by Matt Adams
“Nor do I,” Falcon Gray squawks.
“The multiverse is crumbling, each reality overlapping with the others and causing shockwaves,” my mother theorizes. “Not existing simultaneously, mind you, but breaking each other apart.”
Lightning flashes, and a fleet of Kiltech vessels sits ominously in the sky. Below, the terrain shifts again and more cracks of light race across the surface. The Kiltech fleet seems to multiply, then shrink.
Then it does it again.
And again.
And again.
“I’m sensing some mild instability,” I deadpan. “The Kiltechs aren’t in control. Their own device is shifting their fleet through different realities. Imagine that. The interdimensional beings can’t control their own interdimensional transporter.”
“How are we to fix this?” Falcon Gray asks.
“I’m stumped,” I admit. “Any ideas?”
For the first time in a long time, the steely, sensible eyes of the mighty Miss Lightspeed that raised me make an appearance. “Your father is up there in one of those ships with the Kiltechs. There’s too much shifting happening for us to get to him, though.”
To emphasize her point, Kiltech frigates blanket the sky. Several flicker out.
“We’re not doing much good here,” she continues while floating in midair and supporting Falcon Gray and me with her super-super-strength. “I’m afraid going to the ground isn’t a very sound idea, either.”
More orange-yellow cracks spiderweb across the ground, encircling the Kiltech ship. The silver vessel sinks downward as the surface gives way. Grass and dirt are gone, replaced by charred blackness and multiple Black Abysses of Death.
“Not good,” I say as the earth swallows the Kiltech vessel.
The sky, once a pristine blue, takes on an angry orange tint.
“I believe the alternate histories of your Earth are destroying one another,” Falcon Gray muses.
“Oh, that’s what that is,” I say, rolling my eyes.
My mother gives me a gentle shake. “Mind your manners, son. He’s only trying to help. And he wasn’t shifting around like everyone else. It’s a miracle he’s still here.”
Light bulb.
“Why isn’t he shifting around like everyone else?” I ask.
“I’m not sure there is a good explanation,” Miss Lightspeed says. “You and I haven’t been shifting, either.” In front of us, a football field appears and a ghostly Peyton Manning tackles a ghostly Andrew Luck. “Then again, nothing makes much sense right now.”
“Maybe Falcon Gray isn’t shifting because he isn’t from here.”
My mother looks at me like I just tried to explain the ending to Memento.
“If he’s not from Earth, then maybe everything that’s affecting Earth doesn’t affect him,” I offer.
“Why aren’t we shifting, then?” she asks.
“We are shifting. The realities aren’t shifting around us. We’re shifting around the realities.”
“So how do we fix it?” my mother asks.
“I believe we are trapped in a purgatory, perhaps a plane of existence separate from the others,” Falcon Gray suggests
Without warning, the cracks on the ground fade away and everything seems to move backwards. The Kiltech ship, once thought lost like the Titanic, rises from the surface. At least no one is playing “Nearer My God to Thee.” Sadly, no Billy Zane.
Tentatively, my mother floats back down to the surface, where neatly trimmed green grass has replaced the charred, cracked ground. To our right, a portal of blinding yellow light opens. The realities seem to have stabilized, and that can only mean one thing: my father has saved the world again. Give him enough time, he can fix anything. A hole in the wall, a clogged toilet, a running sink, gigantic multiversal rift threatening to tear apart life as we know it.
The yellow light surges to an even brighter white, and it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust.
I was expecting Colonel Chaos.
It’s definitely not him.
“Your assistance is required,” Kilgore says.
The Kiltech leader’s face is even more mottled than before, rivers of yellowish goo seeping from gashes on his head. His once-pristine armor is scorched and cracked and he appears on the verge of collapse.
“You must hurry. We have to go through the portal. Your father is asking for help.”
My mother and Falcon Gray look alarmed and bewildered, respectively.
With a quick burst of Crimsonspeed, I run through.
The others can catch up later.
Faster. Must Go Faster
I end up inside the Kiltech lab where my father’s machine glows and pulsates. Unlike the magical transportation arranged by Mystic Warren, this trip doesn’t leave me with weak knees. The disorientation is also less severe. Seconds later, Kilgore, Falcon Gray, and my mother materialize. Both Colonels Chaos stand behind large monitors, manipulating touchscreens with Minority Report dexterity.
“It’s about time you got here,” Jaci says, pulling me into a tight embrace. “These jerks have screwed things up.”
“The machine isn’t working as we intended,” Kilgore growls. He seems weary and less imposing following his arrival from the fractured reality.
“You managed to get them out? At least you’re good for something, Kilgore,” Dad says without taking his eyes off his display.
The Kiltech leader tries to reestablish his dominancy by striking an intimidating pose. “I managed to save your offspring.”
“I warned you this would happen,” Dad says. “I told you not to do it.”
“It could not be helped,” Kilgore insists. “The Orange Bands were responsible for activating it.”
I filter out their argument to take stock of our surroundings. The gang’s all here: my father, my mother, Jaci, Falcon Gray, the High Imperator, and... someone’s missing. “Where’s Warren?”
“When the Bands activated the machine, we had to fight them off,” Jaci says. “Warren was right at the front of the line to stop them.”
“I did my best to save him,” Falcon Gray says. “But I am afraid they absconded with the young hero.”
“The Bands have Warren? Fantastic,” I reply.
“We couldn’t have regained control without him,” Dad says. “And when we finally managed to do it, the Kiltechs reactivated the device.” He shoots an angry look at Kilgore. “I told you: it doesn’t function properly without its power source.” Dad grumbles.
“The result was… regrettable,” Kilgore concedes. Though he’s putting on a brave front and trying to be his super-baddy self, it doesn’t seem like he’s got it in him. “We did not anticipate that the Bands would launch a first strike. The machine ripped apart the fabric of the multiverse.”
“Just like we told you it would,” High Imperator Chaos chimes in from the other side of the room.
Jaci makes a face. “Just a minor hiccup.”
“Indeed,” Kilgore grumbles. The displeasure in his tone confirms I haven’t stepped into yet another strange reality. “Colonel Chaos and… Colonel Chaos… have stabilized the machine. I ordered them to shut it down.”
“You guys saw how the multiverses were mixing and matching like a ten for ten sale at Kroger?” I ask.
Kilgore blinks slowly. “Your father told me of your unique language. Your asinine asides only speak to your primitive understanding of the universe.”
“That may be,” I say, “but at least I didn’t almost destroy it.”
Kilgore doesn’t offer a response.
Jaci lets out a deep breath. “We’re just glad we found you. For a while, it was touch and go on whether we were ever going to see you again.” She squeezes my hand.
“We were able to get a signal lock on you, Chris, but we lost it when the realities split,” Dad explains.
“If you lost our signal, how did you locate us?” my mother asks.
Kilgore’s eyes find me before shifting toward my mother. “Miss Ligh
tspeed has a unique trans-dimensional signature. We found it just before Reality One-A-Beta-Seventeen-to-the-Fifteenth Power broke apart,” he explains. “She appears to be straddling two dimensions at once.”
I look at Jaci. “What does that mean?”
She shrugs.
“Your mother is both your mother and the High Imperator’s wife,” Dad says. “According to the scanners.”
Oh, sure. That only runs contrary to every freaking chart, blood sample, and three-dimensional atomic scan ever performed by Medical. I let it go. For now.
“We’re just standing around here tuning the rest of the multiverses like a guitar?” I ask. “Putting the pieces back together?”
“If only it were that simple,” Kilgore says. “We are working with variables you couldn’t possibly imagine. Your race isn’t quite as feeble as we thought.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“The humans are a strong and proud species, Kilgore, and quite flexible,” Falcon Gray says. “Unlike the Kiltechs and their singleminded ways.”
“We do what we must to protect the galaxies from greater threats lurking in the stars. We have seen evils you could scarcely imagine, Prince of Aviary XII.”
So now Falcon Gray’s a prince or something. I’ll just go with it.
“Are we stabilizing the dimensions?” my mother asks.
“We are trying,” Kilgore says. “The Bands have proven to be a resourceful foe.”
“Don’t let him sugarcoat it,” Jaci says. “They’re kicking our butts.”
“They are very powerful,” the Kiltech concedes. “Perhaps we would be able to fight them if humanity had not resisted us so fiercely. If we had been granted control—”
I make a throat-slashing gesture. “Did you expect us to roll over? We already kicked your tails back a few galaxies after your first invasion. So you come back a second time and expect us to cooperate? You’re pulling the strings across the multiverse for a reason. What is it?”
Kilgore shifts on his feet and the deckplates scream in protest at the sudden redistribution of weight. “The Orange Bands are an ancient order of warriors with an ever-growing sense of self-importance. They believe it is their right to remake the universe in their image.”
“I’ve already figured that part out,” I interrupt. “They’ve got an entire spectrum: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. They want all of the Bands to come together.”
“How do you know this?” Kilgore asks. “Did the Bands tell you their intentions? That is unlike them.”
“I reasoned it out,” I say, offering a flat-out lie to protect Morty and the Five. God knows what Kilgore would do if he knew about them, and they’ve been more helpful than anyone else I’ve dealt with since this whole mess started.
“No matter the color, the Bands have an obsession with Earth,” Kilgore explains. “We have tracked their movements across the different realities and found they’ve been massing on your planet across several different dimensions.”
Ding!
“You weren’t trying to merge the Earths into one, were you?” I ask, realization dawning on me.
“We hoped that activating the device would overwhelm the Bands and make it impossible for them to find each other. Instead, we aided them in opening gateways between their dimensions.”
My mother brushes me aside. “Now the Bands are ready to unite?”
Kilgore stares at the ground for what feels like five minutes. “The Bands have their own interdimensional transporter now. It’s called the Bluestreak.”
“Bluestreak’s not a problem anymore,” I say. “I sent him through a dimensional rift away from here.”
Kilgore and Dad share a look.
“What is it? What aren’t you telling me?” I ask.
“What do you remember about your trip through the multiverse? The one with the Bluestreak?” Dad asks.
“We were running so fast,” I recall. “We were in this zone where there were no boundaries between dimensions. I could see so many things. I stayed ahead of the Bluestreak for a long time, but near the end, he forged ahead and broke off, running into a reality where there was no Crimsonstreak. I think it was a place where he could be a hero.”
“That is a misreading of the situation,” Kilgore asserts. “We unleashed the Bluestreak on this world and the Bands have corrupted him. He ran into the dimension where the Blue Bands had been exiled.”
“What?! He’s getting the Bands back together?”
“It appears that way, son,” Dad says. “I’m not sure we can stop them now.”
“Don’t give up just yet,” I say. “We’ll figure something out.”
Judging by the looks around the room, I don’t think anyone believes me.
I take a brief break from contemplating impending world doom to grab something to eat. After all, I need some fuel. Kilgore directed me to a room the Kiltechs set up for their so-called goodwill ambassadors. The décor—stainless steel picnic tables—leaves much to be desired. I sure as hell hope they weren’t planning on wooing their guests with the cuisine; the aliens engineered nourishing food for humans that looks like Styrofoam covered in paste. After I bite into, I realize it tastes exactly like it looks. I wish Warren were here so we could at least joke about it.
Instead, Samson Knight takes a seat next to me. “I’ve had better,” he offers.
I stop in mid-chew. “Sammy?”
“It’s good to see you, Fairborne,” he says. He actually sounds like he means it. “From the way the Kiltechs talked, I didn’t think you were going to make it.”
“How did you get here?” I ask. Honestly, nothing should surprise me given the circumstances, but I feel compelled to ask.
“The Kiltechs released their hold on the Legion,” he says. “They decided cooperation was superior to coercion after some ‘convincing’ from your mother and Sapphire Twelve. Imprisonment didn’t seem to suit them. Then your mother went off to rescue you. I wasn’t sure she’d be all right, either.”
“We made it despite some very interesting multiversal shifts,” I say, digging back into Styrofoam casserole. “This stuff is awful.”
“I found it flavorless.”
“And that’s why it’s awful,” I say, pushing my plate away.
“Is your mother doing well following the ordeal?”
“I guess so. You know how it is with her. One day she acts like my mother, the next day she thinks she’s fighting some battle from 1968. A week after that, she thinks she’s in charge of the New World Common Wealth. Yet everyone says she’s just fine. Scientifically, she’s the same old Miss Lightspeed. How many times have you told me that?”
Samson Knight removes his helmet, which he’s managed to repair since Kilgore cracked it during the battle at Legion HQ. “Our days may be at an end, Fairborne. I believe our transgressions can’t be overlooked.”
I get the impression that Samson Knight is attempting to have a heart-to-heart in the middle of all this chaos. Frankly, I’d rather get a lifetime supply of the Kiltechs’ version of Soylent Green. I really do hope they didn’t make it out of people. I’d like to think people have a little more flavor.
“I’ve got enough on my mind right now, Sammy. This isn’t the best time to bury the electro-mace.”
“I understand,” he replies. “But time runs short. The Kiltechs and Bands have drawn their battle lines. I may not get another opportunity to tell you something I should have revealed long ago. It’s about your mother, Chris.”
I can’t recall the last time Samson Knight called me by my first name. He shifts uncomfortably on the bench. “What’s wrong?”
“There is so much wrong with this world,” Samson Knight says, voice wavering. “A man loves a hero, but she chooses another. That hero dies before her time. She comes back, yet…”
He’s leading up to something here. Something big. He can’t seem to finish it.
“It’s been a weird few years. You know… wrongful detention, invasions, shifting
realities, resurrected mothers. Everything’s gone screwy since my mother died.”
“The world became a lesser place that day,” Samson Knight says. His voice and posture are shaky. He swallows. “My world became a lesser place that day.”
“I know she was important to you, and I know she’s what stands between you and my father,” I tell him. “Just leave me out of it.”
“That’s impossible. Don’t you see? Don’t you understand what I see when I look at you?”
Disappointment. Inferiority. Petulance.
He swallows hard and his eyes begin to redden. “I see her. The life I could have had. The life I should have had. She chose a supervillain. She loved a supervillain. Not me.”
“Sometimes you just finish in second place,” I say. “It happens.”
“He let her die. Doesn’t that ever bother you? I would’ve protected her. I would never let anything happen to her. But your father—”
“She never needed your protection. She was never your responsibility. My mother would never let anyone fight her battles for her. She’s not wired like that.”
“It’s her wiring that brings me here to talk to you,” Samson Knight reveals.
“What do you mean?”
“The scans—”
“They all check out. Medical says so. You say so. Dad, too. You’ve all seen the data.”
Samson Knight bows his head. “I asked something of Medical I should not have.”
“He would never—”
Samson Knight holds up a finger. “Most of all, Medical understands the healing power of hope. He understands the power of symbols. Your mother is a symbol.” He casts his gaze downward. “I presented your father with false data.”
“You lied about my mother?”
“She is unstable, her body and spirit existing in two places at once. I couldn’t bear to see the world lose Miss Lightspeed a second time. I could not bear it…”
“Why didn’t you say something? We could have helped her… found a treatment… something.”
“If I had revealed this to the Heroic Legion, they would’ve sent her away with the other Chaos. I was protecting her.”