Post by jross on Sept 30, 2011 18:59:55 GMT -5
Issue #5: Homecoming, Part I
“It's been a month; why haven't we gone back?”
“Back to Earth, Jordan,” came Sines Toro's reply through the biting mountain wind. The two men stood, exhausted from a sparring session and panting at the top of a silicon peak facing a blue-and-purple sunset on an alien world.
“I wouldn't mind that, but no, Chief,” Sines Toro bristled only slightly at his weeks-old nickname, “I mean why haven't we gone back to Oa? If I didn't report back to the station back in Taos every day, under normal circumstances I'd get booted in the next election. As it stands...”
“Your domestic life is of little concern in this situation, Jordan,” Sines Toro replied. Sines Toro continued, “but I will explain. The Guardians of Oa give a wide latitude to corpsmen in their professional and personal conduct. A weapon powered by the will is only as strong as its wielder, so thus corpsmen are free to express their individuality so long as they remain vigilant and loyal. There is more to tell, but that will wait until the arrival of our associates.”
“Our associates,” Hal began to ask Sines Toro when he spied a pair of emerald-hued figures approaching fast from the west. In a moment there were two new corpsmen on the mountain.
“Tomar-Re of Xudar, Kilowog of Bolovax Vik, you will recall Hal Jordan of Earth from Abin Sur's funeral,” the Korugaran nobleman made a smooth introduction of all parties.
“Hello, my brother-at-arms. As the protege of Sines Toro, I can only assume your honor and valor,” the large porcine alien named Kilowog intoned with a pleasant baritone.
The other newcomer, the fish-like Tomar-Re, merely grunted and circled Hal a bit, sizing him up. Despite the lack of familiarity with the newcomers, Hal was filled with the feeling of being among old friends.
“Corpsmen, it is good that you can meet us here,” Sines Toro began, “the death of Abin Sur has left several puzzling questions. Why was Abin Sur traveling in a space craft and not flying under the power of his ring? What caused the cowardly Narkanthos to strike out so openly? How in the name of Oa was Narkanthos able to penetrate my constructs with a gesture?”
At this point Sines Toro raised his hand, beckoning his colleagues to do the same, and initiated the now-familiar neural link via rings, sharing both his and Hal's accounts of the deaths of Abin Sur and Narkanthos. Kilowog raised an eyebrow in fascination, while Tomar-Re nodded almost spasmodically.
“Conclusion: Narkanthos was desperately seeking something,” Tomar-Re spoke in a high, wheezy voice, “Secondary conclusions: Abin Sur had knowledge of the pirate's quest, and his stolen spacecraft must have been vital to locating the object or person, for the only benefit to piloting one of Narkanthos' shuttles would have been access to his computer records. Either the objective of the search or a source of further information was located on Earth. Finally, I believe that I have ascertained the source of Narkanthos' combat effectiveness, but for the sake of expediency I ask that you allow me to download all pertinent information to your rings.”
“Tomar-Re,” Sines Toro flashed a rare smile, “I shall never be convinced that there is a greater source of intuition and deductive reasoning anywhere in the galaxy than your own marvelous brain.”
As the neural link once again took hold, Hal's mind was assailed by flashing images of the aftermath of great battles. Cities, even worlds lay devastated and lifeless. And at each site, burnt into rubble and scorched earth were glowing golden sigils and runes similar to those on Narkanthos' armor. At the end of the image series flashed a single word that elicited a gasp from both Kilowog and Sines Toro: Qward.
“We are going back to Earth,” Sines Toro stated with urgency and finality, “now.”
-
Seven days earlier, Earth
“He's been riding our butts for weeks now, Sarah, can't he understand that we're dealing with something beyond human experience? He hasn't even sent for outside help, yet he wants you and me to finish this in an impossibly short length of time.”
Doctor John Stewart was complaining to a sympathetic audience of one, his colleague, Dr. Sarah Watson. The two were seated around the massive battle armor that had crashed to Earth three weeks previously. Sarah beamed with an overly-optimistic, gorgeous smile.
“John, the scuttlebutt is that Major Booker's made it to a senior officer rank more quickly than any officer in the U.S. Army before him and that he's been given a facility that some of the top brass think is beyond his capability to manage. If he calls for help on this someone higher up the chain of command is going to take all the credit and his climb up the ladder is going to stall for a very long time.”
“That doesn't justify what he's doing, though, Sarah. It took a week just to get this thing cracked open. If we didn't have that S.T.A.R. Supercomputer running calculations we'd never have cracked the quantum-state circuitry and hexaric logic gate system this thing uses. In the meantime there are disaster victims and medical patients who could be benefiting from-”
“Oh, John,” Sarah cut off her friend and leaned forward, giving him a big-sisterly kiss on his smooth, brown pate, “sometimes I really love you.”
“Fraternizing, eh?” the question came from behind them both, causing the engineers to jump. Major Paul Booker stood behind them, smirking, “I love special forces stealth training. You two are priceless. I guess you've got a point, though, Stewart. I'm asking too much too soon. Forget reproducing this for now. Focus on adjusting the suit to my body and give me some sort of usable interface.”
“This thing is twenty-three feet tall! You expect-”
“I expect that you can do it, Stewart. I want that thing operational and scaled to my frame yesterday.” Without a further word Booker turned on his heels and left the lab.
“Jerk,” was all that John muttered before getting back to work.
Six days later, astoundingly, the work was done. Sarah had focused on the practical side of things, refabricating alien material for the frame while rearranging the internal circuitry without damaging any of the components, and had hit a wall. John, on the other hand, had previously studied the work of a scientist named David Goldblum on the theoretical integration of human and possible extra-terrestrial computing systems. Late the previous night a breakthrough had come. The S.T.A.R. computer had finally managed to converse with the suit's onboard computer. Surprisingly, the suit indicated that it had been built with multiple users in mind. After simply inputting Major Booker's physical size and weight John and Sarah had watched in shock as the suit swiftly scaled down before their eyes. The onboard computer then confirmed English as its new interface language.
“Well, call Major Booker, Sarah,” John said wearily, “I guess that he's getting his new toy after all.”
The two beleaguered engineers tiredly decided to call it a night and filed out of their workshop. From out of a cold-storage locker on the far wall seeped a viscous red ooze. Resolving itself into a bipedal shape the sickly fluid silently skulked away.
The next day Sarah, John, Major Booker and a smattering of the major's personal staff were assembled on the base' proving ground, the alien armor suit had been wheeled outside and stood empty, awaiting its first human wearer. A couple enlisted men whispered to each other their gladness that it was the major, and not they who were to be the test pilots.
Booker strode towards the armor, grinning the whole time, with dreams of being the youngest lieutenant colonel in history playing in his mind. Stewart wore a look of disgust.
“Sarah, look at all those targets out there. Nearly-indestructible metal lands on Earth and all they want to do is destroy. What about applications for disaster relief or geothermal drilling? What-”
“Oh, John, you've got to learn to play ball,” Sarah smirked, it'll be a while, but the civilian applications will come. In the meantime be happy with what we've been allowed to do.”
John merely frowned as he inwardly acknowledged the futility of arguing. The major had made it to the suit and was boldly climbing in to the open armor. Booker stepped in backwards as the front sections of the suit closed over him.
The armor sealed and immediately Booker felt dozens of pin pricks over his skin. His pulse quickened as he realized for the first time that he was a mere human experimenting with a totally foreign technology. Before he could wish that he had sent a junior officer in his place the helmet's visor powered on, displaying a heads-up display, complete with English language Arabic numerals. There was a flash as an obscene amount of information loaded from the suit's onboard computer directly to Booker's brain. There would be no need for trial and error in learning to fight in this armor.
Booker blinked rapidly and saw a new overlay resolve onto the HUD. A series of multi-colored strands were over everything. Every building, every body and every vehicle looked covered in web. Booker jet-hopped over to the nearest dummy building and walked until he was in front of the thickest strand. Reaching out to grab the shimmering silver strand Booker felt his hand curl into a fist and strike the building.
The punch landed squarely in the thick strand, and the building crumbled to bricks upon impact. Able to hear the murmurs of astonishment from the soldiers and engineers behind him, Booker felt the urge for a greater show. Seeing the same string overlay on a decommissioned jeep, Booker mentally selected from the armor's weaponry a flechette launcher. Aiming at and hitting it's thickest strand Booker caused the jeep to disintegrate.
“Way to go, Major,” came a call over Booker's headset. It was Smythe, a captain in charge of press affairs, and a friend of Booker's, “you're a one-man army now. There's no way we're ever gonna lose a fight now! Everyone else might as well surrender.”
Booker was about to reply with a joke when he felt an electric pulse shock his body. He closed his eyes and grabbed his head as silver lights began to strobe through his eyelids. The same word was pounding through his skull. DESTROY, DESTROY, DESTROY.
Booker's untrained will submitted, and the urge overcame him. Activating his propulsors, Booker soared west.
The calls and protests of the soldiers and engineers did not reach Booker. They were soon cut off by the arrival of four green-clad figures in the sky above the proving grounds. Hal Jordan, Sines Toro, Tomar-Re and Kilowog hovered, taking in the scene.
“This is where the scan led us,” Kilowog intoned, “where is the Qwardian suit?”
Tomar-Re responded, “It has departed. Heading west at high speeds.”
Before Sines Toro could issue a further order there was a crash nearby. All present turned to face the sound. Dust was settling around an enormous figure at the south entrance of the base.
“Oi! You lot, run while ya got tha chance, 'cuz I'm about to blow!”
Without a further word Narkanthos hefted a nearby jeep and hurled it at the assembled crowd.
To be continued...
“It's been a month; why haven't we gone back?”
“Back to Earth, Jordan,” came Sines Toro's reply through the biting mountain wind. The two men stood, exhausted from a sparring session and panting at the top of a silicon peak facing a blue-and-purple sunset on an alien world.
“I wouldn't mind that, but no, Chief,” Sines Toro bristled only slightly at his weeks-old nickname, “I mean why haven't we gone back to Oa? If I didn't report back to the station back in Taos every day, under normal circumstances I'd get booted in the next election. As it stands...”
“Your domestic life is of little concern in this situation, Jordan,” Sines Toro replied. Sines Toro continued, “but I will explain. The Guardians of Oa give a wide latitude to corpsmen in their professional and personal conduct. A weapon powered by the will is only as strong as its wielder, so thus corpsmen are free to express their individuality so long as they remain vigilant and loyal. There is more to tell, but that will wait until the arrival of our associates.”
“Our associates,” Hal began to ask Sines Toro when he spied a pair of emerald-hued figures approaching fast from the west. In a moment there were two new corpsmen on the mountain.
“Tomar-Re of Xudar, Kilowog of Bolovax Vik, you will recall Hal Jordan of Earth from Abin Sur's funeral,” the Korugaran nobleman made a smooth introduction of all parties.
“Hello, my brother-at-arms. As the protege of Sines Toro, I can only assume your honor and valor,” the large porcine alien named Kilowog intoned with a pleasant baritone.
The other newcomer, the fish-like Tomar-Re, merely grunted and circled Hal a bit, sizing him up. Despite the lack of familiarity with the newcomers, Hal was filled with the feeling of being among old friends.
“Corpsmen, it is good that you can meet us here,” Sines Toro began, “the death of Abin Sur has left several puzzling questions. Why was Abin Sur traveling in a space craft and not flying under the power of his ring? What caused the cowardly Narkanthos to strike out so openly? How in the name of Oa was Narkanthos able to penetrate my constructs with a gesture?”
At this point Sines Toro raised his hand, beckoning his colleagues to do the same, and initiated the now-familiar neural link via rings, sharing both his and Hal's accounts of the deaths of Abin Sur and Narkanthos. Kilowog raised an eyebrow in fascination, while Tomar-Re nodded almost spasmodically.
“Conclusion: Narkanthos was desperately seeking something,” Tomar-Re spoke in a high, wheezy voice, “Secondary conclusions: Abin Sur had knowledge of the pirate's quest, and his stolen spacecraft must have been vital to locating the object or person, for the only benefit to piloting one of Narkanthos' shuttles would have been access to his computer records. Either the objective of the search or a source of further information was located on Earth. Finally, I believe that I have ascertained the source of Narkanthos' combat effectiveness, but for the sake of expediency I ask that you allow me to download all pertinent information to your rings.”
“Tomar-Re,” Sines Toro flashed a rare smile, “I shall never be convinced that there is a greater source of intuition and deductive reasoning anywhere in the galaxy than your own marvelous brain.”
As the neural link once again took hold, Hal's mind was assailed by flashing images of the aftermath of great battles. Cities, even worlds lay devastated and lifeless. And at each site, burnt into rubble and scorched earth were glowing golden sigils and runes similar to those on Narkanthos' armor. At the end of the image series flashed a single word that elicited a gasp from both Kilowog and Sines Toro: Qward.
“We are going back to Earth,” Sines Toro stated with urgency and finality, “now.”
-
Seven days earlier, Earth
“He's been riding our butts for weeks now, Sarah, can't he understand that we're dealing with something beyond human experience? He hasn't even sent for outside help, yet he wants you and me to finish this in an impossibly short length of time.”
Doctor John Stewart was complaining to a sympathetic audience of one, his colleague, Dr. Sarah Watson. The two were seated around the massive battle armor that had crashed to Earth three weeks previously. Sarah beamed with an overly-optimistic, gorgeous smile.
“John, the scuttlebutt is that Major Booker's made it to a senior officer rank more quickly than any officer in the U.S. Army before him and that he's been given a facility that some of the top brass think is beyond his capability to manage. If he calls for help on this someone higher up the chain of command is going to take all the credit and his climb up the ladder is going to stall for a very long time.”
“That doesn't justify what he's doing, though, Sarah. It took a week just to get this thing cracked open. If we didn't have that S.T.A.R. Supercomputer running calculations we'd never have cracked the quantum-state circuitry and hexaric logic gate system this thing uses. In the meantime there are disaster victims and medical patients who could be benefiting from-”
“Oh, John,” Sarah cut off her friend and leaned forward, giving him a big-sisterly kiss on his smooth, brown pate, “sometimes I really love you.”
“Fraternizing, eh?” the question came from behind them both, causing the engineers to jump. Major Paul Booker stood behind them, smirking, “I love special forces stealth training. You two are priceless. I guess you've got a point, though, Stewart. I'm asking too much too soon. Forget reproducing this for now. Focus on adjusting the suit to my body and give me some sort of usable interface.”
“This thing is twenty-three feet tall! You expect-”
“I expect that you can do it, Stewart. I want that thing operational and scaled to my frame yesterday.” Without a further word Booker turned on his heels and left the lab.
“Jerk,” was all that John muttered before getting back to work.
Six days later, astoundingly, the work was done. Sarah had focused on the practical side of things, refabricating alien material for the frame while rearranging the internal circuitry without damaging any of the components, and had hit a wall. John, on the other hand, had previously studied the work of a scientist named David Goldblum on the theoretical integration of human and possible extra-terrestrial computing systems. Late the previous night a breakthrough had come. The S.T.A.R. computer had finally managed to converse with the suit's onboard computer. Surprisingly, the suit indicated that it had been built with multiple users in mind. After simply inputting Major Booker's physical size and weight John and Sarah had watched in shock as the suit swiftly scaled down before their eyes. The onboard computer then confirmed English as its new interface language.
“Well, call Major Booker, Sarah,” John said wearily, “I guess that he's getting his new toy after all.”
The two beleaguered engineers tiredly decided to call it a night and filed out of their workshop. From out of a cold-storage locker on the far wall seeped a viscous red ooze. Resolving itself into a bipedal shape the sickly fluid silently skulked away.
The next day Sarah, John, Major Booker and a smattering of the major's personal staff were assembled on the base' proving ground, the alien armor suit had been wheeled outside and stood empty, awaiting its first human wearer. A couple enlisted men whispered to each other their gladness that it was the major, and not they who were to be the test pilots.
Booker strode towards the armor, grinning the whole time, with dreams of being the youngest lieutenant colonel in history playing in his mind. Stewart wore a look of disgust.
“Sarah, look at all those targets out there. Nearly-indestructible metal lands on Earth and all they want to do is destroy. What about applications for disaster relief or geothermal drilling? What-”
“Oh, John, you've got to learn to play ball,” Sarah smirked, it'll be a while, but the civilian applications will come. In the meantime be happy with what we've been allowed to do.”
John merely frowned as he inwardly acknowledged the futility of arguing. The major had made it to the suit and was boldly climbing in to the open armor. Booker stepped in backwards as the front sections of the suit closed over him.
The armor sealed and immediately Booker felt dozens of pin pricks over his skin. His pulse quickened as he realized for the first time that he was a mere human experimenting with a totally foreign technology. Before he could wish that he had sent a junior officer in his place the helmet's visor powered on, displaying a heads-up display, complete with English language Arabic numerals. There was a flash as an obscene amount of information loaded from the suit's onboard computer directly to Booker's brain. There would be no need for trial and error in learning to fight in this armor.
Booker blinked rapidly and saw a new overlay resolve onto the HUD. A series of multi-colored strands were over everything. Every building, every body and every vehicle looked covered in web. Booker jet-hopped over to the nearest dummy building and walked until he was in front of the thickest strand. Reaching out to grab the shimmering silver strand Booker felt his hand curl into a fist and strike the building.
The punch landed squarely in the thick strand, and the building crumbled to bricks upon impact. Able to hear the murmurs of astonishment from the soldiers and engineers behind him, Booker felt the urge for a greater show. Seeing the same string overlay on a decommissioned jeep, Booker mentally selected from the armor's weaponry a flechette launcher. Aiming at and hitting it's thickest strand Booker caused the jeep to disintegrate.
“Way to go, Major,” came a call over Booker's headset. It was Smythe, a captain in charge of press affairs, and a friend of Booker's, “you're a one-man army now. There's no way we're ever gonna lose a fight now! Everyone else might as well surrender.”
Booker was about to reply with a joke when he felt an electric pulse shock his body. He closed his eyes and grabbed his head as silver lights began to strobe through his eyelids. The same word was pounding through his skull. DESTROY, DESTROY, DESTROY.
Booker's untrained will submitted, and the urge overcame him. Activating his propulsors, Booker soared west.
The calls and protests of the soldiers and engineers did not reach Booker. They were soon cut off by the arrival of four green-clad figures in the sky above the proving grounds. Hal Jordan, Sines Toro, Tomar-Re and Kilowog hovered, taking in the scene.
“This is where the scan led us,” Kilowog intoned, “where is the Qwardian suit?”
Tomar-Re responded, “It has departed. Heading west at high speeds.”
Before Sines Toro could issue a further order there was a crash nearby. All present turned to face the sound. Dust was settling around an enormous figure at the south entrance of the base.
“Oi! You lot, run while ya got tha chance, 'cuz I'm about to blow!”
Without a further word Narkanthos hefted a nearby jeep and hurled it at the assembled crowd.
To be continued...