chaos engine trilogy

by Unknown Author

  And was struck by a volley of tranquilizer darts.

  They pierced his arms, his legs, his throat—close to two dozen feather-tipped missiles, each filled with enough sedatives to bring down an elephant. Yet the man known as Wolverine remained standing.

  “That the best you losers can do?” Logan snarled.

  A rush of adrenaline surged through his body and, roaring like a maddened lion, he rushed toward the guards, fully intending to dispose of as many of them as possible before his brain was disconnected from the control of his muscles. He got within striking distance of his first target—

  And then the sedatives finally kicked in. So powerful was the dosage that Logan didn’t even feel his nose break as his face violently struck the linoleum flooring.

  “Well,” one of the guards remarked, “that oughtta keep the midget from makin’ any more trouble for a while ...”

  Two hours.

  They’d left her alone for the better part of two hours.

  Phoenix closed her eyes and tried for the tenth time to slip into a meditative trance. Unfortunately, as before, she wasn’t able to attain a higher level of consciousness due to some physical matters beyond her control: her stomach rumbled with hunger; there was a maddening itch between her shoulder blades that couldn’t be soothed even by rubbing against the back of the chair; her left calf muscles twitched slightly— the first signs of an oncoming cramp from having remained in one position for too long. And her butt had fallen asleep.

  The door opened, and Phoenix opened her eyes to see a woman clad in skintight green latex stride into the room. She was accompanied by a tall, wiry man in his fifties with short, graying hair and a pencil-thin mustache; he was dressed in the black leather uniform of an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Though she didn’t know who the man was, it only took Jean a moment to recognize the woman.

  “Viper?” she said.

  The woman smiled, without warmth. “You know of me,” she replied, clearly satisfied with that knowledge. “Good.” She gestured toward her associate. “This is Agent Maynard Tyboldt—he’s going to assist me while we indulge in a little girl talk. I’m sure you know what I mean: You tell me how a group of Magneto’s superpowered bootlickers can move about the Empire freely for who knows how many years, without being detected by either the Psi Division or S.H.I.E.L.D.; where your cowardly leader has been hiding himself for the past year; and what his plans are now that the White House has started releasing details about the Emperor’s anniversary celebration. Maybe then I’ll be able to get von Doom off my back.” She snorted. “Tell me I don’t know how to do my job ...”

  “Look,” Phoenix said. “I don’t know where Magneto is; I haven’t had any contact with the man for quite a while. And even if I did know, what makes you think I’d be willing to assist you in killing him? Besides, there are far more important things at stake than providing a salve for your wounded pride.”

  “Ah. Insulting your captors to start things off, eh? That’s really not a smart move, love.” The Director sighed. “And here Samson was convinced you were the most intelligent among the prisoners—I’m beginning to think his opinion was influenced by nothing more than a pretty face. So much for the cool detachment of scientists.” She pursed her lips. “Of course, you’re not the only plaything available to me. I wonder what that hunk with the eyebeams could tell me-—given the proper stimulus . . .”

  Though she knew better than to allow herself to be baited so easily, Jean couldn’t stop her lips from pulling back in a snarl.

  Viper raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Well, that certainly produced my first response of the day.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell me, dear, are you two more than friends? Lovers, perhaps?”

  “Please, Viper, you’ve got to release me—you’ve got to release my friends,” Jean urged. “The world is in terrible danger.”

  Viper slowly shook her head in mock sadness and stepped back. “You know, I was hoping that, after a year in hiding, Magneto would have provided his followers with a better script, but you’re still spouting the same old rhetoric: the Emperor is bad, the Emperor is evil, the Emperor will destroy us all in the end. I will admit, though—you’re much more passionate in your beliefs than most of the other traitors I’ve . . . talked to.” She shrugged. “But we’ll have plenty of time to discuss ideologies—after we’ve ripped yours from your mind.” She turned toward Tyboldt. “You may begin the extraction process, Doctor.” Tyboldt nodded and walked out of Jean’s view; she heard him moving around behind her, flicking switches and pressing buttons. The chair began to hum, increasing in volume until the vibrations made the fillings in Jean’s teeth rattle.

  “Viper, pi—” she began, only to be silenced as the beautiful S.H.I.E.L.D. director gently placed a latex-encased finger against her lips.

  “Sshhh,” Viper said gently, and smiled—like a mother reassuring her daughter that the only monster she needed to fear... was the one right in front of her. “The time for civil conversations has passed.” She gently stroked Jean’s cheek. “Now I don’t want to hear another word from you, young lady. You should save your strength—” the smile became a shark-toothed grin “—you’ll need it for screaming.”

  “No!” Jean cried. “You’ve got to listen to—”

  Any further protestations were cut short as Viper jammed a rubber ball-like device between Jean’s teeth and secured it to the straps holding her head in place.

  “Can’t have you biting your tongue off, love,” the S.H.I.E.L.D. director explained. “We wouldn’t be able to talk later—and we are going to have oh-so-much to talk about, correct?” She looked past Jean, to Tyboldt. “Level One.”

  The first electrical shock surged through the chair, causing Jean to jerk spasmodically against her restraints for three or four seconds. When the power was shut down, she slumped back against the chair, feeling dizzy and nauseous, unable to think clearly. Instantly, she felt the touch of a dozen minds—prodding, probing, trying to worm their way past her psi-screens.

  She wouldn’t let them.

  “Level One no good,” Tyboldt said. “She’s resisting.”

  Viper glanced at Jean; a tear was running from the redheaded mutant’s right eye. “Putting up a light? Good—I despise weak people.” She gestured to Tyboldt. “Level Two.”

  Now it felt as though every inch of her body was on fire; she could smell strands of her hair burning. The shock lasted a few seconds longer this time, making it difficult for her to focus her eyes, making the pounding in her head start up again as the momentarily forgotten effects of her concussion washed over her consciousness, threatening to drag her into darkness.

  And again the probing bored away at her mind, stronger this time— or was she beginning to weaken ... ?

  Whatever was happening, she refused to give Viper her satisfaction. She wouldn’t scream.

  “Still unable to break through,” Tyboldt reported, glancing at his monitors. He shook his head in wonderment. “Amazing. Even with the inhibitor running, even with a head injury and two doses of electroshock, she’s still able to hold off a dozen of our best agents.” He looked up from his instruments. “Director, if these readings are correct, I’m beginning to think this young woman might be the most powerful telepath on the planet.” There was an almost reverent tone to his voice. “If we could somehow convince her to work for the Empire ...”

  The head of S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t as impressed. “I’m a spy, Tyboldt, not a recruitment officer—in my line of work, this redheaded bimbo is one of two things: a source of information, or a threat to the Empire that needs to be eliminated. Telling me she’s the most powerful anything on the planet just guarantees a quick trip to the morgue for her. If you’re so completely awestruck by the workings of the mutant brain, feel free to take her apart at the autopsy when we’re done here. I’d also love to see what makes her tick... but only after I’ve gotten what I want.”

  Tyboldt said nothing, wisely choosing instead
to return his attention to the monitors before him.

  Viper leaned close to Jean; snot and a few spots of blood had crusted along the edge of Phoenix’s nose, and she was breathing heavily. “Just thought you’d like to know,” the Director said quietly. “There are thirteen levels of extraction. I understand no one has ever made it past the fifth level... without becoming a catatonic vegetable in the process. I wonder how high you can go . . With a smile, she stepped back from the chair.

  “Level Four. ”

  The lights in the room dimmed as blue-tinged electricity crackled across Phoenix’s body, violently snapping her head back. A thin line of blood trickled out from beneath the straps securing her chin.

  And then, despite her gag, despite her every effort to deny her captors gaining any pleasure from her torture, Jean Grey howled like one of the damned.

  Viper sighed dramatically. “ ‘Listen to them—the children of the night. What music they make ...’ ”

  13

  IF I may be so bold as to ask, Supreme Guardian, exactly how long do you plan to allow this nonsense to continue?” Satumyne asked.

  _ Sitting with perfect posture on a straight-backed chair in the throneroom of the Starlight Citadel, the Omniversal Majestrix turned to gaze at her superior. Roma stood beside the scrying glass, her eyes narrowed as though she were trying to peer into its pitch black depths. Despite the fact that she had been able to place the X-Men on their home planet, she was still denied viewing the events on that world. With a sigh, the Supreme Guardian stepped back from the large glass globe and turned to speak with her highest-ranking multidimensional agent.

  “One week was given to the X-Men to set matters aright, and one week they shall have,” Roma said. “I gave them my word, Satumyne—I cannot go back on it now.”

  “I understand, m’lady—your word has ever been your bond. But three days have already elapsed on Earth 616, and no changes have occurred,” Her Whyness pointed out, rising to her feet. “In fact, the Chaos Wave is now beginning to spread beyond the planet’s boundaries!”

  “The ‘Chaos Wave,’ Satumyne?” Roma asked, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

  “I thought perhaps the effect might need an official title, Supreme Guardian,” the white-haired Majestrix replied. “It certainly sounds better than ‘that reality-threatening thing that could destroy us all.’ ”

  “Quite so.” A small smile played at the comers of Roma’s mouth. “Once more your categorical gifts have served me well, Satumyne.” Her Whyness gave a small nod. “Thank you, m’lady.”

  The soft hum of an antigravity device echoed in the vast chamber, and the two women turned to face the main entrance. Seated in his hoverchair, Charles Xavier glided into the throneroom, telekinetically bringing the device to a halt at the crossing. He nodded respectfully to them both.

  “Am I interrupting, Your Majesty?” he asked.

  Roma gestured for him to approach. “Nothing of importance, Professor. Satumyne and I were just discussing the use of. . . labels.” Xavier looked confused by Roma’s peculiar response, but clearly was too polite to ask for an explanation.

  “Have you received any word from my students?” he inquired. “I’ve tried on a number of occasions to make telepathic contact with Phoenix, but it appears that the same forces which prevent you from viewing my Earth through your scrying glass are also blocking my mental probes.” Roma sadly shook her head. “I am sorry, Professor, but there has been no contact with them since I sent them through the carrier portal. And the more time your students take in locating the source of the disturbance, the more advanced

  “Which is exactly why we cannot wait for them any longer, Supreme Guardian,” Satumyne said. “I know how much your word means to you, but I urge you to think of the omniverse—the safety of innumerable dimensions far outweighs the lives of a—” she waved a hand in a dismissive gesture “—mere handful of mortals.”

  “You say that as though my students and I were nothing more than disposable items to be used and discarded at your whim, Majestrix,” Xavier countered, eyes narrowing in anger. “Cannon fodder in your eternal quest to maintain order in the cosmos. Yet we ‘mortals’ were the ones you turned to when neither your Technet nor your Captain Britain Corps were able to end the destructive tendencies of your—dare I say—‘evil twin,’ Opul Lun-Sat-yr-nin.”

  Satumyne’s lips formed a thin line as she scowled at the Professor. The Omniversal Majestrix did not like being reminded of her failures by lesser beings.

  Xavier chose to ignore her heated gaze and turned to Roma. “Your Majesty, I am well aware of the risks you are taking by allowing my X-Men this chance to repair the damage that has been done to our home dimension. But they did not go blindly into this mission—they, too, knew what was at stake, and were more than willing to risk their lives in this attempt to set matters aright, rather than stand idle and watch our world die.” He maneuvered his hoverchair closer, placing himself between Roma and Satumyne. “I beg of you,” he said to the Supreme Guardian, “do not let that effort be for naught. Think—as my students

  did—of the countless billions of innocent life forms across the universe who would be sacrificed without ever knowing why they had to die.” “Sometimes, Professor,” Satumyne said coldly, “it is better to not think of such things.”

  Xavier stared at her for a moment. Although he would never consider scanning Satumyne’s thoughts, there was something about her attitude in this entire matter that he could not understand—it was as though she were holding back vital information.

  “If I may be so bold as to ask a question of you, Majestrix,” he said, “I would like to know why someone so dedicated to the preservation of order and the elimination of chaos is so adamant about depriving my students of their chance to save our home dimension. I should think you’d be on our side, supporting our efforts to the bitter end.”

  For a moment, the stem, icy features of the Omniversal Majestrix softened; a blush of embarrassment bloomed on the perfect, pale-white skin.

  “You would think so ...” Satumyne murmured. She turned her gaze from Xavier, to focus it instead on the scrying glass, took a deep breath, then slowly released it. Xavier waited patiently for her to continue.

  “Several years ago,” she finally said, “I faced a situation not unlike the problem we have today. I was heading the Dimensional Development Court, an offshoot of the Supreme Omniversal Tribune. It was my duty to travel to certain variants of Earth—the ones whose slow development was holding back the progress of all other Earths throughout reality—and orchestrate the ‘push’ that would set them on the proper track.” She frowned. “One of the transformations didn’t go as planned— there was an unexpected outside influence that twisted The Push. It drove the inhabitants mad, eventually caused the entire planet to collapse in upon itself—it was unlike anything we had ever seen. But it didn’t stop there; it continued to spread beyond Earth, to the stars. Entire planetary systems were warped by the effect—billions upon billions of life forms screaming in horror as they watched their universe die.” Satumyne paused, nervously chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. “There was no natural way to stop it, you see—this retardation of reality that became known as ‘The Jaspers Warp.’ In the end, the Tribune was left with no other choice but to wipe that dimension from existence, before its sickness could spread to other levels of the omni-verse.” Arms clasped across her chest, the Majestrix hugged herself, as though a chill had suddenly run up her spine.

  “Then, you’ve seen this happen before,” Xavier said. “If that’s true,

  Satumyne, then you of all people should be eager to see my students succeed. Given enough time, I am certain they will find a way to—” “You don’t get it, do you, Xavier?” snapped Satumyne, turning back to confront him; she was once more the ice queen. “Having lived through this sort of nightmare, I already know how it will all turn out: badly. They won’t slow the infection, they won’t stop the infection, and it will continue to spread unche
cked throughout the universe until Roma is ultimately forced to destroy that entire plane.” She paused, her cool fa?ade slipping once more.

  “Don’t you see, Professor? Your X-Men were doomed to fail right from the start,” she said quietly. “No matter how mightily they may struggle, no matter how noble their efforts, they are going to fail. And that is why I am so adamant that Roma end this charade—for why should others have to live with the knowledge that their actions were directly responsible for billions upon billions of deaths . . .”

  Xavier gazed silently at the Majestrix, and his heart went out to this woman, this agent of order who would always be haunted by the memory of the one time she had lost to the forces of chaos. “Satumyne ...” he began.

  Rather than let him continue, Her Whyness drew herself up to her full height, head held high, and turned away from him. Disheartened, Xavier looked to Roma, who had quietly watched this exchange with great interest.

  “Your Majesty,” Xavier said, “I implore you: do not give up on my X-Men now. I understand the Majestrix’s motivations, but the next four days could be critical to their efforts. To destroy an entire dimension without giving it every opportunity to go on living . . .”

  The Supreme Guardian clasped her hands behind her back and walked toward the scrying glass. “My father, Merlyn, has always thought the people of your world hold great promise, Charles Xavier— that, one day, they will rise above their petty differences and live in harmony.” She paused. “He has never mentioned if he feels that way about any of the countless other Earths in the omniverse.” Roma reached out to stroke the surface of the glass. The darkness within swirled for a moment, then grew still once more. “I have come to understand that you and Merlin are of like minds in this matter, Professor.”

  “Universal peace has always been my dream, Your Majesty,” Xavier replied. “My goal—and that of my students.”

  Roma nodded. “Dreams are such fragile things, my friend—so quickly forgotten with the rising of the morning sun, so easily dispersed by the harsh light of day.” She turned to face the Professor. “But you, Charles Xavier, have ever held fast to your dreams, to your hopes, despite the hatred and mistrust directed at your kind, despite the long years of struggle to create a lasting peace between human and mutant.” A gentle smile came to her lips. “With so powerful, so compelling a dream as that. . . who, then, am I to rouse the dreamer from his slumbers?”