Days as a Spiritual Mentor in American Comics Chapter 5740 - 4763: X Royal Family: Rebirth (Part 3)

Big bags were brought in by Quicksilver. After setting the food down, he offered a smile and a nod, stating, "Enjoy your meal, gentlemen. Should you require anything, just call for me."

"Hold on a moment," Shiller called out, "Aren’t you going to tell us what we’re eating?"

Quicksilver tilted his head, remaining in place. As he started unpacking, Shiller realized why Quicksilver had seemed puzzled. The entirety of the takeaway consisted of fast food, appearing indistinguishable from frozen, pre-prepared meals – much like those frozen chicken wings requiring only a quick refry to be ready.

"Is this it?" Shiller inquired.

Appearing slightly embarrassed, Quicksilver scratched his head. "Transporting supplies from off-island is quite inconvenient. Frozen food lasts longer. Naturally, we understand this isn't ideal for guests. If you're not in a hurry, I can travel to the mainland and procure some items for you."

"You lack fresh produce and meat?" Peter asked, a hint of confusion in his tone.

Quicksilver shook his head. "No, we source everything externally. The Hellfire Group’s cargo vessels deliver all provisions to the island. Previously, conditions in Clarkia were unfavorable, and few suppliers were willing to engage with us, hence our limited fresh food reserves. This situation may improve in the future."

"Why not cultivate your own supply?" Shiller inquired, raising his eyes. "I observed a rather flat expanse of land on the eastern side of the island earlier; couldn't that be utilized for growing vegetables?"

Quicksilver appeared taken aback by the suggestion, as though the notion of cultivating their own vegetables had never occurred to him. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then refrained, leaving the others to likely surmise the reason.

Historically, in the communities where these mutants resided, cultivating vegetables was typically forbidden. Regardless of one's location, not everyone possessed fields, and few had yards. The majority of mutants here had never engaged in growing anything themselves.

Furthermore, upon arrival, they were overwhelmed by numerous challenges, including the necessity of constructing shelter and confronting external threats. All were aware of the difficult circumstances, and simply ensuring adequate food was considered sufficient, without aspiring to more.

"Considering your perspective, we could indeed cultivate something," Quicksilver mused after a pause. "However, our expertise in this area is rather limited. The sole plant I managed to raise was a cactus, which unfortunately perished due to overwatering. Rogue, however, has a fondness for flowers; perhaps I could consult her?"

"Those are hardly comparable," Shiller stated with a sigh. "Very well, I shall inspect that plot tomorrow. Let us commence with potatoes."

"On a related note," he added, "is it permissible to fish in the lake?"

Matt inquired softly, "Aren't those creatures considered protected species?"

"Protected animals are for me to protect, not for you to consume."

"You wish to consume fish?" Quicksilver considered this. "Fishing is permitted, but are you certain you can manage whatever you catch?"

Shiller responded with a questioning glance. Quicksilver shrugged. "This island is inhabited by numerous extraordinary creatures. While most dangerous terrestrial fauna have been driven out, those within the lake remain. If you intend to fish, ensure you are armed."

Matt instinctively touched his forehead, a gesture of resignation. Most of the fish that put up a struggle offered little meat and an abundance of bones, making the effort hardly worthwhile for the meager taste.

"What about fruits? Are there no fruits on the trees?" Steve inquired. "I noticed some bushes resembling raspberries on our way here. Have you attempted to pick any?"

"We've been rather occupied of late," Quicksilver replied, looking somewhat sheepish. "I shall endeavor to find someone to investigate this tomorrow."

"No need to trouble yourselves," Stark interjected, having just arrived, and waved a hand. "As we have ample free time, we can assist in sampling them."

"That would be most agreeable," Quicksilver affirmed. "Previously, due to external complications, the island's development was significantly hampered. Allowing the situation to persist unchanged is not a viable strategy. We genuinely need to devise a method for self-sufficiency here."

"Every endeavor begins with difficulty," Steve remarked. "However, once this initial phase is overcome, all aspects will improve."

Following Quicksilver's departure, the group commenced their meal. They were not particularly discerning regarding the fast food; its primary purpose was sustenance. However, the alcoholic beverages were another matter entirely, inducing nausea. Compounding the issue was the absence of ice, which rendered every type of liquor unpalatable. The beer was as insipid as water, the whiskey possessed a harsh, burning quality, and the sweet wine offered an overwhelming blast of artificial flavor. This was not a matter of being overly picky – Matt and Peter typically purchased the most common varieties from convenience stores, and they were baffled as to where the mutants had acquired such dreadful concoctions.

Because the alcohol was undrinkable and the long night stretched out with no desire to sleep, they could only recline on the living room sofa and engage in conversation.

"Did you just refer to him as a mutant?" Charles was the first to voice his inquiry, recalling Shiller's earlier use of the term "Mr. Mutant" when addressing Strange.

"You were unaware? On the interstellar council's official roster, his listed race is 'mutant,' a designation chosen to account for his superpower, which bears resemblance to a mind-reading technique." Strange rolled his eyes.

Charles shifted slightly on the sofa, adjusting his posture. "But he registered as a magician in the Andromeda Galaxy," he stated.

Both individuals turned their gaze toward Shiller. He cleared his throat twice before responding, "One adopts their own identity when traveling. Primarily, I informed the interstellar council that I am a magician, but within the Andromeda Galaxy, I claimed to be a mutant — a distinction you both seemed to overlook."

With synchronized eye-rolls, they turned away. Shiller then casually waved a hand. "Alright, alright, to be completely truthful, I was bitten by a spider."

Peter's eyes widened as he looked towards him. "Doctor, if you're fabricating a tale, at least infuse it with some genuine effort. How could Spider-Man possess mind-reading abilities?"

"Isn't Spider-sense quite similar in nature?"

"Regrettably," Peter replied, "the Spider Legion now operates under a comprehensive identity registration system. The sole Spider-Man registered within the Central Universe is myself. It appears you won't quite fit in, Doctor. Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"I happen to have a spider with me. Would you care to be bitten by it?"

This time, Shiller's eyes bulged. "You carry the very spider that bit you around?!"

"Certainly not the one that inflicted the bite. In reality, it serves as a minor communication pet for the Spider Legion." With that said, Shiller watched, astonished, as Peter produced a spider the size of an adult's palm – an orange baboon spider.

"It's quite hairy, isn't it? Rather adorable, don't you think?"

Shiller's gaze fell upon the prominent chelicerae at the front of the baboon spider. He swallowed hard and then turned to Matt, inquiring, "Where precisely did you acquire your martial arts training?"

Steve, reclining on the sofa with his head propped by his hand, chuckled. "I still recall the exact address of the laboratory where they injected me with the serum back in the day. I'll furnish you with it later. You can ascertain if you can still manage to get there."

A wave of laughter swept through the group. However, Stark interjected, "Mind Reading Technique? It's all based on scientific psychological theories. Pay them no mind, Shiller. Science consistently opens its doors to you."

"My apologies, but I have no intention of entering," Shiller responded, rolling his eyes once more. "Were I inclined to acknowledge that this particular skill could be passed down and studied scientifically, I would likely be confined to an office, forever pursuing research for definitive results."

"Speaking of which," Stark said, rolling over on the sofa, "I noticed some significant construction activity down by the bay. What exactly are they undertaking?"

"Naturally, they are constructing a port," Shiller replied. "To streamline logistics and bolster Clarkia's international standing, a massive deepwater port is currently under construction."

Stark flipped back, resting his arm behind his head. "However, that particular location isn't optimal. While many believe that type of bay is perfectly suited for port development, the reality is somewhat different. The opposing side, characterized by its cliffs, would actually be superior."

"Perhaps they have their own valid considerations," Steve mused, idly fiddling with a beer can. "Furthermore, construction has already commenced. It's rather late to offer any objections now, wouldn't you agree?"

"I shall extend a reminder to them," Stark declared. "Mutants shouldn't interfere with construction efforts; there is still ample time for adjustments."

"It feels rather like you're simply searching for an opportunity to get involved," Shiller remarked.

Stark gazed blankly at the ceiling. "You are not mistaken. Ever since the arrival of Little Morgan, I haven't had the opportunity to return to the laboratory. I sometimes find myself reminiscing about those periods of tireless work."

"You are certifiably insane," Matt stated, offering a brief and objective assessment.

Stark's head remained stationary, yet his eyes shifted to fix upon Matt. A palpable wave of resentment, stemming from Matt's perspective as a hardworking individual, seemed to materialize as he reached for a nearby pack of facial tissues and tossed it at Stark.

"Who in their right mind would ever miss days of exhaustive labor? Anyone who claims to must be truly out of their senses."

"Shiller would undoubtedly support my sentiment," Stark declared, turning his gaze back to Shiller.

Shiller nodded in agreement. "When one's work is fueled by genuine passion, it's natural to miss it. Honestly, Matt, do you truly feel compelled to remain entangled in your legal profession?"

Matt let out a profound sigh. Strange spoke up in defense, "Refrain from suggesting a career change to him. It is widely known that Murdoch is currently the human race's preeminent legal counsel; we achieve consistent victories in the Milky Way's highest court, largely due to Matt's expertise."

"Is that so?" Steve inquired, intrigued. "Are such legal battles within interstellar society particularly demanding? Can one truly achieve repeated success?"

"Without a doubt. Those with superior abilities are no match for him in legal disputes, and those skilled in law lack his marksmanship. Furthermore, those with excellent shooting skills don’t possess his network of contacts, and individuals with stronger connections haven't got my talent."

A chorus of "We knew it" immediately rippled through the group.

"Speaking of which," Steve commented, taking a swig of beer, his brow furrowed, "on my final assignment before my leave, while passing through the Libra Kree Empire’s teleportation gateway, someone brazenly cut the line. Their main cannon grazed the headlight of our starship. Given our time constraints, we let it slide. Could we actually win a lawsuit over that?"

"Which headlight are we talking about? The primary forward spotlight, or the lower signal lamp?" Stark inquired.

"Merely the secondary main headlight on the front side. Not only was the outer casing compromised, but the internal laser generator ceased functioning. It remains unlit. However, due to a scarcity of starships, returning to the shipyard for repairs wasn't feasible; we've had to make do."

"Utterly preposterous, navigating with a faulty spotlight?" Stark exclaimed, downing a generous amount of beer, wiping his mouth, and continuing, "What if you were to venture into the Dark Star Domain? How would you find your way out?"

"Human navigation," Steve stated plainly. "Otherwise, what purpose do you imagine a navigator serves? I've disembarked countless times to scout ahead. Besides, the primary headlight remains operational. It's perfectly fine."

"I have a question," Peter interjected, raising his hand. "How exactly did his main cannon manage to scrape your headlight? What kind of maneuver was that?"

"The established procedure was to queue in two lines at the teleportation portal," Steve explained, evident frustration in his voice. "He forcefully switched from the left lane to the right lane. Coincidentally, the starship ahead was shaped like an inverted triangle, leaving him a narrow gap, into which he forced his way. This action disrupted the gravitational equilibrium on the right side, causing the entire starship to flip, and its forward main cannon collided with and damaged the lamp housing."

"That constitutes grounds for a lawsuit," Matt declared, maintaining objectivity despite his apparent displeasure. "It was unequivocally an illegal lane change. Interstellar traffic regulations clearly stipulate that the vessel experiencing the initial gravitational imbalance bears primary responsibility. Securing compensation of twenty to thirty thousand universal credits should be straightforward."

"Can he truly afford that much?" Steve sounded somewhat taken aback.

"He himself might not possess the full amount, but the inverted triangle starship ahead also shares liability. Its particular hull configuration is unsuitable for Level 2 and above large-scale teleportation portals, constituting an illegal maneuver. Furthermore, its role in causing the traffic accident necessitates its bearing of responsibility. Combined, the compensation should approximate that sum."

"Inverted triangles are also prohibited?" Peter questioned. "Perhaps the owner simply favors that aesthetic."

"Who would possibly favor an inverted triangle starship?" Stark muttered. "Perhaps cosmic ray fish?"

"Cosmic ray fish navigate independently," Steve responded. "I've encountered them near the Antary Nebula; they require no vessels and adhere to most traffic regulations more diligently... most of them, anyway..."

The increasingly whimsical exchange faded into the night on Clarkia. The gently swaying treetops stirred the serene, moonlit night. Abruptly, winds surged across the vast ocean, unleashing a storm, yet the island remained steadfast, the sound of rainfall merely adding to a few more fanciful, damp dreams. Upon waking in the early hours, they immersed themselves in the hazy, verdant mountain scenery amidst the pouring rain.