[Archive] With This Ring (Young Justice SI) (Story Only)

7th November 2012
Roughly 10:16 GMT -5

"Eagle, vulture, any idea how we get back to the material world?"

The eagle's back on Alan's perch, but he's slightly hunched over and his head jerks around to stare in a new direction every few seconds. Since we have no idea where we're going Alan and I opted to take position directly above the Liberty Fountain-.

"And you don't think this is the blood of patriots and tyrants, do you?"

Alan frowns. "Patriots and-? Oh. I'm not sure that fits, thematically. Americans are supposed to be willing to bleed to see tyrants brought down, it's virtuous behavior. I think it's more likely to be the blood of innocents ground under wheels, something like that."

I turn my head to look at the vulture on my pauldron, who ruffles her wings.

"I don't usually ask where the blood comes from."

"I thought that vultures could smell corpses from a mile away."

"Corpses generally stay in one place, and by the time they're dead enough to smell the bleeding has generally stopped. Kind of why I was hanging around here, actually. If I see something bleeding this much it usually means that something is about to die and it's time to short it."

"Short it-?" Ugh. "You're the Vulture of Freedom, because in a free economy asset stripping and short selling and debt loading are viable strategies, even if they're harmful to society as a whole."

"I don’t kill things. But if they're dying anyway, why not fill my beak?"

The eagle actually perks up, staring at.. either me or the vulture.

"She is death! Death!"

Alan chuckles quietly to himself, prompting the three of us to turn and give him a funny look. He just shrugs.

"Oh, come on Paul. How many new experiences do you think I get at my age? It's not all positive, but… What was it you said? When I'm confronted by evil, I will rejoice, because when I'm done with the evil then it won't be there any more." He looks over at the city. "This place is a mess. But if it's literally the worst parts of American history made manifest… What happens when we fix it?"

"I think it's meant to be broken."

He looks a little disappointed. "Well, now. That doesn't sound like you. What happens to America if we change things around here?"

"We… Mind control an entire country, which is something I'd rather avoid doing."

He frowns. "Is that how it works?"

"This place is a representation of the American psyche, right?"

"Ah."

"Now, the influence is probably two-way at this point, so we can probably justify some improvements, but I don't want to root-and-branch the whole place."

"No, I… You're probably right. So, any idea how to get out?"

The eagle shrugs. "Normally, you find a site of spiritual significance and make a ritualistic connection. But that Prince of the World thing forced us through."

"Whow whow whow." The vulture fans out her wings and then goes rather still. "The Prince sent you here?"

Alan nods. "That's right."

"You're not getting out, then. This is his place. He controls the ways in and out."

"This is the bad place!"

Alan strokes the eagle's head in what I imagine is supposed to be a reassuring way. It doesn't appear to be helping.

"Paul, any ideas?"

"I imagine that-. Okay, before we go any further, did you read my report of my meeting with Boss Smiley?"

"Ah… Yeah, but I don't remember all the details."

"He claimed to be an arcane life form devoted to controlling humanity by limiting our development. He offered me a deal where I could develop all of the technology I want with his institutional aid but he would control what went mainstream."

"So we find him and beat him up?"

"If it were that simple I'd have already done it. He's nebulous, hard enough to pin down that even the angels weren't sure that he even really exists." Great. "At least we know who's replaced Uncle Sam; the living embodiment of political corruption. Vulture, does he actually..? Have a physical form here?"

"Maybe."

"'Maybe' as in you want something for telling us, or 'maybe' as in you don't know?"

"'Maybe' as in I'm only here so I can eat you when you die. I'm not about to share what I know about the god of my conceptual world because that sounds like a good way to have a little accident."

"Do you know Professor Demetrios Prokopios?"

"No?"

"He's the man who protects Earth's economy from people like you. Not always successfully, but well enough to keep things functioning in a nearly-sane way. He's a friend of mine. So I'm pretty sure that he'd be rather happy if I removed you as a problem."

"You can't risk it. And you don't want to mind control people."

"Ah, it's about judging the greatest risk to people. And I don't need to kill you, not when I've got an orange power ring. I can just convert you into orange light. Or brand you into compliance and then undo it once we're finished. I don't think that would cause lasting harm, but given what you are I don't think I'd mind too much if it did."

The vulture peers into my eyes for a moment, then cringes slightly. "I can respect a strong negotiating position. He's strongest at focuses of political power."

"Washington."

"The First of the Fallen used to come here, in the guise of Abraham Lincoln. He hasn't been here recently-."

"And he won't be back."

"Boss Smiley's people don't appear when he's around."

"His people?"

"I don’t know what they are, exactly. His favourites. The aspects of corruption that he likes the most."

"And what can they do?"

"Anything. This is their place. Everything here's as bad as Boss Smiley likes it to be, which is pretty bad."

Right. Conceptual realm, conceptual beings. We can… Probably only beat them by playing their game better than them.

Alan nods. "But we can get out in Washington?"

"Rule by force is a pretty normal thing, here. If you can pull it off then you've been vicious enough to demand it."

"Then I guess that's where we're going."

"Yes, but after I find out where this blood is coming from."

I angle myself to fly down, then stop when I feel Alan's hand on my shoulder.

"Ah, Paul? Maybe you shouldn't do that."

 

7th November 2012
Roughly 10:20 GMT -5

I stop, then turn back towards him.

"Why not? I mean, it's right there, and that much blood can't be healthy."

"Do you think it's coming from John Constanteen?"

"Ah, no, but-. Ah, it's pronounced 'Constantine'."

"Okay, Constantine. You know he's not in there, don't you?"

"Yes?"

"And Uncle Sam probably isn't either?"

"Probably not. If he'd lost that much blood I think he'd be dead. Eagle?"

"Oh yeah, dead. He can take a licking but he's only got the same amount of blood as a normal person."

"Right. And that Smiler guy isn't either. This place…" He turns his head to look at the city, then raises it slightly to try and see beyond it. "It's some sort of American nightmare, but it was here yesterday and it'll probably be here tomorrow. Maybe it would be better to stay on-task."

"Yeeeeaaah but… It's just, that can't be a good sign, right?"

"Probably not. But the way I see it, there's always going to be a worst thing about a place, and we can't change history. If we can't risk fixing the whole place then it's best to just keep going." He give me a sly smile. "Besides, don't you wanna give Smiley a blacker eye for getting you killed?"

"My death was temporary. The damage he's doing to the psyche of the human species is ongoing." I glance at the torch, but he's right. That's not of primary importance right now.

Wait a moment.

"Doctor Mist called you in, didn't he?"

"You just repainted the Statue of Liberty, Paul."

"I cleaned it! The green colour was from the rust!"

"And that's why the Justice League has a Paul Protocol."

I throw my arms up in delight! "YES!"

Alan frowns, puzzled. "Ah… I don't think I understand what you're so happy about."

"How many people can say that the Justice League have a plan specifically to deal with them?"

"A.. few dozen..? Mostly bad guys?"

I nod, still smiling. "Exactly. Washington DC next?"

"I…" Alan considers for a moment, then nods. "Can't hurt."

"Eagle? Vulture? Any anti-air weapons along the way we should worry about?"

The eagle shrugs. "I don’t know. I make a point of not coming here."

"There's a metaphor about people with different points of view not talking to each other, there. Vulture?"

The vulture nods. "Washington is defended by the entire Military Industrial Complex. Weapon emplacements as far as the eye can see. Let me know when you get into range, so I can hop off and get first dibs on your remains."

Alan nods. "How about if we come in from above?"

"You could, but you'd have to avoid the Star Wars Defence Platforms."

"Underground?"

"Putrid worms. They're pretty common in Washington. They hide underground so that no one can see-."

"Yes, thank you, I worked that one out."

Alan nods. "So how do we get in there?"

The vulture ruffles her feathers. "Be a vulture? They don't bother me."

"Could we sneak in?"

"I don't know. I've never tried." … "Because I'm a vulture."

"Okay, well I don't feel like trying to fight some sort of magic reflection of America's military power. How about you?"

The eagle shakes its head. "No. Do you think we could inspire them to side with the real America?"

An interesting question, and one I started wondering about when I read The Ultimates. Skrulls infiltrate the Pentagon and give one set of orders to the American military. Then Captain America gets on the radio and asks for backup, and he's the one they choose to obey. A bit Great Manny, maybe, but it showed people doing what they thought was right rather than what they were supposed to. But…

"I don't think that's how things work here. But I suppose that we won't know until we get a closer look. If we fly that way slowly we should get some warning before we reach their cordon."

Alan nods. "Alright. South west, or along the coast?"

"Given how big the American navy is, I'd have thought that directly west and then directly south would be best."

"Over New York?"

Ah… "Vulture, how high up do you have to be before the Star Wars Defence Platform starts shooting?"

"I'm a black vulture, not a fried chicken."

Alan and I look at each other, then we both raise construct shields over the group, the eagle immediately jumping off his perch and awkwardly hovering in the exact centre of the shielded area.

And then we're off, the streets of Evil New York passing beneath us. They're like… Every idea of what grim and decaying tenements would look like, but taller and built along narrower streets and… I think the roof is bigger than the ground floor?

Alan's head jerks around as he spots something. "Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"Someone was trying to climb out of that.. window, and it kinda… Swallowed them back up."

"Vulture, are there any real people here?"

"I think of myself as a real person, yes."

"Material people, or are they all manifestations of the American psyche?"

"I think it's just you. But I haven't looked everywhere."

"Which means that's probably a living metaphor for… Poverty? Violent communities? So if as a general policy we're not touching anything we don’t have to…"

"Yeah. It's just… Seeing folks in need and not stepping in…"

"Not the heroic thing to do, I know. But like you said…"

"Yeah. I kinda wanna have it out with that Smiley guy, too."

 

4th November 2282
06:12 CDT

"Hey, Mutie Chief!"

I raise my right hand and wave at the group of Enclave soldiers heading for morning exercises. That's apparently my name now, and I think their use of it marks my promotion to 'house mutant'.

Progress, of a sort.

Central Iowa is… Nice, actually. The main settlement is surrounded by walls of rammed earth, wide enough for a walkway to have been included for the sentries to walk along at the top. The buildings… Mostly barracks and sheds at the moment, are built with walls of reclaimed bricks and stones, held together with newly created mortar. The roofs are corrugated iron, and noisy as heck when it rains. But good quality building wood isn't something that grows quickly, and there aren't enough quality animal hides in Iowa for the locals to use instead.

The ground is covered in some of Diana's quick-growing grass, the shade of green looking somewhat.. odd to my eyes. It's quite a bit brighter than what I remember of the pre-War plant, something that's carried over into the improved plants growing in the carefully marked off fields outside of the stockade. Even the G.E.C.K.-supercharged land around here can't grow much in winter, but land for wheat and potatoes to be grown is closest to the walls, fields marked out with metal poles and wire fences. Actual trees have been planted at sites marked out for future settlements, in the hope that the wood will be ready for construction work when they get that far. No birds singing; their migratory instincts would get them killed by the radiation clouds. But there are chirping sounds coming from the insect enclosures and a quiet hum from the bee hives under the grunts and exercise songs coming from the 'National Guard' soldiers.

All in all, not a terrible place to live.

I nod at the guards outside the settlement's 'research centre', and they let me through without issue. I think this was some sort of meat processing plant before the war, but it has since been repurposed into somewhere for the scientists of the 'Iowa Environmental Protection Agency' to work in. Mostly they do soil and crop analysis, making sure that the G.E.C.K. is still doing its thing and we're not all getting unknowingly irradiated. They've also got a back room filled with partially assembled suits of power armour that they haven't actively tried to hide from me but didn't include in my tour.

Hey, if they want to spend their time doing that it won't be me who goes hungry.

Now, where is-?

**Doctor Rubens?**

**W-huh-? Oh. The-. Krono. I'm in the electronics workshop.**

I nod and walk down the corridor in that direction. Until recently, vehicles were a rarity in the wasteland, and even today the trucks in my convoy represent an appreciable portion of the total functioning vehicles in North America. But doing farm work without either tractors or draft animals is extremely hard work, so the IEPA's engineers and scientists have been hard at work turning recovered vehicle wrecks into farm vehicles. Of course, right now the remains of the robots that attacked us are taking priority.

I open the door at the end of the corridor, entering the workshop from the side. The closest vehicle will eventually be a combine harvester, the high-torque engine system from a Great War tank powering a newly built wheelbase and the rotating harvester. Once it's finished, anyway. At the moment it's a mechanical skeleton that probably won't be finished until July, with the partially-welded harvester sitting off to the side so that it doesn't get in the way.

The electronics workshop is at the end furthest from the garage doors. There's an actual clean room for delicate work, but since we're not exactly doing a lot of precision work here it's mostly just used for creating the micro vacuum tubes virtually all local advanced technology relies on. Next to that there's a couple of workbenches with power packs, volt and amp meters, soldering irons and such other tools of electronic engineering that the scientists and technicians here might need.

Doctor Rubens glances up from the robot leg she's disassembling. She's wearing overalls that were once pristine white, but have now been reduced to a pale grey. Most enclave clothing is that colour, a little lighter or a little darker. They like wearing pre-War uniforms but there are only so many of those around and while they are hard-wearing the dyes do fade eventually. Cotton production has started returning to the NCR, Texas and the RRG but… Ah… At the moment it's mostly used for underwear more than anything else as other clothing can be made from the more readily available leather or fur. Twin Mothers is basically the only place that has wool.

"It's not RobCo."

I nod. "I suspected."

"This leg is more like a human cybernetic. I've seen similar things in Washington on a few occasions. Though the design is obviously different."

"Have you been up all night?"

She jerks, tearing her eyes away from her work to look at me.

"It's morning?"

"Yes, it-."

"Then I guess it's time for my morning stimulant!"

She walks over to a thermos flash and unscrews the lip, peering at the contents. Then she pours out a cup's worth of Costa Cafeinada's 'enhanced' product into a ceramic mug and puts the mug into a microwave. That's probably a terrible way to drink good coffee, but that would only be an issue if Costa Cafeinada made good coffee rather than relying on the highly addictive chemicals they've bred into their coffee plants.

"I'm not sure that's a good-."

"Oh please." The microwave pings and she extracts the now-steaming mug from it. "I filtered out their weird chemical additives. It's just coffee." She slurps down a mouthful before returning to her station.

"It's still highly addictive."

"The day I take lessons on narcotics from a mutant tribal is the day I move to China."

I mean… Technically…

"You didn't know that… China is currently a capitalist monarchy? In as much as it… Still exists, I mean."

"China is communist."

"China was communist in much the same way that the Enclave was the government of America. When the bombs fell, it stopped being the case to any significant degree. Since they didn't really have Vaults it was the groups furthest away from the big cities that survived to rebuild, and… One of those places was Taiwan. The… Taiwanese ended up occupying most of the region around Beijing, killing off what was left of the central communist party."

She's not moving, just staring at me.

I smile awkwardly. "So about the robot..?"

"So, it-? We.. won..? The War..?"

"You could see it like that? I don't think the current Emperor likes America very much, and China is a going concern while America has only reassembled itself at the state level, but you definitely beat the communists with a little help from your allies."

I'm not entirely sure how Taiwan managed to remain independent after America pulled out, though I suspect the short range nuclear missile batteries and the truly ridiculous number of sea mines still in the region might have had something to do with it. Then when America went on the attack after the invasion of Alaska they were only too happy to host the Americans in return for 'development aid'.

"But the robot?"

"Yes-. Yes. I was about to crack open the CPU and see what I'll need to add to the wish list in order to access it." She puts the mug down and picks up a head from the parts bench. "It's not a pre-War design so I doubt that I'll have what I need here."

I nod as she puts it down in front of a hydraulic metal cutter. She clamps the head in place and picks up the cutter.

"Okay. Power on…"

With a little difficulty she gets the end of the cutter to grip the head, making a small incision. Then she moves the cutter and makes another close by before turning the cutter and snipping out the metal between the two incisions. That lets her get one prong of the cutter inside so that she can cut around the edge, peeling back the armour to reveal-.

Dr. Rubens pokes the substance in the skull's interior.

"Why is there a brain in this robot?"

 

4th November 2282
16:34 CDT

"Doctor. Mister Krowno. What do you have for meh?"

Governor Autumn stands at parade rest, his two power armoured bodyguards staying a few paces back. They don't actually wear Advanced Power Armour. Instead, they've got something called Hellfire Armour, and given that the pauldrons and helmet have a noticeably different shape than standard APA I've encouraged them to switch over to that variant entirely for their more sophisticated units.

"They're using brains, s-. Governor." Dr. Rubens uses a wand to point to one of the heads we took apart more carefully once we understood enough about their interior structure to do that without mangling anything. "They're cybernetically augmented to handle the robotic frame, but there aren't enough synthetic components in there to do all the work."

"Am ah to unduhstand that somebody is making a new type of robobrain?"

"Yes, Governor. Only this time, they're using human brains."

Autumn frowns, disgusted. "What mannuh of man would stoop so low?"

I nod. "General Atomics, but these use a different interface system. I'm not sure-."

Doctor Rubens rolls her eyes. "General Atomics used chimpanzee brains for their robobrains. Not a lot of chimpanzees in America today. This is new."

"With the greatest respect, Doctor, I am something of an expert on human brains. The robobrains guarding the Vault-Tec headquarters in Washington D.C. were definitely using human brains, as were the ones recovered from the Sierra Army Depot."

She blinks, a refutation rushing to her lips before the obvious fact that I will have checked makes itself known to her thought processes.

"How do you even know what a chimpanzee looks like?"

"Greenway Hydroponics kept records of just about every animal and plant that they could, and I've got good relations with them." She frowns slightly. "The old U.S. government's seed bank project? I told you that was where your G.E.C.K. came from."

"That-. May well be, but-."

"But human brains can serve the same purpose?" Autumn has walked closer, taking a look at one of the board-mounted engineering diagrams. "Is theyah anything left of the man inside?"

Dr. Rubens shakes her head. "No. The system for providing tactile feedback isn't complex enough."

That's not a certainty. Diana's brain exists in a similar system, but she's got an entire facility and a ZAX mainframe to get input from. These… Mechanoids? Don't have that, and we couldn't find a remote communication device.

"I…"

Autumn turns his head my way. "Mister Krowno? You disagree?"

"We couldn't detect any trace of the chemicals that General Atomics used to wipe the brains they used. The damaged caused to the prefrontal lobe by the cybernetics suggests to me that whoever did this wasn't interested in preserving the personhood of whoever's brain this was. And Doctor Rubens is right about the deleterious effect a lack of tactile feedback has on the human mind… But I wouldn't want to draw a firm conclusion without more information."

"Such as hwat?"

"If we pierced the cranial armour of one with a still-living brain, then I could try communicating with them telepathically."

"It seem to me that doing that would be something of a risk."

"I've communicated with diseased minds before, and robobrains."

"Ah was referring to the difficultah of bringing one of these things down. Ah trust you to make a determination of your own abilahties yourself."

I shrug. "You've the governor, Governor. I'm happy to make the attempt."

"Have you discovahd anything that would give us a clue about how many of these machines arh out theyuh waiting for us?"

Dr. Rubens shakes her head. "With communications being as difficult as they are and with.. what we know about recent mutant displacements, anyone who was making these could easily get hold of a lot of human brains."

"Come now Doctuh. Please do not refer to our fellow Americans in so derogatory a mannuh."

I nod. "The people of Heaven's Gate are pretty close to pre-War human baselines, physiologically speaking. So there's no real way to confirm if that's where these brains came from. It could equally be some sort of virtual reality Vault that no one else has discovered."

"Ah see. What else have you discovuhd?"

Dr. Rubens moves along to a group of devices extracted from the robot's torso.

"They don't run on nuclear batteries. They appear to generate electricity by feeding on radiation in their environment. We found these devices on the inside of their air intakes; they're breathing in the radioactive dust clouds to keep themselves going."

"So they cannot leave them."

"Not for long, at least. And their guns don't have space for power cells; they run them purely off their own internal batteries."

"Could we modify them for our use?"

She nods. "Yes, but they're not much better against armored targets than our existing weapons. I don't know how worthwhile it would be."

"And against unarmored targets?"

"Slightly superior. Do you have something in mind, sir?"

"It seems to me that these would make excellent worm killuhs, if combined with an eyebot and some mannuh of lewuh. And what about the powuh sources themselves?"

"They won't work here; there's not enough radiation. I could build some sort of charge station that a patrol could take with them into the dust clouds so they could recharge their power cells, that wouldn’t be too difficult. Or we could build a power plant in the clouds and lay a cable back into the settlement."

He nods. "Mister Krowno, have you seen this technology in use by anyone else?"

I shake my head. "No. This is the first I've seen of it."

"Ah see. And is theyuh some limitation on how long these robots can operate?"

Dr. Rubens nods cautiously. "Yes, their peak draw is far more than they can generate outside of the very worst radiation zones. They use them to charge their internal batteries and capacitors, so unlike the fusion cells in our power armour they can only fight for… I'd say twenty minutes at most before they would shut down due to lack of power. Even less if they wanted to give themselves time to disengage."

"Is theyuh any advantage over the fusion cell that I am simply not seeing?"

"They'd be easier to manufacture. We salvage our atomics from pre-War sources but these can be made without doing that."

"Which suggests that whoevuh made these does not have access to a storehouse of advanced pre-War technology. Aftuh all, the design of the fusion cell was not considered to be a state secret."

"That seems likely, Governor."

"Then this design is theyuh own?"

"Not entirely. The arms and legs are based on the designs for pre-War cybernetics, as are a lot of the chassis and motor systems. But the robot-. Cyborg, is something."

Autumn nods thoughtfully, not looking at either of us.

"Mister Krowno, I fear that ah must call upon your services. Given the events of our recent past, ah have no desire to seek affray with owuh new neighbours. Yet they attacked you without warning, and ah cannot risk hwat little of the Enclave still remains to the vagaries of fate."

I nod. "I'll speak to the Sergeant about putting a team together to do some exploring. See if we can make contact."

"Ah would be most grateful. Yet I am aware that our situation here is dependent on your embassy and intervention with owuh former enemies. Do not risk yourself unnecessarily."

"As you say. Governor. Doctor."

 

7th November 2012
Roughly 10:38 GMT -5

I aim my clay pigeon launcher up over the hillock we're hiding behind and fire, the ceramic projectile flying-.

Boomboomboom!

Ratatatatatatatata!

Shooooom!

And small fragments of it rain down on the-.

Alan thrusts his right arm forwards, a fairground claw machine grabber punching into the ground and coming out with a squirming, blind, writhing worm that smells horrible, drips acid so that it will hurt anyone that touches it and can only bite, consume and excrete.

A bit heavy-handed, but that's the sort of place we're in.

"What.. do I..?"

I shake my head. "It doesn't matter, Alan. Chuck it away and it will go back to what it was doing before. Throw it at the Complex and they'll kill it, but it will immediately be replaced by something identical. It lacks the capacity to be anything other than what it is."

"Okay, but is it an animal, or just-"

It spits a blob of acid at him, which he blocks with a stars and stripes kite shield.

"-a really nasty person?"

"Its mindset is too different for me to tell for certain. I think animal, but that might be a result of its inherent magics keeping it simple rather than an indication of a total inability to cogitate."

"I don't.. like cruelty to animals, but if it's literally an embodiment of political corruption then I guess I'll live with myself."

The arm construct swings and the worm goes flying towards the Complex. I wait for the-.

…

I wait for the guns..?

Nothing. Alan frowns interrogatively at me. Why would-?

I nod. "Because it's supposed to be there. The Complex doesn't think that corrupt politicians are its enemy; they're its friends."

Alan creates a periscope construct and uses it to peek out of cover. "Think I could pass as Carter?"

I look at his blue glow.

"No." I look around as I try to-. "Wait, where did the vulture-?"

"Darn it. Eagle, did you see-?"

"I smell something!" He tilts his head back, sniffing the air. "An American icon!"

"In here? Lead the way!"

The eagle doesn't hesitate, leaping and flapping upwards and westward, Alan and I right behind it. I glance back at the Complex as we go, the colossal fortress walls and buttress-mounted guns seeming to glare at us as we go. And it might actually be glaring if it has the type of intelligence that I suspect it does. The eagle picks up speed, and I see… Some sort of main road, and there's the vulture, flapping towards… A humanoid figure, wearing a somewhat soiled suit and missing a portion of its head. And both his arms.

The vulture flies past them, lading next to a lump of something on the ground behind the unsteady figure. The face looks-.

Alan gasps!

"That's Kennedy!"

He dives down, and I can feel his drive to rescue someone from this place bubble to the surface. A blue glow reassembles the man's arms before Alan really thinks through what he's doing, and then he's left floating in the air just in front of the dead president.

The dead president whose face is… Kind of hanging in there, but a large piece of his skull and most of his brain is just sort of gone.

Alan spots the vulture tucking in.

"Hey, get away from that!"

"Why?" It gulps, swallowing a beakful of temporal lobe. "You can't tell me that this brain is keeping him alive."

"That-." Alan realises that he has a point as the late President Kennedy stares at him with a vague smile on his face. "That's no excuse. What happened to waiting until he's dead?"

"He has literally no brain. Why does me eating-" The vulture pecks up a little more, then tilts her head back to swallow. "-a little bit of what he's not using matter?"

I scan the available brain matter, but… Yes. This isn't Kennedy, not in the flesh. This is the idea of Kennedy, or… Possibly the man's soul. There isn't any organic matter there for me to analyse.

"M-m hmm hmm hm."

Kennedy's humming? Why is he humming God Save The Queen? I mean, thanks, but in this position I wouldn't start humming The Star-Spangled Banner.

"Paul, I-. I don't know how to fix a man's brain. Not when it's this far gone."

"Ah… I don't either. But I don't think that's the issue. The Vulture of Freedom is right. This is Kennedy's soul, or something like it. Organic repairs aren't this issue. Though you could have cleaned up his excrement when you-"

"Darn it, yeah."

"-repaired his arms."

"Hrrrn hrn hrn huuuughnuuhnuuuh."

"I think this is going to have to be a magic thing."

"So we can't help him out until we can get Doctor Mist or Giovanni in here."

"No. I mean… Look, someone who knows how to damage souls has had a go at him, right? We can't fix that. But we can fix him-. Or rather, since I don't think we need him to go running off after Marilyn Monroe, you can."

He looks sceptical.

"This isn't the best time to talk me through some whole new ring power, Paul."

"On the contrary, it's the best time. As President, he can walk us through the Military Industrial Complex. And since he's dead, even if you get it badly wrong you can't kill him because he's already dead."

"Ah…" Alan looks at Kennedy's injury, his gaze going through the man's head. "I can't exactly say that you're wrong there, but I don't know what you want me to do."

"Sometimes, people come to represent more than they actually are. Kennedy did a lot of bad things during his time in office, but Americans seem to regard him fondly. He was a focus of hope."

"And you think I can draw on that hope to fix him up?"

"I think you might be able to draw on it to make him better."

Alan takes a breath, then raises his ring.

"Guess I won't know until I try, huh?"

 

7th November 2012
Roughly 10:43 GMT -5

"So how does this work?"

"Somewhere, there is a place where the hopes of all things that can hope or have ever hoped are inscribed upon the very structure of that place."

"Uh… Huh."

"The Honden of Hope. I use the Honden of Avarice whenever I do my teleportation thing. However, just connecting to it should be far easier."

"Do I have a..? Blue-Ophidian?"

"An Entity, yes. Its name is Adara and it's a… Giant… Bird-like alien. As far as I remember it's a good deal more easygoing than the Ophidian, but we shouldn’t need to get its attention anyway."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Anything as powerful as an Entity is dangerous, but it shouldn't be hostile. In the unlikely event that you encounter it, remain calm and offer it birdseed."

"Ph-?"

It takes a second, but then he realises that it was a joke.

"Seriously though, what should I do?"

"I can't say for certain. It will probably just be curious, so show it your hopes and where they come from. If it wants to help, then let it, but I imagine that once it sees that you're genuine it will go back to whatever it was doing before."

Hm.

"Eagle, do you want to help?"

The eagle tears its eyes away from the remains of the fallen president.

"How?"

"Alan's going to be using all of the hopes associated with President Kennedy to try to restore his soul to something approaching what it should be. Honestly… It's more likely that he's going to overshoot and turn him into the best president that America can imagine because who people think about a person -particularly after they're dead- has only the most tenuous connection to what they were actually like."

Alan frowns. "I thought I was just going to be fixing him up?"

"And this is why it's important to ensure that your afterlife arrangements are secure. He can't be 'fixed', any more than I could have scooped the chunks of brain he's dropped and shoved them back into a living person to repair their brain."

His face drops. "Oh. That's…"

"That's better than what everyone in my home parallel gets. So if you ever wonder why I keep going on about it, that's why. From my point of view, everyone here who does is like… Like someone with AIDS who's got an easy-to-use hypodermic with the cure loaded into it right next to them, but is so lazy that they'd rather die horribly than reach over and fix themselves."

Huh. That got 'real' rather quickly.

"But this way we turn him into some sort of perfect dream president and he can… Eagle, would he be Heartlands material if we did that?"

"I think so? I'd have to see him afterwards to know for sure."

"So there you go." I nod at President Kennedy. "That, for eternity."

"I'm a… Doughnut…"

"Or a demigod."

"Okay." Alan nods. "I'm on board."

I incline my head towards him. He frowns, then spots that his environmental shield is barely there.

"Oh. Just a moment." He closes his eyes and his shield burns back into life. "Everyone deserves better than this, and he certainly does."

"Okay, now, keep your eyes closed and focus on the things that inspire hope in you. For me, I feel hope every time I go to see the Beresfords and see that they really don't want to go back to being thugs. Every time people I know make good decisions without me needing to talk them through it, and I see it's not just me pushing the world up a hill in a wheelbarrow."

He nods, eyes still closed. A few moments pass, then his flame grows into a bonfire.

"Good. Now, keep doing that, and imagine… All the things that make you angry or hateful moving away. They're still there, still part of you, but they're not where you are right now."

"Uh-huh."

His aura dips for a moment, then burns back, the flames not any larger but… Steadier.

"Next, your selfish desires. Everyone has things that they want for themselves, but all of yours are somewhere else. They haven't stopped existing and they'll be there when you need them, but your hopes are all that surround you."

He nods slowly.

"Next, your fears. A normal animal reaction to danger, but yours have no place here."

Hm. Skip will, since it should synergise with any mental effort. Hope is what we're using, and… Compassion and love.

"It is a noble thing to help others without the desire for reward, but that is not where you are. This is a place for inspiring others, not aiding them directly. Your compassion is elsewhere, waiting for you when you leave."

The flaming effect is basically gone, though the size of his aura has continued to grow. I wonder if that's what I look like when I meditate?

"Love is our particular attachment to those closest to us. But you are somewhere universal, and the particular only serves to distract you. All around you are your hopes made manifest."

His mouth moves, opening and closing a little like he's feeling around for the words.

"I see it."

"Good. Now, your hopes are the walls and the ceiling and the floor, but on the other side of one is the chamber for someone who shares that hope with you. Can you picture that?"

"It's like I'm… There."

And now he's gone slightly translucent. Um. Okay, just carry on.

"We're looking for images of John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Every person he inspired is there with you, and we need their hopes. Can you see them?"

"I can. It's… All so beautiful…"

"Now you've seen how he exists in that place, in their minds, draw the blue light to you and make it true. Make Kennedy the Kennedy they believe in."

Alan opens his eyes, and they're pools of blue light as he reaches for Kennedy's broken head.

 

7th November 2012
Roughly 10:51 GMT -5

I cautiously look at the two men sitting at the side of the idea of a road. One is floating just off the ground in the cross legged position, his eyes closed. The other keeps reaching up to his head as if to check that it's still there, then jerking his hands down.

"Green Lantern."

"Yes, Mister President?"

"This administration-." The younger man twitches slightly. "I feel that I have just incurred some great debt to you, but I don't seem quite able to recall what for."

Alan floats upright, though his feet don't quite touch the ground.

"You were in a bad way, sir, and I put you back together. But I'm afraid that America needs your help."

"It's my duty to the free world to aid our greatest hero." President Kennedy has a confused frown as he pulls himself to his feet and dusts himself off, and I find myself smiling at his description of Alan. "What seems to be the problem?"

"An evil spirit-."

"Alan, Alan. Just a… Just a minute."

Alan looks at me, his eyes still glowing pits.

"All of those emotions that were somewhere else, you feel them begin to return as you move away from the blue place. Remember all the things that made you angry? They're with you again, burning under your-."

Alan gasps, dropping to his feet and his eyes returning to normal.

"You alright?"

He nods. "Is that what it's like for you?"

"Don’t know, but maybe."

"Ah. I need a moment-."

"No problem. Mister President." I step forward and offer him my right hand. "Orange Lantern."

"Any friend of Green Lantern is a friend of mine."

He takes my hand and I feel a tremendous sense of reassurance and warmth at his presence. It's like meeting my father again after being at university for a term.

I don't think I like it.

"Sir, we're in a magic realm where all the worst parts of the American psyche are real objects or people. We're trying to get to the part which corresponds to Washington so that we can deal with the spirit of corruption that has kidnapped Uncle Sam and replaced him in the real world."

"And where do I come in?"

"A manifestation of the Military-Industrial Complex has fortified the outskirts with a giant wall, but I'm hoping that they'll open the gates for the President."

"A wall around Washington? Unthinkable. I'll demand that they tear it down!"

"Sir, I'm not sure that a direct confrontation with the Military-Industrial Complex would turn out well for you."

"I choose to tear down the Military-Industrial Complex, not because it is easy, but because it is hard."

Alan nods, creating a platform under the Super President's feet and rising into the air. The birds and I follow them, the great grey walls of the Military-Industrial Complex growing steadily closer. I see the missile batteries and flak guns train themselves on us.

"Green Lantern, put me on the radio."

An old style radio microphone appears in front of him.

"To the forces occupying the capital of the great nation, I am the President of the United States. With the authority invested in me by the Constitution, I as Commander in Chief order you to stand down."

The guns keep tracking us, but… We're over their perimeter now and they haven't fired. Close up, the walls tower into the heavens and we're flying almost vertical in an attempt to clear the battlements.

"Our purpose is to defend America. Why would the President order us to stand down?"

"Total war makes no sense in an age where great powers can maintain large and relatively invulnerable nuclear forces and refuse to surrender without resort to those forces. It makes no sense in an age when a single nuclear weapon contains almost ten times the explosive force delivered by all the allied air forces in the Second World War. It makes no sense in an age when the deadly poisons produced by a nuclear exchange would be carried by wind and water and soil and seed to the far corners of the globe and to generations yet unborn."

"What alternative is there?"

"Too many of us think that peace is impossible. Too many think it is unreal. But that is a dangerous, defeatist belief. It leads to the conclusion that war is inevitable, that mankind is doomed, that we are gripped by forces we cannot control. We need not accept that view. Our problems are manmade. Therefore, they can be solved by man. And man can be as big as he wants. No problem of human destiny is beyond human beings. Man's reason and spirit have often solved the seemingly unsolvable and I believe they can do it again."

…

Huh.

Okay. Didn't feel too bad that time.

"You clearly don't understand what we're about. But this sounds like a problem for The Brass."

There's a clunk, and a section of the wall slides away while the missiles and gun batteries return to the neutral position.

"Come on in, Mister President."

"Thank you."

The five of us fly forward into the gap, prompting me to frown at the vulture.

"Why are you still here? The Military-Industrial Complex didn’t kill us."

"Early days."

We enter the tunnel, which… Keeps going, the entry gate sliding back into place behind us, followed by a bulkhead shutter-. And then another, and another, slamming down the moment we're past them.

Alan glances back. "Friendly, aren't they?"

"Perhaps we should have pretended to be arms lobbyists."

Kennedy shakes his head. "That would be unwise. The Military-Industrial Complex that besets this great country is not friendly towards foreign competition, even from our most stalwart allies. They would sell an armed robber a bullet to shoot their own mothers if they could turn a profit that way."

The inner door opens ahead of us, but I can't help frowning.

"Did anyone else hear the way he said 'The Brass'? Because-."

"The M.I.C. leaves complex decisions to me!"

The titanic robot made of shining brown metal standing towering over Washington raises its shoulder and forearm mounted cannons.

"And I've decided to designate this place a free-fire zone!"

 

7th November 2012
Roughly 10:55 GMT -5

Cannons. Big cannons. Battleship cannons, Second World War era, no longer in use. Can't see a loading mechanism, magic. Robot has… A face that would probably mean something to someone who knew more about the minutia of American military history than me.

Odd that I can't see the wall from inside-. Right.

Kennedy raises his right hand in what I think is meant to be a placatory gesture. "This is not-."

KABOOM!

Guns fire and we frantically evade, Alan creating a shield to protect Kennedy. Some of the fusillade slams into the invisible wall behind us, momentarily disrupting the image of… Hah, the idyllic landscape visible from here that certainly doesn't actually exist out there. Some shrapnel from fused explosives hits my construct shield, causing cracks-.

"Avarice!" Something bangs, and a second later there's a iron chain wrapped around my construct shield. "Just what we need! And hope! Do you know how many hopes I've sent to die?"

The chains glow orange-. They're sucking the light out of my con-!

I drop as the construct fails, the chains above me clanging into each other and then leaping back towards their master.

"Paul?!"

I land on the road, take a few staggered steps-. Ring, charge?

One hundred and twenty three percent remaining.

"Uninjured, reporting energy draining chains. You?"

What did I lose?

Twenty seven percent maximum charge of one ring.

That's not sustainable.

"I felt… Like a thousand of America's sons were asking me why I threw their lives away."

"It's The Brass, a manifestation of the worst of America's officer corps. I'd guess that he saw the same thing, but didn't feel guilty about it. Can you still make constructs?"

"Kennedy and the eagle are giving me a pep talk."

"Good show. Guns seem to be slow firing."

I rise back into the air, trying to keep what appears to be the statue of a giant phallus between me and where The Brass fired its chain from. Looking closer, I see something moving across the upper portions of its armour…

The worms. The worms are carrying the ammunition to reload its guns.

"What do you think, fly up to it and flick them off?"

"While I'm struggling to think of killing corrupt worms as something that would worsen the American political process, it's still mind control."

"The old one-two?"

"I think we need something less literal. Weaken it under its own rules, then get it to stand down." The worms are squirming away from the guns now. "Ultimately, it's a distraction."

"Alright, but I've been working on this for a while."

A giant blue gun forms in the sky to my right, positively inviting the guns The Brass trains on it to fire. But Alan fires first, the beam lancing out and striking-.

Striking an invisible force field around The Brass. And I know this is going to be a painful metaphor, but I can't-.

"The Veil of Legitimacy! So long as I wear the uniform, I'm untouchable by your un-American weapons!"

There it is-.

Guns-

KABOOM!

-into action and I'm moving as the two shots pointed my way fly past what's probably a very nice monument of some sort in the real world and detonate around me, shards of magical shrapnel slamming into my construct shields. They hold, but they take a battering and I'm already moving to try to avoid a possible chain-.

The chain wraps around the monument and emasculates it.

"Got any paint?"

"What colour?"

"Green and red."

"Can't say I-. Did that thing just wreck the Washington Monument?"

"Probably. Cover me?"

"As long as it's not in paint."

"It's not worth my time to roust you out." The Brass reaches down to somewhere I can't see, then straightens back up with a… Giant rugby ball with a radioactive symbol on the side. He pulls his right arm back, ready to throw. "Time to use strategic weapons!"

"I am not President Truman, and you are not General Groves." I fly upwards, and spot Kennedy strolling towards The Brass in the open, eagle flying along with him and the vulture lurking off to the side. "The authority to unleash this great nation's nuclear arsenal belongs to the president alone. You do not have the right to use the nuclear football."

Sounds like an opening. I fly around The Brass's right while his attention is focused on Kennedy, fabricating-. Would a hologram projector be easier? Yes, I can't guarantee that paint would get through. Drones, stealth drones with holoprojectors.

Fabrication complete.

Okay, that should deal with the Veil of Legitimacy. How do I stop the worms handing resources to The Brass that would be better applied elsewhere? Actually, The Brass hasn't walked anywhere since we arrived. What fuels The Brass?

Gain a little height, and… Looks like there are cables plugged into his lower legs, running to somewhere… The same place the worms are coming from, underneath… A twisted version of the Lincoln Memorial. Clearly there's something there, but I'm sure there will be other defences in place that I can't see.

Tally ho.

"You want the football?"

"The football is rightfully mine."

"Then you can-." The holoprojectors get into position and activate, and suddenly The Brass is wearing the uniform of a Soviet Lieutenant. "What the hell is this?"

Alan fires again, his shot tearing through The Brass's armour and sending the giant guns on its left shoulder plummeting to the ground. And while that's happening I fire out titanium chains, wrapping up the worms around the Memorial in something they can't just melt their way through-.

"Not too shabby, boy."

The stone figure sitting on the seat mimes clapping. They're… A slightly wrong version of-.

"Bad Sam."

"Lazy, boy. Lazy." He stands, brick dust puffing of him as he pats himself down. "And since you're here in mah place of power, ah will have to give y'all a hidin' for it."

 

7th November 2012
Roughly 10:58 GMT -5

Okay, new Americanan, and I've got no idea what he represents. He looks like Uncle Sam, though his hair's a little longer and… More dishevelled? His smile is a little more manic as well, giving the discordant impression that he heard a hilarious joke not too long ago and is about to share it with me.

"Who, then?"

"Boy, ah am disappointed. The way Boss Smiley's been carrying on about you, ah thought you'd have me all added up the moment ah stepped down from that there chair."

"One of his favourites, then. Or an aspect of him?"

"Ah suppose you could say that we're all aspects of him. And we get along well enough. Never been one for changing things that aren't broken, though ah am not averse to doing some breaking."

He hesitates for a moment, regarding me curiously.

"Perhaps the issue is one of a difference in culture on the other side of the Atlantic. Allow me to illuminate the matter."

He takes his hat off his head and taps the stovepipe. It immediately inverts, the horizontal bars being replaced by vertical stripes and the ring of stars moving to the rim. He looks at it for a moment, smiling, then puts it back up upon his head.

"That clear things up for-."

"Johnny Reb. How have you outlived your country?"

"A people, a political community, are not defined by lines on a map, boy. Elsewise, every nigger born in the country would be the equal of every white man. It's culture. And while I will admit that I have taken a licking, I'm going to hang on until the final bell."

He glances behind me as The Brass fires its remaining cannons, a colossal pillar of dust and rubble erupting from the ground!

"People are impressionable creatures. Tell a lie often enough and they forget the truth. Even when the truth is written down plain as day." He reaches up to tap his hat with his right forefinger. "There are still folks today who say this was about freedom from the Federal Government, as if slavery wasn't guaranteed under the constitution. That's where The Brass's chains come from, in case you were-"

CLANG!

"-wondering."

Chains!

"Ah seem to recall hearing that you aren't entirely of pure stock yourself."

Warning!

Yes, yes, I know.

I'm wrapped in chains from top to bottom. I can still see out through the gaps, but I focused too much on Johnny and lost sight of-! Can't just slide out as there isn't physically enough space, except-. Ring, can my armour stand the pressure these chains are applying?

Armour can withstand highest demonstrated chain pressure.

Which would make sense as the chains slaves wear aren't supposed to actually kill them, they're supposed to bind and suppress them. Drop construct armour and make my environmental shield skin tight.

Compliance.

Clank!

"I see you know your place."

It's uncomfortable but survivable. And the drain has… Stopped?

No, but it is reduced.

Extrude a rope under my right foot. Is the additional drain measurable?

Yes. One hundred eighteen-. One hundred sixteen-.

Got it, drill down.

Compliance.

Try and find a corridor. If you can't, send it towards the Memorial through the ground. Show me what it's seeing.

Compliance.

Not a lot, and then… We're through. Tunnel, some lighting, lots of worms moving with a purpose, some carrying things while others are just sort of oozing over the equipment. Equipment leading toooo…

Oh no.

Leading to Uncle Sam, strapped to a gurney, chest bare and with the left side… Cut open. Tubes of… Something, are being fed into it and flow from it. Not sure what's happening there but I doubt that it was done with friendly intentions.

So, objectives: free Uncle Sam and have him beat the stuffing out of Johnny Reb. Can't do much else about Boss Smiley in this regard. Then… Get out, with Uncle Sam's help.

Ring, plug into the tubes going in and find out what they are.

Compliance.

The chains holding me part slightly, freeing part of my helmet. Johnny Reb walks closer, some sort-. That's a branding iron, and the brand is red hot.

"Been a good long while since ah've gotten the opportunity to use one of these on a living man."

Glowing red iron is… Probably not going to go through my armour, but it's magical and I shouldn't assume things. The worms don't really have eyes, and-. Plug in there-.

Blood and powered kaahuite. Where did he get that-? They're pumping blood mixed with solid pieces of evil into him. Because that makes it count as his blood? Blood type… A Positive, naturally. Install filter and disintegrator.

Compliance.

"I've been branded before."

"Then you're used goods, boy. Can't get full price for yah!"

"Slavery violates the Thirteenth Amendment."

"But you must remember that ah'm cut from a different cloth, and that Article One Section Nine of the Confederate Constitution describes things rather differently. Doubled down in Article Four in case somebody forgot."

"Alright, but I don't understand why that makes you align with Boss Smiley. By the standards of the time there wasn't anything particularly corrupt about owning people."

Blood is flowing back into Uncle Sam's body and I think it's time to rush the final stages.

"Corruption is a tool, boy. Boss Smiley opposes change that he doesn't control. Why would ah want to change a perfect civilisation? Why would ah want less control?"

"So… Just to check, you aren't part of the magical reflection of the United States of America? You're separate?"

"You'd best believe it, boy. Now-."

"Then I have no reason to leave you alive."

Construct chains lash out below us, worms dragged to the side of the room as a construct chirurgeon quickly and carefully removes the outflow in Sam's heart. His eyes start focusing almost at once… Yes, low blood pressure, best leave the in tubes in for a moment. No easy way to get rid of kaahuite but I can work on that later. Blood pressure… Normalising, that'll have to do. Tubes out heart sealed chest closed.

"And how exactly-?" His eyes dip down. "Your feet are glowing, boy."

He lunges, brand burning into the armour of my helmet as I redirect a construct upwards from below, and smile at him.

"So are yours."

Construct hands punch up through the pavement and drag him down!

 

7th November 2012
Roughly 11:02 GMT -5

"Yaagh!"

Still wrapped in chains, I have no clear view of it as Johnny Reb falls into the newly dug pit, slides down the ramp of earth and rubble and rolls straight into a pile of worms. But my rings do, and they're kind enough to share it with me. The worms squirm and slime, one vomiting at him-

"Goddamn worthless-!"

-and covering his right arm and the right side of his chest with acid bile.

"Ah!"

He drops his branding iron and tears off his coat and shirt, tossing the smouldering garments to the ground to reveal the reddening skin beneath. More than human toughness, but not invulnerability.

Extricate myself.

I create a circular saw construct and use it to try to slice through the outside of the chains. It dies immediately, the orange light sucked into the metal and relayed to The Brass. X-ionised saw instead, try that. It's.. cutting, but far more slowly than it should through iron links.

On his gurney, Sam's eyes flutter open with a low groan. "Nrgggh show Dickie how tricky I can..."

He blinks and focuses.

"Snivelling Worms, I don't need to unchain a million to deal with you."

The straps binding him glow red, blue and white-. Yeah, he's got that. My saw is almost through the first link, but I think that I'm entangled in a chain net rather than-.

"BRASS! PULL THE VARMINT IN!"

Ah, gr-ah!

The Brass pulls fast, pressing me into the chains as Washington shoots beneath me. I lose my constructs-.

"Eagle!"

There's a squeaking noise, like a rubbing wheel being dragged by degrees across a linoleum floor, as the eagle flies past at high speed.

"Uncle Sam is under the Lincoln Memorial! Along with Johnny-!"

Oooff!

Right into the side of The Brass, a blue boxing glove slamming into him somewhere above me. He doesn't move, but hopefully without Uncle Sam's corrupted blood to fuel him he'll be a little more manageable.

"Paul, you need a hand?!"

"Would be nice!"

Clack!

Yes, that's a link. Between the cutting and the force of the impact, it's given up the ghost. Unfortunately I'm too surrounded by chains that I can't make another saw without the drain draining me dry. Ring?

Forty seven percent remaining.

Well, there's my knife-

KABOOM!

-and damn that's loud! Okay, I've got just enough range of movement to… Draw it. Angle's awkward, but if I push it like that I think I'm-.

Clank.

I drop, chains falling away as I half-fall half-slide down The Brass's armoured back, the construct metal cutter Alan used to free me floating over my head as I-

Forty five percent remaining.

-try to-

Forty one percent remaining.

-establish an environmental shield but the patch on my helmet where Johnny Reb branded is glowing and the orange light just isn't forming and-

Thirty eight percent remaining.

-my armour's flight system is damaged and I'm struggling to get the chains off me because this doesn't look like-

Thirty five percent remaining.

-a survivable fall.

"Hate to nag, but-!"

Clank.

There's a noise like a carslide at a salvage yard as the chain net falls apart around me and-

Thirty one percent remaining.

-I tear my helmet from my head and chuck it aside as I'm free again, environmental shield reappearing as I slow my descent and swap to my heavy armour.

"Thank you! Back of the legs!"

I use the armour's flight systems-

"You get back here!"

-to zoom over Washington, heading for the Lincoln Memorial as The Brass shouts impotently in my wake. I see the eagle dart into the hole I made for Johnny Reb-.

A strange jangling sound makes me viff to the left, but a quick look behind me shows me that Alan has cut through the blood cables and… Some.. sort of great crane is currently pouring.. gold coins into a slot on The Brass's upper back-.

Blood and treasure, and the corrupt link between arms lobbyists and the M.I.C., got it. Alan smashes the crane with a construct mallet, causing coins to fall all across Washington and sending the unbound worms into a feeding frenzy. I see one worm catch three coins in its mouth, and it starts to grow even as it swallows.

"…bled you out, you damnyankee!"

Sam comes flying backwards out of the entrance the worms were using to refuel The Brass, landing on back with a huff of exhaled air. He starts pushing himself up at once as Johnny Reb marches out after him, fists balled.

"A million gallons for defense, but not one drop in tribute."

Sam doesn't look entirely steady as they square up, and given how uncharacteristically unkempt Sam is at the moment they actually look pretty similar.

I form a construct railgun.

They'll look similar until I shoot Johnny's head off, anyway. Load crumbler round and fire.

Compliance.

The gun hums and Johnny's head explodes.

Sam frowns slightly as I come in to land.

"Are you alright?"

"I've been better, but nothing a weekend rest cure won't fix up."

"Okay." I walk towards Johnny's body. "Let me just check-."

A chain whips out and slaps my railgun round aside with one swing wrapping itself around my torso again! Johnny's body rises to its-. His feet, his head regrowing as I watch.

"The South shall rise. You have struck me down and ah have become more powerful."

Sam runs at him. "One free man is worth-."

Johnny ducks and punches, and Sam goes flying backwards into my hole as Johnny's fist finds his gut.

Right. Crumbler gauntlets, squeeze.

The chains starts decaying, but it's all too slow. Johnny looks at me with a snarl, then drops the chain and jogs after Sam. "No more playing around. I'm gunna finish you for good." He reaches down to grab Sam around the throat with his right hand, hauling him up. "You-."

Clang!

"AGH!"

Johnny staggers back, hands covering his face where… Sam just hit him with his own branding iron. But he's still not exactly looking fresh, so-.

There's a colossal krumph behind us as The Brass hits the ground, while the eagle swoops out of the tunnel and grabs Johnny's hat in both talons!

Maximum power to motive systems. Brute force the chains!

Snap! Snapsnapsnap!

"Faihn!" Johnny turns and runs back towards the Memorial, which shimmers as he starts to fade from sight. "Another taihm!"

"Chains."

The remains of the chain he used on me fly at Johnny like a bolas and make him collapse to the ground as Dr. Balewa walks out of the Memorial.

"I know those well."

 

7th November 2012
11:20 GMT -5

Uncle Sam looks awkwardly at Zauriel.

"I shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, sir."

"Neither does the Most High. It is possible for an omnipotent being to remove the human capacity for moral failure, and yet the Most High would not countenance it. However, you have recently had considerable exposure to a substance Orange Lantern had called 'ground evil'."

Uncle Sam pats the left side of his chest with his right hand. "That what it was. Stung a little."

"I should be able to remove any lingering influence. This is something I offer freely, without requiring that you follow any particular religion or to encourage others to do so."

"You can?" I smile curiously. "How does that work? I thought that kaahuite accumulated around the one place in creation where God had no presence. That's why it works against angels."

Zauriel nods solemnly. "Yes, but the rest of Uncle Sam's body does fall within the auspices of Creation. It is simply a matter of excluding everything that I cannot touch."

I look around at the crowd gathered around the real Washington Monument, being politely encouraged not to approach closer by the local police. I awkwardly wave my right hand, and am greeted by a volley of clicks as tourists from all over make sure to get a picture.

"Go ahead, then. And make it snappy; I need to haul my ugly brother to jail where he belongs."

Zauriel nods and screeches a note

Zauriel nods and screeches a note​

and it's like the universe skips sideways for a moment. Sam jerks in apparent alarm as a cloud of dust drops out of him, but as far as I can tell he isn't harmed in any way.

"Allow me."

A vacuum cleaner construct sucks it all up, and I get to replenish my reserves of kaahuite ammunition.

Sam nods. "Now, just one thing-"

The eagle flies out of the still-fuzzy Memorial, hat still in his claws. He slows as he approaches Uncle Sam, backwinging in order to deliver the hat into his outstretched right hand.

Sam looks at it, frowning.

"Now, why would anyone want to do a thing like that?" He raps his left knuckles against the stovepipe, causing it to invert once more. He smiles. "Much better. Now."

He carefully restores the hat to its place upon his head.

"Is there something I can do for you gentlemen by way of thanks?"

"Undo whatever Johnny was up to and give Boss Smiley a black eye."

"I was planning on doing that anyway."

"The only other thing it… You haven't seen John Constantine, have you?"

"I can't say I know who that is."

Drat.

I sigh. Still, Sam's back and hopefully Boss Smiley is… Whatever he's up to is set back a little.

Dr. Balewa considers the portal at the Memorial. "Should we not do something about that foul realm, or the beings who live within?"

Sam shakes his head. "Impossible. Every civilization has its failings. Pretending they're not there doesn't help. No, it's confronting them that reminds you why they have to be fought, and lets you build the will to fight them."

He scoffs.

"Hn. Do you really think that killing a bunch of worms would prevent dishonest politicians taking bribes? If it were that simple I'd have done it right at the start."

"Thet, I understand. But I could seal the doors with stronger bindings than occur naturally. It would prevent a great deal of the leakage thet has been occurring."

Sam nods. "That doesn't sound-. Do you fellows need to ask Johnny any questions?"

"Mister Reb, do you know where John Constantine is?"

He just glowers at me. The gag probably isn't helping, but I doubt that he'd want to share either way.

And… He's a magical being whose reaction to the orange light I can't reasonably predict, especially given that those chains of his could drain it right out of whatever touched it. And there isn't an urgent need in the way there was with Uncle Sam.

"His aid will not be necessary. The Demon Constantine became somewhat helpful after you left."

"You know where John Constantine is?"

"I believe that I know how to find him."

"And I doubt that he'll tell us anything about Boss Smiley. I don't have anything. Zauriel?"

Zauriel walks closer to Johnny Reb. "Would you like me to hear your confession?"

"'o."

"Alan?"

"I just wanna go home and take a shower."

He flashes blue for a moment, sweat and grime vanishing from his body.

"Oh. In that case, let's go."

Sam makes eye contact with Mr. Reb. "I've been out of the loop for half a century, but since we're locking the door anyway, is there a reason we can't just throw him through and forget about him?"

"It would violate the fifth amendment. We do have a prison for holding magic users, now. Though I admit it would be really convenient."

Sam smiles. "Time was, folks were a bit more rough and ready about that kind of thing. I approve. If we don't treat everyone equally before the law then we're not better than him." He thinks for a moment. "Though you're right about-."

A huge talon reaches through the portal, grabbing Johnny Reb and pulling him through!

"Mwu-?"

Alan's quickest off the mark but I'm right on his tail as we fly through the portal-.

Just in time to watch the gigantised vulture peck Mr. Reb's head off.

She tosses her head back to swallow it, then looks down at us.

"What? He was defenseless, and I was hungry. And you weren't going to die."

"That wasn't the point."

"I'm a scavenger. It's an important part of the ecosystem. I clean things up. And I've got a lot of worms to eat."

Alan and I look at each other, but I'm not exactly sad that he's finally dead, and I don't want to stay here a moment longer than I have to.

We walk back through the soon-to-be-locked portal as the vulture throws her head back to swallow the rest of him.

 

7th November 2012
11:46 GMT -5

Alan floats besides me, watching the growing crowds converging on the Statue of Liberty. Her head's normal, with no obvious indication that it was ever different. And while I haven't actually asked anyone, there's nothing on the internet about it briefly turning into a giant yellow smiley face.

"I wondered what happened to the lichen on my roof."

"The first time I visited the Gotham Police Department, I did a full clean on the place. Made one of the officers have a panic attack."

"That right." He thinks about that for a moment, then frowns in puzzlement. "Why did he have a panic attack?"

"The Joker did some sort of murder disco where orange was the 'dead' colour."

"Ah."

Alan continues watching the crowds for a few moment.

"Can you change it back?"

"Not… Not really? I know that most people think of green as the 'right' colour, but as soon as my scan showed me that it was just the copper patina I couldn't think of that as the 'right' colour any more. It'll change back in twenty or so years."

He rolls his eyes and glances my way.

"What, you didn't put some kinda invulnerable coat over it?"

"Actually-."

"Don't-." He looks at me seriously. "Don't you do it."

I grin, and he shakes his head and then returns to contemplating the crowd.

"Paul, there's something I've been meaning to ask you about."

"Yeah?"

"I know I said I was gonna take a nap, but I don’t actually feel tired."

"My Grandad used to say that he was 'just resting my eyes'."

"No, I mean… I know you said that I've.. absorbed so much green light that I'm not entirely human any more… I guess I'm just coming to terms with what that means. I've been… Old, for more than half my life."

"I'm of the opinion that evolution designed humans to be obsolete at sixty."

"Oh, it was only a third, then." He nods. "That's good to know."

"Actually, due to the way the human brain processes novel experiences, it should feel like less than that." He nods. "So that's a third getting tired when you didn't used to."

"Aside from-. Well, you know. When I started wearing my ring again."

I nod.

"And now I don't… Have to worry about that."

"You do sleep, right?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah." He nods. "As much as I did when I was in my twen'ies. Seventy years ago."

I shrug. "I don't know what you want me to say. You are as young as you feel." Huh. "Actually, that could become a… Not a 'problem' in the Justice League, but… An issue?"

"Me not aging?"

"You, Diana, Doctor Mist, Red Tornado, Angelica and Zauriel will live indefinitely. Superman, Martian Manhunter, Icon and Plastic Man have lifespans significantly beyond human norms. Assuming that you don't slack off… Eventually, you're going to get to a point where there's going to be a huge gulf between the existing members and… Anyone who might want to join."

"So the Justice Society tontine could go unclaimed for a long time."

This time I frown at him.

"I always assumed that Diana would get it, in the end. Sure, Red doesn't age, but he could wear out, and Diana said that her mother was about three thousand years old. Seemed like a safe bet."

"Does Hawkman's reincarnation count?"

"We didn't know he could do that back then. Not sure-sure. And no, he had to die to reincarnate, so obviously that doesn't count."

"How long do you think it'll be until your pension provider starts asking why you're not dead yet?"

"I haven't exactly been keeping a secret identity, Paul. I guess they just haven't put two and two together."

"Given the mortality rate, shouldn't they encourage pensioners to become superheroes?"

"Hah! And mountain climbing and jet skiing! That explains why they offer discounts for old people; the banks are sponsoring them!"

We chuckle for a moment. H-aaa, but now's as good a time to bring this up as any.

"Have you..? Given any thought to what you want to do with your… Life?"

"Isn't that something that old people are supposed to say to young kids? How come you and Jade aren't married yet?"

"Well, the original plan was to wait until the first stage of the war with the Reach was over…"

"But you've moved in with her."

"We're not-. Our schedules don't always line up… But, yeah, there's-. The original plan is kind of… Gone. But we agreed on it and Jade really doesn't like unreliable people. And… Yeah, we could get married, but we'd still barely be seeing each other, and I'm not really-. Marriage should be the start of our lives together, not just seeing each other every few days."

"I guess that's reasonable. And since I know you're… Planning on nudging me about it, it's gonna be… Be a long time before I… Ah. Before I do anything like that."

"Just so long as you're aware to the possibility. Did Kennedy say why he wanted to stay in the Badlands?"

"He's dead, so he can't really come back to Earth." Not sure about that, but it's his choice. "He wanted to try turning that place around."

"Sam said that was impossible."

"Sam's not a hope ghost. And, ah, given some of the things Kennedy did, maybe he wants to earn some time off purgatory before going to Heaven."

"I don't think that purgatory actually exists as a distinct place. It's more… That you're further away from unity with the Source if you were a bit of a low level sinner as a matter of degrees." I shake my head. "I'm a little concerned that he'll get stuck in there when Doctor Mist seals the entrances."

"I wouldn't worry about it." Alan shrugs. "One thing I've learned about that sort of seal? It always stops working when it's most inconvenient."

"Yes, that’s… Really reassuring."

 

5th November 2282
09:24 CDT

"Hey, Mutie Chief?"

**If you want my attention, corporal, you can just think hard.** I glance at the man marching along behind me wearing the Mark One Advanced Power Armour. **You can think, right?**

"Yeah, cause you got crazy mutie magic, right?"

There's a degree of nervousness in his voice. I suppose that after a lifetime of being told that wastelanders are a different breed of human, it's a little unsettling to meet one who effectively is.

"ARE YOU BREAKING COMMUNICATIONS DISCIPLINE FOR A REASON, CORPORAL, OR ARE YOU MERELY TRYING TO MAKE ME ANGRY ENOUGH TO HAVE A BRAIN HEMORRHAGE?"

"Ah, Sergeant, I was wanting to ask how long Krono can stay out in the dust without power armour. Since that might be relevant to the mission. We don't have all that much Rad-Away and we're getting closer to the impact sites."

**Reasonable question, Corporal.** I reach up with my right hand and brush some of the accumulated dust off my visor. I can navigate reasonably well with my psychic abilities, and goodness knows I can't see much with my eyes in this dust cloud, but people get worried when I start walking around with no visible means of seeing my environment. **I am effectively immune to environmental radiation.**

"Psychic powers do that?"

Hm. **Aside from Sergeant Dornan, did any of you ever meet Special Agent Frank Horrigan.**

"Uh, who?"

"President Richardson's bodyguard. He died at The Rig. There aren't a lot of us still alive who met him."

**Come now, Sergeant. Be honest. Frank Horrigan was also an early example of the Enclave's mutant-friendly policies.**

"He was a-? Wastelander?"

**He was a Super Mutant.**

"Huh?"

**And I don't mean 'a mutant who was really super', I mean two and a half metres tall, green skin filled with muscle, immune to poison, disease and radiation.**

"That-. I don't-. S-sergeant?"

"Horrigan volunteered for some experimental medical procedures. Anything else is-. Was classified. Though since the terrorist traitor who destroyed the Rig and murdered the President wrote a book about it I don't suppose it's still classified."

**Before the War, the United States was afflicted by a disease they called the New Plague. Various groups were working on a cure, but one team decided that rather than killing the disease directly, they'd try altering the human body so that it wasn't vulnerable to the disease. They had some positive results, reported it to their investors and… Then the US Army got involved. Because if the tailored virus they were using could make people immune to the New Plague, could it do other things? Like making them stronger? Tougher? Immune-.**

"Are you saying the Government invented super mutants?"

**Not on purpose. They were failed test subjects. And the War ended before there were any complete successes.**

"Oh. Except you now, right?"

**Me and this guy from Los Angeles called Ton Barracus. He probably died when the Master died, but it's hard to find bodies to check after a nuclear blast. If things had gone a little differently, all American soldiers would have had abilities like mine… Minus the psychic powers.**

I suppose Mister Barracus is proof of the infinite monkeys postulate. Mister Moreau tried throwing as many people as he could into the vats and he got an actual supersoldier purely by luck. I wonder if he knew what he'd done, or if he considered Ton an irrelevance beside the glorious super mutant race?

"Like..?"

I look around, then spot a lump of concrete laying on the ground. It's roughly a metre long along its longest axis and about half that on its other two. I walk over to it and pick it up without much effort.

"Huh. Okay, but-."

I shove my hands together, the lump shattering and spraying dust and shards of concrete out like a fragmentation grenade!

"Whow!"

**The pre-War government was surprisingly pro-transhuman. If it gave them an edge against the Chinese, they were all for it.**

"Where do I get something like that?"

"ARE YOU SAYING THAT YOU WANT TO BE A MUTANT, CORPORAL?"

"No, Sergeant! I mean, I-. The President was okay with his own bodyguard using it, and the old US government wanted to use it on the army. It's not like he got tentacles or supercancer or anything."

"THE US GOVERNMENT OF THE TWENTY FIRST CENTURY DID NOT APPROVE IT FOR USE! ARE YOU SAYING THAT A BUNCH OF MUTANT WASTELANDERS KNOW BETTER THAN THE U.S. GOVERNMENT?"

"No, no Sergeant! Unless-! I mean, if the Government did most of the work and some of the more intelligent wastelanders used Government equipment, maybe they could finish it?"

**No. Stabilising the Forced Evolutionary Virus like this required-** A power ring. An orange power ring, to be precise. I'm not exactly sure how I got even a tiny charge off the Guardian's corpse, but I'm not complaining. **-an expendable resource I can't replicate. President Anderson fried his drives before we could get hold of his research and the late President Eden was only interested in using FEV to kill super mutants and ghouls. I suspect that further FEV work will have to wait until the United States of America has been reunified.**

"Huh."

The squad and I continue through the dust storm, the occasional flash of ionic lightning overhead and the lights from their armour being the only sources of illumination. We're heading south towards the former site of Cedar Rapids. If we find nothing of note there, our next stop is Des Moines. Then there's a short list of pre-War government bunkers. But-. Uh. There's no real reason why a private citizen couldn't have built their own, and if that's what happened then we won't have a record of it. We're half-hoping that checking the houses of rich pre-War citizens might result in us picking up clues, because the state is a large place to search on foot.

**Sergeant, I have a question.**

**Good for you, mutie. I bet it's a real nice one, too.**

**This is narrowcast. The rest of the squad aren't hearing it. Would you mind telling me why you supported Anderson over Granite?**

**I was following President Richardson's last orders. Anderson's plan was closer to that than what Granite wanted. It was an Enclave plan.**

**That's certainly factually correct. The chance of it working didn't factor into it?**

**President Anderson was an intelligent man who knew plenty about mutie culture. I trusted his judgement. You don't know that Granite's way would have worked out any better.**

I nod. **True. Though you-.**

"Hey, Mutie Chief?"

**Yes?**

"Can you do something about the dust? It's messing up my V.A.T.S. system."

**Sergeant?**

**It would be useful if we can see where we're going.**

**Then I'll see what I can do.**

I push outwards and down, about a third of the dust being pulled to the ground. Visibility improves… A little, and from further away we shouldn't be much more visible.

**Bett-?**

Yellow lights appear in the distance-.

**Cover!**

 

5th November 2282
10:13 CDT

**Y'know, sergeant.** Corporal Iverson takes careful aim with his gauss rifle **[at a target on the other side of two walls as I share my psychic proprioception with him]** **I could get used to having a psycho-mutie on the squad.**

Chnk!

We **[both feel it]** as the robot collapses.

**DO YOU WANT TO RETHINK THAT STATEMENT, CORPORAL?**

Iverson reloads his rifle. This model of gauss weapon was intended as a marksman's rifle, the extra power coming at the expense of needing to have each round loaded individually. All of the mechanoids we've encountered so far have been in 'rest mode', and he and Private Simmons have been shooting then from long range. Unfortunately, the shockwaves passing through their chassis haven't left much in the way of functioning brains, but… We're all still alive.

**No, sergeant, it's like… When America expanded west, right? The army hired Indian scouts and guides. Mutie guides. Same thing.**

A while ago I read a book. I forget the title, but the main character was a black British man, altered genetically to be the soldier the soft western world could no longer create any other way. At one point he finds himself in the southern part of what was once the United States, and while drunk agrees to fund a prostitute's abortion. Unfortunately for him, it was an entrapment operation and he is promptly sent to prison. While in there people refer to him as being a nigger, and he says that he's not offended by that because it's too strange. It's as if someone came up to him and challenged him to a duel by slapping him with a riding glove.

I should probably be offended, but I actually find it funny. And the sad thing is that I can feel that Iverson means it and I know that it represents real progress.

**You some kinda magical Indian, mutie chief?**

**I'm British.**

**Ah… Are they from Utah? A Utah tribe?**

You know, I'm going to be glad when the Enclave's a little less Enclave and they can accept school teachers from other places.

**Put it this way, Corporal. You know the Declaration of Independence?**

**Yeah?**

**Who do you think the Founding Fathers were declaring independence from?**

**Er… China?**

**KRONO, ARE THERE ANY MORE OF THOSE DAMN ROBOTS AROUND?**

I close my eyes for a moment, reaching out through the dust.

**No, sergeant. None within my range.**

**That last one in any state for you to read its mind?**

**I'll check.**

I activate my armour's stealthy system and become translucent, which isn't the same as invisible and I suspect that senior Enclave soldiers are probably capable of spotting me. Probably don't need to use it, but since the Chinese version doesn't have the same dementia-inducing problem as the American rip-off I think I'll play it safe. The walls of Cedar Rapids reduce the effect of the dust storms… Somewhat. The place is still radioactive and the dust is still blowing everywhere, but the circling gyre causes the dust to build up against the windward walls and only pass through the more central parts of the town as a fine particulate mist. Maintaining my situational awareness as best I can, I pick my way through the rubble that was once a shopping precinct towards the fallen mechanoid.

It's half-buried in its charging foxhole, like most of the rest we've encountered. Energy shield… Intact, helpfully, and though it's not practical for us to incorporate them into our equipment I'm sure that Doctor Rubens and her team will be working on that once salvage teams recover the wrecks. The gauss round has punched through the… Lower chassis this time, suggesting that it was starting to rise when Corporal Iverson pulled the trigger.

If there's been an alert…

I grab the robot by the shoulders and pull, turning it over. The exit wound is smaller than the entry would, so I shove the fingers of my right hand into the gap and **[feel for any still-functioning systems]** Nothing from the living brain, though whether that's because the shockwave killed it or the loss of power will have to be determined by autopsy.

But… This one has a data store that's a little more intact than the others. Accessing machine intelligences isn't fun, but I should be able to connect well enough to get navigational data at least.

**Area clear. Attempting to read database.**

**Squad moving up.**

I give them a moment to get into overwatch position. Power armour doesn't move like you might expect. It's not clumsy or ponderous; the servos mean that the people inside are faster and more agile than they are out of it. Once they get used to dealing with the momentum, anyway.

They're all in position, so…

Ugh.

I… Twitch, alien thoughts intruding on my consciousness. Human thoughts are… Messy, thousands of connections between everything and anything making the whole canvas merge together into a unified whole. Robots -even the ones I regard as people- don't have that. Each piece of data exists in isolation, connected… Perhaps by two or three strands. Or none at all, until their central control program searches for a file name and creates the connection. It makes reading a single file relatively easy but getting anything out of the system…

Vector, completely shorn of context. And another. And another. Vector… Is that an actual patrol route, or is it just..? No, that's how long it can walk before settling down to recharge. Which is a duration I know. Follow back the timestamps…

**I have an origin.**

Dornan doesn't look around. **Then that's where we're going. Look alive, people.**

A series of beeps over the radio as the other soldiers signal readiness.

**But I'm not sure exactly how fast this mechanoid was moving, so until I can work that out I'm going to have to follow its route exactly.**

One of the soldiers with a plasma gun glances my way. **That sounds like a good way to end up in a horde of those things.**

**If we're lucky. Automated minefields are more likely. If anyone can think of a good way to get an intact brain, that would help. Otherwise, it's canary time.**

**The fuck's a canary?**

**Oh, I know this one.** Iverson nods. **It's where they can food. You know, stick it in a tin so it doesn't get moldy.**

Resist the urge to roll your eyes.

**No, that's a cannery. A canary is a type of small bird that used to be used in mines to check for poisonous gas.**

**How?**

**Well, the bird is much smaller than a human, so if there was poisonous gas, it would die first and the humans would know to evacuate.**

**Huh.**

The squad engages in a moment of silent contemplation.

**Hoines, your Hellfire armour's the toughest here, right?**

**Fuck you, Iverson.**

**Hey, I'm going to have to snipe their legs off once they come after you. How do you think I'll feel if I miss? Sergeant?**

**Spread out. Krono, you and Hoines are gonna be our lures. You got EMP grenades?**

**Yes.**

**Good. Because you are going to need them.**

 

5th November 2282
12:34 CDT

"No this fucking armour isn't EMP proof! Fuck!"

I keep applying electrokinetic force to the mechanoid, hoping that-.

Chnk!

That's the shield arm gone-.

Chnk!

That's the gun arm and I feel it as it tries to self-destruct. And… There: a weak flash of surprise when it can't.

"How long does it take to reboot?"

"What the fuck do you mean 'reboot'?"

"It means-."

"My control systems are fried! Until they're replaced, I'm walking manually!"

Something… Shifts in the mechanoid's internals-. A mechanical self destruct? Seriously? Okay, okay, telekinesis, hold it-.

Agh, this actually… Hurts…

"New California Republic soldiers move their armour without servo assistance."

"Then their mammas were bull fuckers and they're born half-brahmin!" His armour shudders slightly as he tries to move. "Fuck!"

Trying to keep my eyes on the struggling mechanoid, I turn my head away slightly towards the direction of the ambush party.

"If anyone wants to come and help us out here, that would be really helpful!"

Iverson jogs out of cover, stowing his gauss rifle and taking a pair of bolt cutters off his equipment harness. "Hoines still alive?"

"Yeah, I'm still alive. Get Cruz over here to change my tubes over!"

"No can do, Private." Iverson places the head of the bolt cutters against the mechanoid's cranial armour and snips. "Everyone's on overwatch, in case more of this asshole's friends turn up."

I nod. "I believe that I was able to prevent it signalling anyone, but that's probably wise."

"I can't believe this shit. I'm putting in for T-51. I'm putting in for T-51."

Clipclipclipclipclank.

"You don't mean that, Private." Iverson lifts the bolt cutters away to get a look at the hole, then shakes the bolt cutter at it. "Good enough?"

I point to the place I can feel the mechanical destruct system. "Here. I can only do so many things at once."

"Shoulda brought something from the machine shop. Hm."

I shake my head. "They don't have enough power tools to send them on field missions."

"Okay, howsabout that?"

Clunk.

The metal screams as I telekinetically pull out the small ratchet connected to the suicide charge and toss it aside.

"Whow!" Iverson jerks his head towards it. "Careful with that!"

"That was just the trigger. The explosive…" I pull the hole a little wider, then… There we go. "This, won't do a thing without the trigger, but just in case…"

I release the remains of the robot and use my telekinesis to hurl the explosive across the ruins.

Iverson nods. "Done?"

"The mechanoid is fully disarmed and can't self-terminate. And-" A brief application of telekinetic force on those vacuum tubes. "-it can't communicate with its friends."

"Good." Iverson stows his bolt cutters and draws his gauss rifle, moving to the ready position. "Commence with the mind fuckery. Cruz!"

Alright. Let's see what they've done to you…

Some interference from the armour, but it's nothing that I can't work around. First thing to do…

**Is there anyone-**

**Alarmalarmalarm!**

**-there. I see that there is.**

**Alert cohort! Alert network!**

**Why don't you just calm down?**

**A-ah… Yes. Mood reset.**

From which I learn that they have moods.

**Do you have a name?**

**Patrol Unit Gamma Seven One Four Two Nine Stroke G.**

**Were you ever called anything else?**

**Unit was unnamed during construction.**

And that's a problem. It's talking to me as if it were responding to demands for information. A human being spoken to like this by a hostile force will shout and threaten. Even if I enforced a calm frame of mind, they wouldn't just give information like that. That suggests an AI that was never intended to receive a communication that it wasn't supposed to respond to fully and openly. It isn't even asking me for a password, and a robobrain would do that reflexively.

**Provide construction location.**

**Not found.**

It doesn't have the coordinates stored-. Actually…

I reach past its consciousness and into its mind, seeing out of its perspective and feeling with its conceptual models. Ah, they're not programmed with an objective, just a series of complex behaviours. They could be seeded and left to their own devices, and it was just our bad luck that we were driving past them. There's a… Report back protocol, and unlike walking back to its home base that location is far likely to have massed automated defences. There's a damage alert, but that just changes the behaviour of nearby units. There's clearly no urgency for whoever's sending these out to pick them up. The self destruct thing isn't just an extreme security measure, they're absolutely fine just tossing the materials away. That's remarkably profligate in this day and age, certainly not something a tech-savvy raider would do.

I push back and back, looking for either early recordings or early memories. And I immediately discover that these things essentially sleepwalk unless something sends them into combat mode. They just pick their way through the dust and ruins without really being aware of anything, and as a result there's nothing to separate the memories or join together the more detailed memories that are actually there.

Where is…

No, that's an early test activation on a… Conveyor. An actual automated factory. I skip through several similar memories and I don't see a single person-.

That one. That one was a little… Different. The same walls… Looks a little like a Vault, but Vault-Tec wasn't shy about selling to just about anyone so that doesn't necessarily mean that it was a Vault-vault.

Show me more. Show me-.

**No. No. I do not want to.**

Yes!

**["…crazy it's actually happening."

"I'm just glad that we didn't waste our money on this place. It seems kinda small."

"This shelter isn't designed for habitation, madam. All residents will be placed in suspended animation until the all clear is given."

"How long will that be?"

"From your perspective, madam, no time at all."]**

And the mechanoid and I both start screaming.

 

Uuugh…

Everything's a… Blur.

I think I remember falling to the dust-covered tarmac. I think I remember rough hands hauling me upright. I think I remember trying to respond but it was like-

Agh!

-I was there, being lowered onto the gurney, living the fear and confusion of the-

Guh!

-poor… Bastards who woke up there. The only thing comparable was my face to face with the Odious King, but those were alien thoughts, ways of looking at the universe that just… Don't work with the human brain. This… Powerlessness, is far more familiar. I felt something like it before coming to this place, and again when the ring died and I was trying to learn how to use my psychic powers.

But being strapped down while the people around you were…

**Calm.**

I focus at once, the world-. A.. room, beds, red crosses, Lafayette-.

"Chief Krono, thank the spirits." He smiles at me, clearly relieved. "I wasn't sure I could snap you out of it."

I nod, pushing myself into a sitting position. Lafayette's one of my people, a biokinetic-focused psyker. I can still-. I can still remember what the poor bastard in the robot body went through, but it's not like I'm there any more.

"Thank you. Why.. was I.. stuck like that?"

"Traumatic bonding. Whatever you did-. Everything the brain in that robot went through, you were connected to him when he got his memories back."

"And because we were connected, our brains synced up. Please tell me he didn't suffer a spontaneous Emergence."

"No, no." He shakes his head. "I just-."

He twitches, looking slightly vacant. A telepathic message. I could listen in, but I shouldn't until I get a clean bill of health. He stays like that for a moment, then comes back to life, smiling.

"They're okay. Once I disconnected you, the robot stopped looping too."

"Good. I don't suppose there's any chance you could craft them a new body, is there?"

"Mother of-. No, Krono, I couldn't-." He frowns. "Not from scratch. I might be able to… Rehouse… Him. I'd need a body to work with. And… No, probably several. I'd have to pour power into the transmutation and hope it matched blood and tissue types, because that's way more complicated than patching up a regular injury."

"You can use the remains of Chester and Deborah."

"Deb-?"

"Given the choice between a human of the wrong sex and a cold unfeeling robot chassis, which would you pick?"

"Yeah, I-. Heh, question I didn't think I'd get asked this morning."

I nod. "How long was I down for?"

"It's the Sixth. Ah, about six in the evening."

6th November 2282
18:00ish CDT

"Thank you. I am clear to leave?"

"Let me check you over real quick."

His eyes glow pale green, and I feel… It's not painful, but a wave of pressure throughout every part of my body. He nods as it reaches my toes.

"You're right as rain. Try to avoid doing that again. Or at least take the time to learn to disconnect yourself in an emergency."

"I'll try." I get up off the bed, and I feel just as steady as ever. "Is the Governor aware?"

"Yeah, and he wants to see you. I haven't told him anything."

Ah… "For future reference, unless we trip over another neurotropic initiator, you can brief our allies on psychic phenomena in my absence."

"Sure, Chief, but he didn't ask." I nod. "You want me to start on… Ah, Chester's body?"

"Probably a good idea, but let me speak to the Governor and Timothy first."

Lafayette blinks. "Who, sir?"

Who-? "The brain in the mechanoid. His name is Timothy Walters."

"I'm kinda surprised that he remembers, really."

"The human brain is a remarkable thing."

"Heh. That it is."

I walk out of the… Medical barracks, looking around-.

"Hey, Mutie Chief! You ain't dead!"

I smile at Corporal Iverson, still in full armour but armed with a laser instead of his highly valuable gauss rifle. "Indeed I'm not. Have you ever seen a living brain transplant?"

"Ah. No? And I don't think I want to?"

Unfortunately, I suspect that option will be out of both of our hands before too long.

"Then why don't you take me to the Governor."

"Ah, yeah, I was supposed to do that anyway." He glances back at the medical barracks. "Really a brain transplant?"

"If you were captured by an enemy, who cut your brain out of your skull and plugged it into a robot to send out against your comrades, would you want them to disable the robot and put your brain back in a human body, or just kill you?"

"… Sheeeet, man. Ah, I body, I guess? Is that likely to happen?"

"I really hope not, but I'll remember your preference just in case. Lead the way."

The town isn't big enough for the walk to take long, though the undercurrent of nervousness in the soldiers and the few civilians around us it noticeable. Not fear, just concern and readiness. I doubt that there's anyone left amongst the Enclave that aren't well accustomed to combat. But it's so frustrating! I picked Iowa because I didn't think there was anything here! This is going to set them back years!

Governor Autumn, Lieutenant Governor Granite, General Grimm and Sergeant Dornan are having a discussion just outside the town hall, and Autumn walks towards me when he spots me.

"Mister Krowno. Ah assume that you have news for me."

"There's a Vault or other War-era shelter out there. The people were in suspended animation until they were taken out, strapped to gurneys and then put through the brain extraction process while fully aware. I can restore them if we can disable the robots."

He nods, a faint moue of distaste on his lips. "Do they have any special hostile intent, or was it simply a chance encounter?"

"The robots have instructions to attack anything that isn't marked as friendly, and to gradually expand their area of operation. They're not aimed at you yet, but I don't know what the intelligence guiding them intends. My medic is going to try putting the brain we recovered in a human body, see if we can sort him out."

He nods, glancing back towards his command staff for a moment.

"Mister Krowno, ah will be frank. We do not have the resources for a protracted campaign. Nor do ah think we can defend our farmlands against a concerted attack. And we certainly cannot risk our soldiers to save these things, no mattah how innocent the brain within may be."

I nod. "I understand."

He nods back. "Ah'm glad. Please, come and join us while we decide how to handle this new difficultay."

 

14th April 2012
14:59 GMT -5
Earth 8096

Alert: portal detected.

I come to a halt in the air over New York City's harbour, having just left the Avengers mansion. At Steve's recommendation, I've been flying around more rather than just transitioning everywhere, to let people see me, get used to me and occasionally ask questions. Even had a civil conversation with John Jonah Jameson, which went to show that he's a lot more reasonable when dealing with people who aren't Mister Parker.

Source?

A map appears in my head, supplemented a moment later by an image of-.

Amora and Skurge. We haven't seen them since she tried seducing Thor after we were scattered across the Nine Realms. But them being back on Earth is not a good sign, and-.

And I tilt my head back and exhale. I need to pick up Anna Marie, but… But I can't exactly complain about Tony's inability to talk people down if I don't try myself. Amora doesn't have any particular grudge against me… I don't think, and… This is part of being a hero. If someone like me doesn't try, who will?

That said, I fly towards them rather than just appearing in front of them. Skurge is known to have an itchy axe finger… Or whatever the axe version of an itchy trigger finger is, and it's probably best to give them the time to mentally prepare themselves for interacting with me. Not sure why they're walking around… What appears to be a disused freight warehouse, but better there than somewhere with people I suppose.

Amora spots me first, but just rolls her eyes and keeps going in the direction she was already heading. Skurge spots me a moment later and immediately turns to face me and readies his axe. I slow, raising my hands in a slightly dishonest show of nonaggression, hovering in the air at a distance that I think puts me out of Skurge's lunge range.

I smile broadly. "Good afternoon!"

Amora gazes at me through half-lidded eyes for a moment. "Oh, you're one of Thor's minions, aren't you?"

"Very nearly."

"I'm busy. What do you want?"

"Peace and goodwill to all men." I nod. That was easy. "What do you want?"

She rolls her eyes. "Go away. This doesn't concern you."

"Right… See… I'm concerned that it might. And if I can help you get what you want in a way that doesn't turn parts of New York into smouldering craters, that's in my interests."

I try smiling again. It doesn't seem to be working, but at least Skurge has lowered his axe. Slightly.

"I am resolving some outstanding issues with the Masters of Evil. Your help is not required."

I sigh quietly to myself. "Yes, I thought it might be about that. Look… I… I don't think that your… Your approach-"

She snarls. "I will-."

"-to pursuing Thor is going to work."

That appears to give her pause. What, did she think he wasn't going to tell us about her hitting on him? Which naturally led into a long rambling and slightly drunken retelling of all of her previous attempts, and… And yes, I was the only one who wasn't drinking, but it wasn't that hard to spot the common thread connecting all of their interactions.

"What business is it of yours?"

"Thor's a friend of mine, and last time you made a play for him, I ended up having to fight Super-Loki. And I don't want to have to do that again. And I certainly don't have a problem with you.. getting together with Thor; I have no horse in the race at all. I just-. I just think that the way you're going about it is self-defeating."

Her mouth relaxes but her eyes narrow. "Explain."

She's listening? I mean, good, but I didn't really think-. Okay! Okay.

"Thor… Doesn't like being pressured into doing things. The whole reason why the situation with Loki could happen is that Thor doesn't.. want to be tied down on Asgard. At the moment he wants to be hanging out with his comrades in arms and fighting the good fight. No matter… How.. good a match you'd be for him, I don't think you're the sort of person he's looking to have a relationship with at the moment."

"He cavorts freely with that mortal woman. Why does she receive his favour while I do not?"

"Do you know how long humans live?"

She huffs. "Barely any time at all."

"The oldest human we've got reliable records for lived about a hundred and twenty years. Eighty to ninety years is more common. Asgardians live a lot longer. To be blunt, even if they stayed together to the end of her life… She's not tying him down. Fifty to sixty years… That's nothing to him."

She frowns, but thoughtfully.

"And that's where you're going wrong, because… That's nothing to you, either." I shrug. "You can easily afford to run down the clock."

"I should not have to!"

"Then the question is, do you want to keep doing what you've done to date, which hasn't worked, or are you prepared to listen to my suggestion."

"What do you know of Asgard? What do you know of Thor, brief mortal creature with a scant few decades of-."

"I'm dating Hela."

She blinks. And Skurge nearly drops his axe on his foot.

"You're-? You're dating Hela?"

"Yeah. That's where I ended up when the Norn Stones exploded. Spent some time in her realm, we hit it off, and… She seems nice?"

She has an expression of mild horror on her face. "Or do you simply lust after dead flesh?"

"The room temperature skin is a bit weird. She used to-. When we first started seeing each other, she used to wrap herself in warm towels before meeting me to try and stop me noticing, but… You know, everyone's got little.. oddities." I shrug. "And I've learned a lot about Asgardian culture and history from her."

Amora's expression moves between various emotions, before she shakes her head in incomprehension. "Then, pray tell, what would you have me do?"

"Thor isn't looking to hook up with someone who's queen material. What he wants is fellow warriors. My advice is that you ease off on the seduction thing; he knows that you're interested and nagging just puts him off and makes your position look weak. Instead, take the opportunity to fight alongside him. Make sure that he has good memories of working with you, because you can afford to play the very long term."

Hela was pretty sure that Amora has never done anything long term in her life. Apparently, she got kicked out of witch school for her impatience, and just sort of went from one mentor figure to another learning what she could before they finally lost patience with her attitude and gave her the boot. But if she really wants Thor then she's going to be as well-motivated as she gets.

She's looking at me sceptically, but at least she's listening.

"And what about his pet human?"

"The human brain stays infatuated for a few months at the start of a relationship. After that… They have very different lives. It's quite possible that those differences will drive them apart in a year or two anyway. And if it doesn't, it's a few decades. The important thing is that you don’t have anything to do with their relationship ending, because if you do then he will remember that for the rest of your lives and that's a very long time. Killing her -if you were thinking of doing that- will actually hurt your cause."

I can see her thinking it over, trying to find some fault in what I just said.

"And if I am patient, what then?"

"Then your time together will have caused you to build up a rapport, a sense of camaraderie, that will serve as a far better starting point than the antagonistic relationship you have now. And then, in the distant future when he's ready to settle down, there's his comrade in arms Amora, who's made no secret of her interest and shares centuries of history. There are no guarantees, but I really do think this is your best chance."

"Fighting besides him."

"Yes."

"Hm." She appears to come to a conclusion. "I was hunting down the other Masters of Evil. I assume that he desires their defeat also?"

"We're doing the same thing."

"I somehow doubt that; I was planning on slaying them."

Ah. "Now, normally I'd be fine saving Israel the cost of a rope, but in this instance I think that showing Thor that you're prepared to follow mortal law would work better for you. Because-."

"Thor and I will outlive them all, yes. Very well; call upon Thor and we shall hunt these vermin together."

 

8th November 2012
13:08 GMT

I adjust my bobble hat as Dr. Balewa leads the way across Hyde Park. Not a place I expected to ever come with a member of the Justice League, but I suppose he wasn't a member at the time. I'm dressed in clothing that's… More like my wardrobe from Earth Prime than anything I've worn since getting here, including a slightly ratty bomber jacket with a logo that looks a little like a something a rock band might use while being dissimilar enough to avoid incurring licensing fees. Not a perfect replica of the jacket I had handed down from my cousin Peter, which kept me warm through…

I honestly can't remember if it was Primary School or Secondary School. Huh.

Anyway, I'm dressed like a British person during winter, rather than a superhero or model… Okay, fine, idiosyncratically attired rich lunatic, like I normally am. Dr. Balewa usually dresses down, but for this trip he's left his kaftan on the Watchtower in favour of a long, puffy, bright red coat. It doesn't do much in the way of camouflage, but it's ridiculous enough that no one is going to think he's a superhero.

Chavy-ridiculous, not normal-superhero-clothing ridiculous.

Feel a bit awkward about Alan being here. Huh. I wonder. If he'd had his renovated ring at the time, would I have invited him? Yes, yes of course I would. Even if it might have affected his ability to join the League later -and I know how much he likes being part of the League- I would have wanted him with me.

"If he's been here all along then I'm going to be annoyed with myself."

"Part of him."

I frown, but if he's going to do the whole cryptic wizard thing… I suppose that he's earned that right. Someone his age is going to sound cryptic to someone my age even if they try and speak as plainly as possible, and that goes double for an actual wizard.

Scanning our surroundings for a moment I spot Alan, who appears to have decided that his best cover involves dressing like a stereotypical American tourist. Half his clothing has an American flag on it somewhere, and the other half appears to have been purchased from a London-themed market stall. The camera around his neck is a little incongruous, except he spent plenty of time around professional photographers and can probably talk about it in enough detail to cover himself if someone asked about it.

And standing next to him-. No. No, that's not-.

"Nommo?"

"You know how he was created?"

"Roughly."

"Consider the situation. John Constantine has inherited the power of a Lord of Order, but he cannot handle it. You hev seen John Quinn-."

"The use of his mother's maiden name was a bit obvious. And the fact that he looks like an idealised John Constantine. So that's what he is? It's a lot less worry… Ing…"

"Do you see the problem?"

"Creating a golem like that involves removing memories. So if he removed… What, every heroic memory and… Thought? Then he'd be-." What? "Don't tell me the thing I've been calling The Demon Constantine is actual-John?"

"No. Though knowing Constantine as I do, it does not sound beyond him. According to the Demon, he used a duplicate of himself thet he had already created."

"From before he created the Demon, or after?"

"Thet, the Demon did not know."

"Oh, come on. You told me that you knew enough to find John."

"Thet is why we are here. The Demon wishes to use the echoes of John's actions, here and in other places, to become more like him. Since John Constantine is not inclined to help mass murderers, I felt thet permitting this was in the interest of Earth."

"Always up for a bit of redemption. Why does he want to become more like John?"

"Why did you want to regain your memories after the second time you died?"

"Fair-. No, wait. I wouldn't have created a golem like that in the first place. For me it was like curing Alzheimer's, but the Demon never had those memories."

"No, but he had a memory of having those memories." Dr. Balewa looks away, probably reaching for an appropriate metaphor. "He would hev thought, but they would not make sense because the experiences thet would-."

"Like Mister Cairo from Phantom Twenty Forty."

"You cannot make me feel older than I do already."

Think I just made myself feel old.

"He was an intelligent computer program created from the mind of a widower to find out what caused the particularly nasty car crash that killed his wife. Unfortunately, he got damaged before being completed and was just left with an obsessive desire to learn everything. Once he finally learned the thing he was originally created to learn he returned to his creator and tried merging with him."

"Tried, and failed, then."

"By that point in their lives they were just too different to merge, even though they both wanted to. The widower got the information he wanted and could carry on with his life, but the infomorph was stuck knowing that its whole purpose was already fulfilled. The Demon Constantine's purpose was to go to Hell in John's place, which he did. The only good memory he has was Kathryn Ryan, and that didn't-. He remembers the relationship, but it wouldn't really have context."

I frown at him.

"And we can't just telepathically dub stuff over because his body is a construct of demon magic and so he doesn't literally have a brain."

Dr. Balewa smiles. "Thet was the first thing you thought of, wasn't it?"

"Yes, of c-." I'm getting distracted again. "But returning to the subject?"

"The Demon claimed thet John Quinn is keeping John Constantine in the Tower of Fate, using him to maintain control of the link to Order and Chaos."

"Wouldn't you be able to detect him using that much power? Or not just you, I mean, wouldn't it be obvious?"

"If he were using it all of the time, yes, certainly. If he were simply doing what Nabu did and drawing what he needed, no."

"Right then. So we're fighting Nabu Two. That explains Hyde Park."

"Thet would not be wise. While I hev not seen it, if John put enough of himself into John Quinn to use Order and Chaos, he would be far more powerful than Nabu was. And John was always more cunning than Nabu. A direct confrontation…"

He shakes his head. And he's right. The potential for collateral damage alone-.

"But we're freeing John Constantine and not talking to John Quinn about it in advance?"

"I do not share the optimism of some other League members. I think thet taking away his weapons first is far wiser. And thet is why we are going to break into the Tower of Fate."

 

8th November 2012
13:19 GMT

A small café, nearly empty in the off-season. The cafés in the Eastbourne area that were inside the local parks used to shut down completely, but I suppose that in centres of tourism like London they can justify staying open all year round.

"So, ah…" Alan looks around, but I certainly don't want to talk to the Demon and Dr. Balewa appears to prefer to leave him to his own devices. "Do you feel any more… Complete than you did before?"

"Damned if I know."

"So you do know?"

The Demon leans back in his metal chair, his face a picture of exaggerated nonchalance. "Not how it works. I won't know if I'm more complete until I have to live like him."

"Don’t get too comfortable. This is psychological counselling, not freedom. We're not helping you take over his life."

"'cept the bits he gave me."

"If you wanted to make a go of things with Ms. Ryan, I'd have been all for that, if you weren't an accessory to quite a lot of murder."

"Just like Blaze, then."

"Yours is a bit more recent. Though if you're asking to eat a Pomegranate of Good and Evil, I can make enquiries."

He goes to reply, then closes his mouth. Is he..? Actually considering it? John… John Constantine has an understanding of morality, even if he's prepared to be a ruthless bastard in how he goes about acting on it. I've never got the impression that the Demon does. He's what he was made: all ruthless self-hating bastard all the time. Even this trying to become more like John, he's doing because he believes that he's being denied something rightfully his.

"What other options are there?"

"What do you mean?"

"I met Chantinelle. Saw what you did to her."

"I'm all out of love crystal. Though if you want to volunteer to become a construct, I could probably square it with myself."

"Paul." Alan leans forward slightly to break line of sight between myself and the Demon. "I've been meaning to ask. Can I do something like that?"

"Not at present. Your personal lantern isn't designed to work like the Star Sapphire. You'd have to do a lot of meditation, learn to exist in the Honden, and.. probably contact Adara. Or you could talk to a maltusian about making a Blue Central Power Battery; I think I heard that Ganthet was interested in the other colours."

The Demon smiles. "I could help with… Adara, was it?"

I take a moment to look deeper in him. No, no real change.

"No, you couldn't. There's no hope in you. I doubt that she would even be aware of you, and as an Earthly demon you're stuck with the Earth's thaumosphere anyway."

"I've got the same cunning as John. You think I can't work out how to manipulate an elemental?"

"I think the very fact that you're asking like that disqualifies you. Doctor, why is he here?"

"If we are to enter the Tower of Fate unseen, it would help us to have one with free access with us."

Why would he give the Demon access even if-.

"Because they're the same person. You think that the wards can't distinguish between different John Constantines."

"It is not so simple. But it will be easier with him there than without."

"So… How are we doing this? Because the Tower's defences are pretty good. I'm confident that I could eat them eventually-."

"No, you could not. There are subtle uses of magic thet are well within John Quinn's abilities thet could be used to move the Tower to places you could not reach. Or use your own hunger to delude you, and draw you into a trep."

Alan nods. "So how're we going to do this?"

"The tower is accessible -in parts- through the Dream."

I nod. "I remember seeing a Dream Storm through a window in the library. And you think that we can get in that way?"

"With help, yes."

"I'm open-minded, but I might not be enthusiastic."

"I believe thet Sanderson Hawkins is most likely to be able to guide us through the Dream. Navigating thet place is… Not a simple matter."

"Why not Melinoë?"

"A god would draw attention, and her magic would make our passage harder."

"A couple of Sivanas?"

He regards me with an expression to scepticism on his face.

"I do not think thet showing them how to navigate the Dream is a wise thing to do. Thet is not a power I would trust to them."

"Okay. I haven't… Seen Sanderson for a while. Um."

"I have." Alan nods. "He's going okay, considering everything. I don’t know if he'll want to help with this, though."

"How about if we point out that-."

"I…" Alan shakes his head. "Don’t think he's ready for your… Ah, particular style of reasoning."

"Diplomatic. I appreciate it."

"How about I talk to him instead?"

"Thet may be wise, but if we are to be working together, it may be wise for Paul and Sanderson to become better acquainted."

"I'll behave."

Alan nods. "Okay, I guess that works. What about you?"

"Constantine and I will finish our work in London, and then I will prepare the spells needed to access the Dream."

"Why don't we just go through the gate in Tartarus?"

"Has John Quinn had cause to visit Erebos?"

"No, but it would be easy to check. I visit there quite often, and I doubt that anyone would lie to me if I asked. Besides, meditating until we access the Dream from the material universe just sounds like we'd be asking for someone to kill our real bodies while we're there."

Dr. Balewa nods.

"Then thet is what we will do."

 

8th November 2012
08:32 GMT -5

I haven't had much cause to visit Boston. I'm not sure if that's odd. I've lived in New York and Happy Harbour and neither are all that far away, but… When you can move as fast as I can, there isn't much reason to visit a city just because it happens to be fairly close.

"Did they really keep the place open for him? I would have thought that once he didn't appear for a few decades someone would have tried to get him declared legally dead."

Alan shakes his head as we walk up the driveway of the Dodds manor.

"Wesley was always good with his money. I think this place went to a trust when he died, 'til someone found out for sure whether Sandy died or not. They paid to keep the place looking nice."

"Nice that they were so honest about it."

"I… Guess it was, but given the law firm involved I think it was probably more that they didn't pay it enough attention to consider trying anything on. And Jay and I kept an eye on the place."

"So what's he doing with himself?"

"Enrolled in college. He's doing a business management course."

"Brave of him. The culture shock must be pretty harsh."

"Yeah. That's why I'm keeping an eye on him. You know that… Ah, quote. 'The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there'."

"And the future's a foreign country where no one knows who I am. Hartley, yeah."

"Not everyone can just drop everything and cope with living somewhere… Foreign, quite as easily as you did."

"I grew up watching so much American television that it's barely foreign."

"Oh yeah? What about all the super heroes?"

"Not a new concept, either. And… You know how I complain about some… Behaviours that exist within our-."

"Yeah, I… Did pick that up."

"If superheroism had made any change to the underlying mechanisms of our society, I'd-. I might have had more trouble with it."

Alan smiles as he steps up to the front door and knocks the door knocker three times.

"So you should be grateful that we're a bunch of bums."

"I don't know. The learning curve would have been steeper, but I think I'd have adapt-."

The door swings open, a… Professionally dressed Sanderson Hawkins standing in the doorway. He smiles as he sees who it is.

"Good morning, sir."

Alan does a sort of sigh-laugh. "You don't need to call me 'sir', Sandy."

He looks mildly bashful. "Force of habit, Green…" Alan pantomimes an affronted expression. "Alan. And… Paul, isn't it?"

"You can call me 'sir' if you want. Good morning."

He steps back, opening the passage into his house. "Please, come on in. What brings you here?"

"Super hero business, son." Alan walks into the hall area and I follow him, closing the front door behind me. "I don't suppose you've given it any thought?"

"Ah, gee, Alan. I haven't-." He looks away, wincing. "I just said 'gee', didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did."

"I've got to stop doing that. The other fellahs in class think I sound like a-. Ah, like their grandfathers."

"There are worse things to sound like."

"And what do the girls think you sound like?"

He shifts awkwardly. "They… Ah. They're pretty crude about it, actually. I don't… I don't really like talking to them."

"You need to start spending time with a better class of people."

"It's not all modern girls. The girls at my church group are really nice. It's just…"

"Standards of dress and behaviour have fallen quite a long way, haven't they?"

"I-I don't want to be that judgemental. You…" He looks to Alan. "You said you wanted to talk about super hero business? I've fixed up all of Wesley's old things." He smiles. "Even the car, which took some work I don’t mind telling you."

Alan nods. "You used any of it?"

"Well, not in the field. But I've tested it all; it all works. Why? Is something going on?"

"A friend of ours is being held prisoner in the Tower of Fate, and we think the guy wearing Nabu's helmet is up to no good. Our plan is to creep in to the Tower through the Dream."

He looks decidedly unhappy at the prospect.

"Do you..? Need my help with that?"

"We don’t need it, but Doctor Mist thinks that having you along would be real helpful. Finding our way through is going to be pretty difficult."

"Thing is… You know how I can turn into sand now?"

Alan nods. "Yeah? We've all seen stranger things than that."

"I know, but I…" He looks decidedly awkward for a moment. "Normally, it isn't a problem. But when there's a lot going on, sometimes I.. change back without meaning to."

"Okay? I can see how that's a little awkward, but we're trying to avoid fighting anyway."

"No, I mean… I change. My clothes don't."

"Oh."

"Sanderson, we're all men of the world here. I doubt it's anything we haven't seen before."

"Sure, but… But I don’t-. I'm just not comfortable… Like that."

"Okay… Um. Do you lose everything when you turn into sand, or just some things?"

"I took the lenses of Wesley's old goggles with me once, but I'm not sure how that really helps."

"'Took with' as in..?"

"I was touching them when I changed, then when I changed back they were still in my hand."

"Okay, well, we don't need to rush off. How about we experiment with different materials and see if we can make you some clothes you can transform with. No obligation."

He smiles.

"Gee, thanks Paul. That's real nice of-. I did it again."

 

8th November 2012
08:42 GMT -5

Sand billows up from the workshop floor, flowing into the shape of Sanderson. As it sculpts itself into humanoid form, colour begins to appear, until-.

Sanderson checks his arms, the utilitarian green fibreglass and ceramic plate overalls I fashioned for him having transformed back with him. "It works!"

"Okay, so as long as it's mostly made of silica, you can take it with you. Is the fibreglass comfortable?"

"Beats running around naked, that's for sure." He runs his hands over the material. "Though I gotta say, I think I prefer the classic look to the Brave New World look. Not-. Not that I want to sound ungrateful-."

"It's all one with me, chum." I raise my left hand. "You wanna get behind the screen again, or-."

Sanderson collapses into sand, flowing back across the floor before rebuilding himself out of sight. I'm not sure how normal this sort of body-shyness is amongst people from the forties. I mean, sure, I know that certain styles of more revealing clothing have become mainstream since he was young, but I've seen Alan in swimming shorts before. Maybe he's just adapted?

"How do I take this off?"

"Stone fasteners down the left side of the chest. You should be able to slip it off after that."

"Thank you. Got it."

Alright, ring. Tailoring mode.

Compliance.

Sanderson's ability appears to be able to accept dyes, so the colour of the cloth isn't a problem.

"You know Mister Dodds didn't wear armour, right?"

"Yes?"

"I have a fairly strong opinion about wearing armour when we fight. I understand when superheroes want to avoid high lethality weapons, but not protecting yourself is just foolish."

"Sure, but what kind of armor do you think he could have got in the nineteen forties? Did you want him to dress like a knight or something?"

"Oh, come on, infantry armour was used in the First and Second World Wars. Sure, he couldn't have gotten a modern steel and ceramic jacket, but he could have gotten something that would have stopped revolver rounds."

"Wesley mostly attacks from ambush, using his gas gun."

"I approve, but it only takes one guard taking a smoke break for you to really wish you had a backplate. Green jacket?"

"Yes, please."

"Purple cape?"

"Do you have something against capes?"

"I'm not convinced about the mix of colours, but you're the one wearing it. You know he… Switched costumes later on?"

"They were in the wardrobe. And I guess they're more… Tasteful. But they're just clothes. They don't really say 'super hero'. I think that was just things he wore normally. Unless there's some sort of problem I don't know about?"

"Ah… No, Mister Dodd's original costume is old enough that it doesn't really signify anything, other than a slightly odd taste in clothes."

"You can't do anything about the mask and gas gun, can you?"

"You mean, make them silica-based..?" Silicon nanotubes and silicene? None of that's ideal… "Ah, yes, but the performance will suffer, and the mask will feel weird."

"As weird as turning into a pile of sand, or a little more weird?"

"That's… That's a fair point."

Ring, fabricate.

Compliance.

A clothing rack appears on the far side of the screen in a wave of orange light, and Sanderson's hand reaches out to grab the shirt.

"If you like it, I can make you a few more."

"I guess this isn't something future-tailors can put together in an afternoon, huh?"

"Not unless their better half was a materials scientist who brought their work home with them. Is your control..? Often a problem?"

"I haven't been arrested for public indecency or anything like that, but as far as I'm concerned once is too much."

"Because I know a guy in India who can create silicate bodies for himself? He might be able to help you learn how to control yourself better?"

"Thank you." I hear a tugging sound as he pulls the mask over his face. "I always used to like Wesley's stories-"

He steps out from behind the screen, looking… I think that the word 'dapper' is contemporary? He adjusts the jacket as he looks into the mirror.

"-about his time in India. Maybe I could take a year out after I finish college?"

"Up to you. Feeling ready to head out?"

He heads over to the weapon cabinet and takes out a gas gun and several reloads, both of sleeping gas and the pressurised air cylinders that take the place of a normal propellant.

"I guess so. Is there anything else you think I'll need?"

"I don't think so, but I've never tried physically entering the Dream before. We can check with Doctor Balewa before we start."

He nods, and we head back into the living area where Alan is going through one of Mister Dodds' old photo albums. He looks up as he puts it down, blinking at the sight of Sanderson in his mentor's outfit.

"I don't think Paul designed that."

"No, he wanted to put me in some kind of overalls."

"I never claimed to have any sense of aesthetics. Have you ever been to Themyscira before?"

"No." He looks away awkwardly. "Wesley made me stay home when the Society visited."

Alan looks a little guilty. "We.. weren't exactly sure what we were going to be seeing. Ah…"

"Different time. Couldn't have a bunch of loose women corrupt poor innocent Sanderson."

"E-h…" Sanderson shrugs. "I knew Wonder Woman wasn't like-."

"It was really more-" Alan shakes his head. "-we thought they might try mothering the poor boy."

"Hey! Alan!"

 

22nd April 2012
10:26 GMT -5
Earth 8096

"…mean well, Anthony, but historically speaking diplomacy has not exactly been your greatest strength."

He… I suspect that he's glaring inside his helmet, but I can't actually see his eyes and his current generation armour tends to scatter my scans.

"You wanna talk to the Kree so badly? Fine, go ahead. I'll get into position for when it doesn't work."

I clap my hands together in a praying gesture.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, I'm not getting my hopes up." He increases power to his repulsors as he lifts off. "Break a leg."

I nod and smile before turning to face the Kree delegation.

"Gentlemen. Grand Accuser."

I drift closer to where Ronan's floating platform hovers just above the kree shuttle and accompanying soldiers which are currently menacing central New York. I know it was a bit of a joke in the comics, but it… Really is always New York where this stuff happens.

The quinjet carrying Hulk, Steve and a severely hung-over Skurge sets down on the other side of the plaza, my friends exiting as soon as the landing ramp opens. I hoped that Amora would come, but… Thor was a bit blunt about things last week, and she's off 'not'-sulking. Skurge on the other hand was perfectly happy to get a fight. I think he's gradually coming to understand that the woman who claims to love only Thor and who has been obsessively pursuing Thor for -as I understand it- several centuries might just possibly not be interested in him.

I feel a bit sad for him, actually, but since he and Hulk appear to be getting on okay I haven't wanted to stick my oar in.

Ronan looks down at my colleagues, and then raises his head to look at me. His giant hammer -which I assume had some special name in the comics but which I'll be darned if I can remember- is held casually in his right hand, the butt of the staff section resting on his flying pad which the oversized head is high enough up that he can see under it. By itself it's clearly an impractical weapon, so I assume that there's some sort of clever energy weapon built into it.

"You represent the leaders of this planet?"

"I am empowered to negotiate on their behalf."

Which is technically true, if the hurriedly written e-mail from the Secretary General was genuine.

"Surrender your planet to the Kree Empire, and you may live."

"What have we done to warrant your illustrious presence?"

In the lead amongst the soldiers are… Ah, that's Mar-Vell and… A kree officer with three orbital paths on his logo rather than Mar-Vell's one, which presumably means that he's in command. Or are those electron orbits-? Doesn’t matter.

"The Kree Supreme Intelligence believes that this world may have value. I am here to judge whether or not that is correct."

"That depends what you're looking for. Our technology is far more primitive than yours, and I can't imagine that we'd be able to add much to your military strength-. Or is this about the wormholes?"

"You do not need to know the reason. You merely need to know your place."

"I beg to differ. Thor of Asgard briefed us on the fact that is extremely easy to make wormhole portals to and from this system. I'm not.. ignorant of its strategic value. But the point is… It's the system that has value. Not.. this planet. If you wanted to build a fleet base around Jupiter or on Mars, you… Could, and you would receive the exact same benefit that you'd get from building in near Earth."

I… Think he's considering it? The chap with the purple decoration is outright scowling at me, but he isn't interrupting his superior. Ring, let's risk a peek-. Oh, yes, he wants to kill the world's greatest warriors, decimate the rest and then work the survivors to death. What a worryingly short-sighted man he is, though I suppose that given kree eugenic practices he might well have been engineered to be incapable of thinking about other species in any other way.

"With the added benefit that there wouldn't be a native population for skrull infiltrators to hide in. I mean, I like Earth, but it doesn't seem to be your sort of place."

"It is the inevitable destiny of the universe to become part of the Kree Empire."

"Right, but is it important for Earth to become part of the Kree Empire now, where there are a great many other things you could do with the resources it would take, and when your own second looks like he's extremely dubious of the idea that we have any use at all? Is there an advantage that I'm not seeing?"

"That this offer is being made at all is a sign that the Supreme Intelligence sees some potential in you. The Kree Empire's normal procedure is to simply exterminate species with nothing to offer. Already your delaying tests my patience. Surrender your world and accept my judgement."

"No, I don't think I'll be doing that." I shake my head for a moment, closing my eyes as I do so. I make a point of not making an aggressive action because I know that my team mates are a bunch of barely restrained blood knights at the best of times and I don't want them deciding to jump in to save me. "I'm just going to make you leave."

"Deluded alien. One of your number already tried to fight me, and she now lies in a crater."

"Oh, I'm not going to fight you. I can make you leave-" I hold up my right forefinger. "-with a single word."

"A word." I nod. "What word is that?"

I extend my right hand and make a beckoning gesture with my forefinger.

He doesn't move.

"You're not going to want anyone else to hear this, and if you're not impressed then I'll be within hammer range."

He watches me for a moment, then floats.. closer. Oh, he's a big fellow. A big fellow who makes a point of floating slightly above me. I rise up until our faces are level, then lean close.

"Shi'ar."

His eyes narrow. "How do you know that name?"

"Princess Lilandra is dating my daughter's head master." I shrug as his hand clenches around the shaft of his hammer. "Now, I know that the Shi'ar Empire is an awfully long way away, but I also know of a system that forms a natural wormhole nexus. And you know that a man like Majestor D'ken wouldn't be able to approve our annexation fast enough if we made the request. And Lilandra could probably talk him into appointing her Imperial Governor and she'd tend to defer to her consort on local matters, so it's a much better deal for us. Quite aside from the fact that the shi'ar generally treat their alien subjects far better than the kree do."

I drift back slightly.

"Do you want to fight the Shi'ar Empire? No, of course you do. But can you afford to now?"

"We will accept the rest of the system-."

"That's not on the table any more. You know, I grew up watching Star Trek. I wonder what it'll be like to live like that?"

"They have no fleet here."

"How long will it take you to learn to exclude non-kree ships from the nexus? Because shi'ar psychic consorts can communicate instantly over any distance. I make a call, D'ken gets a call, and a fleet is en route within a few minutes. Now, if the Kree Empire made a huge strategic redeployment you could probably beat the first wave, but… Can you afford to do that?"

He stands still, glaring at me. And I've got to say, I'm impressed with his discipline.

"You have made an enemy of the Kree Empire this day."

"No, you were already our enemies. Now shoo."

A slight tremor in his expression, then his flying disk turns around and flies back to his shuttle. His subordinates clustering around, presumably to ask what the heck just happened.

"Okay, Orange." Tony flies back down to my level, and I can hear the incredulity in his voice. "How exactly did you manage that?"

"Oh, you know. Cuius testiculos habes, habeas cardia et cerebellum."

He looks askance at me. "What d'you mean by that?"

"You just have to know what people want. And in his case, it was not getting his habes ripped off."

 

8th November 2012
16:57 GMT +3

We're halfway across Erebos before Zagreus catches up with us on his flying chariot.

"Lanterns and… New person. I assume that I have you to thank for the demon and the immortal wizard who recently visited me in my father's palace?"

"Actually, the general plan was Doctor Balewa's idea. I just suggested that we enter the Dream from here."

"Why do you want to physically enter the Dream? Is my sister involved?"

"Melinoë isn't involved, and if Doctor Balewa didn't tell you then I probably shouldn't. This isn't something that can become widely known."

His face hardens. "Thanks to your bizarre effort at marriage counselling, I have been forced to remain in Erebos in case matters arise that my father does not remember how to deal with. Erebos is not your playground and you may not simply come and go as you please."

Sanderson looks at Zagreus for a moment, then looks at me. "Are you going to introduce us?"

"This is Prince Zagreus, God of Trapping and son of Hades, God of the Dead. Zagreus, this is Sanderson Hawkins."

Sanderson looks confused. "You're a god?"

Zagreus nods curtly. "And you are-." His eyes widen slightly. "What are you?"

"I'm-. Sandman. A super hero."

"I can feel the-. The Dream's magic throughout-."

Alan nods. "We're sorry for keeping you out of the loop, Zagreus, but… Ah, if there's one thing spending time with Paul has taught me… Sometimes it's really best not to ask."

…

That's fair. But it's actually true here. If we lose -or at least fail to achieve our primary objective- then John Quinn might take revenge against Erebos for allowing us to use the portal. Doubly so if he knew in advance.

Then again…

"Zagreus, what is my position in the Olympic pantheon?"

He frowns. "Your posit-?" A moment of realisation, and a small nod. "You are Hephaestaean's herald."

"Yes. So I actually do have the right to come through here without explicit permission. You could argue that I should have gotten permission for Alan and Sanderson, but I don't think that's actually true. I will thank you for your cooperation upon my return."

"You intend to speak to-? Why would-? No. No, I do not need to know. You have introduced enough chaos into my life."

"That's what I do."

"Then I will make a request that you visit my father's home once your business in concluded and you can explain it to me."

I nod. "Circumstances permitting, I will."

"I would wish you good fortune, but I suspect that your enemies will need it more."

He tugs the reins, his perfectly normal horses turning in the air to return him to the palace.

Sanderson watches him go. "I thought a god would be… I don't know… Bigger?"

"You could put that in the suggestions box."

"What's a 'suggestions box'?"

"Exactly what it sounds like."

The three of us finally finish flying over the Fields Formerly Known As Punishment and begin our descent towards the Gate of Horn and Ivory. The area around here is a place the priestesses of some Amazon cults make pilgrimage to, due to the… Intrusion of the Dream into Erebos and the mixing of their magics. There are some very strange creatures in the surrounding area, but those aren't our problem today.

"If you see something that you think should be changed, you write your suggestion down and post it in the box. Every so often, someone from management comes down, opens the box up and burns the content."

Alan lets out a burst of surprised laughter.

Sanderson doesn't get it. "Then why does anyone write anything?"

"They don't do it where the staff can see. The idea is to make people identify more with the company than they ordinarily would, giving the impression that they have input in its decisions. People commit more to things they were involved in deciding. Or things they think they were involved in deciding."

I shrug.

"And thus: democracy."

"But I can set fire to paper just fine by myself-. No, wait just a minute." He sounds upset. "Are you serious?"

"Well, the idea of the national struggle comes from revolutionary France, as distinct from aristocrats fighting over their own concerns and dragging the local peasants into it. The idea is that The People have decided to fight and therefore every citizen is obliged to get involved however they personally feel about it."

"But surely they don’t burn the ballot papers."

"Paul." Alan raises his right hand with a small shake of his head. "I don't think that Sandy's quite ready for… You, yet."

"I'm sorry. Trustworthy elections have election monitors from either all involved parties or entirely uninvolved parties precisely to make sure that things like that don't happen. Because if it does happen, it completely destroys confidence in the process, even if it doesn't happen very often, because people need to know that their contribution meant something."

"So that whole thing you just did was a joke? Kinda dark, don't you think?"

"Civilisation needs both people who see all that it could be and people who see what it could become. And it's helpful if they talk to each other." As we land, I point to the two people waiting for us. "Case in point. Allow me to introduce Doctor Nommo Balewa, aka Doctor Mist, and The Demon Constantine. Constantine, say something uplifting!"

He affects a look of confusion for a moment, before shrugging. "If you're short-sighted when you're young, you'll eventually get perfect vision 'cause of how the muscles in your eyes get weaker with age. Lasts for about a week, then you start being long-sighted and need completely different glasses."

"Doctor Balewa?"

"All things thet live are linked by a shared vital force. No matter where we are in the universe, we are near things thet are kin to us."

"Thank you, point proven."

"It is good to meet you, Sanderson Hawkins."

"You too, sir."

No hesitation there. That's what comes of being friends with William Everett.

"Are there any preparations we need to do?"

"No." Dr. Balewa turns and strides towards the gate. "We should begin our journey at once."

 

8th November 2012
17:02 GMT +3

We step through-.

Huh. Morbid.

The area on the far side is a dark graveyard in the faux-gothic style, something I can easily imagine being sited on the outskirts of Sunnydale. The headstones vary in age, some clean white stone with the blurred-out names the only incongruous point. Others are chipped and lichen-covered, or bound by vines. The mausoleums are mostly the same, though a few have active braziers either at the front or hanging from the roof. A fine mist hangs in the air, obscuring our vision. A few stars in the sky, a faint… Smell of rot-.

Not found. Error.

Well I can smell it… Or just think I can smell it, because this is a dream I'm walking through and not a place with actual chemicals.

Next to me, Sanderson takes his hat off and holds it to his chest.

"Thet is not necessary. This is a dream of a graveyard, from the shared unconscious mind of humanity."

The Demon looks around, apparently quite interested. "Been a while."

Alan frowns. "You've been here before?"

"No. Demons can't dream. Or sleep, unless we're possessing someone. John gave me a few of his memories, but he never came somewhere like this as a demon." He closes his eyes and inhales through his nose. "I think I can smell him."

"He has seen enough death thet I would not be surprised if he dreams of it frequently. If you find those dreams, you could feed on them without causing harm."

"I assume that you've considered the possibility that Morpheus might notice us?"

"Minor intrusions into his realm are frequent. If we do not act against those under his protection or threaten the whole of the realm, he is unlikely to act against us."

"Morpheus? That's the guy who told you-" Sanderson glances my way. "-to look for me, right? The one who sent Wesley his visions?"

"I'm not sure if he actively sent them, or just enabled the process. He is the guy who sent me after you though, yes."

"So do I owe him, or does he owe me for not calling someone sooner?"

"I wouldn't press the issue. If he felt like you owed him, he'd say something."

"Doctor Mist?" Alan's looking around cautiously. "Is this actually a dream about death, or a dream of a horror movie?"

"It should be true death, at least for now." He looks around, and leads the way into the mist, the rest of us cautiously following him. "Places in the Dream are defined by their conceptual relationships, not geography. A truly skilled dream rider could step between the weakest conceptual links from a single sleeper, but none of us have thet skill."

The Demon sneers. "Don't have the drugs, more like. Human brains aren't made for stuff like that."

"How about demons?"

"Even worse. After that stuff those idiots tried with the key, we're actually on his shit-list. And like I said, we can't dream, so we can't come here naturally." He shrugs. "It's the difference between 'you can, but you'll go mad' and 'you can't do it at all'."

Off in the distance, from somewhere out of sight, I hear a crow cawing.

"The Gate of Horn and Ivory stabilises the connection between these two points. We need to get some distance away before the Dream will be flexible enough to allow us to change our location."

"And then we go from concept to concept until we reach the Tower?"

"No. There is no direct path from the Dream to the Tower. When we are in position, we will need to make our owen."

Alan frowns at a nearby… Open grave, a shovel planted in the ground next to a heap of earth. "Are we gonna get attacked?"

"Almost certainly."

"In that case, I-."

An actual tower shield appears on his left arm. There's a.. slight glow around the edges, but nothing more than there would normally be from his environmental shield. He drops his arm for a second before raising it back up again.

Alan hefts it slightly, then peers over the rim to give Dr. Balewa an interrogative look. "You mind explaining this?"

"We are in the Dream. If you call upon a shield, you get the dream of a shield. The strength of it will be more closely related to the degree to which it fits in with the environment than the strength of your emotion."

"How does that interact with my actual armour, or other equipment?"

"Unless they are intensely magical, I do not think thet they will work well against dreams."

Alan and I make eye contact, and then we're both wearing plate armour.

"I'll take it."

I add a boar spear while Alan creates an arming sword.

"Do you actually know how to use that?"

"It's amazing what you pick up as a superhero. You stick the sharp end in the other fellah, right?"

"Ah… Doctor?" Sanderson hefts his gun, hat back on his head. "What do I do?"

"Your gas is based on dreamstuff. If the thing you shoot can sleep, it will work. Otherwise, I suggest your fists. Ah." He stops and looks around. "I believe that we can transition from here. If we-."

CRACK!

The door of one of the nearby mausoleums explodes open, three tattered corpses shambling out with glowing green eyes! From other graves hands thrust through the ground, the earth around them bulging!

"Yes, we are far enough away. Mister Hawkins, hold in your mind the idea of a flowing river carrying boats to their destination."

"Aaaahh… Okay?"

"Uuuuuuuuugh…"

"Do you feel drawn in a particular direction?"

"Uh, maybe? I think?"

"Go." He stamps his right foot on the ground and then steps back. A moment later a creature of rock and soil swims its way to the surface in time to intercept the first wave of the undead. "We shall follow."

Alan and I charge the horde and Sanderson starts jogging.

 

8th November 2012
17:06 GMT +3

My spear embeds itself in the upper torso of the first zombie I run into, and-. And I didn't think this through, because while the spear does its job and the zombie can't get any closer, it isn't de-animated by something as trivial as a pierced heart and bronchi. Alan's sword on the other hand slices neatly through the neck of his first opponent and is then free to slash the arm off another. Okay, bad choice. I shove the spear forward to push the impalee back into the mob, letting it go and replacing it with-.

I still think a sword is too short. Zombies like this are-.

Wait. Vodun zombies are living people with part of their soul removed. They're immune to pain but die from physical injuries like anyone else. These are-. These look like animated corpses-

With no weapon in hand I settle for shield-charging a group of zombies who are getting too close to Sanderson and Dr. Balewa, knocking them on their backs as Sandman II continues leading the way.

-but there's no one animating them and there's no spell bound to them. Animating a corpse using pure magic is hard. Usually, wizards would bind a spirit of some sort and have it pilot the body, but while Dream entities can gain consciousness-.

I pause, making eye contact with one of the more intact zombies.

"I apologise for my presumption, but are you an intelligent-?"

"Grhhhhhhhhhhhh…"

I look at her chest cavity while keeping a careful eye on the rest of the squad.

"Of course."

There's no orange light, but the tissues of her chest knit back together in response to my desire for wholeness and order and good health.

Alan stops suddenly, spotting what I'm doing and looking awkwardly at his sword.

"Wait, was I supposed to be doing that?"

"This is people's dreams of death. Death is a terrifying thing when you don't know what's going to happen. Amazons still don't like the Temple of Hades, much less actually coming to Erebos when they don't have to. So if this isn't a horror film, then these things are nightmare and not actual physical threats. Ma'am?"

"Cold."

I raise my right hand and a thick poncho appears draped over her shoulders.

"Lonely."

I form a floating gauntlet, grab another zombie and pull them in front of her.

"He looks nice."

She shambles a step closer and wraps her arms around the other zombie.

"Uuuuuuuuugh…"

Who awkwardly wraps his arms back around her.

"Dream zombies! Death isn't that bad! Souls are real! Your consciousness continues after your organic death! And I know that-"

The zombies are sort of shambling to a stop.

"-change is disconcerting, and unwanted change doubly so, but I think you could make a go of this place! Just think of all the fascinating stories the zombies around you have to tell!"

"Hungry."

"You don't have a stomach or lower jaw. How are you going to eat? That doesn't make any sense."

"Gahh?"

"Okay, fine, but this is a dream. If you want something to eat, there's probably something out there somewhere. Or you could just go back to sleep."

The entire crowd for as far as I can see has stopped.

"Okay! Excitement over!" I dismiss my shield and calmly and confidently walk over to where Dr. Balewa is looking suspiciously pleased with himself. "Doctor?"

"You are so disruptive thet your discordant nature spreads to the Dream. These are not people."

Alan looks around. "Well, no. But they're not zombies either?"

"People dream of dying and death. Their projected thoughts make this place."

"Not quite, but close enough. I suspect thet the Gate we used was created when Hades turned Erebos into an afterlife. He may hev drawn on this place to change Erebos's nature."

Alan nods. "So it's all like a test?"

"Test? No. But there will be ways to approach the place thet are not immediately obvious. Fighting would hev worked. Mister Hawkins?"

"Ah?" Sanderson tears his attention away from a zombie group hug. "Is it alright to leave them like this?"

"This is a dream, Mister Hawkins. We may share it, but once we leave only the themes will remain."

"So they..? Die? I mean, again? Or-." He frowns. "Wait."

"The term I hev heard used is 'amortal'. They do not live, and so cannot die. Any complex behaviour emerges from our minds and expectations." He smiles faintly. "Your concern for their wellbeing speaks well of you, but you do not need to fear."

Sanderson doesn't look either entirely happy or entirely convinced, but leads the way through the throng of hugging, poncho-wearing zombies. We're heading… Slightly downhill, though with the mist still high I can't tell what we're heading towards.

Alan dismisses his sword, though he keeps his shield. "Why did you pick a spear?"

"Better reach. And I thought that-. Well, you know how guns are a pain to enchant because they don't have the same length of history?"

He nods. "So you didn't think a gun would work."

"Except it-." / "Thet is not-."

Dr. Balewa nods to me, gesturing to me with an open right palm. "Continue. I am interested in your reasoning."

"The thaumosphere is slow to change. History counts for a lot. But in the Dream… Ideas and.. social transmission matter, but I.. imagine that it's far more closely related to what the people currently alive dream. So actually, a gun should work just fine."

"Thet is mostly true. The oldest Dream-creatures may refuse to acknowledge them, but against the Unknowable Dead it would have worked."

Sanderson frowns and then accelerates to a jog, the zombies falling behind and the land dropping-.

I hear water and that's a stream, Sanderson walking out onto a jetty.

"I found us a boat. That should take us to… Wherever's next."

The Demon folds his arms across his chest.

"Hope one of you can row. I smoke forty a day."

 

8th November 2012
17:12 GMT +3

"I wonder if my college has a rowing team?"

Sanderson and I are getting into a rhythm, our oars going into the water together… Reasonably well. I've only had to stabilise myself with my ring once so far.

Alan leans a little towards him. "Shouldn't be too hard to find out."

"Wouldn't do you much good, though. Metahumans can't participate in official competitions."

"They can't? Why not?"

"What do you mean, 'they'?"

"Mean-?" He blinks. "Oh. Oh yeah. I guess that's-. I mean, magic counts?"

"The rules are a little vague about exactly what they cover, but I imagine that they would stretch to a man who could transform himself into sand."

"That doesn't seem fair. It doesn't make me any stronger."

"Do you get tired when you're made of sand?"

"I haven't really tested it out. Do you think I wouldn't?"

"Your sand body doesn't have any way to generate lactic acid, or… Any other chemical. Not that that necessarily means anything."

"Okay, I guess, but it's kind of obvious whether I'm made of sand or not."

"Sanderson, I know that you're a good guy, but the rules have to be written on the assumption that a certain number of participants won't be. Plenty of abilities don't have any obvious outward sign that they're in use."

The Demon slumps slightly in his seat. "None of you smoke, do you?"

"No." / "Not for sixty years." / "Aunt Dian wouldn't let me." / "No."

"You do all realise that none of you can get cancer, yeah?"

Alan shrugs. "I guess we've all got enough purpose in our lives that we don't need things like that."

"I wouldn't tempt me if I were you. Demons with purpose aren't exactly human-friendly."

He's not wrong there.

Hm. Hard to tell exactly how long we've been doing this for. The mist has gone, and we're in a river bed that's deep enough that I can't see over the bank-.

"Doctor, what's on the other side of the river banks?"

"Not a great deal. This is a travelling river. I imagine thet what surrounds us is the unformatted stuff of the Dream."

Alan frowns, straightening up slightly and peering to the left. "Is it safe?"

"It would not be wise to walk through it with your living body, but it will not hurt us here."

"If I did, what would happen?"

"It would be like being in a dream, except thet you would hev no external body to awaken into."

"Could someone get out?"

Dr. Balewa nods slowly. "Perhaps. If they were unusually self-possessed, or had someone to help them. Mister Hawkins, do you feel anything about our destination?"

"Doctor, I'm not really used to navigating by… By feel like this. I don't want to get everyone lost."

"Returning to the Gate of Horn and Ivory from a river like this is easy. Do not worry about getting us lost. As long as no one moves into the deep dream, I am confident thet I could guide our return journey myself. It is in navigating us in thet you are helpful."

"Okay, then I think we're coming up on something. But I don't-"

We all hear the rushing water, and I nod to myself.

"-know what-. Ah, that's bad, right?"

"I… Am not sure."

Dr. Balewa peers in the direction of our travel as the roar of water going over a waterfall gets louder.

"I do not believe thet it will be a problem, but if the Lanterns could-"

Lap bars, chain loops and grab rails appear on our boat, and life jackets materialise at our feet.

"-make certain-. Thank you."

The river bends, the bank blocking our view of the fall until-. Yes, there it is, the classical waterfall-from-nowhere. I swap my plate armour helmet for a diving helmet, and after a moment Alan does as well.

The Demon wraps ropes around each of his forearms. "Alright, Doctor. Anything we need to know?"

"It is probably too late to teach you how to swim."

The boat's picking up speed. We could probably reach the bank, but from what Dr. Balewa was saying there's nothing there.

"About the water."

"Despite the fact that it does not literally exist, I would not recommend breathing-"

The boat goes over the fall.

"-it-."

I'm braced, but-. What? I-.

There's a moment of disorientation as we go over, but then it's… Like we're sailing along a level river once more, the sky above us sort of twisting so that the dull night sky that accompanied us since we left zombie territory is replaced by-.

I close my eyes in an attempt to get my brain to stop hurting. Okay, it looked like a Middle eastern market from a couple of centuries ago drawn by Roger Penrose. Pathways link points that have no rational spatial relationship to one another, being at variance in place or orientation. People of various kinds walk freely at our plane, up walls and across ceilings. A few move at completely different angles, and some overpasses have people walking atop and beneath them.

"Ah, good. We hev arrived."

I open my eyes, and don't punch Dr. Balewa in the face.

"Oarsmen, please take us to the jetty. We will need to transfer here."

Sanderson and I look at each other for a moment, then carefully resume our strokes. I glance back and see that our drop-in point has vanished. The jetty's not far away, but we're one of the smaller boats on the water and we're not good at delicate manoeuvring.

"Do you recognise where we are, Orange Lantern?"

"Yes, Time Trapper mentioned it. Caliph Haroun al Raschid made a deal with Morpheus to preserve his realm forever. I assume that this is it."

"Yes. We will seek passage onwards from here, and gather supplies for our task. But be on your guard: not all things here are what they seem."

…

No. Really?

 

8th November 2012
14:18 GMT +1

I look around Magnificus's repurposed workshop, my eyes skipping over the positron beam projectors that deployed in response to my arrival. In the middle distance I can hear the sound of a dozen welding torches working, knowing Magnificus mounted on the end of multiple robotic arms.

I raise my right hand to my mouth.

"Magnificus! You've been skipping your therapy sessions and I want to talk about it!"

"I don't need therapy! I need to work!"

Ah, darn it.

"Would you mind if I come a little closer?!"

"Do what you like!"

I nod calmly, fold my arms behind my back and walk slowly in the direction of his shouts.

Careful, Lantern Grayven. A man like Magnificus Sivana should not be underestimated, even irrational as he is.

Yes, I know.

And yet you came yourself. Alone.

This is my responsibility. The buck stops with me.

Yes, and I'm glad that you realise that. What I mean is that you didn't send one of your many more empathetic employees. Or a pony. I may not see the appeal myself, but they appear to be of great comfort to emotionally wrought humans.

I don't think that’s what he needs.

At some part, the door to the electronics workshop has been… Removed? Torn off? Cannibalised for parts? Not sure. The point is that it's not there, and I get a clear view of the… Jetsons flying saucer thing that he's working on. Several hatches on the underside have been opened up, and two robot arms are spot welding… Additional modules that look like they're going to be mounted on the hull.

"Looks like it's going well."

"Yes." Magnificus walks in, heavily reinforced canister of something under his left arm and a weirdly glowing pistol in his right hand. "It's nearly complete. Once I add the suspendium and mount the time drive modules, I'll be gone."

"So it is a time machine, then?"

"I spent my eighth birthday in the Silurian era, making fish with bony jaws to confuse future paleontologists. I may just be copying Father's work, but at least I'm doing something-." His pistol snaps up, pointed precisely at my face. "Stay back!"

I nod, raising my hands and planting my right foot firmly back on the ground.

"There's nothing you can do to stop me."

I nod again. "When are you planning to go?"

"Before they die. Turret mode." He releases the pistol, and its grip unfolds into an anti-gravity flotation device. "Before any of them die. I'm not going to be the last Sivana."

"Alright, but the Sheeda destroyed your family's holiday home during your annual family get-together. It wouldn't have done that if they weren't there. You'll need to get them out between it hitting something vital and the place disintegrating."

"I know that! I don't need you-! I don't need you trying to explain temporal manipulation to me."

He crouches, laying the temporal manipulation module down on the floor and picking a panel up from the floor. That gets moved to one of the saucer's lower hatches, then he reaches inside and starts connecting the interior cables to the panel's sockets.

"And then, when Mom and Thaddeus and my sisters are safe, we can go and pick up father. And then-. And then we'll be fine again."

"I saw your father die, Magnificus."

"A hologram. Or if it wasn't the first time, it will be after we've changed things."

"Magnificus, I'm a New God. I know when a living person is sacrificing themselves for-."

"MY FATHER WAS FOUR FOOT FIVE! HE HAD ARMS LIKE PIPECLEANERS! WHY THE HELL WAS HE ANYWHERE NEAR THE SHEEDA!?"

He stopped working while he shouted, but I watch him take a calming breath and rededicate himself to his work.

"Because he wanted to kill her himself, I imagine."

"He was a scientist and mechanist. If he-." Magnificus sniffs. "If he wanted to kill her, he could do it with an army of super robots."

I nod slowly. "Probably. So why do you think he-?"

"He didn't want to live anymore. With the others-. Others dead, he didn't want to stay alive himself." He slumps, his hands dropping to the floor. "I needed him. Why wasn’t I enough?"

"I don't know, Magnificus. I'd… Guess that he… Thought you could cope without him, but that I might make a mess of things if he wasn't there in person."

"He could do this more easily than I can? Why isn't-? Oh-."

He thrusts his hands into the hole in the saucer, then makes the final connections and slots the panel into place.

"Is this machine your own work?"

"No. I just renovated it. I never-. I mean, it's a time machine. I understand how it works, but I don't-. There's nothing… Until now, there hasn't been anything that I've wanted a time machine to do."

"Magnificus, you do know that the Sheeda had time travel technology too?"

"Yes, of course." Another panel gets the same treatment, only slightly faster. "I was listening when father explained where he went."

"He didn't try this. Do you think he just overlooked it?"

"I don’t know why he did it!"

He closes the panel and plugs in the suspendium module before moving around to the near side.

"I don’t know why he didn't try this, I wasn't in-. I wasn't in any state to ask him, but I'm going to try, and you're not going to stop me."

I nod slowly. "You're right. I won't. I hope that you're successful, Magnificus. Your mother and your twin seemed like good people, and I'm sure the younger two grow on you." I cautiously hold out my right hand as the drone gun hums unhappily.

He plugs in the second module, reaching inside to press a button and then turns back to me as the saucer activates. He watches me for a moment or two, then walks closer and takes my hand.

"I'll be back."

Then he lets go, climbs into the saucer and with a shimmer of light the saucer's gone.

And then it's back, panels torn away and smoke rising from the interior! I lunge forward, grabbing the dome and tearing it off before reaching inside and heaving Magnificus clear! He's beaten and bloody and the one eye that isn't swollen shut isn't focusing properly. I take a firm grip and then run from the workshop as the suspendium modules go critical and something very strange and organic-unfriendly happens to the saucer.

I prop Magnificus up against a wall, purple healing ray out and firing at his face. He's a Danner enhancile so he shouldn't need it, but I don't want to take chances. After a moment he stirs, his eye focusing on me.

"Why? Why can't I-?"

I sit down next to him and wrap my right arm around his shoulders.

 

8th November 2012
17:28 GMT +3

I look around what appears to be an open market, stalls arrayed in all directions and the noise from hawkers and potential buyers near deafening.

"So, how many of these are real people?"

"What do you mean by-?"

"Real. Actual people, whether they have material bodies or not." I look over to a stall that appears to specialise in dates, ceramic pots filled with the things arranged on a wooden stall. "Did al Raschid send actual people here, or parts of their personalities, or… Alter the structure of the Dream by… Burning part of reality?"

A small bullock with a balloon tied on its midsection floats by, using flippers strapped to his hooves to control its forward movement.

"And where the heck did that come from?"

The bullock turns its head towards us. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry. Where the heck did he come from?"

"Hmpf." He tosses his head, then swims away.

"I do not know, and I do not know." He shrugs. "I was not there when the Caliph made the pact with Morpheus, or to observe the transition. If you want to know, you could make the time to ask him yourself."

"Ah, Doctor?" Sanderson is looking around too, but in his case his expression is one of wonder rather than the suspicion I'm sure is on my own face. "What are we looking for?"

"A map would be useful. Tools thet will assist us in entering the Tower, or finding John Constantine."

Alan nods. "What do they take for currency around here?"

"This place is the dream of a great trading city on the silk road, between Europe and China. They will take any currency, speak any language and honour any agreement. You can trade with American money."

The Demon raises his eyebrows. "Take card payments, do they?"

Dr. Balewa looks surprised. "There is a bank thet gave you a credit account?"

The Demon reaches into his coat and pulls out a wallet.

"No, but they gave one to… 'James Robinson'."

Alan frowns. "Who's that? And why do you-? Oh."

The Demon rolls his eyes as he slides the wallet back into his coat. "If it makes you feel better, he doesn't need it any more. Amazing how much money there is in dead accounts."

Alan's frown escalates to a glare. "Are you-?"

The Demon tries to look innocent, and naturally falls far short. "He made a deal with Satanus. It was practically a victimless crime."

Alan's clearly not happy, but recognises that it's not pertinent to the mission. "Okay, Doctor, but how do we find those things?"

"It is the way of these places. The merchants we want will find us, if we do not find them first."

Sanderson looks uncomfortable. "Are they gunna want… Other sorts of payment?"

The Demon looks away, making a choking, snorting noise. Sanderson edges away from him, then looks to Alan for a sensible answer.

Alan looks levelly at The Demon. "Constantine."

"Dreams don't go in for virgin sacrifices, mate!"

Sanderson blushes, prompting Dr. Balewa to hold up his right hand to forestall Alan's retort.

"But, they may ask for ideas, memories, or even capacities thet you possess. They are not quite so bad regarding such matters as the fey, but it is not a foolish concern. I cannot tell you how to respond in every instance thet could arise. You can ask me for advice, but it would ultimately be something thet you will hev to decide for yourself."

Sanderson nods, slightly mollified.

"How circuitous do we need to be when we make our enquiries?"

"I am sorry?"

"How do you rate the chance of John Quinn monitoring the Dream, or us? I'm asking because I sort of assumed that Boss Smiley wouldn't be able to eavesdrop on my conversation with Liberty, and that got us in a bit of trouble."

"Yeah." Alan nods. "That's what got us into trouble."

"Slim to none. I hev spent time with him, and I hev felt nothing of the Dream from him. Using magic here for such a purpose would draw the ire of the Dream-wizards who live here. And if he can monitor us in such a fashion without us knowing it… Then we are already doomed and there is no sense in worrying about it."

"Ah." Sanderson shrugs. "I haven't written a Will. I mean, if we're doomed, I'd feel a little bad about leaving a mess for everyone."

"If you just tell me what you want done, I'll forge it for you."

"I'd like the house turned into a museum and the money put into a trust to keep the place going."

"Not a problem." I look at Dr. Balewa. "Should we look anywhere in particular?"

"I believe thet the established shops will prove more useful than the market stalls." He looks around once more. "This way, I think."

He leads the way through the market, ignoring the stall holders as they try to persuade us that theirs are the fruit, the rugs, the coffee, the jewellery, that will make our day worthwhile. I-.

I stop, and the stallholder immediately orientates on me.

"How much for one jar of figs?"

"These figs, sir?" He grins. "Only the finest-."

"Yes I'm sure they're lovely; that's why I'm offering to buy them. How much?"

"For one jar? One dirham."

Excellent. I've got plenty of silver, and I know the design Kahndaq uses for its commemorative coins. Fabricate, and… I offer the coin to the stall-holder, who checks it visually and then bites it before passing me a jar with a smile.

"Tell all your friends!"

I nod and step away, looking for-.

No. No no.

Come on, there's no way they could have gotten that far away that quickly. I fly-.

No, apparently I don't. Impellers? No. Flying carpet? Yes. Alright, let's-.

"Sir!" The stallholder frantically shakes his head. "Those are banned in the market, except for official purposes!"

Okay. Dismiss the carpet and toss him another dirham by way of thanks, and…

"Which way to the speciality shops?"

"Speciality? Like…"

He makes what I suspect to be an obscene gesture. Huh. I remember that while prostitution is illegal in modern Iran, it's perfectly legal to have a short-duration marriage with a non-refundable matchmaking fee. The Egypt of this era had slavery, but I'm not sure what the rules were on sex.

"Magic arcana."

He pointedly looks away. "It is not proper for a good Muslim to involve himself in such things." He points towards a bridge a short distance away across the market without looking at it. "But since you are a foreigner, it may be that some other foreigners who may be in that direction may be able to help you."

"Thank you." I turn to march away. "I will consider you for all my future fig purchases."

 

November 8th, 2012
About Half Past Nine, EST

I follow Doctor Mist into the alleyway, then hesitate to make sure that Sandy and the demon doppelgänger follow on behind me. The demon rolls his eyes while Sandy is too busy trying to take everything in to pay much attention to me. Can't say I blame him. When I was his age I wouldn't have been able to tear my eyes away from this stuff.

I frown.

Unless I'm supposed to count his age as his chronological age, in which case he's not all that much younger than me. Paul's had some effect on me if I'm considering that, but I don't think I'm ready to-.

I look left and right, but Paul isn't there.

I stick my head out of the alleyway, but I can't see him anywhere. And-. Have the market stalls moved? I don't recognize any of them, but I can't say I was paying particular attention.

Ah, darn it.

"Doctor Mist?" I turn back to the rest of the group. "We've lost-."

They're not there. There's no one else here, and the alley isn't that big. I take a moment to look up, and, yeah, there's more city up there, but I can't see Doctor Mist or the others.

Great.

I take a moment to focus on my faith in the fact that we'll pull through and meet up again, and… And I can't fly.

Ah, next best thing. I jog to the other end of the alley and I come out on a promenade, with a canal of some kind running through and well-dressed locals walking along the pavements on either side. There's patches of earth with palm trees growing out of 'em, and patches of other hot weather plants growing out around their bases. I guess this is a park, then.

"Blue Lantern!"

I look up and to my left, and see Wesley Sandy standing in the middle of a path running along what from my point of view is a wall. It doesn't look like there's any way down, whatever 'down' means someplace like this.

I raise my right arm to wave at him. "Carry on with the mission! We'll meet up later!"

He nods in an exaggerated fashion before hurrying along the road. I lose sight of him as he ducks under an awning and doesn't reappear.

I'm a little worried about him, but the others can look after themselves. Even in somewhere like this. I suppose that the worst thing that could happen is that the demon doesn't come back to face the rest of his sentence, but from the sound of it that 'John Constantine' fellow can deal with that himself.

A few years ago, I'd have said that I was too old for this. Amazing where life can take you.

I take a moment to change my armour into something that… Fits in a little better. I think I still look like… Like one of those British guys I met in Palestine in the late forties. But I want to make it clear to these people that I'm not here to fight them, and… I think this does the job.

Alright, there's probably some sort of concession stand somewhere in this park. If I find that, I can get directions-.

"Excuse me, sir?"

I turn, and it's a local guy in a purple dress robe. "What can I do for you?"

"What can I do for you? You are clearly a visitor to our great city, and it would be inhospitable for me not to offer aid to someone looking so lost."

"Ah, yeah. I just got separated from the rest of my group in an alleyway that couldn't have been more than twenty feet long."

He nods. "This is not a normal city, sir, as I am sure you have noticed."

"A dream city. I sort of thought it would be real enough that I could walk down a street without anything like that happening."

"Were you all thinking about the same thing?"

I shake my head. That sounds like something that's distinctly possible. "No, I suppose that we weren't. Is that something locals do, or is it just for people from outside the Dream?"

He shrugs. "We are used to it. This is our natural environment. But you, you must be here for a reason."

"I'm trying to get into a locked tower. Our magician thinks it's easier to get in through the Dream than through the physical world, but it still won't exactly be easy."

"Well… If you are looking for thieves, we have those. You can trust them with your life, as long as you are honest with them. Just not with your coin purse."

"You got anything that would let us get through a dream storm?"

"I know of a man who sells ropes that are enchanted to survive even the strangest dreams. You could use that to tie your group together so that they are not separated."

"Does he sell anything else?"

"He sells other enchanted ropes, though I am not sure how useful you would find them."

"I won't be, either, until I see them." And maybe not even then. Paul's the equipment guy. Is a rope useful for a Lantern? I never used to use it, but here? Who knows. "Can you give me directions?"

"If you are not used to navigating the city, directions would be of limited usefulness. But I can take you there, if you like?"

We couldn't even make it out of an alley without being split up. Getting a guide sounds like a very good idea.

"Thanks." I nod. "I'd appreciate that."

He does this sort of half-bow thing, then leads the way down the street. I keep level with him as I try and work out his motives. Helping a visitor out is one thing, but he's being a whole lot more obsequious than he needs to be. Is he a professional guide? I don't mind paying for the help, but it would be nice if he were more up-front about it.

"People call me Blue Lantern."

"This humble servant is named Uns Al-Wujud." He frowns. "Your name sounds strange to my ears. Is it a common name in yours lands?"

"Lantern… Kind of is. Blue, not so much. If you don't mind me asking, what line of business are you in?"

"I am a trader in dreams. Our Caliph -may Allah bless and keep him!- has expressed a concern that the material world might come to overtake his great city in glory. So he commands us to seek out the greatest mortal dreams, that our city will not calcify or decay."

"So you collect dreams? Isn't that pretty dangerous work?"

"Oh, no, no. That is work for young men far braver than me. I purchase what they collect, assess it and sell it onwards. Much of what they collect is of little use to the Caliph, but there is always a market for that sort of thing."

"That doesn't do anything to the people having the dreams, does it?"

"No, no, no. The mind of the sleeper forms the raw dream-stuff into whatever their fantasy is, but the dream lingers for a while after they leave it. It would be even more dangerous to enter while the dream was in motion. They would risk being caught up in it! It is far safer and easier to just gather it up once the dreamer has woken up."

He opens the door into a shop just off the main boulevard, motioning for me to come inside. I do, and it… Brings back a slightly uncomfortable memory of an upmarket whorehouse I saw in post-War France one time. This is clearly a space meant for entertaining clients while the actual work happens behind the curtains.

"Please sir, take a seat. I will send a runner to make sure that my rope merchant friend is available."

"Thank you." I take a seat… This isn't helping with the mission, but I need this guy's help. "Do you-?"

"Would you be interested in viewing my wares while you are here?"

I'm not sure how a recording of a dream would help us, but maybe we could use it to reform part of the storm so we can cross?

"I… Guess it wouldn't hurt. What do you have?"