Time for a Change
By Les Bonser
This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.
No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.
Prolog
Contrary to popular belief, ours is not the only universe. Our universe, everything you see around you, everything that can be seen by the most powerful telescope, everything beyond mankind's furthest sight, is but one single universe. There are many others.
Chapter 1
The present day, New York City
UP Newswire -- New York. The Latverian Embassy said today that various scientific and technical inventions of the late Victor Von Doom will be auctioned next week. The embassy indicated that the auction items are available for preview at the Latverian Embassy here in New York.
Political analysts feel the sales of advanced technology developed by the late "Dr. Doom" are the inevitable result of the ever changing political climate of Eastern Europe. Economic analysts on Wall Street felt that a move toward open commerce with the remainder of the world is necessary to reverse the economic and social stagnation of Latveria. Latveria is a small Baltic nation that has suffered under the dictatorship of Von Doom for the past twenty years.
Among the items allegedly for sale include various particle beam weapons, robotics, and a purported "time machine."
Central Perk, a coffeehouse in New York City...
"A time machine. Wow." Ross put down the newspaper and looked at his friends. "Think about it. A time machine."
"Ross, do you *really* think he invented a 'time machine'?" his sister, Monica, asked. She held up each hand and emphasized "time machine" with her fingers.
"Well, maybe..." Ross pondered the thought.
"Anyone else want more coffee?" Rachel asked.
"Sure," Monica said. She handed her cup to her friend. "Sounds like something out of the 'National Enquirer,' if you ask me."
"But, think about the possibilities," Ross said. "Someone could go back in time and stop Hitler. Or prevent JFK from being killed."
"Or prevent Monica from getting that really bad haircut," Chandler chimed in.
"Hey!" Monica yelled.
"Hey, it's not that bad," Phoebe said.
"Yes, it is," Joey said, laughing.
The rest of Monica's friends tried to hide their amusement and politely turned away from her to prevent her from seeing their grins. "She's right," Monica pleaded, "It's not that bad." She turned to look at each of her friends, one after the other. The pleading look on her face was ignored by everyone.
Stark Penthouse, overlooking downtown Manhattan...
Anthony Stark arose from the bed. The clock beside the bed showed the time to be 2:47 am. In college, he had often spent long hours studying instead of sleeping. Later, when he took over his father's munitions business, he had often worked 36-hour days. Tony was often courted by slumber, but only succumbed when all the other demons that drove him were quieted.
This morning was no different. Tony had things to do. He slipped into a pair of slacks and a simple polo shirt. He then took a long, lingering look from his panoramic view of the city. The bedroom was a 360-degree circular extension of the penthouse, rising above the remainder of the structure.
The moon was just rising above the East River and Long Island. It glinted across the water as Tony rubbed his eyes one last time and padded off to the stairs. His private study was one flight down; close access for the times like this. When the creative urge hit, he didn't want to have to leave home and waste time driving to his office at Stark Solutions.
The computers in the study were linked via fiber optic networking with the main systems at the Stark Solutions offices. The fiber optic link was backed up by not one, but two, T-3 data links. All of the computer network links were encrypted for security. Through the connection to the main systems, Tony could access the Internet, the Avengers Telecommunications Network, and numerous other computer and conventional telephone networks. There was really no need to work in the office--everything could be done from home.
As Tony walked into the study, the household computer sensed him and turned on the lights. The lights were slightly dimmed. They were pre- programmed for his preference. Likewise, the computer activated the coffee machine and soon the smell of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee filled the room.
Tony sat pensively in the ergonomic chair in front of the main computer console. This morning, there was no overriding urge to work on anything in particular. He could review the third quarter financial statements, he could review several requests for proposals from various government agencies, he could refine the beta wave generator design. Or, he could work on almost any other project; there were literally dozens of projects to work on. Tony Stark was famous for being an engineering and business genius who juggled literally dozens of projects.
Unlike other CEOs, Tony was always in the middle of his company's major projects. He often left the day-to-day supervision of the projects to his well-paid and totally qualified managers, but Stark himself usually did the design work himself. If the Advanced Energy Agency was soliciting bids for a new alternative to nuclear power plants, Tony himself was the first to study the RFP. He also took first stab at the designs for whatever new piece of equipment his company was contracting to design and build.
And, of course, there were pet projects that only Stark himself worked on. Projects like the design for the Avengers Quintjet or his own space station, Ad Astra.
Tony decided to scan through the news first. He switched on the computer console and picked up the remote control. His coffee was ready and he flicked the remote as he walked to the kitchen area of the study. As he poured a cup of the rich, smooth coffee, he started to listen to the news in the background. Only, it wasn't news.
The maid must have reset the channels on the television again. How many times have I told her not to do that, Tony thought. Slightly annoyed, he pointed the remote control at the television console and pressed the scan button. A brief moment of sound from each channel blended into an incoherent mix. "Today in Bosnia...have it your way...Iron Man tribute...have you driven a..."
Iron Man tribute? Tony thought. He picked up the coffee and walked back to the console. He pressed the remote control deliberately, searching for the channel with the Iron Man story.
He was slightly disappointed when he found it. "Welcome back to Superhero Celebrity News," the commentator's smooth voice said. "In today's stories we have the latest news of the Avengers and the Fantastic Four, as well as a tribute to Iron Man on the fifteenth anniversary of the Golden Avenger's first appearance. First up, new fashions for the Invisible Woman and the Wasp..."
"Superhero Celebrity News," Tony mumbled with a frown. As if cable television wasn't bad enough, now this. Disgusted, he turned off the television and instead selected the stereo. Classical music filled the study as Tony turned to the computer console and called up his appointment schedule.
Has it really been fifteen years? he wondered to himself. His mind wandered back over the years. Yeah, I guess it has been, he realized. Funny how you loose track of time, he thought.
Iron Man was another of those exclusive projects that only Tony Stark worked on. To the public, Iron Man was, plain and simple, a superhero; a founding member of the Avengers. In annual reports, Iron Man was listed as Stark's anonymous bodyguard whose salary was donated to charity. Iron Man was, after Disney's Mickey Mouse, one of the world's most recognized and highly-visible corporate symbols.
To Tony Stark, Iron Man was first and foremost, his greatest engineering achievement. But Iron Man was more than just a pretty suit of high-tech armor--Iron Man was Stark's life and soul. For Stark himself was the Man inside the Iron.
The red and gold Iron Man armor hung on the refurbishing rack. This suit was one of four; typically, two were housed here at Stark's home, one in a secure sub-basement at Stark Solutions, and an older model was stored at the Avengers Mansion as a backup. In addition to the full suits, Stark had multiple replacements for certain key parts of the suit that tended to wear out faster, such as helmets, gauntlets, and boots.
The suits were among the most sophisticated pieces of equipment ever made by human hands, and therefore, were fallible. Tony Stark's life, and often the lives of others, depended on the suit working as designed. Therefore, Stark had not only built triple-redundant fail-safes into each of the suit's major systems, he had also duplicated the suit several times over. That way, he would always have a suit and its spares ready when the need arose.
The popular press often referred to the suit as a suit of armor, which conjured up visions of knights in bulky plate armor riding horses in medieval battles. In actuality, the Iron Man suit had far more in common with the Jetsons than King Arthur.
Like most successful machines, the Iron Man suit was a basic design that worked and worked well, but which was constantly refined and improved. The original suit had been little more than shaped steel plates riveted together and powered by simple direct current motors. Each version of the suit became more sophisticated. The latest version bore little resemblance to the original.
While some parts of the suit were still solid pieces of shaped metal, most of the suit was actually composed of millions of tiny "tiles," each smaller than a dime. Most of the tiles were hexagonal in shape, but some are pentagonal or triangular (as location and function dictated).
Each of the tiles interconnected, mechanically and electronically, with adjoining tiles. When joined, like some complex geodesic jig-saw puzzle, the tiles linked together to form the components of the suit: gauntlets, boots, legs, arms, torso, and helmet.
A typical tile component was comprised of many layers; each layer providing a specific function. The outermost layer of most tiles was a electromagnetically-deposited surface of diamond for overall thermal and scratch protection. Under the diamond surface, a thin layer of gallium arsenide provided solar power collection. Both of these two layers were so thin, they were basically transparent. The next layer was a protective layer of high temperature enamel which provided the characteristic gold or red color. This was the only portion of the entire suit design which bowed to appearance; and then only after conforming to a specific function.
Inside the enamel layer, there were various components such as energy storage and heat exchange mechanisms, as well as structural components for each tile.
Deep within each tile were several small linear motors. These motors were interconnected with the motors in each of the adjoining tiles. In unison, the motors provided the mobility and power to the suit. Just as the individual muscle cells in say, the thigh, might contract together flex the knee and lift the lower leg, so too do the motors in the tiles contract together to provide similar movement. Although each of the tiles was actually smaller than a dime and can affect movement over only about 1/16th of an inch, in concert, the tiles allowed for tremendous strength amplification. When combined with an adequate power supply, the Iron Man suit allowed its wearer to lift tons.
To coordinate the various functions of the tile and to interact with the adjoining tiles in unison, each tile contained a complete computer system. This custom-designed computer "chip" at the heart of each tile was the equivalent of a 64-bit mainframe computer, complete with memory. Together, the suit tiles formed what would amount to the world's most powerful massively parallel computer system.
The tiles worked together mechanically to provide the mobility and strength of the suit, but tiny magnetic fields generated by each tile formed a "force-field" around the entire suit, providing an integrity field for defensive purposes. Although the combination of invincibility and physical strength clearly classified the Iron Man suit as providing "superhuman" abilities to its wearer, there were additional sub-systems providing other "powers."
In each boot, there were six tiny (each less than 2-inches in length) electromagnetic turbines. Each of these turbines spun at 100,000 revolutions per minute. The combined thrust of all twelve turbines was around 4,000 pounds of thrust, which provided flight capability to the suit.
The complexity of the turbines contributed to the fact that the boots tended to wear out faster than other parts of the suit. Just like airliner jet engines, the boot jets had to be overhauled after a certain number of hours use.
The turbines and the air intakes were built into the thick "cuff" of each boot, basically encircling each calf. Thermal-protected ducting directed the resulting exhaust to the sole of each boot, where recessed nozzles directed the exhaust flow as dictated by the need. For hovering, a broad, widespread exhaust provided stability, whereas horizontal or high-speed vertical flight required a more focused, narrow exhaust.
The major offensive weapon of the suit was the palm mounted "repulsor rays." A derivative of government-funded Space Defense Initiative (SDI, or "Star Wars") research into particle beam weapons, the repulsor were actually two-inch diameter semiconductors in the palm of each gauntlet. When energized, the semiconductor array in each repulsor unit emitted a beam of neutrons. When the beam struck a solid object, the sub-atomic interaction resulted in the object being "repulsed," or jolted away from the beam. By varying the beam strength, the suit wearer can produce an effect from a simple nudge to blowing a hole through a six-inch plate of steel.
Stark Solutions office, midtown Manhattan
In the end, Tony spent the early morning hours reviewing company business rather than indulging in one of his pet projects. Between running a multi-billion dollar company, being a superhero, and inventing the future, he sometimes wondered why he bothered with sleep at all.
Eventually, the sun rose and brought a new day with it. Tony logged off the computer system and took a shower and prepared for the day. Within an hour, he was in his office at the top of the Stark Solutions administration building.
Pepper was already there. Virginia "Pepper" Potts was his personal assistant and a dear old friend, more than simply a secretary. Whatever odd hours Tony put in at the office, she was almost always there. He wondered if she didn't simply live in the building; she was there nearly as often as he was.
Coffee was already waiting in his office, freshly brewed. He knew that the computer systems in the office and his home were linked and that he had personally programmed the automatic subroutines that allowed the machines of his life to track his movements and anticipate his needs. But Tony couldn't help wondering just how much Pepper had to do with such things. She was eerie that way; she anticipated his needs and wants just as efficiently as his computer systems.
At the top of the pile of papers and other mail on his desk was the "Wall Street Journal." Tony sipped on his coffee as he sat at the large desk and opened the paper.
Moments later, he dropped the paper. He shook his head. "This is very bad," he mouthed to himself. He picked up the paper and reread the article. This time, after reading the article, he throw down the paper and cursed.
"Morning, Tony," Bethany Cabe said as she came into Stark's office just in time to hear his outburst. Cabe was Stark's Chief of Security. She and Stark had also been a couple many years ago, but now were the best of friends.
Tony grunted.
"You're in a good mood today," Beth noted. "Your stock portfolio down this morning?"
"Read this," Tony said, thrusting the newspaper into his former lover's face.
"Oh, shit," Beth said after scanning the article.
"Yeah," Tony agreed. He was busy dialing his private video phone. Seconds later, Natasha Romanoff's face appeared on the screen.
"Tony!" Natasha's face lit up when she saw Tony at the other end of the video link. Her face grew darker when she saw Tony's mood. "Tony, what's wrong?"
"Widow, have you read the news about Latveria selling Doom's technology?"
"What?!?" Natasha, also known as the Black Widow, was a former SHIELD and Soviet agent. She had also been the leader of the Avengers. And, she was one of Tony's closest friends. She recognized the security implications immediately. Dr. Doom's weapons on the open market. The thought sent a chill down her spine.
"Tasha," Tony said, his voice cold and precise, "We need to do whatever is necessary to stop this." Tony Stark, in his role as Iron Man, had dealt with Von Doom on several occasions. One of those occasions had resulted in Dr. Doom and Iron Man traveling far into the past via Doom's time machine. Stark, perhaps more than anyone, knew the extent of Doom's genius, and therefore, knew the extent of the potential problems that could result from the release of this technology to the highest bidder. As a businessman and philanthropist, Stark understood the need to rebuilt the nation of Latveria, but knew that had to be better ways.
"I agree," Beth said, leaning into the videophone's field of view.
"As do I," the Black Widow said.
Daily Bugle Offices, New York City
"Parker!"
Peter Parker turned at the sound of his name. He turned to the direction of J. Jonah Jameson's office. JJJ was the editor and chief of the "Daily Bugle" and a royal stick in the mud. And the guy who signs my paycheck, Peter reminded himself.
"Yes, Mr. Jameson?" Peter said as he walked into J. Jonah's office.
"Parker, you're some sort of egghead, right?"
"Well..."
"I mean, you've got some sort of degree in science, right?" Jameson demanded.
"Uh, yes, Mr. Jameson," Peter said. "I have a Master's degree in biochemistry."
"Close enough. Our regular science guy is out with the flu. You're working on a story over at the Latverian Embassy. I want pictures and copy in two hours."
"Latverian Embassy?" Peter asked.
"Go!" Jameson yelled.
Parker turned and hurried out of the office.
A diner in New York City
Comedian Jerry Seinfeld walked into the diner to meet his friends George, Elaine, and Kramer for lunch. George and Elaine were already there.
"Hey George, hey Elaine," Jerry said as he sat down with his friends.
"Hello, Jerry," Elaine said.
George didn't say anything.
"What's with him?" Jerry asked Elaine.
"I don't know," Elaine said. She nudged George with her elbow.
"Hi, Jerry," George said weakly.
Jerry gave his best friend a look. Poor George, Jerry thought, must still be having trouble with his latest girlfriend. "Coffee," he told the waitress.
"So, Elaine," Jerry said. "I was just up on Sixth Avenue. There's a lot of activity up at that embassy, you know, the one with all the gargoyles."
"Yeah, I know the one you mean," Elaine said.
"You suppose they're having some sort of art show or something?" Jerry asked.
"I heard they're selling all of Doctor Doom's scientific gadgets," Elaine told her friend.
"'Doctor Doom,'" Jerry repeated, lowering his voice for effect. "What sort of name is that? Is he a doctor doctor, or one of those P-H-D doctors?" The waitress brought Jerry his coffee.
"I don't know," Elaine said. "Peterman was talking about him a while back. He was some monarch in Eastern Europe or something. Disappeared a couple years ago, I think. I guess he's dead now."
"So what sort of gadgets did 'Doctor Doom' have?" Jerry asked.
"Something about a time machine or something, I don't know." Elaine shrugged.
"A time machine?" Jerry asked. "You're serious? A time machine."
"Time machine?" Kramer repeated, just walking in. "What about a time machine, Jerry?"
"I was just telling George and Elaine that there's something going on up on Sixth..."
"The gargoyles," Kramer said, pointing his index finger at Jerry.
"Yeah, that's the place. Elaine says they have a time machine." Jerry said, "So, Lainy, suppose you had this time machine. What would you do with it?"
"I don't know," Elaine said. "I guess I'd travel through time."
"Right," George said, finally joining the conversation. "If we had flying cars, we won't need a time machine!"
"Enough with the flying cars!" Jerry said. "Come on, what would you do, George?"
"Oh, I guess I'd go back and watch myself being born," George answered.
"Oh, gross," Elaine exclaimed. "How could you do that, George?"
"Well...." George started.
"I know I couldn't stand to go back to my birth," Elaine said. "I could not stand to see my mother on the delivery table with her legs open and me coming out..."
"Enough!" Jerry commanded. "I don't need to picture that." Jerry turned to Kramer. "What about you, Cosmo?"
"The future, Jerry. The future." Kramer paused, then clapped his hands suddenly. "The future. Wham, Bang." Another pause. "The future!"
Jerry looked at Kramer for a moment. Cosmo was so excited by the idea, he was actually vibrating. Jerry took a sip of his coffee and then said, "So, if 'Doctor Doom' had this time machine, why is he dead?"
"What do you mean?" Elaine asked.
"Well," Jerry explained, "Think about it. If you had a time machine, you'd go into the future." He looked at Kramer, "Like Cosmo here."
Kramer smiled, still vibrating with excitement.
"You'd go to the library and look through all the old newspapers until you found your obituary. Then you find out when and where you died. You then take the time machine back to now. And you just never go to where you died."
"That wouldn't work," George said.
"What do you think, Future Boy?" Jerry asked Kramer.
"'Future Boy?' Oh, that's funny," Kramer said.
"You're not laughing," Jerry pointed out.
"I am on the inside, Jerry. I am on the inside!"
A sound stage in Detroit
Heidi, a well-endowed young woman dressed in overalls, walked in front of the crowd. She stepped up to a microphone at one side of the sound stage. "What time is it?" she yelled into the microphone.
"Tool Time," the audience yelled in return.
"That's right," Heidi said into the microphone. "Binford Tools is proud to present Tim 'the Tool Man' Taylor."
The audience broke out into applause, punctuated with hoots and grunts. Tim Taylor ran onto the stage. The stage was made up to look like a work shop, complete with various power tools and a workbench.
"Hello," Tim said. "Oooow, ooow, ooow," he hooted as he took off his jacket. The men (and a few women) in the audience grunted in return. Tim grinned into the camera. "And you all know my partner, Al 'Born to be Boring' Borland."
Al Borland ran onto stage and saluted the audience. More applause. "Hello, Tim," Al said.
"Well, Al, what are we going to do today?" Tim asked his plaid-clad assistant.
"Tim, it's that time of year again. Winter will be here soon and we're going to show you how to winter-proof your lawn and garden tools."
"Speaking of time," Tim said, "Did you see where the Lat...Later..."
"Latverian, Tim?" Al suggested, a smug look on his face.
"Yeah, Latverian. Did you see where the Latverian Embassy is trying to sell a time machine?"
"Uh, Tim," Al said. "We should be showing our audience how to winter- proof their lawn tractor."
"Al, Al, Al," Tim chided. "The name of the show *is* 'Tool *Time*', after all." Tim looked at his assistant with that 'shut up and let me talk, I'm the boss' look.
Al shrugged and stepped back out of camera range. Al knew when to let Tim have his time in the spotlight.
"Wouldn't you like to see that bad boy?" Tim asked the audience. They answered with more grunts. "I wonder if it has dual-overhead chronometers?" Tim laughed at this own joke and looked somewhat annoyed when he saw that Al was not laughing.
"Okay, okay, Al," Tim conceded. He walked over to the workbench and knelt down next of a Binford 3210 deluxe lawn tractor with extra wide cutting attachment. "Winter will be here before you know it. *Time* flies when you're mowing grass, you know."
"Uh, right, Tim," Al said, getting back into the mood of the show. "Before you park you lawn tractor for the winter, you should perform some basic maintenance."
"Basic maintenance like draining the gas tank, for example," Tim said. "Speaking of gas, I wonder how many years per gallon that time machine gets?"
"Well, Tim," Al said. "Maybe we'll figure that out after these messages from Binford Tools."
Peter Parker, free-lance photographer working for the Daily Bugle, walked into the Latverian Embassy. He showed his press pass to the guard at the front desk and was directed to the public relations office.
The secretary in the public relations office handed him a briefing packet, a brochure about Latveria and a handful of typewritten facts and figures about the auction. She explained, politely, but firmly, that the Latverian government was not granting interviews.
Peter tried to explain that he wasn't a reporter, only a photographer, and he just wanted to get some pictures of some of the auction items. The secretary simply wouldn't hear of it. She dismissed Peter without a further word.
He took the press packet and left. He told himself he should probably try harder. But then, he was just a photographer.
Peter preferred taking photos to just about anything else in the world. It was right at the top of his list of favorite things, right behind his wife, Mary Jane, and being Spider-Man.
He'd made his reputation as an action photographer because of his daring fight shots of Spider-Man against any one of Spidey's enemies. What J. Jonah Jameson, Robbie Robinson, and everyone else at the Bugle didn't realize was that the pictures were usually taken by remote control. There was a small remote control sewn into the glove of his Spider-Man costume. And when he had the chance to plant the remote controlled cameras in the area, he could get shots of himself in action.
For those times when he couldn't plant the cameras, he had a smaller camera built into this belt buckle. He couldn't get any shots of Spidey, himself, that way, but he could get some of his opponents.
Today, he didn't have the remote-controlled cameras with him. He had his trusty Leica M6 today. The assignment was supposed to be easy, just some stock pictures of the various machines and treasures up for auction by the Latverians.
The Bugle was pushing its photographers to switch to digital cameras, but Peter preferred the 35mm rangefinder. After all, the Leica M series had been the cornerstone of photojournalism since the 1930's. Digital cameras would speed up the printing process at the newspaper, but Peter just didn't feel that the picture quality was up to his standards yet. And since he was a freelancer, he could call his own shots--no pun intended.
Peter stopped at the corner hot dog vendor and bought two with everything. He then walked half a block to the neighborhood park and sat on a bench to eat and try and come up with an excuse for J. Jonah. Ol' JJJ will blow a gasket if I show up without any pictures, he told himself.
He popped the last bite of the second hot dog into his mouth and licked his fingers clean. He then pulled the press packet out of his photo vest pocket and thumbed through it.
It was in the press packet that Peter realized that the Latverian Embassy wasn't where he'd wanted to be. The actual auction was being held at Sutheby's, the famous auction house. He jumped up and headed across town.
Sutheby's was a little more hospitable than the secretary at the Embassy had been. They allowed him in and he had his shots in less than 15 minutes. He even got them back to the Bugle well before deadline.
