by Peter David
“You know, this would take half as long if we were both doing it,” he said.
Emma did nothing. Mentally shrugging, Cyclops went back to work. After a time, she finally spoke: “What happens if she’s alive?”
“What?” He looked at Emma in confusion. “She’s not. She’s dead. I was there when she died.”
“And her coming back from the dead is utterly without precedent. I say again: What happens?”
“I don’t understand what you—”
Her eyes glittered, hard like the diamond she was capable of transforming into. “What happens to us? Are we done? Do you expect me to just step aside?”
He was silent.
She pressed the question. “Do you want me to pretend your heart doesn’t race when you think of her?”
“She’s a part of me, Emma. Comes with the package, as you know.”
“And that brings us back to the question of what happens to us.” Before he could reply, she continued, “Just so we’re clear: The A answer is, ‘I love you, Emma, and nothing will change that.’ The B answer is, ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’ The C answer of a threesome is, frankly, a non-starter.”
Leaving open a file drawer, he walked over to her and stared at her with his usual stoic expression. “You’re Emma Frost. Since when do you wait for others to tell you how things are going to be?”
Her chin trembled ever so slightly, and then she quickly got it under control. “Apparently since now.”
He put his hand on the back of her head, drew her mouth to his and kissed her with a ferocity that belied his usual detached manner. It went on for long moments and when their lips finally parted, he said softly, “Where does that answer rate?”
“Jury’s still out,” she said.
He actually chuckled as he turned away from her, returning to the task at hand. “You’re a piece of work, Emma.”
She pulled open a drawer to start aiding in the search. “You have no idea,” she said softly.
WOLVERINE and Beast made their way stealthily through the cross corridors. Using their combined hyper-senses, agility, and tendency to blend well with shadows, they’d made it up to the tenth floor without being detected.
Standing at the end of a long corridor, Wolverine said abruptly, “I’m not lovin’ this. It’s too easy. There’s hardly anyone around.”
“It’s after hours.”
“Yeah, and they’re working hellbent for leather on Miracle, and they got a bunch of mutants at the gates. You’d think the whole place would be humming.”
“You’re implying that this might be—?”
“A setup? That since you came in here solo, they figured we might bring a whole raiding party, and prepped for it? Yeah, it occurred to me.”
“So you’re saying we should get out?”
“Hell no. I’m sayin’ bring ’em on.”
“Fantastic. By the way, I missed something. You mentioned ‘Miracle.’ Who’s that? Sounds like a race horse.”
“That’s what they’re calling the cure now. ‘Miracle.’ It was on the news. Catchy, eh?”
Beast did not reply.
Wolverine paused at an intersection, sniffed the air to make certain they were alone, and then headed to the right. Beast followed him.
“So what’s your personal miracle?” Wolverine continued. “Lose the fur…nice girl, couple of kids and a teaching job somewhere that doesn’t get blown up too often?”
“You’re not exactly talking me out of it there, Logan.”
“You think I don’t get it?”
“That’s exactly what I think, yes.”
“Yeah, well, you’re wrong.” He stopped for a moment, but didn’t turn to face the Beast. “Nothing wrong with wanting the whole wife-and-kids package. It’s the part where you sit on the couch with the family and watch on TV while every mutant on the face of the Earth gets lined up. Get a little Miracle or get a lot dead.”
“Right, right, and then I get to boast to the kids how I helped kick off the beginnings of our own private holocaust. Just how much guilt do you really need to heap on—”
“Quiet.”
“Not to sound juvenile, but you started it…”
“No, I mean it: Hold it. You catch that scent?”
The Beast’s nostrils flared. “Female.”
“Dead,” Wolverine added.
“Emma?” Beast said. He could have just thought at her, but he found it focused him to speak aloud.
I have you, Emma thought back at him. You’re on the tenth floor, Section 1138. On our way.
CYCLOPS and Emma were one floor down and on the opposite side of the building when they received Beast’s call. In their haste to reach Wolverine and Beast, they ran up against several Benetech employees. Emma was brisk and ruthless in her handling of them. Two research scientists became obsessed with a book of Sudoku. A guard grabbed the nearest computer station and started surfing the web for porn.
“That one was too easy,” Emma told Scott.
They reached a room from within which a pale green light was shining. “I’m having trouble locking on to Kitty,” said Emma. “You go on in; I’ll stay out here where it’s quieter so I can better focus.”
Cyclops nodded. Then he braced himself and pushed open the door.
Wolverine stood on the far side of a table in the middle of the room, an array of fluorescent lights shining down. Beast was at the end of the table.
A female body was laid out, draped in a blanket. On either side of her, luminescent wings spilled over the edges of the table. In life they had doubtless been lovely, shimmering—living incarnations of pure beauty. Now they just hung loosely, useless and faded shadows of themselves.
The girl herself had pale, orange skin, festooned with blue markings that appeared to be an elaborate set of tattoos. That, or she had developed them naturally as part of a secondary mutation. Not that it mattered anymore. She was long gone.
“We don’t know her,” Wolverine said.
Beast pointed to red markings just above her hands. “Striations on her wrists would indicate she took her own life.”
Wolverine adjusted the blanket, making sure to fully cover the naked girl. “Or someone made it look like she did…”
“Frankly, I don’t care whether or not they had anything to do with her death. This is sickening,” said Beast.
Wolverine nodded, pleased that he and Beast seemed to be on the same page at last. Who, after all, would be willing to trust their fate to the cure—even benefit from it—if the cost of that benefit was the lives of innocent people such as this poor, unnamed girl? “It’s all here, people,” Wolverine said. “The cure. These little experiments. One well-aimed missile from the jet and we all sleep easy.”
“We can’t torch Benetech, Logan,” said Cyclops. “We still don’t know everything. This can’t be the only body.”
“So you’re saying that after we do know everything we can torch…” Then Wolverine’s voice trailed off as something in Cyclops’ tone caught his notice. “Wait. Why can’t this be the only body? What are we after here?” When they didn’t respond, his jaw visibly tightened. “You two better tell me what’s going on. As in now.”
Before either Cyclops or Beast could reply, Emma pushed the door open. “I still can’t reach Kitty. I don’t think she’s in the building.”
“Where would she go?” asked Cyclops.
Suddenly, Emma doubled over in pain. A strangled gnaaaah issued from her throat. Cyclops barely got to her in time before she collapsed completely. “Emma—?”
“It’s my girls…the Stepford Cuckoos…” she managed to whisper. “They’re calling me. It’s so loud. I can’t make it out…Scott,” and she looked up at him with rare fear and desperation in her eyes. “We have to get back.”
Then bullets began exploding all around them.
Cyclops was closest to the door. He couldn’t see the attackers clearly, but the effectiveness of their weaponry couldn’t be denied. H
e would have been killed instantly, even with the reinforced mesh of his costume, but Wolverine saved him, leaping in and knocking both Cyclops and Emma out of the way.
A barrage of bullets struck Wolverine in midair. It wasn’t enough to kill him. Oftentimes, it seemed nothing was. It did, however, cause him to cry out in agony as he writhed, but did not fall, under the assult.
The Beast was too far away to help and too close to withstand a direct hit. He leaped aside, seeking shelter, as bullets winged past him.
One of the bullets ricocheted off Wolverine and struck Cyclops across the back, just above the shoulder blades. He went down. Emma cried out his name.
“I’m just tagged,” he managed to get out. Struggling to raise his voice above the chatter of bullets, he said, “X-Men…sound…sound off…”
Instantly, Emma transformed into her diamond form and turned to face her opponents, her face twisted in pure fury.
The men who had now entered the room were not the least bit intimidated. Emma could see now that there were three of them, the upper parts of their bodies covered in plated armor, and they were wearing helmets with high-tech earpieces covering either side of their heads. The arm pieces that extended from their reinforced shoulders were very large, because of what was mounted over their forearms: massive, high-powered multi-barreled guns, cyclical in design. The high-speed rotary weapons were clearly capable of spitting out hundreds of rounds per minute. Emma made no move.
Her attention was entirely on Cyclops.
“Sound off,” he whispered again as the floor beneath him began to pool with blood.
Emma eased into his mind.
He is surrounded by a delirious assortment of figures. It is impossible for Emma to see clearly what any of them look like; they are little more than shades, vague forms given substance. They are nothing more than half-finished thoughts, dream re-creations of people he had once encountered who had no meaning to him at the time, but assumed new and unwarranted importance now.
They say nonsensical things.
“Iceman, sounding off.”
“Fireman, sounding off.”
“Clothing-Man, sounding off.”
“Ability-to-Hop-Man, here.”
“Wait a minute,” Scott says, “Aren’t you all the same person?”
“Oh Scott. Oh darling,” and sure enough, there she is, the energy-wielding destroyer of Emma’s happiness, Jean-freaking-Grey. Never far from his thoughts, even possibly his dying ones. She hovers over him, her arms spread to either side, her legs straight, as if she has just been crucified. She is fearsome in her beauty, surrounded by a corona of flame, a living sun descending to incinerate her worshipper. Her red hair is spread in all directions, crackling like a burning crown. Her eyes are empty yellow and her beauty is terrible to see. Likewise terrible are her words: “What a failure you are.”
“No…no, I got this wired,” Scott protests. “I’m putting in storm windows.”
“Oh, seriously…”
“Do we have to do this in front of everybody?”
Jean leans in, floating over him. “Stop faking it, Scott. I did.”
“Jean, please…just tell me…do you at least like the costumes?”
All of this passes through Scott’s head with literally the speed of thought. The figures register as little more than vague impressions in the back of Emma’s psychic eye, and only her mental acuity allows her to discern them individually for what they are. Less than one second of real time has passed, yet Emma has already seen more than enough.
Then Emma slapped him across the face. “Stay awake, Scott!”
She turned to face the men, the ones with guns for hands. “He’s bleeding out. He needs medical attention. Now.”
It was a command, sent straight into their heads.
They smiled and did nothing to obey. Emma realized: They must have the same sort of scramblers in their heads as the mercs did, the ones she’d fought back in the penthouse. The fact that they had access to the same technology was of interest to Emma. But at the moment, all that really mattered was saving the life of Scott Summers.
“Bleeding out,” the leader of the squad said indifferently. “Really. Glad I’m not him, then.”
FIFTEEN
TWENTY minutes earlier…
“Man, I’m glad I’m not you.”
Hisako had pulled an all-nighter studying, and was finally ready to go to bed. Emerging from the girls’ locker room, freshly showered and wearing pink pajamas, she was surprised to find Edward literally just floating aimlessly around the place. Everyone knew about his fight with Jay. The students’ opinions, whose side they were on, pretty much fell along the lines of how they felt about the mutant cure itself.
But Edward had also been hit with major-league detention and sanctions having nothing to do with the actual fight. No one had known exactly why, until Edward now confessed the truth of it to Hisako.
“No wonder you got detention, you loser,” she continued as she walked down the hall, Edward drifting along above her. “Miss Pryde’s a teacher! Just ’cause you’ve got the hots for her doesn’t make you equals. You can’t call her an idiot!”
“She just got me so mad! That patronizing line that mutants are all gonna stick together. I mean, she’s fought some of the what do you mean ‘hots’?”
“Oh, please. Like there’s five guys on campus who aren’t crushing on her. ‘Ooh,’” and she pitched her voice into a fair approximation of Kitty’s. “‘I’m a real X-Man only I’m young and cool and I know all about computers and maybe a cute senior would have a shot with me if he seemed really sensitive and super-powered…’ That, and variations on that, are what every stupid boy in this place is hoping that Miss Pryde’s thinking.”
“You’re a mind reader, Hisako,” he said sarcastically.
“No, but Blindfold is.”
Edward was taken aback. He hadn’t been wild about Blindfold since he’d first encountered her. Her real name was Ruth Aldine, but the code name “Blindfold” had been a natural one since the raven-haired young woman always wore an actual blindfold tied across her face. Between that and her tendency to wear fringed shawls and stand around looking omniscient (which, considering her proclivity for telepathy, clairvoyance, and precognition, she more or less was), Edward felt she was working too hard to make an impression. So she was blind: Let her get a cane and sunglasses and get over herself.
Now, though, he was being given firsthand evidence that his automatic dislike for her wasn’t entirely personal. This was clearly someone who couldn’t be trusted.
“She’s reading the guys’ minds?” he asked, appalled. “That’s so against the bylaws.”
“She also said the only reason you came here was you wanna make X-Man.”
“What? That…that is so—”
“You don’t have to get all defensive, Edward. Not with me. You wanna be an X-Man? Join the club. Apart from the losers lining up for that bogus cure, who doesn’t wanna make the A-list?”
Edward drifted to the ground and touched down lightly. “Blindfold. Sheesh. No eyes, big mouth.”
“She’s a blabber, yeah,” admitted Hisako. “But she’s okay. I just think she’s really lonely. I mean, think about it for a minute…”
And then they stopped dead.
A massive armored figure stood directly in front of them, blocking their path.
“Minute’s up,” he rumbled.
The two of them stared at him, confused. “Uh…who are you?” said Edward.
“I? I am Ord of the Breakworld.” He paused. “And you are—?”
Edward and Hisako exchanged looks. “I’m…Wing.” It seemed right that when some big armored guy was in front of him, he should give his code name. “And this is…” He hesitated. “Do you have a code name yet?”
“Armor.” It was all Hisako said, and she did so flatly and without emotion. Her arms hung loosely, ready to move, and she was balanced lightly on the balls of her feet. In short, she had subtly assu
med a defensive posture, ready to react to an assault.
Edward didn’t notice. He was trying to determine what this new guy’s deal was. “Uhm…are you a friend of the X-Men?”
“More an acquaintance. Bring them to me.” It was not a request.
“They’re not here.”
“Not here.” He sounded vaguely put out. “Are you quite sure?”
“Positive. I saw the X-plane take off like two hours ago.”
“And you don’t know where they went?”
Edward shook his head. “A mission or something. I mean, they don’t tell us stuff like that.”
“This is very frustrating.”
“Did you wanna leave them a message?” Edward said helpfully. Something in the phrasing seemed to catch Ord’s attention. He stared at them as if truly seeing them for the first time. “You two are mutants.”
“But we’re not, like, cool ones or anything,” said Edward.
“Wing…” Hisako said warningly.
“Wing, you have given me an excellent idea,” said Ord. “And you have my thanks for that. I believe I will leave the X-Men a message.”
He brought up his right fist. Three hypodermic needles snapped out from a holster on the glove.
HISAKO had picked up on their danger before Edward had. He’s so trusting. I really liked that about him. Now I hate him for it.
When Edward had suggested leaving a message, she saw the way that this “Ord” had looked at him. She didn’t have to be a telepath to know what was suddenly going through his mind. The naïve Wing still wasn’t seeing it, didn’t realize what was about to happen. Hisako closed her eyes tightly in concentration, slowed down her breathing, and tried to stop her heart from racing. The fight-or-flight impulse surged in her, and she used the few seconds she had between threat and attack to get the “flight” part under control. The microsecond that the threat became explicit, when those terrifying hypos snapped out of Ord’s fingertips, Wing was flatfooted with shock, but Hisako was ready. “Wing…get out!”
