Emma said nothing. Sean wondered if that was approval he was reading in her face. He leaned forward, making the chair groan. “I guess that surprises me. Mutants usually take care of their own.”
Chill held up his hand. White crystals of frost began to form on his fingers, spreading down over his palm, wrist, and finally ending halfway down his forearm. “That’s my mutant power, most of it, anyway. I’ve worked up a few tricks over the years, but like I told your students, mostly it’s just that my ice cream never melts and I don’t need a sweater in the dead of winter.
“That’s the sad reality of mutation. The x-gene hasn’t given most of us great power. Most it gives only a little, and for some it offers only disfigurement and disability.” He pointed at the other poster on the back wall. “That’s Adrian Castorp, and without him there would be no M.O.N.S.T.E.R. His mutation gave him two extra fingers, and a host of neurological problems that ultimately left him paralyzed and partially blind. Yet his mutation was plenty of reason for people to hate him. For most of us, joining the X-Men isn’t an option. We’re just out here fighting to lead as normal a life as we can, and to be loved for who we are, and not what we are. Is that too much to ask?”
Sean looked down. “No, lad, it isn’t.”
Danced out and looking for someplace quieter to talk, Paige and Recall strolled toward the kitchen off one end of the big room. The air was filled with synthesizers and strong percussion. “What is this music, anyway? I’ve never heard it before.”
“Devo,” answered Recall. “They were big in the eighties, kinda before our time, but a lot of their music really speaks to mutants.” He chuckled. “They get a lot of play around here.”
They found Jubilee, Everett, and Angelo in the kitchen, along with Recall’s friend Dog Pound. The four of them were sitting cross-legged on the linoleum counters, sipping sodas and talking.
Angelo looked up at Paige and smiled the way he did when he was ready to stir up trouble. “Hey, Paige, dancing queen! Giving it up so soon?” He glanced through the door toward the dance floor. “I see Jono is still shakin’ it with his new chica
Jubilee scowled at him. “Shut up, Angelo.”
He tried to look innocent. ‘ ‘Just calling them like I see them. I can’t help it if dancing-boy is a big man on campus.” Jubilee flicked a green spark off her index finger that popped just in front of Angelo’s face and made him flinch. “I said, shut up.”
Angelo looked contrite and held up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right! Just making conversation.”
Paige smirked. She’d have to remember that she owed one to Jubilee.
Recall caught her eye shyly. He was a good dancer, if a little stiff. “Get you a drink?”
She nodded. “Cherry Stark, if you’ve got it.”
Recall opened the fridge which was jammed with cans, reached unerringly halfway to the back, and grabbed one without looking. Cherry Stark. He grinned, obviously happy of the opportunity to show off. “It’s not much of a power, but it comes in handy around the house.” He jumped as a gray tendril snaked past him, wrapped itself around a can of root beer, and snatched it away.
It was one of Angelo’s fingers, of course. Jubilee gave him a dirty look.
He held up the can of root beer and shrugged. “Hey, you’re not the only one whose powers have domestic applications. You should see me when we lose the TV remote.”
Paige ignored him. When he wasn’t busy sulking or trying to act cool, Angelo thrived on attention. “So,” she said to Recall, “what’s with this power of yours, anyway? Could you, like, find a lost dog?”
Dog Pound brightened and ran his hand over his bald head. “I can find lost dogs.”
Paige smiled and shook her head. “You know what I mean.
Can you find things over a distance? Find things other people lost?” ' “ * '
Recall ran his finger around the top of his soda can, making patterns in the condensation. “I haven’t really tried much over a long distance, but I think I could. They tell me my power’s psionic, so all I need is some contact with the person who lost the thing. If I know them well enough, or if I talk with them and have them describe the thing, I can probably find it.” Paige smiled. “That must make you pretty popular. I only lose about fifty things a week.”
Angelo leaned his head back against a heating duct and looked thoughtfully off into space. “When is the last time we saw that TV remote, anyway?”
Meanwhile, Everett had grabbed a pad of paper off a clip on the refrigerator and was furiously writing something down.
Recall smiled back at Paige. “My mom calls me about three times a week from Chicago to find something or another for her.”
Paige’s eyes widened. “Chicago? We’re headed there. Through there, anyway, on our way home. Mr. Cassidy showed me the route we’re taking on the way here.”
Dog Pound leaned forward, elbows propped on knees. ‘ ‘So are we—Recall, Chill, and me. We were packing up tonight after the party and heading out.”
“We’re taking Dog Pound’s car,” explained Recall. “I’m going home for the summer, and Chill has a summer job at the cold storage warehouse my parents own. From there the Pound will go on home to Indiana. We thought a road trip would be da bomb.”
Angelo leaned over to see what Everett was writing, and grinned when he figured it out. Jubilee moved closer so she too could see.
Paige finally got curious enough to ask. “Everett, what are you doing over there?”
He looked up. “Finding everything I’ve ever lost. The cool thing is, I can actually remember everything I’ve ever lost. Recall’s power works on memories too.”
Recall looked at Paige, puzzled.
Paige chuckled. “Everett’s just trying your mutant ability on for size. It’s what he does.”
Everett stopped writing long enough to stare at the list, then shot Angelo a look. “You know, about half of this stuff is in your room.”
Paige grabbed Recall by the hand and pulled him toward the door. “Uh-oh, this could get ugly.”
“And, Jubilee, look how much is in yours!”
Ivan quickly reeled in the cable, dragging the infiltrator with it; He’d heard enough, and it would not be wise to linger here too long. The boy who had let him in might come back to check, or he might confer with those in charge. Ivan was prepared to keep up his cover story with whoever came along, but the infiltrator would be difficult to explain.
He repacked his toolbox, locked the furnace room door behind him, walked up the alley behind the house and the remaining two blocks to where his car was parked.
Before picking up the phone, he checked to see that the tracer he’d attached to the limousine’s frame was working. The tracer was a handheld unit with a flexible whip antenna. He pressed a button sending a “locate” pulse. The tracer answered with a strong ping. The tracer would transmit only when so instructed, greatly extending the transmitter’s battery life, and making it especially difficult to detect. In the past he had constructed his own tracers, but this one had been purchased from the same catalogue as the infiltrator, and had been adopted for use throughout their organization. Their contacts across the country were equipped with similar locators, and could assist in tracking their quarry.
He adjusted the frequency dial and pressed the button again. A weaker ping. Another frequency, another weaker ping. These were the two transmitters his operatives had attached to the two motor homes the group had purchased. Now he would be able to follow any of their vehicles from a distance.
Ivan chuckled. “I love this country,” he said.
He lifted the phone and dialed the Expatriate. “The young mutants are driving to points east, but they will be passing through Chicago. I believe this is only a coincidence.”
“But a fortunate one. Actually, this is far better than I could have hoped. Are the tracking devices in place?”
“And tested. Our operatives will be able to locate them from a distance of fifty miles or more.
”
‘ ‘Excellent. Leave your car at our south Seattle safe house, then fly to Spokane and tend to the package. Another suitably equipped car will be waiting for you there. The package has to arrive in Chicago before these mutants, and the contents have to be in working order.”
“That will not be easy.”
“I have faith in you and your people, Ivan. You won’t fail me.”
“And when the package arrives?”
“Then we act. If these young mutants are cooperative enough to come to our adopted city, it is only appropriate that we arrange a little party for them. A shame they won’t enjoy it as much as you and I will.”
CHAPTER FOUR
MUTANT SAUCERS INVADE CLEVELAND AS DUCKBOY SIGHTED AGAIN
ANSWER FIVE QUESTIONS AND FIND OUT IF YOUR NEIGHBOR IS A MUTANT
STARLET SHOCKER! “I’M JUGGERNAUT’S LOVE CHILD!’ —National Explainer headlines
It was late afternoon before Generation X left the M.O.N.S.T.E.R. house, and the party was still going on. Their meeting concluded, Emma and Sean came upstairs to look for the students. They ran into Paige and Recall near the door and Recall simply told them where everyone else was hiding.
It was a trick Emma could have pulled off herself telepath-ically, but Recall’s way was less intrusive and it gave the boy’s ego a needed boost. Their talk with Chill had left her with some lingering sympathy for these mutant underachievers, and one didn’t have to be a telepath to see how badly Recall wanted to impress Paige. There was no harm in his little crush, since Paige would soon be hundreds of miles away.
Jono, likewise, had found temporary companionship here. When they pulled him off the dance floor, he almost seemed grateful for the rescue. Emma wondered if Paige had caught this subtext, but decided it probably wasn’t important. Though she’d never prohibited it, she wasn’t sure she approved of relationships between the students. Such things had caused problems with the Hellions. If this created a little friction in their budding romance, then perhaps it was all to the good.
They found Monet sitting with the deejay, a goateed young man who seemed less interested in her than he was in the music. The rest were still having a private party in the kitchen.
Reluctant farewells were said, and the “M.O.N.S.T.E.R. Musketeers,” as Jubilee had started calling them, promised to look for them on the road east. It was only then that Emma learned of the three M.O.N.S.T.E.R.s’ impending trip. Emma realized that, given Recall’s talents, his statement might carry more weight than it would have otherwise, but if Paige or any of the others had caught on to this, they didn’t show it.
The limousine wandered south from the campus and returned to the freeway just in time to cross the floating bridge across Lake Washington. The students seemed fascinated by the miles-long ribbon of concrete that carried them only a few yards above the lake’s choppy surface.
As for Emma, she scanned the east shore of the lake, lined with expensive homes nestled among evergreen and hardwood. Somewhere just north of the bridge was a rarely used mansion owned by Tony Stark. Emma had attended a party there some years before—uninvited, as she recalled—and had picked up some useful business information that she had parlayed into several million dollars. That had been a strange time, full of glamor, parties, and beautiful people, but it had also been incredibly lonely.
Sean leaned back and studied her face. “Are ye all right, lass? Ye look sad.”
“I was just wondering how life could have hurt so much when I’m one of the lucky ones. My mutation gave me power, wealth, the ability to fight back against those who would oppress me. How would it be to carry that stigma without the power to back it up?”
“Yer thinking about all the lads and lasses back at M.O.N.S.T.E.R.”
She nodded, watching a small sailboat struggling against the chop. “When I lost the Hellions, I wanted to make amends, to help and protect the other mutant children of the world. But for every one we can help, there must be a hundred more out there, lost and adrift.”
“I think you sell them short, Emma. Empowerment isn’t about blasting through brick walls with your voice or controlling people like puppets. It’s about strength of character, bravery, self-respect. Take that lad Chill. He knows the forces society has lined up against him, he can see the walls closing in, but he hasn’t given up. He’s standing with his people, forming alliances, keeping spirits up. Nah, he hasn’t much of a mutant power, but that’s not what makes him strong.”
She rested the side of her head against the cool window, watching bridge supports flash by as they climbed to meet the lakeshore.
“But did we do anything for him today, Sean? Under his facade he was angry and bitter, and I don’t blame him. Two of the X-Men helped start his organization, but what have we done to support it? We’ve been too wrapped up in larger concerns to give them the help they need.”
“He knows what’s going on, Emma. He may not be any happier about it than we are, but I think he understands. What we did today is let him know that they aren’t forgotten, that they aren’t alone, no matter how it may seem at times. If he seemed bitter, it was only because he could vent with us, tell us things he’d never dare tell his friends, or the members of his organization.
“That’s our mission on this trip. For the kids it’s a big advenlure, but for us, it’s to touch base with pockets of mutant support across the country, let them know that Charles and the rest of us haven’t forgotten, that we still care.”
She watched as the last of the big houses on the lakeshore went past, their blind faces isolated, unable to see what was really happening in the world around them. “Sometimes, Sean, I don’t think we can care enough.”
After crossing the lake and traversing a tangle of freeway interchanges, they arrived at the Frost Industries complex, a small campus of black-glass office buildings nestled among spruce trees. Emma could imagine the panic behind those dark reflective windows as the news spread that the owner was making an unannounced visit; in fact, thanks to her telepathic abilities, she didn’t have to imagine.
The management and employees were doubtless relieved that, in the end, she came no closer than the parking lot, and would be equally puzzled when a series of memos, policy changes, and firings resulted in the coming weeks. The panic was causing company troublemakers, slackers, and ne’er-do-wells to broadcast like telepathic radio stations, and their malfeasance wasn’t something she was prepared to ignore.
The recreational vehicles were waiting for them. Despite a fresh washing and a new coat of wax, the “Xabago” still looked to Emma like a Dumpster on wheels, and she was grateful the girls had shown better judgment. She felt a little sorry for Sean having to sleep in the thing, but only a little.
Sean raised an eyebrow when he spotted the white two-seater sports car that was now being towed behind the newer motor home, but said nothing. She’d put in the order while he’d been off inspecting the boys’ monstrosity. “We’ll need something for running our errands in,” she explained. “We can’t go dragging the kids and two forty-foot RVs along every time we have an appointment.”
Sean agreed, and she suspected he quietly approved of her somewhat impractical choice of automobiles. Sean had a weakness for fast cars.
There was some surprise when, as they were preparing to leave, Jono asked to drive the Xabago. “I’ve got me license, and besides, I imagine Sean would rather ride with you—”
“—in the mobile X-mansion.” Angelo chuckled. He walked over and rapped on the fiberglass hood with his knuckles. “I christen thee,” he announced loudly, “USS Xtrava-gantl”
Jono flashed him an annoyed look. As little of his face was left, his eyes could be quite expressive.
Sean looked on skeptically, but he was obviously searching for an excuse to take them up on their offer. ‘ ‘Are ye sure you can handle a rig that big, Jono? It’s not as big as the other one, but—”
“Everett ran up a quick simulation on the Danger-boy. We’ve all been practicing.�
�
“Jono,” volunteered Angelo, “can jump his simulation over five parked buses.”
Jono glared. “Shut up, Angelo. You aren’t helping.”
Angelo just cackled.
Sean considered for a moment. “Well, we’ve got a few hours of daylight left, weather’s good, and after we get out of town, nothing but rural freeway ahead for a long while. I suppose there’s no better time to try than now. Ye take the lead, and we’ll follow.”
“To keep an eye on you,” mocked Angelo.
Jono and Sean turned to him at the same time. “Shut up, Angelo,” they chorused.
Angelo sprawled in the passenger chair as only his mutant power allowed him to do, elbows propped on the armrests, and a tattered guidebook they’d found in a cupboard held in front of his face.
He glanced over the top of it at Jono, who seemed quite at home in the driver’s seat of the Xabago, and if the incident at the airport was still bothering him, this at least seemed to be an effective distraction.
Everett had climbed into the observer’s seat in the roof bubble and was happily watching the vista of lakes, trees, and mountains parade by. The seat was suspended from the ceiling by a network of welded steel tubes that incorporated a built-in adjustable footrest. The assembly put Everett high enough so that his chest was about level with the roofline, but from his seated position, Angelo could just look up through the bubble opening and see Everett’s face.
By turning to his right, Angelo could look out through the expansive windshield and see the same view, but rarely bothered. This whole Seattle thing bothered him. The place was too much like an overwatered L.A. with all the energy sapped out of it and all the edges rounded off. Now that they’d gotten out of the city and were headed through the Cascade Mountains to the east, it was even worse. It was too wet, too green, and too clean for his taste. He found the expanse of blue sky and craggy volcanic peaks in the distance oppressive. The high desert country they were headed into beyond the mountains might be a little more like his southern California home, but he wasn’t counting on it.
Generation X - Crossroads Page 5