Post by jross on Dec 23, 2011 19:00:27 GMT -5
Issue #8: The Widening Gyre
The motley team had just breached the atmosphere, and all were feeling the tug of Earth's gravity waning. Hal looked back, spying Tom grinning like a fool at his new situation. Further behind him were Carol and Guy, laughing. Guy had has enormous paw on Carol's back and all Hal could think of was how much he would like to sock Gardner in the jaw and be the one next to the stunning raven-haired sculptor. But of course anger was Guy's thing; Hal had to focus on more urgent matters now.
Sines Toro, as usual, was taking point. Booker, ever the ladder-climber, had easily made Sines Toro as the leader he was and was sticking close to that Korugaran. Tomar-Re herded John Stewart and Tom together while Kilowog gathered the lovebirds.
“The precise location of Qward is a closely-guarded secret,” Sines Toro announced to the new Lanterns, “for your own protection the location will not be shared with you. The Green Lanterns present will carry you to our destination. If you are ever captured your relatively unshielded minds will not be able to divulge the location of Oblivion's Arsenal to those with ill intent.”
Booker was in the process of protesting when he was silenced by glare from Kilowog. He simply grumbled under his breath, “I'll be keeping my eyes open.”
The cosmos blurred as the nine ring bearers embarked on a journey farther than any had ever before taken from their homes.
-
“There's nothing here,” complained Booker.
“You said that I'd get to smash the guy who busted me up,” Guy growled.
“Patience,”said Tomar-Re, “the planet lies above the galactic plane at these coordinates. It is nearly impossible to approach Qward due to the extreme amount of energy required to escape the galaxy and the distance involved.”
“But if this Narkanthos character was able to make it to Qward, then must be able to get there, too,” Tom piped up optimistically.
“Meantime, if this guy's as bad as you say, then we're lettin' a lot of bad stuff go down waitin' here,” Guy pointed out.
“Gardner,” Sines Toro barked, “That's it, we have no need of complainers in this unit. We will take him on without you. You are dismissed.”
“Dismissed where,” Guy shouted suddenly, “there's nowhere to go! I don't even know how we got here!”
Sines Toro winked at Tomar-Re, who nodded and prepared a construct. Gardner was getting too wound up to notice the subtle exchange.
“If I don't get him, then I'm taking you, Diva Dog!”
Guy's crimson aura glowed with greater intensity and expanded outward as his rage grew. Guy's own body seemed to swell with his fury. Despite the lack of convection in the vacuum of space the assembled ring bearers each could have sworn that they felt a growing heat in Guy's presence. Just before he turned to swing he was interrupted by a reedy voice.
“With your pardon, Gardner, but I estimate that your rage output is now sufficient to break the galactic plane,” Tomar-Re informed Garnder from a safe distance.
“Eh? How's that?”
Tomar-Re simply pointed up, “Quick as you can, if you please.”
With no further conversation Guy streaked upward. Before he could disappear Tomar-Re lassoed Guy's foot, extending his construct in length for all the other to grab on as well. As the group flew along they were serenaded by Kilowog's mournful baritone voice, singing a hymn against the colorless void.
-
Nearly an hour later Guy, now harnessed in a chariot improvised by Hal, arrived at Qward. A rogue planet hanging on nothing, it would have been near-indistinguishable from space were it not for a series of gleaming satellites in a webbed grid above the planet.
“Towards that gap, faithful steed,” Hal pointed with a large hand construct for Guy to follow, indicating a large hole in the planet's defense structure, “that must have been caused by Narkanthos.”
“Indeed, and somewhat recently, as one would expect a marvel of Qwardian engineering to be self-repairing.”
“We're goin' in hot! Hang on,” cried Guy as he charged toward the planet.
The eight passengers swiftly acted to erect barriers about themselves, creating a matroishka doll-like protection around themselves. Despite the damage to the atmospheric shell, the impressive Qwardian weapons were still active, and they opened to spit sickly-white energy at the approaching corspmen. The resolve of the rookies held firm in their first true combat situation. Hal grinned proudly at his friends, holding some optimism for the coming battle.
Suddenly the slight pinging sounds of the Qwardian defenses were replaced with a great rushing roar as the group hit the atmosphere. Gardner was buffeted from all sides by raging winds but kept his focus straight down.
“Gardner,” Kilowog cried out after a few seconds, “we're good, stop here.”
Guy and the others had been so focused on their defensive constructs that they had not realized how quickly the danger from the orbital cannons had passed. As the nine people hung in the air, they noticed that nothing, not a air fighter, not a missile, not an armored Qwardian were rising to meet them. Below, the planetscape was pocked with craters and rising smoke. Across the Western horizon flashes of crimson and gold burned the sky. A ways to the East was spire left standing with a blinking beacon.
“I assume it safe to say that Narkanthos has no intention of allying with Qward,” piped in Tomar-Re, “it would appear that he has met a hostile force.”
“Then what are we doing here,” responded Booker, “if these Qwardians are as bad as you've told us on the ride over, we might as well leave them to their fate.”
“Booker,” Tom Kalmaku responded, “there have to be good people here, we have to fight for them.”
“Presence of good aside,” Sines Toro interjected, “the fact is that Narkanthos has at his disposal a Power Ring. He has managed to penetrate into one of the greatest arsenals in the universe. If he wins today, he will have access to the tools that he will need to unleash untold carnage on all sentient life. Now, we need a plan.
“We must split up. Stewart and Booker, head to the beacon. Kalmaku and Kilowog, relief efforts to the North. Jordan and Tomar-Re, relief efforts to the South. Gardner and Ferris, you will accompany me against Narkanthos. Open comms, people!”
Despite the fact that most of the people in the group had never used a Power Ring in a real-world situation, all of the rookies had spent several hours worth of dream-time training. Each had a modicum of knowledge required to wield their new power, and it seemed that each was confident enough in their own abilities and trusting enough in Sines Toro's leadership to follow his quick plan. Finding their mates, each team streaked off towards their destination.
-
“After you, Booker,” John Stewart bowed facetiously to his partner, indicating the portal to the base of the tower sending out the flashing beacon. A comm from Tomar-Re had identified the pattern as a galactic-standard distress call.
“Of course,” Booker simply sneered and strode into the black portal. Like what they had seen of Qwardian architecture, the building was tall, gray-silver and resembled an Earth ziggurat, only thinner. Within, the tower was lit by flickering recessed lamps, barely working due to Narkanthos' damage to the power grid. The ground floor was empty of people. Booker and Stewart both glanced up, noticing that the tower went up without interruption. With a nod, both men flew cautiously to the top floor.
At the top the pair were greeted by a surprised gasp. They turned to find a slight humanoid starting towards them. It was golden-skinned with near-human features that were somewhat flatter than would appear normal on Earth.
“You are answering the distress signal? Is that why you have come,” was the Qwardian's sing-song greeting.
“We're here to help,” John replied.
“Tell us what you know,” Paul demanded after checking his comm signal with the other teams.
“We were attacked from the sky,” the being began in a distressed voice, “it was the-” at this point the Qwardian uttered an unintelligible word that did not translate by the Power Rings.
“Repeat, that,” Paul interrupted, “we didn't copy. Any of you Green Lanterns catch what he said?”
“I did,” Tomar-Re responded over the comms, “he said that it was the “Khan of Atrocities,” which I believe to be a figure from Qwardian myth. Have him repeat himself once more and the rings should catalog that expression into an appropriate vernacular form.”
The Qwardian blinked in exasperation, “It was the, the Atrocitus who attacked us. Why have the citizens not gathered here at the Spire of Shelter?”
“I'd say they haven't come because they've all been vaporized by this Atrocitus,” Booker answered with his usual lack of tact. He continued, “Why haven't you wiped him out with all your awesome weaponry?”
“My weaponry? I do not have weapons,” responded the Qwardian, sniffing the air and turning up its nose, “I am not one of the contemptible Death Smiths. I do not fight.”
“But this is Qward,” Booker said incredulously, “it's the greatest weapons depot in the universe. What do-”
“Booker, maybe this guy isn't like that,” John interrupted, “did you think that every one of them would be a weapon crafter?”
“Indeed,” Tomar-Re offered over the comms, “we are encountering a number of civilians who seem to have nothing to do with the individuals who are responsible for creating the notorious weapons.”
“The Death Smiths are a pox upon Qward,” spat the tower's keeper, “the few twisted minds who apply their life's work to the total eradication of all things by their foretold Atrocitus. They feel that only he with the power to destroy everything should exist, eradicating everything and achieving balance throughout the universe.”
“Well, it's good to hear that there are noble-minded folk here like yourself,” John attempted to make friendly talk, “what can we do to help you, sir?”
“Go, gather the populace that remains and bring them here. If they cower, tell them that Blandoc has sent for them. I must remain at my sacred post, stoking the fire of the spire.”
“How can you be sure that we are trustworthy,” Booker asked warily.
“I see,” Blandoc tapped his temple, indicating a plate of metallic material that covered his right eye, “through the lens of revelation. Many things, deception, emotion, desire and inner workings are revealed to the viewer. I can sense no hostility in either of you.”
“Booker,” John Stewart said, “does that sound like the targeting sensors on that armor that possessed you?”
“Yeah, it does. Might be useful.”
“Would you mind passing on a couple of those to us, Blandoc?”
“I can loan you two a pair for the duration of your work,” Blandoc moved to a cabinet and procured two of the quarter-mask devices, and handed them to Booker and Stewart, “go now, people are dying.”
The two Lanterns both nodded respectfully after donning their Qwardian gifts and exited the tower to search for survivors.
-
Thomas Kalmaku mused on his surroundings. Mere hours previously he had seriously doubted the existence of aliens, and yet here he was now flying alongside a fishman, trying to rescue beings that looked a lot like those street performers who paint themselves gold and pose as statues.
Before the fishman, it had been the pigman. Kilowog had turned out to be a decent enough teacher. A bit gruff at first, but as the two men had trained in the dream-time, Tom had seen a gregarious and humorous side of the man emerge. Tom was grateful now for the training, which had only lasted minutes in real-time, but which Tom and the others had perceived as lasting several hours.
Tom had learned that his seemingly-boundless optimism was the key to powering his blue ring, and the notion struck him as ironic. If there was anywhere optimism would be most likely to whither and die, it was under the pitch-black skies of the blighted Qward.
“Kalmaku,” Tomar-Re wheezed, “that fallen tower, there. I can hear screams beneath it. We'll have to lift the entire thing at once, lest it collapse again and kill any survivors.”
The tower was massive, thee kilometers long, and made from the same stone as the rest of the buildings that they had seen. Tomar-Re stayed at the South end of the tower while Tom headed North. The two men prepared their constructs, Tomar-Re a geometric pattern of repeating triangles and Tom representations of his own hands. Both men exerted themselves to raise the rubble. For Tom it was like nothing he had ever felt. A slight tugging at his happiness, a draining of his goodwill. As the tower lifted, the strain lessened and Tom could feel his mind returning to normal.
“A mission of mercy,” a voice called from behind them, “blasphemy!”
There was a crash as a Qwardian flew overhead and dropped from the heavens, crashing onto the tower. The force caused the constructs to droop, and the tower sagged, coming perilously close to the now-visible bodies of survivors laying on the ground.
“We are here to help, Qwardian,” Tomar-Re spoke evenly, “we mean no harm.”
“And that is the problem, off-worlder,” the armored figure responded, “you attempt to thwart the will of the Atrocitus! All is imperfect, save the Atrocitus! All must return to dust!”
With that the Qwardian raised a mailed fist, slamming it onto the tower and causing a ripple that sent cracks spidering through the hulk, disintegrating it. Each of the Lanterns quickly spread their constructs to catch and hold the many pieces, while still holding it up against the force of their enemy's blow.
“Kalmaku,” Tomar-Re called out, “extend your construct to cover mine so that I can deal with this trouble maker.”
Tom did as told, covering the entire tower with his construct. Tomar-Re disengaged and soared towards the intruder, initiating a fierce and quick melee. Tom felt the creeping fatigue again, this time coming into him quickly. The tower was dropping down again, and Tom could not hold it.
There was a cry for help, and directly in front of him Tom saw a young boy struggling to his feet. Tom's first impression was that this child was about the same size that he judged his own son would have been, had his wife not been killed in a car crash coming home from the obstetrician's office. It had been on his mind since his training session with Kilowog, and he couldn't see why.
Seeing the young boy in front of him, his heart was touched, and he resolved that today at least one parent would not lose their child. The tower was continuing to fall, now mere centimeters from the boy. From somewhere within himself a new power flowed, strengthening his construct and halting the fall of the tower.
Tomar-Re and the armored Death Smith were exchanging blows when the tower stabilized. The Qwardian grunted and shoved Tomar-Re away while jetting towards the victims.
“If the tower won't take them out, I will,” their enemy howled, aiming and firing flechettes at the cowering survivors. Tomar-Re responded by erecting hasty shields to cover the innocents.
“Kalmaku,” Tomar-Re cried out, “he will be able to shoot through my constructs. I can change them slightly to throw off his sensors, but he will eventually figure out a countermeasure. You need to get rid of the tower and help me.”
“I, can't,” Tom responded with a grunt. He had held the tower steady, but couldn't lift it any higher. The strain was simply too much.
“Yes, you can,” came a tiny voice. The Qwardian boy was looking at him with an intense awestruck expression, “you can do anything.” The boy's words were followed by a few nods from the others at his side.
Not from himself, but from the boy and the others, came a brighter light. Visible only to Tom, it was radiating from their hearts, connecting with him and flowing into Tom's body. In a matter of seconds the tower was no longer heavy, no longer a weight. The entire structure was as light as a feather. Tom quickly hurled it into a nearby crater. Pausing briefly to smile back at the boy, Tom then whirled about to face the Death Smith while projecting a dome over the other Qwardians.
The Death Smith, for his part, had been focused on Tomar-Re. Assaulting the corpsman with energy beams, he pressed forward. Tomar-Re took to the air, trying quickly to adjust his constructs to compensate for the Qwardian targeting system. When he finally slowed to the point where his constructs were completely negated, he was struck by a beam that sent him tumbling to earth. The Death Smith grinned and fired a rocket from a shoulder-mounted launcher.
Tomar-Re resolved to fight until the end and put up a final shield, knowing that it would not withstand the terrible weapon. He was surprised when his green construct began to grow teal, and saw Tom from afar. The human's energy was somehow merging with his own, reinforcing the construct. Tomar-Re quickly reshaped the shield into a tube, catching the rocket and turning it around. The Death Smith didn't stop grinning, even when the rocket streaked back towards him, turning him to cinder.
The crowd of people that had been rescued cheered wildly, and Tomar-Re favored Tom with a smile. The young boy ran towards Tom, embracing his legs. As Tomar-Re caught his breath and the people who could move began to almost dance with joy, Tom was caught up in a stream of blue light. His mind was no longer fully his own. Ancient words came to him, from the same deep place that his hope had flowed a moment before. In a new voice, he spoke.
”Through rage and fear, ire and fright,
The strong may flee, mighty take flight,
Despite it all, I'll do what's right,
Blue Lantern shall always burn bright!”
Tomar-Re bowed low at the birth of a new order of light. The assembled people gasped. Tom simply smiled.
“We're sorry to have to leave you,” he called out to them all. He looked down to the boy who was still clinging to him and messed up his hair, “but we'll be back once we've helped everyone we can find.”
With that the two men took once again to the sky, looking for any others in need of help.
To be continued...
The motley team had just breached the atmosphere, and all were feeling the tug of Earth's gravity waning. Hal looked back, spying Tom grinning like a fool at his new situation. Further behind him were Carol and Guy, laughing. Guy had has enormous paw on Carol's back and all Hal could think of was how much he would like to sock Gardner in the jaw and be the one next to the stunning raven-haired sculptor. But of course anger was Guy's thing; Hal had to focus on more urgent matters now.
Sines Toro, as usual, was taking point. Booker, ever the ladder-climber, had easily made Sines Toro as the leader he was and was sticking close to that Korugaran. Tomar-Re herded John Stewart and Tom together while Kilowog gathered the lovebirds.
“The precise location of Qward is a closely-guarded secret,” Sines Toro announced to the new Lanterns, “for your own protection the location will not be shared with you. The Green Lanterns present will carry you to our destination. If you are ever captured your relatively unshielded minds will not be able to divulge the location of Oblivion's Arsenal to those with ill intent.”
Booker was in the process of protesting when he was silenced by glare from Kilowog. He simply grumbled under his breath, “I'll be keeping my eyes open.”
The cosmos blurred as the nine ring bearers embarked on a journey farther than any had ever before taken from their homes.
-
“There's nothing here,” complained Booker.
“You said that I'd get to smash the guy who busted me up,” Guy growled.
“Patience,”said Tomar-Re, “the planet lies above the galactic plane at these coordinates. It is nearly impossible to approach Qward due to the extreme amount of energy required to escape the galaxy and the distance involved.”
“But if this Narkanthos character was able to make it to Qward, then must be able to get there, too,” Tom piped up optimistically.
“Meantime, if this guy's as bad as you say, then we're lettin' a lot of bad stuff go down waitin' here,” Guy pointed out.
“Gardner,” Sines Toro barked, “That's it, we have no need of complainers in this unit. We will take him on without you. You are dismissed.”
“Dismissed where,” Guy shouted suddenly, “there's nowhere to go! I don't even know how we got here!”
Sines Toro winked at Tomar-Re, who nodded and prepared a construct. Gardner was getting too wound up to notice the subtle exchange.
“If I don't get him, then I'm taking you, Diva Dog!”
Guy's crimson aura glowed with greater intensity and expanded outward as his rage grew. Guy's own body seemed to swell with his fury. Despite the lack of convection in the vacuum of space the assembled ring bearers each could have sworn that they felt a growing heat in Guy's presence. Just before he turned to swing he was interrupted by a reedy voice.
“With your pardon, Gardner, but I estimate that your rage output is now sufficient to break the galactic plane,” Tomar-Re informed Garnder from a safe distance.
“Eh? How's that?”
Tomar-Re simply pointed up, “Quick as you can, if you please.”
With no further conversation Guy streaked upward. Before he could disappear Tomar-Re lassoed Guy's foot, extending his construct in length for all the other to grab on as well. As the group flew along they were serenaded by Kilowog's mournful baritone voice, singing a hymn against the colorless void.
-
Nearly an hour later Guy, now harnessed in a chariot improvised by Hal, arrived at Qward. A rogue planet hanging on nothing, it would have been near-indistinguishable from space were it not for a series of gleaming satellites in a webbed grid above the planet.
“Towards that gap, faithful steed,” Hal pointed with a large hand construct for Guy to follow, indicating a large hole in the planet's defense structure, “that must have been caused by Narkanthos.”
“Indeed, and somewhat recently, as one would expect a marvel of Qwardian engineering to be self-repairing.”
“We're goin' in hot! Hang on,” cried Guy as he charged toward the planet.
The eight passengers swiftly acted to erect barriers about themselves, creating a matroishka doll-like protection around themselves. Despite the damage to the atmospheric shell, the impressive Qwardian weapons were still active, and they opened to spit sickly-white energy at the approaching corspmen. The resolve of the rookies held firm in their first true combat situation. Hal grinned proudly at his friends, holding some optimism for the coming battle.
Suddenly the slight pinging sounds of the Qwardian defenses were replaced with a great rushing roar as the group hit the atmosphere. Gardner was buffeted from all sides by raging winds but kept his focus straight down.
“Gardner,” Kilowog cried out after a few seconds, “we're good, stop here.”
Guy and the others had been so focused on their defensive constructs that they had not realized how quickly the danger from the orbital cannons had passed. As the nine people hung in the air, they noticed that nothing, not a air fighter, not a missile, not an armored Qwardian were rising to meet them. Below, the planetscape was pocked with craters and rising smoke. Across the Western horizon flashes of crimson and gold burned the sky. A ways to the East was spire left standing with a blinking beacon.
“I assume it safe to say that Narkanthos has no intention of allying with Qward,” piped in Tomar-Re, “it would appear that he has met a hostile force.”
“Then what are we doing here,” responded Booker, “if these Qwardians are as bad as you've told us on the ride over, we might as well leave them to their fate.”
“Booker,” Tom Kalmaku responded, “there have to be good people here, we have to fight for them.”
“Presence of good aside,” Sines Toro interjected, “the fact is that Narkanthos has at his disposal a Power Ring. He has managed to penetrate into one of the greatest arsenals in the universe. If he wins today, he will have access to the tools that he will need to unleash untold carnage on all sentient life. Now, we need a plan.
“We must split up. Stewart and Booker, head to the beacon. Kalmaku and Kilowog, relief efforts to the North. Jordan and Tomar-Re, relief efforts to the South. Gardner and Ferris, you will accompany me against Narkanthos. Open comms, people!”
Despite the fact that most of the people in the group had never used a Power Ring in a real-world situation, all of the rookies had spent several hours worth of dream-time training. Each had a modicum of knowledge required to wield their new power, and it seemed that each was confident enough in their own abilities and trusting enough in Sines Toro's leadership to follow his quick plan. Finding their mates, each team streaked off towards their destination.
-
“After you, Booker,” John Stewart bowed facetiously to his partner, indicating the portal to the base of the tower sending out the flashing beacon. A comm from Tomar-Re had identified the pattern as a galactic-standard distress call.
“Of course,” Booker simply sneered and strode into the black portal. Like what they had seen of Qwardian architecture, the building was tall, gray-silver and resembled an Earth ziggurat, only thinner. Within, the tower was lit by flickering recessed lamps, barely working due to Narkanthos' damage to the power grid. The ground floor was empty of people. Booker and Stewart both glanced up, noticing that the tower went up without interruption. With a nod, both men flew cautiously to the top floor.
At the top the pair were greeted by a surprised gasp. They turned to find a slight humanoid starting towards them. It was golden-skinned with near-human features that were somewhat flatter than would appear normal on Earth.
“You are answering the distress signal? Is that why you have come,” was the Qwardian's sing-song greeting.
“We're here to help,” John replied.
“Tell us what you know,” Paul demanded after checking his comm signal with the other teams.
“We were attacked from the sky,” the being began in a distressed voice, “it was the-” at this point the Qwardian uttered an unintelligible word that did not translate by the Power Rings.
“Repeat, that,” Paul interrupted, “we didn't copy. Any of you Green Lanterns catch what he said?”
“I did,” Tomar-Re responded over the comms, “he said that it was the “Khan of Atrocities,” which I believe to be a figure from Qwardian myth. Have him repeat himself once more and the rings should catalog that expression into an appropriate vernacular form.”
The Qwardian blinked in exasperation, “It was the, the Atrocitus who attacked us. Why have the citizens not gathered here at the Spire of Shelter?”
“I'd say they haven't come because they've all been vaporized by this Atrocitus,” Booker answered with his usual lack of tact. He continued, “Why haven't you wiped him out with all your awesome weaponry?”
“My weaponry? I do not have weapons,” responded the Qwardian, sniffing the air and turning up its nose, “I am not one of the contemptible Death Smiths. I do not fight.”
“But this is Qward,” Booker said incredulously, “it's the greatest weapons depot in the universe. What do-”
“Booker, maybe this guy isn't like that,” John interrupted, “did you think that every one of them would be a weapon crafter?”
“Indeed,” Tomar-Re offered over the comms, “we are encountering a number of civilians who seem to have nothing to do with the individuals who are responsible for creating the notorious weapons.”
“The Death Smiths are a pox upon Qward,” spat the tower's keeper, “the few twisted minds who apply their life's work to the total eradication of all things by their foretold Atrocitus. They feel that only he with the power to destroy everything should exist, eradicating everything and achieving balance throughout the universe.”
“Well, it's good to hear that there are noble-minded folk here like yourself,” John attempted to make friendly talk, “what can we do to help you, sir?”
“Go, gather the populace that remains and bring them here. If they cower, tell them that Blandoc has sent for them. I must remain at my sacred post, stoking the fire of the spire.”
“How can you be sure that we are trustworthy,” Booker asked warily.
“I see,” Blandoc tapped his temple, indicating a plate of metallic material that covered his right eye, “through the lens of revelation. Many things, deception, emotion, desire and inner workings are revealed to the viewer. I can sense no hostility in either of you.”
“Booker,” John Stewart said, “does that sound like the targeting sensors on that armor that possessed you?”
“Yeah, it does. Might be useful.”
“Would you mind passing on a couple of those to us, Blandoc?”
“I can loan you two a pair for the duration of your work,” Blandoc moved to a cabinet and procured two of the quarter-mask devices, and handed them to Booker and Stewart, “go now, people are dying.”
The two Lanterns both nodded respectfully after donning their Qwardian gifts and exited the tower to search for survivors.
-
Thomas Kalmaku mused on his surroundings. Mere hours previously he had seriously doubted the existence of aliens, and yet here he was now flying alongside a fishman, trying to rescue beings that looked a lot like those street performers who paint themselves gold and pose as statues.
Before the fishman, it had been the pigman. Kilowog had turned out to be a decent enough teacher. A bit gruff at first, but as the two men had trained in the dream-time, Tom had seen a gregarious and humorous side of the man emerge. Tom was grateful now for the training, which had only lasted minutes in real-time, but which Tom and the others had perceived as lasting several hours.
Tom had learned that his seemingly-boundless optimism was the key to powering his blue ring, and the notion struck him as ironic. If there was anywhere optimism would be most likely to whither and die, it was under the pitch-black skies of the blighted Qward.
“Kalmaku,” Tomar-Re wheezed, “that fallen tower, there. I can hear screams beneath it. We'll have to lift the entire thing at once, lest it collapse again and kill any survivors.”
The tower was massive, thee kilometers long, and made from the same stone as the rest of the buildings that they had seen. Tomar-Re stayed at the South end of the tower while Tom headed North. The two men prepared their constructs, Tomar-Re a geometric pattern of repeating triangles and Tom representations of his own hands. Both men exerted themselves to raise the rubble. For Tom it was like nothing he had ever felt. A slight tugging at his happiness, a draining of his goodwill. As the tower lifted, the strain lessened and Tom could feel his mind returning to normal.
“A mission of mercy,” a voice called from behind them, “blasphemy!”
There was a crash as a Qwardian flew overhead and dropped from the heavens, crashing onto the tower. The force caused the constructs to droop, and the tower sagged, coming perilously close to the now-visible bodies of survivors laying on the ground.
“We are here to help, Qwardian,” Tomar-Re spoke evenly, “we mean no harm.”
“And that is the problem, off-worlder,” the armored figure responded, “you attempt to thwart the will of the Atrocitus! All is imperfect, save the Atrocitus! All must return to dust!”
With that the Qwardian raised a mailed fist, slamming it onto the tower and causing a ripple that sent cracks spidering through the hulk, disintegrating it. Each of the Lanterns quickly spread their constructs to catch and hold the many pieces, while still holding it up against the force of their enemy's blow.
“Kalmaku,” Tomar-Re called out, “extend your construct to cover mine so that I can deal with this trouble maker.”
Tom did as told, covering the entire tower with his construct. Tomar-Re disengaged and soared towards the intruder, initiating a fierce and quick melee. Tom felt the creeping fatigue again, this time coming into him quickly. The tower was dropping down again, and Tom could not hold it.
There was a cry for help, and directly in front of him Tom saw a young boy struggling to his feet. Tom's first impression was that this child was about the same size that he judged his own son would have been, had his wife not been killed in a car crash coming home from the obstetrician's office. It had been on his mind since his training session with Kilowog, and he couldn't see why.
Seeing the young boy in front of him, his heart was touched, and he resolved that today at least one parent would not lose their child. The tower was continuing to fall, now mere centimeters from the boy. From somewhere within himself a new power flowed, strengthening his construct and halting the fall of the tower.
Tomar-Re and the armored Death Smith were exchanging blows when the tower stabilized. The Qwardian grunted and shoved Tomar-Re away while jetting towards the victims.
“If the tower won't take them out, I will,” their enemy howled, aiming and firing flechettes at the cowering survivors. Tomar-Re responded by erecting hasty shields to cover the innocents.
“Kalmaku,” Tomar-Re cried out, “he will be able to shoot through my constructs. I can change them slightly to throw off his sensors, but he will eventually figure out a countermeasure. You need to get rid of the tower and help me.”
“I, can't,” Tom responded with a grunt. He had held the tower steady, but couldn't lift it any higher. The strain was simply too much.
“Yes, you can,” came a tiny voice. The Qwardian boy was looking at him with an intense awestruck expression, “you can do anything.” The boy's words were followed by a few nods from the others at his side.
Not from himself, but from the boy and the others, came a brighter light. Visible only to Tom, it was radiating from their hearts, connecting with him and flowing into Tom's body. In a matter of seconds the tower was no longer heavy, no longer a weight. The entire structure was as light as a feather. Tom quickly hurled it into a nearby crater. Pausing briefly to smile back at the boy, Tom then whirled about to face the Death Smith while projecting a dome over the other Qwardians.
The Death Smith, for his part, had been focused on Tomar-Re. Assaulting the corpsman with energy beams, he pressed forward. Tomar-Re took to the air, trying quickly to adjust his constructs to compensate for the Qwardian targeting system. When he finally slowed to the point where his constructs were completely negated, he was struck by a beam that sent him tumbling to earth. The Death Smith grinned and fired a rocket from a shoulder-mounted launcher.
Tomar-Re resolved to fight until the end and put up a final shield, knowing that it would not withstand the terrible weapon. He was surprised when his green construct began to grow teal, and saw Tom from afar. The human's energy was somehow merging with his own, reinforcing the construct. Tomar-Re quickly reshaped the shield into a tube, catching the rocket and turning it around. The Death Smith didn't stop grinning, even when the rocket streaked back towards him, turning him to cinder.
The crowd of people that had been rescued cheered wildly, and Tomar-Re favored Tom with a smile. The young boy ran towards Tom, embracing his legs. As Tomar-Re caught his breath and the people who could move began to almost dance with joy, Tom was caught up in a stream of blue light. His mind was no longer fully his own. Ancient words came to him, from the same deep place that his hope had flowed a moment before. In a new voice, he spoke.
”Through rage and fear, ire and fright,
The strong may flee, mighty take flight,
Despite it all, I'll do what's right,
Blue Lantern shall always burn bright!”
Tomar-Re bowed low at the birth of a new order of light. The assembled people gasped. Tom simply smiled.
“We're sorry to have to leave you,” he called out to them all. He looked down to the boy who was still clinging to him and messed up his hair, “but we'll be back once we've helped everyone we can find.”
With that the two men took once again to the sky, looking for any others in need of help.
To be continued...