Civil War Prose Novel (8 page)

SUSAN
Richards was tired. Tired of hospital food, of hospital coffee. Tired of chatting with her groggy brother, trying to keep his spirits up. Tired of prying information out of the doctors about how well the operation had gone. Of trying to explain to the nurses that they needed to keep Johnny’s fever down
at all times,
unless they wanted to walk in one morning and find the sheets accidentally charred to ashes.

Mostly, she was just tired.

“Franklin?” She kicked off her shoes, flipped on the living room light. “Val, honey?”

Silence.

She pulled out her phone. A light was blinking: new text message. It was from Ben Grimm.

And a second message:

Sue smiled. At times like this, she realized what a blessing the Fantastic Four was. They weren’t just a team, like the Avengers or the Defenders. They were a mutual support group, a family. A comfort when times got rough.

She padded through the living quarters. Checked the mail, flipped on the muted TV. More footage of the Stamford explosion, rising up in a thick black cloud. Were they ever going to stop showing that?

Almost ritualistically, Sue paced through the dining room, kitchen, all three bathrooms. Franklin’s little room and Val’s littler one. The master bedroom was dark, empty, the bed undisturbed where the robot maid had neatened it this morning.

Quit stalling,
she told herself.
You know where he is.

Reed’s lab was buzzing, both figuratively and literally. Over the past week, he’d rented a dozen extra high-powered computer systems from Columbia University, airlifting them in and networking them into his existing databases. The floor was a spaghetti-tangle of cables, server boxes, routers, and switches.

And in the center: a hexagonal table strewn with laptop computers, papers, and tablets. Reed sat at the far end, his elongated neck craned up and around, eyes flicking from a tablet computer to a sheaf of hologram-stamped papers marked CLASSIFIED.

God,
Sue thought,
I love him.

She knew how Reed got when he was deep into his research. In order to get his attention, she’d have to say at least four separate outrageous things, waiting after each one for him to grunt. Sometimes punching was required.

To her shock, he looked right up and smiled at her.

“Susan!” Reed exclaimed. “You wouldn’t believe what happened this morning.”

She smiled, glanced at the sprawl of wiring. “I guess it wasn’t the electric bill.”

“I alerted the Avengers to a Doombot, helped them stop its rampage. And—and afterward, Tony came by and we talked for a long time. He’s got a lot of plans, honey. A lot of very important plans.”

“Mm.”

“This is the biggest thing I’ve ever worked on.” His eyes were flashing; Sue had never seen him like this. “Tony wasn’t kidding when he said he’d revolutionize every metahuman in America. I haven’t been this excited since I saw my first singularity.”

“I’d be excited too,” she said slowly, “if Tony’s genius plan didn’t mean jail for half our Christmas list.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” He turned away, activated a large wall screen. “But it’s their choice. They can always register.”

“About this Registration—”

“It’s a must, honey. Take a look at my projections.”

Frowning, Sue crossed to the wall screen. Reed’s handwriting covered it, floor to ceiling: equations, notes, circles, strikeouts.

“This is gobbledygook,” she said.

“No no.” He stretched up behind her, pointed to the screen. “It’s the exponential curve the number of super-beings is following. We’re seeing more every year: mutants, accidents, artificially powered humans like Tony. Aliens. Even time travelers. It’s an enormous social danger.”

“They’re all people,” she whispered.

“We’re facing an apocalypse if the unregulated activity isn’t brought under control.” She felt his hand, soft, on her shoulder blade. “This isn’t politics, darling. It’s science. I’d reached this conclusion already; Tony’s plan is just the best, quickest way to prevent disaster.”

She said nothing.

“You should have seen the team in action this morning,” Reed continued. “Tony showed me the video. They did their job perfectly, and they did it all within the new guidelines. This can
work
, darling. Plus it’s an amazing opportunity for us.” He gestured wildly now, his elongated arms clicking on touch screens all over the room. “You should hear the ideas we’ve been tossing around. I feel like a concept machine.”

Reed’s arm had snapped back; his fingers caressed the small of her back now. Slowly his hand crept downward.

Sue and Reed had always had an active sex life, even after the kids were born. More than once, she’d laughed to herself about the image their friends had of them. Everyone saw Reed as a cold, obsessive scientist, and her as a cheery mother figure. They had no idea.

But this…something was deeply, profoundly wrong. Involuntarily, she flashed on her force field. Reed snatched his fingers away as though he’d been stung.

“Sorry,” they both said, almost simultaneously.

Suddenly a loud, grinding noise filled the room. Sue whirled toward the Negative Zone portal. Its lights flashed; its circular perimeter whirled to life. Within the portal, a swirling mass of stars appeared, dotted with asteroids and distant, fast-moving humanoid forms.

“It’s all right,” Reed said. “Just running a test.”

The portal ground louder, rising in pitch. Above it, near the ceiling, a display screen lit up: PROJECT 42 GATEWAY DRILL / SUCCESSFUL.

“Project 42?” Sue shouted. “What’s that?”

Reed cocked his head, peered at her with an odd expression. Hesitated.

Then a sharp metallic voice cut through the noise. “It’s classified.”

As Sue watched, the red-and-gold figure of Iron Man appeared within the portal. His boot-jets flared, propelling him up and outward. He hovered gracefully for a moment, then swooped out into the room.

“Hello, Susan,” Tony said.

“Tony,” she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

The portal cycled to a halt. The stars faded, and the portal irised closed.

Reed smiled at Tony, stretched his upper body around to face him. “How were conditions inside?”

“Interesting.” Tony flashed a red-glowing eye at Susan, then cut off Reed with a hand gesture. “I think it’ll do.”

“I’ll collate the data on—”

“We’ll discuss it later. I have to get going.” Tony looked up, as if distracted by some signal coming through his armor. “The SRA becomes law at midnight. Your paperwork’s done, right?”

Reed frowned. “We’re already public. Our identities are known.”

“Nonetheless, there are forms. We need your power levels, known weaknesses, any prison record or incidents where a member of your team has lost control.”

“Of course.” Reed nodded several times, his mind racing. “I also want to talk to Doctor Pym about that Niflhel Protocol you mentioned—”

“Reed.” Tony leaned in, metallic eyes flashing red.
“Not now.”

Sue’s eyes narrowed. Reed had never kept secrets from her before.

“Honey.” Reed craned his neck around, smiled hesitantly at Sue. “Can you take care of that paperwork Tony mentioned?”

“It’s all online,” Tony said.

Tony was hovering just off the ground, she noticed, giving him an air of additional height and authority. He looked like a creature from a ’50s sci-fi movie, an alien overlord come to rule benevolently over Earth. The Iron Man armor covered every inch of his body, leaving no visible trace of his humanity.

And Reed seemed totally in his thrall. Like a teenager with a boy-crush.

“Sure,” Sue said. “Oh, and Reed?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Your brother-in-law’s doing better. The surgeon managed to get the bone fragments off his brain; they might even release him in a day or two.”

“That’s—”

“Just in case you give a damn.”

Then she turned and stalked away, out of the room. Feeling the cold, red-laser eyes of Iron Man on her back, with every step.

TONY
Stark’s limo held every type of soft drink known to man. Cola, diet cola, orange, grape; fruit punch and Gatorade, eight kinds of vitamin water. Regular and decaf, plus dangerously overcaffeinated tipples from South America. Sculpted glass bottles adorned with Japanese characters, each sealed with a single marble. Vintage brands like Jolt, Patio, and New Coke, scavenged from warehouses all over the world.

The drinks sat above a trough of crushed ice, staring out at Tony like a row of glass and metal eyes. And not one of them was what he wanted.

Distract yourself,
he thought. He clicked on the TV, and a coiffed blonde appeared above a cable news logo.

“…just got word about a press conference that Tony Stark has called for tomorrow,” she said. “This, of course, to follow the enactment of the Superhuman Registration Act into law, just minutes from now. How does that strike you?”

The screen shifted to a fierce masculine face. Bushy brows, graying temples, a too-short mustache adorning his lip. White shirt, rolled-up sleeves. Nostrils flaring with excitement.

Below his face, the words appeared:

“How does it
strike
me?” Jameson repeated. “It’s
great
, Megan. I mean, it’s only a first step toward controlling our massive superhuman problem. But at midnight tonight, everything my newspaper has
ever campaigned for
officially becomes
law
.”

Wow,
Tony thought.
He’s even scarier when he smiles.

“Do you think—”

“No more
masks
,” Jameson continued, cutting off the reporter. “No more hiding, and no more
creepy excuses
about
secret identities
. These clowns will
work for S.H.I.E.L.D.
or their colorful butts will wind up in
jail
. Period.”

“Mister Jameson. Do you think, do you really think all the super heroes are going to just sign up?”

“No.” Jameson leaned forward into the camera, and a hungry look appeared in his eyes. “Only the
smart ones.
”

Tony smiled.
Sorry, old man. Peter’s not your whipping boy anymore.

Still, it was good to have a major newspaper on the side of Registration. Even one run by a borderline psychopath.

The reporter asked another question. Jameson ignored it entirely, launching instead into a long recitation of the great struggles for justice conducted over the years by the heroic Daily Bugle. Tony rolled his eyes, clicked to another channel.

The thick smoke cloud again, rising up over the ruined Stamford school.
As if I don’t see that in my dreams every night.
He muted the TV.

The corner of the screen read: 11:53 PM.

“Pull over, Happy,” Tony said. “Time to drink a toast.”

Happy’s voice came over the speaker. “You got a beer for me back there, Mister Stark?”

“You’re driving, Hap.” Tony glanced briefly back up at the devastation on the screen. “Let’s play by the rules tonight.”

“HEARD
anything from Captain America, Mister Stark?”

Tony fidgeted, shifted the smartphone from hand to hand. He looked up at Happy, who sat opposite, hefting a seltzer water while leaning his bulky frame against the driver’s barrier.

He looks so…at ease,
Tony thought.
Will I ever feel that way again?

“Nothing from Cap.” Tony frowned. “Hawkeye’s dropped out of sight too, and I can’t raise Cage. I think Cap’s secretly putting together his own team.” He tossed the phone to Happy. “Jesus, Happy, I can’t look. Tell me how many heroes have registered.”

Happy peered at the screen. “Looks like…thirty-seven. Wait, make that thirty-eight. Ms. Widow’s registration just came through.”

“Just like Natasha to make me sweat a little.” Tony took a deep breath. “Thirty-eight.”

“That’s about what you expected, right?”

“Pretty much. Still…Hap, are the FF’s forms in?”

“Just a sec…” Happy ran a thick finger down the screen, scrolling the display. “Yep, here they are. All four of ’em.”

Well. That was something, at least.

“Couple more just rolled in. Prob’ly not everyone’s gonna meet the deadline head-on.” Happy glanced at his watch. “Hey, it’s one minute till. You want we should do a New Year’s-style countdown?”

“No.” Tony leaned back, closing his eyes tight. He kept them closed, squeezing till spots appeared. “I just hope we’re doing the right—”

A loud sharp beeping filled the air, echoing off the limo’s walls. Tony snapped his eyes open just in time to see a startled Happy toss the smartphone up into the air, like a boiling pan of oil.

Tony grabbed the phone, stabbed at a mute button. “S.H.I.E.L.D. alert,” he said.

When he turned around, Happy was already holding up the Iron Man helmet.

S.H.I.E.L.D.
Mobile Command Center 3A was a high-tech hovercraft designed specifically for urban operations. Tony caught up with it a few blocks north of Wall Street, among the close-packed skyscrapers of lower Manhattan. At first all he saw was a blur, like a heat wave rippling sideways in the night against the fifth-story windows. He kicked his boot-jets to full, course-correcting by trial and error. When he matched the vehicle’s speed, his sensors penetrated the S.H.I.E.L.D. stealth cloak and he saw the Command Center: a low flat bus with a pointed front end, skimming its way around the tall buildings.

“IRON MAN, REAL NAME TONY STARK,” he broadcast. “REQUEST APPROVAL TO COME ABOARD.”

The interior was dark, cramped, and crowded with surveillance screens. A real war room. Four S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in full gear manned computer consoles.

“Unregistered minor,” Maria Hill said, pointing to a flatscreen. “Tried to foil a robbery in costume. A clear violation of the Act.”

Tony lifted up his helmet and peered at the screen. It showed a young masked black man, accompanied by one of Tony’s own dossier entries:

Tony frowned. “Where is he now?”

Hill turned to an agent. “Russell. The new holo display online yet?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Punch it up.”

She motioned Tony back. In the center of the room, a three-dimensional image flickered to life: Patriot, scared and breathing hard, lit only by sporadic streetlamps and roof lights. He ran and jumped for his life, making incredible leaps from the top of one high building to another.

“This display is state of the art,” Hill said. “It uses ordinary cameras, but enhances—”

“I know.” Tony waved a hand through the image; it didn’t even waver. “I designed it.”

“We’ve got him,” the agent said. “NYPD surveillance cameras are locked on his heat signature. Foxtrot-Four is closing in, just a few blocks south of here.”

On the image, a helicopter spotlight appeared in the air, just behind Patriot. He half-turned, a terrified look on his face. Then he sprinted away, even faster.

Hill smiled. “Run, you little freak.”

Tony frowned. He’d never been sure what to make of Hill; she struck him as an extremist, the kind of soldier who always looked for the simplest, most violent solution to a problem. The loss of Nick Fury had left a vacuum at the top of S.H.I.E.L.D., a dangerous thing in an organization charged with policing the entire free world. Hill had seen her chance and grabbed for it.

And she sure seemed to be taking a lot of pleasure in this.

“The Registration Act has been law for thirty-eight minutes, Commander. Shouldn’t you give this kid a little time?”

Hill raised an eyebrow at him. “First off, Stark, it’s
Director
now.”

“
Acting
Director, I think.”

She glared at him. “Patriot and the Young Avengers—a group, I might add, that
you
allowed tacitly to be formed in the first place—have been tweeting all night against the Act.” She motioned to an agent, who called up a flatscreen full of text. “Examples: ‘Death before unmasking.’ ‘Eff S.H.I.E.L.D. forever.’ ‘Tony Stark: One Percenter With a Heart of Stone.’” She smiled. “Bit of poetry in that one, I thought.”

“Director,” the agent said, “signal from Foxtrot-Four.”

On the holo, Patriot made a massive leap up and across a dark gap between buildings. He scrambled and almost missed the roof, but grabbed hold and vaulted up. The copter circled around to intercept him, fanning its light across the roof. Tony could make out weapon-launchers mounted on both sides of it, just above its landing gear.

The pilot’s crackling voice filled the Command Center. “Visual confirmation, S.H.I.E.L.D.-TAC. I’m in position.”

Hill stepped forward. “Roger that, Foxtrot-Four. Permission to use
tranquilizers
and
minimum force.
” She turned to Tony. “Satisfied?”

He didn’t answer.

A hail of capsules and rubber bullets rained down on Patriot’s running figure, ripping open the back of his jacket. He cried out, but kept moving.

“No injury, S.H.I.E.L.D.-TAC.”

The agent turned to Hill, frowning. “This kid is bulletproof now?”

“Damn database,” a second agent said. “I thought we had people updating this thing.”

“Patience, people.” Hill smiled again. “As Mister Stark says, we’ve been in this business for less than an hour.”

“Where is he going?” Tony asked. “He’s running out of island.”

“According to our intel, the Young Avengers have a safe house right about…”

Still pursued by the helicopter, Patriot launched himself off the side of another building. But this time he wasn’t aiming at a roof. He flailed in the air, then crashed straight into a plate glass window, shattering it. He let out a cry and tumbled inside the building.

“…there,” Hill finished.

“Switching to copter view,” the agent said.

The image became a shaky downshot on Patriot, standing just inside the shattered window. The room looked dark, abandoned; Tony couldn’t make out any other figures.

“Guys!” Patriot yelled. “We gotta get out of here! I was…I was breaking up a
mugging
for God’s sake, and now S.H.I.E.L.D.’s all over me!”

“He’s in for a surprise,” Hill said. “We picked up the rest of the Young Avengers half an hour ago.”

“Actually, Wiccan’s still in the wind,” one of the agents said. “But local police have got a line on him.”

“GUYS, THIS IS SERIOUS!” Patriot’s figure wobbled as the copter circled around the gap in the building. “S.H.I.E.L.D. IS—THEY’RE NOT MESSING AROUND!”

“Tranqs ineffective, S.H.I.E.L.D.-TAC,” the copter pilot said. “And now I can’t get a bead on him.”

Hill turned to an agent. “Is that building clear?”

“Yes, ma’am. No life signs.”

“Foxtrot-Four, you are cleared to escalate.”

Tony turned to her, alarmed. “What does that —”

The agent clicked back to a wide view. Twin incendiary missiles flashed out from the copter’s weapon-launchers, headed straight toward the building.

The holo switched back to the copter’s camera again—just in time to capture Patriot’s terrified face. He stared straight at the camera, mouth open, as the missiles closed in on him.

Then the building exploded. The framework shattered and the top three floors erupted up into the air, glass and metal flying everywhere. A cloud of dark ash filled the screen, blotting out the devastation.

Tony grabbed Hill by the shoulders. “What are you doing? Are you
insane?
”

She winced under his metallic grip, then pulled angrily away.

“That kid is practically indestructible. What do you expect?”

“I
expect
you not to cause wanton property damage.” He gestured at the dust-cloud on the screen. “The whole idea behind this is
not
to panic people!”

“I suppose our methods differ.”

“If that kid is dead—”

“He’s not.” The agent stabbed at his controls, and the holo flickered from static to dust and back again. “I can’t get a picture—NYPD cameras were knocked out by the blast. But Foxtrot-Four confirms: They’ve picked him up.”

“This is wrong.” Tony snapped on his helmet, and all his systems flashed to life. “This is—I’m going to speak to the president about this.” He turned and strode toward the hatch.

“Stark.”

Something in Hill’s tone made him stop.

“We’re on the same side here,” she said.

He reached for the hatch, activated the airlock. The inner door hissed open.

“I know,” he replied.

And off he flew, into the night.