Marvel Classic Novels--X-Men
Page 53
Trish had no interest in rekindling a relationship with the Beast, but she still cared for him greatly. After watching him today, feeling the extraordinary guilt that overwhelmed her when his eyes fell on her, she knew that no story was worth allowing him to remain a captive. The world needed him. By extension, the world needed the X-Men.
She wanted to live, yes indeed. But Trish Tilby knew that she would not be able to live with herself if she did not at least try to help Hank and the others escape. Magneto frightened her. The thought of a world ruled by him frightened her even more.
The question was, what could she really do? After all, she was only human.
* * *
HARLAN Kleinstock was getting impatient. The whole thing was stupid as far as he was concerned. They should have just hurried to the tunnel entrance, along the quickest route, and waited for Wolverine there. As soon as they got back, he and Sven would have to have a talk with Unuscione about what to do with Amelia Voght. Not that Harlan had anything major against Voght, but she just wasn’t cut out to lead them. Harlan didn’t want to question the wisdom or the will of Lord Magneto, but hey, everybody made mistakes.
On the other hand, Harlan was enjoying the hunt. He seriously doubted Wolverine would be able to escape, and he and Sven had a score to settle. Blood stained the front of his tattered uniform from the superficial cuts Wolverine had given him. They wouldn’t kill him, or Sven, but they were humiliating. That called for payback.
On a lighter note, going after the little X-runt also gave him the opportunity to scope out some parts of the city he wasn’t real familiar with. Despite the pollution, which Magneto had already said he was going to do something about, the city smelled good. Mainly, it was the food. Harlan didn’t think there was anyplace in the world you could get food like you got in Manhattan. Indian, Thai, Chinese, French, Japanese, Italian, Greek, Mexican, Brazilian, Portuguese, Cajun, and plain old American, all within a few blocks of one another. Harlan Kleinstock loved to eat.
He took a deep breath, inhaling all the food smells along with whatever else the city had to offer. It was clear that the city was beginning to function again, and Harlan was almost lightheaded as he realized that he was one of its bosses. A car drove by when he was halfway down one block, and the human behind the wheel sped up and cowered inside, trying not to be noticed.
It felt good.
There was a Greek deli up ahead, on the left, and Harlan could smell the heady aroma of roasting lamb. The place was open for business. Harlan had to admire that. He stopped outside the deli and considered running inside, demanding a souvlaki, for nothing of course, and then continuing with the hunt. Voght would be pissed, and he knew it was not the most responsible thing to do, but …
Nah, he decided. He didn’t want to chance missing Wolverine.
For a moment, he stared through the plate glass window at the shabby tables and chairs, the sodas and juices lined up on the counter top, the dark-haired, white-aproned man who stared defiantly back from behind the counter. A smile spread across his face as it finally began to really sink in that, if he’d actually had the time, Harlan could have gone in there, taken what he wanted, done whatever he wanted. And nobody would be able to stop him.
“Sounds good,” he mumbled to himself, then resolved to finish Wolverine as quickly as possible and bring his brother back to this deli for lunch. “Smells good, eh, bub?” a voice growled somewhere … above him?
Harlan looked up just in time to see someone jumping down on him from the roof of the deli. He had no time to move, so he reacted instinctively, falling backwards and using both hands to fire at his attacker with a double bio-blast from his hands. Trashed by the blast, his opponent fell with a dull, wet thud on the pavement by Harlan’ s feet. When he sat up, he was stunned to find his brother, Sven, lying on the pavement unconscious. His uniform was blackened by the bio-blast, and there were slashes on his chest where claws had criss-crossed to form an x-pattern hacked through clothing and flesh. “Oh my God, Sven,” Harlan gasped.
He went to his brother and felt his pulse, which seemed fine. He tore away Sven’s tunic to get a better look at the slashes. They were not life-threatening. In fact, he had probably done more damage to Sven than Wolverine had.
There was a great, metal, clanking commotion from above, and Harlan’s fury was finally released.
“Wolverine!” he screamed, and leaped to his feet, ready to destroy the mutant who had made him hurt his own flesh and blood. Harlan looked up, determined to rip Wolverine apart.
That was when the air conditioner fell on his head. The Kleinstock brothers lay on the pavement, side by side. Blood trickled from Harlan’s left ear.
* * *
NEEDLE’S biggest mistake was that, passing a subway station entrance, she didn’t bother to turn around and look down the steps. When Wolverine pounced on her, she had no time to react. He drove her to the sidewalk and she wailed in agony as half a dozen of her needle teeth actually snapped as they hit the ground.
She tried to get up, but he slammed her face against the sidewalk again, keeping her from seeing him. That terrified Needle even more. She could feel his breath, hot on her neck as if he were going to tear her throat out with his teeth. Needle recognized the irony in that thought, but didn’t smile.
There was a wet click, then a chunk of cement hit her face as three adamantium claws buried themselves in the sidewalk just to the right of her face. Then his voice, little more than a growl.
“Far as I can tell, girl, your biggest sin right now is bein’ just plain dumb,” Wolverine whispered in her ear. “Magneto is playin’ big kid games, now. You don’t got the guts to play, you’d best get out now. Otherwise, I’ll have to show you what it means to lose.”
Then his weight was off her.
After a few moments, Needle began to believe that he was actually gone, that she was not going to die that day after all. She didn’t get up, though. She lay on the pavement for more than an hour before she even dared to stand. When, finally, she looked around to see that nobody was watching her but a gray tom cat, she began to walk toward the Lincoln Tunnel.
Her parents had been frightened of what she’d become, but they had never turned their backs on her. Maybe they’d let her have her old room back.
* * *
WOLVERINE padded silently across the top of a brownstone, determined to take out the Acolytes stalking him before setting off in search of the Alpha Sentinel. The Kleinstocks were powerful, but they were also not very bright, which had made them easy targets. Needle was little more than a girl, feigning a ferocity that was not in her heart in order to survive among more dangerous predators. Logan had saved Senyaka and Voght for last. Each was more clever, more experienced, more dangerous than the rest of their comrades. Except perhaps for Unuscione, who was not part of their little hunting party.
Crouched low, he moved along the roof. While New York streets were so close together that most buildings backed up directly, and often connected, to their rear neighbor, that wasn’t always the case. Particularly with older structures. Wolverine grumbled quietly at the discovery that this was one such building. There was a gap of perhaps fifteen feet between the edge of the roof where he stood, and the building behind it. Which would not have been much of a problem were it not for the two-story drop that accompanied it.
Fifteen feet across, twenty or so down. There was no way in hell Wolverine was going to make that jump without making some noise. If Senyaka was close enough to hear the impact of his landing, Wolverine would have blown his cover. Not that he couldn’t take the cowled psi-punk without the benefit of surprise, but it would be easier if Senyaka didn’t have time to warn Voght.
“What the hell,” he growled, and shrugged.
Wolverine backed up fifteen paces, ran to the edge of the roof and dove out over the gap. Even as he arced through the air, pulled his legs up under him and executed a forward aerial roll, he caught the stench rising from decades of garbage that had been dumped
between the two buildings. It was far from pleasant.
He came out of the roll with his feet angled toward the opposite roof. With the additional distance of the drop figured in, clearing the gap was no problem. Wolverine landed hard. His jaws clacked together as his feet touched down, and he allowed momentum to carry him into a somersault, then back to his feet. Crouched in defensive position, he listened intently for any reaction to the noise he’d made. When he heard nothing, he moved quickly to the edge of the roof and peered down to the street below.
Nothing. Scanning west, however, he quickly spotted Senyaka moving cautiously along the sidewalk, ducking in and out of alleys and doorways. From there, it was a simple matter to follow along the tops of the buildings until he came to the first small alley. Wolverine dropped down to the fire escape, moving quickly but quietly, and edged out onto the street perhaps twenty yards behind Senyaka.
The Acolyte never heard him coming.
Honor was everything to Wolverine. He had learned it well during his time in Japan. He had attacked Needle from behind in order to heighten the girl’s fear of him and drive her away. Senyaka was not an honorable opponent, but Wolverine would still not deliver a killing blow from behind. Which didn’t mean the claws were off limits. Not at all.
Snikt!
Wolverine’s claws slid from the adamantium sheaths inside his forearms with an audible click, and Senyaka was already turning when he ducked in and slashed the Acolyte’s rib cage under his left arm.
“Wolverine!” Senyaka said, grimacing in pain. “That’s the last blood you’ll see, runt!”
A psionic whip shimmered into existence in Senyaka’s right hand, and he cracked it against the ground, sending up sparks. Wolverine could see that he’d already won, though. The way Senyaka held his left arm tight against his side, the fight was over before it had really begun. Which meant that Senyaka would never get to warn Amelia Voght that Logan was coming.
“You wouldn’t last an hour in the North country, bub,” Wolverine snarled.
Senyaka cracked the whip toward him, and Wolverine allowed it to wrap around his left arm. He grunted with the pain he’d known was coming, even as he slashed the psi-whip with the claws of his right hand. Senyaka howled.
“You’ve tried that trick before, boy,” Wolverine said. “You’d best start payin’ attention. I ain’t always gonna be here to show you these things.”
Senyaka was doubled over in pain, and when Wolverine approached, he looked up in fear. The look changed quickly to one of pleasure, of satisfaction. Logan thought it was a gag, the old look-behind-you trick, but then the wind shifted, and he caught a familiar scent coming up behind him.
He started to turn, ready to slash his attacker, but he was too late. Amelia Voght hit him high and hard, riding him down the street. Her hands grasped either side of his head, thumbs at his temples. She was faster than he’d expected. He started to bring his claws up, even as Senyaka’s newly remade psionic whip coiled around his throat, choking off his air supply and sending a current of agony running through him.
“Don’t even think it,” Voght barked, staring into Wolverine’s eyes as he struggled to cut her. “I feel even a pinprick from those claws and I will teleport your head right off your body.”
Wolverine hesitated, claws just inches from Voght’s heart. He could kill her in a single beat of that heart, but there was no doubt she had the ability to take him with her.
Voght seemed to read his mind.
“Don’t think I won’t,” she said coldly, eyes locked on his.
And he knew she would.
Wolverine stared into Amelia Voght’s eyes, struggling to think of an escape despite the little oxygen reaching his brain. Senyaka’s whip coiled ever tighter around his neck. The animal in him wanted to struggle, to reach for the whip, to kick, to claw. But the human wanted to live.
His last cognitive thought was of how much he despised Amelia Voght.
Then Wolverine, the last, best hope for the X-Men, drifted into oblivion.
EPILOGUE
SCOTT Summers was breathing a hell of a lot easier now that they had entered Earth’s atmosphere. The battered Starjammer cruised through American airspace, cloaked from radar detection but not from visual sightings. It would probably, Scott mused, result in dozens of UFO reports.
“Glad to be home?” Corsair asked.
“You’ve no idea,” Scott answered, and smiled.
“Oh, I think I do,” Corsair responded wistfully, and not for the first time, Scott had to wonder why his father did not simply return to Earth for good. One day, he hoped, they would be able to roam the Alaskan wilds around Scott’s grandparents’ home, fishing, camping, whatever a retired father might do with a son he’d never really known. One day.
“As for me,” Corsair continued, “I’m just glad to be alive.”
He looked at Scott intensely for a moment, and Scott was tempted to turn away but did not.
“I mean it, son. Thank you for my life,” Corsair said.
“And I thank you for mine,” Scott responded warmly. “Dad.”
A moment later Jean Grey rushed into the cabin. Her face was blanched white, her expression one of horror and disbelief.
“Jean?” Scott asked, even as he rushed to her side. “What is it?”
“I’ve been trying to contact the Professor telepathically ever since we entered Earth’s atmosphere,” she said, the words tumbling out of her in a torrent. “I finally found him.”
Jean brought a hand to her face, then, letting out a long breath that seemed as much emotional strain as it was relief to be sharing the information.
“I don’t understand,” Scott urged. “What is it? Has something happened to the Professor?”
“I’m not sure I understand it all myself,” she said. “Somehow, someway, the worst has finally come to pass. Magneto has conquered Manhattan island. It’s overrun with mutants and Sentinels. And the other X-Men have already been captured.”
“Dear God,” Scott whispered.
“Ch’od!” Corsair yelled, jumping up and running to the cockpit. “Chart a new course. Get us to Manhattan as quickly as possible!”
Scott took Jean’s hands in his own, and held them tight.
For
John and Lucy Russo,
who are always there, with gratitude.
PROLOGUE
MANHATTAN island was coming back to life. It had, however, been resurrected as a vastly different entity. It was the middle of the week, but gone were the hordes of worker bees rubbing shoulders and elbows as they filtered in and out of offices. There were still plenty of people, but now there was breathing space as well. Estimates differed, but at least eighty percent of the island’s human population had left their homes and most of their belongings in a mad dash for freedom.
The subway was dead on the tracks. There simply were not enough employees left to run it safely. On the street, the occasional city bus, private car, and enterprising cab navigated the now-abandoned skyscraper canyons. No more traffic. Vendors still toiled on corners throughout the city, though far fewer than the day before.
As the afternoon wore on, many shops, restaurants, delis, and small businesses opened their doors. After all, there were a lot of new customers. Mostly mutants.
The mutant known as Magneto, whose control over the Earth’s magnetic field made him one of the most powerful beings alive, had declared Manhattan island a sanctuary for mutants. Magneto then declared the island a sovereign nation, and rechristened it “Haven.” With the aid of his Acolytes, and an army of colossal pseudosentient robots called Sentinels, he then went about enforcing those declarations.
With the humans gone, and sanctuary assured, mutants poured in from across the country. The flood of genetically enhanced immigrants had not even begun to ebb. From around the world they came, and once they had gathered their strength into one place, Magneto would begin to enlarge his Mutant Empire. The tendrils of his power would spread across the globe.
From the observation platform at the top of the Empire State Building, Magneto looked down upon his Mutant Empire and his heart swelled with triumph, happiness, and pride. The sun forced his slate-gray eyes into a squint, the wind whipped his silver-white hair across his forehead, and Magneto smiled.
It was a beginning.
* * *
WOLVERINE’S return to consciousness was accompanied by a great deal of pain. He was not unfamiliar with pain. In fact, over the course of his long life, pain and Wolverine had become quite intimate. What surprised him, even as his eyelids strained to rise, was that the pain was there at all. He knew he had been unconscious for some time, likely several hours at least. Whatever wounds he had sustained should long since have been remedied by his mutant healing factor. They hadn’t.
“Rise and shine, Logan,” a deep, familiar voice said, just to his left. “Perhaps where intellect has proven ineffectual in providing a method of escape, righteous anger may yet prevail.”
His eyes finally opened, but it took a moment for Wolverine to focus on the face behind the voice. No matter. It could only be one man. Hank McCoy, the Beast. One of the founding members of the X-Men. As Hank’s blue-furred face gradually came into focus, Wolverine’s mind seemed to clear just a bit. Of course he had not healed, he finally realized. He was wearing one of Magneto’s inhibitor collars, a device specifically designed to negate the genetic x-factor that gave mutants their special abilities.
“’Lo, Hank,” he managed to grunt, then cleared his throat. “What’s the situation?”
“Bleak, I fear,” the Beast responded, and gestured past Wolverine.
Logan turned to find that Storm and Bishop were still unconscious. The four of them had finally tracked Magneto and confronted him, intending to put an end to his “Mutant Empire” there and then. But things had gone terribly wrong. The X-Men had always faced difficult, sometimes impossible, odds. But four against a cityful of mutants was more than even they had been equipped to handle.