Law of the Jungle Read online

  “Now, Bishop!” Cannonball yelled.

  The tall, broad, dark-skinned X-Man on the floor to Cannonball’s right thrust out his arm. Out zoomed a burst of energy just like one of Sam’s own explosions. In fact, it was one of Cannonball’s blasts, absorbed a few moments earlier and saved until it was needed. The wave slammed against the tentacles, twisting them into pretzels.

  The electrical charge in the mechanisms vanished. The metal arms scooted back into the wall like parts of one very sore octopus.

  Cannonball throttled back, lighting deftly in a standing position. The Beast and Wolverine sailed on into the wall, but by the time they arrived, their speed was manageable. They struck feetfirst, spun, and landed adroitly on the floor next to a buxom, almond-eyed vixen in a skintight costume.

  “Game’s still live, Betts!” Wolverine said, extending his claws from the backs of his hands and swiping at her.

  Elisabeth Braddock, also known as Psylocke, yelped and sprang back. Wolverine’s slash—as light as it was quick— didn’t come near her costume but she made a frantic unnecessary leap to “safety,” which put her squarely on her rump.

  “That, my blessed Ms. Braddock,” stated the Beast, “is what ladies who laugh at fuzzy men deserve.”

  Psylocke’s expression blackened. Rolling gracefully into a ninja stance, she sent a blistering telepathic comment straight into the skull of everyone in the room.

  “My stars and garters!” the Beast blurted. “I take back the term lady. It does not apply.”

  Betsy opened her mouth to append a comment with her actual voice, but never got the words out. A panel slid open in the nearest wall. The muzzles of an entire row of laser cannons jutted forward.

  Everyone ducked. Beams sizzled past just overhead. Everyone went back to work. Psylocke sent out the telepathic code phrase that would let them know which of dozens of rehearsed counterstrategies they would use. Each of the five X-Men rolled toward their designated position.

  The cannons ceased firing.

  “Hey—” Cannonball said. “Who aborted the session?”

  Wolverine drew back his hands, ready to slash the nearest muzzle anyway should it resume firing. No one relaxed until the room’s intercom crackled and Storm’s voice came through the speakers. ‘ ‘My apologies for the interruption, my friends, but somethin has come up. Please meet me in the War Room.”

  Cannonball, Psylocke, and Bishop spared a few moments to grab towels and wipe off some of the sweat of the workout. The Beast combed down his disarrayed fur. Wolverine was Wolverine. They did not dawdle. Only an urgent matter would have prompted Storm to shut down the Danger Room sequence.

  Still, the session had served its purpose. The Danger Room ■had gone through numerous upgrades over the years. The most recent ones had come from the Shi’ar Empire, as a gift from the Shi’ar empress Lilandra Neramani, friend to the X-Men and lover to the X-Men’s founder, Charles Xavier. Unfortunately, the latest upgrades were telepathic circuits that had the Danger Room respond directly to the thoughts of the person running the session. None of the X-Men had been entirely comfortable with this particular upgrade, and so the Beast and Cyclops had removed it and reinstalled the previous version. This morning’s workout was as much a test of that reinstallation as it was a test of the X-Men’s fighting ability.

  The five mutants marched through the building and filed into a huge room containing a ring of swivel chairs flanked by various monitors, arrayed around a huge central holographic display unit. A mere fraction of the chairs were occupied. The chamber could seat the entire X-Men roster, along with Professor X and whatever allies, super powered or otherwise, might be in residence at the mansion at any given time. But only Storm, Iceman, and Archangel were there to greet them, making eight in all.

  “Thank you for coming,” said Storm. She motioned them toward their seats. She herself remained upright, pacing the room in the broodingly serious way that characterized an African goddess of weather. “We’ve received a plea for help from Shanna O’Hara, on behalf of herself and Ka-Zar. With the Professor on Muir Island and Scott in Alaska visiting his grandparents’ estate with Jean, I’m stepping up as co-leader and authorizing a mission to the Savage Land.”

  “How bad is it, Ororo?” asked Iceman. He had fetched a glass of water and was getting rid of nervous energy by manipulating the size and shape of the ice cubes he’d formed in the liquid. He was in human form and in street clothes. He had been planning to go into town to sample microbrews at Harry’s Hideaway. Pretending to be an ordinary guy out for a laid-back evening, not a mutant with a certain amount of uneasy personal history behind him.

  Storm taped a computer mouse, which caused a holographic display in the center of their circle to awake. Within it formed a green-skinned creature with the head, wings, and tail of a pteranodon, but a body somewhat like that of a human. Even in simulation, his eyes seemed to bore right through whatever he gazed at.

  “Sauron has recovered,” Storm stated almost unnecessarily. Everyone in the room recognized the figure. “He has been leading groups of savages, sometimes mounted on pterosaurs, in raids upon the villages of the United Tribes. Taking captives to feed his vampiric needs, no doubt, and killing those that get in the way. Tongah’s Fall People have borne the brunt of the latest attacks. Ka-Zar was hurt, ambushed by Sauron himself.”

  “Last I heard, he was completely loco,” Wolverine said. “Hardly knew which talon to pick his nose with.”

  “Or perhaps even burned to death inside the Pangean relic where Ka-Zar last encountered him,” Storm confirmed. “He was not a serious threat. Something has happened to improve his condition. He is mentally coherent again. In fact, from the summary that Shanna forwarded to us through our private link, he is more capable of strategy and analysis than ever.” “Woulda been better if I’d finished ’im off last time I tangled with ’im—or if we did it a couple years back.” Wolverine had recently faced Sauron, and only let him go due to Sauron’s powers of hypnosis.

  “It wasn’t our place to be his executioners, Logan,” Storm said patiently. This was an old argument, but she needed to make clear her position. “Certainly not after Professor X successfully purged the virus that turned Karl Lykos into Sauron. He was cured. He deserved his chance for happiness as much as anyone else. For a brief interval, he was able to carry on a legitimate medical practice. He helped people. He had the love of a brave and good woman.” Wolverine did not give in. “Emphasis on the word brief. ’Roro. The Toad nabbed ’im and made ’im as dangerous as ever. You forgettin’ that pretty little lady is history, killed by her man himself?” ,

  “That was unfortunate, but if we followed your argument to the extreme of its logic, you might as well say we should travel back in time and suffocate any infant who is destined to become a killer.”

  At the mention of time travel, Bishop’s face clouded. “Logan,” he told Wolverine, “you do not mean what you say.” Wolverine’s eyes flickered beneath his bushy eyebrows. “I always mean what I say. This time around, could be the best thing if we forget about the cure angle.”

  “We will have to accept every possibility,” Storm said. “The certainty is that he must be stopped. You will not kill him if we can safely take him alive. If there is any shred of Karl Lykos remaining within him, it deserves a chance to be restored.”

  “You can count on me,” Logan said. “An’ I’ll follow your lead no matter what—you know that. But you also know in your gut that sooner or later, it’ll come down to blood. Always does.”

  Bishop combed his fingers through the narrow shred of beard on his chin. “I saw him only once, from a distance, when Storm and I fetched Rogue, Jubilee, and Wolverine from the Savage Land. I know him otherwise only from the archives and from conversations with some of you. He has often been associated with the mutates of the Savage Land, am I correct? The group from which Vertigo sprang?” “Yes. Some of the mutates have put in appearances,” Storm replied. ‘ ‘Barbaras, Gaza, Lupo, and Amphibius hav
e all taken part in at least one village raid. It is probably safe to assume that Brainchild is assisting them, somewhere in the background.”

  She prodded the holographic display. Sauron’s image vanished, replaced by five smaller representations. Gaza was a giant, muscular savage, with eyes that had obviously never known sight. Barbaras was not quite as large but appeared just as strong, with an extra pair of arms. Amphibius resembled a giant, humanoid frog, Lupo a wolfish man with pointed ears. Brainchild’s body was scrawny and small, but his cranium bulged out to twice the diameter of a normal person’s.

  “These five are seldom far apart, and tend not to leave the Savage Land as some of their brood do. They may be the cause of Sauron’s resurgence. They were originally created by Magneto to be subservient to his desires. They have depended on masters to focus their ambitions. Sauron has played that role when Zaladane wasn’t available. Perhaps they found him and somehow resurrected him so that they would have a commander once more.”

  “What about the others?” Bishop asked. “Whiteout and Worm?”

  Psylocke shuddered. She was the one X-Man in the room who had been part of the mission to the Savage Land in which Worm had first been encountered. She telepathically shared a memory of how the mutate had seized control over the bodies of herself, Colossus, and Dazzler.

  “Fortunately those two have not surfaced,” Storm said. “They were more Zaladane’s pets. Which isn’t to say that we'shouldn’t be on the alert for them.”

  “Still enough of a zoo to make this a real fun trip,” Iceman muttered.

  “When do we leave?” Bishop asked.

  “We leave in the morning,” Storm said.

  Wolverine squinted. “Why the delay?”

  “Ka-Zar and Shanna have beaten off the most recent attack. It sounds as though Sauron has enough victims to sustain him another day or two. We won’t indulge in any unwarranted delays, but it’s only prudent to take what remains of this evening to outfit ourselves properly and get some sleep. It’s going to be a long trip to the southern polar regions and a potentially exhausting ordeal once we’re there.’ ’

  Bishop asked, “Is there any particular reason why you emphasized we so heavily?”

  “Yes—I’d like you to remain behind. I’m not comfortable leaving the mansion completely empty with so many of us so distant, especially with Cyclops, Phoenix, and the Professor also away.”

  Nodding, Bishop said, “Understood.” Storm was grateful that the time-travelling X-Man didn’t argue. But then. Bishop was a soldier first, and knew when to follow orders.

  Storm looked around the table. Everyone looked ready to go now.

  With one exception. Archangel kept his eyes on the table, his blue-skinned face grim.

  “Warren?” Storm asked. “Is everything all right?” Archangel looked up. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” He hesitated. “Sorry. I was just lost in thought for a moment there.” “See you bright and early for takeoff,” Ororo concluded. Archangel lingered behind after the others slipped out the doorway.

  “You truly did not wish to go,” Storm said. “If that’s how you feel—”

  Warren grimaced. “No, no, I have to go. Even if it was just me by myself, I’d have to go.”

  “But you don’t have to like it, is what you’re saying.” “Brings up a lot of history, Ororo.”

  “I know it does.” She ambled toward the door, pausing to squeeze his blue arm. “Try not to agonize, my friend.” “Oh, I’ll just lay back on my pillow tonight and dream of beaches on Maui. Palm trees swaying, foxy chicks in bikinis near the water. Life’s a breeze.”

  Creatures roamed in Warren Worthington’s nightmares. They gibbered, shrieked, and worst of all, laughed. Those visions were the easy ones, because even in sleep, he recognized them as unreal. They were the traces of hallucinations thrust into his brain by a master of hypnotism. The hard part came as the dreams turned toward his original reaction to those chimeras.

  / was spineless, Warren thought. / was terrified.

  His eyes. His eyes.

  Sauron gazed at Warren and it was as if his unnatural, reptilian orbs filled the sky. Shudders coursed along Angel’s wings—his old, feathered wings, not the mechanical appendages he wore now—rendering them so nerveless he could barely stay aloft.

  So much fear. It churned his intestines. He was willing to do anything to stem it. Sauron turned him against his friends. He obeyed. The fear still rooted deep in his bones, but as long as he obeyed, it didn’t grow worse. Even that slight blessing kept him a faithful slave.

  , More memories. Fleeing those eyes again, racing up from a jungle and through mists into stark, freezing air. The prospect of death from the cold appealed to him more than turning and facing that green, winged demon.

  Somehow, he had gone back and fought. Ka-Zar had made him go back and fight. For a few short minutes, Warren had endured the quivering muscles, the looseness in his bowels, the chatter of his teeth. But those eyes had locked upon him again.

  And Sauron spoke the words that would echo for years thereafter:

  7 long ago took your measure... and found you wanting*

  Archangel lurched to a sitting position, flinging the top sheet and blanket off the bed. He almost cried out before he completely woke and saw where he was.

  Psylocke regarded him silently, mouth drawn into a thin line.

  Archangel winced. “You read any of that?”

  She bent her head. “Your mind was in such turmoil, I couldn’t help but reach inside to try to calm you. Yes, I glimpsed what you were dreaming of. I’m sorry. I had no right.”

  “It’s... all right,” he said forlornly. “We should have talked before we fell asleep. It’s just that I still haven’t come to terms with how useless I was those times against Sauron. I was—”

  “Wanting?”

  “Yes. Wanting. Inadequate.”

  “Sweetheart,” Betsy said, leaning over and kissing him firmly, “you are not die same person you were then. I’ve taken your measure, too, you know. Trust me, Sauron doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You have proven yourself a brave and complete hero. You’re my hero.”

  “Thank you,” Warren said. He let himself be drawn into an eyes-to-eyes moment of connectedness. Betsy’s body was warm beside him, chasing away some of the chill he felt within. “Keep sending me that thought. If I can see half of what you see in me, I’ll be fine. But I’m not there yet. This came to a head in the Savage Land. The circle won’t close until that jungle is back under my wings.”

  A wren chirped on a branch out the window, composing a tune to mark the paling of the sky. The radio alarm clock on the nightstand clicked and out poured an old Credence Clearwater Revival tune.

  Warren pressed the button and the song broke off. Ninety minutes until departure time. He reached for his lover.

  “Be careful what you ask for, young man,” said Psylocke with a smile. “You might get it.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The first time that Storm had come to the Savage Land, she, Cyclops, Nightcrawler, Colossus, Banshee, and Wolverine had tunneled through solid rock while she froze an avalanche of hot lava that was trying to incinerate them. For all her brave attempts to fight her deep-rooted claustrophobia, she had emerged into the open air of the jungle as limp as the porridge she had often eaten as a child-thief in Cairo. She had been so in need of calm and recuperation that she proved a pathetically easy target for Karl Lykos, providing him with the mutant lifeforce required to fuel the rebirth of Sauron.

  The second time she had come to the Savage Land, the X-Men had landed their Blackbird at Deep Ice Station Alpha, one of the U.S./UN military bases that guarded the perimeter of the prehistoric biosphere. An earthquake—triggered by ancient technologies that Brainchild, under the direction of Sauron, had activated—had brought the underground complex down around them. Rubble had pressed suffocatingly around Ororo, as it had when she had been buried alive in the bombing that killed her parents.

  Good had come of
both those ordeals. After the first trip, the X-Men returned home to find that Phoenix and the Beast had not been killed in the volcanic event, as feared. Furthermore, the team had preserved the Savage Land from the destruction being wrought by the god Garokk, the Petrified Man. The second trip, they had beaten Sauron, returned him to New York, and cured him—a happy ending for Karl Ly-kos and his beloved Tanya Anderssen, had not the Toad and the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants come along years later and rewritten it.

  Yes, good had come, but if Storm had to endure another dark, ominous trip beneath a mountain of collapsing rock, then by the Goddess, she would surely turn catatonic and wish to die.

  At the moment, she was confronted by more immediate worries. The X-Men’s supersonic transport bucked and rattled, caught in the fierce weather that afflicted the Drake Passage between South America and Antarctica. Driving snow pelted the windows. If not for Archangel’s piloting skills and Ororo’s constant tempering of the storm’s fury, they would never be able to reach, much less land upon, the mountain shelf that Shanna’s communique had directed them to.

  A surge of turbulence pushed them up a hundred meters and down two hundred in the span of three seconds.

  I think I’m going to be sick, Psylocke reported telepathi-cally.

  “Ororo!” Archangel barked. “Can you do something about that wind shear? I’m starting our final approach. We won’t have enough altitude to tolerate that sort of abuse anymore.”

  “I’m trying, Warren. That one would have been much worse if I’d been idle.”

  The screen in front of Archangel acquired a blip. “There,” he said. “That’s the beacon.” Ka-Zar had installed it a year earlier, and Shanna had provided the code sequence of non-sinusoidal wave emissions that would render it visible to their equipment.

  The plane shuddered as Warren dropped the landing gear.