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Mid-July 2019 The summons had gone out to a variety of heroes - come to Freedom Hall at such and such a time on such and such a date for a meeting with Comrade Frost in the League satellite. Some had gotten the message personally in intimate conversation with the ex-Soviet, some had gotten it through professional correspondence. A uniformed League employee had shuttled them all inside the Hall and to its teleporter, where now (if Frost's calculations were correct) they were all about to arrive! When the flash and noise of teleportation were over, Frost spread his arms, producing a slight chill in the air in the metal-walled room that looked a bit like something out of Star Trek - if you ignored the big transparent window to one side that showed the Earth below. "Welcome to space! Feel free to ogle Central America if interested," he declared in his distinct Russian accent.