He nodded his head forlornly. “I just wish there was some kind of mass-transportation system in this pi—”
And that was when the tremor hit.
Actually, it wasn’t so much a tremor, as a wave of energy that surged across the wasteland, causing the ground to twist and sway, and knocking the feet out from under the couple.
Betsy had barely enough time to realize she was going to be in some degree of pain when she woke up—before the floor smacked her in the face.
Sat-yr-nin had been stomping across the endless, featureless tundra— still fuming, still groaning from the bump on her head-when the wave slammed into her.
It swept her along in its wake, depositing her some distance from where she had been, although just how far was impossible to tell, given the limitless sameness of this place she’d crossed into. Regardless of distance, or even what might have been the cause of the energy wave, however, she was certain of one thing: She was in an even fouler mood than the one she’d been in when she awoke in Roma’s chamber.
“Some further meddling on the part of that tin-plated fool, no doubt,” she said to herself. “I just hope he hasn’t gotten himself killed— although it would be just like the selfish brute to deny me the pleasure of killing him myself.”
Picking herself up off the ground, she smoothed out the most noticeable wrinkles on her flowing white gown, patted loose strands of white hair back into place on her coiffure, and adjusted the sheath of the dagger strapped to her right thigh, close to the slit in her skirt. She wanted to look her best for von Doom... just before she cut out his eyes.
* * *
The wave continued beyond the aching Mastrex, across the Starlight Citadel and down through its many levels. Wherever it traveled, it left chaos in its wake. Delicate machinery exploded. Artificial gravity momentarily cut off, causing residents to go rocketing down hallways, or bouncing off the ceilings. Time momentarily froze, then resumed at twice normal speed. Accidents were widespread, destruction almost as much.
And at the bottom-most level of the structure, within a special room located there, a monitoring system connected to a cryogenic chamber shorted out, activating an emergency medical program. A pump switched on, draining the tube of suspension fluid; once the process was completed, the chamber door swung open. At last released from confinement, its sole occupant pitched forward, onto the floor.
She lay still for several seconds, then began to cough—loudly, violently. Spasms shook her body as she raised herself onto her elbows and knees. And then a veritable ocean of blue suspension fluid came flooding from her nose and mouth.
Eventually,' the vomiting ended, and she collapsed onto her back, rubbing her sore throat. She stared at the ceiling for what seemed to her like hours, slowly feeling her frozen body warming, slowly regaining the ability to think straight. Images flashed through her mind: von Doom in her apartment; the attack by Dr. Stanton as he drugged her, then stuffed her inside the cryo chamber. But most of all there was the memory of the madwoman who wore her features, her clothes; who’d taken her place as the Supreme Guardian’s trusted lieutenant.
Who was going to die as soon as she got her hands on the little witch.
Her mind filled with rage, her eyes practically flashing fire, Opal Luna Satumyne, the true Omniversal Majestrix, staggered to her feet and lurched out of the makeshift prison, in search of revenge.
“Why do I get the feeling something like that isn’t supposed to happen around here?” Warren asked as he mbbed his sore left shoulder.
“Because I don’t think it is,” Betsy agreed. She swept her lavender hair away from her eyes and climbed back to her feet. “I’d lay even money von Doom had something to do with it, though.”
“No bet,” Warren said, joining her. “And I’ve got a bad feeling it’s only gonna get worse from here.”
“Then we’d better hurry,” she said, and took his hand. Again, a midnight-black portal opened beneath them, and they entered the shadow realm.
* * *
This time, when they stepped from the portal, Betsy had the overwhelming impression they’d just dropped into a war zone.
The sky—or ceiling—was ablaze with powerful bursts of light. The ground constantly shook from a series of explosions—some minor, some strong enough to almost knock her down. The air was tinged with the stench of burnt ozone and acrid smoke.
And right in the center of this pyrotechnic display was Doctor Doom, looking as though he was in complete control of the forces of Armageddon that raged above and around them all.
“Well, this doesn’t look good .. .” Warren said.
The armored tyrant stood beside some sort of hexagonal control console, holding tight to a collection of wires. Power was flowing from the console into him, and Betsy turned to look at the source of the energy he was absorbing. Her eyes widened in horror.
“ROMA!” she cried.
The Guardian was strapped to a medical table that was tilted upward, her hands bound in the opposite ends of the wires von Doom held. Golden energy poured from her, into the console, and her head lolled against her chest. From this distance, Betsy couldn’t tell if she were still alive.
“We should hit him now, before he’s aware we’re here,” Warren suggested. “Knock him down, and then we can figure just what the hell he’s trying to do.”
“Warren,” she said in amazement, “I think he’s . . . draining her energy. Stealing it for himself. That might be why the citadel started shaking before—he’s interfering with the natural order of things here.”
“All right,” he replied after a moment. “Then, Roma first. Disconnect her, and Doom’s cut off from his power source. And maybe, with luck, that stops the citadel from tearing itself apart.”
“Sounds good to me,” Betsy said. “Let’s get to it, then.”
She charged forward, pounding across the floor toward Roma, now wishing she hadn’t left Alecto’s sword behind—it would have made cutting the wires and cables much easier. The flapping of wings nearby told her Warren was joining her in the rescue. She’d almost reached her objective—when a bolt of lightning suddenly exploded directly in front of her.
Thrown to the side, Betsy immediately rolled with the shockwave and came up standing, although she couldn’t see clearly, for all the black and multicolored dots swimming before her eyes. But she could certainly hear well enough.
“So, mutants!” von Doom bellowed above the storm. “You have arrived at a most fortuitous moment—when you shall witness Doom’s ascension to godhood . . . before you die!”
“Great. Like he doesn’t act holier-than-thou already.” A hand lightly touched her shoulder. “You okay, Betts?” Warren asked.
“Nothing a seeing-eye dog couldn’t help with right now,” she replied dryly, blinking rapidly to clear her vision. She patted his hand with her own. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, change of plans,” he said. “You help Roma. I’ll face off with Doom, try to buy you some time to get her out of here.”
“No!” Betsy snapped, a little too forcefully. Watching him die once, at Magneto’s hands just days before, had been almost more than she could bear; she wasn’t going to let it happen again. “He’s mine.”
And before Warren could protest, she charged at the armored tyrant. Unfortunately, she didn’t get very far. A bolt of energy erupted from the palm of his gauntlet, and she wasn’t quick enough to avoid it. She screamed as it struck her square in the chest and smashed her to the floor. The sensation was agonizing—like a million fire ants were crawling over her body, sinking their mandibles into her flesh. She tried to rise, only to discover her limbs refused to work; she could only thrash helplessly on the ground as the pain intensified. The green light that engulfed her grew brighter, and she screwed her eyes shut. The illumination could not be denied, though; she could see it even behind her eyelids.
A loud gasp reached her ears, and she forced her eyes to open. Warren was lying a short distance away. He, too, was sufferin
g under a similar energy beam, wings beating feebly as he twisted and turned, mouth contorted in a silent scream.
Her mind suddenly filled with a kaleidoscope of images. She saw her life before the X-Men had ever entered it—her time as a world-renowned fashion model, then, later, as a telepathic secret agent in the British counterterrorist organization S.T.R.I.K.E. Then came snippets of her years with the X-Men—some good (especially where Warren was concerned), some bad, but all quite memorable. And there was her career as a cabaret singer in New York’s Greenwich Village, just before she met Warren—
But wait. She’d never been a cabaret singer, had she?
No, of course not. She’d barely been able to work up the nerve to perform a time or two at Warren’s mid-Manhattan nightclub; she’d certainly never made a career out of it.
So, why, then, she wondered dimly, did she possess memories of a life she knew she’d never had?
The answer wasn’t long in coming. For, just as it seemed the light beam was on the verge of boring through her, it suddenly switched off.
And when she opened her eyes, there was another Elisabeth Braddock lying beside her.
“W-what. . . ?” she stuttered hoarsely. “H-how . . .”
She looked beautifully elegant, her doppelganger, even sprawled unconscious on the floor. She was dressed in a strapless black evening gown, with matching opera-length gloves; a string of white pearls adorned her neck. It was, Betsy realized, exactly the same outfit she had been wearing when she’d performed for “Emperor” von Doom, at the Washington, D.C. celebration commemorating his tenth year in power.
But it hadn’t really been her, had it? Not the one-time fashion model, nor the former psi-agent, nor the current X-Man known as “Psylocke.” It had been this woman who had sung her heart out for a worldwide audience—she knew that now. She just couldn’t fathom how it could have happened—although it might explain the odd recollections she’d been having of late . ..
“Interesting,” von Doom said. “Like the Guardian, and myself earlier, these mutants also harbored surrogates of themselves within their bodies. An influence of the Cosmic Cube’s, no doubt.”
The Cube. Of course. What else, given the current situation, could account for one person possessing two sets of memories, only to discover that she’d actually been two people all along? And if the Cube had fused her with an alternate of herself. . .
Slowly, Betsy turned on her side to look at Warren. There were three versions of her winged lover across from her: one, the poor unfortunate from von Doom’s world, who had sacrificed himself to save his former emperor; the second, the husband of her counterpart on Magneto’s Earth. In the center, barely conscious, was the true Warren Worthington III—the man she had crossed dimensions and mental landscapes to recover.
But now he was going to be taken away from her again, as she would be from him. She looked up, to see another charge of lightning building. There’d be no way to dodge it—-von Doom’s weapon had weakened her too much to even roll out of the way.
He’d won after all, it seemed—loosed chaos upon the Earth with his damnable Cube, then struck down Roma so he could take her place, and her power, as Supreme Guardian. And because of Betsy’s failure to stop him, the omniverse—and her friends—would suffer the consequences.
She hoped they’d be able to forgive her when the end came.
16
I’M SORRY, sugah, but I don’t have the foggiest idea how I’m s’posed t’make any sense’a outta this mess.”
_ Rogue ran a gloved hand through her close-cropped hair, and
shrugged. “Mutant heroes, worlds where the Nazis didn’t win World War II, an’ the Red Skull is just some run’a-the-mill bad guy ’stead’a bein’ emperor...” She shook her head. “It’s just a li’l hard t’believe, if y’all don’t mind me sayin’ so.”
Remy smiled. “You not de only one havin’ trouble wit all dis cosmic mischief, chere. Parallel dimensions an’ de like—dey just a bit outside de experience of a simple t’ief, too. But I swear ev’ry word o’ it is de truth.” The smile widened. “01’ Gambit, he’d never lie t’you.” She smiled, too, her pallid cheeks turning a warm shade of rose. It was the first time she’d shown any emotion other than fright since his suicidal rescue attempt back on the highway. It looked good on her.
He suddenly realized how much he’d missed that smile. When he’d laid, dying, in a cell on von Doom’s version of Earth, it was all he had thought about—the way it made her cheeks dimple, the way her nose wrinkled and her eyes shone so brightly. He’d regretted never having the chance to see it again once he died, and in that regret had finally found the strength to come right out and say to her what he’d so often avoided saying since they’d first met: that he loved her. They had been hard words to admit to—as much of a romantic as he considered himself, the idea of committing his heart to one woman had always been a foreign concept to Remy. But no matter how many times their relationship fractured over the years, no matter how often he’d recklessly chased after other women—whether to punish her over some stupid misunderstanding, or, more likely, as a way to punish himself—he’d always come back to Rogue.
At first, it had been difficult for him to acknowledge the possibility that they were meant to be together. Remy had never been a great believer in fate; chance was his game, and Lady Luck the card dealer. Things happened simply because they happened—you just went with the hand you were dealt, and tried to bluff your way through. No mystical forces directed his life.
But where Rogue was concerned, the deck had been stacked against him even before he sat down at the table. As he’d said to her in their last moments together—just before he’d sacrificed his life to give the X-Men a chance to escape from von Doom’s intelligence headquarters— she was the only woman who had ever beaten a thief at his own game ... by stealing his heart. And by admitting that to her, to himself, he had finally come to understand just how much he loved her.
Theirs had never been the easiest of couplings. Because of the uncontrollable nature of her powers, they had never been able to consummate the relationship—she was terrified of absorbing his life-force, perhaps even accidentally killing him, should their bare skin touch. It was a bizarre complication Remy had never had to deal with before— and he had known quite a few women in his time. In his younger, wilder days, he would have just shrugged his shoulders and moved on, in search of a less . .. stressful love connection.
But there was something about Rogue that drew him to her side, that made him want to be with her, no matter how many odd twists and turns the relationship might take. Maybe it was her naivete that had caught his attention—she was not exactly someone you’d consider wise in all the ways of the world, and he knew all about them ... or so he kept telling her. Maybe it was her down-home, Southern charm, which appealed to his bayou upbringing.
Or maybe it was because her powers made her feel so alone in the world, and he wanted—perhaps even needed—to comfort her. As a member of New Orleans’ Thieves Guild, Remy had always been surrounded by an extended family. Rogue, on the other hand, had been cast out from her own when her powers manifested, leaving her with no one to turn to when she needed help the most. She’d found a certain degree of acceptance when she joined the X-Men, but Remy knew she still felt like an outsider, even among her own kind—able to fight beside them, able to share in their brief moments of fun, but never able to really be one of them. Not when she could steal their memories, their powers, their lives, with just a touch.
He could understand how she felt. Becoming a member of the
X-Men had never been a direction he’d ever expected his life to take, but he’d gone along with it, if only because he was curious to see how things would turn out. Unfortunately, he’d never been welcomed with open arms into the group, and later was even suspected of betraying them to their enemies.
Yes, Remy could understand Rogue’s sense of aloneness, all right. And maybe that was what drew them to one another.
They made one hell of an unusual pair, he knew: the worldly thief and the lonely Southern belle. Sharing a love that went beyond physical boundaries, finding comfort in their differences, accepting whatever cards fate might deal and making the best of them—together.
But he wouldn’t have had it any other way.
“Penny fer your thoughts?” she asked, shaking him from his reverie. Remy grinned. “Jus’ glad t’see you smilin’ fer a change, petite. T’ought maybe you’d forgot how t’do it.”
Her smile faded, and a dark cloud passed behind her eyes. She shivered, as though recalling a particularly unpleasant memory. “Haven’t had much reason to smile these days,” she said quietly.
“Dat ain’t hard t’believe,” he replied. “What wit’ de world all turned upside-down an’ inside-out, an’ us cut off from de rest o’ de X-Men.” He rose from the metal folding chair he’d been sitting on, feeling the need to stretch his legs, and surveyed their surroundings. A roomsized storage facility in a Queens warehouse was a long way from the plush accommodations of the Xavier Institute of Higher Learning, and it only reminded Remy of how strange things had become since the X-Men returned to Earth, only days before.
As strange as the woman sitting in front of him. A woman who wore the features of someone to whom he had opened his heart only a short time ago, but who was now as foreign to him as he was to her.
He needed to find that other woman, the one who meant so much to him. Needed to talk to her, hold her, touch her. But in order to do that, in order to find her, and the rest of the X-Men, he first needed an ally. Even if it meant turning to a stranger.
“Rogue, I. . . need your help,” he said slowly.
“What kinda help did you have in mind?” she asked in a guarded tone. “I mean, I’m grateful for the rescue an’ all, but...”
“I need you t’understand what I was talkin’ ’bout,” he explained. “De parallel worlds, an’ de X-Men, an everyt’in’ else dat’s important. I’m gonna need somebody t’show me around dis city if I’m gonna find my friends, an’ it’d go easier if you knew what I was doin’.”
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