Epilogue
Reed Richards sits in the darkened room that serves as his office. The Exiles had come, and gone again, explaining what had transpired on Galactus's ship. Councilman Stark was delivering the news to the public - about the efforts to have Dr. Doom assist against the threat, his subsequent escape, and General Grimm's heroic sacrifice.
The whole, unembellished truth. To run a government such as this, with a direct democracy, the people had to be informed. Doom's escape would be worrisome, but the Science Council had captured him before, and would do so again.
In Reed's hand is a photograph - he studies it as if it were the Rosetta Stone, the key to unraveling some otherwise unfathomable mystery. It is an old photograph, with himself, his best friend, his girlfriend, and her little brother; taken just a scant few weeks before the rocket flight where he and Ben made history. Taken the day before he asked Sue to marry him. It was, perhaps, the boldest thing he'd ever done - including the rocketship flight.
She had been very young then - too young to contemplate marriage to an inventor with no visible means of support. She'd become upset, and said no. That was the moment - the moment he began to second-guess himself at every turn. Checking and re-checking equations. Certainly, it had prevented a few accidents - the upgraded shielding on the rocket warded off the unexpected cosmic ray storm with no ill effects. But had it kept him from living his life?
More importantly, had it cost Ben his life? Doomed to wander the spaceways, searching out sustenance to feed Galactus's unending hunger. Paying the price for Reed's caution. Can what has been done, be undone? Some method devised to allow Galactus to find his own uninhabited worlds to feed on, freeing Ben from his indentured servitude?
Impulsively, Reed touches the button on his intercom, signaling his secretary.
"Roberta, clear my schedule. I've got a new project to work on."
He pauses.
"And look up the number for Susan Storm."
The whole, unembellished truth. To run a government such as this, with a direct democracy, the people had to be informed. Doom's escape would be worrisome, but the Science Council had captured him before, and would do so again.
In Reed's hand is a photograph - he studies it as if it were the Rosetta Stone, the key to unraveling some otherwise unfathomable mystery. It is an old photograph, with himself, his best friend, his girlfriend, and her little brother; taken just a scant few weeks before the rocket flight where he and Ben made history. Taken the day before he asked Sue to marry him. It was, perhaps, the boldest thing he'd ever done - including the rocketship flight.
She had been very young then - too young to contemplate marriage to an inventor with no visible means of support. She'd become upset, and said no. That was the moment - the moment he began to second-guess himself at every turn. Checking and re-checking equations. Certainly, it had prevented a few accidents - the upgraded shielding on the rocket warded off the unexpected cosmic ray storm with no ill effects. But had it kept him from living his life?
More importantly, had it cost Ben his life? Doomed to wander the spaceways, searching out sustenance to feed Galactus's unending hunger. Paying the price for Reed's caution. Can what has been done, be undone? Some method devised to allow Galactus to find his own uninhabited worlds to feed on, freeing Ben from his indentured servitude?
Impulsively, Reed touches the button on his intercom, signaling his secretary.
"Roberta, clear my schedule. I've got a new project to work on."
He pauses.
"And look up the number for Susan Storm."