by Len Wein
“Uh, right. Could the inscriptions on the cylinders have been ‘AD resin X’ and ‘AD resin Y,’ Jan?”
“Yes, I think so, Iron Man. Does it matter?”
“It may be the best news I’ve had all day. It gives us a clue to Ultron’s plans.
“AD resin X and AD resin Y are metallic resins which combine under certain conditions to form a metal called Adamantium. As you know, Adamantium is virtually indestructible. No power known to man has any significant effect on pure Adamantium.
“And Ultron is constructed of pure Adamantium.”
“Hey, pardon my ignorance, Rustpot,” Hawkeye interrupted, “but how the hell do you build something out of a metal that can’t be worked? If it’s indestructible, you can’t melt it, or roll it, or drill it. Seems to me all you could make out of the stuff is free-form paper weights.”
“Good question. The fact is that after the resins are mixed, there is a flux period during which the Adamantium is liquid. If the temperature is kept in excess of 15,000°C, the metal will remain in a fluid state for about eight minutes. During that time it can be cast and shaped by ionic-field manipulation.”
Hawkeye yawned loudly, leaned back, and rested his feet on the table once again.
Patiently, Iron Man continued. “After Adamantium solidifies, it is utterly immutable. A plate one quarter of an inch thick could survive a direct hit by a hydrogen bomb. I doubt if it would be scratched.”
“Hmmph,” Hawkeye grunted, looking bored. Taking an arrow from his quiver, he reached across the table with it, spearing the last English muffin on the serving plate.
“Y’know,” he said, his mouth full of muffin, “this Ultron dude sounds tough. I think we ought to surrender.”
“Hawkeye!” the Witch half shouted. Her tone was rather like that of a parent scandalized by her child’s behavior.
“Yeth, Mommy?” Hawkeye squeaked, mocking her.
“Address my wife with respect, Archer,” the Vision said, with more venom in his hollow voice than Iron Man had thought possible, “or I shall . . .”
Hawkeye stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes.
“Enough!” Captain America shouted, slapping Hawkeye’s feet off the table hard enough to tip him over backward in his chair. The chair crashed to the floor but Hawkeye nimbly back-flipped and landed on his feet. By that time Cap was also standing, shield in hand. Hawkeye still held the arrow he’d used to stab the muffin.
“Put the shield down,” said the Brash Attacker, dropping his razor-pointed arrow.
The Resolute Defender tossed his shield aside, never taking his eyes off Hawkeye. The shield landed gently in a cushioned chair across the room.
Hawkeye leaped at Cap.
In midair, a yellowish beam of repellent force intercepted him, gently stealing his momentum. He hung motionless in space for a split second, then crashed awkwardly to the ground.
“Ow-w!”
“Hawkeye,” Iron Man said, adjusting the repulsor beam in his palm back up to its normal high-impact setting, “Can’t you get it through your head that this isn’t recess? We’re facing the greatest crisis we’ve . . .”
“Bull!” Hawkeye shouted, pulling himself to his feet. “What’s wrong with you people? So there’s a robot running around loose—big deal! Why are we sitting here moping about how tough he is? Is this the Campfire Girls or the Avengers? Hey, I got an idea! Let’s go find that mother and do some avenging!”
“Just like that, huh?” said Iron Man.
“Sure. After all, if it wasn’t for us—some of us—there wouldn’t be an Ultron, would there?”
The armored man’s eyes widened. Did Hawkeye know?
The Wasp leaped to her feet, tears welling in her eyes. She hissed, “Damn you, Hawkeye! That’s cruel! When Hank created the first Ultron, he didn’t mean to create a monster! He just wanted to make a machine that could think on its own!”
“And he succeeded,” the Vision added, “too well. The first Ultron carried on the creative process that Henry Pym had merely begun . . .”
“A real self-made robot,” Hawkeye said dryly.
“Self-transformed,” the Vision corrected. “Dr. Pym intended his thinking computer to devise ways to end hardship and turmoil in the world. With twisted logic, Ultron concluded that living beings are the cause of disorder; ergo he remade himself into an invincible engine of destruction, seeking to fulfill his prime directive by destroying all life.”
“But we smashed the first Ultron, and a couple more since,” Hawkeye said. “Who keeps putting the damn thing back together?”
“Uh, I believe that this time it was a technician, a scientist at Stark International. I deduced that from certain materials which were missing from our vaults. Apparently, this, uh, person was operating under a powerful posthypnotic suggestion planted by Ultron the last time he existed,” Iron Man explained. “Ultron is a computer. He plans for every conceivable contingency, even the unlikely event of his own destruction.”
“Do you know who this techno was?” Hawkeye asked.
“I have my suspicions,” Iron Man said, “but it doesn’t matter . . .” In his mind he added “. . . yet.”
“The individual involved remembers nothing. He wouldn’t be any help to us.”
“I have a question, Iron Man,” Cap said. “You mentioned guessing Ultron’s plans . . .”
“There are any number of ways that Ultron could destroy humanity. For instance, he could single-handedly seize a nuclear missile complex—who could stop him? And start an atomic holocaust that only he could survive.
“Instead, from what Jan told us, he has created at least one Adamantium drone robot. And he sent that robot to Jan’s house, apparently to steal the makings of more Adamantium from Hank’s lab. I figure that he intends to build more drones, until he has an army of invincible slaves. His robot lackeys are probably striking all around the world, stealing priceless Adamantium resins from every major stockpile.”
“Quite right, sir,” said Jarvis, entering with a teletype printout in hand. “This just came in from the Pentagon on the top-secret wire.”
“Hmmm,” Iron Man said, reading the tape. “Last night, Utron’s drone invaded Project Prometheus, out in the Adirondacks . . . heavy casualties . . . destroyed a dozen tanks and seven aircraft . . . and made off with the second largest supply of Adamantium resin in the Free World.”
Hawkeye slumped into his chair. “How many robots could he make outta that?”
“I’d estimate . . . two,” Iron Man said.
“Two? Just two?!”
“Hawkeye, all the Adamantium resin existing in the world today would barely fill a large closet . . . or your mouth. It’s in dribs and drabs all over the world. That’s why it’s to our advantage if Ultron is intent on seizing it. It’ll take him awhile . . . and maybe give us time to find him . . . and destroy him.”
“The problem is how,” Captain America said, stroking his cleft chin. “Hawkeye is fond of pointing out that we’ve smashed Ultron before, but . . .”
“But in fact,” Iron Man interjected, “we managed to trick the first incarnations of Ultron into destroying themselves. We were physically helpless against them.”
“It is not likely that Ultron will fall to trickery again,” the Vision said.
“All of our power—all of the power in the world—is useless against him. There is only one thing, one weapon that can harm him.” Iron Man paused dramatically. “A Molecular Rearranger.”
“Where do we get one, Tin Man? Can our local mad genius, Tony Stark, whip one up before lunch?”
“Not likely, Hawkeye. The Molecular Rearranger was created by Doctor Myron MacLain, the same scientist who first produced Adamantium. MacLain died of a stroke shortly afterward. The secret of the Rearranger died with him.
“All we know is that it works on principles of subatomics that the greatest nuclear physicists alive today can’t fathom. And that it can reshape Adamantium as if it were Silly Putty.
&nbs
p; “The only existing prototype MR device was stolen by Ultron years ago.”
“Correct, Iron Man,” said the Vision. “So that he would possess the ability to alter his Adamantium body if he chose, he incorporated the device into his internal circuitry.”
“Beyond our reach,” Hawkeye said, ruefully.
“Not beyond mine.”
The Scarlet Witch stepped forward. “You were not there when last we battled Ultron, Hawkeye. My hex power caused short circuits inside his body. The rearranging device Iron Man spoke of malfunctioned, creating rifts in his impregnable metal skin.
“And thus, for the first time we were truly able to defeat the monster in battle!”
“Then we can do it again. Jeez, that’s what I said at the beginning of this.”
“Maybe we can do it again. Ultron obviously knows that he’s got a built-in Achilles heel, which is why, I suspect, he’s laying low and letting drones do his dirty work. He won’t feel safe until the one person who’s a danger to him . . . is eliminated.”
All eyes converged on the Scarlet Witch. Protectively, the Vision placed his arm around her. Wanda, however, looked serene and unafraid.
“Our strategy seems clear, then,” Cap said on the heels of a long pause. “While we’re searching for Ultron, we’ve got to protect the Witch as if the world depended on it.”
“ ’Cause it does,” Hawkeye added.
The setting sun worked a multicolored miracle behind the Manhattan skyline. From their balcony, Wanda and the Vision watched, their arms about one another.
“So beautiful,” said Wanda, half whispering. “I have never seen the like, darling. Do you think it is meant to inspire us?”
“I believe that it is the result of the unique refractive qualities of the various airborne pollutants present in this vicinity,” the Vision said matter-of-factly.
“Cold-blooded bastard!” Wanda hissed, twisting and pushing to escape his arms, with little success.
“You,” he said in deliberate, measured tones, “are beautiful when you are angry.”
“The result of having fire in my blood! Not antifreeze! Let go of me!”
“Never,” he said, kissing her. “Iron Man has ordered me to remain at your side. Therefore, it is my duty as an Avenger to hold you.
“You will be pleased to know that I have calculated the refractional indices for the chemical components of the smog. I will now list them for you.”
“You do and I’ll hex you into plastic slag!” Wanda said through clenched teeth as she struggled.
The Vision kissed her again and her struggles lessened. She resisted for only a moment, then her lips parted, her mouth opened, and, passionately, she kissed back.
He gently, effortlessly swept her off her feet and carried her across the threshold, closing the curtained French doors behind them.
The sunset, perhaps their last, had indeed inspired them.
“It’s like looking at a Rembrandt in a smelly sewer!” the Wasp said, wrinkling her nose.
She stood at the open door to the terrace, looking out at the spectacular display in the western sky. Behind her, in the drawing room, Hawkeye was sprawled on a crushed-velvet couch watching an Odd Couple rerun.
“What?”
“I said the sky is lovely but the air is yuckie!”
“Oh. I thought that was your perfume, ‘Essence of New Jersey.’ ”
“My perfume,” Jan huffed, affecting an aristocratic tone, “is ‘Bal à Versailles’ And you,” she said, switching to a catty hiss, “are a slimy mugwump.”
With that she disappeared.
Moments later, in the huge basement gymnasium, the Wasp delicately landed on Captain America’s shoulder. To her, Cap’s chain-mail shirt seemed to be a vast, deep-blue, rolling plain made of regular, overlapping, circular scales, each almost half her size. Cap stood holding his shield by the edge, taking careful aim at a practice dummy across the room. He drew a deep breath, and threw. The Wasp clung desperately as steel-band shoulder sinews surged and rippled beneath the mail shirt.
The shield arced far wide of the target, toward a heavy metal weight rack. Clanging loudly on impact, it ricocheted, leaping as though it were alive toward the parallel bars, only to ricochet again from a steel upright, finally thumping solidly into the back of the padded dummy. Its momentum still unexpended, it bounced high into the air.
As his shield struck its mark, Captain America launched himself forward, spring off a horse into the air, catching the spinning disk at the top of its rebound. Gracefully, he somersaulted down, landing in a ready crouch.
“Wheee! Do it again!”
“Wasp?” Cap said, turning toward the tiny voice.
“Here I am,” she said, growing a few centimeters to become more visible. “Boy, are you a cinch to sneak up on when you’re concentrating!” She laughed.
Cap looked deadly serious. “Hmm. I’ll have to remember that. How long have you been on my shoulder?”
“Who can keep track of time sitting on such a sexy, muscular shoulder?”
Cap hadn’t had time to “hmmph” before the Wasp was standing beside him full size, tears welling in her eyes.
“Oh, what’s the use of flirting? Hank isn’t here to get jealous! Cap, I’m so worried. What if I never get to see him again?”
Cap pulled his hood back, and raised the Wasp’s chin gently with his hand, until her wet eyes met his, full of understanding and paternal tenderness.
“Janet . . .”
“No, Cap,” she said, sniffling, “you don’t have to say it. I know I’m being dumb. Everybody’s favorite air-head heiress strikes again.
“I know Hank will get our cable and rush right back here from Japan . . . but that may take two days! What if . . . what if we’re all . . .
“Oh, fudge!”
She sniffed again. “I wish I had a kleenex . . . or you had a cape! I . . . I guess it’s just this waiting that’s getting me.”
“Me too, Ladybug,” said Hawkeye, strutting through the doorway. “I just heard on the news that Ultron’s Adamantium stooge just raided a British military-research complex. He made off with ‘certain secret materials’ and, while he was at it, wiped out a tank battalion.”
“Wiped out . . . ?” Cap stammered.
“Yeah. As in dead. They say this thing is getting real cocky . . . not making any attempt to cover its tracks. It dropped out of sight for awhile, I guess to ditch the loot. Then it was sighted again heading toward France. The French Army is mobilizing—and us Avenger types are just sitting here.”
“Protecting the Witch!” Cap said, with an edge on his voice. “I’m sure Ultron wants us to go after his stooge. Tell me, Barton, should we take Wanda with us and risk getting her killed, or leave her here and let Ultron pick her off at his leisure?”
For once Hawkeye said nothing.
“Iron Man is trying to find Ultron with his electronic gadgets,” Cap continued, “When he does . . .”
“When he does, call me,” said the Wasp, turning toward the door. “I’m going home.”
“Jan, wait! You can’t . . .”
“Yes, I can, Cap! We’re not ‘protecting’ Wanda! That stubborn, arrogant woman won’t let us near her! I guess she thinks she’s proving how brave and self-reliant she is. She’s just barely tolerating having her husband stay at her side. Lord knows if it was me, you’d all have to take turns hiding me in your pockets.” Janet paused as if a thought had just struck her. Banishing a quick half-smile, she resumed her impassioned tirade. “Anyway, my house is a wreck! I’ve got to go take care of it—and my hair! I simply must do something about these frizzled ends before I’m seen in public! Look, I’m only twenty minutes away if you need me, and well, you’ll probably be better off without a dummy like me. It’s not as if I were Thor, you know.”
With that, she struck a flirtatious pinup-girl pose, and, smiling impishly, shrank out of sight.
“Where the hell is Thor?” Iron Man said out loud. He was alone in the ma
nsion’s sprawling laboratory, standing before an array of gauges and dials mounted on a panel in the wall. He had spent the day applying the lab’s sensors and computers to the task of locating Ultron. He had monitored high-frequency communication bands, hoping to pick up transmissions between Ultron and his robot cat’s-paw. He had scanned for unusual concentrations of energy and radioactivity. He had even microanalyzed infrared satellite photographs of the entire Western Hemisphere hoping to detect evidence of underground construction that might pinpoint a hidden base. He had found nothing.
But now he was more worried about the whereabouts of his ally. For the thousandth time he picked up the phone and dialed an unlisted, unpublished number known only to him, and for the thousandth time, he heard it ring—tinny, echoing, endless rings. Dr. Donald Blake, Thor’s mortal persona, apparently, was not in.
He hung up.
There was a chair near the phone. He slumped into it, and, unlocking a hidden magnetic catch, flipped up the faceplate of his helmet. The man in the armor was worried.
“Memo” he said.
The mansion’s lab computer, like its counterpart at Tony Stark’s factory lab, responded to that key word in Stark’s own voice.
“Ready.”
The man in the armor drew a long breath, then began.
“I’ve got to say everything out loud . . . clarify my thoughts.
“First, I’m almost certain that I’m the one who reconstructed Ultron.
“These are the facts: there may be a dozen people in the world who have the technical skill to put together a device as complicated as Ultron. Fewer still have fairly easy access to the necessary materials—Hank Pym, Reed Richards, Doctor Doom, of course, and me.
“The ‘necessary materials,’ including some top-secret components that only I have access to, are missing from Stark International’s supply vaults. Also, there are gaps in my memory during the last month—‘missing’ hours and days, when I don’t know where I was or what I was doing.
