The White Knight’s eyes were dark, and a faint smirk was poised upon his lips. Shaw shouldn’t have been surprised that he could read nothing in the older man’s face; he had practiced that same inscrutable expression himself.
“Pierce couldn’t have found you here,” he concluded. “Why would he? We’re a long way from the subway station, and nobody could have followed me through Fitzroy’s portal.”
“I hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” said the White Knight quietly. “You told Pierce where to find me, didn’t you?”
The White Knight smiled a humorless, ironic smile. “I suppose I ought to have known better by now. We never could rely upon that ineffectual madman.” He reached inside his clean white jacket and produced a gun. Shaw eyed it warily. Ordinary bullets couldn’t harm him, of course: they lost their impetus in the instant that they hit him, and fell to the ground without breaking his skin. But his future self knew that.
“I designed this gun myself,” he said. “It fires special pellets: they adhere to their target and inject a payload of thousands of nanoscopic organisms into the blood. Our mutant power can’t stop them. Once they’re inside your body, they’ll burrow into every one of your cells-and then they’ll explode. It’s a gruesome but relatively quick death.”
Shaw licked his diy lips as his doppelganger leveled the weapon at him. He had to buy time to think. He had never before faced a foe whose abilities, intelligence and ambitions he considered the equal of his own. He thought he might die this time. “You and I are not the same person,” he said with cold contempt. “I do not accept it. I would never bow down before the likes of your Black Queen."
It was a guess, but the White Knight’s reaction told Shaw that it was right on target. “Once, I believed the same,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I thought I could win the game alone, but I have paid a high price for my hubris. My dreams of power are long gone; for the past year, I have done only what it took to survive. I have played the role of the dutiful Black Knight.”
“Selene is expecting tonight’s attack, isn’t she?”
“She orchestrated it through me. It will be her final victory, her chance to rid herself of the remaining opposition to her rule.”
“Then why are you here?” cried Shaw. “I was about to leave this time, to fulfil my destiny, to become... you.” The words almost stuck in his throat. “You’ve changed your own history-and if you fire that gun now, you’ll kill yourself as surely as you kill me.”
“That,” said his future self, “is precisely my intention.”
He thumbed the safety catch off the gun and squeezed the trigger.
Lady Liberty lay facedown in New York harbor like a drowned woman. Her torch had been shattered as if the dark water had extinguished its flame. Her former pedestal still reached for the sky, but it looked thin and fragile against the harsh white background of the barrier.
The sight made Cyclops ache inside. He almost wanted to cry, if only to let out the pain, but he wasn’t sure he could. After all he had been through, he was experiencing a kind of emotional fatigue. It sapped at his resolve and he knew that, for his team’s sake, he had to fight it—because they would probably be feeling the same. He had to inspire them, set them an example, lift their morale. The leader of the X-Men couldn’t afford the luxury of feeling.
He shouldn’t have let the broken statue draw his attention. He dragged his gaze back to the deserted sidewalk beneath him. He stared through the horizontal slats of the window blinds and tried to penetrate the lengthening shadows. His heart leapt as he heard a clattering sound, but it was only a rusted tin can blown by the gathering wind.
He turned back to the others with a dour expression and a shake of his head. “No sign of anybody else out there.”
“It has been almost ten hours since we fled from the subway station,” observed Storm.
“And at least two since anyone showed up here,” said Wolverine. “It’s beginning to look like we’re all that made it.”
“I still can’t find Iceman,” reported Phoenix. “I’ve scanned the entire area between here and 23rd Street and Lexington, where I last had a fix on him. Either he's taken a very long detour or...” She didn’t have to complete the sentence. Even Jean Grey couldn’t detect a dead mind.
“Widen the search,” said Cyclops, “and see if you can find any trace of Sage or Shaw.” He glanced at Storm and corrected himself: “Either of the Shaws.”
The White Knight’s secondary base had turned out to be a seventh-story office suite that had once belonged to an insurance company. It offered an excellent view of the surrounding area, and therefore-assuming a sensible watch system-advance warning of an enemy approach. Cyclops had stationed sentries at the windows accordingly, but he was still worried that anyone unable to fly could too easily be trapped up here by an attack from below. He had sabotaged the elevators himself and instructed the young mutant Lightshow to create the illusion that the stairway had collapsed. Nobody had questioned his right to give orders: with their leader absent, the would-be rebels had had little to say for themselves. As far as Scott could tell, none of them had combat experience-and though their spirits hadn’t been completely crushed by Selene, they were still frightened of her.
The six X-Men had gathered in a small corner office to discuss their next move in private.
“I doubt we’ll see the younger Shaw again,” said Storm.
Phoenix nodded thoughtfully. “If what he told you is true ..
“And we’ve no reason to believe a word he says,” put in Wolverine.
“He was being honest with me,” said Storm firmly, “I’d stake my life on it."
“If what Shaw told you is true,” repeated Phoenix, “then his younger self has probably left this time period by now.”
“How?” asked Nightcrawler.
“Fitzroy,” grumbled Wolverine.
“So, do you think Shaw took him along for the ride?” asked Rogue. “Because if not, if Fitzroy’s still here, then what’s to stop us from getting hold of him ourselves?”
Cyclops shook his head. “If we were destined to follow Shaw, I think we’d know by now.”
Wolverine sneered. “Bull! Far as I’m concerned, you make your own destiny. I’m not gonna roll over and die just ‘cos you think that’s what we’re supposed to do.”
Cyclops tightened his lips and refused to rise to the bait. “The fact remains that, even before Shaw went back to the past, we could already see the effects of what he would do there. But we’ve seen and heard nothing of our own future selves.”
“So, whatever we do,” said Storm, “we won’t get the opportunity to follow him.”
“Unless we fought Selene a year ago and she killed us all,” said Nightcrawler with a shiver.
Rogue groaned. “I hate all this time paradox stuff. It gives me a king-size headache.”
“You’re guessing,” said Wolverine. “We can’t know for sure what’s going to happen.”
“Of course not,” said Cyclops, “and if we do encounter Fitzroy, we should make every effort to capture him alive. But until then, I think our most realistic option is to take down Selene in the here and now. We can worry about the rest later.”
“I agree,” said Phoenix, “but it’s not going to be as easy as all that, is it?”
“Shaw—the White Knight—and Sage said they had a plan,” said Storm.
“But they ain’t here, are they!" said Wolverine. “And I doubt they confided in any of those poor mooks out there.”
“Even if they do show up now,” said Rogue, “can we still trust them? I mean, now that we know who this so-called ‘White Knight’ really is?”
“It’s a good question,” said Cyclops. “Shaw could be planning to lead us all into a trap.”
“Even if he is not,” said Storm, “he has admitted that his goal is to take Selene’s throne for himself. Do we wish to be instrumental in handing him that kind of power?”
Cyclops was surprised that she, of all the
X-Men, should have made that point. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Ororo had been distracted of late. She had also spoken up for Shaw on more than one occasion. The pair had spent a lot of time together: Shaw had saved Ororo’s life, and now he had apparently confided some of his secrets in her. Scott knew he ought to trust his teammate, and he didn’t want to invade her privacy, but he would have to start asking questions soon. Unless, as now seemed likely, she was beginning to realize that she didn’t know the erstwhile Black King as well as she had thought she did.
“Do we have a choice?” asked Nightcrawler. “We need his organization.”
“If only for their numbers,” sighed Cyclops.
Wolverine grinned. “Cannon fodder, you mean?”
“No, Logan, that’s not what I meant. Shaw’s people can keep the Hellfire Club’s demons occupied while we go after the bigger fish.” And some of them, Cyclops knew, would die, because they were ill-prepared and ill-equipped for a mission like this. He told himself that they were fighting in a good cause, that they had chosen to follow a dream despite their fears.
“So it’s agreed, then?” asked Phoenix. “Siding with Shaw is the lesser of two evils.”
“For now, at least,” murmured Nightcrawler.
Cyclops looked up as the office door opened. Standing on the threshold was the White Knight: he must have entered the building from its rear, unseen by the sentries. Either that or he had countermanded Scott’s instructions to report any sighting of him to the X-Men. He had obviously been in a fight: his expensive suit was disheveled and torn, its white fabric marked with grass stains. He was no longer wearing his white mask. His face was not bruised but it was red from exertion, and his black hair was plastered to his head.
“You have made the right decision,” said Sebastian Shaw with quiet confidence.
Wolverine had been perching on the edge of a table; now he got to his feet, glowering at the newcomer, his fingers twitching. “We’ll need more’n your word for that, pal.”
“Then let me see if I can allay your worries,” said Shaw. He gestured toward the outer office. “If you would care to join us, I am about to hold a briefing.”
“We’re still an X-Man down,” said Phoenix. “Iceman hasn’t arrived yet.”
“And nor has your pet computer,” said Rogue, “unless she’s with you?”
Shaw’s habitual smirk slipped for a second, and a shadow passed across his eyes. “Several of our members are missing, Sage and Iceman among them. We have no alternative, I’m afraid, but to consider them dead. We have work to do.”
Iceman strained with all his might, trying to create the tiniest sliver of ice inside his inhibitor collar. If it could melt in there, perhaps
short out the mechanism----But it was no good. It felt as if there
were a hole in his brain, like his captors had cut out an important part of him. They might as well have amputated one of his limbs.
The armored guards raised their blasters as the door slid open, relaxing again as Moira MacTaggert re-entered the white room. “I did what I could,” she said, sitting on the edge of Bobby’s bed. She gave a wistful shrug. “I don’t know if it’ll do any good.”
“It has to,” he insisted. “You told your boss-man about the attack on Selene, right?”
“It would have helped if you’d known more details.”
“I just know it’s going to be some time tonight.”
“They’ve thrown a lot of resources at the barrier already,” said Moira. “The Avengers, S.H.I.E.L.D., the Fantastic Four... they’ve all tried and failed to break through it.”
“I know that—and I know it’s a long shot, but if they can try again
tonight, just hurl everything they’ve got at it____At the very least, it’s
got to distract Selene. It’s got to give our side an advantage. I mean, hasn’t it? She can’t fight on that many fronts at once, can she?”
“I explained all that to Gyrich,” said Moira. “I’m just not sure that... well...”
Bobby pouted. “In his eyes, you mean, the X-Men are no different to Selene.”
“Something like that,” she said with an apologetic smile. Bobby didn’t know how she could be so calm about it. But then, he reminded himself, she had had a year to get used to all this, to accept her own helplessness in the face of a worsening situation. She had probably grown so used to being disappointed that she had had to make herself stop hoping too hard.
She lowered her voice so that the guards wouldn’t hear her. “But I spoke to somebody else.”
“Who?”
“Let’s just say I still some useful contacts, and I don’t mean inside the government. With a bit of luck—and assuming they’re in town— the Avengers should be hearing about our little problem within the hour, even if Gyrich won’t talk to them himself. Somehow, I can’t picture him standing up to Captain America, can you?”
Iceman grinned. “You’re a miracle-worker, Moira.” But his newfound exuberance was dampened as his thoughts returned to his own
situation. “If only we could get a message to the others----I suppose
there’s no point in asking if Gyrich agreed to let me go?”
“I’m sorry, Bobby. All we can do now is wait, and keep our fingers crossed.”
Storm stood at the back of the meeting room, watching and listening closely as Sebastian Shaw gave instructions to his ragtag army. He used all the materials to hand, writing names on a whiteboard as he divided his troops into strike teams and displaying plans of the Hellfire Club building on an overhead projector. He conducted a mission briefing as if it were a presentation to a group of bankers, but even Cyclops could find no flaws in his plan.
The rebels-Storm counted thirty in all, plus the unmasked White Knight and the six X-Men-filed towards the staircase in apprehensive silence. Shaw watched them go with an unreadable expression; Ororo hung back, waiting until only he and she remained in the room. Then, as Shaw made for the door, she blocked his path and eased it shut behind her.
“I am going to ask you a question, Shaw,” she said. “And for once, I would like a direct answer. No lies, no obfuscation, just the truth. Do you think you can manage that?”
“For you, dear lady, anything.”
“I have met two versions of Sebastian Shaw in this time period. Which are you?”
Shaw smiled to himself as if at some private joke. He avoided Ororo’s gaze for a few seconds and, when he looked at her again, his expression was deadly serious. “I am, as you have no doubt surmised, the younger version.” He spread his arms and looked down at his white suit. “I am wearing this costume for the first time.”
“And what happened to the original White Knight?”
“He was working for Selene,” said Shaw grimly.
“That does not answer my question.”
“She has been pulling the strings of this so-called rebellion from the start.”
Ororo was alarmed. “Then she knows our plans? She will be expecting our attack.”
“She is expecting an attack,” said Shaw. “I have made a few alterations to my... predecessor’s tactics. Chief among them is a small matter of timing.”
Ororo nodded. “That explains why you were so insistent we strike as soon as possible.”
“The Black Queen thinks she has several more hours to prepare,” said Shaw. “She has lost many of her Inner Circle, but soon she will have more followers around her, more mutants desperate to do her bidding in return for extending their wretched lives.”
“How can we go into battle,” said Ororo, “when we cannot trust our own leader?”
Shaw’s eyes gleamed with a zeal that she had never seen in them before. “This is our last chance, Ororo-our only chance-to take that witch by surprise. We have to do this!”
And then he seized her shoulders and, inadvertently she was sure, paraphrased his own future self s words to her. The words that he had said just after he had lied to her.
“I need you to trust
me, Ororo, just this once. Do you think you can do that?”
cm 12
THE BLACK Queen’s crystal ball was relaying the X-Men’s torments to her in soft focus. For several minutes now, she had been transfixed-and the Beast had found it just as hard to tear his gaze away from the unsettling pictures. Whether by accident or design-and he suspected the latter-the ball hung in the air at just the right angle for him to see every detail of the scenarios that Blackheart had created for his friends.
Right now, he was looking at an image of Bobby Drake. He looked small and frightened against the austere surroundings of an oak-paneled courtroom, dressed in a black suit two sizes too large for him. He was facing a barrage of hostile questions, stumbling over his words as he tried to defend himself against multiple charges of homicide. He testified that he had acted only in the defense of his father, but nobody wanted to hear it. He was forced to repeat his claim again and again, his frustration boiling over into righteous anger at his unfair treatment. Hank knew that, even as Bobby protested his innocence to the court, so too was he insisting to himself that he had done the right thing.
Selene waved a hand, and the scene was shrouded with mists. When they parted, Bobby Drake had gone and Kurt Wagner stood in his place.
Nightcrawler had become the swashbuckling star of a major Hollywood movie, and a host of familiar faces surrounded him at the lavish premiere. Among them, Hank recognized John Proudstar: in the real world, he had joined the X-Men at the same time as Kurt and had taken the code name of Thunderbird. He had been killed during one of his first missions. Also present was Illyana Rasputin, the younger sister of sometime X-Man Colossus, whose life had recently been lost to the Legacy Virus. But even though Kurt appeared to be having the time of his life, he wore a distant, troubled expression, and it looked to Hank like was simply going through the motions. He wasn’t yet ready to accept this new world.
“If you expect the X-Men to bow to your tawdry theatrics,” he said, heartened, “then you have evidently learned little from your past defeats.”
Scowling, Selene sent the crystal ball back to its dais with a flick of her fingers. As she stood and glided across the room to her captive, her red lips twisted into a smile again. “Ah, my dear, dear Beast,” she cooed, “your health must be improving for you to dare speak to me in such a manner. I must confess, I have almost missed your foolish bravado.”
The Legacy Quest Trilogy Page 43
