Sanctuary (20 page)

I love you
, she said in the intimacy of their psi-link.
Always have, always will.

Always is an awfully long time
, Scott thought, and he saw Jean smile.

It better be
, Jean answered.

"Time to go," Scott said, and the moment of tension that had frozen the four X-Men in place collapsed, leaving only action in its wake.

Scott entered the airlock and turned to face the small window as it sealed him out of the main body of the ship. Through the tiny portal, he could see Archangel heading away, back toward the cockpit, where he and Ch'od would share piloting duties while Corsair watched over the injured. Jean and Rogue stood close together, both attempting to smile, both failing.

The airlock was sealed, and Scott attached his lifeline to the clamp at the edge of the outer door then latched it to the belt of his suit. The oxygen in the airlock was cycled out into space, depressurizing the compartment. Otherwise, when the outer door was opened, he would have been blown out at a velocity so great it might have snapped his line. The door slid open, finally, and Scott drifted out into space, using his fingers to find hand holds on the door frame and then the hull of the ship. He scrabbled over the outer hull of the
Starjammer
, and headed for the engines.

Are we sure this makes sense, Jean?
he asked in his head,
I mean, we spun out of control when only one engine fired before. Aren't we just going to have the same problem? I know that was the warp drive, but they use the same ignition sequence.

Ch'od doesn't think so,
she answered through their psi-link.
With the small repairs he already made outside, and what he's been able to do in the cockpit, igniting one of the hyperburn engines should immediately ignite the other. The propulsion system was offline before, so that didn't happen.

And it's online now, right?
Scott asked, and sensed a hesitation in Jean that was far from heartening. Jean?

It's online at the moment, Scott, but Corsair says it's liable to cut in and out, depending on the way the emergency systems reroute power. They're doing all they can.

That's all I can ask
, he thought, and moved on.

As he crawled out to the starboard leg of the ship, toward the engine well, Scott kept Jean apprised of his progress. The sun was on the opposite side of the ship, but its glare glinted off the
Starjammer
, bright enough to distract him even through the face shield and ruby quartz visor he wore. He was alone, the vacuum of space around him, no one and nothing for infinite miles of space other than his family inside the ship. Jean's voice, even her presence, in his mind was the only comfort he had.

Even that was disappearing, however, as Scott began to develop an agonizing headache. A red mist of energy seemed to spill from his eyes and out into space through his face shield. They were so close to the sun that he had passed his potential to store energy, yet he didn't dare let off an ounce even to relax the pressure in his head. He would need every bit of power to ignite the hyperburners.

He thought once again of the people within the
Starjammer
, of how they represented his entire life. His father, lost to him as a child and rediscovered as an adult. Jean and Warren, members of the first X-Men team, which became his family when he was only a teenager. Gambit and Rogue, brash young reminders of how difficult it was to make love stay in a world that hated and feared mutants so explosively—not to mention, in Rogue's case, what a barrier those mutant powers could be to interpersonal relationships. They were more recent additions to the team, especially Gambit, and perhaps Scott saw a bit of his future as he looked at them.

If he had a future. But with or without him—even if none of them survived—the X-Men and everything they stood for would continue. When he realized that, an inner calm seemed to grow within Scott. Any trace of nervousness disappeared as he finally reached the engine well. He would do what was required of him, the only thing he could do, in an attempt to save his father, his comrades, his lover. He would do his best. Beyond that, there was nothing. The silence of space was no longer intimidating, but rather, it had become serene in its power, sublime in its apathetic immensity.

Do or die,
Scott thought, to himself this time, and if Jean heard him she made no reply.

He felt nothing, no trace of her influence, but Scott had absolute confidence that Jean's telekinesis would both protect him from the infernal blast that would burst from the engine well, and catch him and drag him behind the ship as it got under way. He placed his life in her hands more completely than he had ever done before, and he did not give it a second thought.

Scott lay along the outside of the engine well and took a last look around. The stars seemed as distant from him here as they ever had from Earth. Still admiring the cold points of distant light, he grasped the edge of the engine well with both hands and pulled himself around, letting his legs drift out and away from the ship.

He looked up slowly, narrowing his eyes to peer within the engine well. Scott did not know what he had expected to see, but he Was disappointed when his eyes found only darkness within the long metal alloy cylinder. Rotating his head to stretch his muscles, he heard a series of soft pops and crackling sounds from within his own body. He tried to pinpoint the exact center of the darkness ahead.

Then his eyes exploded in a burst of energy that would have decimated the ship had that been his intention. Never had Scott stored so much energy. Never had he cut loose with such total abandon.

There was a bright flare in the engine well as the engine converted the kinetic energy of his optic blasts and ignited, and a split second where the flame seemed to go sideways as it in turn ignited its twin. Scott had a moment to realize the flame was erupting toward him, and despite his confidence in Jean, he began to duck his head out of the way.

Propelled by the power that Cyclops had brought to bear on its engines, the
Starjammer
shot forward into space. Scott lost his grip in an instant and went limp just before his tether snapped taut, and suddenly the ship was towing him—for a moment. Then the tether snapped and there was a moment when the ship seemed to be leaving him behind. Suddenly, he was caught up in invisible hands, pulled far behind the ship by Jean's telekinesis, at a distance which gave Scott cause for great concern.

His eyes hurt, so finally he closed them. His mind ached and he felt empty inside, drained as if he had been fasting for weeks. When he began to lose consciousness, he was dimly aware of having grown much closer to the ship, and of the sensation of motion.

When he felt Rogue's arms embrace him, his eyes fluttered open for a moment, and through his pain and exhaustion, Cyclops felt a small smile fighting to be born on his lips.

Jean?
he asked, floating on a sea of semi-conscious delirium.
Jean, are we all right? Did we do it?

For a moment there was no answer, and even in his disoriented state, Cyclops began to be overwhelmed with panic. Then her voice appeared in his mind.

You did it, Scott. You did,
she said.
We're going to be all right now. We're going to make it.

The words were a jumble to Scott, but he got the general impression. Comforted, he allowed himself to slip down into unconsciousness once more. There was something nagging at him, a voice in his head warning him that it wasn't over until they were back on Earth, but he pushed the annoying pessimist away and settled into Rogue's strong arms.

His job was done.

E
xchange Place was awash with frantic humanity, from the media to the military to those who had fled the mutant empire. An almost palpable haze of desperation-derived energy surged in Jersey City, connecting person to person in a massive network of tension. Perhaps the single most powerful concentration of that tense energy was the stretch of pavement in front of the PATH station that served to separate the two sets of trailers and tents that had become the military and media camps—the former on Washington Street, half-out of sight, the latter in the plaza overlooking lower Manhattan.

The only thing occupying that lunatic focal point was the temporary trailer headquarters of Valerie Cooper. Gyrich had set his trailer up with the military personnel, but Val had been unwilling to commit to either side. Still, despite the bedlam around her, Val was calm. It was always safest at the eye of the storm.

"Ms. Cooper, are you insinuating that Mr. Gyrich has been attempting to obstruct you in the execution of your duties?" the Secretary asked over the scrambled vidcomm link he and Val had set up.

"I'm insinuating nothing, sir," she said firmly. "I'm just telling you what happened exactly the way it played out. How you choose to read it is your business. However, we both know that Gyrich would be only too happy to obstruct me in the execution of my duties if he found an opportunity to do so."

The Secretary frowned, and Val knew she had crossed the line again. It was damn hard not to, though, what with the parameters of propriety changing with every passing moment.

"Ms. Cooper," the Secretary chided, "I will ask you, for the final time, to please remain objective during this operation. It is of the utmost importance that you and Mr. Gyrich put aside your mutual animosity and work to resolve this situation."

Val lost her patience.

"Sir, with all due respect, I'd be more than happy to do my job and put aside my animosity toward Mr. Gyrich if he would simply hand over the Sentinel override codes, as he was instructed to do by the President himself, " she fumed, her tone edging into sarcasm.

The Secretary was not a forgiving man.

"Listen, Cooper," he snapped, "I've had just about enough from both you and Gyrich. Maybe you're missing this, what with your own little crises and all, but my ass is on the line here with every second this fiasco holds the nation's, and the President's, attention.

"You know as well as I do that Gyrich was ordered to cooperate with your mission, not specifically to turn the codes over to you. If you have the X-Men, and your mission is being held up by Gyrich, then he would be disobeying direct orders from the Commander-in-Chief. But you don't have the X-Men, do you?"

Val did not respond.

"Do you?" the Secretary asked again, insistent.

"No, sir, not at this time," she answered, reluctantly.

"Well, if you can produce them, and Gyrich doesn't give you the codes, get back to me," he said, exasperated. "Until then, I'm waiting for the President to decide upon a course of action independent of your earlier recommendations. That will probably be Gyrich's play, and you'll be out of it. You want a part in this, Cooper? You'd better get some mutants in your court, so we can have a go at the Sentinels. Otherwise, stop wasting my time!"

Val sat in stunned silence inside her trailer as her vid-comm unit flashed a blue screen, indicating no source of input. She was out of it. The only way to convince the Secretary otherwise was to explain that they could contact the X-Men telepathically and provide them with the codes. But that would mean allowing the X-Men control of the Sentinels without herself or another government official monitoring them, and the Secretary wasn't likely to go for that. It would also mean letting the government know that Professor Charles Xavier was himself a mutant. And
Xavier
wasn't likely to go for that.

Sure, there were other mutants. But Magneto's vision was alluring, and she could not trust that any of them would be unmoved by it. She did not even trust the X-Men completely. Just the most. Other than her X-Factor team, of course. But they were out of the—

What they were, Valerie suddenly realized, was her only hope.

She typed in a command code on the vid-comm controls, then an override code, and finally an eyes-only destination code. The blue screen turned to white noise, hypnotic static, and there was a high trilling sound that she knew came from the other end of the connection. Suddenly, a face snapped into view amidst hissing static. The picture was distorted, but the identity of the man was unmistakable. It was the leader of X-Factor, Alex Summers, also known as Havok.

"You picked a hell of a time to call, Val!" Havok shouted to be heard over the sounds of explosions and gunfire in the background. "We're in the middle of a firefight. I hope it's important."

"It's important, Alex," Val said firmly.

Alex Summers was a brash young man, and Val had never really gotten along with him. However, like his brother Scott, better known as Cyclops of the X-Men, Alex was a born leader. Not only did he have the raw instinct, but there was a certain charisma about him that demanded loyalty. While Havok had not ever really attempted to hone his skills in the way that Cyclops had, nor had he ever become as grave as Scott often was, he was a firm believer in Xavier's dream.

And X-Factor was definitely a part of that dream. With the anti-mutant sentiment at an all time high, it was important for the public to see that the federal government was willing to work with mutants. X-Factor's job was to capture outlaw mutants for the government. It was equally important, however, that they simply exist as a government-sanctioned operation. Part of Havok's value was that he understood both parts of the job.