With a few words, George brought today's meeting to an end. Everyone naturally dispersed and went about their own business.
After it was over, the gilled Mutant Henry had saved last time slung an arm around his savior's neck. "Nothing else going on today. Want to hit a strip club with us?"
"People are already shaking their asses onstage this early in the morning? Aren't they a little too dedicated?"
"During crab season, there are girls performing at the club around the clock. It's packed, too. Even if you want a private dance, that's no problem." The young Mutant spoke like a seasoned regular.
"Forget it. I only brought some loose change today. If I go into a club and can't even afford a drink, I don't want to find out what it feels like to get thrown out by the bouncers."
"Hey, what kind of problem is that? You saved my life. I've been wanting to buy you a drink. We can drink at the club—I'll treat. I'm taking my buddy there to see some women today, too."
Faced with such warm hospitality, Henry almost agreed. But deep down, he had the mentality of a workhorse. Starting a business was hard, and he was still saving up his first pot of gold. It was not time to enjoy himself yet.
He was a penniless alien with nothing to his name. Unless he intended to go all out and rob banks, he needed funds before he could lie low. Spending money on strippers felt like throwing it into a puddle.
Besides, though Henry was destined to be a workhorse, he knew a thing or two about business. Wherever there were lots of tourists, there were bound to be places that ripped them off. This was precisely the time when sailors earned the most money. How could an industry like this not fleece people?
Still, Henry did not refuse too decisively. Instead, he put on an expression of struggle and reluctant resignation. "It's not that I don't want to go, but I still have some things to deal with. You know, I have some identity issues that need sorting out."
With that hint, the young Mutant understood.
People said the United States was a nation of immigrants. Even today, people continued flowing in, both legally and illegally.
No matter what kind they were, they all tried to settle that issue. The young Mutant could only say regretfully, "All right. Your situation really is important. Want me to introduce you to someone who can handle that sort of thing?"
"I've found a few leads. I'll try them first. If they don't work out, I'll come ask you for help. When the time comes, I'll be counting on you."
"Sure. Just let me know if you need anything," the young Mutant said casually.
Come to think of it, their relationship did not fit any of the four great bonds of friendship. But working together on a crab boat was no less than having gone through war together.
As long as it was something they could do easily, no one would refuse. Of course, in the United States, where personal matters were clearly separated, people would not meddle like the countless nosy relatives back home who insisted on interfering whether you wanted them to or not.
So, after saying goodbye to Old George, Henry drove to Tom's company.
The town was small. Driving there took less time than finding a parking spot and parking. Henry arrived at his destination in no time.
But judging by the cars parked out front, they seemed pretty busy today.
With that thought, Henry immediately learned through his Super Senses that there really were several more people in Old Tom's office.
Judging by the way they were sitting properly, it should have been business, not trouble.
And the woman seated in the public office area by the entrance remained as calm, steady, and unruffled as ever.
Henry pushed open the door and went inside. "Hello, is Old Tom here?"
It was an obvious question. Still, no one knew that. The woman pointed at the sofa area nearby and said, "Tom has guests. Wait over there for a moment."
"Okay." As he passed her desk, he spotted several gold coins lying casually on it again.
The coins were minted to a very high standard. They were clearly modern products, not antiques.
But modern commemorative gold coins should have been sealed in plastic cases when sold. Aside from preventing deformation and oil stains, the main purpose was to protect them from scratches.
In other words, such items were collected mainly for their commemorative value, not used as currency in circulation.
Yet the gold coins on the desk had no protection at all, and they clearly bore the marks of having been handled like pocket change. That was rather unusual.
And judging by the designs on the coins, there were no obvious national features. That made it highly likely that they had been privately minted.
So Alaska, with its gold-rush history, also had a habit of using gold coins as currency?
Unable to figure it out, Henry's gaze lingered on the coins for a while longer.
The middle-aged woman rolled her eyes at him, then opened the same drawer and swept the coins inside. She was not worried in the slightest that the gold would lose weight through scratching and thus decrease in value.
So were they fake gold? Gold-plated?
Though his question remained unanswered, her actions were practically an explicit warning. Henry withdrew his gaze and picked up a magazine from the nearby rack.
At Old John's bar, he had been too busy watching the classic movie channel on television. The bar subscribed to newspapers too, but they were only local papers without much worth reading, so Henry had never developed the habit.
Tom's place, however, had several national magazines, including business and fashion publications. Many were old issues, but that was enough for Henry.
He chose the most representative one: Time magazine. The cover featured a handsome elderly man in a sharp suit, with a handlebar mustache and hair and beard both white.
Henry was drawn to the old white man on the cover, but it had nothing to do with his sexual orientation. The magazine also bore a huge headline: "The Most Successful Scientist and the Smartest Businessman."
Opening it to the introduction inside, he saw that the cover subject was Howard Stark, chairman of Stark Industries.
This conglomerate, involved in civilian goods, military industry, aerospace, and more, had been built from scratch by this mechanical prodigy, who had displayed extraordinary talent since childhood. With the assistance of his business partner, Obadiah Stane, it had grown into the influential giant it was today.
In addition to Howard Stark's inventions and patents, the article listed the major historical events Stark Industries had participated in.
From various government projects during World War I and World War II, to the birth of Captain America, the Apollo Program of the 1960s, and even the moon landing, Stark Industries had been involved in all of them.
The article praised him to the skies, cramming in every kind of success mantra. It only lacked tales of watching fish swim upstream, studying by the light through a hole in the wall, or hanging from a beam to stay awake—then it would have had the flavor of the old-fashioned inspirational essays from back home.
Still, seeing this man's photograph gave Henry a deeper realization that he had truly arrived in the Marvel Universe.
It just did not look like a purely cinematic universe, because Mutants were everywhere.
And American comics rewriting their own stories and settings was simply routine. Under those circumstances, the advantage of foreknowledge was not that great.
On top of that, Henry himself was a Kryptonian who had wandered into the wrong universe. That only strengthened his principle of lying low whenever possible instead of recklessly showing off. Let someone else play the overpowered protagonist.
Those people who challenged heaven and earth, picked fights with the Celestials and the Living Tribunal, and even went looking for trouble in the next universe over—weren't they tired? Why had no one ever challenged them all the way back home?
Before you continue