Disclaimers in Introduction. Send comments to yankee_pendragon@hotmail.com

Story thus far: An eight member reconnaissance mission to Martian-occupied Earth has gone horribly awry. The unit led by Franklin Richards lost contact with both Asgard and the rest of the team immediately after launch, going completely off-course and apparently colliding with another object while in sub-space (a theoretical impossibility). The unit awoke to find themselves in a pastoral paradise occupied by a Stephen Strange, his wife Clea, Wanda Maximoff, and Agatha Harkness - all long believed dead, none of whom could account for how they got there, never mind survived. To make matters worse, all four members of Richard's unit find themselves suffering ill effects as they try to use their powers, leaving them progressively helpless.

 

 

War of the Worlds: Mission into The Unknown

Issue Four: Revelation

 

Laid out in repose, her features relaxed and seemingly at peace, Rachel Summers looked rather like an angel. A redheaded angel with a buzzcut and wearing gold and black spandex admittedly, which only accentuate her essential perfection of form and figure. May didn't care how perfect the image was; it was her living nightmare for all its perfection. At least when it had been Franklin lying there she had the confidence he would open his eyes at some point.

This was different; she could feel it in the darkest corners of her soul.

She had been kneeling next to the bed for so long, she'd actually lost all feeling in both legs. Shifting them in the slightest was more painful than the numbness she endured both in her legs and within her own heart.

She hadn't wanted for company, at least. Strange himself had appeared every now and then, making what cursory checks he could of Rachel's vitals and offering comforting noises. Wanda, Agatha, and Clea had all taken their turns as well, although each had made their own ill-advised attempt at engaging her in conversation, each meeting with a stony silence. Richie, bless him, had simply sat beside her and keep his trap shut.

The one person she might have responded to, the one she most desperately needed to hear and gain comfort from...was the one who had yet to set foot in the hut or even show his face.

May shivered in the cold atmosphere of the hut, eyes tearing at the pain that stabbed her both within and without.

The atmosphere outside wasn't noticeably better.

Franklin had commandeered the communal table near the fire pit, laying out the wreckage Richie and Clea had found the previous day atop it. He poked through the bits and pieces, making odd noises that hovered between disappointment and outright pain. Richie had watched him for a bit once they'd returned, trying to help by organizing the pieces of circuitry and hull by size or color, only to be shoo'd away by Franklin.

"I'm not Forge, you know," he'd said, eyes not leaving the piece of control panel he was holding. "I need time to figure this out." Richie took the hint and wandered off. He'd sat with May for a bit, keeping vigil over Rachel, though he hadn't been able to work up the courage to really say anything comforting.

May seemed to appreciate the company all the same, offering him a watery, trembling smile both when he sat opposite her over Rachel and when he rose to leave. It was nearly enough to send Richie marching off to find Franklin to drag him in there.

However much he respected his cousin, however willingly he'd follow him right into the teeth of a Martian nest, Richie would be the first to admit he could be an incredible and insensitive ass some days.

Actually, Aunt Alicia would always be the first. The woman had a knack for catching them in their off-moments that bordered on the psychic. She just tended to take command of a room by simply walking into it and leave everyone else off-balance. He could understand how his late father once fell for her; then again, it hadn't actually been Alicia Masters, had it? Richie counted it as a minor miracle that his mother and Alicia got along as well as they did these days, history between them notwithstanding. Heck, they were better than Jonni and himself did most days.

He came to a stop and let himself slump back against the nearest convenient tree.

Thinking about his sister always left Richie with a stew of conflicting feelings, ranging from irrational annoyance to fierce protectiveness. She'd come into their lives shortly before the Martians arrived while Richie himself was still in diapers, and had literally grabbed onto the one she recognized as her father and refused to let go. This naturally produced some awkwardness between Johnny, Lyja and Alicia, not to mention some serious 'sibling rivalry' between himself and the small blonde girl. They could barely speak five words to one another before coming to blows; only fear of punishment kept Richie from using his natural shape-shifting in their confrontations.

Then the Martians came. Richie himself couldn't really remember much of the invasion's early days, except his resentment at having to stay behind with Alicia and his cousins while his parents flew off to fight. He vaguely remembered the whole evacuation out of Canada, but the details there were foggy beyond his mother crying a lot and his looking out the window and seeing...something.

His mind always shied away from those particular memories, falling back on the pseudo-rivalry that developed between himself and Jonni, often mediated by Angelica (who invariably took Jonni's side) and Franklin (who was protective of them all and played no favorites). Not surprisingly, Richie often felt not a little outnumbered there.

The playing field got even more lop-sided once her powers manifested and they began training. Richie found he was something of a pyrophobe, unexpectedly nervous at the smallest flame, making it all the more difficult to relate to her. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending upon one's outlook, they'd never been assigned to the same team for either training or the occasional mission. They were both technically in the Second Cohort, still junior and rather 'green' (no pun intended) when it came to operating in the field; he'd been as surprised as anyone when Franklin announced he was on this mission.

He'd actually been nervous to go home that night after the briefing broke up, so much so that he spent a good hour and a half drilling with Bethany and Clint.  He was actually less worried at his mother's likely reaction than those of Aunt Alicia, Val, Angelica...and most especially Jonni.

She was waiting for him in his room, sitting on his bed with her knees up to her chin and thin arms wrapped about her legs. Her face was a picture of anxiety and borderline misery. She said nothing as he quietly entered the room and stood there, daring her to say the first word. It was a game they would play sometimes when circumstances forced them to deal with each other directly.

He became worried when Jonni declined to break the silence; the girl could rarely stand more than a few minutes of silence before chiming in.  He took a half step towards her, only to be stopped by his instinctive fear of her powers.

Jonni chose that moment to speak.  "I'm really, really mad right now."

"Er..." was all Richie could think to say to such a declaration. 

"At Franklin, not you," she quickly amended. Richie let out a relieved breath.  "You shouldn't be goin' on a mission like this."

He opened his mouth to protest, only to have her roll right over him.  "I mean, yer as young as me."  This was a bit of a stretch, but not entirely inaccurate. "I mean, whose gonna watch yer back?"

"Franklin," he reponded at once. "Who else?"

This didn't seem to reassure his normally fiery sibling. If anything, she looked even more lost than before, which naturally left Richie a bit lost himself. He and Jonni had nowhere near a conventional brother-sister relationship, but this was the first time he could recall her expressing actual worry over his personal safety. Richie had no idea what to say next, but damned if he was going to leave her moping like this.  He opted for action instead.

Quickly moving over to the simple wardrobe, he started pulling out his various uniform jumpsuits. The first two that came to hand were held up and Richie directed his widest smile towards the still-moping Jonni. "Whaddya think?" He held one up to his chin, as if they were in one of Madame Tassal's fitting rooms.  To his immense relief, Jonni looked up and even smiled a bit.

"That one's blue, y'know," she informed him..

"Er, it is?" Jonni nodded and he wondered how seriously he should take her. It was something of an open secret he was color-blind to the blue end of the spectrum.  He could barely distinguish between basic blue and green.  Since beginning their formal training among the Second Cohort, Jonni would routinely ‘assist’ him dressing some mornings, picking out his uniform for the day and often times ensuring he dressed in the most clashing shades of green, yellow, aquamarine, and who knew what else.

The worst part was he couldn't hate her for it. Not when it never failed to elicit laughter from his mother and, later, Aunt Alicia (once the sight was described to her). Or how it would cause Franklin and Angelica to routinely roll their eyes. Only Valeria, forever attempting to be more serious than her brother, would simply take in his latest fashion disaster, shrug, and get on with drills.

It wasn't actually in his nature to be a jokester. He frankly preferred to bury his nose in a book or trying his hand at painting. The roll of 'class clown' might one he was suited for, but not one he was especially comfortable it. Still, it made his family happy, his mother and sister especially. So he swallowed his pride and let Jonni humiliate him time and again. It seemed the only way she and the rest of his extended family would stand to deal with him, as an amusement and little else.

Hence his surprise at how...protective she was acting all of a sudden.  He had to wonder at this seeming change. Not knowing what else to do, he switched the uniforms in his hands, holding the second one under his chin and grinned. “How about this one? Eep!” He dodged a streak of fire that shot from Jonni's hand, relieved to see it impact harmlessly on the wall behind him.

“This is serious! Can't you quit goofing and...and...” She couldn't continue and let her head fall back onto her crossed arms. Richie dropped both uniforms and finally went to sit himself beside her. He scooted close as he could and looped one arm about her quietly shaking shoulders.

He tried to sound reassuring, saying “C'mon, it isn't that...what?” Jonni's words were too muffled to make out. “What was that?”

“I said...” Jonni raised her head and, quite possibly for the first time in their lives, looked him square in the eye. “Don't go.” Her eyes were brimming with tears.

“Don't go...as in don't go on this mission?” She nodded. “But...but...”

“Please, Richie.” She was practically begging him now.  “Please, I don’t…I don’t want to loose you too!”

“Loose me?”

“Like…like I lost my Mom and Dad and…”  She completely broke down after that, and it was all Richie could do to hold onto her.  Focused as he was on her, he barely heard the front door slam shut and familiar footfalls come stomping down the hallway.  Clearly Aunt Alicia had found Franklin, as had been her declared intention after dinner, and the meeting went about as badly as his mother Lyja had predicted it would. 

The blind sculptress stopped just outside his room’s door and nudged it fully open.  No doubt her daughter’s quiet sobs called to her as clearly as a foghorn.  She took a tentative step into the room and called “Jonni?  Richie?”

Richie cleared his throat and replied “Er, yah.  To both.  I mean, we’re both in here.” He glanced up, shocked at the tear-streaks that adorned her cheeks and the nervousness she projected.  All of the Second Cohort had heard the story of how she’d stormed into Odin’s own throne room and castigated the whole Aesir; to see her like this…

Alicia moved forward and knelt directly before them, then reached out a hand that trembled ever so slightly stroked her daughter’s blond locks.  “You heard Franklin…” she began, only to be silenced by a sudden outburst from Jonni.

“I don’t care about Franklin!” she snarled, glaring at her mother.  Richie kept as firm a grip on the slender girl as she leaned forward, wondering if he was going to have to protect Alicia from her, or vice versa.  Jonni just kept right on in the same vein, a verbal wildfire of adolescent fury.  “All he does is…is boss us an’ everyone…an’ he never does anything or goes nowhere…an’ he…he…he just bosses and bosses everyone around…an’ nobody ever tells him when he’s wrong…” 

Alicia simply knelt there, nodding occasionally and letting the wildfire run its natural course. Evenutally Jonni paused for breath and Alicia dove headfirst into the breach. “I don’t think you’re really angry with Franklin,” she stated quietly.  “I think you’re just scared, like I am.” 

Jonni froze at this admission, shocked.  Richie had an unworthy thought that perhaps this had been Alicia’s intention, but the gentle yet visible quake in her shoulders put paid to that theory.  Were he the jokester he played at he might’ve thought up some quip or the like.  As it was, he simply gogged alongside his sister.

Alicia caught all of this despite her blindness, nodding gravely in hopes of reinforcing the point.  She gently stroked her daughter’s thick blonde hair and said “I’m scared he won’t come back from this mission.  And I’m scared that…that someday the same thing will happen to you.  To both of you.”  She added the last bit looking very directly at Richie, who found himself tightening his hold on Jonni as if that alone might forestall such a possibility.  For her part, the pyrokinetic pressed herself closer to him, her own trembling much more pronounced.

Alicia apparently realized the effects of her words, her expression softening as she moved to sit opposite Richie and wrap her own arms about the both of them.  Tears he hadn’t even realized began falling at the first sight of Alicia’s own quiet sobs.

Through it all, Jonni remained silent, clinging to her brother and soaking his jumpsuit with her own tears.

In time, she drifted off to sleep, slumped against his remarkably strong form.  With greatest care, Richie eased himself about so she came to lay more comfortably upon his bed.  Alicia, clearly exhausted herself, mirrored his movements to lay beside her daughter.  Satisfied they were at least semi-comfortable (his bed wasn’t that large, after all), Richie tried to ease himself away.  Jonni however moaned and instinctively grabbed onto him, holding tight. He could only sigh quietly and bow to the inevitable, maneuvering himself to lay beside his sister who simply refused to let him go, wondering.

 No soon had he managed this than his own mother quietly padded into the room, kneeling down beside the now-crowded bed to place a gentle kiss on his forehead.  She silenced the question forming on his lips with a smile and gentle fingers pressed against the same, then laid her own head down next to his own and closed her eyes.  Richie followed them to dreamland only minutes later, his strength drained.

That was how dawn would find them: a small family, clinging to each other and what little comfort this might bring.

Voices from the present pulled Richie from his ruminations.  “Richard? Hello?”  He blinked in surprise to find himself surrounded by a trio of lady mages.  Franklin’s two-day nap had allowed him to become sufficiently acquainted with the four ‘locals’ that he could put faces to names, although none of the quartet appeared anything like giants the stories he’d grown up on.  He was slightly surprised that it was the (technically) eldest of them who knelt before him; she left him more unnerved than the incessant questions Clea and Wanda peppered him with concerning their own missing offspring.

“Are you alright, lad?” he was asked.  His voice had beat a sudden retreat, leaving him to nod dumbly as a decidedly sensual mouth curved in a dangerous frown.  Richie wondered insanely what it would be like to actually kiss those lips.  Reminding himself about how old the lady in question supposedly was did little to alleviate the unfamiliar tightness those lips caused in particular portion of his anatomy.  He remembered to be grateful Franklin could no longer read minds, otherwise he’d have an entirely new set of problems to deal with!

As it was, he was handed a simple fishing pole and instructed in no uncertain terms that he would accompany the other two ladies to the nearby pond, with firm instructions that he relax and not worry himself over his teammates for a bit.  The intense, sparkling eyes that pinned him there forbade any comment or protest; not that he was in any condition to offer either, anyway, given his voice was still MIA.

Only when the elder lady mage turned and stalked back towards the settlements did he feel it safe to finally move, and even then only enough to accept a helping hand up from Wanda.  The younger woman gave him a reassuring grin as she looped an arm through his and gently led him off, Clea coming up on his opposite side. 

“So, Richard,” the snow-haired sorceress said with a grin of her own.  “What has my girl been up to?”

Back in the settlement, Franklin was squinting at the remnants of FC-3's environmental controls when he felt the approach of his former nanny. Her feet made no sound upon the ground as she approached him from behind, but he felt her approach all the same; a distracting and impossible to ignore presence that tugged upon his consciousness as surely as if the Phoenix Force itself had come to perch on his shoulder.

She had the decency at least to stop a reasonable distance away. She said nothing to fill the silence Franklin himself deliberately let stretch between them. He knew she was simply standing there, hands folded primly before her, face the absolute picture of patience and propriety.

May's psychic vision of her and Wanda played itself in his mind's eye again, causing him to physically flinch and growl to himself. This proved to be the proverbial straw upon the emotional camel's back and he ground between clenched teeth "Is there something you want, Agatha?"

"A modicum of politeness on your part, for a start," came the amused and otherwise ageless voice behind him. "I did try to impress that one should always address those one spoke to directly, didn't I?"

"Yes," Franklin sighed, eyes moving skywards as he set the wreckage back onto the table before him. Eyes still skyward, he turned slowly and, summoning what courage he could, met her eyes. His throat constricted and went dry as a desert. He nevertheless got his voice working.

"But then, you aren't exactly the same women I knew then, are you?" he address the slender beauty with raven's hair that curled and wove about an unlined and youthful face that could not have been older than 20. She stood proudly before her former charge, easily a head shorter and completely unembarrassed at her state of near-undress. Like the others she wore a simple tunic and belt. Her seeming youth and ample cleavage made for difficult fitting of even this simple clothing however, much to her private delight. It had been literally ages since she's felt so free.

"No," Agatha Harkness admitted with an easy smile. "But then, you aren't the small boy I often had to protect from his own curiosity, are you?" She regarded him steadily, unafraid. "And if I may say, you've grown to be quite the hansom young man at that."

Franklin didn't know whether he want to laugh, cry, or curse at this; his looks were a personal subject he preferred avoiding. There were scars most didn't know about and ones he avoided thinking about entirely. May and Rachel rarely commented, particularly after a few choice words of his own that by rights should have snapped the cord between them. Val, Richie and Jonni were in the midst of their own awkward stage, and so too distracted to make any such comments anyway. Only Angelica, whose growth spurt had naturally hit and passed early, wasn't one to mince words. Fortunately she wasn't one to seek a needless argument either.

He settled for simply scowling hard and giving her a look. "There are a couple of young ladies who might take exception to that, you know?"

"Oh, young May and I discussed it at length. I assure you."

Franklin closed his eyes and sighed. "Consider me duly terrified now." Agatha chuckled in a way that did very bad things to his self-control; quite deliberately so, he was sure. He wondered just what had been shared between her, a certain telepath and another certain wall-crawler while he'd been unconscious.

While he rarely missed his powers, telepathy in particular, Franklin would admit they had uses for times like this. He managed to turn away and growl "I'm a little busy right now, Agatha."

He could feel her eyes drift downwards and focus on his hindquarters. The saucy grin with which she spoke rang out as clear as a bell in a silent monastery. "No so little, in my opinion."

Franklin bit his tongue to keep from exploding. He instead squared his shoulders and held up the bit of wreckage he was poking in. "This would be so much easier if I'd included a nanite repair system."

"Hmm?" Agatha hummed, daring greatly to stand beside him so their hips brushed. She picked up another piece from the table, almost studying it with almost mocking intensity. Franklin scowled but said nothing, snatching the circuitboard from her hands and keeping his eyes elsewhere.

Agatha pulled a face and turned towards him. "You're very touchy, young man. I'd be careful of that, if I were you."

"No doubt you would," Franklin muttered in reply, squinting closely at the equipment in his hands. He shook his head after a moment, ruefully wondering if his fatigue was making him see things. The circuitboard in his left hand was apparently less damaged than he'd thought, while the control board in his right looked nearly fully intact. He'd have sworn it was so much plastic and metal for the recycling bin a moment ago.

Agatha was still beside him, her wide, dark eyes watching his every move. "You really should lay down, you know. You're white as a sheet and sweating."

"I had a two day nap. I think I'm well rested as...as..." A decent metaphor escaped him right then. Instead he simply shook his head and leaned heavily upon the table before him. "Dammit," he growled, eyes screwed shut against the chaos in his head. There was too much to do, too much unknown, and he couldn't for the life of him focus clearly on single bit of it. Breathing was fast becoming a labor worthy of Herakles, his chest heaving and head beginning to go light.

He felt a familiar hand on his back, its long, gentle fingers moving back and forth in an equally familiar show of comfort and care. The same gentle strokes had calmed his as a child, and they worked their same magic now. His breathing calmed almost immediately and his thoughts settled once more. The 'to do' list was still there, but at least everything wasn't screaming for attention at once.

"Thanks," Franklin muttered shakily.

"Always, Franklin. Always." It was said with such care and concern he nearly lost control right there, wanting desperately to collapse into her arms as he had as a tot.

Instead he straightened and angrily wiped at his eyes, squinting for a moment at assortment of electronics and plastics before him. Then he let his eyes relax and look at the lot in total.

Then inspiration hit.

Franklin gave Agatha a brilliant smile as he cupped her face in both hands. For a mad moment she thought he might actually kiss her, a not unpleasant thought in and of itself. Her eyes even closed unconsciously in anticipation.

Instead, he hissed "You! Are! A! Genius!" He then spun away and began gathering select pieces from the table, moving them into discrete piles before going to work with tools he pulled from jacket and belt.

Agatha grinned and nodded to herself, strangely pleased to see her former charge at work. Exactly what he was planning on constructing out of that pile of rubbish she had no idea. At least he looked happy for the first time since she'd laid eyes on him here.

Rather than ruminate on this further, she instead made her way back to hut housing the still-unconscious Rachel and her self-appointed nursemaid. There was admittedly little chance of convincing young Anna May from her bedside vigil, but then hope seemed to spring eternal in this place.

She herself was living proof of this.

Richie would never claim to be the most athletic of his Cohort.  In truth, his perpetually slim physique was due purely to his hybrid gene-structure than careful diet and dawn-to-dusk masochistic exercise. His eating habits were only marginally better than those of, say, Lockley or Ion (either of whom could seemingly eat and metabolize anything), and he saw no reason to engage in the sort of insane regimes of exercise and calisthenics that Sentinel, Wild Thing, and even Franklin put themselves through.    

 

Still, there was a limit on how much forced inactivity he could endure before needing to just get up and move.  Barely an hour’s fishing - or more accurately a hour’s worth of tossing one’s line out onto the water and then sitting about, trying all the while not to notice how the ladies were taking the opportunity to sunbathe aue naturale – and he’d had his fill of it.  Miss Harkness’s order to the contrary, there was no way for him not to worry over his teammates, never mind actually relax with the sort of sights lying out only a few feet from him!

 

He hastily stood before the form-fitting material of his uniform could betray his (hopefully perfectly natural) reactions.  Making sure to keep his back to the two lady mages, Richie made his retreat with as much dignity and grace as possible.  His frequently stumbling steps and quickly concocted excuse of needing to “talk to Franklin about…something” didn’t help much on that score.

 

Nevertheless, he managed to escape without falling flat…on his face at least.  The ladies chuckled a bit at his antics and he, being the good sport, chuckled with them.  Once out of earshot however, Richie was growling dire and irrational threats against Franklin, himself, and the universe in general for getting him into such a situation.  This internal diatribe went on until he reached the settlement, by which time he’d wrested a bit more control over himself.

 

He in fact had marched right up to stand behind Franklin and loudly cleared his throat, fully prepared to give him what-for.  His cousin only half-turned and nodded vaguely towards him, clearly distracted.  “Oh, Richie.  Good.  You’re back.”

 

“Er, my front, actually,” Richie instinctively quipped.

 

“Right, whatever,” Franklin muttered, his hands never still as he worked on the mass of electronics and metals before him.  There was something in the set of his shoulders, something to the nearly manic pace at which he worked, that sounded off warning bells in the shape-shifter’s head.  

 

“Um, are you okay?” Richie asked.  This simple question had a surprising effect upon his seemingly-frantic cousin. 

 

Franklin went utterly still, as if frozen in mid-motion, holding that pose for several long seconds.  He then slumped forward to support his full weight on both arms, his shoulders shaking with increased violence.  Richie thought for a horrified moment that he might be having some kind of fit or stroke or something, the way he was shaking and wheezing.  Then he realized how Franklin wasn’t wheezing.

 

He was laughing.  It was an eerie, wild sort of laughter that sent a literal chill up Richie’s spine.  Franklin’s next words didn’t help matters much.

 

“No,” he muttered through the guffaws and desperate breaths.  “No, I’m not alright.  None of us are.”  He turned and sat back against the tables edge, hiding whatever he’d been working on from clear view.  Richie was less concerned at this than how pale and shaken his normally-indomitable cousin appeared.  Franklin stared at him directly through red-rimmed eyes, his features otherwise slack with exhaustion.  The sight of him so was shocking enough that Richie had to focus hard on the words he spoke.

 

“May can’t take more than two steps without stumbling…you can’t hold a different shape for more than a few minutes…”  Richie opened his mouth to argue this, only to settle back in grudging acknowledgement that it were entirely true.  Franklin proceeded without seeming to notice.  “None of the four mages here can so much as light a candle, never mind do anything more impressive…hell, the only time I can think straight is when I’m high on No-Doze…and Rachel…my god, she passed out from the effort of catching you when you fell…”

 

Richie found his voice again.  “I didn’t mean to…”

 

“That’s my point!” Franklin exclaimed, eyes wide and frantic again.  “She shouldn’t have broken a light sweat catching you like that.  Instead she passes clean out into a goddamn coma!”  This short exclamation seemed to drain him, leaving him looking limp and weak.  He had to lean further against the table, head down and body trembling.  Of all the sights Richie could imagine, nothing scared him worse than this one sight.

 

He nevertheless swallowed his fear and asked “Any idea what’s doing this to us?”  He was mildly shocked at how calm his voice sounded. 

 

Franklin nodded tiredly, rallying himself to answer the question.  “I think…no, I know…it’s this place, Richie.  Its impossible, it makes no fucking sense whatsoever, but it’s the only thing…”  He took a single, shuddering breath and looked up.  If anything, his eyes looked even more bloodshot and exhausted than before.  “We collided with something in sub-space, Richie,” he whispered, voice strangled and desperate.  “Do you get how absolutely in-fucking-possible that is?”  Richie kept his peace, willing to take him at his word and honestly too nervous to risk any answer.

 

Perhaps it showed in his face, as Franklin’s own features soon softening to something less desperate.  “Sorry about that,” he breathed with a weak grin.  “I…I don’t really know what’s happening to us, Richie.  I just know…no, I don’t know anything.”  Another breath.  “I think it has something to do with this…wherever we are.”

 

“D’you think we’re…well, with Strange and everyone else here…”  He couldn’t bring himself to say it.  Fortunately, Franklin shook his head.

 

“No.  We’re all alive.  I know that much, at least.  I’ve been dead before, and believe me, we definitely wouldn’t be as physically run down if we were.”  This claim alone seemed to give him new energy.  He quickly straightened, calm as ever, no sign of his early of his earlier mania.  Eyes skyward, he went on saying “No, we’re alive.  And damned if I’m going to let it be at that.”  He gave Richie another grin.  “I could use a strong pair of arms here, Rich.” 

 

He moved aside as he spoke, letting Richie see what he’d been working on.  His grin proved infectious, Richie’s own smile remaining even as he shifted into the form of an adult gorilla, lumbering over to take up possession of the latest fruits of his cousin’s genius.  It looked like an old-fashioned model rocket and makeshift launch gantry, though knowing Franklin it could just as easily been some doomsday device sure to wipe out all the evil in the universe. 

 

Hence his being very, very, very careful in carrying it to the open hilltop Franklin directed him towards.

 

While he did so, Franklin himself moved off towards the hut Rachel and May were in and called “May?  Need some help here.”  Were he not so focused on so much as jostling the possible-weapon-of-absolute-destruction in his hands right then, Richie might have rolled his eyes at this.  He had to swallow the snicker at how Alicia would have been sure to knock him upside the head for it.

 

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, slightly surprised to see May coming towards them.  As she approached, he clearly heard a fist hitting a solid shoulder and a groggy voice declare, “I was finally asleep, you jerk.”   It nearly caused him to snicker again as he ever, ever so carefully set the pseudo-rocket down, loosing no time to put as much distance between it and himself as he could.  It was actually a relief to shift back to his normal form 

 

May and Franklin approached, walking side-by-side and decidedly not touching one another.  May was still clad in her uniform, sans her mask, and looked as groggy and haggard as Franklin had earlier.  Her half-stumbling strides however didn’t have anything to do with fatigue; only sheer willpower was keeping her upright.  That, and the dirty looks she kept throwing at her companion.  

 

Franklin however seemed utterly immune to this.  Rather, he paused a short distance from the rocket and waved towards it saying “Think you can secure the base to the ground?”

 

“You…you woke me up…just so…to play…to play with…a goddamned model rocket?”  The slurred disbelief in her voice was colored by confusion and the promise of bone-crushing violence.  Her anger gave her renewed strength, more than enough to straightened up and march the rest of the way.   Richie alone caught the worried look that crossed Franklin’s face the instant her back was turned.

 

Whatever her personal indignation, May did as requested, quickly shooting off several small bursts of webbing at the base of the gantry.  Not one strand of webbing touched the rocket itself, but rather cemented the base of its support to the grassy ground.

This finished, May swung around, fist upraised and prepared to have words with her nominal leader.  Her momentarily lucidity fled however, causing her to stumble and all but fall into Franklin’s waiting arms.  She was surprised at how tightly he held her, clinging to her, as if she were a life preserver keeping him from drowning.  Or was it the other way?  Unconsciousness threatened to overcome her entirely in his arms…

 

He suddenly shook her sharply, forcing her eyes to open and stare at him.  Something akin to panic met her gaze.  “May?  May?!  C’mon, wake up!”

 

“’M…I’m awake…” she slurred, only to have him shake her again.  “I said I’m awake,” she growled, sounding clearer now.

 

“You’ve got to stay awake,” Franklin insisted.  “You fall asleep now, I’m not sure you’ll wake up.”  It was more the fear in his tone than the words that cause her to rally and shake off her lethargy.

 

“Wha…?”

 

“Its…there something about this place, May.  Its like its…draining us…”

 

“Drainin’…”  A horrified thought hit her.  “Rachel?  What about Rachel?!”  Her hands bunched the indestructible fabric of his jacket.  Now she was ready to start shaking him.  Franklin’s hands gently covered her’s, his gaze every bit as scared as her’s.

 

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.  “I don’t know what’s happening here.  I don’t know if its physical or psychic or both.”  He nodded over her shoulder at the rocket.  “That’s what that is for.”

 

May followed his gaze, then gave him a skeptical look.  “A toy rocket?” 

 

Franklin merely smirked and elaborated “Its actually some of the sensor array married to one of the internal gravity plates.  It’ll ascend to 300 meters, then drift down for recovery.  I’ve modified the sensors to record everything possible, both physical and along the energy spectrum.”

 

Despite herself, May was impressed.  “What orientation?  A hundred and eighty degrees?”

 

“Three-sixty.”  May managed a serviceable whistle and let go of his jacket.  Franklin very carefully passed her over to Richie, who wrapped his own arms about her.  It wasn’t nearly as comfortable, and became even less so when Franklin ordered “If she starts to drift off again, do your porcupine routine.”  He ignored May’s sputtered response and pulled a small remote control from his pocket.  “Everyone take a step back,” he called as he hit a button and the small rocket leapt upwards, quickly streaking out of sight.

 

Back in the settlement, Agatha sat beside the still-unconscious Rachel, gently humming a nursery rhyme in some long-forgotten language.  She’d often used the same to ease Franklin to sleep when he was an infant.

 

To her surprise, Rachel’s eyes snapped open as she drew a choked breath, her entire form shuddering for a moment before going ridged.  Her eyes remained open and stared straight upwards at the ceiling while the rest of her remained stiff as a board.  Her lips moved ever so slightly, trying to form words Agatha could not make out nor hear.

 

She leaned forward and whispered “Rachel?”   This garnered no response from the red-haired psi.  Agatha bent closer, turning her head so her ear was directly over Rachel’s mouth, the better to hear the whispered words. 

 

What she heard left her cold.

 

“They’re…watching…us.”

 

Agatha quickly drew back, just in time to see Rachel’s eyes roll upwards and her body relax once more.  Then she went completely limp as her eyes closed.

 

It was all Agatha could do not to faint dead away herself. 

 

Outside, Franklin had donned his high-tech mirrorshades again, looking skyward as he tracked the ascent of his rocket.  May and Richie likewise looked upwards, though both had long since lost sight of it.

 

Franklin helpfully counted out its progress for them.  “One hundred meters…one-twenty…one-thirty…”

 

“Man, its movin’ fast,” Richie muttered. 

 

“Yup,” Franklin grinned to himself.  “One-seventy…one-eighty…”

 

May asked “You sure it’ll stop?”

 

“The grav plate will reverse itself at 300 meters and let the sensor net drift down,” Franklin stated confidently.  “Two hundred meters…two-twenty…two-forty…any second now…two-sixty…two-sixty-five…two-seventy…two-eighty…two-eighty-five…what the fu…!”

 

They all heard a distant, indistinct sound of an impact, followed quickly by May’s sudden cry of pain.  Franklin tore his eyes away from the sky and stared helplessly as she nearly crumpled in Richie’s arms as she clutched at her head. 

 

“My…my spider-sense…going off…hurts…!” she ground out between clenched teeth, straightening herself by sheer will and looking skywards again.  She issued another strangled cry that caused both Franklin and Richie to look upwards as well.  “Oh…oh, god…” she breathed as Franklin took off his glasses, needing to see what occurred with his own eyes.

 

The clouds had begun to part and dissipate overhead, revealing a sky that sparkled.

 

And curved.

 

 

 

Imagine the following:

 

You are looking down from above, no more than ten meters distance.  You can clearly see the huts and people.  You can even distinguish between their clothes and figures, able to identify the men and women, though their faces are too obscure to make out differences.

 

Now you ascent to fifty meters overhead, and the people and huts have become smaller, more obscure.  The figures are distinct only by their movement and color against the broader green, but little more.  Further out there is the lake and the river.  You might even see a few other small figures near these bodies of blue, likewise discernable only by their movement. 

 

Another fifty meters upwards now.  At one hundred meters above the ground the settlement is barely visible.  There is the first whisps of clouds now, further obscuring the ground below.  You can only see the expanse of green and brown of the land.  Are those borders just beyond the settlement?  Could this be an island of some sort?  It is impossible to say as the edges of all sight are obscured by a mist.

 

Double the distance once more and you hover at two hundred meters.  The land below you is vaguer than ever.  You can make out shades of green, shades of brown, and the melding of the two.  The settlement can no longer be seen distinctly, obscured as much by airborne mist as by the distance. 

 

The clouds have become even heavier now, although there is a surreal quality to them, as though their presence was a manufactured event.  There is no hint of wind, even this high into the air, yet they move and swirl as if the god's own breath moved them.

 

Move further upwards.  Two hundred and ten meters.

 

Two hundred and twenty meters.

 

Two hundred and fifty.

 

At each interval the cloudy mist becomes heavier and continues to swirl and dance to some unheard, invisible movement.  Yet it remains just fine enough make out the land far below; no details, mind, merely an expanse of darkness beneath gossamer white.

 

Two hundred and seventy meters.

 

Two hundred and eighty...two hundred and eighty-one...and eighty-three...

 

At two hundred and eighty-five you continue to look downwards through the mist.

 

At two hundred and eighty-six meters, you are no longer looking down through the mist.  Rather, you are looking through the substance that the misty clouds themselves reside under.  To human eyes it would appear like simple, clear glass, formed into an old-fashioned cylinder tapering and narrowing at one end. 

 

To human eyes, it would appear like a ordinary bottle.

 

But your eyes are not human.  Neither are those of the others who stand alongside you, staring down into the “bottle” of your creation.

 

A voice from within the “bottle” pulls your attention back downwards.

 

“Uh...Franklin?”

 

Back into the bottle, descending 'downwards' as quickly as you ascended 'upwards'.

 

Two hundred and eighty-five meters...two hundred...one hundred...

 

Fifty...twenty...

 

Ten...

 

At groundside, a green-skinned lad looks over towards his taller, tow-haired cousin and asked the obvious question:

 

“What are we gonna do now?”

 

 

 

 

END OF BOOK ONE

 

 

TO BE CONCLUDED IN BOOK TWO

Author’s comments: Yes, that was mean of me.  No, I don’t plan on leaving this hanging for long.  Book Two is already in pre-production and the cast members are in rehersals as we speak.  Keep an eye out in “Tales” and other places for possible clues as to what’s going on here.  I will say no more.

With thanks to the following:  Lawrence Miles (who inspired 80% of this, and will likely never read it), David Evans (who created 99% of this, is likely the only one who is reading it), Barry Reese  (if this were a tapestry, his work is the loom upon which it was woven).

Remember: MORE FEEDBACK = MORE FANFIC

See y’all soon.

Joseph Connell yankee_pendragon@hotmail.com