Doom 2099UG #13

The night fell like thunder over the African plains, as a spiral of clouds natural and unnatural descended upon hillsides strewn with the blood-soaked carcasses of man and beast. Black billows of smoke breathed their dying fires into the darkening skies, hiding broken husks of burnt metal cannons and shattered dreams of peace. Shadowy figures huddled beneath the leaden skies as the fury of the heavens boomed fearfully from above, but the threat of rain was still many miles away. Furtive shadows moved like vultures in the night, black creatures racing across the grasses, beams of liquid death spewing forth from guns that roared with a deafening symphony of devastation. Children, driven from their homes, gathered in flimsy tent shelters that flapped noisily in the wind while soldiers marched past with faces grimy and grim. Eerie yellow eyes, inhuman, and as old as time, stared out of the murky gloom and licked bright white fangs not yet satiated by the feast, still hungry for fresh meat. And the dry thunder rolled across the plains, as oblivious to the struggles of the creatures below as the thunder had ever been, for uncounted millennia.

On a high rock outcropping far from the fighting, one man stood alone, a dark silhouette against the miasma of clouds that painted the night sky. One man defiant, here at the nexus of the dawn of man. One man unrivaled, who felt the thunder wash over him but feared it not. One man, who would dare to tame the thunder! Doom!

His cape whipped around him in the wind as he stood atop the rocky kopje where days ago Billy Sinclair had found what would be a most prophetic human bone. The red lenses of his silver mask glowed luminously in the growing darkness, as flashes of lightning reflected eerily off of his polished armor. In the distance, the sounds of battle echoed the booming thunder, and his fist clenched reflexively. Small trees bent helplessly in the stiff wind, but Doom stood erect upon the jumbled boulders. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the hillside with the infrared sensors built into his mask. Even as he silently searched, he felt his heart flutter, as it had when he first saw this place, moments earlier. The sense of recognition he had felt then was growing ever stronger. The answers were in the bones that still lay hidden somewhere on this isolated outcropping in the middle of a grassy African plain.

"Couldn't this wait until morning?" Billy asked pleadingly, as he held his hat and braced against the gusting wind, struggling to maintain his balance on the rocky hillside. "I don't see how we're going to find anything in this bloody storm!"

"No," Doom answered simply without looking at his reluctant guide. Still scanning the hillside, Doom turned away from the man and stepped lightly down some large jagged boulders. The darkness of the moonless night didn't seem to impair his ability to navigate the rough terrain, and his movements were sure and precise. Sinclair scrambled down behind him, his mind still full of the events of the past few hours.

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Earlier.

"What do you mean, you built it?!" Sinclair asked incredulously. "That's impossible! The warrens were originally constructed more than 70 years ago!"

"Don't believe him," Dr. Norbitt whispered hatefully from behind her work bench. She eyed the armored monarch with undisguised mistrust. "He's lying! He's an evil, back stabbing murderer!"

Doom appeared not to have heard her. "Naturally there have been additions and modifications over the last half century," he continued, "I had not intended this facility to be stagnant. It was one of many ventures I conceived shortly before the great wars and the genetic purification which decimated half of the civilized world. There were things of importance that I alone recognized were worth saving, despite the objections of those so-called 'scientific intellectuals' who let their research be led by their fears or worse, their pocketbooks. Cloning was all but forgotten by modern man, but here, only HERE, it flourished! And reached its grandest conclusion, producing a viable species from the smallest bit of genetic material, a species capable of sustaining natural reproduction and flourishing once more in its natural environment! Adapting as nature intended, with the appropriate guidance. Only I had the insight and foresight to give the theoretical science this tangible vitality!"

"If you were so proud of it, how is it that we escaped your notice all these years?" Sinclair asked suspiciously.

Doom turned away from the computer panel and looked at him. "There were literally hundreds of projects that I had teams working on at the dawn of the twenty-first century," he answered calmly. "With all the years and the social upheaval that have passed since then, it is a testament to my planning and vision that any of them have survived at all. They were naturally designed to operate without my direct guidance, so that my work would continue should any . . . unforeseen event, take me away. Now that I have returned, I suspect that more of my projects will begin to resurface." He did not mention the annoying memory loss that still plagued him. It would be unseemly for his subordinates to recognize any sign of weakness in their Master. He turned back to the computer panel, and began accessing the databanks.

"After he is through praising himself," Musleh whispered to his friends, "perhaps he can spare a moment to rescue our friends who are now fighting to save his experiment."

Dr. Norbitt shot him a withering glance. "You don't actually believe that drivel about creating the TKU?!"

Musleh shrugged. "Why not?" he said. "What does it matter to me who created it? As long as it is still here tomorrow!"

"It matters to me!" she hissed back at him. "It is my life, shock it! And he murdered my father!"

"Dr. Norbitt," Sinclair started gently, "Lupe . . . He just might be telling the truth. There was never any record of the benefactor who set up the warrens, and the computer did recognize him, after all."

"He could have reprogrammed the recognition protocols when he was alone in the tunnels! The system is networked throughout the warrens, all he would have to do is open a mainline from one of the feed panels," Lupe shot back in a coarse whisper. "Or my father could have given him access before he died! That only proves he was here before! He lies to win your trust, but he cannot be trusted!"

"It isn't your trust I require, Dr. Norbitt," Doom intoned deeply from where he stood a few meters away, still seemingly intently engaged at the computer terminal. The trio of friends turned to him with surprise, unaware that he had been listening to their whispered conversation. He turned to look at them over his shoulder, and his eyes gleamed with hidden menace. "Only your obedience!"

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The South African Corporate Coalition (SACC)

Governor's Palace, Johannesburg, S. Africa

The Governor of Domestic Relations, Mr. Gustav Hauptmann, was addressing an informal table of SACC military and political leaders when the messenger rushed into the conference room.

"The blacks in Division 6 are gaining too much freedom from the steady border conflict," Hauptmann was saying, "there aren't enough men to keep them in line and production levels in the factories are at the lowest they've been in decades . . ."

The boy stood quietly at the door, his face ashen as he held a single note in his shaking hand. He looked from Gov. Hauptmann, who was standing, to the Prime Minister, seated in a wide chair, uncertain as to whom he should address first. His well-pressed uniform showed his nervous breath as he stood smartly at attention just inside the door.

"Well? Speak up, boy!" Hauptmann growled.

"Private message for the Prime Minister, your lordship," the messenger answered quickly.

"Bring it here," the Prime Minister answered, holding out his hand.

The messenger obeyed and handed over the note in the now silent room. Quickly he left, closing the door behind him.

The Prime Minister donned his glasses to read the message, and a grimace crossed his face. "Blast," he said loudly. He looked up from the message, quickly folding it and placing it in his coat pocket. The others looked at him expectantly, and he obliged their curiosity. "Our worst fears are confirmed, gentleman," he stated solemnly. "This was intelligence from our field operatives inside the TKU. They confirm that Doom has assumed control of the TKU military operations, and will be backing their efforts with support from Myridia. It is safe to assume that the SACC will be his next target of acquisition."

There was a murmur of surprise around the room. "Our reports from Myridia would not support that information, sir," Mr. Walden Wise, the Governor of International Commerce protested "Their domestic situation is still too unstable following the cyberspace attack they endured only a few weeks ago. They have been negotiating in good faith to ease economic sanctions against the SACC, and I foresee progress in that arena."

"Typical smokescreen," the Governor of Defense offered disdainfully. "With Doom leading TKU, our only hope is to take a stronger offensive."

"I agree, David" the Prime Minister said, and he stood up. "It is time that we end the TKU's selfish domination of African lands. They have wasted precious resources that could be put to better profit than a wildlife preserve. We must end this conflict now, and we must do so decisively. It is time to order an air strike against the TKU fortifications."

"I must protest, Prime Minister!" Governor Wise objected. "Our resources are already stretched to the limit in this conflict. We risk losing all control over the Mozambique border, not to mention the lost productivity and the increasing independence of the Division 6 blacks!"

"I disagree, Mr. Wise," the Defense Governor spoke again. "A quick, decisive air strike will break their resolve and force Doom to retreat. We've already got them on the ropes, perhaps we can hit that Latverian while we're at it!"

"We cannot sustain a lengthy attack of this nature," Governor Altimus from the New Technologies Division interjected. "We don't know if their perimeter defenses are still down. But if we take out their command post from within we will have a better chance of a successful attack."

"Agreed, we will set it into motion ASAP," the Prime Minister ordered decisively.

"But, sir!" Mr. Wise tried again.

"This meeting is adjourned gentlemen," the Prime Minister finished, standing as the others made their leave. "David, will you stay a moment?"

"Of course, Mr. Prime Minister," the Defense Governor walked with the Prime Minister to an open balcony overlooking the modern city before them.

"This alliance with Doom has me deeply troubled," the Prime Minister admitted.

"He is an unknown still, Robert," the Governor answered thoughtfully. "His allegiance may not be all that it seems. Certainly when last we spoke he appeared willing to assist us."

"He never had any intention of assisting us," the Prime Minister spat. "That much was obvious. If he is who he says he is, then the history books say that he is a man of low birth, a gypsy." The Prime Minister grimaced distastefully, stopping to light a cigarette and look out over the teeming city below. "Not much better than the rabble we are forced to deal with, and hardly the birthright worthy of a king. Still, I had not suspected that he would lend his aid so readily to the TKU. His presence there is a danger to our mission and our country. He must be dealt with."

"I have taken the liberty of assembling a special team to administer an appropriate remedy, sir," the Defense Governor added knowingly.

"Hmm, yes, well, I have heard that he is very well protected," the Prime Minister eyed his companion knowingly. "It would be far too dangerous to let him escape. Will your team have the tools necessary to get the job done?"

The Governor nodded. "Let me show you," he said, pressing a keypad on his wrist. Responding to the signal, a man stepped quickly into the room and approached the two dignitaries. He wore a jet-black combat uniform, and strode confidently toward the men, stopping to sharply salute. "The Captain here has some new technology we've been developing just for this occasion. If you'll be kind enough to show the Prime Minister, Captain?"

"Certainly, sir." The man reached into a holster at his belt and pulled out a small device which unfolded like a pocket knife. Folding out the two sides formed a handle, and from the center he pulled a thin flexible filament which extended beyond the handle approximately 8 inches. He held out the device in his open palm.

It didn't look like much of a weapon, and the Prime Minister's disappointment showed in his face.

The Governor stepped in to elucidate. "It's more dangerous than it looks, Prime Minister," he explained. "When charged, the argon shielded power shiv, or ASP, runs a low frequency electronic pulse along this wire, becoming as tough and as deadly as the sharpest blade ever developed. It can cut through flesh like water, and most armor like paper. It has been tested against numerous adamantine alloys and has proven the most effective tool we have. It is primarily a close contact weapon, but it can project a destructive pulse of energy as far as 50 meters. If you'll demonstrate, Captain."

"Yes, sir," the Captain stated obligingly. He flipped a switch on his belt pack and the little device began to hum. He held it carefully in both hands, the wire end pointed away from the men. The wire began to glow, and the humming grew louder. He watched the meter on the box carefully, and when it reached charge, he depressed and released a small button on the shiv. There was a loud whap! Then across the room, a table and vase shattered into splinters. He turned it off, and handed the device to the Prime Minister. "One or two blasts per charge," he instructed. "The shiv will remain charged for cutting for fifteen minutes, as long as the blast feature isn't used."

"Hmm, very well, if you're certain this will work against his armor," the Prime Minister stated, calmly looking over the device.

"As certain as we can be, sir," the Captain responded.

"You will only get one shot at this Captain," the Prime Minister handed the weapon back to the officer. His grey eyes turned cold. "Failure is not an option. Is that understood?"

The Governor of Defense looked away briefly, but the Captain's gaze remained calm. "Perfectly, sir," he answered confidently.

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Later.

Near the base of the rocky kopje, Doom studied the terrain carefully. He placed his gloved hands on top of a huge boulder, and seemed to be thinking. He did recognize this place, but from when he wasn't sure. He kept remembering falling, falling . . .

"I remember . . ."

"I am Doom . . . I am Doom!" I know nothing but these three words, it is the mantra to which my sanity clings. I am falling out of the sky . . . naked . . . my skin on fire as if newly born. The land rushes up to meet me. A whoosh of air escapes as the impact with the ground slams through my lungs. A moment of searing pain sends my consciousness into a black, quiet place. I struggle up from the abyss, and crawl defiantly toward the light.
"I am Doom . . . I am Doom . . . I am . . ."

I lay motionless, at this same level place near the bottom of the short hill. It was daytime, not night, and my memory flashes between the now and then as one might flip through the pages of a book. There was a stinging against my face and the taste of blood in my mouth. I lay for uncounted moments on the short grass, trying to catch my breath. My hands clutch the earth reflexively, spasms of joy and pain interchangeably firing my aching muscles, the comforting warmth of the sun on my bare back. There was the gentle kiss of wind through my hair, and the sweet rich smell of the warm earth. Finally, I open my eyes. "I am . . . alive." Silence. There are no hounds. "I am home?" The pain in my bones is ignored as the intellect takes over. I take a deep breath at last, dismissing the sharp pain in my chest as I appraise my current situation. The air is sweet and clean, filled with the musty scent of wild animals. My eyes focus on several zebra grazing nearby, and a solitary giraffe looks down on me from high above before slowly loping away. Not "home" . . . Africa! What has brought me here? I move my head, daring to see more of my surroundings.

I am not alone here. My confusion is completely forgotten now as every frayed nerve is instantly on edge. There is someone else lying only a few steps away in the grass. Someone, or something . . . metallic. It is motionless, dead? No, there is a trace of movement, as the breastplate lifts laboriously with each breath. Armor? Yes, unfamiliar, but . . . not . . .

No! I am Doom!

My blood freezes. I am too weak to move, but I dig my fingers into the earth, ready to fight if need be. I struggle to rise, lifting myself onto my elbows to see the figure more clearly. It is covered head to toe in shining armor, laying face up on a red cape, and I see the eyes move toward me beneath the red lenses of the silver mask. There is anger in those eyes, and fear too. He is . . . Doom?

"Margaretta . . ." he says weakly, "help . . . me."

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"Doom? Doom?! Are you all right?" Billy Sinclair looked into that masked face with concern. Doom lifted his head and looked at him with surprise, his trance like reverie interrupted. "You've been standing like that for almost five minutes! Didn't you hear me?"

"No, I . . ." He turned around. A flash of lightning in the distance reflected eerily off his armor. He turned back to face the jumble of rock. "This place is not what it seems," he answered. He turned back suddenly, raising his gauntlets high to point at the rocky pile.

"Wait a second!" Sinclair shouted as he hurried to get out of the way. Doom's silver gauntlets began to glow with energy, forming a bright blue circle of lightening between his hands. Carefully, Doom pushed the building energy ball forward, until it completely encompassed the huge boulders that covered this side of the kopje. The glowing energy surrounded the rocks, then penetrated them, until they too glowed with frantically energized atoms that bounced frenetically against the artificial enclosure, struggling to break free! The energy surge formed a halo of blue photons, lighting up the dark plain like a brilliant new moon, visible for miles around. Doom stood like that for uncounted minutes, surrounded by and a part of the energy, until suddenly, he let loose with a single bright conclusive pulse of energy, and the wall of rock disintegrated!

Sinclair was awestruck by the display of power, but maintained his skepticism of this madman's actions. "And the point of that was . . .?"

Doom stepped up to where the boulders had once covered this stretch of earth. Yes, now it was exactly as he remembered it. He knelt down in the dry depression where the jumble of boulders had been, the earth still smoking from the energies which had freed it. The thick smoke obscured even the stars above, and Sinclair lost sight of Doom momentarily. He cautiously walked up behind Doom, but he didn't see what the Latverian was looking at until he was almost on top of him. As he approached, Billy's disbelief dropped with his jaw over what lay in the dirt before him.

A brilliant white human skeleton was embedded into the earth at Doom's feet. It was nearly intact, except for one missing leg. Sinclair could tell right away that it was the same type of bone that he had found in the lion's den only a few meters above them. Doom had managed to modulate his gauntlet's energies so that only the surrounding rock was disintegrated, leaving the earth and the skeleton unharmed. He had known that the skeleton was here! But how?! Doom lifted the skull from the earth. The bone was amazingly durable, and had suffered only a minor crack along the parietal bone at the crown of the skull, probably from the boulders that had tumbled down onto it unknown years ago. There was a tiny tatoo, barely visible along the mandible, just below the teeth. Doom didn't have to examine it to know that it was the same bar code he'd seen on the femur, and that it identified this skull as "DOOM 2080 - Pacific NA." Whether or not he now understood what that code meant, he did not say.

Sinclair was curious, but he respected the other man's silence as the armored monarch crouched beside that strange burial. He looked away for a moment, and as he did he saw something that he had not noticed a minute ago. "Hey, there's something else here!" Sinclair shouted, as the smoke had cleared sufficiently for him to see a dark and ominous shape in the rock wall beside them. His rifle was instantly off his shoulder, and he inched forward intently. So it was that he missed seeing Doom reach across the fallen skeleton to remove a small black chip, the size and shape of a domino, that was still clutched in the dead man's bony right hand.

Sinclair moved cautiously forward, and found himself at the mouth of a large cave. The cave's entrance, hidden for unknown years by the fall of rock, was damp and full of hanging roots and giant silky spider webs. Inside was even darker than the night outside, and he fumbled in his pocket for a flare. As the cave lightened, he immediately saw a stainless steel door, conveniently placed only a few feet inside the rough rock wall that surrounded it. There didn't seem to be any handles or controls on the door, but there was a familiar triangle-shaped emblem on the surface of the steel and a square black pad on the wall beside it. Sinclair examined the black pad, which looked suspiciously like a palm print key pad. Just then, Doom stepped up behind him so quietly that Sinclair had to jump.

"Return to your transport and make your way back to the lab," Doom ordered quietly, moving between him and the door.

"Wait a . . . who was that guy anyway?" Sinclair protested. "And this looks like one of our doors! This must be another tunnel we didn't know about!"

"Do as I say, Sinclair," Doom said shortly, turning his back to the other man as he carefully removed one of his metal gauntlets. "If you want to save your companions, you must warn them that an SACC air strike is imminent. Their pilots will most likely use the storm clouds to cover their approach, and the PAD computer system still has forty-two minutes before repairs are completed."

"An air strike?! What makes you think that the SACC would risk something that desperate now?"

"It is patently obvious. That, and it is precisely what I would do, were I in their position," Doom replied casually.

"But . . . but you could help us! Isn't that what you promised to General Nyirenda?!" Sinclair complained. "What are you going to be doing?!"

"That is none of your concern, Sinclair," Doom shot back angrily.

"The bloody hell it isn't!" Sinclair argued defiantly. "We're not some experiment that you can manipulate without regard for the consequences! You have no right to build up our hopes and then dismiss us when it no longer suits your purpose!"

"Wrong, Mr. Sinclair!" Doom hissed back ferociously. "It is YOU who have no right to question ME, nor dictate what I should or should not do! I could kill you where you stand for your insolence and have no more care than I would for a lab rat! Because until now you have been nothing more than mice in a well-oiled maze, blissfully following the orders spat out by a computer program that you never bothered to understand nor control. If you seek to fashion your own destiny now, you must step outside the program and take it into your own hands! If not, have patience, and in 40 minutes the computer will begin running your life for you once more!" Doom turned around and placed his bare hand on the keypad. The huge metal door opened with a well-oiled whoosh.

Sinclair got a glimpse of a large room packed with machinery and monitoring equipment that suddenly began humming to life as Doom stepped into the room. "What of the TKU?" he finally asked, his bluster temporarily deflated. "Don't you care what will happen to this country should the SACC ever gain control of her?"

"Your misconception is that I am actually interested in this miserable little self-serving new age enclave you dare call a nation," Doom answered coldly as he turned around in the doorway. "Let me assure you that as far as I'm concerned, you have served your purpose. My participation here was only to gather the information necessary for me to attain goals that are far beyond your limited intellect! Insofar as this insignificant little war is concerned, once I've completed extracting the necessary files from your computer, my work here will have been completed, and I will leave your countries to settle your disputes however you see fit!" With that, Doom activated a control that closed the door, leaving Sinclair alone again in the darkening cave.

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Bodo was puzzled. The young black boy wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew in his heart that the big lion that they had named Len, was not a bad animal. Something had been done to him to make him attack the man in the armor, and it wasn't the lion's fault. [See Last Issue!] But as the adults were arguing over something he didn't quite understand, there was something he did know. When he was six years old, he'd adopted one of the stray dogs that often wandered around M'tuto shantytown, living off whatever scraps they could find outside the meager huts his family called home. Bodo didn't so much as own the pup, that was not allowed. However, he did save little bits and pieces of his own dinner and whatever food he could scrounge, and hid them in his shirt to feed the mangy little dog when it came around their hut. The dog was tamer than most, and let Bodo scratch his ears and it even licked his face with a warm pink tongue on occasion. But one day near the wall, one of the SACC guards kicked the little dog when it got too close to his lunch, and more out of fear than anger, the dog had snapped at the guard. In the next instant the little dog was dead, shot through the head by the SACC guard. His mother had explained to a grief-stricken Bodo that any animal that dared to bite a man was a dangerous creature, and had to be dealt with swiftly and mercifully.

Bodo remembered that lesson now as he stared at the sleeping lion through the bars of his cage. There was a noble magnificence to its broad forehead and shaggy mane that the young boy recognized intuitively. It would be a cruel mistake to kill the lion, was the thought that kept repeating in his mind.

Bodo looked carefully toward the door where Dr. Norbitt and Musleh had disappeared moments earlier to check on a disturbance in the tunnels. They could be back at any moment, his only opportunity was now, or never. He pulled open the door to the cage and knelt by the big lion's head, but the lion did not stir from its em-induced slumber. The device that Dr. Norbitt had attached to the lion's forehead was still there, so Bodo reached over and grasped it in both hands, gingerly pulling it away from the flesh. The lion instantly snorted, opened its eyes, and yawned, exposing broad white teeth and a pink tongue that curled delicately at the end. Bodo held his breath, wondering if the lion would attack him. But Len simply moved his massive head to rub affectionately against the boy. Bodo laughed, and buried his face in that shaggy mane as he gave his friend a welcoming hug.

There was little time for heartfelt reunions though, for Bodo knew that the two adults would be back soon. He secretly feared too, the return of the armored man, not knowing if Len would spontaneously attack the visitor like he had done last time. Fortunately, the boy had already formulated a plan. In scrounging around the lab moments earlier he had found a long forgotten doorway behind a heavy bookcase. He had been able to move the bookcase with some effort, and in opening the door he found a tunnel that led off into the distance. He didn't know where the tunnel went, but there was no time to find out. Leading the lion gently by the mane, Bodo guided him toward the waiting doorway.

"Come on, Len," he prodded, "we have to get you out of here!"

Len needed little prompting. When he saw the doorway, he headed through it boldly, and after sniffing the air for a moment, the lion began to trot swiftly down the long corridor, leaving his human escort behind.

"Hey! Wait up!" Bodo cried, as he hurried off after the loping lion.

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Topside, Billy Sinclair was racing back toward the underground lab where he had left his friends. He was also contacting General Nyirenda at TKU battle camp a dozen miles west of his position via the vid-phone on the hovercar he was piloting.

"That's all I know, General," he was saying. "Doom says to expect an air strike under cover of the clouds. The automated defense systems won't be ready for another . . . thirty two minutes, so you'll have to hold them off until then and pray that PAD starts working on time!"

General Nyirenda's white haired head turned to bark an order to his aides, "Evacuate all non-combat personnel to the underground shelters, and intensify radar and magnahelix sweeps of air space! Let's try to get some targeting anti-aircraft lasers online while we're at it!" He turned back to the vid phone. "We've been holding our own against the ground troops, Doom's strategy appears to be working out well," Nyirenda stated. "But an effective air strike could prove disastrous. What word have you of Doom?" he asked.

Sinclair frowned, then said, "He's not coming to help, General," he answered sadly. "We're on our own, now."

"That is unfortunate," the General replied with calm fortitude, hiding his disappointment well. "Where are you headed now? We could use your piloting skills against those bombers!"

"Sorry, General, but I'm in no shape to fly combat until this arm heals," Sinclair lifted his wounded left arm, still partially bandaged. "I'm going to head back to the lab and help our people to safer refuge. The lab's one of our installations likely to be targeted by those bombers, and I don't think it would survive a direct hit, even underground."

"Very well, then," the General answered, "but be careful. There are still enemy soldiers in the warrens too, and we may not be able to spare anyone to initiate a rescue."

Sinclair recognized what the General meant. If he was going behind enemy lines, he was going on his own. "Understood," he answered shortly. "Good luck, sir."

"And to you as well, son," the General replied. "Nyirenda out."

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Doctor Norbitt arrived back in the lab just a few minutes later, and instantly noticed something amiss. "Bodo?" she cried, looking about the shambles of the room, her normally orderly lab in a state of disarray after the distressing events of that afternoon. "Bodo?" she called again, "Bodo, where have you gone? And what have you done with the lion?! Oh, shock!" she ended, as she opened the door to the very empty cage. The discarded neural transmitter on the floor caught her eye, and she picked it up. A look of frustration and worry crossed her broad black face as she imagined the worst that could have happened.

"Musleh! We have to find Bodo!" she called to the Indian companion just entering the lab. "He's gone somewhere, and taken Len with him." The scientist ran to one of the locked cabinets at the back of the room. She swiftly opened the cabinet and removed a heavy laser rifle from its secure position, slinging the weighty weapon over her shoulder. Hurriedly she grabbed a number of battery packs and stuffed them into the pockets of her lab coat.

"Where has our young charge gone?" Musleh asked glancing about the room. There were two other entrances into the large laboratory complex, and a third that he'd never noticed until now. Musleh walked over to the door that was slightly ajar behind a heavy bookcase. "Now this is a very strange place indeed for a door," he commented quietly.

"Do you think the SACC troops could have got him?" Dr. Norbitt replied worriedly, noticing the door for the first time also.

Musleh's answer was interrupted by Billy Sinclair dropping in out of the airlock travel tube. "No time for explanations folks," he announced as he stepped out of the clear plastimetal tube. "Time to head for deeper cover. Musleh, get it in gear partner, we have to get the rest of the staff to the sub-levels."

"We seem to have lost our prisoner, and our lion as well, Billy," Musleh answered.

"There are SACC troops in this section," Dr. Norbitt added nervously. "They've broken through at the maintenance yard, and are headed this way."

"Then we haven't any time to spare!" Sinclair cried. "Do you think Bodo's gone down there?" he asked, looking in the hidden doorway where his friends had gathered.

"In all likelihood, yes, since this door was still concealed behind the bookcase when we left him here a short while ago," Musleh answered.

"Someone will have to go after him," Sinclair answered. "We have to evacuate the rest of the staff to the shelters while there's still time!"

Just then a loud warning siren echoed loudly through the underground complex.

"What the . . . ?" Dr. Norbitt asked above the shrill din.

"Air raid," Sinclair responded with a grimace. "Doom was right. They're here. We're running out of time!"

"You two take care of the others," Dr. Norbitt ordered, suddenly pushing Sinclair aside at the doorway. "I'll find Bodo."

"Dr. Norbitt, wait! It's too dangerous! There could be enemy troops down that way!" Sinclair protested.

"No time to argue, Billy," Dr. Norbitt responded. "You two will be faster without me. Besides, it's my lion!" She turned away and started quickly down the hallway, calling over her shoulder, "Don't worry! I'll meet you in the basement in a few minutes!"

"But . . ." then Sinclair was silent as she disappeared from view. "Bloody hell," he muttered, then turned to his friend. "First Doom, now Lupe. You're not going to get all heroic and do something stupid now, are you?"

"Not I, Billy" Musleh replied, and added with a wink, "at least, not until I can collect on that two hundred credits you still owe me!"

"Well, if a bomb lands on our heads, all bets are off," Billy replied as they hustled out of the lab and headed toward the staff's living quarters.

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Doom sat in near darkness in a quiet, private room as still and as cold as a tomb. Reams of data were silently streaming across multiple monitors that formed a glowing bank in front of him. Equipment which was as familiar as his own teeth lined the vault from floor to ceiling. Half-built robots and an incomplete suit of armor lay gathering dust along the edges of the room. Gleaming weapons, in pristine condition, were suspended by anti-grav beams in a macabre display in a small alcove off of the main room. A lab bench, with beakers of bright liquid and neat rows of tubes and distillation machines, was covered in thick dust and adorned with silky cobwebs. The stuffed head of a hyaena, with grimacing teeth that glowed brightly in the dim light, was mounted on one wall. It was, indescribably ugly. But it was the only natural thing in the room, and perhaps it had a hidden meaning that was known only to the room's designer.

All this was seemingly lost on Doom, whose undivided attention was focused on a single glowing monitor upon which his mirror image hauntingly appeared. The man on the screen wore the same armor he had worn to his final victory over America, and the image spoke in a voice as clear and precise as his own. This, this . . . Other, sat where he now sat, and addressed the screen as his private audience, his words pouring forth in an uninterrupted stream of consciousness. These were his private logs, and it had taken Doom less than a minute to deduce the secret password that had redundantly hidden them in this sealed room, safe from all other eyes until now. Certainly it was unnerving, to see this man who was he, but was not, speaking in his voice, gesturing as he did, the very essence of his thoughts and manners and inflections a perfect match to his own. Only these were not his words, and this was not his memory. Of that he was certain. For this Other, was dying.

His replica addressed the screen. "The current treatment regimen has stalled the cellular degeneration by a full 74 percent, however, the cure has proven almost as debilitating as the disease, and I dare not return to the Pacific Citadel until my strength is regained. Dr. Norbitt continues to fail me in our attempts to identify a complete remedy for my condition. I have confidence however that a solution is within my reach. He who was my predecessor, the one who designed and constructed this facility, was a brilliant strategist. This enclave of genetic scientific achievement survived undiscovered for years while quietly laboring away at the highest level of research into the mystery of life, mutation, and ultimately the survival of the human race. The finest geneticists in the world are nurtured here in this secret fortress, protected from the corruption of outside corporate interference. Could he have foreseen that this facility would prove to be the sole salvation of his rightful successor? Yes, his insight was grand, as was mine in finding this one place unknown to her, this one refuge, where I may search for a cure in peace. Still, Margaretta's manipulations of the genetic structure are far beyond what anyone else on this earth has been able to achieve, adding to my suspicions that she is not what she appears. However, this body has already outlived its programmed life expectancy by almost a year, and that certainly has my vile nemesis foaming at the mouth. Good! I plan to deliver more surprises before I am through!"

Doom fast forwarded the track to another entry: Frrzzzt! "I am beginning to exhibit symptoms of decay in all major organ systems. I have augmented the second generation nanotech in my blood stream, but these have proven to effect only a temporary repair. I will continue to search for an alternative solution while Norbitt and his staff pursue research into sub-cellular replacement therapy and genetic acculturation to the diseased tissue."

Frrzzzt! The red cloak floated to the chair as the Other sat down hurriedly. He was agitated. "I may have acted rashly in my treatment of Dr. Norbitt. His prodigious ineptitude at finding a cure has heightened my growing sense of evanescence. My attempt to recreate the Ovoid mind transfer procedure from my past life has met with complete failure. I can only assume that once again Margaretta has tampered with my memories to keep this option safely out of reach. This, coupled with my increasing physical infirmity has forced me to continue to sequester here until a viable resolution can be found. I continue to monitor world events through my various agents, but I find I have little energy left for superfluous sparring with my ageless nemesis."

Frrzzzt! "The treatments I have devised are no longer effective, and the cellular degeneration has now accelerated, as if making up for lost time." The Other laid his head briefly in his open palm, as if tired beyond measure, or lost in thought. "I concede that she has designed this trap well. Yet I refuse to return to her lair and subject myself to her games and layers of deceit. She has followed me across the globe in a vain attempt to engage me in some meaningless folly, but her motives are suspect, her true agenda, unknown."

Frrzzzt! "I have detected the evil hand of the Neon Angel once more, stirring the pot of political intrigue and world events. Fair Latveria has fallen to a mercenary scoundrel, and she thinks this action will draw me out of my hiding. But, I dare not leave my sanctuary in my current, infirm condition. The Doombots I sent to deal with Tiger Wylde were flawed, and they have been unable to oust the usurper. I have neither the resources nor the time to mount an adequate offensive from here, nor do I dare, for risk of alerting Margaretta to my presence. Damn that treacherous witch! She will pay for this heinous affront!"

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Just outside a deserted hallway, Bodo slipped quietly through an open doorway into a large, vacant room. "Len?" he offered shyly, looking for any sign of the once wild lion. He found himself standing inside a large hall cluttered from floor to ceiling with paintings, pottery, hand woven baskets, ancient Masai spears and masks, piles of newspaper, several stuffed native animals including an enormous bull elephant, stone tablets, and any number of artifacts of historical significance to the continent of Africa. Never having had much of an education, most of this collection held little significance to the 13-year-old boy. Yet he was intelligent enough to be awed by dust-covered relics he did recognize, and the dates on the yellowed sheets of newsprint showed him that some of it was very old indeed. He ran his hand over one sheet of newsprint that proclaimed Nelson Mandela as the first black president of South Africa. The year was 1994.

"A black man, President?" he said to himself. "How could that be?"

He shrugged, and moved onto a giant mask, carved from wood with fearsome, exaggerated features. Even in the low light and the years of neglect, the bright colors that had once enlivened the mask's features were vividly intact. He lifted the spear from it's resting place. Behind it was a glass case, with a partial skull carefully displayed. The bone was glued together in places, brown and obviously very old, with a black clay-like material filling in for the missing pieces. It looked almost human to Bodo, but not quite. Attached to the glass case was a gold plaque with a long word he did not understand, "Australopithecus Afarensis," and under that a single name which he did recognize, "Lucy." On top of the case was a faded photograph, curled at the edges. The black and white image showed a number of black men and women gathered about some round mud huts. The men wore little but loincloths and carried spears and heavy wooden clubs. Some of the women were half naked with little children in tow or slung easily on their hips. They seemed relaxed, almost joyful, as some pointed or laughed secretively among themselves at some event which had brought them all together, a moment captured in time from some long ago age. Clearly visible in the background was a man in a dark cape and armor, similar to, but not exactly like, the armored man he had seen in the lab earlier today. There were no dates or marks on the photo. Curious, but unaware of the significance of these artifacts, Bodo replaced the photo and the wooden spear where he had found them, and moved further down the hall. His wonder at the strange mix of artifacts had blurred his intentions, and his eagerness to find the escaped lion was no longer foremost in his mind.

So it was his fate that he stumbled upon a large poster, hanging from a pole with a number of other, similar posters. Most of the images seemed to declare one name or another for a future political office, but this one was different. He immediately recognized the handsome black man that dominated the center of the poster. He was neatly dressed in white shirt and tie, and he carried a leather satchel. His eyes looked away, as if to the future, bright with hope and promise beneath closely cut tight black curls. Bodo caught his breath as he recognized the image he'd seen so poorly reproduced in the temples and secret shrines of M'tuto shantytown. It was none other than the Prophet himself. The Messengers of the Prophet, who had sent Bodo to cross the minefield (See Doom 2099 UG #47), had deified and worshiped this image for decades, and his prophecy of renewal and triumph for black South Africans is what had sustained them and unified them when their world had become an asylum of slavery and repression. Yet, the words beneath the feet of the Prophet did not make sense. Bodo, who could read a little, felt a lump in his throat as he read those words, and tried to connect what he saw with what he had believed for all of his life. In bold letters, the poster proclaimed, "Join us and Protect the Profits of Africa!" and smaller letters underneath instructed, "International technical training centers now open! See your local recruiter today!". Bodo stood and stared, his jaw tightly clenched, and fought back the tears as he slowly began to comprehend the lie that they had lived for so long.

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Doom was growing restless. Or perhaps, the logs were triggering unpleasant thoughts. He paced the room, letting the Other speak freely once more. "Dr. Norbitt is dead." The Other was silent for a moment. Doom looked up, wondering if this was the end. "No matter," the log continued, "his line of research was flawed. It appears that I will now die in this wretched hole. I have cut off all contact with the remaining TKU staff, having exhausted their limited knowledge. They can go to hell for all I care, the miserable, mole-like wretches! I should never have trusted their puny efforts to begin with. My mighty predecessor was duped, the fool! There is no fountain of youth, no elixir of eternal life! I have reached the inevitable and unenviable conclusion, and the last of my energy will be best directed along another track."

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The SACC bombers came flying out of the night sky like hellions of fire. Wholesale destruction rained out of their bellies, leveling land and buildings across the embattled countryside indiscriminately. Bold pilots strafed the nearly abandoned command post, fearlessly streaking past as flames leapt into the sky behind them. Inexperienced gunmen on the ground could barely follow the erratic movements of the swift enemy planes, much less target them with ground to air laser fire. The dark sky was equally filled with brilliant beams of light and voluminous clouds of black billowing smoke. The TKU troops on the ground could do nothing but cower in their bunkers, praying to their gods that their next breath would not be their last. In the tunnels below, the bombs' shrieking fury loosened reenforced steel support structures and sent chunks of concrete and red earth crumbling into the corridors as whole sections of tunnel gave way under the barrage.

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The bombing had disrupted the playback of the computer log as power was momentarily cut off to his secret sanctum. It had taken him a few minutes to reroute power, but Doom seemed unconcerned with the bombardment from above, and he proceeded at an unhurried pace. The room was now lit by emergency red lights that reflected hauntingly off of his expressionless steel mask. As the log played on, Doom continued his solemn pacing, listening attentively to the droning of his twin as he examined evidence of the other's work on the benches and in the books still scattered about. Occasionally, he would fast forward the record to find the crucial details of the recorded journal.

Frrzzzt! "I now predict that I have six months left to live, maybe less. But I refuse to lie down and die like a dog! By my blood, Margaretta will not win this day! I pledge my last breath to it. I have begun to look to the past now for my salvation. There are clues in secret places that I have gathered, artifacts, morsels of information that were left behind. Doctor Doom has been dead in this century for eighty years or more, but he didn't just disappear! I must know what happened to him, why he left, where . . . how. When. I begin by sorting through the memories I was programmed with, the knowledge, incomplete though it may be, that I was given at my most unholy conception, and try to extract the core knowledge of Doom!"

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In the tunnels, Billy and Musleh had moved a huge chunk of concrete to free some of their countrymen trapped in a damaged section of the warrens. When the last of the scientists was clear, the two weary rescuers sat down on the tumble of rock for a well-needed break. Above them, the bombardment had paused also, although by Billy's timepiece it was clear that their automated defensive system would not be ready for at least ten more minutes. He wondered if they could hold out that long.

"Movement, Billy," Musleh whispered suddenly at his side. The savvy tracker pointed his motion detector to a part of the tunnels that should have been deserted. That could only mean one thing - enemy troops! "This way," Musleh added quietly.

The two men hurried cautiously over rubble in the darkened tunnel until they got to a kind of balcony overlooking a larger chamber and connecting tunnels beneath them. The radiance from the emergency lights bathed the room below them in a deep crimson, but the circular opening where Sinclair and Musleh crouched was draped in concealing shadow. There was a whisper of movement in the lower chamber, and the two men crept forward, their guns ready at their sides.

At first they could see nothing, then they spotted the furtive black shapes moving from one bit of cover to the next in precise formation. The intruders were using hand signals to communicate, and so moved seamlessly and silently through the unfamiliar territory. There were a dozen soldiers in all, clad completely in black from head to toe, with weapons exotic and ordinary strapped to every conceivable place on their bodies. They passed right below the two men, moving swiftly into an adjacent tunnel, apparently blind to the small audience several meters above them.

Musleh raised his gun, taking sight of the lead officer, but Billy placed a hand on the barrel, gently lowering it. Musleh looked at him with a questioning glance.

"Leave them," Sinclair instructed with a whisper.

"That tunnel leads to the chamber where you left Doom," Musleh protested quietly.

Billy nodded. "I know."

"That was no ordinary strike team, Billy!" Musleh added as they backed out of the tunnel. "Clearly it is an assassination team. They can only have one goal in mind if they are headed down that way!"

"I said leave them!" Sinclair answered angrily. He frowned, then explained, "Doom has abandoned us to our fate. Let him now face his own!" Shouldering his weapon decisively, Billy turned and stalked silently back.

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Doom listened as the recording of his diseased twin continued, recognizing with a clinical detachment that the tone had grown steadily more frantic as death approached. He advanced the playback to another entry in the personal log. Frrzzzt! "I am Doom! I AM Doom! This is madness! I remember . . . I remember," the voice faded to a resigned frustration. "I remember nothing of this place. Try as I might, there are elements of my memory which have been erased, including the conception and construction of this underground sanctuary. Yet my research has conclusively revealed that it was his! His hand and his genius are everywhere I look, in every program, in every manifesto, everywhere. Yet without full restoration of that knowledge and those memories, I am surely doomed. The answers must be in Latveria. I will search further, while my minions abroad continue to collect all remaining records and artifacts connected to the late Victor Von Doom. These remnants, his words, personal records, detailed research, and inventions of my . . . his genius, they are not for the common rabble." He held up a golden disc. "Information such as this would be disastrous in the wrong hands. The Neon Angel has already proven that. If necessary, all records of Doom on this earth will die with me!"

A warning flashed on an adjacent console, and Doom immediately stopped the playback. He stepped over to the security monitors. A black garbed SACC assault team was inching its way past one of the still active hidden security cameras. The bombing of the underground warrens had damaged some, but not all, of Doom's concealed defenses, and the enemy soldiers were moving unopposed down the wide white corridor. He watched closely for a moment, as the team leader consulted guidance systems and an energy signature beacon. Doom immediately recognized their purpose and intent, as the energy signature that they were following was none other than his own. He nodded. They were right on time. His hand went instinctively to a nearby switch and lifted the cover which guarded it from accidental activation. Then he stopped. There was another unauthorized person in the corridors, caught on a separate monitor but still within the sphere of his automated defense. He considered this for only an instant, and was about to callously activate the switch anyway when he saw a second person enter the field of view. He paused again, this time drumming his fingers angrily on the console in agitated thought. A decision reached, he covered the switch again with its red guard, turned away from the monitors and promptly marched out the door.

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Lupe had followed the disturbances in the dust on the floor, easily tracing Bodo's steps to the forgotten library of African relics. She cringed as the sounds of explosions boomed through the tunnels, but the destructive forces seemed to be far away from where she was now. The large black woman turned to look back the way she had come, and hoped that her friends were unharmed. Up ahead the hall was lit by the emergency beacons, but the path was still clear. She kept her weapon ready, and cautiously hurried forward.

When she found Bodo, the boy was still in the hall of history. The learned doctor spared a momentary glance at the gathered artifacts, but then focused her attention on the boy. He was standing perfectly still, and with his back to her he had not heard her approach. His black hands covered his face, and his bare shoulders shook slightly.

"Bodo?" Lupe touched his shoulder lightly. The boy turned, and his face was streaked with tears. "Shhh . . . hush now, child," Lupe said comfortingly, instinctively circling the troubled boy gently in her large arms.

Bodo let himself be cradled for a moment, then pushed away, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "I'm all right," he said quietly, "I'm all right." He touched the hanging poster, to show the doctor the source of his grief. "The Messengers, they've been wrong all this time. The Prophet isn't really coming, is he?"

Lupe looked at the poster and sighed. She knew a little of the Messengers of the South African provinces and their religion, so she recognized the icon depicted on the poster. "Ah, Bodo," she stated, struggling for the right words, "faith . . . faith is what you believe in your heart, little one. Perhaps you should not take this, so literally. But we have to go back now, and seek shelter. Hurry."

Bodo pulled free of her grasp and reached for the poster. "I have to show them this," he announced, "I have to show them proof that they were wrong." He tore down the poster, ripping it a little, and then rolled it quickly down to a size he could manage, smoothing it carefully in his hands.

"Come," Dr. Norbitt instructed impatiently. "This way!"

"You cannot go that way," a deep voice announced out of the darkness, as a giant shadow stepped into their path.

Lupe gasped, and pulled the boy close as the armored bulk of Doom appeared out of the gloom and marched toward them.

"You should not have come here, Dr. Norbitt," Doom scolded angrily.

Lupe pulled her heavy laser weapon out from behind her back, and pointed it menacingly at Doom. "Then I wouldn't have had the chance to do this!" she proclaimed brazenly. "Maybe this will do what the lion could not, and bring peace at last to the memory of my father!"

Doom held his hands up placatingly, but continued to boldly approach the armed woman. "If you kill me now, then you will never escape the tunnels," he disclosed calmly. "There are a dozen SACC special operative soldiers headed this way. They will kill you and the boy with nary a second thought." He stepped forward, so that the muzzle of the doctor's weapon was only a few inches from his armored chest plate. At this range, it was questionable whether even his advanced armor would save him from that deadly force.

Lupe's hands sweated nervously as she fingered the trigger of the powerful gun. She returned his cold stare with tight-lipped determination, but she could not bring herself to pull the trigger.

Doom continued, "Only I can show you a secret path that will take you and the boy to safety."

"Why should I trust you?" she shouted back. "You're nothing but a cold-blooded murderer! You could be sending us straight into the path of those soldiers to our death!"

Doom placed a gloved hand on the muzzle of the gun and gently pushed so it was pointed away from his body. Dr. Norbitt did not resist as he took it from her. "And both of us know that you are not a murderer, even when inflamed with the passion of vengeance, Dr. Norbitt," Doom said quietly. "If I had wanted you dead, I could have killed you the instant I walked into the room. Now, if you and the boy will step this way." Doom walked up to the stuffed bull elephant, and placing a hand on a secret place below the left ear, activated the mechanism that caused the entire platform on which the elephant stood to move back. Below the platform, a hidden stairway was revealed, leading into the deepest parts of the underground warrens.

"Follow the corridor. It will lead you to a secure place," he instructed dispassionately.

"What of my lion?" Bodo asked as he started to descend.

Doom looked away, listening to a distant warning claxon. "Hurry," he said impatiently, ignoring the boy.

"Len will be all right, Bodo," Dr. Norbitt said as she followed him down the steps. She stopped to look back at Doom. "I know that I saw you that day in the lab when I was still a girl. There was shouting, an argument, and I hid in the cupboard, afraid. You broke my father's back in a fit of rage. Fourteen years, and still the memory of that day is vivid in my mind," Lupe's eyes began to tear up. She swallowed her pain and continued. "He tried to carry on with his work after that, but it was as if the life had gone out of him then. When he died, I vowed that I would one day see you dead. But you were right. Unlike you, I am a poor murderer. Yet, after what I tried to do, you had every right to wish me dead. Now, I don't know what to think." She looked away. "I feel such shame."

"I sense that your father," Doom started slowly, "would have been proud of what you have done here. Your shame is unwarranted. Despite what you believe, I was not the one who killed him. Another man, who wore an armor like this one, was the rightful culprit. But your quest for retribution is futile. That man died not long after your father."

"How do I know that?" she retorted.

"You have my word." Doom explained. "That should be enough. However, know that Doom has no need for petty fabrications. The man who killed your father was buried not far from here. You examined his bones in your lab, several days ago."

"The mysterious bone Billy brought me?" Lupe asked. Doom nodded. "But, you still haven't answered why you're helping us?"

Doom looked away. "Consider a debt owed your father, repaid," he said quietly, and activated the switch that once more concealed the hidden stairway beneath the towering mammoth.

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Doom sat back down on the central chair, the throne that dominated this cold, cryptic chamber. He felt a certain sense of dread at continuing forward, but he knew that he must. Frrzzzt! "The body is failing now." The Other sat limply in the chair, the same chair now occupied by another, so like him in many ways. But for the Other, the silver armor had lost its gleam and the end was surely near. The voice was raspy and weak, a hoarse whisper. Despite the obvious pain, he continued, "Only the armor supports me, and now I sense that my mind is going. My memory is pocked by periods of emptiness, blackness. I have a vague recollection of frenzied outbursts of dementia. These logs may be tainted by delusions. They can no longer be trusted as accurate. It is, a most ignoble ending. But the beacon has finally been established. All I can do now is wait, to see, if he is still out there . . . somewhere. My greatest fear is that Margaretta will intercept the beacon, and send instead one of her accursed clones. The evidence is incontrovertible, she will have by now constructed another clone and will no doubt use the same memory implant that she used on me. If such is the case, he will find me far from helpless should he dare to confront me here! "

Doom paused the playback to watch another monitor. The SACC strike team had advanced further into the tunnels. It was time. Doom reached over and activated his deadly defenses.

The first men to fall when the lasers crisscrossed the hallway never knew what cut them down. Their deaths were instant and merciful. For the remainder, skill and training and luck sent them dropping to the floor instinctively. The need for secrecy was now lost, as the leaders abandoned their hand signals and whispered orders, and began to scream commands to those who came behind. Their cunning subterfuge had been laid bare, like a gaping wound of stinking rotted flesh blistering in the sun. Haste was now their focus. They moved forward on their bellies underneath the laser beams, half hidden now by the gathering smoke that billowed from the charred remains of the comrades who had fallen. Despite the danger and the cries of fear all around him, the Captain refused to retreat. He knew that he could not fail in this mission, and he screamed passionately at his men to move their sorry asses. Better that they fear him, than some unknown and unseen trap lying in wait ahead of them. And as the Captain cleared the lasers and crouched in an open hallway, he knew that Doom was not finished with them yet.

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In the skies above the TKU, the SACC fighter planes readied for another bombing run at their enemy below. TKU ground troops ran for their lives across an open expanse toward the safety of the trenches, frighteningly exposed to the strafing fire of the deadly jets above them. In his partially buried bunker, General Nyirenda watched through night scope binoculars as the planes gathered in formation above them and then turned as one toward the open grasslands.

Colonel Moore stepped up beside the General. "Doom will have those defenses up, sir," he said quietly. "I have faith that he will not abandon us!"

The General lowered his binoculars. "I hope so, John," he whispered slowly. "If not, we are surely doomed." His staff watched the radar scopes in fearful anticipation, but not a one had fled their post. They looked to the General for direction, but he could only sigh with weary anticipation. All around them the antiaircraft ground fire filled the sky with deadly beams, but their manual defenses had been woefully inadequate. Nyirenda raised the scopes to his eyes as one of the bombing planes set a course for the remaining TKU troops. He turned away, and ordered his staff to seek cover, but all knew that there was no cover left to take. Even the tunnels below them would not withstand another bombardment.

The pilot in the SACC plane checked his coordinates and smiled a little. It was too easy, he must have thought for a moment, maneuvering effortlessly around the futile ground barrage. He armed his bombs, and targeted once more the structural weak point the computer had identified in the tunnels below ground. His hand was on the trigger when a powerful beam of green energy tore through his ship and his body with equal ease, killing him before he ever saw what hit him.

General Nyirenda's staff erupted in shouts of joy and relief all around the stunned botanist. There had been no warning, no sound or motion to clue them in, but the Perimeter Automated Defense system had come on line at last with a sweltering vengeance. Dozens of high energy particle beams erupted from the ground at their feet, targeting the enemy planes with incredible accuracy. Where moments ago the skies above the TKU had been filled with horrifying birds of prey, they were now illuminated by a brilliant pyrotechnical display of exploding aircraft and a shower of red hot molten debris that cascaded merrily out of the sky. So fast and complete was the destruction of the enemy aircraft, that not a single cry for help escaped the lips of the SACC pilots before their existence on this earth was extinguished.

Dozens of TKU troops came running out of their bunkers to yell and scream at the dying embers above them, firing their weapons joyfully into the sky. General Nyirenda looked to his staff, who were all smiles as their scopes were coming up empty. Nyirenda stepped outside. The night sky was quiet and still at last, broken only by the distant cheers of his weary troops. He looked up into the darkness, and felt the first touch of rain which kissed his black cheeks in a gentle blessing. The thunder had passed, and the replenishing rain finally swept down from above, to drench the falling fires and bathe the land in the promise of renewal once more.

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The SACC special forces team had steadily unraveled under the relentless pressure of Doom's evil traps. Those still remaining had endured crisscrossing lasers, sinking floors, and hidden pitfalls. Of the original twelve, only four now remained, and one of those hobbled along only with considerable assistance. The strain was evident in every man's face. But the Captain would not turn back, even now that their brutal defeat seemed imminent. His jaw was set, his steel blue eyes focused ahead.

"Move it, Kelly!" the Captain ordered angrily, as they paused in a smoke-filled corridor, enjoying a brief respite from the maddening traps that sprang at them from every corner. "Move it, I said!" he added, upset with his comrade's slow response. "This isn't a stroll in the park, Mister!"

Lt. Kelly grimaced and pushed forward as fast as he could, but he was burdened by the weight of a larger man he carried over his shoulder. The other man was badly beat up, dragging his legs as if unconscious. "Armstrong's hurt bad, Cap'n!" Kelly grunted as he finally made it to where the Captain was waiting. He let the wounded man fall from his shoulders and set him down against the wall. The wounded soldier groaned a little, but said nothing. His head slumped forward, and his broken body sagged. He was missing one foot, and a hasty bandage had been tied around the remains of his lower left leg.

The Captain took one look at his wounded man and the expression of disgust deepened across his brow. "Leave him," he ordered coldly, turning away to plan his next move.

"We don't leave men behind, sir!" Kelly shouted back angrily, standing defensively over his comrade.

"We don't stand a chance getting out of here alive unless the mission is completed, Lieutenant!" the Captain shouted back. "I need every man I've got left armed and able, not playing corpsman to some half dead bitwad who passes out at the sight of his own blood, when he ought to be watching my back! Leave the shockin' retread here and let's finish this mission, soldier!"

"We can't finish, Captain! Don't you get it? We're beaten! Doom's won!" Lt. Kelly argued back. "There's no way the three of us can take him on now and hope to win! Our only chance is to go back and try to make it to the rendevous point for our transport! It's over!"

"It's not over!" the Captain grabbed his tactical officer's flak vest in both hands and shoved him forcibly against the wall. He ranted relentlessly, his face turning red as he stood over the other man, their eyeballs only inches apart. "I won't have any cowards in my command! It isn't over until Doom is dead! Do you understand?! We will never retreat! There can be no going back! Either way we're dead men!"

"Cap . . . you're insane!" Kelly answered, fear suddenly surfacing in his eyes.

"Am I?!" the Captain yelled back. "Am I?!! How long has it been since you've heard our bombers overhead?! Didn't you hear those lasers going off?! There is no ride waiting for us at the rendevous, you shocking little dirtbag!" The Captain dropped his man roughly back onto the floor and stepped back. "The air raid has been turned back! Our only way out of here is forward, do you understand me?!"

"But what about Armstrong, Cap'n Baar?" Kelly shouted back, still sprawled on the floor of the smoky hallway. "We don't leave men behind!"

Captain Baar stood over the unconscious Armstrong and lifted his head with the muzzle of his rifle. The other man was unresponsive, and his half-open eyes were rolled back in his head. "He's dead," the Captain announced coldly, his sweat dripping down his grimy forehead as teeth clenched in his square jaw.

"No!" Kelly shouted, panic in his eyes. He scrambled over on hands and knees to grab his buddy by the shirt and shake him. "C'mon, Army. Wake up, man! We gotta get movin'!" There was a faint groan that came from the unconscious man. "Get up, mate!" Kelly begged, but the other didn't move.

BLAM!

Kelly leapt back instinctively as the sound of the rifle report close at hand sent him ducking for cover. When he looked up, it was to see the Captain standing over them, the rifle in his hands still smoking. There was a huge hole in Armstrong's chest, and a blood red stain was spreading rapidly over his black fatigues. Lieutenant Kelly looked up at his commanding officer with growing fear, the blood and gore from his dead teammate spattered on his hands and face.

Captain Baar was unapologetic. "I said he was dead," he announced dispassionately.

Kelly could only gape in sputtering disbelief.

"Lafferty," the Captain ordered his one remaining infantryman. "Take the point."

The younger soldier grimaced as he stepped over his fallen comrade, but silently did as ordered, hunkering down over his rifle as he swallowed his fear and scrambled slowly through the hallway ahead.

The Captain rattled his gun threateningly, and pointed the way ahead. "Move it, Lieutenant," he ordered, motioning for him to follow the infantryman.

Kelly stood and glared at his once respected commander. They were equally matched, and for a moment he thought about taking the other man down. But he was a military man to the core, and all he could do was to chew on his building hatred in silence. He looked down the hallway, then gathered his weapons to follow the other, looking over his shoulder to wonder with calm clarity whether Baar might shoot him in the back as he did.
He needn't have worried, for they were closer to their goal than he thought. They reached a sealed door, and from the readings on Kelly's monitor, this was it. Doom was inside. The three men gathered together to plot their next move, as they dropped their rifles and armed themselves with the experimental ASP's, the argon shielded power shiv supposedly strong enough to take out even Doom's armor. They checked the charges on their weapons, then looked to Captain Baar for direction.

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Inside the chamber, Doom was still reviewing the logs of his predecessor, but the end was nearing. Frrzzzt! "Margaretta!" - - kaff kaff - - "You foul witch! You will have to find another plaything!" Somehow, the Other lifted himself up out of the chair. The red cloak trailed behind him as he stumbled through the lab, and the camera's eye followed him. The door opened, a shaft of light penetrated through from the outside. He stepped through, bumping against the walls like a drunkard, and then the door shut behind. The tape kept rolling for a few minutes, until the computer shut it off. There were no more records on the computer.

Doom reached forward to close the log, then sat silently still, his chin on his chest, surrounded by a dead man's folly. He reached for the black chip he had taken off of the skeleton, and examined the markings carved into one side. This completed the code from the three chips he had taken from the Storyteller (see Doom 2099 UG #45), revealing at last the location of the Tomb of the Silver Warrior. He should be pleased, he thought, but he was strangely apprehensive. Not since the Savage Land had he felt such discord, such uncertainty about his own identity. The tape of his dead twin, coupled with his own fractured memories, only served to raise more questions, and this nagging doubt weighed heavily upon his brow.

KABLAMM!

Suddenly, the back door to the hidden chamber was blown into a million shards of metal by a violent pulse of pure energy. Three black garbed men rushed into the smoking breach and scattered, finding refuge behind tables and machinery on either side of the broken doorway. At the center of the room, Doom stood up, and turned calmly to face his attackers. From where they hid, he appeared poised in the middle of a lighted pulpit, surrounded by the dark and unknown vastness of the rest of the room. He stood nonchalantly with his arms down, completely at ease and confident, as if the deadly situation before him was naught but a play for his amusement. His verdant cape floated languidly above the floor behind him. The red lenses of his mask flashed briefly with reflected luminance.

"Welcome, Captain Baar," he said with dry fury. "I am pleased that you were able to make it this evening. I trust you bring an urgent message from Prime Minister Lange?"

The other men looked for a moment at their captain, but he did not meet their questioning glance. The captain stared straight ahead at his target, licking dry lips in anticipation of what was to come. If Doom's calm familiarity was meant to unnerve them, it was working. Without moving from his hiding place, the captain silently signaled his two men.

Lafferty moved in first. The young infantryman had spent the charge on his ASP to break down the door, so he circled to where he could get a clear shot with explosive rounds. He popped quickly up from behind a heavy metal table, raising his weapon to his shoulder as he did. BAM! BAM! BAM! He fired three consecutive shots at Doom, point blank. The explosive charges slammed into the armored figure, detonating on impact. The lighted stage where Doom had stood was instantly covered in smoke and haze, electrical equipment damaged by the blasts sparked and snapped, arcing blue streaks through the gray smoke. For a moment, the three soldiers thought that maybe they had succeeded. Then the smoke cleared, and Doom was standing unmoved behind a translucent personal shield. Lafferty's heart sank, knowing he had failed. Doom turned to look down at the soldier with contempt.

"Really," he said slowly, "explosive shells? How droll. I had expected a bit more panache from the Prime Minister than that." Doom waved his hand calmly over an optic control, and a laser cannon dropped out of the ceiling above the soldier's heads. Infrared sights activated and the gun swivelled toward the soldiers with deadly intent. In a weird trick of the light, Doom's frozen mask appeared to be smiling ever so slightly. Young Lafferty deftly avoided the first beam, rolling quickly for cover toward the back of the room. But as he stood to leap again he made a fatal pause, looking back over his shoulder at the tracking cannon. The laser fired and connected, slicing through a metal desk and continuing on, bisecting the soldier as it instantly incinerated his flesh.

Then the cannon turned toward the other two. Lt. Kelly was already on the move, as was his commander. They approached Doom from opposite sides, momentarily confounding the laser's targeting computer.

"Come now gentlemen," Doom said arrogantly, his hands tucked into his silver belt as he patiently watched their approach on the infrared monitor. "You really don't believe this desperate ploy will work, do you? Your deaths will be far less traumatic if you accept that it is inevitable."

"Never!" Lt. Kelly shouted, as he aimed his ASP at Doom. The invisible pulse activated with a loud thwap, and the high intensity beam slammed into Doom's body like a hurricane. The force lifted the unsuspecting armored monarch off of his feet and backwards four meters into a circular computer console behind him. The console crumpled under that impact, sparks flying and small fires erupting in the shattered components all around the prone figure.

Doom shook off the effects of the blast quickly, pushing himself to his feet as his eyes began to glow with barely contained rage. "That hurt," he muttered to himself disdainfully, angry too at his own lack of caution in light of this unknown weapon. He wasted little time at pointless self-recrimination though, returning fire from his gauntlets even as he extricated himself from the crushed console. Lt. Kelly leaped clear of a forceful blast of energy that gouged an impressive hole in one wall, carving a new opening into the cave beyond while rocky debris showered like raindrops through the room.

Now Captain Baar jumped in at last to engage his target at close quarters, hoping that Doom was sufficiently distracted not to notice him. He charged up his ASP, the knifelike weapon humming slightly, and aimed his killing stroke for that broad, exposed back. But with impeccable timing, Doom nimbly turned aside, as if he had seen the attack coming. Twisting out of range of the thrusting weapon, Doom slapped away his attacker, using Baar's own momentum against him to send the SACC officer careening across the floor. Doom was raising his gauntlets above the fallen soldier when a loud thwap heralded another pulse of energy being sent his way. Not as strong as the first one, Lt. Kelly's second and last attempt still managed to force the Latverian monarch back three or four steps. Doom blindly returned fire even as he fell backwards. This was all Captain Baar needed, as he sprang to his feet and charged Doom once more.

Dazed by the two-pronged attack, Doom still managed to catch one of Baar's arms in a powerful grip. But the Captain deftly avoided the other silver gloved hand as he thrust forward with the energized ASP. The blade found substance in the adamantium lanxide armor, and bit, burrowing deep into Doom's left side just below the rib cage.

"Arrghh!" Doom bellowed momentarily in rage and hurt. Then, still holding onto the Captain with one hand, he flung him bodily into the bank of monitors beside them. Glass broke and shattered as the Captain's flesh was battered against that barrier again, and again. Doom beat the man against the jagged wall with furious abandon, until Captain Baar hung from his grip like a bloody broken rag doll. He let the corpse drop to the floor with disgust, and sitting back against a metal railing, looked down to examine his own wound. The ASP was still imbedded into his flesh, the pulsing energy inhibiting the ability of the nanites to stem the flow of blood trickling out around the edges of the wound. He grasped the handle of the ASP in one hand and quickly pulled it free, grimacing with an intense pain that shot through his gut and would have sent a lesser man crumbling to the floor. But he was not a lesser man, he was Doom. He stood up straight, and his fierce eyes now searched the room for his remaining foe.

He found Lt. Kelly pinned under some rocky rubble that had cascaded onto him from above during their last exchange. The black garbed soldier was weaponless, and the spent ASP was harmlessly discarded beside him. He was covered in a thin film of gray dust that made him look even more pathetic, and his eyes were bright white with fear. Bleeding from several superficial wounds, he was struggling desperately to free himself from the debris that trapped him as Doom approached. Doom looked down on the soldier with cold cunning. Modifying the intensity of his gauntlet's power, he blasted away the rock that held his enemy, but curiously did not harm the soldier beneath. Free at last to move, Kelly was nonetheless petrified with fear as the armored giant leaned menacingly over him. Doom's anger was a palpable presence as he held one hand against his wounded side, blood seeping freely now to stain the silver glove.

"Get up!" Doom yelled at the soldier, kicking him with his metal boot, disgusted with the other's quivering cowardice "Get up and get out of here!" he ordered.

Lt. Kelly wasted no time in backing crab-like away from that hurtful boot, before standing up against the back wall. Behind him was the opening into the cave, and the smell of rain wafted in from the night air beyond. But he dared not remove his eyes from the terrible hulking specter that glared at him from only a few steps away. If he turned to escape, he would surely be shot in the back!

"Go!" Doom shouted at him. "I grant you a pardon, you pathetic little worm," Doom explained through clenched teeth. "And if you survive what's out there, then take this message to your Prime Minister." He lifted the ASP in his hand to show the Lieutenant. "I've seen the worst that he can do, and it wasn't good enough! Tell him that! And tell him this toy will not work a second time!" Doom crushed the weapon in his glove and dropped the broken pieces to the ground. Behind Doom, a small explosion ripped through the computer equipment as the damage they had begun started to take on a life of it's own. Fire was crackling and popping through the circuitry now, bathing Doom's dark green cape in a halo of orange light. The terrible mask was cloaked in darkness, and the red lenses of his mask glowed with a fierce intensity.

Lt. Kelly needed no further convincing than that, and he slowly backed away into the hole behind him, then turned and scrambled as fast as he could through the darkness for the cave's distant exit.

Doom watched him go, but did nothing more. He turned around to face the lab, as thick black smoke began to gather at the ceiling from the spreading fires. Anything left in the room was a total loss, but he had taken all that he came for. Still holding onto his side, he endured searing agony with each breath and tasted blood in his mouth as he staggered forward. There would be time for rest later he thought, looking down at the black chip he picked up off of the floor. He stepped up to the stuffed hyaena head mounted on one wall, and placed his hand in its mouth, searching for the hidden switch. There were more explosions in the lab as toxic chemicals ignited - in a few moments there would be nothing left. Doom stumbled through the hidden passageway that opened before him, and slipped into a small room where a transport platform awaited his command. Setting the coordinates through a growing haze, he fought back the blackness which threatened to claim him, and stepped onto the platform. The energy platform powered up, then passed through him as a rectangle of brilliant azure light lifted from the floor. When the light structure settled once more to the ground, Doom was gone. The secret room sealed shut automatically within its rocky crypt.

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EPILOGUE ONE:

Lt. Kelly could hardly believe his good fortune as he ran out of the dark cave into the waning showers that bathed the rocky African kopje. In the misty dark he missed seeing the bright white skeleton that lay half buried in the soft earth near the cave's entrance, running right past it as he raced to escape a near certain death at the hands of Doom. He turned back only briefly to see the black smoke pouring out of the cave entrance, and cringed instinctively as massive explosions rocked the underground vault. Quickly scampering away, he scaled the hill rapidly in the dark so as to gain a better perspective on his current position. He was well trained in the tactics of jungle survival and movement behind enemy lines, and so he was calmly confident that he would be able to safely slip back into his own country. If he traveled only at night, keeping to the canyons and thick brush, he could navigate by the stars. At the top of the hill, he stopped to look at the sky, as the clouds were parting even then to reveal the brilliant starlight beyond. He smiled through the grime that covered his sweaty face, and his racing heartbeat began to calm. His only weapon was a small knife, but in three days, he figured to be back home. This was doable, he thought, all was not lost.

Then there was a sound like a giant snuffling from behind him, and a musty smell like something primordial. Lt. Kelly turned around, and through the darkness he locked eyes with a huge male lion not more than ten meters away.

Len shook his black mane briefly, sending a shower of water all around, muscles rippling beneath his tawny hide as his massive paws dug into the soft earth. He fixed cool amber eyes directly on the man in front of him, and a low rumbling growl emitted from his throat. The lion licked his lips, and began to stalk slowly and fearlessly toward the man.

Kelly crouched, reaching for his knife as he tried to maintain eye contact with the big cat. His heart began to pound furiously again, and the lion sensed it, quickening its pace. It leaped, launching itself like a torpedo at the SACC soldier.

A bloodcurdling scream was the last sound Lt. Kelly ever made.

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EPILOGUE TWO:

Several days after the battle at Cavalier warrens, Prime Minister Lange was nervously pacing the floor of his private chambers in a palace retreat in the hills above Johannesburg. The news had been very unsettling of late. Not only had the SACC again suffered a terrible defeat in their unofficial border war, but his special assault team had not returned from the TKU. Tracking devices on Captain Baar and his teammates had verified that the men were all dead, scattered throughout the underground complex they had invaded. Doom had also disappeared, but given the damage to the underground warrens, it might be weeks before any bodies were found. His cabinet had to come to the distasteful conclusion that the team had failed in their mission.

The Governor of Defense marched softly into the room. "Mr. Prime Minister?" he said quietly. "Time to go."

The Prime Minister hesitated as he stared out of the window. The view of the lush hills swept down toward the city, his city. This was his birthplace, his domain. And he was running away from it.

"I cannot rule this country from a hiding place," he muttered sullenly.

The Governor stepped up to his side. "We've been over this, Robert," he said, with uncustomary familiarity. "We cannot protect you here, not from . . . him," he left the name unsaid. His leader knew perfectly well who he meant. "It is just for a little while, until we can get our military back up to strength. By then we'll know, one way or the other."

Robert Lange bowed his head, in silent guilt. "What will happen to them, when we're gone? They need our guidance, David."

"We've done all we can, sir," Governor Proctor put his hand gently on the Prime Minister's shoulder. "It will still be here, when we return."

"Do you think so?" the Prime Minister looked up at last. His face was streaked with tears, and his eyes had the glimmering look of child's confusion and hope.

"Yes sir, I do think so." The Governor of Defense looked away, saddened to see the dementia being brought on by the last few days of heavy medication necessary to keep the Prime Minister from a total nervous breakdown. In the past few days, the SACC had quietly pulled out of the northern border towns of Mozambique, having suffered heavy financial and physical losses. Many of the factories had been destroyed when their secret mission as hiding places for troops and armaments was exposed. The black workers that followed the words of the Messengers had rallied together in the absence of the SACC guards that had previously kept their religion viciously repressed. Worse yet, there appeared to be a new messiah who walked among the Messengers. A boy, who had survived the worst of the war, who had been shot through the heart but had risen from the dead. There were even rumors that the boy had a guardian in the form of a great male lion who walked with him. Now, a growing unrest was spreading through all of the factory towns, fueled by the message of this new messiah who spoke of equality for all people. The SACC now had nearly as much to fear from a coup inside the country, as they did an assault from Doom. The Defense Governor alone knew the full extent of their military losses, and that consequently the safety of any of the current ruling cabinet was in grave jeopardy. He quietly guided the Prime Minister to the door.

"We're going to Sweden?"

"Yes, sir, for a short while at least."

"I hear it is cold there," the Prime Minister looked around the room. "Did I remember to pack my sweater?"

"Yes, sir," the Governor sighed patiently. "Everything you need will be waiting for you there."

The End.

    "In the arts of Life, man invents nothing, but in the arts of death
            he outdoes Nature herself . . ."
                    George Bernard Shaw
                    Man & Superman.

Next: Be prepared for another Double Sized issue of Doom 2099 UG as we celebrate the 50th issue of the Master of Menace, the Lord of Latveria, the Titan of Time Travel, the one and only Doom 2099 himself! New villains and old appear as a new chapter in Doom's fantastic future unfolds! There will be secrets revealed, and questions answered, so be here in 60 days True Believers! Um, I'd explain how we got to Issue # 50 so soon, but I'm out of room!