Marvel Classic Novels--X-Men and the Avengers

by Greg Cox

  “I thought he was dead,” Iron Man protested.

  “Me too,” the Hulk confirmed. “I messed him up pretty bad in Alberta awhile back, in this underground city of his. It looked like he’d finally kicked the bucket once and for all.” He scowled and shrugged his ample shoulders. “You know super villains, though. They keep coming back, like the flu.”

  Cap knew what he meant. He’d lost count of the number of times that the Red Skull or Baron Zemo had returned from the grave. But why would the Leader come after Wanda or Rogue? The Hulk was the usual target of his insane schemes of revenge.

  “Forgive me,” Storm interrupted, “but who is the Leader? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with this individual.”

  “Another singular product of gamma radiation,” the Beast offered helpfully, “only this time the metamorphic effect went straight to his head, increasing the size and capacity of his cerebellum. Essentially, he ended up as awesomely intelligent as the Hulk is—”

  “Watch it,” the Hulk growled. His voluminous shadow fell over the hairy mutant, who flinched instinctively.

  “—stronger than most,” the Beast concluded tactfully. “Like so many other misguided prodigies of our acquaintance, he promptly set about to conquer the world. Absolute intelligence, alas, apparently corrupts just as absolutely as raw power.” He glanced nervously at the Hulk. “Present company excluded, of course.”

  Cap decided to intervene before the Beast’s loquacious ways got him deeper into trouble. “Thank you, Hulk. You’ve been very helpful.” He held out his hand to shake the Hulk’s immense green mitt. “You’re free to go, provided you don’t intend to create any further disturbances here. Our quinjet is parked not far from here. Perhaps we can drop you off someplace private and secluded?”

  The North Pole, for instance? he thought. After all, if it was good enough for the Frankenstein monster in the novel…

  “Forget it, yankee doodle.” The Hulk ignored Cap’s proffered hand. “If the Leader is involved in this shindig, then I’m coming with you. That big-brained fuhrer has been a pain in my posterior long before he messed with you and your missing gals. If he’s going down, I’m going to be there, whether you want me or not.” He looked the assembled heroes over dubiously. “Besides, I’m not sure any of you are up to it.”

  “What?” Iron Man answered indignantly. The motile metal of his gilded faceplate allowed some of his ire to show through. “Who invited you along?” Judging from the offended and/or dismayed expressions on the three mutants’ faces, Iron Man wasn’t the only one taken aback by the Hulk’s brashness. “I can’t speak for the X-Men, but I can tell here and now that the Avengers have been doing fine without you, Hulk, and against adversaries as dangerous as the Leader, if not more so.”

  “I’m coming with you,” the Hulk insisted, hands on his hips. He towered over the armored Avenger. “You got a problem with that, tin man?”

  “Maybe,” Iron Man said, undeterred by the Hulk’s looming presence. Even dented and dripping from his dive beneath the Fall, Iron Man’s armor made him an imposing figure. Metal gauntlets were clenched; clearly what the Hulk had done to the Vision hadn’t been set aside.

  Captain America shared his sentiments, especially where their injured comrade was concerned, but felt obliged to play peacemaker once more. The lives of at least two women were at stake. “Stand down,” he ordered Iron Man, and the Golden Avenger reluctantly complied, stepping back from the Hulk to join Captain America a few feet away. His armored fists remained tightly clenched.

  Cap considered the Hulk carefully. The hot-tempered behemoth had served with the Avengers before, however briefly, and certainly there was no love lost between the Hulk and the Leader. The only thing that worried the veteran hero was whether or not the Hulk would place his anger against his old enemy over the safety of the hostages. What if his barbaric desire for revenge endangered Wanda or Rogue?

  Somewhere inside that furious monstrosity is Bruce Banner, he reminded himself, and Banner is a decent, honorable man. He had to hope that, ultimately, some tiny portion of Banner would be enough to curb the Hulk’s most crazed, counterproductive impulses. Heaven help us if I’m wrong.

  “All right, Hulk,” Cap said. “If the X-Men have no objections, you can join us on this mission. I’d rather have you fighting with us than against us.” He looked at Storm and Cyclops, unsure which of them served as leader of their team. “Is that acceptable to you?”

  “Give us a moment, Captain,” Storm requested. She and Cyclops conferred quietly, casting a few doubtful looks at the Hulk, then leaned over to whisper to the Beast. Interesting, Cap thought. From the looks of things, it appeared that the X-Men proceeded more through consensus than through an established chain of command. Whatever works for them, he decided.

  Their huddle lasted for only a minute or two. Cyclops nodded at Cap and answered for his teammates. “We have no objections to working with the Hulk. The important thing is finding our people.”

  “I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Cap agreed. He glanced about the bridge. Overhead, the buzzing news copters were getting alarmingly closer. For all we know, the Leader could be watching us on CNN right now, he thought.

  “I suggest we reconvene at Avengers Mansion, where we can take better advantage of our resources. I assume you X-Men have transportation of your own?” he asked.

  “Our able and adaptable aircraft awaits on yonder isle,” the Beast assured him, giving the Hulk a wide berth as he bounded toward the American end of the bridge. “Given the Hulk’s esteemed status as a charter member of the Avengers, however, perhaps he would be most comfortable travelling with you?” He did little to conceal his eagerness to foist the irascible man-brute off on the Avengers.

  Technically, Cap remembered, they had revoked the Hulk’s membership years ago, but now was no time to mention that. “Good idea,” he said firmly. “Hulk, you’re with us.”

  “Terrific,” Iron Man muttered sarcastically, low enough so that only Cap could hear. “This should be a fun flight.”

  At least we’ll be able to keep an eye on the Hulk, Cap thought, despite sincerely mixed emotions over acquiring such an explosive loose cannon for their team. To his surprise, the Hulk voluntarily lifted the super-dense remains of the Vision, leaving Iron Man only the amputated arm to carry. Following after the Beast, Captain America led the others back toward American soil, only to be confronted by an armed battalion commanded by Colonel Arturo Lopez.

  “I believe we’ve finished with our business here,” Cap reported to the officer. “The Hulk is leaving with us, so there should be no further need for you and your troops.”

  “Not so fast,” Lopez said sternly. His lean face was grim, like he had to do something he wasn’t too happy about. “I appreciate your efforts here. Captain, but, with all due respect, I have standing orders to apprehend both the Hulk and the X-Men.” He fixed a stony gaze on Cyclops and his team. “The X-Men, in particular, are wanted regarding an attack on a government installation less than twenty-four hours ago.”

  “What?” Cyclops objected, sounding genuinely surprised. The Beast and Storm looked equally perplexed. “What is he talking about?”

  Cap held up his hand to still further argument. “Let me ask you something point blank,” he said to Cyclops. “Did you or any of your team attack the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier yesterday?”

  Cyclops shook his head. “No, this is the first I’ve heard of any attack. We’ve been searching for Rogue nonstop since she disappeared yesterday afternoon.”

  “And that search didn’t include a raid on S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Iron Man pressed them.

  “No, of course not,” Storm insisted. “We have no grievances against that organization. To the contrary, Nicholas Fury is one of the few topranking officials in your government who has not supported any anti-mutant campaign.”

  That’s overstating things a bit, Cap thought. While he could not deny that the United States had sometimes sacrificed individual liberties on
the altar of national security, he remained convinced that such excesses and extremism did not represent America as a whole. The mutant-haters and genetic segregationists were only one small part of the American reality. Still, Storm sounded sincere when she said the X-Men had no reason to suspect Nick Fury of foul play against them.

  “What about the rest of your team?” Cap asked, recalling the classified security footage he had seen depicting various X-Men running amuck on the Helicarrier. He mentally compiled a list of the costumed mutants caught by the security cameras as they deployed their unearthly powers against Fury and his agents. “I don’t see, for instance, Banshee, Sunfire, Iceman, or Marvel Girl.”

  “My wife goes by the codename ‘Phoenix’ now,” Cyclops corrected him. “She’s with the Professor and the rest of the team in Antarctica now. As for the others you mentioned, Banshee is semi-retired these days, teaching in Massachusetts, while Iceman is assisting a colleague of ours in Scotland. Sunfire hasn’t fought beside the X-Men in years, but this doesn’t sound like his style. Last I heard, he was still Japan’s number one super hero.”

  “Not counting Astro Boy,” the Beast quipped.

  Who? Probably a contemporary pop culture reference, Cap guessed, although he didn’t get it. His own tastes had been shaped in the Thirties and Forties, during the era of Bogart, Bing, and Abbott and Costello. For a second, he wondered idly if the Beast had even heard of Betty Grable. I need to get out more, he decided.

  What Cyclops had told him more or less gibed, however, with his own knowledge of the individuals involved, although he’d been unaware until now that Cyclops and Phoenix had gotten married. Good for them, he thought. He found himself leaning toward the idea that the oddball assortment of past and present X-Men who had attacked the Helicarrier were impostors of some sort. Lord knew it wouldn’t be the first time unscrupulous pretenders trashed the reputations of otherwise upstanding heroes; Cap himself had been temporarily replaced by a disguised Skrull less than a year ago.

  “That’s what I figured,” he told Cyclops, then turned to face Lopez. “Colonel, I have reason to believe that the X-Men are innocent of the charges against them. I’ll vouch for them until we find evidence to the contrary.” He nodded at the officer’s two-way radio. “You can check with your superiors if you like, but I think you’ll find my priority clearances in place.”

  Lopez scratched his chin, thinking it over. Cap could tell he wasn’t looking forward to pitting his soldiers against a well-trained team of super-powered mutants. “No,” the colonel decided, “your word’s good enough for me. I’m satisfied to remand the X-Men into your custody.” He squinted past the three mutants to the mountain of green muscle towering above them. “Um, what about the Hulk?”

  “You can arrest me,” the jade colossus said, not intimidated in the slightest by the poised guns of nearby troops, “if you think you can.”

  Cap didn’t expect he’d have much trouble convincing the colonel to let him escort the Hulk away as well. He suspected that authorities on both sides of the border would be glad to see all of them go.

  Too bad they couldn’t expect the Leader to be so cooperative, if and when they finally tracked him down.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE most annoying thing about being smarter, by several orders of magnitude, than anybody else was that the only person who could truly appreciate your genius was you.

  The Leader sighed. Such was the cross he bore, by virtue of his magnificent, gamma-endowed brain. Even his partner in this latest enterprise, despite coming from an infinitely more advanced civilization than the one currently making a mess of the planet Earth, lacked any full understanding of the intricate nuances and subtleties that distinguished the Leader’s every waking thought.

  I am a prophet unrecognized in my own land, he thought, savoring a draft of delectable self-pity, although he intended to remedy that situation, once he had a world of his own to rule. Then the hapless subjects of his new dominion would have no choice but to acknowledge his transcendent superiority—or face immediate execution. After all, there would be no place in that brave new world for minds too feeble to grasp the utter primacy of the Leader’s awesome intellect; it would be only common sense to cull the herd of those mental defectives oblivious to his grandeur.

  Brahms’ Symphony No. 4 in E minor. Op. 98, played softly in the background as the Leader sat at the nerve center of his spanking new base of operations, constructed in part with the resources and technology provided by his partner. His pale green fingers rested upon an ergonomic control panel of his own design, while his voluminous skull, housing a brain larger than any other, rested against the high, padded back of a futuristic stainless steel throne. The twin hemispheres of his fantastic cranium swelled like balloons above his contemplative brow, their complex convolutions barely covered by his hairless epidermis. His flesh, the faded green of some stubborn subterranean fungus, was largely covered by a simple orange jumpsuit, but the resplendent dome of his skull proclaimed the sublime nature of his historic transfiguration to any who might look upon him.

  For now, though, Leader was alone, left to the profound privacy of his own meditations while his partner pursued their joint agenda elsewhere. He raised a Baccarat glass of wine—Chateau du Lac, 1934—to his thin lips as he effortlessly absorbed information from over three dozen video screens simultaneously. The screens were stacked, row upon row, directly in front of his throne so that he could inspect them all without having to move more than his eyeballs. Most of the high-definition color monitors were tuned to a variety of global news sources: CNN, MSNBC, the BBC, Video Free Latveria, and the strictly subscription-only Super Villain Channel, among others. A select few, however, broadcast their images exclusively to the Leader, such as the video and audio feed coming straight from the sensory receptors of his newly-acquired Gamma Sentinels.

  “Excellent,” he murmured to himself as he in effect stared through the eyes of his pet Sentinels as they ransacked the offices and laboratories of the famed Genetic Research Centre on Muir Island. So far, the intimidating automatons had easily overcome whatever meager opposition the mutant defenders of the Centre had presented; while the presence of Iceman and Nightcrawler at the Centre had not been anticipated, the Gamma Sentinels had made short work of the two callow X-Men. Now operative GS-3, cunningly crafted in the image of the hate-maddened Harpy, kept watch over the bound figure of Dr. Moira MacTaggert, the only inhabitant of the island who held any genuine interest to him. MacTaggert’s work on the genetic transmission of specific mutant traits had been intriguing, even impressive for an unevolved human female; he looked forward to interrogating her at his leisure once she was safely transported to the base.

  The Harpy herself could be seen via the eyes of GS-1, a better-than-passable simulacrum of that Freudian fool, Leonard Samson. The Leader had to applaud whatever faceless bureaucrat had come up with the deliciously droll idea of disguising their new robotic centurions as the Hulk and his bestial brethren; he supposed he should be offended that the techno-wizards at S.H.I.E.L.D. had not included an artificial “Leader” among their mechanical menagerie, but their short-sighted omission was merely more proof, as if any more were needed, of the way an unthinking world valued brute physical power over intelligence.

  To be fair, the Leader granted, it would hardly be possible to build a Sentinel that came close to duplicating my own brilliance; even Omnivac, his most accomplished creation in the field of artificial intelligence, had been a mere shadow of its maker’s unparalleled cognitive powers.

  His mood darkened as he recalled how the barbaric Hulk, in company with the self-righteous Avengers, had destroyed Omnivac on the Leader’s orbiting space station a few years ago, right before he himself had almost perished in a prehistoric volcano, thanks to Captain America, Iron Man, and, most especially, the Hulk. Putting down his wine, which had acquired an unwanted bitter aftertaste, he focused the majority of his consciousness on CNN, which was still broadcasting prerecorded news footage
of the senseless tripartite battle between the X-Men, the Avengers, and the Hulk. He watched again as Iron Man and the Hulk, one-time allies against his own manifest destiny, expended their strength and energy in costly combat atop scenic Niagara Falls.

  “Encore! Encore!” he urged sardonically. It soothed his soul to see his former enemies battling amongst themselves, thanks to his own Machiavellian manipulations. That the strife had ultimately ended in an ignominious and personally inconvenient truce was of little import; his projections had predicted an 83 percent probability that the self-styled heroes would eventually join forces, even if he had held onto a wistful hope that the unreasoning fury of the Hulk might up the casualty rate a tad.

  Call me an unrealistic, wild-eyed dreamer, he thought, sighing indulgently once more, but, deep down inside, I really thought that the Hulk might kill a couple of X-Men or Avengers.

  But, alas, as so many times before, Banner and his wretched alter ego had foiled his fondest expectations. One day I will make him pay for that, he vowed, and sooner than he thinks.

  By his advance calculations, the motley assortment of costumed crusaders must have converged by now for their most dire consultations, most likely at the Avenger’s ostentatious townhouse in Manhattan. Unless the Hulk had grown significantly dimmer since their last encounter, always a possibility where Banner’s endlessly mutable metamorphoses were concerned, he had to assume that his brutish nemesis had already detected the Leader’s hand at work in the oh-so-distressing disappearances of the Scarlet Witch and Rogue, and shared that inevitable insight with both the X-Men and the Avengers. It was considerably less likely that the puzzled heroes had yet realized that Wolverine had been abducted as well, given that the feral X-Man had been snatched in the middle of his beloved wilderness, far from public view. That missing piece of data would cost all concerned dearly, particularly as his master plan continued to play out.