An endless, curveless horizon stretched away in every direction: nothing but bright blue sky and pale green grass. It had always been this way, if anything has always been. Like the dilation of an enormous pupil, a circle of blackness opened in the air, its two-dimensional profile at an angle oblique to the flat ground. It hung for only a moment before the woman dropped from it, pulled to the ground with a thump by a force remarkably like gravity. As suddenly and silently as it had appeared, the dark circle winked out and was gone.
The woman stood slowly, brushing back her light brown box braids. She slid her polarized glasses off of her nose and looked around her at her wide, grassy surroundings. She tugged a small silver box from where it hung on her bandolier and flicked it open, gazing at the jumble of letters and numbers that scrolled across its tiny screens. Her lips quirked into an irritated frown. Replacing the device in its hanger, she tapped a control at her shoulder with one extended finger.
"Log entry, Bishop, S. Personal sequence mark. Location: absolutely nowhere. Time... absolutely nowhen. My 7D is giving me nothing but gibberish. Could be any prairie, any- wait, something isn't right here. Luke, I don't think I'm alone."
She stopped the recording with another stroke of her finger. She scanned the horizon, turning her body along with her eyes, while her hand drifted slowly to the sidearm strapped at her waist. A flash of movement in the corner of her eye brought her head whipping around, but nothing greeted her eyes but the vast expanse of tall grass. Slowly letting her head come back around, she was startled to see a black dot, about a foot in diameter, hanging in the air immediately in front of her face. As she watched, the steel barrel of an antique revolver came out of the spot and stopped a scant inch from the copper-colored skin of her forehead. A gloved thumb pulled back the hammer on the weapon with a foreboding click.
"Now just you take it easy, missy. I don't want any trouble, so how about you just take that pistol of yours and toss it away real easy-like."
Despite the hand and revolver hanging in the air in front of her, the voice came from behind. Using two fingers, she pulled her sidearm out of its holster and flicked it a few feet to the side. The dot, she reasoned, must be some sort of short-range dimensional portal- most likely routing through the Negative Zone or the Darkforce Dimension. She held her hands at the level of her shoulders, palms open.
"Listen," she said, careful to keep her voice level, "I don't know where I am or how I got here. I've got no zark with you, so if you'd be so kind as to point out the shortest route out of your way, I'd be happy to take it."
For a long moment, there was no sound or movement save the faint waving of the long grass. Then the gun and hand withdrew into the portal, which winked out as quickly as it had appeared. With a slow exhale, Bishop turned around to face the source of the voice that had threatened her. By the clothes, he looked as though he had stepped out of an old Western film, from the broad-brimmed hat to the leather coat that hung down past his knees and the dust-covered boots. The only thing that spoiled the picture was the mask he wore, a white wraparound with an inky black spot that spread across the face. In his right hand, the revolver that had moments before been held to Bishop's head remained trained on her. From the way his left hand hovered at the level of his belt, she guessed a second gun was being hidden from view by the drape of his coat.
"Easy, now," he reiterated, gesturing with his revolver as if to remind her she was still covered. She kept her hands high, where he could clearly see them. She noticed the nervous shuffle of his boots on the ground as he gauged his distance.
"Got a name, cowboy?"
The man hesitated. "They call me Johnny on the Spot."
"Nice to meet you, Johnny," she said coolly. "This may strike you as a weird question, but what year is it?"
"Well, I-" he began.
"Johnny, behind you!"
The new figure had appeared so suddenly, the words were out of Bishop's mouth before she could fully consider whose side she wanted to be on. The cowboy whirled, drawing his second revolver from its hip holster. Before he could raise his guns, he froze, the tip of a long, straight sword at his throat. The sword was held in the gloved hand of a young woman in a green and white-colored iteration of the clinging garb of a superhero, a green hooded cloak tied over her head and shoulders
Keeping her hands raised where the other woman could see them, Bishop cleared her throat. "Look," she said, "I think it's pretty clear that none of us know what's going on here. Can we all just put down the weapons and try to figure this out?"
Johnny on the Spot slowly raised his hands, releasing his grip on his guns so they hung loose and unusable from his index fingers. "That sounds like a damn good idea, miss." His face remained turned toward his assailant as he took a slow step back, away from the tip of her blade. With a soft grunt, the woman lowered her sword.
"Alright then," Bishop continued. "First things first. My name is Shard Bishop, and I'm an officer of the Time Variance Authority. I don't know how I got to wherever this is, but judging by your clothes, I'm going to guess someone has been messing with the Timestream. Wait- I know you…"
The woman in green had pushed back the hood of her cloak, revealing a short scruff of auburn hair with a shock of pure white running through it. She had a lean, hard look with heavy eyebrows and hollow cheeks. Bishop's dark eyes flicked to Johnny for a second before returning to settle on the woman's face.
"...your codename is Rogue. An X-Man of the early 2000s."
The woman barked a short, dry laugh. She sheathed her sword, allowing her eyes to linger on Bishop's hands. "Rogue is right, but I haven't been an X-Man for years."
"Well I'm right glad y'all seem to know each other, but I'm still trailin' behind here." Johnny shoved his guns back into their holsters. "Last I checked, it was 1886, and there weren't no such thing as a Time Variance Authority. So what in the hell is going on here, and where in the hell are we?"
"I'll tell you one thing," Bishop answered, looking back and forth between her two accidental companions. "We aren't on Earth."
There was a brief moment of silence. "Very dramatic," smirked Rogue.
"Of course we're on Earth. D'you think they got green grass on Mars?" rejoined Johnny.
"What time would you say it is, Johnny?"
"Well, I-" the cowboy paused, craning his neck around to look at the the sky in every direction. There was a long pause. "Well, shoot, where's the sun at?"
"I was just wondering that myself," a fourth voice entered into the conversation, causing all three to turn toward the source. Standing where there had clearly not been anyone standing before was an attractive, blonde-haired woman in a white costume. She paused a few seconds to let the surprise wear off. "Midday levels of illumination with no visible source. It's not physically possible in outdoor conditions in our universe. Or universes, I suspect."
Bishop's eyes danced in her head. "Susan Richards," she whispered to herself. "Double-alpha priority." Addressing herself to the new arrival, she proffered a hand. "Mrs. Richards, it's an honor to meet you."
"It's 'Storm,'" Susan said, taking the woman's hand and shaking it perfunctorily. "And it's 'Doctor.' Though the mistake adds credence to my hypothesis that we're arriving here from different parallel universes. I'd ask who each of you is, but I imagine there are more of us coming and there's no sense repeating introductions ad infinitum."
For a span of several long, awkward seconds, there was silence. With a questioning eye on Johnny and Rogue, Bishop bent over to pick up her sidearm, returning it to the holster on her hip. At the same time, she replaced her dark glasses over her eyes. The four stood, carefully regarding each other, and waiting for something to happen.
Like the visual representation of a sigh of relief, another black circle opened in mid-air just long enough for a teen-aged girl to drop out of it. She fell through the air only a few feet before catching herself and flying up, no part of her having touched the ground. Bishop turned to Johnny on the Spot, her expression suspicious. "Johnny, you controlled that portal before. Are you doing this?"
"No ma'am!" the cowboy exclaimed as the teenager flew in a smooth circle around the group. Her black hair was bound up in a stubby ponytail and her multicolored costume sparkled.
"Just what's going on here, I'd like to know! When my- Aunt Sue!" Without warning, the girl zoomed in on Doctor Storm, catching her in a tight adolescent hug. Even in the embrace, her feet hovered off of the ground.
"Take it easy, little one. I'm sorry to say, I'm not your aunt. My only sibling is twenty-four years old, and you're at least sixteen. Not even Johnny Storm could have managed that."
The girl looked up at the woman she recognized as her aunt, her lower lip pouting with confusion. "Wait, what? Oh. Ohhh. Time traveler, or alternate universe?"
"Alternate universes, I suspect."
"Ohhhh. Um. Sorry, Aunt Sue. I mean. Ma'am." Reluctantly, she relinquished the older woman from her grasp. "This is weird. I mean, this is weird, right?"
Silently, the four adults gathered around her nodded. "I'm plumb confused" added Johnny, helpfully.
After a moment's silence, Susan piped up. "If you're my brother's daughter, may I ask who your mother is?"
"Don't have one." The teenager hovered patiently in mid-air.
"You mean you don't have a mother? I don't understand."
"Two dads. Johnny Storm and Jean-Paul Beaubier. Northstar? From Alpha Flight? I guess in your world they aren't gay, huh?"
It may well be speculated how long the uncomfortable silence might have dragged on, had another portal not opened at that moment, dropping a sixth figure into their midst. The ground shook slightly at the impact of the massive body. With a grunt, he pushed himself upright, towering over the others at a height of at least seven feet. Inhumanly bulky arms stretched out from a red breastplate with a bowl-shaped helmet obscuring the head above.
"Juggernaut," muttered Rogue, drawing her sword.
"Cain Marko," answered Bishop, her sidearm appearing in her hand.
Doctor Storm raised her her hands defensively toward the new arrival, unseen walls of force spreading out from her outstretched fingers. "Get behind me," she instructed her might-have-been niece.
The Juggernaut raised his meaty hands in protest. "Whoa, hold on. I don't know what's happening here yet." The voice had a faintly electronic sound, as if it were being processed through a microphone and speaker. "I'm the Juggernaut, alright, but I don't know who this Cain guy is. My name's…"
With a whirr, hydraulic locks on the man's shoulders released and he lifted the dome-shaped helmet off of his head to reveal an impossibly thick neck, a black horseshoe moustache, and a swoop of lustrous black hair.
"Tony Stark." Doctor Storm whispered in amazement.
"This, I've got to hear," smiled the teenager from behind her.
"I'm afraid, with the exception of Mrs. Richards, you've all got me at a disadvantage." Stark flashed a broad smile, insensible to the roll of Susan Storm's eyes just off to the side.
"We've been saving introductions until people stopped showing up," offered Bishop, holstering her weapon yet again. "Rest assured, we're all just as confused as you are."
"I guess that's my cue to start clearing things up," interjected a voice from the level of their waists. Looking around for the source of the voice, each pair of eyes fell on a three-and-a-half-foot tall anthropomorphic duck in a shabby brown suit. An unlit cigar was clenched in his cartoonish bill.
"And Howard the Duck makes seven," quipped Rogue. "Who's next? Stilt-Man?"
"Nope," the duck answered. "No one else; you're it, ladies and gents. You can call me the Timebroker, and I'm your guide to this exciting new adventure you've been press-ganged into. You've got questions, I know, but let's get the obvious ones out of the way. Yes, you're all from different realities. Similar to one another in a lot of respects, different in a few. Each of you is here because you've become unhinged from time." He chewed his cigar for a moment, glancing around.
"What does that mean, unhinged from time?" demanded Doctor Storm.
"It means it means that the omniverse- that's the fabric of all realities existing across all times- is deeply and complexly interwoven. Thanks to time travel and interdimensional travel and metaphysics too intricate to do justice to in the time we've got, every reality is connected to thousands or millions of others. A butterfly flaps its wings in universe A, and Hitler wins the second World War in universe B. Times a quadrillion. Right now, the omniverse is suffering a cascade failure- things aren't happening the way they're supposed to happen and it's affecting reality after reality. Unfortunately for you, the past of each of your universes has been affected. All of you have been effectively wiped out of existence by events that failed to take place in your world, and countless others before."
The dark-haired teenager floated in the air near Johnny on the Spot. "You following any of this, cowboy?" she asked.
"I reckon I got most of it... but is it just me, or is the little duck mixin' his metaphors somethin' fierce?"
Casting an irritated glance toward the two talkers, the Timebroker continued. "If we hadn't pulled you out of the timestream, you'd be gone now. Not dead, mind you, but never having come into existence in your present forms. You would never have been. But there's hope! If we can stop the cascade failure and get things back on track, we should be able to put your universes right again. We just need to find where and when a universe goes off the rails, and give it the just the right nudge back on track. That stops that universe from affecting other universes, and with a little luck and a lotta hard work, maybe we can get things back the way they're supposed to be. Then we pop you back into your individual lives, and this whole thing is just a memory."
"Wait just a minute. Who's 'we'?" asked Bishop. "And who are you?"
"Like I said, I'm the Timebroker. I'm a living program run on a computer more vast and complicated than you could possibly conceptualize. When I say 'we,' I'm basically talking about that computer. Myself and its other functions."
"So why do you look like a talking duck with pants?" inquired the Juggernaut.
The Timebroker looked down at himself as if noticing his body for the first time."To tell you the truth, I'm not exactly sure. I expect it's got more to do with your collective subconsciouses than anything on our end. But we shouldn't be wasting time talking about me. After this little tete-a-tete, you aren't going to be seeing much of me. Let's talk about you. Get comfortable."
As if by magic, a tasteful living room set appeared on the endless plain. A gigantic flatscreen television hovered in midair nearby. None of the unwilling companions moved to take a seat, and the Timebroker shrugged.
"Suit yourselves," he said. "This is the 'getting to know you' portion of the program. A little highlight reel so you know who you're going to be working with. I'll handle the narration, so keep the peanut gallery routine down."
As he spoke, the television screen behind him blazed with light. Images matching his words showed across the screen, showing moments from the lives of the six gathered.
"He is Jonathan Ohnn, an inventor years ahead of his time. After an accident during an early experiment in wireless telegraphy, he gained the ability to create and control portals to another dimension. Taking advantage of his new powers, he became the infamous superbandit Johnny on the Spot, leader of a criminal gang notorious throughout the West."
Lacking, as he did, a discernable face, it would be difficult for anyone to judge Johnny's reaction to the story of his life being told in this manner. His head turned from side to side to take in the mix of wonder and dismay played across the faces of his companions. Dispassionately, the Timebroker continued.
"Madeleine Beaubier-Storm was a child born from the love of her two fathers, Northstar and the Human Torch. Raised among the greatest heroes of her world, she had the best teachers and the most fervent protectors of any child in any reality. She is beloved by the world, a symbol of hope not only for families of gay parents, but for relations among mutants and humans, and even between America and Canada."
"Spreading it a little thick, ain'tcha, Duckie?" Madeleine asked.
"I just tell it like it is, kid. Moving on. Shard Bishop was born in a utopian time, free of hatred, war and hunger. Along with her older brother Luke, her natural mutant talents permitted her entry into the elite ranks of the Time Variance Authority, a task force charged with preventing disturbances to her world's time stream." The screen showed scenes of the two athletic young officers engaging in the practice of their profession, battling and arresting the likes of Trevor Fitzroy and Kang the Conqueror. Bishop allowed a satisfied smirk to appear briefly at the corner of her lips, before losing it again in a pensive frown.
"Susan Storm possessed the kind of mind that can be found perhaps once in a century- a polymath of the highest order, and an unparallelled genius in theoretical physics. After stealing an experimental rocket of her own design, she, her brother, her boyfriend and his best friend, were exposed to cosmic rays that awakened in them unfathomable power. Together they became the Fantastic Four, the first and foremost of an age of heroes. Although she has since left the team and focused her attention on science, rather than heroism, Doctor Storm has saved her world more times than can be counted."
Seemingly unconcerned with the images on the screen, Susan took the opportunity to watch the expressions of the others, lingering on Bishop and Madeleine. In their widened eyes, she saw the paradigm readjustment that confirmed her expectations. With an almost imperceptible scowl, she turned back to the Timebroker's introductions.
"The mysterious mutant known as Rogue had a brief heroic career as a member of the X-Men, before a fateful encounter with the villainous Taskmaster left her permanently in possession of his memories, his personality, and his eidetic reflexes. Faced with new internal conflicts she had never imagined, Rogue left the X-Men and became a successful mercenary for hire." During the brief clips of hand-to-hand combat that passed over the wide screen, Rogue displayed a dizzying array of techniques to put the most dedicated martial artists to shame.
The screen showed a young Anthony Stark crash-landing a plane in dense tropical jungle, discovering a huge red gem on the altar of a ruined temple, and having his body contorted and reshaped into the form of the Juggernaut when he laid his hands on it. "He is Tony Stark, the Unstoppable Juggernaut. Granted mystical powers by an ancient gem embedded in his chest, Stark was able to draw out and focus those energies to power many marvelous inventions. He is the sole developer of weapons for America's military, and one of his nation's greatest heroes."
Rogue leaned close to Doctor Storm's ear and whispered. "Tony Stark's mind in the Juggernaut's body. Can you even imagine?"
"Stark's ego and the Juggernaut's rage…" answered the scientist, just as quietly. "It's a wonder his world isn't a cinder."
As swiftly and silently as it had come into existence, the hovering television disappeared along with the unused furniture. The Timebroker chewed his cigar for a moment, eyeing the assemblage. "So that's the what, and the why and the who. We haven't got long for the how, so I'll cut to the chase. Tracking disturbances across nigh-infinite time throughout nigh-infinite universes takes more energy than you could possibly imagine, so we don't have a lot to spare fixing the problems when we find them. That's where you six come in. We can hijack Wild West Johnny's power to create interdimensional portals and move you to key points in the omniverse. We'll give you whatever information we can about what you need to do through this-"
Above the upturned palm of the Timebroker's right hand, a golden bracer with a large red crystal inset hovered. It sparkled, despite the lack of an identifiable light source.
"-the Tallus. One of you is going to be in charge of wearing this and communicating your missions. Let's see… eenie, meenie, minie, Bishop."
The Tallus disappeared from where it floated and in the same instant, appeared around the left wrist of the TVA officer. She grasped at the cool metal in surprise. "What-?"
"That's it," continued the duck, ignoring Bishop's surprise. "Everyone get ready."
"Wait a minute!" interjected Doctor Storm. "I have questions. The first of which being, what if we don't want to participate in this insane crusade?"
"Hey," answered the Timebroker, "if you'd rather take your chances with nonexistence... but have you thought about what happens to your world without Doctor Susan Storm? No rocket launch. No Fantastic Four. The modern age of heroes never starts. On the eighth of August 2001, Galactus makes landfall in New York City and there is no one to stop him from turning your Earth into a bare rock, utterly devoid of life. You happy with that state of affairs? Are any of you happy with a world in which you're dead, or worse?"
Susan Storm stared into the upturned duck's face, her jaw stoically set but her eyes dancing in barely contained disbelief. The Timebroker cleared his throat with a sound like "waugh," and had the decency to look briefly ashamed.
"I'm sorry to be so blunt. We're aware that the human mind is not built to take in bad news of this magnitude quickly or easily. Suffice it to say that you definitely want to be on our side in this. Besides, you don't really have a choice anyway."
"Ours is not to reason why…" misquoted the Juggernaut.
"You do, or everybody dies." The Timebroker shoved his hands into his pants pockets and spared the uneasy heroes a final look. "It's time for you to go now. We'll be in touch."
If any of the shanghaied superhumans objected to the Timebroker's abrupt dismissal, their words were swallowed by the darkness between dimensions. Black spots slid open around each body and disappeared again, leaving the vast, silent plain as empty as it had always been.
To be continued...
