But at heart, he was an optimist. He had hoped very deeply that such a conflict would not be necessary. Magneto had no desire to see humanity destroyed, to see cities crumble. His goals raised him above such petty sadism.
Unfortunately, it appeared that the American government was not as rational as he had believed. His opinion of human politicians and soldiers was so low already that this attack, forcing him to lower that opinion even further, was nothing short of astonishing for him.
Already he could hear the plasma cannonfire, and see one of his Sentinels ahead, responding to its attackers with cold, calculated, deadly assaults. As Magneto looked on, the Sentinel blasted an army chopper from the air, and he wondered, idly, why there had not been an air force strike on the Sentinels yet. It didn’t seem to fit. It was almost as if the military had not been prepared for the attack, though they had initiated it.
No matter. Let the humans underestimate me, he thought. It will be the end of them. The Mutant Empire will only come more quickly.
A low, familiar voice whispered in his brain: Magnus, it’s time we had a little talk, wouldn’t you say?
Magneto smiled to himself He had known it was only a matter of time before Charles Xavier would attempt to contact him directly. Now that war had finally come, Xavier could put it off no longer. Which did not necessarily mean Magneto had to acknowledge him.
I don’t think there’s anything to talk about, Charles, Magneto thought in response, knowing that Xavier, the world’s most powerful telepath, would pick it up.
No, Xavier retorted, and as their minds touched, Magneto felt his old friend’s essence, familiar and yet hostile. The foundation of their present relationship. No, I doubted that you would. However, I must insist. You would be well advised to get something solid beneath you now. You have five seconds.
Magneto sighed, and lowered himself rapidly to the roof of an apartment building below. Just as his feet touched down, he felt a little queasy, and the world about him began to change. It didn’t happen in an eyeblink, but unfolded as if the real world were being torn away, leaving a fabulous landscape behind.
His eyes wide open, Magneto could barely perceive the moment when he moved from tangible reality onto the Astral Plane. But the moment the world began to collapse, the moment buildings and sky peeled away to reveal a dark void, he knew Xavier had yanked his consciousness from his body, into the Astral Plane, so that this conversation could take place.
It appeared to be an asteroid field, the huge stones hurling leisurely through space. But it was an odd version of space, with air and gravity, but no sound. Somehow, in the back of his head, Magneto could hear the sounds of the city he’d left. Or, rather, the city his mind had left. His body was still there, lying, or perhaps standing, since the ground beneath him felt so real, on the top of that same apartment building.
But there was no sound on the Astral Plane. Nothing. Dead air, with a trace of the hiss you hear when you pick up a phone and the lines are down. That was it. It was a sensation he had never become completely comfortable with.
He was also uncomfortable because, without reservation, the Astral Plane belonged to Charles Xavier. Other of the world’s telepaths might travel through it, but Xavier was, for all intents and purposes, its master and proprietor.
Magnus, Xavier’s mental voice said, and Magneto heard it inside his mind, just as all conversations were held in the silence of the Astral Plane.
Glancing around, he saw Xavier standing on an asteroid just a short way from his own. He did not approach, however. Let the master of the game make the first move, he had always believed. That was the only way to learn.
It’s nice to see you standing, Charles, Magneto said pleasantly. The chair always makes you look so old.
Xavier ignored the statement, as Magneto had known he would. But it had always fascinated him that Xavier’s astral image did not share his physical body’s affliction. He had never been sure if that was because Xavier did not truly consider himself crippled, or because the man was embarrassed by his vulnerability.
I did not want to do this, Xavier thought. You have left me no choice but to become more directly involved. You realize I could end this now, simply make your mind, your every thought, just go away, though we are separated by miles?
Of course I know that, Charles, Magneto scoffed. Just as I know that you would never take such a radical course. It isn’t in you. That is part of your weakness, and part of the weakness of your great dream of harmony between humans and mutants. You’ve just never been very realistic about such things. If I were you, I would have taken me out of the game long ago.
There was a silence on their mental connection. Then, finally, Xavier’s voice in his head again.
Food for thought.
Indeed. But you had something you wanted to discuss, I believe. Don’t worry, I haven’t killed any of your X-Men. At least, not yet, Magneto thought.
And you won’t, Xavier replied calmly. Not in cold blood. In any case, I haven’t dragged you here to discuss the X-Men. As I don’t imagine my asking you to set them free would do any good, let’s move on to the more immediate subject, shall we? The topic, old friend, is war.
It surely is, and history is written by the victors.
There are no victors in war, only victims.
Are you going somewhere with this, Charles, or shall I get on with the defense of my nascent empire? Magneto thought.
Xavier sighed. I am the eternal optimist, Magnus. I continue to overestimate you, I suppose. In any case, I have something to show you.
The image of Xavier on the Astral Plane lifted its right hand and gestured. The depths and blackness of space, the moon and stars and asteroids, disappeared. The universe dropped away beneath Magneto and Xavier, and was replaced by a scene of human madness. A highway, cars packed in bumper to bumper, moving just slightly faster than grass grows. People walked alongside, or hung from buses and the backs of military transports.
They’re evacuating, Magneto observed, and he could not hide the tinge of surprise in his mental voice. Not that he could have hidden anything from Xavier if the telepath was determined to discover it.
They’re evacuating, he thought once more. Why?
Come, now, you know the answer to that, Xavier thought. One of your greatest flaws has always been your underestimation of humanity. In this case, that flaw could be fatal, not merely for yourself but for hundreds of thousands, probably millions, of people, and an entire city. Never mind the outlying areas.
They wouldn’t dare, Magneto thought, aghast.
That’s precisely the attitude I’m talking about. It could cost us our world if you’re not careful. In truth, it may already be too late.
What are you babbling about?
Only this, Xavier thought, spreading his arms wide once again to indicate the massive evacuation effort “below” them. Everything within forty miles of the island of Manhattan is being evacuated, even as we speak. Now that your Sentinels have attacked federal troops—
They started it! Magneto barked.
How mature of you, Xavier thought, with a shake of his head. His eyes slowly closed, then opened again, a reaction to frustration and disappointment that Magneto knew all too well.
Now that this war has begun, did you honestly think that the President of the United States was going to allow you to win, under any circumstances? Xavier asked.
Magneto smiled. This was more familiar, more confident, territory for him. Xavier was underestimating him again.
Allow me? he laughed. I don’t need anyone to allow me to win. Nor do I need any assistance. Haven is established. It exists. It is too late for anyone to stop that. They may send all the soldiers and weapons they have against me, and they will eventually be forced to respect the sovereignty of the island. And then the growing empire. If you mean to imply that the President is considering the use of nuclear weapons, I find that rather amusing, actually. New York City is far too important to be destroyed. Even if th
ey could get the coordinates recalibrated instantly, between myself and the Sentinels, we could repulse any nuclear attack.
You believe I underestimate you, Xavier observed. Untrue. What is true, unfortunately, is that you underestimate the pride, will, and arrogance of humanity. Let me tell you, now, the truth. See if you can recognize it as it presents itself to you. The Pentagon does not need to recalibrate its trajectories and coordinates with any great speed. Russia, a nation that hates you above all other living creatures, is more than willing to take the first shot, destroy all of New York City, if that’s what it takes. The American missiles can take their sweet time. No matter how powerful you believe yourself to be, neither you nor the Sentinels can turn them all back.
Xavier moved his astral form closer as he continued: These people are being evacuated from their homes to prevent them from being incinerated in case the bomb drops. Not only is nuclear attack one of the options the President is considering, but he has the backing of a lot of Americans. You have drawn about you nearly twenty percent of the world’s mutant population. You’ve made yourself the perfect target. If they destroy New York, they kill you and many of the world’s mutants as well. A banner day, a lot of humans would say. Especially now, after what you’ve done.
You’ve miscalculated, Magnus, Xavier thought, shaking his head as he seemed to hover above the ground. You may have cost us all our lives.
Ah, Charles, Magneto replied, shaking his own head. You consider yourself an optimist. I would call you a pessimist. Perhaps I have underestimated the courage or the insanity of human society. Even so, I am not concerned. You see, I will be the victor here today. And every day after. It seems to me, if you are so concerned about what the humans might do to our mutant brothers, your only logical course would be to pray I am triumphant. It’s entirely possible that, for once, I am the lesser of two evils.
Now, if you’re through, I have a war to run.
Magneto felt the heaviness of his body, bogging him down as uncomfortably as if he’d taken a swim fully clothed. He opened his eyes, and blinked back the glare of the sun. The sounds of battle returned to him, and he rose once again into the blue sky over Manhattan.
Xavier had certainly been uncharacteristically curt in ending their communication. Not that Magneto minded; he had better things to do than float around in the psionic ether with a man unwilling to make the most of his extraordinary power. Xavier followed the old maxim, “With great power comes great responsibility.” Magneto believed it as well, but interpreted it differently. He could never understand why Xavier would not work to make a home for mutantkind by any means necessary. That was Magneto’s maxim.
By any means necessary.
His contact with Xavier had disturbed him a bit. It was entirely possible that Charles was right, that he had begun a chain reaction that could not possibly end in anything but tragedy of incredible proportions. Not that Magneto had lost faith in his ability to triumph. But things had now progressed past the point at which he might be able to prevent whatever catastrophe might result from his defeat.
Therefore, defeat was not an option.
Magneto again considered the brief moments he had spent on the Astral Plane with his old friend and longtime enemy. The nature of the Astral Plane is pure psionic energy—in this case, energy manipulated by Charles Xavier. When Magneto had been drawn there in the past, the place had always been sterile and cold. But this time, there had been a pervasive feeling of despair in that limbo of souls, of minds.
Charles Xavier’s despair.
That bothered him. Xavier was the self-described eternal optimist. Yet he did not merely fear the potential outcome, he was tortured by it. Otherwise Magneto would never have been able to feel even a hint of Xavier’s true emotion in his astral presence.
Magneto took a cleansing breath, pushing from his mind anything that might distract him from the protection of the sanctuary he had fought so hard to establish. Several blocks away, a Sentinel was under constant attack from a military helicopter with astounding evasive capacity.
With a moment’s concentration, Magneto reached out with his power and grabbed hold of the machine. An errant thought, and the copter was hurled to the surface of the Hudson River, where it exploded on impact.
By any means necessary.
EIGHT
THE rhythm of the elevator, up and down, the swoosh of opening and closing doors, the drone of people talking … all of it had started to get to Bobby. He struggled to keep his eyes open, stifled a yawn, and tried to pay attention to what was happening in the elevator. Another fifteen minutes, that’s all he would give it, and then he’d have to think of some other way to find the X-Men.
By now, he figured, Magneto’s followers must know that someone had broken into the building. Were probably looking for him even now. And if he was captured, well, that would be it for the X-Men.
The elevator lurched to a stop. Even before the doors slid open, he could hear the shouts on the floor they’d reached.
“Move it, move it, move it!” a woman barked. “They want a war, people, let’s give ’em one! Let’s go, move out. You’ll get assignments when you hit the street!”
“What the hell’s happening here?” a man barked from inside the elevator, and then it rose slightly as the man stepped out onto the floor.
“The feds have attacked!” the same woman snapped in response. “The Sentinels are responding, but we’ve all got to be in position to finish this fight. You want a home in Haven, buddy, you’ve gotta fight for it!”
“I had guard duty in the basement in half an hour,” the man said. “What about that?”
“The Acolytes have the X-geeks covered, man,” the woman snapped. “Just do as you’re told. I don’t have all day to waste explaining myself to every moron who comes along. Just move!”
Bobby heard pounding feet, cursing … an exodus of sorts. Then the elevator started to move up again, called to another floor. That was okay. Ten more minutes, and the place would be near empty. He could slip into the elevator and head for the basement. Or, he could use the a/c ducts. Maybe the stairs? What the hell, he’d figure it out. The most important thing was, he knew where the X-Men were being held. And since the enemy was practically evacuating the building, he would have no trouble getting to them.
Of course, the faceless woman had said the Acolytes were guarding the X-Men. That could be a problem. Bobby crossed his fingers and prayed that it would be Acolyte, not Acolytes. Which was pretty likely. After all, Magneto would need all the help he could find for a war with the United States.
That thought also troubled him. How had it come to war? Was the President really that foolish? Or perhaps it had been Gyrich’s doing. That sounded more likely.
Still, Bobby pictured all the places in Manhattan that he treasured, from Central Park, to Fifth Avenue, to the Coffee-A-Go-Go, to the White Horse Tavern in the Village, and Keen’s Chophouse on the Lower West Side. Broadway. The Museum of Natural History. It was all in jeopardy.
Iceman was the joker on the team, but as he began to plan his next move, he dwelled too much on what fate might hold for what he considered the greatest city in the world. And there was nothing funny about it. Nothing at all.
* * *
VAL Cooper clung tightly to Remy LeBeau. The Harley was flying along the FDR Drive, headed north. With the wind buffeting her face, whipping her hair back and forth like a flag, her hands on Gambit’s washboard abdomen, and the motorcycle humming with power beneath them, she should have felt great. The sun shone down on them, and the sky above Manhattan was unusually clear. None of that mattered.
Instead, she was filled with a profound sense of dread. Not nausea, really, but that first sickening stomach lurch that tells you nausea is on the way. It was that feeling, yet sustained.
With the pavement speeding by below her, and nothing holding her on the Harley but her grip on Gambit and the scissor lock her knees had on the seat, she felt extraordinarily vulnerable. But that wasn
’t the cause of her extreme unease. She’d been on a motorcycle many times before.
No. Val was disturbed because of the distant thump-thump of explosions she could hear. It was war. She knew it was.
Which meant they had very little time in which to prevent armageddon. It had fallen to them, really: herself, Gambit, and Archangel. She only prayed that these two unpredictable men would come through at perhaps the most precipitous moment the United States had ever faced.
“Number six, dead ahead, Val,” Archangel’s voice crackled on the comm-link.
“We got visual, ’Angel,” Gambit replied, before Val could even think of anything to say. “Valerie, can you see from ’ere, or we gon’ have to get a bit closer, eh?”
He barely turned to look at her when asking the question, but Val was entranced by the red glow of his eyes. She had been fascinated by those eyes from the very first time she had met Gambit. The eyes were the window to the soul, it was said. A cliché, she knew. But there was a point to it. You could always read the truth in someone’s eyes. Except for Gambit’s. His eyes were like burning coals in any battle situation. Impossible to read anything in them but danger.
Cooper slid a hand away from its grip on Gambit, reached up, and tapped a button on the side of the infrared goggles she wore. They had the capacity to magnify anything in view, so it had been possible from quite a distance to check Sentinels for the invisible markings that would signify the Alpha unit. This one, however, was turned away from them at an angle.
“We’re going to need to get closer,” she said finally. “Or at least find another angle on it.”
“You jus’ tell Gambit where you need to go, Valerie. I take you dere.”
Bellevue Hospital and NYU Medical Center blurred past on the left. It struck Val that there were probably a lot of people holed up in hospitals and places of worship around the city. People too stubborn to leave, but too frightened to remain in their own homes. With every concussive blast on the other side of the island, she grew more worried for Manhattan, and its people.
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