by Alex Irvine
Ororo felt like she had been meant to come here. Even if she were not meant to stay, this was a small part of her destiny.
She was so swept up in the experience that she didn’t even hear Thor the first few times he called to her. When she finally did look over, he held up three fingers. “Already!” he cried. “You have some catching up to do!”
Storm laughed out loud. Very well, she thought. Game on.
She channeled the lightning down to destroy a steep slope and control its collapse, so it rumbled away into the valley floor rather than burying part of the HQ. She carved a new channel with the waters, directing them away from the vulnerable lower levels.
But mostly she blew rocks out of the sky, as did Thor. The storm loosened and broke off the surrounding mountains. She and Thor stayed even, more or less. She was right that Mjolnir gave him striking power she did not possess; he was right that she could use wind and temperature and rain to achieve less spectacular but equally vital effects. It was the best game she had ever played, matching strike for strike with the god of thunder—and then it was over, with five words in Xavier’s voice ringing through her head:
Ororo. We must consult. Immediately.
Ororo faltered. She had a feeling she knew what Xavier was going to say, but she had to go. Being part of the X-Men meant answering the call—even when you knew it was going to be bad news.
“I concede, Thor!” she said, letting her voice ring with the energy of the storm. “I am needed elsewhere!”
“Hie thee inside, then,” Thor said. His teeth were bared in a gleeful snarl, like he was throwing Mjolnir at frost giants instead of flying boulders. “I swear on Gungnir itself that I will not mock you when next we meet…and though I may strike a thousand mountains from the sky when you have gone, I will count none of them against you.”
Storm nodded formally at him. He made her smile. Whatever he was, god or alien or something in between, the world could use more like him.
Inside, she passed again through the central communications area. Ben and Johnny were gone; the Hulk and Captain America had joined Reed. Storm could tell they were in the midst of an intense conversation, and she didn’t wish to interrupt. She was well aware of the tension between the X-Men and the others—and she had her own call to answer.
“Instruments detect some kind of intense energy emanation coming from the enemy base,” Reed was saying as she passed through. “It’s almost like they’re trying to tap the power of the storm.”
Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Reed, she thought. She’d never been so exhilarated in her life, nor so reluctant to answer Xavier’s summons.
SIXTEEN
SPIDER-MAN was exploring the building’s vast interior spaces. Might as well see what he could see, since it seemed likely he was going to spend the rest of his life there. He was thinking of home, of New York and Mary Jane. He even missed J. Jonah Jameson, his tyrannical boss. Staying on the move helped him feel less homesick.
He swung past the big hall outside the command center. A few of the others were watching the lightning, and Reed was cycling through a series of images on the holographic screens that overlaid some of the windows. He appeared to have figured out how to use the terminals and instrument arrays without much trouble—almost as if they’d been designed for human use, as unlikely as that seemed. The room wasn’t that much different than a Helicarrier bridge, except there weren’t S.H.I.E.L.D. logos everywhere.
Storm passed by on her way down from…outside? She was soaking wet, anyway, and Spidey could have smelled the ozone on her a mile away. He continued on as she passed out of sight. This place was big. It was like having an entire city to explore. He swung by a window where he could look out on the storm and floodwaters. It was something else. But you could only watch a storm—or a Storm—for so long, so Spidey swung on. Before too long, he was thinking about the Beyonder.
Granting me my fondest wish, huh? My heart’s desire? Spidey thought. I want Gwen back alive. And Uncle Ben. That’s it. No world domination, no more super powers than I already have, no riches…
Well, riches would be nice.
But no, he thought. Gwen and Ben, that’s what I would want.
While Peter was hanging there woolgathering, Reed left the command center. He walked toward his quarters with his head down, like the whole weight of Battleworld was on his shoulders. Spidey couldn’t blame him. Reed had to be missing Sue and Franklin—a lot of them had loved ones they’d left behind. Spidey missed MJ something fierce. But Reed also had a leadership role here, and it was mighty hard to be a leader when you had no idea what you were leading your troops toward, or why—challenged to play survival of the fittest by a loony space alien who had destroyed a galaxy and told you that if you did what he said, you’d have everything you ever wanted.
“Geez,” he said to himself out loud—but quietly, like someone might hear even though Reed was already gone. “You put it like that, it sounds kind of crazy.”
He looked around for the right spot to slap a little webbing and swing down. Some place where he could sit and try to avoid thinking too much about things he couldn’t control—Battleworld, Galactus, the sad state of the Mets—when he noticed a gathering below. Hmm, he thought. What have we here?
A little meeting of mutants, that’s what. Storm was just joining. Xavier—man, it’s weird to see him walking around—was the focal point. Wolverine, Colossus, Rogue, Cyclops, and Nightcrawler were already there.
Spidey had always liked Nightcrawler. He felt kind of simpatico with him, except for the blue skin and demonic appearance and teleportation powers. “I dislike it,” Nightcrawler was saying. “Already we keep ourselves apart, and now…is this truly the best course?”
“We must take matters into our own hands. We do not belong here,” Xavier said firmly, as if he had already said it several times.
“I’ll say,” Rogue chimed in. “I’ve tangled with the Avengers before, and I do believe they hold a grudge even though I’ve been reformed for longer now than I was ever on the wrong side of the law. They didn’t like seeing me here with y’all anyhow, and I’m guessin’ that they don’t like any of us around by extension. Seems like they think we’re all outlaws.”
“Like I said before, they’re all government stooges when you get right down to it. Let ’em start something,” Wolverine said.
“Control yourself, Logan,” Xavier said before he could work up a head of steam. “The last thing we need before we leave is an incident… but leave we must. Captain America and Wasp are figures of authority. The X-Men have not fared well when allied to authority. We must be our own law, as we have been back on Earth. We will do what is right, but we will not do what we are told. The only way to ensure our autonomy is to separate ourselves from the Avengers and their cohorts.”
Colossus and Storm stood together. Cyclops hadn’t said anything yet, which Spidey thought was weird because normally you couldn’t get that guy to shut up and stop bossing everyone around. “Must it ever be so?” Colossus wondered. “Must even those who are different among humans fear and hate us because we, as mutants, at times must operate outside the law?”
“Is that what’s happening?” Nightcrawler asked. “I do not see it. All of us are fearing each other, nicht wahr? We are far from home, and we have been told to kill our enemies. They will try to kill us, too. Why would there not be fear?”
“Dear Kurt,” Storm said. “I would love for that to be the only problem. But if you do not see the way they look at us, it is because you aren’t looking.”
“Nobody likes it,” Cyclops said. “I talk to Reed every couple of hours. He doesn’t mean anyone harm on our side—but when push comes to shove, the Avengers and the Fantastic Four will band together, and we’re going to be out in the cold.”
“Not if we have already formed a new alliance with Magneto that will protect us all,” Storm said. “I do not like it, but I think Xavier is correct. This is the only way.”
“W
hat about Spider-Man?” Rogue asked. “He isn’t an Avenger.”
“Spider-Man…” Xavier said. Then his head snapped up. “Spider-Man! He is eavesdropping on us now!”
Uh-oh, Spidey thought.
Maybe the window was weaker than he’d thought, or maybe it had been loosened by the impact of the falling debris—but whatever the cause, it broke when Spidey went to spring away. He fell right into the middle of the X-Men’s confab.
“Hey, everyone! I heard what you guys were saying, and I have to tell you I didn’t like it too much! Gonna have to rat you out now. Hope you won’t mind.”
He nudged Xavier out of the way, not wanting to hurt him, but gave Cyclops a little more of a shove. Then he was bounding away from the X-Men, snapping webs at anyone who got too close and trying to figure out how the heck you got out of this room anyway. “C’mere, kid,” Wolverine growled. “Settle down and listen. You don’t know—”
Spidey gave him a little web-gag. He didn’t like when people called him a kid. He’d been doing this since he was 15 years old— longer than many of the other heroes present. “We can explain,” Colossus protested.
“Tell it to the Marines, tough guy,” Spider-Man said. “I heard enough when you mentioned a new alliance with Magneto. In case you’ve forgotten, he just kidnapped Wasp!” He wrapped up Rogue and almost had Nightcrawler, too, but the little blue guy poofed out of the way—and showed up again right in front of him.
“Nice trick,” Spidey said. But his spider-sense was firing on all cylinders, and he’d figured Nightcrawler would do something like that. He was unloading his web shooters before Nightcrawler had even appeared again. The webs tangled him up good and left him stuck to some kind of intake fan.
Man, if I could fight like this all the time…nope, Spidey told himself. That would mean staying on Battleworld when the point is to get home. But first he had to get away from the X-Men. He could already see Rogue tearing through his webs with her superhuman strength, one of the many powers she’d accidentally—so she claimed—stolen from Carol Danvers. If Spidey let her get too close, she’d steal his powers, too. Last thing in the world he needed was to be facing a Spider-Rogue.
He swung around and found himself confronting Cyclops, Colossus, Wolverine, and Storm. “Oh, hey, there you are!” he said, spinning around to drive a heel into Wolverine’s face. “You can’t sneak up on me, whiskers! Don’t you know about my spidey-sense?”
“Spider-Man!” Cyclops shouted. “It’s not what you think! Stop!” He unleashed an optic blast that blew a hole in the wall ahead of Spider-Man.
“Stop? After this welcoming committee? Not a chance. Seeya!” Spidey sang out. He flipped himself up and over one of the zillion pipes and ducts in the HQ, and then he was too far ahead of them to be caught.
He had to find Reed. Or should he go to Cap first? Hmm…nope. Reed. He knew where to find Mister Fantastic—and the scientist would be the most level-headed of all of them. Yes—Reed would know what to do. Spidey retraced his steps—or rather, swings— taking off in the direction in which he’d last seen Reed going. His room was down here somewhere…
There he was, still walking by himself, slumped and overwhelmed. Spidey called out to him. “Reed!”
Reed spun around. “Spider-Man? What’s wrong, son?”
“Listen to me!” Spidey panted as he landed. “We’ve got to—” Then he paused. What was I in such a hurry about? He mentally retraced his steps, remembering how he’d seen Storm go by smelling like lightning, then wandering…
Whatever it was, it was gone. “To, um…huh. I forgot.”
Reed was looking at him with grave worry. “Don’t sweat it, pal,” Spidey said. “Lost my train of thought, that’s all. Tired. You know how it is. Hey, take it easy.”
He swung away. For some reason, he finally felt at ease. With any luck, he would sleep well tonight.
*
Xavier rubbed his temples. He despised using his psionic powers to forcibly manipulate another’s mind, but there was too much at stake here. Cyclops even now was talking to Reed to make sure he held no suspicions. Then they would rendezvous at their departure point, and the deed would be done. There was no turning back.
He reached out and touched Cyclops’ mind. The conversation with Reed appeared to be going well. Return, Scott, he said.
The X-Men met in a hangar set into the downstream side of the headquarters. The floodwaters rushed by only a few feet below the landing pad’s lip. “I have learned how to operate this vessel,” Xavier told them. “It responds to telepathic commands of sufficient power, which I am fortunate enough to possess.” He did not mention the strange convenience of this—they had enough concerns. “Despite the storm, we leave at once, X-Men. Know that I do not take this action lightly, yet it is necessary if we are to survive.”
SEVENTEEN
DOOM stood surrounded by holographic screens three times his height, each of which cycled through views of the surrounding terrain out to a distance of several thousand miles. He noted Magneto’s departure from the heroes’ base, his return, and then his exit again—this time with a small ball of steel in tow. Like himself, Magneto had eschewed the designated teams. For different reasons, one suspected—but perhaps this small commonality could be maneuvered into something more substantial.
Doom reached out to Magneto while Skeeter and Marsha prepared themselves for their respective sessions. Doombase’s surveillance machinery located Magneto’s home and connected without any instruction beyond a verbal command.
“Victor,” Magneto said when he appeared on the screen. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, which Doom noted and filed away. Something had Magneto feeling very comfortable, it seemed, if he were not worried about telepathic intrusion from Xavier.
“Magneto. I will be brief: You have left the group to which the Beyonder originally attached you. I infer from this that you would be open to discussion of a new alliance. Doombase would find you a useful ally.”
“Ally?” Magneto echoed. “Or subordinate?”
“The situation as it stands would place you under my leadership,” Doom said. “In that, you would join the rest of this group. All have agreed that I am best able to lead and ensure that we defeat your former team—and, more important, that we learn the source of the Beyonder’s power and take it for our own.”
Magneto smirked. “I saw how well your initial efforts in that direction turned out, Victor. If that was your audition to lead, I cannot say you made an entirely favorable impression.”
“One must dare,” Doom said. He ignored Magneto’s insult. Let Magneto show his pride. Doom had a greater goal in mind, and Magneto would be a useful asset to him.
“I will save you the trouble of more tortured politeness,” Magneto said. “I am not interested in an alliance.”
“I will not ask again,” Doom said.
“Permit me to repeat myself: I am not interested in an alliance.”
“Very well,” Doom said. “But be warned. If you do not serve me, I will consider you an enemy.”
“I serve no one, Doom. I make my own way,” Magneto said— just as Doom had expected. Pride was the one area in which Doom considered the mutant his equal.
“So be it! Know that your choice is irrevocable, and that you will live to regret it.” Doom broke the connection and considered his options. Magneto’s refusal was not unexpected but still troublesome. If the Beyonder had decided to pit all of them against each other, Magneto would sooner or later become an enemy. Doom preferred to suborn potential enemies and then undermine them at the moment of his choosing. This was often easier and more effective than open opposition.
However, Magneto had determined to proceed down a different path, as was his right—just as all people had the right to be idiotic. He would, as Doom had told him, live to regret it.
But not much longer than that.
The headstrong idiots Doom now commanded had suffered losses in their first engagement, and Magneto would have been a usef
ul addition to his resources, but Doom would address the personnel shortfall now—at least in part. Once that was accomplished, Reed Richards and Captain America were due a visit. But first things first.
Leaving the communications console, he strode through Doombase, avoiding the others and entering a chamber he had decreed off-limits to all but himself. This was where he had begun experimenting with the base’s technology and conceived the plan to bolster the group’s ranks.
On two platforms, built into tubular structures that stretched from floor to ceiling, stood Marsha Rosenberg and Skeeter MacPherran.
“Pardon the delay,” Doom said. “I was unavoidably detained on other business. Are you prepared?”
This last was a rhetorical question. He had no intention of letting either of them return to their ravaged slice of Denver at this point. They were perfectly suited to his scientific needs, and they knew too much of the interior of Doombase to walk away now.
“I’m ready,” Marsha said. “Skeeter?”
“Whenever,” she said.
Doom nodded.
“We begin, then,” he said. Initializing a series of processes from a central command terminal, Doom watched as clear walls encircled the platforms on which they stood. “It is a perfect time to undertake this operation,” he said. “This alien technology is quite subtle and powerful, but it requires enormous amounts of energy to perform its function. The tempest now raging outside provides a perfect source of that energy. In other words, ladies—you are here at the exact right moment.”
“Glad to hear it,” Skeeter said, in a tone that suggested she’d be just as happy to be watching reruns on television. She was a typical human—interested in power, but not its workings.