Chapter Eight

Marta rose slowly to bleary consciousness, only to find she had a splitting headache and a fat lip. Her tongue felt thick and fuzzy, and tasted like a sock that hadn't been washed for a week, and her normally sharp eyes kept shifting in and out of focus.

Groaning softly, she tried to touch her tender jaw with her hand, but to her surprise her arm wouldn't move. Something was restraining her…thick metal bands around her hands and feet, strapped across her waist….

"What the…?" she slurred groggily, pulling harder at her restraints. When they didn't budge, she scrunched up her face, her muzzy brain slowly awakening to the reality of her situation.

She was strapped to a cold, metal slab, which was holding her up at an 80 degree angle. The chamber was cavernous and dark, but Marta could see just fine with her night-adapted green eyes. The vast room was filled with all manner of complicated-looking electronic equipment, and a number of cloudy mirrors lined the thick, stone walls. Scattered throughout the cluttered space were a number of spheres. Some were metal, some were glass, but all were highly polished and supported above the spotless stone floor by intricately wrought metallic rods.

"How in the world did I get here?" Marta wondered to herself, squinting her eyes in surprise as she caught sight of her blurry reflection in one of the cloudy gray mirrors. "Oh, this is ridiculous. I look like a prisoner in a James Bond movie."

Turning her head as far as it would go, she scanned the walls for any sign of a door. After a moment, she spotted one, her eyes drawn to the thin strip of light filtering in from the bottom. Focusing her concentration, she activated a teleport...

Only to scream in alarmed pain as a strong electrical current hit her, channeled through the metal straps encompassing her arms and legs. The last thing she heard before she passed out was a strange, snuffling, high-pitched laugh as the door she had been aiming for creaked open.


"…in with the othersss, yesss. And ssso the mossst powerful of the bunch isss mine at lassst!"

The world was upside-down, and it was SWAYING back and forth, up and down, like a tiny boat in the middle of a storm. Feeling disoriented and somewhat sea-sick, Marta pried open her green eyes to come face to face with a shark's fin, and below that, a thick, swaying gray tail poking out of a pair of garishly yellow shorts.

She was being carried over someone's shoulder. Someone who had smooth gray skin and smelled faintly of dried seaweed. Marti wrinkled her nose, her own tail lurching somewhat in discomfort. Whoever this someone was, he had to be some kind of mutant. But why would he want to kidnap her?

"In ssshe goesss now---sss---" the shark-man hissed. Marta recognized the same nasal voice that had been speaking when she first woke up. "Into the cage with the othersss---sss---like a good girl."

"Good girl?" Marti mouthed to herself, the words incensing her even more than the slowly dawning understanding that she had been kidnapped. Instantly, she began to struggle, aiming to wrap her tail around her captor's neck as she writhed, kicked, and punched at the creature's thick, gray skin.

"Who are you calling a 'good girl'?" she snapped, now using her tail as a whip as the creature held up his free arm to keep her away from his neck.

"Now now, teleporter-girl musssn't be naughty," the strange, shark-finned man grunted, his thin, sinewy arms grabbing a tight hold of her thrashing legs and tail. "In the cage---sss---you go!"

Marta instinctively tucked herself into a roll as her captor tossed her onto the rough, stone floor, hitting the ground and jumping back to her feet in one smooth, elegant movement just as her father had taught her. Unfortunately, the shark-creature seemed to be expecting something like that because his reaction time was remarkable. The iron-barred door to the cage had already been shut and locked in the few seconds it took Marta to charge at him. The creature laughed; the same snuffling, rusty laugh she had heard in that strange, cavernous room just before the shocking jolt of electricity had knocked her out.

"You don't seriously think that you can keep me in here," Marta scowled at him, clutching the bars so tightly her knuckles turned a pale blue.

"Oh, I do not think I can," the shark-man hissed, his beady red eyes glittering with glee. "I know it! Hear me girl, and hear me---sss---well. I am Ssshagreen the Sssorcerer, and you are in my sssanctum now!"

Marta opened her mouth to make a sharp retort, but before she could speak, the self-proclaimed sorcerer lifted a long, metal staff from the floor where it had fallen during her struggle and tapped it three times on the ground. A moment later, the shark-creature was gone, vanished in a blinding swirl of golden-orange energy.

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" Marta called after him, even though she knew she more than likely wouldn't be heard. Shaking her head in disgust, she focused her concentration on the open door at the far end of the incredibly long, tubular stone corridor and activated her power.

POOT!

"Excuse you," said a weary tenor voice from behind her.

Marta blinked, dizzy with disorientation as her nose filled with the stench of teleport smoke confined within too small a space. Swaying on her feet, she started to fall...

"Ooff!" grunted a small voice. She nearly jumped out of her fuzzy skin as she felt a tiny pair of three-fingered hands pressing against her lower back just above her tail, struggling to help her regain her balance. "Ooh, wow," the piping voice sighed once she could stand on her own again. "You're heavier than you look!"

"What the…" Marti started. Then she looked around, groaning with angry frustration as she realized where she was.

"It didn't work!" she exclaimed, her tail lashing anxiously behind her. "I'm still in this cell!" A horrible chill ran up her spine and clutched at her stomach as a sudden, disturbing thought occurred to her. "That shark-thing must have done something to me with that electric shock! I can't teleport!"

"Neither can I," the tiny voice told her. "None of us can in here."

Marta turned to face the speaker, her eyes widening as she came face to face--or rather, knee to face--with what looked to be a pint-sized version of her father, complete with his familiar red and black uniform. Casting her sharp gaze through the shadowy dimness of the cramped cell, she quickly noticed two other figures hunched against the stony walls. They both had her own dark, indigo coloring, which made it difficult even for her to make out their features with any clarity. The largest one had his knees pulled up to his chest, cradling a bulky bundle wrapped in what seemed to be a baggy, blue and green plaid button shirt, close in his arms. The second figure, and the hardest to make out, was standing in the far corner, all but invisible in the dimness.

Turning back to the tiny individual who had spoken, she said, "Excuse me, but what are you?"

The fuzzy little fellow grinned, his golden eyes crinkling slightly under his curly hair. "Why, I'm a Bamf!" he told her with a sweeping bow. "And what might you be?"

"My name's Marta," she told the Bamf, befuddlement warring with utter fascination in her glowing green eyes. "Marta Wagner."

"You're a girl?" The tallest figure stood slightly unsteadily, gazing at her with golden eyes wide in chagrin and surprise. "I'm sorry, did you say you're name is Wagner?"

Marta stared at him, her stomach twisting uncomfortably at the sound of his all-too-familiar German accent. "Yes," she nodded, her tail latching itself to her ankle. "Marta Wagner. And your name would be…Kurt?"

He nodded, biting his lip slightly. "But you're English."

"And you're German," she frowned, confused by his confusion. "What of it?"

Even in the darkness she could see his answering frown as he awkwardly shifted the bundle in his arms. "How did you know my name?"

Marta looked at him for a long moment, trying to imagine what his reaction might be if she told him the truth. Then she shrugged and said, "Call it a hunch. So, how long have you been here?"

"I don't know." He went gracefully to one knee and set the bundle down gently. "There's no way to tell." Then he gave a weary sigh and picked it up again as a thin wail came from the folds of the shirt. "I'm sorry, I was going to offer you a hand, but..." He looked down at the bundle and shrugged self-consciously.

Marti furrowed her brow. "A hand?" she repeated, uncomprehending. "A hand for what-oh!" Suddenly understanding dawned, and with it a sharp flash of annoyance.

"No, I don't need any assistance, thank you very much," she said primly. "That attempted teleport just made me a bit disoriented, that's all. That and the fact that the magnetic fields around this place are completely off kilter. Do you have any idea where we are?"

"In the lair of a madman," said Kurt grimly, standing and absently rocking the small being in his arms. "A monster that experiments on little kids."

"Little kids?" Marta frowned, looking to the taller boy as if for permission before tentatively folding the crumpled shirt aside. A pair of big, golden eyes blinked up at her from the dimness, surrounded by an unruly mop of curly, indigo hair. Marta blinked in surprise, looking from the chubby-faced toddler to the teenaged Kurt, then back to the toddler.

"Mein Gott," she breathed, unconsciously imitating her father's characteristic German expressions as she always did when she was alarmed. "Are you saying that shark-creature has…" She trailed off, her green eyes wide as she swallowed. "What kind of a nutter is he? What's he after? Surely a child as young as this can't teleport."

"He could," said the young Kurt grimly. "The Bamf says he used to be really proud of it." He pushed the shirt down further, exposing stitches on the pale, shaven skin of the child's pudgy tummy. "I guess this is what Sharkey's planning for us, too." His mouth twisted, showing a trace of her father's never-say-die humor. "It won't be as easy as he thinks."

The little one whimpered then, creasing his face fearfully and thrusting the tip of his tail into his mouth with one small, scarred hand. Kurt covered him again and held him close, murmuring soothingly in German.

Marta's lips tightened and her eyes stung as the small boy's action reminded her strongly of her little brother. Straightening her shoulders, she turned sharp eyes on the teenaged Kurt Wagner, determination etching her fuzzy face in firm lines.

"You've said it, mate," she said. "That Shagreen whats-his-name is not going to turn me into a guinea pig! We need a plan. What's this guy's objective? Do you know?"

"He wants to bamf," the little Bamf piped up, throwing his arms out wide.

Kurt nodded, his thin face sharp with anger and concern. "Yeah. That's what he wants. You should hear him monologue about it."

"Phoneyboggie telling truth," a dark, hissing voice slithered out from the shadows at the back of the cell. Marta gave a startled jump despite herself. She'd completely forgotten about the hunched figure in the corner. Kurt noticed, favoring her with a small, understanding smile.

"That's a Boggie," he whispered, clearly unwilling to annoy the strange, skinny creature. "He's been in here longer than any of us."

The Boggie stepped forward on long, spindly bow legs, his spaded tail twitching behind him in agitation. Like the others, he was covered in fuzzy, indigo fur, but he was dressed only in a ragged red loincloth and floppy red shoes. Marta's eyes widened slightly as he raised an arm to clutch the bars, revealing a thin web of leathery skin stretching from his wrist to the bottom of his knobby ribcage. His pointed ears were almost comically overlarge, and his flat jaw jutted out under his broad, snub nose. A pair of pointed fangs stuck up from either side of his wide mouth. To Marta's mind, he looked more like an undernourished gremlin than someone she could recognize as a relation.

"Nastyface Shagreen searches for the secret of the fastpoof power," the spidery creature explained in his cryptic manner. "Thinks Phoneyboggies hold key. But old Sharpytooth not know where is key. So he cuts and pokes and hurts and shocks!"

He looked up at Marti then, his small yellow eyes narrowed into devious slits. "Now Nastyface catch girlie Phoneyboggy, he leave little cry-cry alone! Girlie Phoneyboggy holds great fastpoof powers. Nastyface very happy to have her, Nastyface very happy to have her, yes yes!"

Marta shivered slightly, thoroughly discomfited by the Boggie's odd pronouncement.

"Well, that's sealed it, then," she stated, trying to sound braver than she felt. "If we know that Sharky bloke is after me, then we can figure out a way to get round him. Does he have any routines you've noticed, any particular habits?"

"He never puts that staff down," said Kurt, sinking down into a crouch and making absent shushing noises as the toddler gave another faint wail. "But other than that he seems to pop in at any time, usually just when we've finally passed out." He frowned, the lost, worried look on his face reminding Marta of her father when she or her younger siblings were hurt or sick. She could see his exhaustion from the pallor of his skin under the short fur and the huge dark marks under his glowing eyes.

"He's creepy!" The Bamf shuddered expressively. "He LIKES scaring people."

The Boggie scowled derisively. "Stupidbamf scares too easy. Boggies not like Nastyface, but Boggies not fear him. Give him power, that would. Boggies know better, yes. Boggies stay away, hide from Nastyface. Give him much trouble, yes!"

Marta tilted her head, an idea starting to form in her mind. "So, there are more of you?" she asked curiously. The Boggie rolled his eyes.

"What, Girlie think there's only one?" he exclaimed. "How could this be? There are many, many Boggies. More than can be counted."

"That's interesting," Marta said with a small, thoughtful smile. "Very interesting indeed."

"Not as interesting as you might think," the Bamf spoke up, crossing his arms with a pronounced pout. "Boggies can't be trusted! Everybamf knows that!"

"Everybamf be stupid," the Boggie retorted with a huff. The Bamf's pout deepened into a glare.

"You better watch what you say about Bamfs," the pint-sized 'porter snapped, marching up to look the Boggie in the eye. Unfortunately, the little Bamf only came up to the creature's chest.

The Boggie clamped a bony, three-fingered hand over the Bamf's curly brow and unceremoniously pushed him over. "Boggie says what Boggie wants," he snorted, stomping sullenly back to his corner and flopping down.

The Bamf stuck his tongue out at him, picking his tiny self off the floor and brushing the dirt from his clothes.

"Knock it off, you two," said Kurt wearily, his face creasing as though in pain as the toddler began to cry in earnest, weak sobs that barely shook his wrappings. "Not again. Please, don't cry. We're trying to think of something."

The little one's only reply was to hiccup and give a thin whimper of pain as the motion pulled at his stitches.

Kurt groaned and looked at Marta beseechingly. "Do you know what to do?"

"Boggie know how to handle cry-cry, yes," the gruff, serpentine voice spoke up once more. "Phoneyboggie need only hand him over."

Kurt sighed deeply. "No, you're not eating him," he said, rolling his eyes.

The Boggie shrugged his narrow shoulders, muttering darkly to himself under his breath. The Bamf shot him a disgusted look, then strode over to sit next to Kurt and the sniffling bundle. Marta watched them all for a moment, then turned her gaze to the long, tunnel-like corridor beyond the bars that held them captive.

"Stone walls do not a prison make," she quoted softly to herself. "Nor iron bars a cage.…"

"What was that?" the Bamf asked, his head tilted slightly. Marta didn't turn around.

"An old poem," she told him. "It means that prison is only prison if you let it get to you. We've got to look at our situation as a challenge rather than an obstacle. That's what Dad did back in the war."

"The war?" Kurt frowned, looking up from where he was crouching with the toddler now on his lap. "What war?"

"Oh, you wouldn't know," she said quickly. "It probably hasn't happened yet where you live. But my Dad was a POW for three months before he was finally rescued, and he told me how important it was to never see yourself as a victim. The instant you start feeling sorry for yourself is the instant the enemy claims its victory. So, being stuck in this cage-it's like a puzzle on a holographic game cube. A challenge, get it? And Sharky's like the riddlemaster we've got to beat."

"A challenge," muttered Kurt as the blue toddler continued to hiccup and whimper between sobs. "Yeah, that's what I'd call this. Please, stop crying. I've got you and I won't let anyone hurt you."

Marta looked over to where the boy was crouching, cradling the toddler so protectively in his arms. The dimness of the cell and Kurt's own visible exhaustion made his narrow face seem older than his years. For a moment, Marta could almost imagine that it was her own father sitting there, lulling Edmund to sleep as he prepared to tell her and Suzie a bedtime story, just as he'd done every night when the three of them were small. A powerful wave of homesickness rushed through her, and she had to turn away, unwilling to let this teenaged version of Kurt Wagner see the tears in her eyes. For all her talk of challenges and obstacles, Marta had never felt smaller or more helpless in her life. Always before, she could count of her father's protection to get her out of scrapes. He had allowed her the freedom to explore, to experiment, but in the end he had always been there to draw the line when it came to matters of safety.

Only hours before she had viewed her father's protective streak as constraining. But here, now, watching Kurt soothe and comfort that poor, tortured child despite his own exhaustion and fear, Marta was beginning to see her father in a different light. Listening to the boy speak, she knew he wasn't just muttering empty words of comfort. He would fight to the death to protect that child-to protect any wounded soul who couldn't defend itself. And in that moment, Marta understood. Kurt had taken this role upon himself. No one had asked him to watch over that child. He hadn't waited to be told what to do. Yet something in his nature had prompted him to offer whatever help he could, and now he was carrying out that responsibility with all the love and dedication his tired mind could muster. Professor Xavier hadn't made her father a superhero. He had always been one, in his heart. All the Professor had done was opened his eyes to a broader world that was desperately in need of his protection.

"Marta?" the Bamf's small voice inquired, breaking into her thoughts. "Are you all right?"

She straightened, shooting the tiny creature a quick smile as she said, "Yes, of course. I was just thinking."

The Bamf nodded, folding his thick hands behind his curly head as he slid his back further down the wall. "OK," he yawned. "Hey, I don't know about all of you, but this little Bamf's about ready for bed. The sooner I get to sleep, the sooner my breakfast comes!"

"Breakfast?" Marta frowned. "What about dinner? Or have you already eaten?"

"No, we don't get dinner here," he sighed sadly. "Sharky only lets us have one meal a day--some kind of thick vitamin gruel. It tastes like sawdust and looks like mashed slugs. But what's even worse is the awful Boggie who delivers it."

Marti nearly laughed at the expression that crossed his little face when he mentioned the Boggie. "Why?" she asked.

"Because he's mean!" the Bamf explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "That blasted Boggie always slurps up half of my gruel before he hands it to me, saying I'm too small to need so much food." He scowled, shooting a deadly glare towards the Boggie in the corner, who seemed to have already fallen asleep. "It's like I said: Boggies can't be trusted."

Marta raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned her back against the bars. "And how does our Boggie get on with the one who delivers the gruel?" she asked curiously.

The Bamf shrugged. "Eh, they're Boggies," he said dismissively. "They just blather their stupid Boggie talk at each other. I don't really pay attention." He yawned again, squinting up his eyes with the power of it. "But I've talked enough now," he mumbled sleepily, stretching out on the stone floor. "Good night, Marti. Good night, Kurti."

"Night," Kurt said distractedly, still rocking the whimpering toddler on his knee. Marta watched him for a moment, feeling strangely awkward, then took a tentative step closer, crouching down and holding out her arms.

"May I?" she asked. He looked up at her with red-rimmed golden eyes, gratitude etched on every feature.

"Sure," he said, tenderly transferring the bundle onto her lap. The toddler gave a brief whine of discomfort, then snuggled into her arms, too exhausted to protest the changeover. Marta smiled in surprise as the sleepy child began to suck his tail, then looked up to see Kurt grinning back at her. "You've got a knack," he said stroking the boy's silky curls before leaning back against the wall with an exhausted sigh.

"Thanks." Marta blushed, careful not to jostle the toddler too much as she scooted back to sit beside him. "So do you."

Kurt shrugged, his heavy eyelids already starting to droop. "He's a sweet kid," he said. "He doesn't deserve this."

Marta nodded. "None of us do," she asserted. "That's why I've come up with a plan."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Already? That was quick."

"Well, we've yet to see if it'll work," she said with a small smile. "But I think it's got a chance. Remember what the Boggie said? About how his people hide from Sharky?"

"Vaguely," Kurt yawned. "What about it?"

Marta leaned in closer, lowering her voice to just below a whisper. She knew Kurt's sensitive ears would catch every word.

"Well I was thinking, if we could somehow convince the Boggies it's in their best interest to help us, maybe we could hide with them until we figure out a way to get back to our homes."

He wrinkled his nose and looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a strange, rueful, knowing, look that faded back quickly to punishing weariness before he turned away. "It sounds crazy, but..."

Marta tilted her head at his odd expression, suddenly worried. "But what?" she asked. "You haven't already tried it, have you?"

He didn't reply. Marta blinked in surprise, poking his shoulder with a tentative finger.

"Kurt?" she asked. When he didn't move, she realized his exhaustion must have finally caught up with him. If he was anything like her father, the poor boy probably hadn't slept in days, opting instead to keep watch over his smaller companions. Well, tonight Marta could take his place as lookout. Kurt had earned his rest.

With the toddler sleeping safely in her arms and the slow, regular sounds of slumber filling her pointed ears, Marta wrapped her tail around her knees and softly began to hum. It was a very old song, an English tune her father had sung to her when she was a baby. She couldn't remember the words, but the melody was soothing and it helped to clear her head, allowing her to focus her concentration as she ran her plan through her mind, coming at it from every angle to weed out the flaws.

And so she passed the long, dark night, carrying out the responsibilities she had assumed with all the dedication and love her anxious heart could muster.


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