Civil War Prose Novel (13 page)

This,
she realized,
is mine.

The Resistance were scrambling around, traumatized. Falcon and Hawkeye had made their way to Captain America, scooped him up. The Young Avengers moved to join them, with Dagger close behind. “Fall back—regroup,” Falcon said. “We’ve got to get out of here or we’re all—”

Thor turned toward him, raised his hammer again. His eyes narrowed with inhuman cruelty, and lightning shot forth again. The same force that had killed Goliath, aimed now at the entire, assembled Resistance.

Iron Man flew forward, his damaged armor wobbling in the air. “Thor!” he cried. “NO—”

—Reed started toward them, but shrank back from the godlike assault—

—and then Susan Richards, the Invisible Woman, founding member of the Fantastic Four, leapt over to join the Resistance. She gritted her teeth, raised her arms, and erected the largest force field of her career.

Thor’s lightning flashed, sputtered against the field, and stopped short.

Iron Man and Spider-Man darted eyes and sensors around, searching for some new enemy. Behind the force field, the Resistance members were equally puzzled. The Falcon held Cap’s limp form in his hands.

Sue stepped outside her own force field, facing Thor, Iron Man, and Spider-Man directly. She willed the field, behind her, to full strength.

And became visible.

Ben Grimm, the Thing, lurched forward. He stared at her, astonished. “Suzie? What are ya
doin’?
”

Tony Stark swiveled his eye-lenses from Reed to Sue, then back to Reed.

Thor fixed her with a murderous glare. Began to raise his hammer.

Reed coiled his way forward, snaked his head in front of the thunder god. “Emergency shutdown code!” he said. “Authorization Richard Wagner, 1833-1883.”

Thor’s eyes went blank; for the first time, his expression softened. The lightning-energy faded, and the hammer slipped from his limp fingers, clattering to the floor.

Sue gritted her teeth; the strain of maintaining this huge force field was enormous. She turned, glanced back at the Resistance. “Get out of here,” she said.
“Now.”

Patriot gestured across the floor, at the limp bodies of Wiccan, Hulkling, and Cloak. “What about them? Our wounded?” They lay across the room, out of range of the force field.

“She’s right,” Falcon said. “We have to leave.”

Sue turned, reached out her hands…and the Resistance began to disappear. First Hawkeye and Tigra, then Patriot, Stature, Speed, and Dagger. At last there was only the Falcon, still carrying their fallen leader’s unconscious body.

“Susan,” Falcon said. “Thank you.”

Then they too were gone.

Sue’s power was invisibility, not teleportation. The Resistance would have to make their own escape. But at least she’d given them a head start.

To Sue’s surprise, no one made a move toward the rebels. Black Widow was busy bandaging up She-Hulk and Ms. Marvel. S.H.I.E.L.D. seemed confused, conflicted; their copters wheeled up and about, surveying the landscape but not moving to pursue. Tony’s movements were still jerky, uncoordinated. Thor stood stock still, a statue in the rain.

Ben and Reed, Sue’s teammates and family, just stared at her. They seemed stunned, shell-shocked.

Spider-Man sat crouched on a wall, staring at the smoking body of Goliath.

Reed snaked an arm toward Sue’s waist. “Darling—”

She flinched away, whipped her head around. “Don’t even speak to me. Not one damn word.”

And then, one more time, Sue Richards vanished from sight.

DATA
assaulted Tony Stark from all sides. Medical reports. Routing checks on the new prisoners. Statements from Congressmen. Maria Hill’s voice, like sandpaper, requesting a strategy session. Reports on the Initiative training camps being constructed in Arizona and elsewhere. Funeral arrangements. Hundreds of emails from reporters, mostly asking what the hell had gone down today on the west side of Manhattan.

Beside Tony, in the elevator, Reed Richards snaked his head up and down absently, muttering to himself.

Tony flipped his helmet up off his face, cutting off the data flow. “Reed? You all right?”

Reed’s head was up by the ceiling now. He stared at a light fixture, his lips moving almost soundlessly.

“Reed.”

“Mm? Sorry, Tony.” Reed’s head snapped back down onto his body, like a turtle retreating into its shell. “I was running those Negative Zone calculations in my head.”

His eyes looked wide, haggard.

“She’ll come back, Reed.”

“Mmm? Oh, I suppose so. Yes.” Reed twitched, a facial tic Tony hadn’t seen before. “I’m mostly concerned about the procedures we’ve got in place for the new prisoners. Wiccan is powerful, and Daredevil can be quite devious.”

“I know.”

“You’ve got the transfer scheduled for later today, yes? Perhaps I should head straight for the Baxter Building and make sure the portal’s ready.”

“Soon, Reed. I need you here first.”

“Ah.”

Twitch.

He’s haunted,
Tony thought.
But not by problems with the detention center, and not by abstract calculations. Not even by his wife’s betrayal, though that’ll hit him soon enough.

No. He keeps seeing the same thing I do, in my mind’s eye: Bill Foster, Goliath, struck dead by a lightning bolt through his chest.

The doors hissed open, straight into the Avengers Tower biolab. High ceilings, bright lights, screens and monitors and medical tables everywhere. And superhumans. Black Widow, Spider-Man, and Ms. Marvel, her arm in a sling. Ben Grimm stood in back, uncharacteristically quiet.

In the center of the room, the massive figure of Thor lay on a slab. His clear blue eyes stared straight up; no trace of intelligence showed in them. His hammer lay askew next to him.

Dr. Hank Pym leaned over an incision in Thor’s head, frowning. He raised a scalpel, and his hand shook slightly.

“Tony?” Spider-Man approached, in full costume. “What happened out there?”

Tony grimaced. Sympathetically, he hoped.

“I thought we were doing this so no one else got hurt,” Spider-Man said.

Tony held up a hand to him, turned toward the prone figure of Thor. “Hank? Any news?”

Hank Pym glanced up from his work. His white lab coat stood out against the bright-colored costumes filling the room. He looked like he’d been crying.

“News?”

Hank laid down the scalpel, crossed to a TV monitor, and clicked it to life. An aerial view of the chemical plant appeared. Copters buzzed in and out of sight; below, the various heroes scampered around like ants. Then, inevitably, Thor raised his hammer and blew a hole through Goliath.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. footage,” Black Widow said. She gestured at Hank. “He’s been watching it compulsively.”

Tony frowned. Hank Pym had been a super hero himself, first as Ant-Man, then Giant-Man and Yellowjacket. He was the first of the size-changing heroes, but in recent years he’d hung up his tights, preferring to concentrate on scientific research. Including the Niflhel Protocol.

Goliath, Tony recalled, had once been Hank’s lab assistant.

“Hank,” Tony said, “it’s a tragedy. I’m sorry. I know you and Bill were friends.”

“Friends. Yes.” Hank turned to Tony, accusation in his eyes. “And I just watched a superhuman I helped
create
blow a hole straight through my friend.”

Reed studied Thor. “I wonder why he—Thor, I mean—behaved like that. Is he missing a human conscience? Does he need a human host to fuse with?”

“Why?
Why?
” Hank whirled on Reed. “Maybe the problem is we weren’t meant to
clone a god!
”

Spider-Man leapt through the air. “Clone?” He landed on the wall, just above the prone thunder god. “Thor is a
clone?
”

Tony grimaced. He cast his gaze across the assembled heroes, watching them as the revelation sank in. Ms. Marvel whipped her head toward him, an unfamiliar note of doubt in her eyes. Black Widow seemed rattled. Ben Grimm stood staring, his huge rocky jaw gaping wide.

Hank Pym shivered, as if trying to shake off his own guilt.

“Tony?” Spider-Man continued. “How in the five boroughs do you clone a god, anyway?”

Hank sat down, lowered his head. “Very first meeting of the Avengers, Tony set it up. Had me grab a lock of hair from Thor.” He laughed humorlessly. “I was Ant-Man, then. Shrank down so small, I was almost microscopic. Thor thought he had fleas.”

“So this…” Spider-Man reached out to pick up Thor’s hammer. “This isn’t really Mjolnir? It’s some copy…the Hammer of Clor?”

Tony looked at him, puzzled.

“Clor,” Spider-Man repeated. “Clone-Thor. Get it?”

“Not funny, Peter.”

Spider-Man snapped to attention. Still holding the hammer, he shot his hand out toward Tony, in a Nazi salute.

Then, immediately, he lowered the hammer. “Sorry.”

Tony surveyed the group. They all looked to him for guidance, for assurance that they were on the right path. But they were all shell-shocked. Even Spider-Man, gleaming and kinetic in his metallic suit.

This is a crucial moment,
Tony realized.
The whole Registration movement could fall apart, right here and now. Everything depends on what I do in the next few minutes.

“Peter,” Tony said. “Show me your face? I’m asking, not ordering.”

Slowly, Spider-Man pulled off his mask. He too looked tired, sunken-eyed, and a bit ashamed.

“Thank you. Now.” Tony paced the room, stopping just before Ms. Marvel. “I know this isn’t exactly what any of you signed up for. Carol, how’s your arm?”

“Some people got it much worse,” she said. “She-Hulk is still in intensive care. She’s recovering, though.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that. Now, we’re all thinking about the same thing: Bill Foster. His death was a tragedy, a horrible accident. The kind of thing that should never, ever happen, especially on our watch.

“But. BUT. We all knew this wasn’t going to be easy, and we knew there’d be battles along the way. I’ll be blunt: Anyone who didn’t expect a casualty here and there, was deluding himself. We’re talking about a major change in the lives of every metahuman on Earth.

“And that’s what we have to remember. Bill Foster shouldn’t have died. But his death is the price of what we’re doing. If this process means another nine hundred civilians
don’t
die as collateral damage in a super-battle, then—I hate to say it, but—I can live with Bill’s death. Not easily, and I won’t sleep well tonight. But I can live with it.”

Ms. Marvel nodded gravely. Black Widow cocked her eyebrow. Ben Grimm just leaned against a table, his expression even stonier than normal.

Hank Pym stared at clone-Thor, shaking his head.

“The math,” Reed Richards said softly. “The math works out.”

“Thank you, Reed.”

“Tony, I…” Peter Parker looked around nervously. “I want to believe you. I know your intentions are good. But is this—” He gestured at the screen, which still showed the frozen image of Goliath’s dead body. “Is
that
what’s gonna happen? Every time someone doesn’t register, doesn’t follow the rules?”

“Of course not. That’s what the detention center’s for.”

“Yeah. The detention center.” Peter nodded, looked Tony straight in the eye. “Think I could see that place, Tony?”

Something shifted in the room, in the air. Some balance of power, of authority.

“You wanted my sharp mind,” Peter continued. “Right, boss?”

Tony stared back at Peter for a moment. Then he smiled, a warm, fatherly smile.

“Sure, Peter. Reed and I are headed over there now. Want to join?”

Peter pulled down his mask, red-and-gold lenses popping into place over his eyes. Again, he nodded.

“Hank,” Tony said. “You’ve done enough here. Your registration is on file—why don’t you take a week off.
‘Clor’
can wait on ice till you get back.”

Reed stretched out an arm, touched Hank Pym on the back. Hank nodded, stood up, and trudged toward the door. He looked defeated, a shell of a man.

“The rest of you, take what time you need,” Tony continued. “But check in at regular intervals. Things are only going to heat up from here, and I’m going to need every one of you.”

Murmured assent. For now, it would have to do.

“Right.” Tony slapped his helmet down over his face, motioned for Reed and Spider-Man to follow him. “Let’s move, gentlemen. Project 42 awaits.”

SOMETHING
dark was growing inside Captain America. Something hard and angry, deep in his gut. Something he’d never felt before; something he didn’t like at all.

It wasn’t the death of Goliath…not exactly. Cap had lost men before, in war and in civilian battles. It always hurt, but it was a part of life. The life he’d chosen, decades ago, when a scrawny orphan kid first volunteered for the wartime super-soldier program.

Falcon wrapped a thick bandage around Cap’s forehead. “Hold still,” Falc said.

No, Cap realized, it wasn’t the death. It was the
way
Bill Foster had died. Men and women under Cap’s command had perished defending their country, saving innocents, or so that their fellow warriors could survive. Once in a while, you even lost a man by sheer, tragic accident. When that happened, you drank a sad toast, punched a few walls, and carried on.

This was different. Goliath had died as a direct result of Tony’s actions. Tony Stark, the man Cap had called friend for years.

Cap coughed, then winced. Everything hurt: his face, his arms, his legs. Tony had really done a number on him.

Falcon fastened the last bandage, took a step back. “You look like the mummy half-escaped from his tomb,” the winged man said. “But you got a few teeth left.”

“I plan to use ’em,” Cap said.

He tugged at the electrodes fastened to his bandaged chest. The medical wing of Resistance headquarters was remarkably well-outfitted with diagnostic equipment. A technician in a white coat stood at the monitors; like everyone they’d hired, she’d been personally vetted by at least two Resistance members.

Hawkeye entered the room, followed by Dagger, Stature, Speed, and Patriot. The kids looked shaken, unsure. So did Hawk.

“How’s the man?” Hawkeye asked.

“Hawk, I need your help.” Cap stood and pulled off the electrodes, ignoring the technician’s protests. “We’re gonna have to abandon this location. Tony’s about to step up all his efforts to find us; even an off-the-books S.H.I.E.L.D. base is just too risky.”

“Stop, Wings,” Hawkeye said. “Don’t say another word.”

Cap frowned. Falcon fell in behind him.

Hawkeye looked down, shifted his quiver from one shoulder to the other. “Cap, I think we should appeal for amnesty.”

“Amnesty? Are you insane?” Cap gestured around the room, winced as his arm slipped briefly out of joint. “We just picked up another fourteen supporters. Valkyrie, Nighthawk, Photon…Tony’s losing allies by the minute.”

“And how many people did
we
lose? Hulkling, Wiccan, Daredevil, Cloak…” Hawkeye turned to Dagger, who winced at her partner’s name. “Sorry, doll.”

“Hawk,” Falcon began.

“No no, listen to me. Those guys are all on their way to whatever super-gulag Reed Richards has been building.”

Cap chose his words carefully. “And you’re willing to let them get away with that?”

Dagger grimaced. “They can do anything they want, now. They’ve got Thor on their side.”

“That wasn’t Thor,” Cap snapped. “That was some Frankenstein’s monster they grew for their super hero army. You didn’t know Thor, girl. Don’t think for a moment—not one moment—that he would have
murdered
a good man like Bill Foster.”

Dagger shrank back. Stature put a hand on her shoulder.

Cap immediately felt remorse.
Snapping at a young girl. What’s wrong with me?

“Cap,” Hawkeye said, “I’ve been on the wrong side of the law before. Spent a lot of my life there. It sucks. You helped pull me out of that life…hell, for a while, you and me practically
were
the Avengers.

“And you once said to me: When the law outnumbers and outguns you 20-to-one, there comes a time when you gotta stop fighting.”

“That’s true, when you’re in the wrong.” Cap stared at him. “When you’re right, you plant your feet in the ground and
hold the damn hill.
”

“I’m real sorry about Bill Foster. But he was dead the moment he thought he was bigger than the law.”

“Hawkeye.”

“Stop, Cap. I’m leavin’. So whatever you do,
don’t
tell me where you’re planning on movin’ this base to.”

“I wouldn’t tell you the time of day.”

“Good. ’Cause you oughta be thinkin’ about something else. The more people join your little underground club, the bigger the possibility you might have a mole in the ranks.”

Cap said nothing. The idea had occurred to him. Tony had managed to lure them to the chemical plant a little too easily.

Hawkeye turned, started to leave.

“What you gonna do, Clint?” Falcon’s fists were clenched in fury. “Pull on those little jackboots and smack whoever they tell you to?”

“No.” Hawkeye’s voice was soft now. “I’m gonna be a Good Guy.”

Everyone stood quiet. Patriot cast a questioning glance at Speed, who smiled nervously and shrugged. Speed looked at Stature, who looked away.

Then Stature turned and started after Hawkeye.

Patriot reached out, grabbed her arm. “Cassie?”

“Sorry, Eli. But I don’t want to wind up in some super-jail, like Wiccan and Hulkling. I got into this to fight villains, not cops or other super heroes.”

Speed circled around her, touched her shoulder. “C’mon, Cass—”

“Tommy, you know how this is gonna end.” Stature glanced briefly at Cap. “He’s just another old man scared of the future.”

“Go.” Cap’s voice was a low growl now. “If your freedom means so little to you.”

Stature grimaced, hugged her teammates quickly. Then she ran to join Hawkeye.

“Eli, Tommy? What about you?”

Patriot glanced at his teammate; Speed grinned back. “We’re in.”

“Dagger?”

Dagger’s hands flared bright, light-knives flashing into the air. Her eyes shone with inner light, with determination.

“I want my partner back,” she said.

Cap nodded in approval. “Good.”

They gathered around him then: Falcon, Patriot, Speed, and Dagger. All looking to him for guidance, for leadership. For just a moment, the dark thing in Cap’s gut relaxed, lightened.

He hoped he could be worthy of them.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do. Falc, notify all troops: We’re bugging out. I think Cage has a Harlem safe house we can use for a while. Dagger, see if anybody has any special knowledge regarding Stark Enterprises security systems. Patriot, Speed, you talk to the new recruits. Make a list of their special powers.”

As they scattered, Cap took a step. His leg exploded in agony; he almost fell. “And somebody get me a Midol?”