Marvel Novel Series 11 - The Hulk and Spider-Man - Murdermoon

by Paul Kupperberg

  Prof. Warner looked up at the screen and pressed a button on the console. The scene shifted instantly to a view from the bottom of the well, pointing up the length of the rocket. Billows of gas, liquid oxygen turning gaseous on contact with air as the ship’s tanks were topped off, filled the pit. But through the white clouds could be seen two figures, seemingly chained to the body of the rocket over the triangular tail fins.

  Warner pressed another button, bringing the view into close-up.

  “Don’t worry about our passengers, Abraham,” a voice behind the bearded scientist chuckled. “They’re not going anywhere.”

  Dr. Irvine stopped beside Warner’s chair at the central control console and smiled at the picture on the screen before him. Spider-Man and Bruce Banner, both men apparently unconscious, were securely chained to the rocket.

  “Isn’t this a bit melodramatic, Daniel?” Warner asked with uncertainty.

  “Nonsense, old friend. Where’s your sense of humor gone?”

  Warner’s eyes flicked across the information on the screen before him. “I don’t consider murder humorous,” he said coolly.

  “Then don’t think of it as murder, my dear Professor,” Irvine said with a smile. “Consider it a necessity!”

  Abraham Warner stiffened in his seat. “I never knew you to be so heartless, Daniel,” he said softly. “I thought life was important to you.”

  “Oh, but it is,” Irvine assured him. “My life, at least.”

  The bearded scientist turned in his seat, regarding his colleague with pitying eyes. “Is it money that does this to you, Daniel?” he wanted to know.

  Irvine laughed. “Don’t go getting moralistic with me at this stage of the game, Abraham. Of course it’s the money. It’s why I’m here; it’s why you’re here!

  “Look, Pendergast and his syndicate are paying good money for our talents, with a promise of much more to come when the project succeeds. That makes those two,” he stabbed a finger toward the large screen, “a danger to everything we hope to get out of this. And don’t think you’re living the clean life yourself, good friend.” The doctor patted Warner on the shoulder. “In case you’ve forgotten, what we’re doing here is illegal. And when you consider that we do it to put us in a position to engage in espionage and blackmail on an international scale, well,” he shrugged broadly and spread his hands before him, “I’m sure your imagination can fill in the rest!”

  “T minus seven minutes, eighteen seconds and counting.”

  His cheeks red with anger, Prof. Warner turned back to his console.

  “Don’t take it like this,” Irvine offered with a smile. “We both knew what we were getting into, didn’t we?”

  Warner did not answer.

  “Good morning, gentlemen.” Pendergast was smiling with genuine pleasure as he approached the two scientists, his cool gray eyes sparkling in the dim light of the control room. “Is all in readiness?”

  “Good morning, Mr. Pendergast,” Dr. Irvine said, returning the smile.

  Warner nodded briskly, not looking up from his display screen. “Everything is proceeding as scheduled.”

  “Splendid!” the man in the expensively tailored suit said.

  Prof. Warner was running through the final checklist with the technicians at the other consoles.

  “T minus four minutes and counting.”

  “Fueling completed,” Warner spoke into his mike. “Seal tanks.”

  “Latest weather conditions are A-okay for go signal,” a voice said through the headphones.

  “T minus two minutes and counting.”

  Warner said, “All systems are on automatic for go.”

  “All personnel clear the launch area. T minus one minute, thirty seconds.”

  “Retract tower,” the scraggly bearded scientist ordered.

  The lines leading from the launch tower to the rocket disengaged and the tower itself began to slide into the ground.

  “T minus one minute and counting.”

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Warner said, speaking through his mike to all the technicians at their places. “This is it. Begin radar-scramble sequence alpha. Open launch ceiling.”

  As the hinged roof swung in on its hydraulic pumps, a device was activated on board the rocket to send out scrambling signals to any radar device that might pick it up on its flight into space.

  “Thirty seconds and counting.”

  The ceiling was open, revealing the slowly brightening sky of the new day.

  “On-board computer is go.”

  “Fuel mixture is go.”

  “T minus ten seconds. Nine.”

  Dr. Irvine clasped his hands behind his back and loosely crossed his fingers. “Good luck, Abraham,” he said.

  “Eight. Seven. Six.”

  “Begin ignition sequence,” Warner said. He wiped away the perspiration that ran down the side of his face.

  “Five. Four. Three.”

  “We have ignition!” a voice said through the headset. The clouds of billowing fumes were spilling from the launch well, filling the evacuated hangar as a deep rumble shook the control room from without.

  “Two”

  The rocket trembled on the pad.

  “One. Lift-off!”

  Almost imperceptively at first and then faster, the towering silver needle inched its way off the pad, gathering speed so slowly it seemed certain to topple before it could clear the launch well. But inches turned to feet and then yards as the rocket engines’ boost increased. Then it was out of the pit and straining for the sky, through the open launch ceiling and then, finally, the open air.

  A jubilant cheer swept through the control room as the rocket’s earth-shaking rumble receded. Even Prof. Warner allowed himself a short smile of relief as he watched the rocket disappear into the gray dawn on the giant screen.

  “And so it begins,” Pendergast smiled.

  “And ends,” Irvine added. “For Spider-Man and the unfortunate Dr. Bruce Banner, that is.”

  The scientist chuckled happily to himself.

  For a little more than three minutes, the rocket streaked through the early-morning sky, up through an atmosphere that grew thinner with each passing mile, until it was up into the stratosphere, gaining the speed necessary to break away from the Earth’s gravitational pull.

  The sky grew darker around the silver missile until nothing but the pitch-black vacuum of space surrounded it.

  With a computer-relayed order from the Niagara Falls mission-control center, the main rocket engines shut down, their fuel reserves exhausted from its climb into space. Explosive bolts blew around the first stage and it disengaged smoothly from the rest of the ship. The cylinder spun lazily back toward Earth to disintegrate in the upper atmosphere.

  Booster jets fired at an altitude of 400 miles and the second stage and shielded equipment package at its nose swung into orbit around the glowing green-blue marble far below.

  Ninety minutes later, after completing a single orbit, the rockets fired once again, whipping the spacecraft out from its path about the planet.

  The shields exploded automatically from the nose of the ship as it rose silently away from Earth. The exposed satellite shone dull black in the glare of the sun, at home in the frozen vacuum of outer space for the first time since it was created.

  “Three seconds,” Prof. Warner said.

  His finger hovered over the red switch that would separate the microwave-transceiver satellite from the booster rocket.

  “Now!”

  His thumb jabbed the switch and sent a signal beaming 23,000 miles into space. The signal released a series of clamps that was holding the satellite to the booster ship and sent it spinning slowly into a fixed, permanent orbit directly above the Niagara Falls complex.

  “Deploy solar screens.”

  Another command was flashed to the heavens that unfurled a pair of thin, golden wings from against the body of the satellite. They rolled out slowly and turned on well-lubricated rotors until
they caught the bright sunlight across the full length of their surface.

  Prof. Warner watched as the solar energy charged the satellite’s internal batteries, the information flashing across his computer screen. At last he took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said into his mike, his face tense. “Activating satellite systems. In sequence. Begin.” His eyes shifted to a lone, unlit bulb in the center of the console. The color it glowed when it went on would determine success or failure.

  The light blinked on.

  Green.

  Telemetry flowed across his screen from the activated satellite, each pulse of electronically encoded information bringing further assurance of a successful operation.

  “Congratulations, Prof. Warner,” Pendergast said. “It could not have gone smoother.”

  “Thank you,” the scraggly bearded scientist exhaled softly. He pulled off his headset and sighed happily as he laid it on his console. “Now it’s all possible,” he said only half aloud.

  “You’ve worked hard for this moment, Abraham,” Dr. Irvine said. “You should be very proud.”

  “Yes, I am,” Warner smiled. He glanced at his screen and his smile broadened. “Look,” he said. “SpySat has established contact with its nearest neighbor in orbit, Western Electronics’ EarthVue.

  “Soon, EarthVue will set up a relay with its nearest neighbor, which in turn will bounce the maser beam to the next satellite and so on and so forth all around the planet until they are all linked together with Spy-Sat at the center to form a vast web, a network that encircles the Earth.

  “Intelligence data from the world over, international and national telephone, telex and telegraph communications, intelligence satellites, deep-space weather-observation stations—virtually every bit of knowledge and information broadcast or communicated today passes through at least one of the satellites we are now on line with.

  “And it’s all ours!”

  “Free and clear and for sale,” Pendergast smiled. “To any nation or individual who can pay our price. And, gentlemen,” he said with a twinkle in his hard eyes, “it’s a seller’s market.”

  Twenty

  A load roar filled Spider-Man’s ears.

  He shook his head to clear away the annoying thundering that threatened to split his aching skull. His head banged against metal.

  The Web-slinger’s eyes snapped open.

  What the . . . ?

  He was upright with his hands chained to his sides and bound to a curving metal surface inside a deep, brightly lighted pit that was alive with clouds of billowing, swirling gas. He was vibrating violently . . . No, the surface he was chained to was shaking with the fury of powerful pent-up forces.

  “Ten. Nine. Eight.”

  Spidey heard the words faintly through the deafening roar. A countdown!

  Considering what I know of their plans, that means they’re getting ready to launch their microwave doo-hickey into orbit!

  And guess who made it on to the passenger list at the last minute!

  Spider-Man strained against the chains, exerting as much power as he could muster. It wasn’t enough.

  Maybe these things will give eventually, but the old clock on the wall tells me I’m rapidly running out of any and all eventuallys!

  “Two. One. Lift-off!”

  The Wall-crawler flattened against the side of the rocket as the vibrations increased and the ship lifted off the launchpad. The engines’ flaming exhaust spit from the roaring rockets and splashed back up from the asbestos pads to lick at the Web-slinger’s legs.

  His arms splayed to the sides as the rocket streaked through the open ceiling. His fingers touched flesh.

  The Hulk! I’d forgotten about him! They must’ve gassed him too, and kept him gassed, otherwise he would’ve busted out of these chains like they were wet spaghetti by now!

  Guess that means it’s up to yours truly to pull our collective fat, green or otherwise, out of the fire!

  Spider-Man found he had several inches of lateral movement in either direction with his hands. He began groping along the length of the chain he could reach. The wind whistled shrilly past his ears and the tug of increasing gravity pressed him painfully against the chain.

  The rocket cleared the complex, heading toward the heavens and slightly south.

  The Web-slinger’s right hand brushed against a hard lump of metal dangling from the chain.

  The padlock!

  He tugged frantically on the chain, sliding it around until he could easily reach the lock. At the rate this thing’s climbing, I’ve got about five seconds before we’ll be too high to make my busting out of this worth the hassle!

  Twisting his hand at an awkward angle, Spider-Man managed to jam the nozzle of his web shooter into the lock’s keyhole. Even as he jabbed at the button in his palm, he felt the lock being pushed out of his reach by the mounting pressure.

  It’s now or never, Petey!

  The thick web fluid gushed heavily into the lock and filled the insides, pressing against the tumblers with more and more pressure as the compressing fluid sought release.

  Come on, baby!

  Snick!

  The padlock snapped open and as he started to fall away from the climbing rocket ship, Spider-Man swept into action. In a single, fluid motion, he reached around and grabbed the man hanging beside him.

  His other hand flashed before him, shooting a strand of webbing at the landscape streaking by a quarter of a mile below.

  Now I better pray somebody up there still has some kindly feelings left for me!

  The webbing snagged on the uppermost branch of a tall, bare tree planted alongside a deserted highway. Deep piles of snow had drifted around the thick tree trunk or had been pushed there by snowplows clearing the highway. Either way, it was just what the doctor ordered.

  Grasping the unconscious man tightly over his shoulder, Spider-Man allowed himself to drop unchecked. Who the hell is this? Unless the Hulk’s lost a couple of hundred pounds and developed a weird rash all over his body, it looks like the mad scientists have a grudge against more people than just me!

  Spider-Man and Bruce Banner were rushing at a sickening speed toward the ground. Spidey held tight to the single, narrow strand of webbing, tensing his whole body for what was to happen next.

  Suddenly, they were no more than twenty feet above the treetop. Spider-Man released his guide-line and shot out another, shorter strand of webbing. With the ten-foot line grasped firmly in Spidey’s hand, the two men fell past the tree; then, with a sharp, agonizing jerk to the costumed youth’s shoulder, they stopped.

  Spider-Man yelled in pain and released the web instantly. They dropped into the deep drifts of snow piled about the tree.

  Far above, the speeding rocket reached toward the heavens.

  Twenty-One

  Spider-Man lay for long minutes half buried in the slushy, melting snow, gulping in lungfuls of cold, invigorating air. His shoulder and back throbbed uncomfortably, but nothing, as far as the Web-slinger could tell, was broken or seriously damaged.

  The other man groaned and struggled weakly from the snowbank.

  “Where . . . where am I?”

  “Wherever the heck it is, you’re not alone, friend,” Spidey said.

  The two men pulled themselves from the deep snow and collapsed immediately on a dry patch of ground on the shoulder of the road.

  Spider-Man rubbed his aching shoulder. He regarded his companion curiously. The man was relatively young and most frail looking. He was clad in the tattered remains of blue jeans.

  “You must be a bit on the chilly side in that getup, mister,” Spidey said. “Although there must be something to it, fashionwise that is. I met a guy by the name of the Hulk not too long ago who was wearing the same thing.”

  The brown-haired man buried his face in his hands. “The Hulk,” he whispered miserably. “It’s always the Hulk.”

  Spidey’s face was puzzled beneath his mask. “How—” he began. He stopped abruptly as the man look
ed up at him. “Hey, you’re Dr. Bruce Banner, aren’t you? I recognize you from the picture on the back of your books!”

  “You’ve read my books?” Bruce looked startled. “Perhaps there’s something more to you than I’ve been led to believe, Spider-Man.”

  “Naw,” the Wall-crawler shrugged. “I thought A Study of Gamma-Ray Radiation and the Human DNA was a travel guide and home fix-it book. Now,” he added quickly, “would you mind telling me what the country’s foremost expert on gamma rays was doing getting tied to rocket ships with erstwhile superheroes by a gaggle of gaga scientists?”

  “You forget, Spider-Man,” Bruce said sadly. “While I may be the foremost expert in my field, I’m also the Hulk.”

  Spidey slapped his hand to his forehead. “Jeez, am I stupid! Of course.” He looked at the scientist. “So how’d the Hulk get involved in this?”

  Bruce Banner shrugged. “That’s just it,” he said. “I don’t know. I went to Chicago to see a Dr. Irvine at the Institute for Radiation Research and . . .”

  “That’s what it says on the signs at the complex.”

  “What?”

  “Go ahead. I’ll explain later.”

  Bruce Banner told Spider-Man everything he could recall, about changing to the Hulk at the airport in Chicago and coming to in a cell.

  The young physicist slammed his fist angrily into the palm of his hand. “Except I have no idea what the Hulk may’ve done for them,” he said. “I don’t remember anything after I changed.

  “Now, how did I get here—and, more importantly, how did I get here with you?”

  “Sit back and prepare to have your high IQ boggled, Doc,” Spider-Man said. “You ain’t gonna believe what you’ve just been through.”

  The Web-slinger started at the beginning, with the robbery in Manhattan. For the next fifteen minutes he told the astonished scientist everything he knew, changing only those details necessary to protect his alter ego.

  When he was through with his story, Bruce Banner leaned back in wonder. “That’s . . . incredible!” he gasped. “A private organization launching its own satellite into orbit without NASA or governmental permission or aid.”