Chapter 10: Ecce Homo
"My God, what a day," muttered Peter. Mary Jane retrieved a can of beer.
Peter was flopped on the couch and slurping a beer rapidly. He almost wished his finely-tuned metabolism (just one of the products of a radioactive spider bite) didn't process alcohol so quickly. He wanted to get buzzed, which was proving rather difficult.
"Tell me all about it, Peter," Mary Jane said, pouring another beer. Alcohol loosens lips and inhibitions.
"He was carrying the hostage—in the fourth tentacle?" Peter slurped some more beer. Mary Jane poured some more.
"He was carrying his hostage. A brown-haired girl. Shielding her."
"Why? Did he actually seem to care for her?"
"He's always taken in scientifically-gifted kids occasionally, mentored them. He tried to do that for me once. But I thought that ended when—" Peter chugged down some more. "I guess there is a downside to super-powered metabolism."
"Maybe the line where Octavius leaves off and Octopus begins is finer than we think," MJ offered helpfully.
"He was careful not to let her get hurt. She looked exactly like him, you know. Same hair, same facial features. They were blunted, feminized, but exactly the same."
"Maybe she was his daughter."
"He said quite clearly that he and Rosie never had kids. Pass me another beer."
MJ poured some more, some for herself as well as her husband. She took a sip, but thought better of it. It was not good for a spy to be drunker than the target—not even James Bond.
"Maybe he picked up a girl in a bar and she got pregnant."
"It was probably you. You had that kid around a year ago, between little Ben and little May. Some girlfriends I have—they screw my archenemies behind my back." Mary Jane's face fell. "Aw, I'm sorry. You would never do that to me."
Mary Jane had long known the reason for Gwen's death. She had feared the same thing would happen to her. She'd borne Harry Osborn's daughter. Unlike Gwen, she was not so naïve as to believe her husband would willingly raise a descendant of his arch nemesis. Determined for the child not to learn her heritage, she'd signed away her parental rights and given the baby up for adoption. Somehow, Norman had gotten to his dead son's child and raised her as his own—the son he'd never had.
She could beat him to the punch, tell him about it all first, without Norman distorting the whole sordid story—but he'd promised silence as long as she helped him. Why ruin a perfect marriage?
Meanwhile, on Pier 56…
"Wait, let me explain! I know it sounds stupid, but…" Octavia desperately called.
"I am not aware of ever having been cloned."
"There's a DNA analyst computer in here. Let me prove it to you."
And slowly, Octavia retrieved two syringes and took a sample of her own blood with one. The doctor winced as he rolled up his sleeve and drew blood from himself, too.
For the life of the flesh is in the blood.
"Mary Jane, who are you calling?"
"My lawyer," she fibbed. I'm gonna need a divorce lawyer if Norman opens his mouth.
"Well?" the voice on the other end said. "About that hostage?"
"Peter said the hostage closely resembled Octavius…and he was riding in a car with some CIA agent who was also after him."
"So it worked then. They were really doing it."
"Doing what?"
"If I wanted you to know, I'd tell you." With another round of mad cackles, he hung up.
"Amazing." Octavius studied the computer's genetic analysis. "You were right. You share all of my genes. An almost exact genetic duplicate."
Then why am I a girl? She wondered.
He answered the very question she was thinking of. "Yes, you do have a Y chromosome. All mammals, including humans, are female by default unless masculinized. It's the opposite for birds and for reptiles, gender depends of the temperature an egg is laid. There is only one gene on the Y chromosome that masculinizes a male fetus—called the SRY. In your case, the SRY seems to be intentionally mutated, giving you a female body with male behavioral characteristics. But why?"
"Why what?"
"Why would they want to clone me?"
Octavia shuddered to think of the answer: that she was more and yet less than he was, engineered to be a super-soldier in America's secret army.
She was uniquely alone.
"You heard me." Carlyle's voice was clipped and impatient. He'd answered this question several times. "You were to be paid after completion of the experiment. We've lost our clone. You'll get you money as soon as we get the clone alive and give her the formula."
Norman Osborn, prominent businessman-cum-super villain, was especially cross today. "I knew you were taking genetic samples form superhumans, but you had to clone Octavius, for God's sake?"
"We couldn't tell the effects of superhuman genetic mutations on a clone, Osborn," Carlyle explained. "The SDSI finally settled on Octavius because he had certain desirable traits, but no genetically based powers."
"You're not going to screw me out of money, Carlyle."
"Oh, don't worry. It's not like you need it, anyway. Once we get the clone, you'll get what's coming to you."
Oh, don't worry, Agent Carlyle. I will.
Peter and Mary Jane Parker had arrived at their destination, a fashionably exclusive, out of the way Chinese restaurant called the Kwan Yin, after the Buddhist goddess of mercy. Although Peter was distracted by his "mission" with Agent Cypher, he was feeling adventurous. He hailed a waiter to his private booth.
"Sir?"
Peter smiled. "Do you have anything…you know, too exotic for the menu tonight? I have plenty of money." He had taken money from Cypher for his role in Project Apollo, but although he was a bit ashamed of it, he desperately needed it.
"Why yes," the waiter responded upon seeing the thick bundle of bills Peter was flashing. "It is a Korean delicacy, prized by martial arts students who believe it gives tremendous strength, ferocity, and stamina. It also has a distinctive texture, a delicate taste and a unique feel in the mouth. But it is tricky to eat and I fear it may be much too—exotic—for your sensibilities."
Peter frowned. Sensibilities be damned. I need all the strength and stamina I can get, because I can tell this battle with Doc Ock is going to be a real doozie and I might as well enjoy myself before the end.
"I'll take it. I'm feeling very adventurous tonight."
The waiter smiled and brought back a ornately decorated wineglass and a bottle of Napa Valley wine perfectly suited for the occasion.
Two lovely waitresses, their black hair in buns and dressed in red kimonos adorned with gold dragons, then appeared with an ornately engraved, red lacquered tray on which stood a white porcelain bowl of steaming saffron rice and a smaller pot with hot peanut oil, twice clarified and infused with pepper and mustard oils.
The aroma was divine. Mary Jane, who could appreciate good food herself, sniffed appreciatively.
A third waitress, her kimono the color of rare orchids, put a plain white plate before Peter, and beside the plate she set down ivory chopsticks decorated with a simple band of gold.
Finally, the fourth waitress, wearing a kimono as rosy pink as cherry blossoms, appeared with the entrée, setting it to the left of the plate.
Peter and Mary Jane both leaned forward in anticipation of this ambrosia, this food of the gods, which must be waiting even now in the covered silver serving dish.
The pink-gowned waitress lifted the lid. The delicacy was revealed.
Peter's face blanched, then arranged itself in an odd mixture of disgust and revulsion.
Squirming in a shallow pool of water in the platter, sat two live, wriggling, bulbous-headed, beady-eyed, eight-tentacled octopi.
Allowing the sheer ironic humor of the moment to pierce the darkness of recent events, Peter and Mary Jane burst into laughter, to the great puzzlement of the entire restaurant staff.
"I guess some of our tax dollars were well-spent, after all." The doctor was now studying Octavia's tentacles, comparing them with his own. "Much stronger, an adamantium-titanium alloy, much better-looking and shinier than mine. The round rings lining them was a nice touch—they almost look like suckers. Are you ready to go out?"
"Yes, Father," Octavia said. The mad scientist did not notice how pale and thin she looked.
Spider-Man crawled in to the black sedan waiting for him in the parking lot. "Hello, Agent Cypher."
"Are you ready to go?"