Legends

by Unknown Author

  Rogue added, with a mischi evous smile, “And it’s not just for girls.” She nodded as words appeared on the TV screen: men’s competition.

  “Oli," Jubilee remarked acidly, “I can just imagine what kind of guys. . . .” Her voice trailed off as a vision of male gorgeousness suddenly appeared.

  He was young, Asian, and she could see the tight cords of muscle beneath his loose, yet clingy skating costume. He wore his glossy black hair in a spiky short cut. His eyes were liquid pools that reflected the harsh ice-rink lights. His skin shone with a golden cast, set off by the black satin of his low-cut jumpsuit.

  “Who ... is .. . that?” Jubilee gasped.

  Rogue’s smile turned to one of trumph. “That,” she announced, “is Christopher Kim. He’s new.”

  Jean nodded. “He’s about your age, Jubes. He’s just starting out, but everyone is amazed at how advanced he is. He was just another Junior National finalist last year—this season he has a shot at the Olympics.”

  Jubilee could say nothing. Her eyes were glazed and she couldn’t quite catch her breath.

  The two older X-Women exchanged knowing glances and turned up the sound on the set. It was showing one of those “up close and personal” profiles, with the requisite interviews and shots of the skater training. If he made it this season, he could be the youngest man to ever win an Olympic gold medal. First, though, he had to run a gauntlet of preliminary competitions. The first of these would be in Connecticut, not far from the Xavier Mansion in Salem Center, New York.

  As the report ended, Jubilee sighed audibly.

  “Well,” said Rogue to Jean, “our work here is done.”

  “Yeah,” the redhead replied. “I don’t have to be a telepath to tell that someone’s in love:”

  Jubilee shook her head as if waking from a dream. Then, she noticed the amused looks on the others’ faces. She smiled sheepishly. “Well, gotta go!” she said quickly. “I’m gonna go out and get that exercise!” Then she hustled out of the room.

  Outside, Jubilee strapped on her skates and protective gear and stroked off furiously on an asphalt paths. “Let ’em laugh,” she muttered to herself. “I think Chris Kim and I have a lot in common.” After all, they were both young, with unusual talents. They were both precocious. They were both thrust into an adult w'orld, and trained really hard for their goals. They were a perfect match.

  She sped past the red, yellow, and orange trees, relishing a cool breeze against her face under the perfect blue sky. She had to admit, the men’s skating competition did look cool. It wasn’t all like that boring ballet stuff she had thought figure skating involved. Chris Kim used music with a beat, and he moved around the rink with fluid power, like Wolverine on the prowl. When Chris jumped, you could see the spring of his muscles. Then he’d fly through the air, landing effortlessly. It w'as a performance worthy of any of super hero.

  Jubilee loved being with the X-Men. She traveled to exotic locales: Australia, Madripoor, Africa. She helped save the world. She was a hero. But even a hero, like everyone else, fantasized about what it was like to live another life. Ever since her mall-rat days, she would sometimes gaze longingly at the expensive designer dresses and makeup kits displayed in the stores. A part of her wondered what it would be like to be glamorous, an admired and beloved celebrity—instead of a semioutlaw, publicly reviled mutant.

  She imagined herself on an ice rink, in one of those little skating dresses. (They weren’t that bad, if you avoided pink.) She pictured it decorated with gold sequins and dangling sparkly beads. Now, Chris Kim was skating beside her, lithe in his black satin, moving like a panther. They held hands; they spun together. He lifted her up above the ice and then he threw her; she flew across the rink, then landed feather-light. Jubilee spread her arms out and tried to lift her leg behind her like the skaters did.

  “Aagh!” she yelled as she hit a bump, lost her balance, and sprawled onto the pavement; only her knee pads saved her from some nasty scrapes. She picked herself up painfully and decided to head back home for a more sedate pursuit. Maybe she could go on the computer and find out more about Christopher Kim .. .

  The weather was a little colder and gloomier a couple of days later as Jubilee sat on the living room couch, staring at the television. She rewound the tape she was watching and played it frame by frame. “Hmm,” she murmured, “is that a Triple Axel or a Triple Lutz?”

  So intent was she that she didn’t hear anyone coming until, suddenly, right behind her: “So you’re the one who’s been rooting around in our skating tapes!”

  “Aaah!” the teenager spun around to see Jean Grey and Rogue standing over her, hands on their hips. “I’m sorry!”

  Jean smiled. “It’s okay.”

  Jubilee sighed and slumped her shoulders. “You got me. . . I’ve gotten into skating. I found some footage of Chris Kim from last year’s Junior Nationals, and that tape you were watching the other day.”

  Rogue placed a comradely hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right to have a crush,” she said, then came around to sit next to Jubilee. “Hey, I don’t watch skatin’ just for the skatin,’ if you know what I mean.” She winked. “I’ve got a thing for Philippe Candeloro.”

  Jean joined Jubilee on the other side. “Oh, you mean that handsome, French-speaking, devil-may-care Olympic medalist? I can’t imagine you’d go for someone like that.”

  Rogue pouted as Jubilee and Jean giggled together.

  “So,” Jean said, turning to Jubilee. “Are you enjoying the tapes?” “Yeah, it’s kind of interesting. I admit, it isn’t as wussy as I thought. I’m trying to tell apart the different jumps. It’s not easy, though. Like, this one—what is this?” She replayed the tape.

  “Ah,” Jean replied sagely. “That’s a Triple Axel.”

  There followed for several minutes an earnest discussion of figure skating basics, and the upcoming prospects for the season. The women sounded like a group of armchair quarterbacks discussing football or some such sport.

  The conversation turned to the present performance of Chris Kim as they examined his latest routine.

  “So,” Jubilee said, “they say he can do a Quadruple Axel, which is, like, the hardest jump in the whole world. But I don’t get it. He could barely do Triple Axels last year.”

  Jean nodded. “Yeah, all the older, more experienced and stronger skaters can’t do it at all. Some say it’s even physically impossible.” She played the jump in slow motion. “With all my years of physical training, even I can’t really see how Chris is getting enough height to do four-and-a-half rotations. He’s muscular, but he’s not nearly as pumped-up as Stojko or the other power-jumpers. And look at his face—he’s showing no physical effort. Usually to do an Axel, they grimace like gargoyles ..

  Rogue scratched her chin. “Yeah. You’re right. And the way he’s jumping—he doesn’t take off with the force that other skaters do. It’s weird.”

  “Well,” Jubilee said, “They’re going to show that competition next week on the sports network. Maybe they’ll have more about it then.” Jean suddenly caught sight of her watch. “Oh, Rogue, we’d better get to the store before all the good shoes go. You want to come, Jubilee?”

  Jubilee shook her head. “No. I think I’m starting to be able to tell the Flip from the Toe Loop.”

  “Wow. You must really be getting into this,” Rogue said with mock amazement. “You’re turning down shopping!”

  As they got up and turned to go, jubilee told them, “Thanks for talking to me for a while. We never really get a chance to just hang out together, you know?”

  Jean smiled at her. “Yeah. This was nice.” She and Rogue exchanged a knowing glance, then left the room.

  “Robert, mon ami, you are insane.” Gambit was mopping his brow as he, Iceman, and Jubilee emerged from the Danger Room the next day.

  “I thought it was cool,” Jubilee crowed. “We’ve never fought velociraptors in the Savage Land!”

  “Do dey even have velociraptors in
de Savage Land?” Remy LeBeau asked wearily, throwing his towel over one shoulder and taking a swig from a water bottle he carried in the other hand.

  Bobby Drake, de-icing into his human form, shrugged. “I’ve never seen one, but they’re probably there. No, I got the idea for programming them in from that Spielberg flick.”

  Jubilee clapped her hands. “I loved that movie!”

  “Besides, Remy,” Bobby said, “You’ve got to admit, it’s a good workout. ’Raptors are smart, fast. .

  “I just don’ like dem nasty claws on de little feet,” the Cajun said. “Hard to hit, too, wit’ de playing cards.”

  “It’ll hone your targeting skills,” Bobby said.

  They were interrupted by the arrival of Jean Grey and Rogue. Jean was holding up a little white envelope.

  Gambit looked at them with suspicion. “They look like de cat that’s jus’ eaten de little birdie,” he said.

  Jean waved the envelope at Jubilee. “Look what we got.”

  “What?” asked the teenager.

  As Jean extracted three tickets from the envelope. Rogue announced, “It’s for the skatin’ competition on Saturday night. We’re making it a girls’ night out.”

  “Cool!” Jubilee exclaimed.

  Bobby crossed his arms and chuckled. “This is new. I didn’t know you were into skating, Jubes. Isn’t that kind of for . . . sissy-boys?” “Not all the boys are sissies,” Jubilee retorted.

  Gambit smiled rakishly. “Ah, I know . . . she mus’ be in it to check out de guys in dey tight pants. Hey, chere, you don’ have to go out and see skating for dat. Don’t you see enough men in tights runnin’ ’round heah?” He struck a beefcake pose.

  Bobby, encouraged by this hilarity, iced up. “Hey, you want ice? We got ice!” He created an ice sheet on the corridor floor, and grabbed the Cajun, who was still vogue-ing. They clutched each other with exaggerated drama and improvised a comical ice-waltz. This lasted all of a minute before Gambit’s boots slipped and they landed in a heap, sliding for a few feet across the ice.

  Jean and Rogue laughed, and even Jubilee had to smile. “Okay, enough of the high hilarity,” Jean said. “Now, let’s go get something to eat!”

  This met with general approval, though as Bobby cleared the ice and everyone prepared to exit, Jubilee said defensively, “You know, I read somewhere that figure skating gets ratings as high as football, so there!”

  “I am having the best time!” Jubilee chattered that Saturday night at the ice arena. She, Rogue, and Jean were returning to their seats after an intermission. The final group of skaters, which included Chris Kim, were up next. Jubilee was heavily laden as she and the others climbed over the spectators in their row. She had bought popcorn, nachos, and a souvenir T-shirt.

  “We’re having a good time, too,” Jean said. “We should do this more often, Jubilee.”

  “It’s so great to hang out with you guys. I feel like one of the gang. This is awesome!”

  “And to think we’re nowhere near a mall,” Rogue quipped as they finally settled into their spots, with Jubilee on one side of her and Jean on the other.

  “It’s like a mall out there,” Jubilee said. “There’s all those booths in the lobby, selling all that cool skating stuff. Dude, I had no idea those skating dresses were sooo expensive. And I really liked that shiny red velvety one that designer from Delaware had at her booth, too.”

  Rogue shrugged. “But where would you wear a skating dress?” Jean smiled enigmatically and passed Rogue a plastic bag. “Give this to Jubilee,” she said.

  When the teenager received the parcel, she looked into it and shrieked. “Ohmigod! It’s that skating dress! Jean, this cost, like, a fortune!”

  Jean smiled. “Hey, I have a little extra cash stashed away. Consider it an early Christmas present. And Rogue, she can wear it to go ice-skating. I think the Rockefeller Center rink is open by now.”

  “You are totally awesome! This is so cool!” Jubilee hugged the bag to her chest.

  Below, the Zamboni machine was finished resurfacing the ice, and the announcer said, “The final group of competitors will come out for their six-minute warm-up.’’

  “There’s Chris!” Jubilee cried, as he stepped out in his characteristic black satin costume.

  “I hope he does well,” Rogue said.

  “This could be his first step toward the U.S. Olympic Team,” Jean said.

  Around the rink, enthusiastic fans pulled out American flags, and some had posters saying things like go chris! and kim’s tpie man! He definitely was developing a following.

  Rogue pointed out another skater, a dour-looking, pale-skinned blond man, who was circling Chris Kim like a vulture. He had a gaunt face, and wore an ice-blue outfit that matched his cold eyes. “There’s the old sourpuss.”

  “Is it that Rupert guy?” Jubilee asked. “Chris’s big rival?”

  Rogue nodded. “Yeah. His name’s Rupert Smythe. He’s English.” Jubilee pursed her lips. “He looks like he’s sucking on a lemon.” “Last year he was a shoo-in for world champion.” said Rogue. “He’s been around for ages. He was in the last Olympics, but he screwed up in the short program and only came in fourth. This

  Olympies’ll be his last chance to get a medal. They say his knees are starting to go.”

  “Isn’t he trying to do a Quad, too?” Jubilee asked.

  Jean put in, “Yes, but it’s only a Quad Toe Loop. It’s the easiest of the quadruple jumps. Chris can leave him in the dust with a Quad Axel.” *

  “Oh, hey,” Jubilee said, “I think Chris is setting up for one now!” Sure enough, Chris Kim picked up some speed, and effortlessly landed a Quadruple Axel right in front of Smythe, proving the older skater could not psych him out.

  Jean suddenly gasped and grabbed Rogue’s arm.

  “What’s up, Jean?”

  “I thought I felt a flash of telekinetic energy in the room just now,” Jean said in a whisper, “but it’s died down.”

  Rogue raised an eyebrow. “That’s interestin’;”

  Jubilee found it interesting as well, but now something new was going on down on the ice, causing the crowd to murmur. A mature dark-haired woman, coiffed with a beehive hairdo and wearing a fur coat, had left the gaggle of coaches, who had been watching their charges at one corner of the rink. She made her way around to the broad side of the ice. Against this was a long table, where the nine judges and other officials sat. The woman approached a man at the table’s end, and handed him a sheaf of papers. He examined the sheets, then passed them to some other people.

  Jean observed, “That’s Rupert Smythe’s coach talking to the competition referee. I wonder if Smythe’s developed an injury.”

  Suddenly all the judges and officials and referees leapt to their feet and stirred to an uproar. They were all looking, not at Smythe, but at Chris Kim, who was trying to ignore the distractions and do his warmup. Then, the announcer called into his microphone, "Christopher Kim, please approach the referee.”

  “I don’t get it, what does Smythe’s coach want with Chris?” Jubilee asked her friends.

  She got no answer, but watched, perplexed, as the young skater approached the table. The officials surrounded him; in their dark suits they resembled a murder of crows. Chris began to fidget and wring his hands, giving his own coach a desperate wide-eyed look. The crowd was buzzing as his coach, a white-haired man, went over, only to be engulfed by the inquisitors.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Rogue said. “Not even with Tonya and Nancy .. .”

  Jean said, “I really don’t like the way this crowd is getting.”

  “Do you think there could be trouble?” Jubilee asked, eyes wide with concern.

  “Should we call the other X-Men?” asked Rogue,

  Jean sighed. “By the time they get the signal and scramble the Blackbird it could be too late. If anything happens, we’ll have to handle it first.”

  Then came the announcer’s voice over the PA system. “Christ
opher Kim will be withdrawing from the competition.”

  The crowd’s buzzing grew as the young skater, pale with shock, left the ice. Then he disappeared into a pack of people, who whisked him away into the yawning tunnel that led backstage.

  “Oh my God!” Jubilee cried, leaping to her feet. “What happened?” Rogue pulled her down. “Settle down, sugar. People are riled up enough as it is.”

  At this point, a woman, who had been sitting a few rows up behind the judges, elbowed her way to the announcer’s table. In her hand was a manila envelope. She shoved the announcer aside and yelled, “Chris Kim is a mutie! That’s why he was pulled out! The evidence is on this tape!” She waved the envelope.

  All hell broke loose.

  The audience roared. People leapt to their feet.

  Then came the ugly anti-mutant remarks:

  “How dare he?”

  “Who does he think he is!”

  “Ice the mutie!”

  Needless to say, the pro-Chris Kim banners disappeared. All over the arena people began squirming and getting up or sitting down. The crowd looked like a mass of wriggling creatures, living under a rock that had been suddenly overturned into the sunlight. Their voices rose to a deafening din.

  Jean nudged Rogue. “The core of the troublemakers is over there— see them?” She pointed to a block of seats a just a few sections over from theirs. There were some large, burly men there, who did not look like typical skating fans. They were standing and yelling the majority of the diatribes, though others in the crowd were picking up the poisonous rhetoric.

  *1 don’t like the look of them,” Rogue said. “I’ll bet they’re Friends of Humanity creeps, or one of them other mutant-hatin’ groups.”

  Seconds later, the men started to throw garbage toward the ice. Some of the projectiles hit their neighbors in the audience, and these people, already agitated, began to pick more fights. Security guards ran down the aisles and tried to break up the pandemonium, but the original instigators resisted. Elsewhere in the arena, new fights were erupting, while many other spectators crawled over each other to make a run for the exits.