“Logan,” Scott said warningly, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder.
“Just a second, Cyke,” Logan said, and then exploded into motion.
With one hand he grabbed the marine’s rifle, pulling it forward, yanking it from the marine’s grip, and then he brought his other arm down elbow first, cracking it into the marine’s neck and sending him sprawling onto the sand.
The other marines tightened their grips on their rifles, but Logan quickly tossed the rifle to the ground and raised his hands in a posture of surrender.
“Sorry about that, fellas,” Logan said, smiling. “Reflex, I guess. Something about the way he was talking must have set me off. Now, take us to your leader, why don’t you?”
The marines left standing glanced at one another, uncertain what to do next.
“You heard the man,” Kitty said impatiently. “Let’s go, already.”
Logan glanced over at Scott, who scowled back at
“What?” Logan said innocently. “That was hardly even a love tap.”
Without further incident, the marines led the three X-Men to the tent they’d set up as a makeshift command center. Inside, a statuesque woman in the uniform of a marine colonel waited with a short, unpresupposing man in a cheap black suit.
“Colonel Stuart?” said their marine escort, shouldering his rifle. “These are the individuals you wanted to see.”
‘Yes, yes,” the woman said impatiently, waving them in. “We haven’t got all day.”
Scott moved to stand opposite the colonel, back straight as if he had something stuck up his backside, while Kitty found a folding chair to slump down into. Logan went over to lean against the tent’s center pole, his arms crossed lightly over his chest.
The colonel took them in at a glance, and then looked to the small man in the black suit. “These are the infamous X-Men?”
Logan chuckled. “See, kiddo,” he said to Kitty, “I told you not to worry about that whole secret identity business. Seems like someone already spoiled it for us, anyhow.”
The colonel turned, and narrowed her gaze at Logan.
“So you’d be the Canadian operative Mr. Raphael was telling me about, then?”
“Could be,” Logan said, fishing a toothpick out of his shirt pocket and clenching it between his teeth. “Depends on who Mr. Raphael is, I suppose.”
“Ah, that would be me,” said the man in the black suit, his voice as oily as the little hair he had left. “But it’s just Raphael, if you please.” He stepped forward, and extended a hand toward Logan.
Logan looked at the man’s hand before him like it was a dead fish, his only movement to shift the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.
“Erm,” Raphael said uneasily, trying to shift his attention to Scott, but Summers had his attention fixed on the colonel. Raphael then looked helplessly over at Kitty, who just shrugged in response. “Yes, well..He backed away, stuffing his hands into his pants’ pockets.
For his part, Logan was busy eyeing the colonel, as well.
She’s a big one, and no doubt, he thought appreciatively. She’s got to be as tall as Petey, if she’s an inch.
Logan doubted she could turn into organic steel like Peter Rasputin, but she was an imposing figure, nonetheless. She hadn’t moved since they’d walked in, her hands clasped at the small of her back but Logan could tell by the way she stood that she was a trained fighter. She’d be something to see in a scrape, he was sure.
“In the interests of avoiding an international incident,” the colonel now said, fixing the three X-Men with a hard stare, “I’ve been dissuaded from shooting you on the spot. But I’d very much like to know what a group of internationally infamous mutants are doing violating British airspace, and if I don’t get the answers I’m after in short order, I might reconsider that decision.”
“You know,” Kitty said, sitting forward in her folding chair, “I’m not sure I like the way she said ‘mutant.’” She glanced at Logan, who nodded.
“There’s lots of bigots all over, kid,” Logan said.
The colonel stiffened, lips curled, and Logan was glad to see that he’d gotten a reaction. So she wasn’t made out of stone, after all.
“I’ll have you know that I don’t have a bigoted bone in my body,” the colonel said hotly. “And if you don’t believe me, I think you can ask your friend Mr. Cassidy, and he can set you right.”
“Sean?” Scott said, taken aback.
“Yes,” the colonel said. “Without going into unnecessary details”—she glanced over at the man called Raphael—“suffice it to say that there was a point at which I might have brought your ‘Banshee’ to account for a number of... legal questions ... that plagued him, and I chose instead to put him at his liberty. Which is not to say that there wasn’t unfounded prejudice against mutants involved in the incident, but that I was on the opposite side of that unfortunate line.”
‘Yeah, maybe,” Kitty said, “but when was that? Years ago?”
The colonel’s expression seemed to soften, but only for the briefest moment. ‘Years, and more.”
“Well, what have you done for us lately?” Kitty said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve been hearing rumors about the British rounding up mutant kids and putting them in special camps. Wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Colonel?”
“Now, see here,” Raphael cut in haughtily. “The Warpies aren’t mutants, regardless of what you might have read, and besides, any stories you might have heard were doubtless horrible, groundless exaggerations.” He paused, and grinned, making an expansive gesture with his hands. “If anything,” he went on, his tone conciliatory, “the British government has only the best interests of the children at heart.”
“What?!” The colonel wheeled on Raphael, her mouth open in shock, and Logan could see that whatever the two Brits were to each other, they weren’t friends. And if they were allies, they were uneasy ones, at best.
Raphael shifted uneasily under the colonel’s hard gaze. “Colonel, perhaps we might discuss this at a later...”
“Mister Raphael,” the colonel said sharply, cutting him off. “Is it true that the RCX is really rounding up children?”
“Well,” Raphael said, suddenly the epitome of composure, “the issues aren’t nearly as black-and-white as they might sound.”
Logan realized that the slightly bumbling, stuttering act to which they’d been treated was just that—an act. This Raphael, whoever he might be, was a cool customer, in complete control of his reactions.
Before the colonel could do more than fume, Kitty interrupted.
“RCX?” she said, sitting up in her chair. She turned to Logan, then glanced at Scott. “Hey, I’ve heard Betsy talk about these guys. They’re some kind of British spookshow, totally top secret.”
“Ah,” Raphael said. He took a small notebook from his jacket pocket, and scribbled in it briefly with a pencil stub. He looked up under his brows at Kitty. “That would be Betsy Braddock, would it?”
“Why?” Kitty said, jumping to her feet. “You planning on putting her in a camp, too?”
“Hold on, now,” Scott said, placing a hand on Kitty’s shoulder.
“No, you hold on, Cyke,” Logan said, pushing off the tent pole and stepping forward. “I’m not too crazy about the idea of anybody put in a camp against their will. I’ve seen it before, just like I’ve seen friends turned into walking skeletons, and worse.”
The colonel looked at Logan, her expression softening momentarily. “The war ...”
“I’ve been in more wars than you can count, lady,” Logan said, “but don’t kid yourself it only happens in wartime.”
“Look, everybody,” Raphael said, raising his hands, “perhaps we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here . ..” Logan took a step forward, adamantium claws popped out of the backs of both fists.
“Bub, if you’ve got a wrong foot, I’d be happy to get rid of it for you.”
“Logan!” Scott barked.
Before Logan could respond, a marine appeared at the open flap of the tent.
“Colonel Stuart,” he said, snapping off a crisp salute. “I think there’s something out here you should see.” The colonel treated Raphael to a cold glance, then turned to follow the marine out onto the beach.
Scott didn’t waste a moment, but followed close on the colonel’s heels.
Kitty hopped up and followed them, glancing back over her shoulder. “If you’re going to kill that guy, Logan, hurry up and get it over with.”
His gaze on her retreating back Raphael chuckled, but the laughter stopped when he turned and saw Logan’s hard expression.
“She was joking?” Raphael said, and Logan thought he might see genuine fear somewhere behind the spook’s carefully cultivated facade. “Right?”
Logan glowered at the man in black for a long moment. “Another time, bub.”
The claws retracting back into his forearms, he turned and followed the others out of the tent, leaving Raphael alone.
7
The marines were spread out in defensive positions up and down the beach, looking toward the alien city, unsure whether to shoot or start running, and waiting for orders one way or the other. Kitty couldn’t blame them. Her own fight or flight instincts were currently duking it out in her gut.
There were a half dozen of the circular platforms, each about ten or fifteen feet across, skimming over the water toward them.
That they were moving without any noise, or any visible means of propulsion or support, came as no particular shock to Kitty. She’d seen more amazing things than that in the last few years. Heck, her best friends included a guy who could turn into solid metal and a girl whose skin could absorb memories and abilities on contact.
What was surprising, though, was to see what was riding on the platforms. Or rather, who.
People.
Just that. Not big bug-eyed monsters, or sentient robots, or humanoids with feathers instead of hair, not squishy piles of goo, or colonies of space whales, or giant insect things. Just people.
Sure, each of them had precisely as much hair on their heads as Professor X—which was to say, none at all—but that could be chalked up to simple fashion. Faulty genetics, at best. But aside from that minor characteristic, not a one of them would be unable to walk through the Salem Center mall without drawing comment or attention.
Well, their clothing might draw some comment or attention, Kitty supposed. The bright colors and oddly geometric patterns looked more like something out of an arabesque fantasy than the typical attire of a Westchester County shopper, but then it wasn’t so long ago that shoulder pads and neon colors were all the rage, for god’s sake, so it wasn’t that out of the ordinary.
Of course, typical Westchester County shoppers didn’t arrive at the mall in high-speed UFOs, or skim through the department stores on big floating platforms, so Kitty had to admit there was still something unusual about these people.
But still and all, they were people.
The nearest of the flying platforms stopped just short of the atoll’s beach, hovering in midair, and Kitty was able to get a better look. Two men and three women were standing on its featureless surface, each of them looking to be somewhere between their midtwenties and their mid-thirties.
The other platforms behind them veered off to either side, as though to circle around the small island.
The lead platform’s five riders regarded everyone on the beach, silently.
And then ...
Nothing happened.
Kitty thought she was going to scream. The bald platform riders were silent; the marines were silent; the colonel and the balding spook were silent; even Scott and Logan were silent. Kitty was tempted to shout, but knew better. She’d learned long before that when entering an unknown situation it was far better to keep your eyes and ears open and your mouth shut. But what if everyone else had learned the same lesson? Would you just stand around forever, silently looking at each other?
The colonel motioned to one of her men. When he drew near, she said in a low voice, “Lieutenant, begin passive and active scans of those humanoids on all bandwidths and frequencies.”
Before the marine could reply, a voice range out in Kitty’s head.
“Oh, so you use verbal communications? How . . . quaint.”
Kitty winced. The mind-call was easily twice as “loud” as the ones Professor Xavier used to send out. From the expressions on everyone around her on the beach, she could tell she wasn’t the only one on the receiving end, either.
“Please,” blasted the mind-voice again, “allow me a moment to scan your language centers ...”
An instant later, one of the bald platform riders stepped forward, opened his mouth, and addressed
everyone on the beach in clear, unaccented English.
“This one bears the name Vox Tertius, servitor unaugmented clade, of the House Nine-Mirror-Eclipse, preeminent among the Collective. This one bears greetings in the name of the Kh’thon, supreme masters ofEarth.”
Okay, Kitty though. So maybe that’s a little surprising. ..
8
Colonel Stuart stepped forward to address the strange figure calling himself Vox Tertius, but before she could speak Scott pushed ahead of her.
“Where are our friends?” he demanded, stabbing a finger at the platform. “What have you done with Lee Forrester and her crew?”
“Summers,” the colonel said warningly, in a low voice, but kept her eyes on Vox Tertius, waiting to see how he responded.
The figures on the platform exchanged confused glances, and then Vox Tertius’s eyes widened, and he turned to look back down at Scott and the others on the beach.
“Oh, you refer to the individuals we seized,” he said.
“Yes,” Scott managed through clenched teeth, having to fight the urge to lift his ruby quartz glasses and give these guys the full brunt of one of his optic blasts.
Get it together, Summers, Scott thought. Logan’s supposed to be the one with the berserker rage, right? Not you. What is this reaction about, anyway? Lee’s in your past, isn’t she? Or she’s supposed to be. You’re with Jean now, aren’t you?
Scott’s musings were cut short when Vox Tertius replied, nodding serenely.
“The individuals you mention have been taken in hand for entering areas restricted to all servitors who do not bear appropriate proof of their master’s permissions.” Vox paused for a moment, and glanced at one of his fellows before looking back to Scott. “Do you claim these individuals as your own?”
“Listen,” Colonel Stuart said, “I’m here as a representative of Her Majesty’s ..
“Yes,” Scott said brusquely, interrupting. “They are our friends.”
“Ah,” Vox Tertius said, nodding. “Well, it would appear that the observance of protocols has lapsed somewhat in our absence, but such is to be expected.” He smiled indulgently, as though addressing misbehaving children. Tilting his head to one side, he said, “To which house and clade do we address ourselves?” Colonel Stuart and Scott both began to answer at the same time, but Stuart gave him a hard stare, conspicuously lowering her hand to the pistol holstered on her hip.
“Listen, Summers,” she hissed quietly, “this is a potential first-contact scenario, and I am not about to let it be handled by amateurs. We’ll get your people back, but we’ll do it my way.” Then, in a louder voice, she turned and answered Vox Tertius. “I’m afraid that I don’t understand the question. Can you clarify?”
Vox Tertius sighed dramatically. “Which master-strain do you serve?”
“Master-strain?” Kitty said.
When Vox Tertius spoke again, his words were slow and deliberate, as though he were addressing an animal, or an imbecile. “To which House of the Kh’thon do you owe fealty?”
Colonel Stuart opened her mouth to speak, closed it again, and then turned to Raphael, who shrugged.
“What the flamin’ heck is a Kh’thon?” Wolverine sai
d, voicing the question foremost on Scott’s mind.
Vox Tertius screwed his face up, looking perplexed and more than a little alarmed. As he stood silently regarding those gathered on the beach, one of the women behind him on the platform stepped forward, lightly touching his elbow.
“Vox Tertius,” the woman said in the same unaccented English, “the servitors in the city of Dis report no sign of habitation, and considerable entropic damage to the city’s systems and services. Further, we detect no Kh’thonic emanations from anywhere on the planet.”
Vox Tertius looked from the woman to the people on the beach, shocked. When he spoke, he addressed her, but kept his eyes on them. “Then this world has been entrusted solely to the keeping of servitors?”
The other male platform rider stepped forward, and pointed a long, slender finger toward Logan. “And clearly, Vox Tertius, some of the servitors are augmented phenotypes, perhaps even Exemplar-class.” “This ...” Vox Tertius began, shaking his head. “This won’t do at all.”
Without another word, he gave a brief sweeping motion with his hand, and the platform spun around and sped back toward the city. The other platforms followed close behind, skirnmingjust above the waves.
“Well,” Kitty said, stepping forward and draping an arm over Scott’s shoulder. “For a first-contact situation, I think that could have gone a little better, don’t you?”
9
Bloody cheek, Alysande Stuart thought, but didn’t allow herself the luxury of responding. If these so-called X-Men hadn’t interfered, she was convinced she’d have had this mess sorted by now. Instead, the situation was deteriorating quickly.
“Corporal!” Alysande barked. “Initiate airborne pursuit.”
A few yards up the beach, a marine wearing a bulky metal pack on his back snapped off a crisp salute, and turned to two others, each wearing an identical pack.
“You heard the colonel,” the corporal said. “Up and at ’em.”
Without another word, the three marines unshipped their assault rifles, took three running steps toward the shoreline, and then leapt into the air. Gouts of blue flame blazed from the metal packs, and the three marines shot off jetting after the retreating platforms.
The Return Page 4