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cap_ironman2009-01-17 01:49 am
seanchai.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2009-01-17 01:49 am
Entry tags:
When the Lights Go On Again 6a/19
Title: When the Lights Go On Again 6a/19
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seanchai and elspethdixon
Rated: PG-13
Pairings: Steve/Tony, Hank/Jan, Carol/Wanda
Warnings: No much, really. Some swearing and violence.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations depicted herein belong to Stan Lee and Marvel comics. No profit is being made off of this derivative work. We're paid in love, people.
Summary: Aliens have invaded earth, and the Avengers are scattered. While Steve leads the resistance, Tony once again finds himself playing captive scientist. In the midst of a violent alien regime, separated by seemingly insurmountable boundaries, Steve and Tony have nothing to keep themselves going but each other.
Author's Note:The point in volume three that we're branching off from was originally published around '98-'99, but since Marvel time runs at a slower speed than real world time, early volume three is probably four or so years ago in canon time. Hence 2004 and troops in Iraq. Also, just a heads up; this fic is really, really long. Like, over two hundred pages long. We'll start by posting every other week, though we're hoping to start posting once a week, eventually.
X-posted to Marvel Slash.
Warning: This chapter was too long for one post; look for part 6b in a few minutes.
When the Lights Go On Again
"Good evening, New York. Once again, broadcasting to you from an undisclosed location, this is Daily Bugle Radio. This is Robbie Robertson. Your usual correspondent, Ben Urich, is off this evening, and our legal advisors have warned us against letting Jonah have the mike.
"Just over a month after Argonian forces seized control, and while their center of power in lower Manhattan remains firmly under their control, they are beginning to meet with considerable resistance in upper Manhattan and the outer boroughs.
"In the Bronx, Argonian soldiers and their human auxiliaries have been pelted with rocks and bits of building materials, and attacked by humans armed with various forms of mace and pepper spray. At least one Argonian patrol has been attacked by unidentified humans carrying firearms, and the bodies of two humans wearing Argonian uniforms were found in the Hudson River this Tuesday, presumably murdered in retaliation for joining what many New Yorkers still view as 'the enemy.'"
"Including this newspaper." *this spoken in a second voice*
"So we're abandoning journalistic neutrality? We're usually so impartial."
"Impartial is interviewing politicians on both sides of a political campaign, and printing both viewpoints no matter how idiotic they are. This is a matter of realism."
"All right, realism, then. The Argonians have met with even greater difficulties in Brooklyn, which has been the scene of at least a half-dozen attacks on subway routes and Argonian outposts. The attacks, far more destructive than those in the Bronx, have left over two dozen Argonians dead, and many more wounded, and were carried out by humans in military uniform. It looks like the Argonian effort to massacre all military forces in the city wasn't as successful as they hoped.
"Estimates of Argonian casualties are not exact, due to limits on the information obtainable from Argonian sources, but it is clear they are mounting. Even in downtown Manhattan, the heart of their stronghold, there is rising rebellion. The presence of a common enemy has created unexpected alliances in Manhattan's underworld, as residents of Midtown report seeing familiar costumed figures from both sides of the law-"
*a snort* "Both sides? They're all a bunch of criminals."
"Shut up, Jonah. If you want to write this next time, be my guest. Sorry about that, folks. Ah... here we are. Costumed figures from both sides of the law. Several witnesses claim to have seen a man in red leather tracking Argonians into subway tunnels, and an Argonian patrol was found last week hanging upside-down from lighting fixtures in Times Square, stripped of their uniforms and covered in spiderwebs. It looks like Hell's Kitchen's guardian devil and our friendly neighborhood Spiderman are still on the job."
*an audible sound of grinding teeth* "Friendly, hell. He's probably in league with those furry vermin somehow."
"But the greatest blow struck against the Argonians thus far has been the burning of Penn Station..."
***
It had taken a great amount of time and patience to acquire an audience with the Archon. In the first place, it had taken Isimud several days simply to work up the necessary nerve to request a chance to bring his findings before the Archon at all. In the second, the Archon dealt with vital matters of state every day, and listening to the discoveries of a single mechanikos was far beneath her dignity.
Isimud had initially planned to take his discovery, and his questions, to one of the Arch-Captains, but Arch-Captain Mammitu had dismissed him out of hand, without even bothering to let him finish a sentence. And Arch-Captain Burrukam was so thoroughly discredited and shamed that there was little point in soliciting his opinion about anything. Finally, knowing that he had to share his new theory about the continued failure of their attempts to replicate nuclear reactions with someone in authority, Isimud had gone to Sub-Captain Kammani.
The sub-captain had come to him shortly after the occupation had been established in New York to request -- demand, really, nothing a warrior asked of a mechanikos was ever truly a request, though she had phrased it more politely than some -- that Isimud instruct her in the human's tongue. The handful of translation devices the Argonians possessed were too important to be wasted on things as trivial as giving orders to human guards, and she wanted to be able to command her new human guards and laborers without relying on an interpreter.
Sub-Captain Kammani had been in command of a number of Scandians soldiers back on Argon, before the evacuation, and had apparently prided herself on her knowledge of Scandian customs and language.
So, for the past three octnights, the sub-captain had been coming to Isimud every other day for a language lesson.
When Isimud had explained the information he had gotten from the human scientist to her, and it's implications, she had not only agreed that it was important, but decided that it needed to be brought to the attention of the Archon. "I cannot explain it properly, myself," she had said. "And the Archon would be displeased if I wasted her time with an insufficient explanation. I will secure the audience and you must tell her of this."
Now, Isimud found himself waiting outside the doors of Vanderbilt Hall, staring down at the fur-colored stone that lined all the floors on the upper levels and trying to keep his tail from twitching too violently with his nervousness.
"The Archon will see you now," the dark-furred guard stationed outside the audience chamber's door told him. "Do not presume to meet her eyes, or to speak to her before she has spoken," he reminded him. "Remember, you are being granted a great honor."
The reminder was unnecessary. How could he forget, when he was about to speak directly with the ruler of the entire Argonian Empire? Granted, the Argonian Empire these days consisted of less than a double octet of captured cities on Earth, but that didn't change the fact that nin-Irkalla was the Archon, the direct descendant of Alulim.
The Archon was beautiful, of course. Her fur was copper-bright, the same color as the polished insignia on a military officer's uniform. She was short, perhaps only six feet, her form sinewy and lithe under her robes, and in the deep blue robes of state, glittering with copper beading, she looked like a piece of living jewelry.
Isimud bowed, ears submissively lowered, carefully looking anywhere but at the Archon's face.
There was a moment of science as she considered him; it took of Isimud's self control to keep his tail from twitching nervously.
"Sub-Captain Kammani has said that you may be able to explain why the human scientists' nuclear experiments are meeting with so little success."
So Isimud explained to the Archon what he had learned from Tony Stark, adding further details he had worked out on his own. How molecules of different elements came in multiple variations, with different numbers of neutrons, and how only certain kinds of plutonium, tritium, and uranium molecules would work.
The Archon narrowed her eyes, her tail swaying gently behind her. "The human scientists we have working on it have mentioned no such requirement."
Well, they wouldn't, would they? They knew the power they would be placing in the Argonians' hands if they succeeded. Even Tony Stark had been hesitant in his explanation, though he'd tried to conceal it. "With respect, nin-Irkalla," Isimud managed, lowering his ears even further, "the physicists are all captives. They may be somewhat... reluctant in their work. I believe they are willfully concealing information."
The Archon nodded. "Very likely," she said dryly. "It is unfortunate that we have no one more trustworthy to work on so delicate a project."
Isimud had thought so himself. He had also thought that there was considerable risk in letting people who were their unwilling captives play about with materials that could destroy entire star ships, but when he had tentatively mentioned this to Arch-Captain Mamitu, she had hit him.
"How did you make this discovery?"
"One of the engineers told me of it," Isimud said carefully. "A volunteer." It would have done his reputation and standing more credit if he claimed to have figured it out entirely on his own, but even were that not dishonest, one could not lie to the Archon. "He is a human weapons expert working on duplicating our space-to-ground missiles. I believe he was trying to elicit information from me about the nuclear material we removed from the missile before giving it to him. He says he cannot make more progress until he knows what it is."
"And you believe him?" Her voice held skepticism, and well it should. If one scientist could lie, so could another. Isimud did not think Tony Stark was lying, though. He had seemed sincere, and Isimud suspected that he was lonely for someone to talk to; the only human that spoke to him regularly was one of the guards.
"I do, nin-Irkalla," he said. "He seems truly interested in our technology, and has been working diligently on it. And I was there when he surrendered - I... I was not sure if he truly was willing to serve you, or only wished to save his own life, but even if it is the latter, deceiving us would do him little good." And the human was definitely intelligent enough to have figured that out. Not to mention that the way the other humans treated him was hardly likely to inspire loyalty toward his own species -- they avoided him, sneered at him, as if he had been defeated in a duel by a subordinate or lost a battle despite having superior numbers, probably because he had sworn the oath to serve and obey the Argonian Empire while they were still captive slaves.
The Archon's tail swayed through the air, the metal fringe on the hem of her robe chiming faintly with the motion. "I will see that this information is passed along to the mechanikos overseeing the physicists." She paused, frowning faintly, then added, "I will also inform them that their slaves appear to be disobedient and deceitful."
Isimud felt a moment's deep relief that overseeing the physicists was not one of his responsibilities. Failing to keep slaves and non-Argonian laborers under proper control was a serious matter.
"You have my thanks, Mechanikos Isimud," she continued.
Isimud's ears lifted slightly, before he remembered himself and held them motionless once more. The Archon had thanked him. Him, a mechanikos.
The information about the nuclear experiments was not the only thing he had wanted to bring to his superiors' attention, and he would never get a better chance than this. Greatly daring, he ventured, "Nin-Irkalla, Archon, I... I would like permission to give the human engineer samples of the material removed from the missile. Arch-Captain Mamitu has refused me, but I believe he could make more progress if-"
"Permission granted," she said, and Isimud blinked, wondering for a moment if he had heard correctly, before the sense of the words penetrated and he realized that she had, in fact, actually agreed.
She paused, then, "Am I mistaken, or is this human working on a single project?"
"Yes, nin-Irkalla." Another thing Arch-Captain Mamitu had been firmly insistent on. Humans, even ones who had sworn their loyalty, were not to be trusted with too many responsibilities.
"Remedy that. We do not have enough scientists to squander their abilities so." It was a cool, firm statement, spoken with the implicit confidence that she would be obeyed.
"Arch-Captain Mamitu doesn't believe that-" he began.
The Archon's ear twitched. "It matters not what she believes. It is my will."
Isimud bowed deeply. "Yes, nin-Irkalla. Thank you, nin-Irkalla." The will of the Archon was the will of Argon, and even Mamitu, who took orders only from the Imperator himself and enjoyed his special favor, would be forced to listen.
The Archon bid him depart, then, and Isimud managed not to scurry out of the room. He had never been so happy to leave a place in his life.
***
Steve-
Is everything all right? It's been over a week. Hawkeye is starting to get worried about you guys, not that he'll admit it.
I wish I had some new information to give you, but unless you want to hear my theories about how the Argonian caste system creates a persistent sense of inferiority amongst non-warrior Argonians, I've got nothing. At this point, you probably know as much about what I'm working on as I do, considering how long I've been down here. I don't know how much longer I can pretend to work on the same missile before they figure out I'm stalling.
I'm going to have to actually produce something useful for them eventually.
Since I doubt you want to hear anything else about my missile, or about the pressing need for Argonian social reform (actually, you probably are interested in that, aren't you?) here's what I've been able to figure out about every else's little science projects...
***
It had been over a week since their last word from the other Avengers, and Clint was pretty sure it was starting to drive Tony insane.
Not that insane was much of a stretch for Tony, at the moment. Or ever, really.
"She hasn't been at the check point in eight days," he was repeating now. "Something's wrong; you know it is. Anything could have happened to them."
"We don't know. I'm sure they're fine." They had to be fine. If something had happened, if Jan or Steve or any of the others had been killed or captured, Clint would have heard about it. The Argonians would have said something, wanted the city to know the "rebels" had been dealt with. Or one of the other guards would have said something.
It was probably nothing. Jan was probably just... busy. Or he'd missed her at the checkpoint, gotten there after she'd left or something.
"You're sure she couldn't have left a message for you somewhere? Somewhere in the station? Maybe you missed it."
That would be difficult, considering that Clint and a bunch of the other guards had searched every inch of it for explosives or other suspicious threats three days ago, after someone had blown up a subway station in Brooklyn.
He wondered if it had been the Avengers, or one of the other groups that was working with them.
Maybe Jan was stuck in Brooklyn and couldn't get across the river. Maybe she and Cap were planning something really big, something that was taking up all of her time.
"She wouldn't risk them finding something like that," he said, just managing to contain the desire to snap at Tony. It helped that Tony looked kind of pathetic; the injuries he'd had when the Argonians had captured him had all healed, leaving only the faintest trace of a scar over one cheekbone, but if anything, he looked even paler and more exhausted now that he had when they'd first gotten here. "You know that. Calm down and quit acting like Hank."
Tony sighed, his shoulders sagging. "I know. I just -- What if something's happened to them?" He looked away, wrapping his arms around his torso as if he were still nursing busted ribs -- which he couldn't be, not by now.
When had Tony started doing the depressive huddle thing? Maybe it was being stuck underground, or the fact that neither of them had had real food in weeks, unless tasteless alien porridge counted. Clint would have killed for a burger, or a slice of pizza, or anything with flavor, really.
"Nothing's happened to them," he said. The really annoying part was, Tony's paranoid suggestions got more plausible-sounding every time he made them. Damn him. "They're fine. They're just busy. Or I missed the checkpoint. It's not like creeping in here to talk to me is Jan's only priority."
Not that that was all that comforting a thought, either. He could see where Tony was coming from; if anything did happen to the others, they'd be totally cut off in here, and while Clint could go AWOL no problem, Tony was pretty much stuck down here in this creepy basement.
You could actually hear water running on the other side of the walls, like they were next to an underground river or something. In some places, the stone was actually damp. And the whole place was freezing, that dank, chilly cave-feeling where the temperature never wavered from around fifty or sixty degrees.
You'd think the Argonian's giant power core would heat the place up a little.
"You're right," Tony said without a trace of conviction, "I'm sure they're fine." His shoulders still hadn't lost that unhappy slump.
"Of course they are." Clint grinned, trying to look confident and not at all like Tony's paranoid worries were in any way justified. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, ostentatiously shivering. "Do they ever turn on the heat down here?" There, subject changed.
Tony shook his head, a hint of the familiar 'I'm smarter than everyone' smirk curving his lips. "They have fur; I don't think they notice the cold. I'm not sure there is heat, anyway." He shrugged, and picked up one of the pieces of Argonian junk on his worktable, turning it over in his hands. Clint was pretty sure it had once been part of the nuclear missile. "I'm just glad they bother to heat the water in our bathing facilities. I hate shaving with cold water."
"If you grow a beard," Clint informed him, "I'm leaving you down here to freeze." He'd said all the radioactive stuff was gone, but if the Argonians weren't even bothering to heat the scientists' work area, how far could they really trust their safety precautions? "Are you sure you should be playing with that?"
Tony looked up from the missile piece, blinking. "If I what? Oh, come on, the beard wasn't that bad."
Clearly he had never actually looked at pictures of himself from those couple of months. Or in a mirror, during them. Because he was a tactful person, Clint didn't say this. "Wanda's convinced you were subconsciously trying to make yourself unattractive because you hated yourself. And she should know -- remember that haircut she got after things ended between her and Vision?"
Tony was frowning now, successfully distracted from spazzing about why they hadn't heard from the others. "I didn't think she looked that bad."
Clint snorted. "Yeah, well you were crazy and brainwashed then. Your opinion doesn't count."
Tony looked back down at the piece of missile, shoulders hunching a bit more, and Clint belatedly realized that maybe now wasn't a good time to bring up things like Tony being mind controlled by Kang.
Before he could come up with a way to apologize that wouldn't make things even more awkward, Tony looked back up, smiling again as if nothing had happened, and said, "Since when do you pay attention to people's hair, anyway?"
"Since I have teammates for whom hair is a sign of psychological health."
Tony raised his eyebrows.
Clint sighed. "Since Natasha stopped dying her hair black and I didn't notice."
Tony smirked again, the superior smirk of a man who'd probably never gotten into an argument with his girlfriend because he'd failed to pay enough attention to her hair. Probably, Clint reflected, because he'd never stuck with the same woman long enough for her hairstyle to change. "That sounds more like it. Wait, how could you not notice her hair going from black to bright red?"
"It was a subtle change!"
Tony stiffened, his eyes fixing on something over Clint's shoulder, and Clint was straightening from his slouch against the corner of Tony's work bench and stepping away even as he turned to see a pair of Argonians walking toward them.
Clint groaned inwardly, recognizing the taller Argonian's copper-encrusted military blacks, and the two long scars down the side of her face. Arch-Captain Mamitu, the Argonian in charge of all of the security for Grand Central, human guards included.
Please, please, he thought, don't let her have figured out what we're doing.
Tony had straightened up from his slump, all of his attention suddenly fixed on the missile part he was still holding as he tried to fake busyness.
Clint entertained a brief moment of hope that the arch-captain would walk past them and go bother the guy at the next work station over, the one that was all buddy-buddy with the Rhino, but their luck had pretty much sucked ever since the alien ships appeared in the sky, so of course she stopped right in front of Tony.
Argonians always looked like they were snarling; it was a side effect of having fangs. In Arch-Captain Mamitu's case, though, it was more straightforward than that: she usually looked like she was snarling because she actually was snarling.
She gave Clint a single, unimpressed once-over, then dismissed him as if he weren't there.
She leaned forward into Tony's personal space, and growled something in Argonian. It was a rough, guttural language, weirdly reminiscent of Klingon. Or of whatever you called the language the Skrull spoke.
Tony stiffened. He didn't actually lean away from her, which Clint was pretty sure he would have done in Tony's shoes, but he seemed to draw in on himself, his suddenly submissive body language setting off warning bells all up and down Clint's spine.
Tony was never submissive, not unless there was something wrong with him.
Damn it, they'd only been down here a month, and Tony was already starting to lose it.
The translator, his grey uniform accompanied by a long-suffering expression, took a half step forward and said, "The Arch-Captain has been informed that you are not making sufficient progress." He sounded almost apologetic, his ears low and his tail limp. What was up with that?
Tony's eyes darted from one Argonian to the other. "It's very complex," he began, gesturing at the bits of disassembled missile that littered his work and living area. "I'm working with incomplete data, and without any way of testing my hypotheses, I can't be certain of-"
The arch-captain backhanded him across the face.
Tony staggered back against the lab table, and Clint dug his fingernails into his palms to keep himself from drawing his stupid alien sword and blowing both of their covers. He fought to keep his face neutral, to look like this was just another day on the job, like he couldn't care less if she beat Tony to a bloody pulp in front of him.
Tony straightened, touching the back of one hand to his bleeding mouth. Strangely, he was looking at the translator instead of Mamitu.
"No more excuses," the translator said.
Arch-Captain Mamitu snarled something else, then made a 'go on' gesture at the translator with the tip her tail.
"You will be given small samples of the material removed from the missile. You will have twelve hours to study it, after which you will begin constructing a fully functional duplicate of the missile. Arch-Captain Mamitu expects results by the end of the week."
Wait, 'the material removed from the missile?' The radioactive material removed from the missile? Clint opened his mouth to protest, then quickly shut it again. Don't say anything, he reminded himself. You're supposed to be loyal and obedient. Look loyal and obedient.
He took a deep breath, and tried to pretend the six-and-half-foot furry alien in front of him was Cap. Or Wanda. Or someone else he actually respected.
"I'm sorry, Tony," the translator added quietly. "Just do your best. You'll be able to work faster once you identify the isotopes you need."
The Arch-Captain cuffed him on the side of the head with her tail, the barbed tip cutting a tiny nick out of his left ear. Then she turned on her heel and began striding away with that sinuous predator's grace they all had, clearly expecting him to follow her.
"Bitch," the translator muttered in English. He shot a last, apologetic glance at Tony, then hurried to catch up with his boss.
"Damn," Clint observed. "I kind of like that guy now."
"I know." Tony sighed. "I think it's the early stages of Stockholm syndrome."
Clint shook his head. "No, I think it's mostly that she really is a bitch. I've seen her whack people like that before. I try to stay out of her way."
Tony's bottom lip had split open from the force of the arch-captain's blow, and was bleeding sluggishly. He rubbed the back of his hand across it again, succeeding mostly in smearing the blood around. "Good idea," he observed. He leaned back against the lab bench, staring down at his bloody hands. "Damn it, she'll be back in a week, and I'm going to have to give her something then, or our cover will be shot."
"So give her something." Clint wasn't thrilled by the idea of putting another weapon in the Argonians' hands, but it wasn't like they could do a hell of a lot of damage with one missile.
Okay, technically, one nuclear missile could wipe out the entire island of Manhattan, but the Argonians were living in Manhattan, so they weren't likely to do that. There was a time to take the moral high ground, and a time to remember that the Imperator had had the dismembered corpse of the last guy they'd convicted of treason stacked in the middle of Times Square. He'd been a member of Clint's guard shift, a former NYPD officer who'd tried to go AWOL from the guards with the Empire State graduate student he'd been dating. They'd made the girl watch while they cut him apart. Then they had executed her. She had gotten a quicker death than her boyfriend, but dead was dead.
They couldn't fight the Argonians if they were dead.
Tony was still staring at his hands. "I'll be responsible for whatever they use it for."
"You're not exactly doing this of your own free will," Clint pointed out. As if Tony could have missed the depressing 'prison camp' air the converter room gave off. Just being down here made Clint feel tired, like he wanted to curl up and go to sleep and not get up again for a very long time. Thank God he got to get up to the ground floor once a day to see the sun -- he'd be going crazy without it.
Tony shook his head, slowly. "Yes I am. I volunteered."
If Tony lost it, Clint thought sourly, they were both fucked. They were probably fucked anyway, but the scariest alien in the world wasn't going to make him admit it.
***
Tony-
Sorry for the break down in communications. It's been a hectic few weeks. I can't spell it out too clearly, of course, but we've got something big coming up. With what you've told us about the Argonian shield, and Hawkeye's intelligence about Argonian troop movements and the timing and location of supply convoys, we think we may have a way to get word to the outside.
This isn't Afghanistan, Tony. If the Argonians order you to do something, do whatever you have to in order to maintain your cover. You're a heck of a lot more useful alive than otherwise.
-Steve
Part 6b
***
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five (a) | Chapter Five (b) | Chapter Six (a) | Chapter Six (b) | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty (a) | Chapter Twenty (b) | Chapter Twenty One
Authors:
seanchai and elspethdixonRated: PG-13
Pairings: Steve/Tony, Hank/Jan, Carol/Wanda
Warnings: No much, really. Some swearing and violence.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations depicted herein belong to Stan Lee and Marvel comics. No profit is being made off of this derivative work. We're paid in love, people.
Summary: Aliens have invaded earth, and the Avengers are scattered. While Steve leads the resistance, Tony once again finds himself playing captive scientist. In the midst of a violent alien regime, separated by seemingly insurmountable boundaries, Steve and Tony have nothing to keep themselves going but each other.
Author's Note:The point in volume three that we're branching off from was originally published around '98-'99, but since Marvel time runs at a slower speed than real world time, early volume three is probably four or so years ago in canon time. Hence 2004 and troops in Iraq. Also, just a heads up; this fic is really, really long. Like, over two hundred pages long. We'll start by posting every other week, though we're hoping to start posting once a week, eventually.
X-posted to Marvel Slash.
Warning: This chapter was too long for one post; look for part 6b in a few minutes.
"Good evening, New York. Once again, broadcasting to you from an undisclosed location, this is Daily Bugle Radio. This is Robbie Robertson. Your usual correspondent, Ben Urich, is off this evening, and our legal advisors have warned us against letting Jonah have the mike.
"Just over a month after Argonian forces seized control, and while their center of power in lower Manhattan remains firmly under their control, they are beginning to meet with considerable resistance in upper Manhattan and the outer boroughs.
"In the Bronx, Argonian soldiers and their human auxiliaries have been pelted with rocks and bits of building materials, and attacked by humans armed with various forms of mace and pepper spray. At least one Argonian patrol has been attacked by unidentified humans carrying firearms, and the bodies of two humans wearing Argonian uniforms were found in the Hudson River this Tuesday, presumably murdered in retaliation for joining what many New Yorkers still view as 'the enemy.'"
"Including this newspaper." *this spoken in a second voice*
"So we're abandoning journalistic neutrality? We're usually so impartial."
"Impartial is interviewing politicians on both sides of a political campaign, and printing both viewpoints no matter how idiotic they are. This is a matter of realism."
"All right, realism, then. The Argonians have met with even greater difficulties in Brooklyn, which has been the scene of at least a half-dozen attacks on subway routes and Argonian outposts. The attacks, far more destructive than those in the Bronx, have left over two dozen Argonians dead, and many more wounded, and were carried out by humans in military uniform. It looks like the Argonian effort to massacre all military forces in the city wasn't as successful as they hoped.
"Estimates of Argonian casualties are not exact, due to limits on the information obtainable from Argonian sources, but it is clear they are mounting. Even in downtown Manhattan, the heart of their stronghold, there is rising rebellion. The presence of a common enemy has created unexpected alliances in Manhattan's underworld, as residents of Midtown report seeing familiar costumed figures from both sides of the law-"
*a snort* "Both sides? They're all a bunch of criminals."
"Shut up, Jonah. If you want to write this next time, be my guest. Sorry about that, folks. Ah... here we are. Costumed figures from both sides of the law. Several witnesses claim to have seen a man in red leather tracking Argonians into subway tunnels, and an Argonian patrol was found last week hanging upside-down from lighting fixtures in Times Square, stripped of their uniforms and covered in spiderwebs. It looks like Hell's Kitchen's guardian devil and our friendly neighborhood Spiderman are still on the job."
*an audible sound of grinding teeth* "Friendly, hell. He's probably in league with those furry vermin somehow."
"But the greatest blow struck against the Argonians thus far has been the burning of Penn Station..."
It had taken a great amount of time and patience to acquire an audience with the Archon. In the first place, it had taken Isimud several days simply to work up the necessary nerve to request a chance to bring his findings before the Archon at all. In the second, the Archon dealt with vital matters of state every day, and listening to the discoveries of a single mechanikos was far beneath her dignity.
Isimud had initially planned to take his discovery, and his questions, to one of the Arch-Captains, but Arch-Captain Mammitu had dismissed him out of hand, without even bothering to let him finish a sentence. And Arch-Captain Burrukam was so thoroughly discredited and shamed that there was little point in soliciting his opinion about anything. Finally, knowing that he had to share his new theory about the continued failure of their attempts to replicate nuclear reactions with someone in authority, Isimud had gone to Sub-Captain Kammani.
The sub-captain had come to him shortly after the occupation had been established in New York to request -- demand, really, nothing a warrior asked of a mechanikos was ever truly a request, though she had phrased it more politely than some -- that Isimud instruct her in the human's tongue. The handful of translation devices the Argonians possessed were too important to be wasted on things as trivial as giving orders to human guards, and she wanted to be able to command her new human guards and laborers without relying on an interpreter.
Sub-Captain Kammani had been in command of a number of Scandians soldiers back on Argon, before the evacuation, and had apparently prided herself on her knowledge of Scandian customs and language.
So, for the past three octnights, the sub-captain had been coming to Isimud every other day for a language lesson.
When Isimud had explained the information he had gotten from the human scientist to her, and it's implications, she had not only agreed that it was important, but decided that it needed to be brought to the attention of the Archon. "I cannot explain it properly, myself," she had said. "And the Archon would be displeased if I wasted her time with an insufficient explanation. I will secure the audience and you must tell her of this."
Now, Isimud found himself waiting outside the doors of Vanderbilt Hall, staring down at the fur-colored stone that lined all the floors on the upper levels and trying to keep his tail from twitching too violently with his nervousness.
"The Archon will see you now," the dark-furred guard stationed outside the audience chamber's door told him. "Do not presume to meet her eyes, or to speak to her before she has spoken," he reminded him. "Remember, you are being granted a great honor."
The reminder was unnecessary. How could he forget, when he was about to speak directly with the ruler of the entire Argonian Empire? Granted, the Argonian Empire these days consisted of less than a double octet of captured cities on Earth, but that didn't change the fact that nin-Irkalla was the Archon, the direct descendant of Alulim.
The Archon was beautiful, of course. Her fur was copper-bright, the same color as the polished insignia on a military officer's uniform. She was short, perhaps only six feet, her form sinewy and lithe under her robes, and in the deep blue robes of state, glittering with copper beading, she looked like a piece of living jewelry.
Isimud bowed, ears submissively lowered, carefully looking anywhere but at the Archon's face.
There was a moment of science as she considered him; it took of Isimud's self control to keep his tail from twitching nervously.
"Sub-Captain Kammani has said that you may be able to explain why the human scientists' nuclear experiments are meeting with so little success."
So Isimud explained to the Archon what he had learned from Tony Stark, adding further details he had worked out on his own. How molecules of different elements came in multiple variations, with different numbers of neutrons, and how only certain kinds of plutonium, tritium, and uranium molecules would work.
The Archon narrowed her eyes, her tail swaying gently behind her. "The human scientists we have working on it have mentioned no such requirement."
Well, they wouldn't, would they? They knew the power they would be placing in the Argonians' hands if they succeeded. Even Tony Stark had been hesitant in his explanation, though he'd tried to conceal it. "With respect, nin-Irkalla," Isimud managed, lowering his ears even further, "the physicists are all captives. They may be somewhat... reluctant in their work. I believe they are willfully concealing information."
The Archon nodded. "Very likely," she said dryly. "It is unfortunate that we have no one more trustworthy to work on so delicate a project."
Isimud had thought so himself. He had also thought that there was considerable risk in letting people who were their unwilling captives play about with materials that could destroy entire star ships, but when he had tentatively mentioned this to Arch-Captain Mamitu, she had hit him.
"How did you make this discovery?"
"One of the engineers told me of it," Isimud said carefully. "A volunteer." It would have done his reputation and standing more credit if he claimed to have figured it out entirely on his own, but even were that not dishonest, one could not lie to the Archon. "He is a human weapons expert working on duplicating our space-to-ground missiles. I believe he was trying to elicit information from me about the nuclear material we removed from the missile before giving it to him. He says he cannot make more progress until he knows what it is."
"And you believe him?" Her voice held skepticism, and well it should. If one scientist could lie, so could another. Isimud did not think Tony Stark was lying, though. He had seemed sincere, and Isimud suspected that he was lonely for someone to talk to; the only human that spoke to him regularly was one of the guards.
"I do, nin-Irkalla," he said. "He seems truly interested in our technology, and has been working diligently on it. And I was there when he surrendered - I... I was not sure if he truly was willing to serve you, or only wished to save his own life, but even if it is the latter, deceiving us would do him little good." And the human was definitely intelligent enough to have figured that out. Not to mention that the way the other humans treated him was hardly likely to inspire loyalty toward his own species -- they avoided him, sneered at him, as if he had been defeated in a duel by a subordinate or lost a battle despite having superior numbers, probably because he had sworn the oath to serve and obey the Argonian Empire while they were still captive slaves.
The Archon's tail swayed through the air, the metal fringe on the hem of her robe chiming faintly with the motion. "I will see that this information is passed along to the mechanikos overseeing the physicists." She paused, frowning faintly, then added, "I will also inform them that their slaves appear to be disobedient and deceitful."
Isimud felt a moment's deep relief that overseeing the physicists was not one of his responsibilities. Failing to keep slaves and non-Argonian laborers under proper control was a serious matter.
"You have my thanks, Mechanikos Isimud," she continued.
Isimud's ears lifted slightly, before he remembered himself and held them motionless once more. The Archon had thanked him. Him, a mechanikos.
The information about the nuclear experiments was not the only thing he had wanted to bring to his superiors' attention, and he would never get a better chance than this. Greatly daring, he ventured, "Nin-Irkalla, Archon, I... I would like permission to give the human engineer samples of the material removed from the missile. Arch-Captain Mamitu has refused me, but I believe he could make more progress if-"
"Permission granted," she said, and Isimud blinked, wondering for a moment if he had heard correctly, before the sense of the words penetrated and he realized that she had, in fact, actually agreed.
She paused, then, "Am I mistaken, or is this human working on a single project?"
"Yes, nin-Irkalla." Another thing Arch-Captain Mamitu had been firmly insistent on. Humans, even ones who had sworn their loyalty, were not to be trusted with too many responsibilities.
"Remedy that. We do not have enough scientists to squander their abilities so." It was a cool, firm statement, spoken with the implicit confidence that she would be obeyed.
"Arch-Captain Mamitu doesn't believe that-" he began.
The Archon's ear twitched. "It matters not what she believes. It is my will."
Isimud bowed deeply. "Yes, nin-Irkalla. Thank you, nin-Irkalla." The will of the Archon was the will of Argon, and even Mamitu, who took orders only from the Imperator himself and enjoyed his special favor, would be forced to listen.
The Archon bid him depart, then, and Isimud managed not to scurry out of the room. He had never been so happy to leave a place in his life.
Steve-
Is everything all right? It's been over a week. Hawkeye is starting to get worried about you guys, not that he'll admit it.
I wish I had some new information to give you, but unless you want to hear my theories about how the Argonian caste system creates a persistent sense of inferiority amongst non-warrior Argonians, I've got nothing. At this point, you probably know as much about what I'm working on as I do, considering how long I've been down here. I don't know how much longer I can pretend to work on the same missile before they figure out I'm stalling.
I'm going to have to actually produce something useful for them eventually.
Since I doubt you want to hear anything else about my missile, or about the pressing need for Argonian social reform (actually, you probably are interested in that, aren't you?) here's what I've been able to figure out about every else's little science projects...
It had been over a week since their last word from the other Avengers, and Clint was pretty sure it was starting to drive Tony insane.
Not that insane was much of a stretch for Tony, at the moment. Or ever, really.
"She hasn't been at the check point in eight days," he was repeating now. "Something's wrong; you know it is. Anything could have happened to them."
"We don't know. I'm sure they're fine." They had to be fine. If something had happened, if Jan or Steve or any of the others had been killed or captured, Clint would have heard about it. The Argonians would have said something, wanted the city to know the "rebels" had been dealt with. Or one of the other guards would have said something.
It was probably nothing. Jan was probably just... busy. Or he'd missed her at the checkpoint, gotten there after she'd left or something.
"You're sure she couldn't have left a message for you somewhere? Somewhere in the station? Maybe you missed it."
That would be difficult, considering that Clint and a bunch of the other guards had searched every inch of it for explosives or other suspicious threats three days ago, after someone had blown up a subway station in Brooklyn.
He wondered if it had been the Avengers, or one of the other groups that was working with them.
Maybe Jan was stuck in Brooklyn and couldn't get across the river. Maybe she and Cap were planning something really big, something that was taking up all of her time.
"She wouldn't risk them finding something like that," he said, just managing to contain the desire to snap at Tony. It helped that Tony looked kind of pathetic; the injuries he'd had when the Argonians had captured him had all healed, leaving only the faintest trace of a scar over one cheekbone, but if anything, he looked even paler and more exhausted now that he had when they'd first gotten here. "You know that. Calm down and quit acting like Hank."
Tony sighed, his shoulders sagging. "I know. I just -- What if something's happened to them?" He looked away, wrapping his arms around his torso as if he were still nursing busted ribs -- which he couldn't be, not by now.
When had Tony started doing the depressive huddle thing? Maybe it was being stuck underground, or the fact that neither of them had had real food in weeks, unless tasteless alien porridge counted. Clint would have killed for a burger, or a slice of pizza, or anything with flavor, really.
"Nothing's happened to them," he said. The really annoying part was, Tony's paranoid suggestions got more plausible-sounding every time he made them. Damn him. "They're fine. They're just busy. Or I missed the checkpoint. It's not like creeping in here to talk to me is Jan's only priority."
Not that that was all that comforting a thought, either. He could see where Tony was coming from; if anything did happen to the others, they'd be totally cut off in here, and while Clint could go AWOL no problem, Tony was pretty much stuck down here in this creepy basement.
You could actually hear water running on the other side of the walls, like they were next to an underground river or something. In some places, the stone was actually damp. And the whole place was freezing, that dank, chilly cave-feeling where the temperature never wavered from around fifty or sixty degrees.
You'd think the Argonian's giant power core would heat the place up a little.
"You're right," Tony said without a trace of conviction, "I'm sure they're fine." His shoulders still hadn't lost that unhappy slump.
"Of course they are." Clint grinned, trying to look confident and not at all like Tony's paranoid worries were in any way justified. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, ostentatiously shivering. "Do they ever turn on the heat down here?" There, subject changed.
Tony shook his head, a hint of the familiar 'I'm smarter than everyone' smirk curving his lips. "They have fur; I don't think they notice the cold. I'm not sure there is heat, anyway." He shrugged, and picked up one of the pieces of Argonian junk on his worktable, turning it over in his hands. Clint was pretty sure it had once been part of the nuclear missile. "I'm just glad they bother to heat the water in our bathing facilities. I hate shaving with cold water."
"If you grow a beard," Clint informed him, "I'm leaving you down here to freeze." He'd said all the radioactive stuff was gone, but if the Argonians weren't even bothering to heat the scientists' work area, how far could they really trust their safety precautions? "Are you sure you should be playing with that?"
Tony looked up from the missile piece, blinking. "If I what? Oh, come on, the beard wasn't that bad."
Clearly he had never actually looked at pictures of himself from those couple of months. Or in a mirror, during them. Because he was a tactful person, Clint didn't say this. "Wanda's convinced you were subconsciously trying to make yourself unattractive because you hated yourself. And she should know -- remember that haircut she got after things ended between her and Vision?"
Tony was frowning now, successfully distracted from spazzing about why they hadn't heard from the others. "I didn't think she looked that bad."
Clint snorted. "Yeah, well you were crazy and brainwashed then. Your opinion doesn't count."
Tony looked back down at the piece of missile, shoulders hunching a bit more, and Clint belatedly realized that maybe now wasn't a good time to bring up things like Tony being mind controlled by Kang.
Before he could come up with a way to apologize that wouldn't make things even more awkward, Tony looked back up, smiling again as if nothing had happened, and said, "Since when do you pay attention to people's hair, anyway?"
"Since I have teammates for whom hair is a sign of psychological health."
Tony raised his eyebrows.
Clint sighed. "Since Natasha stopped dying her hair black and I didn't notice."
Tony smirked again, the superior smirk of a man who'd probably never gotten into an argument with his girlfriend because he'd failed to pay enough attention to her hair. Probably, Clint reflected, because he'd never stuck with the same woman long enough for her hairstyle to change. "That sounds more like it. Wait, how could you not notice her hair going from black to bright red?"
"It was a subtle change!"
Tony stiffened, his eyes fixing on something over Clint's shoulder, and Clint was straightening from his slouch against the corner of Tony's work bench and stepping away even as he turned to see a pair of Argonians walking toward them.
Clint groaned inwardly, recognizing the taller Argonian's copper-encrusted military blacks, and the two long scars down the side of her face. Arch-Captain Mamitu, the Argonian in charge of all of the security for Grand Central, human guards included.
Please, please, he thought, don't let her have figured out what we're doing.
Tony had straightened up from his slump, all of his attention suddenly fixed on the missile part he was still holding as he tried to fake busyness.
Clint entertained a brief moment of hope that the arch-captain would walk past them and go bother the guy at the next work station over, the one that was all buddy-buddy with the Rhino, but their luck had pretty much sucked ever since the alien ships appeared in the sky, so of course she stopped right in front of Tony.
Argonians always looked like they were snarling; it was a side effect of having fangs. In Arch-Captain Mamitu's case, though, it was more straightforward than that: she usually looked like she was snarling because she actually was snarling.
She gave Clint a single, unimpressed once-over, then dismissed him as if he weren't there.
She leaned forward into Tony's personal space, and growled something in Argonian. It was a rough, guttural language, weirdly reminiscent of Klingon. Or of whatever you called the language the Skrull spoke.
Tony stiffened. He didn't actually lean away from her, which Clint was pretty sure he would have done in Tony's shoes, but he seemed to draw in on himself, his suddenly submissive body language setting off warning bells all up and down Clint's spine.
Tony was never submissive, not unless there was something wrong with him.
Damn it, they'd only been down here a month, and Tony was already starting to lose it.
The translator, his grey uniform accompanied by a long-suffering expression, took a half step forward and said, "The Arch-Captain has been informed that you are not making sufficient progress." He sounded almost apologetic, his ears low and his tail limp. What was up with that?
Tony's eyes darted from one Argonian to the other. "It's very complex," he began, gesturing at the bits of disassembled missile that littered his work and living area. "I'm working with incomplete data, and without any way of testing my hypotheses, I can't be certain of-"
The arch-captain backhanded him across the face.
Tony staggered back against the lab table, and Clint dug his fingernails into his palms to keep himself from drawing his stupid alien sword and blowing both of their covers. He fought to keep his face neutral, to look like this was just another day on the job, like he couldn't care less if she beat Tony to a bloody pulp in front of him.
Tony straightened, touching the back of one hand to his bleeding mouth. Strangely, he was looking at the translator instead of Mamitu.
"No more excuses," the translator said.
Arch-Captain Mamitu snarled something else, then made a 'go on' gesture at the translator with the tip her tail.
"You will be given small samples of the material removed from the missile. You will have twelve hours to study it, after which you will begin constructing a fully functional duplicate of the missile. Arch-Captain Mamitu expects results by the end of the week."
Wait, 'the material removed from the missile?' The radioactive material removed from the missile? Clint opened his mouth to protest, then quickly shut it again. Don't say anything, he reminded himself. You're supposed to be loyal and obedient. Look loyal and obedient.
He took a deep breath, and tried to pretend the six-and-half-foot furry alien in front of him was Cap. Or Wanda. Or someone else he actually respected.
"I'm sorry, Tony," the translator added quietly. "Just do your best. You'll be able to work faster once you identify the isotopes you need."
The Arch-Captain cuffed him on the side of the head with her tail, the barbed tip cutting a tiny nick out of his left ear. Then she turned on her heel and began striding away with that sinuous predator's grace they all had, clearly expecting him to follow her.
"Bitch," the translator muttered in English. He shot a last, apologetic glance at Tony, then hurried to catch up with his boss.
"Damn," Clint observed. "I kind of like that guy now."
"I know." Tony sighed. "I think it's the early stages of Stockholm syndrome."
Clint shook his head. "No, I think it's mostly that she really is a bitch. I've seen her whack people like that before. I try to stay out of her way."
Tony's bottom lip had split open from the force of the arch-captain's blow, and was bleeding sluggishly. He rubbed the back of his hand across it again, succeeding mostly in smearing the blood around. "Good idea," he observed. He leaned back against the lab bench, staring down at his bloody hands. "Damn it, she'll be back in a week, and I'm going to have to give her something then, or our cover will be shot."
"So give her something." Clint wasn't thrilled by the idea of putting another weapon in the Argonians' hands, but it wasn't like they could do a hell of a lot of damage with one missile.
Okay, technically, one nuclear missile could wipe out the entire island of Manhattan, but the Argonians were living in Manhattan, so they weren't likely to do that. There was a time to take the moral high ground, and a time to remember that the Imperator had had the dismembered corpse of the last guy they'd convicted of treason stacked in the middle of Times Square. He'd been a member of Clint's guard shift, a former NYPD officer who'd tried to go AWOL from the guards with the Empire State graduate student he'd been dating. They'd made the girl watch while they cut him apart. Then they had executed her. She had gotten a quicker death than her boyfriend, but dead was dead.
They couldn't fight the Argonians if they were dead.
Tony was still staring at his hands. "I'll be responsible for whatever they use it for."
"You're not exactly doing this of your own free will," Clint pointed out. As if Tony could have missed the depressing 'prison camp' air the converter room gave off. Just being down here made Clint feel tired, like he wanted to curl up and go to sleep and not get up again for a very long time. Thank God he got to get up to the ground floor once a day to see the sun -- he'd be going crazy without it.
Tony shook his head, slowly. "Yes I am. I volunteered."
If Tony lost it, Clint thought sourly, they were both fucked. They were probably fucked anyway, but the scariest alien in the world wasn't going to make him admit it.
Tony-
Sorry for the break down in communications. It's been a hectic few weeks. I can't spell it out too clearly, of course, but we've got something big coming up. With what you've told us about the Argonian shield, and Hawkeye's intelligence about Argonian troop movements and the timing and location of supply convoys, we think we may have a way to get word to the outside.
This isn't Afghanistan, Tony. If the Argonians order you to do something, do whatever you have to in order to maintain your cover. You're a heck of a lot more useful alive than otherwise.
-Steve
Part 6b
***
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five (a) | Chapter Five (b) | Chapter Six (a) | Chapter Six (b) | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty (a) | Chapter Twenty (b) | Chapter Twenty One
Oooh, things are chugging along
A typo entirely on his own, but even were that not dishonest - even he?
Re: Oooh, things are chugging along
I think that's actually the one thing in the chapter that's *not* a typo -- just a funny-sounded verb tense. He's thinking that he can't lie and claim credit for Tony's ideas because even if being dishonest weren't a bad thing on its own, lying to the Archon would still be BadBadWrong.
Oh I see
I know that I might be one of the dissenters, but I've never really liked Carol much (I think it's how I was introduced to her in my first reading of X-men/Avengers way back in '82), but I'm getting rather sympathetic towards her now. Wow.
This is a big deal for me.
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I did note one word-substitution in the section where Isimud is talking to Irkalla:
"There was a moment of science as she considered him;"
...which you probably intended to be "silence." ^^
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...which you probably intended to be "silence." ^^
Ouch. I suspect a lethal combination of my typos and Word's spell check is responsible.
Argonian politics have been steadily assuming a larger and larger role in the story as it goes on (Irkalla & Isimud probably qualify as our furry, alien Mary Sues by now) so it's really great to hear that people are enjoying them!
Is it bad of me to kind of hope that Our Heroes end up helping the Archon get control of her people back before it's over?
*grins* Well, I can say that some Argonians will still be alive and well at the end of the story, and some will not be, and I'm sure everyone can figure out which alien OCs will suffer which fates pretty easily by now.
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can't wait. I'm all for melodrama. especially well-earned melodrama.
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I LOVE the description of the Archon, describing her clear enough that you can see how she's beautiful in their eyes and probably not so much in ours was awes, the ~living piece of jewelry~ line was great. That whole encounter was, the inner politics there, I'm seriously starting to like Isimud, maybe when this is all over he can just come work in Stark Enterprises. x)
Wanda's convinced you were subconsciously trying to make yourself unattractive because you hated yourself.
IAWTC, seriously, seriouly.
God, Tony's predicament and body language through Clint's eyes is seriously worrying, very well done. The back hand D: oh god with the dismemberment DDDDx a police officer DDDDDDDx And I'm really on Tony's side with the reluctance to hand over the tech. But. Dismemberment. D:
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somewhatsypathetic aliens, and more plot. :Dno subject
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Also, I really like Isimud, and am now worried that something awful is going to happen to him.
But, wow, poor Tony. If anybody's going to deal well with captivity, it's certainly not going to be him. And yet, he's doing the double agent job while pretty much everyone around him looks at him with contempt. You two really know how to work on the heartstrings. :)
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Jameson's asides are pretty much the reason for the broadcasts.
Also, I really like Isimud, and am now worried that something awful is going to happen to him.
Isimud is our sad alien panda, so it pleases me and
But, wow, poor Tony. If anybody's going to deal well with captivity, it's certainly not going to be him. And yet, he's doing the double agent job while pretty much everyone around him looks at him with contempt. You two really know how to work on the heartstrings. :)
That's the fun thing about Tony; he can be in an absolutely godawful situation, with barely any outside support and a hell of a lot of unearned dislike coming his way, and for all of the wibbling, he'll just keep on slogging through until he's done whatever he needs to do.
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Loving the interplay of alien politics and culture, and I'm loving the story in general.
Of course, every time I see the word "Argonian (http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Lore:Argonian)," I can't help but think of the Elder Scrolls games, but it doesn't really matter. XD