xXx

Stark faced the glowing monitor, and adjusted a few settings on the keyboard. The bald man's eyes fluttered once, then opened.

"You can't talk," Stark said. "You can hear me. Just speak into my mind. I want to make a deal with you, Xavier."

What kind of deal?

"There are only a handful of people who can make gear that protects against and detects psionics, right?"

Correct.

"I want to be one of them."

There was a long moment of silence.

What do you offer me in return?

"I have resources," Stark said. "What do you want? Monetary recompense?"

For a moment Stark felt Xavier skim through his mind, a quick tour.

No, not money, came the thought, quivering with excitement. You can make me an exosuit. You can make me walk again.

"As a matter of fact, I can," Stark said.

They both smiled.

xXx

Logan walked into the lounge, opened the refrigerator, and fished out a can of beer. He shut the fridge, and glanced over to the corner where Rasputin hunched over a pinball machine, thwacking the buttons on the side with his big meaty fingers.

Curious in spite of himself, Logan strolled over and glanced at the high score. His eyebrows went up.

"Pete, how long you been bashin this thing?" he asked.

"I do not know," the big man replied.

"Well, ya got thirty continues racked up," Logan noted. "Keep this up and by the time you leave it a pack of chimpanzees could play for two days without going through all yer continues."

"Yes," the huge man said, some heat in his voice. "What is the point?" He snapped the ball into the multiball slot, and three pinballs were released at once. Piotr stood to his full towering height and looked down at Logan, ignoring the chaos on the sloped pinball table as the silver metal balls caromed around from bumper to bumper, then slid between the inactive paddles to disappear.

Logan looked back briefly, then popped the tab on his beer and shook his head.

"Good luck," he said, and he returned to his room.

No sooner had he settled into his comfortable chair and fired up a cigar, beer on the table at his side, then a heavy knock hit his door.

"Come in," he said.

Piotr ducked through the opened door and closed it behind him. He turned to look at Logan. "Do you have a minute or two?" he asked.

"I'm off duty," Logan said. "Whatcha need?"

Piotr sank into a chair. "Logan," he said, "I am alone and out of place here. It is taking its toll on me. I am a farmer. I was born to a family of farmers and it is all I ever wanted to do."

"That so."

"Yes."

"So why'dja quit?"

Piotr heaved a deep sigh. "When I was an early teen I fell from a tree and broke my leg. It was a nasty break. The doctor put a pin, a steel pin in the bone to hold it together. When I returned after the cast was off, they discovered with their x-ray machine that my entire bone had become steel like the pin."

He shrugged. "This came to the government's attention. The KGB took me from my family, under the guise of university recruiters. They subjected me to torture and reward in alternating doses, so I did my best to tap this secret potential. I could turn my skeleton to steel, then my nerves, finally all my flesh and my skin and hair. Once they had unlocked this potential within me they gave me to that dog, Bukharin, to learn to be a bodyguard."

"Far cry from farmin." Logan puffed on his cigar.

"Yes, just so. One thing led to another and here I am, in the heartland of my country's enemy, serving one of the capitalists my people have always hated. I look around me and see the wealth and splendor, and my heart sinks within my breast as I think of those in my home community who are starving tonight." He gently touched one of the chairs. "The furnishings of my apartment here would support my family for two years if sold in a proper market." He shook his head. "Why am I here instead of with my people? To die at the hands of the thugs who were once KGB has more honor than to hide in the wealth of the United States. Am I a cultural liaison? I have done no such work, and I am not qualified to do so outside of Russia. I should live or die in my home country."

"Martyrs are only useful to causes and megalomaniacs," Logan said. "You're more useful to Stark alive."

"Why should I be useful to Stark?" Piotr said, raising his chin in defiance. "He has brought me only grief."

"Stark's crazy," Logan said. "Still, without him yer community would be irradiated six ways from Sunday and you'd be dead from Tymaz Nine. Don't forget that."

"A good deed does not make a man responsible or a good leader," Piotr said.

"I wouldn't say Stark was responsible and a good leader, necessarily," Logan sighed. "He is, after all, nuts."

"Then he should not be rich," Piotr said softly.

Logan shook his head. "The two go hand in hand, Pete. Wealth and insanity."

"That is why capitalism is wrong," Piotr said, his eyes shining with belief.

There was a long moment of quiet, the only motion in the room the ticking of the clock's second hand and the wafting of the cigar's smoke up into the vent.

"You know yer smack dab in the middle of a den of capitalists, right?" Logan said.

"I have felt it deeply," Piotr replied fervently.

"If you don't tell Stark there's a better way, who do you think will?"

Light dawned behind Piotr's eyes.

"Thank you, my comrade," Piotr said, rising. "I have much to do."

Logan's grin showed all his teeth as Piotr ducked out.

May 6, 2002

Stark was deep in thought as he strolled down the hall towards his office, so he didn't see Piotr until the last moment. He glanced up. "May I help you this morning?"

"Yes, I was wondering if we could speak together for a few minutes."

"Sure," Stark said, half listening.

"I've been talking to the cleaning staff," Piotr began. "One of them works two jobs. One is also on welfare in addition to working here. He is a single parent with three children to feed. This salary and health plan do not suffice for his family. Another of your employees cannot have a family because he knows he cannot afford children."

Stark gave him full attention. "So?"

Piotr blinked. "So," he said, a little rattled, "these people work in the midst of a tremendous display of wealth and they cannot feed their families. Those who work should have their basic needs met."

Stark narrowed his eyes. "Those who work should have needs that match their salaries, Rasputin. If they can't afford children they shouldn't have any." He looked at Piotr for a long moment, his mind following its own line of thought. "Whether you like it or not, Communism is a failure. There will always be the haves and the have nots." He smiled a brilliant smile. "At least I haven't replaced their jobs with robots. Is there anything further? I have business to attend to."

"Communism cannot be dismissed so easily," Piotr said, stung. "A handful of corrupt men cannot kill a dream. It is the task of each human being on this earth to try to bring greater equality to the oppressed."

"Very heroic," Stark said, nodding. "If they don't like their jobs they should get better education, learn better skills, and build some good habits. If they aren't clever enough to find or make a way out of their miserable lives, then that becomes the government or church community's task to help them. This is a corporation. Not a trade school. Not a community college. Not a church. Not a non-governmental organization for relief efforts. I don't want a company full of dead wood I can't fire because their families would suffer. I make technology. In my way, I am making the world better. Even the communists had division of labor figured out. Anything else?"

Piotr stood speechless.

"Good." Stark patted him on the shoulder. "Why don't you work with Potts and get my next Russia trip set up." Stark walked around him and continued on.

Piotr stood alone in the corridor.

"Nothing else, sir," Piotr breathed.

xXx

I am not a popular man. Would it be possible to enhance the body suit? Give it additional… protection?

Stark rubbed his jaw. "I agreed to help you walk, not to make you a tank. We don't trust each other enough for that. Let's stick to a simple exosuit that allows you to walk and call it good. I'm working on a way to build in a kind of psychic battery, so your mental powers would charge the suit. That way you won't have to worry about batteries or power units. Trust me, that's a good thing."

Would that dampen my abilities?

"Maybe," Stark conceded. "I can't be sure until we test it. Your healing is looking good, coming along well. Another day or two and we should be able to get you out of there to run at least preliminary tests. If I can figure out how to create a receptacle for the energies of your mind, that should give me a head start on developing countermeasures. I've heard a disturbing rumor that the Project has its own psycher now."

She is very skilled in infiltration.

"My countermeasures have had some success with intruders before," Stark said with a shrug. "I'm all for the 'live and let live' philosophy as long as I can protect my assets should there be a breach by the other party."

It is clear that we are each uncomfortable with furthering the aims of the other, Xavier thought. Collaboration is for the best, however. Think of what we stand to gain.

"I am," Stark said, "believe me, I am. But why do you even need to deal with me? Can't you just," Stark said, gesturing at his head, "take what you need?"

I can take the ideas, but not the expertise to implement them. I do not have sufficient technical skill to use your ideas without your assistance.

"Good," Stark said to himself, nodding. "That's good."

xXx

Logan headed down the hall towards his room, stretching and yawning like a cat. He walked past Piotr's room and saw the door open. He poked his head in.

Piotr was stuffing his clothes in a suitcase.

"Goin somewhere?" Logan drawled.

Rasputin turned to face him, radiating anger. "I have fought against people just like Stark my whole life," he said. "I have fought his ideals. What went wrong with the Soviet system is that it fell into the hands of the strong who used it to exploit the weak. No matter which side of the cold war you are on, it is wrong for the strong to grind down the weak and take from them their dignity and resources. I cannot support Stark. I have had my fill of working for corrupt men, for whatever reason."

"Now hang on," Logan said. "I understand not wantin to work fer Stark. But maybe it aint so much a matter of you working for him as it is a matter of you working for the rest of the world by helping Stark become what he could be."

"You talk in riddles, little man, and I have no patience!" Piotr snapped.

"Easy, big fella. The world is only gonna change if men who are half-blind, with iron ideals, make it change. Gotta be half-blind so you can't tell it's impossible, so you keep goin when there's no point, and you gotta have iron solid ideals so you remember why yer doin it. Sane people, like Pepper, they give up on nutballs like Stark. Stark needs people like you an me to refuse to be hurt, to hang in there with his bizarre wrongness until he trusts us and sees that we got a point. Needs role models."

"You think we are Stark's role models?" Piotr said incredulously.

"Not fer the day ta day," Logan shrugged. "But he don't know how to sacrifice, how to believe in somethin bigger than himself." He hesitated. "Bein a good man aint somethin you can take off and put on. It's gotta be who you are or it's worthless. You just can't walk away when it aint easy anymore."

"I don't understand where you are going with this," Rasputin said. Logan sighed.

"Fergit about all that. Okay. Stark has some good stuff in him, I believe that. It's just really deep. Only time and patience and effort can bring it to the surface. I think he needs people to show him how to believe in something bigger than himself. You can say he's an evil man, and maybe he is. But he aint so much the capitalist pig as he is some kinda feudal lord, takin care of his own, each accordin to their station." He shook his head. "Philosophies are like neckties. Hang onto one long enough it'll come back in style. They come and go. A system is no better or worse than the people in it."
"You really believe that?" Piotr said, his voice unreadable.

"I trust some people who do," Logan said. "Me, I can't figure that stuff out. Makes my head hurt, an it doesn't make a damn bit a difference in the long run. I gotta do what's in front of me to do. Right now, that's helpin Stark find his way to bein who he oughtta be."

"If Stark was a feudal lord, would we be his knights?" Piotr asked.

"In shinin armor," Logan said, amused.

"Would he then be like King Arthur?" Piotr pressed.

Logan shook his head. "There are no more kings, Pete. Stark doesn't have anybody or anything to believe in outside himself." Logan looked sideways at Piotr. "Maybe that's why he needs us."

Piotr sat lost in thought, packing forgotten.

May 7, 2002

Stark gently touched the faceplate of the suit of armor that looked down to him from where it brooded in its nest of cables and wires. A shiver ran up his damaged spine; for a moment he relived the sensation of flying through the air, the unbearable crash against the column at Creed's hands, the leering bloody face, the frozen armor. He shook his head, turned from the armor.

He perched on his work bench, surrounded by tools and components that, together, would equal the sum assets of the public school system in New York. He had studied the sensors that read every possible measurable emission from Xavier, during times of mental activity and during times of rest. He had studied them for the similarities, for the differences.

For one, Xavier was using biofeedback meditation techniques. That masked much of the psionic activity. Adding insult to injury, his psionic contact didn't burn a fraction of his power; it was effortless, like whispering would be for a normal person. Stark rubbed his mouth, sitting back. So. To get a real reading on Xavier's power, Xavier would have to use it, and use a lot of it. That should reveal any physiological spike that could point to how to harness psionics physically.

The comm chimed. Stark looked at it, checked the code. Pepper. He opened the channel.

"Mr. Stark," she said. "Fisk has sent a representative to talk to you. I think he might want to negotiate over the South American issues."

"Colombia's decision to freeze his assets until they determine whether or not he's a threat to national security had nothing to do with me," Stark said with a smile. "Serves him right for what happened in Brazil. Besides, didn't you check my calendar? I'm working on a project in the lab today."

"Yes, sir, I noted that," she said carefully. "But to make that happen you crossed out eight other appointments. Yesterday."

"Anybody on that list offer me something I don't have that I want?" Stark asked.

She scanned the list, her mouth tight. "Not at first glance, sir. Except field reports."

"It can wait," Stark said, waving his hand. "Give them an extra vacation day and put them up onsite. I'll get around to it."

"It's bad for morale, sir," Pepper said diplomatically.

"Thanks Pepper, you're a doll," Stark said as he cut the connection. He picked up the knee articulator, deep in thought. Then he punched in the code for Xavier.

"Xavier, this is Stark. In order to further my research, I need you to stretch yourself. Do something that requires a great deal of effort. Can you manage something like that?"

I'll do my best, Xavier thought, and Stark watched his vitals. Even here, halfway across the base, under chemical influence, while meditating, not a ripple of effort to make contact. He frowned.

Then he saw stress in Xavier's life signs. Stark kept an eye on the dozens of output feeds from the instrumentation monitoring Xavier. Skin temperature, pore dilation, circulation speed, pressure points, chi meridians, and every conceivable emission from the physical brain and from the physical systems were represented.

Stark smiled to himself. "I think we're onto something," he murmured.

xXx

Xavier lay on the bed, unmoving, relishing the feel of breathing the room's atmosphere instead of air from a tank through a hose. The gel treatment had been effective, if unpleasant. Patches of angry red, pink, and purple were still visible on his skin, but he was out of danger and he had skin.

The door opened, and he smiled to himself. "Hello, Logan," Xavier said in an even tone.

"I can't believe Betsy brought you here," the short man growled.

Xavier was quiet for a moment. "But she did."

"I'm just as flabbergasted that Stark is dealing with you," the growl continued.

"But he is," Xavier said.

"I'm standin here thinkin about killin you," Logan explained, deep and quiet and serious.

Xavier turned his head and looked at Logan. "I could drop you where you stand."

"Don't I know it," Logan muttered. He shook his head. "I got lucky, in yer basement. You didn't go to all the extra effort of cuttin through the static ta see what's goin on in my brain pan. Yer mistake, and you paid for it. But if you do anything to hurt Stark for healin you up, I'm gonna hafta repossess that life savin he did. Just so we're clear."

"What a droll way to put it."

Logan took the three steps towards Xavier, and looked him in the eye. "I got six more droll points I'm gonna put to ya if we have to get back to this conversation, got it?"

"I understand," Xavier said with a small smile.

"You aint even a little bit afraid," Logan observed. He nodded. "Okay. We'll see how it goes from here then."

The door opened, and Stark walked in. "Oh," he said, surprised to see Logan. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"Just a little heart to heart," Logan said. "We were just finished."

Logan left, and Stark watched him go. He turned to Xavier. "Is everything alright?"

Xavier smiled. "Everything's fine. He was encouraging me to look out for your best interests. Fascinating security you have here."

Stark shrugged. "He works better with minimal supervision. So far so good. Now, with my equipment I detected a few different possibilities for registering your psionic emissions, and if that is the case, if I'm on the right track here I can refine instrumentation to pick psionic energy up at increased sensitivity. Once we can measure it I can begin to put together a method to collect and convert it."

"Always a pleasure," Xavier said with a smile, "working with a scientific mind."