chaos engine trilogy

by Unknown Author

  “Spawn of the devil!” von Doom roared, pulling at his restraints.

  He pointed a bony finger at her. “Listen well, daughter of Merlyn: Doom will have his revenge upon you, and that white-haired lackey of yours! Before this day is done, all of you shall be begging for your worthless lives!”

  “Dear me, m’lady,” Satumyne quipped. “You seem to have gone and upset him.”

  Roma smiled maliciously. “A pity.” She glanced at the physician. “Doctor?”

  The doctor bowed once more. “Thank you, Your Majesty. We’ll begin shortly.”

  “And / shall be there to watch,” Roma said. “Every moment of it.” Her smile broadened. “After all, we would not want anything to happen to our guest before we learn the truth ... would we?”

  The ominous tone in which she made that statement caused even Satumyne to feel a chill race up her spine.

  The multiphasic crystal accelerator was another invention of Merlyn’s. As a multidimensional being who traveled from one continuum to the next, he had been surprised to discover that there were forces in existence that could harm even him, in those centuries before he learned to control all his god-like powers. Using the crystalline technology developed by his father to contain the life-forces of the different dimensions, Merlyn constructed the accelerator as a means to repair the various injuries he receiving during some of his early adventures. Essentially, the energy released by the device would open a minor ripple in the space/time continuum, which would then be directed at the wound in need of repair. The rift separated the damaged tissue from Merlyn’s body and shunted it elsewhere, leaving behind healthy tissue. It had worked wonders for him over the course of millennia.

  However, it had never been used on a human before . ..

  A short time after the conference in the infirmary, the players involved reconvened in one of the medical wing’s larger laboratories—larger, in this case, meaning it was roughly the size of a warehouse. Roma and Satumyne sat in an observation booth one floor above the work area. They were joined by the doctor, who was there to monitor the patient’s vital signs, and to make certain nothing went wrong with the powerful device they were about to activate.

  Down on the floor, the other med-staff members were busy finalizing preparations, lining up the pressure tube of the accelerator and consulting its pre-ignition checklist. In the center of this hive of activity, an angry von Doom stomped back and forth across the glass chamber into which his guards had placed him—none too gently. His lips were moving, but at this height, it was impossible to hear what he was saying; more colorful phrases about his captors, no doubt.

  “Now, then, Your Majesty,” said the doctor, “everything has been made ready. The procedure won’t take all that long—by its conclusion, we’ll hopefully have an answer to our intriguing little mystery of the twin brain patterns.”

  “Splendid, Doctor,” Roma said. “You may begin.”

  At a cue from the physician, the medical technicians below activated the device. Switches were thrown, buttons pushed, and the room filled with the sound of the accelerator cycling up to full power. As the Supreme Guardian and her entourage watched, a series of emerald-hued lightbeams shot from the pressure tube and began playing across von Doom’s body, head to toe, first vertically, then horizontally. He was being scanned.

  “All right,” the doctor said, checking the readings from the accelerator, “everything looks normal. .. given the circumstances. I think we’re ready for Phase Two.” He nodded to the technicians.

  Further calibrations were made to the controls. The roar of the accelerator increased in volume.

  The chamber in which von Doom stood filled with light. The former emperor stiffened, his head snapping back as the energy of the crystals poured through him, building in intensity until the bright green illumination not only surrounded him, it also poured from his open mouth and eyes.

  And then von Doom split in two.

  It wasn’t that his body fell in twain; it was that a second version of the tyrant—a more powerful-looking version, whose face was obscured by a metal faceplate—separated from the old man. With a shared groan, both Doctors Doom tumbled to the floor.

  Immediately, the technicians shut down the accelerator. At the direction of Dr. Stanton, his fellow physicians rushed over to help the men from the chamber and onto stretchers, where they began monitoring their vital signs.

  “By the blackened soul of my father,” Roma whispered, eyes wide with shock. “Now it all becomes so clear. . .”

  “M’lady?” Satumyne asked, clearly worried by her superior’s attitude.

  Roma turned to face her. “Do you not understand, Satumyne?” She gestured to the semi-conscious figures. ‘Two Victor von Dooms— one contained within the body of the other. One in his prime, one long since past.”

  “I can see that, m’lady,” Her Whyness replied. “Obviously, one of them is the real von Doom, but whi—”

  “No!” Roma shouted. “Both are real, Satumyne!” She pointed to the new arrival. “This is the Victor von Doom of Earth 616, as he has always been, unaffected by the power of the Cube.” She gazed at the older version of the despot. “And this man is an alternate von Doom, whose body has been ravaged by the cosmic energies he tried to control.”

  It took a few moments for the realization to sink in, but, slowly, the Majestrix began to understand what Roma was talking about. “Mi-tras wept...” she muttered in astonishment. “But then, that would mean. ..”

  “Yes.,” Roma said. “It would mean that we have uncovered the true flaw in the Cosmic Cube, and it is more than a minor mathematical error.” She stamped her foot in a very unregal manner. “Merlyn take me for a fool! I should have realized what was taking place sooner!” She turned on her heel, and began pacing up and down the room, deep in thought.

  Standing beside Satumyne, the doctor quietly cleared his throat, in an obvious attempt to get her attention. “Pardon me for asking, Your Whyness, but what exactly is this flaw you’re talking about?”

  “Are you familiar with the concept of a search engine on a computer, Doctor?” Satumyne asked. “It seeks out the type of information you’ve requested, and then presents the appropriate files for you to download onto the computer’s hard drive. It may take a while for it to compile that information because it will essentially ‘flip’ through hundreds, even thousands, of files before it gathers everything together for your use.”

  The doctor pinched his bottom lip between thumb and forefinger, and gazed thoughtfully at the floor for a few moments. “So, what you mean is that this Cube you keep mentioning is acting as a search engine of sorts.”

  “Exactly,” Roma said, joining the conversation. “However, a normal, fully-functional Cosmic Cube does not work in that manner. Once its possessor has activated its powers, the Cube’s energies physically restructure everyone and everything on the planet, all the way down to the molecular level.” She glanced at the twin dictators. “Von Doom’s Cube, though, was formed incorrectly. And because the device is flawed, it did not transform Earth 616 when he activated it. Instead, it scanned the worlds of the omniverse, located the version that closest resembled von Doom’s vision, and pulled it across time and space to layer it on top of the original. ”

  “That, I take it, would be the equivalent of downloading a corrupted file,” the doctor commented.

  “Indeed,” Roma concurred. “When the Cube’s work was done, every being on Earth 616 had been absorbed into the bodies of their otherworldly counterparts, their identities lost, their psyches forced into the subconscious of their ‘hosts.’ ” The Guardian frowned. “But that is not the reason the omniverse faces its greatest hour of peril; given enough time, I would have been able to correct that situation, with no ill effects to either world. But by plunging in and out of realities as it searched for the right world, the Cube’s energies infected an untold number of dimensions with a reality-cancer. The device has caused the protective barriers to weaken, and soon, worlds
that occupy the same space, yet lie in separate dimensions, will collide as they phase into existence in one spot.”

  “And now Magneto has exacerbated the situation,” Satumyne added. “By creating his own world, he’s caused the Cube’s taint to spread even further.”

  The physician turned to Roma. “Is there anything that can be done to stop it, Your Majesty?”

  “There is nothing that we can do, Doctor,” the Supreme Guardian replied. “Unless the two remaining X-Men are able to retrieve the Cube before the damage to reality becomes irreparable, the only function we will still be able to perform is to act as observers. To watch as the omniverse collapses in upon itself—just before we die. ...”

  9

  THE SUN was just rising in the northeast when Betsy and Xavier stepped from the jump portal, and into her room.

  _ “Now, as soon as you collect your belongings,” Xavier said,

  “our next stop is Paris. We can’t lose anymore time getting to Erik— we’ll have to confront him directly.” He looked around the room, peering into the darkness. “Where’s the light switch?”

  “Lemme get it,” said a slightly raspy, but all-too-familiar voice from the shadows.

  The ceiling light snapped on. Betsy and Xavier turned. Standing by the door was Rogue, clad in her trademark leather bomber jacket. The green-and-gold bodysuit she would normally wear under it, though, had changed—now, it was red and purple, and its style was similar to that of Magneto’s costume. One gloved hand rested comfortably on her hip; the other held the carryall.

  “Y’all lookin’ fer this?” she asked, holding it up. “Y’know, it’s kinda heavy for an overnight bag, but I guess that’s t’be expected... what with those weapons an’ all.” Taking her other hand off her hip, she gestured for them to approach, and smiled malevolently. “Why don’t y’all come on over here an’ get it?”

  Betsy groaned softly. “Well, this day could have gone better...” she muttered.

  The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood on end—someone was behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. On the other side of the room, Nightcrawler clung to the wall, barring access to the windows. He, too, was dressed in a Magneto-like outfit.

  “Much, much better...” Betsy murmured. She stepped away from Xavier, flowing easily into a combat-ready pose, her attention shifting from Rogue to Nightcrawler and back again, waiting for one of them to make the first move. “Professor, I think it’s time we were going. Now. ”

  “Just a moment.” Xavier tried what appeared to be his most comforting smile. “Now, Rogue, Kurt—I’m certain Erik must have told you a wild tale or two about Elisabeth and me, but I can assure you they’re not true. We’re your friends, not your enemies. We only want to help.”

  “Y’know, you’re right, Baldy,” Rogue said, and dropped the carryall. The small room reverberated with the sound of heavy metal objects crashing to the floor. “Erik did tell us some pretty incredible stories ’bout you, an’ the stuff you can do.” She stepped away from the door, balling her hands into fists. “An’ y’know what?” Her smile faded. “7 believe ’em. ”

  That was enough for Betsy. Focusing her incredible mental powers, she concentrated on a weapon—a very special weapon. Her right hand began to glow with rose-colored energy, the light solidifying and elongating until it extended a foot in length from her fist.

  It was called a psychic dagger, and it was Betsy’s most devastating armament—greater than her martial arts skills and sword-wielding capabilities combined. By plunging the blade into an opponent’s skull, she was able to “shut down” their mind, overloading their synapses with pure psychic energy. And it was accomplished without inflicting any physical damage. The effects it had on the person on the receiving end were temporary, but memorable—once they had felt the blade’s power, they were never quite the same.

  “Come on, then, you two,” Betsy said, kicking off her shoes. “The Professor and I have places to be, and no time for your silly posturing.” She tensed, preparing to spring at Rogue—

  And then psychic claws tore into her mind, sending her reeling in agony. The dagger quickly dissipated as she lost control of her powers; the room’s lighting returned to its normal, dull coloration.

  “It’s . . . Jean . . .” Betsy gasped, fighting to remain conscious. The room was spinning wildly, and she felt her knees weaken. She looked to Xavier. His hands were clasped to his head, his mouth moving in a scream she was unable to hear.

  The bathroom door opened, and Jean and Scott emerged. Betsy threw herself to one side, barely managing to avoid the blast of Scott’s optic beams that struck the spot where she’d been standing—it left a hole in the floor a foot wide. Her jump to safety, however, brought her right in line with Kurt’s fist. A three-fingered hand smashed against her jaw, and she crashed to the floor, her head glancing off the edge of the coils of a large metal radiator standing in a comer. Blood trickled down from a cut just above her left temple—if she didn’t staunch the flow soon, it was going to make seeing out of that eye impossible.

  She rolled to the left, hearing the whistle of air that streamed around Rogue’s fist as it rocketed toward her head. The punch connected with the radiator, shattering the rusted metal and sending shrapnel flying through the air. Betsy gasped as a half-dozen pieces plunged into her right thigh like miniature harpoons.

  This fight was not going well at all.

  And still Jean continued her psychic attack, though the pain in Betsy’s head had lessened a bit—it meant the red-haired woman was concentrating the assault on Xavier, who was trying, in turn, to overpower her and her husband. Betsy caught a glimpse of Scott being thrown against a wall as the Professor struck him full-force with his hoverchair. The former leader of the X-Men slumped to the floor in a daze.

  An azure-hued tail suddenly wrapped around her neck, cutting off her air as it pulled the lavender-tressed mutant to her feet. Kurt wasn’t giving her time to collect her scattered thoughts. Just the opposite, in fact—he was trying to choke her into unconsciousness before she could think of escaping.

  “Hang onto her, Kurt!” Rogue said. “I’ll finish this!”

  Lightheaded and off-balance, Betsy managed to grab hold of Kurt’s tail and pull with her remaining strength. Caught by surprise, the blue-furred mutant was tom from the cheap plaster wall, to collide with Rogue as she charged at Betsy. Both teachers struck the floor, their faces lightly brushing against one another on the rebound.

  It was enough of an accident to create chaos.

  Rogue, Betsy knew, was a mutant with an unusual—and unwanted—power: she was an energy leech of sorts. Anyone who made contact with her bare skin would momentarily be robbed of strength, of consciousness, of memories—they would all flow into Rogue. She would absorb their talents, their mannerisms, their personalities; in essence, for a brief period of time, she would become the other person, while her unintended victim lapsed into a short-term coma. And she had no control over this ability.

  Such encounters tended to leave her an emotional wreck.

  And that’s exactly what Betsy had been counting on when she hurled Nightcrawler into her friend. As cruel an action as she knew it to be, she’d had no other option—winning a battle meant relying on your enemies’ weaknesses . . . even if the enemies, in this case, were normally your friends. Had their positions been reversed, and Betsy been the one under Magneto’s control, she had no doubt that the X-Men would have done the same to her.

  Rubbing her sore throat and wheezing for air, Betsy slumped against the wall behind her and watched Rogue. The brief contact had had a startling effect on the Southern powerhouse: her skin was now the same deep-blue shade as Nightcrawler’s, her eyes fairly ablaze with the same golden glow.

  “Oh, God,” Rogue gasped, her attention now focused on her fallen teammate. “Kurt, I’m sorry!”

  “Elisabeth ...” Xavier croaked. Betsy turned to him. His head slick with sweat, shoulders hunched, eyes screwed shut, he was doing his
best to push back Jean’s psychic attack, but the effort was taking its toll on him. “You must... escape ...”

  “No!” Betsy cried. “I won’t leave you!” She leapt across the room and frantically grabbed her carryall, reaching inside the canvas bag for her katana.

  “You must..Xavier gasped. “If this mission ... is to succeed, you must get to .. . Erik . . . stop this madness . . . before it is . . . too late...”

  A loud groan from the floor near the Professor alerted Betsy that Scott was beginning to stir. With his remaining strength, Xavier reached into a compartment in his chair and pulled out the recall device. He tossed it to her.

  “Remember what we discussed ... about the Bond films,” the Professor said. “I’ll... be all right..

  Gritting his teeth, Xavier suddenly cried out, as though in terrible pain. Jean staggered back, clutching the sides of her head, and dropped to her knees. The Professor slumped in his chair—he’d obviously put all his remaining psychic strength into that countermove, and now he was both physically and mentally exhausted. For him, the fight was over.

  “Go ...” he said weakly. “Now...”

  Betsy knew he was right—she couldn ’t remain. With the Professor incapacitated, she couldn’t even consider the possibility that she might be able to hold her own against four of her teammates—between psi-powers and sheer physical strength, she was hopelessly outmatched and outnumbered. Add to that the fact she was cut and punctured in a dozen spots and growing weaker from blood loss with each passing second; her head was still aching from the combination of Jean’s psychic assault, the blow from Kurt’s fist, and the collision with the radiator; and her windpipe was now swollen and inflamed from Kurt’s attempt to throttle her with his tail, making it difficult to breathe properly, and it wouldn’t take all that much for the group to finally overpower her—or kill her, if that was their goal.