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

[Mr Zoat]

22nd August
11:34 GMT

"…come immediately. We weren't lining up other buyers."

Admiral Oswin's aide-de-camp leads the way through the heavy transporter carrying the Kryptonian goodies he used to lure me here, while the man himself strolls along at my side. Other crewmen spot us coming and make a point of ducking into corridors or rooms branching off our route, coming stiffly to attention as the Admiral passes. He ignores them like the peasants-. Lowlies-. Lesser beings they are.

"When an important ally makes such an offer, it is only polite to respond promptly."

Lantern Ernal brings up the rear of the party. I suppose that I could have sent her off to do something else, but Imperial nobles are seldom parted from their retainers and I do want to fit into the 'foreign noble' hole in Oswin's head.

"Indeed." He's got really quite remarkable poise. I hadn't noticed before, but now that I study him I note that he doesn't look around as he walks. His eyes never deviate from directly in front of him. He isn't seeing his subordinates and dismissing them, he's barely aware of their presence at all. "These… Kryptonians. Do you have dealings with them?"

"There aren't many left. A few years after General Dru-Zod's attempted putsch something rather unpleasant happened to their homeworld. Most of them died as a result."

"What of their spacecraft? Surely their navy would have survived, if nothing else?"

"They'd undergone an isolationist turn and put most of their fleet in mothballs. The rest were scrapped after General Zod's take-over failed. They had automated platforms, but nothing they could use to make a rapid exodus."

We walk through the large and heavily armoured doors to the cargo hold, crew already bringing out the bins containing Amalak's hoard for me to examine.

"You said that 'most died'. There were some survivors, then?"

"A few that I know of. A group of marines who went AWOL rather than obey the order to return home when their world went into isolationism. An infant whose father foresaw the disaster and was able to build him a faster than light planetary escape pod. Two clones of his." I shrug as we walk down some steps into the cargo area, the crew backing off and the admiral's aide keeping a respectful distance from his master. "There may be others."

Karsta gave me a list of her fellow former marines. I've… Got a suspicion that I'll be ticking off a few names today. Still.. I.. suppose that it's better to know.

"A good deal of what we found appeared to be civilian clothing. Do you think he was studying their culture or taking trophies?"

"I'd assume the latter." I lean over the first unsorted bin and begin lifting items out. "Not that I have much in the way of evidential basis for it."

But I do remember some sort of showdown in the Fortress of Solitude between Earth's Kryptonians and… Some guy, in the comic misleadingly titled The Third Kryptonian. I don't remember him looking anything like Amalak, but maybe that was due to alien race lifting or something.

"I saw your star chart." Subordinates out of his immediate vicinity, Admiral Oswin's neck has started working again. "Krypton is some way from here."

"Krypton was destroyed about forty years ago. It's quite possible that Amalak could have made this collection before coming here." Good job he gave up early. No, this is mostly civilian clothing. Of no real interest… Except…

Yes. More genetic traces. Excellent. Jor-El's database had a large number of samples, but the whole selection was naturally skewed towards those he had access to. As a result, Els made up the greater part of it. These people weren't Els-. Oooh, that one's a Kul. Hm.

"Amalak also had a substantial repository of data on his own people. Would that be of any interest to you?"

Hmmm… "No. I don't know any and they didn't have the unusual abilities relating to yellow stars that make Kryptonians so fascinating." I put the clothes back into the bin and move to the next container. This one is divided into shelves containing similar items. Ah, the mother lode. Kryptonian crystal data recorders. Probably just… Personal stuff. Still, worth going through just in case. "Just to keep you in the loop, my people seized the last Citadelian cloning plant, the one where they were making the new ones."

"Yes, I heard that those weren't totally moronic. Did you raze it?"

"I wouldn't be scanning Kryptonian DNA samples if I'd done that."

His eyebrows rise. "You intend to recreate the species? That's…" He pauses to control his surprise. "I would imagine that to be a significant undertaking?"

"I already have a race of cloning experts under my command. It won't be quick…" Ring, anything of military significance or is it all fluff?

Wisps of orange light move from item to item as the ring works through them. Not enough time for a full analysis, but merely looking for key terms-. "Data of military significance located."

Alright, show moh my goodness! Flip the heck yes! How has someone not found that already?!

Unable to speculate.

I carefully slide the tray shut and resolve to buy up substantial areas of Texan real estate as soon as possible.

"Okay, that was quite a lot more valuable than I thought it would be." I half-turn toward the admiral. "What sort of things does the Imperium want in exchange?"

Admiral Oswin smiles. "One or two favours." He nods to his aide, who holds up a small holoprojector which displays an image of local space. "Our navy isn't big enough to hold what used to be pirate territory. Still, our people will rest a good deal easier with a demilitarised zone between them and Vega." He glances at me. "Not that I don't wish you the best of luck…"

"Given what they've endured from this area already I can well understand the feeling."

He nods. "Once we've completed our work cleansing the area, we will begin a new series of colonisation missions." Arrows appear. "Here, and here. Lightly populated and minimally industrialised. Plenty of room for our settlers. Still, we have taken losses during this campaign, and will most likely take more when we attack the Wombworld. New colonies have a way of attracting attackers, and there are bound to be vengeful pirates in the area."

"Do you want my help securing them?"

"The Imperium wants Lanterns."

I nod. "I'm sure that Lantern Green Man won't take it too personally if I dispatch a few."

"You misunderstand. The Crown Imperium wants Lanterns of its own. Our people, equipped with power rings. The strategic advantages presented by Lantern speed and firepower would mean that we could secure these locations effortlessly."

Hmm. I.. suppose… The Green Lantern Corps has members from thousands of species after all.

"I.. am.. willing to conditionally agree."

Admiral Oswin waves his right hand. "Of course. Your terms?"

"The Orange Lantern Corps is not part of the Tamaranian government. I am prepared to accept Karaltine aspirants in my capacity as head of the Corps. If they meet with our requirements they will be issued with rings and assigned to operate in Crown Imperium space. However, they will be part of the organisation and answer to me in that capacity while still being Imperial citizens with the duties that implies. They will be permitted to act in defensive and law enforcement roles, but not offensive war-making without my prior authorisation."

"That's… Fair. What requirements would those be?"

"The Guardians don't use orange power rings because they tend to have a deleterious effect on the minds of their users. I suffered from it on more than one occasion prior to my apotheosis, and once the current wave of hostilities is over I'm going to have to sort out a testing regimen for my Tamaranian Lanterns. Fortunately for me, so far as I can tell the Tamaranian attitude of personal openness works to minimise the effects. Your culture is different, more staid, more controlled. The orange light will most likely create greater changes and lead to more instances of… Regrettable lapses in judgement. While I will test Karaltinian applicants to the same standards as Tamaranians, I would expect a greater proportion to fail. Please understand that that won't be because I think the individuals concerned are bad people or spiritually weak. They just won't be right for the role."

Oswin frowns. "I wasn't aware of the side effects of using them. But I will accept your provisional agreement on behalf of Her Imperial Majesty. How long do you want to wait before we start sending you candidates?"

 

[Mr Zoat]

22nd August
12:02 GMT

Lantern Tui looks a little uncomfortable at my request. "Wouldn't it be better if you did that? No, let me rephrase that: isn't doing that your job?"

"Guy and I are going to be very busy, and Dulok will have his hands full making sure that Betrassus doesn't explode. You have training and experience in handling Orange Lanterns. And this did happen in your Sector."

"It's not that I don't understand the logic…"

"I can offer inducements if you like. I'm happy to give you a holographic disguise that Korugar's scanners can't penetrate. You could hand your ring off to Dulok for a day or so and walk around on your homeworld. Perhaps look up a few friends..?"

"I…" She looks away, shaking her head. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Hmm." I tap my right fist against my lips. "I am two for three in getting my Sector's Greenies promoted. I imagine that if I focused my efforts on John a little I could probably upskill him sufficiently."

"I'm sure John would appreciate it, but it's hardly enough to make me want to go on a… Wild Duck chase for you."

Someone speaks English, doesn't she?

I smile. "Lantern Tui, are you aware that I see all emotion as patterns of coloured light? So I am perfectly aware that you are exceedingly fond of the chap."

"You can-?" Her environmental shield expands visibly. An anti-Orange Lantern protocol, but one which doesn't really do much to my empathic vision other than green out the surface level. "I'd rather you avoided doing that."

"I can't turn it off. And it looks like you can't block it. Look, if it bothers you I won't bring it up again, but when I looked at your desires those were two of the three things that it looked like I could do."

Her environmental shield dips back down to normal resting levels. "You don't think you can beat Sinestro?"

"I… Don't know." And there aren't a lot of Lanterns I can say that about. I'll have to ask the Guardians if they're willing to share his logs… "But it will be easier for me to achieve my own objectives if I avoid having anything to do with him unless it's utterly unavoidable."

Not that I hadn't considered the issue, even before Dox's revelation. Ah, the eternal question: which version of X am I dealing with? The 'Sinestro Corps' era Sinestro founded a Corps of total monsters in order to force the Guardians to turn their nine law compliant Corps into a military organisation because he believed that a change in their epistemology was essential to create an orderly universe and he'd failed to bring about such a change from the inside. Other versions vary from a conceited power-mad tyrant, an old-school Dark Kantian villain or... Just about anything the writer at the time felt like writing. I suppose I was lucky getting a businessman type Lex Luthor. The Green Lantern Corps considered him to be very good and they haven't managed to bring him down in the seven years since he returned from the anti-matter universe.

On the other hand, I was working out with two Lanterns they just made Honour Guard members before I left Earth and I generally came out ahead during our spars. How much of a difference does coming from a space-aged civilisation, of growing up with the sort of technology that still fills me with wonder, make in that sort of combat?

What's the difference between getting your weapons from a crazy American superengineer and getting them from a crazy Qwardian superengineer?

"Tell you what: how about-."

Our rings flash, and we both raise them as Guy's face appears.

"Hey Paul, he's wakin' up. You sure you wanna do this?"

"I wouldn't say 'sure'…"

"Fine." "Lantern Tui, I ain't about t' order you t'-."

"I'd rather handle it myself than leave it undone. By your leave?"

Guy's construct head nods and she shoots off into the sky. I watch her go for a moment, then transition to the secure medical bay the local ruling clan were only too happy to lend to us. Prince Ragnar is still in his armour, but the mechanical restraints should keep him where he is for the moment. I'm holding his ring in my right hand and his 'buzz sword' is in clear line of sight on a nearby table. Guy and a local doctor stand a little way away. Guy gives me a nod and backs off slightly as I approach her.

"How is he?"

"Largely unhurt. If that was what you intended."

"I just wanted to make sure that there wasn't any obvious damage from his ring usage."

She makes a small swooping gesture with her hands, the local head shake. "He's carrying a number of minor injuries from his recent duels, along with numerous older injuries. Some of which may have been self-inflicted. Are you taking him with you?"

"That's up to him."

"Please do. I'd rather never see him again." She turns away and exits the room with some speed.

"Uuuuuuuuuh." Prince Ragnar blinks blearily, then tries to roll to his right before being arrested by the clamps. His eyes shoot open as he remembers exactly what just happened, then he lies back and looks at me. "You beat me."

"I beat you."

"Trickery."

"Any and all methods, Rookie Ragnar. And you better believe that they're going to remember me taking your weapons from you and beating you with them."

His head falls back slightly, then he lifts it to slam it back down against his solid metal headrest.

"Now, I know you set too much store on your given word to try backing out of the terms of our duel, but just in case I damaged your short term memory-."

"You are the Illustres of the Orange Lantern Corps, and I have agreed to join. I will fulfil my obligations, but once I learn what you know I will challenge you again."

"That's not quite how it works." I generate a construct chair and sit down next to him. "You see, the orange light empowers you to get what you want. If you continue to think that what I do is… Trickery, your abilities will be impeded. You'll be empowered to fight against me, but not alongside me. You won't respect me unless you see me as a warrior. But, I don't want to fight you." I shrug. "I was wondering how to square that circle, then it came to me: we need to fight someone we both want to fight. And since I don't fight for fighting's sake, we should go somewhere I'd been meaning to go for a while."

Ragnar looks a little curious. "Where?"

"When a Green Lantern with many years' good service does something so heinous that they must be expelled from the Corps, the Guardians may instead sentence them to exile to the anti-matter universe. It's intended as an opportunity for them to receive an honourable death in combat against the Corps' foes, rather than forcing them to return home in shame. That's what happened to Sinestro, when the Guardians found out what he'd done on Korugar. No one but him knows exactly what happened to him, how he encountered a Weaponer and made common cause with him. Even less how he managed to fight his way through the legions of ships, fixed defences or the Thunderers who guard Qward in order to do it. He was a veteran, but there are limits."

"So that's where we're going." I pat him on the left shoulder with my right hand and release the restraints. "To Qward, to do some poking around." I step away as he starts to sit up, showing him his ring sitting on my open left palm. "You'll probably want your ring."

 

[Mr Zoat]

22nd August
12:37 GMT

Lantern Ragnar falls behind as Guy and I make our way through the Sector House. I was slightly concerned that we might have to perform the antimatter shift ourselves, but fortunately they have a polarity shift platform here.

That just leaves one question.

"Why do you have an antimatter universe transporter here?"

"Took it off Sinestro one time. Oa already had one. Tui wan'ed t' keep it just in case."

Fair enough.

We land just in front of it and Guy waves his ring at the controls, which glimmer in response. "Jus' take a moment."

I nod, and turn to see where Ragnar's gotten to. He floats slowly in through the entrance to the portal room, openly gawping like a tourist. He notices my amusement and gestures at the walls around us. "This is the keep of Thaal Sinestro!"

"You know that he was an archaeology teacher before he joined the Corps, right?"

"I-." He blinks. "No, I did not. Truly?"

"Yep. You might want to reconsider the sorts of knowledge you need in order to become a great Lantern."

He frowns thoughtfully. "Did he maintain his former profession while he was a Lantern?"

"Nnno?"

"And the strength of my constructs is dependent on how much I want them?"

"How much you want them and want the result you are working towards, yes."

"Then I think that I will leave the humanities to others." He shakes his head. "It would simply serve to distract me." He touches down somewhat roughly. "Are we ready to depart?"

"Yeah." Guy steps up onto the platform and then turns around. "Three express tickets t' the antimatter universe. Hal always said he thought I'd end up there."

Ragnar walks past me to join him. "Why?"

"It's a punishment fer Lanterns who break the rules but prefer t' die than get kicked out'a the Corps."

Ragnar nods, smiling faintly. "And he believes that is what you would choose. It must be nice that the other Honour Guard Lanterns have such a high opinion of your devotion."

"Ye-aaaaah." Guy leans his head slightly away from Ragnar. "Really more that he thinks I will get kicked out."

"But you will do it with honour!"

Guy looks at me as I join them on the platform. "Re-al keeper y'got here, Paul."

"Why ask for a spoon if you want a knife? Are we ready?"

"Yeah. Brace yerselves. I've never done this before, but Hal said it's rou--"

"Transport to antimatter universe in progress."

"-ooougoughoughhh."

Gahhuugh… Yeah… He's… Not wrong. Ugh. Wholeness Rightly Assumed.

Recalibrating for antimatter body.

Oh, great.

"Where is everything?" Prince Ragnar looks around, alert but unafraid. "Betrassus should be in that direction."

"I'll field that one." Guy nods, his face creasing as he tries to shrug off his own discomportment. "Earth's physicists are still puzzled about why the universe exists. If the alpha event created equal amounts of matter and antimatter, it should have destroyed itself in seconds. Instead, we live in a universe where virtually everything is made of matter and there are only trace amounts of antimatter in the wild." I spread my arms out, indicating the empty region of space around us. "Welcome to why. Something about the alpha event caused the two forms of matter with opposite polarity to exist out of… Phase? With each other. And something about that separation process prevented them becoming perfect mirrors of each other, even though they effectively had exactly the same things in them to start with. You won't actually find many places that have direct matches."

There's an Earth, but the one Crime Syndicate I've run into is more than enough, thank you very much.

"Alright, now remember. The first rule of the antimatter universe is-."

"Don't talk about the antimatter universe?"

Guy rolls his eyes. "Don't try shiftin' back on yer own. That's a real good way t' explode." His ring twinkles for a moment, then mine does the same. "You wanna come back, you come here or fly t' where Oa is and use that program. The shift will activate."

Ragnar frowns. "My ring did not glow."

"Yeah, I ain't so keen on lettin' a Sinestro fanboy have the codes to access Oa."

Ragnar's frown deepens, but I interject before he can complain. "If I die, you can just take it from my ring."

He nods. "I will avenge you first, of course."

"Good-oh. Guy, which way's Qward?"

"Roughly where Maltus is in the matter universe."

Okay… Ring. Galactic core is there, spirals go in the opposite direction… Got it. "Ragnar, do you know how to do long distance faster than light travel?"

For some reason he pauses before answering. "Yes."

I nod. "Good. We'll be stopping off at Prisathus, the second world of the Irdini System, before moving on to Qward. Going to Qward openly wearing a power ring is a good way to get killed and dissected. We need to join a trade convoy-" Ragnar starts to look truculent. "-and get into one of their surface trade outposts before revealing ourselves and fighting our way into Qward proper."

"If we're on the planet how are we not in 'Qward proper'?"

"Qward proper is underground. Or rather, under the planet's super tough shell. Assuming that we survive passage we move with all possible speed to Chief Weaponer Kalmin's fortress. He made Sinestro's yellow power ring and we don't want him making any more. Secondary objectives include gaining intelligence on Qwardian military operations and technology. The tertiary objective is to inflict as much damage on Qwardian production facilities and personnel as possible."

Ring, plot course.

Course available.

"Follow me."

 

[Mr Zoat]

22nd August
13:11 GMT

Miss Amane grins at me as I step through the boom tube, arms folded behind my back. "All clear, Master!"

"Yes…" I look around at the brutally deconstructed remains of the high caste Dominators who used to run this place. "So I see. Any remaining resistance?"

"Master." She shakes her head disappointedly. "I would not have said 'all clear' if there were any left alive."

No, you wouldn't, would you? I nod as I walk over to their research computer and extend a construct connection between it and Mother Box. "The minefield?"

"In perfect working order, Master. And the G-Trolls have already installed the boom tube jammer." I turn and walk towards her, causing her to come to attention. And look a little nervous, actually.

I raise my right hand and pat her on the head with it. "Thank you."

"Master!"

"I am also grateful for your work on the Wombworld and on Karna. Many Genomorphs, Karnans and Karaltinians owe you their lives for the devastating effect you had on their defences. And I'm sorry that I haven't made time to speak to you in person since."

"I-I am happy to serve, Master!"

"And I am privileged to have your loyalty." Hm. It would be extremely useful to keep this place in one piece. None of what we took from Emana really says Command Centre to me, but we haven't even started work on that ship-scale boom tube, and… Ugh, getting the minefield would require one even bigger. I lift my hand from her head. "Would you please escort me to Mister Dox?"

She nods, steps back and waves her scythe at the air to her left. There's the expected bang as the boom tube opens. With all but one of the hush tubes being devoted to the logistical effort of moving materials and personnel around in Vega and the last being left available to the Blacks, she and I are left with boom tubes. I… Thinking about it, I should probably get her a Mother Box of her own at some point. I was going to leave off getting one for Lynne until she left High School, but Miss Amane is in the field now… Unfortunately there isn't really anything else I can offer Himon that won't risk Father… Expressing his displeasure.

And speaking to him again…

I follow Miss Amane through the portal and into what was once the command centre, a couple of G-Elves working at removing the bloodstains. I give them a polite nod before turning my attention to Mister Dox. There's a G-Gnome perched on a chair next to him while the man himself is splitting his attention between the various holoscreens around him.

"Mister Dox. If I might have a moment of your time?"

He doesn't look around. "Yes."

"I am unfamiliar with Coluan social customs, but in most places it's considered polite to look at the person speaking to you."

"I believe that you are correct. An inefficient social custom."

"True, but just this once I expect you to put up with it." Acknowledge Your Sovereign!

His eyes dip, a quiet sigh escaping from his lips as he pauses the flow of information and swivels his chair around. "Grayven of Apokolips. A world not known for its people's largesse. I presume that you want me for something."

"Oh, I haven't been home for a while. I've picked up all sorts of bad habits. Mercy, compassion, love..." I smile. "But, yes, I do want you for something. Getting good use out of the G-Gnome there?"

"It is convenient to have another input channel beyond those I naturally possess. It also gave me the opportunity to confirm that my telepathic defences were as strong as I believed them to be."

"Good man. Sensible use of your time and resources." I generate a construct chair and sit down a short distance from him. "I've got a job for you. I think that it will engage your full intellect for… At least a year, and I'm happy to let you use your spare time to pursue other projects. Should you have any."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Two jobs really. Prime Minister of Tamaran and Clarissi of the Orange Lantern Corps."

He blinks three times rapidly. "Explain."

"I recently removed an oppressive government from the Vega Systems, and now Tamaran has the opportunity to rebuild itself. I was able to secure some orbital infrastructure so you wouldn't be working from scratch, but there's little infrastructure on the planet and dozens of potentates with their own priorities ready to fight you on every decision. A good deal of your job will involve keeping them on-side and focused on the task."

"Explain Orange Lantern Corps."

I raise my left hand to show him the sigil on my ring. "Orange power rings. They run on avarice rather than willpower. I've got one for you if you take the job."

Ping!

"Oh, and they can have adverse effects on the minds of their users. The first fellow to try using one for any length of time turned into a total basket case. I haven't really noticed anything too bad." For a moment I look at my arms and try to imagine the response of my former self to what I've done to myself.

…

Huh.

Okay, but I don't think it was the orange light doing that.

"Point is-" I fold my arms back behind my back. "-that I'd also like you to organise the Corps. Most of it will be creating working procedures, recruitment and training programs, managing resources in relation to my directives… Essentially being my Chief Executive. At the moment there are fewer than two hundred Lanterns but that number can increase for as long as they stay mentally stable and we have a use for them." I smile faintly. "You will not get an offer like this from anyone else."

"And if I refuse?"

I shrug. "Then I'll drop you off on the planet of your choosing and wish you all the best. That's pretty much what I'm going to do with everyone else here." But who would I take on in his place? Maybe… An AI of some kind? I never did bother asking after Red Inferno…

"Some of the people here are violent criminals."

"And? If you hand people over to the Dominators you rather lose the right to complain about their custodial failures. To anyone but them, anyway."

"And if I accepted your offer, then wanted to leave later?"

"You could… Your severance package would depend on exactly how much of a pickle you were leaving us in. Set things up and train a replacement first and I might even let you keep your ring." I half turn away. "Come on, the sooner you get started-."

"I haven't accepted yet."

I stop. "What were you planning to do with your freedom, Mister Dox? Start your own White Hat mercenary band, wasn't it?"

"You saw the recordings."

"No." I really didn't. Honest. But the G-Gnomes confirmed my comic-related memories before Miss Amane pulled him out. "But even your actions are predictable within a given range. Now, you're an intelligent man. Perhaps you could pull it off without any seed capital, personnel or other resources at all. But it would take longer and be much harder. No, you'll come with me, even if it's just to get more information. And when you do that, you'll inevitably start thinking about how to make the whole situation work for you. And since your information about anywhere else would be worse…" I shrug. "I'll see you when you yield to common sense."

 

[Mr Zoat]

22nd August
14:36 GMT

The crew chief looks at us uncomfortably as the unarmed shuttle lands gently on the landing platform of the Qwardian surface city. Having had a chance to read up on the local documentation I have to say that it isn't really a Qwardian Qwardian city. The locals don't live here-.

Ah, sorry, I should say 'a Q'ardajin city'. Humans' name for our species means 'thinking man'. Their name for their species means something like 'people who guide destruction'.

At least we've confirmed that the Anti-Monitor is no longer in residence. That's not a fight I'm anything like ready for.

"Okay." The crew chief is Prisathian, from a world that's been a Qwardian tributary for so long that their history makes no mention of them ever being anything else. They're a pseudo-amphibian species that have actually benefited from Qwardian society's recent opening of its markets; people want Qwardian weapons but would much rather not go to Murderworld themselves. "I don't know who you are or why you wanted to come here. And I don't intend to find out." I nod as I pass him the case of rhodium coins that represent the balance of our payment. It's unlikely that he'll betray us now that we're here; the Q'ardajin would consider him fatally culpable at this point and he knows that if we're here to start trouble we either don't mind dying or are very well equipped. "Wait until we're gone before doing whatever you came here to do. Oh, and on the off-chance that you're really just here to buy weapons, my corporation is happy to handle shipping for all Council of Commanders approved contracts."

He hands me a business card, and I slip it into my suit. "Thank you. Should we require shipping, yours is the first name we will enquire after."

He flaps his gill slits nervously, then pulls the lever which operates the door. "Enjoy your stay…"

Guy stomps forward first, clanking across the gantry towards the reception centre in 'local veteran mercenary' armour. The Q'ardajin don't much care who comes and goes from places like this, so while they probably have scanners capable of detecting residual power ring energy they haven't bothered deploying them here. Conventional security isn't all that tight, either. Everyone who comes here knows what will happen to them and everyone around them if their behaviour arouses the ire of their hosts, and the Q'ardajin don't feel the need for import/export controls. There are a couple of the flying robotic heads that serve as security monitor drones in the upper parts of the large chamber we're entering, and a small cluster of the drug-stupefied slave-clones that form the first line of expendable soldiery in the event of actual problems. Biologically they're basically Q'ardajin, but have longer arms and a much more developed musculature as well as ape-like facial proportions.

It's interesting. A lot of places like this wouldn't want their mutants to be on display like this. They'd think it made their species seem fallible and less intimidating. But the Q'ardajin genuinely don't care what others think of them, rather than not caring for their approval. These poor unfortunates work as intimidating engines of destruction, so they put them to work.

A robohead painted in pale green floats down towards us from an alcove in the ceiling. "Identify yourselves."

"I'm Ernie Ernest. These 're my friends Joseph Jones-" He holds out his right hand in my direction. "-and Donovan Wallace. Joe an' me are from Earth, Don's from Uranus."

"State your business on Qward."

"Takin' in the bazaars, buying some samples. Maybe see about taking part in some pit fights." He shrugs. "See how it goes."

"Noted. Excellent odds are currently being offered against alien mercenaries prepared to take on Thunderers, while shorter but still profitable odds are offered on mercenary teams taking on exotic competitors such as Qward-built combat robots and cyborg-slaughterhounds."

"I was really thinking something a little more survivable, heh. Q'ardajin.. ain't exactly people I'd want t' pick a fight with."

"House policy states that what happens in the pits stays in the pits. However, lesser gladiatorial pits are available if you wish to test yourselves." There's a small flash from its mouth as it fabricates a holoprojector, which it ejects in Guy's direction. He catches it, then turns it on for a second. "This contains a map suggesting local locations which may prove to be of interest to you. Have a profitable trip."

"Yeah. Thanks." The head has already started floating back up to its recharging alcove. "Bet cha' Hal didn't get those."

He leads the way out of the reception centre airlocks and out onto the street. Qward's outer surface has an atmosphere, but it's thin and not exactly fresh-smelling. With our rings warded and placed in dimensionally displaced pockets to avoid detection we're relying on facemasks to provide us with readily breathable air. They also allow us to mask our communication from external monitoring.

"Robot greeters don't exactly shout 'galactic menace', do they?"

Ragnar looks around, staring combatively at anyone who looks like they might be able to provide a decent challenge. "I will be severely disappointed if this is the limit of their people's capacity for combat."

"Trust me, it isn't."

"Actually…"

"What?"

"You get a look at the sensor panel when we were comin' in?"

"Yes?"

"Lot fewer ships than I was expectin'. Might even be we coulda flown through it." He tilts his head to the side. "Wouldna' been easy, but…"

"Is that new? I always got the impression they were supposed to be a major menace."

"What, you didn't get that off'f John's ring?"

"No. I assume that it was highly classified, need to know only. Now, if I'd have pinched Jordan's ring…"

"Anyway, somethin' screwy's goin' on. I think we should have an actual look around, not just head for the shaft."

"Okay. Anywhere in particular?"

"Bars 're usually pretty good places t' start somethin' like that."

I wince. "Last time I walked into a bar like that everyone fled and I got attacked by a squad of Thanagarian mercenaries."

He raises his eyebrows slightly. "Really?"

I nod. "We talked it out, but it wasn't-."

"No, I jus' can't see you walkin' int' a bar." He smirks. "But did j'a learn anythin'?"

"Yes, actually. Alright, it's a reasonable place to start." I half-turn. "Rag… Nar?"

Who isn't there. Oh… Shazbot.

Guy snorts. "Lose the rookie already?"

"Yes, yes I have." Take a risk on empathic vision… There he goes. Running around somewhere like this is probably not a good idea. "Okay, which bar are you going to be in?"

He slaps my chest with the back of his right hand. "Don't be dumb, Paul. We ain't splittin' up. You get after him, I'll watch yer back."

"Right."

Doing my best to look like a confident and well armed weapons merchant, I set off through the city.

 

[Mr Zoat]

22nd August
14:43 GMT

And of course he headed straight for a fighting pit. And the only explanation I have for how he got that far ahead is that he didn't mind drawing attention to himself by running. We didn't take the time to do much work on his armour and unlike Guy and myself he didn't have any changes of outfit stored in subspace. As a result, one sensor dampening cloak aside he's still wearing his royal armour. It's not that there aren't people in snazzy armour around here, but they generally have Writs of Invitation and substantial bodyguards to protect them. There are already a number of people not-so-subtly following-.

Ugh. Weaving through the crowd I step up behind a lightly armoured figure who wasn't paying quite enough attention to his environment and hold an x-ionised knife to his throat. "Hello there."

He tenses slightly but doesn't otherwise move. "I'm wearing a force field, fool."

"And I'm not fool enough to threaten someone wearing a force field with a knife that can't penetrate it. The chap in the fancy armour is a friend of mine. Eyes off."

He hesitates, perhaps weighing up his chances. "Fine. But I can't speak for anyone else."

"I wouldn't expect you to." No one approaching me. "Now, I'm going to turn left and you're going to turn with me. When we're pointing at the door, you're going to start walking and keep walking until you're outside. On two."

We turn, and I move my knife aside slightly to get him leave. He goes a couple of steps before taking a sneaky look back, but my clothing masks my face and is generic enough not to be particularly notable. His armour is a little more notable, with the red smears across… He's a gang member. Ah, doesn't matter. It's not as if we're sticking around. Or ever coming back. Now, where's Ragnar gotten t-.

"…new entrant to the blood arena, Donovan Wallace of Uranus!"

Ooooh. Drat. I sigh. At least he remembered his cover name.

"And his opponent, victor of over eighty bouts and making his seventh appearance in the blood arena, Thunderer Duran of Qward!"

No no no no no. I step forward with a little more force now, making my way to the edge of the third floor balcony overlooking the pit. I'm going to assume that he got in there that quick because they were having trouble getting a Thunderer an opponent. The thing about Thunderers is that while in the comics they've suffered from major villain decay -losing to Jordan on several occasions in spite of his acknowledged skill shortage while dressed like silver age villains, an army of them getting pasted by a five man Crime Syndicate, getting near-exterminated by the first members of the Sinestro Corps- in the real world they really haven't. They're superbly well trained and equipped soldiers. I doubt that he'll be using qwa-bolts in confines this close -because there wouldn't be an arena afterwards if he does- but their melee weapons use tiny amounts of qwa-energy to cleave through anything and their armour and shields are at least as good as anything I could make. They're generally not all that agile in the air -which is how Green Lanterns best them- but at close quarters like this their strengths are magnified.

He better not be planning on using his ring.

Ragnar vaults over the edge of the lower balcony, brandishes his buzz sword and holds his arms up for the crowd to hail him. A few bang mugs against the balcony lip but there are more laughs than acknowledgements. His expression changes from expectant to dismissive, though I make a point of jabbing my right forefinger at him when he turns my way.

That causes the git to smile again.

His opponent isn't made to vault over anything; they open the actual pit doors for him. The Thunderer's traditional wing-decorated helmet sits on his head, and the thing about a helmet with wings on is that it's still a metal case to protect the wearer's head, which is more than ninety five percent of superheroes manage. Thick armour covers his chest, back, forearms, shoulders and lower legs, while a flexible mesh undersuit protects the rest of him. I haven't been able to precisely evaluate the buzz sword, but I wouldn't want to try it against the solid plates. That leaves face, thighs and sides as targets. His eyes are covered by the red cybernetic attachments Q'ardajin elites like to use in place of their natural eyes. It makes them seem somewhat bug-eyed, but it also serves to render them immune to a wide range of visual distractions and widens the portion of the electromagnetic spectrum they can see. There's a quiver on his back, but it's empty. Instead of the qwa-bolts I half-feared, he hoists a round shield and a short sword aloft.

"BLOOD AND PAIN! BLOOD AND FIRE! BLOOD AND DEATH!"

This time the crowd roars its approval. Only sensible really, however they actually feel about it. In the dim light from where the Thunderer entered I can see the faint glow of his personal organiser robohead, and I don't doubt for a moment that it's recording everything.

Ragnar looks mildly put out by the approval his opponent is getting, but gamely makes a salute with his sword before picking a stance with sword raised high and both hands on the grip. For his part the Thunderer crouches slightly, shield forward and sword drawn back to stab.

No salute for the alien.

Right, I need to get down to that level and prepare to intervene. Or at least grab him once the match is over so he can't sign up for another one. And -I spot another spectator having his pocket picked- I need to avoid getting blindsided. And make sure that if he dies then none of the locals gets his ring. Getting it off whoever gets to strip his corpse is going to be awkward, especially if I want to stay undetected.

He and I are going to have a chat about mission discipline after this is over. After Lantern Tui tells me what she found out.

As I walk away from the balcony the noise from the crowd jumps and I hear the thump and clang of their initial probing exchanges. Ragnar's sword glows a sort of purply-pink when active and qwa-energy discharges tend to be a shimmering yellow. Not that it'll look anything like a lightsaber battle: Ragnar's sword might go through the Thunderer's armour but if he tries to parry with it, the Thunderer's sword will go straight through it without slowing.

Across the room I see two people with red stripes on their armour watching me. Ugh, already? No, worry about that later. Another round of clanging and stamps as I thread my way through the crowd in the direction of the stairs downwards. Two well-equipped bouncers are vetting the people allowed down, though they don't appear to be troubling those who come up. I step into the clear circle in front of them and look the closest in the eye.

"What's the entry fee?"

"A Qwardian supply contract, a pit-record or being Qwardian."

"Don't you mean 'Q'ardajin'?"

She huffs. "No one calls them that. They don't like it when aliens use 'their word'."

Ah. Noted. "The man fighting the Thunderer down there works for me. I'd like to show my support."

"That sucks for you. But you can support his death wish perfectly well from up here."

"I don't suppose that I could interest you in a bribe?"

"I dunno. Could you?"

I turn up my empathic vision. What does she or the house want? Ah! It's just a screening process. Those aren't hard and fast rules, just baselines. Anyone prepared to splash around more than a certain amount of money is allowed down. If I bribe big, they'll let me past and mark me down for a fleecing. Hard to judge precisely, but… I put my right hand inside my robes and pull out two platinum coins, then hold them out.

She raises her eyebrows, apparently not impressed.

"I'll make sure I get a supply contract really soon."

She grabs the coins from my grip, making a point of tugging hard on my fingers and in doing so triggering my kinetic barrier. She feels that happening, her expression getting just a little more respectful. She steps aside. "Anyone asks, you snuck past."

"Is that better?"

"Big crowd, someone pushes past in the confusion. We're muscle, not psychics."

"Okay, thank you." Another series of thuds from the pit. The crowd has quietened down quite a bit. I guess that Ragnar's doing a reasonable job. I walk past the guards and hurry down the steps as fast as decorum permits me.

 

[Mr Zoat]

22nd August
14:48 GMT

There's a good deal less competition for space next to the balcony on this level, though that may be because no one wants to get too close to the small Q'ardajin… You know what, Qwardian is easier to say. The small Qwardian contingent watching their comrade in arms. Their officer actually looks at me curiously as I intrude on the invisible bubble around them in order to watch Ragnar…

Ah. I wouldn't say that he's winning, but he is doing okay. It seems that he learned to avoid the qwa-blade the hard way: there are rents in his bracers and I think that I can see a little dried blood as well. A few angry red-purple burns have appeared on his face, though those are from near misses. If the Thunderer had hit then he wouldn't have a head any more.

In return, the Thunderer's shield is mildly scored in a few places.

"Impressed?"

Aaand the Thunderer officer appears to have decided to slum it with an alien. Marvellous. "Mildly impressed that he isn't dead yet."

He pauses for a moment. "The challenger is a friend of yours?"

"Recent employee. His death would be… Awkward in some ways. Convenient in others."

"His armour and sword are unequal to the task." I nod without turning away and Ragnar weaves around a series of stabs, preventing his opponent pressing with a series of high and low swings aimed around the Thunderer's shield. "But his skill does not shame him."

"I'm sure that he'd appreciate the compliment, sir."

"He'll not live to hear it." He leans forward. "Duran, press!"

A moment's distraction, Thunderer Duran's eyes move to his boss for a instant. Ragnar takes advantage immediately, ducking slightly and moving around to the Thunderer's shield-side so that the man can't see him clearly. He then brings his sword around in a two handed swing directly at the shield. It hits home and is deflected right back by the interaction of its own force field and the nature of whatever the shield is made of. The Thunderer turns instinctively in that direction at the same time as Ragnar swings wide in the other direction, his buzz sword striking the armour covering the Thunderer's upper sword arm. There's a momentary flare of purple energy as the buzz sword's force fields go a little crazy at finally getting something solid to bite into-

"Gyagh!"

-then the Thunderer reacts, slicing awkwardly at Ragnar's extended arms with his qwa-blade.

"Agh!"

The blade passes through Ragnar's armour, but I don't think that he got anything critical. Ragnar backs off, smiling viciously as the Thunderer takes a moment to check his wound. Yep, that went through the armour and drew blood.

My neighbour seems somewhat less than impressed, breath hissing through his teeth. Yes, slumming it like this only works if you don't lose, doesn't it?

"Will you take a turn in the pit yourself?"

"I don't think so. Public exhibitions aren't really my thing."

The Thunderer moves his shield to the side, giving himself more room to move his sword. He also switches from a stabbing stance to a slicing one, advancing more rapidly as blood drips from his wound. That looks like it hurts a lot, but Qwardian upbringing leaves its survivors well equipped to endure pain. And Ragnar… He's clearly loving this. He tries to take advantage of his opponent's opening, but rather than interpose his shield the Thunderer uses his sword's lighter weight to parry-.

That's not a parry. Ragnar realises his mistake too late as the qwa-sword severs the tip of his buzz sword, the area around the slice going dull and grey. Ragnar at least doesn't repeat his error, making probing swings but making sure not to let his sword contact his opponent's.

"Better."

He doesn't sound happy about it. Reminds me of EA: anything less than total victory starts to look like a failure. Even if Duran ran Ragnar through now this fight has demonstrated that Thunderers aren't actually all that skilful and that alien weapons can stand up to Qwardian weapons. Even when you win, you lose.

Ragnar holds his sword out towards his opponent, then glances back as he realises how close he is to the pit's wall. He lunges, aiming the severed tip of his sword at the Thunderer's chest. The Thunderer steps back and swings, cutting another chunk of Ragnar's sword off-. Ragnar keeps coming, dropping the remains of his sword and slamming bodily into the Thunderer, left hand grabbing at his sword's hilt while his right-

"GAH!"

-hand stabs into the wound his prior attack made. The Thunderer's shield is sheared in half as the Thunderer loses control of his sword, the shock causing him to drop it to the pit's floor. Ragnar grins, then swings his right fist into his opponent's unarmoured chin.

"Yah!"

The Thunderer officer's hands crush the balcony railing.

Ragnar swings his left arm outwards, knocking what's left of the shield out of the Thunderer's hand as the qwa-sword falls to the ground. The Thunderer strikes Ragnar's bare head with his left elbow but Ragnar just absorbs the hit with a bloody smile and grabs his opponent's helmet, stabbing his thumbs through the eye slits.

"Nruh!"

Ragnar lifts, the Thunderer's helmet coming free and revealing his shattered cybernetic eyes beneath. Ragnar swings, striking Duran in the face with his own helmet and knocking him back before tossing it aside and slamming his fist into his enemy's forehead.

The Thunderer falls, stumbling backwards before collapsing. Ragnar looks around for a moment, grins, then bends down to pick up no why are you doing that! He picks up the qwa-blade and raises it above his head in a salute to the crowd who are watching in silence.

"Victory!"

I look at the commander. The man might have accepted one of his losing a fight, but touching a qwa-energy based weapon?

"Hold him."

The other Thunderers draw their own blades and level them at me. I raise my hands, showing myself to be unarmed. "Commander-."

The commander vaults over the balcony, Ragnar turning to face him as he lands. "Another challenger? I'm hardly fresh, but I'll face you tomorrow-."

The Commander lunges, and as Ragnar moves to counter he twists his wrist and slashes sideways-. Ragnar's sword and forearm go flying-

"Phrah."

-and then the Commander's left gauntlet smashes into his face, breaking his nose and stunning him.

"Thunderers, ascend! Bring them!"

One of the Thunderers facing me sheathes his sword and tosses g-huh. An electrified bolas-thing. It wraps itself around me, paralysing my body. Still nothing I can't fight my way out of, and 'bring them' suggests that they're not planning to kill me immediately.

The Thunderer who bound me hoiks me onto his shoulder and then activates his armour's flight system. There's an explosion as we shoot upwards, bits of ceiling raining down and I get a half-second view of Guy being entangled in the same way I am. Another has Ragnar, his severed stump thoroughly cauterised.

And then the Commander flies out through the roof, flies high and draws a qwa-bolt from his quiver. He looks down at the pit beneath us and the streets surrounding them.

Then he throws the bolt, a yellow smear briefly connecting it to the ground.

And then the area evaporates in a wave of yellow energy.

 

[Mr Zoat]

22nd August
16:07 GMT

"No fuckin' way."

"Your doubt is-."

"No fuckin' way!" Guy glares at Ragnar. "There is no fuckin' way you planned this!"

Ragnar shifts his right arm slightly, drawing emphasis to the cauterized portion. "Not in every detail-."

"You know nothing about Qwardians and your arm got cut off. Admit it. You jus' ran off 'cause you wann'ed t' fight someone."

Ragnar draws himself up slightly. "They are clearly a martial people, much like my own. I assumed that by taking part in one of their traditions I could ingratiate myself with them and win an invitation into their keep."

I look around our oubliette. "And here we are."

The Thunderers none-too-gently flew us to their closest fortification and dropped us in a holding cell. They didn't even bother giving us a more than cursory check over. I mean, yes, none of the weapons we're carrying apart from our rings would enable us to escape, but there's such a thing as professionalism. As it is, we're as close to the tunnel into Qward proper as we can be without flying through it and it's all due to the Thunderers themselves.

"And if their boss had cut off your head rather than your hand?"

I actually hear Ragnar chuckle. "Death is always a possibility in combat. Even in training." He lifts his injured arm higher to get a clearer look. "Though I will look forward to having a force-cloned arm grafted on as a replacement, since I no longer have my sword the lack of a forearm should not affect my combat performance too greatly."

"Here." I reach into one of my inner pockets and pull out a vial of Wallace's healing potion before passing it in Ragnar's direction. "Drink this."

"No. Pain is both a powerful motivational tool and a training aid. I strengthen my spirit by resisting it."

"It's not a painkiller, it's a regenerator. It won't grow your arm back but it should prevent you being weakened by your minor injuries." He doesn't reach for it. "If we were in a safe location I'd let you bleed to your heart's content. We're not, we're in enemy territory and I expect you to be at full fitness. This is an order, rookie."

He grimaces, but obediently snatches it out of my hand. "What is it?" He removes the cap with his teeth and takes a sniff. "Nanotechnology? Some sort of smart bacteria?"

"A magic potion. Now, before you say anything-." His eyes widen slightly, then he downs it. "Oh. I was expecting more scepticism."

"Sinestro's sister was a witch of considerable power. I was briefly interested in the art myself, but was unable to find anyone who could teach me." He checks the vial to make sure that it's completely empty, then drops it on the ground. "I.. had not realised that you appreciated.. my service enough to offer me such a valuable unguent." He gives me a shallow bow. "Thank you."

"Hah!"

"You're welcome, but… Um. Our homeworld has.. lots of magic users. A friend of mine is working on mass producing that stuff. I mean, I don't.. have all that much with me…"

"Oh. Well. My thanks anyway." Orange light glows in his eyes. "Exactly how common is-?"

"And you won't need to get a cloned replacement. Given how much a fundamental part of your identity your ability with melee weapons is, I'd be surprised if you don't just grow it back."

"Your species may be able to regenerate rapidly, but I will not grow my arm back without external aid."

"Ragnar, when they come and get us for what will probably be a public execution in revenge for embarrassing them-."

He frowns. "Why would you assume that? If their leader wanted me dead then he would have slain me in the pit. I am expecting them to make us fight them to the death, in a private place where their ineptitude will not shame them before others."

"Why?" I look around. "To be honest, I was expecting there to be a giant monster in here."

"Anti-Monitor aside, Qwardians don't really go in for giant monsters." He turns to Ragnar. "And how did you know me an' Paul weren't gunna pick a fight with the Qwardians then an' there?"

"Actually, I was surprised that they were able to capture you. I assumed that you would evade them and meet up with me later."

"I don't let the bad guys just carry off my guys. But I was this close-."

The barred gates to our enclosure slam open, two Qwardians armed with some sort of gun taking up position at the edges of the opening as the commander stands in the centre. The three of us turn to face them.

"I am Commander Roval and you are my slaves until such time as your miserable lives are extinguished. And that time will not be long in coming. You will either leave this cell of your own accord or you will be driven from it. Then you will be assigned the greatest honour aliens such as you may aspire to: duty as weapon test dummies for my troops."

"Perhaps your troops can best test dummies. Are the rest as skilled as the one I cut down?"

"I will kill you personally." Commander Roval turns away and walks down the corridor without bothering to glance back.

"You see!" Ragnar grins at me. "He recognises my skill!"

One of the remaining Thunderers levels his gun at Ragnar. "Out. Now."

Ragnar leaves first, grinning smugly as we walk to our intended deaths. Guy and I walk side by side as the Thunderers back off, keeping out of charge range as they keep their guns levelled at us.

"Sinestro has a sister, huh?"

Guy glances at me with his left eyebrow raised. "You didn't know that?"

"No, I really didn't. Korugar's history doesn't dwell on her."

"She didn't really do much. I think Hal fought her, like, once."

"What's her name? I could probably look her up."

"Ah… I don't really remember. I think it was something like '-."

"Silence!"

We both glance at the increasingly unamused Thunderers escorting us. "Tell me later."

Ten grams of platinum on 'Dextera'.

The passageway we're walking along is broad, and I can already see the wide opening of the external exit. Maybe that was an animal pen they put us in? My air mask would have kept the smell out. I can already hear the chanting of the Thunderers outside, the air reverberating with cries of 'Blood and X'. I get a better view as we come to the mouth of the tunnel. There are about forty Thunderers, arrayed in ranks around what I'm going to assume is the fighting area, and a scarred Thunderer responds to a nod from Roval by thrusting the handle of an unpowered sword at Ragnar's remaining hand. Ragnar takes it with a polite nod, quite cheerfully striding after Roval into the open area.

These poor bastards.

 

[Mr Zoat]

22nd August
16:12 GMT

"Fellow Thunderers of Qward!"

Ragnar is shoved out into the fighting circle, but for the moment no one steps forward to join him. Instead, Commander Roval remains at the entrance with his arms raised for attention.

"When I commanded you to make use of the gladiatorial pits the aliens have assembled on our world's surface, I did so in the certain knowledge that real combat teaches lessons that no amount of sparring amongst ourselves or against automata could teach! This past year we have spilt more of the blood of inferior species than at any other point in our lives, and I know that you have relished that opportunity as I have!" He starts to pace, arms waving. "But today! Today the unthinkable has occurred! One of our own, beaten, by this alien you see before you now!"

A murmur runs through the crowd.

"This is unacceptable. He must die for his temerity. But. This also represents an opportunity. Far more can be learned from a skilled warrior than from the bravos and scum who are all we usually fight, but such public loss of face cannot be countenanced. This Donovan Wallace of Uranus has shamed one of us."

The back of the crowd of Thunderers parts, and I see two escorting a third between them. He isn't wearing a helmet, his cybernetic eyes are broken and wires run from the holes where they used to be to a band around his head. Ah, some sort of sensor. It looks like Thunderer Duran has recovered from his cranial trauma. Aside from the blood steadily running out of his eye sockets and the obvious patch job on the armour protecting his sword arm.

"Duran failed in his task, and so he will be granted the first bout. Should he emerge the victor, he will be repaired and allowed to regain his place amongst us, his honour unstained! Should he lose, lots will be drawn for the alien's next opponent until he finally falls. When he falls, we will move on to his comrades."

Ragnar grins. "I'll kill all of you!"

One of Duran's escort shoves a qwa-blade into his healthy hand, then they both back off and rejoin the ranks of Thunderers surrounding him. Huh. Mundane sword against Thunderer armour means 'head shots only', qwa-blade against an injured Betrassusian means 'any hit wins'.

I take a moment to look around. If this is the local Keep, the portal to Qward's innards should be… Over there, I think..? We're not going to get a better location to go 'active' from. Of course, Ragnar himself is loving this.

Too bad.

"Ragnar!" He looks around, a look of sudden discontentment on his face as he works out what I'm about to order him to do. "Arm up!"

He grins, and raises his sword into a higher posture.

"You have a concealed weapon, alien?" Roval sounds almost amused as he draws his own sword. "Draw it and die."

I smile faintly, holding out my hands slightly with palms upwards.

"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."

My rings shimmer into being, Guy following suit a moment later. Roval's grip on his sword tightens slightly as he stares mystified at the orange rings.

"What-?"

A construct cold gun shot to the throat silences him as my clothes evaporate, being replaced by my power armour. His corpse falls to the ground, his brittle-frozen neck snapping and breaking apart as he hits the stones.

"Agh!"

Ragnar has obediently donned his ring, but it looks like he wasn't ready for it to recreate his arm. The grizzled Qwardian who passed him the sword is more on the ball than the stunned rank and file, his gun coming up pointed at Ragnar the moment he starts glowing. I generate construct armour around myself as I redirect my cold gun. But Guy's beaten me to it, a bolt of green striking the weapon and its wielder.

"Head in the game, rookie!"

Ragnar generates construct armour around himself, a construct replacement for his lost buzz sword-.

"Use a gun you prat!"

The Thunderers are alert now, rising into the air with shields pointing towards us and their swords out. Those I'm not so worried about, but-. I see one at the back of the crowd grab a qwa-bolt from his quiver. A cold beam from my construct splashes off his shield as I fly in an evasive pattern. Every one of these Thunderers has qwa-bolts, and our best chance to make it through this fight is to keep them too occupied to draw them.

Guy's in his element, darting around and striking Thunderers from odd angles to bypass their shields. A small group fly at him with their swords out and he's forced to back off. A moment later Ragnar surges into them, bodily battering one out of the air and slicing into the side armour of another with his construct sword.

"Oaagh!"

I duck under a Thunderer's charge and then blindly lash out with my right arm, hitting him in the back. His armour doesn'tshitshitshitshit!

I fly as fast as possible sideways as I spot a Thunderer level a qwa-bolt in my direction. There's a crack sound as it activates, the comic-style lightning bolt leaping from the Thunderer's hand in a brilliant bolt which instantly connects it to the wall behind me. The wall is cratered, three Thunderers who were in the way simply annihilated and my construct armour basically gone on the side facing it.

"Shoot anyone who goes for their bolts!"

I manifest two additional cold guns and set them to target exposed flesh. Guy's mostly just battering them down with brute force while Ragnar's charging and stabbing-.

I form a railgun construct as I spot a shield huddle forming around a Thunderer on the ground. They don't appear to be wearing any sort of sound filter, so I generate a sonic cannon and project a vertigo signal in their direction at the same time as loading a crumbler construct. Their shields waver slightly, but I think they're mostly just gritting their teeth and bearing it. My cold guns fire again as Thunderers try to hem me in, forcing me to duck and weave-. They're aiming not at me directly but at my construct guns. That near miss cost me a cold gun, but now I've got space I fire the crumbler round. It strikes-. Ugh, it hits a shield… Which survives, but generates such a colossal wave of force that it knocks the huddle back and gives me a clear view of the Thunderer with the qwa-bolt.

And gives him a clear view of me.

In a split second I fire twice and then take an armoured barrier out of subspace and interpose it. In the same moment he finishes calculating his shot and triggers his bolt. The barrier vaporises and all too much of the residual force slams…

I hit the ground, construct armour gone and my power armour a wreck pinning me down. Two Thunderers fly at me, swords outstretched for a finishing blow. My construct armour reappears and I drag myself along the ground away from them. Cold guns. Two construct guns appear, one on either side of them. One Thunderer takes a hit on the neck and dies instantly while the other gets his arm in the way. The beam is partially diffused around his armour, but I see him shudder and grit his teeth as the remaining energy starts freezing him.

A green speck pierces the wall on the far side of the arena and flies toward the one Qwardian who hasn't moved since the fight started.

My pursuer falls back, unable to keep control of his flight system. I use the moment's respite to begin repairing my armour and checking on my colleagues. Guy's energy pulses are knocking Qwardians out of the air with ease, sending them into the ground with bone cracking force. I suppose that the Guardians' rules against killing are a bit fuzzier on the subject of compound fractures. Ragnar leaps Mass Effect Vanguard style from Thunderer to Thunderer, his sword always finding the thinner parts of their armour.

"Duran of Qward. Do you wish to regain your honour?"

What's that?

Ragnar's former opponent grabs the thing-. It's a ring, a power ring. "Yes." There's a flash of dull green as he jams it on his right middle finger, the bronze of his armour being replaced by the colours of the Anti-Green Lantern Corps.

"Then welcome to the Antithesis Corps. Twenty four hours of life remain to you. May your death bring glory to Qward."

 

[Mr Zoat]

22nd August
16:15 GMT

Guy pauses in his battering. "Ah, great. One a' those."

I hit two Qwardians who thought I was distracted enough not to notice them going for their qwa-bolts with cold beams. "Guy, stay away. He can drain-."

"At last!" Ragnar grins. "An equal!"

At least he seems to still be in control of himself. I just wish I was in control of himself. Ragnar charges towards Lantern Duran, who responds by lashing out with his injured arm. A wave of dull green energy surges out from his ring, slamming into Ragnar and beating him back. Ragnar goes flying, his construct armour cracking and failing as he slams into the ground in an uncontrolled hurtle.

"Get up, alien! My sole remaining purpose in life is to humble you and then kill you!"

Ragnar nods as his construct armour knits itself back together. "Better than you have tried!"

Yes, I imagine that teaching him to be humble would be an uphill battle. Ah, okay, if his construct armour still exists at all then anti-green rings don't have the same 'total nullification' effect against orange rings that they do against green ones. He should be able to manage against another rookie for a little while.

"Orange? An interesting choice."

W-? There's a Qwardian face, wearing what looks like a deerstalker hat and with a pair of welding goggles across his eyes.

"Avarice, if I remember correctly. Fortunate for me that you use the same communication system as the Green Lanterns."

Ragnar and Duran engage in a brief beam of war. Ragnar's orange force projection gets battered back, but fortunately he has the sense to get out of the way rather than simply let his enemy's attack strike home. He fires a conventional energy pulse back, which Duran blocks with a construct shield which mimics the one he had during their pit fight.

A qwa-bolt I'd missed narrowly misses Guy before slamming into -and through- a nearby wall, revealing a hole inside. Quick scan… Yes, that's our way down. I fly towards the opening, cold gun constructs taking shots of opportunity. Once we're in the open air, evading qwa-bolts will be a far simpler matter. And assuming that they haven't had any major upgrades we're all faster than Thunderers in the air.

"I had considered using it, but I found that it tended to drive my test subjects insane."

"Chief Weaponer Kalmin, I presume?"

"Not any longer. 'Weaponer' will do fine. Is the Green Lantern of Sector Two Eight One Four with you?"

His head turns around on my ring and he catches sight of Guy dodging and weaving as he uses construct lassos to pull the qwa-blade of one Thunderer into the arm of another. The resulting energy discharge blasts the arm to pieces, burns the armour protecting the Thunderer's side and probably causes all kinds of internal injuries. It also allows Guy to grab the man's severed hand with a construct, said hand still holding his qwa-blade. Guy then uses that to stab at a third Thunderer from odd angles, removing his left leg in a flash of yellow energy.

"No, no one from Two Eight One Four is that creative."

"They are since I've been teaching them. Power rings are tools, not weapons."

"An intelligent attitude. Which is not to say that they don't work perfectly well as weapons."

The handful of Thunderers left are keeping their distance from Guy and I, mostly wanting to keep a solid wall between themselves and us. Could kill them all, but as long as they're suppressed they won't prevent us moving on to our objective. "Guy, ready to leave?"

Guy takes a second to check his surroundings, then generates a green construct demolition charge on the wall above where most of our foes are hiding. "Nearly." I see it as a green blast wave shoots through the wall, causing it to collapse onto our opponents. Trapping them in a way which probably won't kill them. As long as-.

A yellow explosion evaporates a chunk of the debris, and everyone who was underneath it.

As long as none of them were prepping a qwa-bolt. Fortunately, it looks like Guy's ring hasn't registered that as a 'kill'.

Ragnar and Duran are still fighting each other. Duran's added a glaive to his dark green energy bolts while Ragnar parries each shot or swing. Persuading him to break off is going to be difficult.

I raise my ring into a more convenient speaking position. "What's with the weak defences, Kalmin? How are we even alive at the moment?"

"I haven't killed you because you interest me. As for these dullards, you may thank High Weaponlord Varnathon of Q'uldi for their lack of preparedness. And for aliens being allowed on Qward at all."

"I take it that he's a fan of peaceful trading relationships?"

"Bah!"

Sounds like someone I need to support. And I imagine that the Guardians would consider that knowledge to be useful as well. I generate a railgun construct and take aim at Lantern Duran.

Ragnar spots my movement, his eyes widening. "No! This is my fight!"

Damn it. Ragnar turning my way attracted Duran's attention, and a blast from his ring destroys my construct.

Guy's hesitating just in front of the hole. "Hey! Are we-."

"I know!" Turning back to their fight I see Ragnar switch to a one-handed stance with his sword and generate a kite shield for his defence. He uses that to deflect Duran's swing, then slashes at the back of his construct glaive. The glaive shatters, Ragnar tries charging again and Duran-

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

-fires a colossal beam of energy at Ragnar, blasting his shield apart, breaking his construct armour and battering the conventional armour beneath. Duran maintains his attack, slamming Ragnar into the ground and then into a wall as his armour continues to abrade.

Right, transitioning… No, non-functional. Fine. I recreate my railgun and shoot Duran with a crumbler round.

"Guh."

The beam slackens off, giving me the opportunity to stick a harness around the dazed and bleeding Ragnar and drag him towards the exit hole after me.

"Wait, I-." Ragnar breaks my construct in a surge of orange light. "I have nearly beaten him!"

"Ragnar, we've leaving. We have a mission to complete. He'll follow us. Get moving."

Oh, at this point… Guy drops out of sight and I rocket after him, construct boosters adding to my speed as I fly downwards into Qward. If Ragnar dies it'll be awkward, but it's only one of Larfleeze's rings with no added database. I should be able to call it, and even if I can't it's a bearable-.

Ragnar comes through the hole, looking around for me for a moment and then accelerating down while keeping a shield construct above him. Oh, good. Now we just have to-.

"Careful, Lantern. These tunnels aren't undefended."

My ring shows me huge cannons unfolding from the tunnel walls half a mile below us.

"Try to survive. I have a use for you."