“Because I detected no such information in her mind, Commander,” Xavier replied. His eyes narrowed. “Are you accusing me now of withholding information? Should I consider myself under suspicion, simply because of my mutant status?”
There was something in his eyes, in the tone of his voice that made Viper pause. Perhaps, even without psychic abilities, she could sense the sharp increase of mental activity in Xavier, like the buildup of static electricity in the air before the onset of a major storm—Jean could certainly feel it. Or maybe she realized that she’d stepped across an invisible line of sorts by questioning his loyalty. Whatever it was, it caused the dark-haired security commander to avert her gaze, and take a step back from the professor.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” she said slowly, even cautiously. “I was merely suggesting that—”
“I should have conducted a more thorough search of Frau Sommers’ subconscious?” Xavier asked. It was clear by Viper’s expression that he’d plucked the thought from her mind. He smiled, but there was still a degree of anger evident in his eyes. “Fair enough, Commander. Perhaps my eagerness to contact Minister Zola about my discovery distracted me from completing my investigation.” He cast a glance toward Jean. “I could rectify the situation, if you like ...”
Jean ground her teeth together in agony as the psychic buildup began again. The pressure in her skull was overwhelming; black spots began dancing before her eyes.
Scott. .. she thought, just before darkness descended.
Jean, he thought, I wish you were here beside me, right now. Then I could see the fear in your eyes as I wring your pretty little neck for betraying me . . .
Sitting in the back of the second armored transport, Major Scott Sommers shifted uneasily on the metal bench to which he was chained. The manacles encircling his neck, wrists, and ankles were painfully tight—far tighter than they needed to be—but he refused to show any sign of discomfort to the three shocktroopers sitting across from him in the cramped rear compartment. The control studs of his visor had been disabled, preventing him from sliding open the ruby quartz lens and using the force beams contained behind his eyes. Right now, the worst he could do to his captors was fix each of them with a heated stare, and snarl.
Apparently, they didn’t care for that.
“Eyes down, mutie!” ordered one of the soldiers.
“Why? Do I frighten you, private?” asked Sommers. “Afraid the monster might break free of his chains and come for you?” To emphasize his point, he rattled his restraints and lurched forward, as though attacking. He laughed as the younger man yelped and drew back.
“Calm yourself, Zumwald,” said the man’s superior. “He’s not going anywhere. Without his raybeams, he’s just another citizen.” The woman—Hildebrandt, according to the nametag bolted to the breastplate of her armor—was in her fifties, with a perpetual scowl etched into her hard features. Her once-dark hair was shot through with veins of silver, and cut into a severe crewcut-the better for her helmet to fit, though right now it rested on the floor by her feet. She eyed Sommers, and flashed a wolfish smile. “Good thing your wife warned us about that visor of yours, eh?”
Sommers frowned. “She told you about that, too?”
Hildebrandt shrugged. “That’s what I’ve heard. I understand she’s been fully cooperating with the brass.” She chuckled. “You know, Major, I’m not an expert, but it looks like the love has gone out of your marriage.”
Sommers sneered and sat back, fuming. On further consideration, perhaps alerting the League of German Women about his wife’s odd behavior hadn’t been the wisest course of action to take; apparently, the talkative cow was spilling her guts to his superiors, telling them everything about him. No doubt she was hoping to cut some kind of deal that would lessen her sentence—it’s what he would have done, were their positions reversed. Still, he was curious to know just what it was she had been doing that morning, and why. Perhaps they’d have a chance to talk about it—before he got his hands on her...
“Hard to believe it now,” the remaining guard—Adler—commented. Like his commanding officer, he was a battle-hardened veteran whose years of service to the Reich could be seen in the creases and hard lines of his face.
“What’s that?” Hildebrandt asked.
Adler nodded toward Sommers. “My kid looked up to this trash— can you believe that?”
“A lot of kids did,” Zumwald interjected sullenly. He gazed at the major for a few seconds, then cast his eyes downward.
Adler shook his head, and sighed. “It’s gonna break Horst’s heart when I have to tell him his big hero’s a monster.”
“Oh, I doubt he’ll be surprised,” Sommers replied. He grinned slyly. “He lives with you, doesn’t he?”
The butt of the plasma rifle the guard swung caught him in the stomach, driving the air from his lungs. Sommers pitched forward, gasping for breath, only to be brought up short by the manacle around his neck, and the short lead of the chain connecting it to the wall behind him. It almost cut off his air for good.
“If you know what’s good for you, freak,” warned Hildebrandt, “you’ll keep your mouth shut for the rest of this trip. Nobody said you had to be in one piece when we deliver you to Lady Viper.”
Gritting his teeth, Sommers drew in a ragged breath. Slowly, his breathing returned, and he eased back on the bench, staring daggers at his captors. “I am an officer of the Reich,” he growled. “You will treat me with the respect afforded my rank, and—”
“And nothing, you piece of trash!” Adler shot back. “Didn’t anyone tell you back at the spaceport, Citizen Sommers? You don’t have a rank anymore. You think the Ministry of Defense would allow a mutant to call itself an officer, when everybody knows your kind isn’t fit for command?”
“If you’ve heard of my exploits, Sergeant—as I’m sure you have,” Sommers replied heatedly, “then you know I’ve proven that belief wrong on dozens of occasions. No one is better suited for such a position than I; the Emperor himself said as much when I was given command of the Nuremberg. And once he has been made aware of this travesty, he’ll no doubt step forward in my defense.” He smiled viciously. “And then I’ll see to it that all three of you are transferred to the front lines on the next available cruiser.”
Hildebrandt exchanged glances with her men, and all three burst into laughter.
“You actually think the Emperor is going to come to your aid?” she asked, wiping away tears. “Well, you’re nothing if not confident, I’ll give you that.”
“Don’t you get it, freak?” Adler explained. “You’re an embarrassment to the Reich. If he’s lucky, Emperor Schmidt won’t even hear of this until long after you’re put down—and by then, I’m sure, your name will have been erased from all combat records. It’ll be like you never existed.” He grinned. “Just another faceless mutant, dumped into a unmarked grave with all the others.”
Sommers looked at each of the soldiers—at their cruel smiles, at the hardness of their gazes—and, slowly, Adler’s words began to sink in. It was true, he realized. He was an embarrassment to the Reich— one who couldn’t be allowed to live. Deep down, he knew he couldn’t be surprised by this revelation; knew that, one day, his secret would be revealed. He’d always thought it would be one of the physicians or officers he routinely paid off who might betray him—those few who were aware of his true nature. He’d been threatened by one or two of them in the past, when they felt his .. . contributions weren’t enough, but he’d settled with each of them—he’d had no choice.
But his wife? Who would think she’d turn on him so quickly? Not for the first time in recent months, he wondered what he had ever seen in her in the first place-beyond her obvious physical attributes, that is. Until recently, she’d always seemed so weak, so dependent on him, so . . . plain in the way she presented herself, in the way she lived. But now, suddenly, she’d developed a backbone, started skulking around for some reason or other in his absence-had even talked back
to him! Where had this Jean Grey been hiding all this time? And if she had been following some foolish notion that she should take charge of her life now, why start by reporting him to the Ministry, when doing so would only cause her trouble as well?
Frowning deeply, Citizen Scott Sommers sat back and focused his thoughts, trying to figure out exactly when everything in his life had gone so completely wrong. . . .
“Something is wrong,” Xavier said.
Viper turned from the window through which she had been gazing at the Manhattan skyline. “Explain.”
Maneuvering the controls of his wheelchair, Xavier rolled back from the semi-conscious Jean Grey and approached the green-tressed commander. Behind him, Jean moaned softly as he withdrew from her mind; her head lolled onto her chest.
“In conducting a deeper investigation, I’m come across some extraordinary findings,” the professor replied. He gestured at their captive. “This woman possesses more than one ego state!”
“You mean she suffers from a split personality?” Viper frowned. “That wasn’t in her medical files, either.”
Xavier shook his head. “No, Commander—it’s more complicated than that.” He watched the look of confusion that momentarily contorted her features, then held up a hand before she could voice her next question. “In general, a person suffering from a Dissociative Identity Disorder has undergone a series of traumatic experiences, usually during childhood, usually through repeated physical or sexual assaults, that result in the creation of a cerebral defensive mechanism that allows them to deal with the trauma. Originally, that form of escape was thought to create different ‘personalities’ that the person would adopt in times of crisis—identities separate from the core individual, with their own ways of thinking and acting and remembering. However, the Reich’s psychiatric division has come to a better understanding of the condition over the years; they now know that these ‘personality states’ are simply manifestations of the same person, not separate states of consciousness.”
“So, what makes Sommers different?” Viper asked.
“Unlike ‘normal’ DID sufferers,” Xavier continued, “Frau Som-mers-from what I have seen in the course of my psychic examination— has never experienced any such trauma, and, therefore, has no reason to create alternates of herself. And yet, they exist; I have made contact with them, examined their minds, as well. These other personalities are so completely separate and distinct from her own, in fact, that I would go so far as to consider them more than just submerged states of consciousness—they are living entities. Other versions of herself, to be precise.”
Viper’s eyes narrowed, and she stared silently at him. Xavier could hear more than the figurative wheels turning in her head as she considered all he had just said—he was reading her thoughts. Still, he concluded, it would be better if he allowed her the opportunity to voice those thoughts, if only to give her some sense of satisfaction. A way of justifying her job, as it were.
“You’re saying there are two other versions of herself living in her head?” she finally said.
Xavier forced himself to flash what he considered a patient smile. “In a manner of speaking.”
Viper huffed. “Preposterous.”
The professor frowned, although he shouldn’t have been surprised by her reaction. The military mind was often too rigid to accept unusual theories, and Viper’s was no better—as he’d seen when he first moved through her thoughts. With an inward sigh, he continued. “There’s more.”
An eyebrow arched. Emerald lips pulled back in a condescending sneer. “Don’t tell me—she’s from outer space. A Kree spy, perhaps, genetically altered to live among us?”
Xavier politely chuckled, then dropped the false smile. “No, Commander, but you are not too far off the mark.” He turned to glance at
Jean. “Frau Sommers—or at least the woman we believe to be Frau Sommers—does, indeed, come from another world.” He paused, for dramatic effect, and turned back to Viper. “Another Earth.”
She scowled. “Another Earth,” she said flatly. “Well, that explains everything, then.”
“I’m quite serious, Commander,” Xavier replied evenly. “And were you capable of peering into the deepest recesses of her mind, as I am, you would know that everything I have said is true. There are three versions of the same woman, all living in the same body, as unbelievable as that might sound, and the one currently controlling it is not from our world. As I mentioned, I have been in contact with the other entities currently occupying her subconscious. One of them is the wife of Reichsmajor Sommers, her personality submerged so another’s—this ‘Jean Grey’—could make use of her body. The other believes she is an acolyte of someone named ‘Magneto.’ ” He paused. “Magneto . . .” His voice suddenly trailed off, and he fell silent.
Why, he wondered, did that name sound so . . . familiar to him? So important? Like hearing of an old friend, one not seen in a long time, but still remembered with fondness, or. . . regret? Slowly, he turned back to gaze at Frau Sommers. She had insisted during the interrogations that they knew one another, as well; he had even seen memories of a man who looked like him in her mind. But that Charles Xavier was a far different man—one of determination, of strength. One dedicated to a dream of peaceful coexistence between mutantkind and humanity. The leader of a group of men and women as dedicated to him as they were to his dream, who were willing to sacrifice their very lives in order to make it a reality-a group called the “X-Men.” A man who commanded respect, even from his enemies.
He didn’t exist on this world, though. The man who lived here might possess his features, but not his spirit, and fanciful dreams of universal peace had no place in the Thousand-Year Reich. They were as dead as the X-Men soon would be—by providing Viper and her people with the information from Jean Sommers’—Jean Grey’s—mind, the professor could see no other outcome.
Had he always been so quick to condemn his own people? he wondered. So willing to betray other mutants to the Nazis in order to preserve his existence? Was his life really that important?
It was to him, he thought somberly. And yes, he had always -been quick to point a finger, to notify his keepers of any thoughts of revolution he detected when he’d lived in the mutant interment camps. The survival instinct had been strong in him, then, and he did what he had to do in order to go on living. At least that’s what he often told himself in the decades that followed—it made the guilt he constantly lived with a somewhat lighter burden, if only for a short time.
“Magneto?” Viper asked, shaking him from his reverie. “Sounds like another of their codenamed agents.” She shrugged. “Well, he can join the other conspirators she’s told us about when we start rounding them all up.”
Xavier nodded. “Now, concerning her true identity, Commander ...”
Viper sliced a hand through the air to cut short his next comment. “Don’t bother me with wild tales of parallel worlds and multiple personalities, Professor—I stopped reading scientifiction by the time I reached puberty.”
“Still, Commander, I feel this matter should be pursued,” Xavier insisted. “From what I have just seen in this woman’s thoughts, the Emperor himself may need to be informed.”
Viper laughed sharply. “You want me to approach the Emperor with this nonsense?” She sneered at him. “Have you any idea of how difficult it is for a woman to rise to a position such as mine in this society, Xavier? Do you think I’m going to throw away everything I’ve fought to achieve by asking for an audience with the Emperor, just so I can spin fairy tales for him about alternate realities and a woman with three brains?”
“Not three brains, Commander,” Xavier replied. “Three brain patterns. And I realize how difficult all this is to believe, but keep in mind that space travel and contact with alien races were considered just as fanciful, and yet we have come to accept them as part of everyday life. And the notion is not as strange as you make it sound—Minister Zola once told me of a series of experiments conduct
ed by the Reich’s top scientists during the late 1970s to mid-1980s, the purpose being to create gateways to other dimensions. Another method of expanding the Empire’s borders, I’d imagine.”
“And did any of these ‘gateways’ actually lead somewhere?”
“Not to my knowledge. But,” he added quickly, “that doesn’t mean that all I have told you should be so casually dismissed.” He smiled. “You know, Commander, it might be best if I just showed you everything I have learned from Fraulein Grey.”
“Calling her by her other identity, now, are we?” Viper asked condescendingly.
Xavier nodded. “All it would involve is you allowing me to link our minds to hers, and—”
“Absolutely not,” Viper interjected. She pointed to her head. “No one gets in here, least of all some mentalist—even if he is the Health Minister’s favorite pet mutant.”
Now it was Xavier’s turn to scowl. He’d tried to be patient with this woman, tried to provide her with all the information he had acquired, but she refused to take it seriously. And now she was only making matters worse for herself by sniping at him like a child.
Well, he’d seen the real reason for the Grey woman’s arrival on his world, came to understand the importance of the mission she and the other “X-Men” had set out on, came to realize what might happen should they fail to accomplish their task. Yes, it all sounded like some bizarre fantasy when one stepped back to take another look at it—there was no denying it—but it all felt too real, too true, to be the mere fabrications of a disturbed mind. The world, the Empire, was facing perhaps its greatest crisis, but nothing could be done to prevent it unless steps were taken to bring the matter to Emperor Schmidt’s attention.
And so, having reached a decision, Xavier took the figurative first step: by switching off Viper’s mind.
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