CHAPTER 23

After his appearance, Tony signed a replica of an Iron Man mask for a little kid and scribbled a few other autographs on the way to the backstage doors. Tony was running out of gas—fast. He staggered from exhaustion. Happy held him up. Looking around to see if anyone had noticed Tony’s stumble, Hap asked, “You okay, man?”

“Aces,” Tony said, even though it wasn’t true. He’d started to notice odd discolorations around the Arc Reactor housing in his chest. You couldn’t see them right now because of his clothes, but tendrils of a sickly purple radiated out from it. He was pretty sure the palladium fuel cells powering the reactor were poisoning him. His blood toxicity was 18 percent on some scale Jarvis had come up with. It apparently ranged from Perfect to Dead, and he was too far from one and too close to the other.

Jarvis was trying to find a new power source for the reactor, but it was a race against time.

Happy shoved open the backstage door, and a fresh wave of shouts and flashes greeted them. Tony rose to the occasion, shrugging off Hap and playing to the crowd. Happy triggered the remote control that opened the roof of Tony’s favorite set of wheels—a gray sports car. Tony grabbed the key from Happy. “I’m driving,” he said.

As he approached the car, a woman leaning on it stood to meet him. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Stark,” she said.

Tony had no idea who she was. “You too, Ms.…?”

“Marshal,” she said. “As in US.” She slapped an envelope onto his chest. “You are hereby ordered to appear before the Senate Armed Services Committee tomorrow at nine a.m.,” she said. She let go of the envelope and turned away.

There was no way to get out of it, so the next day Tony was in Washington DC. It was not the first time Tony had testified before the Senate, but he had a feeling it was going to be the least pleasant. Why? Because the hearing was chaired by Senator Stern, who had never liked Tony and liked him even less now.

“Mr. Stark, according to these contracts, you agreed to provide the US taxpayers with”—Stern flipped through a file and read—“‘all current and as yet undiscovered weapons systems.’ Now, do you or do you not at present possess a very specialized weapon—”

“I do not.”

“You do not,” Stern repeated incredulously.

“It depends on how you define the word ‘weapon,’” Tony said.

Stern became angry. “The Iron Man suit is the most powerful weapon on the face of the earth,” he said. “Yet you use it to sell tickets to your theme park.” The senator decided to try a new tactic. “I’d like to call upon Justin Hammer, our current primary defense contractor, as an expert witness.”

Justin Hammer strode down the aisle to be sworn in, basking in the attention. He ran Hammer Industries, a huge rival company to Stark Industries. Since Tony had stopped making weapons, Hammer had stepped in to supply the US government. Tony and Hammer had never liked each other.

“Let the minutes reflect,” Tony said into the microphone, “that I observe Mr. Hammer entering the chamber and am wondering if and when an expert will also be in attendance.”

Senator Stern’s gavel banged over an outburst of laughter. If Hammer was bothered, though, he didn’t show it. “I may well not be an expert. But you know who was?” he asked, playing to the gallery but addressing the question to Tony. “Your dad. Howard Stark. A father to us all. And he knew that technology was the sword, not the shield, that protects this great nation.”

Hammer went on. “Anthony Stark has created a sword with untold possibilities, and yet he insists it’s a shield! He asks us to trust him as we cower behind it! I love peace, but we live in a world of grave threats.”

Tony rolled his eyes. Anthony? Nobody had called him Anthony since maybe the first day of kindergarten, which he’d gone to only because other kids did.

“Thank you. God bless Iron Man, and God Bless America,” Hammer said.

This gave Tony an idea. He slipped his new phone out of his pocket. It was a rectangle of fiber optics, pure computing power that looked like a piece of clear plastic. He started fiddling with it while Senator Stern continued. “Thank you, Mr. Hammer. The committee would now like to invite Lieutenant Colonel James T. Rhodes into the chamber.”

Tony looked toward the door, where Rhodey was entering in full dress uniform. He looked uncomfortable. Tony met him in the aisle and they shook hands. He was glad to see Rhodey there even though Rhodey didn’t look happy to be there. If there was any living human Tony knew he could count on to do the right thing, that person was James Rhodes.

After Rhodey had been sworn in, Stern said, “I have before me a report on the Iron Man compiled by Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes. Colonel, please read into the minutes page fifty-seven, paragraph four.”

“Certainly, Senator,” Rhodey said. “May I first point out that I was not briefed on this hearing, nor prepared to testify—”

“Duly noted,” Stern said without looking up from his notes. “Please continue.”

Rhodey swallowed the snub and went on. “This paragraph out of context does not reflect the summary of my findings.” Stern said nothing, and Rhodey had no choice but to read the indicated passage.

“‘As he does not operate within any definable branch of government, Iron Man presents a potential threat to the security of both the nation and her interests.’” Rhodey looked up at the senators. “However, I went on to recommend that the benefits far outweigh the liabilities—”

“Colonel Rhodes,” Stern interrupted. “Please read page fifty-six of your report.”

Rhodey glanced at the indicated page and gestured to a bank of monitors, which lit up to display blurry satellite images. “Intelligence suggests that the devices seen in these photos are in fact all attempts at making manned copies of Mr. Stark’s suit.” With a laser pointer, he indicated points on each of the monitors where blurry images showed something like an armored suit.

Aha, Tony thought. He’d figured Stern would do this and now he had a chance to turn tables. He stood and touched an icon on his phone. “Let’s see what’s really going on here,” he said as his phone took control of the monitor screens. “If… I… may,” he began, as a series of classified videos loaded and began to play. At top left, a North Korean proving ground was hosting a test flight of a skeletal suit. Something like Tony’s repulsors fired, lifting suit and pilot into the air. “Wow, it looks like I have commandeered your screens,” remarked Tony with a smile.

“And you’re right,” he continued. “North Korea is well on its…” Suddenly, the suit and pilot disappeared in a flash of light that overwhelmed the camera. When the image resolved, the smoking remains of the suit were being hosed down by firefighters. “Nope,” Tony said. “Whew. That was a relief.”

Similar results played out on the other monitors. “Let’s see how Russia is doing.… Oh, dear,” Tony went on. “And Japan?… Oh, I guess not. India? Not so much. Germans are good engineers. Yowch. That’s gonna leave a mark.” Then he froze all the looping videos except one. He expanded that image until it took up the entire bank of monitors.

“Wait,” Tony said. “The United States is in the game, too. Look, it’s Justin Hammer.” Glancing over his shoulder at the camera crews filming the hearing, Tony added, “You might want to push in on Hammer for this.”

This last video showed Hammer, observing as a crew strapped someone into an armored exoskeleton. It was a bad imitation of the Iron Man suit. On the monitor, Hammer winked at the camera. The prototype suit lifted off and started a loop-the-loop that quickly turned into a crash when the thrusters cut out and pieces of the prototype started to fall off. The suit tumbled back to the ground, kicking up a huge plume of sand. Hammer could be heard yelling to cut the video.

In the Senate chamber, Hammer finally succeeded in unplugging the monitor. “Yeah, I’d say most countries are ten years away,” Tony said. “Hammer Industries, maybe twenty.”

Hammer looked like he had a mouthful of spoiled milk. “I would like to point out,” he said, “that the test pilot survived and suffered only minor spinal bruising. He is currently white-water rafting with his family.”

Tony turned to face the camera. “The good news is,” Tony said, “I’m your nuclear deterrent. And it’s working. We’re safe. You’re welcome. You want my property? You can’t have it. I have successfully privatized world peace. What more do you want?”

Stern was shouting and pounding his gavel, but Tony ignored him. He hopped down from the lectern, flashed peace signs, and blew kisses. The cameras loved him.