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-lab.
* * *
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. “Now let’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. A strange, 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 see to the ship’s repair,” Raza insisted weakly.
“It is too early for you to be up. A few 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. “Yet with 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 we 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.”
He paused and looked across the room at Ch’od’s snoring form.
“He shall recover?” Raza asked.
“He’ll be right as rain,” Jean answered, and Scott could feel her empathy in his mind and heart.
“Thank Ky’thri,” the Shi’ar cyborg said softly. “The ship wast badly damaged breaking through the armada in orbit. On the communications module we didst receive the broadcast of Deathbird’s announcement that Corsair and Hepzibah had been captured and wouldst be executed for crimes against the Imperium. With that imperative in mind, we had but one course of action. During the time of her exile, Lilandra wast one of us, a Starjammer. She didst give the ship the necessary codes to override all Shi’ar stargates, and a good thing it was, or we wouldst likely all be dead now.”
“You know how dangerous the use of the stargate is, Raza,” Storm interrupted. “With its every power burst, we risk the destabilization of our sun. As much loved and valued as Co
rsair and Hepzibah are, they are two lives held against billions.”
“Wouldst thou want me to believe that thou wouldst not do the same for thine own comrades, Storm,” Raza snapped. “I hath spent enough time with the X-Men to know differently.”
“Maybe I’m not being objective here, Ororo,” Jean said, “and you do have a point—the stargate is dangerous. But if we’re not willing to risk everything for two lives, how can we claim to care about the billions?”
Cyclops was torn. Corsair was his father, and yet the thought of putting so many lives in danger was painful for him. He would brave any danger, bear any burden, to save his father. But to have the lives of a solar system on his conscience was too much to even consider.
“Storm is right, Jean,” he said, and they all looked at him in shock, Raza most of all. “At least, partially right. Using the stargate is not a choice to be made lightly. However, the statistics on its potential destabilization factor are extraordinary, moving into tangible danger levels only when it is used too often and with too little lag time in between passages. In any case, and as much as I want to rush off immediately to save my father, we are obligated to look for other solutions.”
“Agreed,” Storm said. “And I see only one other possible solution.”
She was interrupted by the hiss of a door sliding open, and they all turned to see Professor Xavier gliding his hoverchair into the room.
“Your timing is impeccable, Charles,” Storm said. “We have a crisis that needs resolution. You may be the only one who can help us.”
After they had given Xavier an abbreviated version of Raza’s story, he merely nodded, fingers steepled under his chin as he considered it all. Finally, he looked at Raza.
“Did you have any opportunity to contact Lilandra through all of this?” he asked.
“That is the other solution I had considered,” Storm confirmed.
“Our ship wast in distress when we didst emerge from yon stargate, but still did we manage a subspace call on her private comm-link,” Raza admitted, but Cyclops knew from his tone that the news was not good. “She vowed to do what she couldst to delay the execution of our comrades, but stood firm on pursuing it any further. She believes that, because Deathbird’s actions be well within the law, her position as Majestrix couldst be undermined by confronting Deathbird on such a public level.”
“That doesn’t sound like Lilandra,” Jean said distantly.
“Professor,” Cyclops began, “you are Lilandra’s royal consort. Is there anything you can do or say to convince her to intercede?”
Xavier seemed to slump in his chair ever so slightly.
“I’m sorry, Scott,” he sighed. “Lilandra and I have not been communicating very often or very well for some time. While I am still the royal consort, her entire being has been consumed by the demands of the empire. If I can reach her, she may speak to me, but I doubt I will be able to change her mind.”
“Anything you can do, sir,” Cyclops said quietly.
“Of course,” Xavier answered. “But now, unfortunately, I have more bad news of another crisis which demands immediate attention. All of you please meet me in the ready room in five minutes, suited up. If I haven’t reached Lilandra by then, I’m certain I won’t be able to reach her for at least a day, far too long to wait.
“Five minutes,” he repeated.
* * *
CH’OD seemed slightly disoriented, but against the Beast’s advice and despite their incomplete recovery, he and Raza had managed to get out of bed and join the X-Men in the ready room. Cyclops was glad they had made it. It was comforting to have them near, because he knew in his heart that, reservations about the stargate or no, there would be no avoiding a trip to Hala. And though the logical, practical side of his brain would never have allowed him to admit it, he would have it no other way. His father was going to be executed. That was all the argument necessary.
When Professor Xavier finally glided into the ready room, Cyclops was relieved, despite the grim cast to his mentor’s features.
“All present and accounted for, Professor,” he said. “Were you able to contact Lilandra?”
Xavier glanced around at the men and women gathered in the hangar. Cyclops thought he caught a flicker of anxiety on the older man’s face, which was somehow made more expressive, and often more severe, because of his complete lack of hair.
“I did reach Lilandra,” he finally said, with obvious resignation. “Unfortunately, it seems she was not able to speak freely. She did tell me that she was sending an envoy to Hala to witness the executions, and that they would not take place until that envoy arrived. It is clearly her way of stalling. Only because I know her so intimately was I able to see the pain which this situation has brought to her.
“Scott,” Xavier said softly, “I’m sorry I could not do more.”
“We know you did all you could, Charles,” Jean said, even as she wrapped her arms around Scott’s waist. “The question is …”
“What now? Yes, of course,” Xavier nodded.
“You spoke of another crisis?” Cyclops asked, impatient to be away on the Starjammer, en route to his father’s rescue or funeral. But he had an obligation to the X-Men and to Professor Xavier, an obligation that had become, over the years, the definition of his life and identity.
“Hank?” Xavier said, and the Beast stepped forward. “Simply put,” he began, then paused a moment to determine how, indeed, to put it simply, something Hank McCoy was not always able to do. “Simply put,” he began again, “some person or persons, likely possessing either supranormal powers or nouveau tech weaponry, has seized a federal facility in Colorado that is the focal point of Operation: Wideawake, which manufactures and commands the Sentinels.”
“Beautiful!” Iceman said, his sarcasm unwelcome. “Just what every household needs, the mutant equivalent of mechanical dog catcher!”
“I don’t see what the big deal is, Charles,” Archangel said calmly. “If someone has taken Wideawake from the government, we’ll just shoot out there and take it back. We’ll be back in time for dinner.”
“It’s hardly that simple, Warren,” Storm began, but Bishop cut her off.
“You don’t see what the big deal is, Worthington?” Bishop said curtly. “Haven’t any of you paid attention to what I’ve told you of the future, the world that I lived in before I traveled back in time and ended up with you? Are you all deaf? Once the Sentinels are unleashed upon mutantkind, it’s the beginning of the end!”
He stopped, fuming a bit, and glared around at the others, several of whom would not meet his gaze. Cyclops did not turn away, fascinated by what he observed was not anger but fear in Bishop’s eyes. Though after the tales the man had told them of the America of his birth, his fear came as no surprise.
“Whatever’s happening out there, we need to stop it,” Bishop added, then lapsed into silence, awaiting Xavier’s instructions like the soldier he was.
“Storm was accurate, however,” the Beast said into the silence. “It is hardly that elementary. We have no idea who might be inside the facility, and the U.S. military is en route to the site as we speak. We must approach this matter with the utmost diplomacy.”
“Bring the Cajun along, Hank,” Wolverine rasped. “He’s such a people person, a natural born diplomat.”
“I can’t help it if I’m too charmin’ for my own good, me,” Gambit said with a mischievous grin.
The conversation erupted in earnest, opinions flying back and forth, but Scott and Jean only stood at the edge of the group, waiting patiently for Xavier’s decision. In the field, Cyclops was leader, with Storm as his second or as leader herself in his absence. But here at the Institute, the X-Men answered to only one voice.
“Quiet,” Xavier said softly, using both his physical and his mental voice. Silence fell.
“You must leave immediately for Colorado,” he said. “Your gear should already be stowed on the Blackbird, if you’ve all been keeping up with protocol.”
Immediately, Cyclops began to stammer a stunned response. “Proprofessor,” he said, “I don’t think I can …”
“Please let me finish,” Xavier said with a raised hand. “You will be split into two groups, one to investigate and if necessary act on the situation developing in Colorado, the other to accompany Raza and Ch’od back to Hala to effect rescue of our allies, if at all possible. Both endeavors will likely require diplomacy, or at least expediency.
“Scott will, of course, lead the Hala mission, while Ororo will lead the Wideawake recovery team,” Xavier concluded, nodding first at Cyclops and then at Storm. “I’ll want Hank with Storm, but the rest of you can make up your own minds. While we don’t know what waits for us in Colorado, we are certain that the Hala mission is extremely dangerous. If you are caught, you will share Corsair’s fate and there will be nothing I can do for you. Lilandra will not help.”
Cyclops looked at Jean, met her eyes, and that was all that was necessary to reaffirm their commitment. He didn’t need a verbal or psychic cue to know that she would be coming with him. He turned to look at the team once more, and found himself face to face with Rogue, the white streak in her hair startling against its deep, dark red, a sparkle in her eye.
“If y’all are guaranteein’ trouble, you know that Remy and I’ll cover your backs,” she drawled, then turned to Gambit. “Won’t we, sugar?”
“Chere,” Gambit grinned, “I guarantee it.”
“I will go with Storm,” Bishop said grimly. “The Sentinels must never be unleashed.”
Iceman began to speak up, opting for the Hala mission. Cyclops was grateful for his friend’s support. Bobby knew it was more dangerous, and yet his concern for Scott and his father was more important. He wondered if there wasn’t also an element of bravado. Bobby had always been considered one of the less powerful X-Men, and Cyclops often worried that Iceman wanted so badly to prove himself that it might one day get him killed.
“Forget it, Drake,” Archangel said, stepping in front of Iceman. He took another step toward Scott, and spoke quietly. “If you have to go against Deathbird, old friend, you’re going to need me.”
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