This is it. The Expatriate reached for his mouse and clicked a few buttons on his screen. Norman’s first instinct when he realized what he had on the line would be to disconnect the caller, but the Expatriate had just disabled that function. Short of crawling behind the master console and pulling out the phone wires, there was no way Norman would get “Peg” off the line before she hung up. But the caller didn’t answer, and for a moment, he thought all his efforts had been for nothing.
Norman stared at the screen, looking for another candidate to put on the air. “Caller?”
Then the voice, a teenage girl, quavering with the nervousness that he'd heard in a million callers before her. The accent was carefully neutral, but his trained ear could hear a bit of some southern drawl under it. Tennessee?
‘ 7 don’t think there is one, Mr. Norman. Mutants are just people who want to be treated like anyone else.' ’
Norman was visibly startled and glanced in the direction of his booth, but he wasn’t mad yet. He hadn't really figured things out. He turned back to the microphone. “What makes you think that, Peg? How would you know what mutants want?”
A pause. “Because I am one. ”
Norman’s mouth hung open. He punched for the disconnect button, but nothing happened.
The Expatriate wondered what Norman would do next. If he was stupid, he’d just tear into the girl, because mutant or no, she clearly was a girl. A direct attack would lose him sympathy, even among his antimutant audience,
Amazingly, Norman showed some restraint. His hand strayed away from the disconnect button, either because he had other plans, or simply because he’d realized the button didn’t work. “How old are you, Peg?”
Another hesitation. “I’m seventeen.’’
This time the accent was more noticeable. It probably slips out under stress, the Expatriate thought with a smile. A girl who hid things. Would Norman be smart enough to exploit that?
Norman continued, “You’re still in high school?”
‘ 7 go to a private school. ’ ’
The comers of Norman’s mouth twitched up at that revelation. He was looking back in control of the situation, though his forehead was glossy with sweat. “A private school,” he said slowly, “a special school. I see. Your parents must be rich to send you to a private school.”
Recall was nearly jumping out of his seat.
Chill sat up in the back, trying to shake off sleep and see what the commotion was all about. He cleared his throat loudly. “Wha—?”
“Paige!” Recall pointed at the radio. “She said her name was Peg, but that’s Paige, on the radio talking to some antimutant guy.”
Chill turned his head, concentrating on the girl’s voice.
‘ 'No, sir. My daddy died, and my momma isn ’t rich. ’ ’ Then a man’s voice. “So, how can you afford this school?” The girl again. “I’m on a scholarship.”
The man. “Paid for—by mutants?”
“It does sound like Paige,” admitted Chill.
Recall shushed him.
There was a pause before she answered. “In part, yeah, I guess so. ’ ’
“You wouldn’t care to tell me the name of the school, would you?”
A long pause, and the Expatriate wondered if she’d hung up. “That’s a secret,” she finally said.
The Expatriate nodded appreciatively. Good, good. Make her look evasive, untruthful.
“A secret,” echoed Norman. “A secret private school supported by mutants.** He gathered his thoughts. “You mutants stick together pretty good, don’t you? Look out for each other, do you?”
“Yes, sir, I guess we do.”
“See, now you’re only seventeen and I can see that you mean well, but you just don’t understand. That is the mutant agenda. Can’t you see that?”
“No, sir, I can’t. ”
“You say mutants want to be just like anyone else, but you have a special scholarship to go to a special secret school. With other mutants I’d venture?”
“Yes, sir.”
“A special mutant school. Why can’t you go to school with regular students if you want to be like them?”
Exasperation in the voice. “Because they won’t let us."
“So you need a special school where you can’t be bullied by—regular humans?”
‘ ‘We need to learn to control our powers.w “Control of mutant powers is the whole issue, Peg. Your powers are uncontrolled, and yet you want to be just like anyone else? I’m sorry, but you see how that just can’t be, don’t you?”
Angelo watched Paige chewing her lip, trying to think of a way out of the corner she’d been backed into. ‘ 7 guess I do, ” she said abruptly, and punched the disconnect button. “Well,” he said, “that went well.”
Angelo suddenly realized that if Paige had possessed the mutant power to shoot daggers from her eyes, he’d be dead. He held up his hands apologetically. “Hey, hey, just trying to inject a little humor.”
He could see Jono watching Paige in the rearview. He obviously wanted to comfort her, but didn’t know how. They’d been instructed to turn down the radio while Paige was on the air. He reached over and turned it back up.
Norman’s voice came from the speakers. “... and Peg, if you’re listening out there, I can see how you wouldn’t understand what the adult mutants are up to, their agenda, and their master plan for humanity. I don’t blame you for being mad. You’re just mad at the wrong guy.”
Jono reached over and clicked off the radio. “Jerk.”
“Told you so,” said Angelo.
“Shut up, Angelo,” said everyone else in unison.
Recall had turned off the radio, but the three of them all stared at its dark face. Traffic reflectors thumped under the tires, and Pound veered them back into their freeway lane.
“Jerk,” said Recall.
“You said it,” agreed Pound.
Chill leaned over the seat back, frowning. “She walked right into it.”
Recall scowled. “She was used, Chill. I’m the broadcast major here, and he turned the call into an interview, then used every trick in the book to skew things his way. She didn’t have a chance.”
Chill reclined in the backseat, draping his arm over his eyes. “Maybe she shouldn’t have tried.”
“She did try, Chill. Give her that. It took a lot of courage to make that call. You’ve done enough public speaking to know how scary that microphone can be. This is the same thing a hundred times over.”
Chill lifted his arm and looked up at Recall. “You’re right, of course. Hey, I’m only half awake here.”
Recall chuckled and slapped his foot playfully. “Engage brain before opening mouth.”
“So,” said Chill, “what do we do about it?”
Recall considered. “We’ve been keeping our distance intentionally, but maybe that isn’t such a good idea. Maybe they do need our help.” He turned to Pound. “Mr. Dog Pound, prepare to lay in a course change.”
Pound saluted. “Aye, sir. Standing by for new heading. Where to, sir?”
Recall thought of Paige.
The Expatriate stepped into the phone room expecting only to pick up the caller ID number he’d requested. Instead, he walked into the hub of chaos. All the operators were talking and typing frantically, every phone line was flashing.
He stepped over to Sue’s station. She glanced up at him with blue eyes, acknowledging his presence. She finished up the call, then punched her hold button and put her hand over her headset mike. “It’s the mutant girl,” she said quickly. “They loved it. They want more.” She slid over a memo slip with a phone number written on it and went back to her calls.
He picked up the slip, folded it carefully, and put it in his shirt pocket. Later he’d use his resources to track down the caller. He stepped out of the phone room into the hall, and nearly ran head-on into Norman.
Norman glared at him. “I should kill you for that stunt, Trent.” Then his expression changed into a reluctant
smile. “But it sure as hell worked out, didn’t it? Bet you thought I couldn't handle the little minx.”
“I was throwing you a challenge, Walt, but you obviously were up to it.” He jerked his thumb toward the phone room. “Things are crazy in there. The listeners ate it up. You have to get her back on the air.”
Norman looked surprised. “Back on the air? How?”
He thought of the phone number in his pocket, but decided that some things should be kept in reserve. He wanted to know who the caller was, but Norman didn’t need that information. “Just get back on the air and ask her to call again. Word will get to her. Half the country is listening, Walt.”
He brightened. “They are, aren’t they?” He glanced at his watch. “Got to get back on the air.”
With a sense of accomplishment, the Expatriate watched the host trot away. Norman had been screwed, and hadn’t even bothered to chew him out. Better, Norman couldn’t even suspect how badly he’d been set up.
The Expatriate returned to his booth and called up the computer program that digitally recorded each day’s broadcast. It was the work of only a few minutes to isolate the mutant girl’s call and transfer it to its own audio file. He then put the file in an e-mail and sent it off.
He picked up the phone and called Ivan. “This is the Expatriate. Check your e-mail, there is a sound file in it for you to give to your technicians.”
Ivan sounded puzzled. “Sound file?”
“Our false mutant must have a voice. Base it on the sample I’ve sent you.”
“A voice? Why?”
He chuckled softly. “This is radio, Ivan. The audience will not be able to see the murderous mutant. They must be able to hear her.”
“We close our broadcast this hour with pictures of a colorful costumed personality who calls himself Razorback, seen here entertaining children yesterday at Wassner Children’s Hospital in Texarkana, Arkansas. He may look more like a wild boar than Captain America, but the kids still seem to love him. Good afternoon.”
—excerpt from WNN news broadcast
The Xabago pulled into the scenic overlook and the kids piled out, Everett and Jubilee first, the rest trailing behind, with Paige being the last of the bunch.
Paige watched Everett and Jubes racing to the railing, wishing she still felt that kind of innocent excitement about the trip. It wasn’t like so much of this wasn’t new to her, that she wasn’t appreciative of the scenery, that she had no sense of adventure. But the Norman show thing had really gotten under her skin, no pun intended, and her call had only made things worse.
She saw Jono standing on what seemed to be the brink of the world, looking off into a vista of snow-topped mountains, the wind blowing his hair, his hands jammed into his pockets, looking as alone as she felt. She supposed she’d punished him enough, if there was ever even anything to punish, but now she didn’t know how to talk to him, what to say. She turned her back on him and sat down on a park bench to think.
Angelo sauntered by, seemingly more interested in watching people than scenery. He was using the image inducer, the hologram making him look like any other Hispanic boy his age, maybe the way he would have looked if not for his mutation. She suspected that he resented the necessary deception, that he’d rather people accepted him the way he was, but as usual, Angelo was busy trying to appear cool and unconcerned. He stopped a few yards away, not looking at her.
She gazed at the mountains and sighed. Judging from the maps, these weren’t really the Rockies. To really see those, they’d have to go farther south, but they were plenty impressive to her. They’d called the Kentucky hills she’d grown up in mountains, but they were nothing compared to these craggy peaks.
She remembered how big they’d seemed when she was a little girl, how big everything about the world of Kentucky had been. She’d left that all behind when she went to Xavier’s School, traded it for the bigger world beyond the hills of home. It was only times like this that she appreciated just how much bigger it actually was. Bigger, and scarier, in ways that had to be experienced to be understood.
Angelo stood watching cars pull through the crowded parking area. “Hey, look,” he said to her, “the frat boys are here.”
She looked up and saw Dog Pound’s pink Cadillac pulling into the lot. It parked a couple spaces over from their RV, and the guys jumped out. Recall made a beeline for her, while the others headed for the railing.
Angelo watched him approach, then looked at Paige. “I’d better clear out, huh?” He turned and strolled off in the direction of Jono. Paige didn’t even want to think about the trouble Angelo might be stirring up, but she’d worry about that later.
She smiled as Recall sat down next to her.
“I heard you,” he said, “on the radio.”
Her smile faded and she hung her head slightly. “I was hoping you wouldn't.”
Jubilee leaned against the viewpoint railing, chatting with Everett. Conversation stopped, though, as Monet came and leaned next to her, looking out at the mountains with that typically unreadable expression of hers.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Jubilee was trying to make conversation.
“They are mountains. I have seen bigger. I have seen more beautiful.”
Jubilee frowned. Truth be told, the boonies kind of bored her, too, but she had her buds and her Danger-boy and life was pretty good. Until now.
“M, why do you always have to be such a stuck-up little brat-girl?” She gestured at the view. “See the pretty postcard, live and in person? Can’t you even give it that? What do you want? Fireworks?” She grinned evilly. “I can give you fireworks.”
“Jubes!” Everett scolded her. “Down, girl.”
Monet just stared off at the mountains, and Jubilee wondered if she’d gone into one of her trances. Then she said, “I want something that speaks to my soul as well as my eyes.” She turned and walked back toward the Xabago.
Jubilee watched her go. “Well, that was totally profound. And way cryptic. Typical.”
Everett clucked. “Ease off. There goes one lonely girl.”
Jubilee turned back to the mountains and took a deep breath of the thin, cool air. Maybe Everett was right. But maybe she’d just never understand Monet.
Angelo stood next to Jono, trying to figure out what it was he saw out there. Angelo just saw rocks. A lot of rocks. He just didn’t get it.
Of course, this was Jono, Mr. Brooding. Could be he was looking at nothing out there. Maybe he was just looking inside, and the view was typically bleak.
Angelo figured he was as tight with Jono as anybody at the school, and that was only natural. The two of them formed the freak-show contingent of the group. He felt the small image-inducer device in his pocket, watched a family with an even half-dozen kids walk by. The eldest, a girl of maybe fifteen, met his eyes and smiled. He wondered what would happen if he turned the image inducer off right now. Would the mother scream? Would the dad try to defend his rugrats? Would that girl be afraid? Worse, would she feel sorry for him?
He turned back to the mountains. They just didn’t care, one way or the other. You could say that for them. They just stood there. Had since before he was bom. Would after he was gone. He’d give the mountains that.
He glanced over at Jono. “Bad day, hombrel”
“Shut up, Angelo.”
“I get that a lot. Just making conversation.” He waited a minute for the air to clear. “This new guy, you know, he’s nothing.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“If you say so.”
They didn’t say anything for a while. The wind did the talking for them.
“That airport thing. That still bloody stings. Teach me to save anybody.”
Angelo nodded. “What I’ve said all along. Do what you want to do, but don’t expect gratitude.”
Jono was physically incapable of sighing anymore, but the image inducer was good enough to give the impression that he did.
Recall slid a little closer to Paige o
n the bench. Right now, she didn’t mind. “You did good, but he’s a professional. Nothing in the Danger Room prepared you for that.”
She smiled. “We don’t have a Danger Room. We practice in our biosphere. It’s less dramatic, but prettier.”
He laughed nervously. “I heard Dr. McCoy talk about the Danger Room one time. I figured all X-Men had them.”
She shook her head and picked at a loose flake of brown paint on the bench. “You’ve got it wrong. We aren’t X-Men. We’re just the junior league. Trainees. They call us ‘Generation X.’ ” -He chuckled. “That’s cool.”
“Beats the heck out of ‘X-Babies.’ ” The chip came loose in her hand. She flicked it toward a nearby trash can. “I’d like to be in the X-Men someday, though, like my brother. Sometimes I’ve even said I wanted to lead them. Days like this, though, I wonder if I’ve got the stuff. Being an X-Man is more than genes.”
“It’s pride,” he said. “It’s will. It’s heart.”
“You sound like Cyclops.”
“You’ve got those things, Paige. You would never have had the courage to make that call if you didn’t.”
“But I blew it.”
“I can help you. I’m a broadcast major. 1 know these things.” He put his hand on hers. “Let me help.”
She tossed her head. “Yeah, like I’d ever get back on in a hundred years. Angelo didn’t believe I’d even get on the first time.”
He smiled, then laughed as he looked into her eyes and saw that she really didn’t understand. “You haven’t been listening to the program, have you? Norman’s talking about you.” “Gloating, right?”
“He wants you to call back, Paige. He’s practically begging—even though he’s trying hard to make it look like he’s not begging. Like I said, this guy is a professional.”
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