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Chapters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
 
 
 

The Game of Empires - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Valerie Jones
Last updated: 02/13/2010 03:54:13 PM

Chapter 28

Renee held her breath as she stepped into Apocalypse’s bedchamber. The smell of disease had dissipated as his health improved, leaving the room musty and stale but no longer putrid. The incense that burned next to the bed only made it worse, in Renee’s opinion. She longed for a set of windows to throw open, to let fresh outside air sweep the room clean, but there was no such thing in Apocalypse’s mountain complex.

Apocalypse lay propped up in bed, hands folded across his stomach. A data pad lay on the bedside table, its face still illuminated as it finished its shutdown routine. He had no doubt set it aside just before she entered.

Renee forced herself not to dwell on what, if anything, that might mean. Ever since Apocalypse had shown her the garden, she had been waging an internal war over just what the gesture might signify, and what she should do about it. The idea that Apocalypse might be interested in her, as a man might be interested in a woman, left her reeling inside. The thought of being in the same room with him terrified her more than ever now--because of what he might do, and because of what he most certainly would do if she refused him.

If Apocalypse could sense the frantic pace of her thoughts, he gave no sign. His gaze on her was steady, even indifferent, as she crossed the room to stand beside the bed. Renee clung to her composure like a lifeline, but she couldn’t completely still the tremors that ran through her.

She watched his face shift into a scowl. "You are afraid."

She managed not to flinch, but it took every ounce of her will to make her meet his eyes. Emotions flickered in the gray depths, deep currents she could not identify. "Yes."

They stared at each other in silence as Renee’s stomach twisted itself into tighter and tighter knots. Apocalypse broke away first. He turned to stare straight ahead, his face once more expressionless.

When Renee didn’t move, his scowl returned, but he didn’t look at her. "Sit, Healer."

Gingerly, Renee turned and sat on the edge of the bed. She could feel the heat of Apocalypse’s body through the thin sheet that covered him, and at the open V of the tunic he wore, she could see the soft flutter of his pulse.

Trying very hard not to think about what she was doing, Renee slipped her hands inside the collar of his shirt. She had done this dozens of times, but now she couldn’t help but wonder what Apocalypse thought when she touched him. She laid her thumbs in the hollow of his throat and let her fingers curl around the back of his neck. He had started washing his hair, she noted. The fine hairs beneath her fingertips were no longer greasy, but soft as down.

Through her hands, her power dove into his body. She bit her lip, holding the growth surge back as her awareness spread through tissue, bone, and blood in search of the last strongholds of the disease. She found one, and set about transforming the diseased cells into healthy. Her power fought against her hold, straining to reach out beyond the limits she had defined. It hungered for release, like a dog lunging against its leash.

She was so wrapped up in the effort of making her power obey that she lost track of her surroundings, even her own body. Only once she was certain she had eradicated this knot of disease and recalled her power into herself did her awareness return. She opened her eyes to find she had leaned forward as she worked. Her face was only inches from Apocalypse’s, his big hands wrapped loosely around her forearms.

Her breath caught in her throat. Apocalypse stared at her across that short gulf and Renee could not look away. His fingers burned where they touched her skin.

Renee began to tremble.

"Why do you still fear me?" he asked, his deep, rumbling voice as soft as she’d ever heard.

She felt the familiar hysteria rise in her throat, and battled it back down. "Because you are Apocalypse," she heard her voice say, though she didn’t remember forming the words, "and I am your prisoner."

He let her go so quickly that she recoiled, certain, in that instant, that he was going to hit her. She slid a short ways along the edge of the bed away from him, instinctively drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them.

When no blow fell, she risked a glance at him, and found Apocalypse back in his original position with his hands folded across his stomach and his stare focused stonily in front of him. His knuckles were white with strain.

Without warning he threw his legs over the side of the bed. Renee leapt out of his way before she could be unceremoniously dumped on the floor, landing in a crouch a few feet from the bed. She backed away instinctively as he rose to his feet, but not quickly enough. Apocalypse lunged forward, catching her elbow in a vise-like grip. She squeaked in protest as his fingers found the nerves and sent searing pains up her arm. Apocalypse didn’t seem to notice. Barefoot, he dragged her by the arm out into the hallway.

The cat men outside the door didn’t react to the bizarre sight. They fell in behind Apocalypse as Renee scrambled to stay on her feet at his side. Hot tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes and her breath hissed through her teeth as she fought not to cry.

Apocalypse marched her through the living area and then up the long, winding staircase to the butte. Apocalypse thrust the door open and they burst out into blinding sunlight. He released her with a tiny shove that sent her staggering forward. Renee caught her balance after a few steps across the hot stone and whirled to find Apocalypse staring at her with his hands balled into fists at his sides.

"I release you from your agreement, Healer," he said, his voice cold and rough. "You are no longer a prisoner." And with that, he turned and stomped back inside the complex, slamming the door behind him. The two cat men glanced at each other in the most identifiably human gesture she’d seen from their species, then took up guard positions in front of the door.

Renee could only stare.

The members of Generation X deplaned in the mansion’s hangar in a raucous explosion of voices and activity. Jubilee’s opening shriek of "Professor, you’re back!" set the tone for the reunion as the teenagers piled down the open ramp to greet Charles with enthusiasm. He found himself grinning in response, even laughing, at their joyful lack of restraint.

Emma Frost and Sean Cassidy followed their students at a more sedate pace and approached Charles once the rest had headed for the lifts.

Banshee offered his hand. "It’s good ta see ye, Professor."

"And you, Sean." Charles accepted the handshake gladly. For a moment, at least, he was able to pretend that all was well, and that Psylocke wasn’t lying up one level in the medlab, her mind shattered, that he could speak to Remy without a sudden, dreadful silence falling, and that the X-Men did not continue to give him sidelong looks as if they weren’t quite certain they could trust him any more.

"Charles." Emma greeted him in turn with her customary coolness. But at least it was no different than how she’d met him on any number of past occasions.

"Emma, I’m glad you’re here." Charles turned towards the lifts. Banshee and the White Queen fell in beside him. "If you wouldn’t mind rounding up Jono, Jean and Cable are waiting for you in the War Room."

She nodded, her pale eyebrows drawn together. "Has there been any change in Elisabeth’s condition?"

Charles shook his head. "None." Nor was there likely to ever be one unless Jean’s plan worked.

Sean pressed the call button beside the lift doors, which immediately slid open. The three of them moved into the elevator.

"Have ye been able to talk to anyone in the government about the weapon that did this?" Sean looked down at Charles, his expression keen.

Charles nodded. "Scott and Ororo have gone to Washington to express our official outrage to the Secretary of Mutant Affairs, but I doubt it will do much good. Scott and Jean are both convinced this is somehow related to a Project Grayscape, which is a splinter of OZT that survived and that has been doing a lot of research on telepaths. It may also be the same group that was holding me prisoner."

Sean and Emma both looked at him in surprise, and Charles gave them a humorless smile. They all knew that OZT had functioned inside the vacuum of information that was government black ops. Quite possibly Grayscape would do the same.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open on the main floor of the mansion. From the direction of the kitchen, they could hear the babble of many voices. Charles gestured for his guests to precede him. No doubt Gen-X had gone straight for the food, seeing as it was nearly noon.

The scene in the kitchen was enough to bring a genuine smile to Charles’ face. Second one today, he told himself sarcastically. That might be a record. He shoved the thought away when Emma turned a curious look on him.

Gen-X had indeed descended on the kitchen. Loaves of bread and packages of lunch meat lay scattered across the countertop, interspersed with various opened condiment jars and bags of potato chips. Jubilee sat on one of the stools that backed the counter, chattering at Bobby Drake through a mouthful of sandwich. Paige and her brother Sam stood across the counter from them, jostling each other with their elbows and grinning as they assembled their food. At the table, the rest the Gen-Xers along with several X-Men were engaged in some kind of contest that involved blowing the paper straw covers off the ends of their straws and much laughter.

Seemingly indifferent to the chaos, Emma crossed the kitchen to tap Jonothan Starsmore on the shoulder. Jono glanced up at her. He heaved a sigh and then, taking one last bite of his sandwich, rose to follow her.

"Are you coming, Charles?" she asked as she passed by him on her way back out of the room.

Charles’ stomach did a nervous little flip. "In just a minute," he told her. "There’s someone I need to talk to first."

Emma simply nodded and continued on her way, Jonothan in tow. Charles turned and made his way out of the kitchen. He should have known he wouldn’t find Remy there. He spent a few minutes searching the house, eventually locating him in a corner of the library with an open book in his lap.

He knew Remy heard his approach, but the other man didn’t look up until Charles was almost on him. The book closed with a snap, and Charles noted with some surprise that it was one of the translated volumes of Shi’ar history Lilandra had given Charles several years back. Charles had done the translation himself, for the royal library on Chandilar, and Lilandra had given him a set of the books once they were published.

Remy’s flat gaze bored into him, daring him to comment on his choice of reading material.

Charles fought the urge to look away. "Emma and Jono are headed to the War Room, and I am on my way there as well. I thought you might want to join us."

The hostile gaze didn’t change. "What for?"

Charles shrugged, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. "Someone has to be there to tell Jean if she’s building the network incorrectly. My powers are gone--I won’t be able to see what she’s doing."

"An’ I will?"

Charles did his best to keep the frustrated edge out of his voice. Couldn’t he accept who and what he was, even a little? "You can manifest on the astral plane." Gambit had done so on several occasions. "So you can watch what they’re doing. If nothing else, I’m hoping you’ll have some kind of..." he searched for an inoffensive word, "instinctive reaction if it’s all wrong and it’s going to blow up in their faces."

The short explanation left Charles exhausted. He was tired of being angry, of being blamed, and tired of being responsible for the gaping emotional wounds he saw all around him. At his lowest points, he sometimes resented Remi for laying the choice on him, and then the guilt would swamp him for his cowardice in even thinking such a thing.

He came back to himself and found Remy watching him with something that might have been veiled concern in his eyes. Certainly it was a softer expression than his previous one, and Charles scrabbled after something to say that might keep that small chink in his son’s armor open.

"This is all my fault." The words slipped out before Charles could weigh them.

Remy’s eyebrows flickered in poorly concealed alarm before his expression disappeared altogether. He looked away from Charles, his lips pressed together in a thin line. "What is it wit’ people apologizin’ to me all of a sudden?"

Charles watched him curiously, wishing he dared ask for an explanation. Hoping desperately that Remy would talk to him if he didn’t push.

Remy glanced back at him after a moment and shrugged. "First Scott, now you." His gaze darted away. Charles heard him draw a shaky breath. "How you figure dis all your fault, Professor?"

Charles sighed. There were so many ways. "Onslaught. The fact that the Shadow King is still alive." He watched Remy to see if he would respond, and was rewarded after a moment. Remy turned to face him, grudging curiosity written across his face.

Encouraged, Charles continued. He’d had plenty of time now to come to terms with the truth. "Everything was going exactly the way it was supposed to. The timeline, I mean." He paused to gauge Remy’s reaction and was cautiously pleased when the other didn’t react. "What we didn’t consider--didn’t take into account--is how much I changed because of... everything."

Charles’ hands closed involuntarily into fists in his lap. He looked away, unable to hold Remy’s gaze any longer. "When we defeated the Shadow King on Muir Island, he found a way to leave a part of himself in my mind. Knowing what would happen in the future, what to do to make it happen that way..." Charles faltered, forced the words out. "It made me arrogant. Made me think I really had control. Made me compatible with that little piece of the Shadow King."

He ran one hand across his head. "It stayed there, festering... growing, until it was strong enough to take Magneto and myself and forge the three of us into Onslaught. And I didn’t say anything... didn’t warn any of you... because I was so afraid of what would happen if I let the timeline vary..." He shook his head, appalled even now at his own stupidity. As if pretending everything was all right could have made it so. "I kept thinking I could fix it somehow, without anyone knowing."

Charles fell silent. After a moment, he heard a soft rustle of cloth from Remy.

"Well that surely sucks, Professor." Remy levered himself to his feet.

Charles looked up at him and was surprised to see something like sympathy in his eyes. Strangely, his heart lifted a little. "Yes, I think that’s a perfect summary, Remy."

Remy cracked a smile. It lasted only a moment before disappearing beneath what looked like an acute bout of self-consciousness. Remy stuffed his hands in his jean pockets and stared at his shoes. "We should go, neh?"

"Uh... yes." Charles tried to cover his surprise. He quickly turned his chair around, not wanting to give Remy a chance to reconsider. It didn’t seem to be an issue. Remy walked with him in almost companionable silence down to the War Room.

All eyes turned to them as they entered. From the looks of confusion on both Emma’s and Cable’s faces, it was obvious Jean hadn’t told them anything substantial about Remy.

As Charles crossed to the table, Remy took an oblique tack, wandering along the edge of the room. Cable and Emma both watched him curiously for a moment, before turning their attention back to Charles.

"Charles." Jean laid both hands flat on the table top. "I was just telling them what I found in Elisabeth’s mind."

Charles tucked the nose of his chair up to the table. "By all means, continue." Charles gestured to her. He was aware of Remy drifting behind him, just at the edge of his peripheral vision.

"All right." She shot a single glance over her shoulder toward Remy before turning her attention back to the group at the table. "As I was saying, I made an exploratory foray into Elisabeth’s mind. It’s broken into a million pieces." Her dismay was a palpable thing. "There’s no way I can fit them all back together on my own. It’s possible Charles might have been able to do it before he lost his powers, but I suspect even he might have needed help." She gave him a winsome smile. "Or at least a backup."

"But you think the four of us can somehow surpass the power of the greatest telepath on Earth?" Cable’s expression was openly disbelieving.

"You know it doesn’t work that way, Jean." Emma tapped her lacquered nails on the tabletop. "Four alphas are only four times more powerful than one. Charles is-- was-- a hundred times more powerful."

Jean nodded. "Working as individual minds in concert, that’s true. But it’s possible for telepaths to form a network... like computers, sort of... to form a sum that’s far greater than the individual parts."

"How?"

Jean looked over at Charles. "That’s the hard part. I don’t exactly know. Charles saw a network like this in action, but he wasn’t part of it. He can tell us what he saw, but we’ll have to figure it out for ourselves."

Silence fell. Charles watched the faces around him shift uneasily. Finally, Cable turned to face him. "I don’t like this, Professor. There’s a great deal you two aren’t saying, and before I try anything I want to know what you’re leaving out."

Jean heaved a sigh. "It’s an extremely long story, Nathan. We honestly don’t have time to go into it all now."

"But by all means, ask whatever questions you have," Charles said with all sincerity. He folded his hands on the table in front of him. "I may leave out some specifics in the interest of not derailing this group from its purpose, but I will tell you anything you want to know."

Cable didn’t look entirely mollified, but he nodded. "All right. I guess that will have to do. For now."

Emma leaned forward. "Where did you see this network, Charles?"

"In the mind of someone from an alternate future," he answered her. "There, the Shadow King ruled supreme and these networks of telepaths battled each other on the astral plane on an unimaginable scale." Even now the images Remi had shown him filled him with a kind of terrible awe.

"In that case there were dozens of telepaths involved, and the network was incredibly complex. The, uh, mutant who showed me the memories didn’t have time or attention to spare to study in detail how it was built. However, he was linked with--" Charles paused to consult the memories Remi had shown him. "--perhaps forty different people, all of them alpha or high beta telepaths. Many were augmented, granted, but some weren’t. And each of those telepaths was in contact with five to ten of the others. By criss-crossing the links, they created an immensely strong net."

"It’s an interesting idea, Charles." Emma’s fingertips stilled. "But it sounds dangerous. Opening your mind to that many others leaves you open to attack from a lot of directions."

Jean brushed her hair out of her face with one hand. "Yes. Though ideally, it also would allow you to shunt the burden of any attack off to the people you were linked with, diluting its potency. Or allow you to draw additional power, if you needed it." She laid her hands back down on the table, threading her fingers together. "The only thing that makes sense to me is that they drew on each other’s power until it caused a kind of feedback to develop, effectively multiplying their strength."

"And in this case," Charles told them, "we’re not talking about a situation where anyone would be under attack. But if the three of you--" He swept his gaze across Cable, Emma and Jono, "can use this network idea to multiply your powers and feed them to Jean, she might be able to repair Betsy’s mind."

"Or it could destroy all of our minds." Cable scowled at Jean. "How are you going to control the feedback?"

She shrugged. "I don’t know. No one has ever deliberately tried something like this, to my knowledge. We’d just have to experiment, and take it slow."

The other three looked at each other, and Charles could see their silent conversation in the play of expression as they weighed the risks. Finally, Emma shrugged and Cable uttered a short, "Fine. We’re in."

Charles kept his reaction to a nod. "Thank you."

Renee waited almost an hour before concluding that Apocalypse did not intend to return for her. The one time she approached the door, the guards barred her way as they did with any area she was not allowed to enter. She didn’t know what to think, or how to feel. But, if Apocalypse had, indeed, released her, she would do well to make the most of her opportunity. Her only regrets were that she had nothing to take with her across the desert sands-- not her cloak to protect her from the sun, nor a container for water... not even a pair of sandals for feet, and that her staff lay in a drawer somewhere inside the heart of Apocalypse’s complex.

Sighing, she headed for the edge to look for a way down. The nose of the butte dropped away in a sheer cliff several hundred feet high before flaring out toward the desert far below.

The climb did not turn out to be difficult for someone with her agility and reflexes. The worst part was the sun, which baked her unprotected head and back mercilessly. Her thick hair would hopefully protect her scalp, but Renee was not looking forward to the sunburn she knew she’d soon have.

When she reached the bottom, she used the sun to get her bearings. She had no idea where in Egypt she might be, but if she headed north, she was bound to run into the Mediterranean Sea and civilization, eventually.

Taking the scarves from her hair, she wrapped them around her bare feet to provide some protection from the sand, and then wound the remaining lengths around her arms and shoulders to help preserve her skin.

Then, with a last glance up at the mountain that housed Apocalypse’s complex, she pointed her steps toward the north and began to walk.

Jean stepped onto the astral plane, arriving in a neutral, featureless place. Out of the corner of her eye she could almost make out the lines of hills and trees, half-remembered images her mind impressed on the emptiness around her. Cable, Emma and Jono stood a short ways away, waiting. Around them, the nothingness swirled and knotted, an empty river eddying with whispers of color, promises of form.

Jean looked around as she approached the trio. "Remy, are you here?" She’d informed him they were headed to the astral plane just before leaving her body.

"Look up, chere."

Jean swung toward the voice, to find Gambit crouched atop a skeletal sketch of a rock outcropping beside her. She just shook her head. Now that she understood the source of Remy’s ability to move like a ghost in the telepath’s domain, it no longer bothered her.

Gambit leapt down from his perch, landing silently beside her. Interestingly, his astral self was dressed in the black Shi’ar armor he’d arrived at the Grayscape facility in, with his trademark brown duster tossed over it.

"What’s he doing here?" Cable demanded as the two of them made their way over to where the others waited. Jean kept her sigh to herself. The last thing anyone outside the X-Men had heard about Gambit was that he was the man behind the Marauders. Their distrust was understandable.

Gambit flashed his familiar, irritating grin. "Long story." Adjusting his coat, he walked a few steps away from the group and turned. "I’ll jus’ be over here, Jeannie."

Jean acknowledged him with a half-hearted nod and turned her attention back to the others. "Remy’s here to observe." She split her attention between Emma’s faintly disbelieving scowl and Cable’s mutinous stare. "But if he says something’s wrong, drop the connections immediately and we’ll start over."

Cable shook his head. "If it were anybody but you asking..." He gave Gambit a long, hard stare over Jean’s shoulder, but then seem to totally dismiss his presence.

"Well, shall we?" Jean gestured for Jono to come a little closer to the group. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, which wasn’t too surprising. Despite his power, he was still young enough to feel out of place. The psionic fire that leaked around his wraps glinted silver and gold against the white nothingness of the astral plane.

Jean gathered her thoughts. "I’ll start by creating a connection to each of you, and then we’ll go one by one to have each of you create connections to the rest of us." Suiting actions to words, she sent a tendril of thought toward each of their minds. The links appeared as shining red-orange cables of energy that pulsed and writhed between their forms. This was nothing Jean hadn’t done before, and the strangeness of having three additional sets of thoughts overlaying her own quickly dissipated.

"Your turn, Emma."

The White Queen nodded. Her links were an ethereal blue-white in color. The one she sent toward Jean wrapped itself around Jean’s link and the two merged into a single, thicker cable, striped in orange and blue. That, too, was familiar. It made no sense to maintain two separate links between a pair of minds. Instead, both telepaths maintained the single connection and could communicate in both directions through it. Like strange echoes, Jean could also hear Emma’s thoughts echoing back to her through the links she held with Cable and Jono, now that Emma was also connected with them.

"Nathan."

Cable’s star-shaped tattoo seemed to glow as his links appeared. Not surprisingly, they looked metallic. Strange reflections chased across their surfaces in the directionless light of the astral plane. Jean felt her connection to Cable merge with his, and the completion of the circle between herself, Emma and Cable sent a jolt through her. Power sizzled along the ring, like electricity that she could grab with her mind and shape into anything she wanted.

"Impressive," Emma commented. A crease had appeared between her brows. "It is magnifying, and we’re hardly putting our full resources into it."

Cable gave Jean a measuring look. "Jean?"

"I’m fine," she assured him. "The power’s just there, running the circle between us. It seems to have stabilized in magnitude."

"It’s not anywhere close to the hundred times we need." Cable folded his arms across his chest. "But it’s a start."

Jean smiled, the first stirrings of hope rising in her heart. "Yes. A good start. Let’s add Chamber in and see what happens then."

At the others’ nods, Jean turned toward Jono. But before the young man could reach out to any of their minds, a silver staff snapped down across the array of colored cables, snapping them as if they were little more than the spider webs they resembled.

Jean staggered as her links were abruptly severed. It felt like someone had smacked her hard on the top of the head. "Remy, what on earth?" she demanded even as he steadied her with a hand beneath her elbow.

Gambit held a finger to his lips, red eyes glowing. "Quiet, chere. We got company." He gestured behind him.

Jean turned to look, and heard her own gasp of surprise echoed by the others. A dark shadow rose against the invisible horizon, roiling with unguessable forces.

"Back to the mansion," she told them, and pushed her awareness toward her body. Around her, the others shimmered and began to dissipate. Even as she left the astral plane, she could feel the weight of the thing that approached bearing down on her, like an impending storm whose magnitude she could only guess at.

She returned to herself in the War Room just as Cerebro’s alarms began to wail.

 

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