Part the fourth of the continuing saga of one 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 him to a plantation in Brazil, guarded by the Hulk's arch-nemesis, the Abomination. Meanwhile, Nightwing, former Titan, has already faced the Abomination and lost. . . THE HAMMER AND THE CROSS Chapter Four "Duck Soup" by Jim Cannon On the front porch of the hacienda, his green muscles stretched taut 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 not a tactic open to me. I looked into Blonsky'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. "Mars, Morning Star, concentrate your fire on his head!" I shouted. I didn't want either of them getting in close to the monster. He'd tear them apart. Frostfang slammed into Blonsky with enough force to shatter a small building. The Abomination chuffed mightily and took a step forward, unruffled by the blow. My best shot, shrugged off like water. *Shit* Tasha opened up with her blasters, her targeting systems pin- pointing the tiny head atop the massive body. Teresa unleashed crimson fire from her eyes. Filtered through her visor, the blasts weren't as powerful as they could be, but the visor made sure she could see well enough to aim. The energy blasts seemed to cause Blonsky some irritation, but not much. *Shit* Frostfang reappeared in my hand, and I let fly with a mighty heave. I missed. Blonsky was in motion, bounding into the courtyard on super strong legs that could propel him for mile-long leaps. This time he landed on top of Teresa, smashing into her with fists outstretched to drive her into the ground. Frostfang shattered the wall of the mansion, showering brick and plaster into the air. I didn't wait for it to return to me. I blasted into the Abomination in what could only be termed a Sam Guthrie maneuver. Blonsky tumbled off of Teresa, and I pushed him along the ground for another dozen feet before he dug his heels in and halted our movement. Before he could act further, I unleashed a flurry of punches at his head and midsection, trying to daze or distract him. Blonsky was unfazed, and let me know how much he appreciated the attack. One massive ham fist cracked me across the jaw, sending me spinning through the atmosphere to land in the azaleas. I could tell by how much it hurt that my jaw was broken; I could only hope that it would heal quickly and not hinder my performance in the melee. Not that I needed a handicap. I was clearly outclassed. Tasha stood protectively over Teresa, who appeared battered and unconcious. The Abomination took a step toward Tasha, and she unloaded blasts of energy that blackened his hide. He was relentless, however, and moved inexorably closer, drawing in for a blow that might well kill Tasha. Like I was going to let THAT happen. But what could I do? I could benchpress 70 tons, yet the Abomination hardly felt my punches. He seemed vulnerable to energy, but there was no way Tasha could hurt him enough to stop him. There was only one thing I could think of, only one course of action that I could take and still snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. The gloves came off, I pulled them free, dropping them into the azalea patch. *Time to show Blonsky why I'm called Siphon* I thought, leaping into the air in a tight arc that brought me over Tasha and the prostrate Teresa, and on top of the Abomination. Tasha nixed the light show when I came into the line of fire, and grabbed Teresa to drag her to relative safety. Blonsky grinned, his bright white teeth a strong contrast to his dark green, pock marked flesh. I heard once that the Abomination, ugly enough upon his creation, was further mutilated by a large amount of toxic waste that was unceremoniously dumped on him. Whether that happened or not, I can't be sure, but he was one twisted and disgusting looking creature. And he could whip my ass without even trying. I had an ace to play, though. I just hoped it worked as well as it once did. Blonsky swung his two sledgehammer fists at me. I ducked one, rolled under the other, then reached up and tapped Blonsky on the chest. At the same time, I reached out with my senses and tried to absorb the Abomination's powers. It was a tricky manuever, even under optimal conditions, and quite dangerous. The difficulty was compounded by the fact that I hadn't made use of the power in months, ever since my disastrous experience in Asgard. In other words, I didn't know if it was going to work. If it didn't, I left myself wide open to Blonsky. He would have a perfect chance to snap my neck and most likely kill me. And even if I somehow survived such a wound, he could kill Tasha and Teresa while I struggled to heal myself. If I didn't try, though, Blonsky would just beat me to death, and then kill Tasha and Teresa. A dilemma, you might say. Captain America would undoubtedly devise some failsafe way of defeating the Abomination without attempting almost certain suicide, but I was no Cap, and I could only think of one option. Thank God it worked. As soon as I touched the Abomination, he gasped and tried to pull away, but I clung to him like a leech. His skin began to look more gray than green, while my skin, conversly, took on a more greenish cast. Boils and sores erupted on my flesh, mirroring Blonsky's own. My muscles swelled with stolen power, my body expanded and twisted -- with power came the pain of Blonsky's existance. A constant burning sensation felt on the skin, but cutting in deeply into parts of the chest, hands, and thighs. Blonsky had years to grow accustomed to it; I had moments. My jaw, mostly healed now, unleashed an animalian scream. I scrabbled and scractched at my flesh, seeking surcease from the pain in a most irrational manner. In my head I knew I could simply shut the power down and store it for later use, but my nerves reacted differently. Meanwhile, Blonsky was recovering, standing taller and, though groggy, looking more stable. My power, though similar to Rogue's, works on different principles. I can access and duplicate the powers of a metahuman, store them indefinitely and use them whenever I wish. I don't steal the powers, I just copy them. Thus, while the initial moment of contact and xeroxing can be disorienting to the victim, they can recover rather quickly to full strength. My plan called for the Abomination's might, combined with my own, to be enough to beat the monster. I had not gambled on there being a price for Blonsky's power. The Abomination cold-cocked me, sending me sprawling in the dirt. I struggled to get to my feet, tried to ignore the pain and counter- attack, but could not. I waited for the final blow to come. But it did not. I looked up, and perceived through my pain-hazed eyes a slim, black clad woman standing beside Blonsky. A new ally, perhaps? I looked for Tasha, found her unconscious by Teresa. That did it. I found my center, pulled myself to my feet. *Ignore it, Tolken*, I told myself. *Get on with the ass kicking* The woman, apparently in an argument with the Abomination -- my brain was fuzzy and could not understand what they were saying -- noticed my posture, and turned toward me. I heard a voice in my head, a feminine voice, cold and hard as glass. <> it said. I felt an alien presence invade my mind. I struggled to fight it, but all of Xavier's training flew out of my head. Too many distractions. The pain of the transformation, my healing jaw, Tasha and Teresa unconscious, maybe dead. And the suspicion that whatever I touched turned to dust, whatever I tried to do came to naught. I was easy prey for the telepath, whoever she was, and I soon lost conciousness. My failure was complete. For days, it seemed, I floated in a void. Empty, gray, hazy. Motionless, I hung there indefinitely, my thought processes scrambled and my vocal cords frozen. It seemed a fitting end for me. Then I came to. And I realized just how much trouble I was in. My body ached, every muscle felt like it was pulled out of whack. Even my brain hurt. With effort, I opened my eyes and took in my surroundings. I lay on a hard bunk in a small cell, barely five feet wide and ten feet deep. There was another bunk sunk into the wall above me. On the floor next to my bunk lay Tasha, sleeping quietly. Her armor had been stripped from her, and she was dressed in a one piece skintight jumpsuit that left her hands and feet bare. It had a hood that presumably cushioned her head from the weight of her helmet, but she wasn't wearing it, and her red tresses spilled free. She looked sound and unharmed, thankfully. Opposite her, sitting crosslegged against the metal wall of the cell, was a dark haired man in a black and midnight blue costume. The image of a bird in flight was stretched across his chest. A domino mask hooded his eyes, but I could tell he was awake. His muscles tensed, and he shuffled his legs a bit to keep the circulation going. "Sleeping beauty awakes," he grinned. I nodded and tried to sit up. My body screamed in protest, but I ignored it. Through gritted teeth I said "Where's Morning Star?" He pointed at the upper bunk with his chin. I checked. Teresa lay unconscious, stretched across the bunk, her hair in disarray. I scratched a hand across my own mane selfconsciously. "Who are you people?" the man asked. "And what are you doing here?" "Name's Siphon," I said. "Thats Mars on the floor and Morning Star on the top bunk. We were trying to rescue the children." The man nodded and extended his hand. I took it. "I'm Nightwing," he said. "Nightwing?!" I said in surprise. "Are the rest of the New Warriors here?" Nightwing's face collapsed. "I used to be with the Titans, not those pretenders," he grimaced. "You really know how to kick a guy when he's down, Siphon.' "Sorry," I shrugged. "I didn't know. I thought you guys were all part of the same team." Nightwing shook his head with a mixture of disgust and amusement. Tasha sat up, looking a little bleary eyed but still alert. She put a hand on my knee. "You okay?" she said. "I think so," I replied. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Are you okay? They didn't hurt you, did they?" "No, I'm fine. Only my pride is injured." Her smile was forced, but no less scintillating for it. I did my best to smile back, and despite the poorness of my effort, she seemed to brighten. "Mars, dear, have you met Nightwing?" Introductions were made and hands shook. "Now, how do we go about getting out of here?" I said. "Couldn't you just smash the walls?" Tasha said, shivering slightly. Cold metal on bare feet. . .I kicked off my boots and handed them to her. "A few sizes too big, but they'll keep your feet warm." She smiled an even more bright smile, and took the boots. Nightwing had a wistful grin. "What?" I said. He shook his head. "Nothing. Just thinking of. . .someone." A name popped into my head: A woman on the Titans named Starfire or Firestar or something like that. Romantically linked to Nightwing. Wait, did he think. . .Tasha and I. . . no. Couldn't. Shouldn't. I looked at her, pulling the boots on, tying the laces as tight as she could. I grabbed my errant imagination, wrestled it to the ground, and shoved that thought deep into my subconscious, back where it belonged. "So, what about the walls?" Tasha said. I riposted brilliantly by saying, "What?" Then I remembered what we were talking about. "Oh, right, the walls. Well, I could try, but I'm not sure it will do much good. They know I'm super strong. I don't think they would put me in a cell that I could rip out of easily." "I agree." Nightwing said. "The bad guys aren't that clumsy. After all, they did manage to land all of us in here, without much effort on their part." *Speak for yourself, bub* I thought, but said instead, "Do you know who's running the show? How long have you been here? Are there any more Titans here, or on their way?" "No, an hour longer than you, no, and no. How's that?" "Not satisfactory," Tasha said. Nightwing shrugged. "Tell us what you know, then. Let's pool our information, figure a way out of here, and then save the kids." I nodded. Sounded reasonable to me. Nightwing hesitated, then said, "Fine, you first." Tasha shook her head. "Uh-uh. We know each other. We don't know you or whether you're the real you. *You* first." I looked at the two of them, surprised. Tasha was either sharper than I or just more paranoid. I had been ready to believe Nightwing was on the level. But what if he wasn't? Nightwing grinned ruefully. "Fair enough," he said. And then he began: "I don't see how this will give you faith in me, but here it is: A friend of mine -- no need to know her name -- called me a few days ago, saying her child had been kidnapped by strange men in armor. I went after them, tracked them to here. Along the way I learned that no less than thirty-two children had been abducted. I thought of contacting Darkstar or the Flash, but was worried they might not get here in time. I went in on my own. I got in pretty deep too, but I must have tripped some kind of alarm, because the Taskmaster found me." "The Taskmaster?" Tasha said. "He's a sort of freelance costumed mercenary. He bills himself as the Taskmaster because he was born with photographic reflexes. He can duplicate any move he sees someone do, flawlessly. He's studied men like Daredevil, Captain America, Spider-Man, Green Arrow, the Black Knight. He's got weapons that are knock-offs of the originals -- a round shield, a billy club, bow and arrows, even an energy blade. He's a pretty accomplished henchmen. Worked with the Kingpin, Justin Hammer, but he supposedly turned down a job offer from the Red Skull. He's got scruples, and some sense of honor. Which makes him more dangerous in my opinion. "Still, his fighting style is eclectic, unfocused. He knows so many moves, he doesn't know which ones to use. Which was why I was beating him. *My* style is tight, but flexible. I had him. He was going to tell me where the kids were." He paused. "And then...?" I prompted. "And then the Impossible Hulk showed up and knocked me for a loop. My head still hurts, in fact." I chuckled. "That wasn't the Hulk," I said. "It was the Abomination." "The Abomination?" Tasha and Nightwing said simultaneously. "Whats the difference?" Tasha finished. "The Abomination, or Emil Blonsky, is a former KGB agent who, long before Glasnost and Perestroika, tried to steal the secrets of the gamma bomb from its inventor, Bruce Banner. At some point, he was exposed to gamma rays, and it turned out that Blonsky was one of those humans with the special x-factor that enabled him to survive the irradiation process, and become *something* else. He became the Abomination -- retained his intelligence and gained more strength than the Hulk. The only way the Hulk beat him was by getting stronger as he got madder. After a few near deaths, I heard Blonsky had retired, and was living in the sewers in New York. What he's doing here is anybody's guess." Nightwing shrugged. "Never too late to expand your knowledge of supervillians," he said. "From your description, I would take it that the Abomination is hired muscle, same as Taskmaster. But who's behind all this?" Tasha shook her head. I opened my mouth, closed it. Nightwing and Tasha looked at me expectantly. "Um. . .right before I went under, I saw a woman in black standing by Blonsky.She looked familier, but. . ." "But what?" Nightwing said. The wheels of my mind turned noisily as I thought. Where had I seen those cruel lips, those cold eyes, that tacky black leather outfit? Suddenly it hit me. "Oh no," I said. "What?" Tasha and Nightwing demanded. I ignored them, blocked out their yammering, and concentrated, summoning up the power I had copied from the Abomination. Nothing happened. I tried again, desperately. And failed, again. Selene had shut off my powers. *********************************************************************** Taskmaster stood before Xian once more, Emil looming over his shoulder like an emerald mountain. Xian tried to ignore the horrible monstrosity and concentrate on the mercenary. But it was difficult. His eyes were drawn again and again to the imposing, nightmarish figure of the Russian. Luckily for Xian, the Abomination was more intent on examining the specimens in their cylinders. Taskmaster sighed. "I've given you well more than the hour I promised, Doctor Xian. Why is it that you are not finished?" "I-I told you before, Taskmaster, the testing process is rather long and involved. It takes time. I have successfully tested nine subjects. Twelve have been discarded. We have many more specimens to examine, and the exacting nature of the tests precludes rushing through the process. You will simply have to wait." "You're not trying to screw with me Xian? Trying to make me look bad in front of the boss?" Xian's hand fluttered up to the bandage on his broken nose. He shook his head, but stopped quickly. The movement made his nose throb with pain. Taskmaster nodded. "I thought not." He looked around at the scientists bustling to and fro. A white glove hand motioned to the twelve empty tanks. "You sent them down to sector 7, Xian?" The doctor nodded. At first he had tried to devise some way to fool the mercenary and retain the children for his private experiments, but had wisely decided against it. He was a scientist, and a good one, but he possessed no hand at subterfuge. If the Taskmaster were to find out Xian had tricked him. . . Xian found himself looking at the Abomination again. He tore his eyes away, and fixed them on the skull faced mercenary. "Anything else?" he said with forced good humor, sweat beading on his dark skin. Taskmaster shrugged and looked up at the Abomination. Blonsky's gaze moved downward. "Hmmm?" he said. "Oh -- anything else? When *will* we be ready for the second part of the operation, Doctor?" The man's voice was deep and wet, yet at the same time held a definite raspy quality, as well as a faint Russian accent. Xian could only compare it to the buzzing of an entire hornet's nest: loud and rumbling and rather unsettling. "Uh...six more hours, I would guess," Xian stammered. The Abomination nodded. Taskmaster grinned under the mask. "Excellent. I'll have the plane prepped and ready for take-off. Begin packing the specimens for transport, Doctor." With a dramatic snap of his cloak, Taskmaster turned to leave. The Abomination gave Xian a shallow bow. "Good evening, Doctor," he said, then departed. Xian took a moment to mop his sweaty brow, and then began barking orders to his underlings. Taskmaster resisted the urge to laugh as Emil and he left the lab. Xian certainly was discomfitted by Emil's presence. The look on the man's face when Emil asked him the question -- priceless! He didn't know whether to bolt, scream at the top of his lungs, or answer the query. Taskmaster's shoulders shook with repressed laughter. Emil looked at him curiously. "Is something humerous, my friend?" Taskmaster smothered a chuckle. "Xian is deathly afraid of you, Emil. I just wish I could inspire such terror." The Abomination smiled politely. He didn't think the situation was at all humerous; in fact, he hated how terryfying his body was, how it drove people away from him. But Taskmaster would not understand, even appeared envious of the kind of respect and fear a figure like the Abomination inspired. Let him. In a few days, a few weeks at the most, he would be free of the prison of this horrid body, free to be Emil Blonsky. Free to be a man once again, and leave the monster behind forever. At first it had been glorious, the power he had. He could crush any of the capitalist American freaks, because he had the strength and the knowledge, and the destiny. He would be a true hero of the Republics. But he suffered defeat after defeat to the Hulk, an intellectual midget. Spent some time in space. Faced almost certain death any number of times, but escaped to attack his nemesis again and again. Then -- that battle with Banner that ended with a swim in toxic waste. His body mutated even more, becoming ghastly and macabre, a parody of the heroic ideal he had striven for. A failure was what he was, not a hero. The dream he had sacrificed so much for was dying in his homeland, and he had no more need or wish to be a hero. He wanted to be left alone, wanted to find his wife and live as a normal man. But when he did succeed in contacting her, and forcing her to join him in his self-imposed exile in the sewers, the Hulk convinced him it would never be. "Let her remember her husband as a hero who died for his country," Banner said. "Not as what you have become." It cost the Abomination almost every scrap of courage and honor he possessed to let her go. He would be alone forever, it seemed, continually hounded by Banner and others like him, forced to enact the role he despised so much, that of the villian, simply because he looked the part. Until that day, only a few weeks ago, when the man with the cold voice and piercing eyes had offered him a job. As the villain, the muscle, the kidnapper of teenaged children. The payment? His life back. No more Abomination, no more fistfights with the Hulk, just Emil Blonsky, former cold warrior. For that, Emil knew, he would do anything. And his employer knew it too. Emil's eyes refocused as his wandering thoughts were jarred by the present; Taskmaster and he stood before the door of Taskmaster's office, and Taskmaster couldn't get the door open. "That bitch changed the lock on me," Taskmaster growled in indignation. "I don't fucking believe it. I'll kill her." "Reign in your anger, Taskmaster. Selene is a fickle being at best, but a rather powerful one. Remember how easily she struck down that young Avenger. She could do the same to you or I, I'll wager. No, it would not do to upset the Black Queen." Taskmaster stared at the door for a few moments, took a deep breath, and politely rapped on the door. It slid open a moment later. The two supervillains stepped into the room. Selene lounged in the Taskmaster's chair, her booted feet stretched over a pair of terminals. Her black hair was coiled on her shoulders like a serpent, and her full figured form seemed ready to burst out of the leather bustier she wore. In one black gloved hand she held a rider's crop which she lazily slapped against one stockinged thigh. In the other hand was a glass of champagne -- something Taskmaster had stolen and planned to drink when the project's success was assured. How she found it, he didn't know, but it was enough to make his blood boil with anger. Emil placed a reassuring palm on Taskmaster's shoulder. Taskmaster forced himself to relax. Selene smiled like the chesire cat. "You boys took your time getting back here. What kept you?" Emil blocked her telepathic probe by thinking of Stalin's greatest speeches, and said, "Doctor Xian was simply explaining the process to us. I found it most intriguing." Taskmaster, less conversant with the manner in which one safeguarded his thoughts from a telepath, still reminded himself to think about baseball. Ignoring the locked door, he said instead, "Are you sure that kid in the detention area is okay? He won't be getting his powers back anytime soon, will he?" "My dear Taskmaster," Selene crooned in her silky voice, "have no worries about that pup or his allies. They shan't be causing you any trouble, as long as I am around. And while our mutual benefactor continues to pay me the rather large sum I am demanding for my services, I shall be by your side." She smiled the smile Eve must have given Adam. "Right," Taskmaster said. Matters could not be better. Xian was almost done with his tests, the trail left by the abducters was nearly obliterated, ensuring no more heros would be arriving, and the four superbeings who had gotten this far were soundly defeated. Still, there was a nagging feeling at the back of his mind, something that told him that the matter with the superbeings was far from over. Perhaps a quick execution would remedy that feeling.... *********************************************************************** Taskmaster, Abomination, and related characters are (C) Marvel comics, used without permision. Nightwing is (C) DC Comics, similarly used without permission. Siphon, Mars, and Morning Star are (C) James M.G. Cannon, who, while not a large corporation, is still protective of his characters. Comments, criticism, anecdotes, and suggestions should be sent to me at: X8CG@MUSIC.STLAWU.EDU Again, I thank those of you who have taken the time to write me. I really appreciate it.