Spider-Man
Page 17
At least I can count on JJJ to stick to business… The door flew open. Jameson leveled a pencil at him. “It is you!”
Peter held up his camera. “I’ve got some Spidey pics.”
Jonah tsked. “Your aunt’s lying in the hospital and you’re out gallivanting with that vigilante? I thought you were better than that, kid.”
Peter threw up his hands. “Last time I saw you, you were screaming that if I didn’t bring in more pictures fast, I’d be fired!”
“Sure, blame the man who provides you with a living.” Jameson grabbed the camera and clicked through. “Peh. I could splatter these across the front page: Spider-Menace Beaten by Ten-Year-Old. But I won’t, and you know why?”
“Because people are sick of you attacking Spider-Man?”
“No! Wait, did that new intern show you our survey results? Well, that’s got nothing to do with it! The only reason I’m not using these photos is to teach you a lesson about priorities.” He shook his finger in Peter’s face. “Family first!”
Between the hospital, class, and the tablet, Peter had expected a long day. He hadn’t expected the morning, all on its own, to feel like two weeks.
So when he switched to Spider-Man and took to traveling high above the sidewalks, he didn’t kid himself that acrobatics could take his mind off things. It wasn’t the usual guilt that plagued him, or the sense that the world had done him wrong.
It wasn’t, Oh, no, everyone hates me!
It wasn’t even, Aunt May needs me and I can’t be there for her!
It was the sickly realization that she could actually die.
Part of him knew it had to happen eventually. But she was his mother figure, his anchor. He hated to think her feet might get chilly if she didn’t have enough blankets, let alone that one day she’d end up beneath the ground in that endless field of stones.
He was still thinking about it when he landed on the rear wall of ESU’s Life Sciences building. Long minutes passed before he remembered why he’d come.
I’m so twisted up I can’t think straight. No wonder Aunt May didn’t want to tell me about her health.
He rapped on the glass. A one-armed man, alone in the classroom, whirled from his blackboard calculations and greeted Spider-Man with a smile. This time, Peter didn’t need to look up a hieroglyph expert online. One of the only two people who’d managed to translate the tablet, Dr. Curt Connors, happened to be an ESU adjunct, on track to becoming a full professor.
He cranked open the window and beckoned Spider-Man in. “What can I do for you?”
Spider-Man touched down on the floor and pulled the webbed stone off his back.
“I really hate to tell you this, but…”
After a brief explanation, he showed Connors the photos. “Is it possible Silvermane survived?”
A grim Connors circled the boy’s face with his finger. “I see the resemblance, especially in his eyes. But, honestly, I have no idea if it’s possible, or what it might mean.”
“Did the tablet have any instructions? Like, ‘Take two of me and call me in the morning’?”
Connors nodded. “Once Wesley and I separated the chemical formulation from the prose, we focused on the chemistry. With some further study, though, I might be able to learn something. Do you want to leave it with me?”
Spider-Man shook his head. “Doc, you’re one of the only people in the world I trust, but as long as I don’t know who’s after this thing or why, I don’t want to let it out of my sight. That’s as much for your safety as it is for anyone else’s. Can you make a charcoal rubbing of it or something?”
“A rubbing wouldn’t work. The meaning of the glyphs varies with their depth.” Tapping his chin, he looked around. “I don’t have a 3D scanner handy, but I do have some quick-setting silicone that I use to make fossil molds. I hesitate to use it on such a singular artifact, but the stone seems durable, and I suppose we don’t have much choice. Can you spare 15 minutes?”
Spider-Man glanced at the clock. There was plenty of time before his Advanced Experimental Physics class. “For an ancient relic? Sure.”
He set the tablet on the desk. Connors covered it with lubricant, then poured the liquid silicone and worked it into the carved runes. As Spider-Man watched, his mind drifted back to Aunt May.
He is one of the only people I can trust. Why not trust him with something else?
“Doc, you mind if I ask you about something more personal?”
“Are you kidding?” Connors smiled. “You saved my family’s life and kept me from spending the rest of mine as a mindless predator. Ask whatever you want.”
Peter exhaled. “Okay, then. Someone I love is going to need a liver transplant, and I’m the most available donor. Only, my body and my blood are, well, radioactive, for starters—it’s tied in with how I became what I am. I want to help, but I’m afraid that disqualifies me.”
Connors nodded in sympathy. “I’m sorry. Have you told the surgeon?”
Peter pointed at his mask.
“Right. Your identity. Of course.” The tablet was covered with silicone now. Connors set a small timer and placed it next to the stone. “You probably don’t want to hear this, but from what I already know about your physiology, it certainly does disqualify you. Modern surgical teams are trained to deal with a lot of things, but radioactive blood isn’t one of them.”
Spider-Man stiffened. “I…have to do something.”
Connors put a hand on his shoulder. “I understand, better than most. It wasn’t long ago I was fiddling with the DNA of other creatures because I had to do something to help. We know how that worked out. Even if they did go ahead with the transplant, it would be the first of its kind, adding huge layers of risk to an already complicated procedure. I certainly wouldn’t risk it, particularly with someone I cared for. I would…try to find another way.”
The wall-crawler sighed and lowered his head. “I was afraid you’d say something like that. Now I just have to figure out how to tell them without telling them. Thanks, Doc.”
The room fell silent save for the ticking timer. When it dinged, Connors peeled the rubbery cast from the stone. “How should I contact you if I learn anything?”
“Oh.” Spider-Man grabbed a pen and scribbled a number on a pad. “This is Peter Parker’s number. He can get a hold of me. He’s a student here.”
Connors looked at the name. “The fellow who takes photos of you. If you speak to him before I do, you might want to tell him Professor Blanton mentioned his name at a faculty meeting, and not in a good way.”
Perfect.
“I’ll, uh, do that.”
“Wait. Before you go, I think I have an airtight case about the right size for the tablet. It is our only relic from a lost civilization.”
“Sure. As long as I can carry it.”
The slim silver case was a snug fit, but it worked. Spider-Man secured it to his back and left Dr. Connors to his work. Crawling to the front of the building, he glanced across the plaza at the large Art Deco clock tower atop the recently reopened Exhibition Hall. With plenty of time to get to class, his eyes wandered down to the line at the entrance.
Took them long enough to finish the renovations, but at least it looks like the hall’s attracting plenty of those potential donors that the dean—
His body flew into a tuck jump. A park bench, of all things, came flying at him. It’d been ripped from the asphalt and thrown. That meant two things: Whatever had thrown it was very strong, and not particularly subtle.
A baritone shouted, “For the love of…! Stay still a second, will ya?”
Spider-Man didn’t have to get closer to recognize his attacker.
I’d know that man mountain anywhere!
TWENTY
MICHAEL Marko stood on the sidewalk, shaking his fists. Students, food-cart vendors, and faculty fled in all directions.
“Get down here!”
Got to keep him where he is long enough for everyone to get to safety.
&
nbsp; Spider-Man shot a web-line that snagged a lamppost, and used it to zip across the sidewalk. The balls of his feet skimmed Marko’s thick black hair.
“Is your memory that short? I mean, you’re a perfectly fine bruiser in a pinch, but do you really want to tangle with me again?”
His heels sticking to the lamppost, Spider-Man went into a sideways crouch and leapt to the thickest branch of a nearby oak. Meanwhile, Marko had torn a second bench from its foundation.
“Hey, you put that back!”
But of course Marko threw it. Spider-Man’s web snagged the bench in midair, letting him bring it to a landing on the grass below.
By then, Marko was already ripping out a third.
“Stop that! Geez. I heard you tore a couch in half at the Stacys’, now it’s park benches? You got something against people sitting down?”
“You want me to stop, come down here and face me!”
“Nothing personal, but have you seen your face lately? Besides, how much longer you think you’ve got before the cops show?”
“Long enough!” He wrenched the third bench free and chucked it. Considering its awkward shape, the projectile flew with surprising accuracy. Spider-Man caught it with both hands, glanced at the copper plaque mounted on the top slat, and wedged it down on the branch beside him.
“Aw! This one’s a memorial to Ms. Maddie Blaustein of Long Island!”
When Spider-Man stood up, Marko looked excited, eager to fight. But instead of heading down to meet him on the grass, Spider-Man sat on the treed bench. Seeing how much it irritated Man Mountain, he clasped his hands behind his head and pretended to yawn.
“So, what brings you, Man? Or would you rather I called you Mr. Mountain?”
As far as keeping people safe, so far so good. The plaza’s almost empty, the building’s sealed, and campus security’s blocking off the perimeter.
Unfortunately, a lean, blond, bespectacled student chose that moment to leave his hiding spot in the bushes and run out into the open. “Help! For the love of god, help me!” he screamed.
Nuts.
Spider-Man and Marko saw the student at the same time, but the giant was closer. Marko took off at a run, his long strides moving him farther and faster than Peter remembered. Before Spider-Man could move, Marko had snatched the runner and pinned both his arms to his chest.
“Heeellllp!”
“Right in my freaking ear!” Marko covered the youth’s mouth—his entire face, actually—with his large hand. “One more peep and I push your head so far down into your chest, you’ll have to undo your fly to sneeze, got me?”
When his captive shakily nodded, Marko turned to Spider-Man. “Gonna come down now?”
“Okay, okay!” He sailed from the tree and crouched on the ground a few yards away. “You move pretty fast, big guy. You working out?”
He nodded. “I got a trainer helping me turn my deficits into advantages.”
“Good to know. I’ve come to the mountain, so what do you want?”
“Can’t you guess? The rock, I figure, is in that case on your back. Got a client willing to pay, and I could really use the cash.”
Spider-Man titled his head. “The Maggia says they’re not interested. Who hired you? Was it Silvermane?”
Marko’s eyes went wide. “No! You trying to trick me? He’s dead!”
Just hearing his old master’s name really rattled him. Marko must be working for someone else.
“No trick, but as long as you’re going to get all shook-up like that, it’d be a shame if I didn’t take advantage.”
A gooey thwip covered Marko’s eyes with webbing. Blinded, he reached for the sticky mass, releasing the terrified student long enough for Spider-Man to grab him and deposit him a hundred yards away.
As soon as they landed, the student started screaming again. “Help! Help!”
“Take a breath, okay?”
By the time Peter turned back, Marko was gone. He pulled off my web already? Apparently he’s stronger than I remember, too.
A search of the plaza and the streets beyond the Life Sciences building yielded nothing but pedestrians and cars.
How does someone his size hide so fast? Maybe I’m lucky I didn’t fight him.
He glanced again at the tower clock.
And now I really do have to change and get to Professor Blanton’s class.
* * *
MARKO lay low in the rear of the stolen service van, pulling the remains of the gross webbing from his skin.
This stuff’s worse than chewing gum!
A wad had even gotten wedged up into his hair. Word on the street was that it dissolved if you waited long enough, but Marko had never been a patient man. He grabbed it and yanked.
“YEOW!”
He slammed his hand over his mouth and looked through the windshield. He’d reached the van just before the cops started arriving. Now they were all over. He was lucky they hadn’t heard.
Head stinging, he looked down at the little bloody clump of hair and scalp in his hand.
What a freaking waste! I don’t get it. That first bench should’ve nailed him, but it was like he saw it coming without seeing it coming.
Marko had thought he was being so smart. Knowing that Spider-Man was present when the tablet was heisted, he’d spent hours scanning the police band. He wondered whether that costumed idiot had any idea how many eyes the cops had on him. From the chatter, it sounded like half the NYPD had a Spidey-sighting pool going.
When he saw the bulge on Spidey’s back, he figured he’d hit pay dirt.
But he’d blown it. Hearing Silvermane’s name was like seeing the bogeyman come to life.
He can’t be back. It was a trick. But…if Mr. Silvermane did come back, would he be angry with me for working with someone else?
Right now, it didn’t matter. Spider-Man and the tablet were gone, along with Marko’s chance of collecting that sweet piece of change from Vanessa Fisk—and his big shot at impressing her.
That hurt, and not just because he needed a new job. Yeah, he was strapped for cash. Since Cicero had let him go, the odd freelance enforcement jobs he got were barely enough to keep him in pocket change. But ever since he’d first scoped out the Kingpin for the Maggia, there was something about Vanessa Fisk he found alluring. He even kept some pictures of her tacked up over his bed, trying to add a little class to that dump.
And besides, he really did want to squash Spider-Man.
* * *
FOR OBVIOUS reasons, Peter didn’t carry his cell phone into combat. He also turned it off whenever he left it behind, lest he forget to mute it. Otherwise, a buzz or ringtone might alert a passeby to the bundle of clothing concealed in a web-sack.
With seconds remaining before Advanced Experimental Physics began, Peter turned the phone back on, in case the hospital called. Reaching the lecture hall, he saw the dour Professor Blanton through the little window in the closed door, waving for him to hurry. Peter’s hand grabbed the doorknob, but before he could turn it, a string of missed emergency texts made him freeze.
Through the window, Blanton gave him a wary nod. There was no time to explain. Peter mouthed “I’m sorry” and bolted away.
Dr. Bromwell and Dr. Fent, the woman he’d spoken with on the phone, met him in the lobby of the Presbyterian Center for Liver Disease and Transplantation. Peter’s eyes shot between them. Their placid expressions were unreadable.
“What happened? Is she all right?”
Dr. Bromwell replied. “She’s fine.”
But Dr. Fent added, “For now. Her condition has worsened, so she’s been moved to the ICU. To slow down her metabolism, and hopefully stabilize her, we’ve put her in an induced coma.”
Peter gasped. “A coma?”
She nodded. “She’s on a steady drip of propanol. She was aware of the need and gave her consent for any treatment we deemed necessary. She wanted to see you before we proceeded, in case, well…we texted and waited as long as we thought safe.”
“Of course.” Bromwell half-smiled. “Peter, I’ve known you since you were a child. I’d like to talk to you a minute about the transplant.”
“Actually, Doc, I want to talk about that, too, but I’d like to speak to Dr. Fent alone, if that’s okay.”
“Oh.” Bromwell looked taken aback, but acquiesced. “Certainly.”
He stepped back to the information desk and began checking his phone.
Dr. Fent looked at Peter expectantly.
He wasn’t sure where to start. “Uh, Dr. Bromwell’s very close to the family, and, he’s great, but he gets a little chatty with my aunt sometimes. There are things about me I’d rather she not know.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Your family’s not big on sharing about their medical problems, are they?”
Peter tried to offer a wry smile. “Yeah, well, I guess we worry too much about each other. Anyway, I have a…blood condition that Doc Conn…uh, my other doctor…says makes me a lousy candidate for a transplant. For her safety, not mine.”
“Is your doctor certain? Today even HIV-positive patients are allowed to donate organs.”
“It’s not AIDS. And yes, we’re pretty sure.”
Fent looked dubious, but didn’t challenge the information. “This condition—do you have it under control?”
“Pretty much. I like to think so, anyway. I’m not contagious, if that’s what you’re getting at. But this isn’t about me. Is there anything else that can be done for my aunt?”
“She’s already on the donor list, but I believe Dr. Bromwell explained that her age puts her at a disadvantage. There is an experimental treatment, Obetical, that’s shown promise restoring liver function. This hospital is conducting trials—but again, her age makes her a poor candidate. And it hasn’t been approved yet, so no insurance will cover it.”
“What would it cost without insurance?”
“Over a hundred thousand dollars, I’m afraid.”
Peter wasn’t sure how long he stood there with his mouth open before he finally said, “Oh.”