Civil War Prose Novel (21 page)

“PASSING
level twenty-three.” The Punisher’s voice was low and gravelly, shot through with static. “Captain, I once broke into Rykers Island to take out a mob boss. But I’ve never seen security protocols like this.”

Cap frowned, conscious of Cage, Falcon, and Tigra standing just behind him. They’d crowded into his new comm room, which had been outfitted with equipment from a decommissioned nuclear sub. Cap had called in a favor with a navy contact, who’d delivered the drab gray fixtures, old-style push-button consoles, and a bright red landline phone with a long spiral cord. The younger Resistance members had remodeled the framework, ripping out sonar displays and replacing them with brand-new flatscreens showing mission status, intelligence on the Initiative camps, and hacked Stark hero dossiers. An array of hard drives and a pair of Mac Pros linked the whole system together.

Cap felt oddly at home here.

“Punisher.” Cap leaned forward in his chair. “Describe what you see.”

“I’m climbing up the maintenance shaft, through a constant stream of blue, semitransparent balloon-like objects. They’re just floating in the air, like bubbles in a stream.”

“Those are artificial antigens.” Falcon leaned forward. “Sue Richards said Reed based the Baxter Building’s security on the human immune system, this month.”

“Don’t even brush against any of those things,” Cap said. “You do, and the whole system will attack you as an invading organism.”

Punisher laughed harshly. “Relax, Captain. Nothing can read me while I’m wearing the dampers. I’m invisible to all cameras, trip-beams, and overgrown T-cells.”

Cage frowned. “Where the hell you lay your hands on that kind of hardware, Castle?”

“Let’s just say Tony Stark’s warehouse manager should invest in better locks. And don’t worry, I swept everything for tracking devices.”

Tigra shrugged at Cap, mock-impressed. Her furry arm rested lightly on his shoulder. Suddenly he was very aware of Tigra’s presence: her warmth, her curves, her wide cat eyes.

“Passing level twenty-eight now,” Punisher said.

“Keep me posted, soldier.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

Cage frowned. “Punisher’s a walking arsenal, Cap. Is Sue worried about him bein’ in that building with her kids?”

“Reed sent the children away for a while. Thankfully.” Cap swivelled in his chair, turned to the others. “So where do we stand?”

Falcon pointed to a screen showing a news report. “Johnny Storm’s team just foiled an invasion of Philadelphia by the Mole Man. Went off textbook perfect: They roped off the area, protecting the citizens. Then they met up unexpectedly with Doctor Strange, made a contact. I’m gonna follow that up right after this.”

Cap zoomed in the screen, focusing on a red-caped man with a dark blue tunic, Fu Manchu mustache, and a high, majestic collar. “Strange is a powerful mystic. I think even Tony’s afraid of him.”

“He’s also pretty reserved…no commitments yet. But with his help, our team got the job done fast. Knocked Moley back down to the lower level of Dirtville, and got the hell out of there before S.H.I.E.L.D. arrived.”

Tigra frowned. “Doesn’t seem to have helped our poll numbers.”

“This isn’t about polls, Greer.” Cap turned toward her, looked into her lovely green eyes. “And it’s not about one incident. We have to show the people we’re doing the right thing, every day.”

She smiled. Cap turned away, suddenly uncomfortable.

“How’s, uh, Spider-Man doing?” he asked.

“Still groggy, but recovering fast,” Cage said. “Dude’s got an amazing constitution.”

Cap nodded. “Don’t push him, but I need to talk to him as soon as he’s up and around. He’s the only person who’s been to that secret prison and came back on his own two feet. Speaking of which, what’s the status of those Negative Zone gateways?”

Falcon typed in a sequence, and a United States map appeared on one of the screens. Red lights blinked over Chicago, Sacramento, Albuquerque, and just off the shore of New York City.

“These portals are scheduled to go live over the next eight days.” He pointed to the offshore icon. “The Rykers Island one will be activated first, day after tomorrow.”

“At that point, they’ll start moving all East Coast prisoners through there,” Cap said. “They’ll stop using the Baxter Building for transport. Our window of attack is closing fast.”

“We could use some backup,” Tigra said. “Is that where you sent Sue Rrrrrichards?”

“Yes.”

Tigra looked at him, questions in her lovely eyes. But he said nothing else.

“The Initiative camps are springing up fast too,” Falcon said. “Stark’s latest press release says forty-nine young heroes have signed up for training.”

“Camps or jail.” Cap felt it again, the dark hard thing growing inside him. “Japanese-Americans were offered that choice, once. The Jews of Germany got both, wrapped up in one sadistic package.”

Falcon and Cage exchanged troubled looks.

“Uh, Cap…nobody likes bein’ locked up less than this ex-con right here.” Cage pointed a thumb at his own broad chest. “But you gotta admit there’s a difference between trainin’ camps and internment camps.”

“Or
concentration
camps,” Falcon said.

“There’s also a difference between living free, and being told what to do by an oppressive government. A government that maintains its power by scaring the hell out of its own people.”

Tigra raised an eyebrow.

“Stark Enterprises,” Cap continued, “has spent the past decade building a security state for the people of this country to live in. Did you really think they weren’t going to
use
it?”

The speaker crackled. “Ahoy, Captain,” Punisher’s voice said. “I’m in their data center.”

“Good.” Cap leaned forward again. “Now I need everything you can find on this big ‘Number 42’ complex, with special emphasis on the Negative Zone portal leading to it. Size, how much space there is to move around, how far the prison itself is from the portal entrance. What kind of guards it has, how the security works.” He paused. “Think you can handle that without shooting somebody in the head?”

“Maybe. If nobody interrupts me. Be in touch soon.”

Cage turned to leave. “I’ll check on Spidey.”

“And I better look into this Doctor Strange thing.” Falcon moved to follow Cage, then turned back. He laid a hand on Cap’s shoulder.

“Cap, you an’ me been through a lot. The Red Skull, the Kree invasion, the Secret Empire…”

“Spit it out, Sam.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

He walked away. Cap watched him go, then turned to stare at the U.S map for a long moment. He felt suddenly very tired.

Then Tigra’s strong, soft hands were massaging his shoulders. “Alone at last,” she said.

“Greer…”

“You’re incredibly tense, you know that?” She leaned over, made a purring noise in his ear. “Leads to bad decisions.”

He turned to face her. Her lovely, sharp face was covered with soft, beautifully patterned fur; wet lips glistened below a tiny, catlike nose. Greer Nelson had once been an ordinary human woman, until a mystic ritual transformed her into the ultimate warrior of the Cat People. Her strength and agility were now much greater than a human’s. And so, Cap knew, were her passions.

Cap had known men and women who hooked up casually, almost mindlessly, in wartime situations. Correspondents, civilian contractors, sometimes even soldiers. He’d never allowed himself the indulgence. But…

“I heard from Hawkeye yesterday,” Tigra said.

Cap blinked. “What?”

“He’s doing well. They’re giving him a whole Initiative team to run. He wanted me to tell you.”

Cap frowned, turned away.

“Cap.” He turned; her tone of voice was different now, softer. “What’s the endgame here?”

He pointed at a screen. “The prison—”

“No no, I don’t mean that. I mean…ultimately, what are we trying to accomplish? Registration is the
law
. No matter what happens, they’re just going to hunt us forever, right?”

“Laws can be overturned.” He straightened up, faced her directly. “If we can achieve a critical mass of superhumans working with us, solving problems and helping people all over the world, we can win out over the forces of fear. I believe that. I
have
to believe that.”

A strange look crossed her face. “I guess you do,” she whispered.

He leaned in to her, drawn by her scent. She hesitated, then moved to meet his lips.

“Jackpot, Mon Capitan.”

Cap sighed. Tigra laughed.

“What have you got, Punisher?”

“Specs, schematics, all kinds of plans. I’m transmitting ’em now.”

“Good.” Cap grimaced. “Thank you.”

“I don’t think you’re gonna like it. That place has more protection than any incarceration facility I’ve ever seen. It’s gonna take a lot more than your team of grunts to get in there.”

A data signal flashed in front of Cap. He tapped it, and the label PROJECT 42 appeared on one of the large screens. Blueprints began to flash up in rapid sequence, all watermarked with the Fantastic Four’s distinctive “4” logo.

Cap glanced over at Tigra. She smiled back at him, a wistful, playful smile.

The moment was gone. The spell was broken.

“I’ll tell the others,” she said.

“Receiving, Castle.” Cap stood up, stared hard at the incoming data stream. “Just keep it coming.”

THREE
miles out, Sue started to hear something. She checked the instrument panel, wondering how a radio transmission could have reached her here, five miles beneath the ocean’s surface. The board was clear; no transmission showed on its log. Yet still she heard it. A dirge, a mournful chant. A dark, throbbing, inhuman melody.

Sue peered forward, gazing through the cockpit of the mini-sub, struggling to see through the gloom. But this far down, all was darkness. Eerie mutated fish flickered in and out of view, bony carapaces briefly illuminated by the sub’s forward lights.

Then she remembered:
The Atlanteans are telepathic.
She wasn’t actually hearing anything—her mind could sense their thoughts, coming from somewhere in the darkness ahead. That, in itself, was alarming. The Atlanteans remained a mysterious people, but nothing the Fantastic Four had ever seen indicated they could mentally transmit messages at such a distance. Sue had been to Atlantis twice before, and both times the approach had been silent, uneventful.

Maybe something was wrong in Atlantis.
If so,
Sue thought,
that’ll make it doubly hard to ask him for help.

The dirge continued, like a parasite lodged in a dark corner of her brain.

At least I’m close.

A glow appeared directly ahead, like a giant stone jellyfish squatting on the ocean floor. Slowly Atlantis loomed into view, a sunken city surrounded by void, its ancient towers chipped and battered but proud nonetheless. The city glowed from within, illuminated by unknown sorcery combined with science beyond that of the surface world.

A stone wall circled the base of the city, pocked with battle-scars from long ago. As Sue approached, a pair of Atlantean warriors appeared out of the gloom, kicking fiercely as they sped toward her vehicle. They wore sparse military uniforms that left their powerful chests bare, and helmets with large fins on them. The lead warrior brandished a long spear; the second one held a compact, glowing energy weapon.

Sue reached into her pack, held up a stone amulet to the inside of the cockpit window. On it was carved the personal seal of Prince Namor, sovereign ruler of Atlantis. The lead warrior peered at the amulet, nodded, and gestured sharply to his fellow. They lowered their weapons and waved Sue on.

She arced the sub up and forward, swooping over the seawall. The telepathic song was stronger now, like a thousand voices bowed in angry prayer. Yet she couldn’t see many Atlanteans. Last time she’d been here, a phalanx of six warriors had received her. Today the wall seemed to be guarded by a skeleton force, and even fewer citizens milled around inside.

Just inside the seawall, she parked the sub and secured its controls. She donned a bubble-helmet and air supply, checked that her suit was watertight, and picked up a small carry-pack. Then she swam free and started toward the center of the city. Somehow she knew: That was where the mind-song would be strongest.

She passed a variety of architectural styles: Doric columns, Dravidian pyramids, Byzantine domes. All slightly different from their surface counterparts, adapted to the needs of an underwater culture. Doorways appeared at all levels, even out of penthouse apartments; balconies opened straight onto the sea, without railings. A civilization of swimmers wasn’t confined to the ground, and they had no fear of falling either.

If the ancient Greeks could fly,
Sue thought.

Still she saw very few citizens. A pair of Herders passed by, shepherding a huge mole-like aquatic beast. Two elderly men—Judicators, she guessed—hurried past her, clearly late for some event in the heart of the city. But except for the two guards outside, she saw no Warriors, the caste that accounted for sixty percent of the city’s population.

When she reached the Avenue of Poseidon, she saw why.

Thousands of people, the majority of the city, crowded into the central square, floating and hovering at all levels. Herders, Builders, Merchants, Farmers, Judicators, and many, many Warriors, their finned helmets polished to a fine sheen. Skin shades ranged from deep blue to sea green to a pale, faded yellow. There were racial divides here, Sue knew, ancient tensions she couldn’t even begin to understand.

Carefully, mumbling apologies, she pushed her way through and around the people. Several of them stopped to stare. A pink-skinned woman in an air helmet was unheard of in Atlantis, and not terribly welcome either.

When she reached the front of the crowd, she saw him. And all her old doubts rose to the surface again, along with a nagging sense of regret.

Prince Namor floated in the center of the square, addressing the crowd. His muscular frame was cast, as always, in a pose of kingly arrogance. His pointed ears, sharp cheekbones, even the small wings on his feet—absolutely nothing about him had changed since Sue’s last visit. He had donned his dress uniform, she saw, a dark blue tunic worn open to display his magnificent chest.

Namor’s skin color was Caucasian, the legacy of his human father. But despite his mixed blood, the Atlanteans acknowledged him as their absolute ruler. He seemed ageless, regal, the proud heir to a long-lived people’s heritage. Just behind him, a transparent glass coffin floated, glowing lightly with logomantic energy. The coffin was empty.

Namor had taught Sue the basics of Atlantean, and the telepathic component of their language allowed her to understand him clearly. When he spoke, his eyes burned with sorrow and hatred.

“Imperius Rex,” he said. Normally it was a battle cry, but here it seemed more of an introduction:
Here I am, your king.

“Twenty-nine days,” Namor continued. “A full turn of the tides it has been, since the violent death of my cousin at the hands of the hated surface people. And so we gather today, the proud inheritors of ancient Atlantis, to enact the age-old ritual.”

Oh god,
Sue thought,
Namorita.
She’d forgotten: One of the New Warriors had been directly related to Namor. A member of the royal family.

“The time has come for the
regresus
. The return of Namorita—” Namor’s voice caught, just slightly. “Of my cousin to the sea. As we all sprang from the leaves and crawling things of the ocean floor, so now shall she be returned to the source of all life.

“Or rather: She
would
be.”

Namor gestured to the coffin, floating hollow behind him.

“Behold my cousin’s remains.
There are none.
The surface men have not merely robbed us of the royal princess, a laughing light in my life and the lives of all Atlanteans. They have deprived us of every last bit of what she was.”

The telepathic wave surged, grief blending with anger like a red tide. Sue winced, made a small involuntary noise.

A blue woman glared at her. The woman nudged a warrior, who stared at Sue. She felt suddenly very pale and exposed.

“They fill our waters with poison,” Namor continued. “They boil the ice caps and hunt proud species to extinction. And when one of us, the sweetest and noblest of all our race, ventures forth to live among them,
this
is their response. Total, utter annihilation.”

The Atlanteans’ thoughts grew darker, angrier still. Two warriors pointed at Sue now, talking in low tones.

“We seek nothing from them, nothing but coexistence. And yet their hatreds—their petty feuds—infest our refuge, thousands of miles away. The superhumans of the North American continent boast of their power, their honor, their prowess at combat and destruction. Yet even as I speak, they battle among themselves over an incomprehensible matter of names and papers.

“Hear me, my subjects: It is my fondest hope that they will
exterminate themselves and leave this world to us.
”

The people erupted in cheers, jostling and waving their spears. Before Sue could react, a warrior’s rough hands grabbed her by the arm, thrust her forward. She tumbled in the water, pulled off-balance by her pack.

“My liege,” cried the warrior. “Start with this one!”

Two more warriors moved in toward Sue. She flashed on her force field, knocking the warrior back. But the recoil sent her tumbling through the water. She wasn’t used to fighting at this depth; her force field seemed unusually thick, hard to control.

She flailed straight into Namor, her force field still up. He snarled and reached for her—and then his eyes went wide.

“Susan Storm,” he said.

Sue turned to him, gesturing for help. A dozen emotions flashed across Namor’s dark, cruel eyes. Then he reached out a hand to her.

She lowered her force field and allowed him to grasp her arm. He pulled her roughly toward the center of the square. The coffin floated just above, held in place—she saw now—by tiny water-jets attached to its base.

Namor took her by the shoulders, turned her roughly to face the crowd. “This woman,” he said, “is one of the world-famous Fantastic Four. She represents the surface-world superhuman community, in all its decadent squalor.”

The crowd roared for blood, but kept its distance.

“Tell my people, Susan.” Namor glared at her now. “Defend to them the actions of your comrades, of the so-called heroes of your realm.” He gestured at the coffin. “Explain how this
atrocity
came to be.”

The people raised blue fists, brandished spears and guns. But Sue ignored them, keeping her eyes on Namor.

“Namorita was killed by a super villain,” she said. “Not a hero.”

“A villain.” Namor’s gaze didn’t waver. “Like myself?”

I was wrong,
she thought.
He
has
changed. He’s become more bitter, more resentful; there’s no joy in him anymore. And yet…

…he won’t allow me to be harmed.

Sue suddenly felt very calm. She reached into her pack, pulled out a small, watertight cylinder made of sculpted marble.

“This urn contains your cousin’s ashes,” she said. “At least, all we could find. I’m afraid it wasn’t very much.”

The crowd murmured in surprise. A thousand eyes watched as Namor accepted the urn, ran his hands over its surface.

Sue cleared her throat. “Namor, I—I’m very sorry about—”

“Vashti.” Namor gestured sharply, and an old man swam forward. Namor grasped his neck in an intimate gesture, whispered urgently into his ear.

Then Namor took Sue’s arm, steered her roughly toward a large, minareted building. “Come with me,” he said.

“Watch the damn hands.”

But she allowed herself to be led. Behind them, she heard the old man addressing the crowd: “Err, the ceremony will resume tomorrow. Warriors, return to your assigned posts…”

Namor led her straight through a marbled hall, past a sitting room filled with floating chairs, to his royal bedchamber. A huge round bed filled most of the room, topped with rippling, waterproof sheets. As she watched, grimacing, he shrugged off his vest and began removing his formal pants.

“Umm…”

He paused, and a hint of the old playfulness showed in his eyes. “Why are you here, Susan?”

She gestured at the urn, discarded on the bed. “I—”

He whipped off his pants, revealing his normal casual wear: green scaled trunks. When he spoke, there was menace in his voice. “Don’t mislead me again.”

She nodded, her mouth tight.

“Things are bad, Namor. They’ve issued what amounts to a superhuman draft, and they’re imprisoning people who don’t comply. They’ve already killed one of us.”

He waved her on, impatiently.

“Our—Captain America’s raid is planned for tomorrow night. You’ve got one of the fiercest warrior armies in the world out there, Namor. Having you on our side could mean the difference between winning and losing.”

Namor stared at her blankly for a long moment. Then he reared back his head and laughed.

“You heard my people,” he said. “You felt their grief, their rage. I am their king; their pain, their outrage, is mine as well. Why in the seven seas would I want to help you?”

“Captain America is one of your oldest friends.” She could feel her voice faltering. “You fought with him in World War II…you’ve known him longer than anyone.”

“And where is my friend now?” Namor swam through the chamber, gesturing theatrically all around. “Off plotting his little power struggles, no doubt. While he sends
you
here, to take advantage of our unique relationship.”

Sue felt very small now, vulnerable in Namor’s private quarters. “We don’t have a relationship,” she said quietly.

Namor eyed her closely, and a sly smile crept onto his lips. He swooped through the water, landing next to her on the edge of the bed.

“Very well,” he said. “I will help you, Susan Storm.”

Something in his tone made her bones freeze. “It’s Richards now,” she said.

He pulled back the top sheet, gestured at the bed. “I prefer the Storm.”

All the rage, all the frustration of the past weeks erupted inside her. She reached out and
slapped
Namor, as hard as she could given the water resistance. He barely flinched, but his eyes turned cold.

“You’re an arrogant, entitled child, who thinks anyone and anything is there for the taking,” she hissed. “Always have been.”

“You once liked that.”

“I’m not finished. You don’t respect women, you don’t respect yourself. And yet—despite all that—I always thought you had your own brand of honor, somewhere deep inside. Something that made your people want to follow you anywhere.

“But I was wrong.
This
is your price? You’ll help us, save your friends and allies from imprisonment, subjugation, and death, if and only if I agree to
sleep with you?
”

He turned away angrily. Shrugged his taut, muscular shoulders. “I grow bored now.”

“Tough. That’s just tough. Because you want to know something? This is important to me. I have left my husband and my children, which is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I miss them so much, miss them every second of every day, I see them everywhere but it’s not them, it’s just me, it’s just in my mind. And I didn’t do all that, I didn’t tear my life apart, so I could come down here and submit to the whims of some puffed-up, greasy fish-man.
I did it because it was RIGHT!
”