This thing all things devours;
Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites steel;
Grinds hard stones to meal;
Slays king, ruins town,
And beats mountain down.
Gollum. 'Riddles in the Dark.'
Victor von Doom. One Week Before the 'Invention' of the Cure.
***************
Victor sat in his office, thoughtfully studying the test tube filled with black-and-red substance. With every passing hour, the realization grew stronger: some very serious people had taken an interest in him.
The substance could reproduce itself. It altered the cells of any organism it entered, replacing damaged or abnormal tissue with an 'ideal' template. It destroyed any degenerated tissue it encountered... and ignored every attempt to study its own structure.
Damn it. Production could be established in a single day. Hell, something like this could have been manufactured back in the Stone Age without much difficulty—just throw it into meat broth and pour a little blood over it.
But understanding how the thing actually worked... One fact was obvious: current technology was nowhere near sufficient. That was one thing. The second was that using THIS merely to cure cancer wasn't even using a microscope to hammer nails. It was more like grinding flour with a royal scepter.
If the substance could freely alter an organism on the cellular level and correct genome errors—the very errors that caused cancer—then it could alter DNA in other ways as well, giving whoever received it entirely new properties.
Well. At the very least, they would be able to cure him. The man tossed another handful of painkillers into his mouth with the familiar motion. A dose like that could have knocked down an elephant. Von Doom merely felt mild relief.
Every day, drugs and alcohol affected him less and less, while the pain did not weaken. If anything, it grew worse. The wounds opening all over his body healed more slowly, while new ones appeared more often and cut deeper. At this rate, he would soon lose the ability to think clearly.
But returning to the question of genome alteration and cellular manipulation... wasn't that how the Nazgûl had been created? If so, why did they need him? With toys like this, they should have been conquering the world. Instead, they offered him membership in their ranks and, as a small gift, handed him several chests packed with old coins and gemstones.
The man smirked. Oh, what a pleasure it had been to watch the faces of his 'business friends' when, instead of announcing bankruptcy, he calmly paid his employees and even allocated money to a new project. Not much, especially compared with his previous undertaking, but the fact itself mattered.
Only one thing bothered Victor: a certain Walter Mayer had begun buying shares in his company. A very strange move, considering that to any uninformed observer his creation had, at best, a couple of months left to live.
Victor slammed his fist against the armrest. It gave a pitiful crack, but the man no longer noticed. That was it. 'Uninformed.' But what if Mayer knew everything?
The money that mysterious organization had tossed him would keep the company from bankruptcy for the next couple of weeks, but there was definitely nowhere near enough for a full-scale new project.
Not a full-scale project. But distributing a finished product? That was another matter entirely. After an 'invention' this dramatic in medicine, profits would be enormous—as would the dividends on shares that currently cost almost nothing.
Von Doom laughed, openly and almost carefree despite the mountain of problems and the pain tearing through him. He appreciated a businesslike approach in people, just as he appreciated the ability to use one's brain. And here he'd been played in a combination that was simple, yet elegant. What had the Nazgûl said?
'You are a man of your word.'
They had studied him. Which meant they knew he would care for his employees to the very end—for the people with whom he had spent ten years building a major corporation from nothing. And so they had given him a choice: become a beggar, or enter some unknown game.
Though, in truth, it wasn't much of a choice. What he would choose was obvious. But why stop halfway? If they were going to invite him into their ranks, they might as well make a tidy profit from the new project too. So their trusted representative—or perhaps an actual member of the organization—was buying shares from panicking investors.
Whatever else one might say, it was a beautiful move. Several birds with one stone. Victor would have done exactly the same if he'd had the opportunity. Hmm.Perhaps he might even enjoy becoming one of the representatives of this mysterious, heh, 'organization.'
Nick Fury. Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. After von Doom's 'Invention' of the Cure.
********************
The colonel gulped down another cup of coffee and continued reading reports. By now, the routine had become a tradition. For three days he'd been living almost entirely on that beverage, and spending nearly all his waking hours reading reports. The news did not please him in the slightest.
"God, why do you hate New York and S.H.I.E.L.D. so much?"
The man appealed to the heavens. The heavens, as usual, preferred silence. Fury had every reason to complain. His organization—and he personally—had been having a hell of a run of bad luck lately. It had all begun with the unforgettable Vacation-in-Quarantine. Capital letters absolutely deserved.
The eggheads had done everything imaginable to his unfortunate carcass. X-rays. Scans. Sound tests. Samples of everything that could possibly be sampled. Near the end, one 'genius' had even suggested giving the colonel a lobotomy—just in case someone had stuffed something into his brain.
The bastard must have sensed that once the boss escaped quarantine, the research department was going to have serious problems. In the end, the laboratory rats threw up their hands and announced something along the lines of, 'Apparently there was a malfunction in the weighing system.'
Yeah. Four times in a row.
Whatever the case, after everything he'd endured, Nick spent another three days inseparable from his porcelain friend while his body violently expelled everything they'd pumped into him during the week of torment.
And even then his troubles hadn't ended. The moment he recovered—another disaster. Something close to a small nuclear explosion had gone off deep in the Canadian wilderness. By the time they got there, and then figured out what had happened, too much time had passed.
Someone had already rummaged through the ruins of what had once been a bunker. Still, even with some pieces missing, they managed to reconstruct most of the picture. One of the black boxes the unknown intruders hadn't taken or destroyed contained enough data to determine roughly what the owners of the complex had been doing—and why the explosion had happened in the first place.
Someone had continued work on 'Weapon X.' The project had officially been shut down. S.H.I.E.L.D. had missed it. The colonel did not like that at all. The worst part was having to spend a very long time explaining himself to his superiors in Washington.
And considering how quickly those superiors had learned about the incident, only one conclusion suggested itself: someone had decided to moonlight as a woodpecker and peck information upward.
Even that wouldn't have been so bad if the trouble had ended there. Naturally, it hadn't. Another cause for concern came from recovered security-camera footage: an unknown lone operator in a strange suit, casually carving through the squad guarding the bunker entrance.
The analysts estimated the thickness and strength of the shelter doors, the caliber of the defenders' weapons, then calculated what kind of armor, strength, and speed would have been required to smash through all of it.
The analysts became depressed. Especially because a lone operator couldn't afford toys like that. Which meant there was an organization behind him. An organization no one had ever heard of. Goals unknown. Motives unclear. Membership and location unknown. Wonderful.
Especially since, according to those same analysts—and Fury desperately wanted to shoot every one of them, though he knew the poor bastards weren't at fault and were merely reporting facts—a mere dozen soldiers in suits like that could wipe out a small army or seize some third-world country.
There was one comforting thought: equipment like that had to cost an astronomical sum. Which meant nobody could manufacture much of it. At least there was one piece of good news.
The second piece of good news was a lead that might point toward the organization. Fury didn't believe three unknown players capable of slipping past S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attention had all appeared at once. Though not long ago he had believed nothing could be hidden from the vigilant eye of his own structure at all... and then the people continuing 'Project X' had surfaced, along with the lone fighter who had slaughtered them.
The lead, however, smelled of blood. And where there was blood, there were vampires. Rumors had begun circulating among them about some mysterious Lord gathering old and influential bloodsuckers around himself. According to the same rumors, he could grant his followers something close to immunity from sunlight.
Nonsense, of course.
On the other hand, verified intelligence confirmed that the head of the North American coven had sent his daughter and heir to him, while representatives had also arrived from Japan, China, and Europe. And the meeting place was New York. That was serious.
Even if there was no Lord, the mere fact that vampires from almost the entire world were gathering in one city was enough to provoke panic. And they were clearly planning something. Intelligence reported suspicious activity from nearly all known vampire 'disciples' and human servants.
To top it all off, Victor von Doom had made a monumental medical discovery capable of improving the lives of countless people. In one move, he had climbed out of what looked like a hopeless situation, returned to the pedestal—and risen even higher than before. It all coincided just a little too neatly with the arrival of the vampires.
They, after all, had spent billions studying genetics over the years, and nobody really knew what they'd achieved. The old scar under Fury's eyepatch began to twitch. That was a bad omen. Something in his stomach was unsettled too, which could be a very bad omen... or simply his body's reaction to horse-sized doses of coffee.
Colonel Nick Fury grimly took another drink. Storm clouds were gathering. A real tempest could break at any moment.
"And I wanted a vacation so badly..."
The director of S.H.I.E.L.D. drew the words out mournfully.
Charles Xavier. Just a Humble Disabled Man.
******************
The telepath leaned wearily back in his wheelchair. The recent operation to rescue the kidnapped students had ended in complete success. Although... if one was honest, the primary reason for that success had been the 'quality' of the abducted children.
Their mutations were harmless and held no real interest for those in power. So the children had simply been allowed to leave in order to avoid provoking unnecessary aggression. No one intended to leave the attack unpunished, of course.
But there was a difference between avenging children who had been kidnapped and tortured to death—in that case even the eternal pacifist Hank would have torn the offenders to pieces—and dealing with kidnappers who, ultimately, had caused no major physical harm.
As for psychological trauma... Charles did not earn his keep for nothing. The mental state of his students was gradually returning to normal. But treating three dozen people—not crudely, not all together, but individually, carefully and gently—was exhausting. And he had only just recovered from implanting suggestions in the group of laboratory technicians who had taken blood samples.
Charles massaged the bridge of his nose. And then there was the problem with Rogue. The girl had refused to settle down until she'd squeezed every scrap of information she could out of everyone around her concerning the Nazgûl.
Who he was, where he had come from, what he'd been doing before appearing in New York—none of that could be established. His activities in the 'Big Apple' raised even more questions. On one hand, he appeared to fight crime—or at least its most vicious representatives. But his methods... With some difficulty, the telepath had learned that the 'Hobgoblin' captured by the Nazgûl had arrived in his cell as a drooling vegetable, his hair completely white.
And there was that brief clash with Logan. If Logan hadn't possessed a metal skeleton, that blow had had a decent chance of turning him into two Logans—an upper half and a lower half—or at the very least ripping out several ribs.
Xavier had tried to convince Rogue that meeting such a being was dangerous. It had been pointless. Every argument and every fact shattered against the cliffs of 'but he helped us!' and 'nothing bad happened!' In the end, things remained exactly as they had been.
The girl continued patrolling that district in hopes of meeting her rescuer on the street. Wolverine volunteered to keep an eye on her, just in case. Eventually, the professor had had enough. How long could this continue?
They urgently needed to distract the girl from the Nazgûl and fill her mind with something vivid and emotionally intense. An amusement park, for example. The others could use some relaxation too, especially the recently returned students. Decision made.
The students and teachers of the school for gifted youngsters were going to an amusement park.
Walter Mayer. A Couple of Days Before the 'Invention' of the Cure.
*****************************
Sidestep. Dodge. Let the arm with the claws pass by and counter with a kick— miss. Expected. Turn the kick into a lunge and— get claws through the throat.
"Tss. You little pest. You got me again!"
I frowned.
"How the hell do you do that?"
"Walter, you may learn everything on the fly, but you'll still need another thousand years before you can touch me!"
The little one declared proudly, nose in the air. Hmm. Familiar line. I'd heard something like that in some anime before...
"All right, all right, O Great One. Better explain where I went wrong this time."
The girl visibly swelled with importance. No one had ever asked her to teach before, and the fact that her student was not merely an adult, but a fully grown man who listened to her with complete seriousness only added fuel to the fire.
Well. Let her be proud. She'd earned the right.
"Every individual movement was flawless, but the combination was... tactically horrible. You're bigger and stronger than me. You should have tried to overpower me and keep me outside close range. Instead, you tried to beat me with speed! You were creating limitations for yourself!"
A claw stabbed accusingly in my direction.
"Sorry, sorry."
I raised my hands, each ending in three blades. Mine had been blunted, admittedly. My body's durability was somewhat higher than Laura's.
"Another round?"
"Let's do it!"
Her eyes flashed with excitement and the girl attacked. For a week now we'd been training in a gym I'd rented. There was a great deal this sweet child could teach me: sabotage-unit tactics, concealment methods, how to move properly, how to breathe properly... and naturally, fighting with claws.
I had to admit, they had trained Laura into an impressive combatant. With equal speed and strength, I had nothing to oppose her with. Hell, even when I raised those parameters slightly, the result remained just as humiliating for me.
The girl danced through combat. Every trick I tried was read easily and effortlessly, while I—especially at first—regularly ended up running into my own weapons.
We sparred full-contact and used actual weapons. Laura herself had insisted on that after learning how difficult my skin was to pierce. Still, after half an hour of arguing and bickering, followed by an ultimatum from me—either I dulled my claws or there would be no sparring at all, and someone would additionally spend a week without sweets or anime—certain concessions were made.
We both needed the training. Laura needed to stay in shape and continue improving. I needed better body control. And tactical knowledge was never useless. After training, we returned home to find a very substantial meal waiting for us. Heavy physical exertion does wonders for the appetite, so Laura and I cleared the table rather quickly.
After that we each went about our business. The girl went to study geography, then continue watching her 'Bleach.' There was no point checking whether she'd done the assignment. If that little miracle said she was going to learn something, she wouldn't calm down until she'd learned it from beginning to end. The perfect child.
I, meanwhile, returned to the long-planned task of creating an impressive ritual for turning my vassals. The first thing the ritual required was a vessel for blood. Not merely a bowl. A large goblet. That sounded better. The material would be diamond. I'd begun working on it immediately after the first gathering. A large ritual goblet carved from a single piece of black diamond. Not bad, right? And if one considered the price of such an accessory... There was only one tiny detail left.
Where was I supposed to find a chunk of diamond that large? The solution seemed simple enough. Take a lump of graphite several times larger than the desired goblet and begin converting it. Yeah. Great idea. Gods, it was labor-intensive. Everything I'd done before looked primitive compared with this task.
Every day for four hours—and then throughout the night—I practiced alchemy, turning graphite into diamond. Progress was painfully slow. The molecules refused to line up correctly. Symby's tendrils felt crude and clumsy for work this delicate, but the idea wouldn't let me go, so I kept smashing my forehead against the wall.
And that wasn't even the second difficulty. It wasn't enough to merely rearrange molecules. I first had to break them down into atoms, then use those carbon atoms to build an entirely new crystal lattice. Can you imagine how much energy it takes to break all those electronic bonds and then build them again?
Neither could I. As it turned out: an ocean. The Symbiote produced an enormous amount of energy, but even with its output I had to stop constantly for rest and food. The food, incidentally, was digested almost one hundred percent.
I also had to throw every window in the apartment wide open. Because Symby's radiation absorption had increased so much, the air temperature inside dropped below freezing. My own personal air conditioner and refrigerator. Damn.
Nearly two weeks passed—two weeks of searching the internet for a suitable design, manipulating graphite structure and converting it into diamond. I nearly lost my mind setting up all those lattices and correcting molecular bond angles to give the finished object the desired color.
At last, in front of me stood a delicately crafted goblet made from one solid piece of black diamond. I could finally breathe out and wipe away an honest bead of workman's sweat. Well, if the profession of Dark Lord didn't work out, I could always become a jeweler. Although... no. To hell with that profession. I'd go insane first.
Next: the ritual words. Those were equally important. Nothing came to mind except the codes of the Assassins, the Dark Brotherhood, and the Grey Wardens. The games those organizations came from didn't appear to exist on the internet in this world either.
Hmm. I'd have to organize the appropriate company myself someday. Letting profits like that slip away... (my Inner Hamster was outraged. In the end, I came up with something midway between all those versions.)
I decided to call my creation the Brotherhood of Nod. Yes, pretentious. I couldn't help myself.
The structure would consist of a Council containing representatives of the vampires as well as von Doom, naturally, under the leadership of the Lord—that is, me. The Council would serve an advisory function and control the combined intelligence network, though the final word remained with the Lord.
Each councilor would have three assistants or deputies responsible for separate types of subordinate cells: intelligence, enforcement, and economics. Those categories were extremely broad. In reality, everything would become much more complicated, but in general terms that was the idea.
Each cell would then have its own hierarchy and specialization. Every Council member would control his or her territory. Only Council members and the Lord would have full access to the complete intelligence database and ongoing operations. Deputies would have limited access.
As for the benefits, those were simple too. Councilors received protection from sunlight and silver, freedom from the Thirst, flight, enhanced regeneration, upgraded physical characteristics, and Kimura's armor. Losing creatures with that much influence and that many connections would be extremely inconvenient.
Deputies got somewhat less. Instead of Kimura's armor, they received simply denser skin—enough to protect from a cut, but not from a gunshot. Lower ranks received even lesser. Ordinary operatives got only protection from sunlight and silver, plus a reduction of the Thirst. Eliminating it completely was too difficult.
Besides, differences in rewards between ranks would make an excellent incentive for professional zeal. The important thing was to prevent people from 'sitting out' their superiors and arranging convenient promotions. Intelligence could deal with that.
My guarantee of the whole crowd's personal loyalty would be Symby cells implanted during the upgrade process. A couple thousand per councilor. Far fewer for everyone else. Phew. That seemed to cover everything. At least the situation with the vampires had become more or less clear. We'd conduct the ritual tonight.
Poor Federico was already having trouble fending off his brothers and sisters, who were constantly pressing him for answers. What exactly had they learned? Fine. Tonight I'd find out. Next problem: the Fantastic Four and Victor von Doom. I was beginning to worry.
Victor still had time, but not that much, and there was still nothing in the news about the medicine. Fine. I'd wait a little longer. As for the Four themselves... a strange theory had begun forming in my head concerning that cosmic radiation.
It seemed to grant abilities matching the personality traits of the person exposed.
Victor von Doom: a will of steel. The man himself made me think of iron—just as hard and unbending. As a result, he had begun literally turning into an iron man. Which meant Stark didn't entirely deserve the name. Or rather, wouldn't deserve it when he finally started using it.
Ben Grimm: another tough-as-stone bastard. An elite pilot who had been unable to work in his profession. For many people connected to the sky, being separated from it was almost equivalent to death. How many retired pilots drank themselves into the grave or committed suicide? But Grimm had grabbed onto every opportunity he could find. From the information I'd gathered, he'd worked as a construction-crane operator and even spent time down in a mine.
Breaking a man like that would be extremely difficult. And he deserved no small amount of respect. After the radiation, he became literally stone—and as dependable as a rock. Interesting coincidence.
Next: Susan Storm. Secretary and administrative assistant. Apparently well educated, but while working for Doom her main function had been to avoid drawing attention and quietly hand him coffee. From what I could tell, her personality was reserved as well. She disliked large crowds and tried to avoid them. So she received the ability to become invisible and isolate herself behind force fields. Interesting power, by the way. Worth borrowing.
Johnny Storm: young screwup with a perpetual rocket up his backside. Not stupid—otherwise he would never have made it onto the station—but his self-control was either nonexistent or in its embryonic stage. Energetic and hot-tempered. Hardly surprising that he received an ability as violent as his temperament.
Transition into an energy state was extremely promising. Not merely the ability to burn everything around him, but the capacity to switch at will between human and elemental states. That might prove useful in treating Victor.
And finally, the most ambiguous representative of this merry gang: Reed Richards. According to his university records, the man was spineless as wet cloth. He bent for everyone, never argued with anyone, and tried to please everyone around him. Not especially rubber-like, though... Although. There was a second interpretation, one that seemed more plausible to me personally. Look at his behavior now, after gaining fame, sponsors, and popularity. What does he do? Right. He forgets about the man who paid for all of it. Well, naturally.
What can you squeeze out of a bankrupt man anymore—other than his fiancée, whom Richards was currently quite successfully stealing from Doom? The funniest part was that he barely tried to hide it. Learning the details hadn't been difficult. All I'd needed was to grease the palm of one private investigator and tell him to follow the guy.
That behavior did not characterize Richards favorably. To put it more simply: Reed Richards was a complete condom. Although... that was a rubber product, wasn't it? Fine. I could deal with that later.
Evening was approaching, which meant it was time to prepare for the meeting with the vampires. The conference room had already been reserved, inspected, and re-inspected by Federico. The ritual and oaths had also been prepared. This time, I decided I should arrive somewhat early. Taking the goblet with me, I headed to the hotel. A different one this time. After some thought, we'd decided not to gather twice in the same place.
The Count was waiting for me there. We greeted each other warmly and sat in the hall to await the guests. I brought my vassal up to date and described the structure of the future organization.
Overall, the vampire approved of my ideas and suggested a couple of useful details, such as communication systems and setting fixed dates for future Council meetings.
At last, the appointed hour arrived. The doors opened, and seven vampires entered the hall. This time they were dressed identically—all in dark robes vaguely reminiscent of my Nazgûl outfit. And there were exactly nine of us now... A picture flashed before my eyes: nine Nazgûl flying through the night sky over New York, led by the Witch-king of Angmar in an iron crown.
Yeees. The city's residents would remember that sight for a long time. Hmm. Why not? I'm allowed to misbehave a little. But business first. I rose to greet the guests. They answered with courteous bows.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I assume you've learned something interesting, considering how strongly you desired this meeting."
I allowed myself a faint smile.
"Poor Count Federico barely managed to fend you off, from what I hear."
Manfred once again spoke on behalf of the assembled Children of the Night.
"Yes, Lord Mayer. We verified the information you gave us. It is... troubling. Humans and mutants grow more hostile with each passing year. Sooner or later it will lead to war, and both sides have already begun preparing for it. That war could destroy all life on the planet. Stopping it would be extremely difficult."
The German fell silent, gathering himself.
"We understand the necessity of controlling humanity and, in light of everything that has become clear, we acknowledge that your proposal is highly reasonable... We are inclined to accept it... my Lord."
The other vampires lowered their heads, agreeing with the statement.
"Well then. Let us not delay. Federico, bring the goblet."
When the vampire returned carrying the vessel, the astonishment in the room could have been cut with a knife. Understandable. When someone puts an object in front of you worth enough to buy all of Europe and still have change left over for a couple of southern states, it makes an impression.
And so the ritual began. Federico recited the oath we had developed, while the vampires went down on one knee and repeated after him.
"I, Federico de Valderrama, swear by my life, my blood, and my honor to follow Lord Walter Mayer, to serve him faithfully and truly, to guard his interests and act as the instrument of his will. I swear to protect the interests of the Brotherhood, to aid my brothers and sisters to the best of my ability in word and deed, and, if necessary, to give the Brotherhood my life and my blood. My honor shall remain with me so long as I remain true to my oath. I swear it."
One by one, the vampires repeated the words. It seemed I hadn't been mistaken. Approval ran through their emotions. Before, representatives of different clans might have torn each other's throats out. Now the oath forbade it... unless they wanted to bring my wrath down upon themselves and their clans, of course.
As soon as the final words of the oath faded from the hall, thin streams of blood flowed from the vampires and filled the goblet. A similar stream flowed from me. I was acting through sympathetic similarity, after all, and there was a practical necessity for it as well.
When the cup was full, I took several swallows and passed it around the circle. There was enough blood for everyone. For those who were now, quite literally, brothers and sisters. Only one small detail remained. If I had decided to play the Witch-king of Angmar, then...
"From this day forward, you are the Council—the instruments of my will, my eyes and ears, my family. Accept now the promised power... and your new responsibilities."
Eight completely black rings appeared on my hand. They rose into the air and flew toward the newly formed Council. The vampires put the gifts on their fingers with some caution. Crimson luminous writing spread across the rings. So that mutant's ability to glow had finally proved useful. Hadn't expected that. And every Child of the Night lost consciousness.
Now I could relax a little and catch my breath. I seemed to have said and done everything correctly, and the approval in my new vassals' emotions confirmed it. Still... I had no idea how deeply uncomfortable and unfamiliar the whole role felt. Well, never mind.
My blood, carrying the necessary information, was already inside them. Symbiote cells—the material from which the rings themselves had been formed—were inside their bodies too. All that remained was to watch the vampires change. Though perhaps 'higher vampires' would now be the more accurate term.
The experiments had produced results. I no longer needed to monitor the process or perform everything personally. The blood and Symby cells handled the work autonomously. A similar principle, incidentally, had been used in Doom's 'medicine,' though that was much simpler and required almost no actual Symbiote cells.
Blood alone was perfectly sufficient. At last, my Ring-bearers regained consciousness. I could feel them much more clearly now.
"Welcome to a new world, brothers and sisters. Welcome to the Brotherhood of Nod."
We spent the rest of the night celebrating. Nyssa and that petite Japanese girl tried to get better acquainted with me, but I cut off every advance immediately. Felicia was more than enough for me. Well... and Rogue. Though the latter was still only part of my plans.
Either way, we managed to break the formal atmosphere and establish the Brotherhood specifically as a family. No, the vampires didn't suddenly become siblings in spirit overnight. But everyone present already knew one another fairly well and maintained friendly or at least cordial relations. So no immediate conflicts were likely. The rest could develop with time.
Walter Mayer. A Couple of Days After the 'Invention.'
****************************
There were no problems with von Doom. He knew what he was getting into. The only thing that produced—not outrage, but an understanding smile—was the revelation that the head of the mysterious organization and Walter Mayer were the same person.
Victor did express some confusion. Wasn't that rather careless? People would watch me now. I had to reassure him that it was part of a cunning plan to establish contacts among influential figures. I couldn't very well admit to my freshly sworn vassal that I simply hadn't thought that part through and had obeyed my Inner Hamster.
He seemed to believe me. And if he didn't, there was nothing either of us could do about it anymore. Besides, thinking it over, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Being a major shareholder in a concern like Victor's genuinely offered enormous opportunities. In the immediate future, it would at least allow me to stop staging spy games every time we wanted to meet. I could visit him openly, visit his facilities openly, and work with his scientists entirely legally.
Later... Well, people on Stark's level would be far more willing to deal with a colleague—a bird of their own feather—than with some unknown lab assistant from a New York university.
The initiation itself went smoothly, almost routinely. The same goblet. The same blood of the Council. The same black ring. The only difference was that the magnate required considerably more work. In addition to the standard Council package, he retained the abilities gained through cosmic irradiation. I had to sweat quite a bit to bring the restructuring of his body to its logical conclusion. The patient, naturally, remained unconscious throughout.
The main obstacle was a shortage of energy and of the necessary chemical elements for the transition. Both problems were solved fairly quickly. The 'cosmetics' took longer. I restored Victor's former appearance while disguising the new properties of his organism. If he accidentally scratched himself and metal appeared under the skin, unnecessary questions might arise. Though considering all the changes, someone would have to work very hard to scratch him at all.
I should probably say a few words about the new abilities I copied from Victor. His metal. Oh, it was a miracle. First: the material remained alive. Which meant it could grow. Its strength characteristics were inferior to adamantium and other 'divine' metals, but ordinary titanium alloys were no longer even competition. And most importantly... by absorbing various forms of radiation—and very little of it, I should note—the material could generate electrical energy in very respectable quantities. The metal itself was also a superconductor. With the right structure, that meant it could potentially accumulate monstrous amounts of energy. Hmm. Doom could probably suck enormous loads out of the power grid. And I vaguely remembered him catching lightning bolts... or maybe not? Didn't matter. I could personally guarantee that, theoretically, he was capable of it. Damn it.
In my old world, any power engineer would have surrendered his soul and right arm for a material like this: light, strong, self-repairing, and capable of generating power. Not just a conductor. A dream conductor. My Inner Hamster entered a bloody battle with my paranoia. On one hand, this could generate tremendous profit—financial and political. On the other, I was already imagining special-forces squads armed with Gauss guns.
No. Devices like that were absolutely something I wanted for myself. But public access? Only in a 'dead' version, perhaps. And only in exchange for very large sums and equally large concessions.
After finishing with Doom and giving my new vassal his first instructions—nothing unusual, the same as every other Council member: nominate two or three deputies, prepare a report on available resources, and propose development options; Victor would naturally have a major bias toward scientists and economists, but that was fine, not everyone needed to fight, and I planned to keep him in North America alongside Nyssa so the front wouldn't be left uncovered—I rushed to my own laboratory.
Well. Kurt's laboratory. So. What would happen if I 'killed' this wonderful little material? Hmm. How do you kill something that durable? For a while I honestly poured every poison and acid I had over a plate I'd converted. Useless. The cells kept living. Freezing didn't hurt them either. I didn't even bother trying to melt the thing. If it could absorb radiation, heat certainly wasn't going to trouble it. Quenching—rapid cooling after heating—only caused the metal to grow an armor layer. Its conductivity dropped, but its strength increased significantly.
Now it was probably comparable to Captain America's shield, though I couldn't say for certain because I'd never seen the shield itself. My joy knew no bounds. Yes! At last! After so many disappointments and failures, I'd found it! I'd found armor for my music player! I did eventually manage to kill the metal.
The trick was to drain all its energy while preventing it from replenishing itself. I'm no Rogue, but under laboratory conditions I managed to 'dry out' a small piece. As I'd hoped, the metal lost its ability to generate electricity and self-repair, and it became somewhat less durable. Its superconductive properties, however, remained intact. Lovely. Absolutely lovely. Hmm.
I remembered a certain octopus working on some kind of ultra-powerful energy source. If those projects could be combined using von Doom's scientific base... My Inner Hamster rubbed its paws together with satisfaction and bared its teeth ominously.
All right. The Brotherhood was slowly getting on its feet. Deputies were being selected. The shared intelligence network was taking shape. They could manage for a while without me. The last few days had been hellishly intense. I had honestly earned some rest. Maybe I should take the girls and go to some amusement park. Or whatever they had here instead. Disneyland?
Laura supported the idea with both hands. Understandable. The girl was extremely curious. Nobody had ever taken her out simply to have fun, and she'd been cooped up indoors too long. Felicia, unfortunately, couldn't come. Her mother had once again dragged her into dealing with foundation business. Hmm. She was being loaded with responsibilities rather often lately. Was Mrs. Hardy preparing her successor? Maybe. Either way, even though Felicia couldn't join us, she gave us her blessing along with a demand that we go again later with her. No objections from anyone.
The next morning, after our usual substantial breakfast, we headed to the amusement park.
Sometimes I wondered whether Laura really was that militaristic or whether she'd simply decided to joke around. What do I mean? Well, her observation that a Ferris wheel was, in principle, a decent sniper position. Excellent field of view. Escape routes were a bit of a problem, but... And it went like that for every attraction.
They wouldn't let us onto the roller coaster. Apparently you had to be taller than a certain marker. Though after watching a car tear along the rails, loop upside down, climb steep rises, then plunge from them, the girl merely snorted contemptuously and informed me:
"It was more fun when I flew on your back."
The haunted house... Yeah. Taking in someone whose single reflexive response to anything frightening suddenly appearing around a corner was to stick her blades into it had not been my brightest idea. Reflexes, though. Which is to say... we had to flee the haunted house. Fortunately invisibility made that possible. I had absolutely no desire to explain to the employees why a small girl had carved half their mannequins into salad after being startled.
Yeah. Good thing Felicia hadn't come with us. That would've been awkward. It was around three when we sat down to rest on a bench in one of the park's green areas. Laura savored chocolate ice cream. I sipped some kind of milkshake. Not bad, actually. A pleasant breeze blew against my back and moved through my hair.
What a beautiful da— The thought broke off before it could finish forming. I sat frozen, one eye twitching slightly. Believe me, I had good reason. A spectacularly colorful group was strolling through the park: teenagers and fully grown adults, ages ranging from fourteen to twenty-three or twenty-five, plus a couple of people older than that. I couldn't estimate them more precisely. At the head of the procession rolled a pleasant bald old man in a wheelchair.
Why was I so shocked? Simple. Among the boys and girls walked an actual devil. Or demon, if you prefer the classic description. Young, admittedly. But one could already see that he'd grow into a formidable beast. He was tall even now, broad-built, and what looked like horns were beginning to emerge—unless that was simply the hairstyle. A flexible tail and dark-blue skin completed the picture of a guest from the underworld. The strangest part was that nobody around them paid the group the slightest attention.
"Mmm... Laura, would you please look at that colorful group over there? Do you notice anything unusual about them?"
The girl swept the indicated people with the predatory gaze of a professional assassin while continuing to play the role of a happy child nibbling ice cream.
"No. The only thing is that the age range is too broad. They're walking together and obviously know each other. Most likely some group with shared interests or something similar." That was the girl's conclusion. "Why?"
I looked suspiciously at my milkshake again. No. Hallucinogens didn't work on me. Then it had to be something else. Psionics? If so, Xavier was hardcore. Fooling the minds of that many people at once while casually chatting about something else... Hmm. Or was I misunderstanding something? Perhaps telepaths could impose illusions too, while for some reason I was immune. Wait. Illusions. Of course.
If Mysterio could slap together little cubes in his garage that generated full-presence holograms, then why couldn't somebody else develop something similar for one specific blue demon? That would also explain why I could see through it: different perception.
"Walter!"
Someone tugged my sleeve and dragged me out of my thoughts.
"Hm? Sorry. Got distracted."
I scratched the back of my head.
"I've been trying to get your attention for two minutes! Never mind. I think we have a problem."
"What happened?"
I focused. No use. Too many emotions around us. I couldn't isolate anything specific in that mess.
"That beast-looking man with the black hair keeps turning toward us too often... and I think he's sniffing something."
Mother— The wind was blowing directly from us toward them. And the man... Right. Logan. Damn it. He noticed me looking and was already walking this way. What rotten luck. Oh-ho. And who's that quietly separating from the group and trying to follow Wolverine without being noticed? Right again. Anna Marie. Yeah, some saboteur she was. But with everyone else distracted by the entertainers and the wind blowing straight toward her... she had a chance.Oh, this was going to be interesting.
Wolverine. Amusement Park.
****************************
Logan accompanied the students through the park and thought. Charles had chosen well with the amusement rides. The kids really could use a chance to unwind, especially Anna. Logan himself had little desire to crawl through such a crowded place. After the quiet and calm of the school, a park full of people—and the enormous quantity of noise and smells that came with them—was uncomfortable. Still, for the kids he could tolerate it. Speaking of smells... The mutant sniffed. Something was wrong. The breeze carried a barely familiar scent. Something smelled almost... close. Familiar in a way he couldn't place. But mixed with it was another odor. Dangerous. Threatening. Instinct demanded either flight or immediate attack.
The last time he'd experienced anything similar had been fairly recently. That was how the Nazgûl smelled. But where was the bastard? The man looked around. The wind came from the benches, but there was nobody there except a young man and a little girl. Neither resembled the white-haired flyer. Then another gust brought a fresh wave of scent. Them. It was definitely coming from them. What was he doing here? Watching the children? Watching Anna? Something had to be done. But what? Warn Charles? No.
Charles himself admitted there was little he could do against this creature. Then Logan would simply approach and find out. And if necessary, protect his student. Nodding to himself, Logan walked toward the pair on the bench.
Focused on the confrontation ahead, he failed to notice another person quietly following him.
Walter Mayer.
*********************************
And here he was: one of the most ambiguous characters in the entire Marvel universe. The Great and Terrible Wolverine himself. If you looked at his fate not through the prism of a comic book but as the life story of a real man... well. The guy had terrible luck with his personal life.
All right. I'd already screwed up with the scent, but maybe I could confuse him a little. I shifted my aroma to an ordinary human one with a light touch of cologne. The 'Nazgûl' scent now came from a ring. A simple gold ring with elegant inscriptions. Fans of 'The Lord of the Rings' would have appreciated it.
Logan stopped in front of us and began staring without the slightest manners. Laura stared back just as brazenly while continuing to savor her ice cream. I merely raised one eyebrow in silent question. No, my dear fellow. You approached us. You can start the conversation.
Aha. Now he'd caught my 'natural' scent too. That clearly caused some doubt. No. I would never forgive myself if I missed the chance to mess with him a little. At the same time, I could drop a few interesting facts about his biography. Hmm.
Could 'blood memory' be used to restore his memories? Oh. Looks like he's decided. Let's listen.
"Hey, kid. Have we met somewhere before?"
I had an involuntary urge to perform the classic facepalm. No. I'd assumed Logan was as straightforward as an arrow and a hopeless spy. But this bad? Heh. Fine. He asked for it.
"You know, Mr. Howlett, addressing a man you haven't seen in a long time with 'hey, kid' is at least somewhat impolite. As for your question—yes, we have met. Gods, you're descended from a respectable family, you lived through the Civil War, both World Wars and Vietnam, spent how many years in Japan, and still never learned manners? You'd think Japanese ceremony alone would've taught you something... tragic. Truly tragic."
Mmm. Direct hit. If I'd transformed into the Nazgûl right then, grabbed Rogue and my daughter, and vanished into the distance with demonic laughter, Logan would probably have been less stunned.
"You... you... where do you...?"
Very informative. Fine. We'll tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
"From space, naturally."
The important thing was to put more mockery into my voice.
"And what surprises you so much, James? In any case, my time is quite valuable, sir, and at the moment I intend to spend it relaxing with my daughter. If you were a pretty girl, I'd happily talk to you longer, but as things stand... alas. Although you can always make an appointment with me. My name is Walter Mayer, in case you've forgotten. Perhaps then we'll have time for a longer conversation. For now, I ask you to leave us alone."
Hmm. Maybe I'd overdone it. He very clearly had no intention of leaving me alone, and the presence of a child beside me didn't bother him.
"No way. You don't get to just walk away. I need answers, and if I have to, I'll beat them out of you."
So much determination. That tone, however, could genuinely make me angry.
"Only I decide what I can or cannot do."
I deliberately repeated the phrase Rogue had once heard from the Nazgûl. I would much rather have spoken with her than with this soldier.
"And if you don't have enough brains to avoid threatening an unknown person in a crowded place, ask Professor Xavier for help. Perhaps he can assist you. In the worst case... an acquaintance of mine in a black robe (a very, very close acquaintance; we see each other in the mirror every morning) would not object to explaining the rules of politeness to you in a language you'll understand."
And there we were: two grim-looking men, one appearing about twenty and the other around forty, baring their teeth at each other. Laura defused the situation in her own inimitable style.
"Dad, don't. Otherwise we'll wear ourselves out eliminating witnesses and hiding the bodies."
She said it in a calm, almost bored voice. And it came from a sweet little girl. I had more or less expected something like that. Logan looked as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over him.
"Uh... is she serious?"
"Completely," the little pest replied with the same calm.
"All right, James. If you want to talk to me, you'll be able to find me. I'm not hiding from anyone. Right now, though, this is clearly neither the time nor the place. And your students may start worrying."
Reluctantly, Wolverine nodded and finally backed off. He walked away so deep in thought that he didn't notice Rogue hiding in the bushes at all. Yeah. Maybe I had overdone it. Oh well. Shock therapy would probably do him some good. I had a feeling I'd be dealing with him often from now on. On the other hand, perhaps I could recruit him. But then I'd need to arrange protection from telepaths. What was even keeping him with Xavier? Rogue, mostly, if I remembered correctly. And Jean. The other students only mattered so much. At least that was how it had been in the beginning.
But did I actually need Howlett? He could bring a great many problems. What about benefits? I already had his healing factor and enhanced senses. Laura surpassed him in tactics and hand-to-hand combat. That much was obvious even from the way he moved. The adamantium skeleton? Probably not worth it either. Unless... He might remember the entire group of scientists who performed the Weapon X operation on him.
If I could pull those memories out, perhaps I could find a trail leading to the people responsible for Laura's suffering. And I certainly wouldn't object to acquiring a couple—or a couple dozen—bars of that fascinating alloy. If only for the sake of my phone's security. Besides, owning something like an adamantium katana would simply be cool. Who cares if it's another case of hammering nails with a microscope? I wanted one. End of story.
One more conversation remained. But first I needed to move deeper into the park. The girl didn't need to hear it. She was still rather young, and certain... mmm... not entirely proper topics might come up. Decision made. I gave my adopted daughter some cash. Hmm. I really did think of her as my daughter now. And hearing that 'Dad' from her had felt... nice. No denying it. I sent her off for cotton candy and milkshakes. Just in case, I kept a peripheral sense of her movements through the cells implanted in her.
I moved farther into the park myself. That should be enough.
"Well then, young saboteur. Would you care to come out and speak like decent, educated people, or do you prefer the romance of bushes and tall grass?"
I smiled faintly.
Anna Marie. Also Known as Rogue
*********************
The amusement park really was a pleasant place to relax. But Rogue had little interest in entertainment. She had the distinct feeling that everyone was trying hard to distract her from thinking about the Nazgûl. She understood that she'd already managed to annoy, if not everyone, then certainly a great many people by asking questions and digging up every scrap of information possible about the creature. She had even read 'The Lord of the Rings' from cover to cover. Nobody understood her obsession.
But how could she explain to everyone else what it meant, for an involuntary outcast from society, to simply touch another person without thick gloves and without fearing that the contact would kill them? And what if that person also happened to be an attractive young man, saved her life, and casually gifted her the ability to fly along with a few other things?
Then Rogue noticed her mentor behaving oddly. First he started sniffing, then simply walked away somewhere with an expression as if he'd just seen a ghost. The eternal female curiosity that had once been the source of so many problems for all mankind practically demanded that she follow him.
Besides, she had nothing else to do. Jubilee Lee had already disappeared somewhere. Probably to terrorize Scott or Storm again. And Rogue had no other real friends at the school. Mostly acquaintances and people she got along with.
Marie quietly separated from the group and followed Logan. The girl hid in the bushes and warmed her ears on someone else's conversation. And what a conversation it was. That man she'd met near the site of the fight with Landon clearly knew something about her mentor. More than that—he knew something about her rescuer too.
And that phrase... Anna flinched when Walter answered almost exactly the way the Nazgûl had. Could it be? No. They looked completely different. Different face. Different hair. Different voice. But the eyes were the same. The girl shook her head, trying to organize the chaos swarming through it.
"I have to find out what all this means," Rogue whispered, then moved through the bushes after the young man heading deeper into the park.
She didn't manage to remain hidden for long. The moment they moved farther from the crowds, the man turned in her direction.
"Well then, young saboteur. Would you care to come out and speak like decent, educated people, or do you prefer the romance of bushes and tall grass?"
Damn. Caught. On the other hand, hadn't she wanted to talk to him anyway? Rogue sighed heavily and crawled out from the bushes. But her nature demanded some kind of reply. She couldn't show weakness or embarrassment in front of a stranger.
"What if I was just walking past? Is that illegal now?"
"Oh? Since when is eavesdropping on other people's conversations called 'just walking past'?" Mayer asked with a smile. "Still, I doubt you followed me for no reason, so you must want something. I'd like to know what—and perhaps hear the name of such a lovely young lady. You've already heard mine."
The man kept smiling. For some reason, the girl had the impression he was playing with her. Whether as an adult played with a child or as a cat played with a mouse, she couldn't tell.
"Anya... uh, I mean Anna Marie."
Embarrassment broke through her false bravado.
"Walter Mayer, at your service."
Her companion gave a slight bow. The girl couldn't decide whether he was joking or whether this manner of speaking was normal for him.
"So what brings you to me, young lady?"
The girl filled her lungs, gathered her courage into a fist, and blurted everything out in a single breath.
"IheardyouknowtheNazgûlpleasetellmeabouthim."
For nearly a minute, Walter stood processing the sentence. Then comprehension dawned.
"Why do you need the Nazgûl?"
Mayer asked, stepping closer and looking directly into Rogue's eyes.
"Well... I... um... I wanted to thank him for saving me... and for the gifts. That's all."
"I'll pass that along."
The man nodded.
"Can I meet him?"
Anna was full of hope. Maybe she would actually get to see her rescuer again.
"That is for the Nazgûl to decide. Tell me, do you have a phone?"
The girl shook her head sadly. Her family had thrown her out with almost nothing. At the school, she was fully supported and had no need for money. There was nobody to call anyway, so she'd had neither the cash nor any reason to buy a mobile phone.
"I see. Here." The man held out a brand-new phone. "There is only one number in the contact list. That's the one you need."
The girl was stunned. That easy? Ask for a way to contact the Nazgûl and simply receive one? It was hard to believe.
"Why?"
She whispered.
"Why did I help you so easily?"
Anna nodded.
"Why not? Even if you tell Logan or someone else and an ambush is waiting at the meeting place... I doubt you have enough force to eliminate the Ring-bearer. And as for why I'm helping you specifically—consider it a weakness I have for pretty girls."
Rogue felt herself beginning to blush again. Compliments came her way very rarely.
"Let me give you one piece of advice: don't trust Xavier. A telepath who can rummage through other people's brains, sitting in the director's chair of a special school... I don't believe he never uses his abilities on the students. So be careful when dealing with him. And now, I'm afraid we have to say goodbye."
The young man turned and headed deeper into the park.
"Wait! Tell me—what exactly connects you to the Nazgûl?"
The puzzle refused to fit together. Understanding what Walter Mayer and the Nazgûl really were had become vitally important to Rogue. She couldn't explain why, but she was absolutely certain that nothing here was as simple as it looked.
"Let's just say we have a great deal in common..."
Mayer answered without turning around, raising his right hand in farewell. Then he vanished almost instantly into the thick foliage. After a second of shock, Rogue rushed after him. There was already nobody behind the trees. The man had simply disappeared. Rogue's heart pounded wildly. Because in the final moment, a plain gold ring had flashed on Mayer's hand. A ring covered in GLOWING writing.
Walter Mayer.
******************
There was nothing more to do at the park. Rogue had received the Nazgûl's phone number. Good thing I'd brought a spare handset. After the Hobgoblin incident I refused to leave home without backup whenever I went into crowded places. If I ended up without music again, I would definitely do something to someone that I'd later regret. Though it remained unclear who exactly would regret it. Something told me it probably wouldn't be me.
Speaking of music... The phone I'd given her also contained my entire album collection. Hmm. Oh well. Hopefully she'd like it. There were plenty of beautiful tracks. Though most of them were in Russian. I wondered how Rogue would react to 'Carnival of Rust' by Poets of the Fall.
I collected Laura, who was carrying a huge stuffed bear. They really shouldn't have let the harmless little girl into the shooting gallery. Oh, they really shouldn't have. Then I headed for the exit. It would have been nice to collect DNA samples from Xavier's students. But I couldn't think of any way to do it without starting a fight.
I could scatter Symby cells into the wind, but then I couldn't control their flight properly, and collection would become a problem. The fewer cells there were, the harder they were to control and the closer I needed to be. Large groups I could already manipulate at respectable distances. Tiny groups were another story.
So I simply walked along the mutants' trail. I managed to pick up something unusual. Determining exactly what would take time. The work ahead was complicated. Recovering a genome from a tiny fragment was much harder for me than through direct contact or blood. Blood remained ideal. Apparently, the original Symbiote had never been designed for manipulation this delicate. Oh well. I was adapting little by little.
We got home around six, had a snack, and scattered to our respective activities again. A couple of hours later, Laura came to me carrying her Aizen poster... and asked for an autograph.
"Aiz—uh, I mean, Dad, sign the poster for me?"
And she gave me a look strongly reminiscent of Puss in Boots from 'Shrek.' Yeah. Another moment when this girl managed to stun me into silence.
"Laura... what?"
"Well, obviously. You're him. You just left Soul Society for some reason. Or maybe even earlier? His later actions weren't particularly logical. They looked more like a simulation whose program had broken."
I still had no idea what she was talking about.
"Why exactly did you decide that I'm Aizen?"
"The behavioral pattern!"
Declared this... Sherlock Holmes, damn it.
"You mess with people's heads? You do! You created your own organization? You did! You take bloodthirsty monsters who kill ordinary people and each other and make them more humane while giving them new abilities? You do that too! So obviously you're Aizen-sama!"
Now that's a twist, as one action hero used to say. I tried to find holes in the girl's theory. But aside from a couple of minor details, it fit disturbingly well. Now how do you explain to a child that you're not her favorite anime character? That's a challenge. Yeah. One good thing: at first I'd considered showing her 'Hellsing.' Was she actually serious or messing with me again? Either way, one fact remained. I hadn't hidden what I did from my adopted daughter. But I hadn't exactly advertised it either. Now I had to urgently find protection for her mind. Otherwise, if trouble started, things could go very badly. Damn. As if I didn't have enough problems.
The sheer quantity of secrets, lies by omission, and half-truths was starting to weigh on me too. And keeping track of everything was becoming unrealistic. Still... another six months to a year and maintaining secrecy would no longer be especially necessary. More precisely, I hoped everyone who could theoretically oppose me by then would either be on my side... or in a coffin.
I signed the poster anyway. The next morning I went to the university, where yet another surprise was waiting. Several surprises, actually. I'll start with the least dangerous one. Parker had once again become too absorbed in fighting crime and failed to show up for a date with Miss Watson. She'd finally had enough and sent him packing. How did I know? Simple. Mary Jane's new boyfriend turned out to be none other than Harry Osborn. Interesting move from a friend. Very interesting. Peter didn't seem especially heartbroken and was already showing attention to a certain Alice.
During my forced absences, Kurt had found himself a new assistant. Or victim. Hmm. Or maybe she was just an excuse to make Parker appear in the laboratory more often? Not important. The second surprise waited for me inside the Doc's own domain.
"Daaamn. Just what I needed."
I rolled my eyes in misery. That cursed slab could bring us an enormous mountain of trouble. Inside the irradiator's working chamber, surrounded by sensors, stood the Tablet of Time. Its sarcophagus lay nearby: a lead casing reinforced with steel plates. Why did I decide it was the Tablet of Time? Well, I simply couldn't imagine what else the thing could be. Covered in strange writing. Visibly ancient. And even through the isolation of the work chamber I could feel something... unpleasant leaking from it. Or maybe that was just paranoia.
"Walter! Glad to see you. You're right on time!"
Dr. Connors practically bounced with excitement. His eyes shone with that very familiar light of the research maniac.
"Hey, Doc. I can see you're thrilled with your new toy. Is that the famous Tablet of Time they've been talking about everywhere for the last couple of days?"
Kurt nodded happily.
"The very one!"
"Hmm. Perhaps you'd explain why it's here rather than in a museum?"
"You won't believe this, my friend. The Tablet is actually some kind of device, operating on a principle similar to our irradiator! It's astonishing, especially considering its age—several thousand years. We haven't been able to determine the exact figure because it absorbs up to ninety percent of radiation directed at it, so spectral analysis doesn't work!"
The Doc was already taking off. He'd worn exactly the same expression when he announced that 'we need more tests' and shoved me into yet another analyzer. I didn't particularly want to remember the details.
"The ancients clearly knew far more about genetics than we do. Incas, Maya, Aztecs and the rest—their legacy could revolutionize modern science!"
Yeah. He was gone. I urgently needed to drag the scientist back down to earth, or he'd lecture until evening.
"Yes, yes, I'm delighted for science. Can we return to the Tablet?"
"Hm? Yes, of course. The Tablet. According to legend, it can restore youth and strength, but only on a particular day of the year and at a particular time. We couldn't learn anything more precise from that source. As for direct research... at the moment we have several established facts. It draws in energy—any kind of energy—but we don't understand how or where it goes. The radiation background around it is elevated, but not dramatically. There has to be something else. Otherwise we'd have to admit it ignores conservation of energy."
"That's... unlikely. Fine. Let's work."
And we worked. At first I expected Kingpin to raid us and kept waiting for Rogue to call. Neither happened. Everything remained calm. Too calm, I'd even say. Maybe I'd already altered events enough that the raid would never happen? Fine. I'd deal with that later. For now, back to this incomprehensible block of unknown material.
The Tablet really was a fascinating artifact. Unlocking its secrets was another matter. The bastard tried to draw energy out of everything within a five-meter radius. Damn it. Even batteries died near it, though not instantly.
Laboratory mice (your sacrifice will not be forgotten, friends) turned into dried mummies within a couple of hours.
If we 'excited' the Tablet using the irradiator and placed something alive in the focal point of its own emitters, which were built into the eye sockets of a human skull, that something crumbled into dust within seconds.
The room also became noticeably cooler. The effect reminded me of Rogue's abilities. Interesting. Could she theoretically transfer energy into other people as well, thereby rejuvenating them? If so, she'd have entire queues of middle-aged ladies at her door. And not only them. Maybe understanding the Tablet would give me a key to mastering her genome too.
For now, however, progress was dead still. The inscriptions on the Tablet might have helped. But deciphering them was a nightmare. Thanks to the Anglo-Saxons and the Protestant Church, the native speakers were either extinct or sitting in the middle of nowhere, and by now probably no longer remembered even the later forms of their ancestral writing. Still, it was worth searching.
Once again, I became convinced that Americans thought strangely. Kurt proposed photographing the inscriptions and sending them to famous linguists. When he discovered that photographs couldn't be taken because film images came out overexposed and digital cameras simply lost their sensors, he began cursing and was already about to order some ultra-sophisticated filters almost suitable for filming in open space. Delivery would have taken a month, if not longer.
So I had to take matters into my own hands and repeat Indiana Jones's trick. Rice paper. Graphite pencil. Ninety seconds. Voilà. A copy in my hands. Kurt could decide who to send it to. Note to self: absorb more language knowledge. Languages were acquired through assimilation far faster than almost anything else, and knowledge doesn't weigh down your pockets.
Still, how exactly could the Tablet restore youth? A human being wasn't a battery that could simply be recharged and reused. The process had to be more complicated. Although who knew what the creators of the Tablet had built. Maybe in the end we'd discover a small lever somewhere that switched between 'age' and 'rejuvenate' modes.
We worked enthusiastically. Kurt sometimes forgot to eat, so Alice occasionally fed him to make sure her beloved supervisor didn't die ahead of schedule. Speaking of Alice: quite a pretty girl with a thick mass of black hair and, as the saying goes, everything else in the right places. I didn't like her eyes. Appraising. Commanding. Sometimes she looked at people as though through a gunsight.
When I collected a DNA sample from her—simply kissed her hand when we were introduced—I cursed inwardly. What the hell was Silvermane's daughter doing here? And had her relationship with Parker really happened by accident? They gave us another three days of peace. Then everything started moving at once. Canon sent its warmest regards.
Friday evening. Rogue still hadn't called. Had something happened? Or could she simply not bring herself to do it? Spidey dropped by to 'have a cup of tea' with the Doc and me. Since we'd cured him, he'd become a frequent visitor. Kurt didn't mind. I didn't object to exchanging a few words with Peter either. So there we sat, drinking coffee. Somebody had cognac in his.
Have I mentioned the phenomenal attraction scientists seem to have toward that drink? И have? Fine. Then I'll add that my corrupting influence was beginning to show. Once again, the treacherous Russian German was getting the brightest lights of American science drunk.
Connors was dripping into Parker's brain about the greatness of the ancients, their knowledge, and how fortunate we all were that one of their artifacts had ended up with us. Judging by Spidey's emotions, he was already regretting having come.
And then the outer wall collapsed in a shower of stones and debris. Through the opening flew a Giant Humanoid Combat Robot. Thankfully without an Ordinary Japanese Schoolboy pilot. That would have completed the picture.
At that moment, however, Parker's emotions contained only relief and the desire to kiss the robot passionately. From there, all I had to do was enjoy the performance from the front row. Transforming into the Nazgûl would have been unwise. Hell knew what they'd packed into that tin can, but they certainly hadn't spared the surveillance equipment.
Oh. Another problem. The Doc had started getting nervous. A nervous Connors was bad. That risked waking one particular scaly personality with an unpleasant disposition. There. His hands were already beginning to change. Oh, for fuck's sake. What timing. I had to pump a horse-sized dose of tranquilizer into his blood. Fortunately, we always kept some in the lab. My cells helped immobilize the scientist as a precaution.
So there I was dragging unconscious Kurt toward a relatively safe corner while Spidey entertained himself with the robot, demolishing the laboratory in the process. The robot, meanwhile, had clearly come for the Tablet and was trying to expropriate it. Yeah. Not a laboratory, but a branch office of an insane asylum.
And most importantly: where the hell was the damn security? At last, matters resolved themselves. I dragged the Doc into cover. Peter finally thought to lure the tin can away from the civilians. By civilians, I mean Kurt and me. The most peaceful citizens imaginable. He used the Tablet in its sarcophagus as bait. Damn it. If anyone saw him now, people would once again start screaming something along the lines of 'Spider-Man steals ancient artifact.'
Yeah. Fine. While the pair left to settle things between themselves, I turned my attention to the Doc. I needed to wake him up and explain the situation. Kingpin, you bastard. Oh, I had a feeling a very angry Nazgûl was going to visit someone tonight.