Marvel Classic Novels--X-Men

by Christopher Golden

  Bishop’s arrival couldn’t have been better timed. A true warrior, the man walked in silence. Even Wolverine’s hyper-sensitive ears might have had trouble picking up the noise of Bishop’s footfalls, but there was no disguising the individual human scent, which Wolverine picked up long before he reached the den.

  “About time, Bishop,” Wolverine said without turning around, even as Bishop stepped into the room.

  “We are nearly ready to depart, Logan,” Bishop began, with a military stiffness that had been drilled into him long before he joined the X-Men. “Professor Xavier has asked that we all join him in the ready room immediately.”

  “Like I said,” Wolverine replied, “it’s about time.”

  The two men walked together down the marble corridor of the Xavier Institute, and Wolverine could not help but notice his teammate’s sullenness. Nor could he blame him. Though all the X-Men had cause to fear Magneto’s actions, to fear the deployment of the Sentinels—even though they were being used against humans rather than mutants, as was their original intent—none had more cause than Bishop.

  Though the most recent addition to the team, in a way Bishop had been an X-Man his entire life. For, in truth, his life had not yet begun. He was a man of the future, born in a time when the X-Men were the stuff of legend and the Sentinels had first destroyed the modern society that the X-Men knew, and then ruled what was left of the world. When Magneto had fled the Colorado site of Project: Wideawake with the Sentinels earlier that day, Bishop had begun living a waking nightmare. His face had the haunted look of a holocaust survivor, for in many ways, that was the truth of it.

  Wolverine wanted to reach out to Bishop, to offer support. But, except in very extreme circumstances, it was not in his nature, just as it was not in Bishop’s nature to request, or accept, such support.

  They walked in silence to the ready room, where the others had already gathered. Fully half the team was away, on a mission to save Cyclops’s father, Corsair, from execution, but the others remained. Not much of a force to contend with what Magneto had put together, but it would have to do.

  “Logan, Bishop, please be seated,” Storm said. “The Professor ought to be with us momentarily.”

  Wolverine nodded and slid into a chair. They all seemed preoccupied, even Storm, who shared field leadership duties with Cyclops, and was therefore the current leader of the team.

  “I’m getting a little tired of waiting around,” Iceman said, unusually somber. “If we had stopped Magneto in Colorado, none of this would be happening now.”

  “There it is, then,” Professor Xavier said as he glided into the room in his hoverchair. Though he was forced to use a wheelchair in public, Wolverine had observed that he spent more and more time in the hoverchair while at the Institute. And who could blame him? For a man who couldn’t walk, floating was far easier than manipulating a wheelchair.

  “I’m sorry, Professor,” Storm responded, eyebrows raised, “but where is what?”

  “What Bobby said, about stopping Magneto in Colorado,” the Professor explained. “It’s been haunting all of you. I may be the most powerful telepath in the world, but you don’t need to read minds to see how it has affected you.”

  The Professor hovered at the head of the table. Wolverine felt Xavier’s gaze fall on him, then move on, to each of the gathered X-Men. Storm was to Xavier’s left, and the usually verbose Henry McCoy, a.k.a. the Beast, to his right. Wolverine sat opposite him, with Iceman to one side, and Bishop to the other. That was it. The six of them against Magneto, the Acolytes, and an army of Sentinels. Or five, really, since the Professor was not likely to take part in the actual battle unless absolutely necessary. The world still did not know that he was a mutant, and it had always served the team’s purposes for things to remain that way.

  But Bobby was right. If they had stopped Magneto in Colorado …

  “Stop it,” Xavier said curtly. “You cannot blame yourself. Not only because you are not responsible, but because it will affect your performance in the battle to come. I have yet to receive any communication from Cyclops’s team. It’s up to you.”

  “Charles,” the Beast spoke up. “In light of the odds stacked so precipitously against us, I trust you will permit me a trifling inquiry as to our strategy. That is, do we have one?”

  Xavier grimaced, looked around the table slowly, then back at the Beast.

  “I’m working on it, Hank,” he said finally. “I’m working on it.”

  TWO

  “JESUS, Trish,” Kevin hissed at her side, “he’s seen us!”

  “Just keep rolling tape, Key,” she responded in a whisper. “Don’t let me down.”

  Less than fifty yards from where Trish Tilby stood, the Acolytes had just murdered two people. Their leader, Magneto, one of the most feared men in the world, had then joined them. Almost immediately, Magneto had seen her and Kevin at the edge of the park. Now Trish waited, not breathing, for Magneto to act. She expected pain, some form of swift retribution. Perhaps even death.

  What she did not expect was the way he smiled, and the charming little laugh he gave as he used the magnetic force of the Earth to lift himself from the ground and float toward where she and Kevin stood paralyzed with fear. The two Acolytes, one of whom Trish recognized as a woman named Amelia Voght, followed on foot, obviously awaiting their leader’s instructions as to how to deal with the presence of the media.

  “You really got us in it deep, this time, Tilby,” Kevin whispered to her through clenched teeth. And she couldn’t argue.

  “Well, well,” Magneto began, “what have we here?”

  Trish flashed back, for a moment, to old man Gaines, who ran the country store in the small New England town where she’d grown up. Magneto’s manner and tone were eerily reminiscent of the pleasant old fellow, long since passed away. Mr. Gaines would smile brightly at her whenever she came in with her Dad. He would pat her on the head and give her a piece of licorice and then, instead of turning to business with her father, he’d spend a few minutes actually conversing with her. She’d never forgotten it, that paternal curiosity and kindness.

  Connecting Magneto with Mr. Gaines made Trish want to puke. But she couldn’t help it.

  “I knew it was only a matter of time before some intrepid member of our media tracked me down,” Magneto said happily. “With a city as devoted to news and entertainment as New York, you would have thought some of the press would have stuck around to cover the story. But if they’re here, they’re not looking for an interview.”

  The other Acolyte, the cowled man Trish now remembered was called Senyaka, remained with his head slightly bowed. Their friendliness was disarming. Even more so, it was disturbing.

  “Wait just a minute,” Magneto said, eyebrows raised. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? You are one of the locals, the woman who covers the so-called mutant crisis. Perfect. What was your name again, Ms.—?”

  “Tilby,” she said calmly, coldly. She wasn’t going to let the man’s strength of character overwhelm her. Though she finally understood the expression, “cult of personality.”

  “Of course,” Magneto said effusively. “Trish, isn’t it? Trish Tilby?”

  Trish stared right into the man’s face, past the handsome features and the winter white hair, locking her gaze on the blue-gray eyes but ignoring the distinguished way they crinkled into tiny crow’s feet at the edges. She pretended not to notice his regal bearing, the almost armor-like quality of the crimson and deep purple uniform he wore.

  “That’s right,” she answered. “And you are?”

  She heard Kevin’s sharp intake of breath behind her as the mutant conqueror’s smile disappeared. The warmth leached from Magneto’s face in an instant, like a glaring light that had not been turned off, but burnt out. He licked his lips, and Trish felt the strength of his personality in another way. There was a real, tangible danger in every breath this man drew.

  “And I am?” he asked slowly, no mockery in his tone, bu
t certainly in his manner. “Not amused, to begin with. Not amused at all.”

  Trish looked past Magneto to see that Senyaka was glaring at her with hatred for her affront. The red-headed woman, Voght, was shaking her head in bemused astonishment.

  “I had imagined you a relatively intelligent woman, Ms. Tilby,” Magneto said. “If I was mistaken, perhaps you would care to leave the city immediately. On foot, like the rest of the human cattle whom I have allowed to depart.”

  She almost turned around then. Almost ran screaming in terror, the fear of death driving her to take whatever risk was necessary to escape. Though he was not pulling at her physically, Trish could imagine the mental urging that Kevin must have been focusing on her at that moment. But after a second, she knew she wouldn’t run. It was the story. Sadly, her job defined her life, and getting the story would define her job. But there was more to it than that. She couldn’t run from such malevolent actions.

  “You’ll have to bear with me, Magneto,” she said, lifting her chin. “I’m afraid I’m not really used to dealing with tyrants whose thugs murder innocent civilians before my eyes. Maybe that’s par for the course for international war correspondents, but it’s just not been part of my experience up to now. I suppose I’ll have to get used to witnessing atrocities.”

  Magneto’s right eye twitched with barely controlled fury and he seemed about to scream, or strike out at her. Then he let out a long breath, half sigh and half deflation, and nodded pensively.

  “You shame me, Ms. Tilby,” Magneto admitted, and Trish didn’t know whether to be stunned or incredulous. “What do you know of my history?” he asked.

  It took her a moment to realize what Magneto was referring to, and then it hit her. He was a Jew. As a child, Magneto had seen his entire family destroyed by the Holocaust. She remembered that from Magneto’s abortive appearance before the World Court.

  “I’ve read your dossier,” she answered. “Your past gives me even greater reason to be—”

  “I have seen more atrocity in my life than any one man should ever have to endure,” he said. “When I was but a child, my family was murdered, because we were Jews. Throughout my adult life, I have been persecuted because I am a mutant.

  “I will not allow it to continue,” he said, leaning forward and staring at her with those intense slate eyes.

  “I do not condone murder,” he said, more calmly. “Even in self defense, or in the pursuit of greater justice, the taking of life, even human life, sickens me.”

  Magneto laid a fatherly hand on Amelia Voght’s shoulder, though the woman did not look at him. For a moment, Trish wondered whether the gesture was as paternal as she’d thought, or if there was some romantic involvement there.

  “But this is war, Ms. Tilby,” he continued. “There are casualties in war. I believe I have been more than fair in my edicts. No one who conforms to my law will be harmed in any way. In point of fact, the quality of life for those who remain within the city will likely improve. Those who do not want to live under my rule are free to leave.”

  Magneto took his hand from Voght’s shoulder and leaned his head back, looking regally down on Trish. She could almost feel the arrogance that emanated from him, and yet, she also sensed that there was every reason for him to be arrogant.

  “You are free to leave as well,” Magneto said. “Or, you may stay and get the ‘scoop’ of your career. You and your cameraman may record anything you wish, and I will see that it is taken by courier to your employers for broadcast.”

  Trish looked at Kevin, trying to gauge what was going through his head. The cameraman had never been as career-oriented as she, but surely he could see the possibilities. At the same time, they both had to recognize the dangers involved.

  “How about it, Kev?” she asked, and he did a double take, as if he was startled she would even ask.

  “Trish, if you think for a moment I’m gonna back your action here, you’ve gotta be—” Kevin began.

  “Before you continue,” Magneto interrupted, “I should mention that, if you decide to leave, you will not be allowed to do so the same way you came. For humans, Manhattan is a no-fly zone. That you were able to get past the Sentinels’ perimeter at all is a minor miracle. No, if you’re leaving, you’ll be on foot like all the other human emigrants.”

  Magneto raised a hand and looked past them, then. Trish followed his gestures, turning to see that their helicopter had lifted above the trees of the park several hundred yards north and was now moving slowly toward them. It was not in flight. It was being moved by Magneto’s power.

  “No!” Kevin said suddenly, and Trish held up a hand to stop him from saying or doing anything rash.

  “Our pilot, Billy, is probably still on board,” Trish said by way of explanation. “If you detest murder as much as you claim, you won’t kill him as part of a simple exercise.”

  Magneto nodded, turned his right hand in the air, and the helicopter flipped on its side in the air. After a moment, the door popped open and Billy slid his legs out, then quickly dropped, cursing, to the park below.

  “Holy—,” Kevin hissed angrily.

  Then they watched in astonishment as the helicopter seemed to implode, crushed into a ball of screeching metal like an empty beer can in a huge invisible hand. A ways away from where Billy had leapt out, the helicopter thudded to the ground.

  Speechless, Trish turned to Magneto, who stood imperiously awaiting her reply. Without consulting Kevin again, she gave the only answer she could think of.

  “We’ll stay.”

  “Excellent,” Magneto said, smiling again. “Now go and see that your friend is unharmed, and if he wishes to remain with you. Then return here and we will all move on. There is much to be done before daybreak.”

  With an enormous relief that they were to be allowed out of Magneto’s presence, even for a few minutes, Trish turned to follow Kevin back into the park, searching for Billy.

  “Just a moment,” Magneto said, and her stomach lurched. “The camera.”

  Kevin handed it over, as silent as Magneto’s two Acolytes, who had quietly observed the proceedings without comment. They were well trained, or very frightened of their leader.

  Magneto passed a hand over the film cartridge, then returned it to Kevin.

  “You might want to rewind and start again,” he said. “The tape is now blank.”

  “What?” Kevin asked, obviously pissed off.

  “You said we could record anything we wished,” Trish reminded him.

  Magneto’s face remained impassive.

  “Almost anything.”

  * * *

  DURING her years as a member of the X-Men, Ororo Munroe had established a reputation for extraordinary calm during battle. That was part of the reason that Charles Xavier had made her co-leader of the team. Ororo, also called Storm, had learned patience as a child thief on the streets of Cairo, Egypt. Now, though, her patience was wearing very thin.

  And clearly, she wasn’t the only one.

  “What is all this waiting?” Bishop snapped, pacing across the room with military stride, as he’d been doing for nearly twenty minutes. “What does Professor Xavier expect to gain from speaking with the government? It is their hatred of us that caused this crisis to begin with!”

  “Bishop,” Storm said, “we’re all on edge here, but let’s not forget that those Sentinels would still be sitting in a silo in Colorado if Magneto hadn’t hijacked them.”

  Bishop turned to her angrily, about to issue some sharp retort she was sure, but then his features softened and he shook his head. Storm knew that look. It said that she didn’t understand, that none of them would ever understand. And she knew, as well, that it was true.

  “You’re right, of course,” Bishop said. “But for how long, Ororo? For how long?”

  The room was quiet for a moment. At the window, Wolverine stood looking out at the night. He didn’t tap his fingers, or his feet. He didn’t hum. He didn’t pace. Wolverine was a hunter, a
nd though he lacked patience, and might voice his annoyance, he would never physically give himself away.

  Bobby Drake was his opposite. He still sat at the table where they had met with Professor Xavier, but he was rapid-fire-drumming the Lone Ranger theme on the table with the fingers of both hands. From time to time, he would sigh, or mutter to himself. Storm couldn’t help but smile as she watched him in her peripheral vision. For Bobby, this behavior was amazingly restrained.

  Hank McCoy was another story entirely.

  “No matter what the government concludes, we cannot linger here,” Hank said hurriedly as he bounded from his chair to stand beside Storm. “The longer we tarry, the more mutants enter Manhattan, the stronger the opposition grows. Time is of the essence, Ororo.”

  “Do not think for a moment that I disagree, Hank,” Storm said. “But without the Professor’s approval, I don’t think we should go anywhere.”

  “Indeed,” the Beast said, obviously frustrated but not arguing. He reached to an intercom switch on the wall, and snapped it on.

  “Time is wasting, Charles,” he said without preamble. “We must depart at once.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Xavier’s voice came back, filtered into the room through the speaker, and the Beast looked back to Storm with an apologetic shrug.

  “I am aware that this assemblage has never been a democracy,” he said. “But at times, there are certain imperatives of logic that must be addressed.”

  When the door hissed open to allow Professor Xavier entrance, Storm could not have been more relieved.

  “Finally!” Bishop exclaimed, as they all gathered round the table once more.

  “What news, Charles?” Storm asked, and Xavier hesitated only a moment before answering.

  “None, I’m afraid,” he began, and held up a hand to forestall interruption. “Valerie Cooper is meeting with the President as we speak, attempting to get authorization to officially work with the X-Men for the duration of this crisis.”

  “Come on, Professor!” Bobby said angrily, leaping to his feet. “There’s no way in hell our old buddy Gyrich is gonna let that happen. Yeah, maybe we’re feeling pretty down about what went on in Colorado. But this is a whole new scenario. Every minute that ticks by just makes it harder to put an end to this thing.”