Sanctuary (13 page)

It did not hurt that Xavier found her attractive, in an odd sort of way. But then,he had long since established a history of being attracted to powerful, odd women. Moira MacTaggart, Gabrielle Haller, Amelia Voght, Lilandra ... and thoughts of Lilandra brought back his concern for Cyclops and his "away team," who had yet to arrive back on Earth. Quickly he sent a psi-probe out into the ether of Earth's atmosphere, hoping against hope that there would be some response from Jean Grey.

There was none. They were either not yet within the range of his mental scan, or they had not emerged from the Shi' ar stargate alive. Another crisis, for another time. Now, the situation at hand had to be dealt with.

"We're on in fifteen seconds, Professor," the newswoman said as she waved away a production assistant who was fooling with her hair. "I hope you can put some kind of positive spin on all of this. God knows, we need it."

Xavier smiled at that. He'd been right about the Dwyer woman. She still cared.

"I'll do my best, Ms. Dwyer," he answered.

"Please," she said, nodding her permission. "Call me Annelise."

"In five, Annelise," the production assistant said, holding up five fingers and counting them off with the seconds. "Three. Two. One."

Annelise introduced herself to the CNN audience, then greeted Xavier formally.

"Recently, you did a three way forum here on CNN with Senator Robert Kelly and Graydon Creed, Professor," she pointed out. "Though the men seemed, at least in that debate, to be at odds, both have held press conferences recently advocating the use of armed force to take Manhattan back. Creed has even gone so far as to call for the rounding up of all known mutants into detention centers, similar to those used to hold Japanese-Americans during World War II. Would you care to comment on any of their points?"

"Absolutely," Xavier said sternly, in his best administrative tone. "To begin with, I want to show my complete support of the President's policies in this matter. He wisely proceeds with caution over a course that is both new and treacherous. While Senator Kelly and Mr. Creed do have different motives—one makes choices informed by fear, the other by hatred—their advocacy of a military solution is, simply put, ignorant of the situation."

"That's a rather inflammatory statement, Professor," Annelise said, her surprise obviously genuine.

"Not at all," Xavier countered, looking directly at the camera now. "I am here, as you can see. Neither Senator Kelly or Graydon Creed is in Jersey City, or anywhere near New York at the moment. Obviously neither of them has studied the capacity of these Sentinels as I have. In short, no massive military onslaught has any hope of achieving anything but mass property damage and probably the deaths of a great number of innocent civilians. "

"You have another solution, Professor?" Annelise asked. "We can't just allow terrorists to claim our cities with impunity, can we?"

"Not at all, Annelise," Xavier agreed. "And I'm told the President does have a plan. Also, I'm not saying incisive use of force is unwarranted, only that a mass attack would be useless. But, on to an even more disturbing issue, Graydon Creed's detention center idea. This, as I'm sure you and all good Americans will realize, is nothing more than a concentration camp, though we should expect no less from a fascist whose communications on the Internet have revealed that he supports the idea of genetic cleansing through the genocide of mutants."

"That is a stunning charge, Professor," Annelise commented, though they had already discussed the point before broadcasting it.

"All supported by documentation available on the Internet, I assure you," Xavier answered.

"Well, Professor," she continued, "what of the media videotape of Magneto's Acolytes killing humans in cold blood, and of Magneto's abduction of local reporter Trish Tilby and her cameraman."

"Despicable events indeed," Xavier responded, treading carefully now. "Despite common opinion, however, Magneto is not a cold-blooded murderer. Fanatic he may be, terrorist, call him what you will, but he would not have committed the kind of cold-blooded murder we saw on that tape. Which seems to indicate that Ms. Tilby and her cameraman will be relatively safe so long as they accompany him. On the other hand," he continued cutting Annelise off before she could, understandably, object, "all moral guides indicate that Magneto must be held responsible for the murderous actions of those who act on his behalf. He had foreknowledge of his Acolytes' penchant for death when he became their leader.

"In addition, Annelise," he said, and turned to the camera again as he relaxed into a paternal role and voice.

"The American people have also seen the heroic actions of the X-Men, a band of mutants largely considered outlaws who are obviously attempting to put an end to Magneto's 'Mutant Empire' before it really gets going."

"Now that you mention it, Professor," Annelise began, and seemed to hesitate a moment, as if unsure she wanted to pursue her question. "Well, what of your rumored connection to the X-Men? Is it true you are working with them?"

"Please, Annelise," Xavier said with an exasperated sigh. "It is true that I have, in my life, met several members of this group. In fact I know Dr. Henry McCoy, the renowned biochemist, quite well indeed. But I am, as you well know, among the foremost experts on mutation in the world. I understand how certain things might be misconstrued, however. It comes with the territory.

"But, listen," he said, and turned once more toward the camera with his best paternal manner, "what the American people need to know right now, more than anything, is that they are safe. For the time being, they need not be concerned that there will be some sudden mutant uprising. The majority of the world's mutants are law-abiding citizens. Those who aren't may very well be making their way to Manhattan even as we speak. And if that is the case, well, at least they won't cause any additional trouble.

"No, though Graydon Creed may attempt to foment some kind of genetic civil war, as long as the American people keep their wits about them, the only thing we have to worry about is how to get Magneto out of Manhattan."

"Thank you, Professor Charles Xavier," Annelise said. "This is Annelise Dwyer, live in Jersey City, New Jersey. We go back to Greg Lombardi at CNN Center in Atlanta. Greg?"

Xavier sighed as Annelise pulled off the staid jacket she had donned for the broadcast. He felt slightly nauseous, and slumped back in his wheelchair a bit, trying to shake loose the tension that had drawn the muscles in his back tighter than guitar strings.

"Professor Xavier, are you all right?" Annelise asked.

"Please," he answered kindly, "call me Charles. And the answer to your question is that I am most definitely not all right. I feel quite ill, in fact."

"Is there anything I can do'!" she offered.

"Certainly," he chuckled drily. "You can lie and tell me I didn't sound like a politician just now. That's the one thing I promised myself I would never be. Politics means compromising your beliefs and goals, Annelise. I hope to God I haven't come to that."

"Don't worry, Charles," she said softly, gently comforting him. "As long as you feel like throwing up every time you placate the masses, you haven't sold your soul yet."

• • •

As Charles Xavier wheeled himself away from the CNN remote setup, he scanned the rest of the media tent for Valerie Cooper. Upon his arrival, he'd had no time to even touch base with Val before CNN hustled him off for his interview. He knew that if there was a solution to their predicament beyond that espoused by Graydon Creed, it would lay either in the hands of his badly outnumbered X-Men, or in the product of Val's experience, knowledge, and skills combined with his own.

Even before he heard her call his name, Xavier felt the mental recognition of his presence in Val's mind. Some emotions were too powerful to screen out, and her volatile mix of relief and frustration was like a beacon. He turned to see her striding purposefully through the media circus, ignoring the pleas of desperate reporters alerted to her position of authority by the federal badge she wore. It allowed her entrance into any building or situation during this crisis, but it was also little better than a bull's-eye when dealing with the press.

"Professor Xavier," she said, with a pleasantness Xavier knew was forced. "How good to see you again. Do you have a moment? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this whole mess."

"Absolutely, Ms. Cooper," he answered, just as pleasantly. "Let's find a quiet place to chat, shall we?"

Xavier hated such falsehood, but every reporter around them, from the lowest viper to the most scrupulous journalist, was listening to their every word. They had to take their conversation elsewhere.

Though Xavier preferred not to rely on people to push him in his wheelchair, it was a welcome break when Val stepped behind him and began to do just that. When help was offered by anyone other than one of his X-Men, or someone equally close to him, he usually declined. In this case, however, he was glad that she had not asked. While at the Institute, he generally used the hoverchair that Lilandra had given him as a gift. But in public, he was forced to use the conventional chair.

It was really quite ironic, in a very cruel way. Xavier had been crippled as a young man, but later, in a miraculous series of events aided by the extraordinary technology of Lilandra's people, he had been given the ability to walk once more. For a time, he had lived in peace as Imperial Consort to Lilandra on the Shi'ar throneworld of Chandilar, for all intents and purposes married to the empress of a culture for whom marriage was the most sanctified of events.

But his heart had never been torn. He loved no other above Lilandra. Yet there was a growing crisis for mutants on the world of his birth. The X-Men needed him, desperately. And, in fact, he found that he needed them as well. He had responsibility, duty, and though they both hated to part, Lilandra understood the concept. It was the very thing which kept her from accompanying him to Earth. The very thing that was, even now, blanketing their relationship in a terrible chill that had nothing to do with distance and everything to do with philosophy.

So he had returned to Earth, to the X-Men, and almost immediately fate had stepped in, in the form of his old enemy Amahl Farouk, the Shadow King. One moment, he stood proud as any other man, strong and able. The next, he was crippled once more, his body cruelly twisted, and he was confined to a chair again.

Perhaps that was the price he paid for his dream. He had long since decided that the dream was worth any price, however. As long as it came true. He and Val Cooper had to make certain that Magneto's fantasies of empire did not get in the way. Though, Xavier thought, he would be fooling himself if he did not recognize how much damage had already been done.

"I think we're as alone as we're going to get, Val," Xavier said, looking around on Washington Street, around the comer from the PATH station and the media tent. They weren't far from the military encampment here, and Xavier could see a pair of Jeeps stopped parallel to one another, though facing opposite directions. Their passengers seemed in the midst of a heated debate, and Xavier knew it would not be the last on that day.

"Okay," Val answered. "What the hell is going on? I thought you people were going to wait to hear from me?"

"The team couldn't afford to wait," Xavier answered simply. "We didn't want Magneto to have the luxury of getting completely entrenched in his new 'sanctuary' without some kind of opposition."

"So they're taking the fight to him with no hope of winning," she snapped. "Does that make sense, Charles?"

"There is always hope," he said. "They've come through worse spots that this. We both know that."

"So where's the rest of the team?" she asked, sighing and glancing around in a pretense of distraction. "I didn't see Cyclops, Gambit, Rogue—you know what I mean. Where are the others?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I'm not even sure they're alive."

The color drained from Valerie Cooper's face.

"If we're lucky," Xavier continued, "they're about to reenter Earth's atmosphere even now. But I haven't been able to reach them using any method."

"We need help," Val said softly, chewing her lip. "I got the President to approve my working with the X-Men on this, trying to get into the Alpha Sentinel with the override codes. But if I've got no X-Men ..."

Her voice trailed off, and Xavier saw that Val was looking beyond him. She scowled, closed her eyes a moment and shook her head. When she finally spoke, he already knew what she would say.

"Here comes Gyrich," Val said, and the despair and hatred in her voice could not have been more clear.

"Ah, Professor Xavier," Henry Peter Gyrich crowed as he approached, "how nice to see you. Come to make a case study, have you?"

"As you well know, Mr. Gyrich," Cooper snapped, "the Professor has been brought in as an expert consultant for the duration of this crisis."

"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten," Gyrich sneered. "And what of the X-Men, Professor? How do they fare?"

"It's good to see you again, Mr. Gyrich," Xavier said stiffly. "Regarding the X-Men, I've no idea. Though the television says they're in Manhattan right now."

Gyrich tipped his head to one side and gave Xavier an odd smile. Charles was chilled to the bone. The problem with Gyrich was that he wasn't evil, or even "bad" per se. He was not an enemy that could be openly combatted. Rather, he was a bigoted patriot who would do anything for his country's benefit, even if his country did not specifically request it. Like Oliver North, he had his own ideas of what was good for America. But Gyrich also had some strong beliefs on the role that mutants did
not
play in the future of the nation.

Gyrich was not a villain, but he was an extremely dangerous man, just the same.

"So, what's the story, Ms. Cooper?" Gyrich asked after an uncomfortable silence. "What's your next move?"

"My next move, Mr. Gyrich, is to get the override codes for the Alpha Sentinel from you."

"You mean you don't already have them?" Gyrich asked, feigning astonishment with a caustic obviousness.