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XGO V2 Chapter 5 : Galvan Wisdom and Stark Legacies
🕑 Added 2025-05-31 19:01:22 +0000 UTCTony Stark, a man rarely rendered speechless, stared at the diminutive, six-inch-tall, grey-skinned Galvan who was now systematically and witheringly critiquing the pinnacle of human miniaturized energy technology as if it were a child’s poorly assembled science fair project. Azmuth, First Thinker of Galvan Prime, hopped with surprising agility from the workbench to the exposed chest plate of the Mark V armor, his enormous green eyes scrutinizing the intricate workings of Tony’s arc reactor. Rhodey, still armed but utterly bewildered, stood by, a silent, incredulous witness.
"Hmmph," Azmuth grunted, poking a delicate, three-fingered hand at the palladium core. His jowls quivered. "A rudimentary cold fusion device, crudely adapted. The energy-to-mass ratio is… acceptable for a species that still thinks digital watches are a neat idea. But this palladium catalyst? An obvious dead end. The particle decay, the toxicity… it’s amateur hour, even for a planet this far out on the galactic boondocks."
Tony finally found his voice, a mixture of indignation and grudging curiosity. "Hey! That 'amateur hour' tech is the only thing keeping shrapnel from turning my heart into a pin cushion, Froggie. And it powers this suit, which, by the way, can fly. Can you fly without a spaceship?"
Azmuth gave him a look that could curdle milk. "Flight? A trivial application of localized anti-gravity manipulation. I could build a device the size of your thumb that could propel this entire continent into orbit if I felt so inclined. This arc reactor… it wasn't your original concept, was it, primate?"
Tony bristled. "It was my father's. Howard Stark. He built the first large-scale one. I just… made it better. Miniaturized it." A shadow crossed his face. "He laid out the plans, the groundwork. I just connected the dots."
Azmuth tapped a finger against his chin, his gaze distant. "Howard Stark…
"How would I know?" Tony snapped, then winced as a jolt of pain shot through his chest. "He was… not exactly forthcoming with his R&D. Or anything else, for that matter."
"And you didn't know about the palladium poisoning when you built this… thing in your chest?" Azmuth pressed, his tone less accusatory now, more genuinely puzzled. "As flawed as the initial concept is for long-term biological integration, the inherent toxicity of palladium under sustained high-energy bombardment is… well, it's rather obvious to anyone with a rudimentary understanding of transuranic particle physics."
Tony shrugged, a defensive gesture. "Look, I built it in a cave. With a box of scraps. Slightly extenuating circumstances, wouldn't you say?"
"Perhaps," Azmuth conceded. "But your father… as good as I know the technological limitations of this planet during his era, the man who could theorize this reactor, even in its macro form, should have anticipated the degradation of the catalyst. What held him back from finding a cleaner element, from solving the poisoning issue before it became one, was likely the scientific knowledge and material science of his time, not a lack of foresight."
Tony let out a bitter laugh. "Foresight? Howard Stark? The man couldn't foresee his own son's birthday half the time. You're giving him way too much credit. He was brilliant, sure, but he was also a cold, distant bastard who cared more about his work and his public image than his own family." He turned away, pacing the lab. "Look, I've been through all his research, every note, every blueprint. There's nothing. No new element, no solution to the palladium problem. If he knew it was poison, he sure as hell didn't leave me a map to the antidote." The pain in his voice was raw, the old wounds of a neglected childhood laid bare. "It's hard to believe he'd leave anything useful for me, even if he had it."
Azmuth watched Tony’s outburst, his large green eyes softening almost imperceptibly. The usual irascible spark in them dimmed, replaced by a profound, ancient sadness. He seemed to grow even smaller, the weight of millennia settling on his tiny shoulders. "Ah," he said, his voice losing its sharp, critical edge, becoming a soft, melancholic whisper. "That is where you are wrong, Anthony Stark."
He hopped down from the armor, waddling slowly towards Tony, who had stopped his pacing, surprised by the Galvan’s sudden change in demeanor.
"I… I can understand your father, perhaps more than you realize," Azmuth continued, his gaze unfocused, as if looking back through the vast, echoing corridors of his own impossibly long life. "He was a genius, you say? For this planet, undoubtedly. He lived through a war, perhaps lost people dear to him, witnessed destruction on a scale that scarred his world." Azmuth looked up at Tony, his eyes filled with a weary, knowing sadness. "Do you know what happens when a mind of that caliber, a mind that believes it can shape reality, control the variables, sees the universe deliver chaos and loss despite all its brilliance? After having everything, or believing they are on the cusp of it, they still see things fall apart, see loved ones lost?"
He paused, the silence in the lab heavy, broken only by the faint hum of machinery. "They try to correct things," Azmuth said softly. "They dedicate their intellect, their resources, their very souls, to creating safeguards, to building shields, to ensuring such loss never happens again. Sometimes it is in the name of protecting their loved ones. Sometimes, for what they perceive as the world's safety. They become consumed by it. The solutions become more complex, the potential consequences more dire, but they press on, driven by that terrible, brilliant, desperate need to fix what is broken in the universe, or what they fear will break."
Tony stared at the tiny alien, a strange feeling stirring in his chest. He’d never heard anyone speak of his father with such… understanding.
"I… I don't even think that's what Howard cared about," Tony said, his voice quieter now, uncertain. "He cared about his legacy. Stark Industries. His name."
"Perhaps," Azmuth conceded. "Or perhaps his legacy was his attempt at protection, however flawed, however misunderstood by those he sought to shield. You will understand it someday, Anthony. When you have wielded power long enough, when you have seen your own brilliance fall short, when you have made choices that saved many but cost you… personally." Azmuth’s voice trailed off, a universe of unspoken pain in his tone. "I know this because I, too, have gone down that path. And I have paid the cost for it. By love. And by destruction." The last words were barely a breath, a ghost of ancient regrets.
A tense silence filled the lab. Tony looked at the Galvan, then at the arc reactor schematics still glowing on a nearby display. For the first time, a flicker of doubt entered his mind about his lifelong narrative of Howard Stark.
Azmuth seemed to shake himself from his reverie, his usual irascibility returning, though now tinged with something less abrasive. "Which is precisely why," he declared, his voice regaining some of its accustomed sharpness, "I will not be simply handing you a solution to your palladium problem on a silver-plated Galvan platter."
Tony blinked. "What? Why not? After that whole… philosophical detour? You just said you understood! That doesn't make any sense!"
"Perfect sense, you emotionally volatile carbon unit!" Azmuth snapped. "The understanding was for your benefit, not an indication of my intent to coddle your intellectual laziness! Your father, for all his apparent emotional unavailability, was clearly wrestling with a problem far beyond the scope of his era's science. He left you a legacy of intellect, a foundation of research. So, you will do what any self-respecting scientist with a modicum of filial piety, however deeply buried, would do: you will go through everything your father did. You will go to the roots. You will find where his research stopped, and you will pick it up from there. The solution is likely buried in his work, waiting for a mind of your era, with your resources, to unlock it."
Tony stared at him, aghast. "Go through Howard's old junk? Are you kidding me? Most of it is probably classified, locked away in some dusty archive, or worse, part of some Stark Expo exhibit from the seventies! What is there to find from the dead?" His voice cracked slightly on the last word, a flare of old pain. He shook his head. "Just say you don't know how to help me, little guy. It's okay. I’ll figure it out. I always do."
Azmuth’s jowls quivered with indignation. "Don't know how to help you?" he squeaked, his voice rising in pitch. "You infantile, arrogant, bipedal collection of poorly-managed neurotransmitters! If I wanted to, forget about merely solving your insignificant poisoning problem! I could synthesize a new, non-toxic element for your little chest-light from common household dust! I could re-engineer your entire cardiovascular system to run on ambient cosmic radiation! I could build you a whole new, perfectly healthy, organically integrated body and transfer your consciousness into it before your next irritating quip! Do you have any conception of my capabilities?"
Tony’s jaw had dropped. "You’re… you’re joking, right? A new body?"
"I am never joking about science, you insufferable narcissist!" Azmuth fumed. "But I am not some intergalactic charity service, dispensing cures to every dying primate with a halfway decent power source! Especially not when their entire worldview and priorities are demonstrably misplaced! If you can't even be bothered to understand the legacy of your own creator, to engage with the problem on a fundamental level, then you are not worthy of my intervention!"
"My priorities are misplaced?" Tony repeated, disbelief warring with anger. "I am Iron Man! I'm a hero! I protect this country! I just saved Monaco from a psycho with electric whips! What more do you want?"
Azmuth rolled his enormous green eyes so far back into his head it was a wonder they didn't get stuck. "Oh, please! Just because you constructed a moderately effective suit of weaponized armor and now fly around blasting street-level thugs and the occasional disgruntled former employee with a vendetta, you think you're a hero? You think that compares to true responsibility, to safeguarding entire civilizations, to making choices that affect the fate of the universe itself?"
He hopped onto a stack of data chips, puffing out his tiny chest. "I know a true hero, Stark. A human boy from my own universe. He was barely more than a child when he first stumbled upon my greatest creation—not much older, I’d wager, than that other irritating young Omnitrix wielder who was reckless enough to bring me here is now. This boy, from the moment that device clamped onto his wrist, fought battles that would make your repulsor rays short-circuit from sheer terror. He didn't just fight street thugs; he fought intergalactic warlords, entire armies bent on conquest, beings who wanted to rule or consume entire galaxies! He saved Earth in his universe, and countless other planets and species across the cosmos, more times than you've changed your socks! And sometimes," Azmuth’s voice softened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of something like pride in his eyes, "sometimes he even proved me, Azmuth, wrong, simply through the stubborn idealism and idiotic bravery of his infuriatingly human heart! That is a hero, Stark. So, forgive me if I am not overly impressed by your self-proclaimed genius and your privately-funded vendettas."
A brilliant blue light suddenly enveloped the tiny Galvan. Tony and Rhodey shielded their eyes. When the light faded, Alex stood in Azmuth's place, his arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face.
He sighed, a long, weary sound. "He can be a bit… dramatic." He looked at Tony, then at the arc reactor schematics. "Look, Stark. Do what he says. Go through your father's work. Even though I was still gonna help you if Azmuth flat-out refused – because, frankly, watching you slowly keel over from palladium poisoning while the world needs Iron Man is just bad for everyone’s business, including mine – his… ideals… damn, he made sure before I turned back to not just hand you the answer." Alex shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. "He has a point. A very annoying, very condescending point, but a point nonetheless."
Rhodey, who had been watching this entire exchange with increasing bewilderment, finally exploded. "Are you two serious?! You’re actually going to let him die, Alex? Just because this… this talking frog said so? For God's sake, he’s dying! You want him to go on some wild goose chase through his dead father’s old crap? We can do that after you save his life!"
"Hope you find your answers, Stark," Alex said, his voice suddenly quiet, almost gentle. He turned, and the air beside him shimmered, then tore open into one of his swirling, emerald-and-black portals. He stepped towards it.
"Wait! Alex! Kid!" Tony called out, taking a step forward, but before he could say anything more, Alex had vanished through the portal, which snapped shut with a faint pop, leaving only the scent of ozone and distant, alien worlds behind.
Comments
firerock laser
Damn Azmuth you didn't have to roast him like that. I'm happy how this ended. Thanks for the chapter
