Issue #5 by Travis Hiltz
Mar 2024 |
Somewhere in central Europe...
The chamber resembled a movie set, if the production notes had said ‘mad scientist lair’. The lights were flickering, adding sporadic shadows to the surroundings. A dozen bodies were strewn about: some clad in the uniform of the United States military, a few in the blue bodysuit of the secretive government agency S.H.I.E.L.D. and a dozen in a distinct green tunic and cowl. “Lord, I hate these Hydra assholes,” Nick Fury muttered, reloading his pistol. “Med teams have touched down,” A thin, blonde man informed him. “You want to have that arm looked at?” Fury glanced down at his blood smeared coat sleeve. “Nah, not much of that is mine. Get me a head count. It’ll help the tech team, if we have a couple locals to provide tech support.” Fury walked across the chamber, pausing to give each fallen soldier a glance. At the far end of the cavernous room was a large bank of equipment, clunky cold war machinery wired to more modern computer tech. “Jesus, these idiots wanted to open the gates to other dimensions and this gear is practically held together with goddamn duct tape...!” He muttered, climbing up four metal steps to a square platform with a railing around three sides of it. “Yeah, this wiring is nuts,” The blonde agent said, studying the controls of a nearby bank of equipment. “Is this blue crystal a power source or a focusing...?” “ Jesus, Stillwell, don’t touch anything!” It was then that Fury noticed the metal square he was standing on, was starting to glow. “Stillwell!” “I didn’t touch anything!” Stillwell exclaimed, frantically studying the control panels near him. “There must have been some pre-set program running or maybe all those bullets didn’t help!” “Just shut it the hell down!” Fury snapped. He reached for the railing, intent on getting away from the glowing square and joining his teammate. Instead, Colonel Nick Fury found himself falling through infinity... Maria Hill climbed out of her rental car and pulled up the collar of her overcoat, as she walked across the parking lot and down to the beach. The coast of Maine in October was a bit too chilly for tourists, so it was easy to spot the solitary man sitting in the row of wooden deck chairs. “Fury.” She said. “Hill, have a seat,” Nick Fury said, tucking a bookmark into his paperback. She perched, waiting for Fury speak again. He seemed content to slouch in his chair, gazing out at the ocean. “Never get tired of this,” he said, quietly. “Just watching the waves....good for the soul.” “Fury, what the hell is going on with you?” “Mission goes bad,” Fury replied, not taking his gaze away from the water. “You lose people, and you see something that knocks you on your ass. You need to step away, catch your breath...” “Yes, people do, but you are not ‘people’! You are Nick Fury.” Hill interrupted, with quiet concern. “You went off the map. You know how many people panicked and have been looking for you? You know how much time I’ve spent, running interference, while trying to track you down?” “I know,” Fury nodded, absently. “And I appreciate it. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.” “Really? I have spent the last two weeks, tracking you and...goddamn it, you left me a trail of breadcrumbs to get me here!” “Yeah, and I gotta say, it’s a little disappointing how long it took you, Hill,” Fury said, turning and giving her a brief smile. “Getting rusty. Probably for the best, S.H.E.I.L.D. is moving you into administration.” “Yeah, yeah, you were running me around in circles,” She grumbled, sitting back. “ Because you are just that amazing. You’re James Bond and Shaft all rolled into one. Stop it. This is serious and I need you to stop screwing around!” Fury peered at his co-worker, thoughtfully for several heartbeats, then he nodded. “Okay. I need to talk to somebody: somebody I can trust.” He sat forward. “I need you to listen, Hill and I need you to trust me.” “Jesus, Fury, just tell me!” “I’m walking away. I’m done with S.H.E.I.L.D.” “What...?!” “Settle down. Listen to me.” “You can’t do that.” Hill said, quietly. “If you even tried...!” “This isn’t me asking,” Fury explained. “This is me telling you. I’m not thinking about, maybe doing this, someday. This is a done deal.” “This is insane,” Hill said, listlessly. “The world is changing, Hill,” Fury told her. “You’ve been dealing with it. Richards and all that crazy science shit and the superhumans. Along with all that, there is going to be a ton of political bullshit to shovel.” “Tell me about it,” Hill muttered. “Well, along with all that,” Fury continued. “Earth has kicked up enough fuss, that the rest of the universe has noticed us. Somebody has to deal with that.” “You?” “I’m not going to stand on the moon and shoot spacemen,” Fury grumbled. “You think I’ve been sitting on this beach, reading Dean Koontz the whole time? I’ve got an organization of my own in place, S.W.O.R.D.” “Wait, what...Haywood’s pet project?” “You threw enough appropriation money at Senator Haywood, trying to shut him up about his obsession with aliens,” Fury said. “So, all he really needed was somebody with contacts and an eye for detail.” Maria Hill sat back and watched the waves roll in for several minutes, processing all the information Fury had just dumped on her. Despite the massive security risk and serious political fallout having Fury at large represented, she had also been legitimately concerned for him, a man she considered a friend. Now, with a few sentences, he was telling her he was about to radically change the political balance of the entire planet. “So, what happens now?” She asked quietly, keeping her gaze at the ocean. “Well, first, you take a breath and try and unclench,” Fury advised, easing back in his chair. “I’m not your enemy and I’m not your problem to solve. We are gonna stumble over each other, going forward, can’t be helped, but we don’t have to be enemies. I’m going to have to deal with enough bureaucratic and political blowback. I’d like to know that you aren’t on that list.” “I genuinely like you, Nick,” Hill said. “And occasionally, I trust you, but that doesn’t mean you get a free pass. You can’t just announce what you are going to do, and expect I’ll let you just run wild.” “True, and that ain’t what I’m asking for,” Fury chided her. “You and me, are going to be way too busy to get into some kind of pissing contest. I know I’m dumping a lot on you, but you gotta adjust how you look at things. I’m stepping away from as much of the game as I can: S.H.E.I.L.D. is yours, if you want it and got the guts and energy to take it. Run the world how you want to.” “You couldn’t just get me a gift card, for my birthday,” Hill mused. “Don’t go treating me like I’m black Santa yet,” Fury said, with a grim smile. “The big chair comes with a million old white guys, ready to tell you what you’re doing wrong and how they’d all like to dump your ass to the curb and do the job better. Then there’s the ones who will just decide it’ll be easier if you’re dead. And you get to worry about Richards, Van Doom, Stark and every other whack job with a chemistry set.” “And what exactly do you get in this division of labor?” Hill asked. “While I’m running the entire damn planet?” “I got bigger things to keep my eye on,” Fury told her, gesturing upwards, casually, with one gloved hand. “You get the planet; I’m going to see about the rest of the friggin’ universe. You keeping the peace down here does no good if something out there decides we are more trouble than we’re worth.” He sat back in his chair, looking tired, but satisfied that he’d said what he needed to. “You are serious about all this?” Hill said, leaning forward. “What did you see?” “Remember when all the weird science and super types first started showing up?” Fury asked. “That feeling that the world had suddenly gotten bigger than we ever thought it was and a lot of what seemed important, suddenly wasn’t and the people who were in charge were likely to get us killed?” “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Hill said, nodding. “That’s what I saw,” Fury said, quietly. “Earth left the porch light on, and somebody out there noticed. We are not ready, and I have no faith in the men in charge. It’s going to take a lot of people, behind the scenes, to keep us alive long enough to hopefully get our act together. You think you’re up to it?” “Running the world...?” Hill muttered, glancing thoughtfully over at Fury to see if he was kidding. He looked back at her stoically. His expression gave nothing away. Fury was going to make her decide what happened next. It was her choice to make, her responsibility. Damn, the man! Hill sat back in her chair, scrunching down into her overcoat. “You can’t ever just drop a small pebble in the pond, “She finally sighed, getting to her feet. “Always has to be a boulder...” Fury merely shrugged in reply. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said. “And I may, someday, be able to wrap my brain around what you are saying and trying to do..., but in the meantime, try and stay out of my way.” “I’ll see what I can do,” Fury nodded. “Thanks for coming, Hill.” “Uh-huh.” “Do yourself a favor,” He continued. “Get a lobster roll, before you go back to the office.” “Bye, Fury.” “Be seeing you.” “Lord, I hope not.” “Oh, before I forget,” Fury called after Hill, as she made her way back across the sand. “Tell Sue I said ‘Hi’.” Hill gave him one final look, over her shoulder, before walking across the cold beach to her car. “He knew, didn’t he?” Sue Storm asked, materializing next to the parked car. “How does he manage to do that?” “Because he’s Nick Fury.” Hill replied with a brief, rueful smile. Somewhere in the jungles of south America... Monica Rambeau ran, wet branches swatting her in the face, roots threatening to trip her, and the rain left every inch of her and her surroundings damp to the touch. God, the rain! She was so sick of the rain. She’d been here, barely a week, and Monica hadn’t felt fully dry for a minute. If she survived this expedition, Monica was going to move to Arizona. She’d come down here as part of a group of scientific consultants, on lone from various government agencies and thinktanks, setting up some scanner equipment at an archeological site. Monica’d been thrilled at the opportunity, to both do field work and the chance to travel. The weather and the presence, art the site of military advisors from S.H.I.E.L.D. had dampened some of her ‘Raiders of the lost ark’ fantasy. And things had not gotten any better, even before they were attacked, and she’d had to flee into the water-logged jungle. “Okay,” She muttered to yourself, hoping it would help her focus and keep the panic down. “Let’s see what my options are...” She patted her pockets and the pouches on her belt. Her phone was intact, but the feedback from the scanners as well as the energy from...whatever it was, they’d activated down in the ruins meant she was getting no discernable, reliable signal. “So, a broken phone, my keychain, some skittles...yeah, whatever attacked us doesn’t stand a chance...!” Replacing everything, Monica took a deep breath, as she glanced around and thought about her next moves. She had a rough gameplan in mind, when she heard the footsteps. Monica froze, pressing herself against the nearest tree. She had no plan past keeping very still, holding her breath and hopefully not being killed. “Jesus, Rambeau,” A hushed voice said in a hush. “You scared the crap out of me.” “Oh Jack...! Thank God...!” Jack Truman was one of the ‘military advisors’ running security for the expedition. He and Monica hadn’t technically become friends, but he was one of the few who didn’t seem to have trouble being told what to do by a woman, or getting in on the betting pool of which member of the expedition would get her into bed first. She wasn’t sure if she liked Truman, but she respected him and knew she could trust him. He slid down, next to Monica, reloading his rifle, while keeping his attention on the surrounding jungle. “So, you want to tell me what’s going on here?” He asked, gruffly. “What do you mean?” She asked, glancing around anxiously, at whatever Truman was looking at. “Well, I think the whole idea that this was about archelogy went out the window when the 7-foot-tall blue warrior showed up and started killing people,” He muttered, giving her a sharp look. “What!” Monica exclaimed, before nervously lowering her voice, back to a hush. “What? You think I knew about this? I’m glorified tech support! You’re with S.H.E.I.L.D.!” The two glared at each other for several seconds. “Okay, we’ve both been jerked around,” Truman muttered. “What do we do now?” Monica asked. “Where were you going?” “Away from...whatever...whoever attacked us,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Not really much more of a plan than that...” “Well, now’s the time to come up with one.” “So, no pressure,” She muttered, crossing her arms. “Running away isn’t an option...?” “If we go in the right direction,” Truman explained. “It’s about a hundred and thirty miles, that way.” “If the comm unit wasn’t wrecked, we could call in an emergency pick up,” Monica suggested. “It’s just...” “Just means we have to go back to the site.” Truman nodded, exhaling heavily. “Have you seen anyone else?” “Once that...guy started shooting, everyone scattered.” She replied, having a problem focusing on, something to solve, helped her to push down the fear. “I have no idea who got away from the site, or...” “Yeah, I know,” Truman said, grimly. “I’m pretty sure most of my squad didn’t make it. We’ll deal with that later. What else is on your mind?” “It...He came out of the relic,” Monica said. “He might have been contained in it or it might be a...uh...portal of some kind. We have to shut it down.” “Okay,” Truman said, getting to his feet and offering her a hand. “Busy day. Let’s get moving.” “Just like that...?” “I’m working on it,” Truman said, adjusting his firearm. “And I’d rather think on the move than sit in a puddle.” He moved slowly through the jungle, Monica staying close enough that if he stopped quick, she’d bump into him. The path barely qualified. It was the faintest trace of bare earth amongst the roots, leaves and plants. Their progress was very halting. Truman paused at every sound that seemed out of place or possibly made by other footsteps. For all they knew, they were avoiding other scattered members of the expedition team, but couldn’t risk encountering anyone, until they’d reached the camp at the ruins and the communicator equipment. A half hour of stress and misery got them to the fringe of the camp. Monica and Truman hunched down in the bushes, peering around. A couple of the tents were still standing, undamaged. Most of the equipment looked damaged or at the least tossed about and scattered across the small clearing. “Looks like somebody threw a tantrum,” Truman muttered, glancing around. “Or couldn’t find what they were looking for,” Monica added, thoughtfully. “I wonder what...?” “One thing at a time,” Truman said, nudging her gently with his elbow. “Your pistol isn’t going to do you any good in your pocket. Come on.” Monica nodded and hastily got her pistol out of her belt holster and checked that it was loaded, and the safety was off. “Here’s the plan,” Truman explained, with quiet intensity. “Straight to the comm, get a signal out and then check on the relic, got it? No deviating, no wandering.” Monica nodded. “Okay...okay. What do we do if we meet the...um...him?” “Shot him in the face and then run,” Truman said. “Do not play hero, that’s my job.” “I can handle myself...!” “Yeah, I’m sure whatever BS self-defense course you took after zoomba class was great,” Truman said, grimly. “But let’s each play to our skill sets. Ready?” “No, but let’s go.” Truman gave an approving nod, and they crept out of the jungle, moving across the clearing. They moved quickly, ducking into the nearest tent. While Truman kept an eye out, Monica glanced over the debris, looking for anything that might help them. She pointed in the direction she wanted them to take. Truman lead the way. They moved quickly, pausing only so Monica can scoop up a cellphone, a knapsack and a few small pieces of equipment. “We good?” He whispered, glancing back at her. Monica nodded and they moved, cautiously, towards the main structure. The majority of the ruins were a series of caves and catacombs. Above ground, it was all crumbling grey stone. Most of the remaining walls were barely shoulder-high and draped with vines and leaves from the encroaching jungle. Debris had been cleared away from an opening that lead down a short set of steps to a tunnel. There was a slight downwards slant to the corridor, its walls were rough stone. The expedition had strung lights along the right-side wall. Several were now shattered, and the remainder flickered sporadically. “Where?” Truman asked, hushed. “Second chamber,” Monica replied, moving past him and into the low-ceiling room. “Hold it...!” Truman muttered at her. “What did I say about separating...damnit!” Glancing about anxiously as he dashed after Monica, Truman joined her in the chamber. He had to duck to keep from bumping his head on the stone ceiling. Truman stayed close to the doorway, glancing up and down the corridor, gun at ready. Monica moved quickly, fingers moving across the keyboard, adjusting equipment and checking connections. As seconds stretched into minutes, Truman’s nerves stretched thin as well. They’d seen no sign of anyone else from the expedition or their strange, savage, unearthly attacker. The lack of both was making him uneasy. He kept up a stoic face, but unless Monica Rambeau could get a mayday signal out, the odds of them ever seeing the outside world again were low. “Well...?” he asked, in an anxious hush, when his patience had held for as long as he could stand. “Maybe...?” She whispered back, with a shrug. “System seems to be working, nothing looks damaged, but...uh...with all the weird energy that...artifact thingee is throwing off, I can’t make any promises. Sorry.” “You’re doing the best you can,” Truman said, resigned. “We gotta...hold on...” They both froze at the sound of movement from outside the ruins. “Grab your stuff,” Truman said. “We gotta move! We’ll try for the artifact chamber.” Monica nodded, then fumbled anxiously about, dumping odds and ends into her knapsack. Just as Truman turned to give Monica some last-minute instructions, there was the whine of an energy weapon, and a body went flying past the doorway. Monica flinched and froze, as the body...one of the pilots, she thought, maybe Collins, struck the stone wall with a nauseating thud and tumbled to the floor. “Jesus,” Truman muttered, before lunging towards and grabbing Monica by the arm. “Come on, focus! Plan has changed: get to the artifact and shut it down.” “What, I don’t know...what are you going to do?” “Probably get killed. Move!” He shoved her down the corridor. Monica stumbled, struggling to get her breathing under control. There was a stretch of corridor, where none of the lights were working. She ducked around a corner, got the flashlight on her phone working and scanned her route. The lights were all smashed and there were scorch marks and what looked like smears of blood. “Okay, I’m fine,” she said, aware how unconvincing that sounded. Monica took a deep breath, tightened her grip on her knapsack and then bolted down the corridor, pretending that she didn’t hear the shouts and gunfire behind her. She missed a turn and had to backtrack, and by the time she reached the chamber she was seeking, Monica’s heart was pounding, and she was blinking perspiration out of her eyes. Unlike the rest of the structure, the artifact chamber was a broad, high-ceilinged room. Even before the attack, the chamber was chaotic, cluttered with makeshift tables, equipment and discarded containers. Despite all the clutter, the artifact still dominated the room. It resembled one of those full-sized, baroque antique mirrors: a doorway-sized oval, framed by heavy, ornate metal frame. The metal had a dark bronze hue and despite being buried down within these tunnels and rooms, there was not a hint of tarnish. The expedition hadn’t even found any dust or dirt upon it. Monica and the other scientists, technicians and archeologist had studied the artifact. Their tools could barely scrape off a sliver to analyze and they had struggled to identify the symbols on its base. Days of scanning with every piece of equipment they’d brought, a few they’d jerry-rigged and a lot of trial and error had led them to connecting the artifact to one of the expeditions’ portable generators. Monica had no idea what order they’d pressed the symbols, but some combination and the power, had brought the artifact to life. The polished surface glistened with rainbow colors like an oil slick puddle. And that was when all hell had broken loose... Shaken and scared as she was, Monica breathed a sigh of relief that their attacker had cleared the bodies out of the artifact chamber. There was no way her ability to concentrate would have survived with a corpse in the room. “Okay,” She breathed, looking around hurriedly. “No idea about the symbols...just disconnect the power...uh...that’s my best bet.” Studying the thick bundle of cables connecting the artifact to the mini generator. Then she heard the noise. Not from down the corridor, but within the room. One of the workbenches was covered by a brown tarp. The faint scrabbling noise was followed by a hint of movement. She hurried over and pulled back a corner. “Professor Flumm...!” “Go away!” The balding scientist exclaimed, attempting to pull back his covering. “What are you doing here? You can help...” “No!” He said, shaking his head vigorously. “Go away! He won’t hurt me. I stay quiet until he has a question!” “You’ve been...helping him?!” Monica said. “You can’t...that...he has killed people...your friends and colleagues...!” “And I’m still alive!” Flumm muttered, huddling back beneath the table, making himself as small as possible. “Jesus...!” She breathed, straightening up and dropping the corner of the tarp. “Yes, a pathetic specimen.” Monica froze. Forcing herself to keep breathing and not cry, she turned around. The being in the doorway was not the seven-foot-tall terror Jack Truman had described. He was tall and muscular, but lean, like an athlete, rather than a bodybuilder. He was clad in a white body suit with red gloves, belt, boots, collar and a half helmet with a small fin on top. It all had the faint sheen of plastic, like body armor, but he was able to move like it was all cloth. He held a staff, that seemed to be made of modular pieces of yellow plastic. The part of his chin and lower face that showed below the helmet was a light blue. He peered down at Monica with an odd mix of curiosity and disdain. They locked gazes, the frightened young woman and the alien warrior. “Why?” She finally managed to say. The blue man cocked his head slightly, as though slightly surprised by her response. “You must be tested,” He responded, simply. He spoke English, but with a slight accent. Monica was unsure if he had some device translating for him, or if he had learned the language and was struggling to speak it. “You must be tested,” He continued, matter of factly. “The Kree must know.” “Know? Know what?” “If you are worthy.” The warrior responded, as if speaking to a child. “You opened the portal, now you must be tested and judged. Is your world a worthy challenge or is it merely to be processed by the Sentry.” Monica stood, stunned. Her friends and colleagues were being beaten and murdered as some kind of test, to see if they were worthy of being invaded! “You...the Kree are...monsters, my god...!” The warrior gave a quick shrug, as though what she said, was not worth responding to. Monica, even in the grip of her panic understood that, somehow, she was the last resort. The others had been beaten down or killed outright by the Kree. She and Flumm might well be the sole survivors. She also had a vague notion that this encounter was significant. The Kree was speaking to her because her being here had rated her as worth his attention. The artifact, the portal, was important and her flailing efforts must mean something, as she couldn’t imagine any other reason, she could be doing anything to rate this warrior’s attention. Somehow, her being here meant something...! Monica glanced from the Kree to the artifact, then briefly down at her belt of pouches. What did she, the tech girl, first time in field, have that rated the attention? Her closeness to the artifact and the ability to think...? “Come away, little female,” The Kree said, holding out his free hand. “Acceptance of defeat is a noble act.” “No,” Monica said, in a stronger voice than she felt. She drew her pistol, and pointed it, with a shaky hand, at the Kree. The blue warrior sighed again, with that faint disappointed air, of earlier. “Put away your toy,” he said, sternly. “You do not wish to be judged as a warrior.” Before her nerve broke, with the faint, desperate makings of a plan in mind, Monica fired. She followed Truman’s advice and emptied the gun, with one alteration to his instructions. Her first shot caught the Kree in the chest, ricocheting off his body armor, causing him to stumble back a step. All her remaining shots, she quickly turned and unleashed upon the thick cable and the generator, powering the artifact. As the cables split, they sparked and snaked. The lights on the mini generator flickered. “No!” The Kree snapped, bringing up his battle staff. “You stupid cow!” Behind her, Monica could feel the heat and energy, as the portal flared. His cool demeanor gone, the Kree lunged, striking towards Monica with his staff. Seeing the energy blast coming at her, Monica stumbled backwards, tripping over her discarded knapsack. So, the energy bolt missed her, singeing her hair as it shot past, and stuck the rainbow energy sheen of the portal. The alien construct erupted with a burst of energy, that struck like an ocean wave, filling the low-ceilinged chamber, melting wiring, burning cloth and wood. Monica felt lightening play across her skin and her eyes saw colors she didn’t have names for. The Kree roared as his staff exploded in his hands and she vaguely registered Professor Flumm staggering from the room, his clothes smoldering as he clutched his temples in pain. Monica struggled to her feet, trembling as she turned and was struck, full force by the geyser of energy from the portal and the blast from the shattered alien staff... Monica woke, no idea how much time had passed. The air was cool, and she lay on something soft, something that encased her, like a sleeping bag made of puffy plastic. She opened her eyes, and it was like staring directly into a searchlight. Even with her eyes shut, Monica could see a frantic lightshow behind her eyelids. She let her body slump, too exhausted to even wonder what was going on and why her whole body was tingling. She heard sounds and voices, vaguely, at the fringe of her awareness, as sleep crept up on her... “Truman going to make it?” “No idea. He looks like shit, but ‘special projects’ has already claimed him.” “And her?” “Word has it Hill and Fury are fighting over her.” Several months later, New York... Carol Danvers sat, ramrod straight in her uncomfortable chair. They had offered her coffee, and she had merely shaken her head. She wasn’t the only one on this floor in full military uniform, but still those that passed by the open doorway had given her quick, taken aback glances, and then looked away. She was not quite a pariah, but until the military tribunal passed down a decision, her status and reputation were in limbo, everyone she had encountered were guarded and unsure how to treat her or even if they should aknowledge any familiarity with her. Carol sat, letting the background sounds flow past her, keeping her gaze straight ahead and forcing her eyes not to glance over at the slow-moving wall clock. A man in a dark overcoat walked past the doorway, then stepped back and glanced inside. He was a tall, bald African American man, with a neatly trimmed goatee and a sinister looking eye patch. Strolling into the room, he glanced around casually, while pulling off his gloves. He then sat down in the chair next to Carol, tucking his gloves into his coat pocket. “How’s it going?” He asked, leaning back. “Do I know you?” Carol asked, not shifting her gaze to spare the new arrival a glance. “No. No, you do not. But I know you, Captain Carol Danvers. Until recently, the golden child of the USAF...Captain Marvel.” “What do you want?” She asked, keeping a tight grip on her temper, as she looked over at him. He returned her glance and fished what looked like a cellphone out of his pocket. He glanced down at it, then back up at Carol. “You seem to have a low bullshit tolerance, I like that, so, let me tell you some things and then ask you a question.” He said. “Whatever decision they hand down, you are never going to fly again.” “What?” “Four things can happen: you go to jail, you get an honorable discharge and are grounded for life, or they stick you in a windowless basement office, until you hit retirement age.” “What are you talking about?” Carol protested. “I told the truth! I know what I saw!” “I know,” He nodded. “And I believe you: you saw what you claim you saw, and the crash was not due to mechanical or pilot error. You are telling the truth, and you know what? Most of those serious, old white men at your hearing know it too.” “But, if they do, they...!” Carol started to protest. “Yeah, it doesn’t matter,” The man with the eyepatch continued with a shrug. “What matters is that things like what you saw are kept quiet and secret. Those same men are trying to keep things under control, and don’t much care who they have to throw under the bus. You are collateral damage, Captain Danvers.” They were quiet for several moments, the wall clock clicking the only sound. “What’s the forth option?” Carol asked, quietly. “Huh?” “You said four things and then only listed three.” He nodded, apparently approving of her comment. “Or you can come work for me.” “What? I don’t even know who you are...?” He sat up and offered his hand. “Colonel Nicholas Fury, director of S.W.O.R.D.” “What’s Sword? “It’s an acronym. Sounds really impressive when you list it all out.” Fury explained, with a brief smile. “It’s also an organization I’m putting together. The world is changing, Captain Danvers and it’s got a lot of people like the men in that room scared and a lot of people like you are getting treated badly, when they need help and someone to listen to them and believe them. I need people who can help me, and I think you might be one of them.” “What would I have to do?” She asked, curious despite herself. “Gonna be a fair amount of admin and political bullshit to deal with,” he said, with a resigned frown. “No getting away from that. I also need someone with a more grounded eye. I’m having to unlearn some old habits. I need someone to help keep me honest.” “That sounds like a full-time job.” “We got a good dental plan,” Fury continued. “And we’ll let you fly.” “But, what if...?” “Did I mention we’ve got, not just planes, but also our own spaceship?” “When do I start?” Carol asked, taking the offered hand. An undisclosed location... The corridor shook and the lights flickered. Carol Danvers stumbled out of her office, made her way through the stampede of hurrying soldiers and technicians. She came out on a balcony, all white plastic, silver and glass, overlooking an octagonal shaped courtyard below. Emergency lights were flashing, and there were signs of damage to a set of double doors. “What the hell...?” She muttered. “We’re having some trouble with our other ‘new arrival’,” Nick Fury said, appearing at her side. “I’ve been reading her file,” Carol said. “Maybe, if you treated her less like a science project...?” The lights flickered and a tremor went through the railing Carol was leaning on. “Fine, I’ll go talk to her.” Fury said. “God, that’s the last thing she needs!” Danvers said. “Your people skills still include ‘shot them in the head’ as an option.” “I can put Lawson’s team on it. They’ve...” “This isn’t about siphoning more energy off of her,” Carol interrupted. “You’ve been doing that. Far as I can tell, she’s practically powering this place. We need to put more effort into reaching the person, not being scared of her power. I’ll talk to her.” They took the stairs down, as the elevators were unreliable with the power surges. Fury waved away the tech crew and security troops outside the warped and singed double doors. Carol Danvers, in her red and blue bodysuit and jacket, moved amongst the crews, in Fury’s wake. With a nod, Fury instructed two techs to push open the jammed doors and let Danvers through. Like the rest of the S.W.O.R.D. station, the round chamber was all white plastic and chrome. The entire back half circle wall was a massive bank of equipment, of which Carol understood maybe a quarter of it. She did notice that nearly every dial and monitor was in the red danger zone and most of the lights were flickering spasmodically. In the center of the room was a raised structure resembling some kind of massive science fiction snow globe, set on a white plastic, enclosed in thick safety glass. The huge globe flickered wildly, as a wild bolt of multi-colored energy ricocheted about the interior of the globe. The structure shook, but the glass held. Carol stood for several minutes, hands in jacket pockets, as she watched the unearthly lightshow. Occasionally, the blasts and flares would slow down, and the energy took on an almost human silhouette. “Hello...?” Carol called, unconsciously taking on the slightly louder tone you adopt when talking to small children or people who English wasn’t their first language. “Can you hear me? I’d like to talk, but it’s really hard when I have to keep blinking. Can we talk? Just for a couple minutes...?” For several minutes it looked like a contained lightning storm, there was a flash and a young African American, wearing the tattered scraps of a white bodysuit was lying on the floor of the globe. “What...what do you want...?” She said, slowly sitting up. Her eyes flickered with blue-white flashes of light. “My name is Carol Danvers, Monica...can I call you Monica?” She said. “I’m a friend of your mom’s. I’d like to help you.” The Beginning... |