Hank's progress was slow, painstaking, laborious-but it was progress all the same. Eventually, he told himself, he would wrestle his way back inside the corridor.
However, would he get there in time to help his teammates? That was the real question.
Just then, Hank felt a significantly greater pressure behind the globules. Unable to resist it, he felt himself moving backward, starting to lose the ground he had fought so hard to gain.
He pushed against the pressure for all he was worth. But it was no use. He wasn't strong enough to oppose it.
Then he saw a crimson glow beyond the silver spheres, and it took the edge off his disappointment. It's Scott, he told himself. His friend was still fighting, still struggling to escape.
A moment later, Hank saw a buildup of ice between some of the globules, and he realized that Scott wasn't the only one still on his feet. Bobby was still battling too. And if Scott and Bobby were doing their best to get out of the corridor, Jean must have been with them, because neither of them would ever have contemplated leaving her behind.
“This calls for a change of tactics," he decided, his breath streaming from his mouth in steamy white vapors.
Backing off a good thirty meters, Hank got a running start, lowered his shoulder and hit one of the spheres with all his might. The thing shot backward with the impact, then
sums if he pflsi
slowly changed direction and bounced forward again to rejoin the heap. But in the meantime, a wedge of ice had insinuated itself in the globule's place.
A second time, Hank retreated and came hurtling at the pile-up like a furry, blue cue ball. And a second time, he managed to dislodge one of the spheres, giving his teammates a chance to make more headway.
He took three more shots at the cluster of silver globules, each assault harder than the last. Then his efforts were rewarded ... as his friends' escape process began to accelerate before his eyes.
Scott's potent optical beams provided the first indication of it. They cast a gaudy crimson brilliance over the scene as they thrust away one stubborn sphere after the other.
Then some of the other globules began to move apart, driven by an invisible force that could only have been Jean's telekinesis. And still others became bogged down with thick coatings of ice, compliments of Bobby Drake's remarkable freezing powers.
Jean was the first one to squeeze past the cluster of Quistalian spheres. Then came Scott, and Bobby last of all.
But their struggle wasn't over. Far from it, Hank observed with trepidation. The globules were piling out after the X-Men in a frantic rush to reclaim their prey.
"Ice wall!" Scott bellowed.
But Bobby had anticipated his comrade's words. He was already translating them into action. As Scott, Jean and Hank held the globules at bay, each employing his or her special mutant abilities, Bobby painstakingly heaped the ice higher and wider.
One by one, the spheres were immobilized. Bit by bit, their curved silver surfaces disappeared under a frosty veneer.
X-1E1
Before long, Bobby had encased the spheres completely. But to make sure they didn't break out again, he took some time to reinforce the barrier, doubling and even tripling its thickness.
Finally, he took a step back and surveyed his work. There was a distinct expression of pride on his faceted face. But then, Bobby Drake was nothing if not a craftsman.
"Not bad," Jean quipped. "And in this part of town, I don't think it'll be melting anytime soon."
“There's a lot to be said for permanence," Hank remarked in turn. "But just in case those globules are stronger than we think..
"We ought to haul our rear ends out of here," Scott said, picking up on his friend's thought.
“I hear you," Bobby told them. “Next stop, the penthouse."
If he was fatigued from all he had done, he gave no outward indication of it. Directing a flow of ice at the ground, he created an icy platform beneath their feet. Then he built up more and more ice beneath it, gradually raising them off the ground.
In a minute or less, Bobby had elevated them out of the crevasse and enabled them to look out over the frozen landscape. The slender dark shape of the Blackbird was easily visible in the distance.
Warren was just emerging from the plane. A good sign, thought Hank, when it came to his friend's well-being. But as it happened, the winged man's services were no longer needed.
Hank gestured for Warren to stay where he was. Then he bounded eagerly across the icy waste.
After all, he mused, the sooner he got into the pilot's seat, the sooner they could get home with their third cylinder.
* * *
SIMMS If HE mi
Billy Ray Meekin was a prisoner.
That was the truth he was forced to admit as he tried to coax another dollop of soft chocolate ice cream out of the big tin dispenser with the red and white Dairy Dip logo on the front of it.
He pumped the machine's plastic-handled lever a dozen times, opening and closing the ice cream aperture, but it was no use. The darn thing had gotten gummed up, and the back-up dispenser was on the blink.
That meant Billy Ray would have to take the cover off the machine, stick his hand into the ice cream tank and try to dig out whatever was clogging up the works. And there was nothing he hated as much as the cold, goopy feel of that ice cream.
“That cone almost ready?” asked the guy who had ordered it, a fat, balding fella with a fat, whiny kid.
“No, sir," said Billy Ray, "it ain't almost ready. I'm afraid there's something wrong with the machine, sir."
“Well, hurry up and fix it," said the fat man, slapping the counter with his fat hand as if he owned the place. "My boy here's been asking for a chocolate ice cream cone all day."
“Has it gotta be chocolate, sir?" asked Billy Ray. "Because we got a vanilla ice cream machine, and I believe that’s working just fine.”
The guy shook his head. “It's got to be a chocolate cone. My boy don't like vanilla.” He glanced at his son. “Isn't that right?”
“That’s right," the kid whined.
Billy Ray wanted to tell the guy where he could stick his chocolate ice cream cone. He had no use for fat, whiny kids. In fact, he had no use for kids at all.
Unfortunately, he was on parole from the state penitentiary for holding up McGunnigle’s Drug Store back in Horse
Shoe Bend, and his parole officer wouldn't tale kindly to his upping and leaving the only paying job he had been able to find.
So even though Billy Ray wasn't living in a prison anymore, he was still a prisoner. The only difference was there were no gummed-up ice cream dispensers in the state penitentiary.
"Hey," said the fat fella, "you gonnna fix that machine or not?"
Billy Ray looked at the guy and realized that he’d been stewing instead of getting a move on. "I fully intend to fix her," he said. “I just gotta get the stepladder so I can reach on in and unclog the opening."
The fat guy's fat kid made a face. "Is he gonna stick his hand in the ice cream?" he asked his father.
"I don't know," the guy said. Then he turned to Billy Ray. "You gonna stick your hand in the ice cream?”
"Well, yessir," said Billy Ray. "As far as I know, that's the only way to get the stuff moving again, sir."
The fat kid shook his head from side to side. "I don't want no ice cream somebody stuck his hand in."
His father frowned—and Billy Ray knew why. The guy had already promised the little monster an ice cream cone, and if he didn't get it at Driscoll’s Dairy Dip, he would have to find it someplace else.
Not that it made the least bit of difference to Billy Ray. Either way, he was going to have to reach down into that cold, chocolate slop and get the stuff flowing again.
"I believe I'm going to have to cancel that order," said the fat fella. "You know another place around here that sells ice cream?"
"No, I don't, sir," Billy Ray answered politely.
Of course, he knew half a dozen
places. He just wasn't inclined to be helpful to people who talked to him like he was dirt.
Swearing beneath his breath, the fat guy took his kid and exited the Dairy Dip. As the glass door closed behind them, Billy Ray cackled. He loved knowing that other people were having trouble. It made his own misery a little easier to tolerate.
But his amusement was short-lived. After all, it was a warm day for autumn. Somebody else was bound to come in and ask for ice cream. With a sigh, Billy Ray fetched the stepladder from the supply closet in the back and unfolded it next to the stuck-up dispenser.
Mounting the stepladder, he took the top off the machine and slid it aside so he could reach in. Then he scowled and submerged his hand in chocolate glop up past his wrist.
That was when Billy Ray heard the sound of a motor running too loud and saw a brown pickup swing into his parking lot. That's just great, he thought. Someone else can stand here jabberin' at me while I'm tryin' to get this blasted dispenser unclogged.
Then he saw that it was worse than he had thought As the pickup turned its dented flank to Billy Ray, he noticed that there were six or seven people sitting in its bed-maybe ten people in all, including the driver and the person next to him.
That was a lot of ice cream cones-and a lot of complaining when his customers didn't get what they wanted. Billy Ray bit his lip and concentrated on squishing his fingers around the opening, trying to find whatever was clogging the thing up.
Finally, he felt something with his fingertips-a big, honking piece of ice, it seemed to him. Working it out of the
MEI
aperture, he extracted it from the glop and held it up where he could see it.
It was ice, all right. Just like the last time.
And he had found it just in time. After all, at least some of those people in the pickup weren't going to like vanilla ice cream any more than the fat fella and his whiny kid.
Having one impatient so-and-so at the counter was bad enough, Billy Ray told himself. Having eight or nine was downright nerve wracking.
But as he replaced the top of the ice cream machine and got down from the stepladder, he saw that the people in the pickup hadn't gotten out of their truck yet. They were just sitting there, looking like they were waiting for something to happen.
Well, thought Billy Ray, they'll just have to go on waiting. We don't provide no parking lot service. They want ice cream, they're gonna have to come in like anybody else.
Then it occurred to him that the men in the truck might have been there for more than just ice cream. They might have been after what was in the Dairy Dip's shiny new cash register—which was considerably more than usual for this time of year.
The more Billy Ray thought about it, the more the fellas in the pickup reminded him of guys he had met in the state penitentiary-hardcore types without much to lose, which was why they would cut your throat as soon as look at you.
Parole or no parole, he wasn't going to fight anybody like that. Not when it was eight or nine against one. Billy Ray wanted to stay on the outside plenty, but not if it cost him his life.
"Go ahead," he would tell them, "here's the flippin' cash register, all opened up for ya. Knock your socks off."
Funny, Billy Ray thought, It was a holdup that got me
m
sums JF HE PfiST
thrown behind bars back in Horse Shoe Bend, and it was going to be a holdup that gets me in trouble a second time. Except this time, I'm going to be looking down the wrong end of the gun barrel.
But if that was what the people in the pickup had in mind, they were sure taking their time about it. They had hardly moved since they got there. They were just sitting, cooling their heels.
It made Billy Ray nervous-even more nervous than if they had just come in and asked for the day's receipts. He felt like walking out to the parking lot and asking them to get it over with already.
When he held up that drug store, he hadn't kept anybody waiting. He'd been considerate enough to get in and get out. He wondered if that store manager he pistol-whipped had appreciated all the time Billy Ray had saved him.
Maybe not, he thought, remembering the thud of the gun against the guy's head. But then, there was no pleasing some people.
Billy Ray snuck another look at the pickup truck. Still nothing-but that didn't mean anything. Maybe they were waiting for a customer to come in, so they could rob him too.
Well, he told himself, maybe I'll put in a little call to the police. They can't fire you for being careful, can they?
Billy Ray was just about to go for the pay phone when he saw a flash of something silver in the sky.
Before he could punch a single number into the phone, before he could even blink, the flash seemed to reach down and pierce the roof of the Dairy Dip. And it didn't stop there, either. It stabbed down right into his brain, like a silver bolt of lightning.
At least, that was how it seemed to Billy Ray.
He felt the top of his head with his fingertips, expecting
to find some blood there. But there wasn't any—not even a little bit. And yet, he was almost sure something had happened up there.
Darndest thing, Billy Ray thought.
Then he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. The people in the back of the brown pickup had gotten up and were shuffling all around, looking like they were trying to make room for someone or something else in the truck bed.
While they were doing it, they were staring at Billy Ray. The pair on the front seat was staring at him too. And for the first time, Billy Ray realized there was something funny about their eyes.
They were silver, like the flash in the sky.
Before he could figure out how anyone's eyes could be that color, he heard a soft, insistent whisper in his head. You are mine, it told him. You will do as I say.
Suddenly, Billy Ray Meekin knew something with heart-stopping certainty: if he wasn't a prisoner before he saw the flash of light, he was most definitely one now.
rofessor Xavier lifted Jeffrey Saunders' hand with what had become practiced ease, extended a forefinger and pointed to a location more than halfway up the timber-covered mountainside.
"There?" asked Jean.
Xavier nodded Jeffrey’s head. Yes, he answered silently, there. Then he had Jeffrey turn his head so he could watch Warren ascend into the heavens again.
The winged X-Man had already deposited Jeffrey, Jean, Bobby and Scott on the slope, which was at least five miles from the plateau where they had been forced to set down the Blackbird. He had also carried over the three Quistalian components they had secured, each one hidden in a bright yellow backpack. Now, as his flying figure diminished rapidly with distance, he was on his way back to get Hank.
"The professor says the transport chamber is just up there,” Jean told her teammates. She pointed to the spot Jeffrey indicated.
“Then this shouldn't take long," Scott observed.
MED
Bobby looked around at the dark, dramatic sweeps of pine forest that surrounded them. "Sure," he agreed with a hint of irony in his voice, "what could possibly go wrong?"
“Hey," said Jean, "it can't be any more dangerous than the last few places on our itinerary."
“Can’t it?" asked Bobby. "If the professor's right about this facility, Lucifer's used it to open a hole between realities. I don't know about you, but that gives me the creeps."
Xavier shared the sentiment, though he might not have chosen the same words to express it. Interdimensional transport required a precise exchange of energies. Even a small miscalculation might cause significant damage to both the Nameless Dimension and this one.
Which was why the professor had made certain that Hank would be the one to retrofit the transdimensional transport device. If anyone was likely to be precise, it was Henry McCoy.
Xavier's host was excited to be here, but also a little afraid. After all, having lived his entire life in the more civilized parts of Westchester County, he had never b
een on such a long, steep incline.
Be patient just a little longer, the mutant told Jeffrey. Soon you’ll be rid of me.
But to his surprise, Xavier didn't sense any eagerness on the young man's part to be free of him. Apparently, Jeffrey had grown accustomed to the professor's influence.
Then he probed a little deeper, and he realized that his host had become more than accustomed to the association. Indeed, he had begun to find comfort in it, as he had in his relationships with his parents and his grandfather.
The discovery pleased Xavier to a depth he hadn't anticipated. I will miss you too, he thought, confident that no one but Jeffrey would ever know what he had said.
SIMIIUS if HE POST
"Here he comes," Scott announced.
Xavier roused himself from his internal dialogue and scanned the skies above the Salmon River Mountains. Shading his eyes from the sun, he spotted something dark and vaguely v-shaped in the distance.
The casual observer might have speculated that it was some large variety of mountain hawk carrying its most recently acquired prey. However, as the figure got closer, it became apparent that it was a man with wings carrying a furred and much bulkier companion.
In other words, Warren and Hank.
“Our pal's really motoring,” Bobby observed, his ice-blue eyes narrowed against the bright sunlight.
"You'd motor too," said Jean, "if you were carrying someone the size of Hank. Warren's wings may be superhuman, but a heavy Beast can't be easy on the arms."
Before long, Warren loomed over them, blocking the sun with his beating pinions, then he dropped his teammate in the X-Men's midst and alighted on the slope beside them.
"Sorry it took so long," the winged mutant told them, kneading the understandably cramped muscles in his forearms. "I had to give a couple of hikers a wide berth."
"Or else scare them half to death," Hank added.
Warren beat his wings once, as if flexing those muscles too. "Let’s face it, gang—it's not every day you see a big blue Sasquatch crossing the sky at a thousand feet."
Hank showed his oversized teeth in an appreciative grin. "Not every day, indeed."
“We can worry about hikers later," said Scott. "Right now, we've got an alien cubbyhole to explore."
Shadow of the Past Page 18
