Captain Marvel

by Tess Sharpe

  “Kind of,” Carol said. “There are some very nice volcanic formations up there. And I like jumping off Burney Falls when the park’s asleep. Teddy Roosevelt called it the eighth wonder of the world, you know.”

  “Teddy Roosevelt also wanted to breed hippos domestically for meat.”

  “The man had questionable ability to determine the dangers of hippos, but good taste in waterfalls.”

  “You’re not going to distract me with trivia!” Jess shook her finger at Carol. “You’ve been Earthside for two weeks and you’ve spent the whole time zipping around the country doing the equivalent of super hero odd-jobs.”

  “Everybody needs a hobby,” Carol shrugged.

  “Somebody needs to take a spa day. And by somebody, I mean you.”

  Their bread basket arrived, and Carol grabbed one of the warm, crusty rolls. There was glitter swirled into the deep-blue glass tabletop, and she felt like a little kid, tempted to trace its whorls with her finger, so she could ignore Jess’s point.

  “I don’t think a spa day’s gonna help,” she said finally.

  Jess straightened in her seat, more alert than ever. “Well, what would?”

  “I don’t know. I just feel… unsettled, I guess. Itchy.”

  “Itchy?”

  “It’s like… I want to get back into the game. But every time I think about logistics and planning, and, God, the paperwork, Jess…” She took a savage bite out of her roll and sighed. Yeasty heaven. Bless Nebula’s pastry chef.

  “Have some chive butter.” Jess pushed a ramekin across the table.

  “Sometimes I miss being out there, beholden to nothing but my shipmates.”

  “Like back in your space pirate days?”

  “I was hardly a space pirate,” Carol scoffed.

  “Didn’t you run with a crew that broke a bunch of people out of a prison world? The Starjammers? I’ve read your bio, you know. The authorized and unauthorized versions.”

  Carol rolled her eyes. “I will never forgive my mother for giving that biographer a copy of my seventh-grade school picture. I thought I’d trashed them all.”

  “Apparently not. The velvet scrunchie was truly epic.”

  Carol groaned, but their crab cakes arrived in time to distract her from more regrettable middle-school fashion choices. She was pretty sure she had taken a picture in a dress with puffed sleeves the size of her head. She really should pay a visit to her mom while she was Earthside. Maybe burn a few picture albums.

  But no matter how tempting the thought, she knew she couldn’t. Her mom had lost a lot of family pictures and other precious things in a flood years back, so what she still had, she treasured. Carol would just have to suffer the indignity of knowing those puffed-sleeve pics were out there—and reassure herself that she made better fashion choices these days.

  The food was delicious, and once Jess decided to stop bugging Carol about how she was spending her leave and the apparently deep motivations behind it, the conversation was just as good. Even—or maybe especially—when she was being too nosy, Jess was one of the best people to have on your side. Partly because she’d get you thinking about stuff you’d been avoiding.

  Which is what Carol found herself doing after dinner. She loaded Jess into a taxi and saw her off, and then began to make her own way home on foot. She liked walking through the city streets, the hum and frenetic energy of too many people and too many buildings crammed into too small a space feeding into her bones. Sometimes, she ran into trouble.

  Sometimes she went looking for it.

  Being Earthside these days made her wish for the skies. For the good kind of trouble.

  She’d spent her life dreaming of the stars. Of shuttle controls in her hands, the smell of rocket fuel in her hair, and nothing but endless space and discovery ahead of her. When she was young, she thought she’d reach those goals through college, but her father had no plans on ever investing any money in his daughter’s future when he had sons.

  But that was the thing about Carol: Once she was told she wasn’t good enough, she’d go to the ends of the earth—or the universe itself—to prove you wrong.

  Her pursuit of the stars had changed her in ways she’d never imagined. The Kree Captain Mar-Vell had changed her; well, technically, it was the Psyche-Magnitron’s doing, but falling into that defective alien machine that turned imagination to reality during a battle would never have happened if her and Mar-Vell’s paths hadn’t crossed.

  She had wanted to be strong. She had wanted to survive. She had just never expected to become what—and who—she had.

  She used to think about her life in strict befores and afters. Sometimes she still did.

  And then, sometimes, something happened that forced you into the here and now.

  A sound—like the rending of a sheet down the middle, magnified ten thousand times—broke through the air. Carol’s head whipped up, her entire body tensing as she searched the sky.

  There. Something was forming a few blocks away, high in the air above the skyscrapers. A sparkling hole ripped out of the horizon, lit up like thousands of fireflies in the night. The whirlwind of light and sparks wavered, wobbling in on itself before spitting out a spinning, smoking sphere—a ship. The twirling light behind it narrowed to a pinpoint and disappeared, but the ship remained, stuttering in the sky, dual rings circling around the base as it coughed up black fumes with every sluggish lurch, right toward the buildings.

  Carol’s coat fell to the ground, and her red scarf whipped from her neck to her waist in a smooth, practiced movement, the Hala Star pin anchoring the fabric around her hips. She ran toward the ship, veering around pedestrians, her boots pounding the pavement as screams and smartphone flashes filled the night.

  One step. Two. Three.

  Liftoff.

  3

  RHI WAS going to crash.

  Sirens wailed inside the ship, and the control panel flashed like coastal lights on a foggy day. But the gray haze inside the ship wasn’t fog—it was thick smoke that made her cough with each putrid breath she took in. Her eyes burned as she buried her nose in her sleeve and scrambled for the manual controls. The panel was in the midst of a colorful meltdown, lights blinking and alarms blaring.

  The screen had cracked down the middle and was shooting out sparks, so she was flying without visuals, relying only on what she could make out through the windows on the bridge—nothing but flames, smoke, and the hulking shadows of tall buildings looming just ahead.

  The ship rumbled, and the engine room below belched more smoke up onto the deck. Rhi watched as flames licked the sides of the hull, her ship spinning higher with each contorted circle as the rings that powered it tried to gain enough power to right itself. The floor rippled beneath her feet, throwing her off balance as she careened across the sky toward the buildings.

  Impact would be fatal. For her and for anyone in the area.

  Panic clawed at her. She’d known that creating a tear through time and space big enough to guide the ship through was risky, but there had been no choice. At first, she had kept control, but the longer the ship moved through that place in-between, beyond nothing and something, the harder it was to keep the channel open. Her ears began to bleed, and then her eyes, and she lost her hold on the rip that she’d slashed in space. The channel closed around her, and the pressure began to crush the ship’s solar rings, which were the only things keeping it in the air. She’d barely made it out of the rip when she was caught in the planet’s atmosphere and spinning down across the dark sky right over a cityscape — with the tall buildings she was plummeting toward. She had just seconds.

  “Switch to manual,” she ordered the computer. Her gloved fingers closed around the two smooth white cylinders that would engage the ship’s controls. She could do this.

  She had to do this.

  “Heat signature detected. Manual control engaged,” the computer said.

  Her arms strained as she took over the steering, the cylinders vibrating under h
er hands and her muscles bunching as the power of the ship was redirected, pulsing under her hands as she yanked, trying to veer away from the tops of the skyscrapers just below. The ship fought the sharp turn, its damaged shell slowing down its recall. She barrel-rolled up and left, barely missing a building topped with a tall, needle-like tower. Thank the gods her controls were still working. She squinted through the smoke obscuring the window.

  Where could she land? She’d seen water when she’d been spit out of the rip, but she couldn’t see any blue now. Just smoke and flames, and so many buildings…

  Blood trickled down Rhi’s forehead as she planted her feet, trying to stay steady as her map, her notes, all the tools that she’d so carefully collected through the years to make this journey flew from the control panel. Her gravity boots were the only thing keeping her from tumbling across the floor along with them. Her hands tightened around the control cylinders.

  When Rhi had guided the ship into the rip, she knew it was a probable death sentence. She’d never torn a hole that large through time and space—and now she knew why she shouldn’t try it again.

  Stuff caught on fire.

  And one of the many things that imprisonment in a culture reliant on pyrotechnic abilities taught a girl was that fire is a pain in the ass. The ship wouldn’t even turn on unless it detected an adequate heat signature, and only the Flame Keepers ran that hot. Which is why she had the gloves. They tricked the ship into thinking she was one of them.

  “Sensors overheated,” said the computer, the voice so calm and level it made the hysteria in her chest rise into her throat. “System failure imminent.”

  “No, no, you can’t do that.” She typed in the reboot sequence and pressed the red button.

  Nothing.

  “Come on, come on, come on!” She typed it in again. She could hear her brother’s voice in her head: Insert the launch codes. Lift the levers. Prime the fuel. And don’t look back for anything, Rhi.

  Oh God, Zeke, I’ve failed you.

  “Impact in ten seconds. Ten. Nine. Eight.”

  “Reverse course, reverse course!” She scrambled to the other side of the control panel, coughing from the smoke, pressing her gloved hand against the heat sensor. But this time, it didn’t spring to life.

  Her heat gloves were out of juice.

  “Seven. Six. Five.”

  “No, no, please, no!” She slammed her palm down on the sensor, willing it to give her one last burst of heat. That’s all she needed… just enough to set the ship down.

  “Four. Three. Two.”

  Impact.

  This time, her gravity boots couldn’t save her. White sparks filled the air as the ship jolted with a massive impact, throwing her backward, away from the control panel. The last thing she saw before she tumbled across the bridge was a flash of red and blue streaking through the flames outside the window. Her teeth clicked hard against her tongue and blood burst in her mouth as the ship strained against something. Had she hit a force field around the city? Her ship vibrated, shaking with the effort to move forward—but instead, it was moving back. Like it was being pushed away. A force field couldn’t do that… could it?

  “System failure. All systems are offline. Crew to proceed to your evacuation pods.”

  She tried to drag herself across the floor of the bridge, now at a 45-degree slant, toward the window so she could peer out. The control panel shot off more sparks and the ship jerked sideways, knocking her over, as if some enormous force was grabbing it from the outside.

  Something was moving her ship. And Rhi had no choice but to just hang on, ride it out, and hope it’d set her down in one piece.

  She had to be ready. She crawled down the bridge, keeping low where the smoke wasn’t as thick, heading toward the ladder that led to the escape hatch. Just as she reached it, the ship tilted again, as if it were a ball someone had tossed in the air. She grabbed the bottom rung of the ladder as a scream ripped through her throat and she lost her footing. For a sickening moment, the ship was free-falling—no engine, no power, no lights, no computer—and then smash. She—and her ship—slammed down onto the planet’s surface. Sparks filled the smoke-darkened cabin, lighting up the space like a battlefield.

  This is it, she thought. She and the ship had both survived the impact, but the flames would take her in the end, just as they had always said.

  But instead of an explosion, there was a sudden calm, the ship swaying rhythmically. She chanced a breath, and caught a whiff of moisture through the damaged hull: water.

  Rhi grabbed the bottom rung again and climbed up to the hatch, her heart in her throat. What was waiting outside? What was that streak of red and blue?

  There was only one way to find out.

  She pushed the escape hatch open, the smoke funneling up around her as she scrambled out onto the damaged hull, desperate for fresh air.

  Taking a deep breath, she looked around her. As she’d thought, the ship was afloat in a wide, smelly river, bobbing like a bird in the water, with an ugly gash in the starboard side. She had to grab the hatch lid to keep from sliding off into the water, her footing uncertain on the slippery metal. She coughed, blinking in the smoke that billowed out of the cabin, and spat out sooty bile as she tried and failed to stand upright.

  Every part of her throbbed, the battering she’d taken in the space-time rip and this strange landing catching up to her now, the adrenaline draining out of her in one sudden, vicious rush. She trembled and leaned back against the hatch lid.

  She had to get up. Something—someone?—had… what? Caught her ship before it hit the buildings and set it down in the water? Was that possible?

  Rhi wasn’t about to sit around and contemplate it. She had to act. If this was a weapon, she had to fight back.

  If it was a person?

  Well, she might have to fight them too.

  Something swelled in her as she struggled to her feet, water splashing over her boots. It wasn’t resignation or determination.

  It was desperation. The only thing that had gotten her this far. Every step, every move a frantic thrum of Find help, find help, find help! as a darker voice—his voice—told her: No one will help, Rhi. No one would dare.

  But she had dared. Dared to defy every edict that had been drummed into her for a decade. Dared to love someone they told her she couldn’t. Dared to steal their fastest ship, to escape to this other planet. But she was just… herself. Surely here, in this strange world, there might be someone stronger. Someone who could help, who wouldn’t be afraid of any of them.

  Rhi squinted, eyes still stinging from the smoke as it dissipated in the breeze. Her legs trembled as she braced herself against the hatch, the current rocking what was left of her ship to and fro.

  A sudden light burst through the smoke, which parted like curtains swept open to greet the day, revealing the most astonishing woman. The first thing Rhi saw was the star on her chest. It shone like a beacon against the red-and-blue suit she wore, the sash tied around her waist. The star beckoned, welcoming… and when Rhi raised her eyes up, the woman before her—floating in midair—seemed like someone out of a myth. She was flying. Without wings. Without any technology. How…?

  She had powers. It hit Rhi just as fast as the fear did—not just for herself, but for the flying woman. They would come for her— the Keepers of this world. They’d catch her. She’d risked herself, exposed her power, to save Rhi. Oh gods, the consequences…

  That’s when she heard it, the ringing in her ears finally receding enough to register the sound.

  To her right, there were people—men and women—standing in the street at the water’s edge, clapping and shouting. She stared at them, unable to wrap her head around what she was seeing.

  They weren’t rushing to yank the flying woman to the ground and punish her for using her powers. They weren’t jeering.

  They were cheering. Celebrating her.

  Tears that had nothing to do with the smoke in the air trickled down R
hi’s cheeks. It was like a light had burst through her chest, dispelling a darkness that had been shadowing her for years.

  “You’re just a kid,” the woman said, floating forward, her hands extended but her expression wary.

  Rhi stared at her. Who was she? Could she do more than just fly? Was that possible here? Where was here?

  “Why are you here? Are you okay?”

  Rhi opened her mouth. She knew she should answer the woman’s questions, but the sight of her just… using her powers. In the daylight, where everyone could see, no implant stopping her, no Keeper to control her…

  It was the most beautifully terrifying thing she’d ever seen.

  The elation—and the fear—was all twisted up inside Rhi, rushing through her brain, as every rule hammered into her by the Keepers told her that any second her implant would go off and shock her in punishment. She pressed her fingers against the bandage on her wrist where she’d dug it out. The wound ached in time with her pulse, a painful reminder that she still needed. She was free. She’d gotten away.

  But the others weren’t so lucky.

  She needed to focus, to save them. But the world started spinning, the gray fuzz spreading across her field of vision, and she staggered back against the hatch.

  “Are you her?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Did I find you?”

  Rhi tried to hold on for the answer, unblinking, but the gray turned to black as her fingers lost their grip. She slid, body and mind, into darkness before her savior could speak.

  4

  DID I find you?

  The last thing Carol had expected when she heaved the alien ship into the Hudson like a basketball was this bloody and battered kid—couldn’t be more than twenty, if that—popping out of the escape hatch and staring at her like she’d just found God. When she sagged into a dead faint, Carol hooked her arm around the girl’s waist and set her safely on the flat part of the hull still bobbing above the water.

  A quick sweep inside told her that the pilot had arrived alone, but the ship’s technology wasn’t from any world she recognized. Back on the hull, Carol studied the unconscious girl carefully. Brown hair in a haphazard braid, a cut head, dark circles and dried blood smeared under her eyes. She looked human, but that didn’t say much—shape-shifters weren’t uncommon. She wouldn’t have come in this kind of ship if she were Skrull, though. And she wouldn’t have come alone.