Welcome to part five of the serialized drama starring Gerard Tolken,
confused superhuman, and, so far, a total failure at his chosen
profession. Searching for a former colleague's kidnapped sibling,
Tolken has run afoul of the Abomination, the Hulk's arch-nemesis, and
Selene, the Black Queen. Defeated utterly by the Abomination, Tolken
awakes in a cell to realize that Selene, the telepath, has somehow shut
off his powers...

THE HAMMER AND THE CROSS
Chapter Five: "Alien Blueprint"
by Jim Cannon

      Taskmaster checked the mirror, shifting his hands on the steering
wheel. Traffic was light at this hour, and only one lone sportscar
trailed the massive truck Taskmaster piloted through the cramped
streets of Rio. As he drove, Taskmaster thought about his changing
fortunes. Soon, he would no longer be referred to as a mere henchman, 
a second stringer. Soon, he would have the respect he craved as an
underworld figure.
      Everything was going according to plan. Doctor Xian and his
underlings had succeeded in finding the necessary genetic information
needed for the second phase of the operation. A full sixteen of the
teenagers tested had proved to possess the x-factor Xian and his boss
sought, two more than were needed to ensure the project's success. The
sixteen children were being prepped for the transfer to Alpha Base.
Phase Two would soon be underway.
      Selene, while domineering and abusive towards Taskmaster, had
proved to be a capable ally, and even now ensured that the Avenger in
cold storage back at Beta Base *remained* in cold storage. The kid had
actually come close to defeating the Abomination. Taskmaster shook his
head. Hard to believe that a no-name hero in a burnt costume had nearly
proved to be a match for the great Emil Blonsky.
      That was why the continued existance of the hero and his
companions grated on Taskmaster's nerves. He would have felt better if
they were simply eliminated and forgotten. But the boss-man himself
wished to keep them alive, particularly the upstart boy. Why?
Taskmaster couldn't supply the answer. He supposed it had something to
do with his employer's ego, as well as the extraordinary abilities of
the boy. Something new to study and experiment upon; the mastermind so
rarely found a powerful metahuman to play with.
      Taskmaster suppressed a shudder. The thought of anyone being a
guinea pig for genetic experimentation did not sit easy with the
mercenary. Of course, that was the ultimate fate of the teenagers he
had captured, but he tried very hard not to think about that. It
bothered him too much. Lately, he'd been prey to some particularly
nasty dreams. . . best not to think about that.
     It made him feel a bit better to do what he was doing now: driving
a truck loaded with the sixteen rejected specimens to a place safe from
the grasping hands of Xian or the boss. Sixteen souls that would not be
on his conscience. Sixteen mutant children who would get a second
chance to live normal lives, or as close to normal as life ever gets.
With a start, Taskmaster realized how close he was to the drop-off
point, and concentrated on the present.
     He turned right down a wide boulavard, and drew to a halt outside
a set of gleaming black iron gates. Beyond them, a large stone
building, built in a neo-Georgian style, rose several stories into the
cool night sky. A United States flag fluttered from a pole in the
courtyard between the building and the gate. A marine in dress blues,
standing at attention by the gate, stepped up to the truck's window,
one hand dropping to the heavy piece of iron on his hip.
     The American Embassy. Taskmaster grinned, sliding out of the
truck.
     "Get that thing outta here," the marine said in Portugese. He was
young, only a second class private judging by the icon on his shoulder.
The pistol was half drawn, and the marine was far enough away from
Taskmaster that he could draw and fire before the mercenary could reach
him.
    *All part of the plan* Taskmaster thought, forcing an even
expression to show on his face. He was dressed in an ill-fitting UPS
outfit, as his customary costume would bring far too much attention to
his activities. He raised his hands. "Hey, man, don't shoot," he said
in the same language. "I'm supposed to drop this off here."
    The marine wasn't buying it. He eased the pistol out of the white
holster. A vintage .45 automatic; 6 or 8 shots max, but with enough
stopping power to halt a hippo in its tracks. Taskmaster kept his hands
in the air. He swallowed, feigning fear.
    "Look, uh, don't do anything hasty, mister. If you want the truck
gone, then I'll move it. Whatever. Just, uh...," Taskmaster, in
mid-sentence, launched himself at the marine, executing a complicated
manuever he had seen Daredevil make once, a long time ago. Moving
faster than the marine could believe a truck driver could possibly
move, he somersaulted, spun, and drove his foot into the man's spleen.
The marine grunted soundlessly, his grip on the pistol slackening.
    He was left wide open for the finishing move, a brutal uppercut
that sent him sprawling on the pavement. When it was over, Taskmaster
froze, waiting for any sign of movement.
      There it was, in the shadows by the front door; an arm raised,
holding a pistol. Taskmaster heard a short bark, but he was already
moving, and the bullet whined past him, ricocheting off the side of the
truck. Taskmaster screeched to a halt in the back of the truck. He
slammed the latch loose, and swung the heavy door open.
      A second and a third shot screamed past him. Time to make himself
scarce. He reached into the truck, grabbed ahold of a heavy metallic
object, purplish in color. Slipping it onto his back, he moved around to
the other side of the truck, keeping the massive vehicle between him
and the marines. More of them had apeared in the doorway, making their
way across the courtyard, looking for a clear shot at him.
     Taskmaster grinned. *Time to give them a big target*. Flicking a
switch, he began to rise into the air, propelled by the large
anti-gravity disks in the cumbersome backpack. He rose slowly at first,
but the speed gradually increased, so that, by the time the marines
realized what had happened to him, he was well away.
     As the mercenary disappeared into the night sky, a marine
cautiously made his way to the back end of the truck, after first
checking to see if his felled companion was alright. He raised his
pistol and pointed it into the recesses of the truck, his head
following a moment later. What he saw caused his mouth to drop open,
and his gun hand to lower.
      In the cargo bed of the truck, sprawled across several seats
bolted to the floor, were sixteen teenagers, all unconscious.
      "What the hell is going on?" the marine said, not expecting an
answer. One of the kids looked up, and, through hooded eyes, said
"help."
      The marine was up and in the truck before he could think about
it. The kid spoke English with an American accent. And he needed help.

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

      I couldn't breath. My throat closed up with panic. My powers were
locked away inside me somewhere, imprisoned within a cage devised by
Selene. My mind scrabbled at the walls of my subsconcious, trying to
find a chink to widen, gain access to my strength, but to no avail.
Frustration, anger, and humiliation wrapped themselves around my soul
dragging me down into the dark places where my fears festered and bred.
I was a failure, a weakling, too wrapped up in myself to be there when
my father needed me, too crippled by guilt and pain to reach out to my
mother, too headstrong and foolish to lead my friends. Everything I
touched turned to ash, dissolving into nothingness.
     A hand fluttered against my shoulder, rested againts the back of
my neck. "Gerry, are you alright?" Tasha whispered into my ear.
     I was falling apart right there, on the verge of a breakdown in
front of Nightwing, Tasha, and Teresa, who by this time had wakened. I
couldn't let them see me like this, couldn't let them know how weak I
really was. I couldn't let them down. I took a deep, shuddering breath,
and spoke. My voice sounded less shaky than it should have.
     "The Black Queen has somehow shut down my access to my powers. I'm
crippled. Even if we could get out of here -- we wouldn't stand a
chance."
     "Like we did when we first got here?" Nightwing grinned, shaking
his head. "Your powers didn't save you before. They won't save you
again." He straightened up, pulling out of his crouch. "The only way
we'll make it out of here is if we use our heads. "
     Teresa slid off the top bunk. A golden collar with a red clasp was
wound around her neck. Her powers were nullified as well. "The boy in
blue is right, Siphon. We'll think of something."
     Tasha tightened her grip on the back of my neck, and squeezed my
hand. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.
     "Alright," I said with more confidence than I felt. "What do we
do?"
     "That, I haven't figured out yet," Nightwing admitted. "But I've
been in this business for fifteen years, and if there's one thing I've
learned, it's that there is no such thing as the perfect trap or cell.
This room has a weakness, we just have to find it and exploit it."
     Teresa nodded. "Sounds reasonable."
     An idea sparked in my mind. I stood up, pulling away from Tasha
and heading for the door. Nightwing looked at me quizzically. "What is
it?" he asked.
     I flexed, trying to loosen the tightness in my muscles. The aching
I had felt since waking was slowly fading. "Selene may have found a way
to shut off my superhuman abilities, but she couldn't have altered my
physicality in anyway," I said, eyeing the door. It looked pretty
solid, and rather thick. *Probably made out of battleship armor* I
mused.
      "So?" Nightwing prompted.
      "'So' I'm not human -- I'm an immortal. My body is three times
as dense as a human being's, meaning, I not only weigh 700 lbs, but I am
much stronger than any human has a right to be."
      "Wait," Nightwing said. "I thought you said your powers were
gone."
     "Yes. The tactile telekinesis I use in order to lift huge weights
is affected by Selene's fucking with my head. But not my body. I'm no
Ben Grimm by any means, I'm still flesh and bone, but it's super-dense
flesh and bone. And if the bad guys aren't expecting that..."
     "Then we might be out of here soon after all," Teresa finished.
     I nodded, and rolled my shoulders. Behind me, Nightwing and Tasha
exchanged looks. I ignored them, and concentrated on the door. It was
coming down. It just didn't know it yet.
     I backed up a bit, getting some room to maneuver with, and then
hurtled my body at the door. WHAM! Nothing happened. It didn't crumple
like tissue paper, and I didn't hurt myself. I decided to give it
another go.
     WHAM! Again, the door held. My determination would ensure that to
be a temporary state of affairs. I lined myself up for another charge.
     Behind me, I heard Nightwing whisper to Tasha, "Bit of a manic
depressive, is he?"
     I missed Tasha's answer. I slammed into the door, and I felt it
give a little. I grinned.

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

      The Abomination loomed over Doctor Xian. The small man directed
Taskmaster's commando team in dismantling the complex holding tanks
that kept the specimens in sedation, readying them for transport. Three
of the cylinders were laid out on the bed of a small truck, and
Taskmaster's men were manuevering a fourth onto the vehicle. On the
other side of the lab, one of the soldiers keyed open a large door that
accessed the base's underground hanger.
      Emil still wasn't quite sure why these mutant children were so
important to Xian, Taskmaster, and their employer. What was so special
about their abilities that made them more desirable for the project
than the other sixteen? He shrugged the thought away. He wasn't hired
to think or wonder, he was here to back up Taskmaster and his men. And
his reward would be a dream fulfilled.
      The soldiers were having a difficult time getting the fourth
cannister on the truck; it kept wanting to roll off. Without a word,
Emil reached over and set it straight. One of the men, Jacobi by name,
stuttered a thank-you, and then the truck was pulling away.
      Xian mopped his brow, and sneaked a surreptitious glance at the
Abomination. Emil ignored it.
      A low buzzing sound split the uncomfortable silence, and Emil
reached down to the communicator on his belt. He flipped the switch,
and spoke into the mic. "What is it, Smithers?" he growled to the man
on watch.
      "Uh, sir, the prisoners are escaping."
      "What? How?" Emil roared. *Damn Selene! Overconfident bitch!*
      "I...I don't know, sir. They managed to get the door open...
and...they're escaping," Smithers said lamely, fearing the anger of the
scarred metahuman.
      "Lenin's ghost!" Emil cursed, switching the communicator off and
heading after the departed truck, towards the hanger and the escaping
heros.

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

     With a shudder and an ear-splitting scream, the door wrenched
open, clattering to the ground outside our cell. I turned back to my
companions and grinned an "I-told-you-so" grin. Nightwing clapped
politely, Tasha just shook her head, and Teresa bounded forward, edging
past me and out the door. I stepped out right behind her.
      I was expecting to find ourselves stored on a detention level,
somewhere in the bad guys base with lots of cells and guards for us to
kick the crap out of. Not so. We were in an airplane hanger. Our "cell"
was a huge crate that sat unattended in one corner of the massive room.
Other crates and packing materials were stacked nearby, as well as a
crane and a few vehicles. In the center of the room, all gleaming black
and chrome, was a blackbird jet, looking powerful and quiet. Men and
women in purple jumpsuits bustled about the ship, prepping it for
takeoff. The cargo doors were open, but I couldn't see anything inside
the ship.
     On the far side of the hanger, the wall was cut away, revealing a
huge tunnel carved out of rock. Undoubtedly, this was the exit route of
the plane, and it indicated we were underground somewhere. Probably
still on the grounds, though.
     "Someone planning a trip?" Nightwing said, his eyes rapidly
scanning the scene.
     "It would appear so," I agreed.
     "Well, it's obvious what we have to do," Tasha said.
     "And what is that, my dear?" Nightwing said.
     "Make sure that plane can't go anywhere," she said, gesturing at
the craft.
     Nightwing smiled. "A woman after my own heart; I was just about to
suggest that." Tasha returned his smile. For some reason that bugged
me, but before I could say something, we were noticed.
     "Hey! They're escaping!" shouted a jumpsuited man piloting a
forklift.
     "Shit," I grunted.
     "Don't worry, I'm on it," Nightwing said, bounding forward. "You
just take care of that plane!" he called over his shoulder.
     Right. Easier said than done. Without powers, this was going to be
a mess. *How the hell do Batman and Captain America do it?* I thought
to myself as I raced forward, my bare feet slapping on the smooth, cold
metal floor.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nightwing execute some
complicated manuever that left the forklift pilot on the ground,
unconscious, and Nightwing halfway to the plane. The man could move,
that was for sure, as effortless and smooth as breathing. He looked
like he was raised in a circus.
    In contrast, I was clumsy and landbound, not my normal, airwalking
self. Still, I'm faster than a human, so I was quickly where I wanted
to be, engaging the enemy on the tarmac. As it was the mechanics, not
the soldiers, who were working on the plane, no one was armed with
anything more deadly than a wrench. Between Nightwing, Teresa and I,
the jumpsuited villains never stood a chance. Tasha took the
opportunity to slip aboard the plane and sabotage the controls.
     As I picked up one mechanic and threw him into a pair of them, I
heard a truck squeal to a halt behind me. I turned and saw a small
vehicle burdened with four large cannisters. I could make out four kids
floating in some kind of goo, suspended within the cylinders.
    Four soldiers exploded out of the truck, armed with snub-nosed
sub-machine guns. They opened up on the nearest target, which,
thankfully, was me. My skin was still dense enough to hold up against
bullets, although not for long. Nightwing and Teresa scrambled for
cover behind the landing gear.
   When the tough guys realized I wasn't going to fall right away, they
began to panic. One of them broke off and bolted down the corridor he
had driven through. One of his companions watched him run, a puzzled
expression on his face. The other two kept firing.
     *Shouldn't they be running out of bullets soon?* I wondered. I
fished around on the floor, and found a heavy tool to throw. I picked
it up and took a look at it. A hammer. How fitting.
     My arm snapped back, and then I loosed the hammer, heving it at my
attackers. It caught one of the trigger-happy goons in the chest,
knocking him down, sending him sliding across the floor. Even over the
din of the other gun, I heard bones crack. Good. He'd be no trouble.
    Just then, the other soldier faltered, and struggled to reload his
empty weapon. I sprang forward, closing the meters between us in a few
bounds. As he rammed a fresh clip home, I cracked him over the head
with my fist. He fell like a stone. His remaining companion pointed his
weapon in my face. I didn't give him a chance to fire; one foot swept
up to slam into his groin.
      He would be walking funny for a few months, if the expression on
his face was any indication. Then the Abomination appeared in the
doorway, right behind the truck. His expression read bloody murder. He
was going to kill me. *No problem, Gerry. You can take 'em* I lied to
myself.
     He casually pushed the truck away with a backhand swipe, and
stepped toward me. "You're supposed to be in your cell, boy," he
growled, his accent barely traceable.
     "Yeah, well, I don't always do what I'm told," I rejoined, backing
up slowly. I wished I had my powers back. Wished I had my hammer.
Wished I had a nuclear device. I wished I had a plan.
      But, without any of them, I had to make do.
      "Okay, Blonsky," I said, standing as tall as I could. "This is
your last chance. Surrender, or I'll finish the job I started before."
      "Finish?" the abomination grinned evilly. "You couldn't finish a
math problem my boy, and you can't finish me without your powers. You
are nothing to me." He raised his fist up to strike me down.
      I held my ground. "Then how did I get out of my cell, Emil?" I
asked. "Selene couldn't keep me down for long."
      The Abomination paused in mid-swing, his eyes narrowed, trying to
decide if I was bluffing or not.
      I took my chance, and squeezed the juice out of the stone: "And,
unless you surrender and free the children, I'll finish draining your
powers from you. And it will be permanent this time, Emil. Not like
before. That was only a taste of what I can do." I took a step toward
him.
      But even as I did, I realized my plan had backfired. The
Abomination's grin widened hugely, and his fist came down too swiftly
for me to dodge. It connected, and once more I was rendered senseless.

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

      Nightwing watched as Siphon dismantled the gun-happy mercenaries,
then cringed as the Abomination did the same to the Avenger. Now the
Abomination was centering his attention on Morning Star and him.
Nightwing cursed under his breath, and again checked all the pouches
and other areas of his costume where weapons should be concealed. There
were none. Taskmaster had found them all and gotten rid of them.
      He looked at the girl hopelessly. "Any ideas?" She shook her head
and peaked around the airplane's wheel at the villian. *Yep, should
have invited Wally or Donna on this one,* Nightwing thought.
      He reached over and tugged Morning Star's elbow. "Into the jet,"
he said.
      "Alright...but what good will that do?"
      "Well, there's a good chance he won't trash it to get at us...we
can regroup and figure out what to do." She nodded, and the two
costumed heros scurried under the jet to the ladder, and scrambled up
into the craft. The Abomination stepped over Siphon's limp body and
headed for the plane, muttering curses under his breath.
     Inside, Nightwing and Morning Star made their way to the cockpit,
where they found Mars, pounding on the control panel with a wrench. She
grinned as they came in. "No way are they getting anywhere in this
thing," she said proudly.
     Nightwing covered his face with his hands.
     "What?" Mars said.
     "The Abomination just schooled Gerry," Teresa said grimly. "I
think Batboy here wanted to use the jet against big, green, and scaly.
He's depressed because he outsmarted himself."
     "Is Gerry all right?" Mars asked anxiously.
     "Oh, he'll probably be fine. He's 'immortal,' after all,"
Nightwing remarked. "It's us I'm worried about. Abomination could kill
us by accident." His mind raced, searching for a way to defeat the jade
giant.
     Morning Star sat down in the co-pilot's chair. "We can't just give
up. There's got to be a way. Hey, maybe there's something on the plane
that can get this damn collar off!" She brightened, and began to look
for a glove compartment or something.
     Mars arched an eyebrow at Nightwing. He shrugged, and began to
look around. *Dammit, I keep underestimating these guys. Should have
prepared for the Abomination. Should have..."fifteen years of
experience" sure doesn't mean shit.*
    A wet, deep voice like the buzzing of angry bees broke his reverie,
and caused Morning Star to cease her frantic search. "Hey heros," the
Abomination called. "If you don't come out by the time I count to ten,
I'm going to snap the neck of your crippled little friend out here."
   Nightwing, Mars, and Morning Star all looked at each other.
   "One," Abomination called.
   "Two," he continued.
   Mars slipped past Nightwing. He grabbed her wrist. She looked back
at him. "Let go," she said.
   He looked at her a moment. Outside, the Abomination slowly said,
"Five."
   "Right," Nightwing said. "After you."
   The three of them stepped out of the blackbird, and into the waiting
arms of Emil Blonsky.

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

Taskmaster, Abomination, etc. are (C) Marvel comics.
Nightwing is (C) DC Comics. No, they didn't say I could use them. And
there's no point in suing me. I'm poor.

Siphon, Mars, Morning Star are (C) James MG Cannon. who's no big
corporation, but can still be possessive about his characters.

Criticisms, comments, anecdotes, or dementia can be directed to the
author at: X8CG@MUSIC.STLAWU.EDU