Sanctuary
lose."
    "There are spacesuits, of course," Ch'od said. "As long as we take our time, and take great care with our movements, all should be well."
    A moment before he entered, Jean sensed Corsair in the cargo hold just outside the engine room. She did not try to read people's thoughts or emotions without their permission, but he was so deeply troubled that it was impossible not to pick up on his distress.
    "You may have to move a little faster than you'd like, " Corsair said as he entered the engine room, his face betraying his apprehension as clearly as his thoughts had.
    "What's the problem, Corsair?" Scott asked, and Jean noted how infrequently he called the man "Dad" in the presence of others.
    "Whatever you're going to do, you've got to do quickly," Corsair said. "It's going to get pretty hot in here, and I don't even want to think about what the temperature will be like on the outside."
    "You've got the navigational computer working," Scott realized aloud.
    "Sure do," Corsair confirmed. "Just as we thought, people, we're drifting through space. Only problem is, we're not drifting aimlessly. We've gotten too close to the sun. We've been snagged by its gravitational pull."
    "Oh my God," Jean whispered.
    "It may take a bit, but if we don't get out of here, we're going to be roasted alive in this tin can."

Chapter 1

    T he constant thrumming vibration aboard the news helicopter began to give Trish Tilby a headache. The slashing sound of the rotors slicing through the air  made easy communication with her camarea crew impossible. None of that mattered. She was there to get the story. It was her job. She was good at it, and she loved it. The story was all that was important.
    In her relatively brief career, Trish had been more like a rocket than a rising star. From the courthouse beat, she'd begged to get a few crimes stories. A coupe of times, she'd been in the right place at the right time to report on the mutant crisis, the hottest topic in America. She quickly became New York's most visible reporter on the subject, and more recently, the co-anchor of the local network affiliate's evening newscast.
    Though she sympathized with the plight of the mutants in America, the country's sentiments were overwhelmingly at odds with her own. But it wasn't her place to editorialize or offer her own opinions. She didn't make the news, she just reported it. Trish had seen the anti-mutant attitudes in America grow into near hysteria.
    Now this. The biggest story of her career, and the one that could turn hysteria into anarchy. After what had happened in the past few hours, Trish realized, even those as liberal-minded as she was would be hard put not to join the anti-mutant cause.
    After all, even in this day and age, it wasn't every day an entire city was held hostage.
    The copter had taken off from the helipad at the affiliate's Bronx offices. Now, the pilot was navigating them straight down the East River, then around the Battery and up the Hudson River, making a circuit of Manhattan. She didn't know what she expected to find. Riots, looting, the kind of insanity that took over South Central Los Angeles a few years back. They had seen several fires burning, but had not yet dared to fly directly over the island.
    "Oh my god," she gasped as they reached the George Washington Bridge. "Kevin, are you gettings this?"
    The cameraman grunted behind her, recording it all. Beneath them, in the briliant glow of the city and the subtle shine of the moon, people moved across the bridge in a solid wave. Where Trish might have expected chaos, however, this was an orderly exodus, the largest marching band in history.
    "They've all got suitcases or other bags." Kevin said, and Trish envied him the telescoping capabilities of his camera. "Crying, frightened, but most of 'em look relieved."
    "I just can't believe they're not running." Trish said, still awed by the sight.
    "Magneto wants things orderly, I guess," Kevin noted, then pointed to the spot he

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