“That’s right,” Dukes said, still baffled by the X-Men’s behavior. “So come on an’ mix it up. I’ll hand all you jerks your heads this time around.”
“It ain’t gonna happen, Dukes,” Wolverine snarled. “See, we don’t have to fight you. All we gotta do is make sure we’re all faster than you. An’ I seen you runnin’, bub. No problem there.”
“You gotta be kiddin’!” the Blob shouted, understanding suddenly what they were saying. “You’ve gotta stay an’ fight me. I’m dangerous.”
“True,” Storm said. “But Magneto is our priority today.”
The X-Men turned and started off in the direction of the Empire State Building, moving at a good clip. Though he knew he had no hope of keeping up with them if they started to really run, and he was resigned to the idea of failure yet again, Fred Dukes started to move after the X-Men as fast as he was able.
Which wasn’t very fast at all. When he had gone half a block, they had gone two. He was so wound up in the chase, and in his disappointment, that he stopped paying attention to where he walked. His right foot landed on one of the eight by eight sewer gratings that ran along above the subway lines throughout Manhattan.
The grates were sturdy steel, but no match for eight hundred and fifty pounds, in motion and concentrated in the fourteen inches of flesh the Blob called a foot. The grating caved in, and Fred Dukes went with it, tumbling down into a darkened subway tunnel forty-seven feet below.
The only thing hurt was his pride.
The Blob looked up and down the darkened tracks. After a moment’s consideration, he headed south, in the general direction of Magneto’s headquarters, and hoped he’d find a subway station—and steps to the surface—before too long.
TWELVE
THE open-air observation deck that circumscribed the top of the Empire State Building had been closed to the public for years. Too many children, and immature adults, had dropped things off the building from there. A nickel or quarter dropped from that height might kill a human being. Too risky, the authorities had apparently believed.
Magneto had opened the observation deck, made it the seat from which he would survey his domain. And it was a glorious view, without a doubt. Everything below was tiny, insignificant, which Magneto felt was appropriate given the gravity of the decisions that would be made from this, his new aerie. Decisions that were already being made.
It had begun to come together quite nicely. Mutant recruits were pouring in by the dozen, both from within the city and from around the country. Soon, he expected to receive the first foreign immigrants, and he would welcome them with open arms. Their international citizenship would be an example for the rest of the world, an example of how to live in peace. But the humans would not have time even to learn from it, since Magneto planned to rule the rest of the world before long.
When the sun had risen, Magneto’s pulse had quickened with the spreading of the light. Office buildings gleamed in the distance, light glinted off the surface of the Hudson River. The sky was perfectly clear and blue, the kind of summer day from which memories were made. Magneto could see much of the city from his perch, could see several of the Sentinels he had positioned to keep watch over the mutant sanctuary, their deep purple armor shining.
Though his dream had always been to improve the world for his fellow mutants, as selfless a goal as any man had pursued, still he felt the swell of pride in his chest. It was not completed yet. There was still so much to do, so many obstacles to overcome, but it had begun. It occurred to him that he would need a name for the place. Manhattan would most definitely not do. His space station was Avalon. Camelot or Shangri-La would be laughably trite. Still, something simple, direct, would be best.
Haven. He could think of nothing more apropos.
Below, the many citizens of Haven were beginning to gather. The word was going out to the odd groupings that had sprung up around the city that there was to be an address by Magneto. By the emperor. He had wondered what kind of resistance there might be to his leadership. But, according to the Acolytes, other than some humans and, of course, the X-Men, there had been no open opposition. After all, there would be no Haven without Magneto.
Ah, but the X-Men. One of the obstacles he had been considering a moment earlier. Xavier’s students were vast in number, and yet only a handful had appeared to oppose the foundation of Haven. Magneto was both puzzled and somewhat alarmed by this. What might Xavier have planned, he wondered. It was possible the small group sent in advance was merely a diversion, to mask a greater, more ingenious attack.
It did not seem likely, given how far Magneto had already progressed with his plans. Xavier would normally have made his move already. But then, Charles had been changing of late, becoming somewhat unpredictable. It made him a more dangerous opponent. Not that Magneto was concerned. Merely curious.
Still, though there were only a handful of X-Men on hand, Magneto had long since learned that even a single follower of Xavier’s dream was enough to create serious problems. That was why they needed to be captured and made an example of as expediently as possible. The citizens of Haven needed to have their faith in Magneto bolstered by the realization that Xavier’s chosen path could only lead to failure.
First, though, he needed to capture the X-Men.
Magneto breathed deeply of the air, despite the pollution that clogged it. Wind whipped his white hair across his eyes and he felt a bit of a chill, though it promised to be a very warm day. There was much to be done. But he did not feel as though he could move forward until the nuisance of the X-Men was eliminated.
The wind carried a sound to him, then, a chittering noise as though a swarm of locusts was about to descend. It lasted only a moment. Then the gossamer, three-dimensional image of Scanner flickered into existence directly in front of him, suspended in the air many hundreds of feet above the street. “My lord,” Scanner’s projected image addressed him, performing a proper reverance with her hands to her forehead, then her lips, and finally her heart.
“Yes, Scanner, what news?” he asked.
“Mixed, I am afraid, lord,” she answered. “The team you sent out eliminated Iceman, who appears to be dead.
“They then confronted the other four X-Men, but were soundly defeated. Inadvertently, the Blob revealed our location. The X-Men are on their way here, and will arrive within minutes. They are, of course, attempting to be inconspicuous in their approach, but we have little time before their attack.”
“Excellent,” Magneto said happily.
“My lord?” Scanner asked, and the puzzled expression on her face amused Magneto greatly.
“It is almost over, Scanner,” he said. “Very soon, we will consolidate our gains, and move forward. And there won’t be anybody to stop us.”
“I am honored to play whatever small part I may in your grand design, lord,” Scanner said proudly.
“Scanner, please ask Voght to gather up Unuscione and the others,” he said. “Have those who are badly injured seek immediate attention, and assemble the others in the lobby. The X-Men will have a surprise waiting for them.”
Scanner shimmered and disappeared, even as a smile of real pleasure spread across Magneto’s features.
“I only wish I could see Xavier’s face,” he said. Then, for the first time in a long time, Magneto laughed.
* * *
“WHAT the hell are we doing here, Kevin?” Trish Tilby asked, somewhat rhetorically.
Trish had worked with Kevin O’Leary a dozen times, maybe more. He’d always been a pro, no matter what kind of crisis they were trying to cover for the network. But this was another story entirely.
“Well, I don’t know, Trish,” Kevin said, a caustic tone to his voice. “You tell me. Are we doing our jobs, or just trying to stay alive?”
A little of both, was how Trish wanted to respond. But she figured Kevin was too on edge to be anything less than argumentative, perhaps even hostile, so she kept her thoughts to herself. They were, indeed, doing
their jobs. In fact, there was no question that this was the biggest story either of them had ever covered, probably ever would cover. And from the inside, no less.
But that was also part of the problem. Though Trish had always been on the side of the angels where mutants were concerned, as liberal as they came, she had recently begun to wonder if there were not some truth to the argument that mutants, as a race, were dangerous to humanity. Now, with Magneto’s latest triumph, she was certain of it.
Certainly mutants were the next step in human evolution, and therefore by their very existence threatened the human race. But it was more than that. In the here and now, mutants were hazardous to the world’s health.
It shamed her that she would even consider punishing all mutants for the actions of a few, but the potential for death and destruction was just too high. If Magneto could be defeated, and the world recovered from this incident, there would be a host of politicians calling for mutant work camps, which Trish would find abhorrent. But there would also be calls for the forcible registration and tracking of all mutants, an idea that had been made law and repealed once before. She wasn’t sure where she would stand on that issue.
Her uncertainty bothered her deeply. The X-Men, the Beast in particular, had trusted her. Though she and Hank were no longer involved romantically, the change in her philosophy that Magneto’s actions had brought about made her feel as though she had betrayed them. Betrayed him. She had been their ally. Trish knew the X-Men were virtuous and necessary, and admired all that they stood for.
But they were constantly protecting humans from other mutants, essentially saving the world from themselves. Which only proved the danger they posed to humanity.
On the other hand, Trish wondered if her feelings, and the feelings of those so afraid of mutants, weren’t really based on the fear that humanity was going to die out soon. If humanity was making its next evolutionary step, what did that mean for their comfortable little lives and lifestyles?
“God, I feel so guilty!” Trish said aloud.
Not only did it seem to her as though she had betrayed Hank and the X-Men in her heart, but she and Kevin had become Magneto’s propaganda machine. Already they had sent half a dozen videotapes by mutant messenger to the network studio in Manhattan, where two producers and an anchor had apparently stayed on through the crisis.
Censored by Magneto, the material really was propaganda. They wouldn’t be able to tell the real story until they were allowed to leave his presence. They had no choice. At least, that’s what Trish tried to tell herself. In truth, she did have a choice. She could simply have said no.
“Hey, Trish, listen,” Kevin said, trying to assuage her anguish over the events of the past few hours. “We’re doing all we can to serve ourselves, our beliefs, and the public here. I know you’re worried about your buddy McCoy, but he and the X-Men have been through worse than this. They’ll be fine. And he would definitely understand …”
The air buzzed with energy and the holographic image of the Acolyte called Scanner appeared in the middle of the office space they had appropriated.
“Lord Magneto has commanded that you appear on the street in one hour, prepared to document his victory over the X-Men, and his first state of the nation address to the citizens of Haven,” Scanner said.
Then she was gone.
“Haven?” Kevin asked.
“Obviously where we live now,” Trish answered.
But that wasn’t the part that had piqued her attention, the part that had made her wince with painful regret. “Victory over the X-Men,” Scanner had said.
“Hank,” Trish whispered to herself. “Oh, God. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
* * *
OPERATION: Carthage was well under way. Surgical Ops Unit One made its way in stealth through the maintenance tunnel that ran parallel to the PATH train tracks. Several minutes had passed since they had moved directly under the invisible barrier set up around Manhattan island by the fleet of Sentinels at Magneto’s command. Major Ivan Skolnick felt like he’d been holding his breath for an hour.
Skolnick held up a hand, halting SOU1’s progress. They stood completely still, each of them listening for the mechanical whine that would signal a Sentinel’s approach, the crumbling of pavement and tons of soil that would give way under its attack.
One hundred and twenty seconds ticked by without incident. For good measure, Skolnick waited twice that time before signalling the team to move forward again. Not long after that, they were hustling into the World Trade Center PATH station, up two sets of escalators, and then out to the street.
By the time they emerged from the World Trade Center building, the sun had risen. It was strange to Skolnick. Most covert operations took place under cover of night. This was different, however. The freedom of the world was at stake. The future of Major Ivan Skolnick, his children, and their children hung in the balance. He would do whatever was necessary to safeguard that future.
“Major,” Sergeant Greenberg, the point-man, stepped up to report. “Firefight up ahead.”
“It’s time, then,” Major Skolnick said, and sighed, steeling himself for what was to come. “Let’s do it.”
* * *
THE Blob was considerably out of breath when he took the last step out of the subway station into the sunlight. It was warm on his face and neck, and he was already sweating. There was a light breeze, but it didn’t help. He hated the summer.
There was a sudden flash in front of him, accompanied by a brief burst of sound that reminded him of one time when Pyro had torched an old wooden footbridge, just for fun. He lifted an arm to shield his eyes, but it was over as soon as it had begun. Where the flash had been, Amelia Voght now stood.
“Time to go, Mr. Dukes,” Voght said. “I hope you’re in the mood for a rematch.”
Dukes grimaced.
“Am I in trouble?” he asked, knowing from experience just how much of a drag it could be to have Magneto pissed at him.
“In trouble?” Voght repeated, as if she had not understood the question. “Certainly not, Mr. Dukes. This is your country now, and it is your duty to defend it. You would only be in trouble if you did not do that. In any case, you are about to get another opportunity to beat the X-Men.”
“Yeah,” Dukes said, and nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
Before he realized it, the Blob was disappearing. Every inch of him.
* * *
“Y’KNOW, this might just amount to the craziest thing we’ve ever done,” Wolverine said grimly. “But I don’t see as how we have much of a choice.”
He looked around at his teammates and saw that each of them wore the same expression: one of fierce determination and somewhat reckless abandon. Bishop was fidgety, could barely keep his fingers from his weapon. Storm’s brow was creased, her voice firm, resolute.
“Whatever the odds,” Storm said sternly, “we may well be the world’s only hope against Magneto and the Sentinels. The job has fallen to us, as we have always known it would.”
“Let us be off!” the Beast said, attempting to lighten the mood by quoting one of his favorite bad movies, The Sword and the Sorcerer, which Wolverine had seen with him half a dozen times. “There’s a battle in the offing! We’ve got kingdoms to save and women to love!”
“Speak for yourself,” Storm said, and her harsh countenance crumbled in favor of a small grin.
They moved fast, rounding a corner a block away from the Empire State Building and hugging close to shop windows as they ran for the glass doors of the lobby. Wolverine felt the wind kick up around him, and didn’t have to turn around to know that Storm had taken to the air. He had point, with Beast and Bishop flanking him a few steps back and Storm above.
They expected opposition, and immediately. Like the Blob, most of that opposition would assume the X-Men were there for a fight. But they were there to take down Magneto, or remove him from Manhattan, and so draw the Sentinels away as well. Wolverine knew that the Beast and
Storm would both hesitate to kill Magneto if the opportunity arose. Under any other circumstance, Bishop might have been undecided as well, but if it meant preventing the future holocaust, he would kill Magneto in a heartbeat.
And Wolverine? Hell, he’d been waiting for the opportunity to pop a claw through Magneto’s skull for years. But they weren’t there quite yet.
“Suddenly, I think of Dante,” he heard the Beast mumble behind him as they hit the pavement and rushed toward the glass doors.
“You got it, bub,” Wolverine growled. “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.”
“Shouldn’t we have hit resistance already?” Bishop asked.
Nobody responded, but it was a thought Wolverine had already had. He imagined the others had as well. If this was indeed Magneto’s headquarters, Scanner, or some electronic surveillance, would surely have picked them up by now.
“It’s a trap,” he said, completely certain.
“Indeed,” the Beast concurred.
They did not slow down.
“Bishop, the doors,” Storm ordered from above.
In mid-stride, Bishop slung his weapon around front and let off a stream of concussive plasma bolts that shattered the long row of floor to ceiling windows and the revolving doors in a deafening crash that lingered like an infinite echo on the ear.
“There they are,” Bishop snapped, and Wolverine scanned the lobby again, eyes fighting to adjust to the differential between daylight and the interior shadow of the building.
The enemy had been spotted, all right. And sure enough they had spotted them as well. Inside the lobby stood the Kleinstocks and Senyaka, along with half a dozen unarmed combatants who were unfamiliar to Wolverine. New recruits, no doubt. That meant mutants.
“This could be a problem,” he snarled. “They got a bunch o’ rookies over there. We’re runnin’ into this blind. We got no idea what we’re up against.”
“It won’t be the first time,” Bishop said.
“We shall merely have to hope it will not be the last,” the Beast added.
Marvel Classic Novels--X-Men Page 45