Mad enough to wrest control of the Cube from within? There was never a doubt in Betsy’s mind. She was more surprised by the notion that he might actually be able to pull it off... if, indeed, that’s where they had landed.
Not to say his madness wasn’t catching, Betsy had to admit. It wasn’t all that long ago—ten or fifteen minutes at most, by her reckoning—that she had been willing to take von Doom’s place; to take possession of the Cube and maintain the reality he’d created, in exchange for the chance to bring Warren back to life.
“Warren . ..” Betsy whispered. She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears that now burned so hotly behind the lids.
Warren Worthington III had been her world: best friend, confidante, lover. A founding member of the X-Men, Warren had started out in life as the quintessential playboy—rich, handsome, and quite full of himself—but he had taken to the role of costumed adventurer like he’d been bom to it. When he wasn’t busy saving the universe, or trying to spread Charles Xavier’s message of peace and understanding between man and mutant, he dined in the finest restaurants, drove the fastest cars, traveled everywhere he went in style. Between battling supervillains and living the high life, it was a wonder he’d ever found time to sit still for a moment.
But then he had met Betsy—a British telepath whose big brother, Brian, happened to be England’s premiere super hero, Captain Britain, no less—and his life had changed. Hers, too. For Betsy, merely being around Warren made her feel as though her chaotic life at last had some sense of stability. She drew strength from him, and he from her. They’d started out as teammates—kindred souls facing constant peril from an intolerant world—but soon had become so much more. There had never been a man in her life like him.
And yet, her love for Warren was never to last. Dashed to pieces with the impact of his body on the grounds of The Mall in Washington, D.C., all because of a misguided, stupidly heroic attempt to protect von Doom—Emperor von Doom, Betsy angrily reminded herself—from an attack by Magneto. The mutant overlord had blasted Warren with a powerful bolt of magnetic energy, then moved on to refocus his attentions on his intended target. Warren had died in her arms, in the middle of a battlefield, and she’d been grateful that he’d never seen the futility of his efforts, for the man he’d tried to save had been nothing more than an android stand-in for the real monarch. A pretend emperor, through which a pathetic creature huddled in a sub-basement of the White House could vicariously live his life. A handsome, department store dummy that took the place of a withered, angry old man who ultimately sought to destroy the world, rather than see his dream come to an end.
Nevertheless, her thoughts in chaos, consumed by grief, Betsy had been more than willing to sacrifice herself if it meant that Warren might live one more day. She had foolishly agreed to von Doom’s proposal, had even gone so far as to reach for the Cube. If it hadn’t been for the timely arrival of the X-Men . . .
A loud groan from behind caught her attention. She glanced over her shoulder to find von Doom lying face-up on the floor, his metal-encased hand still gripping her ankle. A bit too tightly, Betsy realized— her foot had gone numb.
She pulled back on her leg to get von Doom’s attention, then pointed to her restrained ankle. “Do you mind?”
The old man stared blankly at her for a moment, as though he didn’t recognize her, then followed her gaze down to her foot. “Ah,” he said, and opened his hand.
Sitting up, Betsy reached down to restore the circulation to her leg. She winced as the first pins-and-needles sensation of a properly working bloodstream raced through her foot.
Struggling to a sitting position, von Doom looked around, his rheumy eyes widening with surprise. “This is not my castle,” he said with more than a trace of indignation. “What is the meaning of this?” He pounded his gauntleted fists against the floor; the room echoed with the hollow sounds of his feeble protestations.
“Who dares meddle in the affairs of Doom?” he demanded.
As if in response, a doorway suddenly appeared a few feet away, and a phalanx of Union Jack-garbed men and women poured into the room. Wordlessly, they formed a rough semicircle around the two travelers.
“The Captain Britain Corps?” Betsy said in astonishment.
The guards by the door stepped aside to admit a willowy, elfinfaced woman dressed in flowing white robes, her waist-length black hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. She came to an abrupt halt as she spotted her lavender-tressed “guest,” and a shapely eyebrow rose in mild surprise.
“Elisabeth Braddock,” she said evenly.
“Hello, Roma,” Betsy replied, a smile slowly coming to her lips. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you. . . .”
2
P ROM BEHIND Roma stepped another woman, wearing a white p gown that accentuated her curves as much as Roma’s attire hid I * I hers. White hair cascading over the right side of her face in a Veronica Lake fashion, she peered at Betsy with her one visible eye; the pupil seemed to bum with cold, blue fire.
Betsy’s smile quickly faded. “Satumyne.”
The Omniversal Majestrix haughtily looked down her nose at the X-Man. It was the sort of disgusted, look-at-that-grotesque-little-bug stare that suddenly made Betsy extremely self-conscious of her appearance, with her rumpled evening dress and disheveled hair. I must look a sight, she thought grimly.
“The sister, ” Her Whyness said with a sneer. “Given the circumstances, I should have known you’d somehow be involved in the thick of things.” Satumyne practically spat out the words, which came as no surprise to Betsy. There was no great love lost between the two women, considering all the trouble the former had caused Brian/Captain Britain over the years (at least, in Betsy’s mind), and Lady Braddock had never been shy about reminding Satumyne of that fact... as often as possible. The thin layer of civility projected by tyrant and telepath whenever they met tended to transform lively parties into tension-filled evenings. Simply having them in a room together caused the temperature to difop.
This occasion was no different, though neither woman was foolish enough to start an altercation with the Supreme Guardian of the Omniverse standing right in front of them.
“May I enter, Your Majesty?” asked a familiar—and most welcome—male voice.
Roma motioned for the guards to move from the doorway, and Charles Xavier glided into the room, his hoverchair humming softly.
I “Professor!” Betsy exclaimed, and leapt to her feet. She stepped over to join him—hobbling a bit on her tingling foot, the blood flow not yet fully restored to her insensate toes—and clasped his hands in hers. “I didn’t know you were here. When Jean and Scott briefed me on the details of their mission, it must have slipped their minds.”
A flicker of hope shone in Xavier’s eyes. “You’ve seen them, then.” He looked to Roma. “There is still a chance, Your Majesty, that my students might succeed. All they need is time.”
“Time the omniverse can ill afford, Charles Xavier,” the Guardian replied. “As much as I respect the sacrifices that your X-Men have often been willing to make in the cause of justice, despite the fact that they did not hesitate to place their lives in my hands, my foremost duty is to the protection of the omniverse. I allowed your students an opportunity to set things aright, and they have failed. Now—”
“I implore you to wait just a little while longer, Your Majesty,” the Professor insisted. “Now that Psylocke has joined us, we can use her knowledge of events within the anomaly to formulate a new plan of attack.” His steely gaze locked on the Guardian’s dark eyes. “Need I remind Your Majesty that you gave your word to my students that they would have one standard Earth week in which to stop this terrible threat, yet only four days have elapsed. Would you now go back on it, before learning the nature of this destructive force that threatens us all? Would you deny them the chance to set things right in the time that remains?” Roma’s eyes flashed with unbridled anger. “You play a dangerous game, Charles Xavier, with one w
ho has learned everything there is to know of games from her father, the greatest player of all. The word of Roma has ever been her bond, but the daughter of Merlyn was not raised without the understanding that there is a time and a place when a bond can be broken. Know this: To preserve the safety of all creation, I would be willing to do whatever is necessary.” She paused, the anger draining from her face. “But I hope it will not have to come to that unfortunate conclusion. For now, I would be willing to listen to any alternate plan you may devise after you have spoken with Elisabeth—but be quick about it.”
A nauseating weight suddenly settled in the pit of Betsy’s stomach. Until now, she’d been under the impression that, given Xavier’s presence, other members of the X-Men might also be on board the citadel. But to realize that the success or failure of this mission—more than that, the safety of the universe itself—might depend on her alone . . . “Who’s your friend, Psylocke?” Saturnyne asked, gesturing toward von Doom. “Some half-dead geriatric paramour you picked up along the way while you were fleeing your Earth?”
“What insolence!” the old man snapped. “You dare speak of your betters in such disrespectful tones, woman?” He struggled to his feet. “Though Doom is well known for his benevolence towards the most ignorant of creatures, not even he should have to tolerate such an affront.” At last standing erect, the monarch raised a gauntleted hand and pointed it, palm forward, at the Majestrix.
But nothing happened.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Grandfather, ” Satumyne commented dryly, “but the Starlight Citadel exists in a state of temporal grace. Any weapons your armor may possess won’t function here.”
The former emperor raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Indeed.” Slowly, he lowered his arm, and a sly grin illuminated his sharp features. “But do not delude yourself into thinking such measures will protect you for long, woman. Doom has ever been resourceful—he will find a way to instruct you in proper etiquette . . . and soon.”
Satumyne sniffed. “I shall count the—” She halted, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Who did you say you are?”
The armored tyrant drew himself up to his full height, head held high. “I am Doom the First, you cretin—the Lion of Latveria, and rightful ruler of the planet Earth.”
The Majestrix turned to Betsy. “Does he mean to say that he’s your Doom? The one from Earth 616?” She snorted. “Impossible.”
“He is Doom,” Betsy replied. “His rapid aging is a side effect of using a defective Cosmic Cube.”
“Cosmic . . . ?” Satumyne glanced at Roma, who looked surprised by this news—and terribly worried. “M’lady . . .”
“Yes, Satumyne,” Roma said. “At last we know the source of the anomaly.” Her brow furrowed. “And yet, never in the history of the omniverse has such a device caused the amount of damage we have witnessed.” She turned to Betsy. “You said this Cube was defective— how so?”
“Tell them nothing, mutant!” von Doom ordered. “The true genius of Doom’s work cannot be comprehended by lesser beings such as yourself.” A thoughtful, condescending smile cracked his withered features. “However, hearing your explanation might, indeed, prove interesting— though purely for entertainment value, of course, since it would irrefutably prove your lack of understanding.”
Betsy snarled in disgust. “I’ve had all I can stand of you, ’Your Highness.’ Without your weapons, without the Cube, you’re no threat to anyone. And as for comprehending the ‘true genius’ of your work, if that included having Magneto backhand you onto the floor of your chamber so that he could take possession of the Cube, then you’re absolutely right—I do fail to see the ‘wonder’ of it all.”
Von Doom sneered. “Bah,” he muttered, then fell silent.
Betsy turned back to Roma. “To be quite honest, I haven’t the slightest notion what’s wrong with it. Doom mentioned a miscalculation of some sort that was made during the Cube’s creation, but beyond that. ..” She shrugged. “I can tell you he doesn’t know, either.” She cast a heated glance at the old man. “At least, that’s what he claims.” A disturbing light suddenly shone in her eyes. “I’d be more than willing to find out the truth for you, though.”
“Elisabeth . . .” Xavier said, his tone low and warning.
Without taking her eyes off von Doom, Betsy said, “Don’t lecture me on the abuses of power, Professor. You don’t know what this monster did while he held the Cube—no idea of the lives he ruined, the misery he caused, the ... the ...” She bit her bottom lip as she turned to face him. “The people he allowed to die . . .” she whispered. Xavier’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “The X-Men . . . ?”
“I... I don’t know for certain,” Betsy admitted. “Before we teleported, they’d been captured by the Acolytes, and the Cube was in the hands of Magneto.” She ignored the Professor’s shocked expression. “But.. . Warren ... Warren .. .” She drew in a deep breath to steady herself, slowly released it through her nostrils. “Warren was... killed—” she waved a hand at von Doom “—trying to protect this filth.”
Xavier said nothing in reply. He just sat quietly, eyes closed, gripping the edges of his seat until his knuckles turned white.
Betsy knew it wasn’t the first time the Professor had received such disturbing news. In his years as founder and leader of the X-Men, he had watched far too many of his students die “on the job,” as it were. Like firemen or police officers, they faced risks each day of their lives, never knowing if their latest mission would turn out to be their last.
Warren, however, was special. Like Jean, and Scott Summers, and Hank McCoy, and Bobby Drake, he’d been one of Xavier’s first—and still greatest—successes. Those original five members were not just part of a team, they were the closest the Professor had to a family.
“Elisabeth ... I’m sorry,” Xavier said at last. “I know how close you and Warren had become over the past year.” He opened hi's eyes, and Betsy saw the fires of determination that burned deep inside them. “But we shall have to put aside our grief for the time being. Although Roma has managed to entrap the man responsible for our predicament, we still lack the means by which he twisted our universe to suit his purposes. The Cosmic Cube is our focus now. And with someone as powerful as Erik in control of such a device, with his desire to live in a world run by mutants blinding him to the dangers involved in operating the Cube—not just to himself, but to everyone in our universe— there’s no telling what further damage he might cause.”
“Which brings us back to my original argument, m’lady,” Satumyne said to Roma. “If that destructive little box continues moving from one owner to another, each use of its power restructuring 616 to suit the whims of whichever costume-draped buffoon happens to be holding it at the time, then it’s imperative that you remove that continuum from existence before the reality-cancer spreads.”
“Fascinating,” von Doom commented. “Then, Xavier’s costumed whelps were telling the truth.”
“Of course they were, von Doom,” the Professor replied. “Unlike you, my students feel no need for subterfuge. What Satumyne has said is accurate: Our universe is quickly unraveling, and your Cosmic Cube is the cause of it.”
“And now you’re going to tell us how to counteract its effects,” Betsy said. “You didn’t actually believe for a moment that I swallowed your story about not knowing what’s wrong with the Cube, did you? The great and powerful Doctor Doom, a man who claims he’s the intellectual superior of Reed Richards of the Fantastic Four—” she ignored the warning growl that issued from the monarch’s throat “—at a loss to explain the flaw in his most fantastic creation? Don’t make me laugh, von Doom.” She took a step toward him, teeth bared. “Now, tell us what to do to repair it, or—”
“Or what, mutant?” von Doom asked. He smiled malevolently. “Your tiresome hero’s code of ethics prevents you from forcing me to provide whatever information you think I might possess—though, I assure you, I have none to give.”
Betsy glared
at him, reining in her growing desire to use her martial arts skills to shatter every bone in his body—without allowing him to lose consciousness. “What you say is tme, Doctor,” she finally said. “Most members of the super hero community would be loathe to sink to your level, to pay such utter disregard to basic human rights that they’d be willing to blacken their souls by crawling into the dark comers of your mind and tearing out the knowledge they seek.” A disturbing smile slowly twisted her beautiful features. “However, I fancy that none of them are former members of Britain’s S.T.R.I.K.E. Psi Division, trained to extract information by any means necessary. ” Her lavender eyes flashed brightly. “But I am.”
Von Doom suddenly cried out in great pain and clutched the sides of his head.
Tell me what I need to know, Doctor, Betsy ordered through the telepathic link she had created. Tell me quick . . . before I burn out every synapse in your twisted little mind.
ELISABETH—STOP! roared a voice in her head.
Betsy staggered back as though she’d been slapped across the face, her link with von Doom shattered by the sheer force of Xavier’s mental command. The Latverian monarch groaned and sank to his knees; he was kept from striking the floor only by the timely assistance of two members of the Corps. One was a woman with a shock of white hair erupting from the top of her mask, whom Betsy instantly recognized as Linda McQuillan—the Captain U.K. of Earth 794, the world to which the X-Men had been summoned by Roma, in the days before von Doom’s reign of terror in their home dimension had started. Their task had been to aid Linda against Opul Lun Sat-yr-nin, a goal which the team ultimately achieved. Betsy had wanted to assist them, if only as a way to thank Linda for all the help she’d provided Brian over the years as he became acclimated to his role as Britain’s foremost protector, but the Professor had ordered her to stay behind so that his school, the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning in Westchester County, New York, would not be without a telepath in residence ... in case of any trouble.
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