Extremis

by Marie Jevins

  “Database search recommends a moisture-wicking headband.”

  “Thanks, Jarvis. You’re a big help.” Tony pulled off his helmet, squinting and blinking as his eyes watered.

  “Mister Iron Man?”

  Tony made out the shape of the teenager he’d just rescued. The kid held out a bottle of water.

  “Thanks. Just pour it over my head.” He leaned forward while the teen flushed out his eyes. He was trying to avoid letting the water run into his circuit-skin, which was already soaked from sweat.

  “You okay, kid? That wasn’t real smart. She totally wasn’t worth it, y’know? What’s your name?”

  “Well, Owen, you’re young now, and you’re going to look back at this someday and…”

  Tony was interrupted by the shrill voice of authority. The Wonder Wheel had begun turning again, and as a car swivelled down to the ground, Mrs. Rennie climbed out.

  Owen stepped back a foot. He could see he was in trouble as this diminutive but stern senior citizen briskly approached him.

  “Owen, my name is Mrs. Rennie. We’re going to have a discussion. You’re going to tell me what exactly you were thinking, then you are calling your mother.”

  Tony grinned and turned away quickly, so Owen couldn’t see his face.

  “Sir?” Happy was on the scene now, offering Tony a smoothie. Tony grabbed it enthusiastically from his burly friend’s hand, pulled off the lid, and gulped. Mmm, mango and yogurt. He heard a few cameras clicking, took a look at the brand name on the drink, and wondered briefly whether the Mango Mermaid company was now going to claim that Iron Man endorsed its product. Ah, well, the legal team is busy, and Stark Enterprises supports local businesses. He slurped the smoothie down, smiled for the cameras, pulled his helmet back on, and tossed the cup back to Happy.

  “Good luck, Owen.” Iron Man fired up his repulsors and roared off into the sky, soaring back to hover over the Atlantic.

  “Jarvis, proceed with diagnostics. I’ll just float here while you finish. Dial Pepper.”

  “Ms. Potts’ phone is offline.”

  “Use the satellite server. She’s out of cell-tower reach.”

  Pepper answered, breathless. “Tony, I can’t talk. I’m about to meet a potential partner for dinner.”

  “Dinner? Partner?” Tony didn’t like it when Pepper had plans he didn’t know about. “What’s his name? Did he ask you, or did you ask him? Is he single?”

  “HER name. I’m allowed to eat, you know. And I’ve got a great lead for your project.”

  “I sent you to…wait, I’ve forgotten. It’s been a long day. Which country are you in now?”

  “Another place with a visa that takes up an entire page of my passport. This is my second passport in eight months.”

  “I’ll get you a deluxe-sized passport next time, Pepper. I have connections, you know.”

  “You charmer. You are so smooth with the ladies. Honestly, the next time—”

  Jarvis interrupted now. “Incoming call from Mrs. Rennie.”

  “I’m on an important call. Tell her to wait.”

  “Mister Stark, I’ll do no such thing. I do not wait particularly well. Good evening, Ms. Potts. My best wishes for the ongoing success of your journey.”

  Tony really needed to work on the armor’s privacy settings.

  “Mister Stark, there is a Miss Maya Hansen on the line. She insists you will take her call regardless of whatever flying escapades you might currently be involved in. She says you made her this promise. In a bar. Over drinks.”

  Pepper cleared her throat and hung up. Mrs. Rennie chuckled evilly as Tony sighed. She’d gotten him back for all the fun he’d had with her this morning. In spades.

  Score one for Mrs. Rennie, he thought.

  “Patch her through,” said Tony.

  F O U R

  “Tony?”

  “Maya! This is a surprise. What’ve you been up to? It’s been a while.”

  “Years, Tony. I saw you on the news. Looks like you’ve been busy. Like you’ve made some progress on miniaturizing repulsor tech. Remember our deal from Techwest? We promised to take each other’s calls and IMs. Always.”

  “Was this the deal we made at that lousy bar under the influence of beer you convinced me someone else had already digested and passed?”

  “Yes. Twice. Look, I know this seems out of the blue, but I really need to talk to you. Something’s happened here, and…well, it feels like the last straw.”

  “Where is here, Maya?”

  “I’m at my desk, at Futurepharm. The main labs. Outside Austin.”

  “Why me? Is this something for Iron Man?”

  “It’s classified, Tony. Biomedical engineering. You have security clearance, and no one else will understand what’s gone wrong.”

  “There’s Sal.”

  “He’s off-grid in Sonoma County. I know he’s a genius with biotech, but you have the benefit of owning a phone. It’s an emergency, Tony. I need you.”

  Tony glanced at his armor’s readings, and then looked backward and down at his office building on Coney Island. It was great to be out of the garage, great to be flying. He’d fly all day if he could, and heading to Texas would give him that opportunity. But he had a business to run, and he didn’t want to attend a Stark Enterprises board meeting from inside the armor. He quickly made up his mind.

  “See you in a few hours. I’ll bring the jet.”

  “Aren’t you a jet?” Maya started to giggle, but it turned into a cough—or was that a sob? Tony remembered Maya as a flirty, brilliant scientist, but she sounded like she had a lot more than flirtiness on her mind.

  “We might want to visit a few wineries. Or pick up a sandwich.”

  “I heard you don’t drink anymore. But yeah, fine. Bring the jet. And Tony?” She paused just long enough to make him feel uncomfortable. “It’ll be good to see you.”

  “You, too, Maya. Be there soon.”

  Tony clicked off the phone and switched back to Mrs. Rennie’s direct line.

  “Have the staff ready the new jet at JFK. I’m uploading the GPS routing for the flight path. The Iron Man suit comes with me, just in case, but this is a Tony Stark expedition.”

  “Well, obviously, or you’d just fly there yourself and save us some money. Have you forgotten your senior staff meeting this afternoon?”

  “Enable teleconferencing on the plane. Send Happy into my garage to get my overnight bag and that nice suit you picked out for me. Give him anything Geoff wants me to review for the meeting. I’ll meet Happy at the airport. And another thing, Mrs. Rennie.”

  “What now, Mister Stark?”

  “Thanks for helping with that kid, Owen.”

  “You’re welcome, but you must never deliberately place me in the line of fire of funnel cake again. I detest fried foods.”

  “Unless it’s on a stick.”

  “Unless it’s on a stick,” agreed Mrs. Rennie. She let out a rare peal of laughter, surprising Tony. He wasn’t used to hearing her admit she enjoyed anything. “Now, then, who is this Maya Hansen?”

  “An old…er…friend,” said Tony. “A very smart friend.”

  “A word of unsolicited advice, Mister Stark. When you first hired me, you asked if I ‘had an eye on the future or carried the past around like it was my own armor.’ I answered correctly, because I wanted the job and it was clear to me which answer you were looking for. Now it’s your turn. Don’t forget to leave the past where it belongs. Your intention may be to help a friend, but Maya Hansen did not sound particularly business-formal to me. I distinctly heard her flirt with you. Shall I ask Ms. Potts if she noticed the same?”

  “I, uh, I’ll ask her myself. You really don’t have to. I’ve gotta go. A flock of Canadian geese are heading my way, and I’m in their flight path. Listen, do you hear them? Well, you would if I could hold the phone out. But it’s built into my armor. They sound like this. Squawk. Squawk.” He increased the volume and used his ocular controls to add a bit of
distortion.

  “Don’t fly over the wildlife refuge, Mister Stark,” Mrs. Rennie reminded him as she clicked off.

  Tony had plenty of time, even if he circled around Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge. The airport was only fifteen miles away, and one advantage of being Iron Man was he didn’t have to fight traffic.

  Just birds, thought Tony, as he soared the long way around the refuge, out over the Atlantic.

  Maya Hansen had sounded exhausted and shaken on the phone—not happy-go-lucky as she had been when they’d first met, when she’d teased him from the end of the bar at Techwest. When had that been? Ten years ago? More?

  “I swear, you’re the only one here in a suit. Makes you look twenty years older,” Maya had said from two barstools away. She’d been wearing faded jeans and a tight baby-doll tee silkscreened with a Pi symbol. Her hair had been short then, a brown tousled pixie cut.

  “I’m here to work,” Tony had said stiffly. He’d been going through a phase of being far too serious. “I run a corporation.”

  “The rest of us are here to talk, you know. We love to talk.” Maya smiled at him over her drink. What had she been drinking that night? He couldn’t remember. It wasn’t beer. The beer had come later, once Sal had joined them.

  “Yeah. I kind of worked that out. Lots and lots of talk.” At that age, Tony had lacked patience when it came to polite conversation. “Talking about repurposing robot vacuum cleaners for military work. Talking about consumer satellite telephony. God.”

  Maya’s demeanor had changed. Apparently, she didn’t like being judged.

  “You don’t like talking?” Maya’s voice took on a menacing edge.

  “I like talking about things that’ll work,” answered Tony. “I like talking about genuine outbreaks of the future. Not vacuum-cleaner death machines and satellite phones no one will buy or care about.

  “Why does it have to be about consumer goods? Why do we assume the future is only a retail opportunity? I dunno. It bugs me.”

  Maya smiled again, her dimples making her all the more adorable. She scooted over to the barstool next to Tony.

  “You’re weird.” She poked him in the chest.

  “What?” Tony wasn’t used to that response from women. Or anyone.

  “Look at you,” said Maya. “Barely out of your twenties. In a suit at a future-of-technology conference. A suit! Do you even realize this is the Bay Area? And you complaining about consumer society, as if you’re better than that. Meanwhile, you got your money from the military.”

  “You know who I am?”

  “Everyone here knows who you are.”

  “Huh. I shouldn’t be surprised. I am famous—and fascinating, of course. But you’re the first person who’s said two words to me here.”

  “They’re terrified of you,” Maya explained. “You reinvented microtechnology in your dad’s garage. Your brain is like three feet over the heads of everyone else here. Or anywhere, I guess. You’re Tony Stark.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Maya Hansen.”

  “The medical designer? Reprogramming the repair center?” Dr. Maya Hansen was much younger and cuter than Tony had imagined her to be. She stood up, glancing at the watch embedded in her black leather wristband.

  “Right. Hey, Sal Kennedy’s about to talk. You want to come see it with me?”

  Tony didn’t know who Sal Kennedy was, but he was ready to go anywhere this cute pixie with a super-brain asked him to. “Who’s he?”

  “Kennedy? Started out as a computer guy. Became an ethnobotanist, then learned lots about biotech. Works as a futurist now.”

  “Sounds like it’d at least be interesting,” Tony lied. “Maybe he’ll tell us how to make a satellite phone out of a robot vacuum cleaner.”

  Maya grabbed him by the hand. “So come on. And loosen your tie.”

  For the first time since the injection two days ago, Mallen felt a faint breeze brush past his shoulder. He shivered and pulled his tan leather coat closer, using it as a blanket. He was naked now, under the coat. His skin was tough, slightly bronze-tinted, and covered in blotches of dried blood and mucus.

  Where had his clothes gone? He remembered a haze of fever and pain. He’d stripped them off in a panic, believing the clothes to be part of the scarred cocoon he’d begun to develop overnight. The room had been red then, as if he were seeing it through a mist of blood. He’d been disoriented, confused, and outraged at the surge of pain coursing along his neural pathways.

  Mallen had leapt to his feet, screeching like a terrified hyena, and pounded the steel cold-room doors furiously. They’d bent beneath his alien-looking fists, shuddered when he’d thrown his scaly, evolving body up against the hinges. But the bolt had held. As they’d planned, Nilsen and Beck had locked Mallen in when they’d left him, not knowing the effects of the serum they’d just injected into their friend. Would he still be alive when they returned? Would they find a puddle of oozing goo, Mallen sleeping off the effects of the serum, or a uniquely evolved life form?

  The scarred cocoon had softened and disintegrated, revealing new skin underneath—and inside that, a man who was now more than human. Mallen felt stronger, tougher, more focused, and ready to change the world. He felt heat in his throat and blood coating his teeth. He’d evolved, left weak humankind behind.

  No one could take away Mallen’s firearms now. He didn’t need guns anymore. He was a powerful, walking weapon, stronger than guns or bombs or land mines.

  The breeze hit his face. A door to the outside had opened somewhere in the slaughterhouse.

  Mallen heard footsteps. Had his hearing improved, or was it just that the slaughterhouse had been silent for days? No. All his senses were sharper. He could smell his friends. Nilsen was more pungent than Beck, probably didn’t shower quite as often.

  Muffled voices were approaching the cold room. The lock on the door slid aside. There was Beck, fists clenched from tension and nervousness, looking apprehensive under his baseball cap. Nilsen walked in behind Beck, swinging both battered doors open wide. The two men glanced at each other and then at Mallen, who lay curled up under his coat on a stain of dried blood in the middle of the floor.

  “I’m alive,” said Mallen.

  “Sal Kennedy just might be a lunatic,” Tony said, musing aloud as he snacked on a handful of bar peanuts after the Westech panel.

  “Some people say the same thing about you,” Maya replied icily. “Bartender, another scotch and soda, please.”

  “He started by claiming that nuclear plants are inevitable to the future of powering toasters in the industrialized world and ended up telling elaborate accounts of his pharmacological experiments with psychoactive dopamine inhibitors.”

  “That was off-topic, but he did answer the reporter’s question.”

  “I was impressed with the scope of his presentation,” Tony admitted. “I’m not saying he’s wrong, exactly, but his projections of the future hinge on factors that are definitely going to evolve. I’m working on solutions that will change how we power our future, Maya. He’s so damn certain that nothing will change. That people can’t change.”

  “They can’t. They don’t,” Maya said brusquely.

  “He’s wrong about that, Maya, and you are wrong about that. I’m going to alter the factors. Sal Kennedy will be stuck doing bar tricks for acolytes while I change the playing field.”

  “His bar tricks are just to loosen up the audience, Tony. No one in that room really believed he could mentally see inside a lemon, even if he is an ethnobotanist. This is a science conference, after all.”

  “Even I can do that trick,” Tony said. “Bartender, do you have a whole lemon I could borrow?”

  The bartender, a chestnut-haired college-age woman in a wool short-sleeve sweater and white-streaked jeans, offered up a whole lemon. “You’ll give this back to me, right? Promise you won’t squish my lemon.”

  Maya intervened, grabbing the lemon out of the bartender’s hand. “Tony, no.” She glanced at the stem end of the l
emon for a second and quickly counted the tiny sections in the stem.

  “Ten. There are ten segments in this lemon. See? I can do it, too. Now cut it open and check.” She shoved the lemon back at the bartender.

  “No,” the bartender said, looking irritated as she put the lemon away behind the bar. “You two want to prove how smart you are to each other, do it some other way. Not using my lemon.”

  “Fine, give me a glass and a match,” said Tony. “If I can’t be a citrus psychic, I’ll show you my mastery of telekinesis.”

  “You’re not smarter than I am, Tony,” said Maya. “There’s no bar trick you can show me that I won’t be able to explain within five seconds.”

  “Watch.” He pulled a plastic pen and two coins out of his shirt pocket. He placed one coin flat on the bar, stood the other on top of it, and then balanced the match on top of the two coins. He then put a glass over the whole setup.

  “May I borrow your sweater for a moment?” Tony leaned over the bar and rubbed his pen on the bartender’s sweater.

  “Sure. Let me know if you need me to come closer.”

  Maya glared at the bartender.

  Tony stood back, then circled the glass with the pen. Inside, the match pivoted with the motion of the pen.

  “See? My magic powers are making the match move,” said Tony.

  “Sure, if by magic powers you mean static electricity, super-genius,” said Maya. “Try it again, but this time rub it on my T-shirt, instead.” She leaned forward.

  “If you insist.”

  Tony moved in close to Maya and rubbed the pen on her shoulder. “Oh, sorry, Maya. Not enough real estate there. Your sleeves are too short. Mind if I…”

  “You are so weird.”

  He’d moved his hand to her stomach. “This little midriff-exposing thing. Too much skin, not enough cloth. I’m going to have to move my hand up just a little higher, find the right combination of T-shirt material over a broad canvas.” He’d moved his hand slowly up her ribcage, stopping just below her breasts. “How about here?”

  “Like a true scientist. Finding the best solution.”