This is a story I started last May, based on a MSH game I was
playing at the time. Since I can't stand whats going on in the
X-Books lately, and can't bring myself to buy them, I have no idea
where or how or if it fits into continuity. Just read it, and if you
like it or hate it, let me know. Thanks.
Just to warn you, its mostly background stuff and expositional. Much
more action is planned for the next installment.

CHAPTER ONE: "Once more unto the breech..."
by James Cannon

PROLOGUE:
       A bright burst of incandescent light flared on the lawn outside
the front door of Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters,
located outside of Salem Centre in Westchester County in the great state
of New York. Such occurrances were relatively common place for such a
well respected acadamy,as, in truth, the school was a front for the
actions of the mutant strike force known to the public as the Uncanny
X-Men.
      The light shimmered for a brief moment, then faded quickly, leav-
ing four figures in its wake.
      The largest figure was a massive, blue eyed pegasus, pale and
powerful, with a set of graceful feathered wings tucked tightly against
its body. Near the winged horse stood its mistress, a thin framed
Amerind girl with long black tresses tied into a pair of tails. She
was garbed in riding leathers of a distinctly Norse cut, complete
with winged helm and a broadsword belted at the waist.
      Beside the girl stood a statuesque woman of towering height. Her
short dark hair, loosely curled, was tied back from her face by a col-
orless head band. Her black jacket was imprinted with the image of an
ankh across the back, and the rest of her clothing -- boots, breeches,
and blouse -- were colored black and white as well. She crossed her
arms under her breasts, regarding the fourth figure with a measured,
gray gaze.
      The massive man under her scrutiny calmly ignored her and fixed
his solemn visage on the front door of the school before him. Long blond
hair, straight and parted in the middle, hung down on either side of his
tan, young face. Muscles that could bend steel were sheathed in a black
leather jacket and woolen shirt, worn with a crimson breechclout, riding
boots, and jeans. A silvery blue warhammer was thrust into his belt. He
glanced back at his companions a moment, and as his hazel eyes fell on
the taller woman, something like regret seemed to shadow the pain and
exhaustion so prevalent in them.
      He turned back to the edifice looming before them, and quietly
advanced on the door. Behind him, the Amerind girl looked nervously
about, especially at the paved highway only a hundred yards away.
"Tolken," she called to the man. "I'm going to bring Brightwind around
back, where he won't be so conspicious."
      Tolken nodded wearily. "I'll see you inside, Moonstar." Danielle
Moonstar, formerly Mirage of the New Mutants, mounted her pegasus Bright
-wind and, with the unfurling of mighty wings, leapt into the air, head-
ing for the stables in the back.
      Tolken stepped up to the front door and leaned heavily on the
doorbell. He heard the chime echo within the foyer. "We're home, Sam-
antha. You don't have to stay if you don't want to," he said while they
waited.
      Samantha grunted. "I started this. I'll see it through."
      Tolken nodded. *There are only so many ways to say "I'm sorry"*,
he thought bitterly.
      Suddenly the door opened, revealing a blocky, sprawling figure
with a brush of brown hair on his crown and thick glasses perched on
his thick nose. "May I help you?" he said in a curious tone, absorbing
the strange appearance of the two with equanimity. His eyes locked on
the prominent X and A patches on Tolken's jacket.
      Tolken couldn't find the strength to explain. "We'd like to see
the Professor," he said. "If he's available,that is."
      "Hmmm... I think I can arrange that for you," the man said, then
paused. "Do I know you? You seem quite familier, yet I am unable to
pair names with faces."
      Suspicious and knowledge locked in Tolken's mind. "Beast," he said
naming the man before him, we're much changed since last we were here.
You know me as Gerard Tolken, and this is Mage."
      Dawning awareness lit Hank McCoy's eyes. "Of course, of course.
Please, come in. Forgive my earlier hesitation, but one cannot afford
to act hastily these days."
      *These days...* thought Tolken, stepping into the building.
*And what has been happening these days?*
      "You have been gone so long, many of us assumed you were. . .
well, lost to us," McCoy said, flipping the switch on his image inducer
and revealing his true shape, that of an apish, broadly built humanoid.
      In the hall behind McCoy, Tolken saw the familier wheelchaired
form of Professor Xavier, the bald master telepath who, years ago, had
provided a young Gerry Tolken with the first training in his powers.
*We thought I was a mutant in those days,* he mused,*with no knowledge
of my true ancestry.
    -- Despite how you may feel, Gerard, you are always welcome in
this house -- , a soothing voice said within Tolken's mind.
      "Professor, this isn't a social visit," Tolken said, the first
stirrings of anger showing in his voice. "And keep out of my head."
Hank McCoy, alarmed at Tolken's tone, glanced at Xavier and smoothly
interposed himself between Tolken and the professor. Tolken looked at
him distractedly, almost amused, then locked eyes with Xavier. "You
know why I'm here. I have to know."
      Xavier nodded. Perhaps my study will be a more appropriate place
to discuss this." Tolken wanted to argue, to demand that Xavier tell
him now, but he lacked the strength. In truth, he already knew the
answer, but feared to have it voiced. Saying it would make it real.
      McCoy guided Xavier into his study and Tolken and Samantha follow-
ed wordlessly. They took seats before the imposing desk that dominated
the room, while McCoy seemed to lounge against the bookcase. Tolken knew
that the Beast could burst into action in a quick heartbeat.
      "Eight months ago," the professor began, "you entrusted into my
care three of your friends, each of them infected with the legacy virus"
      *Eight months. We were gone only eight months*, Tolken thought.
For he and Sam, it had felt -- no, it had been -- five years*.
      "You, Mage, and a being called Champion took a Shi'Ar starship
and a fourth infected companion into space in the hopes of finding a
cure for the legacy virus. Three months passed. Keryn Meibach, the
sickest of the three...," Xavier's voice softened,"... died. In the
late hours of the night. Jean and I were with her. We...tried to make
her passing as painless as possible. I'm sorry Gerard." Tolken simply
nodded, steeling himself for the rest.
      "Your friend the Champion returned shortly thereafter. He reported
that, while you had made some contacts who were aggressively seeking a
cure, no real headway had been made. In addition, following an alterca-
tion with the Shi'ar Imperial Guard, both you and Mage disappeared."
Xavier paused, apparently hoping Tolken might explain his absence, but
the man sat silently. Xavier continued, "The Champion went back to the
stars, hoping to find some way to locate the two of you, and we did not
hear from him again.
       Tolken nodded, swallowing. He studiously ignored Sam, sitting
so close to him, her arm almost touching his.
       "seven days later, Colt died. His passing was less...pleasant.
The team was away on a mission, and I had left to confer with Dr. Mac-
Taggert. Sharon and Tom did what they could for Colt, but could not delay
the inevitable."
      Tolken marveled that Xavier could describe these horrors with such
clinical detachment. Then he realized Xavier was probably doing it for
Tolken's benefit; the tenous grip he held on his emotions would crack
if Xavier showed any of his own grief.
      "Joel Weisman, AC/DC, lingered the longest, in part, I think,
because of the presence of Teresa. He died in her arms. She wept for
days, crushed. I tired to help, but her resiliance to my . . . talents
hindered my attempt. In the end, she decided to return home, to deal
with her grief in her own way. Gerry, I'm sorry. If there's anything i
can do..."
       "No," Tolken said, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you.
You've done enough." He didn't intend for it to sound so crass --
or did he? -- but he couldn't remain in the house any longer. He needed
to leave. He stood, nodding to Xavier and McCoy, then concentrated on
teleporting outside. Too late, he remembered he had lost that gift, and
he cursed his stupidity. Before anyone could react, he burst out of the
study, and out the door into the sweet sunshine, moving with more speed
than a mortal human could muster.
      With a scream of anguish bubbling to his lips, Tolken leapt into
the air, and rocketed away with all the strength at his command.

************************************************************************

      I flew east, my mind numb with grief and an appalling yet familier
sense of total failure. My allies...my friends were dead. I had gathered
them together, forged them into a team in the manner that Xavier had
done. It had ben my plan to create a team of mutant heroe, unaffiliated
with the X-Men, yet nontheless devoted to the same goals. Coexistance of
mutants and humans. An end to the threats posed by evil superhumans who
wished to further their own causes or wallets at the expense of innocent
people. I started the team with the noblest of intentions.
      And I still failed.
      When they needed my power, my seemingly *unlimited* power, I was
too slow. Mister Sinister, the most malevolent Earthling I've ever en-
countered, infected Colt, Slipstream, Nebula, and AC/DC with the legacy
virus. Teresa Ilyich -- Morningstar -- evaded the death sentance due to
a family reunion in Tallahassee. She wasn't present when the Warders and
I faced Sinister.
      And I...I survived because I'm not a mutant. I'm not human at all;
in fact I'm a genetically engineered warrior created by an alien scien-
tist named Cygnus. Centuries ago, he used human DNA to create soldiers
for his race's armies. Immortal. Super strong. More powerful than any
human had the right to be. Eventually those ancient warriors won their
freedom from their masters and returned to Earth, where they were wor-
shipped as gods. They actually became gods, in name as well as deed.
Thor, Hercules, and all those other Avengers who claim godhood -- they
are all lying. They are the products of an alien's manipulation of human
genes.
     As am I.
     Yet for all my power, I could not save my father. And I could not
save my friends. Too slow, too ineffectual. All I could do was watch
them die, while my body seemed immune to the disease that wracked their
mortal bodies.
     Damn me.
     I looked down, breaking my reverie, and saw the ocean beneath me.
Vast, dark, keeper of impenetrable secrets. I had the sudden urge to
dive into the water and let the ocean swallow me up. I never wished for
death more than at that moment.
      Instead, I landed on the sandy shore, scatterring a flock of gulls
that squawked angrily at me. My legs gave out beneath me, and the next
thing I knew, I was spread out on the beach, shuddering and crying like
a lost child. I felt empty, ainless. My life stretched on indefinitely,
yet I had no wish to live it. I seemed destined to outlive everyone I
ever loved. They would all die -- in battle, from sickness, or old age
-- buy I would continue. Immortal, forever young.
      I screamed at the injustice of the universe, screamed until my
throat was hoarse, and when I couldn't scream any longer, I yanked my
hammer from my belt and cast it into the sea. There was a snap and a
rumble like thunder as it soared through the air, and then it dropped,
enveloped by the cold sea. A moment later, the ensorceled weapon re-
appeared in my hand, and, unreasoning in my anger, I threw it again,
harder.
      It flew straight and true and disappeared again. And returned to
my hand again, as it always would. I dropped the weapon to the sandy
ground, frustrated and angry. Suddenly I wanted to get in a fight. Pre-
ferably with someone like the Hulk or Juggernaut. Someone I knew I could
not defeat.
      "Are you okay, mister?" a soft voice said.
      I whirled, angry and embaressed; angry at myself because I had
naively assumed the beach deserted, and embaressed that my shameful
display had been witnessed. I saw a six year old girl in sandals and a
pink jersey, her hair tied in pig tails, and a kite clutched in her
hand.
      I looked at her a moment, then wiped tears and snot off my face.
"Uh...I'm fine," I said shakily. I tried to make my voice sound stern.
"Didn't your parents tell you never to talk to strangers?"
      She colored slightly, then looked around as if assuring herself
that no one had caught her misbehaving. "Yeah...," she said slowly, "but
you sounded so upset, I just thought I should make sure. I'm going to be
a doctor when I grow up," she added, beaming.
      I chuckled, unprepared for such a declaration. "Do you tell that
to everyone you meet?" She nodded, smiling a bit, showing a gaping hole
where an incisor should have been.
      "Well, you should get going. Your mommy is probably looking for
 you I told her. She nodded again, but showed no sign of leaving, so I
did. I concentrated, pulling myself into the air by thought alone,
and headed home.
      "Wow!" the little girl exclaimed as I flew away.
      Its nice to know there are some people in this world who retain
their sense of wonder.

      I wanted to go home, to hide away from the failures and dis-
appointing realities of my life. I headed west, across what I took to be
Massachusetts, back into New York, and still further west. My apartment
in the City beckoned to me seductively, but there were too many people
I knew there, people I wished to avoid.
      No doubt standard Avengers protocol was to provide the team with a
report of one's activities when one has been lost in the dimensions for
eight months. But I was only a reserve Avenger after all, the kind of
guy who gets called to duty when the Gamesmaster or somebody myster-
iously kidnaps the rest of the Avengers roster. Which, coincidentally,
is how I joined the team. But it doesn't happen often, so I thought I
would avoid Avengers compound for now.
      Tasha was probably in New York. She was my closest friend, and
someone I could talk to about all I'd gone through, but I didn't feel
like talking. I felt like being alone. Or taking someone apart. I was
itching to cut loose, let go of some of my anger and frustration on a
living target. The city is usually overflowing with supertypes, just
begging to be pounded by a self-rightous *uber*-hero, and any other
time I would have dropped by to swing a few punches at Doc Ock or who-
ever, but my desire for solitude outweighed my wish for combat.
      I flew home.
      To Seattle.

      I flew long into the night, passing Chicago around two in the
morning, and reached Idaho by midmorning. I made it home in time for
lunch, but I wasn't hungry. I was drained and exhausted, though, and
my shoulders and thighs ached from maintaing the flight position for
over twelve hours. I decided to rash and sleep for a few days. Then
maybe I'd decide what to do with my life. My long life.
      The Tolken estate was built in 1870 by my great great grandfather,
a massive, stentorian man who was well regarded as a trapper and hunter
in the Northwest territory. He bought a spread of land, built a log
cabin, and sent back to Ireland for his betrothed, Maggie Halloran.
Over the years, he expanded the lands and his home, until the settlers
in the nearby town began to refer to it as "the estate." Great great
grandad liked the idea, and so did great grandad, and soon enough the
house and grounds took on the appearance of a true estate. By the time
my father inherited it, the Tolken family owned 500 acres of land, a
sprawling 400 room house, stables, helipad, everal apartments in town,
and, the prime source of wealth, Tolken, Inc., an electronics and comp-
uter firm.
      The company began to suffer due to Microsoft, but a merger between
Tolken, Inc. and Hawthorne Industries was being negotiated that would
strengthen both companies and enable them to compete in the 21st century
Then the MLF staged a raid on Tolken, Inc. during an inspection by both
company heads, and Lawrence Tolken, my father, and Archibald Hawthorne,
Tasha's father, perished.
      I was away at school at the time. I wasn't there to protect my
father. My mother found herself unable to handle the task of living
without him. Her death is even more pointless and painful to think
about than my father's. Both my parents buried, I found myself quite
rich and quite angry. My powers, which I hadn't used in years, would
serve to help me in revenge.
      I turned to Charles Xavier, my father's friend, who helped me
cope with my abilities when I was young. He came to the funeral, of
course, and I asked him to train me again. Not to simply cope with
my abilities, but to *use* them in the way his X-Men used theirs.
      For justice.
      He complied with my wishes, though not without some misgivings.
He prepared me in body and mind for the crusade I would dedicate my-
self to waging. He introduced me to the X-Men, all of whom were
strangers to me, save for Jean Grey. Jean, like myself, was trained by
the professor at an early age, and around the same time.
      I felt several strong reactions to the X-Men, hardly surprising
considering how extreme their personalities are. I immediately disliked
Gambit. He was too slick, too self assured, and too damn self-
involved for me to trust him, much less like him. Plus, he and Rogue
were sort of involved, and I found myself quickly infatuated with her.
She rebuffed my every attempt to reach her, despite the fact that I
was convinced that our similar powers would cancel each other out, and
enable a relationship. Apparently, she wasn't as sure as I was. Or else,
she just didn't like me. Nah.
       Wolverine scared the shit out of me at first. But I learned the
most from him. How to be a warrior, how to hone and use one's own
savagery as a weapon. How to kill when necessary -- and, at the time,
i was sure I was going to kill some MLF members. Conversely, Colossus
seemed to me a kindred soul, an artist as well as a warrior, and he
recently experianced a loss much like mine.
        Cyclops reminded me of my father. Restrained, a bit stuffy, but
well meaning and generally hopeful. Jean had changed a great deal since
last I saw her; she was almost unrecognizable, in fact. When I asked
her about it, she said multiple deaths have a way of changing a person's
outlook. That made no sense at all to me, until much later in life.
      Bishop struck me as an odd person -- although, to be fair, I'm
sure any temporally displaced person would appear odd in the time
he's visiting. Most of the time, he would brood, and look all serious,
and positively violent. But every once in a while, if he thought no one
was looking, he'd get a sort of faraway look in his eyes, as if he could
not quite believe that *he* was an X-Man. He was almost likable then.
      As for the others -- Archangel, Beast, Storm, Iceman, Psylocke,
and Jubilee -- they struck me as nice, fairly good natured people.
Except for Warren. I steered clear of him. If Logan scared me, Warren
terrified me.
      So I learned from them. And used them, as well. You see, my powers
not only include superhuman physical abilities and flight, but the
ability to analyze and dupicate the superpowers of any metahuman I
come into physical contact with (thats why I call myself Siphon). I
copied them all, all except Rogue, who wouldn't let me near her, and I
used their abilities to track down the Mutant Liberation Front and
destroy them.
      Well, not destroy them. But, with Tasha's help, I put them away
for a long time. A very long time.
      I went on to have other adventures, including a cross time caper
during which I acquired my hammer Frostfang and met Excaliber. I
became a reserve Avenger. And I formed my own team of super heroes,
The Warders.
      Who were dead.
      The house was silent and dark when I landed on the doorstep, re-
flecting the owner's mood. I went inside, made my way up to my room,
and cocooned myself in my bed for an extended rest. I was tired. Tired
of life, tired of crusades, tired of failures.

************************************************************************
INTERLUDE:

      Natasha Hawthorne sat in her penthouse apartment in the towering
Dakota Building in the heart of Manhatten, and brooded. Brooding was not
in her nature, however, as she was a good humored, normally happy person

But for the last few months -- ever since Champion returned without
Gerry or that Nelson woman -- she had been prone to periodic bouts of
intense brooding.
      Mostly she thought about Gerry. She had grown up with him in Wash-
ington, just outside of Seattle, and they had become fast friends. Then
Gerry went away in his fourteenth year, and when he came back, he was
different. More sure of himself. More conceited. More imposing. Tasha
and he drifted apart after that. She didn't know him anymore.
      Then the tragedy of their parents occurred. Gerry had been
shattered. She didn't understand how much until he showed her what he
could do -- what he would do. Long devoted to pacifism and the doctrine
of non-violence, Tasha shocked Gerry by insisting she help him bring
their parents' murderers to justice. Equipping herself with some of
Hawthorne Industries top weapons designs, and calling herself Mars,
Tasha proved to be a formidable adversary and implacable hunter. She
and Gerry crushed the MLF, capturing their leaders and driving the
others into hiding.
       She and Gerry were connecting again. Their friendship, strength-
ened by their common ordeal, became something as precious as life itself
to them. They were partners in crime fighting and best friends in civil-
ian life. Tasha realized she was beginning to fall in love with Gerry,
and, unwilling to acknowledge it or act on it, she began to unconciously
distance herself from him.
      At the same time as he was working to form the Warders, she went
to France as Hawthorne Industries delegate at a munitions convention.
There she met the famous millionaire monarch of Litheria, Albanus
Alebane. He was impressive -- noble, cultured, brilliant, and utterly
ruthless. Despite herself, Tasha felt drawn to him. Everytime they met,
she felt an electric tingle slide down her spine. She boldly asked him
to dinner, he graciously accepted.
      Dinner led further, further than she had intended, but to a place
she desperately wanted to go. In was only in the weeks afterwards, as
the affair escalated, that she began to have reservations. Albanus was
not exactly what he seemed to be. As it turned out, he was a wizard, a
master of the mystic arts, with a soul as black as the pits of hell.
Tasha faced him as Mars, but he and his servants, General Phobos and
General Deimos, defeated her utterly. She survived, but barely.
      Gerry had come, driven as he was, determined to ensure her safety
and exact vengeance. He and his fledgling team tackled Albanus as well.
But Albanus, aided by a team of assassins known as the Cadre, trounced
the inexperianced team. Gerry, more resiliant than the average metahuman,
defeated the Cadre almost single handed, but was too weak to apprehend
Albanus before the wizard returned to his country.
       The prince went back to his castle, and the princess...was doing
okay. Now. She tried to put the episode behind her, but in the dark
times the old terrors came back, and she had to wrestle them herself.
Usually she ended up patroling the city, garbed in her silver and black
armor, inflicting pain and punishment on the criminal element, but
tonight she sat in the living room, her knees drawnup to her chest,
her eyes staring sightlessly straight ahed.
        Gerry wouldn't let her go to the stars with him. *He knew*, she
thought. *He knew he wasn't coming back. You always tried to protect me
Gerry. But why wouldn't you let me protect you?*
      Eight months he had been gone. And still no word. She was beginn-
ing to understand how her mother must have felt, when her father was a
p.o.w. in Vietnam. Waiting. Not knowing.
      Sometimes she felt like she was going mad.
      At other times, when she was in the suit, she knew she was quite
lucid.
      *Aw, fuck. Who cares?* She lit another cigarette.
      Suddenly, there was a tapping at her window. She looked up sharply
not quite daring to hope for the impossible. She wasn't disappointed,
for it was not Gerard Tolken who hovored outside her window, but rather
Samantha Nelson. Hope, long dormant, flared in her breast, and she
rushed to open the window. the wind blew her long red tresses into her
eyes, and as she swept them back, Sam Nelson silently landed on her car-
pet. "Hello, Natasha," she said with a strained smile. A pit of worry
opened in Tasha's stomach.
      "Hello Samantha. Is Gerry -- ?"
      "He's not with me. I'm... not sure where he is. But he's back.
We're back."
      "Then why -- ?" Tasha began, but Sam cut her off.
      "Tolken isn't feeling like himself lately. He's all screwed up in-
side. I'd try to help him myself, but I just don't have the heart. But
he... he needs someone. You're his best friend. I thought you should
know."
      Tasha stared at her a moment, the wheels of her mind clicking
and whirling. She heard herself thank Samantha, remembered to wave pol-
itely as the woman departed, and then paused.
      *He needs someone.*
      Gerry needed her. She picked up the phone.

END INTERLUDE
************************************************************************

      I awoke with a start. I tensed my muscles, then dragged myself out
of bed. Lacking the psionic powers once absorbed from certain X-Men, I

was unable to determine whether there was someone in the house or not.
      But I knew.
      I pulled on a pair of shorts and quietly hovored into the hallway.
Careful not to make a sound, I wended my way through the house to the
front door. A suitcase and backpack sat by the coatrack.
      Not mine. Then who?
      "Gerry?" a familier voice said from behind me.
      I dropped to the floor and turned. "Tasha...," I began, then she
swallowed me in a tight embrace. Her eyes were moist. I struggled to say
something, but couldn't form the words. I just pulled her close, careful
that my metahuman strength didn't crush her. Her hair smelled clean; it
tickled my nose.
      After a moment she pulled away from me, and slapped me hard
against the face. I was more surprised than hurt -- after all, my skin
is dense enough to shrug off stinger missiles. "That was for leaving me
behind, you big asshole," she growled. Then she was in my arms again.

      Later, when our eyes were dry, and we collaborated on dinner --
garlic bread, antipasta, and chicken alfredo -- I told her what had
happened. Haltingly at first, with the pain still sharp, I began. But
as I continued, just the ability to relate it all to someone I trusted
and loved, eased the harshness and the communication.
      I told her about Cygnus, the alien scientist who made me. I had
gone to him in the desperate hope that such a being could reverse the
damage caused by the legacy virus. I was determined to gain his help at
any cost -- even my own life and liberty. But Cygnus isn't a creature
who is at all fond of fair deals. Ostensibly, he agreed to my offer of
service in exchange for a cure, but he had more sinister plans. He
drugged Sam and I and his alien henchmen subdued KL'KK, my friend
known as the Champion.
     Cygnus put Sam and I in sensory deprivation chambers and set about
the process of re-education. He planned to brainwash us into being his
willing slaves. Aided by his intimate knowledge of our biology and
psychology, it seemed his victory was assured. We were saved by a woman
Cygnus claimed was his niece. Her name was Jaiseka, and she had once ac-
quired the ability to shapeshift. She used that power to free us, and
help us fight Cygnus and his goons.
      Cygnus tried to escape. Sam went after him. He almost killed her
-- would have, in fact, if I hadn't reached them in time. I... could
not control myself. I suffered too much pain and humiliation at his
hands, was forced to stand by, unable to help, as too many of my friends
died. I swung my hammer at Cygnus as hard as I could. Muscles powerful
enough to lift seventy tons over my head drove Frostfang into Cygnus's
skull, shattering it like glass. He never knew what hit him.
       But I was now a killer. Something I had vowed never to do, de-
spite my anger and hatred of criminals. Logan's example was enough for
me. If I ever become like him... I don't know if I could live with
myself. So Cygnus, even in death, defeated me. He forced me to forever
stain my soul with his blood.
       Jaiseka promised to work on a cure for the legacy virus, and ex-
pressed hope that she could discern the answer in a short while. We left
Nebula in her care and headed for Earth. But we were sidetracked by a
Shi'ar battlecruiser that took affront to us piloting a Shi'ar vessal.
As luck would have it, Gladiator, the praetor of the Imperial Guard,
happened to be on board the ship. He was determined to "discipline the
rogue Earthers," as he put it. After all I had been through, I was not
in the mood for Gladiator's nonsense. I pounded some sense into him,
then teleported onto the ship, dropped him amidst the bustle of the
bridge, and told the Shi'ar to keep their imperious noses out of my
business. I think they got the message.
      However, Gladiator managed to damage our ship during the brief
battle, so Champion decided to set down in the next port for repairs.
I was anxious to return home, but Champion persuaded me that the delay
could not be helped. While Champion saw to the repairs, Sam and I
decided to do some sightseeing.
      We soon became lost in the back alleys of that horrid spaceport.
A brief scuffle with some ruffians attracted the attentions of a much
more powerful adversary. Sam didn't recognize him, but during my term
with the Avengers, I had perused their files. I knew the Collector when
I saw him. Unfortunately, he also recognized me -- at least, he was
familiar with the Avengers "A" emblazoned on my jacket. Before I could
say a word, he used one of his devices to dimensionally shift Sam and I
into another reality.
      Now, I am no stranger to extradimensional travel, as I may
already have mentioned, so I understood what happened. More importantly,
I knew exactly what I had to do. Find Asgard and Thor. With his help,
we would be home in no time at all. What I didn't reckon on was the
distance between dimensions, and the difficulties inherant in bridging
those gaps. It took us over four years to reach the Nine Realms of
Asgard, and several more months before we reached the hall of Valhalla
and gained aid from the Aesir there.
     We literally had to fight our way through the Nine Realms --
Muspelheim, Jotunheim, Vanaheim, Svartleheim, and finally Asgard proper.
Along the way, we battled demons, giants, elves, and a god or two. At
one point, we faced a pack of dragons that was ravaging the countryside,
devouring dwarves, elves, and godlings alike. Sam and I challenged them,
fought them, and broke the group up. But, in the ensuing melee, I found
myself, for the first time since I put on the spandex, outmatched by an
opponent. The dragons were ferocious, brutal, and savage beyond belief.
Sam could barely keep up; I poured everything I had into the battle. I
tapped reserves I didn't even know I had. And it still wasn't enough.
As a massive red scaled beast bore down on me, I threw everything I had
at him -- Iceman's frost, Havok's plasma, Cyclops' eyebeams, the Human
Torch's flame, Wasp's sting -- but it shrugged it off, hardly fazed. As
it got closer, I tried to teleport out of there in a Nightcrawleresque
"bamf". Instead of teleporting me to safety, my powers overloaded. They
exploded outward, vaporizing the dragon's head and part of the neck.
       I plummeted to the gound, a burnt and shattered wreck. The other
dragons scattered, unsure if I could duplicate the stunt or not. As
they fled, my body began to repair itself. Slowly and agonizingly. Sam
landed lightly beside me. "Jesus, Gerry, are you alright?" she said,
reaching a tentative hand out to my shuddering body.
      I was not alright. I knew that I had burned out the powers I had
absorbed, and perhaps ruined forever my other powers as well. I was in
pain, twisted by anger and humiliation. I lashed out, violently, at the
closest target. My fist crashed against Sam's jaw, breaking it and send-
ing her flying away from me.
      She recovered quickly, as her recuperative powers were not as
taxed as mine. But she wouldn't speak to me after that. Not a word. I
tried to apologize, even managed to force the words past my swollen
throat, but she ignored me. Her only concern now was to return to Earth.
In the five years we had been locked in a search for home, our relation-
ship had its ups and downs, but nothing like this. I knew our friendship
was dying, but was too consumed by the empty space inside me to act. It
was painful and depressing.
      I thought about death a lot. Glorious, final death. A Viking death.
But slowly my powers, my natural powers, returned to their former
strength. Eventually, we found Valhalla and the former New Mutant Dani-
elle Moonstar. She helped us get home. Home, a place we had not seen in
eight months of real time, but five years of subjective time. And I
learned that my friends were dead. I had failed once again. I was begin-
ning to feel like I possessed enough emotional baggage to clog an air-
port.
     Tasha helped me through the difficult parts, never judging, always
ready to encourage me, give me strength. "God, I missed you," I said.
She smiled and nodded in agreement.
     "I want you to promise me: the next caper you go on, you're taking
me with you."
     I smiled wanly. "There arn't goimg to be anymore capers, Tasha. I
am through as a costumed do-gooder. That part of my life is over."

    I planned to rest for a week and then delve back into the realm of
big business and industrial finance. Tasha stayed with me. We talked. A
lot. Cried a bit. Laughed, too. We walked the grounds of the estate. I
inspected the stables, which hadn't been used in years, but I wanted to
ensure they were in good condition in case Danielle decided to stop by
for a visit.
      I stayed away from town. I wasn't in the mood to interact with
other people. Tasha took care of the groceries and other essentials. We
both handled the cooking chores. Looking back, over my life, periods of
relative tranquility and happiness have been so rare that all of them
are memorable and precious. This one, I think, is more so than others.
      One night, towards the end of the week, Tasha was finishing with
the dishes while I settled down to read the latest Robert Jordan novel,
*The Lord of Chaos*. I was a fifth of the way through it, and well
engaged.
       Then the phone rang.
       Without thinking, I picked it up. "Hello?" I said, part of my
mind still involved with the troubles of Rand and Elaine.
       "Hello?" a female voice answered. "Is Tasha there?" I answered
 in th affirmative, and prepared to hand the phone off to Tasha, who
had appeared in the doorway, when the voice said, "Wait a minute...
is that you, Gerry?"
      Suddenly I realized who was on the other end. I breathed out
slowly. "Yes, Teresa? How are you?"
      "I'm so glad you're there, Ger. I'm... well, I'm in some rough
trouble." *Shit*, I thought. "What kind of trouble?" I asked.
      "Steph has disappeared."
      It took me a moment to remember that Stephanie was the name of
Teresa's younger sister, a blond haired child who manifested potential
for mutant abilities. "How?" I said.
      "I don't know," Teresa replied, obviously distressed. "When I re-
turned home last week, she had been gone for four days. Somebody took
her. I don't know who. But I managed to trail them to Rio."
      My mind whirled. "Rio de Janeiro?" I said, my gray matter para-
lyzed. She said yes, slightly exasperated. "And you're there now?" Again
she answered yes.
       *Damn me*, I thought darkly. I really had no choice. "We're on
our way, Teresa. Sit tight, and wait for us. And don't worry, we'll find
Steph in no time at all."
       She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you Tolken," she said, and
hung up.
       *Damn me*, I thought again.
       Nope, no choice at all.


TO BE CONTINUED...


Professor X, Cyclops, the Avengers, and related characters are copyright
Marvel Comics, and used without permission. But since I'm not making any
money off of this, why should they?

Gerard Tolken, Sam Nelson, Mars, and all related characters are copy-
right/owned by James M.G. Cannon, who is not a huge corporation but can
still be possessive of his material. Fair warning.

Any problems, questions, or criticisms, should be sent to me at:
X8CG@MUSIC.STLAWU.EDU