Silver Surfer: All The Years #1

Written by Mark Robert Bourne
Edited by James Pedrick, Special Thanks to Frank Kane
Published by the Cosmic Powers Fan Fiction Group in

Characters are the properties of Marvel Comics
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Silver Surfer
"All The Years"

(Note: Continues from All The Years #0)


The problem with outer space was that no matter where you would travel, the twinkling cosmos gave the impression of looking the same.  The planets, however, were not at all similar.  Some were immensely populated while others lay dead or dying.  Many had rings around them, some with moons and those with their own suns thrived.  There were planets of every color and size floating among the black holes, meteors and comets.  A billion twinkling stars hovered in every direction you would look, each teaming with life and a semblance of hope. 

The Silver Surfer could not recall if he had been to this part of the galaxy before, all of it appeared so alike to him.  His luminous head hung dejected as the Surfer glided past a large red meteor and the cold moon of a small planet that hovered closest to that particular galaxy’s blazing sun.  Moving closer to the planet, for which a name was not known, the Silver Surfer exposed his face to the sun revealing the sad, torn look of a man lost.  For the past few years, he had noticed how other beings he had known appeared distinctively older; some had even passed on.  Nevertheless, the Surfer’s silver complexion had not changed over the many years, though his soul had grown tired and precarious.  Inside he was reminiscent of an old man, waiting for his life to conclude, growing weary of the world and lack of life around him.

I have not been here before, to this part of the cosmos. 

I am weary and I must rest.  I must find a planet where I can refresh myself.  Then, I must find nourishment for my master, Galactus, hungers and he must be provided for.

I cannot continue on.

I am weary, but I must go forth, go on.

Oh, how I cannot bear it. In every dazzling star, in every silent moon that orbits every existing planet, in every corner of the infinite galaxies, in every rising dawn, and in every blazing comet or soaring meteor, no matter where I gaze, I see her face.

A bright red beam abruptly struck the Silver Surfer while he had been descending into the lower atmosphere of the blue-skied planet.  Tumbling end over end, the dazed Surfer headed as a blazing comet toward the sand swept desert below, his surfboard spiraled off in some unknown direction.

On the desolate planet, for as far as the eye could see were only miles of sand and the blinding brilliant blue sky casting down.  The dunes of sand and the small rock foundations that sprung up every thousand miles in any direction seemed to be the only sign of landscape.  The planet seemed lifeless.  High above the dull terrain, the Surfer’s body streaked across the blazing sky and landed with an explosive force some three hundred yards from a dull brown rock formation that thrust outward from the planet surface.  The unconscious Surfer laid solidly planted in a ten-foot crater while remnants of sand and debris rained down like a monsoon.  The blistering sunlight from above blasted down, creating the skewering hot surface of the Silver Surfer’s body, and began to cook the surrounding sand with a sizzling hiss.

“WOWANDA SZITS OWAH.”  The tone-deaf cybernetic voice shrilled. “WOWANDA.”

With the force of a typhoon, the Surfer’s body was instantaneously bombarded from all sides with crystal clear, cool water.  The impact of fresh water on the sizzling hot surface of the silver body created a massive upsurge of steam high into the brilliant sky.  After a short moment, the Silver Surfer’s body drifted silently in the basin of serene liquid space.

“WOWANNA TANDO CHOX” Again spoke the voice, wavering.

Billions of light years away on the picturesque planet of Zenn-La, in the city of Maddie-Ty stood the great house of Shalla Bal.  The dwelling was positioned near three gleaming waterfalls on the edge of a great butte that plunged into a blanket of green vegetation.  High above, a flock of majestic birds soared among the cheerful pink and blue sky overlooking the stunning valley below, and in the distance, an aqua-highlighted ocean beckoned in the cool sun.

The maidservant Zein-Ma entered the golden door and brushed through the small hallway carrying a platter with a pail blue pitcher and a glass. She had been in the service of the royal family for countless years and had seen the world history unfold first hand.  The stunted woman could look no older than one hundred, her golden hair remained, as always, pulled back, and held by a large bonnet.  Her face lacked expression, even when she was happy. 

There she scurried in to the main bedroom and placed the tray on a table that sat near a large open window.  The slight breeze from outside stirred the pink curtains, which Zein-Ma scrutinized candidly.  Letting out an irksome sigh, she marched over closed the tall window and adjusted the disheveled curtains. Hearing the rustling of the sleeping Queen, she lurched hastily towards the bed where Shalla Bal rested.

Surrounded by a sea of pink and blue bedding, Shalla Bal slept silently.  Though she had aged, her beauty shined though the wrinkled skin and the graying hair; Shalla Bal remained ever so striking even in her older years.

“It is time to rise my Queen.” Said Zein-Mal in her usual raspy voice. 

As Shalla Bal stirred, the elder servant pulled back the large sheets revealing the frail figure beneath.

“Where is my daughter?”  Shalla Bal sighed as she awakened.

“She is on her way here, my Queen,” said the servant as she reached for the pitcher and cup. “We are expecting her within the hour.”

“Oh, please let her hurry,” breathed Shalla Bal. “She must find my Norrin before it is too late.”

In another part of the galaxy, hovering over what was once a small planet some million light years away sat the great star ship of Galactus.  The huge, bulky sphere that had once, in years past, been the subject of imposing fear among the populace of any planet that stood in its path.  Now, however, it had grown old, living on way past its prime and on its way to the rubbish heap.  The hull no longer had its shine of youth, it’s engines whine like an old mill and its isolated occupant, Galactus, sat among the crafts antiquated navigation system, awaiting news from his loyal herald.

Galactus had grown hungry again, more now than in times past.  The burning desire in the center of his being cried out for nourishment.  For now, he would await the news, but he would not wait for long.

A steady distant hum awoke the Silver Surfer; his eyes opened to the blur of liquid space.  He struggled, but could not move, he peered, struggling to focus his eyes, the Surfer can faintly discern darkened figures moving about.  He was incased, trapped and unable to escape.

“Where am I?” questioned the Silver Surfer.    

Unexpectedly, a shockingly painful sting stuck every nerve in the Surfers body.  Every muscle tensed up, as if an electric shock coursed through every nerve.  He heard a low, distinctive voice slice into his inner consciousness.  

“You have come here as the destroyer once did.”  The Voice boomed. “Why have you come here?”

The Surfer had never felt so much agony. 

“Why have you come here?”  Again the voice thunders. “Galactus?”

The Surfer felt himself cry out in tormented agony, but he could not hear himself, he only felt the muscles of his jaw and mouth strain open, expelling his pain.

“I must escape!” were the thoughts of the Silver Surfer, stranded on the edge of unconsciousness.

The strain was too much and the Surfer collapsed, hung suspended in the liquid space. His last thoughts were not his own.

“You can not escape.”

Continued in Silver Surfer: All The Years #2

Silver Surfer: All The Years… Vol. 1 No. 1
Story (c) Copyright 2000 Mark Robert Bourne.  All story rights reserved.  No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system without the express permission by the writer/story copyright holder.

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