Vox Septimus stopped, and he and the others all looked to Invictus Prime, some with defiance, some with expectation.
But Invictus Prime merely opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, and then seemed to deflate. He drifted down slowly, by inches, his feet coming ever nearer the ground.
“I... I am not certain.”
Vox Septimus turned to face the escaped prisoners. “This one has such admiration for these people.” He glanced at Invictus Prime and then pointed at Lee and Scott, standing hand in hand. “Look how they work together, protecting one another, with no thought to their clade or class. They are simply .human, and that is enough.”
Lee swallowed hard. Before Scott could stop her, she pulled away, and took several steps forward.
“Vox Septimus,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I... you shouldn’t think that everyone on Earth is . . .” She glanced back at Scott, then to Frank and Paolo, who stood on either side of Kurt Wagner. “Yes, it’s true,” she turned back around and looked from Vox Septimus to Invictus Prime and back. “We do work together. There are those on Earth who think that mutants and humans—augmented and unaugmented—cannot live together, but I like to think that there are fewer of them every day.” She glanced back at Frank and smiled slightly. “And more of us.”
Vox Septimus smiled, as best he could with his face and neck burned and split, and took a step forward.
“There is so much this one would learn from you. There is so much you could teach us.”
“Teach us?!” Invictus Prime bellowed. He pointed an accusatory silver finger at Scott and the others. “These are barely above animals, nothing more than feral degenerates left to breed unattended. There is no place even for an unaugmented in such company.”
Vox Septimus’s eyes widened, and he looked over at
Invictus Prime, who now hovered just inches above the ground.
“So the Exemplar contends that this one belongs at his side, and not with these ‘degenerates’?”
Invictus Prime’s mouth opened in shock, “Of... of course,” the Exemplar said, as though amazed anyone could have considered otherwise. “Augmented or not, we are servitors of our departed masters, bred for a purpose. This is no fit home for such as we.”
Vox Septimus looked at the Exemplar for a long moment. Then he glanced at Lee, and turned to address the assembled servitors, Exemplar and unaugmented alike.
“Then perhaps there is still a purpose for this one... for all of us ... after all.”
Invictus Prime regarded him, silver lip curled. “And what is that?”
“To find a fit home.”
46
It was not until later that Scott Summers was to learn the full details of all that had happened. It was clear that Hank McCoy’s plan to use the Sentinels as weapons had worked, but what Scott couldn’t have known was that it worked far better even than Hank had hoped. In the wave after wave of Sentinel bombardment, a good many of the ships in the Kh’thon fleet were destroyed utterly, and many more besides fatally crippled. The Kh’thon themselves, the inhuman creatures seen as living gods by their human slaves, had never been too many in number, only some dozens of them in the entire fleet, ruled by their seven-member Collective. The destruction of so many vessels, while taking a crippling toll on the population of human slaves, had an even more devastating impact on the Kh’thon, concentrated as they were in only a handful of ships. When the Sentinel barrage was complete, all of those vessels had been completely destroyed, including the Fathership itself There were no survivors.
The Kh’thon were extinct.
Only a handful of ships in the fleet were still space-
worthy, and these busied themselves collecting the scattered survivors who had been lucky enough to escape the destruction of the other craft, now derelict or destroyed. These few ships, along with the several hundred mutant Exemplar and human servitors on the surface of the planet below, were all that remained of the once mighty Kh’thon fleet.
46
Scott and Lee stood atop a high terrace overlooking the city of Dis, as the late afternoon sun dipped toward the horizon. It had taken a night and most of a day, but as they watched the last of the invaders gather, the Exemplar shuffling with eyes downcast, the human servitors running back and forth between the unearthly towers of the city on final errands. If the news that reached Scott and Lee in recent hours was to be believed, this was the scene the world over, as the former slaves of the Kh’thon gathered together, their strange metal ships imblossoming, becoming sleek and unbroken curves again, and then ascending, leaving the Earth as quickly as they had come.
The repairs and restorations following the invasion’s damage would, of course, take much longer to address, and some wounds would be long in healing, but thankfully loss of life had been kept to a minimum and the danger, for the moment had passed.
Even so, Scott had been less than pleased that Lee had refused to return to the mainland with the first round of freed prisoners, insisting instead that she stay in Dis at his side to help oversee the prisoners’ evacuation. As Lee had put it, the Arcadia was her boat to do with as she wished, and if she preferred to give Paolo the helm and her spot on the deck to a refugee, that was a captain’s privilege.
Only a bare handful of prisoners remained. Kurt and Peter had been ferrying them to the mainland in the Blackbird, and Hank had taken as many as the cramped cabin of the Quinjet would allow. In a short while, the Blackbird would appear once more in the skies over the alien city, now no longer encased in a dome of coruscating energy, and with Lee, Scott, and the few remaining prisoners onboard, there would be no human presence left.
By that time, Scott figured, the last of the invaders would be taking to the skies as well, and the city of Dis would be left as deserted as it had been, all these long millennia.
“Scott, I wanted to tell you ...”
Lee’s words were interrupted by the chiming of Scott’s satellite phone. Mouthing a silent apology, he pulled it from his belt and held it to his ear.
“Scott, it’s Hank,” came the voice from the speaker, laced with static. “We’ve just dropped off the young Hellions at the Massachusetts Academy, and the rest of us are about to touch down back at Xavier’s. I wanted to let you know that we’ve just got word from Jean and the others. They’re fine, and should be back in Manhattan by the time you return.”
Scott felt a pang of guilt, hearing Jean’s name. He mumbled thanks into the phone, and then rang off
“Everything okay?” Lee asked with genuine concern.
Scott forced a smile and nodded. Where was this guilt coming from? He’d not done anything to cause remorse. Jean was the woman that he loved, he knew that.
So why did he feel so comfortable standing here beside Lee?
“Look,” Lee said, pointing. Scott following her finger, and saw that Vox Septimus, now in a fresh set of robes, was ambling toward them.
Could it be, Scott wondered, nothing more than the fact that danger can draw people together? And the end of the world, even more so? After all, he and Lee had first bonded over the death of her father, and then grown even closer when cast up on the shores of a deserted island. It was something of a pattern in Scott’s life, he realized, finding love in the face of impending apocalypse.
But the end of the world had been averted, hadn’t it? And that meant they’d have to return to their normal lives, their normal relationships, and these crisis connections, however intense, would have to be put aside.
Vox Septimus had slowly climbed the steps to the ' terrace, and approached the pair.
“The servants of the Kh’thon you see before you are the last to remain in Dis, and the last to remain on your world, and these few will be leaving shortly.”
Lee shuffled her feet, conflicting emotions playing out across her face. Scott knew that she’d feared for her life when a prisoner of this man, and yet she’d come to care for him, in a strange way, as well.
“Vox?” she said, at le
ngth. “Are you really sure you want to leave? There might be some way your people could remain here, if only...” She trailed off, as if realizing how unlikely it was that the nations of Earth would welcome the survivors of a former invasion fleet, however contrite.
“No.” Vox Septimus shook his head, smiling sadly. “The ships of the fleet are the only ones such as this one has ever known. This one’s fellow servitors doubtless feel the same.”
“What about Invictus Prime?” Scott asked guardedly. “He seemed pretty well disposed to the idea of remaining here ... once he cleared all the humans out of the way, of course.”
Vox Septimus pursed his lips and glanced back to where the last of the Exemplar were loading into the flower blossom shapes of the landing craft. Invictus Prime was nowhere to be seen. “Invictus Prime is not happy, but he is resigned. His siblings in the Exemplar class have no stomach for war with the Earth.”
As if in answer, the silvery shape of the Exemplar leader arced high overhead, skin glinting in the late afternoon sun, and then swooped down like a hawk diving for a mouse, stopping just short of where Scott and the others stood. He hovered in midair, regarding them coolly.
“The last of the landers will be leaving momentarily,” he announced in stentorian tones. “Vox Septimus, if you insist on lingering in conversation with feral degenerates, you’ll be left behind. No doubt you can amuse yourself into eternity with their base discourse.”
Lee ignored Invictus Prime, and reached a tentative hand out to Vox Septimus.
“Where will you go?” she asked.
Vox Septimus gave a slight shrug. “Perhaps we will simply roam among the stars for all the ages to come. Or perhaps we will search for a new home, one that need not be bought at the price of another sentient’s life.”
“Perhaps,” Invictus Prime rumbled. “But if we do not find one, and someday tire of our nomadic existence, then our fleet may still come back this way, and claim this little world as our birthright.”
Lee’s hands tightened into white knuckled fists at her side, but Scott laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“If you do,” Scott said, steel in his voice, “you’ll find us ready for you.”
47
A few short hours later, and fifteen hundred miles away, Kitty Pryde propped her feet up on the divan, and glanced around the day room of the Xavier mansion.
“I really want a cup of coffee,” she said wearily, “but the kitchen is way over there. Anybody want to carry me over there to get one?”
“Sugah,” Rogue said, sprawled out on the couch, “you are on your own. I ache in places I didn’t know I had.”
“Coffee would be good, though,” Hank mused, hands folded over his chest, eyes barely open. “We should look into that.”
The three X-Men sat motionless in silence for a long while. Then they glanced at Logan, who lay stretched out on the floor in front of the fireplace, snoring loudly. “Yeah,” Kitty agreed. “We should.”
Tired as they were, though, exhausted and hungry, bruised and battered, they were whole. All of them had survived, and none had left anything behind that could not be replaced.
Most of the New Mutants were up in their rooms, only recently reunited with their classmates. Kitty knew there was little chance they’d be sleeping tonight, though, as tired as they were. They’d be up all night, recounting their adventures of the previous days to one another, story after story after story. Kitty was their age, more or less, but she couldn’t work up that kind of enthusiasm. She was young, but had already had experiences even the New Mutants couldn’t guess. Her place was down with the adults, recuperating.
Their quiet solace was interrupted by a chiming, loud and persistent.
“Can somebody get the phone?” Kitty moaned.
Nobody moved.
“Anybody?” she said in a slightly louder moan.
Hank opened his eyes a fraction, and glanced her way, while Rogue hid her eyes behind her arm.
“Okay, okay,” Kitty said, defeated, and with a groan shoved herself up into a sitting position. “I’ll get it.” Pushing up out of the chair with considerable effort, she crossed to the wall, where a communications array was disguised as an armoire. She swung open the doors of dark-stained wood, and revealed a large flat-panel LCD and keyboard.
“Oh,” she said dispiritedly after the screen came to life. “It’s you.”
“Delighted to see you as well, Miss Pryde.”
Hank found the will to move his legs, and came to stand beside Kitty.
“Colonel Stuart, I presume?” he said.
■ “Brigadier Stuart, actually,” replied the woman on the screen, perhaps a little sheepishly “The Royal
Marines have just given me a promotion, it seems. ‘In recognition of your contributions to the recent effort,’ they said. I’d have been happier with a bit of leave, myself.”
Kitty chuckled. “Well, try to get some rest, I guess.” “Yes, well,” Brigadier Stuart answered. “I wanted to call and let you know that I am ... grateful... for your contributions, as well.”
Kitty’s smile broadened. Is she thanking us?
“That said,” the brigadier went on, “I must reiterate that I meant every word I said to the Kh’thonic Collective about the dangers of mutants. We’ve enough to worry about with aliens invading from above, without having to contend with the possibilities of one of you lot secretly mind-controlling our elected officials, or setting up an independent mutant state or whatnot.” “Now, see here ...!” Hank began.
“Consider this call a courtesy,” the brigadier interrupted. “I’ve just received confirmation that Downing Street has accepted my proposal to create a tactical force of scientists and lateral thinkers, to anticipate, detect, and analyze the bizarre mysteries that lie beyond the fringes of man’s current knowledge. The next time alien invaders come calling, mankind won’t have to look to rogue elements like the X-Men for rescue, as the Weird Happenings Organization will stand ready to meet the challenge.”
“I’m so happy for you,” Rogue sneered, not getting up off her seat.
“I think I’ve heard enough, Kitty,” Hank said.
“Oh, I’ll not keep you any longer,” the brigadier answered. “I’m sure you’ve got plots and schemes of your own to consider. But I wonder, do any of you find it ironic that the Sentinels, which were designed to protect humanity against the threat of an army of mutants, were used for precisely that purpose? Except, this time, it was you lot yourselves who pulled the trigger?”
The screen went black as the connection dropped, and the three X-Men sat in silence, considering what the brigadier had said.
“Well,” Kitty said uneasily, “she’s a cast-iron witch, but she’s got a point.”
“Does she?” Hank said, unconvinced.
A long moment passed as silence fell over the room. “Hank?” Kitty finally said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. The whole thing about the Kh’thon being the original inhabitants of Earth, and genetically engineering mutants as their servants?”
“Do I think it’s true?” Hank raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah,” Kitty answered.
Hank took a deep breath and sighed. “There’s nothing in the fossil record that supports the Kh’thonic assertion. That said, there’s little evidence that disproves it, either. They clearly did have some presence on Earth in prehistoric times, as the city in the Bermuda Triangle proves, but whether they originated here or came here from elsewhere we may never know. And as for whether they had some demiurgic role in the genetic development of mankind, well...” Hank’s voice trailed off, and he ended with a half-hearted shrug.
“So you’re saying it’s a question of faith.”
Hank nodded. “Something like that.”
“So I can choose to believe that humans were originally the house pets of Lovecraftian monsters from outer space. Or I can chalk it up to more megalomani-acal ranting and get on with my life.”
“Essentially, yes.”
“Gee,
” Kitty said with a slight smile. “I wonder which one I’ll pick.”
Across the room, Logan snored loudly, which seemed the only appropriate response.
48
Hours later, Doug Ramsey sat down at the boathouse, looking out at the rippling black waters of Breakstone Lake. It was early morning, the still-dark moments before dawn, and he hadn’t slept at all.
“I was wondering where you were,” came a voice from behind him.
He looked up to see Betsy standing over him. She carried a cup of coffee in either hand, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
“I... I just. . .” He looked away as Betsy sat down beside him gracefully. “I didn’t feel much like being around people, is all.”
Betsy held one of the mugs out to him. “And didn’t feel like sleeping, either, apparently.”
Doug took the mug without meeting her eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep again.” He paused, and then glanced at the stars glittering overhead. “I don’t guess I should be surprised, though. I understand the sleep of mass murderers is often troubled.”
Betsy widened her eyes at that. “Doug, what are you talking about?”
“What?” Doug asked, defensively. “Isn’t that what genocide is, after all? I was the one who launched the Sentinels, Betsy. I caused the extinction of an entire race ofbeings.”
“A race ofbeings who were prepared to send all of mankind to its grave!” Betsy countered.
Doug looked at her, a pained expression on his face. “Yeah, I know. But that doesn’t make it much easier to take.”
Betsy set her mug down on the planks of the dock, and put her hand on Doug’s knee. “You could just as easily say that I’m at fault, Doug. After all, I was the one who shut down the Kh’thon’s defenses, and paralyzed them so they couldn’t respond to the attack.”
“So, what? We’ve both got blood on our hands?”
Betsy frowned, but shook her head. “Perhaps. Or you could just as easily say that you and I share responsibility for humanity living to see another sunrise.”
Doug’s expression lightened for the briefest moment, and then fell. Looking away, he said, “I’m no hero, Betsy.”
The Return Page 22
