Disclaimers and cheap excuses in Part One.  Material of questionable worth and virtue ahead; anyone under 18 should not proceed; violence, ultra-violence, and hints of xex ahead.  Comments can be sent to yankee_pendragon@hotmail.com

 

 

The story so far: A reconnaissance mission from Little Midgard into Martian-occupied Earth has gone horribly awry.  The four-member unit lead by Franklin Richards lost contact with both the other half of their team and Asgard itself immediately after launching.  Somehow driven off-course, their transport apparently collides with something while still in sub-space (supposedly an impossibility) and all four find themselves deposited in a pastoral wilderness.  Exploring their new environment, the team soon happens upon an inhabitant: Clea, sorceress and wife of Stephen Strange, long believed dead.

 

 

 

 

 

War of the worlds: mission into the unknown

Issue three: idyll

 

 

Consciousness returned slowly, awareness coming in sluggish lurches that left him further disorientated and confused.   The first clear thought came through with crystal clarity:

 

I feel...absolutely...fucking awful!

 

Though he didn’t make so much as the slightest noise aloud, this one thought was heard by others, who were anything but gentle in their response.

 

Go back to sleep, you idiot!  Rachel’s psi-voice washed over him like a warm thundershower, sending him sprawling back into darkness.  He clung tenaciously to what little awareness he’d recovered.

 

It was May’s gentle prodding that overpowered his resistance.  We’re all okay, Franklin.  Rest now, okay?

 

He was tumbling back into unconsciousness before he even realized it.

 

 

When he next came to, he felt a damp cloth being applied to his forehead.  It was a familiar feeling, one he’d felt more times than he’d cared to count.  Angelica had once joked that it was he, not her, who was the offspring of the celebrated Benjamin Jacob Grimm, otherwise how else could he survive being knocked literally senseless so many times? 

 

Alicia had been less amused and actually given her a good cuff for it.  But then she was a bit sensitive where her late husband was concerned.  He himself simply didn’t speak to her for two days. 

 

He’d never enjoyed coming too under such conditions.  Headaches aside, it meant he’d have to brave the furious glares of Alicia, Valeria, May, and whoever else might be attending him.  It simply got tiresome after awhile.

 

Lethargy and fear aside, there was the rest of his team to consider.  This roused him sufficiently to risk opening both eyes.  He instantly wished he hadn’t.

 

It wasn’t May or Rachel or Richie attending him. 

 

It was a dead man.

 

“Good morning, Franklin,” Stephen Strange smiled, mopping his brow a final time then stood and moved away.  Franklin took a moment to study his new surroundings: a simple room, with wooden floors and walls, shingled roof overhead, homemade shelves containing earthen jars of various shapes and sizes.  He lay upon a down mattress on a low bed frame; said mattress was a tad lumpy and poked at him in odd places.

 

The former Sorcerer Supreme had taken a step back and was looking him as a physician would their patient.  Likely that’s precisely how he thought of him.  Franklin couldn’t quite work up the nerve to meet his gaze.

 

Instead coughed to clear his throat and get his voice working.  “How…how long have I been…er…”

 

“Unconscious?”

 

“Er…that was it?  No injuries or…”

 

“Exhaustion.  Nothing more than plain, old-fashioned exhaustion, Franklin.  And you’ve been down for two days.”

 

This caused Franklin to shake off the rest of his lethargy.  “Two days?” he exclaimed.  “I can’t be lying about for two days…”  He quickly got to his feet, only to sway unsteadily after a second.  “I’ve been lying around for two days,” he moaned, mostly to himself.

 

“Indeed you have, my friend.”  Strange laid a steadying hand on his shoulder. Franklin wrapped a hand about the arm holding him steady, as much to reassure himself of its reality as to keep himself upright.  It was a strong, sure arm, one of living flesh and bone. 

 

He marshaled his courage and looked at Strange directly.  He had met the Sorcerer Supreme only a handful of times before the invasion, yet those few meeting were burnt into memory for all time.  Stephen Strange had been among the few adults who actually left him scared as a child, no so much for his physical safety but more for vaguer reasons he would never be able to articulate.

 

Franklin wasn’t sure at that moment which was more surreal: that Stephen Strange was standing before him alive and healthy, or that he was so…changed. 

 

The man before him couldn’t have been more than 30, the silver at his temples barely noticeable.  His face was unlined by anything other than laughter or squinting in the noonday sun.  There was none of the weariness the mage had always kept well hidden, none of the brittle intensity that lurked behind his normally placid exterior.  This was a man who might as well have never taken up the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme, or magus, or disciple of either the mystic arts or the Hippocratic Oath.

 

Yet, as sure as he was of this, Franklin was equally sure he was the same man who had become all these things and more.  The same man who had helped rescue himself and his parents from the torments of Mephisto, who had counseled him through nightmares that resulted, and who had disappeared without a trace just months before the sky fell on them all.

 

It was Strange who broke the silence that stretched between them, taking a half-step back and extending his hand.  “Professor Richards, I presume?”  He offered a sincere smile to compliment the small joke.

 

“Mr. Richards, actually,” Franklin smiled in return, grasping the offered hand and swallowing the lump of emotion that formed in his throat.  “I’m afraid I never got the chance to attend university.”

 

“Yes, I’d heard things became somewhat…chaotic…when myself and the others were forced into exile.  Would you care for some tea?”  Franklin frowned ever so slightly at the seeming non-sequitor, but said nothing and followed the other man into the adjoining room.       

 

Franklin sat at the table near the wide-open window.  He quickly glanced around the room while Stephen collected a teapot and mugs from nearby shelving and took the seat opposite him.  There were bookshelves and cabinets and uncomfortable-looking chairs.  No real books, however, nor anything remotely modern.  The sink was a large basin of soapy water; no taps or faucet in sight.  Even the rough throw rug covering the floor looked as it had been woven  by amateur hands.

 

Strange was saying something to him.  “I’m sorry?”

 

“I presume you have some questions?”

 

“Shouldn’t that be my question to you?”

 

“Hmm.”  The former surgeon-turned-magus took a sip of his tea, then asked in a quiet voice “What…what happened?  On Earth.”

 

“Much.  Many things.”  Franklin looked out the window, seeking his courage.  “Where do you want me to start?”

 

“The night we…we were taken…October 31, 2000.”

 

“That was the night a barrier of pure mystic energy appeared out of nowhere and covered Europe and the Mediterranean, all the way to Israel.”  Franklin took a long drink from his cup.  “It proved impenetrable.  My father tried to by-pass it by using the Negative Zone as a transit route.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“He disappeared without a trace.  Just “poof”, and he was gone.”  Franklin bitterly snapped his fingers. “Naturally we searched for him.”

 

“Naturally.”

 

“Except we then had to deal with the lead force of invaders from Mars.”  Stephen just looked at him for a moment, trying to decide how seriously he should take this statement. 

 

“Mars?”

 

“Fourth planet from the sun.  Believed to be an otherwise lifeless dustball of red sand…”

 

“I’m familiar with it.  They…an invasion from Mars?”

 

“Like they were re-enacting Wells, almost to the letter.”

 

“Tripods?  Heat rays?”

 

“High-yield masers canons, actually.  Blew the hell out of the SHIELD helicarrier at 500 feet.  The first expedition was a regular nuisance for everyone, especially Alpha Flight in Canada.”

 

“I can imagine,” Strange said sagely, still trying to digest this.  “Tripods and everything?”

 

“The tripods were actually supported by a weak anti-grav field and composed of something lighter than aluminum, but stronger than 20 foot solid steel.  The legs were just for balance and orientation.”

 

“Surely they weren’t actually native to Mars, were they?  Did you ever, well, see one?”

 

Franklin gave him a look and took another long pull from his cup.  “The Martians themselves?  Not really.  They preferred staying inside their tripods and leaving the ground-pounding to clone-troops they cultured en masse.  I helped Henry McCoy with a dissection of what we presume was a Martian.  Can’t say it was the most pleasant of experiences.  Damned thing was a cross between a squid and raw brain tissue, with plenty of bodily fluids that leaked whenever you poked it.”

 

“Sounds like some of the trauma cases I had as a resident.”

 

“I threw up as soon as we were done.”

 

They sat in silence for a few moments, Strange taking the opportunity to refill their mugs.  He stirred in a spoonful of powdery sugar into his own mug, Franklin declining the same.

 

“So I’m presuming you and the others repulsed this invasion?”

 

“We thought we did.  All we really did was contain and destroy a few of them, didn’t take them seriously enough.”  Franklin gave a short, bitter laugh.  “You’d think after the Skrulls, the Dire Wraiths, the Baddoon…you’d think we’d have known better.”  Strange noted the white-knuckle grip with which he held his mug now. 

 

“Franklin…” he began, only to be silenced by Franklin’s quiet, shaking voice.

 

“The fucking sky fell on us New Years, 2002.   At least 100,000 of their transports coming down like goddamned comets and hitting hard, upwards of a dozen tripods and factory components in each one.  By the end of the first week, they were entrenched everywhere they landed and churning out their Skorpsmen like there was no tomorrow.”

 

“Skorpsmen?”

 

“Their clone troops.  Dunno who came up with the name.”

 

Strange contemplated this, shaken to his soul at the images Franklin’s words invoked.  “Merciful Vishanti,” he murmured.  “How many…how many do you think…”

 

“Billions,” Franklin replied bluntly.  “We evacuated those we could to Asgard, but it didn’t amount to much.”  He told the tale as best he could, the memories of that single day still burning in his mind.

 

 

To any other eyes, it would have looked like complete chaos.  Masses of disheveled humans seemingly milling about, herded in forming slow-moving lines to board transports both technological and mystical by men and women in armor.  The ruins of Montreal that surrounded them all were hardly noticed.

 

Franklin himself hovered slightly above it all, appreciating the order beneath the chaos, an old-fashioned clipboard in his hand.  He watched with satisfaction as an Asgardian transport (shaped like an oversized Viking longboat) lifted off the ground, its oars pushing against the air, just before it shimmered and vanished. 

 

With a satisfied nod, he made a notation on the clipboard and lowered himself to the ground.  He carefully stepped aside a gaggle of children being herded by a line of stern-looking Aseir matrons and made his way to Thor and War Machine, who observed the evacuation with less-than-satisfied eyes.

 

“Another 100 away,” he reported to them, somewhat redundantly.  “At this rate, I calculate we’ll be finished here in another two hours.”

 

“Aye, and well for it,” Thor agreed, then frowned.  “Provided these invaders doth leave us in peace for that long.”

 

Franklin gave him a grim smile and tried to sound reassuring.  “Norrin, Lyja, the Torch and Genis are all patrolling overhead.  We’ll know well in advance if any tripods come calling.”

 

“I know this, young Franklin,” the Asgardian rumbled.  He hefted his mystic hammer and growled “Would that I could simply summon a vortex large enough…”

 

An armored hand covered his.  “We don’t dare,” Rhodes reminded him.  “We open that big a rift, it’d be like sending a flare up for the Martians.  Right, Franklin?”

 

“Which is precisely why we must patiently endure this exercise in futility,” another voice rang out immediately behind them.  All three turned with varying looks of distaste.

 

“Is that your objective opinion, Victor?” Franklin, a mere 15 years old, stood nearly eye-to-eye with the Monarch of Latveria. The use of a familiar first name seemingly went unnoticed.

 

Instead, the armored tyrant shook his head.  “We save at best a few thousand here, the majority of them children.  Hardly an army to retake the world.”

 

“An army they shall be, once properly trained,” Thor stated.

 

“And who shall do this ‘training’, Thunderer?  Your Aesir warriors?  The Valkriyor?”  Doom actually snorted in distain.  “Where are these formidable warriors now, while their descendants are being slaughtered by the hour?”  He didn’t wait for an answer, turning on a booted heel and striding away.

 

Thor tensed at this and took a half-step towards the retreating back, only to be held in place by Franklin’s hand upon his massive forearm.  “Leave it, Thor.  We’ve more important things.”

 

His portable headset at his hip vibrated.  Donning the earpiece, he couldn’t help but flinch at his mother’s raised voice.  “Where are you!?”

 

“With Thor and Commander Rhodes, going over the schedule of evacuation.”

 

“Well, get yourself over here now.  I’ve got Alicia and the kids strapped in and waiting on you.”

 

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.  I’ll collect Lyja and Uncle Johnny.”

 

“Well hurry up.  Richie is getting frantic, and Val is ready to come running after you herself.”  Susan Richards cut the connection without further comment, a clear sign of her displeasure. 

 

This was how it had been between them for months now, particularly since Franklin had finally been forced to reveal himself at his real age.  Bad enough they hadn’t really had a moment to themselves since the entire invasion started, Reed going missing right before everything came apart, himself trying desperately to fill the void on all fronts...it was a small miracle he and Susan hadn’t come to blows.

 

Franklin pushed such thoughts away and levitated himself upwards, sending a subtle telepathic call out to his uncle and nominal aunt.  He was intuitively aware of their location, along with their emotional and physical states, much as he was aware of his own breathing.  Fortunately their respective patrol routes kept them close enough that he wasn’t waiting long.

 

They arrived almost simultaneously, albeit from opposite directions.  Fortunately, Franklin spoke up before either could say anything...inopportune.  “Mom wants us groundside and on the next transport, now.”  The two looked ready to protest, so Franklin quickly added “The kids are all strapped in and she says Richie is getting antsy.”

 

Unsettled as their relationship was, his ‘aunt’ and uncle were united on the issue of their offspring.  “Lead on, nephew,” Johnny grinned, then nodded to his Skrull companion with a rakish flourish, allowing her to proceed them.

 

You two work things out yet? Franklin asked him by telepathy.

 

I’m popping the question as soon as we lift off. Johnny replied, beaming to his nephew.

 

Clever, Franklin replied.  That way she can’t run off.

 

Exactamundo!  They landed after that, making further conversation impractical.  Susan Richards was watching the pair of them, taking in their not-well-hidden-grins and Johnny’s barely suppressed excitement. 

 

“Something you’d like to share with the class, boys?”  Her voice was slightly ragged, doubtlessly from screaming nonstop since the operation got underway.  Thor and War Machine might have technically been in charge, but no-one questioned who was the real engine driving things.

 

“Nope,” Johnny shook his head, Franklin doing likewise but keeping silent.

 

“Huh-huh.  Lyja and Richie are already strapped in.  We lift off in...”

 

Franklin would later kick himself for not anticipating what came next...when he could summon the courage to think of it at all that is.  He’d felt a faint rumbling underfoot for last hour or so, but with all the understandable distractions at hand, had paid it no mind.  That, plus the unusual absence of tripod patrols anywhere near their vicinity, should have sung out to him like a siren.

 

As it was, he was as surprised as anyone when a modified Quinjet (“Transport 818,” his mind would later supply uselessly) vanished behind a wall of earth and maser fire that erupted beneath it.  Those boarding the transport died as quickly as those already aboard, as did many in the area immediately nearby, either burnt or crushed by the debris.  The destruction had been so sudden and complete, the very air seemed to go still with utter shock.

 

The smoke hadn’t fully cleared when shapes could be made out exiting the hole the eruption had gorged out of the ground: saucer-like structures atop three spindly legs, with tentacle-like limbs radiating from the structure and waving about holding devices all who could see them recognized.

 

“Martians!”  It could have been screamed by one or a hundred voices, aloud or silently.  It didn’t matter. 

 

Nothing mattered any longer.

 

“Flame on!” Johnny screamed, even as Franklin took to the air and let out a psychic cry.

 

Norrin, Genis!  Martians just tunneled up into the evac zone.  We need help!

 

I’m coming!  Captain Marvel called out.  There was no immediate reply from the Silver Surfer; Norrin Radd was never one to waste words.  He was instead heralded by a streak of silver and long series of blasts of raw cosmic power, coming so quickly one atop another they appeared simultaneous.

 

Captain Marvel himself arrived mere seconds later, snatching a maser cannon from the nearest tripod and turning back upon the tripod itself.  He managed to let loose several blasts against the Martian machine, only to see each reflect off its hull.  Fortunately the reflected beams of hard radiation were angled upwards or otherwise away from the ground.

 

“Well, that worked,” Franklin heard the cosmic guardian growl a split second before nearly a dozen other maser beams hit him from all sides.  Franklin quickly shielded his mind against the death scream that resulted, forcing himself to concentrate on the fast-growing number of Martian war machines exiting the hole. 

 

“Gods,” he heard his voice breath aloud, his thoughts frantically calculating the possible number of tripods involved, how many refugees might be able to be evacuated now, and what possible strategies might be employed to delay the invaders.

 

Then he heard the screams of children and adults alike, smelt the acrid scent of burnt flesh and metal, and all rational thought was lost.  A raptor-like cry split the air and he barreled into the fray, hitting every tripod he could with telekinetic blasts, not pausing to see if they had any effect before unleashing another salvo.  

 

What did catch his eye was the sight of his uncle making a tight circle about the leg of one of the tripods.  The heat he naturally radiated was naturally intensified by both the speed with which he flew and the close circuit he kept near the leg.  Not surprisingly, the leg quickly buckled and bent, upsetting the balance of the tripod and sending it tumbling.

 

There should have been cheers for this.  Franklin was about to offer his own when he saw the Human Torch become pure fire, his uncle’s human form quickly and completely consumed by maser fire from several other tripods.  The attack lasted mere seconds, ending with a blackened, barely-recognizable body tumbling to the earth. 

 

Heedless of the chaos surrounding them or of his own safety, Franklin flew after it, catching it barely a meter above the ground.  He carefully lowered it to rest on a mound of torn-up earth, kneeling close as he dared to it and reaching out mentally, nearly staggered when his gentle probe prompted an immediate, clear-headed reply.

 

 Frank?  What…?  I can’t see…can’t feel anything.

 

Franklin swallowed hard and replied I’ve cut the nerve connections.  You’re...you’re in pretty bad shape, Uncle Johnny.

 

Shit.  How bad is…? 

 

Unable to give voice to the obvious, Franklin let his uncle ‘see’ his condition.  Johnny’s eyes, like the rest of his flesh, had been reduced to little more than blackened charcoal.  White bone could be seen here and there where the flesh and muscle had been completely burnt or blasted away.  Both knew instinctively there was no hope.

 

Crap.  Franklin, go!  Get to Lyja and Richie and Jonni…please!  Get them away from here!

 

I...I can...

 

Franklin, I’m dead.  I know that.  You can’t repair me and protect yourself and everyone else!  You’ve helped me all you can.  I won’t feel it when I die.  That’s all you can do so GET MOVING, BOY!

 

Tears welling in his eyes, Franklin stood, but then paused.  Which pocket is it in?

 

Huh?  Oh, left one. 

 

Franklin reached out with his powers and folded space around a small velvet-lined box hidden within his uncle’s uniform, miraculously intact if scorched and hot to the touch, depositing it into a pocket within his own uniform.  He sent his wordless farewell and was airborne once more, instinctively shielding himself against the occasional maser shot or shots aimed his way.

 

The situation had apparently stabilized in the last several minutes: a defensive perimeter had developed about the handful of transports remaining intact, one of which was the one with his sister and cousins.  The Martians were alternately firing at the few fliers zipping about and ineffectually sniping at them, or firing into an invisible barrier that prevented them from approaching the escaping ships.  Archangel, Proton and the Vision were tenacious, but doing little more than making minor nuisances of themselves.

 

‘Way to go, mom!’ Franklin silently enthused as he joined the fliers for a moment in harassing the invaders.

 

Franklin?  Is that you?  The psi-voice of Susan Richards was crystal clear, reflecting none of the strain she was doubtlessly experiencing holding the Martians at bay.

 

Yup.

 

Johnny?  Franklin’s silence and the mental ‘wall’ he projected (unwilling to subject his mother to the grisly sight) was answer enough.  His mother’s grief was a physical pain for them both, and the invisible wall buckled for just a moment. 

 

I’m sorry, mom...

 

Don’t!  Don’t you dare apologize!  You were there and you helped him.    Just…please get down here.  I need you here!

 

Incoming!  He wove between the tripods, hitting a few as he passed, but mainly concentrated on getting back to his family’s side.  He intuitively navigated there, easily bypassing the invaders and breaching his mother’s barrier without causing so much as a ripple to it.

 

He landed softly beside Susan, who stood with arms outstretched and feet planted firmly apart, face a hard grimace of absolute concentration.  Franklin was about to call to her mentally when she beat him to it.  Well?  Are you going to help me or just stand there?

 

Franklin tried not to take offense to the harshness of her tone.  Instead he tried to smile (not entirely successfully) and concentrated, a TK field quickly overlaying his mother’s force field, effectively doubling its strength.  He shut out the screams both within and beyond their barrier, as well any sensation of heat or strain; all that was important was holding the line and protecting the transports.

 

At some point, he unconsciously ‘tapped’ his mother’s nervous system in just the right way to cause her to drop her own field.  This caused her to stagger slightly as the strain against her suddenly disappeared.  Franklin? she asked, caught off-guard.

 

Time to get outta Dodge, mom.   He kept his tone as light as possible, hiding the pain that was steadily growing in his head as the Martians redoubled their assault. 

 

“Franklin?  Susan?” Thor’s voice called through the din.

 

Somehow, he managed to get his voice working and snarled “Thor? Would  you… please… get… her… to… a… fucking… ship… please!”

 

“I’m not leaving…”Susan protested, only to be silenced.

 

“Yes… you… are!” He was screaming now. “ Thor… can…get… us… there!”

 

“Aye!  Come, Susan,” the Thunder God agreed.  Eyes screwed shut, he couldn’t see the almost comical struggle that surely ensured. She would fight him to the end, kicking and screaming all the while, and there simply wasn’t time for it.

 

“Mom, go!  NOW!” 

 

Don’t you dare leave us!  Don’t you dare leave me!  His mother’s psi-voice was at once gentle and commanding.  All her love and loss resided with those silent words, bringing tears to his eyes and giving him strength. 

 

He could distantly hear his Uncle Ben urging her to board their ship.  The rest was lost.  He risked opening one eye, both snapping open a second later at the sight before him: three tripods marched forward, carrying a massive cannon-like arrangement between them.  They halted and, moving in perfect unison, hefted and aimed the weapon directly at him!

 

Summoning all of his formidable willpower, Franklin mentally braced himself for the coming blast.

 

It wasn’t a maser, but a massive sonic lance, one tuned to the simplest and least complex wavelength imaginable.  It therefore unleashed an unfocused blast of pure noise hit his TK field with all the force of tsunami wave the size of Manhattan.  To his credit, Franklin held the line for several seconds, only to have his field falter and crack under this newest assault.

 

A second blast obliterated it completely and physically hurled him backwards several meters.  He couldn’t hold back the psychic cry of pain as he landed.

 

FRANKLIN!  It might have been his mother, his sister, any of his cousins who screamed out.

 

I told you to get out of here!  They’re focused on me!  GO!  He shook his head clear just as the sonic lance sang out again, causing the air around him to explode outwards.  Only a hastily-summoned TK shell saved him, although it did nothing to soften the impact of his landing nearly 10 meters back this time.

 

“I am getting too old for this,” his voice groused, completely independent of his mind.  He instinctively ducked when an unmodified Quinjet flew overhead, speeding full-throttle at the approaching Martians.

 

“Oh, god, no!”  Franklin forgot his injuries as the psi-signatures aboard the aircraft coalesced.  Mom, Ben, what the hell are you doing?

 

Savin’ yer’ life, Frank.   What else?  The Thing ‘grinned’ at his nephew.  We’ll have that cannon outta action, then…

 

Ben, you won’t make a dent in those things!

 

Quinjet alone won’t, but with yer mom here making an invisible wedge, we’re sure ta move ‘em some.

 

Mom...!  Franklin would never be sure if he was about to protest further or wish them luck.  The Quinjet exploded in midair, hit by a massive maser beam from above.  Debris, both mechanical and otherwise, rained down to the ground. 

 

Franklin felt the world slip away from underneath him.  He could only stand there as the tripods crept closer, eyes staring vacantly at the bits of silver, orange and blue they carelessly trod over.  He was frozen in place, all thought of fight or flight gone.

 

He could hear the building hum of a dozen masers overhead, powering up to end his life in a rain of radiological fire, but this was a distant, unimportant thing.

 

Someone, somewhere, was calling his name.

 

 

“Franklin?  Are you alright?” 

 

Franklin blinked several times, focusing once more on the man sitting opposite him.  “Eh?  Oh, Stephen.  Sorry, yes, yes.  Just…just remembering.”

 

“I’m sorry to bring up unpleasant memories.”

 

Franklin waved a hand as casually as possible.  “Its not important.”  It went without saying he was lying through his caffeine-stained teeth.  Strange however was disinclined to call him on it.

 

Instead he asked “More tea?”

 

“Got anything stronger?”

 

Strange smiled and shook his head.  “Sorry, no coffee here.”

 

“Hmm.”  Franklin drained his mug again and looked his host over with a curious expression.  “Any idea how you all ended up here, wherever ‘here’ is?”

 

“None whatsoever, I’m afraid.  The four of us simply woke up one morning and found ourselves here.”

 

“And you don’t find that a bit disturbing?”

 

“To the contrary, I find it very disturbing.  Though not quite as much as this.”  He held up his right hand and quickly performed a hand sign of some sort.  Franklin couldn’t help but wince at how his fingers bent in odd directions. 

 

“Very impressive,” he stated flatly.  “Was that supposed to do something?”

 

“Just light every candle in this room.  It was the first spell I learnt.”

 

Now it was Franklin’s turn to take a few moments to digest this news.  “Your first spell?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Dear, god.”

 

“Franklin,” Strange prompted gently.  “Surely you didn’t think the four of us were staying here by choice did you?”

 

“Are you all…well…de-powered?”

 

“More akin to suffering a selective amnesia.  Magic, as we practice it, is equal parts energy and knowledge.  The energy is there, we think, but…”

 

“But your knowledge isn’t.  Any idea how that happened…is happening?”  Strange merely shook his head.  “Must be frustrating,” Franklin mused idly.

 

Strange quickly changed the subject.  “You mentioned knowing Raven?”

 

“Hmm.  Herself, Vincent, Jerome, even darling little Rohma.”  He said this with all the enthusiasm of funeral dirge.  “The four of them initially ended up on Earth…say, how did they escape here, anyway?”

 

“Another mystery, I’m afraid.  The children were playing along the fishing stream when, poof, they were gone.” He mimicked Franklin’s earlier gesture, snapping his fingers.  “Clea and Wanda were…well, we were all frantic.”

 

“I can imagine.  You searched around for them, of course.”

 

“Of course.”  Strange actually sounded a bit offended by the suggestion otherwise, though he features darkened a moment later.  “At least, I believe we did…”

 

“More amnesia?”  Strange met his gaze with something akin to actual fear now.  “That explains why Clea was nearly hysterical when Rachel mentioned her.  Where’s the rest of my team, by the way?”

 

“In a moment,” Strange said, face now intent.  “Where are the children now?”

 

“Relax, Stephen,” Franklin smiled.  “Rohma teleported the four of them to Earth…”

“What?  In the middle of an alien invasion?”

 

“Stephen, relax!  Yes, they were captured, at least Raven, Vincent, and Jerome were; Rohma apparently teleported herself away.  But they escaped and eventually made it to Little Midgard…”

 

“Where?”

 

“The province of Asgard Odin gave us refugees to settle and organize in.  Nice place, kinda like here.”  He cleared his throat.  “As I said, they escaped, linked up with the ‘underground railroad’ that had developed and made it to Little Midgard with several hundred more refugees.  Thank gods they did, too.  Gave us some added magical muscle, as it were.”

 

“They’re safe, yes?”

 

“As clams.  Raven’s running rings around the Oracles, Vincent is mixing his tech with magicks, and Jerome has the ether spirits at his beck and call.  They’ve gotten help from Heather Twoyoungman as well.”

 

“What about Rohma?”

 

“Damned if I know,” Franklin shrugged.  “She helped them get to the Rainbow Bridge, then vanished again.  Gave off some damn weird readings in the process.”

 

“I’m sure.”  Strange smiled to himself.  “There was always something unearthly about that child.”

 

“You mentioned ‘Wanda’ earlier.  Wanda Maximoff, I presume?”  Strange nodded and emptied the teapot into his mug while Franklin ticked off his fingers.  “Okay, there’s you, Clea, and Wanda.  Who’s the fourth?”

 

“Someone you know very well.”  Strange’s smile gave nothing away, save enjoyment at seeing him stumped.

 

“Not Doom, surely?”

 

“Agamotto, no!”

 

“Amanda?”

 

“Fortunately, no.  I believe she was holding Limbo together at the time of our…removal.”

 

“Then who…you can’t mean…”  The implications were staggering, and left him momentarily stunned.

 

“Agatha has already taken her turn watching over you while your team slept.  She commented on how well you’ve turned out.”

 

“Oh, spare me,” Franklin spat, trying hard not to laugh. 

 

“I heavily doubt she will.”  Strange drank the remainder of his tea, then stood.  “To answer your earlier question, you can ask your teammate there.”  He nodded out the open window, in the direction of an approaching redhead clad in gold and black.   The scowl that twisted her beautiful features was visible from the distance.

 

“Oh, joy,” Franklin muttered.  “Where are you going?”

 

“I,” Strange stated with great dignity.  “I must go herd the sheep for a bit.”  With that he gathered up the shepherd’s staff near the door and exited.  Having nothing to detain him, Franklin stood and followed him out.

 

Standing there in the open, Franklin could take in the mage’s settlement, although upon reflection calling it a settlement was something of an exaggeration.  Four large huts arrayed about a communal cooking pit with a rough-hewn picnic table nearby.  There was a stack of firewood cut nearby, with good-sized axe buried in the prototypical tree stump that presumable acted as a chopping block.  There was even a sort of frames with clotheslines built between the huts; linen tunics hung from one, strips of meat and some kind of fruit from another.

 

Beyond this were only the nearby woods and the stream in the distance.  Looking about it all, taking in the stillness of the fragrant air and calm atmosphere, Franklin was put in mind of the borders of Little Midgard.  Particularly the stretch of Ashwood forest Cerberus had made his hidey-home; more than once he and the rest of the First Cohort had had to “save” the great tri-headed Hound of the Underworld from the tender mercies of their younger siblings. 

 

Smiling to himself at such memories, Franklin rooted about the pockets of his jacket for another No-Doze capsule.  Finding one he quickly swallowed it dry as he heard footsteps approach him from behind.  Still smiling, he turned casually and faced the approached redhead.  “Morning, dear,” he drawled as Rachel marched towards him.  His smile faltered ever so slightly as she threw both arms around him and all but rammed her forehead into his chest.

 

“Oof,” he breathed, flinching more from the silent exclamation with which she admonished him.

 

Bastardmiserablebastardhowdareyoudothattouspassingoutandnotbreathingwellstillbreathingbutbreathingsoslowwethinkyou’redeaddon’tbedeadpleasepleasepleasedon’tbedeadcan’tbedeadandleavingusallaloneandIpromisedValandBenandeveryoneyouwouldn’tbehurtbastardbastardBASTARD!

 

Feel better now?

 

Bastard and a half!  Aloud, she only sighed and held on tighter.  Okay, now I feel better.

 

Good, May called out psychically.  Glad to see the bossman is awake.  Now, take the hands off the merchandise, Red.

 

Or what?  They could ‘hear’ the smirk attending the challenge, despite her face remaining buried in his chest.  May’s reply – a decided vivid mental image of exactly “or what” constituted – had all three of them blushing furiously and all but propelling them from each other’s arms.

 

Surprisingly, Rachel recovered first and snarled Was that a threat or a promise, Anna May?

 

Want to find out, Red?

 

“Okay, neutral corners you two.”  Franklin spoke aloud, giving his words added emphasis.  May, where are you?

 

Fishing.

 

Fishing?

 

Fishing.  Down by the big pond where you ran into Mrs. Strange.  With your former nanny and Rohma’s mother, I might add.  May sent them an image of herself and her companions right then, which caused Franklin and Rachel to blush again.

 

Dammit, May!

 

Hey, when in Rome, right?

 

Exhibitionist!

 

What?  We’re just sunbathing.  Well, I’m sunbathing while they’re…well…

 

Where the hell is Richie?  Please tell me he isn’t linked to this.

 

I think it qualifies as ‘tantric massage’.

 

May!

 

He’s gone airborne again, searching for wreckage with Mrs. Strange.  The Doc vaguely remembered hearing a crash some ways off a few days back.

 

And no, Franklin, he isn’t directly linked in to us right now.  He can call if he needs to, but…

 

Let’s just hope he doesn’t need to.

 

Oh, my.  That looks relaxing…

 

Dunno about relaxing.  Kinda getting worked up myself.

 

Argh!

 

Geez, chill will you, Franklin? 

 

I’ll ‘chill’ once you...oh, never mind. 

 

I’m rolling over.  See?  There, I’m not on my back anymore…this really isn’t helping, is it?

 

No.

 

No.

 

I’m just going to shut up now and let you two do…whatever.  We’ll be done here in a few hours.  Er…you know what I…never mind.

 

They both felt May’s presence leave them, its absence felt more keenly than either expected.  “That girl is going to kill me,” Franklin growled quietly.

 

“Don’t even joke about that,” Rachel warned.  She looked skywards and frowned.  “Have you noticed something…well, odd about the sky?”

 

“You just want to change the subject.”

 

“No, no.  Really.  I mean…I don’t know what I mean…”

 

Franklin gave her an overly indulgent look, then followed her gaze upwards.  Putting the recent exchange with May aside (no easy feat) he concentrated on what was overhead.  He saw nothing that would immediately grab his attention, nor any hint of what had left Rachel so disquieted.

 

But the sky remained empty: no birds, no visible clouds, and nothing floating or flying overhead.  In short, absolutely nothing to be seen. 

 

Granted there wasn’t even any definable color to it, just a vague brightness that gave sufficient warmth.  That in itself did seem a bit odd, but given he’d half grown-up under alien skies it hardly caused a pass with him.  Maybe he’d just become jaded from his travels.

 

“I don’t see anything,” he finally stated.

 

“Exactly.  Nothing up there.”

 

“It’s the sky, Rachel,” Franklin pointed out, slighted exasperated now.  “It’s supposed to be empty.”  Not wishing to be drawn into further debate, Franklin turned away, only to turn back to her after a moment’s consideration.

 

“How high up did you go?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“How high up did you go?  When I ordered you and Richie to scout from the air, just after we woke up.  Remember?”

 

“Yes, yes.  Um, about 50 meters, I think.”

 

“Why only 50?”

 

Rachel shrugged as she scrunched her brow, thinking the question over for several seconds.  “Dunno.  It just seemed, well, high enough.”

 

Franklin grunted and moved off.  Objectively, 50 meters in the air was high enough for the sort of reconnaissance he’d originally ordered; still, it just didn’t seem right… somehow.

 

Loath as he was to admit it right then, Rachel was right.  There was something off about this place.  Damned if he could put his finger on it, though.  He soon shook his head and turned back to Rachel.

 

“After May gets back, I want you to scan the environment as widely as you can.”

 

“Okay.”  She looked him over.  “You feel it too?”

 

“Not exactly.  But we’ve got four extremely powerful mages here who apparently have forgotten how to light a candle.  Plus May is proving unsteady on her feet, and I’m still feeling a bit off even after a two day nap.”  He met her eyes.  “There’s something wrong here.”

 

A shadow fell over them before Rachel could respond.  Looking up, they saw what looked like an airborne jellyfish floating overhead, a white-haired woman cradled by the tentacles underneath its great bulk.  Rachel blinked several times, then rubbed her eyes vigorously.  The creature continued to float overhead.

 

Far from being shocked or even mildly surprised by the sight, Franklin instead muttered “Oh, for pity’s sake.”  He then cupped both hands around his mouth and bellowed upwards “What the hell is that, Richie?”

 

The ‘jellyfish’ quivered a bit then began to descend.  As it did so, Franklin could make out more features, including a number of dark shapes suspended within its translucent bulk.  Recognition was only a second away after that, and elicited yet another groan.  “The Crawfordsville Monster, Richie?  Couldn’t you think of something else?!”

 

Rachel pulled her eyes back towards him.  “Crawfordsville…?” 

 

“A species that’s supposed to live in the upper atmosphere of Earth,” Franklin muttered, shaking his head.  “Reportedly looks like an aquatic jellyfish.  Bit of an urban legend really.  And it’s damn pretentious, as well!” 

 

This last part was shout at his cousin, who was carefully lowering the white-haired sorceress to the ground.  Franklin exchanged a smile with her before returning his attention upwards.  He was about to shout something else when he noticed the tremors that shook the airborne mass.  Richie’s entire form began to rapidly contract and expand, even experience difficulty remaining aloft.  

 

Franklin quickly gestured for Clea and Rachel to back away.  The jellyfish form the young shape shifter wore began to destabilize.  Clea quickly raced off as bade, Rachel stubbornly remaining where she was.  Franklin himself was rooted to the spot, alternatively horrified and fascinated at the sight of the jellyfish collapsing in upon itself, deforming and twisting about as it did.

 

Richie’s normal form reappeared after a few seconds, surrounded by components of suspiciously-familiar machinery.  This would have been a comical sight, save he was several dozen meters above the ground.  The machinery fell to the ground like stones, although Richie himself still floated there for an extra beat or two, then proceeded to follow them. 

 

Coming to for whatever lethargy had hit him, Richie began flapping his arms desperately.  Franklin could see his arms begin reforming into crude winds, but these proved inadequate to keep him airborne.  Rachel instinctively reached upwards with her telekinesis and caught him, face unexpectedly crumpling as if pained.  Franklin could barely take in these details as he shoved himself and Clea backwards to avoid the falling wreckage.

 

Fortunately they were spared any injury, and Rachel successfully lowered the barely-conscious Richie to the ground without getting hit herself.  The instant he was down, however, she dropped both arms and then to her knees.  Franklin was torn for a moment between which to go to first, making a snap decision to attend to Richie first. 

 

Clea hurried to Rachel’s side as he raced forward.  The slender redhead leaned against the sorceress gratefully, wiping her dripping nose, feeling herself go pale at the sight of a streak of red on her sleeve.

 

Franklin meanwhile knealt beside the prone form of Richie, relieved to see his arms had reverted back to normal.  “Richie?  You in there?” he asked in a low, nearly-frantic tone.  “Sorry I yelled like that,” he apologized uselessly, though this seemed to prompt a response.

 

“S’okay, boss,” Richie slurred.  He raised his head and looked blearily at his elder cousin.  “Frank?  I feel terrible.”  With that, he passed completely out and lay still as death, a notion that was dispelled by the steady rise and fall of his chest.

 

Franklin felt for a pulse and called out “Rachel, can you reach…Ray!”  His exclamation was prompted by turning to see the redheaded psi stumbling towards him supported by Clea, blood dripping from both nostrils, this contrasting sharply with the sudden pallor of her skin.

 

Leaving Richie where he lay, he stood and quickly moved to Rachel’s side.  She reached out and clung to him as a drowning man would a life-preserver.  He felt every tremor that ran through her suddenly-too thin form, feeling himself shake in turn.

 

“Franklin,” she coughed, painfully looking up at him.  “What…what’s happening to us?”  Her eyes rolled completely upwards, then her head fell forward, her whole body going limp and collapsing fully atop him. 

 

Franklin struggled to keep his balance as he lowered her to lay comfortably on the soft ground.  He looked up at a confused and worried Clea, eyes bleak, utterly at a loss what to do next.

 

 

End of issue three

 

 

Next issue: Franklin tinkers with toys, Rachel gives May gray hairs, and Richie asks the obvious question.

 

Author’s Note: for those you wondering, “The Crawfordsville Monster” was an airborne creature that was sighted over the town of Crawfordsville, Indiana during September, 1891.  Witnessed by several hundred townsfolk, it has generally been described as an amorphous blob able to hover overhead, some twenty feet long by eight feet high, possessing several pairs of fins and a single red ‘eye’.  It reportedly wheezed as it moved and drifted/swam off after hovering for several minutes.  You can get the full story at http://www.subversiveelement.com/Crawfordsville.html

 

Never let it be said Imp wasn’t imaginative in the creatures he shifts into.