by Alex Irvine
Darren Cross led the small group of contractors and politicians into a lab space populated by white-coated techs and full of sophisticated machinery. Pym had designed much of it himself before retiring. He took pride in seeing it still in use after so many years. Cross went down a short staircase to the main lab floor and stood in the center of the room.
“Now, before we start, I’d like to introduce a very special guest,” he said. “This company’s founder and my mentor, Dr. Hank Pym.” Hank stood quietly as the techs and onlookers applauded him. He enjoyed the respect, but Cross’s tone also kind of made him feel like a relic of another time.
Then he saw that Cross was standing next to a tabletop resin model of the building in which all of them stood—only the Pym logo on the wall was replaced by the legend CROSS INDUSTRIES. Cross saw him notice, and he gave Pym a little smile. Now Hank wanted to punch him, too. Did he think he could just erase the name Pym from this company? If that was Cross’s plan, Hank Pym wasn’t going to make it easy. But first he would have to hear Cross out and understand what the plan really was.
“When I took over this company for Dr. Pym,” Cross went on, “I immediately started researching a particle that could change the distance between atoms while increasing density and strength. Why this revolutionary idea remained buried beneath the dust and cobwebs of Hank’s research, I couldn’t tell you. But just imagine. A soldier the size of an insect.”
He touched a remote control and three large video screens on the wall lit up. They played old footage of a battle between armed men and an invisible adversary who knocked them sprawling and threw them around the battlefield like they were toys. “The ultimate secret weapon,” Cross said.
Occasionally the footage paused and zeroed in on a tiny flying figure. You couldn’t see it when the footage moved at normal speed or when everything was in a regular perspective—but someone had done a lot of work to find the minuscule fighter in these old films and call attention to him. Hank got an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“An ‘Ant-Man,’” Cross said, and chuckled at how silly his own phrase sounded. “That’s what they called you. Right, Hank?”
A murmur spread through the room as everyone present started to understand what Cross was really saying. Hank couldn’t bring himself to look at Mitchell Carson, who must have been in on the whole thing. Cross was forcing this out into the open, and Hank was caught unprepared. Now Hank knew why Cross had wanted him here, but it was too late to do anything about it.
Cross froze the video again, this time on a frame that showed the tiny figure in a silver-and-red suit, punching through a pane of glass and leaving a hole that looked like it might have been made by a BB gun. “Silly, I know. Propaganda. Tales to astonish!” He climbed the stairs and stood next to Hank before going on. “Hank, will you tell our guests what you told me every single time I asked you, ‘Was the Ant-Man real?’”
“Just a tall tale,” Hank said, playing to the crowd a little because he still wasn’t sure where Cross was going with this. He couldn’t be planning to take it public, but there were a lot of S.H.I.E.L.D. officials and defense-industry bigwigs in the room. Hank had a bad feeling.
“Right,” Cross said. He turned back to the room. “Because how could anything so miraculous possibly be real?”
The lab door opened and Cross led the group out. He didn’t say another word until they were in a smaller, darker chamber, circular in shape, its walls lined with screens playing loops of different objects being miniaturized. “Well, I was inspired by the legend of the Ant-Man,” he said. “And with my breakthrough, shrinking inorganic material, I thought, could it be possible to shrink a person? Could that be done? Well, it’s not a legend anymore.”
He touched a switch, and what looked like a large lens in a steel housing descended from the ceiling. A moment later, as Cross flicked through different resolutions, Hank figured out that the lens was actually a magnifying glass. Inside the housing, something came into view. A tiny yellow-and-black armored suit on a pedestal. “Distinguished guests, I am proud to present the end of warfare as we know it: the Yellowjacket.”
No, Hank thought. This was exactly what he had always feared. This was why he had kept the Pym Particle technology away from S.H.I.E.L.D. back in the ’80s.
Now Cross had found it. “The Yellowjacket is an all-purpose weapon of war,” he announced. “Capable of altering the size of the wearer for the ultimate combat advantage.”
Cross started a promo video featuring a deep voiceover that struck Hank as more than a little menacing. “We live in an era in which the weapons we use to protect ourselves are undermined by constant surveillance.” Fragmented camera views spilled across the screens. “It’s time to return to a simpler age, when the powers of freedom can once again operate openly to protect their interests.” Now the screens showed the Yellowjacket suit in action, with caption windows outlining its capabilities. Weapons systems, advanced sensors… and of course the ability to change its size to avoid detection. “An all-purpose peacekeeping vessel, the Yellowjacket can manage any conflict on the geopolitical landscape, completely unseen. Efficient in both preventative measures and tactical assault, practical applications include surveillance, industrial sabotage, and the elimination of obstructions on the road to peace.”
The Yellowjacket in the video crawled through keyholes, hacked encrypted systems… and invisibly attacked unsuspecting human targets. “A single Yellowjacket offers the user unlimited influence to carry out protective actions,” the voiceover went on. Then Hank got a deep chill as the video demonstrated what an army of Yellowjackets would look like deployed against human soldiers. “And one day soon, an army of Yellowjackets will create a sustainable environment of well-being around the world.” As the voiceover ended, the Yellowjackets dissolved into an army of yellow dots spreading over a map of the earth—which then transformed into a Cross Technologies logo.
Hank looked over at Hope. From the expression on her face, he didn’t think she had known this was coming.
The assembled S.H.I.E.L.D. and defense contractors took a moment to consider what they had just seen. The first person to speak sounded skeptical. “So it’s a suit,” he said.
“Don’t be crude, Frank,” Cross said, sounding both amused and offended. “It’s not a suit, it’s a… it’s a vessel. What’s the matter, you’re not impressed?”
“Oh, I’m impressed,” Frank said. “I’m also concerned. Imagine what our enemies could do with this tech.”
“We should have a longer conversation about that, Frank. I really value your opinion,” Cross said in a tone that made it clear he meant the opposite. Then he turned to the rest of the room. “Thank you for coming. Hope?”
“Thank you very much, everybody,” Hope said. She indicated the way back to the lobby. “I will escort you out now. Thank you.”
As the rest of the group left, Cross and Hank were left alone. “You seem a bit shocked,” Cross said.
“Darren, there’s a reason I buried these secrets,” Hank said quietly. Having the Ant-Man technology in wide use… Who could tell what rogue states or groups could do with it? Hank hadn’t even trusted S.H.I.E.L.D. to do the right thing.
“So you finally admit it,” Darren said with real emotion in his voice. Hank remembered when Darren was younger, full of optimism and thirst for knowledge. He’d looked up to Hank… and Hank had disappointed him. Just like he had Hope. “We could have done this together, Hank,” Cross went on. “But you ruined it.” Then Cross took a moment to recover his composure. Cocky and self-assured again, he finished his little speech. “That’s why you’re the past and I’m the future.”
“Don’t do this,” was all Hank could say.
“Dr. Cross,” Mitchell Carson said. He had hung back when the rest of the group left, but Hank hadn’t noticed until just then. “You sell to me first, twenty percent of your asking price, I can have the cash here in two weeks.”
“Deal,” Cross said immediately
.
No, Hank thought. Not Mitchell Carson of all the people in the world. He had the ethics of a shark.
Cross and Carson left, and Hope was now the only other person in the room with Hank. When she was sure they were alone, she spoke quietly and urgently. “We have to make our move, Hank.”
“How close is he?” Hank asked.
“He still can’t shrink a live subject.” She looked at him, his daughter whom he loved but didn’t understand. “Just give me the suit,” she said, almost begging. “Let me finish this once and for all.”
“No,” Hank said. He couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk her.
“I have Cross’s complete trust,” she said.
Hank knew what she meant. She could cut Cross Technologies apart from the inside and prevent Cross from selling the Yellowjacket tech to anyone, let alone Mitchell Carson. But she was still his daughter. “It’s too dangerous.”
“We don’t have a choice.”
“Well, that’s not entirely true,” Hank said. Even though Cross had been trying to keep him at a distance from the company’s research, Hank had always suspected he would need to take action someday. So he’d started planning on his own. Hope wanted the suit, and he understood why, but Hank couldn’t bear the thought of putting his daughter’s life on the line. “I think I found a guy.”
Now Hope looked perplexed. Also angry. “Who?”
CHAPTER 4
One good thing about the timing of his release from prison was that Scott could make his daughter Cassie’s birthday party. He debated calling his ex-wife, Maggie, ahead of time but figured it would cause trouble, so he waited until a little after lunchtime and then just walked in the front door of Maggie’s house—well, technically her fiancé Paxton’s house. It was madness, exactly the way a house full of kids celebrating a birthday should be. Balloons, loud music, screaming—and there she was, little Cassie, running down the hall toward him, shouting, “Daddy!”
“Peanut!” He dropped to his knees to scoop her into a big hug. “Happy birthday! I’m so sorry I’m late; I didn’t know what time your party started.”
“It was on the invitation!” she said, like he was the world’s biggest doofus.
Then the complications started as Paxton—a big, muscular cop with no patience for his fiancé’s ex-husband—appeared and said, “He didn’t get an invitation.” He shot a look at Scott. “But he came anyway.” Paxton tried to keep his tone chipper, but Scott could tell he wasn’t welcome.
“Well, I’m not going to miss my little girl’s birthday party,” he said to both of them.
“I’m gonna go tell Mommy you’re here!” Cassie said, and dashed off.
“Oh, you don’t…” Scott gave up. She’d find out sooner or later.
Paxton came up close. Too close. If they were in prison, Paxton would have been starting a fight. Scott had to suppress those prison instincts, though. He was back in the real world. Would have been nice to take a swing at Paxton, though. “What are you doing here, Lang?” he said. “You haven’t paid a dime in child support. You know, right now if I wanted to, I could arrest you.”
“Good to see you too, Paxton.” Scott didn’t want to make a scene in front of his daughter. Also, Paxton was technically correct. The other thing was that, even though he still loved Maggie, Scott knew Paxton was a fundamentally decent guy—for a cop—and was looking out for Maggie and Cassie in his way.
Cassie charged back into the room. “Mommy’s so happy you’re here, she choked on her drink,” she said, and cracked up.
“Hey, look what I have for you.” Scott handed her a gift bag.
“Can I open it now?” Cassie asked—but she asked Paxton, not Scott. That stung.
“Of course, sweetheart,” Paxton said. “It’s your birthday.”
From the bag Cassie took the ugliest stuffed rabbit in the history of planet Earth. She squeezed it accidentally and it rasped out, “You’re my bestest friend!”
Taken aback, Paxton said, “What is that thing?”
Cassie had a different reaction. “He’s so ugly! I love him! Can I go show my friends?”
Paxton nodded. “Yeah, of course, sweetheart. Go ahead.”
“You’re my bestest friend!” the rabbit said again as she zipped off into the kitchen.
“Look,” Scott said quietly. “The child support is coming, all right? It’s just hard finding a job when you have a record.”
Still facing him down, Paxton said, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, but for now, I want you out of my house.”
“No way, it’s my daughter’s birthday!”
“It’s my house!” Paxton said, his voice rising a notch.
Scott matched him. “So what? It’s my kid!”
“Relax!” Maggie called as she came into the room. She didn’t look happy to see Scott. “You can’t just show up here. You know that; come on.”
“It’s a birthday party.”
He could tell she didn’t care. “Yeah, I know, but you can’t just show up.”
“She’s my daughter.” Didn’t that matter? Scott knew he’d made some mistakes, but, man, what about second chances?
“You don’t know the first thing about being a father,” Paxton said.
Scott took a deep breath. Then, not looking at Paxton, he said, “Maggie, I tell you this as a friend and as the first love of my life: Your fiancé is a butthead.”
“He’s not a butthead,” she objected.
Paxton chimed in. “Hey, watch your language.”
“Oh, what language? I said ‘head.’”
Scott would never have figured Maggie to get together with a prudish cop. But then again, Paxton was about as different from him as a man could be, so maybe that explained it.
She half guided, half pushed Scott out the door and shut it behind them.
“Really, Maggie? That guy?” Scott said when Paxton and Cassie were out of earshot. “Come on, you could marry anyone you want—you have to get engaged to a cop?”
“At least he’s not a crook,” she said evenly.
“I’m trying, okay? I’ve changed, uh…” She just looked at him, not buying it. Scott needed her to believe him. All he could tell her was the truth, knowing that every ex-con said the same things and he hadn’t exactly given her any reason to trust him over the past few years. “I’m straight, I had a job, and… I want to provide. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I love her. So much. I’ve missed so much time and I want to be a part of her life. What do I do?”
After a pause, Maggie said, “Get an apartment. Get a job, pay child support. And then we will talk about visitation, I promise.” Something unclenched in Scott’s chest. There was a chance. “You’re her hero, Scott,” Maggie added. “Just be the person she already thinks you are.”
Right, he thought. I can do that. I will do that.
Cassie, with Paxton right behind her, came out to wave good-bye as Scott got in Luis’s van and headed off, honking the van’s goofy musical horn and shooting Cassie a wink. She laughed. Paxton did not.
Darren Cross thought the presentation had gone almost perfectly. He’d already made a deal for the Yellowjacket—for a lot of money. Mitchell Carson wanted the system badly. Also, Cross had shown Hank Pym that he was the future of the business. Pym’s secret was out, at least within the company, and Cross was in control. The only hiccup was Frank’s reluctance to get on board. Cross liked Frank, and valued him as an engineering consultant, but they needed to have a conversation.
So he walked into the executive washroom after the meeting had broken up and caught Frank washing his hands. “I’m sorry you have such deep concerns about the Yellowjacket, Frank.”
“Yeah, well, uh, unfortunately we can’t just do whatever we want,” Frank said. “Would be nice though, right? But there are laws.”
“What laws? Of man?” Cross realized that Frank really didn’t understand what the Yellowjacket project meant. So he explained it a little. “The laws of nature transcend the
laws of man. And I’ve transcended the laws of nature.” He realized he was standing between Frank and the trash can, so Cross reached out and took the paper towel Frank had used to dry his hands.
“Darren, I don’t think you understand,” Frank said, but Cross had heard enough.
He’d designed a handheld version of the miniaturization technology and thought this might be the one that finally worked on a human subject. God knew he’d shrunk just about everything else with it already. Cross touched a button and a small electrical arc snapped out to touch Frank’s chest.
Frank disappeared… and, looking down at the floor, Darren Cross realized the miniaturizer wasn’t quite fully functional yet. “We still haven’t worked out all the bugs,” he apologized, and bent down with the paper towel to clean up the mess. “Good-bye, Frank.”
You couldn’t run a company like Cross Technologies without having everyone on board, he thought. That was just the way things were.
He had a dinner engagement with Hope that night, and thought he would use it to make sure she was completely on board, too.
CHAPTER 5
You know,” Darren said after he and Hope had been seated and served a glass of wine, “I’ve been thinking a lot about gratitude lately. Today, during my morning meditation, an interesting thought occurred to me and I think it might apply to you, too.”
She looked at him, those snapping dark eyes under the curtain of her black bangs, and Cross fell a little bit more in love with her. “How’s that?”
“Gratitude can be forgiveness,” he said, and meant it. “I spent years carrying around my anger for Hank Pym. I devoted my genius to him.” Maybe that sounded arrogant, he thought, but it was true. Darren Cross knew how brilliant he was, and why should he pretend otherwise to Hope? “I could’ve worked anywhere. I chose my mentor poorly.”
