"Maybe you de stronger one, chere" he taunted, "but Gambit is far more dangerous."
Rogue still held the kerchief, and Beast was about to take it from her when he heard the crunch of glass in the hallway ahead of them, and realized he'd made a terrible mistake.
"You boys are getting sloppy in your old age," Cyclops said, though there was no humor in his tone.
With a crackle of energy and the barest scent of sulfur, he blasted Gambit with a low intensity optic blast. Gambit cursed and slammed backwards into the Beast, throwing them both half a dozen feet and leaving the Cajun barely conscious.
"I 'preciate the save, Scott, but I coulda taken these two guys anytime I wanted," Rogue said, and Hank wasn't sure she was wrong. She was nearly indestructible, after all, an advantage he hadn't considered a moment ago.
"You might have gone a bit overboard there, Slim," Hank said, using Scott's nickname from their earliest days under Professor Xavier's tutelage. "Remy's pretty shaken."
"I'm fine, McCoy," Gambit said angrily, getting shakily to his feet. "I don' need you watchin' out for me. Gambit's a big boy, eh?"
Cyclops approached silently, then stopped next to where Rogue stood holding the kerchief. Her satisfied grin was the total opposite of his angry countenance.
"Game's over, folks," Cyclops said. "Gambit, you know by now that we don't put our fellow X-Men's lives in jeopardy, even in the Danger Room. We give no quarter in hand-to-hand combat, because we can't afford to, but you could have blinded Rogue just now, or worse."
In the relatively brief time Gambit had been a member of the X-Men, the Beast had become accustomed to his usual modus operandi. Whenever there was an uncomfortable moment, a question of his judgment or an incipient challenge from another member of the team, Gambit would play the innocent, using his incisive sarcasm to defuse the moment. This time, though, perhaps because of his nascent (if hesitant) relationship with Rogue and Cyclops' suggestion that he might have hurt her, Hank could see that it wasn't going to be brushed away so easily.
"I like you, Scott," Remy began. "So I hope I only need to say this once, me. Just because you don' have real control over your own power, don' assume the same for me, vous comprendez? I don' like it."
"End program," the Beast said aloud, and the tenement around them became sleek metal and plastic alloy. It began to deconstruct around them, lowering itself back into the floor and withdrawing into the walls. In moments, they were standing in a bare room that looked more than a little like a metal gymnasium.
Gambit strode to the door and slammed his palm against the lock release. As he left, Rogue turned to Cyclops.
"I understand your point, Scott," she said calmly. "But you're outta line. You know Remy wouldn't do nothing to hurt me. And even if he did, I can take care of myself better than most of y'all. It's only 'cause I know you're worried 'bout your Daddy that I don't get mad at ya myself. Maybe you should work out alone for a bit."
Cyclops was quiet a moment, and Hank certainly wasn't going to butt in. Finally, Scott said, "Thanks, Rogue. I appreciate the understanding and the suggestion. I still think Gambit was out of line, but I did overreact."
"Don't you worry none, sugar," she said. "I'm gonna have a little talk with Monsieur LeBeau."
When she had gone, Hank turned to Scott and said, "I find myself decidedly cheered by the knowledge that my surname is not LeBeau."
Finally, Cyclops smiled. "You and me both, pal," he said and put a hand on Hank's shoulder. "Dial me up a solo session from the control room, will you? Something challenging."
"As you wish, my friend," Hank said, and went out the door and up the narrow stairwell that led to the Danger Room's command chamber. Once there, he programmed a scenario that he knew would keep Scott's mind off his father, and sat to watch a moment as his old friend worked out his anxiety and aggression.
When the door hissed aside and Professor Xavier slid in on his hoverchair, Hank was glad to see him.
"Ah, Henry," Xavier said, "I saw that the Danger Room was in operation and thought I would take a few moments to observe whoever was training. I didn't expect to find you here."
"Several of us were training, Charles," Hank replied, "but Scott seems to require some solitary time."
"I see," Xavier said, nodding.
"How do Raza and Ch'od fare? Any developments?"
"Thanks to the Shi'ar technology in the medi-lab, they're recovering quickly, particularly Raza," Xavier said. "But they haven't come around yet. You might want to look in on them yourself this afternoon."
Hank nodded, then looked back out at Scott in the Danger Room.
"It's peculiar, Charles," Hank said. "Maybe I am growing old, but I never thought I would experience nostalgia for our old Danger Room training sessions. We spent so much time there, but now it's mostly for exercise and sparring."
"In those days," Xavier replied, "training was a necessity. Unfortunately, these days it has become a luxury. How often are any of you actually here to use the room? I'm beginning to get empty nest syndrome, I think."
"Oh, please!" Hank laughed. "There is ever a new generation of mutants who need you, ready and willing to take our places."
"To join the cause, Hank," Professor Xavier said with a fatherly smile. "Never to take your place. Nobody could ever take the place of any of you."
"Not to be morbid, Charles, but one day that may be a necessity," Hank said gravely."Human society hates and fears us more with each passing day. Anti-mutant legislation is part of the campaign agenda for innumerable politicians, and it ensures votes. Even the liberals would prefer to focus on the quandaries of racism and sexism. Mutant bias is too volatile an issue."
"I know it's hard to believe, Hank, but we can make a difference," Xavier said. "It's when times are darkest that we have to fight the hardest not to let the dream of peace between humans and mutants disappear."
Hank was about to reply when Bishop's face appeared on the telecomm screen that was a part of the rear wall of the Danger Room's command center.
"A Valerie Cooper on the line, Professor," Bishop said. "She says it is priority omega, and that you would understand."
Hank watched in concern as Xavier's face became clouded with anxiety.
"Indeed I do, Bishop," the Professor said. "Put her through immediately."
A moment later, the face of Valerie Cooper, the liaison between the federal mutant strike force called X-Factor and the government, appeared on screen. She was an attractive woman, in her way, the Beast had always thought. Or would have been if it weren't for the harsh way the woman's hair was pulled back from her face, and the hard edge of her demeanor. At the moment, her voice and manner were even more intense than usual.
"What is it, Valerie?" Xavier asked sharply.
"A crisis, Charles, and one that you will likely want to be involved with. I've told the Secretary I would contact you for your advice, so I'll need something to tell him. In the meantime though, you'll want to scramble your team for Colorado."
"Slow down, Valerie," Xavier said. "What's in Colorado? What on Earth is going on?"
"I'm keying in the coordinates as we speak, Charles," she said. "We don't know who's behind it yet, because we haven't been able to get inside. Someone has taken over the federal installation in Colorado where Operation: Wideawake is headquartered."
"Are you telling me that someone is stealing your Sentinels?" Xavier gasped in astonishment.
"That's exactly what I'm telling you," Valerie said.
The Beast's eyes widened and he said softly under his breath, "Oh my stars and garters."
Chapter 3
A web of lasers moved through the Danger Room, trying to pinpoint him, but Cyclops was completely focused, moving on sheer instinct. A trio of mini missiles streaked around the room, trying to home in on him. He could easily have taken them out with an optic blast, but that would defeat the purpose of the program Hank had created for him.
A laser flashed from nowhere, newly added to the web
, and he dodged to one side and rolled. He could hear the buzz of one of the missiles as it neared his back, but Cyclops wasn't about to lose this one. A forward somersault brought him around to his feet and he vaulted into a dive that took him through the intersection of three slowly moving lasers. The hole was too small, and his shoulder was slightly scorched, but the little buzz bomb that flew after him was caught in the web and exploded.
Then there were two.
It didn't matter that nothing in the Danger Room could really hurt him. Scott Summers had learned as a teenager that you always played for keeps. Which meant focus and discipline. As he moved through the program, he was able to push his concern for his father from his conscious mind, but that didn't mean the anxiety wasn't consuming his subconscious. Otherwise, he wouldn't have overreacted after the Capture the Flag program.
This was different. This was his father. He'd already lost Corsair once, as a boy, only to discover years later that he was alive. Scott didn't think he could handle it again.
A crackling hum filled the air. At the far end of the room, laser beams began to crisscross the floor, barely leaving a spot for even a child to put his foot down without getting burned. Awry chuckle escaped Scott's lips as he glanced up toward the Danger Room's command chamber. The Beast was really giving him a workout, just as he'd asked. Hank McCoy was an old friend, the best. He knew Scott as well as anyone except for Jean. He knew exactly what Scott needed at a time like this. Distraction.
The laser grid shot across the floor, and Cyclops raced toward the other side of the room, dodging mini-missile buzzers and lasers at the same time. He didn't have far to run, though. In a moment, there would be no floor to stand on. He wasn't as agile as Hank, nor even Gambit for that matter, but he was no slouch. Still, unlike Archangel, he didn't have wings, and that's what he would need to avoid having some very singed ankles in about three seconds.
Cyclops looked up, hoping to find some kind of hand hold on the wall, but the current program had not allowed him that luxury.
Then he saw it. Through his ruby quartz visor, the otherwise invisible infrared beam was a shimmering phantom that crossed the room from the momentarily safe side to the already impassable areas. It seemed, Cyclops realized, to be the spine upon which the laser grid hung and intersected.
An observation, a moment, an idea. Cyclops turned and stood his ground. The grid advanced, shooting like wildfire across the floor, and the pair of mini-missiles converged on the spot where he stood.
Scott? came Jean's telepathic voice in his head, through the psychic rapport they shared.
A moment, Jean, he thought in response, and then the missiles were buzzing toward his chest. Cyclops ducked, and before the missiles could respond to follow him, he grabbed them both mid-flight, hoping they would not simply explode in his hands. The little buzzers were powerful, but he used their own momentum against them, rolling forward on the floor and releasing them straight at the small opening from which the infrared beam issued.
They could not turn away, and the small explosion of their impact was enough to deactivate the infrared, shutting down the floor grid and leaving only the laser web that flashed through the room.
What is it, Jean? he asked as he awaited the program's next challenge, for surely the lasers wouldn't be enough to occupy him.
I'm in the medi-lab. Raza and Ch'od are awake.
"End program!" Cyclops snapped, and the lasers disappeared. The Danger Room door slid open as he approached it, and he ran for the medi-Iab.
• • •
Storm was waiting outside the door when he arrived.
"Ch'od is unconscious again, but Raza is still awake," she said. "Rather energetic, actually. It's amazing what the Shi'ar technology can do, particularly with alien physiology."
Cyclops mumbled his agreement, and Storm stepped aside to let him pass.
"Scott," she said, admonition in her tone, "the Beast has done a wonderful job of healing them, but they are both still rather weak, regardless of how Raza appears."
"Thanks for the reminder, Ororo," he said, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Nowlet's find out what's happened to my father and Hepzibah."
Ch'od's huge form lay sprawled on a platform that was constructed from a soft material which conformed to the massive shape of the patient. Astrange, sibilant noise came from his mouth, and Scott assumed it was some kind of snore. Raza was a different story.
"Ky'thri be praised!" Raza said harshly. "Finally thou hast arrived. We must hie to the Starjammer at once. Corsair and Hepzibah are to be executed without delay. I wilt not have their blood on mine hands!"
"Raza, calm yourself," Cyclops snapped. "We're talking about my father, here, remember? Archangel, Bishop, and Iceman are working to repair the Starjammer, but they'll need your help on the finishing touches."
"Why didst thou not simply say that?" Raza asked, snarling at Jean and Ororo. He swung his legs over the edge of the platform, his feathered ponytail swinging behind him, its rainbow colors a distraction. He tried to stand, then fell, off-balance, back toward the platform. Storm helped to lay him back down. Unfamiliar with Shi'ar biology as he was, Cyclops couldn't help thinking Raza looked somewhat nauseous.
The cyborg's nearly Shakespearean dialect was a distraction unto itself. Corsair had explained it to Scott once, grinning. Apparently, Raza grew up in a remote area of the Shi'ar Empire, where an archaic form of the Shi'ar language was in use. When the cyborg portion of Raza's brain translated Shi'ar into English, it used an archaic form of English as well, believing it the most appropriate translation. At times, he had difficulty following the cyborg's words.
"I must hie to the hangar, to Seeto the ship's repair," Raza insisted weakly.
"It is too early for you to be up. Afew more hours of rest and you might be able to get to the hangar bay," Jean said, and looked at Scott. Their eyes met. Even without their psychic rapport, he would have understood much from her glance. Her love, support and concern for him, confounded by her worry for the health of the Starjammers, and the lives of their two missing members.
"In the meantime, Raza," Scott said, sitting on the edge of the platform. "Don't you think you should give us the details. Who is going to execute Hepzibah and my father and why? How did this all come about?"
"Well doth thou all know that mine people, the Shi'ar, be a pious lot," Raza began. "Yetwith piety doth often come terrible arrogance and intolerance. Upon the Shi'ar Empire conquest of the Kree peoples, many Shi'ar considered it a mercy that yon Kree homeworld, called Hala, wast not simply destroyed.
"Despite the initial plans, or the presumably good intentions of Majestrix Lilandra, destroying Hala might have been a mercy in itself. For instead, Lilandra hath placed her sister, the dangerously insane woman called Deathbird, in power as Viceroy of Hala."
Cyclops and the others were momentarily paralyzed with their astonishment.
"Thy faces reveal that this is news, indeed," Raza said, nodding unhappily. "I will merely say that, in deference to mine respect for Lilandra, it must have seemed an excellent idea at the time. Most assuredly, however, it wast not. Rather than assuaging the fear and anger of the once-proud Kree, the naming of a tyrant such as Deathbird to the position of Viceroy hath done nothing but foment rebellion.
"Mayhap, it will be some time before yon rebellion becomes a revolution, but an extraordinary black market business doth thrive on Hala. Well dost thou all know that once the Starjammers were little more than pirates, smugglers at best, mercenaries at worst. There was a Kree/Shi'ar halfbreed smuggler, a woman called Candide, with whom we often dealt in those early days.
"Several days ago, by Terran reckoning, we had word that she had been captured smuggling contraband onto Hala. Deathbird's law be swift and unrelenting. Well we knew that such an accusation wouldst most certainly mean quick execution. The engines were barely functional, despite all the repairs Ch'od had made, and the nearest stargate wast in the next quadrant. It shouldst not have worked, but it did. Made w
e the trip to Hala in less than twelve hours. Corsair kissed Ch'od's scaly face, calling him a miracle worker.
"Though the war had ended months previous, yon planet looked as though it wast under siege. An entire armada of Shi'ar vessels wast in orbit, meant to discourage any attempt to reclaim Hala.
"As we cruised at low altitude toward yon appointed landing area, we wast all deeply disturbed by the devastation the war hadst wrought. Worst for me, though. As I looked at yon toppled buildings and the scarred and starving Kree, smelled the sulfur stink of chemical fires that didst linger in the air even after so long, and then saw, on the horizon, the gleaming spires of the new Capitol Building that the Shi'ar hast built amidst the rubble of the capitol city of Kree-Lar ... verily, I wast ashamed of myself. Ashamed that Deathbird and I doth share the same race.
"Upon our arrival at the Capitol Building, Corsair and Hepzibah wast granted an audience with Deathbird, whither they wast supposed to proclaim Candide's innocence. On the nonce, Ch'od and I didst infiltrate the old dungeon that wast the foundation for the Capitol Building in an attempt to retrieve Candide."
Raza fell silent, grimacing slightly with pain and the remembrance of the botched rescue effort. Cyclops wanted to be patient, but found it beyond him at that moment.
"What went wrong, Raza?" he pressed.
"What dost thou think, young Summers?" Raza said ruefully. "Fools all, were we. Complete and utter imbeciles. All the times that we had assisted in Deathbird's various defeats, and we never stopped to wonder why she wouldst so easily grant Corsair and Hepzibah an audience! Mayhap we did not care? That's the Starjammers' way. Do it because it must needs be done and damn the consequences!
"Candide wast not in her cell. It wast what thy father would call a setup. We had no psi or locator to tell us differently, and so Ch'od and I walked into a trap, as didst Corsair and Hepzibah when they reached yon throne room. Ch'od and I escaped only because we were closer to the ship and our weapons hadst not been taken-we were not supposed to be in the building at all. Ch'od and I fought our way out. Or, rather, after I had lost my arm, he didst tear a path of escape through our enemies. If not for him, I wouldst be dead several times over."
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