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

[Mr Zoat]

30th April 2013
10:56 GMT

Lantern Natu looks at me askance. "I could do that myself."

I nod as the first of the replacement bodies is carefully removed from the bio-printer.

"As could I, and Lantern Nax, and… A few others."

She returns her attention to the brain tanks. "Is this supposed to be a lesson in self control?"

"No. This is a lesson in how to bio-print replacement bodies and install brains. We cannot guarantee that there will always be Lanterns around with the right mindset, so we have to make sure that there's a non-Lantern solution available."

"So we just leave them there while we practice?"

"They're sedated. They're… Dreaming at worst. More likely they're-."

"Having the worst possible nightmares because their mentors cut their brains out."

"No, I had the Atlanteans make some dreamcatchers. I doubt that their thoughts are going to be pleasant, but they-" She frowns at me. "-aren't going to have nightmares."

"'Dreamcatchers'? You mean those bits of netting?"

"Yes. I usually use the opposite, but they're quite efficacious." I smile at her. "I know that finding out that-."

"How do they work?"

"If you want precise details, you'll need to speak to the wizards. Broadly, a nightmare is a sort of… Bad magical trip, where your mind connects to the realm of dreams and pulls all sorts of cruel creatures and negative narrative strands to expand an uncomfortable throught into something really nasty. Dreamcatchers filter the connection to the Dream so that the… Lure, if you like, can't go out."

I sigh quietly.

"Of course, sometimes, having a nightmare is a good idea, but I'll refer you to the goddess Melinoë if you want to have that discussion."

"I think they've had enough nightmares."

I nod. Threllian is going over the data the Darkstars recovered from the town. He wanted to help with the re-bodying, but I convinced him that his own feelings about the Reach might result in him inadvertently altering their minds, and he-. Very much wants to avoid doing that.

"What about the rest?"

"The Scarabs? Not much we can do for them. I mean, if we get very lucky-."

"No. The-. That wasn't their original homeworld, was it?"

"No."

"So there's nothing to stop the Reach cloning them again."

"Probably not. And when I feel it I'll take a look, but they'll probably fortify it better next time." I sigh again. "But they have to give them some sort of upbringing or their brains don't develop properly. We've bought a decade… Maybe a bit longer."

She nods slowly. "I can't get my head around this kind of evil."

"Oh? Nothing like this is Korugar's history?"

"Sure, but-. The people who did experiments on people-. They were some of the most evil people my world ever produced. When they were… Working for a government, they had to keep what they were doing secret, because it would have caused riots. And when crazy.. murderers did it on their own, the moment they were found out…"

"So you're asking why everyone in the Reach is fine with it, to the point where random cargo handlers know exactly what's going on?"

"They opened two continents for settlement. They didn't care which of their people found out about it."

"Lantern Natu, when I told you that the Reach were evil, what did you think I meant by that?"

"I.. thought they would be brutal expansionist militarists who ran a police state. And then I read the briefing documents, but I thought they might be.. exaggerated. And then the Darkstars started sending me examples of Reach biotech from.. liberated worlds, or N.E.M.O. members who were fighting off their infiltration attempts, and… I don't… Understand how they… Became this."

"Pass. Next question." I shrug. "We don't have good records until just before the start of their war with the Green Lantern Corps. I honestly can't tell you how they became the way they are. My best guess is that they used genetic engineering to change the way they socialise, but that's an educated guess at best. Feel free to go archive-diving if you want to try to find out."

"There must be… Some records of what they were like. If they can cooperate with each other they must have had normal social instincts at one time."

"The Spider Guild doesn't have any moral problem with eating people, and they can cooperate with each other. You shouldn't assume that just because a lot of intelligences share certain characteristics that we all do."

"What about records?"

"Everywhere that had records of the pre-expansionist Reach has long since been subsumed, and in most cases their populations eradicated. The Reach themselves might have copies somewhere, but we've never found them."

"What about the Green Lantern Corps?"

"Didn't bother keeping detailed records that far back. Border locations, yes, laws, yes. Minor points of sociology or biology? Not unless the local Lanterns made records themselves." She looks slightly dubious again. "It's a big universe."

Checks finished, the empty-skulled body is wheeled into the chirurgical suite while the printer starts work on the next one.

"I'm going to try. Try finding out about their history. I just.. need to know."

I nod. "Then I'll wish you the best of luck. I -on the other hand- am clocking off." I raise my right hand to my forehead. "Let me know if they need me, or if you actually find something."

"I will."

I

step out, looking for

Mr van Wyck, whose head jerks up as I appear- "Oh." -and then returns to the door to Controller Jevek's workshop.

"Any news?"

"No. The Controller thinks it probably possible to get them up again, but it's not easy. Making…"

"Making more is easier and fulfils the same strategic necessity."

"Something like that."

"Can you do anything to help them recover?" He frowns, shaking his head. "In that case, the surviving Darkstars and I were going to have dinner. Do you and your people want to come as well? There's some… Great restaurants on Maltus?"

He thinks for a moment, then hesitantly nods. "I don't know about the others. But I will. Thanks."

 

[Mr Zoat]

25th December 2282
13:08 GMT -6

As far as I know, the Eighties don't celebrate Christmas. No presents, no trees, no carolling and no prayers. But they do mark the 25th of December with a motor parade, followed by a communal feast.

I'm looking down at the parade now.

It's been decades since Warchief Super Bee fled Sac City ahead of the Shady Sands/Redding/Boneyard army. Most N.C.R. textbooks refer to it as the N.C.R. Army, but the N.C.R. Constitution hadn't been signed yet, even if it was clear to all parties that it was inevitably going to be. A large, technologically sophisticated band of raiders squatting on the N.C.R.'s neck couldn't be tolerated, so they had to go.

Unfortunately, and perhaps also inevitably, the attack was poorly planned. The various city states had armies made up almost exclusively of light infantry. The Lost Hills Brotherhood weren't involving themselves and the Desert Rangers were still trying to hold Arizona. Against a raider army which was mostly driving cars and trucks and even had a few restored tanks, they could gradually grind them down but weren't able to prevent a breakout. Thousands of heavily armed Eighties drove towards New Reno and then Vault City, committing brigandage and enslavement wherever they went.

And they finally set up shop here, in Wendover, where they built their new home, conquered some of the weaker proto-nations and then sat here menacingly. Eastport aside none of them are places the N.C.R. cares about, and since Eastport's conquest has mostly just resulted in them paying the Eighties proper to leave them alone it's not really a pressing concern.

Until they started talking to Wyatt. So now it's time for hardball.

The parade is going slow, Thunderbird taking time to wave at his admirers and toss bottle caps into the crowd. Other luminaries drive just behind him, engines revving, drivers and passengers having shouted exchanges with one another and the crowd. Behind that… Tanks. Not final generation American army tanks, but certainly more advanced than anything fielded during World War Two. I'm a little concerned that they're a novel design rather than just a copy of the Abrams or something, because that indicates a level of technological skill that we didn't think they had.

There, in the second rank. That's Wyatt. So at least I know where he is.

Behind the tanks are trucks and cars, all heavily customised. Some trucks are modified with armoured plates and welded-on machine guns. Others have rocket launchers or anti-air guns mounted on the back, and one has what looks like a ludicrously oversized flamethrower. Eighties tribesmen standing in the transport vehicles are shouting and waving at the crowd…

Some of the trucks have bound slaves instead. I spot a few heavily worn vault suits amongst Canaanite cotton and leather and patched pre-War clothing that could have come from just about anywhere. **[I reach out]** but I don't feel any Sky Reavers or Sky Walkers down there. That's not surprising; we only got a border with Eighties-controlled territory fairly recently and they don't have much of a presence near us.

**A song? A song!**

My eyes widen as I do hear a telepathic voice, and…

**Will it join us? Will it sing to the hole in the sky? The chorus is so quiet now.**

That's a Crimson Acolyte. I didn't think they'd all died, but I'm going to need to get on that.

But first things first. Stealth field off, acceleration increased, Ride of the Valkyries on external speakers, prepare to launch flares and skim!

My saucer zooms through the air towards the back of the convoy, burning magnesium flying from the air like falling stars all around me. Some of the people below duck or scrabble for their guns, while others shout and cheer.

All part of the fun.

I pull up, go nose up, spin and then aileron roll into a drop back onto the parade. At the point Thunderbird has brought the slow-moving convoy to a halt and is standing in his seat to watch me. He isn't laughing. And neither is Wyatt.

I level out, put the saucer into a plate spin and fire off a new round of flares as I drift towards the front of the convoy using the anti-gravity system and my momentum. The leadership all have guns in their hands, though they're all trying to conceal it at least a little. I stop the spin just as I pass Thunderbird, dropping to just above the ground and popping the canopy.

"War Chief Thunderbird. Merry Christmas."

His eyes narrow slightly as he gazes into mine. "Chief Krono. Surprised you're here now. Not surprised you came."

"Then you know why I'm here." I raise my right hand in greeting. "Wyatt."

Wyatt guns the engine on his… Bike.. chariot thing, and pulls up level with Thunderbird. Normally that would be an insult, but he needs to be involved in this talk. "Krono. Nice ride. Build it yourself?"

One of the slow-on-the-uptake lieutenants in one of the cars behind them make an ooooh noise. Suggesting that a man can't work on his own car is a pretty serious insult both amongst the Eighties and in Two Sun. Fortunately, I can repair most of the systems in a saucer. It wouldn't be safe for me to fly on my own if I couldn't.

"Did some work. What happened to your car?"

He waves his right hand dismissively. "I drive it all the time. This is a parade."

"That thing's going to have rarity value, soon. So." I turn back to Thunderbird. "Reason I'm here. The Legion's going to be dead soon. The N.C.R. wants to talk to you about the future."

"Ain't nothing to talk about. I-Eighty is ours. Republic might beat the Legion, but then their army is going to be spread out all over the desert. No dice."

"The N.C.R. will offer to normalise relations and recognise your ownership of your current territory. They will grant you the right to travel the I-Eighty in their territory as you please, subject to their laws. And they will agree to begin making repairs to the road, with the aim of restoring it to its original state." He looks mildly intrigued by the last point, and unmoved by the rest. "You could even visit Sac City again."

"So I can visit my own home. Nice. And what else?"

"You release your slaves and prohibit slavery."

His eyes widen in surprise, then he chuckles. "I meant for me. For us. But that's it? Not even a truck load of caps? Nothing?"

I nod. "Nothing. Can I have a quick answer? I'm having the in-laws over."

"Get outa here, psyker. Stop wasting my time."

I shrug. "As you wish."

And then I sit back down in the cockpit, close the canopy and accelerate directly upwards.

Activate target designator. Open channel to vertibird air wing. Lock on to the lead cars, anti-air trucks and significant concentrations of armed men.

"Targets received, missiles away."

I watch as Thunderbird frowns at the sudden increase in illumination. And then I smile as Helios fires a giant burning beam down from orbit, completely obliterating him, his car, and most of the Eighties leadership! Missiles begin slamming into cars a moment later, fuel detonating, fragments of destroyed vehicle scything through anyone nearly!

Then I switch on my own guns, pulses of energy precisely striking anyone who even looks at the slave trucks. I designate a new batch of targets as the people manning the few fixed anti-air guns in Wendover work out that they're being attacked, and only a handful of hopeful shots are fired before the second wave of missiles silences those as well.

As this point everyone who can run is running, crowds and militia alive fleeing for cover. Some try to drive away, but with the wrecks blocking the road a good many are forced to abandon their vehicles and flee on foot.

My Christmas present and bride-price to my father-in-law: the rest of Utah.

"Convoy destroyed. Bring in the transports."

 

[Mr Zoat]

Working Relationship

April 18th, 2013
Morning

"Mitchell?"

My youngest/eldest grandson looks up from the scroll he's studying, distinctively black eyes alighting on my face for a moment before his mouth remembers to smile. He isn't a naturally sombre youth in the way that his brother is, but he is a good deal more nervous. I once asked Pavlos why -after appropriately bracing myself- and he said that it was because he reached his present physical maturity without the years of experience that a normal person would have. And as a consequence Mitchell doesn't have the instincts for social situations that other adults have.

I remember the conversation well, because he then paid me a rare compliment. He commended my wisdom in crafting Diana as a babe, rather than as a maiden. Honesty compelled me to tell him that not making her a babe never crossed my mind, which caused him to smile roguishly and exclaim that I made the decision by wise and well-honed instinct.

"Grandma?"

His eyes move from me to the scroll, and for a moment I wonder if he's found one of those scrolls. Much as I might wish it otherwise, Amazon erotica is.. generating a rather large part of our foreign currency income at the moment, and I'm not sure if it's due to the quality or the novelty. But, no, or at least not directly. It's Hippasia's work on familial relationships. I remember it well, because I was there when the knife-marks which repeats every few inches were made. Hippasia was a Discordian, and thankfully one of the ones who left for the mainland rather than one of those who sacrificed themselves. She entered the cult with that scroll; decrying the female group family structure and calling for a change to what Diana calls 'the nuclear family'. It was ridiculous; she was born on Themyscira. She'd never even seen one.

"What are you studying?"

"Families."

He answers in a relaxed frame of mind, but I see it in his face as he realises that I might be offended by what he said and begins to try to ward off my anger.

"I-. I mean-."

I take the bench next to him, then reach out to put my hand on his arm.

"It's alright, Mitchell. Calm yourself."

Gratifyingly, he does.

"It's-. Amazons have… Mothers."

"And we have fathers. They did not use to play a large role in our lives beyond our conception, but we-. Until Pavlos involved himself, every Amazon knew that she had a father and most knew who he was."

"But if they didn't have anything to do with… Ah, being a father, how come they all know?"

"To… Avoid incestuous pairings later in life."

"Oh. Ah, right." He frowns, his eyes avoiding me for a moment before alighting on where my hand remains on his forearm. Then he lifts his eyes to me. "Did..? You have any brothers?"

"No. At least, I do not believe so. For a very long time I believed that I was my mother's only child. Then Pavlos brought me word of Astarte. I suppose the fact that my memory was altered means that I may well have had other brothers or sisters than I no longer remember." I asked him to show me a picture of her face, in the hopes that it might stir my memories. It did not, though I could not deny the family resemblance.

"And your dad?"

"Ares."

He nods. "What kind of.. relationship do you have with him?"

"Ares has always been an unwelcome presence in my life. I have spoken to him directly on only a handful of occasions, and then it was to reject any of the plans he had made for me or for Diana."

"Because they were..? Um, bad? Or because fathers don't do that in Amazon culture?"

"Because they were bad." I sigh as I call the scene to mind. "He wanted me to carry on my mother's work. To continue her wars, her slaughter and subjugations. He was very unhappy that I didn't want to."

"Was he..? More unhappy because you were his daughter, or..? Do you think he'd have been unhappy anyway."

"Having me as a daughter was a point of ego for him. He was more unhappy because someone he saw as an extension of himself wasn't doing what he wanted them to." I shake my head. "He bears no love for me, and I bear none for him."

"Do you think..?"

And I watch as his fears and uncertainties defeat him, and his eyes go back to the scroll as his mouth refuses to continue.

"Do I think what, Mitchell?" I pat his arm. "I won't be angry."

"Do you think..? You could have had a relationship with him? Maybe… If you'd fought… I don't know, big monsters or something? Would he have been okay with that?"

"Ares is not Athena, Mitchell. Ares stands for the most brutal slaughters. Morals, goals, even martial skill, are second to the slaughter and to humans becoming savage monsters. That is what he revels in."

"You don't think he could meet you halfway?"

"Would you accept a sword that would only cut the skin of your enemy?"

He nods. "Yes? That sounds really useful. You'd never have to worry about causing an internal injury by mistake. And if you were sparring-."

I pat his arm, and he stops talking. "Would Ares?"

"I guess not. So it was just… Be exactly what he wants you to be, or he didn't want to know."

"No, he knew. He took it as a personal insult. I would say that we have a worse relationship than the one he has with Amazons who are not his daughter."

Though still better than the one the Heraklya have with their father. But I don't understand why Mitchell is so concerned.

"I thought that you and Conner had a better relationship with Clark now. Has something happened?"

"No!" Mitchell emphatically shakes his head. "He's great! I was thinking about our other father."

…

"Lex Luthor?" He nods. "I thought that he was your brother's father, but not yours."

He shrugs. "He had me made. I don't have any of his genetics… I mean, I guess my father is Jor-El. But I can't talk to him."

I take a moment within my head to hypocritically chastise my daughter's reticence in the field of romance.

"Do you want to talk to Lex Luthor?"

"I don't know? I know he's… A criminal, and he made me so that he'd have a weapon to use against Superman, and there's… Basically no chance. But Paul tried to.. persuade him to stop being evil, and he thought he nearly had it."

"Pavlos… Is a remarkable young man, but I have known his judgements at times to be a… A little…"

"Weird?"

"Outlandish."

"Yeah." Mitchell nods. "But you know what he says about evildoers?"

"Which thing in particular are you thinking about?"

"You should either try and make them better… Or you should kill them so they can't hurt anyone else. Or…" He shifts awkwardly, then manages to look me in the eyes. "Get a god you know to.. hit them real hard with a giant hammer?"

I still can't stop myself smiling, though I imagine if it had happened to anyone else it would be a smile that Ares would approve of.

"It has been known to work, but I do not recommend it for you. Am I to understand then that you want to redeem your father?"

He nods. "I'd like to try."

I nod hesitantly. "I think that this is something that you should speak to your mother about."

 

[Mr Zoat]

3rd November 1999
03:46 GMT
Because local time isn't Earth time and goa'uld aren't big on precise timekeeping.

Second Prime Abrax salutes fist-to-chest as Lord Mahes enters the courtyard, followed by his First Prime. Lord Agni smiles when he sees him, and walks over to greet him.

"Mahes! Have you been innovating?"

Mahes grins as he approaches, then grabs him by the shoulders. Then they hug each other, which is… Just about the most ungoa'uld thing I've ever seen. I mean, sure, I fixed the lesion's in Agni's brain when he turned up for the meeting, but that wouldn't change how Mahes behaved.

"No!" They separate, and Mahes pulls Agni in my direction gesturing to me. "I got someone to do it for me!"

"You'd need to." His eyes take in Abrax and then move to me.

"This is Lord Mammon. He has many interesting ideas. We're here to see if any of them are actually any good."

I nod. "I would not waste your time. If-."

Stomping armoured feet sound from the other direction, and-.

"Lady Heset?" I… Frown. I didn't even know that she was on Bubastis. I certainly didn't invite her here. I mean, we're feeding back to Bastet later-. "I… Didn't expect you."

Her First Prime takes up station behind her as she moves to the edge of the observation area. "Lord Bastet asked me to observe on her behalf. She has high expectations for your work."

"Alright then. Second Prime?"

He breaths in. "Jaffa! Kree!"

And out march our training squads, each arrayed in different armour. Mahes and Agni both start staring at the new armour types, focusing on each of the points of novelty. Heset's eyes just sort of rove over the whole lot. I… Actually don't know how old she is, but it's a little surprising that she's as ignorant of military matters as that implies. Faking it, perhaps? Or more interested in the political implications?

I.. suppose that it doesn't really matter. Even if she lies to Bastet, that's easy enough to fix by just showing Bastet my results directly.

"Now, as you can see, this is the standard Jaffa armour. It is included for the sake of comparison. This-" I continue down the line. "-looks similar, but it's actually my recreation of the armour Supreme System Lord Ra issued to his soldiers. Step forwards, Jaffa."

They stamp forward, Ma'Toks at the ready.

"There are several differences between the two." Both Jaffa engage their helmets, lamassu masks extending over their heads. "Ra's soldiers have integrated sensors and air purifiers, sound and light protection. Their Ma'Toks are designed for more powerful energy discharges, though they do exhaust their batteries a little faster."

I nod to Abrax, and he releases a pair of test drones. Small balls with weak anti-gravity drives and force fields, they serve as a decent test target.

"We've reduced the power output for this demonstration. Fire."

The Jaffa raise their weapons at the viffing drones. They've both practiced this exercise before, dozens of times with a variety of weapons. But whichever of them used the weapons and armour, this contest always had the same result.

WOOMPF-WOOMPF! WOOMPF-WOOMPF!

Ma'Toks aren't great against small fast-moving targets. They're slow firing, and the plasma moves relatively slowly.

WOOMPF-WOOMPF! WOOMPF-WOOMPF!

When using the same weapons, these two Jaffa are about as accurate as each other.

WOOMPF-WOOMPF! WOOMPF-WOOMPF!

The chance of them hitting a slow moving target is about equal. The issue is that when the drone dodges out of the normal helmet wearer's field of view, he has to turn to reacquire it. The Jaffa with Ra's helmet on doesn't. He knows where it is even outside of his field of view. In theory he could just point the staff without turning, but everyone found that so counter-instinctual that we gave up making it standard procedure. Even so, he's more accurate and acquires the dodging target faster.

WOOMPF-WOOMPF! WOOMPF-WOOMPF!

Agni looks curious as the Jaffa new helmet quickly acquires a lead. "How much more powerful is that Ma'Tok?"

"Jaffa, shoot the wall. Full power."

They both lower their Ma'Toks and fire.

WOOMPF! WOOMPF-BOOM!

The normal Ma'Tak leaves a blackened scar in the stone. The more powerful version punches a hole, sends stones flying and giving us a view of the interior corridor.

An extremely nervous chambermaid peers around the edge of the hole. I wave my right hand dismissively.

"Carry on with your duties."

Agni grins. "I like it!"

"Why?" I shrug as he frowns at me. "Jaffa, switch."

The Jaffa with the regular staff puts it down and draws his Zat'nik'tel. They both resume firing, and while the Jaffa with Ra's helmet is more accurate, the increased rate of fire means that the Jaffa with the Zat'nik'tel is scoring hits more quickly.

"The heavy staff is more destructive, but against most targets it's inefficient. One shot from a Zat'nik'tel will disable a Jaffa in normal armour, and the second shot kills. We ran wargames where one squad would use Ma'Tok and the other would use Zat'nik'tel, and outside of long range engagements over open ground, the squad using Zat'nik'tel always came out ahead."

"Surely their armour would weaken the impact?"

I nod. "It does." Sort of. It's more that the first hit isn't quite so disabling; the second hit still reliably kills the target. "But it's still disabling, and with the higher rate of fire the reduced lethality per shot doesn't matter."

I point to the Jaffa with the heavy staff, and send him back to line. Another Jaffa comes forwards. This one is wearing a far heavier version of the normal armour. It's not power armour, but the armour plates are about as thick as it's practical for a Jaffa to wear. On the left arm is a tower shield of similar thickness, and in his right he carries a Ma'Tak. He stands a short distance away from the Jaffa with the Zat'nik'tel and points his shield at him.

"Fire."

The Zat'nik'tel pulses, bright crackling beam hitting the shield and doing absolutely nothing.

"This sort of armour is effectively immune to the Zat'nik'tel. It's also close to the form of armour our armies wore before we learned to work trinium well enough to create chain mail. Switch weapon."

The Jaffa reattaches his Zat'nik'tel to his bracer, then crouches down to recover his Ma'Tok. He fires, the bolts knocking the heavy armour Jaffa back a little but not appearing to cause an injury.

"The downside is that it's not practical to wield a normal Ma'Tok at the same time, and the wearer's agility is dramatically reduced." The armour-wearer tries balancing his Ma'Tok on the shield, but it's clearly awkward. "Combining it with a Zat'nik'tel works, but it makes things a little awkward when they face other heavy armour wearers. They can't hurt each other. But if we combine the two…"

The basic Jaffa raises his Ma'Tok in two hands and moves behind the heavy Jaffa, who ducks slightly behind his shield. He's effectively protecting his colleague, who is free to fire back.

"The armour will allow the wearer to survive a hit from a staff cannon, but they will be disabled by the hit. Thank you, gentlemen."

They both come to attention, and then return to their place in the line.

"The next is something inspired by the Tau'ri. It's called 'camouflage'."

 

[Mr Zoat]

April 20th, 2013
07:30 Exactly

Once, the IRS could tell you that I was the richest man in America. If they felt like being unusually forthcoming, they could confirm my own claim to be the third richest man on Earth.

Though that would only count publically disclosed holdings, and would rely on the lumpenproletariat's ability to accurately determine asset value. The truth is that I am far and away the richest man on Earth, and by some measures the most powerful.

And then I spent two months under the influence of the Anti-Life, as did the rest of the world.

Mercy passes me the overnight folder. I already know what ninety percent of it will say, but it's always worth knowing the precise degree to which the Justice League's takeover has progressed.

Western politicians have been making unfunded spending commitments since the end of the World War Two-

My eyes unavoidably drift to a watercolour on my office's side wall.

-and once the worker base stopped expanding and started contracting, have stuck to currency depreciation as the correct method for avoiding the consequences of their electorate's spendthrift habits. It wasn't a problem for me, as the correct response was obviously to treat money like any other depreciating asset and invest resources elsewhere. My entire asset management system was premised on the continuation of that policy.

And now the world reserve currency is the Justice League Medallion, and not only are they not going to depreciate it, it's backed by precious metal.

Precious metal currency in the 21st century? Widely traded precious metal currency in the 21st century? The banking sector literally doesn't have the skills to handle it. So I have to review investment decisions and forecasts made by formerly competent employees who are suddenly out of their depths.

I glance over to the bookcase at Professor Prokopios' Principles of Finance. He must be beside himself with joy.

Someone might as well be.

Ah, yes. The President continues to be a witless buffoon. I wasn't expecting a great deal from President Knight; his only real virtue was how agreeable he was to doing whatever it was that the last person he spoke to said. The cheapest President I've ever bought, and without any of the truculent moralising that Horne was inclined to do. Making him go in the right direction required not just money but time and attention as well.

I always thought that someone with the ego to dress in a skin tight blue costume with a red cape would refuse to take over the world indirectly. Someone so brazen would never stoop to covert means. Their ego wouldn't allow it. But I suppose that anyone of moderate intellect can employ people capable of pursuing useful methods that don't come naturally to themselves.

Ah, yes, I see that the Medallion is to be treated both as a currency and a unit of precious metal, and the Treasury is once again ignoring the part of the Constitution that makes it clear that issuing currency is their job and theirs alone. I'm a little surprised that Batman is so well-prepared for this eventuality…

But only a little.

The most frustrating part is that I can't do anything about it. Nothing that wouldn't be foolishly self-destructive, at least. The sort of people I would usually work through or with had a higher than average death rate during the Anti-Life period. Of those that survived, a surprising number had a fatal attack of conscience after the… Whatever it was that ended it.

It's incredible. The Justice League used a global mind control effect even more invasive than the one they were fighting, and the countries that survived are happy to give them the keys to the metaphorical city.

The countries that they allow to survive. If I could get a better idea what happened to Atlantis-.

"Sir?"

Otis has a very narrow skill set. Usually I like that in my employees, because it means that they're more likely to stay where I put them. In Otis's case his difficulty in paying attention to social cues has given me more than a few headaches over the years, but in exchange I get a very capable and completely loyal Chief of Security.

Trying to imply that he should wait until after my daily update before trying to brief me was a total waste of time.

I flick through to the Security sheet. Some progress on tracking 'LexCorp employees displaced during the Anti-Life period', but the only one found overnight was found dead. That leaves some sort of problem with one of the top security sites-. No, he'd just have woken me if that was it. Direct instructions he can manage.

"Yes, Otis?"

He pulls his tablet out of his belt. "Sir, we've begun getting applications for summer internships."

I don't have interns working directly for me, but if otherwise intelligent people want to work for me for no money, who am I to stop them?

"We did the usual background checks, and one… Well." He puts his tablet down on my desk and slides it towards me.

I have a fully integrated wireless communications suite, constantly monitored by a completely loyal AI. He has access. He could-.

Oh, at least he isn't using print-outs any more.

I look-.

"Ah. I see. Is this genuine?"

"Details match the fake background the Justice League invented. The next stage would be a call-back, but I thought I should run it by you first."

Match's face stares back at me from the application summary.

Why?

The Justice League has shapeshifters and magicians. As well as the financial resources to send someone with no prior Justice League history. If they wanted to infiltrate LexCorp they have far better options than knocking on the front door.

Given how I'm forced to use their ridiculous currency, they hardly need more control levers.

If it was Conner I could almost understand it. It took me a bullet to finally resolve my own issues with my father, and the bullet was worth more than he was. And since I'm still alive… 'As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool returns to his folly' and all that. But why does the failed project want to visit the company? Doing the ground-work for an eventual cover job? There's no chance of me paying a Justice League affiliate for anything, much less a duplicate of the alien.

There isn't going to be any way to turn this into a way to get him back under control. I'm not going to waste time considering it. Between the loss of specialist personnel and the fact that the League will do daily checks on him, that approach just isn't viable. I don't think that he's stupid enough for a soft-sell to work. What the Justice League has on me might not be admissible in court, but it's hard to square the actions I've been associated with and my genuine end goals.

I take a moment to mentally curse Klarion. I nearly had Orange Lantern on-side! What part of 'distraction'-?

Ah… Sunk cost. Well and truly sunk and quite costly.

I let my higher functions work on this issue while I read the rest of his application. Good school grades, though like his primogenitor I don't know if that's the actual limits of his abilities or just a good cover; intelligent enough to give a good impression but not intelligent enough to draw excessive attention. No, it has to be an act. He's had access to genomorph educational neuroprogramming.

Do the League think that I don't know-? No. Might he? No, this is signed by his adopted mother. He would have had to speak to her about it.

Is it a joke of some sort?

Possible. He didn't have any kind of sense of humor as Project: Match, and none of the intelligence I've received since then has made any reference to one. A dare seems slightly more likely; Robin once sent in an application as me, and I could see him goading 'Mitchell Kent' into doing the same thing.

So in summary: threats? Negligible. Opportunities? None. Response?

"I have no opinion. Do the usual screening and follow the normal procedure. If he gets in then he gets in. If he doesn't then he doesn't. Is there anything else?"

Otis recovers his tablet. "No sir."

"Then you're dismissed. I have a global economy to repair."

 

[Mr Zoat]

5th November 1999
12:54 GMT

Bastet walks along the line of ballistic dummies, observing the damage patterns. The walls of the courtyard are lined with her Jaffa, though Heset is once again accompanying her. And Heset is wearing an… Odd perfume. Surprisingly, perfumes are a common way for a goa'uld to display their wealth. I avoid wearing them when I can get away with it, but I've had to familiarise myself with the work of the leading perfumers working in Bastet's territory. Don't recognise that one, so I guess she's showing off by importing.

"I see that your work has been productive once again. Lord Mahes and Lord Agni are well pleased with your weapons and armour."

I nod. "Alas, it will be several human generations before I have the industrial capacity to outfit your armies myself. Once you have determined how you wish to arm them, I can train your artificers in the production process."

True, but misleading. The Altairan androids are perfectly capable of making everything I displayed, but they're repairing their world and don't really have industrial capacity to spare. Not unless I could offer them something in return that would make it worth their while. Keeping them willing to trade with me at all is well worth keeping the pressure off; I need teachers that don't come from Earth more than my gou'ald allies need better armour faster.

Besides, Roboneil is getting angsty about the Altairan military wanting their gate facility back. If they actually say 'join up or get out' then I'm reasonably confident that they'll take my offer.

"And… This." She approaches one of her Jaffa, who is holding one of my novel weapons. "What is this for?"

"It's a prototype, my Lord. The Ma'Tok's functionality as a ranged weapon is compromised by ceremonial and melee considerations. I was curious as to the efficacy of using the standard technologies in a pure ranged weapon."

"What did you discover?"

I glance at Bastet's First Prime, who nods. "Jaffa, kree."

The Jaffa raises the plasma repeater to her shoulder, sights an unused target and pulls the trigger.

…-whoomp-whoomp-whoomp-whoomp-whoomp-whoomp!

Bastet looks decidedly interested. "Was achieving the higher rate of fire really that easy?"

"No. The firing chambers rotate internally, all constantly drawing power from the battery so that each is ready to fire again as swiftly as possible after discharging. And the shot are -by default- less powerful than a standard Ma'Tok blast. They'll still inflict a crippling or lethal injury through normal Jaffa armour, but they'll be less effective against other defences. And the maintenance complexity is significantly greater. If you decide to make use of the final version, I would strongly recommend increasing the level of training Jaffa receive in maintenance rituals. You would also need to increase the spare parts and fuel cell allocation Jaffa formations receive by about… Half again?" I shrug. "Once I have a final version, I will be able to give you a more precise recommendation."

"What do you suggest the Jaffa wielding it does if the enemy closes to melee range?"

I walk over to the Jaffa holding it, make a fist and bring it down hard on the gun twice with a thump-thump sound.

"The construction is solid enough that it can take some rough treatment, but they'd probably be best off just dropping it and drawing a knife. Or trying to line up a shot; the reduced length makes it much easier to manoeuvre." Hm. "The Tau'ri have an attachment point for a knife on their projectile long arms, but I'm not convinced of the efficacy of that against Jaffa armour."

Bastet turns and gives me her full attention. "You have developed nothing for melee combat?"

"Nothing I'd want to actually deploy." I mime pulling something off my belt, and brandish a shock baton. "I was considering developing something like this for police units. It works as a club, but it also incorporates a low-output variant of the Zat'nik'tel beam." I walk over to a test dummy and swing the baton into its chest. As it hits, there's the characteristic che-ow noise and energy transfers from the club to the target. "I wouldn't recommend it in combat against a peer opponent, however. It was made for riotous mobs of humans."

"And against other Jaffa?"

"I have two prototypes, neither of which are really… Ready…"

"I would like to see them anyway."

I nod, handing off the baton to one of the Jaffa observers. "The first is intended for… Ceremonial purposes more than anything. Perhaps executions. It's… Lethal, but…"

I reach into my robes and take Bastet's Claw out of subspace, then put it on my right hand.

"It looks like a decorative glove or gauntlet, but if you-" I pull my fingers back and push my palm forwards. "-gesture-" 'Claws' of burning plasma extend from the finger tips. "-like that-" I slash, and the training dummy acquires five vicious lines through its armour and across its chest. "-it takes a reasonable-."

Ow!

I wince, shake my hand to put the claws out and then heal my hand.

"A reasonable melee weapon. I haven't got the plasma containment quite right yet, and it's really only good for a few slashes before the small power cell is expended, but it does work."

Bastet is smiling, and from the glance she shares with her First Prime I think that she is pleased as well.

"And what else?"

I return the claw to subspace under my robe, and take out the blast module.

"This attaches to the bracer of a Jaffa's primary arm." I attach it around my right forearm. "It's not particularly large, and would easily pass unnoticed. But if someone closes to close range-" I raise my arm and flap my hand down.

WOOMPF!

The slashed target is visibly charred by the unrestrained plasma blast, as are its neighbours and the wall behind it.

"-you get a single plasma blast. It lacks the confinement of the bolts fired by normal weapons: it is indiscriminate up close and is ineffectual at range. But in close quarters you can't miss and the target will go down. Aiming is simply a matter of angling your arm and by default the trigger is dropping your hand. If the Jaffa is using one of Ra's helmets, it can be triggered using the display."

"Is it ready for deployment?"

"The design? Certainly. It's simple. Anyone trained in Ma'Tok creation can make it. I have not yet fully tested how useful it will be, but if you so desire-."

"I do."

I give her a shallow bow. "Then I shall include it with the schematic package."

"And do you have any other weapons with which to tantalise us?"

"I'm working on a number of things. Guns which use electromagnetic and gravitic devices to fire projectiles, simple explosive plasma grenades, simpler energy fields for defence… The grenades are ready -they're essentially a thrown omni-directional version of the arm weapon- but the others are… Well, they're technically functional, but I wouldn't want to even use them for field testing. And you would need to train the factory workers anew. The gravitic projector in particular would most likely require a minor god to assemble it for the foreseeable future. I… Also have copies of the weapons the Tau'ri use… Just in case you wished to implicate them in anything."

"If they wish to worry Apophis' flanks, they are welcome to do so. It is no concern of ours." I perform another shallow bow. "I am pleased with your work, Lord Mammon. What reward do you want in return for this service?"

I shrug, then shake my head. "Merely the opportunity to continue with my social research. I… Genuinely have no complaints about my position. It is an easy thing, to serve a System Lord who is exactly as you would have her be."

Bastet smiles proudly. "Then I will simply have to think of something myself. It is a poor System Lord who does not reward her Underlords when they serve her well."

 

[Mr Zoat]

April 23rd, 2013
16:12 EST

"…Match, B two five."

And I'm home.

I know Conner likes living in the mountain more than the Embassy, but I-. Don't. I like having people around who can answer questions about things I don't understand. I like living somewhere that's basically a normal building.

A couple of Amazon guards come to attention as I walk out. I…

"Um. Hey."

"Hey, Prince Mitchell!"

Or as normal as I can get.

I don't think she's making fun of me. I'm pretty sure, she's trying to include me. But…

But being in a position where I actually have to rule Themyscira is something that I've had nightmares about. And not just because Grandma and Mom and Conner would have to be dead. Even if they just went on vacation and made me Regent or something, just the idea of trying to fill a role I don't understand-.

"Hey they'uh, Mitch!" Ms. Candy smiles at me as she sees me "School aht alreadih?"

"Uh, yeah. I was just hanging out with the team for a while. I'm… I'm gunna go do my homework now."

"They'uh ain't no need t' gaw rushing raht awf. Y'all cuud spent a littul mowah tahm with Connuh."

"He had plans with M'gann." I shrug. "I don't want to be a third wheel."

She thinks for a moment. "Weyul, maybe she cuud set you urp with one a' her freyunds?"

It takes an act of will to prevent me recoiling. Dating? Me? Some things genomorphs can't teach you. I don't wanna try that for… Uh, a couple of years, maybe? Definitely not until college. I'm just glad that no Amazons have tried asking me out.

"I… I don't think that's a good idea. Ah, yet! Yet. Ah. Maybe sometime."

Okay, she doesn't look happy about that. I don't think she has any friends with kids my-. Ah, physical age, but she might-.

Her cell phone goes off, and she reluctantly decides to let it go to answer.

"Themysciran Embassy, Etta Candy speakin'. Uh-huh." I try walking away, but she holds up her left hand like a stop sign. "Ye-uh. Awl let her know." She's frowning as she puts the cell down. "Mitchell Kent, don't tell me ya'll applahed t' work at LexCorp?"

"Okay." I make for the exit to the residency, but then her hand's on my chest.

"C'mon now, young mahn."

"Did they say yes? No?"

"Front deysk gaht a fellah raht they'uh, askin' t'do a face-to-face."

Huh. That was quick.

"We usually let folks from LexCorp cool theyuh heel fer a good long wahyl." She regards me sternly. "Does you tell Diana 'bowt this?"

"Yeah. And Grandma and Conner. M'gann and Zatanna are going to check nothing.. bad happens to me while I'm there. If they even accept me." … "Is Mom here?"

"She's head'n raht down, and you should too."

I nod. "Okay." I'm half way to the door in relief before I remember… Myself. "Ah, thanks! Sorry!"

She just makes a one-handed shooing motion, so I get out while I can.

Couldn't Mom have hired more guys? I have enough aunts as it is.

Conner said that he found it weird how full up the Embassy is these days, but I don't really remember anything else. People researching Ancient Greece, because the original manuscripts don't leave the Embassy. People doing tourist preparation courses, mostly from Themyscira to New York rather than the other way around, because Themyscira has… No tourist infrastructure at all. People from other embassies, though some of them are just making excuses to spend time with the attractive warrior women.

Conner was right about super-hearing. And Kara was way wrong. Hearing thousands of sounds in a city makes it easier to filter all of it out. It's just white noise. Background. At least it is for me. But once you learn what a guy getting a boner sounds like… The way the heart rate changes, the shape of the pulse changes, and the sound of skin slowly sliding across cloth... You can't not hear it. Even if you wish you could.

Julia's on the front desk, and she points at one of the front meeting rooms. So it's not someone Mom already knows not to trust. I mean, LexCorp employs thousands of people, so it's not like they're all… Cloning aliens and turning them into slave weapons. Some of them are just regular people.

I look through the wall. Mom's whole body blocks the radiation bandwidths I can see-.

I wince.

But she mostly wears her armour bodice around the Embassy like she is right now, after the one time she didn't and I couldn't look her in the face for a week. Conner thought it was pretty funny. The one time he was glad to not be fully kryptonian. The other.. woman, has regular skin and bones. One old break on her right arm almost totally healed, just a bit of extra thickness where the break was. I mean, sure, I can see peoples' bones and hear their heartbeats, but that doesn't mean I learn the pattern for everyone. I don't think I've seen her before…

I knock on the door, and Mom turns towards me and nods. But I wait until she says something, because…

Okay, LexCorp knows that I'm 'Project: Match', but… I'm not openly kryptonian, because… We're all agreeing to pretend to pretend that I'm not? It made sense when she explained it. I guess it kind of makes sense when I'm going to look exactly like Clark Kent when I'm older, and if everyone-. Everyone-everyone knew I was kryptonian it could make his life awkward. But there are Superman look-alikes around-.

Whatever. It doesn't hurt anyone. Other than my head a little. The point is 'Mitchell Kent' can't see through walls or doors, so I pretend I can't either.

"Come in, Mitchell!"

I push the door open and walk in, smiling a little at the woman in the suit.

"Hey, Mom." I look expectantly at the woman. "Etta said we had a visitor from LexCorp?"

"Yes." The woman nods, then gets up and holds out her right hand. "Eve Teschmacher, Business Development Manager. I'm overseeing the internship program."

I shake her hand, because I didn't see a kryptonite ring and if there was one I'd be feeling it by now anyway.

"Hey. I'm.. Mitchell Kent. Ah. I only sent the application in a few days ago. I wasn't expecting a visit this quick."

"We don't get a lot of foreign ambassador's children applying to work with us." She returns to her seat and I sit down next to Mom. "Other than as joke applications sometimes. And since I was in New York I thought I'd come over and visit. Skip a few rounds of background checks."

I.. nod. Ah. "Oh wait. You're not a business development manager. You're…"

"Head of the Business Development Department, yes. If your application is successful there's a good chance you'll be working under me!"

Oh. Right. It wouldn't really make much sense for some random kid to start out working with Lex Luthor himself. Or for them to put Wonder Woman's son anywhere near anything criminal, even if they thought that he didn't have superpowers.

She smiles, turning so that her body faces me directly. "How about I tell you what we do, and you can tell me what you think?"

 

[Mr Zoat]

April 20th, 2013
5 Hours Before Lunch

Normal procedure, normal procedure…

I unlock my paperwork safe and pull out the 'special recruitment' binder. Mr. Luthor's big on computers for organizing stuff, but I've always preferred to put stuff in physical space. I mean, think about it: is it easier to have five or six different tablets on the go or just open a binder and take out six sheets of paper? I keep the electronic copies up to date as well, sure, but I'd never get anything done if I had to scroll through a three hundred page document on a tablet to find anything.

Normal procedure.

I'm frowning. I'd have thought that Project: Match would be getting the full mushroom treatment. That's what I'd have done if it wasn't a project that Mr. Luthor's friends had been directly involved with. Stick him doing retail inventory for a month, something like that. No risk of him seeing something that he's not supposed to, and no risk that he starts acting out and demanding investigations because he thinks he's been excluded.

But there's normal procedure and normal procedure.

Normal procedure for a break-in is that my on-site team is notified. Desk organises an evacuation and the automatic lock-ins, and the active team goes hunting. Whether whoever it is survives or not depends on where they are, what they've seen and if they're armed. But normal procedure for Superman breaking in is a lot different.

We can't kill Superman.

We've got a few kryptonite lasers and I think one of the science teams is working with anti-matter, and those could theoretically do the job. But the fallout from killing him would wreck the company, even if we were acting inside the law doing it. So depending on what he's doing, normal procedure for Superman is to call the police, a friendly newspaper or radio journalist, record everything and remotely flash the hard drive of anything incriminating that he's heading towards. Usually when he breaks in he just heads for Mr. Luthor's office anyway.

For other people with superpowers it's the same sort of thing. Top-tier powers? Don't bother. Hero or not, they're out of our league. Our orders are to cover an evacuation and then get out ourselves. Mid-tier? Depends on who they are and who's on-site. Some, my team can handle with specialist weapons. Other times we subcontract to one of Mr. Luthor's 'special' contacts, but that only works if they're a known criminal or we're really sure whoever we're calling in can kill them. Even if they don't have a criminal record in America, it's usually not worth the risk.

On the other side of things, LexCorp actively tries to recruit people with superpowers. I went with Mr. Luthor when he recruited Hugo Danner, and that was… That was more effort than a potential employee with superpowers usually gets. Totally worth it in his case, of course, but I honestly can't think of a single background check I've done on someone with superpowers that hasn't involved them getting offered something, even if it's not the role they applied for.

When-.

No, hang on, let's check that. On the tablet. Let's see… Background check summaries, superpowers…

Heha! Oh yeah, there was one. Had the 'superpower' to squirt blood out of his tear ducts or something like that. And he had no other skills. Wasn't even worth vivisecting.

But that was the only one. And even after he squirted the poor woman interviewing him, he only got a few completely proportionate bruises. I remember it because he squirted Evans too, and he -a man who once walked three miles after a helicopter crash with two bullets in him- spent the rest of the day muttering 'What the fuck?' to himself.

And so normal procedure for a kryptonian isn't normal procedure for a normal high schooler. Standard assessment here we go. Powers? Very strong. Control? Used to be terrible, but, tablet, call up the up-to-date assessment based on reports from assets in Happy Harbor… Pre-misery wave unfortunately, but it'll do. If he's not a raging berserker now and he wasn't four months ago, whatever was wrong is probably fixed.

"It looks like you're getting information on Project: Match."

I'm on my feet and staring at the door. Mr. Luthor doesn't usually-.

"Would you like some help with that?"

It's the AI. I sit down again. "That's not funny. Can't you get your own voice?"

"I was programmed to respect everything about Alexander Luthor. Why would I select anyone else's voice?"

"So you can be your own man?

"I could, but I wasn't programmed to value that." Mr. Luthor's face appears on my tablet, another good reason to prefer paper. I don't know why Mr. Luthor hasn't told him to change it. "Is Mitchell to be subjected to extraordinary recruitment?"

"No. Normal-" I run my finger down the page until I get to the exact line. "-recruitment, external, active, conventional."

"Conventional?"

I shrug. I'm sure there's a camera in here somewhere for him to see out of. "Mister Luthor said to follow the normal procedure. Project: Match fits all the requirements for being a high value asset. Even if we just got him replacing satellite launch vehicles for a couple of weeks, that's a saving of a few million dollars."

The AI makes a show of looking thoughtful, as if it can't outthink any human on the planet a million times over. "He also has kryptonian hearing and vision. Not all LexCorp facilities are lead-lined or fitting with kryptonian-grade sound insulation."

Happy Harbor… Happy Harbour? Guess it's an old British town.

"No, look, there's a LexFoods farm not too far from there. No special projects at all."

"That you know about."

I roll my eyes. "If there was something special I needed to know, Mister Luthor would have mentioned it. The aim is to make him identify with LexCorp, and Superman grew up on a farm. He's predisposed to feel positively about it."

"Check his file again. He goes to school in Happy Harbour, but he lives in New York."

"Then it's an easy commute to Metropolis, and all of our buildings here are rigged for kryptonians."

"Not for Mitchell Kent."

I'm about to say 'What?', when I work it out. "Secret identity, right. He won't fly over and he won't use the zeta tubes. Clark Kent doesn't know Diana of Themyscira, so he can't justify staying over." I can't help but chuckle. "Princess Diana has two sons who look just like him and share his surname. Do you think anyone in the Daily Planet has joked about that?"

"Not unless they want Ms. Lane's displeasure. Jimmy once stared at a picture of them for seven seconds before whispering 'no way', if that's of any-"

"Hehaa!"

"-interest. Of course, based on their apparent age, he would have had to be a High School student himself at the time he sired them."

"It's still funny. Okay, New York. Marketing analysis. That's pretty safe. No sensitive material there."

"Nothing to put a kryptonian through his paces, either. And while I love data analysis, most humans don't."

I shrug. "Doesn't matter. We already know what he can do physically. I can just copy the file across for the acquisition report. I could probably do it from memory, actually."

After one idiot tried hitting Superman with a sap, Mr. Luthor made sure that we understood exactly what the alien could do to us so that no one risked giving him just cause again. I've seen some shit, but the 'this is your skull at escape velocity' lecture… That was some shit.

"So you want to find out what he can do mentally?"

I nod. "We don't have a good psychological profile for him when he's sane. If we assign him to Miss Teschmacher, she can handle all that during a normal work day."

"Her clearance could be an issue."

"Civilization is collapsing. She's too busy with normal stuff for that to come up."

"You think."

"You can check her calender, but unless you know something I'll just call her now."

"As you will." The hologram smiles, though who knows what the AI's really thinking? "I'll look forward to your analysis."

 

[Mr Zoat]

12th November 1999
08:03 GMT

"…why you need us at all."

Roboneil is making a show of looking over the armoury, but he's fairly clearly watching me out of the corner of his eyes. Teal'c on the other hand is just checking the weapons.

"Need?" I shake my head. "I don't. It would be helpful to have you, and I believe that we could accomplish useful things together, but ultimately you don't need me and I don't need you."

"O… Kay…" He nods his head to the side. "Was… Kinda expecting you to put a little more effort into selling this to me…"

"Alright." I shrug. "This planet has no army. It has a tiny poorly trained militia force. The stargate is defended, but unless I get involved myself there's basically nothing here that can contest a landing or orbital bombardment."

"Because you can stop a fleet on your own."

"Yes."

"Because…" He nods slowly, making a circling gesture with both hands. "You're a god."

"No, because I've got tonnes of super-advanced alien technology on my person." He gives me his full attention. "What, did you think Altair was the only planet I went to?"

"Oh. Okay. That…" He nods to himself. "Makes a little more sense."

"To be clear, I'm not hung up on the god thing. You don't have to refer to me as a god, or treat me as a god. You don't have to worship me, sacrifice to me, or grovel at my feet. But if you take the job then I will be your head of state, and that does involve treating me with a degree of deference. I am aware that you tend to be irreverent, and that's fine in private, but I am running a nation here and my subordinates openly disrespecting me can have severe consequences for everyone."

Teal'c frowns at me. "You are most unusual."

I smile. "Thank you."

He tilts his head to the side slightly. "I am surprised that you are willing to offer me a place."

I shrug. "You are not the original Teal'c. You are not even a Jaffa. You owe the goa'uld nothing, and you did not betray your subordinates."

He raises an eyebrow. "My fellow Jaffa were loyal to Apophis."

"How do you know that they did not harbour the same doubts that Teal'c and Bra'tac do? Did he ask?"

"I-."

"He."

A shallow nod. "He did not."

"He didn't ask and he didn't use his Zat'nik'tel. I appreciate that his defection was a spur of the moment thing, but they were his subordinates and they deserved better from him. If you decide to enter my service and later feel that you cannot in good conscience continue to work for me, you can resign and return to Altair. Or Chulak, as far as I'm concerned. If you have concerns about my behaviour, you are free to respectfully raise them in private -that applies to you as well, Roboneil- but I will expect you to accept my decision afterwards."

Roboneil raises his eyebrows. "'Roboneil'?"

"Are you going to keep calling us 'goold'?"

He considers that for a moment, then nods. "Fair point. Just need to come up with something for 'Mammon'..."

My communication device chimes.

"Excuse me." I turn away from them and head out of the armoury. "Yes?"

"Lord Mammon, Lady Heset has arrived to speak with you."

"She's at the stargate now?"

"No, Lord. She used a ring transporter. She's in the palace."

There's a ship in orbit-. There's a ship in orbit over my capital. I don't think that she's threatening me, but that's bloody rude for a goa'uld. By any normal standard of diplomacy she should have called ahead. Even Lord Bastet would have done that unless I'd really pissed her off, if only to ensure that we had quarters ready for her.

"I will return at once." I close the communication channel and duck back into the armoury. "I'm sorry, but something's come up that needs my personal attention. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves while I'm away."

Roboneil raises his eyebrows. "Because… We needed your permission to do that?"

I shrug. "You might have assumed that I was monitoring everything that happened inside a secure area, and that might have impeded the freedom of your discussion. I'm telling you that you don't need to worry about that. Excuse me."

Where is she-? Right. Transition.

I appear miles away from the armoury, in what was the great receiving room. I haven't done much in the way of renovation to it because I didn't think it would see any use. And there's Heset, her guards and her First Prime who's raising his Ma'Tok-.

I transfer it into my right hand and jab the butt right into his pouch. Then I drop it onto the floor for him to pick up before fanning out my hands and smiling at Heset.

"Lady Heset. I wasn't expecting you, otherwise I would have been here to greet you. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

She slowly draws a deep breath, eyes flickering to her First Prime who has one hand on his Zat'nik'tel and shaking her head. "Lord Mammon. System Lord Bastet has commanded me to speak with you in private on a matter of great urgency. Where may we speak?"

I raise my left hand, making orange lights circle around us before transitioning us to my private reception room.

"Here." She takes a moment to adjust to her new location, then reaches her right hand to her chest... Maybe she's checking that all of her materialised? "This is a violation of protocol, Lady Heset. System Lord Bastet has not lost my gate coordinates. What do you want?"

"Lady Bastet has… Your reward. She suggested that you might find it helpful if you had another goa'uld to aid you."

"Hardly. Few goa'uld would have the perspective, even if they could technically aid me. I don't want to have to deal with a would-be usurper's psychosis."

Oh, there's her perfume again. I really don't see the appeal.

"There are ways around that. Lady Bastet has acquired the service of a goa'uld queen to provide her Jaffa with Prim'ta. If you were to sire a brood, that would ensure that they shared your mindset."

"Assuming that the queen cooperated and didn't add other instructions."

Plus I… Well, I could use my scans of goa'uld physiology to add goa'uld host additives to my blood stream, it wouldn't be mine and it wouldn't have my genetically encoded memories in it. I'm fairly sure that the queen would notice that. I haven't even tried decoding goa'uld genetic memory. Though-. If the Altairians can create memory downloads it might be possible to work something out, maybe?

Heset takes a step closer, right hand rubbing her chest again. "I was… Instructed to get a sample… Personally."

The smell of her perfume is a bit-.

Wait. Scan.

…

Oh you cheeky minx. Pull.

A small part of her robe bursts as the aerosol lands in my left hand. I glare at it, then at her.

"What exactly was this supposed to do to me?"