Civil War Prose Novel

by Stuart Moore

  But if she fired at the robot now…

  “Carol.” Tony’s amplified voice was sharp, deliberately piercing. “Civilian safety first.”

  Ms. Marvel grimaced, nodded, and swooped downward.

  The robot reached a huge arm down toward the frightened woman. She stood frozen, backed up against the car, her fingers rigid around her baby. Ms. Marvel arced down between them, reaching out. But the woman shrank even farther back.

  She’s as terrified of us, Tony realized, as of the Doombot.

  “Protocols,” he said.

  Ms. Marvel seemed to pivot in midair on the ball of her foot, coming to a stop just above the battered car. The robot’s head bobbed up and down in a confused motion, looking from her to the woman and back again.

  Tony found himself staring at Ms. Marvel. She’s beautiful. Statuesque, powerful, with a dancer’s grace. A model for everything we’re trying to achieve.

  Ms. Marvel turned to the woman and spoke in even, rehearsed tones.

  “I am Ms. Marvel,” she said, “a registered superhuman. Real name, Carol Danvers. I’m here to assist you. Please stand back and allow me to—”

  Tony was already in motion—but a half-second too late. The robot lifted its huge metal arm and swatted Ms. Marvel out of the air.

  “AVENGERS ASSEMBLE!”

  Tony’s powerful repulsor rays blasted into the robot’s head. Sparks showered into the air. He retreated back a few feet and activated a multiple camera protocol. All at once, his internal monitors showed:

  Ms. Marvel had struck a building, raining bricks down onto the sidewalk. She was clearly dazed, but her pulserate showed even. No serious injuries.

  The woman ran off down the street, holding her baby. Safe.

  The Doombot’s brain-casing had cracked open, exposing servos and circuitry. But it was still standing. Tony felt the tingle of a radar lock, and saw an unfamiliar weapon-tube extruding from the ’bot’s finger.

  Spider-Man webbed through the air toward the battle. Cage and the Black Widow ran down the street, half a step behind him.

  Cage and the Black Widow ran down the street, half a step behind him.

  The Doombot’s weapon let out a bright arc-light flash, blinding Tony momentarily. Eye-filters dropped down automatically in less than a second. It took another three seconds for his vision to clear, and by then:

  The robot was still in motion, but the Avengers were on it. Cage had climbed onto its back, pounding at it with steel-hard fists. Widow stood perched on a lamp-post, blasting its chest with her stingers. The robot lurched from side to side, almost as if it could feel the pain of their assault.

  “I AM—DOOM,” it crackled.

  Spider-Man landed light as a feather on the street, just behind the robot. He planted his feet firmly, reached out both arms, and fired off a thick barrage of sticky webbing. It struck the robot’s back—elegantly missing Cage, who climbed up toward the ’bot’s head. The robot stopped short, anchored back by the pull of the webbing.

  Cage spotted the robot’s shattered brain casing and smiled a nasty smile. He cracked his knuckles once, then reared back and started pummeling the ’bot’s circuitry.

  “Cage,” Tony said. “Protocols.”

  Cage ignored Tony. He reached inside the robot’s head and began yanking out wires. Electric flashes sparked harmlessly off his tough skin.

  Tony moved in, repulsors glowing. “Hold it steady, Pe—uh, Spider-Man.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  The webbing formed a thick cable now, stretching from Spider-Man’s wrists to the struggling Doombot. With practiced ease, Spidey twirled his hands and grabbed hold of the webbing, just as the last of it shot free of his web-shooters. Then he pulled.

  The Doombot raised a leg, tried to move forward. Spider-Man held firm, his lean muscles straining. The Doombot stopped dead, stuck in place.

  Inside his armor, Tony smiled with pride. These were the new Avengers. His Avengers.

  “Keep it up, Peter. Nice work.”

  “Thanks. Hey, Tone, when this is over, I need to talk to you about a few things.”

  “I don’t have a hole in my schedule till next spring. Let’s do it now.”

  Still gripping the webline, Spider-Man turned gold-metallic eyes upward in surprise. “Now?”

  Tony switched to a private frequency. “It’s called multitasking.”

  “Whoa! It’s like you’re inside my head.”

  Then Ms. Marvel swooped up again, in front of the ’bot. She fired off twin energy-blasts from her hands, and the Doombot’s head caved in. It let out a piercing, electronic cry.

  “Tick tock, Peter.”

  “Right. Well, first off, I got your first stipend check. And…”

  “Make sure they took out the FICA. FICA will really come back and bite you.”

  “Tony, it was more than I made last year.”

  Tony blasted the robot once, twice. It lurched; its head lolled loose now, connected to its body by a thick cable.

  “You’re earning it, Peter. Right now.”

  “Well, you know. Thanks.”

  Cage was pounding repeatedly on the robot’s stomach now, bashing a deep dent in its metal hide. The ’bot doubled forward, falling to its knees.

  Tony reached out and swatted the robot sideways. Switching his anchor web to one hand, Spider-Man reached out with the other and webbed up the thing’s optical sensors. Its head swung wildly, side to side, on the end of that cable.

  “Peter, listen.” Tony gestured to Ms. Marvel, who let out another fearsome energy blast. “The Superhuman Registration Act becomes law at midnight tonight. I’ve personally assured the president that I will take charge of its implementation.”

  “You?”

  “Someone has to do it. Nobody wants some faceless administration bureaucrat in the job. Better that it’s someone who understands the powered community, who’s registered and operating publicly himself.”

  “I…yeah. Yeah, that makes sense.”

  “I’m going to need you at my side.”

  “For that stipend? You got it.”

  “It’s not a simple matter, Peter.” Tony flipped channels momentarily. “Natasha, sever that thing’s head, will you?”

  From her perch atop a lamppost, the Black Widow smiled. Her stingers flashed out, and the Doombot’s head tumbled free. But its body kept moving, lurching around randomly, dangerously close to the fenced-in spectators.

  “Peter, I’ll need your help in some matters of…enforcement. Details will be forthcoming.”

  “Okay. I guess.”

  “And there’s something else. You know what I’m talking about.”

  “Tony…”

  “Peter, it’s the right thing to do.” Tony paused, turned up his volume slightly. “And as of midnight, it’s the law.”

  Spider-Man’s expression was unreadable beneath his mask. But Tony’s readouts showed elevated levels of adrenaline within him, and an accelerated pulse rate.

  Cage grappled with the Doombot’s leg, kneecapping it repeatedly with one powerful punch after another. “This boy takes some punishment,” he said.

  “It’s not open for negotiation, Peter.”

  “I…I need you to promise me something.”

  “Name it.”

  “My aunt. Aunt May. No matter what happens, you have to keep her safe.”

  “Peter, I swear to you right now: If you do this, I’ll personally protect that sweet old lady till one of us is dead. And I suspect she’ll outlive me.”

  Spider-Man tensed, grunted. Then, drawing on every ounce of his spider-enhanced strength, he yanked hard on the webline. Cage leapt free, the Widow jumped down. Ms. Marvel wafted upward, all grace and power.

  The Doombot crashed to the pavement in a shower of sparks. One leg joint twitched briefly, rattling against a manhole. Then it was still.

  Tony looked down, surveying the scene. The Do
ombot lay in a sprawl of cracked tar, smack in the middle of the street. The Avengers stood in a circle around it, dusting themselves off. Natasha stretched a sore muscle.

  Tony made a thumbs-up gesture to the crowd, and the police started lowering the barricades. People crept in cautiously, toward the middle of the street. Businessmen, tourists, women with strollers. They stared at the robot, hushed, for a long moment. Not speaking, barely breathing.

  Then the crowd erupted in a roar of applause.

  Tony reached out and took Ms. Marvel’s hand. Together, like royalty, they descended to the street.

  “Hear that?” Tony said. “That’s the sound of people starting to believe in heroes again.”

  “I ain’t sure.” Cage approached, rubbing his knuckles. “We still gonna be super heroes after this, Tony? Won’t we just be S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, on the federal payroll?”

  “No, Luke. We’re heroes. We tackle super-crime and we save people’s lives.” Tony glanced at Spider-Man. “The only thing changing is that the kids, the amateurs, and the sociopaths will be weeded out.”

  Widow raised an eyebrow, caustic as always. “Which category does Captain America fall into, Anthony?”

  Tony rose up slightly, twirled around. He raised powerful arms to the crowd, and they cheered again.

  Ms. Marvel smiled. Cage grimaced, looked away. Natasha nodded.

  Spider-Man’s face was hidden, but Tony knew he was listening to every word.

  Tony swooped low over the prone, unmoving Doombot. He reached out a metal gauntlet to a teenaged couple, who stood watching with wide eyes. The boy nodded, flashed Tony a thumbs-up sign.

  “Trust me, Natasha. Cap’s wrong this time.”

  SUSAN Richards was tired. Tired of hospital food, of hospital coffee. Tired of chatting with her groggy brother, trying to keep his spirits up. Tired of prying information out of the doctors about how well the operation had gone. Of trying to explain to the nurses that they needed to keep Johnny’s fever down at all times, unless they wanted to walk in one morning and find the sheets accidentally charred to ashes.

  Mostly, she was just tired.

  “Franklin?” She kicked off her shoes, flipped on the living room light. “Val, honey?”

  Silence.

  She pulled out her phone. A light was blinking: new text message. It was from Ben Grimm.

  Suzie - Franklin wanted to see the new Pixar flick, so I took the rugrats out. Figred you an Big Brain could use a little alone time.

  And a second message:

  Ok, I’M the one wanted t see the Pixar flick. Val was pushin for a documentry but Im still bigger n her.

  Sue smiled. At times like this, she realized what a blessing the Fantastic Four was. They weren’t just a team, like the Avengers or the Defenders. They were a mutual support group, a family. A comfort when times got rough.

  She padded through the living quarters. Checked the mail, flipped on the muted TV. More footage of the Stamford explosion, rising up in a thick black cloud. Were they ever going to stop showing that?

  Almost ritualistically, Sue paced through the dining room, kitchen, all three bathrooms. Franklin’s little room and Val’s littler one. The master bedroom was dark, empty, the bed undisturbed where the robot maid had neatened it this morning.

  Quit stalling, she told herself. You know where he is.

  Reed’s lab was buzzing, both figuratively and literally. Over the past week, he’d rented a dozen extra high-powered computer systems from Columbia University, airlifting them in and networking them into his existing databases. The floor was a spaghetti-tangle of cables, server boxes, routers, and switches.

  And in the center: a hexagonal table strewn with laptop computers, papers, and tablets. Reed sat at the far end, his elongated neck craned up and around, eyes flicking from a tablet computer to a sheaf of hologram-stamped papers marked CLASSIFIED.

  God, Sue thought, I love him.

  She knew how Reed got when he was deep into his research. In order to get his attention, she’d have to say at least four separate outrageous things, waiting after each one for him to grunt. Sometimes punching was required.

  To her shock, he looked right up and smiled at her.

  “Susan!” Reed exclaimed. “You wouldn’t believe what happened this morning.”

  She smiled, glanced at the sprawl of wiring. “I guess it wasn’t the electric bill.”

  “I alerted the Avengers to a Doombot, helped them stop its rampage. And—and afterward, Tony came by and we talked for a long time. He’s got a lot of plans, honey. A lot of very important plans.”

  “Mm.”

  “This is the biggest thing I’ve ever worked on.” His eyes were flashing; Sue had never seen him like this. “Tony wasn’t kidding when he said he’d revolutionize every metahuman in America. I haven’t been this excited since I saw my first singularity.”

  “I’d be excited too,” she said slowly, “if Tony’s genius plan didn’t mean jail for half our Christmas list.”

  “Yes, yes, I know.” He turned away, activated a large wall screen. “But it’s their choice. They can always register.”

  “About this Registration—”

  “It’s a must, honey. Take a look at my projections.”

  Frowning, Sue crossed to the wall screen. Reed’s handwriting covered it, floor to ceiling: equations, notes, circles, strikeouts.

  “This is gobbledygook,” she said.

  “No no.” He stretched up behind her, pointed to the screen. “It’s the exponential curve the number of super-beings is following. We’re seeing more every year: mutants, accidents, artificially powered humans like Tony. Aliens. Even time travelers. It’s an enormous social danger.”

  “They’re all people,” she whispered.

  “We’re facing an apocalypse if the unregulated activity isn’t brought under control.” She felt his hand, soft, on her shoulder blade. “This isn’t politics, darling. It’s science. I’d reached this conclusion already; Tony’s plan is just the best, quickest way to prevent disaster.”

  She said nothing.

  “You should have seen the team in action this morning,” Reed continued. “Tony showed me the video. They did their job perfectly, and they did it all within the new guidelines. This can work, darling. Plus it’s an amazing opportunity for us.” He gestured wildly now, his elongated arms clicking on touch screens all over the room. “You should hear the ideas we’ve been tossing around. I feel like a concept machine.”

  Reed’s arm had snapped back; his fingers caressed the small of her back now. Slowly his hand crept downward.

  Sue and Reed had always had an active sex life, even after the kids were born. More than once, she’d laughed to herself about the image their friends had of them. Everyone saw Reed as a cold, obsessive scientist, and her as a cheery mother figure. They had no idea.

  But this…something was deeply, profoundly wrong. Involuntarily, she flashed on her force field. Reed snatched his fingers away as though he’d been stung.

  “Sorry,” they both said, almost simultaneously.

  Suddenly a loud, grinding noise filled the room. Sue whirled toward the Negative Zone portal. Its lights flashed; its circular perimeter whirled to life. Within the portal, a swirling mass of stars appeared, dotted with asteroids and distant, fast-moving humanoid forms.

  “It’s all right,” Reed said. “Just running a test.”

  The portal ground louder, rising in pitch. Above it, near the ceiling, a display screen lit up: PROJECT 42 GATEWAY DRILL / SUCCESSFUL.

  “Project 42?” Sue shouted. “What’s that?”

  Reed cocked his head, peered at her with an odd expression. Hesitated.

  Then a sharp metallic voice cut through the noise. “It’s classified.”

  As Sue watched, the red-and-gold figure of Iron Man appeared within the portal. His boot-jets flared, propelling him up and outward. He hovered gracefully for a moment, then swooped out into the room.

  “Hello, Susan,” Tony sai
d.

  “Tony,” she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

  The portal cycled to a halt. The stars faded, and the portal irised closed.

  Reed smiled at Tony, stretched his upper body around to face him. “How were conditions inside?”

  “Interesting.” Tony flashed a red-glowing eye at Susan, then cut off Reed with a hand gesture. “I think it’ll do.”

  “I’ll collate the data on—”

  “We’ll discuss it later. I have to get going.” Tony looked up, as if distracted by some signal coming through his armor. “The SRA becomes law at midnight. Your paperwork’s done, right?”

  Reed frowned. “We’re already public. Our identities are known.”

  “Nonetheless, there are forms. We need your power levels, known weaknesses, any prison record or incidents where a member of your team has lost control.”

  “Of course.” Reed nodded several times, his mind racing. “I also want to talk to Doctor Pym about that Niflhel Protocol you mentioned—”

  “Reed.” Tony leaned in, metallic eyes flashing red. “Not now.”

  Sue’s eyes narrowed. Reed had never kept secrets from her before.

  “Honey.” Reed craned his neck around, smiled hesitantly at Sue. “Can you take care of that paperwork Tony mentioned?”

  “It’s all online,” Tony said.

  Tony was hovering just off the ground, she noticed, giving him an air of additional height and authority. He looked like a creature from a ’50s sci-fi movie, an alien overlord come to rule benevolently over Earth. The Iron Man armor covered every inch of his body, leaving no visible trace of his humanity.

  And Reed seemed totally in his thrall. Like a teenager with a boy-crush.

  “Sure,” Sue said. “Oh, and Reed?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Your brother-in-law’s doing better. The surgeon managed to get the bone fragments off his brain; they might even release him in a day or two.”

  “That’s—”

  “Just in case you give a damn.”

  Then she turned and stalked away, out of the room. Feeling the cold, red-laser eyes of Iron Man on her back, with every step.

  TONY Stark’s limo held every type of soft drink known to man. Cola, diet cola, orange, grape; fruit punch and Gatorade, eight kinds of vitamin water. Regular and decaf, plus dangerously overcaffeinated tipples from South America. Sculpted glass bottles adorned with Japanese characters, each sealed with a single marble. Vintage brands like Jolt, Patio, and New Coke, scavenged from warehouses all over the world.