In all, it had been a rather somber leaving, and as such was indicative of the general atmosphere prevailing in the aftermath of the recent battle. Though the Avengers had emerged clearly victorious, that triumph had soon taken on an oddly unsatisfying flavor. At the beginning, they had reacted as might be expected: reveling in the hardy gusto of conquest, and in the joy of knowing that none of their number had been seriously hurt. But then they had taken Captain America to the sheriff’s office—the sheriff having just returned from settling an altercation at one of the outlying pipeline repair sites—and the explanations had begun. As minutes had passed and mud had been scraped from dirty costumes, pieces of the puzzle had been put together, and the full story of Aningan Kenojuak’s despair, loneliness, and almost childlike faith had come to light. And the Avengers had found it more and more difficult to look with anger at the old Eskimo who had such a short time ago tried to destroy them all.
Their antipathy had been so blunted that when officials from the Amrek Construction Company had finally found the courage to come complaining about the destruction of their property, Iron Man had simply told them that his employer, Stark International, would pay for all damages. The officials had then left, their pomp turned to eager consultation, and Tony Stark had noted wryly that they were undoubtedly discussing the most practical way of including a half dozen previous losses on the bill they would soon be sending him. But that didn’t matter much, he thought now as he looked over at the bent old man sitting on a wooden bench, head lowered and hands clasped loosely in his lap. Aningan Kenojuak had suffered enough.
Sheriff Cordell, a mustachioed, middle-aged man in law-enforcement khakis, pulled his considerable bulk from behind his desk and moved past the nervous-looking paramedics to stand near Iron Man. Looking across at the unmelting block of ice, he shook his head and said, “It just ain’t natural, y’know? I been workin’ this territory for over twenty years, since before ol’ Seward’s Folly was even a state. An’ one thing I’ve learned to hold as gospel in all that time is that when you put heat to ice, it melts. But that hunk o’ stuff your buddy’s trapped in, well, like I said . . . it ain’t natural.”
“Sheriff,” replied Iron Man, “I’m afraid you’re right.”
“I . . . I am?” Lee Cordell was obviously pleased with himself. He was the sheriff of a small wilderness town that had been invaded by bizarre manifestations and superpowered legends, and quite frankly he didn’t know what the hell was going on. But he was absolutely delighted to think that he looked as if he did.
Iron Man continued. “My armor’s sensor system has just completed an analytical scan of the substance coating Captain America, and that block isn’t quite ice. Near as I can tell, it’s more like some form of solidified energy. It shares certain similarities with the protective glow that Mr. Kenojuak used on himself and the giant bear he sent against us. But this material is solid, and apparently quite a bit more permanent. I’ve little doubt that I could hit it with full repulsor blasts for a week and not make a crack in its surface.”
“Holy geez, Shellhead,” called the Beast from where he hung, upside down, from the bars of one of the jail cells. “We gotta do something. The Fourth of July just won’t be the same without Cap!”
“Your humor is questionable, Beast, but your sentiment is accurate.” Quicksilver had moved from a corner to stand next to Iron Man—though at such a speed that neither paramedics nor lawmen had seen him move. They silently decided not to mention it to one another.
“Captain America could be dying inside that block!” Quicksilver continued. “It is our responsibility to free him, and if our powers are useless against the substance that entraps him,” he turned his steely stare toward Aningan Kenojuak, “then perhaps we would do well to direct those powers at that prison’s creator!”
“Pietro!” Wanda’s voice was stern as she took a step toward her brother. “What are you suggesting, that we take out our anger on Mr. Kenojuak? Why, without his powers, he’s nothing but a misguided old man. How can you even think—”
Pietro put his hands on his sister’s shoulders. “Oh Wanda, Wanda, you always were so naïve. That’s why you need my protection. I wasn’t proposing retribution—merely persuasion. One of our members’ life is in jeopardy, and surely you agree that we must do everything we can to save him? Everything, no matter how unpleasant or barbaric it may seem. We are, after all, only human.”
“Some of us are.”
The hollow tones seemed cold, even in the stifling heat of the jailhouse, and all eyes turned to see the desolidified Vision stepping through the door—through the closed door. Instinctively, Sheriff Cordell’s hand went to the Magnum bolstered at his hip, then relaxed. Deputy Turnbull, a younger man, merely sat on the corner of his desk and cracked a smile—hot damn!—while the two paramedics wished they were in Bali—or Akron—or anywhere.
Restoring his mass to its normal state, the Vision resumed. “I agree that violence is a very human trait, but perhaps in this instance it can be avoided. Our common concern seems to be the restoration of Captain America, and I believe that I’ve uncovered evidence that may allow us to attain that goal through intelligence and reasoning.”
Quicksilver’s eyes narrowed as the Vision added, “When I first tore the String Of Stones from Kenojuak’s neck, my tactile sensors registered an anomaly: the jewels were far heavier than is normal for solidified mineral ornamentation. That fact triggered traces of memories that were wiped from my cicuits in my initial confrontation with the entity known as Brother Bear. Thus I returned to the knoll where we defeated that creature’s master and I examined the shaman’s broken necklace. This is what I found.”
The Vision extended a hand, opening fingers to reveal several cracked and chipped remnants of the String Of Stones. The other Avengers looked at them, their eyes slowly widening with realization, and then Iron Man stepped forward, taking one of the broken crystals somewhat awkwardly in his metal-gloved hand and holding it up to his eye slits for closer inspection. What he saw astonished him: inside the ostensibly crude religious adornment were strands of plastic-covered wire, miniature relays, and what could only be tiny soldered circuit patterns.
“Electronics!” Iron Man exclaimed, cybernetically signaling for a magnifying lens to slide down over his right eye slit. Quickly, he scanned the interior of the cracked gemstone, analyzing his observations with the acumen of one of the world’s foremost electronics experts. “These circuits look like . . . yes, they are! They’re key components of an amazingly miniaturized data-processing system. And the program elements are linked to touch-sensitive plates just below the facets of the gemstones, making the entire String Of Stones one ultrasophisticated, camouflaged computer keyboard!”
The Scarlet Witch stepped forward. “Then that’s why Mr. Kenojuak kept handling the necklace while he fought us. He was actually programming his attack!”
“So it seems, Wanda,” Iron Man said. “And I’ll bet that there’s some sort of energy converter—probably solar in nature—among the other components, along with a focusing mechanism that projected that energy to create the menaces that were sent against us.”
“That would be one wager you would undoubtedly win, Iron Man.” The Vision spoke. “For it now occurs to me why my initial attempt to disrupt the creature called Brother Bear must have failed. When I first thrust my desolidified arm into his body, I must have sensed immediately that our foe was but a physical manifestation of energy, without real substance. That would account for my uttering ‘It . . . it isn’t . . .’ There was nothing solid for me to disrupt, but before I could withdraw, Brother Bear must have sent a surge of his own energy substance through my input channels, overloading my data circuits and burning out part of my memory core. Thus I was unable to warn you that we were not battling the supernatural, but science of an awesomely high order!”
Iron Man clutched the broken crystal in his hand, feeling frustrated. Just when we’ve got one puzzle all sewn up, he thought, another pop
s up to take its place! Oh, well, no one ever said that being a superhero was a nine-to-five proposition. It would be nice to get something for overtime besides bags under the eyes though. He turned and walked over to the slump-shouldered shaman.
“Mr. Kenojuak?”
The old Eskimo didn’t stir.
“Mr. Kenojuak!”
“Eh? What?” The ancient head rose slowly, but its rheumy eyes didn’t see Iron Man. If anything, they were focused inward, looking, perhaps, for a lost soul. His own.
“What do you want?”
Even in his frustration, Iron Man found it difficult to keep the stern edge to his voice. “For starters, I’d like some answers. Like for instance,” he held out the split gemstone, “what is a tradition-bound tribal shaman like you doing with a highly complex electronic device like this?”
“What . . . ?” The old eyes swiveled in their sockets, finally coming to rest on the crystal in Iron Man’s hand. “Oh. The String Of Stones. Why, that was a gift from the Blue Totem, of course.”
“Of course. Only who the hell is the ‘Blue Totem’?”
“I think he has a show on Channel 9 Saturday mornings,” offered the Beast.
“Shut up, Hank,” the Scarlet Witch offered back.
But Aningan Kenojuak paid no attention, turning his eyes back to their inner focal point, staring through a gauze curtain of memories and speaking slowly. “It’s really quite simple. For years, I did little else but pray aloud, calling to whatever powers would listen, recounting the tragedy of the Great Sorrow and pleading for assistance in gaining my revenge. Then, only days ago, I was astonished when a marvelous manifestation appeared before me in my igloo. It was a creature of great power, whom I later came to know as the Blue Totem.
“The Totem said that he had been following the flow when he heard my prayers. He was intrigued by my mention of a god dressed in red-white-and-blue robes and then I explained the tale to him fully, he seemed . . . ecstatic. He then left me for but a second, and when he returned he brought with him the String Of Stones. This he gave to me and instructed me in its use, teaching me the patterns that would conjure forth Brother Bear, the glow of protection, and the rest. He also told me of how the ice-god had been corrupted by . . . by a cult of evil Caucasians who called themselves the Avengers. He said that I would have to destroy them—you—first if I was to retrieve my god and restore him to his former glory. The Totem then left, returning to the flow, wishing me good fortune and laughing as if at some personal joke. I could only assume that he was a totem of great mirth, for I could certainly see nothing humorous in the situation.”
Neither, apparently, could any of the Avengers. For even with the hissing radiator and the humming electric heaters, the atmosphere in the Bantu Junction Sheriff’s Office had turned suddenly chill. Iron Man had stiffened, his body as rigid as a girder, and his voice was measured and even when he spoke.
“Mr. Kenojuak, just what did this ‘Blue Totem’ look like?”
The old shaman’s eyebrows pulled closer to each other, as if gently straining to draw a certain memory into clearer focus. “He was . . . strong. Very strong. Though of a size only somewhat larger than a man, he radiated a power that was awesome to behold. It took the form of a golden nimbus that covered him head to foot and, even without asking, I knew that he could crush me with but the most insignificant flex of his smallest finger. His raiments were loose, his helm was metal and both were colored in shades of muted green and deep purple. And his face, from which I derived his name, was as blue as a summer sky.”
“Oh, my God!” The Scarlet Witch’s voice was little more than a whisper. For the chill inside the office had given way to tension, an invisible spark that flickered and skipped between the six silent heroes like mad fire. The Beast dropped to his feet, taking an uncharacteristically subdued stance on the wooden floor.
“Uh, I don’t suppose, Shellhead, that when the old guy says ‘flow,’ he means . . . ‘time stream’?”
“I’m afraid, Beast, that that’s exactly what he means.” The tension was still there, but Iron Man’s shoulders now sagged. He was tired; they were all tired. And all any of them wanted was to free Captain America and return to Avengers Mansion for some sleep, or maybe a cup of Jarvis’ medicinal coffee. But the description was clear, the evidence undeniable. And it was cruelly obvious that instead of rest and relaxation, the Earth’s mightiest heroes would very probably soon be embroiled in a struggle not only for Captain America, not only for their own lives, but for the very future of the human race!
Iron Man sighed, and with that sigh put the apprehension and anxiety felt by them all into a single word.
“Kang.”
Nine
“Just who the hell is this Kang fella, anyway? And why should he cause such a sweat among you folks? I mean, good God! You’re the Avengers!”
Sheriff Cordell was seated behind his desk once again, puzzled. In these unsettled times, there were few things one could count on with any degree of certainty—death, taxes, his pension, and the Avengers, to be exact—and when any one of those things seemed shaken, he was shaken.
“Why don’t you just find this joker,” the sheriff continued, “and stomp his butt into the ground?”
“I’m afraid it’s not that easy, Sheriff,” Iron Man answered. He was sitting across the room at Deputy Turnbull’s desk, the top of which was scattered with the dismantled remains of various electronic apparatus: a two-way radio, a digital calculator, a color TV brought in from Burton’s Bar across the street and even Sheriff Cordell’s brand-new Joe Namath-autographed hair dryer. Iron Man had pirated parts from the appliances and was combining them with bits and pieces from the elements of the broken String Of Stones, soldering the connecting points with the variable-intensity laser that was an integral part of the index finger of his right gauntlet. The device he was constructing was an odd-looking pastiche of circuits and transistors, and was about the size of a package of cigarettes.
Kurt Turnbull stood watching beside the desk, a fixed smile on his face, occasionally shaking his head in appreciation and emitting low shhh sounds.
The electric heaters had been turned off as an admitted failure, and the room was cooler now. It was also quieter. At the front of the office, Thor stood looking out a window, evidencing the patience of a god. While nearby, Wanda sat gracefully in an uncomfortable, straight-backed chair, flanked on either side by the fidgeting Quicksilver and the solemn Vision. The Beast had returned to the bars of the jail cell and was straddled across them, looking like a furry, blue spider traversing a window screen. The paramedics had been gratefully dismissed and were currently filling the gap left by the TV at Burton’s Bar.
“To begin with,” Iron Man resumed, “finding Kang is a lot harder than it sounds. Not only could he be anywhere in the world by now, but he could be anywhere in time as well!”
“Uhhhhh,” said Sheriff Cordell. He was sure Iron Man probably made sense, but what sense he didn’t know. He also didn’t know how to pretend that he did know.
The Scarlet Witch sensed the sheriff’s imminent embarrassment and spoke up. (Saved by the belle, Cordell thought.)
“You see, Sheriff, Kang isn’t like any of our more ordinary mortal foes. In fact, he may not even be mortal at all anymore, at least as we know the term. Kang is a once-human creature who holds absolute mastery over space and time. Unfortunately, he also happens to be hopelessly insane. And he’s beaten us before.”
Lee Cordell sat forward in his chair, rubbing one of his chins between thumb and forefinger, and put on his best expression of official interest. In a back corner of his mind, he wondered vaguely if urine stains could be removed from khaki.
“Kang was a scientist born in the year 3000,” Wanda continued. “Or he will be born then—it gets rather confusing. Nevertheless, by utilizing the extremely advanced science of his era, both legal and forbidden, he was able to develop a mechanism that would breech the time barrier. He immediately began moving forward in time
, only to find that for some inexplicable reason, he couldn’t travel past the fortieth century. Even when he used fortieth-century science to refine his temporal abilities to the point where they were incorporated into his own biochemical makeup, eliminating the need for mechanical time-travel devices, he still couldn’t push beyond the year 3999. And so he turned to the past—and there his madness began.”
At the deputy’s desk, Iron Man soldered a last connection on the makeshift device before him and cybernetically shut off the minilaser. Then, giving the object a last quick inspection, he set it down and turned to listen, along with the others, to Wanda’s tale.
“Apparently,” she spoke in soft, clear tones, “there is that in time travel which is the equivalent of what we call ‘jet lag.’ And as Kang made his journeys between past and future with ever-greater frequency, he became more and more disoriented, until at last the only reality he knew was the only constant he knew—himself. He began thinking of himself as some sort of deity, a being far superior to any of the lowly creatures he observed either in the past or future. And indeed, with his genius and his science, he was very nearly correct.
“Finally, he determined to exercise the growing power he felt. He journeyed to ancient Egypt, where he proclaimed himself Pharaoh Rama-Tut and sought to rule that era of time. It was only through the intervention of another superhero group, the Fantastic Four, that he was prevented from doing just that. Nevertheless, he had gotten a taste of rule, and he wanted more.
“Taking the name of Kang the Conqueror, he set about masterminding the greatest conquest of all—that of time itself! His war to rule time has included the Avengers in its skirmishes several times in its course, in different eras and under different circumstances. And in each instance we have succeeded in thwarting Kang’s plans only with increased difficulty. The last time, Kang won . . . and was only defeated, at last, by the instability of his own mind. For, sensing that we could not prevail, we baited Kang until his desire to destroy us utterly superseded his thirst for conquest. He then expended so much energy toward that end that his power sources were exhausted, and he was forced to flee through time. We barely survived that incident—and I’m not at all certain that we would be so fortunate a second time.”
Marvel Novel Series 10 - The Avengers - The Man Who Stole Tomorrow Page 10