by Peter David
He headed back into the building and, taking his cue, the others started to follow. At which point the ranking police officer on the scene shouted, “Hold it, people! You can’t just leave! Wait… on second thought, you’re free to go. The city thanks you!” And he saluted.
In the lobby, they headed for the elevators that would take them to the roof where the Blackbird waited. “Thank you, Emma,” the Beast said drily.
“You don’t think my making him salute was too much?”
“It may have been, but I kind of liked it.”
The moment they were in the elevator, Cyclops said, “First order of business: When we get back up to the penthouse, someone grab one of those guns the soldiers used.”
“Souvenir?” said Wolverine.
“No. I have a more practical use for it.” He turned to the Beast. “What the hell were you telling me back there?’”
“I’ve told you about as much as I know, actually. And I got it from a reporter so inept he couldn’t even get her name right, so the information is—at best—suspect. I suggest on the flight back we monitor the news radio stations and see what they’re reporting. Because if it’s true…”
“Good lord,” said Emma.
Cyclops glanced at her. “You read my mind?”
“To save time, yes. I find it difficult to believe.”
“As do I. If it’s true, we have to figure out what we’re going to say to the students. And I cannot emphasize this enough: We have to present a united front. Are we all agreed?”
“Yes,” said Emma.
“Absolutely,” said the Beast.
Wolverine nodded slightly in agreement.
Cyclops turned to Kitty, who was absentmindedly petting Lockheed. “Kitty? You agree?”
“Definitely. United front for the students. I’m on board. I just have one question.”
“And that would be—?”
“What the hell are we talking about?”
TEN
“…UNDER ordinary conditions, a proposed cure for mutations would require years of testing through the Food and Drug Administration. However, according to sources, Homeland Security—which unofficially considers mutants to be an ongoing threat to national interests—has approached the Secretary of Health and Human Services to see what can be done about getting Benetech’s alleged cure into circulation. As a result, a special waiver for the cure is currently being fast-tracked through channels, operating under the assumption that anyone choosing to avail themselves of the cure would be doing so of their own free will in full knowledge of any risks the cure might present. Doctor Rao, however, has insisted that the cure will not be provided to the public on a wholesale basis until she’s certain that it is as safe as humanly possible…”
“Humanly possible.” Kitty stared at the small television in the teachers’ lounge. “Anyone else find that word choice funny?”
“Hilarious,” said Logan. He didn’t look amused. He wasn’t.
The news then replayed excerpts from Kavita Rao’s earlier conference:
“Mutants are not the next step in evolution. They are not the Homo sapiens to our Neanderthals, no matter how many times the term ‘Homo superior’ might be invoked by certain mutant activists. They are not the end of humankind. The mutant gene is nothing more than a disease. A corruption of healthy cellular activity. And now…at last…we have found a cure.”
Logan’s claws snapped out.
“Shut it off, Logan, if you’d be so kind, but preferably without slashing it to death,” said Emma. She was looking distinctly uncomfortable, her fingers to the bridge of her nose, her eyes closed.
Logan picked up the remote and did as she asked. His claws remained out. The silence filled the room as if it were a living thing.
Scott, Logan, and Kitty then looked at each other. Hank was staring out the window, his back to them. Emma was looking at no one. None of them could seem to find the words to say.
But they all knew. It didn’t have to be spoken.
Scott’s ambitions for the positive perception of mutants had just been kneecapped. Here they’d gone in, risked their lives—standard operating procedure, admittedly—to try to make a name for themselves as heroes and humanitarians. And now some woman, with just a few words, had demoted them from heroes to victims. Sufferers of a sickness, but hey, no worries. She held the cure in her hand and could make all the mutants just go away. No one would have to look at them or worry about them anymore. Even those horrible X-Men would be nice and safe and normal, rather than a potential threat.
“I was downstairs,” Kitty said finally, breaking the silence. “Half the kids are glued to the TV in the den. The rest of them are talking about this, arguing about it. Frankly, they’re freaking out. They’re terrified, confused. Some of them are ecstatic, and others hate the ones who are ecstatic. They don’t know how to deal with this.”
“And they’re giving me a sodding migraine,” Emma finally spoke up. “The psychic tension is unbearable.”
“Okay,” said Scott. “There have been too many times in this world where the public panics because wrong information gets out. Then by the time the truth emerges, everyone’s wasted a lot of time and energy getting worked up about it. For nothing. We are not going to fall into that trap. The first thing we have to find out is whether this is some kind of hoax. Find out who this woman—”
“Kavita Rao,” Hank said, so softly that Scott, Emma, and Kitty nearly didn’t hear him. (Wolverine, of course, did.) “She’s one of the greatest geneticists alive, and not prone to pranks.” He kept his back to them. “I don’t know much about this corporation, ‘Benetech.’ But if Doctor Rao says she can reverse mutation, there’s a very good chance she can.”
Emma slowly opened her eyes. The cobalt blue of her irises glittered mercilessly. “Then I guess I’ll have to kill her.”
“Well, there’s a thoughtful plan,” said Kitty.
“And I say ‘amen’ to it.”
Kitty looked at Logan, who had just endorsed the concept of premeditated murder, and there was shock and even fleeting betrayal in her eyes. “Are you kidding?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding? Do I look like somebody who has a problem with killing?”
“No. I’ve seen you kill. But always in self-defense…”
“That’s what this is. I piled up a lot of enemies in my time, kid. If I didn’t have my powers, don’t think for a minute they wouldn’t come after me.” He studied his claws clinically. “Just imagine me not having a healing factor. I’d be standing there, or more likely lying there, in agony, while blood flowed out of my hand through the gaping wounds from my claws. Yeah. I’d be real useful.”
“Logan,” Kitty said worriedly, “could you…put them away, maybe? I don’t know why, but they’re making me a little nervous.”
“I can’t,” he said. His tone was devoid of emotion. “The woman called me a disease. You know how that feels to me? I can’t even sheathe. My claws won’t go back. She said…we were…a disease.”
“She said the mutant strain was a disease,” she reminded him.
“You think this Doctor Rao knows the difference? And even if she does, you think anyone else will?”
“You think the government will?” said Emma. “You heard them. They’re willing to throw all caution aside to get this drug out there quickly. You think they’re hurrying it along because they’re anxious to give people a choice on the matter? If this mutant ‘cure’ does exist, then they will get a hold of it, and they will line us up. Those who refuse to take it voluntarily, well…they’ll be attended to. Perhaps the next time we go out to fight on behalf of humanity, to show them what heroes we are, there’ll be sharpshooters in place firing darts at us filled with the cure. They’ll let us attend to the menace, and then they’ll attend to us. Don’t you see where this is heading?”
“Yeah, to murder,” said Kitty. “The professor would be so proud.”
Emma approached her until they were inches from each other. Kitty didn’t
flinch. Emma’s normally reserved voice was filled with barely restrained anger and contempt. “As usual, your naïveté is neither cute nor useful. Have it your way: The government, despite all likelihood to the contrary, decides not to force the cure upon us. How secure do you expect the supply of it to be? This isn’t plutonium we’re talking about. It will get out. What if it falls into the hands of anti-mutant extremists?”
“Or our new buddy from another world,” said Logan.
“Ord,” said Scott, who had remained silent for much of the discussion. “We need to know about this guy. He drew us out for a reason.”
“Yeah, right before the nice doctor lady went public,” Logan pointed out. “We thinkin’ that’s a coincidence?”
“I don’t know,” said Scott. “I don’t know what to…” He paused, and then looked away from the others as if he couldn’t meet their gaze. He seemed…
…ashamed.
“The professor would have been ready for this,” he said softly.
It was a considerable turnaround from mere hours ago, when he had led them out on their mission, speaking in confident tones of what they were going to accomplish. Now he looked isolated, alone, even though he was surrounded by friends.
“No one could have been ready for—” Kitty began.
Emma cut her off, not even bothering to look at her. “You’re tired, Scott. And tomorrow is likely to be unpleasant. Why don’t you get some rest? In fact,” and she took in the rest of them with her gaze, “all you fine men should try to relax. That means claws in, Logan. Kitty and I will figure out how to keep the students together tonight.”
“Thanks, Emma,” said Scott. He sounded a bit like a lost child.
In a vain attempt to bring some levity to the somber moment, Hank suggested, “Maybe Scott and Logan could fight on the lawn again. The kids loved that.”
Logan didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, sheathing his claws with visible effort, he said, “I ain’t up to anything don’t have the word ‘beer’ in it.”
“You could fight for beers,” said Hank.
“Well, now that doesn’t sound too bad.”
The door closed behind them. Emma and Kitty were alone.
Well, this is cozy.
The icicle—way better name for her than White Queen—stands there like a statue, except colder and with less personality, and looks at me like the bug she obviously thinks I am.
“I’ll be brief,” she says. “Things are about to get very ugly for us here, so I wanted to—”
“I’m sorry, there’s a part that’s not already ugly?” My voice hardens. I’ve always been happy with a power that’s mostly defensive, but right now I’d be thrilled to have eye beams or something, just so I could slap her around a little. “Scott Summers has been a leader all his life. Now I see him questioning himself, taking orders from you…”
She actually looks a little defensive. Good. Keep her off balance. “I never give—”
I don’t let her have a chance; I steamroll over her. “You talk about murder, and he doesn’t say a word. How do I know you’re not turning him into your own private sock puppet, mentally controlling every word out of his mouth? Which, in fact, you probably are. Why doesn’t anybody see…?”
“Do you know why you’re here, Miss Pryde? Because I asked that you come.”
“Yeah, I know that. I got your letter, remember? Because you’re such a control freak that even when Scott wanted me here, you had to be the one to write to—”
“You’re not following. Scott didn’t want you here. He wasn’t opposed to the idea, you understand. When I suggested it, he embraced it. But I’m the one who wanted it.”
She’s lying. Has to be. No way this stone-cold floozy thought I’d be a good fit here. I wonder if she knows what I’m thinking. I wonder if she’d care.
“I am in love with Scott Summers,” she goes on. “And I’m very grateful to Professor Xavier for his trust. Being an X-Man means a lot to me. But it doesn’t always agree with me.” She’s walking across the room, keeping her back to me. Keeping her eyes away from me. Is it because she thinks that, if I look into them, I’ll be able to tell that she’s lying? Or is it because she’s vulnerable and doesn’t want to be seen that way?
As if she hears what I’m thinking—which she very well might—she turns and looks me straight in the eyes. It’s like she’s daring me to take my best shot at discerning the real Emma Frost. “I don’t have a family famous for moral fiber. I like to think I’ve…” She pauses, maybe aware of the irony of the word. “…evolved. But I wanted someone on the team that I hadn’t really fought alongside. Someone who would watch me if I…”
Her voice trails off. She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t have to. I can complete it in any number of ways: Slipped. Betrayed us. Turned evil. Let the evil that was already there out.
So that’s what I am? Her watchdog?
Lockheed lies nestled on the couch. He stirs, raises his head, his pupilless eyes focusing on me as if he can sense the cold, barely contained rage within me.
“The first day I ever met you,” I say, “you told me you were sure we’d be great friends. A few hours later…the first time I ever met the X-Men…the first day…they were ambushed. And captured. And caged. By you. I learned more about good and evil in that one day than I ever have before or since. I was thirteen. And a half.” She isn’t looking at me now. She’s staring straight ahead. I’m walking around her, out of her sight line, and she just keeps looking at where I was. That’s appropriate. In a way, I’m looking where I was, too, or at least where I used to be—as a person, as an X-Man—and thinking about how her actions shaped me into that. “When I think about evil…whenever I think about the concept of evil, yours is the face I see. I don’t have to watch you, Miss Frost. I can smell you.”
I toss one last look her way and phase through the wall. It’s the best I can come up with for a dramatic exit. Lockheed, watching me leave, seems to shrug and go back to sleep. He can keep an eye on her. If she gives him any difficulties, I’m sure he’ll have no problem ripping her head off and eating it.
I just hope he doesn’t get food poisoning.
ELEVEN
THE security guards outside Benetech had had a busy evening. It had seemed as if every news media outlet in the world was present at the press conference, but apparently a metric ton of them hadn’t shown up, and now they were endeavoring to make up for lost time. But the guards were under strict instructions to let no one past the large, gated entrance, and they took their jobs very seriously. So all afternoon, well into the evening, they’d stood there with their rifles in evidence, watching an array of TV reporters do their stand-ups in front of the facility. The reporters had approached the subject matter in different ways, but all ultimately came to the same conclusion: The mutant menace was nearly at an end.
Doctor Rao had not emerged. She practically lived at the place, but usually by this point she would have finally gone home. Not tonight. It was easy to figure out why. Reporters had probably found out where she lived and were camped out, waiting for her to show. Smart lady, the guards believed, to keep a low profile. Then again, the fact that she was a smart lady was what had gotten her into this situation in the first place.
Since she wasn’t coming out, and no one else was attempting to get in, it looked to be another quiet night. But the guards remained vigilant. They kept a wary eye on the entrance, silently daring anyone to approach them and try to get inside. There was no way they were going to allow that.
As it happened, none of them were looking up. If they had, they would have seen a dark, furred figure with a large yellow “X” festooned across its costume, leaping over their heads, highlighted against a full moon. They continued to stand guard, convinced they were doing their job and unaware that they had, in fact, failed spectacularly.
THE Beast scaled the wall effortlessly. Benetech might have fancied itself a highly secure facility, but they had never prepared themselves for so
meone like him. Perhaps I could pick up some extra cash this way. Secure facilities can hire me to try to break in to determine just how airtight their security is. He considered it briefly, but then dismissed it. One never knew when a place just like this could wind up posing a threat, and he far preferred to be able to gain access at will.
He’d already managed to hack into the facility’s system and determine the location of Doctor Rao’s lab. His photographic memory kept the map securely in his head. Now it was just a matter of reaching the lab so that he could start looking around. It was late enough that he was certain he would be able to work undetected.
He made it to the roof and crossed it stealthily. There was no door, but there was a cat burglar’s best friend: a skylight. It was triple-ply thick, securely latched and alarmed.
Beast wondered why the skylight was there in the first place, but he thought: Don’t knock it. It was his way in.
He could have punched through it, but that would have triggered the wiring and sounded the alarm. Instead he pulled out a handy little instrument from the small knapsack he had slung over his shoulder. He secured the gadget’s suction cup against the glass and activated it. A tiny laser, secured to the suction cup by a small rod, flared to life and began to slice into the window. He eased the laser around; the result was a perfect circle, which he was then able to extract with no problem.
He could see the small box on the edge of the window’s inside that provided the connection to the alarm system. “Child’s play,” he muttered, extracting a screwdriver from the knapsack. He eased his arm through, holding the screwdriver, and managed to disconnect it from the rest of the system in less than a minute. Moments later he unlatched the skylight and eased himself through.
A large, dark room opened up beneath him. It was filled with intersecting red beams, which—were they broken by something such as, say, a blue-furred body—would sound any number of alarms.
“Hunh. That’s new,” Beast muttered.