Law of the Jungle Page 4

  The psychic conversation had whisked by in a fraction of the span it would have taken to say the words aloud. Shanna was just now joining them. Wolverine and Ka-Zar were still gazing at one another in the manner of decisive warriors.

  Interlopers. Storm resented that designation, but she was resolved to be diplomatic. Everyone was tired and edgy. Half a day fighting on the same side and the friction should—she hoped—evaporate.

  “I can see your concern,” Storm told Ka-Zar. “Rest assured, the X-Men will abide by your wishes. Let’s not

  X-mEN

  let this get between us. We came for a reason. Has there been any more news in regard to Sauron?”

  “No. But Shanna is better able to bring you up to date. I’ve been flat on my back much of these last twenty-four hours.”

  Shanna crooked her arm inside Ka-Zar’s elbow, her stance not unlike a mother leopard guarding an injured cub. “We have heard of no new raids. That’s the pattern. A quick ambush, and the attackers fade into the jungle.”

  “Or they fly off on their leatherwings,” Tongah added, in the outraged tone of a warrior whose opponent will not stand and fight.

  “The fact is,” Shanna said bitterly, “we have no idea where Sauron’s base of operation lies.”

  “That... isn’t like Sauron,” Ororo said. “Every time he’s emerged from hiding, he’s carried on like a pharaoh in his palace.”

  “Or,” rumbled the Beast, who had walked up while Archangel joined Psylocke, “like Tolkien’s arch-villain in The Lord of the Rings, from whence Lykos pilfered his alias.” “He isn’t behaving that way this time,” Shanna explained. “We not only don’t know where his Barad-Dur lies, we don’t even know which part of the Savage Land serves as his Mordor. On the occasions when we’ve been able to observe where the pterosaur riders have gone, they’ve found temporary havens on islands or hilltops, and moved on to their final destination under cover of darkness.”

  “Oh, great, we come all this way to square off against him, and we don’t know where to find him?” Iceman asked.

  “No,” Shanna said. “That’s a big reason why we needed you. If we’d had a spot to concentrate our efforts, Nereel could have ordered a gathering of the United Tribes and mounted some sort of assault.”

  “Though that strategy would have endangered many lives,” Ka-Zar admitted.

  “Still,” Shanna said pointedly, “we could have done something.”

  “Very well then,” Storm said. “The first order of business is to locate him. I confess this guerrilla-warfare style of Sauron’s troubles me. One of his great weaknesses was his tendency to make rash moves due to overconfidence. If he’s curbed that handicap, we will have to be twice as ingenious to bring him down.”

  “Agreed,” Ka-Zar said. “The only bright side is that since we don’t know which way to hurry off to, we can retire to the lodge and discuss this carefully over a meal. You’ll have a chance to meet some of the people you’re helping, and we can all gather our strength.” He waved up at the cloud layer. “There’s not much left of today. Let’s help you get settled in. When night arrives in the Savage Land, you appreciate good company and stockade walls around you.” Storm rubbed the tight muscles of her neck. A little R&R—not a lowering of their guard, but an acknowledgment that they had done as much, physically, as they could for the time being-—would do a world of good. Some real food, not the packaged stuff that passed for victuals in modem society, that was a fringe benefit of a visit to the Savage Land that had slipped her mind completely until now.

  But it would be difficult to relax enough to revitalize herself with this new concern: A cautious, hidden Sauron, who attacked at random times and locations.

  Psylocke stood just outside the door of the lodge, gazing at Archangel. Warren was standing atop the guard platform near the top of the stockade wall, near the gate. The glow of the watchfires reflected off his wings, a cold, almost sinister scattering of light. She was not afraid of it, of course, but the Fall People gave the source a wide berth.

  Warren had just flown a circuit around the village. Keeping an eye out for enemy activity, he said. Certainly a wise precaution, one that Storm and especially Wolverine had heartily endorsed. But Betsy saw his stiff spine and long, brooding stares into the jungle and understood that playing watchdog was not his prime motivation. Being out there meant he could be alone, working through his demons.

  Time after time since they had become intimate, she had telepathically glimpsed him wrestling with the question of his own willpower. Asking himself over and over if some weakness in his fortitude allowed Apocalypse to turn him into his horseman, Death. Warren had struggled hard to re-• gain his humanity. His shedding of Apocalypse’s manipulations demonstrated to her the profound depth of his character, but somehow he wouldn’t quite believe he was deserving of that internal victory, especially since he retained the cyanotic blue skin tone and biometallic wings, both “gifts” from Apocalypse.

  She didn’t try to reach out telepathically. He needed his privacy. All night, perhaps. If he did seek out his hammock, it would undoubtedly be long after she had entered her own dance with Morpheus. He might kiss her forehead when he joined her then, but what good was that if she were unconscious? Sometimes having a boyfriend along seemed more solitary than traveling alone.

  The flaps behind her lifted. Ka-Zar ducked beneath them, stood, and acknowledged her with a nod. “Miss Elisabeth Braddock,” he said, in playful imitation of the formal British speech they had both been exposed to as children. As adults, their accents had strayed far from those roots, but the bond was there, called up every time they opened their mouths to say something.

  “Lord Kevin Plunder,” she replied. A pleasant tingle flowed down her chest to her lower body, like the warm, alcoholic kiss of the pomegranate wine the Fall People had served an hour ago. Such a lovely curve to his muscles. And then there was that glorious blond mane.

  “I’m off to my hut,” he said, “before I fall over.”

  Even in the dim light, Psylocke made out wrinkles around his eyes. His posture lacked the fluid ease it normally possessed. But what struck her was how robust he remained at the core. Had Sauron leeched any other non-mutant human being, briefly or not, the person would be fortunate to be able to lift his eyelids the next day. This man, no matter what he claimed, had enough juice left that she found the idea of him retiring to his hut a provocative image. True, his wife was right on the other side of the hide walls of the lodge. True, her own boyfriend was perched within sight. But what was the harm in flirting?

  “You’ll be yourself soon,” she said encouragingly.

  “If I had a nurse such as you, I could probably avoid being an invalid altogether,” he said.

  “You have a tongue that can charm savage beasts,” she said, chuckling. “No wonder Zabu follows you around.” Suddenly she wondered—Zabu was male, wasn’t he? And then even more suddenly, she had to know if Ka-Zar’s flirting was just idle habit and charm, or something more... specific to her.

  She lightly touched his mind. Not enough that he would be able to sense the probe, but a sufficient glimpse to know what was on the surface, right at that moment.

  Oh, my! She whirled suddenly to hide the furiousness of her blush. Men had such a—visceral quality to the pictures in their heads.

  “What is it? Did something startle you?” he asked. The tone of frivolity was gone, replaced by concern and readiness for action.

  “No. Just a telepathic comment from Warren,” she lied. “Telling me not to wait up for him.” There, she thought. Bring up the boyfriend. Let him think you’re a good girl, even if it isn’t always true.

  And for goodness sake, quit feeling so pleased with yourself, Betsy Braddock.

  The door flaps lifted again. Shanna stepped out. She eyed Psylocke sharply.

  Whoops, thought Betsy, needing no telepathy whatsoever to read that icy expression.

  “You didn’t say good night,” Shanna scolded her husband.
>
  “Sorry,” he said. “I gave Matthew a kiss. He was supposed to pass it on to you.”

  “Grounds for divorce,” she stated. Then, frown melting, she pressed hands around his cheeks and pulled him forward for the kind of kiss that could never be properly conveyed through an intermediary.

  “I’ll just go get myself another cup of that excellent wine Tongah introduced me to,” Psylocke murmured, and slipped inside the building.

  In fact, Psylocke did locate her earthenware mug and poured a splash more of the beverage into it. A sip or two helped settle the fluttering of her heart. Slightly.

  Zira, one of the young women Psylocke had befriended earlier, was sitting beside little Matthew, with Zabu flopped on the reed mats nearby. Zira appeared to be Matthew’s governess. She possessed a bright smile and gentle movements.

  A lovely body, too, tucked into nothing more than a loincloth. Psylocke envied that. It was awfully muggy in this jungle. Not the sort of place meant for clothing, even a costume as streamlined as her own.

  “Almoost tookered off,” Zira said, stroking the boy’s head. He yawned, leaning against her.

  “Almost tuckered out,” Betsy repeated, slipping in a dose of corrected English before she continued in the native language. “I can see you take good care of him.”

  “Ka-Zar and Shanna need many eyes upon this one,” Zira said cheerfully. “His legs may yet be short, but he moves like a cheetah.”

  “Something in the genetics.”

  Zira blinked. “Genetics?”

  Psylocke realized she hadn’t managed to translate the word. She needed to pay attention to read a language from a mind quickly enough to apply it flawlessly. Apparently she was still distracted. “I mean he takes after his mother and father.”

  “Oh, yes.” Zira grinned at that, but then her face fell. “It is a gift and a curse. Enemies try to take Matthew hostage. Or worse.”

  “I—” Psylocke began. She stopped and turned.

  Shanna was there, having come up as silently as a leopard. Betsy had sensed her only by the proximity of her thoughts. Her physical body was too inherently stealthy to monitor readily. Had Ms. O’Hara really been bom in the civilized world? She seemed too primal for that to be possible.

  “To bed with him, Zira,” Shanna told the tribeswoman. “It’s time, no matter how late that nap was.”

  She is the mother. I am only the nanny. The thought was so vivid in Zira’s mind that Psylocke couldn’t avoid hearing it. Some thoughts couldn’t be shoved into the psychic background noise. Or had she said it aloud? No, if she had, Shanna would have reacted.

  Zira stood, picked up Matthew, and tilted him so that Shanna could kiss him goodnight.

  Psylocke got to her feet as well. “I’ll escort them to the hut,” she offered.

  “Zabu can do that,” Shanna said, more sharply than was warranted. And indeed, the big cat had lurched to his feet and was gazing toward the door.

  “Of course. Just wanted to be helpful,” Psylocke said.

  “Thank you,” Shanna said. “But I see that your teammates are starting to refine the plans for tomorrow.” She tilted her head toward the central cluster of beeswax candles, where most of the X-Men were huddled.

  Psylocke turned diplomatically and stepped toward the group while Shanna took a final few moments with her offspring.

  Betsy did not, however, turn her mental focus away. Maintaining the etiquette of a telepath was one thing, but she had been provoked enough tonight. She peered beyond the crest of Shanna’s surface thoughts. She wanted an accurate portrait of what the hell was going on in their hostess’s consciousness.

  Ah, now it makes sense.

  Ka-Zar had not, after all, been opposed to the X-Men’s presence. True, he was furious with the Roxxon Corporation and all the other hostile outsiders, but Ka-Zar had come in recent years to appreciate the benefits of the outside world, from knives that didn’t need sharpening to pants that didn’t smell like dead hide. It was Shanna who had insisted that Savage Land business be kept “in house.” She had changed her mind only after Ka-Zar’s wounding—in a sense, guilt had forced her to make the call. She regretted letting Ka-Zar get too exposed without enough heavy backup. Now she was a woman coping with a split in her position—on the one hand, she was sorry she hadn’t issued the plea for help earlier, and on the other hand, she felt her opinion had been swept to the side.

  Well, that was certainly enough internal conflict to make a person testy and even rude toward guests. Psylocke resolved to cut the She-Devil a little slack.

  Except there was more. Not about the X-Men as a whole, but toward Betsy. Down a little deeper bubbled a kettle of garden-variety jealousy. Psylocke would have understood the presence of that emotion had Shanna been eavesdropping on the conversation outside, but apparently she had not heard a word of it. The feelings seemed to spring from something mpre basic. Say, for example, the simple competitiveness of a vibrant young woman toward any other vibrant young woman, especially when a spouse showed the bad judgment to stand next to the rival.

  The law of the jungle. Fight for what’s yours.

  That was hardly fair. If Betsy were going to get on someone’s bad side, at least let it be for something she’d actually done.

  She wondered if Shanna came by her attitude naturally, or if this was simply the price of living hundreds of miles from the nearest flush toilet.

  Whatever the cause, Psylocke found herself losing the desire to be as fully cooperative a “houseguest” as courtesy required.

  “—don't think dividing into smaller units is wise,” Ororo was saying as Betsy and Shanna approached. “It may be exactly what Sauron wants.”

  “Could be,” Logan countered. “Sometimes the personal approach ain’t bad. I kicked his butt last time I was here. It

  don’t take more’n one person if it’s the right one.”

  “Same thing works in reverse,” Iceman said. “If he catches us alone, it could be it won’t take more than one of him to take care of us.”

  “Maybe. Roll o’ the dice, junior.”

  Storm shook her head. “No, whatever we do, it must be a carefully coordinated team effort.”

  “I know a way to eat our cake and have it, too,” said the Beast.

  “What did you have in mind, Henry?” Ororo asked.

  He was tinkering with a small device, his huge fingers somehow managing the finest of movements. He held it up to the candlelight. It proved to be one of the wrist radios the group sometimes used, though it had an extra, transparent , case around it.

  “Most radios won’t work here,” the Beast said, “since the Savage Land generates an electromagnetic pulse that wreaks havoc with electronic devices. So the trick is to seal the equipment away from the pulses, and the circuits hold up just fine. Forge showed me how to do that to these units, and I brought along enough for the whole team.”

  Storm nodded. “Well done. But won’t the pulses still distort any transmissions, even if the physical radios are protected?”

  “Well, yes, but the pulses aren’t actually constant. They happen five or six times per hour, and usually only last a couple of minutes. In the intervals between, we’ll be able to talk. The range of these little things is not overwhelming, but it should be sufficient for our immediate needs. With Psylocke’s telepathy to help, we should be able to stay in communication even if we do split into small parties.” Psylocke nodded. Before anyone else spoke, she turned and gazed at the door. A familiar presence was approaching.

  Archangel slipped through the portal and joined the gathering.

  “I see,” Storm said, having paused only long enough to make room for Warren and his wings. “Yes, that is better than I had hoped, but it doesn’t resolve the main issue. What does it matter if the radios work if some members of the team are too far off to answer a distress call? I hate to give up the advantage of strength in numbers. That could lead to the type of setback Ka-Zar suffered. Or worse. Logan, Warren, you recall how overwhe
lming Sauron proved to be the time we and Kurt and Peter encountered him.”

  “I’m afraid I do,” Warren said. Psylocke took his hand and squeezed it gently.

  “Yer talkin’ like we’re already beat,” Wolverine said. “That battle went bad because we hadn’t figured out that Brainchild had installed some gizmo in Sauron’s stronghold that threw a wet blanket on our powers. We’ll be watchin’ for that this time.”

  “Indeed,” Hank said. “I have already been scanning for just such a suppression field. No sign of it. More’s the pity. If there had been one, we would know which direction to search.”

  “The way I figure, if we let old green-beak rattle us, we’re givin’ him a step up to begin with,” Logan argued.

  “We’re being realistic,” Archangel countered. “Sauron’s raw powers are not trivial. I don’t expect an easy time bringing him to ground.”

  Logan shrugged. “It’ll never work if you go in without a stiff backbone.”

  Warren raised his voice. “I’ll do my part. Been doing it for the X-Men longer than you, pal.”

  “That’s enough, both of you,” Storm said. At her commanding tone, they both settled back. Tight-lipped, arms folded, but silent. The two of them had never gotten along very well. They had gotten into a sparring match less than twenty-four hours after Wolverine joined the team, and once Warren quit the X-Men due primarily to Logan’s membership.

  After an appropriate pause, Storm said, “Logan has a point. We can’t let Sauron bring the battle to us, we need to take it to him. We probably can’t do that as one large group of seven—or nine,” she added in deference to Ka-Zar and Shanna. “I’m going to take the night to decide how many divisions I’m willing to make. It’s late and we’re all tired. Let’s start tomorrow off right.”

  The gathering drifted apart, Storm conferring with Shanna. Warren pulled Betsy aside. “I have an idea.” He spoke so that no one else heard.

  She looked into his mind. “Oh, good,” she replied. “That’s a wise move. And yes, it would work.”

  He nodded. “Then let’s set it up.” He cupped her chin tenderly in his palm. “And Betts?”