Part 7 (1/2)

”The Source,” Jimmy whispered hoa.r.s.ely. Somehow he knew instinctively that the awe-inspiring panoply represented something called the Source Wall, which divided the physical universe from a higher realm beyond. The Source was the ultimate mystery behind all of Creation, at least according to the New G.o.ds. And the figures adorning the Wall were no mere sculptures; they were the Promethean giants, a race of ancient immortals who had sought to breach the barrier, only to become part of it for all eternity. It was said, although by whom Jimmy could not recall, that the soul of a New G.o.d returned to the Source upon the death of its corporeal sh.e.l.l.

Had Lightray's spirit already rejoined the Source? What about Sleez's?

An agonizing spasm prevented Jimmy from ruminating any further on the subject. Electricity crackled around his aching skull. An excruciating sound, like shattered gla.s.s sc.r.a.ping against bone, filled his ears. His mouth tasted like ash. Ozone tickled his nostrils. Prismatic auras obscured his vision. Nausea twisted his stomach in knots. His brain felt like it was going to explode. ”I don't feel so good,” he confessed.

”Jimmy!” Serling blurted. ”Your head! It's growing!”

What? He spotted his reflection in the polished steel ceiling. The teenage genius wasn't joking; his brain was literally expanding beneath his scalp, blowing up like a balloon. Throbbing veins stood out upon his inflated cranium. A terrifying thought gripped him: What if his head really did explode? ”Something's wrong!” he cried out. ”Stop this!”

”I'm trying!” she shouted back. Lifting his oversized head from the table, he glimpsed her through the protective Plexiglas screen. She was frantically working the controls, but without any obvious success. ”I can't shut it down! Your brain is telepathically attacking the spectrometer!”

The holographic Source Wall blinked out of existence. The static in Jimmy's brain diminished in volume and, for a moment, he thought the worst was over. ”You're doing something!” he encouraged Serling. ”I feel different. . . .”

Different, but not necessarily better. The pressure inside his skull gave way to a soggy feeling all over his body. Spikes protruded from his skin even as his body softened into a flabby, gelatinous ma.s.s. Ringed suckers opened up along his arms and fingers, so that he looked like some bizarre genetic hybrid of an octopus, a porcupine, and a jellyfish. Only his red hair, blue eyes, and freckles kept him slightly recognizable as James Bartholomew Olsen. Sticky electrodes slid off his slimy skin, only to get tangled in the quills. ”Help!” he gurgled. ”What's happening to me?”

”I don't know!” Serling answered. ”You're overloading the sensors!”

He heard a definite note of panic in her voice. An overhead monitor erupted, emitting a shower of white-hot sparks onto Jimmy, who yelped in pain. Oozing free of their bonds, his elastic limbs flailed about wildly. An automated sensor arm crashed to the floor. A salvo of razor-sharp quills speared expensive electronic equipment. Sparks and smoke filled the laboratory, along with the smell of burning circuitry. A blaring alarm a.s.saulted his eardrums. Crimson heat-rays shot from his eyes, leaving scorch marks on the walls and ceiling. A second later, icy blue freeze-rays cracked the Plexiglas screen between Jimmy and the control room. ”RED ALERT!” a recorded voice announced over the loudspeaker. Blinking red lights flashed around the laboratory, bathing the chamber in an eerie bloodred radiance. ”RED ALERT!”

”Sorry!” Jimmy said, flinching at the rampant destruction. He yanked the remaining electrodes off his skin and rolled clumsily off the table onto the floor. His arms and legs were stretched all out of proportion, but somehow he managed to stand upright. Concentrating with all his might, despite the emergency sirens and lights, he fought to keep his rubbery bones at least partially solid. ”I can pay for this. . . .”

”Those sensors are three million apiece!” Serling informed him.

”Okay, I really can't pay for it. . . .” He looked around desperately for someplace where he couldn't cause any more damage. And not just because of the money; with his powers out of control like this, it was only a matter of time before he accidentally hurt or killed Serling. The Plexiglas screen between them looked like it was ready to shatter at any minute. I gotta get out of here . . . p.r.o.nto!

His frantic gaze fastened on a circular drain built into the floor. A brilliant, if revolting, strategy popped into his overstimulated brain. Grimacing, he flung himself onto the drain and let his flesh and bones melt into a syrupy mess. The sickening smell of raw sewage wafted up from the pipes below. ”This is gonna be gross. I just know it.”

Leaving Project Cadmus behind, he slid down the drain.

27 AND COUNTING.

METROPOLIS. EARTH-THREE.

The eldritch chanting of the spirits still echoed in Donna's ears as the newly christened Challengers of the Unknown suddenly found themselves standing on a rooftop overlooking a brightly lit modern city. Neon signs garishly adorned towering skysc.r.a.pers and casinos. Horns honked impatiently in the streets below. A blimp drifted by overhead, advertising an X-Treme Wrestling tournament. Although the sky was clear, the weather felt like fall-and much cooler than the microscopic jungle world they had just departed.

”We're back on Earth,” she realized. ”But which Earth?”

The Monitor consulted a display screen upon his right gauntlet. ”The third,” he informed them soberly. He glanced around at their surroundings. ”This is their Metropolis.”

Of course, Donna thought. Scanning the skyline, she spotted the Daily Planet Building to the south. Much like the other buildings in the vicinity, it seemed gaudier than the Metropolis she was familiar with, more like Vegas or Hub City than the Big Apricot. Lottery numbers flashed upon an illuminated ticker running along the equator of the spinning bronze globe atop the newspaper's corporate headquarters. Gazing down from the rooftop, she spied a proliferation of strip clubs, liquor stores, gun shops, and graffiti. The open display of vice reminded her of Jimmy Stewart's nightmarish glimpse of his hometown in It's a Wonderful Life-after all the good he'd done had disappeared. She scowled in disapproval. Surely Ray Palmer wouldn't choose this ugly mirror world as his new home?

”Hey, Donna.” Jason gestured with his thumb at something behind them. ”Check this out.”

Donna realized belatedly that they had landed in front of an enormous billboard bearing an oversized photo of a glamorous, raven-haired woman wearing a ruby-studded tiara. A black leather choker adorned the model's throat above a generous display of cleavage. Crime Pays! proclaimed the huge block letters printed on the billboard. The jarring motto, as well as the cruelly seductive look on the woman's face, kept Donna from identifying the subject of the portrait right away. ”By the G.o.ds,” she gasped as she finally recognized her sister's cla.s.sically beautiful features, ”is that Diana?”

Vandals had defaced the billboard, spray-painting a bright red mustache and whiskers onto the woman's smirking face. A scrawled message, Slime Preys! provided a terse reb.u.t.tal to the sign's original message.

”I suppose you think that's funny?” an indignant female voice challenged them from above.

Spinning around, Donna looked up to see three costumed figures hovering in the air above them. The newcomers resembled distorted versions of Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman. The latter was clearly the woman from the billboard, minus the painted-on facial hair. Hands on her hips, she glared down at the Challengers, clearly unamused by the mischief done to her portrait. In place of Wonder Woman's star-spangled uniform, she wore the tight leather gear of a professional dominatrix. A silver la.s.so dangled from her belt.

”Huh?” Jason blurted. ”Is this the Justice League of this world?”

”Actually,” the Monitor informed them calmly, ”they're the exact opposite. Meet the Crime Society of America.”

Crime Society? Donna thought. That doesn't sound good. . . .

The black-clad woman laughed harshly. ”Did you hear that, Ultraman, Owlman? They think we care about 'justice.'” She sneered at the very notion. ”Have you ever heard anything so absurd?”

”Of course not, Superwoman.” Instead of a bright red S, Ultraman bore a scarlet U upon his chest. Otherwise, he was a dead ringer for Superman, aside from his cold eyes and surly expression. His red cape flapped in the breeze. His fists were clenched at his sides. ”Who wants justice when revenge is so much more satisfying?”

”Like you know anything about satisfying your wife,” Owlman taunted his teammate. Large round lenses protruded above the sharp beak of his cowl. A heavy-caliber pistol was holstered to the hip of his intimidating gray body armor. A wide-eyed owl-emblem was embossed upon his chest. Apparently unable to defy gravity on his own, the masked villain swooped through the air by means of artificial glider-wings. ”I thought that was my department!”

Ultraman's face flushed with anger; the gibe had obviously hit a nerve. He unleashed a blast of heat vision at Owlman, who banked out of the way only heartbeats before being singed. ”Watch your mouth,” Superman's evil doppelganger fumed, ”before I weld it shut!”

Owlman reached for his gun.

”Now, now, boys!” Superwoman flew between the two men, physically holding them apart. ”You can fight over me later.” She nodded at Donna and the others. ”Right now I've got a score to settle with these three!”

”Wait!” Donna protested. ”I think there's been a misunderstanding!” She held up empty hands. ”We're just looking for our friend!”

”Well, you've found an enemy!” Satisfied that her jealous husband was no longer going to tear Owlman apart, Superwoman dived at Donna with phenomenal speed. Before Donna knew it, the other woman's fist was squeezing her throat. Sheer momentum carried them off the rooftop into the open air high above the pavement. ”I don't know where you're from, Sparkles, but there's one thing you should know.” Superwoman's blue eyes gleamed maliciously. ”Around here, evil always triumphs over good!”

Meanwhile, Ultraman targeted the Monitor. ”You look like an alien!” Grabbing on to the top of the billboard, he ripped it from its foundations, then hurled it down at the armored extraterrestrial. ”I hate aliens!”

Undaunted by the villain's attack, the Monitor incinerated the falling billboard with a blast from his gauntlet. Superwoman's vandalized portrait went up in flames. ”This altercation is getting us nowhere,” the Monitor complained. ”I shall continue our search in a less distracting environment.”

He vanished in a s.h.i.+mmer of light, much to the aggravation of Ultraman, whose flying fists pa.s.sed harmlessly through the empty s.p.a.ce the alien had occupied only instants before. ”Spoken like a true coward!”

I'll say, Jason thought, as he watched the Monitor abandon them. Thanks for nothing, creep!

It looked like Ultraman would be coming after Jason next, but the caped villain suddenly c.o.c.ked his head to one side. ”Hang on,” he said irritably. ”Sounds like my wife bit off more than she could chew.” Alerted by his super-hearing, he cast a scornful glance at Jason before flying off after Donna and Superwoman. ”This punk's all yours, Owlman.”

”Fine with me,” the other villain said. In the shadow of a looming water tower, Owlman touched down onto the rooftop in front of Jason. His collapsible glider-wings folded compactly beneath his arms. ”You know, you kind of look like my sidekick, Talon,” he told Jason. ”I think I'm going to enjoy beating you to a pulp!”

”Please!” Jason replied sarcastically. ”You're nothing but a second-rate Batman.”

”No.” The Darker Knight plucked a silver capsule from his Utility Belt and tossed it at Jason. ”You are.”

The capsule exploded against Jason's chest, releasing a cloud of thick yellow gas. Jason clamped his jaws shut, holding his breath, but it was no use. The caustic fumes invaded his nostrils and throat. Tears streamed from his burning eyes, and his lungs felt like they were on fire. The rooftop seemed to spin around him as an overpowering sense of dizziness turned his limbs to rubber. Nauseous, he dropped onto the sooty, tar-papered roof.

Owlman straddled his p.r.o.ne body. Grabbing Jason roughly by the collar, he rolled the helpless vigilante onto his back. A serrated razorang appeared in his hand. ”Your intestines should make a nice Father's Day gift for Commissioner Wayne,” he hooted. ”I'll have to remember to include a card.”

”I don't think so,” Donna said. Her silver bracelets flashed in the moonlight as she seized Owlman by his cowl and flung him dozens of feet into the air. He let out a startled cry before cras.h.i.+ng through a neon sign over a block away. Sparks and broken gla.s.s cascaded down onto the city streets.

Jason blinked at Donna through watery eyes. Boy, am I glad to see you!

She knelt beside him. ”Jason! Are you okay?” Concern shone in her striking blue eyes. She leaned over him and, for a second, he thought (hoped?) that she might give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but the moment pa.s.sed and she simply helped him sit up instead. ”Wow.” He coughed, concealing his disappointment. His head began to clear as he took a couple of deep breaths of oxygen. ”You really care.”

”Gee, we're not interrupting anything, are we?”