Marvel Classic Novels--X-Men and the Avengers

by Greg Cox

  “Let us hope for a better outcome this time,” she said, as more detonations rocked the lunar headquarters. As in the simulation, the diminished gravity seemed to add wings to her feet. She was eager to leave the moon behind and return to the warm embrace of Mother Earth. Claustrophobia, never far away, chafed at her nerves, reminding her just how cramped and precarious the moonbase truly was. Gods of earth and air, she entreated, your daughter is far from your green hills and fragrant skies. Pray do not forsake me in this dreadful place.

  The lack of visible doorways could not slow the likes of the Hulk, Iron Man, and Rogue. Rounding the curve of the corridor, Storm and her fellow stragglers came upon an enormous rent in the outer wall of the Leader’s disintegrating bastion of domesticity. “Through here!” Cyclops beckoned and Storm required no further urging. They left the residence ring, running quickly across the width of a wide hallway lined with exploding metal tanks. Storm recognized the site of their lost battle against the mind-controlled hostages, even as she and the others now ducked pieces of flying shrapnel.

  Jagged chunks of metal bounced off Captain America’s shield until Storm conjured up a gale to blow much of the airborne detritus away from the fleeing group, while Iceman simultaneously raised an icewall to defend them from lethal fragments coming at them from the opposite direction. “Holy smokes!” he marveled. “This whole place is one big deathtrap!”

  “Succinctly and unimpeachably put, o’ refrigerated buddy o’mine,” the Beast concurred. His unequalled dexterity had allowed him to evade the deadly shrapnel with aplomb, and he soon led the way ahead of his more acrobatically-challenged comrades. “An expeditious egress is manifestly in order!”

  Despite his flippant manner, the Beast was not mistaken. They were undeniably running out of time. The tiled walkway buckled beneath Storm’s feet, venting gusts of hot gas and ionized plasma which she and the others were forced to dodge as they ran, trusting on skill and determination to avoid the hazards which sprang up in their path. Temporarily shielded by wind and ice, they sprinted across an ever-shifting obstacle course toward a convenient new cleft in the next outermost wall. “Come one, come all!” the Beast beseeched them, his agile gymnastics bringing him first to the rough-hewn doorway. “After you, ladies and gentlemen!”

  Storm darted through the yawning gap. Was this wide portal torn open by the Hulk’s strength or by Iron Man’s repulsor rays? she wondered, then decided it didn’t matter. It occurred to her that, unlike during the ill-fated practice session, this time they had the Avengers and the Hulk on their side, not to mention Rogue, Iceman, and Wolverine. Such valiant allies had to make a difference, or so she hoped.

  Intent on fending off harmful missiles with her winds, Storm was the last to take the escape route extolled by the Beast. The hole in the wall led to a familiar stretch of blacktop, still dusted with the brittle remains of the Leader’s unliving humanoids. Her spirits soared as she saw the opening of the ice tunnel leading to the Avenger’s quinjet. With admirable speed, Iceman had expanded the frozen tube back out to their vessel. Glancing rapidly through the transparent dome surrounding the Leader’s base, she saw that Iron Man and the Vision were already seated in the cockpit of the spacecraft, preparing for take-off. “The Goddess be praised,” she murmured. Even now she could perceive a delicate spiderweb of cracks spreading across the surface of the dome. The quaking pavement threatened her balance and she stumbled awkwardly toward the entrance of the tunnel. Almost there, she thought.

  A deafening bang sounded behind her and a burst of red-hot flame gushed from the improvised doorway from which she had emerged only seconds before. Another few moments, she realized, and she would have been incinerated.

  Time to leave, she concluded. Hank McCoy obviously felt the same. “Now boarding,” he said, waiting by the tunnel entrance for the last of his teammates. “Avenger Airlines, Flight 101, departing Luna for New York City, Planet Earth. Sorry, no drinks or meals will be served until we reach our destination.” He stretched a hairy palm toward Storm. “May I see your boarding pass, please?”

  Ororo smiled at her friend’s whimsical ways and stepped fleetly toward the frigid tube, but the sudden clutch of wet, gooey fingers held her back. Looking down in alarm, her blue eyes widened at the shocking sight of a smooth pink hand rising from a wide puddle of glistening ooze. “Goddess!” she gasped, comprehending in an instant what had happened. The heat from the explosions was thawing out the frozen bits and pieces of the humanoids, allowing the unnatural creatures to recreate themselves from the residue of their earlier defeat!

  “Zounds!” the Beast exclaimed, nearly in unison with her own horrified outburst. The disembodied hand squeezed its sticky fingers around her right calf, holding onto her with surprising strength, while all over the remnant-strewn track, other scraps of pink plastic began to wriggle and stir back to life. A nearby puddle of thick, viscous, rosy syrup flowed across the pavement to merge with the pool of liquescent plastic from which the clutching hand arose. The beginnings of a humanoid head and shoulders took shape as the growing puddle swiftly achieved cohesion. Storm saw another set of damp fingers rising toward her, reaching out greedily…

  She tugged hard to free her leg from the avid humanoid hand, but she could not break free from its grip. Tenacious pink strands of goo stretched between the puddle and the sole of her black vinyl boot. The Beast grabbed onto her arms with both hands and added his own gorilla-like strength to hers. At first his assistance did no good; Storm felt like she was glued to the floor like a mouse trapped on an adhesive snare. Worse yet, she heard the telltale hiss of the atmosphere escaping through minute cracks in the quivering dome. If the quinjet did not leave immediately, the Avengers, the Hulk, and the other X-Men might all be obliterated by the moonbase’s final catastrophic death throes.

  “Go!” she ordered the Beast. “Leave me, and tell the others to take off at once! You mustn’t risk all for my sake!”

  The furry X-Man merely tightened his grip on Storm’s wrists and pulled all the harder. “Funny, I thought braving overwhelming odds was part of the job description,” he said, interrupting his commentary with a grunt of exertion. “Besides, who’s going to water all your flowers back at the Institute? The Hulk’s the only one here with a green thumb, but somehow he doesn’t strike me as botanically-inclined.”

  Storm realized there was no arguing with her courageous teammate, and she feared that her arms would be yanked from their sockets before her leg escaped the grasp of the partial humanoid. Then her foot squeaked out of her boot, leaving only the empty footgear stuck between plastic fingers. Storm thought she was free—until the creature’s second hand closed around her left ankle. She could have wept from the injustice of it all, of coming so close to saying farewell to the dying moon-base, only to be stalled by the relentless humanoids at the very brink of freedom, but instead she redoubled her strenuous efforts to get away, balancing uncertainly on one foot to avoid placing her other foot back in the mucilaginous pink muck congealing beneath her. Would the humanoids even notice the loss of atmosphere when the dome shattered, or were they unbreathing as well as unliving? Through the clear wall of the dome, now veined with dozens of hairline fractures, Storm took one last look at the planet of her birth, shining like a precious blue gem in the heavens. She thought the Earth had never looked so beautiful.

  A sudden flash of light threw a scarlet tint over all she viewed, making the blue-green orb briefly resemble the red planet Mars. The incarnadine radiance had an even more drastic effect upon the semi-formed humanoids, causing their solid components to liquefy once more, so that ruddy heads and hands and fingers dissolved rapidly, the glutinous pink jelly streaming back down onto the pavement. “Good thing I decided to see what was keeping you two,” the Scarlet Witch observed from beneath the crystalline arch of the ice tunnel.

  Storm tugged again and her foot easily pulled away from the last thinning tendrils of goo. Snatching up her discarded boot from a spreading puddle of rose-colored
fluid, she hurried into the tunnel after the Beast and Wanda, not even sparing a second to thank the Witch for her highly opportune hex. There would be time enough later for expressions of gratitude, after they left the Leader’s booby-trapped lair. Broken flakes of the decaying dome rained down upon the top of the ice tube as Storm sprinted toward the open door of the quinjet.

  Waiting inside the aircraft, the Beast grabbed Storm by the shoulders and physically hauled her into the quinjet. Captain America called to Iron Man as Ororo hastily strapped herself into her seat. “That’s everybody! Get us out of here—on the double!”

  “You don’t need to tell me twice,” Iron Man said. Powerful engines roared to life, and surging gee-forces shoved Storm into the cushions of her seat as the quinjet executed an instant vertical take-off that carried them hundreds of feet above the lunar surface in a matter of seconds. Craning her neck to peer out of a porthole to her left, Storm watched in silence as the domed moon-base disappeared in a split-second bonfire of burning oxygen. Within moments, all that was left was a faint cloud of smoke and dust rising from somewhere within the Tycho Crater.

  Storm looked away from the moon, preferring to watch the Earth grow in size ahead of her, as the quinjet carried them home.

  EPILOGUE

  THE shady, secluded garden behind Avengers Mansion could not have been more different from the barren, gray wastes of the moon. A high iron fence separated the mansion’s backyard from nearby Central Park, but the sounds of a warm summer night in the city penetrated the privacy of the Avengers’ refuge. Rogue leaned against the bark of a leafy maple tree and watched her teammates confer with the Avengers under more congenial and social circumstances than their hectic lives usually permitted. Mutant outlaws mingled with celebrated heroes, but Rogue kept her distance from the milling crowd of costumed adventurers. Although the tranquil garden was infinitely preferable to the Leader’s pain-wracked laboratories, a lingering sense of melancholy clung to Rogue’s mood.

  “Somethin’ botherin’ you, darlin’?” Wolverine asked, approaching her. Like her, he had discarded his orange prison togs for his usual uniform, a spare suit of which was kept stored in the Blackbird, currently hangared in the docking bay on the top floor of the mansion. Out of respect for the Avenger’s strict no-smoking policy, he gnawed on a wad of chewing tobacco instead. “You’re lookin’ down.”

  “It’s nothin’,” she lied. “Just an old-fashioned case of the blues, I reckon.”

  “Don’t go blowin’ smoke at me, Rogue.” Logan spat a squirt of brown juice onto the manicured lawn, then eyed her carefully. “I know you too well. What’s the matter?”

  She realized there was no fooling Logan. His instincts were too sharp. “Well, you remember when ah borrowed the Leader’s memories back on the moon?” He nodded, unlikely to have forgotten such a decisive turning point in their battle against the Leader and his alien accomplice. “Turns out that the Leader had discovered a cure for my absorbin’ power, some kind of drug that could temporarily turn off the whole nasty business, makin’ it safe for me to touch or be touched.” Her throat tightened at the thought, remembering too many frustrating moments of affection thwarted and passion denied. “The Leader knew the secret, which meant that ah knew it, too, for a little while.” She tapped her head with her forefinger, all too aware of the protective glove now covering her hand. “It was all up here, but now it’s gone. Ah’ve racked my memory, but ah can’t remember a single dang ingredient of the formula, just that it worked and ah used to know why.”

  “That’s a tough break,” Wolverine agreed. He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “But maybe it’s just as well. You don’t want to owe your happiness to a cram like the Leader.” Rogue heard the anger in his voice when he mentioned the sadistic genius who had experimented so cruelly upon both of them. “You’ll find a way to get around your powers someday, and you won’t have to go wading through some slimeball’s sleazy memories to do it.”

  “Ah hope so,” she said, crossing her fingers. “Ah’m not getting any younger, y’know.”

  Logan cracked a wry smile. “Trust me, kid, you don’t have a clue about gettin’ older.”

  Rogue remembered that no one, not even the Professor, knew how old Logan really was, only that he’d been the best there was for as long as anybody could recollect. Guess I am just a spring chicken compared to him.

  “Excuse me.” An accented voice broke into their conversation. Rogue was surprised to see Wanda Maximoff coming over to join them beneath the spreading boughs of the old maple. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  In her colorful gypsy garb, the European Avenger looked a whole lot more like a Scarlet Witch. A long red cloak hung from her shoulders while a pointed headdress, not unlike the one Storm sometimes wore, rested atop her billowing auburn curls. Her bright red, two-piece outfit was skimpier than Rogue recalled from the last time the X-Men bumped into the Avengers, but Wanda pulled the look off without seeming at all trampy. Silver bracelets jangled softly as she walked toward the two X-Men.

  “Nah,” Logan answered her, making room for the Witch to stand beside them. “Rogue and I was just jawin’, that’s all.” He looked up at the Avenger, who was several inches taller than he was. “What’s up, Witchie?”

  “Call me Wanda,” she insisted warmly. “How are your injuries. Wolverine?”

  Fresh white bandages girdled Logan’s waist where the Ultimate Skrull had skewered him with his frozen spear. “Can’t complain,” he said gruffly. “I heal fast, in case you haven’t heard. Thanks for asking, though.”

  “I’m glad you’re recovering,” Wanda said, before turning her sights on Rogue, who felt distinctly uncomfortable beneath the other woman’s scrutiny. She and the Witch hadn’t exactly hit it off up on the moon, especially when they first found themselves trapped together in that awful lab. Can’t much blame her for hating me, Rogue thought, considering what I did to Ms. Marvel. She braced herself for whatever parting shot the Witch had in mind.

  “I wish to apologize, Rogue,” Wanda began, catching the startled X-Man completely offguard. “I fear I treated you too harshly before. What happened to Carol was a tragedy, but it’s obvious that you’ve turned your life around since then. Given that my own checkered career also began with an ill-advised stint among the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, I should have been more forgiving.” She offered the younger woman her hand. “Perhaps we can both move on and place our dubious pasts behind us?”

  “Gladly!” Rogue agreed, taking Wanda’s hand and shaking it firmly, all the while being careful not to crush the Witch’s hand with her super-strength. That both women wore gloves provided a double layer of protection to the heartfelt handclasp. Rogue felt a heavy burden of guilt slip from her shoulders; maybe all that violence and suffering at the hands of the Leader and his Skrull stooges had been worthwhile after all, if it meant that she could finally bury the hatchet with one of Carol Danvers’ closest friends. Still, she thought cautiously, now is probably not the time to mention that fling I had with Wanda’s daddy down in the Savage Land…!

  * * *

  CAPTAIN America was busy comparing notes with Cyclops and Storm when the Beast came bouncing out of the back door of the mansion, rejoining the informal gathering in the garden. “Felicitous news, my distinguished colleagues!” he announced cheerily, attracting the attention of all present, even Bruce Banner as he lurked silently on the fringes of Cap’s discussion with the X-Men’s co-leaders. Cap paused to listen to what the Beast had to say. Good news is always welcome, he thought, particularly after a long and arduous mission.

  The Beast sprang onto the top of a marble birdbath before launching fully into his spiel. “A few long-distance calls at Tony Stark’s expense have yielded reassuring status reports on some of our absent associates. From Scotland, the good doctor MacTaggert reports that our friend, the esteemed Kurt Wagner, is recovering nicely from the fractured ankle he sustained in battle against the late, unlamented Gamma Sentinels, although Moira co
mplains that Nightcrawler’s frequent bamfing has left her labs and medical facilities fairly reeking of brimstone.

  “Furthermore, I’m delighted to bear glad tidings of our fellow X-Men, who have at last returned to Westchester after the successful completion of their business in Antarctica. Professor X and the others look forward to hearing more about our own lunar excursion upon our return to the ivy-covered walls of the Xavier Institute.”

  Cap noted that even the steadfastly serious Cyclops lightened noticeably at the Beast’s news report. No doubt he’s eager to be reunited with his wife. Cap deduced, remembering that Cyclops and Jean Grey, the former Marvel Girl, had wed not long ago. “Sounds like happy endings all around,” he commented to his mutant guests.

  “Indeed,” Storm agreed, taking a sip from a cup of hot tea provided by Edwin Jarvis’s impeccable hospitality. “Would that all our struggles could end on so harmonious a note.”

  “There’s no reason they shouldn’t,” Cap stated. A lamp over the back porch cast a warm glow upon the nocturnal scene. An electrostatic force field devised by Tony Stark kept the outdoors reception free of mosquitos and other pests. “In my experience, the positive efforts of good men and women will always ensure peace and victory in the end.”