Sanctuary (19 page)

Other than the barber, for Jean assumed it was he, there were very few people on the street. A handful of folks going about their business, though it was relatively early in the evening. Then it hit her, what had been missing before, what had bothered her. She took a close look at a couple walking by, hand in hand, swaying drunkenly but determined to remain linked together. A bespectacled old woman with an ugly hat and patched canvas bag rode by on a bicycle. Up ahead, a pair of slim dangerous-looking men conversed at the mouth of an alley.

They were all locals. There were no tourists here, though New Orleans was a city that thrived on tourism.

One of the dangerous men up ahead turned slightly to one side, and in the darkness Jean could see the glint of red in his eyes, like flaming coals burned in their sockets. It was Gambit, but not Gambit. He was not in costume, did not even have the long brown duster that she had come to associate with him. No, this was not Gambit but Remy LeBeau, the man inside her comrade in the X-Men. This was Remy LeBeau of the New Orleans Thieves Guild, whose reputation preceded him into every back room in New Orleans Parish. Thief, rogue, troubleshooter, troublemaker.

Remy noticed her, finally. Quickly, he grabbed the elbow of the man he was speaking with, a man who seemed familiar to Jean though she could not see his face. The two of them disappeared into the darkened alley, and Jean quickened her steps to catch up with them.

She turned the corner into the alley, never slowing. There was movement ahead, in the darkness, and she followed. She had nothing to lose now. He knew she was here.

"Remy," she said, finally speaking, "I need to talk to you."

Then the darkness swallowed her, an inky blackness that seemed to wash over the alley, making brick walls and trash dumpsters disappear into an ebony void.

"Remy?" she asked the dark. "Why are you doing this?"

Receiving no answer, Jean knew that her only hope of finding Gambit was finding the light again. She turned back the way she had come and began to run, paying no mind to the trash cans and other refuse she knew would be underfoot. She heard something behind her, and stopped short.

"Jean," she heard Remy say, directly over her shoulder.

She turned, and enough light had come back so she could see again. Remy stood there, in costume now, fully suited up in the garb he had worn from the day Storm first brought him to the X-Men. He held his bostick in front of him casually, but she knew how quick he was with the weapon.

That knowledge didn't save her. Gambit lunged quickly, bringing the stick up in a diagonal blow that struck her across the forehead with a solid thud. Jean fell.

• • •

Jean Grey's eyes snapped open and her head rocked back as if the blow had been real. And in a sense, it had been. A blow struck on the astral plane, even by one who was not an adept in such areas, could often be as painful as a flesh and blood attack.

She looked down at Gambit's prone form in surprise. Almost as if on cue, his eyelids began to flutter. For the first time since he had been electrocuted on the planet Hala, Remy LeBeau was truly awake.

"Well done, Jeannie," Archangel said behind her. "He's out of it."

"Jean ..." Gambit croaked, his voice low and gruff from unuse.

Jean bent closer to hear what he had to say, her ear only inches from his lips.

"What is it, Remy?" she asked tenderly.

"Keep outta my head,
chere
," he rasped. "Girl could get hurt in dere."

Then his eyes closed again. This time, however, Jean knew that Gambit was merely sleeping. He would recover completely, would in all likelihood have no more physical problems than a little stiffness when he awoke again. His mind was fine as well, as healthy as ever. But there was clearly something, or any number of things, he desired to keep private, even on a subconscious level.

Jean felt a little guilty, though she had acted only out of the most benevolent motivations. She felt like she had been prying. At the same time, she could not help but be curious about the secrets that Gambit kept hidden from them all. She considered these things for a moment, or two. Then Corsair interrupted her thoughts, and their dire situation erased any thought of Gambit. His secrets were his to keep once again.

"Jean," he said, and she turned to face him, noting as she always did the similar features Chris and Scott Summers shared, a similarity only she had noticed the first time they had all met.

"What is it, Corsair?" she asked. "How is Hepzibah?"

"Recovering nicely, thanks," he answered. "In fact, she'll be up in a short while. Raza's another story, though. His arm's out of commission for a while. And you, how's your head?"

"It hurts, but I'm fine," she assured him. "What's happening outside?"

Corsair sighed, his lips pressing together to form a slim line of regret.

"It's not good, Jean," he said finally. "Ch'od and I have been talking to Scott over the comm-link, and we all agree that there's only one way we're going to get out of here."

"We're not going to like this, are we Corsair?" Archangel asked grimly, standing by Jean and placing a firm hand on her shoulder. Jean was glad Warren was there. The nearness of friends always added strength.

"No more than I do, Warren," Corsair answered. "The warp drive is completely trashed. We're not going to get it going again. If the sun doesn't fry us in this big tin can before then, our life support systems are going to run out eventually, and we'll all suffocate on our own breath in here. I've done some tinkering in the back, and despite the fire before, the hyperbumers seem to be functional ..."

"That's great!" Archangel said, obviously elated. "So what's the problem?"

"The computer is fried is the first problem," Corsair explained.

"Isn't there a way to repair that connection outside?" Jean asked, still not understanding what the problem was.

"That's what we've been trying to do, that's what Raza and the others were doing when we had that misfire," Corsair explained. "It's a no go. And now that additional damage has been done, we can't even jumpstart the hyperburn engines from the outside."

"So, in essence what you're telling us is that the engines are working fine, we just can't get them to start," Jean said, shaking her head in disbelief at their predicament.

"Well," Corsair said, obviously uncomfortable with whatever more he had to tell them.

"We don't have time for discomfort, Corsair," Jean said irritably. "What is it? What do you want us to do?"

"Ch'od and I believe that the hyperburners can be directly ignited," Corsair said finally.

"Oh, that's marvelous," Archangel said. "What do we do, crawl up inside the propulsion system and light a match?"

"Close," Corsair said. "We think that Scott's optic blasts at full bore can do it."

Jean was speechless.

"I know you're not thrilled with this idea, Jean," Corsair said quickly. "I don't blame you. But we've talked it over, and it's our only hope. With you protecting him from the hyperburners themselves, dragging him outside the
Starjammer
until our momentum has relaxed enough that Rogue can bring him inside, well ... it's all we've got."

"Corsair," she said softly, shaking her head, "Chris ... you're his father."

"Don't you think this thing is tearing me apart?" Corsair suddenly shouted. "Don't you think I'd go out there and do it myself if I could, that I'd do anything I had to not to have to heave my boy out into space
again
? Come on, Jean, give me a goddamn break! Scott and Alex are all I have, being their father is the one great thing I've done in my life!

"I know what I'm asking!" he shouted, poking at his own chest hard enough that Jean could hear the hollow echo inside his rib cage. "But it's all we've got, damnit. Otherwise we're
all
going to die out here."

Jean stared at Corsair a moment, unable to think of the words to express her regret, her fear, her doubt that she could hold her lover's life in her hands again without crumbling. Her eyes met his, and she saw all of those things in him as well.

"Chris, I ... " she began, but then Corsair took her in his arms and held her in a suffocating embrace, and Jean could say no more.

After a long moment, Jean broke the embrace and looked around the main cabin at the sleeping forms of Raza, Hepzibah, and Gambit. She looked at Warren, who bit his lip and nodded slowly. She barely noticed at that moment that his skin was blue. To her, with that look of concern and grim acceptance, with the intelligence and caring she saw in his eyes, he was Warren Worthington as she had always known him. They were friends. They were a team. They were X-Men. That meant more than Jean could ever put into words.

"Tell me precisely what we need to do," Jean said as she turned back to Corsair.

• • •

"I must be out of my mind," Scott Summers said, shaking his head in nervous anticipation. "What kind of fool sticks his head into the engine of a starship?"

"You must really have the jitters, Slim," Archangel said, again calling Scott by his teenage nickname in a transparent attempt to lighten the mood. "In the field, you never let on that you're nervous."

"That's different, Warren," Scott said. "When I'm leading the team, I've got to keep morale up or we won't be at our peak."

"But now, since it's just you, the hell with morale, right?" Archangel said, grinning.

"If I could pacify myself with a little pep talk, Warren, I'd gladly do it," Scott said, somewhat harshly, then began to grin as well. The grin turned to a laugh and he rolled his eyes heavenward. "God, maybe you should just bum me up now, save me the trouble of going out there again."

Archangel stopped smiling, and a moment later, Scott did as well. It wasn't funny at all, he realized. Particularly comments about burning up. It was nearing one hundred and twenty five degrees inside the ship, and the temperature was rising rapidly even with life support systems trying to compensate for their nearness to the sun. If his effort failed, they were unlikely to come up with another plan in time.

But there was more to it than that. Even if he could get the hyperburners to fire up again, and the
Starjammer
and her crew were able to return to Earth, there was no guarantee that he would be on board when it landed. Or even if he would be alive.

"How do we get ourselves into these things, Scott?" Warren asked soberly.

"We do what we have to, old friend," Scott responded gravely. "Which I guess answers my question about what kind of fool I am. The kind that does what needs to be done, just like all the X-Men, and maybe a lot of civilians as well."

"Not enough civilians, Scott," Archangel said. "Most people know what needs to be done, but they wouldn't dare attempt to do it themselves. I've got to hand it to you, Scott, because there are a lot of courageous people who wouldn't even attempt what you're about to do."

"Thank you, Warren, that makes me feel so much better," Scott said, trying for levity again, but failing miserably.

"What I'm trying to say, Scotty, is that, well, I know we've given each other some grief over the years, but you've always set the example for me. I've always had great ambitions, things I wanted to do or learn to better myself. Most of what I've aspired to are things I've observed in Professor Xavier, and in you, Scott," Archangel said sincerely. "I just thought you should know that."

"Thanks Warren," Scott said, with some discomfort. "That means a lot."

Several seconds of silence ticked by, then Archangel put out his hand.

"Good luck," he offered.

Scott shook his old friend's hand, and considered once again the utter insanity of the job before him. It wasn't the space walk that bothered him, or the fact that he would be alone outside the
Starjammer
. In many ways, it wasn't even the fact that he would be forced to jumpstart the hyperburners with his optic blasts, risking having his head and shoulders incinerated in an instant.

It was what came after. Sure, Jean would have a hold on him with her telekinetic power, but the
Starjammer
would be moving at extraordinary speed. The odds were stacked up so high against Jean being able to hold onto him that they might as well be zero. And even if she could, Rogue still had to leave the ship during its hyperburn and try to bring him in. After all, the pressure would be tremendous and it was highly unlikely that he would remain conscious.

In some ways, that was good. Scott wasn't sure he wanted to be conscious in that moment when the destiny of everyone aboard the
Starjammer
was decided.

You're thinking too much, Scott
, Jean's mental voice whispered in his mind.
As much as I wish I could, we both know there isn't any way I or anyone else is going to talk you out of doing this crazy thing. Perhaps that's for the best, otherwise we die here. My real fear is that, if you fail, then we won't even be able to die together
.

Are you trying to cheer me up
? Scott asked in his mind, and he could sense Jean's amusement on the psychic rapport that they shared.

"Jean's here," Scott said aloud, and he and Warren both turned to see Rogue and Jean entering from the gangway.

"Y'all ready for this kamikaze mission?" Rogue asked, with a sarcasm her Southern upbringing would have called sass.

Despite her tone, however, Scott could see she was unnerved by the prospect of their plan. Still, it was not as if any of them had a choice. If any of them, Scott, Rogue, or Jean, had been killed on Hala, or disabled somehow, or had Rogue or Jean not chosen to come along on this trip, then they would not even have had a chance of survival. The people aboard the
Starjammer
would have had to simply sit and wait to die.

But there was a chance. And Scott Summers would be damned if he didn't make good on it.

Scott was suited up for the space walk just as the others were suited up in case there were a sudden loss of life support systems. He said nothing as Jean approached and leaned her helmet against his own. Through layers of fluid force shield and ruby quartz, their eyes met briefly. Jean's face reflected the resolution he had sensed in her mind.