From: fuzzy@athena.mit.edu (Dark Fuzzy Rules OK!)
Subject: NEW MUTANTS: Kid Dynamo Chapter 11, Part 1 of 3
Followup-To: rec.arts.comics.xbooks
Summary: "Queen for A Day"
Keywords: X-Men, Magneto, Destruction of New York
Organization: Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Date: Tue, 28 Jul 1992 21:59:01 GMT


	If you just started reading this, you'd be much more able
to understand what's going on if you'd go ftp the previous chapters
from ocf.berkeley.edu, directory /pub/Kid_Dynamo.  Trying to understand
what's going on now is pretty tough...

	-connie.


    
    Kid Dynamo Chapter 11, Part 1 of 3
    "Queen for a Day"
    by Connie Hirsch
    
    Our Story So Far:  Jessica Pierce is a teenage telekinetic
 fireproof mutant runaway who has taken shelter at Xavier's School For
 Gifted Youngsters, despite her considerable misgivings about the
 headmaster, Magneto. The leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants in his
 long-ago days had tampered with her mother's fire powers, which
 subsequently went berserk and killed her.
    Last chapter, Jessica and the rest of the New Mutants were
 contacted by Empath, calling for help from Manhattan for himself and some
 of his fellow Hellions. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were attacking
 New York City, and both the Hellfire Club and Magneto were
 unreachable/unavailable. The students made the decision to mount a rescue
 operation by themselves. Jessica, Sam, Rahne and Illyana would search
 Central Park, Empath's last known location. In the meantime, Dani and the
 rest of the New Mutants would be on alert back at the Mansion....
       
       * * *	
       
       I hung in the air over the Museum of Fine Arts.  To the North, I
 could still see Sam, a small brave figure in the air, heading out to search
 his assigned portion of the Park.  I would search the South, and Rahne and
 Illyana would take the middle on foot.
       Below me I could clearly hear a little kid say, "Look, Mommy,
 she's _flying_," and it jarred me from my reverie.  I was glad for the
 distance and the helmet, so that no one would see me blushing.
       I flew South, considering what to do.  Fact:  'Lito had been at
 a phone, presumably in the Park.  Phones wouldn't be just anywhere; they'd
 be on major paths, and around the perimeter along the street.  Central Park
 is covered with trees; _huge_ trees; trees with millions of concealing
 leaves.  Okay, that was a plan.  I'd fly around the perimeter first.  The
 trees overhung the sidewalk next to the Park, but if I angled out over the
 street, I'd be able to see clearly.
    The street along the Park -- Fifth Avenue, the street signs said --
 was clogged with stopped cars, most of them abandoned.  A few blocks down,
 I came upon some very disturbing sights; all the glass in the cars and the
 buildings had shattered.  There were small pools of drying blood.  Another
 block and I saw my first bodies.  They must have been standing directly
 underneath the glass front of the building, and they had been sliced to
 pieces. It was useless to try first aid; they were far beyond help.  I
 pulled down an awning to cover them. _They never knew what hit them_, I
 tried to console myself;  but it only made me feel angry.  I was more
 anxious about 'Lito than ever.
    Few people were out on the street.  They'd taken shelter, if they
 were mobile or had any sense.  I saw some people duck back into store
 fronts and a subway entrance as I turned the corner at the bottom of the
 Park.  I felt like shouting, "Hey, you don't have to be scared of me!" but
 I didn't.  They were in enough trouble as it was; I didn't need to add to
 it.
    Manhattan didn't have any proper telephone booths left; just those
 horrid modern open air things.  I hoped 'Lito wasn't inside a building.
  He'd _said_ he was in the Park, instead of mentioning a building name or
 address.
    The electricity was out.  If the streets hadn't been
 preternaturally quiet, they have been solid with honking cars at every
 intersection. There were enough cars, but they were all abandoned; the
 Ghost of Traffic Jams Past.  It was a spooky feeling to be the only moving
 object in one of the most populous places on Earth.
    There was a crackle, a popping sound.  I stopped and looked around,
 startled.  It was the radio hanging on my belt, the one Doug had issued to
 each of us before we left Salem Center.  I fumbled it out.
    "Hello, hello," I said into it, then remembered to push the
 "transmit" button.  "Jes-- er, _Miranda_ here," I added.  Smooth and
 professional, that was me.  I stared at the radio expectantly and noticed
 the "receive" button.
    I pushed it.  "--and meet us at the Museum of Natural History,"
 Sam's voice said through the static.  "Do you copy?  Over."
    Working the radio correctly, I said, "Sorry, you faded there.  Can
 you repeat?"
    "We found them," Sam said.  "We're on Third Avenue, at the Museum
 of Natural History.  Can you join us?"
    "You _found_ them?"  I said, my voice squeaking a little.  I took a
 breath.  "Is 'Lito -- are they okay?"
    "They've had better days," Sam said.  "But, yeah, Ah think they're
 going to be okay." 
    I forgot to hold the "receive" button down and stared at the radio.
  I've rarely felt more relieved.  "Can you repeat?"  I transmitted.
  "They're all right?"
    "Sure are," said Sam.  "Ah wouldn't say so if they weren't.  Magik
 is taking them back to HQ right now."
    "Fantastic!"  I said, grinning foolishly at the radio.  "What do we
 do now?"
    "We've got a bit of a situation here," Sam said.  "Ah think we had
 better help out.  Can you find some food?  As much as you can bring?"
    "Let me get this straight--" I said.  "You want me to bring _food_.
  What are you doing, having a picnic?"
    "Only wish we were," Sam said.  "People are in a bad way right here
 -- the villain called Famine got to them.  That's why Empath sounded so
 hungry on the phone."
    I paused.  "What am I supposed to use for money?" I said.  "I
 didn't expect to do any shopping on this trip.  I left my wallet home."
    Sam cleared his throat.  "Get the name and address of the store or
 whatever," he said.  "This is... pretty much life or death.  We'll just
 have to see the owner gets reimbursed later."
    I looked at my radio.  _This is serious, he wouldn't ask me to
 steal, otherwise_, I thought.  "Okay, I'll bring what I can," I said.
  "Over and out."
    How was I going to find food?  There must be food stores,
 supermarkets, in Manhattan.  There'd been a restaurant or two -- actually a
 few, I really hadn't been looking for places to eat.  I turned to fly back
 the way I had come and noticed I was almost directly in front of a narrow
 shop called "The Gourmet Nooke."
    It had steel "riot proof" mesh pulled down in front of the windows,
 but you could see it was chock full of food.  I landed in front of the door
 and rapped loudly on the mesh.  "Hey, open up in there!" I called.
    In the dim light inside, I could see someone stir slightly, but no
 one came forward to the door.  "I'm serious," I yelled.  "You don't come
 out, I'm coming in."  I waited only a moment:  I was sure the Avengers or
 Spiderman or somebody was going to come along and ask me what I was doing. 
 I reached with my mind and undid the locks, sliding the mesh back up into
 its slots.  It was equally easy to open the locked door.
    I walked into the shop, the crest of my helmet brushing the lintel.
  The bell on the door jingled merrily.  Every possible inch of display space
 was crammed: nuts, imported cheeses, Swiss chocolates, boxes, bottles,
 tins.  I gazed around, open-mouthed.   I wondered what I should take.
  "Everything you can carry," Sam had said.  That covered a lot.
    "Hold it right there, Missy."  An old man had popped up from behind
 a little counter, pointing the humongous barrels of a shotgun at me.
    I discovered that even if you are a mutant telekinetic, having a
 gun pointed at one makes the heart leap.  I "held" the trigger immobile,
 even as I gently pried the gun from his hands.  He gave a soft cry of
 amazement as the firearm wrestled itself from his grasp.  I put it on top
 of one of the hanging light fixtures where it wouldn't do any harm.
    "I'm sorry" I said.  "But I'm... commandeering your store."
    "My... store?"  he said, wide-eyed.  I felt bad -- he looked like
 somebody's white-haired grandfather, and probably was, too.
    "There's been an emergency." I said.  "People need food right
 away."  I _reached_ and gathered everything off likely looking shelves:
 cookies, crackers, little tins of meat, candy.  I found I could create a
 great "glob" of items outside the doorway, holding it just loose enough not
 to crush anything, while I telekinetically ransacked the store, adding
 soda, beer, juices, baked goods.
    "Who's going to pay for all this?" the owner called after me from
 the doorway as I made to take off.
    I hung there in the air, looking down at him.  "Send the bill to
 the Avengers," I said.  _Maybe_ they'd take care of it.  I hoped the old
 guy had superhero insurance.
    "Looting" the store took less time than it takes to tell about it,
 but even that pause had made me more anxious to get to my teammate's side. 
 I flew with my food load diagonally across the Park, in a high parabola so
 I could see where the Natural History Museum was and aim better.  It was
 further up than I'd thought, a blocky tan and buff building set back off
 the street among the trees.
    Sam hadn't specified where to land.  I pulled out my radio.  "Sa --
 Cannonball, come in," I said.  "I'm coming with food -- where do you want
 it?"
    "Good job, Miranda," Sam's voice said.  "We'll meet you at the
 front entrance of the museum."
    A brightly colored werewolf was waving at me from the front steps. 
 "Right this way," Rahne said.  "Och, the people are in a bad way, some of
 them."
    "Oh, thank you," said a young man dressed in a museum guard suit,
 standing next to Sam.  I noticed he was prominently wearing his holstered
 gun on his hip.  "The worst cases are here in the front hall."
    My eyes were adjusting to the dim illumination from the skylights. 
 We were in a cavernous entrance hall dominated by two huge dinosaur
 skeletons, a Tyrannosaurus Rex attacking a Brontosaurus the size of two
 city buses.  Usually it must seem empty as people mill around, buy tickets
 and head for the exhibition halls unfolding their pocket maps.
    However, now the floor of the hall was covered with the skinniest,
 most pitiful collection of human beings I've ever seen.   The people were
 vying with the dinosaurs for "Most Emaciated" title; the 60 million year
 headstart the big lizards had didn't seem to be nearly enough.
    There was a stir as the people looked up.  A few tried to get to
 their feet, but I realized with a gulp that many simply didn't have the
 strength.
    "Food seems to help," said Sam.
    "I see," I said, and got busy parceling it out.  I didn't stop to
 ask what people wanted; I just pulled something edible and something
 drinkable out of my load and put it in front of each person.  The museum
 guard had organized a small group of people who were still on their feet
 and they went around opening bags and holding drinks for the really weak
 ones.
    I'd nearly run out of items when Illyana 'ported in next to the
 dinosaurs, a huge load of groceries appearing around and between the big
 leg bones.  "There's a 'Stop and Shop' in White Plains that is _never_
 going to be the same," she said.
    "How's 'Lito?" I said, picking up a portion as I landed next to
 her.  I  could hand out food while I talked
    "I 'ported them straight to the infirmary," she said.  "Don't worry
 -- Sharon's administering chicken soup even as we speak."
    "Are they okay?" I said.  "'Lito sounded so..."
    "Catseye was the worst off," Illyana said, "but she was skinny to
 start with.  Once you get food into 'em, they recover fast enough."  The
 teenage sorceress looked around the hall, all the pitiful people.  "I'd
 love to get my hands on that Famine bitch," she added.
    Sam picked his way across the crowded floor to us, a gaunt lady in
 a business suit following him.  "This is Ms. Marin-Kingsley," he said.
  "She's the acting Museum Director," he added.
    To judge from the way her clothes were hanging on her,
 Marin-Kingsley had been hit as hard as anyone in the area.  "Thank you,"
 she said.  "I don't know what we should have done if not for your help."
    "Famine seems to be able to destroy food as well as melt flesh,"
 Sam said to me.  "If you see her, Ah'd advise you stay a good ways off."
    "She'd better watch out for me," Illyana said.
    "If ya'll don't mind," Sam said,  "We could use another load of
 groceries."
    "Can do," Illyana said and vanished in a disk of white light.  Ms.
 Marin-Kingsley blinked in surprise.  Evidently teenagers in strange
 costumes didn't faze her, but she drew the line at teleportation.
    "I can't do any less," I said.  "Although I don't have such a
 spectacular exit."
    "S'allright," Sam said.  "This side of the Park got hit bad by
 Famine -- if you don't mind going ya'll have better luck on the East Side. 
 Not that Ah'm comfortable with sending you out again -- those 'Horsemen'
 are still at large."
    I looked at him.  "Cannonball," I said.  "They'd better watch out
 for me."
    
    * * *
    
    I had only just realized I was angry when I said it.  The property
 destruction hadn't bothered me too much -- Noemi had done worse, after all.
  The bodies had shocked me so deeply I'd gone numb; the emotions were just
 beginning to surface now that I knew 'Lito was safe.
    But now was not the time to go hunting a fight, I told myself.  I
 was on a mission to find more food.  I lifted into the clear air over the
 Museum.  Manhattan's air was pristine this day -- amazing what turning off
 all those cars could do.  It was quieter, too: over the Park you could even
 hear a few hardy city birds singing, wind in the leaves.  There was a
 distant buzz in the background -- faraway sirens; maybe it was just the
 faint din of seven million pairs of lungs in the Big Apple.
    Famine had cleaned out the West Side, so I shot back across to the
 East Side, where I'd laboriously searched for 'Lito earlier.   I hadn't
 been looking for food; I'd only been concentrating on phone booths.  There
 must be some, I thought.  Restaurants, yes, but next to no food stores
 fronting the Park.  It was _expensive_ real estate, I told myself; finding
 "The Gourmet Nooke" had been real luck.  A block or two back might yield
 what I wanted. I flew down a side street at just above car roof level,
 looking for just a simple convenience store.  _My horse for a
 Seven-Eleven_.
    I'd been hearing great booming noises on and off.  I'd figured them
 for a thunder or distant gunfire or any other random city noises.  One went
 off just two or three blocks away, and I stopped in my tracks.  Windows in
 the buildings next to me visibly shook, pigeons took wing, and a few hardy
 souls braved the light of day to peer out of doorways.
    There was a pause after that loud noise, where my ears tried to
 regain their volume control.  Even as I was shaking my head, I could hear
 the tinkling of vast amounts of broken glass... followed by all too human
 screams.
    "It's happening again," I said, so shocked I was speaking aloud.
  The bodies I'd seen before had been all but buried in fractured glass.
  Whatever-- whoever was doing that was still at it.
    I can't say that I thought about what I did next, because it really
 didn't take any thought at all.  Somebody had to stop this.  I didn't know
 where the Avengers were; I didn't know where Spiderman or some of the other
 New York superheroes were; all I knew was that I was going to put paid to
 this nonsense.  It would only take a few minutes, I told myself.
    I flew South, down the broad grid of streets, hunting.  I caught a
 glimpse of something bright and shiny in the air, turning a corner.  It
 wasn't any helicopter.  I slowed; no need to run right into the guy.
    There was another "Boom!"  from fairly close by, a street over.  It
 felt like my teeth were rattling in my head; my ears rang.  My
 concentration faltered as for a moment I almost fell out of the sky.
  "Shit!" I cried, adrenaline jerking me back to full awareness.  Again I
 could hear the terrible sounds of falling glass.
    I shot up into the sky -- "leaping tall buildings in a single
 bound."  I'd miscalculated the location of my target by two blocks; he was
 to my South.
    It was a guy on a shiny mechanical flying "horse" -- looked like it
 was designed by somebody who'd had only dogs to go by.  I can't quite
 describe the style of the guy's outfit: blocky, bright.  He wore a metallic
 mask that supplely followed the contours of his face, with this strange
 bowl-cut hairdo, like a medieval knight.
    "Hey!" I said, a great opening statement.  He glanced backward and
 brought the mount around in a graceful bank.
    "At last," he said.  "I wondered when a warrior would arrive to do
 battle."
    "Hey," I said again.  I'd never planned on _actually_ fighting
 anyone, having to confront someone in an attack.  "I'm not here to fight
 you."
    "Oh?" he said.  The mask he wore was very mobile; I could see his
 left eyebrow twitch upward.  "What business have you with War, Horseman of
 Apocalypse?"
    "I -- you're hurting people and I want you to stop," I said, aware
 of how lame I sounded.
    He smiled -- _mad as a hatter_, a little voice said deep inside me.
 "Hurting people is what War is all about, girl," he said.  He spread his
 hands apart, a strange gesture.  "But then, if you dress as a warrior, you
 are the worthy foe I have sought."
    He started to bring his hands together; and I thought very quickly,
 _Applause? No!_  I actually had time to reach out with my TK and attempt to
 stop him from bringing his hands together -- just instinct.
    But to my deep shock, my TK bounced off him like a rubber ball
 thrown at a battleship.
    All in the space of less that a second, his hands came together in
 what looked like a normal clap, but was anything but.  It wasn't even a
 particularly strenuous gesture, either -- just a tapping of his palms
 together, but it produced a near-ear-splitting _sound_ beyond sound, like
 hitting a wall at thirty miles an  hour.
    I was already at a disadvantage.  Having my TK grip bounce was like
 stepping on a banana peel; I was off-balance.  The noise was so loud it was
 painful.  If it weren't for the helmet I might have had burst eardrums.  As
 it was, I _did_ lose my concentration and stopped holding myself up.  I
 knew immediately what had happened, but by then I was so disoriented I
 couldn't tell down from up.
    My karate training saved me.  Not the physical moves, but the
 concept of automatically blocking when hit.  I threw up a telekinetic
 shield around myself, a tight little ball with me curled up in a fetal
 position inside.  The blast sent me hurtling through the air, spinning
 crazily.  All in much less time than it takes to tell.
    With an enormous crash (though I hardly heard it with my ringing
 ears) I smashed through the side of the skyscraper and bounced through
 walls and partitions until I fetched up in the office on the opposite side
 of the building.
    I was dizzily aware that I'd stopped moving.   I cracked my eyes
 open, used my seeker sense to check _above_ and _below_ me for loose
 debris.  Once I shifted some cracked plaster I was clear.  I lowered my
 shield and shakily got to my feet.
    It had been a nice office, big oak desk, bookcases, an opaque glass
 partition that separated it from the rest of the floor.  That _had_
 separated it -- I was standing on top of the remains.
    A middle-aged white-haired black gentleman picked his way around
 the overturned desks and office furniture to what had once been the
 doorway.  He was clutching a pipe in his hand, absentmindedly.   He caught
 sight of me, his eyebrows going up in surprise.  "Are -- are you all right
 miss?" he said.
    At least I could still hear.  His voice sounded somewhat faraway;
 my ears were still recovering.  As for how I was feeling, which was halfway
 between hysterical and wanting to throw a building at that War yoyo....
  "Okay, all things considered," I said.  "Did you get the number of that
 building?"
    A faint grin creased his face; he fought it but I caught a hint of
 it.  "Have you seen Jonah?" he said.
    "Jonah who?" I started to say, as a male voice spoke sharply from
 beneath the debris.  "Get this God-damned door off me," it said in a highly
 annoyed whine.
    The black gentleman started forward but I beat him to it.  I lifted
 up the desk and part of the door.  "Jonah" had ducked for cover as I came
 barreling in.  "Hey -- HEY!" he yelped as I lifted him up and set him on
 his feet.  I gave his skeleton a cursory scan as I did so -- nothing
 broken.
    Jonah stared at the black guy, stared at me.  He was wearing a suit
 and vest, now the worse for wear, and plaster dust was sprinkled in his
 grey hair.  He had a little stiff brush mustache, and he spit the
 bitten-through remains of a cigar out on the floor.  "Just what do you
 mean, coming flying through here like that?" he said heatedly.  His voice
 had a perpetual whine to it; I disliked him immediately.
    "I didn't have any choice in the matter," I said loftily.  "Next
 time I'll try to land on a hospital."
    "It's always the same with you kind of people," he said.  I drew
 myself up straighter; in a moment I was sure he'd was going to make a
 racial remark about mutants and I would have to restrain myself from
 putting him through a wall.  "God damn _superheroes_," he spat out.
    I stared at him.  "Boy, have you got a wrong number," I said at
 last, and walked away.
    "Jonah, calm yourself," said the black guy, following me.  "Miss,
 are you sure you're all right?  Can I get you something to drink -- soda or
 water or coffee?  Anything else?"
    What the hell, I needed to stop and think.  "Some water would be
 nice," I said.  "If you have any...."
    "Betty," he called.
    A brown-haired woman set down an armload of files.  "I think the
 cooler's still in one piece, Robbie," she said.
    "Robbie" righted and dusted off a chair, pushing it towards me.
  "You look like you could use a seat," he said.  "Are you sure you're
 unhurt?  Being thrown through a building can't be much fun...."
    It was surprising how relaxing sitting could be.  "I had my
 forcefield," I said, realizing as I said it I shouldn't be blabbing to
 strangers.  I sat up straighter.
    Betty came back with a paper cup full of spring water.  "The
 refrigerator's not working but it's still cold enough," she said.
    "Thanks," I said.  The water cleared off the dust in my throat.
    "You haven't done this before, have you?" said Robbie.  "I think I
 would have heard of you before this."
    "It's an emergency," I said.  "I wouldn't be wasting my time
 fighting a jerk like this 'War' guy otherwise.  Where are the Avengers,
 anyway?"
    "They're off in California," said Robbie.  "I expect they're on
 their way back."
    "In the meantime, War and his Horsemen buddies are destroying the
 city."
    "We've had reports of fighting," he said.  "There are heroes like
 yourself fighting them."
    "Just like me?" I said.  "If they're having equal success....  For
 my opening move I got knocked through a building.  Some success."
    "Don't count yourself out yet," said Robbie.  "Why do I get the
 feeling you don't do this often?"
    "At heart I'm very ordinary," I said.  _Well, compared to being a
 space alien or a member of the Olympic pantheon_.  "I didn't grow up
 wanting to slam people with buildings."
    "Does anyone?" Robbie said.  He looked at his pipe, then up at me. 
 "'With great power comes great responsibility.'  Sometimes, denying you
 have power is the greatest avoidance of responsibility."
    I looked at him, wordless.  There was a commotion from within
 Jonah's office, and the man himself came stalking out, surrounded by
 staffers.  "You!" he shouted at me.  "You're still here, you -- _menace_!"
    "Oh -- _grow up_," I said sarcastically, and he shut up, affronted.
  He'd unearthed another cigar from the wreckage and he chomped on it.  To
 Robbie, I said, "How come you thought I was a good guy anyway?  For all you
 knew, I could have been behind the whole attack on the city."
    "I wasn't sure," Robbie said.  "It was safest to approach you as if
 you were friendly.  And besides, you're wearing a white cape -- you _must_
 be a good guy."
    "Well," I said, getting up.  Jonah was glaring at me, so I ignored
 him.  "I'll have to live up to my clothing, won't I?"
    I flew out the way I had come in.  "I'm going to _sue_!"  Jonah
 shouted faintly behind me.  I wondered how he was planned to serve papers
 on me.   I don't think you can sure a minor anyway.  Then I put it out of
 my mind.  I had a "War" to fight.
    
    * * *
    
    It wasn't hard to find "War;" generally speaking, guys making sonic
 booms with their hands aren't subtle.  He was working his way north towards
 the Park again.  I made a tall parabola and came down out of the sun just
 above him.
    "Okay, Mister, this stops _now_," I said.  I braced myself as I
 said it; a really tight forcefield bubble up around me, one that I could
 tighten even more if needed.  It should protect me from the worst of the
 noise and blunt the shockwave.
    "You again," he said. "Haven't learned your lesson yet, have you?"
    "Oh, I learned it," I said.  "You showed me real good."
    At that moment, people erupted out of the subway entrance,
 screaming, a whole pack of them, like somebody was chasing them.
    War looked at me.  "I have something more to show you."
    "No! The people--" I started to say.  "Don't --"  He clapped.  I
 winced at the sound; my ears rang a little but I didn't waver in the air at
 all: my forcefield had protected me.  I could even hear people scream, the
 growing tinkly noise as the glass from a hundred shattered windows began to
 fall.  I flashed on the dismembered bodies I'd seen earlier -- all those
 people, knocked off their feet by the noise, would be cut to ribbons if I
 didn't do something.
    "No!"  I cried and _reached_ out.  I caught most of the glass, a
 few bits here and there escaped.  I had never tried to hold so many
 individual pieces at once.  I began to coalesce the burden, bring it down
 to the ground safely.
    War looked at me.  "You're doing that, aren't you?" he said.
    Sometimes I really wish my telekinesis had visible effects so that
 when I want to make a point there's no confusion.  "Yes, I _am_ doing
 that," I said.  "I'm not going to let you hurt any more people."
    "Casualties are the main product of War," he said.  "You can't
 escape it.  War is an eternal condition.  Better to start holding the tide
 back, girl."  He laughed.
    "I'm serious," I said.
    "So?" War shrugged.  "You're earnest and well-meaning.  That and
 eighty cents will get you a ride on the subway."
    "I will stop you," I said,  "if I have to kill you."
    His head snapped around.  "Never bluff," he said.  "Never bluff
 about killing.  'Cause sooner or later, someone's going to call you on it."
    "I'm not bluffing," I said.  It was true, I was willing to try
 though at the moment I had no idea _how_ I could stop him .
    "Then you'd better go ahead," War said.  He had a husky, worn
 voice.  "'Cause there's no stopping War.  You can catch that much glass,
 but what if I clap again?  And again?  What if I knock down a building or
 two while I'm at it.?"
    "I'm not bluffing," I said again.
    "You haven't got the guts," he said.  He stared at me and held my
 gaze.  I stared back for a long moment.  There was a slight breeze blowing,
 ruffling his straight hair.  I could see the beams of the sun reflecting
 from his metallic face mask.  "Maybe you have got the guts," he said.
  "We'll see now, won't we?"  He raised his hands theatrically.
    "No," I said.  "Please.  Don't."  He started to swing his hands
 together.  "I won't let you!" I screamed.  I knew better than to try to use
 my telekinesis on him or his mount directly; instead I threw something at
 him -- something I already had a handy grip on -- all that glass.
    I think I've indicated before just how strong my power is.  It's
 one thing to consider, another thing to live with.  I'd spent the last
 seven or so years, since my power manifested, being very careful about
 accidentally hurting people, because my mother had warned me I could kill
 if I ever cut loose.
    It took only a second or so to prove she was right.
    I didn't stop to think what several thousand pounds of glass would
 do if it was hurled at someone.  I forgot at what high speed I could move
 objects.  I even forgot just how sharp broken glass could be.  All I could
 see was War's hands moving together and I _had_ to stop him somehow.
    There was a meaty crash-thunk sound.  I was holding the glass
 shards so tightly that it took a long moment for me to figure out that they
 were the only thing holding War and his mount up in the air.  It took me
 another  moment to realize just how much damage I'd done to him.
    I was shaking as I brought him down to the street.  I brushed away
 the debris to make a clear spot on the sidewalk.  Both he and the mount had
 been well-armored so the glass hadn't penetrated too much, just around and
 in the joints and other weak spots.  Where War wasn't covered with armor he
 resembled a glass porcupine.  He must have thrown an arm across his face at
 the last minute; his features were largely intact.
    His hands hadn't been so lucky.  His fingers were gone; what was
 left bleeding freely.
    The anti-TK field had gone away; I did my best to hold him up so he
 did not lie on his wounds.  I had had lots of practice with  Noemi at this
 sort of thing.  "Oh my God," I said, stunned at what I had done.  "Oh, dear
 Lord..."
    
    Scene continues in Part Two...
    
    This story (c) 1992 Connie Hirsch
    The New Mutants, Magneto, the Hellions, Loki, the Hellfire Club,
 the Horsemen of the Apocalpse, Spiderman, the Avengers, Power Pack and all
 constituent characters (c) 1992 Marvel Comics Group.  
    This story is not for sale and is not to be distributed without
 permission of the author.



--
**(Connie Hirsch  still: fuzzy@athena.mit.edu no longer: chirsch@lotus.com)**
        Oh life is a glorious cycle of song/ A medley of extemporanea       
   And love is a thing that can never go wrong/ And I am Marie of Roumania.    
						-Dorothy Parker
Newsgroups: rec.arts.comics