Finally, she took his hand and looked into his eyes.
“Fuzzy-elf,” she said quietly, “I think you should do it.”
Kurt looked back at her, a little surprised. He opened his mouth to reply.
But before the words could come, the silence was shattered by the sounds of crashing and panicked shouts. Kurt and Kitty spun toward the sound and identified it as corning from the main tent.
“Let’s go!” Kurt said.
They broke into a run.
By the time Kurt and Kitty reached the tent, the panicked audience was pouring out of every available exit. There was no way to tell what was going on inside. Whatever it is, it’s bad, Kitty thought.
Just then, Kitty spotted a little girl who’d been knocked to the ground in the mad rush to escape. The girl screamed and raised her arms to her face in a vain attempt to avoid being trampled by the unthinking mob.
Instantly, Kitty leaped into the thick of the crowd, phasing her body into intangibility as she went. She fell through the bodies of the maddened crowd, turning solid only when she reached the little girl. Kitty shielded the girl with her own body, grimacing with pain as she took a heavy foot in the base of her spine.
Wish we could phase out of here together, she thought. But while it was theoretically possible for Kitty to turn other people intangible, neither she nor Professor X had figured out how to make it happen yet. No, Kitty was going to have to do this the hard way.
Ignoring the pain, Kitty fought to her feet. She cradled the girl in her arms and rode the crushing push of the crowd until the two of them reached safety. Setting the girl down on her feet in a clearing, Kitty made sure she was unharmed before ducking into the shadows to change into her uniform.
Kitty knew that she wasn’t supposed to be placing herself in potential combat situations. Her training had really only begun, and she still had a lot to learn. Professor Xavier would have a fit if he knew.
Okay, but who says this is a combat situation? Kitty thought. It’s probably just an escaped tiger or something. The Professor never said anything about tigers.
And besides, she added silently as she took one more look at the fleeing crowd, this is an emergency.
Even as Kitty began to peel off her outer clothes, Nightcrawler was already inside the tent. He hadn’t been able to teleport his way in— there was too much confusion to be certain that he wouldn’t materialize inside one of the scrambling bystanders—but his superhuman agility allowed him to leap, tumble, and sail over the heads of the crowd until he was through the entrance and in the clear.
At once, Nightcrawler saw the source of the panic. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t the familiar figure in trunks at the center of the ring.
“The Blob,” Nightcrawler said.
The Blob was one of the X-Men’s oldest foes. Nightcrawler had faced him once before, in Washington. Nightcrawler had been with the rest of the X-Men, and the Blob was with the latest incarnation of the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. Tipping the scales at over five hundred pounds, the Blob was a solid mass of flesh—flesh that was impervious to harm. Bullets, cannonballs, even torpedoes would simply embed themselves in his ample layers of fat, only to shoot out again with a flex of his mutant muscles. What’s more, once the Blob had rooted himself to a spot, it was all but impossible to move him.
Not that the roustabouts from the Cirque weren’t trying. A dozen burly men swarmed over the evil mutant, yanking, pulling, and beating him to no effect. Or maybe there was some effect. The Blob seemed amused, if nothing else. “Show’s closed, rubes!” he mocked. “Ya think you can stop the Blob? Go get another couple hundred guys. Then maybe we’ll talk!”
It was obvious that the all-too-human circus crew was powerless against the Blob. Yet, the Blob didn’t bother retaliating. He was too busy with another task: bringing down the center pole.
The Blob used his tremendous weight to rock the fifty-foot titanium pole back and forth, loosening it from the ground. Already, the pole had begun to sway perilously in either direction. And since the center pole provided the main support for the tent, if the pole went, the entire big top would follow.
Meanwhile, the Blob’s longtime partner and best friend, Unus the Untouchable, was busy in his own way. Nightcrawler had never met Unus, but he had read the file Professor Xavier had assembled on him. Unus was moving quickly among the stands, using an axe to smash concession cases, seats, and anything else that got in his way. Unus was smaller than the Blob, but the circus folk were having no better luck against him than against his partner. Unus’s impenetrable force field saw to that.
Nightcrawler had seen enough. The odds that he could do any serious damage to the Blob were slim, but they’d be better with momentum on his side. Leapfrogging over a pair of Chinese acrobats, Nightcrawler soared upwards, grabbing hold of the guy wires and using them to boost his momentum as he headed for the roof of the tent. It was a risky operation that demanded expert timing; with the center pole swaying the way it was, the guy wires were constantly moving. If one of them went slack in midswing, Nightcrawler would head straight for the ground. Acting more out of instinct than conscious thought, Nightcrawler navigated his course until he was directly over the Blob.
And then Nightcrawler let go.
Nightcrawler plummeted feet-first down the fifty-foot drop toward the Blob. He was counting on the Blob’s mutant power to absorb the shock of the fall and save his life. I suppose I have done more foolish things in my life, he thought. But somehow, he couldn’t think of any.
Glancing upward, the Blob caught sight of something speeding toward him. “Huh?” was all he could say in the moment before Nightcrawler hit him full force.
And then Nightcrawler bounced off.
Nightcrawler rocketed toward the bleachers as though propelled by a jet-powered trampoline. Even dazed, he twisted his body in midflight to try to soften his landing, but there was only so much he could do. He hit hard, crashing through the seats. When the dust settled, all was silent in the bleachers.
The Blob eyed the distant seats and chuckled. He was about to go back to work on the center pole when a furious figure ran screaming toward him.
“No one ruins my show!” Claude howled as he charged the Blob.
The Blob’s eyes narrowed and grew dark with anger. “Oh, so this is your show, huh?”
Kitty noticed that Unus was basically ignoring the performers’ attempts to stop him. Not that Kitty could blame him, given how ineffectual those attempts were. But as she got closer, her uniform obviously caught his attention.
“Aw, cripes,” he muttered. “The X-Men.” Then he took another look at her. “What is this, kiddie night?” he said, sneering.
Kitty struck her best heroic pose. “The name’s Sprite, big man,” she said, defiantly. “You’re busted!”
“ ‘Sprite’? Sprite? Oooh, there’s a name that strikes fear into my heart,” he replied with a guffaw. “Just go home, little girl, before you get hurt.”
The little girl crack was more than Sprite could stand. Unus was still laughing when she phased through his force field, drew back her foot, and drove it straight into his solar plexus in a thundering kick. Just the way Wolverine had taught her.
Unus flew backwards to the ground, gasping for breath with the wind knocked out of him. He was considerably bigger than Sprite, but he obviously wasn’t used to fighting defensively; usually, he simply relied on his force field. Before Unus could recover, Sprite was on him, pummeling the villain left and right.
Despite her spirit, though, there was only so much that Sprite could do against her stronger opponent. Much as Sprite tried to phase her way through Unus’ blows, he eventually connected and knocked her away.
Regaining his feet, Unus picked up the axe and reared back. “Sorry, kid,” he said, “but you’re a little too dangerous.”
Just as the axe swung down, Sprite phased and let the weapon pass harmlessly through her. Then, with Unus off balance, she turned
solid, grabbed the axe handle, and smashed it across the bridge of his nose.
Unus went down like a ton of invulnerable mutant bricks.
Slowly, painfully, Nightcrawler pulled himself out of the twisted mass of ruined seats. Perhaps that was not the best approach I could have taken, he thought dryly as he shook his head to clear it.
Looking around to get his bearings, Kurt had to smile at the sight of Sprite standing over Unus’s unconscious form. Kitty didn't have much experience yet, but there was no denying that the young mutant had what it takes to be an X-Man.
Kurt’s smile dropped, however, when he turned his gaze back to the center ring. The Blob was holding a terrified Claude over his head. And the Blob was angry.
. . ain’t no circus!” the Blob was shouting at the helpless Claude.
“My buddy an’ me, we worked the camy circuit half our lives! Elephants, candy com, a four-armed geek or tw'o—that’s a circus! This two-bit pansy act ain’t nothin’ but a joke! A joke on everyone who ever put an honest day’s sweat into a real show! Well, the joke’s over now!” Claude screamed as the Blob hoisted him as high as he could and prepared to drive the Frenchman headfirst into the ground. But just then. . .
BAMF!
The air in front of the Blob filled with smoke as Nightcrawler suddenly appeared from nowhere. Swiftly, the teleporter scooped up a handful of sawdust from the ground and hurled it into the Blob’s face. The Blob staggered back, coughing and choking, his eyes stinging from the combination of dust and smoke.
Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Nightcrawler somersaulted over the Blob, snatching Claude from his hands and depositing him safely on the ground. Claude seized the opportunity and ran. Nightcrawler watched the Blob warily as he remained in a crouch, ready to move at a moment’s notice. “Tsk, tsk. You mustn’t kill the creative director, Herr Blob,” Nightcrawler said with a pleasant smile. “Haven’t you ever heard that the show must go on?”
Despite his flip facade, Nightcrawler was worried. He’d been running rapidly through his options in his head. The bottom line was that he could think of only one way to defeat the Blob. And it might just kill them both ... if it worked at all.
The Blob cleared his lungs and wiped the tears from his eyes. He pointed a hammy finger at the mutant. “Bad move, freako. Ya shoulda stayed out of it.”
“With all due respect,” Nightcrawler replied coolly, “you have no business calling anyone ‘freako.’ ”
“And now ya hadda go an’ make it personal, huh, X-Man? Yer little trip to the cheap seats ain’t nothin’ compared to what I’m gonna do to ya now!”
“You are welcome to try.”
“Ain’t you learned yet? Nothin’ can stop the Blob!”
Kurt’s lips tightened. “I can,” he said.
Nightcrawler leaped on top of the Blob, throwing his body across the massive mutant’s shoulder and head. With a BAMF!, the two were obscured by a cloud of brimstone. An instant later, they were gone.
The only evidence that they had been there at all was the echo of their screams.
The unlikely pair was still screaming in agony when they reappeared in midair two hundred yards away. Too weak to move, they fell limply into the cool waters of the Hudson River.
By the time he broke the surface of the water, the Blob was already out cold from the excruciating strain of the trip. The Blob’s immense size worked in his favor, though, making him buoyant enough to stay afloat even as the unconscious villain drifted aimlessly downriver.
Nightcrawler wasn’t so lucky. It was always painful for Nightcrawler to carry someone along when he teleported. But he had never attempted to transport someone with the sheer mass of the Blob. Nightcrawler felt as though every cell in his body had been tom apart and reassembled . . . backward.
Can’t. . . black out, he thought with gritted teeth as he struggled feebly to keep his head above the surface. Kurt knew that he wouldn’t float like the Blob. If he allowed himself to succumb to weakness and pain, he’d be done for.
Yet, the sight of the shore filled him with nothing more than despair. Dry land wasn’t more than ten or twelve yards away, but it might as well have been a mile.
So I.. . suppose I’d better. . . get started. Despite the aches that wracked his limbs, Kurt forced himself to raise his leaden arm. He tried one feeble stroke, then a second, and began the unremitting process of inching his way to shore.
Suddenly, Kurt felt a hand cup his chin and hold his head above water. A strong, slender arm wrapped itself around his chest.
“Kitty ... ?” he murmured.
“Beruhige dich,” Johanna said, soothingly. “Ich bring dich riiber.”
With powerful, graceful strokes, Johanna began to tow her old friend to safety.
Some time later, Kurt sat on the ground near the river, far from the flashing red lights of the special police van that would soon transport Unus to a waiting cell. The Blob had vanished, which seemed almost comical in light of his size. But the current was strong enough to carry him a fair distance away, and there were simply too many places where he could have come ashore.
Kurt sat with a large towel draped about his shoulders, his hair still damp from his plunge into the river. Now and again, he sipped at a steaming cup of cappuccino from one of the concessions that hadn’t been destroyed. Johanna sat to his left, rubbing her own hair vigorously with a second towel to dry it in the night air. Kitty had long since changed back into her street clothes, and sprawled comfortably across the ground to Kurt’s right.
Kurt turned to Kitty over his coffee. “Katzchen?” he said, smiling.
“Hmmm?” she replied without opening her eyes.
“Thank you. This is the most memorable birthday present I have received in a very long time.”
The three of them laughed at the thought.
The laughter died away as Kurt looked up to see Claude striding purposefully toward them. “I am sorry for the delay,” Claude said as he approached. “The repairs will be extensive, but they are under way. In addition, the police had many questions.”
Kitty raised herself up on her elbows. “You kept us out of it, right?” she asked.
He nodded in reply. “As the two of you requested. It is the least we could do. Which brings us to the next order of business.” Claude turned to face Kurt. “After all that you have done,” he said, “you may have a place here for as long as you choose. May we count you as one of us?”
Kitty bit her lip bravely as Kurt rose slowly to his feet. Johanna stopped drying her hair and looked on in anxious anticipation.
Kurt reached back to rub the scruff of his neck as he searched for the proper words. “It is a most generous offer, mein herr,” he said, “and I would be a fool to refuse. Nevertheless, I am afraid that is exactly what I must do.”
Kitty’s face lit up in happy surprise. Johanna jumped up from her position on the ground. “You are turning it down?” she asked, incredulous.
“I have to,” Kurt replied, placing his hands on his old partner’s shoulders. “This circus is filled with wonderful performers who are perfectly capable of delighting an audience without my own meager contribution. Yet, how many of them could have stopped Unus or the Blob tonight? How many could have saved all of those lives?”
Kurt’s gaze turned to Kitty, who smiled proudly in silent approval. “I have a gift that is all too rare,” Kurt continued. “It is my duty to use it—my duty to the world, and my duty to myself.”
For a long moment, Johanna stared into Kurt’s eyes. Then, she shrugged. “I understand,” she said with a sigh. “But will you at least come to visit sometime?”
Kurt smiled warmly. “Now that I know where to find you? Of course.” He gathered her in a gentle hug. “Aufwiedersehen, liebchen.” “Aufwiedersehen, mein freund,” she replied.
Kurt released Johanna gently and extended a hand to Kitty, helping her to her feet. “Come, kitten,” he said. “It is getting late. It’s time to go home.”
A Fine Line
Dori Koogler
“Come on, Tin Man, is that the best you can do?”
Callisto, the de facto leader of the Morlocks, shoved at Colossus’s arm, making him lose his focus, and he dropped the dumbbell he was holding.
“Comrade Callisto,” he said calmly, “how am I supposed to work if you keep distracting me?”
“If you were working, I wouldn’t have to distract you.” Even seated on the weight bench, he was taller than she, but that didn’t appear to faze her at all. She glowered at him with her one good eye and prodded the dumbbell with her toe. It didn’t move. “Come on, pick it up. You’ll never get back into shape if you just sit there.”
He leaned down, sighing. Yesterday she’d managed to make him drop the weight eight times in the first half hour of their session. Today they were almost finished, and he’d only dropped it half that many times. This could be deemed an improvement.
Callisto, assigned the job of physical therapist, had taken up the task with her customary singlemindedness, setting up a comer of the infirmary with weights and bars and driving her patients as mercilessly as she drove herself. Most of them complained, but they knew better than to quit on her, and they got better.
Colossus lifted the weight, looking at her out of the comer of his eye. She jerked her chin at the dumbbell. “Ten more,” she said curtly; he sighed again and began curling the weight upward.
When he got to eight, she joggled his shoulder. He hissed in a breath, and the weight wobbled to the side, but he kept hold of it, closing his fingers with such force that the handhold compressed and the end of the dumbbell tilted downward.
“Bozhe moi!”
Callisto, surprised, gave a short bark of laughter. “Well,” she said, “I see your strength is coming back.”
Looking down at her with a smile, Colossus said, “So it would seem. I have not done that to the equipment in a very long time.”
“Used to do that often, eh?” she said, one comer of her mouth twitching. “But Xavier could afford it.”
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