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

[Mr Zoat]

13th August
09:14 GMT -6

Four, three, two-.

The light from the glowing shape forming in the air behind me flares for a moment and then dims.

"Behold the fallen angel known as Brimstone!"

And while I did try to change that announcement, I suppose I… Get it now, in a way I didn't last December. Big, bold and bombastic is how New Gods work, and there are perfectly sensible reasons relating to spiritual mechanics why the walking sun announces itself in those terms.

Honest.

"My dark master has cast me out!"

"Brimstone!" I turn the Spherecycle around so that I'm facing him. Plasma servitors actually have really good vision in all directions so the fact that from his point of view I'm tiny won't matter. "Attend to me!"

A direct order should snap it out of 'general rampage' mode. Still a bit up in the air as to whether it will actually obey me, but it can't get off-world and virtually everyone here is a Psion, so, no loss.

"Grayven! The son of my dark master!"

Oh, he does remember. Sweet.

"Suzerain of Earth! I will serve you in his name!"

Don't… Remember it being told that, but okay.

"The people of this world are my enemies! In my father's name, strike them down and destroy their works!"

"So shall it be!"

His eyes begin to glow, and I wheel the Spherecycle around before the blinding beams of solar plasma lance out and effortlessly burn through the oncoming drone transports and onwards into the city behind them. A faintly pink energy field flares to life and the plasma batters against it, the generators visibly straining to contain the sun beams. They cut out a moment later as Brimstone begins its advance.

Hm. Let's see. It shouldn't take the Psions all that long to work out more or less what it is that's attacking them. Exotic matter shields are good for general purpose defence but they'll probably try switching to magnetic barriers just as soon as someone with the authority to do so is alerted.

"I am the instrument of justice of a dark and angry god! His terrible swift sword!"

As Brimstone is a man-shaped lump of sun held together by magnets, Apokoliptian technology and magic rather than a flesh being… He's got a surprising turn of speed. Even if its designer didn't give it the ability to fly… And to be honest I think it would have probably been easier to do that than to prevent it. I mean, power rings let their wearers fly by putting a field around their bodies and then lifting it and a.. Brimstone is basically plasma being lifted by…

No, not thinking about it. Anyway, the lack of flesh means that it can move with far greater agility and speed than a person might-

The light is momentarily blocked as Brimstone runs at full sprint over my head.

-assume. This time the lance of plasma comes from his 'mouth', far narrower and more focused than the first bolts. The shield defending the city flares, buckles and-

"Feel now, sinners, the wrath of Brimstone! And let the universe forever be rid of you!!"

-fails, the beam carrying on into a burning… I don't know, some sort of… Oh, come on, an automated workshop!? This isn't a Saturday morning animation aimed at the young by their weak-of-stomach parents! I want blood, damn it!

Ping!

No, it's fine, they don't do their biological research here. The only inhabitants are Psions-.

Ping.

Well, technically-.

Ping.

And you wonder why I wanted to leave you behind.

Ping.

Okay, yes, you're right. That was too much. I'm sorry. But the point I'm trying to make is that-

Brimstone fires again, the plasma slamming into… A magnetic barrier. Quick work.

-I can't destroy repugnant societies without destroying.

Ping.

And look how well that worked out! Uncle Drax is either dead or in a pocket universe, Izaya's wife got murdered and father has gotten further with his Anti-Life research than grandfather ever did with the Source! The universe is actually more imperilled than it would be if he'd drugged father's drink and then stabbed him in the eye socket!

Ping.

I know that, but while I like existing I can't help but think that as far as the universe as a whole is concerned it probably-.

Ping.

Gh-. Did Himon put you up to this?

Ping.

They almost certainly can't. They're not exactly clones, but they mix genes in laboratories, the resulting Psionlings get raised and dehumanised -or whatever you call it- in mechanurseries and then join the labour force in a monstrous society that actually bred most of the species in this region just to perform long term biotech research. It's like… Like DeSaad and Granny Goodness -and here's a mental image spawned from the Anti-Life- had a baby which took over some planet in the Waste and started playing god. More than we normally do.

Ping.

Even if I wanted to -and I don't- I strongly doubt that they'd go for it.

Ping.

Look, can't you just let me enjoy wanton destruction? Father Box wouldn't-.

Ping.

Yes, and right up until that happened we had a connection. I'm barely even looking forwards to this any more. Do you understand what you've done to me? I just sent a giant made of plasma to destroy a city full of robots and 'evildoers' while my colleagues rescue their slaves -and I don't mean slaves in the 'technically-owned-peasants' sense, I mean test subjects for whatever bizarre and depraved experiment whatever Psion drew the long straw feels like performing- and I'm not even going to have fun-.

Ping.

Okay, I'll tell you what. Brimstone is doing really well at the distraction and Sphere and I are immune to magnetic fields. If we can go there and find ten Psions who aren't total monsters, then I'll make sure that the species keeps existing. Ten. Abraham had to negotiate Elion down to ten and I'm starting there. Does that sound reasonable to you?

Ping.

No, I'm doing that anyway. But I can shut down Brimstone, and once the slaves have been evacuated I'll… Come up with something else. Not that I expect I'll have to, mind you.

Ping.

Good. Settled. Now I don't want to hear anything else about it.

Vroom.

I should have known.

Bah.

I turn the Spherecycle around, harness the fear being felt by the organic inhabitants of the city behind me as Brimstone strides through their magnetic barrier and generates a colossal ball of plasma between his hands to generate a booster construct and set course for the next city over as Brimstone superheats the area around him to fry the drone weapons systems trying and failing to harm him.

Bah.

What's the point of mass killing if you don't get to enjoy it?

 

[Mr Zoat]

13th August
09:31 GMT -6

"Alright. You."

The Psion who had frantically been trying to reactivate the gravity sled raises his hands and backs away from the control panel. "Me?"

"Yes."

I heft my daiklave over my shoulder and step over the wreckage of the trailers it was towing. Psions use tunnels like these to transport bulk materials between their cities. Since the city Brimstone is busy incinerating mostly exports machine components, there's next to no chance that any biological sample has ever come this way. Which means -since I want to be completely fair to Mother Box here- that the Psion who operates them has probably had the least opportunity to do evil of just about anyone on the planet.

"I was wondering-." Ah, no. Be polite. "What's your name?"

"Tren?"

"You don't sound very sure there, Tren." I keep walking closer and he keeps backing up until he bumps into the railing. I crouch down so that I'm more on his level.

"I'm sure. Ah, I'm sure."

"Glad to hear it. Now, as I'm sure that you're aware, there's a walking sun up there turning the city to glass."

"Uh huh."

"But you don't have to worry about that, because I need to ask you a few questions and I can't do that if you've been incinerated, can I?"

"You mean-." He makes a sort of rasping/coughing noise. "You mean, like the other guys?"

I look back to where what's left of his late colleagues is lying on the ground. One got mashed against the wall when the carriages jack-knifed and the other bled out when I fired at the train with my fusion cannon.

"To be fair, they haven't been incinerated. But yes. If you answer my questions there's a reasonable chance that you will live."

"O-okay?"

"First question. You're in a desert, walking along in the sand when all of a sudden you look down and see a Tortoise."

"I-it just appeared?"

"It's not really-. Let's assume that it was there all along but you didn't notice it."

"Um. What's a Tortoise?"

"It's a type of quadrupedal reptile native to Earth. It has a heavy shell around its torso which provides protection at the cost of mobility."

"Oh. Okay." The scales around his forehead move. "Is that meant to be a metaphor?"

"Only in the sense that everything can be. So as it crawls forward.-"

"What do you mean 'everything can be a metaphor'?"

I squint. "Really? It never occurred to you that you can stretch a comparison from anything to anything else as long as you don't mind it becoming increasingly nonsensical?"

"Creative writing is really something that aliens do. I mean, I know what a metaphor is, but… Why would I use a comparison if it didn't make any sense?"

"Some species find that makes it easier to understand things if they can compare them to things they already understand."

"Heh. Aliens."

"… Yes. So, the Tortoise crawls closer and you reach down and turn it onto its back. The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun, beating its legs trying to turn itself over. But it can't. Not without your help. But you're not helping."

"Of course not. I wouldn't have turned it over if I was just going to turn it back again. That would be a wasted effort."

I nod. "Logical. So why do you think you turned it over in the first place?"

"Probably so that it can't get away while I cut it open and find out how it works."

"Wouldn't non-invasive methods be a better place to start?"

"My overseer wouldn't let me take those sorts of tools out into a desert. And if I brought it back a biological researcher with their own laboratory would probably take it off me. No Psion has ever encountered a Tortoise before. Even great scientists like Fon and Tront started their working lives in tunnels like these. If I could bring them novel data, they might take me on as a lab assistant!"

"You're interested in the biological sciences?"

"Of course! We Psions created the whole of Vega civilisation to make sure we'd always have test subjects, and I want to get my slice of it one day! I practise on Morrocks sometimes, and I can keep them alive and whole with thirty needles through them! Most Psions my age can barely manage twenty five. And I do it freehand!"

"Is that generating novel data?"

"No, of course not. Look, you're clearly from an advanced civilisation. You know that the lives of primitive barbarians don't actually matter as much as the data we can get from destroying-."

I bring my daiklave down, slicing him in half.

Ping.

Like I said: mini-DeSaads. And this is just some train driver. Given Psion lifecycles he was probably only nine or ten years old.

Ping.

Yeah, welcome to the real world.

Ping.

Hey, it's up to you, but I really doubt that they'll be any better.

I wave my right hand and the Sphere flies up alongside the gravity sledge I'm standing on, the G-Gnome in the back sensibly keeping its head down. I swing my daiklave through the sledge's control system and then sheathe the blade before climbing aboard the Spherecycle and continuing down the tunnel. Okay, yeah, that guy might not have been representative of his generation, but…

Ping.

I generate a fusion cannon on my left forearm and raise it in the direction of the oncoming drone swarm. Another reason for taking the tunnels is that they're comparatively well protected. The assumption during the design process appeared to be that a city under siege would probably be able to protect its network entrances up until its defences collapsed completely. As such, the tunnel is heavily fortified and only has internal defences at either end as you approach a city. But so they can quickly and efficiently send reinforcements, it has rather good access to their drone reserves.

I generate point defence and barrier constructs. That's the downside of attacking a city with a walking sun: plenty of fear around but most of it isn't directed against you. And I still haven't gotten the hang of making the two rings work together. Fear and avarice just don't.. mix.

The drone pack rearranges itself as they begin their attack. Hyperkinetic smart munitions are fired first, launched from around the corner as soon as the drones get into optimal firing range. I can scan.. most of them. Viral loads won't work on me, poison gas is worthless, pinhead singularity yep shoot that… More conventional munitions start slamming into my construct barriers, which… Appear to be holding as the point defences deal with anything that could kill me easily. A thin mist begins settling around the lower part of the tunnel as one of the chemical munitions pulls the oxygen out of the air, but I have an environmental shield. I could reinforce my construct barricades further, but focusing my desire on the gun seems to be a more productive course of action.

Laser drones coming around the corner… Any… Moment…

Fire.

 

[Mr Zoat]

13th August
09:35 GMT -6

I fire first, a brilliant beam of super hot ions burning down the tunnel. The drones aren't even in sight yet but the explosion as the beam hits the far side of the tunnel sends vaporised… Whatever these tunnels are made of into the drone swarm. The damage from that combined with the fact that the beam heated and ionised the air that it passed through means that the drone swarm that opens up with its direct fire weapons at me is somewhat less devastating than their factory specifications suggest that they should be.

Lasers lance through the air towards me as the Spherecycle starts flying in an evasive loop. Most are still on target, construct shields absorbing or reflecting about ninety five percent and the rest tracing lines across my body armour. Nothing like powerful enough to hurt me. Charge the gun and fire-.

AGH! Right in the-! Ow! Right in the eyes! Technically a vulnerable spot but not vulnerable enough! My construct barriers fracture, their shards flying at the drone swarm with absolute precision as I fire again and again!

Ping.

This is exactly why we don't do it like this! It's so inefficient! Gods do not fight mindless, soulless drones!

A handful of drones survive and fall back. A few of them are the ones with hyperkinetic launchers who expended their ordnance early. The others… Heavily shielded. Command relays or monitoring drones.

Hm.

Grapple.

The clamp construct flies away from me as the Spherecycle stops evading and accelerates down the tunnel. The drones attempt an evasive flight path but construct tethers move at the speed of ring calculation. A drone that's slightly bulkier than the rest is yanked out of the air and there's a crackle as its motor systems overheat and fry themselves. The Sphere fires her onboard weapons at what's left of the swarm as I drag the captured drones back towards us while simultaneously connecting the ring to Mother Box in order to get control of the thing. If this is a monitor drone it should have a connection to a control room somewhere…

Ping.

Good, thank you. Is it two way or are they just monitoring it while the drone follows a pre-programmed behavioural pattern?

Ping.

Use one of their low-grade encryption systems. I don't want them not understanding this.

Ping.

I generate a construct phone handset. "This is Grayven, who am I talking to?"

There's a brief pause as the Sphere hits another drone with her guns.

"I am General Farrn. And you are the short lived alien insect currently scurrying beneath our planet."

I dismiss the fusion cannon construct with a waggle of my arm. "Point of fact, I'm a New God from Apokolips. New Genesis is the place with the Bugs."

"I will bear that in mind. Please remain where you are so that our next wave can locate you."

Mother Box, any chance we can track his location?

Ping.

"While you're getting them ready, I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me?"

"I have no idea what a Tortoise is either. I do not perform dissections myself. Though I may condescend to spectate when a specialist goes to work on you."

"Alright, not Tortoises. How would you characterise your relationship with the local alien species?" Boast of your conquests.

"Useful brutes and test subjects, often both together. Is that why you're doing this? Altruism?"

"Sort of. I suppose that I have different ideas about the best way to operate a stellar nation."

"We created these species. We created their gods and their goddess. Their lives and civilisations are our property-."

"I doubt that's how the Citadel sees it."

"Even the new breed Citadelians are exactly what it is convenient to us that they are. And when our fleets reach.. Apokolips, I'll be certain to mention your name when I see to the slaughter of your people's armed forces and the subjugation of the survivors."

"Hah!"

"Laugh all you want. That plasma creature is already being brought down-"

Quick check. Ah, some sort of exotic matter projector. It's causing momentary flares of energy to be emitted from Brimstone's body but doesn't appear to be affecting the techno-seed at all.

"-and the tunnels are being sealed and more powerful weapon systems are being activated. And is that a power ring on your finger?"

"Yes. I wasn't sure whether using it in Vega would summon the Beast to wherever I was or not, so I thought I'd start in a place no one would miss."

"We'll be sure to be careful when we take it from your corpse. Though I will offer you a deal, alien."

"Oh?"

"It might be instructive to have your body to study. I will give you time to kill yourself. If you do that I will guarantee that your offspring will be kept alive indefinitely."

The clamp disappears and the drone drops for a moment before a new one appears to replace it.

"My offspring?"

"The small alien in the rear of your vehicle. The resemblance is obvious."

I hold the phone slightly away from my ear as I look.. back at the expressionless G-Gnome. Huh. Yes, apparently all grey people look alike.

"Does 'keeping him alive indefinitely' indicate that you'll be holding him prisoner, or that he'll be put back together every time you dismantle him?"

"Probably the latter, but it's all that you're getting."

I face front again, pressing the phone back to my ear and patting the G-Gnome lightly on the head with my left hand. "Hard luck, little guy."

"A cold and rational approach. I approve. When we take your brain apart we'll try to work out what allows you to think like that."

"I thought that you Psions had already engineered yourselves to think like me."

"There is always room for improvement. The educational phase of our lives may be essential but it isn't particularly productive."

Ping.

Yes, I spotted the implication, thank you. "You spend a great deal of time on ideological indoctrination?"

"Enough. Every single Psion would gladly cut you to pieces, and every single Psion has the intelligence required to solve the problem you and that plasma thing represent. Enjoy your last few minutes of life, alien."

He hung up. Alright, I'm not going to find anyone who fits the 'not totally evil' category in these tunnels. Mother Box, hush tube to that building we think holds their neonate culture laboratories. Let's take a look at what they look like before the indoctrination takes hold.

Ping.

 

[Mr Zoat]

13th August
09:43 GMT -6

"A few years ago now I read a book. I don't remember what it was called, something in the Dune series. Wasn't particularly good, wasn't particularly bad, but what struck me as odd was the author's choice of focus. Previous instalments in the series had been focused on intrigues and battles for control of the planet Arrakis. In the novel I read, the planet was destroyed in a single line as part of an empire wide attack. How? Why? There were any number of possible methods and reasons which.. I would have assumed warranted a paragraph at least, something about how the forces stationed there to defend it were… Betrayed? Outnumbered? Overwhelmed by technological superiority? If the story is about a war, the reader needs enough of a description to get a sense of the war, surely?"

Neither the facility's chief educator nor the three subordinate educators appear to have any comment to make.

"So that you're aware-" A construct image appears in front of me. "-Brimstone is currently in the outskirts of the city he attacked, having bypassed the external shields-" By shoulder charging them. "-fried all of the local combat drones and incinerated the first relief force. Since there hasn't been a second relief force yet, I'm assuming that your top physicists and technologists are examining the telemetry from the previous attempts in order to try and come up with something clever."

"Which means that they're not paying attention to what I'm doing."

I fold my arms behind my back, Darkseid style, and walk over to a nearby observation window. Below, young Psions are lying in baby loungers while educational programs play on the interior of masks covering their eyes and ears. The Citadel goes in for cybernetic data uploads but it seems that Psions eschew that for something a little more low tech. Curious.

"I couldn't help but notice that you appear to have expanded your facility lately. Quite aside from the building work, your records indicate that the most recent batches are considerably larger than past batches." I half turn to face them. "Why is that?"

The senior educator glowers at me. "You're going to die, alien."

"Almost certainly." I nod. "But not today, and not by your hand. Why are you expanding?"

"I will not betray my people by giving an alien invader information."

"Why ever not? Either, I believe myself to be a moral and heroic individual and hence will not attack a non-military target, or I'm a monster and will slaughter your next generation in order to undermine your civilisation regardless of what you tell me. As such, your answer will make no difference to my actions and the most loyal thing you can do is keep me talking. Give people a chance to work out that something is off."

"I'll tell you."

I raise my eyebrows as one of the subordinate educators pipes up. Wasn't expecting that, though I suppose it's true that Psions don't have the same rigid hierarchy that some mad science species have. His superior turns his glower on him.

"You will not."

"Or what? The chance of us surviving is minimal anyway, and he's right about there not being much chance of what we say making any difference to the thing we're actually responsible for. We're resources too. Our creation, education and experience has a value and shouldn't just be discarded."

I nod. "Rational self-interest. Well done that man. So?"

"We're increasing production. Most of the children here will be sent out to create pioneer colonies in order to reduce our dependence on-"

Ping.

"-alien traders for information and test subje-."

"Lying."

"What do you mean, lying? How do you know?"

"I don't, but Mother Box is pretty good at picking up lies." I turn fully back to face them, walk a few steps towards them and crouch down. "Tell me the truth, or my telepathic little friend gets to shred your mind for the information."

He matches my stare for several moments before looking away with a snort. "Everyone will find out in a few days anyway. We finally cracked the technique our ancestors used for making X'Hal and her children. The Citadel has an army of intelligent Citadelians and a fleet prepared for a war outside of the Vega Systems. We're upping our own growth so that we can continue to serve as the technological arm of the Citadel Empire as they expand."

"I had assumed that tales of the Citadelians' simple mindedness were exaggerated."

The senior educator shakes his head. "Trust me, they're not. We were assigned to do feasibility studies on improving their indoctrination uploads. It was painful, trying to get them to learn anything. If a batch of Psions ended up like that we'd euthanize them and execute everyone else involved."

"So, the Citadel Empire expands." I create a construct image of the local stellar region. "Taking the territory of mostly single-world civilisations already in hock to one pirate group or another, then eventually running into the Crown Imperium. I thought that the pirate groups were semi-unified."

"They were." Apparently the chief educator doesn't consider it treacherous to give me information on other people. "Then the Spider Guild tried to muscle in. The Guild lost, but the weak-willed freebooters didn't want to try and take their Nest World by storm."

"No, that could be quite costly for people only interested in fighting for money."

"So they told the Queen that they'd negotiate a settlement, lured her to Rashashoon and shot her dead. The Spiders retaliated and killed the pirate leaders and now the whole area's descended into anarchy. Most of those mongrels will probably jump at the chance to work for the Citadel Empire."

The junior educator snorts. "Which is why any of that is our problem."

One of the other juniors shrugs. "Not that the Citadel needs other people for raw muscle any more."

I smile. "Or other people to do their research and development any more. Not if they're intelligent."

The senior educator rolls his eyes. "They may not be stupid but they're still Citadelians. They don't have the attitude for proper science, or even precision engineering. They'll-"

I raise my right hand and generate a construct shield.

"-need us-"

The particle beam hits my shield, flares of white, blue and pink burning and biting at the construct barrier as the drone projecting it drops stealth in order to redirect power to its weapon. I reinforce the shield and nod to the Sphere. She aims and fires repeatedly until the offending drone ceases fire and falls smouldering to the floor.

"-for…"

I dismiss the shield construct. "Reasonable effort with the weapon but I'm marking you down for the stealth." The one junior who hasn't spoken yet mutters something that might be an obscenity. "Did you think I was wearing these goggles to shade my eyes from the sun? Did you think these power rings were fakes?" They nervously watch my face. "No more talking around the subject. The indoctrination techniques you use on your young; how much direct uploads do you use?"

The lead educator makes an expression of distaste. "None. There's no way to do that sort of thing without compelling their mind states to adopt rigid structures which are completely unsuitable for our purposes. Psions need to be able to reflect on the information they're given in order to integrate it properly."

"And your cultural indoctrination?"

"It happens gradually and rationally. We teach them to value things that Psions have and other species don't. We're better than almost everyone, and we'll eventually overhaul everyone else as well."

That's… Curious.

"Who would you say is… Better?"

All four of them take on an expression of profound distaste. After a few moments pass, the senior educator raises his head slightly. "Your people clearly have advanced technology, and your physical abilities are quite remarkable. But there's only one of you, so either you're few in number or you're enhanced much further than the rest. You may be strong but your civilisation is probably weaker than ours."

Yah-huh.

"Then there are the Dominators, but their social structures are too rigid. We'll surpass them eventually."

"How about… The Guardians of the Universe?"

He shakes his head. "We have nothing but admiration for their science and technology. But they waste their time trying to nursemaid weak civilisations, and that means that their armsmen are too spread out to enforce their will properly."

Hm.

Ping.

No, but it is an opening.

"Thank you, gentlemen. You've given me a lot to think about. I'm going to leave you alive. Continue your work with my blessing." I turn away, a hush tube opening in front of me. "And do try not to get incinerated while I'm gone. I may still have a use for you."

 

[Mr Zoat]

13th August
09:48 GMT -6

Ping.

That was a little quick.

I sit on the Spherecycle, looking through a drone's sensors out of a building that was once part of the facility owned by the Psions' latest stars of biotechnology research. Now, it's a charnel house. And given that the bodies appear to have been torn apart by a long blade of some kind I think it likely that Miss Amane was responsible. Hm, yes. Ghia'ta isn't above killing people, but she stabs or shoots rather than bisecting. Or trisecting or quadsecting or… However many.

Outside, Psion drones, static defences and several of what the Psions call Variable Response Units fire, glow or otherwise radiate exotic energy. VRUs are the first step towards the New God multi-cube, an attempt to fit as much mad science as possible into something you can deploy in the field. Drones on steroids, not all that much more firepower but a whole lot more flexibility. At the moment they're throwing out a weak graviton distortion field. Not powerful, not significantly harmful, but frustratingly good at throwing off hush tubes. Amusing thing is, I think whoever is running them is just 'throwing science at the wall and seeing what sticks'. The modulation is all over the place. A boom tube is still doable, but I'd have to build a proper terminus here in order to be certain we would avoid… Misses.

Mother Box? Any predictable pattern?

Ping.

Fair enough. Keep working.

I take another look around the plaza. There's a bit too much firepower down there for me to want to just charge in and start swinging. I learned that lesson from the Thanagarians, thank you very much. Hitting and running is… Iffy. I suspect that the Psions have ways to prevent Lantern FTL, and if they haven't deployed one yet they will if I hang about. I need to get in touch with my team.

Fortunately, I have a form of communication which the Psions aren't attempting to block or monitor. I reach down, picking up the G-Gnome from the Spherecycle's back seat and then putting him on my shoulder. **Girls? How goes the work?**

**[Brief glimpse of a hurt leg.]** Miss Amane is too earnest for telepathy, really. She doesn't want me to… To think that she can't help me. **Not as easy as when we first arrived, Master. We have freed as many of the prisoners as we can, but some of the vaults are very secure. And… The hush tubes-.**

**Aren't working, I know. How many drones do you have left?**

**I… I don't know, Master. [Shame.] Ghia'ta was-.**

**Fine. You can't do everything. Ghia'ta?**

**[A kaleidoscope of a thousand instances of kindness and fellowship. Training, sparring, talking and debating. The warm oversight of their mothers and the warm familiarity of her friends.]**

I wince. Mental communication with a half-Zamaron completely devoted to love is… Not comfortable. Almost unavoidably I find myself thinking of Jade-

My environmental shield fades to almost nothing.

-every time. When we practised I.. tried to prevent Ghia'ta noticing exactly how uncomfortable an experience it is for me. I either succeeded or she was polite enough not to mention it.

**I set them to automatic. I am focusing my energies on breaching the vault where the remaining prisoners are. Your assistance would be appreciated.**

**Any sign of the princesses?**

**No, Master. Some of the other prisoners said that they were taken for final stage testing, and I assume that means they are in the place behind the vault. I.. tried to walk [shame] through it, but-.**

**Many advanced civilisations have ways of blocking that sort of thing. Do not concern yourself.**

**Yes Master.** Reassured by me, her mental voice picks up immediately. **Is it safe to use the purple ray drones on the Tamaranians? Many of them are not in good health.**

**Probably. Ask for a volunteer. And if you have time, use one yourself; don't think I didn't feel your pain.**

**Yes Master.**

Okay. We need a tube to evacuate everyone, and once the Psions running this place… What did he say their names were? Fon and Tront, yes. Once they realise our exact capacities I imagine that they'll abandon precision and technique and just use overwhelming power to level the place. Probably holding off until we breach the vault, that's rather the point of no returns on their investment. How can I best aid our side? Given that the vaults are keeping Ghia'ta and Miss Amane out I imagine that they'll hold against an overwhelming external attack at least for a little while. Brimstone is.. over the horizon so I can't just ask him for fire support-.

Ping.

Hm. Unsurprisingly, Psions are now using weak graviton distortion fields worldwide. Bothersome. That'll make it rather harder for me to approach them…

Ping.

Yees. But without the power of the Mountain, you're rather -and I mean this in the politest way possible- short ranged.

Ping.

I was rather trying to avoid-.

Ping. Ping.

I smile.

Well. Listen to you.

Ping.

Alright, that's not a bad plan. Haven't practised much using my yellow power ring in this way-.

Corpsman. You've remembered that I exist, I see.

Tell me, Sinestro; are you able to detect the fears of those around you?

Certainly, Corpsman. Are you ready to begin your study of xenopsychology now, or would you like me to provide you with the reading list first and allow you to prepare at your leisure?

I meant, by using the yellow light.

Only when they are at the very forefront of the mind of someone within a short distance of me.

Hmm. Hopefully, the princesses are in that vault. I remember them getting powers via Psion experimentation in the comics, but… It is of course possible that I got here too late and they've been killed. Psions don't generally feel any particular need to be physically present during dangerous experiments… X'Hal was biologically Tamaranian, and from Okaaran myths and those records that survived I've got a rough idea of when she underwent apotheosis -or at least the next best thing- and it completely flattened Psion civilisation.

What would a Psion mucking around with Tamaranian physiology fear more than anything else? Another wipe out, presumably. No, no, he'd have a rough idea what happened last time too, and would have made a point of having a lot of contingencies in place. Psions are rational. Would they be worried about their place in the universe as the Citadel expands and gets its collective IQ into double figures? No. Augmented Citadelian officers are intelligent but they still don't do their own research and development. The Citadel doesn't hire Branx for that sort of thing and I doubt that the citizens of the Crown Imperium will be queuing up to take their place if their state falls to the Citadel.

Oh. Of course.

Why do the Psions even bother with the Citadel? Why do they create legions of drones? What would a Psion who had lived around Citadelians for years have become afraid of that his homebody fellows would not, having never had their comfortable confidence undermined by wider contact with other civilisations?

They'd be afraid of getting punched in the face.

 

[Mr Zoat]

13th August
09:53 GMT -6

No matter how sophisticated we become, the psychology foisted upon us by our evolutionary history stays with us, lurking in the primitive parts of our brain. The surge of panic-soaked adrenaline that allowed Thog the Caveman to wrestle a boar to death is painfully maladaptive where modern combat is concerned, where a clear thought process and patience are more likely to be rewarded.

So, is the facility likely to have a reserve force? Probably not. I doubt that wherever their command centre is it's undefended, but I would be surprised to encounter a force capable of prolonged combat. After all, most of the facility has already been overrun and most of the slaves are… If not free, then certainly no longer confined. How far away would the overseers be? I don't think that the facility is a new build; the implication was that the owner's return to the Wombworld was a recent event but the complex has been here a while. Repurposed, then. A Psion scientist who'd newly moved into his laboratory wouldn't go on long trips away from it, not while there was science to do. They also wouldn't leave in response to a small incursion that was apparently contained, especially if the people carrying it out looked interesting.

So, still around. Focused on the action, but still worried about getting hit themselves. I bring up a map of as much of the local area as I have on file, discounting those locations which Miss Amane has already rampaged through. Psions dig, but they wouldn't have had all that much time to move without being seen… Probable locations there and there, possible places for other locations I don't know about there, there and there.

Sinestro. Show me where they're hiding.

The room discolours as my eyes shine yellow.

I'll do my best, Corpsman.

Nothing from the drones, of course. Those are either nothing like sophisticated enough for emotional resonance or in the case of the VRUs directly controlled by either the two owners of the place or their immediate subordinates. I ignore the glimmers from the slaves and sweep my gaze in the direction of the first potential hiding spot. Nothing there-. No, something. Fear of failing to achieve anything of note. Someone took a stray shot and believes themselves to be dying. Fine. Irrelevant.

Second location. Empty. Third loc-. Ahhhgh.

I stagger for a moment, blinking as I try to-. I see my home ravaged by a deranged goddess, the ancient Wombworld of the Psion's imagining flickering and being replaced with first Earth 16 and then with Earth Prime, the faces of the Psion scientists and engineers being replaced with those of my friends and family. Burning, burning all burning and screaming and running and there's nowhere to run-!

Ping.

And then I see the same thing happening to Apokolips, with Lynne's psychic might utterly humbling Darkseid and all of his court.

I stand upright, patting Mother Box with my right hand.

I knew there was a reason why I kept you around.

Ping.

It seems I was wrong about them being most afraid of being punched. Though that does raise a rather uncomfortable question. Sinestro, did you ever find out where Parallax ended up?

No, Corpsman. I did not. Until you persuaded me otherwise I had assumed that even Ion was a myth conjured up by the more theologically inclined Green Lanterns so that they could associate the green light with a divine being. Why do you ask?

Because seeing desires never had that result. I never found it overwhelming like that. I had rather been hoping that Parallax was safely contained either on Oa or Qward. But if he felt that…

Corpsman, I fear that you're suffering from delusions of grandeur. If my alter ego has been untroubled despite using a yellow ring for… Eight years now? Then I doubt that you have too great a cause for worry.

True, I suppose.

I climb back aboard the Spherecycle as I unsheathe my daiklave and generate a fusion cannon construct. I can't duel with the daiklave when wielding it one-handed but I very much doubt that will matter.

Mother Box, boom tube to that location.

Ping.

No argument this time, I'm pleased to note.

"Sphere, go."

I so often use hush tubes these days that the raw fury of the boom tube takes me a little by surprise. The sound would be deafening to a normal Human in narrow confines like these, and the brilliant flash as it opens near-blinding. And more than that, more than whatever trick the design plays with gravitons, it… Feels weightier in a way the unassuming hush tubes don't.

The Spherecycle surges through the tube aperture and a second later I'm in a storeroom of some kind that has been haphazardly converted into a command and control centre. Psions in light armour turn from their holographic interfaces and optical harnesses to stare at the glowing hole in the air. Fingers moving rapidly over drone control systems in an all-too-late attempt to recall some forces to defend them.

I raise my fusion cannon. Pulse fire only. Mother Box should be-.

Ping.

Will be perfectly capable of seizing control of these computers once their controllers are dead, but the computers need to be at least somewhat intact for that to occur. Three Psions have their chests burned to ash and cinders while a fourth has his head and left arm part company from his body with the assistance of my daiklave.

A tiny personal defence drone shoots me in the left shoulder, the particle beam being effortlessly absorbed by my environmental shield and armour. The Spherecycle pirouettes, annihilating two further drones with her blasters while I shoot a fleeing Psion in the back of his head. Two of the remaining Psions drop to their knees, tossing aside anything that could be a weapon or control device and then waving their hands to draw attention to the fact. I run the last active Psion through his chest -active really only in the sense that he was slower to remove his interface goggles and so wasn't as aware of his surroundings as his fellows- and dismount the Spherecycle, kicking his corpse from my blade and slamming it point first into the floor.

Mother Box, get to work.

Ping.

"And who might you two be?"

"Fon." / "Tront."

"Ah. You own this facility, do you not?"

They look at one another, then turn back to me.

"Yes." / "Yes."

"Good show." I pick up the G-Gnome from the back of the Spherecycle and deposit him on my shoulder as glowing yellow chains wrap themselves around the Psions and hoik them off the floor.

Mother Box, do you have control of the VRUs yet?

Ping.

Good. Use their graviton systems to block the wider area effect version from the planetary defence systems, then open a hush tube back home.

Ping.

They're the reason why the Citadelians are now clever enough to wipe their own arses without a map. They enabled the war that will be starting in a little while and they've been experimenting on enslaved sentient beings.

Ping.

No, not this time.

**G-Gnome.**

**[A-lert-ness]**

**Take everything of value from their minds, then shred whatever's left.**

 

[Mr Zoat]

13th August
09:57 GMT -6

Drones irrevocably sent to seek and destroy Psion manufacturing facilities, check. VRUs keeping gravity as it should be,-

Ping.

-check. Lock the instruction in place, would you? We'll be leaving shortly and I don't have any other use for them.

Ping.

Good show. Hush tube to the biotech labs.

Ping.

And last but not least. A plasma converter appears in my left hand. I give it a quick check and then toss it aside. Mother Box has done her best to erase every trace of data she could access through these systems, but I find that physical destruction pleasantly underlines the matter. That little device will suck in and fuse matter until its containment field is overloaded, at which point the whole room will be incinerated. Should be enough to eat through the first set of armoured walls as well.

I take a grip on the Spherecycle's handlebars and she accelerates through the hush tube.

Slave pens torn apart, dead Psions and destroyed equipment all decorated with a smattering of violet crystals. A small cluster of my own drones are on overwatch but I don't see-

"What is that?"

-the Tamaranians we're here to rescue, who appear to have ducked into cover the moment I appeared.

"I'm the man organising your liberation." Mother Box, boom tube.

Ping.

And Sinestro, scan them for me, would you.

I've seen worse, Corpsman.

Considering what they've been through… Of course, these are the pre-operation slaves.

The boom tube explodes open behind me and Miss Amane precipitates out of the air in front of me even as my mouth starts to open to explain it, beaming at me with the delight of a religious fanatic before her god.

"Master!"

"Iname. The tubes are working again and I've dealt with the Psions who once ran this facility."

She nods. "As expected from you, Master."

That's one of those Japanese things, isn't it? Never mind. I point to the tube with my right arm. "I've got meals, medicine, baths and beds set up for you through there." In the room in which I usually have G-Dwarves answering my fan mail, but draw a veil over that for now. "Get going, because we're not going to be able to hold this position once the Psions pay it serious attention."

They hesitate. Huge and splashed with Psion blood as I am I doubt that I'm a reassuring figure. Miss Amane noticed it too, an almost comical frown appearing on her face as she moves her fists to her hips. "Master brought us here to free you from the Psions! Why are you refusing to let us finish rescuing you? Do you want to stay here?"

There's a brief nonverbal conversation between them, then they emerge from cover and walk towards the boom tube. Though their flesh is mostly intact -I imagine that's the result of the purple healing ray drones- there are numerous cybernetic plugs on severed limbs and empty eye sockets. The cybernetics that were presumably once attached are absent; missing legs are replaced by simple rod-and-spring prosthetics and arms and eyes are not there at all. One man has both eyes missing and is guided by one of his fellows, old and badly healed scars visible on both of them. I don't know much about how Tamaranians age, but I'd guess… They're probably old enough to have fought with Tamaran's navy in its failed attempt to preserve their world's independence. Speaking as the Apokoliptian God of Conquest, I have to say that I consider their efforts to have been bordering on stupidity. With a token tribute to the Citadel they could have maintained their fleets and eventually simply out-produced the Citadel. As it was, they chose pride.

Predictably, that didn't end well.

"Excuse me?"

I look down. This one is younger. With burns rather than shrapnel scars and is shy one arm rather than her eyes. "Yes?"

"The princesses and.. some of the others are in the vault. Can you-?"

"Look a bit of a prat if I did all this and then left without them, wouldn't I?" Let's draw a veil over the fact that I'm mostly here for them, secondly to give the Psions a bloody nose and the other prisoners are third on my priority list at best. I climb off the Spherecycle. "Sphere, reconfigure yourself into something that can conveniently carry casualties. Iname, get the Tamaranians settled in."

Miss Amane dashes through and the Sphere beeps, lands and curls up into a ball as I use my aero-discs to rise into the air. Now, to the vault.

The slave pit was arranged in a cluster of four hemispheres with individual cells built into the sides. From the wreckage and Psion corpses I'm going to assume that the column in the centre was a control post of some kind before my people smashed it. A heavy duty.. 'lid' has been blasted apart and the plasma shield generators still have the violet crystals which destroyed them embedded in them. I fly over a few Psions with the distinct bruise pattern which indicates they died from a purple death ray shot and head in the direction of the glowing violet light.

"For Zamaron!"

Ghia'ta shoves her crystal spear at the vault door point first, a wave of violet energy passing through the material to no apparent effect. Wisps of violet light dance around her as she continues to exert herself.

"Any joy?"

"Not yet."

Odd. She's had time. Psion technology shouldn't be-.

That isn't Psion technology, Corpsman. I told you that you should have consulted with the Weaponers. It appears that the Psions did not share your reservations.

Wonderful. And the walls, floor and ceiling are all made of the same material. Mother Box?

Ping.

Can't boom tube or hush tube, can't hack it, can't easily break it… Knowing the Qwardians qwa-matter would probably do the job… The Weaponers have been fighting Lanterns for so long that I'd be astonished if emotional spectrum-based technology did anything very much…

A hush tube appears next to me and a blaster drone floats through. I lay my hand on its chassis as its gun deploys.

Cast down their fortresses.

A bream of brilliant orange lances out… And achieves precisely nothing.

"Okay, I guess we're doing this the stupid way." I draw my daiklave-.

Ghia'ta frowns. "Wouldn't your god-killer sword be a better choice?"

"Qwardians don't use magic and this vault isn't alive." Almost certainly. "'Killing' it wouldn't make it crumble and cutting through the mass would probably take longer than we have. Stand back."

She floats back, spear held in a guard position.

NONE SHALL DEFY ME!

I take the daiklave in a two-handed grip and swing it into the vault door, the Nth Metal edge biting a good fifty centimetres into the material of its construction before being arrested. I pause for a moment before pulling back, letting the ring show me the state of the surrounding streets. The drones I sent on the rampage have attracted a response but that response isn't coming this way yet.

I draw the blade back for another swing.

 

[Mr Zoat]

13th August
11:11 GMT -6

Infuriating.

Clunk!

Turtling.

Clank!

Psions!

Clang!
I am unstoppable!
Fina-fucking-lly! I drop my daiklave to the side, raise my right leg and kick the section of the door I've been working on, sending it sailing into the room beyond! Ignoring the Sphere's warbles I duck my head and stalk forward into the chamber beyond, raising a construct tower shield to block any potential attack.

Mother Box, seize control of the local-.

Three turrets fade into view, one on the wall to my right, one to the left and one on the ceiling. I move to fortify my environmental shield as the turrets activate. A wide.. turquoise.. wavy aura thing links them to one another for a second and then they fire, surrounding me in that same aura. Okay, doesn't seem to be doing any-?

I'm lifted off my feet almost gently, my movements becoming more and more difficult. And there's a weight on my skin. Not painful yet, but certainly… Strange. I move my right hand up to that I can watch my fingers as I make a fist. It's not so much hard as it is awkward.

Alright, bored now. My victory is inevitable!

My armour surges with orange light as I throw my arms wide, dropping to the ground as I overload whatever that was. The turrets crackle and burn out as I drop to the ground. Mother Box, what was that?

…

Huh?

I look down at my left hip where she's attached to my faulds. Ooh no. Her outer case is cracked and slightly crumpled and her lights are dim. Shit. Ah, Sinestro?

Completely beyond me, Corpsman. I suggest focusing more on current events.

Right. Damn.

"Are you hurt?"

I half turn, frowning as I take in Ghia'ta's concerned expression. "No, but Mother Box is. I don't suppose you know anything about-?"

"That.. was a graviton field. Qwardians use those to bypass environmental shields. It was most likely intended to crush you."

"I am pretty tough, even without the rings." I turn back to the vault and start onwards. Nothing I can do for Mother Box for now.

The first room on the left appears to be a morgue, storage for the slaves they've 'used up' but not gotten around to dissecting. Some have injection plugs in their arms and on their chests. Others look like they've been burned all over, the skin blistered and... Burned from inside?

I drop another plasma converter and then turn away. I know what the princesses look like and they're not here.

The room opposite is the dissection laboratory. Oddly, it seems to have been in recent use but there's no body. Perhaps they'd just finished work on someone? M-. Sinestro, can you access their records?

If power rings could subvert Qwardian systems, Corpsman, our conflict with them would have been far shorter.

Wasn't ring-you made by a Qwardian?

Yes, but he didn't give me unlimited access to all of his systems. He wasn't an idiot.

A reasonable point, but I would have thought that accessing them wouldn'toof!

The fist catches me in the left of my chin, knocking me sideways and forcing me to do a sort of stagger-hop in order to remain upright. What the-? I swing my left arm in a wide arc, trying to hit whoever that was-. No, no one towagh! My face slams into the wall hard enough for me to actually feel a small amount of pain. Something hit me in the back of the head and knocked me forwards. I'm more irritated than hurt. Turn around. Predictably, no one. Okay, the goggles would pick up most forms of invisibility, phasing and shapeshifting. Sinestro, teleportation jam.

As you wish Corpsman, though I suspect that it will not be that easy.

And armour.

"Ghia'ta, be careful. There's someone-." She hurtles past the doorway out of control, cracks clearly visible in her armour.

I don't bother running or changing my posture, I just have the ring drag me into the corridor. For a fraction of a second I see the figure of a man standing there, then there's a faint waft of blue as he vanishes. Sinestro, I thought we were blocking teleportation.

I am jamming most commonly used forms of target acquisition and reassembly, Corpsman. That is not the same as blocking everything.

Can you block some more stuff?

Naturally, Corpsman. But without knowing exactly what we're facing there is very little point. The probability of me selecting at random the form of teleportation which your opponent is using is minimal, and it will drain me at a far faster rate than that to which you are accustomed.

I put my back to the wall, trying to watch both directions. "Ghia'ta? Are you hurt?"

"Only a little." She rises, armour glowing as it mends itself. "Was that a Psion weapon?"

Sinestro, show me what I saw.

A ghostly construct image appears to my right. Standard pattern humanoid, tall… There's a decent amount of muscle there, along with the signs of malnutrition. Details not good enough for scars to appear. No hair on his head… If he's here then he's probably Tamaranian. I suppose it would have been foolish to assume that the princesses were the only ones they experimented o-.

The figure appears directly in front of me, right fist swinging for my face. His skin is a dull red-brown, his eyes glow a dull green and I use my ring to shove myself into him! His fist misses my head by the narrowest margin as I knock him back and then a beam of violet light strikes him in the side of his chest. He doesn't wince as he fades into blue mist.

"Check the other rooms now!"

She's on my heels as I fly down the corridor, then breaks left as I break right. Some sort of bier with multiple radiation emitters pointing at it, a shielded area for the ones performing the experiment-.

I see a tiny puff of blue in the corner of my eye and I'm already yanking myself out of the way as he swings his right fist at me again. I fire two yellow beams from my eyes and he vanishes once more as they hit him.

"He was here!"

No prisoners or information. Next room. I fly back into the corridor-

"Stop!"

-as a wall of violet crystal erupts from the room Ghia'ta was checking. The man appears to have his left arm and leg trapped on the room-side part-. Excellent. I go past that, down the corridor and into the next room on the left. A Tamaranian man-. Yes, it's him. He's suspended in a tank with some sort of neural interface attached to his head. Some sort of psychic projection device? Don't know, don't care.

"Why are you attacking us?"

Killing him would be quickest and safest-



-but…

Sinestro, do you understand this technology?

Not perfectly, Corpsman, but there are only so many ways to control a humanoid brain..

Disconnect him.

A beam of yellow light punches through the transparent force field covering the front of the tank as a new gun forms on my left forearm. I point it at the man's chest. No sense in taking foolish risks.

Sinestro?

Disconnected, Corpsman. But he's had quite a bit of work done. I don't know whether or not his mind is whole..

Have to do. "Ghia'ta, has he vanished?!"

"Yes."

I nod. "Good. Sphere!" I hear her revving, then a moment later she rolls in through the doorway. "Give him full medical aid, but do not take him to the Mountain until we know that he's compos mentis."

She beeps, then unrolls into some sort of vaguely insectoid clamp thing. She floats up and attaches herself to the tank the man is imprisoned in, her lights flickering in time with those of the device. Fine.

I step out into the corridor as Ghia'ta does the same, crystals decaying and flaking in her wake. Only one room left. I lead the way inside, grinning as I see the two animation suspension tanks containing the two women I came here to rescue. Excellent.

 

[Mr Zoat]

13th August
12:37 GMT -6

"Excuse me! Hello!?"

The Okaaran encampment on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest of Weeds would appear surprisingly deserted to anyone who lacked a power ring. As it is I can clearly see the terrified forms of the garrison as they huddle in the fortified cellars each of the buildings possesses. I'm not sure whether doing that would actually put off a wandering Construct Lantern -much less Larfleeze himself- but I suppose that getting out of sight would give the hider a degree of psychological protection.

"If someone doesn't answer me really soon I'm going to drag someone out!"

My aura switches from orange to yellow for a moment, but swiftly turns back. I suppose… With the Central Power Battery so close, I shouldn't be surprised. Sinestro has been uncharacteristically quiet on this leg of the journey as well. Ah, a camera! I turn to face it and raise my right hand in greeting. Honestly, I thought that Okaaran soldiers had a bit more grit than-.

A trapdoor over to my left is thrown open and an Okaaran male hesitantly clambers out. And given how big Okaarans are it's an almost comical sight.

"Finally, some service!"

His hands cradle his particle beam while his stance clearly indicates that he believes that it will avail him exactly naught. He doesn't even bother pointing it at me as he finally puts his fear aside to face me.

"B-beast. What do you want?"

I frown. "Beast? Oh, yes, that's what you people called him, wasn't it? Here." I toss the slightly soggy sack to him. He fumbles the catch, nearly dropping his gun as well as he momentarily can't decide between grabbing the bag and letting it fall. He pauses, then clamps the gun to his armour before crouching down to pick up the sack. "I think you'll find everything in order."

He opens the sack and immediately relaxes. "Heh. You looking to turn in a bounty?"

"Among other things, yes."

"We don't handle that here." He stands, pulling Larfleeze's severed head out of the sack as he does so. "You'll need to head west about forty miles, there's a bureau in Kasagn that can arrange payment. Who was he, anyway?"

"The Beast."

He looks at me directly, his eyes narrowing. "Fuck you. Yeah, it's all very funny, walking up here with glowing orange armour and scaring the spit out of us, but the joke's had its day."

"Oh, I'm not joking." I raise my left fist so that he can see the sigil on the orange ring around my ring finger. "See?"

He manages not to drop the head, but that's mostly because his hands have locked up, along with the rest of his body.

"The head belongs to a man named Larfleeze who made his home on this planet long before your species existed. He was essentially a sort of insane, super-powerful Lantern. But he was also kind of stupid and didn't have anything blocking teleportation into his cave."

I was a little worried when his eyes opened as I stepped through, but his reflexes weren't anything special and the Sword of the Fallen turned off his orange light abilities as soon as it pierced his skin. At least, I assume that it did given that he didn't use them. I seem to remember that in the comics what he really wanted was to be rid of his orange ring permanently, so, maybe that had something to do with it. Don't know, and.. it probably doesn't matter now.

"I… That's, ah…"

"But I'm going to have to ask you not to check it yourself for a few days. I don't think that I got all of his slaves-" Though I did get most of them. They became quite indolent after Larfleeze himself fell. Perhaps it would have been worth keeping a few for their knowledge, but… I don't think that the potential gains outweigh the sheer horror of keeping someone in that state. "-and there are one or two other items that should be made safe by someone who knows what they're doing."

Like the Orange Central Power Battery. I stared at it in a trance for several minutes until Ghia'ta created a pink crystal around my head. Definitely something that needs careful handling by someone who knows what they're doing with power ring technology. In case the Okaarans -or anyone else- don't heed my verbal warning I left the drones which survived my attack on Wombworld with instructions to shoot dead anyone who isn't on their 'friends' list.

"Yes, of… Course." He hesitates again, then covers the head back up. "I… Once we've… Confirmed that what you say is true, we can authorise payment. I.. have.. no idea how much the bounty on the Beast is. Think we.. kind of assumed that no one would ever claim it."

"That's fine. I'm not in a rush. But I remember a clause about becoming the owner of his property?"

"Oh, yeah, you now have legal title to the whole lot. Whatever's there, it's now yours. Assuming you can hold onto it."

"I am somewhat familiar with the politics of the Vega Systems. Do you need anything else from me?"

"Ah…" He looks away from me in the general direction of one of the shelters. Probably the one where his commanding officer is hiding. "Who.. are you?"

"My name is Grayven."

"And… Your species? Where are you from?"

"Various places." I look around. Still no one else sticking their head out. "Though I intend to spend some time on Tamaran while I'm in Vega." I turn away, walking towards the forest edge. "I'll let you know when you can do your inspection."

Sinestro, connect to the Mountain and order a hush tube.

… Yes, Corpsman.

A hole in space opens in front of me and I step through into the space station the Gordanians were using to enforce their control of Tamaran. I can see three bodies, the armour covering their torsos burned through by the sisters' 'star bolts'. No stun effects here, thank you very much. If Koriand'r or Komand'r throw plasma at you then you get burned.

And speaking of the devil. Koriand'r flies into view, her newly granted solar-powered abilities making her hair look like it's on fire. Green plasma churns around her hands without burning them, a fascinating phenomenon which I will ask to study at some later time when it isn't quite as massively insensitive as it is now. When she seems me she halts in the air and adopts a more upright position. "Is your work done?"

I nod. "Larfleeze is dead, his slaves are at rest. I've got my drones looking after his cave. You?"

"My sister and I have placed the remaining Gordanian slavers in the cages from which we rescued their prisoners."

Quick bit of mental maths… "Not that many surrendered, then."

"If they had wanted us to make efforts on their behalf then they should have treated us less monstrously."

"Oh, I'm not criticising. I said 'do what you like' and I meant it. Is Komand'r around?"

"She is with our prisoners."

I nod. Sinestro, another tube. if you please.

Certainly, Corpsman. Is it too much to hope that you may be planning on offering either of these women yellow rings?

If you know where your alter-ego keeps his reserves I'll consider it.

In front of me the hush tube opens and I step through, Koriand'r floating in behind me.

I seem to remember that you intended to offer me to Miss Nguyen.

I knew her better. And I already have orange rings. But, if we happen across any yellow rings then I will give them due consideration.

Very well, Corpsman.

Komand'r stalks between the cells in the slave holding area, purple plasma crackling around her hands. I'm not sure why the two sisters generate different colours. Logically, the method used to give them both the ability would be the same, so shouldn't it be the same colour? Most of the Gordanians in the cells are either very young or very old. I always assumed that Koriand'r would be the nicer of the two, but I suppose that doesn't mean that she would be inclined to have mercy on the undeserving.

"Princess Komand'r, good to see you again. I have another offer for you and your sister that I'd very much like you to consider."

 

[Mr Zoat]

13th August
16:25 GMT -6

King Myand'r watches me from the settee on the other side of a low-set table. I lean forwards and pick one of the small… Nuts? Seeds? Out of the bowl resting on it. I hold in just in front of my face for a moment, taking it in. It's pale purple in colour and it feels quite tough. I slowly push it into my mouth, chewing contemplatively as I raise my eyebrows in King Myand'r's direction.

Out of the formal setting of our initial meeting he's dispensed with his ceremonial armour. I had wondered about that in the comics; supermodel girl Tamaranian goes around in a bikini. What do the men wear? Because I know how that sort of thing usually goes. It's like: if Apokoliptians are all bisexual then why is it that the only one we ever see being bisexual is the hot female Amazonesque one?

And now I know. Thongs. No double standard here at all. There are thigh boots and a cape and a strange sort of half-mitre hat and a truly colossal beard -seriously, you could lose a sheep in that thing- that is loosely bound into a plait beneath his chin and a veritable bush of red hair exploding outwards in all directions from the top of his head. He very nearly has the physique to pull off the look, rugged without having bodybuilder definition.

I keep chewing. It's got the texture of a hazelnut, but the flavour is… More… Apricot? The oil has a definite fruity tang to it. It's nice. Could be an export market there.

"What do you want with my people?"

Some of that Tamaranian directness, there. I reach forward to take another of these snack things. "What makes you think I want anything?"

"Bitter experience. Tamaran has a wealth of experience with alien warlords." No anger, no fear. Just… Resignation. And crunchy apricot. I reach forwards again and take two-. "Just take the bowl."

"Thank you." I pick up the bowl and deposit it in my lap. "Alright, what do the… The Gordanians get out of it now?"

"Five hundred units a year. Their years, ours are slightly shorter."

I nod. "Okay. And what do you think I'm going to ask?"

He regards my face for a moment. "The optimistic voice in my head says four hundred and ninety nine. The pessimistic voice says five hundred and one."

I pantomime curiosity. "Five hundred and one?"

"A Thalox cannot pull a mountain, no matter how many sticks you give it."

"Wise.. words indeed." I have no idea what a Thalox is. No Apokoliptian or Kryptonian has ever studied Vegan natural history. But having flown over Tamarus the meaning of the metaphor is clear enough. It's a crumbling third world dump. And this is their capital. As they are, they literally can't pay more. "But I'm not going to demand five hundred." He tenses slightly. "I'm going to demand two hundred-" He relaxes slightly, believing that I'm reducing his tribute by more than half. "-billion. Yes. Two hundred billion units." Whatever they are.

His eyes widen, bushy red eyebrows doing their best to hide themselves under his fringe. "Two hundred billion?"

"Two hundred billion."

We stare at each other for a moment.

"Tamaran does not have two hundred billion units, nor anything like two hundred billion. When I was a youth, I was taken to Citadel and shown their treasure vaults as an intimidation tactic and I do not think that they had two hundred billion units. I do not think that I can imagine two hundred billion units."

"I'm not asking you to imagine it." I swallow the oils and try to work out if the flesh has any significant flavour. Slightly.. salty..?

"I can't give you what I don't have."

I nod. Do Tamaranians nod? Koriand'r did, but she might just have been trying to mirror my body language. "So..? You're a king. Presumably your elevation didn't come as a complete surprise. Presumably you had some sort of education in economics. You need to acquire two hundred billion units. How do you intend to go about it?"

He blinks heavily, head pulling back slightly. "It.. would.. require a complete revitalisation of the Tamaranian industrial base."

I nod encouragingly. "Okay..?"

"Educational programs would have to come first. The Gordanians destroyed anything that looked like a school."

"Really?" Accursed space barbarians. Ex-space barbarians.

He nods unhappily. "We adapted. Small classes for primary education, held in people's homes. Apprenticeships for higher education. Our remaining libraries are more secure than our armouries. But there just aren't enough people with the knowledge we would need. And those who have it… A lot of it is just theoretical. Building anything that looked like an industrial base was an invitation-."

"To an orbital strike." I nod. "I'm seeing a pattern. And Komand'r told me about…" I turn my head to the right, looking out of the palace window and across the city to the area where the buildings just… Stop.

"We would have to rebuild our electronics industry, revitalise our transportation… And those are simply the economic matters. Holding the state together during the transition would be extraordinarily difficult with all of the new pressures that would inevitably develop. I cannot imagine that Kalapatt would meekly accept the concentration of knowledge and expertise in Tamarus that the program would require."

I hold up my right hand, my left ferreting around the bowl for more crunchy thingies. "Focus on the economic."

"As an industrial state, Tamaran might be able to pay two hundred billion units eventually, but-."

"No, keep going."

"We were not permitted to keep any spacecraft, and the Gordanians were thorough in their destruction of all space orientated technology. It could take twelve generations before we could build back up to our former levels. Is that what you want? I had assumed that the Gordanians would have mined out the asteroid fields by now."

I shake my head. "They made a cursory effort in a couple of places. Negligible, really."

"Is that where you're expecting us to get it from?" He stops focusing on me quite so intently. "I suppose there might be two hundred billion units' worth of wealth in the asteroids. We never surveyed them in any great detail."

"So if I want to get paid, you'll need a way to spread higher education very quickly, you need heavy industrial equipment and.. maybe a space based shipyard or two?"

"Oh yes. And perhaps if X'Hal is feeling bountiful she could return my brothers to life while she is raining down her blessings. What do you want from us, Lord Grayven?"

I tap the fingers of my right hand against the surface of the table. Some sort of polished stone, I think. "As you are now, you cannot give me anything I want. Therefore, as an investor in your civilisation, it behoves me to assist you in extracting yourself from the pit the Citadel and their Gordanian friends dropped you into. Among my allies are a species who can telepathically deposit information in people's minds. I believe that I can persuade them to make themselves available to you."

"And what do they want?"

"Do you have an island you're not using? I'd like to give them their own world, but I don't have one of those at the moment. An isolated region where they can learn to live self sufficiently would be the next best thing."

"There… May be one."

"Excellent. One problem down. I'm confident I can lay my hands on some advanced equipment… The occasional alien expert or two… To assist with the reindustrialisation. Your daughters caught three ships in orbit, and once we're done with them you can chop them up for parts. Or put them to use yourself."

King Myand'r shakes his head. "The Citadel would never tolerate-."

I look at the back of my left hand, having my yellow ring flare. "Why don't you let me worry about the Citadel? I'm certain that we can… Come to terms."

He takes a deep breath. "Even if you can provide that aid, it could well be generations before we can pay you such a sum."

"My life span is indefinite. And I think that I can make something of this place."

He regards me once more. I suppose he hasn't previously experienced anyone behaving in quite the way I am. "'Make something' of Tamaran?"

"Yes." I nod thoughtfully. "How would you feel about me basing a Lantern Corps here?"