“What could have gotten to them like this?” Jessica pulled out her sat phone. “Tony, Steve, can you hear me?” She felt a hand on her shoulder and paused. “What?”
“Over there.” Natasha pointed and then Jessica saw them: Steve and Tony, lying on the ground, their bright costumes partially hidden by the long grass.
Jessica pressed her head to Steve’s chest. “The same as the others. How is Tony?”
“Who can tell, under all this armor?” Natasha sat back on her heels. “What mutant is powerful enough to overpower all of them?”
“God, I don’t know. What do we do? Give them adrenaline? I’ve got some basic first-aid training, but that’s all.”
She began to get up, but Natasha grabbed her arm. “Wait!”
Three new mutates emerged from behind the treeline. One was a skinny little man with weasel-sharp eyes set far below an enormous bald head. The second was a four-handed giant, and the third a blue-skinned blonde with red geometric patterns on her arms and legs. She raised her arms, and Jessica was frozen. Jessica glanced at Natasha: The Russian woman was also struggling in the grip of an unseen, paralyzing force. The blue-skinned blonde must have some kind of powerful telekinetic ability.
Then there was the leathery sound of immense wings, and a pteranodon landed in the clearing. It was an astonishing sight—nine or ten feet tall, covered with thick, pebbled orange skin, with a crested skull and a long, wickedly sharp beak. Most astonishing of all was the creature’s eyes—large, golden and filled with an uncanny intelligence. As she gazed into those cruel, clever eyes, Jessica thought: This was no mere reptile. This was something else, something more.
“What are you?” Jessica did not know whether she spoke the words or merely thought them.
“Sauron,” said the creature. “Now, sleep.” The tone of its voice, the timbre, compelled obedience.
Jessica felt herself falling, but the ground didn’t seem to be where it ought to have been. She felt as if she were falling for a very long time, and then she felt nothing at all.
F I F T E E N
JESSICA woke up with the kind of headache usually preceded by a bottle of tequila, hours of sitting next to speakers and a lot of secondhand smoke. The pulsating pain in the back of her head wasn’t her only problem, though. Her wrists and shoulders ached with a steady, hot burn that came from seriously overworked muscles. She realized she was hanging by her arms, although there was something around her waist that kept some of her weight off her wrists. Jessica blinked, trying to get a sense of her surroundings, and abruptly realized two things: One, she was hanging alongside her teammates, in a circle. And two…
“Yep,” said Peter. “We’re naked.”
“Oh, my God,” she said, not knowing where to look. She couldn’t see anything holding them up, which meant there was some sort of force field around their wrists and waists. Unfortunately, the force field was completely invisible, which meant nobody was keeping any secrets now. There was Steve, still unconscious, his pale body as perfect as a Michelangelo sculpture without his red-white-and-blue Captain America suit. Next to him was Natasha, and next to her…Jessica caught Clint’s rueful look, and she felt her face flush. She averted her gaze, only to get an eyeful of Peter’s lanky, gymnast’s form. She saw a flash of Tony’s sinewy arms and furred chest and turned away, only to find herself confronted by Luke Cage’s big barrel chest and tree-trunk thighs. “They couldn’t have just left us with underwear?”
“That wouldn’t have helped, in my case,” said Peter.
Jessica stared at him, startled. “You’re telling me you don’t wear underwear?”
“The suit has a built-in liner. And don’t look so disgusted. At least I’m not naked during shark week.”
Jessica stared at him a moment, and then said, “It’s not really—oh, never mind.”
“You’re blowing it, man,” said Luke. “You got to stay cool about the lady stuff.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you ever seen a naked woman before?”
“Speaking for myself,” said Tony, “I could handle plain old nakedness, but add the frisson of danger…”
Clint said something to Natasha that Jessica could not hear. Natasha looked exasperated and blew a strand of hair out of her mouth. “Kretinyi.”
For once, Jessica was in complete agreement.
“So,” said Clint, “rapidly changing the subject. Anyone know where we are?”
“Yeah,” said Tony. “The citadel.”
Looking around, Jessica could see that the room was made almost entirely of smooth, silvery metal. Some of the pipes and connections were broken, their edges rough and burnt, while a tattered metallic-mesh fabric hung over a gaping hole where there had once been a window. A warm, amber light filtered in from the outside, giving Jessica some clue as to how much time had passed: hours. There was a spectacular view of the craggy Mountains of Eternity beyond the citadel, and Jessica tried not to think too hard about whether her captors intended to keep her alive long enough to catch the sunrise.
Steve made a strangled sound, his head jerking back. “What the heck…”
“Naked. The citadel. Peter goes commando under his Spidey suit. You haven’t missed much,” said Jessica. She expected the World War II veteran to be flustered by her nudity, but Steve surprised her by looking her straight in the eyes.
“Typical strategy for psychologically weakening prisoners. Resist it.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, meaning it.
“None of Lykos’s lieutenants have asked any questions yet?”
“Not yet,” said Luke. “Yo! Freak squad! Time to come out and explain the big, dastardly plan!”
“Ah. You are finally all awake. Good.” The voice was high and nasal and disturbingly munchkin-like. But the man who emerged from the shadows was only middling short, perhaps five feet tall or so, and extremely thin. “I was beginning to think we had damaged the good Captain, and might not be able to use him in our experiments.” Like the aliens in old Star Trek episodes, the man’s bald head was enormous and slightly egg-shaped; his silver diadem, trim goatee, sheepskin vest, tight breeches and lace-up hippie boots suggested that he was deliberately cultivating a retro-sci-fi look.
“Brainchild,” said Tony. “I’d like to know how you got me out of my armor without blowing yourself up.” Tony’s red-and-gold Iron Man suit was spread out on a long, low table along with a screwdriver, a turning fork, a scrolling wrench and a portable band saw.
“I must admit, I was a little disappointed when I picked the secret out of your mind,” said Brainchild, stroking his goatee. “It was really only a mid-week level of crossword complexity. Still, given your limited brain capacity, I suppose one cannot hope for too much.”
There was a belch of laughter from behind Brainchild. An enormous, froglike creature appeared, its webbed fingers stroking the gussets on its metal armor. “Off-landers,” it croaked, “you have no idea how ridiculousss you look. Ridiculousss…and vulnerable.” It fixed its bulbous eyes on Luke; its long, prehensile tongue darted out, making contact with his cheek.
“You try that again,” said Luke, “I’m going to bite it off.”
“Now, that’s a whole new fairy tale,” said Peter.
“Leave them alone, Amphibius.” Brainchild snapped on a pair of latex gloves. “We discussed the difficulty of maintaining proper hygiene under these trying circumstances.”
“I have an allergy to latex,” said Tony, warily eyeing the bulbous-headed man as he laid out a number of medical supplies: syringes, catheters, a packet of antiseptic wipes.
“Just so you know,” said Luke, “I puke whenever anyone gets near me with a needle. I even puke when someone gets near my wife with a needle. In fact, just seeing that needle, I may puke.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Cage, Mr. Stark.” Brainchild moved closer to Jessica and Peter. “I have no interest in either of you. You’re nothing special.”
Tony raised his eyebrows, clearly affronted. “
I beg your pardon.”
Luke shook his head. “You really want to win this argument, Tony?”
“I speak medically, of course. I do have plans for all of you, but I want to start with those who already have profound alterations in their DNA.”
Brainchild moved closer to Jessica and Peter, and Jessica felt an old fear slide through her veins. Her father, so familiar in his white labcoat, coming toward her with the syringe. We need to do this, Jessica, to make you feel better. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to panic.
“Now, where to begin?” Jessica opened her eyes again as Brainchild ran a hand over Peter’s bruised chest. “One, bitten by an irradiated spider during adolescence; the other, infected in utero. So similar, yet so different.” He moved to stand directly in front of her.
“Keep your filthy hands off of them,” said Steve. “You want to experiment on someone? Start with me.”
“Patience, Captain. Your turn will come. But for now…I think the girl, to start.” Brainchild went over to a console and flipped a series of switches, and Jessica suddenly felt herself tilting backward. She cried out in surprise, and then found herself lying supine in midair instead of dangling by her wrists. Brainchild flipped another switch, and Jessica’s arms moved down to her sides.
Oh, God. This is bad. Icy fear rushed through her, raising goose bumps. “What are you going to do to me?” She hated how high and breathy her voice sounded.
Clint made an odd sound, and Jessica noticed he was straining against the magnetic restraints. “Listen, you bobble-headed squint—you try anything with her, I’m going to smash your oversized cranium like an overripe tomato.”
“No need to work yourself into a state,” said Brainchild, applying a tourniquet to Jessica’s left arm. “My interest in the lovely lady is purely scientific. See?” He draped a blue plastic sheet over her body. “At the moment, I am simply taking a small blood sample.” Jessica smelled the familiar, medicinal scent of a Chloraprep swab as Brainchild began rubbing the antiseptic lightly over her inner arm.
“Oh, jeez,” said Luke. There was thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, and Jessica realized he hadn’t been lying about his aversion to needles.
“Hey. You. Chihuahua face. You want a body to poke around with?” Clint narrowed his eyes. “Take mine.”
Jessica looked over at her partner, touched by his attempt to divert the man’s attention and all too aware what he was doing was utterly futile.
“Why should I? According to Lykos, you’re nothing but a grunt with a fondness for primitive weapons technology.” Brainchild was ripping open the package with the extension tubing now.
“I know this may come as a shock, Humpty, but top-secret medical experiments don’t make it into official files. Director Fury’s the only one who knows about my surgeries.”
Jessica stared at Clint, trying to process this.
“What nonsense.” Brainchild attached the syringe to the extension tubing, and then pointed the needle upwards as he depressed the plunger. “You’re trying to tell me that S.H.I.E.L.D. kept in-house surgeries so secret that there are no records?”
“They weren’t in-house,” said Clint, his eyes on Jessica. “I was posing as a double agent to take advantage of Hydra’s new medical program. You want to see altered DNA? Come check out mine.”
Jessica felt tears well up, clouding her vision. She didn’t know how long Clint could continue bluffing a mind-reader; right now Brainchild was distracted. But even if Clint’s ploy to save her failed, it didn’t matter. All she could think was: He knows my secret, and he doesn’t care. She had no idea how or when he had discovered she was working with Fury—but he knew, and he understood. “Thank you,” she mouthed, knowing he would see it, the way he seemed to see everything.
“Well, well. Perhaps I will attend to you…next.” Brainchild tapped Jessica’s arm just below the inside of her elbow. “But for now, I’m staying focused on the spider-girl.”
“Spider-Woman,” said Jessica.
“Ah, forgive me. It was all girl power the last time I saw the news from the surface world.”
Brainchild abruptly jabbed the needle into Jessica’s arm. He had to make three more attempts before hitting a vein, and Jessica could hear Luke gasp and then slump.
“Jeez,” said Tony. “I think he fainted.”
“It’s not my fault,” whined Brainchild. “I’m not a nurse. I’m a research scientist.”
“How’s your arm, Jess?” The sound of Clint’s voice helped Jessica collect herself.
“Sore. But I’ve had worse.” Jessica found herself flashing back to her childhood again—her father coming at her with another, larger hypodermic needle. Honey, I know you just had a shot, but that one didn’t work. We need to try again. Even now, Jessica could recall the dull ache as the large needle pressed into the small of her back, hitting the bone, and the seemingly endless wait as thick, viscous fluid was depressed from the plunger.
From across the room, Clint was keeping his eyes on her as though he could rescue her by force of will.
Brainchild was flushing her vein now. As the cool saline spread up her leg, Jessica felt bile rise in the back of her throat. Maybe I should throw up on him, she thought. Buy myself a little time.
“I heard that,” said Brainchild, stepping away. “Telepathic, remember?”
“Well, hear this,” said Peter, his eyes boring into Brainchild’s.
Brainchild gave a little billy-goat laugh. “Extremely graphic, but a bit hard for me to imagine, considering your current predicament.”
“You’re not in charge here,” snarled Steve, startling Jessica. “I want to speak to Karl Lykos. Now!” His barked command made Jessica feel less like a frightened prisoner and more like a soldier.
“So speak.”
Karl Lykos emerged, lean and handsome and bare chested in his human form, wearing a pair of billowy white trousers and a barbaric-looking metal belt. His eyes, Crusader blue in his swarthy face, regarded the prisoners with clinical detachment. “I’m listening.”
“One word,” said Steve. “Surrender.” He said it with such sharp authority that for a moment, Jessica believed he had some trick up his sleeve.
There was laughter from the back of the room, and now Jessica could see the other mutates gathered there. Barbarus, a great hulking giant of a man, his four arms crossed over his enormous chest; Whiteout, a sylphlike woman dressed all in white, her face obscured by a peaked hood; Lupo, a blue-furred werewolf, crouched on the floor; and Vertigo, her naked blue body patterned with snakelike red-and-blue geometric shapes.
“Maybe I should ask the questions, instead,” said Lykos. “What brings you costumes all the way out to the Savage Land? Think carefully before you respond, as my colleague here has methods to elicit the truth.”
Was there a drug inside the IV? Jessica wondered. Please, don’t let them drug me.
“I say we kill them now,” said Lupo, his muzzle wrinkled in a snarl.
“But autopsies are so inconclusive,” said Brainchild. “I prefer to keep my subjects alive…and conscious.”
“Enough,” said Lykos, with a disapproving glance at Jessica’s prone figure. “There will be no experimentation. That’s what they do.”
“Exactly,” said Brainchild. “If we are to defeat our enemies, we don’t have the luxury of remaining perched on the moral high ground. We need to discover if you can feed off these subjects, so we can spare our mutates for the real fighting.”
“I said no.”
“But you don’t tell us what to do, Lykos. Do you?” Brainchild stood in front of Jessica, as if protecting her. “Don’t forget who brought you here, and for what reason. We don’t need your Ph.D. in genetics right now—we need your power as Sauron. And for that, you must feed.” He indicated Jessica. “She is not a mutate, but her DNA was altered in the womb. With a little preparation, I think you can feed on this subject.”
Lykos drains mutant energies in order to transform himself into a p
teranodon, Jessica thought, suddenly comprehending what Brainchild was saying. But unlike Steve and Luke, whose powers were the results of scientific experimentation, she and Peter had altered DNA. If Lykos could feed off them, he could turn into Sauron without sacrificing any mutates.
But whom are they fighting? There was something far more complicated than a simple prison break going on here.
“Is this what you’ve become, Karl?” Steve was hanging naked in front of the other man, but it was Lykos’s who seemed embarrassed. “You’re a doctor. You’ve taken oaths. More than that, you may have broken laws, but you’ve always followed your own moral code. Why are you doing this?”
Something flared in Lykos’s cold blue eyes. “I didn’t hunt you down, Captain America. You hunted me. Seems a bit strange to lecture me about moral codes when you would have no compunction about locking me away.”
“You broke out of prison, causing the deaths of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and releasing forty-two dangerous criminals into the general public. What did you expect us to do, let you retire to the Savage Land?”
“I’m not here to retire,” said Lykos. “I’m here to fight. And anyone who works with S.H.I.E.L.D. is my enemy.”
“Then you ought to let me go,” said Natasha. “I’m not with these people. Do you remember, back at the prison? I was there for questioning, at the business end of a gun.”
Lykos rubbed his temples. “Were you, really? Why did you come here, then?”
Natasha lifted her chin. “It’s a long story. If you let me down…”
“I don’t have time for long stories. And frankly, neither do you.”
“All right, then,” said Natasha. “You want the short version? I’m the Black Widow, the top operative from a very elite school of Russian espionage. As good as I am, I didn’t realize that I was being lied to, manipulated…used. I began to investigate, and the trail led to S.H.I.E.L.D.—and then to this place.”
“I see,” said Lykos. “So these people mean nothing to you, except as a means to an end?” He gestured at Clint and Jessica and the others.
“They are sources of information, nothing more.”