They landed on the sidewalk outside the building, still a good twenty feet from the doorway. Already the Fantasticar was being pelted with stones and rotten fruit, while the more daring among the crowd slapped at the windows with their signs.

The one in front of Susan read: “Reed Richards - Baby Killer!” followed by another that depicted the Thing drawn like Frankenstein’s creature with the slogan: “No More Franken-Science!”

After that, Sue stopped reading them.

“Ben, we’re on crowd control. Remember, we don’t want to hurt them.”

“Awww, not even a little?”

“Save the levity until we’re inside. Johnny, I want you to clear us a path when I give the signal.”

“Gotcha,” her brother replied over the comm-line.

“And what about me?” Sue asked.

“As soon as we’re clear of the car, put a field around it. No telling what this crowd might do if we leave it out here unprotected. After that, take us inside.”

She nodded and Reed touched the controls. The bubble hatch of the car slid back, exposing them to the shouts and curses of the angry mob. Immediately, a hail of objects came sailing at their heads only to burn up in mid-flight as Johnny incinerated them.

The team leapt into action, their movements as smooth as well-oiled machinery. Reed stretched out from the co-pilot’s chair, his arms molding themselves into massive scoops as he pushed back the crowd. The Thing used his huge bulk to do likewise.

Now it was Susan’s turn. Crawling out from the cockpit, she walked out onto the back of the Fantasicar and concentrated. A thin, invisible force-field enveloped the vehicle from back to front, creating just the slightest tremor as it formed beneath her boots.

While she was doing this, one of the protesters separated himself from the crowd. He crawled up onto the Fantasticar’s wing and made a b-line for her. Susan saw him coming--could have handled him easily--but the Thing moved first.

Snatching the man up by the collar of his coat with one of his huge mitts, he snarled, “Going somewhere pally?” With a grunt, he tossed him gently into the crowd. Even at that, the man bowled five others over as he landed.

“Thanks, Ben.”

“Definitely my pleasure, Suzie.”

Seeing his wife was finished, Reed nodded to Johnny and her brother dove at the crowd, causing the protesters to scatter away from the door. As an added touch, he burned several of their signs into ash.

After that, their work was mostly finished. Susan formed an invisible tunnel through the corridor Johnny created, and then extended it around the ship. The mob was left to rage outside, unable to harass them further.

The whole operation took less then five minutes.

“This is just plain ridiculous,” the Thing complained as they marched through the lobby.

“Is it?”

“What, you’re not actually taking them clowns outside seriously are you Reed? It’s just a buncha media hoopla. You know how people are…”

“And how’s that?”

“Oh, they love ya when you’re pulling their butts from the fire. But just as soon as their hind quarters quit burning, they ain’t got no more use for you. S’human nature, I guess.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. For his part, Reed forced a smile, but made no comment as they passed through the security check.

The new Baxter Building was built so that anyone entering the main building via the lobby had to pass through a small security hallway, no bigger then an average waiting room. In a matter of seconds the visitor would be barraged by hundreds of sensors and run through the computer’s vast databanks, which would then decide which--if any--of the building’s rooms and facilities would be open to them. It was built this way so that the team’s friends would be able access their archives and equipment, even if they were away on mission.

The whole process was so unobtrusive that Susan barely noticed it and they soon passed into the greeting room. It was still fairly shabby looking, with boxes stacked in towers and furniture covered in plastic wrap. Sue hadn’t had a chance to arrange things since their return from Pittsburgh.* While they could have easily afforded to hire an interior decorator and pro movers, she preferred to deal with things hands-on.

* (Site of their previous HQ - Alan)

After all, the Baxter Building may have been residence to the world’s greatest superhero team, but it was still a home. Her home, and she wanted it to feel that way.

“Ben, take Johnny, and see about opening the hangar manually.”

Ben nodded and the two disappeared down one of the halls.

“Mom, Dad!”

Franklin peeked his head in from the living room. He was dressed in jeans, T-shirt, and--she saw to her disapproval--dirty gym socks. His hair gave the impression it may have been combed once, but certainly not within the last month.

“You guys are on the TV.”

“No doubt, son,” Reed replied, brushing past him towards the lab-wing, “but I don’t have time to chat now. I need to remote-pilot the Fantasticar indoors.”

Sue could hear the annoyance in her husband’s voice and noted the surprise on Franklin’s face. She quickly moved to cover for Reed, asking politely: “What are they saying, honey?”

Franklin shrugged and she followed him into the living room area. It too was still in disarray, although someone had taken time to clear off the couch and setup the TV and game systems. On the big screen, a news program was playing.

The onscreen text read: Live! Terror at the Baxter Building! Shaky footage of Ben tossing her would-be attacker away from the Fantasticar along with Johnny blitzing the crowd was being played in a loop. A breathless reporter kept babbling something about the Fantastic Four’s violent overreaction to peaceful protesters.

Sue closed her eyes and sighed. Wonderful. More problems. It figured.

“They were playing Dad’s interview all day too. The talk guys kept saying how fatigued he looked, whatever that means.”

She thought about Reed, and the deep lines etched in his face as he’d rushed off to the labs. Fatigued.

That much, at least, was true.

“…according to the DEA, it’s now being used to smuggle drugs into this country, practically undetected. There’s literally no means for law enforcement to combat it.”

The TV screen was split three-ways, allowing news host Jackson Orizio to share a troubled expression with the audience. “Were you aware of that, Dr. Richards?”

The man in the first square shook his head. The info-blurb below him read: Dr. Reed Richards, meta-science expert and Fantastic Four founder, identifying him for the viewers at home.

“No, I was not,” he replied. “I’m not even certain that information’s entirely accurate…”

“But you did invent the technology in question?”

“Yes, but it’s application was altogether different. It’s main use was in studying the Micro-World…”

“The Micro-World?” Orizo repeated with amusement. “Which is?”

“Possibly one of the great discoveries of the last century. I don’t know if we have time to go into specifics but-”

“Well, wait a minute here, just, excuse me,” interrupted the man from the third and final square, a young professional with steel rimmed glasses and a crisp Caesar cut. The peevish expression he’d held during Richards’ replies had turned to one of genuine annoyance. “I’m sorry, but may I speak?”

Orizio nodded. “Go ahead, Mr. Strawslinger.”

“What we’re hearing is exactly what I’m talking about. Reed Richards does not live in the real world. People like him do not live in the real world. The rest of us, however, do, and we have to try to live normal lives in the same community he unleashes his weird science on. This is precisely the point I’m trying to make.”

Richards shifted awkwardly in his seat. “May I respond to that?”

“Just one moment,” the host replied, glancing down at the notes he held. “Because I think this touches on the issue in question. According to Mr. Strawslinger’s book, for example, a study by UNICEF found that in a recent flare-up between India and Pakistan over seventy percent of the weapons used contained technology that can be traced back to parts patented by you Dr. Richards.”

The screen changed to stock footage of an anonymous man in a headscarf handling a futuristic rifle.

“Apparently one of these weapons is so powerful it can destroy an Abrams tank, one of the U.S. military’s top performance vehicles. Is that right?”

Strawslinger nodded. “That’s exactly right, Jackson.”

“Now when you hear these sorts of things, Dr. Richards, what do you think?”

Richards shifted again, clearing his throat. “I don’t know. I mean, I believe my work’s being taken out of context here. I don’t invent or sell weaponry.”

“But your technology,” the host pressed, “has been used to augment existing weaponry, far beyond the extent of conventional science. And now that weaponry is being used by some of the world’s very worst, even superhuman, threats. Am I fair in saying that much?”

“Perhaps, it’s possible, I haven’t studied the relevant data. Either way a scientist can’t be held responsible for every single use his technology is put to.”

At this, Strawslinger threw up his hands in a display in of exasperation. “And here go. Nobody’s ever responsible. They make these dangerous toys--and Dr. Richards isn’t the only one, just the most conspicuous--and walk away blame free, while the rest of us have to deal with the expensive and often deadly consequences.”

Orizio shook his head at the camera, looking both deeply puzzled and disturbed. “A troubling reality to be sure.”

“Wait,” Richards cut in, “wait, may I respond to what he just said?”

As if in reply the screen condensed back into a single square, both Richards and Strawslinger disappearing from sight.

“I’m sorry gentlemen,” Orizio said, “that’s all the time we have at the moment. Of course, we’ll be happy to have both of you back on later in the week. The book is Webster Straw slinger’s Unnatural Acts: The Case Against Meta-Science and the film, of course, currently the third grossing in the nation. Interesting, interesting stuff.”

An image of a attractive, sleepy eyed woman appeared in the corner of the screen. It was framed by jagged red text that read: Grisly Murder Mystery Continues?

“Later this hour a look at the death of famous starlet Virginia Pokes and a startling revelation about her newborn son that may surprise everyone.”

Jackson Orizio smiled broadly and adjusted his notes.

“Up next on the Hype!”

Three hours later, Sue switched off the telephone with a sigh. It seemed like every reporter they’d ever met had called the building at least twice. Them she’d brushed off with little remorse. The rest were friends and family though, and that required more tact.

Jennifer alone had kept her on the line for over twenty minutes, insisting that if they needed legal advice to call her. Even Steve Rogers phoned, from Paris of all places, sounding genuinely concerned. He remained one of the politest men Sue had ever met.

It was good to hear from them all, although it was a shame the situation had to be what it was to get them to call. That was the way things were in this life though.

Placing the phone back in its cradle, Sue left the living room and headed towards the lab-wing. She hadn’t heard from Reed since they’d brought the Fantasticar inside. Now it was late and Johnny and Ben had already gone home; Ben said the hangar problem had something to do with the new hydraulics, and he’d fix it tomorrow.

Sue found her husband in his Tinker Room, or at least that’s what she called it. It was filled with all the little inventions and gizmos he played with when there wasn’t something bigger on the line. Basically just a study packed with cluttered work benches and bookshelves.

In other words, an absolute, terrible mess. But still very Reed, she felt, and so she liked it all the same.

He was sitting in his chair, watching the television when she walked in. Sue recognized the program on sight.

“Reed, you shouldn’t watch that. You’re just tormenting yourself.”

“I know. How stupid of me though,” he mused, “I should have been more prepared when I went on that show. Had my facts all ready.”

“You did fine. It was an ambush. Like Ben was saying, it was a slow news month so they picked you for a pariah. It will blow over.”

He smiled half-heartedly and clicked it off. “No doubt.”

Sue walked up behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. They felt tense.

“Oh,” he said with sudden enthusiasm, “Guess what I found?” He pushed some papers aside and stretched his arm around to present her with a tiny wooden object. It took her a moment to realize what it was--his favorite pipe.

She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. I thought you threw that stinky thing out.”

“Apparently not. I haven’t smoked in how long now? Yet there it was in one of the moving boxes. Amazing really.”

It was, she supposed, given the clutter of his labs and the number of headquarters they’d gone through in the last few years. Just about anything she’d had from her old pre-Fantastic Four days had been reduced to rubble or scrap years ago.

“You’re not thinking of taking it up again? Your doctor would have an aneurism.”

“No, no,” he replied with amusement, tossing it back into the paper shuffle. “Of course not. It got me thinking is all. At one point, I was actually planning to modify it, make it so that it would turn the smoke into something beneficial. I never figured out what though. An asthma inhaler maybe.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You wanted to make it so asthmatics could smoke pipes?”

“I wanted to make it so I could smoke a pipe!”

They both smiled, and for a moment the mood felt a little lighter. It didn’t take long for Reed to grow gloomy again though.

“Funny, I didn’t even consider it at the time, but such a project would have cost millions. All that money to create a silly pipe no one could afford anyhow. ”

“You’re not blaming yourself are you?”

Reed shrugged. “I don’t know. Not really. There’s some truth to what they’re saying though, isn’t there? A lot of my inventions haven’t done very many people much good. At least not the right kinds of people.”

Sue released his shoulders and placed her hands on her hips. She let a little anger seep into her voice.

“That’s absurd and you know it.”

“Yes,” he laughed., “I suppose it does come off rather self-pitying. Still, did I mention the Palo Alto Research Center called this morning?”

“Oh?”

“They said they thought they’d take a rain check on my speaking engagement there. Nothing personal, of course, just didn’t want the bad press. That makes the tenth cancellation since Tuesday.”

“I’m sorry. But it’s their loss, right?”

“Right…”

Sue frowned, annoyed by his hang-dog tone. It wasn’t like him and she was growing tired of it.

“Look, if you want criticism Reed--real criticism--then here’s some: For one, I don’t like how curt you were with Franklin earlier. You shouldn’t brush him off like that. And secondly you shouldn’t mope around here like you have been either. It worries him. It worries me.”

“I wasn’t aware I was moping,” he said, sounding genuinely surprise. “Or that I was being curt. Maybe it’s the medication.”

“So you’re still taking it then?” Reed had been on Clopidogrel and similar drugs ever since his stroke.* She was always worried he’d stop without telling her.

* (Reed suffered a massive stroke while battling Dr. Doom in M2K Fantastic Four #44 - Alan)

“Of course. What’s an old man without his pills?”

“You’re not an old man, Reed.”

“I know,” he said with a weary grin. “Only kidding.”

Not old, she thought, just tired and a little heartsick. This was hardly the homecoming they’d hope for when they came back New York City, hardly the way to follow up on his recovery.

“Yoshi* said she’s making Kakuni with Yakitori and cabbage tonight.”

* (The team’s live-in nanny. Intro’d in M2K Fantastic Four #45 - Alan)

“Sounds delicious in the way only something unpronounceable can.”

Sue laughed. “She’s a very good cook actually.”

“I never said she wasn’t! I’m just a terrible linguist.”

She opened her mouth to say more but the high pitched warble of an alarm cut her off. A red light began to flash on a wall consol to their left.

“Hum,” Reed said, his chair swiveling as his neck stretched across the room for a better look. “Odd.”

“More bad news?”

“I’m not certain,” he said, punching in a command to link up with the main computer and scan the readouts. “But it appears one of my probes in the Negative Zone has picked up something. A faint radio signal from the Uncharted Area.”

“That doesn’t sound like cause for alarm.”

“That depends. The signal is repeating Morse code, dear.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“SOS.”

Meanwhile, a dimension away, the first Earthling to ever set foot on Planet 32-I of the Uncharted Area worked furiously at the controls of her improvised radio telescope.

It was a long shot, she knew, for in a moment They would realize what was happening. Again she scanned the horizon for any sign of approaching searchlights. All remained dark.

She had no way of knowing if her efforts would pay off, no way of knowing if she was even aiming at the correct coordinates. The odds of her signal actually being detected by the Fantastic Four’s probe were probably less then .01%.

Nevertheless, those were the best odds she was going to get.

SOS, she repeated, transmitting the bursts of code into space, SOS.

As she sent the very last message, the ground suddenly jumped from the boom of propulsion jets. Turning towards the horizon, she saw searchlights flickering into life all around the clearing, highlighting its jagged landscape in an eerie glow. Already the stench of ozone burned his nostrils.

They had arrived.

And the killing would soon follow.

Next: Into the Negative Zone!