A Multi-Universe
Story By
D. Lynn Bivens,
Kimberly Murphy-Smith, And Gerald James Seward
"Diane...I have no idea what time it is. Nor where I am."
F.B.I. Special Agent Dale Cooper sat up
in bed and looked
around a darkened
room, his expression confused. He
dictated into
his microcassette
recorder as a sort of sanity check as he tried to
adjust to his
surroundings. "I've awakened in a
strange bed in a
strange room. My hair is matted with what could be hours
of
perspiration. Funny thing, though--it isn't at all hot in
here.
On the contrary,
Diane, it is actually quite chilly. I suspect
the
culprit is an air
conditioning system functioning all too well.
"My only conclusion is that this is
all a dream or vision,
like the kind I've
had dozens of times before. Strange,
though.
My visions are almost
never this sensory-intense. And usually
by
now, The Giant or
some other being from the realm beyond has
appeared.
"Until they decide to show up, I'll
try my best to recall the
events of the
previous evening which led up to my turning in for
the night. I remember spending most of the evening
looking over
reports and folders
full of raw data in connection with a rather
puzzling
double-homicide involving an ex-athlete who had a summer
home in Twin
Peaks. I recorded some last minute
memos for you and
Harry, then disrobed
and crawled into bed, being careful not to
disturb Audrey's
slumber. Seconds later, I was sound
asleep.
"Then, I found myself here. Very strange...usually somebody
has shown up by
now. There must be something else I am
meant to
investigate."
Cooper tossed off the covers and climbed
out of bed. "I've
tossed off the
tangled covers and am starting to make my way around
this strange bedroom,
hoping to find some clue as to why my visions
have taken me
here." He paused. "Until now, I hadn't noticed I
was wearing a tie and
suit. I am almost certainly meant to
find
something here. Perhaps a clue to the murder..."
The Special Agent began making a slow,
deliberate sweep of the
room with his
eyes. "I'm taking note of the
room's somewhat
antiquated decor...sort
of an early American look. Also,
there's
a wide variety of
knick-knacks placed about this immaculately-kept
room. I almost have the sense I'm in the guest
bedroom of
someone's
grandmother, or perhaps spinster aunt.
If only I could
make the connection
they have to a multi-millionaire ex-athlete
accused of a grisly
double-murder."
He stopped talking as his eyes focused on
something. He moved
toward it. "Diane, one of the old-fashioned
knick-knacks has
caught my eye. I'm walking over to the dresser. It's a snow
globe." He picked it up. "Could this have some significance in
the case I've been
working on these past few months? I
have no way
of knowing. I've picked up the globe, Diane, and am now
doing what
anyone who owned such
a traditition piece of kitsch would do--I'm
shaking it. And as I watch the simulated snow pepper the
tiny
house and the plastic
landscape and the old-style picket fence, I
am marvelling at how
real all this feels. I've had many
dreams and
visions, as you know,
Diane, and none have had the degree of
solidity to the
touch, the degree of realism I'm now experiencing."
He smiled oddly. "I can only conclude that perhaps I'm
not having
a vision at all. Perhaps I really am here--wherever this
`here'
happens to be."
Once more, he took in his
surroundings. "Diane, just now,
from some unseen
speaker system beyond the closed bedroom door, I
can hear what can
only be referred to as some really outdated
Muzak. I am now proceeding to open the door to
whatever room
exists on the other
side. Will I be greeted by The Giant or
The
Man From Another
Place?"
Carefully, he opened the door and
sighed. "It's not a
complete surprise
that I was not. Nor is it a complete
surprise
that the living room is
as antiquatedly decorated as the bedroom
behind me. The almost whining Muzak is much louder and
its source
obviously lies on the
far side of this room, which is filled with
antique chairs, a
well-worn sofa, end tables, and a coffee table,
along with more
knick-knacks, some of them chipped and worn."
He took slow, deliberate steps
forward. "I'm moving slowly
into this room. I believe I've found the source of this
horrible
elevator music. I see a single speaker sitting conspicuously
atop
a wall shelf between
the front down and the curtained bay windows."
"Good morning, Number 3, and welcome
to our happy little
community," a
tinny voice pronounced over the music, which had
faded to soft
background accompaniment.
Cooper stopped in his tracks. "Number 3?" he whispered, then
became conscious of
the running tape recorder still in his hands.
"Diane, someone
has just spoken from the speaker box.
They called
me `Number 3'. Why would they refer to me by a number
instead of
a name--and why not by
something like my badge number or social
security number? Surely, someone capable of abducting an
F.B.I.
agent from his own
bed and transporting him here would know his
name."
"If you will open the drapes in
front of you, Number 3," the
male voice continued
calmly, "I believe you may come to understand
precisely where you
are...up to a point, that is. Until
later,
have a wonderful
day."
The voice ended, and the music's volume
rose once more.
Cooper now looked confused. "The voice is gone, Diane, and
the music has resumed
and is getting louder. He told me to
look
out the
window." Cooper stepped toward the
window. "I'm opening
the curtains
now."
With a jerk, Cooper threw the drapes
open. Sunlight suddenly
filled the room. "It must be mid-morning, Diane, because
the
sudden bombardment of
sunshine is making me squint and obscuring my
view of what lies
outside my windows." He shielded
his eyes and
blinked, then slowly
lowered his hand and moved toward the window
panes. "My eyes are adjusting now...I can see
a resort-like town
stretching out into
the horizon. A town with cobblestone
streets
and tiny shops with
red-and-white awnings. A town whose
inhabitants are
either walking or riding in what appear to be
modified golf carts--some
with five or six passenger seating.
Everyone is similarly
dressed in white pants, striped shirts, and
dark blazers with
large round badges bearing single or double-digit
numbers on them. It's all so odd--yet also so familiar. Just like
that voice.
"Where have I seen this
quaint-yet-curious setting before?
Where have I seen
similarly-dressed citizens with placid
expressions
suggestive of extreme tranquilizer usage before? And
where have I heard
this voice over the mounted speaker box before?
I'm beginning to wish
you were here, Diane. Your empathic
gifts
are far stronger than
mine; together, our heightened insights might
provide a faster
answer to this strange sense of deja vu."
Cooper reached to adjust his tie...and
his hand stopped in
mid-motion. "Diane, I'm now looking at my
clothes. Somehow,
between the time I
awakened and right now, I've changed clothes.
I'm wearing the same
dark-colored blazer the rest of the town
residents are, but paired
with a dark turtleneck sweater instead of
a striped shirt. Crisply-pressed white trousers...white
canvas
deck shoes...a round
badge with the number `3' on it...Diane, I
remember this
place! I know that voice!"
He gave his surroundings one more good
look to make certain he
was not insane, then
spoke confidently into his tape recorder.
"Diane, this is
The Village! The same Village that was
the setting
for the 60's TV show
THE PRISONER. I can remember watching
it,
watching Patrick
McGoohan try to make sense of his nonsensical
surroundings,
listening to that oh-so-annoying uppercrust English
accent of the
mysterious Number Two. Diane, that was
the voice I
heard. But how is this possible? THE PRISONER was just a TV
series; The Village
does not really exist." He frowned
as he
looked around the
room. "But if it does not really
exist, why does
it feel so real? And why am I here?"
Something caught his eye across the
room. "There's a
telephone sitting on
a nearby end table, plain and black with no
rotary wheel for
dialing or touch-tone buttons for punching.
No
means of choosing
someone you might wish to speak with...which, if
I recall my PRISONER
lore correctly, means I merely have to pick up
the receiver and
someone will answer."
Snapping off the tape recorder, Cooper
picked up the phone and
put the receiver to
his ear.
--click--whirrrr--bong--"To whom do
you wish to speak, Number
3?" the female
voice on the other end of the line asked.
"What is
the nature of your
call?"
"I..." Who do I want to call? "I wish to speak to my sister.
The nature of this
call is personal. The number
is..."
"I am terribly sorry, Number 3, but
no non-Village calls are
permitted. However, if you will state the number of
another
resident..."
"I don't know anyone else
here," Cooper snapped, "and my name
is Special Agent Dale
Cooper, not Number 3! Now, I want to
speak
to my sister..."
--click--oooooo--
"Hello?" Cooper called into the
receiver.
--oooooo--
"Hello?" Cooper shouted over
the dial tone.
--oooooo--
Cooper slammed the phone down hard. Damn, Diane, I wish you
were here.
Remember...the Force will be with you
always.
The black-clad Jedi Knight jolted awake
suddenly at the echo
of his mentor's voice
in his mind. "Huh? What?"
Only silence answered him. Luke Skywalker looked around at
his surroundings.
He was in an oddly-decorated bedroom,
filled with many objets
d'art of a type he'd
never seen in all his travels. Not even
the
marketplaces in Mos
Eisley had such strange bric-a-brac.
And he'd
never seen a sleeping
pallet like this one.
Leaping out of the bed as if he were
afraid it would devour
him, he began a
thorough exploration of the cluttered bedroom into
which he'd somehow
been teleported. The last thing he
could
remember, he and Han
Solo were onboard the Millenium Falcon en
route to the Brehin
system to deal with a fractious element of the
emerging new Republic
and he'd crawled into one of Solo's cramped
bunks to catch a quick
nap, to clear his mind and allow himself to
focus on the energies
of the system they approached so his powers
would be fresh...
...and now, he was here. But where was "here"?
Snatches of memory--impressions from a
dream? Lingering
imprints of the
Force?--filled his mind. There were
faceless men,
dressed in odd black
clothing--straight-legged trousers, buttoned
jackets with strange
collars, white blouses, ribbons or ropes
around their
necks--who seemed to hover over him. He
could almost
taste the aftertaste
of a strange gas and remembered seeing a cloud
of it coming from one
of the men toward him in his dreams. He
could still feel the
overwhelming blackness that still had him in
a kind of mental fog
as he slowly made his way around the strange
sleeping quarters.
"This has to be some of the
Emperor's dark magic," he said
aloud finally, mostly
to use the sound of his own voice to reassure
himself that he was
indeed awake. "I knew there was no
way to
destroy his
centuries-old power utterly."
Instinctively, he reached for his light
saber which always
hung from his belt at
his right hand.
It was gone.
"What the...? Those men--they took it!" He looked around the
room, trying to clear
the mental fog and draw on the energies
around him. "If they think they can subdue a Jedi
Knight just by
taking his weapon,
they're about to learn differently..."
His chest felt odd. Luke reached for the sensation.
Something round and slick to the touch
met his fingers. He
looked down at it.
A round badge pinned to his uniform read
"4".
"What is..."
"...going on here?"
Ralph Hinkley ran a hand through his
curly blond hair and
stood up, tossing the
bedcovers aside. He stopped to take
notice
of the fact that he
was wearing his red jumpsuit that gave him
remarkable alien
super-powers, gave silent thanks for that fact,
then studied the
room.
This was too weird. Just a few hours ago, he and his wife Pam
had left Bill Maxwell
at a restaurant, where Bill had once again
tried to talk him
into taking on some cockamamie mission, and
returned to their
home, where they'd gone to bed just like any
other married couple.
But now he was alone. Pam was nowhere to be seen. And this
was definitely not
his bedroom.
Ralph looked out the window at a
completely unfamiliar seaside
town that seemed to
be populated by people wearing ugly country
club uniforms. Nothing looked familiar, nothing at
all. "Why do
I get the feeling I'm
not in Kansas any more?" he quipped aloud.
"I dare say, Number 5, that Kansas
is most definitely not
where you are,"
the British-accented voice replied from a speaker
in the living
room. "Nor are you in any other
American state."
Ralph was over at the speaker almost
before the words
finished. "What the...who are you?" he
demanded. "Why have you
brought me here to
this...this..."
"Just call it The Village, Number
5."
"Why do you keep calling me
that? Surely you know who I
am..."
"We know everything about you, Number
5. But alas, once you
come to our Village,
you no longer have a name."
"Who are you?"
"I am Number Two. You are Number 5."
Something seemed to be pulling on the
fabric of his uniform.
He looked down.
Somehow, a round button had been fastened
to his chest. It
bore the number
"5" on it.
Now Ralph was angry. "All right, I've had enough of this
nonsense. I'm getting out of here. If you'll excuse me..." He
stormed to the door,
intending to make full use of his suit's
strange powers. He'd start by ripping open the door...
--zzzt--
The bolt of static electricity knocked
Ralph backward onto the
floor several feet
away. Were it not for his suit, he most
likely
would have suffered a
much more painful lesson. As it was,
the
blast sent agonizing
waves through him. "Yiaah!"
"I should warn you, Number 5,"
the voice continued smoothly,
"that there is a
force field of sorts in effect around The Village
to prevent you from
using your suit's powers to access any place or
anything we do not
wish you to. You will find your powers
quite
useless here."
As the last words finished, the door
opened by itself, as if
it were one of those
electric-eye-triggered automatic doors at the
grocery store. Ralph stared in shock.
"You may now leave and enjoy the rest of this beautiful day
along with the rest
of the citizens," the voice concluded.
"Have
a wonderful
day."
Ralph got to his feet and dusted himself
off. "Why does
everything having to do
with this suit have to be hard?" he
groused.
Steeling himself, he stepped out into the
light of day.
"This must be The Gathering!"
It was the only conclusion Duncan MacLeod
had been able to
reach since finding
himself in this odd bedroom. While he
could
not actually sense
the presence of any other Immortals, there was
definitely something
going on here, some reason he had mysteriously
lost consciousness
the night before and ended up here in this
little hamlet. In his centuries of life, Duncan had never
encountered anything
like The Village...or its smiling people.
"Greetings, Number 7," an
English-accented male voice greeted
from the speaker on
the living room shelf.
Duncan whirled toward the sound, his hand
grasping the ivory
handle of his katana
and whipping it out of its sheath.
"Do not be alarmed," the voice
continued. "This is not
exactly what you
think it is. It is indeed a
gathering...but not
The Gathering."
Duncan held his weapon at the ready,
stepping slowly toward
the speakers. "I'm not in the mood for mind
games."
With that, he swung the katana as if
preparing to behead an
Immortal enemy...
--sss--klang--zzzt--mmmm--
...and dismantled the speaker system into
so much scrap as he
put the blade through
it.
With a jerk, Duncan removed the katana
from the wall and
sheathed it once
more. "That should silence
you," he said smartly.
--ring--ring--
Duncan nearly jumped out of his skin at
the sound.
--ring--ring--
Cautiously, calculatedly, he stepped toward the table where
the L-shaped phone
rested.
--ring--ring--
Slowly, he lifted the phone off its
base. "Yes?"
"We're so terribly sorry your
speaker system is not working to
your satisfaction,
Number 7," an irritatingly pleasant female voice
replied through the
receiver. "We'll dispatch someone
to repair it
momentarily. In the meantime, you might like to take a
stroll
around The Village
and take in the sights and sounds of this place.
Have a beautiful day,
Number 7."
"Why do you keep calling me..."
--click--oooooo--
It took everything Duncan had not to give
the phone the same
treatment he gave the
speaker. Instead, he restrained himself
honorably, stood up
tall, checked his katana, then pulled his coat
over it.
It was then he noticed the button pinned
to the coat. It was
a round badge with
the number "7" printed on it.
The door creaked as it swung open
automatically.
Duncan frowned. There was a very real possibility that this
was a trap. There was also the very real possibility the
voice in
the speaker had been
lying to him--that this really was The
Gathering. And Immortals did not fear The Gathering--in
fact, they
welcomed it. The Gathering was his destiny. He had to face
whatever was out
there.
One more check of his weapon, and Duncan
stepped out to face
The Village.
"Welcome, Number 8, to The
Village."
The oh-so-smooth English voice greeted
another new resident
from the living room
speaker in that annoyingly pleasant tone.
"Please forgive
the unusual manner by which we've affixed your
badge to your
outfit. The fabric in your clothing
proved too
strong for our
pins. But we believe the
superglue--please pardon
the pun--that we used
will do the job in a satisfactory manner."
Superman looked down at the round badge
with the number "8" on
it that was affixed
to his chest as he stood in the doorway of this
odd little house he'd
found himself in. The door had swung
open as
he approached it, almost
daring him to step outside.
"How," he
asked finally,
"did I get here?" His eyes
scanned the skies as he
braced himself in the
doorway to propel himself upward.
"Do not try to fly, Number 8,"
the speaker warned. "We have
already taken precautions
to dampen that part of your Kryptonian
abilities."
"Who are you?" Superman called
into the air. "And who is the
`we' you keep
referring to?"
"I am Number 2," the voice
replied. "As to the `we'
references...you will
discover that in good time. Have a
satisfying day."
Almost rudely, the voice fell silent and
the obnoxiously
irritating mood music
returned. Superman returned to scanning
the
skies as he stepped
out onto the street for the first time.
Around
him, the smiling villagers
went on about their daily business, not
even giving his odd
garb a second glance.
Superman shook his head and a
self-assured smirk crossed his
face. "So you've taken precautions, eh?"
he said. "Well, we'll
see about that."
He leapt into the air, fully prepared to
fly his way out of
this place and get
back to Metropolis--that is, if he could get his
bearings...
"Aaargh!"
Exactly three-and-a-half feet above the
cobblestone streets,
an invisible force
seized the Man Of Steel like a giant hand.
That
hand began to exert
tremendous pressure on Superman's body, holding
him off the ground
like a rag doll.
"Aaargh!"
No matter how hard he tried, no matter
which way he twisted
and turned, Superman
could not break free from the bonds that held
him.
"Can't...take...much...more..."
With that, the unseen hand tossed him to
the ground in a
crumpled heap.
For a very long moment, Superman just lay
there, weakness
overwhelming
him. He looked like a beaten man as his
cape lay
strewn across the
street. Then, he took several labored
breaths
and worked himself up
to one knee. "It's...as if...I was
just
exposed to
Kryptonite...but there's none around here..."
A wrinkled hand reached down and squeezed
his shoulder in a
supportive
gesture. "You all right,
laddie?" an aged
Irish-accented voice
asked.
Superman raised his head, fighting what
felt like several tons
of concrete encasing
it, to meet the concerned gaze of the elderly
man who genuinely
seemed interested in his well-being.
"I...I
fell," he
explained sheepishly. "I just
needed to rest for a
minute." He tried to get to his feet.
The old man tried to steady him as he did
so. "You gonna be
all right, Number
8?"
For a moment, Superman tried to figure
out the answer to that
question
himself. He certainly didn't feel all
right; his legs
were as wobbly as a
toddler's, and every fiber in his body ached.
But he had to go
on. He had to find out what was going
on here.
"I'll be fine,
uh...number 47," he said, his eyes finding the man's
lapel button. "Thanks a lot."
Grinning broadly, the man made a circle
with the index and
thumb of his right
hand and placed it against his eye as he gave a
bizarre salute. "Be seein' yer, lad."
Superman watched the old man walk away as
if nothing unusual
had happened, as if
every day a man in blue tights and a red cape
suddenly got thrown
to the ground by some invisible energy barrier.
Be seeing you, he
mentally repeated. Seeing...all right,
Mom and
Dad always said
seeing is believing. If I can't fly my
way out of
here, maybe I'd
better take a good look around. At
least it'll
give me a chance to
get my bearings.
Slowly at first, then more confidently,
Superman began a
casual stroll around
town, letting his super vision guide him.
"Number nine...number nine...number
nine..."
Dr. Jonathan Chase groaned as he rolled
over in bed. My least
favorite Beatles
song, he mentally complained as he reached for the
nightstand.
His hand tumbled off the edge instead of
onto his clock radio.
Chase jolted awake.
This is not my bedroom. That much became obvious instantly as
he looked around the
room. But what is it? Where am I?
Chase tossed off the covers and stood up,
suddenly noticing
his state of
dress--the elegant black tuxedo he'd worn when he took
Brooke McKenzie to
the opera the night before. The only
difference
was the round badge
with "9" imprinted on it.
"Did I fall asleep
in my clothes?"
he asked aloud.
"Obviously, Number 9."
Chase's sensitive ears pricked up. The repeating "number
nine" he'd heard
must have come from the same place as that last
sentence--the living
room. He could hear the hum of a
loudspeaker
in there...
Slowly, Chase opened the bedroom door and
looked cautiously
into the living
room. Every one of his heightened
senses was on
alert. For a moment, he contemplated transforming
into some sort
of much stronger
creature to protect himself, then thought better
of it. You're being watched, he reminded
himself. No sense in
putting on a show.
"Good morning, Number 9," the
too-chipper British voice
greeted from the
bookcase's speaker system.
"Welcome to The
Village."
The Village? No...don't tell me...I knew I shouldn't have let
Ty talk me into
buying that Prisoner box set. "Who
are you?"
"The new Number 2."
"Who is Number 1?"
"You are Number 9."
Chase smirked. "I suppose the next response is `I am not a
number; I am a free
man'."
"Whatever you wish, Number 9."
For a moment, Chase was taken aback. "All right...I believe
I've had quite enough
of this dream. Time to wake myself
up." He
took a deep breath
and focused his mind on one of the many animal
forms whose
biological makeup he had long since memorized.
"You will find your metamorphic
abilities quite useless here,
Number 9," the
voice noted.
That got Chase's attention. He stopped his preparations and
turned his full
attention toward the speaker.
"What...how..."
"We know all about your talents,
Number 9. They are what
brought you to our
attention. They are, indeed, why you
are here.
But you will find
them useless as a means of escape.
Special
precautions have been
taken to prevent such."
The door to his bungalow swung open as if
to punctuate the
statement and
emphasize their control of his surroundings.
"But enough idle conversation,"
the voice continued in its
smooth manner. "If you'll step outside, you'll find
it's another
beautiful day in The
Village. Have a wonderful day."
With that, the voice silenced and the
music resumed. Chase
slowly moved toward
the doorway.
The day was gloriously sunny--almost
artificially so. The
streets were filled
with shiny happy people walking around as if
thorazine were a part
of the drinking water supply. No one
even
gave Chase a second
glance as he stepped out into The Village.
Chase studied the sky. No wind, hardly a cloud. Let's find
out what the
precautions they've taken are.
He took a deep breath to clear his mind,
then focused on the
anatomical details of
a young hawk. Letting his energies
flow,
Chase increased his
respiration and remolded his cells to conform
to that shape.
Seconds later, the hawk took flight and
headed toward the
heavens.
A hard downdraft slapped him out of the
sky.
It took every ounce of the strength in
the hawk's wings for
Chase not to crash
back to Earth. He fought to stay aloft,
then
regained his balance
in the air and alighted in a small tree.
Aha.
Artificially
manipulated weather conditions, or something very much
like it.
A dove perched atop an awning seemed to
taunt him with its
cooing.
The hawk cried out in protest. Everyone's a critic, Chase
thought. All right...obviously flying away is out of
the question.
But what about flying
around?
Gathering his strength, the hawk took off
again, this time
setting his sights a
bit lower. He aimed for the tops of the
awnings.
Nothing.
Not even a breeze. The hawk
increased his altitude
to the edges of the
gutters.
So far, so good. Another increase, this time just above the
top of the roofs.
Still no reaction. The hawk rose to the chimney tops.
The downdraft slapped at him again,
depositing him
unceremoniously onto
one of the roofs.
Well, Chase mentally sighed as he ruffled
his feathers and
shook off the fall,
now I know the limits. Obviously I'm
not meant
to see too much. But the view from this height isn't too bad.
He took off again, following the pattern
of the streets,
opening his
hypersensitive ears to the sounds below.
The coo of a dove reached his ears. He looked around.
The same dove that had been taunting him
from the awning was
now following him,
shadowing his every move. Another
precaution?
Chase mused. Or something more? He swerved.
The dove followed.
The hawk dipped.
The dove descended as well.
All right...it's obvious I'm not going to
shake you. So let's
see if you're friend
or foe. He increased his altitude back
to the
rooftops and returned
to scanning the streets and listening for
anything unusual.
More of that obnoxious mood music mingled
with the sounds of
waves from a
seashore, footsteps on cobblestones, and hums from
small motorized
carts. Chase tried to filter out each
sound,
focusing on voices
instead.
"This way, Major." The voice sounded gruff and anxious.
Chase looked around.
"What is it, Constable?" This voice was female, equally
anxious. Chase tried to focus on the sound--a hard
task with the
many stone buildings
and stone streets reflecting every audio wave
generated.
Then he saw them, just ahead in front of
a darker
auditorium-sized
building. A woman in severe need of a
nose job
and a man with oddly smooth
facial features that almost resembled
a mask were looking
at a side door as if they were trying to decide
whether to chance
entering the building. The hawk
alighted atop a
nearby rooftop and
watched the pair carefully.
The dove joined him. Chase gave the bird a suspicious glance,
then returned his
gaze to the pair below.
"This is where that man in the red
vest and cap went," the man
continued.
"And he looked like he was following
someone, too," the woman
agreed. "Maybe our answers are in
here." She started for the
door.
The man held her back. "Let me go first." With that, he
dissolved into a
column of gelatin-like material and flowed under
the door.
Chase was so stunned he nearly fell off
his perch. This was
a kind of metamorphosis
he could never have imagined. This
whole
situation was getting
stranger and stranger by the minute.
The automatic door swung open, and the
man had returned to a
human shape. He cocked his head to the side as if in a
gesture of
deference to a senior
officer.
The woman nodded in reply, then entered
the building. The
door swung closed.
Chase had seen enough. He dropped off the rooftop, and by the
time he was on the
ground he was fully human again.
The dove followed him to the ground. As it touched down, it
turned into a
shimmering column of light.
Chase watched in awe as the energy column
solidified into the
shape of a beautiful
young woman with an upswept ponytail of
flaming red hair and
a pair of ridged eyebrows. She was
dressed in
a grey paramilitary
uniform with contrasting sleeves, and her
makeup--or perhaps
natural coloration? Chase mused--accented
dramatic eyes and
high, regal-looking cheekbones.
For a long moment, the two metamorphs
studied each other, each
measuring the other
with gazes of intrigue and respect.
Both
looked as if they
wanted to ask the other so many questions...but
both also realized
questions could wait.
Chase gestured with his head toward the
door. The woman
nodded.
Together, they approached the door and
entered the building.
Superman had to blink to make certain he
wasn't seeing things.
He could swear he saw
a hawk and a dove flying side-by-side--and
then turn into a man
and woman. But they'd definitely
entered that
town hall-like
building. That might be the next place
worth
looking at. He concentrated his x-ray vision at the
building's
structure.
There were people in it--many people who
looked as out of
place as he did. They were making their way through corridors,
looking behind doors,
almost following a trail that led to the
other side of the
building, one facing a reflection pool...a
courtyard area where
others like them were already standing.
We've been led here, he realized. Time to find out why.
He
headed for the same building and went in the same door the
two shapeshifters had
entered.
The room was dark and disorienting. Superman focused his
super vision to find
the fastest way to that courtyard.
Seconds later, his eyes had drawn him a
map of the building.
He whizzed through it
with super-speed, ending up in the courtyard.
All eyes turned his way. "Talk about a dramatic entrance,"
a
beautiful long-haired
black woman said, smiling admirably.
Chase and the female metamorph stepped
out into the courtyard
following
Superman. "I thought I felt a
breeze back there," the
woman quipped.
"I believe we're late for the
meeting," Chase replied, looking
around.
The man with the odd facial features
Chase had seen
harrumphed. "There may be more coming."
"I don't think so," Superman
said. "I gave this village a
pretty thorough
once-over and didn't see anyone else who looked as
out of place as we
do."
"And I suppose you can see through
walls," the woman with the
wrinkled nose
challenged.
Superman smiled. "As a matter of fact, I can."
"Sometimes I can, too," Ralph
added. "And I agree with..."
He looked at Superman
up and down, as if he couldn't believe he was
actually seeing what
his eyes told him he was.
"...SUPERMAN here.
We're the only ones
who are different here."
A grey-haired gentleman with a brush
mustache wearing a red
military uniform
looked at the collection of people around him,
puzzled. "Then how did we all end up here?"
he asked in a thick
Scottish brogue.
"I think you were all following
me," the black woman replied,
stepping
forward. "When that `Number 2'
clown told me to take a
walk, I decided to do
just that. This is the only building
I've
encountered so far
that isn't populated by smiling zombies.
Next
thing I know,
he--" she pointed at Cooper "--showed up. Then
him--" a gesture
at Luke "--and him--" a gesture at Duncan "--and
more and more of you
until we got where we are now."
A grey-haired gentleman wearing a Naval
Admiral's uniform
looked
thoughtful. "Obviously, somebody
wanted us all to meet," he
remarked. "Maybe it's time we introduced
ourselves and speculated
on why we think we
were brought here. I'll start. I'm Admiral
Harriman Nelson,
retired U.S. Navy and designer of the SEAVIEW, the
world's finest
submarine. I've been involved with many
a voyage to
the bottom of the
sea, which may be why I'm here."
Silence.
Everyone eyed each other suspiciously, as if none
wanted to be the next
to confess his or her identity.
Finally, the black woman spoke up. "Well, since you were all
following me, I'd
probably better introduce myself. The
name's
Veronica Gaines. I'm a private investigator. There's very little
that fazes me--mostly
because I've twice battled an alien killer
wanted on many a
world. I'd explain that to you, but
it's such a
twisted web of
illogical happenings that sometimes even I'm not
sure I believe I did
it." She gestured with her head at
Cooper.
"All right,
handsome, you were tailing me--you're next."
Cooper nodded and pulled his badge off
his belt, flipping it
open for the
group. "Special Agent Dale
Cooper...F.B.I."
Veronica looked impressed. "No wonder you were so good. I
tried every trick I
knew to shake you. I thought you were
one of
them. You're sure dressed like them."
Cooper looked over his clothes. "Well, this is not what I was
wearing when I got
here. But then, I've experienced
stranger
things than this in dreams
and visions."
"Dreams and visions," Luke
noted.
"Yes," Cooper replied. "I suppose that's why I'm here--I seem
to have inherited my
mother's gift for reaching to the realm
beyond."
"The Force." The Jedi Knight looked into Cooper's intense
blue eyes.
Cooper looked back with equal
intensity. He could feel
something touching
his mind...something strong...something filled
with a goodness that
he had seldom experienced in the psychic realm
For a long moment, the tension in the courtyard
was almost
palpable. Finally, Luke broke the gaze. "The Force is strong
within you," he
whispered. "Very strong."
"What are you talking about?"
the wrinkled-nosed woman
scoffed.
Luke looked around somewhat
sheepishly. "Sorry. Forgot what
we were doing. The Force is the energy of life--it fills
us, flows
through us, and binds
the galaxy together. Some people have
more
control over it than
others...like me. I'm Luke Skywalker of
the
New Republic and
first of a new generation of Jedi Knights--masters
of manipulating The
Force. That, I'd bet, is why I'm
here."
"The `New Republic'." Wrinkle-nose shook her head. "It's
been my experience
that any body that has to include `republic' in
its name is nothing
more than a disguised empire."
Luke looked at her. "Spoken like a freedom fighter."
Suddenly the woman looked
uncomfortable. "That's
right," she
said. "What'd you do--probe my mind,
too? Why don't you just tell
us everything we need
to know--obviously you know everything
already!"
Luke drew back. "Hey, hey, hey--calm down.
Just making an
observation. I know a freedom fighter when I see one--I
used to be
one myself."
She gave him a suspicious look. "Really?"
Luke nodded. "That's probably why you're here. You look
pretty tough. I know I wouldn't want to have to go against
you."
She offered a wry smile. "Thanks--I think."
"You're welcome. What's your name?"
She took a deep breath. "Might as well confess it before you
decide to pull it out
of me. I'm Major Kira Nerys of
Bajor. I was
one of the leaders of
the Bajoran resistance against the Cardassian
occupation of our
planet. Now I'm the First Officer on
the
Federation outpost
Deep Space Nine." She nodded to
the
protective-looking
man next to her. "This is
Constable Odo, my
security chief. I imagine he's here because--"
"--he's a shapeshifter," the
red-haired woman standing next to
Chase finished.
Odo turned to look at her. "For lack of a better term, yes,"
he replied. "How did you know?"
"I--I mean, we--" she gestured
with her head at Chase "--saw
you slip under the
door. It would seem we have something
in
common." She looked to the group. "I am Maya, daughter of Mentor,
from Psychon...or, at
least, I used to be. When my planet was
destroyed, I was
rescued by a band of earthlings stranded on a
moonbase that was
blasted out into space in your year 1999.
My
father taught me the
art of molecular transformation--which I
presume caught the
interest of whoever brought us here."
"Your father taught you?" Chase
asked.
Maya nodded.
"Mine did as well." He looked to the others. "I'm Dr.
Jonathan Chase, a
physician and professor of criminology at New
York University. My father for years studied the secrets of
using
life energies to
manipulate matter--and because of his studies, I
learned how to
manipulate my own physiology and transform myself
from man to
animal. And you may be right about that
ability
intriguing our
captors--Number 2 admitted as much to me."
"Manipulating matter with life
energies," the man in the red
suede military vest
and black turtleneck with circular rainbow "S"
patches on his
sleeves commented. "I know
something of that." He
looked out at the
others. "I'm Captain Scarlet of
Spectrum, a
planetary defense
force founded by the World Government in the year
2067...but I'm quite
certain that is not why I have been brought
here. In my world, Earth is at war with an unseen
enemy from Mars
we know as the
Mysterons. The Mysterons have the
capability of
recreating an exact
likeness of an object or person--but they have
to destroy it
first. And that is what happened to me
in the spring
of 2068--my partner
and I were in a car crash, and I blacked out as
the heat of the
flames surrounded me. When I awoke from
my coma,
I was told that my
original body was dead and that for six hours my
clone--the copy of me
the Mysterons had created--had been doing the
Mysterons' bidding,
kidnapping the World President, and attempting
to escape before
falling to certain death from an 800-foot-high
perch. We later realized that whatever the
Mysterons had done, it
was clear they had
made two crucial mistakes: They had not
made
certain I was dead before
they recreated my body, instead
transferring all my
life energies to their clone and leaving my
former personality
intact and dormant; and they had released their
control over the
clone too soon as it fell, allowing my former
personality to awaken
and reassert control. I am quite
certain
that the reason I am
here is that my body has some of the same
matter-manipulating
capability that created it in the first
place--it can
recreate its cellular structure continuously, making
even normally fatal
wounds completely curable. I am, in a
word,
indestructible."
"You are an Immortal," Duncan
whispered, awestruck.
"I wouldn't necessarily say
that," Scarlet replied. "I've
been told there are
ways to kill me. But it would take
something
extraordinary."
"Like a beheading."
Scarlet tried not to look taken aback by
the trenchcoat-clad
man's gruesome
speculation. "I suppose so."
"I thought as much. Now I know why I am here." He
straightened his back
and looked Scarlet in the eye. "I
am Duncan
MacLeod. I am an Immortal. For centuries, I have fought and
beheaded others of my
kind to claim their quickenings--their life
energies--for myself,
for legend dictates that there can be only
one. And I am determined that I shall be the one
still standing at
the end. I have been brought here to meet my
destiny."
Scarlet smiled slightly.
"You dare mock me?" Duncan
challenged.
"No," Scarlet reassured. "Just a very bad pun that would only
make sense to anyone who
knew the code names of our female pilots,
one of whom is named
Destiny. I was thinking to myself that
if
you've been brought
here to meet Destiny, you're quite out of luck.
She's probably back
on Cloudbase in my time."
Duncan scowled at Scarlet.
Superman stepped forward. "I don't think anyone's been
brought here to meet
any kind of destiny," he reassured.
"Besides,
if you're looking for
an `immortal', you're going to find there's
more than one
here...like me, for instance. They call
me Superman.
My real name is
Kal-El from the planet Krypton. My
parents sent me
here when I was just
a baby to protect me from our planet's
impending
destruction. I'm kind of like Captain
Scarlet--the alien
physiology of my body
makes me pretty much indestructible.
Krypton
had a higher
gravitational pull and a heavier atmosphere, and the
light waves were a
lot different, so my cellular structure's a lot
stronger than most
Earthlings' are. I can move really fast
and
even fly because the
gravity's much lighter and the atmosphere's
less dense--which
also allows me to hear really well because my
ears can pick up so
many more waves in this light air. And
because
the light waves are
different, my vision is pretty incredible.
I
can see a long way
and sometimes even through solid objects.
I
don't even have to
guess why I was brought here--this sort of thing
happens to me a
lot."
Ralph shook his head. "I wish I handled my powers from outer
space as easily as
you do," he commented. "I'm
Ralph Hinkley. I
was just a
schoolteacher until a few years ago, when
I had an
encounter with a
spaceship of some kind in the middle of the
desert. They gave me this suit--" he gestured
over himself "--and
told me it would give
me powers I could use to help others.
Only
problem is, I lost
the instruction book, so I've been kind of
flying blind--that
is, when I can fly at all. As long as I
have
the suit on, I have
these pretty incredible powers. If I
had the
instruction book, I
could be Superman. As it is, I'm not
even the
greatest American
hero they wanted me to be."
"So you ran into a spaceship,
laddie?" the mustached Scotsman
remarked.
"That's right," Ralph replied
somewhat defensively. "You
think I'm making it
up?"
"Not at all. I know a lot about space vehicles. I've been
told I'm the best
starship engineer in all of Starfleet."
He
looked to the
others. "Commander Montgomery
Scott," he introduced
himself. "Everyone calls me Scotty. I was the chief engineer and
second mate aboard
the U.S.S. ENTERPRISE, the flagship of
Starfleet--uh, that's
the military and exploration arm of the
United Federation of
Planets in the 23rd century. But unless
they're looking for
engineers in this village, I can't imagine why
I was brought
here."
"You're an engineer, too?" the
last man who had not spoken
questioned.
"Aye," Scotty replied. "And you?"
"Yeah," the young man
replied. "The name's Angus
MacGyver--but nobody
calls me Angus, just MacGyver or plain Mac.
I'm a jack of all
trades with the Phoenix Foundation. We
do a lot
of...well, let's just
say we do a lot of things for the
intelligence
community people really wouldn't want to know the U.S.
government was
involved with. I've seen my share of
oddball things
over the years, but this
village takes the cake. And meeting all
of you pushes all
this into the surreal."
The introductions were complete, and all
stood silent once
more, as if trying to
make some sense out of the stories they had
just heard.
Scotty was the first to speak
afterward. "So, now that we're
all here," he
commented, "what's to stop us from just walking out
of this
village?"
"And go where?" Admiral Nelson
replied. "Unless I miss my
guess, this is some
sort of island. I can smell sea air all
around
me."
"Admiral Nelson's right,"
Superman added. "From what I saw
as
I scanned this place,
this is an island with a mountainous
interior. We're trapped here."
"I thought you said you could
fly," Odo challenged.
"I can," Superman
answered. "But I found out the
hard way
that flying's out of
the question. Something kind of grabbed
me in
mid-air and threw me
back to the ground."
"Same thing happened to me,"
Ralph added.
"And to us," Chase noted. "Both Maya and I took on bird forms
and tried to fly out
of here, only to be batted down as we reached
rooftop level."
"There's definitely an energy
barrier of some sort around this
place," Luke
stated. "I can feel it when I
reach out. And there's
a strong evil that
permeates the air. Someone definitely
wants to
control our
movements."
Cooper stepped forward. "I think it's pretty safe to assume
that anything that
had the kind of power to capture all of us with
our different
abilities and bring us here through space and time
has the kind of power
to keep us here as long as they wish. I
don't believe we're
going anywhere."
Kira looked agitated. "So we're just supposed to wait for
whoever brought us
here to decide when they're through with
us--and, while we're
at it, let them do whatever they feel like
with us?"
Ralph shrugged. "Kind of looks that way, doesn't it?"
Kira couldn't believe her ears. "Well, I'm not just going to
stand around and do
nothing!"
"Nor am I, Major," Odo
agreed. "There has to be a way out
of
here. Some sort of gap in the force field that
maybe a small
rodent-like creature
could get through..."
"Only to be devoured by some
cat-like creature," Chase
cautioned. "Number 2 warned us that they had taken
all our
abilities into account
when they designed the protective measures."
"And you believe him," Odo
scoffed.
"I have no reason not to."
"Well, I don't."
"And you might be right in your
mistrust," Scarlet
interjected. "In my time, the Mysterons have the
capability of
impersonating anyone
or anything, and they often disguised their
intents with riddles
and word twists. We could be surrounded
by
the instruments of
whatever brought us here, and following their
directions could be
exactly what they want."
"That alien I told you about
fighting did that kind of thing
that too,"
Veronica added. "All those smiling
people out there
could be
super-demons, ready to pounce on us at any moment."
"I doubt that," Cooper
said. "We may be pawns in a
surrealistic chess
game, but I doubt the opening moves have been
made. I think the board is just now being set
up."
"So we're here to play a game,"
Kira said in a sassy tone.
"I believe so, yes."
Kira didn't like Cooper's attitude. He seemed so smug, so
self-assured, so in
control. And she hated self-appointed
experts,
even when they
carried badges of authority. "And
I suppose you've
played this sort of
game before."
"That's right, I have." Cooper stepped toward her, his blue
eyes filled with an
icy fire. "I've been a pawn in a
sick, twisted
chess game
before. A game played by forces
stronger than anything
you can imagine--a
game literally between good and evil, white and
black, love and fear,
where the top prize was my soul. And
the
darkness almost
won. But through the strength and love
of my twin
sister, I found the
strength to look my own dark side in the eye
and banish it
forever." He stood almost on top
of her now, his
eyes boring a hole
through hers. "So yes, Major, I've
played this
kind of game
before. And I've won. I have no intention of just
standing around here
and doing nothing. But in order to win,
we
have to know what
we're playing...and why. Without that
knowledge,
we can't fight--and
if we can't fight, they've won before the game
even starts."
Kira could feel herself shaking. Luke had said this "force"
thing was strong
within Cooper--and as he stood near her, she could
almost feel power
radiating from him. She swallowed
hard. "All
right, then,"
she said, gathering as much strength in her voice as
she could, "how
do we get this knowledge?"
"That, I believe," Luke
interjected, trying to break the heavy
tension between Kira
and Cooper and get everyone back on track
again, "is part
of the game. We have to search for the answers
we
seek. There is something very strong and very dark
here, but
something that is
eager for a challenge. I can feel
it."
"Is this The Gathering?" Duncan
asked aloud.
Luke had no idea what the Immortal was
implying. A quick
probe of the man's
mind revealed nothing except chaotic images of
battles and bloody
beheadings. "No," he finally
said. "I don't
feel death and
destruction. I feel instead a sense of
mischief.
It's very strong, and
very omnipresent."
"Maybe Scarlet's right, then,"
Nelson noted. "Maybe these
people in this
village are part of the plan. It would
make sense
to have a bunch of
drones acting like guards in this sort of prison
without walls."
"And they do seem to be just
ignoring us," Maya indicated.
"Think about
it: Wouldn't a gathering of such
odd-looking sorts as
us attract the
attention of normal residents? But they
haven't
even given us a
second glance, even when we've exhibited our powers
in front of
them. It's as if they're used to such
things happening
around them, as if
they expect to see these sorts of things."
"Or they're illusions," Odo
countered. "Holograms,
projections, anything
to give this place the appropriate `window
dressing' so it looks
like a real village. Maybe this whole
place
is just a gigantic
holosuite."
"Whatever they are or whatever this
is," MacGyver said, "we
won't find out just
by standing around. We need to start
making
plans and
preparations."
"Preparations for what?"
Scarlet asked.
"Escape. You've all said that Number 2 kept saying
precautions had been
taken to counter those of you with super
powers. Maybe it's time we took a good look around
at what's
available to us, what
common things we can throw together in order
to create defensive
and offensive devices they may not have taken
into
consideration. I've found that just
about anything can be
made useful when push
comes to shove."
"You could be right," Superman
agreed. "It could be our
ingenuity that's
being tested here."
"And our courage," Kira added.
"Possibly. I'd almost bet this game involves testing how we
move our pieces on
the board when we don't have the full rulebook
in front of us."
"I know something about
improvising," Ralph noted with a
sardonic smile. "And in order to improvise, we need to
start doing
something. I kind of doubt the answers we're looking
for are in
this courtyard."
"Now you're talking," Odo
agreed. "Where to next?"
Everyone looked puzzled, as if which
direction to start had
not even occurred to
them. Veronica looked thoughtful. "Well, a
good private
detective always tries to start following a trail at
its beginning."
"Which means?" Odo challenged.
"Which means," Luke realized,
"that we return to where it
began for each of us
this morning--our cottages."
"What?" Kira replied,
outraged. "You're telling us we
should
go back to those
little...prisons they threw us into earlier and
wait for them to come
back for us?"
"Not necessarily," Cooper said,
seeing where Luke and
Veronica's logic was
going. "We go back to the
beginning, try to
gather as many
clues--and whatever else we think we might be able
to use--as we can
from there, then bring what we learn to our next
meeting."
"Next meeting?" Kira was livid. "Look, I don't know about
you, but I have no
desire to just sit around and wait for whatever
this power is that
brought us here to do with us what they will
while we waste time
waiting for another meeting! That's
ridiculous!"
"I agree with you, Major," Odo
seethed. "This is getting us
nowhere. I am not one to just sit around and
wait."
"And by the way, Agent Cooper...just
why are you dressed like
the rest of
them?" Kira questioned, suspicion in her voice. "You
said yourself these
are not the clothes you were wearing when you
got here--who gave
you these clothes? Why are you wearing
them?
Are you one of
them?"
All eyes turned to Cooper. Low murmurs indicated Kira had hit
a nerve in the
group. Even Superman was looking at Cooper
with
questioning eyes and
an uncertain scowl.
"Listen to me!" Luke said,
coming to Cooper's side. "This man
is not our
enemy. In fact, his goodness and
decency are among the
strongest I've ever
felt. Yes, he looks different--but I
believe
it's for a
reason. I believe it was because he was
meant to lead
us. He was meant to be able to blend in with the
people around us,
to guide us in this
game that he himself has told you he is a
master of." Luke looked Cooper in the eye. "And I intend to
follow his
guidance. We all will have to. Together, our Force is
strong--apart, we
will surely be overcome."
Cooper could feel a calmness and serenity
emanating from
Luke's being. He watched in awe of the Jedi's command of
the
energies of life as the
others began to relax their vigilant
postures. Whatever power Luke had, it was stronger
than anything
he had ever
encountered before. And he was very
glad that power
was aligned with him
instead of against him.
Scarlet sighed. "One of the Mysterons' greatest weapons is
our own
paranoia," he indicated.
"Luke is right. We have to
work
together--combine our
efforts. We can't let ourselves be
drawn
into a circle of
mistrust or it will consume us."
Superman nodded his agreement. "It could be that we just had
our first
test--whether or not we can trust each other enough to
work together as a
team."
"I hope they grade on a curve,"
Ralph said. "Otherwise, I
don't think we did
very well."
"Then maybe we need to study
more," Scotty agreed. "And I
think the library's
back at the bungalows."
"This could be an all-nighter,"
Chase indicated. "In fact, it
would be much better
to move under the cover of darkness when next
we meet."
"But where?" Maya asked.
"There's a beach to the southwest of
here," Nelson said. "I
caught glimpses of it
from my window. It's beyond the
buildings,
well away from
everyone. No prying eyes to watch
us--and lots of
ocean noise to keep
our conversations away from eager listeners."
"Good idea," Superman
said. "We'll meet there after
sundown."
"It's my belief we may not have to
wait too long to find out
our purpose in being
here," Luke warned. "Our
captor does not seem
to be long on
patience, if what I'm feeling is any indication. We
may even have new
direction from Number 2 by that time."
"All the better," Veronica
said. "The more clues we have, the
easier it'll be to
win this game."
"Then it's settled," Cooper
finished. "We'll head back to our
bungalows, do some
snooping around, and wait for sundown.
Then
we'll reconvene on
the beach and pool our resources.
Remember, we
must hang
together--or we most assuredly will hang separately."
With that, everyone departed...save Kira
and Odo, who stood
for a long moment
watching the others leave. "I
don't know about
you, Odo," Kira
whispered, "but I don't trust any of this."
"Nor do I, Major," Odo
reassured. "I've seen enough
holosuite
illusions to doubt
we're even in a village, much less surrounded by
superbeings from
other realms."
"But for now, we'll have to play
along," she cautioned. "It's
the only way to find
out what the real objective is. But the
minute this game's
underway..."
"...it's going to be us against
everything. And I wouldn't
have it any other way."
A black-cloaked villain paced about the
interior of the
bungalow that he'd
attempted to destroy on a rampaging rage just
moments ago. Machine-assisted breathing had replaced the
annoying
music and the taunts
of this so-called "Number 2".
Now Darth Vader
was concentrating his
energies, reaching out to sense the life
force around
him. "I can feel him," he
said aloud. "I can feel
the disturbance in
the Force only he can cause. I can feel
my son.
The Emperor wants
him--I must have him."
This was not the Darth Vader Luke had
seen die aboard the
reconstruction of the
Death Star, the one who had overcome his dark
side and rescued him
from certain death at the Emperor's hands.
This was the Darth
Vader from Luke's nightmares, the dark Sith Lord
who could kill with
only a gesture. And he had been brought
here,
wherever
"here" was, for some purpose the Dark Lord did not
understand.
Vader lashed out again with a gloved fist
smashing in yet
another priceless
artifact.
"Seems a shame to damage such
antiquity."
Vader whirled around at the sound of the
voice behind him to
come face-to-face
with another armor-clad man with a face encased
in an iron mask.
"Still, though," the man
taunted, "you do it with such style.
I like that kind of
destructive behavior in a person."
Vader immediately reached out with his
mind. "You are a dark
one, masked man. The evil within you is as strong as I have
ever
felt. It is refreshing." A pause.
"You are called `Doctor Doom'
in your world."
"Correct. And who might you be?"
"I am Darth Vader...last of the Sith
Lords. We control the
Dark Side of the
Force."
"Darkness...I like that." One could almost swear Doom smiled.
"You and I were
brought here for a purpose...to dominate others."
He looked
around. "It's not as primitive as
my Latveria, but it is
as good a place to
start as any."
"I sense we have been brought here
to play some sort of game,"
Vader replied. "And we are not alone. Even now, others are being
brought into our
realm...other dark forces to aid us."
With that, a beautiful woman with black
hair and evil eyes
materialized next to
them.
"Diana," Vader said aloud. "Leader of a race of beings who
were called
`visitors' on Earth...visitors who sought to vanquish
it and its
people."
The woman smiled evilly. She had no idea who these men were,
but somehow she knew
she had found allies in this strange realm.
A column of liquid metal materialized
next to Doom, then
solidified into a humanoid
shape of a man with beady eyes and cold
expressions. Next to him, a tall robot with a dome-like
head and
a midget-sized robot
came into being.
"The model T-1000 Terminator,"
Vader stated. "The finest
assassin in a world
dominated by robots. And two primitive
robot
models--one with no
name, and one called Twiki--to aid him in
dealing with these
primitive creatures we will be facing."
A man with a full beard wearing an
updated version of Scotty's
Starfleet uniform was
next. He looked puzzled and angry as
his
eyes scanned the
room.
"Commander William Riker, from
Starfleet," Vader pronounced.
"But not from
the Starfleet I sense others around here being from.
No, this Starfleet is
far from benevolent and peaceful. It is
an
angry, cruel,
enslaving empire, almost a mirror universe of evil."
"And those are its good
points," Riker quipped, his smile
cold.
Vader reached out his mind to the ones
surrounding him. It
was energizing to be
surrounded by such strong dark aspects of the
Force. As he touched their minds, he drew them into
his own
thoughts, letting
them see what he was sensing. Soon the
others
were smiling, ready
to join in this quest.
"There is a game to be played,"
Vader pronounced. "And I
sense a great prize
to be won. We have all been brought
together
to challenge the
strongest forces of good in each of our universes.
And when we win, we
shall return to our worlds--and rule them
trimumphantly
forever!"
(END OF PART ONE)
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