Chapter 2
Two months later
In a high-security boardroom on Triskelion Base, Tony Stark frowned at the projected helicarrier blueprints in front of him. Beside him, Pepper Potts watched silently. "This is interesting and all, but I'm not sure why you're asking for my input on this. You have already upgraded these schematics with new ideas from your people and some of my tech. You have your own construction crews." He raised his eyebrows at Nick Fury and Secretary Alexander Pierce. "We're not in the helicarrier building business."
"We're not asking you to build them, Mr. Stark," Pierce said. "We want your perspective on how…adaptable these are for a special project."
"Adaptable?" Pepper asked. "You do realize that the more you want them to do, the more difficult and expensive it becomes to build them?"
"There is a tight deadline," Pierce said, "but I believe that budget won't be a problem."
Tony tilted his head thoughtfully. "What sort of things do you want these ships to do? I mean, they already float, fly, carry aircraft, camouflage themselves, and shoot at things. I don't know if they turn into submarines: I suppose that could be possible. I know they fail big time at containing big green rage monsters. Despite the popularity of the idea in some pop culture, I don't think I could make them change into giant robots-"
"We want to know if they could be adapted for space travel," Fury interrupted bluntly.
Later, when Fury looked back on those days, it was the one memory that made him smile: it was very seldom that both Tony Stark and Pepper Potts were left speechless, mouths agape.
Next Day
The living area of what was originally Stark Tower, now known as Avengers Tower, was packed to overflowing. Under most circumstances, Fury wouldn't have considered it an ideal setting for a meeting of this importance, but Stark had persuaded him otherwise.
"It's a good idea to give the people who'll be doing the heavy lifting for this plan an advance heads up," Stark had said, his face serious. "The politicians need to know, but these people are the ones who'll be on the front lines, no matter what the plan is. Let them know. Sound them out on things, before you present it to the bureaucracy. If you can present a viable plan to the politicians that uses your most valuable assets to their maximum ability, the masses will, a) be less likely to panic, and b) make fewer stupid decisions that will waste both resources and lives."
He looked about the room: it was the strangest, but most powerful group of individuals he had ever been around in his life. In an effort to cover as much territory as possible, he had contacted key individuals from all over the world. Pierce, privately reviewing the list of attendees off the record over a beer the night before, had made a crack about Stark hosting his own United Nations of ass-kickers and wished him luck. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Fury couldn't hold back a small, grim smile: trust Pierce to come up with a devastatingly accurate summary of the group in front of him.
In addition to all of the Avengers, there were representatives of the mutant community, as well as powered individuals from across the globe. Mutants, accidents of nature, accidents and/or products of science, non-humans: they were all represented, from across the globe. Fury doubted that there had ever been such a gathering before.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Fury said, "thank-you for coming. I realize that it was inconvenient and, in some cases, difficult for you to attend, but you will want to hear this." He glowered at the faces in front of him. "What I'm about to share with you is beyond top secret," Fury said grimly. "You're about to get a preview of the briefing Secretary Pierce and I will be presenting to the World Security Council and the world leaders at the United Nations tomorrow."
Behind him, a screen lit up with a view of a dim cyan planet in a field of stars. "Two days ago, the folks monitoring the Chandra observatory detected a sudden surge of unusual radiation, but it was much closer to home than most of the phenomena they usually chart. Instead of somewhere in another galaxy, it was within our own solar system, just inside Uranus' orbit. The frequencies and energy levels observed were compatible with the possibility of it being a transportation portal." Total silence reigned in the auditorium. "Five other observatories have since confirmed the anomaly."
"Could it be a natural phenomenon?" Darkstar asked, her Russian accent harsh.
"Our analysts have found a eighty-seven percent similarity between the power signature of this new anomaly and the portal that brought Loki to Earth," Fury replied, causing a stir of quiet muttering.
"What would have caused the differences in the power signatures?" Dr. Hank McCoy asked, leaning forward in his seat with an intent frown.
"First, there has to be a different power source. The tesseract is currently closely monitored and is definitely not contributing to this." The next projection was pure data: he waited a minute for the scientists in the room to absorb the implications. "The other reason is that this anomaly is many times larger than the one that brought Loki here. According to these readings, our experts believe that multiple ships came through the singularity. At their current speed, they should be here in about twelve months."
A pin drop could have been heard when he paused, grimly eyeing the roomful of faces. "If any of you have additional insights into the information we're giving you, speak up. I need all of the most brilliant minds on this planet working on solutions for our situation."
"Where's Dr. Richards?" Director Wisdom of MI-13 asked, frowning. "Shouldn't he be here?"
"Dr. Richards and his family are investigating some options for us," Fury said. "It's something only they could do. He was informed of this development, and has made some suggestions. He will be one of our primary consultants on this matter when he returns."
The man who moved to stand beside Fury silenced the room. King T'Challa of Wakanda, also known as the Black Panther, pulled out his own remote for the projector.
"I contacted Director Fury directly last night," he said, deep voice rumbling across the room. "In Wakanda, we made our own observations of the phenomena just described to you. I thought it very important, however, to inform him of the results of our enhanced scans." He clicked the remote.
An audible gasp could be heard from the observers in the room. Five small shapes were visible in silhouette against Uranus.
"They look different than the ship in Mr. Stark's recordings," the Black Knight observed. "Could they be someone other than the Chitauri?"
"There is that possibility," T'Challa replied. "Director Fury and I agree that it is prudent to prepare for the worst."
"We will watch closely," Fury said. "We have already launched probes to monitor the situation, but they are not in position yet. NASA's New Horizons probe just passed Neptune: it's the closest thing we have to eyes in that area. They have agreed to observe the craft as best they can for transmissions: that should tell us if it is the Chitauri."
"If it is the Chitauri, is there any chance of negotiation?" Vindicator asked. Everyone understood her motivation: the Canadian prairies and northern lands were massive, and as vulnerable as the cities, but much harder to protect. Darkstar, Cybermancer, and Sunspot, with their similar situations with the Russian steppes, sweeping Chinese plains, and Brazilian rain forests, nodded in understanding.
"There is a plan to try," Fury replied. "It's a given that the world leaders will want to try. Considering the amount of discussion that happened the last time these folks came calling, I wouldn't get your hopes up for any degree of success."
Colonel Rivers of the Australian ASIO straightened in his seat. "Since we have this advance information, do you have a strategy?"
"Yesterday, Secretary Pierce and I met with Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts of Stark Industries concerning new developments using technology devised by their company." A new projection appeared on the screen, with blueprints, maps, and text. "Yes, there is a plan."
He took heart as he looked at each of the individuals in the room: there was trepidation and worry, but no fear, no doubt, in any of the people facing him.
"We have a year to prepare, people. This information will be presented to the world leaders tomorrow: I ask that you wait until after that meeting to contact them and everyone you know that can contribute to this fight. It's time to bury hatchets and do what is needed for the greater good. Look over the information: tell us if we've overlooked something. Suggestions are welcome." Fury smiled grimly. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's time to get busy and get the welcome wagon ready. We've got company coming."
Diplomacy, Nick Fury decided, was a superpower akin to magic, and Alexander Pierce possessed it in spades. So far, Pierce had informed both the Security Council and the world leaders present for the United Nations special session that a fleet of alien ships were due to arrive at Earth's coordinates in about a year's time, and no one was panicking. Fury was sure that if he had attempted to do this briefing himself they would have been running out of the building screaming within five minutes of starting.
"No, we have not had any communication with the ships," Pierce answered the Chinese ambassador patiently. "However, last night NASA's New Horizons probe intercepted stray transmissions that indicate that they are Chitauri."
"How do we know that they are definitely hostile?" the ambassador insisted stubbornly. "The ships are different than the one that Mr. Stark recorded when he blew up the Chitauri vessel: you confirmed that with the images from King T'Challa. There are hundreds of variations of humans on this planet - will all Chitauri be the same?"
"Do you want to count on that?" Pierce said, looking the man square in the eyes. He looked about the chamber, his gaze challenging. "Do you want to gamble the lives of your people, the existence of your culture, on the possibility that this batch of aliens are friendly?" His voice remained calm and conciliatory as he continued. "Believe me, I understand: no one wants a war, especially when we have an opponent who could just drop asteroids on our heads."
"Why do you think they won't use asteroids?" the Norwegian ambassador asked, leaning forward with a frown.
"Despite their actions in New York, we believe that they're interested in our resources: asteroids would cause significant damage without their warriors winning glory and reduce the material gains they need from our world. Therefore, unless we see them stopping to gather some big rocks, we are going to base our plans on the assumption that they will proceed with a direct assault."
"Why not meet them before they reach the asteroid belt?" His estimate of the intelligence of the emissary from Argentina fell in Fury's opinion - or the man had been deaf during the first part of Pierce's presentation.
"Our ships won't be ready in time." Pierce changed the screen of the visual presentation back to the one explaining the new tricarriers. "The most we could have ready before they reach that point is one ship. If they are hostile, it would be a waste of resources."
"So our best option is to let them come to us?" The Japanese representative frowned in distaste.
With admirable patience, Pierce explained the plan again. "We let them think we don't know that they're there for now. After they've passed the asteroid belt and are approximately inside martian orbit, then we let them know that we know about them. By that point, it should take too long for them to go back for asteroids. We activate the minefield that will be put in place with Mr. Stark's micro rockets on the next mission to the space station, and the tricarriers move in on them."
"But there's five ships, and only three tricarriers." Finland's representative squirmed. "If they are hostile, they will still be able to launch an attack."
"That is why we have more than one plan to implement." The corner of Pierce's mouth twitched as he saw Fury roll his eye in the back corner. "It would be foolish to assume that we would be able to prevent all of them from reaching landfall. We hope to keep most of them in orbit: we are not stupid enough to guarantee that." His gaze flicked about the entire chamber: no one was missed. "We are, however, your best bet to have their assault diminished to manageable levels for earth-bound military forces."
He changed the screen of the visual presentation once again. "With your support, SHIELD will stop the worst of the incoming invasion; as you can see, our plans include not only the new helicarriers, but the minefield I already mentioned, and state of the art miniature weapons platforms. Mr. Stark, Dr. Richards, and King T'Challa have all generously contributed to our efforts: we will gratefully consider all contributions from any other organizations that wish to assist in planetary defense." He gestured at the projection, with its columns of data. "This is one of the most massive tasks humankind has ever attempted. Together, we will succeed." Silence filled the room as he gazed around again at all the surrounding faces.
"Ladies and gentlemen, of course we expect each of you to prepare your own country's defenses to look after those you are responsible for. However," he looked about the room with the same charming smile he wore on poker night two nights earlier when he had cleaned Fury out, "we need you to let us take charge. With your support, SHIELD will not fail."
The motion was passed unanimously. Fury felt a surge of relief when the results of the vote was announced.
The only sign of relief Pierce showed was a slight relaxing of his shoulders. The quick smile to Fury was full of pleased confidence, but the brief glint in his eyes was pure satisfied elation.
Fury stepped farther back into the shadows as he watched his old friend, unsettled. Pierce lived for the give and take of negotiations and politics, always had: games could run deep with him. A chill ran up Fury's spine. His gut was suddenly telling him this game was deeper than they all knew.
Brooklyn had changed.
Logically, Steve Rogers understood that over seventy years had passed since he had last stood in the borough. Cities were as much living things as the people who inhabited them, and changed with the people and times, but he still found himself looking for the small storefronts and businesses he remembered, and mourned their loss. A glass and concrete monolith to business filled the entire block where his favourite candy store, the butcher shop with the pretty girl Bucky had liked, and the store where his mother bought shoes had been. The five-and-dime had been replaced by a Starbucks, and the hat shop was a gaudy cell phone store. Nostalgia coloured his preferences, he knew, but it still seemed like the changes time had wrought resulted in a colder, unfriendly place.
There was a quiet thump on the rooftop behind him. "You asked to see us?"
He turned to see the vigilante known as Spiderman leaning against the chimney. Beside him, the Hero for Hire known as Luke Cage glared at the red-and-blue clad form. "That was the worst lift ever, punk. You deliberately let me hit that billboard."
"Would I do that?" Spiderman replied, innocently. "I'm always careful with passengers. Besides, the billboard was more damaged than you could ever be. If I had meant for you to hit it, there would have been more than the shape of your legs for a hole."
"Gentlemen." Steve stepped forward before the argument could escalate. "I asked to meet you here because I need you to do something for me."
Cage crossed his arms, frowning. "What could Captain America need us for? You have your buddies at SHIELD and the Avengers to help you. Surely you don't need two street-level thugs to bust muggers for you."
"Hey, usually rooftop level here!" his companion protested. They both ignored him.
Captain America stepped forward, looking Cage in the eyes. "Cut the crap. Everybody knows that you and your partner, and all the others who fight the good fight are heroes every bit as much as I am. It doesn't matter who your friends are, or if you're an Avenger: when you are needed, you do the right thing."
Cage shrugged and sighed. He hated when people saw through the street fighter mercenary. "What do you need?"
"I need both of you to find as many of the other heroes as possible to quietly spread the word." The somber tone of Captain America's voice silenced any possible objections. "The Chitauri are coming back, this time in space ships. Estimates have them arriving in about a year."
"What's the plan?" There was none of the jokester in Spiderman now.
"SHIELD has international cooperation, and the Avengers and Fantastic Four are working directly with them on a planetary defence plan. Other groups are working with their respective countries on national defence strategies. What I want you to do is mobilize everyone to take care of the New York." He sighed, a brief flash of worry crossing his face. "SHIELD and the Avengers just don't have the resources to deal with everything. We're contacting as many heroes as possible in other cities to do the same thing. There is a plan, but we need everyone on this."
"Consider it done," Cage said. "When we have a plan, we'll pass it on to you."
"Thank-you," Steve said, shaking their hands. "I know the city is in good hands."
"You can rely on us," Spiderman said. He looked over at Cage. "You can be the one to contact Castle. I'm like laundry to him: if it's doubtful, it's dirty. He's tried to shoot me three times."
"If I'm doing that, you go knock on Dr. Strange's door," Cage replied. "Don't know if he's home yet."
"I'll leave you gentlemen to it," Steve said, deciding a retreat was in order before the bickering escalated. They didn't notice him quickly exit the rooftop via the fire escape, intent on their own debate.
"If I'm doing Dr. Strange, you contact Ghost Rider. Seriously, that flaming skull creeps me out! I am so glad he doesn't usually hang in New York. What do you think, Cap? Cap?" The webslinger turned back to Cage. "How do you like that? He's bailed on us!"
"Smart man," Cage commented. "We should stop arguing and get started."
"Right." Spiderman shot a web at the nearest building and turned to Cage. "Need a lift?"
"Screw you," Cage snorted. "I'm taking the stairs."
Once upon a pre-cave-in-Afghanistan-time, Tony Stark would have been thrilled to go searching for Atlantis. Once, an underwater vista would have had him looking for mermaids, or at the very least shapely figureheads on ancient shipwrecks. Now, he concentrated on the data Jarvis streamed across the HUD, carefully not thinking gasping for breath in water and cold water burning in his lungs…
"I have not received any replies yet, sir." Tony pretended to not notice how Jarvis was reporting data more often than needed.
"Are the buoys all working properly?" he asked, seizing on the distraction. "Any chance that they aren't broadcasting at full strength?"
"All buoys are fully operational, sir. There just hasn't been any response yet," Jarvis replied. "Is there any possibility that there has been an error made in the co-ordinates we were given?"
"Hold on a minute," Tony said, slowing to a halt. "I have a feeling we're either about to get an answer, or that really big shark is attracted to shiny red metal and about to try to snack on us." The Great White was the largest fish Tony had ever seen, either in an aquarium or a movie. Its full size became more apparent the closer it came. "This bruiser makes Bruce the Shark look like a guppy."
As it drew even closer, a dark humanoid form in its shadow became clear. "And Bruce's big brother has a friend. Here's hoping it's not just a travelling coral salesman." He stopped moving and floated, motionless, as the two ocean-dwellers drew close. The shark halted, letting its smaller companion swim ahead to confront Iron Man.
"Why are you trying to contact me?" Namor, King of Atlantis floated effortlessly in front of the Avenger, eyes full of contempt for the surface-dweller stupid enough to venture into his domain. "I thought I had made it plain to the people of the surface that we wish to be left alone."
"I'm not trying to invade your privacy," Tony said, refusing to let the Atlantean's arrogance get under his skin. "I've been asked to give you a message."
"What could you surface dwellers say that would be of interest to me, or my people?"
"A couple of months ago, there was an alien invasion-" Tony began.
"We are aware of that," Namor interrupted. "Some of the alien vermin ended up polluting my ocean."
"We're pretty sure they're coming back," Tony continued, ignoring the interruption. He held out a small package to the Atlantean. "I was asked to give you a copy of all the information we have so far. There's also a transmitter enclosed for if you wish to contact the folks at SHIELD directly."
"Why should we care about your problems with these aliens?" Namor demanded.
Tony stared silently at the undersea King for a minute, as the currents swirled around them. "Do you honestly believe that something that may affect the entire surface of this planet won't eventually spill over to your realm here?"
"They never went below the surface of the ocean, looking for us. You are the one who brought them to your world. It is of no concern to us," Namor sneered.
"Let me tell you about those aliens you're dismissing as not your problem," Tony said. "They never tried to negotiate. They didn't care who they shot at. They didn't take prisoners. They were only stopped when they were shot down, beat down, and dismantled. They were here only to get glory as warriors by destroying everything and everyone on this planet. If you think a bunch of water is going to stop them, well, good luck with that." He nodded, wishing the Atlantean could see the scorn on his face. "I've passed on the warning from our leaders, and given you the information. What happens now - to your people - is on you." He fired his repulsors and rapidly soared out of sight.
Namor scowled at the package thoughtfully.
Victor Von Doom surveyed his realm from the top of one of his castle's towers. All was peaceful, with the rich sunlight making the scenery worthy of a postcard. Behind his mask, he smiled: this was home, he needed nothing more -
A slight stir in the air made him stiffen; the parapets were private, exclusively his. He stood still, ostensibly still viewing the countryside while actually tapping into the castle security. The information he received was strangely unsurprising.
"Agent Romanoff." He didn't deign to turn to face her. "Why have you intruded upon my privacy?"
"When you didn't respond to Secretary Pierce's request for an audience, he asked me to ensure that you received the same information that was given to all of the world leaders yesterday." Natasha Romanoff looked relaxed as she leaned casually against a parapet, but he was sure that somewhere hidden on her person were devices that could…inconvenience even him.
"How very…considerate of him." He had to give her credit: she didn't flinch when he suddenly pivoted to face her. He accepted the envelope she held out to him, but set it aside on the parapet. "I already have my own information about the possible invasion. I can look after my people myself."
"The envelope contains an outline of the plans that have been made. If you want more details -"
"If I ever decide to contact SHIELD in the future," he said scornfully, casting doubt on said event ever happening, "I will deal directly with Fury, not SHIELD's own snake in the grass." Behind his mask, he smiled as he saw her eyes narrow thoughtfully.
He called to her as she started to turn away. "Agent Romanoff." She waited as he considered his words carefully. "Latveria is like this castle. It has a solid foundation and walls. Nothing outside or inside will bring it down." Her eyes narrowed as she listened: he would never speak needlessly. "SHIELD is not like this castle."
His fist gently thumped against the armour of his chest as he vowed, "For what you did for me in Vilnuis: when the heads of the snake break the walls and foundation of SHIELD, you may find temporary refuge here. I pay my debts: we will be even." He turned away, finding his kingdom the more interesting subject. "You found your way here: you can find your own way out."
Silently, she left him to his thoughts.
Long after she had left, he tried to sink back into the peace of his place, his kingdom, but a dark shadow now chilled the sun-drenched land.
He picked up the envelope.
The Blue Area of the Moon was a tantalizing puzzle, almost irresistible. Sue Richards watched her husband fondly as he devised new ways to interpret the data from the sensors as Ben Grimm piloted their ship into orbit.
"They did get the message?" Johnny Storm asked, fidgeting. After Ben had firmly stated that he didn't need a copilot, Sue's younger brother had been left to his own devices. She had supplied him with a book for his tablet, but as far as she could tell, he hadn't once tapped on it after he had gone through Esquire, Playboy, FHM, and the five other magazines he had downloaded before leaving.
"I'm sure they got the message," Reed replied distractedly as he watched his scanners. "They are probably debating on the proper response. This is a government we're dealing with, not just a few individuals. They will be deciding between telling us to go away and asking us what we want."
"Couldn't they at least acknowledge that we're here?"
"They will also have to calm down the population," Sue said. "Until we showed up, they thought no one on Earth knew where they were. There could be panic down there."
"Here's hoping that if there is panic, they don't attack," Ben Grimm rumbled. "This bucket may have all sorts of gizmos to protect us, but none of it has ever been tested. I'd prefer to have the testing happen in the lab, in a breathable atmosphere, rather than out here."
"Couldn't we-"
"They're responding," Reed announced. "It's visual: I'll put it on the main monitor."
The visual was carefully uninformative. A large man in black, with a black mask with silver bolt marks, stood with a woman with long, vibrant red hair. She stepped forward, a carefully neutral expression on her face. "I am Medusa. I speak for the Black Bolt, king of the Inhumans. Why have you come here?"
Reed stepped forward, bowing his head briefly before speaking. "Thank-you, your majesties, for agreeing to speak to us. Our leaders have requested us to ask a favour of your people."
"Dr. Richards: we meet again." She nodded courteously, a slight smile flitting across her face. "I am glad to see you are well. Your assistance in the past is warmly remembered, and why you are allowed to be still in orbit." She glimpsed back over her shoulder at her husband as he laid a hand on her shoulder: a lock of her hair curled up to caress the hand. Her face lapsed back into careful neutrality before she continued. "We are aware of the Chitauri incursion that occurred last year," she said coolly. "We are also aware of the inbound ships that bear Chitauri warriors. We cannot become involved in a human/Chitauri war."
"I understand," Reed replied. "If any of your people are willing to volunteer, they are welcome, but we understand why you left earth: your people need to heal and rebuild their civilization. I have come to ask for something else."
She raised an eyebrow. "What would that be?"
"We would like to ask you to be caretakers."
Both Medusa and the Black Bolt looked intrigued. "Caretakers?" she asked. "We cannot take in refugees, you know it would be too dangerous."
"Just a capsule, containing as much data of the human race as we can compile before the aliens get within Martian orbit." Sue, watching their faces while Reed spoke, held her breath. Both seemed bemused by the request, with no sign of rejection. "Of course, you would inspect the capsule before accepting it for any contaminants that we might miss when we sterilize it."
The two Inhumans looked intrigued. "We shall discuss this," Medusa promised. "You will know our reply shortly."
"You think they're gonna do it?" Johnny asked as soon as the connection was cut.
"They didn't look offended or dismissive of the idea," Sue said hopefully.
"We'll just have to wait and see," Reed said, turning back to his sensors and the riddle of the Blue Area.
"Hope they don't take long," Ben grumbled as he rolled his eyes at Johnny's restless fidgeting. "With the moon in the way and all, Hotpants and I can't even watch a game up here."
The island was small and unremarkable. Its tiny beach was rocky and the tree covered terrain peaked into jagged hills that weren't quite mountains.
The Queen Charlotte Islands were lovely in the summer, Eric Lehnsherr decided, but unless he wished for a full-on mutiny, they would only be a temporary stopover. Toad and Pyro were openly bored, and he expected a murder attempt by Mystique if they weren't out before the autumn chill, never mind winter. Only Sabretooth enjoyed the current abundance of nature surrounding them: he frequently would disappear for days, hiking around the island, or swimming to one of the nearby islands to explore. A smile crossed Eric's face: it might be worth the risk to his life to suggest to Mystique that she mimic Sabretooth for warmth…
A sudden popping sound drew his attention away from the majesty of the sunset to the sand at his feet. A small metal cylinder had appeared from nowhere. His eyes narrowed as he considered it with his magnetic perceptions. It actually was a metal scroll, a thin sheet tightly rolled up and tied with a string. There were no devices attached or embedded to it beyond a small tag tied to the string. Ericwas all that was written on it, but the familiar flowing handwriting told him all he needed to know about the sender.
He sighed as he reached with his powers to lift up and unroll the scroll. For all that most of his companions didn't like the island, he appreciated the peace it gave him. He resented needing to move again. He set the resentment aside as he examined the metal sheet: trust Charles to devise a way to send him a letter that he would be comfortable receiving.
Eric,
I have not informed anyone of your current location: even the student who has sent this doesn't know the recipient of this message. I have a package of information waiting for you at Alkali Lake - it is in a small metal box, you will be able to find it. It is vital that you have this information. Everyone, human and mutant alike, are in deadly danger. Please contact me after you have read it. We need to talk.
Charles
Assistant curator Valarie Garneau was puzzled.
Tuesday at the Louvre were usually an odd combination of quiet and busy: quiet because they were closed to the public, busy because it was precious time for the staff to perform maintenance, do extra cleaning, reorganizing and changing of collections.
This Tuesday was unusually busy. Photographers swarmed over the buildings, both outside and inside, and every single member of the staff was present for assisting the curators with moving pieces in and out of collections. Monsieur Mitteron, head curator, was unusually impatient with Valarie's supervisor, Monsieur Coudereau: some of the primary masterpieces had already been packed in their shipping crates and replaced by their 'stand-ins', while others had 'under maintenance' signs hanging in their places. According to Sophie, one of her roommates, the sculpture atriums also bustled with similar activity. Her second roommate, Corrine, said the Musee D'Orsay was in a similar state. Even the janitorial staff had been pressed into service for moving the crates around, though she didn't know where they were being stored: the usual storage rooms were empty, and there had been no trucks hauling loads away.
She puzzled over the situation as she ate a hasty lunch in a paintings gallery that had already been emptied of its true treasures. The fact that the lunch wasn't the usual leisurely Parisien hour was jarring, but not nearly as unsettling as the scene that happened as she paused, halfway through her sandwich. Madam Frichot, the department secretary, interrupted Monsieur Mitteron as he was eating with a whispered message: the man blanched, gulped down the rest of his sandwich and bolted from the gallery.
A cold feeling lodged itself in Valarie's gut. Monsieur Mitteron was a pompous bureaucrat, but he was always calm and controlled. He was legendary for his aplomb: she had always counted herself lucky for only having exacting paperwork to deal with and not volatile temperaments and politics like some of her classmates at the Smithsonian and the Hermitage. Something was very wrong-
"Ms Garneau." She jumped in her seat as Madam Frichot spoke behind her. She turned courteously to the secretary: the woman's middle-aged features were as pinched and disapproving as ever, but there were also strain marks around her eyes. "Monsieur Mitteron and Monsieur Coudereau need you in the second restoration workshop immediately."
Obediently, she gulped the last bite of her sandwich and proceeded to the workshop. She tapped on the door and waited, fidgeting at the unusual delay. Finally, the door cracked open and Monsieur Coudereau carefully peeked out. "Good, you're here." He poked his head out to check that she was alone. "Come, come!"
She stopped and stared the minute she entered the room. All of the restoration work had been removed, and one end of the workshop was filled with push carts full of crated works. At the other end, four fully armed members of the Foreign Legion waited, along with a young Asian woman with purple-streaked hair and facial tattoos. She turned to her boss, a puzzled frown on her face. "What's going on? Why are the crates here, instead of the shipping docks?"
"Ms. Garneau, we need you to ensure that the materials we're sending away for safe keeping are both catalogued properly and stored safely," Monsieur Mitteron said, stepping forward. "Monsieur Coudereau cannot be spared from supervising here. You have demonstrated organizational skills, and adequate abilities in archival documentation. These gentlemen will move our second load of materials to the secure site and will follow your directions exactly. There are already problems with the organization of the previous delivery in the off-site storage vault: you are now in charge of organizing the storage vaults."
"Vaults? Where?" Valarie was confused. "How do we get the crates anywhere from here? Off-site? How do we move anything off-site without using trucks?"
"That's where I come in," the young woman with purple streaked hair spoke up. "It's easier to show you." She turned to the Legionnaires. "Gentlemen, can you get the next shipment into position?" She turned back to Valarie and winked. "Watch." She held out her hands: suddenly the assistant curator could see the interior of a concrete bunker inside a ring of glowing purple and pink light. More members of the Foreign Legion could be seen, as well as crates labelled with Louvre identification marks. "Move along, please. I have five more deliveries to do today for you and the D'Orsay folks." The soldiers, obviously used to the sight, started pushing the carts through the glowing portal, but Valarie froze, terrified, as she suddenly realized the nature of the purple-haired woman. The mutant smiled reassuringly at the young frenchwoman. "Don't worry, I've had tons of practice doing this. Much safer and more discreet than a bunch of trucks."
"Blink has volunteered to help us evacuate the vital pieces out of Paris this week. She already sent me to the vault twice yesterday," Monsieur Coudereau said reassuringly. "You will be safe." He deftly pushed her into the portal: his voice followed her to miles away from Paris. "Don't worry, she'll have you back in time for dinner."
"Anyone who thinks the life of a supervillain is exciting should follow this guy around for a couple of days," Hawkeye grumbled. "So far, the only places he's been has been the pad he shares with the biggest cockroaches in Manhattan, the liquor store two doors down from that, the laundromat across the street, and a visit last night to Madam Venus' House of Pleasure. You would think that if he could afford Madam Venus he could find digs without kitten-sized roaches."
Clint Barton had not encountered Gordo "Puff Adder" Fraley before in his career as a SHIELD agent, and he was not impressed. The man had been pitifully easy to track down. The Serpent Society had a considerable reputation as a villainous organization: he could only assume that either this guy was bottom-rung on the ladder, or one of the powers the Society had was good luck.
"He's on the move again," Daredevil reported. It had taken considerable cajoling to persuade the blind crime fighter to accompany Barton on the stakeout; he only agreed to provide backup to the archer when an agreement on a ban on chili had been reached. "This might be it, he's in costume."
"About time," Clint grumbled. "Which way is he going?"
"Completely different direction to all the other places he's been going," was the report. "He's either on a job that no one called him for, or he's going to the Bar."
"Here's hoping he's not indulging in cosplay at a convention," Clint said. "Let's go."
It soon became clear that their prey had a much different destination than his previous ones. 'Puff Adder' was actually cautious, following an irregular course and checking behind himself regularly. He led them for half an hour on a roundabout route, until he stopped in front of a shabby old storefront. They watched him as he waited in an alley across the street.
"He's checking his watch," Daredevil reported. "If this is the place, they must let people in at designated times."
"That would make sense," Hawkeye agreed. "Things have happened to the Bar With No Name before. It's no wonder that they're cautious."
"He's settling in: looks like this might be a while," Daredevil said. With a sigh, he sat on the rooftop next to the Avenger. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," was the laconic reply.
"Why are we doing this now?" The eerie solid eyespots on the red leather mask could be every bit as piercing as a glare from real eyes. "If we needed to get the lawbreakers, the villains, to help us with the incoming aliens, why didn't someone contact them when the rest of the superheroes were contacted two weeks ago? What has changed?"
Clint Barton was silent for a minute. When he finally spoke, his voice was grim. "Four days ago, another portal was detected out by Uranus. Five more ships are coming. There may be more after them: we don't know. The Powers That Be have decided that the media, and therefore the public, will be informed next week, when the various governments have their plans in place. We know we're going to need all the help we can get, and will consider any options. It is a matter of courtesy and an olive branch to these people to inform them and let them make their decisions before John Q Public is informed. They are powerful, and it would be great to have the extra manpower, but we realize that many of them can make…debatable decisions. We need to make it clear to them: we welcome those who want to help, and will respect those who don't want to get involved. Anyone who impedes the fight, takes advantage of the circumstances for profit, or tries to cut a deal with the Chitauri, will be considered war criminals and will be treated with extreme prejudice. If we deal with this crowd in advance of the announcement, we can deal with any potential problems with them before the public has an opportunity to panic."
Behind his mask, Matt Murdock fought back his own panic, and focused on the matter at hand. "Can we offer pardons, or at least a temporary truce, to any that step forward to help?"
"Special consideration will be dealt with on a case by case basis," Barton replied. "Fury is willing to work with local authorities to cut deals." He smiled grimly. "Tonight, we need to make it clear: their butts are on the line as much as ours - hey, he's moving. Get ready."
Daredevil sighed as he pulled out his club. "This isn't my idea of a great way to spend an evening. Couldn't Thor have come with you instead?"
"One of them would say something that would be offensive, and then Thor would beat the snot out of the poor sucker, a general all-out fight would break out, the Bar would get trashed again and move, and then we would have to track down these people individually. You, they know, and it'll make an impression on them that you are willing to talk to them about this." Barton nodded towards their prey. "I say we wait until he goes in, and then immediately knock on the door."
"Why not?" Daredevil grinned. "We may as well be direct since we come in peace."
Their feet hit the ground as the door closed behind Fraley. A quick dash across the street had them at the threshold within seconds of it closing.
"Shall we?" Hawkeye grinned. He knocked on the door.
Driving an eighteen-wheeler wasn't his dream job, Jim Martin reflected: it seemed like a waste of a degree in environmental science, but the pay of a environmental field technician was peanuts compared to what he was pulling in as a trucker. His company had solid contracts with two car-part manufacturers that kept their large fleet of transports busy, plus there were odd-jobs that filled in the gaps between the regular runs, all of which lead to steady work for a hungry student in debt.
The most recent deliveries the dispatchers had assigned to Jim definitely qualified as odd. As one of the junior drivers of the company, he was used to getting the odds and ends. This time, it was load upon load of baby formula to strange places. So far, he had delivered entire loads to the sub-basement of a shopping mall, an abandoned thread factory, an old mine shaft and closed ski resort, each in or near small-to-medium sized towns. Every site had a full crew of people to unload as quickly as possible. At the most recent one, he arrived at the same time as another driver from his company. As the crews rapidly unloaded, he compared notes with the other driver; Bob's route was almost identical, but his cargo was crates of military MRE's, and he knew of at least three other drivers with the same route, but different cargoes. They both shrugged in puzzlement at the strange demands of customers, although Bob claimed he had seen stranger when he had moved the contents of a billionaire's cottage in the Adirondacks to the Muskokas.
The foreman in charge had received a phone call just as the crew finished removing the last skid. When the man had signed for the delivery, he thrust the clipboard with the documentation at Jim and curtly said, "Better get going son, there's ten more loads waiting to be delivered in two days." Jim inhaled sharply: it had taken him two days just to deliver the four he had done. The man looked him in the eye, and he swallowed his objections: there was a quiet desperation in that glare that ran a chill up his spine.
As he started the drive back to the factory for another load, Jim idly flipped on the radio. Normally, he listened to audio books, but the sky was full of ominous clouds and he wanted to catch the weather forecast. He congratulated himself on his luck as the voices filled the cab of the truck. It wasn't even top of the hour and the news was already on.
Space ships. Aliens. Planetary defences. His hands tightened on the wheel, weather forgotten.
Plans for ensuring civilian safety are already in effect. Don't panic. Baby formula. MRE's. Discreet, evenly spaced locations.
Military forces are fully mobilized. Emergency measures are in place. Men unloading trucks as fast as physically possible. Quiet desperation in the foreman's eyes.
Jim drove faster.