The real problem was Jean. Jubilee had already taken certain precautions—the kind that involved a wrench and a screwdriver, and the unhealthy application of such tools to certain highly revered pieces of technology—but that was not going to help anyone living in the Mansion.
"Dude," Jubilee said to Remy, less than a day after their first meeting with Ororo. "She's going to read our minds and find out we don't trust her. We might as well give up now."
"Mebbe," he said, with a curious lack of expression. Could be exhaustion; he'd been up half the night helping Storm drive the kids into the city for their "field trip."
"Mebbe?" she mimicked. "What aren't you telling me?"
Remy brought Jubilee to his room. It was certainly not the first time she had gone into the teachers' wing, but she had never been to Remy's room before. She expected luxury, designer furnishings, New Orleans flair.
The reality was quite different.
"Wow," Jubilee said, when Remy opened his door and turned on the light. "I feel cheated."
" 'Cuse me?"
"Nothing," she said, closely examining the fine clean lines of the polished wood floors, the simple curve of two black leather armchairs. The bed was plain, the sheets cotton and white. It was all very austere. Not what she had envisioned at all.
Remy shut the door and walked across his room to the closet. Jubilee got a glimpse of dress shirts and jeans, several long coats, and a set of body armor, and then he pulled down a box from the top shelf and kicked the closet shut. He sat down on the floor and Jubilee joined him. She studied the box in his hands.
"I've been saving these for something important," Remy said, and opened the lid. Jubilee peered inside and saw three small black discs the size of her thumbnail cushioned in gray foam pads.
"What are they?" she asked, stroking one with her finger. Remy pried the disc from the foam and placed it in her palm.
"Psychic dampeners," he said. "I acquired them just last month."
"Cool," Jubilee said. "If I wear this, not even Professor X can read my thoughts?"
"That's what they promised me." There was an odd note in his voice that caught her attention. Jubilee tore her gaze from the disc and looked into his eyes.
"Why do you have these?" she asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
"Really, you want to know?" His smile looked faintly bitter. "Because, ma petite, best friends make the worst kind of enemy."
Jubilee sat back, staring. "You've thought about this happening. You anticipated it. You thought they—the psychics in this place—could go bad."
"Everyone can go bad. The pace is slower for some, that's all."
Jubilee sucked in her breath. She did not know what to think about this new revelation, how to respond to the idea that Remy might not trust even her, but she swallowed down the hurt and stuck out her hand with the disc glinting dull and black beneath the light. "Can you help me turn this thing on?"
He did, working silently as he placed the disc behind her ear. Jubilee felt it vibrate once and then go still.
"Is it is working?" she whispered.
"Oui." He picked up a second disc and placed it behind his own ear.
"Storm," she said.
"Of course," he said, and they went looking for her all over again.
Remy did not like exposing his secrets; that Jubilee now knew he had made contingency plans in case his friends ever turned on him was a deeply personal fact that had hurt to share. Part of the revelation had resulted from Jubilee's own perceptiveness, but the other was entirely his own fault. He had said more than he should. Oddly, he felt no desire to take it back.
He and Jubilee did not linger in Ororo's office after giving her the dampener. Remy did not want to allow his friend an opportunity to comment on his paranoia, his morality. It was enough that her thoughts would be safe when she left Xavier's office.
"So now what?" Jubilee asked.
"The Blackbird," he said. "I want to check to the logs."
The lights were off inside the hangar; they left them that way as they walked to the jet, listening for anyone else who might be in there. Jubilee, after a moment, whistled the theme to The Twilight Zone.
"You can stop that," Remy said. "Really."
"Sure," she said, and he realized that she was trying to cover for her own uneasiness. When the Mansion was full, there were usually any number of people down in the hangar—either learning something new about the machines, doing maintenance, or taking flying lessons via the simulator in the corner. This new silence felt unnatural. He did not trust it.
The interior of the Blackbird was as he remembered. Nothing looked out of place; he saw no signs of a struggle. Quick, uneasy about lingering long, he made a search of the logs and found several recordings Scott had made upon arrival in Seattle. He played them.
"Boring," Jubilee said, lounging in the pilot's seat. She looked over the controls and blinked hard.
"Hey," she said. "Remy, you need to look at this."
He bent over her shoulder, staring where she pointed. It was the fuel gauge, and the arrow tilted at empty. No one had refueled the jet.
"Oh, yeah," Jubilee murmured. "Someone is going to get it."
Remy shook his head. "Refueling the jet as soon as you return is a fundamental safety procedure. Even you know that."
Because too many emergencies arose that required the X-Men to depart the Mansion at great haste. Running out of fuel in midair on the way to saving lives was not a good situation to find oneself in. Right now, there was barely enough fuel to fly into the city.
Jubilee tapped her jaw. "So finally there are people on this team even more irresponsible than me. I'd be happy about that, except it's another sign of the end times."
"End times?" said a new voice. "That's a little melodramatic, don't you think?"
Remy whirled, stepping in front of Jubilee. Scott stood at the back of the jet, his body cast in shadow. There was a slight tilt to his mouth, an almost-smile that was cold and hard. For just an instant, Remy did not recognize, him; the person inside was so different that the physical resemblance had become meaningless.
"What are the two of you doing here?"
"Maintenance check," Remy lied easily. "It's my turn."
Scott made a humming noise. "Do you do all your maintenance checks in the company of teenage girls?"
"Hey." Jubilee narrowed her eyes. "I don't like the sound of that."
Neither did Remy. "She's my student, Scott."
"So was little Lolita, once upon a time."
Jubilee raised her hands; Remy glimpsed light in her palms and he grabbed her wrists.
"Non," he murmured. "Not now."
Scott moved closer; his smile changed into something sly. "So. Have you found anything that needs maintenance?" He looked at Jubilee. "Or did I get here too soon?"
"Remy," Jubilee said. His hand tightened on her wrist.
"Get out of here, Scott," Remy said. "You need to leave, right now."
"And miss out on the fun?" His mouth widened, white and cruel. "Where should we start?"
Remy let go of Jubilee and punched Scott in the face. It was a blow Scott should have been able to block— Remy was too angry, his swing wild—but he slammed Scott's face before the team leader had a chance to raise his hands, and the man went down hard on the floor. Remy stood over his body. His heart thundered and he held cards between his hot fingers.
"Don' you ever talk like that to Jubilee or me," he said in his softest voice. "Don' even think it."
"Or what?" Scott asked, touching his bloody mouth. "You'll kill me?"
Remy felt his heart sink into a dark place. This man in front of him was not Scott Summers, but the body was his, and he could not be certain that the man himself did not still reside there, lost beneath the cruel light in the eyes of the person looking up at him from the floor.
But there were some things Remy would not tolerate, no matter what, and he said, "Yes, I will kill you, Scott."
S
cott scooted backward until he could stand with some distance between himself and Remy. Remy watched him carefully, waiting for him to retaliate. Scott never did.
"Later," he said, backing away slowly. "Later, you and I will do this again."
Remy said nothing. He watched Scott leave the jet and did not relax until the X-Man left the hangar. Remy slapped the ramp panel and raised the door. When the airlock sealed, when they were protected by steel, Remy leaned against the wall and felt a long shaky breath escape his throat. He heard footsteps. His gaze slid sideways to Jubilee. Her eyes were huge.
He reached out and drew Jubilee against him.
"It's okay," he whispered.
"No," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "It's not."
16
Even though Jean no longer had her powers, she remembered what it was like to have her mind probed. The sensation always changed, depending on the telepath; Emma Frost, for example, felt like a blood-starved limb, all prickly with pain, while Charles's psychic touch produced incalculable warmth, a baby blanket for the mind. Jean, up until this point, had no idea what her touch might feel like to others, only that it would leave a mark.
And so it had, one that she was astute enough to catch.
"I think my counterpart—or whoever has my body—is looking for us," Jean said. "I felt her tickle my brain."
"How do you know it is you?" Kurt asked. "There could be another telepath in this area. Perhaps the two are confused?"
"No, it's me. I can't explain it. It's like ... a familiar scent or hearing the voice of someone you thought you'd forgotten. It feels like home."
"I think I'm jealous," Rogue said.
"She must be using Cerebro to expand her range." Jean twisted in her seat so she could look at the others. All of them were pale, tired, with dark circles under their eyes and a hollow quality to their cheeks that was probably part of the same hunger than gnawed her own belly. "I think she's doing it badly, though. Of course, it's hard to tell, but it felt like she was on me for only a moment or two."
"But that could be enough, right? If she knows what she's looking for." Scott's knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
"But why would she? If my counterpart had no super- mental abilities before the transfer, then how would she possibly know what my mind feels like?"
"And if it's Jonas Maguire using her? He certainly knows your mind."
"If he was the one who transferred it."
"Let's just say he did until we can prove otherwise," Logan replied. "So the other Jean is using Cerebro and she touched your mind. I don't think we should rule out an accident, or that she had some purpose for using Cerebro other than finding us. Think about the power she's got. She could go after anyone with that thing. Maybe she's just training herself to use it."
The car sped up. Jean looked out the window and saw golden grassland bathed in sunlight, rolling hills that hid mysteries, always just on the other side. There could be a hundred people only yards away from the road, and no one would ever know. Good ambush country. Not that she thought anything like that would happen to them. At least not here, and not with people springing out from behind hills or trees. A police roadblock, a gun in her face? Maybe her own powers used against her? Yes, all of that was a distinct possibility.
"There's no way to protect ourselves from Cerebro, is there?" Rogue sat between Kurt and Logan. She looked uncomfortable. Jean could only imagine what it was like, suddenly able to touch and then to have it forced upon her in the form of continuous close contact. Jean still had trouble coping with her mind blindness. Sleeping was horrible, because with her eyes closed the world truly fell away, and she was reminded of those first moments in the mental hospital when the world had felt so cold and empty.
Stop it Stop feeling sorry for yourself. The others were right. So your abilities are gone. You were relying on them too much if this is the kind of reaction you're having. Take this time as a lesson to toughen up.
"No," Jean said to Rogue. "There's no way to hide, not unless we have some natural shielding. Kurt, when he teleports, is always hard to find. Gambit, too. His brain ... scrambles things. I doubt we're that lucky."
"So if the police do not stop us, then we risk having our minds destroyed." Kurt sighed. "Lovely."
"We don't have any options," Scott said. "We have to go home."
And what a shame it had to be under such terrifying circumstances. Jean knew the exact process of destroying an individual's mind. It was something she had contemplated quite often—not because she wished to harm anyone, but because she wished to know exactly what to do in order to avoid some accidental, and quite devastating, use of her telepathy.
To destroy a mind to rip from it the essence of person- hood, was the ultimate in tortures—and crimes. Jean did not want to consider it as the possible end for herself or her friends. She would rather face death than that, which was no better than being a zombie; a body, a shell, with nothing inside but the most rudimentary instincts.
Late that afternoon they passed into North Dakota, and it was there, caught within a parted sea of hot golden grasses, at least thirty miles from the nearest town, that their little car blew out its tire. The trunk did not have a spare.
"Pack it up," Scott said. "We re walking."
"We better find a way of getting off the road before some cop checks out this car. Minute they run anything on the plates, they're going to figure something's fishy. And if we're the only ones on the road ..." Logan's voice trailed away.
It was simply one more blow against them. Jean thought she should probably count her blessings that they had made it this far, but it was difficult to think about the positive when the sun began to set and the few cars on the road sped by with drivers and passengers who looked at them as though they were bogeymen, or the prime suspects of some horrible highway ax murder. Jean wanted to yell "Boo!" every time she saw their expressions.
"You can't really blame people," Rogue said, wiping sweat from her face. "I mean, there are a lot of crazies out in the world."
"Fear should not hinder compassion," Kurt said.
"That's easy enough for us to say," Logan countered.
"We re trained professionals. We fight space aliens with our bare hands, for Christ's sake."
"Does compassion mean less when you're a superhero, then?" Kurt wondered out loud. "Without that inherent risk, that choice of possible harm, does a kind act from one of us count as much as the kindness of a normal human being?"
"Kurt," Scott said. "Does it matter?"
"Ja." Kurt turned around, walking backward so he could look at them. "We are powerful people. Or at least, we were. But how often do we use that power to help those without? Our focus is always on mutants, and that is right and good, because there are also mutants who have nothing. But what else? What else have we done?"
"Saved the world," Logan said.
"Several worlds, actually," Scott added. "Maybe the universe?"
"Now you're exaggerating."
Kurt threw up his hands. "You see? We have saved the world, but did we actually do anything to make it a better place? We shelter mutants at the school, but do we teach them how to interact with humans? Do we encourage them to make friends with different kinds of children? If we isolate them, do we teach compassion or superiority?"
"Kurt," Rogue protested. "We're trying to create a world where mutants and humans can live together."
"Perhaps, but I am no longer convinced we are going about it in the right way."
Logan grunted. "We do what we can, Kurt. We do the best that we can, with what we've got"
Kurt began to respond, but instead narrowed his eyes, staring up the road. "I believe there is a car coming." There was no excitement in his voice. Just a dull announcement of yet another vehicle that would speed past and leave them to the mercies of the oncoming night. Jean wondered how cold it got out here.
Much to their surprise, though, the approaching truck stopped in the middle of the road.
A man looked out at them. He had gray hair, blue eyes, and a nice mouth. A dog sat in the passenger seat. It had the same coloring.
"Was that your car that I saw broken down back there?"
"Yes," Scott said. "I don't suppose you could give us a lift into town?"
The man hesitated, studying them.
"I could," he said slowly. "What kind of people are you?"
"Excuse me?" Scott said. "I don't understand."
"Are you good people?"
It was a surreal question. Not many people ever asked Jean if she was "good," though she found it rather refreshing that the old man expected a straight answer.
"Usually," Logan said, looking him in the eye. "Depends how good the other side is."
"Fair enough," said the man, seemingly satisfied at the answer—or the reaction to it. "You can sit in the back of the truck."
"Thank you," Jean said. "Thank you very much."
The man shrugged. The dog watched them, careful.
"You see?" Kurt said, when they were moving and the wind blew long and hard against their bodies. "Compassion. One normal man, helping five strangers on an empty freeway."
X-Men: Dark Mirror Page 18
