All of them. Every. Single. One. The control group of Jessica's rejects didn't get anything, but Arcane Sight through my dragon's Greater Scrying confirms all fifty of the milked test subjects have first level arcane spells available. And half an ounce is almost nothing.

I send out half ounce bottles to my priests who haven't had any yet after my milking session, and run a shift at the warehouse. While working, I consider: How does this make sense? Half a gallon or half an ounce have essentially the same effect, but a second dose later does something completely different? That's… not the behavior of anything sane. A retrovirus could produce the first result - getting exposed matters, the actual dose barely does - but would only work once. A second dose later should have essentially no effect, either because the genes are already there or because an immune response kills them all. But that’s not what I'm seeing. If it was some kind of material that soaks into a person's system, that would explain why a second dose had a wildly different effect… but it seems like a large first dose should also get the second dose's effect in that scenario, and that doesn't seem to be the case. This is vexing. And I should probably re-run the dosage experiment with smaller dosages until I stop getting ten of ten when dosing folks. I'll want to check Jessica's schedule again at some point. The mechanics are insane, though: They just don't fit any clear pattern.

Regardless, now that I have a growing country, I need to get it recognized as such, at least by the US. How to… maybe the white house? Should do. I'll need to make an entrance… I already have a construct of a Great Wyrm Gold Dragon. With me, even. I fly up a bit… airspace is a lot more crowded now… and get clear enough to have some room. I then have my ring turn into her full-sized Dragon form, pull up a picture of the white house on my phone, climb onto Goldie's back, and direct her to Greater Teleport us into the air, one mile above the pictured site. I wouldn't want to scare anyone by appearing suddenly in front of them.

On arrival, my phone picks up the local cellular network, and immediately blares out an emergency alert. Odd; I thought the US was largely at peace. Why does it say there's an air raid? Eh, whatever. Whoever is attacking us probably can't hurt me, and I'm sure the Air Force will take care of them shortly. Who'd be crazy enough to attack the US? And how would they even get this far in?

Curious now, I look around… and don't see any airplanes. False alarm, maybe? That seems really weird. What are the odds? As I'm puzzling it out, I see something flying in the distance. The tiny blob quickly resolves to five jets… Oh, I think that's the new model, the F-35A Lightning II? They must be serious. Someone's in trouble. But who?

I look around again: There's nobody out here. And they're heading right towards … oh, me. I didn't exactly file a flight plan, did I? Eh, that's fine. I want to get some high level attention anyway.

So I wait. Things get VERY bright for a few seconds as their main guns send a hail of bullets our way, and Starmantle turns them into flashes of light. It's only seconds before they blow past me. I'm basically standing still up here, and given that I don't hear them until after they pass, they're definitely beating Mach 1.

As good a way as any to open the conversation, I guess. Silent Image gives a huge area, so I use it to make a sign in 5 foot block letters: "Sorry, wasn't thinking. How do I get myself recognized as a nation? Landing on lawn. Meet me there?"

I give them another pass: They use missiles this time, the ones with the four fins both front and back. Sidewinders, I think? No matter, as far as Starmantle is concerned, a weapon’s a weapon: They’re just bigger flashes of light when they hit my ride. I have Goldie slowly descend in lazy circles; it takes another three passes before they stop trying. We eventually land on the White House lawn… which is of course full of guys in full military gear, pointing guns at me.

“HANDS ON YOUR HEAD ON THE GROUND, NOW!!!”

I ignore them as I have Goldie resume her ring form by casting Polymorph Any Object on herself. As I put her back on, they open fire. Most the bullets simply miss (my touch AC is much higher than Goldie’s), but the few that connect suffer the same fate as the bullets from the aircraft: They vanish in flashes of harmless light.

Their guns run out of ammunition soon enough, and as the smoke clears, I calmly address them, “Hi. I’m trying to become recognized as a foreign power so I can open an embassy and maybe get one of those diplomat cards, but I have no idea how to go about it. Would you please get a suitable diplomatic person out here?”

Rather than answering, six guys pile on me. The Freedom of Movement spell completely no-sells the grapple attempts: They simply cannot get a grip. I calmly step out of the pile of muscle men, and cast Antilife Shell - a nice, simple, ten-foot radius where almost no living creature can approach - and try again, “No, seriously, I’m here to talk. Do I need to prove I’ve got some military might before you’ll take me seriously?” … my voice might be working against me here… and my appearance… oh well. They’ll pick up on the fact that they can’t do anything sooner or later.

Sadly, they reload. Rather than letting them fire again, I use Chain Spell on Telekinesis, and use the “Combat Manuevers” option to Disarm them all - and by curious quirk of wording in the spell, that lands them in my hands; I simply drop them (as a free action) at my feet so I can collect more. As they draw more weapons and get reinforcements, I just keep concentrating on the spell and collect quite a pile.

After what feels like a really long time, but is probably just fifteen minutes or so, an older man in a silk suit walks up behind the man giving orders to shoot at me, and calmly says “What’s he done, exactly?” Oh, he’s seen my news spot, I guess.

I listen in over the shouting as the overseeing officer says, “Violated US restricted airspace, landed on the white house lawn, and resisted arrest. She’s still doing that last one.”

“Hmm, yes, nasty stuff. Has he actually hurt anyone?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Isn’t it? Suppose for a moment we take that sign he put up for the jets at face value. What is he then?”

“A foreign military force on US soil.”

“You really have a one-track mind. What happens if he actually is simply a clueless diplomat?”

“...”

“Yeah, how about standing down - it’s not like you’ve accomplished much anyway - and letting me take over?”

“... fine.” The commander shouts at his troops “HOLD FIRE. STAND DOWN.”

… and they do. Finally.

“Hello Mr. Carlson,” Yeah, the suit saw my news spot, or got briefed by someone who did, “I’m John Fredrickson, director of foreign affairs. So what’s this about you being a foreign power now? You’re a US citizen…” he even gives me my birth date - OK, so a bit more than just the news spot, “So mind filling me in on why you’re treating the Air Force and Secret Service like someone else’s misbehaving toddlers?” I catch the commander cringing at that one. But that is about how effective his men were.

… I should have planned this better. Oh well, I can read John’s mind… ah. He wants my toys. Badly. And not just the four on my chest, the director wants the US military to be able to walk through heavy fire like I just did. Yeah… not happening.

“I’m doing a lot of things that the law just doesn’t cover, and so to save hassle with folks trying to figure out what laws I’m breaking and failing to arrest me, I’m starting a small country so I can get one of those diplomatic immunity cards. Also… I really don’t want to be nationalized, and I’m pretty sure someone would try it sooner or later. It wouldn’t work - my infrastructure isn’t on Earth, and so can’t be taken by a piece of paper, but I do have assets here, and it’d be annoying to lose them.”

“Hmm. And who are you taking land from for this little project?”

“I thought about it, but decided it’s better to build my own than to take that which is another’s. Specifically I built a small island in the Pacific yesterday, and set an automaton to growing it - slowly, admittedly. Here…” I Fabricate a piece of paper with the GPS coordinates, “Point a spy satellite there. My citadel is going to be ready in about nine days, at which point I’ll drop it there. Not very big for the first draft, but I’ll make a larger one later”

Mr. Fredrickson humors me, pulls out his phone, and texts the information elsewhere, “I’ll have a fresh photo in a little while. Do call ahead next time.”

I raise my eyebrows, “Would anyone really have taken me seriously if I’d called?”

The director considers, “Well… we did get the reports from the DHS… they really kidnapped your family? But no, I suppose not. Your little dragon and pony show is the main reason I’m out here. Still… next time, OK? Here’s my number…” he hands me a business card, and John’s phone beeps. He looks at it: “Yes, that’s an island where no island was. And it’s clearly occupied. Small, but… you’re making land. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can convince the right people to treat you as a foreign power if you’d like. I can get you a diplomatic visa, no problem. Got your diplomatic passport?”

“Hold a minute…” I open my apartment, step in, close it, and look up a diplomatic passport on my phone. Ah, OK. Yeah, I can make one of those, no problem. A biometric passport, even. I fabricate one up, drop two Arcane Marks on it (one visible, one not), exit my apartment, close it, then hand the passport to John, “Here you go.”

The director considers a moment, “You just made this, didn’t you?”

“Does it matter?”

“As a foreign head of state? Not for this, no, but the lab boys will be itching to figure out how you did that.”

I’m honestly kind of curious myself, “Tell you what…” I make a gold coin with my holy symbol on one side with the engraving “In Chris we trust” around it, and on the other side “1 GP” with “Arcana forever” around the edge, “Your lab boys can look at this all they want, but! You send me a copy of anything they find; I’m curious how good they are. Deal?” It’s just a standard size Pathfinder gold coin - fifty of them to a pound - which is less than one troy ounce, and smaller than a penny. Still, gold is very expensive, so it’s valuable just for the weight.

He snatches it, “Deal. Also, I’ll have your passport with the visa delivered to Detective Jessica Jones’s address by secure courier tomorrow.”

Yeah, they did their research. I haven’t exactly been quiet, have I? No matter.

“Thank you Director. So what comes next?”

“How about dinner?”