Salvation

by Unknown Author

  “Fine,” Sven said with a shrug. “The hell with you. Die if you want to.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Voght said, and took two steps back, giving herself room to maneuver. “You wanted it, Unuscione? Well, now you’ve got it. Come and get me. It’s time you found out what it means to be in pain.”

  “Back off, boys,” Unuscione motioned to the others to give them room. “This is just between the two of us.”

  With an electric crackle, Unuscione’s psionic exoskeleton appeared in a flash of green light. Voght leaped aside as Unuscione attacked, barely escaping the huge fist of psionic energy that devastated the podium behind her. The noncombatants scattered as Voght landed, knocking chairs aside as she turned to face her attacker.

  “You have no idea who or what you’re dealing with,” Voght said.

  “Sure I do,” Unuscione said. “A dead woman.”

  She lunged for Voght again, her exoskeleton stretching out even farther this time. Once more, Amelia barely escaped. Quickly, she tried to grab on to the green force shield that surrounded Unuscione’s body.

  “Oh, come on,” Unuscione yelled, retracting her exoskeleton instantly. “You didn’t think I’d let you do that to me again, did you?’ ’

  Voght smiled grimly.

  “No,” she said, and teleported.

  Even as she appeared back in her bedroom, and grabbed up the taser gun lying on the desk that functioned as her bedside table, she smiled at the picture in her head. In it, Unuscione and her cronies looked around the room in astonishment for three or four seconds as it began to come into their dim brains that she had actually left.

  Then she ’ported back into the room in an instant. Without an enemy to attack, Unuscione had let her guard down, had dropped her exoskeleton in confusion. When Voght appeared in front of her, Unuscione was too stunned to react immediately. She barely saw the taser coming.

  Voght fired the taser at Unuscione. Its projectiles popped out and snagged themselves on her uniform, and she jerked around in agony as electricity flooded through her.

  “Hey, no fair!” one of the Kleinstocks, or perhaps both— Voght wasn’t sure—called out. They reminded her of little boys in the schoolyard. Little boys she had always trounced for pulling her hair. They used to shout “no fair” as well.

  Children. That’s what they were. Sometimes she wondered if that was what they all were, in the end.

  Unuscione was still jerking madly, and Voght yanked back the taser’s wired projectiles. Unuscione stopped jerking and glared at her, a twitch on her face that hadn’t been there before. A side effect, Voght guessed, of being electroshocked.

  “You should have killed me, Amelia,” Unuscione said. “It’s over for you now.” ,

  Unuscione lifted her arms to guide her exoskeleton, but it did not appear. Voght saw the confusion on her face. She knew that the taser had momentarily shorted out the other woman’s powers, just for a heartbeat, but she wasn’t going to be the one to explain.

  She was going to be busy.

  ‘ ‘What the ... ?” Unuscione said.

  Voght hit her. She felt a couple of the bones in her hand crack as her fist slammed into Unuscione’s face, but it didn’t hurt at all. It felt kind of good, actually.

  Good enough that she hit Unuscione again.

  Fifteen seconds or so later, when she had hit Unuscione many more times, the Kleinstock brothers pulled her off. She teleported them away, dropping them onto the metal chairs from near the ceiling of the room. Unuscione was rising from the ground, blood streaming from her nose and mouth. She still had that snarl that so infuriated Voght. Her exoskeleton was weakly shimmering into being.

  Voght kicked her in the gut and Unuscione went down hard, the smirking scowl gone from her face.

  “You’re out of here,” she said, and teleported Unuscione away.

  Away.

  “What the hell have you done with her?” Harlan Kleinstock demanded angrily.

  “I’ve sent her back to Avalon,” Voght responded evenly. “The space station has medical facilities, and Exodus has personnel who can deal with her. She is no longer a part of this mission. Magneto will be very disappointed.”

  Sven Kleinstock started to move forward, but Harlan stopped him.

  “What, Sven?” Voght snapped. “You want to try me too? You don’t think much of me as leader, but, by God, you follow orders or I’ll teleport your numbskull head right off your shoulders. I don’t think either of us wants that, now do we?”

  No answer.

  “Get moving, all of you,” Voght commanded. “Magneto has made a home for all of us. The least you can do is defend it!”

  • • •

  Magneto rose above the Empire State Building and propelled himself, effortlessly, toward the Hudson River. The pessimist in him had always assumed that the Mutant Empire could not succeed unless the military had tested his power, and the power of the Sentinels, and realized that they could not be overcome by any conventional means.

  But at heart, he was an optimist. He had hoped very deeply that such a conflict would not be necessary. Magneto had no desire to see humanity destroyed, to see cities crumble. His goals raised him above such petty sadism.

  Unfortunately, it appeared that the American government was not as rational as he had believed. His opinion of human politicians and soldiers was so low already that this attack, forcing him to lower that opinion even further, was nothing short of astonishing for him.

  Already he could hear the plasma cannonfire, and see one of his Sentinels ahead, responding to its attackers with cold, calculated, deadly assaults. As Magneto looked on, the Sentinel blasted an army chopper from the air, and he wondered, idly, why there had not been an air force strike on the Sentinels yet. It didn’t seem to fit. It was almost as if the military had not been prepared for the attack, though they had initiated it.

  No matter. Let the humans underestimate me, he thought. It will be the end of them. The Mutant Empire will only come more quickly.

  A low, familiar voice whispered in his brain: Magnus, it’s time we had a little talk, wouldn’t you say?

  Magneto smiled to himself. He had known it was only a matter of time before Charles Xavier would attempt to contact him directly. Now that war had finally come, Xavier could put it off no longer. Which did not necessarily mean Magneto had to acknowledge him.

  I don’t think there’s anything to talk about, Charles, Magneto thought in response, knowing that Xavier, the world’s most powerful telepath, would pick it up.

  No, Xavier retorted, and as their minds touched. Magneto felt his old friend’s essence, familiar and yet hostile. The foundation of their present relationship. No, I doubted that you would. However, I must insist. You would be well advised to get something solid beneath you now. You have five seconds.

  Magneto sighed, and lowered himself rapidly to the roof of an apartment building below. Just as his feet touched down, he felt a little queasy, and the world about him began to change. It didn’t happen in an eyeblink, but unfolded as if the real world were being tom away, leaving a fabulous landscape behind.

  His eyes wide open, Magneto could barely perceive the moment when he moved from tangible reality onto the Astral Plane. But the moment the world began to collapse, the moment buildings and sky peeled away to reveal a dark void, he knew Xavier had yanked his consciousness from his body, into the Astral Plane, so that this conversation could take place.

  It appeared to be an asteroid field, the huge stones hurling leisurely through space. But it was an odd version of space, with air and gravity, but no sound. Somehow, in the back of his head, Magneto could hear the sounds of the city he’d left. Or, rather, the city his mind had left. His body was still there, lying, or perhaps standing, since the ground beneath him felt so real, on the top of that same apartment building.

  But there was no sound on the Astral Plane. Nothing. Dead air, with a trace of the hiss you hear when you pick up a phone and the lines are down. That was i
t. It was a sensation he had never become completely comfortable with.

  He was also uncomfortable because, without reservation, the Astral Plane belonged to Charles Xavier. Other of the world’s telepaths might travel through it, but Xavier was, for all intents and purposes, its master and proprietor.

  Magnus, Xavier’s mental voice said, and Magneto heard it inside his mind, just as all conversations were held in the silence of the Astral Plane.

  Glancing around, he saw Xavier standing on an asteroid

  m

  just a short way from his own. He did not approach, however. Let the master of the game make the first move, he had always believed. That was the only way to learn.

  It’s nice to see you standing, Charles, Magneto said pleasantly. The chair always makes you look so old.

  Xavier ignored the statement, as Magneto had known he would. But it had always fascinated him that Xavier’s astral image did not share his physical body’s affliction. He had never been sure if that was because Xavier did not truly consider himself crippled, or because the man was embarrassed by his vulnerability.

  I did not want to do this, Xavier thought. You have left me no choice but to become more directly involved. You realize I could end this now, simply make your mind, your every thought, just go away, though we are separated by miles?

  Of course I know that, Charles, Magneto scoffed. Just as I know that you would never take such a radical course. It isn ’t in you. That is part of your weakness, and part of the weakness of your great dream of harmony between humans and mutants. You 've just never been very realistic about such things. If I were you, I would have taken me out of the game long ago.

  There was a silence on their mental connection. Then, finally, Xavier’s voice in his head again.

  Food for thought.

  Indeed. But you had something you wanted to discuss, I believe. Don’t worry, I haven’t killed any of your X-Men. At least, not yet, Magneto thought.

  And you won’t, Xavier replied calmly. Not in cold blood. In any case, I haven’t dragged you here to discuss the X-Men. As I don’t imagine my asking you to set them free would do any good, let’s move on to the more immediate subject, shall we? The topic, old friend, is war.

  It surely is, and history is written by the victors.

  There are no victors in war, only victims.

  Are you going somewhere with this, Charles, or shall I get on with the defense of my nascent empire? Magneto thought.

  Xavier sighed. I am the eternal optimist, Magnus. I continue to overestimate you, I suppose. In any case, I have something to show you.

  The image of Xavier on the Astral Plane lifted its right hand and gestured. The depths and blackness of space, the moon and stars and asteroids, disappeared. The universe dropped away beneath Magneto and Xavier, and was replaced by a scene of human madness. A highway, cars packed in bumper to bumper, moving just slightly faster than grass grows. People walked alongside, or hung from buses and the backs of military transports.

  They’re evacuating, Magneto observed, and he could not hide the tinge of surprise in his mental voice. Not that he could have hidden anything from Xavier if the telepath was determined to discover it.

  They’re evacuating, he thought once more. Why?

  Come, now, you know the answer to that, Xavier thought. One of your greatest flaws has always been your underestimation of humanity. In this case, that flaw could be fatal, not merely for yourself, but for hundreds of thousands, probably millions, of people, and an entire city. Never mind the outlying areas.

  They wouldn’t dare, Magneto thought, aghast.

  That’s precisely the attitude I’m talking about. It could cost us our world if you’re not careful. In truth, it may already be too late.

  What are you babbling about?

  Only this, Xavier thought, spreading his arms wide once again to indicate the massive evacuation effort “below” them. Everything within forty miles of the island of Manhattan is being evacuated, even as we speak. Now that your Sentinels have attacked federal troops—

  They started it! Magneto barked.

  How mature of you, Xavier thought, with a shake of his head. His eyes slowly closed, then opened again, a reaction to frustration and disappointment that Magneto knew all too well.

  Now that this war has begun, did you honestly think that the President of the United States was going to allow you to win, under any circumstances? Xavier asked.

  Magneto smiled. This was more familiar, more confident, territory for him. Xavier was underestimating him again.

  Allow me? he laughed. I don’t need anyone to allow me to win. Nor do I need any assistance. Haven is established. It exists. It is too late for anyone to stop that. They may send all the soldiers and weapons they have against me, and they will eventually be forced to respect the sovereignty of the island. And then the growing empire. If you mean to imply that the President is considering the use of nuclear weapons, I find that rather amusing, actually. New York City is far too important to be destroyed. Even if they could get the coordinates recalibrated instantly, between myself and the Sentinels, we could repulse any nuclear attack.

  You believe I underestimate you, Xavier observed. Untrue. What is true, unfortunately, is that you underestimate the pride, will, and arrogance of humanity. Let me tell you, now, the truth. See if you can recognize it as it presents itself to you. The Pentagon does not need to recalibrate its trajectories and coordinates with any great speed. Russia, a nation that hates you above all other living creatures, is more than willing to take the first shot, destroy all of New York City, if that’s what it takes. The American missiles can take their sweet time. No matter how powerful you believe yourself to be, neither you nor the Sentinels can turn them all back.

  Xavier moved his astral form closer as he continued: These people are being evacuated from their homes to prevent them from being incinerated in case the bomb drops. Not only is nuclear attack one of the options the President is considering, but he has the backing of a lot of Americans. You have drawn about you nearly twenty percent of the world’s mutant population. You’ve made yourself the perfect target. If they destroy New York, they kill you and many of the world’s mutants as well. A banner day, a lot of humans would say. Especially now, after what you 've done.

  You’ve miscalculated, Magnus, Xavier thought, shaking his head as he seemed to hover above the ground. You may have cost us all our lives.

  Ah, Charles, Magneto replied, shaking his own head. You consider yourself an optimist. I would call you a pessimist. Perhaps I have underestimated the courage or the insanity of human society. Even so, I am not concerned. You see, I will be the victor here today. And every day after. It seems to me, if you are so concerned about what the humans might do to our mutant brothers, your only logical course would be to pray I am triumphant. It’s entirely possible that, for once, I am the lesser of two evils.

  Now, if you’re through, I have a war to run.

  Magneto felt the heaviness of his body, bogging him down as uncomfortably as if he’d taken a swim fully clothed. He opened his eyes, and blinked back the glare of the sun. The sounds of battle returned to him, and he rose once again into the blue sky over Manhattan.

  Xavier had certainly been uncharacteristically curt in ending their communication. Not that Magneto minded; he had better things to do than float around in the psionic ether with a man unwilling to make the most of his extraordinary power. Xavier followed the old maxim, “With great power comes great responsibility.” Magneto believed it as well, but interpreted it differently. He could never understand why Xavier would not work to make a home for mutantkind by any means necessary. That was Magneto’s maxim.

  By any means necessary.

  His contact with Xavier had disturbed him a bit. It was entirely possible that Charles was right, that he had begun a chain reaction that could not possibly end in anything but tragedy of incredible proportions. Not that Magneto had lost faith in his ability to triumph. But things ha
d now progressed past the point at which he might be able to prevent whatever catastrophe might result from his defeat.

  Therefore, defeat was not an option.

  Magneto again considered the brief moments he had spent on the Astral Plane with his old friend and longtime enemy. The nature of the Astral Plane is pure psionic energy—in this case, energy manipulated by Charles Xavier. When Magneto had been drawn there in the past, the place had always been sterile and cold. But this time, there had been a pervasive

  feeling of despair in that limbo of souls, of minds.

  Charles Xavier’s despair.

  That bothered him. Xavier was the self-described eternal optimist. Yet he did not merely fear the potential outcome, he was tortured by it. Otherwise Magneto would never have been able to feel even a hint of Xavier’s true emotion in his astral presence.

  Magneto took a cleansing breath, pushing from his mind anything that might distract him from the protection of the sanctuary he had fought so hard to establish. Several blocks away, a Sentinel was under constant attack from a military helicopter with astounding evasive capacity.

  With a moment’s concentration, Magneto reached out with his power and grabbed hold of the machine. An errant thought, and the copter was hurled to the surface of the Hudson River, where it exploded on impact.

  By any means necessary.

  Cmptii I

  The rhythm of the elevator, up and down, the swoosh of opening and closing doors, the drone of people talking ... all of it had started to get to Bobby. He struggled to keep his eyes open, stifled a yawn, and tried to pay attention to what was happening in the elevator. Another fifteen minutes, that’s all he would give it, and then he’d have to think of some other way to find the X-Men.

  By now, he figured, Magneto’s followers must know that someone had broken into the building. Were probably looking for him even now. And if he was captured, well, that would be it for the X-Men.

  The elevator lurched to a stop. Even before the doors slid open, he could hear the shouts on the floor they’d reached.