by Greg Cox
“Iceman!” the Golden Avenger called to Bobby. “The ball’s in your court now. Give them the freeze treatment.”
“If you say so,” the X-Man replied dubiously. He rose from the floor of the track atop a rapidly-forming column of glistening ice. Humanoids tried to climb after him, but their hands and feet slipped upon the slick, frozen sides of the pillar. Having gained a moment to concentrate, Iceman stretched out his clear blue arms and closed his eyes. “Get ready for goosebumps,” he warned.
At once the temperature plummeted, descending to arctic lows. Storm’s breath misted before her lips and, shivering, she hugged herself tightly, trying to hold on to every last degree of bodily warmth. A spreading layer of frost clouded the transparent walls of the dome, obscuring her view of the lunar vista outdoors. Goose pimples indeed erupted along her exposed arms and legs. “Hold on,” Iron Man said, noting her discomfort. He turned the welcome heat of his chest-beam upon her, dispelling the worst of the chill, much to Storm’s gratitude. The golden radiance warmed her like the African sun at mid-day.
The effect of the extreme cold on the humanoids was less readily apparent—until Captain America struck an inhuman figure soundly with his shield, and the humanoid shattered with a loud crack that sounded like music to Storm’s ears. The Hulk achieved equally heartening results by slamming two gigantic handfuls of humanoids together, reducing them to a pile of broken chips and flakes that showed no sign of regenerating. The beam from Cyclops’s visor no longer harmlessly prodded the humanoids; instead the potent force beam caused the artificial creatures to crack and crumble on impact.
Even the Beast got into the act. The agile X-Man vaulted into the driver’s seat of the small tri-wheeled vehicle, and began running the suddenly vulnerable humanoids down with abandon. Humanoids splintered beneath his wheels or broke apart against the vehicle’s front chassis. “Eat my dust!” he whooped merrily. “Pink humanoid dust, that is.” The tri-wheeler skidded sideways across a convenient patch of ice, sending now-fragile humanoids scattering into smithereens like so many porcelain bowling pins. “Who might have imagined that vehicular mayhem could be so invigorating?”
Storm’s heart leaped at the bloodless carnage below. Captain America’s plan had worked! Without the protective membrane he’d mentioned, eliminated by Iron Man’s admirably adaptable armor, the gummy humanoids had become hard and brittle in the cold. No longer capable of absorbing an infinite amount of punishment without visible harm, the Leader’s unnatural creations were now thoroughly breakable. “Just like those O-rings on the Challenger space shuttle,” Iron Man observed, referring to the frozen rubber components that had doomed that ill-fated space shuttle. Storm was no engineer, but she understood the comparison. The more unbending the sapling, the more vulnerable it became to the force of an angry wind.
What had been an inescapable morass became a massacre. From her vantage point high above the circular track, Storm commanded powerful winds to toss scores of humanoids against the concrete wall of the moon-base’s inner cylinder. The howl of the maddened winds, followed by the loud snapping of humanoid limbs, drowned out the melodic refrains of the Leader’s muzak. Pink whirlwinds scattered the crumbling detritus all along the track.
Swooping silently from above, his saffron cloak billowing in his wake, the Vision passed like a wraith into the clustered bodies of the humanoid host, then instantaneously increased the density of his android form to diamond-hardness while he still occupied the same space as his humanoid targets. An entire row of brittle humanoids exploded as a result, showering their uncomprehending neighbors with shards of pink plastic. “My congratulations, Iron Man,” the Vision intoned. “Your infrared radiation has yielded demonstrably better results than my own thermoscopic beams.”
“It’s all in the wavelength,” Iron Man confided, like a craftsman sharing a trade secret. His repulsors could now wreak havoc on the hardened humanoids, blasting them to bits. “I just mimicked what Captain Marvel did a few years ago, back before she changed her name to Photon.”
“There’s no substitute for experience,” Captain America declared, “not to mention effective teamwork.” His shield careened through the air, ricocheting from humanoid to humanoid, and fracturing a half dozen opponents with a single throw. “This just proves our two teams can work well together; we couldn’t have succeeded without Iceman.”
“Whatever,” the Hulk rumbled. His cudgel-like fists hammered one humanoid after another. They disintegrated to dust beneath his catastrophic blows, leaving him ankle-deep in powdered humanoid. The swirling particles irritated his nose and he sneezed with volcanic force, dispersing the accumulated residue over several yards. “Just so they stay down when I hit them,” he muttered irritably.
Storm was not surprised by the man-brute’s lack of gratitude; by now, she expected nothing more from him. “Well done, my friends!” she said warmly, bestowing her thanks on her valiant comrades. A zealous wind carried her over the one-sided conflict below, side-by-side with Iron Man, who continued to decimate their foes with well-aimed repulsor rays. A fresh bolt of lightning proved more puissant than before, cracking an unlucky humanoid straight down the middle. “Never doubt that we shall prevail!”
Victory was clearly theirs, even though the remaining humanoids appeared incapable of recognizing that the tide of battle had turned. Evidently, the Leader considered his homegrown henchmen expendable; despite abundant casualties, the mindless entities kept on throwing themselves against the heroes. Greatly outnumbered at the onset of the melee, the combined efforts of the X-Men, the Avengers, and the Hulk made short work of the remaining humanoid legions now that their uncanny resilience had been neutralized. Catching a glance at the elevated vents in the wall, Storm noted that the stream of pink dust had run dry. The Leader knew his soulless soldiers had failed, it seemed, even if the surviving humanoids did not.
The Hulk disposed of the last few stragglers by clapping his great hands together with deafening force. The resulting shock wave struck the indefatigable humanoids like a typhoon, peeling away bits and pieces of their fragile substance until only shreds remained. With the enemy annihilated, Storm half-expected the Hulk to beat his chest in triumph, but the pugnacious giant merely inspected his destructive handiwork with a sullen expression upon his rough-hewn features. “Now then, where was I?” he asked himself ominously. “Oh yeah, I remember.”
Without further ado, he stomped over to the concrete cylinder and smashed a hole in it with his fist. The rest of his titanic frame followed his fist in short order, crashing through the wall like a bipedal bulldozer. Pulverized cement dusting his head and shoulders, he glanced back at the other heroes, sneering. “So, you losers comin’ or not?”
“After you,” Captain America said unflappably. His shield upon his arm, he led the way, deftly stepping over and around the chunks of debris left behind by the Hulk’s passage. “Keep your eyes open, people,” he warned. “We don’t know what the Leader’s likely to pull next.”
Intangible once more, the Vision glided through the solid concrete above Captain America while the rest of the rescue team hurried toward the Hulk-wrought gap in the wall. Iceman skated down from his frozen pedestal while the Beast abandoned his borrowed vehicle. Flying away from Iron Man, Storm spotted her discarded boots lying amidst a heap of pink plastic splinters. A deliberate gust of wind reclaimed her unharmed footwear, carrying them into her arms. Quickly tugging her boots back on, she landed on the pavement in front of the Hulk’s impromptu entrance and stepped into line behind the Beast and Cyclops. The breach was large enough that the sundry X-Men and Avengers were able to pass through two at a time. Ready to hurl a thunderbolt at the first evidence of another attack, Storm’s fingertips tingled with electrical potential.
With her colleagues, she stepped into a sterile white corridor lined with vertical tanks capable of holding many gallons of gas or liquid. Pipes and gauges filled the wallspace between the high-volume tanks. The muffled sound of steady pumping compete
d with the classical music coming from overhead. “Life-support systems,” Iron Man guessed, peering at one of the many gauges attached to the tanks. As before, the equipment was inscribed with characters from an alien alphabet or number system. “Probably water or air or both.”
Storm recalled that the Skrulls, like their Shi’ar rivals, breathed oxygen just as Terrans did. The basic principles of respiration and metabolism seemed more or less constant throughout the inhabited worlds of the universe; even the loathsome Brood and the extraterrestrially-diverse Starjammers all thrived within an Earth-like atmosphere. Thank you, Bright Lady, for this small mercy, Storm thought, grateful that she need not be confined within an enclosed spacesuit. This corridor, in fact, was warmer and more comfortable than the track they had just departed; now that there were no more humanoids to freeze, Iceman no longer needed to freeze the very air around them. Storm savored the rise in temperature.
The Leader’s moonbase appeared to be laid out in a series of concentric circles. Like the ring of pavement where they’d just fought the humanoids, the tank-lined corridor seemed to circle yet another cylinder, this one smaller than the one before. Not unlike the Russian dolls poor Illyana used to play with as a toddler, Storm reflected sadly, before we lost her to Limbo and the Legacy Virus.
The corridor was distinctly unpopulated. Aside from a few scuff marks upon the tile floor, she detected no evidence of the Leader or any Skrulls, let alone their missing teammates. Was the moonbase inhabited at all, she wondered, or had all their foes perished when the Skrull saucer exploded in space? She supposed it was possible that some automated defense system had released the humanoids when the rescue team broke into the dome, but what then had become of Rogue and the Scarlet Witch? Had they also been aboard the saucer when it met its fiery end, or were they still trapped somewhere inside the moonbase?
The hermetic environment of the dome had not permitted her claustrophobia to subside entirely. The circumscribed nature of the Leader’s domicile weighed heavily upon her, as did her prolonged separation from the Earth. She could not help recalling the Danger Room scenario she and her teammates had played out less than forty-eight hours before, perhaps at the very moment that Rogue and the Witch had first run afoul of the disguised Skrulls. In that exercise, set aboard a collapsing Shi’ar space station, they had attempted to escape in an available space shuttle, only to “die” in the attempt. May the Goddess grant that this real-life excursion into space ends more happily!
The Hulk looked disappointed that they had found no foes to fight. “I say we keep smashing our way toward the center of this circular rathole. Unless,” he added pointedly, glaring up at the ceiling, “you want to show your skinny face, Sterns, and save us all a lot of time!” He punctuated his challenge by ripping one of the multi-gallon tanks from the wall. Compressed vapor hissed from the severed pipes and sundered tank, which the Hulk compressed into a squat ball of crumpled metal, then drop-kicked down the hall.
“That’s pure oxygen,” Captain America cautioned, sniffing the released gases. “Nobody light a match, got that?”
Despite his warning, a blinding flash startled Storm and the others. Instinctively, she raised her hand to shield her eyes from the unexpected viridescent glare. Bright green spots danced before her eyes and she blinked to clear her vision. As the intense glow quickly faded, she discovered that they were no longer alone in the corridor.
Samuel Sterns, alias the Leader, looked just as he had been described to her: a freakish figure notable for his pale green skin and enormous brain. He wore a utilitarian orange jumpsuit, plus black wristbands equipped with electronic controls of some sort. Although his flesh bore the greenish hue characteristic of gamma mutation, the Leader’s complexion was several shades grayer and more sickly than the Hulk’s vibrant chartreuse skin. Curiously, the villain’s bulbous green skull reminded her somewhat of Leech, the young Morlock child currently residing at Professor Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. Would Leech look like the Leader when he grew up? Storm hoped that, if nothing else, the orphaned Morlock would acquire a far less sinister mien than the smirking fiend who now stood before them.
“Please, Hulk, spare me any further vandalism,” he said sardonically. His falsetto voice was the polar opposite of the Hulk’s cavernous rumbling. “You might actually damage something important in your testosterone-fueled histrionics.”
For a wanted criminal, he seemed remarkably unruffled by the sight of nine invading super heroes. “We have come for our friends,” Storm proclaimed, offended by the Leader’s arrogant nonchalance. “Return Rogue and the Scarlet Witch to us at once.” The Leader did not bother to deny any knowledge of the abductees.
“And if I give you back your misplaced colleagues, hypothetically speaking, will you then depart in peace, leaving me to the privacy of my tranquil lunar retreat?”
“Not a chance,” Captain America stated sternly. “You’re already wanted for numerous crimes against humanity. We’re not about to leave you free to commit future atrocities.”
Speaking for the X-Men, Cyclops seconded the Avengers’ leader. “Not even Magneto ever nuked an innocent American city the way you did to that town in Arizona. Captain America is right; you have to face justice for your crimes.”
“Perhaps,” the Leader said. “Perhaps not.” He strolled over to the compacted metal sphere the Hulk had created from one of the base’s oxygen tanks. “Tsk-tsk,” he clucked, shaking his head wearily. “Must you make a mess wherever you go, Hulk?”
“I’m just warming up,” the Hulk promised grimly. He peered at his longtime nemesis through wary eyes. Obviously, he didn’t expect the Leader to surrender easily.
Captain America looked past the Leader at the empty corridor curving away to the right. “Where are your Skrull allies?” he demanded. “If it turns out you’ve been conspiring with an alien empire to conquer the Earth, that’s high treason in my book, mister.”
“Please!” The Leader rolled his beady eyes, unimpressed by the living legend’s accusation. “I lost interest in Earth years ago, Captain. Feeble-minded humanity has already turned my native planet into a global garbage heap: holes in the ozone, toxic waste everywhere, a greenhouse effect galloping out of control, not to mention an ever-growing excess of unruly and ungovernable human vermin. Just thinning the world’s population down to a manageable level would be a full-time job, one unworthy of my transcendent intellect and vision.”
“Transcend this!” the Hulk roared, stalking forward, his enormous fists raised above his head. Murder blazed in his emerald eyes.
Captain America courageously held out his hand to halt the lumbering giant. “Not yet,” he ordered. “Let him talk.”
Storm assumed that Captain America hoped to learn more about the hostages’ whereabouts before another battle royal broke out. To her surprise, the Hulk assented to the Avenger’s request, grudgingly stepping backwards and lowering his fists. Storm’s respect for the legendary American hero increased; not many people had the authority and confidence to command the Hulk. “You were saying?” Captain America prompted the Leader.
“My alien partner, along with his subordinates, comes from a considerably older and more advanced civilization than the one you so-called heroes constantly seek to defend,” the Leader explained pedantically. “They have promised me a new world of my own, to reshape from the ground up according to my own superlative design. I intend to create a new race of gamma-spawned beings to inhabit my world, incorporating, incidentally, some of the intriguing mutations I’ve had occasion to study in my recent guests.”
“Guests?” Storm echoed indignantly. “You mean prisoners, of course, taken by force against their wills.” She confronted the Leader, her stony voice full of controlled anger. “Do not play games with us, kidnapper. Where are our friends? Bring us to them now.”
The Leader’s enlarged cranium rocked slightly as he shrugged his shoulders. “If you say so.” He pressed one of the touchpads upon his wrist and the green glow r
eturned, even brighter than before. Blinking against the sudden radiance, Storm feared that the Leader had teleported to safety, but, as she wiped the tears from her eyes, she saw that he had merely beamed three more figures onto the scene.
Her spirits soared at the sight of Rogue and another woman standing behind the Leader. Even greater was her joy at the discovery that Wolverine, alive and well, stood between the two women. Then Logan had not perished aboard the saucer after all! She could only assume that he had been teleported over to the Leader’s moon-base sometime before the alien spacecraft exploded. Blessed be the Goddess! she thought ardently. Their beloved friend and comrade still lived!
As her initial elation waned, however, she observed that all was not right with the Leader’s supposed guests. Clad in matching orange jumpsuits, the abducted heroes displayed no sign of relief or recognition upon their faces. Rogue and the other woman, whom Storm now recognized as Wanda Maximoff, without her distinctive scarlet uniform, stared ahead blankly, their eyes glassy and unfocussed. Logan’s bronze eyes, by contrast, were bloodshot and crazed, retaining their usual feral gleam, but lacking any semblance of sanity or civilization. Flecks of foam dotted the corners of his mouth. He looked like a rabid animal, barely held at leash.
“Logan?” Storm asked uncertainly. “Rogue?”
