Marvel Classic Novels--X-Men and the Avengers

by Greg Cox

  K’lrt gave little weight to the Leader’s complaints. Of course he regarded all humans with contempt; that was the natural order of things! “Enough,” he insisted, uninterested in the Terran’s self-serving rationalizations. “Tell me what you have done to my powers.”

  “The genetic templates I superimposed on your alien DNA contain, by deliberate design, a chromosomal command to switch off after an elapsed period of time,” the Leader explained, brazenly gloating over his perfidy. “As a result, the treatment is only temporary; without periodic renewals, you will invariably lose your newfound capacities.”

  So there it was, the unexpected snag in his plans. Although part of him craved the Leader’s annihilation more than ever, K’lrt forced himself to reevaluate the situation more objectively. A good commander knew when to revise his strategy in response to an unforeseen change in conditions, and it seemed that his vexing alliance with the upstart human genius would have to extend longer than the Skrull had originally planned. “I see,” he said gruffly. “I suppose I should have expected nothing better from a creature such as yourself.” Another concern troubled him far more than the Leader’s betrayal. “Of what value are these new powers if they last no longer than this? I cannot constantly flee from battle to renew my strength, and not even I can promise that every conflict will be resolved within a matter of minutes.”

  The more he contemplated the problem, the more discouraged he became. Had he labored so hard, and sacrificed the lives of his soldiers, merely to secure a momentary advantage? Perhaps he should simply kill the Leader after all; such transient powers were hardly worth tolerating the human’s odious presence.

  “The duration of the time-limit can be adjusted,” the Leader assured him. “For the purposes of the present demonstration, I judged that you would require a ‘wake-up call’ almost immediately, since I’d calculated, quite accurately as it turns out, that you would attempt to, er, redefine our relationship not long after the completion of our experiment.” The Leader inspected the hole in his bubble, cautiously running a pale green finger along its edges. “In the future, your heightened powers can be programmed to last for hours, even days, depending on your needs and expectations. But they will expire eventually, you can be sure of that.” An infuriating smile stretched beneath the furry black growth upon the Leader’s upper lip. “Back on Earth, we call that ‘planned obsolescence,’ and it’s an essential hallmark of our economic system.”

  More proof of your barbarity, the Skrull thought bitterly; it came as no surprise that the Terran’s primitive civilization was built upon premeditated sabotage. He kept his opinion to himself, however; despite his righteous anger, K’lrt had to admit that the Leader had done an effective job of making himself indispensable to the Skrull’s objectives—at least for the present. The day will come, he vowed privately, when I shall find a way around this “planned obsolescence,” and then you will rue the day you dared to deceive the most fearsome Skrull of all!

  But for now the Leader had to remain a necessary, if grossly unpalatable, part of K’lrt’s plans. “What do you want?” the Skrull asked the grinning, mutated monkey.

  “Merely the continuation of our earlier agreement and agenda,” the Leader answered blandly, shrugging his scrawny shoulders as though the matter was hardly worth mentioning. “I look forward to a grateful welcome to the Skrull Empire, and the planet you promised me.” He stroked his fuzzy lip with his fingertip. “I’ve always found contact with extraterrestrial intelligences to be highly stimulating, you know, ever since I made the acquaintance of the Watcher many years ago, near the beginning of my illustrious career. That particular close encounter ended badly, yet that has never discouraged me from seeking out new opportunities beyond the stars.”

  K’lrt let the Leader reminisce while he refocused his attention on his larger ambitions. The human’s trickery was a setback, true, but the Skrull’s overall objectives stayed the same. His splendid new powers would serve as his passport back into the good graces of the Empire, where he could swiftly overwhelm all opposition to rise to a position of power second only to the Empress herself. Then, once he was securely installed at the head of the awesome Skrull military machine, he would lead the Empire to victory over the Shi’ar and, by extension, the despicable Kree, before quashing all of the Empire’s intergalactic rivals once and for all. The Brood, the Balloon, the Z’nox, the Dire Wraiths … all would fall before the supreme power of the Ultimate Skrull and his mighty fleets. Who could predict how far he might rise? If the current Empress proved uncooperative or shortsighted, perhaps it might even be time to sire a whole new dynasty, beginning with Emperor K’lrt the First…!

  “And what of Earth?” he asked the Leader. At the back of the Skrull’s mind was the hope that the human might ultimately settle for dominion over the planet of his birth, once that minor world was rid of its irksome super heroes. “Have you no interest in ruling your own kind?”

  “You can have that misbegotten sinkhole for all I care,” the Leader replied, crushing K’lrt’s hopes of an easy solution to the problem of his burdensome ally. “As I’ve told you repeatedly, I would prefer to start afresh elsewhere in the universe.”

  He tapped his control panel and a holographic image of the Earth appeared in the air between K’lrt and the command bulb. “Nevertheless,” the Leader added, a malicious gleam in his eyes, “I do think we should leave my native world something of a good-bye gift.”

  “What did you have in mind?” the Skrull asked, curious despite his unhappiness at the Leader’s continued existence. If anything, he hated Earth, site of innumerable past defeats and humiliations, even more than he loathed the haunted satellite beneath whose barren crust he and the Leader now resided. As eager as he was to return to the splendors of the Empire, he also relished the prospect of doing lasting harm to the miserable warren the humans called home.

  “I thought you’d be interested,” the Leader said, chuckling to himself. His fingers tapped over the controls and the holographic globe was replaced by a series of three-dimensional blueprints and schematics. K’lrt recognized the images as diagrams of the internal workings of the gamma-powered robots his soldiers had hijacked from the humans’ helicarrier. “Although the prototypes for the Gamma Sentinels have all been disabled by our adversaries, we can easily reconstruct them using the resources of this moonbase.” The Leader looked as smug and pleased with himself as a Xandarian thistle-cat. “One of the advantages of my homegrown humanoids is that they are a virtually inexhaustible source of free labor.”

  “And then?” K’lrt prompted.

  “The plan is elegant in its simplicity,” the Leader stated. “The second generation of Gamma Sentinels will lure Earth’s remaining heroes into action by attacking key population centers, then detonating once the heroes are within the destruct radius of their built-in gamma bombs. The Fantastic Four, the Thunderbolts, the New Warriors, the Inhumans … every misguided conglomeration of metahuman vigilantes will be destroyed, ending forever the possibility of them interfering with my—I mean, our—future activities.”

  A most intriguing proposition, K’lrt thought, approving of the Leader’s genocidal plot. The idea of purging Earth of its indefatigable champions went a long way toward soothing a martial spirit nettled by the Leader’s pernicious subterfuge. The unworthy denizens of that backwards world had far too often played a pivotal role in interstellar affairs; they would be doing the whole cosmos a favor by putting the humans in their place at long last. The Super-Skrull particularly enjoyed the notion of Reed Richards and his meddlesome family being reduced to radioactive ashes.

  “Make it so,” he said.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  VIRIDESCENT light briefly hid the Super-Skrull from the Leader’s view, so he glanced down at the lighted panel before him. According to the gauges monitoring various aspects of the genetic superimposition, the second implementation of the Skrull/mutant synthesis program was proceeding as smoothly as the first. All pertinent variable
s were well within designated parameters while entropic flux had been kept to a minimum. Matter transportation makes genetic recoding so much easier, the Leader reflected, not to mention less invasive. Just beam in a different amino acid here, rearrange some chromosomes there and, voila, a considerably more super Super-Skrull. Quite an impressive accomplishment, if I do say so myself.

  It bothered the former Samuel Sterns not at all that his own human tissues lacked the natural elasticity needed to survive the transformation; what need had he for Hulk-like muscles or ocular death-rays? He was a thinker, not a fighter, and more than content to become the power behind the Skrullian throne. He already possessed the only asset he would ever need: his own incomparable brain.

  The emerald radiance above the transformation platform faded, and the re-refashioned Skrull stepped down from the pedestal. The Leader waited, more or less patiently, while his literal-minded alien partner predictably tested each and every one of his restored super-powers. Bone claws? Check. Eyebeams? Check. Ice? Check. Lightning? Check. Acrobatics …

  Sighing, the Leader filed his nails and amused himself by playing several imaginary games of chess simultaneously, until finally the Skrull was finished. “Feeling better now?” the Leader asked flippantly. He was eager to proceed to the next item of business.

  “It will do,” the Skrull answered brusquely. Ice-coated hands thawed out, revealing black gloves underneath. Knife-edged claws withdrew into their sheaths. “For how long this time?”

  Now that his point had been made, the Leader could afford to be magnanimous. “A full twenty-four hours,” he promised. “More than enough time to break in your new abilities like a pair of new shoes.” He glanced down at the chronometer on his control panel; according to his rough calculations, it would take approximately 48.932 hours to manufacture and dispatch a new set of Gamma Sentinels. Allowing for 5.375 more hours to entice their super heroic prey onto ground zero, the Leader estimated that he and Commander K’lrt would be ready to depart for the Skrull throneworld by the end of the week, well before the next lunar sunrise.

  But first there was a more vital item on his agenda. “Time to execute Dr. Banner,” the Leader announced cheerfully. He had been saving Banner’s demise as a special treat with which to reward himself after the success of the experiment; it would be both expedient and enjoyable to eliminate Banner, and thereby the Hulk, before saying farewell to the Milky Way forever. “The end of one chapter of my illustrious career,” he commented, appreciating the symbolism, “and the beginning of the next.”

  The Skrull shrugged, incapable of truly comprehending the pivotal significance of this moment. “Cannot you simply place the human under your control, like you have these three?” he asked, gesturing at Wolverine and his distaff confederates. “The Hulk could be a valuable weapon in our arsenal.”

  “Sadly,” the Leader explained, “the Hulk has always been immune to my mental manipulations, thus our perpetual antagonism.” Memories of past defeats at the Hulk’s hands made the present moment all the more sweet. “Speaking from painful experience, let me assure you that our fortunes can only be enhanced by the Hulk’s swift removal from this vale of tears.”

  The Leader contemplated the other tubes, containing his new collection of X-Men and Avengers. To be scrupulously honest, he had not quite made up his mind what to do with the rest of their new prisoners. Now that he had the various mutants’ genetic templates in his database, along with schematics of Iron Man’s armor and the Vision’s construction, not to mention the formula for Captain America’s fabled Super-Soldier Serum, there was really no need to keep the hostages alive, but it really seemed a shame simply to extinguish their lives when their legendary powers and talents could still be brought under his irresistible Leadership.

  The Hulk, on the other hand, had to die. Now.

  “So be it,” the Skrull agreed. “I doubt any will mourn the brute.” He approached the tube holding Banner’s unconscious form. A spear of ice formed in the Skrull’s hands, its point aimed at Banner’s heart. “It seems a shame, however, to sully my new gifts on such a menial task, against so defenseless and unworthy a foe. I am a soldier, not a butcher.”

  “You feel this killing is beneath your standards for wholesale slaughter?” the Leader asked, amused by the Skrull’s archaic scruples and code of honor. “Very well. There’s no reason you should have to stoop to so easy an execution, not while other options present themselves.” He pressed the touchpad on his wristband and the plastic tube surrounding Banner descended into the floor, leaving the slender scientist exposed. An electromagnetic stasis field kept Banner standing upright in his niche. “Specimen #3, kindly terminate Dr. Banner if you please.”

  Alert to the Leader’s command, Wolverine marched toward the open niche. Snikt. Silver blades slid from his hands.

  Kill Banner. Kill. Kill.

  The order cut through the murk in Logan’s head like a lighthouse beacon shining clear and strong through a heavy fog. Soggy and thick, the fog lay over his mind, making it hard to think, let alone figure anything out, hut he knew he had to kill the sleeping man in front of him, that much was certain. The Leader’s voice and Logan’s thoughts were one and the same.

  Or were they?

  Kill Banner. Kill… Banner?

  The only other light in the fog came from the smoldering red rage at the back of his mind, the primal bloodlust that burned right on the borderline between his murky awareness and his unconscious mind. That bestial blaze fought back against the fog, granting him shadowy glimpses of dim shapes lurking within the murk, away from the piercing light of the Leader’s commands. In the faint red glow, he could almost make out the barest outlines of other priorities, maybe even another point of view.

  Kill Banner?

  He felt confused, but he couldn’t guess why. The voice in his head, the only thoughts he could truly hear, could not be misunderstood. His orders were simple and clean, just the way he liked them.

  Kill Banner. Kill.

  Logan peered at his prey, propped up lifelessly in a recess in the wall. The man looked dead, but Logan could hear Banner’s heartbeat, slow and regular. He could smell the scent of life on the man’s pink skin, as well as the noxious reek of the chemicals drugging his blood. Banner’s scrawny chest rose and fell evenly. His exposed throat provided an easy target for Logan’s claws. Maybe too easy.

  Kill… who?

  To the Leader’s surprise, Wolverine paused before striking. The orange-suited mutant, whom the Leader had believed to be under his complete control, stood before Banner’s niche, staring at his intended victim as if uncertain what to do. The X-Man’s murderous claws hung at his sides, when, according to all reasonable expectations, they should have already been buried in Banner’s flesh. I don’t understand, the Leader thought. It’s not even like I’m asking him to go against his own nature. The man’s a natural-born killer after all.

  Wolverine’s inaction did not go unnoted by the Skrull. “Is something wrong, human?” he asked the Leader, sounding pleased that the Leader might have encountered a problem. An unseemly smirk appeared upon his reptilian countenance. “Are you still certain you can handle this ‘easy execution’ on your own?”

  The Leader’s cheeks turned a darker shade of green. This will not do, he thought, embarrassed and annoyed at losing face in front of the arrogant Skrull. “Specimen #3,” he repeated, clicking the volume on his loudspeakers up a notch. “You have your orders. Terminate Banner.”

  Down on the floor, Wolverine raised his claws until their points nudged Banner’s throat. The Leader nodded approvingly, feeling his aggravation pass from him. This is more like it, he thought, looking forward to Banner’s last choking gurgles. After so many years, and too many frustrating escapes from the Leader’s brilliantly-devised deathtraps, the long, ugly, violent rampage of the Hulk was coming to an end. “And none too soon,” the Leader whispered. In a very real sense, Wolverine’s claws would do what that original gamma bomb explosion should have ac
complished years ago: eliminate Robert Bruce Banner for good.

  Snikt. Wolverine’s claws retracted into his hands, leaving Banner’s throat unscratched. “What are you doing?” the Leader gasped, taken aback by the mutant’s unprecedented disobedience. Adding insult to Banner’s lamentable lack of injury, the Super-Skrull laughed out loud at the Leader’s failure.

  “On second thought,” the Skrull mocked, “perhaps you are not ready to rule an entire world just yet. Perhaps we can find you an island in a pond somewhere. A small island.”

  Very funny, the Leader thought, deciding that the only thing more annoying than the Super-Skrull’s warrior’s code was his feeble sense of humor. I must nip this minor insurrection in the bud promptly, he decided, before the vainglorious Commander forgets who is really the Leader here.

  Tapping out a rudimentary command on his wristband, the Leader immediately teleported himself down to the floor of the Transformation Chamber. Obviously, he had underestimated Wolverine’s volatile nature, but that was nothing a second dose of direct telepathic contact couldn’t remedy. Studiously ignoring the Skrull’s skeptical gaze, the Leader came up behind the recalcitrant mutant, who remained transfixed before Banner’s dormant form, his feral eyes riveted on the defenseless physicist’s jugular. The muscles in Wolverine’s face twitched randomly, evidence of an ongoing inner conflict. His entire body vibrated with tension, his dense black mane bristling like a cat’s. A low growl rumbled up from deep inside him.

  Clearly, the Leader concluded, Wolverine had not thrown off his mental shackles entirely, but was merely caught in a psychological limbo somewhere between free will and perfect obedience. Time for a booster shot, he thought, laying his hands against Wolverine’s temples. The X-Man’s lack of height made his head easier to reach than, say, the Skrull’s. Mental energy flowed from the Leader’s fingertips into the mutant’s skull, bringing clarity to his disordered thoughts. “Kill him,” the Leader instructed. “Now.”