“What did you do to him?!”

The half-telepathic scream came as she zipped up to us while I was standing there keeping watch over Kallark. He was floating there going through literally years of surveillance data gleaned from Cosmic Awareness coupled with some pointed Divinations to keep me on track of stuff.

Xenith was an arrogant poseur and a bitch. She didn’t really buy into the whole Strontian honor thing, especially for non-Strontians, or at least tended to interpret it in a way that was beneficial for her and wouldn’t get her into trouble with her cousin. She could get away with a lot of stuff, and if it amused her, she would.

“Gave him a massive telepathic download of memories concerning a non-sexual topic of extreme importance he requested of me. Why are you attempting to disrupt his assimilation of those memories?” I asked archly, zipping over between them before she could shake him. “Nuh-uh, purple panties. I ain’t doing that to him again, he’s too busy.”

“I do not trust you, Terran cow!” she snarled from an arm’s reach away, clearly debating starting a brawl. The fact I was sparking was, however, holding her back. See, not totally stupid. I bet she even worked on her electrical resistance, not that it would help her against Cosmic Primal Divine lightning.

“Great, I don’t care. I want nothing to do with you. Your cousin does trust me, and then he’s going to wake up and give you That Look for acting like a jealous idiot again. Were you planning to treat us like a peepshow and get off on us making out or something?” I asked archly, making her flush and splutter with outrage. “Right. I hear no decent sex interferes with the higher brain operations of Strontian females. You want to start a fight here in the corona of a star while your cousin is going through about ten years worth of surveillance footage, go right ahead.”

“What does this matter concern? Why did he entrust it to you, of all beings?” she snarled at me.

“Because I had no skin in the game. As for the what, you get that from him. Knowing him, he’s not going to say anything, either, or he would’ve done so already. But I believe you know that about him.” I leaned in slightly, and she stiffened. “Or did you honestly think you could intimidate me into saying something?” Lightning arced between my eyes, which were humming. “Now get out of here, you voyeuristic pervert.” Thicker arcs spread between my fingers, and they closed into fists.

“You dare give orders to...”

The crunch of impact was pretty muted in the near vacuum, the corona’s gases still a lot less than any atmosphere, plus I was sending it all in her direction.

She hit solar escape velocity on her way away, but she was unconscious from the impact, so she couldn’t really appreciate how hard she’d been kicked.

I’d been trying to wean myself of using the Primus and Comet Mimics all the time. I only needed a Copy of Comet’s Energy Absorption ability once to Sunbathe for hours if I just kept it open, and my own invulnerability and immunities could take care of the rest. Heck, it even worked better, since it was at full instead of half-strength.

Ditto only needing to use the Atom’s size-growing power once to get big and really take in the juice.

That being said, it was annoying having to regain the Mimic templates if I lost them, and having them on hand in case of something happening was incredibly useful.

The Nega-Bands integrated into my Bracers and Gauntlets basically replicated the Strontian self-belief system. Strontians weren’t Kryptonians, powered up by sunlight. Their top-end powers relied more on willpower and belief in themselves than anything else, effectively psicosmic in origin.

It was basically the exact same mechanic that powered the Negabands, and I was really, really good at Focusing on that kind of thing, so with Negabands I truly didn’t need the Comet and Primus strength stuff, I was pretty radical all by myself.

Stack the Nova Core, Golden Child strength, Specs, and Negabands and, well, I hit like a railgun, before I powered up the Fist or Feet of God, or executed a Shardfist.

I’m sure she would appreciate it on the trip she was taking. I should probably notify a local flitter to pick her up in case something bad happened...

-------

His face was grim, probably grimmer than I’d ever seen it. It was a lot of stuff to digest, to correlate, and understand, but he’d done it at super-speed.

Now, it just remained to see what his judgement would be. If he chose vengeance, well, he’d fall in the end, but a whole lot of people were going to die if he did it.

At long last he sighed, and clenched his fists. “The Majestor... was wrong,” he breathed out through clenched teeth.

That was momentous. Shi’ar Elders would shat themselves hearing it. Gladiator’s rep was made by literally never countermanding a sitting Majestae and following their orders faithfully, and indeed mercilessly at times. There had only ever been one Praetor of the Imperial Guards, for just that reason.

But those slaughters had always been of lesser beings. Not his own people, save at the very beginning when he proved his loyalty, and in doing so saved them from the very fate that had claimed them later... for that exact same loyalty.

It was the Praetor’s own ability which made the Strontians so feared; his reputation was so great, his honor and loyalty so firm. If the Strontians were unleashed upon the command of the Shi’ar, multiple galaxies would quake.

Imperial intrigues were cruel, indeed.

It would take the firepower of suns to kill the Strontians. They could not be allowed to exist if they could be commanded by a conqueror.

“Do you need me to remain to talk?” I asked him gently.

He eyed me with an eye somewhere between suspicion, awe, regret, ire, and gratitude. “Do... you have something you wish to say?” he finally asked. I nodded slowly, crossing my arms. “Speak.”

“It is the right of all sapient beings to weigh the words of those around them, and determine if they are worth being followed. To deny any the right to make that judgement is not honor, it is not authority... it is slavery.

“Now you have seen what happens when the powerful wield slaves as they wish. I do not wish you to fall into their trap, of the powerful losing all morality and thinking that because they have might that others are of no worth. Your cousin is already on that road, and it leads Down ever more quickly, and will likely lead to the death of her.

“I have, however, received permission from my superiors to save the Strontians, after a fashion.”

His whole body tensed up in shock. “What? How would you do this?” he demanded quickly.

“I will do nothing that will change the timeline of causality, but I can add to it. I cannot save your people, as Death has already claimed them, but I can save their bloodlines. If a genetic record of the Strontians existed, you could simply clone them anew, and your people would be reborn, albeit with no knowledge of what came before them.

“There are many, many powers that will exert a great deal of effort to make sure such a thing does not come to pass, of course. That means that such a rebirth must take place far from prying eyes and powers, which means it cannot follow you. You simply have too many eyes who watch you, Kallark.”

“This...” He paused and considered his next words heavily. “For my people, that is a small sacrifice to make. How will you accomplish this?” he asked deliberately.

“It is best you do not know, and even that you not think about it at all. Indeed, I think I’m going to have to teach you a mnemonic to cloak the memory so that without a very powerful and obvious probe, it cannot be taken from your thoughts.” I tilted my head at him meaningfully, and he nodded slowly.

His mental shields were good, but not absolute. “I have another request, then.” I lifted an eyebrow. “I have a son.” I knew of this, although he was young, and Strontians did not grow up quickly. He was also reputedly quite a handful, being basically a super-powered snot. “He has not been raised among Strontians, and his views of those around him have been... colored, much as has Xenith.” Who was probably his surrogate mother, or big sister. “He is a child, so he does not know the importance of honor, only the appearance of it. Is there... a way to help instruct him properly?”

He had failure as a father written all over his face. His son had been visiting him when their star went nova, taking his wife and his son’s mother with it, who would have taught him these things, together with the men in his family.

Trying to get the same lessons from Shi’ar and other fragile races, probably not so easy.

“Easily. Do you have a problem with your son being depowered and losing the extra might of your people?”

He paused only a moment, looking into my eyes. “If he must live among or above them, he should at least understand them. Perhaps he will learn better than I.” He paused. “But he must still be trained as a warrior.”

I just lifted an eyebrow. “You think we do not know how to do such a thing on Terra?” I asked him archly.

He grunted despite himself. “No. For all that the average Terran is quite weak, you have both commendable fighting spirit and great innovations in combat, as well as... exceptional individuals.”

“He will get all the training that he needs, and doubtless a lot more that he does not think he needs,” I promised. “The Tribes have some marvelous ways of training difficult children. He will be in fine company.”

His smile was small, but grim. “Then I must needs return to my duties as Praetor of the Imperial Guard...”

“One thing, Kallark.” He gave me a wary look. “You know that Lilandra is soft as far as the Shi’ar go.” He paused, then nodded slowly. “Such Majestae usually end up in bad ways in Shi’ar history. You have seen this repeatedly. Those who come after them... are usually not soft in any way at all.” I gave him a look. “It will be time then for you to show that true honor is not blind obedience, and worthiness is a standard that those who have it should expect from those that dare to command them, too. Being a Majestae does not mean your commands are final, nor that you are above judgement.”

He sighed heavily, looking away, at the observations I had given him, and doubtless grim memories of his own. “It has never been my role to judge, Dynamo.”

“Then I think it is time for you to grow, and stop being just a weapon idiots can wave around, Praetor.” I just smiled at him. “Let me know when you want me to pick up your boy. I’ll get started on the other half of the equation.”

------------

I didn’t like playing time-travel games to begin with, and it was VERY difficult with the likes of a Null and Source around. Messing with the past meant running smack into Sama’s unchangeable section of history, rewrites percolating up the temporal line until they hit her unshakeable Lived-line, and then rewinding backwards and undoing what someone had done, making their changes just alternate fake timelines that were wiped out eventually to no effect whatsoever, little more than passing dreams.

So, the key to messing with the past was to absolutely not change Sama’s past or present at all. That... actually wasn’t too hard, if you were subtle about it. Just defer any changes to right now or the future, and you were totally good.

It was how Briggs had saved the Zen-Whoberis, after all, moving the ones who had ‘died’ through time to the now, where they wouldn’t run into Sama’s invioble past, no changes left behind to tweak anything.

Could we do the same to the Strontians? Technically, yes. Realistically, no. There were too many forces watching on too many levels as they were annihilated. If we moved away a significant portion of the planetary population by any means, those forces would know the Strontians weren’t dead, and go looking for them. The old ‘hidden forgotten colony’ trick just wasn’t going to work with them.

Those empires and entities had to believe the Strontians were gone.

But, the Strontians were still somewhat vulnerable to magic and mental powers. Thus, it wasn’t hard to manipulate them to a very subtle extent.

All I needed to do was induce an elder to compile a genetic record of his people in case of disaster. It was a subtle thing of donated blood and identification and such, kept in a secure place that could be sent away in the event of calamity.

The sun going nova was definitely such a disaster. The genetic archive I made sure to shield from those looking was urgently sent hurtling out into the stars, outrunning the shockwave... and I swooped in and rescued it before any other forces could see or intercept it, bringing it forward to the present.

And... I may have brought a few other things as well...