Marvel Classic Novels--X-Men

by Christopher Golden

  Hank was the first to realize what Magneto’s target had been.

  “The Blackbird,” he said aloud.

  “Indeed, McCoy,” Magneto confirmed. “You will not, however, have to walk from here to the Xavier Institute. Rather than tear your vessel apart, I generated a focused electro-magnetic pulse that should make it inoperable for several hours. At the very least, that will keep you from inconveniencing me while I put my plans into action.”

  “How benevolent,” Hank said, rolling his eyes.

  “You forget yourself, Magnus!” Storm yelled suddenly.

  She raised her arms above her head, and immediately, the rain began to fall hard upon the X-Men. The wind came up strong enough to force Hank back a step. Lightning flashed from the sky and struck Magneto’s levitating force field, and some of the Acolytes cursed and ducked, shielding their faces. They need not have worried, however, as the lightning was immediately absorbed into the ball, which glowed yellow for a moment before returning to its green hue.

  “You forget that one among us has the power of flight!” Storm called, above the roar of the wind which began to lift her off the ground.

  “Ororo, no!” Hank shouted. He reached for her legs, trying to keep her from facing Magneto and the Acolytes alone. But he was too late. In the blink of an eye she was airborne, calling down the lightning to strike repeatedly at their enemies.

  “I have no wish to hurt you, Storm,” Magneto said. “One day you, all of you, will come to me in supplication. Until then, I bid you adieu.”

  Magneto turned to Voght and nodded. The green energy field flared brightly. Hank squinted, shielded his eyes with one hand, but still he could not see beyond the glaring light. Then as suddenly as it began, the flare ended.

  With total darkness.

  Only the moon and stars gave them light. Magneto and the Acolytes were gone. Amelia Voght had teleported them away, and the X-Men had no way to track them, or to even begin to understand what Magneto’s purpose might have been. All in all, Hank thought sullenly, it had been a very unproductive day.

  “Whoa! Hello? Bishop, put me down, man,” Bobby said weakly, finally conscious again.

  Hank watched his old friend steady himself as Bishop lowered him to the ground. Iceman looked around, obviously confused.

  “Okay, let’s see,” Bobby said, the usual jesting tone in his voice. “Dark out, nobody here but us chickens. We won, right?”

  “Sadly, no, Robert,” Storm answered.

  “Didn’t even get the chance, kid,” Wolverine added.

  “We are here, however,” Storm reasoned. “Before the military is able to erase this event and this base from history, we must determine the extent of Operation: Wideawake’s capacity here, and the amount of damage Magneto has done.”

  “Once more into the breach, my friends,” the Beast added with a laugh.

  They had not taken a dozen paces toward the rubble that had once been a building when the ground began to shake violently. Its vibration threw Bishop and Iceman to the ground and Storm lifted off with the wind beneath her. Hank and Wolverine were able to keep their footing, but only barely.

  “An earthquake?” Bobby asked. “What else could go wrong today?”

  “I’ve got a real bad feeling about this,” Wolverine said in his gravely voice.

  Hank was filled with dread once again. There could only be one explanation for the way the ground was pitching and rolling beneath them. A moment later, Bishop confirmed his worst fears.

  “Not an earthquake,” the future-born mutant shouted over the rumble of the Earth. “I know the sound all too well. It’s the Sentinels preparing for deployment.”

  “Goddess, no!” Storm cried. “X-Men, fall back! Fall back!”

  They all moved to follow her orders, streaking toward the metal fence and the forest beyond. Storm whipped the wind up into such a hurricane-like frenzy that it tore the fence away, leaving only the dense forest beyond.

  As they ran, the ground shook beneath them. Then it buckled. Behind them, a huge hole began to open as two massive plates of Earth lifted like a drawbridge. The X-Men pitched forward into a yawning chasm where the ground rushed down to fill the space opening beneath it.

  “It’s a modified missile silo!” Hank yelled. “Everyone get clear!”

  His words were too late to warn them. But these were the X-Men. They didn’t need to be told. Storm grabbed Wolverine beneath his arms and held tightly as the winds she controlled rocketed them both to safety. Bobby whipped up an ice slide and Bishop held onto his back as he propelled himself along by constantly adding to it. The ground on which the slide was built was crumbling by the second, the ice cracking, shattering along with it. But by that time, they were close enough to stable ground for Bobby to instantly create a ramp of ice down which they slid to safety.

  Which only left Hank. They had fought beside the Beast for years. Obviously, they were counting on his strength and agility for him to be able to save himself. It was the only thing they could have done, the wisest course of action. Hank knew they were right to leave him behind. Just as he knew they were right that, with one or two enormous leaps, he could get himself to safety.

  If he could find one foot of solid ground from which to leap.

  It didn’t look promising. The Beast raced toward the churning ground ahead as the huge door he now knew he stood upon opened beneath him. He had to continue that forward momentum, though it brought him closer to certain death with each step. If he slowed, he would most certainly lose his footing, and if he lost his footing, this avalanche of soil would trap him and crush him to death.

  Hank didn’t look up. He couldn’t afford to. In any case, he knew it would be too dangerous for Storm to try to save him. Each time one of his feet touched ground, his primal instincts tested the ground for stability. He was rapidly losing hope of finding any, and he was certain there would not be a long enough patch of solid ground for him to make a decent jump.

  He had to count on Bobby Drake to know what to do. Iceman couldn’t come after him without the real probability that he would sacrifice his own life and not be able to save Hank. But if he was thinking, if Bobby was paying attention, he could catch Hank in the air with a slide or a ramp or something.

  If Hank could just get in the air. If he could find something solid from which to propel himself. His feet slid in the dirt and with each step he had to pull them out before he tore or twisted something vital, something that would end it all.

  The genetic x-factor that had made Henry McCoy a mutant had given him senses that matched his savage appearance. Otherwise he never would have seen the enormous tree stump that slid along atop the crumbling earth ahead, only a handful of yards from where the opening door had pulled away from solid ground, allowing millions of tons of soil to pour off the edge of the world.

  Hank assumed that the stump had been too large to remove when the facility was built, and so the laborers had simply buried it. He praised them, then pushed the thought from his mind as he increased his speed. He had to get to the stump before it went over into the maelstrom of dirt.

  Then it was there, under his feet. The Beast crouched and used all of his considerable strength, and the momentum he had accumulated to leap up and forward. Only when he was in the air did he look to see if he would make it to the edge of solid ground where the earth had been cut away to build the silo. He found it, and knew instantly that it was too far.

  Then the X-Men were there, in his line of sight, and Iceman was furiously fashioning an ice slide that seemed to burst from the ground and shoot toward the spot in the air where Hank was already beginning to fall short of his goal. The slide was coming fast, as Bobby poured everything he had into it, and Hank suddenly realized that Bobby had miscalculated, hadn’t taken his fall into account.

  But it wasn’t going to miss. Oh, no, that would be too simple.

  It was going to hit him.

  “Oh, my stars and …” Hank began to say, but he didn’t have time
to finish the phrase. The slide shot toward him, fast enough and thin enough that he was afraid it might slice him in half.

  With every muscle straining, using all of the agility that had kept him alive this long, the Beast flipped himself into a somersault, pulling his legs up into the air above his head. It didn’t slow his descent, but it changed his position enough that the ice flew past underneath him, solidifying so fast that when he hit it, on his back, the wind was knocked out of him.

  It was freezing cold against his back, but it felt good. In a few moments, Hank had slid to the bottom of the ramp, and his teammates had crowded around him. Storm and Wolverine helped him up, as Bishop brushed ice particles off his fur with a wide grin.

  Then Bobby was in front of him.

  “You about skewered me that time, Mr. Drake,” Hank said.

  “You’d make some tasty barbecue, Dr. McCoy,” Bobby replied.

  Hank threw his arms around his best friend and lifted him off the ground, shaking his head in amazement.

  The rumbling continued, though the silo doors were open all the way now, gleaming metal standing vertical from the ground. Dust still rose from the slowly settling pile of dirt that was nearly Hank McCoy’s grave. They heard the sudden firing burn of a jet engine.

  “Here they come,” Bishop said quietly.

  Two by two, the Sentinels emerged. Twenty in all. Their eyes, chest plates, and running lights glowed an eerie red against the sky. All of the X-Men were stunned when the colossal robots did not stop to attack them, or even seem to notice them.

  The X-Men were silent as the Sentinels grew smaller in the sky, until all that could be seen of them were distant red lights.

  “They’re headin’ east,” Wolverine quietly observed.

  “They ignored us,” Storm said. “I don’t think I want to know what Magneto’s next move is going to be.”

  Then they were silent again. A moment later, Hank heard a tiny sniff to his right, and looked over at Bishop in the darkness. The night was black, but with his enhanced senses, the Beast thought there were tears in the time-lost X-Man’s eyes. Bishop had often spoken of the terror the Sentinels had wrought over the world when he was a boy, and even a young man. The newest member of the team, Bishop was also one of the bravest, most fearless warriors they had ever known.

  Tears. Not of fear; not from Bishop. No, Hank imagined that these were tears of sorrow. Sorrow for all he had lost in that far future time. And all he stood to lose now. Today.

  Suddenly, Hank McCoy realized that he was deeply, deeply frightened of what was to come.

  * * *

  VALERIE Cooper was in the White House for the second time in a single day, a personal record. While most anybody she knew would likely be impressed by this fact, Val was singularly unnerved. When she was called to the White House, it was never good news. And considering what had already happened that day, it could only be a catastrophe.

  Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she followed the two Secret Service agents who were to guide her to the meeting. She knew the topic of the meeting, certainly. Mutants. Otherwise, why invite her? But she shuddered to think what the specifics of it would be.

  The only thing that made the trek down that hall bearable was the thought that at least she would find out what had transpired in Colorado. At least she would learn the truth.

  The two broad-shouldered agents, looking for all the world like mindless clones, stood to either side of a heavy oaken door. The one on the left, whom she had come to think of as Tweedle-Dee, reached his right hand around and rapped lightly on the door. There was a buzz and then the loud triple click of bolts sliding back on the door. A voice inside called out, “Enter!” and the other, Tweedle-Dum, twisted the door knob and pulled it open.

  Val Cooper walked inside and the door shut behind her. The buzz came again, followed by the snap-snap-snap of the locking mechanism.

  “Please, Ms. Cooper,” the President said warmly, “come in and take a seat.”

  For a moment, Val could only stand there. Other than herself and the President, there were only two other people in the room: the Director of Operation: Wideawake, and its guard dog, Henry Peter Gyrich. Her heart sank. With Gyrich in the room, she’d be more likely to get the truth from the devil himself.

  Finally, after what seemed to her an uncomfortably long pause, she took a seat in the one empty chair at the small table. This was not a traditional meeting room for the White House, or anywhere. It was a room that was soundproof, bug-proof, bulletproof. There were no windows, and only the one door. It was a room where conversations never happened, where plots were never hatched, where coverups never took place.

  It was a room that didn’t exist.

  “Valerie,” the President began, “as you know, we’ve had our share of mutant problems today. With X-Factor unavailable, we’ve had to deal with it ourselves, and I’m afraid we didn’t do a very good job of it.”

  “If Colonel Tomko had obeyed orders, Mr. President, we wouldn’t be in this …” Gyrich began, but the President cut him off.

  “The colonel isn’t here to defend himself, Henry. Why don’t we give him that opportunity when he reports back to Washington?” the President suggested. Though his tone was noncommittal, Val sensed that the man didn’t like Gyrich very much. Her opinion of the President rose considerably.

  “I’ve asked you here so that you could offer your opinion on what to do next,” he continued. “Mr. Gyrich has made some suggestions, several of which the Director has endorsed, but I wanted to see what you have to say. I don’t think there’s anyone in the administration with more experience when it comes to mutants.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Val answered. “I’m at your service.”

  “Mr. Gyrich,” the President said, “why don’t you outline the events of today so Ms. Cooper is fully caught up?”

  “Sony to interrupt, sir, but if Mr. Gyrich had not specifically ignored the Director’s instructions, I would already be caught up,” Val said, feigning a benevolence that did not reflect her mood or her words. “I just wanted to point that out.”

  “Your point is well taken, Val,” the Director said, speaking finally. “Why don’t we put that aside for now. The President’s time is precious.”

  “Yes, sir,” Val replied, not even bothering to glance in Gyrich’s direction.

  “As Ms. Cooper is well aware,” Gyrich began, “Operation: Wideawake was occupied by terrorists this morning. Our on-site troops encountered the X-Men at the Wideawake base. Those well-known mutant terrorists immediately set upon our troops …”

  “How dare you?” Val snapped.

  Both the Director and the President looked at her as if she were mad.

  “Would you care to explain yourself, Valerie?” the Director asked, his tone warning her to tread carefully.

  “I’m not sure if Colonel Tomko is too terrified of Mr. Gyrich to file a true report, but if he is, it will show that the X-Men arrived at the scene after our troops,” she said evenly. “It will also show that they made no hostile move toward our troops. Only when Colonel Tomko and his men attacked did the X-Men act to defend themselves.”

  “How do you know these things, Ms. Cooper?” the President asked, the suspicion evident in his voice.

  “She’s obviously involved with the X-Men,” Gyrich sneered.

  They all looked at him, and Val had to keep from smiling. Gyrich had reacted to the President’s words too quickly, trying to implicate her rather than defend his own claims. He’d definitely put his foot in it.

  “Mr. Gyrich told me as much in my office earlier today, just before he ordered Colonel Tomko to capture the X-Men, and to shoot to kill if they resisted,” Val responded.

  “Henry?” the Director asked, no longer confident in Gyrich.

  “I had reason to believe that the X-Men were there to meet their teammates, who I supposed were already inside the base,” he said, glaring at Cooper now.

  “And that reason would be?” Val asked, e
njoying this now.

  “Look, none of this changes the basic facts. Magneto and his Acolytes took over Operation: Wideawake. After defeating our troops, the X-Men attacked Magneto and his people, and seemed to be winning when the terrorists fled. Not long after, the Sentinels were launched, but we have yet to determine whether it was Magneto or the X-Men who caused that launch, and who now controls the Sentinels,” Gyrich said, his words one long eruption, diverting attention from his negligence.

  “Oh my God,” Val gasped. “Magneto stole the Sentinels?”

  “So it would appear,” the President nodded, concern furrowing his brow.

  “But the X-Men …” Gyrich protested.

  “Enough about the X-Men, Henry,” the Director said. “We will address your handling of this situation later. We will also assume that the X-Men’s part in today’s events was a good faith effort to stop Magneto, an effort that they have made several times in the past. Despite whatever else they may have done to become outlaws, which may, in the end, be nothing more than having been born mutants, for the moment at least, the X-Men are not the enemy.”

  Gyrich slumped back in his chair, fuming. Val had a momentary image of his chair melting out from under him with the heat he was generating, and had to suppress a smile. She had warned him that she would put her claws into him deep, and now it looked as though she might actually be able to fulfill that promise.

  “Whatever Mr. Gyrich’s motives, Valerie,” the President said—and Val noted with smug satisfaction that he had stopped calling the weasel by his first name, “he has made a few suggestions that bear close attention.

  “Clearly, we must apprehend Magneto and his followers as quickly as possible, and get the Sentinels back. Or destroy them if that becomes necessary,” the President went on.

  “The Acolytes or the Sentinels?” she asked.

  “Perhaps both,” the President said gravely, the look in his eyes leaving no room for jest.

  “Since we are unaware of the identities of these so-called Acolytes, or even how many there are, Mr. Gyrich has suggested a national curfew on all known mutants,” the President continued. “Actually, that was the least radical of the suggestions.”