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Post by starlord on Nov 20, 2007 19:13:04 GMT -5
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Post by starlord on Nov 20, 2007 19:13:31 GMT -5
Titans: The Resistance Issue # 11: “Casualties” Written by: Jay McIntyre Cover by: James Lett and Michelle Bond Edited by: Brian Burchette
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Post by starlord on Nov 20, 2007 19:14:25 GMT -5
Never has there been a good war or a bad peace. - Benjamin Franklin
If Tyranny and Oppression come to this land, it will be in the guise of fighting a foreign enemy. - James Madison
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Post by starlord on Nov 20, 2007 19:15:05 GMT -5
His name was Pyotr Zhukov, and he was one of the survivors of the “Battle of the Red Plains,” as the fight against the Titans was being called. “The first blow against the new metahuman insurgency,” the scholars were writing.
He shook his head.
Three of the ranking survivors of that debacle had been executed, some others imprisoned for their “failure”. Never mind of course, that the Empress had been the one who had failed. But Pyotr was wise; he kept such thoughts to himself.
He, and several other survivors, had been given medals for their “valor on the battlefield”. What this meant, in practice, was they had been wounded fighting the Titans--in Pyotr’s particular case, Ravager had sliced off two fingers of his right hand--but not fled the battlefield when retreat was called. This was, of course, because shock and pain meant he had been unable to.
But he would not complain. It meant he had the Empress’s favor and praise, and whatever thoughts he might have, he was wise enough not to wish the Empress’s fatal disapproval to come raining down upon his head.
What puzzled him, then, was why the Empress had called him back to the Palace, two days after the awards ceremony. Had she changed her mind? Was there some new terrible punishment she had planned for him?
Whatever it was, he would bow his head and accept it. Whatever else might be said of him, he was, after all, a loyal citizen of the Empire.
Unlike the Princess.
He snapped to attention when his name was called, and he bowed, and then stepped forward as the doors were opened to the throne room itself. Somewhat nervously, he scurried into the Imperial Presence.
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Post by starlord on Nov 20, 2007 19:15:38 GMT -5
“.....Connor Hawke, you say,” Robin said to Ravager. “Interesting.”
“Despite all I could do, he didn’t seem to want membership,” Rose sighed. “But he didn’t reject the communicator, either. He might contact us someday....”
“Us, eh?” Robin mused. “Didn’t think you’d go on a recruiting drive.”
“Neither did I. Circumstances worked out that way.”
Robin looked at her for a long moment. “Well, thanks for telling me, anyway.”
Ravager nodded amiably. “No problem, birdboy. So, how are you and Terra.....um.....”
“Progressing?” Robin asked dryly.
“There’s a word for it,” she agreed.
“Very slowly. I’ve spent some time in Gotham, actually doing the stuff I thought I’d do as Robin; and she elected to hang out with Supergirl this time.”
“Dropping her old cover identity?”
Robin shrugged. “She said that she doubted such a cover identity would last long anyway.”
Ravager leaned against the railing. “So? How does it progress?”
Robin blinked. “Direct, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she said simply.
Robin shrugged again. “Very slowly, as I said. Neither of us are fast movers. Whatever else she might be, she’s still of noble upbringing and has very ritualized notions of courtship, and well, I spent too much time learning to become Robin for any of that stuff. Not that I hadn’t wished it was otherwise, from time to time...” he trailed off; the thought had gotten away from him.
Ravager nodded, eye glittering.
Robin began to back off. “Don’t tell me....”
Ravager shook her head. “Nah. Thinkin’ about Narc, these days. Actually, that Connor kid was kinda cute too.”
Robin buried his face in his hands, unsure wether to be worried or relieved.
Ravager laughed.
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Post by starlord on Nov 20, 2007 19:16:12 GMT -5
The Imperial Throne Room was done over in deep, rich orange, save for the golden reflecting floor. It was not actual gold, of course. Pyotr was no student of architecture or interior design, and the idea of asking the Empress or Prince Brion about it did not even occur to him. A bronzed mirror, perhaps? Doubtless servants cleaned it frantically before and after audiences. He let the thought slip away.
Around the room were tapestries and paintings, and above all, the Markovian flag; the Markovian coat of arms on an orange and black background. It was everywhere; a fact of life. Pyotr couldn’t imagine a life without it.
Pyotr knelt before the Empress. Prince Brion stood just to the right of the throne, hands behind his back, face inscrutable.
“Rise,” said the Empress.
He did, daring to look at her. She was smiling approvingly. At least it seemed so. The fact that he had not been struck down for looking her in the eye was a good sign.
“Having fought my traitorous daughter and her confederates,” she said without preamble, “Tell me, what do you think their weakness is?”
Pyotr was utterly relieved at the question. Tactical analysis was something he did very well. The Empress probably knew this. Reports were one thing; testimony another. She undoubtedly knew that, too.
It didn’t take him long to work it out. “Their interdependence, Majesty.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”
“Soldiers of the Empire fight loyally and to the death, no matter how many of their comrades fall. They fight on, until the day is won. During the battle....I saw the enemy trying to help each other out of tight situations, heal their wounds or at least cover them from further harm. The same foolish tactics used by the armies of various other nations that the Empire has conquered.”
The Empress nodded approvingly. “Their powers do help to compensate for that, somewhat.”
“Truly, your Majesty,” Pyotr agreed. “Yet, the next time such weakness is shown, it can be exploited.”
The Empress nodded. “It will be. Make a note, Prince Brion.”
Brion bowed.
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Post by starlord on Nov 20, 2007 19:16:55 GMT -5
Terra stood on one of her rocks, floating about as high as she could safely breathe. Supergirl stood beside her. They were not so high as to see the curve of the Earth; but they were higher than Terra had ever gone before. “Where eagles dare,” as the saying went. Was that the title of a book, Terra wondered. She couldn’t remember.
Everything was small and distant and remote. It was very quiet, save for the occasional whistle of the wind. Perhaps Terra saw the colored blob of a hot air balloon, once. She wasn’t sure.
Oh, she could have asked Supergirl; the Kryptonian had telescoping vision amongst her other talents. But that would take all the fun out of it.
“It’s peaceful,” Terra said, at length.
Supergirl nodded. “There are few disruptions to observation. On the other hand, the truly vital element of existence on your planet can be missed at this altitude.”
Terra still didn’t know what to make of this, the strangest member of the team. They had spent the month together, cleaning up various disasters around the globe; and Terra had done what she could to assist Supergirl in her studies of humanity and the world. But for all of that, they hadn’t really bonded.
It was hard, sometimes, for Terra to remember that Supergirl was simply not human. The old science fiction cliché turned out to be true, she mused; aliens could look human.
She wondered how many other non-humans were on Earth without telling anyone. She brushed the thought away with a shudder.
Supergirl had rescued her ship from where Green Lantern had sent it, and parked it instead on the dark side of the Moon, reluctantly admitting she should have done that in the first place.
“Will you stay?” Terra asked.
“Oh yes,” Supergirl agreed. “There are decades worth of data here.”
“And once your study is completed, what will you do with your.....data?”
Supergirl frowned thoughtfully. “I will return to Krypton with the information, in attempt to spur more of my people into action in the Universe. They will nod politely, thank me graciously....and continue to ‘sit on their hands’ as you humans put it. Perhaps they will add some of the data to the learning pods of the children. Then...I suppose I shall find another planet to study.”
“I hope....” Terra faltered, then started again. “I hope that our planet’s warfare does not make us seem barbaric to you.”
Supergirl gave her a strange smile, eyes luminous. “You assume barbarism is a bad thing, Terra. I have seen what stagnation comes from civilization. My homeworld is drowning in it. Barbarism is life. Treasure it while you have it.”
Terra was once again forcibly reminded of Supergirl’s alienness. “So it’s like ‘youth is wasted on the young’?”
Supergirl gave another strange grin. “Something like that.”
Terra wasn’t sure wether to be reassured or not.
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Post by starlord on Nov 20, 2007 19:18:44 GMT -5
The Empress rose from her throne. “Walk with me,” she commanded, and Pyotr hastened to obey.
They stepped out onto a marble balcony, overlooking a glorious sunset. Below, the Imperial vineyards were in bloom, and laborers worked vigorously.
“We fight to preserve so much...” The Empress sighed. “So much...”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“My foolish child....my foolish traitor child....so much she does not see. Does not understand. The order, the security, the safety we preserve.”
Pyotr was unsure wether he should answer, and so kept silent.
“It pains me that someone so dear to me should fail to see the obvious,” she prompted.
Evidently she expected an answer. So, carefully he spoke: “Many do not understand the benefits of security and order, Majesty. They are blinded by the illusion of freedom.”
The Empress gave a shout of anger, and then steadied herself. “You....you are correct. But it infuriates me. How my own daughter could not see through that lie....”
“Idealism blinds many, Majesty.” He regretted it as soon as he said it, knowing it could be interpreted many ways. Some of them bad. Most of them bad, actually.
Thankfully, however, she took it in the way he had meant it. “Yes....reality is something some find difficult to face.”
“Majesty....if I may ask....was it only for my tactical views that you summoned me?” It was as polite a version of why he was here, that he could ask.
Perhaps the desperate nature of his real question got through to her. She smiled gently, though not exactly kindly. “You are wise and useful to me, Zhukov. I’ve in mind a promotion for you.”
”A battlefield commission, Majesty?” Pyotr tried to sound as appreciative as possible.
She shook her head. “Anyone can fight on the battlefield. I need your strategic skill.”
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Post by starlord on Nov 20, 2007 19:19:48 GMT -5
“So what have you two been doing for the past month?” Green Lantern asked. They stood at the prow of the Sweet Lilli, Ravager’s guests, as usually was the case.
“Avoiding Batman’s attention,” Anarky muttered, head low. “Challenging Robin’s notions of authority are much more difficult than I thought.”
Green Lantern could have made some sarcastic comment in response, but somehow he didn’t think he really wanted a further explanation of that the fanatic meant.
“For my part,” Argent said softly, “I have made my home aboard Ravager’s fleet. At least for now. Thankfully, she has not asked me to participate in any pirate raids, yet. But I would assist, if asked.”
“I imagine if she wanted your help, she’d make an attack against Markovian shipping,” Green Lantern said.
“Reasonable,” Anarky agreed.
Argent nodded. “I still want revenge, but it has....cooled. No longer so urgent. Wanting to live a new life also moves me.”
Her accent was soft, and the ring translated easily. Lantern nodded sympathetically, he understood living with revenge. He turned to Anarky. “You’re very subdued.”
“I...I have found that....cutting ties with my old life was harder than I thought,” Anarky admitted. “I miss....those I left behind.”
“Family?”
“Parents.”
“That part at least I understand,” Argent put in.
“Ah yes,” Anarky said. “But you had no real choice, did you? Circumstances forced it on you. Whereas I am the one that cut those ties deliberately, and they never knew why....” He gave a bitter laugh. “One of those ‘you can help the police’ shows has been profiling me, as though I were abducted. The irony is...almost painful.”
“Second thoughts?” Green Lantern prompted him, almost hopefully.
Anarky shook his masked and cowled head. “First of all, this is too important. Second, what could I say? How would I explain my disappearance?” He stood straighter, and his voice became sadder and yet more firm. “No. Lonnie Machin is dead. Only Anarky lives.”
“It is sad,” Argent said. “My parents know I am alive, even if....changed.”
“Your parents needed to escape as much as you did, maybe more,” Anarky said.
“Now there, I agree with him,” Lantern said,
“Gee thanks,” Anarky snorted.
“What of you?” Argent asked Green Lantern. “What of your family?”
“The Corps is my family now,” Green Lantern said sadly. “What little I see of it. And some of my mentor’s...old friends, of course.”
“Corps?” Anarky and Argent chorused curiously.
“The Green Lantern Corps. It was founded on Oa, hundreds of thousands of years ago. I spent some time there, before coming to Earth and joining the Titans.”
“An alien authority....” Anarky began.
“Don’t you even start,” Lantern warned.
“It is enough,” Argent said, “That we are all cut off from those we are close to, in our own ways.”
Anarky and Green Lantern agreed with nods, glaring grudgingly at each other as they did so.
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Post by starlord on Nov 20, 2007 19:20:24 GMT -5
“My daughter’s little group will continue to disrupt our activities,” the Empress explained. “You have no doubt already heard of the incursion into Italy?”
“So it was them,” Pyotr muttered darkly. “I thought it might be so.”
“They disrupted our silver mining operations there, and left the local Overseer for dead,” the Empress said. Prince Brion shifted uncomfortably. The Empress went on, “I know they will strike again. We need someone to study their attacks and...those of others.”
“Others?” Pyotr frowned.
“They have already inspired uprisings,” The Empress said, “And in addition....there is an older, much quieter group of metahumans who have wreaked havoc on us for many years.”
Pyotr’s head shot up. “Truly, Majesty?”
“Truly. They are much more low profile than my cursed daughter’s group; however, I think the two must be connected in some way.”
“Why so, Majesty?”
“The green energy wielder. There is such a one amongst the older group as well. I cannot help but think they know of each other, at the very least.”
“How am I to serve against these groups, your Majesty?” Pyotr asked after a long pause.
“You will be given an office in the stronghold at London. From there you will receive reports of each and every subsequent activity. You will build up a profile that will enable us to take them out. Your original thought, about covering their weaknesses, is sound; but that may not be enough to get them all. You will continue to study them until we discover a way to destroy every last one of them.”
“I....I am honored your Majesty,” Pyotr said, bowing. But inside he was filled with dread. He was not in trouble now, no; but he would be, as soon as he failed to produce results. He wondered how much time he would have.
He would try his best, of course. He was a loyal citizen, whatever misgivings he might have. Unlike those foolish children, he understood that there was no better alternative.
He held little hope that he would be able to achieve the desired result, at least in the time the Empress would give him before her patience ran out.
They discussed several more trivialities, then he was given his papers, and the flight plan to London. He bowed once more, and then departed.
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Post by starlord on Nov 20, 2007 19:21:35 GMT -5
Empress Arianna and Prince Brion were alone on the balcony, overlooking the ashy aftermath of twilight. Prince Brion would have gone inside, but she had indicated no wish to do so, and nor did he think it was respectful to leave her, just yet. This was an old game; Brion had been playing it since he was a child.
“Do you think he will succeed?” Prince Brion asked her.
For a long moment, he didn’t think she would answer. Then she sighed. “To be honest, Brion, I don’t know. I only know that we must succeed, and therefore we will. It’s just a question of when, and how.....and how much damage is done before then. If Zhukov doesn’t succeed, we will find some other means. But it most be done,” she bowed her head and muttered, “It will be done.”
“Yes, Mother. What would you have me do?”
“Do you think you could find your sister?” The Empress asked him.
Brion thought about it, not really surprised by the question. “I suppose I could adopt a cover identity and look for her in America. It is known that the unpowered vigilante is a native of that country. There is also the matter of the pirate they are associated with, but finding her fleet would be a fool’s game.”
“Yes....the previous Pirate Admiral had no use for us either, save as targets for his attacks, and I believe the incumbent is his daughter. So,” she looked at him. “You don’t think you can find her.”
“I think it possible, not likely,” Brion hedged. “It would increase our chances if she spent extended time in Europe during one of her strikes. We missed her by hours in Italy, for example.”
The Empress nodded. “And if you captured her, what would you do?”
“Bring her to you, of course.”
“You would not kill her on the spot?”
“If you so order,” Brion said, a mite stiffly.
The Empress looked at him. “I’m not sure I understand you, Brion. At times I think you are soft on her yet, and at times not.”
“It is true that I wish my sister had been more sensible,” Brion admitted. He was careful not to say exactly what he meant by that. “It is a pickle, though; if we simply kill her, she becomes a martyr to our enemies. If we imprison her, the same thing happens again, with the added difficulty. And I don’t know how we can discredit her with our enemies....”
The Empress put a hand on his shoulder. “My son, she is going to be a martyr to our enemies no matter what we do. I understand your frustration, truly I do. But we have no choice. We must kill her and then kill those who idolize her after death. Tara and her little band are only a delay of our inevitable victory. The question is how long a delay. Whether we conquer the world during my reign....or yours. And if during yours, you will have to learn to make difficult choices like this one.”
Brion bowed his head, knowing his mother was utterly serious and could not contemplate the idea of failure or even real delay. “As you say, mother.”
“If you find her,” Arianna reiterated, “You will kill her.”
“So you have ordered, and so shall it be done.”
“Good.”
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Post by starlord on Nov 20, 2007 19:22:34 GMT -5
Pyotr Zhukov’s plane took off for Britain the next day. As he took off, he watched the lands below. Almost immediately, the people shrunk to the size of ants, then to invisibility.
He thought about the slave fields in Asia, the mines in Europe, and the battleground that was Japan. He thought about all the tyranny, oppression, and despair.
And while he thought it necessary--more than necessary, inevitable--he did understand the plight of Terra and her little group.
It came to him that maybe the Princess did know she was doomed to fail; as the would-have-been Crown Princess, she understood it better than most. But perhaps she would rather die than be part of the tyranny.
It made him sad, but he shrugged it off.
Whatever it’s failings, the Empire would prevail.
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