The meeting with the Gang Dogs' captains was brief and efficient, conducted in the lee of the Valkyrie where the wind couldn't tear away their words. Nolan's breath misted in the frigid air as he gave instructions, his voice carrying over the constant background roar of Antarctic wind.
Then David led him into the real work.
The cargo ships, massive vessels that had somehow navigated through ice-choked waters to reach this desolate location, disgorged their contents in an endless stream. Crates of supplies, pre-fabricated building materials, sealed containers of equipment, all of it came sliding down ramps or swinging from cargo cranes to land in the snow with heavy thuds.
The Scyllax-class Guardian-automata moved with serpentine efficiency, their mechanical bodies coiling around awkward loads, tentacles gripping and securing cargo with precise force. The automatic servo-robots worked alongside them, their heavier frames suited to the massive structural components that would form the base's skeleton. Back and forth they trudged through deepening paths in the snow, their tracks compressing ice into something approaching solid ground.
The supplies accumulated in vast piles, forming artificial hills of crates and containers that cast long shadows across the white landscape. Each stack was organized by category, building materials here, food stores there, ammunition and weapons in a secure cluster watched over by armed Gang Dogs.
Nolan threw himself into the construction with savage enthusiasm. He worked alongside the Gang Dog squads, his power armor allowing him to lift beams and plates that would have required teams of unaugmented humans. Sweat soaked his hair beneath the armor's environmental controls, his muscles burning with good, honest effort. The physical labor felt cleansing after weeks of deception and violence.
Meanwhile, David orchestrated the larger operation with the precision of a master conductor. He directed idle servo-robots toward the underground excavation, where the real base was taking shape beneath the frozen earth. His metal frame moved tirelessly between work sites, checking progress, adjusting plans, solving problems before they could cascade into delays.
Forty-eight hours blurred together in a haze of constant activity.
The sun, when it appeared at all through the perpetual cloud cover, traced a low arc across the horizon rather than truly setting. Time lost meaning in the endless grey twilight. Nolan slept in brief snatches, waking to the same pale sky he'd closed his eyes under, diving back into work without pause.
Finally, an automatic servo-robot trudged across the station grounds, its feet sinking deep into ice turned to churned mud by constant traffic. It found Nolan in one of the supply tents, counting food stores and checking inventory against manifests.
"Primary construction phase complete," the servo-robot reported in flat mechanical tones. "Underground base functional. Awaiting inspection."
Nolan straightened, feeling his spine pop in several places. He had to admit, with grudging admiration, that David was extraordinary at construction. The speed and quality of work would have taken human crews months to accomplish.
He sealed the manifest datapad and headed for the entrance.
The passage into the underground base yawned wide and inviting, its mouth reinforced with metal plating that gleamed even in the dim light. The floor was already paved, proper metal decking that rang hollowly under his magnetic boots. Lighting strips ran along the walls at regular intervals, casting clean white illumination that pushed back the darkness.
Nolan walked deeper, his armor's servos humming their constant background song.
The further he went, the more impressed he became. The layout was familiar, echoing the underground base they'd abandoned beneath New York, but David had taken that template and expanded it to grandiose proportions. Every corridor was wider, tall enough that even in full power armor Nolan felt dwarfed. Support pillars rose at measured intervals, each one thick enough that three men couldn't have encircled it with linked arms.
Storage chambers branched off the main passage, their interiors vast and empty, waiting to be filled. Workshop spaces equipped with power connections and ventilation systems. Living quarters, medical facilities, armories. All of it precisely planned and meticulously constructed.
From the wide entrance passage to the central base hall, the straight-line distance measured over five kilometers. Nolan knew because his armor's internal systems tracked the measurement automatically, displaying it in his helmet's HUD with clinical accuracy.
Finally, the passage opened into the heart of the base.
The central hall stole his breath despite the armor recycling his air. The space was cathedral-like in its proportions, the ceiling lost in shadows more than a hundred meters overhead. The familiar metal round table occupied the precise center, looking almost toy-like in the vast emptiness surrounding it.
Nolan's boots rang against the floor as he approached, each step echoing and re-echoing until the sound became a choir of metallic voices. A smile spread across his face, unbidden and genuine. He raised one armored hand and rapped his knuckles against the table's surface, the impact producing a clear, resonant tone that sang through the empty space.
Then he looked up.
David clung to the ceiling like some enormous metal spider, his body oriented perpendicular to gravity, defying it through magnetic foot-pads. He was bent over, or bent down depending on perspective, inspecting lighting fixtures that glowed with the steady power of Ark reactor energy. His metal fingers worked with delicate precision, adjusting connections, testing circuits.
"David!" Nolan called up, his voice amplified by the acoustics. "Isn't the new base's space a bit... excessive?"
The sound bounced and multiplied, his words returning to him in overlapping waves.
David didn't look down. His mechanical voice emerged instead from the helmet hanging at Nolan's waist, transmitted through their private comm channel.
"My lord, this is a semi-permanent logistics base. Barring catastrophic circumstances, we'll operate from this location for years, possibly decades." The blue light in David's eye sockets flickered even at this distance. "Long-term planning requires accounting for multiple contingencies."
His metal form shifted, moving to a new section of ceiling with fluid grace. "Consider Reditus's foundry. That facility employs a spiral architectural model because future production will focus on large vehicles. Multiple assembly lines require efficient transportation networks and management systems."
David's skull tilted, though Nolan couldn't see the gesture from this angle. "The main base must accommodate substantial combatant traffic. Therefore, beyond the honeycomb storage structure beneath us, I've arranged functional areas on a horizontal plane surrounding this hall. The overall structure resembles..." A pause, as if searching for the right comparison. "A magnificent flower that blooms in winter. A plum blossom, I believe the term is?"
The mechanical voice carried a note of satisfaction.
Nolan shook his head, still smiling. He drew a deep breath, tasting the recycled air inside his armor, and prepared to respond.
"I'm not criticizing your design or construction, David. I'm simply expressing the feeling of someone who expected a pistol and received a cannon..."
"Report to the leader! Situation developing outside!"
The Gang Dog captain's voice crackled through the comm channel, sharp with urgency and cutting across Nolan's words like a blade.
Every trace of warmth vanished from Nolan's face. His expression went cold and hard, the pleasant moment shattered. He didn't waste time with farewells to David, just turned and ran, power armor servos screaming at maximum output as he accelerated through the passage.
His mind raced ahead of his body. Threats. Possibilities. S.H.I.E.L.D. had tracked them somehow. Hydra had discovered their location. Some Antarctic research station had noticed their activity. Each scenario played out in tactical assessment, responses formulating automatically.
He burst from the underground entrance into the pale daylight, snow crunching under his boots. His eyes swept the supply piles, finding what he needed. The Frost Fang, his trusted weapon, rested in its case. He grabbed it, the familiar weight settling into his grip like an old friend.
Then he charged toward the temporary station's center, power armor carrying him forward with the momentum of a runaway vehicle.
The Gang Dogs had formed a defensive perimeter, their lasguns raised and aimed at a central point. Their faces showed discipline and readiness, no panic, just professional soldiers doing their job. Good. His training had taken root.
Nolan shouldered through the circle, ready for violence.
Then stopped, all his battle-readiness deflating into exasperation.
A tall, powerfully built man stood in the center of the circle, completely unbothered by the weapons pointed at his face. Blond hair fell past his shoulders, slightly mussed by wind. Blue eyes sparkled with good humor. Red cape hung from broad shoulders, somehow pristine despite the Antarctic environment. He held Mjolnir casually in one hand, the legendary hammer looking almost decorative rather than threatening.
"Thor." Nolan's voice came out flat, somewhere between relief and annoyance. "Don't you Asgardians believe in basic courtesy? Like maybe announcing your arrival in advance?"
"Ha!" Thor's laugh boomed across the station, loud enough to startle a few of the Gang Dogs. "Did you miss me, brother Nolan?"
He spread his arms wide, the gesture encompassing the entire base. "I simply asked Heimdall to locate you, then came straight through the Bifrost!" His gaze swept over the assembled troops, and his grin widened. "Your men look excellent! Everyone's in fine spirits!"
Thor turned in place, addressing the entire circle of armed soldiers. "Greetings to all! I am Thor, God of Thunder, prince of Asgard!"
His enthusiasm was completely genuine and utterly tone-deaf to the situation.
Nolan's eyelid twitched. "Comrades, disperse. This man, who admittedly doesn't appear particularly intelligent, is an ally."
The Gang Dogs lowered their weapons with visible relief, the perimeter dissolving as they returned to their duties. Several threw curious looks back over their shoulders as they departed.
Nolan stepped forward and embraced Thor with one arm, the gesture perfunctory and tinged with annoyance. Thor returned the hug with crushing enthusiasm, completely missing the other man's reluctance.
"Thor, why has Odin allowed you to leave Asgard?" Nolan pulled back, frowning slightly. "I thought you were managing affairs across the Nine Realms."
"Oh, that!" Thor's blue eyes sparkled. He slapped Nolan's power armor with casual force that would have broken an unaugmented human's hand. "I've resolved most of the immediate issues. And Father's health has improved dramatically! His vigor has returned. He's even begun reorganizing the Einherjar legions."
Thor's grin turned slightly sheepish. "I was planning to invent an excuse, some patrol route that would conveniently bring me near Earth so I could visit for drinks. But Father gave me permission to come to Midgard openly!"
"Truly?" Nolan's frown deepened. "You didn't sneak away without authorization? I have no desire to see your father arrive demanding I return his wayward son."
Thor laughed again, the sound carrying genuine mirth.
Nolan shook his head and turned, gesturing for Thor to follow. "Come on. If you're here, might as well feed you."
They walked to the station's kitchen area, a semi-permanent structure with walls of stacked supply crates and a roof of reinforced tarp. Inside, a makeshift grill had been set up, fueled by promethium in careful doses. The Gang Dogs' cook had managed to produce a feast from military rations and preserved meat, the smell of cooking protein almost unbearably delicious in the cold air.
Soon, both men sat across from each other with a small mountain of barbecued meat between them, steam rising from the food in visible clouds. Each held a bottle of Imperial liquor, the alcohol content high enough to strip paint, the taste like swallowing fire.
Thor grabbed a massive chunk of meat with both hands and tore into it, beard already glistening with grease and alcohol. "Brother Nolan, is this your new base? It seems rather... crude. If you're short on construction funds, I can provide support..."
The words came out muffled by food, barely intelligible.
"This is temporary, Thor." Nolan took a smaller, more controlled bite of his own portion. "The real base is underground. But I appreciate the thought."
He raised his bottle, toasting Thor across the improvised table. The glass clinked together, frost already forming on their surfaces despite the heat from the grill.
"Ha! Brother Nolan, I have nothing pressing to attend to!" Thor swallowed his massive bite and immediately grabbed another. "If you need my assistance, you need only ask!"
His eating style was enthusiastic to the point of being comedic, juice running down his chin into his beard.
"How could you help..." Nolan started to shake his head, then paused mid-motion. His eyes focused on Thor with new intensity. "Hmm. Actually, Thor, since you're offering... are you interested in encountering monsters from other worlds?"
Thor's hand stopped halfway to his mouth, a piece of meat dangling forgotten. His blue eyes lit up with sudden interest.
"Monsters from other worlds?" He leaned forward, Mjolnir shifting at his hip. "Brother Nolan, what exactly did you have in mind?"