Xavier decided that he needed to distract his captor. He needed to keep the alien talking until he could learn more about this place, until he could find some breach in its defenses.
“I had heard of the Nameless Dimension," Lucifer told him, "but I never dreamed how stark and featureless it could be. How empty of stimulation. Someone could go ... quite mad there."
Unexpectedly, he laughed. It was a short, ugly sound that originated deep in his throat.
“That is why I needed to find something on which to focus-something on which to obsess. A grudge, for instance. Or the plotting of vengeance against my enemies."
The professor decided to change the subject. "And the reason I'm not already being tortured to death?"
The Quistalian grunted disdainfully. 'Truly, Xavier, you exhibit greater curiosity than common sense. But then, you
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have always been an intellectual first and foremost. It is a pity I need to destroy you. I could use someone of your talents."
The mutant scowled at his captor. "I think you know the likelihood of my working for you, Lucifer.1'
"I do," said the hologram. “But imagine,” he whispered fiercely, closing his fingers around an imaginary planet, "imagine how it might feel to be lord of your entire world."
"A lord obliged to serve a Quistalian master," Xavier noted. "In that case, it would not feel very good at all."
Would Lucifer have even suggested such an alliance years earlier? The professor sincerely doubted it. Clearly, the Nameless Dimension had taken its toll on him.
Abruptly, the villain smiled. You forget, I am in your mind, Xavier. You think perhaps my time in the Nameless Dimension has changed me... driven me over the brink to madness?
The mutant cursed himself. Careful, he thought, at a level Lucifer couldn't reach. You musn't slip that way again.
"What do you think?" Xavier asked.
The hologram shrugged, as if it weren't very important. "Perhaps I have gone a little mad after all. And perhaps I am unable to recognize it because the madness prevents me from seeing clearly." He shrugged again. "An intriguing philosophical question for another time-but one with which we need not concern ourselves at the moment. You see, the time has come to effect my redemption in the eyes of my masters."
He pointed a thick, gloved forefinger at his captive. "And you, Terran ... you are the key to that redemption."
I'd rather die first, Xavier reflected, letting the thought appear to slip from behind carefully laid mental blocks.
At that precise moment, as though it were the result of a single synapse firing in the professor's brain, he released his astral image-a projection of himself controlled by his mind but unfettered by the boundaries of the physical world. His astral self was utterly invisible to the naked eye and, if Xavier had accomplished all he intended, invisible as well to Lucifer's telepathic scrutiny.
"You'd rather die?" the Quistalian repeated. “I assure you ... that can and will be arranged.”
Xavier kept the tiny portion of his mind that was linked to his astral projection buried as deeply as he could. That way, his mental doppelganger would have an opportunity to pinpoint his whereabouts without Lucifer knowing about it. And once the professor possessed that information, he could arrange an escape.
After all, his astral projection could travel at the speed of thought. It could contact his X-Men and alert them to his predicament. And even if Lucifer somehow became aware of the message, he would be powerless to keep it from going through.
Then something occurred to Xavier. What if he wasn't on Earth anymore? What if the Quistalian had taken him to some orbital facility, shielded by force fields from the prying eyes and instruments of Earthmen?
It was a disturbing thought. If he was no longer earth-bound, his task became infinitely more complicated. !t would be harder not only to reach his team, but also for them to reach him.
"Your X-Men?" Lucifer sniggered as he caught the stray thought from Xavier's mind. "They won't even know you're in danger before they're struck down themselves."
The professor didn't like the sound of the remark. He cared less about his own welfare than that of his students. "Would you care to explain what you mean by that?"
“Why not?" said the simulacrum. "As we speak, the ones you cail Bobby Drake and Henry McCoy are returning to your facility in Salem Center. And neither of them has any inkling that you're my prisoner, since you're sitting in the same vehicle they are."
Xavier's brow furrowed with consternation. "Am I? And how am 1 managing to accomplish such a feat?"
Lucifer tapped his forehead with his finger. "I told you, Terran... I have labored long and hard to reach this moment. You remember the two who accosted you on the road?"
"The silver-suits," the mutant offered.
"Exactly. And you remember that I said they were made entirely of ionic energy?" He lifted his bearded chin with unmistakable pride. "Well, they aren't the only ones."
Xavier could feel his teeth grind together. "You made a duplicate of me? Out of energy?"
The alien grinned. "I did. And he has taken your place."
The professor absorbed the information, mulled it over. “But it can't be long before my X-Men see him for what he is.”
“I would not bet on that,” Lucifer told him. "Your duplicate possesses all your memories, all your thought patterns, gathered by Quistalian sensor devices during our previous encounters. Your young friends will be hard pressed to see through the deception."
Xavier contained his trepidation. "And if I may ask... what specific purpose does this ruse serve?"
The projected image of the alien wagged a warning finger at his captive. “No," he said, “that would ruin the surprise. Let us take this one slow step at a time."
He had barely finished when the professor caught another flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he saw the two silver-clad super beings who had attacked him and Bobby. They moved toward him
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mechanically, their expressions vacant and their eyes ablaze with white fire.
"It's time for you to leave now," Lucifer told him. "But don't worry. We'll see each other again before you know it."
Xavier didn't understand. He said so.
"It's quite simple, actually," his captor remarked casually. "You see, this facility contains an intriguing little device for transporting an individual into the Nameless Dimension.”
The mutant's mouth went dry as he realized for the first time why he had been brought here. No, he thought fiercely.
"My assistants," Lucifer went on in the same casual voice, “will use this device to transport you here."
No, Xavier thought again.
“I look forward to the company," the alien said as if he were confiding in him. "And also, for you to have a taste of the hell I have endured since I was sent here."
The professor swore under his breath. It was too soon. His astral projection hadn't yet completed its probe of the area.
It had taken Lucifer years to discover what he believed was a means of escape from the Nameless Dimension. Xavier didn't have years. He didn't even have days—not with his enemy's doppelganger running loose among his X-Men, planting the seeds for Lucifer's triumph.
“Unfortunately," the Quistalian went on, “we won't be companions for long. After all, your duplicate's first priority is to see to it that I'm liberated from my dimensional prison-and that you're abandoned here for the rest of your pitiful life."
As he spoke, his silver-clad puppets lifted the table on which the professor was bound. Then they began to walk it back the way they had come, toward a semicircular portal at the far end of the room.
Lucifer’s simulacrum followed, smiling broadly beneath
the forward edge of his helmet. Clearly, the Quistalian was deriving sadistic amusement from the professor's plight.
Xavier struggled against his metal bonds, refusing to go down without a fight. His world was
far from perfect, but he couldn't let it fall prey to a pack of alien slavemasters.
In desperation, he directed a stream of mental energy blasts at the silver suits, but they didn't so much as flinch. Then he assaulted Lucifer's simulacrum, with the same results.
Poor, pitiful fool, the alien hissed in his brain. You've lost! Try to accept it with some grace!
The professor bit his lip. Grace was the least of his concerns right now. He wanted only to warn his students before Lucifer could put his scheme into effect—whatever it might be.
He watched as the drones maneuvered him through the portal into a considerably smaller and more poorly lit enclosure. The walls there were covered with dark, serpentine tubes and glowing amber nodes.
The only furniture in the room was a set of metal supports, located immediately below a large fixture that resembled nothing so much as an oversized heat lamp. The silver-suits laid his table on the supports, locked it into place and backed away from it.
Lucifer stood off to the side, gloating. "I will say goodbye, Xavier. But only for a moment, you understand. Then we will be reunited in a significantly more exotic environment."
One of the drones moved to the wall on the professor's right and manipulated a control switch. Abruptly, the fixture above Xavier began to glow with a seething crimson light.
The mutant turned his head and shut his eyes against the awful glare. But soon, he had other forms of discomfort with which to concern himself.
Bathed in the Quistalian device's lurid illumination, the muscles in his arms and legs knotted painfully. Then his skin began to crack and blister. And a moment later, it felt as if a white-hot poker had been plunged into his belly.
Lucifer! he bellowed in his mind.
At the same time, Xavier felt his astral projection returning to him. It had managed to determine his location, a place deep underground in the northwestern part of the United States. It could go now and find his X-Men, let them know...
But even as he began the thought, he realized it was too late. The Quistalian device had begun its work in earnest. And as it shuttled him off this plane of existence, his astral image went with him, drawn inexorably back into his mind.,.
Dragged forcibly with Professor X into the roiling, eternal nothingness of the Nameless Dimension.
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rofessor Xavier was drowning in the depths of a cold, viscous sea. Or rather, he felt he would be... as soon as he tried to pull his first breath into his lungs.
Fortunately, he had sucked in some air as Lucifer's ray washed over him. It wasn't that he'd had any idea that his destination would be like this-a bizarre environment of thick, oily liquid. It was just a reaction to the pain the ray had inflicted on him.
Had the professor been prepared for such a place, had he had any idea of what he would have to face, he would have fortified himself even more. He would have taken in as much oxygen as his lungs could hold.
But he hadn't.
And now he was caught in a nightmare, a horrible death pressing in on him from all sides. With no way of knowing which way was up, he began to thrash about with his arms, turning his head this way and that... seeking something-anything-that might give him a chance to orient himself.
A feeling of panic surged through him. But that, he
H
knew, could be the death of him. Bringing all his considerable willpower to bear, he forced himself to relax, to examine his predicament coldly and logically in the small amount of time left to him.
If he remained calm, he had a chance to prevail-a chance to survive. He would give himself that chance. Then even if he failed, even if he lost his final battle, he would at least know he had first tried everything he could think of.
Experience told the professor that he had perhaps fifty seconds left before the breath in his lungs needed to be released. Then he would be compelled to suck in that first and last liquid breath. Fifty seconds, he reflected, consulting his wristwatch. It didn’t seem like a lot of time for him to figure out where the surface was and reach it.
But it was all he had.
Normally, the light would have been a clue. The surface would have been wherever the illumination was the brightest. However, it seemed to be of equal intensity in all directions. No help there, Xavier thought.
On the other hand, he couldn't be too distant from the oxygen he craved, since a liquid this thick would start to block light at a relatively shallow depth. So if he could figure out in which direction to swim, he probably wouldn't have to go far.
Abruptly, the professor recalled a trick he had learned from a scuba diver. Expelling a tiny bit of the air stored in his lungs, he watched the bubbles it made. Since air was lighter than water, they would eventually rise in the direction of the surface.
But as he waited, it became plain to him that the bubbles weren't going anywhere. They were just hanging there in front of him, as if the thickness of the stuff around him was preventing them from making any headway.
Inwardly, Xavier cursed. How much time did he have left? He looked at his watch again. Thirty-five seconds.
The surface, he told himself. Find the surface.
Unfortunately, he had no other ideas, no other strategies for orienting himself. With all the survival training he had undergone, all the mental exercises, he was unprepared for something like this. So he seized the only option open to him.
He guessed.
It's the lady or the tiger, Professor X told himself.
Flip a coin, pick a door, and hope, with the odds dead even, that a ferocious bundle of orange-furred feline didn't come springing out at him. Except there were a great many directions from which to choose. Many doors. And only one of them contained his salvation.
Xavier began to swim toward what seemed like "up" to him, sweeping his arms through the heavy liquid in long, powerful strokes. He wished he could go faster, but his paralyzed legs were useless to him, as much a burden here as on dry land. As usual, the professor would have to work with what he had and hope for the best.
His chest tightening with the need to exhale, he glanced at his watch. Twenty-five seconds to go. And Xavier still had no idea where he was ... or whether he was headed towards or away from the surface.
He considered the insanity of the situation. Why had Lucifer bothered to transport him here just to drown him? If it was the professor's death the Quistalian desired, why didn't he just kill Xavier while he lay there in front of his simulacrum? It made no sense.
Twenty seconds.
He could feel his face flushing, his fingers going numb from lack of oxygen. And still he pulled himself along.
What was it the mental projection of Lucifer had said? /
SI
look forward to the company-and also, for you to have a taste of the hell I've endured since I was sent here.
Clearly, the alien had meant for Xavier to end up in the Nameless Dimension. Then why had he sent the mutant here instead? Was it a mistake? Had he miscalculated somehow-or given his drones the wrong instructions?
Fifteen seconds.
His strength was ebbing. The compulsion to exhale was becoming too powerful to resist.
Think, Xavier told himself as he continued to pull at the liquid with powerful strokes, more and more certain that the answer was floating right in front of him. Why are you here?
Ten seconds...
The professor was in agony. Darkness encroached on the edges of his vision, threatening to claim him.
And suddenly, it came to him.
A smile crossed his tightly clamped lips and he stopped swimming. Of course, he thought, his lungs near to bursting. Lucifer hadn't meant to kill him. And he hadn't made a mistake either.
He had sent Xavier here on purpose... to the Nameless Dimension, the same realm the Quistalian himself had inhabited for the past decade. And Lucifer would have drowned here long ago if this environment weren't somehow capable of sustaining
an oxygen-breathing being.
Five seconds.
His lungs near to exploding, the professor knew he had nothing to lose by acting on his guess. So against his every instinct, he opened his mouth and released the last of his breath.
It bubbled eerily from his nose and mouth. Then, again fighting his animal instincts, reasoning that he would either survive or end his life then and there, Xavier inhaled a deep draught of the oily liquid.
For a moment, it seemed to him that he had made a mistake. The stuff filled his throat, threatening to asphyxiate him. But when it reached the professor’s lungs, he found it strangely satisfying-strangely invigorating. In fact, he realized with relief, it was every bit as nourishing as the oxygen he had been breathing all his life.
Whatever this stuff was, he thought, pulling in some more of it, it wasn't a liquid as liquids were constituted on Earth. Xavier couldn't begin to understand how or why it worked as it did-and while it would be interesting to subject it to analysis some day, he could live for now without knowing its precise nature.
All that was important was that he was sustained by it. He was alive. And if he was alive, he could still win out over his enemy.
Keep telling yourself that, Xavier!
The words slammed through the professor’s mind like hammer blows. It was Lucifer, he realized, but the villain's telepathic voice was far louder and far more immediate than it had been on Earth. It made sense, now that he thought about it. After, all, they were no longer on opposite sides of the dimensional barrier.
Xavier tried reaching out with his mind to pinpoint the exact location of the voice. But he found, to his deep concern, that he had trouble focusing his thoughts. Something was wrong, he told himself. Some element of this dimension was affecting his telepathic powers, making it difficult for him to utilize even a fraction of his abilities.
It was like a sighted man losing ninety percent of his vision. Once again, the professor felt helpless, unable to maneuver. Panic gripped him. And once again, he managed to submerge the feeling.
He had to maintain control, he told himself, as he had done before Lucifer transported him from Earth. He had to minimize the villain’s ability to invade and read his thoughts. No matter what happened, no matter how bad the situation got, he couldn't let himself surrender.
Shadow of the Past Page 4