Here is part three of the epic tale of Gerard Tolken, confused
superhuman and, so far, a total failure at his chosen profession. He
has returned to the business of spandex and magic hammers in an attempt
to rescue the sister of a colleague. The search has led them to
Brazil...where another hero, a former Titan, hunts the same prey Tolken
does...

THE HAMMER AND THE CROSS
Chapter Three "Animal Crackers"
by Jim Cannon


      It was late afternoon when we flew out of the harbor, abandoning,
for now, Teresa's rent-a-car. As the sunlight faded, we glided north,
intent on arriving at the plantation as quickly as possible. The
armored goons I bested in combat provided the location of the big bad
guys secret base, where Stephanie, Teresa's sister, was being held. The
goons also intimated that other youngsters were being held captive.
      But who was the mastermind?, I asked myself. Who would capture
young mutants and drag them to South America? The Hellfire Club?
Maybe...but the Inner Circle was under new management and not likely to
copy their predecessors. Besides, from what I knew of Shinobi, he was
more interested in winning some weird game and attacking the X-teams
than kidnapping children. Of course, discounting the Hellfire Club
still left me with a hundred possible suspects. There had been a bumper
crop of supervillains recently...
      Maybe it was Sinister. The geneticist and mastermind. The man who
engineered the death of my friends, the Warders. Part of me hoped
fervently that the pale spectre called Sinister was behind this, and
part of me didn't. He had trounced me effectively on our last
encounter, punishing me so severely that it took me weeks to recover.
He was one of the few beings I truly feared in those days; of
course, that was before I learned what fear is. But I digress; I wanted
so badly to pound his skull into pulp but was afraid that, given the
opportunity, I would prove inadequate to the task.
      "What are you brooding about now?" Tasha said, breaking my
reverie.
      "Nothing," I lied, "I just miss my jacket." Tasha could see the
lie, but said no more. Teresa, intent on the imminent rescue of her
youngest sibling, was oblivious.
      We whipped over the terrain at intense speed, causing the forests
and roads below us to blur into a single field of green. The warm
sunlight faded rapidly and, in the dusk, Tasha's armor gleamed with a
dull light. Tasha...my best friend, the person I felt closest to in all
the world. I could bare my soul to her with ease, knowing that she
loved me with an unconditional heart.
      I thought I felt the same, and I knew there was nothing I would
not do for her, no line I wouldn't cross. But how deep is that? How
worthy? She deserved someone better than I, someone less wrapped up in
their own problems and inadequacies. Someone who could really love her.
      *Shove the angst, Gerry*, I sternly told myself. *You've got a
mission to complete. Feel sorry for yourself on your own time.* As the
flight continued, I tried to follow my own advice.

***********************************************************************

     Taskmaster glided through the chromium corridors of the
sub-basement, his pale cloak trailing on the floor. He turned down a
right hand passage, his mind turning back to the discussion he had with
his boss. Taskmaster informed the man of the newcomers, their
anonymity, and their powers. After a moment, he said to Taskmaster in
that cold voice of his, "The man seems capable of only superhuman
physical feats, and should be no match for the muscle I have supplied
you with. The same applies to the females. However, to allay any
concerns, I will contact a colleague of mine who resides in Brazil. She
will join you within the hour."
     "A woman? Who can best the hero? Who is she?"
     A slow smile spread across the face on the screen. "She is a
powerful telepath. No matter how strong this hero is, he won't stand up
to her."
     "That's not what I meant," Taskmaster growled. "How will I know who
to -- "
     The figure on the terminal cut his lackey short. "You will know
her when you see her, my friend. Trust me. We have naught to worry
about. All the variables have been examined and anticipated. Now, be of
good cheer." Then the bastard signed off.
     Taskmaster rubbed his chin thoughtfully. *Damn criminal
masterminds can't ever give anyone a straight answer, not even their
employees. Well, at least the money's good.* The skull-masked mercenary
stopped at a heavy door marked with caution signs in fourteen
languages. Punching a seven number code into the keypad on the
doorframe, he passed through and into the room on the other side.
     He paused for a moment, examining the contents of the room. It was
huge, easily 40 yards on each side, with a ceiling high enough to give
the Archangel Gabriel a nosebleed. A metal staircase descended from the
doorway to the floor, which was cluttered with terminals, tables,
beakers, snaking wires, and scientists. Computer screens flashed graphs
and images at the twenty-three geneticists in the room as they examined
the specimens and the tests they conducted on them.
    The specimens themselves were housed in thirty two massive
cylinders lit from below by fluorescents, stationed on the far side of
the room in four rows of eight. The cylinders were each ten feet tall,
placed on heavy bases equipped with monitors and electronic systems
that kept track of the information gleaned from the test subjects. Each
tube was filled with a pale blue liquid which sedated the specimens,
fed them oxygen, and maintained them in a floating position. Each
specimen was nude, clothed only by rising bubbles in the mix.
      *Specimens. <snort> They're kids, and nothing more.* Taskmaster
gazed at the rows of containers, at the teenagers suspended within.
*Ignore that sour taste in your mouth, it's just your conscience giving
you a hard time.*
      He glided down the stairway, easily sidestepping his way through
the madness that clogged the room, heading for Doctor Xian, the head
researcher for this phase of the project. He was a squat, anal
retentive Asian man who scowled regularly at his more
lackadaisical colleagues. Now he scowled at Taskmaster. *Fat bastard*
the mercenary thought.
      "What brings you into my domain, Mister Taskmaster?" Xian said
with barely a trace of of an Amoy accent.
      Taskmaster chose to ignore the man's insolence. "I'm checking on
our progress. I have just learned we may have to evacuate soon. How
many of the children have the information we need?"
      "Evacuate? Now? We've only just begun. Only twelve specimens have
been examined, and of them, but five show potential. No, I'm sorry
Mister Taskmaster, this will not do."
      Taskmaster breathed through his nose heavily, counting to ten.
Then he said in as calm a voice as he could muster, "Doctor Xian, if
the integrity of this facility becomes compromised, it WILL be
evacuated. I don't care what you think; its my decision and my
responsibility. Now, as I understand it, in order to make the procedure
viable, we need fourteen children with the necessary x-factor. You tell
me we have five. Fine. You now have one hour to find the other nine."
      "One hour?" Xian cried. "You're mad. I'm taking this up with --"
      Taskmaster cut him off. "I just spoke with him. And you're
hearing his words coming out of my mouth. Do it."
      Xian glared at him, his piggy eyes narrowed behind his thick
horn-rimmed glasses. Then he nodded sharply.
      Under the mask, Taskmaster smiled. Hopefully, the job would keep
the little man too busy to check with the boss and discover he was
lying. "One other thing," Taskmaster said.
      "Yes?" Xian grunted.
      "Have the negatives sent down to Level 7, make sure they are
prepped for when the authorities find them."
      "WHAT?!" Xian exploded. "I was promised them!"
      Taskmaster, half turned away from the scientist froze, and
swiveled back on him. "Say again?" he said in a very low, very cool
tone. A smarter man might have let the matter drop, but Xian, while a
brilliant biochemist and gengineer, did not possess the common sense
God gave the fruit fly.
      "Our employer, the man who signs your checks, told me I could
keep any specimens who failed to trigger the spark. The 'negatives' as
you call them, are mine."
      Taskmaster leaned in close. "Yours?" he said quietly. "As what?
Playthings for your experiments?"
      Xian had not elicited the response he sought. He had assumed the
invocation of their employer would cause the mercenary to sweat. Now,
he grew nervous, and he stammered," I-I would not use that term
m-myself, but that is the g-gist, yes."
      Taskmaster nodded knowingly and stepped back, turning away. Xian
breathed a sigh of relief, wiping his brow with one pudgy hand. Then
Taskmaster flashed, and a booted foot crashed into Xian's face,
smashing his nose and knocking him backwards. His back connected with
the hard edge of a table and he grunted, dropping to the floor, blood
dripping from his nose to spatter on the floor and his pristine shirt.
Taskmaster lifted him up by his hair and pulled him close, his bulging
eyes boring into Xian's pain clouded orbs.
      "Forget that shit, Xian. These kids are going home when we're
done with them, and I don't care what deal you've cut with the
boss-man. And please, please don't message this to Emil. He's even more
touchy than I on the subject." Taskmaster let him go, and the man
dropped to the ground, whimpering in pain.
       Taskmaster looked around. The room was silent except for the
moans of Xian and the hum of machinery. The other scientists looked at
Taskmaster with looks of horror, grim agreement, and disgust. "Well,
what is everyone waiting for? Get back to work!" he shouted.
       Taskmaster was gratified to see them scurry to their tasks.
"Remember our discussion, Doctor Xian," said, turning to go.
      Then, without warning, the alarm went off.
      *So much for our hour*, Taskmaster thought.

***********************************************************************

       *This is almost too easy* Nightwing thought, bracing himself
against the ceiling a hallway. Below him a pair of guards in purple
uniforms marched, Israeli uzis clutched in their hands. When they
disappeared, Nightwing dropped lightly to the floor, waited a moment,
and then jogged away in the other direction.
       He had to admit that, while the security here was rather lax,
the electronic systems had been a bitch to fool. Had he made even the
slightest of errors in first infiltrating the mansion, he would be dead
now. But years of experience coupled with a natural talent and native
intelligence enabled him to slip unnoticed into the structure, and even
into the bowels, where the children were hidden.
       All he had to do was find them. That should be easy enough.
       Of course, then he had to figure out some way to get them out of
here, but he was a skilled tactician and master of improvisation. He
would think of something, he assured himself as he darted from shadow
to shadow, his dark costume almost hiding him completely.
       An itch of concern began to form at the base of his spine. For
nearly ten minutes now, no one else had appeared. Nightwing, while a
fan of the pun, hated cliches, yet could not but help think it was too
quiet. *Maybe I should have invited Donna or Wally on this caper* he
thought, edging along the corridor. He froze.
        Someone was nearby...finally. With preternatural grace,
Nightwing scampered up the nearest wall and once more braced his arma
and legs against the ceiling. He ceased to move; not daring to even
breathe. Most people rarely look up when they walk, and the ceiling was
so nicely shadowed and narrow, it was the perfect hiding spot.
Nightwing was expecting another pair of guards to walk by, but was
surprised to see a man in a blue and orange costume, a white cloak on
his shoulders, and a skull mask hiding his face.
     Nightwing recognized him. The Taskmaster.
     He dropped to the floor, unleashing a volley of throwing knives
shaped like bats. Taskmaster swept his cloak up and batted the missiles
aside. "I was not expecting you, Nightwing." He snapped the cloak down,
adopted a Tae Kwon Do stance.
     Nightwing pirouetted forward, his movements languid and slow.
Taskmaster, lacking patience, lashed out with a snap kick aimed at
Nightwing's head. With a circular parry, Nightwing blocked, then drove
his palm into Taskmaster's chest. The mercenary staggered back, and
Nightwing pressed the attack, spinning into a crescent kick that caught
Taskmaster on the forehead, knocking him down. Taskmaster retaliated
with a low sweeping kick from the floor, but the vigilante, raised in a
circus, easily leapt up and out of harm's way.
      In mid-air Nightwing flipped over Taskmaster, grabbing the
mercenary's head with both hands and driving it into the floor. While
Taskmaster recovered and quickly jumped to his feet, Nightwing lightly
landed on his toes.
      "So you're the Taskmaster," he said, attacking with a series of
kicks aimed at Taskmaster's head. Taskmaster blocked easily, but was
hard pressed to launch a retaliatory strike. "I hear you have
photographic reflexes, that you can copy any move you see."
      Taskmaster, ever patient, waited for an opening, and saw one, as
the boy tittered on. He unleashed a tight crane fist punch, one he'd
stolen from Shang-Chi, which smashed into Nightwing's midsection and
blew the air out of the arrogant boy's lungs. He dropped to the floor,
gripping his side and gasping. Taskmaster kicked him in the face.
      "That's right, boy," kick, "even saw your mentor in action once,"
kick," can't tell you how much I paid for that security tape," kick,
"but it was worth every penny," kick,"man like that," kick, "don't
deserve a sidekick like you."
       He drew his boot back for another kick, but Nightwing's hand
lashed out and halted his movement. A twist of his wrist, and
Taskmaster was on the ground. Nightwing somersaulted to his feet and
wiped blood off his chin. "Look, Ratcatcher, you'll need to do better
than that to beat me. I don't care if you're a fan of Bruce Lee movies.
You're done."
      Taskmaster tried another sweep, but Nightwing jumped up again,
and came down on Taskmaster's ankle this time, smashing one foot into
the mercenary's hip. Taskmaster groaned in pain. Nightwing reached down
and grabbed him by the shirtfront, pulling him to his feet and slamming
him into the wall. Taskmaster struggled, trying to break the hold, but
a knee to the solar plexus disillusioned him of that notion.
      "Heh," Nightwing grinned. "Bassmaster, you'd need to duplicate
one of the Hulk's moves to take me down. Now -- where are the children?
      Taskmaster grinned under his mask and began to chuckle. Nightwing
looked at him oddly, until the Taskmaster managed to cough out, "Don't
have to copy the Hulk; he's on my side." He coughed again.
       A feeling of dread sank into Nightwing's bones. He felt the
presence of another person behind him. Letting the Taskmaster go, the
former Titan turned slowly. He had a moment to marvel how such a large
creature could sneak up on him like that, and then a jade fist slapped
him upside the head, and Nightwing knew only darkness.

***********************************************************************

     We came in low, buzzing the tops of the trees. But they were still
ready for us. We exploded into the open, whipping out over the sugar
cane, and I saw massive gun implacements rise up from the earth. As we
flew by, lancing bolts of energy jetted from the muzzles. We broke
formation and retaliated; Teresa caught a blast in the stomach and was
knocked to the ground. Tasha unleashed pulse beams from her gauntlets,
while I heaved Frostfang once.
     Twin explosions erupted as pulse beam and hammer found their
targets. Teresa stood up, one hand hugging her stomach. Behind her I
made out several more guns rising out of the field, training their
sights on us as they powered up. Tasha cut loose with several well
aimed shots while I dropped out of the sky and scooped up a groggy
Teresa, yanking her out of harm's way.
     Tasha followed close behind as we made our way to the manor house,
dodging laser blasts and the occasional missile. Tasha's accuracy and
blistering weaponry disabled cannons left and right and we made good
time despite the heavy fire. I spared a glance at Teresa's midsection,
assuring myself that her natural force field had held and she suffered
no serious damage.
     Then we were clear, into the radius of the house and the
beautifully sculpted gardens that ringed it. I could smell an amazing
plethora of floral scents beneath the heady tang of ozone as I settled
to the ground and let Teresa go. She dropped lightly to her feet and
headed determinedly towards the front door.
     With a whine of servos, Tasha landed beside me, her blaster
muzzles radiating visible waves of heat. "What happened to all the
flash and fire? That was almost too easy. You don't think. . ."
     The front door exploded in a shower of splinters and chunks of
wood. Teresa reeled back, instinctively shielding her eyes with her
arms, even though the movement was unnecessary. Tasha trailed off.
     My jaw dropped open. My mind, ever seeking devious means to
sabotage myself, reminded me of the fervent wish I had a week ago to
face someone I knew I could not beat in combat. Someone like the Hulk
or the Juggernaut. In my head, I reminded myself to be careful what I
wish for in the future. I just might get what I want.
     On the front porch of the hacienda, his green muscles strectched
taught in anticipation of the coming battle, was the Abomination. Emil
Blonsky, a former Soviet spy who irradiated himself with gamma rays and
was transformed into a huge muscular monster that was not only smarter
than the Hulk, but stronger and meaner. The only drawback: unlike
Banner, the Abomination doesn't get stronger as he gets angrier. That
was how the Hulk used to beat him.
     It was a tactic not open to me.
     I looked into Blonksy's eyes and saw carnage and defeat. I wasn't
going to win this one. But I didn't plan on losing either.
     I launched Frostfang at his head.


TO BE CONTINUED....

***********************************************************************

Taskmaster, Abomination, the Incredible Hulk, and all related
characters are (C) Marvel Comics. They are used in this story without
permission.
Nightwing is (C) DC Comics and also used without permission.

Siphon, Mars, Morning Star, and related characters are
(C) James M.G. Cannon, who, while not a large corporation, is still
possessive about his characters.

Comments, suggestions, criticisms, or anecdotes should be directed to
me at this address: X8CG@MUSIC.STLAWU.EDU

To those of you who have written in encouragement: Thanks! I'm glad to
know some people are enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it.