The Return

by Unknown Author

  For the briefest instant, she held the three sets of memory impressions in front of her, there on the astral plane—Kitty’s, bright and hopeful, Logan’s, strictly ordered and structured, and Scott’s, sincere and conflicted. Then she pressed the three sets together, until only one remained. With a judicious bit of editing, she was able to shear away personal associations, emotional undercurrents, subconscious references, or any other mental or emotional baggage, leaving only the visual and auditory record. Then she patched over any discontinuities, and eliminated redundancies, until she was left with what amounted to little more than a psionic video recording.

  Then she opened her eyes. Only a scant few seconds had passed.

  “Well?” Rogue said. “You gonna get started, or what?”

  “Already did, and done.” Betsy gave a slight smile. “Now, I’ll share with the rest of you, and perhaps you will see what I mean.”

  With a tiny telepathic “push,” Betsy sent the little psionic recording she’d edited together to everyone in the room.

  “That’s them,” Logan said simply, as everyone got an up-close, if perhaps impersonal, look at the five Exemplar.

  Across the room, Betsy saw Scott’s hands tighten into fists at his side, and could feel the waves of aggression and anxiety rolling off him.

  “Now,” Betsy said, “does anything about these people seem in the slightest... familiar?”

  They looked at the woman with the blue fur and yellow eyes, the optic blasts shot by the leader, and the leader’s own steel-like skin.

  At just that moment, the tall Russian named Peter Rasputin ran into the room, eyes wide.

  “What’s the matter, mein Freund?” Kurt Wagner said, a concerned expression on his dark-blue features.

  “We’ve just received a call from Dr. Corbeau,” Peter answered grimly.

  “Oh, no!” Kitty leaned forward, her hand flying to her mouth. “He’s not down there near that island, is he?”

  From Kitty’s thoughts, Betsy caught the image of a stolid, resourceful man at the wheel of a yacht, deep intelligence glinting in his eyes.

  “No,” Peter answered, shaking his head. “He’s still on Starcore. His people were the first to the vessel of the aliens you encountered.”

  “So what’s the bad news, Petey?” Logan asked.

  Peter took a deep breath before continuing, his expression hard. “The doctor reports that another dozen such ships are now approaching Earth orbit, with more following not far behind, the largest of them the size of a small moon.”

  “Oh, dear,” Betsy said, gaping.

  “You can say that again, sister,” Logan said. “Aliens or not, this is a flamin’ invasion.”

  13

  The first of the landers touched down within an hour. Moments later, telecommunication systems worldwide were interrupted. Bandwidth was choked by a signal transmitted from high orbit. Worldwide, the message suddenly appeared on televisions, cellular phones, and computers, overriding all firewalls and protocols, the local dominant language or dialect automatically selected from more than a thousand alternate audio tracks. But the video feed remained unchanged, and countless billions of eyes around the world, in that moment, beheld the same image.

  A man with silvery skin and white glowing eyes stood in the center of a vast amphitheater, while arrayed behind him were hundreds, even thousands of figures in all shapes and sizes, some crouched on the ground and some soaring overhead.

  “People of Earth, attend. I am Invictus Prime of the Exemplar, first exarch of the Shining Fist Cohort. Even now, my siblings from among the serried ranks of the Exemplar are descending upon your world. We bring with us glad tidings. Your onetime and future masters, the rightful owners of this planet, have returned. No more will you wander alone, unguided, through the wilderness. With the Kh’thonic Collective once more resident on Earth, all will be as it should always have been.

  “All unaugmented individuals, those you would class as ‘baseline human,’ should submit themselves to the will of the Kh’thon immediately. Depots will be established near centers of population for you to gather, for future examination by your superior servitors. All augmented individuals, whether mutant by birth or mutant by accident or design should surrender themselves immediately to the nearest Exemplar, who will determine on the spot if their talents may be of use to the Kh’thon.

  “Those who are of no use, whether augmented or unaugmented, will be disposed of in an appropriate and humane fashion. Those who refuse to submit, or who resist the will of the Collective, will be dealt with in a far harsher manner.

  “Thank you for your attention, and welcome back to the loving grace of your masters, the Kh’thon.”

  14

  As the image faded from the television set in the far wall, Kurt Wagner could feel a strange pang somewhere deep within him. Was it hunger? Or something else?

  Before he could puzzle it out, Logan had leapt to his feet, adamantium blades slicing out from the backs of his hands.

  “What are we doin’ waitin’ around for?” In this moment, teeth bared, Wolverine seemed more like the animal whose name he shared than a human being. But then, Kurt reflected, he himself was named for a worm and looked like a demon, so labels and appearances could not always be trusted. He knew that somewhere inside his friend Logan lurked a gentle man; at the moment, though, that gentle man appeared to be hidden beside an unstoppable engine of fury. “We gonna bust your lady friend out of that alien city or not?”

  Scott stiffened, and turned his attention to the television without answering.

  “Oh, you guys . . .” Kitty said, her voice sounding distant and small.

  Kitty was sitting on the edge of her seat, mouth open and eyes wide, using the remote to flash from one station to another. Since the Exemplar signal had ceased, the airwaves had been filled with news of the armada overhead, and of the ships now landing in cities all over the world.

  “Hang on, Kitty,” Scott said, stepping over and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Go back one.”

  “Aw, heck,” Rogue said, whistling low.

  The image on the screen was of Manhattan, Times Square to be precise.

  “By the white wolf...” Peter said softly.

  One of the alien landing craft had set down in the middle of Broadway, and was only now blossoming open like an enormous, cruel metal flower, just as the others had described the craft in the Bermuda Triangle doing earlier that day. It was now approaching sunset, and as the last rays of the sun reddened the sky, the figures that emerged from the craft into the neon-lit always-daylight of Times Square seemed to glow with a strange, unearthly illumination of their own, like will-o’-the-wisp, like corpse light.

  There were a half-dozen of them, or so it seemed. They climbed from their blossoming metal flower, took to the air, and hovered over the heads of the close-packed crowds of tourists and commuters.

  Kurt, who had traveled to the stars and visited other dimensions, fought aliens and demons and monsters, could not help being impressed by the bravery and presence of mind of the news camera operator on the ground. He was clearly having some difficulty keeping the Exemplar in focus, but even so the camera operator had held his ground, even when the crowds began to realize that standing around and looking up with gaping wonder at the alien invaders floating just overhead was not perhaps the safest course of action.

  The television picture began to shake, as the camera operator was bumped on either side by pedestrians struggling to get out and away from the Exemplar overhead, and the audio was filled with shouts of alarm and warning.

  Just then, the camera swung around, finally coming to rest on one of the Exemplar, who had raised his arms, commanding attention. Well-muscled from the waist up, from the waist down he was completely encased in some sort of silver device, sleek and aerodynamic like a lift body.

  “Something’s happening,” said an unseen person, and Kurt realized it was the camera operator. It was a woman, by the sounds of it, brave but frighten
ed.

  “Attend,” the seated Exemplar said in English, his voice echoing off the buildings, distorted and buzzing through the television speakers. “I am the Capo of the Judgment’s Watch Cohort, and it is given to us to secure this region of the continent. All unaugmented individuals should gather immediately in this place for processing. Interruptions and delays will not be tolerated.”

  Without warning, another of the Exemplar, a young male with bright green skin, transformed into some sort of vicious flying animal, like a cross between a bat and a shark and swooped down over the crowd.

  “You heard Nilus,” roared the strange flying creature with the voice of a teenage boy. “Gather!”

  Kurt and the others watched in helpless horror as the strange bat-shark creature flew directly into the path of the camera operator. In the blink of an eye, the video signal was gone, replaced by static.

  “Mein Gott!” Kurt swore, yellow eyes squinting briefly shut in empathy, as he tried desperately not to imagine what might just have befallen that brave woman.

  “We’ve got to get down there,” Kitty said breathlessly.

  “Agreed,” Scott said, and pulled his sweater over his head. Underneath he was wearing the plain blue tunic of his uniform. He reached into a pocket and took out a pair of reinforced yellow gloves, and tugged them on. “But we need to do this smart. We’ve got these landers coming down all over the planet.”

  “Da,” Peter Rasputin said. “But it is not as if we did not have friends, Scott.”

  Squinting his eyes shut, Scott pulled on a blue cowl, and then settled his battle visor over his eyes. “True. But we need some way to coordinate with them. We could use Cerebro, but it’d take a pretty powerful telepath to reach as far as we need to reach, and with the professor gone...”

  “Excuse me,” interrupted Betsy Braddock, sitting demurely at the far end of the couch. “I believe I can be of assistance there. Though I’ll need to know who I’m to contact.”

  “Leave that to me,” said a new voice from behind them, and Kurt turned to see Doug Ramsey standing in the doorway. He was one of the newer students, one Kurt had had precious little opportunity to get to know. Was he sufficient to the task?

  “I don’t know.. .’’Scott said, shucking off his pants, unselfconsciously, revealing the uniform he was already wearing beneath.

  “Cripes, Cyke, do you wear that thing everywhere?” Logan muttered under his breath. “What’s the matter, couldn’t find a phone booth to use?”

  Scott ignored him. “Perhaps Kitty would be a better choice to assist Betsy...”

  “No way,” Kitty said, slipping her mask over her eyes and jumping up from her seat. “I’m more help out in the field. But Doug can do it, Scott. He’s got more brains than the rest of us put together.”

  “That’s good enough for me, Katzchen,” Kurt said, and disappeared, a puff of brimstone and a tiny bamf noise the only sign of his passing. For the briefest, imperceptible instant he was elsewhere, and then he was standing by the open doorway. “If Kitty trusts him, so do I.”

  “Great,” Doug said, waving a hand in front of his face, nose wrinkled, an expression of distaste curling his lip. “I appreciate”—he sputtered, coughing slightly on the strong smell of the brimstone residue of Kurt’s tele-portation—“the vote of confidence.”

  Kurt touched a small device at his belt. No larger than a pocket watch, it was an image inducer, which allowed the wearer to display any outward appearance he chose at will. An instant later, Kurt was no longer wearing a loose-fitting white shirt and black slacks, but was clad in his black, white, and red uniform. Kurt seldom wore casual clothes, preferring the unstable molecules of the uniform, which moved and glided effortlessly

  with his acrobatics, preferring to use holographies when he wanted to affect a more relaxed appearance.

  “Then what are we waitin’ for?” Logan said, shouldering past. “There’s people out there gettin’ their backsides handed to ’em, and we’ve got to stop it.”

  As he watched Logan go, Kurt thought of what Scott and the others had said about the power levels of the invaders they’d encountered down in that alien city, and about the images he himself had just seen on the television screen. As Peter, Kitty, and Scott followed Logan out the door and down the corridor, Kurt felt again the strange pang deep inside. But he realized now that it wasn’t hunger, but a sensation he hadn’t experienced in quite some time.

  It was fear.

  15

  A sliver of moon was visible through the high, narrow window of the cell. Lee Forrester sat against the wall, her knees tucked up to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs.

  Night had fallen only a short while before, which meant it had been something on the order of fifteen or sixteen hours since they first spotted the UFO blazing across the sky, little more than twelve hours since they’d been captured. Only half a day, and it felt like a lifetime.

  But then, Lee thought ruefully, life ended at death, so unless they were very lucky, half a day might end up being a lifetime, after all. Or what was left of one, at any rate.

  Frank had regained consciousness sometime after being thrown into the far wall, and now sat apart from the others, gingerly prodding his bruises from time to time. Richie, Jose, and Merrick, while still clearly blaming Lee for their troubles, had lost confidence in Frank’s ability to lead them to freedom, and so they sat dispirited in the corner, muttering occasionally to one

  another. Paolo kept his place at Lee’s side, as always.

  The wall had been unbroken stone, ever since the strange little man in the purple robes had left, sometime that afternoon. Now, without warning, the stone flowed once more, and in the newly open doorway again stood the purple-robed man who’d called himself Vox Septimus.

  He still carried the crystal rod, and the sight of it was enough to keep the others from attempting to duplicate Frank’s earlier plan.

  Lee, though, had some learning yet to do. Maybe they wouldn’t get out due to brute force, but she was convinced there was still a chance to find some angle, some advantage.

  “What do you want?” Paolo said sharply, before Lee could speak.

  “This one merely comes to offer humble thanks, for your leader’s contributions to the objectives of our masters, the Kh’thonic Collective.”

  “Contributions?” Lee said the word like a curse, sliding her feet out in front of her and putting her hands palm-down on either side. “And just what did I contribute?”

  When Vox Septimus had come to them a few hours before, asking about how best to deliver their ultimatum or whatever it was to the people of Earth, Lee had refused to answer. She’d kept her mouth shut, even after the purple-robed man asked a whole string of questions. But rather than the angry response she’d anticipated, and instead of zapping her with the rod or turning and questioning the others, Vox Septimus had merely smiled, nodded, and left the cell. He’d rejoined the strange, large-eyed, ear- and noseless woman in the corridor, and the door had flowed shut.

  So what, precisely, was Lee supposed to have done that helped Vox Septimus and his masters?

  “Simply put,” Vox Septimus said with a smile, “the knowledge that this one’s associate was able to glean from your surface thoughts was invaluable in preparing a broadcast signal that transmitted to his world’s population our masters’ message.”

  Lee looked at the hairless figure, her eyes narrowed. “So you’re telepathic, then? Or your friend is, at least?” Vox Septimus’s eyes widened a fraction, and his mouth opened in a “o” of surprise that quickly melted into a broad smile. “This one? An augmented? Ha. Ha ha.”

  It sounded as though he were mocking Lee, but when she realized the spasmodic gestures that shook his shoulders were laughter, she came to understood that the expression was sincere.

  “Oh, dear, no,” Vox Septimus said, and reached up to wipe the corners of his eyes. “This one is a humble unaugmented only. But the other who was likewise sent on this errand was indeed a lo
w-ranking augmented servitor.”

  Lee nodded slowly, mulling it over. “You mean the woman with no ears or nose?” A sudden, inappropriate thought hit Lee, and she resisted the temptation to ask how a woman with no nose might smell. “So she’s a telepath.”

  ‘Yfes.” Vox Septimus nodded, regaining his composure. “Though her psionic talents are an extremely low order. Not so powerful to pull the information from your brains unbidden, this one is afraid, but more than sufficient to pull the errant thoughts that drift through your consciousness upon hearing a question.”

  “Even those I didn’t answer.” Lee’s lips pressed together, and she felt like smacking her head into the wall. She’d been so smug, so sure that she’d given nothing up to their captors, only to discover she’d been giving them everything they were after, all along. No wonder they didn’t repeat any question twice, or torture the answers from her. There simply wasn’t any need.

  “So you sent your message,” Paolo snapped. “Now what? You gonna let us go?”

  “Oh, dear, no.” Vox Septimus tucked his chin in, eyebrows raised, as though the question took him completely by surprise. As though he couldn’t imagine why they would want to be released. “In fact, you’ll be happy to know that, in short order, the rest of your world’s population will be likewise detained.”

  “What?” Frank said, lifting his head and glaring at the purple-robed figure.

  “Here,” Vox Septimus said helpfully, and raised the crystal rod. “Allow me to show you.”

  On seeing the rod once more, Frank flinched and covered his face with his hands, but rather than lashing out as it had done before, this time the crystal rod merely shone a beam of light on the blank wall opposite Lee.