Marvel Novels--Captain America

by Stefan Petrucha

  Sensing Rogers’ frustration, Fury said, “Now you know how I feel when I have to deal with you high-powered types.”

  Hands out, palms facing down, Stark swooped along the robot’s surface. “Fine, fine. Cap’s right. Like Dad always said: ‘Measure twice, cut once.’ Or was it ‘Cut first and ask questions later’? Anyway, before I let it rip, I’ll do a second scan to make sure there are no surprises—you know, the kind that might explode and harm innocents. Nothing so far, nothing… Whoa.”

  “Tony? What have you got?”

  “Booby trap. Crap. This is so Testament of Dr. Mabuse. You know, Fritz Lang? I figured an old guy like you would appreciate the—”

  More tendrils burst upwards.

  “Oh, I got the reference,” Cap said. “Doesn’t Mabuse keep coming back?”

  “There is that.”

  Rogers counted six, seven, eight tendrils lurching skyward. He struggled with his desire to help, but there was no need for immediate concern. Like an expert skier slaloming between flags on a slope, Stark twirled among the rising spikes. Failing to reach their target, the tendrils fell back.

  “More to the point, the gas those hollow cells are packing? It’s Zyklon B, a cyanide compound. It diffuses quickly in the open air, but given the population density and current wind direction, we’re talking about five thousand dead before it does.”

  Once more, the voice boomed out: “Wo ist Kapitän Amerika?”

  “I’m starting to think it doesn’t like me.”

  This was followed by a roar like a plague of giant insects.

  “And now it’s engaging another routine, maybe in response to its failure. Or it could have some sort of timer.”

  The triangles rearranged into shapes like arms, torso, and legs. At the top, it formed a squat structure like the turret on a panzer tank, sans barrel. Rather than follow Iron Man, the spinning turret settled on the centuries-old building across the pavilion. The razor edges of the triangles making up its feet sent chunks of stone flying as it stepped toward the Louvre.

  “Guys,” Stark said, “tell me the museum’s been evacuated.”

  Fury checked the readout. “Only 75 percent. It’s heading away from you. Is it trying to retreat?”

  Rogers mind raced. “If it was, why go through the big change? Tony, routine or not, any chance it could be detecting the civilians inside?”

  The playboy made a face. “Could have a heat sensor. People are hot. I’m hot. The armor, I mean. Well, mostly the armor. But to answer your question, yes.”

  Turning on his side, Stark sailed between the robot and the building. When he started firing short repulsor blasts, Rogers nearly pounded on the glass. “Tony, the gas!”

  “At ease. Not gonna fry it—just giving it a little tickle. Remember what it did when Jacobs shot at it? I just want some of that sweet, sweet attention.”

  The thing halted. Its turret pivoted, moving just shy of Iron Man’s path through the air. Testing its speed, Stark moved up and down, left and right. It imitated the motion for a bit, but then spun back toward the museum.

  Another blast from Stark returned its attention.

  As he pelted different spots along its form, the head kept spinning, unable to focus.

  “My, my! I repeat the attack, it repeats the response. Good. I think I’ve got it stuck in a loop. Maybe I’ll eventually wear down its batteries.” Stark grimaced. “Assuming it has batteries.”

  If it was a loop, there might be something in the pattern they could use. As Iron Man kept up the assault, Rogers studied its reactions. “Whenever you hit a leg, it takes the same step back, then makes the same quarter turn—clockwise on the left, counter-clockwise on the right.”

  Stark was pleasantly surprised. “Good eyes! So I can steer it. The Seine’s right beyond the Louvre. I can get it into the water and blow it up there.”

  “What about the drinking water?” Rogers asked.

  “We’re a mile downriver from any pumps, and standard filters can handle it anyway. If you’re worried about the fish, we might lose a few in the immediate vicinity, but the river currents will dissipate the cyanide even before it hits the big blue sea.”

  Soon enough, he had it moving awkwardly backwards. As the blasts came faster, so did the giant’s steps. “A little time, a little effort, I could teach it to waltz.”

  Rogers eyed the maps. “Those three arches at nine o’clock are the Porte des Lions entrance. Get it through and you’ll be on the Pont du Carrousel, which crosses right over the Seine.”

  “Got it. And may I say, I like your outrageous French accent.”

  “I spent some time in Paris during the war.”

  “Which one? Oh yeah, right…”

  Fury leaned closer to the screens. “That wing’s been cleared, but all the same, try not to hurt the museum full of priceless art, okay?”

  Rogers shook his head. “Don’t give it any more time than you have to. For all we know it’s got a pre-programmed routine to get out of this—it’s just accessing it slowly.”

  Stark harrumphed. “Go slow, go fast. Geez. Backseat drivers.”

  As Iron Man aimed the plodding giant toward the arches, Fury addressed his teams. “Okay everybody, our job is to make sure Shell-Head and his dance partner get an unobstructed path. Alpha-one, clear local enforcement from those arches. Alpha-two, make sure there isn’t any traffic on that bridge.”

  After that, save for the sounds of the blasts, the rush of Iron Man’s thrusters, and the heavy tread of the triangles, the lab fell silent. The turret continued to dog its attacker. Unable to lock on, the thing kept lumbering toward the arches. Slavishly, its pseudo-legs continued responding to the precisely aimed blasts until it neared a final, tight turn. As it backed beneath the central arch, the turret hit the stone.

  A rain of fist-sized rocks clattered along its surface.

  “Stark!”

  “Save the guff for the grunts, Colonel. I bet Cap thinks I’m doing a great job, right, Cap?”

  Rogers noticed a bit of sweat on Stark’s temple. “You’re doing fine, Tony.”

  With every additional step, it became less likely the thing would change routines. Even so, all three men held their breath, relaxing only slightly when it emerged from the shadow of the arch onto a wide, empty avenue.

  “That was tougher than I thought. Kind of like parallel parking in the city during rush hour—with your eyes closed.”

  On the far bank, the Parisian police were doing their best to keep a growing crowd behind the hastily arranged roadblocks. As the strange colossus stomped onto the bridge, even the officers took a moment to stare at it and the fiery gnat showering it with bursts of blue light.

  When at last it reached the edge of the bridge, Stark fired a final time. “Nowhere to go but down.”

  It stepped back, as it had dozens of times before, but now the foot landed on air. As it teetered, the torso twisted, attempting to recapture its lost balance—but it wasn’t quite fast enough. The robot tumbled toward the river.

  Stark’s loud exhale was picked up by the speakers. “Whew! Now we just have to hope it doesn’t—”

  A din of clicking interrupted him. Its body flattened as it fell. It dipped below the water only to bob back to the surface, its turret intact and turning.

  “Damn. The fall itself must have engaged a different routine. Probably has some sort of a gyroscope to help it keep its balance.”

  The colossus spoke again:

  “Wenn Kapitän Amerika ist nicht hier innerhalb einer stunde, werden viele zivilisten sterben.”

  “Whoa. A really different routine.”

  The translation appeared on their screens: “If Captain America is not here within an hour, many civilians will die.”

  Undulating on the river’s surface, it moved toward the crowded far bank. Hoping to change its direction, Iron Man blasted it, but it now ignored him. He dove beneath the river’s surface, firing at it along the way in the hopes that it might follow him into the Sei
ne. No luck: It continued toward the bank.

  “Why didn’t it follow you?” Fury asked.

  “The new routine is overriding the old one. So to recap, if I try to fry it, people die. If I do nothing, people die. Unless Steve shows up, that’s it for multiple choice, and there’s no ‘None of the Above.’ So exactly how bad is this bug you’ve got, Cap?”

  9

  I’LL BE THE ONLY ONE DECIDING WHAT THEY ARE WORTH. SO WHY SHOULDN’T I DECIDE IF THEY LIVE?

  FURY scowled. “A virus inactive for years versus an imminent gas attack? There aren’t any good choices, but maybe we could wrap you in one of our fancy hazmat suits long enough for you to introduce yourself.”

  Try as Nia might to focus on her work, her ears perked. She watched the conflicting emotions on the First Avenger’s face. Clearly, he wanted to jump on the chance, but the decision wasn’t his. As if sensing her attention, he called out, “Doctors? You want to weigh in?”

  She hesitated, waiting for Kade to speak first, but he didn’t. Despite the drama playing out on the multiple flatscreen monitors, he remained absorbed by the molecular holograms floating before him.

  She cleared her throat. “Dr. Kade? Under the circumstances, how would you feel about Captain Rogers wearing a combat hazmat suit?”

  He looked up absently. “That’s not necessary. As long as he stays in the containment chamber…”

  Nudging him sharply, she nodded toward the monitors. The cold voice again came through the speakers:

  “Wo ist Kapitän Amerika?”

  His face dropped. “Absolutely not. NO! You can’t send him into a fight!”

  Fury fought to keep his voice even. “Doc, I’m sure you know that ever since Iraq, the DOD’s been ramping up the effectiveness of their hazmat suits. What I hope you don’t know, since it’s supposed to be secret, is that we have something even more advanced.” He pressed a few buttons on his PDA. “I’m sending you and Dr. N’Tomo the specs now, but I’m gonna need an answer fast if we’re going to get Cap there by the deadline.”

  Kade was apoplectic. “Are you all insane?”

  Nia’s hand on his shoulder only made things worse. “Can we have a minute?”

  Fury held up a finger. “One minute. One.”

  Kade let her lead him into the corridor, but pulled away the moment the door hissed shut. “Why bother with this charade when it’s clear you’ll just override me again?”

  She responded with the practiced calm she used on panicking patients. “When circumstances change, the arguments have to change along with them. The virus has been present for years, but this…giant killer robot…will make good on its threat in an hour. That’s thousands of real deaths versus a theory.”

  Kade tried to control himself. “Those deaths are just as theoretical. What’s not theoretical is the fact that thirty-six thousand people die yearly from the flu. That’s infinitesimal compared to what this virus might do to our species.”

  Feeling lectured, she crossed her arms over her chest. “ Might, but we have absolutely no way to know the odds of it suddenly activating.”

  Kade hissed. “Absent an understanding of what keeps it in check, of course not. We only know what will happen if it does!”

  She lowered her voice, a simple trick she usually used on children. “But we do understand exactly what’s keeping the gas in check, what it’s asking for, and what it’s threatening to do if it doesn’t get that..”

  Kade stiffened. “That’s exactly what these cowboys with their adolescent sense of heroics are saying. As I suspected, you’ve already made your decision. I won’t waste time on what I can’t control. But if Rogers’ blood is scattered on the Paris streets and humanity dies as a result, the fault will be yours, Dr. N’Tomo, not mine!”

  * * *

  TWENTY minutes later, Steve Rogers was in the drone hover-flier, Nia checking his hazmat suit over and over again. Catching his reflection in a silver strut, he was reminded of a toddler immobilized by his first snow-jumper. The full-head helmet and thick goggles were awkward, but his strength and speed should more than compensate for the bulkiness.

  “This won’t tear if I move too quickly, will it?”

  Nia, in her own suit, tightened a shoulder strap, then loosened it again. “The composite fabric has a tensile strength similar to Kevlar. It won’t stop a bullet, but it should stand up to your combat acrobatics.”

  “I appreciate your coming along for this.”

  She kept working. “Just so you know, the suit won’t help much if the gas is released. I reversed the filters to purify the air when you exhale, to protect the populace from…”

  Her voice trailed off—whether from emotion, or a tricky buckle, he wasn’t sure.

  “The virus. I know.”

  Her hand moved from the shoulder strap to the star on his chest. The hazmat suit had been hastily painted to resemble the uniform he wore beneath. “Funny how they worried you would be recognized in Somalia. Now they’re worried you won’t be.”

  “Price of fame?”

  She didn’t smile. “Paris isn’t the desert, but it will feel like over 100 degrees in there. Your metabolism is four times normal, so you’ll need four times the water to stay hydrated. There’s a retractable straw near mouth level. Make sure you use it.” She looked up at him with her sharp, intelligent eyes. “You do sweat, don’t you?”

  He nodded.

  Fury’s voice came over the comm. “Drop off in 60 seconds. Time for the doctor to strap in.”

  Positioning herself in the safety harness, she said, “I wish there was more I could do. If I weren’t an atheist, I’d pray.”

  The rear hatch opened. Beneath a light cover of clouds, the streets of Paris were visible.

  “There are no atheists in foxholes,” Cap said.

  The engine roared louder, but he heard her response through his comm. “Just so you know, Steve, that’s not an argument against atheism. It’s an argument against foxholes.”

  He turned to make the jump. “Didn’t James Morrow say that?”

  Ears filling with a rush of air, Rogers barely heard her answer yes as he threw himself into the sky. Back arched, limbs together for the long descent, he watched the scene on the ground grow larger. S.H.I.E.L.D. and local enforcement had pushed the crowd back, but he could see hundreds of cars locked in traffic just a few blocks away.

  As gravity drew him nearer, he made out the glint of the robot’s metal and the streak of hot air that followed Iron Man’s movements. Stark was trying to keep the thing in the water by blasting away the stone support wall along the bank. He was only partly successful. Its tendrils reached over the bank and wrapped around several tree trunks to pull itself up.

  The sound of the blasts became audible, then the clicking of the triangles, and finally Stark on the comm: “My, my. Cap’s got himself a lady friend.”

  “Shut up, Tony.” He pulled the ripcord, releasing the chute.

  “Cap and Nia sitting in a tree…”

  “Tony…”

  “Hey, I think it’s a good thing. Anything that loosens you up. So what’s the play?”

  Cap’s descent slowed. He used the parachute cords to steer toward the bridge. “Making it up as I go along. It wants to meet me, so I guess the first step is to announce myself.”

  With no one certain how the robot would be able to recognize him, his comm was linked to a speaker system in the suit. When he activated it, his voice boomed louder than the dead Führer’s recording.

  “You wanted me, here I am!”

  Yanking his shield from his back, he tossed it at the largest tendril. It hit with a loud thunk. The shock waves briefly disturbed the pattern of the triangles as the shield returned to his hand.

  The moment his feet touched down on the bridge, Cap released the chute and pivoted to the water to see whether the strike, or his presence, had any additional effect.

  Not quite sure how to address the giant killer robot, he called out, “I don’t know who sent you, bu
t if you don’t stand down immediately, you will be destroyed!”

  He felt a little silly threatening something that likely didn’t understand him. But according to Stark, the more he spoke, the better the chance its voice-recognition functions, if it had any, would kick in.

  So far, other than reassembling its tendril, the thing hadn’t moved.

  He stepped to the edge of the bridge. “Can you hear me? This is—”

  “Kapitän Amerika, machen sie sich bereit zu sterben!”

  He’d heard that in German often enough. Captain America, prepare to die!

  The chittering of its pieces melted into a single metallic moan. Now flat, it veered toward him, sliding across the water.

  Stark hovered behind it. “Standing by, Steve. You’re the one it wants, you call the shots.”

  “Don’t do anything yet. As long as it’s moving away from the bank, I want its attention on me.”

  “Roger that, Rogers.”

  “This sound system’s pretty good, Tony. Did you hear me rolling my eyes at that?”

  “Indeed I did.”

  One foot on the bridge’s stone wall, shield in hand, Rogers watched the robot coalesce into something akin to a ship with a tall angular prow. Three tower-like structures rose clumsily from its center. The change in its weight distribution made it tilt one way, then another, but it did not slow down.

  Near the bridge supports, the trio of towers bent forward. Given what it had tried to do with the trees along the bank, Cap expected it to use the towers to pull itself onto the bridge.

  But it didn’t. It froze, bobbing in the water.

  He called to it again. “I’m right here. What are you waiting for?”

  He heard more clicking and clacking, but it had stopped bobbing. The angled towers should have tipped it over, but it was steady. It had to be bracing itself from beneath.

  By the time he realized why, it was almost too late. It was readying for an attack. Scores of spinning triangles erupted from the towers. Some drove through the stone at his feet. Others rained around him, shredding asphalt and concrete.

  Weaving between the deadly missiles, Rogers leapt back and hit the ground, rolling out of the way. By the time he got to his feet, there wasn’t much room left to stand.