Young Justice: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 14: A Long Look Back

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I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps. Please read and review!

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A Long Look Back

Roy Harper was sweeping up in the kitchen. He'd just taken the garbage out, and put away the food canisters, carefully labelling the zip-lock bags with the date and time. One thing his "boss" had stressed (quite strenuously, Roy thought) was that, under no circumstances would a surprise inspection by the Board of Health find any reason to issue any citations. He, the boss, would take it out of Roy's hide if they did.

You just try, thought Roy, even as he knew he couldn't display his full fighting skills here, for so little reason. But he could fantasize.

He left the dining hall, being careful to turn the lights out behind him, and locking the door, as always. Even though he'd only been here three weeks, he'd already been trusted with the keys to the pantry. That was actually a singular honor: the last person to be so trusted had ended up sneaking in and raiding the fridge in the middle of the night. Such behavior was not tolerated.

So he locked the dining hall behind him, and turned to go down the hallway towards the quarters he'd been assigned to sleep in. He'd already made note of Ragnar and Rose's dining habits; it wouldn't be difficult to leave them a coded message that he was on the premises, and establish some means of covert communication.

He had not the slightest inkling he was being watched, not until the blow from behind rendered him unconscious.

….

Oa: {{Are we then certain, my brothers and sisters?}}

{{As certain as we can be, Brother Ganthet

…

Forty million miles away: M'gann M'orzz was preparing for her rest period, that corresponded to the human sleep cycle. As before, she wished she had some mementos of her life on Earth, to give the room she'd been allotted some personality. In particular, she wished she had some memento of a certain Gold Lantern.

But of course that could not be. Not only would such items distract her from the concentration she was supposed to be learning to exert here, but nobody knew if, say, Ragnar's picture would have the same effect on her as his physical presence. If so, then it would certainly disturb her concentration.

For about the millionth time (it seemed), she admired the ring on her finger. Fitting, in a way: Ragnar Rok was a ring-wielder, even if no-one really knew what his particular color actually meant. It didn't matter. He used a power ring. And he'd gifted her with a ring of her own, to remember him by.

From what Arisia had said, he was currently on some sort of undercover assignment for the Team, and so was out of communication. But, she said, as soon as they both could, he intended to "upgrade" that promise ring to another type of ring altogether. The thought made her sort of dizzy.

Although M'gann was a full fifty-three Earth years old, Martians do not mature at the same rate as humans do. This was further complicated by the fact of her exile, a choosing of her parents to prevent her from the repercussions of the war between the white Martians and the Green ones. The result of these two influences was that a great deal of her socialization was brought about by her limited contact with either the Team members, or her friends at school, or, and what proved to be worse, her fixation on the old Earth sitcom Hello, Megan! She'd become fascinated with the program, and devastated when it was cancelled, unconsciously basing a great deal of her character on the lead actress, Marie Logan. It wasn't until coming to Earth and actually interacting with Earth humans that she began to learn that there were some basic differences between television and real life.

Her time with the Team had caused her to mature a great deal, it was true. She'd suffered a great deal of pain—only part of it physical—and had learned to handle herself better in social situations, though she did still make some mistakes, some of them spectacular.

Such as the time when she'd, as a joke, thrown a pie into Rose Wilson's face. She'd thought it would be funny, but to Rose, it was anything but. The sheer venom of Rose's thoughts had almost driven her to forgo human company altogether, and just live the life of a hermit. But she was too young and resilient to be depressed by that for long, and had returned with the others to the world of humans during a time of crisis, when she'd been needed.

Now she wasn't sure what life held for her. True, if she could get rid of the implanted meme in her head, then…she could fully return Ragnar's affections, and, oh, how she longed to. But she was coming to wonder if it would ever happen.

More and more she thought about that means of "reality selection" the ancient mathematician-priest Klarkash-Ton had discovered. It was no wonder why no one had ever used it, save that one time, and that had nearly ended in disaster on a cosmic basis. Could it be that it might pose the only hope for them to be together?

No, surely not. There had to be less drastic measures.

She got changed, really more a matter of psionically rearranging her clothes along with her harness, and prepared for bed. It had been a long, hard day. Even the Martian Elders, the Mystics themselves, had been impressed by her progress.

But Bertron's science was still formidable. So far, it had proven itself a match for even the mystic might of the Martian Elders.

She lay back, closing off her mind from the Martian community mind, preparing for her sleep time. She had taken, at this time, to reliving the good old days, before Bertron and the horror he'd inflicted on her, when she and Ragnar were…together. And she wondered: had they done all they could have done? She found herself wishing they'd had more experiences, simply done more things for her to remember, now in this, this desert of her life.

Suddenly, completely unbidden, there came into her mind an image of Ragnar Rok, her love, in bed with none other than Rose Wilson herself, and the two of them locked in an extremely intimate and unmistakable embrace. So sudden and shocking was this mental image, that M'gann sat up suddenly, as though jolted by some unseen electrical device. How…? Where…? What…? Where had that come from?

Of course. She was, albeit subconsciously, reliving her past memories, and painful memories tend to resurface when one least wants them to. Her naïve jest, with the pie, had come back to haunt her, and at the same time as she was trying to remember all the good times she'd had with Ragnar. Naturally, the two should intermingle, becoming something far worse than even the scorching memory of Ravager's words (and thoughts). Naturally. It was just a stray thought, and she should put it out of her head, utilizing some of the same techniques the Mystics had taught her. It was just a bad thought, not even a memory. She knew how to excise such.

So why did it take so long, and so much effort, to get rid of it?

…..

Out around the orbit of Saturn: Thaal Sinestro waited, with his entourage, monitoring the presence of the space rock Smith had said would impact the earth. Indeed, it was on a collision course with the planet, but the two wouldn't collide for over a decade. That was too long for Smith's plans.

So the yellow lanterns had altered the asteroid's vector and velocity ever so slightly, all the while concealing it from Earthly sensors. As it stood, the space rock should impact the planet within the week.

Arkillo had just returned from a mission Sinestro had sent him on. "It is as you surmised, Master. Throughout all our contacts, those worlds with whom we have dealings, there are reports of dream disturbances, of those sensitive to metaphysical matters sensing something…amiss. Yet none are able to specify as to just what it is, even under torture. Only a nameless dread. Of what, none can say."

Sinestro rubbed his chin. "There is yet something else. Something you hesitate to mention."

"Only because I do not see how it could possibly relate, Master."

"Let me decide that."

"Very well. You know we have agents in deep space." Sinestro nodded; the accords with the Guardians forbade piracy by the yellow lanterns, but said nothing about what the yellow lanterns could do with pirates. Pirates were often good sources of fear, and they frequently had cargoes of sufficient value that it made confiscation worthwhile. "It seems certain of our agents have reported temperature increases in deep space, far from any source of heat."

Sinestro thought about that one. It was completely and totally unexpected, but he did not let Arkillo know that he knew nothing about such a thing. "I see. And our agents' explanation for this?"

"Ah…none, Master. They have searched for any source of radiation, gamma ray bursts, pulsars, rogue black holes, quantum fluxuation, gravitational anomalies that might cause hydrogen fusion. There is nothing. Only random patches of empty space are…becoming hotter. There appears to be no explanation for this."

"And your own speculations upon this matter?" Lyssa Drak had drifted closer, upon hearing their conversation.

"None, Master. I myself have searched for any and all possible explanations. The only possible explanation I can even speculate upon is…we may be dealing with something outside the boundaries of science."

Lyssa Drak spoke up for the first time since the conversation began. "He…may have a point, my Lord. I, too, have sensed…something."

"I trust you can be a bit more precise than that."

"At this point, My Lord, no. I cannot be."

…

Roy Harper gradually came to in a dimly lit room. He was securely tied, both wrists bound behind him, and his ankles and knees tied together. Whoever had tied him thus knew what they were doing.

"You're awake. Good. We can begin." Roy looked up, expecting to see one of the shelter thugs, but instead saw a dark-skinned man, dread-locked hair tied back behind his head, wearing what appeared to be a tan trench coat. "Who're you?" he asked, still a bit groggy from the blow. But even through the lifting haze over his thoughts, the realization came to him: dangerous.

"I'm the one who'll be asking you the questions. That's all you need to know for now. Now. I would know who you are working for. I know who you aren't working for, but that isn't what I need to know."

"What makes you think I'll tell you?"

"Oh, you'll tell me." The dark man held up his right hand, and Roy Harper saw the one thing in all the world that could bring a cold sweat to his brow. For extending up beyond the man's finger were microfine cilia, moving on their own in the still air of the room. "One way or another, you'll tell me."

…..

The new room was certainly spacious, and Rose wasted no time in getting them moved in. Ragnar, with typical male indifference, just threw down his bags over by the wall next to the flatscreen. They had two terminals, each of them in a corner of the room next to the foot of the bed, which proved to be nice and comfortable. A big step up from the twin beds they'd been assigned to previously.

"Aren't you going to put anything up?" she asked him.

He looked at the bags on the floor. "Put anything up? What do you mean?"

"I mean, idiot, like hanging your clothes up, putting your underwear in the drawer…you know, little things like that."

"Oh. Okay." And he began to hang his clothes up, throwing his underwear and socks into the handiest drawer he could find….

"No, no, no. You need to organize better. Here." And she started to show him how to separate his socks from his underwear, separating the shirts from the pants, all the while he clearly chafed. Was this really necessary? "Yes, it is," she said, answering his unspoken question. He started, looking at her with newfound respect. "I didn't know you were a telepath."

"I'm not. I'm a woman. Same thing, sometimes."

He shrugged. "Well, anyway, I'm due for another training session. I'll be back when I get back, I guess."

"Before you go…" he paused. "I'm curious. What has Brother Smith said would happen to me if you don't perform well?"

He shifted uncomfortably, looking away and down at the floor. "He's never actually said. He has implied, rather heavily, at times, that something…very unpleasant might befall you if I do not meet his expectations."

So she was essentially being held hostage, to Ragnar's good behavior. "Sometime, you might need to throw the match, to see what would happen. We might need to know."

He wouldn't meet her eyes. "I cannot do that."

She got up and crossed over to him, and, taking his head in her hands, forced him to look her in the eyes. "Look. That's all very noble of you an' all, but this is, essentially, a kind of war. We need to know what his capabilities are. So stop trying to protect me, okay? I'm not some shrinking violet. You'd be surprised at the things that've happened to me…and I'm still alive and kicking." He still wouldn't meet her gaze. "Oh, go on before you're late. But we will have to have this out, later."

While he was out, she went over the room. As expected, there were the usual voice pickups, this time one in the bathroom, and two underneath the bed itself. The bed we're supposed to share, she thought to herself, with a mental tsk. That was one development she'd not anticipated. Neither had 'Wing.

As she was going over the room's internal surveillance systems, she came across something that raised the hackles on the back of her neck. These weren't the usual low-res cheap video cams she'd found in the previous room. Oh, no. These were high-res thermal imaging cameras.

Oh, shit.

Thermal imaging cameras, especially high-resolution ones, were quite capable of seeing right through the sheets and bedcovers they'd been using to shield their nocturnal activities, see right through them and see exactly which body part went where, and what it did there. There'd be no faking it with these cameras.

Which meant the mission itself had just been given an expiration date.

She'd have to tell him about this. Fortunately, the audio pickups didn't seem to be any more sensitive than the previous ones.

That evening, when he came in, sweaty but not exhausted (she guessed he had his Doomday-ish genetic heritage to thank for that; a straight human would probably have been pounded down. But ever since the incident with the bear, he'd gotten stronger, so it seemed, with each passing day. One good thing about their supposedly intimate relationship: she could freely search his body for signs of transfiguration. Nightwing had mentioned that indications of such changes were almost of as much importance as the mission itself. Maybe more so. So far, however, she hadn't found any), and headed straight for the shower. After a moment, she screwed up her courage and followed him. How best to put this?

"Collin?" She insisted on using their "cover" names, not because she felt those in charge were under any serious illusions as to the fact that such names were bogus, as it was so as to not to use their real names. The enemy might know they weren't who they said they were, but they didn't know who they were. Keeping that bit of information secret could prove valuable. "I, uh, have some bad news."

A sigh from inside the shower stall. "There seems to be no other kind, these days."

"Yeah. Well, uhm, it's this. Well. The good news is the audio pickups in here aren't any better than they were in the old room."

"And the bad news?"

"The video pickups are. They're thermal-imaging sensors. High-res thermals, too."

Pause. "Meaning?"

"Meaning…" She drew a deep breath, "our, uh, little play-acting won't work anymore."

Silence from within the shower. Then, "So what do we do?"

She studied her hands, sitting on the toilet. "There's only two choices. Either…either we stop play-acting, or we have to abort the mission."

"Stop play-acting?"

"Yeah. I mean…dammit, this is hard for me to say…we…really do it. You know. Really have sex. And," she said, before he could say anything, "I know how you feel about that. But it's either that, or….we just call off the whole mission, abort it and get out of here. Frankly, that's probably best anyway. I'm not finding anything out, anyway."

Still more silence from within the shower. "Of course, you do understand, don't you, that, that if we did do it, have sex, I mean, it wouldn't mean anything, right? It would just be an act, just like what we've been doing, only a little more involved…but it wouldn't mean anything. To either of us.

"And, and, there is a possible third alternative: you could climax between my legs. Not up in me, just…you know. If it came up, we could just say we were practicing some form of birth control. You know, brother, sister, don't want any preg-*"

"No."

She blew out a sigh. "That's what I thought you'd say. But, really, it's okay. I'm not getting anywhere anyway. I can't even find where the paper files are supposed to be, so I can't just burgle those. So, tomorrow night, between midnight and two, shift change, we'll both sneak out of here. I'll explain the whole fiasco to Nightwing, an' take the hit."

He stopped washing off momentarily at her words. "What do you mean, 'take the hit'?"

"Well, I mean, there will be repercussions. Nothing major. Just…well, it's complicated. It probably won't have any effect on my standing in the covert ops community—well, okay, it will, but that can't be helped, and, except for those operations that go really high-level, there shouldn't be any-*"

"What do you mean by 'take the hit'?" he pressed.

"Look. I'm responsible for this mission. That's why Nightwing put me in charge of it in the first place. And I've found out a whole lot of nothing. So that's gonna reflect poorly on me. Why? Did you think it wouldn't? Why did you think I've been after you so hard? Just because I felt like it?"

"You never told me my actions would have consequences for you."

"For a guy who's good with puzzles, you're a little slow on the uptake. What part of 'it's my responsibility' didn't you understand?" He didn't say anything. "It won't be…much." It hurt her to say it; Rose took these assignments very seriously, no matter how small or inconsequential they might be. Given her training under Deathstroke, she'd never had any other choice. "My rep may take a small hit, there may be some loss of face…you know, the usual stu-*"

"Loss of face?"

"Far eastern term." She didn't bother to explain further, being too caught up in the escape plans. She did have one last trick up her sleeve that might yield some results…

"Kim?"

"Huh? Yes?" She was irritated that he'd interrupt her now, as she was preparing their escape and evasion plan.

"How…how, uhm, how exactly would we go about doing…that?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, moron. Now shuddup and listen…"

"Not that. The…other."

"What other? What are you talk—*" And then it hit her what he meant. "Uh…you mean…intercourse? For real?"

"Yes." The word was obviously pulled unwillingly out of him.

"Uh, Collin?" Even if they were "made," keeping their true names under wraps could serve to give them an advantage. Nobody could prepare for Ravager and Ragnar unless they knew to prepare for Ravager and Ragnar, "what, er, what made you all of a sudden rethink your position on that?"

"You will not lose any more of your face than you already have, not if I have anything to say about it!"

For a brief moment, Rose was silent, shocked. Then she started laughing. He stopped bathing—he'd long ago accomplished all the cleaning he needed to do, and was still in the shower only because they were talking and needed the cover—and sat on the tiny ledge on the opposite side of the shower stall. It wasn't nearly big enough for a seat, and he had to keep pushing himself into the wall with his legs. Now what was she laughing about? How much longer was he going to be trapped in this insane circus with a, a, person like this?

"'Loss of face,' stupid, doesn't mean I'd lose part of my actual face. It just means my reputation wouldn't be as good as I'd like it to be. It happens sometimes. What? Were you really thinking somebody was gonna cut part of my face off?"

"I…I didn't know." He stared down at his feet. There were tiny bumps, just behind his toes. Fascinated, he watched them….

"What're you doing in there so long? Like I have to ask." Another inexplicable remark from this hateful creature he was stuck with. If she didn't have to ask, why was she asking? Sometimes it seemed like they were speaking two different languages.

"Nothing. I…there are some bumps on my toes…"

Instantly, she swept the shower curtain aside. "Ro-, I mean KIM! What're you do-*"

"Shuddup and lemme see your feet." She ignored the rest of him, even as he used his hands to cover his most intimate portion of his anatomy from her sight. She picked up first one foot, then the other, realizing he was holding himself in place with his legs. "Hm. Nothing there now." And it was true. The bumps—if they'd ever been there—had receded back into his feet.

She climbed into the shower stall with him, fully clothed, and sat on the edge of the stall, the water splashing on her a little. It wasn't a comfortable seat, but comfort was the furthest thing from her mind right then. She ran her hands up and down his chest, paying special attention to the area between his pectoral muscles. "Hm. I don't feel any indication of any developing ridge or anything." She probed over his heart. "That plate you developed in still there, though, right where the Joker stabbed you. That sure wouldn't work again. Besides, you don't X-ray anymore-*" Which was true. X-Rays of Ragnar Rok came back whited out, just a silhouette, with no useable information whatsoever—"so I'm guessing even the sharpest knife blade would probably snap on your skin anyway." The consensus of the group was that their own Ragnar Rok was in the process of becoming a kind of junior version of Doomsday. But how far would the process go? "Haven't been having any mood swings lately, have you?" She was still seated on the knife-edged shower stall enclosure, an expression of concern on her face.

"No more than I understand are usual. Uh, Kim? Are you going to sit there much longer?" He was still covering up.

"No, I guess this is pretty much it." She stood up, her clothes partially wet from the shower water splashing off him and onto her. "Look, don't be embarrassed by this. You're not the first guy I've examined. There's nothing unusual about it, at least not so far…unless there is? Remove your hands and let me see."

"No!"

"Oh, come on. I'm not asking for impure reasons here. But you are an alien. Er, do you differ from human males in…that area?"

"I, I…"

"You've never seen any human males down there, yeah, that's what I thought. Well, look," she climbed out of the shower stall, "I mean, when you first came here, somebody examined you, didn't they? They didn't remark on anything uhm, unusual, did they?"

"No…"

"And you haven't changed, have you? Well, okay. That's really all I needed to know." She turned away, allowing him to sweep the shower curtain back into place. "This kind of examination, Collin, isn't done just because. You know the reason why we…need to know these things.

"Frankly, this thing about mood swings concerns me more than any physiological changes. You say you've had none? No feelings of intense rage?"

He'd pulled on his shorts and climbed out of the shower stall, joining her in the comparatively spacious room they'd been assigned to.

"No more so than usual," he said, giving her a look. But it seems like every time you open your mouth, I just want to-*

She rubbed her face tiredly, completely missing his unspoken rejoinder. At least tonight wasn't a "reward" night, and they could both get some rest. "Well, okay. But if you do, you be sure to let us know, okay? Let somebody know." Abruptly, she came into his arms, playing the role of the loving, incestuous sister. "I know you can hardly stand me, but just trust me on this, okay? I'm on your side. I know what it's like to not always be in total control of yourself. If you find yourself…transforming…either physically or, and this is the important part: emotionally, you need to let someone know. If not me, somebody else." She looked up at him, her expression dead serious. "I mean, really. If you do transform, and, and lose control, you could hurt somebody. Maybe M'gann. I know you wouldn't want that."

He sighed. She was right, as usual. That didn't make him like her any more. "Alright. I'll…be more observant, in the future. Now. What were your plans for our escape?"

…..

Roy Harper was covered in cold sweat. He knew exactly what those cilia were for.

If he didn't talk, his captor would insert those cilia directly into his brain, his central nervous system, and simply read his mind, in a manner of speaking. How much of his mind would be left after this procedure was dependent upon the technique employed. Worst case scenario: not much. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know who you're working for. You aren't here in the service of my enemy; so whose service are you in?"

"That's classified information."

The dark-skinned man approached him. "Then I'll just de-classify it." Again he raised the cilia-sprouting hand…

"But one thing I can tell you. Each of us have been equipped with a kind of self-destruct mechanism. Try anything like a direct read of my brain, like you seem to be threatening, and that mechanism will kick in, effectively wiping my brain."

The dark man stopped. "You're bluffing."

"Try me."

The dark man stopped and sat down on a box near Roy. "Alright. Let's assume, for the moment, that I believe you. You won't tell me who you work for. Do you know who you're working against?"

"You already know enough to know I'm no fan of Brother Smith. I'm certainly not here for the food."

"Do you know what he is?"

"What he is? Beyond the guy who runs this place?"

"Yes. What. It occurs to me, that my revealing information may be nearly as effective, from the standpoint of my gathering information, as it would be to direct-read your mind.

"I don't think you have any clue as to what he truly is."

….

Upstairs, in his office: The man others called Brother Smith sat back in his chair and smiled. It had been a fruitful day.

The man, or perhaps it might be more accurately said, the being that called itself "Brother Smith" had, in fact, been around quite a bit longer than humanity itself, at least, in its current form.

When consciousness first arose on Earth, it did not arise solely among those blessed with physical bodies. A collection of psionic forces had also come into being, which found itself to be thinking and self-aware. A force that fed off the life-forces of other beings. Particularly the most highly intelligent.

For eons, it drifted across the face of the globe, drawing a bit of nourishment here, siphoning off some there, and noticing that it seemed to get the most satisfying nourishment from those beings most self-aware, like itself, and those who seemed the most adaptable. At first this didn't really register with the being.

But at some point, it came to its mind that, the more intelligent the life-form, the more nourishment from said life-form it got. Perhaps there could be a way to maximize this?

Purely as an experiment (and because it had nothing better to do), it began to experiment with the lifeforms of the planet's surface. Many were too inflexible, although some showed promise. There were several of the large lizards that it looked at, but then a pesky meteorite put an end to that line of inquiry. The being lacked the ability to do anything about such matters, and could only watch as a whole ecosystem vanished, virtually overnight. But then came other ages. The large, woolly ones with the manipulating digit in the front of their faces at first seemed likely, but their biology proved to be self-limiting. There was only so much it could do with them, as was true of the tentacled ones that lived in the seas. It seemed that the better adapted a life form was to its environment, the less it needed intelligence. So perhaps that was the key? Look for a life form not very well adapted to its environment? Maybe.

The biped, the hominids attracted its attention. Now, here was a genotype that showed distinct promise.

So it began to cultivate them, much as a farmer would crops. It stood to reason that the strong, the most able-bodied, would contribute the most to the species, so it instituted a system of warfare, skirmishes, in which the strong were pitted against the strong. Those who survived were the strongest, and the sentient entity that would someday be called Brother Smith studied this phenomena. It just made sense that the strongest should procreate more than their weaker fellows, and so Brother Smith arranged for the taking and impregnation of the conquered females by the conqueror strong. Of course, many of said females did not wish to be impregnated by those who'd taken them in battle, a fact Brother Smith couldn't understand, but when it came to the survival and betterment of the species, that was hardly of any significance, any more than the seeding and breeding of plants would be to a human farmer.

And it was really not difficult to arrange for many females to find the conqueror males attractive (or, at least, useful), in many of the desperate, poverty-stricken times in which they lived, and so such forcible conjoinings were not usually all that necessary, anyway. But the option was there for Brother Smith to use, should it decide to.

Slowly, gradually, Brother Smith had guided its chosen species towards the peak of evolutionary achievement. It wasn't an easy course, and, over the course of time, the definition of "strongest" had changed, too. Now intelligence was valued highly, so Brother Smith saw to it that rewards went to the smartest, most capable members of the tribes. All the while, guiding humanity towards that pinnacle…

The detonation of the nuclear bombs at Hiroshima and Nagasaki came as a complete and total surprise to the being. Its attention must have wandered; it had had absolutely no forewarning whatsoever. But Brother Smith was afraid, very afraid, for its created race. They'd crafted weapons that could end life on Earth completely. How had this happened?

Almost in a panic, the being scanned the minds of the most intelligent individuals, taking time to separate those in a position of authority from those who simply suspected. What it found was disturbing.

Nuclear power was rapidly becoming a very real thing, and, while the being that would someday be called "Brother Smith" had nothing personally against nuclear energy, the widespread use of it presented problems. There were too many variables; too much was unknown. There were altogether too many who were altogether too willing to weaponize fissionable materials, so serious steps had to be taken to keep this matter from coming to a head. So it embarked on a course of action that would be sure to severely limit the useage of such powers.

A planted notion there, a stray thought here, an "arranged" accident—nothing major, just a warning—there, and the humans took it from there, denouncing nuclear power and spreading tales of its unreliable and dangerous nature. Perhaps in time, it could relinquish control over that aspect, and allow humans to explore the benefits of such cost-effective energy sources, but not just yet.

It still needed to be on the lookout for new human bodies to feed off of, and to inhabit, when the time came. It had already lived in the form of the one known as "Brother Smith" for a number of years, and had learned to get others to come to it. Perhaps not the most intelligent, but they made up for it in quantity.

These last two supplicants, now. Yes, Brother Smith had big plans for them. He had known from the first that they were not siblings, that the boy wasn't even from Earth. But he was here with his partner, and felt responsible for her. Brother Smith could make use of that. While his relationship with the girl was…uncertain, at times, he nonetheless had the urge in him to protect the female. So protect her he would.

The girl now…

She was perfect. Except for that tiny defect of her missing eye, she was flawless, both in mind and body. Brother Smith really couldn't understand why the two had steadfastly refused to mate. He'd certainly given them every opportunity and encouragement, and then some. It would be so ideal if they could produce some strong children to further better the species. But for some reason, they seemed unwilling to, and he couldn't fathom why. Human concepts such as "morality" and "love" were a closed book to the being known as Brother Smith. How could anything done for the good of the species be anything other than good?

But they'd withheld, even though he could tell it was a strain on them, and on their relationship with each other. The girl was already attracted to the boy on a purely physical level, and was disguising that with a series of insults and an overall attitude of disrespect and mild hostility. But that was just the surface….

His plan was very simple, and as such, subject to minor alterations as needed. Promote them into positions of authority, so that when, not if, civilization collapsed, they'd serve as his personal assistants. It wouldn't matter if they were working for somebody else, especially if the "somebody else" became a casualty in the chaos Smith was instrumental in causing. They'd follow him simply to help maintain order, what with the very real possibility of riots in the streets, and the collapse of the social order. Already, in some places, people didn't trust the police—sometimes with good reason. Give them a reasonable alternative, then. Open market system; a little competition might be good all around.

With them by his side, and with power of this lovely but not really necessary yellow ring he'd acquired from the one known as "Sinestro," they could restore order, installing himself as the ruler of a true hegemony. And why should it stop there?

Give these two a few successful battles together, and their relationship with each other could easily change. Vastly experienced, Brother Smith was fully aware of how such relationships could alter with shared victory. And even if it didn't, even if they still maintained that old, outmoded and completely unfathomable way of behaving, that still wouldn't be any problem. The boy was closed to him, true, but all he had to do was tweak the girl's hormone levels a bit, and she'd be all over the lad. The boy could maintain his reluctance all he wanted to, but Brother Smith had confidence in the girl; she seemed like a resourceful young thing. She'd make it happen. Somehow.

And then, once she'd produced a few children for the race, then he could move in. Such a wonderful host body she'd make. He'd even regrow her eye for her.

He could hardly wait.

To be continued….