Search and Rescue

by Unknown Author

  Firing a warning shot around the southeast comer of the tower, Fury stepped carefully onto the righthand side of the roof, holding onto the tower’s wooden base with one hand while hefting his handgun in the other. The roof angled steeply beneath him. A loose shingle slipped under his feet and he almost lost his balance. I’m getting too old for this high-wire garbage, he grouched privately. Let Cap and Daredevil keep the whole running-around-on-ro'oftops routine.

  Rounding the next comer, after prudently preceding his arrival with a burst of hot plasma, Fury saw evidence of Wolverine’s recent passing. Chips of broken glass and fallen flower petals seconded the message left behind by a fresh-looking scuff mark. Logan had definitely been here. Most likely, he was circling the tower in synch with Fury, keeping the ostentatious structure between them. “C’mon, you stubborn Canuck,” he said irritably, “let’s get this over with. I’ve got better things to do than ring-around-the-rosie with you the whole blamed afternoon.”

  Fury eased cautiously around the next comer, bringing him right back to where he started, facing the rear of the tower. He listened carefully for any reply from the elusive mutant. At first he didn’t hear anything, but then, just in time, he heard something scraping against the copper dome of the tower. His gaze shot up and he saw Wolverine spring from the top of the cupola, claws extended.

  “Holy cow!” There was no time to fire off a shot, but Fury managed to block the descending talons with his blaster. Shining silver adamantium sliced through the muzzle of Fury’s gun, which nonetheless deflected the claws enough to save him from turning into a S.H.I.E.L.D. shish-kabob. The force of Wolverine’s leap knocked Fury onto his back and, grappling with the homicidal mutant, he rolled down the side of the roof toward the ledge. Letting the truncated gun fall, Fury locked his hands around Wolverine’s wrists, in a desperate effort to keep those lethal claws at bay, while he dug in with his heels to slow his descent across the shingles.

  Holding back the claws wasn’t easy; Fury had forgotten how strong Logan was. Fortunately, Wolverine couldn’t get much leverage while they were tumbling. Charting their downward transit out of the comer of his eye, Fury held onto Wolverine’s gloved wrists until the two men reached the bottom of the roof and were about to go over the edge.

  Then he shoved the X-Man away with all his strength and reached out for the rain gutters running along the ledge. His fingers clamped around the side of the gutter, bringing his fall to a jarring halt. His legs dangling above the lawn two stories below, the flimsy metal of the gutter creaking unnervingly, Fury hastily pulled himself up onto the roof once more. Deep creases in the underside of his fingers stung painfully as he shook some circulation back into them and looked out over the last row of shingles, hoping to see Wolverine’s stunned body sprawled out on the grass below.

  Ain’t no way a little fall like that’s going to take Logan out of the game for good, but maybe it knocked the fight out of him, Fury thought.

  To his surprise and extreme disappointment, the only one he saw below was Agent 132, Sumi Lee, looking up at him with an expression of concern on her face. Heck, there wasn’t even a Logan-shaped depression in the lawn. “Where the devil is he?” Fury demanded. Lee pointed back up at him in time-honored he-went-thataway fashion.

  Leather soles slapped against the shingles to his left. Fury looked south and saw Wolverine running, with astonishing confidence in his balance, toward the back of the roof. He couldn’t begin to guess how Wolverine had gotten back on the roof after going over the edge, but there was no time to figure it out. Snatching his communicator from his belt, Fury barked an order into the miniaturized mike. “Target is heading south on top of the central building. All teams converge on the rear of the house. Repeat, head for the backyard . .. pronto!”

  Leaving his bisected gun lying in the gutter, Fury took off after Wolverine, but the agile mutant had too much of a head start, and too much preternatural dexterity. “Logan, stop!” Fury shouted, only seconds before Wolverine flung himself off the back of the roof. A blur of yellow and blue hung in the air for an instant before dropping quickly out of sight. Fury knew better than to think, even for a heartbeat, that the aggravatingly resourceful X-Man was committing suicide. Sure enough, a second later, Fury heard a resounding splash from the back yard.

  That doggone Canucklehead dived all the way from the roof to the swimming pool. That’s one heckuva jump, Fury thought, impressed, and not one he’d want to attempt unless he absolutely had to. Fury knew he was in good shape for a man his age, or even any age, but he never forgot that he was still only human after all. Unlike some people.

  Reaching the far end of the roof, Fury saw Wolverine rising from the deep end of the pool. The blue, chlorinated water sparkled beneath the noontime sun. I’m surprised he can float at all, Fury thought, with all that adamantium in him.

  “Too bad,” Fury muttered, watching glumly as Wolverine paddled to the side of the pool. Fury saw Logan was heading toward several acres of dense woodlands that seemed to beckon from across the spacious back lawn.

  He’s going to break for the woods, Fury knew with utter certainty, and there was no way Fury could stop him, at least not personally.

  But maybe he didn’t have to.

  A pair of Mandroids advanced on the pool from opposite ends of the estate. Whining servomotors carried their armored limbs swiftly across the grass until they reached the concrete walkway outlining the pool. By now, Wolverine had completely emerged from the pool and stood, dripping, on the sidewalk between the two Mandroids. His feral gaze darted from right to left, taking in both steel-jacketed titans. “Surrender and you will not be harmed,” one of the Mandroids announced. His electronically amplified voice held no trace of doubt or apprehension. “Don’t make us resort to force.”

  Fury could have told the agent inside the bulky armor that he was wasting his breath, but couldn’t fault the man for following procedure, even if all his warning did was provoke Wolverine into striking first. The Mandroid stood more than a yard taller than the diminutive X-Man, yet you wouldn’t know it from the way Wolverine charged fearlessly at one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s state-of-the-art technological enforcers. Although he could not see Wolverine’s masked face from where he was standing, Fury could easily imagine the crazed, bloodshot ferocity in Logan’s eyes.

  The Mandroid’s right arm swiveled upward so that the handmounted stun cannon in his metal mitt pointed at the onrushing mutant. The cannon emitted a high-frequency neuronic burst that struck Wolverine head on. An agonized howl escaped the X-Man’s lips, but he kept on coming, slashing out with his claws at the power cable connecting his target’s right gauntlet to the central chassis of the Mandroid’s armor. Sparks erupted as the adamantium razors severed the cable, cutting off the flow of power to the stun cannon. Fury grimaced and rummaged in his pockets for a fresh cigar, which he figured he was going to need. With one blow, Wolverine had already eliminated one of the Mandroid’s major weapons.

  But that didn’t mean the armored agent was down for the count. His left arm swung like a mace and knocked Wolverine onto the cement near the elevated diving board. But Logan sprang up again almost instantly. The Mandroid swung with his right arm, but Wolverine ducked beneath the blow. Instead the Mandroid’s reinforced steel arm smashed through the lightweight aluminum ladder supporting the diving board. Metal screeched in protest as the entire platform toppled forward into the pool.

  Wolverine lashed out at the Mandroid’s legs. His claws grazed the omnium steel outer layer of the armor until the besieged operator activated his protective force field. Portable generators located in the Mandroid’s hip pods produced an intense electro-gravitic shield that deflected Wolverine’s claws before they could do too much damage. A shimmering purple aura outlined the Mandroid’s golden armor as Wolverine continued to flail away at his opponent, however, trying to overcome its defenses through sheer, savage persistence. Luminous blue flashes crackled wherever his claws came into contact with the glowing barrier protecting
his foe.

  Crouching on the rooftop, Fury struck a match against a slate shingle and lit his cigar. He took a deep puff to take the edge off his frustration at being stuck on the sidelines. He felt like an athletic coach forced to fight his battles from the bleachers. At least I’ve got a front-row seat, he thought as the fumes from his cigar filled his lungs; one of the distinct advantages of immortality was not having to worry about carcinogens. Let’s hope those Mandroids are worth everything we paid for them.

  The force field could also be used as a tractor beam, as demonstrated by the second Mandroid, who, standing astride the hot tub at the shallow end of the pool, directed a ray of purple energy at the frenzied mutant. The beam, capable of lifting nearly a thousand pounds, seized hold of Wolverine and hoisted him into the air in front of the first Mandroid, who diverted his own force field to offensive purposes, catching the struggling X-Man in a crossfire of opposing tractor beams. Squeezed between glimmering rays of force, Wolverine was carried out above the center of the pool. He hovered several feet above the sparkling surface of the blue water, kicking and thrashing violently, but seemingly unable to break free from the high-tech trap. His claws couldn’t do him much good, Fury noted, if Logan couldn’t reach anything with them.

  The third and final Mandroid, the one who had originally been stationed at the front of the mansion, stomped onto the scene, but it was starting to look like the extra man-machine might not be needed. “We’ve got you now,” the second Mandroid informed Wolverine, her voice revealing that there was a female agent inside that particular suit of armor. “You might as well stop fighting us. Resistance is futile.”

  Somebody’s been watching too much Star Trek, Fury thought. Not that he cared much; the Mandroid operator could spend her free time vegging out on Teletubbies as long as she got the job done. He stood up, stretching his legs, and looked around for the best way down from the roof. The sooner he pried some answers out of Wolverine, the better.

  Then, just when he thought the time-consuming conflict was finally over, something strange happened. Before his puzzled eye, the purple beams snaring Wolverine pulsed in a way he didn’t recognize. Peculiar ripples seemed to radiate from Logan’s trapped figure, flowing outward along the tractor beams toward the victorious Mandroids, who were now being pulled forward toward Wolverine. Immense metal feet scraped against cement as the Mandroids were dragged against their will toward the edges of the pool, leaving deep skid marks in the concrete behind them. Both Mandroids tried to cut off the beams at their source, but it was too late. Wolverine’s levitating form suddenly plunged into the water below, dragging both Mandroids with him. Seven hundred pounds of omnium steel alloys, not to mention two flesh-and-blood S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, crashed facefirst into the pool. The Mandroid at the deep end immediately sank to the bottom while the one at the shallow end smacked against the concrete floor of the pool.

  Fury wasn’t sure which Mandroid had it better, but he hoped for their sakes that there was plenty of padding under the steel skin. Wolverine himself vanished beneath the frothing waves stirred up by the Mandroids’ spectacular splash landings.

  That left one Mandroid up and about. The other S.H.l.E.L.D. agents dashed out of the rear of the house and joined the Mandroid around the rectangular basin. If nothing else, they had Wolverine surrounded. There was no way he could exit the pool without having to get by Fury’s dedicated people. Unfortunately, knowing Logan, he was perfectly capable of hacking his way to freedom through the mangled bodies of even the best trained field agents.

  There was only one thing to do. “Boil him!” Fury barked into his communicator, and the remaining Mandroid responded. The Mandroid fired at the pool with a high-powered, 250 watt laser torch. The incandescent red beam raised the temperature of the pool to boiling point in a matter of seconds. Billowing clouds of steam rose from the pool, obscuring Fury’s view of the scene and forcing the non-armored agents to back away from the bubbling cauldron the pool had become. Fury could hear the agitated water seething from three stories away.

  “C’mon, Logan,” he muttered. “Give it up.” He wasn’t worried about the two submerged agents. The Mandroid suits came complete with their own internal air supply and enough insulation and shielding to withstand extreme high temperatures and radiation.

  Logan was another story. Not even that scrappy survivor could last long in that overheated stew. Fury peered through the rising mist, expecting to see a scalded figure leap, crawl, or scurry from the boiling water. Wolverine’s mutant healing factor was going to get a real workout here, but Fury knew that the X-Man stood a better than even chance of recovering from his injuries; he just hoped Logan would stay conscious long enough to cough up some solid info on what the X-Men were up to.

  But what was taking so dam long? As two full minutes passed, Fury grew uneasy. He had wanted to drive Wolverine out of the pool and into his assault team’s clutches, not cook Logan within an inch of his life. Heck, judging from the quantities of steam spilling into air, there couldn’t be that much water left in the pool.

  “That’s enough,” he ordered into his communicator. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  The Mandroid promptly shut off its laser and stepped back from the pool. Tiny drops of condensation beaded all over the golden armor. Fury waited impatiently for the mist to clear, grinding his cigar between clenched teeth. As opaque clouds of steam thinned, he saw that close to two-thirds of the chlorinated blue water had evaporated, leaving barely enough to cover the bottom of the pool. Two overturned Mandroids lay amidst the shallow water, along with the torn and twisted remains of the diving platform. Sporadic bubbles percolated to the surface of the slowly-cooling water.

  But Wolverine was not there.

  “What in blue blazes—?” Fury exclaimed. His gaze swept the pool from the deep end to the shallow, but located no trace of the indomitable X-Man. He saw the agents below shake their heads in confusion as they rapidly came to the same conclusion: their quarry had gone missing.

  Where did he go? Fury wondered. And, more importantly, how?

  Logan was a crafty devil, with lots of hidden talents, but disappearing into thin air wasn’t one of them. It was like Wolverine had evaporated along with the liquid contents of the X-Men’s recreational reservoir, which was flat-out impossible. For that matter, Fury recalled, how had Wolverine kept from falling off the roof earlier? And how did he pull that stunt with the tractor beams? Since when has Logan been able to manipulate force fields?

  “I don’t get it,” Fury muttered. “Something doesn’t add up.” He watched unhappily as the agents below checked on the fallen Mandroids, not even smiling when Agent Lee gave him the thumbs-up sign. Nobody had gotten hurt, but, even outnumbered and outgunned, Wolverine had given them all the slip, leaving behind only still more unanswerable questions.

  “All right,” he barked to his team, “let’s keep searching this building. Look under every ashtray, rug, and mutant thingamajig. These are classified weapons we’re looking for, everyone, so I’m not leaving until we’ve checked out every square inch of this place.”

  Ashes from his cigar dropped onto the shingled roof and Fury ground the smoldering embers out with his heel. Deep down inside, he guessed they wouldn’t find anything. The X-Men were long gone, and so were his hopes of easily recovering the lost Gamma Sentinels.

  Fury turned north—toward Niagara Falls. He crossed his fingers and hoped that, whatever trouble they had gotten into, Captain America and his Avenger pals were getting closer to the truth than he was.

  Och, ’tis about right, Bobby. Can ye lower the temperature a wee bit more?”

  Dr. Moira MacTaggert, director and founder of the Genetic Research Centre, peered into the binocular lenses of an electron microscope whilst across the laboratory Bobby Drake, the mutant known as Iceman, laid his hand atop a sealed, transparent cylinder containing an open petrie dish. Waves of intense cold radiated from Bobby’s palm, frosting the exterior of the plexiglass cylinder. “How’s
that?” he asked cheerfully.

  “Perfect,” Moira replied, not lifting her eyes from her microscope, which was connected by hidden cables to the lighted platform on which the cylinder rested. Her voice held a distinct Scottish brogue. A brown-haired woman in her early forties, she wore a pristine white labcoat over her everyday attire. A pair of horn-rimmed reading glasses hung on a chain around her neck. “By coolin’ the sample to near absolute zero, you’ve slowed the chemical reactions to a point where I can actually watch the virus mutate.”

  Bobby shrugged; the slim American youth was no scientist. “Whatever you say, doc. I’m just glad I could help.” He wore a two-toned blue uniform that left his head and short brown hair exposed. A crystalline layer of ice covered his right hand, extending partway up his wrist, but he didn’t look at all uncomfortable. He wasn’t even shivering.

  “I don’t know how I’d manage without ye,” Moira insisted. “Your innate ability to generate cold lets me control the temperature of this experiment to an astoundingly fine degree. None of my very expensive refrigeration equipment is anywhere near as precise.” She looked up from her work to smile in Bobby’s direction. “Thanks so much for flyin’ ail the way from New York to assist me like this.”

  “No problem,” Bobby said amiably. “I know how important your work is, trying to cure the Legacy Virus and all. I’m always happy to drop by.” He took a bite from the blueberry popsicle in his free hand; not surprisingly, Iceman had a weakness for frozen deserts. “What’s a little jet lag between friends?”

  My sentiments exactly, Kurt Wagner thought, watching the scene from above. He hung by his prehensile tail from one of several sturdy metal rings he had personally installed in the lab’s ceiling several years ago, just to indulge his acrobatic proclivities. Moira’s research complex, located on scenic Muir Island, off the coast of Scotland, had been his home for many years, although he had recently moved back to the X-Men’s headquarters in America. His own mutant talents were not particularly required for Moira’s latest round of experiments, but he needed little excuse to visit an old friend and familiar haunts.