She wore a bright green bodysuit, with golden thigh-high boots and long gloves. A golden sash encircled her waist, resting low on her hips. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in a fiery mane, framing the bird-like design emblazoned on her chest.
“Welcome, Phoenix,” the Skull said.
Slowly, the woman regained her feet, then looked down at herself in amazement. “I’m ... free,” she said, and turned to the Skull. “But ... why did you do that?”
“Because your mind was cluttered with useless thoughts,” he snapped. “Yours, and those of your duplicates, which I detected as I made my way into your subconscious. The information I seek is buried in the depths of your mind; obtaining it simply required removing the blockage. And now that I have cleared the way—/ shall have it! ”
His eyes suddenly blazed again. Phoenix cried out and clutched her head.
“Get. . . get out..she moaned through gritted teeth. “Get out, damn you!”
“Stop fighting me, mutant!” the Skull ordered. “Your mental powers are considerable, but they are as nothing compared to those of the Cosmic Cube—or the one who commands it!” The light intensified. “Open your thoughts to me! Give me that information! ”
The woman screamed, and dropped to her hands and knees. Seeing the sadistic grin on the face of his master as he strengthened his assault on her mind, Leonard pressed against the wall behind him, as though he could conceal himself within the paint.
“Yeesss . . .” the Skull hissed, eyes closed as though in ecstasy. “I see it now ... a gleaming palace at the center of reality ... one to which all dimensions are joined ...” He grinned his death’s-head smile. “That is the next prize to be won—a challenge worthy of the Red Skull! To rule not just one, but countless dimensions! To reach my hand across Eternity, and know that billions upon billions of subjects tremble in its shadow! To be master over all of time and space!”
His brow suddenly furrowed; the smile faded. “But how to reach this wondrous edifice? Why do I not see that? I sense the power that sent you hurtling across infinity, but not a way to return to its source . .
He opened his eyes, and the light faded. Groaning loudly, Phoenix collapsed at his feet, breathing hard. He’d released her, Leonard realized, and eased forward from the wall.
The Skull frowned as he gazed at Phoenix. “The information is incomplete. You only possess a small part of the puzzle. I need the rest of the pieces—the ones that must lay hidden in the minds of your team members.” His lipless mouth pulled back in a disturbing smile. “And I know exactly how to go about acquiring them. . . .”
SO, YOU got a plan fer gettin’ t’the Skull?” Wolverine asked.
“Not at the moment, Logan,” Lensherr admitted. He glanced . at his traveling companion as they tramped through the moonlit woods, saw the frown that creased his weathered features. “Really, Logan—I only just escaped from a concentration camp last evening. I have been beaten, bloodied, and bruised, shot at and mutilated. My body is weak, my powers still recharging. What would you have me do?” “Droppin’ dead right in front’a me would do fer a start.”
“Beyond that.”
Wolverine snarled at him. “I think you’ve done enough already, ya piece o’ slime. We had a deal, back when Doom had the Cube—” “Yes, yes,” Lensherr interjected. “I’m well aware of the terms of the agreement I reached with your leader, Cyclops. In exchange for my cooperation, you would have the chance to try and reverse what von Doom had done to the planet.”
“An’ ya went back on yer word, bub,” Wolverine said.
Lensherr shook his head. “Not true. You imbeciles had your chance, as we’d agreed, and you failed. Therefore, it was necessary for me to step in.”
“By orderin’ yer acolytes t’attack us, an’ then snatchin’ up the Cube fer yerself.”
“Oh, come now, Logan! Did you actually think I would simply stand around and allow the means of achieving ultimate power to slip from my grasp?” Lensherr snorted. “You, almost as well as Charles Xavier, should know my motivations clearly enough by now.”
“I know ya all right, Magnus,” Wolverine countered. “I just expected better’a ya.”
The comment took him by surprise. “You insolent little thug! How dare you!” he bellowed.
“How dare I?” Wolverine snapped, rounding on him. “I ain’t the one who went screwin’ around with the flamin’ Cube, bub! I ain’t the one who stabbed the X-Men in the back, when we was tryin’ t’fix what yer old buddy Doom messed up! An’ I ain’t the one who allowed the Red Skull t’get his scummy hands on the Cube so he could turn the whole flamin’ planet into a stinkin’ Nazi slaughterhouse!” His lips drew back in a feral snarl, and he pointed an accusatory finger at Lensherr. “There were billions o’ people across I-don’t-know how many dimensions who were countin’ on us t’get the job done, an’ because o’ you, an’ Doom, an’ the Skull, all’a them—an’ us, too—got a good chance’a never seein’ another day!” He looked at his long-time enemy in disgust. “How dare I? Where the hell did you ever get the idea you could play God? All ya know how t’do is cause misery an’ destruction—oh, yer real good at that, ain’t ya? An’ fer what? So ya can rule the world, like you’ve always dreamed?” He spat on the ground, near Lensherr’s feet. “That’s what I think’a yer dream, ya piece o’ filth, an’ yer high-an’-mighty attitude.”
He stomped forward, getting right in Magnus’s face. “You wanna go on thinkin’ yer better’n me? Fine. But when I’m done with the Skull—if the world hasn’t totally gone t’hell by then—you an’ me, we’re gonna finish this, once an’ fer all. An’ then we’ll see who the better man is.”
“Oh, indeed we shall, Logan,” Lensherr murmured with a snarl. “I look forward to the outcome ...”
And then, without any warning, they disappeared in a flash of light.
Hundreds of miles away, high above the streets of New York, in an office belonging to the commander of the city’s security forces, a heavily sedated man groaned in his sleep and rolled over.
Slowly, the eyes of Professor Charles Xavier began to open. His body felt stiff, his thoughts still cloudy from the powerful drug. But there was something different about him, now: a determined set to his jaw that hadn’t existed before; a fire that burned hotly in his eyes; a hard-won triumphant smile that came to his lips.
“At last..he whispered. “I’m ... free...”
And then he vanished in a burst of light.
The last person Nightcrawler literally expected to run into—or wanted to see—as he tore through the corridors of Ministry of Health headquarters was Ororo Munroe. He was certain the feeling was more than mutual.
Getting to the landing area had turned out to be more difficult than he’d expected—mainly because someone had obviously figured out where he was heading, and dispatched the majority of the security forces to keep him from climbing any higher in the building. He’d tried making his way through the ventilation system, but the airflow tunnels had apparently been designed to prevent such a situation; no doubt other mutants in the past had tried escaping in just such a fashion. That left him with two choices: the elevators, and the stairwells. The former had a certain appeal, because he could climb through the roof hatch in one of the cars and climb up the shaft. The latter meant another chase in a tightly enclosed area, with bullets whizzing all around him.
He had some success with the elevator shaft, until he must have tripped a hidden sensor somewhere along the way. Then the door on the floor above him had been wrenched open, and some fool with a flamethrower had tried to bum him. Wagner teleported behind the man and gave him a shove, catapulting him into the shaft. When he struck the top of the car a few moments later, his screams of agony over his broken leg were all the proof Nightcrawler needed to hear to know he hadn’t killed him. But any sense of relief had been quickly replaced by thoughts of self-preservation as more doors slid open on higher floors, and soldiers started rappelling down the shaft.
Well, a
t least someone had turned off the damnable klaxon. It was bad enough being chased through a building by an army without having to deal with a splitting headache.
Another mad dash through an adjacent stairwell later, and he had tumbled out onto the sixtieth floor to catch his breath, knowing his pursuers weren’t too far behind him. Not for the first time, he wished that the designers of this facility had had the foresight to have maps placed on each floor; a small sign stenciled with you are here in bright red letters on a grid would have done wonders for his sense of direction.
It was as he whipped around a comer at the end of the hall that he collided with another fugitive. The impact sent his stylish sunglasses flying through the air, to smash against a framed blow-up of the Emperor.
“Bright Lady preserve me,” said a familiar voice. “You!”
Picking his dazed head up off the floor, Wagner looked at the feminine obstruction that had brought him to a halt. “Fraulein Munroe!” He sneered. “What an unexpected surprise. It’s so rare that one bumps into an alleged co-conspirator these days.”
“So, you are the cause for the alarm!” she said, using the wall behind her for support as she regained her feet. A sly grin crept across her exquisite features. “What happened, Nightcrawler? No longer a valued member of the Reich?”
“Thanks to you and your cohorts,” he replied. “I hope you’re pleased with the results of your slanderous remarks.”
“To a degree,” she admitted, “though it was no fault of mine. This woman they kept mentioning—”
“Frau Sommers.”
“Yes. Apparently, she is under the impression that she knows us.” “That seems to be happening more often these days,” he remarked sarcastically. He grabbed her by the wrist. “But now is not the time for sorting through our memories for previous encounters. We must go— now.”
They turned toward a door leading to another set of stairs. But before they could move, the corridor filled with a dazzling light.
And when it at last faded, they were gone.
“You sure this is such a good idea, Remy?” Rogue asked, her voice heavy with uncertainty. “I mean, breakin’ into the main headquarters of the city’s security forces? It’s crazy—an’ suicidal, if ya don’t mind me sayin’ so.”
“Well, dat’s de place dey was takin’ you to,” Gambit explained, “so it makes sense dat dat’s where we’ll find Cyclops. All we gotta do is sneak in an’ break ’im out—but quiet.”
“ ‘Quiet.’ Right,” Rogue said. “Quiet like the way you got me outta that armored car on the highway?”
Remy smiled. “Dat was an accident. But I didn’ hear you complainin’ ’bout it after I did it.”
“Well, I...” She paused, then smiled, too. “I wasn’t myself then, sugah. Otherwise, you woulda gotten an earful.”
“Den I should be grateful for small favors, non?” he said, and grinned.
Not waiting for a reply, he quickly stepped past her and flung open the door of the storage chamber.
Rogue tossed him the oversized trenchcoat he’d loaned her. He caught it in one hand, then held it out to her. She shook her head. “You keep it; it’d just wrap ’round my legs while we’re flyin’.” She smiled wryly. “ ’Sides, y’all look down right underdressed without a big coat on.”
Remy nodded in appreciation and slipped it on. He paused as something in the pockets thumped against his legs. He reached in, and came out with four packs of cards: two of playing cards, one of a collector’s edition commemorating “Great Moments in Reich History,” and one of a child’s well-thumbed “Go Fish” set.
“I found ’em in one’a the cartons, when I was rootin’ ’round ’em before,” Rogue explained. “Thought y’all might need some ammunition, for when ya get an urge to blow somethin’ up.” She grinned broadly. “An’ I know how y’all get some mighty powerful urges when it comes t’that kinda stuff.”
“Among other t’ings, chere," he said slyly. He extended his hand toward her, and she stepped forward to take it—
—and they both suddenly vanished in a burst of light.
The armored transport containing former Reichsmajor Sommers pulled into an underground parking garage just off Forty-fourth Street and Lexington Avenue. The trip through Queens, and across the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge into Manhattan, had passed without incident—no fear of a rescue attempt by mutant revolutionaries this time, not with a Sentinel hovering overhead.
The vehicle continued south for two blocks, down a side passage, to come to a halt beneath what was once known as the Chrysler Building, but had since been designated the New York headquarters of the Ministry of Defense. As the vehicle parked, the doors to a bank of elevators opened, and a squad of heavily armed soldiers poured out to meet it.
One of the soldiers moved to the back of the transport to open the rear doors, as the others took up firing positions. Their orders were simple: If Sommers had broken free, kill him before he could use his powers; if he were still shackled, escort him up to Lady Viper’s office, where he would join his wife.
The doors swung wide. To the disappointment of most of those assembled in the subterranean space, the prisoner was still a prisoner, chains clanking as he straggled to his feet. Sommers paused at the edge of the top step, and stared at all the guns pointed at him.
“An honor guard? For me?” he asked sarcastically. “And here I thought I’d fallen out of favor with the Empire.”
The youngest guard riding with him—Zumwald—gave him a savage push from behind. “Out, freak!” he barked.
Sommers tumbled from the vehicle and landed awkwardly, as the chain between his ankles made it difficult to keep his balance. Nevertheless, he was able to right himself before he fell flat on his face. Snarling, he turned back to the young soldier.
“You should be more careful about whom you touch, private,” he said. Zumwald gazed at him blankly. “Don’t you pay attention to the notices from the Ministry of Health?” Sommers flashed an icy smile. “You never know what sort of unpleasant diseases we filthy mutants might be carrying.”
Zumwald started, and stared at his hand. He’d removed his padded gloves during the ride from the spaceport, complaining they made his hands too sweaty. Now it was clear he wished he’d never taken them off.
“I should have that examined immediately, private—you wouldn’t want to grow a third arm, or an extra mouth, would you?” He laughed at the look of horror that transfixed Zumwald’s face, then turned to the soldiers clustered around the area. “I believe I have an appointment with your commander.” He drew himself to his full height, chin tilted upward in a defiant gesture. “Inform her that Reichsmajor Sommers is here to see her, and—”
He never got to finish his pronouncement. There was a sudden flash of blinding light in the dimly lit garage; when it faded, he had disappeared.
The chains he’d been wearing clattered noisily to the asphalt.
Cautiously, one of the soldiers stepped forward, waving a hand out in front of him, as though expecting to come into contact with a mutant suddenly gone invisible. When nothing happened, he slowly reached down and picked up the chains, then looked at his fellow warriors.
“All right,” he said. “Who wants to explain this to Commander Viper ... ?”
19
T HE FIRST indication Linda McQuillan—Captain U.K. of Earth 794-—had that something was very wrong aboard the Starlight Cit-I * 1 adel was when the very man she and the rest of the Captain Britain Corps had been hunting for hours came strutting down the main promenade, as though he owned the place.
Of all the bloody cheek. . . she thought.
The second indication was that he was accompanied by that annoying, self-important Dr. Stanton from the medical wing. He didn’t appear to be a hostage, though; in fact, he seemed to be acting as an escort.
“Not good. . .” Linda muttered. “Not good at all. ..” She tapped the comm-link button on her helmet. “Central, this is Seven-Nine-Four U.K. You’re not going to bel
ieve this. . . .”
Stanton glanced around nervously as he and von Doom walked along the promenade. He saw the startled expressions on the faces of the people they passed—he was certain they matched his own.
Von Doom obviously noticed. “Is there a problem, physician?” “Umm. . . well. . .” Stanton fumbled, looking for the right words. “Do you really think it’s . . . wise to be doing this . . . er, Lord Doom? I mean, walking around so openly when you’re being sought by security?”
“Stop your quivering, worm,” von Doom snapped. “This day, you walk with a god.”
Stanton nodded, head bobbing up and down as though attached to a loose hinge. “Oh, yes,” he mumbled. “The powers of the Guardian, and all. I forgot about that...”
“For too long has Doom remained in the shadows.” He waved a hand at the hundreds of representatives of humanoid and totally alien-looking races milling around them, yet giving both dictator and physician a wide berth. “Now it is time for these rabble to meet their new lord and master—and learn to fear him . . .”
“HALT!” ordered a loud feminine voice.
Striding purposefully down the walkway toward them was an attractive young woman dressed in a bright, Union Jack-decorated uniform. A shock of white hair stuck up from the open top of her helmet/ mask. The distinctive outfit identified her as a member of the Captain Britain Corps, and Stanton recognized her as Captain U.K., who had been one of the warriors who originally brought von Doom to the medical wing for observation when he arrived on the citadel.
Not bothering to acknowledge Stanton, she walked right up to von Doom and seized his arm in a powerful grip. “Victor von Doom, I am placing you under arrest for the cold-blooded murders of Captains Wales and Commonwealth,” she stated in an authoritative tone. “If you resist, I shall have no choice but to use force.”
“You dare lay a hand upon your god?” von Doom growled.
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