Crossover

by Lucas Flint

  “I remember him,” said Nicknacks, looking at Hopper with distaste. “I was a member of the Leadership Council when he was on the Young Neos. His ability to open portals that allowed him to travel across vast distances in a short amount of time was interesting, though I never did like him or his fellow Visionists very much even before I knew their true allegiance.”

  “Shut your mouth, you stupid alien,” Hopper snapped. “We never liked you, either. You’re not even human, but somehow you got to be one of the leaders of the largest superhero organization in the country? Typical superhuman bigotry. Disgusting aliens are okay, but not our fellow human beings who don’t have powers. God you’re a bunch of pricks.”

  Captain Galaxy looked at Bolt. “Was he always like that or—?”

  Bolt shrugged. “He wasn’t quite so blatant about it, but yeah, he and his merry band of snowflakes were pretty much all like this. Big reason why I didn’t like Vision: They’re a bunch of crybabies.”

  “We are not a bunch of crybabies,” said Hopper, tears streaming down the side of his face. “We’re humans trying to make a difference in the world. Stop oppressing us!”

  “Yes, yes, Bolt can be quite rude, I agree,” said Cadmus in a very deadpan voice. “Now, could you be quiet while the adults talk? You’re a little too old to be whining like a baby.”

  Hopper shut his mouth, but tears of frustration continued to pour down the sides of his face.

  Bolt folded his arms across his chest and looked at Cadmus. “How did Hopper get out here? Last I remember, he was crying over Sagan’s dead body.”

  “Shade brought him in after we caught you,” said Cadmus. “Him and the other two young Visionists, Polly ‘Technical’ Jones and Sarah Jane Watson, the granddaughter of Barnabas Sagan. Like Hopper, they’re here in the Facility where they are being kept prisoner, though we’ve made an effort to keep the three of them apart from each other so they don’t try to escape.”

  “We’ll get out of here eventually,” Hopper snapped. “You’ll see. And when we do, we’re going to start Vision again, except this time it’ll be even more inclusive and equal!”

  “Didn’t someone try to start a Neo-Vision or something recently?” said Bolt, scratching the back of his head. “Didn’t work out too well from what I heard.”

  Cadmus shrugged. “I think so, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’ve been testing the limits of their respective powers, because despite their, ah, ‘unique’ ideological views, each one of these kids were on the Young Neos for a reason: namely, their powerful abilities, such as Hopper’s portal power, for example.”

  “And?” said Bolt. “Exactly how is Hopper’s power supposed to help us?”

  Captain Galaxy put a hand on her chest. “Can his power get us to the Darzens’ home world?”

  Cadmus nodded. “Correct, Captain Galaxy. I believe that Hopper here should be able to help us reach the Darzens’ home world. Isn’t that right, Hopper?”

  “What’s a Darzen?” said Hopper.

  “They’re a vicious alien species seeking to resurrect their dead god in order to conquer the multiverse,” said Captain Galaxy with disgust.

  Hopper suddenly scowled. “Wow, that’s pretty bigoted of you to describe an entire species as ‘vicious.’ What about the Darzens which aren’t vicious, huh? Did you ever think about them? Of course you didn’t, because you’re a bigot who—”

  Hopper was suddenly sprayed in the face by another round of powerless gas. This time, it lasted a couple more seconds longer, and when Cadmus cut it off, Hopper’s face had an ugly yellow hue to it now that made him look sick and he was hacking like he was dying.

  “Thanks,” said Captain Galaxy, flashing a smile at Cadmus.

  “No problem,” said Cadmus. “It’s actually kind of fun. You should try it sometime.”

  “We can talk about how fun it is to bully Hopper later,” said Bolt. He took a step forward and glanced at Hopper with disgust. “How do you know that his powers can get us to the Darzen home world? I remember that his powers could only be used to transport someone from one part of Earth to another. He never used it to cross universes.”

  “He never used it to cross universes while you were looking,” Cadmus corrected. He patted Hopper on the shoulder again. “Thanks to our efficient testing methods, the Facility scientists were able to push Hopper’s powers to their absolute limit. As it turned out, neither Sagan nor the NHA ever realized just how powerful a young superhuman they had on their hands. It took the power of the G-Men to realize just how powerful Hopper’s abilities are.”

  “He’s not really young anymore, though, is he?” said Bolt.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Cadmus. “What does matter is that we’ve managed to push his powers far beyond what even he thought his own limits were. As a result, I’m comfortable saying that Hopper is likely one of the strongest superhumans on Earth. With proper training, he could probably be on the same level as Omega Man, the Midnight Menace, or even Tsunami.”

  “Wow,” said Hopper sarcastically. “Thanks for comparing me to three bigots. That’s definitely not problematic.”

  Cadmus ignored Hopper as he continued to speak, saying, “As a result, we discovered that Hopper’s power can cross universes. We even sent a few agents through his portals to these other universes, though none of them ever returned.”

  “Amazing,” said Captain Galaxy. “Dimension-hopping tech takes a ton of energy to work, far more than the human body can handle. How does a human as old and frail as Hopper pull it off?”

  “Neogenetics is an interesting subject,” said Cadmus, “but for now, you must understand that Hopper can get you to the Darzen home world all on his own.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” said Bolt. He gestured at Hopper. “Have Tears here send us to the Darzen home world right away.”

  “Tears?” Hopper repeated. He sniffled. “That’s not nice.”

  Again, Cadmus ignored Hopper, his focus on Bolt. “First, we need to wait for the powerless gas to wear off him. That should probably take only about ten or fifteen minutes, because I didn’t spray him with very much. Still, even just a little powerless gas can leave a superhuman totally without power, so we need to wait. And second … I want to send one of my G-Men agents with you.”

  Bolt paused. “Why?”

  “Because the Soul Crown is still federal government property,” Cadmus insisted. “Therefore, it is up to us to retrieve it, regardless of who stole it or where it currently is.”

  Bolt narrowed his eyes. “And what if I say no?”

  “Then I’ll kick all three of you out of the Facility and send my own team of G-Men agents to the Darzen home world to retrieve the Soul Crown myself,” said Cadmus. He tilted his head to the side. “How does that sound?”

  It didn’t sound especially good to Bolt. He hated the idea of having a G-Man agent coming along with them, because he doubted Cadmus was just interested in retrieving the Soul Crown, but at the same time, he couldn’t see any way around Cadmus’ demands. He would just have to accept them, at least for now. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to have a couple more allies on hand, given how the Darzen home world was probably going to be a very hostile and dangerous place.

  So Bolt nodded. “All right. Send as many G-Men agents with us as you want. Just make sure that none of them get in our way and everything should be just peachy.”

  Cadmus smiled. “Very well. I will assemble a small team over the next half hour, which is when the powerless gas should wear off and Hopper’s powers should be back in working order. We’ll convene here in half an hour to start the mission.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Beams and Mr. Space walked along a long corridor on the bottom level of HQ. Mr. Space walked slightly in front, the Rubber Ball’s case held securely under his arms, while Beams walked slightly behind him at a slower pace. He glanced around at their surroundings every now and then, noticing how thick the walls were and how dark down here it seemed even wi
th lights on the ceiling providing enough illumination for them to see where they were going.

  “Oh, it’s always been like this,” Mr. Space had remarked when Beams pointed this out earlier. “Level Six is the lowest level of HQ. There are no windows or anything because it’s where we keep all of the important stuff. Both the exterior and interior walls have more layers than the other parts of HQ. It can even detach and operate as an independent spaceship in case of emergency. It’s pretty neat.”

  Beams had nodded when Mr. Space said that, but he could not help but feel a little anxious as they drew closer and closer to the Vault. According to Mr. Space, Level Six of IEA HQ was home to the Vault, which was where all valuable and important objects that IEA agents recovered on their various missions were kept for storage. Only a handful of people had access to the Vault’s pass code and it was changed once a week just to be safe. Mr. Space even claimed that the Vault had never been broken into, which Beams found impressive, though he wondered if Mr. Space had jinxed them by saying that aloud.

  Doesn’t matter, Beams thought, shaking his head. Why do I feel so anxious about approaching it? I’m not going in there. The Rubber Ball is.

  But that was the problem. It was becoming easier and easier for Beams to feel the emotions of the Rubber Ball. He could tell, without even looking, that the Rubber Ball was anxious that it would be sealed inside the IEA’s Vault forever and that its worshipers would never be able to recover it. The Rubber Ball was even considering suicide in order to avoid such a terrible fate, though due to its lack of limbs, that was just a fantasy more than anything.

  Somehow, I’m feeling every bit as anxious as it, Beams thought, glancing at the Rubber Ball. And I don’t even want to. Why did it have to pick me? Why couldn’t it pick someone else?

  “Worried about your friends?” Mr. Space said, interrupting Beams’ thoughts.

  “What?” said Beams, looking at Mr. Space.

  “Your friends back in your home universe,” said Mr. Space. “I didn’t ask you about them back during the battle, but I heard you ask the Avatar about them and how he avoided the question. Are you worried that your friends were killed by the Darzens?”

  It took Beams a moment to realize who Mr. Space was talking about. “Oh, no. I’m not worried about them at all. Rubberman is a pro hero, a real fighter. Adams is even tougher and I’m sure that even Angel Wings can take care of herself in a fight. I’d be more worried about the Darzens who attacked them. I bet they’re all going to feel that in the morning.”

  Mr. Space shrugged. “I don’t know your friends very well myself, so I’ll just take your word for it. Even if they’re as tough as you say, though, the Darzens are tougher. They’ve defeated every civilization or race they’ve fought, and scared quite a few others into submission, like the Pokacu.”

  “The what?”

  “Never mind,” said Mr. Space, shaking his head. “All you need to know is that the Darzens are a tough enemy for even the strongest heroes to defeat. I wouldn’t want to be stuck in that situation we left your friends in myself.”

  “Yeah,” said Beams. “So what are we going to do after we drop off the Rubber Ball?”

  “Head back to your universe, I guess,” said Mr. Space with a shrug. “The longer you stay out of your universe, the more likely it becomes that the Commanders are going to punish me, maybe even ground me for a while. Right now, they’re too focused on this recent attack to care about this, but the ‘no natives’ rule is one of the most severely enforced rules in the Agency, so they will come down on me eventually.”

  “Why does that rule even exist?” said Beams, scratching his back. He walked carefully across a portion of the floor with a sign reading ‘WET FLOOR.’ “What is so dangerous with bringing ‘natives’ from their universe to other universes?”

  “It disrupts the balance of the multiverse, for one,” said Mr. Space. “Technically-speaking, all universes are supposed to remain segregated. Everyone is supposed to stay where they are, no matter how bad it may be. Matter cannot be destroyed or created, so by taking a native out of their universe, you’re risking breaking that law, which could have devastating consequences for that universe in question.”

  “Oh,” said Beams. He cocked his head to the side. “What about you and the other IEA agents? Aren’t you all from different universes, too?”

  “That’s different,” said Mr. Space. “For one, we’re offered information on the Agency so we can make a knowledgeable decision to accept or reject the offer. For two, most of us come from universes that don’t exist anymore or, at least, from planets in our universes which were destroyed.”

  “Universes that don’t exist anymore?” said Beams in amazement. “What do you mean by that?”

  Mr. Space’s expression hardened. “That’s a topic for another time. Let’s just say that the Darzens aren’t the only threat to the multiverse out there, though they’re certainly the biggest at the moment. Maybe after we survive all of this, I’ll tell you about some of the other things that lurk in the multiverse which the IEA fights.”

  Beams couldn’t conceive of something powerful enough to pose a threat to the multiverse or how there could be multiple somethings that could do that. On the other hand, Beams couldn’t have conceived of the reality of the multiverse itself prior to meeting Mr. Space, so perhaps it was just his own imagination that was the problem here more than anything.

  “Why was the IEA founded in the first place?” asked Beams. He could feel the Rubber Ball tugging at the corners of his mind, but did his best to ignore it.

  “To protect the multiverse, obviously,” said Mr. Space. “It was founded … gosh, I don’t know how long ago, because years in HQ don’t quite mean the same thing as they do in a typical universe. But it was a long time ago, in response to an ancient threat that threatened the multiverse itself. The threat was defeated before it could cause too much trouble, but it was after that that the founders of the Agency realized that there was a need for an organization such as this, and thus, the Interdimensional Elite Agency was born.”

  “I see,” said Beams. “How many threats have you guys defeated?”

  “Tons,” said Mr. Space. “Zaarlak the Conquerer, the Reality Plague, the One Mind … and those are just some of the more recent ones. The Darzens and their Dread God are just the most recent in a very long line of multiversal threats we’ve dealt with.”

  But none of them are as dangerous as the Dread God, Beams thought, but he caught himself and wondered where that thought came from. Then he glanced at the Rubber Ball and knew its influence over him was growing.

  “And just like all of the other threats we’ve dealt with, we’re going to take down the Darzens and their Dread God,” Mr. Space continued. He shook the Rubber Ball’s box. “Or at least keep them from resurrecting him. If we can do that, then that will be enough to protect the multiverse all on its own.”

  “Well, I hope you’re right,” said Beams, “because I want to go back to my universe as soon as possible to make sure my boss and his friends are okay.”

  “And I really need to pick up Galaxy at some point,” said Mr. Space. “I still don’t know how successful her mission is. I also can’t wait to brag in front of her about how successful my own mission was. She’s going to be so annoyed.”

  Mr. Space said that with a huge grin on his face, which Beams thought was kind of silly. But then the two of them turned a corner and found themselves standing in front of a huge vault door the likes of which Beams had never seen before in his life.

  Admittedly, it did look somewhat like the door of a normal bank vault, but it was easily three times as big as your average vault door and twice as wide. It towered over them like a giant, with what appeared to be a complex series of mechanical locks hanging off the door. But Beams knew that even if he somehow could undo all of the locks, that moving the door itself would be a task fit only for a superhero as strong as Prime Man. Even then, Beams knew it would take Prime Man hours to open the do
or all by himself.

  At the door’s base stood two IEA agents wielding longer and bigger versions of the sound blaster which Mr. Space carried in his holster. The two agents appeared to be the Vault’s guards, their eyes carefully watching Beams and Mr. Space as the two of them approached the door.

  “Halt,” said the first guard, who was slightly taller than the second. “State your name and business.”

  Mr. Space and Beams stopped and Mr. Space said, “I’m Deputy Jason Space of the Adventure, here on important business from Commander Nova, who gave me orders to deliver this very important object into the Vault for safekeeping.”

  “And who is the boy?” said the second guard, who had a much deeper voice than the first.

  “An authorized guest who will accompany me into the Vault,” said Mr. Space. “He’s not an official IEA agent, but he won’t touch anything or cause any trouble.”

  “All right,” said the first guard. “You’ll need to show us your holocard ID. Just standard procedure.”

  Mr. Space nodded and looked at Beams. “Hey, Beams, can you hold the box while I get out my ID? Won’t take more than a few seconds.”

  “Okay,” said Beams, holding out his hands. “No problem.”

  Mr. Space handed the box to Beams, who took it carefully with both hands. As Mr. Space started tapping the touch screen on his right arm, Beams looked down at the box bearing the Rubber Ball.

  This was the closest he had gotten to the Rubber Ball since they left his universe. He could hear the Rubber Ball’s familiar heartbeat. He knew that neither Mr. Space nor the two guards could, because the box was too thick. Even Beams couldn’t really hear it, at least not with his ears. He could hear it in his mind, however, and for a moment it seemed almost indistinguishable from his own mental voice.

  Maybe I should keep it, Beams thought. Take it and run. But to where?

  Beams didn’t know, but he sensed that the Rubber Ball would show him the way. He shook his head, trying to push such thoughts out of his mind, but now that he actually had the Rubber Ball in his hands, he found it almost impossible to ignore. It felt like the Dread God was imposing its will on him, tearing through his mental defenses inch by inch.