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

[Mr Zoat]

Universe 191
13th May 1954
09:07 GMT

Mr. Blood tosses an orange in his right hand. "So much for isolationism. Or is that just for the peasants?"

I smile politely. "Those were actually grown in this country."

"Oh yeah?" He frowns in disbelief. "How?"

"Oranges thrive in hot places with lots of sunlight." I look out through the pavilion entrance into the overcast spring day. "And while Britain doesn't have much of either, we do have a surfeit of electrical power. And sunlamps. And for your information, my father was a school teacher."

"You're saying you grow your own tropical fruit."

I shrug. "Some things we don't grow. But for the first time in a long time, Great Britain is self-sufficient in terms of food. We've seen large areas of land being returned to agricultural use, and farming is increasingly becoming a prestigious occupation because farmers don't risk being undercut by foreign imports."

He looks at me incredulously. "You reinstated the Corn Laws?"

"Not precisely. Most farms are owner-run, rather than being part of large estates. But there is a slight readjustment between-."

A man in a sergeant's uniform strides in, making directly towards me. "Mister Talwyn?"

"Sergeant?"

"It's here, sir."

"Oh, good. Has Mister von Spreti been informed?"

"On his way now, sir."

"Good show. Lead the way-. Ah, Mister Blood. You aren't obliged to come, but you may find this interesting."

"I may as well find out why you dragged…" He looks around at the assembled dignitaries. "Everyone out here."

We follow along behind the sergeant, heading for the loading area. "Oh, no, this is a little more personal." Ah, yes, here we go. Soldiers with latest generation Janson rifles stand on guard, and a corporal with a clipboard containing a goods receipt is standing next to a tarpaulin-covered wooden pallet. A moment later Mr. von Spreti joins us, looking at me expectantly.

I smile politely. "Thank you for joining us, Mister von Spreti." I walk over to the tarpaulin. "Both of you have expressed concern about Britain having fission bombs, so…" I bend down, grip the edge of the tarpaulin and pull it back. "Here you are."

Mr. von Spreti's eyes widen. His feet twitch, as if he's considering taking a step back. Or running. But at this range what would be the point?

Mr. Blood on the other hand takes a step closer to the two fission bombs. "Are these live?"

I nod. "The trigger's inert, but the fissionable material is still in there."

"I thought you didn't make super bombs."

"We don't. Other than the one which didn't reach its target during the war."

"So you just pulled these out of your hat?"

"No." Mr. von Spreti shakes his head. "These are ours."

I nod, pointing at each in turn. "London and Brighton. Now, London I understand, but what was the rationale behind Brighton?"

"It was most accessible. The planes had a minimal risk of interception but would still demonstrate the power of our weapon against one of your cities."

"Ah." I nod. "Well, as per the terms of our treaty, expelled ordnance was excluded from the list of things that we were obliged to return, but I'm happy to return these to the Kaiser." I wave the corporal forwards. "If you could please sign here?"

He shakes his head. "I cannot sign to say that I have accepted them until I have verified that they are indeed our superbombs."

I shrug. "I can open the case if you like?"

He stares at me quite carefully for a moment.

"I believe that we would need special equipment to do that safely, and in any case I lack the expertise to identify it with certainty."

"Wait a second." Mr. Blood frowns. "You sent a superbomb at them and they sent two at you, and none of them actually exploded?"

I shake my head. "Ours exploded, it just didn't reach the target. That was one very sorry patch of Bavarian pasture."

"Hah! Hey, von Spreti, just sign to say you received it without checking. You can confirm what it actually is once it's back in France."

He signs reluctantly. "And how will we transport it to France?"

I smile. "Well, since you signed for it, that's your problem now. Detail, dismissed!"

He looks up in shock as the soldiers fall out. "Vas?"

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a demonstration to perform." I turn and head in the direction of the main stage. "Mister Blood?"

He follows me, glancing back briefly at his bewildered colleague. "This should be good."

"I think that you'll be satisfied."

"What have you got? Death rays?"

I smile, and reach into my jacket with my right hand. He actually looks nervous for a moment as I pull out a device the size of a cigar. "This little thing?" I point it at my left palm and press the activation switch, a small red dot appearing on my skin. "It's just focused light. It would take about a thousand years of constant application for it to burn me. It can blind someone if you shine it in their eyes, but all it's really good for is replacing a board pointer." I put it back into my jacket, not mentioning the fact that we're already switching over to compact discs for data storage. As far as I know, the United States hasn't progressed beyond mechanical computers. "Though I suppose I should warn you that you might see a few familiar faces."

"Why's that?"

"Your Office of Strategic Services was murdering its way through the Confederate intelligentsia after the war. But the thing is, a nation's intellectual elite are actually quite clever, and can spot patterns. Like all their colleagues suddenly forgetting how to use their brakes."

"And they came here."

I nod. "Some of them did. What was that about, anyway? I'd have thought that the intelligent thing would be cutting a deal."

He glowers. "The former Confederate States are none of your concern."

I shrug. "Just trying to be helpful. But your loss is our gain. And I suppose that if you end up buying anything from us then you'll get the benefit anyway."

"Budget finally getting tight? You've been spending money like it's going out of fashion ever since the war ended. You can't have much left after using your entire gold reserve to pay off the krauts."

"It's amazing how much precious metal there is in some asteroids." I reach the edge of the stage. A wooden structure set up outside of the facility we're using for the demonstrations, it's not particularly big. Just enough to support a band and the speaker system, it's more than enough for my opening remarks. "If you'd like to join the audience? I'll begin immediately."

And then I walk up the steps onto the stage.

 

[Mr Zoat]

Universe 191
13th May 1954
09:13 GMT

I raise my personal microphone to my mouth.

"Launch volley."

"Aye, sir. Launching volley."

The musicians glance at me as I hover at the back of the stage, waiting for them to finish the current movement. Several invitees have noticed that I'm here and are gradually drifting towards the centre of the garden, where they have a clear view of the stage. In addition to the United States of America and the German Empire, there are representatives from the Empire of Brazil, the Empire of Mexico, the Empire of Japan, Australia, the Federation of India, the whatever-they're-calling-it-this-week of Russia, the Transvaal Republic, and observers from a dozen other smaller countries that used to be part of the British Empire before its dissolution. No Canada or Republic of Quebec, no France, no Republic of Ireland and no Chinese successor states.

The reasoning is pretty obvious. Brazil wasn't really involved in either Great War, and has benefited from the peace and lack of competition for its industries. They're the leading power in South America by quite some way, and concerned that the newly unified United States might try to expand its influence southwards. Mexico has similar concerns, having sold several states to the Confederacy and been informally allied to them during the Second Great War. It's not hard to see how Confederate partisans might start using the border as a shield, and while America is having indigestion over its reacquisition that hasn't really weakened its military.

The Empire of Japan more or less quit the Second Great War once its allies got knocked out, abandoning the Pacific and focusing its aggression on Asia and correctly assuming that war exhaustion would prevent the United States pursuing them across the islands back to mainland Japan. I… Like to think that they're not being as psychotically violent as their alter egos were on my Earth, but… Not much I can do about it. There's no League of Nations, no international sanctions, and no nations who are in a position to impose any. They can buy all the Middle Eastern oil they want to fuel their industry and military. And now they're starting to lean on Australia, which having been forcibly separated from Britain doesn't have anything like the industry to stand against them.

The Federation of India had freedom dumped on it after the First Great War, without the unity to make a go of things. Between the Muslims, Sikhs and Hindu religious divisions, and the rivalries between the princely states, it's really only the fact that no one wants to start the fight that's holding it together. It's getting to the point where they're starting to remember us fondly. Russia quashed its Communist revolution during the inter-War period, but two losses destroyed the Tsar's authority and now they're in a bit of a mess. And last of all, the Transvaal Republic is the union of all formerly British territory in southern Africa, which came together after Britain was forced to decolonise the area after the First Great War. They were too busy fighting blacks to do anything during the Second Great War, and they'd quite like better guns to maintain their advantage.

And then the music stops.

I nod to the band, clapping politely as they stand and take a bow. There's a little applause from crowd, but they're mostly focusing on me. As the musicians pick up their instruments I walk forwards and take the microphone from its stand.

"Thank you, gentlemen. And-" I give the crowd my full attention. "-thank you everyone for coming. I'm sure that you're all very interested in how the British arms industry has changed since the war, and despite the best efforts of our American friends-" I gesture to Mr. Blood. "-this will be the first time since the last War that anyone outside of Britain has had the opportunity to see them. We'll be showing off small and medium arms this morning, then break for lunch before we transport everyone to our testing grounds to get a look at our tanks and infantry fighting vehicles. Our engineers will be available at each stage to field any questions which you may have, and after each demonstration you'll have the chance to test the weapons yourself." I adapt an apologetic posture. "Not the tanks though, I'm afraid."

Well, a couple of people in the Australian delegation laughed.

"But before that, I'd like to address a concern that our American and German friends brought to me earlier. They were concerned that Britain might try to develop a new generation of strategic weapons to replace the one fission bomb we managed to build before the armistice. I am here to tell you that we are not developing a new strategic deterrent." I smile modestly. "Because we have already developed a new strategic deterrent. And prepared it for use."

I look up and… Yes, there it is.

"If you turn your gazes upwards, you should just about see them entering the upper atmosphere." I wave my right hand, and servants with trays of binoculars begin moving through the crowd. "You can't see much from this distance -and I wasn't going to target the building I'm standing in- but rest assured, they'll come quite close before they hit their target."

Faces showing varying levels of concern turn upwards, finding the tiny glowing dots almost immediately.

"Most of you are familiar with the communication satellites we've been putting into orbit over the last few years. But what we've also been putting up there is the very latest in space-based weaponry. Mechanically, they're extremely simple. Tungsten rods with steel jackets, launched downwards using magnetised rails and aimed by the very latest in-" Pilfered reptiloid. "-computing machines, they can hit a target the size of a cricket pitch from orbit far faster than any aircraft."

By now the speck of light is visibly six separate specks, each passing overhead as they head for the ocean.

"They're not on fire; that's the air being turning to plasma by their passage. It's even more noticeable when there are clouds in the sky. The tungsten rods -or 'kinetic penetrators'- have no warhead, no fragile internal components and are impossible to intercept with current generation aircraft. When they strike the target, there is no release of ionising radiation. You can send troops in the moment the dust settles. Earlier, if you're using the vision enhancement systems we'll be showing you later."

Radiation from the multiple nuclear detonations that occurred in America has mostly died down, but there was the expected increase in various types of cancer as well as damage to vision caused by exposure to the flash.

"There's also no flash. What you will see is a pure transformation of kinetic energy. The shockwaves released will pulverise any solid structure, any foundation and any hardened bunker."

Mr. Blood tears his eyes away and looks at me, face blank. "How many of them do you have?"

"Currently, there are something in the region of eight thousand in orbit around the Earth, though they need a few minutes to recharge their capacitors between shots." The specks are now very visibly heading 'down' rather than 'along'. "Now, if you'll brace yourselves, I believe-."

WOOMPH!

The six kinetic penetrators hit the ocean surface as one, a colossal water spout erupting into the air! One mile, two miles, and the sea undulates as a colossal wave shoots out in all directions!

A few members of the audience look a little concerned.

"No need to fear, gentlemen! We calculated this precisely well in advance!"

And warned all local shipping away, because conditions for sailing just became somewhat suboptimal.

And then we feel the wind and hear the noise of huge quantities of water moving, not in the gradual way of an oncoming tsunami, but in the wall of water way they're depicted in popular fiction. Aaaaand-.

SPLOSH!

The wave hits the cliffs and stops, spraying majestically across the field between us and the drop and casting a rainbow over us all.

I give them a few moments to take in what just happened.

"A bit prettier than a fission bomb, yes? It-."

Mr. Blood looks like he's about to burst. "How many launchers are there?"

"At present? A hundred and twenty three. And yes, they're spread out all around the Earth, capable of firing on any target at any time. So please, Mister Blood, threaten to cut off our access to Australian nuclear fuel again and see what happens."

A few members of the Australian delegation give him less than friendly glares. They were making friends with America as a superior alternative to Japan, but direct interfering with trade with the mother country is beyond the pale.

"You won't get away with this."

"Mister Blood, with the greatest respect… We already have."

 

[Mr Zoat]

6th August 2013
16:02 GMT -5

My-.

My friends amble through the Hub City construction zone, taking in the sights. I doubt that it's anything that they haven't all seen in their own home cities, but the heavy use of both genomorphs and fabricators are novel. Their costumes get a puzzled look from the workers and locals, but then they see me and assume that I'm giving some of my peers a tour.

Wallace contemplates a group of bricklayers as they assemble an exterior wall. "Do they..? All have the worm thing inside 'em?"

"Answering that would involve revealing private medical information." Eight pairs of eyes turn to regard me sceptically. "I mean, obviously I know-. It's not compulsory."

"Free healthcare in the U.S.?" Richard smirks at Wallace before tilting his head back, looking upwards at the upper levels of the completed buildings. "Would you be surprised?"

"Ah, yeah, actually." He looks at me. "You got one?"

I shake my head. "My ring would just kill it."

"Because it's not part of your self-concept, right." He looks curiously at Richard. "You..? Didn't..?"

"Doesn't work so good with my regeneration. Arte?"

Artemis shakes her head. "Mom got one, but…" She shrugs. "I've got the same problem you do. And it would freak Kid out." She looks down the line to her sister. "Cheshire?"

Jade doesn't look at me. "I wasn't offered one."

"You told me how you feel about equipment you can't test yourself. And I offered to give you your choice of superpowers. There are health-improvement spells that you could have bound to your skin if you want; these were intended to be mass-producible, not highest quality."

Now she looks at me. "But these can be taken out. I wouldn't even call them superpowers."

Ah… "Alright, I apologise. Do you want one? There's usually a line at the clinic, but I'm sure I can get you priority treatment."

"I'm not sure. I haven't had a chance to test the equipment myself."

She stays straight-faced, but I grin and-. Don't hug her, because we're all here in costume and I know she gets professional when professionally dressed.

Kaldur looks mildly puzzled. "I am curious as to why you selected Hub City to improve."

"I couldn't make it worse than it already was. Aaand because no one else was going to."

Wallace nods. "So no one was gunna complain if you did something crazy."

"Yes."

"Captain Cold hasn't committed a crime since you started talking to him. The other Rogues are actually kinda bummed out about it."

"Mirror Master turned me down. Though if we ever do another exercise like the last one he's giving me a fifteen percent discount."

Wallace nods. "I don't think any of the rest are gunna straighten out either. But at least it's some kinda progress. Hey Rob."

Richard shrugs. "Clayface went straight. Kinda."

Artemis frowns. "Oh yeah, the… Clay guy. What happened with him?"

"Well… STAR Labs helped him with meditation exercises while they were… Trying to work out how he works. He learned how to keep looking like himself, but as far as actually turning him human again…" He shrugs. "They don't really have any idea."

Kaldur bows his head. "It is not easy to study magic without using magic."

"So Clayface just… Left. Since they weren't gunna be able to fix him, he didn't see any point hanging around."

M'gann blinks. "Does that invalidate his pardon?"

Richard shakes his head. "Clayface didn't get a pardon. That was way before the Anti-Life broadcast. He got a prison sentence that he could serve in a lab because of what happened to him. There's a warrant out for his arrest right now." He looks away for a moment. "Thing is? He did actually help out in a few places. When Batman and Mister Atom started putting together what actually happened, we got reports of Justifiers getting beaten up by giant dirt hammers that come out of nowhere, and a couple of recordings of him changing shape. So he's technically not in line for a pardon because he didn't work with the League, but no one's actually trying to carry out an arrest."

Kon lowers the brochure he's been reading. "Farming equipment."

I nod. "Highest priority. Machinery left abandoned in the weather without maintenance gets damaged. And… Ah. What do you know about 'Right to Repair'?"

"I, ah…" He tries to work out how to tell me that he knows exactly what I'm talking about without mentioning the Kents. "Spent some time in Kansas. It's a big deal in farming communities."

Richard nods. "I knew the Equipment Repairs Act got passed in June. I hadn't really thought about what it meant for existing equipment."

Wallace looks mildly annoyed. "And for the rest of us?"

"Manufacturing companies sometimes engage in… Practices designed to make it prohibitively hard to repair their equipment, either to encourage people to buy replacements, or to force them to use authorised repair shops at elevated prices. Sometimes they even design products with unique components that no one else makes just to make it harder. Like a.. unique computer interface for car control computers that you have to buy from them to fix your own car."

"Oh!" M'gann nods. "Like when your phone needs a specific charger."

"Yes. There's no practical reason not to have a standard design, but they use bespoke designs so that you'll have to pay them for replacements. Or there's times when farmers get penalised with invalidated warranties if they use a mechanic not registered with the manufacturer… Anyway, I forwarded a report to Mister Atom when I started doing this, and that's where the Bill… And similar Bills in every country I've got a portal in, came from, because we kind of need to repair stuff and half the companies involved don't exist any more and a lot of the people they approved aren't around any more and a lot of the people who did the approving aren't around any more either. I basically stole the blueprints and got the government to approve it post-facto."

Richard shrugs. "Well, if we're not arresting Clayface, I guess we can give you a pass."

"Thank you, I appreciate your forbearance. So, ah… How are your cities doing?"

Wallace looks away for a moment. "Ah… Could be better? Blacksmith-"

"Amunet Black-. Sorry."

"-took-. Do you seriously still do that?"

"Demonstrably, yes."

He stares at me for a moment, then shakes his head. "She took over, but she kept tight control of everything so there wasn't much widespread damage. Once the roads got cleared, everything started… Not… Getting back to normal, exactly, but… I think we actually had it worse when the Sheeda attacked."

Richard nods. "Batwoman's coordinating Gotham's reconstruction. The crime rate is lower than it's ever been. Doesn't stop the crazies, but… Batwoman's a bit more willing to inflict lasting injuries than Batman was. Killer Croc…"

He looks pointedly at me.

"Waylon Jones."

"Actually surrendered without a fight. He said it takes too long for his teeth to regrow, and he doesn't want to spend a month eating soup."

Kaldur nods. "Atlantis has mostly recovered from the brief reign of Queen Gamemnae. Much of the damage was more social than physical or arcane. Some wounds still linger, but they will fade in time."

Artemis shrugs. "Star City's okay. Not great, but okay. Stuff fell apart, but people are actually being a lot nicer to each other."

I smile. "Good show! So I guess we're about ready for the next disaster, then."

They all stare at me, and then Artemis shoves me into a wall.

 

[Mr Zoat]

Universe 191
13th May 1954
15:44 GMT

"…sloped armour to encourage incoming shells to be deflected off the armour rather than simply stopping it with the thickness of the metal." The reptiloids have reactive armour, but no other nation on Earth has the sort of shells that it is designed to stop. As such, we haven't bothered including it in the current generation of tank armour. Honestly, there was some debate as to whether composite armour was worth including for much the same reason, so to make things a little easier for us it won't be included with the export version. "The main gun is rifled, and will cheerfully punch through the front plate of any armoured vehicle on Earth… That doesn't come from our workshop."

Mr. Blood's face has gone from thunderous to becalmed, though the remaining members of the German delegation look more interested than offended. The Japanese look almost excited -and having seen images of their tanks I can understand why- while the others are less interested, presumably realising that a significant number of these would be outside of their budgets. I imagine that they'll be more interested in the lighter vehicles we're showing next.

"Three machine guns, smoke launchers, internal communications and external radio, A.P., H.E. and incendiary ammunition on the main gun,-"

The reptiloid version had an anti-air missile rack, but that struck me as a very bad idea when incoming enemy fire could trigger all of the missile fuel and potentially wreck the tank.

"-and options for bulldozer blades, electrified hulls, fragmentation grenades and an internal hatch to expose the engine to the crew compartment so that you can brew a pot of tea without getting out."

That gets me a few odd looks.

"Oh, I'm not joking. We lost more than a few tank crews doing that during the last war, so we engineered a solution. If your country doesn't share our tea addiction, we can easily omit it."

I gesture as the tank moves over a series of artificial hillocks and sights a target that purely by chance resembles a current generation American 'barrel'.

BOOM!

The main gun fires and there's an exceedingly loud noise as the anti-armour round punches through the target's sheet metal.

"Better acceleration, higher-" The tank accelerates again. "-top speed and better manoeuvrability than anything in its weight class, the Landcruiser Mark One is the most powerful thing on land."

Mr. Blood's lip curls. "How does it handle superbombs?"

"Direct hits? Not well. But anything short of that, the armour will block the radiation pretty much indefinitely, the curved shape means that it can survive the shockwaves surprisingly well and the filtration system will keep the radioactive particulates out for a couple of days. The same applies to poison gasses." I raise my right hand. "Though I will say now that while Britain does have a reserve of nerve agents, those are not going to be for sale."

The tank pulls around a corner and comes to a halt in front of a group of mannequins holding an American anti-tank rocket. Somewhere backstage someone presses a button and the rocket fires, striking the front plate and failing to penetrate. The high explosive round fired from the main gun an instant later shreds the dummies.

"Of course, in an actual battle the machine guns would have shredded them before they could fire."

There's a smear on the armour where the rocket was deflected slightly before detonating, but no visible damage to the armour.

"The command variant has the facilities for receiving images directly from our satellites-" And our drones, also not for sale. "-but for the most part that's intended as something for their commanding generals."

I look around to gauge the mood-. Mr. von Spreti is finally rejoining the party. He missed half of the small arms demonstration arranging to have the unexploded fission bombs removed by his government and he understandably avoided me at lunch, but I don't know what he's been doing this afternoon. We've got security just about everywhere and it's not like he can sneak a tank out under his jacket, so… His business. Maybe lunch was a bit spicy for him?

The tank hits the straight and opens the throttle, engine roaring as it accelerates, dirt spraying backwards. There's a smattering of applause from several parts of the audience as it leaves the proving ground and heads back into the display area. They'll be able to have a closer look later and talk to the crews and engineers, because any purchase is going to have to come with training for both. And that's where the risk of spies comes from, and why we're probably going to have to set up on an island somewhere, or otherwise in neutral territory.

The Transvaal Republic might be able to afford more tanks than it thought it would.

"Next up is more of the same." Another tank with an almost identical profile drives out onto the proving ground. The one has replaced the main cannon turret with a radar-guided anti-aircraft system. It also works well against helicopters and drones, though those are less of a concern at the moment. We haven't quite gotten to the point where ground-based anti-aircraft weapons are obsolete; even the United States and the German Empire still mostly use propeller aircraft while they gradually switch over to jet aircraft, and second tier powers mostly just dream about being able to afford jets. "That monster can fire an astonishingly huge number of bullets per minute, and with our improved guidance system it's a very sorry pilot who tries contesting territory against it from anything less than the highest altitude."

Because there are limits. Shooting high-altitude targets from the ground just isn't practical, but current generation heavy bombers are relatively easy to hunt down with our 'killcraft' variants. We've looked into ground-based missiles but it's hard to get them to hit the target if they use even basic countermeasures. We could probably make it work right now, but the Reptiloids weren't that much more advanced than us. Everyone will catch up eventually.

As the mobile anti-aircraft gun comes to a halt I walk over to a clay pigeon thrower and turn the handle. The vehicle flicks a signalling light to indicate readiness so I release, the clay disc flying up into the air. The turret tracks it automatically and with the touch of a button-

BLAAART!

-the clay pigeon disintegrates in midair.

"We also have a rotary cannon variant-" It drives out and pulls up alongside its batchmate. "-if for some reason you want a tank capable of killing mass infantry or light vehicles."

It aims at a target painted on the side of a hillock and fires,-

Goodness that thing's noisy!

-shredding everything and boring a hole into the hillock. The first time we did this, bullets actually came out of the other side, though not fast enough to cause significant injury.

"It's also a threat to low-flying aircraft, though we didn't fit it with the guidance system that-"

BANG! BANG!

"-ugh!"

I stagger back, falling over onto the damp ground, hands going to my chest as shouts of alarm go up from the crowd! One of my minders runs towards me while the other frantically signals the on-site army medic. I hear more shouts and sounds of violence as it turns out that a crowd full of veterans are perfectly prepared to charge down one man with a gun…

von Spreti. I thought it would be Blood.

I reach up, slapping my bodyguard aside with my right hand as I reach into my shirt with my left.

"And!"

Okay, grab the bodyguard and pull myself upright, to the astonishment of those not in the middle of laying into the German delegation.

"A surprise demonstration of-!" I pull out the armour plate which had been covering my upper torso, a flattened bullet falling to the ground as I do so. "Our next generation infantry body armour! Steel-ceramic plates in pouches of stab-resistant fabric! I'd bet my life on them! Hah!"

I make eye contact with the sergeant in charge of the detail.

"Sergeant, please detain our German friends. I think I need to have a word with their government."

 

[Mr Zoat]

7th August 2013
10:46 GMT

Superman looks mildly nervous as Karsta Wor-Ul's ship approaches the Watchtower. "She's not planning on hitting me again, right?"

"She didn't tell me that she was planning on hitting you, sir. But I don't think that I'm her favourite person in the universe, either."

"Because you told me about her?"

"I didn't actually tell her that was me, sir."

"Oh. Alright, I won't either."

"Much appreciated."

He looks through the window at her dilapidated ship. "Is that kryptonian? I realise the Doomsday is cutting edge military technology, but I assumed that the other ships would look a little more advanced than that."

"No, sir. As far as I can tell, that's a cut-and-shut job using parts from spacefaring civilisations across three Sectors. Perfectly functional, but shoddy-looking."

"Is that deliberate, or did she just take the parts she could get?"

"Sir, I've had two conversations with her ever. I don't know much about her personal history."

"Did you offer her a job?"

"Yes. Two, actually. In addition to a position in LEGION, I thought that she would be a good candidate for colonial governor."

"I'd.. be happier with her taking that role, but that would mean that the parolees would have access to a starship. I'm not sure that's a good idea."

There's an audible clunk as the airlock connects. "Feel free to discuss the idea with her. I imagine that her security systems are reasonably good."

Karsta's eyes narrow as the doors open wide enough for her to see him. Or perhaps they were like that beforehand and she was watching him through the door using x-ray vision? Whatever it was, she seems unhappy but not violent, which is about all I expected.

"Sub-commander." Kal-El smiles, right hand extended. "Welcome to the Watchtower. You're looking well."

"Kal-El." She walks out of her ship and into the docking corridor, and while she hesitates for a moment she does take his hand. And doesn't turn it into a kryptonian test of strength. "That's the Doomsday."

He nods as she releases his hand, turning to lead her towards the meeting room. "Yes, we just finished bringing it up to full working order."

"Admiral Dru-Zod sent it here?"

"Ah, most of it. When we found it, it was broken up into individual modules."

"Did he leave a message saying why he sent it here?"

"Because of isolationism. He wanted some future kryptonian to find it and bring it back into use."

"Do you even know how to fly it?"

"No, but Ak-Var and I are learning."

"Learning-. You're-?" She sighs. "How are you learning to fly the greatest warship Krypton ever built?"

"Har-Zod has been able-."

She stops dead and turns to face him. "High Councillor Har-Zod is still alive?"

"Ah, no, but he created a neural clone and left it on a small listening post on Xeon. We then brought Xeon into Earth orbit."

Her face goes blank as she takes that in.

"Do you wanna talk to him?"

"Not right now."

"Okay, well, if you're interested in the governor position, I've got-" The door to the meeting room opens, and he leads the way through. "-someone for you to meet."

Non looks up from his place at the table, while Karsta frowns at him in confusion. "Who are you supposed to be?"

"Non-Du."

She blinks. "Strange uniform for a Du. Did you get released from the Phantom Zone?"

"Yes. And I wear the uniform because I joined the military after receiving a brain injury."

She looks mildly puzzled, but she walks over to the table and sits down opposite him. "That should have disqualified you. Or they should have fixed it."

He shakes his head. "I don't remember it too clearly. I think I could still fight well enough, and follow orders. General Zod wanted someone obedient, not clever."

"General Zod. The reason why the other escaped naval personnel got hunted down."

"Yes. I don't remember why I thought… What we did was a good idea. The best I can think of is that if he'd won, we would have been able to evacuate more people."

"How do you feel about setting up home on a new world?"

"I don't remember exactly what I did for General Zod, but it looks like it involved a lot of physical labour. I doubt that a new colony would need a junior researcher, but I can do farm work or construction."

"No. How do you feel about it?"

"I don't feel much of anything about it. Krypton is.. gone. The life I planned isn't going to happen, and I don't even-" He reaches up to his head with his right hand, scratching at where there used to be a scar. "-know why I chose the military as a backup option. I think I'd feel happier knowing that there was an actual plan. I don't particularly like the idea of starting from nothing, but I can't think of anything else we could do."

"You don't think you could run it yourself?"

"I.. don't have any experience overseeing things. And you were the Sub-Commander of the Kryptonian Stellar Navy, when that actually meant something. People will follow you. All I did was attempt a revolt which failed."

"Ehh…" She slumps slightly. "What about you, Kal-El?"

"I've got a life here on Earth. I'm happy to help you get started, but I don't have any particular desire to be part of it. It's…" he sags slightly. "It's not my culture."

"It's not going to be their culture either. Most of them are going to be from after the Science Council ended the Kryptonian Empire."

"My father.. didn't much like what Kryptonian society became. And from most of the reports I've seen, the Kryptonian Empire was a force for good."

She looks over to me. "And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"You wanted me to fight in your war. Had second thoughts?"

"No. I think you'd be productive in either role, and I think you'd be happier with a project like that to work on."

She thinks for a moment, not looking at anyone.

"Fine. Show me who I'll be working with."

 

[Mr Zoat]

7th August 2013
10:59 GMT

Karsta Wor-Ul spares the ghostly projections of Jor-El and Har-Zod a brief look, but otherwise studiously ignored them as Kal-El pulls up the list of inmates.

"Ar-Ual. She's serving a fift-. A sixty-eight year sentence for 'cultural vandalism'. She should have been released twenty years ago."

I frown. "How did Krypton define 'cultural vandalism'?"

Kal-El looks blank and Karsta Wor-Ul shrugs, so I turn to Jor-El.

He frowns faintly. "It can mean a variety of things. In her case, she used a large incendiary device to destroy a museum warehouse containing irreplaceable records and instruments from our people's scientific development. We lost a thousand years of our history due to her actions. The sentence would have been more harsh, but the investigators found that she had put significant effort into ensuring that no people were hurt."

"Why did she do that?"

"She claimed at her trial that her motives were political. Since that was irrelevant to the sentence, the prosecutors didn't investigate further."

"'Political' as in anti-isolationist?"

"She claimed that particularity was irrelevant, and that by fetishising the particularity of historical events we were rejecting the universality of scientific truth."

I narrow my eyes as I think that over. "College student?"

"Yes."

Karsta Wor-Ul considers that for a moment. "We don't have any museums on Tartarath, and she went in when she was young."

Kal-El nods. "Hopefully, she'll have used her time to rethink her position. I'm sure a lot of people did things in college they feel stupid about later."

"In my case, picking up Magic: the Gathering."

"I mean she'll be able to do hard physical work."

"And have a large fertility window."

Kal-El looks mildly uncomfortable about that, but it is factually accurate. "Alright, I'll mark her down for a parole interview. Next is Vorb-Un. He had a thirteen year sentence for misappropriating experimental materials."

Karsta Wor-Ul rolls her eyes. "He wasn't stealing. He did an experiment without getting Science Council signoff in advance."

Kal-El blinks. "Father? Is that true?"

Jor-El nods. "Yes. It was a violation of the law, though I suspect that if I wasn't undermining Science Council authority with my actions they would not have been so harsh."

Karsta Wor-Ul shakes her head. "No sense taking him out. Next."

Superman frowns. "Why not? That's a ridiculous thing to imprison someone for."

"Yeah. But at his age, any sort of hard physical work would kill him. Unless you want to have him on Earth?"

He sighs quietly. "Maybe. Next is Vor-Kil. A two hundred year sentence for manslaughter. He killed his opponent in a martial arts contest."

Karsta Wor-Ul nods. "Which martial art?"

"Klurkor."

She nods. "You don't have to get Klurkor very wrong to kill someone. Was there any evidence it was deliberate?"

Kal-El looks to Jor-El, who shakes his head. "No evidence was offered that he intended to kill his opponent."

"Is a two hundred year sentence normal for an.. accident?"

"No. I suspect that there are two reasons for the long sentence. Firstly, his total lack of remorse. He was quite rude about the deceased, claiming that he should have given him a better fight."

Kal-El frowns. "Even so…"

"The other reason is that I suspect that the Science Council were attempting to suppress martial arts as a matter of policy. Or, at least, encourage kryptonians not to practice them."

"Why?"

"They considered such things to be bestial."

Kal-El looks at Karsta Wor-Ul for confirmation.

"Hah! Yeah, that sounds about right. If that's all he did, approve him. He did hard physical work when he didn't need to, and if he tries that with me I'll show him which of us used Klurkor in actual combat."

"Alright." Kal-El nods. "Nadira Va-Dim. Serving a twenty year sentence for theft."

Jor-El nods. "The latest in a long series of thefts carried out with a man named Az-Rel, each of which resulted in a custodial sentence."

Karsta Wor-Ul shrugs. "Nothing to steal on Tartarath. If they decide to run off and do their own thing, that's their problem. Mark for interview."

"Okay." Kal-El presses a button. "Ni-Van. He was part of a coup attempt, helping someone called Gra-Mo build combat robots prior to his attempted takeover."

Karsta Wor-Ul's face hardens. "Interview. Gra-Mo can stay right where he is."

Kal-El raises his eyebrows. "Are you sure? An engineer-."

"He'd be useful, right up until he tried to take over and build giant statues of himself. He's a violent charismatic narcissist. With him still in the Phantom Zone his co-conspirators can probably be rehabilitated. He can't."

"Alright. And…" He frowns as he examines the list. "This… Seems a little odd."

"What? Oh, is it the Ems?"

"Yes. It… They seem to be somewhat overrepresented."

"The whole family was a bunch of thugs. We had a couple in the navy who turned out alright, but they still had more disciplinary issues than the rest of their platoon put together."

"Petty assault..." He nods. "And disruptive behavior."

Karsta Wor-Ul nods. "Find me the youngest one and I'll give them an interview. The others can wait their turn."

"Okay. Gannar-Tar." He frowns. "Imprisoned for using a… 'De-evolutionary ray' on animals to create giant monsters? Is this a joke?"

"No." Jor-El shakes his head. "It was a side-effect of a device he created to study living prehistoric creatures. The creation of his initial creature was an accident, but he created more in an attempt to cover up his guilt. No one was seriously hurt, but it was a near thing. I suspect he would be amenable to rehabilitation."

"Alright." Karst Wor-Ul nods. "Interview. Next."

"Blak-Du. According to this… Father, you knew him?"

"We attended college together. Where we did not decide to burn down a museum. I believe that he was imprisoned for rioting in support of my belief that Krypton was going to explode." He turns to Karsta Wor-Ul. "He may be a little older than you would ideally like, but he has no defects of character."

"No." We all look around as Non-Du decides to speak up for the first time. "He would not be a good choice."

Karsta frowns again. "Why not? You're from the same House, and it sounds like he was right."

"Yes, and that is how I know him. He told me that he believed that our government needed to be overthrown in order to save our people. Some of the lengths he said he was prepared to go to were… Extreme."

Jor-El frowns. "That didn't come up in his trial."

Non-Du gestures to his head. "I would not have remembered it then. Now, I do."

Karsta shrugs. "Okay, I'll consider him for the second wave. Next."

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th August 2013
09:32 GMT +1

"…before he arrived." Richard shrugs. "He clearly didn't know anything about Earth."

Adom's eyes narrow. "If he had challenged the gods in Kahndaq, he would have answered to me for his impudence."

"I'm not sure that he meant 'gods' in that sense." Richard looks at me. "Are you sure he wasn't one of yours?"

Hm. I mean, he certainly sounds like a New God, but… "I didn't get close enough to feel him. Did you capture any of his equipment?"

"Your brother took his mace. He'll report back to the rest of us once he's had a look at it."

I nod. "Was he carrying anything else?"

"I didn't ask about his loincloth. He wasn't wearing anything else. I didn't see him use dimensionally exotic storage, so I suspect that was it."

"I need to phone Scott about that anyway. I'll nag him about it. But in any case, that means…" I get out of my chair and walk over to the 'Days Since a Member of the Justice League Died' blackboard, wipe the number and update it.

Richard snorts, chuckling to himself. "That will never stop being funny."

"Good work, Richard." I amble back to my seat. "Any other questions?"

Circe looks bemused. "Why didn't you accept his offer? If someone offered to give me my full power back at no cost to myself, I would do it."

"I didn't believe for a moment that there would be no cost."

She raises her eyebrows, turning her head towards me. "Grayven? Should I be worried?"

"Ah… Depends. I was essentially using my own soul as a catalyst when I performed your Awakening, which means that the process was influenced by my nature. But with my nature being what it is, having a verbal agreement with me in advance would just… Not bind you to that agreement exactly, but make it… Seem natural? But only to the thing you've already agreed to. And the significance of that would diminish as your own power grew."

"And if the Justice League had accepted Titus's offer?"

I adopt the Thinker pose. "Titus appeared to believe that his power made worship his due. I imagine that accepting his offer… Assuming that he could actually follow through, would cause them to view things in the same way. What exactly that would mean on the ground… I'm not sure."

Cranius pulls a face. More of a face. "I zhink it is best zhet we did not find out."

Clea leans towards Richard. "You weren't tempted at all?"

"What do you think happens if my connection to the Shadowlands is strengthened?"

Clea blinks, her expression blank as she tries to work it out. Coming up with nothing, she turns to Circe. Circe is frowning to herself, and shudders as she appears to reach a conclusion. "Nothing good."

"Quite. I'm as powerful as I'm comfortable being, and I don't need a cult-. Another cult, I should say. Or a 'title hike'. I'm quite content being as I am."

I smile. "And I'm sure that we're all happy to hear it."

I don't look at the screen, because I'm not sure what Lex is thinking now that he knows that Superman had a chance to become some sort of god. He's doing well in his therapy, but I'm not sure that he'll ever be doing that well.

"Okay, and… Cranius, you're last. What have you got for us?"

"Eh. No major breakzhroughs since our last meeting. None of zhe test sub-. Eh, recipients, have shown ill-effects… I hev… I hev begun work on eh… 'Plug-in' suit. A wearable second skin which would enhance strength unt endurance. Somezhing like my own Ottoman."

I raise my eyebrows. "Oh? That's a bit of a departure, isn't it?"

"Well… Some of zhe… Volunteers, zhey expressed an interest but did not want to fully commit. I zhought… Somezhing zhey could take off at zhe end of zhe day may be a eh more intriguing prospect. Unt zhey do not heff to take it off."

Clea's eyes light up. "Can you make a version with gills?"

"Yah, easily. But it is still un-tissue. Wizhout zhe first level injections, it would not do any good."

"If I remember correctly, those first level injections show… No outwards sign of a change?"

"If.. the subject is compatible, zhet is true."

"Then I may have a new avenue of volunteers for you."

"Ah? Zo many people wish to explore under zhe sea? Well, please forward zhe details of zhe interested parties, unt we will see what can be done."

I nod. "How far have you got with the meat suits?"

"Creating zhem is not hard. Zhe uncreation process is well understood at zhis point. It's, eh… Finding zhe subjects unt zhe use which zhey want."

"It doesn't need you personally?"

"No. My brozher could do it, unt Mister Fiendstein… Zhe ozher lab staff could do most of it."

"It might be worth creating some recreational models for demonstrations. I realise that you'd prefer functional to fun and self-expression to either, but until you get to the point-."

"Yah, yah, mass production, I know. I will put togezher some prototypes, zhe unterwater unt zhe frolicking unt see where we go."

I give him a moment, but that appears to be everything. "Okay, ah, matters arising?"

The Screen inclines slightly. "I have one which I believe is a matter of some concern."

I nod. "You have the floor."

"I was performing an analysis of The Light's records, including the recovered private records of Vandal Savage. A number of his disappearance contingencies have activated and been disarmed, but it seems that there was a plan in motion that I had not previously discovered."

Can't say I'm surprised. Members of The Light Mark I could pursue their own projects without informing the others. "And what might that be?"

"You recall that they intended to have Johnny Sorrow dispense with the Justice League, only for you to kill him and replace them?" I nod. "It seems that Vandal Savage intended to expand upon that principle. He was actively attempting to contact advanced alien civilizations and lure them here so that their technology could be studied."

"That… Sounds like an absolutely terrible idea. Speaking as an Apokoliptian."

"It gets better. Are you familiar with The Simpsons?"

"Y-es?"

"Are you familiar with the episode concerning invasive species? Where new species are introduced to kill the previous species introduced?"

Without me really thinking about it, my right hand begins its slow journey to my face, palm-first.

"Ah, you are. That appears to have been Vandal Savage's strategy for dealing with each alien species in turn. Invite a weaker species, then invite a stronger one and play them off against each other."

"Please tell me that didn't advance beyond the planning stage?"

"Without follow up contacts, his initial choices appears to have lost interest. But I am concerned that the messages he sent to his later choices may have gotten through. I have no way to check without initiating contact with them."

"Who? The Dominators?"

"A group called The Reach."

Oh… Fuck. Always a Bigger Fish