by Stuart Moore
“What’s on your mind, lady?”
She sighed, stared out the viewport at the stars. “I was remembering the days when I was simply Ororo, the wind-rider. I was alone… I was free.”
“Romanticizing the past?” Logan grunted, planting himself on a chair.
“Perhaps.” She looked down. “But now I am neither alone nor free… and rarely happy.”
He nodded. “Tough to cage the beast.”
“Yet I chose to join the X-Men.” She looked up, met his eyes. “To leave Africa, my home, of my own free will. The X-Men have become my family, and Jean Grey the sister I never had.”
“I should’ve killed her, ’Roro.”
Storm looked up sharply.
“I coulda done it.” He held up a hand, let one deadly claw slide free. “One slash, and none of this’d be happening.”
“I… I am very glad you didn’t—”
“She begged me to do it.” He turned away, staring at his claws. Shut up, he told himself. Don’t burden her with this. Yet once the words started coming, they wouldn’t stop. “Nobody understands,” he said. “Not you, not the elf, definitely not Summers. Even Xavier… he saw a problem t’be solved, a blasted enemy to be defeated and locked up in a cage. You all think the Phoenix is some thing—this bug-eyed alien that’s taken her over.”
Storm frowned. “Lilandra’s people are familiar with this ‘thing.’”
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe there is a ‘Phoenix Force,’ some great bird of the galaxy that’s a quazillion years old and takes people over like a body snatcher.” He turned away, paced across the room. “But there’s also Jean Grey.”
She watched him, puzzled. “That is my point.”
“No. No no no.” He whirled to face her. “The rage, the killer instinct—everything the Phoenix did, to us an’ to that poor planet off in some other galaxy. It’s all inside Jean. It’s part of her, an’ I…”
He paused, suddenly exhausted.
“And only you can see it.” Storm approached, placed her hands on his shoulders. “Because it’s part of you, too.”
He looked away.
“I cannot accept that,” she said. “Even if what you say is true, there is love within Jean, as well. I believe—I have to believe in her redemption.” She stepped back, rose to her full height. “I will fight for her.”
“It don’t matter,” he muttered.
She frowned. “What?”
“I mean, it don’t matter what my head tells me.” He looked up at her. “I’m gonna fight for her, too. We are what we are, ’Roro.”
“Yes.” An echo of lightning in her fierce eyes. “But living with that is more difficult for some than for others.”
He turned away again, stepped into the small kitchen. When he returned he held up a bottle of thick green liquid. “Badoon tequila,” he explained. “I swiped it from the cargo bay. Join me?” Before she could reply, he’d taken down two shot glasses and started pouring.
“Logan,” Storm said, “I am amazed you’ve lived this long.”
“You an’ me both, darlin’.” He handed her a glass, held the other one up in a toast. “You an’ me both.”
* * *
AS CYCLOPS stepped through the iris, a soft “oh” escaped his lips.
The observation blister showed a massive starfield. A sliver of Earth was visible to one side, moving rapidly away. The ship was turning, beginning its approach to the arena of tomorrow’s battle.
Yet Cyclops barely registered the view. All he saw was Jean, smiling tentatively, framed against the beauty of the stars. She wore a large, pointed domino mask with matching yellow gloves, and a striking green dress that he hadn’t seen for a long, long time. She executed an embarrassed curtsy.
“Stupid?” she asked.
He smiled. Moved forward, took her in his arms, and kissed her.
“My Marvel Girl,” he murmured in her ear.
“Always,” she replied.
Pulling back, he gestured at the costume. “A gift from the Shi’ar?”
“I requested it. They seemed to understand.” She frowned. “They’re very… ceremonial. In some ways, they remind me of the Hellfire Club.”
“That’s a disturbing thought.”
“I needed a uniform for tomorrow, and I thought…” She looked into his eyes. “I started as Marvel Girl, and I’ll end this way if I have to.”
All at once, the mood changed. He moved away, sat on a small bench, and looked up at her through ruby quartz. “You won’t,” he said.
“Scott.” She sat next to him, took his hand. “I won’t have anyone else dying for me.”
“It won’t come to that.” He squeezed her hand. “We’ve been through so much—we’ll get through this, too. Without killing anyone.”
She held up her other hand, shrugged off her glove. Turned it in the air, letting the starlight play off of it.
“My powers have declined, Scott. I can still feel you in my mind, through our link. But I can’t transmute matter anymore, and I can only hear surface thoughts… images, impressions, or messages intended directly for me.
“The Phoenix, though…” She stood up, started to pace. “This is hard to explain. It’s a part of me, something I’ve always felt. A sort of rage, but more than just rage. Something that’s now dammed up, under control.”
Scott watched her, frowning. What’s she trying to say?
“But the Phoenix is something else, too.” She paused. “Something very old, older than you or me or, hell, all of humanity. It was growing, evolving—mutating—before we were even a spark in the eye of eternity.”
“I… I don’t think we can worry about that.” He spread his arms in a helpless gesture. “We’re only human, right?”
“Well.” She pointed at the “X” on his belt. “Almost.”
He smiled. “You know what I mean.”
“I do, and I know you’re human. You and Ororo and Kurt and Peter and dear old Charles, who risked his own sanity to save mine. Logan, too.”
Scott shrugged. “ Maybe Logan.”
“All of you.” She slipped her glove back on and crossed her arms over her chest. “But I’m not sure about me. Not anymore.”
“I am.”
She stopped pacing and stood before him, looking down.
“I almost killed you.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Scott, what if Lilandra is right?”
He stood up, touched her face. “You can’t give up,” he said. “That would be like surrendering to the Dark Phoenix. Letting her—it—win. Admitting that you are evil. That your humanity means nothing in the face of some ancient power.”
She looked at him, tears welling up.
“And I know that’s not true,” he continued. “I know the love you feel in your heart. And I have faith—that love will see you through this. Will see all of us through.”
She let out a single sob. Then she wiped at her eyes and looked embarrassed.
“Softie,” she said, poking him in the chest.
He laughed.
“We’ve got a big day tomorrow.” He gestured at the iris. “Better get to bed.”
She smiled up at him, tilted her mask playfully. “Took you long enough to ask.”
“God,” he said. “I do love you.”
He started toward the exit. She hesitated just a moment, turning to stare out the observation blister again. At the Earth, just passing out of sight, as the cold gray orb of the moon swung into view.
I’ll never know, he realized suddenly. I’ll never know the impulses that drive her. Never understand the fires within her, the rage and hunger and frustration and, yes, the love.
I’ll never know. And that’s all right. He reached out a hand. She took it, smiled, and followed him back into the ship.
* * *
HUNN-TAR WAS dying. A platoon of enemy Skrulls, clad in purple exosuits with thin-skin helmets, burst through the plasteel window port of the Kree orbital platform. Hunn-Tar
felt the pressure drop, heard a roaring in his ears as the air rushed out, escaping all at once into the void. His face turned cold, his eyelids frozen in place as he watched his comrades—the elite Kree invasion force—flail and writhe, their bodies hurtling out into open space.
Hunn-Tar had died many times these past four years, in his dreams. That battle had been an epic disaster; only he had survived. But this time, something was different. As his feet left the deck, as he flew upward toward raw vacuum, a crimson light filled the sky. A raging bird of prey, forged of pure, elemental fire.
He was instantly awake and on his feet. It took him a moment to remember where he was: aboard the accursed Shi’ar vessel, orbiting that tiny world in the Sol System. In his hand he held a proton knife, its blade glowing with microfusion fire.
A human woman stood before his bed. Her dress was bright green, her eyes sharp and glaring. Her hair flowed in long crimson tresses, like the flaming vision he’d seen in his dream.
She stood perfectly still, making no sound. Her words formed in his brain, as clear as an omni-wave slicing through the stars.
Hunn-Tar of the Kree, she said. I need your help.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE CARGO bay was quiet as Cyclops stepped up to the platform. A few technicians bustled around, adjusting the teleport equipment at the edge of the central platform.
As Storm and the others approached, he gestured for them to wait. His visor blazed scarlet, the energies barely contained behind his ruby-quartz lens. “I just want to tell you…” His voice faltered. He looked down at his assembled teammates: Storm, Colossus, Wolverine, and Nightcrawler, all of them suited up and ready for combat. Jean stood apart from them.
Any or all of them could die today, he thought.
“I want you to know that I’m fighting for Jean,” he said. “But I’m not asking any of you to join me. I don’t have that right, and I won’t think any less of you if you decide to sit this one out.”
“Mein Herr.” Nightcrawler smiled. “Get real, eh?”
“We have already talked it over, Cyclops,” Storm said. “We stand with you.”
“To the end,” Wolverine added.
“Thank you,” Jean said, a tentative smile creeping onto her face. “I’ll try not to kill you this ti—”
A door in the far wall slid open. The technicians stiffened and came to attention. Lilandra strode inside, gleaming in her silver regalia. Prime Minister Araki and Professor X followed. Xavier’s face was grim—he looked as if he hadn’t slept. He rode in a sleek hoverchair that made absolutely no sound. The wonders of Shi’ar technology, Cyclops thought.
As Lilandra approached, the X-Men filed one by one up onto the transport platform. Jean flashed Cyclops a quick smile, and he reached out a hand to help her up.
“The Empress Majestrix,” Araki announced.
Lilandra stopped in front of the platform. She clapped her staff down once on the metal floor.
“Arin’nn Haelar has been offered, and lawfully accepted.” She looked up at Cyclops. “Hear my terms, X-Men. You and my Imperial Guard will do battle until one team or the other is defeated. Should the X-Men emerge victorious, the survivors will be set free. Should you lose…”
Lilandra paused, cast a glance at Xavier. He didn’t meet her eyes.
“…should you lose, Jean Grey—the Phoenix—belongs to us. To do with as we see fit, for the good of the universe. Will you abide by those terms?”
“We will,” Cyclops said.
Lilandra raised a hand and gestured to a technician. The blinding glare of the teleport effect washed over the X-Men. Cyclops felt his skin peeling away, his body reduced to its raw molecular structure. A moment passed, or an eternity.
Then they were somewhere else. A flat rocky surface surrounded by ancient, decayed ruins. Temples, machines; a long shield wall that had once stood meters high, now crumbled and broken in a dozen spots. Carved faces, thirty feet or more in height, stared down from mountainous cliffs—the walls of the crater, a mile or more away.
“The famous Blue Area of the moon,” Nightcrawler said. “Seems like more of a slate gray to me.”
Cyclops looked up. The sky was dark; Earth and the sun were both out of view. Stars shone down, brighter than any he’d ever seen from home. The air felt thin, cold against his skin.
Jean stared at a ruined temple, a mixture of alien machinery and Doric columns. It lay collapsed, fallen in an enormous heap on the rocks.
“Kirinos,” she murmured.
Cyclops frowned. “Mmm?”
“Just… remembering something.”
“I consulted the Shi’ar databanks last night,” Storm said. “These ruins were left behind from some ancient conflict between the Kree and the Skrulls. Somehow there is an Earth-normal atmosphere extending all through the crater.”
“I can hear machines,” Wolverine said. “Hummin’ away somewhere underneath us.”
Cyclops frowned. He couldn’t make out the humming, but Wolverine’s hearing was more acute than his own. He did notice a luminescence rising from the surface, bathing the area in pale blue hues. Toward the edge of the crater, jagged holes in the rock revealed cave-like passages leading down into darkness.
“I’ve psi-scanned the area, Scott,” Jean said. “My power isn’t what it was, but I can’t detect any other thoughts. We’re alone here.”
“That won’t last.” Cyclops whirled to address the team again. “On your toes, people. We’ve met some of the Imperial Guard, but there are others we know nothing about. We need to be ready for anything.”
“Peter, Ororo. Kurt.” Jean paused. “I just want to say—”
“Jeannie,” Wolverine said, sniffing the air.
She looked up, nodded. “I sense them. Multiple telepathic impressions—they just popped up.”
“Flash of light, off that way.” Wolverine pointed toward a ruined temple in the distance. “Prob’ly the teleporter.”
“I will take the high ground,” Nightcrawler said. “Get a better look.”
“Kurt, no!” Cyclops reached for him—too late. His hand passed through a puff of brimstone in the exact spot where his teammate had stood. He swore and looked upward.
“Oh!” Colossus said, pointing up.
Nightcrawler sat perched high above, on a half-crumbled spire. He trembled, not moving.
“You’re too high!” Cyclops yelled. “Beyond the top of the crater—that’s hard vacuum!”
Nightcrawler clutched silently at his throat as he toppled and began to fall. Storm was airborne in an instant, moving toward him.
“Careful!” Cyclops called. “Remember the lighter gravity. You could fly off into space.”
She swooped around in an arc, staying low, then reached out her arms to catch Nightcrawler’s rigid body.
“He is falling very slowly,” Colossus said.
Cyclops nodded. “The gravity.”
Storm grabbed hold of Nightcrawler. His weight knocked her off-balance, sending the two of them lurching toward the ground. She grimaced, strained, and summoned an updraft. They touched down together, a bit more roughly than usual.
“The environment of the crater makes it hard for me to use my powers,” Storm said. “I have limited atmospheric ‘tools’ with which to work.”
Colossus took hold of Nightcrawler. “He is so cold!”
“I’m all right.” Kurt shrugged him away, smiling sheepishly at Storm. “I suppose I should have read the databanks as well.”
Cyclops took hold of him by both shoulders, addressed him directly.
“Next time, think before you act,” he said. “There’s only six of us—with Jean’s life at stake, we can’t afford any mistakes.” Nightcrawler nodded, rubbing his hands together for warmth.
“Cyclops!”
He whirled. Colossus and Wolverine stood atop a piece of the fallen wall at the far end of the clearing. Logan’s eyes were fixed on a tall, devastated machine complex on the other side of the crater.
&nb
sp; “Wolverine has spotted the Imperial Guard,” Colossus continued. “They are heading this way.” Cyclops squinted. He couldn’t see the Guard, but he trusted Wolverine’s enhanced senses.
“Do we make a stand, boss?” Logan asked.
“When we’re ready, and on our own terms. We don’t know how many of them there are yet.” He looked around, assessing the terrain. “We’ll start with hit-and-run tactics. Throw the Imperials off-balance, whittle down their forces.”
“I like the sound of that.”
Cyclops motioned him over. Jean joined the two of them in a huddle.
“I can sense them,” she said. “They’re drawing closer.”
“Any specifics?” Cyclops asked.
“My power… it’s not…” She shook her head, as if trying to clear it. “I think Oracle may be blocking my mental probes.”
Cyclops turned to Wolverine. “You ready to lead a team?”
Logan looked at him, surprised. “You ready to trust me?”
“I am.” Jean turned to Logan. “With my life.”
Logan started to reply, then turned away and dropped to the ground. He pressed an ear to the cold stone. “Footsteps,” he said. “Heavy ones. Some of ’em must be sneaking up on us from underground.” He looked up and met Cyclops’s gaze.
This is it, Cyclops thought. The moment of truth.
“Go,” he said.
Logan leapt up and broke from the huddle. “Petey, Elf,” he called. “You’re with me.” He took off for an opening in the rock. Nightcrawler teleported after him, arriving at the mouth of the cavern first.
Colossus cast a quick glance back. Cyclops nodded, and gestured for him to follow. As Peter ran, his body transformed rapidly into steel. His boots pounded on the rock, leaving deep impressions. When he reached the cave opening, he followed Wolverine and Nightcrawler inside.
“Well.” Storm soared low through the air and came to rest between Scott and Jean. “Now what?”
Cyclops looked up. He could see motion now, around one of the half-fallen spires on the far side of the crater.
“We’re too exposed here,” he said. “Let’s take cover. Storm, you’re on point.”