The Workings of Fate
Part Three: Falling Pebbles
Alaska
Clarissa Savage had inherited her mothers' strong-boned features and wealth of jet-black hair, but from her father she had her tall, powerful body, bronze skin and golden eyes. Eyes that were cold as she considered the woman standing before her.
"What can I do for you, Diana?" She asked.
"You could at least call me 'mom', even 'mother' would do!" Diana Prince said.
"Why?" Clarissa enquired. "You and Clark handed me off to your cabal of trainers almost the moment I was born! I saw you, what? Twice a month? You went over my reports and bawled me out for every little imperfection. Grandpop came to see me every day, he supported me, praised me and if things weren't right, he bawled the trainers out, not me! He used to write or call as well, only suddenly he stopped. Why?
"Even now, Diana, you don't know enough about me to realise that the last thing you should wear to visit me is fur!"
Diana made a dismissive gesture. "It's cold outside, what do you expect me to wear? As for your grandfather, you do realise he's over a hundred years old? His mind isn't what it used to be. Even when it was, he never understood the real world, which is why your father had to take over.
"Anyway, Clarissa, your father and I have let you have your way with all this silly, tree-hugging nonsense up to now. But things have changed. It's time for you to come home and stand with your family. There's proper work to be done, and it's time you took some responsibility!"
"The Hell you say!" Clarissa growled. "I saw that Press conference. If you and Clark think I'm going to help you pull off a coup d'etat, or give up my lifes' work on your say-so, then you really do have no right to call yourself my parents! And Clark has no right to call himself Grandpops' son!"
Diana went pale, then red, then forced herself to calm again. "Very well." She said icily. "If you really don't care about your country and your family, then stay here! I mean that literally. You will stay here. You will not comment, or speak about, your fathers' campaign, to anyone, and we will see to it that the Press do not bother you. Then, once the election is over, you will leave America forever and carry on trying to drag us all back to the Stone Age somewhere else."
"You don't get it, do you, Diana?" Clarissa sounded both weary and exasperated. "If I don't appear to care about America specifically, it's because I'm trying to save the whole world!
"We've been given a golden chance! The virus is terrible, and it's a tragedy so many have died and are still dying. But the fall in human population, the collapse of industry in so many places, it's given the planet a breathing space! We need to take the chance to start rebuilding in a way that doesn't harm the environment.
"If Clark and his Justice League had made that the heart of their policy, I'd be right there! But no, he's in bed with Roxxon, or at least scared of them. All he promises is to go back to the old ways, and be damned to the planet!
"I won't – can't – sit still and silent for that! If that platform doesn't change. If you won't put the planet first in your aims, then I'm going to fight you! Think about that, Diana. Grandpop used to confide in me, and he taught me things your trainers didn't. You and Clark have a closet full of skeletons. If I have to rattle a few to stop you, I will!"
"You have made your choice." Diana said flatly, deliberately. "There's nothing more to say. Goodbye, Clarissa!"
She turned and left. A few moments later, the sound of her helicopter faded into the distance. Clarissa went back to her work. Then a faint, trilling, sound came from between her lips. She sighed and leaned back in her chair. Then suddenly she lifted a leg and kicked the desk. Her chair went over backwards, crashing into the midsection of the woman behind her. The nylon garrotte meant for Clarissas' neck closed on nothing. Clarissa rolled clear and came up on her feet.
Natasha Romanova, the Black Widow, was no metahuman or alien construct. She was a human woman trained from childhood to a peak pf physical prowess and trained in the arts of combat and assassination. But Clarissa was a Savage, her genes altered by the radiation of the long-ago Wold Newton Event, her mind and body also trained from birth.
The Widow had recovered fast from the blow to her abdomen, now she drew a pistol, only to have it kicked from her hand. She responded with a jolt from the electronic 'sting' device that should have thrown her opponent off. Clarissa yelped, then countered with a strike that deadened the Widows' arm from shoulder to fingertips. Unable to use her sting or draw her second pistol, the Widow launched a kick that Clarissa evaded before catching her by the throat and effortlessly lifting her a foot off the ground. The world swam before the Widows' eyes, then went dark.
Clarissa became aware of noises from outside. Shots, screams, strange trumpeting sounds and a peculiar, near-human bellow: "WEN-DI-GO!" She tossed the unconscious Widow aside – she'd be out for a while – and dashed outside.
The cold bit at her, but she ignored it. The forest clearing they had set the station up in had suddenly shrunk by two thirds, and the forest surrounding it was thicker. So thick that under the trees was completely dark. From that forest, sounds were still coming, as if from far away; shouts, screams, the occasional shot. But Clarissa was more concerned at what was closer to hand.
Her colleagues stood huddled together, surrounded by what appeared to be a ring of trees. Outside this ring lay the bodies of a number of armed men in the familiar uniforms of the Hidalgo Security Corps. Most of those nearest the trees seemed to have died from crushing injuries. Further away, however, was another cluster of bodies, that had clearly been attacked with fang and claw, some literally torn to pieces.
In the centre of that cluster stood a figure some nine feet tall, with disproportionately long arms and a short, thick tail. It was covered in thick white hair and had an oddly humanlike face. It was currently looking around as if puzzled. "Wen-di-go?" It asked.
As if in answer two of the 'trees' surrounding Clarissas' people suddenly moved forward, and she realised that they were not trees at all, but towering humanoid creatures that bore an uncanny resemblance to the sitka spruce that dominated this part of the Chugach. She watched as the tree-giants took the white creature by the arms and led it gently under the trees. As they did so, the others also moved into the forest, except one that came over to her.
It was about fifteen feet high, she judged, the torso covered in a light grey 'bark' while the arms and legs were pale brown. The head and face were covered with stiff, blue-green 'hair' or 'needles', but there were eyes. Deep, dark, green-brown eyes that nevertheless sparkled on the surface. It stood a little off from her so that it could look down - it seemed unable to bend much. Then it spoke, in a deep, hoarse voice like a cello.
"You are Clarissa Savage." It was not a question. "Your name is too short for your story, but that is the way of Men and Elves. Hmmm. You may call me Longcone, though again, that is only part of my name. I must speak with haste, which I do not like. Brrmm. More of those men will come, perhaps tomorrow or the next day. You and your fellows must not be here.
"I have a message for you. I am to tell you that the Green is awake, the Green is aware. Haroom. Go to Marais in the place called Louisiana. Go into the swamp alone, at night. You will be met by One who can tell you much.
"We go now. Farewell."
He turned and strode away, as he did so he uttered a loud, trumpeting sound: "Hoom, hom!"
Quite suddenly, the world went dark, and the air was full of rustling and creaking. Then the sunlight came back and Clarissa saw that the forest had retreated to its usual distance. But all the bodies had vanished and the ground was churned and furrowed.
Her second in command, Dr Michael Twoyoungmen, came over.
"Clarissa, what's going on?" He asked.
"It seems my loving parents want me dead." Clarissa told him. "Get everyone together for a meeting. I'll be along in a minute."
True to her word, Clarissa appeared in the large cabin that served as a dining hall, communal lounge and general meeting place moments later.
"Right!" She spoke without preamble. "You all know what my Dad is doing, and most of you will have guessed his real ambitions. We're all in danger here, but his nearest troops are at least a day out, so we have a window.
"Transfer everything on your systems onto flash drives – only your own stuff, nobody is to have everything – then format the computers. Then pack the minimum you need and take the boats to town. Once you get there, draw out all the cash you can, dump your cells and tablets, and scatter. Get off the grid, go to ground and stay there until I contact you.
"Good luck!"
They knew her well enough, all of them, not to argue. Only Michael approached her.
"What are you going to do?" He asked.
"I've got an errand to do." She replied. "But before that, I've got to leave a message for my folks!"
When the Hidalgo mercenaries arrived the following day, they found the camp deserted, the computer files deleted and all paper files burned in the incinerator. They also found the body of Natasha Romanova, hanged by the neck from the crane on the small wharf.
Gotham City
The meeting place was an aircraft hangar on a private airfield outside the city. The space was large, empty and brilliantly lit – nowhere for anyone to hide. In the centre, four chairs had been placed, equidistantly. Two of them were occupied.
In one sat Lex Luthor. The occupant of the other was a hairless as Luthor, but almost twice his size. A man of immense bulk with broad shoulders, thick arms and legs like tree-trunks, incongruously clad in in a dark, conservatively-cut, suit. The face was not jowly, as some might expect it to be, but square-jawed and stern, dominated by unfathomable dark eyes. His name was Wilton Fiske, but he was universally referred to and feared as the Kingpin.
A few moments later, Iron Man and the Batman entered the warehouse and came into the centre. Fiske waved them to chairs with a massive hand, speaking in a rich baritone.
"Welcome, gentlemen. It is an honour to finally meet you face to mask. You will know my colleague, Dr Luthor, by reputation at least. Thank you for coming."
"How could we resist?" Iron Man asked.
"You talked about something that transcends our 'professional rivalry'" The Batman stated. "You're no fool, Fiske, and no coward either, so it must be something big. Big enough that it gets you a hearing, at least."
"That is all I ask." Fiske told him "We are enemies, you and I, and that will not change, I think. But when faced with a common threat, even opponents can work together for a time.
"Gentlemen, the announcement by Clark Savage III of his intention to run for President and his formation of this Justice League constitute the greatest threat to America since the Civil War."
"And America is so important to you!" The Batman sneered.
"In that, you do me wrong." Fiske replied. "I am, in my way, a patriot. I may not respect or keep all the laws of this nation but I respect the ideals of freedom and democracy, and will fight to defend them.
"Unless I am gravely mistaken, all of us here have an understanding of both politics and recent history. The parallels between Savage and his Justice League, and Sutler and Norsefire are clear. I don't think any of us wishes to see this country follow Britain down the path of totalitarianism."
"On a point of pure self-interest, we're all dead meat if it does!" Luthor put in.
"Well, we can agree on all of that." Iron Man allowed. "But still, guys like you are better placed to spike Savage's guns than a pair of street vigilantes like us!"
"Yeah, right!" Luthor grinned. "Because you guys just, like, guess when somebody's planning something? Follow your legendary gut? I don't think so! You have your ways of getting information, just like we do!"
"However," Fiske put in, "you are correct in saying that we are better placed to sabotage or counter Savages' political campaign.
"But there is another element to Savages' plans. What do you know of the so-called Fantastic Four?"
"We don't know much." Batman said. "Apart from the fact that they're dangerous, competent and ruthless. Depending on who you listen to, they're either an exceptionally organised, trained and heavily-armed citizen militia, or a group of four people with special abilities, at least two of whom are supposedly metahuman.
"According to eye-witness accounts – there are disturbingly few of those, by the way, and they tend to either retract their statements very publicly or quietly disappear – they are known as Superman, Wonder Woman, Captain America and the Black Widow.
"Superman and Wonder Woman both possess extraordinary abilities, though of the two Superman is by far the more powerful. Beyond that, nothing is known of either of them.
"Captain America was the codename of an agent of the Strategic Scientific Reserve in World War Two. His name was Steven Rogers and he was the subject of an experiment designed to enhance human abilities to the maximum possible. According to records, he was lost in the Arctic on a classified mission in 1945. If the current Captain America is the same man, he's in good shape for eighty-five!
"About the Black Widow we do know more. Natalia Alianovna Romanova, known as Natasha Romanova, born 1968, orphaned less than a year later and taken into State custody. At age seven she was spotted by a KGB talent scout and put into a special training programme which made her into a highly-skilled assassin. By the time her training was complete, the Soviet Union was on the point of collapse and her termination was ordered. She and other products of the programme escaped, she's been freelancing ever since and until recently was Dr Diana Prince Savages' personal bodyguard."
"Quite so." Fiske nodded. "For those who know, that is a tangible link between Savage and the Fantastic Four, but only useful if the existence of the group could be proven.
"However, Mr Luthor has recently come by some information which seems to shed some light on the matter.
"Lex?"
"There's a guy in England who buys stuff from me." Luthor told them. "Not legitimately, of course, it's illegal for anyone in Britain to trade with us. But he's no friend of the government there. He got hold of some data recently that he had no use for, so he passed it on to me in exchange for some gear.
"Apparently an alien ship of some kind crashed off the Scottish coast in 1945. The British Navy got hold of it and it was stashed in a secret base on an uninhabited island nearby. After the war was over, they set up a base to study it – all deep black of course. They made a start on translating the files – not too hard because there were parallel texts in a lot of Earth languages. Seems these aliens, 'Qys' they call themselves, liked to translate novels and plays.
"But they couldn't make much sense of any of the technology until a guy named Emil Gargunza came on board in around 1950. He figured out that these Qys liked to create bodies – kind of an art for them – which they could 'wear' by transferring their minds into them. The 'spare' bodies were kept in a pocket dimension and the Qys could switch bodies with some kind of device. They could also upload a copy of their mind into a computer so that if they died, they could be downloaded into a new body."
"That," Iron Man commented, "is one Hell of a mind-screw! How come a race as clever and powerful didn't already conquer the galaxy?"
"Because they didn't want to." Luthor told him. "They're primarily artists. They had everything they wanted, but they were curious about other races' art-forms. But they knew that some places were dangerous, so some of the bodies they designed had immense powers, so they could defend themselves.
"That was what got Gargunza going. He created a metahuman body – one with incredible powers. Then he linked it to a volunteer, a former SAS soldier called Sergeant Michael Moran. They called the project 'Miracleman' and it was supposed to be the prototype for a whole regiment. The bodies were virtually indestructible, they could fly and were incredibly strong and fast. But something went wrong. There was a live-fire exercise over the island, to test Miraclemans' abilities. He passed with flying colours, but then Morans' body suddenly came back into this dimension in the same space as Miracleman. It killed them both, and the Miracleman concept.
"But it didn't stop Gargunza. He set about doing things a different way. Building a body from scratch and programming it with a set of memories and conditioned responses. They called it 'Big Ben'. Big Ben could fly, was stronger than a human and was highly resilient, but not nearly as powerful as Miracleman. But that project went wrong from the start, and Big Ben turned out to be a paranoid psychopath who killed three lab workers before they could terminate him.
"Then in 1980 the Brits shut the whole programme down. Gargunza, who must've been eighty by then, went off the grid. His programme – Project Zarathrustra -was buried so deep that nobody in the UK government today even knows it existed. Apparently Prime Minister Thatcher was worried that if anyone found out, they'd compare it to Nazi experiments."
"Makes sense." Batman said. "People were already comparing her to Hitler.
"But who was this Gargunza?"
"That I was able to find out." Fiske said. "Emil Gargunza was born in Rumania in 1900, the son of a Transylvanian boyar or noble, and a Szgany woman. He was deformed from birth with congenital kyphosis – curvature of the spine – macrocephaly and weakness of the legs. However, he was brilliant and as he grew older, became obsessed with the idea of repairing his body. By the 1920s, he was studying in Germany and was already an accomplished surgeon. He worked with Dr Johann Schmidt, later to become infamous as the Red Skull, on researching and perfecting the legendary Jekyll Formula. Both men were strongly influenced by the philosopher Nietzsche, but believed that the Overman could only be created by science, not philosophy.
"When Hitler came to power, Gargunza believed that his Gypsy blood and physical deformities would make him a target for the Nazis, so he fled to America. When Doc Savage was asked to form the Strategic Scientific Reserve in 1938, he hired Gargunza under the identity of Dr Abraham Erskine."
"The same Erskine who created Captain America?" Iron Man asked.
"Quite so." Fiske responded. "Records show that the so-called 'Super-Soldier Serum' is in fact an improved version of the Jekyll Formula. However, subsequent uses of the formula resulted in psychotic symptoms in the subjects. Psychologists believe that it was the particular mentality of Steven Rogers that rendered that specific experiment the only successful one."
"The right man in the right place." Batman remarked.
"Indeed." Fiske said. "By the way it may be of interest to know that the area of the Arctic in which Captain Rogers and his nemesis both disappeared is close to the purported location of the Savage familys' legendary 'Fortress of Solitude'.
"It may also interest you to know that a Professor Emil Erskine is currently Head of Research at Hidalgo Corporations' laboratory in the Republic of Hidalgo."
"Ah, crap!" Iron Man said. "If Gargunza samples his own recipes…."
"He could've found a way to arrest or reverse his ageing process and be up to his old tricks for Savage!" Batman concluded. "If Superman and Wonder Woman are artificial, like Miracleman or Big Ben, there won't be any records of them."
"Except at Gargunzas' laboratory." Fiske said. "We were hoping to secure your assistance in an assault on that installation, gentlemen. However, we have been pre-empted. Our sources tell us that the Private Military Contractors known as the Blackhawks are already mounting such an operation under the leadership of one Colonel Logan, better known to you as your occasional ally, Weapon X!"
"That lunatic?" Iron Man was incredulous. "There won't be enough of Gargunza left to question!"
"All appearances to the contrary," Fiske told him, "we believe Colonel Logan to be entirely sane, if somewhat hot-tempered. But the survival or otherwise of Gargunza is immaterial. What is important are his records and experimental data. We have no means to contact Logan, but we hope and believe that you do. If you could ask him to secure that data and bring it to us, it would be of great value to our cause. It would also ensure that we could destroy it all completely!"
"Are you sure of that?" Batman asked, staring hard at Luthor.
Luthor shrugged. "Hey, I'm a crook, sure, just like Wilton, only he doesn't pretend to be legit. But I'm a scientist as well. Enough of one to know that some things you don't mess with before you're ready! I'll actually figure out the stuff Gargunza just found lying around one day, maybe, or my kids or grandkids will. But I believe that unless you figure it out for yourself, from scratch, you're not ready to have it. You come by knowledge the way he did, you pay a lot more for it than you would if you worked for it. No such thing as a free lunch in science!"
"Well gentlemen?" Fiske asked. "Can we reach an agreement?"
The Fortress of Solitude
Clark (Doc) Savage Jr was, as his daughter-in-law had said, over a century old. He was, in fact, 113 years old. That said, he had not experienced any diminution of his physical or mental abilities since the age of thirty-five. This had been, for a while, a cause of concern for him, and he had undertaken a great deal of research. In doing so, he had discovered ancestors who had been present at the Wold Newton Event of 1795. Ancestors whose genes might have been altered by the radiation from the meteorite that fell that night.
Confirmation of his enhanced genetics was later provided from several sources, though he was unsure of some of them. One, for instance, had been a Dr Leonard McCoy who, along with his companions Captain James Kirk and the alien Commander Spock, claimed to have come from the 23rd Century in search of a fugitive. Another was the ethereally beautiful woman known only as Sapphire – she and her laconic companion Steel had intervened in Docs' investigation of a murderous 'ghost'. Then there was the enigmatic Doctor, an old ally but one whose origins and agenda remained shrouded in mystery. But the trusted confirmation had come from the brilliant young evolutionary biologist, Charles Xavier.
But it seemed that enhanced genetics were not naturally conducive to virtue, or even common decency. Doc often wondered how and where he had gone wrong with his son. His late wife, the Mayan Princess Monja, had been more philosophical.
"The son is not the father." She had told him. "My ancestry goes back far beyond yours, Clark, and contains both benevolent rulers and bloodthirsty tyrants. You and our son are both men of power, and men of power will seek either to serve or to rule. You chose service, our son wishes to rule, that's all. When the time comes, you will be able to rein him in."
But he hadn't. That day remained etched in Docs' memory; the day young Clark had told his father that he was taking over. He had shown him photographs, images of the children and grandchildren of Docs old companions in adventure.
"I know who these people are," Clark had told him, "where they live, what they do, their dreams and worries. With a single phone call, I can destroy all their lives. Not kill them, but much worse. I will do that, Father, unless you do exactly as I say."
Doc had to acknowledge the younger mans' cleverness in finding perhaps the only lever that could bend him. He had signed the papers and now lived here, in his private apartments at the Fortress. Sealed in by a biometric lock that answered only to his son's handprint, food and supplies provided via an elevator too small for him to crawl into in a shaft too narrow to accommodate him. He had access to the gymnasium, a study, a library and the media, but no way to contact the outside world. His laboratory and workshop had both been stripped of equipment and tools – his son was both thorough and distrustful.
So Doc had watched his son rise to power. He recognised what the boy was about, and only hoped that others did, too. Privately, he pinned his hopes on his granddaughter, Clarissa, who he knew would not sit still for this.
But he was still Doc Savage, so every day he went through the two-hour programme of exercise he had set for himself as a boy. He watched all the news programmes and any documentaries he was interested to see. He spent hours in his study, reading and making notes on many fields of knowledge. If his son hoped to render him apathetic and hopeless, he would be cheated of that hope.
The living quarters were soundproof, and Doc no longer had access to internal surveillance, so he had no idea as to what might go on in other parts of this large complex. So he was more than a little surprised to hear a voice.
Doc? Is that you?
Doc spun round, but there was nobody there. Odd. Nobody could have come into these rooms without him hearing or sensing them! A trilling sound came from his lips, then he turned back to his book, but instead of reading, he focused inward.
Hello?
The response was immediate, and this time he realised that it was in his mind, not his ears.
I hear you, Doc. I'm glad to find I'm not the only one here!
Charles? Charles Xavier? Savage responded. What are you doing here?
The reply was wry. Awaiting your sons' pleasure, it seems!
I'm afraid I was incautious, or at least naïve, in trusting certain members of the FBI with the facts regarding my own abilities, and in telling them that other mutants existed. Shortly after you disappeared from view, I was spirited away by agents of a Government programme called Project Seeker. Their aim was to identify, register and confine any and all mutants in what they called 'safe environments'.
I, of course, declined to have anything to do with this. Most mutants wish only to be left alone. I did offer to detect and identify mutants engaging in criminal behaviour, but was it was made clear to me that they viewed all mutants as dangerous. They have spent the last few years attempting to persuade, force or deceive me into doing what they wish.
Then yesterday, they placed me in an apparatus designed to suppress my abilities and loaded me onto a transport. It seems that Seeker had been closed down and I had been marked for euthanasia and dissection. A fate I was prepared to submit to for the greater good. But it seems your son has other ideas, as the transport was ambushed by mercenaries and I was brought here. I am still in the suppressor, but it only limits my range and ability to influence – they think it shuts me down completely.
Doc was more saddened than shocked.
I'm truly sorry, Charles. My son has taken a path which will lead him to a terrible fall, I'm afraid.
Xavier's reply was familiar and oddly cryptic.
Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? He asked. I'm going to monitor the guards and other staff here, see what I can find out. I'll be in touch.
Doc returned to his studies. But Xaviers' odd question kept coming back to him. Another person had asked that question in the past, and answered it in terrifying, deadly ways. A man who must now be as old, if not older, than Doc himself. Doc knew the man had a student, he had read the reports on the vigilante the Gotham City press sometimes called the Dark Knight. But suppose the master still lived? Doc knew something of the source of his powers, and knew the legends that said the master of such disciplines did not weaken with age, but only grew stronger. If Xavier knew or guessed something, as a man of his talents might well, then Clark might find himself facing something blacker and more terrible than he could imagine.