PART THREE: TRUE CONFESSIONS (Continued)

Chapter Twenty-One

Charles Xavier looked out at the night through his study window. It was a crystal clear Fall evening, and the stars shone brightly. He was deeply troubled.

That afternoon, he had had a visit from Dr Henry Pym, ostensibly to report on the Lucifer Affair. Charles had given that particular matter to the Avengers to deal with, despite his personal interest in the creature who called himself Lucifer. Well, they had dealt with it very thoroughly indeed, much to Charles' satisfaction. But when he had finished telling Charles of this, he had looked uncomfortable.

"Charles-you know that I have a Security Agreement with the government. I can't speak to anyone of certain things-not even to you."

Puzzled, Charles had merely nodded his agreement.

"Yes, of course..." Pym looked very unhappy indeed. "And there's just so much I'm able to say. But Charles-I can't, in good conscience, not say this. Be wary. Very wary. Deep and powerful forces are arraying themselves against the mutants in general, and the X-Men in particular. People-people in authority-think they can control these forces, but I tell you they cannot. You and your students face grave dangers in the next few months."

Charles had thanked him, and Pym left after that, still looking unhappy. He hadn't even raised the issue of Charles reading his mind to see what he was talking about, and Charles felt honored by that trust. Of course he wouldn't violate Henry's faith in him in such a way. But the exchange had troubled him deeply. Was it possible that he couldn't entirely trust the government anymore? Should he consult Fred Duncan? No-that might reveal that someone had spoken out of turn. And Charles was confident that Duncan would warn him if he heard about any danger.

Charles sighed, and wheeled back to his desk. This was one more factor he had to take into account. But even before Pym had spoken to him, Charles had reached a conclusion. Somewhere out there-he gestured out his window, reaching out towards the night-there was an invisible chess player, an unknown factor, who was manipulating events in his own fashion. Someone who had an agenda of his own, who acted behind the scenes for-what?-unfathomable reasons. There was no one thing that convinced Charles of this. But small indications-the relative quiet of the Brotherhood. Eric seemed to be biding his time. Why? The absence of action for the X-Men. Things had been very quiet since the encounter with Unus. Too quiet. There was something unnatural in it. And above all-and this was something that Charles sensed, not just with his intuition but also with his psychic probing of the outside world-there was something wrong. He couldn't say what this "something" was, just that he knew with absolute certainty that it existed. Something that didn't-belong. He felt frustrated that he couldn't pin it down anymore than this. But it was out there. And it was a factor in the affairs of the mutants, of the X-Men. Not necessarily a negative factor. No, Charles felt that according to its own lights, it was a benevolent force. But it was there. And he couldn't gauge its intentions or ultimate goals.

He shook his head. Perhaps he was exaggerating this, seeing too far beyond the evidence. But he didn't think so. He wished whoever it was would contact him. Let him know what it might want of him, or if its goals were incompatible with Charles' own, at least let him know what those goals were. But perhaps not telling Charles was one of those goals.

Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Charles shut his study window and went to bed.

Jean Grey was back in her room, carefully putting the negligee away. She had lain in Scott's bed for almost an hour, the two of them just kissing some and feeling the warmth of each other's body. That was all they were interested in doing now. This process of digesting their experiences-it was still barely begun, she realized with a warm glow that went all the way through her. Just this-touching, caressing, kissing-was still so overwhelming... She wondered if it would ever become "routine". She hoped not. Did her telekinetic ability-and buried psychic powers-make all this more intense for her than it was for other girls? She gave a delicious shiver of anticipation. If that was true-then when they graduated to futher plateaus-yum! Would she be able to stand it?

Calm down, Red, she told herself. She was making a big leap from what was still very limited evidence. Let's see how each day went-and each night, she thought with satisfaction. She lived for those moments of being in his arms. And she knew he felt the same.

She was in bed a moment later, and knew she had to think of something else if she had any hope of getting to sleep. Maria. Yes, there was a safe subject. Maria, Jean thought with a wry mental shrug, was simply not always truthful. That business about Jameson being a mutant! And there had been other incidents- Maria enjoyed putting people on. Maybe a little too much. And of course for Jean, the only question that presented itself was-how could she join Maria in making as much mischief as possible? Without doing anything really malicious, of course. She had to admit, Maria was a natural at this, and Jean, while an enthusiastic amateur, had to bow to a true professional. But that wasn't going to stop her. She'd show Maria! Of course, it would be tough to beat that little stunt of hers at the Coffee-a-Go-Go. But once Jean realized what Maria was up to, she had held her own-more than held her own-in dishing it up to the boys. How could she match a Hall of Fame performance like that, anyway?

Jean found herself getting sleepy. Naturally, anything she did had to involve Scott. She was going to get Scott. And while she'd allow Maria to join in, she, Jean Grey, was going to get the lion's share of the glory this time around. As she fell asleep, visions of sugar plums filled Jean's mind-and they all were being directed by her telekinesis right at Scott's kisser. That sweet kisser... She dreamt of kissing and plums and the look on Scott's face when he realized how totally he had been conned.

Raven Darkhome arrived home late, as usual. And as usual, there was no light on in the house in Alexandria. The only other occupant of the house didn't require light.

"Irene?" she called out, and received a reply from the study.

"In here, Raven." Raven entered the study and turned the light on. Irene was sitting in a rocking chair, a Braille book on her lap. "Good to see you. How was the day?"

"Vexing," Raven said with asperity. "Like all of them." She went over and kissed Irene, then sat down on the small couch. "What are you reading, Irene?"

Irene held up the Braille text. "Asimov's The End of Eternity." She paused before continuing. "About alternate realities."

Raven shut her eyes and sighed. "And is it helping you at all?"

"Not particularly," Irene said. "Asimov's mind is logical, clear, and concise. All the things reality is not."

"No doubt," Raven said viciously.

"You are in a mood," Irene said calmly.

"Oh, my, how awful," Raven said wearily. "Plans are being made for our extermination, and I'm in a mood! I wonder why!"

Irene shook her head. "That is not the right frame of mind to be in, Raven."

"Oh?" Raven said with a look of disgust on her face-which of course was wasted with Irene, but it didn't stop her from making it anyway. "And just what is the 'right' frame, anyway?"

"The long view," Irene said. "I've told you before, Raven, that the Sentinels are not going to exterminate the mutants. You should believe me."

"You keep telling me that," Raven said. "But I don't know-your precognition seems like such a frail comfort, against the forces about to be unleashed."

"Frail or not, Raven, it's all I have to offer you. I can't force you to believe what I say."

"It's just that you're so often gnomic and obscure," Raven said, softening a little. "And yet, you seem sure about this."

"I am sure," Irene said. "About this, dear Raven, I am." She paused. "Certain things are becoming clearer to me, Raven. I think I know something I haven't before. It would help if I actually was able to meet her, hear her voice, gauge her presence...but it's becoming clearer in my vision."

" 'Her'?" Raven said, intrigued. "Whom do you mean, Irene?"

Irene put the book down. "The X-Man, Raven. Marvel Girl. She has such overwhelming possibilities-" Irene shook her head. "I don't understand it all yet. Indeed, I'm just barely beginning to see it. But she has an infinite future ahead of her. I don't know what I mean. Only that almost every Causal Nexus goes through her, somehow. Perhaps in time I shall know more. But she is crystallizing in my mind as a force of nature in and of herself."

"Marvel Girl," Raven said, running the name over her tongue as if she had never really considered it before. "Jean Grey. I wonder-"

"Yes, Raven?" Irene asked, after Raven hadn't spoken for a few moments.

Raven expelled a breath, shook her head. "I don't know, Irene," she said to her friend. "She is not the X-Man I would have considered for such a formidable role."

Irene nodded. "I know. It has come as a surprise to me, too. But there is no doubt."

"What of the others? Like the new member, Shift? Do you see anything in her future?"

Irene smiled. "Oh, yes. Plenty. Unfortunately for her, little of it is good. Unless-"

"Yes, Irene? Unless what?"

"Unless she finds her Fairy Godmother."

Maria walked through the lonely canyons of the Wall Street area. It was late at night, and the X-Men had responded to a report of Mastermind trying to abduct a fourteen-year old girl on the assumption that she was a burgeoning mutant. This report seemed strange to all of them, and the Professor could detect no mutant activity in the area, either with his own powers or with Cerebro. But on the theory of better safe than sorry, he sent the team to the area to see what was happening. As it turned out, it had nothing whatever to do with Mastermind, or any other mutant. All it was was a young girl on something called LSD-apparently the graduate school after you got your degree in marijuana-convinced that she was a "mutant", and babbling about the Brotherhood being after her. The police had taken the poor kid away, and Maria hoped she'd get some help. But since they were in the city, the Professor had given them a couple of hours to themselves. The others had taken advantage of the opportunity to make a visit to the Coffee-a-Go-Go. Maria obviously couldn't join them there, so she went on patrol, looking for some action. She felt she needed some-she was feeling rusty; they all were.

She was striding confidently-at least, she hoped she was striding confidently-through the narrow streets of the financial district, looking up at the skyscrapers. Wondering just how her life had gotten to where it was, why she had been born that strange and puzzling thing called a "mutant", wondering whether she liked or disliked the fact that she had become that even stranger and more puzzling thing called a "celebrity", and wondering if she liked or disliked the fact that she was getting a reputation among the public at large as a comedian. Was this a variation on the Class Clown Syndrome? Laughing to conceal the Hamlet-like heartbreak on the inside?

"Oh, the humanity!" she called out to the night, wishing she had a skull to hold so she could soliloquize with it. And then her attention was-blessedly-taken away from such matters, because she saw Warren flying up among the skyscrapers.

What the hell? The last she saw of Warren, he had been on the way to the Coffee-a-Go-Go with the others, in civilian garb. Had something happened? Was there an emergency? She looked around for the others, and didn't see them. Warren flew down closer to the street level, and Maria saw him dodging among a number of buildings. Then she saw it. That wasn't Warren!

She looked right at the figure in the dim light of some windows, and it was in fact an older man, lean and indeed a bit scrawny, as bald as an egg, wearing a green costume and flying with artificial wings. Then it hit her-this was the Vulture, a Spider-Man villain, the one who could fly. She almost snickered. He flew pretty well-for an old man. She was almost tempted to run into a pay phone and call the Cafe, just to get Warren up here to fly rings around this clown. She'd bet he could do it with his eyes shut. Unfortunately, she didn't have any change on her. Oh, well. Should she try to stop him? She supposed so, but he was still pretty high up. What would he make of her eagle form, she wondered? She was just about to Shift into it when the situation changed.

Into her range of vision came a figure wearing a red-and-black costume. He was swinging on-yes! A web! Spider-Man! Maria had never actually seen Spider-Man before, but had always wanted to. There was just something incredibly cool, almost insouciant, about him that appealed to her. She felt that they were somehow on the same wavelength. The Professor had assured them that he wasn't a mutant, a fact she felt sorry about. But here he was! She crawled into a shadow on the street, watching the show. If he needed her, she'd take a hand. But until then-

The Vulture swooped up at Spider-Man, who dodged him with ease. Spider-Man entrapped the Vulture in some webbing, but the older man touched a button on a band he wore about his wrist, and a blue light shined out from it. The light hit the webbing, and dissolved it. She heard him laughing faintly from where she was.

"Do you think I'm a total idiot, Spider-Man?" she heard him say to his younger opponent. "Do you think I can be beaten by the same stratagem twice?"

"Well, you can't blame a fella for trying," Spider-Man replied, in just the mocking tone Maria knew he'd use. Spider-Man started swinging down lower, towards the spot where she was standing. The Vulture followed. Spider-Man swung across the area about three stories up, and the Vulture swept down to the street level, gaining momentum for another swoop up at his opponent. Maria smiled to herself. Time for her to put her foot out to trip him up...

In fact, she stayed in her natural form and simply extended her right arm straight into the Vulture's path. He slammed into it, and the impact knocked him senseless. She retracted her arm, her prey held securely. She looked at him as she reeled him in.

"Aw-the poor old boy fall down and go 'boom'," she said with mock pity, as Spider-Man swung down to the street. He landed and walked gingerly towards her.

"You want this bozo?" Maria asked brightly.

Spider-Man stopped in front of her, put his hands on his hips. Maria was surprised by how small he was-a good two inches shorter than she was. "Thanks. I guess."

Maria shrugged. "Just passing through," she said. "Hope I'm not sticking my nose I'm not wanted."

"No, no, that's fine," Spider-Man said-a bit warily, Maria thought. "You're Shift, aren't you? The X-Man?"

"Umm hmm," she replied. "What gave it away? My X-Man costume? Or my stunning beauty?"

Spider-Man laughed. "Oh, both." He came over, took her hand, and kissed it. "M'lady Shift," he said with all the mock-gallantry he could command, " 'tis my honor to make your acquaintance. I have heard so much about you."

Maria curtsied. "Many thanks, m'lord Spider. Nothing good, I hope?"

"Indeed not!" Spider-Man said with a laugh. "Especially in the confines of the Bugle building. Word is, m'lady, that your name there is as black as my own."

She beamed with delight. "You don't say!" She thought about this, and smiled. "I guess Mr Jameson doesn't appreciate rumors of his being a mutant."

"No, indeed," Spider-Man said. "He's made a special project of bringing you to heel." Spider-Man paused. "Anyone who can produce such a result in Jonah is a friend of mine."

"Absolutely!" Maria said heartily, and put out her hand. "Shift. You'll excuse me if I don't go into more detail regarding names?"

"That's something I understand all too well," Spider-Man said, shaking her hand.

"And you really don't mind my taking this clown out for you?" she said, indicating the Vulture. "I mean, I just got good and sore when I saw him imitating the Angel. One flying guy is enough. Two?" Maria shivered theatrically. "The mind reels at the implications."

Spider-Man, Maria saw with appreciation, laughed out loud. "This poor guy-I dunno what it is about him, he tries, but it just doesn't seem to work. The last time we fought, he didn't even take my webbing into account. He just wasn't thinking. Well, he did this time, but still-"

"Yeah," Maria said. "A bit in over his head, isn't he? Just how were you planning to beat him this time, before I came by?"

"Oh, I'd have thought of something." He picked the prone form of his opponent up, tossed him over his shoulder. "Guess I'd better return him where he belongs. Nice meeting you, Shift."

"Likewise," she called out to him as he swung away. "Don't be a stranger!" She briefly mentioned the encounter to Cyclops, who seemed to take it in stride. But having a fledgling relationship to Spider-Man felt good. She felt they were kindred spirits.

"The time has come for action," Magneto said. Wanda looked around at the rest of the Brotherhood. Wyngarde was standing erect, seemingly impervious to the news, but Wanda could sense a certain relief. Wyngarde had been getting bored and cabin-feverish, taking it out on the Toad and generally making himself even more obnoxious than usual. The Toad himself smiled, trying-as always-to ingratiate himself with Magneto. Pietro stood at the edge of their circle, arms crossed, looking ostentatiously unimpressed. Wanda herself felt tense, worried that the sense of almost equilibrium she had felt in recent weeks was in danger of being upset. Magneto himself, she thought, seemed determined, but not angry or driven, as he had been on so many previous occasions.

"Excellent, Master, excellent!" the Toad cackled. "The humans shall tremble, now that homo superior is once more on the march."

Magneto looked quietly at the Toad, who seemed to shrink and muttered a few inaudible words. Wanda sighed to herself. Why on earth did the ridiculous Toynbee ever open his mouth in Magneto's presence, since he never said anything right and often was rebuked-if not worse? Magneto went on.

"Our job is not to attack the humans this day," he said. "Rather, it is to safeguard the mutants." He turned on a light, and a map of the United States appeared superimpsed on a screen. There were some flashing lights-six of them: one in upstate New York, one in Pennsylvania, one over New York City itself, two over Long Island, and one way over, in Nebraska.. "Those," Magneto went on, "are the origin points of the X-Men. Certain facts have come to my attention concerning those origins. They are directly relevant to all mutants. In particular, the Nebraska orphanage occupied by Scott Summers-whom you know as Cyclops-is of direct interest to us. We shall be visting there."

The others seemed disconcerted by this news. Wanda herself didn't understand any of what Magneto was telling them. But it was Pietro who spoke up.

"Why the devil does Cyclops concern us, Magneto?" he said. "And even if he does, why does his orphanage matter?"

Wanda expected Magneto to explode in a temper tantrum. Instead, he just smiled tightly. "Why indeed, Pietro? Well-we shall know better when we get there. But I can say this-that orphanage is more than a simple orphanage. Much more. Behind it is a power that regards mutants as its personal playthings. A power that wants to use us, for its own aggrandizement." He paused, and Wanda saw he was not smiling now. "I believe this individual needs to be taught a lesson. That we are not his playthings, and shall not tolerate his regarding us as such. No force on this planet can use homo superior in such a manner. I regard this as much more of a danger to us than the X-Men can ever be. They are simply misguided. This is something more."

Wyngarde puckered his lips. "You intrigue me, Magneto," he said. "I can almost feel the shifting of alliances beneath our feet. 'Misguided'. That is a milder term for the X-Men than I have ever heard you use before. Is there, perhaps, a mutant version of the Nazi-Soviet Pact in the offing?"

To Wanda's total astonishment-and she was willing to bet, Wyngarde's as well-Magneto actually laughed. "We shall see, Jason," he said, and she saw Wyngards wince slightly, as he always did whenever Magneto called him by his first name. "A step at a time. For now, Nebraska. We shall leave first thing tomorrow morning."

And somewhere, a man called Essex calmly considered the stakes of power. This was nothing new for him-he did so every day of his life. But those stakes had become so much more-intriguing-of late. He looked at a collection of small figurines assembled in front of him. He slowly started picking them up, one by one. The first was Charles Xavier. You feel that you are in such control, my dear Professor. In fact, everything is coming apart at the seams. Pym's warning was cryptic-too much so, perhaps. You don't really understand. Well, I hope you do before it is too late. I cannot speak. I cannot jeopardize my own plans. They have been laid for over a century. There can be no swerving aside now. You shall have to overcome Trask and his nightmare yourself.

Another figurine. Cyclops. Although, my dear boy, you I might have to save-if certain conditions warrant. Oh, I have your precious DNA. If total disaster strikes, I can live with that. But having you around in the flesh has its advantages. We shall see.

Marvel Girl. There is something about you I do not understand. The boy loves you, and you love him. I thought I was manipulating that outcome, but I was wrong. It would have happened anyway. I had nothing to do with it. No. I do not understand. You are a wild card, my dear. As such, you are a danger to me. I hope that will not require any-precipate-action on my part.

Angel. You. You were meant to soar, and you do. You have sacrificed the girl willingly. That helps me, but it shall not give you and special favors from me. Sinister does not give favors.

Iceman. You have grown up these past few months. And you do not even begin to understand the extent and nature of your powers. Your precious Professor hasn't been helpful in that regard. Perhaps someday-strictly for my amusement-I shall help you. I wonder-will you be grateful?

Beast. Oh my. The jest is almost too much. In love with Pinocchio. And not having a clue as to any of it. You will fall hard, boy. Harder than anything you can imagine right now. And the morale of the entire team will be hit hard as well. Will that be to my advantage, or not? I should say yes. Anything that weakens the X-Men is to my advantage.

Shift. Our Miss Pinocchio herself. If it's any consolation to you, my dear, you are the only one who frightens me. Because you do not understand the true nature of your powers. I do not understand the true nature of your powers. And anything I do not understand is a threat. We shall have to get to-know-each other better.

Magneto. Oh, Eric, Eric-so you're onto me at last, are you? It's damned well about time. I was expecting this move on your part years ago. Go to Nebraska, my dear Eric. See what you see, discover what you discover. For all the good it will do you.

Toad. You are nothing. Hardly even worth my attention. But it will be amusing someday, to see your smoldering hatred of Magneto finally explode. I wonder if Eric will find it amusing, when it happens?

Mastermind. Oh, my dear Jason. The Toad wears the jester's costume-but really, it should be you! You are so much more amusing than the wretched Toynbee could ever be. You think you are controlling Magneto. Controlling Magneto! You! Something very bad is going to happen to you one of these days. And you shall deserve it.

Quicksilver. Pietro. You are not happy. But then, I do not think you shall ever be happy. That doesn't seem to be part of your natural equipment-the capacity for happiness. Perhaps that is part of your-heritage. And oh my, have I been tempted to inform you of that heritage! But it isn't time-yet.

Scarlet Witch. I said that the Gianelli girl is the only one who frightens me? Perhaps that was wrong. Wanda, Wanda-your future is a blank to me. You shall not remain with the Brotherhood too much longer. That, at least, is clear. But what happens then? I do not know. But you are who you are, and your powers are even more mysterious than Shift's. Why do I think of you and Marvel Girl together? As though the two of you are-complementary-in some way? I do not know. But I do feel this. It bothers me.

Essex sighed, and rose. He paced the room he was in, wishing that certain events that he expected to come to pass had already occurred, wishing that he knew more. He was in the position of having to put his trust in others-particularly, the X-Men. He did not like being in this position. But they had to overcome Trask and his Sentinels, sooner or later, or else his, Essex', plans would go up in smoke. And there was nothing he could do to aid them. Charles-you have trained them well. It better not have been in vain. For my sake-and yours.

"I do believe that there's nothing here." Jason Wyngarde's words cut Eric to the bone. Was the miserable little man mocking him? If so, he would regret it. But he had to admit, Wyngarde wasn't wrong. The orphanage looked as if a cyclone had hit it. It was rundown, its windows broken, rubble and rubbish strewn everywhere. No one had lived here for many months. The Brotherhood wandered around, looking wanly at the mess. Magneto sensed it wouldn't be long before they started looking at him with doubt in their eyes. He had to salvage something from this fiasco.

"Quicksilver," he said in a rasp to the young mutant. "Search this entire area. Make sure that there's nothing unusual-or even alive-around here." Pietro nodded, and vanished in a blur. Almost before his absence had been noticed, he was back.

"Nothing, Magneto," he said, a thin smile on his face. "This place looks as dead as a plague zone."

Eric scowled. There had been something here-something to do with Cyclops' past, his tenure here as an orphan. He knew that there had been some secret here. But now-? He shut his eyes. Think. He must think. Before Charles, there had been-something. Eric had been putting the pieces together for years. Some secret that involved Scott Summers. And he thought he was on the verge, today, of discovering just what that was.

He shook his head. Well, that was now a matter for another day. Meanwhile, the records he had hoped to consult were irretrievably lost. And he was no further along in discovering the shadow that hung over all of them, all mutants. Essex. He had been getting more and more into focus for Eric. A whisper here, a scrap of information there, a trace of the man when he least expected it... Slowly, but surely, Eric was managing to compile some information about this human-for he was most assuredly not a mutant-who was well over a century old, a contemporary of Darwin himself, who had been risen to a position above humanity by Apocalypse. No, Essex was not a mutant, but he was intimately involved with them. And he had plans for the mutants. Plans that involved Scott Summers. And that made Summers his, Magneto's, concern as well. And that was reason enough for a truce between the Brotherhood and the X-Men-just as much as the warnings from the individual whom he had recently visited. Wyngarde had not been entirely wrong when he cynically described it as a mutant version of the Nazi-Soviet Pact. Eric mentally shrugged. He would have to contact Charles soon. How much should he tell him? And how much, he suddenly wondered, would be a surprise to Charles, if he did?

No matter. He made a sudden decisive gesture, and the Brotherhood surrounded him. He looked on their faces, but saw no overt disrespect-not even from Wyngarde. Especially from the miserable wretch Wyngarde. "Something has happened which I did not anticipate," he said honestly. "The man whom we seek has been a step ahead of me. I do not like having to admit this, but it is true. I shall quit underestimating him."

Wanda looked curiously at the rubble. "How long ago could this have happened, Magneto?" she asked. "This place looks like it has been a shell for a very long time. But if it was an orphanage, a state-sponsored institution...how could they have just left it like this? Wouldn't somebody have fixed it up by now?"

Eric scowled. That was a very good question, come to think of it. Essex had to be the answer, but how? He merely waved a hand and said, "the actions of the humans in and of themselves are their concerns, Wanda. What matters to us is that the birds have flown the coop. Indeed, there is nothing here. It's time for us to leave."

The Toad looked dissatisfied. "Is there no action we can take, Master?" he asked forlornly. "Nothing but to return to the boredom of our headquarters?"

Magneto felt astonished. The Toad, questioning him! He had let things slip! He snarled, and let loose a magnetic blast at the little man that left Tonybee whimpering on the ground, saying brokenly that he had meant no disrespect-no, surely not-please forgive him, Master-

The others paid no attention, having seen the spectacle too many times before. They just returned to their ship, and took off.