“Sir,” she said finally, as Gyrich studied her intently, “might I suggest you contact Professor Charles Xavier for his input as well. His expertise might have …”
“Come on, Cooper,” Gyrich hissed. “That mutie lover would be number one on my list. He’s been in deep with the freaks since day one.”
“You know, Gyrich,” Val said wistfully, “I can honestly say I’ve never met anyone as paranoid as you.”
“That will be all,” the Secretary said quietly. He stood and walked around his desk, then folded his arms across his chest.
“Henry, the troops are already mobilized. Once they have arrived, they will be under your command. Valerie will be your consultant, and you will consult with her. That’s an order. She will make regular reports to me, and will include any objections she has to your course of action.
“In the meantime, Val,” he said thoughtfully. “I seem to recall Professor Xavier was instrumental in helping to set up X-Factor. It couldn’t hurt to at least get his opinion, especially once we find out exactly what kind of fox has snuck into the henhouse.”
Together, Val and Gyrich rose and walked from the Secretary’s office. Gyrich even held the door for her on the way out. Once in the hall, however, he spun on her, his face etched with fury.
“Stay out of my face, Cooper,” he growled. “And maybe, just maybe, you’ll still have a job in D.C. when this is all over.”
Val Cooper smiled sweetly.
“You don’t seem to get it, Henry,” she said pleasantly. “The Secretary has just given me license to put my claws into you deep. And I plan to.”
The smile left her face then, and was replaced by a hatred even more pure in its way than Gyrich’s.
“You’ll excuse me, now,” she said with a withering look. “I have an important call to make.”
* * *
MOVING through the partially collapsed shell of an old tenement building, Gambit at his side, Hank McCoy did his best to keep his mind on the situation at hand. He felt a certain distress as he realized that, despite his years of training and combat as the Beast, he still was not completely able to shut out other concerns.
Perhaps, though, he was exaggerating the problem. Despite the smell of fire-blackened beams, the shattered glass and torn carpet that decorated the floor and the flickering of fluorescent lights that reminded him of the New York City morgue, everything around them was false. It was a cybernetic and holographic construct, created by computer intelligence using advanced Shi’ar technology that had been a gift to Professor Xavier from his lover, the Shi’ar empress Lilandra Neramani.
Nothing they were seeing was, technically speaking, ‘real.’ But that did not mean that he and Gambit were not in danger. Otherwise, they could not have called the place the Danger Room. Still, as merciless as the computer could be, depending on the level of difficulty the program was set to, it could never be truly devious. That took humanity. So from time to time, instead of the X-Men facing the Danger Room, they used it to stage their own war games, facing one another.
The Beast was paired with Gambit because they were unused to working together. The opposing ‘team’ was chosen for the same reason. And the game? A simple one, really, one every child knew: Capture the Flag. They had already found the flag, but that was only half the contest. The other half was getting it out of the tenement. The opposing team would, of course, try to stop them.
The startlingly red kerchief was impossible to miss against the deep blue of the Beast’s fur, where he had tied it around his wrist. That was one of the rules, too. It had to be prominently displayed, rather like painting a bulls-eye on your forehead. Hank motioned for Gambit to take the point, then fell in behind him as they stepped around a large hole that looked as though it had been left behind when a stairwell had collapsed. There was no exit that way.
At the end of the hall, past several darkened doorways that might well have sheltered Cyclops or Rogue, there was a large window with jagged glass like fangs jutting from its frame. That would be their exit, Hank decided. Even if he had to climb down the outside of the structure with Gambit under one arm.
“Cover the doors,” he whispered. “I’m going for the window.”
Gambit nodded. With the deftness of a magician, the Cajun fanned half a deck of playing cards out in his left hand. Hank hadn’t even seen him reach inside his coat for them. Then five others appeared in his right hand, a royal flush, Hank saw, and wondered if it could be a coincidence. Gambit’s powers allowed him to give any object an energy charge that would cause it to explode on contact. In his hands, then, even playing cards could be deadly.
Cards held before him like the lethal weapons they could become, Gambit began to run down the hall with a whispery footfall that the Beast envied. Hank was right behind him, not even attempting stealth as he rushed for the shattered window. He expected an attack from one of the doors, or from above, but the faster he moved the better.
Incredibly, Gambit reached the end of the hall unmolested, then turned to guard Hank’s back. The Beast slammed his palms against the floor and thrust himself, feet first, out the window.
“This is way too …” he began, but then all the breath was knocked from his lungs as Rogue flew at him, fists slamming into his belly. She’d been waiting for him outside, an option he hadn’t even considered! Maybe his mind was elsewhere after all.
Rogue drove him halfway back along the hall then slammed him into the floor.
“You weren’t goin’ to say, easy, were you, sugar?” she said with a laugh as she yanked the kerchief from Hank’s wrist. “Don’t go gettin’ cocky on us, ya hear.”
Though Rogue and the Beast were fairly evenly matched in the strength department, they each had their advantages over the other. Hank was far more agile, and faster. Rogue, on the other hand, could fly. Neither would be much help in such close quarters. But before Hank could even regain his footing to go after Rogue, an explosive royal flush knocked her off her feet.
They rose at the same time, and Rogue dove at Gambit with a disgusted scowl on her face. The Cajun dodged her attack and slammed his right elbow into the back of her head. Before she could move he was sitting on top of her stomach like a schoolyard bully. He held a playing card, charged and glowing, half an inch from her left eye.
“Maybe you de stronger one, chere,” he taunted, “but Gambit is far more dangerous.”
Rogue still held the kerchief, and Beast was about to take it from her when he heard the crunch of glass in the hallway ahead of them, and realized he’d made a terrible mistake.
“You boys are getting sloppy in your old age,” Cyclops said, though there was no humor in his tone.
With a crackle of energy and the barest scent of sulfur, he blasted Gambit with a low intensity optic blast. Gambit cursed and slammed backwards into the Beast, throwing them both half a dozen feet and leaving the Cajun barely conscious.
“I ’preciate the save, Scott, but I coulda taken these two guys anytime I wanted,” Rogue said, and Hank wasn’t sure she was wrong. She was nearly indestructible, after all, an advantage he hadn’t considered a moment ago.
“You might have gone a bit overboard there, Slim,” Hank said, using Scott’s nickname from their earliest days under Professor Xavier’s tutelage. “Remy’s pretty shaken.”
“I’m fine, McCoy,” Gambit said angrily, getting shakily to his feet. “I don’ need you watchin’ out for me. Gambit’s a big boy, eh?”
Cyclops approached silently, then stopped next to where Rogue stood holding the kerchief. Her satisfied grin was the total opposite of his angry countenance.
“Game’s over, folks,” Cyclops said. “Gambit, you know by now that we don’t put our fellow X-Men’s lives in jeopardy, even in the Danger Room. We give no quarter in hand-to-hand combat, because we can’t afford to, but you could have blinded Rogue just now, or worse.”
In the relatively brief time Gambit had been a member of the X-Men, the Beast had become accustomed to his usual mod
us operandi. Whenever there was an uncomfortable moment, a question of his judgment or an incipient challenge from another member of the team, Gambit would play the innocent, using his incisive sarcasm to defuse the moment. This time, though, perhaps because of his nascent (if hesitant) relationship with Rogue and Cyclops’ suggestion that he might have hurt her, Hank could see that it wasn’t going to be brushed away so easily.
“I like you, Scott,” Remy began. “So I hope I only need to say this once, me. Just because you don’ have real control over your own power, don’ assume the same for me, vous comprendez? I don’ like it.”
“End program,” the Beast said aloud, and the tenement around them became sleek metal and plastic alloy. It began to deconstruct around them, lowering itself back into the floor and withdrawing into the walls. In moments, they were standing in a bare room that looked more than a little like a metal gymnasium.
Gambit strode to the door and slammed his palm against the lock release. As he left, Rogue turned to Cyclops.
“I understand your point, Scott,” she said calmly. “But you’re outta line. You know Remy wouldn’t do nothing to hurt me. And even if he did, I can take care of myself better than most of y’all. It’s only ’cause I know you’re worried ’bout your Daddy that I don’t get mad at ya myself. Maybe you should work out alone for a bit.”
Cyclops was quiet a moment, and Hank certainly wasn’t going to butt in. Finally, Scott said, “Thanks, Rogue. I appreciate the understanding and the suggestion. I still think Gambit was out of line, but I did overreact.”
“Don’t you worry none, sugar,”, she said. “I’m gonna have a little talk with Monsieur LeBeau.”
When she had gone, Hank turned to Scott and said, “I find myself decidedly cheered by the knowledge that my surname is not LeBeau.”
Finally, Cyclops smiled. “You and me both, pal,” he said and put a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Dial me up a solo session from the control room, will you? Something challenging.”
“As you wish, my friend,” Hank said, and went out the door and up the narrow stairwell that led to the Danger Room’s command chamber. Once there, he programmed a scenario that he knew would keep Scott’s mind off his father, and sat to watch a moment as his old friend worked out his anxiety and aggression.
When the door hissed aside and Professor Xavier slid in on his hoverchair, Hank was glad to see him.
“Ah, Henry,” Xavier said, “I saw that the Danger Room was in operation and thought I would take a few moments to observe whoever was training. I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“Several of us were training, Charles,” Hank replied, “but Scott seems to require some solitary time.”
“I see,” Xavier said, nodding.
“How do Raza and Ch’od fare? Any developments?” “Thanks to the Shi’ar technology in the medi-lab, they’re recovering quickly, particularly Raza,” Xavier said. “But they haven’t come around yet. You might want to look in on them yourself this afternoon.”
Hank nodded, then looked back out at Scott in the Danger Room.
“It’s peculiar, Charles,” Hank said. “Maybe I am growing old, but I never thought I would experience nostalgia for our old Danger Room training sessions. We spent so much time there, but now it’s mostly for exercise and sparring.”
“In those days,” Xavier replied, “training was a necessity. Unfortunately, these days it has become a luxury. How often are any of you actually here to use the room? I’m beginning to get empty nest syndrome, I think.”
“Oh, please!” Hank laughed. “There is ever a new generation of mutants who need you, ready and willing to take our places.”
“To join the cause, Hank,” Professor Xavier said with a fatherly smile. “Never to take your place. Nobody could ever take the place of any of you.”
“Not to be morbid, Charles, but one day that may be a necessity,” Hank said gravely. “Human society hates and fears us more with each passing day. Anti-mutant legislation is part of the campaign agenda for innumerable politicians, and it ensures votes. Even the liberals would prefer to focus on the quandaries of racism and sexism. Mutant bias is too volatile an issue.”
“I know it’s hard to believe, Hank, but we can make a difference,” Xavier said. “It’s when times are darkest that we have to fight the hardest not to let the dream of peace between humans and mutants disappear.”
Hank was about to reply when Bishop’s face appeared on the telecomm screen that was a part of the rear wall of the Danger Room’s command center.
“A Valerie Cooper on the line, Professor,” Bishop said. “She says it is priority omega, and that you would understand.”
Hank watched in concern as Xavier’s face became clouded with anxiety.
“Indeed I do, Bishop,” the Professor said. “Put her through immediately.”
A moment later, the face of Valerie Cooper, the liaison between the federal mutant strike force called X-Factor and the government, appeared on screen. She was an attractive woman, in her way, the Beast had always thought. Or would have been if it weren’t for the harsh way the woman’s hair was pulled back from her face, and the hard edge of her demeanor. At the moment, her voice and manner were even more intense than usual.
“What is it, Valerie?” Xavier asked sharply.
“A crisis, Charles, and one that you will likely want to be involved with. I’ve told the Secretary I would contact you for your advice, so I’ll need something to tell him. In the meantime though, you’ll want to scramble your team for Colorado.”
“Slow down, Valerie,” Xavier said. “What’s in Colorado? What on Earth is going on?”
“I’m keying in the coordinates as we speak, Charles,” she said. “We don’t know who’s behind it yet, because we haven’t been able to get inside. Someone has taken over the federal installation in Colorado where Operation: Wideawake is headquartered.”
“Are you telling me that someone is stealing your Sentinels?” Xavier gasped in astonishment.
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Valerie said. The Beast’s eyes widened and he said softly under his breath, “Oh my stars and garters.”
THREE
A web of lasers moved through the Danger Room, trying to pinpoint him, but Cyclops was completely focused, moving on sheer instinct. A trio of mini-missiles streaked around the room, trying to home in on him. He could easily have taken them out with an optic blast, but that would defeat the purpose of the program Hank had created for him.
A laser flashed from nowhere, newly added to the web, and he dodged to one side and rolled. He could hear the buzz of one of the missiles as it neared his back, but Cyclops wasn’t about to lose this one. A forward somersault brought him around to his feet and he vaulted into a dive that took him through the intersection of three slowly moving lasers. The hole was too small, and his shoulder was slightly scorched, but the little buzz bomb that flew after him was caught in the web and exploded.
Then there were two.
It didn’t matter that nothing in the Danger Room could really hurt him. Scott Summers had learned as a teenager that you always played for keeps. Which meant focus and discipline. As he moved through the program, he was able to push his concern for his father from his conscious mind, but that didn’t mean the anxiety wasn’t consuming his subconscious. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have overreacted after the Capture the Flag program.
This was different. This was his father. He’d already lost Corsair once, as a boy, only to discover years later that he was alive. Scott didn’t think he could handle it again.
A crackling hum filled the air. At the far end of the room, laser beams began to crisscross the floor, barely leaving a spot for even a child to put his foot down without getting burned. A wry chuckle escaped Scott’s lips as he glanced up toward the Danger Room’s command chamber. The Beast was really giving him a workout, just as he’d asked. Hank McCoy was an old friend, the best. He knew Scott as well as anyone except for Jean. He knew exactly what S
cott needed at a time like this. Distraction.
The laser grid shot across the floor, and Cyclops raced toward the other side of the room, dodging mini-missile buzzers and lasers at the same time. He didn’t have far to run, though. In a moment, there would be no floor to stand on. He wasn’t as agile as Hank, nor even Gambit for that matter, but he was no slouch. Still, unlike Archangel, he didn’t have wings, and that’s what he would need to avoid having some very singed ankles in about three seconds.
Cyclops looked up, hoping to find some kind of hand hold on the wall, but the current program had not allowed him that luxury.
Then he saw it. Through his ruby quartz visor, the otherwise invisible infrared beam was a shimmering phantom that crossed the room from the momentarily safe side to the already impassable areas. It seemed, Cyclops realized, to be the spine upon which the laser grid hung and intersected.
An observation, a moment, an idea. Cyclops turned and stood his ground. The grid advanced, shooting like wildfire across the floor, and the pair of mini-missiles converged on the spot where he stood.
Scott? came Jean’s telepathic voice in his head, through the psychic rapport they shared.
A moment, Jean, he thought in response, and then the missiles were buzzing toward his chest. Cyclops ducked, and before the missiles could respond to follow him, he grabbed them both mid-flight, hoping they would not simply explode in his hands. The little buzzers were powerful, but he used their own momentum against them, rolling forward on the floor and releasing them straight at the small opening from which the infrared beam issued.
They could not turn away, and the small explosion of their impact was enough to deactivate the infrared, shutting down the floor grid and leaving only the laser web that flashed through the room.
What is it, Jean? he asked as he awaited the program’s next challenge, for surely the lasers wouldn’t be enough to occupy him.
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