With a soft grunt, the latex-clad officer crumpled to the floor at Grey’s feet—much to the surprise of Carol Danvers. She jumped from the couch, looking in shock from Viper to her employer.
“What did you do to her?” she whispered hoarsely, then glanced at the front door. “Are you trying to get us both killed?”
“Don’t be so skittish, Fraulein Danvers, “ Xavier replied. “This office is soundproofed. I assure you, no one in the hall outside has heard a thing since we came in here.” He gestured toward Viper. “Now, then, let us see if I can get this to work . ..”
He fell silent, focusing his thoughts on the unconscious commander, slipping through the corridors of her mind until he found what he was looking for. Beads of sweat formed on the professor’s bare scalp as he set about flipping mental switches, turning psychic dials. He felt a small surge of pride as he saw the woman’s fingers twitch, felt her leg muscles tighten.
And then Viper suddenly lurched to her feet, her eyes snapping open. The pupils were dilated though—evidence that she was not the one in control of her body.
“What are you doing?” Danvers hissed. Apparently, she didn’t believe him about the thickness of the office walls.
Viper turned to face her, but it was Xavier’s words that came tumbling out through numbed lips. “It was painfully apparent to me that the Commander was never going to bring the information I gathered to the Emperor, and time is of the essence. Therefore, I will have to do so myself—through her.”
A soft moan caught their attention, and all three turned to look at Jean Grey. Her head had tilted back, and her eyelids were beginning to flutter open.
“I can only maintain control over one of them,” Xavier explained to Danvers through Viper. “In order to place myself inside the Commander, I have had to withdraw a majority of the psychic barriers I erected within Fraulein Grey’s mind. She’ll be fully conscious shortly.”
“Not necessarily.” Danvers went back to the couch to retrieve a large handbag that sat between the cushions. Placing it on Viper’s desk, she rifled through the contents, coming up with a small vial and a syringe.
Xavier had Viper shake her head. “No sedatives, Danvers. I want Fraulein Grey awake—we have much to discuss.” He/she paused, then gestured toward the needle. “But have it ready, just in case the conversation becomes ... volatile.”
As Danvers prepared the shot, Xavier directed Viper’s body to the desk. It was difficult work—he’d forgotten how to walk, in all the years he’d been confined to a wheelchair—but he managed to keep her from tripping over her feet long enough to drop her into her chair. A quick examination of her mind told him the location of her main communications set; pressing a hidden stud to the right of her seat caused a viewscreen to rise from the center of the desk. He keyed in a specific transmissions code—one only to be used in cases of emergency—and hit the SEND button.
Moments later, a man in a security uniform appeared on the screen. “Yes?”
“This is Commander Viper, in New York.” Her eyes, Xavier knew, were still wide and unseeing, but the low quality of the picture being broadcast should make it difficult to tell, except on close inspection. He hoped. “I need to speak with the Emperor—immediately....”
15
SHE’D BEEN dreaming of empires again.
Dreaming of lavish palaces and sculptured gardens, of legions . of armies marching under her banner and immense monuments carved in her image, of enemies crushed and cities burned.
So it was a bitter disappointment for Sat-yr-nin when she suddenly realized that none of what she was seeing—the throne room, the ladies-in-waiting, the viral young guards anxious to comply with her every order, the heads of her enemies perched so decorously on their pikes— was real.
And that was when the agonizing pain in her head erupted.
With a groan, she slowly opened her eyes; thankfully, the room was just dark enough for the lighting to not blind her. She attempted to sit up, but the pain in her head only intensified, and she settled back. Gingerly, she placed her fingertips to her head, and sucked in a sharp breath when they came into contact with the huge welt on her temple.
She remembered, now. Remembered finding the passage behind the throne, which led to Roma’s chamber, which led to an unexpected confrontation with the Guardian’s hulking captain, Alecto. Knowing he was under von Doom’s thrall, she hadn’t thought twice about brushing past him as he warned her that no one was allowed in the chamber—she was the doctor’s ally, after all. But then, he’d had the temerity to place his hands on her—Her! The Mastrex of the Empire of True Briton!— like the oafish commoner he was, and she’d let her temper get the best of her. Slapping him across the face hadn’t done much good for breaking his vise-like grip on her shoulder, but making a grab for his sword, so she could separate his head from his shoulders, had certainly gotten his attention. He let go of her, all right, but only so he could deliver a swift blow to her head, one made even more staggering by the weight of the big metal gauntlets he wore. The floor had rushed up to meet her, and . ..
Sat-yr-nin gazed at her surroundings, and was surprised to find she was lying on Roma’s bed. Placing her here wasn’t something she would have expected from a brute who had come close to crushing her skull, but she was at a loss to otherwise explain her position. Maybe it was just his addlepated way of apologizing for the assault. Whatever the reason, she’d still see his head on a pike—no one laid hands upon the Mastrex and walked away unpunished.
That, however, would have to wait. Right now, she still wanted to talk to von Doom about this reality-changing weapon he’d created.
Moving slowly, so as not to increase the strength of her headache, she rolled over to the edge of the bed and swung her feet onto the floor. Then, hesitantly, she raised herself up into a sitting position, keeping her head down and her hands placed on either side of it. Gritting her teeth, she raised her head, and was startled to discover that the bedchamber looked as though a battle had been fought in it. Smashed furniture, a broken woodcut and snapped candles—whoever forced their way in had obviously encountered the mind-controlled warrior, but what had been the outcome?
As she rose from the bed, her foot brushed against hard metal. She looked down, to find Alecto lying in a heap, a thin whisper of smoke curling upward from the nape of his neck. Apparently, not only had the mysterious intruder overpowered the guard, but they had also found a way to short out the device that made him obedient to von Doom.
Sat-yr-nin glanced around. There was no other body to be seen, so the intruder had moved on—more than likely through the open door on the other side of the room: her original destination, before the altercation. When all of this might have happened she couldn’t say; to begin with, she had no idea how long she’d been unconscious. But she did, however, have a notion as to who might be responsible for the damaged room, and the sleeping guard.
“The X-Men,” she hissed. “Braddock, and her insipid winged lover.”
She started toward the door, then stopped, and walked back to Alecto. A quick search of his body revealed no weapons, and his sword had been taken. A pity, really, she thought—she’d been hoping to use it on him before she left. She settled for delivering a brutal kick to his face with the toe of her boot, and knocking out one of his front teeth.
Sweeping her hair back from her face—and then wincing as her hand brushed against the lump on her head—the Mastrex picked her way across the room, and stepped into the pocket dimension beyond the doorway.
“It is time,” von Doom stated.
He made a final calibration to the inner workings of the machine before him, then stepped back to admire his creation. It had taken time to acquire the materials, but by sending the physician, Stanton, and the throne room guards back to the citadel on several trips, the dictator had been able to get everything he needed, even the more unusual selections on his list. As Stanton had explained, with as many levels as the citadel possessed, and as many different kin
ds of machinery there were to be found on them, from hundreds of worlds and dimensions, there was no shortage of equipment storage bays, or replacement parts. Von Doom had been satisfied with the physician’s responses since their last discussion; now, the man was almost too forthcoming with information.
The doctor was standing beside him right now, the only member of von Doom’s entourage still in attendance. Being all too familiar with the ways of the so-called “super hero” community, he hadn’t really expected his warrior drones to prove much of a challenge for the two X-Men pursuing him. But they would serve their purpose well enough— delaying the duo long enough to provide him time to finish his work was all he required.
And now it was done.
Softly, Stanton cleared his throat. “Um . . . Lord Doom ... I don’t wish to sound ignorant, but... time for what?”
“For the next stage of my plan, lackey,” von Doom growled. “The stage in which Doom ascends to his rightful place ... as a god.”
“Oh,” Stanton muttered, and smiled nervously. “That stage.” “Bring the woman over,” von Doom ordered.
As Stanton walked away to retrieve the Guardian, the dictator turned back to regard his machine. It stood five feet tall, in a columnar shape with eight control sections cluttered with switches, dials, and buttons around a central core. Attached to the center by lengths of cable and fiber optics were two sets of metal handgrips, each placed on opposite sides of the construct. Von Doom began flipping switches and punching buttons, and the machine loudly hummed to life. ■
The squeak of hard rubber wheels caught his attention. He turned to see Stanton pushing the medical bed to which Roma was strapped. The physician brought it to a halt beside the console.
“Place the grips in her hands,” von Doom ordered.
Stanton did as he was ordered, using clamps on the ends of the grips to secure them to her wrists so she couldn’t just cast them aside
if she awakened during the process. Completing the task, he stepped back and looked to his master.
Von Doom activated another set of controls, moving around the console to set a sequence of dials, then toggled a quintet of switches. The humming sound given off by the machine grew louder, causing Stanton to place his hands over his ears.
“Exactly what are we—you—doing here, Lord Doom?” he asked. “Some of this equipment is familiar—parts from some of the medical equipment I gathered, and so on—but I’ve never seen them used quite this way.”
The tyrant paused in his work. “Not that you could possibly grasp the genius that is Doom’s, physician, but I will tell you nonetheless. A number of years past, in my homeland of Latveria, I once lured the alien known as the Silver Surfer to my castle with promises of friendship. The fool accepted my invitation, only to learn my true purpose: to take from him his cosmic powers, and use them to strike at the accursed Reed Richards and the other members of his insipid Fantastic Four.” He raised a metal fist in the air. “And I succeeded! As none before me had ever done!” He frowned, and the fist slowly dropped to his side. “But the victory was a hollow one—for while I had absorbed the sky-rider’s strengths by using a device only Doom could create, I had also absorbed his weaknesses.” He paused, grinding his teeth as he recalled the events that followed. “It was an energy barrier that reversed the process—one invisible to any form of detection, even those created by Doom. It had been erected by the Surfer’s previous master, Galactus, the world-devourer, as a means of imprisoning him on Earth. To deny him any further chance of traveling among the stars. But when I became the possessor of the Power Cosmic, the barrier worked against me, as well. Colliding with it drained my newly acquired strength, and returned it to the Surfer.” His eyes narrowed. “Such an occurrence will never happen again.”
“And now you’re planning to do the same thing to the Guardian?” Stanton asked. “This machine is going to drain her powers?” He pursed his lips, as though stopping to choose the right words. “Is that... possible? I mean, she is a Supreme Guardian, and—”
“Silence!” the armored dictator barked. “Everything is possible, lackey, when Doom is involved.” He gestured toward the console. “This assemblage of parts and circuitry is crude, but should work effectively enough for the task at hand.” His hands played across two of the sections, setting a final combination of relays; then he grasped the handgrips on his side of the console. “Now, we begin.”
He stabbed at one last button near him, and the hum reached a teeth-rattling pitch.
And then the process began. A bright, multihued light began playing around Roma, growing brighter with each moment. As it reached its peak, when the light became too unbearable to gaze at, it suddenly flowed from her hands, into the grips. The pulse continued onward, streaking through the connections leading to von Doom’s machine, then into the console itself. Without pause, it flashed upward, through the connections on the other side of the machine—and into von Doom.
The incredible power surge coursing through him initially caused him to stagger back a few steps, but he remained standing. The light grew brighter around him, even as it dimmed around Roma.
“Soon, physician!” he bellowed triumphantly. “Soon, Doom shall achieve his ultimate destiny—and then how the cosmos will tremble!”
Dr. Henry Stanton was not having a good day.
It hadn’t started out that way, of course. But once things started happening—particularly when his former patient tried to crush his larynx for withholding information about the citadel—it didn’t take very long for it to turn sour.
As the physician watched the transfer of energy going no between von Doom and Roma, he couldn’t help but wonder what had possessed him in the first place to ally himself with such a madman, or with that psychotic witch, Sat-yr-nin. Actually, when he thought about it, “ally” wasn’t the proper term to describe his relationship with the two power-hungry villains—“slave” was probably more accurate. He retrieved what he was told to fetch, bowed and scraped before them so neither would think he was trying to act as their equal, and therefore feel the need to remind him of his “place”-—probably via swift execution—and generally kept his mouth shut unless told to speak. Not exactly the position he’d hoped to be in when he’d agreed to aid in their plot against the Supreme Guardian.
He’d hoped to have been promoted to the position of Chief Physician by now, one currently occupied by someone Stanton considered to be an annoying little man—a Scotsman whose name no one could remember, with a know-it-all attitude when it came to making diagnoses. A grinning jackanapes who had been given the job by Roma, even though her father, Merlyn, had been considering Stanton as the man he wanted in charge of the medical wing. The fact that the caustic doctor and the female celestial didn’t care much for one another probably had a lot to do with her decision—and his, in turn, to join von Doom’s campaign.
His, however, had turned out to be an awfully stupid decision; those bom of anger and jealousy usually were. He had gotten his revenge on her—so what? Watching the tortures to which she’d been subjected at von Doom’s hand, trying to ignore the screams that seemed to fill the pocket dimension as yet another part, another version, of her self was tom away by the multiphasic crystal technology—it wasn’t how he’d imagined things would turn out. He’d thought sealing her in a cryogenic chamber, as he had done with Roma’s lieutenant, Satumyne, would have been punishment enough—von Doom would still be able to mle the citadel without interference. But the tyrant seemed to take an almost sadistic pleasure in his efforts to break the Guardian’s will. And now, rather than force her to tell him all the secrets of this palace at the center of time and space, he’d apparently decided to take a different, and far more inhumane, approach, by using his infernal machine to steal her powers—and her life.
There was nothing Stanton could do about it now, though. He’d already damned himself through his selfish actions; now, all he could do was pray his master would still have a use for lowly servants—once he b
ecame a god. . . .
“God, I’m really starting to hate this...” Warren muttered. “You’d think we would’ve found Doom a few seconds after we took care of his zombie squad—but no, we’re back to wandering the great white nothing again.”
A more accurate description of their situation Betsy couldn’t imagine. Almost immediately after the last of the mind-controlled guards had collapsed on the ground, the two X-Men had hurried to catch up with the armored tyrant. She’d even left behind Alecto’s sword, so its weight wouldn’t slow her down—besides, her arms were still aching from swinging the heavy blade (something she should have taken into consideration before bringing it in the first place), and she was glad to be rid of it. But no matter how swiftly they moved in pursuit, von Doom was long gone from view.
“I think it has to do with Time and Space being relative,” she commented.
“Lunch time doubly so,” Warren replied.
She raised an eyebrow, and playfully jabbed him with her elbow. “Thank you, Douglas Adams. What I mean is, distances probably have no way of being measured here; time, as well. It only looked like von Doom walked away a few minutes before we banged up his thugs—at least to our eyes—but he actually could have been gone for more than an hour. And he could have traveled miles with just a few footsteps. It all has to do with perception.”
“Riiight.” Warren gave a sarcastic, lopsided smile. “And everything you’ve just said makes complete sense to you.”
“About as much sense as anything else around here,” she replied. He shrugged. “Well, you’re the expert on this place.”
She nodded. “As much as one can be, I suppose. And as the expert, I can think of only one solution for locating him.”
Warren frowned. “Another cruise through the shadow realm?”
She smiled and patted his arm consolingly. “Well, it beats walking, luv. I’ll just concentrate on von Doom this time, rather than Roma. That should keep us from accidentally teleporting back to that lashed-up cryogenic facility of his.”
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