The Invincible by Van Plexico "HOUR OF THE WOLF"
"Bal-Rogg. How?" Mon-Dria found herself in a dark chamber, torches blazing along the walls. She stood in chains on a cold stone floor, looking up at a raised dais. Atop the dais sat a thronelike chair, and upon that throne sat the one person she never thought she'd see again, and least of all here. Bal-Rogg. Her former subordinate from the Kree Starfleet-in-Exile. Her potential suitor from academy days, whom she had spurned. Her rival and enemy, who had left her to die in the cold vacuum of space. Bal-Rogg. Here already, and occupying a position of authority. "This is impossible," she whispered. He stared down at her impassively, his dark, narrow eyes unblinking within his broad, blue-skinned face. His cruel lips curled downward, as if finding a mild distaste at the mere sight of her. His white hair had been shaved to leave only a thin, uneven patch of spiky growth covering his scalp. He wore the remains of his Kree uniform, thought it was mostly covered by golden metalwork and ornate jewelry. He looked like some timelost, savage, barbarian prince. Mon-Dria stared up at him, her head shaking slowly. "You can't be here. This is insane. I'm dreaming." "'Insane?' 'Impossible?'" His mouth twisted into an evil sneer, as at last he spoke. "Yet, you are here, no?" She blinked back at him, her mind reeling. How can this be? How? She couldn't make herself accept it. Tony! Where are you? "Truth be told," he continued, "I find myself as surprised that you are here as that you are alive at all." He smiled. "When last I saw you, your situation was... shall we say, precarious?" She glared at him, straining at her chains. "You'd shoved me out an airlock, you piece of--" From the shadows emerged two guards, swords in hand. "Ah, ah." Bal-Rogg raised a hand, and the guards retreated. "Civilized behavior, please. After all," and he gestured around him, "I am now the administrator here." He sneered. "It's my job to keep the peace." "'Administrator?'" She frowned. "What is this place? Where are we?" "All information you might have in good time," he breathed, "along with your good behavior." He looked her up and down. "Perhaps this was fortuitous-- your surviving, and winding up here with me. Perhaps fate has more of a sense of humor than--" She spit at his feet. He ignored it. "How did you come to survive, Mon-Dria? I'm curious. Did you suddenly develop the ability to breathe vacuum?" "I'll tell you. I don't mind." She smiled. "It was a human. He rescued me." Bal-Rogg frowned, but said nothing. Mon-Dria looked him over distastefully. "You haven't changed. You're no 'administrator.' You're just a little boy who can't stand not getting his way!" Bal-Rogg's face cracked into a scowl. He half-rose from his seat, anger resounding in his voice. "You are nothing but a ship's harlot, and--" He forced himself to calm down, and relaxed back into the throne. "Ah, and as exciting to me as ever, I'm afraid." He gestured with his right hand. "Perhaps my associate should handle you for the time being." From out of the shadows behind the dais stepped a huge figure, bald and muscle-bound, his skin smooth as obsidian and black as night. A red tunic and loincloth, along with golden jewelry, comprised his uniform. Seeing him, Mon-Dria felt her chances of escaping this situation reducing even further. The big man said nothing. Instead he seized her roughly by the upper arms. The chains rattled as he swung her around, lifting her up easily. "Kargorr, can you believe how fortune smiles upon me? I ask for another blue-skin like myself, and who should turn up, but an old friend." Kargorr said nothing. His eyes flickered over Mon-Dria's form. Bal-Rogg waved a dismissive hand. "Take her to Dr. Wu. My men used simple chains to restrain her, but I'd prefer her in the bracelets. Then we can question her further." The obsidian powerhouse nodded, once, and carried her from the room. Dangling from the big man's grasp, Mon-Dria looked back, seeing Bal-Rogg seated upon his preposterous throne. Then the door closed. Kargorr's rumbling laughter resounded in her ears as he carried her down the corridor. *** "Where are we going?" "Quiet!" The green-skinned alien climbed down through a jagged hole in the metal flooring, then stuck his head back up and motioned for Iron Man to follow. Grumbling to himself, Tony trudged after his mysterious benefactor. He still wore his modified space armor-it was nowhere near as powerful as his regular suit, but it still had a few tricks built in. Certainly it was amazingly high-tech for Earth, but here, in this bizarre futuristic environment, it felt to him like he was wandering around in a suit of plate mail. Still, it had probably already saved his life once since his arrival, so... "Watch the edges. They are sharp," the alien whispered. "Why are we crawling through the floor?" Tony asked impatiently. "Surely there's a better way--" "Not if you want to enter the slaver levels undetected," the green alien hissed back. Tony stopped climbing and blinked. "What? They have whole levels?" The alien looked back at him, grasping a support beam to hold himself in place. "They're quite powerful. They occupy much of the Dead Areas." He squinted. "You don't have much hope of rescuing her, you know." "We'll see." The alien studied him a moment, then resumed climbing. "Well, that is where we are going. Slaver levels." Tony felt his throat go dry. "There a big market for slaves on this station?" "I'm afraid so," the being replied. "And the slavers control many decks in this area. Very dangerous." He glanced downward, slender pink tongue sliding over his lips. Then he looked back at Tony. "But the one we seek is the worst of them all. Bal-Rogg." "Bal-Rogg," Tony repeated. Where have I heard that before? He filed the name away, his mind whirling through the many complications life had taken on in just the past few-- hours? Is that all it's been? How long was I out? And all just to help SHIELD with some construction work. Fury, if you were here right now...! They had climbed for what seemed like an hour. "How much farther is it?" Tony whispered sharply. "Very close now," the alien responded. "We have bypassed many decks, using this service conduit." He snorted. "Service. Ha! No one performs service here! If it burns out, or runs out, or quits working, you do without! Or you move elsewhere." He snorted again, now mostly talking to himself. "Big station. Very big. But lots of people, too. Lots of bad people. All kinds." "Where did it come from? Who does it belong to? Why are we here?" "Ah, good questions. All very good questions. Wish I had answers for them. And I have been here much, much longer than you!" They reached the bottom and climbed out into a larger space. Tony looked around. The light was slightly brighter, but still very dim. The alien pointed to a small open space in one corner, about three feet high and four wide. "The Dead Areas are through there. That is the way into the main Slaver deck. Good luck." He turned and started back for the conduit. Dead Areas? Tony waved at the alien's receding back. "Wait!" The alien stopped, looked back at him. "You aren't coming, too?" "Noooo. Slavers are bad. Bal-Rogg is very bad. I have no desire to spend the next twenty years scrubbing lavatory fixtures for Bal-Rogg." He snorted. "You and I wouldn't be able to understand one another in the Dead Areas anyway." "What do you mean by 'Dead Areas?'" "I... cannot explain. You will see soon enough." Tony bit his lip in frustration, almost angry again. But as he thought about his circumstances, and the little green alien who'd shown him the way, his mood somehow lightened. He looked up, met the creature's broad blue eyes. "Why did you help me?" The alien peered back at him for a moment and then sighed. "As I said. Bal-Rogg is bad. You are good." He waggled a long, slender finger. "I can tell." Iron Man didn't know what to say. Except, "...Thank you." The alien nodded. "Besides," he mumbled, "it beat a few more hours of sitting in a hallway, watching bad people go by." Tony watched him climb back up through the conduit, vanishing into the darkness. Then he turned and stared at the entrance to the Slaver deck. He took a deep breath, glanced worriedly at his energy level indicators, and climbed through the hole. *** Kargorr casually tossed the limp form of Mon-Dria through the air. She landed on a huge pile of cushions and rolled onto her side, her mouth hanging open, her eyes staring blankly out. "You see the power of the bands, woman?" The huge obsidian alien raised his left hand and pointed at her. She jerked upright, back under her own control again. Wracked with coughs, she shook her head back and forth, her long, thick mane of white hair flying violently about. Kargorr watched her until she'd recovered sufficiently to hear, then raised his left hand. On his smallest finger he wore a tiny golden ring; so large were his fingers that it sat between the first and second joints. "Do you see this?" he barked. Still shaky, she nodded. His jet-black lips curled back. "This controls you, via your new attire." Mon-Dria blinked, then looked down. A golden band, about three inches long, encircled each of her wrists. Two more encircled her ankles. She touched them. "What--?" "We've found them most useful in our line of work. They project an invisible energy field around your body." He smiled cruelly. "And your brain is part of your body. So usually they just compel your brain to make your body do what the wearer of the ring wants it to do." His eyes narrowed. "Including shut down." She collapsed to the cushions again. Seconds later, she was back under her own control again, glaring at him. "I hope that's all the demonstration you'll need. Believe me, it can be much worse." "I believe you," she whispered. "But it can be worse for you, too." He snorted derisively and moved closer, regarding her where she sat on the cushions. Her white and red flight suit was torn in places, gloves and boots missing entirely. Both arms of the suit had been cut raggedly at the elbow, to expose the wrists. Same with the ankles. She stared up at the dark behemoth, wondering what he was doing here; what she was doing here. "Bal-Rogg wants you attired more properly for your next meeting with him." He clapped, and two servants entered bearing boxes of clothing and jewelry. "I trust you won't resist any further." The smile returned. "I find you more attractive... intact." She studied him, seeking to understand his motivations. "Kargorr... You were a Champion. A hero of many worlds. How can you work for-- for Bal-Rogg? He's nothing!" The big man stared back at her silently. "Let me go," she continued. "Together, we can escape this place and..." She trailed off as he turned away, starting for the door. And for the first time, she noticed that some the golden jewelry he wore actually surrounded his wrists and ankles. "You... He controls you, too!" Kargorr stopped, looked back at her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again and walked out. The door closed behind him. She didn't resist as the two servants stripped off the remains of her flight suit and began to dress her in what Tony would've probably called Barbarian Chic. No sense in wasting efforts yet. Better to wait until she was with Bal-Rogg again. Yes, then she'd have some answers. Bal-Rogg was nothing. A fool. An idiot. How he'd come to his present status so quickly was beyond her, but then again, nothing she'd seen so far had made sense. Not since she and Tony had fallen through the Copernicus Crater and... Tony... Again her mind cried out: Where are you? *** Where am I? Tony stood in a darkened hallway. Actual flaming torches further along around a curve provided what little light existed. On a space station? This just gets crazier and crazier. Tony's armor hissed as its climate control system exchanged gases with the surrounding atmosphere. All the indicator lights in his helmet remained green; he'd returned to near-full electrical charge. Best thing I ever did, he thought to himself, incorporating that little ambient-energy recharger of Reed's into the power system. After all, there's not always a wall outlet handy in space... He glanced up and down the hallway. Okay, genius, what now? Just walk up to the first alien I meet and say, "Excuse me, but would you please take me to the resident slave master? I'm a super hero and have an appointment to kick his butt." A sound from behind him shook him back to reality. He tensed, both repulsors ready-- --when two red humanoids in leather and metal armor, swords dangling at their waists, rounded the corner. "What the--?" Tony blinked. "You guys making a new Conan movie down there or something?" The two aliens stopped in their tracks, staring at his crimson-and-gold armored form. Their mouths hung open for a long second. Then they both snatched their swords out of their scabbards and held them ready. One growled an unintelligible string of syllables at Iron Man, while the other grunted emphatically. "Huh?" He blinked, remembering what the green alien had said about Dead Areas and not being able to understand the language any longer. What was that all about? Why--? The two swordsmen rushed him. They swung their blades in broad arcs, impacting Iron Man's arms from each side. With twin metallic clangs, both blades bounced back, nearly falling from their bearers' grasps. "Mon-Dria!" Tony shouted, bringing his repulsors back up as he did so. "Where is she?" The aliens' expressions grew fiercer and they charged again, this time with one going high and the other going low. Iron Man sidestepped one and nailed the other with a stun blast. The swordsman collapsed in a heap. "Blue woman!" he shouted at the remaining fighter. The guy didn't even blink. He changed his tactic. "Bal-Rogg!" The alien stopped, poised to attack again, and stared at him. "Bal-Rogg?" It asked cautiously. "Bal-Rogg. Yeah." Iron Man calculated his next move. "Where is he?" "Here, human." Iron Man turned slowly. He groaned. A platoon of alien warriors stood lined up across the corridor. Each held swords or other exotic blade weapons at the ready. Standing regally at the center was an ornately dressed Kree sporting a white buzz-cut. Tony studied the guy in the center. "Bal-Rogg?" "Indeed." The former Kree lieutenant studied him. "This grows most curious." "You're speaking English?" Waitaminnit. "I thought this was the Dead Area or something." Tony pointed to the two fighters he'd first confronted. "How can you understand me when those guys couldn't?" "I speak your tongue, human. I was trained as an interpreter just like Mon-Dria." He rubbed his chin at Tony's visible reaction to the name. "Judging by all the evidence I've seen, I would guess that you are a human-- inside that quaint outfit --and possibly the Avenger known as Iron Man." Tony blinked. Okay, he wouldn't have to be a genius to figure that much out. He looked over the crowd of warriors --slavers, he reminded himself-- and addressed Bal-Rogg firmly. "I understand that you have custody of Mon-Dria. Let her go." Bal-Rogg's eyes widened. "Turn her over to you? Why would I wish to do that? You are not her kind. Don't you think she would much rather share my company than that of a... a primitive like you?" Tony fought down his anger. Stay calm. At least for now. "Look, we both know you're holding her. And that you're in the slave trade. So just let her go now, and we'll both be out of your way." Bal-Rogg laughed, once, softly. Tony cursed silently and brought all his weapons systems on line. He quickly considered several tactics but decided he'd rather just exercise his aggression and take these guys out of the way as quickly as possible. Bal-Rogg gestured and stepped back. The warriors charged. Iron Man opened fire. The melee lasted for a good two minutes, as the twenty or so aliens of various backgrounds came at him, in pairs and sets of three, and finally en masse. Iron Man fought them back valiantly, on more than one occasion forcing his way out of a pile of swarming bodies to unleash a spray of repulsor fire. He whirled, both of his palm-mounted weapons blazing in a constant barrage of energy. Swords and knives clanged off his tough armored hide as his persistent enemies repeatedly flung themselves at him. Eventually, the attackers dwindled to a pair, and they exhaustedly fell back, covering Bal-Rogg, who had retreated a good distance down the corridor during the battle. "Bring her to me, Bal-Rogg!" Iron Man shouted, starting down the hall. "I think I've proved my point. You can't stop me. Not in this low-tech level of Hell." Bal-Rogg smiled. "You surprise me. You can not have been here very long, else I would have known about it. Yet you are aware of the Dead Areas. Impressive, but hardly significant in the greater scheme of things." He gestured. "Your little rampage is over. I'll find a use for your armor, and they'll find your carcass down in the Garbage Deck!" At Bal-Rogg's gesture, a shadow fell across the hallway from a side corridor. Out stepped the massive Kargorr, a pitch-black juggernaut with murder in his tiny white eyes. Bal-Rogg pointed to Iron Man. "You know what to do. Try not to damage the suit too much." Kargorr peered at Iron Man. "I know this one. I've seen vids of him. It should not be a problem." Tony allowed himself a quiet sigh. "Great." He tensed, checking his power levels. They were low. Used up too much taking out the thugs. Now what do I do? The big alien moved like lightning, his fist smashing into Iron Man's stomach before Tony realized he'd moved. Tony stumbled back, falling on his rear end, and tried to bring up a defensive screen. He succeeded; a golden glow surrounded him at a radius of about five feet. A little something I came up with from working with Pym, he thought, standing. How you like that? Kargorr brought both fists forward. The concussion against Iron Man's screen produced a blinding flash and sent the armored hero tumbling backwards again. He caught himself against the wall, thankful the blow hadn't hit him directly, and checked his power levels again. Dangerously low. I can't keep this up much longer. As if sensing this, Kargorr pressed the attack. He trapped Iron Man in a corner. Blow after blow rained down on the flickering golden forcefield. This is no good. Tony checked the readouts once again, and groaned. With a final flicker, the forcefield died. Kargorr nodded in satisfaction, then reached out and seized Iron Man by the sides. He brought him down hard, denting the deck. Tony felt his teeth rattle. The colossus grasped him again and flung him into the wall. A weak blast from one of Iron Man's repulsors deflected harmlessly off the black hide. Kargorr backhanded him and sent him sprawling again. Head spinning, Tony looked up just in time to see a fist descending. It smacked into his faceplate and stars sparkled across his vision. The fist raised, poised to fall again. "Wait! Wait a sec!" Kargorr paused, the fist hovering in midair. Tony glared up at him. "When you rip off my arms," he managed, tasting blood, "I hope you get cut on the sharp edges and develop a really nasty infection." The fist fell. Next: The Parliament of Dreams! SOCK IT TO SHELLHEAD! Still waiting for some mail, folks. Hurry up and write or I'll start taking it personally! --Van Plexico December, 2000 Story © 2000 by Van Allen Plexico |