I didn’t know what to expect when I saw the Time Turntable begin to materialize along the side fence in our Ann Street back yard. After all, at different times, I had seen Yarn Man, Kozmik Kat, Liquid Man, the Silver Age Megaton Man, and the Mod Puma appear or disappear on it. But those times all occurred in another reality—my native reality—not this weirdly alternative, Civilian one. I knew even less what to expect from the oval opening of the Dimensional Doorway over the driveway—which, I hasten to add, appeared of its own accord, without the surrounding hardware, as an eerie, gaping aperture into a wild, unruly cosmic chaos.

The two modes of dimensional-temporal travel no doubt reflected the divergent personalities of Rex Rigid and Winnie Wertz, their respective inventors. Nonetheless, although each used different means—a platter and a portal—both seemed to get the job done.

But this mundane, Civilian reality was already quickly being overrun by visitors from other realities, beginning with me, who had been on an astral visit before jumping into my counterpart’s—Clarissa Too’s—body, just after she broke her leg. Now, the Cosmic Cue-Ball had broken up our little Halloween dinner, only to be trapped in a spherical plasma net thrown up by the Partyers from Mars, who were in the process of trying to stuff the Orb of Great Power into an Absolute Zero Containment Unit so they could take their leave of this quadrant of the galaxy in their compact, green-domed flying saucer, the George Has a Gun.

On the platter of the Time Turntable began to materialize three figures I recognized. The first was a slightly disheveled, underfed-looking man in a loose-fitting leotard who wore what looked like a box-like Brownie camera over his eyes. This was clearly the Lens. The second, a shapely woman in caramel-colored leather jumper, thigh-high boots, and gloves, wore an incongruous skull mask and oversized wings. This was the Angel of Death. The third, a portly man in a rubbery reptile costume, could only be Colonel Turtle.

“The Devengers!” I cried. “Or more properly, the Doomsday Revengers!”

From the oval opening opposite them—one could only tell it was an opening to another dimension by the cosmic chaos visible through the aperture—leaped an older, slender man with a slight paunch in an orange jumpsuit, who landed on the grass next to the driveway in a crouch. He wore short boots and gauntleted gloves, and his opaque glasses and wild, white hair gave him a somewhat unhinged look. He waved a strange pistol in his hand that looked like a heat gun. His yellowed, uneven teeth were bared in a hideous grimace.

“At last, I have caught up with you!” he said. He was leering at the Cosmic Cue-Ball, which only tried all the more vigorously to escape its plasma net.

“George does have gun!” cried my sister Avie.

“That’s not George,” said Polly Parsec, the elfin alien. “George is much more rotund … and a porpoise. Although I don’t like the looks of that weapon!” She motioned to the two Partyers wielding plasma rifles that held the Cue-Ball. “Quick! Get that thing into the Absolute Zero Containment Unit…now!”

My grandmother, Mercedith Robeson-James, seemed to recognize the menacing man. “Willard!” she cried. “Lord, you haven’t aged very well!”

“That’s Willard Helveticus Brainard?” I demanded. “The Thirteenth Scientist who split reality in two in 1940? But Grandma Seedy, you said he was a wunderkind—honestly, I was expecting somebody much younger.”

“He was a wunderkind,” said Grandma Seedy, “after Rex Rigid and Winnie Wertz, who were slightly younger and more wunderkind wunderkinds. But that was forty-three years ago—looks like he’s put a lot of miles on the odometer since he disappeared.”

The Devengers, however, had yet to disembark from the Time Turntable; indeed, the platter itself as well as the three figures on it had yet to fully materialize, remaining partially-transparent, phantom images.

“Dr. Braindead!” cried the Lens, who had yet to step off the Time Turntable. “Finally, we meet again!” His voice sound muffled, like in an echo chamber.

“Whaddya mean, finally?” asked Colonel Turtle; his voice was muffled, too. “We just saw him last week … we see him all the time! We never get any new, interesting Megavillains to battle; it’s always Braindead, Braindead, Braindead! Frankly, I’m sick and tired of the guy myself. I could use a change of pace!”

“I’ll grant you, he’s boring,” agreed the Angel of Death, who voice also sounded muted. “But that doesn’t mean he’s still not deadly, especially if he gets his hands on the Cosmic Cue-Ball!”

The Angel of Death made a motion to spread her wings and fly from the Time Turntable into the yard, but realized she was somehow inhibited. “What’s wrong?” she said. “We don’t seem to have fully materialized in this reality!”

The Lens reached out with his hands, seemed to be touching an invisible barrier. “You’re right! The platter seems to be malfunctioning! That Dimensional Doorway opening across the way seems to be causing interference …”

“Nuts!” said Colonel Turtle. “That’s what we get for borrowing secondhand hardware from the Megatropolis Quartet!”

***

My Civilian friends from the Ann Street house, all of whom were watching this unfold from the patio, accepted this spectacle as a Halloween entertainment me, Avie, and Seedy had whipped up for their amusement. Trent and Preston applauded every new development from their seats atop the picnic table, and even Stella had pulled up a lawn chair with her toddler, Simon, on her knee.

Simon, especially, was vocal in his approval. “Comic Coo-Boo!” he shouted with glee.

Dr. Braindead clearly hadn’t been expecting such a welcome. At the ovation, he stood up, politely bowed, then went back to business.

“Ah, how I’ve sought after thee, through the countless realities of time and space,” he said, crooning at the Cosmic Cue-Ball, which the Partyers had now brought to about chest level in the center of the yard, mere feet from the containment unit. “How many times you have evaded my clutches! How you have tormented my every waking thought …”

Shouts of “Encore! Encore!” came from the patio. For a moment, I thought Dr. Braindead might take another bow, repeat his entrance, and deliver his speech with even more bombast.

“Man, what a ham,” said Colonel Turtle. “Every time we battle Dr. Braindead, he’s gotta go all Hamlet. Doesn’t he ever get tired of hearing himself deliver soliloquys?”

“Megavillains always have to rub it in before they achieve their ultimate victory,” said the Lens, still pushing against an invisible barrier. “It’s in their nature. Just when they’re about to fulfill whatever evil, lifelong ambition that motivates their sick souls, they have to stop the show and play to the peanut gallery. Sad to say, looks like this time he’s about to do it … and we’re powerless to stop him.”

“Am I the only one who can see and hear the Devengers?” I asked, since no one else seemed to react to their semi-appearance on the Time Turntable.

“No, we can see them too, Ms. Megaton Man,” said Captain Anton of the Partyers. “Their caught in what’s known as an Astral Hang-Up. It’s been known to happen with your more primitive Earthling temporal-dimensional technologies. They’ll have to go back to their reality and reboot.”

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

“Who are those jokers, anyway?” demanded the Labrador Partyer. “One of ‘em’s got a skull face like you, Scully, and another’s a tortoise.”

“Humans are not very original,” said Horace the tortoise.

“Who are you calling unoriginal?” retorted Colonel Turtle “Who are those pint-sized jokers, anyway?”

“I’m not sure,” said the Lens. “But they seem to have captured the Cosmic Cue-Ball. Whoever they are, let’s hope they can keep it out of the clutches of Dr. Braindead!”

***

Grandma Seedy, God love her, decided she’d had enough of this nonsense. She stepped forward and put her foot down “Willard,” she scolded. “What do you mean by hopping into my granddaughter’s back yard and making threats?”

“Dr. James?” replied Dr. Braindead, squinting. “Seedy, is that you?”

“Hey, that is Seedy James,” said Colonel Turtle. “Well, whaddya know. Why doesn’t she recognize us? After all, we see her all the time—she made us our costumes.”

“She can’t even see us, you idiot,” said the Angel of Death. “Besides, the Seedy James in this reality wouldn’t recognize us; we’ve never met her.”

The Cosmic Cue-Ball, trapped in its plasma netting, was now only a few feet away from the Absolute Zero Containment Unit; Polly stood buy, ready to clamp down the lid.

But Dr. Braindead, overcome with sentiment and nostalgia, was busy giving my Grandma Seedy a big hug—she’s that kind of person. “Seedy, I can’t tell you how nice it is to see you!” said Dr. Braindead, who at that moment didn’t seem all that bad. “It’s a shame after I accidentally split apart reality that I never had a chance to say goodbye!”

“All is forgiven,” said Seedy. “No doubt you’ve been lonely all these years, tracking through the endless void, trying to undo the mischief you wrought with that little Mutanium Particle. It’s made you little funny in the head. Who wouldn’t succumb to monstrous evil under such circumstances?”

My sister Avie said, “Our grandmother is the most forgiving physicist in the world.” She wiped a tear from her eye under her Wondrous Warhound cowl.

“I’ve been trying to undo the evil I wrought ever since,” said Dr. Braindead. “I’ve spent every waking hour trying to heal the breach, reverse the polarity …. Oh, the evil one commits in the ruthless pursuit of the Cosmic Cue-Ball!” He turned and looked at the orb, still glowing brightly in its plasmic sphere. “Now, finally, to have it within reach …”

“Sorry, pal,” said Anton Parsec. “But that little beauty is the property of the Astral Fleet, and of Parsec Particles Unlimited, if you want to put a finer point on it. The Cosmic Cue-Ball, as you call it, is going back to the far quadrant of the galaxy, and that’s the end of it.”

“Is that so?” said Dr. Braindead, who almost flung aside my grandmother, a hideous sneer returning to his face. “We’ll see about that!” he threatened, thrusting his bulky pistol in the diminutive Martian’s face.

***

It’s hard to describe exactly what happened next. The Squid Girl, who was holding the Labrador in the tug-of-war with the Cue-Ball, reached to grab the pistol from Dr. Braindead’s hand; the Labrador shouted, “Don’t let go!” for fear of losing his grip on the Cosmic Cue-Ball; Dr. Braindead, a tentacle around his wrist, fired off a pulse-blast intended to wrest the Cue-Ball from its plasma net but had almost the same effect, since it hit the Labrador in the bread basket, causing him to drop his plasma rifle. The Cosmic Cue-Ball, now only tethered by one crystalline energy thread to the tortoise’s rifle, started flailing around like a kite in a windstorm. Duchess, Trent’s dog, began barking again, and chomped on Dr. Braindead’s other hand, causing Willard to scream and drop his pistol. On the Turntable, the Angel of Death helplessly flapped her wings, but like the Lens and Colonel Turtle, remained helpless to intervene. Simon, from the patio, cried, “Coo-Coo Boo! Coo-Coo Boo!”

In all the confusion, the tortoise was yanked sideways, his bubble space helmet colliding int the Absolute Zero Containment Unit, knocking his senseless. This caused him to momentarily relax his finger on the trigger of his plasma rifle, breaking the connection to the spherical netting restraining the Cosmic Cue-Ball. Now free, the Cue-Ball slipped through several hands of both the Partyers from Mars and Dr. Braindead, all of whom reached for it as once. It was coming straight at me until it decided to arc upward …

My adrenaline must have been pumping because somehow, despite my bad thigh, I managed to spring up into the air and get my gloved hands around the Cosmic Cue-Ball. I don’t know what I expected, since I lacked my usual Ms. Megaton Man Megapowers in this reality, but it certainly wasn’t a jolt of what felt like a million volts of electricity that coursed directly through my class ring and conducted itself straight to the metal rod in my thigh. The entire body felt like a lightning bolt was going through it; the surge of energy was overwhelming. I must have lost my grip on the Cue-Ball as I felt my body go limp and flopped backward onto the lawn, unconscious …

***

I was only out for an instant, but in a blissful, serene state. Next thing I know, I was standing barefoot on the driveway in my tank top and athletic shorts next to Doctor Messiah, watching my sister Avie, Grandma Seedy, and all my Civilian friends gather around the stunned body of the other me—Clarissa Too—still dressed as Ms. Megaton Man, lying flat on the ground, out like a light. The other me had allowed the Cosmic Cue-Ball to elude her grip, and the Orb of Great Power was roaming freely once again.

“Drats!” said Officer Pup. “Horace, why’d you let go?”

“Didn’t you see? I got knocked silly,” said the tortoise, recovering. “Thanks to you, dropping your guard!”

Dr. Braindead couldn’t locate the pistol he’d dropped in the melee, and instead flailed after the Cosmic Cue-Ball with his gauntlet-gloved hands; the orb, as if to taunt him, swirled about in the air, just above reach.

“Come back her, you maddening morsel of infinite energy!” he cried. “Oh, to have come so far, only to be denied!”

The Cue-Ball shot right at me and Doctor Messiah, who in our astral forms were apparently invisible to everyone except the Partyers and the Devengers, who never left the Time Turntable. I dived out of the way while Doctor Messiah barely flinched as the orb shot right over his shoulder and through the oval Dimensional Doorway opening and disappeared. Doc did graciously step aside as Willard Helveticus Brainard, hot on the Cue-Ball’s heels, leapt through the oval opening and into the cosmic chaos. After Dr. Braindead disappeared, the opening sealed up and vanished.

“Another unproductive outing in the annals of the Devengers,” the Lens bitterly declared. “At least our original line-up is still intact: The Lens, Colonel Turtle, and the Angel of Death.” The Time Turntable, in a crackle of pulsating energy dots, began to fade away, along with the Doomsday Revengers.

Meanwhile, the Partyers from Mars had picked themselves up and were tossing their gear into the opened green-domed hatch of their saucer, the George Has a Gun. Anton Parsec, the diminutive captain, watched as Clarissa Too, returning to consciousness, was now sitting up. Avie, Seedy, Trent, Preston, and Stella all helped the other me up to her feet, as Duchess barked and Simon played with Dr. Braindead’s dropped pistol. Anton looked directly at me and Doctor Messiah and waved.

“Looks like the crew of the George Has a Gun is stuck on this planet for at least a few more solar cycles,” said Anton. “Or at least until we get another chance to isolate that pesky Mutanium Particle.”

He waved again and hopped into the saucer. The green dome rotated shut, and the Partyers of Mars disappeared under their cloaking device.

***

“Now, have you had enough, Clarissa?” Doctor Messiah asked me.

“You pick a fine time to pull me out of my counterpart’s body,” I said.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said, patiently. “As I’ve told you before, you are in charge of your Astral journey.”

“But, what’s going to happen to my friends and relatives in this alternate reality?” I asked. “Clarissa Too, Avie, Grandma Seedy, Preston, Trent, Stella, Simon? I have to know what becomes of them … no fair, not telling me the end of their stories!”

“Continued next issue, so to speak,” said Doctor Messiah. “Like all our stories. Beginnings and endings are illusory.”

“Can’t you give me any more insight than that?” I pleaded, as we watched Clarissa Too brushing off her Ms. Megaton Man uniform. The way she was testing her leg, it seemed as though her limp was entirely gone.

“Clarissa Too will finish college at Arbor State in Ann Arbor,” said Doctor Messiah. “She and her grandmother and her sister will have quite a job figuring out what to do about her newfound Megapowers …”

“You mean she’s now Ms. Megaton Man because of that brief contact with the Cosmic Cue-Ball?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” said Doc. “It would appear even the Civilian version of you in this alternate reality was somehow destined to become America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero. But she won’t have the network of helpers you have—all your fellow Megaheroes, ICHHL, Office 17a, and so on—in your native reality.”

“Oowee—what a concept,” I said. “To be the only Megahero in a world of Civilians …”

“Although I’m guessing she’ll be joined by the Wondrous Warhound and perhaps even Stella Starlight in her crusade for progress, equality, and critical thinking …”

“What about Trent and Preston and Simon?

“Trent will continue cashing his deceased cousin Clyde’s pension checks, while Preston will be promoted to manager of Border Worlds Used and Slightly New Bookstore …”

“You’re just making that up,” I said.

“Of course I’m just making it up,” said Doc. “I have no idea what’s going to transpire in this reality any more than I do in my own. But I am fairly sure of one thing …”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Simon Sternlicht-Pflug will grow up to be a remarkably normal boy,” said Doc. “Except for his last name, of course.”