Marvel Classic Novels--X-Men

by Christopher Golden

  Now they hung suspended by their arms, legs, and torsos by clamps and cables forged of an adamantium alloy he had never seen before. Wolverine wondered how long the Beast had been awake, trying to work out a solution to their dilemma. He hoped Storm and Bishop would come to shortly, for a number of reasons—not the least of which was that he wanted to be certain that Storm, his old friend and the team’s field leader, was not badly injured.

  “We’ve languished in this fabricated dungeon for several hours. It’s midafternoon, if I have made an accurate calculation,” Hank elaborated. “How Magneto contrived to deploy this equipment so promptly is anybody’s guess, but I suppose it indicates precisely how well prepared for the X-Men he truly was.

  “Plainly, we are in either the basement or another sublevel of the Empire State Building, where Magneto has established his headquarters. Storm and Bishop are breathing fine, and ought to awaken presently. Otherwise, you’ll all have to stop calling me ‘Doctor’ McCoy.”

  “What about you, Hank?” Wolverine said. “How are you feelin’?”

  “Better than you, by all appearances,” the Beast said, feigning a levity he clearly did not feel. “Although, if I could devise a plan of action, I would undoubtedly feel far better. It doesn’t help to know that elsewhere in this structure, Trish Tilby is collaborating with the enemy.”

  Wolverine didn’t respond to that. Over the years he had learned when it was better to say nothing. After a moment, however, he sensed that there was something else bothering the Beast, something haunting him even more painfully than the seeming betrayal by his old flame, Trish Tilby.

  “Hank?” Logan asked.

  The Beast hesitated.

  “It’s Bobby,” he said after a moment. “If Magneto and company are to be believed, Iceman is dead.”

  Wolverine’s entire body began to grow cold and still. His lip curled back from his pointed incisors and his nostrils flared. Logan glanced around again at the apparatus within which they had been imprisoned, then turned his head to face Hank once more.

  “We’ve got to figure a way out o’ here,” he growled. “We’ll find Bobby, Hank. Don’t give that a second thought. We’ll find him, and we’ll take Magneto down hard, once and for all.”

  * * *

  ALONG a hallway lined with windows looking down on Haven, Amelia Voght walked with pride, excitement in her every step. It was really happening. Magneto and the Acolytes, Amelia chief among them, had forced the world to begin a fascinating metamorphosis. In her secret heart, she had always imagined that, once they conquered Manhattan, the island would be completely devoid of humans. Which would have been both triumph and failure. Yes, they would have their own government and security. But Magneto’s intention had always been for mutants to rule humanity, not destroy it. Voght had privately doubted it was possible.

  On this day she changed her mind.

  Manhattan had been transformed into Haven, and there were still many humans in the city; humans prepared to live under whatever terms Magneto might dictate. Voght knew it was only a beginning, that fifteen percent would not be enough if the Mutant Empire were to spread across the globe. But when they began to see the inevitability of Magneto’s rule, the other eighty-five percent would realize that obedience and death were their only options.

  Of course, Haven was not yet secure. The United States was still on the fence, trying to decide what course of action to take. The only concern Amelia had was the potential for a nuclear strike. If they could sneak nukes in, catch Magneto unaware, the humans might actually destroy Haven. Aside from that, Voght figured they had it all wrapped up. And, after all, no matter what the threat, there was going to be an awful lot of resistance to the idea of turning Manhattan into Hiroshima.

  At the end of the hall was a small reception area. Warm pastel-colored couches matched the prints that hung on the walls. Vertical blinds filtered out the glare of the afternoon sun, and nearly half a dozen potted plants drooped lazily, likely thirsting for the water which fortune had denied them that day.

  Three men and a woman waited for her there. One of the men, an aging Latino, paced expectantly. Voght thought he must be the police commissioner, Wilson Ramos. The other two men, one white and one black, sat on a pale blue couch, whispering and gesturing frantically to each other. The woman stood, hands clasped behind her back, looking through the vertical blinds at the city, and the Hudson River beyond.

  “Deputy Mayor Perkins?” Voght asked.

  The woman turned to face her, and Voght was surprised at how unruffled she looked. Maxine Perkins looked great for a woman who was, at the very least, in her early forties. More importantly, despite the stress she was under—the mayor had abandoned his city without a thought; exit, stage left—Perkins managed to look more angry than frightened.

  “That’s me,” she said. “Where’s Magneto?”

  Voght smiled.

  “Something funny?” Perkins asked, herself not amused.

  “Most people would not be so eager to encounter our new ruler,” she said.

  “Can’t imagine why that would be,” Deputy Mayor Perkins responded. “He’s always so willing to compromise.”

  This time, Amelia laughed. This might actually turn out to be entertaining, she thought.

  “My name is Amelia Voght,” she said. “I suppose you could call me Magneto’s lieutenant—or deputy, if you prefer. Now, if you are prepared, I will take you to him.”

  “Um,” one of the men on the couch mumbled, as they all stood to follow her, “what do we call him?”

  “Magneto,” she said. “Lord Magneto. Mr. Lehnsherr. I don’t know, really. I don’t think he’s taken on a title of leadership yet.”

  “I have a few things to call him,” Commissioner Ramos hissed.

  Voght stopped in her tracks, forcing the others to do the same behind her. She sighed and turned to face Ramos.

  “Mr. Ramos, I say this as pleasantly as I can,” she began. “You would do well to remember that, as of this day, Magneto is the only law this island knows. He is not in favor of the death penalty, but that does not mean he does not see its uses.”

  Ramos blanched, and said nothing more as they approached the massive oaken doors of the office Magneto was using as a meeting room. It was not nearly magnificent enough for the position he now held, at least not in Amelia’s opinion, but it would do for now. The two other men, who Voght assumed were city officials under the deputy mayor’s control, followed along in silence.

  Before they reached the office, they passed a small conference room where Unuscione and several other Acolytes were working on a running census of Haven’s mutant population. New arrivals were processed quickly, then asked to be patient as abandoned homes were found for them. Those with real power, particularly Alpha-level mutants, were moved into the Empire State Building temporarily and became novitiate Acolytes.

  Unuscione stood in the doorway, a sneer of disgust on her face as Voght passed.

  “Playing receptionist today, are we, Amelia?” Unuscione said. “That’s appropriate.”

  Voght did not reply. Still, she knew that the final confrontation between herself and Carmela Unuscione could not be put off much longer.

  Arriving at the office, Voght rapped twice, hard, on the oaken door, then pushed it open and stood back for the visitors to enter. Magneto stood with his back to them, a pose indicating how paltry was his concern that they might offer some threat. In one corner, Major Ivan Skolnick, the American operative who had revealed himself to be a mutant when he defected to their cause, stood vigilantly by.

  Magneto turned, resplendent in his regal purple-and-crimson uniform and flowing cape. Without the helmet he wore during battle, his silver-white hair fell around his shoulders. He looked benevolently upon the newcomers and lifted his arms in welcome.

  “Come in,” he said. “Please, sit, make yourselves comfortable.”

  “Why are we here?” Maxine Perkins asked.

  “Ah, a woman with little patience
for small talk or courtesies,” Magneto said, beaming at her appreciatively. “Excellent.”

  Voght was a bit surprised, both at Perkins’s audacity and Magneto’s amiable reaction. But the world had changed, hadn’t that been what she’d been thinking minutes ago? Indeed. It was changing by the moment.

  “Still,” Magneto said, still smiling at his guests, “please do sit. We’ll all be more comfortable that way.”

  The four officials settled into comfortable chairs arranged in front of the massive mahogany desk. Magneto stepped behind the desk, but did not sit. Instead, he leaned over it, palms on its gleaming wooden surface, and welcomed them warmly once again.

  “I’ve invited you here because my sources indicate that Ms. Perkins and Mr. Ramos are the highest-ranking officials left in the city. I assume you other gentlemen are on Ms. Perkins’s staff?” Magneto asked, and the pair nodded. “Good; time to get down to business, then. You all need to know how I wish this city to be run, now that I am its sole authority.”

  Voght could see from their reactions that Magneto’s directness, and the truth of it, was a bitter pill for his audience to swallow. All but Ramos covered it well, but even he said nothing. Magneto’s reputation was frightening enough, but his presence was significantly more imposing.

  “First, Ms. Perkins,” he began. “Since the mayor of this fair city has left, and you had the fortitude to remain, I appoint you the mayor of Haven’s human population. You will continue to be responsible for the welfare of those of your people who have decided not to leave their homes. Answerable, of course, to me. You will work directly with my civic administrator, Major Skolnick, who will help me to outline the relationship between humans and mutants in Haven. For now, you may want to think of it as a class system, with all mutants as the nobility, or ruling class.”

  The new mayor of Haven raised an eyebrow and touched a hand to her chin, apparently thinking hard about her new job description. She glanced at Skolnick before looking back at Magneto.

  “You may appoint these others to whatever administrative position you wish. Keep in mind, however, that the faults this island had before I came to power will be eliminated. No more drugs. No more violent crime. We will clean up Haven, both literally and figuratively. Corruption will be a thing of the past.”

  “How can you say that?” Maxine Perkins asked. “Corruption is inevitable in any system. Entropy rules.”

  “No, Ms. Perkins,” Magneto snarled. “I rule. The corrupt are always cowardly as well. Therefore, reason dictates that the corrupt have fled Haven. And I will not countenance further corruption. In my ranks, or among your populace.”

  “I suppose you expect me to enforce your laws,” Commissioner Ramos said, no longer able to heed his own better instincts.

  “That doesn’t sit well with you, I can see,” Magneto said.

  Voght watched—fascinated as always by his unconscious ability to command absolute attention—as Magneto finally sat in the high leather chair behind the mahogany desk. He leaned back with his hands tightly gripping the arms of the chair.

  “Mayor Perkins asked why she was here, Commissioner Ramos,” Magneto reminded. “Somehow, I sense that you have your own ideas about why you are here.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Ramos said, and Voght winced in anticipation of Magneto’s eventual response.

  Ramos stood and approached the desk, poking a finger in Magneto’s general direction.

  “I came here to tell you that I didn’t stay behind to become your lapdog. I’m going to enforce the laws of this city, no matter who breaks them. New York’s Finest are not going to be turned into your private army,” Ramos said, nearly shouting.

  Magneto smiled.

  “Why, Mr. Ramos, I already have a private army. I don’t need New York’s Finest, and I most certainly don’t need you,” the mutant emperor said, lifting his hands in a gesture that indicated both amusement and dismissal.

  He turned to Voght. “Amelia, would you mind?”

  With a thought, Amelia Voght made Wilson Ramos disappear. With an electric crackle, he vanished from the room. Voght formed a mental picture of the pavement in front of the Empire State Building, and teleported Ramos there. If it had been up to her, she might well have simply teleported him out the window and let the others watch him fall. She was not a hardened killer, but she knew the value of an example. Still, Magneto would have been specific if he’d wanted the man dead. Her lord rarely sanctioned homicide. Much to the other Acolytes’ disappointment.

  “Good God!” one of the new mayor’s previously silent minions shouted, standing and gawking in astonishment at the vacuum that had previously been occupied by an apparently suicidal police commissioner. “Is there some problem?” Major Skolnick asked the man from his post.

  Voght started; she had nearly forgotten Skolnick was in the room. That kind of an attention lapse could cost her her life one of these days, and she chided herself for it.

  “No,” the man stuttered. “No problem. None whatsoever.”

  “So, what do you expect of the police?” Mayor Perkins asked, as if nothing of concern had taken place.

  Voght was more than a little impressed with the woman.

  “The Acolytes, my elite mutant force, will police Haven’s mutant population. They will also be tasked with enforcing my more radical mandates, including the elimination of drugs from the island,” Magneto explained. “The human police officers will also deal with those mandates. Otherwise, they will simply enforce my laws, as Mr. Ramos described it.”

  “Which are?” Perkins pressed.

  “Full employment, a fair wage, no homelessness, nor hunger, nor corruption. In essence, no crime. Courtesy. I want Haven to be an example to the world, so society knows what to expect when we begin our expansion. Haven is still the center of the Western world. We’re going to improve it.”

  Magneto paused, and looked at the three people gathered in his makeshift office, apparently awaiting some kind of response. Voght was surprised when the black man stood, his demeanor grave.

  “Mr. Lehnsherr,” he began, “my name is Steven Tyree. If you’re sincere about your goals, I’d like that commissioner’s job.”

  Magneto raised an eyebrow. Voght wondered if he was as surprised as she that the man, who had seemed so tentative, had suddenly become so forward.

  “Then, Mr. Tyree, you shall have it,” Magneto agreed. “For as long as you fulfill your responsibilities.”

  Tyree sat back down, but not next to his still-unnamed associate. Voght understood. The man, whose name she still did not know, would not be welcome in the new administration. That much was obvious.

  “You may go. Major Skolnick will be in contact with both of you sometime tomorrow,” Magneto said, not even acknowledging the unnamed man.

  As far as Voght was concerned, the man was just lucky to be leaving of his own volition rather than via her teleportation. She knew she wouldn’t see him again. In fact, even as he turned for the door, she had almost forgotten his face.

  Not Steve Tyree’s face, though. He was handsome, for a human, and she admired his guts.

  “Oh, Mr. Tyree, one final law we need to get straight,” Magneto said.

  Tyree regarded him warily, but said nothing.

  “Bigotry will not be tolerated,” Magneto said. “Bigots are to be dealt with most—harshly.”

  “You’re the boss,” Tyree said, and turned to go.

  Voght was no longer smiling. First as a Jew, then as a mutant, Magneto had been persecuted his entire life. As a boy he had lost his family to bigotry. That loss, that persecution, had defined his life, had led, in a fashion, to the foundation of Haven.

  But Voght was forced to wonder what Magneto would say if she pointed out that some of the Acolytes, the Kleinstock brothers and Unuscione chief among them, were rabid bigots in their own right. She doubted he would order them “dealt with.”

  But a woman could dream.

  ONE

  CORSAIR was anxious. He was the lead
er of the Starjammers, and the captain of their ship, and it pained him to wonder if she was so badly damaged that he might never pilot her into space again. First things first, though: he had to drop off his passengers and then land safely before they could even think about repairs.

  Behind him, Corsair’s son, Scott Summers—who was called Cyclops when he led the X-Men into battle—appeared in the open hatchway.

  “Corsair?”

  “It better be good news, Scott,” he grumbled. “I’ve had just about all I can take of the other kind.”

  “Good news for the X-Men, actually,” Scott said, looking a little sheepish. “It’s a bit selfish to be worried about this right now, but we were able to get the Starjammer’s cloaking system working again. That way, when you go to land her at the Xavier Institute, the military won’t be able to connect you with the Professor.”

  Corsair could tell that Scott was uncomfortable making the X-Men’s secrecy a priority, and he could understand why. As leader of the Starjammers, Corsair had already suffered far more than the X-Men on this journey. True, Gambit had been injured, but Corsair’s entire crew had been hurt at one point or another. Raza, Ch’od, and Hepzibah, who was also his lover, all were in the main cabin, strapped to med-units. His beloved ship was barely flying. It was a lot to take.

  But then, the other Starjammers had been injured rescuing Corsair himself from execution. The X-Men were in this predicament because they had gone on that mission. And the entire Earth, the world of Corsair’s birth, was now in jeopardy from Magneto, something that might not have happened if the team had been at full strength when Magneto first tried to hijack the Sentinels.

  No, Corsair couldn’t hold Scott’s priorities against him. Beyond the other circumstances, he knew that his son was not concerned for himself, but for Charles Xavier, the man who had founded the X-Men, the man who was the heart and soul and dreaming mind of the world’s mutant population.