Siege

by Christopher Golden

  The plan built itself. While seeming to battle in earnest, they had to orchestrate it so the Imperial Guard would capture Cyclops, and only Cyclops. Jean had been concerned that Oracle would catch on, aware as she was how far superior Jean's powers were to her own. Scott had assured his lady love that Shi'ar arrogance would lead Oracle to believe that she had simply grown stronger and more skilled. He had been correct.

  Which didn't mean it hadn't hurt when Gladiator's optical heat rays had scorched him, even though his costume kept his flesh from being burnt. And the kick to the head that Deathbird had given him was severe. Still, he had endured far worse, and the plan had succeeded.

  With the other Guards following, Gladiator carried Cyclops over his shoulder. Scott assumed Gladiator knew he was no longer unconscious, but the Praetor said nothing of it. Then again, what did it matter? With his arms bound and his optic blasts reined in, he couldn't have hoped to defeat one of them, never mind all five. Even if he wanted to.

  Which he didn't. What he wanted was simply to see his father. From Deathbird's ranting, he knew that Corsair was still alive. But he had no idea what kind of condition the man might be in after a handful of days in the dungeons of Hala. Deathbird was vicious and unstable. Cyclops pushed the thought away and forced himself to look forward to the impending reunion. With the cadence of Gladiator's echoing steps, a wave of memory swept over Scott Summers.

  He and his brother Alex had been skinny kids when tragedy had struck their family. Everything had seemed so perfect. Their father, Major Christopher Summers, had just been selected for the space program-the name Corsair had been his pilot's call sign. They were flying home from Scott's grandparents' house in Anchorage, Alaska, their dad at the controls of the vintage DeHavilland Mosquito he and Grandpa had lovingly restored.

  That's when the UFO had appeared. It fired on their plane, then locked it into a tractor beam that began to tear the wooden ship apart. There was but one parachute on board. Their mom had strapped Scott in and made him promise to hold Alex tight, and not to let him go until they hit the ground. He'd promised, even as tears spilled down his cheeks. The parachute was in flames as they fell, and they'd hit the ground hard, but in one piece.

  D'Ken Neramani had been the Shi'ar Emperor then, and though Scott didn't know it, the vessel that attacked them had been Shi'ar. The madman D'Ken had been collecting specimens throughout the galaxy, and Scott and Alex's parents, Christopher and Kate, had been teleported on board the vessel. Dad had fought them too hard. As an object lesson, D'Ken had murdered Kate Summers with his own hands.

  Scott's father had been sent to the prison world of Alsibar, where he became known only as Corsair. It was there he had met the Starjammers, there he had become the battle-hardened man who was now imprisoned in the bowels of Kree-Lar. It had been many years later, with Scott now an adult, that he had met and battled alongside Corsair. Even then, it had been some time before the two realized their relation. Only recently had they begun to warm to one another, to forgive fate for the years it had stolen from them.

  Whatever it cost, Scott Summers would not allow the Shi'ar to take his father from him again.

  The gentle rhythm of Gladiator's stride ceased. There came the loud clacking of cylinders being rolled back. Aloud hiss followed, the exhalation of a perfectly sealed room, now open.

  "The cell has been prepared for you, Cyclops," Gladiator said, then stepped into the room with Scott still thrown over one shoulder.

  "Scott?" another voice said, his father's voice. "Oh, no, Scott. I don't think I can ..."

  "Silence, Starjammer!" a guard barked, and Cyclops was sure it wasn't one of the Imperial Guard. Of course, Deathbird would have posted some of her best soldiers as sentries around Corsair's cell. The sentry's voice had come from close by, just to Scott's right. His head throbbed from Deathbird's kick, and hanging over Gladiator's shoulder had caused the blood to rush there, making it even worse. It was hard to think, now. But he knew the plan, and he had to stick to it.

  "You shouldn't have come, Scott," Corsair said calmly.

  "Silence!" the sentry yelled, and his command was followed by a loud buzz and a cry of pain from Corsair.

  "Don't touch him!" Scott screamed, and swung the restraints clamped around his hands with all his might toward the point where he thought the sentry stood.

  The heavy metal connected with a satisfying thud, but Scott's momentum threw him off Gladiator's shoulder. He landed on the floor of the cell, jarring his head wound. Ashe struggled to rise, he became entangled with the guard he'd struck. Cyclops was pleased to note the man was both down and, apparently, out.

  Gladiator sighed heavily, then grabbed Cyclops just below his left wrist and lifted him as easily as if he were an infant. The feeling, the recognition of the power in Gladiator's limbs, was disorienting. Cyclops felt incredibly vulnerable. He paid little attention as Gladiator held him by one arm and removed the hand restraints, only to replace them with individual clamps. He did the same for Scott's feet, and in a moment the X-Men's leader was spread-eagled quite uncomfortably.

  "Get him out of here," Gladiator's deep voice rumbled.

  "Yes, Praetor," another Guard answered. Cyclops thought it was Titan. There came a rustling noise that he imagined was the sentry being removed from the cell.

  Cyclops tried to get used to his predicament. Though his legs were spread enough that it couldn't really be called standing, he was able to put his weight on the foot restraints that held him. Unfortunately, he knew that wouldn't last long, and then all his weight would be on his arms and wrists where they were clamped tightly above him.

  He let himself relax, testing those restraints, getting a feel for what it might be like when his legs couldn't hold him anymore. He sagged backward and unexpectedly hit a cold wall. Gladiator must have seen the surprise on his face. Though he'd been standing there in silence, he finally addressed Cyclops.

  "Though I doubt you'd call it comfortable, you'll find that leaning against that wall makes your restraints bearable," Gladiator said. "In a moment, I will take off your optical restraint. You are quite familiar, I know, with Shi'ar technology. This room is equipped with an inhibition system which will drain all non-essential energies, effectively preventing you from using your optic blasts."

  Cyclops said nothing as he felt Gladiator's arms snake past his cheeks and unsnap the restraint that had been clamped around his head. As he did so, he whispered more quietly than Scott would have imagined possible of him.

  "There is little evidence against you," Gladiator said in that hushed voice. "The others will still die, but if the Majestrix comes to Hala, she may find a diplomatic way to save you. If not, you will be executed in the morning. I will try to see that it is as swift as possible."

  Gladiator backed away, taking the restraint with him, and did not look back at Cyclops. Scott was surprised that his visor had not been taken from him, in light of the cell's inhibition system. Perhaps Gladiator hoped they would find a way to escape, or perhaps it just had not occurred to him. In any case, Cyclops was glad. He hoped it wouldn't be very long before he would need his visor again.

  The Imperial Guard filed out, leaving four sentries in the hall outside the cell. Oracle stood in the doorway a moment, looking quizzically at Cyclops, obviously trying to get into his head. But Professor Xavier had spent years teaching him how to erect psychic barriers in his mind, and Oracle was not adept enough to overcome them. Finally, she left. The door was closed and bolted, the process requiring two of the sentries, and Scott noted the process, filing it away.

  "I'm going to kill Ch'od and Raza when we get out of here," Corsair growled, and Scott finally turned to see his father hanging in a restraint system not unlike his own. Hepzibah and a woman Cyclops assumed was Candide were there as well, but his first instinct was to be sure his father was okay.

  "Nice to see you too, Dad," Scott said, making the words a jibe.

  It was the truth, though. Despite the circumstances, it was reass
uring to see his father in the flesh. And a relief to observe that, though bruised in several places, he appeared none the worse for his ordeal. Corsair was roughly the same height as his son, but Scott outweighed him by a good twenty pounds. Father was also far more liberal than son. Cyclops had never been able to completely equate the gravely serious pilot and warrior he knew as his father with the roguish leader of the Starjammers. Corsair had a moustache and wore an earring, neither of which his son would ever have even considered.

  Then there was Hepzibah.

  Kate Summers had been a good mother to her boys, a good wife to her husband. Cyclops knew that his mother had died nearly two decades earlier. The world had moved on. The universe had opened itself up and swallowed father and son. They had both evolved. Perhaps it was as much of a shock for Corsair to meet his eldest son, now grown and a powerful leader in his right. But as long as Scott lived, he would not believe it was as big a shock as finding his father alive, and in the arms of a feline alien warrior.

  In some ways, it was easy to separate the two. The past was so unlike the present, it seemed almost a sweet, idyllic dream. In other ways, however, the spectre of the past, of his mother's death, of the perfect family life that ended so tragically, all cast a gloomy pallor over his current relationship with Corsair. Especially in light of his father's love for Hepzibah.

  She was a valiant warrior, and it was clear that she loved Corsair fiercely. In his years with the X-Men, Scott had seen many things and opened his mind enough to see why his father had been attracted to Hepzibah at first. With her eat's eyes, her perfect grace, and her slim, supple form, she was unquestionably beautiful. The fact that she wasn't human never entered into Scott's appraisal of her.

  Maybe he just didn't like cats. Maybe it was the spectre of his childhood, the memory of his mother. Whatever it was, Cyclops and Hepzibah had never been able to really connect.

  On this day, though, his heart went out to her.

  "Hello, Scott," she purred, wincing at the pain those simple words caused her.

  Hepzibah was injured far worse than Corsair. Her fur was singed black in several places and matted with blood. He knew without question that the wounds weren't merely from capture. Deathbird's Inquisitors had been there, trying to elicit some kind of information about the rebellion, no doubt.

  "Mademoiselle," Scott said in greeting, and nodded as best he could. His father had used that form of address for Hepzibah so long, as a gesture of respect for her grace and beauty, it had nearly become part of her name. His use of it clearly touched her, and she closed her eyes and nodded in return.

  They hung next to one another: Cyclops, Corsair, Hepzibah and Candide. When his eyes fellon the latter woman, a Kree half-breed, Corsair made the necessary introduction.

  "Scott, this is Candide," he said. "I'm sure you've heard a lot about her from the other Starjammers. Perhaps from the Kree themselves."

  Candide's eyes narrowed at this last comment, clearly not pleased at Corsair's implication that she was, indeed, part of the Kree rebellion on Hala.

  "Candide, old friend, this is my son, Scott Summers, also known as Cyclops,"Corsair finished.

  Candide's eyes widened.

  "You never told me you had a son," she said, her attractive blue features drawn into an expression of incredulity.

  Corsair laughed. It wasn't the full-throated, good-natured bellow he'd come to associate with Corsair, but the quiet chuckle of his father. It brought a wave of sentimentality that Cyclops was unprepared for. He breathed long and deep, letting it pass.

  "When you and I were working the trade passages together, I thought my whole family was dead," Corsair said. "Obviously, I've learned otherwise. It's a real blow to the ego to be forced to acknowledge your age, but it's worth it when your son has become such an honorable, formidable man."

  Scott was thrilled. Though he and Corsair had formed a bond as comrades in arms and father and son, he had never heard his father speak of him with such pride. As a rule, he tended to internalize his own emotions. Yet he could not let Corsair's comments pass unanswered. At the same time, their relationship called for a less than intimate response.

  "Gee thanks, Dad," he said with a genuine smile. "But you know, I'd be more flattered if you said such nice things about me when we weren't about to be killed."

  There was a moment of silence in the room, a sober pause wherein they all recognized the truth of Scott's words. Then, one by one, they began to grin, even to laugh.

  "When we get out of here, I really am going to knock some sense into Raza and Ch'od for bringing the X-Men into this," Corsair said good-naturedly. "Scott, I hate for you to be put in jeopardy on my account."

  "You or I would have done the same," Hepzibah purred. "Aswould any of the X-Men."

  "That's not the point," Corsair mumbled, though it was clear he knew Hepzibah was right.

  "I appreciate the concern, but I can take care of myself, thank you," Cyclops said.

  "As we can all see by how well you managed to get yourself captured," Candide observed with a sarcastic chuckle. "And so quickly, too. I imagine it's some kind of record."

  Hepzibah laughed and Corsair shot her an admonishing look.

  "Hey, Candy, don't worry," he said. "Scotty's the tactician of the family. I'm sure he's got a plan to get us all out of here."

  The three of them looked at him gravely, then, not a trace of their former smiles in evidence. Candide's eyes were narrowed in skepticism. Hepzibah's ears pricked up, her eyebrows rose in an open, hopeful expression. Corsair raised an eyebrow and gave Cyclops a sidelong, conspiratorial glance.

  "You do have a plan, don't you Scott?" Corsair asked.

  Chapter 11

  The media was in a frenzy. A fiasco like the one in Colorado could not be kept quiet for long. Once the troops were sent, a leak, perhaps several, was inevitable. The Secretary, who was also the Director of Operation: Wideawake, had known that, and had prepared for it. Of course, he couldn't speak to the press himself. And Gyrich—well, over the years, the media had come to hate Gyrich as much as Val Cooper had, starting with his days as the somewhat volatile National Security Council liaison to the Avengers. And telegenic was one word that would never describe Henry Peter Gyrich.

  That left her.

  The Secretary had met with the President, and they had all agreed that, due to her public relationship with X-Factor, Val was the most logical choice to make a statement. She only hoped that they didn't shoot the messenger. Val was escorted through narrow passageways in the White House that were not available to the public. Secret service agents so cold they reminded her of the T-I000 robot in the second Terminator movie flanked her on either side. She was used to the type, but they never failed to unnerve her.

  The corridor opened into a large hall with French doors overlooking the south lawn, but the view was mostly obscured by bodies. Noisy bodies. As she entered, there was a roar of shouted questions that began with "Ms. Cooper" but then degenerated into gibberish. Val scanned the crowd and recognized some of the faces. Some of them were celebrities in their own right, and yet in here they devolved into a mob mentality, sharks fighting for the last scrap. She wondered if it would have been wise to wear riot gear.

  And this was just the press. How would the average American citizen react? The question sent a shiver coursing through her, even as a hush fell over the room. Though the media would have no idea that he, himself, was the Director of Wideawake, the Secretary welcomed them and introduced her. When Val looked at the sea of faces, cameras and microphones again, they seemed to melt into one another.

  "I'll read a brief statement, and then answer whatever questions I can," she said formally.

  "At approximately nine a.m., eastern standard time, an unknown terrorist group attacked and seized control of a federal research facility in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado," she read. "The identity of this group is unknown, and it is not known whether there were any casualties. Federal troops were immediately dispatched to
the site. They have surrounded the facility, but due to the likelihood that the facility's staff may be hostages, they have as yet made no offensivemove. We expect to receive demands from the terrorists within the hour."

  Val tried not to grimace while reading the last part, which was a bald-faced lie. Still, it would be what the media expected, unless they were able to figure out what was really going on.

  "Questions?" she said, and began to randomly choose hands. She concentrated on just answering the questions, wanting to be away from there as soon as possible.

  "Exactly what is the purpose of this research facility?"

  They don't waste any time, Val thought, but was pleased that, to this question at least, she could provide an honest answer.

  "I'm sorry," she said, "but that information is classified. I am permitted to tell you that this situation does not present any danger to the public, however."

  Okay, so her answer was only partially honest. It was better than they'd be getting for the rest of the session.

  "What of the reports that a Syrian splinter group threatened to take precisely this action only days ago?"

  "Fabrication," Val answered, pointing to another hand.

  "Are the terrorists mutants, Miss Cooper?"

  "We are not eliminating any possibilities right now."

  "I've heard reports that the X-Men were involved, and that they've already engaged our troops."

  "That's an unsubstantiated rumor," Val snapped, sweating a little now. "I can say unequivocally that the X-Men are not involved with whomever has taken the facility."

  She was pleased with her answer, knowing how it would infuriate Gyrich. He was pissed off enough when Tomko reported that the X-Men had forced his troops to retreat. Val's public declaration would enrage him even further. She both dreaded and greatly anticipated their next meeting.

  "But you haven't denied that the X-Men are somehow involved."

  "At this point, we don't have enough information to answer that question."