Shadow of the Past

by Unknown Author

  Concentrating her telekinesis on the nearest flying machine, Jean used her mental powers to swing it around-and aim it at one of its comrades. At the last moment, it occurred to her that the devices might have a failsafe protocol to keep them from firing at each other. If so, her scheme was doomed to fail.

  But it didn't fail. In fact, it worked beautifully. The machine's energy beam lanced out and battered its fellow defender, sending it to its "death" in an eruption of sparks.

  Flushed with success, Jean tried it again. And again, her beam smashed one of the flying machines, sending it plummeting to the floor.

  MEl

  Warren, she called out with her mind. See if you can grab one and turn it on the others. That's what I'm doing.

  The telepath couldn’t linger to hear her friend's response. But as she took aim at a third victim, she saw him snatch one of the assault machines and swing it about in mid-air.

  Before she knew it, the tide of battle had begun to turn. While Jean, Scott and Warren thinned the ranks of their adversaries, Bobby was able to make easier targets out of others by weighing them down with ice.

  It was a good thing, too. Hank was wearing down from all his gyrations, finding it harder and harder to elude the machines' beams. When he finally saw the opening he needed, he didn’t hesitate to make a break for it.

  Three of the flying defenders went after him. Jean used her machine to take one of them out, then another. But she didn't think she could get to the third one in time.

  Fortunately, she didn't have to. Scott blew it out of the air with a seething red beam of his own-giving Hank a chance to spring and somersault his way to freedom.

  "Fall back," Scott cried out, his voice folding back on itself in waves. "I mean now!"

  Continuing to use her captive machine as a weapon, Jean backpedaled in the direction of the corridor. Scott, Bobby and Warren retreated as well. After a moment or two, they converged on the exit.

  With all their targets clustered in one place, the machines concentrated their firepower there. But the X-Men's efforts had taken their toll. If there had been thirty of the defenders at the outset, there were only a dozen left of them-and two were in the X-Men's possession.

  "Icewall!" Scott barked, ducking an energy beam and returning fire.

  But Bobby was way ahead of him. He built a frosty barrier

  from the ground up while his teammates kept the machines at bay. In a matter of seconds, the ice shelter grew tall enough and sturdy enough to limit the defenders’ angles of attack.

  That gave the mutants the advantage. They put it to good use, picking off their adversaries one by one, while Bobby's barrier kept them from harm. Only Warren declined the protection of his teammate's creation, preferring to rely on his remarkable speed and maneuverability.

  Jean did the most damage of all since her machine could move without exposing itself to risk. She focused hard on taking out as many defenders as she could-so hard, in fact, that she was surprised to find a lack of targets after a while.

  Only two of the machines were still discharging energy beams. One was in Warren's possession. The other was Jean's.

  As the echoes in the chamber died, she turned to Scott. That's it?she asked telepathically.

  He poked his head out past the right-hand edge of their ice barrier. Seems like it, he replied after a moment. Except, of course, for the ones you and Warren enlisted.

  "Go ahead," she told Scott.

  Without hesitation, he turned his beam on the machine and blasted it out of the air. It was a hunk of sputtering junk by the time it hit the floor. Then Scott signaled for Warren to release the device he had been holding and instantly gave it the same treatment.

  Warren's protector crashed to the ground and lay still. Only then did Bobby come out from behind the barrier.

  “We get to leave now?” he asked.

  Scott closed his visor and nodded. “Before this place throws something else at us."

  As the team made its way back through the corridor, Jean felt a surge of satisfaction. After all, they had come

  MED

  two-thirds of the way toward getting Professor X the parts he needed.

  After a quick stop at home to refuel, they would strike out on the last leg of their mission. But as well as the first two legs had gone, Jean didn’t foresee any real problems.

  It seemed the third component was as good as theirs.

  Maryellen Stoyanovich stood by the sunlit stand of conifers at the edge of Westminster House's property, her heart pounding, and considered the basketball in her hands.

  "It wasn't my fault," insisted Mohammed, the gangly attendant who had noticed that Jeffrey Saunders was missing. “I just looked over at the court and the boy was gone.”

  Stoyanovich felt numb. In all her years at Westminster House, she had never lost a client. Not once.

  “You hear what I'm saying?” asked Mohammed, his voice rising an octave. "It wasn't my fault."

  "I believe you," she said.

  After all, Jeffrey was a good deal more athletic than any of their other clients. He presented a special problem in that respect-a problem Stoyanovich had apparently underestimated.

  "If it's anyone's fault,” she added, "it's mine."

  Jeffrey had seemed so cooperative to her. So tranquil. So stable. Stoyanovich would never have guessed he would try to run away the first chance he got.

  But she should have guessed. She had been at this job long enough to know that anyone under her care could run away.

  "I have to call the police," she said.

  If poor Jeffrey got hurt, she would never forgive herself.

  / Xavier had approached the gates to his private academy thousands of times. However, he had never done it in the body of another person.

  From the dark, wrought-iron gates to the long asphalt drive to the dignified, red brick exterior of the mansion; the estate looked alien . . . unfamiliar-or so it seemed, as the professor considered it through the eyes of a tired Jeffrey Saunders, who had been asked to jog the last six miles of his journey here.

  But one aspect of the place felt exactly right to Xavier-and that was the presence of his X-Men. At the moment, there were five of them inside the mansion, the five who had comprised the professor’s first fledgling team: Scott, Jean, Hank, Warren and Bobby.

  It was they who had defeated Lucifer not once, but twice. And it was on them the Quistalian aimed to avenge himself.

  Stop, Xavier told his host. H/e must consider our next move.

  After all, his mansion was guarded by a number of advanced security systems. With his intimate knowledge of them, he reflected, he might be able to avoid detection.

  However, he decided not to try. If he did, his energy duplicate might discover his arrival anyway and destroy Jeffrey out of hand. By the time the professor's X-Men got wind of the intruder, he would be dead and unable to help them.

  It would be better, Xavier decided, if he let himself be detected right from the start. Then everyone in the mansion would become aware of his presence ... and the imposter's hands would be tied.

  Yes, Xavier thought. That's the best course open to us.

  He was about to move Jeffrey forward when he felt a pang of fear-an emotion he had long ago trained himself to transcend. It surprised him ... until he realized that it had come from the mind of his host.

  But how could Jeffrey know what they were about to face in Xavier’s Institute for Higher Learning? Had some of his thoughts about Lucifer managed to seep into Jeffrey's mind?

  Xavier didn't know for certain. After all, he had never shared anyone's consciousness for such a prolonged length of time. But one thing was crystal clear to him: if he allowed Jeffrey's trepidation to increase, his link with the youth would be compromised.

  And the professor couldn't afford that. Not when this might be the only chance he got to drive a stake into Lucifer's plans.

  Jeffrey stared at the mansion as if it were a death's head. Adrenalin pumped through
his system. His heartbeat increased and his breathing came noticeably faster.

  No, Xavier told him. You need not be afraid, Jeffrey. Whatever we face, we face together.

  Jeffrey wavered, still caught in the arctic, stomach-

  SlfilllS If HE PIS!

  clenching grip of fear despite the mutant's attempts to calm him. He swallowed back a spurt of panic.

  Come, Xavier thought soothingly. Put one foot in front of the other, Jeffrey. I will do the rest.

  The youth trusted him. The professor had no doubt of that. The only question was whether Jeffrey would find the courage to overcome his dread.

  For a moment, Xavier wasn't sure which way his host's inner struggle would go. Then Jeffrey took a deep breath and started walking again. Before long, he had passed through the gates of the professor's estate and was well on his way to the mansion's front door.

  Now, thought Xavier, comes the hard part.

  Professor X's doppelganger, comfortably ensconced in the sleek, golden anti-gravity chair that Xavier used in the privacy of his mansion, pointed to a couple of compartments in the elaborately honeycombed wall of his underground storage room.

  "You may deposit them there," he said.

  "As you wish, sir," said Hank McCoy.

  He crossed the floor with his strange, bowlegged strides, a cylindrical Quistalian component tucked under each powerful, furry arm. When he reached the far wail, he placed his burdens in the compartments the imposter had indicated-in the midst of hundreds of other high-tech parts that Xavier employed on a regular basis.

  "Thank you," said the energy duplicate.

  "No trouble at all," Hank assured him.

  "So when are we going to see this machine of yours?" Bobby asked-innocently, no doubt. He tilted his head in the direction of Xavier's lab, which occupied the next room.

  Lucifer's simulacrum favored him with a sympathetic

  look. "In good time," he replied. "I have yet to perfect its security shields and I would not want to unnecessarily endanger any of you."

  It was the sort of answer Professor X had given his X-Men on other occasions, so it seemed safe to give it to them on this one. The truth, of course, was that the energy duplicate didn't want any of them inspecting the device too closely.

  If they did, they might realize that it wasn't powerful enough to protect the Earth from an invasion. They might guess that it was intended for a different purpose entirely.

  "When I am finished," the imposter promised them, "you five will be the first to inspect my-"

  Before he could finish describing his intention, a whooping sound filled the room. The energy duplicate recognized it as the mansion's security alarm. Apparently, someone or something had tripped one of the real Xavier's exterior detection systems.

  "Anyone expecting a visitor?" Warren asked, exchanging sober looks with his fellow X-Men.

  At the same time, Hank loped over to a computer station in the corner of the room. "Looks like a single intruder," he said, glancing at the data as he stopped the whooping. "I'll call up a visual."

  The doppelganger pressed a couple of studs on the armrest of his anti-grav unit and maneuvered his way to the computer station as well. Peering over Hank's massive, furred shoulder at the monitor, he saw an image of the interloper in question.

  The imposter wouldn't have been shocked if one of the mutants' many enemies had made an attempt to invade their stronghold. After all, there was ample precedent for that sort of thing. But as it turned out, it wasn't one of the team's enemies after all.

  It was a tall, handsome young man in a navy blue warmup suit and white basketball sneakers. What's more, with all Xavier's memories at his disposal, the doppelganger recognized the fellow.

  "Jeffrey?" said Bobby, who had crossed the room to join Hank and the doppelganger at the monitor. "What's he doing here?"

  "Who's Jeffrey?" asked Scott.

  "His grandfather was Jeremiah Saunders," the energy duplicate was compelled to explain.

  "Saunders was the professor's friend," Bobby noted for the benefit of Scott, Jean and Warren. “We went to his funeral the other day.”

  "And didn't quite make it back in one piece," said Hank. His furry, blue brow scrunched up in confusion. "But didn't you report that Saunders' grandson was mentally handicapped?"

  Bobby nodded. "He is."

  "Then how did he get here?" asked Jean.

  "Good question," said Bobby. "I mean, the institution where he's staying must be twenty-five miles from here."

  “He looks flushed, sweaty..." Scott observed. “As if he made it to Salem Center on foot."

  "All that way?" asked Hank, sounding skeptical.

  "And how could he have known where to find us?" Jean added.

  "Come on," said Warren. "Somebody must have driven him over. Is there a car somewhere on the grounds?"

  Hank switched the image on the monitor to a view of the drive that led up to the mansion. Then he returned to the picture of Jeffrey. "None that I can see," he replied thoughtfully.

  "A mystery," Scott announced. But the mutant didn't say it as if he really meant it.

  “It's easy enough to clear up," Warren said. "All we have to do is answer the door."

  The energy duplicate stared at the monitor. Something was amiss, he told himself. It hardly seemed likely that Jeffrey would show up on Xavier's doorstep when he didn't even know what a street address was.

  He was inclined to deal forcefully with anything that might derail his master's plan. That was his nature. It was the modus operandi with which Lucifer had endowed him.

  However, the presence of Professor X's mutants constrained him from doing as he wished. After all, the real Xavier would have treated Jeffrey kindly, with great concern for his welfare—even if he had no idea how Jeffrey had gotten there.

  "Yes," he said, responding to Warren's suggestion. "By all means, let's answer the door."

  And with that, he sent his anti-grav unit sailing in the direction of the exit, trusting Xavier's team to follow in his wake.

  WT

  loating in the slow, monotonous tides of the Nameless Dimension, his mind acutely receptive to events on Earth, the being called Lucifer cursed vividly beneath his breath.

  Despite Jeffrey Saunders' complete and utter lack of a reason to visit Salem Center, despite his severe mental limitations, he had made his way to the mutants' doorstep. The more the Quistalian thought about it, the more certain he was that the boy's appearance wasn't just a coincidence.

  Somehow, he reflected, Charles Xavier had had a hand in this development. Though the mutant had arrived in the Nameless Dimension less than a day ago, he appeared to have already discovered a way to carry on communications with the outside world.

  But why he had chosen a retarded man to be his agent? Lucifer hadn't finished posing the question before the answer occurred to him. Jeffrey Saunders' mind was simpler and therefore more open than that of a normal human being. He was the perfect vessel for an intruder like Xavier.

  And why was he at the mansion? Why had he gone to the trouble of making such an arduous journey? There could be only one reason-to expose the doppelganger as a fraud.

  Lucifer scowled. His enemy had come a long way, but he would get no farther. Gathering up some of the ionic energy with which he had become so murderously skillful, the Quistalian propelled himself through the viscous liquid of the Nameless Dimension.

  I am coming, Xavier, he called out telepathically. And it V’jon't take me long to reach you. We'll see how deftiy you can manipulate your proxy when you've got more a immediate concern on your mind.

  Survival, for instance.

  Professor X heard his enemy's telepathic threat. As a result, he knew that Lucifer was coming for him long before he saw the murky speck of crimson in the distance.

  The alien was standing upright as he advanced, his cape billowing behind him, the same expression of hatred and anger twisting his bearded face. No doubt, he intended to give the mutant the kind
of beating he had given him before—perhaps even worse, considering what Xavier was trying to accomplish back on Earth.

  Still bound in the chains of ionic energy that had been imposed on him, the professor frowned. He wanted desperately to guide Jeffrey Saunders into the presence of his X-Men, where he would at least have a chance to expose Lucifer's scheme. But to do that, he would have to defeat the Quistalian here in the Nameless Dimension as well.

  Fortunately, Xavier had done more in the time allotted to him than send Jeffrey dashing through Westchester County. He had acclimated himself to his surroundings. He had made adjustments.

  But would they be enough against someone as powerful as Lucifer? He eyed the rapidly growing figure in crimson and purple. Apparently, he wouldn't have to wait long to find out.

  Suddenly, a thought branded the professor's mind like a white-hot poker: How dare you!

  In the same instant, the Quistalian unleashed a barrage of ionic fury. But unlike the last time, his attack never reached his adversary—because Xavier threw up a psionic shield against it.

  It wasn't the best defense the mutant had ever erected, nor did he think he could be quite so effective with it a second time. But then, he had no intention of using it a second time.

  Lucifer's features twisted with anger. Reaching back, he hurled another fiery energy wave at Xavier.

  This time, however, the professor didn't attempt to ward it off. Instead, he reshaped it, refocused it, turned it into a pencil-thin stream-and used it to shatter the ionic shackles that bound him!

  Before the Quistalian had any idea what Xavier was up to, the mutant was free. What's more, he was able to return Lucifer's fire with a volley of powerful mental bolts. They slammed into the alien one after the other-driving him back, staggering him ...

  And finally causing him to lose consciousness.

  But Xavier could only do so much at one time-especially in such a strange and troublesome environment. As he dealt Lucifer that final, stunning blow, he felt himself lose contact with his agent on Earth.

  Jeffrey... he thought as he felt their telepathic link slip away-and at a most critical juncture.