Marvel Classic Novels--X-Men

by Christopher Golden

  Bobby was glad to be Iceman at that moment. If he’d been pure flesh and blood, his friends would have seen him blush.

  “Well done, Bobby,” Hank said.

  “You have my thanks, Iceman,” Bishop said formally. “It is possible that I owe you my life.”

  Storm drifted to the ground nearby on winds of her own creation, and smiled at Bobby as she came toward them.

  “We might have been swifter,” she said, “but not without doing far more damage than we did. There may be a few broken bones, some burns or shrapnel wounds, and of course, a lot of frostbite …”

  She motioned behind them, and Iceman cocked his head to see where she was pointing, then laughed out loud. He had almost forgotten the soldiers that he had put on ice earlier.

  “They’ll thaw,” he said.

  “My guess is that the hard part is still to come, but all in all,” Storm continued, “a job well done, particularly on your part, Iceman.”

  “Okay, now we’re gettin’ downright mushy,” Logan said. “The kid was good, but let’s not get carried away with ourselves. The day ain’t over yet.”

  “Indeed it is not, Wolverine,” Storm said. “It is time to turn our attention to the force field surrounding this installation.”

  Storm went on, but Iceman wasn’t listening. He was proud of the part he’d played in the mission so far, and his friends’ comments had put an almost painful smile on his face. Somehow, though, it wasn’t enough.

  Taking on a platoon of G.I. Joes was penny-ante stuff, and he knew it. He’d been all over the place during the battle, instrumental in making it happen, keeping both sides from serious injury. But against a more powerful enemy, Bobby Drake, the Iceman, was strictly a second-string player. Maybe second rate as well. If he was in charge of the group, he’d put his own wisecracking self on the bench until the game was in the bag or he had too many names on the injured reserve.

  Normally, he would have shrugged off their praise, and his own insecurity, with bad puns and sarcastic humor. But he just didn’t feel funny. Or all that triumphant, now that he thought of it. After all, as self-defeating as his particular neurotic tendencies were, he was convinced that his friends wouldn’t have been so complimentary if they didn’t expect less from him to begin with. But then, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.

  On the other hand, he had stopped Bishop from being shot, maybe killed. There was no doubt about that. And Bishop had no vested interest in coddling Bobby Drake. Quite the opposite. He found every opportunity to point out weaknesses, both in the team and in individuals. That was his way to make the X-Men function better, but it wasn’t a really effective way to make friends.

  Bishop had thanked him, complimented him. Bishop didn’t care about him except in context of his field performance. Hence, Bishop meant what he said. Though he’d known Hank and Storm and Wolverine for a long time, Iceman began to feel a little better about himself because of Bishop’s words. Maybe that’s what it took, he thought. Someone with no motivation.

  Maybe I didn’t do too badly after all.

  “First thing we do is have Bobby try to freeze the force field, see if we can’t stretch a hole in it,” Storm said. “If that doesn’t work, then … well, let’s see if that does work.”

  But Bobby’s ice powers, and Ororo’s weather manipulation, had no effect on the field. There was little Hank or Logan could do with their bare hands or claws.

  “I might be able to rig up a polarity field and cut us a hole with the Blackbird’s communications system,” Hank offered. “Not likely, but not necessarily impossible.”

  Iceman noticed that the soldiers had regrouped, but were keeping a respectful distance. He could only assume that they were waiting to see if the X-Men could get the force field down, maybe do their jobs for them. Once again, he couldn’t blame them.

  “Before you try that,” Storm said thoughtfully, “why don’t we let Bishop try to tear a hole in the field by siphoning off some of its energy.”

  “That just might accomplish our objective,” the Beast replied. “Though if we’d been able to generate an ratiocination of the field from the Blackbird’s on-board systems, we’d possess a better idea of what we were preparing to confront.”

  “Bishop, are you willing?” Storm asked.

  “As always, I am at your service, Storm,” Bishop answered.

  Iceman raised an eyebrow. Though he never would have expected it as a kid, or even as a young man joining the X-Men, he considered himself a fairly courageous person. With the X-Men, that was just part of the job description. But that didn’t mean that he was never afraid, or that facing danger didn’t give him pause. He suspected the same might be true, to varying degrees, of most of his friends and teammates.

  It was different with Wolverine and Bishop, though. They didn’t just do what needed to be done, they did it without batting an eyelash. Bishop had no idea what effect the force field might have on him. But if it meant the success of the mission, he would try to siphon its energy even if it might fry him on the spot.

  “No matter what happens, regardless of what awaits us inside, we cannot allow the Sentinels to roam the Earth,” Bishop said gravely, as if reading Iceman’s thoughts. “It would mean the end of your world, and the beginning of mine. Trust me. You don’t want that to happen.”

  Without another word, he jogged to where the crackling energy of the force field met the ground, only inches in that spot from the installation’s perimeter fence. Palms up, Bishop slammed his hands against the force field, grunting with obvious pain as sparks flew under his hands.

  Then his hands passed through the field. His fingers locked on the fence and he stood rigid, as if electricity coursed through his body. Bobby stood with the rest of them, and he could feel their tension. Each was prepared to pull Bishop away from this contact if he seemed in any danger.

  A wondrous thing began to happen. Where his wrists passed through the field, twin holes began to open. They widened quickly, and Bishop stood back from the fence, hands raised above him as the force field’s energy flowed into him.

  “Hurry,” he grunted. “This won’t last very long.”

  They slipped by him, taking great care not to make contact with the edges of the field. Wolverine’s claws popped out with their familiar snikt, and he slashed them a passage through the perimeter fence.

  Once they were all inside, Bishop slipped through and allowed the force field to close behind him. Once again, he was charged to overflowing, power bursting from his eyes and hands. He would have to release it shortly, or it could overwhelm him.

  “Welcome, X-Men!” a female voice called. “And farewell.”

  Iceman recognized them at once, of course. The Acolytes’ magenta and crimson uniforms were unmistakable. Voght had spoken, but Bobby saw Senyaka and Unuscione and several others as well.

  “Bright lady preserve us,” Storm said, just loud enough for the team to hear. “What does Magneto want with the Sentinels?”

  “Darlin’,” Wolverine growled, “I’d say it’s high time we found out.”

  In seconds, the battle was joined, and Iceman winced at the thundercrack of energy that told him Bishop had found the release he needed. Perhaps he had performed well earlier, as his friends had insisted. But now they’d moved up to the big leagues.

  If he struck out now, he was dead.

  NINE

  THE marketplace was in chaos. Starbolt and Gladiator flew back and forth above the panicked crowd, and Gambit knew they wouldn’t have come alone. Storefronts were quickly shuttered, but merchants with carts were not so lucky. Several were turned over, including one with a cauldron of spicy-smelling stew that splashed onto Gambit’s boots.

  Run! Try to blend in!

  Gambit heard Jean’s mental shout as though she were whispering in his ear. His first impulse was to ignore it—Remy LeBeau didn’t like to run from a fight. But in his time with the X-Men he’d come to understand their priorities,
and to adapt to them. The mission was more important than personal pride. And they couldn’t expect help from the Kree rebels, who had long-term concerns. They disappeared, blending into the crowd in an instant.

  Gambit saw Cyclops keeping pace with a family. They headed for a side alley and the X-Men’s leader helped carry the smallest child, who looked injured. It wouldn’t do for all of them to be separated, he realized, and set off after Cyclops through a sea of madness.

  A hand clamped on his shoulder, and Gambit reacted instantly. He threw out his hip, grabbed that hand and threw his attacker several feet into a fountain that still bubbled at the market’s center. Only when the figure splashed into the water did he realize it was Raza.

  “Sorry t’ get you wet, homme,” he said as he helped Raza to his feet. “In de future, you jus’ might want to t’ink ’bout saying hello ’fore you put your hands on somebody like dat, eh?”

  When Raza looked up, he was not smiling. His face was filled with rage, but his eyes were glazed and seemed to focus on something other than Gambit. But there was no mistaking his intent as he drew his sword and lunged for Remy’s gut.

  Gambit cursed and dodged to one side. Raza’s sword tore a long slice from his ragged Kree jacket, and he shrugged the confining garment off. He slammed his hands down on Raza’s back and rammed his knee up into the swordsman’s stomach.

  “You gettin’ slow in your old age, Starjammer,” Gambit said. “What does Gambit have to do to show you dis ain’t de time for a rematch?”

  He and Raza struggled, and the Shi’ar warrior went for his blaster. Before Gambit could stop him, Raza had drawn the weapon and was about to bring it to bear on the Cajun’s face. Remy wasn’t about to allow that. He let go of Raza’s arm and grabbed hold of the blaster instead, instantly charging it with explosive force. He staggered Raza with a southpaw to the temple, then dove out of the way as the blaster exploded in Raza’s cyborg hand.

  “What de hell was dat all about?” Gambit asked aloud.

  “Oracle.”

  Gambit turned to see that Jean had come up next to him undetected. Her Kree disguise was still working, at least visibly. A young, pink-skinned Kree female slammed into Remy. She looked up at him for a moment, took a fearful glance behind her, then kept running. He looked to see what had frightened her so, and there, towering above the marketplace, was Titan of the Imperial Guard.

  He stood nearly forty feet high, perhaps more, though Gambit didn’t know if Titan had a limit to how tall he could grow. The shining blue and brown emblazoned across his chest were a startling contrast to the dingy colors of the marketplace. Each step was half a block, and his head turned from side to side as his eyes scanned the crowd.

  The thinning crowd. Gambit felt suddenly vulnerable as he noticed how quickly the marketplace was emptying.

  “Remy, let’s go!” Jean said.

  “Wait,” he stopped her. “What about Oracle?”

  “Well, she’s got to be with them or they wouldn’t have found us,” Jean answered. “I’m scanning for her but she’s not only shielded, she’s controlling several members of the crowd, and she was controlling Raza. All of that’s throwing me off.”

  “But you’re much more powerful den her, right, chere?” Gambit said, looking for reassurance.

  “Once I find her, sure,” she said, pulling him along. “And she can’t take over any of the X-Men because of the psychic shields that the Professor has implanted in all of us. It’s just a matter of time. If I can’t find her, I’ll just shield us until …”

  Jean slammed into a wall and was pushed to one side. Gambit cursed as he saw that the wall was actually the Imperial Guardsmen known as Warstar. The green armored, robotic looking pair were actually mechanoid symbiotes, sentient machines that could not operate separately. C’Cil was the workhorse, stupid but nearly fifteen feet tall and immeasurably strong. B’Nee, the brains of the duo, was the size of an average human, and rode on C’Cil’s back. While he was far less powerful, his touch was electrified. Together, they could tear Gambit apart.

  If they could get their hands on him.

  “We do not wish to harm you, X-Men,” B’Nee said from his piggyback position. “We have been instructed to capture you. Surrender and survive.”

  Remy saw that Jean had already gotten to her feet and was about to attack Warstar. He shook his head, thinking the words back off as hard as he could and hoping she would pick them up. She stepped back and looked at him curiously. Warstar must have assumed they’d knocked her out, Gambit realized.

  “I don’ t’ink you realize who you’re dealing with,” he said. “But Gambit will be more den pleased to show you.”

  Even as he spoke, Gambit whipped several playing cards from one of the many pockets inside his long duster jacket. They were charged before they left his hands, and his aim was true. The cards struck B’Nee’s shining, android-like eyes. The symbiotes screamed together, feeling one another’s pain. C’Cil could still see, and batted an arm out to try to take Gambit down. Rage and pain made Warstar clumsy, however, and Gambit dodged to one side and telescoped his bo staff to maximum length right between C’Cil’s legs.

  “Get out of here, Jeannie,” the Cajun said. “Take Oracle down or we don’ got any hope of gettin’ out of here.”

  Jean nodded and ran for cover down the same alley Cyclops had gone down only moments earlier. There was shouting above him, and Gambit looked up to see that Archangel and Rogue were both airborne, battling Gladiator and Starbolt in the sky.

  “So much for gettin’ away wit’out a fight,” he said, and smiled. This was more his style anyway. Something, or someone, crashed through the roof of the building to his left. He didn’t have time to see if it was one of the X-Men or the Imperial Guard, however, since Warstar had already regained his feet.

  “You move quickly for a Terran, Gambit,” B’Nee said in that metallic voice that reminded Remy of crinkling tinfoil. “But in the end you know you are no match for us.”

  Then Warstar moved, C’Cil’s arms flashing forward to grab Gambit by the shoulders. He was stunned at the huge mechanoid’s speed, and couldn’t dodge in time. In seconds, C’Cil was crushing Gambit between his huge hands. Remy’s shoulders and ribs felt like they were ready to snap. No question, the alien was right. He was outmatched.

  But Remy LeBeau never gave up. That was a lesson he had learned long before he had ever joined the X-Men.

  Gambit swung his legs up, ignoring the popping sound that might well have been his shoulder coming out of its socket. He planted his feet against Warstar’s chest and shoved with all his strength. The speed of the movement caught Warstar by surprise and he was able to break C’Cil’s grip. But that only lasted for a moment. He was falling toward the ground when C’Cil clamped down on his legs painfully. Once again, he was caught.

  But his arms were free. His hands were free. Gambit didn’t know, really, what Warstar was made of. The thing might have been nothing more than an artificially intelligent robot, or a sentient, naturally born alien species. He only hoped there was nothing flesh and blood about it, because he had already realized there was only one way to get away from the behemoth.

  Remy reached out and grabbed C’Cil’s upper thighs with his hands.

  “Sorry ’bout this, mes amis,” he said. “It don’ seem like your heart’s in dis fight, but dere’s no other way.”

  Explosive energy was funneled through Gambit’s hands and into C’Cil’s legs, which began to glow. He swung his body up to get his face out of the way, just as the charge released. C’Cil’s legs were blown off and Warstar crashed to the ground, the two symbiotic creatures shrieking a duet of agony.

  Raza was still unconscious, but Gambit dragged him over to the shattered fountain and splashed water on his face. He sputtered, but when he saw their current situation, he rose in silence and retrieved his sword. Even as they ran to help the others, Gambit heard B’Nee’s eerie voice behind him.

  “Initiating self repair,” B’Nee
said.

  “Oh, dat’s jus’ wonderful,” Remy said, and they ran even faster.

  * * *

  IN a tiny hovel that a blue-skinned Kree merchant and his family called home, Cyclops helped to set the broken leg of the youngest daughter. She looked at him in terror, and he couldn’t blame her. With the insanity raging outside her door, it couldn’t have been much of a comfort to be helped by an alien whose eyes were covered by a blood-red visor.

  Scott! Jean’s voice entered his mind. We’ve got to find Oracle or we’ll never get out of here. I’m showing you my position telepathically. Get here as quickly as you can.

  He finished tying the makeshift splint to the girl’s leg, and ignored the thanks of her parents as he dashed out to meet Jean. Cyclops had known people with psi talents all of his adult life, and part of his youth. But Professor Xavier and Jean never used their abilities on an individual without consent. Other than in battle, of course. Despite the psionic shields that were in his mind, and the comfort level he had achieved with his constant psi-link with Jean, it disturbed Cyclops deeply to know that Oracle was out there, monitoring their location. Perhaps their thoughts as well.

  Jean stood at the corner of a small alley just ahead, and Scott couldn’t help being both pleased to see her and anxious for her welfare. He didn’t have time to worry further, though. At that moment, Titan stepped into view. Cyclops thought he might dive into the alley and avoid being spotted, but the huge Guardsman clearly knew right where to look.

  Jean was right. There was nothing they could do until she found Oracle. Unless …

  “Jean,” he shouted, even as Titan began to reach for him. “Can’t you shield us all from Oracle?”

  “Of course,” she snapped. “But what good will that do unless we’re out of sight?”

  Foolish question, Scott chided himself. He unleashed a full power optic blast at Titan’s chest even as a huge hand was about to close on his chest. The Guardsman was staggered, and stumbled back several steps, which gave Scott and Jean time to disappear down the alley.