by Greg Cox
How is that possible? he wondered. He still had plenty of liquid oxygen to power the micro-turbines in his boots, plus little or no atmospheric friction to retard his flight. Heck, he wasn’t even fighting gravity, so what was holding him back? An instant self-diagnostic revealed that an external force was acting upon his armor, impeding his escape. Some sort of long-range tractor beam, he realized; he’d been snagged in a wide, electromagnetic net!
Directing even more power to his jets, he tried to break free from the beam’s invisible clutches, but it was too strong. The beam soon slowed him to a stop, then began dragging him back toward the waiting saucer, closer to firing range. In less than a minute, there would be no way they could miss him with their hellish death ray. He doubted his own armor plating would fare much better than the battered quinjet’s had.
Thank goodness he knew something about tractor beams himself! A battery of sophisticated sensors analyzed the beam holding him, measuring its intensity, wave length, and amplitude. Taking careful note of his sensor’s readings, Iron Man spun around until the vari-beam projector in his chestplate was aimed back at the oncoming saucer. He met the Skrullian tractor beam with one of his own, of precisely the inverse amplitude. The colliding wave fronts cancelled each other out, releasing him from the beam’s grip.
Iron Man took advantage of his regained freedom to put on a burst of speed that carried him safely out of range of their energy weapons. “Sorry, gang. You’ll have to do better than that to take this Earthman out of the picture.” His sense of victory gave way to alarm, however, when the thwarted saucer declined to give chase, arcing away in the direction of the quinjet. Apparently concluding that the solitary Avenger was not worth the effort, the Skrull ship resumed its pursuit of the unarmed vessel carrying Iron Man’s teammates and allies.
“Blast!” he cursed. Executing a sharp U-turn, Iron Man chased after the same flying saucer he had just successfully left behind. He zoomed through space like a humanoid missile, rockets blazing from his boots. It felt strange not to feel a wind blowing against him as he flew, nor to hear anything outside his armor as he soared through the vacuum. Catching up with the alien spacecraft, he strafed the saucer with his repulsor rays, bombarding the Skrull ship with a beam of accelerated neutrons that exploded impotently against the saucer’s force field. Beneath his gilded faceplate, Tony Stark’s handsome face grimaced in dismay as he watched the Skrulls close in on the quinjet. Unless he did something right away, the quinjet would explode into a fireball before it even had a chance to make a crash landing on the moon.
Forgive me, Wolverine, he pleaded silently. I’ve run out of alternatives. Cutting off his repulsors, he fired his pulse bolts at the enemy saucer. Phosphorescent bolts of highly-charged plasma crossed the airless abyss between Iron Man and his target, gaining speed and power as they zeroed in on the predatory vessel taking aim on the quinjet; unlike his repulsors, the pulse bolts only increased their potency over distance. Each one was capable of annihilating a tank or two. I’m probably worrying too much about Wolverine’s safety, he thought hopefully. Chances are, the bolts will just disable the saucer.
But his repulsors must have done more damage to the Skrulls’ shields than he’d realized. One after another, the discharged plasma bolts struck the spinning saucer, sending it twirling out of control toward the moon. The ship’s metal skin melted away, its outer casing dissolving into molten slag. “Oh no!” Iron Man gasped, half wishing he could recall his killer bolts, but knowing he had no choice. The saucer exploded noiselessly as it fell upward at the southern hemisphere of the moon, suspended above them all like a pendulous white breast. Unable to escape the rocky satellite’s gravitational pull, the flaming remains of the saucer crashed into the moon like a meteor, carving out yet another crater on its deeply creviced landscape. Iron Man increased the magnification of his optical lenses one-hundredfold, but could detect no signs of life at the crash site; all he saw were a few charred and twisted pieces of alien alloy, two-thirds buried in the deep lunar dust astronomers called the regolith. No heartbeats, human or otherwise, registered on his long-distance sonic receptors, and Iron Man felt his throat go dry.
No one had survived the saucer’s destruction, not even Wolverine.
CHAPTER FIVE
“ARE you quite certain, Iron Man, that Wolverine perished in the crash?”
Storm could not yet accept the bitter news brought to them by the Avengers’ gleaming armored warrior. Logan dead? Although mortal danger was an inextricable element of every X-Man’s life, Logan had always seemed a born survivor, likely to outlive them all. How could such an indomitable spirit have been snuffed out so abruptly?
“To be honest,” Iron Man informed her, “I doubt that anyone survived the initial explosion in space. He was almost certainly dead before what was left of the saucer crashed into the moon. I’m sorry.”
Iron Man had resumed his place at the helm of the quinjet, which still bore the scars of the Skrulls’ murderous attack. Blackened electronic components marred the interior of the aircraft while the chemical odor of fire-retardant foam polluted the pressurized atmosphere of the passenger area. Wolverine’s vacant seat, between Iceman and the Beast, lingered like an open wound, tearing at Storm’s heart whenever she looked behind her. Circumstances could have been so much worse, she realized, had not Iron Man defended the quinjet from the alien warship. All their lives had been saved by the Avenger’s prompt action—but at what cost?
A profound sense of loss gripped her. Of all those whom had received Iron Man’s dreadful tidings, she had perhaps been the closest to their departed friend. Although widely different in temperament, they had shared a common appreciation of the natural world and endured many arduous trials together, commencing their careers as X-Men on the same historic occasion. Who could have ever guessed that their parallel journeys would come to a final parting in such an unearthly setting, so far from the living planet whose verdant hills and flowing water they had both revered? May your turbulent spirit find peace at last, my friend, she prayed silently.
“He was a tough sunovagun. I’ll say that for him,” the Hulk said with surprising solemnity. His gigantic presence took up a full three seats at the rear of the passenger compartment, having supplanted Dr. Banner during their tumultuous engagement with the Skrull spacecraft. The Hulk’s brutish visage held a look of genuine regret. “A real scrapper. He always put up a good fight.”
High praise from such as the Hulk, Storm acknowledged. Wolverine’s combative rivalry with the Hulk, she recalled, predated Logan’s involvement with the X-Men; for all his coarseness and ill temper, the mighty ogre had known their fallen comrade even longer than she had. Ororo found herself strangely moved by the Hulk’s unsolicited tribute to Wolverine. Perhaps there was more to the barbarous creature than unreasoning violence and hostility?
“He lived a full life,” Captain America added, “and a long one. From the time I first met him, in Madripoor back during the War, I knew that Logan was a man of uncommon courage and heroism. I’m proud to have fought beside him.”
Cyclops placed a comforting hand on Storm’s arm. “We didn’t always get along,” he admitted, “but he was a real credit to the X-Men. He gave as much for the Professor’s dream as any of us. Maybe more.”
A funereal dolor hung over the interior of the quinjet, illuminated by the chill and sterile radiance of the moon. “If there had been any other way,” Iron Man said uncomfortably, “you know I wouldn’t have placed Wolverine’s life in jeopardy.”
Storm nodded. “Do not reproach yourself, Iron Man. You did what was necessary. Logan would have understood.” Her eyes ached with unshed tears, but there would be time enough for mourning later. Although Logan had been lost to them, Rogue and the Scarlet Witch remained in danger. “He would also want us to continue our mission with undiminished resolve.” She held her chin high, her determined gaze fixed on the shadowy recesses of the Tycho crater as Iron Man piloted the quinjet down toward the lunar surface.
“It is the Leader and his alien allies who are the true architects of Wolverine’s harsh passing. Let us take our just and righteous anger and deliver it to our adversaries’ doorstep.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” the Hulk grunted in approval. Banner’s sweater hung in rags from his freakishly large shoulders. “I’ll make sure the Leader gets what’s comin’ to him. The rest of you can handle those stinkin’ Skrulls.”
Captain America provided a note of forbearance. “We all want to see justice done, people, but let’s not forget that our top priority is to secure the safe return of Wanda and Rogue. No matter how hurt and angry we are, we’ve got to see to the living first, and avenge our honored dead later.”
Storm found it ironic that it was the leader of the melodramatically-named Avengers who spoke out for rescue over revenge, but his point was well-taken. “Of course, Captain,” she assured him. “You are quite correct. The deliverance of our stolen comrades remains our utmost concern.”
“We’ll see about that,” the Hulk muttered ominously, dispelling much of the good will Storm had granted him after his gruff testimonial to Wolverine moments before. Not for the first time, she questioned the wisdom of including such an explosive and unpredictable entity in their mission. That the Hulk added an incalculable amount of raw power to their forces was undeniable, but was that extra strength worth the risk of the undisciplined giant running amuck? She could not forget the appalling injuries the Hulk had inflicted upon the android Vision in a moment of savage pique; that those injuries had been easily repaired by Iron Man’s technological expertise did little to alleviate her fears about the monster in their midst.
“Check your seatbelts, everyone,” Iron Man announced from the cockpit. “We’re heading in for a landing.
Through the wide front windshield, the Leader’s moonbase was now easily visible: an opaque white dome nestled in a rugged, barren landscape that looked much less flattened than the sandblasted plains seen elsewhere upon the moon. Jagged boulders thrust toward the sky above overlapping ridges of long-hardened lava. Judging from its rough appearance, Storm guessed that Tycho was a young crater, geologically speaking, less weathered by time and the gradual rain of spaceborne debris. Smaller craters, ranging from inches to miles in diameter, testified to the impact of those meteors that had slammed into Tycho’s floor.
Unlike her beloved Earth, this was a dead world, inhospitable to life. Storm repressed a shudder at the sight of the stark and arid moonscape below. How could any thinking being, no matter how depraved, willingly choose to live here? Even the great Kalahari desert, which she had crossed in her youth, was more welcoming than this lifeless crater.
“You see anything that looks like a docking port?” Iron Man asked the Vision.
“Negative,” the android replied. “The surface of the dome is uniformly seamless in appearance.”
“Don’t worry,” Iceman said. “You get us close enough, I’ll make us a tunnel.”
Without any atmospheric moisture to draw upon? Storm wondered and worried. “You realize, Bobby, there is no air or water below.” Her own powers, too, would be of limited use on a world without weather. At least outside the dome.
“Hey, I didn’t say it would be easy,” Iceman retorted. “But if Iron Man can park right up close to the dome, I should be able to provide door-to-door service.”
“We may take you up on that,” Iron Man told him. He kept his gaze on the bottom of the great crater, no doubt seeking out the best landing site. “The ground looks pretty uneven below,” he called out. “Brace for a bumpy landing, everyone.”
Unlike conventional aircraft, including NASA’s famed space shuttle, the quinjet required no runway to touch down. With a skill born of long experience, Iron Man employed the vessel’s VTOL—Verticle Take-Off and Landing—capacity to bring the quinjet to rest upon the rocky terrain. An unnerving jolt rattled Storm’s bones when the quinjet’s landing gear first came into contact with the basaltic floor of the crater, but the ship maintained a solid footing upon the moon, declining either to topple over or crash nose-first into the unforgiving ground. Praise the Goddess, she devoutly gave thanks, before unfastening her seatbelt and stretching her weary legs. After so many hours sitting in one place, it felt good to stand once more, even if the gravity was palpably lighter than she was accustomed to.
“Whoa there!” Iceman blurted, rising too fast from his seat. His head bumped into the ceiling as his momentum carried him higher than he intended. Unable to find purchase, his boots kicked uselessly above the floor.
“A little less impetuousness,” the Beast advised, helpfully tugging his longtime friend and teammate down from the ceiling. “It behooves us to remember that, regardless of the gravity of the situation, actual gravity is in rather short supply.”
As always, Storm was both impressed and mildly baffled by the Beast’s propensity for joking even in the most dire of circumstances. Perhaps it was a mutant trait of a sort uncatalogued by Cerebro? In any event, she appreciated his attempt to lighten the doleful atmosphere brought on by Wolverine’s tragic fate.
Staring out over Iron Man’s burnished shoulderpieces, she saw the outer wall of the crater rising in the distance, higher than many earthly mountains. Night had fallen over the scene, which was lit only by the eerie blue glow of the Earth. Given the moon’s slow rotation, it was possible that the night had already lasted for several days by Earth’s reckoning, and might well endure another week or so. Storm felt very distant from the planet that sustained her.
“The dome’s to starboard,” Iron Man explained, “right outside the exit.” Still linked to the quinjet’s instrumentation via his gauntlets, he released the lock by remote control. A metal door swung outward, only a few feet away from Storm. “You don’t need to hold your breath,” he assured them. “An electrostatic force field will hold the ship’s atmosphere in place for the time being.”
As promised, the featureless exterior of the dome could be seen through the open doorway. Only a few yards of earthlit moonscape, littered with motionless powder and chips of rock, separated the quinjet from the Leader’s lair, but traversing that distance, devoid of oxygen or warmth, was no small matter. Blue shadows were draped over a scene of utter stillness.
“All right, popsicle,” the Hulk grumbled. Even though the quinjet had been designed to accommodate the likes of Hercules and Thor, he still had to hunch over to avoid smashing his head through the roof. “Show us what you’ve got.”
Bobby squeezed past Storm to take a place directly in front of the exit. “Here goes,” he said, taking a deep breath. A frosty glaze rushed over his body as he transformed ordinary flesh and blood into living ice. Within an instant, the brown-haired, pink-skinned youth became an arctic sculpture composed of translucent blue ice. Even his uniform, composed of unstable molecules, took on a frozen sheen. “Give me just a second to get ready,” he asked. His voice had transformed along with the rest of him, acquiring a crystalline ring. “Er, this might get kind of uncomfortable for a couple minutes.”
He wasn’t kidding. Almost immediately, Storm felt Iceman sucking the moisture from the air, turning it dry as bone. The dehydrated air seemed to leech precious moisture from her own body, leaving her throat parched and thirsty. She swallowed hard, but no saliva came; her mouth was dry. A trickle of blood seeped from her nose as the air within the quinjet grew more arid still. Looking about her, she saw her fellow passengers looking equally distressed. Only Iron Man, his human frailties concealed by his all-encompassing armor, and his android co-pilot did not display the early symptoms of dehydration.
Except for Iceman, that is. He gained in size and stature as he gathered up every last drop of ambient moisture. Icy limbs thickened noticeably and a dense mane of glittering icicles formed around his resolute face. “Okay,” he said, unwilling to prolong his companions’ discomfort an instant longer than necessary. “That should do it. Drop the field, Iron Man.”
A crackle of discharged energy signalled the remo
val of the electrostatic barrier. At the same time, Iceman threw himself forward, the frigid contours of his body flowing and changing as he did so. With no atmosphere outside to provide him with raw material, he formed a tunnel to the Leader’s sanctuary out of his own transmuted substance, stretching all the way to the wall of the dome.
Storm was impressed by Iceman’s feat. Bobby had come a long way over the last few years when it came to mastering his mutant gift; ironically, it had required an episode of psychic possession by a ruthless telepath to awaken Iceman to the full potential of his unique abilities. Strange to realize they had Emma Frost, the infamous White Queen, to thank for Iceman’s increased versatility.
“C’mon, gang!” he hollered to them, his face looking down from the ceiling of the tunnel like a decorative bas-relief. Clearly, the atmosphere within the quinjet had flowed out into the newly-formed passageway, providing a medium through which Iceman’s chime-like voice could propagate itself. “I can’t keep this up forever.”
“Good work!” Cyclops praised their teammate. Confident in Iceman’s ability to keep the vacuum at bay, he ran into the tunnel Bobby Drake had become. Golden boots pounded the lunar soil, throwing up clouds of gritty powder, until his way was blocked by the sloping wall of the dome. Without missing a step, Cyclops raised the lens of his visor…
Neither a scientist nor an engineer, Storm had no idea what substance the Leader’s dome was composed of, but it proved no match for the unleashed power of Cyclops’s eyebeams. A crimson burst of extradimensional force hit the dome like a battering ram, smashing open a new entrance to the dome’s interior, which he ran through unafraid, sweeping what lay beyond with a continuous surge of ocular energy. Any foe lying in wait inside the dome would have to contend with Cyclops’s eyebeams before springing their trap.
