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

[Mr Zoat]

7th November 2012
11:20 GMT -5

Uncle Sam looks awkwardly at Zauriel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zauriel nods and screeches a note

Zauriel nods and screeches a note​

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

"Allow me."

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

Sam nods. "Now, just one thing-"

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

Sam looks at it, frowning.

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

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

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

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

"I was planning on doing that anyway."

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

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

Drat.

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

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

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

He scoffs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You know where John Constantine is?"

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

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

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

"'o."

"Alan?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mwu-?"

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

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

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

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

"That wasn't the point."

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

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

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

 

[Mr Zoat]

7th November 2012
11:46 GMT -5

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

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

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

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

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

"Ah."

Alan continues watching the crowds for a few moment.

"Can you change it back?"

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

He rolls his eyes and glances my way.

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

"Actually-."

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nod.

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

"You do sleep, right?"

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

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

"Me not aging?"

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

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

This time I frown at him.

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

"Does Hawkman's reincarnation count?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But you've moved in with her."

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

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

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

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

"Sam said that was impossible."

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

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

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

"Yes, that's… Really reassuring."

 

[Mr Zoat]

5th November 2282
09:24 CDT

"Hey, Mutie Chief?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Psychic powers do that?"

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

"Uh, who?"

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

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

"He was a-? Wastelander?"

**He was a Super Mutant.**

"Huh?"

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

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

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

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

"Are you saying the Government invented super mutants?"

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

"Oh. Except you now, right?"

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

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

"Like..?"

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

"Huh. Okay, but-."

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

"Whow!"

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

"Where do I get something like that?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Huh."

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

**Sergeant, I have a question.**

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, Mutie Chief?"

**Yes?**

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

**Sergeant?**

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

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

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

**Bett-?**

Yellow lights appear in the distance-.

**Cover!**

 

[Mr Zoat]

5th November 2282
10:13 CDT

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

Chnk!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**I'm British.**

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

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

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

**Yeah?**

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

**Er… China?**

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

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

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

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

**I'll check.**

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

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

If there's been an alert…

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

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

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

**Squad moving up.**

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

They're all in position, so…

Ugh.

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

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

**I have an origin.**

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

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

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

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

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

**The fuck's a canary?**

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

Resist the urge to roll your eyes.

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

**How?**

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

**Huh.**

The squad engages in a moment of silent contemplation.

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

**Fuck you, Iverson.**

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

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

**Yes.**

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

 

[Mr Zoat]

5th November 2282
12:34 CDT

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

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

Chnk!

That's the shield arm gone-.

Chnk!

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

"How long does it take to reboot?"

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

"It means-."

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

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

Agh, this actually… Hurts…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clipclipclipclipclank.

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

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

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

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

"Okay, howsabout that?"

Clunk.

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

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

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

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

Iverson nods. "Done?"

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

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

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

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

**Is there anyone-**

**Alarmalarmalarm!**

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

**Alert cohort! Alert network!**

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

**A-ah… Yes. Mood reset.**

From which I learn that they have moods.

**Do you have a name?**

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

**Were you ever called anything else?**

**Unit was unnamed during construction.**

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

**Provide construction location.**

**Not found.**

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

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

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

Where is…

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

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

Show me more. Show me-.

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

Yes!

**["…crazy it's actually happening."

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

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

"How long will that be?"

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

And the mechanoid and I both start screaming.

 

[Mr Zoat]

Uuugh…

Everything's a… Blur.

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

Agh!

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

Guh!

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

But being strapped down while the people around you were…

**Calm.**

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Deb-?"

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

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

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

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

6th November 2282
18:00ish CDT

"Thank you. I am clear to leave?"

"Let me check you over real quick."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lafayette blinks. "Who, sir?"

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

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

"The human brain is a remarkable thing."

"Heh. That it is."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nod. "I understand."

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

 

[Mr Zoat]

False Dawn

8th November 2012
08:02 GMT -5

"Hm."

Canis doesn't look impressed. "Crude and inelegant. The deceitfulness intrinsic to trying to appear advanced while falling so far short may have merit, were it not for the fact that they so clearly believe their deception."

We're looking at one of the Alliance of the Just's quantum field towers, this one towering above every other building in Washington DC. Honestly, I'm a little surprised that they were allowed to build it here, but… I suppose that with everything that's caught the American government flat-footed lately, this was something they wanted to get on board with early.

And the new President-Elect has been publically shaking hands with Vincent Edge, which didn't hurt either of them.

"You don't like it?"

Canis shrugs. "It is not terrible. I suppose that it serves their purpose; it simply does not interest me." He clenches his knees slightly, and Brut turns away. "So I will do something that does. Death-Doll is introducing me to her modelling agency today, and I hope to find many fascinating subjects there."

"Modelling agency?"

"The 'Support Group'. No doubt a reference to the way they support the activities of their more enthralling principles. A worthy life for a Lowlie."

I smile, and raise my right hand in a wave. "You have fun. Or at least sufficiently artistic pain."

He glances back with a smile as a Boom-

BOOM!

-Tube opens.

"I'm glad that you understand! So many humans don't!"

Brut gallops through and I return my attention to the tower. There were articles in a couple of national newspapers about how they were using superhumans and magicians in the building process to keep the costs a little more manageable -they are a charitable organisation after all- as well as to do some things that couldn't be done otherwise. Using Earth technology to build a quantum communications network? Well, I could do it, and I… I don't think any species in this Sector has the technology, but I wouldn't exactly be shocked to find out that there were mad scientists out there somewhere who could do the same. The Sivanas are the only ones who come immediately to mind.

"Ring, will it do what they say it will?"

"Exterior design matches submitted plans and known examples of the technology. Unable to directly scan structure."

And that's the rub. I don't have any grounds to barge in. Legally speaking, I'm just a nosy parker. They've got all of the permits that they require, and the Justice League… Really don't have the expertise with this sort of device.

I made my bed where the League are concerned.

I look away, turning and unfocusing my eyes to look at the underlying desires of the federal government's administrative buildings. Lots of milling around and jockeying for position, especially now they know for certain that they'll have a new boss next year.

I don't really… Have a position on the US Presidential Election. President Horne seemed inoffensive enough; the Citizenship Recognition Act is something he'll always be remembered for, and I'm personally grateful for how he treated Swamp Thing after he attacked Gotham. On the other hand, I'm not really convinced that he does dynamic leadership, and after something like the Sheeda Harrowing and… All the other changes that have been happening in the world, I'm not sure he was a good fit. And of course the deal with Swamp Thing played a lot less well with America than it did with me.

President-Elect Henry Knight is certainly more dynamic. And I've worked with him enough to know that he's energetic and determined. Will he be a good President? Don't know. He's not a moral person but he is prepared to move things around if his allies get their cut.

There are many people I'd much rather have in the role, but… I don't think he'll be a disaster. At least, not in any way that will affect me or anyone I care about.

I

step out,

reappearing at Alan's de-lichened house. And… He's not here. Huh. Guess he's making an early start. We were going to meet up today to follow up on Dr. Balewa's lead on John Constantine… I suppose I didn't say I was going to meet him here…

I generate a zeta tube construct and step through-

8th November 2012
13:04 GMT

"Recognized, Orange Lantern, B zero six."

-into the Watchtower. No one in the main hall…

Oh, Alan can send me a message by ring if they need me immediately.

I drift over to the main window and look down at the Earth. Yeah, still there, still a planet. It's interesting that the change to Brazil is actually visible from here; it's just about the only visible thing to have changed from here since I first arrived. I had thought that my efforts at removing plastic particulates in the ocean might have changed the colour a little, but no. It was a useful thing to do for the ecosystem; I do occasionally get letters of thanks from oceanographers and fishermen, but in terms of making changes visible from orbit it… Didn't.

Still, it's… Nice. To look down on a world and recognise the shape of the continents. Because I'm actually familiar with them and not because I checked the map in advance.

"A most pleasing sight."

"Not too much of it on fire, you mean."

"I do not believe that it is our job to put out all of the fires."

"Me neither, but I still prefer it when they're not there."

"Members of the Justice League are surprisingly resistant to the idea of seeing themselves as gods. At first, I thought that it was modesty. Now, I think that it is self-delusion."

"Taxonomically, they're not gods. And people revere things that aren't gods all the time. You wouldn't call… Arsenal Football Club a god."

"Could the Arsenal Football Club attack a titan with a black hole?"

"Taxonomically, it wasn't a black hole." I turn away from the view to look at Dr. Balewa. "So, what news on the Constantine situation?"

"Are you not more concerned about the Smiley?"

"John Constantine is a friend. Boss Smiley isn't currently attacking any of my friends. So even if he's more important in some objective sense, I'm not going to prioritise him. That said… Could I go full-Ophidian Host on him… Safely?"

He looks at me, not unkindly, and… And for a moment I can see his age, the millennia of life-.

"If you were to fly into the deepest part of space, as far from every living thing as you could possibly be, you could not 'go full Ophidian Host' with complete safety. All people have an influence on one another just by existing. The idea that certain actions are 'free' and others are 'restricted' is simply nonsense."

"Alright, but-."

"There is no rule. I cannot tell you that there is some objective level of influence that is 'okay', and take from you the ability to make that determination for yourself. I hev spent most of my life in the remote parts of Africa because my tolerance for influencing people is low, but there is no thing built into the universe that tells me that I am right."

He shakes his head.

"I could hev made myself King of Earth, you understand? And I am sure that you are thinking-."

"The practical advantages, yes."

"And yet, you hev avoided making yourself king. Ah." He looks down, smiling for a moment. "But… Perhaps we should focus on the reason for our meeting."

"Where in the world is John Constantine?"

 

[Mr Zoat]

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

Alert: portal detected.

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

Source?

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

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

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

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

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

I smile broadly. "Good afternoon!"

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

"Very nearly."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She snarls. "I will-."

"-to pursuing Thor is going to work."

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

"What business is it of yours?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you know how long humans live?"

She huffs. "Barely any time at all."

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

She frowns, but thoughtfully.

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

"I should not have to!"

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

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

"I'm dating Hela."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what about his pet human?"

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

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

"And if I am patient, what then?"

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

"Fighting besides him."

"Yes."

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

"We're doing the same thing."

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

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

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

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th November 2012
13:08 GMT

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Part of him."

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

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

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

"Nommo?"

"You know how he was created?"

"Roughly."

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

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

"Do you see the problem?"

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

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

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

"Thet, the Demon did not know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Like Mister Cairo from Phantom Twenty Forty."

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

Think I just made myself feel old.

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

"Tried, and failed, then."

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

I frown at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th November 2012
13:19 GMT

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

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

"Damned if I know."

"So you do know?"

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

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

"'cept the bits he gave me."

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

"Just like Blaze, then."

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

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

"What other options are there?"

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why would he give the Demon access even if-.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"With help, yes."

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

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

"Why not Melinoë?"

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

"A couple of Sivanas?"

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

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

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

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

"How about if we point out that-."

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

"Diplomatic. I appreciate it."

"How about I talk to him instead?"

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

"I'll behave."

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

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

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

"Has John Quinn had cause to visit Erebos?"

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

Dr. Balewa nods.

"Then thet is what we will do."

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th November 2012
08:32 GMT -5

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

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

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

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

"Nice that they were so honest about it."

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

"So what's he doing with himself?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, I… Did pick that up."

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

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

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

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

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

"Good morning, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, you did."

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

"There are worse things to sound like."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alan nods. "You used any of it?"

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

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

He looks decidedly unhappy at the prospect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh."

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

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

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

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

"'Took with' as in..?"

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

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

He smiles.

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

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th November 2012
08:42 GMT -5

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How do I take this off?"

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

"Thank you. Got it."

Alright, ring. Tailoring mode.

Compliance.

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

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

"Yes?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, please."

"Purple cape?"

"Do you have something against capes?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's… That's a fair point."

Ring, fabricate.

Compliance.

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

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

"I guess this isn't something future-tailors can put together in an afternoon, huh?"

"Not unless their better half was a materials scientist who brought their work home with them. Is your control..? Often a problem?"

"I haven't been arrested for public indecency or anything like that, but as far as I'm concerned once is too much."

"Because I know a guy in India who can create silicate bodies for himself? He might be able to help you learn how to control yourself better?"

"Thank you." I hear a tugging sound as he pulls the mask over his face. "I always used to like Wesley's stories-"

He steps out from behind the screen, looking… I think that the word 'dapper' is contemporary? He adjusts the jacket as he looks into the mirror.

"-about his time in India. Maybe I could take a year out after I finish college?"

"Up to you. Feeling ready to head out?"

He heads over to the weapon cabinet and takes out a gas gun and several reloads, both of sleeping gas and the pressurised air cylinders that take the place of a normal propellant.

"I guess so. Is there anything else you think I'll need?"

"I don't think so, but I've never tried physically entering the Dream before. We can check with Doctor Balewa before we start."

He nods, and we head back into the living area where Alan is going through one of Mister Dodds' old photo albums. He looks up as he puts it down, blinking at the sight of Sanderson in his mentor's outfit.

"I don't think Paul designed that."

"No, he wanted to put me in some kind of overalls."

"I never claimed to have any sense of aesthetics. Have you ever been to Themyscira before?"

"No." He looks away awkwardly. "Wesley made me stay home when the Society visited."

Alan looks a little guilty. "We.. weren't exactly sure what we were going to be seeing. Ah…"

"Different time. Couldn't have a bunch of loose women corrupt poor innocent Sanderson."

"E-h…" Sanderson shrugs. "I knew Wonder Woman wasn't like-."

"It was really more-" Alan shakes his head. "-we thought they might try mothering the poor boy."

"Hey! Alan!"

 

[Mr Zoat]

22nd April 2012
10:26 GMT -5
Earth 8096

"…mean well, Anthony, but historically speaking diplomacy has not exactly been your greatest strength."

He… I suspect that he's glaring inside his helmet, but I can't actually see his eyes and his current generation armour tends to scatter my scans.

"You wanna talk to the Kree so badly? Fine, go ahead. I'll get into position for when it doesn't work."

I clap my hands together in a praying gesture.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, I'm not getting my hopes up." He increases power to his repulsors as he lifts off. "Break a leg."

I nod and smile before turning to face the Kree delegation.

"Gentlemen. Grand Accuser."

I drift closer to where Ronan's floating platform hovers just above the kree shuttle and accompanying soldiers which are currently menacing central New York. I know it was a bit of a joke in the comics, but it… Really is always New York where this stuff happens.

The quinjet carrying Hulk, Steve and a severely hung-over Skurge sets down on the other side of the plaza, my friends exiting as soon as the landing ramp opens. I hoped that Amora would come, but… Thor was a bit blunt about things last week, and she's off 'not'-sulking. Skurge on the other hand was perfectly happy to get a fight. I think he's gradually coming to understand that the woman who claims to love only Thor and who has been obsessively pursuing Thor for -as I understand it- several centuries might just possibly not be interested in him.

I feel a bit sad for him, actually, but since he and Hulk appear to be getting on okay I haven't wanted to stick my oar in.

Ronan looks down at my colleagues, and then raises his head to look at me. His giant hammer -which I assume had some special name in the comics but which I'll be darned if I can remember- is held casually in his right hand, the butt of the staff section resting on his flying pad which the oversized head is high enough up that he can see under it. By itself it's clearly an impractical weapon, so I assume that there's some sort of clever energy weapon built into it.

"You represent the leaders of this planet?"

"I am empowered to negotiate on their behalf."

Which is technically true, if the hurriedly written e-mail from the Secretary General was genuine.

"Surrender your planet to the Kree Empire, and you may live."

"What have we done to warrant your illustrious presence?"

In the lead amongst the soldiers are… Ah, that's Mar-Vell and… A kree officer with three orbital paths on his logo rather than Mar-Vell's one, which presumably means that he's in command. Or are those electron orbits-? Doesn't matter.

"The Kree Supreme Intelligence believes that this world may have value. I am here to judge whether or not that is correct."

"That depends what you're looking for. Our technology is far more primitive than yours, and I can't imagine that we'd be able to add much to your military strength-. Or is this about the wormholes?"

"You do not need to know the reason. You merely need to know your place."

"I beg to differ. Thor of Asgard briefed us on the fact that is extremely easy to make wormhole portals to and from this system. I'm not.. ignorant of its strategic value. But the point is… It's the system that has value. Not.. this planet. If you wanted to build a fleet base around Jupiter or on Mars, you… Could, and you would receive the exact same benefit that you'd get from building in near Earth."

I… Think he's considering it? The chap with the purple decoration is outright scowling at me, but he isn't interrupting his superior. Ring, let's risk a peek-. Oh, yes, he wants to kill the world's greatest warriors, decimate the rest and then work the survivors to death. What a worryingly short-sighted man he is, though I suppose that given kree eugenic practices he might well have been engineered to be incapable of thinking about other species in any other way.

"With the added benefit that there wouldn't be a native population for skrull infiltrators to hide in. I mean, I like Earth, but it doesn't seem to be your sort of place."

"It is the inevitable destiny of the universe to become part of the Kree Empire."

"Right, but is it important for Earth to become part of the Kree Empire now, where there are a great many other things you could do with the resources it would take, and when your own second looks like he's extremely dubious of the idea that we have any use at all? Is there an advantage that I'm not seeing?"

"That this offer is being made at all is a sign that the Supreme Intelligence sees some potential in you. The Kree Empire's normal procedure is to simply exterminate species with nothing to offer. Already your delaying tests my patience. Surrender your world and accept my judgement."

"No, I don't think I'll be doing that." I shake my head for a moment, closing my eyes as I do so. I make a point of not making an aggressive action because I know that my team mates are a bunch of barely restrained blood knights at the best of times and I don't want them deciding to jump in to save me. "I'm just going to make you leave."

"Deluded alien. One of your number already tried to fight me, and she now lies in a crater."

"Oh, I'm not going to fight you. I can make you leave-" I hold up my right forefinger. "-with a single word."

"A word." I nod. "What word is that?"

I extend my right hand and make a beckoning gesture with my forefinger.

He doesn't move.

"You're not going to want anyone else to hear this, and if you're not impressed then I'll be within hammer range."

He watches me for a moment, then floats.. closer. Oh, he's a big fellow. A big fellow who makes a point of floating slightly above me. I rise up until our faces are level, then lean close.

"Shi'ar."

His eyes narrow. "How do you know that name?"

"Princess Lilandra is dating my daughter's head master." I shrug as his hand clenches around the shaft of his hammer. "Now, I know that the Shi'ar Empire is an awfully long way away, but I also know of a system that forms a natural wormhole nexus. And you know that a man like Majestor D'ken wouldn't be able to approve our annexation fast enough if we made the request. And Lilandra could probably talk him into appointing her Imperial Governor and she'd tend to defer to her consort on local matters, so it's a much better deal for us. Quite aside from the fact that the shi'ar generally treat their alien subjects far better than the kree do."

I drift back slightly.

"Do you want to fight the Shi'ar Empire? No, of course you do. But can you afford to now?"

"We will accept the rest of the system-."

"That's not on the table any more. You know, I grew up watching Star Trek. I wonder what it'll be like to live like that?"

"They have no fleet here."

"How long will it take you to learn to exclude non-kree ships from the nexus? Because shi'ar psychic consorts can communicate instantly over any distance. I make a call, D'ken gets a call, and a fleet is en route within a few minutes. Now, if the Kree Empire made a huge strategic redeployment you could probably beat the first wave, but… Can you afford to do that?"

He stands still, glaring at me. And I've got to say, I'm impressed with his discipline.

"You have made an enemy of the Kree Empire this day."

"No, you were already our enemies. Now shoo."

A slight tremor in his expression, then his flying disk turns around and flies back to his shuttle. His subordinates clustering around, presumably to ask what the heck just happened.

"Okay, Orange." Tony flies back down to my level, and I can hear the incredulity in his voice. "How exactly did you manage that?"

"Oh, you know. Cuius testiculos habes, habeas cardia et cerebellum."

He looks askance at me. "What d'you mean by that?"

"You just have to know what people want. And in his case, it was not getting his habes ripped off."

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th November 2012
16:57 GMT +3

We're halfway across Erebos before Zagreus catches up with us on his flying chariot.

"Lanterns and… New person. I assume that I have you to thank for the demon and the immortal wizard who recently visited me in my father's palace?"

"Actually, the general plan was Doctor Balewa's idea. I just suggested that we enter the Dream from here."

"Why do you want to physically enter the Dream? Is my sister involved?"

"Melinoë isn't involved, and if Doctor Balewa didn't tell you then I probably shouldn't. This isn't something that can become widely known."

His face hardens. "Thanks to your bizarre effort at marriage counselling, I have been forced to remain in Erebos in case matters arise that my father does not remember how to deal with. Erebos is not your playground and you may not simply come and go as you please."

Sanderson looks at Zagreus for a moment, then looks at me. "Are you going to introduce us?"

"This is Prince Zagreus, God of Trapping and son of Hades, God of the Dead. Zagreus, this is Sanderson Hawkins."

Sanderson looks confused. "You're a god?"

Zagreus nods curtly. "And you are-." His eyes widen slightly. "What are you?"

"I'm-. Sandman. A super hero."

"I can feel the-. The Dream's magic throughout-."

Alan nods. "We're sorry for keeping you out of the loop, Zagreus, but… Ah, if there's one thing spending time with Paul has taught me… Sometimes it's really best not to ask."

…

That's fair. But it's actually true here. If we lose -or at least fail to achieve our primary objective- then John Quinn might take revenge against Erebos for allowing us to use the portal. Doubly so if he knew in advance.

Then again…

"Zagreus, what is my position in the Olympic pantheon?"

He frowns. "Your posit-?" A moment of realisation, and a small nod. "You are Hephaestaean's herald."

"Yes. So I actually do have the right to come through here without explicit permission. You could argue that I should have gotten permission for Alan and Sanderson, but I don't think that's actually true. I will thank you for your cooperation upon my return."

"You intend to speak to-? Why would-? No. No, I do not need to know. You have introduced enough chaos into my life."

"That's what I do."

"Then I will make a request that you visit my father's home once your business in concluded and you can explain it to me."

I nod. "Circumstances permitting, I will."

"I would wish you good fortune, but I suspect that your enemies will need it more."

He tugs the reins, his perfectly normal horses turning in the air to return him to the palace.

Sanderson watches him go. "I thought a god would be… I don't know… Bigger?"

"You could put that in the suggestions box."

"What's a 'suggestions box'?"

"Exactly what it sounds like."

The three of us finally finish flying over the Fields Formerly Known As Punishment and begin our descent towards the Gate of Horn and Ivory. The area around here is a place the priestesses of some Amazon cults make pilgrimage to, due to the… Intrusion of the Dream into Erebos and the mixing of their magics. There are some very strange creatures in the surrounding area, but those aren't our problem today.

"If you see something that you think should be changed, you write your suggestion down and post it in the box. Every so often, someone from management comes down, opens the box up and burns the content."

Alan lets out a burst of surprised laughter.

Sanderson doesn't get it. "Then why does anyone write anything?"

"They don't do it where the staff can see. The idea is to make people identify more with the company than they ordinarily would, giving the impression that they have input in its decisions. People commit more to things they were involved in deciding. Or things they think they were involved in deciding."

I shrug.

"And thus: democracy."

"But I can set fire to paper just fine by myself-. No, wait just a minute." He sounds upset. "Are you serious?"

"Well, the idea of the national struggle comes from revolutionary France, as distinct from aristocrats fighting over their own concerns and dragging the local peasants into it. The idea is that The People have decided to fight and therefore every citizen is obliged to get involved however they personally feel about it."

"But surely they don't burn the ballot papers."

"Paul." Alan raises his right hand with a small shake of his head. "I don't think that Sandy's quite ready for… You, yet."

"I'm sorry. Trustworthy elections have election monitors from either all involved parties or entirely uninvolved parties precisely to make sure that things like that don't happen. Because if it does happen, it completely destroys confidence in the process, even if it doesn't happen very often, because people need to know that their contribution meant something."

"So that whole thing you just did was a joke? Kinda dark, don't you think?"

"Civilisation needs both people who see all that it could be and people who see what it could become. And it's helpful if they talk to each other." As we land, I point to the two people waiting for us. "Case in point. Allow me to introduce Doctor Nommo Balewa, aka Doctor Mist, and The Demon Constantine. Constantine, say something uplifting!"

He affects a look of confusion for a moment, before shrugging. "If you're short-sighted when you're young, you'll eventually get perfect vision 'cause of how the muscles in your eyes get weaker with age. Lasts for about a week, then you start being long-sighted and need completely different glasses."

"Doctor Balewa?"

"All things thet live are linked by a shared vital force. No matter where we are in the universe, we are near things thet are kin to us."

"Thank you, point proven."

"It is good to meet you, Sanderson Hawkins."

"You too, sir."

No hesitation there. That's what comes of being friends with William Everett.

"Are there any preparations we need to do?"

"No." Dr. Balewa turns and strides towards the gate. "We should begin our journey at once."

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th November 2012
17:02 GMT +3

We step through-.

Huh. Morbid.

The area on the far side is a dark graveyard in the faux-gothic style, something I can easily imagine being sited on the outskirts of Sunnydale. The headstones vary in age, some clean white stone with the blurred-out names the only incongruous point. Others are chipped and lichen-covered, or bound by vines. The mausoleums are mostly the same, though a few have active braziers either at the front or hanging from the roof. A fine mist hangs in the air, obscuring our vision. A few stars in the sky, a faint… Smell of rot-.

Not found. Error.

Well I can smell it… Or just think I can smell it, because this is a dream I'm walking through and not a place with actual chemicals.

Next to me, Sanderson takes his hat off and holds it to his chest.

"Thet is not necessary. This is a dream of a graveyard, from the shared unconscious mind of humanity."

The Demon looks around, apparently quite interested. "Been a while."

Alan frowns. "You've been here before?"

"No. Demons can't dream. Or sleep, unless we're possessing someone. John gave me a few of his memories, but he never came somewhere like this as a demon." He closes his eyes and inhales through his nose. "I think I can smell him."

"He has seen enough death thet I would not be surprised if he dreams of it frequently. If you find those dreams, you could feed on them without causing harm."

"I assume that you've considered the possibility that Morpheus might notice us?"

"Minor intrusions into his realm are frequent. If we do not act against those under his protection or threaten the whole of the realm, he is unlikely to act against us."

"Morpheus? That's the guy who told you-" Sanderson glances my way. "-to look for me, right? The one who sent Wesley his visions?"

"I'm not sure if he actively sent them, or just enabled the process. He is the guy who sent me after you though, yes."

"So do I owe him, or does he owe me for not calling someone sooner?"

"I wouldn't press the issue. If he felt like you owed him, he'd say something."

"Doctor Mist?" Alan's looking around cautiously. "Is this actually a dream about death, or a dream of a horror movie?"

"It should be true death, at least for now." He looks around, and leads the way into the mist, the rest of us cautiously following him. "Places in the Dream are defined by their conceptual relationships, not geography. A truly skilled dream rider could step between the weakest conceptual links from a single sleeper, but none of us have thet skill."

The Demon sneers. "Don't have the drugs, more like. Human brains aren't made for stuff like that."

"How about demons?"

"Even worse. After that stuff those idiots tried with the key, we're actually on his shit-list. And like I said, we can't dream, so we can't come here naturally." He shrugs. "It's the difference between 'you can, but you'll go mad' and 'you can't do it at all'."

Off in the distance, from somewhere out of sight, I hear a crow cawing.

"The Gate of Horn and Ivory stabilises the connection between these two points. We need to get some distance away before the Dream will be flexible enough to allow us to change our location."

"And then we go from concept to concept until we reach the Tower?"

"No. There is no direct path from the Dream to the Tower. When we are in position, we will need to make our owen."

Alan frowns at a nearby… Open grave, a shovel planted in the ground next to a heap of earth. "Are we gonna get attacked?"

"Almost certainly."

"In that case, I-."

An actual tower shield appears on his left arm. There's a.. slight glow around the edges, but nothing more than there would normally be from his environmental shield. He drops his arm for a second before raising it back up again.

Alan hefts it slightly, then peers over the rim to give Dr. Balewa an interrogative look. "You mind explaining this?"

"We are in the Dream. If you call upon a shield, you get the dream of a shield. The strength of it will be more closely related to the degree to which it fits in with the environment than the strength of your emotion."

"How does that interact with my actual armour, or other equipment?"

"Unless they are intensely magical, I do not think thet they will work well against dreams."

Alan and I make eye contact, and then we're both wearing plate armour.

"I'll take it."

I add a boar spear while Alan creates an arming sword.

"Do you actually know how to use that?"

"It's amazing what you pick up as a superhero. You stick the sharp end in the other fellah, right?"

"Ah… Doctor?" Sanderson hefts his gun, hat back on his head. "What do I do?"

"Your gas is based on dreamstuff. If the thing you shoot can sleep, it will work. Otherwise, I suggest your fists. Ah." He stops and looks around. "I believe that we can transition from here. If we-."

CRACK!

The door of one of the nearby mausoleums explodes open, three tattered corpses shambling out with glowing green eyes! From other graves hands thrust through the ground, the earth around them bulging!

"Yes, we are far enough away. Mister Hawkins, hold in your mind the idea of a flowing river carrying boats to their destination."

"Aaaahh… Okay?"

"Uuuuuuuuugh…"

"Do you feel drawn in a particular direction?"

"Uh, maybe? I think?"

"Go." He stamps his right foot on the ground and then steps back. A moment later a creature of rock and soil swims its way to the surface in time to intercept the first wave of the undead. "We shall follow."

Alan and I charge the horde and Sanderson starts jogging.

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th November 2012
17:06 GMT +3

My spear embeds itself in the upper torso of the first zombie I run into, and-. And I didn't think this through, because while the spear does its job and the zombie can't get any closer, it isn't de-animated by something as trivial as a pierced heart and bronchi. Alan's sword on the other hand slices neatly through the neck of his first opponent and is then free to slash the arm off another. Okay, bad choice. I shove the spear forward to push the impalee back into the mob, letting it go and replacing it with-.

I still think a sword is too short. Zombies like this are-.

Wait. Vodun zombies are living people with part of their soul removed. They're immune to pain but die from physical injuries like anyone else. These are-. These look like animated corpses-

With no weapon in hand I settle for shield-charging a group of zombies who are getting too close to Sanderson and Dr. Balewa, knocking them on their backs as Sandman II continues leading the way.

-but there's no one animating them and there's no spell bound to them. Animating a corpse using pure magic is hard. Usually, wizards would bind a spirit of some sort and have it pilot the body, but while Dream entities can gain consciousness-.

I pause, making eye contact with one of the more intact zombies.

"I apologise for my presumption, but are you an intelligent-?"

"Grhhhhhhhhhhhh…"

I look at her chest cavity while keeping a careful eye on the rest of the squad.

"Of course."

There's no orange light, but the tissues of her chest knit back together in response to my desire for wholeness and order and good health.

Alan stops suddenly, spotting what I'm doing and looking awkwardly at his sword.

"Wait, was I supposed to be doing that?"

"This is people's dreams of death. Death is a terrifying thing when you don't know what's going to happen. Amazons still don't like the Temple of Hades, much less actually coming to Erebos when they don't have to. So if this isn't a horror film, then these things are nightmare and not actual physical threats. Ma'am?"

"Cold."

I raise my right hand and a thick poncho appears draped over her shoulders.

"Lonely."

I form a floating gauntlet, grab another zombie and pull them in front of her.

"He looks nice."

She shambles a step closer and wraps her arms around the other zombie.

"Uuuuuuuuugh…"

Who awkwardly wraps his arms back around her.

"Dream zombies! Death isn't that bad! Souls are real! Your consciousness continues after your organic death! And I know that-"

The zombies are sort of shambling to a stop.

"-change is disconcerting, and unwanted change doubly so, but I think you could make a go of this place! Just think of all the fascinating stories the zombies around you have to tell!"

"Hungry."

"You don't have a stomach or lower jaw. How are you going to eat? That doesn't make any sense."

"Gahh?"

"Okay, fine, but this is a dream. If you want something to eat, there's probably something out there somewhere. Or you could just go back to sleep."

The entire crowd for as far as I can see has stopped.

"Okay! Excitement over!" I dismiss my shield and calmly and confidently walk over to where Dr. Balewa is looking suspiciously pleased with himself. "Doctor?"

"You are so disruptive thet your discordant nature spreads to the Dream. These are not people."

Alan looks around. "Well, no. But they're not zombies either?"

"People dream of dying and death. Their projected thoughts make this place."

"Not quite, but close enough. I suspect thet the Gate we used was created when Hades turned Erebos into an afterlife. He may hev drawn on this place to change Erebos's nature."

Alan nods. "So it's all like a test?"

"Test? No. But there will be ways to approach the place thet are not immediately obvious. Fighting would hev worked. Mister Hawkins?"

"Ah?" Sanderson tears his attention away from a zombie group hug. "Is it alright to leave them like this?"

"This is a dream, Mister Hawkins. We may share it, but once we leave only the themes will remain."

"So they..? Die? I mean, again? Or-." He frowns. "Wait."

"The term I hev heard used is 'amortal'. They do not live, and so cannot die. Any complex behaviour emerges from our minds and expectations." He smiles faintly. "Your concern for their wellbeing speaks well of you, but you do not need to fear."

Sanderson doesn't look either entirely happy or entirely convinced, but leads the way through the throng of hugging, poncho-wearing zombies. We're heading… Slightly downhill, though with the mist still high I can't tell what we're heading towards.

Alan dismisses his sword, though he keeps his shield. "Why did you pick a spear?"

"Better reach. And I thought that-. Well, you know how guns are a pain to enchant because they don't have the same length of history?"

He nods. "So you didn't think a gun would work."

"Except it-." / "Thet is not-."

Dr. Balewa nods to me, gesturing to me with an open right palm. "Continue. I am interested in your reasoning."

"The thaumosphere is slow to change. History counts for a lot. But in the Dream… Ideas and.. social transmission matter, but I.. imagine that it's far more closely related to what the people currently alive dream. So actually, a gun should work just fine."

"Thet is mostly true. The oldest Dream-creatures may refuse to acknowledge them, but against the Unknowable Dead it would have worked."

Sanderson frowns and then accelerates to a jog, the zombies falling behind and the land dropping-.

I hear water and that's a stream, Sanderson walking out onto a jetty.

"I found us a boat. That should take us to… Wherever's next."

The Demon folds his arms across his chest.

"Hope one of you can row. I smoke forty a day."

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th November 2012
17:12 GMT +3

"I wonder if my college has a rowing team?"

Sanderson and I are getting into a rhythm, our oars going into the water together… Reasonably well. I've only had to stabilise myself with my ring once so far.

Alan leans a little towards him. "Shouldn't be too hard to find out."

"Wouldn't do you much good, though. Metahumans can't participate in official competitions."

"They can't? Why not?"

"What do you mean, 'they'?"

"Mean-?" He blinks. "Oh. Oh yeah. I guess that's-. I mean, magic counts?"

"The rules are a little vague about exactly what they cover, but I imagine that they would stretch to a man who could transform himself into sand."

"That doesn't seem fair. It doesn't make me any stronger."

"Do you get tired when you're made of sand?"

"I haven't really tested it out. Do you think I wouldn't?"

"Your sand body doesn't have any way to generate lactic acid, or… Any other chemical. Not that that necessarily means anything."

"Okay, I guess, but it's kind of obvious whether I'm made of sand or not."

"Sanderson, I know that you're a good guy, but the rules have to be written on the assumption that a certain number of participants won't be. Plenty of abilities don't have any obvious outward sign that they're in use."

The Demon slumps slightly in his seat. "None of you smoke, do you?"

"No." / "Not for sixty years." / "Aunt Dian wouldn't let me." / "No."

"You do all realise that none of you can get cancer, yeah?"

Alan shrugs. "I guess we've all got enough purpose in our lives that we don't need things like that."

"I wouldn't tempt me if I were you. Demons with purpose aren't exactly human-friendly."

He's not wrong there.

Hm. Hard to tell exactly how long we've been doing this for. The mist has gone, and we're in a river bed that's deep enough that I can't see over the bank-.

"Doctor, what's on the other side of the river banks?"

"Not a great deal. This is a travelling river. I imagine thet what surrounds us is the unformatted stuff of the Dream."

Alan frowns, straightening up slightly and peering to the left. "Is it safe?"

"It would not be wise to walk through it with your living body, but it will not hurt us here."

"If I did, what would happen?"

"It would be like being in a dream, except thet you would hev no external body to awaken into."

"Could someone get out?"

Dr. Balewa nods slowly. "Perhaps. If they were unusually self-possessed, or had someone to help them. Mister Hawkins, do you feel anything about our destination?"

"Doctor, I'm not really used to navigating by… By feel like this. I don't want to get everyone lost."

"Returning to the Gate of Horn and Ivory from a river like this is easy. Do not worry about getting us lost. As long as no one moves into the deep dream, I am confident thet I could guide our return journey myself. It is in navigating us in thet you are helpful."

"Okay, then I think we're coming up on something. But I don't-"

We all hear the rushing water, and I nod to myself.

"-know what-. Ah, that's bad, right?"

"I… Am not sure."

Dr. Balewa peers in the direction of our travel as the roar of water going over a waterfall gets louder.

"I do not believe thet it will be a problem, but if the Lanterns could-"

Lap bars, chain loops and grab rails appear on our boat, and life jackets materialise at our feet.

"-make certain-. Thank you."

The river bends, the bank blocking our view of the fall until-. Yes, there it is, the classical waterfall-from-nowhere. I swap my plate armour helmet for a diving helmet, and after a moment Alan does as well.

The Demon wraps ropes around each of his forearms. "Alright, Doctor. Anything we need to know?"

"It is probably too late to teach you how to swim."

The boat's picking up speed. We could probably reach the bank, but from what Dr. Balewa was saying there's nothing there.

"About the water."

"Despite the fact that it does not literally exist, I would not recommend breathing-"

The boat goes over the fall.

"-it-."

I'm braced, but-. What? I-.

There's a moment of disorientation as we go over, but then it's… Like we're sailing along a level river once more, the sky above us sort of twisting so that the dull night sky that accompanied us since we left zombie territory is replaced by-.

I close my eyes in an attempt to get my brain to stop hurting. Okay, it looked like a Middle eastern market from a couple of centuries ago drawn by Roger Penrose. Pathways link points that have no rational spatial relationship to one another, being at variance in place or orientation. People of various kinds walk freely at our plane, up walls and across ceilings. A few move at completely different angles, and some overpasses have people walking atop and beneath them.

"Ah, good. We hev arrived."

I open my eyes, and don't punch Dr. Balewa in the face.

"Oarsmen, please take us to the jetty. We will need to transfer here."

Sanderson and I look at each other for a moment, then carefully resume our strokes. I glance back and see that our drop-in point has vanished. The jetty's not far away, but we're one of the smaller boats on the water and we're not good at delicate manoeuvring.

"Do you recognise where we are, Orange Lantern?"

"Yes, Time Trapper mentioned it. Caliph Haroun al Raschid made a deal with Morpheus to preserve his realm forever. I assume that this is it."

"Yes. We will seek passage onwards from here, and gather supplies for our task. But be on your guard: not all things here are what they seem."

…

No. Really?

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th November 2012
14:18 GMT +1

I look around Magnificus's repurposed workshop, my eyes skipping over the positron beam projectors that deployed in response to my arrival. In the middle distance I can hear the sound of a dozen welding torches working, knowing Magnificus mounted on the end of multiple robotic arms.

I raise my right hand to my mouth.

"Magnificus! You've been skipping your therapy sessions and I want to talk about it!"

"I don't need therapy! I need to work!"

Ah, darn it.

"Would you mind if I come a little closer?!"

"Do what you like!"

I nod calmly, fold my arms behind my back and walk slowly in the direction of his shouts.

Careful, Lantern Grayven. A man like Magnificus Sivana should not be underestimated, even irrational as he is.

Yes, I know.

And yet you came yourself. Alone.

This is my responsibility. The buck stops with me.

Yes, and I'm glad that you realise that. What I mean is that you didn't send one of your many more empathetic employees. Or a pony. I may not see the appeal myself, but they appear to be of great comfort to emotionally wrought humans.

I don't think that's what he needs.

At some part, the door to the electronics workshop has been… Removed? Torn off? Cannibalised for parts? Not sure. The point is that it's not there, and I get a clear view of the… Jetsons flying saucer thing that he's working on. Several hatches on the underside have been opened up, and two robot arms are spot welding… Additional modules that look like they're going to be mounted on the hull.

"Looks like it's going well."

"Yes." Magnificus walks in, heavily reinforced canister of something under his left arm and a weirdly glowing pistol in his right hand. "It's nearly complete. Once I add the suspendium and mount the time drive modules, I'll be gone."

"So it is a time machine, then?"

"I spent my eighth birthday in the Silurian era, making fish with bony jaws to confuse future paleontologists. I may just be copying Father's work, but at least I'm doing something-." His pistol snaps up, pointed precisely at my face. "Stay back!"

I nod, raising my hands and planting my right foot firmly back on the ground.

"There's nothing you can do to stop me."

I nod again. "When are you planning to go?"

"Before they die. Turret mode." He releases the pistol, and its grip unfolds into an anti-gravity flotation device. "Before any of them die. I'm not going to be the last Sivana."

"Alright, but the Sheeda destroyed your family's holiday home during your annual family get-together. It wouldn't have done that if they weren't there. You'll need to get them out between it hitting something vital and the place disintegrating."

"I know that! I don't need you-! I don't need you trying to explain temporal manipulation to me."

He crouches, laying the temporal manipulation module down on the floor and picking a panel up from the floor. That gets moved to one of the saucer's lower hatches, then he reaches inside and starts connecting the interior cables to the panel's sockets.

"And then, when Mom and Thaddeus and my sisters are safe, we can go and pick up father. And then-. And then we'll be fine again."

"I saw your father die, Magnificus."

"A hologram. Or if it wasn't the first time, it will be after we've changed things."

"Magnificus, I'm a New God. I know when a living person is sacrificing themselves for-."

"MY FATHER WAS FOUR FOOT FIVE! HE HAD ARMS LIKE PIPECLEANERS! WHY THE HELL WAS HE ANYWHERE NEAR THE SHEEDA!?"

He stopped working while he shouted, but I watch him take a calming breath and rededicate himself to his work.

"Because he wanted to kill her himself, I imagine."

"He was a scientist and mechanist. If he-." Magnificus sniffs. "If he wanted to kill her, he could do it with an army of super robots."

I nod slowly. "Probably. So why do you think he-?"

"He didn't want to live anymore. With the others-. Others dead, he didn't want to stay alive himself." He slumps, his hands dropping to the floor. "I needed him. Why wasn't I enough?"

"I don't know, Magnificus. I'd… Guess that he… Thought you could cope without him, but that I might make a mess of things if he wasn't there in person."

"He could do this more easily than I can? Why isn't-? Oh-."

He thrusts his hands into the hole in the saucer, then makes the final connections and slots the panel into place.

"Is this machine your own work?"

"No. I just renovated it. I never-. I mean, it's a time machine. I understand how it works, but I don't-. There's nothing… Until now, there hasn't been anything that I've wanted a time machine to do."

"Magnificus, you do know that the Sheeda had time travel technology too?"

"Yes, of course." Another panel gets the same treatment, only slightly faster. "I was listening when father explained where he went."

"He didn't try this. Do you think he just overlooked it?"

"I don't know why he did it!"

He closes the panel and plugs in the suspendium module before moving around to the near side.

"I don't know why he didn't try this, I wasn't in-. I wasn't in any state to ask him, but I'm going to try, and you're not going to stop me."

I nod slowly. "You're right. I won't. I hope that you're successful, Magnificus. Your mother and your twin seemed like good people, and I'm sure the younger two grow on you." I cautiously hold out my right hand as the drone gun hums unhappily.

He plugs in the second module, reaching inside to press a button and then turns back to me as the saucer activates. He watches me for a moment or two, then walks closer and takes my hand.

"I'll be back."

Then he lets go, climbs into the saucer and with a shimmer of light the saucer's gone.

And then it's back, panels torn away and smoke rising from the interior! I lunge forward, grabbing the dome and tearing it off before reaching inside and heaving Magnificus clear! He's beaten and bloody and the one eye that isn't swollen shut isn't focusing properly. I take a firm grip and then run from the workshop as the suspendium modules go critical and something very strange and organic-unfriendly happens to the saucer.

I prop Magnificus up against a wall, purple healing ray out and firing at his face. He's a Danner enhancile so he shouldn't need it, but I don't want to take chances. After a moment he stirs, his eye focusing on me.

"Why? Why can't I-?"

I sit down next to him and wrap my right arm around his shoulders.

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th November 2012
17:28 GMT +3

I look around what appears to be an open market, stalls arrayed in all directions and the noise from hawkers and potential buyers near deafening.

"So, how many of these are real people?"

"What do you mean by-?"

"Real. Actual people, whether they have material bodies or not." I look over to a stall that appears to specialise in dates, ceramic pots filled with the things arranged on a wooden stall. "Did al Raschid send actual people here, or parts of their personalities, or… Alter the structure of the Dream by… Burning part of reality?"

A small bullock with a balloon tied on its midsection floats by, using flippers strapped to his hooves to control its forward movement.

"And where the heck did that come from?"

The bullock turns its head towards us. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry. Where the heck did he come from?"

"Hmpf." He tosses his head, then swims away.

"I do not know, and I do not know." He shrugs. "I was not there when the Caliph made the pact with Morpheus, or to observe the transition. If you want to know, you could make the time to ask him yourself."

"Ah, Doctor?" Sanderson is looking around too, but in his case his expression is one of wonder rather than the suspicion I'm sure is on my own face. "What are we looking for?"

"A map would be useful. Tools thet will assist us in entering the Tower, or finding John Constantine."

Alan nods. "What do they take for currency around here?"

"This place is the dream of a great trading city on the silk road, between Europe and China. They will take any currency, speak any language and honour any agreement. You can trade with American money."

The Demon raises his eyebrows. "Take card payments, do they?"

Dr. Balewa looks surprised. "There is a bank thet gave you a credit account?"

The Demon reaches into his coat and pulls out a wallet.

"No, but they gave one to… 'James Robinson'."

Alan frowns. "Who's that? And why do you-? Oh."

The Demon rolls his eyes as he slides the wallet back into his coat. "If it makes you feel better, he doesn't need it any more. Amazing how much money there is in dead accounts."

Alan's frown escalates to a glare. "Are you-?"

The Demon tries to look innocent, and naturally falls far short. "He made a deal with Satanus. It was practically a victimless crime."

Alan's clearly not happy, but recognises that it's not pertinent to the mission. "Okay, Doctor, but how do we find those things?"

"It is the way of these places. The merchants we want will find us, if we do not find them first."

Sanderson looks uncomfortable. "Are they gunna want… Other sorts of payment?"

The Demon looks away, making a choking, snorting noise. Sanderson edges away from him, then looks to Alan for a sensible answer.

Alan looks levelly at The Demon. "Constantine."

"Dreams don't go in for virgin sacrifices, mate!"

Sanderson blushes, prompting Dr. Balewa to hold up his right hand to forestall Alan's retort.

"But, they may ask for ideas, memories, or even capacities thet you possess. They are not quite so bad regarding such matters as the fey, but it is not a foolish concern. I cannot tell you how to respond in every instance thet could arise. You can ask me for advice, but it would ultimately be something thet you will hev to decide for yourself."

Sanderson nods, slightly mollified.

"How circuitous do we need to be when we make our enquiries?"

"I am sorry?"

"How do you rate the chance of John Quinn monitoring the Dream, or us? I'm asking because I sort of assumed that Boss Smiley wouldn't be able to eavesdrop on my conversation with Liberty, and that got us in a bit of trouble."

"Yeah." Alan nods. "That's what got us into trouble."

"Slim to none. I hev spent time with him, and I hev felt nothing of the Dream from him. Using magic here for such a purpose would draw the ire of the Dream-wizards who live here. And if he can monitor us in such a fashion without us knowing it… Then we are already doomed and there is no sense in worrying about it."

"Ah." Sanderson shrugs. "I haven't written a Will. I mean, if we're doomed, I'd feel a little bad about leaving a mess for everyone."

"If you just tell me what you want done, I'll forge it for you."

"I'd like the house turned into a museum and the money put into a trust to keep the place going."

"Not a problem." I look at Dr. Balewa. "Should we look anywhere in particular?"

"I believe thet the established shops will prove more useful than the market stalls." He looks around once more. "This way, I think."

He leads the way through the market, ignoring the stall holders as they try to persuade us that theirs are the fruit, the rugs, the coffee, the jewellery, that will make our day worthwhile. I-.

I stop, and the stallholder immediately orientates on me.

"How much for one jar of figs?"

"These figs, sir?" He grins. "Only the finest-."

"Yes I'm sure they're lovely; that's why I'm offering to buy them. How much?"

"For one jar? One dirham."

Excellent. I've got plenty of silver, and I know the design Kahndaq uses for its commemorative coins. Fabricate, and… I offer the coin to the stall-holder, who checks it visually and then bites it before passing me a jar with a smile.

"Tell all your friends!"

I nod and step away, looking for-.

No. No no.

Come on, there's no way they could have gotten that far away that quickly. I fly-.

No, apparently I don't. Impellers? No. Flying carpet? Yes. Alright, let's-.

"Sir!" The stallholder frantically shakes his head. "Those are banned in the market, except for official purposes!"

Okay. Dismiss the carpet and toss him another dirham by way of thanks, and…

"Which way to the speciality shops?"

"Speciality? Like…"

He makes what I suspect to be an obscene gesture. Huh. I remember that while prostitution is illegal in modern Iran, it's perfectly legal to have a short-duration marriage with a non-refundable matchmaking fee. The Egypt of this era had slavery, but I'm not sure what the rules were on sex.

"Magic arcana."

He pointedly looks away. "It is not proper for a good Muslim to involve himself in such things." He points towards a bridge a short distance away across the market without looking at it. "But since you are a foreigner, it may be that some other foreigners who may be in that direction may be able to help you."

"Thank you." I turn to march away. "I will consider you for all my future fig purchases."

 

[Mr Zoat]

November 8th, 2012
About Half Past Nine, EST

I follow Doctor Mist into the alleyway, then hesitate to make sure that Sandy and the demon doppelgänger follow on behind me. The demon rolls his eyes while Sandy is too busy trying to take everything in to pay much attention to me. Can't say I blame him. When I was his age I wouldn't have been able to tear my eyes away from this stuff.

I frown.

Unless I'm supposed to count his age as his chronological age, in which case he's not all that much younger than me. Paul's had some effect on me if I'm considering that, but I don't think I'm ready to-.

I look left and right, but Paul isn't there.

I stick my head out of the alleyway, but I can't see him anywhere. And-. Have the market stalls moved? I don't recognize any of them, but I can't say I was paying particular attention.

Ah, darn it.

"Doctor Mist?" I turn back to the rest of the group. "We've lost-."

They're not there. There's no one else here, and the alley isn't that big. I take a moment to look up, and, yeah, there's more city up there, but I can't see Doctor Mist or the others.

Great.

I take a moment to focus on my faith in the fact that we'll pull through and meet up again, and… And I can't fly.

Ah, next best thing. I jog to the other end of the alley and I come out on a promenade, with a canal of some kind running through and well-dressed locals walking along the pavements on either side. There's patches of earth with palm trees growing out of 'em, and patches of other hot weather plants growing out around their bases. I guess this is a park, then.

"Blue Lantern!"

I look up and to my left, and see Wesley Sandy standing in the middle of a path running along what from my point of view is a wall. It doesn't look like there's any way down, whatever 'down' means someplace like this.

I raise my right arm to wave at him. "Carry on with the mission! We'll meet up later!"

He nods in an exaggerated fashion before hurrying along the road. I lose sight of him as he ducks under an awning and doesn't reappear.

I'm a little worried about him, but the others can look after themselves. Even in somewhere like this. I suppose that the worst thing that could happen is that the demon doesn't come back to face the rest of his sentence, but from the sound of it that 'John Constantine' fellow can deal with that himself.

A few years ago, I'd have said that I was too old for this. Amazing where life can take you.

I take a moment to change my armour into something that… Fits in a little better. I think I still look like… Like one of those British guys I met in Palestine in the late forties. But I want to make it clear to these people that I'm not here to fight them, and… I think this does the job.

Alright, there's probably some sort of concession stand somewhere in this park. If I find that, I can get directions-.

"Excuse me, sir?"

I turn, and it's a local guy in a purple dress robe. "What can I do for you?"

"What can I do for you? You are clearly a visitor to our great city, and it would be inhospitable for me not to offer aid to someone looking so lost."

"Ah, yeah. I just got separated from the rest of my group in an alleyway that couldn't have been more than twenty feet long."

He nods. "This is not a normal city, sir, as I am sure you have noticed."

"A dream city. I sort of thought it would be real enough that I could walk down a street without anything like that happening."

"Were you all thinking about the same thing?"

I shake my head. That sounds like something that's distinctly possible. "No, I suppose that we weren't. Is that something locals do, or is it just for people from outside the Dream?"

He shrugs. "We are used to it. This is our natural environment. But you, you must be here for a reason."

"I'm trying to get into a locked tower. Our magician thinks it's easier to get in through the Dream than through the physical world, but it still won't exactly be easy."

"Well… If you are looking for thieves, we have those. You can trust them with your life, as long as you are honest with them. Just not with your coin purse."

"You got anything that would let us get through a dream storm?"

"I know of a man who sells ropes that are enchanted to survive even the strangest dreams. You could use that to tie your group together so that they are not separated."

"Does he sell anything else?"

"He sells other enchanted ropes, though I am not sure how useful you would find them."

"I won't be, either, until I see them." And maybe not even then. Paul's the equipment guy. Is a rope useful for a Lantern? I never used to use it, but here? Who knows. "Can you give me directions?"

"If you are not used to navigating the city, directions would be of limited usefulness. But I can take you there, if you like?"

We couldn't even make it out of an alley without being split up. Getting a guide sounds like a very good idea.

"Thanks." I nod. "I'd appreciate that."

He does this sort of half-bow thing, then leads the way down the street. I keep level with him as I try and work out his motives. Helping a visitor out is one thing, but he's being a whole lot more obsequious than he needs to be. Is he a professional guide? I don't mind paying for the help, but it would be nice if he were more up-front about it.

"People call me Blue Lantern."

"This humble servant is named Uns Al-Wujud." He frowns. "Your name sounds strange to my ears. Is it a common name in yours lands?"

"Lantern… Kind of is. Blue, not so much. If you don't mind me asking, what line of business are you in?"

"I am a trader in dreams. Our Caliph -may Allah bless and keep him!- has expressed a concern that the material world might come to overtake his great city in glory. So he commands us to seek out the greatest mortal dreams, that our city will not calcify or decay."

"So you collect dreams? Isn't that pretty dangerous work?"

"Oh, no, no. That is work for young men far braver than me. I purchase what they collect, assess it and sell it onwards. Much of what they collect is of little use to the Caliph, but there is always a market for that sort of thing."

"That doesn't do anything to the people having the dreams, does it?"

"No, no, no. The mind of the sleeper forms the raw dream-stuff into whatever their fantasy is, but the dream lingers for a while after they leave it. It would be even more dangerous to enter while the dream was in motion. They would risk being caught up in it! It is far safer and easier to just gather it up once the dreamer has woken up."

He opens the door into a shop just off the main boulevard, motioning for me to come inside. I do, and it… Brings back a slightly uncomfortable memory of an upmarket whorehouse I saw in post-War France one time. This is clearly a space meant for entertaining clients while the actual work happens behind the curtains.

"Please sir, take a seat. I will send a runner to make sure that my rope merchant friend is available."

"Thank you." I take a seat… This isn't helping with the mission, but I need this guy's help. "Do you-?"

"Would you be interested in viewing my wares while you are here?"

I'm not sure how a recording of a dream would help us, but maybe we could use it to reform part of the storm so we can cross?

"I… Guess it wouldn't hurt. What do you have?"

 

[Mr Zoat]

November 8th, 2012
Half Past Nine, I think?

Oh golly. Oh golly. Oh golly.

I don't think I'm ready for this.

I think I was doing okay with the future. And with being able to turn into a sand monster. And with getting the equipment back into good working order. But I just spotted Green Lantern walking along a river that was flowing from the sky to the floor, and, and, and I could sort of ignore it while the other guys were around, but now I'm on my own.

I feel like the mask is… Like it's holding my mouth shut so I can't breathe. I know it's not, but that's…

What would Wesley do?

Leave the mask alone, stay calm. Straighten up. They can't see your face, and people always find that intimidating. Humans, anyway. And these people are mostly-. Okay, that guy isn't, but most of them sure look human. Walk like I've got a purpose, like I know where I'm going.

I don't know where I'm going.

Green Lantern's been a super hero for… Seventy years now. He always knows what he's doing. Orange Lantern looked like a guy who always knows what he's doing too, even if it's something crazy. The negro wizard seemed like a fellow who can just go with the flow, and the demon is a demon.

I'm pretty sure I never felt this unsure when I went out with Wesley. But now I've gotta make my own decisions…

That building. People are going in and coming out, and I can hear loud talking. It could be a bar. No, wait, do moslems have those? Maybe a restaurant then. Whichever it is, there'll be people to talk to.

I walk confidently towards the door, push through and take in… The scent of coffee? Oh, right, I think I remember something about moslems being big coffee drinkers. It makes sense that they would serve something like that here. I'm not sure that coffee gets people talking like liquor does, but I can give it a try.

"Sir?" A fellow with a tray -probably a waiter- bows politely. "Your table is this way."

They actually seat people at a place like this? Ah, okay, that helps with me not knowing how the locals place their orders.

"Lead the way."

I follow him across the main room, through another door and down a short corridor, out into a small garden. There's a fountain in the middle, a couple of benches and some plants that I… I don't recognize. That one's some kind of cactus, and it's flowering. I don't think I've ever seen one of them do that before.

There's also a table, with a tray on it. On the tray are a coffee pot and a couple of small cups, and on the other side of the table…

"I will leave you with your guest, sir."

I see a wealthy merchant, but at the same time I don't. I see expensive clothes, but it's almost like they're floating around him rather than being worn by him. Not literally, but there's a sort of… Lack of connection between the accoutrements and man. And that man's got the same Mediterranean skin color as the other locals, but it's… Make-up, with… Pure white underneath. His hair is jet black and he… Both is and isn't wearing a turban.

Oh. Orange Lantern told me about-.

"Please, be seated."

I walk towards the bench opposite him as he pours me a cup of coffee. "You're him, aren't you? Morpheus. Dream."

"Those are two of my names. How do you take your coffee?"

I frown. It's just the pot… And jars of sugars both are and aren't there, along with jugs of milk and cream. I'm not sure that taking anything from those is a good idea.

"Thank you, but I'll just take it straight."

"As you wish."

I… I can't drink with this mask on. I'm not sure I should take it off-.

"Sanderson Hawkins, most creatures wear many masks, but there is nothing you can do that will obscure your identity from me."

Orange Lantern didn't say exactly what he is or what he can do, but he's supposed to be real powerful. This whole dream place is his. Which means that's probably true, and I can't think of any other reason to cover my face up. Not if he can just make anything he likes whenever he likes. I reach up, then take off my hat and mask and put them on the table next to the coffee pot.

"Ah-. Thank you." He looks at me… I want to say 'blankly', but the floating… False face? Dream face? Makes it a little hard to tell exactly what his real expression is. "For telling Orange Lantern that I was still alive. I'd have stayed trapped for even longer if you hadn't."

"It seemed appropriate. Your mentor was hurt when he touched my realm, and yet chose to aid others with what he learned. Even taking one of my sobriquets as his own in tribute."

"That wasn't you? I mean, you didn't give that to him?"

"I was indisposed. Had I been free to act, I would most likely have warned him off."

"So do you not want people doing good in your name? Or are you annoyed that he was here without your permission?"

"I have spent some time thinking about that. Personally, I care very little either way for sages who use the Dream to learn of the present or to try and divine the future. The Dream is a place of wonder, both wondrous joy and wondrous terror. If someone was using the Dream to injure others as your captors were then it would be a different matter, and I would personally act against those who took my domain for their own."

"Wesley Dodds was in the former category, and came by his connection accidentally so I cannot even fault him for a mindful intrusion. I should however credit him for portraying the Dream in a positive light without thought of reward, even if that was not his intent."

"Does that credit extend to helping us get into the Tower of Fate?"

"The Tower of Fate? That would be outside of the Dream."

"Yes, but we're getting in from the Dream. Doctor.. Mist made it sound like that's pretty dangerous, so if there's anything you can do to help us out..?"

"When the Tower was created, the Lords of Order made a pact with me so that I would allow it to exist within the Dream. It would violate it for me to simply transport you inside."

I nod. "I understand."

"Why do you want to get inside from the Dream? It must be easier for you to get in through the entrance in the material world."

"We think there's a guy called John Constantine trapped in there by the current Doctor Fate. We want to free him, and Doctor Fate's not exactly going to let us in the front door."

"Constantine? Hm. Then perhaps there are things that I may do without breaking my word. Tell me, do you intend to take up your father's mantle?"

"As a super hero?" Am I? I wasn't sure. But the moment Green Lantern asked, I couldn't get it on fast enough. Guess I couldn't even fool myself, even if I do need to get back in training first. "Not right now. But I probably will in the future."

"Constantine spent some time in possession of a piece of my property. A bag of Dream stuff. Given how much exposure to the Dream you already have, it would be a simple matter for me to grant you the ability to feel it."

"Okay. What's the down side?"

"I would do so by binding narratives and stories to you. You would almost certainly begin sharing your father's prophetic visions, and I know those greatly pained him."

"Oh."

I look down at my gasmask again. It's Sandman's mask, but it didn't make me Sandman. And it didn't make Wesley Sandman. But those visions, and wanting to fix them, those kind of did.

"Okay." I look back up at him. "Hit m-."

He blows the sand right in my face, and then-.

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th November 2012
That was easy

Fuck this hurts and fuck this place makes my whole body itch. Because why would the Caliph bring anything that felt like demon magic with him? I know the bloody story, and he gave the glass ball containing every demon Solomon ever bound to Dream as part of the fee.

Just me. Which means that none of the locals were ready for me.

And the Dream! The Dream pays lip service to normal rules at best. Dreams are confusing before their internal logic takes hold. Collect a little of that confusion, wait for an opportunity, and now I'm free in… Dream-Baghdad without anyone keeping track of me.

Getting out seems like a good idea, and I can manage that without Nommo's help. Just find an active dream, passenger possession on the dreamer and then sleepwalk them through an incorcism.

Thing is…

I stop walking.

Thing is, that leaves Quinn where he is. And whatever we agreed, he's obviously gunna have to come after me eventually. This is probably the best shot I'm gunna get at getting shot of the bastard. And I know how he thinks better than any of them. Nommo can probably get through his defensive spells-. Can he? Quinn's been devouring books on Atlantean thaumaturgy. Nommo doesn't have the same knowledge of magic theory. Does his experience beat that? I'd guess 'yes'.

But I don't know 'yes'.

Fuck. This is what I get for gathering up bits of John Constantine.

What's the smart p-?

I sidestep, using Dream confusion to disguise what I'm doing and changing direction, filtering into the crowd. Jacket off and hidden to change my colour, hunch a little and use a minor distraction spell to encourage people to avoid looking at me and the guy next to me.

Damn, that was close. I can feel it as the police, guards, soldiers, whatever they are, drop off a fucking flying carpet and start looking for me. Yeah, they've got some basic wards, but more to the point they're loyal. Obsessively loyal, like they can't imagine doing anything else. No internal corruption to work with. Could probably take one in a fight, but it would be messy and it would draw more attention.

There's a park up the wall to my left. How do I get up-?

Steps? Ah. There's wear on the top surface and the side surface. Clever.

I walk up to the steps and fall onto my back. Except I don't end up on the floor, I end up with my back to a wall, because the steps form a hinge point, something that looks the same whether it's going either way.

Right, stroll, pay attention but don't gawp like a tourist, get under tree cover. I remember enough about Sufi whirling meditation that I could probably pass myself off as an Islamic scholar if it came to it, but I'd rather just avoid a confrontation.

They didn't come for me when I got to the city, so what set them off? Did it just take that long for them to reach-?

I glance down and catch sight of Paul going into… Damn it, some sort of magic boutique. I think I'm… Yeah, from his point of view I'm walking up a bridge's support pillar. He hasn't spotted me, but he doesn't have guards coming after him. Tattoos? No, no, people have seen him, they could track the disruption he's causing indirectly easily enough.

Islam's a bit down on demons, isn't it?

Okay, the soldiers are searching the street behind me, and their mates are coming in from the opposite end. Doesn't look like they had anyone-.

Fuck, I felt that. Something just got changed. The people around me aren't reacting to it and I can't see anything. Keep walking, don't-.

"My first wish, oh spirit of air, is that you bring the one I seek to me."

Kah!

A fist of air and magic closes around me and lifts me into the air and my magic senses can just about pick out a partially manifested djinn glowering at me. Course, it probably hates its master more, but the master's the one with the binding spell. It pulls me through the air so fast that my surroundings blur, then I'm floating in front of a fat bastard eunuch sitting on the carpet that dropped those two soldiers off.

He grins through barely open eyes, the curve of his mouth mirrored in the wattles on his neck. Guess he's got to take his pleasures where he can still find them.

"My second wish, oh spirit of air, is that you bind his body and magic."

Chains of… Magic, and probably just magic, appear around me and my ability to sense what's going on is suddenly limited to my human senses. But the djinn hates its master. I still exist because I can still use magic on me, and while I can't break this chain with magic or strength, I reckon that just about anything else will rip it off me.

"My third wish, oh spirit of air, is that you return to my ring."

The djinn pulls a face of pure indignant rage as it feeds itself as slowly as it can manage back into the ring. Yeah. I'm not sympathetic, but I can empathise.

"Foolish demon. My master the Caliph -may Allah guide him- wishes to speak with you."

"I charge for consultancies."

"I heard you say 'please imprison me inside the Globe of Sulaiman ben Daoud, that I may see nothing and hear nothing and feel nothing for the rest of eternity'. Is that what you meant to say?"

"I thought he gave that to Dream."

"And where are we, oh accursed bane of the sons of Adam?"

Ah.

"Let's go see the Caliph, then."

"I am pleased that you are cooperating. My spells for binding demons are not intended for demons in human form, and leaving your headless body in the streets would cause needless work for the groundsmen."

The carpet starts moving, not that I can feel it. Doesn't look like we're being affected by the… By whatever the nearest 'down' is. No, we're just cutting right through the whole place, which means that I don't have the slightest idea where I'd fall if I jumped off.

Or how hard.

I don't know if I could put myself back together from here.

I tear my eyes off the 'ground' and see the smug bastard grinning to himself as the palace comes into view. Look at that ridiculous thing. Must have taken a fucking army of djinn to put that fairy tale thing together, because there's no way that mortal builders could have done that back when this place was real. Looks like we're flying to the upper tower, where… That's him, then. A short, thin man wearing one curtain with a turban made from the other one.

He smiles at me.

"Thank you, Fela."

"It is my pleasure to serve, oh incomparable master."

Looks like that's my cue. I step off the carpet onto the caliph's balcony. Guards, lots of guards. A couple of big blokes close by, and a whole lot more further in.

"You wanted me?"

He looks at me, and… Yeah. This isn't a man. This is some sort of idea of a man who thought he was a perfect ruler. Arrogant men I can work around, but this one is going to be intelligent enough that it's going to be tricky.

"I want to know how you and your party came to be here. I think it is high time that I shared the wonder of my realm with the real world, and I think you are going to help me make that happen. And if you are unwilling, you have four friends that I could ask instead."

"Yeah. Friends."

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th November 2012
18:11 GMT +3

"…fury of a storm is simply not possible!"

I nod as Haroun the dream chaser gesticulates to emphasise his point.

"'Not possible' as in 'no one has ever done it and it would be immensely difficult' or 'categorically impossible'."

He throws up his hands. "To Allah, all things are possible, but to exist in a storm is to try and walk on ground that will bear no weight with legs that will bear no weight. Our existence here needs us-." He looks away as someone walks into the not-a-bar that totally never sells wine and certainly never sells it to good Muslims. "Ahmad, Ahmad, back me up!"

Ahmad looks over, clearly puzzled, but he shrugs and ambles over to join us. "Why do you need backup?"

"This pagan wants to go through a dream storm."

"Oh. Why?"

"To get to the other side."

"You wouldn't just die. The things that make up your body would cease to be." Ahmad looks concerned as he shakes his head. "Don't do it."

"Okay. Is it possible to go around a storm?"

Ahmad sits down next to his… Friend? And looks at Haroun to try and get some idea what's going on. Haroun is still clearly frustrated.

"Look, this city seems pretty normal because the Caliph and Dream brought it here as-is. In normal dreams, you're constantly interacting with worlds that have their own rules. They usually resemble the real world in some ways because people mostly dream what they know, and those commonalities make it possible to travel from one to the other."

"Yes, I understand-."

"Commonalities. The rule-breaks are commonalities too, and a lot of the time they're the bit that lingers longest. And when the dreamer awakens and they're not limiting things, the rule-breaks can all-"

He claps his hands.

"-smoosh together, and you get a storm."

"Primordial chaos."

"Ah… I imagine it's similar. If you want to know if they're the same you should check with an Imam."

"Hm. There are beings who can exist in raw chaos."

"Yeah. Evil spirits. And definitely not men."

"Why not just wait until it falls apart on its own?"

"I don't think this one will."

Both sets of eyes widen.

"You want to get through-?" / "You can't go through-!"

"Assume that I do."

Haroun sits back a little, clearly uncomfortable. "Well… Don't. The Lord of Dreams could probably let you through, for Allah has granted him domain over this place and all within it. I cannot imagine anything else that could."

"What would you do if you found yourself caught in a lesser storm?"

"Leave as quickly as I could. If I could not leave… Seek shelter and pray as hard as I could."

"How do you leave? If they're as chaotic as you say-."

"When you flee from a normal storm, you're going to get wet, but if you watch the path you can avoid being hit by a blow-over tree, or by lightning. Unless a dream has broken down entirely there are still conceptual links, they're just… Disrupted. So if you keep your wits about you and run, it's possible, but…"

"But it would be chancy, and you wouldn't want to do it if you could possibly avoid it."

They're both nodding.

"Is there a way to calm a storm, even if it's only over a small area?"

Ahmad nods. "Wizards who have studied the Dream can do that, but they only do it when the city is threatened directly, and then they can only calm it a little."

I nod. That's basically the same thing that the others I've asked have said, but I think at this point I can treat it as being confirmed. I stand, taking a small pouch of period-appropriate coins off my belt and laying it on the table in front of them.

"Thank you both for your time."

Haroun smiles as he picks up the pouch. "You are welcome, sir."

I turn away and head out of the café, pausing once I get back out onto the street. I've managed to get hold of a few navigation aids, but nothing that would let us survive in pure chaos. Dr. Balewa might be able to organise something.

I'm more hopeful about the link, though. The Tower of Fate is a powerful anchor point of order in the material universe. From the sound of it, it should be possible to travel from an order-focused dream directly to the Tower. Or… It would be possible for someone other than me, anyway. Would Shivering Jemmy be willing to grant us passage-? No. Would she allow us to survive the passage after experiencing pure chaos? Probably, but that doesn't make trying it a good idea.

Would my tattoos allow me to absorb Dream-stuff until I could manipulate it?

That sounds like an even-

"…geldedbastard!"

-worse-

The Demon Constantine lands chest-first on the street in front of me, to the moderate consternation of the passers by.

"Fuck."

"Do you need any help?"

He's lost his coat, and as he pushes himself up I see that his chest is bloody and his ribs… Broken and bent inwards, piercing where his lungs would be. There's also a… Variant of the Seal of Solomon imprinted on his forehead.

"Give me a moment."

He closes his eyes, wincing, and his chest gradually shifts back into its proper place.

"I'm sure that John would appreciate the-" I touch my forehead. "-tribute, but I didn't think that was healthy for demons."

"They got me." He tries to pat his coat, presumably looking for cigarettes, then realises that he's not wearing it. "The Caliph wants out."

"Oh. That's easy."

"Right, because Dream owes you a favour and no one in modern Cairo would mind having this dropped on them."

"No, because I spoke to a version of myself from an alternate timeline where this city was the Middle East's main source of super powers." I walk closer and tap him on the forehead. "Can I speak to the management, please?"

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th November 2012
18:16 GMT +3

"It's really not that complicated, thaumaturgically speaking. People dream all the time, and anyone can learn to gain lucidity in their dreams. It would simply be a matter of matching volunteers to dreamers."

The dream of Haroun ibn Mohammed ibn Abdullah ibn Mohammed ibn Ali Ben Abdullah ibn Abbas, Caliph of Baghdad, doesn't look entirely convinced. Though I suspect that's more a negotiating tool than anything else; I know that a version of him either agreed to this or flat out suggested it himself.

"That would not grant them flesh."

"They lost that when your material self made his pact with Morpheus. Such pacts cannot simply be undone." I pause. "Not after so much time. If you were all still alive, I… It may have been possible."

"That sounds more like what I want. Speak of it, O sage of avarice."

"Your majesty, your material self, much diminished by sending all that was greatest about his realm into the Dream, died a very long time ago. What became of his soul is a matter for Allah, but from that moment you and he stopped being the same person. Like… Conjoined twins joined at the shoulder and then separated by a chirurgeon. Could they be reattached? Yes, maybe, with great difficulty. But as time passes and scar tissue forms… Or if one dies…"

"Speak more."

"I am a Hellenist. I do not claim that nothing exists above and beyond the kings of the angelic hosts; I have borne witness to feats of theurgy that cannot have come from anywhere else. But I personally worship beings who are closer to mortality. The chief amongst them is Hephaestaean, God of Artifice and Technology. He has produced a mechanism into which a mortal soul can be entrapped, which allows them to walk once more upon the Earth. If that was what was needed, I would trade with you for such vessels and be on my way. But the souls of the dead are understood. You are not Caliph Haroun al Raschid's soul."

He inclines his head very slightly.

"I am not."

"You are a dream of all that was great about him. You are… This place is unique. And as such there are limits to how much I can apply what I have learned about other forms of magic to your situation."

"What if Caliph Haroun al Raschid could live again?"

"Heaven does not allow resurrections after so much time. I checked. And even if they did, it is as I said. The two of you are separate."

I sigh.

"And even if we could get a piece of his body and grow a new man from it, they would not be you and you would not be them. They could become President of Iraq and they would still not be you."

"Then how could the world ever know my faultless city?"

"You'd have to build it again from scratch."

His expression hardens slightly. "You mean to say, I and whoever became my partner."

"If you did as I suggest, the two of you would not precisely be separate people. Each of you would be changed, and when they died you would be…" I gesture to him. "This, once more."

"This other version of you. Did they speak with me?"

"I am sorry, your majesty, I did not think to ask them for the names of people who were joined. I believe that your cooks were quite popular. Few men can become king, but everyone benefits from being able to feed themselves well."

That provokes a smile.

"Your soldiers too are sought after."

"And the women of my harem?"

"Some… Do. Their abilities do… Ah, not lend themselves to heroics. It almost certainly guarantees a high-placed but fairly mercenary sort of marriage, but I'm afraid that we're reaching the limits of my knowledge."

"And the boys of my harem?"

"Certain social customs have changed since your era. Respectfully, I would advise against it. Similarly, slavery is not tolerated."

"Slavery is not prohibited by the Quran."

"No, but it was prohibited by the British Navy, a fact that brings me not inconsiderable pride in the nation of my birth. Your majesty, the fact that you need to question me on that subject emphasises that you would require the knowledge of the one you would bond with as much as they would require your sagacity."

He appears to consider that for a moment. I imagine that he'd struggle a little with the change in the relative power of the Islamic world from his era where they invaded southern Europe at will, to the state of affairs that exists today.

"And if I were to follow your advice, how would I start?"

"Stop collecting dream fragments, and start sending out people to speak to dreamers directly instead. Once they know enough to predict a person's dreaming habits, send someone who is like the person they would want to be, and… Directly ask them. Repeated often enough and even a slow-witted dreamer will eventually see the pattern." I shrug. "Or just explain to me what you want, and I can convey your message to the waking world."

"And what would you ask in return?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. Having you acting on the world again serves my interests in generally increasing the capabilities of living humans. I would rather ease your path than risk someone else doing something wrong. Spreading the word is far easier in my era than it was in yours."

"You believe that the cities and nations of your world surpass the glories of Baghdad?"

"Yes."

"How so?"

"See for yourself."

He shakes his head. "You have seen little of my city. Such a thing cannot be."

"That must be profoundly dispiriting for you."

"I made my agreement with the being you call Morpheus precisely because I know all too well that mortal kingdoms fall and I could not bear the idea that no other age might know the glory we know."

"Huh." He raises his eyebrows. "It just… I don't know what I'd do if I thought that I wouldn't be surpassed. I've always assumed that other members of my order would learn from my successes and failures and in the fullness of time grow beyond me. That though there might be setbacks, that learning and civilisation generally continue to advance. I do not believe that I would have made the choice that you did."

"You claim to not feel pride?"

"Pride? No. No, I feel pride in my achievements, but it's about what I've done, not what I am. In your place, I might have commissioned a journalist to write books about my nation and scribes to make many copies, but to sabotage the material so that this would exist… I don't believe that I would have done this."

"I will consider this matter. Though as a boon unasked, I will have my court wizard remove the mark from your demon's head."

"Don't strain him on my account, your majesty."

 

[Mr Zoat]

November 8th, 2012
Sometime Around Ten

A hero bound to a chair-.

I just about get my hands up before my face hits the wall in front of me, then rest my forehead against it as the vision recedes. I don't remember that ever happening to Wesley. Or maybe he just got better at covering for it, I don't know. I know it.. hurt him, I saw the red marks on his arms one time after his dreams showed him some guy getting his arms cut off by a meat slicer. But it happened when he was dreaming-.

I'm literally in dreams. Aw, heck.

No, no, that could be a good thing. Okay, if I turn around and lean against the wall so I won't fall over again, calm down and close my eyes-.

A hero bound to a chair, ropes with strange symbols on them wrapped around his arms and ending in strange gourds on the ground. Another rope is wrapped around his head, and when his eyes flicker the pupils are heavily dilated.

I jerk back into-. Back awake as my bottom hits the ground. Okay, someone's taken Green Lantern prisoner and they're doing something to him that doesn't look too good. But I don't know where he is, or-.

Wait, wait, wait. I'm in a dream. This place is the dream of a city from a thousand years ago! Okay, let's try… Try something.

I close my eyes and I see a hero bound to a chair, ropes with strange symbols on them wrapped around his arms and ending in strange gourds on the ground. Another rope is wrapped around his head, and I reach out and pull it off.

Oh, I… Don't know how that happened, but now I'm here and Alan…

I pull the glove off my right hand and feel for a pulse. Yes, good, he's still alive, and from the feel of it he's basically healthy. We're in a… In a small room; it makes me think 'dungeon', which isn't a good sign. These ropes look like they're magical, and I don't know if tearing them off is the best idea. I can't hear anyone outside, but the edges of the door are stuffed with sack cloth to stop sound getting out. So they shouldn't be able to hear me, either.

"Blue Lantern. Can you hear me?"

"Nnnnnn Rose…"

Rose. That was his wife's name, the one who went… Oh.

I see… Faces and laughter, flowing under his skin, draining down the ropes into-.

My left knee hits the closest gourd as I collapse, sending it rolling across the floor. They're draining something out of-! I draw my knife and slice into the rope wrapped around his right wrist, cutting through and causing the rope to fall to the ground. Wait, wait, no, that doesn't put whatever it was back into him. Ah, quick, grab the gourd, rope still in the hole where the stalk was, then-. Then put the rope that was around his head back on, tie the cut end of this rope to it and put the gourd in his lap.

I step around the chair, cutting through the rope on the opposite side and then tying the cut end to the rope circlet and putting the gourd on his lap.

This time I've spotted the pattern and sit on the floor.

I see faces and laughter, flowing into his head from the gourds, getting back under his-.

The door bangs open and I leap to my feet-

"Who are-! Lord-!"

-and see a rough-looking Arab with a scimitar on his belt. He looks scared for a moment, and he's reaching for his sword go!

Two steps and I'm across the room, his sword just coming free! My right forearm slams into his neck with the full force of my body behind it, slamming him through the doorway and into the wall of the corridor outside. My left fist comes in low, slamming up into his diaphragm in a nasty punch Mr. Grant taught me. He's kept hold of his sword but his right arm is pinned against his chest so he can't really use it.

"He's f-."

I shift my right arm so that my knife is pricking his neck.

"Drop the sword, or we find out if dreams can die."

His eyes drop as he tries to get air back into his lungs, and eyes widen as he spots where my hand is. There's a clatter as his sword hits the stone floor.

"Now, I'm going to step back and you're going to come with me. We're going into the cell, and once we're in I'm going to strap you to the chair. Make any trouble and, well it's been a while since I've had to knock someone out without hurting them too much. Nod if you agree."

The guy makes a very small and worried nod, careful not to test my knife.

"Okay. Step."

We edge backwards, and I make sure to keep eye contact. Woowee! Not too bad for my first fight this century! My heart's racing and I can feel the sweat on my hands under my gloves. Okay, we're inside.

"Move around to your left. Slowly."

He does, and once he's far enough away from the door I step smartly away from him. His eyes are still fixed on me. Okay, his scimitar is on the ground outside but I've got a few moments until anyone wonders where he's gone. Next step, shut the door so he can't shout for help when he gets his breath back.

Then put my knife back in its sheath and take out my gas gun.

"You know what a gun is, smart guy?"

He nods.

"Okay then. What is this place?"

"My master harvests dreams from people. There are… Rich buyers."

Why bother with opium dreams if you can get real ones?

"Is that legal?"

He stares at me for a moment, then slowly shrugs his shoulders. I raise the gas gun and point it at his head.

"Guess."

"Men can sell their dreams, and they can be claimed from debtors. And taken from slaves."

"But you can't just grab people off the street. Right." I take my left hand off the gas gun and take a pair of handcuffs out of one of my pockets. "Catch."

I toss it, and he catches it with both hands.

"Put one around one of your ankles, and then the other around one of your wrists."

He hesitates.

"I need you tied up. Do you want me to hit you over the head, or are you going to do it yourself?"

He crouches down, trying to keep his eyes on me as he puts one of the cuffs around his left ankle, then the other cuff around his left wrist.

"Good." I lower the gas gun. "Now, you're going to hear a lot of stuff in a little while, and I really think you should stay right here and wait for the police. Or guards, or whoever enforces the law around here."

A slightly nervous nod, and he shuffles back into the corner of the room.

I walk up to Green Lantern and shake his left shoulder. "Blue Lantern? Are you awake?"

 

[Mr Zoat]

Five More
Minutes, Ma

Something…

It's slipping away. I'm not sure what it was, but I don't… I think I miss it.

Like a… Like a weight is being lifted after being there for so long I couldn't remember what it not being there was like.

I think-.

"Blue Lantern. Can you hear me?"

Heh, I don't know what it was I forgot. Didn't Ted Knight make a joke about-.

"…going stag, Jay. I don't wanna make things awkward for you and Joan."

I don't… I don't think I want to-.

"…friend of Joan's. You'll be doing us both a favor, really."

I see my own… Smiling face in the mirror at the back of the bar. God, I look young.

"That bad, huh?"

I know where this goes. I-. I remember the first time I-.

"Hey Rose."

And then it's clear again, no bar, no… People I don't remember. Just me, whoever I am, floating in the-.

I use a windmill construct to blow the poisonous pollen away from all of the people, catching sight of Thorn fleeing down a corridor at the back of the room. I think about going after her, but I can't risk any of that stuff getting on the civilians.

I don't wanna-.

I see Rose in her wedding dress and I'm-. Struck dumb. I don't move until Jay elbows me in the ribs.

I-. No.

Three people are dead in the streets and-. And-. And-. How the hell didn't I notice-. "You! I don't know how you're controlling my wife, but I'll-.

"Blue Lantern? Are you awake?"

I open my eyes, and there's. Some sort of bag on my lap, and something around my head. And my ring's gone. Where-?

"Wesley? What..?"

"Thanks, but you've got the wrong Sandman. Are you alright?"

I reach up and take a hold of the magical rope around my head. And I close my eyes and-. I don't even know how I should feel. Rose was in my life for over sixty years and these ropes were practically making my brain dribble out of my ears…

Damn it.

"Sandy, right. Back with it. Do I-?" I look down at my lap again and-. Gourds, they're gourds, with ropes tied to the rope around my forehead running from the tops. "Can I take this off?"

Sandy… Kind of… Shimmers-. No, it's like he gets a little insubstantial for a moment.

"Ah… Let me."

He goes back to looking normal, then takes a hold of the rope around my head-.

Fightblastshinesmilecoldwooshpeopletallskyhurtfacefacefacerecognizebuildingtrainmovingclacking…

Sandy pulls the rope off my head, then picks up the gourds and throws them across the room.

"Son of a-!" I shake my head, trying to clear out getting ninety years of memories all stuffed into it all at once. "Give a fellah a little warning next time."

"Sorry, Blue Lantern. I'm kinda new at this."

"New at-" I try to stand, Sandy hovering on my left just in case I collapse. But I don't. I may not exactly be feeling 100% right now, but I'm not that feeble. "-what?"

"You know how Wesley had visions? Well, now I do too. And a few others things while we're in the Dream. That's how I found you." He glances towards-. The door. "What happened?"

"Merchant wanted to show me what his dream transfer equipment could do. It was supposed to show me the storm we need to get through. Looks like he wasn't on the up-and-up."

"Did you see a lot of this building?"

"No." I look around-. He already got one of the guards. "Just a couple of rooms. Didn't see this place."

Okay, no ring, but I've been in worse spots, and… Right now I kinda wanna hit someone with my own fists. Only question is, are we trying to get away, or trying to take that dirty rat into custody? Hm. We'll have to play it by ear. The idea of leaving my ring behind sticks in my craw, but I can always-.

I hold out my right hand and think back to when I'd forgotten all my problems.

I can't call it to me like Paul can with his ring, but now I know where we're going.

I march over to the door, pull it open and cautiously stick my head out. Nothing much in either direction, and-.

Is that a scimitar?

I step out into the corridor, then crouch down and pick it up. I'm not an expert swordsman or anything, but it's amazing what you can pick up a little of.

"A sword?" Sandy's got his gas gun out and is covering the right hand corridor. "Isn't that a little..? Dangerous?"

"Not as dangerous as trying to fight a swordsman bare handed."

"I mean…"

I flash him a smile, which probably comes across as a little drained.

"I know. I don't plan on cutting anyone down, but sometimes the wages of sin are paid in pain." I start down the corridor in the direction I feel my ring in. "But I can hold them off until you can send them to sleep."

"I don't know for sure my gun works on these people."

I stop, frowning. Ah. It's a bit of a Paul solution, but it makes a worrying amount of sense.

"In that case, why don't you nip back and dose that guard?"

"Because-!" He winces at the sound of his own voice, and I listen carefully for the sound of anyone responding. Nothing just yet. "He's a tied up prisoner."

"Your gun's loaded with dream dust." I shrug nonchalantly. "Completely safe knock out gas. All that's going to happen is that he goes to sleep. Either that, or nothing at all."

"I guess…"

He doesn't like it, and I get that it doesn't feel right. But we need to know, and I can't think of any reason why it would hurt the guy. Sandy takes a few steps back, pushing the door open and raises his gun.

"Sorry about this."

Dream dust shoots out of the barrel and… Whaw, that takes me back, the clouds of the stuff settling in the dungeon room.

Sandy lowers the gun, nodding.

"It works."

"Good. They're not going to know what hit them."

 

[Mr Zoat]

November 8th, 2012
Just After Ten

It looks like there's only one exit, steep steps running up to a single door. The entrance to the corridor is wider than the doorway, so it could be held by a single man while the escapees surging for the exit would hem each other in. The door looks tough, and there's no guard on this side. The guard we have didn't have any keys on him, which only makes sense. Which means there's gotta be a guy on the other side. They wouldn't have a pass code; a place this size they're all going to know each other. Just a knock and a verbal confirmation through the slot set into the door.

The slot's shut right now, so no one's watching through it. But we'll make a noise heading up the steps. The sort of place where they don't make them watch through the slot the whole time, they're not going to assume that we're out right away, but if he hears steps and then nothing for more than a few seconds he's going to get curious.

Door's got the same padding around the edge that the cell door had, which means-. I was wrong a moment ago. The fellah on the other side probably won't hear until we get to the door and knock on it. And the signal probably isn't verbal, because he wouldn't be able to hear it clearly. So we could walk up there and knock…

"Sandman, what do you need for that teleport thing of yours to work?"

"I don't exactly know, Blue Lantern. I tried seeing you and I saw that room, but I don't know who these guys are or what the other side of that door looks like."

"Okay, but if someone opened that slot in the door, would that be enough?"

"I don't think so. All I'd see would be their eyes. I could gas them?"

I nod. "Then I could keep the hatch open while they fall over, you'd get a good look, teleport to the other side and open it up. Sounds like a plan. Let's go."

I don't exactly creep up the stairs, but I try and avoid making too much noise because there's no such thing as total sound insulation. No reaction from the other side… Good. Okay, we're here. There isn't really room to take either side, but Sandy stands with his back to the left wall and I take the right.

I raise my eyebrows, and he nods. I bang on the door twice with the hilt of the sword, then raise it slightly so that I can stick the hilt into the g-.

It swings away from us, a pair of eyes appearing-.

Sandy fires, a stream of dream dust blasting the unsuspecting thug in the face. He lets go of the door flap right away, but I get the sword handle into position and jam it open. I hear the 'thud' as the man staggers against the side wall, then Sandy pushes his face up against the hole in the door.

"Okay, I'm going to try-"

He closes his eyes, then sort of… Stutters, flickering in and out-.

He's gone, and peering through the slot myself I see him on the other side.

"-to." He looks around. "Got it."

"See the keys?"

"No, it's just a bar." He checks on the fellah on the floor, cuffs him, then comes up to the door. "Hold on."

There's a scraping sound, then he pulls the door open. Huh. I remember Paul saying that doors should always open towards an attacker, but I guess they just didn't have a way of securing it that way.

I pull the sword free from the slot and Sandy goes over to the guard and takes his. "Where now?"

I think Wesley would be pleased with how Sandy turned out. Ah, there it is. I raise my sword to a guard position.

"This way."

Okay, Al-Wujud didn't expect to meet me, so there probably aren't all that many people on duty right now. We've taken down two guards, there's probably another in reception and I didn't see a bodyguard with him when we were talking. I'm assuming that he has my ring on him, but if he's just got it locked in a box then I guess I'll just have to accept justice deferred.

The corridor goes a short way, a narrow barred window letting in just enough light to see by. Then it doubles back on itself, another door-. This one's just a regular door, blocking it off the rest of the shop. Opening it takes us out into a storage room whose walls are lines with shelves bearing more of those dream gourds. I get a momentary urge to smash them, but some of these might be legally owned. And it would make a noise and I don't wanna waste time.

Sandy stops and stares at them. If he's made some kinda deal with Morpheus then he might have some sort of authority over them, but we shouldn't stop here now. I gesture towards the door on the far side of the room, and after a moment's hesitation he follows me.

The next door takes us to what I'd guess is a break room. There's a table and a couple of benches, and none of it looks high quality. One door there opens onto a balcony, but the other leads towards-

"…exalted guest! You have my assurance that my latest dream is unlike anything even the Caliph has ever experienced!"

-the sound of voices.

"I hope that you are correct. His Excellency has been pensive of late."

Sword in the guard position, Sandy and I advance towards the sound of voices.

The first room is some sort of equipment room, maybe a workshop and storage area. None of this gear means anything to me. Then a short corridor-. I remember this room. This is where I first came in. No guard on the door. Sandy nods his head towards the door, and I shake my head.

"What could possibly be troubling him so?"

Another corridor, but it's far lighter at the far end. Some sort of courtyard, and I think I can hear a fountain.

"I don't know. There are some strange visitors in the city at the moment-."

I stride out, sword ready.

"Yeah." Al-Wujud and some other rich-looking guy are sitting on couches facing each other, two bodyguards a piece. "There are."

Al-Wujud blinks. "How did-?"

And there's my ring on his finger.

"You abducted me, stole my ring and stole my dreams. Kneel on the ground and put your hands behind your head."

Al-Wujud sneers. "Djinn of the ring!" He raises his right hand and points my ring at me. "Smite these-"

One guy -the other rich man's bodyguard I guess- grabs him and hauls him out of the way.

"-pagans!"

Nothing happens.

Why does he think-? Middle East, right.

I hold out my left hand. "I ain't dead yet, son."

My ring vanishes from his hand and appears on mine. Al-Wujud's bodyguards get between him and me, but they don't look all that happy about things.

"Sandman, gas these-."

"Wait!"

The other rich guy pushes his bodyguard aside and takes a step towards me. Okay, see what he wants.

"Yeah?"

"I am Vizier Jafar, chief advisor to his Excellency the Caliph. You are alleging that Uns Al-Wujud has committed a crime against you?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Then by the authority vested in me, I will place them under arrest. Are you willing to come to the palace to give testimony?"

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th November 2012
18:32 GMT +3

"Blue Lantern?"

I frown as a group of guards escort Alan and Sanderson into the drawing room The Demon and I were politely escorted to following our audience.

"Hey, Orange Lantern. Having fun?"

"I think I might have headed off a potential problem. And I've found out that what we're attempting is suicide. You?"

"I got abducted and locked up in a dungeon while they sucked my dreams out."

…

"I trust that you've resolved matters to your satisfaction?"

"They dragged the people away in chains. Their boss is explaining himself to the Caliph now." Alan looks around the room. "No sign of Doctor Mist?"

"If any of us could navigate a magic city, I'd assume it would be him."

Sanderson perks up a little. "I can probably do that now."

"Now?"

"I made a deal with Morpheus."

There's a sharp intake of breath through my lips, and the lips of… The courtier who brought them in, who after a moment nervously walks towards him.

"Sir, did you say that you made a 'deal' with the Lord of Dreams?"

"Yeah, I guess that's kind of a big deal for you guys, huh?"

"Could this humble one ask what the terms of your deal were?"

"Sure. The Dream will give me prophetic visions in exchange for living through them. Oh, and I can get visions of other places in the Dream and teleport to them."

I blink. "Does that include the Tower of Fate?"

"I dunno. I don't know what the Tower looks like." He shrugs awkwardly. "I never visited. Salem wasn't exactly a day trip."

"Okay, but-." I glance over to where the courier is dashing out of the room with one hand on his turban. I suppose that if the Caliph wasn't informed of that fact before now it does warrant a bit of haste. "Ah, but what exactly are the limitations? Can you take people with you? Because I wasn't exaggerating earlier when I said that everyone I asked said it was suicide."

"I don't know. I haven't tried much with it yet."

"Okay, well, try teleporting back to the graveyard. That way we'll know whether you can go between regions of the Dream or not."

He looks to Alan to check whether that's a good idea or not. Alan considers for a moment, then nods slowly. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. If you can just teleport us inside the Tower-. Paul, you've got recordings of the inside of the Tower, don't you?"

"No, but I can generate three dimensional images from my memory. I'm… Not sure what it looks like from outside, though."

"Why would we want to get outside?"

"I'm not sure if the interior exists from the Dream."

"Would Mist know?"

"I don't know. He'd probably have to look at it. Constantine?"

He leans back, folding his arms across his chest. "Oh, remembered I exist? How about getting this seal removed?"

"How about getting the Caliph to tell us how to activate it?"

"That's cruel and unusual punishment. What happened to being recognised as a person?"

"We're not in America and I'm not an American. And you're an escaped supervillain. You're still at large on the condition that you actually help us resolve this situation. In case I wasn't clear before: we're not friends or colleagues."

"Hey." I turn to Sanderson, who's still here for some reason. "The Constitution doesn't ban 'Cruel and Unusual Punishment' because the Founding Fathers just felt like it. It's banned because it's so immoral that no one should ever do it, whether they're American or not."

"I'll be sure to remind Zauriel of that next time I find myself in Hell."

"I don't know who that is, but someone else doing it doesn't make it right for you to do it."

The Demon raises his eyebrows, clearly pleased at the situation. Alan looks a little awkward, but I know he agrees with Sanderson.

"Do you feel that it's cruel and unusual to handcuff normal prisoners?"

"No, of course not."

"Demons are able to either tear through or magically subvert normal cuffs. The only things we have to restrain them are magic artefacts or spells. Not all of them work in the way we'd ideally like or as reliably as we'd like, but so far courts have found that having a restraint that actually works is more important that having a restraint that makes the prisoner comfortable. It's like how Belle Reve collars have the capacity to electrocute their prisoners. Unusual, yes, but not 'cruel' because it's actually required. The Demon Constantine has already escaped Belle Reve. As such, a spell that cripples him when activated is legally proportionate and necessary."

Sanderson shifts uncomfortably. "O-kay, I guess. But could you sound a little less enthusiastic about it?"

I nod. "If it makes you feel better. Are you going to try teleporting now?"

"Yes." He takes a moment to calm himself, then-.

That's… Instant Transmission. He even did the little shimmer thing that Goku does before he vanishes.

Damn it. I'm going to have to find a new joke.

There's another shimmer as he reappears.

"It worked. They're sitting around camp fires and telling stories."

"Oh yeah?" Alan raises his eyebrows. "What are they saying?"

"Rrrruh. Aaaagh. Things like that." He takes in our confusion. "I can tell that they make sense to each other. I've just got no idea what they're saying."

"Honoured guests!" The courtier from earlier runs back in, looking a little dishevelled. "Honoured guests." He comes to a halt. "His Excellency believes that he can resolve your issues here to your satisfaction, and can ease your path to the great storm."

"He believes that he can get us out of the way before anything else goes wrong."

"… It is impolite to argue with guests."

"Then we would be delighted to hear what he has to say."

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th November 2012
18:36 GMT +3

"Hand and a foot, right?"

"Heh." The Demon Constantine smiles at me, genuinely amused. I don't think that Alan gets the reference and Sanderson almost certainly doesn't.

The quiet whimper from Uns Al-Wujud strongly suggests that he does.

The Caliph takes my interjection in his stride. "The precise punishment for such an act is not precisely described in the Quran. In cases like this, where the guilt is so clear, I prefer to allow the involved parties to settle matters between themselves."

Alan frowns. "What do you mean by that?"

"Shari'ah law, Blue Lantern. Every case is a civil case brought by the injured party. Since you're the injured party, you can pretty much state what compensation you want."

He frowns deeper. "Anything?"

"It's a civil suit. There's a penalty under Quranic law, but that's only if it gets as far as a judge. And technically, it hasn't yet."

"And if it does, that's a hand and a foot."

"Mohammed -peace be upon him- probably didn't bother specifying a penalty for 'literally stealing a man's dreams' because it wouldn't have occurred to him that that was a thing that could happen, but a hand and a foot is the penalty for highway robbery."

"What normally happens?"

"If the offended party isn't feeling unusually vengeful, or if they think that the judge is dishonest and they won't get the default penalty, they will ask for an amount of money. Back on Earth, Muslim nations are generally moving away from that system because it effectively allows someone rich to buy their way out of trouble… Even more easily than what happens in the West."

"I'm not all that keen on maiming a guy."

"Now, you see, you shouldn't have said that. A man trying to get by in polite society who is obviously bearing an injury that would most likely have come from being found guilty of robbery is going to have a very difficult time keeping his business going. It's a sign to everyone looking at him that he's fundamentally untrustworthy."

"And he'll be down a hand and a foot."

"In the prophet's day, long term imprisonment wasn't really practical."

Alan looks over to where Uns Al-Wujud is looking fairly pathetic. "Did he do it to anyone else?"

The Caliph raises his right hand. "Be assured that if he did, they will be found and offered the same choice that you have. Be further assured that accepting the punishment described in the Quran is no sin."

"The Bible has it a little different."

The Caliph shrugs. "You may turn the other cheek if you want."

"Blue Lantern, can I make a suggestion?" Alan nods. "We've got a difficult journey ahead of us. How about 'he hands over anything that we'd find useful, and you get to punch him once'."

"Is-" Alan turns to the Caliph. "-that something I can ask for?"

"You can ask for the moon and stars. Whether or not Uns Al-Wujud will give them to you depends on how highly he values his hands and feet."

"I agree! I agree!"

Alan looks a little uncomfortable. "I'm not sure that this is really 'justice'."

"Oh?" The Caliph looks mildly curious. "What would you have me do instead?"

"I… Just think that the punishment should try to ensure that the criminal doesn't do it again."

"You think I should take his head?"

"No! I meant, having him.. work on his behavior, until he understands that what he's done is wrong."

"I imagine that cutting off his hand and foot would be a constant reminder about the limits of proper behaviour."

"That's not what I meant. Don't you have some sort of custodial system?"

"We have slave labourers. Do you want him enslaved?"

"No! God no."

"Blue Lantern, they've never encountered anything like our prison system. Your Excellency, I believe what my colleague is looking for would be something like… Working as a slave for a few months while an Imam preaches proper moral comportment to him, in the hope that some of it sticks when his labour term is over."

The Caliph makes a dismissive gesture with his right hand. "I don't have any use for a fat merchant as a slave. Do you want him to serve you in such a fashion?"

Alan shakes his head. "No, I suppose that I don't. Alright. One punch, and whatever we need to get past the storm." He turns to glower at Al-Wujud. "And it better be something good."

"Yes, oh beneficent one!"

"I mean… I don't know what we actually need, but whatever it is, that."

"Y-es. Oh Caliph, I don't suppose that any of your people have encountered the fifth member of our group, have they? Doctor Mist?"

"Yes?"

Dr. Balewa strolls into the audience chamber, a gourd under his right arm. The fat black man standing next to the Caliph stares at him for a moment and then quails.

Alan regards Dr. Balewa curiously. "Where have you been, Doctor?"

"When the Demon distorted the dream to separate us-"

"He what?"

"-I-. Yes, of course he did. He is a demon and a Constantine. I am surprised thet he lasted as long as he did."

The Demons shifts uncomfortably. "All part of the plan, right?"

"Yes. I thought thet I could promise you your freedom in exchange for your cooperation, because you would inevitably fail to live up to your end of the bargain. And you did. And now I do not hev to free you."

"But you still need me to get into the Tower."

"But you hev the Seal of Solomon branded into your head. All you can bargain for is forbearance."

"Ffffuck."

Dr. Balewa comes to the fore of our party, smiling at the Caliph. "I believe thet we can get through the storm. If Blue Lantern's agreement with Mister Al-Wujud is concluded, we will need the ropes with which he transfers dreams."

Mr. Al-Wujud nods enthusiastically. I guess rope's cheap. "Yes, oh mighty-."

"And all of his stored dreams."

"Ahhhhhhh…"

The Caliph raises his right eyebrow. "You believe that passage is possible?"

"Certainly. Would you like to watch?"

 

[Mr Zoat]

8th November 2012
18:58 GMT +3

The Demon Constantine struggles against the magic ropes binding him as we approach the storm on Roc-back.

"Bit excessive, innit?"

"No." / "I don't think so." / "No." / "No."

I hold out my fig jar to him. He looks at it, then up at my face, then tries moving his right arm, which is bound to his chest by magic ropes.

I grin, then pull the jar away and take a fig for-. Oh, they left the wasp in it!

Two claps from the royal palanquin, and we turn to give our attention to the Caliph.

"I am certain that this event will be memorable, whatever occurs. Still, I would be interested to hear how you plan to cross the storm before you are utterly unmade by its wrath."

"It is true. The spell thet I hev been using to get us this far will soon end. I am-."

"What spell?"

Because I don't remember seeing him cast anything, and even if he did some combination of my spell eater and tattoos should have dealt with it by now. Or at least provided some sort of warning.

"Orange Lantern, I am disappointed. Where are we?"

"The Dream, which… Has certain totemic forms which exist beyond the minds of individual dreamers, but I don't see how that's… The city."

He smiles. "Ah, you were paying attention. Good."

"The city has more tightly defined rules than the Dream in general. Which means that it can be manipulated into pushing us into advantageous positions."

"A Caliph, receiving honest but unwelcome advice from a mad prophet."

"I'm not a prophet. I never got higher in the Silver City than the Angel Kings. And they didn't give me any sort-."

"You've-!" The Caliph's eyes are wide, but he masters himself immediately. "Do you mean to say that you have visited the City of Heaven?"

"Sort of. Allah wasn't there in any special way. As I understand it, the gardens around the city are where the souls of the righteous monotheistic dead go to begin the process of shedding their egos so that they can join with God." I shrug. "It's not really my thing. They had to murder and abduct me to get me there, and I left as soon as I could."

The Caliph smiles. "That must be a story! In the unlikely event that your soul is not torn asunder, I bid you return to my city as my guest and share it."

I shrug. "Alright. Time allowing. Is it alright if I bring a guest?"

"By all means."

Excellent! It'll be nice to have a non-working date lined up next time Jade is available.

"Though I'm not sure how that helps us get through the storm."

Dr. Balewa reaches over and takes my fig jar, removing a single fig before passing it to Alan. "Each of us must eat one."

"A conceptual link by a single fruit?" I frown. "Seems a bit weak."

"Heroes sharing food before setting out on the final part of their quest." Alan takes a fig before passing the jar to Sanderson. "The difficulty is thet from the point of view of the city, our part in its story is complete. The magic may well be satisfied with us dying, so long as we do so out of sight."

"Hence you nudging me to bring up the Heaven thing. Alright, but that still doesn't get us through the storm."

Sanderson looks at the bowl, then takes a fig. "I think I've got an idea. Storms are made up of irrationality, aren't they? So there used to be more to every bit of the storm than is there now. And since we've got all these dream gourds with us, we might be able to attach these dreams to what's there."

"Good." Dr. Balewa nods. "Good. Of course, thet will not work, but it is a logical suggestion."

"Well, gosh darn it."

"The chance thet we would gather every dream whose irrationality became part of a primordial storm is astronomically low. No, we will be taking advantage of The Demon Constantine's command of chaos magic."

"I'm not that good-."

Alan ignores him, nodding slowly. "Is that why he's got the ropes?"

"Indeed. We will be pouring every one of these dreams into him."

"What?"

"All of them?"

Dr. Balewa nods. "Yes."

"What?"

"His aim will be to create a chaotic mess of mental imagery such as will allow him to connect to whatever of the storm's winds thet blow against us. If he is successful, and we are in constant motion, thet should be enough to create a short lived path through the storm."

The Demon's eyes are wide with astonishment. "Maybe, you crazy fucker, but I still won't know where I'm going! I'll be blind and deaf and high as a fucking kite on all that dream essence!"

"Thet is where Sandman comes in. He will need to use his Dream-granted foresight to bring us to the tower along the path thet The Demon will make."

"And that will work?"

"Thet can work. I will be using my owen abilities to help things along, but we are covering entirely new ground. I will hev to write a report for the Conservatory of Sorcery."

Alan looks unsettled. "If we survive."

"As you say."

Sanderson moves his mask enough to eat a fig. He then does so with a definite lack of enthusiasm. "What'll it be like?"

"The pathway will be both a pathway and a series of linked ideas and dreams. To move between them will require both constant movement and a constant change of thoughts as we comply with the tone of each Dream. There is nothing quite like it which can be experienced." He smiles. "I am looking forward to it."

"Because you're so old that new experiences are rare?"

"Ah, no. Since I hev joined the Justice League, I hev had a new experience at least once a week. Whatever reservations I hev about the organisation, thet, I do not regret. No, this is really more the first time I hev truly stretched myself with new magic in longer than I can recount."

He stands as the wall of the outskirts of the storm approaches.

"And now, the gourds."