“And they say a college education ain’t worth anything,” Logan said dryly. “We gotta get in there. How about you take guard duty and I sneak around?”
“No way!” Bobby said indignandy. “You might need me in there.”
Logan looked him over. He seemed more businesslike and confident in his ice form. And he didn’t look like he was going to change his mind. Logan sighed. “You keep control of yourself, boy. If it looks like you’re falling under that frail’s spell again, I’m taking you out.”
Bobby nodded sharply. Logan pointed out a broken window, somewhere on the fifth floor, and they headed for it.
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The night was very silent in that area, and Bobby’s ice-laden footsteps echoed loudly in Logan’s ears.
Logan shook his head. He scaled the decaying building with the ease of long practice and setded on a crumbling balcony beneath the window. Bobby looked up at him with some trepidation, his frozen hair gleaming silver in the rising moonlight. He looked so young: just a boy. Logan felt a sudden, choking sense of responsibility for him. Then Bobby grinned cheekily. He pointed at the wall in front of him and a knob of ice grew out of it. Pulling himself up it, he built another and then another. Mutant mountaineering.
Soon, they crouched together beneath the window. Muffled voices trickled through the shattered pane of glass. One voice, mainly, a deep confident one, and others joining in at intervals. It reminded Logan of something. A prayer meeting, he decided: the preacher leading the congregation.
Logan gestured Bobby to wait while he peered in through the window. Making sure he couldn’t smell anyone nearby, he pushed his head carefully through the broken glass. An awkward shard gouged a deep cut in his cheek, but the familiar stinging of his accelerated healing factor knitting his skin back together, skin on muscle on bone, didn’t distract him from what he saw. He let his breath out gently in a silent whistle of recognition.
There was a flag opposite. Flags all around the room, all showing the same thing: a flattened black cross on a red background, and three letters. FoH. Friends of Humanity. What kind of mutant would be meeting with a mutant-hating rabble like that?
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While he’d been taking this in, Logan had been looking around—point man scouting the territory, he thought sourly. He was above a rusty-metal-and-rotting-wood platform. It circled the room, a giant, dark chamber that seemed to occupy most of the inside of the warehouse. The only illumination came from torches held by some of the hundred-odd congregation below. All looking at one man, the “preacher” on his stage, shouting out a sermon of hate against mutants. He finished some rousing phrase and they all cheered, lifting up their torches in an old salute. Logan remembered an SS meeting he’d broken into in a German castle, back in World War II. This was like that, only worse, because these people knew about that war and hadn’t learned from it.
There was no danger of being seen. No one was paying any attention to much except the preacher. Turning back to the window, Logan released one of his six adamantium claws out of its housing and carefully cut off the shards of glass until the entrance was clear. Logan went in, then summoned Iceman in after him.
Bobby’s eyes widened as he, too, took in the information that had intrigued Logan. He soon recovered himself and crouched down on the walkway beside him. “Gee, do you think we wore the right clothes for the party?” he whispered, smiling tensely. His expression became more serious. “But where’s Rachel?”
Logan had all but forgotten the frail In the excitement of his discovery. Now he looked carefully around the room, his keener-than-human eyes searching her out. And there she was, in the darkness by the door, surrounded by men whose faces looked strangely distorted.
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The preacher finished, and the congregation turned their attention to the woman. As she approached them, not with any enthusiasm, Logan thought, they, too, put something over their faces. Gas masks, he realized—more World War II imagery. They looked both macabre and absurdly comic, like postapocalyptic carnival masks, but it made sense if Logan was right about her. And he was always right.
Just then, Logan sensed a flicker of motion beside him. He felt himself shouldered aside as Bobby lunged forward. Logan grabbed at him, catching him around the waist before the young fool could throw himself off the walkway. “What the hell d’you think you’re doing?” he hissed.
“I’ve got to help her!” Bobby returned, none too quietly. Cursing, Logan clapped his hand over Bobby’s mouth and fought to hold the young man’s squirming, cold body with his own. Below them, he saw two men in Friends of Humanity uniforms peering upward toward them. He held his breath, and tightened his grip on Bobby until he probably couldn’t breathe either. For a taut stretch of time, the men continued looking up, muttering to each other. Then the darkness defeated them and they turned their attention back to the woman.
Logan felt Bobby’s body relax beneath him, and he cautiously loosened his grip. “You got ahold of yourself, bub?” Bobby nodded, and Logan took his hand from his mouth. “I’m sorry, Wolvie. I lost it for a moment. I felt her drawing me in. I knew she was calling out for help, but I couldn’t stop myself.” He shuddered as if he was cold—an odd sight in one covered in ice. “My God, no wonder they’re scared of us.”
They both looked down at Rachel, who now stood sur-
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rounded by a circle of Friends of Humanity soldiers. She didn’t look at ease—Logan could hear the scrape of her high-heeled shoes as she shifted from foot to foot. And the men surrounding her were laughing and jeering, like boys who’d found a frog and were working themselves up to pulling its legs off.
“So, we’re honored by the presence of the delightful Ms. Mostel.” The speaker had emerged from the darkness at the back of the stage so quietly that even Logan hadn’t noticed him. Although he wore nothing to distinguish him from the other men, Logan knew this was the leader of the pack.
Rachel’s eyes were fixed on him, as if she sensed the same thing. “You know why I’m here,” she said with a bravura that couldn’t disguise the tremble in her voice.
“Indeed.” The man looked at her a moment longer, his features hidden from her, as well as Logan, behind another gas mask. He seemed to enjoy whatever power it was he possessed over her, and they stood frozen for a moment in a tableau of domination. Then he made a sharp gesture at one of his men. “I guess it is time we paid the wages of sin,” he said smoothly.
The thug moved to a large box that stood to one side of the group. He yanked back the black sheet covering it, revealing a metal cage. Imprisoned within it, grasping its thick bars, was a tiny, bedraggled girl. She was shivering convulsively, and with each shudder the cage rang like a cracked bell. This time, it was Bobby who had to hold Logan back as all his muscles tensed in outrage.
Rachel rushed up to the cage and awkwardly embraced
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the child through its bars. Her child, Logan was sure. He felt a rage so strong, it nearly overpowered him.
After a few seconds, the leader stepped forward and said coolly, “That’s very touching, but remember—it cost me a lot to get you appointed to that jury, and I need a conviction. If one is not forthcoming, well ...” He tailed off, and Logan could sense that behind the gas mask, he was smiling. “You saw the photographs of what happened to Streck’s sister. The same thing could easily happen to your daughter.”
Rachel twisted around to face him, still embracing the little girl. “They’re in the palm of my hand,” she said bitterly. “They’ll give any verdict I want.” She lowered her eyes for a moment, then raised them again with a desperate challenge. “Why? So you’ll get one more mutant sent to jail. Wouldn’t you rather find the real person who killed your friends?”
There were snickers from the men around her. “How charmingly naive,” the leader murmured. “But you see, I know who was responsible for their deaths. And since I have no great
desire to serve a prison sentence, I certainly don’t want to bring him to justice.”
Rachel looked at him with genuine shock. “You killed five of your own people just to get a mutant convicted of murder?”
The leader jumped down from the stage and moved rapidly toward her. She flinched away, but not fast enough to stop him viciously grasping her chin. “I killed them because they disobeyed my orders. They attacked Arthur Streck’s sister, and worse, they allowed themselves to be caught for it. That court case was very damaging to our cause. It would
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have been even more so, if there’d been any chance of a conviction.’' There was loud, ugly laughter. Rachel struggled in his grip. Logan could see white indentations in her face where his fingers were biting into her. “When they disobeyed me, they wrote their own death sentences. And when that uppity mutant Streck caused me problems, he became the perfect murderer.”
The FoH leader suddenly jerked his arm, flinging Rachel against the cage. “Now go and get some sleep. The prosecution case against Streck will be concluding tomorrow, and the defense will present their version of events. You’ll need all your energy to stop the other jurors from being swayed.”
Rachel reached through the bars to her hysterical daughter, but two thugs ran forward and dragged her from the room. The leader watched for a few moments, then turned and vanished back into the shadows at the back of the podium. The Friends of Humanity members were left standing around and looking vaguely unsatisfied. Bad stage management, Logan thought. Should’ve ended with a song.
He felt Bobby tense again under his hand, but he clamped down and extended his claws until they just nicked Bobby’s ice sheath. “Not yet, bub.”
“But—but they might be hurting her—”
“They ain’t gonna harm their secret weapon, now, are they? She’ll be all right ’til after the trial. So will the kid, but I wouldn’t give a snowball’s chance in hell of their surviving more’n five minutes afterwards.”
Bobby relaxed. “You’re right, of course.” He thought for a moment. “We need to tell the judge what’s going on. He can arrange for police protection.’’
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“You’re not thinkin’ straight. You tell the judge what’s goin’ on and there’ll be questions ’bout you an’ how you know so all-fired much ’bout what’s goin’ on. At best you’ve lied durin’ the empanelin’ process. At worst you’ve interfered with the course of justice. We can’t go ridin’ roughshod over everythin’—we have to be subde.”
Bobby turned and gave Logan a sarcastic look. “Subdety being your speciality7, of course. Any suggestions?”
Logan gazed down at the small girl huddled in the cage, her arms wrapped tight around her knees, her shoulders shaking. “Strikes me that the key to the whole thing is that kid down there. We get her out, then the FoH goons ain’t got no hold over your lady friend, an’ she can stop mani-pulatin’ the jury. With a bit of luck, justice’ll get done— well, as much justice as ever gets done in a courtroom.” “Then let’s go.” Bobby rose to a crouch.
“No!” Logan snapped, but it was too late. The kid must’ve still been affected by Rachel’s pheromone cry for help. He needed to do something chivalrous and heroic—or maybe just plain macho—and he wasn’t going to wait and plan things carefully. With a sweeping gesture of his gloved hand he crystallized the water vapor in the warehouse. Logan watched as snow fell on the FoH thugs—not just in flakes, not even in flurries, but in bucket loads. Their guttering torches were extinguished within a moment, and they were left floundering in a two-foot-thick freezing blanket.
“I’ll get the girl,” Bobby yelled. “You cover my back!” “Great,” Logan growled as Bobby created an ice ramp from the platform down to the stage and slid down it, perfectly balanced.
Logan leaped down from the platform, his leg muscles
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easily absorbing the impact as he hit the ground. Extending his claws, he gazed round at the assembled Friends of Humanity. “All right, gang,” he snarled, “you wanna put your money where your mouths are?”
After a moment of astonishment, they came for him.
The first five jumped him, trying to bear him to the ground by force of numbers. They obviously didn’t know with whom they were dealing. Logan crouched into a ball, then flung himself back to his feet. The five thugs went flying. Ten or twelve more hesitated, then piled in. Logan picked the first one off his feet and used him as a flail to beat the others away with. After a few moments the thug went limp, so Logan threw him up onto the platform and chose another one. “Strike one!” he yelled as he used the fresh club to knock another thug all the way across the room. “Strike two!” and another one went flying up onto the stage, trailing a ribbon of blood behind him.
Out of the comer of his eye, Logan spotted Bobby. He had frozen the lock of the cage and snapped it off, and he was pulling the terrified girl to safety. She was beating at his chest and generally making a nuisance of herself, and so Bobby was completely unaware of the thugs running up behind him.
“Iceman! Watch yer back!”
Bobby turned and extended his hand toward the running men. Icicles burst from his fingertips, slender spears that crossed the distance between him and them within a second. They ran onto the sharp points, then danced backward to free themselves amid a fairy-tale tinkle of breaking ice.
Something went bang! and Logan felt a hot stab of agony
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in his shoulder. His nostrils burned with the acrid tang of cordite. He turned slowly, feeling the tissues knit together and the red-hot lead slug being pushed to the surface. One of the nearby thugs was holding a gun. In the time it took him to register that his victim was still standing, Logan had crossed the distance between them and slashed at his arm, claws fully extended. The man’s hand went spinning away, still holding the gun, and the man sank to his knees. Logan could smell two more coming up behind him, so he whirled around, slicing parallel gashes across their faces. Blood sprayed into the air, its hot, coppery smell almost overpowering him. He took a deep breath and deliberately pulled himself back from the brink of berserker fury. This was no time to lose control.
“Hey, Frosty—time to make our apologies and leave.”
Bobby weighed up the situation, then took a few paces toward the center of the room so that Logan was between him and the door. Somehow he had persuaded the girl that he was on her side, and she was clinging to his back like a pigtailed rucksack. Bobby extended both arms straight out, pointing past Logan and toward the door. A sudden hisss! made Logan flinch, and when he looked up he was in a tunnel of ice that ran from Bobby to the door. The Friends of Humanity were just blurred figures rushing around on the other side.
“Nice work,” he said as Bobby ran toward him. “Ever considered goin' into the construction industry in Canada? There’s plenty of Inuits I know cl be pleased to come to some kinda arrangement.”
“Enough with the jokes,” Bobby yelled, passing him. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
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“Oh, yeah,” Logan said drily. “Thanks for remindin’ me.” Turning, he noticed that a few of the thugs nearest the cage had discovered the start of the frozen corridor and were beginning to advance along it toward him. His ada-mantium claws penetrated the ice on either side of him like knives through soft cheese. Taking a step back, he pulled. The ice crumbled in a wave extending back toward the cage, burying them in jagged blocks. Smiling at a job well done, he followed Bobby out of the warehouse.
As they ran across the neon-lit road and into an alley on the other side, Bobby looked back. The Friends of Humanity were spilling out of the warehouse like ants from a disturbed nest. He and Logan had barely even scratched the surface. There were hundreds of them and they had raided the armory. Most had handguns or rifles, a few were toting machine pistols, and at least one had a rocket launcher.
“What do they think this is,�
�� he said, aghast, “war?”
Logan glanced up at him. “Yeah,” he said simply. “They do.”
Bobby concentrated on the air above the road, pulling energy from the water molecules and condensing them onto the road surface, then absorbing even more energy, feeling it burn within him, as the water altered form again until it was a thin sheet of ice. The Friends of Humanity ran onto it unaware, and their arms flailed wildly as they tried to keep their balance. The girl clinging to his back giggled as they slipped, slid, and collided like something out of a Keystone Kops film. Some of them accidentally tightened their fingers on their triggers, and the night was shattered by gunfire.
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“Here,” Logan said, scooping the girl off Bobby’s back, “let me take her. This might turn into a chase, an’ I tire less easily than you, bub. ’Sides, you don’t wanna give her frostbite.”
Some of the Friends of Humanity had made it across the ice and were vanishing into the night.. Others were talking on portable telephones. For the first time since he’d thrown himself down into the fray, Bobby stopped to think. “They’ll be setting up roadblocks,” he said. “This area of town is almost deserted, and they know we’re on foot. If they can throw up a cordon fast enough they can search systematically. They’re bound to find us.”
“So, any bright ideas?” Logan asked. There was a distracted tone in his voice, and Bobby turned to look. The girl was riding high on his shoulders, pulling at the wisps of his sideburns that had escaped around the edges of his mask. The expression on the bottom half of Logan’s face was a mixture of annoyance and amusement.
“How did they get here?” Bobby asked, indicating the thugs who were still lingering in the vicinity of the warehouse. “They don’t all live here, I guess. They must have jobs, families, and lives.”
“So they drove,” Logan said. “ ’Less they hired a bus.” “Which means they parked somewhere.”
Logan nodded. “Let’s go look, then.” He twisted his neck so he could look up at the girl. She gazed down at him with wide, dark eyes: eyes just as beautiful as her mother’s, Bobby reflected. “Hey, munchkin—you’re gonna have to keep very quiet if you want to get out of here and see your momma again, and you do want to get out of here, don’t you?”
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