Marvel Classic Novels--X-Men

by Christopher Golden

  The power built in his head and chest, it thrummed down his arms and into his fingers. It felt … huge, within him, bursting from his body in a torrent. Wave after wave of cold emanated from him. Unlike Wolverine’s berserker rage, Bobby was not blinded by his fury. Rather, it focused him in a way that was unfortunately rare.

  By the count of two, Cargil was frozen in a block of ice more than twenty feet high and nearly as wide. Her head poked from the top of the block, and she screamed in fury as she tried to escape. She couldn’t move a muscle.

  “Bishop! No!” Storm screamed above him, and Iceman spun to see that Unuscione was about to crush Bishop with her exoskeleton. He looked injured already, and maybe even a little scared, as hard as that was for Bobby to believe.

  Still with the surge of power that had come from fighting Cargil, Iceman acted without thinking. He had gone against Unuscione before, to no avail. Her exoskeleton was impenetrable. Or at least, it was in some respects. But just because Bobby couldn’t blast a torrent of ice at her did not mean that he could not freeze the air between her body and the exoskeleton.

  Which is precisely what he did.

  Unuscione stood, frozen in an instant, at the center of a bizarre caricature of the human form. Part of the ice shattered as she fell to the ground and Bobby ran to her side to make sure she didn’t get up again. Inside the clear ice, he could see her eyes.

  And then he realized his mistake.

  “Oh my God,” he said, stunned. “She’s suffocating. I’m killing her!”

  Bobby’s eyes locked with Unuscione’s, and he saw the fear and horror there though she could not even blink.

  “Somebody help!” he cried finally, and turned to see that the chaos was not over yet.

  Bishop was rushing to his side, and Storm was drifting down to where he stood in a panic. Suddenly, beyond Bishop, Bobby saw Senyaka running toward them, roaring in anger. The Acolyte brandished his psionic whip, and Bishop turned to face him.

  The whip lashed out, and Bobby was startled when Bishop didn’t even try to move. Instead, he lifted his hands to be sure the whip caught him around the wrists rather than the neck. There was a moment when the two froze in place, perhaps both paralyzed by the psionic power of the whip, and then the backlash hit Senyaka, who dropped unconscious to the ground, the whip disappearing.

  “Stand aside, Robert!” Bishop said, and unleashed Senyaka’s energy at the ice that encased Unuscione.

  It shattered into pieces, but the woman was already unconscious. Maybe even … but no, he wouldn’t let himself think that. No matter how terrible the enemy, the X-Men would not knowingly kill. Perhaps Gambit, or Wolverine had made exceptions in the past. But not Iceman. Not Bobby Drake.

  A thin layer of ice was still covering Unuscione’s face, like a shroud. She wasn’t breathing. Bobby knelt to wipe it away, even as Storm stepped up behind him. Without a thought to his own safety, he transformed into flesh and blood once more, and began giving the Acolyte mouth to mouth resuscitation. In seconds, she was breathing again, and Bobby sighed with relief.

  He looked around to see that Hank and Logan were still trading blows with the Kleinstocks. Otherwise, they seemed to have won.

  “It looks like the fight is almost over,” he said. Both Storm and Bishop looked down at him. “Despite their greater number, the Acolytes have fallen,” Bishop agreed.

  “I fear that their defeat does not mean we have won, however,” Storm added somberly. “For I am forced to wonder, while we have been busy fighting his followers, what terrible plot has Magneto been hatching. Why has he not emerged to rescue the Acolytes?”

  “Maybe he just isn’t here,” Bobby suggested, but even as he said the words, he didn’t believe them.

  * * *

  MAGNETO stood alone in the silo. The floor under his feet leaped with the thundering power of the Sentinels.

  “Alpha Sentinel, do you know me?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he watched the monstrous robot, waiting for its response.

  “I do,” it said after a moment. “You are the mutant known as Magneto.”

  Now was the moment of truth.

  “And do you have programming regarding this particular mutant?” he asked, prepared to defend himself if necessary.

  “I do.”

  “And that is?”

  “To obey your every command.”

  Magneto smiled.

  FOURTEEN

  LAMPS burned with false light in the courtyard between the two extended wings of the Capitol Building and the main structure. Starlight danced in ethereal hues off the crystalline spire that housed Deathbird’s aerie. Citizens strolled arm in arm, talked quietly together on benches, stood in a circle around the stout Rigolletian piper whose music filled the night.

  Hushed whispers carried across the courtyard and the populace stiffened slightly. Children craned their necks to get a good look and one small girl said, “Look, Mama!” in her high, sweet voice.

  The Royal Elite of the Imperial Guard was passing by. They were not royalty, merely soldiers. But this moment might be as physically close as any of Hala’s Shi’ar citizens would ever come to their Majestrix. They would tell their grandchildren about it.

  And about the chaos that followed.

  * * *

  GLADIATOR was filled with doubt and self-recrimination for his earlier behavior. He knew his duty. In truth, he had carried out more grievous tasks under both Deathbird and D’Ken. A small voice inside him suggested he might be maturing, or growing a conscience, but that was the kind of psychobabble he had always despised. Finally, he was forced to assume that age had begun to make him volatile. It was something he would have to watch for in the future.

  On the other hand, Deathbird was not helping. She had sent them on this fool’s errand, to hunt the X-Men in places they would have to be imbeciles to hide. Now she had failed to notify them that she would be holding court, and so they were significantly late. Of course, the Viceroy would show no mercy in denouncing them for the insult of their tardiness. Very typical.

  What was worse, they had not had time to dress in proper court regalia. Instead, they wore their Guard uniforms as always. Titan and Starbolt whispered conspiratorially together, lagging behind the others. Gladiator sometimes envied them their friendship. The two symbiotes that made up Warstar were socially self-sufficient. They needed no one. And Oracle, lovely Oracle. She walked beside Gladiator in silence, not even favoring him with a glance. With all of the voices in her mind, she could never be truly alone.

  Though he allowed no outward sign, Gladiator became frustrated with himself again. His was a soldier’s life. There wasn’t room in his perspective or his existence for such nonsense. And yet it seemed to come to him all too often of late, thoughts that he considered foolish and pointless.

  What was it about the X-Men? The Guard had fought them before, several times. Certainly, the Majestrix had an interest in keeping them safe, though she dared not order them protected. Gladiator had to keep her concerns in mind. But without her direct order, he must follow Deathbird’s commands. He didn’t know why that should concern him so. Yet he knew the others were reluctant as well.

  Perhaps, it occurred to him, it wasn’t solely that they had been sent against the X-Men. Perhaps there was something more. Though the Kree were the most hated enemy of the Shi’ar Empire, Gladiator had been deeply disturbed to see firsthand how their homeworld had been reduced to little more than rubble, how their once-proud people, a warrior race not terribly different from his own, had been driven to an almost primitive lifestyle.

  None of which mattered in regard to his duty or his loyalty. Even so, he hoped that he and the rest of the Guard would be off Hala as quickly as possible.

  At the first scream, he looked up, frowning. The doors to the Capitol Building burst open, and Hala’s tainted Shi’ar nobility came streaming out in a frenzied rush. Some were screaming, even crying. Gladiator knew that the game of political cat and mouse Deathbird had been playi
ng with the Guard had backfired.

  “Oracle,” he commanded. “Scan them.”

  The nobles flew past them, barely noting the presence of the Guard. Several seemed to make an attempt to regain their composure, but they didn’t slow down in order to do so. Anywhere else in the Imperium, simple courtesy would have forced Gladiator to ascertain their condition, to see them all to safety. But they were of Deathbird’s court. On Hala, Gladiator would fulfill his duties to the letter, but no further.

  “Oracle,” Gladiator snapped. “Report.”

  Her eyes closed as she scanned the frantic minds around them, but his harsh tone was enough to snap her back to reality.

  “Kree warriors, Praetor,” she said, a grim set to her white features. “I imagine it’s the rabble Deathbird has been prattling about, the so-called rebellion.”

  “The Kree may be there, but I’d gladly wager we’ll find the X-Men inside as well,” Gladiator declared.

  “No sign of them in the scan,” Oracle replied, “but I’ll continue to scan the Capitol as we enter.”

  When Gladiator didn’t reply, Oracle frowned and cast a sidelong glance in his direction.

  “We are going in, aren’t we, Praetor?” she asked.

  “Hmm?” he mumbled, then gave her his full attention. “Oh, yes of course we are. We will do our duty. I will personally reprimand any of you who do not fully execute Deathbird’s orders, unless and until the Majestrix countermands them.”

  A sly smile crept over Gladiator’s face.

  “But that doesn’t mean we have to like it. Nor does it mean we have to hurry,” he said.

  Gladiator was a stern leader, rarely given to humor or warmth among his charges. The Guards respected him, but he doubted very much that they liked him. Oracle smiled with mischief at his words, and both Titan and Starbolt laughed aloud. It felt good. Yet he wanted to be certain they did not misunderstand him.

  “We will capture the X-Men,” Gladiator announced. “With every bit of power and cunning at our disposal, we will follow our orders. Most especially, we will see that the three prisoners scheduled to be executed in the morning do not escape Hala alive.”

  Gladiator knew they would hear his unspoken words, implicit in his earlier humor. He hoped the X-Men would make good their escape before the Imperial Guard arrived. And if not, he hoped that they at least caused great agitation for Hala’s Viceroy. Deathbird deserved that, and much more.

  “Now, attack!” he commanded, and the Guard obeyed.

  The pair of huge double doors that opened onto the high-ceilinged entry hall of the Capitol Building were of the finest, heaviest wood in the Imperium. Warstar stomped through one, and Gladiator streaked, fists first, through the other, splinters flying around his head.

  Starbolt followed quickly, in position to torch anything or anyone who stood against them. Gladiator had worked out this attack strategy years earlier, and it never failed. No matter what Guard members were involved, Gladiator had the appropriate attack scenario in his head. This time, Oracle brought up the rear, scanning the building, with Titan as rear guard. The ceilings were high enough that he had already grown to at least sixteen feet. In the Great Hall, he would have almost unlimited room to grow and maneuver.

  Ahead, sounds of blaster fire erupted from beyond the colossal doors to the hall.

  “Starbolt! Your turn for the doors!” Gladiator shouted, and despite his reservations, felt the adrenal surge of battle as Starbolt vaporized the doors with one enormous blast.

  Then they were inside the Great Hall. Deathbird’s sentries had not lasted very long against the Kree rebels, but a squad of Shi’ar foot soldiers had also been at court. It was they who were holding the rebels at bay, even as Deathbird swooped down from the balconies above, picking off the Kree rabble one by one.

  Still, neither side seemed assured of victory. And there were no X-Men in sight.

  “Gladiator!” Deathbird shrieked. “The X-Men are after the prisoners. Stop them, or you will die in their stead!”

  Though he knew the Majestrix would not allow such an irrational waste of his talents, that did not allow him to ignore the order. Still, he could not simply abandon the madwoman to the Kree. Though he would dearly have loved to do so.

  “Oracle, Starbolt, with me!” he shouted to be heard over the din, and squinted against the flash of blaster fire. A laser struck him in the chest, forcing him backward. It singed his uniform, and he wrinkled his nose at the smell.

  “Titan, Warstar, stay here and protect the Viceroy,” Gladiator ordered, then set off down into the prison levels at a run.

  The first time Rogue had met the X-Men was in battle against them. She had been raised by one of their greatest enemies, a shapechanger named Mystique. Though she’d loved her foster mother for the home she’d provided, Rogue had never seen the world in the same way. When her powers went awry, she had reached out to Charles Xavier for help. Not only because she believed he could help her, but because the X-Men represented something she desperately wanted. A simple thing, really. To be good, to be confident in her actions, in the cause she was fighting for.

  What she got was so much more than that. Though Mystique would always be Rogue’s mother, with the X-Men, she had a family. Together with honor, they were the only things worth fighting for, worth dying for if it came to that.

  They had just turned a corner, and were rushing down a gleaming metal hallway. Archangel was airborne, his wingspan limited in the hall. From time to time the organic metal would strike the wall, and sparks would fly, but Warren didn’t even slow down.

  Beside Rogue, Jean Grey ran hard. Though her mind was an extraordinary weapon, her body was that of a normal, human woman. With her own enhanced physiology, Rogue tended to forget what kind of exertion a normal body could take. Running next to Jean, she was both reminded of this, and astounded by the degree to which Jean surpassed it.

  The footfalls echoed on the metal floor.

  “Might as well have a herd of elephants comin’ through here, Jean,” Rogue said. “No way we’re gonna get the drop on these folks.”

  “No time for subtleties,” Jean said between breaths. “I’ve even stopped trying to block our location from Oracle’s probes. They know we’re here. They’ve got to also know where we’d be headed.”

  “Okay, then,” Rogue said, determined. “We’ll hit ’em fast and hard and get out of here.”

  “Thanks for backing my play, Rogue,” Jean said.

  “Any time, sugar.”

  They came to a junction, and Jean called ahead to Warren that he should go left. Rogue marveled at the precision with which Archangel made the maneuver. At that flight speed, she figured she probably would have hit the wall. Course, hitting the wall wouldn’t hurt her near as much as it would Warren.

  Rogue heard slapping footsteps resounding off the floor even as she and Jean turned the corner at the junction. Blaster fire followed, but far back in the hall where they had come from. She heard Gambit and Raza cursing, then the crackle of energy as they returned fire. Remy and the Starjammer were covering their rear, keeping the Shi’ar soldiers who had pursued them at bay.

  She heard them running again, but didn’t dare look back. Their only priority was getting to Cyclops and the others and getting out. Remy knew what he was doing. This type of running battle might not be his style— he was more at home with intrigue and one-on-one confrontations—but Gambit knew what the job was, and how to get it done. And after all, Raza was there as well. Rogue figured the Starjammers had been so despised as pirates that they were probably bored by close-quarters armed conflict.

  We’re close, now. Turn right at the next junction, and I think it’ll be at the end of the hall, Jean’s voice was in her head, but Rogue thought the words were for Archangel, and perhaps for Cyclops as well.

  They were close, though, that was good. Soon they could get off this devastated, poverty-stricken world, and back to their own. She smiled grimly at her own cynicism. Then she realized tha
t, after seeing Hala, Earth seemed to be in pretty good shape. Rogue didn’t know whether to be cheered or depressed by the thought.

  There was more blaster fire behind them. She heard Gambit and Raza cursing again—bonding under fire, she thought. Then the entire hallway lit up orange with an explosion that knocked Rogue forward off her feet. Jean was on the ground as well, but only for a moment. They were back up in the time it took for Rogue to scream, “Remy!”

  “Keep goin’ petite,” Gambit called from the debris strewn hall behind them. He and Raza were up and dusting off, seemingly unhurt other than a bloody scratch on Remy’s forehead. “It gonna be a while before de Shi’ar blast dere way through de little roadblock we just left behind.”

  “Let’s go,” Jean said, tugging her arm.

  Rogue looked at Remy one last time. Even at the other end of the hallway, she could see him wink at her, that mischievous smile on his face. With Raza moving backward, keeping his blaster trained on the pile of debris that blocked off the junction, they started toward where Rogue and Jean stood. Gambit was limping.

  “Don’ worry, Gambit’s comin’,” he said. “Jus’ twist my ankle, is all. You get going, we be along pretty quick.”

  “Rogue,” Jean urged.

  Then they were running again. Archangel had stopped before the junction up ahead to wait for them. Now, he took two steps and lifted off once more. At the junction, he arced wide and started down the final hallway.

  Suddenly, he whipped his wings out in front of him and dropped his legs down to stand. Blaster fire sparked off his wings and several of his wing knives shot out down the hall in response. Then he had ducked back down toward Rogue and Jean.

  “Six of them with blasters,” Warren said as they reached his side. “Two more cranking up something else. Something big. Looks a little like a plasma cannon, but the nozzle has some kind of dish on it. I have no idea what it is.”