But he'd be damned if he'd let her know that.
"If you're going to kill us, lady, why don't you do it and get it over with?" he snarled.
Their torturer floated lithely across the room, smiling at Corsair, a predator sighting her prey.
"Away from him, stay, little bird!" Hepzibah growled, and Corsair turned his head hard to the right to get a good look at his lover. She'd been born on Tryl'sart, under Shi'ar Imperial rule, spent some time in prison on Alsibar, where Corsair had first met her.
The Shi'ar Emperor D'Ken, the long dead brother of Lilandra and Deathbird, had destroyed Corsair's life as Major Christopher Summers, had murdered his wife, Kate. D'Ken ordered Corsair imprisoned on Alsibar not long after that. It was there, cowed and broken, that he had met the Starjammers. Ch'od's entire race had been wiped out by the Shi'ar: Raza was a prisoner of his own people; and, taunted and tortured by the guards, Hepzibah ... Hepzibah was simply beautiful.
With their courage as example, and his attraction to Hepzibah growing, Corsair rebuilt his sense of self, his pride. Heartened by their presence, he regained his humanity. He aided the trio in their escape, and eventually, became their leader. And Hepzibah's lover.
Like all members of the Mephisitoid race, Hepzibah resembled nothing so much as a humanoid cat, with the colors of a skunk. Most human males would shrink in horror at the sight of her, but Corsair could only see her beauty and grace.
And now her pain.
Deathbird lashed out with the talons of her left hand and slashed Hepzibah's arm, drawing blood and a hiss from the female's mouth.
"You're wasting your time, witch!" Corsair shouted. "You can say whatever you like to rationalize our deaths, but you'll never get your confession."
"Fool," Deathbird said with a shake of her head and the rustle of feathers, "I don't need your confession to execute you for smuggling. What I want are your contacts with the Kree rebels. I want names, Corsair. Give me the leaders of this Kree insurgency, and perhaps I will be merciful to you and your female companions."
"Forget, you do, Deathbird," Hepzibah said before Corsair could answer, "familiar, we are, with your so-called mercy."
"None of which means a damn thing," Corsair added. "We don't know anything about any Kree rebellion. Candide is a smuggler, pure and simple, selling to whomever is buying. Hepzibah and I came only to free her from your bizarre version of justice. Though I pity anyone living under your rule, I have no special love for the Kree, and no desire to lose my head for them."
Deathbird's eyes narrowed and she glared at them both, ignoring the unconscious Candide. After a moment she sucked in air, as if she'd been holding her breath, then shrugged her shoulders in almost human fashion.
"As you wish, Starjammers," she said. "Continue your denials but you will neither convince nor dissuade me. I will have those names ... "
"Paranoid bitch," Corsair interjected, exasperated.
"Enough!" Deathbird barked, and backhanded him across the face with such force that she nearly broke his neck. Corsair was grateful she hadn't used her talons. With that strength, she might have torn his face completely off.
"It seems the torture must continue," she said with mock sadness.
"You may drive me mad, but that won't get you the answers you're looking for," Corsair said.
"Oh, but it isn't your turn yet," Deathbird replied, then reached out to clamp a hand on Hepzibah's jaw while she lowered the copper helmet to the Mephisitoid's head. Almost immediately, Hepzibah began to scream. Corsair had experienced the psionic torture of that device only once thus far, but that was enough to feel a terrible nausea at each shriek or whimper that issued from his lover's mouth.
Inside her mind, he knew, she was experiencing the worst physical and emotional torture that her own mind could conceive of. The thing tapped into both her imagination and her pain receptors to create false events and mingle them with actual pain.
Deathbird merely smiled as he ground his teeth together, then made her way from the cell, the guards locking the door behind her. Hepzibah's screams were loud enough that, just as the first tear slipped down Corsair's cheek, Candide began to wake.
The smuggler was a Shi'ar/Kree halfbreed, which for years had made her an outcast in two empires. Corsair had known her a long time, had once been a little sweet on her, but there had never been anything but friendship between them despite her great beauty. It occurred to him that, in most cases he'd seen, halfbreeds were generally more attractive than either of their parents' races. A message of harmony, he might have thought if he wasn't so cynical.
Hepzibah howled again, and Corsair could not keep his mind off her any longer. There was nothing he could do for her. Whatever torture he might endure when that copper helmet was placed on his head, it could not be worse than listening to his lover, a strong and stubborn woman, cry out in agony. Deathbird knew that, of course. Corsair cursed her under his breath.
"Corsair?" Candide asked tentatively, her pain obvious.
He did his best to face her, despite the lack of mobility in his arms and legs. He thought it might help if he smiled, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.
"I'm here, old friend," he answered grimly. "I've got nowhere else to go, after all."
"What?" she asked, raising her voice to be heard over Hepzibah's cries.
"God!" he shouted, ignoring Candide now, enraged by the surreal quality of his situation. "Enough now! Let her be!"
It had been decades since he'd prayed, years since he'd even considered it. This was different. There would be no mercy from Deathbird, no mercy but the blade that would separate their heads from their necks. Corsair reached out with his mind, heart, and soul to Hepzibah, to the universe itself.
He didn't know whether it was mere fate, or some divine intervention, but Hepzibah finally succumbed, falling unconscious within her restraints. Just in case, he mumbled a soft thank you under his breath.
"Why doesn't she just kill us?" Candide asked quietly.
"She thinks we're part of some Kree insurrection, that we can provide her with names," he said, still astonished by the concept. "She's insane. Most of the Kree hate the Starjammers as much as they do the Shi'ar or the Terrans. If we knew anything about the rebellion, doesn't she think we'd tell her?"
Corsair's mind was swirling with pain and wonder, so at first it didn't strike him as odd that Candide did not reply. After a moment, though, her silence became a distraction.
"Candide?" he said. "Are you listening?"
He turned to look at her, but Candide would not face him.
"Candide?" he asked again.
Finally, his old friend looked up, tears streaming down her face. And then, of course, he knew.
• • •
Though he was far from unintelligent, Gladiator never aspired to become a ruler himself. His race were singularly powerful amongst their galactic neighbors, but he had been raised a loyal soldier to the Shi'ar Empire, just as all of his people had. Everything that defined him was wrapped up in his position, which at one time had seemed unattainable for a being not Shi'ar by birth. And yet, despite the odds, he had become Praetor of the Shi'ar Imperial Guard.
It was testament to his loyalty to the throne and his objectivity that Gladiator had maintained his position throughout the despotic rule of D'Ken Neramani, the tyranny of Deathbird, and the relative peace and prosperity of Lilandra. Three vastly different leaders, all from the same family. Gladiator and the Guard had served them all. He was not dedicated to a single ruler, but to the empire itself. It was his life and his blood.
Or so he told himself. There were times, however, in moments of what he would call weakness, that he would admit in his private thoughts that Lilandra was the best and rightful Majestrix of the Empire. At certain moments it was difficult to remain impartial. While Deathbird had been Majestrix he had served, had done his duty, but at his core Gladiator had been less than pleased.
His duty brought him to Hala, into the court of Deathbird. A
small part of him, a blasphemous voice in his head, wondered if accepting the position as Praetor was a wise choice. Though he had fought against them more often than he had fought by their side, he did not want to see the two Starjammers executed. But the law was the law. He was happy that, though she clearly had reservations about the sentence, Lilandra was not going to challenge Deathbird. It would be unwise and, in the eyes of many, unjust.
Gladiator knew that his traveling to Hala as envoy, with Oracle, Starbolt, Titan and Warstar of the Imperial Guard, was Lilandra's way of delaying the executions, and he was forced to wonder what she hoped to accomplish by such tactics. But he didn't wonder long. The conclusions he would invariably reach could be unhealthy for all involved.
His heels clicked on the polished stone of the hallway, an honor guard to either side and the four Guards who had accompanied him bringing up the rear. They marched down a long hall where Deathbird's men insisted that the rest of the envoy stay behind while he went ahead to meet with her. He would have liked to resist, but an order was an order. The Viceroy could order him to do anything she wished so long as it didn't go against the Empire or the direct instructions of the Majestrix.
At the door to Deathbird's private aerie, the honor guard stood aside to let him pass and it hissed shut behind him. He scanned the room, the ingenious natural lighting and odd geometry, the cascade of feathers down one wall, and the diaphanous curtain that separated the foyer from an interior area. Deathbird was nowhere to be seen, but a moment later her voice floated to him from deeper in the room.
"Dear Gladiator, do come inside," she said.
Wary of her, as he instructed all the Guard to be, Gladiator pushed his way through the curtain and stepped down one warmly appointed hall to a large chamber. Inside, Deathbird lounged on a chaise covered with white fur, sipping a blue liquid from a fluted glass.
"At ease, good Praetor," she said sweetly. "Enjoy a brief respite after your journey. Share a glass with me."
Gladiator almost laughed, but his training would not have allowed it under any circumstances. Still, it was both unnerving and amusing to see Deathbird attempting the role of seductress. There were many creatures in nature, Gladiator knew, that lured their mates to passion and death. He vowed to stay far away from the clutches of this one.
"Greetings to Deathbird, Viceroy of Hala, sister to the Majestrix Lilandra Neramani, from her very august personage, the ruler of the many peoples of the Shi'ar Empire," Gladiator said stiffly, making the formal introduction expected of him on behalf of the Majestrix.
"Hmm," Deathbird mused, not rising to respond formally. "I had forgotten how strictly you adhered to official convention. I suppose when I was Majestrix I had other things on my mind."
Gladiator lowered his head in appropriate respect, eyes never losing their focus though all they could see was the crimson and sable of his uniform and the dim light reflected off the hard floor. Deathbird's words suggested many things, not the least of which was nostalgia for her days as Majestrix. She would not dare say something treasonous in Gladiator's presence, though. He would take her into custody immediately, and he was certain she knew it.
Still ...
"Ah, such a pity," Deathbird sighed and finally rose to stand half a dozen feet from Gladiator, arms crossed and wings blocking his view of her gossamer clothing. "What is your message, then, honored envoy?"
"You have no doubt received word from the Majestrix that the executions of the prisoners Candide, Mademoiselle Hepzibah, and Corsair, was to be delayed until the arrival of this envoy," he said. "The Majestrix, your loving sister, respectfully requests that you be absolutely certain of the charges against the condemned prisoners before they are executed. To allow you time to consider this request, the Majestrix orders a stay of the executions for one standard day."
"Don't you think I know what is going on here?" Deathbird laughed. "My sister has a soft spot for the pirates, particularly Corsair. After all, it was they who came to her aid when she was an excommunicant from the empire. She thinks she will discover a way to stop their deaths without the empire seeing her actions as a weakness."
Gladiator did not respond as Deathbird moved closer to him. She touched his cheek, lifted his chin and looked him in the eye.
"It's not going to happen, Gladiator," she said. "They are going to die. Oh, don't be overly concerned. I will wait the day as instructed, and so will you and the rest of the envoy, and stay to be witnesses to the execution. I order it, an instruction you cannot deny unless you have previous orders from the Majestrix?"
Gladiator nodded, once.
"I thought not. Therefore you will stay, and watch, and report back to the Majestrix all you have seen. These are criminals, likely involvedwith a planned rebellion in which the Kree hope to have their revenge on the Shi'ar Empire. I do the Majestrix a great service in their execution, as I'm sure you will soon see."
She turned away from him and picked up her glass again. Gladiator did not move. He stood, hands crossed at his back, his face gravely serious. After a moment, Deathbird faced him again, sighed in contempt, and barked: "Dismissed!"
Gladiator turned on his heel and left her chambers, trying his best not to think about politics, diplomacy, and their consequences. He was a soldier, after all. He had never wanted to be more.
• • •
Cyclops sat silently in the back of the Starjammer's cockpit, mind lost in the nebulous space outside the ship's view shields. The infinite stars glowed pink to his ruby-covered eyes. Ch'od and Archangel sat at the controls and their technical conversation was little more than a drone to his ears. They would be approaching the stargate shortly, and he tried not to consider the possibility that he was endangering faceless billions, and many of his loved ones, for the life of one man.
That was foolishness, he knew. If they thought the stargate's destabilizing effect would blossom out of control because. of the random passage of a vessel as small as the Starjammer, they wouldn't be going at all. His father would be left to die.
"Scott," a voice came at his ear, startling him.
"I'm sorry," Rogue said, clearly surprised at his reaction. "I was just hopin' you could be of some assistance back here. Jean an' I don't seem ta be havin' much luck."
"What's the problem?" he asked.
"Testosterone's the problem, if ya ask me," she said, frustrated. "Gambit an' Raza haven't really been gettin' along since we took off. It's only gettin' worse."
Cyclops left his uncomfortable perch in the cockpit and followed Rogue back into the main cabin. Jean sat at a holo deck studying the layout of Kree-Lar and its new capitol building. She caught his eye, and there was a question there, but he ignored it for the moment.
"Thou wouldst dare question the honor and integrity of the Starjammers? Thou art a fool, Terran!" Raza roared, poking a finger into Gambit's chest. "Countless times have we have aided the X-Men in battle."
Gambit held a ragged paperback book in his right hand, and even as Cyclops entered the cabin, it began to glow with explosive power. He wondered a moment if Gambit was even aware of it, and was disturbed when he concluded that the Cajun was completely in control of his powers.
"I tell you how I dare, me," Gambit said angrily, his Cajun patois heavier than ever. "De Starjammers been pirates from de beginnin', sellin' to de highest bidder. Maybe you backed up de X-Men a coupla times, but don' you try to claim you always on de right side, 'cause we all know it just ain't true."
Raza looked prepared to tear Gambit's head off, but before he could open his mouth, Gambit held the charged up book next to Raza's neck.
"You put dat hand near me again, cyborg, an' you gonna draw back a bloody stump!" he said.
That was it. Raza leaped at him, knocking the book to the floor of the cabin as the two tumbled to the ground.
"Jean!" Scott shouted, all that was necessary for her to pick up on his instincts. The paperback exploded at the center of the cabin, but Jean had to have surrounded it with a telekinetic shi
eld in time because it did no damage other than to shred itself into fine confetti.
As a young man, Scott Summers was called "Slim." While in excellent physical condition, muscles finely honed, he still looked relatively wiry. Appearances are often deceptive, however. With Rogue at his side, he strode over to where Gambit and Raza were about to truly get into it, and his anger was only matched by his concern at what might happen when Gambit's powers and Raza's cyborg strength were turned to a pitched battle in the heart of a spacecraft.
"You idiots!" he shouted, as he pulled Gambit away from Raza and lifted him off the floor. Despite his cyborg enhancements, Raza was no match for Rogue's sheer power.
"What in God's name is the matter with you?" he asked. "This childishness endangers our mission and the lives of everyone aboard this craft. If we all make it out of this alive, you two can tear each other apart if you like. Until then, this feud is over or you'll both answer to me. Let's not forget that we're all here for the same reason."
He caught Gambit giving him a sidelong glance that spoke of wounded pride and eventual payback. He moved close, so that only the Cajun would hear, and said, "I'm a rational man, Remy. But trust me, it's a mistake you don't want to make."
Gambit smiled disarmingly, showing off the charm that was just another weapon in his arsenal.
"Don't worry 'bout me, Scotty," he said warmly. "You know I de president of de Cyclops fan club. I jus' don' like gettin' my toes stepped on, mon ami. You understand, eh?"
Raza tried to shake loose of Rogue, but could not and began to curse her instead. With a look, Scott signaled her to let go, and he pushed away in anger.
"Thou art a man of honor, Cyclops,"he said through half a sneer. "Thy father, scoundrel though he may be, is also honorable. Mine loyalty is to him. Thou wouldst be wise to ensure that those whom thou doth lead are equally loyal."
Raza headed for the cockpit while Rogue spoke quietly yet sharply to Gambit. Cyclops sighed, grateful that he'd averted the crisis. Gambit had always been a bit of a problem; a lifelong loner thrust into a team situation. Often, Scott wondered why he stayed. He supposed it was partly due to loyalty to Storm, who brought him to the team, not to mention his obvious affection for Rogue.
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