There wasn't anything else she could really feel at the moment, since her mind had become a near-impenetrable fug following the loss of most of her senses, including faculties such as sight, smell and speech. Fortunately she could still hear what was going on around her, but that did little to alleviate the gut-wrenching fear slowly permeating her midriff and working its way surely around what parts of her body she could still feel around the warm weight lying across her belly. Her bowels were still her own, at least, but a low growl as her shoulder muscle twitched involuntarily was fast making her wonder how long they would remain so.
It had all seemed so simple when she started out. Sneak off, get Forge, sneak back, applause and instant gratification from her teammates. Now she'd feel lucky if she could only breathe properly, and wouldn't complain ever again about being left out of missions if the strange growly-thing would just go away and leave her alone - preferably with all her person intact and unharmed.
_Jesus!_ she thought numbly. _Professor, Jean, where are you? Help me, someone. Please ...._
*
"We're getting nowhere like this."
"At least we're getting there fast?"
Pietro yelped as he was swatted, even though the blow didn't hurt. It was an involuntary reaction that usually got him a little sympathy. Not so today.
Ororo, perched precariously atop the speedster in an undignified piggyback, shaded her eyes in the poor illumination the streetlamps gave off and squinted into the gloom of Bayville's streets. She could see little, a combination of the gloom and speed at which they were travelling making sight nigh-on impossible. Night-vision wasn't a part of her mutation, but until this moment it had never unduly bothered her. Power over the elements was enough.
At least, it had been before tonight.
"Slow down," she yelled into Pietro's ear, knowing it was the only way he'd hear her against the wind. He did, and skidded to a halt. Ororo's cape fluttered madly in the backlog of air and flopped over her face, obscuring what little she *could* see.
"Whassup?" he demanded, twisting his head to see her properly. "Spot something?"
"No," she replied, fumbling with the cape. "That's the problem. Can you go just a *little* slower? I can't hope to spot Jubilee at this speed."
"You *do* realise the only reason we haven't been seen by someone so far is *because* of my speed," he pointed out, a trifle indignantly. "All very well you spot her somewhere, but it won't do nobody no good if *we* get caught on candid camera. Lotta these places use security tapes these days. Can't trust nobody." He grinned, making Ororo wonder how many of said security cameras were a result of his and the Brotherhood's antics.
"Nevertheless - "
"Ooh, big word."
"*Nevertheless*, it does nobody no - I mean, it's not doing anybody any good if we can't see Jubilee to collect her and take her back to the mansion. I'm only asking for a *little* reduction. Enough that I can *see* her whilst travelling, at least."
Pietro sighed and rolled his eyes theatrically. "Jeez, the things I do for you people. OK, I'll lower it for a bit, but I ain't getting caught, sister. Not for nobody, not for no-how."
"Enough with the obscure movie references, and let's just go, shall we?"
"Yessum."
And they went.
*
"Smeg, smeg, smeg, smeg, smeg, smeg, *smeg*." Rimmer pattered along, punctuating each footstep with his favorite curse. "*Smeg*." He felt better for voicing his annoyance at the two Hounds - supposedly in his careful and capable hands on this mission - that had once again run off, leaving him high and dry with the commanders and rest of the military hierarchy present in this sodding place.
He'd thought this would be the easiest of all jobs. Take care of the creatures and watch the ancient building until the subject popped up his ugly head. And ugly it most definitely was. Rimmer had caught a glimpse of Rebecca's file back at base, and this Smash character was a disgusting bugger, covered in blue fur, *red* human-style hair of all things, and with the weirdest eyes imaginable - mutant or not. All in all, a tussle with the subject was a most unappetising prospect, and so it was with great glee and relief he'd taken up the mantle of reconaissance, promising his superiors he'd do what was necessary with gusto and perseverance.
Too bad his bladder wasn't as persevering as his ideals. He'd only popped off for a quick waz, but by the time he got back the Hounds had gone, and now he was lumbered with retrieving them, as well as explaining to everyone why he'd let them get away in the first place. Honestly! This whole mission was turning out to be a nightmare!
A growl up ahead alerted him to the location of the Hounds, and he shut off the miniature tracker that had been tracing the chips in their scruffs up until that point. Putting on an extra burst of speed, Nigel Wentworth Rimmer arrived at his destination with a smile and unclipped an energy leash for each creature.
However, neither Hound seemed to like the idea of being removed, and growled menacingly at him whenever his hands drew too close.
Rimmer smiled nervously, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Nice doggies," he murmured reaching out to the Hound that was standing.
"RrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"
He snatched his hand back. "Smeg! What's wrong with you two? Nero? Caesar?" He twiddled one of the leashes and gestured at each beast as he said its name.
It was then that he ntoiced Nero, the smaller of the two, was laying on top of something, and not simply laying down as he'd previously thought. Closer inspection revealed it to be a human girl, teenaged and with a blank look of terror etched almost indelibly on her faintly oriental features.
It seemed that his charges had been busy in the fifteen minutes it had taken him to reach them. Too bad it wasn't the required target. The true meaning of Matthews' words hit Rimmer like a freight train, and he all but slapped his forehead. "Smegging hell! How am I supposed to explain *this* to those two up at high command?"
*
Forge wasn't the sharpest of hearing, but even he looked up when a horribly loud growl emanated through the mail slot in his front door. He paused in mid-step, the clipboard of papers he'd just fetched from the fax machine still clasped in one hand.
It sounded rather like his neighbours' dog, except this growl was much *much* more savage - not difficult, given that the pooch next door was a dyed-pink poodle called Fritz.
Curious, he stopped, and sure enough another followed in short order, punctuated by a yell and curse he'd never heard before.
"Smeg? What the heck does that mean?"
Natural inquisitiveness surging to the fore, he quickly tucked the clipboard under one arm and went to the peephole his elderly parents had installed in the front door in case burglars decided to make their home the next port of call.
The elderly couple in question were actually absent tonight, having made their regular weekly jaunt to the local cinema, leaving their recently returned son alone in the house.
Forge stretched up on tiptoes - whatever their age, his mother and father were still both taller than him - and pressed his eye to the spy-hole. What he saw, however, caused him to gasp and drop his papers in shock.
"Jubilee?"
*
Victoria blinked. "What do you mean, 'project'?"
"Let your thoughts go," Rogue hissed back, conscious of the look Betsy was sending her way. "I duno how to say it clearer ... unleash your mind? Your memories. *Everything*."
"Everything?"
"*Everything*."
*
Duty was unavoidable.
"I need mutant restraints at this location," Rimmer said into his comm. "And a trainer. [1]"
Jubilee would have liked to say something at this point, but her larynx wasn't doing whatever it normally did to produce her customary stream of chatter.
"Roger your request," crackled another voice. "Contact time six minutes."
"Hey there!" came a clearer voice. "Call off your dogs!"
"*My* dogs?" said the first voice. "These aren't *my* dogs. Smeg, they aren't *dogs*!"
Forge passed his flashlight beam quickly over the fallen person's features. "Jubilee! Are you okay? Can you move?"
Though she couldn't place the voice at the moment, the oriental girl recognized it as friendly, and lifted a finger in signal.
The body on her warned against any more of that with a rising growl.
"Get off!" Forge waved the light in the beasts' eyes. "Git! Go away!"
In response, the standing one leaped at his chest, carrying him heavily to the ground.
The flashlight rolled away, its lonely beam casting long pebble-shadows down the sidewalk.
*
The look of peace on Victoria's face immediately clued Betsy in to her ploy. The memories came a split second later.
One in particular played itself over and over again, with only slight variations on the theme. That pushed itself to the front of the telepath's consciousness.
Victoria stood, with a second girl whom the memories tagged as 'Susan'. The background behind them flashed: meadows, deserts, riverbanks, cities, indoor areas.
"Do you have a lock?" Victoria asked.
"Over there." Susan pointed a dozen or more translucent arms in all directions.
A specific event fought for control of the astral projection, and the two girls moved in a definite direction.
Susan paused, bent, touched the ground gently. She pulled a small metal rod from her pocket and extended it into a long pointer. "Right here." The tip of the tool quivered just above a patch of ground.
Victoria crept forward, squatting beside the end of the pole. She pulled a tiny brush from a pouch on her belt, and cautiously swept away a generic loose ground covering.
"That's it," she whispered as a smooth, silvery surface came into view. She barely touched the device with her fingertips, and it melted away to blend with the earth.
"Success," she sighed.
The memory jumped at this point to show an alternate path.
"That's it," she whispered as a smooth, silvery surface came into view. She barely touched the device with her fingertips. Her vision was consumed by an explosion, and everything went black.
Now the projection skipped forward, fading back in to Victoria in a crude hospital room. The viewpoint turned around to show the events as she saw them.
Victoria looked down at the blackened stumps of her arms. Betsy felt physical pain, but none of the despair that would normally accompany such a loss.
"Back so soon?" said a soft voice.
Victoria's eyes looked up, registering a person with whom virtually no information was associated. "Hazard of the job," she joked weakly.
"You should consider changing careers." The girl laughed, though Betsy sensed the impossibility of her statement, experiencing it through Victoria's frame of reference.
The girl carried a stool forward, arranging herself right in Betsy's field of vision. She took Victoria's elbows in her hands, rubbing them gently with her thumbs.
The emotions attached to this part were aloof, blase, bored. Betsy watched with curiosity.
From the scarred wrists, charred flesh pressed outwards. It formed into a sort of mitten-shape, then began slowly dividing into fingers. The digits grew to their proper relative lengths, knuckles and joints rounded and hardened. Webbing formed between the fingers. Nails sprouted at the tips. Blue veins shot through the skin, which itself gently faded to chocolate-brown, softening all the way up to where the healer-girl's thumbs were circling.
The girl closed her eyes, her own arms falling limply to her sides. "You know the rules," she murmured. "No work tomorrow. Be careful out there. And mind the guards."
As Victoria nodded, Betsy noted a secret double-entendre in the last instruction. The girl had meant not to *obey* the guards, but to watch them. The sentence called thoughts of mutiny and escape to Victoria's mind, not cooperation and docility.
Betsy fell abruptly out of the memory, losing her seat at the same time.
"What do you want?" she sobbed. "What do you want?"
But it wasn't over yet. There was the sensation of losing her grip, before she was sucked headfirst back into the swirl of Victoria's memories.
The blonde one, Susan, bent over a machine that was all shiny surfaces and flashing lights. Her eyes glowed with scrolling numbers, and she didn't even look up as she indicated to a door in the far wall.
"I almost have the code. Get ready to grab it and run. They'll be on us any minute."
The vision moved, alerting her once more that this was Victoria's perspective. Words came, and Betsy felt her lips move in synch.
"Already? But how? We've barely been here - "
"I *know*, damnit! They're getting better at tracking my signal. Just get ready. I don't know how much time we'll have before total lockdown."
A buzz, then a hiss of metal and the wall slid open. A small figure toppled out, and she caught him, There was the merest flash of red hair and distinct lack of clothing - dear God, what were they *doing* in this place? - before the siren went off.
"Move! Move! Move!"
Then running. She was running like her life depended on it. Every so often she'd reach out and touch a wall, leaving it to disintegrate into random rocks and other base matters. Just keep running, just keep running! Gogogogogogogogogogo!
Outside. She stumbled. Fell. The child went sprawling, and Susan scooped him up.
"Go! Go! They've seen us! Get the team outta here!"
She saw a tall building surrounded by a tall fence, topped with barbed wire. From inside she could hear screaming and a blaring siren echoed overhead.
So many to save. They'd failed. One child out of all that effort. One! Ten more would die in his place, no doubt. Ten, twenty, a hundred! It didn't matter to those monsters.
_After all, we're not even human to them!_
The vision flickered out, to be replaced by another one.
There was a group of them, gathered around a small box no bigger than her hand. It lay atop the remains of a burned-out computer terminal, draped in filthy cloth. All the reverence their meagre existence could afford them.
A small figure beside her sniffled, and wiped at her nose with the back of one hand. Blue fur, yellow eyes; the memories named her Margretha. Betsy/Victoria reached out a hand to lay on the younger mutant's shoulder, and quickly found a snotty nose buried against her as Mags dissolved into wracking sobs.
"She didn't feel any pain. It was too quick."
"Why did they target her, though? She never went out on a mission. All she did was take care of us when we got sick or hurt. She wasn't dangerous to them ..."
Bitterness, and a hint of despair. _To them, we're all dangerous. Every last one of us._
A short, dark man stepped forward, his long blonde hair a stark contrast to the mood of the room. Father. Strong. Pillar.
"We'll miss you, Healer," he said sadly, touching the cloth in a final farewell to his old friend. A woman with white hair marked through with a single streak of brown came forward and murmured something into his ear. Mother. Kind. Gentle. He nodded. "The time for mourning is over. We have work to do."
More random images, some fleeting, others more tangible. Faces flashed past, old, new, familiar, foreign. Voices flitted about Betsy's ears like moths, slipping in and out and dancing around her mockingly. She felt out of control, sliding around and through a mesh of memories she neither wanted nor could avoid.
She was drowning in them. They filled up her mind, her nose, her mouth, and even her sightless eyes. She scrabbled to find some kind of purchase, but there was none, and instead went tumbling off into a riptide of emotion that pulled her down faster than lead weights tied to her feet in a swimming pool.
"Victoria! Let go! look at her, she can't breathe!"
"*Victoria*!"
The memories were abruptly sucked away, like a faucet being turned off quickly when pumping out water at full power. Betsy slammed back into her own body, and was dimly aware of her threadbare carpet pressing against her face and the sensation that her lungs were her own again. Air went in once, her chest was painful from lack of use.
Then she blacked out.
*
Ororo was pissed off. Or, at least, she would've been if she used such language.
"This is ridiculous!" she snapped loudly.
Pietro twisted his head, not diminishing his pace in the slightest. "What?"
"I said, this is - oh, never mind." The weather witch ducked as a branch from a small sapling in someone's yard jutted towards her face at breakneck speed. _Honestly, we'll never find Jubilee like this. I wish I knew where Forge actually *lived* so we could go wait for her. If we don't spot her soon, this boy's speed is going to *kill* me._
Deciding to take matters into her own hands, Ororo promptly hooked her arms under Pietro's armpits. He yelped once as they left the ground, legs still pedalling, as if it took them a moment longer than his brain to realise there was no longer any floor left to run on.
"Whatareyoudoinglady?" he gabbled, swinging loosely from where she held him as they soared away over the suburban rooftops.
"What I should have done in the beginning. We'll see much more from the air."
Pietro glanced down, and she felt him tense under her grasp. "Is this a good time to tell you that I don't like heights?"
"No."
"Didn't think so. Just let me know when it's over, will ya?"
Ororo frowned, and peered down to see that he had his eyes firmly closed, lids pressed so tightly together they made crows feet in his skin so deep you could plant potatoes in them. Her own frown deepened, and she shook him a little. Not so much that he'd fall, but enough to get his attention.
"Oh no you don't, Quicksilver. We came out here to look for Jubilee, so look for her you're going to do."
"But that involves looking *down*," Pietro replied, eyes still shut.
Without a word, Ororo performed a perfect loop-de-loop that took them a further sixty feet into the atmosphere and through a cloudbank.
This time, the yelp was louder. "OK, OK, I'll look! Jeez!" The blonde boy unsqueezed his eyes and glowered around him. From up here they had a perfect aerial view of the whole town. He was surprised to note that there were incredibly few people abroad, especially when a glance at his watch confirmed that it was only 5:50 PM. Those that had ventured out scuttled around, hugging the sides of streets like ants avoiding hot water. It was as if they could sense the oppressive presence that threatened them, looming just over the horizon. Every so often one of them would look up at the sky, and Pietro found himself wondering if they'd glimpsed himself and Ororo flitting about up here, or felt the watching eyes of someone else. Someone more powerful than either of them ....
He shivered, eyes darting away from where they'd wandered heavenwards, and abruptly he noticed a faint glow from a street several blocks away. It was soft, mint green, and seemed to billow upwards in a vague funnel that petered out about roof-level. Definitely not your everyday occurrence.
"Hey, lady!" he yelled, craning his neck back.
Ororo arched a snowy eyebrow at him. "My name, to you, is Storm."
"Yeah, whatever." He pointed towards the light. "Call me crazy, but I'm sure that ain't meant to be there. Check it out?"
Wordlessly, Ororo descended, avoiding the sight of a sole passerby with practised ease. They alighted just as this single wanderer of Bayville's all-but-empty streets rounded the corner, and the elemental mutant heard the strange word 'smeg', as her feet touched the ground.
_Smeg? What's smeg?_ [2]
The street before them yielded little in the way of Jubilee. It did, on the other hand, give them a lot of other odd evidence on a silver platter. Evidence that made Ororo's stomach churn.
There was the distinct smell of chemicals in the air that made both their noses wrinkle, and a slightly charred spot on the ground that looked like it was the shape of a body. There was another such shape a little distance away, but this one held a dismal blob of fresh blood near the image of where a humanoid head had lain not long ago. A torch sat between them, still on, and by casting her eyes to the house opposite Ororo saw that the front door was open and swinging.
She tapped her com badge and spoke into it in a strained voice. After a few moments of static, Kurt's voice came fizzling back to her.
"Ororo? What's going on? Have you found Jubilee, yet?"
"Negative. Kurt, I think ... I think we might've lost her and Forge both."
*
"476," Kitty whispered, touching a door that looked exactly like all the others, except for the black digits painted on it. "How are we going to do this?"
"She's too unstable to just walk out with," Jean said. "I'll have to put her out. Pass me in."
The telepath pressed her palm to the heavy door, stepping forward when she felt Kitty's hand on her shoulder. She moved quickly out of her partner's reach, and the apparently disembodied arm swung back into the hallway.
"Huh?" Wanda's head snapped up at the visitor.
Jean touched the girl's forehead, forcing sleep as she struggled against her strait-jacket.
Wanda groaned and slumped to the floor. Quickly, Jean levitated her body and moved it towards the door.
_Kitty, I need a hand in here._
_All clear._
Kitty passed her hand into room 476, and presently felt a warm body part press against her palm. Closing her fingers, she backed up a step to permit its passage.
She nearly screamed when a foot joined her in the corridor.
_Quiet,_ Jean warned. _Keep backing up so I can push her out._
As Kitty moved slowly towards the opposite wall, the foot was joined by its mate, and then by a matched set of ankles and knees.
_I'm holding her,_ Jean said. _Take her downstairs and get her out._
Kitty found it quite disturbing that Wanda remained suspended while she adjusted her hold for carrying. _And you?_
_When you get to the parking lot, I'll come out the window. Make it quick and clean, Kitty._
*
"Rahne? Rahne! They said you'd come back! How's my favourite lobocita?"
"Manny!" exclaimed Rahne, sounding uncharacteristically squeaky. A tall young man with dark skin and black hair strode swiftly across the room, and he and Rahne embraced briefly.
"What's been happening since I left?" she asked breathlessly. "I heard Col and Meg talking about ..."
"Whoa, lobocita. Calm. Who's your beautiful friend?"
Rahne had the grace to look embarrassed. "Oh, right. Manny, this is Susan. She's from the future. Susan, this is Manuel. He's from Spain." She paused. "In the present. Not the future." She paused again. "Or the past, either. But, he was there in the past, of course. Not that he is now." A further pause. "Just like you're not in the future now." Rahne subsided into silence, thoroughly tangled up in the web of time-travel.
Susan also flushed slightly at Manuel's comment. "So, uh, how long have you been on Muir?"
Manuel smiled broadly before replying. "Far too long, chica, if there's more like you around."
Susan's smile shifted to show more teeth, and said, "Don't flatter yourself."
Manuel was unmoved by the show of hostility, laughing and touching his heart lightly with his left hand. "Touche. What brings you to Muir, in any case?"
"We are looking to take Mutant X back with us to New York."
"Why? Because you can do so much more with him there? Trust me, the only thing that stops him from ending the world is the attachment he feels for his mother. Kevin is not a happy person." Manuel sounded slightly frustrated.
Susan was not an idiot. "And this frustrates you?"
Manuel grinned tightly. "Yes, of course it does. I could make him deliriously happy, and well-inclined to everybody." Streamers of crimson light flared at the corners of his eyes for a second. "Couldn't I, Susan?"
"Of course you could, Manny," Susan replied fawningly, leaning forward into Manuel's chest. She backed up suddenly and narrowed her gaze at him.
"What the fuck was that?"
Manuel shrugged. "Just a demonstration. If you feel that Mutant X is dangerous, remember that I can keep him docile."
Rahne suddenly re-entered the conversation. "Manny!" She sounded hurt. "You promised!"
Manuel looked genuinely contrite for a second. "Sorry, lobocita."
Susan continued to look at Manuel with hard eyes. "Well, thanks for the offer, but I think we can handle without you."
He grinned again, looking just as predatory as he did happy. "Bear it in mind, chica. The offer holds."
*
Forge groaned. The back of his head hurt like hell where it'd struck the pavement, and there was the equivalent of a brass band playing in each ear, using the drum therein for a baseline.
He blinked slowly into consciousness, eyes greeted by a haze of sterile metal walls wreathed in shadow and blinking white lights, not unlike those present on many of his creations. He appeared to be lying down on something flat and cold, raised several feet above the floor, and for a moment he wondered whether this was all just some elaborate dream, and that he was actually still sleeping.
His head pounded mercilessly and he tried to rub at his temples, only to find his arms forcibly held in place at his sides by something hard and metallic looped around either wrist. On impulse, his ankles twitched and met with the same resistance, and he raised his head, leading to the further observation that his shirt was missing, and that he was sporting three shallow claw marks across one shoulder.
What the heck was going on here?
The air stank of sterility, and he swallowed a dry lump as he looked around. The last he remembered, he'd just left his house and was crossing the street outside when some dog knocked him over. A few straggly memories of snarling fangs and blazing eyes came through, and he shivered inadvertantly, shaking them away with a toss of his head.
Something moved to his left, and he twisted his head to see a slim figure detach itself from the gloom. It didn't move fully into the light, but it was easy to see that it was female. The fluty voice only confirmed it.
"Awake, I see. Not that it really matters, but how are you feeling?"
Forge narrowed his eyes. "That all depends on who's asking. Where am I? What am I doing here?"
"Now that'd be telling, wouldn't it?" She gave a short, tinkling laugh and bent over a large console that seemed to be hanging in midair. She tapped a button, and a screen popped into view with a soft beep and started scrolling data. "Hmmmm. Vitals are stable, breathing normal, brain functioning normally. Seems like your little friend will be joining you shortly."
"Little friend?" Forge repeated, and the shadowy figure gestured behind him. He turned and promptly stifled a gasp as several more recollections slotted into place, along with rather more questions. "Jubilee?"
There was another beep, and the sound of printer paper spewing forth. After a few more grunts and other various noises the figure folded up her information and retreated into the murk of the far corner.
"Toodle pip for now. I've places to be and people to see, and frankly you're neither of you interesting enough to take up much of my time at present. And before you even think of using your powers, don't. Those aren't just pretty necklaces you're wearing. I designed those mutant restraint collars myself. Any attempt to use your powers will result in an electric shock potent enough to knock you out. If you try again after that preliminary warning then it's set to deliver a fatal blow. Have a nice day."
"Wait!" Forge cried out, curious to know what in the world was going on; who was she, and how did she know about mutants, let alone that they *were* them. However, there was the telltale hiss of a door sliding open and then shut again with a click.
Forge lay back against the table, noticing the cool sensation of metal against his throat. She hadn't been lying about putting a collar on him, then. He'd only heard about these things in theory, and even the schematics he himself had drawn up recently out of pure curiosity were sketchy at best. Nothing as ... well, *real* as this piece of jewelry.
"Damn."
*
Kitty drew a deep, calming breath, and fell through the floor. She drifted down to her point of entry, crossing mental fingers against anyone seeing her.
"Thank goodness these places are always understaffed," she sighed as she passed through the wall.
Logan spotted her laboring away from the building, and strode over to relieve her burden. "Where's Red?" he asked.
"Hiding out upstairs." Her eyes lifted to the fourth floor. _Jean?_
_Are you out?_
_Yeah. We're good._
_Okay. I might have a problem up here, though..._
*
While she waited, Jean had been studying the tiny window. It probably would have been possible to fit her narrow frame through, except for the iron bars dividing the space into segments. She'd tested her telekinesis against them, and found them quite sturdy.
A voice reached her awareness. _Jean?_
She looked away from the window, focusing on the telepathic link. _Are you out?_
_Yeah. We're good._
_Okay. I might have a problem up here, though..._
_What?_ Kitty sounded nervous, worried.
_I can't bend the bars._
_The window is *barred*?! What were you *thinking*?_
_At least the glass opens._
_Don't talk to me about the glass!_ Kitty raged. _I can't get back upstairs for you!_
_Easy,_ Jean soothed. _I need you to be calm so I can think._
All the students had had training for just such circumstances, and Kitty used hers to tone down her fury into a mildly bubbling ire.
_Can Margretha climb?_ Jean asked.
_How should I know?_
_Come on, Kitty, work with me._
"Hey Mags!" The one accustomed to that nickname looked up. "Can you climb?"
"Climb?" Margretha's holographic brow furrowed. "Not better than anyone else."
Todd sidled up to Kitty. "I can climb."
Kitty pointedly side-stepped away. _No. But I think Toad just, like, volunteered._
Jean sighed. _Can Margretha teleport in space?_
Kitty posed the question verbally.
"Not really," Kurt's future daughter said.
_No,_ Kitty relayed.
_Kitty, I'm going to say something, and you will *not* scream. Okay?_
The phaser had a flash of premonition. _Jean, you aren't - _
_You have to ride up with Toad._
To her credit, Kitty did not scream. She merely growled to rival Logan.
*
Bobby hopped from foot to foot as Kurt anxiously paced the floor.
"Whaddawedo? Whaddawedo? Whaddawedo? Whaddawedo? Whaddawedo? Whaddawedo? Whaddawedo? Whaddawedo? Whaddawedo?" babbled the sub-zero mutant, but Kurt just grunted and waved him away.
Ororo and Pietro, having discovered the area where Forge and Jubilee vanished with little result, were now on their way back to the mansion, leaving Kurt, Kelly and the rest of the assembled X-Men to await their arrival. However, said pastime was proving rather more difficult for some than for others.
"Bobby, sit *down*," Ray said from the floor, where the new recruits sat in a huddle, as if around some imaginary campfire that was burning low.
"Kurt's on his feet," Bobby pointed out, "and you're not telling him to - "
"Bobby," Kurt's face appeared in his. "Park it." Such was the reserved ferocity to his tone, that Bobby did just that.
Kurt went back to pacing, watched by various pairs of eyes.
"It wasn't your fault, y'know," Ricky offered.
"Yes, it was," Kurt snapped. "I was supposed to be in charge. Some team leader *I* turned out to be. Can't even keep my eye on charges inside the mansion. Ich bin unbrauchbar! [3]"
Kelly looked from one mutant to the next. "So ... what does this mean, exactly?"
"It means we've just lost a teammate and a friend to some nutso and his pets from the future!" Kurt said waspishly. He was near the wall, and lashed out to bang a fist on the plaster. "Forge shouldn't even have been brought into this! He isn't an X-Man, he's just ... just a bystander."
Kelly's brow creased. He remembered something odd about the files for a kid called Forge, but couldn't quite place his finger on what it was. Dorothy, the receptionist had told him an interesting story of the boy's origins once, but in all the confusion of late his thoughts and memories were becoming rather muddled. Quite understandable, really, but damn annoying nonetheless.
Nicole, who had been the sole other person on her feet by the window, turned at Kurt's action and frowned. "Getting angry isn't going to change anything."
"Nein, but it makes me feel better."
She swivelled to look outside again.
"Those Hounds were probably sent for us," Ricky mused aloud, "to make sure we didn't get to Kelly and save him before tomorrow."
"Wrong," said Nicole without looking around. Everyone stared at her. "I think they were here for Smash."
"Smash?" Jamie echoed.
"Normally, those idiot humans and their creations have to follow a real time traveller through the timestream to get anywhere. They haven't developed the technology to punch a hole themselves, yet. At least, not one stable enough to pass through and survive. Since, if they'd followed us here, they would've landed right inside the Institute alongside us, they must have trailed Smash's signal and turned up out there." She nodded towards the gates.
Roberto scratched his head. "Isso soa como ele poderia acontecer. [4] Makes sense, I suppose."
Kurt said nothing, but glared out the window like *it* was responsible for what had happened.
Suddenly, a high-pitched beeping started up, and he lightly touched the communicator on his chest. "Kurt, here."
"Kurt," Ororo's voice filtered through the static. "We're approaching the mansion now, and Quicksilver thinks there's something you should know."
Another voice came through. "I don't *think* it's something, lady, I *know* it is. Yo, Fuzz-Man. You got a stalker."
Kurt blinked. "Pietro, this is no time for games."
"No games, pal. There's some dude in a weird uniform right outside your place. Looks like he's watching the joint."
"And this is important to me, how?"
"He's wearing a Friends of Humanity logo."
Nicole whipped around just as Kurt's jaw dropped. Friends of Humanity was an organisation that had already learned of the presence of mutants in the world, and was sworn to eliminate them from it at all costs. The X-Men hadn't had any dealings with them so far, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the underground movement came topside and made themselves known. They already had their own website filled with anti-mutant propaganda, as Kitty had found when recently surfing the net. They were a violent bunch, and not to be toyed with lightly.
"Can they see his face?" Abruptly, Nicole was at his side.
"Was?"
"Ask them!"
"Ororo, can you see his face properly?"
More static. "Not really. It's too dark, and he's trying to hide."
Nicole frowned. "'Trying'?"
Pietro broke in again. "He ain't doing a very good job of it. Heck, Blob's more inconspicuous than this guy."
Kurt looked questioningly at Nicole. Her face was grim, and she said tonelessly, "He must have been the one assigned to the Hounds. Ororo, are there any other creatures out there?"
"Negative. Just him."
"That's not to say they aren't there. Hounds have been specially created to hunt mutants, and given their own abilities accordingly." She leaned towards Kurt's communicator. "Ororo, Quicksilver, do not engage. Repeat, do *not* engage."
There was a long bout of static, during which Kurt heard the distinct sound of Nicole grinding her teeth. Then a voice filtered through the link. "That might be a problem, guys."
"Pietro?" Kurt glowered at the device. "Put Ororo back on."
"She's a little busy right now, Fuzzy. That guy spotted us hovering over him. He's shooting at us."
"Friends of Humanity. Ever the subtle ones," Nicole said grimly.
"Whoa," Pietro faded in and out, and over his voice they could hear something that sounded like phasers in Star Trek. "You know, we could use a little help out here!"
The new mutants plus Ricky started to get up, but Nicole rounded on them. "Siddown," she ordered.
"But - "
"If there are Hounds out there, then they'll eat you lot for breakfast."
Ray squared his jaw at her. "So what are you saying? That we should just *leave* them out there to fend for themselves?"
She didn't answer him, instead turning to Kurt and asking, "Can you operate the defence systems in this place manually?"
"Was? Uh, jawohl."
"Can the non-lethal ones be angled outside?"
"Everything here's non-lethal, Fraulein."
"*Can you do it*?"
Kurt took a step back. "Ja, I think so. Why? What are you planning to do?"
"Target practise."
*
Jean stood, tapping her feet, while Kitty and the others argued about being carried back up by Todd.
"Hurry up," Jean whispered; she didn't want to be found here.
Suddenly a soft voice whispered in the darkness.
"Who are you?"
She spun round, trying to peer into the darkness of the room. She saw nothing. Then the voice came again.
"I've never felt you here before."
The phrasing gave the mystery away. The voice was not coming through her ears, but through her mind. There was a telepath here!
"Who ... who are you?" Jean asked, startled that there should be another mutant here.
"My name's David," came the mental reply, "David Charles Haller. And you're ... Jean Grey. You're a telepath and telekinetic too! I thought I was the only one. They put me here because I hear voices in my head. But I do! I really do! But that's wrong ... I'm sorry."
"No, no," urged Jean, eager not to lose the mental presence. "Don't go. What you're doing isn't bad. You're a mutant, like me, like many others. Come with me and I can show you other mutants."
"But ... I'm dangerous. I ... I hear things ... thoughts I'm not supposed to."
"That's because you've never been trained to control your powers, but the X-Men can teach you stuff, too, teach you control."
"OK."
"Right ... where are you?"
"Just next door, in the next cell. If you help me ... control my abilities then I think I can escape."
"Uh ... how exactly?"
"Just lend me some of your telekinetic abilities, and control, I've got a plan!"
Tentatively, Jean reached out with her mind, touching the strange presence of the man known as David. She felt it, strong in her mind. She felt him link with her telepathically, felt him use and mold her powers with his, using her telekinetic abilities. It was like two people trying to push instead of one.
The entire side of the cell wall gave way.
Jean gasped, amidst the dust stood a yong man, a little younger than her, in a simple hospital garb. He was as thin as a skeleton, and his dark black hair stood up straight out of his head. Yet something about him was ... familiar. She couldn't put her finger on it.
"Well," said David, nervously, "what next?"
*
Smash was having a little stalk in the park, ambulating along on utterly inhuman legs. His hilltop was devoid of other humanoid life.
He glared into a patch of sky, and a window in space opened. People moved inside of it, acting out their little roles. They spoke their lines, but only Smash could hear them.
He saw the Professor Xavier sitting in a room overflowing with books. The future of _Fahrenheit 451_ had not come to pass in his lifetime, but it hardly mattered. Few remained who cared to read such stuff.
Susan discussed inane matters with a group of teenagers. Her talk of the threat he posed did not escape his harsh adjective.
He saw the Friends of Humanity, their pack of Hounds, and knew that he had been followed. He did not fear them. His abilities were too numerous and too powerful.
He saw Rimmer, that reckless fool, attacking Xavier's Institute.
"A shame," Smash said to no one. "I was hoping to do it all myself." But this event, too, was of little meaning. Rimmer's weapon was to the X-Men roughly what a mosquito was to a wildebeest. Smash, now ... he was the lion.
Moving on, he saw Susan's parents at their fateful, if odd, meeting. From *these* came the girl who sought to destroy him? Well. They would have the rare pleasure of seeing their daughter killed before she was born.
He briefly considered more random destruction, just for entertainment value, but stayed his hand. He could not risk a mistake, the possibility of foregoing the grand battle for some piddly misfortune to a norm. No. He would not sell his pocketwatch to buy the chain.
Or whatever that story had been about.
He could see the rising action, now. His opponents doggedly climbed the side of Freitag's Triangle, hoping to push him from the top. From his vantage at the apex, he saw the twist they walked blindly into. Would they feel stupid when their broken bodies came to rest at the end of their fall?
No.
Dead people rarely reflected on such things.
*
A voice leaked in through the barred window. "What in the name of all that is holy was *that*?"
Jean jumped. She'd forgotten about her would-be rescue party, and mentally chastised herself for it.
There was a sound curiously like footsteps on the other side of the wall, and a few seconds later Kitty's face appeared. "Jean? you OK in ... whoa!" She caught sight of the crumbled wall. "I thought we were supposed to be keeping a low profile?"
Somewhere in the depths of the building, an alarm started to wail.
"So much for that plan, yo," Todd's disembodied voice floated up. "We gonna get Red outta there or not?"
Kitty pulled a face and shifted her weight, reaching forward and phasing through the bars. "Jean, like, give me your hand."
"Hang on." Jean darted towards David, who'd shrunk back into the shadows the moment Kitty appeared. He crouched, trembling in the corner of his cell, and looked up with brown eyes so huge they dominated his emaciated face.
Jean felt something tug at her heart strings, and wondered who could be so cruel as to do this to a child. "David, come on. We're getting out of here."
He flinched away from the proffered hand. "I don't ... who're they?"
It was obvious to whom he was referring. Jean attempted a warm smile, all the while conscious of the blaring wail echoing down the corridor. "Friends. They're part of the team I came here with. Here." She sent a single memory his way. It was from last fall, when the X-Men posed for a photograph to hang in the foyer of the Institute, not long after the new recruits arrived. David blinked, and she knew he'd received it.
"Are they ... ?"
"Mutants? Yes. Both of them. There are more of us outside. David, we have to move quickly, before the orderlies get here. Do you want to come with us?"
He didn't even hesitate. "Yes. I don't care where we go. I just wanna get out of here." He stood, trembling on thin legs. Jean bit her lip.
Lifting him gently with her telekinesis, she walked towards the window of Wanda's old cell. Kitty blinked at her.
"Who's that?"
"His name's David. He's coming with us."
The sound of running feet in the hallway put the kibosh on any further conversation, and Jean brought David close so as to hold him to her as Kitty yanked them both out of the room.
Once outside, Jean floated both herself and her new charge down to the ground on her own power. Kitty arrived moments later, piggybacking on Todd - who, it has to be said, wore a dreamy look that denoted a very fertile imagination.
Logan arched an eyebrow as David blinked in the unaccustomed sunlight and burrowed against Jean like a comfort blanket. Out of the shadows it was easier to see him, and those looking pigeonholed him as about fifteen. His skeletal appearance, however, made him seem much, much younger, and a lot more fragile than other boys his age.
"Picked up a stray, Red?"
"His name's David, and not to put too fine a point on it, we need to get out of here. Pronto." Jean shovelled David into her arms, foregoing telekinesis and striding purposefully towards where they'd hidden the Velocity.
Todd hopped after her, grinning madly. "Yeah. What she said."
*
"Come on, wake up," Tabitha patted Betsy's cheeks. "Come *on*."
Victoria was shocky from the vividly-relived memories. She sat on the couch, staring at nothing.
Meanwhile, Scott was worrying.
"We've spent too much time here already," he said, wringing his hands. "We have to *go*. We *need* her. Can't you *do* something?"
"Can't you shut up?" Rogue snapped. "The girl isn't *dead*, for goodness' sakes."
"Come on, Bets," Tabitha said. "Up 'n' at 'em." Her handful of bombs exploded noisily.
"Guh," Betsy's eyes flickered open. "Remind me never to do that again." She rolled onto her side and coughed violently.
"Let'sgolet'sgolet'sgo," Scott made a hasty, ungraceful movement towards the door.
"Hel*lo*," Tabitha glared up at him. "Telepath recovering from vicarious abuse, here."
Rogue glanced at the blonde. "How do you know what she saw?"
Tabitha helped Betsy up. "It sure wasn't teddy bears and birthday parties."
"Yeah, okay, move it people."
Tabitha made some not-so-subtle signals towards Victoria. "Paging Doctor Scott, basket case in room one."
Scott strode to the couch and stopped just short of lifting Victoria bodily. "Let's *go*," he said impatiently.
"You don't think we should stay for tea?" Rogue smirked.
Scott nearly had a cow.
Betsy got groggily to her knees and swayed slightly. Her glasses had fallen off, and she fumbled for them, keeping her eyes tightly closed.
"Hang on, I haven't said I'll go with you yet."
Scott stilled, as did both Rogue and Tabby. "Are you still gonna refuse to help us? Even after what you just saw?" Scott's voice was icy, and frost practically formed on the walls.
Betsy heaved a deep sigh and struggled to regain her composure. "No. I'll go. If it'll stop what I just saw ... I'll do it."
Someone pressed her glasses into her hand. "Thanks," said Rogue, and meant it.
Betsy replaced them quickly, not wanting to display her blindness for all to see. "Let me get some proper clothes on first?" Scott groaned. "Look, I'm not fighting evil in my jim-jams. It'll only take a second." Ostensibly of its own accord, the bedroom door clicked and swung open. "Really."
A sigh. then, "OK, but be quick. We have to get to Scotland, and then back to America before tomorrow."
"What's tomorrow?"
"Doomsday."
[1] Trainers are people who can actually
handle the Hounds.
[2] Yes, I do know what it really means.
And, no, you don't wanna know.
[3] Ich bin unbrauchbar! - I'm useless!
[4] Isso soa como ele poderia acontecer.
- That sounds like it could happen.