Arc 3 - Race Into Space (2 - 3)

"Can you give me a status check, please?" you asked slowly, closing a side-panel on the electronics bay and hiding the wires from view. "Make sure you get the charge ratings, they've been a bit odd the last few passes…"

"The avionics and RCS controls appear to be fully functional," Jarvis said after almost ten seconds. "I apologize for my tardiness, sir. The mainframe is currently heavily in use, and I am only barely keeping up with demand."

"You are our heavy lifter, so that's not surprising. Not sure if we'd even have a prototype yet without you working yourself ragged, actually. Feels like I should be paying you a salary," you remarked, smiling slightly. "Anyway, if this buckets of bolts works, I think I'll move on to the next bit - flight stabilizers!" Joy, they had been so easy on the suit - not. "Any suggestions on that front, buddy?"

"Not at this time. As this flight is intended to enter space, it is unlikely that the atmospheric stabilizers will be required in any significant degree, but it pays to be cautious. They would be especially vulnerable on reentry, even if a more traditional rocket-style landing is probably preferable right now."

You nodded. "Hm. It seems like half the things I've been doing lately are just to make sure we don't blow up…" You wiped the sweat from your brow as you rolled your chair back, and the little wheels scraped across the hardwood floor. The room you were using, ostensibly someone's office, wasn't exactly the most luxurious; still, it reminded you off your old basement, and that was enough.

You kinda missed the old dump to be honest, and that might be one reason why you kept the place a little messy on purpose - it seemed natural. Laid out across the table was your suit, or at least, the inner parts of it, ready for assembly at a later time. Almost twenty percent larger than the last, it was considerably more well-armored, and capable of supporting a vacuum-suit, which would certainly come in handy. No need to reinvent the space suit...

The last few weeks had been grueling for everyone involved, you had to admit that much. Spaceflight was not easy, even for someone who knew exactly what he needed to make it happen. The sheer rush behind the whole project was affecting everybody, and you'd personally worked nearly around-the-clock for the better part of two weeks, watching over other people's progress whenever you needed a breather. Even Jarvis, ostensibly beyond such mundanities as tiring, had been sounding more and more stressed over time.

Despite Pepper's stringent emphasis on getting enough sleep and food, you'd driven yourself to your limits, making sure not to go so far as to slip back into hallucinations and eerie dreams. Still, you felt as if you were back in the trenches, working from dawn to dusk and never really stopping. It was as if you were twenty years old again, unconcerned with the troubles of business and the expectations of the world, just focusing on one thing at a time, and getting things done.

You had to admit - you kinda liked it.

Inspiration was easy to come by, usually - but just having the concept of a cool flying suit in your head didn't actually help much in making it a reality. Much of the technology to support that vague idea had to be manually created, usually almost from scratch, and that meant it really ate into your time. Time in which you could be doing other awesome things, making up new incredible applications. The risks of spreading yourself too thin was ever-present.

The ship, however, wasn't based on any particularly new technology, except for the upgraded repulsors and tweaks to the reactors. That meant a lion's share of the heavy lifting had been done before by yourself, or by others in the field. There was no need to get real fancy, and the rush of the job meant, paradoxically, that you had fewer minutiae to tackle, and more big-picture implementation issues to consider. You had all the technology - time for fun.

Nowhere was your newfound burst of inspiration more evident than in the ship's design. The original concepts that you'd drawn up had been all about practicality, styled after every cylindrical rocket ever built, and they detailed precisely what you needed to get into orbit, without fuss or excess. Of course - that wasn't very you, and you couldn't help but take that as a challenge. Time to make something awesome.

The classical shape of a rocket was functional, of course - but it didn't showcase any uniqueness, despite the revolutionary propulsion, or the vessel's game changing efficiency. If anything, it left Stark Transcendent looking rather derivative, behind the times compared to Richards' flashy ride. This flight was about more than wiping away Reed's smug expression - it was a proof of concept, a demonstration of prowess. You couldn't afford to look like a latecomer in private spaceflight; you had to look like the undisputed king.

You'd spent a sleepless night brainstorming over it, designing something that merged your hardware requirements with bold aesthetics - and the plans for a more revolutionary kind of craft came into being. Resembling a vast and sweeping wing more than a rocket, its contour was perfect for gliding through the atmosphere even at great altitude, and it would certainly catch the eye. It wasn't really a space-plane, in that it could just as easily lift off vertically, but the comparison between your ship and Richards' would certainly be drawn.

And yours was prettier.

The changes you'd made to the design had meant a substantially greater workload than expected, and only the constant assistance of Jarvis as producer and distributor of parts kept things from grounding to a halt in confusion. Under his all-seeing directions seven or eight unrelated parts were installed at once in varying parts of the metal endoskeleton, seemingly in random order until they suddenly connected with remarkable accuracy. The ship was already more than three-quarters covered up by metal interlocking plates that would serve as its insulation - there was no need to spare on lead when mass wasn't much of a practical issue. Only one more layer of metal would be installed on top, all cosmetic.

Curiously enough, even Dum-E and Butterfingers, usually content to putter about on their little squeaky wheels, had been put into service transporting various parts from place to place, rolling around the halls with entirely too much enthusiasm. That told you just how busy Jarvis was - and how well he was hiding it. You weren't sure when exactly the bots had gotten their hands on shirts emblazoned with the company logo, but both of them wore them proudly around their chassis, and you couldn't help smile whenever they passed by.

"Sir?"

You glanced up irritably. "I'm fine, Jarvis. It's been weeks," you murmured, shaking yourself from the musings, and you turned your attention back to the cockpit, your own area of expertise. By installing an array of holographic emitters within the inside of the cabin, there would be no need for windows, or even physical buttons. Everything would be projected inside via cameras in the hull, letting you look around as if there was no three-inch metal wall between you and the void. The only solid switches would be for emergencies, and you hoped you'd never have to use any of those.

The flashiness of the ship was, of course, entirely intentional - beyond getting the ship ready to fly, you were literally months behind Reed Richards' extensive media campaign which had become especially noticeable in the past month's run-up to launch. You didn't have time for visits to talk-shows, and you didn't care for it either, which left only a few options. One of them was to rely on lesser exposure and show up Richards on the day itself. The other was to go big.

In less than six hours, half a dozen press moguls would be on-site at Transcendent, and by that time the ship had to at least look like it was ready to fly. Jarvis estimated that the full length of time would be needed to finish up the last obvious gaps; you challenged him to get it down in four hours instead. The AI's exasperated acknowledgement had a distinct undertone of pride to it, you thought - perhaps he appreciated being useful as much as you did. It wouldn't be out of character.

"Sir?" Jarvis inquired again after a few moments. "Are you available right now? Mr. Parker is requesting an urgent meeting."

You frowned. "Hm? A meeting?" You paused, realizing the alternative. "Or a meeting? Do I have to head upstairs?" you added. "This is so inconvenient…"

"The former." Jarvis hesitated. "I admit, Mr. Parker did not use those exact words," he said. "He appears to have had an altercation with a colleague, and is heading your way at considerable speed. It does not appear you have a choice in the matter. sir."

"...Ah. It's one of those days." Deadlines - they got to the best of people, sooner or later. You'd been expecting Peter to crack for a while, and he'd kept things steady for a long while. "Okay, I guess this needs to be dealt with first. Thanks, Jarvis."

Well, you figured, at least things weren't boring.

"This seriously needs to stop," Peter declared without preamble as he slammed the door with rather more force than necessary - or possible for a regular person. His hair was in disarray, he was sporting a black eye, and he was limping. Despite that, he showed no signs of actual pain as he stalked over. "Dr. Armond just vetoed my experiments - again! That's three times in as many days!"

"...I see," you replied, staring at his frazzled form as you leaned back in your chair. "What happened to your face?Did you get in a fight with the equipment?"

The boy scowled, rubbing his eye. Peter looked - well, he looked like you tended to, overworked and with bags under his eyes from short, uncomfortable nights and long, long workdays. All things considered, he was handling it a lot better than you did, given that he was a superhero on top, but youth and powers probably had a lot to do with that. The latter were probably how he got those blemishes, too. You resolved to ignore them.

"I got into a fight yesterday. I was tired, I accidentally headbutted a fist." He rolled his eyes. "It happens. You wouldn't believe how much the bastard gloated, too…"

"So… Armond," you added after a long moment, glancing through the open door into the hallway beyond. "That man is technically your superior, so he does have the right to question what you do," you pointed out gently. "And you are rather new at this job, no offense. Armond might not know everything there is to know, but he's got an eye for bad ideas."

Peter sighed for a moment, leaning against the doorsill. "I get that, I know what you mean. But I know my idea would work. Or at the very least, that it wouldn't blow up instantly as he believes." He wiggled his fingers. "I don't get any shivers when I tinker around with it. Of course, I can't really give a reasonable explanation…"

"Ah." You paused for a long moment, considering the vague reference to sensing danger that you'd picked up from Peter before - and how broadly applicable it seemed to be. More than instinct then. More like precognition? "That's certainly a new one," you admitted. "Tell you what - show me what you came up with, and I'll look over it myself. I can squeeze it in, I think." You shuddered at imagining Pepper's wrathful stare. "It's not like I need to eat every day…"

The boy smiled slightly. "You shouldn't work yourself into a stupor before launch day," he warned. "I can deal with it myself - don't worry." He paused. "Tony…?"

"Hm?"

"I wanted to thank you for - well, for all this." He gestured vaguely at the badge that hung from his hip. "My Aunt wouldn't admit to it, of course, especially to you - but she's grateful for the opportunity that you gave me, and so am I. Honestly, I'd sort of thought that an actual job would forever be beyond me… The photography gig seemed to be it."

"Can't say hiring you was selfless heroism," you pointed out dryly. "I heard Bambi talking about you the other day, when she thought I wasn't listening in - you've made an impression already. Couple people are pretty jealous right about now. The fact that you're named in the same breath as Dr. Pym and myself, well… Not to toot my own horn, but that's…"

"Nuts." Peter rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Yeah, tell me about it, they're crazy! I am getting tutored on basic math and statistics, and yet they think I'm freaking Einstein."

"Know how you feel. They like to call me DaVinci, and I don't even paint," you muttered. "Let me take a look at your work," you urged once more, and Peter hesitated. "Seriously, we're on a short enough deadline that I can't afford more bickering in the team," you explained. "Jarvis - you've got access to Peter's files - toss them onto the big screen for me, would you?"

"Immediately, sir."

The screen lit up, and you stared in disbelief at the schematic that popped up, and particularly the little notation at the top. "Does that say - Arc Reactor fix - mark thirty-two?" You glanced back at the boy. "I knew you'd been busy, but damn, that's ridiculous."

Peter scoffed. "It's not what you think. A lot of the early tests were about narrowing down possible solutions, not working out every single one in detail." He stepped fully into the room from his position at the door, closing it behind him. He glanced over your suit with interest, but then ignored it. "I told you half of this, I think, but you weren't really listening that time. I came up with half a dozen test that knocked things down to just two solutions that wouldn't require a refit. Since nobody could really find a flaw with the reactor, most of the complicated solutions were thrown out, leaving us with simple ones…"

You nodded. "Redesigning isn't really an option in a week or two, or even a month. If it's on that level, it won't be fixed before the flight," you agreed, curious where this was going. "So - you had two options."

"Yeah… Dr. Armond is banking on a simple serial set-up, designed to make sure that after a reactor fails, the next one picks up the slack," Peter explained, gesturing at the screen as Jarvis obligingly put up a diagram of the situation. "It would work, I think - but it's an expensive solution that would leave half the ship exploding on purpose. Even chemical rockets at least direct the things in some way, this would be like having a grenade go off every few seconds while you're flying..."

"Yeah, not nice," you agreed. "The alternative was doing this in parallel," you observed. "Spread the workload across a multitude of reactors that work in tandem, and tweak them until they function as one. I actually built a proof-of-concept for that…"

Peter nodded. "It's a good idea in principle, but the slightest misalignment involving such high energies would be - fairly catastrophic. And you don't really want easy failure points on something that's supposed to deal with multiple g's of acceleration and crash back through the atmosphere, unless you want to explode in a massive fireball."

"Let's not do that either," you said dryly. "Neither sounds good, and we're kind of running short on time here…"

Peter nodded. "Which leaves this." He raised his hand, and Jarvis changed slides to show something that you recognized instantly. "I've been trawling through some of the old plans, and I came across this little doozy…"

"That's a repulsor," you said slowly, mystified. "How's that supposed to help?"

"We've been working on the idea that the Arc Reactor is at fault - which makes sense, since that's what keeps breaking," Peter murmured. Jarvis obligingly zoomed in as Peter pointed at the centre of the image. "You see this, though? The control manifold?" He gestured to the assembly just behind the nozzle of the repulsor. "That's the aperture of the Mk1." A new picture popped in besides it. "And that is the Mk2's version. You'll note that the differences are highlighted in red. Thanks, Jarvis."

"It was no problem, Mr. Parker."

You glanced between the two diagrams, subtly different. "...Okay? So?"

"I think I know what's really going on," Peter said confidently. "When you designed the Mk2 repulsor, you tossed the old manifold out. You went for cutting down the flow of power to the repulsor at the reactor, instead of relying on the repulsor itself to vent the excess energy. Given the proposed output of the Mk2 this was a smart approach - but it had a hidden cost."

"...Crap," you murmured after a long moment, as you realized what Peter was implying. The problem was elementary, and the solution wasn't revolutionary - just a tweak on something you'd already finished - but the implications were pretty big. Peter had seen a mistake you hadn't - an error that you'd missed even after several passes. The errant bug was located, against all odds, in one of the few parts you'd been sure were too simplistic to fail. One of the few you'd been convinced were flawless. You closed your eyes, sighing. "The new control mechanism I built has a backwash, doesn't it?" you asked, knowing the answer.

"Most likely. I suspect it's less than 0,1% of the output," Peter agreed. "You can't really pick up on it while it's running, since the ambient energy levels are too high, but I'm convinced that's what's happening. Simulations seem to agree with me."

You rubbed your forehead, trying to remember when you'd last been corrected by someone else. Save for Jarvis, you couldn't recall much of that in years. "Right. A thousandth part of a few megawatts would still be plenty of power to wreck a finicky reactor," you agreed. Even running in parallel, a backwash of energy would slowly eat away at the connections, shorting out after a longer, but still finite time. It fit too well to be a coincidence.

You looked to Peter. "You know, you'd be a lot more convincing as a not-genius if you didn't take me to school on my own work. Just saying."

Peter didn't answer immediately, coloring a little. "...Dr. Armond thought I was seeing ghosts. That you couldn't have made a mistake like that."

You winced slightly. "Can't really blame him. The repulsor was working within expected parameters - he had no reason to believe it was at fault without some solid test results. Certainly he'd need more than a hunch, even from a super-person. You could have taken all this to him, though..."

Peter scoffed. "That man knows even less about repulsors than I do, and I know only a little," he complained. "He had no idea what to even look for, if you can believe it. Jarvis built me a small-scale prototype of my solution, but I didn't get any precise readings from it, and I couldn't get to reactor-breaking strength regardless. The only way to know for sure is to scale things up, by a lot…"

"Jarvis?" you called. "You heard the man. Start production immediately."

"Sir - the production line is currently full, and several dozen arc reactors are scheduled for use in the serial-line project. Should I postpone those?"

"Yeah. I think making Mr. Armond wait for an hour or two is sufficient punishment for short-sightedness, don't you think?" You grinned impishly. "Just claim you're too busy to get to his project, if he asks. Let him stew a bit. Get going."

Peter smiled. "I appreciate the confidence."

"Whatever, Einstein. You might've just saved the mission. Remind me to get you a cookie," you said. "By the way - now would be a good time to angle for a raise."

"Really?"

You smirked. "Nope."

Agent Coulson looked rather uncomfortable in his neat and clean suit, surrounded as he was by the disassembled and dripping remains of what could have been a plane, at first sight. The exterior 'vanity' plates were drying, and the rather sharp odor seemed to drift through the entire building, too distinct to ignore. "You do realize the press will be arriving soon?" he inquired. "With all this… junk…"

"It's not junk. The scent's just from the adhesive - not toxic, and it'll be gone within the hour. I didn't figure a nice odor was a prerequisite," you said without looking up. "It's a feature, not a bug." The exterior plates would be the last parts to adorn the ship, attached over the gleaming metal skeleton that had already been finished in order to turn it from a jagged utilitarian box into something sleek and aerodynamic. "I had some of the boys make this, actually - it's really heat-resistant, and it's got a few nifty tricks up its sleeve, too."

Coulson blinked. "Even your paint has tricks?"

You smiled. "You don't know me very well, do you? Why do something when you can overdo it instead? This bird's dressing to impress. Trust me - I know what I'm doing here."

Coulson murmured something under his breath as he paced slowly through the hall, looking askance at the mostly-finished Starkbird as you inspected its latest improvements. Hank Pym had named the ship, mostly on a whim - he'd come up witharkship, mostly as a pun on the arc reactor. It was Peter who realized that the 'Stark Transcendent Arkship' would have a rather convenient acronym to use - and a nicely ego-soothing one, for you.

"You realize that S.H.I.E.L.D. cannot be held responsible for you blowing yourself up?" the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent asked shortly as he looked over the gleaming shape. "It's one thing to keep you safe from people meaning to do you harm, but this is something else…" He stared. "Because you are going to fly this thing personally, aren't you?"

"You're beginning to understand me!" you agreed. "What's the point of owning a spaceship if you can't fly it?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. does consider your safety a point of concern," Coulson said after a long moment. "After recent events, several weeks of peace are unexpected - anomalous. Given the kind of people sent after you before, we must conclude that someone is merely biding the time for an opportune moment. Such as complete isolation in a location where no help can come for you." His expression was flat as he finished. "Do you understand?"

"Don't I have you guys for stuff like that?" you asked dryly. "Besides - you left me alone for a month, and things worked out just fine!"

"Who says we weren't here?" Coulson replied, a ghost of a smile on his face as he did. "Director Fury is passingly interested in your new endeavours, but S.H.I.E.L.D. cannot guarantee a large presence on these premises, as you requested. This will be an empty building, Stark - we aren't exactly overflowing with agents to tackle every possibility."

"But Stark Transcendent is too young to be left alone for a weekend," you said, pouting. "It'll start crying for momma…"

The agent sighed. "Stark…"

"I know, I know. I wish I didn't have to ask this at all," you admitted. "It'd be stupid not to rely on some outside assistance, though, and there's a whole bunch of arc reactors downstairs. Even if they can't be used for weapons, they're still my technology, and entirely too valuable to fall into enemy hands…"

"And you expect a paramilitary force is required to deal with common thieves?" Coulson asked.

"Yes!" you exclaimed. "Have you seen the news?" you added, incredulous. "This city has like - dozens of crazy people in costumes! Crazier than me, even! The last person who used Horizon Labs was a bona fide mad genius with metal tentacles fused to his spine! You can't even make that crap up, and it happened anyway!"

"Ah." Coulson looked away. "...Point taken."

"I'm not asking for much here," you said adamantly. "All I need is a few days of peace and quiet. I expect that when people realize there's guards around, they won't try anything stupid. Too costly to pull off a heist like that without extensive planning."

"I guess," Coulson said dubiously. "If we keep people at the company, there will be fewer available to cover the launch - you're running a risk either way."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Just get me arrow guy and the hot nurse, and I think we can get an agreement about that." You paused for a long moment. "You can come too, I guess."

"Wonderful," Coulson murmured. "I can hardly wait."

"Hm. How about we walk down to the experimental corner? There's some last-minute projects we're trying to shoehorn in. Backups, you know?" You winked. "I can give you all sorts of new worries, isn't that great?"

"I think I'm going gray already," Coulson said miserably to himself. "No wonder the Director is bald…"

"They're going to be here in minutes, I suspect," Dr. Pym said easily as he sat down - it looked rather peculiar, as his vaguely translucent form sank down onto empty air. "Don't mind me - just resting my feet for a bit. I've been working on that damn reactor so much that I can barely even feel my fingers, let alone my toes. I've been angling for a foot massage, but..." He glanced aside, grimacing at something invisible. "Yes, dear..."

"I wouldn't know what you're talking about," you responded with a grin, twitching your own tingling digits. "I would ask Pepper - but I have a feeling she'd slap me. Anyway, I figured everyone's putting their all into this one, so it's good to see you're on top of things too." You smiled wryly. "I don't know if you heard - but Peter sort of stole everyone's thunder."

Pym grinned at that. "I did hear that. I was getting to a similar conclusion, but the kid got there first - credit where it is due. Gotta love the next generation, right? Makes me feel like an old fogey, you know…" He shrugged. "Anyway - I've spent much of my time on other matters - for one, I came up with some improvements on the arc reactor while I was busy figuring out its flaws. Here." He gestured, and diagrams popped into existence in mid-air, vaguely translucent but very clear. "Jarvis can start production immediately - he'll complain, but we have the money to afford the components right now."

"Hm…" The plans were elaborate and significantly different from your own design, and it took you a moment to decipher the similarities and differences. What did catch your eye was the title at the top of the page. "...You called it the Mk2?" you asked. "Bit early for that, don't you think?"

Pym shrugged as he sipped from his ethereal cup that seemed to appear in mid-air. "It's more than twice as efficient as your original version, and far more stable. Maybe I'm being brazen there, but between your own advancements and mine, it contains only a third of the original components. That sounds like Mk2 territory to me. We can work out the kinks of the thing later - what to call it is not really the point, I should think."

"Yeah, it's just…" You sighed. "Everyone loves to outdo me today, it seems. And now I realize I'm talking to you about this. God, since when did you turn into my trusted psychologist?"

"I'm sure you would've found some other poor fool to talk at," Pym said dismissively. "And the risk of running a company with smart people is that sometimes they do smart things," he observed dryly. "Deal with not being unique anymore. Also - there's one more development that I wanted to draw your attention to, before we go off and face the cameras..."

"Won't that be fun…" you complained. You waved a hand impatiently. "Go."

Gym gestured back to his plans vaguely. "You installed a software-based security feature in the original reactor, and I came across it when I was tinkering with the design. But - I came across a little more in your files. You were most of the way to making a hardware-level security feature before you moved on to other things, weren't you?" He raised an eyebrow. "You abandoned that project in favour of Stark Transcendent's new goal, and didn't get back to it in time. I figured it was kind of a lost opportunity, so…"

You paused, staring at the diagrams. "...You finished it?"

"I wouldn't have mentioned it otherwise," Pym said rather smugly. "If someone cracks the case of one of these new reactors, or tries to wrench them apart without some pretty specific authorization, the reactor's energy lashes inward violently. It mangles and fusing the entire insides to mush before you can blink. Instant paperweight. It'll take a while to upgrade the big reactors to this level, but everything else should be good to go by week's end. You could even start thinking about putting these things incars, honestly."

"You… God, I hate today," you murmured. "Any more revolutions while you were at it? Please say no."

Pym shrugged. "Not really. And don't forget that your name's on the billboards for a reason. You've gotten a bit used to being the golden goose, I think…"

You jolted at that, reminded of Obi's words to you, a short while before he was rendered comatose. "I guess that's true. And - Iam impressed, of course. I suppose this is what you get when you gather a small army of science bros." You frowned. "Can women be bros? Because I think we can count Bambi. Without her and Jarvis, this place would be a veritable warzone."

"Don't forget Janet, either!" Pym added lightly. "Look, I'll get out of your hair - you've got enough to worry about with the paparazzi. Don't let them eat you alive. Bye."

The image winked out.

"...I still made Jarvis," you muttered to yourself, breathing out slowly. "Don't you worry, ego. You're still the best. I'm still the best."

"Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention, please?"

It felt awkward to stand on the hastily constructed podium looking out over the considerable throng that had gathered in one of the unoccupied side rooms of ST. Aside from the usual suspects, including major news networks and some local channels, there were an unusual amount of space enthusiasts - doubtlessly informed via the message you'd sent to your private space buddies early in the morning. Several newspapers had sent their own representatives as well, and seemed rather out of place among the nerds with their oversized cameras and clueless expressions. Although the room had only been made ready less than an hour before, the slight scent of paint didn't seem to be overt enough for anyone to mention. Thank goodness.

"Hello," you said jovially. "You all know me, I hope - yes, I've been on a few of your covers. Probably all of them. And I may have had a few dozen trillion interviews over the years." You smiled genuinely, focusing more on the genuinely interested people instead of the reporters - it always made things easier. Usually, you just spoke as if you were addressing Pepper, and that worked out fine. "Today - is a little different. You might've noticed that I've been rather reclusive over the last few months, especially since my - troubles."

There was some murmuring, but you continued undaunted. "Stark Transcendent has been mentioned in some articles in recent times, but few details have been announced as to our particular specialties. This was intentional, but the time has come to lift at least a small part of that veil." You gestured at the screen behind you as it lit up with the logo of the company. Next to it, taking up a considerably smaller part of the screen, was a picture of Reed Richards. With a scribbled on mustache.

"As you have certainly heard, Dr. Reed Richards has recently announced his attempt at breaking new ground in the field of aeronautics," you said clearly, and the crowd slowly hushed. "He intends to change the way we perceive spaceflight - to turn it away from being expensive, difficult, slow-going to anywhere but the International Space Station. I am not here to disagree with these particular goals - they are part of a vision I share with him."

There was a rumble, then - incredulous realization on some faces, disbelief on others. A few seemed utterly unflappable. Well - he would get to them. The only ones who seemed to clue in to the proceedings were wearing distinctly recognizable shirts - SpaceX, Orbital, Virgin.

"This company was founded, independent from Stark Industries, precisely because it is intended to explore new ideas - and ideals - that are aimed at the civilian market - and humanity at large. Cheap, renewable energy, advanced robotics and holographics, and more juicy developments."You turned slightly. "This is a project we have been working on for some time - it feels like years. Show them, Jarvis."

The AI dimmed the light as the screen focused on the construction hall that had been your ship's home for several weeks - its gleaming shape stood out among the clutter of the workplace in its elegance, illuminated by several stage lights to show off its shiny skin.

"This… is the Starkbird."

The noise that erupted at that was a sharp, high-pitched conglomeration of shouts and questions, and you smiled to yourself as you looked over the crowd. Although it took several minutes before the rush of urgent whispering and clicking cameras receded, you simply waited, posing as you'd become all too familiar with.

"From today onward, Private Space has gained a new competitor - and a new source of optimism to add to the existing ones," you said into your microphone. "Next week, the very same day as Mr. Richards's launch, we intend to show off our ship in the only fashion I think it deserved - driving Reed's into the dust. If I can arrange it, we'll launch simultaneously, for a true race into space. And to the victor go the spoils..."

You ignored the calls, the urgent yells and Pepper's embarassed smile at the side of the room as you gestured to the sky. Jarvis noticed, and the ship's picture changed to a video. A carefully edited video of practical tests and snapshots passed by. Peter's unsuccessful Mk2 test was in there, for lack of a fixed prototype before the next day - but it wasn't as if you were going to show it exploding. The glowing power of the arc reactors themselves was on full display for a few moments, shining eerily within their casings. There was footage of the cabin opening as well, unfolding neatly to allow the pilot to step out - even in space, if absolutely necessary. A docking port briefly emerged from a niche at the back of the ship, ready to link up with the ISS as soon as NASA gave the go-ahead. The whole video was sleek - for something tossed together in thirty minutes.

"This project is not, of course, a one-man show," you said after a moment. "Although many significant contributors prefer to be kept out of the press for obvious reasons, and for personal interest, I must still credit each of these people with the dedication for delivering the very best." You clapped once, twice, three times - and when finally the assembled press awkwardly joined you, followed moments later by the private space colleagues in the crowd, you grinned widely. "That's the spirit!"

It took some minutes before things once more quieted down, and you leaned on your little stage. Although questions would certainly come, later, this was just an announcement - and you'd already covered the salient points. The script was done.

You blinked the light of their cameras out of your eyes, and spoke again. "If you'll permit me a moment of musing…" you began, lingering for a moment on that thought. "...It's said that the space age happened during the 1960's - and that we passed its promise by, puttering about in Low Earth Orbit when half a century ago people walked on the Moon. Pessimists insist that space is a long shot, a hopeless endeavour. Too expensive, too elitist, too dangerous..."

You heard the murmuring in the crowd even over the clicking of the press cameras, who doubtlessly thought they'd score with a picture of 'pensive Stark'.

"I disagree - with all of that," you said at last, leaning forward. "But I disagree especially with that interpretation of the Moon Shots. The Space Race of the 60's was a jolt of twenty-first century engineering in the middle of the twentieth - an anomaly caused by a technological arms race, a rivalry between nations ready for a disastrous war. One of mankind's greatest achievements was borne from distrust and showmanship - but it still happened."

You glanced to Pepper, who stared back, incredulous. "It still happened," you repeated slowly. "A lot of things happened in the last century which, I think, are glimpses of the future. Apollo 11 was but a taste of what is yet to come, of what awaits us out there. Armstrong and the others took a tantalizing step into the ocean, before we hurried back to shore, far too worried about our sandcastles, too attached to our parasol…" You sighed. "But beyond that great ocean, islands beckon us. Continents. Untold resources, vast wonders of nature, perhaps even the shining jewels of civilizations. And I intend to ensure that this time around, we don't wade back to shore at all - that we keeping going, and going, until we find the next ocean, and we cross that too. In our lifetimes, we will sail among the stars!"

And hopefully, we won't blow up on the way there…

"There's at least three clouds in the sky - this clearly means today's weather will turn horrible and all our aspirations will fall like a house of cards," you spoke dramatically, spreading your arms as if grasping the sky. "Look at the terrible storm you predicted, proud weather man - look at its helpless corpse as it drifts by! The spirit of competition has defeated it!"

"God, do you have to do this in public? It's bad enough when you order around employees like peasants without going full Nero," Pepper complained, squinting against the sun as she closed the limousine door behind you. Despite her comment, it was an unusually hot day for the time of year, very much unlike the gloomy weather predicted on the way over - with winter fast approaching, the difference in latitude between New York and California was very apparent. "Besides, you might not want to tempt fate right now. In case anyone's listening," she added.

"Well of course destiny is listening, she just likes me!" you exclaimed. "If she stopped listening to me now, that would just be rude. I've got a bit of a hangover from last night, but I'm ready to make history!"

"God, you would drink beforehand," she muttered."

You rolled your eyes at her, waving to Happy as you tapped the hood of the car, and he pulled out to park it elsewhere. "Think what you like - I say I've gotten more lucky breaks than is entirely expected, I figured I earned a drink. Anyway, I'm sweating like an ox without my airco, so we might wanna get inside. Especially since I'm wearing the undersuit, and I can't actually clean this thing out before I go up…"

Pepper didn't comment, but she raised an eyebrow as you scratched at your neck, where the edge of the skintight costume peeked out from under your clothes.

"Seriously, this thing itches like it's made of wool and feathers," you complained.

"As long as you don't go scratching your unmentionables, things should be fine." Pepper shook her head and you were certain she'd be rolling her eyes if you could see them behind her fringe. "Please don't embarrass us today? I know this is sort of your show, but still."

You dramatically clutched your chest. "You wound me with your brash accusations!"

She didn't seem to mind your dramatics, staring at you blankly. "Let's say, if you don't start shaping up a little, I might wound you with something considerably pointier," she warned. "And in the aforementioned unmentionables. Got it?"

Yikes. You cringed at the very thought.

Pepper smiled. "Nice - never knew that kind of tactic would work on you. Maybe I should've started with that." She put a finger to her chin as she paced slowly around you. "Hm… I wonder if you'll respond like dogs do, or if you're more like a cat? You definitely have the catty ego down, that's for sure."

"I am not a cat," you complained. "I don't even like cats!"

"Not that, huh? Then you must be some other solitary animal who thinks he's above absolutely everything around it, spends an inordinate amount of time on grooming or looking down imperiously on its subjects, and leaves nasty surprises on my doorstep for fun." She scowled. "Remember the rat fetuses that showed up at my apartment? I screamed."

"...That was only the one time - and a mistake," you objected quickly. "And I apologized. In writing! On actual dead tree paper!"

Pepper sniffed. "So? The point still stands."

You grinned slightly at her snooty expression, and it faded into something more amiable. Despite your banter, a smile curled around the edges of your mouth - you hadn't been quite this easygoing with Pepper since before your abduction. It was good to have her back in top form rather than convinced you were slightly addled. Even if that was a bit true. Your working relationship, at least, had returned to a semblance of normal - or she had adapted to the new you.

Also, though you considered it only passingly, Pepper seemed to be smiling a lot more often than even before your abduction. You suspected, perhaps over-optimistically, that she approved of your radical shift in priorities, and your new company's purpose. Alternatively, maybe she'd finally found herself a boyfriend and got laid. Who knew?

You resolved to leave inquiries into your assistant's lovelife aside - short of her going out with Reed Richards, you could probably handle it - and concentrated on more pressing issues. Practical concerns of the looming launch had dominated most of your thoughts for days now, if not weeks, but you were forcing yourself to stop that for a bit - it was nerve-wracking. You'd be lying if there wasn't a nervous tremble in your step, though you'd deny it sharply if asked.

The Mojave Air and Space Port had been Reed's launch site of choice after his initial picks of Cape Canaveral and Vandenberg were nixed by the government. Perhaps you could have changed their minds with a little financial pressure, but you didn't really mind the new, more obscure site at all. No government-built ships had ever launched from this particular location, but neither did it have a history that was impossible to supercede. Not that such virgin territory would last long; by mid-afternoon the apex of private spaceflight would take flight from here (and Reed's dinky ship, too.) It would be in the history books soon enough.

"It's kind of quiet out here," you commented as you took long strides towards the centre building of the complex, an oddly-shaped structure that seemed to have been plopped down right in the middle of the desert, almost like a half-eaten donut in the sand. Although the temperature was relatively mild given the time of year, your suit made it almost impossible to enjoy the sun without overheating. You wanted to reach the shade quite badly before the sweat reached more uncomfortable places. "Where is everyone?"

"Where do you think? People were directed inside half an hour ago," Pepper replied to your question with a wry expression. "Given that the launch time is only about an hour away, that's really no surprise. The press has been here since the morning, but they haven't gotten much to report on yet. Civilian spectators arrived almost at the same time as them." She sighed. "Your own fault for skipping out, you know."

"I wasn't skipping out, and I'm here now. Who wants to sit on their ass all morning anyway?" you complained. "I had a few hours to spare before things got heated, and I needed some fresh air to clear my head. Can you blame me?" You looked at her, pursing your lips together. "Truth is… I wanted to see the damage to the old house, and we were nearby. I went to take a peek while I could, tie up some loose ends."

"Isn't that place scheduled for demolition?" Pepper asked. "Doesn't sound very promising."

"It's - in rough shape," you agreed. A masterful understatement.

The old house at Malibu had seen far better days, needless to say. Although the superstructure looked rather better than you expected - a large part was still standing, although it was far too unstable to traverse - a hole the size of a car had been torn into the side of the wall by white-hot flames that billowed up from the basement. Most of the surrounding area had been turned to ash, leaving little trace of Jarvis' former home except a fused lump of metal and half-charred isolinear chips.

Yet there, among all that incinerated matter, remained toasty bits of the nuclear gun that you'd left behind. It had never been approached by the firefighters, who had left most of the fire to burn itself out, wary of possible radioactive contamination that you'd relayed. A wise precaution - and as it turned out, a more than justified one.

The Nuke gun hadn't been dead, as S.H.I.E.L.D. had determined, its parts more than mere shrapnel. Instead, every few minutes like clockwork, every part of it pulsed blue for a brief moment - it seemed innocent enough. But in that instant a wave of radiation was unleashed, a short-lived but highly energetic signal that scorched stone and bit through metal with its sheer ferocity, more than powerful enough to cook the box it had been kept in and the house around it. Anyone within twenty feet would be dead mere moments after exposure, cooked alive in their own juices. Without your radiation-hardened suit, it would have been like approaching the Elephant's Foot in Chernobyl - your last mistake.

And that - that led to a nasty conclusion, one that also pissed you off. The gun that you'd recovered hadn't been left there by coincidence - it hadn't disassembled like that by accident. It was designed, or perhaps sabotaged, to take advantage of your curiosity. The gun had been a trap - a lethal lure left for you, ready to detonate at the opportune moment.

You'd survived another goddamn assassination attempt.

I need to stop making so many enemies, you thought, considering the sheer amount of luck you'd needed to escape that particular trap. You'd taken the thing home with you, but you'd refrained from actually checking if the pieces could do anything without being together - and thus avoided triggering the trap until it finally detonated on its own. Survival through negligence. Despite that lucky break, you knew that you really needed to start learning from this shit. Or kill the bastards that kept going after your head until they stopped trying to do you in, whichever was most convenient. Probably the latter.

"My, but you are looking worried," Pepper commented wryly. "You're not getting cold feet, are you?" You realized you'd stopped at the door to the main building, a frown still on your face. She seemed to misinterpret your expression and a mischievous gleam appeared in her eyes. "Have you finally grown some semblance of self-preservation? That'd be the day!"

You shrugged, trying to ditch the morose thoughts of murderers and plots. "Meh. I've thrown myself at a super-soldier and all I had was freaking hairspray and a pocket lighter," you reminded her dryly. "If I have a self-preservation instinct, I think it's cowering in the corner alongside my humility."

"You have humility?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Not voluntarily, that much is obvious. In any case, I'm not worried about today. The Starkbird will fly as expected - it's completed every test aside from sending it on its way, and I've got backups for my backups in case things go wrong." You smiled brightly. "If anyone has a right to be worried, it's Reed Richards, you know. Have you seen his ship? It looks like it rolled in from a 50's cartoon, you know. It's silver!"

"Silver's not bad," Pepper opined. "It has a Space Age feel to it, right?"

"The Space Age as envisioned by Tintin and Ed Wood," you complained loudly. "The future's supposed to be flashy - but it's not going to be togas and tin foil for crying out loud! No - the future is a flame, a jet of light that bursts through the atmosphere to the sound of awesome music!" You mimicked an air guitar. "There's a fi-i-ire in the sky!"

Your assistant didn't seem impressed, staring you down until you finally relented. "Are you done?" she asked dully.

"Pretty much," you admitted. "I still say silver is tacky. Fifties tacky. It's something my dad would have done, and he had an obvious lack of taste. Did you see his moustache? Mine's styled much better, and that's got nothing to do with fifteen-layer razors!"

Pepper seemed slightly taken aback, staring at you for a moment before sniffing. "Well, I never met the man, but I imagine that he must have been about as difficult as you." She sighed. "On days like these, I might've asked him for some advice. You know - what to say to his younger self about life-threatening risks and sticking out his neck, that sort of thing."

You snorted. "Dad risked his life every day, yet he died in a stupid car crash. Life can be an ironic mess sometimes." You shrugged, pushing open the door. "Anyway, let's not get into that. There's plenty of other messes to worry about. Bambi and Peter were signed up to arrange snacks - I wonder what horrors those two came up with together."

Pepper sighed. "God, don't remind me."

"He's a teenager," you said. "I didn't look at expiration dates at his age, so would he? Can you imagine the taste of expired milk in your mouth all day? I think I'll just avoid drinking anything he offers me, because I'd hate to be gagging all the way up!"

"I guess this is another thing he's gotten from you?" Pepper joked. "That's, what, twenty?"

"...Shut up." You scowled. "He's still not my illegitimate lovechild, no matter what you say."

"Just keep telling yourself that," Pepper answered smugly. "Looks more like you every day, that one. You haven't seen him in a suit much, have you?"

"Pepper! Clothes are not genetic!" you cried in protest. "Besides, I did a paternity test! It was completely negative!"

She stared, dumbfounded. "You did what?"

You swallowed thickly. That could have been admitted more tacitly. "Uh… I can explain?"

There was something soothingly familiar about the lecture hall that Stark Transcendent had invaded, dozens of computers had been set up across the room, and the massive screen on the wall showed a mockup of the upcoming flight, including a map of the Earth and the current position of the International Space Station. Dr. Pym's image was visible, acting as a 'consultant' without requiring an explanation for an ethereal holographic doctor. The whole room felt rather like it'd been plucked right out of a movie.

Most of said movies involved giant meteors crashing into earth and a small team of plucky heroes blowing it up with space nukes - which hopefully would not be happening today.

Fingers crossed.

Over a dozen ST employees were present and in charge of various tasks, though they were considerably more ceremonious functions there than you'd care to admit to the press. Most of the surveillance work was done by JARVIS, who had been linked into the system early on. He would be delivering most of the data directly to your screen, leaving the ground crew to pick up on it after the fact. They were the backup, in a sense - in the unlikely case that your AI messed up, they'd have all you need. You suspected it wouldn't be a problem.

Bambi, so very good at controlling endless amount of minutiae, had been a natural fit as supervisor, assigned to try and bring some order to the chaos. None of the specialists around you had any experience with space flight - most of them were very far out of their field, filing in only because ST didn't have the manpower to flaunt dedicated experts for everything. Still, it was important to look the part, even if you didn't really need all the bells and whistles. Dramatics mattered when you wanted to look good. This room would be television gold.

"How's it going in there, Jarvis?" you asked lightly, ditching your jacket and sighing at the cool air, even though it was only a slight improvement. "God, I hope the ship is not as warm as the outside - I might just boil alive. Anything I should look out for?"

"Everything appears nominal. The weather is ideal."

"Except the temperature," you muttered. "Or is that just me?"

Your dark blue undersuit was constricting and a little uncomfortable - a downside of it being skintight - but it fit perfectly and that was all that mattered. Inside your armor it would help seal you from hard vacuum, just in case you ever came in contact with it, and it was fireproof to boot. The downside was that cooling down in one of them was a bitch. You were already dripping sweat in an airconditioned room, and it would only get worse.

"The ship's ready and waiting on the runway - Reed's is only a few hundred feet away, though it'll be going in the other direction. You'll have to veer and turn before you rev up, or you'll be flying against the Earth's rotation. I didn't think it'd matter much given our propulsion system," Dr. Pym said from a screen directly besides you. The little red light on top of it betrayed the active camera. Even without holographics, he was keeping a close eye on things, clearly. "I have to admit, the NASA representative was more than a little confused about the flight parameters we sent them - called me three times to verify that we got it right."

"He was probably worrying for his job, since our flight profile breaks all the rules," you joked, though it really wasn't much of a jest. "They've given the go-ahead, then? Not that there's much to hit on the way up, anyway…"

"I think they're more worried about things coming down," Pym said in amusement.

"Hm - well, I'll try not to buzz the tower. Any specifics on Reed's ride?" you inquired distractedly. "What's he using in that silver eyesore? Hydrogen? Lox?"

Pym shrugged. "No clue. The outside of his ship betrays even less than ours does, aside from the big windows. From what I've seen it's rather small for its stated capabilities. It's only about twice the size of the Starkbird by volume, but it's supposed to carry four times as much cargo by weight. It suggests they have something efficient in there."

"That's - mildly concerning," you observed. "He's probably using something airbreathing to get up to high speed in the atmosphere before firing up his afterburners - compared to a rocket, a plane isn't terribly draining on a fuel supply. Reed's an ass, but he's smart enough to crunch the numbers. He wouldn't undersize his craft after four years of work."

"I agree with that assessment. The Press has been hounding him all day, but he hasn't said anything, so there's little more to work from. I suspect he's doing it to spite you - since you kept the specifics of the Starkbird's propulsion a secret as well." He shrugged. "I guess we'll find out soon enough."

"I didn't hide the engines on purpose," you replied. "They weren't installed yet. That wasn't my fault!"

"Don't you dare blame Peter for that," Pepper snapped, and you glanced at her.

"I don't. Still - not my fault! I am blameless," you repeated indignantly. "Whose bright idea was it to start disassembling parts of the plane while the press was still around, anyway? What if they'd spotted that? How would it have looked if they saw someone carting off half a dozen broken reactors from a supposedly fully finished ship?" You frowned, glancing around. "Where is Peter, anyway?"

Pepper waved vaguely over her shoulder. "He said he was going to take pictures. You know what he's like - still a photographer at heart..."

"Taking pictures -" you paused. "Ah - you've got to be kidding me. Right now? Here?!" This was one of the quick excuses that you'd arranged with the boy in case he needed to get out his super suit and kick some ass - or at least, get out of the public eye. "Did he say anything specific about what he was up to?"

She shook her head.

"Brilliant." You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "And that's fifty minutes before takeoff, too. You know how weird that'll look to the press?"

"The camera crew won't invade for another twenty minutes," Pepper said calmly. "He has plenty of time to make a return. Besides, you are one to talk about timeliness!"

You groaned. "I am here now, aren't I?"

"Sir?' Jarvis interrupted, and you paused. "Mr. Rhodes has arrived in the entrance hall - it appears he will be spectating today's launch in an official capacity," he said easily. "Do you wish for me to contact him and arrange an escort?"

"Huh, so Rhodey's the board's man, huh? Got to remember to visit him when I get back," you said distractedly. "And no, Jarvis, let it be for now - he's bound to have a good spot already, and I can always contact him on his cell. Should be interesting to hear what he has to say."

"...Did you just say you'd talk to him when you get back?" Pepper demanded.

You gave her a curious glance. "Well, I'm not going to visit him now," you said in confusion. "I have to fly into space in like - forty-five minutes or so, and I'll be busy for most of the time leading up to that. Plenty of chances to wind down with a beer afterwards, I should think..."

"Tony, you don't actually have anything to do until five minutes ahead of time," Pepper noted dryly, hands on her hips as she scowled. "You explicitly set things up that way so you could - ahem - slum it up." She rolled her eyes at that. "And now you want to ditch Rhodey?"

"It's not ditching him," you argued. "It's -"

"I am monitoring all parameters of the ship through the umbilical connection. No intervention is required at this time," Jarvis added helpfully, and you scowled up at the ceiling. "There is indeed sufficient time, sir."

"That would be true, if I wasn't already meeting someone ahead of the flight," you said, pouting helplessly. "Can't reschedule, I'm afraid. Mea maxima culpa."

"Hmpf." Pepper crossed her arms. "So who are you meeting that is so important?"

"Can't you guess?" You smiled. "Reed, of course! We never did set terms for our bet..."