Back to Gatefold#13 - "Civil Unrest - Part I"
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EDITOR'S NOTE: This story may contain scenes of graphic violence and sexual situations. It is recommended for mature readers.
In Case You're Just Joining Us: The Fallen Angels were in disarray following a disastrous mission in Beijing. Meanwhile, tensions continue to mount between the Angels and the Acolytes, and Siena Blaze's psychiatric sessions were progressing poorly.
"The enemy is anybody who's going to get you killed, no matter which side he's on"
- Joseph Heller, Catch22
The man with yellowish-gray skin closed his eyes and prayed to Magnus for strength as the UN Security Council dissolved into chaos before him.
His name was Mikhail Brezhnev, son of mother Russia and expatriate of same. For the last six months, he had been a citizen of the tiny African island nation of Genosha, ruled by his lord and master Erik Magnus Lehnsherr. During his time on Genosha, Lehnsherr had given Brezhnev two things--the codename 'Alabaster', and a spot as Genosha's liaison to the UN. The codename was ridiculous--Mikhail was nearly 55 years old, after all--and the liaison job was a mixed blessing even under the best of circumstances.
This wasn't the best of circumstances. He had been called here specifically to address Magneto's, and by extension Genosha's, alleged role in the terrorist attack on a Beijing abortion clinic two weeks previous. When Mikhail had asked Magneto himself about this on the psi-plane, he had been met with an imperious glare and a silence that told him everything he needed to know.
So he'd walked into this room with its mutant nullification projectors, endured the temporary loss of his genetic gift--a kind of meta-charisma that made him perfect for ambassadorial work--and proceeded to lie his pants off to these honorable men and women.
He didn't get very far before the members of the council--particularly the representative from China--went ballistic.
The secretary general made no move to stop the uproar, simply looked at Mikhail with eyes that made the Russian man uneasy. Genosha was not a member nation, and so Mikhail rarely came into contact with the secretary general... but the few times he had convinced him the man was dangerous. As ridiculous as that seemed, it was precisely what he felt whenever he looked at him.
A strident voice finally managed to pierce the general cacophony. "Are you telling me, Mr. Brezhnev," the Chinese ambassador demanded, "that a team of mutants Lehnsherr was known to collaborate with mere weeks before the attack on Beijing, operated and continue to operate without his knowledge or assistance?"
"That is exactly what I'm telling you ambassador," Brezhnev said, feeling the absence of his gift very sharply. If not for the mutant nullifiers, he could have convinced these men and women that Magneto was Mother Teresa in red body armor. For a time at least.
"I appreciate the pain the people of China must be feeling right now, but the fact of the matter is that Genosha has no reason to antagonize member nations. As a show of this, we are slowly opening our doors to the outside. The new Symkarian embassy--the first of its kind since Mr. Lehnsherr took power--is scheduled to finish construction this week. Why would we endanger that by launching terrorist attacks--"
"Mr. Brezhnev," the secretary general said, and everyone in the room went silent. Alabaster looked at him, noting with unease the small, amused smile on the man's lips. This man knew he was lying, Brezhnev was sure of it. The secretary general didn't suspect, he knew. "For the record: Genosha in general and Magneto in particular have no part in the terrorist acts of these"--he paused, checking a sheet of paper in front of him--"Fallen Angels. Is that correct?"
"Absolutely," Brezhnev insisted. "The people of Genosha just want to be free to live, Secretary General. For once in their lives, mutants have a place where they can exist in peace. No one, least of all Magneto, wishes to endanger that with pointless violence."
France.
The force of the explosion blew the wall of the office to dust, and the prime minister of France dove behind his desk as the teenaged girl, who'd been in the process of removing her brassiere when the attack came, screamed prettily.
"Mon dieu!" he swore, his cheeks and his well-oiled mustache jiggling in asynchronous wobbles. This was his office, for god's sake. His office, in the parliament building. How in God's name had someone gotten close enough to launch an attack here?
He was on the floor at the front of his desk -- he'd moved around it to get a better look at the stripshow his favorite young intern had been giving before the wall caved in -- and now he stretched his arm underneath it, searching for the panic button that would bring his secret service detail running. It was unlikely they hadn't heard the explosion, but he wanted to make absolutely sure that every person in this building knew that he was under attack.
"I wouldn't recommend that tubby," a new voice said from above. Still reaching for the button, which seemed just out of his reach, he looked up.
A young woman was crouched on his desktop. Her blonde hair was cropped close to her skull, and she wore a form-fitting black and red bodysuit that was open at the midriff. She had piercings in her ears, nose, and lip, and a pair of dark black Oakleys sat low on her nose. She was looking over these glasses at him now in mild amusement.
"Hello, Mr. Prime Minister," she said. "The Fallen Angels are here to dispute France's treatment of mutants." She looked up, giving the terrified, half-dressed girl, who was still frozen in place, a once-over. "And I'm here to dispute your treatment of impressionable young people. Get out of here, Monica Lewinsky."
The girl nodded, gave the prime minister one terrified glance, then turn and bolted through the door, leaving it open behind her. From outside, the room's remaining occupants could hear the commotion of a battle.
"Quoi--?"
"Oh stop," Meltdown said, hopping down so she was now standing over the prime minister. "We know you speak fluent English. You think we didn't do our homework? Now take your arm out from under that desk before I blow it off at the shoulder."
Slowly, the prime minister removed his arm, but he made no move to get off the floor. "What... what are you going to do with me?"
"That depends entirely on how quick a learner you are." Tabitha twisted her jaw, activating the thin headset microphone she wore. "Sunspot, I got him. I repeat, Objective Michigan is in custody..."
"Roger that, Meltdown," Roberto DaCosta said, standing on the roof of the Parliament building. Nearby, the cat-woman known as Feral was finishing the binding of a trio of secret service agents. "Standby for extraction."
"What if the opposition gets by Rictor?" Tabby's voice came again.
"Then move, but keep us appraised of your position." He twisted his jaw, and Meltdown's voice was replaced by the sounds of crashing and battle on his headset. "Rictor, we've got Objective Michigan. How are you holding up?"
Rictor's voice, when it came back, was scratchy and pained. His throat had been injured in a bout of in-fighting in Genosha less than a week ago, and he was still recovering. His words, however, were confident. "We're good. The way Chance is amping my power, I could hold off the entire French army. The only danger is somebody getting to Tab--Meltdown--by sneaking around us..."
"With any luck, that won't be an issue. I'm transmitting to Pipeline as we speak, so our ride should be here any minute. Keep me informed. Sunspot out."
"DaCosta," Feral growled from behind him. He turned, and followed the line of her pointing arm straight up into the air. "Company."
In the clear skies over Paris, just now slipping past the iron beams of the Eiffel Tower, was a man in a brown bodysuit, wearing wings under his arms.
"No wonder people keep conquering this place, if that's the best they can do for national superheroes."
"Get those agents under some cover, Maria. And be ready to back me up."
Rictor had managed to successfully hold off an entire contingent of armed personnel for only five minutes before someone on the opposing team decided to break out the heavy artillery.
The men in black had taken cover at the end of the hallway Rictor was protecting. He'd considered blowing that cover -- mostly desks and walls -- to smithereens, but he figured as long as he kept them pinned down, they couldn't take another route to their beloved prime minister. Someone had managed to break away though, and Rictor had no idea until the guy popped up from behind a desk with a rocket launcher propped on his shoulder.
"No way he's going to shoot that in here," Chance said at his elbow. And then, to both their surprise, he did.
Rictor knocked Chance down as the missile came corkscrewing past, and even as they struck the ground, he was rolling and bringing his arms up. He pumped a devastating succession of seismic waves upward, shoving the missile into the ceiling, as well as the resultant blast when it exploded.
"Are they stupid?" Chance demanded as they got to their feet. "They're going to kill themselves!"
"They're just scared, girl," a voice said from behind the two, and they turned to see Amelia Voght stepping out of a flash of teleportational light. "Your team is starting to earn a reputation."
"Couldn't have got here ten seconds earlier, could you?" Rictor demanded, sending a wave of covering fire down the hallway.
Voght didn't respond, just raised her arm and teleported herself and the other two home.
Le Peregrine tucked his wings into his sides and dove towards the rooftop of the Parliament Building. He was almost certainly out-powered by the terrorists attacking the building -- particularly if they truly were the people he'd been led to believe they were -- but there was no time for subtlety or subterfuge. His only chance of saving the prime minister was to take these villains down as quickly as possible.
One of the two mutants on the roof -- codenamed Sunspot he remembered -- slicked over with an oil-black energy, and suddenly Le Peregrine was bobbing and weaving between a barrage of solar blasts. The boy was obviously trying to herd him toward the cat-woman, so she could pounce on him and finish him off. Le Peregrine clucked his tongue in disappointment. He knew he wasn't a powerhouse like some of those American heroes, but he wasn't an inexperienced fool either.
He tucked left instead of right, expertly avoiding the volley of fire the boy put in his path, and hurled one of his stun grenades at the roof. The gas in the grenades was potent enough to knock out anything that breathed, and it spread quickly. Perhaps, if they kept underestimating him, he could end this here and now...
The grenade exploded, and the roof was instantly covered in blue mist. The boy and cat-woman put their hands to their faces, he heard one of them shout something in English, and then they were concealed beneath the thick gas.
For a long moment, Le Peregrine hovered, waiting for the gas to disperse. He would have liked to follow up the gas with some of his explosive ordnance, but he'd caught sight of several servicemen bound and gagged behind a small antenna tower upon his approach, and he didn't want to risk injuring them anymore than he had to. Bad enough the gas was going to knock them out too.
He circled, cursing the wind for being almost non-existent over the city today, and had just decided to affix his rebreather and descend into the slowly-dispersing mist, when one of the terrorists -- Sunspot -- exploded upward directly below him.
Le Peregrine just managed to peel to the side as the solar-powered mutant rocketed through the space he'd occupied a moment earlier. Rolling, he released everything in his arsenal at the boy -- napalm bolas, taser darts, thermite grenades -- and watched in horror as the hovering mutant picked every single projectile out of the air with his solar blasts.
No choice then.
Le Peregrine shot toward Sunspot, grappling with him, hoping he could overpower him with his suit's strength before the mutant could bring his full power to bear, but Sunspot caught his clawed hands and easily held him at bay.
"I apologize," Roberto said in the Frenchman's snarling face. "I know you're just trying to protect your people. But so am I."
A burst of solar power flashed out from Sunspot in all directions, blasting most of Le Peregrine's suit to tatters, and smashing him backwards. Unconscious, he arced gently across the roof, and would have fallen to the ground stories below if Sunspot hadn't immediately circled around and caught him by what was left of his tunic.
The gas had finally started to disperse, and Roberto found Feral easily enough. She was still wearing the rebreather they all carried in their uniforms. Roberto nonchalantly dropped Le Peregrine to the roof, into the midst of his own knockout gas, then activated his radio again. "Status check."
"Everyone's clear," Voght's voice came back. "Are you ready for extraction?"
"Yes, but they tried to gas us. Meet us on the roof of the building immediately to the east."
"Understood."
Roberto put his rebreather back on, then swooped down and scooped Feral up. As he aimed himself at the next building, Voght's teleportation signature already flashing over there, he tried very hard not to congratulate himself too enthusiastically on a job well done. Maybe this would make up a little bit for that farce in China in his team's eyes.
Probably not, but one could hope.
Genosha. The Magda Gardens.
Gomi stroked Bill the Lobster's shell and held him close as the two of them entered the sizeable gardens at the foot of Avalon Tower. Gomi had never set foot in the place before -- he'd never been much for nature, though years with Bill had instilled an appreciation for shorelines in him -- and wouldn't be here now if he hadn't received a summons he literally couldn't refuse.
"He wouldn't ask to see me if he was going to kick me out," Gomi said, more to himself than to Bill. "He'd just have Voght teleport me back to New York. He wouldn't waste his time talking to me."
Bill clicked his crusher claw in agreement.
"Unless he's mad that I never said anything about not being a mutant," Gomi continued. "Maybe he wants to make an example out of me, you know. Tear me apart and throw my bits out in the square and tell everybody, 'This is what happens when a flatscan tries to sneak into my country'."
Bill gave him a look that was more than a little skeptical.
"What? It's not like he hasn't killed people before. We're talking about Magneto here."
"And what are we saying about him?"
Gomi froze, his eyes going as wide and large as Bill's, and slowly turned around.
Behind him, in a small glade defined by a pond and a row of colorful, exotic flowers, stood Erik Magnus Lehnsherr. He was wearing neither the scarlet uniform the world knew as Magneto's, nor the dapper charcoal business suit Gomi had often seen him in since he'd arrived here. Instead, he was clad in a very unassuming pair of slacks and a turtleneck, all black. Crouching next to him was a worn elderly man, with hair that looked like bright green grass, and skin that seemed to be covered in a very light layer of moss. This man was tending to the exotic flowers that surrounded the pond.
"We're... um, well sir--I mean I'm..."
Magneto laughed, and for the first time since he'd been told the lord of Genosha wanted to see him, Gomi began to relax just a little.
"Come here, Gomi. I want to show you something."
Gomi nodded and stepped forward into the glade. The old moss-covered man toiling at Magneto's feet didn't even look up. "I was told you wanted to see me."
"You were not lied to." Magneto turned toward the old gardener. "Thank you, Hatut. Please excuse us for a moment."
The old man nodded and, without comment, stood and shuffled away. Gomi watched him go, curious at how the old man reached out to touched some of the plant-life as he moved. He seemed to be muttering to his surroundings.
"Hatut's gift involves some form of communication with plant-life. We don't truly understand it yet--don't even have a word for it, really--but it seems to involve particle emission and collection through that moss on his skin. Fascinating, really. Makes him perfect for tending the gardens, if a little withdrawn around non-plant life." Magneto stepped around the pond and crouched down next to the flowerbed Hatut had been tending. "Do you recognize this blossom?"
Gomi -- who wasn't likely to recognize any flower by sight any less common than a dandelion -- shook his head.
"It's called the Seran Cotophi, literally the Struggling Blossom. It's native to Wakanda, and even there, only exists sparsely in the wild. It requires soil with a high oxygen content and a very precise amount of sunlight and water. In addition, its scent and taste is very attractive to herbivores, so even if it has the help it requires from nature, it often falls to predators. It's an evolutionary marvel. Incredible that it even exists."
Gomi nodded, trying to look as if he understood what the hell Magneto was talking about. Bill began squirming in his grip, so he bent over to set him down. When he straightened, he saw Magneto had also risen to his feet.
"The Struggling Blossom is Genosha in microcosm, Gomi. Predators circle ever around it, and despite my wishes to the contrary, it requires the occasional outside help if it is ever to grow. Someone to turn the soil and keep hungry animals away. All of which brings us to why I've called you here."
"I'm... I'm not a predator, sir. I like living here, and even though I'm not--"
Magneto raised a hand. "I know you're not a predator. And I've known you weren't a mutant since the moment Tabitha brought you here--your powers extend from cybernetic implants, as do Bill's."--Magneto motioned toward the lobster.--"I've known you were human, and yet I allowed you to assist in the rescue work when the hospital was destroyed. I allowed you to accompany my Fallen Angels to China. But I've always had something more in mind for you."
Magneto fell silent. Gomi looked at him expectantly, wondering if the master of magnetism was waiting for him to say something in return. Finally he ventured a, "What?"
"You are currently the only human in Genosha living under my rule. As much as I wish otherwise, that cannot last. There must be some connection to the outside, the human,world. We have already begun to take steps in this direction with the construction of the Symkarian embassy, but it is not enough. We must have Genoshans who are humans, though only a few. And you will be the first.
"As of this moment, you are my advisor on mutant-human relations. You will sit on my Cabinet, and you will have a voice in all official dealings with the outside world. Or you will leave Genosha. Those are your options. Now... what say you?"
It took a long time for Gomi to answer, mostly because he couldn't quite pick his jaw up off the ground. But when he finally did find his voice, Magneto was not displeased with his answer.
Somewhere in Genosha.
"I like your hair."
Shatterstar turned, a large wooden crate balanced on one shoulder, and looked around him for the source of the voice. After a moment, he realized he was looking too high, and his gaze fell to the young girl standing several yards in front of him.
She was dirty -- but that was no surprise, everyone was dirty here. She had blonde hair and big, dark eyes, and clutched in one hand was a doll that may have started life as a Raggedy Ann, but was now beaten and worn almost beyond recognition. She was maybe six years old, and she was looking at Shatterstar with simultaneous fascination and bashfulness.
"Thank you," Shatterstar said simply. It had been nearly a week since he'd agreed to help the human magistrates to escape Genosha and the wrath of Magneto. In that time, he'd hardly talked to anyone besides his 'sponsor', Magistrate Talib Singh Chauhan. In point of fact, he was starting to become a trifle impatient with the lack of communication here. He'd been under the impression he would be helping to plan the evacuation, but for the last few days he had been relegated to grunt work, like loading these boxes.
"My name is Caroline," the girl said importantly. She held up the doll with both hands. "And this is Raggy Ann."
Shatterstar nodded distractedly, wondering what the kid would do if he just turned and walked away. "Nice to meet you."
"What's yours?"
"My name? Shatter--" He paused. "Ben. Ben Russell."
"You have pretty hair."
"Thank you. So... so do you."
"My daddy says you're a mu'ant. He says you're friends with Magneto. Is that true?"
Shatterstar's eyebrows went up. So they weren't talking to him, but they were most definitely talking about him. "Yes, that's true."
"What can you do?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your powers," she clarified. And then, as if forgetting he hadn't yet answered her last question, "Are you gonna bring Magneto here and blow us all up?"
Despite himself, Shatterstar barked a startled laugh. "No, Caroline. No. I'm not going to bring Magneto here, and I'm certainly not going to blow you up."
The girl seemed at a loss for something further to say. She shuffled her feet a bit, then looked up at him with those big brown eyes again. "I like your hair."
"Shatterstar."
He turned, wondering if he was ever going to get to set this box down, and spotted Talib Singh Chauhan moving toward him. The dark-skinned man had been the one who'd recruited him to this cause, and also the one who kept putting Shatterstar off when he asked why he wasn't being utilized as anything more than a packhorse. He was as dirty as the little girl, but his was the dirt of battles won and lost. He looked tired.
"We are discussing strategies," he said simply as he reached Shatterstar. "And we've reached a point where your input would be valuable. If you please..."
"Yes. It's about time." He set the box down where he stood--someone else could get it--and began to move in the direction Talib was indicating. He'd taken two or three steps before remembering the girl Caroline, but when he turned back, she and her doll had vanished into the background of human workers and refugees.
"Shatterstar. Are you coming?"
Nodding, he turned and followed the man.
"Why are you doing this?" the prime minister spat. "Did you tire of destroying third world abortion clinics? Are you trying to move up in the world?"
Sunspot shook his head. "I want you to know that I, personally, have never had a problem with the French. You're a beautiful people, and you produce beautiful things. You're a little self-absorbed, but if that were a cause for hatred, nobody would want to visit the United States either." He crouched down in front of the prime minister, who was sitting on the floor in a small, bare room made of concrete. "But my colleagues and I are concerned about certain legislation making the rounds in your country."
"The Mutant Registration Act."
Sunspot jabbed a finger at him. "Got it in one. We don't agree with mutant registration. We don't think it's a good idea anywhere, least of all in a country that, while it's lost some of its prestige over the last century or so, is still something of a leader in fashionable world trends."
"You are short-sighted children," the PM snapped. "Do you believe you can win sympathy for your cause through kidnapping and terror?"
Sunspot shrugged. "I don't know. Do you believe you can keep your wife from finding out your fucking the interns now that you've started getting those sores?" The PM's jaw fell open, and Roberto nodded. "Yeah, me neither. But sometimes you've just got to give your enemy the finger, y'know, regardless of whether it's the smartest thing to do."
He stood up. "Make yourself comfortable. We're not going to let you starve or anything, but we're not going out of our way to extend any creature comforts either. And I'm sorry to say we're fresh out of interns."
"My country and the United Nations will not stand for this! They will find you and--"
"Right. Well, we'll blow up that bridge when we come to it, won't we? In the meantime, I want you to spend some time thinking about how you would feel if some politician asshole decided to register everyone carrying herpes."
The prime minister had nothing to say to that, so Roberto nodded cordially to him, and then left the room.
"So the question on everybody's mind is: What are we going to do with him now?"
Roberto tugged his loose-fitting shirt off and folded it carefully over a chair, then he turned and moved into the small bathroom adjoining his room. "That depends on France's reaction to the kidnapping. Did Voght deliver the message?"
"Yep," Tabitha replied, listening as the shower started. "'Rescind your Mutant Registration Act immediately. Love, the Fallen Angels.' Or something like that."
Roberto's voice came floating in from the bathroom. "Good. If they comply, we'll take him back. If they don't... well, he'll just be a guest of the state until they realize we're serious."
Tabby crossed to the chair Bobby had thrown his shirt over. Lifting the garment to her nose, she inhaled deeply. "How far are we willing to take this?"
Roberto was silent for a moment over the rushing of the water. So silent, in fact, that for a moment she thought he hadn't heard her. Finally he replied, "As far as we have to. I don't want it to come to killing him, but I'll go there if I have to."
Tabby put the shirt down and moved to the bed, where she sat down and bounced up and down on the mattress a few times. "I hate to say it, but you did good today, Roberto. We got in and out without any problems. You anticipated everything. Even Chance didn't have anything nasty to say about you afterward."
"I'm sure she thought it. In any case, gracias senorita."
"Yep, looking good again," Tabitha said under her breath, far too low for Bobby to hear. She brushed a bit of fuzz off the rumpled bed linen, then looked to the open bathroom door.
"Oh, to hell with it," she decided and, doffing her own top, went in to join Roberto in the shower.
Virgil Burnside woke up and immediately wished he was dead. The pain was horrendous. It had been what brought him back to consciousness after the pain medication wore off.
He looked down at the mangled, bandaged, splinted mess that had once been his good right arm -- he didn't want to, but it was one of those self-punishing compulsions, like picking the scab over an infected wound -- and groaned.
"Virgil," a voice said at his left side. "How are you feeling?"
"Like shit," he breathed, looking around until his eyes found Camilla Unuscione. The woman was sitting at his bedside, elbows on her knees, watching him with interest. The makeshift hospital room was little more than a well-scrubbed closet -- they had to make do with what facilities they had after the medical center was blown up, but at least he had the place to himself. "Call the doc for me, Camilla? I need some more pain medicine, bad."
"In a minute." She reached out a hand and touched his uninjured arm. "We're going to finish this, Virgil. Me and the others have been talking about it, and we're all agreed that it's time for the X-kids to get the hell out of our house."
Virgil's eyes narrowed. As the Acolyte called Chrome, he'd grown used to seeing Camilla angry--he sometimes thought it was her natural state, even moreso than that bitch Voght--but this...
"How...will you...do it?"
"You don't have to worry about that. I'm only warning you so you know to keep your head down." Camilla reached over and pressed the button that would call the nurse, then she rose to her feet. "We're going to try not to kill them...except for DaCosta. I'm going to tear that little bastard apart myself. For what he did to you."
"What...about Lord Magneto?"
"Lord Magneto... well, he isn't exactly in his right mind, is he? Opening flatscan embassies, telling us we can't worship him anymore."
"Camilla, he won't accept this. You can't--"
Just then, the nurse came bustling in, pressing past Camilla to get to Virgil. "What is it yer needin', Mr. Burnside? D'ye need another shot?"
Chrome ignored her, trying to crane his neck to see Camilla without disturbing his arm. "Unuscione, listen--"
But he stopped when she put her finger to her lips. Then, with a mysterious smile, she spun on her heels and left.
"Shatterstar, I'd like you to meet the men who are going to get my people out of this country."
Shatterstar paused in the doorway of the makeshift conference room, surveying the four men and one woman standing around the table in the room's center. They all looked up at his entrance.
He knew two of the men. One was an old magistrate captain whose name escaped him at the moment. The other was Henri Diesing, a magistrate who had recently lost both legs to the endless battles with Magneto's forces, and was currently propped up on a crutch and two pegs because of it. The other three he didn't know.
He stepped into the room, Talib Singh Chauhan following closely. A trio of oil lanterns were arrayed around the room, which was cut out of bedrock and located far below the streets of Genosha's capital, Hammer Bay.
One of the unknowns, an older man who, despite his obviously advanced years, still possessed a powerful body beneath his jungle fatigues, extended a hand across the table. "Pleased to meet ya, kid. I'm Sergeant Major Henry Malone."
Shatterstar nodded, but didn't take the hand.
Malone frowned, and then dropped his hand without comment. "You can call me Hardcase. These are two of my Harriers, codenames Blindside and Axe." He pointed to the woman and the final unknown man, a black man, in turn. There was nothing extraordinary about the woman, but the man was enormous. He wore no shirt, and he tapped a massive battleaxe in one hand while he regarded Shatterstar. An M-16 hung from the front of his belt.
Shatterstar disregarded him. He turned away from the people at the table completely and spoke to Talib. "I want to know why I've been loading boats and packing boxes for a week instead of being included in the planning." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at Hardcase. "And I want to know what interest SHIELD has in getting you off this island."
Hardcase exchanged a look with Talib over the young mutant's shoulder. "You have been tasked with menial duties to test your loyalty. I wanted to see whether you would stay or run away when you were released from your cell."
"You've wasted a week."
"It was a necessary expenditure."
"What about these three?"
"You've got a good eye, kid," Hardcase spoke up from behind him. "But you're not exactly right either. Me and the Harriers were SHIELD years ago, but we went independent when the Division closed down for a while, and we never signed back up. We're contractors now."
"Mercenaries."
The giant called 'Axe growled, but Hardcase just shrugged. "To-may-toe, To-mah-toe. Call it what you will. The point is we're here to help these people because that's what we're getting paid for, not because Nick Fury told us to."
"Please, can we concentrate on the plan?" the aged captain implored. "We cannot evade Magneto long enough to get our families clear of this place if we waste time arguing amongst ourselves."
Talib nodded in agreement, and gestured for Shatterstar to move closer to the table. Spread out across it was a map of Genosha, including the nearby southeastern coast of Africa.
"The evac's going to launch from here," Hardcase explained, indicating a marker on Genosha's western shore. He traced a finger across the reach to the continental coastline. "We have a team set up in Mozambique to meet the refugees. All the right pockets have been lined, so we'll have no trouble getting your people asylum, and as soon as they set foot on African soil, the story will be all over the airwaves and the Internet. Magneto will have to either let you go or take out a bunch of helpless people in front of the entire world. From what we know of the guy, that last option's not very likely, but there's only so much we can plan for..."
"It won't work," Shatterstar said.
Hardcase looked up sharply. "What?"
"It won't work. Not if those are really your launch sites."
The woman at Hardcase's elbow, Blindside, rolled her eyes, but Axe growled and stepped forward. Shatterstar stared him down until the bigger man's chest was right in his face.
"The launch sites check out," Hardcase said evenly. He was calm, even cordial, but he was making no move to take his subordinate out of Shatterstar's face. "We've gone over them with a fine tooth comb."
"Not fine enough," Shatterstar insisted, still glaring at Axe. "The northernmost spot is right next to an underground base used by the mutant resistance back when the humans controlled Genosha. It's part of a vast underground tunnel network, and Magneto has Acolytes stationed there, surveying and mapping it."
"We didn't see any sign of it."
"It's underground," Shatterstar repeated.
"This is bullshit," Axe rumbled. "He's one of Magneto's boys. Why should he be straight with us?"
"Axe, that's enough."
Axe ignored his commanding officer. "Maybe he's hanging out here just so he can sabotage us. Is that it, boy? You waiting till our backs are turned to stick the knife in?"
"Please," Talib said, coming forward and flicking a reprimanding gaze from Hardcase to Axe. "He is doing exactly what we brought him here for. I vouch for him."
"Your voucher ain't gonna account for much when your people're laying at the bottom of the sea." Axe turned his eyes back to Shatterstar. "What's it gonna be, boy? How the hell do we know you're really here to help us? What's your game--"
Axe jabbed a finger into Shatterstar's chest, and that was all the provocation he needed. In a blur of movement, the finger was broken--producing a hollow snap and a startled grunt from Axe--and the arm it was attached to was twisted around and jammed up high behind the giant's back. Shatterstar whirled Axe around in a helpless little pirouette, then put his foot in the back of the bigger man's knee. With a crash, Axe went down face-first on the table.
Blindside began to move forward, but Hardcase waved her back, his own hand resting on the pistol at his hip just in case things really got out of hand.
"Obviously you haven't been paying attention," Shatterstar hissed in Axe's ear, "so let me give it to you in surround sound. I'm not here to help you, and I'm certainly not here to hurt Magneto. I'm here to aid the helpless and the innocents caught in your crossfire. Question me again and I'll go to work on the rest of your fingers."
Without releasing the groaning Harrier, Shatterstar reached across the map and moved the marker to a spot slightly south of its previous location. "There's a cliffside in this area. It will be easy to hide the boats there until you're ready to launch. Feel free to examine the area first, but try to be a little more thorough than you were last time."
Shatterstar released Axe and stepped back quickly. The bigger man slid down to one knee, cradling his mangled hand, and shot a look of absolute hatred at the mutant. Shatterstar nodded once, as if in acknowledgement of the man's feelings, then spun around and walked out of the room.
"Well... that could have gone better," the woman Blindside said as Hardcase helped Axe to his feet.
"Hold still, Axe," Hardcase said. "This is gonna hurt." With a yank, he straightened Axe's bent finger. The bigger man howled like an injured child.
"Now go see Deacon, he'll splint you and get you ready for business. Just don't piss off anymore kung-fu masters on your way." Hardcase patted Axe on the back, and the giant nodded and moved out of the room. He paused outside, perhaps making sure Shatterstar wasn't lying in wait for him, then hurried away. Talib shut the door behind him.
"So what now?" he asked the room.
"Now Mr. Malone sends a team to check on this new launch site Shatterstar has suggested to us," the aged Genoshan Captain said. "If all is well, we proceed as planned."
"So we won't be telling him everything?" Talib pressed, eyeing Henri Diesing and the two mercenaries as he said it.
"Not even remotely."
POSTMARK: GENOSHA
This is it, the beginning of my final arc on Fallen Angels, blazing a trail (and hopefully not setting the whole damn forest on fire while I do it) for M2K newcomer Alex Cook, who will be taking over this title with issue #19.
(Plug Time: To get a sneak peek at Alex's work, check out the Fallen Angels Annual 2002, which should be out right now. There's a Meltdown story in there by Alex, as well as three more stories from Fanfic Writers Who Kick Ass, none of whom have previously contributed to M2K. Oh, there's also a Siena Blaze story by some guy named Anderson, but feel free to skip that hack job.)
I'd like to apologize for the long delay in this issue's release. It's been 5 months, and all I can say in my defense is...well, it's been done for a while. It was always my intent to finish this entire arc before one word of it got posted, and with the exception of #18 (which I'm probably working on as you read this), I have done this. And that's what took so long. Fortunately, the wait's over and "Civil Unrest" will run weekly until it's finished. Hopefully I haven't lost too many readers in the interim.
Hope you enjoy the ride.
Letters concerning this issue can be sent directly to me at [email protected], posted to the Marvel 2000 mailing list (you can join at Yahoogroups), or on the M2K message board, accessible from the M2K main page.
- Russ Anderson
20 August 2002
BIBLIOGRAPHY
- The Fallen Angels attacked a Beijing abortion clinic at the climax of the "Children of a Lesser God" arc, in issues #6-11.
- Rictor's throat was injured while battling a trio of Acolytes last issue.
- SHIELD=Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate, the UN's covert spy organization. SHIELD was disbanded for a short time following the events of Marvel's Nick Fury vs. SHIELD mini-series.
- Hardcase first appeared in Marvel's Wolverine #5, along with a couple of his Harriers. The rest of this mercenary outfit debuted in Uncanny X-Men #261.
In Case You're Just Joining Us: The Fallen Angels were in disarray following a disastrous mission in Beijing. Meanwhile, tensions continue to mount between the Angels and the Acolytes, and Siena Blaze's psychiatric sessions were progressing poorly.
"The enemy is anybody who's going to get you killed, no matter which side he's on"
- Joseph Heller, Catch22
The man with yellowish-gray skin closed his eyes and prayed to Magnus for strength as the UN Security Council dissolved into chaos before him.
His name was Mikhail Brezhnev, son of mother Russia and expatriate of same. For the last six months, he had been a citizen of the tiny African island nation of Genosha, ruled by his lord and master Erik Magnus Lehnsherr. During his time on Genosha, Lehnsherr had given Brezhnev two things--the codename 'Alabaster', and a spot as Genosha's liaison to the UN. The codename was ridiculous--Mikhail was nearly 55 years old, after all--and the liaison job was a mixed blessing even under the best of circumstances.
This wasn't the best of circumstances. He had been called here specifically to address Magneto's, and by extension Genosha's, alleged role in the terrorist attack on a Beijing abortion clinic two weeks previous. When Mikhail had asked Magneto himself about this on the psi-plane, he had been met with an imperious glare and a silence that told him everything he needed to know.
So he'd walked into this room with its mutant nullification projectors, endured the temporary loss of his genetic gift--a kind of meta-charisma that made him perfect for ambassadorial work--and proceeded to lie his pants off to these honorable men and women.
He didn't get very far before the members of the council--particularly the representative from China--went ballistic.
The secretary general made no move to stop the uproar, simply looked at Mikhail with eyes that made the Russian man uneasy. Genosha was not a member nation, and so Mikhail rarely came into contact with the secretary general... but the few times he had convinced him the man was dangerous. As ridiculous as that seemed, it was precisely what he felt whenever he looked at him.
A strident voice finally managed to pierce the general cacophony. "Are you telling me, Mr. Brezhnev," the Chinese ambassador demanded, "that a team of mutants Lehnsherr was known to collaborate with mere weeks before the attack on Beijing, operated and continue to operate without his knowledge or assistance?"
"That is exactly what I'm telling you ambassador," Brezhnev said, feeling the absence of his gift very sharply. If not for the mutant nullifiers, he could have convinced these men and women that Magneto was Mother Teresa in red body armor. For a time at least.
"I appreciate the pain the people of China must be feeling right now, but the fact of the matter is that Genosha has no reason to antagonize member nations. As a show of this, we are slowly opening our doors to the outside. The new Symkarian embassy--the first of its kind since Mr. Lehnsherr took power--is scheduled to finish construction this week. Why would we endanger that by launching terrorist attacks--"
"Mr. Brezhnev," the secretary general said, and everyone in the room went silent. Alabaster looked at him, noting with unease the small, amused smile on the man's lips. This man knew he was lying, Brezhnev was sure of it. The secretary general didn't suspect, he knew. "For the record: Genosha in general and Magneto in particular have no part in the terrorist acts of these"--he paused, checking a sheet of paper in front of him--"Fallen Angels. Is that correct?"
"Absolutely," Brezhnev insisted. "The people of Genosha just want to be free to live, Secretary General. For once in their lives, mutants have a place where they can exist in peace. No one, least of all Magneto, wishes to endanger that with pointless violence."
France.
The force of the explosion blew the wall of the office to dust, and the prime minister of France dove behind his desk as the teenaged girl, who'd been in the process of removing her brassiere when the attack came, screamed prettily.
"Mon dieu!" he swore, his cheeks and his well-oiled mustache jiggling in asynchronous wobbles. This was his office, for god's sake. His office, in the parliament building. How in God's name had someone gotten close enough to launch an attack here?
He was on the floor at the front of his desk -- he'd moved around it to get a better look at the stripshow his favorite young intern had been giving before the wall caved in -- and now he stretched his arm underneath it, searching for the panic button that would bring his secret service detail running. It was unlikely they hadn't heard the explosion, but he wanted to make absolutely sure that every person in this building knew that he was under attack.
"I wouldn't recommend that tubby," a new voice said from above. Still reaching for the button, which seemed just out of his reach, he looked up.
A young woman was crouched on his desktop. Her blonde hair was cropped close to her skull, and she wore a form-fitting black and red bodysuit that was open at the midriff. She had piercings in her ears, nose, and lip, and a pair of dark black Oakleys sat low on her nose. She was looking over these glasses at him now in mild amusement.
"Hello, Mr. Prime Minister," she said. "The Fallen Angels are here to dispute France's treatment of mutants." She looked up, giving the terrified, half-dressed girl, who was still frozen in place, a once-over. "And I'm here to dispute your treatment of impressionable young people. Get out of here, Monica Lewinsky."
The girl nodded, gave the prime minister one terrified glance, then turn and bolted through the door, leaving it open behind her. From outside, the room's remaining occupants could hear the commotion of a battle.
"Quoi--?"
"Oh stop," Meltdown said, hopping down so she was now standing over the prime minister. "We know you speak fluent English. You think we didn't do our homework? Now take your arm out from under that desk before I blow it off at the shoulder."
Slowly, the prime minister removed his arm, but he made no move to get off the floor. "What... what are you going to do with me?"
"That depends entirely on how quick a learner you are." Tabitha twisted her jaw, activating the thin headset microphone she wore. "Sunspot, I got him. I repeat, Objective Michigan is in custody..."
"Roger that, Meltdown," Roberto DaCosta said, standing on the roof of the Parliament building. Nearby, the cat-woman known as Feral was finishing the binding of a trio of secret service agents. "Standby for extraction."
"What if the opposition gets by Rictor?" Tabby's voice came again.
"Then move, but keep us appraised of your position." He twisted his jaw, and Meltdown's voice was replaced by the sounds of crashing and battle on his headset. "Rictor, we've got Objective Michigan. How are you holding up?"
Rictor's voice, when it came back, was scratchy and pained. His throat had been injured in a bout of in-fighting in Genosha less than a week ago, and he was still recovering. His words, however, were confident. "We're good. The way Chance is amping my power, I could hold off the entire French army. The only danger is somebody getting to Tab--Meltdown--by sneaking around us..."
"With any luck, that won't be an issue. I'm transmitting to Pipeline as we speak, so our ride should be here any minute. Keep me informed. Sunspot out."
"DaCosta," Feral growled from behind him. He turned, and followed the line of her pointing arm straight up into the air. "Company."
In the clear skies over Paris, just now slipping past the iron beams of the Eiffel Tower, was a man in a brown bodysuit, wearing wings under his arms.
"No wonder people keep conquering this place, if that's the best they can do for national superheroes."
"Get those agents under some cover, Maria. And be ready to back me up."
Rictor had managed to successfully hold off an entire contingent of armed personnel for only five minutes before someone on the opposing team decided to break out the heavy artillery.
The men in black had taken cover at the end of the hallway Rictor was protecting. He'd considered blowing that cover -- mostly desks and walls -- to smithereens, but he figured as long as he kept them pinned down, they couldn't take another route to their beloved prime minister. Someone had managed to break away though, and Rictor had no idea until the guy popped up from behind a desk with a rocket launcher propped on his shoulder.
"No way he's going to shoot that in here," Chance said at his elbow. And then, to both their surprise, he did.
Rictor knocked Chance down as the missile came corkscrewing past, and even as they struck the ground, he was rolling and bringing his arms up. He pumped a devastating succession of seismic waves upward, shoving the missile into the ceiling, as well as the resultant blast when it exploded.
"Are they stupid?" Chance demanded as they got to their feet. "They're going to kill themselves!"
"They're just scared, girl," a voice said from behind the two, and they turned to see Amelia Voght stepping out of a flash of teleportational light. "Your team is starting to earn a reputation."
"Couldn't have got here ten seconds earlier, could you?" Rictor demanded, sending a wave of covering fire down the hallway.
Voght didn't respond, just raised her arm and teleported herself and the other two home.
Le Peregrine tucked his wings into his sides and dove towards the rooftop of the Parliament Building. He was almost certainly out-powered by the terrorists attacking the building -- particularly if they truly were the people he'd been led to believe they were -- but there was no time for subtlety or subterfuge. His only chance of saving the prime minister was to take these villains down as quickly as possible.
One of the two mutants on the roof -- codenamed Sunspot he remembered -- slicked over with an oil-black energy, and suddenly Le Peregrine was bobbing and weaving between a barrage of solar blasts. The boy was obviously trying to herd him toward the cat-woman, so she could pounce on him and finish him off. Le Peregrine clucked his tongue in disappointment. He knew he wasn't a powerhouse like some of those American heroes, but he wasn't an inexperienced fool either.
He tucked left instead of right, expertly avoiding the volley of fire the boy put in his path, and hurled one of his stun grenades at the roof. The gas in the grenades was potent enough to knock out anything that breathed, and it spread quickly. Perhaps, if they kept underestimating him, he could end this here and now...
The grenade exploded, and the roof was instantly covered in blue mist. The boy and cat-woman put their hands to their faces, he heard one of them shout something in English, and then they were concealed beneath the thick gas.
For a long moment, Le Peregrine hovered, waiting for the gas to disperse. He would have liked to follow up the gas with some of his explosive ordnance, but he'd caught sight of several servicemen bound and gagged behind a small antenna tower upon his approach, and he didn't want to risk injuring them anymore than he had to. Bad enough the gas was going to knock them out too.
He circled, cursing the wind for being almost non-existent over the city today, and had just decided to affix his rebreather and descend into the slowly-dispersing mist, when one of the terrorists -- Sunspot -- exploded upward directly below him.
Le Peregrine just managed to peel to the side as the solar-powered mutant rocketed through the space he'd occupied a moment earlier. Rolling, he released everything in his arsenal at the boy -- napalm bolas, taser darts, thermite grenades -- and watched in horror as the hovering mutant picked every single projectile out of the air with his solar blasts.
No choice then.
Le Peregrine shot toward Sunspot, grappling with him, hoping he could overpower him with his suit's strength before the mutant could bring his full power to bear, but Sunspot caught his clawed hands and easily held him at bay.
"I apologize," Roberto said in the Frenchman's snarling face. "I know you're just trying to protect your people. But so am I."
A burst of solar power flashed out from Sunspot in all directions, blasting most of Le Peregrine's suit to tatters, and smashing him backwards. Unconscious, he arced gently across the roof, and would have fallen to the ground stories below if Sunspot hadn't immediately circled around and caught him by what was left of his tunic.
The gas had finally started to disperse, and Roberto found Feral easily enough. She was still wearing the rebreather they all carried in their uniforms. Roberto nonchalantly dropped Le Peregrine to the roof, into the midst of his own knockout gas, then activated his radio again. "Status check."
"Everyone's clear," Voght's voice came back. "Are you ready for extraction?"
"Yes, but they tried to gas us. Meet us on the roof of the building immediately to the east."
"Understood."
Roberto put his rebreather back on, then swooped down and scooped Feral up. As he aimed himself at the next building, Voght's teleportation signature already flashing over there, he tried very hard not to congratulate himself too enthusiastically on a job well done. Maybe this would make up a little bit for that farce in China in his team's eyes.
Probably not, but one could hope.
Genosha. The Magda Gardens.
Gomi stroked Bill the Lobster's shell and held him close as the two of them entered the sizeable gardens at the foot of Avalon Tower. Gomi had never set foot in the place before -- he'd never been much for nature, though years with Bill had instilled an appreciation for shorelines in him -- and wouldn't be here now if he hadn't received a summons he literally couldn't refuse.
"He wouldn't ask to see me if he was going to kick me out," Gomi said, more to himself than to Bill. "He'd just have Voght teleport me back to New York. He wouldn't waste his time talking to me."
Bill clicked his crusher claw in agreement.
"Unless he's mad that I never said anything about not being a mutant," Gomi continued. "Maybe he wants to make an example out of me, you know. Tear me apart and throw my bits out in the square and tell everybody, 'This is what happens when a flatscan tries to sneak into my country'."
Bill gave him a look that was more than a little skeptical.
"What? It's not like he hasn't killed people before. We're talking about Magneto here."
"And what are we saying about him?"
Gomi froze, his eyes going as wide and large as Bill's, and slowly turned around.
Behind him, in a small glade defined by a pond and a row of colorful, exotic flowers, stood Erik Magnus Lehnsherr. He was wearing neither the scarlet uniform the world knew as Magneto's, nor the dapper charcoal business suit Gomi had often seen him in since he'd arrived here. Instead, he was clad in a very unassuming pair of slacks and a turtleneck, all black. Crouching next to him was a worn elderly man, with hair that looked like bright green grass, and skin that seemed to be covered in a very light layer of moss. This man was tending to the exotic flowers that surrounded the pond.
"We're... um, well sir--I mean I'm..."
Magneto laughed, and for the first time since he'd been told the lord of Genosha wanted to see him, Gomi began to relax just a little.
"Come here, Gomi. I want to show you something."
Gomi nodded and stepped forward into the glade. The old moss-covered man toiling at Magneto's feet didn't even look up. "I was told you wanted to see me."
"You were not lied to." Magneto turned toward the old gardener. "Thank you, Hatut. Please excuse us for a moment."
The old man nodded and, without comment, stood and shuffled away. Gomi watched him go, curious at how the old man reached out to touched some of the plant-life as he moved. He seemed to be muttering to his surroundings.
"Hatut's gift involves some form of communication with plant-life. We don't truly understand it yet--don't even have a word for it, really--but it seems to involve particle emission and collection through that moss on his skin. Fascinating, really. Makes him perfect for tending the gardens, if a little withdrawn around non-plant life." Magneto stepped around the pond and crouched down next to the flowerbed Hatut had been tending. "Do you recognize this blossom?"
Gomi -- who wasn't likely to recognize any flower by sight any less common than a dandelion -- shook his head.
"It's called the Seran Cotophi, literally the Struggling Blossom. It's native to Wakanda, and even there, only exists sparsely in the wild. It requires soil with a high oxygen content and a very precise amount of sunlight and water. In addition, its scent and taste is very attractive to herbivores, so even if it has the help it requires from nature, it often falls to predators. It's an evolutionary marvel. Incredible that it even exists."
Gomi nodded, trying to look as if he understood what the hell Magneto was talking about. Bill began squirming in his grip, so he bent over to set him down. When he straightened, he saw Magneto had also risen to his feet.
"The Struggling Blossom is Genosha in microcosm, Gomi. Predators circle ever around it, and despite my wishes to the contrary, it requires the occasional outside help if it is ever to grow. Someone to turn the soil and keep hungry animals away. All of which brings us to why I've called you here."
"I'm... I'm not a predator, sir. I like living here, and even though I'm not--"
Magneto raised a hand. "I know you're not a predator. And I've known you weren't a mutant since the moment Tabitha brought you here--your powers extend from cybernetic implants, as do Bill's."--Magneto motioned toward the lobster.--"I've known you were human, and yet I allowed you to assist in the rescue work when the hospital was destroyed. I allowed you to accompany my Fallen Angels to China. But I've always had something more in mind for you."
Magneto fell silent. Gomi looked at him expectantly, wondering if the master of magnetism was waiting for him to say something in return. Finally he ventured a, "What?"
"You are currently the only human in Genosha living under my rule. As much as I wish otherwise, that cannot last. There must be some connection to the outside, the human,world. We have already begun to take steps in this direction with the construction of the Symkarian embassy, but it is not enough. We must have Genoshans who are humans, though only a few. And you will be the first.
"As of this moment, you are my advisor on mutant-human relations. You will sit on my Cabinet, and you will have a voice in all official dealings with the outside world. Or you will leave Genosha. Those are your options. Now... what say you?"
It took a long time for Gomi to answer, mostly because he couldn't quite pick his jaw up off the ground. But when he finally did find his voice, Magneto was not displeased with his answer.
Somewhere in Genosha.
"I like your hair."
Shatterstar turned, a large wooden crate balanced on one shoulder, and looked around him for the source of the voice. After a moment, he realized he was looking too high, and his gaze fell to the young girl standing several yards in front of him.
She was dirty -- but that was no surprise, everyone was dirty here. She had blonde hair and big, dark eyes, and clutched in one hand was a doll that may have started life as a Raggedy Ann, but was now beaten and worn almost beyond recognition. She was maybe six years old, and she was looking at Shatterstar with simultaneous fascination and bashfulness.
"Thank you," Shatterstar said simply. It had been nearly a week since he'd agreed to help the human magistrates to escape Genosha and the wrath of Magneto. In that time, he'd hardly talked to anyone besides his 'sponsor', Magistrate Talib Singh Chauhan. In point of fact, he was starting to become a trifle impatient with the lack of communication here. He'd been under the impression he would be helping to plan the evacuation, but for the last few days he had been relegated to grunt work, like loading these boxes.
"My name is Caroline," the girl said importantly. She held up the doll with both hands. "And this is Raggy Ann."
Shatterstar nodded distractedly, wondering what the kid would do if he just turned and walked away. "Nice to meet you."
"What's yours?"
"My name? Shatter--" He paused. "Ben. Ben Russell."
"You have pretty hair."
"Thank you. So... so do you."
"My daddy says you're a mu'ant. He says you're friends with Magneto. Is that true?"
Shatterstar's eyebrows went up. So they weren't talking to him, but they were most definitely talking about him. "Yes, that's true."
"What can you do?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your powers," she clarified. And then, as if forgetting he hadn't yet answered her last question, "Are you gonna bring Magneto here and blow us all up?"
Despite himself, Shatterstar barked a startled laugh. "No, Caroline. No. I'm not going to bring Magneto here, and I'm certainly not going to blow you up."
The girl seemed at a loss for something further to say. She shuffled her feet a bit, then looked up at him with those big brown eyes again. "I like your hair."
"Shatterstar."
He turned, wondering if he was ever going to get to set this box down, and spotted Talib Singh Chauhan moving toward him. The dark-skinned man had been the one who'd recruited him to this cause, and also the one who kept putting Shatterstar off when he asked why he wasn't being utilized as anything more than a packhorse. He was as dirty as the little girl, but his was the dirt of battles won and lost. He looked tired.
"We are discussing strategies," he said simply as he reached Shatterstar. "And we've reached a point where your input would be valuable. If you please..."
"Yes. It's about time." He set the box down where he stood--someone else could get it--and began to move in the direction Talib was indicating. He'd taken two or three steps before remembering the girl Caroline, but when he turned back, she and her doll had vanished into the background of human workers and refugees.
"Shatterstar. Are you coming?"
Nodding, he turned and followed the man.
"Why are you doing this?" the prime minister spat. "Did you tire of destroying third world abortion clinics? Are you trying to move up in the world?"
Sunspot shook his head. "I want you to know that I, personally, have never had a problem with the French. You're a beautiful people, and you produce beautiful things. You're a little self-absorbed, but if that were a cause for hatred, nobody would want to visit the United States either." He crouched down in front of the prime minister, who was sitting on the floor in a small, bare room made of concrete. "But my colleagues and I are concerned about certain legislation making the rounds in your country."
"The Mutant Registration Act."
Sunspot jabbed a finger at him. "Got it in one. We don't agree with mutant registration. We don't think it's a good idea anywhere, least of all in a country that, while it's lost some of its prestige over the last century or so, is still something of a leader in fashionable world trends."
"You are short-sighted children," the PM snapped. "Do you believe you can win sympathy for your cause through kidnapping and terror?"
Sunspot shrugged. "I don't know. Do you believe you can keep your wife from finding out your fucking the interns now that you've started getting those sores?" The PM's jaw fell open, and Roberto nodded. "Yeah, me neither. But sometimes you've just got to give your enemy the finger, y'know, regardless of whether it's the smartest thing to do."
He stood up. "Make yourself comfortable. We're not going to let you starve or anything, but we're not going out of our way to extend any creature comforts either. And I'm sorry to say we're fresh out of interns."
"My country and the United Nations will not stand for this! They will find you and--"
"Right. Well, we'll blow up that bridge when we come to it, won't we? In the meantime, I want you to spend some time thinking about how you would feel if some politician asshole decided to register everyone carrying herpes."
The prime minister had nothing to say to that, so Roberto nodded cordially to him, and then left the room.
"So the question on everybody's mind is: What are we going to do with him now?"
Roberto tugged his loose-fitting shirt off and folded it carefully over a chair, then he turned and moved into the small bathroom adjoining his room. "That depends on France's reaction to the kidnapping. Did Voght deliver the message?"
"Yep," Tabitha replied, listening as the shower started. "'Rescind your Mutant Registration Act immediately. Love, the Fallen Angels.' Or something like that."
Roberto's voice came floating in from the bathroom. "Good. If they comply, we'll take him back. If they don't... well, he'll just be a guest of the state until they realize we're serious."
Tabby crossed to the chair Bobby had thrown his shirt over. Lifting the garment to her nose, she inhaled deeply. "How far are we willing to take this?"
Roberto was silent for a moment over the rushing of the water. So silent, in fact, that for a moment she thought he hadn't heard her. Finally he replied, "As far as we have to. I don't want it to come to killing him, but I'll go there if I have to."
Tabby put the shirt down and moved to the bed, where she sat down and bounced up and down on the mattress a few times. "I hate to say it, but you did good today, Roberto. We got in and out without any problems. You anticipated everything. Even Chance didn't have anything nasty to say about you afterward."
"I'm sure she thought it. In any case, gracias senorita."
"Yep, looking good again," Tabitha said under her breath, far too low for Bobby to hear. She brushed a bit of fuzz off the rumpled bed linen, then looked to the open bathroom door.
"Oh, to hell with it," she decided and, doffing her own top, went in to join Roberto in the shower.
Virgil Burnside woke up and immediately wished he was dead. The pain was horrendous. It had been what brought him back to consciousness after the pain medication wore off.
He looked down at the mangled, bandaged, splinted mess that had once been his good right arm -- he didn't want to, but it was one of those self-punishing compulsions, like picking the scab over an infected wound -- and groaned.
"Virgil," a voice said at his left side. "How are you feeling?"
"Like shit," he breathed, looking around until his eyes found Camilla Unuscione. The woman was sitting at his bedside, elbows on her knees, watching him with interest. The makeshift hospital room was little more than a well-scrubbed closet -- they had to make do with what facilities they had after the medical center was blown up, but at least he had the place to himself. "Call the doc for me, Camilla? I need some more pain medicine, bad."
"In a minute." She reached out a hand and touched his uninjured arm. "We're going to finish this, Virgil. Me and the others have been talking about it, and we're all agreed that it's time for the X-kids to get the hell out of our house."
Virgil's eyes narrowed. As the Acolyte called Chrome, he'd grown used to seeing Camilla angry--he sometimes thought it was her natural state, even moreso than that bitch Voght--but this...
"How...will you...do it?"
"You don't have to worry about that. I'm only warning you so you know to keep your head down." Camilla reached over and pressed the button that would call the nurse, then she rose to her feet. "We're going to try not to kill them...except for DaCosta. I'm going to tear that little bastard apart myself. For what he did to you."
"What...about Lord Magneto?"
"Lord Magneto... well, he isn't exactly in his right mind, is he? Opening flatscan embassies, telling us we can't worship him anymore."
"Camilla, he won't accept this. You can't--"
Just then, the nurse came bustling in, pressing past Camilla to get to Virgil. "What is it yer needin', Mr. Burnside? D'ye need another shot?"
Chrome ignored her, trying to crane his neck to see Camilla without disturbing his arm. "Unuscione, listen--"
But he stopped when she put her finger to her lips. Then, with a mysterious smile, she spun on her heels and left.
"Shatterstar, I'd like you to meet the men who are going to get my people out of this country."
Shatterstar paused in the doorway of the makeshift conference room, surveying the four men and one woman standing around the table in the room's center. They all looked up at his entrance.
He knew two of the men. One was an old magistrate captain whose name escaped him at the moment. The other was Henri Diesing, a magistrate who had recently lost both legs to the endless battles with Magneto's forces, and was currently propped up on a crutch and two pegs because of it. The other three he didn't know.
He stepped into the room, Talib Singh Chauhan following closely. A trio of oil lanterns were arrayed around the room, which was cut out of bedrock and located far below the streets of Genosha's capital, Hammer Bay.
One of the unknowns, an older man who, despite his obviously advanced years, still possessed a powerful body beneath his jungle fatigues, extended a hand across the table. "Pleased to meet ya, kid. I'm Sergeant Major Henry Malone."
Shatterstar nodded, but didn't take the hand.
Malone frowned, and then dropped his hand without comment. "You can call me Hardcase. These are two of my Harriers, codenames Blindside and Axe." He pointed to the woman and the final unknown man, a black man, in turn. There was nothing extraordinary about the woman, but the man was enormous. He wore no shirt, and he tapped a massive battleaxe in one hand while he regarded Shatterstar. An M-16 hung from the front of his belt.
Shatterstar disregarded him. He turned away from the people at the table completely and spoke to Talib. "I want to know why I've been loading boats and packing boxes for a week instead of being included in the planning." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at Hardcase. "And I want to know what interest SHIELD has in getting you off this island."
Hardcase exchanged a look with Talib over the young mutant's shoulder. "You have been tasked with menial duties to test your loyalty. I wanted to see whether you would stay or run away when you were released from your cell."
"You've wasted a week."
"It was a necessary expenditure."
"What about these three?"
"You've got a good eye, kid," Hardcase spoke up from behind him. "But you're not exactly right either. Me and the Harriers were SHIELD years ago, but we went independent when the Division closed down for a while, and we never signed back up. We're contractors now."
"Mercenaries."
The giant called 'Axe growled, but Hardcase just shrugged. "To-may-toe, To-mah-toe. Call it what you will. The point is we're here to help these people because that's what we're getting paid for, not because Nick Fury told us to."
"Please, can we concentrate on the plan?" the aged captain implored. "We cannot evade Magneto long enough to get our families clear of this place if we waste time arguing amongst ourselves."
Talib nodded in agreement, and gestured for Shatterstar to move closer to the table. Spread out across it was a map of Genosha, including the nearby southeastern coast of Africa.
"The evac's going to launch from here," Hardcase explained, indicating a marker on Genosha's western shore. He traced a finger across the reach to the continental coastline. "We have a team set up in Mozambique to meet the refugees. All the right pockets have been lined, so we'll have no trouble getting your people asylum, and as soon as they set foot on African soil, the story will be all over the airwaves and the Internet. Magneto will have to either let you go or take out a bunch of helpless people in front of the entire world. From what we know of the guy, that last option's not very likely, but there's only so much we can plan for..."
"It won't work," Shatterstar said.
Hardcase looked up sharply. "What?"
"It won't work. Not if those are really your launch sites."
The woman at Hardcase's elbow, Blindside, rolled her eyes, but Axe growled and stepped forward. Shatterstar stared him down until the bigger man's chest was right in his face.
"The launch sites check out," Hardcase said evenly. He was calm, even cordial, but he was making no move to take his subordinate out of Shatterstar's face. "We've gone over them with a fine tooth comb."
"Not fine enough," Shatterstar insisted, still glaring at Axe. "The northernmost spot is right next to an underground base used by the mutant resistance back when the humans controlled Genosha. It's part of a vast underground tunnel network, and Magneto has Acolytes stationed there, surveying and mapping it."
"We didn't see any sign of it."
"It's underground," Shatterstar repeated.
"This is bullshit," Axe rumbled. "He's one of Magneto's boys. Why should he be straight with us?"
"Axe, that's enough."
Axe ignored his commanding officer. "Maybe he's hanging out here just so he can sabotage us. Is that it, boy? You waiting till our backs are turned to stick the knife in?"
"Please," Talib said, coming forward and flicking a reprimanding gaze from Hardcase to Axe. "He is doing exactly what we brought him here for. I vouch for him."
"Your voucher ain't gonna account for much when your people're laying at the bottom of the sea." Axe turned his eyes back to Shatterstar. "What's it gonna be, boy? How the hell do we know you're really here to help us? What's your game--"
Axe jabbed a finger into Shatterstar's chest, and that was all the provocation he needed. In a blur of movement, the finger was broken--producing a hollow snap and a startled grunt from Axe--and the arm it was attached to was twisted around and jammed up high behind the giant's back. Shatterstar whirled Axe around in a helpless little pirouette, then put his foot in the back of the bigger man's knee. With a crash, Axe went down face-first on the table.
Blindside began to move forward, but Hardcase waved her back, his own hand resting on the pistol at his hip just in case things really got out of hand.
"Obviously you haven't been paying attention," Shatterstar hissed in Axe's ear, "so let me give it to you in surround sound. I'm not here to help you, and I'm certainly not here to hurt Magneto. I'm here to aid the helpless and the innocents caught in your crossfire. Question me again and I'll go to work on the rest of your fingers."
Without releasing the groaning Harrier, Shatterstar reached across the map and moved the marker to a spot slightly south of its previous location. "There's a cliffside in this area. It will be easy to hide the boats there until you're ready to launch. Feel free to examine the area first, but try to be a little more thorough than you were last time."
Shatterstar released Axe and stepped back quickly. The bigger man slid down to one knee, cradling his mangled hand, and shot a look of absolute hatred at the mutant. Shatterstar nodded once, as if in acknowledgement of the man's feelings, then spun around and walked out of the room.
"Well... that could have gone better," the woman Blindside said as Hardcase helped Axe to his feet.
"Hold still, Axe," Hardcase said. "This is gonna hurt." With a yank, he straightened Axe's bent finger. The bigger man howled like an injured child.
"Now go see Deacon, he'll splint you and get you ready for business. Just don't piss off anymore kung-fu masters on your way." Hardcase patted Axe on the back, and the giant nodded and moved out of the room. He paused outside, perhaps making sure Shatterstar wasn't lying in wait for him, then hurried away. Talib shut the door behind him.
"So what now?" he asked the room.
"Now Mr. Malone sends a team to check on this new launch site Shatterstar has suggested to us," the aged Genoshan Captain said. "If all is well, we proceed as planned."
"So we won't be telling him everything?" Talib pressed, eyeing Henri Diesing and the two mercenaries as he said it.
"Not even remotely."
POSTMARK: GENOSHA
This is it, the beginning of my final arc on Fallen Angels, blazing a trail (and hopefully not setting the whole damn forest on fire while I do it) for M2K newcomer Alex Cook, who will be taking over this title with issue #19.
(Plug Time: To get a sneak peek at Alex's work, check out the Fallen Angels Annual 2002, which should be out right now. There's a Meltdown story in there by Alex, as well as three more stories from Fanfic Writers Who Kick Ass, none of whom have previously contributed to M2K. Oh, there's also a Siena Blaze story by some guy named Anderson, but feel free to skip that hack job.)
I'd like to apologize for the long delay in this issue's release. It's been 5 months, and all I can say in my defense is...well, it's been done for a while. It was always my intent to finish this entire arc before one word of it got posted, and with the exception of #18 (which I'm probably working on as you read this), I have done this. And that's what took so long. Fortunately, the wait's over and "Civil Unrest" will run weekly until it's finished. Hopefully I haven't lost too many readers in the interim.
Hope you enjoy the ride.
Letters concerning this issue can be sent directly to me at [email protected], posted to the Marvel 2000 mailing list (you can join at Yahoogroups), or on the M2K message board, accessible from the M2K main page.
- Russ Anderson
20 August 2002
BIBLIOGRAPHY
- The Fallen Angels attacked a Beijing abortion clinic at the climax of the "Children of a Lesser God" arc, in issues #6-11.
- Rictor's throat was injured while battling a trio of Acolytes last issue.
- SHIELD=Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate, the UN's covert spy organization. SHIELD was disbanded for a short time following the events of Marvel's Nick Fury vs. SHIELD mini-series.
- Hardcase first appeared in Marvel's Wolverine #5, along with a couple of his Harriers. The rest of this mercenary outfit debuted in Uncanny X-Men #261.