“I would like to thank you on behalf—” the President began.
“Great,” said Stark. “I realize I’m talking very fast—my apologies—but we’ve suffered a Condition Alpha situation this morning, and I don’t think it’s actually over. And even if it is, I think a couple more are backing up. So please, can somebody fill me in?”
“As quickly as possible,” said the President. “Assistant Director Chopin?”
The stern, white-haired NSA man glared at Stark.
“With pleasure, Mr. President,” he said. “At approximately oh-seven twenty, we became aware of—”
“Skip a little, Chopin,” said Stark, “I was there. Fast forward to, say, now.”
Chopin glowered. “The D.C. area is under martial law,” he said. “Power is down across the Eastern Seaboard and the Midwest. Telecommunications are down. Data links are down. Discrete security channels are the only things we’ve been able to open.”
“And what have we learned from them?” asked Stark. He unclasped his helmet, took it off, and set it on the table. It was as battered and scuffed as the rest of his armor.
“Rioting, civil disturbance, and panic are spreading throughout the mainland,” said a CIA representative. “The Army and the National Guard have been mobilized to restore order.”
“That’s going to end well,” said Stark.
“We’ve got virtually nothing internationally,” said someone from State. “Signs are, the disruption is affecting other countries.”
“A global data-crash is going to do that,” said Stark. “S.H.I.E.L.D.?”
“No response,” said Chopin.
“Avengers?”
“As far as we know, there are only two Avengers active at this time, and they’re both in this room,” said the President.
Stark glanced at the Vision.
“Well, that’s…troubling,” he said.
The Vision nodded, grim.
“Let’s work with what we have, then,” Stark said, turning back to the room. “Ultron is currently incapacitated, but its root consciousness is loose in the system. Whatever we reactivate or bring back online increases the risk of Ultron manifesting again.”
“All agents are working on countermeasures and containment to the best of our capacity,” said Chopin.
“Okay,” said Stark. “We’re going to need a glass and a magazine.”
“We’re what?” asked Chopin.
“Like with a spider,” said Stark. “You know, a big one that comes out from under the couch at night? The glass is a metaphorical glass, probably a high-capacity data-encryption package; the magazine is a purpose-written algorithm, because it’s metaphorical, too. We pop the glass over the spider—the spider being Ultron—slide the magazine underneath, pick it up, and presto, throw it out the window.”
No one said anything.
“The window’s metaphorical, too,” Stark added. “Did I forget to mention that? An inert storage facility, completely insulated. Or the Negative Zone, whichever’s closer. We need to pull Ultron out of the system, trap it, and lock it away.”
“And we can do that?” asked the President.
“We have to do that, sir,” said Stark, “or the world as we know it will be, to use the technical term, screwed. I have people at Stark Industries who can do it. I was hoping you had people who could do it. If necessary, I’ll do it.”
“I think this should receive some kind of priority, don’t you, Chopin?” said the President calmly. His tone made Stark smile.
“Absolutely, Mr. President,” said Chopin.
“You’ve had a lot of people telling you things all morning without making much sense, haven’t you?” Stark asked the President.
“There’s been a degree of running around and arm waving,” the President replied.
“I like you, sir,” said Stark.
“I’m gratified, Mr. Stark.”
“I didn’t vote for you.”
“It’s a free country,” replied the President.
“Let’s keep it that way,” Stark said. “Next—and I want to preface this by saying there’s no problem, and we’re not at any risk of a nanotech disaster of any kind—do we have a nanotech disaster cleanup division?”
“The NSA has a dedicated—” Chopin began.
“Great. They need to get to Pine Fields ASAP. The nanobots are dormant and inactive, but they could be re-initialized at any moment. That could end with the world turned to gray goo, or the United States refashioned on a molecular level into a giant novelty foam finger that reads, ‘Go, Ultron.’ I am purely speculating.”
“Good,” said Chopin.
“It could read anything,” said Stark.
“What do we know about Russia?” asked the Vision, stepping forward.
“Russia?” asked Chopin.
“There was something going down in Siberia,” said a CIA officer, “but we haven’t had any data for over two hours.”
“Berlin?” asked the Vision.
“Berlin? What about Berlin?” asked an aide.
“The Savage Land, then?” asked the Vision.
“We’ve got nothing on the Savage Land,“ said Chopin.
“Okay, good talk,” said Stark.
“Are there problems in Berlin and the Savage Land?” asked the President. “What is this about Siberia?”
“Let’s get our own house in order first, sir,” said Stark.
“Do you hear that?” the Vision asked him.
“No, but you do,” replied Stark.
“Aircraft incoming!” someone called out.
ON THE White House lawn, they could see smoke from the morning’s attack rising from multiple locations across the District. Sirens whooped and soared. Air Force choppers crossed the sky in formation at low level, their rotors whipping.
“Not the aircraft we expected?” Stark asked, hovering just above the lawn.
“No,” said the Vision. “Wait a moment…”
Iron Man and the Vision looked up. Something huge and gray loomed out of the clouds above the White House. It reminded Stark of a scene from a movie he’d once watched.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier’s giant propulsion-lift fans were almost silent. Its shadow fell across him.
“Cool,” said Stark.
“Because S.H.I.E.L.D. is now active and engaged with the situation?” asked the Vision.
“Yeah, and also giant flying aircraft carriers are intrinsically cool.”
“We should go aboard,” said the Vision. “They may have additional data.”
“Absolutely,” Stark agreed. “Also coffee and croissants.”
Something was moving across the lawn toward them. A blur. A figure running so fast, it was just a smudge of light.
It skidded to a halt beside them, gouging a deep furrow across the lawn, and hurling clods of earth and grass into the air.
Quicksilver stood in front of them, panting, his head down, his hands on his thighs. He was a strikingly handsome young man with short, silver hair, his incredibly athletic physique clad in a bodysuit that shone like liquid mercury. Neither Iron Man nor the Vision had ever seen him so tired.
“Pietro?” said the Vision.
“Three Avengers,” said Stark. He turned and held up three fingers in the direction of the White House windows. “Three now! See? Three!” he shouted. “We may not be assembling as fast as usual, but we’re getting there!”
The Vision put his hand on Pietro’s shoulder. The speedster was panting so hard he could barely talk.
“What is wrong?” the Vision asked. “Where have you run from?’
“New York,” Pietro panted.
“Such a distance should not have fatigued you,” said the Vision, “even at your highest velocity—”
“My mind,” Pietro stammered. “A sudden pain in my mind. It has taken…taken a toll on me. Wanda…”
“Wanda?” asked the Vision sharply. His relationship with Pietro’s sister was long and troubled. Despite his artificially manufactured nature, th
e Vision had grown to love Wanda Maximoff. Though the relationship had ended, the very mention of her name triggered an uncharacteristic tone of emotion in his voice.
“What is he saying?” asked Stark.
“Stars…in alignment…” Pietro gasped. “Wanda said…in my head, I heard her…stars in alignment…out in the darkness, beyond the world…”
“None of that sounds good,” said Stark.
“What are you saying?” the Vision asked, bending down to look at Quicksilver. “What are you saying about Wanda?”
Pietro looked up at them. His eyes were glassy and wild. Blood was running from his nostrils and trickling from the corner of his mouth.
“She spoke to me,” he said weakly. “What is the matter with you? There is no time to waste! My sister is in danger—we must go to her!”
“Take it easy,” said Stark.
But Pietro had collapsed.
THE CLEAN sweatshirt was gray, with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo printed across the chest. There were matching sweat pants. Property of the Helicarrier gym.
Stark pulled them on over the tattered undersuit of his armor. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who had brought them for him had also delivered a cup of decent coffee.
Stark stood alone in the briefing office, looking down through the glass wall at the command deck of the Helicarrier. Men and women in white-trimmed black bodysuits were busy at the station terminals. Stark noticed how many of the consoles were unlit or offline. There were far fewer images playing on the vast display wall than usual, too. Only a few individual screens were lit up, showing either views of Washington below them or scrolls of technical data. S.H.I.E.L.D. was being careful, using only minimal electronic systems—those they could guarantee were secure and isolated.
He sipped the coffee. He altered his depth of field and saw his own reflection in the glass. The lighting in the room was predominately blue, and it made him look cold and drawn. There was no disguising the bruises on his throat or the cuts on his face.
His hands around the cup were shaking. He was coming down off a huge adrenaline high, and he was starting to feel the pain from his bruises and other assorted injuries. It was also beginning to dawn on him how close the end had come.
And how close the end could still be.
Tony Stark wasn’t afraid of much, except in a purely healthy, wary way. He couldn’t do what he did and give in to anxiety, or let it show.
But he was scared of what they still might have to face.
The door behind him opened. He didn’t look around. He could see the reflection of the big, dark-suited figure well enough.
“I hear you addressed the President of the United States in a disrespectful tone,” said Nick Fury.
“Depends who you ask,” Stark replied.
“Assistant Director Chopin of the NSA,” said Fury.
Stark shrugged.
“The President told me you brought a refreshing note of clarity to the proceedings,” said Fury, leaning against the glass-topped table, his arms folded. “He said we could do with a few more people like you around. He also said you could go easy on the breakfast mimosas.”
“I haven’t been drinking,” said Stark quietly.
“I know.”
Stark turned. He looked at the S.H.I.E.L.D. Director, then sat down in a chair by the window.
“I’ve got S.H.I.E.L.D. cyber-warfare ops hunting for Ultron,” said Fury. “They’re using the protocols you wrote for them. They’re pretty confident they’ll have him locked up by sunset.”
“You called him ‘him.’” said Stark.
“Huh?”
“You called Ultron ‘him.’ I think of Ultron as an ‘it.’”
“Because he’s a machine?” asked Fury. “Ultron’s sentient.”
“Because he’s gender-neutral,” said Stark. “I haven’t got a prejudice against artificial sentience. I’m just saying he’s gender-neutral.”
“Now you’re calling him ‘he,’” said Fury.
“You got me doing it.”
“What did he want?” asked Fury.
“Ultron? He wanted to rule the world.”
“Everybody wants to rule the world,” said Fury.
“Well, not just rule it,” said Stark, sitting back. “Remake it. Rebuild it. Render humanity obsolete. The usual.”
“Any idea why?”
“He’s Ultron. It’s what he does. A flaw in his character. A sense of superiority—ultimate superiority. There’s probably a major father issue in there, too. He’s not bad, Nick, he’s just made that way.”
“Why now?”
“Why not? I don’t think the Condition Alpha threats of this world compare diaries and take turns.”
“Yeah, but two in one day?” asked Fury.
Stark looked at him.
“So it is two? Two, confirmed?”
Fury shrugged. He pulled a chair out from the table and sat down.
“At least. There’s something unbelievable going down in Siberia. We haven’t got anything like full data, but it looks bad.”
“What about Berlin?”
“We don’t know anything. Europe’s dark. But that’s probably more us than them.”
“What was Cap into?” asked Stark.
“Hydra,” Fury replied. “S.H.I.E.L.D. intel picked up some bits and pieces and brought in Cap. Strucker may be involved.”
“So it’s serious, then. Another Alpha.”
“Seems messy, from what I’ve read,” said Fury. “Pretty sloppy for a Hydra operation. Still, even on its off days, Hydra is a big deal.”
“What about the Savage Land thing? Natasha and Barton?”
“No contact there, either,” replied Fury. “Before the blackout, we got a tip-off that A.I.M. was busy with something, and the pair of them shipped out to confirm.”
“A tip-off?” asked Stark. “From who?”
“No idea.”
“But it looks like an A.I.M. thing?”
“Looks like it.”
Stark put down his empty cup.
“Wow,” he said. “This, Siberia, Berlin, Antarctica. One confirmed Alpha, one that looks so Alpha it’s not even funny. Then Hydra and A.I.M., which—if history tells us anything, and history is screaming in my ear right now—are going to be Alphas, too.”
“Then there’s Madripoor,” said Fury, with reluctance.
“Madripoor?”
“S.H.I.E.L.D. operation,” said Fury. “Started off as an investigation into the shipment of illegal materials, turned into a thing that may involve the High Evolutionary. The S.H.I.E.L.D. Southeast Asia station brought in Banner to consult. Whatever’s going on there, it was graded Beta last we knew.”
“If the High Evolutionary is active on the planet,” said Stark, “doesn’t that automatically make it an Alpha? Follow-up question: Banner? Are you insane?”
“The illegal materials were gamma isotopes,” said Fury. “Banner is an expert. You have a problem with him?”
“Not him, but he’s got this friend.”
Stark sighed and shook his head.
“Bruce is fine,” he continued. “I like him a great deal, and admire the hell out of his smarts. But he can be an Alpha all on his own.”
Stark got up.
“Five Condition Alpha events on one day. Nick, that’s not a coincidence.”
“It could be a coincidence. A really, really bad coincidence.”
“Let’s work on the premise that it isn’t and see where it takes us,” said Stark. “Five big players—three unconfirmed, one unknown—are active and going in for the kill, each in their own ohso-charmingly idiosyncratic ways. That doesn’t just happen.”
“I’ll bite,” said Fury. “What are you saying? A concerted effort?”
Stark frowned.
“Maybe, but the chances of successful collaboration between the factions we’re talking about seem slim. There’s a reason A.I.M. is called A.I.M. these days and not just ‘part of Hydra.’ And Ultron and the High Evolution-nut have
never played well with others.”
“So?” asked Fury.
“Manipulation.”
“Someone’s orchestrating them?”
“Yep.”
“Without them knowing about it?”
“Probably.”
“Someone’s orchestrating a global free-for-all without Ultron or the High Evolutionary knowing about it, because as we know they’re famously stupid and easily played?” asked Fury, doubtfully.
“I know how it sounds,” said Stark. “And if it’s true, I know what it means.”
“A sixth Condition Alpha,” said Fury.
“An invisible one that we’re not even aware of,” said Stark, nodding. “One so big it makes all the others look like sideshows, because they are sideshows.”
“Somehow really, really big coincidence isn’t sounding so terrible anymore,” said Fury.
“I hear you,” said Stark.
The door opened, and a tall, striking woman dressed in a S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform walked in.
“La Contessa Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine,” Stark said, raising his hands in delight. “You walk into a room, and six Condition Alphas seem like a footnote.”
The Contessa looked at him haughtily.
“Mr. Stark,” she said. “Always a pleasure.”
“That accent always gets me,” said Stark. “It reminds me of the Lakes. Of soft nights in Milan—”
De la Fontaine ignored him and turned to Fury.
“Communications expects to be able to link with London in about ninety minutes, Director,” she said. “We’re using landlines and a repeater station in Labrador. We’re hoping that the London station can connect us with Bridge in Berlin, or at least give us a sitrep on Europe.”
“Thanks,” said Fury.
She turned to go.
“Yes, thank you,” said Stark. “A little good news, and made all the finer because it was brought to us by the stunning Tina Legs.”
“Valentina Allegra de La Fontaine,” she said.
“Yup,” Stark agreed.
“You know she could kill you from where she’s standing, don’t you?” asked Fury. “With a snow cone?”
“Just one of her many superlative qualities,” said Stark.
“How’s Pietro Maximoff?” asked Fury.
“Stable, but unconscious,” said de la Fontaine. “The Vision is with him.”
“Any idea what’s wrong with him?” asked Stark.