Do or die, Scott thought, to himself this time, and if Jean heard him she made no reply.
He felt nothing, no trace of her influence, but Scott had absolute confidence that Jean’s telekinesis would both protect him from the infernal blast that would burst from the engine well, and catch him and drag him behind the ship as it got under way. He placed his life in her hands more completely than he had ever done before, and he did not give it a second thought.
Scott lay along the outside of the engine well and took a last look around. The stars seemed as distant from him here as they ever had from Earth. Still admiring the cold points of distant light, he grasped the edge of the engine well with both hands and pulled himself around, letting his legs drift out and away from the ship.
He looked up slowly, narrowing his eyes to peer within the engine well. Scott did not know what he had expected to see, but he was disappointed when his eyes found only darkness within the long metal alloy cylinder. Rotating his head to stretch his muscles, he heard a series of soft pops and crackling sounds from within his own body. He tried to pinpoint the exact center of the darkness ahead.
Then his eyes exploded in a burst of energy that would have decimated the ship had that been his intention. Never had Scott stored so much energy. Never had he cut loose with such total abandon.
There was a bright flare in the engine well as the engine converted the kinetic energy of his optic blasts and ignited, and a split second where the flame seemed to go sideways as it in turn ignited its twin. Scott had a moment to realize the flame was erupting toward him, and despite his confidence in Jean, he began to duck his head out of the way.
Propelled by the power that Cyclops had brought to bear on its engines, the Starjammer shot forward into space. Scott lost his grip in an instant and went limp just before his tether snapped taut, and suddenly the ship was towing him—for a moment. Then the tether snapped and there was a moment when the ship seemed to be leaving him behind. Suddenly, he was caught up in invisible hands, pulled far behind the ship by Jean’s telekinesis, at a distance which gave Scott cause for great concern.
His eyes hurt, so finally he closed them. His mind ached and he felt empty inside, drained as if he had been fasting for weeks. When he began to lose consciousness, he was dimly aware of having grown much closer to the ship, and of the sensation of motion.
When he felt Rogue’s arms embrace him, his eyes fluttered open for a moment, and through his pain and exhaustion, Cyclops felt a small smile fighting to be born on his lips.
Jean? he asked, floating on a sea of semi-conscious delirium. Jean, are we all right? Did we do it?
For a moment there was no answer, and even in his disoriented state, Cyclops began to be overwhelmed with panic. Then her voice appeared in his mind.
You did it, Scott. You did, she said. We’re going to be all right now. We’re going to make it.
The words were a jumble to Scott, but he got the general impression. Comforted, he allowed himself to slip down into unconsciousness once more. There was something nagging at him, a voice in his head warning him that it wasn’t over until they were back on Earth, but he pushed the annoying pessimist away and settled into Rogue’s strong arms.
His job was done.
TEN
EXCHANGE Place was awash with frantic humanity, from the media to the military to those who had fled the mutant empire. An almost palpable haze of desperation-derived energy surged in Jersey City, connecting person to person in a massive network of tension. Perhaps the single most powerful concentration of that tense energy was the stretch of pavement in front of the PATH station that served to separate the two sets of trailers and tents that had become the military and media camps—the former on Washington Street, half-out of sight, the latter in the plaza overlooking lower Manhattan.
The only thing occupying that lunatic focal point was the temporary trailer headquarters of Valerie Cooper. Gyrich had set his trailer up with the military personnel, but Val had been unwilling to commit to either side. Still, despite the bedlam around her, Val was calm. It was always safest at the eye of the storm.
“Ms. Cooper, are you insinuating that Mr. Gyrich has been attempting to obstruct you in the execution of your duties?” the Secretary asked over the scrambled vidcomm link he and Val had set up.
“I’m insinuating nothing, sir,” she said firmly. “I’m just telling you what happened exactly the way it played out. How you choose to read it is your business. However, we both know that Gyrich would be only too happy to obstruct me in the execution of my duties if he found an opportunity to do so.”
The Secretary frowned, and Val knew she had crossed the line again. It was damn hard not to, though, what with the parameters of propriety changing with every passing moment.
“Ms. Cooper,” the Secretary chided, “I will ask you, for the final time, to please remain objective during this operation. It is of the utmost importance that you and Mr. Gyrich put aside your mutual animosity and work to resolve this situation.”
Val lost her patience.
“Sir, with all due respect, I’d be more than happy to do my job and put aside my animosity toward Mr. Gyrich if he would simply hand over the Sentinel override codes, as he was instructed to do by the President himself,” she fumed, her tone edging into sarcasm.
The Secretary was not a forgiving man.
“Listen, Cooper,” he snapped, “I’ve had just about enough from both you and Gyrich. Maybe you’re missing this, what with your own little crises and all, but my ass is on the line here with every second this fiasco holds the nation’s, and the President’s, attention.
“You know as well as I do that Gyrich was ordered to cooperate with your mission, not specifically to turn the codes over to you. If you have the X-Men, and your mission is being held up by Gyrich, then he would be disobeying direct orders from the Commander-in-Chief. But you don’t have the X-Men, do you?”
Val did not respond.
“Do you?” the Secretary asked again, insistent.
“No, sir, not at this time,” she answered, reluctantly.
“Well, if you can produce them, and Gyrich doesn’t give you the codes, get back to me,” he said, exasperated. “Until then, I’m waiting for the President to decide upon a course of action independent of your earlier recommendations. That will probably be Gyrich’s play, and you’ll be out of it. You want a part in this, Cooper? You’d better get some mutants in your court, so we can have a go at the Sentinels. Otherwise, stop wasting my time!”
Val sat in stunned silence inside her trailer as her vidcomm unit flashed a blue screen, indicating no source of input. She was out of it. The only way to convince the Secretary otherwise was to explain that they could contact the X-Men telepathically and provide them with the codes. But that would mean allowing the X-Men control of the Sentinels without herself or another government official monitoring them, and the Secretary wasn’t likely to go for that. It would also mean letting the government know that Professor Charles Xavier was himself a mutant. And Xavier wasn’t likely to go for that.
Sure, there were other mutants. But Magneto’s vision was alluring, and she could not trust that any of them would be unmoved by it. She did not even trust the X-Men completely. Just the most. Other than her X-Factor team, of course. But they were out of the—
What they were, Valerie suddenly realized, was her only hope.
She typed in a command code on the vid-comm controls, then an override code, and finally an eyes-only destination code. The blue screen turned to white noise, hypnotic static, and there was a high trilling sound that she knew came from the other end of the connection. Suddenly, a face snapped into view amidst hissing static. The picture was distorted, but the identity of the man was unmistakable. It was the leader of X-Factor, Alex Summers, also known as Havok.
“You picked a hell of a time to call, Val!” Havok shouted to be heard over the sounds of explosions and gunfire in the background. “We’re in the middle of a firefight. I hop
e it’s important.”
“It’s important, Alex,” Val said firmly.
Alex Summers was a brash young man, and Val had never really gotten along with him. However, like his brother Scott, better known as Cyclops of the X-Men, Alex was a born leader. Not only did he have the raw instinct, but there was a certain charisma about him that demanded loyalty. While Havok had not ever really attempted to hone his skills in the way that Cyclops had, nor had he ever become as grave as Scott often was, he was a firm believer in Xavier’s dream.
And X-Factor was definitely a part of that dream. With the anti-mutant sentiment at an all time high, it was important for the public to see that the federal government was willing to work with mutants. X-Factor’s job was to capture outlaw mutants for the government. It was equally important, however, that they simply exist as a government-sanctioned operation. Part of Havok’s value was that he understood both parts of the job.
“We’ve got a major situation here, Alex,” Val said. “Like nothing else we’ve encountered. Have you heard anything about it?”
“Val, gimme a break, will ya?” he said gruffly. “We’re in the middle of the latest outbreak in a seemingly endless civil war. X-Factor is about the only thing keeping the two sides from slaughtering each other during peace negotiations. I’ve been fighting for days! I’m not exactly near a TV set, y’know!”
“Okay, relax,” she said. “Look, all I want to know is, how soon could you get out of Genosha if you had to?”
“You mean, if we decided to let it all go, to let chaos tear Genosha apart? Just up and left?” he said, astonished.
“If that’s what it takes, yeah,” she responded. “How long?”
“Three to six hours, depending on Lorna’s wounds and how badly our transport was damaged,” Havok said grimly. “But I mean it, Val. Tomorrow, maybe they won’t need us this bad. Right now, though, with the UN dragging their heels, we’re the only thing holding Genosha together.”
“Plus, it would take another ten hours for you to get here,” she said, thinking aloud. “Damn.”
“What’s that, Val? I couldn’t hear you. What’s our next move?” Havok asked.
“Stay put, Alex,” she said finally. “But as soon as your presence isn’t absolutely vital, get back here. And be prepared to withdraw immediately on my command if it gets too hot here.”
“What is it, Val?” Havok said. “What’s going on back there?”
She considered telling him, but thought better of it. Knowing Alex Summers, it was completely possible he’d say the hell with Genosha and evac immediately. Which, despite the country’s crisis, would have been fine with Val if she thought it would make a difference. But sixteen, even thirteen hours, would very likely get them there too late to make a difference.
“Just stay put, Havok,” Val said curtly. “Let me worry about it.”
Valerie Cooper stood, ran a hand over her blonde hair where it was tied back in a tight ponytail, and stepped to the door of her trailer. When she stepped outside, she noticed a glow in the eastern sky and realized that dawn was not far off. She wasn’t sure if that would make things easier or more difficult for what was to come.
The first order of business, however, was to acquire the Sentinel override codes. Val was certain that her original plan was the only one with a prayer of succeeding without massive loss of life and property damage. Perhaps the only one with any hope of succeeding at all. Otherwise, Magneto might very well achieve his dreams of empire. No, she had to get those codes.
One way, or another.
* * *
FOR many years, Charles Xavier had been repulsed by the manner in which the media vultures feasted on the helpless, dying form of America. As night wore on toward morning, Xavier’s throat had become parched and sore from incessant talking. Just as swiftly, his sense of moral justice had become, if not dulled, then most certainly numbed by the overwhelming cynicism of the media. It wasn’t just repulsive anymore, it was damned depressing.
Only Annelise Dwyer, of all the gathered journalists, had not lowered herself to pander to the fears and prejudices of the nation. Though, admittedly, given the atmosphere created by the agitated military presence, much might be forgiven of those tempted toward confrontation. Xavier had always had a respect for the military—indeed, had willingly served in the Army in his younger days—tempered by knowledge and common sense. He only hoped that there were people in charge who did not share the blind fervor of zealots like Henry Peter Gyrich.
As he wheeled his chair away from his latest interview—with E! Entertainment Television of all things—the psi-web that emanated from him at all times picked up angry thoughts with himself as their focus. Xavier nonchalantly turned his wheelchair, as though recalling something he needed to do, toward the source of those thoughts.
Val Cooper stalked toward him, filled with righteous anger and a visible sense of plan or purpose.
“Professor Xavier, we need to talk,” Ms. Cooper said.
“I am at your service as always, Valerie,” Xavier responded. “Shall we go to your trailer?”
Cooper looked at him oddly for a moment, and Xavier caught a hint of amusement in her thoughts. Without prying further, he understood. It had crossed Val’s mind that observers, media or military, might believe himself and Valerie to be involved in some kind of affair, that they were sneaking off on a lovers’ tryst. Xavier stifled a smile, for he did not want Cooper to think he was reading her thoughts without her consent. And it had been a momentary, whimsical thought.
He didn’t have to read her mind to know Cooper realized that it was more likely they would be suspected of some conspiracy than of any intimacy. She was lithe, blond, and powerful. He was bald and crippled, and no matter how handsome he might or might not have been, gossip was not likely to center around a potential relationship between them. Such were the assumptions of the world. What bothered Charles was the reason for the assumptions, not the assumptions themselves. For it was true, he could never be involved with Valerie. But that was because he was sworn to another, not because of his handicap.
“What is it you want, Valerie?” he asked as they neared her trailer. “I sense great turmoil in you.”
“What, you mean our current situation isn’t cause for turmoil?” she said with heavy sarcasm.
“It’s more than that,” Xavier prodded. “What’s on your mind?”
“It’s what’s on Gyrich’s mind that concerns me, Charles,” Val said, letting out an exasperated sigh.
They reached her trailer, and an awkward expression crossed Val Cooper’s face.
“Charles,” she said. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking—you can’t get that chair into my trailer.”
“I know,” he answered. “I just thought this was the most secluded spot for us to have our conversation. Please continue, you were saying something about Gyrich.”
“Well, you know our plan can’t go ahead without the X-Men, and Gyrich loves that,” she said. “It’s going to give him a chance to get back in the good graces of the President and the Director of Wideawake. You see, there has been no attack order, but I don’t think Gyrich is waiting for the order. I think he’s planning to send a small squad in on his own. That was his original plan.”
“Even if he does that,” Xavier reasoned, “it is very possible that he has been given an unofficial order to do so. Such things are very popular amongst politicians who have ardent supporters but do not want to take responsibility for the actions of those supporters. It’s become par for the course in American politics, I’m afraid.”
“My point exactly,” Val countered. “I’m afraid. And I don’t think there is anything I can do to stop him.” “Even if we get the codes from him, we cannot communicate them to the X-Men without Gyrich coming too close to the truth,” Xavier said, speaking what he knew were Valerie’s greatest concerns.
“That’s what I’ve been dealing with,” she acknowledged. “But I want to go ahead and do it anyway. We’ll get the cod
es, get them to the X-Men, and hope they can wrap this whole thing up before Gyrich starts a bloody civil war with his fascist tactics.”
Xavier was perplexed.
“I’m sorry, Valerie,” he said. “Perhaps I misunderstood. How is it that you plan to get these codes?”
“I’m not going to, Charles. You’re going to have to get them.”
Immediately, Xavier understood.
“You want me to infiltrate Gyrich’s mind, find the codes and pluck them out, is that it?” he asked.
“That is precisely it,” she admitted. “It’s the only way.”
“Then there is no way,” Xavier said coldly. “As you should know from the many years we have been acquainted, Valerie, I simply do not do things like that. I will not enter someone’s mind without their consent unless I am required to do so for purposes of self defense.”
“Don’t you see, Charles,” she pleaded. “This is self defense! If Magneto wins, you are sure to be hunted down eventually.”
“That’s not the way it works, Val,” he snapped. “It is against everything I stand for. I simply will not do it, and you should know better than to even ask.”
Cooper fell silent, but Xavier could see from the determination smoldering in her eyes that though the conversation was at an end, the topic would most definitely come up again. He did not relish the thought. There was a line he had set up for himself as a young man, when he had first discovered his abilities. He had crossed the line several times in his life, each with disastrous results.
The most painful had come when his blossoming relationship with Amelia Voght had come to a sudden end. Agonizing over her planned departure, he had psionically commanded her to stay. It had lasted only a moment, but that betrayal of Amelia, of himself and of his ethics had ended any chance they might have had at reconciliation.
Now Amelia Voght was one of Magneto’s most trusted Acolytes. Charles Xavier knew that many of his students, and myriad other people he had come into contact with over the years, considered him nearly perfect, infallible. If only that were true, he thought. To them, he was Professor X, more than human, above pain and error and all the petty things that make up a human being.
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