by Marie Jevins
Beck and Nilsen ran up then, puffing.
“What’s going on? Do you see any muggers? I’m ready, man,” said Beck. “Let’s get ’em.”
“There weren’t any muggers,” said Mallen. “It’s a seizure. The old lady who worked the grill at Snack Shack used to have these.”
“Nilsen, put your wallet in her mouth! She might swallow her tongue,” said Beck.
“If I had enough money to carry a wallet, I wouldn’t have to live out of my van,” answered Nilsen. “You put your wallet in her mouth.”
“That’s BS, you morons,” said Mallen. He carefully rolled the woman on to her side. “No one swallows their tongue. Evolution isn’t that stupid. Just wait. She’ll be okay.”
“Dude, you believe we were made out of monkeys?” Beck looked shocked now.
Nilsen glared at him. “Don’t be an idiot, Beck. Try reading once in a while.”
The disoriented woman opened her eyes, and Nilsen helped her sit up. She was middle-aged, with dyed-black hair that showed graying roots. She’d painted on her eyebrows with too much makeup, giving herself a semi-permanent look of surprise.
“Hello, ma’am. We’re here to help you and help fix America. Bring freedom back to the land of the free.”
The woman stared at Mallen, confused, as Beck and Nilsen picked up her groceries and shoved them back into the bag. Mallen listened carefully. His new, superior hearing abilities told him that Beck had cracked three eggs and squished a tomato. When Beck accidentally put something heavy on top of a banana, Mallen realized he could smell better now, too.
“Let’s go,” said Nilsen. “We can’t hang here too long. I parked in front of a church.”
“Where do you live, ma’am?”
The dazed woman didn’t answer. Mallen was getting tired of being gentle and kind. He’d been hoping for a fight, so he could test his new abilities.
“I can’t help you if you don’t talk,” growled Mallen. He turned away from the woman. “This is stupid. Let’s get out of here.”
He reached down and picked up the woman, slinging her over his shoulder. He took off down the block toward a park bench, her head lolling as he ran.
“Here, ma’am. Lie on this bench and you’ll feel all right after a while.” Her head smacked the wooden bench as he tossed her down. “Beck, did she have anything good in the grocery bag?”
“No beer, if that’s what you’re asking. Nilsen took the pork chops, but I don’t know where he thinks he’s gonna cook them. Last time I checked, the Econoline didn’t come with a kitchen.”
“I’m cooking it at your place, idiot. Hey, look, ten bucks just fell out of her purse.”
Mallen reached down to the ground and pocketed the ten.
“Glad we could help you out, ma’am.” She stared at him, silently. He shifted uncomfortably, wondering why this woman he’d helped wasn’t more grateful. “Uh, God bless America.”
They left her on the bench and drove away into the night.
S I X
“Are you ready, Mister Stark? The Tavares X-2 space plane is heading back in your direction in 20 minutes. That gives you about three minutes to finish up there if you want a lift back to the stratosphere.”
“Got it, Hudson. I’ll jet down to the rendezvous point at the three mark. Thanks for the update.” Tony’s voice always sounded odd in his Mark II space armor, even though he’d added the faint hum of constant white noise after learning, on previous expeditions, how quiet space was.
Tony cut off the mic built into his airtight hood with a directed glance at his HUD and noticed an alert flashing: The software inside the space armor needed updating. The Mark II had always been more finicky than his other armors, because it was so specialized.
“Jarvis, send command to laptop to issue a reminder next time I enter my password back at Coney Island. Command: Remember to synchronize software across all armors.” Then he turned back to the Zipsat satellite in front of him.
Tony had already manually reconfigured the satellite’s motherboard with several jumpers he kept in his armor’s waist-level tool compartment. He’d been about to replace the seals on the motherboard’s protective skin when he’d had a brainstorm. After cannibalizing some of the miniaturized robotic arms from an unused expansion bay, he wired them into the motherboard with a jumper, and started ripping out the video mechanism and an LED from his new Stark Beam 01.
I need a remote satellite-update system way more than I need a flashlight or video camera on my phone, he thought. Tony enjoyed flying into space, but updating from the ground seemed a more practical strategy for future alterations to the Zipsat network.
Tony hadn’t brought along a space-welding kit, so he used a chemical adhesive to melt the added components into place. Careful, he thought. Don’t want to end up glued to the Zipsat.
He finished quickly—this was routine, aside from the complication of being 250 miles above the Earth’s surface—and double-checked his work.
Nice job, Stark, he thought. He used his armor cameras to store images of the exact setup he’d left behind on the motherboard, then closed up the satellite. He flipped the main power switch on the Zipsat, rebooting the software and turning communications back on.
“Jarvis, use Stark Beam 01 to call Engineering. Send all video and photo records of the new Zipsat updates to Markko. Confirm receipt.”
“Transmission complete, Mister Stark.”
Excellent. The Zipsat was online and working.
“Try voice feature. Open a line to…try Pepper.”
“Hello, Tony?” He heard her cheery voice from the distant planet below.
“Pepper! Wanna go to a restaurant on the moon?”
“Why would we do that, Tony? There’s no atmosphere! Let me guess....you’re in space?”
“How’d you know? I just made some changes to the Zipsat. We can IM each other now without phone companies.”
“Is it secure? I have some updates to send you on Kinshasa. I’m at the airport now, heading to Kabul. Wait one minute, I have to go through passport control.”
Tony heard some shuffling on the other end as Pepper put down her phone and spoke French to a distant border officer. He checked the Zipsat one last time and unhooked his safety harness from the satellite, letting the retractable cables wind back into his armor. Then he set a course for the rendezvous point.
Iron Man rocketed down toward Earth, at first by following the coordinates, then by sight once he spotted the space plane, its wings pivoted up. Tavares X-2 used rockets to ascend, but its wings rotated up on hinges once the plane was in the upper atmosphere. They’d pivot back into place for a traditional runway landing after the plane descended to fifteen miles above the Earth.
“Jarvis, take a few photos, will you? That’s a fine piece of engineering. Send one to Geoff and the board, with a note: ‘Wish you were here.’”
He heard Pepper now, arguing with someone at the airport.
“Those are not priceless antiques, and I do not owe a fine! That was carved yesterday in front of me in a small village. You just want a bribe. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
He cruised down toward the space plane. Bored, he tried looking for man-made objects on the Earth’s surface—but even with enhanced optics, he saw nothing but a swirl of blue ocean, brown and green continents, and white clouds. “Jarvis, send note to National Geographic. Stark: Confirm, no sighting of Great Wall from space.”
“Tony, still there?”
“Hey, Pepper. That sounded like fun. Do you know why the cow went to outer space?”
“To jump over the moon?”
“No. To visit the Milky Way.”
She laughed a little. She sounded tired after her discussion with Congolese airport authorities.
“Pepper, I’m flying to meet a space plane, and, you know, I’m looking at Earth, and the view is amazing. It never gets old. And it makes you feel so small and insignificant. Life goes so quickly.” He had a spontaneous urge to tell Peppe
r his true feelings for her. “Pepper, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you—”
She cut him off. “Tony, are you wearing space pants?”
“What? Why?”
“Because your ass is out of this world. Gotta go, we’re taking off. I’ll call you when you’re back on terra firma.”
The line went dead, just as Tony approached Tavares X-2. It was already descending, its nose pointed down toward the Earth far, far below.
“Iron Man on approach. Hudson, do you copy?”
“Hudson here. We copy, Stark, but we’re getting unusual instrument readings. Lotta malfunction potential here. Sorry, Iron Man. We wanted to do you a favor, but it looks like we might need your help instead. Can you eyeball our wings? Something’s wrong up there.”
“No problem. I owe you one. You guys saved me a lot of time and fuel by giving me a lift.”
Iron Man fired up his boot jets and sped closer to the space plane. He circled around it twice and noticed a dark spot near the wing.
“Hudson, I’m flying in and latching myself to your starboard side. Don’t be alarmed. I’m taking a closer look.”
He zoomed in close now, glad for his armor’s precise navigation system. Iron Man paced himself alongside the plane, then reeled out his retractable cables and latched on to two adjacent steel eyelets.
“Record mission: Tavares X-2 repair in motion. Location: Earth’s mesosphere. Datestamp. Ohh, wait. Urgh,” said Tony. “Motion sickness. I feel like I want to throw up. Definitely prefer flying under my own power.
“Attached to space plane. Shooting video now of damage near wing. Jarvis, Zipsat photos to Galaxy FLX. Request repair information.”
Tony knew he didn’t have long to sort this problem out. They’d reenter the stratosphere in a few minutes, and the wings had to be down then if the plane had any hope of making a safe landing. Or any landing. Without wings to slow down the reentry, the only way this plane wouldn’t burn up would be if Iron Man himself carried it the last 70,000 feet.
Fixing the problem here, in the outer atmosphere, would sure be a lot easier.
“Jarvis: Send reminder to me when I’m back at Coney Island. Research variables of Iron Man Mark II space armor carrying a hybrid rocket space plane safely to Earth.
“Hudson,” Tony continued, “the good news is it’s not your wings. They’re ready to pivot into place for a glide landing.”
“And the bad news?”
“You’ve got a hole back here where something fell off. Do your instruments indicate what might have been under this panel?”
“Stability is fluctuating.”
Galaxy FLX Mission Control, back on Earth, cut in now. “Hudson, according to that photo Stark just sent, you’ve got a missing gyroscopic navigational sensor. We need a new gyroscope, or else Iron Man’s gonna have to carry you in.”
“Negative, HQ,” said Tony. “Carrying this plane home is worst-case scenario. The Mark II armor works great up here, but once we get into the atmosphere, gravity turns it into rock stockings.”
“Any ideas?” asked the voice from HQ. “We like our plane, Mister Stark. We’d like to bring it home in one piece.”
Hudson interrupted. “Don’t forget me. I know this plane costs more than a pilot, but I’ve got to pick up milk for my wife on the way home.”
“Affirmative, Hudson. Pilots are expensive to replace, too.”
“Stand by,” said Tony. He studied the connectors, then sighed.
“I’m not real fond of this idea, but it’s the best I’ve got,” he said. “Jarvis, confirm solvency of extravehicular mobility gyroscopic-navigational compartment. I’m going to open it, but it’s got to be quarantined from my primary life-support subsystem.”
“Extravehicular mobility compartment is sealed.”
“All right, open it and extend the robotic clip wire.” Mark II was bulky, and Tony always had a hard time with the oversized gloves on the armor. This has to be how the Hulk feels, he thought. Or maybe Ben Grimm. Clumsily, he grabbed the clip and jammed it into the space plane’s empty equipment bay. His gloves blocked his view, giving him only brief glimpses inside the compartment now.
Tony randomly moved the clip around until he saw a spark. That was it. He latched the clip on, hardwiring the Mark II armor’s navigational system into the plane. Now Iron Man was the plane’s navigational system.
“Hudson, you’re good to about 13,000 feet, but I’ve got to cut off of this once your wings go down or I’ll compromise your flight.”
“Then what?”
“I’m still working that part out.” He turned back to the job at hand. “Jarvis, fine-focus. Give me a laser. I’m cutting out Mark II’s navigational gyroscope.”
“Proceeding through space without the ability to navigate is not recommended.”
“Yeah, Jarvis, I know,” said Tony. “We’re going to ride this plane to 13,000 feet, then cut loose just before the wings go down. We still have an emergency chute, right? Let me know when we’re over Texas. I’ll use thruster micro-bursts to adjust my fall and send us in the right direction.”
Iron Man focused on the job at hand, lasering components from the Mark II while carefully avoiding compromising life support and thrusters. By working intently, he found he could almost ignore his slight motion sickness.
He used a robotic-arm grip to firmly position the components inside the space plane. Don’t need anything slipping and floating away up here, he thought.
“Jarvis, send photo to Galactic FLX Mission Control.”
He heard a response a moment later. Zipsat sure was fast.
“Nice work, Iron Man. We have tiles on the wings, but these are just a precaution. Our high-drag descent eliminates need for these except in an emergency. Pry off a tile and you should be able to form a new seal with it. How exactly are you getting down without any stabilizers?”
“With a headache and a side of nausea,” said Tony. “Jarvis, inject Dramamine and prepare for release. Set the automatic-activation device to open the chute if I pass out or exceed 35 meters a second. Hudson, have a good flight. You’re on your own now.”
Iron Man unclipped his retractable cables and heard a sharp snap as they zipped back into his armor. Tavares X-2 tore away from him, beginning its descent to the Texas runway. Tony marveled as its wings unfolded incrementally, pivoting slowly until they were in place for a runway landing as on a typical airplane.
Marvelous, he thought. Brilliant design, like a badminton shuttlecock. May have to modify the Avengers Quinjet like that.
But as much as he wanted to watch the space plane’s landing, Tony had his own rudderless flight to worry about.
“Mini-propulsion thrusts,” said Tony. He descended slowly for a few feet, first using his right repulsor, then his left.
“Jarvis, automate parachute deployment in—whoa!”
Suddenly off-balance, Tony lurched unexpectedly.
“No, no, gimme a boost, even on both…” He spun now, in sickening spirals.
“Jets, now!” Tony yelled. His boot jets fired; he regained control momentarily, then began spinning again—but head-over-heels this time, and a lot faster.
“I’m gonna need more Dramamine,” he muttered. “Jarvis, automate makeshift stability calculations and run the thrusters.” He slowed down, but didn’t stop completely. Iron Man lurched from side to side as Jarvis tried to steady him with mini-bursts.
“Let’s try this again. Power into neutral and just use the chute. An old-fashioned skydive.”
“Thrusters are offline.”
Iron Man went into freefall and wished for a moment that he could feel the wind rush past his cheeks—but the Mark II was necessarily airtight, and getting more clunky and uncomfortable now that he was only ten miles from the ground.
“Drogue, NOW!”
The pilot chute fluttered up and caught the wind, inflating, creating drag that slowed Iron Man’s fall. Tony felt himself stabilize as he fell, the sound of air rushing past him.
The main chute unfolded next, opening slowly as the slider worked its way down the canopy.
And then Tony was gliding peacefully over Texas.
“Jarvis, cut the white noise. Cut all noise. Turn off everything but life support. I want to hear nothing but the wind in the chute.”
Iron Man descended a few miles in near-silence. He gazed around him. Finally his phone rang.
“Answer.”
“Tony, it’s Maya. Are you okay? You’re running later than you said you would.”
“Sorry, Maya. I had a few things to take care of on the way. I’m near…” He glanced at the GPS readout on his HUD. “Waco. My driver is heading up to get me. We won’t be long. Still up for that late lunch?”
“Maybe. I’m not hungry. I feel nauseous.”
“That makes two of us. Give it some time. Maybe we’ll be hungry later. See you soon.”
He clicked off and silenced all incoming communications. Then he smiled.
Tony Stark was a mile up in the sky, descending with the help of wind and gravity. He didn’t want to hear about Maya’s problems or Stark Enterprises’ latest dilemma.
He just wanted to admire the view.
S E V E N
Tony tested more of his new Zipsat functionality by beaming a text to Maya from the Austin airport. It worked: She was waiting outside Futurepharm when the sleek, black Stark sedan pulled up at the suburban office park.
Maya’s head was bowed and her arms were crossed over a pink silk blouse. Her hair, much longer than it used to be, was pulled back in a simple ponytail. She was older now, but still stunning.
“Maya…” said Tony as he stepped out of the back seat. She moved toward him, and then she was in his arms.
“Whoa, whoa.” He was surprised by this show of emotion. Last time he’d seen Maya, she’d been so engrossed in her job, she hadn’t noticed when he’d flirted with both the restaurant hostess and the waitress. She’d been too busy jotting down formulas on a napkin.
Now she was crying.
“What’s wrong?” He held her close. Her hair smelled like apples. Remember Mrs. Rennie’s advice, thought Tony. He thought of Pepper, en route to Kabul, and altered his assessment. Maya’s hair smelled like apple shampoo that might have needed a bit more rinsing.
