Serial Spider
6/9/08
Issue Four
"Science Fair and Unfair"
"Peter?" Gwen asked, leaning over from her display. "Where's Harry?"
Peter flattened his tie against his chest and murmured, "College touring, remember?"
"Oh, right." Gwen ran her fingers over her hair, straightening up as more judges passed by. "Did you talk to him after his dad did?"
"No," said Peter. "I told him to call me, but I guess he was busy."
"Huh." Gwen smiled and nodded. One of the judges came to speak to her, so Peter looked distractedly around, analyzing the other projects. To his pleasure, there wasn't a fruitless volcano in sight, but he didn't find too much that he admired. Certainly, there was the one kid who tried to stop small pox and failed, and Harry's unmanned project garnished a bit of attention.
Gwen's work on environmentally friendly weed-killers seemed to interest the judges as much as some of her teachers who just wanted to go green. Peter was glad that a healthy throng was watching her demonstrate what she had learned, but his joy increased greatly when the famous Dr. Connors peeled from her admirers to come look at him.
Peter beamed as he was greeted. "Hello."
"Hello, Dr. Connors. My name is Peter Parker; I'm a great fan of your work."
"You, uh, read up on genetics, then?" he asked.
"Yeah," Peter said eagerly. "Your work on genetic enhancement has me fascinated. The idea that you can try and augment the influence of certain genetic traits by simple DNA transformation… it's really incredible. It actually influenced my project. A sort of—"
"Glue," snapped Gwen under her breath, just as her listeners dissipated.
"Adhesive," Peter said, rather loudly. "A molecularly enhanced adhesive, using the same idea behind DNA transformation to transform the isotopes into—"
"Ben," May said as Uncle Ben entered the living room. She locked her finger in a book, closing it tight as he looked at her, catching his breath from a morning run.
"What is it, May?"
"I… uh… I was looking at our bills earlier. Ben, we're—"
"I know, hun. I'm doing what I can. I was thinking about talking to Peter."
"Ben, you leave him out of this. I don't want him to know that we're struggling. Alright? Let him be. He works hard enough as it is." She stood up and walked over to him, easing his tired limbs into a chair. "You both do."
He put his hands on his knees and coughed. "When I was his age—"
"When you were his age, you didn't work so hard at school."
"But I earned myself a living, May Parker, I did. And he's got nothing to show. Maybe some pocket change."
"Well, I'll get myself a job before I force him to accommodate us."
"May, don't you even—"
"Ben, that's enough. Let's just look at exactly what we're facing and see where to go from there."
"Well, Peter… uh… Parker, was it? Here's my card, son. You feel free to call me anytime, Mr. Parker. You want a job, or want to send me some questions about your sure-to-be Prize-winning research one day, you feel free, son. I was really impressed by your work, Peter. You'll go far."
"Thank you, sir. It was an honor to meet you."
"Hah. At ease, Parker. Good luck with your competition."
Dr. Connors took off, with a generally pleased grin on his face. Gwen walked over, abandoning her set-up.
"I told you, Peter," she said in a huff. "I told you he'd hire you."
"He didn't hire me."
"He gave you his card, Peter," she said, peeling it from his fingers and sticking it to the table in front of him. "I told you, Peter! Dammit, you made quality Elmer's, and you have a job with a geneticist! Why does everything work out for you? You glide through life, and my dad…"
And without another word, Gwen took off crying.
At the Oscorp Industries main building, news was burning up the grape vine of a sour investment. Apparently, someone on the first floor had caught wind of it on the local news and was wise enough to send word up Norman Osborn's office by the end of the hour.
Many people would have expected Norman to be in a fury. Alice was in his office in an instant with blood pressure pills, a compress, and a stress ball.
But oddly, Norman was staring out the window, barely masking a grin.
"Sir, is everything alright?" she asked. "I just heard what happened over at the Toomes Labs. The fire. And just after you bought it. The reports were saying they don't seem to have any remains. Apparently the gas lines were exposed to some heavy flames. I'm so sorry, sir."
"It's alright, Alice," he said, gesturing for her to clear away with her gifts. "Some business deals dry up. That's just reality. Send Mr. Toomes an apology letter, and tell him we won't be paying him for his services anymore, out of all fairness to Oscorp. And be sure to contact Gregory Bestman and give him a nice Christmas bonus. He's a good man, and he'll have some fallout after the accident that I'd be more than happy to over-compensate him for. Be generous, Alice."
"Yes, sir."
"And get Otto on the phone, if you would." Norman swung off of his window sill with child-like agility and leapt comfortably into his chair.
"That'll be all, Alice," he said.
Puzzled as possible, she exited without another word.
"And the Guillotine is up on the corner, looming over the Grim Reaper, ready to pounce. Grim lunges in, but it looks like Guillotine's got a change of plans, Frank."
"That's right, he's moving for the chairs now, folks. Classic weaponry in the ring. If he gets in a few good hits, that'll be another title win for him."
"And then back to the open challenges, Frank, where contestants can register to fight him for a substantial amount of prize money. Last year, he survived a perfect—"
"Uncle Ben," Peter said, coming in the door that evening. "Turn that junk off. You know it's all fake."
Ben laughed and turned down the volume. "I'm not usually a fan, Peter. We have a bet going on at work, though. Winner takes all sort-of-thing. How'd it go at the science fair?"
"Uncle Ben, you remember Dr. Connors."
"Of course, Peter. You think I don't listen to you? Why, kiddo, was he there?"
"Not only was he there, Uncle Ben, I got his card. I'm gonna call him tomorrow, maybe get an internship at his lab."
"Kid, that's fantastic! I'm proud of you, Peter. Come here!"
"Last year, he survived a perfect run, keeping the prize money as a trophy, as well as setting a record for sequential victories on this network. Oh, and—whoa! That's the show for tonight folks! What an unbelievable win. The call came instantaneously! But that doesn't mean it's over for all your fans. We still have the free-lance tournament ahead, and the line-up for this year has increased its strength, pulling out legendary wrestlers whose records come close to rivaling the Guillotine's own incredible—"
Gwen Stacey flipped past the wrestling, past news of a factory fire, past an evening kid's show, and then shut off the television. She ran her fingers through her hair and rolled over on the couch, stressing over the solitude in her house. Her father hadn't been let out today, and they said that after a reaction he'd had to one of the meds they'd given him, they'd like to keep him for the weekend and discharge him on Monday.
Gwen was just as furious that Peter had managed to realize his dreams the same day that Gwen's life was tottering into instability. After her mom, and now her father, she couldn't take many more people fading into the peripherary. And if Peter practically moved into the Connors lab for work, as she was sure he would, she'd lose him too.
As she sometimes did, Gwen opened her cellphone and began to scroll through the contacts, as if browsing a catalogue. One name would hit her, she was sure of that, so she perused until finally her eyes fell on an old friend who she hadn't spoken to in months.
Eddie Brock had transferred to a private school after classes became too easy for his eager mind. But Gwen missed him dearly, and they'd been truly supportive friends. She hovered for a minute, but then abandoned her anxiety and dialed.
"Eddie?" she said. "Hey, it's Gwen."
"We still have the free-lance tournament ahead, and the line-up for this year has increased its strength, pulling out legendary wrestlers whose records come close to rivaling the Guillotine's own incredible victory streak."
"Too true, Frank. For those interested, you can visit our website for registration, or visit our new 'Tips for the Pros' section that teaches you how to fight like the Guillotine."
Harry Osborn was on the internet already, scrolling through just that page from the desk in his hotel room. He clicked on the first video tutorial, and looked up as it buffered, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
His eye was black-and-blue, bruised the same color as a rotten plum. And just faintly at the edge, in a clearly scabbing spot, one could make out the uniquely sharp mark of Norman Osborn's senior class ring.