THE ODYSSEY

Part V

By Ben Hobson

“Never thought I’d see somethin’ like this.” Davis Cameron says quietly, a hint of awe in his voice.

The young man stands atop the Four Freedoms Plaza, the only building over two stories still standing in what was once New York. 100 stories tall, it reaches into the night sky, the source of unnatural light in the whole world. A constant warm breeze pushes against Davis, shifting the clouds in the sky. The stars are brighter now, thanks to the lack of pollution of the last few years, and they glisten on the Hudson River beautifully. An orphan, raised by his sister on the beaches of Australia, Davis never though he would see anything like this. To be quite honest, he never even thought about getting to New York.

But as Slipstream – a mutant lost in the ocean that is all of Creation – he’s relishing the chance.

Turning, Davis looks at the rather large vehicle that’s being built on the roof. At the moment it’s only half finished – simply a hull of wood and metal – but Doom promised that it would be done by the end of the week. The metallic man was quite eager to leave this bleak reality, in which he was the only person alive, for greener pastures.

Davis just wanted to get back home. But Davis was a very “in-the-now” kind of guy – and right now he’s standing in the sky over New York, surrounded by nothing by a breeze. That’s when the idea strikes him.

Hoping down off of the construction platform, Davis trots towards the edge of the building. A guard rail is all that stands between Davis and open air and he’s not going to let that stop him. He activates his mutant ability, summoning a glistening short board to his hand, and launches himself feet first off of the ledge! Slinging the board under his feet, he finds his balance and pushes back against the fabric of reality. The board finds a hold and he starts to slowly move sideways rather than down. In no time at all, Davis is “surfing” reality, flying through the air with a careless abandon.

Inside the Plaza, Irene Cameron watches with a jealous eye.

Inside

She stands before the window, one arm resting against the frame. She’s tense, both angry and anxious, and the time to rest has been anything but. Ever she and her husband – the previous Slipstream – started to hop realities they never really had a chance to rest. They were always on the run; first from the Khan, then from the Hunters. And then, just when they get a chance to take it easy, he dies. Fades away, back into the multiversal energy.

Leaving her behind.

“Hey, Cammie!” the too-cheerful voice of May Parker says from behind her. The nickname’s story was a convoluted one. May decided that everyone needed nicknames because, evidently, that’s just what she does. “Reeny” was shot down quickly, as was “Reen” and “Camcam.” At this point, Irene was just tired of it all and let Cammie go.

“What. May?” she asks slowly, turning to look over her shoulder. She takes one look at May, then quickly turns back to the window. “What the – MAY. Why are you naked?”

May shrugs her slender shoulders, her only covering a towel around her waist. “I’m going swimming. You in?”

“Swimming naked though?” Irene asks, using both hands to massage her temples.

“It’s called skinny dipping.” May replies factually. “And it helps loosen ones internal energies. Being clothed confines the spirit and reduces – “

“Save the magi-babble.” Irene says, waving her away. “Just please, I want to be left alone.”

Standing there for a second, May scratches her chin. “Really.” Shaking her head she starts to walk away. “Cuz ya seem too lonely as it is.”

The living room of the Plaza is a large space, resting right next to the kitchen. Three large sofas circle a small glass table, all of them aimed around the TV and entertainment system. Steve Rogers stands before the system, his eyes scanning the shelves of VHS tapes. He pulls one out and stares at it, his mouth a crooked line.

“I have no idea what any of these are.”

“Just pick one!” Doom says from the kitchen. “Oh, tell me, do you put Tabasco sauce on popcorn?”

“I don’t.” Rogers says, shooting a doubtful glance at Doom. “Why don’t you just pick one?”

“Oh, good.” Doom says, rounding the corner so that he trots into the living room. “Because I was confused between Tabasco or mustard, I just couldn’t remember which. It’s been so long since I actually ate food you see.” Gingerly setting down the bowl, Doom’s leg stretches him over the table so that he stands next to the taller Rogers.

“And I asked YOU to pick a movie because I’ve seem them all. Hundreds of times. Not many new films since the end of the world you know.” He eyes the VHS. “Oh, no, I watched that one last week. What’re your favorites? That’ll give me a good suggestion, I’m sure.”

“I don’t see how you can eat just those pills.” Rogers says skeptically, stepping back so that Doom has control of the shelves. “It’s…unnatural. And I don’t know. I haven’t seen a motion picture in five years that wasn’t the news.”

“That’s a shame.” Doom says, eyeing the shelves. “I really liked Casablanca – that was from the 40’s. Did you ever see that?”

“No.” Rogers replies, walking over to the bowl of popcorn. Eyeing it suspiciously, he turns back to Doom. “So what are those pills?”

“Nutrient packets.” Doom says nonchalantly. “Did you ever see Willy Wonka – oh, no, you’re from the 40’s. You can’t have seen that yet. Well, I can’t leave this suit, you see. Whatever I do eat has to be quick – like, a pill packed with all the nutrition and meals I need. 3 meals a day in one pill a day. Assuming people were still alive, it would revolutionize the food industry.” Here he pauses. “I know I HAVE Willy Wonka. But where?”

Shaking his head, Rogers carries the bowl back into the kitchen. He dumps it out unceremoniously and heads for the fridge. “So hey – why DO you need the suit? Seems like a hassle.”

For a long minute Doom is silent. Nodding he squats down. “I suppose it might seem that way. However, without this suit, I would be nothing more than a pile of flesh and bone – unable to move in any way, shape, or form.

“Tony Stark helped build this you know.”

“I’m sure I’d be impressed,” Rogers says, pulling out a jar of pickles. “If I knew who that was.” Opening the jar, he sniffs it, and finding it satisfactory grabs one. “If you don’t eat real food, why do you have so much of it?”

“I had hoped – where the devil is it? – that I would run into someone else someday. Or that, given how many super-powered individuals there were in the world, that perhaps some would come back from the dead. So far I have been EXTREMELY disappointed. At least, until you fine folks showed up. Mutli-reality travelers! Why didn’t I think of that?”

Finally Doom’s fingers find the correct tape. “Ah-HA! Are you prepared, my friend, for the most scrumdiddlyumptious movie you have ever seen?”

“I suppose.” Rogers says, entering the room with a loaf of bread, a block of cheese, and a pack of bologna. He sits down at the couch, working the tie on the bread, as he eyes Doom. “A question though. Can you tell me why the spirits of the dead are screaming out for vengeance against you?”

Those words freeze Doom. He couldn’t be more still if he has rusted up. Sliding the VHS cover up and down, he speaks. “Are they now?”

“Louder by the minute.” Rogers says, setting out some of the bread.

“And just how do you know that?” Doom says quietly, his voice trembling quietly.

Rogers pauses. He stares at Doom, catching the man’s eye. For just a second he lets his other form through – the burning skull, the empty eyes, the soulless gaze – and then replies. “The Spirit of Vengeance can hear the words of all the innocent, living or dead. But here’s the thing: I took up the power so that I could punish the men who killed my friends. And that’s clearly not you.”

“So…” Doom says slowly. “Am I to be…punished…then?”

“I don’t think so.” Rogers says, slicing the cheese. “You’re building us that ship up there, and I appreciate that. You’ve given us food, a place a stay, and you haven’t killed us yet. So I don’t really have anything against you.

“But that doesn’t mean I’ll trust you. This many people want you to pay; you must have done something bad.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t mean to.” Doom says quietly. “It was an accident. You must believe me.” Looking at Rogers, Doom’s eyes plead. “I swear to God I didn’t mean it.”

Chewing his food, Rogers locks eyes with Doom. Then, as he swallows, he nods. “Alright. The benefit of the doubt is yours. But if you do one thing to put me or the rest of this group in danger, I swear to God you shall know suffering that even Hell wouldn’t put you through.”

Doom blinks. “Well. That’s fair enough.”

“Alright.” Rogers says, sitting back, his sandwich in hand. “One more question then.” Doom waits anxiously. “What the hell is a scrumdiddlysomething?”

Whatever differences there were between surfing in water and surfing in reality, Davis didn’t pay them any mind. He had been torn from his home reality, shot through the shoulder, fought a gigantic bug AND a sabretoothed-she-thing, got tortured in World War II, killed a crazy Nazi German scientist, and been pretty much tossed adrift in Multireality. Doing something normal – or at least, relatively CLOSE to normal – felt like a warm shower for his spirit.

His legs and body work through the motions, cutting the board back and forth. The familiar burn of shifting muscles and carefully balancing on the board are welcome sensations. Davis’ second home was out on the waves. And while he curses the mutant ability that forced him into this situation, he’s thankful that at least he has this.

Looping through the air, Davis’ eyes fall upon the Four Freedom Plaza. The spotlights on the roof highlight Doom’s project, while several of the smaller windows are light up. Slicing closer, Davis can make out the living room, some larger space, and then one window with a person in it.

Legacy.

Davis hesitates for a second. Then, making up his mind, he shifts his weight, opens a slipstream, and slides into the room.

“Evening.” Davis says conversationally as he brings the board around toward Legacy. She turns from the window, her face taunt and worn. “It’s beautiful out there.”

“I know.” She says.

“Come for a ride?” Davis says, hopping into the air so that his butt lands on the board. He hovers only a few feet above the ground, keeping himself eye level.

Laughing derisively, Legacy shakes her head. “I don’t think so Ca – Davis.”

Davis catches the slip. “Look. I’m sorry for what – “

“Stop apologizing.” Irene snaps. “What happened to Cameron was inevitable. We knew it could happen – knew it WOULD happen. It was just a matter of time.”

Hopping off of his board, Davis walks over to her. “That doesn’t mean you wanted it to happen.” He puts a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve been really distant since we got here.”

“S’not like I know you guys.” Irene says bluntly, walking away from Davis. He heads towards the window, then plunks down in a large easy chair.

“Well,” Davis begins, summoning his board up beneath his butt once more. “That’s something we need to do. I mean, c’mon, I’m an easy guy to read. I’m a surfer. I like red heads. Can’t stand the smell of fish. I put ketchup on everything I can. I miss my Gameboy. I have one sister and my parents died ages ago. Heather was my best friend all my life and I miss her.

“And you?”

Irene sits there for a long second, her head resting on one hand. “I’m a writer.”

“That’s cool.” Davis says nonchalantly. “What’d you write?”

“History books.” She replies. “After college I did field work in Egypt, Turkey, Brazil, a little bit of Vietnam. Archaeology.”

“Holy crap. That’s – that’s awesome.” Davis says with a smile. He leans back on the board. “You musta gone all around the world.”

“I did.” She chuckles lightly. “And I can’t STAND Vietnamese food.” Her chuckles grows slowly, eventually growing into a full blown laugh. And while Davis smiles as the sound, it doesn’t last as the laughter turns into sobbing. “C-c-cameron…he always told me…to be open to new things.” She says, sobbing. “N-never…never liked the f-food though.”

Sliding to the floor, Davis sits down on the armrest of the chair and wraps an arm around Legacy’s shoulders. He doesn’t say anything as she leans against him.

The rest of the week is a flurry of activity. Doom spends his days working on his experimental ship while everyone else tries to keep busy. They gather food and clothes, entertainment and bedding supplies, books and notepads. According to Doom, this ship should be capable of long-term flight in the Inbetween, so whatever forms of entertainment they can find are grabbed. Finally, after much fuss and bother, it’s finished.

The ship is based on old galleons. It has a large hold, curved, with port holes along the side. Three large, circular engines rest in the back, while two smaller ones are set towards the fore for steering. A strange wooden material makes up the body, tempered and shifted molecularly by Doom to be as strong as steel.

Topside is largely bare. A large captain’s quarters can be found at the aft of the ship, the steering “center” on top.

“The Excelsior,” Doom begins as they start the tour. “ladies and gentlemen, is the most sophisticated yet simple pan-reality ship you will ever see. With a pulse-poundingly simple engine, we are able to enter and leave any reality we wish, whenever we wish.”

“Handy.” Davis says, admiring the ship. “What about fuel?”

“Don’t worry about that captain,” Doom says with a nod. “It’s ALL taken care of. As you can see, this is the captain’s quarters, while I have several floors beneath us that house us – and any other possible passengers we take on. The bottom deck is the engine room and hold. Second deck is common rooms – the bathrooms, the kitchen, the living room. Third deck is our rooms, six in total, just in case, as I said.

“The steering center,” Doom says as they ascend the staircase. “Is based off of Davis’ own amazingly unique mutant abilities and I must say, I’m quite proud of the design.” As they reach the top, sitting in the center of the ship and to the front of the raised deck is a large opaque circle. Walking forward, Doom steps on the circle and it lights up. The deck beneath the crew hums to life and the circle raises up out of the desk. A series of holographic windows appear around Doom.

“According to my tests, the actual realm of Betweenspace, as I call it, is far to chaotic to actually plot as of yet. As such, any steering we do is going to have to be by hand – or rather body. The entire ship is steered by this circle. Simply lean the way you want the ship to move, and it shall. I, ah, humbly suggest that for the first few flights we allow Davis to do the steering as I think the rest of us will need practiced.”

“I can’t wait!” May says with a grin. “That is gonna be so groovy.”

“Quite groovy.” Doom replies. “Now, the windows you see here are – for now – blank. This is because I haven’t had a chance to actually map any realities save for this one yet. As I get the chance to visit more realities, I’ll be able to build a more solid encyclopedia of information. I SHOULD also be able to notice trends in realities, giving us potential maps to the Multiverse.

“Assuming that works,” Doom says, tapping on one of the windows. Suddenly, the day goes dark around them as a holographic field pops into life. It’s a dark blue black. “The hologram projectors I have built into the hull should allow us to project realities as stars – essentially allowing us to navigate by sight MUCH easier. Also: I like the nostalgia.”

“That’s actually pretty cool.” Irene says, nodding. “And it’ll look better than what the Betweenspace REALLY looks like. Shifting colors gets old after a while.”

“Not to me cat,” May says with a vacant grin. “I could do that ALL – DAY.”

“Surprising.” Rogers says sarcastically. “So are we ready to go? Desolate and bleak as this world has been, I’d like to move on.”

Doom steps away from the circle and motions for Davis to take the helm. “All we need is our captain to cast us off.”

Looking over the group, Davis walks over to the platform. “Well. We’ve got everything, right?” With a chorus of yes’, Davis steps onto the platform. However, rather than lifting him up, his board appears and the circle lights up. As Davis rises into the air, so to does the Excelsior. Looking over his group again, an eager grin on his face, Davis leans forward. A large slipstream suddenly appears before them and they dive in.

The shifting Betweenspace is quickly blotted out with Doom’s projection system. As winds of reality breeze over them, May turns around, amazed.

“Hey, lookit!” She shouts, pointing behind them. As they pull away from the reality they leave behind, a glistening light is all that’s left behind.

“The first point on our map.” Doom states.

“And why waste time?” Davis asks, tilting the ship to the right. “Second star we see tonight…” As the ship slides into the Betweenspace, they revert to normalspace, appearing in mid-air.

Wherever they are, the skies are clear blue, filled with white clouds. A landscape of blue ocean and green and brown land stretches out before them. And, oddly enough, a gigantic red tower rises up out of the ground, stretching up past them, and even out of the atmosphere.

“Shit.” Legacy says simply as her eyes land on the tower. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“You sound less than enthused.” Rogers says, standing next to her.

“I’m NOT.” She says, rushing over to Davis. “Get us out of here, get us out – “ Suddenly four vehicles streak through the air around them. They’re extremely angular, all jutting edges and sharp points. A circular sensor array surrounds the dagger like cockpit, while a long line of weaponry extends outward.

“Attention unidentified craft,” One of the ships shouts at them electronically. “You have entered protected air space. Allow us to escort you to a landing bay or you will be shot down, so commands his majesty Khan.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Rogers says, shifting his shield off of his back onto his arm. Irene looks him grimly.

“It isn’t.”

Next issue: In which we meet the Khan. In which Legacy goes on the run. In which there is fighting. In which there is a Goal.