BYRON PREISS MULTIMEDIA COMPANY, INC. NEW YORK
BERKLEY BOULEVARD BOOKS, NEW YORK
CHAPTER ONE
1331 It
“Panic in the Midwest today amid numerous unconfirmed sightings of the mutant terrorist Magneto near Dayton, Ohio, and Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. This despite assurances from military intelligence officials that Magneto is not in the area. These officials suggest that a ‘costumed prankster’ could be the cause of the mayhem, but public skepticism abounds. Armed mobs are now patrolling some Dayton neighborhoods, and at least two homes where mutants are reported to live have burned under suspicious circumstances. We’ll have a live report later in the hour.”
—excerpt from WNN news broadcast
Sean Cassidy held the controls of the Frost Enterprises business jet in his steady hands, and gently guided it through a turn. He watched the compass, leveling the plane on a heading that would take them into U.S. airspace and across the coast of Washington state. “Sweet little one, this is,” he said to the pilot, who had been closely observing his maneuver.
“Not bad,” he said.
“Ye gonna let me land her?”
“We’ll see.”
Emma Frost leaned over between the seats. “Well, be sure to let me know, so I can assume the crash position.”
Sean glanced back at her and smiled. “Oh, ye of little faith. I’ll set yer precious jet down in one piece.”
“I can buy another jet,” she said drolly, “it’s precious me that I’m worried about. Anyway, you were telling me about the origins of this side trip of ours. Or shall I just pluck it telepathically directly from your brain?”
Sean held up his hand. “Nah, nah, there’ll be none of that. As I said, it was Charles’s idea. For years he’s been wanting to set up an organized underground support network for mutants and mutant advocates. He’s taken tentative steps in that direction in the past, but now he wants to solidify his contacts across the country and take it a step further. We’re laying the groundwork for something he calls the Mutant Underground Support Engine, MUSE for short.”
Emma laughed softly. ‘ ‘Imagine that. Charles Xavier sending me as a goodwill ambassador for his cause.”
Sean focused on his controls. The general public knew that Charles Xavier—the founder of the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning—was a world-renowned geneticist and mutant-rights advocate. What they didn’t know was that Xavier was a mutant himself, a telepath, and the founder of the mutant super hero team known as the X-Men. He had entrusted Sean and Emma with the running of the Institute’s sister school, Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, where they trained young mutants.
In response to Emma’s words, Sean said, “Charles has always been one to believe that people can change, given the chance.”
“And do you believe that, Sean?” Both she and Sean had things in their past to atone for.
“The Professor has the forgiveness of a saint, but as fer me, well, I know about me, and most days I’m pretty sure about you. As for the rest of the lot, well...”
She chuckled.
“So,” he said, “are you okay with this side trip?”
“Well, it is the beginning of summer, the school dorms are still undergoing renovation, and we could all use a break. Of course, I have no intention of squatting around some campfire like a savage.”
“I wouldn’t think of it, lass. You make whatever arrangements you want.”
She sighed. “Hand me the air phone and I’ll warm up my credit card.”
Jubilation Lee was deep in her own personal world, like a dolphin diving for salmon, totally focused on her goal and plunging deeper by the moment. In her hands, the alien-built Danger-boy video game glowed, surround sound beamed directly into her inner ear, tiny figures moving across its Shi’ar-built holostage with uncanny realism. One of those figures was the savage mutant some people called Wolverine.
Jubilee, on the other hand, called him Logan, or Wolvie, or even Fuzzy in an occasional weak moment. They had once been partners in adventure. He had been her friend, mentor, the closest thing she had to a father, and just at this moment, she held his life in the palm of her hand.
As her fingers slid across the control pads, the tiny Wolverine moved in response, weaving across a battle-torn landscape like a hound on the scent. Dancing graphs floating in the air over his head simulated the responses of his superhuman senses. The prey was close.
Then something scuttled into view. Something big, toothy, insectlike, so dangerous looking even at this small scale that she almost jerked her hand away from it. The Brood Queen, one of the hostile aliens the X-Men had nicknamed the Sleaz-oids. She hadn’t expected this at all. The mutant villain she’d been pursuing had been acting strangely, but she’d never guessed that the target had been possessed by the Brood.
The Queen charged, wings buzzing, teeth slashing, spikelike forelegs stabbing. Jubilee’s fingers danced, responding to multiple threats, the tiny Wolverine ducked and slashed. She didn’t see the stinging tail until it was too late....
She flinched her eyes away as the decisive blow sought Logan’s heart, but the scene froze just short of the deadly impact. The words simulation over floated over the tiny holostage, and a critique of her combat strategy droned in her ear.
She hit the mute button, and shivered as she came back to reality. She looked at the Danger-boy with disgust, tossed it into the empty seat next to her, and glanced around the small but plushly appointed cabin of the corporate jet. She was startled to find herself seemingly the only one of the students still awake. She must have been playing for hours.
She sighed and slumped in her seat. If only I could concentrate on important stujf the way I do a video game, she thought. Unfortunately, concentration usually eluded her when it came to schoolwork, study, friendships, and the use of her own still largely untested mutant abilities. And for someone who possessed the genetic “x-factor,” the mutation that gave a small minority of humans strange powers and abilities, lack of concentration could be fatal.
That was why she no longer travelled with Logan, why she no longer hung with the X-Men, why she had enrolled in Xavier’s School. Though she had seen and done and experienced things far beyond her years, she had finally admitted to herself that she wasn’t ready, that she was a potential danger to herself and those around her. She needed practice, better control of her pyrokinetic fireworks, and, God help her for admitting it, she needed education if she was ever to run with the Big Dogs again.
She glanced around the cabin at her fellow students. Sprawled across two seats behind her like an old gray coat was Angelo Spinoza, a reluctant tough from the Los Angeles barrio who had only partial control of his endlessly stretchable skin—hence his straightforward codename of Skin. In the seat in front of her, book lying open and forgotten in her lap, was Paige Guthrie, country girl, a mutant metamorph called Husk, who dreamed of one day leading the X-Men. Next to her was Monet, Jubilee’s constant nemesis, tall, beautiful, powerful; Jubilee sometimes joked that her teammate—whose codename was simply M—had the mutant ability to be perfect. Monet looked nonthreatening, almost childlike, when she slept. Unfortunately, Jubilee had never been able to figure out how to keep her that way.
Sitting in the front of the cabin by himself was Jonothan Starsmore, aka Jono, aka Chamber, oldest of the clan, brooding and reclusive—not surprising, since the first manifestation of the powerful psionic energies that boiled within him had blown away the lower half of his face and opened a gaping hole in his chest. Actually, she wasn’t sure that he was sleeping, or even if he could still sleep. His transformed body no longer needed food, water, or air, so anything was possible.
Last but not least, s
noring softly across the aisle, there was Everett Thomas, better known as Synch. He was everything Jubilee was not: charming, articulate, handsome, black, from a frightfully well-adjusted family, and of course male. His power allowed him to “synch” with the auras of other mutants, taking on their abilities and mutations temporarily. Jubilee also found herself synching with him on a more personal level, and was bedeviled with what she should do about it.
They were her friends now, her family for better or worse. They were Generation X, and the only thing she could call home. She sighed and wished she could sleep. She was getting deep and introspective, and she hated that.
Under the cabin floor, motors whirred, and something thumped. The landing gear was coming down. She glanced out the window, scanning the carpet of city lights for some familiar eastern New York or western Massachusetts landmark, and spotted the Space Needle.
The Space Needle? That’s in Seattle. “Seattle?” she said loudly enough that Synch jumped up straight in his seat and opened his eyes.
He blinked and looked around. “Where?”
“Down there.’’ She pointed. “We’re landing in Seattle.” “Wha—?” The book slipped out of Paige’s lap as she moved.
“Seattle,” said Synch. “We’re in Seattle.”
An annoyed growl came from the direction of Monet’s seat. “We can’t be in Seattle,” she said with exasperation. “We’re supposed to be going back to the school.”
Jubilee smiled at M’s mistake. Not perfect this time, missy. “Tell it to the Space Needle.”
“Dios, ” Angelo groaned, pulling in his skin like a window shade rolling up, “can’t a mutant get some Z’s around here? I need my beauty sleep.”
Jono said nothing, but Jubilee could see him leaning over to peer out the cabin window. The last few weeks had been difficult for him, and he was still dealing with it. Of course, with Jono, “dealing with it” was a daily event.
Jubilee stared at the closed cockpit door. She was suddenly feeling a little paranoid, not necessarily a bad thing when you’re mutant and most of the world is out to get you. She leaned toward M. “Hey, Monet, do a telepathic scan of the cockpit. We haven’t been hijacked by Sinister or Skrulls or O.J. Simpson or anything, have we?”
Monet scowled at her. “I don’t read minds.”
“Yeah, right. If there’s a Big Book of Super Powers, your picture is on every page. Just do it.”
M glanced toward the front of the cabin and smiled. “Let Jono do it. He doesn’t look busy.”
“This is serious.”
“So am I. I’ll help.” She leaned forward. “Hey, handsome. Jono.”
“Bug off, gel.” Jono was a living battery of psionic energy. While his skills were currently limited to shooting bio-blasts and projecting his “speech” telepathically, in theory he had the potential to do more subtle telepathic tricks, at least in the way that dynamite theoretically can be used to cut a diamond.
“Come on, work with me. Just open your mind a little and...”
Jono stared intently at the closed door for a moment. “Hey, it’s working. Is that me or you, M? Ms. Frost and Sean and the pilot are having a chat.” He jerked slightly and Jubilee felt something like one of her fireworks go off inside her skull. “Whoops. I know I did that. Guess they know we were peeking now.”
Jubilee rubbed her head. “They probably know we were peeking in San Francisco. Ouch.”
The door swung open and Emma stepped out, glancing curiously at Jono, then looking more sternly at Monet.
Jubilee suppressed a chuckle. Glad that look isn’t for me.
As she watched, Emma composed herself, straightening her jacket. She was dressed in a closely tailored white business suit and matching boots. I wish I could wear clothes that well Jubilee sighed to herself. I just need some more realistic models on which to base my body image. Somebody buy me a Barbie doll.
Emma had felt Jono’s clumsy attempt at a probe even before he did, and instinctively put up shields around not only herself, but Sean and the pilot as well.
Sean stared at her. He’d felt it even through her shields. “What in blazes was that, Emma? Are we under attack?”
She shook her head and glanced back in the direction of the cabin. “The students are awake, and engaged in a little unauthorized telepathic experimentation. M and Chamber. Doing what children do. Of course, if they’d incapacitated the pilot, it would have killed us all.” Jonothan Starsmore had incredible telepathic potential, but he was all power and no control. His attempts at the simple mind tricks that she did as automatically as breathing were like trying to swat a fly with a cannon. M had no business pushing him to test himself this way.
Sean sighed. “And that would be bad. Ye want I should have a talk with them?” He glanced out through the windshield. Landing lights could be seen in the distance, as could the lumbering 747 coming in ahead of them. He frowned. “You’d best talk to them, then. I’ll stay here in case ‘Ace’—” he jerked his thumb at the pilot *‘—needs some help landing.”
The pilot grinned without losing his focus. He knew Sean from his Interpol days, and the two of them enjoyed needling each other in that exceedingly male way that Emma found so tiresome. She put her shoulders back, and stepped through the door at the rear of the cockpit.
The students looked guilty. They always looked guilty when she stepped into the room, but she’d learned to ignore that. Experience had shown that they were only occasionally guilty, and that the rest of the time—well, it was just an effect she had on people. It would have been easy enough to lightly scan through their minds and make a final determination, but Sean had repeatedly lectured her about respecting their privacy, and she was trying.
But telepathy wasn’t the only way to read a person’s thoughts. She knew that Chamber and M had produced the psi burst; she’d talk with them privately about it later. But there was more to the situation than that. Emma studied Jubilee’s face and realized that it was she who’d initiated the scan, probably asking M to do it, and for perfectly good reasons. She’d have done the same in Jubilee’s place.
Husk yearned to lead the team, but Jubilee had the experience and the nose for trouble, if not always the wisdom and self-confidence. The two girls didn’t always get along, but the two of them might make an outstanding leadership team someday.
The front of the passenger cabin formed a small lounge, with swivel chairs, cocktail tables, and lamps—all bolted down of course. Since the fasten seat belt sign was on, Emma sat in one of the chairs, belted herself in, and swung around to face the students.
“As you’ve noticed, there’s been a change of plans.” She met Jubilee’s gaze. “You were wise to be cautious, but actually, Sean and I had simply intended to surprise you. Since our trip to Ireland turned out to be more work than play, and it is the beginning of the summer term, we thought you might enjoy a real vacation.”
Jubilee moaned in mock horror. “In Seattle? That is so last-year. I suppose you’ll want us to wear flannel and drink Starbucks by the barrel.”
Synch sniffed the air. “Smells like Nirvana,” he said with a chuckle.
Paige put her face against the window. “Smells like rain.” Emma frowned. She’d missed most of her own childhood, and had little patience for horseplay. This was supposed to be a pleasant surprise. “We aren’t staying in Seattle, that’s just our starting point. We’ll be purchasing a pair of recreational vehicles and making the rest of the trip home by highway.” Jubilee perked up. “Road trip?”
Paige smiled broadly. “Road trip!”
It wasn’t clear who started it, but they began to chant softly, “Road trip, road trip, road trip.”
Emma stared mournfully at the seat belt sign, and wondered if it was too late to return to the cockpit and force the plane into a crash-dive.
The plane taxied up to the customs office at the international terminal. It was foggy, and a fine, misty drizzle wafted down from unseen clouds above, not enough to require an umbrella,
but anything that stayed out in the open long enough got just as wet. For once, Jubilee’s ever-present yellow raincoat was getting some good use. They carried their own bags toward the terminal, the students laughing and joking among themselves.
Sean, ever the gentleman, took Emma’s bag, and she wasn’t about to stop him. She told him about the children’s reaction to her announcement.
He grinned at her. “Aye, there’s something about a road trip that takes five years off a young one’s age.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “You mean, we can expect this for the next three thousand miles?”
Sean smiled wryly. “Didn’t ye learn anything from your time with the Hellions?”
She felt a flash of hurt and annoyance. Generation X was the second group of young mutants that had gathered under Xavier’s tutelage; the first were called the New Mutants. Emma, then the White Queen of the Hellfire Club—a cabal of mutants interested primarily in economic and political power—formed a youthful team of her own, nicknamed the Hellions. They had been slaughtered by a vile creature named Fitzroy, and the guilt of their deaths still haunted Emma. Taking care of Xavier’s students was her personal penance for her mistakes, mistakes she’d vowed never to repeat.
She looked at the laughing children walking in front of them. They trusted her to watch their backs. Trust was one gift Emma Frost had rarely received in her life, one gift that could not be bought.
She glared into Sean’s eyes. To suggest that she had learned nothing from the Hellions, even at the cost of their lives ... She paused to reflect. Sean was no telepath, but he could be remarkably effective at mental manipulation nonetheless, and she’d noticed that he was much less reserved of that ability when it came to Emma than with others. Touche, Sean.
“You have a point, Mr. Cassidy? I’d suggest you get to it, before I’m tempted to adjust your drool reflex.”
“Ye kept a tight reign on the Hellions, a close watch on them, and to an extent, I agree with that. These kids aren’t quite adults yet. They need some control and supervision, but we’ve got to give them room to make their own mistakes too. Without that, they’ll never learn, never mature.”
Generation X - Crossroads Page 1
