(Ten inches—the red sphere continued to work its way forward.) “You are a pitiful thing, a leeching coward afraid of life, afraid of kindness, afraid of joy and truth and anything that binds beings together instead of thrusting them apart.”
Xavier felt the coldly burning touch of the Forgotten One gathering in bits of his astral form. The bald man had run out of time. Rapidly, Gol-shenthu sucked up the struggling whits of Xavier’s essence, pulling them toward the central space within its bulk where it processed the energies it captured.
(Seven inches. The girl’s eyes were open wide again. The ball flew onward.)
“Greed and sloth are all that propel you through your existence,” snarled Xavier. “They are the prison that hold you, that keep you twisted and small and afraid. Too lazy to live, too grasping to die. How you must hate yourself.”
More than half of Xavier’s astral form had been gathered by his foe. He could feel himself being herded—one speck at a time—dragged to the heart of the pulsating horror.
“It matters not what you think,” said Gol-shenthu. “Your voice will be silenced soon enough. You will not so much die, as fade away, one jot at a time. Your pride will dissolve into terror, and your chastisements will be rendered into pleas.”
(Three inches. The fingers twitched. The girl smiled.)
“I think not,” whispered Xavier. “You claimed to need my power to be able to reach my dimension, but like all of your life, those words are a lie.” '
A thin trace of a shudder folded its way through the Forgotten One’s bulk. Trying to ignore the bald man’s words, Gol-shenthu redoubled its efforts to drag together all the runaway flecks of Xavier’s essence so that they might be processed.
“If I can travel across the dimensional rift,” Xavier challenged, “then it is inconceivable that you cannot as well. You lurk in shadows and trick prey to within your grasp only because you are too cowardly to pursue it on your own.”
(One inch. Less. The ball crossed into the jurisdiction of the gravity generated by the body in the wheelchair, increasing its speed. Dropping to Earth. Speeding toward the still waiting fingers. One millisecond more ...)
Gol-shenthu dragged the last fragment of Xavier’s astral form into his central core. Panicked triumph boiled in a sea of colors, sloshing their way across the Forgotten One’s surface. Conic bursts of purple sound fried their way across its enormous bulk.
The thing laughed—vulgar echoes tarred the atmosphere.
Xavier waited. Praying.
The red rubber ball crashed against the waiting hand.
Instantly Xavier’s consciousness responded to the anchor he had set, as planned.
The bald man’s astral form was returned to his body, snapped back by the contact.
Instantly Gol-shenthu the Forgotten One, was dragged from its hiding place between realities and slammed into the dimension Charles Xavier called home.
The bald man’s fingers closed around the red rubber ball. Without hesitation, he smiled widely, then tossed it back to its owner. The girl caught it, waved, then turned to rejoin her mother. The woman, staring at a feathered mask hanging in a sidewalk stall for the past few seconds, had not noticed her daughter’s distraction.
As Gol-shenthu had been able to manipulate Xavier’s essence within his own realm, the bald man had been able to do the reverse when his anchor had dragged them both back to the third dimension.
As Xavier had suspected, the Forgotten One was not really a citysized creature. Like a blowfish, it had expanded out of all proportion, fear making it distort itself to ridiculous lengths so that it might frighten all who saw it.
The monster’s smoldering remains were heaped in the alley from which his original dupes had first watched for Xavier’s approach. Without hesitation, the bald man wheeled his chair forward, not bothering to turn his head to view the remains. His powerful mental senses had already told him what he needed to know—that Gol-shenthu was dead, its essence shattered, consumed when forced to substantiate itself into a thing of flesh and blood.
It feared mortality so much, thought Xavier as he made his way down the street. Then suddenly, he turned to look once more at the girl and her mother. Quietly, he watched the two of them move off down the street. They were oblivious to his observation—not caring that they would die some day, not concerned that they were not all-powerful, or that something beyond their control might enter their lives.
No, Xavier thought, all they are concerned with is living their lives. As best they can, day by day. Without fear.
The charred stench of Gol-shenthu’s astral essence brushed past the bald man’s consciousness.
And then, the bald man put his hands back to the wheels of his chair and moved once more into the crowd. The sun was on his shoulders and back, as it was on all about him. Fading into the crowd, Xavier opened himself to the busy life surrounding him, feeling its pulse, drinking in the dizzy energy of the simple love of life he felt all around him. Every person in the city of Agadir was making ready for the festival of Achoura. The day’s fasting was over—soon would begin the masked carnivals and the fireworks.
Xavier thought one last time on his attacker. He shook his head involuntarily as he pondered the sad foolishness of such a wasted life. Then, he shoved the encounter from his mind. It had been, after all, only a minor confrontation, and he did have more important things to do.
Allowing himself the simple pleasure of feeling the sun on his back, Charles Xavier smiled, and then turned his attention to the task of picking a good restaurant for lunch. He paused for a moment, letting his senses range up and down the boulevard, then smiled.
Coffee, he thought. And just the right blend. Life is good.
By the time he had placed his order, Gol-shenthu had truly become “the Forgotten One.”
Chasing Hairy
Glenn Hauman
He bounces from highbrow intellectual discussions to low humor. He bounces from physics to genetics to chemistry. In conversation, he bounces from English to Latin to French. He bounces from blondes to brunettes to redheads. He bounced from the X-Men to the Avengers. And he bounces off the walls, the ceiling, and anything else. Small wonder he and everybody else call him the bouncing Beast.
Henry P. McCoy was bom in Dunfee, Illinois. In high school, he combined all-state football playing and all-state academics. Shortly thereafter, he appeared with the X-Men to stop Magneto from taking over Cape Citadel. He stayed with the mutant team for a number of years, then joined the Avengers, sporting a new, furry appearance. This fresh look and his freewheeling style made him one of the most popular Avengers in history.
Now Magazine editor Carol Danvers conducted our Twenty Questions interview while following the Beast around for three days, and reports: “Two things absolutely amazed me; his energy level is off the scale. He ran me ragged following him from labratories to nightclubs to charity events—and the number of women who flock to his side wherever he goes is unreal. The man practically radiates a Women’s Libera-tionist neutralization field.”
1. Is it safe to hang out with you? I’m half expecting to be attacked any minute.
My dear, it’s against my principles to make a pass at any member of the press until well after the interview is concluded, ever since that torrid night with Carl Bernstein, Herb Caen, Jimmy Breslin, and J. Jonah Jameson at the Stuckey’s in Kansas City. I try to never offend anyone who buys ink by the gallon.
2.1 meant attacked by the bad guys, giant robots, that sort of thing.
Oh, you wanted safety? You could be kidnapped by aliens on the way home, but you’re more likely to be hit by lightning. Well, maybe
not you, per se, you’re a good abduction possibility—the Kree Empire needs women.
3. So how did you come to join the Avengers?
I did all the regional contests and was crowned Miss Congeniality, then took over when the paegent winner was unable to fulfill her duties. I still wear the swimsuit I wore in the competition, to keep me humbl
e.
4. What was the final question you were asked in the paegant?
You’re drivng a bus. At 1st Street, three men get on. At 2nd Street, four women get on and one man gets off. At 3rd Street, two men get on and the man who got off is slapped by the four women, who then leave the bus. At 4th Street, the bus is picked up and thrown crosstown by Magneto. What is the color of the bus driver’s fur?
5. You have over three dozen patents to your name. What’s the strangest thing you’ve patented?
There are so many weird things I’ve patented, many of them with single-usage applications, so most people have never heard of them. But probably the oddest one has to be a device I invented to open popcorn bags noiselessly in movie theaters. It took up three row s of the theater, so it never gained widespread acceptance amongst cinema owners—nowadays three rows is the theater. I’ve also patented my own musk, but I dare not release it on the general public, as it will make the wearer irresistible to women. It works too well. The world is not yet ready. I alone must bear the brunt of this terrible burden. All alone, [pause] Wanna comfort me in my half hour of loneliness, babe?
6. You were all-state in high school. How come we never see super heroes playing professional sports?
Who says we don’t? Have you ever seen Michael Jordan play basketball? Jean-Paul Beaubier ski? The only one I know who wouldn’t do it is Quicksilver, because he wouldn’t be able to hold back enough to be convincing.
7. You’re well known as a poker shark. Describe your strategies.
I am an absolute fiend for any game wherein, one, it’s possible to win money, and two, a player can increase his chances of winning himself. Poker, blackjack, billiards, golf, Ping-Pong. Betting where you can outthink the other guy betting is fun—horse racing, football games, and the like—but unless I’m playing the game directly I’m often not entranced after I place the bet, and so I’m less cognizant of the actual participants and less likely to win. And games of pure chance bore me to tears very quickly.
That said, I tend to play outrageously, but keep very close counsel on the inside—I blow a few small pots intentionally and then clobber ’em on big hands. Except when I don’t. Hey, you think I’m going to tell you how I play so everybody reading this can beat me? You’re delusional. I will tell you that I always make it a habit to get no less than three of a kind on the opening deal, which helps immensely.
8. Do people treat you differently because you’re blue?
No, I’m generally quite cheery to be around, I’m not depressed at all. Wait a minute, [looks at himself] I’m blue! Good Lord! [makes choking noise] You mean I’m color-blind, too? Noooooooo! It’s too much to bear!
9. Are you self-conscious about your looks?
Hey, wouldn’t you be, if you looked this great? Good thing I’m humble.
10. You have an image as a ladies’ man. Why? What’s your secret?
Some women think of me as a great big cuddly teddy bear. Some say I bring out the wild side in them. And a few have this thing about fairy-tale romances. And I’m immediately noticeable at a distance. I can be sitting on a bench in Central Park, just licking my eyebrows, and suddenly I’m surrounded by a dozen women. I mean, really. If a bouncing Beast can’t go unnoticed in Central Park, what can he do? Go live in underground tunnels?
My real secret: these claws give the best backscratch in the tri-state area.
11. Is blue the natural color of your fur?
Only my hairdresser knows for sure.
12. Straight razor, disposable, electric, beard trimmer, or Nair?
Curry comb. I don’t shave at all.
13. Give those of us who aren’t multitalented some consolation: Give us an example of something you’re lousy at.
I can’t fit in any seat on an airplane, and people keep suggesting pet carriers. Most shoe boxes fit my feet better than most shoes. And my shower drain clogs with hair a lot more than yours does. Does that count?
14. Pretend they’re making a movie about your life. What characteristics do you want for the person playing you?
The ability to emote whilst wearing a suit made out of cerulean blue carpet under hot lights. Good grooming habits are a must. The elocution of a Shakespearean actor while reciting dialogue out of Star Trek is a prerequisite. And I want script approval. But what I really want is to direct.
15. What untruths have come out about you in the press that you would like to correct?
I don’t have fleas. They couldn’t afford the rent, and had to move onto a dachshund. I’m a high-rent district. And I am not only not the president, I’m not even a client, so stop asking me how.
16. Mimes: what should be done with them?
Whatever else you may think of them, they can be a very important source of protein.
17. Describe the perfect night on the town for you.
I’m called away from a seven-course meal at Lutece, right after dessert but before the check is delivered, to battle the Mad Thinker, who I demoralize into defeat by my incisive Jungian analysis of Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past and my conclusive proof of the existence of an all-encompassing superior deity deduced from the implicate order. After depositing him with the authorities, where he promises to turn his Cosmic Whangdoodle into a source of clean power for the dolphins, I retire to Avengers Mansion sitting room with a snifter of Benedictine cognac and get into semantics with Dr. Porsche
Lipkind, associate professor of physics at Empire State University, and Bambi Abromowitz, a dental hygenist from Weehawken.
18. You have an impressive vocabulary, and are well known for using big words. Describe your fellow super heroes, one word apiece.
Iron Man: reflective. Captain America: iconic. Hawkeye: impassioned. Wonder Man: reluctant. The Vision: taut. Hercules: rambunctious. The Scarlet Witch: unpredictable. Quicksilver: impatient. Yellowjacket: married. Wasp: recherche. T’Challa: statesman. Cyclops: taciturn. Marvel Girl: fiery. Iceman: eager. Angel: prodigal. Spider-Man: exculpatable.
19. Can a super hero have close friends that aren’t superpowered?
Oh, mais oui. I have so many diverse interests in specialized fields that I can share a kinship with colleagues who are more concerned about the charm of quarks than the charm of the Black Widow. That doesn’t stop them from asking me to set them up with her, mind you, but it’s not the first thing on their minds.
20. What was the most unexpected advice you ever got?
I’ll always remember it. My uncle Fred came up to me at my graduation party and said, “Hank, I want you to remember one word— Croaton.” I have no idea what he meant. But he came all the way from Levittown, Pennsylvania to tell me and if I can ever figure it out I’ll be rich, I tell you, richer than Midas!
He also told me something very important: No matter where you go, no matter what you do, no matter what troubles you may encounter in life—there are nine hundred million people in China who really couldn’t care less. So you might as well have a good time.
One Night Only
Sholly Fisch
“Unglaublich ..
Kitty Pryde looked over at her companion with a smile. Even in the short time she’d been with the X-Men, the thirteen-year-old must have heard the word from Kurt Wagner’s lips a hundred times. She’d heard it said in surprise, shock, and disbelief, but never with the sense of awe that she heard now. Tony Stark’s image inducer might have changed the German-born mutant’s appearance—at the moment, he bore a striking resemblance to Errol Flynn—but despite the illusion, there was no mistaking the childlike wonder in Kurt’s openmouthed stare as he gaped upward toward the roof of the tent.
High above the center ring, a troupe of Chinese acrobats from the avant-garde Cirque de la Lune contorted their bodies slowly and gracefully with no apparent effort. Their synchrony of motion would have made the spectacle impressive in and of itself. What made the feat remarkable was the fact that each acrobat performed the act while balanced on the tip of a twenty-foot pole. What made the feat incred
ible was that the poles themselves were being held up by other members of the troupe.
Kitty leaned over to her companion and whispered, "‘Good present, huh?”
She waited a moment for an answer, but Kurt was too caught up in the performance to respond. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she decided. “Happy birthday, fuzzy-elf.” Satisfied, she settled back into her seat.
Kitty could understand Kurt’s reaction. After all, before joining the X-Men as Nightcrawler, Kurt had spent years performing in a traveling circus in the Bavarian Alps. The circus had been a perfect fit, both to Kurt’s superhuman agility and to his flamboyant personality. More importantly, though, the circus was also one of the few settings in which a mutant with blue, furry skin and a prehensile tail could fit in comfortably.
Kitty didn’t know how long it had been since Kurt had gone to see a circus—certainly, not since Kitty had joined up with the X-Men—but she was sure that it had to be bringing back all kinds of memories. And
a postmodern circus like the Cirque de la Lune, where lasers and fog machines combined with haunting electronic music to create an atmosphere that would be more at home on Mars than here on the banks of New York’s Hudson River ... well, Kitty was pretty sure he hadn’t seen anything like this back in Bavaria. Tickets to the premiere performance had been hard to come by, but the expression on Kurt’s face convinced Kitty that it had been worth the effort.
The acrobats wrapped up their act with a set of one-handed handstands—still on top of the poles. As she turned her attention back to the spectacle before her, Kitty couldn’t help but marvel at the performers’ skill. Wonder how they’d manage in the Danger Room, she thought with a grin. The fact that such feats could be performed by “mere humans” put the lie to all the Magnetos and evil mutants of the world, who considered humans to be their inferiors.
She watched the performers slide down their poles to land with a flourish. Or are they really just human? she wondered idly as she joined in the applause.
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