Fantastic Four 2: Rise of the Silver Surfer Read online

  Pocket Star Books

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2007 by Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation and Dune Entertainment LLC. All rights reserved.

  MARVEL, Fantastic Four, Silver Surfer, and all related character names and likenesses thereof are trademarks of Marvel Characters, Inc., and are used with permission. Copyright © and ™ by Marvel Characters, Inc. All rights reserved.

  Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer, the movie: © 2007 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation and Dune Entertainment LLC. All rights reserved.

  Motion Picture Artwork and Photography: © 2007 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation and Dune Entertainment LLC. All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  POCKET STAR BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  ISBN: 1-4165-5966-3

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  THE PLANET SAT SILENTLY, WAITING, ROTATING IN AN inky sea of black space…turning slowly, even at a thousand miles per hour, revealing its skin of deep blues interrupted only by small patches of greens and browns. For millennia, the planet existed silently, orbiting near other, equally silent planets — their only companions the distant stars, small specks of silver and dust that cast an inconsistent glow, bathing the endless expanse of deep black with uneven light. In the soundless sea of space, the planet’s majesty took on an unshakable feeling of solitude, even loneliness.

  Until now.

  In the far corner of the heavens, a crack appeared. At first it seemed no larger than a wayward spark, an inconsequential shard of silver leaking out from a broken, faraway star.

  The crack grew larger as it moved through space with a speed never before seen so close to this silent group of planets. It zoomed closer and closer to the slowly turning blue globe, as if drawn by its calming colors, leaving a bright, radiant dust in its wake. As the object increased its speed, the dust scattered, and a thundering shock wave of cosmic energy followed. Waves of red and orange bent and slithered like snakes, rippling across the endless blackness — a stunning display, a violent burst of color and fingers of crackling light.

  The object continued forward, heading straight for the large planet below.

  It reached the outer skin of the Earth’s atmosphere and the results were instantaneous. More energy burned from the object as a fierce electrical storm formed behind it, unleashing torrents of lightning and more fingers of rippling energy. For a brief moment, the vast emptiness of space was no longer dark, no longer silent, no longer cold and quiet.

  The first light of dawn calmly awakened the small Japanese village, the blue sky opening like a flower. Three men gathered their fishing gear and stowed it in the old wooden boat, carefully making their way out into the tranquil waters of the lake.

  They attempted to remain noiseless so as not to startle the fish, using small oars and swift strokes instead of the loud onboard engine. Generations of their family had fished these waters, and the lessons had been passed down eagerly: Stay quiet; be patient; let the good things find you. For years, nothing had changed — not the route of the fishermen, or the baits on the line, or the bamboo poles cherished for their strength and lightness. The view was the same as it always had been: the expanse of calm water and the morning light playing upon the slight waves, giving the entire lake a shimmer.

  It was the serenity of this lake that the fishermen relished almost as much as the sustenance it provided. A good haul could feed the village for days. But the sight of the lake, the air fresh and clean and soft, filled them for much longer.

  The lead fisherman moved quickly to the front of the boat, letting his two brothers continue to row in the rear. As the eldest, it was his duty to lead them to the deepest part of the lake, where the biggest fish swam. His eyes narrowed as he tried to look past the glare of the sun for the telltale signs: a ripple in the water, a moving light, a small wave.

  The lead fisherman kept a tight grip on either side of the wooden boat, a sudden intensity in his eyes the only sign of his trepidation. Truth be told, for all his competence and ease with the fish, there was one thing he was still afraid of: the water. He did not know how to swim.

  This fear of water had always haunted him, especially during his younger years, when he was eager to prove himself as a brave provider for his village. Some nights, back then, he’d wake up bathed in sweat from the familiar nightmare: the tossing wave, the rocking and shaking of the boat, which eventually pitched him over into the deep, cold water of the lake. He felt the dampness over him like a weight as the water seeped into his bones, pulling him down to its icy depths. His mind always let him see that final image of his brothers, their mouths moving quickly, arms outstretched as they tried to reach their flailing, incompetent sibling, in their eyes a mixture of fear and disappointment, as if they, too, had been expecting this all along. The dream always ended just after he tried to open his mouth to scream, to say good-bye, the water filling him with the overwhelming taste of death.

  The fisherman shook his head to wipe the remnants of the dream from his mind, letting the cool lake air wash over his face. Stupid fear, childish fear, he admonished himself. Such is the imagination of the young. He smiled at himself, feeling foolish, as he leaned over the moving water.

  Out of the corner his eye, he saw it: a flash, a darting of light. Was it something deep below? He could not tell; it went by too rapidly. What type of fish could move that fast?

  The fisherman, staring deep into the water, could not see his two brothers clasping their oars as they looked above them, high into the clear blue sky. Nor could the fisherman guess that what he saw on the water was only a reflection of something moving above him, rather than below. The silver blur disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

  Suddenly the boat began to pitch as a loud, violent shock wave swept over the entire body of water. The fishermen grabbed on to the sides of the old wooden boat, their voices rising, fear clouding their thoughts. The boat tipped and fell, as the lake was now a torrent of waves, tossing the vessel about like a toy. Cold water sloshed into the boat, seeping through the clothes of the terrified fishermen, their eyes stinging. A loud rumble grew in their ears and in their terror they envisioned the boat tearing itself apart. The noise escalated to a crescendo, loud, booming, crackling, the sound turning almost physical as it blew across their clothes like the wind.

  The boat suddenly lurched to a halt, the wood creaking and shriekin
g as loud as those it carried. The men in the back held on as tightly as they could, the wood splintering in their callused, trembling hands, drawing blood across their fingers and palms.

  But the eldest fisherman, the one in the front, had nothing to hold on to but the narrow bow, where the wood was thinnest, where it was already cracked and falling into the water. The sudden movement of the boat left him no choice but to submit. And just as the shockwave reached its loudest point, he released his grip and was thrown over the side of the vessel into the rapidly turning water.

  The fisherman was once again in his childhood dream. He saw the violently rocking boat, tasted the fear in his mouth, heard the sounds he told himself existed only in his head. And, as always, he saw his brothers reaching out to him, their hands stained this time with their own blood. His body shut down and he prepared to feel the icy water take him over, to be dragged deep down to a cold grave. His mind caved in fear as he realized that his nightmare was made real.

  Suddenly, all was silent. The shock wave receded, the colors disappeared, and the sky returned to its pale blue hue. He could not hear the rushing water, could not feel it taking him over like a heavy blanket, could not hear his brothers crying his name. He could not hear anything. Raising his hands to his face, he saw they were intact, and dry. He lay beside his family’s boat, not drowning.

  He had fallen onto a sea of solid rock.

  Half a world away, a tiny European village sat nestled amid thick woods and trees. Isolated and silent, the village shared the same view as Earth: deep, inky night; silver specks of stars; a pale, lonely moon. The village was undisturbed — there was not even a wind to rustle the thick leaves on the trees in the dense forest. The dirt, untouched for years, lay heavily on the ground, as if sleeping deeply. Large stones marked a pathway up to an old mansion, its heavy facade as silent as the forest that surrounded it. The mansion was as old as the village itself, held over from a time long forgotten, when small groups of nomads roamed through this countryside aided only by the light of burning torches.

  The main room of the mansion housed dozens of large, dusty crates. The moon shone through a large bay window, giving just enough light to show the small rats and vermin lurking in the corners, hunger serving as their only companion. The only sign of modernity in the room was the now faded ink used to stamp the large wooden crates with the words VON DOOM ENTERPRISES. In the center of the room stood the largest crate, a rectangle nearly seven feet high. Its nails long had ago lost their sheen, giving way to rust and dust.

  Overhead, among the dim stars, a small brightness appeared, growing stronger as it passed over the village. The trees of the forest began to shudder and shake, and the dirt on the ground moved for the first time in years. Strong winds blew the carpet of the forest around, large pieces of rubble slapping the trunks of the trees in violent gusts. A solitary silver object passed through the sky, illuminating the tops of the thick trees for only a moment. With loud bursts the silver object was gone, leaving a cloud of thick, radiant energy that began to fall gently to the ground. The glowing rain covered the entire village, bathing the forests and the mansion in its shining hue. The energy moved like water over the old stone walls of the mansion.

  The iridescent wave fell through the shoddy roof and into each room of the mansion, lighting the old structure. Rats scurried to the farthest corners of the large main room, running past the wooden crates, fearful of the incandescence moving over the space, their eyes glowing red. The curtain of energy spilled quickly over the largest crate in the room, covering it entirely. Wooden slats rattled and shook, the rusty nails once again taking on a silver sheen. Inside the crate, a large statue made of solid metal was bathed in the energy, illuminated by the moving, shimmering light. The dull, aged metal took on a new shine, its limbs and torso glowing as if they’d been scrubbed by the powerful energy.

  The eyes of the statue opened suddenly, burning with a sadistic energy all their own.

  1

  SUSAN STORM STOOD STARING AT THE COMMERCIAL JET on the airport tarmac, its large belly reflecting the afternoon sun with a powerful glare. The engines of the jet were silent, at least to her, as she watched several figures on the ground loading luggage and moving around the jet with ear protectors fastened tightly to their heads. She lingered on the activity on the ground, the scurrying and the action that she was not a part of, grateful to have something else to focus on. Often she begged her fiancé, Reed Richards, to find some other way for them to travel, some other way that didn’t make her feel so exposed, so seen.

  Susan blinked away the darker thoughts, turning from the window of the airport terminal and letting her eyes become readjusted from the glare of the afternoon light. Inside the terminal at LAX, all silence was obliterated. A crowd had immediately formed around her and her family as soon as they’d arrived at the gate to wait for their flight back to New York. She tried to block out the squeals of delight from the onlookers, the rush of the crowd that usually seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the room. She attempted to refocus, to ignore the voices gathering around them, the clicking of cell phone cameras, the murmurs and whispers that stuck to her skin so quickly that sometimes she could feel them before she heard them. Before the strange hands touched her arms or shoulders. One time, there’d been a tug on her long blond hair.

  Is that them? Oh my God, I can’t believe it. They look so different up close. What the hell is she wearing? Do you think she’s pregnant?

  Of all the things that had changed about Sue’s life since the cosmic storm — the storm that altered her DNA and gave her powers beyond anything imaginable, powers that drew her back into the world of Reed Richards, powers that led to the defeat and death of Victor Von Doom — it was being thrown into the public eye that remained the most difficult. She disliked it intensely: the constant staring, the roving cameras that followed them wherever they went, the intense scrutiny that came with such attention.

  For the most part, she had accepted the fate that had befallen them. If they suddenly had powers that could be useful to mankind, so be it. She was willing to share them and to do her part to make the world a safer place. She wasn’t haunted by the changes in her life, the way she suspected Ben Grimm might be; nor did she relish the limelight the way her younger brother, Johnny, did. And Reed? He barely noticed anything beyond a book or his PDA. With the outside world rushing so violently into their private space, she often wondered how he could remain so clueless to the million different ways their lives had been invaded.

  Sue felt a small weight in her chest. She rubbed her hands together, staring at the slim band of silver around her finger, trying to dismiss her cranky, cynical thoughts. She knew these weren’t the musings of a hero, or of someone grateful for her life and upcoming wedding, or of someone even the least bit fantastic. It happened to her sometimes, when the crush of it all became a bit too much, when she’d retreat inside herself, if only to get a break from the attention and the spotlight. But the thoughts were beginning to stay with her for longer periods of time, and even her power of invisibility, her ability to disappear from their sight, could not make them go away.

  She walked over to where Reed and Ben were sitting, waiting for the flight. The airport lounge was large and quite generic, she felt, for such a metropolitan city. They had bypassed the coffee bars and newsstands, hoping to lose the seemingly necessary crowds. But they were unavoidable. She noticed the people all around them and made a note to speak to Reed again about finding a less public way to travel. An overhead television caught her attention as she noticed the people in the waiting area staring intently at the talking flat screen.

  The TV showed a typical blond anchorwoman with too many teeth talking about Susan and the team. The anchorwoman stared blankly into space and spoke: “It’s being called the wedding of the century. Reed Richards and Susan Storm, also known as Mr. Fantastic and the Invisible Woman, will try again to tie the knot three days from now at a private ceremony at the newly remodeled Baxter Bui
lding. They’re hoping the fifth time’s the charm, as the unlucky couple has repeatedly had to reschedule the event due to ‘unforeseen circumstances.’ But even the delays haven’t dampened the enthusiasm of the couple’s fans.”

  Susan cringed at the thought of her personal life being so vividly displayed for the world to see. She and Reed were in love. It wasn’t their fault that things kept intruding on their wedding plans. It wasn’t like they were hesitant or filled with doubt, was it? She turned her attention back to the television screen, which now panned over a crowd of people. It seemed to her that these cable news shows always found the most extreme personalities to feature on their segments, making most of the public seem like freaks or extremists. This show was no different. The camera cut to rabidly cheering fans adorned with the now familiar and ubiquitous dark blue Fantastic Four T-shirts. Johnny had gone behind their backs again and struck a licensing deal to have their logo put on anything he could: clothing, hats, mugs, towels. Even a large lingerie manufacturer had been ready to make a deal before Sue put a stop to it. Her brother had no common sense, relying instead on his fiery ambition and, she hated to admit, his growing hunger for fame.

  The news camera focused on a particularly ardent young couple, the man weighing about twice that of the woman next to him. He was wearing a blue T-shirt with a large number four on the chest and grabbed his young girlfriend for a particularly long, deep kiss, right on camera. When he came up for air he said, “My girlfriend and I are getting married on the same day. I even dyed my temples, right, sweetie?” He turned his large, round face to either side, showing the camera his gray temples. The young girl, with lipstick now smeared over her lips, was wearing a blue wedding dress also emblazoned with a number four.