Free Spiderman 1 by Peter David

in.
    That certainly described Mr. Fargas, sitting imperiously in his wheelchair, his eyebrows thick, his head bald, making him evocative of the professor character from that mutant movie. Mr. Balkan, as always standing beside Fargas, was tall and distinguished looking, but no less irascible.
    There were other people in suits standing nearby. Dammit, how many people was the Pentagon going to dis patch whenever they wanted to   look in   on   OsCorp's
    activities? It seemed there were more and more each time, and each one—as far as Osborn was concerned—represented a potential security leak.
    There was General Slocum, in the middle of the lab, doing a slow, measured tread around the project that they had all come to see and, very likely, criticize. Slocum was square-jawed, steely-eyed, beetle-browed, and pea-brained. As for the project itself . . .
    It was breathtaking.
    For all the anger he was feeling toward this intrusion, Os born was still able to take pleasure in his achievements, when his vision was combined with the talents of his people.
    He remembered the time he had gone to the beach, at Harry's pleading. Harry had just gotten a boogie board for his thirteenth birthday and was thanking his father profusely for his thoughtfulness. It seemed silly to Osborn, but the boy really did seem to be trying lately in school, and it seemed the least Osborn could do.
    Well, off they'd gone to the beach. At first Osborn had felt self-conscious splashing about in the surf, but he was mak ing the effort for Harry. It wasn't easy; it was contrary to Osborn's business-first nature and his own upbringing. But no one seemed to be paying attention to him, and he started to relax a bit.
    But then he started watching Harry and other kids with the boards, skimming the tops of waves, controlling the things with remarkable dexterity.
    And as they did so, Osborn took a mental snapshot of their actions, and found himself transporting the concept in his mind. Instead of skimming waves, they were hurtling over battlefields, deftly maneuvering around enemy troops. In his imaginings, they were wearing armor—tight-fitting, lightweight suits, designed for protection but more than that: They had a cybernetic link to the board. Yes, that was it— they could take it to the next level. It wouldn't be all that

    much of a jump, really. Rather than depending upon the reflexes of the rider, the board would respond to their very thoughts.
    When Harry had emerged from the water, his father had been grinning and nodding and clapping his hands with de light. Harry couldn't have been more thrilled at his father's support. Osborn, for his part, was looking right through his son, seeing a vast army of armored boogie board-riding sol diers.

    It had taken four years, a government contract, and two breakthroughs in cybernetics to bring them to the point where they were now. There, in the lab at OsCorp, was the the result, mounted atop a servo pole. Since this board was designed for air, rather than water, adjustments had been made to make it aerodynamically stable. Fins had been added, and footholds for a more sure grip, and naturally there was the jet tubing down the middle that would propel the thing.

    Next to the device, a technician was outfitted in the armored suit, moving his legs and arms while the board obe diently responded to every change in his posture.
    By rights it should have been eliciting ooooh's and aaaahhhh's from the onlookers. Instead they just stood there and scowled. They were bereft of imagination, nor did they possess the slightest vision, and yet they were coming here and standing in judgment of Osborn's work.
    He was entering the lab just in time to hear Dr. Mendel Stromm, his head of R&D, embark on a detailed explanation of everything that made the glider work. There may not have been a more personally annoying individual on the planet than Stromm, with his affectations and slightly mincing manner. But when it came to quantum leaps