The Ultimate X-Men (17 page)

jenn Saint-Jolin & Tammy Lynne Dunn

Illustration by James W. Fry

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- Jerome Watkins took a deep breath in a vain attempt I I to calm his racing heart. The pipette in his hand held lr the latest strain of the bacteria he’d spent his entire professional life developing, ready for its greatest and final test.

Maybe I really have it this time,
he thought.
All those years of research and study, all those compromises I made, and it comes down to this moment.

He carefully transferred the contents of the pipette into a petri dish containing a small plastic block, and took a deliberate step backward to observe the effects. Arms crossed, he nervously sucked his lower lip into his mouth and began chewing on it absentmindedly, waiting.

He didn’t wait long. In less than a minute, the square began to dissolve. Tiny streams of fluorescent green plastic goop became miniature rivers, and within two minutes, the block was gone. Were it not for the half ounce or so of green liquid the consistency of milk, one would never have know'n the block had been there.

Suppressing his desire to cheer and dance, Dr. Watkins allowed himself only a brief smile of joy and relief before turning to the computer to enter the test data and begin the modeling for the next stage of the experiment.

“I knew it could work,” he told himself. “And no matter what else may happen, these bacteria will solve so many landfill problems. The ecological benefits are well worth-risking the other outcome. And the other won’t happen. No sane person would let it happen. They won’t. They couldn’t.”

Without warning, the laboratory door burst open and

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two strangers stormed into the room. Startled, Watkins jumped out of his chair and moved protectively toward the experimental area.

“Who are you? What do you want here?” he cried.

Baring his teeth in a feral grin, the one who resembled an olive-furred baboon replied, “Not much. Just your life’s work, flatscan.”

The creature had to be a mutant, since he used the derogatory term many mutants used for “normal” humans. He moved slowly and steadily towards Watkins, the dank scent of rotting mushrooms intensifying the nearer he came. Watkins moaned softly as the world around him began to swim. Erratic, brightly colored circles of light rotated around his head, making him dizzy. He felt a wave of nausea crash over him, and he clutched the edge of the lab counter, desperately fighting to stay upright.

He lost the battle and sank to his knees, retching helplessly. The nausea completely enveloped him, making him unable to think or speak. He vaguely saw the other mutant, the one who looked like a bedwarfed giant with mechanical arms, working the computer and transferring disk after disk of files. He fought for speech, forcing out each word between waves of nausea.

“You . . . can’t. . . do . . . this. Mustn’t. The . . . danger.” His voice trailed off again as he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor.

“Too late, flatscan,” the mutant at the computer sneered as he gathered up the disks he’d copied.

The last thing Watkins saw before he finally succumbed to blessed unconsciousness was a small cyclone of papers from his desk formed as the cool summer breeze blew in

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from the lab door left open in the haste of the mutants’ exit.

Dr. Hank McCoy muttered to himself in frustration as he looked at the latest column of figures from his test data. The member of the X-Men team known as the Beast would seem so close to finding a cure for the Legacy Virus, only to see his hopes turn to despair. Stryfe, the villain who had originally engineered the virus, had anticipated all the major routes a scientist would take in trying to construct a cure. He sighed heavily.

“Discouraged, Hank?” Storm asked as she quietly entered the room.

“Indeed, I’m afraid that I am, Ororo. It’s times like this that I know exactly what Keats meant when he said, ‘There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object.’ ”

“I have another problem for you, my friend. Turn on the TV, Channel 7. There’s something you need to see.” When the image settled, Beast saw a mutant of obvious Slavic origin, large boned, but squat. The arms with which he was gesticulating emphatically were mechanical, and he had the wild-eyed fanatical expression Hank had come to associate with the Acolytes, the fanatic followers of Magneto, who shared drat villain’s desire for mutant conquest of the world.

“That’s Katu, isn’t it?” he asked.

Storm nodded. “Turn it up. You need to hear what he’s saying to understand our newest problem.”

Once the volume was up, they could hear Katu in midsentence. “. . . you flatscans have no choice but to give in to our demands if you wish your society to remain intact.

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We have obtained and duplicated one of your biological weapons, a bacterium that consumes plastic. We’ve placed the bacterium, in sufficient quantity to destroy your so-called civilization, in a bomb located for ideal worldwide dispersal. The bomb will be detonated within three days if our demands are not met.

“First, all mutants currendy held against their will are to be released immediately to the Acolytes. We will no longer permit you to torture and experiment with our brothers and sisters.

“Secondly, all human occupants of the northwestern states of Washington, Oregon, Idaho, and Montana in the United States of America are to be evacuated and relocated. The states will be turned over to the Acolytes for the formation of a mutant nation.”

Katu looked up from his notes and faced the cameras direcdy. “We know you will not submit to these demands. We also know you will underestimate the amount of destruction these bacteria can cause. Your financial structures will crumble as your computer disks and tapes are destroyed. Your vehicles and construction equipment will be inoperable. Your factories will require complete overhauls before they will be able to produce again. Millions will fall ill or die because crucial medical supplies are stored in plastic containers. Once the bacteria have contaminated your water supplies, those humans with plastic in their bodies— such as pacemakers—will flood and overwhelm your hospitals. How many millions will be killed or injured in the inevitable riots and panic, do you think? There is no aspect of your lives that will remain as it was.”

Katu smiled. That the smile was genuine neither Beast

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nor Storm doubted for a moment. It was an unscripted, sincere expression of enjoyment, and it sent chills down the spines of both X-Men.

“We will laugh and celebrate as your society falls. Then we shall build
our
society—a mutant society—out of your ashes. It’s been well over a century since Darwin first described to you the process of evolution, and you still have failed to grasp even its simplest principles. Now you’ll see it in action.”

Bishop strode into the room as Katu’s final words cast a deeper pall over the two X-Men. “It’s being continually broadcast via satellite all over the world. I see no reason to believe he’s lying to us, although we’ve found no record of such a bacterium.”

Beast breathed out a deep sigh and spoke slowly. “Oh, my stars and garters. He’s not lying.”

Startled, Bishop stared at Beast. “What? How do you know?”

Beast made his way over to the conference table, sat down, and gestured to the others to join him. “About two years ago, a Dr. Jerome Watkins consulted with me on the production of just this type of bacteria. I wasn’t able to commit to working with him full-time on the project, but I have helped him with a few problems he’s encountered here and there. The bacterium was being created to reduce plastic waste materials.”

“Is it possible that Watkins was secredy working for the Acolytes on this project?” Storm queried.

“I don’t think so, Ororo. First, Watkins has been working for the U.S. government for the past decade doing environmental research. I checked his credentials most

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thoroughly before I agreed to do any consulting work for him. He’s a good man. Secondly, I don’t think the Acolytes would ever consider working with a human,” Beast turned to Bishop, who nodded.

“Such an alliance would be most uncharacteristic of the Acolytes/' Bishop agreed. “It’s much more likely that they got wind of the project somehow and decided to turn it to their own ends.”

“No matter how the situation has developed, though,” Beast stated, “we must find a way to stop it.”

Storm looked thoughtful for a moment. “Then the question is how the Acolytes obtained the bacterium, assuming it is the same one, and if it is the same, where is Dr. Watkins now, and does he know how to stop it?”

Beast walked over to the communications console and had it dial Watkins’s home and lab. There was no response at either location. “Jerome worked out of a lab in Dallas. I’ll fly down diere and see if I can locate him. Maybe he has some answers for us.”

Storm nodded and glanced over at Bishop. “Good. In the meantime, Bishop and I can try to trace the Acolytes to their newest base of operations. If our deadline is only three days away, we don’t have much time.”

In just a few hours, Beast stood outside the open door to Watkins’s laboratory. Alert, not knowing what to expect, he cautiously made his way toward the observation window of the main room, where he saw what appeared to be the wreckage of an experiment. He was mentally taking notes on the extent of the destruction when a faint, low moan sent him toward the storage cabinets.

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“Dr. Watkins? Jerome? Is that you?”

Hearing another moan, McCoy used his superhuman strength to pull the storage cabinet out of the way. There, in a space he would have thought too small to hide anyone, sat Watkins. Curled up in a fetal position, he shook with convulsions, occasionally giving voice to the pitiful moans that had led Beast to him. He turned his face toward Beast, who had extended a hand to him, and instantly recoiled.

“No! No! Just leave me alone!” he begged. “You already got what you came for.”

“Jerome, it’s me,” McCoy said kindly. “Hank McCoy. You know me. I’m here to help you.”

“H-H-Hank?” Watkins asked, and blinked several times, as if trying to clear his vision. This time when Beast extended his hand, it was accepted. Watkins tried to stay upright, but leaned heavily on Beast as he launched into an explanation of what had happened.

“I was entering the final data on the bacterium when two mutants burst into the room. They took everything . . . the research data, the samples . . . everything.” He looked at Beast, his eyes clouded and anguished. “I tried to stop them, Hank. But one of them . . . he . . . he . . .” Watkins broke off his sentence and began sobbing softly. “I thought vou were another one of them.”

Beast laid a comforting hand on Watkins’s shoulder and pressed it gently. “I know this is hard for you, Jerome, but you have to tell me everything. What did he do?”

“He used some kind of hallucinogenic power on me. I’ve never felt such a thing in my life. Pain, nausea, dizziness ... I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything as they

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stole my life’s work!” Watkins began sobbing again. “They took everything.”

Beast gripped Watkins’s arm and helped him into a chair. “Jerome, let me dress your wound, and then you must come back with me to the Xavier Institute. Right away.”

When Watkins started to protest, Beast held up a hand to silence him. “Hear me out before you decline, if you please. The men who stole your research are members of a group called the Acolytes. They have taken the materials and research stolen from you and have somehow modified it into a bomb.” He saw Watkins blanche but did not stop. “The Acolytes have taken the bomb and have placed it in an unknown location where it will disperse the bacterium around the entire globe. They have threatened to detonate the device should their demands not be met within seventy-two hours.” Briefly, he recounted the Acolyte demands.

“Oh, Lord,” Watkins groaned. “No government would ever agree to those conditions.” His voice became resigned. “And that mutant, Katu, could well be right. The destructive power of this organism . . . human society will be hardest hit by the damage. Mutants will be able to use their abilities to work around the more obvious difficulties.” “And no doubt they’ve been planning this for some time,” Beast added drily, “and so are prepared for the devastation they intend to wreak upon humanity. The only chance we have is to develop a counteragent and find the device before it is detonated. My teammates are working on that end even as we speak.”

“They took all my notes on the bacterium, but I should

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be able to reconstruct it from memory; I’ve been working with the same agent for months now.”

Beast helped Watkins to stand. “We’ll use the Institute lab. My friends will be waiting for us. Besides, you won’t get better health care in any hospital, and I’m afraid you really need it.”

Thousands of miles away, Storm and Bishop had tracked down the last known location of Katu and the Earth-stationed Acolytes, deep in the Great Sandy Desert of Australia. Although the buildings appeared deserted, Bishop took no chances as he entered the main building. Plasma rifle at the ready, he entered quietly, Storm close behind him. The room was empty except for some furniture and a few pieces of scrap paper, left behind when the Acolytes closed down shop. Storm picked up a loosely wadded piece of paper from one corner and spread it open on one of the desks.

“Bishop, look at this. An aviation weather report. If I’m reading this correctly, the Acolytes were getting weather conditions and information on the area surrounding the Bahamas.” She pointed to a faint penciled circle on the sheet. “It appears that they were especially interested in the conditions around Cat Island.”

“Good. That’s somewhere for us to start. And look at this.” He held out a sheet of paper he’d recovered from one of the other desks. “Evidence that the Acolytes have the bacterium Hank told us about. It’s a printout of some test results. Look at the header: Project XFS1147, Chief Researcher, Dr. Jerome Watkins.”