The Ultimate X-Men

by Unknown Author

  “Who are you? What do you want here?” he cried.

  Baring his teeth in a feral grin, the one who resembled an olive-furred baboon replied, “Not much. Just your life’s work, flatscan.”

  The creature had to be a mutant, since he used the derogatory term many mutants used for “normal” humans. He moved slowly and steadily towards Watkins, the dank scent of rotting mushrooms intensifying the nearer he came. Watkins moaned softly as the world around him began to swim. Erratic, brightly colored circles of light rotated around his head, making him dizzy. He felt a wave of nausea crash over him, and he clutched the edge of the lab counter, desperately fighting to stay upright.

  He lost the battle and sank to his knees, retching helplessly. The nausea completely enveloped him, making him unable to think or speak. He vaguely saw the other mutant, the one who looked like a bedwarfed giant with mechanical arms, working the computer and transferring disk after disk of files. He fought for speech, forcing out each word between waves of nausea.

  “You . . . can’t. . . do . . . this. Mustn’t. The . . . danger.” His voice trailed off again as he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor.

  “Too late, flatscan,” the mutant at the computer sneered as he gathered up the disks he’d copied.

  The last thing Watkins saw before he finally succumbed to blessed unconsciousness was a small cyclone of papers from his desk formed as the cool summer breeze blew in

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  from the lab door left open in the haste of the mutants’ exit.

  Dr. Hank McCoy muttered to himself in frustration as he looked at the latest column of figures from his test data. The member of the X-Men team known as the Beast would seem so close to finding a cure for the Legacy Virus, only to see his hopes turn to despair. Stryfe, the villain who had originally engineered the virus, had anticipated all the major routes a scientist would take in trying to construct a cure. He sighed heavily.

  “Discouraged, Hank?” Storm asked as she quietly entered the room.

  “Indeed, I’m afraid that I am, Ororo. It’s times like this that I know exactly what Keats meant when he said, ‘There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object.’ ”

  “I have another problem for you, my friend. Turn on the TV, Channel 7. There’s something you need to see.” When the image settled, Beast saw a mutant of obvious Slavic origin, large boned, but squat. The arms with which he was gesticulating emphatically were mechanical, and he had the wild-eyed fanatical expression Hank had come to associate with the Acolytes, the fanatic followers of Magneto, who shared drat villain’s desire for mutant conquest of the world.

  “That’s Katu, isn’t it?” he asked.

  Storm nodded. “Turn it up. You need to hear what he’s saying to understand our newest problem.”

  Once the volume was up, they could hear Katu in midsentence. “. . . you flatscans have no choice but to give in to our demands if you wish your society to remain intact.

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  We have obtained and duplicated one of your biological weapons, a bacterium that consumes plastic. We’ve placed the bacterium, in sufficient quantity to destroy your so-called civilization, in a bomb located for ideal worldwide dispersal. The bomb will be detonated within three days if our demands are not met.

  “First, all mutants currendy held against their will are to be released immediately to the Acolytes. We will no longer permit you to torture and experiment with our brothers and sisters.

  “Secondly, all human occupants of the northwestern states of Washington, Oregon, Idaho, and Montana in the United States of America are to be evacuated and relocated. The states will be turned over to the Acolytes for the formation of a mutant nation.”

  Katu looked up from his notes and faced the cameras direcdy. “We know you will not submit to these demands. We also know you will underestimate the amount of destruction these bacteria can cause. Your financial structures will crumble as your computer disks and tapes are destroyed. Your vehicles and construction equipment will be inoperable. Your factories will require complete overhauls before they will be able to produce again. Millions will fall ill or die because crucial medical supplies are stored in plastic containers. Once the bacteria have contaminated your water supplies, those humans with plastic in their bodies— such as pacemakers—will flood and overwhelm your hospitals. How many millions will be killed or injured in the inevitable riots and panic, do you think? There is no aspect of your lives that will remain as it was.”

  Katu smiled. That the smile was genuine neither Beast

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  nor Storm doubted for a moment. It was an unscripted, sincere expression of enjoyment, and it sent chills down the spines of both X-Men.

  “We will laugh and celebrate as your society falls. Then we shall build our society—a mutant society—out of your ashes. It’s been well over a century since Darwin first described to you the process of evolution, and you still have failed to grasp even its simplest principles. Now you’ll see it in action.”

  Bishop strode into the room as Katu’s final words cast a deeper pall over the two X-Men. “It’s being continually broadcast via satellite all over the world. I see no reason to believe he’s lying to us, although we’ve found no record of such a bacterium.”

  Beast breathed out a deep sigh and spoke slowly. “Oh, my stars and garters. He’s not lying.”

  Startled, Bishop stared at Beast. “What? How do you know?”

  Beast made his way over to the conference table, sat down, and gestured to the others to join him. “About two years ago, a Dr. Jerome Watkins consulted with me on the production of just this type of bacteria. I wasn’t able to commit to working with him full-time on the project, but I have helped him with a few problems he’s encountered here and there. The bacterium was being created to reduce plastic waste materials.”

  “Is it possible that Watkins was secredy working for the Acolytes on this project?” Storm queried.

  “I don’t think so, Ororo. First, Watkins has been working for the U.S. government for the past decade doing environmental research. I checked his credentials most

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  thoroughly before I agreed to do any consulting work for him. He’s a good man. Secondly, I don’t think the Acolytes would ever consider working with a human,” Beast turned to Bishop, who nodded.

  “Such an alliance would be most uncharacteristic of the Acolytes/' Bishop agreed. “It’s much more likely that they got wind of the project somehow and decided to turn it to their own ends.”

  “No matter how the situation has developed, though,” Beast stated, “we must find a way to stop it.”

  Storm looked thoughtful for a moment. “Then the question is how the Acolytes obtained the bacterium, assuming it is the same one, and if it is the same, where is Dr. Watkins now, and does he know how to stop it?”

  Beast walked over to the communications console and had it dial Watkins’s home and lab. There was no response at either location. “Jerome worked out of a lab in Dallas. I’ll fly down diere and see if I can locate him. Maybe he has some answers for us.”

  Storm nodded and glanced over at Bishop. “Good. In the meantime, Bishop and I can try to trace the Acolytes to their newest base of operations. If our deadline is only three days away, we don’t have much time.”

  In just a few hours, Beast stood outside the open door to Watkins’s laboratory. Alert, not knowing what to expect, he cautiously made his way toward the observation window of the main room, where he saw what appeared to be the wreckage of an experiment. He was mentally taking notes on the extent of the destruction when a faint, low moan sent him toward the storage cabinets.

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  “Dr. Watkins? Jerome? Is that you?”

  Hearing another moan, McCoy used his superhuman strength to pull the storage cabinet out of the way. There, in a space he would have thought too small to hide anyone, sat Watkins. Curled up in a fetal position, he shook with conv
ulsions, occasionally giving voice to the pitiful moans that had led Beast to him. He turned his face toward Beast, who had extended a hand to him, and instantly recoiled.

  “No! No! Just leave me alone!” he begged. “You already got what you came for.”

  “Jerome, it’s me,” McCoy said kindly. “Hank McCoy. You know me. I’m here to help you.”

  “H-H-Hank?” Watkins asked, and blinked several times, as if trying to clear his vision. This time when Beast extended his hand, it was accepted. Watkins tried to stay upright, but leaned heavily on Beast as he launched into an explanation of what had happened.

  “I was entering the final data on the bacterium when two mutants burst into the room. They took everything . . . the research data, the samples . . . everything.” He looked at Beast, his eyes clouded and anguished. “I tried to stop them, Hank. But one of them . . . he . . . he . . .” Watkins broke off his sentence and began sobbing softly. “I thought vou were another one of them.”

  Beast laid a comforting hand on Watkins’s shoulder and pressed it gently. “I know this is hard for you, Jerome, but you have to tell me everything. What did he do?”

  “He used some kind of hallucinogenic power on me. I’ve never felt such a thing in my life. Pain, nausea, dizziness ... I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything as they

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  stole my life’s work!” Watkins began sobbing again. “They took everything.”

  Beast gripped Watkins’s arm and helped him into a chair. “Jerome, let me dress your wound, and then you must come back with me to the Xavier Institute. Right away.”

  When Watkins started to protest, Beast held up a hand to silence him. “Hear me out before you decline, if you please. The men who stole your research are members of a group called the Acolytes. They have taken the materials and research stolen from you and have somehow modified it into a bomb.” He saw Watkins blanche but did not stop. “The Acolytes have taken the bomb and have placed it in an unknown location where it will disperse the bacterium around the entire globe. They have threatened to detonate the device should their demands not be met within seventy-two hours.” Briefly, he recounted the Acolyte demands.

  “Oh, Lord,” Watkins groaned. “No government would ever agree to those conditions.” His voice became resigned. “And that mutant, Katu, could well be right. The destructive power of this organism . . . human society will be hardest hit by the damage. Mutants will be able to use their abilities to work around the more obvious difficulties.” “And no doubt they’ve been planning this for some time,” Beast added drily, “and so are prepared for the devastation they intend to wreak upon humanity. The only chance we have is to develop a counteragent and find the device before it is detonated. My teammates are working on that end even as we speak.”

  “They took all my notes on the bacterium, but I should

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  be able to reconstruct it from memory; I’ve been working with the same agent for months now.”

  Beast helped Watkins to stand. “We’ll use the Institute lab. My friends will be waiting for us. Besides, you won’t get better health care in any hospital, and I’m afraid you really need it.”

  Thousands of miles away, Storm and Bishop had tracked down the last known location of Katu and the Earth-stationed Acolytes, deep in the Great Sandy Desert of Australia. Although the buildings appeared deserted, Bishop took no chances as he entered the main building. Plasma rifle at the ready, he entered quietly, Storm close behind him. The room was empty except for some furniture and a few pieces of scrap paper, left behind when the Acolytes closed down shop. Storm picked up a loosely wadded piece of paper from one corner and spread it open on one of the desks.

  “Bishop, look at this. An aviation weather report. If I’m reading this correctly, the Acolytes were getting weather conditions and information on the area surrounding the Bahamas.” She pointed to a faint penciled circle on the sheet. “It appears that they were especially interested in the conditions around Cat Island.”

  “Good. That’s somewhere for us to start. And look at this.” He held out a sheet of paper he’d recovered from one of the other desks. “Evidence that the Acolytes have the bacterium Hank told us about. It’s a printout of some test results. Look at the header: Project XFS1147, Chief Researcher, Dr. Jerome Watkins.”

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  “We’ve found what we came for,” Storm said. “Let’s go back and see if Hank was able to locate WTatkins.”

  When Bishop and Storm arrived back at the Institute, they found Beast and WTatkins hard at work in the laboratory.

  “Who is this person?” Bishop demanded as he eyed Watkins with obvious mistrust.

  “Storm, Bishop, may I present to you Dr. Jerome Watkins, the researcher I told you about earlier,” Beast replied.

  Bishop’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “The doctor responsible for creating the bacterium the Acolytes are going to use to try and destroy us all?”

  Before Beast could confirm the query, Bishop crossed the room, taking Watkins by the lapels and shoving his back against a wall. “How much did the Acolytes pay you?” he demanded.

  Watkins struggled ineffectually against Bishop’s iron grip. “Nothing. I wasn’t working for them, I swear it!” His voice came out high, with a note of panic, and he looked pleadingly at Beast. “Get him off of me, Hank, please!” Storm laid her hand over one of Bishop’s. “Let him go, Bishop. I believe he’s telling the truth.”

  Beast nodded his agreement. “He came here of his own free will to help me try to find a containing agent.”

  Bishop let go of Watkins and stepped back a few paces but still glared at the small man in suspicion. “I don’t like his being in the mansion. How do you know he isn’t just pretending to help you—that he’s not really leading you in the wrong direction? How are we to know that we can trust him?” He crossed his arms in front of him as if daring Watkins to prove him wrong.

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  Ever practical, Beast replied, “How are we to know that we can’t? I think I would know if I were being led down the proverbial primrose path, Bishop. Besides, this is the best place for us to work. Surely you are aware of that.”

  Bishop relaxed his stance somewhat and moved a few steps farther away from Watkins. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the papers he and Storm had taken from the deserted Acolyte hideout, handing them to Beast. “From all indications, we believe them to be heading to the Bahamas with the bacterial bomb.”

  Beast scanned the papers quickly. “We know they have the bacterium, we think we know where they’re taking it. Now Jerome and I must work hard to find a neutralizing agent before they decide to detonate the bomb.”

  Storm moved toward the door. “You and Dr. Watkins keep working, Hank. Bishop and I will fly to the Caribbean and check out Cat Island.”

  Beast nodded as he turned to continue his lab work. “That would seem the most logical way to proceed. We’ll keep you informed as to our progress.”

  Beast and Watkins had little success. When their latest experiment failed, Watkins pounded the table in frustration. “We’ve tried everything I know to do, Hank. I’m all out of ideas.” Watkins removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, “I should never have gotten involved in this project in the first place. I knew what could happen. No matter what they said, or how much money they gave me for research, I should have known better. It’s not worth the consequences.” He paused and closed his eyes for a moment. - ‘Nothing could be worth that price.”

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  Beast’s furry blue brow wrinkled in confusion. “What consequences are you talking about, Jerome?”

  Watkins blinked rapidly and nervously cleared his throat several times before answering. “The bacterium can do more damage than I’ve told you, Hank.”

  “How? Tell me, Jerome. You need to tell me everything.” McCoy’s voice was low, almost soothing, as he sensed Watkins’s fear.

  “When the gove
rnment found out, on its completion, how successful the bacterium was going to be, they commissioned me to make certain ‘improvements’ on it. Purely hypothetical, they said. Just in case. They told me to turn it into a biological weapon—one never to be used, but available for possible use against cybernetic soldiers. That’s a definite concern in this day and age.” Watkins took a deep breath before continuing, and when he spoke, his voice was shaky. “The reproductive rate is phenomenal. It’s highly resistant to conventional antibacterial agents. It maintains integrity when absorbed through the skin or by consumption of contaminated food or water. Frankly, it would be virtually impossible for a society to contain it if released. ’ ’ Beast made a soft, strangled sound of protest. “Jerome, did you stop to think what the consequences of the use of an agent like that would be? Of the millions of innocent lives that would be lost in the panic as their society was destroyed? Noncombatant lives?”

  “I didn’t let myself think about it, Hank. I told myself that it would never come to that, that no sane government would ever unleash such a monstrosity. I told myself that the benefits of the bacterium—the ecological benefits—outweighed all other considerations. With modifications, it can

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  still be used as I originally designed it. I told myself that it was all in the name of research.” Watkins covered his face with his hands, letting self-pity overwhelm him. “I suppose the truth of the matter was that I didn’t want to know what they were going to do with it. I was going to take the additional research funds they promised to give me when this project was finished and go away someplace where I wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of my creation.”

  Both men were silent for several minutes before resuming their work.

  To all appearances, Cat Island was picture-postcard perfect. “This is the last place I’d suspect of having a devastating biological weapon on it. It’s almost annoyingly beautiful,” Bishop said sternly.

  Storm extended her hands and felt the warm summer tropical breeze flow through her fingers as a wind current gently first lifted, then deposited her on the ground next to Bishop. “The air circulation pattern is unique here. Should the bacteria be released, the wind currents would quickly carry it to all corners of the globe. I seriously doubt any area would remain unaffected for long.”