Just past the robot exhibit, they encountered another display that caught Ted's attention. Behind a reinforced glass barrier stood what appeared to be a tall staff, nearly the height of a person. It was made of an unknown golden metal with intricate designs etched along its length, and at its top sat a large crystalline orb that seemed to contain swirling motes of light. The placard identified it as "The Cosmic Staff: Harnessing Stellar Energy - Developed by Dr. Abraham Erdel, Stark Industries."
Ted stopped abruptly, staring at the device with rapt fascination. "I've read Erdel's papers on theoretical stellar energy conversion," he said, more to himself than to the others. "But I had no idea he'd managed to create a working prototype of this scale."
As Ted leaned closer to the display case, something unexpected happened. The orb at the top of the staff, which had been dormant, began to emit a faint blue glow. The light pulsed softly, growing brighter as Ted drew nearer.
"Is it supposed to do that?" Steve asked, watching the strange phenomenon.
"I don't think so," Peter replied, eyes widening behind his glasses.
Ted stepped back, startled, and the glow immediately diminished. He moved forward again cautiously, and once more the orb brightened in response to his proximity.
"That's... peculiar," Ted murmured, adjusting his glasses as he peered at the staff.
"It likes you," Jane remarked with a light laugh. "Maybe it knows you're a scientist."
A Stark Industries technician hurried over, looking concerned. "Sir, please don't lean on the barrier," he said, though Ted hadn't been touching it. "The device is sensitive to external stimuli."
"What exactly does it do?" Steve asked the technician.
The man glanced at Ted, who was still watching the staff with intense interest, before answering. "It's designed to convert stellar radiation into usable energy. Theoretically, it could manipulate gravitational fields, enable flight, even project focused energy beams." He shrugged. "Still experimental, of course."
"In English?" Jane asked, raising an eyebrow.
"It could make things fly," the technician simplified with a smile. "Or shoot energy beams like in those Buck Rogers serials."
"Now that sounds interesting," Jane replied. "Maybe they should be showing that off instead of a floating car that probably won't work."
A commotion from the main pavilion interrupted their conversation. The crowd inside was growing larger as Howard Stark's presentation time approached.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Modern Marvels Pavilion proudly presents... Mr. Howard Stark!" announced a woman's voice over the loudspeaker, followed by enthusiastic applause.
"We should get inside," Connie insisted, tugging at Bucky's arm. "We'll miss the whole thing!"
"Why don't you join us?" Peter suggested. "We were about to head over anyway."
They made their way into the packed pavilion just as Howard Stark strode confidently onto the stage. He was the picture of sophistication in his immaculately tailored tuxedo and top hat, his trademark mustache perfectly groomed. A gleaming Cadillac sat on the stage behind him, covered by a silk sheet. Flanking the vehicle were several striking female assistants dressed in stylish feminine tuxedos—fitted black jackets with tails, crisp white shirts, bow ties, and fishnet stockings—each topped with a miniature top hat perched at a jaunty angle. The ensemble created a dazzling visual harmony with Stark's own attire.
The lead presenter, whose black and white ensemble was accented with red satin lapels, walked over with a dazzling smile and handed him the microphone while gracefully removing his top hat. Stark, ever the showman, swept her into a brief but passionate kiss that drew whistles and cheers from the crowd before releasing her with a roguish wink.
"I love you, Howard!" screamed a female voice from somewhere in the crowd.
Stark acknowledged the fan with a charming smile before addressing the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, I want to welcome you to the future—a future built on innovation, determination, and strategic partnerships." He gestured to a distinguished-looking man seated in the front row. "I'd particularly like to thank my good friend and valued partner, Mr. Patrick Wayne of Wayne Industries, whose brilliant engineering team has collaborated with Stark Industries to bring tonight's demonstration to life."
The spotlight briefly illuminated Wayne, who nodded cordially at the acknowledgment but seemed content to leave the showmanship to Stark.
"Now," Howard continued, his voice carrying through the hall with practiced charisma, "what if I told you that in just a few short years, your automobile won't even have to touch the ground at all?"
The crowd murmured with excitement. Steve, momentarily forgetting his troubles, found himself just as captivated as everyone else. This was the promise of tomorrow—a future worth fighting for.
"Yes. Thanks, Mandy," Stark continued as one of his top-hatted assistants handed him a control box with a theatrical flourish. "With Stark-Wayne Gravitic Reversion Technology, you'll be able to do just that."
He pressed a button, and to everyone's amazement, the Cadillac began to rise from the stage as two assistants dramatically pulled away the silk sheet with synchronized precision. Its wheels remained on the ground, but the body of the car hovered several feet in the air, suspended by some invisible force emanating from bulky devices where the wheels should have been.
"Holy cow," Bucky breathed, his eyes wide with wonder.
"He's even more handsome in person," Jane whispered to Peter, her eyes fixed on Stark.
Her comment was cut short by a sudden pop and flash of sparks. The car's hovering mechanisms failed, and the vehicle crashed back to the stage with a resounding thud.
Stark, ever the showman, recovered quickly. "I did say a few years, didn't I?" he quipped, earning appreciative laughter from the crowd. He glanced toward Wayne with good-natured resignation. "Patrick always tells me I'm too impatient with the prototypes."
"Still needs work," Ted murmured, shaking his head slightly.
As the audience applauded, Steve noticed Bonnie's attention was entirely fixed on Howard Stark, her earlier interest in Bucky momentarily forgotten. Steve felt increasingly like a fifth wheel. Scanning the pavilion, his gaze was drawn to a recruitment poster on the far wall: "I WANT YOU FOR THE U.S. ARMY."
While Bucky and the others remained captivated by Stark's continued presentation, Steve quietly purchased a bag of peanuts from a nearby vendor and began edging his way toward the back of the pavilion.
"Hey, Steve, what do you say we treat these girls—" Bucky began, turning to find Steve gone.
Steve wandered through the exposition grounds, the sounds of Stark's presentation fading behind him. The evening air had cooled slightly, and the fairgrounds were bathed in the glow of colorful lights. Though surrounded by crowds, he felt oddly isolated, disconnected from the festivities. While everyone else seemed enthralled by visions of flying cars and robotic servants, Steve's thoughts kept returning to the war raging across the ocean—a war he was barred from joining.
As he approached Dr. Horton's exhibit again, he noticed the crowd had thinned considerably. Most fairgoers had been drawn to Stark's flashier presentation, leaving only a few curious onlookers studying the glass chamber containing the Synthetic Man. Steve moved closer, genuinely intrigued by what he'd glimpsed earlier.
"Steve! Wait up!" Peter's voice called from behind.
Turning, Steve was surprised to find not just Peter but Jane, Thompson, and Ted hurrying toward him. It seemed they had noticed his departure and chosen to follow rather than remain at Stark's presentation.
"Not interested in the flying car?" Steve asked as the group caught up to him.
"I've seen my share of demonstrations that end with things crashing to the ground," Ted replied with a wry smile. "Besides, Hammond's case is scientifically more intriguing than Stark's showmanship."
"The car was interesting until it fell," Jane shrugged. "And honestly, Stark was a bit full of himself. I thought he'd be more charming in person."
Peter slipped his arm around Jane's waist with a grin. "You're just disappointed he didn't come over and introduce himself personally."
"As if," Jane rolled her eyes, though her smile suggested Peter wasn't entirely wrong. "Besides, this synthetic man sounds much more interesting than a car that can't actually fly."
"Stark puts on a good show," Thompson shrugged, "but I've seen better. My cousin says most of this stuff won't see actual production until after the war anyway."
The reunion was interrupted by the arrival of Bucky with Connie and Bonnie in tow. The women looked slightly miffed at having been pulled away from the main attraction.
"There you are," Bucky said, giving Steve a look that mixed exasperation with concern. "Thought I'd lost you in the crowd."
"Just wanted to take another look at this," Steve replied, nodding toward Hammond's enclosure.
As the group gathered around the glass chamber, Steve found himself face to face with Jim Hammond. The synthetic man sat motionless inside, his eyes closed, appearing for all the world like an ordinary human being in a strange red bodysuit. If not for the unusual containment apparatus, no one would suspect his extraordinary nature. There was something youthful about his features—early twenties perhaps, with a straight nose and strong jawline that suggested an all-American handsomeness.
"Fascinating, isn't he?" came a voice from behind them.
The group turned to find an older man approaching. He was balding, with thick glasses and a rumpled lab coat that had seen better days. Deep lines etched his face, speaking of years of work and worry, but his eyes held a spark of undimmed enthusiasm despite his obvious exhaustion.
"Dr. Phineas Horton," he introduced himself, extending a hand to Steve. "And Mr. Hammond is very real indeed. Just... different." His voice carried a hint of defensiveness, as though he'd grown used to explaining and justifying his creation to skeptical audiences.
"Different how, exactly?" Bucky asked, skepticism evident in his tone. Connie and Bonnie hung back, clearly less interested in the synthetic man than in Stark's glamorous demonstration.
"Is it dangerous?" Bonnie whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, clutching Bucky's arm a little tighter.
Dr. Horton's expression flickered with momentary pain at the word "it." He cleared his throat before responding. "He is no more dangerous than any man, when treated with dignity," he corrected gently. "His cellular structure is entirely synthetic," he continued, pride evident in his voice. "Created through a process I developed combining organic chemistry and radiology. He possesses a fully functional brain, capable of human thought and emotion, but his body is composed of artificial tissues engineered to be superior to human flesh in many ways."
"So it's a machine?" Connie asked, peering at Hammond from a safe distance. "Like that robot we saw earlier?"
"No, no," Horton shook his head emphatically. "Jim is far more than a machine. He wasn't built; he was grown. Cell by cell, tissue by tissue. His mind wasn't programmed—it developed, just as yours did. He has memories, feelings, preferences. He enjoys Beethoven and dislikes Brahms. He has a particular fondness for detective novels."
"Is he... alive?" Steve asked, studying Hammond's perfectly still form.
The doctor's face softened at the question. "By most definitions, yes," Horton nodded. "He thinks, he feels, he learns. But his metabolism operates differently than ours. For one thing, his tissues absorb and process oxygen at a much higher rate, generating intense heat as a byproduct."
"Is that why he's in a sealed chamber?" Jane asked, stepping closer to examine the glass enclosure.
Horton looked pleased by her question. "Precisely, young lady. When exposed to oxygen at normal atmospheric concentrations, Mr. Hammond's body temperature rises dramatically. In early tests, it reached over 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit."
"That's impossible," Thompson scoffed. "No living thing could survive that kind of heat."
"No human thing," Horton corrected. "But Jim isn't human, at least not entirely. The extreme temperatures don't harm him; in fact, he can control and project the heat to some degree."
"Like a living furnace," Jane murmured, her expression a mixture of fascination and unease. "It must be terribly lonely, being sealed away like that."
"Why did you create him?" Steve asked directly, his gaze moving between Hammond and Horton. There was no judgment in his tone, only genuine curiosity.
Horton's eyes grew distant for a moment, his hand unconsciously moving to his breast pocket where a small photograph was just visible. "Purely scientific curiosity, at first," he admitted. "The challenge of creating synthetic life. But over time..." He trailed off, then seemed to make a decision.
"My son, James, died in '39. Influenza." Horton's voice grew quieter. "He was twenty-three. A brilliant young man with his whole life ahead of him. This project was already underway when we lost him, but afterward... perhaps it became something more personal."
"So you made him look like your son," Steve observed gently.
Horton nodded. "The physical resemblance is... significant. It wasn't a conscious decision at first, but as the cellular structure developed and features began to form..." He adjusted his glasses, blinking rapidly. "Science is rarely as objective as we pretend it to be."
Ted had been circling the chamber, examining it with the methodical eye of a scientist. "The crystalline structure of the chamber is fascinating," he noted. "Some form of heat-resistant silicate compound? And the oxygen regulation system—remarkably sophisticated for portable equipment."
"You have a keen eye, young man," Horton replied, pleased by Ted's observations. "It's a proprietary compound I developed specifically for this purpose. Conventional glass would shatter at the temperatures Mr. Hammond can generate."
"So what can it—he—do exactly?" Bucky asked, his initial skepticism giving way to genuine interest despite himself.
"For the military, you mean?" Horton sighed. "That's always the question they ask. Jim can generate and control heat with remarkable precision. In controlled environments, he's demonstrated the ability to melt steel, create focused flame projections, even fly by superheating the air beneath him to create lift. But he's not a weapon, Sergeant. He's a person."
As if on cue, Hammond's eyes opened. Everyone except Dr. Horton stepped back in surprise. The synthetic man surveyed the small crowd, his gaze lingering on Steve for a moment before settling on the doctor.
"Another demonstration, Dr. Horton?" Hammond asked, his voice perfectly normal and slightly resigned. Though he addressed the doctor formally, there was an undercurrent of familiarity in his tone.
"If you wouldn't mind, Jim," Horton replied with gentle encouragement. "Just a small one."
Hammond nodded and closed his eyes. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, almost imperceptibly, his skin began to glow with a faint reddish hue. The temperature in the pavilion noticeably increased, despite the sealed chamber.
"Amazing," Peter whispered, instinctively reaching for Jane's hand.
Jane squeezed Peter's hand in return, her eyes wide as she watched the synthetic man's demonstration. "It's like watching the sun rise," she said softly. "Beautiful and terrifying at the same time."
Ted had pulled a small notebook from his pocket and was rapidly sketching diagrams and jotting equations. "The energy conversion efficiency must be extraordinary," he murmured. "Converting oxygen molecules to thermal energy without combustion..."
The glow faded, and Hammond opened his eyes again. "Satisfied?" he asked, a hint of bitterness in his tone as he looked past Horton to the gawking onlookers.
"They always stare the same way," Hammond said quietly. "Like I'm a trained animal performing tricks."
"Jim," Horton began apologetically, but Hammond shook his head.
"It's fine, Doctor. I understand. It's what they expect to see." He turned his attention to Steve, who hadn't stepped back or shown any sign of fear during the demonstration. "You're different, though. You didn't flinch."
"No reason to," Steve replied simply. "Dr. Horton said you can control it."
A flicker of surprise crossed Hammond's synthetic features. "Most people don't believe that, even when they're told."
"The military shut down the program last month," Horton explained quietly to the group. "Said Hammond was 'too unstable' for battlefield deployment. I tried to explain that with more time, we could perfect his ability to control the heat generation, but..." He sighed heavily. "Now we travel from exhibition to exhibition so I can continue my research."
"And to keep a roof over our heads," Hammond added with a rueful smile. "Science doesn't come cheap, and investors are hard to find when the Army's walked away."
"They're idiots for giving up on you," Bucky said unexpectedly. When everyone looked at him in surprise, he shrugged. "What? If he can do half of what the doc says, he'd be worth a whole platoon."
"That's exactly the problem, Sergeant," Hammond replied, his voice cooling slightly. "They couldn't see past the weapon to the person wielding it. When they realized they couldn't control me like a pistol or a tank, they decided I was too risky."
"They treat you like an attraction at a sideshow," Steve said to Hammond, understanding in his voice. He knew what it was like to be judged and found wanting based on physical attributes.
Hammond's expression softened slightly. "It's better than a laboratory cage," he replied. "At least I can see the world this way, even if it's from inside a glass box." He glanced at Horton with something like filial concern. "And the doctor needs the income. He's given everything to this project—his reputation, his savings. I wouldn't be here without him."
Horton waved away the comment with obvious embarrassment. "Nonsense. Any scientist worth his salt would have done the same."
"Would they?" Hammond challenged gently. "Not many would continue after the military pulled funding. Not many would treat their creation as a son rather than a specimen."
The naked emotion in the exchange made the group fall silent. Steve looked at the synthetic man with newfound respect. Despite his artificial origins, Hammond clearly possessed a very human dignity and resilience. The parallel to Steve's own situation wasn't lost on him—both deemed unfit for service but determined to maintain their humanity regardless.
"Well, I find it absolutely barbaric," Jane stated firmly, breaking the silence. "He's clearly intelligent and aware. Treating him like some circus exhibit is cruel, no matter how he was created."
"Yeah, it's not right," Peter agreed, pushing his glasses up his nose. "A mind like that should be at a university or research institute, not touring fairgrounds."
"People fear what they don't understand," Hammond said with the weariness of someone who had accepted a difficult truth. "And I am... difficult to understand. Even for myself sometimes."
"The world isn't ready for Jim yet," Horton said with a weary shrug. "Perhaps someday."
"The world's never ready for anything new," Steve observed. "Doesn't mean we shouldn't try anyway."
Hammond smiled—a genuine, warm expression that transformed his face. "I like you, Mr. Rogers. You see clearly."
"Just Steve," he replied. "And I know what it's like when people can't see past what's on the outside."
Connie fidgeted uncomfortably. "It's—he's—giving me the creeps," she whispered to Bonnie, though loud enough for others to hear. "Can we go now?"
"Don't mind them," Bucky said apologetically. "They're not used to... well, you know."
"Meeting someone like me?" Hammond supplied, his expression unreadable. "Few people are. It's alright, Sergeant. I've grown accustomed to such reactions."
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Bucky's name being called. Connie and Bonnie had grown tired of waiting and were impatiently signaling from near the dance pavilion.
"Your friends are calling," Hammond observed. "You should go enjoy your evening. The dancing is quite good, from what I can hear sometimes."
"Do you dance, Mr. Hammond?" Jane asked impulsively.
A flicker of wistfulness crossed Hammond's face. "I've never had the opportunity to try, Miss. Perhaps someday." He looked down at his containment chamber. "When I've mastered more control."
"You will," Horton said with fierce conviction. "We're making progress every day."
Hammond nodded, his expression growing more composed. "Thank you all for stopping by. It's not often I get to have a real conversation with visitors."
As the others began to move away, Steve lingered a moment longer. "It was good to meet you, Jim."
"Likewise, Steve," Hammond replied. "Good luck with whatever battles you're fighting. We all have them, don't we?"
Steve nodded, surprised at how well this artificial man seemed to read him. "We certainly do."
As Steve finally turned to join the others, he couldn't help thinking that despite Dr. Horton's best intentions, Jim Hammond was trapped between worlds—neither fully machine nor fully human, accepted completely by neither. Yet in his dignity and resilience, Hammond was perhaps more human than many flesh-and-blood people Steve had encountered.
"Looks like your dates are getting restless," Peter observed with a smile as they walked away from Hammond's exhibit.
Bucky glanced toward the women, then back at Steve. "We should probably head over there. You coming, Steve?"
"In a minute," Steve replied, his attention briefly caught by something behind the group: a recruitment center built into the exhibition. A sign read "ENLISTMENT CENTER" and beside it, a photo booth with a mirror that superimposed visitors' faces onto soldier uniforms with the tagline "YOUR DUTY: TRY IT ON FOR SIZE!"
Peter followed Steve's gaze, a look of understanding passing between them, though Bucky remained oblivious, his attention divided between Steve and his increasingly impatient dates.
"Don't take too long," Bucky said. "They've got a great band playing tonight."
As Bucky joined Connie and Bonnie, Ted checked his watch. "I should head out too," he said. "Early morning briefing tomorrow at Fort Hamilton. They're getting serious about my training now that I'm shipping out next week."
"Good luck with that," Thompson said, clapping Ted on the shoulder. "The Signal Corps is getting all the brains these days."
"I'll walk you both out," Jane offered. "Thompson, you coming?"
Thompson nodded, and the three of them headed toward the exit, leaving Steve and Peter alone by Hammond's exhibit.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Peter asked quietly when the others were out of earshot.
"One more try?" Steve replied with a slight smile.
"Fifth time's the charm for you, third for me," Peter nodded, glancing toward the recruitment center.
"You're really going to do this again? Now?" came Bucky's voice as he unexpectedly returned, having noticed their hushed conversation.
"It's a fair," Steve said with a shrug. "I'm going to try my luck."
"As who? 'Steve from Ohio'?" Bucky asked incredulously. "They'll catch you. Or worse, they'll actually take you."
"Look, I know you don't think I can do this," Steve began, frustration edging into his voice.
"This isn't a back alley, Steve," Bucky interrupted. "It's war."
"I know it's a war," Steve replied firmly.
"Why are you so keen to fight?" Bucky pressed. "There are so many important jobs."
"What do you want me to do? Collect scrap metal in my little red wagon?"
"Yes! Why not?"
Steve's expression hardened. "I'm not going to sit in a factory, Bucky. Come on. There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That's what you don't understand. This isn't about me."
"Right," Bucky said skeptically. "'Cause you got nothing to prove."
The tension between them was palpable. Peter fidgeted uncomfortably, suddenly finding the exhibition floor fascinating.
"Hey, Sarge!" Connie called impatiently from across the pavilion. "Are we going dancing?"
Bucky hesitated, torn between his loyalty to Steve and his plans for the evening. "Yes, we are," he finally called back, before turning to Steve again. "Don't do anything stupid until I get back."
"How can I?" Steve replied, a hint of a smile breaking through his frustration. "You're taking all the stupid with you."
Bucky's expression softened. He stepped forward and pulled Steve into a brief, tight hug. "You're a punk."
"Jerk," Steve responded affectionately. "Be careful."
As Bucky turned to join his dates, Steve called after him: "Don't win the war till I get there!"
Bucky gave a final wave before disappearing into the crowd with Connie and Bonnie.
Peter stepped forward and clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder. "I'd say we both have a date with the recruiting office," he said with determination. "What do you say, Jane? Can you spare me for a few minutes while I try to serve my country?"
Jane, who had returned from seeing Ted off, gave Peter an exasperated but fond look. "I suppose I can manage without you for a bit. Just don't expect me to wait around if they ship you off tonight." Despite her teasing tone, there was genuine concern in her eyes.
"We'll meet you at the dance pavilion afterward," Peter told her. "This shouldn't take long."
As Jane headed toward the dance floor, the two would-be soldiers exchanged determined glances.
"So, where are you from this time?" Steve asked Peter with a wry smile.
"I've always wanted to visit New Mexico," Peter quipped as they headed toward the recruitment center, united in their determination despite the odds stacked against them.
Behind them, Jim Hammond watched from his glass enclosure, a thoughtful expression on his synthetic face as he observed two men deemed physically inadequate still trying to find their place in a world at war.