falling, the dragon sweeps high into the air, and its spreading wings seem to blot out the sun.

  Diana fires arrow after arrow at the dragon as it dives at her, breathing fire and roaring so loudly the ground shakes. Its eyes glow red, lit by its internal fires, and its fangs are long and sharp as scimitars.

  The dragon is almost upon her when she throws aside her bow. She grabs her shield and spear, and using the shield to deflect its fiery breath, she thrusts the spear into its opened mouth and forces the point up into its brain.

  She rolls aside as the dragon’s massive body crashes to the earth.

  Diana stands over the magnificent fallen monster, whose scales gleam like gold. Its skin will make Athena an appropriate offering, she thinks.

  Diana has used her abilities for the good of her people. Yet something is missing.

  They didn’t need me for this, she realizes. A hunting party could have slain the beast.

  Then she sighs. Where is a challenge only I can face?

  Oh well, she thinks. At least I’m free of testing for another year.

  Diana blinked. . . . Another memory given to Desaad.

  Enough! she told herself. I’ve got to think!

  She saw again, in her mind’s eye, her spear point stabbing upward. And she thought, My energy bonds can be severed. Just like that!

  When the guard opened the door, he found Diana writhing on the floor, foam bubbling from her mouth.

  “Good try!” he said. “Seen that one before. Get up, ’fore I report you to Desaad. He’ll have you writhin’ for real.”

  Still carrying the water pitcher and Energy Cube, the guard stepped closer and lashed out with his foot. Even as his toe connected, Diana jerked his legs out from under him and he found himself sprawled on the floor beside her.

  Diana grabbed the dagger from his belt and slammed its hilt upward into the underside of his chin, knocking him unconscious. He jerked and lay still.

  Diana sat up. “Something tells me you aren’t used to prisoners fighting back,” she told him. He had left the door slightly ajar when he entered. All she had to do now was reach it and escape.

  She was hoping the knife would sever the wires of her energy shackles and free her. Of course, she might also electrocute herself. But that was a chance she would have to take.

  She hacked at the thick wires. Yes, one was almost cut through. She pressed carefully with the point of the blade. There was a loud pop! A huge spark leapt from the wire and she was thrown back against the wall.

  The light in the hall went out.

  Diana struggled to her feet in the darkness. This was better
than she had hoped. The shackles had fallen away. Her hands were free. And she had shorted out part of the building.

  The good news was she would be able to make at least part of her escape under cover of darkness. The bad new was someone—probably a lot of someones—would very soon be rushing in this direction.

  Shuffling toward the door, she nearly tripped over the guard. She hesitated, and considered taking his armor and helmet as a disguise.

  As if that would work, she thought. Better to travel light and keep out of sight.

  Tossing aside the half-melted dagger, she felt her way along the wall, out of her cell, and into the corridor. She pulled the cell door shut behind her.

  She couldn’t see a thing, had no idea where to go now.

  Her wrist was starting to hurt where the shackle had sparked and burned, but she would worry about that later. If there was a later.

  Somewhere ahead she heard a door open and saw a burly figure silhouetted against a rectangle of light that led to a stairwell.

  The guard cursed hoarsely, but didn’t sound alarmed.

  “Old wiring,” he grunted. “Told Desaad we’d need an upgrade.” Then he shouted, “Kranx, Kranx, where are you, man?”

  The cries of the prisoners, their sighs and sobs, curses and screams, almost drowned out Kranx’s answer from inside Diana’s dungeon cell.

  “Help! Help me! I’m in here!”

  As the burly guard began to sweep the corridor with light from a hand-torch, Diana stepped forward, then leapt high into the air, taking him on the chin with the point of her heel.

  He crashed to the floor like a toppled statue.

  Diana pulled from his belt a cylindrical object that she thought was a weapon. She had never used a gun—they didn’t have them on Themyscira—but she understood the principal. Point and fire. She would use it if she had to.

  She sighed. Green Lantern would probably see her lack of practice with modern weapons as further proof she was an amateur. But she was a fast learner. And she would do whatever it took to get her armor back.