"Do you want us to engage them?" she asked, but suspected she knew the answer.
"Not at all, Amelia," Magneto said with a benevolent smile. "It will take quite some time for the X-Men to resolve their presence with the particularly hostile attitudes of the American military forces arrayed outside this base. Even then, they've got to break through our force shield. At that point, you may be required to engage them. As such, please find Senyaka, Unuscione and the others and prepare."
"You said there were a couple of things we need to be wary of," Voght reminded him.
"Indeed," Magneto agreed, nodding. "While most of the Acolytes will see your orders as a direct communication of my will, that is a lesson Unuscione may need to be taught. Were I you, I would watch my back during battle, ever a convenient time to be rid of competition."
Voght was silent. She expected nothing less of Unuscione, but felt it remarkable that Magneto should deign to mention it at all. She knew she held a place in his life as a confidant, but she hoped there was no romantic interest involved. She had already once given her heart to a man incapable of accepting the responsibility. She'd be damned if she'd do it again.
"I appreciate the heads-up, Magneto," she answered finally. "If Unuscione gets out of hand, you can be certain my retribution, or reprimand if you prefer, will be swift."
"I had thought it might," Magneto said. "The Empire Agenda can ill afford to have my orders questioned."
"Don't give it another thought," Voght said. She turned and marched from the command center, wondering if Magneto was purposely maneuvering Unuscione and herself into a confrontation. She would not put it past him, but if that was his goal, Voght was mystified as to its purpose. No matter, though. If Unuscione came after her ...
"I'll take her down hard," Voght said under her breath, eyes narrowed and with a grim set to her jaw. Life as a mutant was becoming an ugly business. But then, she had always known it would come to that.
• • •
With mixed feelings Magneto watched Voght set off to prepare for battle. He had every confidence in her ability, both to lead and to withstand Unuscione's backstabbing tendencies, but he did not wish to see their conflict undermine the Empire Agenda. He considered for a moment that it might have been unwise to place Voght in charge for this mission, and then brushed the thought aside. The two women were on a collision course, and there would be no avoiding that fact. Best to be done with it, and move on.
Aloud thump made him whip his head around, entire body taking on a defensive posture, wondering if the X-Men had somehow devised a way to enter the base unnoticed.
"Apologies, my Lord," Milan said, for it had been his open palm on the metal desk that had made such a noise. He sat, still slightly hunched over the console. Milan no longer looked dead; now he simply looked as if he were dying. Sweat ran down his forehead and cheeks in droplets and he wiped them quickly away. He stood and stretched, arched his back with a crackle of popping muscles.
"We're ready, my Lord," he said with great deference, then sat back down at the console. "Allwe need to do now is enter your password, and we will be online and ready for reprogramming."
Milan's exhaustion and satisfaction were evident in his features, though obscured by the visor he wore and the tattoo on his face. For a moment, Magneto wished he did not have to disappoint one of his most faithful Acolytes, but there was no avoiding it.
"I'm sorry, Milan, but I must take over from here," Magneto said.
"My Lord?" Milan asked, astonished at his master's words. "Have I offended you somehow, Lord? What may I do to salve whatever wrong I have produced? Surely, there must be ... "
"Please, Milan, be still," Magneto instructed, and was obeyed. "You have done no wrong."
Magneto crossed the control center, his footsteps echoing heavily on the metal floor, a dead hollow sound that only served to amplify the lifeless, haunted atmosphere of the base. It was a cold place, and Magneto greatly anticipated the moment when they might quit Colorado and move on to their ultimate goal.
Milan waited, head tilted slightly downward, as Magneto approached, and only stood when his master had laid a hand on his left shoulder. When he had vacated his seat at the console, Magneto replaced him there, where his mind had labored tirelessly to navigate layer upon layer of computer security. Now that Milan had breached that security, had found the backdoor that Sebastian Shaw had built into the Sentinels' programming, Magneto knew that he must take over.
"Please sit down, Milan," he said, motioning to a chair several feet away. "Sit by me now, and you will see that I have done nothing but save your life."
On screen, the console displayed only one word, a request: "PASSWORD?" Magneto typed E-M-P-I-R-E, and hit the return key. The resounding, grinding noise of generators coming to life filled the facility. Giant engines churned with sudden purpose, like dozens of jets preparing for takeoff simultaneously.
"What is that sound, Lord?" Milan asked, hands over his ears.
Before Magneto could respond, the console began to change. Where it had been a very modern computer system, it now unfolded like a lotus flower, blossoming into a thing of much greater technological promise. The screen widened, and glowed with a pink hue that made Magneto think, absurdly, of cotton candy. The top rolled back into itself and a new apparatus was born from inside it, consisting of a long gray box with a six inch opening at one end and another, strangely shaped construct.
"Name?" asked the computerized voice of the command center.
"Eric Magnus Lehnsherr, called Magneto, White King of the Hellfire Club," Magneto said. Though the latter bit of information was no longer true, it was part of the identification that Shaw had programmed into the system.
"Password?"
"Empire."
"Voice pattern analysis confirms identity. Please proceed with fingerprint and genetic analysis."
Magneto removed the glove from his right hand and slid it into the long, gray box on top of the console. He breathed deeply as the computer scanned not only his fingerprints, but the lines of his palm as well. That completed, he grimaced in pain as fine lasers sliced off a small swatch of his skin for testing.
"My Lord, you are in pain," Milan said, and Magneto almost laughed at the simple childlike wonder in the man. Though it was possible devout piety and childlike wonder were too often confused.
"In answer to your question, that sound is the arming and ignition of all Sentinel systems," Magneto said, knowing it would be several seconds before the computer confirmed his genetic pattern and realizing that Milan had probably forgotten he'd ever asked the question. "Now that Shaw is dead, if anyone other than myself were to attempt to enter the system in this fashion, the Sentinels are programmed to destroy that person."
"Fingerprint and genetic analysis confirms identity," the computer announced. "Begin retinal scan."
For a heartbeat, Magneto wished he could witness the enormity of it from Milan's point of view. The very idea was foolish and impossible, and he chided himself for it. Magneto placed his face against the contoured edge of the Retinal Scanner and a reddish light bathed his eyes. He tried not to flinch from its brightness. After all, any machine is capable of errors, and an error here would mean failure at best, possibly even death.
"Retinal scan confirms identity," the computer voice said. "Welcome, Magneto. Please run system self-diagnostics before downloading alternate priority program from restricted memory."
"Run diagnostics," Magneto said.
"Running."
Magneto looked at Milan, who sat in silent appreciation of his master and the technology that was about to become enslaved to their needs. The Master of Magnetism took in a deep breath, sweet with relief, and leaned back in his chair, content to wait while the soldiers of his empire began to learn their new duties.
• • •
Val Cooper was getting stonewalled by Gyrich's secretary, and was considering putting in another call to Xavier, as the Professor was the only other source of inf
ormation regarding the Colorado situation that she had at her disposal. Gyrich was hardly following the Secretary's instructions, and he'd pay for it later, no doubt. But Val knew that the bastard couldn't care less about later if it meant not having to deal with her, now.
That's what she was thinking, anyway, when her office door crashed open and Henry Peter Gyrich stormed into the room.
"Cooper, I've got a major crisis on my hands, and I wonder if you can shed some light on it for me," he said, not caring enough to even begin to disguise the hostility in his tone and manner.
"Really?" Val asked, all innocence. She had no idea what he was referring to specifically, but loved the disgusted look on his face and the pain it must have caused him to come to her.
"What can I do for you, Henry?" she inquired, and then allowed the venom to seep into her voice. "Seeing how cooperative you've been, you know I'll help where I can."
"Back off, Cooper," he snarled, then dropped into the soft leather chair in front of her desk. " want to know what the X-Men are doing traipsing all over the Colorado site. Somehow, I expect you'll have an answer for me. "
"If you're implying that I ... " she began, bursting with mock fury.
"I imply nothing," Gyrich interrupted. "I'm far too direct for implication, don't you think?"
"So it's an accusation, then, is it?" she asked rhetorically. "Let me tell you something, you sanctimonious bigot, unlike you, I follow orders. The Secretary instructed me to call Charles Xavier. I have done that. No more, no less. Simply because you cannot even conceive of following instructions is no reason to believe those around you share your faults."
Gyrich's eyes narrowed and his lip curled back. A pulsing on the side of his cheek revealed that he was grinding his teeth, and Val was absurdly pleased. It was to her great displeasure that Val Cooper had known far too much hate in her life. Most people, she imagined, knew too little love. That was par for the course.
Hate was completely different. It was a disease, and an infectious one at that. Still, she lived in Washington, so the choice was between hatred and self-loathing. Val Cooper thought she was pretty decent, overall, so she chose hatred.
Even in the spawning ground for heartlessness and cruelty, Gyrich was something special. Val was fond of saying that when he died, Hell wouldn't take him for fear he'd take over the joint. It always amazed her how few people laughed at that line. But they were right. The truth was never funny.
Gyrich exhaled and sat forward slightly in his seat, attempting and failing to produce a benevolent smile, which instead became the foolish grin often reserved for infants, senile relatives, and the mentally ill. In itself, it was an insult.
"Let me be specific, and official," Gyrich said slowly. "Did you inform the X-Men of the situation in Colorado?"
"No."
"Then we can only assume, as I have long believed, that Professor Xavier is directly tied to the X-Men," he said, leaning back with a nauseatingly self-satisfied air.
"Speak for yourself," Val said, just as calmly. "That's not what my report will reflect."
Gyrich raised an eyebrow. "Explain," he commanded, though she ignored his tone for the moment.
Val was thinking fast, but the basic gist of this story had already been concocted with Charles Xavier hours earlier. The last thing Xavier needed was to have Gyrich on his tail at all times. It would seriously impair the X-Men's ability to function as a team. Still, though prepared, she spoke slowly and thoughtfully to make it appear as though her reasoning was being developed on the spot.
"We know Xavier is friendly with Dr. Henry McCoy, aka the Beast," she said. "We also know that, at times, McCoy has been seen with the X-Men. Therefore, it is more likely that Xavier told McCoy, and McCoy passed it on. Even that is unlikely, however. Xavier has too much to lose in the fight for mutant rights if he were to lose the favorable opinion of the current administration. He wouldn't jeopardize that by revealing the content of what was obviously a high-level-clearance conversation."
She could see from the moment she began that Gyrich wasn't buying word one of the story. In the end, that hardly mattered. It was less important that Gyrich be dissuaded from connecting Xavier to the X-Men than it was that he be dissuaded from connecting Val herself to the X-Men. Not only would she lose her position and everything associated with it, but if he could show that she knowingly invited outside agencies in to deal with restricted federal operations, she could, and certainly would, be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.
"It just doesn't make sense," she said finally.
That woke Gyrich up from his predatory daydreams.
"You're right," he said smugly. "It doesn't make a damn bit of sense. But hey, Val, if that's your professional opinion on the subject, then I'm willing to take your word on it, of course. Only thing is, that leaves me with a bit of a conundrum."
"How's that?" she asked.
"Well, it's really quite simple," Gyrich said, nearly licking his lips with anticipation. "Youclaim you didn't contact the X-Men directly, though of course we both know you have the capacity to do so, since several members of X-Factor actually used to be X-Men. You also insist that Xavier isn't directly tied to those mutie terrorists, and wouldn't contact them even if he were. You see where this leaves us?"
"I'm not following you," Val said, but she was lying. She was following Gyrich's logic very closely, and it disturbed her deeply.
"Well, if you didn't call them, and Xavier didn't call them, then it must be the X-Men themselves who have taken over this facility," Gyrich said, almost leering now with the pleasure of the spot he'd put her in.
"That's ridiculous!" she said. "You have no reason to think ... "
"I have every reason to think that is the case, and unless you care to tell a different story, we both know how the Secretary will feel," Gyrich said smugly. "You can file your little reports to your heart's content, but it won't change the outcome. The X-Men have been confronted by the U.S. Army on federal land. Though they have, as yet, made no hostile move, we must assume they are the culprits, and that they intend to rendezvous with teammates inside the facility."
The red-haired man leaned forward and plucked her desk phone from its cradle. He punched in a numerical sequence that gave him access to the safe line she had used to call Xavier. It swept itself for bugs or other surveillance every thirty seconds, and automatically disconnected if the receiving line began a trace.
Gyrich then dialed a brief code number.
"What are you doing?" Val asked, though suddenly she thought she knew. She felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach, and bile rose in her throat.
"This is Gyrich,' he said. "Get me Colonel Tomko."
Leaning over to speak into the phone, Gyrich looked around the room. Eventually, his eyes found Val's, and he smiled at her with genuine warmth, a first for the man. But she knew the smile was not for her benefit, it was his uncontrollable reaction to a moment of personal triumph.
"I'll ask you again, Gyrich,' she said angrily. "What the hell are you doing?"
She reached for the cutoff button, to disconnect his call, but Gyrich stood and slapped her hand away.
"Move an inch toward that phone and you're done in D.C., Cooper," he snarled. Then his demeanor changed completely and his smile returned. He leaned back on her desk and spoke grimly into the phone. "Hello, Colonel Tomko," he said. "Under my authority, you are hereby ordered to place the X-Menin custody. Should they resist, you will instruct your men to shoot to kill."
"No!" Val shouted. "Gyrich, are you out of your mind? They may be the only people capable of preventing disaster out there! You're blowing your ace in the hole, you blind lunatic!"
Gyrich was ignoring her. Instead, he seemed to be having trouble with Colonel Tomko on the line. Gyrich's face had reddened, and his nostrils flared as he spoke louder and more slowly.
"I'll say this only once more, Colonel," he declared. "You answer to me and only to me. I have given you your orders, and you will carry
them out. I expect that when you next contact me, the X-Men will be your prisoners or dead, and the facility will be back under our control."
Without another word, he hung up. Val knew the horror she felt must be etched on her face, but could do nothing about it.Gyrich seemed not to notice, however. He was too happy with himself.
"Now, maybe we can finally deal with these mutie freaks once and for all," he said. "And if Tomko fails, it will only prove that Wideawake is a necessity that must be put into active use. One way or the other, it's a win-win for me, Val. Which means you lose."
When Gyrich slammed her office door, Val could only shake her head. Sometimes she thought he was merely a miserable, evil man, and other times she had to believe he might be slightly insane. For the first time, she began to actually hope that the latter was true. If it weren't, she just didn't know if she would be able to stay in Washington anymore.
Nerves frayed, Val locked her office door and retreated to her desk. She used her safe line to place yet another call to Charles Xavier, and silently asked herself if she would ever be in a position where she might be the bearer of good news. It would be a pleasant change.
Chapter 7
As their ship emerged from the stargate, Ch'od was, for the second time, awed and unnerved by the fleet of war ships in orbit around Hala. He had witnessed military gatherings of such magnitude before, several even larger, but more often than not the Starjammer was escaping capture or destruction, and it was not easy to get a decent, panoramic view of vessels in pursuit of your own.
Over the years he had learned to be thorough, so he checked and double-checked that the Stariammer was cloaked from Shi'ar and Kree sensors.
"Raza, make sure the X-Men are prepared to 'port planetside in two," Ch'od said absently, wishing that he could join the extraction team that would save Corsair and Hepzibah from execution, or die trying.
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