Marvel Classic Novels--X-Men

by Christopher Golden

  “Allez-vous-en, Magneto! Go home, we don’ want you here!” Gambit cried madly.

  But his manic chatter was a pale shadow of the insanity of his actions. Before Archangel could even register what his teammate was up to, Gambit had telescoped out his bo-staff and was catapulting himself into the air. He flew toward Magneto, sixty feet from the ground. The mutant tyrant only watched in amused and somewhat surprised silence as Gambit slammed into the force shield surrounding him.

  Gambit screamed. Archangel imagined it was something like being electrocuted; then he remembered that the Cajun actually had been electroshocked days earlier.

  Slowly, he slid down through the field that surrounded Magneto. Magneto only watched. In seconds, Gambit would fall to his death, or Archangel would have to save him, leaving Valerie defenseless, and it would all be for nothing. Warren was at a loss. He had never felt more vulnerable.

  Then he saw Gambit’s eyes. Despite the pain he was in, despite the danger, he was fighting. Halfway in, halfway out of Magneto’s defensive shielding, Gambit still held on to his bo-stick. He charged it with the explosive power that genetic fate had given him, and shoved it toward Magneto’s chest.

  The stick exploded, throwing Magneto backward through the air.

  Gambit fell.

  Archangel dived after him, ignoring Magneto for that moment. Gambit was nearly unconscious when Warren snatched him out of the sky, but he could not take the time to put Remy down. As fast as he was able, he turned in midair, and carried Gambit back toward the Sentinel’s gaping head, and back toward Magneto.

  Magneto had fallen for a moment. Warren had seen it out of the corner of his eye. But he had quickly recovered and was moving toward them again. Magneto’s uniform was durable enough to have significantly protected him from the blast. Still, he was shaken, and there was a blackened circle on his abdomen.

  Warren did the only thing he could do. He launched a flurry of his wing-knives, biometallic feather blades, at Magneto’s newly restructured force shield.

  Magneto was no longer amused, but he barely reacted to the attack. Archangel’s new wings were, after all, metal. His facing Magneto was almost laughable. Or it seemed so.

  Until the wing-knives penetrated the shield and hit Magneto’s body armor. Where Gambit had attacked, on that burnt area of Magneto’s uniform, the knives passed through, slicing into Magneto’s skin.

  The look of surprise on Magneto’s face was almost comical. He could control any metal, even the iron in human blood, if he concentrated, if he focused on it enough. Surely, Archangel’s wings, created by Apocalypse, had some kind of metal alloy as their base. But there was more to them than that, perhaps more flesh or living tissue than Warren had ever imagined. Magneto had miscalculated, a mistake he would not make again.

  But once was enough.

  Magneto was momentarily paralyzed.

  Archangel could not believe his luck.

  Then he realized that Magneto did not need to move to use his power, and all that good feeling went away fast.

  Val had seconds. Seconds.

  * * *

  “GYRICH!” Val screamed. “I need that back door code now, or we’re dead!”

  “I—I—” Gyrich fumbled. “I just What dreams may come!” he shouted.

  “What?” she cried.

  “From Hamlet,” he said. “ ‘For in such sleep, what dreams may come’!”

  Val keyed in the phrase, praying as she never had before that Magneto’s tinkering would not have affected the back door Gyrich’s people had built into the Alpha Sentinel’s control systems.

  The word ONLINE blinked on the screen. Then the command prompt.

  Val typed one more word.

  RESET.

  She waited half a dozen eternal seconds, holding her breath. MUTANT TARGET DESIGNATE? the system, now back to its original programming, prompted.

  She typed his name, and Magneto’s file scrolled across every screen, as if the Alpha Sentinel had suddenly gone mad. It couldn’t move, she had made certain of that. Now she had to make sure Magneto couldn’t get back in.

  LOCKOUT UNTIL TARGET ACQUISITION? the computer asked. Oh, yes, Valerie thought, and hit the affirmative command. Nobody could abort the new mission until it had succeeded. Nobody.

  * * *

  ROGUE was on the ground with the rest of the X-Men, backing their play. Storm was still in the air, though. Crowds played hell with her claustrophobia, Rogue knew. And she was much more effective from the sky. After all, Ororo had already been decisive in the battle, literally sweeping one end of the street clean of enemies with hurricane-force winds. A number of those were injured, still others simply walked away, realizing that Storm could keep them away for as long as she wished.

  For the first time, Rogue began to think that they might all have a chance at surviving to see the next day. And, if they were extremely fortunate, the day after that as well.

  “Rogue,” Cyclops barked. “Get Iceman somewhere safe. We can’t fight and protect him at the same time.”

  “Any ideas, Cyke?” she asked, only half sarcastically. Cyclops ignored her, so Rogue gathered the unconscious Iceman up into her arms, and flew north.

  “Rogue?” he asked weakly, coming around for the first time since his extraordinary effort had evened the odds in the war, at least for a little while.

  “Relax, Bobby,” she said gently. “You’ve earned it.”

  Bobby Drake started to drift off again, comfortable in her arms. Then his eyes snapped awake, as if he had truly realized, for the first time, exactly where he was.

  “Whoa,” he said. “Where we going?”

  “Someplace you can rest,” she answered.

  “No.”

  Rogue ignored him.

  “No, Rogue, take me back,” Bobby demanded.

  “Bobby, listen,” she began.

  “No,” he interrupted. “I’m an X-Man, Rogue. As long as I’m alive, I’m not leaving my team in the field. Take me back there. We need all the help we can get.”

  She thought about it for a moment, then turned back toward the field of battle, which had moved now to just outside the Empire State Building, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues.

  “Y’gonna have to explain it to Scott,” she said.

  “You let me worry about Scott,” Iceman responded. “I’ve been disobeying his orders since I was sixteen years old.”

  With pained concentration, he began to ice up again. Rogue was concerned for him, as well as impressed, surprised, and proud, all at the same time.

  “How we doing?” he asked.

  “See for yourself,” she suggested.

  With Bobby hanging beneath her now, her hands holding him under the arms, Rogue flew a circuit of the battlefield. The only mutants she recognized from above were Arclight, the Blob, and several Acolytes including Amelia Voght, Senyaka, and the Kleinstock brothers.

  “God,” Bobby said. “The Kleinstocks again? I feel like we’ve been fighting them for days.”

  “You have,” Rogue said, and smiled to herself.

  “Then I wish they’d just stay down,” Iceman said grimly. “In fact, why don’t you drop me down by them?”

  “In a few minutes, if you think you can …” She let the comment trail off. Bobby was a big boy. He could take care of himself.

  She flew down until she was about twenty feet above Sven and Harlan Kleinstock, then she let Bobby go. He did a forward roll, and when he came out of it, he was forming an ice ramp beneath him as if he were surfing a curl. She watched a moment longer, as he whipped up a huge club or bat made of ice, and as he fell on the unsuspecting Kleinstocks, he nailed a home run off Sven Kleinstock’s head. Rogue heard the crack, and when Sven crumpled to the pavement, she knew he wasn’t getting up soon. He was out of it.

  From above, she scoped out the war again. Since the Juggernaut had arrived with converts, and the huge wave of cops and civilians had shown up, the battle had most definitely turned. It was chess, now. Piece by pie
ce, they would all be taken off the board. Pawns. Knights. Kings. Attrition ruled.

  She started to turn back toward where her teammates were fighting hard, joined now by so many others that it was hard to tell who was friend and who was foe. There was a low rumbling noise, and Rogue turned just in time to see the earth erupt in a geyser of pavement, cement, stone, and soil—how deep it had come from she could not have said—a tower built instantaneously, and just as quickly put to use.

  Like some monstrous earthen tentacle, the tower whipped and turned and slammed down on top of the Juggernaut and half a dozen other mutants. Rogue could only watch in horror.

  When Cain Marko crawled from the massive tumble of debris, he was alone. There was no other movement under the stone and pavement. Nor had Rogue expected there to be.

  The fury came upon her sudden as a heart attack, and Rogue scanned the street for the one man she knew might be responsible for such an assault. After a moment, she realized that he would need a line of sight for his power to work properly, and she raised her search up several stories. She saw him a few seconds later, standing atop a four-story office and retail building. She wouldn’t have seen him at all in the dark, despite the streetlights and still-burning neon, but the silver metal of his body armor caught the multicolored city lights and threw back a twisted reflection.

  Rogue thought of Bobby and the Kleinstock brothers, of the five or six lives just snuffed out beneath an artificial avalanche, and she knew that the man had to be removed from play now, before he could take more lives on a whim.

  As fast as she could, she flew down to fight at Wolverine’s side.

  “It’s Avalanche,” she said.

  “Saw him ’bout ten minutes ago,” Logan responded indifferently.

  “We can’t afford to have him runnin’ around,” she urged. “So stop him, Rogue,” Wolverine said. “Steal his powers, knock him off the building. You can take him.”

  “I know I can take him,” she said testily. “But I don’t want to steal his powers. I do that when there’s no other way to win. Plus, I don’t want to do it ’cause that means I get his mind, too, at least a little bit—”

  She belted a man with walrus tusks and a long sharp tongue that she thought looked as though it could punch holes through steel beams.

  “—I don’t want to see that. Ever. He’s a demented little sucker.”

  “So what do you want with me?” Wolverine asked. “Fastball special,” Rogue said simply.

  Wolverine actually smiled, in the middle of so much bloodshed and destruction.

  “I miss that Russkie,” he said.

  “We all do,” she agreed. “So, you ready?”

  “I’m a whole mess o’ ready,” he said, still smiling. “Give me a bull’s-eye, Rogue.”

  Rogue lifted Wolverine up with both hands. In the old days, their former teammate Colossus had been able to do the manuever with just one. It was something they’d practiced in the Danger Room, and in the field, many times over.

  Taking air, Rogue flew up and to the side of the building where Avalanche stood. When she was about level with him, she simply hurled Wolverine with all her might across the sky. He landed on Avalanche, and his adamantium claws flashed in the same neon rainbow that had glinted from Avalanche’s armor a moment before.

  She left Wolverine to his own devices, and returned to the fight. Seconds after her feet touched the ground, the Juggernaut was beside her.

  “Saw that fastball special you ’n the runt pulled,” he said gruffly. “Well done.”

  “What do you know about it?” she asked.

  “The fastball special?” he said with a smile. “You’re kidding? You’ve used it against me enough times. I should know what it is. Fact is, I’ve done that move with Tom Cassidy a few times myself.”

  “Thief,” Rogue said, doubly amused at finding herself bantering with a hated enemy, and in the middle of a war, no less.

  “Yeah,” Marko agreed. “But a successful thief.”

  Rogue couldn’t argue there.

  The tide was turning in their favor, finally, and it felt good. Felt good, that was, as long as she didn’t think about lives already lost, and what else they might have to lose before the day was out, if they intended to defeat Magneto.

  FIFTEEN

  OVER the years that she had spent with the X-Men, Jean Grey had grown from an immature teenager who was happy to be known as Marvel Girl, into a woman of strength, a woman in control of her destiny. She had always been relatively quiet—though she seemed a chatterbox next to Scott. She thought that, maybe, she had become so introspective because, as a psi, she was always listening to the constant telepathic babble in her mind.

  Or it might have been Scott’s influence. He was so serious.

  In the end, it didn’t matter what forces had shaped Jean Grey, made her the woman she was now. The only thing that mattered was how the day ended, who was still standing when it was over. That was all she could think of.

  Her jaw was set in a hard line of grim determination, and though her teammates made comments to one another during battle, Jean said not a word. Through the psychic rapport that they shared, she could sense that Cyclops was on edge. As well he should be, she thought. They might not all survive the next few minutes, never mind the many hours till morning. But his anxiety was not going to get them through, and so she tried to counter it with the confidence she had in him. With the determination she had summoned to keep going.

  Thank you, he thought, and she picked up the gratitude, acknowledged it with a small nod.

  They would make it through. No other outcome would be acceptable.

  Though she could not see most of her teammates, she touched briefly on all their minds. Iceman was in a dark, furious rage that was quite unlike him, as he battered Harlan Kleinstock with all his might. Wolverine was vaulting down the stairs of an office building, hurrying to get back into the fight. He had just taken Avalanche down, and hard, but he shut out her psi-scan when she tried to inquire further.

  Bishop and Cyclops fought side by side, the heir to Xavier’s dream and its far-removed descendant, grimly upholding the principles Charles had always espoused, willing to give their lives for that dream. That hope.

  Ororo, lost in the power of the storm, thundering her judgment down upon the enemy with righteous anger, even a taste of which made Jean realize how the woman could once have allowed humans to call her goddess.

  Rogue, tired of fighting. Inexhaustible, but nearly ready to drop. Jean wondered which of them would collapse from exhaustion first.

  Finally, the Beast. She could actually see Hank, just ahead, through a screen of violent flesh. He was …

  Hank, look out! she psi-shouted. Senyaka had moved in and was about to snag Hank around the throat with that terrible psi-whip of his. Hank turned in time, batted the Acolyte’s hand away, and the two were one on one after that. Jean turned away. Senyaka didn’t have much of a chance.

  “Hello, little girl,” a deep voice said.

  When she turned, Jean was startled to find that the speaker was a woman, a huge, musclebound female whose eyes blazed with murderous intent. Arclight, Jean thought she was called.

  “Such a pretty, flimsy, little thing,” Arclight said. “But I’m still going to have to break you in half.”

  She moved in fast, hands up, fingers curled into a horrible set of claws. Jean didn’t flinch, didn’t turn, didn’t run. Reaching out with her mind, she tore a phone kiosk loose from its moorings and brought it flying across the street to slam into Arclight’s upper body and chest, driving her backward and to the pavement.

  Jean wanted to move on, but a moment later, Arclight was up and after her again.

  “Now you really did it, Red,” Arclight snarled. “I’ll enjoy killing you.”

  “I’ve seen Caged Heat,” Jean said dismissively. “You didn’t impress me then, and you don’t impress me now.”

  Arclight roared. Jean turned and walked away. With every ounce of
psychic strength she could muster, Jean picked up what was left of the Oldsmobile Bishop had stood on earlier, and threw it at Arclight. Pain spiked through her head, like a migraine, but she ignored it. The price of power, she thought.

  The car slammed into Arclight, knocked her down, and rolled over on top of her. She was not dead, Jean knew that she wouldn’t be. But she wasn’t conscious either.

  Jean felt the tension exuding from all the X-Men. They had reached the end of their respective ropes. They’d crossed some lines that day, and she was sad to think that they would probably cross more before the night was through. It disturbed her.

  Success! Professor Xavier telepathically shouted in her ear. Jean almost jumped a mile.

  Professor? Charles?

  Success, Jean, they’ve done it! They’ve taken the Sentinels away from Magneto!

  Jean Grey smiled. Her eyes welled up with moisture. A single, ecstatic tear slid down her right cheek. She returned to the war with renewed vigor.

  Nebulous hope had suddenly become tangible.

  * * *

  “NO!” Magneto shouted.

  Valerie Cooper thought he sounded like a petulant child. But whining toddlers were not capable of killing with a thought or a gesture.

  Magneto had been paralyzed by Archangel’s wing-knives, but his powers were unaffected. He didn’t need to move to use them, could, in fact, propel himself wherever he wished to go using those powers. He seemed awkward, for a few moments, as he got his bearings, as he dealt with the crushing blow to his dreams of empire that Valerie had just struck.

  But in a moment, he might well come into the Sentinel’s command center and take her life in retaliation.

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he cried in astonished fury.

  A stupid question, really. Of course she knew. Now what she needed to know was whether or not he was planning to kill her. The Sentinels were on their way, she knew, to take Magneto down as she’d reprogrammed them to do. But he would have ample time to crush her to death in the immobile Alpha Sentinel’s skull if he so desired.

  Seconds ticked by, matched by her heartbeat. Magneto’s disorientation was leaving him. She could see it in the cold and silent rage burning in his eyes. Val looked away. She didn’t want to see. She felt him moving toward her, and turned her body to the side. If death was coming for her, then …