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Authors: Christopher Golden

Tags: #Adventure, #X-Men, #Mutant, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Comics & Graphic Novels, #Contemporary, #Literature & Fiction

Sanctuary (2 page)

BOOK: Sanctuary
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"Thanks, Jean," Rogue said earnestly. "And you, too, Warren. When you spend so much time fighting the kind of war we're in, sometimes you forget that not all problems are solved with force. I appreciate y'all bein' here."

"Well," Warren said magnanimously, "you're welcome, Rogue—but it's not like we have a choice."

Jean smiled, and Rogue actually chuckled. In the cold confinement of the cabin, it was a welcome sound indeed.

"Well, you all seem to be taking our predicament rather well," Cyclops said, as he emerged from the cockpit.

• • •

Jean stood and crossed the cabin to meet Scott. They shared a psychic bond, a special rapport boosted by Jean's telepathic abilities. Without a word, they greeted one another, then embraced for a long moment. When she released Scott from her arms, Jean looked up at his face, at the ruby quartz visor that covered Scott's eyes, allowing him to control the devastating optic blasts that were his mutant "gift."

The barest hint of his eyes was visible behind their red shield, but Jean wished, as she often did, that she could truly see them. She yearned to look upon the face of the man she loved unimpeded. The eyes were the window to the soul, or so it was said. Jean consoled herself with the knowledge that no facial expression could ever tell her as much about her lover as their psionic bond. It told her more about his love for her than any look of longing.

But, somehow, it was still a poor substitute for gazing into his eyes.

"Is Corsair having any luck with the comm-rig?"

Jean asked, reluctantly bringing them all back to their imminent danger.

"We're broadcasting some kind of S.O.S. pattern, but that's all we're going to get. He's working on the navigational systems now," Scott answered.

"I just wish I was as confident as the rest of you," Rogue said, her powerful fingers still holding Gambit's limp hand. "I don't know as we've got a chance in hell of gettin' out of this alive."

"Not to worry, Rogue," Scott responded. "We'll make it home in one piece."

"In all seriousness, Scott," Archangel said, standing up, "besides wracking our brains hoping for some kind of inspiration, can you think of anything we can do to help?"

Scott paused a moment, then shook his head.

"Come on, folks," Jean said, exasperated. "Have a little faith, will you? Even if the Starjammers can't get this ship repaired, both Professor Xavier and Lilandra know we were en route to Earth, and how we were traveling. As soon as they speak, it will be only a matter of time before they come looking for us. And now Scott tells us we're broadcasting an S.O.S."

"You make it sound so simple, Jean," Warren argued. "But Lilandra isn't going to send anyone after us, and the Professor doesn't have any space-faring vessels."

"So he borrows a spacecraft from Starcore or Stark Enterprises," Scott said, and Jean wanted to kiss him for the way he made it sound like it wasn't a big deal, when they all knew that it was.

"Point bein' , if I ain't mistaken, that we all gotta stay alive until then," Rogue finished.

"Exactly!" Jean said. "And maybe we won't have to wait. Ch'od and Raza have been holding this ship together with spit and bubble gum for years. I'd be surprised if they were unable to fix it."

A sudden clamor arose from the back of the ship, and then there was the pounding of heavy footfalls through the cargo hold, approaching the main cabin.

"What the—?" Scott began.

"Fire in the hole!" Ch'od yelled as he and Raza burst into the cabin and dove for the floor.

Immediately, Jean followed their example, confident that the other X-Men would do the same. For good measure, she instinctively threw a telekinetic force shield over all of them.

The back of the ship exploded, shooting a fireball into the cabin and rocking the ship so hard that they were all tossed to the starboard side. Only when it had subsided, and Ch'od and Raza were already up and running for the cargo hold with some kind of firefighting equipment in hand, did Jean realize that the aft section of the ship hadn't been vaporized in the blast. Of course, if it had, they would all have been dead. But the concussion had stunned her so badly that being alive wasn't a factor in her thought process at the moment.

"What are we waiting for, people?" Scott asked, the crisis pushing him into leader-mode. "Let's make ourselves useful!"

The four of them ran for the back of the ship, though Rogue stayed behind a moment to see that Gambit and Hepzibah had not been further injured by the blast.

"He may be a wiseguy," Archangel said as they came upon Raza and Ch'od fighting a fire in the hatchway to the engine room, "but I wish Bobby was here now."

"Yeah," Jean agreed, "there's never an Iceman around when you need one."

Archangel laughed, and the two of them followed Raza and Ch'od into the engine room. Warren beat his wings to clear the acrid chemical smoke from the room, even as Jean surrounded the blazing hyperbum engines with a telekinetic field, and then mentally forced all oxygen from within the bubble of power.

In seconds, the flames were out.

Scott stood behind her, looking relieved and a bit awkward. Then he bent forward and kissed her on the temple.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Jean," he said.

"Now we know why they call them hyperburners," Archangel said, still reaching for levity to alleviate the tension of their situation.

"Now what?" Rogue asked, and it was the first time Jean had even noticed her in the room. She looked a little panicked, and Raza and Ch'od both looked up at the edgy tone of her voice.

''I'm dead serious," she continued. "Now what do we do? Those were the hyperburn engines, right? Well they burn pretty good. But now what are we gonna do? I could take this ship apart with my bare hands, but I can't do a damn thing to keep us alive."

She looked directly at Jean, who wondered for a moment if Rogue was going to lose it. But then the woman took a deep breath, let it out slow, and shook her head with a sigh.

"Okay, okay, I know. I'm not helping," she said, then turned to Ch'od. "But really, what now?"

"As I'm sure you all have guessed, the hyperburners are now completely useless," Ch'od answered, his yellow eyes calming despite the alarmingly savage appearance of his huge reptilian face. As he moved, the scales on his body rippled, and the webbed ears that poked from the sides of his head seemed to contract and expand like tiny Oriental fans. "What this means is that the warp drive is our only hope of getting this ship moving under its own power again. The good news is that Raza and I both feel this is possible."

"And the bad news would be—?" Scott began, then waited for one of the Starjarnmers to finish.

Ch'od and Raza looked at one another, and in their moment of silence, Jean reflected that there were probably not two more dissimilar comrades in the galaxy. While Ch'od's huge, reptilian body was frightening, he was an eternally hopeful, amiable creature. Raza was a Shi'ar cyborg who had an air of intelligence about him. He was arrogant, ill-humored, and often even hostile. Still, they were both unfailingly loyal to each other and to the other Starjammers as well.

"In truth," Raza finally answered, "Ch'od and I hath discerned that yon warp drive canst not be repaired from within."

"Y'all are sayin' you have to fix the drive from outside the ship?" Rogue asked, incredulous.

"Indeed," Raza responded. "And we hath not the ability to effect such repairs without aid."

"Marvelous," Archangel mumbled.

"You'll have whatever help you need," Scott quickly assured them.

"We're all in this together," Jean added. "All of our lives are at risk, either when the life support systems shut down, or in some kind of accident outside the
Starjammer
. We've got nothing to lose."

"There are spacesuits, of course," Ch'od said. "As long as we take our time, and take great care with our movements, all should be well."

A moment before he entered, Jean sensed Corsair in the cargo hold just outside the engine room. She did not try to read people's thoughts or emotions without their permission, but he was so deeply troubled that it was impossible not to pick up on his distress.

"You may have to move a little faster than you'd like, " Corsair said as he entered the engine room, his face betraying his apprehension as clearly as his thoughts had.

"What's the problem, Corsair?" Scott asked, and Jean noted how infrequently he called the man "Dad" in the presence of others.

"Whatever you're going to do, you've got to do quickly," Corsair said. "It's going to get pretty hot in here, and I don't even want to think about what the temperature will be like on the outside."

"You've got the navigational computer working," Scott realized aloud.

"Sure do," Corsair confirmed. "Just as we thought, people, we're drifting through space. Only problem is, we're not drifting aimlessly. We've gotten too close to the sun. We've been snagged by its gravitational pull."

"Oh my God," Jean whispered.

"It may take a bit, but if we don't get out of here, we're going to be roasted alive in this tin can."

Chapter 1

T
he constant thrumming vibration aboard the news helicopter began to give Trish Tilby a headache. The slashing sound of the rotors slicing through the air  made easy communication with her camarea crew impossible. None of that mattered. She was there to get the story. It was her job. She was good at it, and she loved it. The story was all that was important.

In her relatively brief career, Trish had been more like a rocket than a rising star. From the courthouse beat, she'd begged to get a few crimes stories. A coupe of times, she'd been in the right place at the right time to report on the mutant crisis, the hottest topic in America. She quickly became New York's most visible reporter on the subject, and more recently, the co-anchor of the local network affiliate's evening newscast.

Though she sympathized with the plight of the mutants in America, the country's sentiments were overwhelmingly at odds with her own. But it wasn't her place to editorialize or offer her own opinions. She didn't make the news, she just reported it. Trish had seen the anti-mutant attitudes in America grow into near hysteria.

Now this. The biggest story of her career, and the one that could turn hysteria into anarchy. After what had happened in the past few hours, Trish realized, even those as liberal-minded as she was would be hard put not to join the anti-mutant cause.

After all, even in this day and age, it wasn't every day an entire city was held hostage.

The copter had taken off from the helipad at the affiliate's Bronx offices. Now, the pilot was navigating them straight down the East River, then around the Battery and up the Hudson River, making a circuit of Manhattan. She didn't know what she expected to find. Riots, looting, the kind of insanity that took over South Central Los Angeles a few years back. They had seen several fires burning, but had not yet dared to fly directly over the island.

"Oh my god," she gasped as they reached the George Washington Bridge. "Kevin, are you gettings this?"

The cameraman grunted behind her, recording it all. Beneath them, in the briliant glow of the city and the subtle shine of the moon, people moved across the bridge in a solid wave. Where Trish might have expected chaos, however, this was an orderly exodus, the largest marching band in history.

"They've all got suitcases or other bags." Kevin said, and Trish envied him the telescoping capabilities of his camera. "Crying, frightened, but most of 'em look relieved."

"I just can't believe they're not running." Trish said, still awed by the sight.

"Magneto wants things orderly, I guess," Kevin noted, then pointed to the spot he had just focused his camera. At the Manhattan side of the bridge stood a Sentinel, its operating lights glowing in the darkness.

It was true, then, Tirsh realized. All true. Magneto had somehow commandeered an entire fleet of Sentinels from the U.S. government, and was using them to claim Manhattan island as a haven for mutants. The mutant outlaw, wanted in nearly every civilized naiton for his crimes, had interrupted all broadcasts to announce the establishment of this haven, and to detail the rules for residency. Mutants were now the ruling class on Manhattan, and all mutants were welcome. Humans were invited to stay as long as they could live within the new heirarchy. If not, they could take their things and leave, on foot, calmly and without incident.

Magneto and his mutant Acolytes would see that his instructions were obeyed, and the island's perimeter would be patrolled by the stolen Sentinels. Trish had never seen one before, and she knew the sight would be with her always. It was colossal, at least eight stories high, and its robotic eyes burned with a cold, artificial intelligence. She had been stunned to see the orderly exodus on the bridge. No longer. She understood completely how intimidated those people must be.

"The hell with this waiting around," Trish snapped, suddenly angry. "Magneto didn't say the media couldn't enter the city. We're going in."

"You sure you wanna do that, Trish?" Kevin asked, obviously against the idea.

BOOK: Sanctuary
10.57Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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