True Believers: Part One
The house, a solitary island of warmth in the cold Alaskan night, sits atop a hill forty miles outside of Anchorage. Though warm and welcoming, the light from its windows is barely visible through the blowing snow.
A quiet place, it often serves as a refuge for the sons of a family whose lives are anything but. Battered and worn by their struggles, they come seeking peace, trying to free themselves from the powerful tidal forces that shape their lives.
But the escape is always temporary, a momentary respite at best. Eventually, inevitably, the world calls them back.
***
Drying the last of the supper dishes, Domino sighed as she gazed out the window at the falling snow. The last time she'd seen so much snow had been nine years ago, on a mission to Russia with the Six-Pack. She'd done so much complaining about the cold that Hammer and Kane had finally gotten her drunk and left her tied up in the hotel room while they took care of the assignment alone.
Nathan had verbally flayed them for it when he and the rest of the team had arrived. Reckless self-indulgence was the kindest thing he'd said. Of course, as scathing as his tongue-lashing had been--and Kane had been so mortified that he hadn't said a word on the flight back to the States--it had been nothing compared to the revenge she had later exacted.
Reminiscing about more exciting days did little to improve her mood, Domino acknowledged wryly. She and Nathan had been here visiting his great-grandparents, Phillip and Deborah Summers, for almost two weeks now. In that time, she'd seen the sun on a grand total of two days--the first two days of their visit. The weather had stayed clear for just long enough to let Jean, Scott, Logan, and Bishop fly back to Westchester on schedule. Then the snow had started.
She should be pleased. Enforced isolation was exactly what Nathan needed. It forced him to stay put, to rest. And as everyone involved had pointed out, rest and quiet were absolutely essential to his recovery. He certainly wouldn't be able to get either back at the mansion. Domino's expression darkened as she remembered how close they'd come to losing him after that mess with Sinister in Alberta.
You mean how close YOU came to losing him, a dry voice in her mind corrected. She didn't bother to deny it, not even to herself. The events of the last six weeks had been eye-opening, to say the least.
It had started innocuously enough, she supposed. Nathan had been sent to help Logan and Bishop track down a pair of mutant bank robbers. It sounded almost like a bad Western. But the mission had gone from difficult to a first-class fiasco when they'd discovered the younger of the two criminals, a girl named Regina Bell, was not just a misguided and powerful young psi, but a clone of Rachel Summers. And not surprisingly, Sinister had been behind it all.
Bishop and Logan had been curiously vague about the events of that night. All that Domino knew for sure was that Nathan, shot and blinded by one of Sinister's damned Marauder clones, had tried to protect the girl against her companion, Andrew Taylor, a mutant with a plasma-blasting power similar to Havok's. Badly injured in the fight, Nathan had been saved by the timely arrival of the X-Men. But in the subsequent battle with the Marauders, Nathan had been forced to throw up a TK shield to protect Scott and Sam. The shield had been violently shattered by the Marauder Harpoon, and the feedback had nearly done the same to Nathan's mind.
He'd barely survived the trip back to the mansion. Alerted through their psi-link, she'd made her way there and used their bond to pull him out of psionic shock, while Dana Hawkes, a mutant healer and one of the newest X-Men, had repaired the more mundane damage. All that was left of what had nearly killed him were blurred vision, a lingering exhaustion he couldn't quite shake, and mental defenses so weak that he'd be easy prey for another telepath with hostile intentions. Hell, she wasn't even sure if he could handle a crowd without losing both his shields and his self-control!
Still, if the weather had been better, Domino wouldn't have trusted him to stay out of trouble. She knew him too well for that. So, the situation should have been ideal. Too bad she had to be around to mess things up. Letting the water out of the sink, she sighed again. Sitting around like a useless lump had never been her favorite non-activity. It wasn't that she didn't want to spend time with him. She did, more than anything. But as the days went by and the snow confined them to the house and the immediate area, she began to feel more and more trapped. And with his shielding so weak, he couldn't keep her restless anxiety at arm's length.
Which was why he was out there in the teeth of a storm, trying to meditate. She told herself sternly to stop worrying. It would just add more turmoil to the psychic atmosphere. Besides, Nathan had more than enough people trying to mother him these days.
"Domino?" Deborah Summers walked into the kitchen, and sighed as she saw the younger woman at the sink. "You didn't need to do those dishes, you know."
Domino smiled at Nathan's great-grandmother. She liked Deborah a great deal. For a woman whose family had been through so many tragedies, Deborah was warm, witty, and remarkably well-adjusted. "Yes, I did," she said firmly. "It's only good manners to help out your hosts, especially when you've been imposing on their hospitality for this long."
"It's no imposition, dear," Deborah assured her, going over and putting the kettle on for tea. "Besides, the two of you are family. We've enjoyed having you here very much." Opening the cupboard, she frowned as she took out the teapot. "Phillip's used up all the Earl Grey again, I see. That man! He just couldn't have told me that the last time we were in town, could he? Camomile all right?"
"Sounds good," Domino said wryly. "I think my nerves could use some calming." She hung up the dishtowel and sat down at the kitchen table. "It's a common complaint from people who spend too much time with your great-grandson."
Deborah chuckled. "You poor girl. Jean and I are the lucky ones, I think. Phillip and Scott are very much alike. Steady, dependable, even a little sedate. But from what I've seen of Nathan, he takes after his grandfather--my son Chris."
"That's Corsair, right? The leader of the Starjammers?"
"My son, the interstellar pirate," Deborah said with a smile. "That should tell you everything you need to know." She shook her head. "I think I'll give you the same advice I gave Kate when I first met her. Men like Nathan and Chris are very easy to love, but seven different kinds of hell to live with."
Domino grinned ruefully as Deborah came over and joined her at the table. "You certainly have a way with words, Deborah. I hope I get to meet your son, someday."
Deborah's answering smile was almost wicked. "That might be interesting. You and Hepzibah could compare notes." Domino couldn't help blushing, and Deborah gave her a repentant look. "Sorry, dear. I really shouldn't say things like that." She graciously changed the subject. "Speaking of Nathan, did he go upstairs to rest after dinner? He was looking a little pale."
"No, actually," Domino said, wincing. She wasn't looking forward to Deborah's reaction, or the request for an explanation that would inevitably follow. "He went outside."
Deborah nearly fell out of her chair. "He's out there--in that?" she said in disbelief. "Of all the--he's liable to get hypothermia or something!"
"No one ever said he was unusually gifted with common sense, Deborah."
**
The wind shrieked and the snow blew wildly around him, but Nathan Summers didn't notice the cold. Supporting himself with his telekinesis, he hovered above the ground in the classic posture of Askani meditation. But he was not meditating. His mind was turned not inwards but outwards, onto the astral plane.
In Alberta, he'd used the astral plane to search for Gina, but this was the first time he'd returned since that night. Before she and the others had gone back home to the mansion, Jean had flat-out ordered him to stay off the astral plane until she said otherwise.
Recovery from psionic shock as severe as what you suffered is a tricky thing, Nate, she'd said sternly. It doesn't always follow a straight line. Traveling on the astral plane is enough of a strain on a healthy mind. I don't want you running into a hostile presence out there when you can't protect yourself.
Nathan felt a flicker of resentment at the memory of that and the host of other 'suggestions' Jean had delivered before leaving. But as he started sinking towards the ground, he quickly repressed the emotion. It was harder than it should have been, but eventually he stabilized himself in the air and let his mind continue to drift outwards.
The astral plane was as beautiful as he remembered, a world of turbulent color and sound with its own peculiar type of symmetry. He concentrated on keeping his shields up, vividly remembering the pain of being here unprotected. A neccessary evil, of course--he couldn't have found Gina with his shields up--but even a few moments longer would have done as much damage to his mind as the shattering of his TK shield had, later that night. Despite her lack of diplomacy, Jean had been right. He knew damned well that his mind was still healing, and couldn't take that kind of stress yet. A relapse would be no fun at all.
But Jean didn't understand that he needed to test himself. He couldn't just sit back and wait for this all to go away. Worst of all, he felt like he hadn't been making any progress lately, as if his recovery had hit a plateau. So now that I'm here, where do I go? he asked himself ironically. The logical thing would be to contact a familiar telepath, to test how far he could reach. He could already feel another headache starting, so whatever he was going to do, he had to do it soon.
Jean wasn't an option, for obvious reasons. He toyed with the idea of looking for Psylocke--but no, Betsy would probably just turn around and tell Jean. He needed to find someone else, someone--
Oh, perfect. He even had an excuse. Smiling, he reached out and located Emma Frost. She wasn't hard to find. A telepath so powerful stood out amid the chaos of the astral plane like a beacon. Still, he waited for a moment to make sure his shields were as steady as possible before he made contact. Despite her time teaching the GenX kids, he still didn't entirely trust the former White Queen. They had far too much history between them for that.
He reached out and touched the icy blue glow of her mind briefly, the telepathic equivalent of a knock on the door. It startled her, and he withdrew to a polite distance.
#Is that you, Cable?# she asked, and he sent back a wordless assent. #What on earth are you doing? I thought you were in Alaska?#
#I'm just getting some exercise,# he answered. #I thought I'd check up on Gina. How's she doing?#
#She's settling in just fine,# Emma replied, but her 'voice' sounded disapproving. #You could have used the telephone, you know. Oh, I see. Hmmph--I thought Jean was more subtle than that. Even I know better than to tell my students not to do something unless I'm trying to get them to turn right around and do it as soon as my back's turned.# Feeling her presence move closer, he instinctively flinched away. He heard her sigh. #Calm down, Nathan. I'm just checking your shields. If you're so determined to test yourself, let's do it properly.# He felt a distinct flash of irritation from her as he continued to hold back, unsure. #Good Lord, are you still holding a grudge about that? It was all Blaquesmith's fault, you know. I never wanted to hurt you. You just got in my way at the worst possible moment.#
#If that's your version of an apology, Emma, save your breath,# he snapped back at her. #Let's just get this over with.# It took every bit of self-control he had to let her proceed. He felt a gentle pressure against his shield. After a moment, she withdrew, and he relaxed. Then she came back with a lightning-fast probe--a probe only, not a full-fledged attack--that nevertheless went straight through his shields.
She pulled it as soon as his shields buckled, but Nathan was still buffeted by the full ferocity of the astral plane, blown like a leaf on the wind as he tried to raise a least a rudimentary set of defenses. Pain rolled over him in waves, and he continued to fall helplessly through the raging sea of humanity's mass conciousness.
Until Emma caught him in a psi-link, drawing him inside her own shields to give him the chance to recover.
#Damn it, Emma--#
#Don't swear at me, you lackwit! For the love of God, Cable, I know you're new at this, but I would expect you to have a little more sense than the children I'm teaching!# she said scathingly.
He pulled away from her sharply, ignoring what he knew was going to be a punishing headache when he got back to his body. His shields were flickering in and out, but he'd rather deal with that then with Emma. Self-righteous, razor-tongued shrew--she was probably enjoying this to no end. #Well, I'm not one of your students, woman, so spare me the bloody lecture!#
A ripple of sudden amusement from his direction startled him. #All right, I apologize,# she sent, and he reached out tenatively, shocked to feel the real sincerity in her words. #I understand it must be frustrating for you, but you really shouldn't be here. I'd say the psychic 'quiet' up there in Alberta has fooled you into thinking you're in better shape than you are. Your shields are paper-thin--if you ran into any kind of trouble out here, you'd have virtually no way to defend yourself.#
Nathan considered her words for a moment, and was reluctantly forced to admit she was right. His shields wouldn't stabilize, and he could feel his focus going. He had to get back to his body--unfortunately, he didn't think he could do it himself.
#Would you--#
#Of course,# she said quickly, sensing what he was going to ask. She reached out to him again, and he let himself be drawn into a limited psi-link, amazed that she hadn't rubbed it in. Maybe she really had changed.
Together, they skimmed across the astral plane, headed back in the direction he'd come. Nathan hoped Domino hadn't felt what was going on. When he'd first gone onto the astral plane, he'd tried to close off their psi-link so she wouldn't be alarmed if she felt him 'fading away', but he wasn't sure how successful he'd been.
#You need to give yourself time, Nathan,# Emma said suddenly. Her voice was almost hesitant, as if she wasn't sure how he'd take her advice. #Things like this won't go away overnight.# He heard something that sounded like a chuckle. #You may be a novice when it comes to your powers, but you have other sources of discipline. Use them.#
#That's a good point,# he admitted, surprised by the openness and real concern he sensed from her. This was definitely not the Emma he'd known from the days when he'd tangled with the Hellfire Club. Of course, Nathan could speak from personal experience of the salutary effect the role of teacher could have on one's character. #You're not mellowing on me, are you, Frost?#
#Hardly,# she said primly. #But your little friend Gina would be absolutely devastated if anything happened to you, so try to be a little more careful. She's a promising student, you know. Real potential in that girl, clone or not.# They stopped, and Nathan looked down at the astral-plane reflection of his body, hovering above the snow-covered hillside. #Some real meditation might be a good idea,# she said dryly.
With that, she left him, before he could even say goodbye. Returning to his body, he shook his head ruefully as he righted himself and floated down to the ground. Well, at least she's not liable to go running to Jean.
He glanced up at the sky, sighing at the thick cloud cover. If this kind of weather went on for much longer, either Dom was going to go crazy or she was going to drive him insane. Slowly heading back up the hill towards the house, Nathan toyed with the idea of trying to teleport them somewhere tomorrow. Into Anchorage for dinner, perhaps--
What are you doing out there, you idiot? Domino suddenly snarled.
He jumped, but answered her in as level a tone as he could muster. #Meditating. I told you that.#
Like hell you were meditating! Explain the headache I suddenly seem to be sharing, then!
"Crap," he growled aloud. His attempt to block their psi-link must have been successful, or he would have heard from her earlier; meditation always interfered with the link, so she wouldn't have been overly alarmed by the quiet from his end. But when he'd returned to his body, he'd absently opened the link back up again, and his headache had given him away.
#Look, Dom, I was just--#
I don't particularly care what you THOUGHT you were doing! she seethed, sounding absolutely enraged. Are you TRYING to push yourself into a relapse? He felt her trying to get control of herself, but when she continued, her voice was only marginally calmer. Get your techno-organic ass back in this house before I come out after you!
#I am NOT coming back in there until you get over your little temper tantrum!# he snarled, wincing as he felt his shields flutter erratically. Shit, I don't need this!
Fine! Freeze then, you stubborn son of a bitch!
About to make a sharp retort, he stopped, frowning. What the hell is that? Off in the distance, he could 'hear' a sound like the rumble of thunder. But it wasn't a telepathic noise--it was deeper, harsher, and he didn't so much hear it as feel it in his bones. The rumble got louder, and he fought back a sudden, irrational surge of panic.
But not in time to prevent it from being passed along his psi-link with Dom. Nate? she asked, the anger gone from her voice. What's wrong?
#I'm not sure, Dom. There's something--#
The rumble became a roar, and suddenly his vision seemed to double. He could still see the snow-covered hills, but at the same time, he was watching a wave of greenish energy sweeping towards him. Its passage left no mark on the land, but he desperately threw up a telekinetic shield, suspecting that its effect on him would not be so benign.
The shield didn't even slow it down. The world seemed to turn upside-down and inside-out for a brief moment as the wave passed through him, and stunned, he toppled into the snow, realizing too late what it was. Not psionic energy. Temporal energy--
***
Domino lept out of her chair, knocking over her cup of tea in her haste to get outside. She heard Deborah shouting after her, but paid no attention as she struggled into her coat and boots, flung open the door, and ran out into the storm.
Could someone have attacked him? she thought frantically. She hadn't heard anything, but there could be an army out here in all this snow and she wouldn't have known. "Nathan!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "Nathan, answer me!"
She'd felt a sudden anxiety from him, then growing uneasiness as he'd answered her question. Then a stab of outright terror just before the psi-link had gone silent.
Surely he couldn't be far, she told herself. But the snow was so heavy, she could barely see a foot in front of her face. "Nathan!" She reached out along their psi-link, praying for some sign, the faintest flicker of a response that would point her in his direction.
#Dom--# The voice in her head was weak, but audible. She gasped, looking around wildly, but then felt herself being drawn down the hill. It seemed like forever before she saw him on his knees in the snow. She floundered through the hip-high drifts, cursing him and the weather and everything else she could think of that might be responsible for this.
"Nathan!" she gasped, almost falling at his side. "What happened? Are you all right?" His expression was strangely dazed, and she reached up and took his face between her hands, scowling worriedly. "Nathan, are you hearing me? Say something!"
"Temporal energy," he said in an odd voice. "A--wave of it. I must be sensitive to it, with all the time-travel I've done." He looked down at her, and she saw fear in his eyes like she'd never seen before. "I heard it, and then I saw it--"
"Nathan, I don't--" She closed her eyes for a moment, telling herself to calm down. "I didn't hear or see anything from the house," she finally said, looking back up at him. "Are you absolutely sure of what you saw?"
"It was--out of phase," he continued, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Half-in, half-out of our reality--but the damage it could have done if it was in synch with us--" He suddenly got a determined look on his face that she knew all too well. "I have to find out what's happening," he said stubbornly, struggling to his feet. "That could have been a time-quake, Dom. I have to stop whoever's doing this--"
"No, you don't!" she snapped, grabbing his arm. He looked down at her hand as if baffled. "We're going to march right back into that house, call the X-Men, and let them deal with it!" His eyes flashed with fury and he wrenched away, glaring at her.
"Dom, someone's playing with the timestream!" he shouted over the howl of the wind. "I can't just sit here and--"
"That is exactly what you're going to do!" she shrieked, at the end of her rope. "Goddamn it, Nathan, wasn't what happened in Alberta enough for you! I am NOT going to let you run off and try to get yourself killed again--"
His expression suddenly changed. He reached down and touched her cheek gently. #You're crying,# his voice said wonderingly in her head.
Don't be stupid, she responded in the same fashion, blinking furiously. The wind's making my eyes water, that's all. Nevertheless, she wiped them rather hastily. Are we going to go inside and talk about this? she persisted.
#If you like,# he said with entirely uncharacteristic agreeability. Before she could respond, he slid an arm around her shoulders and drew her in close, creating a partial telekinetic shield around them to keep off the snow. At the same time, she felt him draw back from their psi-link, but not before she caught a flash of what he was thinking.
Oh, I don't think so, Nathan, she thought grimly, and made a mental note not to let him out of her sight until she talked some sense into him. Because even if she had to break a chair over his head, she was not going to let him teleport himself out of here.
***
Amid the crowds and noise of London's Heathrow International Airport, a thin, dark-haired man in a rumpled suit waited impatiently to board a plane for America. Pacing back and forth in one of the waiting areas, he eyed the departures screen impatiently, willing it to change. It didn't.
"Bloody mechanical problems," Pete Wisdom growled, fingering the package of cigarettes in his pocket longingly. And if the delay wasn't bad enough, the only plane he'd been able to get a seat on was an Air Canada 747. Which meant no smoking, not even on a transatlantic flight. "Sodding fascists," he muttered, forcing himself to stop pacing and sit down. "I hate this," he said balefully, ignoring the curious looks he got from a few of the people around him. "Mind your own business," he growled at one young family who were watching him nervously. Hurriedly, they looked away. Their child, a boy of about five, looked like he was going to cry. Pete almost groaned, feeling like an ogre. But his manners always suffered when he was under stress, and if today's events didn't class as stressful, he didn't know what would.
He'd barely had time to throw a few things together before leaving Muir Island for London, and he still wasn't sure exactly how he'd managed to get out of there without explaining himself to MacTaggert or Wagner. Luck of the gods, he supposed. But he was grateful for it. Both of them would have demanded details, and he simply hadn't had the time or inclination to explain. When Dunworthy called, he came. When Dunworthy told him to play messenger boy, he pretended to like it. He had an unpaid debt on his conscience, and until he discharged it, he couldn't say no. Not to Dunworthy--not to any of them.
For the first time since he'd been briefed, Pete let himself think of the information he was carrying. "Bloody hell," he said very quietly, sinking his face into his hands. Which were shaking, he realized with a certain amount of disgust. "Damn you, old man. How did I ever let you get me involved in this?" Ten years ago, he'd already had enough of a deathwish to actually enjoy this bloody idiocy, but now he had something to live for. That is, if she doesn't kill me when she finds out about this--
"You shouldn't swear," came a child's clear voice from in front of him. Pete looked up swiftly, and growled at the bright-eyed little girl who stood there, gazing at him curiously. Maybe eight or nine, she looked much too young to be wandering around an airport by herself.
"Didn't your mother teach you not to talk to strangers, you little pip?" he asked pointedly. She smiled at him, and he groaned. Just what I need. Whatever happened to the idea that children should be seen and not heard? "Go walk in front of a plane or something. Leave me alone."
"I'm going to Vancouver," she said cheerfully. Pete noticed she had a definite Canadian accent.
"That wasn't a request for information, you--"
"I was over here visiting my dad--he's a Rhodes scholar at Oxford--but now I have to go back home to my mom." She hesitated for a moment. "My mom wouldn't come. She said my dad's a selfish S.O.B who thinks his career's more important than us."
Pete raised an eyebrow. "You just told me not to swear," he pointed out ironically.
"I didn't swear," she said innocently. "It was a eufa--a euphemism." She smiled at him. "I like big words."
Pete gritted his teeth. Nosy and precocious. Charming. "Listen, you hypocritical little mite, shouldn't a stewardess have you on a leash or something?"
"Melissa!" came an agitated voice, and a very attractive flight attendant in an Air Canada uniform came running towards them. "There you are! How could you run off like that?"
Pete eyed the woman thoughtfully. She was an eyeful, but nothing compared to Kitty. She smoothed back her short dark hair and gave him a flustered look of apology.
"I'm so dreadfully sorry, sir. I should have been keeping a closer eye on her--"
"It's all right," he said magnanimously. "She's a slippery one, I can tell." Melissa made a face at him and Pete gave her a pleasant grimace. Just then, a pleasant female voice announced over the P.A. that pre-boarding for Air Canada flight 106 was about to begin. Pete immediately rose, lifting his bag. "Well, there's my flight--"
"And ours, too," the stewardess said with visible relief. Pete cringed, but the stewardess didn't notice. "Come on, Melissa," she said almost imperiously, taking a firm grip on the child's hand. "I need to put you on the plane now."
"But I want to--"
"NOW, Melissa!" The stewardess shot an apologetic look over her shoulder. "Again, sir, I'm so sorry--"
"Quite all right," Pete said, and beat a hasty retreat. Boarding went by swiftly, as if they were trying to make up for the long delay, and Pete soon found himself comfortably ensconced in a window seat in the coach section. The aisle seat was taken up by a serious-looking young woman who gave him a single measuring look and then buried her nose in a history book so thick it could have doubled as a doorstep.
The middle seat was empty. Pete was actually beginning to think that he might be able to get some sleep on the flight when another stewardess showed up. This one was a real old battleaxe wtih a face that reminded him of the crochety old nun from 'The Sound of Music'. And in her wake came the girl, Melissa. The stewardess put her very firmly in the empty seat.
"Hi," Melissa said brightly as the stewardess did up her seatbelt. "I was supposed to be back in economy, but there weren't enough seats."
"Ah," Pete said. I'll just bet there weren't enough seats, he thought malevolently. Some poor bloke probably threatened to commit suicide if they didn't move you. "Splendid. Bloody well splendid. I think several drinks would definitely be in order." The stewardess gave him a reproving look and left.
The plane took off, and Melissa peppered the girl with the history book with a thousand equally pert questions. Pete sighed, telling himself to enjoy it while he could. Eventually, she'd get tired of being ignored--the girl with the history book apparently had marvelous powers of concentration--and start pestering him.
But left to his own thoughts, he immediately began to brood over what Dunworthy had told him. Why now? he thought restlessly. What did we miss, that none of us got wind of this until it had gone this far? Too far to stop, perhaps, no matter what any of them might try to do. Pete felt some amusement at the direction of his own thoughts. Since when did you start counting yourself as a member of that particular team, old chap? He reached into his pocket and took out the medallion.
Most people who carried the damned thing looked on it as some kind of holy symbol. But to him, it was little more than a good-luck charm, a gift from an old friend. No--more than that, Pete admitted to himself. Carried in his pocket rather than around his neck, it reminded him that he was in this for personal reasons, not out of some misguided sense of religious enthusiasm. To turn Dunworthy's favorite saying on its head, he was here because of the man, not the mission.
Of course, there were other good reasons not to wear the medallion openly. To paraphrase Kitty, it would have been like wearing a sign saying 'Come and Kill Me' around his neck. Trust me to find the one group with more enemies than the X-Men. He'd been careful to keep it out of Kitty's hands, of course. The thought of her finding out about this part of his past before he could explain it--Pete shuddered.
"That's pretty," Melissa said abruptly, snatching it from him. "It's like a silver medal, but smaller. And how come you don't have it on a chain? It's pretty. You should wear it."
"Give that back, you fardling little--" Melissa pouted, but when he scowled down at her, she handed it over without any further protest.
"What's on it?" she asked in a subdued voice, and Pete started to feel like a bit of an ogre again. After all, the girl was just being curious. "It looks like a bird."
He stared down at the medallion in his hand, feeling yet again the odd warmth in the silver, almost as if it were alive. A magic all its own, Nathan had said with an odd smile as he'd given it to him.
"Not quite," he said absently. "It's a phoenix."
***
Tumbling back into normal space on a deserted road, surrounded by trees on both sides, she felt dizzy, even nauseous. The light of her passage lingered in the air, and she couldn't repress a groan of despair as she saw that she was definitely not where she was supposed to be.
Bright Lady preserve me, she thought miserably. Her thoughts still in turmoil from the sensory overload of the time-jump, she couldn't imagine what might have gone wrong. A problem with the coordinates? No, she had watched Boak triple-check them. Uneasiness crept over her as she wondered if the temporal interference they had been monitoring had thrown her off-course.
"What is, is," she muttered to herself, disgusted by how unsure her voice sounded. The voice of the senior Sister who had been her instructor for this mission echoed in her head, repeating over and over again the first rule of time travel. Ascertain your temporal location. "Enough of this dithering," she told herself sternly.
Turning around slowly in a circle, she stared into the night sky, and finally saw a glow on the western horizon as her eyes adjusted. The lights of a city, perhaps? The road beneath her feet was dirt, so it could really be anytime in the twentieth century--or even before. There wasn't even a road sign within view that she might use to gauge what year she was in.
Sighing, she stepped off the road and sat down cross-legged in the meditative position. It took her a few moments to calm herself sufficiently, but she slowly rose into the air, sending her mind outwards to search for him. For a moment she hesitated, almost nervous at the thought of touching his mind. Then, she could almost hear the Mother Askani laugh at the notion.
Never forget he is as human as you, daughters, for all the hope we place in him, she had told them one night. He possesses as many irritating traits as noble ones--and his humanity, in the end, will be our salvation.
She smiled almost wistfully. She'd been gone only moments, and already she missed her Sisters. But she had a job to do here, a mission of her own to complete. Focusing, she picked through the thoughts she heard, and grew increasingly troubled. From the tone of the psychic atmosphere, this was the right era, but the timelines were so dense in the late twentieth century, it was impossible to tell if she was in the right one. And if the temporal interference had thrown her off-course, she very well may have jumped cross-time as well as back. In that case, she might be--too late.
"No," she grated, and let herself drop gracefully to the ground. "I will not fail." She hadn't found him, true, but there were other possibilities, other paths she could follow. The Mother Askani's words echoed in her mind.
If all else fails, go to the Source. At this time, he should not be far away.
Focusing, she teleported--but instead of the graceful house and manicured lawns she had seen in the Mother Askani's memories, she found herself in a strange room. A bank of windows looked down on a street crowded with machines that roared like Infinite warcraft.
"Who the hell are you?" a voice snarled. Whirling, she saw a young man standing at the foot of the spiral stairs. Muscular, handsome, he had a white streak in his brown hair and one eye that glowed gold. Half-clothed, he looked disoriented and very angry.
Too young! she thought frantically. Bright Lady! This isn't him, it's the Other!
"I am a friend--" was all she got out before he attacked. She barely got a telekinetic shield up in time. Still, the ferocity of his attack staggered her. Mistake and abomination he might be, but he still had all the power of the Askani'son--if markedly less discipline. "Wait, fool!" she snarled. She would not be another one of his victims--
"I don't think so," he said, the look in his eyes wild. She touched his mind tenatively, and recoiled at the chaos she saw there. Pain, confusion--but not his own. She saw the remains of an involuntary psi-link, the channel through which the boy's mind had been injured. No, she almost moaned, realizing what had happened. The psi-link had been with Dayspring; what had happened to this boy was only a reflection of something far worse that had happened to the Chosen One.
The Mother Askani had warned her that there were unseen variables at work in this nexus. But she couldn't have meant anything like this! To have done so much damage to the boy, whatever Dayspring had suffered had to have been very nearly fatal. Terror surged up within her, but she fought to control it, telling herself that he could not be dead. Such an unforeseen and disastrous nexus would have warped every timeline in this period, and the retrocognitives who had scanned the timestream for her destination could not possibly have missed seeing it. No, he could not be dead. Injured, yes; in terrible danger as a result, yes. But not dead.
"Listen, boy," she said through gritted teeth, easily finding the words. She didn't like this language--it sounded harsh and flat to ears used to the musical Askani tongue--but her facility with it showed that the Mother Askani's psi-link had managed to pass on the information neccessary to this mission. "You are unwell." Not that she particularly cared--it would be better for everyone if he died before he could do any further damage to the timestream--but she had to deal with him and get back to her mission. "I can help you, if you let me--"
The next attack blew her right through the windows. As she fell backwards, towards the street below, she frantically teleported. With no clear destination in mind, she fell back to instinct, and let need guide her. If the boy's condition was any indication, the Askani'son was in very grave danger.
***
"My lady? Will that be all for tonight?" the servitor inquired hesitantly.
"Yes," said the woman who called herself Golden, without turning away from the window. "No--wait." The servitor froze, a look of naked terror on his face. Slowly, Golden turned towards the man, smilng faintly. "Tell Dirk to report to me at dawn. I have an assignment for him."
"Yes, my lady," the servitor almost squeaked. Slowly, languidly, Golden moved towards him. Dressed in only the flimsiest of robes, her long gilt hair falling loose down her back, she was almost ethereal in the moonlight. Only if one watched the way she moved, sinuous and deadly, like a cobra about to strike, was her true nature visible.
"Tell me, little man. Do you find me--attractive?" She concentrated for a moment, activating her mutant power. The servitor's mind was pitifully weak, easily overwhelmed. The look of fear on his face turned to adoration. He opened his mouth to swear his undying love, but Golden abruptly tired of the game. There was no challenge in it. "Go away," she said contemptuously, and returned to the window.
She hated this place. Her lord considered Easter Island to be a perfect example of his philosophy in practice. The humans who had once lived here had been proved unfit, he claimed. They had been conquered by their trials, rather than rising above them to become the conqueror. All of which was true, but Golden felt uneasy in a place like this, so isolated from everything. Her personality as well as her mutant power made her a natural centre of attention, but who was here to see that? To worship her as she deserved to be worshipped? A few servitors, the techs--I could always play with the Dark Riders, she thought wryly. But they were weak as well, easy prey.
Golden wanted something better. A mind of power and passion that she could shape to her desires. A toy of quality.
She sighed, squinting at the ocean in the direction of the undersea base. The machine was coming along well, and would soon be completed. Judging by the first test sequence, it was functioning as expected. Maybe when it was completed, Lord Apocalypse would reward her with a posting back to civilization.
Still, she wished something, anything would happen. She was confident of her ability to fend off even the most determined enemy, and a little trouble would alleviate the boredom.
The most determined enemy-- A tantalizing possibility occured to her. Would Dayspring discover what she was doing? Lord Apocalypse had warned her that it might be so. She was constantly amazed by the cautious respect with which her master regarded his timewalking enemy.
If he did discover her operation here, he would certainly attempt to interfere. A smile curved her full lips. Oh, I do hope he does. Perhaps the machine would not be her only gift to Lord Apocalypse.
to be continued...
[FOOTER]