Marvel Classic Novels--X-Men

by Christopher Golden

  First, of course, was the guard himself. He was out cold, though Bobby checked to make certain he was not seriously injured. It looked like he’d be out for a while. But that wasn’t the problem. Sure, he could be stashed in a stairwell or an air duct, but his absence could not go unnoticed for long, so Iceman would have to work fast. On the other hand, given the likelihood that a number of mutants who’d lined up to follow Magneto were already having second thoughts, the guard’s superiors would have to consider the possibility that he had gone AWOL.

  Bobby crossed his fingers.

  Then there was the door. He brushed the remnants of the shattered lock out onto the sidewalk and closed it. Relief spread through him when the door actually stayed closed. It was perfectly balanced, and didn’t hang open at all. If someone tugged on it, the cat would be out of the bag. But other than that, and the ice on the floor, he thought he’d be safe for a little while.

  Nearby there was a maintenance closet. Inside, he found a mop and bucket, and a sink. Moving as fast as he could, he put some water in the bucket and left it with the mop leaning against a wall. If the ice melted, nobody would think twice about the water.

  He called the service elevator, ready for anything when its doors slid open. There was nobody inside, so he pressed STOP and opened the trapdoor in the ceiling. It took all his strength to shove the guard up through the hole—thank God he’d been working out—but he didn’t dare use his powers on the elevator. There’d be no way to cover it up.

  With all of that taken care of, though, Bobby still had to deal with the biggest problem of all: finding the X-Men.

  He stared at the service elevator for a moment, then smiled. It had given him an idea. He didn’t have much time, but without knowing where the X-Men were, he also didn’t have a lot of options. Bobby pressed the button to call the elevator again and the door slid open. He scanned the floor numbers. Most of Magneto’s operations would likely be clumped together in one section of the building—or at least, that was his logic. At random, he pressed twenty-three, then quickly pulled himself up through the trap door where the guard still lay unconscious.

  As the floors ticked by, he looked at the welt that had risen on the guard’s forehead, already turning black and blue. The guy might have a concussion, if not something worse. It was regrettable, but at least Bobby figured he didn’t have to put the guard on ice. That could cause even more medical problems, not to mention giving him away once somebody noticed the cold water dripping down into the elevator from the melting ice.

  Luck was with him. The elevator didn’t stop on any other floors. He held open the trapdoor slightly, enough to see through. When the doors slid open on twenty-three, he waited a few moments to see that there was nobody there. Then he hung his head down to look out into the hallway. He saw nothing but offices. Apparently empty offices. The door slid shut even as he swung down into the elevator, and he jabbed at the DOOR OPEN button quickly.

  Bobby closed the trapdoor, and moved out onto the twenty-third floor, staying close to the wall. Every nerve was tingling, every muscle taut. He didn’t think he had ever been so tense. Tempted to transform into Iceman, he resisted. If he was spotted, staying flesh and blood would hopefully give him some element of surprise and confusion over his enemies. Unless he ran into someone who knew what Bobby Drake looked like.

  Magneto, for instance.

  But he didn’t want to think about that.

  Down the hall, he found the main elevator bank. He called the elevator and ducked into an office across from it. When he heard the ding of its arrival, he peeked out just as the doors slid open … and quickly ducked back in. There were three people on the elevator, likely mutants he did not recognize.

  The fourth try, he got an empty elevator. He scrambled up through the trapdoor, this one much smaller than the one on the service elevator, and lay down on top.

  Alone in enemy headquarters, he considered what he was doing to be foolhardy at best, completely nuts more likely, and suicidal at worst. But there really wasn’t any other choice. He was an X-Man, and the X-Men took care of their own.

  No matter what the risk.

  The elevator began to move. Iceman lay still, listening, and hoped for the best.

  * * *

  ON the vid-comm unit Magneto had set up in his makeshift office, the stern face of Exodus, as always, showed little emotional reaction to his master’s words. For without question, Magneto was the mysterious mutant’s master. Exodus had been in some kind of mutant hibernation before Magneto had reawakened him to become the shepherd of Avalon.

  Magneto’s right hand, Exodus had been left behind on Avalon to continue that job. He was the being responsible for finding only the most powerful, most desirable mutants for relocation to Avalon, where they would make a contribution to the new society. Exodus was also the ferryman, like Charon on the river Styx, who brought those mutants to the space station, the last haven for mutantkind.

  After this new Haven that Magneto was building on Earth, of course.

  “You seem surprised,” Magneto said, though it was only because he was so familiar with Exodus that he could read such an emotion in the mutant’s motionless features.

  “Dukes and Allerdyce were specifically excluded from Avalon,” Exodus explained. “It is somewhat surprising, yes, that you decided to recruit them for Haven.”

  “Don’t be such a snob, Exodus,” Magneto said, half attempting humor, an effort he rarely made but which Exodus’s stone-faced manner inspired him to. “Pyro and the Blob might not be what we were looking for on Avalon, but Haven is a harsher environment, the testing ground, I suppose, for the final hierarchy of the Mutant Empire.

  “In any case, as you know, all mutants are welcome here. It is a sanctuary. We don’t have the space or the supplies to make such a broad-minded offer regarding Avalon.”

  After a brief silence, Exodus nodded.

  “But it goes well?” he asked. “I would remind you, Lord Magneto, that you have but to call and I will be instantly at your side.”

  “Actually,” Magneto said, leaning back in the leather chair he’d moved into his office, “it goes extremely well. Most of the Acolytes have been given different duties. We’ve a city and, eventually, an empire to run. These kinds of things are vital if we are to succeed. Even those you despise have been dispatched for one purpose or another.

  “The authorities that remain have wisely chosen to collaborate with us on the new regime. Even now, mutants and human police officers are beginning to implement the new laws I have put into place.”

  “There is no resistance by the humans?” Exodus asked, obviously surprised. Magneto thought the change in his expression was refreshing.

  “There is always resistance among the humans,” he responded. “I imagine there always will be. But it is nothing we cannot handle.”

  “What of the X-Men?”

  “Half of them are my prisoners already,” Magneto said. “The others are on the prowl, I’m sure, but there are a handful of them and many hundreds, soon maybe even thousands, of us. What can they do?

  “No, Exodus,” Magneto said, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t think I’ll be needing you down here. If I do, of course I shall call for you. But for now, continue operating Avalon in my stead. That is all I ask.”

  “As you command, my Emperor,” Exodus answered, the first time he had called Magneto by that title.

  It felt right.

  FIVE

  FOR most of his life, Cain Marko had equated kindness in any form with despicable weakness. As a child, he had felt his father’s hand more times than he could count. But the physical abuse wasn’t the worst part, not nearly. Far more painful were the harsh words, the hard looks, the utter and complete coldness of his father’s heart. Watching his stepmother quiver and his stepbrother Charles escape into his studies, Cain nurtured a terrible hatred for them that grew with each passing day.

  They were weak. They deserved what they got. Cain vowed that he would
be strong, that he would never shrink in fear from anyone or anything, never show weakness. But around his father, he couldn’t help himself.

  Cain Marko became cruel. Not merely a bully, but a tyrant of the schoolyard, and even worse at home to his stepbrother, who somehow escaped the brunt of his father’s wrath.

  By the time he discovered the mystical gemstone that transformed him into the Juggernaut, Cain Marko had already developed an inclination toward crime and a sadistic streak wide as the Grand Canyon. His exploits as the Juggernaut, and his career as a criminal, led him, eventually, to make the acquaintance of the man who would change his life.

  Tom Cassidy—called “Black Tom” by Interpol, the X-Men, and anybody else who’d ever run into him—was the first person Cain had ever known who could be both ruthless and kind. His kindness to Cain was an awakening of sorts. He had been wrong, for most of his life, about something he had believed in as gospel. Kindness did not always equal weakness. Friendship was possible, even desirable, if one chose carefully.

  Steadily, Cain had changed. He was still a criminal. He was still ruthless when it was necessary to get the job done. He still gave no quarter in battle, particularly with the X-Men. He still hated his stepbrother, Charles Xavier.

  But the sadistic side of the Juggernaut began to erode. In those quiet moments when he was honest with himself, Cain realized that part of him was almost completely gone, and he was glad. He might be an international fugitive, wanted in nearly every major nation in the world, but he was motivated by confidence, dignity, and greed, now, not pure hatred.

  He was never completely certain the change was for the better, but it sure as hell felt like it.

  Now this. Now he was going into battle side by side with the X-Men, the goody-two-shoes Boy Scouts he had always gone out of his way to trounce before. Yet, one of the reasons he had always hated them was because of the holier-than-thou crap they constantly spouted, the way they treated him like he was gum on the bottom of their shoe, the same way Charles had always treated him. He hated the way they made their offers of help seem a weakness on his part rather than on their own, so … condescending, that was the word.

  It infuriated him.

  But today was different. After the short fight they’d had, which he had actually enjoyed, they had been almost respectful toward him. Sure, they’d jumped him without so much as a “heads up,” but, given the circumstances, he could understand that kind of overreaction. He didn’t really blame them.

  So he walked down the middle of the street shoulder to shoulder with the X-Men, ready to take back the city, not because he cared about its people or aspired to be a hero in any way—he sure as hell didn’t—but because he was a human being and it was his world too. Magneto could kiss his butt, as far as Cain was concerned.

  Truth be told, he thought it was pretty cool. Like something out of an old Western flick. Not to mention that the Grey woman and Rogue were both totally delicious-looking company. At the end of the day, he’d be just as happy to kick the crap out of the X-Men all over again, but for the moment …

  And the very best part of all, the thing that had clinched it for him, even beyond his determination not to bow to Magneto, was the fact that Charles Xavier, his hated stepbrother, was the founder and benefactor of the X-Men.

  Knowing his precious soldiers were heading into battle side by side with the Juggernaut would really get under his skin. Cain loved that. Even if he and the X-Men got their heads handed to them by the Sentinels, it would be worth it.

  Far ahead, he could see the Empire State Building jutting up out of the jagged skyline, dwarfing anything around it. It wouldn’t be long now.

  “Shouldn’t we be, I don’t know, a little less conspicuous at this point?” he asked. “I mean, the OK Corral has a kind of glamorous history to it, but the odds there were a little more even, y’know.”

  “What are you saying, Juggernaut?” Cyclops asked.

  “I guess what I want to know is, do you have a plan, or are we just going to waltz in and stomp heads until we end up getting stomped, then it’s game over?” the Juggernaut explained.

  “Both,” Rogue said, and smiled.

  “Huh?”

  “We don’t stand a chance without the other X-Men, Cain,” Jean Grey said. “Even with you on our side. Now, if we can’t get them out, we’re going to have to go it alone. But that’s the last resort.”

  “Has it occurred to you people that, if we don’t stand a chance of winning, we don’t stand a chance of getting in to free your buddies anyway?” Cain asked.

  “Not true,” Cyclops said. “We have one chance. We lose.”

  Cain stared at Scott Summers.

  “You mean, like, on purpose?” he asked.

  “You just said we didn’t have a chance of winning, but that doesn’t mean we can’t get in. If we’re going to lose anyway, let’s put that to our advantage,” Cyclops said.

  Before the Juggernaut could protest, Jean spoke up.

  “If they’re using inhibitor collars, which is highly likely, considering Magneto’s past tactics, that won’t work for you because you’re not a mutant. And since each collar is calibrated for the individual mutant, I can psionically confuse our captors so that we’re given the wrong collars,” she said.

  “Yeah, but to do that, you have to be conscious,” Cain replied.

  “There are always risks,” Rogue said.

  “That’s a hell of a risk,” he said. “Why take the chance? If we’re all captured, there isn’t anyone left to come to the rescue.”

  “You have a better idea,” Cyclops said, somewhat sarcastically.

  Cain’s eyes narrowed inside his helmet. The amiable spirit with which he’d been dealing with the X-Men dissipated. Scott Summers was a good tactician, an excellent field commander, and courageous as they came. Just because the X-Men had always been his enemies did not mean he could not appreciate, or even respect, their strengths. But he was something of an academic snob as well. Summers must have figured just because Cain didn’t finish high school that he was stupid. Well, he was wrong.

  “In fact,” he said coldly, “I think I do.”

  “Well, I for one would like to hear it,” Rogue said. “If we can avoid a head-on confrontation until after the X-Men are free, I’d be happy.”

  “You guys think too heroically,” Cain said, and smiled in amusement at his own words. “This martyr-complex thing has got to stop if you want to see breakfast tomorrow. You’ve got to start to think like a thief, like a criminal. The rule there is, whatever you steal is only valuable if you’re still around to benefit from its theft.

  “That’s why we need a diversion,” he said, looking to Jean because he was slightly irked at Cyclops just then. “If me, Summers, and Rogue start raising hell not far from Magneto’s headquarters, the attention will be diverted from the building. You probably wouldn’t be able to get in and find the X-Men without being discovered, but I’m sure you can convince a guard or three here and there that they didn’t see or hear you at all. Right?”

  “It’s a fine line, Cain,” Jean responded, “but I try not to use wholesale telepathic manipulation on people when it can be helped.”

  “Maybe you wouldn’t understand that …” Cyclops began, but let it go when he received an annoyed glance from Grey, his longtime lady. Juggernaut would have been amused, but they didn’t have much time.

  “Look,” he said, “I understand perfectly that you guys try to tread some fine line. To be honest, I think it’s pretty cowardly—when you go into a fight, it should be to win, no matter what—but somehow you seem to win anyway, so who’s to argue with success, right? Point is, we’ve got no time for things like good manners here. You said yourselves that this was it, the big one, that the future of the world rests on whether we can beat Magneto or not. Let’s worry about crossing boundaries later, okay?

  “Besides, once I’ve started a fight, there’s only one way it ends,” Cain vowed. “The other guy goes down, or I
do. I’m not playing dead for anybody. I just can’t do it.”

  He watched them, what was left of the X-Men, as each weighed what he had said. Except for Wolverine, he’d always considered them a bunch of liberal wimps with their heads in the clouds. Now, though, with the fire in Rogue’s eyes, the resolve on Jean Grey’s face, and the tightening of Scott Summers’s fists, Cain wasn’t so sure.

  One thing he was certain of, though, was that their plan sucked. Getting captured, on purpose or otherwise, just didn’t sit right with him. If they weren’t prepared to go along with his alternate suggestion, well, the Juggernaut would have to come up with a third plan for himself. Cain wondered if Summers would be so used to running the show that he’d ignore his suggestion out of spite. After a moment’s consideration, he pushed the thought away. Summers was smarter than that.

  It wasn’t at all that the Juggernaut was extremely intelligent, or a good strategist, or anything of the sort. It was only as he’d said: in his line of work, you got in, grabbed your objective, and got out, one way or another.

  Yeah, they’d have to go with his—

  “Company,” Jean said quietly, taking several steps toward an eccentric clothing store on the right, hugging close to the building.

  The others quickly followed, and so did Juggernaut, though he didn’t see anyone. He quickly discovered that he wasn’t built for stealth, however. He was just too damn big to be inconspicuous, no matter where he was.

  “What am I missing?” Cain asked.

  Jean held up a finger to shush him. Rogue went to the shop’s door, and with a quick twist of the knob that shattered the locks, they were inside. The Juggernaut was about to follow when Cyclops held up a hand, urging him to stay out on the sidewalk.

  “We’re not close enough,” Summers said. “Let’s try to do this fast.”

  “Do what?” Cain replied, beginning to get frustrated. Then he heard the voices.