Scott shrugged, and fired an optic blast at an airborne Exemplar, and then at another. “Well, it’s a moot point for the time being, since we can’t lower the dome. Not without knowing where it’s controlled from.” He glanced at Lee, hope flashing briefly across his features. “I don’t suppose you passed a helpful sign along the way reading ‘Dome Off Switch,’ did you? Preferably hanging over a big red button?”
Lee chuckled, shaking her head. “No, I think . . .” Before she could say another word, a pair of white-hot beams lanced between them, kicking up plumes of dust and debris. They staggered back to either side, singed.
“Degenerate!”
Scott looked up to see the silver-skinned figure of Invictus Prime hovering in midair over them, arms outstretched. “You vex your betters, and I would hold you to account.”
Lee raised an eyebrow, and out of the corner of her mouth said, “Friend of yours, Scott?”
Scott’s jaw clenched, and his mouth drew into a tight line. “We’ve met.”
Lee shook her head, chuckling ruefully. “Scott, Scott, Scott. I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”
42
Betsy Braddock had been hanging back listening to Colonel Stuart and the hairless slave who called himself Vox Prime natter back and forth at each other like old ladies over a back garden fence. Kitty Pryde and Logan, standing next to her, were tensed, ready for battle, unsure what their enemies would do next, knowing only that they had just pledged to exterminate the entire human race.
It was all so very, very tiresome.
Betsy sighed, dropped her hands to her sides, and stepped forward.
“This has gone on quite long enough.”
She closed her eyes, and concentrated. The little mental pill she’d been formulating for the last few minutes was tricky to deliver, but once sent she knew that the Kh’thon would not be able to resist it. Or, at least, that’s what she hoped.
Kitty turned and looked at Betsy, who stood now with her head tilted slightly back face pointed directly at the towering alien figures, eyes squeezed tightly shut, jaw set.
Then Kitty thought to look up at the Kh’thon, and all hell broke loose.
The seven towering aliens of the Collective began to writhe violently, their bodies thrashing back and forth, their tentacles and pincers and segmented limbs flailing in all directions. Though they uttered not a sound, Kitty could “hear” their telepathic cries of agony, which felt more like a kind of psychic pressure against her thoughts than anything intelligible, like when one feels rather than hears a high-pitched dog whistle, just beyond the range of sensation.
“Whoa,” Logan said, and glanced at Betsy with admiration.
“What the devil?” Colonel Stuart muttered, still gripping her pistol tightly, but allowing its barrel to slowly waver toward the ground.
Betsy let out a ragged breath. Opening her eyes, she turned and took in the questioning stares of her three companions.
“I’ve spent the last few minutes probing the mental defenses of the Kh’thon,” she explained casually. “Which, surprisingly, were virtually nonexistent. It was a matter of relative ease to design a telepathic virus capable of incapacitating them.”
“A virus?” Kitty glanced at the still-writhing aliens, and the confused, frightened humans who crouched beneath them, looking up at their masters in horror, unsure just what was happening. Kitty could only imagine that the servitors, so accustomed to receiving telepathic commands from their masters, weren’t used to hearing nothing but an unending telepathic scream of pain from the beings they viewed as living gods. “Like a computer virus?”
“Essentially,” Betsy said.
“But...” Colonel Stuart said, looking a little disappointed that she hadn’t been required to shoot at anything yet. “I thought these alien buggers were meant to be omnipotent and all.”
Betsy shrugged. “Just because the Kh’thon are utterly alien and unspeakably hideous doesn’t make them all-powerful. Right now, it feels to them as if their internal organs are being squeezed out the equivalent of a nostril. It’s hard to be all lordly when you’ve got that to contend with.” Betsy sniffed, and added, thoughtfully, “For what it’s worth, as unlike us as they are, their comprehension of pain doesn’t seem too terribly different from ours.”
While most of the human servants were still at loose ends, looking up in horror at their incapacitated masters, some of the guards were regaining their senses. Realizing that their masters were under attack, and that the terrestrials before them were responsible, they turned their attention to the colonel and the three X-Men, crystal weapons raised and ready.
“Okay,” Logan said with grim smile. “My turn.”
As the guards advanced, Logan exploded into motion, growling like a wild animal, laying about him on all sides with his adamantium claws. The guards were left unsure how to respond as their crystal weapons fell to shards in their hands after a single one of Logan’s swipe, and they were slow to recognize the animal fury glinting in his eyes.
“Finally,” Colonel Stuart said, raising her automatic pistol. “This is something I can understand.”
Tightening her finger on the trigger, she began laying down suppressing fire, as calmly and clinically as if she’d been at a target range.
Just then, a deafening boom sounded, like a thousand thunderclaps at once, and the room shook as if it had been hit by an earthquake.
“What the blazes?” Betsy said, barely managing to maintain her balance.
“Um, guys?” Kitty grabbed hold of Betsy’s elbow and motioned eagerly toward Logan and the colonel. “Have you forgotten about the entinelsay?”
Betsy turned and looked at Kitty as though she’d just sprouted antlers.
Kitty rolled her eyes toward the cowering human servitors and the still-twitching Kh’thon. Then, in a stage whisper, she said, “The Sentinels?” She sighed, dramatically. “The armada of giant robot mutant-killers being fired at the fleet like guided missiles. Those Sentinels?”
“Oh, dear,” Betsy said, her hand to her mouth.
“Come on. ” Exasperated, Kitty started off at a jog, dragging Betsy behind her. “Time to go!” she shouted at Logan and the colonel.
Logan was having so much fun getting a bit of exercise in, he almost didn’t notice Kitty and Betsy leaving. Having made short work of the first batch of guards, he was pleased to discover that some of the others had found new reserves of courage, and were now mounting a spirited defense. Not that it would do them any good, of course. But it meant a little more entertainment.
Of course, now that the fleet was coming under attack, even that entertainment would have to be cut short.
But even as Logan started to turn away, there was a little voice deep inside him, a fierce little growl that said, Stay. Fight. Kill. That was the animal inside, Logan knew. And if he let the animal call the shots, he would have been dead a long time ago. It could be useful, letting it out of its cage now and again, but when the chips were down, it was the man who made all the difference.
“Hey, Colonel!” Logan shouted to the Royal Marine, who seemed to have a bit of that growling voice deep inside her as well. She had found cover, and was exchanging fire with a newly arrived squad of crystal-wielding guards. “I think our ride’s takin’ off!”
The colonel looked up, gave a curt nod, and then took off running, firing backward behind her with the automatic pistol without even aiming. Logan was impressed to see her shots splatting into the floor and walls in a tight cluster around the guards. Pretty good shooting.
As the colonel raced past him, she was ejecting a clip from her pistol, another in her free hand ready to ram home.
Coulda used one like her a time or two back in the old days, Logan thought admiringly. Then he made a final feint and lunge at the guards mounting a defense, and took off running after the others.
Kitty and Betsy were already strapped in and ready to roll when Alysande reached the space plane, and as Alysande was strapping into the pi
lot’s seat and running through the preflight warm-up sequence, the diminutive Canadian came barreling through the hatch.
“Hey,” Logan said, glancing toward the rear of the cabin. “Where’s the bald chick?”
Alysande spared the briefest of glances back to see that their Exemplar prisoner was indeed missing before returning to her task. The hatch swung shut, and the engines began to fire.
“Um, my fault, I’m afraid,” Betsy said, raising her hand like a schoolgirl admitting some minor infraction. “It appears that when I was busy with the Kh’thon, my concentration was disrupted and our prisoner was allowed to regain consciousness. With her telekinesis she made short work of the straps securing her, it would seem, and quickly made an exit.”
Logan settled into the copilot’s seat, looking at the control panel appraisingly. “Don’t think she dinked with the ship, do ya?”
“We’d better hope not,” Kitty said.
Alysande punched the ignition sequence, and the space plane began to vibrate, first gradually and then with increasing frequency. “It scarcely matters,” she said, over the rising pitch of the engine whine. “If she did, we’re dead. But there’s precious little we can do about it now.”
The engines reached their highest pitch, and then fired, blue flame gouting, and the space plane surged into motion.
As they cleared the hangar bay, the next wave of Sentinels slammed into the Fathership. Of all sizes, makes, and models, in all states of disrepair, the massive purple and gray robots, powerful rockets firing from their lower extremities, were pelting into the fleet on all sides.
“Oh, bugger,” Colonel Stuart said, as an enormous shape of purple and gray hove into view before them. She slammed her hands onto the control panel, and the space plane listed to one side, just far enough to miss a collision with the oddly shaped, long-armed Sentinel by inches.
“Hey,” Kitty said, leaning forward in her and trying to peer around the back of the pilot’s seat for a better vantage at the forward view-screen. “Was that just a giant gorilla?”
Logan stuck an unlit cigar in his mouth, and punched the view-screen controls. The angle reversed, and they were treated to a view of the Fathership behind them, which was now roiling in flames.
“Well,” he said casually, “I figure they know their defenses are down now.”
43
Hank sat at the controls of the Quinjet, with Doug in the second chair, trying to milk as much speed from the versatile craft as possible. Hank hoped to reach the alien city off Julienne Cay in time to provide some sort of assistance, but it was clear that whatever the outcome there, they would arrive far too late to have any sort of impact.
Rogue was in the back, fiddling with the communications gear. It was all standard Avengers issue, tied into the comm networks of SHIELD, the United States government, and any number of other highly classified frequencies.
“Hey, Hank,” she said, out of the corner of her mouth. “I been flippin’ the channels on your set back here, and so far every one of’m is showin’ the same blasted program. Here, take a look. You two’ll want to see this.”
Hank punched the autopilot controls, unbuckled his safety harness, and then climbed out of his seat to crouch in the narrow companionway, Doug following close behind.
“Holy ...” Hank said in a whisper.
“Um, guys?” Doug asked. “What are we looking at?” Rogue pointed at the bug in the bottom left comer of the screen. “Live feed from Starcore One.”
‘Which is ... ?”
“UN-sponsored solar observatory,” Hank answered. “Sits just outside the orbit of Mercury.”
“Um, that isn’t the sun.” Doug pointed at the screen. “Nope,” Rogue agreed. “But it’s dang near as bright, ain’t it?”
On the screen, a dozen small suns blazed, irregularly shaped, while wave after wave of Sentinels slammed into the ships of the Kh’thonic fleet. Earth’s moon could be seen in the distance, while the blue-green curve of Earth dominated the lower portion of the screen, which gave some idea of how large the conflagration really was. Dozens of the Kh’thonic ships were exploding soundlessly into flame, the light so bright it cast stark shadows on the surface of the distant moon. And each explosion seemed to ignite nearby ships, a rippling cascade effect, so that dozens of infernos became hundreds, perhaps even thousands. It was as though they were looking through a window into hell itself, spreading rapidly by the moment.
“Guys?” Doug leaned forward, eyes wide. “How many Sentinels are there, anyway?”
Hank shook his head, marveling himself. “Clearly more than we’d anticipated, no? A few orders of magnitude more, unless I miss my guess.”
Doug looked from Hank and Rogue to the bright flickering lights burning on the monitor, and then back
again. “This is going to do quite a bit more than destabilize their fleet, isn’t it?”
Hank’s smile slowly faded, and he nodded, his expression gone grave.
“Oh, yes,” he said after a considerable pause. “Most definitely.”
44
Scott thought the battle with the Exemplar almost lost, and with it all hope for humanity, when the Exemplar suddenly stopped fighting.
Kurt Wagner batnfed in from the far side of the alien city, his uniform ripped and tom, his lip split and bleeding. “What are they playing at, mein Freund?”
“I don’t know,” Scott said warily.
The Exemplar had been pounding away at the X-Men and their allies, seeming on the verge of victory. Then, something seemed to ripple through them, some communication passing quickly amongst the gathered army. And though none of the X-Men were able to hear this silent telepathic message, they were able quickly to discern its varied effects.
Some of the Exemplar began to weep openly. Some howled in pain. Some merely stood in mute shock, their eyes wide and unseeing, hands grasping empty air. None, though, seemed able to focus their energies on renewing their attack upon the X-Men and the escaped prisoners.
“Scott?” Lee said, drawing close and slipping her
hand into his. “You know I’ve seen some strange stuff before, but this right here is seriously freaking me out.”
By ones and twos, the other escaped prisoners found their way to Scott’s side, taking up a defensive position in a well-protected corner of the grand courtyard, eyeing their erstwhile opponents with confused, but watchful, expressions.
Peter Rasputin was busy helping to move the last of the injured, but once they were safely installed within the protective circle of mutants and human combatants, he came to stand beside his fellow X-Men.
The sun had just set, and its last dying rays painted the western horizon in swathes of pink orange, and red, the long nimbus clouds appearing as gray as old scars, like badly healed wounds across the sky. After the tumult of the last hours, the hue and cry of battle, the alien city was now strangely calm, the quiet marred only by the moaning sobs and occasional pained shouts of the Exemplar.
“My guess is that something bad has happened,” Peter said thoughtfully.
Scott had to stifle a chuckle, but couldn’t completely hide a thin smile as he glanced at the stalwart Russian at his side. Peter was perhaps no rocket scientist, but Scott could think of no one he’d rather have at his back.
‘Yeah, Peter,” Scott said, nodding. “I think you’re right.”
Invictus Prime, wild-eyed, flew down to the courtyard from one of the city’s high towers. He had vanished, moments before the fighting had been interrupted, and only now reappeared. But where before he had been composed and collected, a figure of emotionless precision and determination, he now seemed barely in control of his rage, white eyes darting, hands clenched in silver fists at his sides.
“Why do you desist!” he shouted at the other Exemplar, now scattered across the courtyard and the city beyond. “Do we not have a duty to perform? Do we . . . do we not still have purpose. We were instructed to rid the Earth of the scourge of humanity, and so we shall!”
All eyes turned to see a pitiful figure standing near the entrance to one of the subterranean ramps. His face and chest were badly burned, his lips split, and the once-regal robes of purple he wore were now little more than tattered rags.
“Vox Septimus,” Lee said in a voice barely above a whisper, her hand before her mouth, eyes wide.
Scott looked over at her, and then to the burned figure approaching with slow, painful steps.
“Invictus Prime,” the servitor went on, his voice strained but clear, “this one is assured that you Exemplar might well win your battle against those gathered here in the city of Dis.” He pointed a finger at the escaped prisoners in their defensive comer, his eye lingering for a moment on Lee. “But without the Kh’thon and the fleet, you could never subdue an entire world of such beings. They are too many, these humans, and have resources of strength beyond what you might suppose possible.”
Lee leaned close to Scott and whispered in his ear. ‘“Without the Kh’thon’?”
“Yeah,” Scott said in a low voice. “I noticed that, too.”
He began to step forward, opening his mouth, but Kurt put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
“No, mein Freund. Let us see how this plays out.” Invictus Prime, trembling with rage, drifted downward until his feet were floating just above the level of Vox Septimus’s head.
“But they are degenerates!” Invictus Prime pointed toward Scott and the others, his eyes on Vox Septimus. “And yet they could still defeat you in time.”
“Then we will fight and die!” Invictus Prime’s voice boomed, and here and there around the courtyard some of the Exemplar began to nod, while others averted their eyes, still weeping.
“Again this one asks,” Vox Septimus replied in a voice scarcely above a whisper, “for whom?” He began to turn slowly in a circle, taking in the other Exemplar gathering around, while from hidden doorways and passages other unaugmented servitors began to appear, listening intently. “All of you, this one would know. Without masters to serve, what use is a servant?”
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