Gifted

  “Put her down!” Rao shouted.

  Ord barely afforded her a glance. There was nothing but fury in his face. “If I can’t conduct tests on Colossus, then I’ll conduct them on her. And if they can’t be done here, then they’ll be held elsewhere. Retrieval.”

  The moment he said that last word, a large bracelet on his wrist began to glow. Tildie’s eyes were wide with terror. Seconds later, a silvery glow surrounded him and then he was gone, along with Tildie. It was some manner of transport fail-safe.

  “Oh God,” Rao whispered.

  It was as if Tildie’s nightmares-made-into-reality had returned, except this time around, the nightmare was not something conjured out of the girl’s own head. Instead it was a devil spat up from Hell, and Kavita Rao had made a deal with it.

  Rao stared at Tildie’s toys, upended and lying in an accusatory fashion on the floor.

  Then she turned and bolted.

  THE X-Men stood a safe distance from the insanity being unleashed upon Benetech, under a grove of trees that blocked them from easy view of low-flying S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles. Anyone on the ground who happened to glance their way didn’t see them; a simple mental deflection from Emma was enough to guarantee that.

  In the distance, the X-Men could see masses of mutants still pouring in through the breach they’d created in the side of the building. A half dozen small ships—one-man S.H.I.E.L.D. vessels—were dive-bombing down toward them. The mutants had crashed in through the first floor in the southwest corner and spread throughout the facility in no time at all. Fortunately, the building seemed in no danger of collapsing; otherwise hundreds of people already inside would be crushed.

  There was no sign of Nick Fury. Obviously he was still inside the building, although there was little doubt that he was responsible for calling in the air strike.

  The newly arrived S.H.I.E.L.D. vessels targeted those mutants who were still trying to gain entry. Huge blasts of gas hammered away at the mob as if the ships were crop dusters. This was far more potent gas than any the X-Men had ever seen before. The moment it hit the ground, anyone within range simply keeled over immediately. No coughing or gasping or staggering; just down they went.

  Cyclops’ gut impulse was to open fire on the ships, just blast them out of the sky. But the X-Men were hardly in a position to start a full-blown firefight with S.H.I.E.L.D.

  For just a moment, as Cyclops watched the desperate mutants being felled by the S.H.I.E.L.D. sleeper ships, he suddenly remembered what it was like to see a world through something other than a ruby-quartz visor. He remembered colors, and the feel of the wind on his face, and having to squint in sunlight. And crying. He remembered crying. He remembered when his eyes had first turned into weapons of mass destruction. If this cure had been around when he’d undergone that transformation, how likely was it that he would have been standing at the front of the line waiting for his dose?

  Likely. Damned likely.

  The X-Men had always been symbols of what people could accomplish when they were forced to adjust to strange, new abilities. But if there was a new reality where mutants didn’t have to adjust…

  …why should they be forced to?

  Symbols were all well and good, but all the X-Men were—all they really were—were examples of what mutants could be if they chose to live their lives as mutants. Rather than allow themselves to be beaten down by society, mutants could band together and create a world where they lived in solidarity with each other and drew strength from that. A strength that would enable them to survive long enough for society to realize that mutants were simply different, not enemies.

  But that was only true if there was no alternative. Rao’s ‘miracle’ was providing exactly that, and who were the X-Men…who was anyone…to make that decision on behalf of others?

  You’ve known so much misery, so much heartache in your life, with this genetic burden that was thrust upon you. Where do you get off sitting in judgment on other people’s pursuit of happiness? You’re opposed to the government forcing people to take this cure…but if you’re working to deprive people of it when they really want it, how are you any better? In what kind of world do you get to seize the moral high ground?

  “A world of trouble. That’s what you people are in. A world of trouble,” said Agent Brand, jolting Cyclops harshly from his mental digression.

  His stoicism remained intact. Long years of suppressing emotion enabled him to keep his face impassive. “Well, that’s the world we’re from,” he said drily. “Finish your story, Agent Brand.”

  Her sunglasses had fallen off when she hit the ground. She hadn’t bothered to pick them up, and he noticed her eyes were as green as her hair. “Genocide. ‘And they all died suddenly after. The end.’ You like it?”

  “My kind of party,” said Wolverine.

  “Are you remotely under the impression that I’m kidding, little man?” she said. “The Breakworld’s technologies include something that translates roughly as ‘Timeshadows.’ They can see a partial version of the future. Not visit. Not change. Just see.”

  “And they saw something of interest to us?” said Cyclops.

  She nodded. “They saw their world in chaos. In ashes. The Breakworld, gone in their lifetimes. Destroyed utterly. By a mutant. Most probably an X-Man.”

  Wolverine stepped forward, grabbed her by the front of her uniform and hauled her to her feet. “So you got together and decided to take care of the muties once and for all, huh?”

  “Don’t you get it? To Ord, he’s the hero fighting to save his world. You people are the enemy. He’s the X-Man to your Magneto.”

  “Magneto said people will always look for reasons to destroy mutants.” Wolverine’s fists curled even more tightly around the top of her uniform. “So far you ain’t shown me anything to prove he got it wrong.”

  “Deal with the facts, Bumblebee. Our own precog stats confirmed Ord’s findings,” said Brand, undaunted by the angry mutant. “A mutant will almost certainly destroy the Breakworld in the next three years.”

  “And what do we know of this Breakworld?” said Emma. “Have you seen it yourself?”

  “No. But it has a quarter of a billion people living on it. It celebrates the arts, scientific discovery, philosophy—”

  “And the one representative of this paradise that you’ve encountered firsthand,” the Beast pointed out, “is a bellicose madman who’s armed to the teeth. Even allowing for the possibility that what you’re saying is true…have you considered the notion that Breakworld’s alleged destruction will result from their own endeavors? Perhaps they’re a race of conquerors that targets Earth and a mutant winds up saving our world…again. Did you give any thought to that possibility? Or did your own personal dislike of mutants make it simple for you to decide whose side you’re on?”

  “My feelings toward mutants, one way or the other, are not at issue,” she said stiffly. “Although I’m curious: When your teammate, Jean Grey, went berserk and destroyed an entire alien world a few years back, what rationalization did you come up with to excuse that?”

  “Jean Grey is dead, Agent Brand,” Emma said, with a sense of finality that indicated that, as far as she was concerned, that subject was closed.

  Yet Brand, who smirked at the words, wasn’t about to let it go. “Yeah, that’ll last,” she said and looked toward Peter Rasputin.

  Immediately Kitty was between them. Brand flinched slightly; clearly she had no desire to experience the literally gut-wrenching sensation of another Kitty Pryde-sponsored architectural tour. “You have a hell of a nerve,” said Kitty sharply, “holding up Peter’s resurrection as an example of anything other than your pal Ord’s sheer cruelty. Ord brought Peter back to life and then spent God knows how long torturing him. Ord is the one using us for lab rats. Did you know?” and her voice became accusatory. “Did you know what he was doing to Peter? All this time, did you know? Give me a damned straight answer.”

  Brand didn’t attempt to dissemble. “Yes. But Fu
ry didn’t. Not his department.”

  “What about Kavita?” asked Beast.

  “Ord came here with a declaration of war, people,” said Brand. “The cure was just diplomatic tap dancing until we could get a bead on which mutant was—”

  The Beast was not so easily put off. “Please answer my question. In case it’s slipped your mind: Was Doctor Rao aware that you were—”

  “Please!”

  The shouted plea had come from Doctor Rao, sprinting across the lawn toward them. The moment she had their attention, she skidded to a halt. She was gasping for air, her hand to her chest, trying to compose herself. “He’s got Tildie,” she managed to get out.

  “The kid?” said Wolverine. Rao nodded. “And I s’pose we don’t gotta ask who the ‘he’ is.”

  Again she nodded. “He’s taken everything. The samples, the research. He’s gone below and I…if Tildie’s hurt…”

  “Why below?” said Cyclops. “What’s below?”

  Kitty was able to supply the answer immediately. “A subcomplex. His lab.”

  Brand had her hand to her ear, activating her comm device. “Fury. It’s Brand,” she said briskly. “Total evac now. Five hundred yard minimum.”

  Cyclops was starting to feel truly irritated that he kept asking questions without getting any answers. “What’s going on? What’s he gonna do?”

  “He’s gonna leave,” said Brand tersely.

  “The girl’s still inside,” said Cyclops. He started to move in the direction of the building, with the others following.

  Brand stepped into their path. “You won’t be able to rescue her if you’re dead, and if you don’t give this area some distance immediately—”

  Abruptly, the ground began to rumble beneath their feet. The X-Men exchanged glances of alarm as Brand started to run. “She’s right! Fall back for the moment!” called out Cyclops. Not seeing any other option, the team charged after Brand, reasoning—not incorrectly—that she would know which way to go to avoid whatever was coming.

  The Beast, loping along, easily caught up with Brand. “What’s he got under there?!”

  “His ship!” Brand called to him as she continued to sprint. “There were natural caverns, formations under Benetech! His ship’s FTL drive warps space around it, so he was able to land it in there by basically warping right into it!”

  “Why isn’t he doing that now?”

  “It’s ion powered! He needs to build up an energy supply of solar ions to fire up the warp, get it online!”

  People poured out of Benetech now, the incredible vibrations causing entire sections of the building to crack apart and fall within. Fury and the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents emerged, a number of them carrying fallen, unconscious mutants slung over their shoulders or cradled in their arms. Some of the mutants were helping others of their kind, and a few were even carrying downed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

  Then a vast area of the ground began to pulsate, to bulge, as something subterranean pushed upward from beneath. The quaking continued, increasing in violence until even the most sure-footed of mutants were having trouble remaining upright.

  Then the ground exploded, clods of dirt and rock flying upwards. People ducked and shielded their heads from the debris. The sounds of powerful engines were still muffled but growing louder and clearer by the second.

  The top of the ship appeared, a dome—the cockpit or bridge—ringed with a series of viewports, and moments later the rest emerged, tearing up the ground, sending tons of dirt scattering in all directions. It was shaped like a pyramid, with twin engines roaring beneath, propelling it skyward.

  Fury had drawn near Brand as they watched the ship start to angle toward the heavens.

  “You were gonna brief me on this, I’m sure,” Fury said with dry annoyance.

  She ignored the implied criticism. “Can you bring him down?”

  “With what we have on hand? Not a chance.”

  “He’s got the bloody serum, people!” said Emma, sensing an opportunity. “We hit him with the jet and blow it all to smoking pieces—him, the research and the ‘cure.’”

  “There’s a girl in there with him,” Kitty reminded her.

  Doctor Rao said, “You have to help her—!”

  “Thoughts, people?” said Beast. “Because I’m thinking another ten seconds and he and the girl are gone.”

  “No.” It was Colossus, his voice rumbling like thunder. “He doesn’t get away with this, and with her.” Then he looked to Wolverine, and immediately it was obvious to all that the two of them were on the same wavelength.

  “You feeling rested up, Petey?”

  “I am strong.”

  Wolverine nodded. It was all he needed to hear. “If that’s the case, then I got just two words for you, bub.”

  “Fastball special?” said Colossus.

  “Just like old times.”

  Instantly the metal sheathing that was Peter’s greatest offensive and defensive weapon slid into place. Seconds later, the armor-clad mutant picked up Wolverine, who flattened out his body, arms forward like a swimmer caught in mid-racing dive. Or, more accurately, like a human javelin. The “fastball special” was the first combined combat tactic that the two of them had ever developed. “Oldie but goodie,” murmured Wolverine, and then Colossus drew back his arm slightly and hurled Wolverine skyward.

  “You really have kept in shape,” Emma said with admiration and even a bit of contemplation.

  Colossus’ aim could not have been more perfect.

  Cyclops and the others watched as Wolverine speared upward, his arms outstretched, his claws extended. The ship started to build up speed. For a moment it looked as if the acceleration was going to cause Wolverine to miss it clean, which would result in a very frustrating and bruising landing. But Wolverine had just enough speed to bang into the side of the ship. He jammed the claws of his right hand into the hull and dangled there for a moment, getting his bearings.

  But Wolverine was hardly safe. Indeed, he was in greater jeopardy than ever. The ship was still heading toward space, perhaps even a jump into some sort of faster-than-light warp. Any sane person would realize he was overmatched. Any sane person would cut his losses, release his hold on the ship, and go into free-fall, trusting his natural healing power to kick in and manage to repair his broken body after landing.

  But none of that really applied to Wolverine, because he was the best there was at what he did.

  And what he did was act totally insane. Especially when it came to children being threatened and kidnapped.

  So he brought his left arm around, shoved those claws into the ship’s hull, and started pulling himself arm over arm over the top of the ship, toward the viewing ports and cockpit. Because Wolverine would rather end up as a suffocated, shriveled corpse floating somewhere in the depths of space, than give up.

  TILDIE sat crouched in the far corner of the ship’s bridge, bathed in pale red light. She kept whispering the same thing, over and over: “Wanna wake up now. Wanna wake up now.”

  “Is that what you think?” said Ord, seated at the controls. He was watching with relief as the ground receded far below him. “That you’re sleeping? Dreaming? Having a waking nightmare? How utterly amusing.”

  The plan had seemed simplicity itself: Ord would, in conjunction with the human scientists, finish research on the cure and administer it to Earth’s mutant population. Getting rid of all their powers would effectively “neuter” them so they would provide no threat to the BreakWorld. Meanwhile Ord himself would destroy the more determined and organized mutants, such as the X-Men, either with the cure—as he had with that annoying flying boy—or through simple brute strength.

  But matters had not gone exactly according to plan. The X-Men had proven far too unwilling to die, and now his alliance with Agent Brand had been revealed. That annoying Nick Fury—about whom Brand had had very little positive to say other than that, “If Fury finds out about this we are positively screwed”—knew everything about t
heir activities.

  But all was not a total loss, thanks to his acquisition of the sobbing girl behind him. She was a bargaining chip, one that would prove useful in dealing with the Earth people. In that respect, Ord had caught a lucky break. There were very few races in the galaxy whose members would willingly give up an advantage, or hesitate to take action, for the life of a single miserable child. Yet that was what Ord had stumbled upon.

  “Did the Doctor tell you there would be no more nightmares, little one?” he said in a conversational tone. He glanced backward and saw her give the slightest, timid nod. “Did you always know she was lying?”

  Once again a tiny nod. Good. The girl had more brains than he’d credited her with.

  “Good. Because there will be nightmares,” he assured her. “I will make the Earth an endless, shrieking blackness.” He smiled then, and fortunately his back was to her because his smile was a terrible thing to see, and Tildie already had enough nightmarish images to live with. “They probably think I’m returning to my homeworld, but they could not be more wrong. There are other places on this world where I can safely hide and wait for my opportunity. And the first thing I will attend to, once they have forgotten about me, is the mutants. I have my ‘cure’ now, and as long as I have you, they’ll wait just long enough for me to—”

  The viewing port directly in front of Ord shattered and a curled fist stabbed forward with the speed and ferocity of a serpent. Ord cried out in alarm. It was an involuntary reaction, but it cost him dearly as the fist plunged deep inside his mouth.

  Wolverine extended his upper torso into the cockpit, snarling upside down into Ord’s face. His fist pressed against the back of Ord’s mouth. “You bite, I’ll heal. I pop my claws, you won’t. Land.”

  Ord took a moment, then grunted his acquiescence. He reversed the thruster, and in a slow, graceful arc the ship started to angle back toward Benetech.

  “That’s it. Thaaaat’s it,” said Wolverine. “Nice and easy on the controls there. We all want a smooth landing, don’t we?” Ord grunted again and Wolverine raised his voice slightly. “Tildie? You still with me over there, kid? He didn’t hurt you none, did he?” The child made no answer, her eyes wide with terror. “You got nothing to be afraid of, kid. I know I look scary, but I’m one of the good guys—”