He grabbed the handles, put his eye to the sight and waited. When the rod emerged, Fury tracked it until it cleared the structures, then fired. As it hit the rod, the disruptor beam formed a line all its own: blue in the center, surrounded by a distinct black. Fury kept the power up to max—but the rod kept going. Just before it disappeared back inside the chamber, he disengaged to avoid hitting the module.
Nothing.
He got a sickly feeling as he realized that Stark, as usual, was probably right. If this thing was like a soul gem, it was way beyond his pay grade. He wanted to fight by Steve’s side, but it was hard enough for one man to dodge and duck in that cage. Unless Fury had a specific strategy, he’d only be in the way.
There was something else he could do: He could have a little chat with the only person who might have an instruction manual for this thing.
He ran toward the battle, angling for the other half of the besieged isolation chambers. When he reached the thick door, the rod crashed out again, so loudly it felt like his left eardrum broke—but when he looked, the new hole was at least five feet away.
He entered the dressing room, ignored the safety equipment, and kept moving. Red lights flashed as he made his way into the sterile access corridor. A message repeated over the speakers: “Warning, Level 4 pathogen may be present. Hazmat suit not detected. Warning…”
Ignoring it, he stepped into the antechamber and faced the cell holding the Red Skull.
They stared at each other through the glass. It was the first time he’d seen Schmidt since his capture. The colorful lesions on his red skin reminded Fury of the rotting trash he’d once seen in the alley behind his favorite Italian restaurant.
He hadn’t been able to eat there since.
Shoving aside his desire to flee, Fury growled, “Stop it.”
A smug, easy smile made Schmidt’s face creepier. “No faith in your old friend? He did, after all, stop the others. Why not see how he fares this time?”
“Those were machines. This is…”
The spy’s reflexes made him cut himself off. Was it possible the Skull didn’t know what he’d unleashed?
Schmidt looked at him curiously. “Not a machine? Ah. What is it, then?”
Fury narrowed his eye. The man was an expert liar, but he seemed genuinely in the dark.
Exaggerating his innocent expression, Schmidt placed his hand on his chest. “Honestly, I thought there were only three. This one has been just as much a surprise for me as it has been for you, albeit a more pleasant one. All I have to go on is what I hear through these walls. If you know what it’s made from, you have the advantage. Tell me, what does it look like?”
Fury raised his gun. “I’m not here to play twenty questions. Stop it, or refusing will be the last thing you do.”
The Skull rolled his eyes. “Ach. You’re not going to fire at me through a containment barrier. Even if you don’t care for your own safety, you’d never endanger everyone else here.”
He holstered his weapon. “You’re right. But I don’t have to shoot you. I can shut off your oxygen.”
The Skull scoffed. “And deny your executioner the opportunity to end me according to law? Behold the hypocrisy of the democratic system.”
Fury found the right control and flipped it. Schmidt’s eyes moved curiously around as the flow of air stopped.
“You’ve got three minutes to tell me how to stop that thing.”
For a full sixty seconds, they stared at each, the silence punctuated by the distant sound of the rod assaulting the walls, followed by the pained metallic ringing as Rogers fended it off again and again.
By the time the Skull answered, his voice had already been rendered thin and reedy by the lack of air. “I can’t. Even if I wanted to. All I know is how to activate them.”
“Bull. If you know how to activate them, you know how to deactivate them.”
His breathing labored, the Skull sat cross-legged on the floor. “What an optimistically American, but utterly mistaken, thought. Can-do. No matter what the reality, can-do. Just because there is an on switch doesn’t mean there’s an off switch. The Sleepers weren’t built to be stopped.”
“They must have installed an emergency cutoff. Even the Nazis weren’t that stupid.”
“I already told you, I am not privy to the design details. But I wouldn’t share them even if I could. That’s a sentiment an old warrior such as yourself should understand. After all, Colonel, if you learned you were about to die, would you rather go out strapped to an executioner’s table, wheezing in a bed with tubes running in and out of you, or fighting as you’d done in life?” The air thinner, he raised his hand to his throat. “To die defying you will bring a satisfaction the process...would otherwise lack.”
Disgusted, Fury flipped the oxygen back on. “I’m going to pull every string I’ve got to delay that execution, just so I can put those tubes in you myself.”
As the air rushed back in, the Skull answered almost lazily. “We’ll see.”
Fury headed back out and again sat at the disruptor controls. If he couldn’t stop the rod, at least he could give Cap more room to maneuver. “Begin evac procedures, in case we wind up having to nuke this whole site,” he said into the comm.
Seeing where he was aiming, one of the agents offered a brief objection. “Sir, if you fire that way, you’ll breach the containment…”
“It’s already shot through with dozens of holes. If Captain Rogers hits it at the wrong angle and it winds up going through the Skull’s cell, we’re in real danger.”
He zeroed in, not at the hurtling rod, but at the pockmarked wall. “Steve, next time that thing comes for you, right after you block it, duck to your right.”
“Want to tell me why?”
“You’ll see.”
The rod shot in; the hideous clang followed.
As soon as it flew back out, Fury fired.
* * *
WHILE the disruptor etched a sparking black rectangle in the wall, Steve Rogers knelt behind his shield. The next time the rod shot in, it pushed down the weakened wall, hit his shield, and ricocheted out through the ceiling.
He heard Fury. “Your move, Steve.”
“Got it.”
Rogers leapt out of the rectangular hole wishing he had his uniform. The rough ground was riddling the hospital gown and the membrane with dangerous cuts. Fortunately the membrane did its job, resealing like a puddle of water responding to a dropped pebble.
Still moving when the rod returned, he barely had time to raise his shield, let alone properly judge the angle. The rod sailed through a support beam. The ceiling bent and cracked.
He sped across the stony ground, putting himself between the returning rod and the cavern wall. This time, rather than use his shield, he ducked, letting the rod hit the basalt. Like a hurtling knife passing into loose sand, it vanished into the rock.
If it had to reach open air in order to turn, he might have time to take the fight up and out into the Big Empty. But a loud grinding told him it was turning around inside the stone.
“Nick, as long as I’m stuck fighting it down here, it could hit the other chamber and expose everyone here to the virus. You have to get everyone back to the Helicarrier.”
“Already working on that.”
The rod shot out the hole it’d made going in. Rather than risk it heading into the mods, Cap used his shield to swat it once more into the wall.
The pattern repeated once, twice.
This Sleeper, if it could even rightly share that name with the other three, wasn’t changing strategies. Unburdened by clanking gears, it didn’t have to. It just had to keep coming at him—never wavering, never slowing, never speeding up—as if it knew that sooner or later, its target would tire.
Clearly this rod had the best shot at killing him. Why, then, wasn’t it the first and only Sleeper? It must have something to do with Hitler’s propaganda strategy, but unlike the cube’s oven, he didn’t understand the connection.
“If it’s like a gem; its energy source is limitless. It can keep up this up for months,” Cap said.
“Yeah, well, on the brighter side, at least it ain’t talking.”
“I’ll try to keep it busy—but if I can’t, do what you have to.”
“Understood.”
* * *
HOURS later, Captain America was still at it: bouncing the rod into the wall, waiting for its return, then bouncing it back in again.
Clang. Shshh. Clang. Shshh.
The base was empty save for the Skull and the Sleeper. Stark had arrived at the Helicarrier some time ago, and Fury insisted they were all putting their heads together for a solution—but so far, nothing. Meanwhile, he’d positioned himself and the shield’s angle to conserve energy, bringing the rod back to roughly the same spot.
Clang. Shshh. Clang. Shshh.
He wasn’t tired yet, but he getting some muscle twinges along his arms.
At some point, after Steve lost track of time, the cavern’s high entrance slid back, and Iron Man streaked in.
“Got something, Tony?”
Clang. Shshh. Clang. Shshh.
“Kinda.”
He noticed Stark’s eyes behind the helmet slits. “Given the risk of exposure, I’m surprised you’re not operating the armor remotely.”
“Well, the sort of delicate maneuver I’m planning requires hands-on operation. Besides, if the armor can withstand the void of space, it can handle a few viroids.”
“Assuming the rod doesn’t hit you.”
Clang. Shshh. Clang. Shshh.
“Right. That. Well, that’s why I brought…this.” He raised a flat shield. It similar to Rogers’, but gray and smaller.
“I’m game. What’s the idea?”
Stark hovered lower, positioning himself with the rock wall behind him. “Game’s the right word. Took me a while, and it’s one of those things that may seem obvious in hindsight, but while I was watching you play this real-life version of Pong, it dawned on me that we never really take the time out of our busy schedules to enjoy a little R&R.”
Clang. Shshh. Clang. Shshh.
“Now?”
“Work with me. Next time that thing comes out, send it my way and let’s see if we can get a friendly little game going.”
Rogers got the idea; when the rod emerged, he swatted it toward Iron Man.
Clang.
It hit the little gray shield with a similar—though slightly softer—sound, then shot back toward his own.
Clang.
“Mine’s got Vibranium, too,” Tony said. “Not quite the same alloy as your shield—no good for throwing—but close enough for government work. The goal here isn’t to win, it’s to tie.”
Having no need to slow and turn, the rod careened back even faster.
Clang.
His reflexes enabled him to return it, but the angle was off. It went skyward, forcing Stark to shoot up and to the left to send it back.
Clang.
“Ho! Thing is you have to be precise. Don’t want it flying off.” His own return, enhanced by calculations from his suit’s computers, was smooth as silk. “Like that.”
Adjusting for the new timing, Rogers’ next return equally precise on target, hitting the facsimile shield dead center.
“Pretty good. Now bring me down, buddy.”
He sent it back, lower and lower. After a few more returns, they stood 10 yards apart, barely moving, sending the rod between them.
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
“I should get you out on the courts sometime,” Tony quipped.
“It would have to be a reinforced court. Now what?”
“Dunno, really. Let’s try walking closer together.”
Edging forward, Rogers decreased the distance between them by a foot or so. “What are we hoping will happen?”
The man in the armor shrugged as he came forward. “The kinetic energy should build to a point where its shape becomes untenable, causing a structural collapse that forces it to return to its original form—which I assume is a gem shard. Or it could explode, taking us out. Or both.”
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
They continued shortening the space between them. “Since I’m never completely sure when you’re being serious, I’ll assume that last part was a joke.”
“What, me kid? You should know better.”
The distance narrowing, the rod moved faster, the force increasing exponentially.
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
No longer ricocheting, the rod flew back and forth, tip to tip.
“Now it gets trickier. I can lock the suit’s arms and have the propulsion system move me forward at an even rate, guaranteeing my aim up until the end. You, not so much. If you wind up moving that shield a fraction of an inch, the rod could shoot off. Given the building energy, it could zoom halfway across the solar system—tearing a neat hole through anyone and anything in its way. And when it returned, we’d be back where we started, only with a lot more holes through a lot more stuff.”
“So no pressure?”
“None at all.”
Rogers stiffened for the next impact. He was feeling the push even through the shield. It absorbed kinetic energy, but only to a point.
“Tony, what happens when Vibranium reaches its capacity?”
“It explodes, probably.” He waited a beat before adding, “That time, I was just kidding. I don’t really know. It’s never happened.”
Arms motionless, Rogers stepped forward, but the rod pushed him back along the ground. The twinges in his arm muscles were turning into pain.
“I’ve been at this longer than you, Tony.”
“Hang in there. You’re Captain America! You’ve got this!”
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
They moved closer and closer. The rod traveled so fast along the dwindling distance, the blur of its motion made it look as if it was getting longer. Soon, the only indication that it was passing between two surfaces at all was the sound when it hit. Then the separate bursts became indistinguishable, melting into a long, loud keening.
It traveled in shorter bursts. Each pushed Rogers a little farther back, causing him to come forward a little more, a little faster, to make up the space.
Finally the distance was gone. The rod was pressed between the two shields, howling so loud Rogers’ skull vibrated.
“Tony, how much longer do you think?”
No response. Stark hadn’t mentioned the other advantage his helmet gave him: It was soundproof. He’d probably muted his headphones when things got too loud.
Cap held his position for one moment, then two.
The keening stopped. The rod dropped to the ground, lifeless.
They looked down at it.
Stark, his audio apparently back on, spoke first. “Huh. Didn’t expect that. I’m guessing it’s either very good, or it’s very bad.”
“Getting any energy readings?”
“Nada.”
Steve eyed him. “You trust that?”
“Nope. It could be playing dead, or there could be another twelve Sleepers on their way, shaped like ovals or heptagons or something. At this point, though, either one of us picks it up, or we stand here staring at it for the rest of our lives.”
25
MY HISTORY WON’T EXIST WITHOUT SOMEONE TO WRITE IT.
NIA THOUGHT she knew her way around the labyrinthine Helicarrier, but the packed corridors forced her to discover new paths. The rush of activity following the defeat of the latest Sleeper—no one dared assume it was the last—wasn’t going away any time soon, and she’d promised to wake Kade forty minutes ago.
After Fury’s physical assault on the doctor and his ill-conceived effort to bully the Skull, she was ready to agree with her colleague’s “idiot cowboy” assessment. But the rapid, structured plan that followed the last attack had changed her m
ind again. The sudden, devastating nature of the assault—and the possibility that another could occur any time—necessitated a nimble response. The organizational changes Fury made on the fly were nothing short of brilliant.
Because of its potential relation to the Infinity Gems, the colonel’s first instinct was to try to get the inert rod as far off-planet as possible. Contacting a “big gun” capable of that was proving more difficult than imagined.
Once Stark, protected by his armor, established a containment field to hold the rod, repair drones ensured that the Skull’s isolation chamber remained secure. Engineering crews rushed down to restore integrity to the rest.
Should evacuation to the Helicarrier become impossible, new bunkers had been placed inside the base. To maintain immediate access to the maximum number of skill sets, the entire crew was either directly involved, or on standby. She’d seen nothing like it, even in the most desperate hot zones. And if anything went wrong, at least they were already in one of the most isolated places on earth.
She and Kade were to head back down shortly—not only to oversee Rogers’ return to containment, but also to take part in critical command decisions. The questions raised by the rod were dizzying: If they couldn’t move the rod soon, should the Skull be moved? If so, what was the safest way to transport someone who could end the human race? Should they still place Rogers in the cryo-chamber when there might be another attack?
While confident she was qualified to be part of the discussion, N’Tomo was grateful the decisions weren’t hers alone. Her newfound faith in Fury comforted her. Dr. Kade’s demeanor, on the other hand, was increasingly erratic. His brush with the director had rattled him, of course, but it was more than that. There was a new, ashen quality to his face that made her wonder whether he’d gotten any rest at all since the virus had been discovered.
Emergency workers were known to labor 35 hours straight or more, but the longer they remained awake, the more their capacities diminished.
“The traditional solution is to work in shifts,” she’d said when she confronted a bleary Kade.
“There is no one who can relieve me,” he answered.
She’d tried not to appear insulted and spoke firmly. “There is. Me. I can relieve you. If you keep this up, sooner or later you will make a mistake, and you know we can’t afford any. Remember what you told me about incompetence?”
Marvel Novels--Captain America Page 17
