With This Ring (Young Justice SI) (Thread Fourteen)

[Mr Zoat]

10th July 2012
16:01 GMT

"Why do you want an escort?"

Lantern Ragnar frowns at me as we fly towards where the L.E.G.I.O.N. flotilla are picking through the wreckage.

"I did die, Lantern Ragnar."

"For the second time. Do your species… Not die?"

"Not in the sense of becoming completely inert. How much awareness we retain after our organic death is… Variable, but I have an arrangement with my religion's God of the Dead so I'm really just expecting to open my incorporeal eyes in Erebos if someone manages to kill-me kill-me. Are you religious?"

"No, not even slightly. There are two major Source-worshipping religions on my world; one native and one not. And local… Tribal religions." He shakes his head. "But I've never cared about that; death is simply something I will face as I would any other enemy."

"That's a little unfair; Death's supposed to be quite a nice woman."

"Your people's Death God is a woman?"

"Ah… No. Our God of the Dead is male, but he's the god who rules the souls of those who have died. He's not responsible for the actual process of death."

"You have a separate God of Death and God of the Dead? Or is the God of Death merely a functionary?"

"We have a God of Death, but I've never met… Them. And I'm not completely sure that… When your gods are beings you can meet and speak to in the way I'm speaking to you, you have to take into account the fact that what your religion tells you about them might not be accurate. I'm not sure that Thanatos is.. really a separate individual from Death of the Endless, and while she can appear as pretty much anything she tends to default to female."

"Endless?" I think I'm losing him. "Are they gods in your religion? Ascended ancestors?"

"No, no, they… Okay, without wanting to get too far into magic theory, there's a thing called the Dreaming. It's sort of a giant mess of magic energy formed into unstable shapes by the thoughts and feelings of all living things. Intelligent creatures can arise from it, and they in turn can give rise to other creatures. In my religion, we call the most primal creatures 'titans' and their more material offspring 'gods'. Hades, my religion's God of the Dead, is a god. Erebos, the unliving self-aware pocket universe the souls of our dead exist in, is a titan. With me so far?"

He nods.

"Most gods are only known to their peoples' own homeworld due to the way the Dream is closer to the material universe in some places. There are… Some records of titans being known in multiple places, but they're so primal that they're almost natural forces. The Endless are a group of seven beings of vast arcane power who don't appear to be a part of the system I just described, despite having massive influence over all of everything. Sort of… Supernatural functionaries. One rules the Dreaming, one welcomes every soul to life and waves in farewell upon its physical death, one has a record of everything that has ever happened and will ever happen… I'm not entirely sure what the other…"

I was sitting on the moon.

"Four…"

I was sitting on the moon, and… Oh sugar.

"Illustres?"

"There was a period when I was merged with the Ophidian when we had a bit of a meltdown. I never really… My thoughts at the time were such a mess that I couldn't remember it very well. But… I… Think one of the Endless came to see me."

I gulp, carefully not letting my fears get above a certain psychological level because I can't do that any more without risking spacing myself.

"Desire, whose physical form is an androgynously attractive hermaphrodite of whatever species is looking at them. Apparently, we were 'a delightful mess'."

He shakes his head. "I don't know what significance that has to you, but it means nothing to me."

"I don't know what it means to me either. Probably not a lot, in practical terms. If I can't fix this myself they might be willing to give me a hand, but… Ah. The only story I heard about them actually helping someone-."

"They immediately betrayed them." He nods. "We have cautionary tales like that on Betrassus."

"Technically, they didn't betray the woman. They just… Only got them exactly what they wanted, and the woman in question didn't ask what would happen next."

"That was short sighted of her."

The edge of my construct shield begins to shimmer as we approach the site of the explosion that killed me. Ugh, Kalmin is still making preparations for his return home and wasn't interested in coming to view the site once he got enough data to conclude that it was just the result of a mass of qwa matter being detonated in the same place rather than anything creative. There's no actual qwa matter left, but q'ardajin mythology describes the stuff as a manifestation of the Anti-Monitor's hatred for creation and… Given the energy residue that I'm flying through I'm not going to dismiss the claim out of hand.

"She was only in her late teens…"

I look at Lantern Ragnar, and check how old he.. is. Probably a little older than her, but not by much. Ah, he did fail to recognise that I was a far more capable ring-duellist than him when we first met. Thinking of which…

"So when are you planning on challenging me?"

"When you are fully recovered. There is no satisfaction to be had in beating you when you are injured. I want to overcome you when you are at your best; nothing else will satisfy me."

"Could be a wait. How are you finding the war so far?"

"I have.. learned a great deal since I arrived on Maltus. War is… It is not what I thought it would be."

"What did you think it would be?"

"As it is on Betrassus; small bands of skilled warriors confronting one another to decide the wider conflict. We Lanterns in combat with their Scarab Warriors. Even after Clarissi Dox explained the.. reality to me, I did not believe it in my soul until I saw the first battles. The industrial capacities of entire worlds turned to the purpose of destruction. It's… Horrible. The sheer.. volume of death in even… Relatively trivial skirmishes. I have to use my ring to properly appreciate it. And it's made me all the more grateful to Sinestro for sparing my Sector this industrial warfare."

"Have you had a chance to fight a scarab yet? I wouldn't want you to get too disillusioned."

"No, but Clarissi Dox has promised me a mission with a high chance of encountering one."

"Oh? New offensive?"

"No." He smiles. "I'm your bodyguard until you're back to full mission fitness. The Reach will want to check that you are dead, which almost certainly means they will send the strongest Scarab Warriors they have!"

I take a moment to check the interdiction fields. Yes, they're operating.

"You know my next mission is to Qward..?"

"It was tremendously entertaining last time!"

"Illustres to Third Principle. Are the thaumaturgists ready?"

"Yes, Illustres." The commanding officer of the L.E.G.I.O.N. ship carrying them is a clicker, though not one I've interacted with before. "They are heading to the airlock now."

"Thank you."

I nod and close the channel. Just have to hope this works.

 

[Mr Zoat]

10th July 2012
16:07 GMT

"…reviewed your tattoos, of course, and I'm familiar with the operating principles." Atlanteans take to space like fish to water, which is probably a racist thing for me to think. Doctor Wilsone is trying to talk me into taking things slower while her colleagues check the parts of the site that the L.E.G.I.O.N. salvage engineers have already cleared. With how space tends to insulate things 'ground zero' is more the centre of a small and very hot nebula than a patch of wreckage, so they're using wide-beam cold guns to turn the material into something that can be handled. "But even with a system designed to draw energy constantly, you can't just shove in more energy without preparation."

"Have you factored in the fact that we're not on Earth?"

"Of course I've factored in the fact that we're not on Earth! That's the only reason why I'm spending time working out how to do this rather than dismissing the idea out of hand! Empty space tends to be mystically inert but that changes the moment someone dies there. In the relatively small area around us we've got the free-floating souls of Leentniar and Reach crews along with the less well defined energies that make up you."

"Given that the Leentniar are a space-dwelling culture, I don't think we have to worry about their souls having significant arcane force. And the Reach have never been observed as having any magic users."

"So you.. want to just eat their souls?"

We may not be in Atlantis… And Venturia may not legally be part of Atlantis any longer… But I'm pretty sure the laws against harvesting the souls of the dead predate the Sinking. They might not be N.E.M.O. law -and given how assimilation works, probably won't ever be- but it's unrealistic for me to expect most of the arcanists we hired to be alright with doing things like that.

I'm rather pleased about it, actually. That even when they're alone in the dark some people stick to what they know is right. Without prompting, even.

"No, no, no. I'm on good terms with Lord Hades and I intend to stay that way. I've already called in Lantern Mother of Mercy. Once our researchers have gone through the-" Largely vaporous. "-remains of the ships in the vicinity of the blast, we can put a few symbolic pieces of metal into a funerary urn and she can-" Eventually, once she gets here. "-transport it to Earth. I just need you to accelerate the part of the process by which I reacquire all the parts of me. I mean, there's essentially no background interference here. Can you isolate the individual souls?"

"… Yes. Slowly. As you pointed out, there's no background thaumic field here, which means that the only energy that's available for use is what we bring here with us, or take from the souls of those who died here."

"But that's a practical concern, isn't it? You don't have a moral problem with ensuring that these souls actually get to an afterlife, do you?"

"No, no, that isn't a problem. I'm more surprised that most species don't ensure that happens without intervention. But that won't be a quick process."

"I'll be trying to speed it up with my own abilities."

Some of my abilities. I don't want to try finding out what happens if I convert parts of my own soul into orange light. I mean, most of it was probably made of that anyway, but the aim here is to get all of me back as close to as-was as possible.

…

I mean, that's-. I suppose it might be possible to use this as a opportunity to change my makeup a little. Absorb a little violet light from Carol or Ghia'ta, a little blue from Alan… And if Dox is still talking to Sinestro, yellow from there. But do I want to try… 'Re-specing'?

Alright, think it through. The two reasons which immediately occur to me for doing that are 'power' and 'psychological stability'. Giving myself a balance of the colours somehow would in theory make it easier to use a white power ring, and those are supposed to be the most powerful. Most powerful for non-omnicide-related purposes. But I don't have one. To the best of my knowledge white rings don't actually exist, along with red rings, so I'd have to find a way to make one exist. Hinon knows how I know about them and she'd probably say if there was a larger problem with a white ring being active.

But what does a white ring actually get me in terms of power that having a close personal relationship with the Ophidian doesn't? I don't remember enough from the comics to know, other than maybe being a Nekron trump. And Nekron hasn't stuck his head above the parapet since that Dead Zone thing over a decade ago. If Jordan could beat him with a single normal green ring then I don't think that I need to rush a white ring.

And I've got no reason to believe that it would have helped me stop an angel with the Source's own cheat codes or a massive pile of unstable qwa matter, so it wouldn't have helped with the things I actually have problems with.

So that's a no. No reason to do it for power.

That leaves psychological stability. I'm perfectly aware that my behaviour is… Off-kilter, shall we say. And 'was' rather than 'is'. It's interesting to think that so much 'normal' human behaviour comes from people just not knowing what they want, or hesitating to go for it. Or… Maybe that was me. Would 'balancing' myself help there?

Impossible to say with any certainty. What I can say is that my friends and colleagues have adapted to me being me. If I change that radically now, that's going to interfere with all of those relationships. And I was actually pretty happy being me.

I smile.

Who'd have thought?

"Recall."

Faint orange threads appear, flowing towards me from all parts of this volume of space. As they connect… Yes, that's-. Ah, yes, I remember falling over at Laserquest and somehow gouging a chunk out of my knee and needing to get a plaster from their first aider! And since I couldn't roll my trouser leg up over the injury I had to take them off in the restaurant. I still had the scar until I came here!

And more importantly, I can feel it… 'Slot in', somewhere, in my network of desires. And it seems like I'm back to being at least dimly aware of my own desire network, which rather suggests that I'm going in the right direction.

I think Doctor Wilsone is staring at me, and I can see the lights of her spell casting shining through her faceplate. "What did you just do?"

I wait until the last of the orange threads finishes merging with me before replying.

"I pulled all the bits of me that were orange light into myself. Did you learn anything?"

She waves her hands around in a pattern of gestures I recognise as the gesture-component of laboratory-grade psychometric spells.

"Yes, but if you've already reintegrated everything I don't see that it matters."

"No, what I just did only works on orange light. Because I-" I raise my left hand. "-have an orange power ring, I can manipulate it directly. It's all the rest I need your help to recover. I'm hoping that the orange parts and the non-orange parts have enough in common that you can corral the rest for me."

"It would have been helpful if you warned me in advance and let me study it."

"We.. don't really have time. I don't want to sound smug here, but I'm a vital war asset. As long as I'm fully fit, anyway. We need to patch me up as much as possible now, and if the rest requires a longer term study then… It'll get one, but it'll slip down the priority list."

"Illustres, there are reasons why I didn't become a battle mage."

"I'm not asking you to get into a fight-."

"And it wasn't that. Battle mages have to be able to make snap decisions under pressure. Good decisions. I like to ruminate. I like to give serious subjects the consideration they deserve."

"Then why did you come here rather than staying in Venturia and working on the Dreaming stuff?"

"Because I want to make some progress within my lifetime. And because when the throne asks you to do something, you do it."

"I… Okay. Look, if you want to go home I can tell King Cyprian that you don't have the exact skill set that we're looking for. That way no disapprobation will fall on you."

"Thank you."

"But right now, I'd really like my soul back. So if you have something that might work and is unlikely to do any harm, please, just give it a go."

"Alright. Let me talk to my colleagues for a few minutes and I'll see what we can come up with."

 

[Mr Zoat]

15th May 2282
07:16 MTZ

General Vialla leans back in his office chair, regarding me with an air of amused curiosity. His jaw moves, causing his cigar to wave up and down for a moment. Then he gives his head a small shake, pulls out the cigar and lays it in one of his desk's three ashtrays.

"What..? What is this?"

I know where the members of the presidential guard around me are standing of course, but I make a point of turning my head to look at each of them. And the gauss rifles that they're pointing at me. I didn't think that Costa del Sol was advanced enough to produce them and… Yes, they're clearly the pre-war America model. But are they newly built or restored? None of the soldiers fighting along the shores of the Colorado river are carrying anything like that, but we're still not certain how enthusiastic the General is about his alliance with Caesar's Legion.

Oh, for the days before everyone started recruiting Hubologist missionaries to shield their senior politicians and commanders and I could just look into someone's mind to find out things like that. You'd think that a group so focused on freeing the full potential of the human mind would embrace 'Esotericists' like myself, but… No. There's one route to the Sky Father and 'suppressors' like us are, apparently, not it.

"It's an attempt to negotiate peace, General."

"Eh. Eh, eh-" He raises his right forefinger and waves it at me. "-eh, eh. President. We are a democracy now."

I raise my eyebrows slightly, and he draws himself up.

"My people love me as I love them! I do not fear the ballot box!"

And from what my agents have been able to gather, he is genuinely popular here. Years ago his mercenary company drove off a horde of mirklurks that were threatening the region's population centres more or less pro bono, and he rose to power on the resulting wave of popular support. The work generated by the weapon factories he constructed here as their main industry and the money generated when he ships them to everyone certainly hasn't hurt. Even the NCR forces occupying the Baja Peninsula used to buy from him, before he allied himself with Mr. Sallow.

"I apologise. I wasn't aware of your political reform, Mister President."

"Perhaps some day my people will remember me as your people remember President Tandi, eh?"

"It-. Given your popularity, I… Suppose that's not impossible. Though I should point out that I'm not actually an NCR citizen."

"Oh?! Sure!"

He grins broadly, and his bodyguard chuckle at the boss's joke.

"No, really. I come from a tribe to the north of New Vegas. We're called the Sky Walkers?"

He shrugs, spreading his arms wide and shaking his head.

"Well, the… Important part is that while we cooperate with the NCR on a number of issues, we're not members of the NCR. Or at war with Caesar's Legion."

"Heeeey." He frowns. "I wouldn't have someone shot while they were trying to surrender to me." He goes back to smiling. "That just makes people stop surrendering!"

His guards make noises of polite amusement.

"In point of fact, sir, I'm not surrendering. I'm here to negotiate. The white flag indicates that I come in peace, not that I wish to submit."

He shrugs, this time with a somewhat smaller gesture. Then he nods to his guards, who move their weapons to the 'at rest' position.

"Okay. You're here. We're at peace. What do you want to negotiate?"

"Ideally, Costa del Sol's exit from the current war between the NCR and the Legion."

"Yeah, I guessed that. What I don't understand is what you think has changed. Eh? The Legion enters the Mojave at will. They cross the Colorado at will. I don't see a reason to turn my back on my best customers."

"Sure, they can cross the river. But the NCR has forts and lookout points all along the river now. Whenever they fight, it's the Legion attacking into prepared positions without the sort of firepower they'd need in order to make that sort of battle work. Firepower their ideology doesn't allow them to learn to make."

"Who do you think makes it, eh?"

"And the war with the Crimson Acolytes just finished."

"Who?"

"A tribe to the north of NCR territory, led by a mad psychic. The NCR conquered and tributised it recently."

I.. hesitate, twitching in my robes as I get a momentary flashback of my right arm being sawn off by the Odious King's acolytes for his consumption. 'Tributised' seems like a rather trivialised way to describe what we had to do to stop that cannibal lunatic's brand of telepathically infectious madness. Or why the NCR was willing to abandon its efforts to remove Mr. House from his position in Vegas at my request. Having about a third of your army regarding a person as the second coming of Jesus does tend to give them a good deal of influence over a state. Why Colonel Andrew Shaw Senior is now in charge of the NCR's Gamma Company and why no one talks shit about super mutants in Shady Sands any more.

"You okay, man? You kinda just stopped talking."

"It wasn't a pleasant campaign. But it's over, and the NCR is transferring assets that were deployed in the north to the south, along with auxiliaries from the tributised tribes. Once they've arrived, the NCR will begin to push in earnest, and my tribe will declare war as well. Have you ever seen a psychic weapon, Mister President?"

"A-heh. 'Psychic weapon'? You mean like, ah…" He gestures to his bodyguards. "Pre-war military technology? Or are you a magician, like that crazy woman down south?"

I hold up my hands slightly. "Nothing up this sleeve." I roll up my right sleeve. "Nothing up this sleeve." I roll up my left.

He actually sits up, looking more attentive. "You going to do a magic trick? I like magic tricks."

I point my regrown right arm at his ash tray and curl my fingers slightly. The cigar floats up into the air. I move my hand and it follows. I raise my right forefinger and rotate it, and the cigar spins.

"By a combination of pre-war technology and alien technology, my tribe has developed psychic powers." Which he knows, or he wouldn't have gone to the Hubologists. He didn't last this long by being stupid or by giving away information. "We can read minds, befuddle the senses, lift-."

"Cigars?" He pulls it out of the air and looks at it. "As a general, I have to tell you, that won't be as useful as you think."

I smile calmly, lower my hands to my sides and lift his desk to the ceiling. His bodyguard follow a moment later, their weapons falling to the floor.

"But that-" His sidearm is already out and pointing at my face. "-is." I bow. "Your pardon. I felt that a demonstration was necessary."

I gently lower both desk and guards to the ground, where they scramble to their feet, grab their weapons and then point them at me with a heightened degree of concern.

The president's weapon is completely steady, still pointing directly at my face. And the easy humour in his expression has gone. "Your people, they can all do this?"

"No, there are specialisations. I'm middle of the road. I can do a little of everything, but my telepathy isn't as strong as a dedicated telepath's would be."

"What does the NCR want?"

"In essence, if you remove your forces from the front line and refrain from attacking the NCR or its allies, they will avoid attacking you. Once you are sure that Caesar is too busy to retaliate, you will break your alliance with him and stop supplying him. Once the war is over, the NCR will recognise your pre-war borders and you will renounce your claims on Baja California."

He nods.

"Alternately, you can break your alliance with Caesar and ally with the NCR. We're in need of a local partner. The ability to buy arms locally and to have a starting point for our invasion of the Legion's home territory would be very useful. In the event of our victory, it is likely that the NCR would want you to expand your area of control in this region as a long term ally."

"How 'likely'?"

"You'd get at least something, though it would depend on how much you contributed. If you want to make a precise offer, I'll be able to get you a precise offer in return."

"Generous."

"The NCR feels that with the Legion out of the picture, you can be relied upon not to threaten its core interests. But until then they do want something else."

"What?"

"The NCR is interested in long term peace with you. As such, they feel that it is best if they build strong relationships with the next generation of Costa del Sol's leaders. And ensuring that those leaders aren't killed by Legion frumentarii. Your sons Miguel and Antonio would travel to Shady Sands to begin attending the Tandi Memorial School, while your daughter Lucia would continue her studies at the Roswell Institute of Esoteric Technology."

"Hostages."

"No, they would not be harmed under any circumstances. If you did backstab us, we would keep them safe and use them as puppet leaders when we took control of your territory. Harming them gets us nothing. And we genuinely want to build peaceful long term relations. Which will be easier if the NCR's future president is an old school friend and if they can read our minds."

"My daughter will get magic like yours?"

"Ultimately, I want everyone to have abilities like mine. But… Family first, friends second, everyone else, time permitting."

He nods.

"I will need to talk this through with their mothers. You will stay a few days?"

"Certainly." I bow again. "Thank you for your time, Mister President."

 

[Mr Zoat]

10th July 2012
16:36 GMT

"Do you think he died?"

I raise my eyebrows at Lantern Ragnar. "Who?"

"The Reach commander who killed you. Do you think that he was on the ship which exploded?"

"I think it unlikely. Honestly, I'd be surprised if he was anywhere near this system. There was no logical reason for it; nothing that was likely to happen required an immediate political decision."

"Not even nearby? At least?"

"He might have been just outside of the system with some sort of advanced stealth setup, but the Reach have FTL sensors and FTL communicators and I wasn't making an effort to block either. Sorry to disappoint."

"I know that I shouldn't expect him to challenge us in person once he learns that his gambit has failed, but he should confirm the death of his target. This is slovenly."

"You… Really want to fight those elite scarab warriors, don't you?"

He smiles at his own foolishness. "Do you think I could simply put in a request?"

"Not yet, but if you want to raise your profile I can ask Dox about having you appear in a few propaganda broadcasts. Then you could take a tour of worlds on the front lines with your public appearances advertised well in advance, and we could see who turns up."

For a moment he looks interested, then the interest fades.

"They would probably just plant a bomb."

"Probably."

"It is churlish to ask, but can our next great crusade be against people who fight as elite warriors who prefer single combat between champions?"

"Well, the galaxy's other major evil empire is Apokolips, and… New Gods tend to fight in that way. So we can do them next?"

"I will look forward to it. My ring, tell me of the new gods."

"Illustres, we believe that we may have a solution."

I smile and fly towards the Venturians. "Yes?"

One of them has a space suit shaped for a fin, and from his face I see that he's a dolphin-man. Wait…

"Oh, hello again. We met briefly at Professor Sephtian's party last September."

"Yes. I remember. The party where he told me to go and sit in the corner when everyone else did interesting work. Where I was the only one left after everyone else decamped to the surface."

"Oh. Ah, sorry, I didn't-. I wasn't keeping.. track. I didn't mean to insult your speciality."

"No, I don't hold you responsible. And it's… Due to you that I'm out here."

Doctor Wilsone nods.

"Doctor Damon's preference for studying behaviour rather than thaumatic systems has been quite helpful in understanding how the orange light you use works in relation to magic. And this is largely his idea."

"Whether I'm taking credit or blame. The problem isn't forcing the separated parts of your soul back into you; being in you is their natural state. The problem is that your tattoos -which appear to have been re-empowered by whatever spiritual energies you have left- are, combined with the lack of a background magic system, preventing the natural process of re-incorporation."

"Okay, makes sense so far."

"So since we can't spread you out across a few hundred cubic kilometres, we think that-"

"Why not?"

"-by-. What? What do you mean, 'why not'?"

"The.. second thing I did with my ring was reconfiguring my physical body. There's no fundamental reason why I can't just grow a huge amount of skin."

"And-. 'Huge amount' includes hundreds of cubic kilometres?"

"I'm not saying that I'd enjoy it or that I'd keep it afterwards, but if it would make things easier to get the rest of my soul back then yes."

"That might simplify things. What I had been going to say is that while your tattoos stop spells detecting you, they don't do anything to block physical contact. The disassociated parts of your soul can't detect you, but if we touch you then we can replicate your 'feel' and draw it to you through our magic. In a place like this our range wouldn't be particularly great, but it would be faster than trying to go through every part of this region of space. As you are now, anyway. If you can turn yourself into a giant flesh-blob, then it's even more practical."

"How far can you 'pull'?"

"In theory, as far as the local mana field extends. But given how diffuse it is, we won't be able to pull hard or fast. We'll literally just be pulling with our own spiritual strength."

I turn around in a circle, taking in the entirety of local space.

"There aren't any influences here that could stop the spread. How far has it spread?"

"We haven't had time to test it, exactly. That's one of the things I hope to be able to research while I'm in space. What do souls do when they're trapped in a void for an extended period of time?"

"Ah… As far as I know, desperately cluster together and eventually sort of merge into a screaming nightmare."

"…"

With how his eyes are designed and the shape of his helmet it's hard to tell, but I think he's staring at me.

"That's… Plausible. How do you know that? I wasn't provided with data from previous studies."

"I've had an interesting life. And Lord Hades has given me some pointers."

"I'm going to request an audience when we return to Earth. We've had the Leentniar ships who were in the system remain here until we can cleanse them of arcane influences."

I frown. "Why would we want to stop the souls of their dead leaving with them?"

"Because we don't know if it would just be their souls, and because it's unlikely that their souls have retained perfect individual integrity. They may well have taken bits of you with them. To be completely clear, you're unlikely to get all of you back."

I nod. "I accept that. I just need the general shape, then I'll spend some time on a thaumically active world until I'm fully recovered. Oh, and can we build a soul siphon of some sort for the Leentniar? Ideally, they'd-."

"Keep the souls of their own dead, yes, but no, we can't. There isn't enough thaumic energy here to brute force them into one place and they don't have their own magic system that we could learn in order to bind them with finesse. The best we could do is remove as much of you as possible and then have their larger ships fly through the area and pick up any souls that wished to make the journey."

I nod. "Alright. Is there anything you need to do before I turn myself into a giant skin flap?"

"Warning the L.E.G.I.O.N. ships to keep their distance would be a good idea. Otherwise, we're ready to begin."

 

[Mr Zoat]

18th May 2282
10:32 MTZ

"Hey there, Mister Krono!" Andrew Shaw Very Junior jogs towards my party as the zetan-tech transport reactivates its stealth systems and heads back up into the clear Mojave sky. "How'd it go?!"

"President Vialla heard me out, and is considering his options. This is-" I turn sideways, gesturing to my companions with my right hand. "-his daughter, Miss Lucia Vialla. She's going to be travelling with us for a little while to check that I've been telling the truth. Miss Vialla, this is Andrew Shaw Very Junior."

Understandably, President Vialla wanted a little more than my assurances before agreeing to anything. Which is why Miss Lucia Vialla accompanied me on my return trip, along with a couple of tough-looking bodyguards. One's a war-era ghoul with two hundred years of military experience, the other is an ex-pro wrestler only slightly smaller than Jacobstown's resident super mutants.

I feel like there's a story there.

Miss Vialla steps forward and offers Andrew her right hand. She might be a little shorter than her escort, but given the sort of variety you get in the tribal militias I've gotten used to seeing around the place that no longer strikes me as odd. She certainly wears her fatigues and military rucksack as if she's used to them, and she has the sort of fitness I've seen from regular physical exertion in the wasteland.

"Pleased to meet you, Andrew."

He smiles a wide, friendly, honest, until-four-months-ago-I-lived-in-a-closed-Vault smile. He acts younger than his seventeen years, and I rather think that's at least partially why his great great great great great great great grandfather is so fond of him.

"Hey there, Lucia."

"Why are you called 'Very Junior'?"

He gives me what he probably thinks is a glare. "Golly gee, Mister Krono, are you going to introduce me like that to everyone?"

I nod. "Probably until you hit thirty, at least." I lead the way towards the old ski lodge that Jacobstown is built around. "There's an interesting story as to why. Andrew, do you want to explain it?"

"Well, ah, before the war, Gran-. Ah, the first Andrew Shaw was-. I mean, at least I think he was the first… Ah, anyway, he was a soldier in the American army, and he and his men were transporting samples of something called the Forced Evolutionary Virus. Do you know what that is?"

Miss Vialla nods. "It is the pre-war chemical that turned humans into super mutants."

"Sure is! But did you know there are a whole bunch of different types of it?" She shakes her head. "The Master-."

"Richard Monreau-." He gives me a hurt look. "Sorry, sorry, carry on."

"The Master did a whole bunch of experiments with the type he found in Mariposa, and that's where most West Coast mutants come from. The regular kind and the Nightkin. But over on the East Coast they've got a whole different type, and for some reason a bunch of barrels of that ended up in Oregon."

Probably because the psychotic bastards at the Mariposa Military Base wanted to see what the psychotic bastards in Vault 87 had managed to come up with based on their work.

"Andrew Shaw the First was in charge of moving them to wherever they were supposed to go, but the Communist Chinese nuked the whole place before they could get there. The fort they were in got hit and a whole lot of it got spilled out, and the people who touched it didn't die from the radiation. So they all touched it."

He shrugs.

"The mutations started after a few days, and, well, some super mutants like Mister Marcus stay smart after they change? They didn't. Andrew Shaw the First formed a kind of tribe of super mutants with the other survivors way up North and mostly just tried to stay out of the way. His wife and their kids went into a Vault-" He gestures to the number emblazoned on the back of his jumpsuit. "-and two hundred years later, here I am!"

"I have met dumb mutants before. How did he know who you were?"

"Well, you see, if an East Coast mutant studies real hard like Mister Fawkes did, they can get their smarts back! Not like the West Coast mutants. With them, if they're real lucky they stay smart like Mister Marcus and Mister Keats did, but if they don't, well, then they're stuck not smart. And Great Grandpa had two hundred years to get smart! Ah, and Mister Krono helped with his mind powers."

It's funny, in a depressing sort of way. Even as the near-feral First, even as a slave to Mermeralda and later the Odious King, he still kept the holotapes he made for himself before the mutation took his humanity to try and remind himself about the sort of man he used to be.

After he regained his memories, his listened to each of them once and then crushed them.

"So after the Bone Dancers were defeated, Mister Krono took Great Grandpa to each of the Vaults in the Northwest Commonwealth and eventually they found my Vault. My folks were real surprised to meet him, but he was real happy to find out for sure that his wife and kids survived the war!"

"…another medical procedure a person reaching the end of their life can choose to have. It's not as if we can have children the same way humans do."

My head jerks around when I hear his voice.

Oh dear, someone's let Keats near a reporter again.

After Richard Monreau's death, a super mutant general by the name of Attis commanded a large part of his army to head east into Texas, in pursuit of what they hoped would be an alternate source of FEV now that both Mariposa and the Citadel were destroyed. To cut a long story short, he failed, and after his death his army split into three groups with their own operational philosophy. His friend Shale kept trying to complete the original mission and his chief mechanic Juggernaut more or less abandoned the whole 'super mutant army' thing in favour of building awesome vehicles to drive around in. Keats was his PR guy, the only senior smart mutant who could be relied upon to be polite to humans. After Attis's death he decided that integration was the best course of action and his corner of Texas is one of the few places in the wasteland where super mutants and humans interact regularly without violence.

Or was, until recently.

"So, Andrew, why are you here?"

"Well, I work in Vault Security-."

Miss Vialla splutters in disbelief. "You are a soldier?"

"Oh, golly, no. Vault Security isn't about fighting people. We're all one big happy community. We've all gotta work together or nothing gets done, so Vault Security's about getting people to calm down and deal with their problems rationally. Can you believe that New Vegas didn't have any kind of civil police force until a little while ago? I've been-."

I push ahead, shoving open the front door of the ski lodge. And there they are. Colonel Andrew Shaw, orange-brown of skin and surly of expression, towering over the other super mutants. His sheer size has resulted in a large number of the local super mutants signing up with the Gamma Corps, much to Marcus's chagrin. Marcus, green-grey of skin and phlegmatic as ever, though clearly not entirely happy about having to deal with two sane and intelligent super mutants both of whom have radically different political philosophies to his own laid back form of fascism.

And Keats, a man who single headedly convinced me that super mutants perceive colour in a different way to regular humans. Because there's no other explanation for that jacket, those trousers or that tie. Keats, who after being thrown out of Austin by Shale's army kept going, kept working, kept smiling, doing everything he can to rally the people of Texas against Shale's army. Weirdly, after his initial victories Shale more or less vanished or I suspect that the newly formed Provisional Republic of Texas would be in a good deal of difficulty.

"Hey, grandpa! Mister Krono's back!"

Andrew Shaw Very Junior waves to his ancestor, whose face momentarily cracks in an awkward-looking smile.

The journalist glances around for a moment before returning her attention to Mister Keats.

"Is that a procedure that you want to introduce into the New California Republic?"

"Of course it is. People should have the right to modify themselves in any way they want, and the Forced Evolutionary Virus has a long and storied history. In the Unity of Austin we had an excellent track record of turning terminally ill and injured humans into super mutants, a great many of whom could remember their names and the faces of their families."

I can hear Colonel Shaw growl from here.

"Colonel? Do you-?"

Keats puts his right arm around Colonel Shaw's shoulder, causing the man to stiffen.

"The Colonel had the worst experience of mutation that it's possible to have: no family and no memory of anything else. I'm extremely excited at the prospect of studying the East Coast variant of the Forced Evolutionary Virus and seeing what it can to do aid us in improving the mental prospects for all super mutants."

"Ah, yes, but I think that the Colonel wanted to say something..?"

"I got my family back." I see the journalist blink in surprise. Colonel Shaw hasn't wanted us to study his unusual mutant physiology, but he did want us to try and restore his original voice. The size and general morphology of super mutants often leads to them sounding very different to what they did as humans. "And he's right. Family ties are what build society up. And people should make the best of the hand life deals them. But I honestly wouldn't wish this sort of life on anyone."

 

[Mr Zoat]

18th May 2282
19:35 MTZ

Marcus is staring out into the night as I approach. Thanks to the Garden of Eden Creation Kit research carried out by Diana and Tlaloc, the Mojave is a good deal greener than it used to be. We've even started reintroducing insects based on the genetic samples Diana stored in Paradise. While they're a good deal less fearsome than the mutant insects that have been plaguing this part of America since the war, the new sound they've added to the night is making more than a few locals nervous.

"Good evening."

"I'm not sure I'd say the same."

I stop just behind him waiting to see if he's got anything else to say.

I first met Marcus when I started researching FEV. A super mutant named Dok-Tor had already told me that the Master wanted vault dwellers because their ancestors didn't have the low level FEV exposure that most of the west coast got when the Great War happened and Mariposa was hit. They and other isolated populations had no antibodies against his mutagen, and so had the 'easiest' transformation. I wanted to see if there was a way to correct the damage interrupted FEV infections caused, so that we could increase the intelligence of mentally stunted second generation super mutants. Marcus was willing to help, but as he wasn't involved in the dipping process himself he didn't actually know all that much. But I've shared what we learned and I like to stop by this sanctuary whenever I'm in the area.

"I didn't really know Keats, back when we used to work for the Master."

"A lot of super mutants worked for the Master."

"I used to think it was all of them. It wasn't too long ago that I'd never met a super mutant who wasn't created by the Master, or at least created by one who was."

I nod. "Did you know Attis?"

"He was one of the Master's generals. He gave me orders a few times, but I can't say we were close."

"What exactly did you do when you fought for the Master?"

"Oh, that stuff doesn't matter. It's ancient history."

I chuckle quietly. "If dealing with Mr. House, Diana and the zetans has taught me anything, it's that a hundred and twenty years is recent for things that can come back and bite us."

"Or maybe I just mean that I don't want to talk about it."

I nod. "Maybe."

We enjoy the night for a few moments in silence.

"Going to be a lot quieter around here."

"Once the insects have stable populations, we can introduce birds."

"The cazadores will appreciate the food."

"I didn't mean ostriches."

"Cazadores start small too."

"Alright Marcus, I've got to ask: you speak Latin and French. You know what an ostrich is, despite there not having been an ostrich in America for two hundred years. Are-?"

"That is ancient history." He turns around to face me. "I don't know who I was, but I'm just as capable of making deductions as you are. I stayed smart, which means that whoever I used to be probably came from a Vault. Maybe Vault Eight. Maybe not. Nothing about what I remember about that life makes me want to remember any more. I have absolutely no interest in you doing to me whatever you did to the First to make him think he's still Andrew Shaw."

"Good, because I actually can't. That was some sort of interaction between my psychic abilities, the Odious King's psychic abilities and whatever… Ritual he was performing. But I would like to ask about him."

"You probably know more about him than I do."

"He was wearing a purple robe, like the Children of the Cathedral used to."

"And Keats is wearing a purple suit. That doesn't necessarily mean anything."

"But it might. I definitely… Saw something about a Cathedral. And some of his followers had headwear designed to look like psychic nullifiers."

"The Master did experiment with psychic powers. Sometimes, injecting FEV into a human's brain caused them to get strange abilities. But usually they just died. Gideon could hear people's thoughts, but none of the Master's psychics were allowed out of the Los Angeles Vault. I can't think of any reason why a group up in Oregon would wear the robes of the Children. And I don't see how any of the Children could have developed psychic powers."

"They could have injected themselves later."

"And where would they get the FEV from? The Citadel was completely destroyed by the nuclear explosion. Mariposa was destroyed as well. Until I met the First, I didn't think there were any other sources of FEV in western America. Maybe not even the world."

"There aren't any caches anywhere?"

"Not that anyone I ever spoke to knew about. That was why Attis went east; trying to find a new source of FEV, because otherwise there wouldn't ever be any new super mutants."

"But if Keats has been creating new super mutants, he must have taken some with him."

"Maybe. Or maybe Attis found something and shared it with his lieutenants."

"But why would there be FEV anywhere else?"

"It doesn't have to be a store of FEV. Could be they found a pre-War workshop or laboratory of some kind. What I'm curious about is why you don't know already."

"How do you mean?"

"The Master never finished his work on telepathy, but I saw what the prototypes could do. Your people aren't prototypes. You don't have their drawbacks. Sure, you're not any physically stronger than regular humans, but all your people are telepathic receivers. Why not just read their minds?"

I sigh, nodding.

"Yes, we could do that if we could find him, but by the time I even heard that Shale existed he'd already vanished. The regular mutants I can get my people close enough to scan don't know exactly where he is or where the FEV comes from other than 'somewhere in Los'. Using telepathy to hide from a lot of people at once is really hard, to say nothing of robots which are totally immune to it or ghouls or super mutants who can be pretty darn resistant. And there aren't.. that many of us, not trained for that sort of work. Besides, Keats is an ally, and I.. can't be sure that he wouldn't notice. You remember the Master speaking in your mind, right?"

"He had a distinctive voice. Voices."

"Ours don't stand out quite as much. But if you know where to listen-" **-you still hear it.**

"So there's no way to find out what's going on in Los?"

"The Texans are busy with Santa Anna. Lanius has put his expansion on hold so he can help Mister Sallow. The Republic of the Rio Grande is thanking their lucky stars that Santa Anna was feeling diplomatic. We could breach Los with an army but we don't have one spare." I shake my head. "Unless you've got some insight, the only realistic option we've got is to stop worrying about it and focus on the Legion."

"'We'? I appreciate that the NCR aren't antagonising my people any more, but I don't care about Caesar."

"There's a difference between being a second class citizen and being chattel, Marcus."

"The NCR have already got the super mutant leader they want. But they'll never let anyone make any more super mutants in NCR territory."

"No. But Texas would."

 

[Mr Zoat]

10th July 2012
21:23 GMT

That's five hours of my life I never want to revisit.

The sick bay of the Third Principle is a friendly blue colour, and I'm in what I now remember to be the passive mode I adopt when visiting the dentist while the ship's physicians and the Atlantean wizards try and work out how functional I am.

The lead physician steps away from the bed first. Since I'm not wearing my ring at the moment I'm getting everything translated by an earpiece. Which means that conversation is like listening to a dub; you hear the actual words being spoken a little before the translation starts to come through.

"You're as physically healthy as you were when Lantern Gozzi cloned your current body. I can't see any of the usual signs of dysmorphia or neurochemical instability. Though since your power ring will alter your body to however you want it, neither are entirely surprising."

I smile and nod.

"I don't suppose you've got any idea why I haven't recovered the abilities I gained from enlightenment, have you?"

"Spiritually inclined members of my species -the ones who don't worship demons made of eyeballs- can show altered brainwave patterns in some situations. I had assumed that 'enlightenment' was a sort of metaphor for extreme selflessness. I can show you how your brain patterns are different to theirs, but I'm afraid that I can't offer an explanation as to why."

"How about how I've changed from my own baselines?"

"If you wanted me to do that, then you should probably have visited a physician and got baseline scans taken."

Damn. He's right. I had plenty of data on my own physiology, but I kept it all on my rings. I never actually bothered getting any sort of standard medical assessment. Have to fix that.

"Schedule me one once I'm fully mission-fit." I glance at my new ring where it sits on the bedside table. "But once I take the ring off, any problems should start to show almost at once, shouldn't they?"

"Assuming that your body works like those of most humanoid species I've studied, yes. But as-" He glances at Dr. Damon. "-your fellow humans are demonstrating, that might not mean very much."

For obvious reason, Atlanteans don't really identify themselves as 'human'. I mean, genetically, all of them are at least somewhat human, but the term somewhat loses significance when you're talking about a man who looks like a shark with arms and legs stuck on. Or a man with dolphin skin stuck on, in this case. Mundane physicians can't really work on Atlanteans due to not being able to safely deal with the interspecies elements.

"Thank you for your work. And..?" I glance at the Atlanteans. "Metaphysically?"

They remove their hands or wands from my body. With my tattoos still working, any study of my arcane systems requires direct physical contact.

They look at each other as I sit up, then Dr. Wilsone shakes her head.

"You're more there than you were, but there's still a good deal missing. Working from Professor Sephtian's previous study of your soul structures I think that you've regained nearly all of the earthly magic you ever had. As much as you're going to get, essentially. But there's still only a fraction as much orange light as there was, and the complexity is massively reduced."

I nod. "In practical terms?"

"There's enough earthly magic that you shouldn't have to worry about the usual consequences of hollowing... Not that you did anyway." I nod. "You should be able to reproduce without difficulty, resist arcane influences and so on. The lack of some of your exotic structures might relate to your… 'Enlightenment failure', but… Atlantis doesn't really study that sort of psychological shift in the way we do purely arcane ones."

Dr. Damon nods. "And they're not about to start, despite the obvious utility."

I shrug. "Sorry. There are only so many researchers, and arcanotechnology is going to continue being my priority for the foreseeable future."

"I don't mind the official focus being on other disciplines; I mind being insulted when I'm pursuing valuable avenues of my own. Are you planning on attempting to help other Lanterns go through the same spiritual transitions you have?"

"Yes, that's what I'm trying to do with Lantern Gozzi."

"I'd like to scan her. To do a full longitudinal study of her spiritual and psychological shifts. It might help you handle future acolytes."

I nod. "I think that's probably a good idea, but she'll need to agree as well."

I hold out my left hand and want my ring onto my finger. Ugh, yeah, that's definitely taking more focus than it used to. Less than it did a few hours ago though, so I'm moving in the right direction. I send the earpiece to subspace as my environmental shield reengages. I open and close my left hand a few times before returning my full attention to the wizards.

"So is the rest just gone, or is it elsewhere?"

Dr. Damon shrugs. "I can only think of two places it could be, if it still exists. If it even makes sense to talk about it as an object. One is your personal lantern, and the other is what you call 'The Honden of Avarice'."

"I'm not sure where my personal lantern ended up."

"Where did you last see it?"

"I last used it on Maltus, but the subspace pocket I kept it in was tied to my first power ring. Which… Means that it either reappeared when my ring was destroyed and.. almost certainly got destroyed along with my rings, or it's still there waiting for an order to be released. Should be simple enough to check. Illustres to Lantern Gozzi."

There's a moment of delay, then her face appears.

"Yes, Illustres?"

"If you've got a moment, could you please check the place where I died and see if my personal lantern survived. It should be in a subspace pocket."

"At once."

"And thank you again for resurrecting me. Top acolyte marks."

"Ah-. You're welcome."

Her face disappears and I return my attention to the physicians.

"There's a ritual for making a connection to the Honden, and I know how to perform it, but… I'm not a natural for surviving it any more. I'll need all the same protection you used for the ships, and I'll need a thaumically active world to do it on."

Dr. Damon nods. "You've done this before, then."

"Not… Exactly like this, but yes." I float myself off the bed and onto the sick bay floor. "And since you're the elementalist, do you have any advice on how to approach the Ophidian?"

"You've already established a relationship with her, so it shouldn't be too difficult. She might rage at whoever harmed you, but since you want them dead anyway that shouldn't be a problem."

"But will she recognise me?"

He nods. "Yes, because your spiritual makeup is different and that's how she mostly perceives you. I can't be certain, but I think that she will. She knew you at earlier stages of your development, and your core drives are more or less the same. She might be confused about it for a few moments but I very much doubt that she'll see you as an intruder."

"And will she try possessing me again? The situation that allowed us to separate last time was a bit unique."

"Based on your history, I doubt it. Your reports said the separation was a mutual decision."

"Yes, but she really likes me. If she decides that it will help fix me, she might just do it. She's… Not a great long term planner."

"As I said, I can't be certain. But just in case, would you mind carrying some recording equipment as well as the wards? We don't get to record many instances of elemental possession."

…

I regard him levelly.

"Sure."

 

[Mr Zoat]

11th July 2012
01:48 GMT

I remember when Lantern Coutara levelled this place.

She decapitated a couple of senior priests in her opening volley, the ones she wanted dead the most. Then a gaggle of more junior priests who were chanting and holding Taranna in place. Then she started ripping downwards, tossing chunks of building in all directions, hunting down the rest of the clergy while I carried Taranna out of the way. She killed the living priests, destroyed their living quarters, their refectory, their shrines, their shelves of jars of eyes and their catacombs. Then she started smashing the foundations.

The orange light: it's a hell of a drug.

But with such strong use of the orange light on a thaumically active world, it should be a reasonable place to do this. Where I'm standing used to be a wine cellar… Not 'grape wine', but functionally equivalent. It's at the bottom of a stone rubble crater, but it's the closest thing to a platform left.

I've already cleared it of dust and graffiti, and inscribed the runic devices which should ease my passage into the Honden. Or rather, should ease my gaining awareness of the Honden. At the moment I'm a squishy mortal Lantern of no great importance; I lost the ability to easily bestride two realms with my enlightenment. This is just going to be me approaching as a mortal supplicant in a way… I've never really done.

I look upwards to where the Atlanteans, Lantern Ragnar and Lantern Gozzi are observing.

"Everyone ready?"

"I'd…" Dr. Damon looks a little bewildered. "That's a very unusual configuration. Most… People either go for something simple to protect bystanders while enduring the communion with their patron… Or go the other way and use something complex to improve their control."

"The Ophidian isn't a lightning elemental. All of you already touch her and her realm by feeling avarice. If she could distinguish you from the general orange background of the universe there isn't a ward in existence that could protect you. Fortunately, she… Doesn't do things like that unless prompted."

Ragnar seems excited by that.

"Will she come here? Will she want to fight us to prove our worth?"

"I… I honestly hope not. Since Hinon hasn't said anything yet I don't think she's even noticed that anything's gone wrong, and I'd like it to stay that way. And if she did want you to prove your worth, it wouldn't-."

"It would be a test of the spirit and not a test of the body, I know. The muscles of my body are not the only ones I have trained in preparation for our next duel! My brother was astonished at my newfound enthusiasm for scholarship."

"Any profound conclusions?"

"My goals are simple. My reasons aren't much more sophisticated. I wanted to distinguish myself from my brother, I had some early success in our sparring and I felt a kinship with figures from our heroic sagas. Everything else followed logically."

Lantern Gozzi's eyes narrow. "You have a curious definition of 'logically'."

"I sought to exemplify the martial virtues of my own heroes, without reflecting on their actual motives. I saw only the surface, leaving my own deeds… Hollow, by comparison. Therefore I lived a pantomime of the life of a great warrior. My thoughts were logical, but I lacked the wisdom to understand what I was trying to replicate. Now, I have a true reason to act, to impress my own nature onto reality. Illustres, you will not find stealing my ring from my finger as easy next time as it was during our first duel."

I nod approvingly. "I'm glad to hear it. And I'm glad that you've grasped what I've been trying to teach so readily. I'm almost looking forward to our rematch now."

He looks put out.

"Only 'almost'?"

I sit cross-legged in the centre of the circle, running my hierarchy of needs through my head. I haven't had to do this for a while and it's… A little jerky compared to when I did it while enlightened. I have to pause and think. The ideas come, and I have a definite sense of when I've covered everything, but… Yeah. Lantern Gozzi couldn't find my personal lantern, but we also confirmed that it didn't explode. Which means that I've got no real idea what happened to it. Losing Hinon and Larfleeze's rings is one thing but if I've lost Alan's lantern I'm going to be decidedly put out.

And… Ready. I extend orange light through the ritual inscriptions on the stone, trying to lose focus with my eyes and gain focus with my soul.

I want this.

"This is my cause, this is my fight,
Shine through the void with orange light,
I've claimed all within my sight,
To keep what is mine, that is my right."

"To keep what is mine, that is my right."

The universe flickers, fragments of orange flames leaping up from the inscriptions, momentarily forming lines, corridors, shapes and ideas I momentarily recognise from my time in the Honden before they collapse once more into mere sparks.

But who spoke?

I feel/see the human desires I know well: family and community, food and comfort. Not that those are uniquely human, but the particular manifestation that surrounds-.

Back in the room. I just can't maintain the connection, though a glance upward shows that my audience is still a little impressed.

Human desires, and I'm… Human. But I couldn't feel me there.

Wait. I wasn't using human desires to shield myself. I was using Leentniar desires, that was what I felt-. Their sense of how things should be rather than my own. I… Think, anyway.

My sense of how things should be is expansive and universalist. I can rest when everyone exists in a system whereby they can pursue their own ends in equilibrium with everyone else, and I fully expect that if I ever die permanently, it will be in the saddle.

The Leentniar don't think like that, and if I'm going to get my self back, I'm going to need to get closer to their mindset.

Hiding, that was a strong inclination. Where I would act, they would evade and avoid. I've used stealth to disguise my intent and location; for them it's a way of life. It's based on the cultural assumption that there's nothing worth engaging with outside of their own civilisation, that the value of what they have is actually diminished through contact with the outside. That in turn relates to their shunning the few members of their civilisation who have to leave.

I've rather underestimated what I'm up against there, haven't I?

"These drives are based on something, but what?"

That wasn't the Ophidian. Who the heck is talking? Has someone.. else achieved orange enlightenment? I mean, given the size of the universe that's certainly possible. And I wasn't spending large amounts of time in the Honden, so it isn't all that strange that I haven't encountered them before now.

A concern for later.

I really have more in common with their devotion to their own, anyway. That lack of selfishness is quite un-orange, but it's far closer to classical enlightenment. And here it manifests in a genuine desire to be a better Leentniar, to be more like the Leentniar ideal. How many humans even really have an accurate idea about what 'humans' are like beyond what they see in their own culture? Leentniar know their own foibles in a way humans don't and would probably refuse to accept. Again, far closer to classical forms of enlightenment; acceptance without judgement.

I try to picture living like that myself.

I match the Leentniar desire to avoid the alien with the human desire to lash out at it to prove that they're not.

I match the Leentniar desire to become good with the human desire to interpret the self as good.

And in the Leentniar I see myself. / "And in the human I see myself."

 

[Mr Zoat]

11th July 2012
Hopefully

Ugh.

I blink as my eyes focus on… A Leentniar deck plate. And my personal lantern. Excellent.

Generations of my people have laboured to build this space, and I want to add to it in order to ensure that it is preserved for generations more.

Ugh again. Not one of my desires. But I definitely remember something happening. I rise to my feet, picking up the lantern and… Wave at the other members of the crew, who-.

Ah. No. Right.

Ring, am I whole again? Judge using the metric of the person for whom Hinon created you.

Match imperfect. All indicated parts present, in addition to surplus material.

Sounds promising. I

step out, seeing the desires of the Leentniar all around me and enshrouding me. With a feeling of gratitude I unshroud myself, the desires I borrowed flowing back into their proper place. I'd sigh in relief if breathing was a thing here. Then I fly, following the patterns I remember and the beacon planted by Lantern Coutara. No, not her. This… Place is a beacon in the orange light of the conflicting desires 'do it' and 'make this not happen'. And… It's a little clearer why they had those desires. I think… It's easier for me to intuit the connections… I can study that later. I

step back into the centre of my ritual space.

I take a moment to make sure that there's no residual energy flares, then spread my arms wide and look up at my audience.

"Let joy be unbound, for I am returned."

I float upwards, erasing my markings on the stone as I do so. This area is nominally under the control of L.E.G.I.O.N., but it's a ruin of no strategic importance. It wouldn't do for someone to try their hand at amateur spell casting with my help.

"And as far as I can tell, at full mission fitness. Ladies and gentlemen?"

The wizards raise their hands, their use of magic no longer restricted to their personal reserves. Lantern Gozzi looks slightly relieved, while Ragnar-.

"Do you want your first rematch right now, or are you prepared to wait?"

"I… It would be better to wait until your health is confirmed. I would sully my challenge by acting prematurely."

"Alright. I respect your growing wisdom." I float over the rim and land amidst the party. "And if you want guidance on your next step..?"

"Of course, Illustres."

"You've developed a good self-awareness. My enlightenment comes from perfect self-awareness, not just from understanding the origin of my strongest desires but from also understanding and accepting my weaker ones. If that is the path you want to take, you'll have to try to do the same."

"I'm… Not sure that I can, Illustres. I've wanted what I want now for a very long time."

"Perhaps you could start by trying to understand your brother's desires and motives. Learn to imagine yourself in his position."

"That.. is not easier." He smiles. "But such is the path of the warrior. I struck at my swordmaster a thousand times before I hit him even once. And I hit him a thousand times before I bested him even once." He frowns. "I am… Better at hitting things than I am at wisdom."

"But you weren't always. And once you beat me, you won't have beating me to look forward to."

He nods, mollified, as I turn to the wizards.

"So?"

Dr. Damon shrugs. "Your soul structure appears to be more whole than it was before the ritual, though it's not quite the same as our records."

"That which does not kill us makes us stranger."

"But it did kill you. Your behaviour is.. different to every shade I've studied." He throws up his hands. "How do you feel?"

I blink, empathic vision showing-

I need this to pay off. I need.. some recognition. I need something that tells me that I haven't wasted my career, because it's getting harder to convince myself.

-more than it used to.

"My empathic abilities feel a little more intense. I think I'm empathising with the desires I see more than I did before. They feel like mine rather than someone else's that I'm just looking at. Otherwise, I feel much as I did before."

I look down at my left hand.

"Ring? How am I doing now?"

"Orange light abilities within expected parameters."

"How does this..?" Dr. Wilsone considers-

I can learn things that no one else can and someone else is taking the risks.

Heh.

-me carefully. "How does this compare to how you died last time?"

"Far less painful, didn't involve a giant would-be god with a smiley face for a head and escaping didn't involve my brain slowly suffocating while stuck in a robot body. Of the two, I definitely preferred this one. I definitely preferred the Honden to the Source."

"You don't feel any lasting negative effects from not being alive?"

"No. Not that I'm noticing. I don't know why my empathic vision has changed, so I suppose that… Could be a negative effect."

"I've read about techniques for coming back from the dead repeatedly. The cumulative effects are supposed to be horrifying."

"But I'm not using any of them. And even if I lost part of my soul, these tattoos will regenerate it as long as I spend time on a thaumically active world. Right?"

"In theory, yes. In practice, you are the only one to ever have this arrangement. I'm… Worried."

I nod. "Light duties, and check in with Hades. Got it. Lantern Gozzi, Lantern Ragnar, I'll see you back on Maltus."

I raise my right hand to my forehead

step out and

reappear in front of the Central Power Battery.

What a relief.

"Ophidian, c-."

"Illustres!" I turn as Kalmin stomps in wearing full.. armour. Ah-. "Are you prepared to depart?"

"I only just got my power back after dying again."

"But you do have your power back?"

"Yes. But-."

He raises his hammer.

"Anti-matter conversion now!"

 

[Mr Zoat]

11th July 2012
03:21 GMT

Armourandstealthsystemsnow!

There's a moment where the universe seems to twist, and then space reappears. Space reappears because the planet we were standing on is in a parallel universe and its equivalent is on the other side of its sun. Which I'm assuming is why we aren't immediately being shot to pieces by Qwardian weapon batteries right now. The stars are mostly in the same places, though the L.E.G.I.O.N. fleet is replaced by Qwardian ships and the ships of their vassals and trading partners.

I try not to scan too actively, because I know that of all the threats the Green Lantern Corps has faced it's the Qwardians who best match the Guardians technologically.

"Kalmin, what the hell?"

"This is urgent business." He floats in space, his armour and personal defence shield protecting him from the vacuum. "I was willing to wait while you recovered your full power… And I'll admit to being interested in how you managed to recover from a qwa energy explosion. But that is all. I will fix the sickness that besets my people now, whether you like it or not."

"I wanted to check with Hinon that I actually am fully recovered-."

"You are. I checked."

"I don't mean to insult you, but you're not a Controller. And you haven't spent anything like as much time studying me as Hinon has."

"I've studied you. And I've studied other humans. I had Harold Jordan in my dungeons, and a few dozen others I took apart so that I'd have a baseline."

The drawback of the token evil teammate being, naturally, that they're evil.

"If you could provide me with their names and appearances, it would help me close the missing person investigations."

"They weren't that interesting."

"That's not the point as far as humans are concerned." I look around. None of the ships appear to be heading in this direction. "Can I assume from the fact that we aren't hiding that we don't need to?"

"We don't try and stop Lanterns coming to Qward. It saves a tremendous amount of time."

"I.. thought that after last time, we might be worth special measures."

"Oh, the Thunderers will be out for your blood and the surviving individuals will be castigated for their failure. But Qward won't care about anything you did."

"And who is manning those ships?"

"Junior Weaponers and technicians. There might be a few Thunderers on board, but they'll be there as vassals of the Weaponers. They won't be in command positions."

"That seems… Lax. What if someone brought in a planet-killer weapon?"

"Killing Qward is more difficult than killing most worlds. The outer surface of the planet shields the q'ardajin within with miles of rock and metal. Our sun could go nova and none of our population would be harmed. We have planetary shields, interior shields, sensor baffles and all manner of other more exotic defensive technology. We like it when our enemies come to us. If you think you can destroy Qward?" He folds his arms across his chest. "Strike true, for you will not get a second chance."

"Seemed to go pretty well last time."

"We are not humans, who weep and wail at every death. A handful of Thunderers and some equipment is barely an alertness drill."

Not that I'm in position to check, but nothing he's said rings untrue or contradicts my records.

"Alright. So what's our first step?"

"I need to return to my workshop."

"Won't it have been destroyed?"

Kalmin does a sort of smile-sneer.

"Not without significant losses. And no, probably not. With their living targets fled, the Thunderers won't take out their rage on mere stone and metal. They will nurture their hate for the day they see you again."

"And not you?"

"Why? I didn't fight them. And neither would I. They know better than to intervene in quarrels between Weaponers."

"Oh. So… Why am I here? I thought I was coming along to stop them killing you, but from the sound of it I'm just going to make your life harder."

"I think you'll be an adequate distraction. Varnathon will probably assume that the orange rings are my design. Alternately, if you stay inside your armour then it's unlikely that the Thunderers will trouble you until you use your ring."

"You think that Varnathon won't know about the Orange Lantern Corps?"

"He's a merchant. He probably knows that the Reach are fighting an 'Orange Lantern Corps', but I doubt that he's troubled himself with the details. I certainly didn't bother to learn the name of everyone we did business with when I was Chief Weaponer."

He has a point. There's no such thing as interstellar news media. Even things that are common knowledge of L.E.G.I.O.N. member worlds are completely unknown to the wider universe. Most people back in the positive matter universe 16 probably still think that the Green Lantern Corps is the only one. Varnathon has two whole universes to spy on and a finite population to do it with. The Reach probably don't know that we're employing Kalmin and (correctly) assign responsibility to the Controllers, but Varnathon… Does he even know about the Controllers?

Not sure.

I retract my environmental shield so that it no longer shows on the outside of my armour.

"How are we getting to your workshop? Do you have a teleport beacon set up?"

"If I had a teleport beacon anyone could have killed me. And I wouldn't have teleported us into space. We're going to fly into one of the ports and walk to a tunnel to the core. I want people to see me. I want other Weaponers to know that I'm back and that I want their attention. I want Varnathon to have time to consider his mistake."

"And then you'll rally his opponents?"

"If there are any. I'm not expecting to leave many survivors."

"Yes, about… That. What's the aim here? Are you trying to unreform q'ardajin society along more traditional lines? Because if you're just trying to wipe out your own species, I don't particularly want to help you."

Because unpleasant though they are, the q'ardajin have clearly demonstrated the capacity for reformation. They can deal peacefully with aliens. They can trade with their neighbours. Without the Anti-Monitor personally sticking his oar in, they're within the range of civilisations I don't believe that I need to exterminate.

"No. I will be a scourge, a reminder of what we are. The unworthy will die, and those who survive will be cleansed. I have no interest in total extermination."

"Alright. I'll follow your lead. Where do you want us to start?"

 

[Mr Zoat]

20th May 2282
19:21 MTZ

"Sir? Could you tell me what's going on?"

Corporal Alejandro Pérez walks besides me as I head away from the forward trenches on the NCR side of the southern part of the Colorado River. This used to be the territory of a gang called The Rapids, but the NCR conquered and settled it while I was still dealing with the Whisperers. It went… Um, a good deal smoother than their half-arsed efforts in the Mojave, at least in part because the Legion wasn't actively trying to disrupt things. And in part because the majority of the settlements didn't actually like their vicious gang overlords and were not completely opposed to them being replaced.

**Certainly.** He starts slightly at my mental voice, but doesn't comment on it. The fact that the NCR has allied with a group of psychics is common knowledge now, even if most of the soldiers haven't directly interacted with us. **I'm escorting an ambassador from a potential ally who wants to get a better idea of how the NCR works and what the Legion is like.**

"Sir? And you brought them here?"

Corporal Pérez is from another area that the NCR conquered: Baja California. I hadn't really thought about it, but I've learned since coming here that it was part of Mexico before the war. Honestly, that… I mean, I'm sure there are perfectly good historical reasons why a part of the country with only a tiny land connection to the rest of Mexico didn't get annexed by the USA… At least, before the Resource Wars. It still sounds about as sensible as the Polish Corridor separating Weimar Germany from Prussia, but, I mean, that still happened.

Anyway, the NCR's a lot less popular in Baja California than it is up here, and it's only the fact that Mayor Hayes of Dayglow has been working his arse off improving community relations that keeps them from forming an organised resistance. It will be interesting to see what happens there in the next senate election, because most of the citizens will be eligible to vote and none of them care a whit for what the Brahmin Barons want out of the legislature. I foresee -using purely mundane foresight since I don't particularly want a migraine today- democratic change in the NCR's future.

**Yes. Can you think of anywhere better?**

The crossings are fortified, the artillery sighted and the snipers on watch. Early in the war the Legion actually managed to swarm over the river and overwhelm the NCR positions. It took the NCR's river navy -and a little help from my spies- cutting off their supply lines to allow the NCR army to push them back to this point.

On the other side of the river it's just about possible to make out the dug-out trenches that the Legionaries hide in during the day. It's easily possible to make out the wooden crosses with captured NCR soldiers and settlers bound to them in the California sun. Not all of them are still alive. Most of them are booby trapped.

"Like… Literally anywhere? Somewhere like Primm gives a pretty fucking accurate idea what the Legion's like."

The Legion tried pushing across the Hoover Dam to the north of here, only to be met with mass fire from the NCR soldiers and Mr. House's Securitrons and an armoured fist counter-attack from 'mercenaries' in 'recovered' power armour. The Legion infiltrators in the lower levels of the Dam actually got cut off from behind before being surrounded and crushed. Right now the eastern end of the Dam is a fortress which even Legion tenacity can't assault without being bled white.

**No Legionaries to kill in Primm.**

The problem is working out how to actually attack. Legion territory is huge, and its tribal people devoted to the Legion. That's why flipping Costa del Sol is such a big deal; if we get the Legion's leadership and destroy their industrial centres in Flagstaff and Phoenix then the war's effectively over. At least until Lanius decides to stick his oar in.

The sentry watching the gate of the nearest NCR strongpoint raises her right hand in greeting as the armoured gate clunks open. I wave back.

"So… Is this it? The big push? We're..? Actually going over there?"

**'Big push'? No. But things are going to start happening.**

We walk inside, the door mechanism immediately being put into reverse. Miss Vialla's inside talking to the base commander, but she makes her apologies and heads out way the moment she sees us.

"Corporal, this is Miss Lucia Vialla. Miss Vialla, this is your cousin Corporal Alejandro Pérez."

Miss Vialla smiles at him while Corporal Pérez looks puzzled.

"Ah, I got a big family, but I don't-."

"Her mother was your father's sister."

"You m-?" He smiles at Miss Vialla. "You're Aunt Rosa's daughter?"

Miss Vialla lunges forward and hugs him, and he reciprocates.

"We-. We thought she was dead, with the storm-. Where'd she wash up? Mexico?"

Miss Vialla nods. "Yes. She-." Her mouth clenches, and she glares at me. "Krono. Why have you done this?"

"While it is quite understandable that your father would want to reunite with former allies across the Gulf of California, I felt that your own enthusiasm would be diminished if you could speak to your mother's part of the family and hear from them what the NCR is doing in Baja California. And what the Legion's doing in Arizona. And since Corporal Pérez was here, it seemed to be in everyone's interests that I introduce you."

"Wait, you-" Corporal Pérez frowns. "-got the NCR's chief mindfucker playing tour guide? Ah, no offence."

"Some taken. How do you feel about spiders?"

"Ah. I-? Ah. Who exactly did-" He looks at Miss Vialla's gun and belatedly notices her bodyguard. "-Aunt Rosa end up marrying?"

She looks at me. "How reliable are these men?"

"I'm a telepath. The Legion doesn't have spies in the NCR military any longer."

Mine are far better. And, you know, supposed to be there.

"My father is President Vialla, ruler of Costa del Sol."

"Oh. Oh shit. If.. you're here, then…"

I nod. "Then we need to encourage Caesar to reinforce the lines here." I walk towards the closest watchtower and begin climbing up. "You might want to watch this."

I nod to the NCR Rangers on sniper-.

"Lot of our guys over there, Krono." One of them glares at me through his gas mask. "If it was me, I'd want us to have shot me by now."

The ghoul bodyguard, Miss Vialla and Corporal Pérez climb up behind me.

"Matters are in hand. In fact…" I reach out towards the Legion lines with my right hand and close my eyes, listening to the buzz of the thoughts of the Legionaries. I'm not trying to read them, just to pick up their location. Naturally the forward trenches are manned… "You'll want to shoot in just a moment."

I close my right hand, and lift.

The sniper looks out across the river as Miss Vialla raises her binoculars.

"Okay, Mister Wizard, what am I-?" A flailing Legionary floats into the air, trying and failing to grab hold of anything to stop himself floating away. "Holy shit. How the fuck you doing that?"

"Do you not hear yourself call me a wizard?" … "This is actually quite hard, so if you wouldn't mind-?"

He raises his rifle, checks the anemometer on the watchtower table, aims and fires. I don't.. feel an impact.

"Ah, shit. Could you stop him flailing around so much?"

"No, actually." Not at this distance.

He reloads, aims a little up and to the left, then fires again. This time I feel it as the bullet strikes home, and I immediately begin withdrawing my support. The corpse-to-be falls in the open, bleeding from a chest wound that will probably kill him.

I nod.

"As I see it, a magician and a sniper picking them off like this will probably do a number on their morale. There… Aren't any Costans over there, are there?"

…

Ten minutes later, the Legionaries rise as one from their trenches and charge.

 

[Mr Zoat]

11th July 2012
06:03 GMT

A rather noticeable difference between this and my previous visit to Qward is that if you walk down the street just behind a Weaponer everyone gets out of the way really fast, pressing themselves against walls and even throwing themselves off an overpass at one point.

"Are we heading somewhere in particular, or just making our presence felt?"

We're not in the same surface city I visited last time. I'm not completely certain what the difference-.

"Weaponer Kalmin, what a-."

Kalmin twists his right hand, a pale qwa bolt appearing in his grip. He aims it at the floating robotic head and hurls it, striking true and erasing the robot.

"Um."

"Those things irritate me."

"Yes, but it could probably tell people what you want more efficiently than just stomping around and scaring aliens."

"I didn't become a Weaponer so that I could indulge the idiocy of others." He resumes his stomping through the city. "Besides, destroying one with qwa energy will get Varnathon's attention faster than mere words."

"Alright." This armour isn't really designed for walking around, but I suppose that doing so lends credence to the pretence that I'm a robot. The integrated sensors mean that I don't have to look around so see what's going on around me. "Are we heading directly to a tunnel, or are you planning on blowing up some more robots?"

"I'd quite like to talk to the local Thunderer garrison. It has been…" He looks around, clearly not impressed. "Some time since I left my workshop. This is new to me."

"It can't have been that long. Sinestro's only-."

"When I said that I didn't care about it, I meant that I didn't care about it. I came up here once or twice in my youth and never bothered to return. The tribute serves a purpose of course, but it's not the aim of our civilisation."

"And what is?"

"Destruction. The annihilation of all that is and can be, for the glory of the Anti-Monitor."

"And then what?"

"What?"

"After you've destroyed everything. What goal are you working towards by doing that?"

"I believe that you have failed to comprehend the definition of 'everything'."

If I could bow my head, I would. Yes, that's on me.

"So there's no greater aim than 'everything: destroyed'?"

"No. Why are you surprised? I've been very clear about my motives."

"I suppose that it's just such an alien idea to me. And you're shielding your psyche against the techniques I'd use to understand things like that."

"Why do you not want to destroy things?"

"Ah, ultimately? My desire to build is the product of evolutionary processes which have given rise to pro-social instincts due to the fact that those generally led to groups surviving and passing on their genes. But your desires can't be derived from the inverse; evolution might give things an instinct to destroy themselves in specific circumstances, but if everyone with a particular trait followed through then there's no way that it would get passed down."

"And that's it? You're just a product of your ancestors' circumstances?"

"Not entirely. I'm aware of them, so I can reflect on them and create a moral theory based on my intuitions. But if you want to know where it all comes from, that's where. Q'ardajin are clearly social animals. At some point you must have started wanting to destroy things, so there must have been a point before that where you didn't."

"Qward's interior is barren and desolate, the product of Erdammeru's wrath. We have no history before the Anti-Monitor brought us here. I couldn't tell you about our evolutionary history even if I wanted to."

Huh. If… The Anti-Monitor's actions resulted in… Something like the Crisis happening in the eighties or nineties… And Qward survived… Then it's quite possible that their past no longer exists. What would something like that do to a species' instincts? Or did he just change them?

I'm reminded of Chantinelle's affirmation of the idea that demons don't care where their power comes from. She wanted power, I want to build and Kalmin wants to destroy everything. There's no… Objective way of determining which is 'best' or morally correct. Other than identifying one as self-defeating, I suppose. I know that, and yet I don't see any particular problem with my desires coming from that.

'Why' finds no answer, but who cares?

"You realise-?"

"That one day, if we both live long enough, we will try to kill one another?" He smiles faintly. "How is it that you did not realise that from the first?"

"I'm afraid that I underestimated your devotion to destruction. I thought that you might be a brutal realist rather than a genuine omni-nihilist."

"I would advise against underestimating me."

"But given your ideology, I'm struggling to understand why you made Sinestro his ring in the first place. If you were just taking a commission, I'd understand, but-."

"Sinestro declared his intention to destroy the Green Lantern Corps. Having led them for years, he understood them better than we do. He seemed well-placed to make good on his vow, and the Green Lantern Corps are our enemies. I love destruction, but that doesn't mean that I must be personally present at every act of destruction. I don't need to carry destruction out with my own hands. I build the weapons which cause destruction."

"And you're working with us because the war between us and the Reach will devastate vast areas of space."

"That's nice, yes." He smiles faintly. "But it's not the only reason. I am… Obliged to you. You got me out of my rut. Convinced me that I could make myself useful to the Anti-Monitor again. There are logical reasons unrelated to morals for honouring debts, and we q'ardajin… Generally repay things. Though don't bet your life on it."

Ahead of us I can just about see the fortification guarding the passageway to the inner part of the planet. Around it is a wide open plaza and atop it are a variety of sentry guns and patrolling Thunderers. Above it… Yes, there's the faint shimmer of an energy shield to protect it against orbital strikes. I didn't get to see much of the outside of the last one I visited due to being a captive, but what I'm seeing matches the intelligence files I've had access to.

"I'll bear that in mind."

Those Thunderers don't have Kalmin's protection against my empathic abilities, though given precisely how empathic I appear to be at the moment I make an effort not to look too closely. Their drive for destruction matches with what he says his is, though rather than regarding their role as the making of tools they've got martial pride. They do want to carry out destruction in person, but…

And they die again and again, as is their place. How satisfying.

I raise my left hand and point my ring at Kalmin for a moment, then lower it. Yes, some are Dark Kantians like Kalmin, but others are just arseholes. They destroy and kill because they enjoy it, violent hedonists rather than Anti-Monitor loyalists.

I wonder what I'll see when we confront Varnathon?

 

[Mr Zoat]

11th July 2012
06:08 GMT

The guns train on us and the Thunderers begin to gather as we cross the plaza, Kalmin in the lead and me toddling along behind him like an obedient minion. We're about half way across before-

"Halt and be recognised!"

-one of them tries hailing us.

Kalmin doesn't stop, which makes sense if the q'ardajin have a feudal arrangement. Kalmin isn't going to take orders from a feudal inferior. Or maybe he just thinks that they should damn well recognise him without being prompted. I wouldn't be able to name the Prime Minister before Margaret Thatcher but I could name the one before Cameron. And I'd probably be a bit surprised if another British person couldn't.

And I doubt there's an Amazon who can't remember the name of the queen before Hippolyta.

A Thunderer with a slightly fancier helmet appears on the battlement, prompting the shouter to step back. Fancy hat watches Kalmin for a moment, then raises his right hand in greeting.

"Weaponer Kalmin. Not dead, I see."

This time Kalmin stops and looks up.

"No. Varnathon proved to be a disappointment."

The lead Thunderer's face twitches. Yes, he thinks that Varnathon should have killed Kalmin too, but more to preserve good order than as a punishment for failure. Having two High Weaponlords adds confusion to the chain of command. And increases the risk of infighting. But by that same token he doesn't particularly want to be involved if two Weaponers are going to go at it.

"I was referring to the Lantern attack."

"Did anyone have the courage to actually check?"

"I… Don't know, Weaponer. I wasn't assigned-."

"Fah. Open the gate or I kill you all."

"Yes, Weaponer."

He glances aside and for a moment and the gate begins swinging outwards. Thick armour reinforced with force fields, though since the main defence is the Thunderer garrison I imagine it's more so they aren't bothered by weak attacks than a serious all-out attempt to build as strong a defensive structure as they can.

"Is that a new robot design, Weaponer?"

"Maybe. I haven't decided if it's worth anything yet."

Huh. I suppose that between the anti-sensor systems in my armour, my tattoos and the fact that they don't want to press an irritable Weaponer, they probably can't tell that I'm a living person.

"Do you require an escort, Weaponer?"

Kalmin doesn't look up this time, preferring to just march forward.

"No. This is a dispute between Weaponers. If I can't protect myself then I deserve to die."

I didn't expect him to care about how far I'd have to fly to get to an anti-matter to matter transfer portal, but now that I've identified it as an issue I'm thinking about it. I don't think they destroyed the one we used last time, and since it's in 1417 it's probably one Kalmin made anyway… But if the Thunderers decide to come after me that's going to be a pain.

The lead Thunderer doesn't bother speaking further as we enter the fort, the gate shutting behind us. Kalmin seems to know where he's going, so I continue to play the part of a dumb robot and follow him. Actually, ring? Robot voice.

Compliance.

"Directive, Weaponer?"

"I'm out of date with Weaponer politics. My former allies naturally abandoned me when I fell from grace, but I don't know who is allied to Varnathon and who is merely cooperating with him. In practical terms, there's no reason not to simply walk up to the workshop of an old colleague or two and try to-. Ah."

"Threat assessment, Weaponer?"

He taps his left bracer, and my armour's communication system receives a stream showing a female q'ardajin in protective overalls. She's bald, with either cybernetic or bioengineered eyes.

"High Weaponlord Kalmin. It is a pleasure to see you again."

"Weaponer Lysis. This is a surprise."

"That I'm talking to you, or that I know that you're here?"

"Either. You're sponsoring Thunderers, now?"

"I've infiltrated monitoring systems worldwide. Varnathon decided that he wanted to keep me where he could see me."

"I told you that your old clothes were impractical. What you're wearing now is much better."

"Varnathon wants me where he can see me due to the fact that I was tutored by you, not because he wants to keep seeing me in thigh-boots and a bikini. He knows perfectly well that I'm the only person likely to actually miss you."

"Foolish sentiment. I thoroughly deserved to be cast down."

"I didn't say that I actually did. Varnathon isn't… Like you."

"I know."

"Kalmin, q'ardajin don't do counter-coups. You haven't done anything that would make the Weaponers give you your old title back. Varnathon is… Reasonably popular with-"

"Varnathon is selling qwa matter."

"-the Counc-. What?"

Her eye configuration makes it impossible for her eyes to widen, but the movement of the flesh on her face makes it look like she's trying anyway.

"I've encountered it on two occasions. The gun could have been a war-prize, though not sending Thunderers to recover it was sloppy. But they had more than that. I tolerated weapon sales when I was High Weaponlord, and when I heard that Varnathon was increasing mercantilism I just rolled my eyes. But this is qwa matter, a sacred gift to the q'ardajin people from the-."

"Yes, I fully understand that trading qwa matter is not the same as selling neural impactors."

"I didn't know we were still making those."

"Some aliens from the matter universe are buying them. Varnathon had me dust off the designs. But that's beside the point. The other Weaponers won't stand for Varnathon doing anything like that with qwa matter or qwa energy. Even the ones who aren't as faithful as you will be horrified for strategic reasons."

"Can you communicate the news to the Council?"

She glances behind her for a moment before replying.

"Yes, though I doubt that I can do that without Varnathon noticing. If you're intending to act covertly-."

"I'm not."

She smiles. "No, of course you're not. Am I allowed to conceal that it came from me?"

"That's up to you. I'll quite understand if you want the pleasure of killing him yourself, but I would personally be far more satisfied if his misdeeds were revealed to the entire Council and that… Would probably be more difficult if you were detected."

"I will prioritise my own safety, then."

"Very well. I will speak to you in person when I meet with the rest of the Council."

"Kalmin… It's good to see you again."

"Don't get sentimental, Lysis. We have work to do."

 

[Mr Zoat]

29th May 2282
10:01 MTZ

"Just through here, sir."

A ghoul in a well tailored suit ushers me and Goris into the main meeting room in the Oklahoma state capital. The name of the city is 'First People's Junction', which… Honestly sounds a bit Canadian to me. Referring to the pre-European inhabitants of America as 'First People' is a Canadian thing, isn't it? The former state capital Oklahoma City was hit by Chinese nuclear weapons during the Great War and… The population of the area is around twenty thousand now, but in the immediate aftermath of the War when people in this region were trying to work out where they were going to start rebuilding it would have been far too dangerous. There was a Vault to the north of here, but it was one of the experiment ones and only a small fraction of those inside survived.

The four people I'm here to meet stand as I enter. General George Harrison is a ghoul. He was an Adjutant General in the Oklahoma National Guard before the War and as far as my sources have been able to tell he's spent most of the intervening period at the head of a ghoul war band picking fights with everyone for the sake of having something to do. He's wearing a battered and faded field uniform, and given his general mental state there's a good chance that it's the one he died in.

Ms. Lushanya Harjo is wearing a well tailored riff on what I imagine was the traditional garb of one of the Great Plains Federation tribes. She herself was the leader of the Chicasaw-Muscogee Coalition and ran a casino prior to General Harrison conquering the Federation a little over a year ago. Now she still runs a casino but works directly for the President, so I guess the only real change is that her office moved slightly down the hall. Her husband, known to the people of the region as 'Mr. Entertainment', sits next to her. His suit is an exquisite replica of pre-war fashion and his… Somehow still independent people called 'The Tubeheads' inhabit the land just to the south of here. They're famous for their skills as entertainers and electronic engineers and they somehow managed to convince both Oklahoma and Texas to guarantee their independence.

And the woman at the head of the table and focus of General Harrison's barely audible muttering, President Nguyen. She served as his field commander for years until his decision to go to war with the Chicasaw-Muscogee Coalition prompted her to quit. When he decided to hold an election after the war they remembered her opposition and elected her instead of him, much to his apparent surprise.

It should be noted that the ghouls here follow his orders because they don't have any better ideas, not because they think he's particularly clever.

"Madam President, Ms Harjo, Mister Entertainment, General Harrison."

President Nguyen leans across the table to shake my hand.

"Are you allowed to call me that?"

"I still call the leader of the New California Republic President Kimball. So unless Grant Hayes wins the next election I'm probably alright calling state leaders 'President' rather than 'Governor'."

She nods, then sits back down as Ms. Harjo takes my hand.

"Mister Krono. Welcome to Oklahoma."

"It's good to be here, Ms Harjo. Or is it Missus Entertainment?"

Her husband smiles with.. worryingly white teeth as she shakes her head.

"No, we kept our names. I'm happy to leave the studio to my husband."

Who is the next to take my hand, clasping it in both of his and smiling warmly. Something I've noticed about the strange little tribes who focus on one aspect of old world culture: they get almost supernaturally good at it. The Tubeheads -even just regular townspeople- are strangely charismatic, the Hangdogs can command dogs better than any dog trainer I've ever seen, the people of Two Sun are amazing drivers and I hear there's a bunch of weirdoes in Roswell with actual psychic powers.

"And speaking of my studio, is there any chance you'll have time to drop by later?"

"I'd be delighted to. I know how slow news travels these days, and I'd be happy to update your viewers on current affairs."

I turn to General Harrison, ready to shake his hand as well. But his attention is focused on the robe-shrouded Goris.

"The hell 're you supposed to be?"

"This is Goris. He's my cultural attaché."

His hood nods. "This is my third time in Oklahoma. You once had an entire machine gun platoon try and kill me."

General Harrison nods. "Did it work?"

"They successfully tried. And Miss Harjo, I seem to recall that I had the pleasure of meeting your grandfather. Very few hotels are prepared to accommodate people like me and I remember his hospitality fondly."

"Grandpa didn't ever mention having a super mutant guest. The only-." She blinks, his eyes widening. "No."

President Nguyen raises her eyebrows. "Anya?"

"Grandpa had a crazy story about a… Talking Deathclaw who stayed in the hotel after defending a caravan from some raiders."

Goris extends his right fore claw out of his sleeve and pushes back his hood.

"The bed was the wrong shape for me, but the food and service were excellent."

President Nguyen and Ms. Harjo freeze, something which Goris has told me only makes Deathclaws lose interest if someone else doesn't, because they're all intelligent enough to know that it's the people who haven't frozen that you need to attack first.

Mr. Entertainment grins, his eyes lighting up in excitement. "Do you have an agent, Mister Goris?"

"I'm afraid that I'm not interested in a career in entertainment. Though I am happy to give interviews… Just so long as there isn't a live audience."

"No?"

Goris shuffles bashfully.

"I get nervous when people stare at me."

Ms. Harjo is just staring. "You're a Talking Deathclaw."

"I prefer 'Intelligent Deathclaw'."

"I thought your species were myths."

"We are. We're also real. Like the wendigos of Appalachia. Though we taste better."

President Nguyen takes a deep breath and forces herself to relax.

"While I'm sure this will make for a fascinating interview, that isn't why you wanted to meet with us."

I nod. "True." I pull a map out of my robe and telekinetically lay it flat on the table between us. My best understanding of the current borders of the nations of the wasteland are marked on it, as well as major troop deployments. It's fairly accurate as far as the Legion is concerned, but there's more guesswork in Shale's Army territory than I really like. "This is the current state of play. I'm confident that the forces the NCR has at its disposal will be sufficient for pushing back the Legion forces along our border. As far as they're concerned, all we really want you to do is to keep doing what you're doing now: fortifying your border with Lanius and presenting a threat in being."

"You're really that confident?"

I pull out a holotape and side it over.

"A recording of our last battle. It turns out that football jerseys don't stop machinegun fire. Plus, I am psychic."

She nods as General Harrison grabs the tape. "We have psychics, too. And they think they know why Lanius's forces haven't advanced further east."

"Because he wants Santa Anna to weaken Texas first?"

"The Chained Choir don't think it's that simple. They've been getting almost constant premonitions of doom. They think that something is being born in Los, and that it will 'consume the world'. My own spies in Lanius's forces say that they aren't advancing because they're under constant attack by super mutants." She points to the map. "Lanius had an army here. Where is it now?"

"I don't know. And I think I need to talk to the Choir in person."

 

[Mr Zoat]

11th July 2012
06:15 GMT

You think you're over your vertigo, then you see a giant miles deep hole in the ground heading towards the planet's core.

The last time I saw one of these, we were all moving so fast that I didn't really think about it. And I was flying, which meant that my environmental shield made me feel like I was standing on solid ground the entire time. And the hole wasn't that big: it was one of several that got used for raw material transportation as much as anything.

This is one of the holes they launch star ships through.

And it's…

Bigger.

The area around it is fairly clean, but my armour's sensors pick up the force of the winds created by the imbalance in pressure between Inner Qward and Outer Qward. Naturally there are no guard rails, though there are lights to let the people in the surrounding area know when a ship's en route.

I can see the other side, but between here and there the ground just vanishes.

Kalmin doesn't look all that impressed, barely giving the area a once-over before stepping off the edge and accelerating downwards. He's still standing with his feet pointing at the distant ground, so it's a little like he's riding an invisible elevator.

I can't see the bottom.

Heh.

I step off and plummet after him. And decide not to ask if Kalmin wants to play twenty questions.

"What is your relationship to Weaponer Lysis?"

"I was her tutor and overseer. Qwardian society can be chauvinistic. It's one of our vices. She had trouble getting a placement after completing her initial training. My foolish contemporaries turned her down. Their loss was my gain."

Or to quote Terry Pratchett, one of the vices he thinks of as vices. The rest are just job skills.

"Was she involved in the power ring project?"

"Yes. Jordan actually met her, briefly, just before he destroyed the Anti-Green Lantern Central Power Battery."

Might be worth recruiting her, then. Of course, if she was trained by Kalmin and shares his devotion to destruction… Then perhaps not.

"Does she share your loyalty to the Anti-Monitor?"

"She… Didn't. She was more interested in creating weapons than in their purpose. But she was talented and devoted to her work. I had every hope that she would eventually come to see things my way, but I was removed from office before I could accomplish that."

"Kalmin, I realise that you're extremely faithful in your beliefs, but… Roughly how widespread is your viewpoint, to the best of your knowledge?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"It occurs to me that Varnathon didn't come out of nowhere. Even if trading qwa matter is outside of the Overton window for most Weaponers-."

"You think we've gone soft."

"I think that you would be unwise to assume that a majority of Weaponers are as devoted as you are. Or that those who are prepared to oppose Varnathon are doing it for the same reason that you are."

He doesn't respond.

"You just said that you didn't think your own acolyte was quite there. The Anti-Monitor has been gone for some time. How many senior Weaponers do you know keep the faith, rather than just paying it lip service or ignoring it in favour of personal power?"

"You wish me to believe that Varnathon and people like him are in the majority?"

"I haven't done any polling, but no one's killed him yet, have they? Despite him not killing you?"

"You may be right. When I think on my time as High Weaponlord, I realise that I didn't address my people's spiritual needs at all. I only gave direction to their intellects. I had… Thought that was enough. But now… I realise that you may be correct."

"Does that change what we're here to do?"

"No. It just makes me aware of my own failing. I would like to put all of the fault on Varnathon, but if we've been heading this way for a while and I was simply blind to it… I am… Ashamed."

"What exactly are the duties of the High Weaponlord?"

"To oversee the designing of new destructive technologies to serve the Anti-Monitor's armies. But the whole point is to serve the Anti-Monitor. That's what makes us q'ardajin. Without that, we're… Just like everyone else. I might as well join the Psions!"

"I'm afraid that you missed the boat on that one."

"The Apokoliptians, then. I joined you because I wanted to get out of my funk before moving on to work that would actually advance the Anti-Monitor's goals. And now I find that I was never as faithful as I convinced myself that I was."

"I could be wrong."

"No, it makes too much sense. Aaaah, how far we've fallen."

I look at the screen relaying what the upward-facing sensors can see. I'd say a couple of miles at this point, the Qwardian day shining down at the upper end of the tunnel is reduced to a distant point of light.

"How do you want me to behave?"

"Remain silent when we are in company. Attack only at my order. That's important. I fully expect to have to prove that I haven't lost my killer instinct. Having a robot fight for me might be acceptable in some circumstances, but this is a matter of spiritual importance."

"And what happens if Sinestro's down there?"

"No."

"It's not like Varnathon has a problem with him, is it? If anything, Sinestro represents both an excellent sales opportunity and advertisement. As long as he pays in cash rather than future favours. And it would let him portray himself as doing something that you started."

"If Sinestro is down there, then I will kill him myself before dealing with Varnathon and his lies. You need not concern yourself with that."

"Oh? I thought that having.. Thunderers and people like that use your weapons was a perfectly normal thing for Weaponers to do?"

"I'm not under any great moral imperative to kill Sinestro myself. I just want to do it for my personal pleasure."

The image of the hole below us begins to resolve in the dim colours of the Qwardian interior for a few seconds before we both drop out. Kalmin begins slowing his descent at one, while I allow myself to continue to fall.

Two, one…

I hit the ground, my kinetic barrier flaring to life and absorbing all of the force of my impact.

"Weaponer. You lead, I follow."

 

[Mr Zoat]

29th May 2282
14:35 MTZ

"…blocked by mountains or storms."

Mr. Entertainment gives me a mildly offended look as we head towards the Choir's bunker. Once the Watonga Correctional Facility, the upper levels were mostly destroyed when their attempt to invade the Last Patrol's territory was beaten back. The outer parts of the bunker are new, defences built by the State of Oklahoma in order to protect the physically helpless Choristers and the medical staff who work here. They're studying the place to try and work out if there's some way to safely free them from the machinery they're attached to. I'd intended to offer my help once Caesar's Legion were dealt with, but, needs must.

"A lotta tribes have lost their pre-War knowledge, Mister Krono. Mine ain't one of them. I understand how radio waves work."

"Then I assume that you also know that pre-War America got around that problem using satellites in orbit."

"Yeah, we looked into it. But the only place we could get launch capacity is down in Houston, and their launch facilities aren't what they were before the War. And then we'd have to build a satellite and get it safely into orbit… There's a lotta debris up there. The only other way would be to get control of a satellite that's already up there, and without a relay even that would only get us broadcast capacity over a limited area." He raises his left eyebrow. "You're not building up to tell me that you've got a pre-War satellite network, are you?"

"No."

And I really don't. Pre-War military bases advanced enough to hold that sort of data were thoroughly nuked by the Chinese, along with most launch sites and transmission centres. And while, yes, I do have space-capable craft, most of those are engaged in providing air cover for the NCR forces in the Mojave and West Arizona. The capacity to build them doesn't mean I can easily ramp up production whenever it's convenient. Diana has a few satellites, but they're not designed for mass broadcasts and… Our work together has rather distracted her from fixing the problem.

"But I am in contact with people who have a giant alien starship which can do much the same job."

"A gi-." He stares at me for a moment, then shakes his head, chuckling. "Hoooo boy. Mister Krono, I'm gunna have to ask you not to gamble in my wife's casinos or take part in any of my quiz shows."

"I wasn't… Planning to anyway, but given that you already knew that I'm psychic, I'm puzzled why I'm getting banned now."

"Because I looked you dead in the eye just then and I had no idea whether you were telling the truth or not. Anya can't afford to have someone cleaning out all her poker players."

"Now's probably not the time, but I'm happy to give you a tour if you want."

"A tour of an alien starship? Think I could bring along a film crew?"

"If the camera's waterproof, certainly. If not, I'll have to check with the residents."

The leader of our escort finishes showing his credentials to the gate guard and the heavy metal gates roll aside. We're not exactly close to Legion territory here, but there aren't any natural obstacles if Lanius chose to come this way.

"You wanna explain that?"

"Four years ago a small group of human prisoners broke free and captured the starship. But there was a second one there to back it up. The prisoners managed to seize the bridge and shoot the second mothership and it crashed in the Gulf of Mexico. My people tracked it down and we've been stripping it for parts ever since. Underwater."

I'd have preferred to repair it, but we just don't have the industrial capacity to produce the materials we'd need to do that. We've learned a lot taking it apart, so, maybe at some point in the future we can build our own?

I'll even give the bloody Hubologists one if that'll make them get lost…

"So while I'm perfectly happy to fly a documentary crew down to take a look at the wreck, if you want to see one in operation you're going to need the permission of the residents."

"Are you going to pass on the message, or should I just-" He looks upwards. "-point our transmitter at the sky?"

"Either works."

We're waved through into the offices the Oklahomans have built on the surface, and Mr. Entertainment leads the way towards the fortified pre-war lift that leads into the facility proper. The Last Patrol never actually breached it during their war, they just flattened the external parts and killed the garrison. The war ended when the last of the Choir's soldiers were killed and they gave up and pled for mercy.

We step inside and the door clunks and scrapes closed behind us, the slow mechanism of the lift kicking into action a few moments later.

"So just what is your game, Mister Krono?"

"I'd like a peaceful life where I'm free to study technology and help people repair the world." I shrug. "And if that means I become telepathic and biologically immortal, stronger and tougher than any normal man with the knowledge that pre-War scientists would give their right arm for, then so be it. I'm happy to fight the Legion not because the NCR is so wonderful, but because they're not going to destroy my Institute on principle. On its best day the NCR is three stars out of five, but that's still better than one." I shrug. "The Troll Warrens and the Crimson Acolytes are gone. The Ammonites have lost their taste for war, the Eighties have been crushed and I don't much care whether Santa Anna beats Texas or not. Once the Legion is gone, I've achieved my primary international objectives."

"You don't care about Santa Anna?"

"Santa Anna's fixated on Texas because he's trying to do better than his organic namesake. He's not a threat to me or mine, and the worst thing he'll do to Texas if he wins is make them salute a different flag." I shrug. "I'll worry about China and Russia before I'll worry about him."

The lift door slams open, revealing one of the facility's doctors. His badge says 'Dr. Saunooke', though I don't recognise him.

"Mister Entertainment! Good to see you again. And.. Krono." He looks at me eagerly. "I understand that you're a psychic, too."

**That's true.**

"Ah." He blinks. "The Choir are usually less direct than that."

I nod. I guessed from the name that they probably used something similar to the hypnotic telepathic music that made the Odious King so damnably effective.

**President Nguyen wishes for me to speak to the First Chorister. Apparently, Shale's disappearance isn't the godsend I've been assuming that it is.**

"Yes, she-" He turns away and leads us down a corridor. "-seemed unusually attentive today. You wouldn't know anything about an 'alien wanderer with rings of power', would you? She can be quite-"

I pull my necklace out, showing the two rings on it.

"-abstract in.. her-. Ah. Yes. Well." He walks faster, entering an access code in the keypad of a very secure looking door. "We have access to the main… Quire, but most of our researchers find it disturbing to be in for any length of time. The system was designed to allow pre-War researchers to call out individual 'pods' to 'work on' Choristers individually while the robots handled the day to day upkeep."

The door unlocks, and he hauls it open.

"Now, you shouldn't necessarily expect an actual conversation. She's been-."

**I can hear you.**

The mental voice sounds like it's been… Gathering dust for two hundred years. Or is trying to work through a sore throat. Dr. Saunooke looks around in amazement as I get my first look at the First Chorister.

She's wearing an orange jumpsuit, which at once binds her to the pod she's kept in and has all of the plugs it needs to handle her biological functions. There's a mask either for feeding or air but that's been pulled off her face, revealing a striking woman staring right at me, focusing on me with disturbing intensity.

I smile.

**And I you. You wished to speak to me?**

And then the images come.

 

[Mr Zoat]

29th May 2282
14:43 MTZ

**[A mutant in heavy metal plate armour, spikes on his shoulders and a cybernetic replacing his right eye.]**

I nod. "Attis."

**[A force of Brotherhood of Steel paladins attacking a mutant force… Underground somewhere? They're gradually forced back and I see their leader get struck down. His helmet gets torn off and-.]**

"No, that… Didn't happen. Rhombus beat Attis. He retired to be a farmer. The Texans have a memorial where he's buried."

**Yes.**

**[An elderly Rhombus guiding a plough behind a pair of brahmin.]**

**[Attis taking a volley of gauss gun shots to the left arm and chest and being forced to retreat. Shale takes command, but the charge against Brotherhood lines fails a little while later.]**

"I… Don't know if that was exactly what happened, but it seems more correct than the first version."

**[Attis falls to his knees, the flesh of his body expanding to fill an entire arena.]**

"Ah… I think we'd have noticed-."

**Something changed.**

"I don't think you can change something that didn't happen." I frown. "Unle-. Time travel?"

**I don't know. We don't know.**

I wince as her voice changes, getting an… Echoey quality, with the echoes coming from different voices. The.. only thing I've heard like it was the way Crimson Acolyte psychics could speak in unison, but… But the voices here are far more human.

"You're seeing different things and some of them didn't happen." I shake my head. "Could it be that the super mutants have their own psychic disrupting what you see? My people haven't really studied prognostication in the same way we have other psychic phenomena."

**[An image of a ghoul-inhabited city-. Los, I know it all too well. Super mutants patrol the streets while the cloak-shrouded ghouls try to avoid drawing their attention.]**

"Okay, but is that what's actually happening or what didn't happen?"

**We don't know!**

Augh!

**[Hundreds of people suspended off the ground in a cavernous room, tubes and wires connecting them to the floor and ground. All of them shouting the same words!]**

I glare at the First Chorister.

**Don't do that. I can't absorb the shock without a network and I don't have one here.**

**I am sorry but we grow frustrated! Things are not as we see them!**

I…

I turn to Dr. Saunooke.

"Do they have access to the outside world without their psychic powers?"

He shakes his head. "We haven't found a way to safely disconnect them. Their bodies just.. aren't used to doing things for themselves anymore."

Which is… Fixable. Probably not here, but Vault City could fix it and so could I if we were back in Groom Lake.

"Can you get a television in here?"

"Not down here, no. This part of the facility is shielded against radiation, which includes radio waves."

"Okay, no live broadcasts, but could you play tapes?"

"Holotapes?"

Yes, because instead of inventing CDs like back home or crystal rods like we use in Groom Lake, the people of this Earth invented a sort of ultra-high density laser readable magnetic tape for improved data storage. The first time I saw one it look me back to the long car journeys my family took during holidays to visit relatives, where my sister and I put our personal tape players on at the start and only took them off to ask for replacement batteries.

"A cellulose reel would be fine if you've got any. The lack of variety is making them obsess over their psychic visions. I-." I turn to Mr. Entertainment. "You haven't reinvented cable television, have you? I'm pretty sure that my people can work out how to manufacture fibre optic cables."

He shakes his head, his mood genuinely becoming more sombre for the first time since I met him.

"No can do. Twenty third century America is nothing like stable enough for that kinda infrastructure project. And without infrastructure, there's no demand."

I nod. Like electric cars: without charge points no one will buy them, and without electric cars to use them no one will build charge points.

"But we can get a cinescreen down here in a couple of days, if the doc thinks that'll help the Choir." He brightens up slightly. "Heck, my singing voice might be a little rusty, but I wouldn't be much of a Tubehead if I couldn't set up an impromptu solo performance."

"Thank you." Okay. **First Chorister, do you have any visions of the inside of Los that don't contradict what we know about history?**

**[A miserable looking Shale standing in front of a computer terminal.]**

**That's plausible, but I don't see-.**

**[A vat of cancerous flash PAIN-.]**

I stagger back, clasping my head in a hopeless attempt to block out the agony! I keep-. Trying to tell myself that these visions shouldn't involve telepathic contact as they're not happening now, but so far my brain… Really hasn't gotten the message.

**Okay, now, this time, don't show me. Just tell me.**

**It is easier to show-.**

**It's really not.**

**There are great vats under the city. The same substance that the researchers injected into us.**

I nod. **FEV can induce telepathic abilities.**

**Shale vanishes. The remains of Attis vanish. The machine vanishes. Something appears that we cannot clearly see.**

I don't want to know. But I need to.

**Show me what you can.**

…king up.

Uh?

I blink-. Hospital, I'm in a… Hospital? I'm an FEV enhancile, I should-.

I push myself up and Dr. Saunooke tries to push me back down. He's not strong enough to force me, but now I'm… I'm still in the Watonga Correctional Facility. Okay.

"What happened?"

"I-I don't know. You and the First Chorister were just staring at each other, then your-. Your eyes and ears started bleeding and you fell over. I was-. I wasn't sure that you would recover."

"How long?"

"Maybe an hour?"

I nod. "The First Chorister tried to show me what we're going to have to face. I…"

Screaming. Lots of screaming. And a… Chest with a mouth in it and tentacles all around…

"I think we might need to rethink our priorities."

 

[Mr Zoat]

11th July 2012
15:25 GMT

"I thought Lantern Gardner blew that up."

Kalmin marches through his home without looking around, heading right for his workshop.

"I said that the drones annoyed me, not that I don't use them for simple repairs. Mine aren't programmed to talk; they're neither to be seen or heard, just to work on routine maintenance that isn't worth my time."

"Do you leave them running, or do they get flash-fabricated when it's time for them to do something?"

"If they were flash-fabricated I'd have to have an advanced management system to govern the fabricator. I will not put a complex machine mind in command of a multi-function fabricator."

He taps his hammer to a chest, causing a brief flash before the chest opens. He returns his hammer to his belt and pulls the chest open, revealing a variety of dangerous-looking ranged weapons.

"Hm."

"Do you want me to carry those?"

"No."

He goes to work, systems on his gauntlets interfacing with parts of the guns as he.. pulls them apart, tossing the majority of components aside and attaching the parts he wants to his armour.

"Is there anything you want me to do?"

"Keep watch outside. At least one of the other Weaponers should attempt to assassinate me on general principles."

I nod and turn to leave.

"Varnathon, or one of the people you asked Lysis to contact?"

"It hardly matters from your point of view, but I'd be surprised if it was Varnathon."

He pauses mid-dismantle.

"Very surprised."

I clunk out through his home. It's not exactly a homey-home. If the kitchen belonged to a human I'd call it bachelor-compatible. There's a hob… Flame pit thing, and a food fabricator which I'd guess is where most of his meals came from. There were stains which I think were caused by burned blood in the back of the flame unit, so I'm guessing that the automata aren't programmed to clean in there. No real cutlery on display, though I did notice a few ornate drinking vessels on the shelves.

The living area isn't much better. There's an ultra-high definition holographic system which sounds like he might have a television habit, but knowing him he probably just uses it for 3D design work. No soft furnishings at all that I've seen so far, though there are a few stuffed animal trophies. 'Animal' in the broader biological sense. No pictures, though. Friends, family and his god the Anti-Monitor are all equally absent. I don't know enough about q'ardajin culture to know if that's normal or a sign of a death spiral.

I walk out onto the veranda and look around. The ground where Ragnar and Duran fought their last battle is still broken up. There's no rain down here to disturb it and I doubt that Kalmin bothered with gardening robots. Duran's… Body isn't there, so presumably the other Thunderers removed it at some point. Kalmin implied that dying like that wasn't shameful, so… Inasmuch as I care, I hope his remains were respectfully interred-.

Those are bone fragments.

I deploy my armour's x-ionised blades and walk towards them. They're too broken up for any sort of detailed analysis, and the movement of the dirt has covered up any tracks.

"Kalmin, did you have pets?"

"Pets? No, of course not. Why are you asking?"

"It looks like something ate Thunderer Duran's body. I never asked about Qwardian wildlife."

"Oh. Devourers, probably. There's not a great deal of prey around here so they sometimes scavenge."

I check my surroundings.

"Can you provide a better description than 'devourer'?"

"Large aggressive reptilians. A little like an allosaurus, though far stronger. They move in packs."

"You let them live here?"

"Of course. We're all the Anti-Monitor's children. And they served to keep me alert. And screen my visitors."

"Are they stealthy?"

"Yokal's bones, no. You'll see them coming a mile off in terrain like this."

I set the armour's systems to notify me the moment they detect anything allosaurus-shaped.

"Any guidance on who might come at you? Or how they might do it?"

"I never liked Graxitus, and the feeling was mutual. He'd kill me if he thought he could do it without risking anything. Probably with a long ranged attack of some kind. Or a robot. He worked under High Weaponlord Kiman when he built Gnaxos, though he prefers less intelligent models."

I've got Jordan's records of his fight with Gnaxos. I'm not sure they give a full accounting of its capacities, given that it was actively trying to lose, but it should give me at least some idea what I might be in for. Giant, construct-proof robot with built-in energy beam projectors.

He's not wrong about seeing it from a mile off. Qwardians might do surprise attacks, but when they attack they appear to habitually go for the bombastic over the subtle. I add 'giant robot' to the watch list.

What was..?

I reorientate myself as a flying vehicle approaches. Light structure, minimal armour and only basic shielding. No integrated weapons that I can see, though I am on Qward so I'm not necessarily going to spot them. The q'ardajin on board have power sources on their persons, but without doing a ring scan I can't tell whether they're in weapons, shield generators or personal organisers.

"Are you expecting guests yet?"

"No. Kill the intruders."

"I'll take your request under advisement. Transmitting image-."

"I don't understand why you hesitate. Either they are assassins, in which case you're getting a head start on something you'll have to do anyway, or they're looters. Even L.E.G.I.O.N. rules of engagement allow soldiers to shoot looters dead."

"You don't want to interrogate them? I have an orange power ring; it would be really easy."

"Unless any of them look like they have a seat on the Council of Commanders, they don't know anything I care about learning."

"Okay, how about I just see what they want, and we can use them as messengers-."

"I don't want messengers; I want corpses." I hear him growl. "I'm going to have to kill them myself, aren't I?"

"No, you keep working." I walk towards the decelerating vehicles. "You knew you were taking a subordinate position when you accepted a power ring. I'm following your general mission plan, but in this particular-."

The ground below me erupts and giant green jaws clamp down on me!

 

[Mr Zoat]

11th July 2012
15:30 GMT

My armour's shields flare and flicker as the mouth grips and shakes me back and forth! My environmental shield keeps me from being disorientated and I can see the screens-.

Ah. Allosaurus.

A second one scrambles out of the ground and grabs my left arm, scuffling with the first as it tries to pull me apart! My deployed blade cuts through a tooth, but the Devourer still holds on-.

They were hiding in the hole Ragnar made? That's-. That suggests a lot of intelligence. But how do I get out without using my rings?

There's a small spark in my left arm as the kinetic barrier fails, and I immediately switch on the crumbler gauntlet.

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuu!"

The Devourer's mouth froths with blood as the crumbler field gets to work, but it's… Somehow holding on, though with less pressure than it managed before.

"Kalmin, found the Devourers!"

A third Devourer surfaces and bounds towards the oncoming skimmers, the people on board choosing to open fire with personal side arms rather than fall back. To little apparent effect.

My right arm's out of position, but if I pull-. My left arm comes free in a spray of vaporised dinosaur, causing the Devourer still gripping me to stagger a pace as we lose the counterbalance. I reach across with my left arm as my ring restores the kinetic barrier system, slicing through its muzzle with my x-ionised blade. It bleeds a little, but I'm not hitting anything critical or structural. My attack does prompt it to lift me up and slam me into the-. The ground, yes, felt that a bit.

Devourer Three has made it to the first skimmer and bites it in two, the q'ardajin on board scrabbling out of the way or diving for the ground. A brave one draws what looks like a small qwa blade and staggers across the deck to try and stab-.

The Devourer spots him, ducks its head to smash the wreck into the ground and then brings its head up to catch him as he falls. It bites down, sending his head and shins exploding outwards as his body disappears down its gullet.

I slash again, excising a part of my captor's jaw and loosening its hold, then turn my armour's flight system to full-! Its head jerks to the side but it manages to keep its grip. Alright, ring, rebuild the interior of my left gauntlet to include a railgun.

Compliance.

And then load it with a crumbler round.

Compliance.

I've got a crumbler system built into my boots but I'm not flexible enough to hit anything with them. On the other hand, I'm mildly impressed with how well my armour is holding togeth-.

Devourer Two slams into Devourer One, sending it and me rolling across the barren ground, images spinning-. My ring settles my stomach as Devourer One rolls to its feet and squares off against Two. Guess I'm not tasty enough.

Railgun ready.

Slow-firing and low-impact compared to the ones I usually use, but I aim at Devourer One's right eye as it prepares to charge Two and fire. Its eye is vaporised and it shakes in shock and I reverse thrust for a second before pulling away again! Teeth snap and fragments spray as I come free, my sudden impulse sending me across the rocky ground in a tumble.

Stabilise. Right, good. Two takes advantage of One's distraction to attack it, biting at its neck. I don't know how they managed to stand being in close proximity underground if their first instinct is to attack each other, but maybe it's a combat reflex? Or maybe they just hatched? Or the sight of blood? Because whatever makes them regenerate that fast doesn't get rid of the external scabs. Alright, next-.

"YAAAGH!"

Rescue the q'ardajin from Three-. Not something a Weaponer-produced robot would do. Except that's literally what Gnaxos did. Oh, if they ask I can always say that they registered as a non-threat. I fly towards Three, integrated railgun aiming-. Heck. I shoot a trapped q'ardajin in the shoulder, breaking her body's connection to the arm that is in the Devourer's mouth. It tries to lunge after her but she rolls aside, its muzzle hitting the ground and losing the arm as it gets a mouthful of dirt. Right, let's try a decapitation strike. Ring, extend right x-ionised blade.

Compliance.

Unwieldy, but it's not like I'm trying to duel someone here. I lunge and swing, cleaving through its spine and neck, its neck-. Trying to reconnect as I pass, but a combination of a reverse swipe and its own weight splits the two parts far enough apart that the… Regrowth tendrils are unable to grasp one another. A quick healing ray burst at the woman's shoulder-.

The shot from the weapon in her off-hand hits the centre of my torso and bores through about 5mm of the armour before I switch to my plasmic force field.

"Get eaten, the-."

I go flying as One and Two roll through the space I was occupying, scrabbling at each with all four claws! I slam into the ground, q'ardajin-. Yes, they're shooting me now, great. Shield's holding okay, so I guess they're not using dedicated anti-shield weapons. I bring my sword to bear-.

One of them just shot it. Ah-.

"Incompetent machine."

The Devourers scramble back onto their feet as Kalmin holds out his right hand, qwa energy cracking as he forces it into a thunderbolt shape.

"Beast, flee or-."

"RAAAAAGH!" / "RAAAAAGH!"

They charge, and Kalmin throws. The qwa bolt strikes the ground between then, detonating and annihilating their legs and lower torsos. He stalks forward as they land and then try and squirm snake-like towards him. He gives his hammer a practice swing as another qwa-bolt forms.

"Death, then. It was good to see such a pure killer-" He aims the bolt- "-instinct." -and throws it, Two's head being annihilated as One snaps at him. Kalmin sidesteps and swings his hammer, the sudden energy release causing its head to snap in two. "If only q'ardajin were so simple."

One tries, somehow, to move. Kalmin bats its mouth down with his hammer and climbs onto what's left of its broken head. He takes a moment to make eye contact with it, making sure that it knows exactly who is going to kill it. Then he raises his right hand high, forms a new bolt, then plunges it downwards.

Kalmin floats off the ground for a moment as the head vanishes, contemplating the space where it used to be. Then he prepares another qwa bolt, glaring at the other q'ardajin.

"Why are you here?"

One tries shooting him. Kalmin's armour easily tanks the shot and his qwa bolt riposte disintegrates the man and the three standing closest to him.

Kalmin floats forward to stand on the Devourer's chest.

"You coming here just as I return is not a coincidence. If you tell me who sent you, I will probably turn my ire against them-."

"You should be dead!"

The other q'ardajin back away from the one-armed woman who shouted that.

"You gave a great weapon to an alien and they let you live!"

"I can't argue the facts. But you have erred in your belief that you could do anything about it."

"That's not the point. I am not so craven that I only try things that are easy!"

Kalmin actually smiles a little at that, though I don't think any of them can see that.

"This wasn't easy, and you too failed at it. What should be your punishment, I wonder?"

 

[Mr Zoat]

11th July 2012
15:32 GMT

"We're being punished anyway."

"Oh?" Kalmin sounds mildly curious, though his face remains impassive. "On whose authority?"

I set my ring to restore my armour to normal while adopting a 'waiting for orders' stance. I don't really have a reason to intervene; I can't imagine that anything Kalmin learns won't horrify him.

"Whoever's in charge of our Youth-Training Centre. I don't think any of us angered anyone enough to be singled out."

"Then you are to be congratulated for correcting that state of affairs. I am most certainly singling you out."

He forms a new qwa bolt in his right hand, but this time it… Stabilises, becoming more solid. Like the ones the Thunderers keep in their quivers. Several of the q'ardajin stare at it, their envy obvious even without empathic vision.

Such a feeling, to hold so much destructive power in my hand.

Fortunately I don't try and grab it, though the only reason I don't make a noticeable twitch is my armour. Kalmin told me that the ability to manipulate qwa energy is the defining skill of a Weaponer, and I knew that Weaponers were in charge of q'ardajin society. But I hadn't considered exactly how they'd feel about qwa energy manipulation. I suppose it's like a Christian priest personally witnessing a miracle. Only more evil.

I consider the burning cage.

Than usual.

"I would rather die from the Anti-Monitor's blessing than meet the fate I've been assigned. Here." She pulls a scroll out of her utility harness and unfurls it in his direction. "See."

"Experimental medical duty? Were you unduly inattentive in class?"

"Check for yourself. Our assessment results are public data."

He returns his hammer to his belt and waves his left hand, creating a programmable plasma suspension in the air. The writing on it… Appears to be a grading system of some kind.

"Adequate. Experimental medical duty doesn't necessarily mean that they intend to use you for early-stage trials. Many of Qward's heroes have been adapted in various ways by such places. All implants that are now commonplace were first installed in people trained to give feedback on their utilisation."

"That may have been true once. Check the survival rates now."

The numbers hovering in the air next to Kalmin change. They don't mean anything to me, but his eyes narrow slightly. Then the changes become more rapid and I just have my ring analyse them instead.

Significant fall in survival rates. Significant change in recruit profile. Both shifts were gradual, beginning when Varnathon became High Weaponlord.

What traits were selected for?

Initially, low physical and mental scores resulting in early-stage experimentation. High endurance and obedience selected for late-stage experimentation if lacking other assignments, or if specific characteristics were required. Now, individuals with initiative and creativity are selected.

I frown.

Why?

Stated reason is 'maintenance of order'.

Varnathon is sabotaging his own society to shore up his position? Is he focusing on particular families? No, doesn't.. look like it. And… He's doing it worldwide. It would be interesting to see if anyone's reviewed that.

Confirmed. Thunderlord Brikan.

The number two in the q'ardajin hierarchy and head of their armed forces. So does he..? Genuinely value obedience, or is he… Complicit? Does he owe Varnathon his position?

I suppose that it doesn't exactly matter to me, but I'm curious as to how Kalmin will respond.

"I see."

And so do I.

"Though this does not explain why you attempted to kill me rather than High Weaponlord Varnathon."

"You let yourself be overthrown by him. If you'd killed him then he wouldn't be in position to do this. We… Couldn't get to him, but I hoped that you might have weaker defences."

"I imagine that I do. But even in my reduced state I am more than capable of surviving an attack by delinquent juveniles."

He waves away his plasma suspension.

"Still, since I plan to kill Varnathon anyway, you may find that your assignments change before you're called upon to take them up. It would be a waste of the effort that has already been put into your education to kill you out of hand, and each of you has at least some useful capabilities."

"Kill..?"

"Surely you're familiar with the concept. Unless Varnathon has gutted the curriculum as well you should have vivisected at least one living creature by now."

"So you want to become High Weaponlord again?"

"No. But I set enough score by the position that I hate the idea of it being occupied by someone so clearly unworthy. Do you have any idea which other Councillors might serve as adequate replacements?"

"Ah..?" The school graduates look at each other. "No, why.. would we? I can only recognise the Councillors from Q'edion because I've seen them in the city. I don't know if they're worth anything."

"Ah. A pity. What life-assignment were you expecting?"

She… Hesitates for a moment.

"Technical specialist."

"A disappointing lie. I don't know what you think I would do if you told me the truth, but I also don't care. Whatever comes next, I won't be responsible for you." He floats up into the air. "I am going to speak with a meeting of the Council. You can go back to your barracks, you can shoot yourselves, you can stay here… Or you can come with me and perhaps learn something. The choice is yours. Robot, follow."

"By your command."

He rises into the air, stowing his qwa bolt and drawing his hammer. I follow him as he accelerates in the direction of one of the cities I noticed during my first visit. Behind us, the q'ardajin cluster around to discuss what they're going to do. But the apparent leader instead heads towards one of the still-functioning vehicles and shouts something to the others.

"Not a complete waste of time?"

"I expected to need to burn all of Varnathon's working to the ground. I have no idea why he was perverting our education system and even less of one why the other Weaponers tolerated it."

"I would guess because it didn't affect them or theirs personally."

"I don't know why I'm still surprised. That's a horrifying abdication of responsibility. Weaponers are to improve and maintain all of the weapons of Qward, and that includes its people. Every Weaponer in a city where this… But no more delays. This requires immediate correction."

 

[Mr Zoat]

11th July 2012
15:51 GMT

The city we're flying over looks like a cross between a factory complex and a medieval castle with just a few cyberpunk elements sprinkled on for taste. The highest point is a giant… Aerial, whose function I can only guess at. Below that the fortified buildings cluster with no externally clear rhyme or reason. Certainly I wouldn't say that any of them are in prime position. Qward leaves its mercantilism for the surface so there's no central business district in the way there would be in a human city. There's no greenery down here and in any case the Weaponers haven't historically been interested in gardening.

Kalmin heads for what I think is a landing zone near the top of a manufacturing complex, landing and striding confidently in the direction of the entrance. Since I've got no real idea where we're heading I just follow him, taking note of the positions and comportment of the Thunderers standing guard. They're alert, searching for potential threats and prepared to act against them immediately. I also haven't checked the q'ardajin concept of law and order. Given what Kalmin said earlier I imagine that they do have one, but I also imagine that there'd be a very large amount of leeway for Thunderers protecting senior Weaponers.

"High Weaponlord Kalmin. It's good to see you."

Weaponer Lysis steps into the open, a retinue of two Thunderers accompanying her.

"It's not good at all. Did you know that imbecile Varnathon-?"

"This is-. Not the best place to talk about it. Not if you want to win over other Councillors before you act."

"I'm issuing a challenge, not plotting a secret conspiracy."

"But the transfer of power needs to be controlled. Managed. Otherwise it will cost us valuable resources."

Kalmin grimaces as the two of them head further into the building, the Thunderers and I falling in behind them.

"I can't imagine that Varnathon has created a resource shortage. I saw the tribute ships in orbit."

"Trade ships, for the most part."

"What is he.. trading?"

"Not qwa matter, if that's what you're wondering. I reviewed the records after we spoke. His deal with the matter universe must be something he handled personally."

"Who else would know about it?"

"If it wasn't for the fact that I didn't know about it, I'd suggest asking me."

I check, but she's using shielding as effective as that of her former mentor.

"Then who?"

"His drones, Tacticos and Strategos. He takes them everywhere with him."

"Irritating things. I'm glad that you haven't adopted the habit."

"But you have."

"An automated weapon platform. It's an adequate aide, but it doesn't manage my life and it knows when to keep silent."

"I would be fascinated to open it up and take a look myself, once our business here is concluded."

I bet you would. Shame those eyes reduce her facial expressiveness, because I'd love to see the look on her face when she saw me.

"You can just ask me for the schematics. It actually uses a fascinating matter disruption weapon that I acquired from a foe of Harold Jordan's."

"Matter disruption… The Crumbler?"

"The very same. The man was a lunatic, but I can't help but wonder if the Anti-Monitor touched his mind in some way."

"I'm surprised to hear you say that."

Kalmin shakes his head.

"Our species has a unique relationship with the Anti-Monitor, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't make use of aliens from time to time. Even I do that."

There's a bulkhead door up ahead, Thunderers with qwa bolt quivers on their backs and spears in their hands guarding it. Kalmin nods approvingly as one of them takes a moment to verify their identities before stepping aside and opening the door.

Inside… It reminds me a little of the klingon courtroom from the Star Trek films. It's clearly a space designed to allow the people in the centre to argue their case to the people in the surrounding balconies, built of tough metal and with little thought given to comfort. Kalmin accelerates to get into the focus of the room as quickly as possible while Lysis satisfies herself with lurking near the door. The Thunderers stop outside of the room but with no direct instruction from Kalmin I opt to mirror Lysis's position.

The balconies are occupied by a variety of q'ardajin. I see armour like Kalmin's as well as work overalls alongside what I suspect is a q'ardajin designer suit. Behind them lurk Thunderers, robots and aides. All of the people in leading positions are male and I only spot a couple of females at all. Only one of whom is wearing the bikini/thigh boot combination that Weaponer Lysis mentioned.

I wonder what that's about, aside from the obvious.

"Councillors. Weaponers of Qward. I bring grim tidings. Yesterday I bore witness to an alien race using significant amounts of qwa matter as a bomb."

The Weaponers don't rant or rave, but I see flickers of rage and hear a few whispered oaths.

"We all know the nature of qwa energy. We all know that the Anti-Monitor shared its secrets with no other people, even amongst his other allies. It is our sole providence. That is what has prompted my return. Varnathon is trading qwa matter!"

Kalmin pulls an orb off his equipment harness and tosses it up into the air. It floats in the upper portion of the chamber, flickers and then projects a hologram of my fight with the qwa energy weapon wielding scarab warrior, though there are a lot of other notations on the energy output and other characteristics of the weapon. He then holds out his right hand and pulls out the gun out of subspace before tossing it to the ground in front of him. The Weaponers in attendance activate their own sensors, aside from a couple who just freeze up. Though I'm not sure if it's in shock that their High Weaponlord would do that or something else.

"And worse, this!"

The holographic image changes to a recording… Of my death. The actual explosion is played in slow motion, and again there are the notations to prove that what occurred actually occurred.

"Why has this happened?! Why have you, Councillors, allowed this to happen unchecked?! Why has this betrayal of the Anti-Monitor, this betrayal of Qward, been allowed to happen?!"

Kalmin pauses, walking a circuit of the room and making eye contact with the Weaponers who are giving him their rapt attention.

"And that is not the end of his malignancy! I learned not an hour ago that he has changed the life assignment rating systems so that q'ardajin who would once have become Thunderer-cadets or Weaponer-apprentices are now sent for medical experimentation!"

The holographic image changes again, this time… Showing the data he took from the Qwardian data networks. This he gives them a few moments to take in, probably because it's a bit more complex than 'there was an explosion'.

"I failed Qward. I failed the Anti-Monitor, and my only complaint about my fate is that I was left alive. But I did not deliberately sabotage my own people! Varnathon has lost any right to be High Weaponlord!"

A few of the Weaponers just nod right away, while the general emotional output of those I can read suggests that they're decidedly unimpressed with Varnathon's actions.

"I move that Varnathon be killed and that this Council select a replacement from amongst its number! And in case you think that I do this for self-serving reasons, I will point out that I am not a member of this Council any longer. This is not about personal advancement, but about ensuring-."

The door at the opposite end of the court arena slams open, and-.

"All bow! All bow!"

"Bow for the High Weaponlord, Varnathon of Q'uldi!"

 

[Mr Zoat]

11th July 2012
15:57 GMT

Varnathon is… Plain-looking. Aside from a bronze-coloured cranial cybernetic on the right side of his forehead, I don't think I'd look at him twice if I passed him on the street. Kalmin is short and muscular, and glares at everything around him as if its existence offends him. Which it probably does. Varnathon's calm and polite smile makes me think of an actor or a politician of the Tony Blair school. Though I will at least credit him with the intelligence to use empathic shielding, because I can't tell for certain.

His flying head robots take up station just ahead of him as Kalmin reaches for his qwa bolt. The blue one stops just in front of Kalmin.

"Kalmin, High Weaponlord, deposed. Most notable projects-."

Illustres, kill it.

I trigger my armour's flight systems and lunge at the robot, grabbing it with both hands-

"Unknown automato-."

-and triggering my crumbler gauntlets. The flying blue head's protective energy fields preserve it for a few seconds, then the material of its construction begins to abrade. The facial armour peels away slowly, but the more vulnerable systems built into the rear vanish almost immediately. I shut down the crumbler effect when all I have in my hands is a scoured mask, which I toss at Kalmin's feet before returning to my corner.

Varnathon holds his breath as he looks at the broken mask, then takes a deep breath before putting the same smile as before back onto his face.

"Strategos wasn't a battle automaton. And frankly, aren't we both a little old for 'robot wars'?" He shrugs, and smiles condescendingly. "Though if you want to give me a few days I'm sure I can come up with something?"

"Qwa matter, Varnathon. Explain yourself!"

"I'm really not sure that I understand your problem, Kalmin." Varnathon looks upwards at the Councillors. "Does the Anti-Monitor himself not command us to destroy all with his gifts? Yes, I freely admit that I sold qwa matter and qwa energy based weaponry to these... Aliens. What of it? The secrets of its utilisation and creation remain ours. All they can do is use what I've provided them. And consider who they're fighting! A new Lantern Corps, sworn to the Maltusians, the very people who cast down the Anti-Monitor! I am only surprised that a man as faithful as Kalmin does not see the glory of it."

He stops, swivelling on the spot to stare directly at Kalmin.

"Oh! But of course! He joined them, didn't he?"

The green floating head that had hung back turns upwards and fires a small bolt of plasma at Kalmin's projector before projecting its own hologram of our meeting with Kalmin.

I wonder where he got the recording from? I mean, it would make sense for him to keep his predecessor under observation, but I doubt that Kalmin would be so negligent as to fail to check for things like that. Ex… Cept that he wanted to die and thought that Varnathon should kill him. So he might have left an opening deliberately.

Kalmin raises his hands slightly.

"Do you see a ring here, Varnathon? I've studied power ring technology for years. I don't use other people's weapons. And besides, I've already been cast down. I don't dispute that I'm unsuitable for office."

"If I must defend my actions, I've been trading qwa matter to better enable aliens to destroy one another. I think that we've long been too conservative in our use of the substance and I'm perfectly within my authority as High Weaponlord to make this change." He looks up again. "Unless anyone wants to dispute my right to trade the products of my own labour?"

"Destroy one another? They are using it as simply another weapon!"

"And so do we. That's literally all it can be used to do: destroy things."

Kalmin's face falls slightly and he stares directly at Varnathon.

"That's all it is to you?"

"That's all it is to any of us." Varnathon doesn't appear to pay any attention to the change in Kalmin's demeanour, continuing to focus on the crowd. "We can forge it into bolts to be thrown. We can bind small amounts to blades to create melee weapons of astonishing power. But that's it. We don't… What? Mine with it? Drill with it? Use it as a scouring agent to clean the floors? No, the idea is absurd. I put it in alien hands. And by doing so I gained a new flow of raw materials and novel technologies, and an in with another enemy of the Green Lantern Corps."

"You-? Varnathon, are you able to forge bolts yourself?"

He stops and looks at Kalmin, but he's not letting himself get angry or look anything other than totally confident in the situation.

"I didn't realise you were challenging me on the strength of my ability to perform apprentice work. I have admitted to trading qwa matter. If the Council think that's worth overthrowing me over, they can. As for the educational curriculum, I freely admit to having different priorities than my predecessors." He makes an exaggerated shrug. "So what? Just about every High Weaponlord before me has made some change or other. I believe -and Thunderlord Brikan agrees- that discipline and obedience are more useful traits in Thunderers than personal ferocity and initiative. If anyone here disagrees then I'm willing to discuss it with them, but I hardly see that as a justification for these… Histrionics. Now if there's nothing else, I have work-."

Kalmin summons qwa energy, and over the next ten seconds forms it into a qwa bolt.

"The ability to manipulate qwa energy is what separates us from alien chattel. It is a sign that the Anti-Monitor has marked us out. The idea that you can manipulate qwa energy sickens me, but you have the rank of Weaponer. You must be able to. The Anti-Monitor must at some point have considered you worthy of his blessing."

Kalmin holds out his newly created bolt slightly, inviting the audience to check it.

"Make a qwa bolt, Varnathon."

"Kalmin, you've lost. This is-."

"Make a qwa bolt, Varnathon."

"This is mildly insulting and also quite sad." Varnathon shakes his head. "Where do you think I got the qwa matter I traded to the Reach?"

Weaponer Lysis steps away from the wall a little way.

"Make a qwa bolt, Varnathon."

"Make a qwa bolt, Varnathon."

Varnathon shakes his head and spreads his arms. "Councillors, really?"

A few frowns, a few nods.

He sighs theatrically. "Very well, then." He holds out his hands in front of him. "I freely admit that it's not my strongest skill, but…" He turns his hands palms up and curls his fingers slightly in a gripping motion. "As you can see…" Faint wisps of energy appear between his fingers. "I'm perfectly capable…" It's still weak, but it's getting stronger, flowing outwards into the form of the traditional qwa bolt. "Of forging a qwa bolt. See?"

Kalmin doesn't look impressed.

"Robot."

"Directive, Weaponer?"

"Come here."

I walk up to him and he holds out the bolt he just forged.

"Take this."

Inside my armour I put up the strongest construct shields between my right arm and my brain that I can before reaching out with my right hand and taking it from him. There's a faint… I can only describe it as a humming sensation, but it otherwise handles like a solid object of its apparent dimensions.

"Further directive, Weaponer?"

"Go and stand in the corner."

"Compliance."

I walk backwards until I reach the edge of the room. Kalmin nods, then returns his attention to Varnathon.

"You see, Varnathon, that's how it's supposed to work. I admit, after I was deposed, I spent a good deal of time working on my skill at qwa energy manipulation. I might not be the most skilled here, but I am very good. I don't expect you to be as good as me. But I do expect you to be able to forge a single bolt. And if that's your bolt, why not deactivate your personal forge and show us?"

 

[Mr Zoat]

11th July 2012
16:01 GMT

Varnathon is bald, which does a surprising amount to emphasize it when he sweats.

"If you're struggling… My days as an 'apprentice' are long behind me, but fortunately my most recent student is here: Weaponer and council-member Diataria Lysis. Weaponer Lysis, please demonstrate the process and refresh the High Weaponlord's memory."

"Certainly, Weaponer Kalmin."

Lysis adopts a similar posture to Varnathon, both hands extended with her palms upwards. The light of qwa energy appears in her hands, a little faster than it did for Varnathon but not to a huge degree. We all watch as it fills out the space for a traditional qwa bolt, then…

"Anti-Monitor judge my worth-. Me worthy."

The qwa energy flickers, then solidifies into qwa matter. Lysis holds it for a moment, then holds it out to Kalmin. He takes it and considers it for a moment before nodding approvingly. He then holds it up so that he's eyeing Varnathon over it.

"Let go, Varnathon. Let us see this 'bolt' you have made."

Varnathon hesitates for a moment, then exhales.

"I refuse to participate in this stupidity any further."

The glow over his hands weakens, then-. Then I brace as the qwa energy he gathered explodes! Shields flare into being in every balcony, Kalmin parries with his hammer and Lysis dives behind me. That was-. Nothing like as powerful as the blast that killed me, but by the time the flare of energy has died down Varnathon has already beaten a speedy retreat back through the door he came in by.

"Weaponer Lysis, are you injured?"

"No."

I watch through my rear-facing cameras as she picks herself up.

"Do you require the loan of enhanced defensive technologies?"

"Not from a machine."

"Weaponer Kalmin has demonstrated that he values your continued existence. Any device I supply to you would be from his armoury."

"No, machine."

"Standing by."

I should pretend to be a robot more often. It's surprisingly fun.

Kalmin raises his arms, qwa bolts safely stowed but hammer still in hand.

"Councillors! What say you!?"

"Well…" One of the Councillors -one in a lightly armoured suit rather than armour- leans on his balcony. "That was disappointing. Very disappointing. But he answered your complaints. I will check the protocols at the youth-training centres in my city and ask for more information on his trading-."

"He just failed to demonstrate the ability to carry out a task that all Weaponers must perform in order to even be Weaponers!"

"Oh, I'm sure we've all gotten a little rusty." The Councillor looks around at his fellows. Who mostly don't meet his eyes, but aren't exactly shouting out to denounce him. "I've barely done any work with qwa matter since I completed my apprenticeship."

"I see. I see. And the rest of you?"

The silence is deafening. I smile inside my armour.

"That's… Not entirely unexpected. Robot."

"Standing by."

"Qwa bolt."

I step closer and hold it out. He takes it from me and bows his head for a moment. And I take a few paces back, because-.

Kalmin flings the qwa bolt in the direction of the Councillor who dismissed him! The shield activates again but is blasted apart, the Councillor's personal shield lighting up for a moment as he staggers backwards! Kalmin's second bolt strikes him directly, vaporising him, his retinue and the entire compartment.

I leap into the gap, fists extended and crumbler fields expanded as far as they'll go! Dying to a qwa matter detonation once might be regarded as unfortunate and all that. The floor here is gone, but the energy shield protecting the next compartment is still whole. Metal and plasma shield both fail as my fists gouge chunks out of the divide, and I pull both fists downwards to create a section of wall I can knock down.

Qwa matter detonations start going off behind me, my rear cameras picking up Kalmin batting qwa bolts away from him with his hammer and returning them to their senders. Slashes finished I pull back my arms and boost, the compartment divide failing and the Thunderers within frantically grasping for their next bolts.

Too slow. One takes a chunk of wall to the chest and is knocked back while the other gets a fist to the face. The Councillor… Gone. Legged it, maybe. Right, I'm out of the line of fire of most of the surviving Thunderers and there are two-.

The Thunderer I hit with the wall cuts his way free with a qwa blade. He's clearly injured but he's coherent and this armour isn't great at brawling. I reconfigure-.

Weaponer Lysis steps around me and shoots him in the gap between his visor and gorget, killing him instantly.

"Robot."

She grabs a quiver and pulls out a qwa bolt, tests the weight and then throws it out of the balcony towards the other side of the room. It detonates inside a compartment that has already lost its shielding, killing the occupants.

"Assault."

I fly upwards at full speed, fists over my head. I punch through the ceiling into the next compartment up, a soldier who'd been firing a gun over the balcony railing getting a fist through his legs and falling-

"Aagh!"

-screaming over the edge.

"Compliance."

The Weaponer draws a pistol so I project a kinetic barrier, causing his arm to bounce off apparently empty space as he tries to bring it to bear. He reflexively pulls the trigger as it hits, firing a black beam which by pure luck hits his other bodyguard and disintegrates his soft tissues. His armour-covered skeleton collapses to the floor as I charge the Weaponer down, slapping my two hands together through either side of his torso.

Ring, transmit.

"Kalmin, is there actually a plan here?"

Lysis flies up through the hole behind me and steps in front of me, making sure that my bulk is between her and the balcony. I can't see Kalmin and the arena looks pretty wrecked.

"Kill everyone here, then pursue Varnathon."

I punch through into the compartment to my right and then step back. Lysis throws a qwa bolt through the gap, the wall warping as it detonates on the far side.

"Does that include Lysis?"

"No."

"Good, because-"

I shoulder my way through the wrecked wall. Doesn't look like anyone was in here. I turn towards the balcony to try and see if there's anyone still around.

"-she's with me and that would be awkward."

The room looks like a series of bombs have hit it. I can see corpses and body parts, but as Kalmin walks out of the smoke and vapour from one of the upper balconies I can't see any living targets.

"Now for Varnathon."

 

[Mr Zoat]

11th July 2012
16:04 GMT

"You're not a robot, are you?"

"I can see how you made it onto the Council of Commanders."

I take another moment to look at the sheer destruction the three of us dealt out to the chamber and its occupants.

"Not sure what the rest of these morons did."

"Learned to manipulate qwa energy and avoided dying. Do you intend to follow Kalmin?"

"I'd feel like a bit of a prat if I came this far and then gave up. But I don't have a map. I don't know the best route."

"The quickest route between two points is a straight line. If you can't teleport."

"Yeah, well-." I jump off the balcony and float into the pit that is now the centre of the room. "Excuse me for being less collateral damage happy than a q'ardajin. Don't you want this city intact?"

Lysis floats towards the door which Varnathon -and presumably Kalmin- exited through.

"As if a squabble like this could destroy a Qwardian city. Alien, you underestimate us."

"You thought that I was a robot." A quick look around with empathic vision shows no one in close proximity, thought that means about as much around here as it would on Earth. "So are you looking for a new job now?"

She hurries after Kalmin, a long qwa knife in her right hand while her left strains to forge a new qwa bolt.

"Why do you ask?"

"Ranx has been making noises about wanting a chief engineer. Kalmin's busy, but it seems to me that working on a giant battle station cum shipyard might be something a Weaponer could lower themselves to do."

I can't hear any close noises. Q'ardajin are probably intelligent enough to make themselves scarce in situations like this, though the lack of Thunderers from the local garrison is a little strange.

"Who are you?"

"Come on, my voiceprint should be on file."

She accelerates to a jog, checking all directions as we hurry wherever this corridor goes.

"A human. Are you the ginger-haired one or the brown-skinned one?"

"Neither. Where do you think Varnathon is heading?"

"Most likely-."

There's an explosion from somewhere ahead of us. And then another. And then another.

We wait for a moment, then accelerate to a run.

"I didn't tell Varnathon of this meeting, and his personal flier is on the city's Councillor's landing pad. Either he was already here -which is possible- or he was warned and flew directly here because he wanted to ensure that he had somewhere safe to retreat to. But Kalmin annihilated Councillor Parekh so that's no longer guaranteed. Kalmin knows where Parekh's home is, and vehicular flight is not a reliable way to evade a qwa bolt. He might try to get to the mass transit teleport array, but Kalmin might disrupt that."

"That doesn't-."

We run out onto a large balcony, the remains of a large flying vehicle smouldering in the middle.

I… Jog to a stop.

"Kalmin, can you see Varnathon?"

"I'm tracking him. Don't concern yourself."

"He might go to Parekh's house for shelter. Is the mass transit teleporter closer?"

Lysis nods. "And it has fewer security checks. None he couldn't override with Tacticos."

"Anywhere else he might have gone?"

"Not with Weaponers fleeing in all directions. Otherwise he could organise a coordinated counterattack. He could try taking a civilian craft, but Kalmin could easily down it."

"What about going to ground?"

"He doesn't have any allies here."

"The question isn't so much 'do they like him' as 'do they like him more than the man who killed a load of their peers and is trying to kill them'. Or how hard would it be for him to disguise himself as another Weaponer? How do we even know that the person we spoke to was Varnathon?"

"No, we verified his identity when he came in. Though he… Might have slipped away."

"I will confirm his identity from his corpse."

"Kalmin's busy." I step into an alcove. "I'm going to focus on a scan. Stab me if we get attacked."

Okay, Kalmin would have spotted a vehicle, but on foot? So I'm looking for known disguise systems at ground level within running distance.

Quintessence waveform scan.

I feel… Spikey, images coming in fits and starts rather than the smooth expansion of my mind that happened last time. No, no, no… I see all of the q'ardajin who fled, hid… Every mote of energy, but it… Makes more sense? I don't do this enough to have a-.

…

No. No. End.

I stomp my armour out of the corner, Lysis raising her blade slightly. Looks like minimal time loss. I need to get more baselines for that sort of thing so I know how long it's going to take.

"I found him. This way."

I rise into the air at speed, Lysis lagging-. I drop down, wrap my right arm around her and then accelerate, heading towards the top of the building that recently contained a meeting of the Council of Commanders.

And the school graduates currently holding High Weaponlord Varnathon at gunpoint.

I let Lysis go when we reach the upper surface, and-

"…ly happy to negotiate something, but we need to leave now."

-fly towards where Varnathon is frantically trying to persuade them to work with him. He's wearing another q'ardajin's face. They don't know who they've got.

The one armed female scowls as she sees me.

"Are we going to be rewarded for turning this one in?"

"You want to turn Varnathon in for a reward? Yes, I think we can negotiate."

 

[Mr Zoat]

11th July 2012
16:08 GMT

"I'm not-. Varnathon. He's-" Varnathon turns back to the students. "-probably a dozen t-units away by now!"

Different accent, different cadence and different diction. I don't know if he's actually matching the man he looks like but he can't have gotten this far in life without being good at something.

The one-armed woman looks cautiously at me.

"Robot?"

I smile and send my heavy armour into subspace, replacing it with construct armour.

"Surprise! I-."

One of the students reflexively shoots me.

"You know, I can see why you were assigned to medical experimentation."

The student next to him swivels on his heel and punches him in the face, knocking him to the deck.

"Thank you. So, Varnathon, are you willing to accept that I can scan you through whatever disguise you're wearing, or do I have to stab and electrocute you until I work out how to turn it off?"

One-arm q'ardajin frowns.

"He's probably using a simple mass diffractor. A relatively small-."

"Stab and electrocute, because it's not always about efficiency."

"You're the Orange Lantern who-? I thought you'd kill him!"

He reaches up and touches his forehead, the disguise evaporating a moment later.

"Why didn't you kill him!? You had a perfect opportunity!"

"I wanted his skills."

"Do you have any idea how many people he's killed?!"

"An entire planet driven mad with fear for Sinestro's ring alone."

"That's the least of it! Two species went extinct when he tested out the antithesis ring delivery system alone! He hunted down and vivisected dozens of Green Lanterns, then tortured them to death to try and work out how their connections to their rings worked!"

I nod.

"Do you have their names? It would help with their record-keeping."

"You don't..? Care?"

"The fact that Kalmin's evil isn't exactly news to me. I'm a little surprised that you're so exercised about it, though."

"You're working with a man who genuinely wants to destroy all reality!"

"Yes?"

"Why?!"

"I really need someone with his skill set. And there's only so much evil he can do when we're watching him so closely."

"I thought I was watching him, then you and the ginger-haired Green Lantern turned up!"

"Look, are you going somewhere with this?"

"I've been reforming q'ardajin society! The Council of Commanders are stupefied into indolence, the Thunderers reduced to menacing the few aliens who actually come here and the remaining Weaponers building for export! This is the least destructive Qward has ever been!"

"That's-. You're actually trying to make Qward less evil?"

"I understand your scepticism, but yes!"

One-arm points her gun at his head. "Explain yourself."

"We're a species governed by mad scientists! I'm in the process of changing our culture so that we'll become a normal empire, conquering people to exploit their resources and to swell our egos, not out of a sense of obligation to a god who quite literally wants to kill us!" He glares at me. "Why are you even here!?"

"You're trading with the Reach."

"Probably? Who are-? The ones with no noses and beetle-themed elite soldiers?"

"Yes. You sold them qwa-matter."

"For which they paid extremely well. Access to their supply chains and distribution networks will enrich Qward without giving them anything radically different to the weapons they already deploy."

"Are you aware that they're fighting the Orange Lantern Corps?"

He stares at me for a few moments.

"Oh eat my marrow."

"Why were we selected for medical experimentation?"

"Because to change the q'ardajin I need to be able to control them. I need at least one generation of Weaponers to not try and overthrow the existing order. I need stability."

"We learned all the lessons we were taught, we did all we were asked, and you decided that you couldn't use us."

"Yes, but that doesn't matter now! You, Lantern, you could take them. Take them back to your universe with you, and I'll continue to change Qward. I'll even agree not to sell to anyone in the matter universe. Grant me isolation and I'll make a Qward that has forgotten both you and the Anti-Monitor!"

Ah, man. I don't like deliberately making a society worse, but this is Qward we're talking about. And he's right; I could drop a group of young q'ardajin off with Dox's Research and Development people… Heck, I could probably talk Dr. Sivana into taking them on as graduate students. Amalak would take them. He's probably got plenty of opportunities for ruthless, self-motivated young people with no next of kin.

"Alright lads and lasses. How would you feel about working away from home?"

One arm lowers her gun slightly.

"Not excited, but it's better than medical experimentation."

"That's a positive attitude if ever I heard one. Varnathon, I need to verify your story. You're wearing something that shields you against mental intrusion. Please remove it."

He touches his forehead cybergraft and… Ah, there we go. I can see him.

Why are these idiots always tearing everything down? Don't they see how much stronger we could be if we used our resources more efficiently?

O-oh. It's like looking at myself. And not just because I'm feeling what he's feeling. He sees the same potential in Qward that I see in Earth: not just serving an uncaring god but building a mighty empire across the stars.

But it's just not in my interests to let him.

I stick a construct muzzle over his face.

"Kalmin, come to my location. We have him."

 

[Mr Zoat]

11th July 2012
16:16 GMT

And while he's on the way…

"I'm sorry, I've been thinking of you as 'one-armed q'ardajin female'. What's your name?"

"Test Subject Daciya. And you are responsible for the loss of my arm."

"It was that or get eaten by a Devourer. And if getting eaten was more acceptable than getting saved by an alien, suck it up." Though… "How would you like a replacement arm?"

"I can design my own arm, alien."

"Why did I bother asking?" I raise my left hand. "I'm-."

"I'd…" One of the q'ardajin covering Varnathon with a small pistol looks my way, his shirt caked in blood. "I'd like it if you could fix my injuries. My name's Nauca."

"Not 'Test Subject'? Did your parents actually like you or something?"

"One way or another I don't think we're going to be test subjects after today. I'm.. bleeding quite heavily."

"Right."

An orange beam from my ring touches his chest, mapping his body and showing me his injuries. He's… Showing an impressive degree of fortitude, keeping himself functioning. He's certainly in a lot of pain, which I stop right away.

"Ah!"

Kalmin's never let me scan him properly, but I'm getting an excellent idea of how q'ardajin bodies work now. Patching him up is simple enough; even the implanted cybernetics are straightforward enough in function that I can work out what they're meant to look like.

"Better?"

He nods happily, smiling. "I'll kill you last, alien."

"I'm going to pretend that was a translation bug and you actually meant to say something nice there."

"What, do you want to be killed first?"

Several of the others are awkwardly smiling, so I'm going to assume that it's a q'ardajin expression. I turn back to Daciya. "How about I replace your organic arm, and you can cut it off later once you've built the replacement you want?"

"That-. What?"

This isn't working. Kalmin's approaching, and… I scan her, attach filaments to her shoulder stump to pin her in place and recreate her arm.

"Weaponer Lysis, is this sort of contrariness common amongst q'ardajin?"

"Test Subject Daciya's test scores indicated strong will and an inclination to self-determination. And having an alien touching our bodies like that…" She moues. "Repulsive. I can well understand."

"So are none of you interested in a job off Qward?"

"I'll take it." Nauca raises his right hand. "I'll take it. I'm looking for something safe, like assault infantry."

I nod. "I'm sure we can accommodate-." Kalmin flies over the rooftop and lands next to me, his eyes fixed on Varnathon. "Kalmin. One High Weaponlord."

"One craven. Has he tried to justify himself to you?"

"Yes."

Kalmin generates a new qwa bolt.

"Varnathon, you never fail to disappoint. What, were you trying to build a mortal empire? Something you could rule like a king while you traded with your 'peers'?"

I remove the construct muzzle.

"Yes you madman that's exactly what I wanted! Why do you want to destroy everything?!"

Kalmin's bolt stabilises, and he studies it for a moment.

"If I have to explain it, then I don't think you can understand."

"Kalmin, you have irreconcilable differences. You're not going to agree with one another about anything. If you're going to kill him, there's-"

Kalmin stabs Varnathon with the bolt, disintegrating him in a flash of light.

"-no point dragging it out."

"Mm."

Lysis regards Kalmin cautiously.

"He's dead. That's what you came here for. What now?"

"This is only part of what I'm here for. I need to contact the surviving members of the Council of Commanders."

"I doubt that they'll be willing to meet you again."

"They don't need to be physically present to hear my words."

She nods. "I'm sending you the communication protocols now. They should all be able to receive you."

"Who is in charge now?"

Lysis sneers. "Technically, Thunderlord Brikan, until the immediate threat is resolved and a new High Weaponlord can be chosen. Or if someone was feeling suicidally brave they could don the Weapons of Rengar and become Highlord. That used to happen a lot. It was a good way of excising the brash and stupid from our socie-. Ty."

She looks at Kalmin, and for a moment appears genuinely afraid.

"How does that work?"

"Rengar's blade and helm are unique qwa energy manipulation devices. Only someone who has mastered qwa energy could hope to wear them without being destroyed. Kalmin, is that what you intend?"

Kalmin bows his head slightly.

"I had considered it. Had the Council of Commanders been even a little less craven I may well have done it. But if the virtue of Qward rests on the shoulders of any one man then Qward is too rotted to be saved. To be worth saving."

"What, then?"

"Transmit my next words."

She nods, raising her right forearm slightly.

"Commanders of Qward. Inheritors of the traditions of the Anti-Monitor, who raised us from ignorance and gave us divine purpose. You have become weak, and in your failings you have made Qward weak. High Weaponlord Varnathon is dead by my hand but I will neither replace him nor name a replacement. You will become better. You will raise yourselves above your current lamentable level of mediocrity and become as you should be, or upon my return I will scour the rest of you from creation."

"These are the words of Weaponer Kalmin. Heed them."

He nods, and Lysis lowers her arm.

"I don't know if they'll listen or if none will hear me. Either way, the Anti-Monitor's purpose is served. And what will you do, Weaponer Councilwoman Lysis?"

"I find that watching you work has renewed my ambition. I will improve Qward or die trying."

Kalmin smiles. And it looks genuine.

"I'm pleased to hear it. And as for the rest of you…" He looks at the students. "I suppose it is only reasonable that I do my part in teaching the next generation."

 

[Mr Zoat]

11th July 2012
18:29 GMT

Hinon nods, a small smile on her face.

"Qward is in turmoil, their leader dead and their leadership decimated. A nearly entirely satisfactory outcome, and I wasn't actually expecting Kalmin to die. I'm actually quite-."

She leans to the left, looking behind me as Kalmin's new students trail after him. Several of them are staring around in half-cringed caution, but Daciya refuses to look either left or right, striding purposefully through the Maltusian city.

"And suddenly I'm not. Would you mind explaining that?"

"Would you mind explaining how a Controller with the powers you do and the senses you have didn't know they were here until you saw them with your eyes?"

"I could." Her face becomes oddly blank. "Why don't you explain it to me?"

"You're millions of years old. Your whole 'irritable old woman' persona is affected for my benefit."

"Not just for your benefit. My interactions with almost every non-Maltusian have improved since I started openly brow-beating them."

"It's what we expect. It fits in with our preconceptions."

"The vast majority of sentient beings from social species expect a degree of punishment when they step outside of accepted bounds of acceptable behaviour. Minor insults meet that need while also stimulating a desire for praise."

I frown.

"You don't need to act with me, Hinon Hee Hannanan. I'd much rather know the real you."

"I am very old, Illustres Paul. Without a shell personality I would barely be able to interact with young creatures like you. This is far more effective than the alternative. Trust me to know my business."

"I do. Alright, crotchety grandmother it is-."

Her face snaps back to life.

"I'm so glad that I have your approval. I don't know what I would have done without it."

I bow my head for a moment, smiling-.

"The q'ardajin, Illustres. Why are they here?"

"Kalmin wants to teach them how to be 'proper' q'ardajin. I want them to get used to interacting with other species as equals. Our ends are contradictory but our methods are the same: bring them here."

"You had the perfect opportunity to take the steps required to exterminate their wretched breed. Instead, you brought more q'ardajin here."

"Varnathon showed that they can be something else. Without prompting, even. We need to stop anyone trading with the Reach but I don't think that their species needs to go." Unless-. "Unless the Anti-Monitor is coming back and we need to deny him resources. Do we?"

"Not as far as we can tell."

"Then… That's why. Oh, and I need to schedule tests… Medical examinations, for myself. This whole incident has made me aware that no one knows what my healthy baselines are, and I need to fix that."

"Yes, that would be helpful. And perhaps you should keep a few spare clones of yourself laying around, just so we're prepared for your next death."

"Ah. Maybe. I actually need to pop back to Earth first to make sure that I'm fully alive. I'll be back tomorrow."

"I will ensure that the physicians are lined up."

"Thank you."

I raise…

Do I really need to keep doing that? Copying Goku was amusing to start with, but it's honestly…

I snort.

Just as amusing now as it ever was. I raise my fingers to my forehead

step out, looking for large and long-denied desires to judge fairly and rule well, a desire I'm a part of as I saw to it being fulfilled. I see it and

reappear just outside Hades's palace, waving to a guard as I walk closer.

"Could you please let Lord Hades know that I'm here and would like to speak with him?"

11th July 2012
21:47 GMT +3

"You really must try to stop dying like this."

"I'm not doing it deliberately, my lord."

Hades gives me a look of mild frustration. It's almost paternal, really. After being told that I was visiting he decided to recess his court. Rather than being annoyed by the delay, the line of disorientated aliens outside were giving me grateful nods. It's nice to be appreciated.

"I suppose I should be grateful for that much. There are Discordians who would have done, just to vex me."

"No part of me came here, then?"

"'No part'..? By Gaea, what killed you?"

"A qwa energy blast wave. But dying in deep space far from a living world doesn't work like dying on Earth. I needed to take a few hours to stick myself back together."

"I can only apologise for the poor service I was able to grant you. Again."

"Thank you, but if I came here I might have felt obliged to stay. Though I… Was wondering..?"

"Give me a moment to fortify myself. … Very well, ask your question."

"As a god, you're tied to Earth's thaumosphere. But you get a lot of your power from Erebos, don't you?" He nods. "And as a titan, Erebos doesn't have that same restriction. Or.. does it?"

Hades looks down the line of petitioners, then points. "Look you there."

I follow his finger, seeing-.

"A gordanian?"

"He was on the wrong side of the ceasefire line. He tried hiding in that temple you built to me, but that only worked for a time before the mob killed him. But before his death, he read some of the literature you left and prayed to me, and that was sufficient."

"I'll let Mother of Mercy know."

"He's not the first and won't be the last. However, as far as I can tell Erebos's reach only extends to those who are on planets. It might just be that no one who has seen your work and become sufficiently devoted to me has died in space yet, or it could be something else. I genuinely don't know."

I nod. That's worth investigating further.

"Next question then: if Erebos connects to everywhere, how would you feel about a spaceport?"

 

[Mr Zoat]

The Other Half

12th July 2012
11:12 GMT -2

"…derstand that you want to stand by your man, Clea, but politically it's a really bad idea."

Queen Clea's rejuvenation has progressed since I first awakened her. She's gone from well-preserved sixty something to athletic fifty something, though if you were seeing her every day you probably wouldn't notice the transition. This being Atlantis I'm sure that someone knows that she's changed magically but as far as I know no Atlantean magicians have had a chance to study the Awakening process.

"I've been assuming that Orin knows." She regards me with sceptical curiosity. "Do you honestly believe that he doesn't?"

Does Orin know? It wouldn't be hard to have a genomorph get close enough to check, but I've found it's a good idea not to do anything you might have to deny in court later. I'm pretty sure that he had no agents in Venturia before Clea attempted a rapprochement, but now..? He probably has agents in the city; the expansion of trade with the surface has required that a great deal more people receive permission to live in the city. But he almost certainly doesn't have agents in place to know about Mr. Hyde's visits, at least by palace intrigue means. If he knows, it's more likely that he has the city under external observation. Or he's been tracking the Manta Sub.

Though I suppose that after today it won't really matter.

"I'd… Guess that he doesn't. I think he'd be a lot more curious if he were able to link the three of us together, rather than just me with each of you."

"I don't much care whether he's pardoned or not."

"It's not the pardon I'm worried about risking, it's your easy economic integration with the rest of Atlantis. If you do end up marrying him… People here do remember his previous attacks."

"I suppose that's the disadvantage of reengaging with the rest of Atlantis. But honestly, treating a mercenary soldier as if they'd committed a crime by fighting in a war." She shakes her head. "I thought the surface world treated wars as morally neutral?"

"Wars are generally considered to be a bad thing, but as long as the soldiers involved act within certain bounds they aren't punished for the decisions of their political superiors. Other than by… Getting shot, obviously."

"There you are, then."

I frown, puzzled.

"Are you saying that if he'd acted against Venturia, you'd have been happy to let him go then?"

"If I'd already killed his employer, yes. If I hadn't, then I'd kill him as a message to both my people and to his employer. But if I took any of his troopers alive I wouldn't kill more than a few of them. Is that not how they do things on Apokolips?"

"Ah… It being understood that I hate the way Apokolips does things?" She nods. "We don't really have that sort of social dynamic. Darkseid is an autocrat-."

"I'm an autocrat."

"Yes, but there's 'autocracy' and 'autocracy'. You have supreme political power, but if you turned enough of your courtiers against you they could still kill you and replace you. You might not need their support legally but you need their support practically. Darkseid could quite cheerfully kill the entire Apokoliptian Elite himself with no help from anyone, and Apokolips would mostly carry on as it did before until he could replace them, if he even bothered."

"How can he rule like that?"

"A lack of interest in developing the talents of-. Oh, you mean in the practical sense." I shrug. "Beat someone often enough and ninety nine point nine nine… Percent of the time, they stop getting up. That, and actual mind control."

"He can puppet so many?"

"No, but the anti-life aura heavily discourages certain types of thought and action. A few -like my brother Scott- can resist, but for most… Myself included, it's… Acting against him is… Nearly unthinkable."

"But you did."

"Even Darkseid can't watch everyone all the time. Not yet, anyway. And I neither remember how I did it nor can say for certain that he didn't just let me. He let Scott escape, after all." I shake my head, snorting with amusement. "I find it funny when humans complain about the tyranny of one or other of their own governments. They really have no idea…"

"Ping!"

"Ah, they're starting." I bow. "Excuse me, your majesty."

She makes a shooing motion with her right hand.

"You are excused."

BOOM!

A portal opens in the Venturian embassy and I step through, emerging at the back of the Poseidonian throne room. David Hyde and two of his senior officers are kneeling in a pocket of air while a-. Oh, Queen Mera's doing it. I suppose that makes sense. She's taken small samples of their blood with a… Pen-like needle, which she's now using to write runes on the bottom of the vellum copy of their pardons. She doesn't need to write the whole thing in their blood -that would be impractical- but the anchor point for the spell needs something a little more emphatic than squid ink. Mr. Hyde and the others are in their usual scuba gear, though obviously they weren't allowed to bring weapons here.

She nods, and one of her aides takes the still-damp document and one of the pens to Mr. Hyde. He rises slightly, takes the pen and signs his name in his own blood before passing both back. A change of pen and his chief engineer does the same. Another change of pen and his senior marine signs his name. The document is then returned to Queen Mera, who checks it over with glowing hands. She breathes sharply, then nods and presents it to King Orin.

Orin does not look even slightly happy about this, though I'm glad Manta and Co. are keeping any sense of triumph they feel off their faces.

"You understand that once I sign this, if you commit any act of violent aggression in Atlantean territory, your blood will be immediately transmuted into seawater."

Mr. Hyde has resumed his kneeling position. He nods.

"Yes, your majesty. We understand."

Orin takes a new pen from an aide and jabs it into his arm. He gives it a moment, then pulls it out and puts it to the pardon.

"By the power vested in me as King of Atlantis, I, King Orin, hereby issue this pardon."

He signs his name, and there's a brief flicker of magic as it takes hold.

"Now get out of my sight."

The three of them rise, Mr. Hyde slightly ahead of the other two. They bow, then turn and head in my direction. Mera gets closer to Orin and mutters something, which seems to calm him down a little. Yeah, I need to do something nice for Atlantis to make up for this. At least if I want to do anything with the place in future, which I probably do.

I exert myself, generating an air pocket around myself for their benefit.

"So. You're free men."

Mr. Hyde nods. "In Atlantis, anyway. How much does Horne want for a US pardon?"

"I… Think in that case you'll probably be waiting for his successor. Or… Some fairly huge act of public penance that you're not getting paid for. I mean, you're not exactly… I don't know, Thaddeus Sivana, but there's a limit to who a US President can get away with pardoning."

"Maybe you should have called me in to help with the Sheeda."

"You aren't equipped for that sort of fight yet. You're an important asset, and I won't give you jobs if the risks aren't worth the returns." I shake my head and smile. "How are you planning to celebrate?"

"I think I'm going to tell my ex-junior gunnery officer and his floozy exactly what I think of them."

…

Ahhhhhhh!

 

[Mr Zoat]

12th July 2012
11:15 GMT -2

I watch as Grayven steps through the portal, careful to avoid being in a position where anyone on the far side could see me. It's curious that he feels the need to be personally present; I certainly wouldn't feel that my presence was necessary during the promotion of, say, a captain. Certainly not one from another city, no matter how close our relationship was. Given all that he's said of his own nature I'm a little concerned that means that on some level he considers everyone on Earth to be his vassals.

His 'boom tube' closes after he steps through, and I walk over to the balcony overlooking… I smile. Poseidonis. Not long ago I assumed that I'd never see this accursed city again. The Royal Palace and the Conservatory of Sorcery are much unchanged, at least from the outside. But it has been a long time. Stone has increasingly been replaced by cultured coral growth, and… Ah, that's new. Some sort of living structure..? How charmingly bizarre. The buildings are generally higher, and the codes they're using for the patterns of bioluminescence have changed a good deal. Sixty years ago the aim was to keep things simple. Now-.

I wonder if it's because it's less expensive now, or just a change in fashion? Expense isn't really an issue in Venturia at the moment, but if my city's new residents start making their buildings glow it could look a little messy. Will I need to send bailiffs around to the architects to remind them that Venturia's building regulations are not the same as those in their home cities? My own trade missions have been firmly instructed that their trade houses are to blend in, but I can't assume that my fellow rulers will have been as sensible.

I send a tiny mote of mana into my summoning ring, informing my courtiers that they may enter. I was… A little discomported to discover that in Poseidonis the lower orders use something similar to arrange anonymous sexual liaisons, but thankfully the design is sufficiently dissimilar that I doubt any of them mistook my intentions.

Behind me my advisors file in. Cyprian's acting as my regent in Venturia itself, which… I can't help but feel a little guilty about 'blocking his advancement' like this. Goodness knows he's done more to deserve being my heir than any of the other placeholders I've designated over the decades. When I asked him he told me that he only wanted to serve Venturia to the best of his abilities, and I know that's… True. I also know for a fact that I'd be nothing like as equanimitous in his place. I struck gold there in a way that my own father didn't with me, and I'm sure he'll stay loyal when it becomes obvious that 'Crown Prince' is a near-completely empty title.

But it seems like a waste.

I turn towards the table where my cabinet are now awaiting my presence and swim to my position at the head of the table. I take a moment to make eye contact with everyone, then nod to my Chancellor.

"Your majesty. The first issue on today's agenda is the recent diplomatic initiative from Aurania."

I raise my eyebrows slightly, not irritated but definitely unimpressed.

"What's new about this one?"

"They've asked Poseidonis to act as intermediaries. Which means that things have progressed to the point where they're trying to work around the embargo."

Vexing. Yes, extremely vexing. We try to minimise that sort of thing by requiring end-user authentication for any potentially dangerous products we import. But to a degree we're dependent on High King Orin being willing to allow preferential treatment for particular cities. He's well within his rights to demand that I either allow free trade or at least grant all of our neighbours the same terms. I had thought that we would have another year or so before he got frustrated enough to intervene, but perhaps I misjudged his temperament. Or perhaps Grayven's efforts on David's behalf have pushed him into premature action.

I glance at my Trade Minister.

"Are we certain?"

There wasn't much point in having an Intelligence Minister while we were isolated. There was an intelligence group attached to the guard, but they were there to detect traitors and other criminals. Since we've normalised relations there has been a significant increase in crime -mostly but not exclusively committed by recent immigrants- and a great many more people we need information on. From simple things like regional prices and demand to more… Personal information. Leaving the task of gathering intelligence on other Atlantean cities to the Ministry of Trade is a reasonable way of disguising our purposes… Though in all honesty trade intelligence is what they're focusing on. The quality of our actual foreign political and military intelligence gathering is lamentable.

"We're not certain that High King Orin has made a decision, but instructions are definitely coming from someone in the Poseidonis government."

Which is another reason to avoid centralisation that Orin has completely ignored. Having a High King who is able to act as an autocrat is essential for the good of Atlantis for the same reason that my ability to act as an autocrat within my own city is essential for Venturia. But ruling like that full time for every issue is impossible.

I consider what Grayven told me for a moment.

For anyone but Darkseid, apparently. I'm not certain that I truly understand what living in such a state would be like, but what I can imagine is frightful.

And granting crown officers that same ability in all fields? Madness. It results in little kings and queens infesting the apparatus of government, acting as they will, spreading disorder everywhere they go. And worse, they claim that they're doing it in the name of a monarch who in truth has no idea what they're doing.

Adom and I agree completely about that. The sovereign is above the law. Everyone else must abide by it, even if they claim to be on Crown business.

"Is someone going beyond their authority, or are they acting on the High King's stated desires?"

"I'm sorry, your majesty, I just don't know. Do you want me to put more effort into finding out?"

I'm certain that Grayven would be willing to discover the answer to that. Though I would not be astonished if he decided to find out by walking up to High King Orin and directly asking him. Which isn't a terrible idea, actually, if I prepare a compromise offer in advance to present to him. It would bypass whichever of his minions has an axe to grind -or who has perhaps been bought by the Auranians- which would be convenient. It would also allow me to avoid talking to anyone in the Auranian senate, loathsome worms that they are.

"No, that's alright. We would have had to deal with that eventually, anyway."

"Your majesty? Ah, do we..? Have a concrete objective in our dealings with Aurania? Do we wish for them to become economically weaker than a particular city state? Or… Lose the High King's favour in some way? I understand our historical enmity, but it would help me immensely if I had a better idea of what I was trying to achieve."

He looks nervous, but he has a point. Initially, I decreed that we would grant them only the most unfavourable terms purely out of spite. But as a result of my advanced age I've outlived everyone who had earned my ire. And Ptra..? She's not my daughter in any meaningful way, but the worst I feel for her is a mild contempt.

Probably unfair contempt. It's disappointing to see a fellow ruler be outmanoeuvred by their inferiors when they're an adult, but when it happens to a child it is really their regent who bears the blame. Either for their stupidity or their malice.

Taking her when the High Queen ordered me to leave her in Poseidonis wasn't… Wasn't a practical option, but perhaps I could have arranged for her to be 'abducted' and hidden on the surface? It seems to have worked well enough for 'Arthur Curry'.

No. It's pointless to worry about it now.

"Ultimately, we will be normalising relations with Aurania. We will have to; repairing our relationships with the other City-States requires it. I decreed this course of action in retaliation for those historic injustices we suffered as a result of the actions of the parents and grandparents of the people who rule the city today. They know why they receive far inferior terms of trade, and if they do nothing material to address those causes other than wheedle and complain then they should not expect the situation to change. With regards to the relative harm they are suffering, we will be satisfied when those individuals who benefit from their ancestors' infamy have been made to suffer material economic or political hardship."

He nods cautiously.

"But. If the High King is considering intervening, we will need a plan for changing things in the direction he requires. Preferably something which targets those individuals but allows the common citizenry to gain the benefits of trade. Have your department draft plans and present them at our next meeting."

He nods again, this time more confidently.

"In the mean time I see no benefit in meeting with a new deputation, unless they wish to confess to murdering my late husband and throw themselves upon my mercy. Next item."

"Yes, majesty." The Chancellor nods again. "The detailed oceanographic survey presented to us by Prince Grayven."

 

[Mr Zoat]

21st January 2006
09:58 GMT -5

Komand'r beams at me through my communicator.

"And don't forget to say 'hi' to everyone for me! I can't wait to see them all again when I get back!"

And an uncertain dread begins to creep into my chest where my heart used to be.

"I certainly won't, darling."

Okay, I'm in public and she knows I'm in public. If that doesn't get a response-.

She beams wider, breathing in and clutching her hands to her chest. Then she mimes pulling her heart out of her chest, kissing it and then blowing it to me.

I mime catching it and then pressing it into my own chest. And now I'm genuinely worried. Setting Vega on fire didn't magically resurrect all of the dead Tamaranean doctors, and the only people who really knew anything about their physiology were the psions. They're no longer in a position to provide me with information. I mean, it's not impossible that we missed a data store somewhere, but Red Lanterns are generally pretty thorough.

Or rather, indiscriminate.

"I'll see you this evening."

I cut the connection and accelerate towards the giant 'T' of the Titan's tower. Perhaps surprisingly given the crisis that we just went through it's still in one piece, but I don't really get 'surprised' by this sort of nonsense anymore. Goodness, how many times in the last few years has it been wrecked one week and been fully repaired by the next? I guess one of those Wayne Enterprises warehouses is filled with spare Tower sections, so they can just slot them in when the old ones are destroyed.

I suppose it keeps money in circulation.

Maybe Komand'r's possessed? Miss Roth should be able to identify that with relative ease, and then it shouldn't be hard to exorcise. And what's the chance of her encountering a Tamaranean disease in Jump City that her sister hasn't caught? No, no, it'll be fine.

I land in front of the tower's main entrance and press the button to request access. While I doubt that Mr. Logan will be awake yet, and Mr. Stone is a coin toss, the other three are probably awake. And we should be on good enough terms that they'll at least talk to me.

Mr. Grayson's face appears on the screen.

"Hello? What do you want?"

"I have some information I should probably pass on concerning recent events. And… I… May need your help with something. May I come in?"

"Sure." The doors slide open, granting me access to the tower's antechamber. "Should I call in the team?"

"That won't be necessary. If I could just speak to yourself, Miss Roth and Koriand'r?"

"I'll let them know you're here."

"Thank you."

The screen goes black and I walk inside. I've been here a few times before, and it… Doesn't look like they've remodelled too much. Same clean lines and airy spaces. Dread to think what it costs to heat it, or if it's not much why they don't share the technology.

Mr. Grayson is waiting for me in the lounge, looking completely alert.

"Red Lantern. Raven should be here in a minute."

I nod. "Thank you. Though I'll let you know that as a result of events last week I've been promoted to Senior Lantern. And… It's fine if you use my name. I think we know each other well enough."

He raises his left eyebrow.

"Do you.. have a name?"

Huh?

"Of course I have a name. Did you think I was born with a power ring?"

"No, I guess not. So what-?"

An interior door opens and Miss Roth walks in, a mug of coffee floating along behind her. Her eyes narrow slightly as she looks at me.

"How are you still alive?"

"I understand that we have you and the magic of friendship to thank for that."

"I only resurrected the people Trigon killed. You tore your own heart out of your chest and smashed it into your Lantern. I'm pretty sure you should be dead."

"Blood magic."

She nods. "How.. does that work?"

"Lord Atrocitus uses blood magic to make our rings. Mine now pushes blood around my body. I don't need a heart any more."

She frowns. "What happens if you get distracted? Your constructs usually stop working when you stop being angry."

"I don't have that problem anymore. I got in touch with my rage and hate in a… Profound way." I hold out my right hand and generate a bit construct, switching it between its two states a handful of times before dismissing it.

"Huh. So what did you wanna talk about?"

"Komand'r and I are leaving Jump City. Long term this time. I originally came here because a seer of my acquaintance claimed that you were going to destroy the world, and since that's already happened I.. don't need to be here anymore."

She narrows her eyes at me. "You were supposed to stop Trigon."

"I was supposed to kill you."

Mr. Grayson's eye holes widen. "What?"

Miss Roth's face relaxes, and she nods slowly. "That would probably have worked. Why didn't you?"

"You're a good person. I couldn't think of anything you'd willingly do that could cause an apocalypse, and I wouldn't kill you for something someone else did." I shrug. "You'd have trouble finding demon cultists in North America anymore. They seem to… Have fallen down some stairs."

She risks a small smile. "All of them?"

"They were slippery stairs. I'd have done something about Slade if I'd known what was going on there." I shrug again. "But I imagine that Trigon could have used someone else. And if I had killed you, he'd just have sired a new child somewhere else. It's probably better this way."

She nods, a degree of animation returning to her face.

"Still a risk, though."

"You're worth it."

She regards me thoughtfully. "Why are you being nice about this?"

"Mostly because I'm not having to remind myself of all the ways you and yours irritate me in order to use my ring. It's a much more relaxing way to exist."

"Because you don't have a heart."

"Komand'r finds it weirder than I do. Which… Brings me to the other reason why I'm here." I half-turn to face Richard. "Komand'r has been acting… Strangely."

Miss Roth raises her eyebrows. "What, has she started being nice to people or something?"

"Yes, and it's weird. I'm worried-." Koriand'r flies out of the elevator. "Koriand'r, do you know of a disease that makes Tamaraneans change personality radically?"

"Ah?" She raises her right forefinger to her lips. "There are several things that could do that. Does Blackfire have any other symptoms?"

"She tried to toast some bread with her plasma vision this morning and accidentally froze it instead."

Koriand'r stares at me for a second, and then her face lights up in an expression of pure joy! "Oh that is wondrous news! I will now go to bake the niffka cakes and prepare the funny hats!"

"Okay, thank you, but what does it mean in English?"

"Blackfire is pregnant!"