There was a spot of black in its center.
Roma’s eyes widened in surprise. Each crystal contained the life-force of an entire dimensional plane—millions of worlds, billions of lifeforms, all condensed to a single, six-inch-wide sliver of quartz. As such, the clarity of each piece reflected the fact that that segment of the omniverse was in complete working order—no flaws, no chips, no worn edges, so to speak. To have an imperfect crystal—especially one possessing such a disturbing bit of discoloration—was unacceptable.
One last thing to check.
Leaving the platform, Roma moved over to an immense, clear globe that floated above the highly-polished floor nearby. It was a scrying glass of sorts, used to peer into the events of any world, any dimension that Roma wished to observe. Waving a hand before its surface to activate the device, the dark-haired woman waited for an image of Earth 616 to appear and, possibly, confirm her worst suspicions.
But no image was forthcoming; in fact, the glass turned completely dark, not even providing a general overview of the dimension.
Roma frowned again, a knot of concern taking form in her stomach. Blocked from observing a part of the omniverse? Such an occurrence should have been impossible, given the powers possessed by a Supreme Guardian.
She touched a small contact on her robes. “Satumyne?”
“Yeeesss, m’lady?” muttered a sleepy female voice.
“There is a . . . problem . . .” Roma said slowly.
“I will be there immediately, m’lady,” the woman responded, all traces of weariness quickly wiped from her speech by the call to duty.
Roma broke the connection, then glanced at the scrying glass once more. After all the X-Men had just done for her, how was she going to break the news that their world faced possible destruction . . . again?
“You wished to speak with us, Your Majesty?” asked a deep, male voice from behind her, the sound echoing and reechoing in the vast chamber.
Roma turned. Standing at the crossing—the part of the throne room where the nave and transepts met—was an odd collection of costumed men and women, grouped around a baldheaded man wearing a conservative business suit: Professor Charles Xavier, teacher and spiritual guide in their ongoing quest to create peace and understanding between mutantkind and humanity. He was seated in a machine that resembled a wheelchair; it silently floated a good foot and a half above the floor, supported by a series of small, but powerful, anti-gravity beam's projected from the underside of the seat. Among the group were Wolverine and Jean Grey; her hand was lightly resting on the arm of Scott Summers, the tall, sandy-haired man beside her, whose eyes were hidden from view by a gold-colored visor that partially wrapped around his head. Just behind Jean and Scott was another twentysomething couple: a ruggedly handsome man with scraggly brown hair, and an easy smile;
and an attractive woman with waist-length hair, its dark-brown color offset by a large patch of white that started just above her forehead and ran down the center, giving the flowing locks an almost skunk-like appearance. His codename was Gambit—real name Remy LeBeau, a former member of the Thieves Guild, back in his native home of New Orleans, Louisiana—and he was dressed in a black-and-maroon costume, over which was worn an ankle-length leather coat, its wide collar turned up. She was Rogue—whether or not that was her real name had never been determined—and she wore a form-fitting yellow-and-green bodysuit—an “X” emblazoned over its left breast, as well as on the buckle of the leather belt that hung loosely around her waist—with bright yellow leather boots and matching kid gloves; a brown leather bomber jacket, its sleeves rolled back to her elbows, completed the colorful ensemble.
“Yes, I did,” Roma replied to Xavier’s query. “I had wanted to thank you once again for providing Captain U.K. with assistance in bringing an end to the reign of terror perpetrated on Earth 794 by Mas-trex Opul Lun Sat-yr-nin—” she glanced toward the chessboard —but far more troubling matters have arisen of late. Matters that involve your world—and, quite possibly, the omniverse.”
“Somethin’ dat needs de X-Men to set right?” Gambit asked in his Cajun drawl. “Well, just point us in de right direction an’ let’s get to fixin’. Dat’s what we specialize in, y’know.” He grinned broadly. “Just ask yer ol’ pal, Opul.”
A trace of a smile whispered across Roma’s face. “I wish it were as simple as that, my friend.” She gestured toward a set of chairs that had suddenly appeared at the foot of the steps leading to her throne. “Please, be seated, and I shall explain the situation as best I understand it.”
As one, the group moved forward to take their seats, an intense look of concern shared by them all.
Well... all but one.
With an explosion of air and a burst of brimstone-laced smoke—a peculiar sound that registered to the eardrum as a loud BAMF!—the final member of the X-Men made his appearance. Tall and lean, with an acrobat’s physicality, Kurt Wagner was the most unusual member of the team . . . and an almost perfect, living definition of the word “mutant”: his hair and skin were a deep blue, the sclera and irises of his eyes a bright yellow, and he sported a set of sharp, white fangs in his mouth; his hands and feet each contained but three digits, and a prehensile tail—like those found in certain species of monkey—had grown to a three-foot length from a spot just above his buttocks. From a quick glance, a casual observer might mistake him for a demon straight out of a devout Roman Catholic’s nightmares of hell; in reality, though, he was a kind, loving man, and a well-respected member of the group.
When he didn’t show up late for an important meeting, that is.
“Nice’a you t’join us, elf,” Wolverine grumbled.
Nightcrawler bowed deeply, then straightened. “I apologize for my tardiness, my friends,” he said in his clipped, German accent, “but it is extremely difficult to tear oneself away from the radiant beauty that is Hedy Lamarr to attend a farewell party.” He glanced at his teammates, and immediately noticed their somber expressions. “Or is something far more sinister in the works .. . ?”
“You got that right, sugah,” Rogue said in her husky, Southern voice. “Pull up a chair—we were just about to get the lowdown from Roma.”
Nightcrawler quickly joined the others, and turned to face their host.
Roma looked at each of them in turn, saw their bodies already tensing as though they were preparing for battle.
“I have detected an . . . abnormality in your home dimension,” she began.
Gambit, who had been using his feet to rock his seat back and forth, groaned loudly and set the chair down with a sharp clang that reverberated across the throne room. Everyone turned to look at him, especially Xavier, who glared at him with an intensity that could melt steel.
Clearly wishing to avoid eye contact with his mentor, Gambit quickly lowered his gaze to the floor and shrugged. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just annoyin’ as hell that, after de mess we done finished cleanin’ up here, we don’ even get a chance to just go home an’ relax a spell.”
“I understand your frustrations, Remy,” Xavier said, his rich baritone voice seeming to fill the vast space around them. “We all do. But our duties as X-Men often require that we put aside our disappointments, our grievances, and concentrate on far more important matters.”
“In other words, Cajun,” Wolverine harshly translated, “ ‘Stuff Happens.’ Live with it.”
Gambit sighed and turned to Rogue, who sat beside him. “So much for dat Harry Connick, Jr. concert tonight, chere. ”
“You can make it up to me another time, Remy,” Rogue said, and gently patted him on the arm.
Xavier turned back to Roma. “Please, Your Majesty—continue.”
The dark-haired woman nodded. “As I was saying, something has occurred with Earth 616 that I am at a loss to explain.” She gestured toward the chessboard, which hovered within arm’s reach. “It is the custom of the Supreme Guardian—my father before me, and now I— to use this board in our work. It is set with pi
eces representing those mortals from across the multitude of dimensions with whom we are currently dealing.”
“Manipulating, you mean,” Logan grumbled softly.
“When your work was completed on Earth 794,” Roma continued, choosing to ignore him, “the board automatically reset itself to begin the next... game. New pieces then appeared, replacing the previous set. All was as it had been for countless millennia.
“But then I noticed this. ” She pointed to the Betsy Braddock piece, which was still shifting between its torch singer and female ninja forms.
The X-Men rose from their seats and moved to gather around the board. Jean leaned forward to stare at the morphing figurine.
“It’s Betsy!” she said in astonishment. “But why is it doing that? Is something wrong with her back on Earth?”
“I do not know,” Roma replied. “I have attempted to determine the cause of the abnormality—and the reason for the unusual effect it has had upon the board—but for reasons I cannot fathom, I have been unable to look upon Earth 616. Nor can I determine the length of time the abnormality has existed, since I have been more concerned with events on other worlds as of late.”
“So, you have no idea what might be happening back home,” Cyclops said.
“None,” Roma admitted.
“Has this ever happened before?”
“It has never happened before, Scott Summers. Despite the increasing number of omniverse-threatening events that have taken place on your world since the first appearance of superbeings like yourselves, never have I, nor my father, Merlyn, been prevented from gazing upon it when we desired to do so.”
She paused, letting her words sink in. The X-Men looked at one another uneasily.
“Okay, so we know the questions,” Wolverine said finally. “How do we go about gettin’ some answers?”
Roma pursed her lips and silently gazed at the chessboard for a few moments. Even though she was an immortal—someone who had lived a lifetime even before Dimension 616 had been born, and would continue to exist long after the X-Men had turned to dust—she suddenly felt the first disturbing twinges of fear. It was a sensation she had not felt in . . . well, a very long time.
The Supreme Guardian studied the expectant faces of the X-Men. They were all looking to her for answers, but she had none to give. The only comforting thought she had was that Merlyn almost certainly would have been stymied by the same predicament, though he would likely have settled for a more direct solution, like unleashing the full complement of the multidimensional Captain Britain Corps on Earth 616 and letting them tear the planet apart until they found the cause of the disruption.
Not very practical, but such a plan did have its charms .. .
“If I may be so bold, m’lady,” said a female voice from the shadows of the nave, “I do know of a solution to the problem.” As the group turned to face her, the speaker stepped into the light.
Dressed in flowing robes that were as white as her shoulder-length hair, Opal Luna Satumyne was a stunning figure to behold—a flawless combination of icy professionalism and red-hot sensuality. Her official title was Omniversal Majestrix, which meant that she was responsible for maintaining order and reality throughout all dimensional planes... under the direction of Roma, of course. It was one of the many alternate versions of Her Whyness that the X-Men had been recruited to battle, and Satumyne had been pleased by the outcome.
It cut down on any possible competition for her job.
“If I may remind the Supreme Guardian,” Satumyne said, “you have at your disposal the means to end this... imperfection before it can spread across the entirety of that reality, and thereby threaten the omniverse.” She gestured toward the black-tinged quartz on the dais. “All it would take is to shatter the crystal containing that dimension’s life-force; remove the entire plane from existence—”
“You mean destroy our reality?” Jean interjected, barely controlling the anger in her voice. “Isn’t that like killing a patient in order to stop a cancerous growth from spreading throughout their body?” She shook her head emphatically. “No. There has to be another way.”
“I agree, Jean Grey,” Roma said. “But there are few options. I could isolate the plane of Earth 616, let the ‘infection’ run its course; it would ultimately result in your dimension collapsing in upon itself, eons before its natural end. Or I could set into motion forces that would destroy your world without harming the rest of reality; using your medical analogy, that would be akin to amputating a diseased limb to save an otherwise healthy patient.”
“But think of the billions of lives lost!” Jean insisted.
“Think of the countless billions more saved, ” Satumyne countered. “An’ what would happen to us, Roma?” Rogue asked, her voice strained. “Would we just up an’ disappear when any of that happened?” Roma shook her head. “No, friend Rogue. The state of temporal grace generated by the citadel ensures that no harm would come to any of you, should either your world or dimension cease to exist.”
“And then?” Nightcrawler asked. “Not to sound ungrateful, but where does one go, Your Majesty, when one no longer has a home to go to?”
“You could work for me,” Satumyne replied. “The responsibilities of my office often require me to use superpowered agents, like the Captain Britain Corps, or the mercenary band Technet, to handle the more—” her nose wrinkled with obvious distaste “—physical solutions often required to readjust the inconsistencies that tend to pop up throughout reality. And you’ve already proven your effectiveness against one of my more . . . embarrassing counterparts.”
“Sure you don’ want a couple ref’rences t’ check before givin’ us de job?” Gambit muttered. Rogue playfully punched him in the upper arm to silence him. She just managed to avoid breaking the humerus with her incredible strength.
Nightcrawler frowned. “I appreciate the offer, Satumyne, but after the brief mn-ins the two of us have had during my time with Excalibur, I find it a bit difficult to tmst you—you work far too hard at manipulating people to make me all that comfortable in your presence.” He flashed a brief smile. “No offense.”
Her Whyness said nothing, a mischievous gleam in her eye. Clearly, she considered his words to be more complimentary than critical.
“There’s another solution, Roma,” Cyclops said. “You could send us in to find out what happened. With your help, and a bit of luck, it shouldn’t take long to track down the source of the disturbance and find a way to correct it.”
“It makes sense, Your Majesty,” Xavier said. “If the trouble our world is experiencing is, in a manner of speaking, some sort of disease, then the logical course of action is to fight that disease from within— like antibodies rallying to overcome an infection.”
Roma paused to consider this option, then slowly nodded in agreement. “You are right, Charles Xavier, but I can offer no aid. Since I am blocked from viewing the events taking place in your dimension, I cannot determine the point of origin for the disturbance. The most assistance that I can provide is to open the gateway that will send you back to your world.” She smiled thinly. “After that, you shall have to rely on your ‘bit of luck.’ ” The smile quickly faded. “I am sorry.”
“No need to apologize, Yer Highness,” Wolverine said. “We’ve been in tougher scraps ’n this. We’ll make do.” 1
“I would expect no less of you, my friends,” Roma said.
“Then the matter is settled,” Xavier stated. He looked to Cyclops. “Scott, you will lead the mission. Start at the mansion; see what information you can gather using Cerebro. Try to discover the locations of
the other X-Men if they are not there—I imagine they’re already working on their own to find the source of the disturbance. If they’re not. . .”
Cyclops nodded. “Then we’re on our own.” He flashed a brief smile. “We’ll get the job done, Professor. Don’t worry.”
“Sure you don’t wanna come along fer the ride, Charlie?” Wolverine asked, a t
race of a wicked smile splitting his rugged features.
Xavier shook his head. “No, Logan; my presence is not required.” He gestured down toward his high-tech wheelchair. “Besides, since a certain degree of stealth may be required, it will be far easier for all of you to move about without having to see to my needs.” He smiled broadly as he gazed at Wolverine. “I imagine, though, Logan, that you in particular will have difficulty staying out of trouble without my guidance.”
“That’s what I’m countin’ on, Charlie,” Wolverine replied with a wink.
“A final warning, X-Men,” Roma said. “Given the severity of the situation, and the effect it will soon have upon the omniverse if it is not checked, I can only allow you a limited amount of time in which to resolve the matter.”
“Here it comes . . .” Gambit mumbled. “I was wait in ’ for de other shoe to drop.”
“How limited?” Cyclops asked.
“One week, by your standards of time,” Roma answered.
“And if we haven’t made things right by then?” Jean asked, though it was clear from her expression that she already knew the answer.
“Then,” Roma said slowly, “I shall have no choice but to shatter the crystal and remove your reality from the omniverse.” She smiled warmly, reassuringly, pausing to gaze at each of them.
“Move swiftly, my friends,” she said. “There are forces at work here beyond even my ken, and they cannot be allowed to extend their influence to other worlds. The safety of the omniverse rests squarely on your shoulders.”
Nightcrawler raised an expressive eyebrow, then looked to Jean.
“No pressure, eh, mein freund? ” he asked, with more than a hint of sarcasm.
Jean smiled uneasily. “No pressure, Kurt,” she replied. Her gaze drifted toward the ever-changing game piece that represented one of her closest friends, and her smile faded. “No pressure at all. . .”
THE MAN in the Moon was angry.
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