The She-Hulk Diaries (42 page)

“I’ll
never
love you and I’ll
never
have your children!”

I heard a creepily familiar high-pitched giggle, and a voice said, “She better not, because I’m your favorite!” Superbrat’s head appeared over the terrace railing, showing straight dark hair and mischievous dark eyes, disappeared, and then reappeared.

“Tonio!” Sven said. “What are you doing here?”

Superbrat bounced onto the terrace. He laughed and pointed to his feet. “It’s my new invention—skyhopper shoes. I did what you said, put the bomb under the ice sculpture. What do you mean about her having children? I’m your favorite.”

“You’re my favorite genetically modified
clone
,” Sven said. He looked at me. “I added a little Genghis Khan as well as the great military strategist Sun Tzu. I started alphabetically with A for Adam, B for Bertram, C for Curtis, etc. One has many failures before a success. I had to incinerate the others because of irreparable defects of personality or aptitude. Only Tonio showed my genius for invention as well as an extraordinary propensity for creative destruction. When he is matured, he will be one of my greatest creations.”

If I couldn’t call on Shulky to vanquish Sven, maybe another superhuman could defeat him. “Tonio,” I said. “The man you think of as your father will replace you just like he replaced his other clones from A to S. He’s an obsessive perfectionist, and when he finds fault with you, as he soon will, he’ll develop other clones, U for Ulysses and Z for Zeus and he’ll make them more powerful and dangerous than you.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Sven said. “Trust me.”

I spoke to Superbrat with the same sincerity that I used each time I gave a consultation. “Tonio, I always advise my clients to investigate an associate’s reputation before entering into a contract. Someone who has a record of mendaciousness and broken agreements is also lying when he says that he is trustworthy.”

Tonio’s eyebrows knit together, and I added, “I am on record as believing in and supporting the rights and liberties of all human variants, including bots, droids, borgs, and clones. Ask Sven how he implanted chips in his Doombots so they won’t challenge him. He doesn’t believe
that cyborgs or clones are entitled to the same basic rights as humans. He doesn’t believe you’re a person, and he’ll never treat you as his equal.”

Superbrat looked from me to Sven and back again as the seconds ticked by. Finally he said, “That makes sense. Thanks for telling me, ma’am.” Superbrat reached into his pocket and pulled out a weapon.

I tried not to fixate on the “ma’am,” which no one else seems to find outrageous.

Sven said, “Tonio, what is that?”

Superbrat waved the device (which I would have to add to his M.O. in my report: “excessive waving of destructive devices”). “It’s my new Discombobulator. It discombobulates molecules and arranges them in another place and time. I’ve got it set to ‘Random.’ First, let’s get rid of your talky girlfriend, because I don’t need any siblings.”

He pointed the Discombobulator at me, but I flung out my arm saying, “Look!” as I threw the flash paper to the side. It ignited in flames, catching Superbrat’s attention long enough for Sven to lunge at the Discombobulator, and for me to do a tuck and roll to the other side of the terrace.

Sven gripped the device and squeezed but not before his clone had pulled the trigger. I watched in fascinated horror as a wavy kaleidoscopic cloud encompassed them and then—poof!—they vanished.

I tried my aPhone, but it was still blocked. Twelve minutes had passed. I needed Shulky to break into the ballroom, evacuate the guests, and take the bomb to a place where it could be detonated safely. I strained again at the necklace and felt it dig into my skin. I stepped over Amber, ran to the doors, and pounded on them, but no one in the room beyond the vestibule could hear me.

I needed to use both fists, so I dropped my clutch—it opened on impact, and Superbrat’s Swiss Army knife tumbled out. Why would a mad inventor take apart a knife and put it back together?

I flicked open the attachments until I came to the tiny scissors. “Please work. Please don’t kill me.” I slid one little blade under a link of my necklace and then I pressed the little handles together. I heard a
bzzzzz
, and the metal around my neck vibrated and grew so hot that I felt blisters rise on my skin. And then there was a snap and a clink as the link snapped, and the necklace fell onto the tiles below.

I went to Ellis and said, “I have to get rid of the bomb. I’ll send help, but you’re safest here. I love you, Ellis Tesla. I’ve always loved you and I’m sorry that I didn’t believe your songs.”

His brown eyes met mine with such emotion that I wanted to hold him and stay with him until the immobilizer wore off. But now I had to put on my BeDazzled super big girl thong and save hundreds. I tore off my crimson dress, kicked off my shoes, and called on Shulky.

I morphed so fast that my muscles burned, and then she was here, as big and bold and badass as she wanted to be.

Shulky stuck her foot in Amber’s face, wiggled her toes, and said, “Smell you later, bi-atch!”

And then she winked at Ellis, shouted “Kapow!” and gave a roundhouse kick to the terrace doors. They resisted, but she kicked again. The panes were impenetrable, but the metal frames groaned as they warped and bent.

The doors collapsed inward and fell with a solid thud.

The crowd of scientists noticed the spectacular giantess running toward them. “She-Hulk!”

“Hiya, Poindexters,” she called as she ran to the cart with the ice sculpture. She knocked over the sculpture and ripped off the linen cloth covering the cart. A bomb rested in a box beneath, ticking away. She had six minutes left.

She picked up the box and ran out of the room. The elevator would take too long, so she went to the stairs, leaping down them one flight at a time. Every time she landed, the floor shuddered. She ran out and down the block to the nearest secret passage door.

The elevator was there, and she hit the express button, sending the elevator plummeting down into the ancient subway tunnels. She ran out of the elevator and onto the Solomobile, then switched on the turbo drive, and the train hurtled forward. If the bomb went off early, she’d destroy
the entire network of tunnels, shutting down the city’s critical transportation system.

“Come on! Come on!” she shouted, and then the train slammed to a stop at our home station. She had twenty seconds left as she ran off the train. She input the code on the security post, pressed her palm against the I.D. scanner, and said, “Hurry, hurry!” with seven seconds left.

The waterfall parted, and the wall section slid open. She admired the luxurious living space one last time and sighed. She tossed the bomb inside and pressed her hand to the biopanel again. The wall section closed and the waterfall merged again, with one second remaining.

Then the ground beneath her feet shook as if there had been a minor tremor, the sort that people in LA barely pause to acknowledge before continuing their conversations.

The movement was so slight that Shulky wondered if the charge had been smaller than she’d assumed. After all, Dr. Doom’s expertise was with weapons of mass destruction, not minor explosives. She did several jumping jacks and then a hundred one-handed push-ups to give things time to cool down before she opened the door to her lair.

Black smoke billowed out. Everything was burned and soaked, as overhead sprinklers showered the debris.

Shulky ambled along the tracks, went to street level, and walked somberly to the Mansion. Ruth was on the phone, and Shulky sat down in the wonderful massage chair. She took a box of tissues from a table and swiped at sooty smears on her fabulous legs.

Ruth hung up and said, “Shulky! I just heard about the Bioethicists Gala.”

“Hi, Ruth. There’s good news and there’s bad news. The good news is that I saved the world from being taken over by Victor von Doom.”

“OMG, that’s amazing! And the bad news?”

“I kind of blew up Hawkeye’s apartment. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. We all sort of expected it.”

“You’re a good sport, Ruth. I’m going to explain everything to you, and I’d like you to fill out the reports for me, because I’m tired of paperwork.
We’ve got a lot to do tonight, and then I’d like a plane to take me to LA. I think I’ll stay in my family’s old cabin and recoup.”

“You mean Jennifer’s family’s cabin.”

“Yes, our family’s cabin. I’m her and she’s me, and we may as well stop treating one another like annoying roommates. I’d like to soak up the sun and shoot cans off fence posts and not listen to any more goddamn opera.”

Officially, I’m on a leave of absence from QUIRC. The partners are still dealing with the repercussions of winning a case on behalf of one of the world’s greatest villains. I think they’d like to fire me, but they’re aware that they solicited Sven’s case and allowed him to insist on hiring me. If I was a litigious person, I could sue them for all sorts of things.

I’ve been filling my days clearing the scrub brush around the cabin and hiking to a murky shallow pond and splashing around in the cool water. I occasionally open this journal at random and read it—it was spared from destruction because I’d hidden it under a pile of weights in case Dahlia came by and snooped. I spend hours in the fields with my Winchester practicing trick shots, and I sing Fringe Theory songs and contemplate the lyrics from my new perspective. I should have trusted that Ellis’s songs were for me. I should have gone to another concert or called him again.

I’m sooo relieved that I didn’t actually have sex with Sven, eww. If I’m being fiercely honest,
I might probably would
definitely would have had sex with him if I hadn’t seen Ellis first—because once I saw Ellis, I didn’t want anyone else. Ruth tells me that no one knows where the
Discombobulator relocated Doom and Superbrat. In the chaos of the gala, everyone assumed that Amber was a victim. Once the immobility injection wore off, she slipped away and no one has seen her since.

When a team from the Mansion raided the lavish home where I’d had dinner with the man I thought was Sven Morigi, all they found were empty rooms. He must have rigged the contents to vanish or teleport elsewhere.

Victor Doom will show up again, with or without the
von
, because he always does. An alert has been sent out for any other Doom clones who may have survived destruction in the incinerator.

Adam took the news that he’s a clone with equanimity. He said, “But I’m not an alien clone, am I?”

I told him that no, Victor von Doom was originally a regular human. The other superheroes are mentoring Adam, but warily, because there’s the chance that he may eventually exhibit VvD’s madness. Dahlia doesn’t believe he will. She believes in his essential goodness. Before I left New York, I sat her down in a salon chair, twirled it around to face me. She wasn’t wearing colored contacts and it seemed strange, yet comforting to look into her chocolate brown eyes. Then I told her the truth about Adam.

“He’s a Victor von Doom designer clone, D, conceived in a laboratory and grown at rapid speed. He didn’t have a childhood or teenage years. He never had a mother’s love or skinned his knee skateboarding. He didn’t share secrets with his best buddy, and he didn’t get a crush on the girl next door. The personality you see has developed in virtual isolation, and we have no idea what he’ll be like after more human interaction. As a clone, he has no rights—including the right to marry, parental rights, or property rights. In fact, under current law, Adam is Dr. Doom’s personal property to do with as he pleases, including using him for spare organs or terminating him.”

“He’s a real person!” Dahlia held Rodney a little closer, but she didn’t freak out. “I
knew
he was special, and he is, but I’m glad he’s not alien, because I didn’t want Interplanetary Immigration grabbing him and throwing him off Earth.”

“D, it’s possible that Doom’s
real
time bomb was not the explosive he left at the gala.”

“Are you saying…” she began.

“Yes, Adam could be a time bomb. Doom could have programmed him to turn evil after we’ve all taken him in and trusted him with our secrets. The rest of the world might be relaxing, but the superheroes know never to underestimate VvD.”

“I
know
that Adam’s good. I feel it to the very core of my being.”

“Believing something about someone—we all make mistakes in judgment. I think Adam’s good now, but he may not stay good, D.”

“Jen, you weren’t brave enough to follow your heart. I am.”

“This isn’t about Ellis!”

She took Rodney’s leg and raised it toward me. “Talk to the paw!”

I am not one of the galaxy’s top attorneys for nothing, though, and eventually I convinced her that Adam could have been programmed to transform into an international menace. She promised to tell me if she saw any warning signs.

I made public and private apologies to Max Kirsch. He was swell about everything and said, “Your intentions were good. I was trying to heal patients, and you were trying to protect them from harm.” Quinty and the other partners held a press conference where they ripped up the settlement papers and paid Max for damages to him and ReplaceMax.