Board Thread:General Discussion/@comment-27324808-20160708020658/@comment-27324808-20160817182229

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  After getting the unconscious bodies of Cailan and Crimson Crateris into two of the few Nexus Force-spec cryogenic pods Leek Works had in its basement, Red leaned back against a dormant one and rested.  The fight was exhausting, both physically and mentally.  When she looked through the glass at the two sleeping minifigures, she almost saw them the way her father did: nonthreatening children, harmless, deserving of a second chance when they made mistakes - the same way she saw them a long time ago, when that perception was a fact.  How could such people, who were so innocent before, cause so much trouble now?

  Red sighed.  The generators were still down, so without their usual thudding reverberating around the subterranean room, she still heard, in their place, the two voices arguing.  It just so happened that the same room they were arguing in was the generator control room, so she went there to question why they hadn't been restarted yet.

  "Calm down, you two." Red scolded as soon as she caught sight of Intrepid, who was facing an elderly minifigure who had to be in his late sixties or seventies.  That man sat on a spinning chair, currently aimed at Intrepid, turned away from a large full size entertainment center full of displays and charts, and a Nexus Force Plaque reconditioned into a sort of control board.  Those were the controls for the generators.

  The man was tall, appearing almost disproportionately so, due to his incredibly thin torso hugged by a well-fitted gray suit.  It fit him so tightly, even the shape of his ribs could be seen through the cloth, and his arms were frail.  The man's body had evidently not aged well, yet on his face he wore a smile.  Folding her arms, Red couldn't help but smile as well, for as long as she could remember, Great Uncle Tiberius could put anyone in a good mood.

  Not Intrepid, though.

  Their conversation had transpired as follows:

  "You!" shouted Intrepid, upon recognizing this man.  For while he had never seen him before, there were features of his face he recognized as familial.  He shared eyes, eyebrows, and a nose with both Intrepid's father and Uncle Killian, while underneath his wrinkled skin his jawbone was a bit thinner, more like that of grandma Lucille Talmid's slender face.  His hair, a pepper colored gray, may have been black once.

  But this man was not Abe or Killian Talmid, and despite being the same age as grandpa Ben Talmid, with the twenty-year dimensional difference and things, this man was not grandpa Ben Talmid.  So who else could he be?

  This man could only be the arcane Tiberius Talmid himself.

  Tiberius Talmid had responded to Intrepid's exclamation of, "You!" and corresponding jab of his pointing finger, with a charismatic smile.  "I am afraid I have forgotten to take my meds today!" Tiberius said.  "Because I seem to be hallucinating my favorite nephew as a little boy!"  He laughed at his own joke.

  "You," Intrepid repeated, "have a lot to tell me."

"Apologies," Tiberius tapped the side of his head.  "I stopped talking to imaginary friends when my brother Killian was still infantile, and I saw him 'conversing' with characters out of story books, and he looked like such a fool!  So that's when I resolved to not appear so stupid, so excuse me while I abide by that now."

  In the corner of his eye, Intrepid noticed that Red had entered, and he whirled on her.  "What is he doing here?" he demanded.

  "Uncle Tiberius works for Leek Works." Red said.  "He built the generators for this place."

  Tiberius turned to Red and squinted.  "You're a lil' young to be hallucinating too, darling."

   Red looked at the ground and managed to stifle a laugh, while she explained, "It really is your nephew, Uncle, but from another dimension.  The one I told you about."

  "So it is, I knew it all along, I was just messing with you." the old man said with a grin at both, then he spun his chair around to face his control panel.  "The generators are indeed my brainchildren.  Such oxymorous creations; debatably hypocritical; even Paradox said it could not be done, accomplishing what I have!  Hmmm, it would seem the problem is a power drain!  Someone has siphoned my generators.  You two," he ordered, without turning away from his work, "you're young and strong, able-bodied and capable.  Go, refill the generators!"

  "Got it." Red said, and pulled Intrepid out of the room before he could protest.

  "I wanted to ask him what he knew about saving my family." Intrepid complained as she lead him away, but not disheartened, he still followed the back of her cloak over to the generators themselves, hidden behind a concrete half-wall in the most far-off corner of the basement.

  Intrepid looked at the generators.  There were two, looking like sets of large discs suspended in metal frames, facing each other.  There were intake tubes at their bases.  They definitely weren't the same generators that powered his fledgeling version of Leek Works, and looked so alien in a room he otherwise knew the layout of.

  "He probably wouldn't tell you, since whatever your dimension's Tiberius is up to, would be twenty years ago for mine." Red said ruefully, as they approached a locked sliding door next to the generators.

  “What do you mean?” Intrepid asked.

  Red explained, "He's worked here since I was born, but he doesn't talk about what he did before then.  Not truthfully, I mean.  He tells a lot of stories, but very few are from back then.  And they're all tall stories.  Like the one where he became king of some distant country, and fought a dragon singlehandedly, and pledged his life to the Darkitect… pretty farfetched."

  Intrepid nodded with understanding, not really understanding though, while Red unlocked the door.  But he had some ideas.  "Huh." he said.  "Almost like he wants to forget his past... mistakes?  If he's straightened out now, I should probably worry about what my Tiberius is up to."

  "He's your uncle though," Red reminded.  "And saving your family doesn't seem so bad."

  "Yeah, but they're dead.” Intrepid stated.  “And evidently his plan doesn't work, since I don't see my dad, mom, or sisters around here."

  "And look what happened to Luke Mercury's kids." Red agreed with a sigh.  The door let out a click as it unlocked and began to slide open.

  Inside this side room were several gray cylindrical containers.  Some were stacked on shelves and others just in a pile on the floor.  They were all unmarked, not even wearing "DANGER" or "FLAMMABLE" warnings like any approved fuel source would.  Red handed one to Intrepid, it was large and weighty but liftable, and the surface was cold to the touch.

  "So what's this stuff?" he asked.

  "I'd have to mind wipe you if I told you." Red warned.

  Intrepid rolled his eyes.  "Seriously?"

  "No.  Just promise not to tell anyone.  The council has enough scrutiny on us."  Shifting her hold on her own container to one hand, Red switched off her communicator and stepped over to Intrepid's side.  She whispered into his ear.  "The stuff is refined Maelstrom ore."

 

 

Chapter Eighteen

  Intrepid took a few moments to rhetorically pick his jaw off the floor, as it had dropped in response to the freight train of a proclamation that Red had driven on a collision course straight into him.  That was rhetorical as well.

  Now he exclaimed, “Whaaaaaaat?”  He felt like dropping the fuel barrel in his hands, but to do so might cause an explosion, or a fire, or inundate his base with MAELSTROM?!?!

  It was blasphemous.

  Leave it to Tiberius to create such a thing.  Intrepid shook his head.  The man was evil.

  Red sighed again.  “Don’t be like that, Intrepid.  It’s only Maelstrom in its source.  This is the last supply of ‘naturally’ occurring ore from Crux Prime, but it’s been refined so much… basically reprogrammed.  No one’s been infected working here.  No one can be infected.  As far as Maelstrom is concerned, it’s inert.  It’s just a really efficient fuel source.”

  “Oh.” Intrepid responded.  “Okay.  Sure.  I’ll buy that.”  He made a mental note to stick with the underpowered imagination generators in his version of things, though.

  They loaded four barrels of Refined Maelstrom Ore into each generator, enough that their computer systems each let out a beep to affirm full capacity, and then Red locked the room again.

  “Suppose that’s why Cailan and Crimson were here.” Intrepid started.  “They were lugging a Maelstrom shard when we first encountered them.  Now they, and suddenly Maelstrom forces, are attacking us.”

  “And Tiberius said the generators were siphoned.  I was wondering the same thing.” Red said, suddenly sounding dark.  “Maelstrom forces could only come from another dimension.  We’d be in big trouble if there’s another large-scale incursion about to occur, and it’s pretty obvious-“

  “-that my best friend’s kids are on the wrong side of things.” Intrepid finished, looking over to the cryogenic pods.  “We should interrogate them.”

  They approached the first occupied pod, Crimson’s.  Red tapped a few buttons on its numberpad, first a code to engage a containment forcefield, and another to open up the pod itself.  The pod began to hiss as its seams parted, and steam began mist out, the byproduct of the pod’s internal, sleep inducing atmospheric reacting with the outside air.

  “To think I was in one of those.” Intrepid said with a shudder.

  “My dad told me it was a traumatic experience.” Red shared.

  Intrepid shook his head.  “Everything about the Venture Explorer is a traumatic experience.”

  “It’s all I’ve heard about it.”

  As soon as the pod door had finished swinging open, Crimson began to stir.  There was nothing crimson about her, since she had dark hair, so Intrepid wondered why Grand Masterly Shadow, or whoever his spouse was, had named her that.  Maybe they hadn’t.  As soon as she opened her eyes though, Intrepid realized that he was mistaken.  Her eyes were red.

  Letting out a scream, Crimson lunged forwards but rammed straight into the forcefield, and was bounced back into the pod.  Looking at her two captors angrily, she shouted, “What do you want?”

  “Answers.  Who are you working for?” Intrepid demanded.

  There was enough room in the pod for Crimson to fold her arms.  “No.” was all she said, and then she shut her mouth and her eyes.

  “Let’s try the other one,” Intrepid said, and Red shut the pod again.  This made Crimson start screaming in resistance again, but she fell asleep as soon as the pod door sealed.  They moved to the next pod to wake up Cailan, and as soon as the beige haired boy’s eyelids had parted, and he glanced between the two of them, Intrepid got the feeling that he would be more cooperative.

  “Who do you work for?” Intrepid repeated.

  Cailan smiled and closed his blue eyes.  “No.” he said, and folded his arms.

  Okay, I was wrong.  Intrepid thought.  He rested his hands on his side of the forcefield.  “Talk or we’ll tickle you.” he threatened.

  Cailan laughed.  “I’m in the Guinness Book of World Records for enduring the longest session of pins and needles – and not complaining a darn thing about it.”

  Intrepid slammed the pod door shut.  “Is there even an entry for that?” he asked Red.

  “I’m afraid we’re not getting anything from them.” Red said dejectedly, as they headed for the stairs.  “We’ll just have to wait and see what the Maelstrom do next.”

  “You can,” Intrepid said.  “I need to get back to my dimension.  I have an appointment with an evil uncle and my brother, and my friends probably think I was smashed in a shuttle crash... or infected.  Kate too.”

  “I wish I could help with that.” Red said, truly sounding like she meant it.  They began to climb the stairs; a long flight of over fifty steps, so they had a long time to talk.  “There’s nothing I can do since the council disabled our transdimensional maneuverability devices...”  She pressed her lips together in thought.  “Actually…”

  They paused halfway up the steps to face each other and make eye contact.  The dark irises of their eyes reminded each of them of rings.  And from there, one specific ring: a ring that was ten feet in diameter, with a triangular base and two controlling levers, used for transporting minifigures to different dimensions.

  “Yes,” Intrepid agreed.  “That is a great idea.”

  They ran up the stairs from there, exiting out from a doorway in the connector hallway.  From there into the spiral hallway, they found Skilled Honored Ninja, Strange Odd Shadow, Ben, Allison, and Kate.  The former two were leaning against opposite walls, glaring at each other as if they had formed some otherworldly rivalry.  Kate had her hands on her knees, looking very tired out, but as soon as she caught sight of them she ran to grab Intrepid’s arm.  She immediately tried to speak, but her voice was cracked, and her eyes watered as she kept trying.  By the expanded shape of her eyes and how fast and wavering her voice sounded as it barely trickled out, he could tell that she was very distressed.

  And rightfully so, because as Intrepid scanned those around them, he realized someone was missing.

  Kate coughed, and when she was able to speak words all eyes turned to her.  The words she said confirmed Intrepid’s worry, a fear shared by the girl shaking in front of him, that they’d lost someone.  "Have you seen Cyclone?"

 

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  One Stromling fell to the ground, spinning around and hitting the stone hard.  His chest struck it painfully, his face stopping inches from the rock, as it had all happened so fast and he only barely caught himself.  Another Stromling had kicked him, and it was this one that laughed at him now.

  “Did you really think you could sneak in here?  Without me recognizing you?” his guttural voice filled the stone room.  “You disappoint me, Gallant Strong Cyclone!  Gallant as always, but not very strong now, if I say.”

  Cyclone grit his teeth and slowly rolled over to try and get up, but another kick sent him sprawling onto his back.  He let out a cry while the Stromling continued to laugh.  Around them, other Stromlings, Spiderlings, Mechs, and Apes watched from a distance, ambling about and trying not to look too interested, but they were watching nonetheless.  And not interfering.  Out of deference, honor, or fear?

  “Aren’t you surprised to see me?” the Stromling was continuing. Suddenly he raised his sword-arm right above Cyclone’s head, and brought it down.  Cyclone flinched but it wasn’t enough, the Stromling was too fast, and the blade stabbed down – into the ground next to his head.  “Say something!” the Stromling shouted.  “Did you think you defeated me?!”

  Cyclone’s lips quivered, but as the Stromling’s blade began to screech and scratch against the ground, getting closer, he suddenly found the urge to speak.  “I- I don’t know you!” he shouted.  “I don’t know YOU!  I don’t know who you are!”

  The Stromling pulled his blade up, his face taking on a frown.  “So it would seem,” he agreed.  “I don’t know you either.”  Cyclone watched him, worried of what he would do next, if for some perverted reason his identity was the only thing keeping him alive.  But then the Stromling got an idea and asked, “Tell me, Cyclone, what year is it?”

  “2012?” Cyclone answered, unsure what he was getting at.  “Januar-“

  “That’s enough!!” the Stromling interrupted.  “So you’re from the thirty-first dimension.  There’s no reason why you’re still alive.”

  “I was saved.” Cyclone said.

  “Not for long!” the Stromling cackled, and aimed his blade again.  “Our agent should have ensured your death.  She failed.  I won’t!”  Cyclone squeezed his eyes shut as the sword fell again, but when nothing happened for several seconds, he dared open them a crack.  He exhaled sharply.  The Stromling’s sword was inches above his heart, but for some reason he had not completed the action.

  “Yes….” the Stromling said to himself, and he began to lift the sword and Cyclone breathed again.  “This is good.  I will do better.  My master will be pleased.”  Motivated by greed, his sword arm morphed into a hand, and he rubbed the two of his hands together.  The Stromling turned away, then shouted, “Ansley!  Get over here and bind this Stromling.”

  “Boss, sir!” a voice replied, and then a Spiderling clattered over.  “Yo, sir, boss, bro, boss.”  The spider’s legs danced on the stone as he outlined his preposition most giddily.  “I helped lure him over, bro.  Put in a good word for me to the dark master, bro?”

  “SHUT UP AND DO YOUR WORK!” the Stromling yelled, and the Spider instinctively wrapped himself up in his legs.

  “Yes boss!” the Spider squeaked, and spat out a trapping web over Cyclone’s body, before backing off.  Cyclone struggled but was unable to move, as the web wrapped around him all by itself.  Then Cyclone felt himself lifting off the ground, as the dark powers that bound him could also move him.

  “A long time ago,” the Stromling said, as he began to walk away and Cyclone’s cocoon followed, “my master had a special interest in beings like you.  Minifigures so naturally gifted, so imbued with imagination, that he wanted to know how to infect you.  In the end, my master decided that smashing you was much easier.  So in all of the dimensions we’ve reached so far, your counterparts and all the ones like like you, have been smashed.”

  They continued out of the first room, a large cave, down a narrower stone passageway.  Cyclone’s eyes widened as the passage widened at its end, and approached a set of tall, gleaming obsidian doors.  So they were much closer to the Darkitect than he had ever thought!

  “For your own sake,” the Stromling continued, spinning around to face Cyclone before the doors, “pray that I can convince the Darkitect to resume experimentation, rather than extermination, of your kind!”

  “You’re the Darkitect’s personal slave.” Cyclone realized.

  “Advisor.” the Stromling corrected sourly.

  “If he’s already smashed,” Cyclone said softly, “so much of my kind… are you sure you can convince him otherwise?”

  The Stromling smiled most evilly.  “Certainly.  I will admit I lied about your interests, actually.  As soon as we proceed, you’ll wish you were smashed.”

  He then raised a hand into the air, and with a massive cranking of unseen gears the doors began to open towards them.  “I have more power over the Darkitect than even he realizes.” he proclaimed to Cyclone’s ears only, and then he turned around again to face the opened room’s interior.  The doors parted, and past the Stromling’s shoulders, Cyclone could barely make out in the distance, a towering form….

“Now,” the Darkitect’s advisor hissed his signature phrase as they entered the throne room,

  “allow me to demonstrate.”

 

End of Part Four