X-Men

by Stuart Moore

  “Beloved consort,” she said. “You of all people should have known. You should have warned me.”

  Xavier said nothing.

  “Did you not study the Shi’ar traditions? The legends that tell of the Chaos-Bringer? You knew.” She shook her head. “You should have trusted me.”

  She’s right. He looked away. There’s nothing further to say.

  “X-Men,” Lilandra said, turning to address them. “I respect your pain, but as Empress I see no alternative.”

  “I do not like the sound of that,” Nightcrawler muttered.

  “Surrender her,” Lilandra continued, “or suffer the consequences.”

  Jean looked down, shaking her head. The X-Men exchanged alarmed looks. Colossus’s arms were shaking; Xavier had to adjust himself to remain in the big man’s grip.

  Perhaps, he thought, a direct mindlink with Lilandra. A last-ditch effort to make her see—

  Cyclops stepped forward.

  “Empress Lilandra,” he said, “you keep speaking of Dark Phoenix, the destroyer of worlds. But that entity no longer exists.” He gestured toward Xavier. “The Professor exorcised that part of Jean’s consciousness. Her power is greatly reduced, and fully under her control. She poses no further threat to you, your empire, or the universe.”

  “Let Jean be,” Colossus said—prompting Xavier to look up at him in surprise. “Has she not suffered enough?”

  “Suffered?” Prime Minister Araki shook his fist. “Tell that to the legions of D’Bari dead. Their spirits cry out for vengeance!”

  The crowd of warriors rose to their feet, roaring in agreement. They stamped their boots, thrust staffs down against the metal benches. The Kree warrior let out a battle cry, prompting a glare of distaste from his Skrull companion.

  The X-Men moved together, forming a protective circle around Jean. Wolverine raised his claws.

  Lilandra held up her staff. In an instant, the room went quiet. She walked up to the X-Men and stood before Jean Grey—who looked away, grimacing. Lilandra reached out and cupped her chin, studying her.

  “What was undone once, may be undone again.” Lilandra sounded as if she were reciting an ancient prophecy. “So long as the Phoenix exists—in any form, at any level of power—she is a threat to all that lives. I am sorry, Cyclops. I know you are sincere, but the risk is too great.”

  Cyclops stepped in, positioning himself between Jean and the Shi’ar ruler. Nightcrawler followed, shielding her from Lilandra. Wolverine gathered with them, and then finally—reluctantly, it seemed to Xavier—Storm joined the group. Only Colossus hung back, still holding the Professor in his arms.

  “No,” Cyclops said.

  Lilandra stepped away. Once again, she raised her staff.

  “Warriors,” she said. “Take her.”

  “Empress Majestrix!” Xavier cried. “Hear me.”

  All eyes turned to him. He held out a hand, straight toward Lilandra.

  “Jean Grey Arin’nn Haelar,” he said.

  There were gasps from the bleachers. Lilandra stood, grim, facing Xavier directly. You see, he said, projecting the words into her mind. I have studied your traditions.

  Lilandra nodded. The Arin’nn Haelar, she replied mentally. The challenge that cannot be refused.

  In her mind, he read respect. And something else, too: a terrible sadness. The full weight of his action struck him: I’ve burned a bridge. Crossed a line that can never be uncrossed.

  He broke contact and turned to the X-Men. “For Jean’s life,” he explained, “I have challenged the Shi’ar to a duel of honor.”

  “Majestrix.” The Kree warrior stepped forward. “My people were promised that the Phoenix entity would be expunged. Nothing was said of any ‘duel of honor.’”

  Lilandra turned to the Kree. The Skrull hovered behind him, watching warily.

  “You are free to consult with your governments,” she said. “But they have agreed that this matter will be carried out in accordance with Shi’ar Law.”

  The Kree frowned.

  “You may, of course, monitor the battle on behalf of your respective empires.”

  The Skrull gestured toward the Kree. “I must stand beside this misbegotten son of a mudworm?” He snorted in outrage. “How long will this battle last?”

  “As long as it takes!” Lilandra snapped. “In this matter, Shi’ar Law is the only law.” The Skrull stepped back, glaring at his Kree companion. The Kree just stared straight ahead, his eyes unreadable beneath his green battle mask.

  “Gladiator,” Lilandra said, turning to face him. “Is the Guard prepared to carry out this challenge?”

  Gladiator bowed. “It is our honor to serve, Majestrix.”

  “Then your gambit is successful, Charles,” Lilandra said. “The Shi’ar accept your challenge. As you knew we would.”

  “A duel? For my life?” Jean shook her head. “No. No, I won’t allow it.”

  “Jean…” Cyclops said.

  “There’s been too much death already!”

  “Challenge has been made, and duly accepted.” Lilandra stared at Xavier, her eyes intense. “There is no turning back from this path.”

  Xavier swallowed, nodded. Then he turned to Jean, forcing a smile onto his face. “My child,” he said. “This is the only way.”

  “Your courage and loyalty do you credit, X-Men,” Lilandra said. “You will have a night to rest, to recover your strength. To prepare, as best you might. The duel begins at dawn.”

  Gladiator raised an odd device to his lips and let out a low tone. The warriors rose to their feet and began to file out.

  A pair of servants with bright green plumage approached the X-Men, gesturing for them to follow. Cyclops held out his hand to Jean. She shivered, took hold, and together they walked out of the room. Storm followed, then Nightcrawler and Wolverine. Colossus shifted awkwardly, cast a questioning glance at the man he still held in his arms. Xavier nodded for him to follow the others.

  As the young Russian carried him toward the door, Xavier glanced back into the room. Gladiator was striding toward the opposite exit, his square jaw set, eyes fierce. Oracle and Hussar followed him, the latter slapping her whip lightly against her muscular thigh.

  Lilandra stood in the center of the cargo bay, speaking in low tones with the Prime Minister. She looked every inch the Empress, the sovereign ruler of her people. The proud Shi’ar princess with whom Xavier had fallen in love, now ascended to her full potential.

  A wave of sadness washed over him.

  It’s over, he thought. Even if both our peoples survive this, she and I will never trust each other again.

  Despite his best intentions, his mind strayed to hers. Subtly, silently eavesdropping on her conversation. The X-Men face hopeless odds, Majestrix, Araki was saying. But they are exceptional beings. Suppose they win the challenge?

  Sorrow filled Lilandra’s mind, an emotion that mirrored Xavier’s own. She looked away from Araki and cast a glance upward at the stars, cold and sharp in the sky.

  They will not win, she said, the words echoing in Xavier’s mind. You have my word on that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  JEAN GREY hadn’t been aboard a lot of starships in her life, but this one was like nothing she’d ever imagined. Its corridors were wide, the rooms filled with open spaces. The bridge and engineering sectors were off limits to the X-Men, but Lilandra had granted them access to most of the rest of the ship. It seemed as if she’d been walking for miles.

  And it’s so quiet.

  Maybe, she realized, that wasn’t the ship. With her reduced power level, the voices in her head had vanished. The constant hum of thoughts, the inescapable flow of other people’s secrets.

  The voice of the Phoenix. It’s gone, too.

  Do I miss it?

  She shook her head, troubled, and strode down a narrowing corridor to a circular doorway. It irised open; she stepped through and caught her breath at the sight.

  She stood in a transparent observa
tion blister, protruding from the main body of the ship. By craning her neck, she could see the vessel’s gunmetal-gray exterior hull. It stretched on into the distance, studded with weapons and battle scars—all leading to the blocky, squarish tachyon engines that had carried the ship across intergalactic space.

  The real view, however, was dead ahead. Earth hung in all its glory, glowing bright against the stars. A halo of cloud cover bathed it in blue and white, clearing in patches to reveal the deeper blue of the oceans, the tan and green of continents.

  She peered at the clouds, as if trying to pierce their silky veil. Unwanted memories returned to her. Terrible, beautiful images, peeking through the fog of Professor Xavier’s psychic circuit breakers.

  The shuttle striking the runway, snapping her spine.

  Flames across her skin.

  A bird of prey formed of primal fire.

  Magneto’s ribs, cracking under her psychic assault.

  The Hellfire pawn, helpless in her grip.

  Wyngarde. His arms. His musky smell, his wolfish smile. Blood, hatred, lust—all circling down into a whirlpool of rage. Wyngarde in her grip. His mind ripped open, exposed to the universe. Devoured, swallowed by the whirlpool.

  Would you like to see?

  And then the Phoenix. Unleashed, unbound. Wolverine swatted from the sky, Colossus stripped of his power, forced back to human form. Storm, Nightcrawler, Cyclops—all blasted to their knees before the majesty of the Chaos-Bringer.

  Jean frowned, blinked. Somehow she’d traveled an unimaginable distance. She remembered the hunger, the inescapable need. Recalled the dive into a star, the sizzle of quantum reactions, the sweet pain of hydrogen atoms reforming on her skin. Feeding her, fueling her power. Soothing the need.

  Part of her had known. Had sensed the cries, the psychic panic from D’Bari-d. The telepathic scream of billions, meeting their end.

  Part of her had enjoyed it.

  “Milady?”

  Jean whirled. A newcomer stood before her, a member of a race she’d never seen before, with a long, tapered face and a thick-shouldered coat with ruffles down the front. The effect, like many things in the Shi’ar Empire, was oddly formal.

  “How did you know where I was?” Jean asked.

  The alien shrugged and held up a piece of bright green cloth, neatly folded into a pile.

  “Is this the garment you requested?”

  Jean felt a tear rise to her eye. She reached out to accept the clothing.

  “Thank you,” she said. “That’s all I need.” The servant bowed, turned, and stepped back through the iris.

  Jean turned to stare back out through the observation blister. At the Earth, filling the sky beyond. So beautiful, she thought. So filled with life, so bright and messy and glorious. And I… I could have destroyed it.

  I did destroy it. Or a world very much like it.

  “Never,” she said aloud. “Never again.”

  She shrugged off her shoes and began to change.

  * * *

  NIGHTCRAWLER SCRAMBLED up the parallel bars, reaching out for a metal ring hanging nearby. “Hanging” wasn’t quite the right word. The network of exercise equipment filled the large gymnasium, jutting and intersecting at odd angles. The effect was very… alien.

  Gravity shifted, sending him lurching sideways. He missed his mark, began to fall, and felt his teleportation instinct begin to kick in. Then he stretched an arm forward and managed to take hold of the ring, swinging himself up. Or down. Or something.

  “Good,” Oracle said. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

  “Danke,” he grunted, climbing toward the ceiling. “But I just wanted a workout.”

  Oracle, the pale blue Imperial Guard soldier, climbed the bars with practiced ease. She lacked Nightcrawler’s natural agility, but was more familiar with the gymnasium’s layout—and with its ever-changing gravity fields, too.

  “The trick is not to try and anticipate the shifts,” she said, flinging herself off of a hanging swing. “Just go with it.” Nightcrawler watched, impressed, as she landed in a crouch on a narrow beam in the exact center of the room.

  “I assume you have practiced here before.”

  “There are four other chambers similar to this one.” She smiled, a slightly haughty expression. “This is a large vessel, human. Over six hundred souls of various races call it home.”

  “Will we be competing in one of these… chambers… tomorrow?” he asked.

  “No.” She paused, breathing hard, and smiled. “The Majestrix has selected your moon as the combat site.”

  He nodded. He liked Oracle, and he’d appreciated her offer to show him the exercise equipment. Most of the Shi’ar seemed so grim, humorless. She was much quicker with a smile, even an occasional joke.

  Besides, she was blue.

  “You realize you’re abetting the enemy here,” he said. “If we win tomorrow because of the training you’re giving me…”

  “I’m not worried,” she replied.

  No, he realized, you really aren’t.

  “Beware, Fräulein.” He kept his voice light. “I have moves the Shi’ar galaxy has not seen yet.” He launched off a beam and grabbed hold of two more hanging rings. Without losing momentum, he swung forward and let go. His feet danced lightly against a row of ladder rungs, then he pointed his arms outward and leapt for the wall.

  “Ah,” she said. “I forgot to tell you…”

  His hands made contact with the wall—and slipped off. As he flailed in midair, he heard Oracle’s voice in his head.

  …the wall is a frictionless surface.

  He fell, eyes wide with panic. Nightcrawler’s powers allowed his hands and feet to adhere to almost any surface. On Earth, he could climb the wall of any building, anywhere.

  But we’re not on Earth, he remembered.

  The telltale itching of his power tickled at his neck. He looked around for a destination, a spot to teleport to. But the room was filled with metal and plasteel, a maze of workout equipment. If he ’ported blind, he could wind up with a parallel bar through his gut.

  A pair of strong arms reached up and grabbed him out of the air. Colossus pulled him close in midair and dropped to the ground, bending his knees to absorb the impact.

  “Danke,” Nightcrawler said, leaping out of the big man’s grip. “Peter, do you know you are a showoff? You could at least have turned to steel before saving my life.”

  “I am a bit overwhelmed by this vessel, tovarisch.” Colossus smiled, a shy grin. “I thought I might engage in a workout.”

  “Well, don’t take lessons from…”

  Nightcrawler looked around. Oracle was gone.

  “From whom?” Colossus asked.

  “Never mind.” Nightcrawler leaned against a gym structure, scratching his head. “At least I learned she’s a telepath. Seems like every group has one, these days.” He led Peter across the floor to a pair of benches. At least on this level the gravity seemed constant.

  “Kurt,” Colossus said, “I find myself wrestling with a dilemma.”

  Nightcrawler perched atop a bench. He gestured for Colossus to sit opposite him.

  “I am the youngest X-Man,” Colossus continued. “Yet I know Jean Grey. I have fought with her, many times. I owe her my life. She has proven herself as both a teammate and a person, over and over again.”

  “And?”

  “When we fought Jean, we were not trying to destroy her. We fought to cure her. That determination came from our love for her—a love that has not changed.”

  Nightcrawler nodded. “But.”

  “But the Dark Phoenix entity is… evil.” Peter’s voice sounded pained. “I know this. I have felt its power, heard it raging within my head. If she truly did those things—”

  “Yes,” Nightcrawler replied. “I have had similar thoughts.” He paused, thinking back. “As a child, in the circus, I knew a very old man. He was kind to me, fed me sweets when food was scarce. He had survived the Holocaust, the dea
th camps of the Nazis. They murdered his parents, performed hideous experiments on his siblings.”

  His voice was trembling. He paused to compose himself.

  “Peter, I still cannot forgive the butchers who committed those atrocities.” He looked up. “How then can I forgive Jean?”

  They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Then Peter stood up, flexed his arms, and transformed his body into solid steel.

  “Because she is Jean,” he said.

  Nightcrawler blinked. He nodded, climbed to his feet, and grabbed hold of a hanging ring. He swung himself up to the lowest rung of the exercise lattice, then hung down by his feet and smiled, upside down, at Colossus.

  “You are indeed the youngest X-Man, mein freund,” he said, “but you may also be the wisest.”

  * * *

  “ALL RIGHT, awright! I’m comin’.”

  Logan stomped toward the door of his quarters, dripping water. Wherever the drops touched the strange tile floor, they vanished instantly. Weird crib, he thought. Pretty cozy place to spend the night, but I’d go nuts if I had to live here.

  ’Course, by this time tomorrow I may not have to worry about livin’ anywhere.

  Another knock on the door. He grabbed a towel, almost as an afterthought, and whipped it around his waist. Then he yanked open the door.

  “Oh.” Storm stood there, wearing an elegant African-print robe. She took in his state of undress and turned to leave. “I apologize. I will see you in the—”

  “’Roro.” He stepped back, ushering her inside. “It’s just me.” The towel started to fall, and he grabbed it just in time. Storm smiled.

  “Very well,” she said, closing the door behind her. “But put on some clothes?”

  “For you, sure.” He stepped around the corner to a small changing area. “But no mask.”

  “No. No masks.”

  “I gather we’re talkin’ in metaphor now.”

  He stepped back out, wearing his costume. Storm had seated herself on a low armchair. The arms curved slowly inward, conforming to the shape of her body.

  Wolverine had found that hard to get used to. The first time he sat down, he’d instinctively slashed the sofa in self-defense. No trace of that incision remained—apparently the healing power of Shi’ar furniture nearly matched his own.