The mutant tried desperately to restore it, to find the man's mind again and extend his consciousness into it. But there wasn't enough time. The Quistalian's eyes were already beginning to flutter open.
Clenching his jaw, Xavier swam away from Lucifer with all the speed of which his crippled body was capable. If he could put enough distance between himself and his tormentor, he might be able to establish his psychic link with Jeffrey again ...
Before something awful happened.
The false Charles Xavier was in the dark, elegant foyer of his red brick mansion, settling into his wheelchair with the help of Jean Grey's telekinetic abilities, when he lost contact with his other-dimensional master.
Lucifer? he called out with the power of his mind, attempting to fill the vacuum the Quistalian's absence had created.
But there was no answer. Not even a faint one. Something had happened to Lucifer, the energy duplicate realized. Something had separated them; if only for the moment.
Fortunately, he had been given an unconditional agenda to follow—and follow it he would.
"Is everything all right, sir?" Jean asked him.
The imposter turned to her as if he were genuinely surprised. "Everything is fine, Jean. Why do you ask?"
She frowned ever so slightly. "I caught a stray thought... or at least, I thought I did. It seemed you were looking for someone."
He dismissed the notion with an economical wave of his hand. "I was reaching out to Jeffrey," he lied. "That's all."
Jean's expression lightened. "Of course. I should have known."
"After all," the doppelganger went on, wheeling himself
SHMMIS If !«[ PflSI
toward the heavy wooden front doors in advance of the mutants, "the young man is in a strange place. He cannot help being frightened, no matter the circumstances under which he arrived."
“No doubt,” Hank agreed, making his way around the wheelchair to open one of the doors for his mentor.
Outside, the heavens were a bright blue. The estate's sprawling front lawn was host to a scattering of crimson and golden-brown leaves. And Jeffrey Saunders was standing stock still in the middle of them, his expression one of disorientation.
As the energy duplicate wheeled himself down the concrete ramp next to the mansion's front steps, he regarded Jeffrey-and vice versa. Jeffrey brightened a little when he recognized what he believed was his grandfather's friend— but only for a moment. Then he seemed to close down again, lost on a sea of confusion.
If the youth had ever been in contact with Xavier, their link seemed to have vanished already-just as the imposter’s link with his creator had vanished. It occurred to the false Professor X that there was a connection between the two events, though he couldn't be certain of it.
The doppelganger was accompanied by Scott, Jean and Bobby as he made his way across the lawn toward Jeffrey. Hank and Warren stayed behind in the house, however. After all, the former was undisguised and the latter hadn't hidden his wings-and they all believed there was enough mutant hysteria in the world without taking a chance on inciting more.
Stupid genetic accidents, the imposter thought. Pitiful twists of nature. They cower from mere human beings, who can't hope to match their power, while a much greater threat insinuates itself among them.
MED
In the end, he mused, all Earthmen would fall to his Quistalian master. The X-Men would be the first, to be sure, but no one on the planet would escape Lucifer's domina-tion—especially helpless, handicapped individuals like young Jeffrey Saunders.
He stopped his wheelchair in front of Jeffrey and looked up at him. "Jeffrey," he said in the most sympathetic voice he could muster, "what an unexpected surprise."
The youth didn't respond. Clearly, he wasn't equipped to understand what was being asked of him.
Bobby put a hand on Jeffrey's shoulder and smiled at him. "Hey, pal. Remember me? From the funeral?"
Again, Jeffrey was silent.
"He's scared," Jean observed, no doubt taking the opportunity to plumb Jeffrey’s mind. She turned to the energy duplicate. "Just as you said he would be, professor."
The imposter nodded. "Jeffrey is like a child, I'm afraid. I don’t suppose your examination of his thoughts has turned up anything useful?"
Jean shook her head. "Not a thing."
Good, thought Lucifer's pawn.
Outwardly, however, he frowned. "For the time being," he announced sagely, "Jeffrey's appearance here may have to remain unexplained. It is more important that we see him returned safely to Westminster House than that we satisfy our curiosity."
"Agreed," said Scott.
"Me too," Bobby added.
“Do me a favor," the doppelganger told Jean. "Call the police and tell them we have a visitor who needs a ride home."
“Of course," Jean responded.
As she retreated into the mansion, the false Xavier con-
sums if he Pflsi
sidered Jeffrey Saunders. You'll be home soon enough, he thought privately. For all the good it will do you.
For just a moment, the youth almost looked as if he knew what the imposter was talking about. Then the moment passed and he seemed as lost and innocent as ever.
By the time Lucifer regained consciousness in the thick, foggy waters of the Nameless Dimension, Charles Xavier was gone.
Cursing to himself, the Quistalian clenched his gloved fingers into fists. He had believed the mutant to be helpless, at his mercy. And yet, it was Xavier who had gotten the upper hand.
But my enemy hasn't won anything, Lucifer consoled himself. Not really. And I haven't lost anything. Xavier is still trapped with me in this hideous place. He is still my prisoner.
The Quistalian's only concern was Jeffrey Saunders— whose assistance the mutant had enlisted, if Lucifer's suspicions were at all correct. He didn't imagine a retarded man could do any significant damage to his plans, but he vowed to stop the fellow nonetheless.
His first step, of course, was to reestablish his link with his ionic energy construct. That way, he could find out how far the situation at the mansion had progressed.
It wasn't all that difficult for the alien to extend his consciousness through the dimensional barrier and find the one he sought. After all, he had had years to perfect the skill, and the doppelganger had received explicit instructions to remain in Salem Center.
Sure enough, Lucifer found him on the lawn of Xavier’s mansion, along with three of the professor's X-Men and a couple of uniformed state police officers. Jeffrey, the Quistalian noticed, was already sitting in the officers' vehicle with a concerned look on his face.
MEl
.. darnedest thing," one of the officers was saying, a bemused expression on his face. “The missing person report says this Westminster place is almost twenty-five miles from
here."
“Yes," said the energy duplicate. "We are aware of that.”
"And you say you haven't got a clue as to how our friend got here?" the other policeman asked.
“Not a clue," the imposter assured him. "Though, as you can imagine, I wish it were otherwise."
The first officer grunted. 'That makes two of us. Like I say, it's the darnedest thing. Well, thanks for the call, sir. We'll see to it he gets back where he belongs.”
"I trust you will," said the doppelganger.
As the policemen made their way to their car, Lucifer reached out to his puppet and restored their connection. Immediately, he felt the renewed flow of information and knew what had transpired.
You did well, he told his construct.
I live to serve you, the imposter replied.
It was nothing more than the truth, of course. Still, the duplicate's acknowledgement of it gave the Quistalian a measure of satisfaetion-as did the knowledge that Xavier had lost his best chance to interfere with his enemy's plans. With Jeffrey Saunders out of the way, the mutant no longer had the tool he needed to derail Lucifer's efforts.
“You know," said Bobby Drake, “I'
m still dumbfounded."
The doppelganger looked at him. “By the fact that Jeffrey made the trip from Westminister House?"
Bobby nodded. “It's just crazy."
Jean chuckled softly at the remark. "And that's from a guy who makes icicles in August."
Bobby looked sheepish. "When you put it that way..
He seems suspicious, Lucifer told his pawn.
SIMMS fif THE PfiSF
Indeed, the energy duplicate agreed. But not so much so that he suspects your involvement.
The Quistalian mulled over his puppet's conclusion. I suppose not, he decided. However, if that changes...
I will eliminate him, the imposter replied crisply. Without so much as a second thought
Lucifer was pleased with his construct. It was precisely the answer he had been looking for.
"Come," the energy duplicate told the three X-Men who had accompanied him out to the lawn. "Our labors are not yet complete. We still lack one of the Quistalians' components."
"It's as good as done," Scott Summers promised him.
That, too, was the answer Lucifer had been looking for.
s soon as Xavier believed he was beyond the range of Lucifer's power, he attempted to pierce the dimensional barrier and make contact with Jeffrey again. But Jeffrey wasn't on the leaf-covered front lawn of the professor's mansion anymore.
He was gone—and Xavier didn't know where.
All kinds of possibilities came to mind. First, the professor imagined that the imposter had confronted Jeffrey alone ... and destroyed him with a series of mental bolts, then concealed his body in the bushes.
No, Xavier told himself. Jeffrey's presence on the lawn had to have tripped alarms all over the mansion. The X-Men couldn't have helped knowing about it.
And if Xavier's mutant proteges had been alerted to Jeffrey's presence, Jeffrey would have been safe from the imposter's worst intentions. More than likely, he had simply been comforted and sent back to his room at Westminster House.
But by whom? Along what route? And in what sort of conveyance? Xavier had to know these things if he was to intervene.
If he had been back on Earth, he could have done without such information. He could have scanned the area for Jeffrey's unique mental signature and located him in a matter of moments.
But with the dimensional barrier standing between the professor and the object of his search, it became a more difficult and painstaking enterprise indeed. He would have to comb every automobile in town if he was to find Jeffrey-and even then, he had no guarantees.
What's more, it was critical that he locate Jeffrey quickly. Once the youth reached the high-speed Cross Westchester Parkway and headed west, Xavier's problem would become a good deal more complicated—because even if he managed to free Jeffrey at that point, it would take a long time to get him back to Salem Center.
Lucifer would be using that time to move his nefarious plan forward. He would be taking advantage of every minute, every fraction of a second, to steer Xavier's original team of mutants in the direction of humiliation, defeat and death.
So it was with a finely honed sense of urgency that the professor propelled his thought tendril in the most promising direction he could find-that of his office at the mansion, where he sensed the presence of the energy duplicate and his five unsuspecting X-Men.
Xavier saw Scott, Jean, Hank, Warren and Bobby standing in the large, well-appointed room. They were wearing their uniforms, ready for action. Bobby was covered with slick, faceted ice and Warren's wings were flexing. The imposter looked thoughtful as he sat in his anti-gravity chair by the window, giving them last-minute instructions.
"I need not tell you how important this mission is,” he said evenly. "Or how much more difficult it will be if the Quistalians have discovered our efforts despite our best precautions."
"In other words," Scott responded, “if your status-quo projectors haven't done the trick."
"But we always knew that was a possibility,” Jean noted. "No machine is foolproof-even yours, sir."
"Indeed," the energy duplicate acknowledged. "All I ask is that you tread cautiously. I trust that you will come home safely, as always. But above all, bring me that third component."
Hank nodded. "Will do, professor."
Xavier wanted to cry out. He wanted to block the doorway with his body. But he was still a prisoner of another dimension, so he couldn't do either of those things. All he could do was wait patiently and hope someone gave him the clue he needed.
"Good luck," said the ersatz Professor X.
"Thank you, sir," Warren replied, speaking for all of them. Then, folding his magnificent white wings, he exited the room.
Jean left next. Then Hank and Scott followed her out. It appeared to Xavier that Bobby would do the same... until he paused at the threshold, obviously bothered by something.
The doppelganger regarded him. "Something on your mind, Bobby?"
The youngest of the original X-Men returned his scrutiny. “Sir, when we found Jeffrey..
"Yes?" the duplicate prompted.
Bobby frowned. Then he dismissed the balance of his question with a wave of his hand. "Nothing, professor." And he swung around the doorpost to catch up with his teammates.
Xavier's heart sunk. When he heard Bobby mention Jeffrey, it seemed to him he might obtain the information he so desperately needed. Now he had to follow hisX-Men to their plane and continue to hope that they might drop a hint.
And all the while, Jeffrey was getting farther and farther away. The professor imagined Jeffrey diminishing with distance on a long, multi-lane ribbon of black asphalt-and with him, Xavier's faintest hopes of stopping Lucifer.
Unaware that he was being watched, the imposter smiled to himself. Then he made a pyramid of his hands and gazed out the window.
Suddenly, Bobby reappeared in the professor's doorway. "Do me a favor, sir?" he asked the doppelganger.
The counterfeit Xavier turned to him in his antigrav unit. "Of course," he replied benevolently.
"Call Westminster House," Bobby requested, "and make sure Jeffrey got home all right?"
"I had every intention of calling," the duplicate assured him. “However, I'm certain Jeffrey will arrive safely. The police don't often lose a missing person once they've found him."
The police! the professor exclaimed inwardly.
Faster than a hawk stooping to take a field mouse, he withdrew his thought tendril from his mansion and sent it flying across Salem Center. Now he knew what he had to find-a police car. And it had to be a state police car, since local officers seldom traveled beyond town limits.
Xavier just hoped he wasn't too late.
As Lucifer monitored his enemy's X-Men from the depths of the Nameless Dimension, he could come to only one conclu-sion-that everything was moving forward again as he had planned.
Xavier's mutants had already exited the underground rail
SifllfilS if Ilf PfSST
vehicle that connected their mansion with a subterranean aircraft hangar. Now they were refueling their sleek, black jet in preparation for an assault on the last of their Quistalian objectives.
And in the process, coming that much closer to their doom.
"I wonder what they're wearing these days in Antarctica," said Beast. He was hanging upside down, applying oil to one of the plane's landing flaps.
"Blue fur, I think," replied the mutant called Archangel, who was sitting on his haunches below the jet's wing. "So a guy like you should be right at the height of fashion."
"Me?" Hank rejoined. "I was thinking more along the lines of Bobby. After all, what could be more more haute couture in the Antarctic than nice, cold ice?"
"Yeah," said Bobby, who was leaning against the plane's fuselage. “For once, I'm dressed for the occasion.”
How blithely they wasted time and energy, thought Lucifer. How easily they allowed themselves to be distracted. A team of Quistalians would never have acted so inefficiently.
T
hey would have done what was absolutely necessary and been on their way as quickly as possible. Any conversation would have been curt, economical, and directly related to their objective.
Of course, the mutants and their banter would soon be forgotten, ground beneath the star-spanning machinery of the Arcane. And on that swiftly approaching day, Lucifer's travails would all be rewarded, his struggles brought to a final, satisfying conclusion.
The Quistalian smiled to himself. The crafty Xavier had come within a hair of outmaneuvering him again, hadn't he? But this time, the mutant had fallen short of his goal.
Ill
Forced to defend himself against Lucifer, he had relinquished control of his pitifully limited pawn-and thereby forfeited any possibility of stopping his enemy's energy duplicate. Soon, despite all Xavier’s labors, Lucifer would be liberated from his dimensional prison.
I have the upper hand again, the Quistalian reflected, his mouth twisting beneath the edge of his helmet in a cruel parody of a grin. And unlike Xavier, I won't hesitate to use it.
Professor X scoured the hamlet of Salem Center with his thought tendril, following one twisting, tree-lined road after another in the hope of spotting the police car with Jeffrey Saunders in it.
Bustling Main Street boasted a steady stream of afternoon traffic, but not a single police car. Elegant Highland Avenue displayed a couple of patrol vehicles, but neither of them had state markings.
Undaunted, Xavier sent his thought tendril soaring over Chappaqua Road, the third and last of the village's thoroughfares that fed into the Cross Westchester Parkway. He scanned its two-lane span from end to end. And this time, he found what he was looking for.
It was a black and white car with the words "state police" painted in bold black letters on its side. Swooping almost to ground level to peer into a rear window, the professor's psionic projection detected a single passenger in the vehicle's backseat.
It was Jeffrey. And from all appearances, he had emerged from his confrontation with the doppelganger unharmed.
Relieved, Xavier penetrated the window and made contact with Jeffrey again. All was well, he assured himself. He
SIRBOIltE If HE PISI
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