Of course, the latter part of it held no allure for him. Ch'od did not relish the idea of dying. But since there was no way he was going to allow himself to lose, he didn't have to worry about dying. Of course, the whole question was moot. Someone needed to stay behind in order to teleport the extraction team back to the Starjammer, and get them into the stargate before the fleet could begin their pursuit or blow them out of orbit.
It was going to be a long day.
Raza lifted the safety bars that held him in the copilot's seat. He stood and headed for the main cabin, and then all hell broke loose.
"Ky'thri!" Raza cried, as an intense blast at the defense shields rocked the Starjammer, and alarm bells clanged to life around them. Raza fell to the ground and held on to the base of his chair as a second blast caused the ship to veer sharply off course. Ch'od reached one large hand down and wordlessly lifted his comrade from the deck. Behind them, in the tiny closet that served as his "quarters," the furry being called Cr+eeee chittered in fear.
"Shields are burning out!" Raza shouted over the alarms and the rising hum of the failing defense shields. "I hadst thought we were cloaked!"
"We were!" Ch'od responded, his gentle shell giving way to bare fury as he looked over the ship's control panels. "We still are!"
The two beings, longtime friends and allies, one half of the Starjammers, froze simultaneously. Slowly, with looks of frustration and disbelief, they turned to face one another.
"Thou hast got to be kidding me," Raza said, an expression he'd picked up from Corsair long ago. The Starjammer shook violently as it was struck yet again.
"It's the only answer," Ch'od replied, then leaned over the control panel and brought a massive fist down on top of a bank of lights; one of which glowed green to signify that the ship was, indeed, cloaked.
It winked out.
Ch'od roared with a myriad of emotions, from anger to amusement, just as a final blast crashed into the ship and the high pitched buzzing whine of the defense shields simply stopped.
"Twould seem we have a problem," Raza said drily, and Ch'od could only laugh. They were probably going to die, and the absurdity of it all had come to him suddenly.
The cloaking systems had been offline all along, but a shorted signal had told them the opposite. They weren't cloaked, and now they weren't shielded either.
"Get the X-Men and go!"Ch'od shouted, the moment of laughter over.
"But thou canst not ... " Raza began, then stopped when he saw that Ch'ad was ignoring him.
Ch'od wrapped his scaly fists around the stick and banked into a one-hundred-and-eight-degree rolling turn. A massive Shi'ar battle cruiser appeared on the vid screen and Ch'ad nodded. He preferred to face his enemies head on. The cruiser fired a pair of plasma missiles, but with them dead in his sights, Ch'od's finely honed skills as a pilot took over. He dove under the missiles, pulled up immediately and began strafing the underside of the battle cruiser.
The missiles followed, but he had gained on them. Ch'ad decided to test an age-old wisdom, which said that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. He jerked the stick backwards and passed within meters of the battle cruiser's engines. The Starjammer's bottom hull was bathed in the furnace of flames that were belched from the other ship's core.
The missiles would most certainly have performed the same move. There was no way he could outmaneuver them. But if he was correct, he wouldn't have to. Ch'od bore down on the stick, snapping back into place along the same trajectory he'd followed before dodging around the battle cruiser. His position above the ship matched perfectly the missiles' position below.
When the battle cruiser exploded, the Starjammer received a huge speed boost, and shot toward Hala's atmosphere without any additional effort. The shortest distance between two points. He guessed it was true after all. Unless you counted the stargate.
The battle cruiser's destruction had already brought attention, as the Starjammer's sensors indicated that several of the fleet's smaller vessels were hurrying to investigate. He hoped that the cruiser hadn't had time, or didn't think they were enough of a threat, to report the Stariammer's emergence from the stargate. The way their luck had been running, he'd have had to assume that the odds were stacked against them.
He kicked in the hyperburners for a count of ten, changed course and skimmed along the outer edges of Hala's atmosphere. It was going to be close.
"Raza, what's taking so long?" He yelled, and in the moment of silence that followed, he noticed Cr+eeee's chittering for the first time and began to make a low clucking noise that he knew would calm his old friend's nerves.
Finally, Cyclops stepped into the cockpit.
"Ch'od, we don't have time to go through it, and Raza only laughs when I ask him what's happening, but I have one request for you," Cyclops said quickly.
"I only hope I can fulfill it," Ch'od answered respectfully.
"When the time comes for us to radio for dustoff, please be alive and have this ship in good enough shape to get us out of this place," the leader of the X-Men said, and Ch'od merely nodded.
Cyclops hit a comm-badge that was clipped to his breast, and asked, "Is this thing working?" His voice came through on the Starjammer's comm-link, so Ch'od gave him the Terran thumbs up sign that Corsair had taught them all. When Cyclops had retreated to the main cabin, his voice came back through the link.
"Six to beam down, Ch'od," Cyclops pronounced over the link.
"Beam down?" Ch'od asked, befuddled.
"Teleport us down, Ch'od," a new voice said. Ch'od thought it was that of the Archangel. "That's what it means. Teleport us ... "
Ch'od was no longer listening. He was about to come under fire again, and had only seconds to 'port the extraction team to the surface of Hala. In a heartbeat, it was done, but too late.
Without any defensive shields, the Starjammer took a massive hit. A different set of alarms went off, but Ch'od did not need them to see the problem.
There was fire in the cockpit.
• • •
At its best, teleportation is a physically disconcerting experience. When the ship doing the teleporting is under fire and preparing to leave orbit, and the job is done hurriedly, the experience can be far worse. There was no elegance to the X-Men's arrival on Hala. They did not shimmer into existence in the midst of a sprawling community as if glorious gods were arriving from another dimension. Rather, they were dumped unceremoniously into the war-ravaged remnants of a once-proud suburb of Kree-Lar,
Cyclops felt nauseous as he rose to his feet, then reached down to help Archangel do the same. A merciless sun burned high above the planet, and its intense light made the destruction around them all the more vivid. They stood in what had once been a town center, perhaps a marketplace. Water bubbled under a mound of shattered crystal, and Cyclops assumed it had been a beautiful fountain once upon a time, before the war with the Shi'ar,
Still, despite the destruction, the place was hardly abandoned. Several women were attempting to get water from the crystal-showered spring without doing themselves irreversible injury. Dozens more were in the process of rebuilding, while five ragged-looking Kree elders cooked some kind of meat on a fire pit built into the bare earth.
"I t'ink we in the wrong part o' town, Cyclops,"Gambit said uneasily.
"It isn't what it seems, I'm afraid," Cyclops answered, even as Jean and Rogue moved closer to hear their exchange.
"Where are we, Scott?" Rogue asked.
Cyclops was about to ask Jean that question, to see if she could pinpoint the distance from their location to Kree-Lar, when Raza interrupted.
"This be Ryn-Dak," Raza said, unholstering his plasma weapon as he scanned the area. "Once it didst symbolized the quality of life that the Kree young aspired to. Then came the war."
"Kree middle class, eh?" Archangel asked, intrigued. "What was here that the Shi'ar wanted to destroy so badly? Some kind of base or factory?"
"Do not play the fool, X-Man," R
aza said bluntly. "The Shi'ar didst choose to destroy Ryn-Dak, but 'twas not for its military significance. They destroyed it for the peace and ideals it didst represent."
"Just like on Earth," Jean interjected. "These are the victims of war: children and the aged, civilians with no interest in battle."
It was true, Cyclops saw. Other than two burly Kree men, one with blue skin and one with pink—for Kree came in both colors—all those left in Ryn-Dak were quite young or very old. The blue-skinned Kree male, who was working metal over a fire, obviously a smith of some kind, looked in their direction for the first time. Cyclops noticed a long scar on his right cheek, but he also saw the immediate hostility on the Kree's face.
"So that's what has you all heated up," Rogue pointed out, motioning toward Raza's drawn weapon.
"We've just been dumped into a place where, more'n likely, since you're Shi'ar, everybody wants you dead."
"There's more to it than that, Rogue," Jean said quietly.
"Historically, the Kree haven't exactly loved humans very much either."
"I hate to break this up, folks," Cyclops interrupted, "but we're beginning to draw a crowd. I think we'd best move on."
"Thou art right, Cyclops," Raza said. "Also,we must needs not forget that, since the Starjammer wast being tracked 'ere we beamed down, 'tis likely they will have pinpointed our teleportational trajectory as well."
"So what you really sayin', mon ami, is dat pretty soon we get some unwelcome visitors, eh?" Gambit said with a laugh. "In dat case, I'm with Cyclops. Allons!"
"That's a first," Cyclops said, and Gambit nodded at him with a wink.
The metalsmith, along with the burly pink-skinned Kree and several younger people, both male and female, pink and blue, were approaching now, and the time for chatter was over.
Unconsciously, Cyclopstouched a hand to the translator plug that sat in his left ear like a tiny hearing aid. Savefor Raza, who spoke Kree and Shi'ar fluently, they all wore the device, which would allow them to hear any galactic language as if it were English, and would translate their words for those around them. It gave him a certain sense of security, and almost convinced him to attempt to speak to the gathering crowd.
But that would be folly, he knew. They needed to find a place to get their bearings, and some clothes that would make them blend more readily with the locals. And fast. Corsair wasn't getting any younger sitting in Deathbird's dungeon, and Scott feared that if they didn't hurry, his father would never get any older either.
"Here, birdy, birdy!" The pink-skinned man was chanting, obviously trying to taunt Raza with derogatory references to his feathered head. "Come, little bird, I will fold your wings and make you fly."
"Move, people, now!" Cyclops ordered, and they began walking briskly in a tight group out of the center and into the back streets.
Some houses still had their first stories, but most of their entrances were blocked. Charred craters might have been due to explosions or particularly nasty firefights. Rank odors crept from one huge pile of rubble that might have been anything before the war. None of them wanted to consider what was causing the stench.
Archangel flew recon, low above the ruins, watching for any sign of approaching Shi'ar soldiers. Thus far, they had been lucky. The mob from the center of Ryn-Dak had not followed them more than a few yards, and neither Warren's recon nor Jean's psi scans had picked up anyone else following them. A small percentage of the city's original population still survived, barely, in dwellings that were little more than hovels. Cyclops found it profoundly disturbing and terribly haunting to be among so much death.
With Archangel darting in the air above, showing them the general direction of the gleaming spires of Kree-Lar that were their destination, the five of them walked side by side when possible, on down to single file when they had to force their way through blocked streets. They picked up articles of clothing here and there, ragged cloaks and mismatched boots, remnants buried in rubble or clutched in the hands of the dead. Soon they looked at least as poor as the surviving Kree.
"Stop," Jean hissed, and they all obeyed instantly.
What is it? Scott thought, knowing Jean's telepathy would pick up the question.
We're surrounded, she responded, her mental voice filling his head. More than a dozen. No immediate urge to attack, but definitely hostile.
Cyclops considered their options, and realized there was only one. He motioned for the other X-Men and Raza to stand back, and took several steps forward.
"We know you're out there," he said, his voice calm and confident. "Show yourselves and state your business. Only cowards hide in the shadows."
Immediately, there came a roar from the shattered second story of a building to their right. Three thudding footfalls resounded in the otherwise empty street and then the huge blue-skinned Kree metal smith from the city center appeared above them. He vaulted from the second story and landed on his feet with a grunt just a few feet in front of Cyclops.
"The Kree do not suffer cowards to live," the man said, lip curling in disgust. "Or humans for that matter."
Yet, despite his threat, he made no move to attack them. Cyclops knew that the others, particularly Gambit and Raza, could not necessarily be counted on to restrain themselves.He held up a hand, a signal to them that they should make no move.
The Kree noticed it as well. He whistled loud and long, and in the periphery of his ruby-shaded vision, he saw other figures, pink and blue, some badly deformed, emerge from the structures on either side of the street. Most of them were armed with plasma rifles, but several had crude battle axes or clubs. One carried a taser gun, which fired electrified projectiles-a formidable weapon. They formed a rough circle around the X-Men, but still Scott would not allow his team to react. He never took his eyes from the face of the metalsmith, undoubtedly the leader.
"Humans are not welcome on Hala," the metalsmith said evenly, the threat implicit and genuine, and therefore unembellished by detail.
"We have no quarrel with you," Cyclops declared. "Deathbird has several of our friends and plans to execute them. We plan to stop her."
There was a rustling amongst the Kree. A whispered argument erupted behind him, he thought between Gambit and Rogue. Presumably, they were arguing about the wisdom of his revealing their cause so readily, but their dissent would be seen as a sign of his, and their, weakness by the Kree.
Silence, both of you! Jean chided them mentally, and Scott breathed a sigh of relief. He tensed a moment, expecting Gambit to made some comment to prove that he was not afraid to fight these Kree, but it never came. Perhaps, Cyclopsmused, he had underestimated the Cajun after all. There were times when Gambit appeared to be even more clever than he boasted, and that was saying quite a bit.
"Why should I believe you?" the metalsmith asked. "Tell me why we shouldn't kill you, now, since your goals benefit us not at all."
"One of our friends is to be executed because she has been accused of smuggling weapons to the Kree rebellion on Hala," Jean said, and though they both paid close attention to her words, Cyclops and the Kree leader continued to stare at one another.
"Her name is Candide," Jean continued. "We travel to Kree-Lar, in disguise, and offer our own lives to prevent her execution."
"Yon Kree art a prideful race," Raza said, and this time the metalsmith did look away from Cyclops, to focus eyes blazing with hate on their Shi'ar companion.
"Do not speak again, birdy!" the metal smith snarled.
"If Candide doth take part in thy rebellion, thou art honor-bound to do all that is practical to prevent her death," Raza proclaimed, heedless of the metalsmith's threats. "If she is not, thou art equally bound not to allow an innocent to die in thy stead."
The metalsmith considered Raza's words, looking down a moment before facing Cyclops again.
"What makes you think we are part of the rebellion?" he asked, a small smile coming over his face. "Or that we have ever heard of Candide."
"Are you going to preven
t us from reaching Kree-Lar, or assist us in freeing our friends?" Cyclops asked, his patience waning. "I do not brag when I say we could have destroyed you several times over rather than waste precious minutes in debate. But your assistance could make our mission that much easier."
Cyclops knew such threats were a risk. But his words were perfectly true. They had no more time to waste with these rebels, if rebels they were.
The metalsmith's eyes narrowed, and Cyclops heard Jean send him some brief, cautionary words in his mind. The Kree took a step toward him, and the circle around the X-Men began to close. Cyclops was prepared to attack, and as he watched the metalsmith clench his fists at his sides, he realized that battle was inevitable.
"Kam-Lorr!" a voice shouted, and they all turned to see a pink-skinned Kree boy running down the street toward them.
"Kam-Lorr!" the boy shouted again, and Cyclops realized it must be the metalsmith's name. "They are coming. The soldiers are coming."
Kam-Lorr cursed viciously, then turned to Cyclops, his face showing every ounce of hatred he had for the Shi'ar army that ruled his homeworld.
"Follow me, fast, in single file ... " he sputtered into silence as Archangel appeared above the building to his left and glided to the ground beside Cyclops.
"How many are there, Warren?" Cyclops asked calmly.
"More than fifty,"Archangel answered. "Well armed, too. It's one thing if we have to fight our way out, Scott, but if we have to fight our way in, we've probably already lost."
Cyclops nodded, put a hand on Warren's shoulder in a gesture of thanks, and turned back to Kam-Lorr.
"Lead on," he said.
For a moment, Kam-Lorr looked from Cyclops to Archangel, still startled by Warren's sudden appearance. Scott could see that the Kree had a sudden and grudging respect for these strangers to his world. As they entered one of the crumbling buildings and descended into a sub-basement there, Cyclops realized that respect might be just the thing to keep them all alive a little longer.
• • •
Deathbird lay in peaceful repose on a chaise in her private aerie. She stretched her body and spread her arms out straight from her sides, natural wings fanning out beneath her. There was a slight chill in the breeze blowing through the vast open window of the turret room, and a delicious shiver went through her.
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