Marvel Classic Novels--X-Men

by Christopher Golden

  Unuscione charged at her, roaring. Amelia readied for the assault, just as Magneto entered the room.

  “Enough!” Magneto commanded. He lifted his hands and Amelia felt herself plucked from the ground by his magnetic power, as if she were nothing more substantial than a child’s doll. Unuscione also was lifted from her feet, and the two women glowered at one another as Magneto slowly lowered them back to the floor on opposite sides of the table.

  “I trust, Voght, that this is the ‘conversation’ that you had planned to have with Unuscione, and that it is now over,” Magneto said evenly as he looked first at Amelia, and then Unuscione. “However, in the unlikely event that there are any among us here who still do not understand, let me make something completely and ultimately clear.

  “Regarding field excursions, or any battle situation where I am not present and specifically in command, Amelia Voght’s orders will be noted and obeyed by each and every one of my Acolytes,” Magneto said, meeting their eyes one by one and finally letting his admonishing gaze rest on Unuscione. “Should I learn otherwise, should any one of you balk at these instructions, you will be severely chastised. If that is not completely clear, speak up now, and I will try to say it more plainly.”

  No one spoke. Though Amelia was tempted to smile, she fought the urge. Though there was satisfaction in her victory over Unuscione and Magneto’s rebuke, the Empire Agenda took precedence over all individual concerns. Magneto seemed to think Amelia above such petty things as vengeance, and she did not want to give him reason to think otherwise. Not that it would matter. She had no doubt that her conflict with Unuscione was far from over. The woman had been humiliated in front of her comrades. No matter what Magneto said, Unuscione was stubborn and ignorant enough to seek revenge.

  Frankly, Amelia was glad. If she didn’t kill Unuscione first, Magneto would get around to it eventually. Unuscione would leave him no choice.

  “Now that I have your attention,” Magneto said, some of the tension leaving his face, “I would like to introduce you to three new Acolytes, the first to be recruited from the growing mutant population of Manhattan. Two of them have fought at my side before, and were, in fact, well acquainted with your father, Unuscione. While we have had our differences in the past, I am pleased to welcome them, and their ally, to their new home.”

  Magneto stepped aside, lifting his hand with a dramatic flair that Amelia was surprised to discover in him.

  “Mortimer Toynbee, alias, the Toad,” Magneto said, by way of introduction. The man who entered the room then was familiar to Amelia only by way of his reputation. The Toad was perhaps five and a half feet tall, though it was difficult to tell for certain from the way he crouched. His posture and his face both reminded Amelia of Quasimodo, for Toynbee was far from handsome. Though his super-powerful legs allowed him to leap great heights and distances, they were also perfectly suited for murder.

  Once an object of ridicule, the Toad had developed a new reputation of late, that of a merciless criminal who loved nothing more than to bring pain to his enemies. Amelia was surprised, to say the very least. She knew for certain that Exodus, the guardian of space station Avalon, had rejected the Toad from the list of candidates for citizenship on Avalon for various reasons including his deviousness and doubts about his potential loyalty.

  That Magneto would take him in now only served to further illustrate two things that Amelia had come to understand only recently. The first was that Exodus did not necessarily know Magneto’s every whim. The second was that Magneto’s plans for his mutant empire on Earth were far more vast than his original concept for Avalon.

  And if the Toad were here, Amelia could guess who was next in line. For Toynbee rarely went anywhere in recent years without …

  “Frederick J. Dukes; alias the Blob,” Magneto announced.

  Just as Amelia had suspected, and yet, having never actually met Dukes, she was stunned by the size of the man. To get inside the room, the Blob was forced to duck his head and lean the top of his body through the door, then turn sideways and shuffle the rest of his bulk to squeeze through the frame. Dukes must have been nearly eight feet tall and Amelia judged by his sheer girth that he might weigh as much as nine hundred or one thousand pounds. He was incredibly strong, and according to his modern myth, immovable. If the Blob was in your way, you weren’t going anywhere.

  Immediately upon entering the room, the Blob set his gaze upon Unuscione, who seemed to shudder visibly at his attention.

  “You’re her, ain’t’cha?” the Blob asked. “I can tell just by lookin’ at ya. You’re Carmela Unuscione. I knew yer father, chippie. Me an’ him was buddies. He was a hell of a guy. Just thought you’d like to know that.”

  “I, uh,” Unuscione began, stumbling for a response as she looked around at the questioning glances of her comrades. Amelia Voght knew that she herself was staring, watching for some sign of a heart and soul in a woman she believed had none.

  “Thanks,” was all Unuscione said, but the Blob, Dukes, merely nodded in response.

  Amelia was fascinated. It seemed Unuscione had a heart after all, or at least had had one until her father’s death. As far as Amelia could see, the only thing the other woman cherished was the memory of Angelo Unuscione, the man who had become known as Unus the Untouchable.

  “Finally,” Magneto continued, “their long-time partner, a man not very familiar to me, but whom I am certain will come to be a great asset to our cause, St. John Allerdyce. More commonly known as Pyro.”

  Amelia had seen Pyro on television, back when he and the Blob were both members of Freedom Force. Of the three new arrivals, she believed he would be the most effective within the Acolytes’ already-established battle etiquette. The man’s curly blond hair flowed over the top of his mask, as bright in the dark room as the nearly gaudy yellow and red costume he wore. He was relatively tall, nearly six feet, but rail thin, almost sickly looking. Still, he didn’t have to fight with his mastery of fire. Pyro had a reputation for flash and braggadacio, but Amelia had an idea he could back it up.

  “Right, then, ’ello there all,” Pyro said, his Australian accent obvious but not overpowering.

  Cargil stepped forward.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Allerdyce,” Cargil said, with more warmth than Amelia had ever seen her exhibit or, in truth, ever believed she might possess. “My name’s Joanna Cargil, and I’ve read all your novels. I really enjoyed them, but I wish you hadn’t stopped writing.”

  “Me, too, love,” Pyro said, his charm nearly tangible. “But, y’know, things ’ave been a bit busy lately.”

  Cargil and Pyro laughed together, and Amelia shook her head in amazement. She thought about all the other mutants who were swarming in and around Manhattan at that moment, about the potential for power that existed if they were all to actually join together under Magneto’s banner. Finally, it struck her.

  Magneto was not merely attempting to create a mutant empire.

  In effect, he already had.

  * * *

  THE Beast had been gone only a few moments when Bobby Drake decided he didn’t want to walk anymore. What was the point of being Iceman if he didn’t take advantage of the few perks his powers offered? At least, that’s the way Bobby figured it.

  With barely a conscious thought, an ice platform grew beneath his feet, and Bobby stopped walking. He drew in the moisture from the air around him and froze it beneath that platform. By constantly replenishing it, he propelled himself along. Bobby called this mode of travel his “ice slide,” but in truth, he wasn’t sliding at all, merely standing still and letting his powers do their job. His speed depended upon his level of concentration and effort, and he had yet to test its upper limits. For now, he was in no rush. The other X-Men were supposed to catch up with him, and he did not feel any overwhelming desire to face Magneto on his own.

  Bobby’s eyes flicked back and forth from the horizon to the mini-Cerebro tracking unit he held in his icy fingers. He was the run
t of the litter as it was; the last thing he needed was to slam himself into some building because he wasn’t paying attention. Yet he found it difficult not to stare at the digitized face of the tracking unit. Mutant energy signatures were recognized by Cerebro and signified on the tracker as blinking green dots. Since they had landed in Central Park, the number of green dots on the screen had increased dramatically.

  But what drew Bobby’s attention so powerfully was the red tinge that glowed at the top of the screen. While the original Cerebro unit, back at the Xavier Institute, had the energy signature of every known mutant programmed into it, the mini-tracker had space only for one target signature at any given time. They had, of course, programmed it to track Magneto in particular, and mutants in general. The red glow told Bobby what direction to go in order to locate Magneto. At least, until they got within a certain range. Then …

  The tracker emitted a low, quick beep. Bobby ducked to avoid getting clotheslined by a flagpole that jutted from the granite face of an aging hotel, then looked down at the tracker. The red tinge was gone. Instead, near the center of the top of the screen, a single dot blinked a glowing red in a sea of green dots.

  “Magneto,” Bobby whispered, slowing his progress and finally coming to a halt. He stood on a beam of ice twenty feet above the pavement, staring at the screen of the tracker.

  “What now?” he asked himself, aloud. The answer was quick in coming: not a damn thing. He was going to contact the other X-Men on his comm-badge and then sit and wait for them to join him before he moved another foot. Bobby Drake may have acted the fool at times, but he assured himself at that moment that he was not fool enough to dare Magneto’s defenses on his own.

  Bobby sighed and looked around for a relatively inconspicuous place to wait. There was a sudden electric crackle, like mosquitoes frying in one of those backyard bug zappers his parents always had back home. But it was the sound of something else, too, something it took him a moment to recognize.

  “Unuscione!” he called, making her name a curse.

  Iceman dove from his ice slide even as the vicious Acolyte slammed an extension of her psionic exoskeleton down on the spot where he’d stood a moment earlier. The ice shattered into a thousand glittering shards and rained down with him as he fell. Utilizing his years of training with the X-Men, in the Danger Room and in real battle as well, Bobby tucked his legs beneath him and spun around in midair. When he thrust his legs out again, he had already created another ice slide beneath them.

  This time, it carried him away at a great clip. He had blown the X-Men’s presence in Manhattan by allowing Unuscione to get the jump on him. He had …

  “Whoa, camel,” Bobby muttered to himself as his escape slowed.

  Unuscione had attacked him alone. He’d beaten her in Colorado the previous evening, and he could do it again if she was by herself. And if he could catch up with her before she reported back to Magneto, they might still make a surprise attack.

  Already, he had made a U-turn and was speeding back to the spot where Unuscione had attacked him, glancing warily from side to side.

  “You’ve come back?” Unuscione asked in astonishment, and shook her head with amusement. She stood in the center of the street, as if it were high noon in an old Western town. “You’ve got more guts than I would have given you credit for, Drake.”

  “Not at all,” Iceman said as he slid down to the pavement to stand opposite her, fulfilling the Western shoot-out image he had concocted. “In fact, considering how badly I whupped your ass about twelve hours ago, I’d say you were the one showing surprising courage.”

  “Arrogant fool,” she sneered, and then Bobby heard that frying insect noise again and tendrils of green energy shot from Unuscione’s body, quickly forming a force field of armor around her. “You’re going to die here, and you’re making jokes?”

  “Why are people always trying to kill me?” Bobby asked whimsically. “I’m such a nice guy.”

  “Nice guys finish last, Drake,” another female voice said, off to his left.

  Bobby turned to see who had spoken and Unuscione chose that moment of distraction to attack. He leaped out of the way of her blow just in time, but looked up only to see the Acolyte called Cargil, an attractive, muscular black woman with a killer right hook, racing toward him.

  “Oh, please,” Bobby said.

  His confidence was growing. Bobby had defeated Cargil before as well. If he could keep the two of them distracted for a couple moments, he thought he might actually be able to beat both of them simultaneously. Iceman froze the ground in Cargil’s path, and the woman’s feet slipped out from under her. Her weight and momentum sent her sliding out of control, and Bobby whipped up an ice shield that acted as a curved ramp, turning and lifting Cargil until she was flying through the air, directly at Unuscione.

  Unuscione wasn’t playing games, however. With her psionic exoskeleton, she batted Cargil out of the air. Her fellow Acolyte was sent sprawling several yards away, where she landed hard.

  “Oh, Drake, I do so wish I was behind you right now,” Unuscione said, and snickered in a way Bobby found extremely unattractive.

  “Right here? In front of everyone?” he laughed. “Not at all,” she sneered. “You’re not my type. I’d just love to see your face when you turn around.”

  I’m not going to fall for it, he vowed. I’m not going to …

  “Oh, hell,” he said, and chanced a quick glance behind him.

  He couldn’t even get an ice shield up in time to block the Toad’s attack. The little man, whom Bobby had always despised, leaped toward him and slammed his feet into Bobby’s chest. Something cracked in there, and Bobby hoped it was only ice as he sailed backward across the street. He slammed through a picture window, and was immediately on his feet, despite the pain in his chest.

  With one instant of concentration, he melted and refroze whatever had snapped within him. One of the benefits of being made out of ice. He hesitated to think what might happen if he was ever really shattered, but he couldn’t help entertaining the thought at the moment. For the Toad wasn’t alone. As Bobby stepped back into the street, he faced five opponents.

  He might have been able to beat Unuscione and Frenzy. He might have been able to beat the Toad as well. But the Blob and Pyro too? Not a chance in hell.

  Miraculously, he had held on to the tracking unit and he quickly thumbed the comm-link button from his badge, which he had affixed to the tracker rather than to his icy self.

  “Iceman to X-Men,” he said swiftly. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Pyro said, his cockiness and his Australian accent grating on Bobby’s nerves as always. “We’ll have none o’ that.”

  The mini-Cerebro unit melted in his hands from a burst of Pyro’s flame. Bobby whipped up an ice shield to protect himself, and then thought better of it. He let the shield drop, then poured on a barrage of icy projectiles. Pyro had no problem melting them, but it at least would keep the man busy while Bobby thought of something else.

  Then he had it! If he could just freeze the flame thrower units on Pyro’s back, there wouldn’t be any fire for the madman to control.

  Which would have been fine, he realized, if he were only fighting Pyro.

  Unuscione’s psionic exoskeleton expanded, lifting a huge electric green arm to crush him where he stood. Bobby could have stopped her, could have frozen the air inside her exoskeleton again, but that would have left him open to attack from Pyro. He leaped clear, but when he looked up, the Toad was already there. The troll-like mutant kicked him in the face, and Bobby stumbled backward, a ringing in his head.

  Cargil and Unuscione were behind him, Pyro and the Toad in front. He tried to slide out from between them, and ran directly into the blubbery belly of the Blob. Fred Dukes grabbed Iceman by the arms and lifted him off the ground. Dukes was huge; Bobby had forgotten exactly how huge. There was no way to move him.

  “Let go!” Bobby shouted, and froze the moisture over the Blo
b’s eyes.

  Fred Dukes screamed, and dropped Iceman to the pavement. Even as he turned to face the others, Bobby knew he’d lost. Cargil’s fist connected with his face, and Bobby Drake hit the pavement with a crack.

  For a moment, the Iceman stared up at his enemies, and then the night melted away into a deeper darkness. After that, there was nothing.

  NINE

  THE moon shone brightly over Jackson Square, in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Cathedral bells rang and the smell of chicory coffee wafted out over the cobblestone street. It all seemed to hit Jean Grey at once, as if waking up from a dream, or entering one. An old sax man on the corner played Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five.” The clip-clop of hooves drew her attention to the horse-drawn carriages nearby.

  Jean couldn’t see yet just what it was, but something was missing. Something was disturbingly not right about the scene around her. Still, she could not afford to delay. She had one goal in coming here, and that was to discover whether Gambit had suffered any permanent neurological damage from his electrocution, or from Archangel’s paralyzing wing-knives.

  As she walked down Decatur Street, Jean peered into narrow alleyways, scanning the darkness, searching for Gambit. She heard the slap of her own boots on the pavement, smelled spicy Cajun cooking from a nearby restaurant, and was momentarily startled when a street-corner brass band launched into “When the Saints Go Marchin’ In.”

  A radio blared the Neville Brothers’ “Fiyo on the Bayou” from a small barber shop, perhaps to counter-program against the brass band, who were rather sloppy, truth be told. On the sidewalk in front of the barber, a wizened old black man sat on a rocking chair. His eyes met Jean’s and, though he didn’t wave or nod or even smile, there was a twinkle of a greeting there that made her feel a little more solid, a little less surreal.

  Other than the barber, for Jean assumed it was he, there were very few people on the street. A handful of folks going about their business, though it was relatively early in the evening. Then it hit her, what had been missing before, what had bothered her. She took a close look at a couple walking by, hand in hand, swaying drunkenly but determined to remain linked together. A bespectacled old woman with an ugly hat and patched canvas bag rode by on a bicycle. Up ahead, a pair of slim dangerous-looking men conversed at the mouth of an alley.