Marvel Novel Series 10 - The Avengers - The Man Who Stole Tomorrow

by David Michelinie

  Clearing his mind, the Golden Avenger whirled, digging his hand deep into the fabric of the Skorpion’s fuselage. He located one of the other alien craft halfway through a loop that would bring it back for another blasting run, mentally calculated an intersecting trajectory, and heaved the pilotless Skorpion forward like a great crimson javelin. When the two spaceships hit, the sky sparked white with an explosion that left pieces no bigger than baseballs to rain down on the deserted park below.

  Now it was one-on-one. The last Skorpion had obviously realized this, as well as realizing that alone it had no chance of succeeding where four of its kind had failed. No chance of succeeding, that is, and surviving. The final alien spacecraft rocketed forward, straight at Iron Man, a fortieth century Divine Wind.

  Iron Man waited, hovering silently, feeling not unlike the frontier marshal in a Hollywood western, awaiting high noon. The Skorpion bore down; Iron Man tensed, clenching his fists. The Skorpion reached peak speed, its engine whining shrilly as it overheated; Iron Man cocked back his right fist.

  Then, when the alien ship was inches from collision, the Golden Avenger shot his fist forward, slamming it into the Skorpion’s nose with an impact that would split a skyscraper. The center of the streamlined craft stayed where it was, crumpled into a foot-thick mass at the end of Iron Man’s fist. The rest of the ship went flying past on either side, straight at first, and then erratically, finally losing momentum and falling down to the plastic hillsides like limp litter.

  Iron Man gently pried the smoking, greasy center of the Skorpion from his gauntlet, let it drop, and stood breathing deeply in an empty sky.

  Rising from his chair at the control console, Kang stabbed a button and sent the fourth monitor screen into darkness. He knew that he could send more time-stolen menaces at the Avengers, but he also knew that they would probably be defeated as definitively as had the others. No, those superpowered busybodies were going to have to be taught a permanent lesson. And the only one who could effectively do that . . . was himself!

  Sixteen

  Captain America, Quicksilver, the Vision, the Scarlet Witch, and the Beast stood in Kang’s courtyard, at the end opposite the obelisk. They were not pleased. They had succeeded in surviving everything Kang had thrown at them, but that survival was their only prize. They were no closer to their ultimate goal than they had been when they had started. As they waited for word from their leader, they felt tired, and uncomfortably restless.

  The Beast stood balanced on one hand, as if his upside-down perspective could give him new insight into the situation. “Too bad Thor’s still zonked. What do you think the chances are that he might come to before Kang sends some more of his nasties after us?”

  “I don’t know, Beast,” Cap said.

  The Vision spoke in sensible tones. “I would calculate the odds to be 4,693.7 to—wait!” He turned to look down the street behind them. “There!”

  All of the Avengers turned, but none could identify the thing they saw flying down the street at great speed, about ten feet above the surface, on a direct path toward them. They couldn’t even name it “Skorpion,” since only a jagged opening remained where the stinger like tail assembly had once rested. All they saw was a crimson, segmented dart with stubby wings.

  But Kang, watching on a reactivated forward monitor, recognized the craft for what it was, and was delighted. Then, however, he was puzzled. How could the mechanism fly without a tail assembly? And hadn’t he seen Iron Man destroy all of the alien spaceships?

  Outside, the Avengers tensed, Captain America raising his shield and the Scarlet Witch preparing to cast a protective hex sphere around them all. But then Cap saw something behind the dark ship and held up a restraining hand. “Wait a minute! It’s one of ours!”

  The other Avengers held fast, obeying Cap’s command even though it went against their instincts for self-preservation. But then the crimson craft streaked by overhead, and they understood.

  Deep within his control center, Kang saw the time-lost Skorpion speeding straight toward his glittering citadel, and also understood. He reached for the controls of his time-warp projector, growling like a kicked animal, but was too late. He could only watch as twin repulsor beams shot from the rear of the approaching ship, and then fight to keep his balance as the entire building rocked, its new gray door shattered like dropped porcelain.

  Above the courtyard, Iron Man let go of the crippled Skorpion he had been pushing in front of him and let it fall, skidding, over the edge of the cosmic moat into infinity. It had served its camouflage purpose well, allowing him to get close enough to blast an entrance in Kang’s fortress. He now flew through that entrance, settling to his feet in the silent hall of clocks. He was soon joined by the Vision, who carried Quicksilver and the Beast, one under each arm. The synthezoid then made a second trip, returning in seconds with the final two Avengers.

  “I’m sure you realize,” Iron Man began, “that if we don’t stop Kang now, we might as well just bend over and kiss our aspirations good-bye. Because if we fail, the whole of history will belong to a madman.”

  There were no comments.

  “All right, then,” Iron Man picked up. “Vision, you take Cap and Pietro down through the hole Thor made. I’ll blast a second opening here and drop down with Wanda and the Beast. Maybe if we hit Kang from two sides we can catch him by surprise. Okay, let’s do it!”

  Iron Man waited until his three teammates were positioned around the existing break in the hall’s floor, then aimed a repulsor at a spot on the carpet before him and blasted. Without checking to see if the others followed suit—without needing to—he dropped swiftly down through the hole he had made into the chamber below.

  Kang was waiting for them. He had assumed a tall, steady stance, one hand on his control buckle, feet far apart on the raised dais of the central control console. His golden aura throbbed, and his ivory-white teeth were a marked contrast to the matte blue of his mask as he hissed, “Diiieeee!”

  It was not a time for amenities. Iron Man raised both hands and loosed a double repulsor burst straight at Kang. But Kang wasn’t there when the burst arrived, and the repulsor energy succeeded only in carving a crackling hole in a far corner of the room.

  “Excellent marksmanship, Iron Man.” The Avengers turned to see that Kang was now standing behind them, smiling jovially. “Perhaps later we can find some broad sides of barns for you to shoot.” The smile flipped into a scowl. “Fools! With my undisputed mastery of dimensional technology—”

  He disappeared.

  “—I can be anywhere I want!” Kang had reappeared on the control dais. “And when I combine that with my mastery of time itself,” he reached back to manipulate some control dials, “I can create other rather . . . amusing diversions!”

  Captain America had been edging slowly around the dais. Now he sprang at the time master from behind—and landed on the back of a creature that was half man, half ape. To the Avengers in the control room, it looked as if Cap had vanished into thin air. To Captain America, it seemed as though someone had changed channels when he wasn’t looking. He found himself on a rocky ledge before a cave stuck like a thumb gouge in a desolate landscape. The ape-man he had struck was getting up, showing broken yellow teeth as he snarled. Apparently, his dozen or so friends who poured from the cave entrance weren’t too choked up about the invasion of their territory, either; their wood and stone clubs were poised to strike. Captain America hefted his shield, took a step backward—and was back in the control room.

  “As you can see,” Kang purred, “it is but a simple matter for me to create space-time warps of any size, and in any place, that I choose. In seconds, I shall pepper this entire chamber with invisible doorways, any one of which could sell death or eternal wandering for anyone unfortunate enough to make a misstep. And I shall be the only one who knows where they are! The game begins, Avengers,” Kang swung around and swiftly set dials on the control console, then ran his fingers over the buttons at his belt.
“Catch me if you can!”

  The Vision’s left side disappeared. He looked to his left and saw a green, hilly countryside. In the far distance was a lofty castle topped with stone battlements and flapping pennants. In the near distance were a horse-mounted knight and squire who were plainly scared spitless.

  “Zounds!” cried the knight. “ ’Tis magic work! Camelot doth be attacked by the powers of darkness!” He spurred his steed and charged toward the half android as his squire beckoned him back, calling, “Sir Percival, don’t! ’Tis naught but a vision!”

  As the knight neared the half-visible synthezoid, he lowered his visor and his lance. The Vision calmly altered his density so that the charging horseman passed through him, through the space-time warp, and into the control room of Kang the Conqueror.

  “By Arthur’s codpiece!” he sputtered in amazement. “What manner of sorcery is this?”

  All around the huge auditorium, similar confusion reigned. The Scarlet Witch leaped out of empty air, followed by a band of Spartan gladiators who had likely not seen a woman, let alone a clean one, in months. She turned their swords and tridents into balsa, and directed their nets to wrap around them, penning them at least temporarily. Any scholar of Spartan slang would have killed to hear the aftermath.

  Captain America was busy fending off the angered ape-men who had pursued him through the initial warp, and Quicksilver was wending his way around the room at little more than a trot, disappearing and then popping back as he tried to piece together a path to the control console, fearful of using his great speed lest he plunge so deep into another era that he might never be able to find his way back.

  And all the while Kang chortled, cackled, and sniggered with glee.

  The Beast had been at the side of the room when the space-time warps had been summoned. Since then he had been moving along the wall, examining the banks of equipment there as if looking to buy. He paid little attention to what was going on around him until, in rounding a corner, his foot went through an invisible warp and into a primordial swamp of the upper Cretaceous period. He removed his foot and shook it, referring grumblingly to the slimy residue there as being similar to what the army serves on a shingle. And then, carefully skirting the see-through warp, he continued his slow examination.

  Iron Man fumed. The Avengers were being made fools of, and no one did that. No one! If he couldn’t stop Kang, he thought, then perhaps he could at least stop the humiliation that lunatic was causing. There was one chance. Since the warps had occurred only after Kang had set dials on his control console, he reasoned, the sustenance of those warps was likely dependent upon power sources other than Kang himself.

  Thus the Armored Avenger raised his gauntleted hands once more, this time spacing them a yard apart before he triggered his repulsors. As he had anticipated, one of the repulsor beams faded a few feet from its target, lost to be interpreted, perhaps, as a sign from God in some ancient time. But the second repulsor blast got through the invisible mine field, striking the control console with a sizzling crack. Iron Man looked around, hopeful—but nothing had changed.

  On the dais, Kang feigned graciousness as he bowed from the waist. “Oh, thank you, kind sir. I assure you that my machinery is in no danger of running down, but your kind gesture was most appreciated, nevertheless.” He raised his head, still bowing, and his masked lips curved upward in a grin that would sour honey. “You did know that all of my mechanisms were designed to absorb and utilize any energy that is directed at them . . . didn’t you?”

  Beneath his armor, Tony Stark seethed. If this maniac’s machines were impervious to energy, then by God he’d see what a determined physical assault would do! Fists clenched before him. Iron Man stepped forward—and by his third step was surrounded by furious battle. The warriors that clashed all about him were clad in bamboo armor and swung straight-bladed swords with frightening expertise. “Samurais,” he thought, just before he was struck from behind and went tumbling beneath the hooves of a banner-draped horse. As he rose and braced for further attack, he wondered if the warrior who had struck him was puzzled at the dent in his blade. Not that it really mattered, Iron Man thought; he was as good as dead anyway. Because as he glanced around, through the bedlam and cacophony of the battlefield, he realized that he had no idea at all where the time-space doorway was.

  Meanwhile, back in the control room, the Beast was leaning forward, hands clasped behind his back, peering at a particular arrangement of dials and switches so closely that his nose almost touched them. In his concentration, he didn’t see Kang pop into existence next to him, and so started when the time master spoke.

  “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “You weren’t going to touch anything here, were you?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Good. Because if you did touch something, I’m afraid that I would be forced to dismember you in a rather foul fashion. And I would prefer to avoid that. I like you.” Kang patted the Beast on the head, like a favored puppy. “You’re blue.”

  Kang touched a button on his belt, popped out and reappeared on the control dais. The Beast let out a long, low sigh through fluttering lips and turned back to the machinery bank.

  At that moment in the seventeenth century, the Avengers’ leader was ducking under an incredibly swift sword swing and wondering if he could ever get used to raw squid for breakfast. He cocked back a fist to deck his attacker, but stopped when he heard an amplified voice booming over the din of battle.

  “Iron Man! Here!”

  Iron Man looked around, and was never happier to see a red-skinned synthezoid in all his life. The Vision stood on a rise nearby, one leg unseen as he used it to mark the warp gate. Suddenly, a samurai lunged forward at the Vision, shouting “Aaiieee!” The Vision calmly caught the man’s sword, gave it a sharp twist and snapped the blade cleanly in two. When the warrior ran off, his “Aaiieee!” had an entirely different tone.

  Iron Man kicked in his boot jets and followed the Vision gratefully through the space-time warp back into Kang’s lair.

  The situation had worsened in his absence. The entire building-sized control room was filled with chaos. Everywhere he looked, men, women, and animals popped in and out of sight, passing from one time period to another. Pirates, spacemen, cowboys and Indians, post-catastrophe scavengers, and Spanish conquistadores. Mixing, fighting, screaming, and crying, they came and went in patternless confusion. The world was nightmare; the world was Kang’s. Someone had to do something, thought Iron Man.

  And someone did.

  In a far corner, the Beast nodded his head once, extended a furry finger, and flipped a nondescript toggle. The results were, more or less, spectacular. As one, each of the time-displaced creatures in the room began to shrink, collapsing in on itself like the image on an old-fashioned television screen when the power is turned off. In seconds, the room was empty, save for seven greatly-relieved superheroes and one unabashedly stupefied Kang.

  “Wh-What—?” he stuttered. “Who—how—?”

  The Beast came bounding up to perch on the front edge of Kang’s control panel, where he squatted, one toe idly bothering a knurled knob, and grinned from ear to ear. “I cannot tell a lie, flippo. It was me.”

  “You?”

  “That’s right. You see, before I got saddled with my current hirsuite gestalt, I was a pretty good dabbler in the ol’ science game. And I remembered that back then, whenever we started a crucial experiment or project, we always made sure to set up a safety system to negate the ongoing reactions in case anything started to take an unfortunate turn. And I figured that even being a twist, you weren’t stupid, so probably had a similar emergency setup here.

  “It took me awhile to figure out your gizmos—fortieth-century science is just a shade above my level—but once I doped out the basics, it wasn’t all that tough to find your reversal switch over there in the corner. If I’m not too far off, I think it not only canceled out the space-time warps, but sens
ed the temporal oscillations that were out of synch because of those canceled functions and sent everyone who had stumbled in here back to their own times. Am I right?”

  “You are disgusting,” Kang sneered. “But I am not beaten yet. I still have my force field, and my self-sufficient time powers!”

  “Oh, sure,” the Beast replied. “But you don’t think I’m going to let you use them, do you?”

  Half of Kang’s mouth curled into a contemptuous leer. “And just how do you propose to stop me?”

  “Easy. You of all people should know that one of a scientist’s basic tools is observation. So I watched real carefully when you were setting the controls to call up those space-time warps. And unless I’m real mistaken, or a little clumsy, my foot digit here has just focused one of those warps on you!”

  For the first time, Kang noticed the toe that had been playing so innocently with the knob on the control board while they talked. His eyes widened perceptibly.

  “Oh, and did I forget to mention,” the Beast asked pleasantly, “that I turned off the emergency-reversal switch? I’m really very efficient, you know.”

  Kang’s hand darted for the control buckle on his belt, desperate to warp himself out of the way. But his human speed was no match for the animal-like fleetness of the Beast as a fur-covered hand slammed down on the control panel, pushing seventeen different buttons at once.

  Kang gasped, and split apart. Like a giant jigsaw puzzle, pieces of his body began disappearing, some slow, some fast; seventeen self-contained sections going off to seventeen separate points in space and time. The last piece to go was Kang’s mouth, and as it faded away into forever, it whispered, “Never . . . trust . . . blue!”