LEGACIES & DIAMONDS

Part I: Procurement

By Mike Franzoni

Editor’s Note: This story takes place after Love & Marriage.

Chicago, Illinois

It begins with a whisper.

The bistro is calm and quiet, less crowded than most would suspect on a budding spring day. A few partons are enjoying their meals on the sunswept veranda, but most have chosen to remain inside, too wary to face the ups-and-downs of the early spring weather. The steady drone of Italian music plays in the background, trying to add to the ambiance despite its soft chords and inability to rise about the whining of the wind.

“I thought we could use some time outside the house. Just the two of us,” he says, reaching across the table and wrapping her hand within his own. He smiles thinly, the serious expression on his face waning for only a second. The sun reflects off the crimson surface of his glasses, casting a ruby hew on the table below. “I’m sorry that it’s taken this long. I really am. Just with things in Egypt and the arrival of Chris into the house, things have just slipped my mind when it comes to you and me, lately.”

This time, it is her offer of encouragement that comes forth, as he covers his other hand with hers. Her red hair waves slightly in the subtle spring breeze as she glances down at the menu, wondering what to order. Returning his smile, she responds, “Don’t worry so much, Scott. I understand what you’re getting at, and I appreciate the gesture. We’ll have to thanks Alison for taking care of the twins.”

“Any idea what you’d like?”

“It all looks so good. And now that I’m not watching what I’m eating, everything’s definitely a lot more enticing.”

“Everything?” he asks with a rise of excitement in his voice, a wry smile spreading across his lips.

She holds back the laugh, but the sparkle in her eyes gives it away. “Mister Summers, I think you need to concentrate more on your dinner menu and less on the dessert menu.”

The waiter’s return is marked as his shadow falls across the table, and Scott closes his menu, laying it flat across the table. “I think I’d like to have the roasted chicken and rice. Hold any extra seasonings, and only butter on the ri…” He pauses slightly, realizing that the waiter has not yet responded to his order. Looking up from the table, he asks, “Is everything okay?”

“Depends on your perspective, Ruby,” the man replies, as his image begins to shimmer. Suddenly, the visage of the waiter is gone, and in its place, a man stands with matching shotguns aimed at Cyclops and his wife. “I reckon y’all will be coming with me now.”

In slowed reaction, Scott turns to Jean with a questioning look in his eyes and flings himself backwards out of the chair. Expecting her to rise from the table in a telekinetic bubble, he blinks in astonishment as she remains still, staring straight ahead as if nothing was happening. Calling out, he yells, “Jean, get out of there, now!”

The man with the shotguns laughs, a deep rumble coming from within his chest. Stepping forward, he pushes Jean, still in her chair, to the ground, a loud clatter emanating as the wood splinters against the cobblestone patio. Incredulously, the man says, “See, she ain’t gonna help ya out in this one, Cyclops. Nope, this game is between you and me, and nobody else. But don’t worry too much about your lady. She’ll be joining you soon enough.”

Scott doesn’t wait for further words as his hand rises immediately to his visor, releasing a pulse of concussive energy at his opponent. The man dodges easily, laughing as Cyclops telegraphs his move. Enraged, Scott fires a rapid series of pulses, alternating from one side to the other, hoping to catch the man off-guard. “Who are you? Who sent you?”

“Name’s Shotgunn,” the man replies, moving faster than his size would indicate as he buckles to the left, rearing up with his guns and ripping off a shot of his own, firing without taking the time to check his aim. The cryo-kinetic blast catches Cyclops in the midsection, rocking the leader of the X-Men off his feet. Wasting no time in allowing his opponent to recooperate, Shotgunn fires a second and third blast, targeting Cyclops’ right shoulder and chest. Deftly, he slips the guns behind his duster, tucking them into an unseen holster, and he says, “That’s one down. Phantasm, you can release the other.”

The illusion around Jean melts away piece-by-piece, revealing her still to be in her seat, a trickle of blood running from her nose to her lip. A black-haired woman steps from behind Jean, removing her hands from Phoenix’s temples and fighting to catch her breath. A soft whine escapes her lips as she responds, “That one is a formidable opponent. Were her psionic defenses at full-strength, I may not have succeeded.”

“What did it take?”

“I reversed her sense of time, flooded her mind with images from her childhood until I made her think that her own powers had never manifested in the first place. That witch’s mind is like a steel trap.”

“Likely Xavier’s training. You did well to subvert that, Phantasm.”

“Well, we have what we came for. Let’s bring this home,” she replies, picking Jean up by the face and scratching her nails down the soft flesh of Jean’s cheek. “But first, something to remember me by, in case you live through the boss’s tortures.”

“You must be happy to have company,” she says, standing in the doorway, still too tentative to step inside. She watches as he turns his head toward her, a soft mixture of depression and boredom etched onto his face. He tries to smile, but breaks into a fit of coughing. Stepping forward, she notes, “Hey, take it easy there, champ. No need to impress the ladies.”

He sits up cautiously, feeling the tug of his muscles as he gathers the strength in his back. Reaching across his body, he wraps his left hand around the plastic cup of water, trying to quench the dry feeling at the back of his throat. The cup tumbles from his weak grasp, falling to the floor with a splatter. He wants to scream, but he fights to stay calm, to avoid the flux of power from jumping from him. “I’m sorry…I just feel so tired all the time. Hardly know when anyone’s here,” he says as she moves to wipe the water from the floor.

“Well, everyone’s been looking in on you. They’re all concerned with your recovery,” she replies, tossing the wet towels into a receptacle near the bed. Standing up, she realizes how closely she is to the patient and steps back, still unable to face the sickness head-on. Looking toward the next bed, she asks, “Have you met Dani?”

“I haven’t even met you, yet,” he says, forcing his words through a spasm of coughing.

She pauses, ashamed that she hadn’t made it down here yet, ashamed that she is concerned more with the health of herself and her infant. “I’m sorry. My name is Alison, Dazzler if you prefer. I’m one of the old-timers that’s back in the game.”

“Used to be a musician, didn’t you?”

“Before your time, yes. I even got to tour with the great Lila Cheney once, what a trip that was. But things have a way of squashing your plans, such as civil war and unexpected romance on far-off worlds. But we won’t get into that.”

“Chris. That’s my name.”

Tentatively, she reaches out and squeezes his shoulder, avoiding skin-to-skin contact but wanting to make a friendly gesture, nonetheless. “It’s nice to meet you, Chris.” She smiles brightly, shaking underneath the thin facade, and steps away from Chris. Suddenly, a large rumble ripples through the room, and she latches onto the end of the bed for support. “What was that?”

His eyes wide in surprise, Chris begins pulling the monitor pads away from his skin, and sliding out from beneath the hospital sheets. “We need to go find out,” he replies, gritting his teeth as he hangs his legs over the side of the bed.

“No, stay put. I’ll see to this,” she says, motioning for him to get back into the bed. In her mind, the thought of her child rushes through her mind, and she rushes out the door with the intent of hurrying to the nursery where Rebecca and the twins lay unprotected. In a blind rush, she fails to see the woman standing outside the door before it’s too late. Moving with a quicksilver speed, the woman grabs Alison by the neck and slams her against the wall. Squirming beneath the woman’s grip, Alison struggles to free herself, but stops when the woman says, “Shush, child. Minerva says to sleep.”

Like the air rushing from a broken balloon, Dazzler feels the energy seeping from her slowly but surely. In desperation, she releases a blast of light, setting off the alarm claxons just before she succumbs to the woman’s power.

“I can’t keep doing this, Hank. It’s like we’re going nowhere, and I want more than that in my life,” she says, her voice teetering on the edge of sleeplessness and anxiety. Frustrated, she slams her fists against the cold surface of the desk and slides her chair back. She bites down on her lip, crossing the room in three quick steps and rounding back to stare at him. “Say something, damnit.”

“Calm down, Cecilia. A flaring temper will only worsen the circumstance,” he replies, refusing to look back at her as she paces behind him. He, too, feels the pressures of the closed environment, knows how easily patience runs thin in stressful situations.

“I will not calm down. I have given my all to this, and nothing has come of it. What am I supposed to think? Maybe you just want me to give and give and give until there’s nothing left, but I’m telling you now, this is it. I have nothing more left in me.”

“She who regards the cooking receptacle shall never witness it reach its optimal heating capacity.”

“Stop it. Just stop it. You’re always trying to bury everything beneath your mountain of words, as if it’s easier for you to being prosy and whimsical than it is for you to face the truth. Thing’s aren’t getting better, Hank. Why can’t you see that?”

He spins in his chair, slipping the glasses from his face and rubbing the sleep from the corners of his eyes. Resigned, he rests his hands on his lap, sighing heavily and replying, “Cecilia, we’ve come so far in so little time. Maybe we’ve rushed things, but it’s what we needed to do. Surely, you cannot deny what we’ve done together.”

“Hank, it’s not that easy…”

“Please, I’m not finished yet,” he says, interrupting her and crossing the room to stand in front of her. Slipping his arms around her waist, he pulls her to him, wrapping her in a hug. “Just a few more seconds, and I think everything will be better. We’ve spent too much time to just let all be for nothing. Just give it that long. Can you do that for me?”

“I don’t know, Hank…”

“Yes, you do. Our prospects are so much greater right now than they have ever been. Our stability has improved markedly since we began, and we’re closer to a solution than ever before. Just a few more seconds, and our results will be forthcoming,” he says as she melts into his shoulder, burying her head in the soft fur. She hates being dependent; it’s too much a show of personal weakness, she’s used to standing on her own. He hushes her with a few soft sounds, stroking her hair in an attempt to calm her. “And here they come now.”

She turns away from him in a whirl, thrusting herself from his strong arms toward the computer terminal and pulling up a viewscreen. Excitedly, she says, “Come see this, Hank. It’s gotta be wrong. I mean, it just can’t be this simple. I just altered the amplification of the equipment, adjusted some of the chemical recombinations…”

“Stability seems to be within acceptable parameters. Cellular bonds are holding at ninety-eight percent integrity and climbing. Destabilization has been minimized, and it seems that generation of clean cells is at an optimum level,” he notes, his eyes moving across the flow of data as it streamed up the screen. “Cecilia, if I am not mistaken, you’ve done it. Your exploration of thermonucleic bonding between the molecules has solved the stability issues that have plagued us for so long.”

“Is it really over?” she asks, a tremble echoing through her voice. It’s almost impossible to believe.

“Yes, my dear, the Legacy Virus has been nearly cured. We need only a delivery system, and we are the saviors of humanity. Rejoice now, or forever hold your peace,” he confirms, smiling broadly, and then his words are drowned out by her excited scream. Her expressions of joy are interrupted as a loud pulse sounds through the air.

“Not now. Not now,” she thinks as the alarm claxons ring throughout the lab. She spins away from the Hank, looking frantically from one end of the room to the other. As the color drains from her face, her voice peaks angrily, calling out. “Computer. Bring up distress quadrants on-screen.”

Immediately, a blueprint of the entire mansion comes up on the main screen of the laboratory monitors. One-by-one, the rooms turn from green to red, leading from the entry foyer in a straight path toward the sub-basements. Already, she can feel the thunderous vibrations approaching, and she wishes that she had a bit more practice in the application of her abilities. Nervously, she looks toward Beast, who says, “It is imperative for us to disberse our acquired information. This research can not be lost.”

She darts across the room, trying to keep traction on the polished linoleum floors as she runs to the computer bank. Tapping in a series of commands, she initiates the lock-down procedures for the lab, hoping that it is enough to keep the invaders away. Switching directions mentally, she brings a file transfer program on-screen, and begins selecting the files to transfer. “Dammit!” she yells as a loud crash collides with the safety doors of the lab. Scuttling across the room, she presses the save key on the microscope, having it document her progress. A second crash sounds throughout the lab, following closely by the whine of metal bending.

Hurrying back to the computer bay, she finishes her selection of files, just as the doors bend impossibly inward. Screaming, she ducks down, avoiding a large piece of shrapnel as it tears into the computer keyboard, shorting out the command-entry system. Turning toward the gaping hole, Cecilia curses beneath her breath, thrusting her braids back angrily, and threatens, “You better damned well show yourself! I wanna know who’s ass I’m kicking for interrupting me.”

“You’re a funny lady,” a large shadow responds, his hulking frame silhouetted against the surging red lights in the corridor. As he steps into the room, the floor vibrates ominously, cracking beneath his heavy steps. As he comes fully into the room, he extends to his full height, towering above her with a sneer affixed on his face. “You should be fun to play with.”

There is a blur of blue movement as Beast bounds across the room, propelling himself at the behemoth of a man feet-first. He bounces off the giant, using the momentum to flip back onto his feet and land at a safe distance. For once, Hank is silent, astonished by the lack of reaction from their opponent. Catching his breath, he says, “Will the wonders of protein supplementation never cease…”

“Now is not the time, Hank,” she replies, extending her forcefield outward into the shape of a baseball bat and swinging it with all her strength. The makeshift weapon impacts with the giant’s midsection, sending a series of vibrations coursing up her arms, but the giant seems unphased. Backpeddling, she asks, “What the hell’s it going to take to knock you down?”

“More boom than you got. Barricade is a strong man,” the giant chortles, slamming his fists down against the floor, and rocking Cecilia from her feet and sending a shower of dust and linoleum into the air. She collides hard with the floor, the pain rushing through her forcefield despite its protective layers. Cracking his knuckles, each with a loud snap, he glares down at her and taunts, “Got any more?”

Climbing shakily to her feet, Cecilia wobbles for a moment, trying to gain her footing and balance. Breathing heavily in and out, she propels herself forward, balling her left hand in a fist and aiming for the giant’s tender male organs. He intercepts her by closing his knees tight, and her fist bounces against his kneecaps. If not for the forcefield, her hand would have shattered, but she feels the pain nonetheless, as she sinks to her knees. Beast follows this effort by utilizing his own strength and agility to deliver a bevy of assaults, none of which seem to have an effect. Gazing at Barricade tiredly, he asks, “If we gave you a cookie, would you play dead?”

The giant laughs slightly, then wraps Beast in a mammoth hand. The grip is tight, cutting off the flow of air through his lungs, and as Beast blacks out, he feels himself being propelled toward Cecilia. The impact comes quickly, without much time to dodge it. Her head ricochets back against the sparking computer console, and she, too, joins Beast in slumber.

A shadow steps past the giant, sure in his steps as he approaches the computers, long shards of cloth stretching out behind him. Reaching into the broken console, he extracts the logic circuits and says, “Come my, servants, gather the children and the ill. We have secured that which we came for. Now, the experiment begins.”

NEXT ISSUE: The X-Men find themselves in the clutches of one of their greatest enemies, with the fate of the world at stake. They’ve found the cure to the Legacy Virus, but now that work could be lost in a moment. Also, what startling secrets threaten to rock the lives of our heroes and who is destined to return to the field? Find out in part two of Legacies & Diamonds.