Part 1

WONDER WOMAN

BETTER ANGELS
brettc1

Themyscria

Night


Almost nothing stirred upon the ancient island. Overhead, Nyx’ silent chariot bore the Goddess of Night across the heavens, trailing her cloak of stars. A warm breeze from Euros, lord of the East wind, gently rustled the leaves of the tropical trees and eased the heat of the night for the comfort of the sleeping Amazons.

But not all slept undisturbed.

In the apartments of two of the warrior women, one shifted fitfully beneath the light woven sheets. Her hair was in disarray, and the features of her beautiful face pinched by some internal conflict that defied the soothing embrace of Morpheus.

She saw...saw the man looking down at her, his armour splashed with the blood of her sisters. Heard his coarse laughter and felt his hateful hands on her.

Knew again the awful smell of him.

The weight of him.

Shame. Endless shame and anger and the promise of blood fulfilled in a moment of delirious wrath. Swords rising and falling and the screams of animals that lied at being human. Lied liars lying dying with cries of mercy from their treacherous tongues that went on and on and on...

Until another voice was there, and the paving under her feet was somehow different. There were cries again and a sword and a statue of a bearded man seated on a throne of marble. A shout and the wet slicing song of steel carving flesh as a man screamed. Hot blood soaking the stone as the body fell. Some one was weeping as she struggled through warm tar holding her back. She heard the boys voice sobbing and her own cry rising in her throat.

The sword sang again to mask out the terrified hopeless wail that welled up in unison with her own grief soaked scream.

“DAAAAAAAAAAAD!”

The cry pierced the night like an arrow, murdering its peace. The faces of women of all races emerged from the windows and doorways of their residences, while the night guard in their armour raced along the terraces.

In her bedroom, Alastrina rose from the floor where she had fallen, her dark bronze hair matted with sweat. She felt hands on her shoulders as Evadne lifted her to her feet, brushing back the hair from her dark eyes. “My love, are you alright?”

Alastrina did not seem to realise where she was. She looked at Evadne, seeing her olive skin and tightly curled brown hair but scarcely recognizing her. Then she stiffened and pulled away, avoiding her lover’s eyes. “I am fine, Evadne. What is happening?”

For a second after Alastrina pulled away, Evadne looked both frustrated and stricken. But then both women heard the sound of sandaled feet dashing past their windows. “Something down in the gardens, I think. I thought at first the cry was yours but...”

Before she could finish the sound of voices rose in concert nearby, calling out with a note of desperation that sent shivers up Evadne’s spine. They both hurried outside to join others of their sisters out on the terrace. There were figures moving in the courtyard below, and the light of the torches cast a yellow glare over the scene.

“Get Epione! HURRY!”

Evadne saw one of the guards sprint off, leaving a space in the small crowd. Instantly other women cried out in despair and disbelief and the nature of the tragedy became horribly clear.

***

Apollo’s fiery chariot has scarcely chased darkness from the sky when the Amazon council assembled to begin it crisis meeting.

Windows high in the walls let sunlight fall in slanting rays to light the chamber. It was arranged in a circular fashion, with all members holding equal status and Queen Hippolyta presiding as the first among her sisters. Only in times of dire emergency did the Amazon Monarch assume complete autonomy, and then only with the consent of the council. Now Hippolyta sat listening grimly, her fingers laced beneath her lovely, narrow face. Phillipus, the dark skinned general of the Amazon warriors, was concluding her report. All present sat up on their backless chairs who listened intently.

“Epione did all that was possible, but we were too late. Melynne was dead by the time she arrived. Even the ray was unable to revive her.”

The other women digested the news grimly. Across from Phillipus, the red haired Artemis shook her head in disbelief. “And we are certain that this...act was not the work of some outside power?”

Phillipus glanced at Hippolyta, then shook her head sadly. “Every inch of the grounds was checked. We found no sign of anyone but Amazons.”

Artemis scowled. “That only means our enemy is cunning. There is no other reasonable explanation for what happened.”

Artemis’ steadfast reluctance to accept the other obvious explanation drew some sceptical stares from the other women present. Penelope, Oracle of the Amazons, spoke from the far side of the circle. “Melynne had been much troubled since our return. She had been reclusive, brooding. She was not herself.”

“No!” Artemis snapped. “Melynne was a warrior, as good with a sword as any Amazon, and a skilled and hardened fighter. For one such as her to give up her life cheaply? This is unheard of!”

Silence fell, and Phillipus took her seat.

“There is something at work here that goes beyond a single death,” Penelope said fearfully. “Melynne is not the only one of our sisterhood who has been labouring under a burden. The signs from Olympus warn of great danger for all of us.”

Silence fell again. At last Hippolyta placed her hands on the table and spoke, her voice carrying through the hall. “This matter must be addressed at once.” She looked at Artemis. “There is too much at risk to let pride guide our reason.”

The other Amazons nodded in agreement, if somewhat reluctantly. Artemis faced the dark haired Queen squarely. “What so you propose, your Majesty?” she asked.

“We need to get to the truth of this matter, whatever it may be,’ answered the Queen, rising from her chair. The other women followed suit.

“We need Diana.”


San Francisco

18 hours later


Dressed in her red and gold and blue battle armour, her black mane foaming about her broad shoulders, the Princess of the Amazons known as Wonder Woman was currently trying very hard to not become dead. A matter that was complicated by the need to protect the man crouching behind her and trying to accomplish the same goal for the rest of San Francisco.

Diana was facing three huge robots, each built in a bulky humanoid design that had them standing about twenty feet tall and almost as wide. The automatons heads were small be comparison to the rest of them, each about the size of a beach ball mounted on rotund torsos from which the oversized arms and legs protruded like assemblies of metal ovoids. They stood in an arc of about 45 degrees at the far end of the tunnel they occupied, stooped so that they fit under the rough rock ceiling.

It was the arms that most held Diana’s attention. Protruding from the upper forearm of each limb was a pair of twin fifty calibre cannon, six pairs of barrels sending ammunition the length of her palm hurtling at her at 10 rounds per second. Diana’s arms moved in a blur of silver as she used her bracelets to batter away each incoming shell, so fast that the air in front of her was like a small fireball as the missile exploded against the indestructible god forged bands. Ordinarily this task would have not occupied her for more than the few moments she would need to get to one of the robots and smash it to metal scrap, but she dared not move from her position lest she expose the figure behind her to the deadly hail.

“Sivana’s done his work well, this time,” Diana heard Batman say. His words were carried by the micro-transmitter in his mask to the receivers in her earrings. Around her the roar of the cannon-fire in the small space was like a physical presence. “Gene bomb’s set for fifty seconds more power up, half a dozen bobby traps to make sure we can’t just remove it physically.

Less than a minute. With her perceptions enhanced by Hermes gift of speed that could seem like an hour to Diana; but for all her warrior prowess she had no skill in disarming computer programmed detonators, and she needed to stand fast to shield Bruce from the deadly gunfire anyway. “Clark is still busy with the mutations on the surface,” she said, the receivers in his cowl allowing this to be a two way conversation. “Can you do it?”

“We’ll find out,” he answered tightly.

The muzzle flashes of the robots guns lit up the tunnel like a strobe light, and the noise pummelled him. Even with Diana weaving a net of defence around them the robots attack might still stop him completing the task. “You sound tense,” she commented without turning away from the robots.

Forty seconds left. “If you say so,” Bruce replied, his hands moving deftly over the circuits inside the bomb’s control panel. “Unless that’s your tension you’re feeling.”

“Ha!”

The barrage continued. One shell she let slide through, seeing it was not in any danger of hitting Batman, but the projectile smashed into the wall above their heads and sent a small cloud of debris raining down on him as we worked. Suddenly other bullets started following suit, servos in the robots arms acting to shift the aim of the guns fractionally on and off; only a few in every hundred, but if Diana was to extend her reach to batter them away as well she would be danger of letting through something that would strike home. It would take a significant number of hits for them to hurt her seriously, but if she were distracted from guarding Bruce’s back for even a split second...

Thirty seconds. More rock and dust rattled down around Batman’s head and shoulders and over the exposed interior of the bomb. “That’s not helping,” he said, and this time she was sure of the anxiety creeping into his voice. “You, know, if Clark were here he’d have taken all three out with his heat vision by now.”

Diana gritted her teeth in a little smile. “Oh, really?” she fired back.

“I’m just saying.”

She knew that Bruce was nervous now. She also knew that in spite of his words there were few beings he would completely trust to defend his back like this, and even fewer that he would be so comfortable with as to use friendly banter instead of clipped orders. As always, she was honoured to have his confidence so unreservedly.

But that didn’t mean she would be letting that little comment about heat vision slide. Certainly not.

Diana focused her full attention on the enemy guns. She only needed a small opening, but the robots barrage was keeping her pinned. Here at the convergence of their fields of fire she could block every missile, but if she moved closer to engage them the spread of shells would become much wider. She couldn’t guarantee Bruce’s safety in that situation.

Twenty seconds. Time to change the rules.

There were three things that worked together to allow Diana to do with her bracelets what similarly powerful heroes like Captain Marvel or even the Green Lanterns with their power rings could not accomplish. One was obviously speed, and Diana’s came from Olympus itself. To her the barrage was moving no faster than a cloud of bubbles floating in a breeze. But another part was that she was, quite simply, a woman. Her range of peripheral vision was naturally greater than a male human’s, and her brain worked to process the cloud of missiles as a whole entity rather than as a collection of individual shells that had to be focused on one by one.

And the last was practice. Lots and lots of practice.

With her arms moving so fast in front of her that they could scarcely be seen by the naked eye, Diana picked her moment, inspecting the oncoming hail of death for the perfect candidate. She found a suitable missile spinning through space towards the gap under her right shoulder, speeding from the outside gun of the robot on her far left towards the back of Batman’s head. Diana picked off the eleven other shells rushing at her position and then delayed for one precious hundredth of a second, needing to have the shell placed just right.

Eighteen seconds left. Diana’s right arm whipped around, her wrist moving to not just block the cannon shell but deflect it precisely. The rotating band of her right bracer struck the projectile a foot away from slamming through Bruce’s skull and sent if tumbling along the new trajectory Diana had picked out for it. The bullet flew through the distance between Diana and the robots, striking one of the two barrels of the outside gun of the machine on her far left just as another shell was leaving the chamber.

With a ringing explosion the gun mount blew up, the detonation travelling along the arm to set off the ammunition magazine feeding the cannon. As its whole left arm literally blasted apart the robot staggered wildly, its remaining gun thrown off target and chewing pieces of rock from the wall to Diana’s left side as the machine fought to correct its balance.

Seventeen seconds left, four guns still bearing on her. Diana had cut the volume of fire and the spread of the cannons down by a third. In the time it took the machines to fire another dozen rounds she took three steps forward. Still using her bracers to batter bullets out of the air, the Amazon reached up to her forehead. In one deft move she slipped off her gleaming tiara and hurled it at the robot on her left.

The slender golden weapon scythed through the air, the power of Amazon muscles giving it the inertia to split a stream of incoming in shells in mid flight while it held its course to the robots shoulder joint. With a squeal the heavily armoured metal was sheared clean through, the arm falling away and crashing to the floor as its weapon went silent. Its weight suddenly no longer evenly distributed, the machine lurched into its centre counterpart, pushing the volley off to the right for a precious half second. All the time Diana needed.

Behind him, Batman felt a sudden shift in air pressure as his companion took flight, and almost instantly heard the crash and clatter of heavy armour being crushed, twisted, and breached by strength that could lift a destroyer clear of its dry dock. At once the guns fell silent, allowing him to focus his full attention on the panel open in front of him.

Twelve seconds on the display. Eleven.

“Bruce?” Diana said, coming up behind him. Ten seconds left.

“Your hand,” he said, nodding towards the panel. “The green button under the two red ones. Press it and hold it.”

Eight seconds. Diana did so, and he fiddled with more electronics. Still the counter scrolled down. Six seconds.

Five.

Four.

At three seconds left something beeped once. Then the counter stopped.

Batman took a deep breath and sat back. Then he gave her a small smile. “All clear,” he said, then turned to see the smoking remains of the robots littering the far side of the chamber. “Nice work, by the way,” he added as he climbed to his feet, shaking off the remaining dust from the walls.

“I suppose,” she said, a trifle wistfully.

The man in black noticed that she hadn’t taken her hand off the green button yet. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Well,” said Diana, looking somewhat disappointed, “it’s just that I always thought you were supposed to be good at this, Bruce. What would you have done if I wasn’t here?” She gestured to where her finger rested on the button. “Held this down with one of those pointy ears.”

Batman did not speak, did not even move; but as he stared back at her the eyes behind his mask did narrow very, very slightly.

Diana’s own eyes met his stare without blinking. “I’m just saying,” she commented innocently.

***

Diana and Batman made their way back to the surface, Diana carrying the disarmed gene bomb over her shoulder. Behind police barriers crowds could be heard cheering as the two emerged from the tunnel Diana had smashed through the street’s blacktop to get to the underground chamber.

“You two look like you had a busy time,” said a rich, deep voice. Both looked up to see figure in blue descending out of the sky, trailing a red cape and sporting the crimson and yellow symbol on his chest that was synonymous the world over with truth and justice.

Diana grinned at Superman as he landed next to them. “I could say the same,” she said, looking at the surrounding neighbourhood. Cars lay overturned, and rubble from several badly damaged buildings littered the street. But the look on Clark’s face spoke the most important message – the perpetrators subdued, and no serious casualties.

“Once everything is secured I’ll help with the clean up,” the Man of Steel said. ‘Help’, Diana knew, meant him doing everything he could to repair the damage and let the people living here get back to their normal lives. For Clark, the end of the fight was the beginning of his real work – helping people. Unlike herself and Bruce, Clark wasn’t a natural warrior. Some people thought that made him somehow less of a hero, but Diana had seem him put his life in mortal danger to protect innocent people too many times to harbour any such notion.

“That’s Sivana’s sick little toy?” He nodded at the device Diana was still carrying.

“We managed to defuse to bomb,” Bruce said, “and Diana gave me a demonstration of Amazon finesse.” There was no sarcasm in his voice, and the smile she tossed back at him was equally genuine. “Speaking of which,” Bruce added, “you look like you could have used a bit more yourself.”

Superman looked over his shoulder to where a hole had been blasted in the back of his cape. Whatever the humanoid insects had been hitting him with had been powerful enough to put a small tear in the almost indestructible blue uniform underneath. “Tagged me when I was keeping three of them occupied and away from the tunnel entrance. The acid venom stung a little, but I’m fine.”

“We’ll run a scan on the toxin when we get back to the hall, just in case,” Bruce said, and Diana nodded in approval. Sivana was cunning; it was entirely possible his twisted genius could have dreamt up the gene bomb scenario as a means of luring the heroes into a situation where he could infect them with something.

“And,” Diana added, “it won’t do to be giving easy hits to the enemy.” Her smile didn’t waver, but her voice grew just a little sterner as she waggled a playful finger at the Kryptonian. “The training hall, Wednesday morning. We’ll sharpen up that battle field awareness of yours.”

“One hit,” Clark corrected her, holding up his hands. “And I’m fine.”

“One hit can make all the difference,” Diana persisted, and her musical voice had a steeliness to it that left no room for debate. She knew Clark would argue, but she also knew just what he meant to the people of the whole world, and one woman in particular. A bit of tough love wouldn’t hurt him.

He sighed. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Wednesday,” Diana said, and poked him in his big blue shoulder. “Bring your A game.”

She turned to have a last look around. “If you gentleman don’t need me right now,” she said, carefully handing the bomb to Clark, “I have a few things to take care of.”

“I’ll let you know what we find,” Bruce said.

She smiled at them both, and lifted into the air. With a quick wave she accelerated upwards and was lost in the clouds.

Batman activated the signal device in his utility built to request a transport beam from the Hall of Justice. “No problems with the bomb?” Clark said.

“It should be safe for matter transport – John can beam it direct to a secure holding cell.”

“Good,” said Superman, and then smiled over at his masked companion. “I’d hate to watch you using your mask to hold down that button.” Batman raised an eyebrow behind his mask, and the Man of Steel used his free hand to play with his earlobe. “You’re not the only one with ‘sharp ears’,” he kidded.

“Funny,” Batman said dryly. “Let’s see how long that lasts after I text Diana how you leave yourself open when you throw a left.”

“I do?” Superman asked, surprised.

“Not after Wednesday,” replied the Dark Knight with a satisfied smile.

Superman blinked, and his own smile faded away. “Oh, you’re a bad, bad man,” he said, folding his arms across his chest the transport beam shimmered around them.


Philadelphia

12 p.m. local time


Pennsylvania Hospital was founded in 1751 by Benjamin Franklin and Doctor Thomas Bond, not far from where the bridge named after the first of its founders crossed the Delaware River. During the brutal conflict that had been the Revolutionary War, and again during the War Between the States, it had cared soldiers broken and bloodied by gunpowder driven iron tearing flesh on the battlefield. In World War Two members of its staff had served with distinction in helping to save the young lives hurled against the machine guns and bombs of global tyranny.

In 2006, it had been one of the medical centres flooded with wounded and dying victims of the bloody carnage in Washington D.C.

Father Lewis moved through the gardens, looking for the solitary figure making his last goodbyes to the well tended grounds. Lewis was a tall, almost gangly man with grey hair, sharp features and prominent nose. He ambled as he walked, a trait he had never lost from his days working on his father’s farm. Members of the hospital staff nodded respectfully to him as they passed, but though he returned their greetings it was clear that he had some definite purpose occupying his thoughts.

Lewis found him in a circle formed by flower beds and bordered on one side by evergreen trees. There was a wind with a hint of ocean chill in it ruffling the branches, but despite his being dressed only in light shirt and pants the other man seemed not to notice.

The Father came to sit beside the younger man, and joined him at staring up at the sculpture at the far side of the circle. The figure was an angel, carved with outstretched arms and wings, marble robes flowing around the body as a woman’s face gazed peacefully down at the two men.

”This place always makes me feel more relaxed,” Lewis sighed. The other did not respond, just sat staring back at the angel. He had dark hair cut just short of his shoulder, and a lean handsome face with dark, intense eyes. Those eyes were fixed on those of the statue as if in some kind of accusation.

“Nicholas,” Lewis said, “I know you too well to hope you will change your mind, but I would urge you to reconsider the path you’ve started down. We all understand your loss, but sooner or later there must come a time for forgiveness.”

The man Nicholas didn’t look at Lewis, but his answer was clear. “I went to Sunday School down in Florida, Father. Are you talking about the example of when God forgave Soddom and Gamorrah, or are we talking about the people of the Flood?”

Lewis knew that he had little chance of making an impression, but he had to try non-the-less. “As a doctor, you took up a responsibility and an oath as a healer, not a judge. And there are many who would say it is for God to dispense such judgements, Nicholas, not men.”

“What about the Israelites who Joshua led to level the city of Jericho and strike down all its people? Or the fight against Hitler? Doesn’t God sometimes call on men to serve as his instruments of His justice.”

Lewis sighed. The Seminarian knew in his heart the Lord preached forgiveness, but he also believed there were some evils that had to be actively fought against. Still, this present business was distasteful.

“My son,” he answered, “if there is anything the past few years have taught us, it is that war is a terrible thing. Many people suffered after the attack on Washington, but you cannot forget that in our darkest hour these people stood beside us and helped us survive. At first, the hospital tried to be tolerant . But then the public debates, the website – there is a line, Nicholas, between opposing wickedness and...hate mongering.”

Nicholas turned to face the older man for the first time. His expression was cold, and his eyes held an almost pitiless quality that made Lewis blanch. “Love what is good, hate what is evil.” He breathed deeply. “Those women are evil, Father. I know it, and I can give you the contact details of a helluva lot of people who feel the same. They may have helped us to save their own skins, but that doesn’t change who they are inside. They’re evil.” His eyes took on a dangerous light. “Tell me someone could do the things they did if they had any goodness in them.”

Lewis tried to think of something to say, but it died on his lips in the face of the young man’s passion. “I will pray for you, Nicholas,” he said, finally.

For a moment the younger man looked almost offended, then he closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. When he looked up again, he reminded Lewis very much of the young man who had come to the hospital three years ago, full of fervour and hope. “Thank you Father,” he said. “And could you pray for my Sister in Law, too, and my nephew.”

“Of course,” Lewis answered. “The baby is how old now?”

“Just over one,” Nicholas answered.

Lewis nodded and stood up. There was nothing more to say, and the wind was picking up. The trees behind the Angel were swaying. “Your cab will be arriving soon.” He hesitated a moment before leaving. “You know, Nicholas, Joshua did spare one person in Jericho. A prostitute, who helped the Israelite scouts escape the city.” He looked up the angel. “Sometimes God looks into our hearts and bestows his mercy on people others would judge irredeemable.”

***

Nicholas sat on the seat after Father Lewis had gone. He could hear the cars in the streets not far away, and the sound of the wind moving the trees. A small group of old women were nearby, apparently feeding some birds. As the breeze blew more strongly a cloud moved over the sun and the birds took flight, beating upwards with their wings.

Nicholas watched them fly, and his eyes came to rest on the Angel. Its wings remained fixed, but the eyes of the woman’s face stared down at him. He stared back at the graven eyes, but he didn’t really see them. Instead he saw another pair of eyes, staring up at him from a gurney. Eyes that should have been filled with promise, but there was only fear and pain. In the end those eyes had held less life than the marble ones regarding him.

The young ex-resident hung his head and balled his fists. It wasn’t just unfair, it was wrong! It was evil! There was no other word for it.

He saw a loose stone in the garden path and without thinking he grabbed it. Standing up with a cry he hurled it at the angel, knocking the head off with a crash of stone on stone. The graven head slammed to the ground and lay there amid bits of debris, still staring upwards.

Nicholas breathed in, trying to get his feelings under control. Without looking to check if the old women or anyone else had seen his act of vandalism, he turned and walked quickly out of the park.

***

About ten minutes later the groundsman for the park found the angel’s head lying next to the stone base. He shook his head, muttering deprecations against the callowness of young hoodlums, but he didn’t pick up the head, deciding to leave it until later. The wind was up and it was getting colder. Besides, there was something about the way the vandals had damaged the beautiful face so that it now held a sinister smile that the groundsman found unsettling.


Pennsylvania air space


Cruising above the clouds it took Diana half an hour to cross the distance between San Francisco and Washington. The Justice League transport beam could have let her travel those miles in the blink of an eye, but that would have denied her the pleasure of sailing through the clear blue sky and soaking up the warmth of Apollo’s sun.

It had been mid morning when she left the West Coast, so it was early afternoon when she entered the airspace over Pennsylvania. Transponders in her JLA communicator coordinated with computers in the Hall of Justice, which in turn kept track of local air traffic. The system would warn her direct if there was any danger of a mid-air collision. Air traffic controllers had more than enough to be concerned with in their jobs without adding the stress of having to compensate for human beings who could fly at mach 5, and at that speed no civilian aircraft would be able to manoeuvre in time, anyway.

Diana flew in low towards Washington, military surveillance scanning noting her presence but recognizing her flight authority. She slowed down, not wishing to cause any sonic booms over the city, and followed the blue line of the Potomac as it continued on southeast towards Chesapeake Bay. Some fisherman along the banks looked up as the rode the air with her arms spread out like the eagle emblem on her armour, black hair whipping back in the crisp clear breeze of her flight.

Soon after she could see the rooftops of the city. Diana dropped low and alighted in Mount Vernon Square, just opposite the Techworld Plaza . Her hunters senses told her that there was no one around, and she made sure that there was sufficient tree cover to mask her presence to any satellites as she spun in a tight circle, her battle armour, tiara and bracers replaced in sparkle of mystical energies by her favoured pants suit and spectacles. It only took her a moment to adjust her hair and stroll out into the park lanes, not as the foremost warrior of Themyscira, but as Meta Human Affairs Department Agent Diana Prince.

As she always did just after the change, Diana noted the differences in her perceptions that came with the disabling of her powers. Her hearing and vision seemed less acute, but her sensation of touch – the feel of her clothes, her shoes, the warmth of the sun – were slightly amplified. She felt at once that she was less in tune with the world around her, but at the same time was suddenly immersed in its sensations. Practice, though, had allowed her to adjust rapidly to the strange duality of the experience. By the time she found Etta five minutes later, she was completely comfortable in her ‘mortal’ identity, as if she had lived with its limitations and clarities all her life.

Lt. Colonel Candy was sitting in a café in the Plaza, sipping coffee and surfing the world wide web on a computer provided by the establishment. A shorter woman in her mid thirties, she wore her strawberry blonde hair short but stylish.

“Diana,” Etta smiled, and as she rose from her seat the Princess returned her hug with equal affection. Etta was family to her. Like Diana, she was dressed in pants and a blouse, though the other woman had elected to go without a jacket. The Amazon noted as they both sat down the way Etta kept her left leg crossed so as to be near her hand, and knew the Air Force officer was sporting an ankle holster under her pant leg. Diana herself still felt distinctly uncomfortable with a firearm, and never wore one except when required by on duty responsibilities.

Diana let the hug go on perhaps a trifle too long, but she couldn’t help herself. Etta had insisted that she abstain from any more apologies, but Diana still felt the guilt of what the monster Genocide had done to Etta when it had tortured her with the her own lasso. It had taken Etta weeks to recover, and at one point it had looked like she never fully would. It had been a hard time for both of them, and Diana was just glad that it seemed to be behind them at last.

“I was just watching Wonder Woman’s work in Frisco,” Etta said, nodding at the screen which had a Youtube window open showing Diana, Superman and Batman engaging the insect mutates of Sivana before she flew up into the air and smashed down into the street, burrowing underground. “I guess her and the Dark Knight got the job done down below.”

Diana made a mental note to study the footage of the fight for her training session with Clark. “Batman disarmed the bomb; Wonder Woman was really just providing backup this time,” she said modestly.

“Mmm-hmmm,” Etta said sceptically. “Anything that needs an Amazon for ‘back-up’ is probably going to be a bit more than we mere mortals can handle though.”

“Well, that’s the point of a team, isn’t it?” Diana smiled. She smiled to get the waitresses attention and ordered a green tea. On a suggestion from Etta she had tried coffee in her un-powered state once, and had spent almost two hours feeling like her skin had been put on too tight. “How is Steve?”

“In Geneva,” Etta said with a smile, but Diana knew that she was missing her husband. “How’s Agent Tresser?” Etta asked herself, and there was just a hint of mischief in her brown eyes?

“Tom is fine,” Diana answered, choosing to ignore the subtle probe from her friend.

“Really? Just fine?” Etta said, her smile getting more mischievous.

“Really, Etta,” Diana said with a shake of her head, “this focus on my relationship is becoming a concern. At least when I’m working with my other colleagues down at the Hall, they don’t ask questions about each others love-lives.”

“That’s because most of them are guys,” Etta said. “And don’t fool yourself, D, they talk about this sort of stuff too. It’s just that instead of coffee and a quite café they usually choose beers and pole dancing.”

“I wouldn’t say that was exclusively a guy thing,” Diana said, remembering Black Canary’s bachelorette party. “But surely Steve never participated in that sort of thing.”

Etta laughed. “Sweety, he was an Air Force fighter pilot for twenty years. When they first get their wings, those guys alternate between beer and testosterone.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, I knew Steve wasn’t a saint in his youth. Hell, its not like I was a virgin bride,” she said with a wink. “You’re just lucky you met him when he’d actually grown up; ten years earlier and he’d probably still be chasing you round, calling you some cute little nick name and plying you with tequila.”

Diana grinned and shook her head. “I cant think of anyone else Steve would have pledged himself to but you, Etta.”

Etta nodded her head in acceptance of the compliment. “So,” she said, sipping her coffee, “now that we’ve settled things between me and my husband, let’s get back to you and Tom.”

Diana also leaned back in her chair. “Fine,” she said in mock exasperation, throwing up her hands, “what do you suggest I do; go straight over to his apartment and ‘jump his bones’?”

“Well, it’s not like his bones have any obvious flaws,” Etta said with a laugh. Then she turned more serious. “Look Diana, I know things were pretty rough there for a while, but trust me – it’ll be okay.”

The Princess sighed. “I know, and Tom has been incredibly patient. And I must admit,” she said, with a quirky sort of grin, “I have been…thinking about things for some time now.”

“You’re not planning on asking him to shower with you again?” Etta said with concern. “I know that would work on most guys, but…”

“No,” Diana said firmly, remembering how that proposition had been received the last time. “I was thinking something more…conventional, I suppose.”

“Really,” Etta practically purred. “Have you been shopping?”

“Shopping?”

“Don’t do coy with me, Agent Prince,” the blonde chastised mildly. “You’re not that good at it.” Her eyes bored into Diana’s. “Have you been looking for that special little something you want him to see you in the first time?” Etta leaned closer and dropped her voice. “Emphasis on the little.”

Diana shifted in her chair, and it didn’t take her heightened perception of touch to feel the heat in her cheeks. “Well, window shopping, perhaps,” she said, sipping her tea to hide her growing smile.

“Uh-huh,” Etta said, nodding in approval. “Well, just remember; for all his remarkable qualities, Thomas Tresser is still just a human being.” She placed one hand on Diana’s knee. “Try not to give him a stroke.”

The two friends laughed together.

“Am I interrupting?” a woman’s voice asked from behind them.

Both turned and just for a moment Etta had the distinct impression of looking at two Diana’s – the one sitting at the table and another standing close behind her, wearing a black sundress. But at second glance the duplication was not quite perfect. The other woman was younger looking, not so tall, and her own black hair fell down straighter over her shoulders.

“Donna!” Diana said delightedly, standing up to embrace her sister in tight hug. She stepped back, still holding her. “This is a wonderful surprise. What are you doing here in Washington.”

“Looking for you, big sis,” the founding member of the Teen Titans answered. “Hello, Etta,” she added, looking at the officer. “You look well.”

“You too,” Etta replied. Like Diana, Donna’s Amazon heritage meant that she was naturally athletic, tall, and aesthetically gorgeous. Not that they were exactly natural sisters. Diana had once tried to explain to Etta the whole story, but after half an hour to trying to understand spirit clones, malevolent entities, gods, titans, and alternate time lines, Etta had succeeded only in understanding a serious migraine.

“Is there something wrong?” Diana asked. Donna’s usual dazzling smile was absent. Instead, she presented herself as someone who had just received bad news and was trying not to let is show. “A problem with the Titans?”

“There is a problem,” Donna admitted, “but it’s not with the Titans.” She sat down next to Etta. “May I?” she asked, indicating the computer.

“Sure,” Etta said, sliding over a little to give Donna better access to the keyboard. The younger Amazon typed deftly, bringing up a website that Etta and Diana leaned closer to see.

“Amazons – The Real Truth,” Etta read from the sites home page. She scanned down the list of other pages in site menu. “History of bloodshed, Historical attitudes towards men, Pagan influences.”

“It gets worse,” Donna said, scrolling the page down a little to reveal more icons.

“Wall of Remembrance,” Etta muttered. Donna clicked on the icon and the page shifted to a view of dozens of thumbnail pictures, each showing a person or persons with a name and chronological age underneath. The page title at the top read ‘In Memory of Those Stolen From Us.’

“Wow,” Etta said.

“These pictures have all been posted by the loved ones of people who died in the attack on Washington,” Donna said, her face stony. “And more are posted every day. There’s a message board to; I’d rather not go through it in detail at the moment, but suffice to say the sentiment is decidedly hostile.”

“Can you blame them?”

Etta and Donna both turned to look at Diana. She was looking at the screen and showing neither surprise, nor dismay. “These people had friends and family slaughtered,” Diana went on. “Are your really surprised they would seek to share their grief and anger?”

Donna looked taken aback. “But, Diana, some of the things this site is saying simply isn’t true. Some of the details of Amazon beliefs, our history.” Donna shook her head. “It even makes Herakles and his army that enslaved our people look like freedom fighters.”

Diana eyes softened a little, but her voice remained calm. “Some of it is false, yes.” She nodded at the screen showing the people’s faces. “But some of it is true.”

“Hang on,” Etta said, looking at her friend shrewdly. “Diana, I get the feeling you knew about this site already.”

“Yes, I knew,” Diana replied simply.

“And you’ve done nothing about it?” Donna asked in bewilderment.

Diana sighed. “What would you have me do, Donna,” she asked in return, and Donna flinched a little at the sharpness in her tone. “Find the site owner, break down his door, and threaten him until he removes it? Somewhat self-defeating, wouldn’t you say? This man clearly has a great deal of pain and anger and I doubt further threats will help.” Diana rubbed her head, and took a sip of her tea. “Assuming it is a man.”

“You think it could be a woman?” Donna asked, her surprise mounting.

“It wasn’t only men who suffered and lost in the attack, Donna. And you’ve lived in this world long enough to know that just because someone is a woman, does not mean they are an Amazon.”

“I hate to say it, but I’m afraid Diana is right on this one,” Etta admitted reluctantly. “There’s stuff posted on the internet every day that’s a lot more disturbing than this, and is still technically legal. As far as I can tell at a glance, even if the people posting are pretty extreme in their views, the site itself isn’t actively advocating violence. Until it breaks the law, the First Amendment protects its right to exist.”

“I understand all of that,” Donna said, “but the site itself isn’t the only reason Mother asked me to talk to you.”

“Mother asked you?” Diana said, and it was her turn to sound surprised.

“Diana, this site – it isn’t just what it’s doing here, or even internationally. Somehow, it’s affecting Themyscira as well.”

Diana leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure, no one is. But yesterday, one of our sisters was looking at this site using a computer on our island.” Donna swallowed, then went on. “And an hour later...she went out to the courtyard gardens, put a rope around her neck, and committed suicide.”

There was a pause, and then the staff and other patrons of the cafe swivelled their heads towards the sound of Diana’s cup shattering as it fell from her nerveless hand.


To be continued...