MUTANT EMPIRE-
BOOK 3
SALVATION
CHRISTOPHER GOLDEN
Illustrations by Rick Leonardi and Terry Austin
BYRON PREISS MULTIMEDIA COMPANY, INC. NEW YORK
BERKLEY BOULEVARD BOOKS, NEW YORK
Manhattan island was coming back to life. It had, however, been resurrected as a vastly different entity. It was the middle of the week, but gone were the hordes of worker bees rubbing shoulders and elbows as they filtered in and out of offices. There were still plenty of people, but now there was breathing space as well. Estimates differed, but at least eighty percent of the island’s human population had left their homes and most of their belongings in a mad dash for freedom.
The subway was dead on the tracks. There simply were not enough employees left to run it safely. On the street, the occasional city bus, private car, and enterprising cab navigated the now-abandoned skyscraper canyons. No more traffic. Vendors still toiled on corners throughout the city, though far fewer than the day before.
As the afternoon wore on, many shops, restaurants, delis, and small businesses opened their doors. After all, there were a lot of new customers. Mostly mutants.
The mutant known as Magneto, whose control over the Earth’s magnetic field made him one of the most powerful beings alive, had declared Manhattan island a sanctuary for mutants. Magneto then declared the island a sovereign nation, and rechristened it “Haven.” With the aid of his Acolytes, and an army of colossal pseudosentient robots called Sentinels, he then went about enforcing those declarations.
With the humans gone, and sanctuary assured, mutants poured in from across the country. The flood of genetically enhanced immigrants had not even begun to ebb. From around the world they came, and once they had gathered their strength into one place, Magneto would begin to enlarge his Mutant Empire. The tendrils of his power would spread across the globe.
For now, however, it was enough for him to watch the afternoon shadows stretch across the city. In less than a day, he had transformed one of the most important cities on Earth so that it conformed with his vision: a planet where mutants were the masters and humans were servants. It was the only way for mutants to survive human prejudices.
From the observation platform at the top of the Empire State Building, Magneto looked down upon his Mutant Empire and his heart swelled with triumph, happiness, and pride. The sun forced his slate-gray eyes into a squint, the wind whipped his silver-white hair across his forehead, and Magneto smiled.
It was a beginning.
* * *
Wolverine’s return to consciousness was accompanied by a great deal of pain. He was not unfamiliar with pain. In fact, over the course of his long life, pain and Wolverine had become quite intimate. What surprised him, even as his eyelids strained to rise, was that the pain was there at all. He knew he had been unconscious for some time, likely several hours at least. Whatever wounds he had sustained should long since have been remedied by his mutant healing factor. They hadn’t.
“Rise and shine, Logan,” a deep, familiar voice said, just to his left. “Perhaps where intellect has proven ineffectual in providing a method of escape, righteous anger may yet prevail.”
His eyes finally opened, but it took a moment for Wolverine to focus on the face behind the voice. No matter. It could only be one man. Hank McCoy, the Beast. One of the founding members of the X-Men. As Hank’s blue-furred face gradually came into focus, Wolverine’s mind seemed to clear just a bit. Of course he had not healed, he finally realized. He was wearing one of Magneto’s inhibitor collars, a device specifically designed to negate the genetic x-factor that gave mutants their special abilities.
“’Lo, Hank,” he managed to grunt, then cleared his throat. “What’s the situation?”
“Bleak, I fear,” the Beast responded, and gestured past Wolverine.
Logan turned to find that Storm and Bishop were still unconscious. The four of them had finally tracked Magneto and confronted him, intending to put an end to his “Mutant Empire” there and then. But things had gone terribly wrong. The X-Men had always faced difficult, sometimes impossible,
odds. But four against a cityful of mutants was more than even they had been equipped to handle.
Now they hung suspended by their arms, legs, and torsos by clamps and cables forged of an adamantium alloy he had never seen before. Wolverine wondered how long the Beast had been awake, trying to work out a solution to their dilemma. He hoped Storm and Bishop would come to shortly, for a number of reasons—not the least of which was that he wanted to be certain that Storm, his old friend and the team’s field leader, was not badly injured.
“We’ve languished in this fabricated dungeon for several hours. It’s midaftemoon, if I have made an accurate calculation,” Hank elaborated. “How Magneto contrived to deploy this equipment so promptly is anybody’s guess, but I suppose it indicates precisely how well prepared for the X-Men he truly was.
‘ ‘Plainly, we are in either the basement or another sublevel of the Empire State Building, where Magneto has established his headquarters. Storm and Bishop are breathing fine, and ought to awaken presently. Otherwise, you’ll all have to stop calling me ‘Doctor’ McCoy.”
“What about you, Hank?” Wolverine said. “How are you feelin’?”
“Better than you, by all appearances,” the Beast said, feigning a levity he clearly did not feel. “Although, if I could devise a plan of action, I would undoubtedly feel far better. It doesn’t help to know that elsewhere in this structure, Trish Tilby is collaborating with the enemy.”
Wolverine didn’t respond to that. Over the years he had learned when it was better to say nothing. After a moment, however, he sensed that there was something else bothering the Beast, something haunting him even more painfully than the seeming betrayal by his old flame, Trish Tilby.
“Hank?” Logan asked.
The Beast hesitated.
“It’s Bobby,” he said after a moment. “If Magneto and company are to be believed, Iceman is dead.”
Wolverine’s entire body began to grow cold and still. His lip curled back from his pointed incisors and his nostrils flared. Logan glanced around again at the apparatus within which they had been imprisoned, then turned his head to face Hank once more.
“We’ve got to figure a way out o’ here,” he growled. “We’ll find Bobby, Hank. Don’t give that a second thought. We’ll find him, and we’ll take Magneto down hard, once and for all.”
* * *
Along a hallway lined with windows looking down on Haven, Amelia Voght walked with pride, excitement in her every step. It was really happening. Magneto and the Acolytes, Amelia chief among them, had forced the world to begin a fascinating metamorphosis. In her secret heart, she had always imagined that, once they conquered Manhattan, the island would be completely devoid of humans. Which would have been both triumph and failure. Yes, they would have their own government and security. But Magneto’s intention had always been for mutants to rule humanity, not destroy it. Voght had privately doubted it was possible.
On this day she changed her mind.
Manhattan had been transformed into Haven, and there were still many humans in the city; humans prepared to live under whatever terms Magneto might dictate. Voght knew it was only a beginning, that fifteen percent would not be enough if the Mutant Empire were to spread across the globe. But when they began to see the inevitability of Magneto’s rule, the other eighty-five percent would realize that obedience and death were their only options.
Of course, Haven was not yet secure. The United States was still on the fence, trying to decide what course of action to take. The only concern Amelia had was the potential for a nuclear strike. If they could sneak nukes in, catch Magneto unaware, the
humans might actually destroy Haven. Aside from that, Voght figured they had it all wrapped up. And, after all, no matter what the threat, there was going to be an awful lot of resistance to the idea of turning Manhattan into Hiroshima.
At the end of the hall was a small reception area. Warm pastel-colored couches matched the prints that hung on the walls. Vertical blinds filtered out the glare of the afternoon sun, and nearly half a dozen potted plants drooped lazily, likely thirsting for the water which fortune had denied them that day.
Three men and a woman waited for her there. One of the men, an aging Latino, paced expectantly. Voght thought he must be the police commissioner, Wilson Ramos. The other two men, one white and one black, sat on a pale blue couch, whispering and gesturing frantically to each other. The woman stood, hands clasped behind her back, looking through the vertical blinds at the city, and the Hudson River beyond.
“Deputy Mayor Perkins?” Voght asked.
The woman turned to face her, and Voght was surprised at how unruffled she looked. Maxine Perkins looked great for a woman who was, at the very least, in her early forties. More importantly, despite the stress she was under—the mayor had abandoned his city without a thought; exit, stage left—Perkins managed to look more angry than frightened.
“That’s me,” she said. “Where’s Magneto?”
Voght smiled.
“Something funny?” Perkins asked, herself not amused.
‘ ‘Most people would not be so eager to encounter our new ruler,” she said.
“Can’t imagine why that would be,” Deputy Mayor Perkins responded. “He’s always so willing to compromise.”
This time, Amelia laughed. This might actually turn out to be entertaining, she thought.
“My name is Amelia Voght,” she said. “I suppose you could call me Magneto’s lieutenant—or deputy, if you prefer. Now, if you are prepared, I will take you to him.”
“Um,” one of the men on the couch mumbled, as they all stood to follow her, ‘‘what do we call him?”
“Magneto,” she said. “Lord Magneto. Mr. Lehnsherr. I don’t know, really. I don’t think he’s taken on a title of leadership yet.”
“I have a few things to call him,” Commissioner Ramos hissed.
Voght stopped in her tracks, forcing the others to do the same behind her. She sighed and turned to face Ramos.
“Mr. Ramos, I say this as pleasantly as I can,” she began. “You would do well to remember that, as of this day, Magneto is the only law this island knows. He is not in favor of the death penalty, but that does not mean he does not see its uses.”
Ramos blanched, and said nothing more as they approached the massive oaken doors of the office Magneto was using as a meeting room. It was not nearly magnificent enough for the position he now held, at least not in Amelia’s opinion, but it would do for now. The two other men, who Voght assumed were city officials under the deputy mayor’s control, followed along in silence.
Before they reached the office, they passed a small conference room where Unuscione and several other Acolytes were working on a running census of Haven’s mutant population. New arrivals were processed quickly, then asked to be patient as abandoned homes were found for them. Those with real power, particularly Alpha-level mutants, were moved into the Empire State Building temporarily and became novitiate Acolytes.
Unuscione stood in the doorway, a sneer of disgust on her face as Voght passed.
“Playing receptionist today, are we, Amelia?” Unuscione said. “That’s appropriate.”
Voght did not reply. Still, she knew that the final confrontation between herself and Carmela Unuscione could not be put off much longer.
Arriving at the office, Voght rapped twice, hard, on the oaken door, then pushed it open and stood back for the visitors to enter. Magneto stood with his back, to them, a pose indicating how paltry was his concern that they might offer some threat. In one comer, Major Ivan Skolnick, the American operative who had revealed himself to be a mutant when he defected to their cause, stood vigilantly by.
Magneto turned, resplendent in his regal purple-and-crimson uniform and flowing cape. Without the helmet he wore during battle, his silver-white hair fell around his shoulders. He looked benevolently upon the newcomers and lifted his arms in welcome.
“Come in,” he said. “Please, sit, make yourselves comfortable.”
“Why are we here?” Maxine Perkins asked.
“Ah, a woman with little patience for small talk or courtesies,” Magneto said, beaming at her appreciatively. “Excellent.”
Voght was a bit surprised, both at Perkins’s audacity and Magneto’s amiable reaction. But the world had changed, hadn’t that been what she’d been thinking minutes ago? Indeed. It was changing by the moment.
“Still,” Magneto said, still smiling at his guests, “please do sit. We’ll all be more comfortable that way.”
The four officials settled into comfortable chairs arranged in front of the massive mahogany desk. Magneto stepped behind the desk, but did not sit. Instead, he leaned over it, palms on its gleaming wooden surface, and welcomed them warmly once again.
“I’ve invited you here because my sources indicate that Ms. Perkins and Mr. Ramos are the highest-ranking officials left in the city. I assume you other gentlemen are on Ms. Perkins’s staff?” Magneto asked, and the pair nodded. “Good; time to get down to business, then. You all need to know how I wish this city to be run, now that I am its sole authority.”
Voght could see from their reactions that Magneto’s directness, and the truth of it, was a bitter pill for his audience to swallow. All but Ramos covered it well, but even he said nothing. Magneto’s reputation was frightening enough, but his presence was significantly more imposing.
“First, Ms. Perkins,” he began. “Since the mayor of this fair city has left, and you had the fortitude to remain, I appoint you the mayor of Haven’s human population. You will continue to be responsible for the welfare of those of your people who have decided not to leave their homes. Answerable, of course, to me. You will work directly with my civic administrator, Major Skolnick, who will help me to outline the relationship between humans and mutants in Haven. For now, you may want to think of it as a class system, with all mutants as the nobility, or ruling class.”
The new mayor of Haven raised an eyebrow and touched a hand to her chin, apparently thinking hard about her new job description. She glanced at Skolnick before looking back at Magneto.
‘‘You may appoint these others to whatever administrative position you wish. Keep in mind, however, that the faults this island had before I came to power will be eliminated. No more drags. No more violent crime. We will clean up Haven, both literally and figuratively. Corruption will be a thing of the past.” •
“How can you say that?” Maxine Perkins asked. “Corruption is inevitable in any system. Entropy rules.”
“No, Ms. Perkins,” Magneto snarled, “/rule. The corrupt are always cowardly as well. Therefore, reason dictates that the corrupt have fled Haven. And I will not countenance further corruption. In my ranks, or among your populace.”
“I suppose you expect me to enforce your laws,” Commissioner Ramos said, no longer able to heed his own better instincts.
“That doesn’t sit well with you, I can see,” Magneto said. Voght watched—fascinated as always by his unconscious ability to command absolute attention—as Magneto finally sat in the high leather chair behind the mahogany desk. He leaned back with his hands tightly gripping the arms of the chair.
“Mayor Perkins asked why she was here, Commissioner Ramos,” Magneto reminded. “Somehow, I sense that you have your own ideas about why you are here.”
“Oh, yeah,” Ramos said, and Voght winced in anticipation of Magneto’s eventual response.
Ramos stood and approached the desk, poking a finger in Magneto’s general direction.
“I came here to tell you that I didn’t stay behind to become your lapdog. I’m going to enforce the laws of
this city, no matter who breaks them. New York’s Finest are not going to be turned into your private army,” Ramos said, nearly shouting.
Magneto smiled.
* ‘Why, Mr. Ramos, I already have a private army. I don’t need New York’s Finest, and I most certainly don’t need you,” the mutant emperor said, lifting his hands in a gesture that indicated both amusement and dismissal.
He turned to Voght. “Amelia, would you mind?”
With a thought, Amelia Voght made Wilson Ramos disappear. With an electric crackle, he vanished from the room. Voght formed a mental picture of the pavement in front of the Empire State Building, and teleported Ramos there. If it had been up to her, she might well have simply teleported him out the window and let the others watch him fall. She was not a hardened killer, but she knew the value of an example. Still, Magneto would have been specific if he’d wanted the man dead. Her lord rarely sanctioned homicide. Much to the other Acolytes’ disappointment.
“Good God!” one of the new mayor’s previously silent minions shouted, standing and gawking in astonishment at the vacuum that had previously been occupied by an apparently suicidal police commissioner.
‘ ‘Is there some problem?’ ’ Major Skolnick asked the man from his post.
Voght started; she had nearly forgotten Skolnick was in the room. That kind of an attention lapse could cost her her life one of these days, and she chided herself for it.
“No,” the man stuttered. “No problem. None whatsoever.”
“So, what do you expect of the police?” Mayor Perkins asked, as if nothing of concern had taken place.
Voght was more than a little impressed with the woman.
“The Acolytes, my elite mutant force, will police Haven’s mutant population. They will also be tasked with enforcing my more radical mandates, including the elimination of drugs from the island,” Magneto explained. “The human police officers will also deal with those mandates. Otherwise, they will simply enforce my laws, as Mr. Ramos described it.”
“Which are?” Perkins pressed.
* ‘Full employment, a fair wage, no homelessness, nor hunger, nor corruption. In essence, no crime. Courtesy. I want Haven to be an example to the world, so society knows what to expect when we begin our expansion. Haven is still the center of the Western world. We’re going to improve it.”
Salvation Page 1