But I’ve come this far.
I just read over what I wrote this morning. And I started thinking about the X-Men. Most of the world doesn’t appreciate what they've done. The news is always talking about the Avengers and the Fantastic Four—but never about the X-Men. Or if they do, it’s to follow Trask’s route and declare them a menace out to destroy humanity. They’ve saved the world more than once, including from my own organization, and nobody knows. Nobody appreciates them.
And yet they keep doing it, anyhow. If they all died tomorrow fighting Magneto or Mastermind, it probably wouldn’t even make the inner pages of the newspapers. They know this, but it doesn’t stop them. They keep laying it on the line.
Even if it is a lie, I’m supposed to be their mentor. I can do no less.
Maybe they won't know who I am when I die. But I’ll know. I’m the Changeling, and I helped save the world. Nobody can take that from me.
11:30 p.m.
1. Is it safe to hang out with you? I’m half expecting to be attacked any minute.
The W.H.O. operative pulled back almost immediatel
. .. but he didn’t fall. He just floated there, su
11:30 p.m.
Not been a good day. I didn’t deal with the X-Men very well at all. I think that dream had me more flamboozled than I thought.
Or maybe it’s this journal. My emotions have been all churned up, and it’s not allowing me to focus.
From what I’ve been able to read in McCoy’s and Drake’s thoughts, they fought a nasty mutant who called himself Grotesk. To make matters worse, Xavier's mutant-hunting computer, Cerebro, has detected Magneto. We may have to deal with him.
I need to go get a full report from the X-Men.
September 8,1:05 a.m.
The situation with Grotesk is worse than I thought. He’s too much for these kids to handle. They’ve got the heart for it, but I don’t think they have the skill.
Not that I’m sure I do, either, but Grotesk is going to destroy the entire planet. I can’t let him do that. I almost destroyed this world once. I’m sure as hell not going to let it die now.
I have a plan that should work, but it’s risky. I’m recording another one of Xavier’s "play this if I die” messages, just in case. He’s apparently recorded one of these every time the X-Men are involved in something dangerous. This is the first time I’ve had to do one. And I’d better tell them about Magneto, too. Again, just in case.
And I still can't get that question out of my head:
What will they put on my headstone when I die?
That was the final entry.
Of course, what they put on his headstone was somebody else’s name, she thought sadly.
She felt Bobby Drake approach the room, and she quickly put the Changeling’s journal under the desk.
Do I tell them? she asked herself.
Then she thought about what the Changeling wrote in his journal about sacrificing his life even if nobody knew.
He faced his death with his eyes open. And so do we, every day. Because we believe in what the Professor taught us. I have to believe in him now.
“Jeannie?” the youngest X-Man said as he poked his head into the study. “Scott’s used Cerebro to track Magneto down, and he’s come up with another one of his cunning plans to stop him. He, ah, wants us downstairs.”
“Of course, Bobby.”
“You okay, Jean?”
Wiping the tears from her eyes, Jean said, “I’ll be fine, Bobby. I’ll be fine.”
Welcome to the X-Men, Madrox
Steve Lyons
One of the four men had drawn the curtains tight against the early moonlight. Two more had maneuvered the heavy wooden chest until it barricaded the door. The fourth had turned off the light, as if to spare them all from having to see this tiny, unfamiliar room.
And then they had turned on the television set and, for a while, had been able to forget where they were. They lost themselves in the twodimensional fantasy world that had been their sole source of comfort for six long years.
The men’s names—all four of them—were James Arthur Madrox. And Jamie had become, quite literally, used to his own company.
“Jamie?” The call came from outside the room. It was accompanied by an insistent knocking. Jamie—the original Jamie—scowled. One of his duplicates turned up the volume on the television set. They all leaned closer to the screen, determined that the canned laughter of its insipid sitcom should drown out the intrusion.
Jamie. This time, the voice was inside his head, where he could not ignore it. Jamie, how long do you intend to hide in there? I would like you to meet my students.
He remembered how the inhabitants of New York City had stared at him and run from him; how their heroes, the Fantastic Four, had attacked him, when he had only wanted to find help. Jamie wasn’t used to dealing with people. They frightened him.
There is nothing to be afraid of, Jamie. We are your friends.
Could it be true? Through the mists of time and hurt, Jamie remembered Professor Charles Xavier. He had seen him at the farmhouse, talking to his parents. Before the tragedy. Before the freak tornado that had made him an orphan.
Xavier had saved Jamie from the Fantastic Four. He had brought him here, to the mansion that housed his School for Gifted Youngsters. He had introduced him to a man called Doctor McCoy (like the character from Star Trek), who had blue fur. McCoy had repaired Jamie’s malfunctioning containment, suit so that it no longer caused him pain. In fact, he had made it better than before. Now, instead of repressing Jamie’s special ability, it gave him control over it.
James Arthur Madrox didn’t have to be alone again.
Very well, Jamie, sent Professor Xavier, with a telepathic sigh. We shall be waiting, whenever you are ready to talk to us.
Jamie at last ventured from his room the following morning. Hunger and the pleasant aroma of fresh coffee tempted him to the head of the stairs. He looked down into the hallway and strained to hear the voices that came from the direction of the kitchen. Were they talking about him?
“Hello,” came a voice from behind him. Jamie turned, startled, to find himself facing a beautiful redhead. She smiled, as if to show she posed no threat—but Jamie remembered how the female member of the Fantastic Four had hurt him invisibly.
“You’re Jamie, aren’t you? I’m Jean.” She held out a hand, which Jamie stared at uncertainly. “Smells good, doesn’t it? You must be starved. Did you eat anything at all yesterday?”
He shook his head.
“Looks like you’d better come with me, then.” Jean took Jamie’s arm firmly, and led him downstairs. “Scott’s doing the honors today and he tosses a mean pancake.”
Jamie didn’t feel he could refuse. Even so, as Jean took him into the bustling kitchen, he was reassured to see the familiar face of Professor Xavier.
“Ah, Jamie,” said the Professor, beaming up at the new arrivals from his wheelchair, “I am glad you could join us.”
“Orange juice?” offered a young man with mousy brown hair. He thrust a glass into Jamie’s hand, then grinned mischievously. “Cool as you like.” An ice cube appeared at his fingertips, and dropped into the drink. Jamie was disconcerted. What had he just seen—some sort of sleight-of-hand?
“Please,” said Xavier, “take a seat and allow me to introduce my students. You’ve already met Jean, I see.”
Jamie sat, and a blond man with extraordinarily broad shoulders placed a cup and a plate before him. According to Xavier, his name was Warren. Scott was cooking—although Jamie wondered how he could see at all through his opaque red glasses. Also present was Scott’s younger brother, another blond, named Alex. He was sitting beside Loma, who, oddly had green hair. Jamie had never seen that before. The guy with the ice trick was called Bobby.
“Coffee, Jamie?” Jamie started as the coffeepot rose into the air and glided toward him. But nobody else seemed concerned, and he realized that, somehow, it was Jean’s doing. He nodded d
umbly, and the pot tipped, filling his cup.
“Do you have any plans for today?” asked Xavier.
Jamie shook his head.
“Alex and I are heading into Salem Center, if you want to come with us,” said Loma.
“Or, if you want a bit more fun,” said Bobby, with a glint in his eye, “you could come and watch our training session downstairs.”
“I don’t think Jamie’s ready for that yet, Bobby,” said Jean.
“Hey, he wants to find out what the X-Men are all about, doesn’t he? What better way?”
“Bobby has a point, Jean,” said Scott, as he tipped a pile of fresh pancakes onto Jamie’s plate. “Jamie’s a mutant. He deserves to know what that means.”
Mutant. Jamie had heard that word before. It related, in some way, to his special ability. He wondered if everybody here had a special ability too. The floating coffeepot seemed to indicate that.
“Well,” said Xavier, “it’s your choice, Jamie. What would you like to do?”
Back in his room, Jamie mulled over his options. Xavier’s students seemed nice enough, and he guessed he would have to learn about their world sometime. But he was nervous. What if he dared to trust somebody and they betrayed him? What if something went wrong? What if he ended up under attack again, unable to think?
Then an idea occurred to him.
He clapped his hands together and the air around him shimmered. Suddenly, another Jamie Madrox stood beside him. Jamie clapped again, and a second copy of himself sprang into existence. He considered for a moment, before creating a third.
“Okay,” said the most recent duplicate, “who gets to do what?”
“I’ll go with Alex and Loma,” the first duplicate offered.
“Why are there three of us?” asked the second. He shared his progenitor’s memories only up to the point at which he had split from him; therefore, he had no knowledge of Jamie’s subsequent decision.
“We thought I could explore the mansion,” explained the third dupe.
The second dupe shrugged. “That leaves me with the training session.”
Jamie smiled to himself as the three duplicates filed out of the room. It was the perfect solution. When his dupes returned to him, he would absorb their memories of the day. In the meantime, nobody would even know that the real Jamie had not left his room.
He would be safe.
It had been a cruel winter, and the streets of Salem Center were treacherous with ice. The sun made a valiant attempt to share its light, but it was doomed to failure. Of course, it had often been cold on the farm, so Jamie was used to that.
Even so, Loma had dug out a heavy coat, a scarf and a hat for him, insisting that he ought to wrap up warmly. Alex had added something about the garments hiding his conspicuous green and yellow containment suit.
Within minutes, though, Jamie had forgotten his discomfort. Salem Center was not a huge city, like those he had seen on television, but its shops still offered all manner of goods. He was mesmerized by stereo equipment and video machines, by novelty ornaments and toys such as he had never seen, and by clothes in all shapes, colors, and sizes. Each window seemed to call to him, to offer him warmth and opportunity, even friendship.
Alex and Loma did their best to indulge his childlike fascination, but they had their own concerns too. Jamie hopped impatiently from foot to foot as they stood for what seemed like an age, staring at details of apartments in a realty agent’s window.
“Are you sure it’s the right thing to do?” asked Loma.
Alex shrugged. “I don’t know. Professor Xavier has been good to us, but I’ve never felt as if we belonged with the X-Men. I can control my powers now—I want to try living a normal life.”
Loma smiled demurely. “Are you sure you’re not just trying to get me away from Bobby?”
Her attempt at humor was lost on Alex, who scowled. “I’ve seen the way he still looks at you. He was doing it over breakfast, when he thought I wasn’t watching.”
Loma sighed. “You know, you are one of the most insecure men I have ever met.”
As Alex and Loma settled into the easy banter of lovers, Jamie began to wonder if they would ever move on. He guessed they might not be pleased if he wandered off on his own, but there were so many temptations. Surely they wouldn’t miss him for a few minutes?
A thought occurred to him. He didn’t have to leave his guides. A mere dupe he may be, but he could duplicate himself just as easily as could the real Jamie Madrox.
He clapped his hands.
Alex and Loma failed to notice as a second Jamie appeared behind them. With an eager grin, the first ran past them and followed the siren calls of the windows further down the street.
If he saw the shocked expressions of passersby, then they didn’t register in his excited mind.
Meanwhile, a different Jamie sat with Bobby in a small control booth, overlooking a vast room in a subbasement of Xavier’s school. He hardly believed what he was seeing.
Warren had shed his shirt to reveal that, rather than broad shoulders, he possessed a pair of beautiful feathered wings. He was exercising them now, negotiating a complicated obstacle course of poles and hoops whilst pursued by faceless silver drones.
And he was wearing a costume: a spandex suit of blue and white.
Jamie was reminded of the Fantastic Four, and of other super heroes whom he had seen on television. Was that what being a mutant meant? The thought that he could have anything in common with someone who could do what Warren was doing was plain weird.
When Jamie commented that Warren looked like an angel, Bobby laughed. Bobby himself wore only a pair of trunks. He didn’t seem bothered by the cold.
Warren reached his objective: a large, red button on one wall of what he and Bobby had referred to as the Danger Room. He let out a whoop of triumph as he hit it. The drones fell, like marionettes with their strings cut, and the obstacles retracted into the ceiling and floor.
“Hey, well done pal,” said Bobby, leaning over a microphone, which presumably broadcast his voice into the room below. “You shaved almost a second off your record. Of course, you’re still a good one-point-four behind mine.”
Warren took to the air again. He hovered on the other side of the Plexiglas window, a grin spread across his face. “Yeah, sure. Don’t think I don’t know how you crank up those drones when I’m not looking.” Bobby feigned an air of injured innocence.
“Get down here, Drake. Let’s take them on together—we’ll see how good you really are.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” said Bobby, punching buttons on the main instrument bank. “Let’s give the room a real workout, show Jamie here what being an X-Man is really about.”
As Bobby kicked back his chair and stood up, the air around him crackled. To Jamie’s alarm, ice seemed to form around his body. Incredibly, Bobby could still move.
Appearing not to have noticed his companion’s reaction, Bobby pointed to two controls in quick succession. “Okay, Jamie, press that one to start the program when 1 give the word. And that’s the emergency shut-down button, for if Warren here gets out of his depth.”
And then, with a wink of a frosted eyelid, he was gone, leaving Jamie to shiver with a chill that was not entirely caused by the slight drop in temperature.
Not too far away, another Jamie felt a similar chill of trepidation, as he took his first step outside of the school. More than ever, he felt alone in a huge and intimidating world.
The air was still, but for the occasional breath of wind. Tendrils of frost had left silver patterns on the grass. The grounds of the mansion were surprisingly tranquil. Jamie began to feel safe, deciding that the solitude of this place precluded any sort of danger.
Then he heard something moving, just a little, behind a bush to his left.
Startled, he whirled to face the source of the disturbance. He discerned the outline of a man.
“Who are you?” he called, backing away. “What do you want?” The man was still f
or a moment. Then he stepped slowly out from his hiding place. His hands were raised, and he looked as scared as Jamie felt. “Please,” he bleated, “don’t hurt me.”
Jamie relaxed a little. The man was slight of build, and he appeared to pose no threat. His hair was neat and brown, and his features were .. . bland.
Somehow, that was the only word that fitted him. The man had unremarkable eyes, an even mouth, a perfectly straight nose—no distinguishing characteristics at all. Even his clothes were gray and shapeless.
“Do you live here too?” asked Jamie.
The stranger blinked as if confused. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I have been here before. This is where the beings with powers reside, is it not?”
Jamie looked at him blankly. The stranger took a step toward him and cocked his head to one side. “You have power.” He concentrated for a moment, then flinched away. “No. Power flows through you, but you are not its source. You cannot help me.”
“I don’t know what you mean—I don’t know what you want.”
“It is so difficult to recall. There was one here before—one who hurt me—one who had the powers of the others combined.”
“I haven’t seen anyone like that,” offered Jamie.
“No. No, I have been watching. No sign of that one. No sign. So difficult. . .”
“Why don’t you come inside?” asked Jamie nervously. “I’m sure one of the others could help you—the Professor, maybe. I don’t know what to do.”
“Yes, yes, they can help me. The ones who have powers, they can help me.”
The stranger reached out a hand toward Jamie. Jamie backed away from it quickly. “Come on,” he mumbled awkwardly. He walked back to the mansion rather more quickly than he had walked from it. He prayed he was doing the right thing.
The stranger followed, gratefully.
“Hey, you! Freak!”
At first, it didn’t occur to Jamie that the words were directed at him.
“Hey, freak!”
He looked up and saw four faces reflected in the glass of the shop window. The nearest belonged to a young man with a shaven head, a stud in his nose and a sadistic leer. Puzzled, Jamie turned to face him— and moved into a punch. Caught unawares, he was knocked back into the glass, head ringing. He slid halfway to the ground before regaining control of his legs.
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