The Legacy Quest Trilogy

by Unknown Author

  “There’s no time to explain,” Hank panted. “You’ve got to trust me on this one, Jean. Can you do that?”

  “You don’t have to ask,” she said, but she was still confused.

  “I’ve negotiated a truce.” Despite her promise, it looked like Phoenix was about to say something. Hank forestalled the objection. “It’s entirely in our interests, believe me. It is vital that we bring this unfortunate contretemps to as swift a conclusion as possible!”

  “I can order my men to lay down their weapons,” offered Shaw. He was still pale, but otherwise he seemed to have recovered from Phoenix’s assault with incredible speed. “Under the circumstances, though, I’d have difficulty making myself heard.”

  Phoenix nodded. “OK.”

  She lowered her head and concentrated, and suddenly an impression formed in Hank’s mind. He thought—no, knew—that Shaw was reaching out to him personally, making it clear that he didn’t want this fight to continue. Jean must have reached into the Black King’s thoughts, found that strong, genuine desire and communicated it to everybody, along with her own endorsement for the sake of the X-Men.

  The tactic proved effective. Silence descended upon the laboratory, and everybody looked towards Shaw and Phoenix to see what they should do next. Rogue froze, with one hand pinning a Hellfire Club agent to the wall, the other drawn back and clenched into a fist. Storm took advantage of the cessation of hostilities to usher a frightened Professor Travers into a slightly safer position, behind her.

  “This isn’t a trick,” said Shaw, his voice calm and measured now, but carrying easily across the hushed room to his attentive servants. “The X-Men and I have reached an ... agreement. As of now, they are to be considered my guests. Return to your normal duties.” As the uniformed agents began to file, obediently and unquestioningly, out into the corridor, he glanced down at the floor, which was strewn with the unconscious bodies of the fallen. “Those of you who can,” he added wryly. He still wasn’t smiling.

  Cyclops found his way to Phoenix’s side, still hobbling slightly. “Jean?” '

  Phoenix glanced meaningfully towards Hank, and he knew this was the moment of truth. The room was emptying: only a small team of agents had stayed behind to revive their colleagues, or to cariy them out where revival proved impossible. Shaw himself stepped into the shadows, watching quietly as the X-Men gathered expectantly around their blue-furred teammate. The rest of the scientists also drew closer, anxious for news of their fate.

  Hank looked around the room, assessing the condition of the

  Kree computer banks. They had certainly been battered; one panel had been blown out altogether, and several screens were broken. He prayed that the damage was not too extensive.

  He looked at each of the X-Men in turn, then his gaze lingered last and longest upon Moira. She hesitated for a second, before folding her arms tightly across her chest, and giving him a winsome smile and a nod of support. Grateful for that, at least, Hank took a deep breath, trying to drive back the pain in his head for long enough to give what seemed, at that moment, to be the most crucial speech of his life.

  And then, the pain attacked him with a vengeance. The world shot out of focus, and Hank doubled up in a coughing fit so violent that he felt as if his heart and lungs were straining to escape from his body. He blacked out for an instant, and, when he came to, he was sitting on a stool, sweat matting his fur, concerned friends hovering around him, and Moira was dabbing at his forehead with a cold, wet cloth.

  “Och, Hank,” she groaned, “you didn’t, did you? Please tell me you didn’t.”

  Hank wanted to answer her, but his throat was too dry, and he couldn’t speak.

  “Is someone gonna tell us what’s going on?” asked Wolverine, impatiently.

  “He’s infected himself, that’s what,” said Moira, with a hint of bitterness.

  “Infected himself?” echoed Iceman. “With what?”

  But some of the others were quicker on the uptake. “Oh Goddess, no ... ” breathed Storm, putting a hand to her mouth in horror.

  “We needed a test subject,” croaked Hank, each word burning in his throat. “It had to be a healthy mutant. I had no choice. But... Legacy...” He coughed again, and breathed deeply to compose himself before continuing. “Legacy is unpredictable. Some people can live with it for months, others for days or less. I... I find myself in the latter group, I’m afraid.”

  “But Moira said you were looking for a cure,” protested Rogue. “She said you were...” She hesitated, but chose to complete the sentence. “She said you were working with Shaw.”

  “She was correct,” said Hank. He cast his eyes downwards, sparing himself the sight of his friends’ reactions. He pressed on quickly: “And we can debate the rights and wrongs of my decision at a more opportune time. For now, all that matters is that I have been given a chance to rid the world of the Legacy Virus at last. I can save potentially thousands of lives, including those of several good colleagues here present. You—and I mean all of you He looked pointedly at Shaw. must decide now whether you will allow me to take that chance. You might feel—” He transferred his attention to Moira, “—that you’d rather find the cure some other way. Most of you can afford to wait. If that is your decision, then so be it-but, whatever you decide, you will have to do so quickly.

  “Forty minutes ago, I infected myself with the Legacy Virus. Ten minutes after that, I injected the serum that is the first stage of our untested Legacy cure into my system. So far, its effect upon the diseased cells has been negligible.

  “Without further treatment, I can measure my life expectancy in hours.”

  S WITH much of the recovered Kree facility, the Hellfire Club had done little to brighten up the area that they had designated their conference room. They had restored it to full functionality, but nothing more. Ororo Munroe looked at the dull, gray, windowless walls and the single closed door, and was reminded that she was still underground. She felt confined, but she refused to be distracted by her illogical fears. Not now. Not while there were still important issues to be resolved.

  As the X-Men’s deputy leader, Storm was speaking for the team at this hastily convened meeting. She was backed up by Phoenix, who sat beside her at the circular conference table. Shortly after hostilities had ceased in the laboratory, Cyclops had collapsed, succumbing at last to a telepathically-delayed reaction to the power drain inflicted upon him by Fitzroy. He was sleeping now, with his teammates watching over him, in a neighboring bunkroom.

  A

  The Beast had wanted to be here as well, but Moira had forbidden it. His condition was too fragile. He too was resting, and she had promised to put his point of view across to this gathering, as well as her own. She was seated to Ororo’s right, with Doctor Rory Campbell next to her. Moira had been civil enough to her former assistant, but Storm could tell from her body language that he made her uncomfortable. She didn’t trust his motives.

  Ororo had seen nothing of either Madelyne or Fitzroy. Presumably, the Black and White Rooks had made themselves scarce after their recent defeats. The Inner Circle was represented by its Black King, Shaw. He sat next to Campbell, directly across the table from his opposite number, whom he regarded coolly. He had regained his usual self-assured demeanor. Ororo would hardly have guessed from looking at him that the X-Men had just ruined his plans. To Shaw’s right, between him and Jean, was his seemingly ever-present assistant, Tessa.

  Moira opened the meeting by recounting what she knew of the Hellfire Club’s actions so far, for the benefit of Ororo and Jean. Her voice carried an accusatory tone, especially as she described her own kidnapping and Shaw’s inhuman treatment of his team of geneticists. But Shaw himself said nothing to dispute her version of events. He simply nodded quietly at appropriate junctures, and the ghost of a smile played about his lips. Ororo was saddened. Life seemed to mean so little to him. No more than just another commodity, to be used and abused. She had met too many people with similar attitudes, thoug
h, to be particularly surprised or angered. In contrast, Moira looked like she could flare up at any minute, incensed by Shaw's smugness. To Ororo’s relief, she contained herself.

  What did surprise her was the revelation of how Hank McCoy, far from being snatched by the Hellfire Club as the X-Men had assumed, had offered his services to them willingly. However, by the time Moira had explained his reasons, calmly and without any personal bias, Ororo thought she understood.

  “We knew he had been affected by recent events,” she reflected. “If only we had realized quite how badly.”

  “May I suggest,” said Shaw, “that such recriminations are of no use to us now.”

  “Fine,” said Moira, with heavy sarcasm. “So, we’ll not talk about the innocent people you’ve kidnapped and infected then, shall we not?” ’ ‘

  “The important thing, my dear,” said Shaw, and Ororo saw a scowl flicker across Moira’s face at the familiar term of address, “is to deal with the situation as it currently stands-and, specifically, with the fact that we are on the verge of finding a cure for the Legacy Virus.”

  “How close are you, exactly?” asked Jean.

  Shaw turned to Campbell. “Theoretically,” said the scientist, “we’re already there. According to the projections we ran on the Kree computer, our treatment should work.”

  “In practice, though,” Moira pointed out, “there’s some way to go yet.”

  “The serum that Doctor McCoy has taken should react with his mutant gene.”

  “It should. But so far, it hasn’t.”

  “However,” countered Campbell, “this wasn’t an unexpected development. We’ve already prepared a course of safe radiation treatment, using Kree machinery. It should be possible to jumpstart the reaction.”

  “And how long might that take?” asked Ororo.

  “We should see some positive effect within an hour or so of the first dose. After that, it’s difficult to say. Days, perhaps weeks, before Hank goes into remission. As soon as he does, though, we’ll have a new, improved serum, which we can extract from his bloodstream.” Ororo glanced questioningly at Moira. The Scots woman shrugged. “Hank described the process to me. I can’t say for sure that it’ll work, but-well, it’s feasible. I only wish he’d carried out proper tests before throwing himself in at the deep end like this.” She shot a filthy look at Shaw. “No prizes for guessing who takes the blame for that.” '

  “We don’t appear to have much choice,” said Ororo, with a sigh. “As Henry himself said, he doesn’t have much time. If we wish to save his life, then we must allow this project to continue.” She noticed Shaw’s satisfied expression, and added sharply: “However, there will be certain conditions.”

  “For a start,” said Moira, “I’ll have nothing to do with this cure of yours without a guarantee that it will be freely available to anyone who wants it.”

  “I might remind you,” said Shaw, “that the Hellfire Club, not to mention my own company, Shaw Industries, have invested a considerable amount of capital in this venture.”

  “Aye, and you’ve broken a considerable number of laws as well!” “I think that’s a matter for the courts to decide, don’t you?”

  “Oh, I get it!” snapped Moira. “I suppose, once you were finished with your unwilling slaves, you were planning to get one of your tame telepaths to mess with their memories, were you? Make sure they didn’t testify?” She glared at Tessa, who had contributed nothing to the discussion so far. She seemed happy to sit at her employer’s side, observing. “Well, you can forget that too, Shaw. You’ve done enough to those people already!”

  The Black King shrugged, appearing unconcerned. Ororo wondered if it was a bluff, but it was certainly possible that he had the right contacts to ensure that any charges laid against him were thrown out, or at least dealt with in a way that didn’t inconvenience him too much. Perhaps his company would receive a token fine. It annoyed her to think that, legally as well as physically, Shaw himself might be virtually untouchable.

  “Nevertheless,” he said, “I do expect some return from my outlay.” He smiled tightly. “Otherwise, what possible motive do I have for allowing McCoy and his colleagues to continue their work at all? Need I remind you that this island, like everything upon and beneath it, is the property of the Hellfire Club? The X-Men are trespassers here.” “Trespassers who could bring this whole place down on top of you,” grumbled Moira.

  “Then do so,” challenged Shaw.

  “All right,” said Ororo, “suppose we were to agree that if this cure does prove viable, then you can market it at a reasonable cost.” She stressed the word ‘reasonable’.

  “That’s all I ask.”

  “But we take a sample away with us too,” said Moira, “just in case.”

  “I think that’s fair,” said Jean. She smiled at Shaw, sweetly. “We wouldn’t want you to be tempted to go back on your word, now would we?”

  “Acceptable,” said Shaw, with a brusque nod.

  “You will also allow Professor Travers, and Doctors Scott and Takamoto, to leave with us now if they wish,” said Ororo, “or to contact their families, if they’d prefer to stay.”

  Shaw shrugged nonchalantly, as if it were of no importance to him.

  “And the X-Men will maintain a presence at this facility, until the cure is ready.”

  “Ms. Munroe, you will already have the Beast on site-and Doctor MacTaggert as well, if she is prepared to swallow her precious principles and help us now.” Shaw looked at Moira. “I’m sure that, even at this late stage, her expertise would prove invaluable.”

  “Henry McCoy is very ill,” said Ororo, “and I intend to ensure that he’s looked after. Three more X-Men will remain on this island at all times.”

  “Two,” said Shaw.

  “Only if you withdraw any personnel who aren’t required to keep the base running.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And that includes the Lords Cardinal.”

  Shaw thought about it for a few seconds. “Agreed,” he said again. “But I will remain here to supervise the proceedings myself-and, of course, I will need Tessa with me.”

  “Veiy well then,” said Ororo. “Goddess help us all, but I think we have an agreement.”

  “I think we do,” said Shaw. He got to his feet, and reached across the table, his smile turning into a broad grin. Ororo stood too, took his hand and shook it.

  She tried not to show how much she was revolted by the very touch of his skin.

  Wolverine put Storm’s misgivings into words, when he heard what had been decided. “Seems to me we’re just rolling over and letting Shaw and his flunkies get away with it,” he complained from beneath the landing wheels of the crippled Blackbird. He and Rogue had ventured out into the forest, even though the evening had drawn in and a light rain had begun to fall. They were checking up on the plane, seeing what they could do about patching it up, at least enough to get them home.

  “I know how you feel,” said Ororo, “but there were other people to consider in all this.”

  “Those poor scientists,” said Rogue, sympathetically.

  Wolverine showed his oil-streaked face, which wore a disgruntled scowl. “Yeah, and I’d happily pop a claw or two through Shaw’s heart just for what he’s done to them, let alone to McCoy and Moira. Doesn’t seem right that he’s gonna profit from it.”

  “But we’ve put a dent in his plans,” Rogue pointed out. “What else can we do? We can’t very well leave Hank and Doctor Scott and the rest to die, can we?”

  “Unfortunately,” said Storm, “a deal with Shaw seemed the lesser of two evils.”

  “And at least, this way, we get a cure for the Legacy Virus,” said Rogue. “We can save Moira too, and who-knows-how-many other people in the future.”

  “Let’s hope so,” said Wolverine. “I’m not complaining, ’Ro. You did the right thing.” Darkly, he added: “But Shaw’s day will come— and that’s a promise!”

  Shaw was trailed by Tessa al
l the way to his temporary office in the underground facility. He had almost forgotten she was there, until they reached the door and she quietly asked him if he required anything more of her. He told her to arrange the partial evacuation of the island, as agreed with Storm, and the reopening of the Hellfire Club’s mainland headquarters. Then he turned his back, closed the door on her, and retreated into solitude behind his desk.

  Alone now, Shaw dropped his confident, indifferent facade. His face darkened, his fists tightened, and he sat and brooded for several minutes. The X-Men, it seemed, were always able to thwart his ambitions. He should have seen this coming. Worse, he had seen it coming, but he had been too arrogant to do anything about it, to change his plans. He should have left the MacTaggert woman alone. But then if he had, the Beast would never have come to him, and he might not have come so close to finding" his longed-for cure. No, he decided, he hadn’t come out of this too badly, all things considered.

  He repeated that affirmation to himself until he almost believed it. But still, his dark mood persisted. Shaw knew the reason why, although he had been trying to deny it. It irritated him to think that one person-any one person-should have this sort of power over him. He was angry with himself for feeling nervous; afraid, even. And, worst of all, for feeling inferior.

  He bit down hard and tried to override his trepidation. He stabbed out with a determined finger, and booted up his laptop computer. He didn't allow himself to hesitate as he ran the communications program. He seethed with indignation as a pop-up window informed him that his business partner couldn’t take his call right now, but would speak with him at his earliest convenience.

  Shaw waited, rehearsing arguments in his head, becoming ever more impatient.

  When the shadowy figure with the burning eyes appeared at last on his screen, he forgot all his carefully planned words. “I take it you have something to report, Shaw?” came the familiar inhuman strains of a digitally-altered voice.