Marvel Classic Novels--X-Men

by Christopher Golden

  They were all locals. There were no tourists here, though New Orleans was a city that thrived on tourism.

  One of the dangerous men up ahead turned slightly to one side, and in the darkness Jean could see the glint of red in his eyes, like flaming coals burned in their sockets. It was Gambit, but not Gambit. He was not in costume, did not even have the long brown duster that she had come to associate with him. No, this was not Gambit but Remy LeBeau, the man inside her comrade in the X-Men. This was Remy LeBeau of the New Orleans Thieves Guild, whose reputation preceded him into every back room in New Orleans Parish. Thief, rogue, troubleshooter, troublemaker.

  Remy noticed her, finally. Quickly, he grabbed the elbow of the man he was speaking with, a man who seemed familiar to Jean though she could not see his face. The two of them disappeared into the darkened alley, and Jean quickened her steps to catch up with them.

  She turned the corner into the alley, never slowing. There was movement ahead, in the darkness, and she followed. She had nothing to lose now. He knew she was here.

  “Remy,” she said, finally speaking, “I need to talk to you.”

  Then the darkness swallowed her, an inky blackness that seemed to wash over the alley, making brick walls and trash dumpsters disappear into an ebony void.

  “Remy?” she asked the dark. “Why are you doing this?”

  Receiving no answer, Jean knew that her only hope of finding Gambit was finding the light again. She turned back the way she had come and began to run, paying no mind to the trash cans and other refuse she knew would be underfoot. She heard something behind her, and stopped short.

  “Jean,” she heard Remy say, directly over her shoulder.

  She turned, and enough light had come back so she could see again. Remy stood there, in costume now, fully suited up in the garb he had worn from the day Storm first brought him to the X-Men. He held his bo-stick in front of him casually, but she knew how quick he was with the weapon.

  That knowledge didn’t save her. Gambit lunged quickly, bringing the stick up in a diagonal blow that struck her across the forehead with a solid thud. Jean fell.

  * * *

  JEAN Grey’s eyes snapped open and her head rocked back as if the blow had been real. And in a sense, it had been. A blow struck on the astral plane, even by one who was not an adept in such areas, could often be as painful as a flesh and blood attack.

  She looked down at Gambit’s prone form in surprise. Almost as if on cue, his eyelids began to flutter. For the first time since he had been electrocuted on the planet Hala, Remy LeBeau was truly awake.

  “Well done, Jeannie,” Archangel said behind her. “He’s out of it.”

  “Jean …” Gambit croaked, his voice low and gruff from unuse.

  Jean bent closer to hear what he had to say, her ear only inches from his lips.

  “What is it, Remy?” she asked tenderly.

  “Keep outta my head, chere,” he rasped. “Girl could get hurt in dere.”

  Then his eyes closed again. This time, however, Jean knew that Gambit was merely sleeping. He would recover completely, would in all likelihood have no more physical problems than a little stiffness when he awoke again. His mind was fine as well, as healthy as ever. But there was clearly something, or any number of things, he desired to keep private, even on a subconscious level.

  Jean felt a little guilty, though she had acted only out of the most benevolent motivations. She felt like she had been prying. At the same time, she could not help but be curious about the secrets that Gambit kept hidden from them all. She considered these things for a moment, or two. Then Corsair interrupted her thoughts, and their dire situation erased any thought of Gambit. His secrets were his to keep once again.

  “Jean,” he said, and she turned to face him, noting as she always did the similar features Chris and Scott Summers shared, a similarity only she had noticed the first time they had all met.

  “What is it, Corsair?” she asked. “How is Hepzibah?”

  “Recovering nicely, thanks,” he answered. “In fact, she’ll be up in a short while. Raza’s another story, though. His arm’s out of commission for a while. And you, how’s your head?”

  “It hurts, but I’m fine,” she assured him. “What’s happening outside?”

  Corsair sighed, his lips pressing together to form a slim line of regret.

  “It’s not good, Jean,” he said finally. “Ch’od and I have been talking to Scott over the comm-link, and we all agree that there’s only one way we’re going to get out of here.”

  “We’re not going to like this, are we Corsair?” Archangel asked grimly, standing by Jean and placing a firm hand on her shoulder. Jean was glad Warren was there. The nearness of friends always added strength.

  “No more than I do, Warren,” Corsair answered. “The warp drive is completely trashed. We’re not going to get it going again. If the sun doesn’t fry us in this big tin can before then, our life support systems are going to run out eventually, and we’ll all suffocate on our own breath in here. I’ve done some tinkering in the back, and despite the fire before, the hyperburners seem to be functional …”

  “That’s great!” Archangel said, obviously elated. “So what’s the problem?”

  “The computer is fried is the first problem,” Corsair explained.

  “Isn’t there a way to repair that connection outside?” Jean asked, still not understanding what the problem was.

  “That’s what we’ve been trying to do, that’s what Raza and the others were doing when we had that misfire,” Corsair explained. “It’s a no go. And now that additional damage has been done, we can’t even jump-start the hyperburn engines from the outside.”

  “So, in essence what you’re telling us is that the engines are working fine, we just can’t get them to start,” Jean said, shaking her head in disbelief at their predicament.

  “Well,” Corsair said, obviously uncomfortable with whatever more he had to tell them.

  “We don’t have time for discomfort, Corsair,” Jean said irritably. “What is it? What do you want us to do?”

  “Ch’od and I believe that the hyperburners can be directly ignited,” Corsair said finally.

  “Oh, that’s marvelous,” Archangel said. “What do we do, crawl up inside the propulsion system and light a match?”

  “Close,” Corsair said. “We think that Scott’s optic blasts at full bore can do it.”

  Jean was speechless.

  “I know you’re not thrilled with this idea, Jean,” Corsair said quickly. “I don’t blame you. But we’ve talked it over, and it’s our only hope. With you protecting him from the hyperburners themselves, dragging him outside the Starjammer until our momentum has relaxed enough that Rogue can bring him inside, well … it’s all we’ve got.”

  “Corsair,” she said softly, shaking her head, “Chris … you’re his father.”

  “Don’t you think this thing is tearing me apart?” Corsair suddenly shouted. “Don’t you think I’d go out there and do it myself if I could, that I’d do anything I had to not to have to heave my boy out into space again? Come on, Jean, give me a goddamn break! Scott and Alex are all I have, being their father is the one great thing I’ve done in my life!

  “I know what I’m asking!” he shouted, poking at his own chest hard enough that Jean could hear the hollow echo inside his rib cage. “But it’s all we’ve got, dammit. Otherwise we’re all going to die out here.”

  Jean stared at Corsair a moment, unable to think of the words to express her regret, her fear, her doubt that she could hold her lover’s life in her hands again without crumbling. Her eyes met his, and she saw all of those things in him as well.

  “Chris, I …” she began, but then Corsair took her in his arms and held her in a suffocating embrace, and Jean could say no more.

  After a long moment, Jean broke the embrace and looked around the main cabin at the sleeping forms of Raza, Hepzibah, and Gambit. She looked at Warren, who bit his lip and nodded slo
wly. She barely noticed at that moment that his skin was blue. To her, with that look of concern and grim acceptance, with the intelligence and caring she saw in his eyes, he was Warren Worthington as she had always known him. They were friends. They were a team. They were X-Men. That meant more than Jean could ever put into words.

  “Tell me precisely what we need to do,” Jean said as she turned back to Corsair.

  * * *

  “I must be out of my mind,” Scott Summers said, shaking his head in nervous anticipation. “What kind of fool sticks his head into the engine of a starship?”

  “You must really have the jitters, Slim,” Archangel said, again calling Scott by his teenage nickname in a transparent attempt to lighten mood. “In the field, you never let on that you’re nervous.”

  “That’s different, Warren,” Scott said. “When I’m leading the team, I’ve got to keep morale up or we won’t be at our peak.”

  “But now, since it’s just you, the hell with morale, right?” Archangel said, grinning.

  “If I could pacify myself with a little pep talk, Warren, I’d gladly do it,” Scott said, somewhat harshly, then began to grin as well. The grin turned to a laugh and he rolled his eyes heavenward. “God, maybe you should just burn me up now, save me the trouble of going out there again.”

  Archangel stopped smiling, and a moment later, Scott did as well. It wasn’t funny at all, he realized. Particularly comments about burning up. It was nearing one hundred and twenty five degrees inside the ship, and the temperature was rising rapidly even with life support systems trying to compensate for their nearness to the sun. If his effort failed, they were unlikely to come up with another plan in time.

  But there was more to it than that. Even if he could get the hyperburners to fire up again, and the Starjammer and her crew were able to return to Earth, there was no guarantee that he would be on board when it landed. Or even if he would be alive.

  “How do we get ourselves into these things, Scott?” Warren asked soberly.

  “We do what we have to, old friend,” Scott responded gravely. “Which I guess answers my question about what kind of fool I am. The kind that does what needs to be done, just like all the X-Men, and maybe a lot of civilians as well.”

  “Not enough civilians, Scott,” Archangel said. “Most people know what needs to be done, but they wouldn’t dare attempt to do it themselves. I’ve got to hand it to you, Scott, because there are a lot of courageous people who wouldn’t even attempt what you’re about to do.”

  “Thank you, Warren, that makes me feel so much better,” Scott said, trying for levity again, but failing miserably.

  “What I’m trying to say, Scotty, is that, well, I know we’ve given each other some grief over the years, but you’ve always set the example for me. I’ve always had great ambitions, things I wanted to do or learn to better myself. Most of what I’ve aspired to are things I’ve observed in Professor Xavier, and in you, Scott,” Archangel said sincerely. “I just thought you should know that.”

  “Thanks Warren,” Scott said, with some discomfort. “That means a lot.”

  Several seconds of silence ticked by, then Archangel put out his hand.

  “Good luck,” he offered.

  Scott shook his old friend’s hand, and considered once again the utter insanity of the job before him. It wasn’t the space walk that bothered him, or the fact that he would be alone outside the Starjammer. In many ways, it wasn’t even the fact that he would be forced to jump-start the hyperburners with his optic blasts, risking having his head and shoulders incinerated in an instant.

  It was what came after. Sure, Jean would have a hold on him with her telekinetic power, but the Starjammer would be moving at extraordinary speed. The odds were stacked up so high against Jean being able to hold onto him that they might as well be zero. And even if she could, Rogue still had to leave the ship during its hyperburn and try to bring him in. After all, the pressure would be tremendous and it was highly unlikely that he would remain conscious.

  In some ways, that was good. Scott wasn’t sure he wanted to be conscious in that moment when the destiny of everyone aboard the Starjammer was decided.

  You’re thinking too much, Scott, Jean’s mental voice whispered in his mind. As much as I wish I could, we both know there isn’t any way I or anyone else is going to talk you out of doing this crazy thing. Perhaps that’s for the best, otherwise we die here. My real fear is that, if you fail, then we won’t even be able to die together.

  Are you trying to cheer me up? Scott asked in his mind, and he could sense Jean’s amusement on the psychic rapport that they shared.

  “Jean’s here,” Scott said aloud, and he and Warren both turned to see Rogue and Jean entering from the gangway.

  “Y’all ready for this kamikaze mission?” Rogue asked, with a sarcasm her Southern upbringing would have called sass.

  Despite her tone, however, Scott could see she was unnerved by the prospect of their plan. Still, it was not as if any of them had a choice. If any of them, Scott, Rogue, or Jean, had been killed on Hala, or disabled somehow, or had Rogue or Jean not chosen to come along on this trip, then they would not even have had a chance of survival. The people aboard the Starjammer would have had to simply sit and wait to die.

  But there was a chance. And Scott Summers would be damned if he didn’t make good on it.

  Scott was suited up for the space walk just as the others were suited up in case there were a sudden loss of life support systems. He said nothing as Jean approached and leaned her helmet against his own. Through layers of fluid force shield and ruby quartz, their eyes met briefly. Jean’s face reflected the resolution he had sensed in her mind.

  I love you, she said in the intimacy of their psi-link. Always have, always will.

  Always is an awfully long time, Scott thought, and he saw Jean smile.

  It better be, Jean answered.

  “Time to go,” Scott said, and the moment of tension that had frozen the four X-Men in place collapsed, leaving only action in its wake.

  Scott entered the airlock and turned to face the small window as it sealed him out of the main body of the ship. Through the tiny portal, he could see Archangel heading away, back toward the cockpit, where he and Ch’od would share piloting duties while Corsair watched over the injured. Jean and Rogue stood close together, both attempting to smile, both failing.

  The airlock was sealed, and Scott attached his lifeline to the clamp at the edge of the outer door then latched it to the belt of his suit. The oxygen in the airlock was cycled out into space, depressurizing the compartment. Otherwise, when the outer door was opened, he would have been blown out at a velocity so great it might have snapped his line. The door slid open, finally, and Scott drifted out into space, using his fingers to find hand holds on the door frame and then the hull of the ship. He scrabbled over the outer hull of the Starjammer, and headed for the engines.

  Are we sure this makes sense, Jean? he asked in his head. I mean, we spun out of control when only one engine fired before. Aren’t we just going to have the same problem? I know that was the warp drive, but they use the same ignition sequence.

  Ch’od doesn’t think so, she answered through their psi-link. With the small repairs he already made outside, and what he’s been able to do in the cockpit, igniting one of the hyperburn engines should immediately ignite the other. The propulsion system was offline before, so that didn’t happen.

  And it’s online now, right? Scott asked, and sensed a hesitation in Jean that was far from heartening. Jean?

  It’s online at the moment, Scott, but Corsair says it’s liable to cut in and out, depending on the way the emergency systems reroute power. They’re doing all they can.

  That’s all I can ask, he thought, and moved on.

  As he crawled out to the starboard leg of the ship, toward the engine well, Scott kept Jean apprised of his progress. The sun was on the opposite side of the ship, but its glare glinted off the Starjammer, brigh
t enough to distract him even through the face shield and ruby quartz visor he wore. He was alone, the vacuum of space around him, no one and nothing for infinite miles of space other than his family inside the ship. Jean’s voice, even her presence, in his mind was the only comfort he had.

  Even that was disappearing, however, as Scott began to develop an agonizing headache. A red mist of energy seemed to spill from his eyes and out into space through his face shield. They were so close to the sun that he had passed his potential to store energy, yet he didn’t dare let off an ounce even to relax the pressure in his head. He would need every bit of power to ignite the hyperburners.

  He thought once again of the people within the Starjammer, of how they represented his entire life. His father, lost to him as a child and rediscovered as an adult. Jean and Warren, members of the first X-Men team, which became his family when he was only a teenager. Gambit and Rogue, brash young reminders of how difficult it was to make love stay in a world that hated and feared mutants so explosively—not to mention, in Rogue’s case, what a barrier those mutant powers could be to interpersonal relationships. They were more recent additions to the team, especially Gambit, and perhaps Scott saw a bit of his future as he looked at them.

  If he had a future. But with or without him—even if none of them survived—the X-Men and everything they stood for would continue. When he realized that, an inner calm seemed to grow within Scott. Any trace of nervousness disappeared as he finally reached the engine well. He would do what was required of him, the only thing he could do, in an attempt to save his father, his comrades, his lover. He would do his best. Beyond that, there was nothing. The silence of space was no longer intimidating, but rather, it had become serene in its power, sublime in its apathetic immensity.