The limo bounced over a too-deep rain gutter and into the parking lot of Kirby & Ditko’s RV World. The car parked next to a long line of boxy motor homes draped with plastic flags and Mylar balloons. Emma looked disdainfully around. A balloon, printed with a yellow smiley-face, fluttered down to grin at her through the tinted window. Jubilee just looked confused. “This is a party?”
Emma pressed her lips together. “Not my idea of a party, certainly.”
One comer of Sean’s mouth twitched up as he studied Emma. “Something bothering ye, lass? You look like you just bit into some grocery-store caviar.”
“Something like that.” She watched as an elderly couple, wearing fringed straw hats and matching Hawaiian shirts, strolled by. “I should have had the forethought to have these things delivered.”
Sean’s grin was turning into more of a full-blown smile. “Ye can be a bit of a snob, ye know that, Emma?”
She slid down in her seat, but she found herself grinning sheepishly. “It’s just so declasse, so—trailer park. I keep expecting a tornado to swoop down at any moment.”
“They don’t have tornadoes in Seattle,” said Everett helpfully.
“I was speaking figuratively, child.” She glanced at the students, who were busy fidgeting and talking among themselves. She had an idea. “Kids, why don’t you go pick our homes away from home.”
They all stopped what they were doing and looked at her. A grin, bordering on a leer, split Angelo’s face. “What? You want us to buy one of these things?”
“Two of them, actually. One for the boys, one for the girls.”
“Price . .. ?” began Everett, always the practical one.
“Is no object,” Emma completed his sentence.
Monet and Jubilee high-fived each other, in agreement for once.
“Just find something comfortable—” Emma watched in horror as a clown passed by on a unicycle “—and don’t make me get out of the car.”
Sean chuckled. “I'll go find some salesman you can give your card to, and drag him back here with the paperwork.”
The driver had already stepped around and opened the door. Sean paused halfway out and looked back at the kids. “Ye heard the lass. Go shopping.”
There was a cheer, and the kids nearly trampled him on their way out. They immediately divided up by gender and went off in opposite directions. Sean shook his head and strolled toward the sales office, a modular building draped in red, white, and blue bunting.
Emma sighed and checked the caviar in the limousine’s refrigerator. To her relief, it was not from a grocery store.
Given the bewildering variety of RVs to choose from, the girls simply looked for the row where the largest ones were parked. Jubilee stopped in front of the first one, put her hands on her hips, and peered up into the windshield. “This looks like it should sleep four people.”
Monet sniffed. “This looks like it should sleep all of Monaco, with room left over for Rhode Island.’ ’
Jubilee looked at her quizzically. “Too large?”
Shrugging, Monet pushed off with her feet, floating a few meters into the air, peering over the top of the roof.
Paige waved frantically. “Monet! Get down from there! Somebody will see you!”
Monet floated gently back to the ground. “No satellite dish,” was all she said.
Jubilee mouthed a silent Oh and, without a moment’s pause, turned toward the unit beyond. “Next.”
After a moment, Monet followed her.
Paige stood her ground. “Wait just a minute. That’s it? We’re not even going to look at it? Who's making the decisions here?”
“Me.” Jubilee and Monet spoke in perfect unison.
A pause, then Paige joined the chorus. “Me!” They all shouted at once.
Monet rolled her eyes. “I have the most refined tastes. Naturally it should be me.”
Paige glared at her. “Says who?”
Jubilee waved her hand between them. “Helloooo! Shopping? Who’s the expert shopper here?”
“Me!” They were all in perfect unison again.
Paige crossed her arms over her chest. “I grew up in the country.”
“Ah know,” Jubilee said in an exaggerated version of Paige’s southern drawl.
Paige reached over and flicked Jubilee’s sunglasses off her forehead, so they fell down awkwardly low on her nose. She was very sensitive about her Kentucky accent. “Point is, I probably know more about these rigs than both of you put together.”
Jubilee pushed the glasses up with her index finger. “ ‘Rig.’ Ooooh. Trailer jargon. We are very impressed.”
They all glared at one another for a moment, a small hostile triangle.
Paige sighed. She pointed at Monet. “Taste.” Then at Jubilee. “Skill.” Then at herself. “Expertise. What is it Ms. Frost and Mr. Cassidy are always telling us is the key to anything?”
Monet pursed her lips. “Teamwork?”
Paige nodded, “Teamwork. Individually we’re good, but as a team ...”
Jubilee lolled her head back and sighed an even bigger sigh. “As a team, we’re awesome. I admit it.” She dropped her chin and peered over her glasses at the others. “Let’s shop, girlfriends.”
The street was a dead end on a hill overlooking the RV dealership. Along either side were facing rows of elegant older houses, aging gracefully among the lush northwest greenery. All save a monstrous, modem town house, nearly overflowing its lot, clashing with the surrounding architecture, squatting on the ashes of the house it had replaced, a silent threat to the others: We are coming, we will replace you one by one. You and your kind are doomed.
Ivan glanced at the town house as he took the digital camera from the trunk of his car. In its own way, the building was a mutant, and it represented the threat of all mutants. Even just sitting there, minding their own business, they were a threat, one that could not be tolerated.
He walked back to the guardrail barrier that blocked the end of the street, stepped over it, and sat on the edge of the cold metal. He turned on the camera and lifted the viewfinder so he could see. The digital zoom brought the lot in close. He could see the big white limo parked near the office. There were two adults inside, one of whom seemed to be a salesman. The driver stood near the office, sipping coffee from a foam cup. The three girls were near the front of the lot; the boys had disappeared around the back of the service bay.
He zoomed in on the girls and snapped the shutter. Wonderful gadget, this, like the Global Positioning System and laptop mapping software that had found him this convenient overlook, and the satellite phone and fax that kept him in constant touch with both the Expatriate and his various underlings. Such an age that he lived in, such a country was America. One no longer had to have the resources of S.H.I.E.L.D. or Hydra or the KGB to have such devices. It was possible for a properly financed spy or criminal to become reasonably well equipped at the nearest Radio Shack.
As he snapped another shot, he thought of the package and smiled. Some things, though, very dangerous things, were still special. Some things had to be bought outside regular channels. Some things were worth the price.
He snapped one more shot, then returned to the car’s trunk, where he plugged the camera into a laptop computer equipped with a cellular modem. He removed the phone from under his coat and flipped it open, punched the speed-dial button, waited for the answer, then entered a series of access codes.
The Expatriate answered on the second ring.
“Pictures are on their way to the web site. You should have them anytime now.”
There was a relieved chuckle from the phone. “You do good work, Ivan. Knowing you have the situation under control takes a burden from my mind. The package?”
“It will arrive at the transfer point in Spokane by nightfall. These—people give no sign of being aware of us or the package, either before or now. I think it was only a coincidence that they were at the airport. It appears that they are planning a trip by motor home
, perhaps an extended one.”
“They could be following the package.”
“I do not believe so.”
“Still, I want them traced. We have to assume they are a threat until proven otherwise. Put tracking devices on their
vehicles. Find out what you can about their destination.” “And if they prove not to be a threat?”
“They’re mutants. I’ve not forgotten the ways of Genosha, my friend. I will find a way to make them—useful.”
Emma stood in the limousine’s open sunroof and nodded with approval at the huge, luxurious motor home that had just driven up. It was the driver that bothered her. She watched as the three excited girls bounced around the front bumper, ready to show off their prize.
Emma caught Jubilee’s attention and signaled her disapproval with a single raised eyebrow. “Do you really think you should have been driving that behemoth?”
Jubilee gave her one of those adults are such idiots looks that Emma was becoming well acquainted with. “Please. This is a parking lot. I know lots about driving in parking lots. Besides, it’s ours now, so if we break it, it’s our problem.” “Actually, it’s my problem, but never mind that now. I think this—” she gestured at the RV “—will do.”
A backfire punctuated her sentence, followed by the clattering roar of a diesel engine, growing louder by the second, and accompanied by a piledriver thump that could only be the sound of too much sound system in too little vehicle.
The thing screeched around the comer of the office, belching black smoke from a pair of semitruck-style vertical exhaust stacks. As it slid to a stop in front of the car, Emma could only think that it was the product of a very creative, but deranged, soul.
Dozens of marker lights and reflectors decorated its sides, the mud flaps featured a chromed silhouette of a reclining woman, and a pair of steer homs perched in the center of its stubby hood. Emma caught a glimpse of yellow surrey fringe on the windows and orange shag carpeting on the interior walls. But the single most striking thing about it was what appeared to be a jet fighter’s bubble cockpit crudely grafted to the roof’s centerline, providing both a skylight and a scenic lookout for a single passenger. She found herself wondering if it had a functional ejection seat.
Jono, sitting in the driver’s seat, shut down the engine but didn’t move from his perch. Though it was impossible, Emma could swear he was smiling. Well, at least something has improved his mood. Maybe this trip will turn out to be therapeutic yet.
The girls stared at the thing, openmouthed. Jubilee finally yelled over the pounding music, “Those aren’t woofers. I think it’s haunted!”
The door opened on the far side, and there was a momentary hissing sound, followed by a metallic clattering. Angelo rounded the front of the vehicle, shaking a can of red spray paint. He glanced at Emma. “Speakers grande, huh?”
Then he stepped over to the big manufacturer’s logo on the side and painted over the first part of it with a big X. Bloody rivulets of paint dripped down.
Sean returned from the sales office with a handful of papers. He caught Jono’s eye, and made a cutting motion across his own neck. Jono reached down and turned off the music. “What in bleeding hell,” Sean asked, “do you call this?” Angelo gave him another idiot adult look, and pointed at the freshly repainted logo. “The Xabago.”
Everett came around the comer, amis out, palms up. ‘ ‘I tried to talk them out of it.”
Sean looked up at the monstrosity. “I can’t sleep in this.” Jono leaned back in the high-backed driver’s seat and put his hands behind his head. “Ease up. You can have the water bed.”
Angelo beamed at the girls. “We’ve got two thousand watts per channel.”
The girls looked smug and Jubilee shrugged her chin toward the satellite dish on the roof of their RV. “We’ve got five hundred channels.”
Everett groaned.
Jono leaned over the steering wheel. “They had it hidden out back. It was a trade-in. They weren’t even going to try and sell it. Can you bleeding imagine?”
Sean was staring at Emma. Obviously he could imagine. Everett smiled sheepishly. “It’s a mutant, we’re mutants, I guess they just couldn’t resist. Heck, I have to admit it kind of grows on you. The bubble seat is cool.” He glanced back at Jubilee and the smile faded. “Five hundred channels. Seriously?”
Sean walked in a tight, frustrated circle. “Emma?”
She smiled. Sean had been giving her a hard time all day.
It was her turn now. “I did tell the students they could pick, Sean.’ ’
Angelo wandered around the back of the camper, a puzzled look on his face. “I forgot to check. Does this thing have a bathroom?”
At Sean’s groan, Emma smiled sweetly, “But, Sean, you have the water bed.”
“As rumors continue to circulate that yesterday’s bomb incident at Sea-Tac Airport was somehow mutant related, it’s time to reexamine our response to these dangerous and uncontrolled weapons of nature. Though no actual mutant presence has been associated with Sunday’s mutant panic in Dayton, the events there only serve to highlight the justified fear that the public feels of mutants.
■ ‘While the White House has been mum on the issue, officials on other parts of Capitol Hill have assured us that the government is aware of the problem, and that mutant control measures and technologies are in constant development. Even now, elements of the House are testing the waters for a new round of mutant control legislation.
“While this movement is reassuring, these two incidents only remind us that the mutant menace can strike anywhere, and that we must be prepared for that eventuality. If the government isn’t ready, one can hardly blame the fearful citizenry for taking matters into their own hands. While the deaths of two apparently innocent individuals (and we remind our readers that genetic testing is not yet complete) in Dayton is tragic, we need only look to the Capitol to see where the real responsibility for their deaths lies.”
—editorial, Seattle Port-Authority Newspaper
Frost Industries had an office in Bellevue, a Seattle suburb located a few miles to the east across Lake Washington. Emma had arranged to have the RVs delivered there, and they continued on in the limousine for the time being. Their path took them briefly east as well, but they turned off the freeway just short of Lake Washington and wound their way past stately brick buildings, up narrow backstreets lined with old-growth trees and bumper-to-bumper parked cars. To their right, they could occasionally catch glimpses of Lake Union, and a marina as jammed with pleasure craft as the streets were with parked cars.
Angelo rolled down the window and stuck out his head for a better look at the lake, then jerked it in as they came a little too close to the mirror of a parked car. “Dios, I see why we didn’t bring the rigs—” he glanced at Paige to see if he’d gotten it right; she nodded “—rigs up here.”
Paige opened the sunroof and stood up. “It’s safer up here,” she called. “I must have missed the sign. Is this a college?’ ’
Sean leaned back and spoke loudly enough to be heard over the road noise, something his mutant power made easy enough to do. “Western Pacific University, lass. Home of one of the country’s last chapters of M.O.N.S.T.E.R.”
Paige leaned down to peek inside. “Monster? What’s that?” He smiled that enigmatic smile that Paige found so annoying. “You’ll see at the party.”
Jubilee looked skeptical. ‘‘Again with the party business? You sure we aren’t just headed for the Wal-Mart or something this time?”
Angelo started to join Paige standing in the sunroof, but Emma took his arm and gently pushed him down. “Too many people around, Angelo, and I can’t brain-scramble everyone as we drive past. I’m having some holographic image inducers sent out from the school. You’ll get yours later.”
He dropped back into his seat with a huff. Paige smiled. Sean looked back from the front passenger seat. “Sorry, but she’s right, lad. Besides, we’re here.”
The l
imo pulled into a reserved parking spot in a driveway next to what had obviously been a frat or sorority house, now gone slightly to seed. The grass was neatly mowed and the grounds clean, but the paint was faded and peeling in places.
Rusted gutters scabbed with patches and a few broken window-panes carefully replaced with wood evidenced an interest in maintenance, if not the resources to do it properly.
On the front of the building, it could be seen that there had once been three large Greek letters displayed, but two were long gone, leaving only faded shadows behind. The third consisted of three parallel horizontal lines, the middle one somewhat shorter.
Paige looked at the sign. “I never got much past gamma. What’s that letter mean?”
Sean opened his door and climbed out. “It’s chi, the Greek equivalent of X. There’s a Greek letter that looks like an X but that’s more like a C."
Jubilee frowned. “That’s clear as mud.”
“Aye,” replied Sean, “that’s the general idea. When you’re mutants, you don’t want to be too obvious about things.” “Oh?” The implication hit Paige. “Oooooh.”
Sean nodded. “We’re among friends here. Come on.”
As they walked up to the door, Jono peered skeptically through the front windows. There were no curtains, and the visible rooms were empty except for a few odds and ends of randomly placed furniture, as though someone had moved out and the landlords hadn’t gotten around to cleaning yet.
Generation X - Crossroads Page 3