Sanctuary by Christopher Golden Page B

talent that had nothing to do with his mutant abilities. For, ever since childhood, Scott Summers had had an innate skill that had always helped him during battle. Some kids were natural spellers. Scott had an almost uncanny knack for spatial geometry.
    He prayed that extended to outer space. lean had planted in his mind the direction of the Starjammer . She held onto him like a dog on a leash, so he knew where they needed to go. He tucked his legs under himself, and Ch'od did the same. Their roll brought them around one more time.
    "Straighten your legs on my mark," he said. "Now!"
    Cyclops and Ch'od shot their legs out simultaneously, so that their bodies lay on a flat plane parallel to the direction their momentum was pulling them. In that instant, Scott looked down along the line of his body, and, head cocked uncomfortably, let loose with every ounce of power he could summon to his optic beams. It was an extraordinary catharsis unlike anything he had ever experienced, a complete emptying of his reserves that he had never dreamed possible. His eyes burned and his mouth was dry. For some reason he thought he ought to have a headache, but he didn't.
    He could feel their momentum slowing, the pull on their bodies was tangible, and he believed they actually began to move in the opposite direction.
    Finally, the well ran dry. Suddenly spent, his eyes rolled up into his head and even the stars disappeared.
    • • •
    Corsair ran through the main cabin, careful not to stumble in the awkward pressure suit he wore. There were three medi-slabs laid out in the cabin now, one each for Gambit, Hepzibah, and now Raza. Raza's arm had been badly injured, and they had been forced to sedate him to speed the healing process, but both he and Hepzibah were likely to be up and around soon. Gambit, on the other hand, Corsair wasn't willing to take any bets on. None of them were certain how badly the Cajun X-Man had been injured. Only time would tell.
    While Rogue stood by the medi-slab where Gambit lay, Archangel checked the instruments reading Raza's life signs. The Starjammer was in bad shape, and there was no telling what was working properly or not. All Corsair knew was that life support systems were slowly failing. They had two or three days at best, and then they'd be dead.
    If the sun didn't torch them first.
    "Rogue," he snapped into the comm-unit in his helmet. "Jean's bringing Scott and Ch'od into the airlock. I need your muscle."
    She turned, startled out of her preoccupation, and blinked twice. Archangel looked at him as well, and it suddenly struck Corsair that each of them was with one of their wounded comrades, but his own lover, Hepzibah, was untended, alone. He knew he should be at her side, yearned to be there. But he was captain of the Starjammer . Survival had to be his priority. Silently, he sent her his love.
    "Rogue," he snapped. "Let's go!"
    "But Remy—" she began, and Corsair wondered if she was still disoriented from the explosion, not even five minutes ago.
    "Archangel will watch Remy," Corsair said sternly. "We've got our friends to attend to."
    He set off deeper into the ship, past the cargo hold and toward the airlock. Rogue fell into step behind him and kept pace all the way. They stopped short at the small window and instrument board that manually controlled the airlock. Hands on either side of the clear surface, Corsair peered into the small cubicle that separated the airlock door from the outer hull door.
    That outer door was already open, waiting for Jean Grey to telekinetically reel Cyclops and Ch'od in from space. Corsair stared out at the stars, feeling helpless and frustrated. It wasn't enough that they were dead in space, that the ship was becoming a furnace where they might well be boiled alive by the heat of the sun. It wasn't enough that nearly half of them had some injury or other, some quite serious. No, that wasn't enough. The warp drive had to misfire, throwing Corsair's best friend and his