Chapter 34 – Project Archangel
Warren soared west. The wind carrying him scattered the surrounding islands of woolly cumulus humilis clouds, revealing majestic glacier-capped mountains. The salt of the Pacific seasoned the air as the thin blue line of the approaching ocean thickened across the horizon. One frozen peak stood out against the watery border, cresting far beyond its neighbors at thirty-three hundred meters.
Angel steered towards the distant summit. Merging flocks of Tundra Swans created a tunnel of intersecting triangles. The late morning light projected their beating forms onto the pristine snow below. After swiftly clearing the birds, Worthington observed his own avian-like shadow skimming the shining slopes.
The sun rose behind him. He felt its heat on his spine. Then another winged outline appeared on the glittering ice. He curved upwards at a forty-five degree angle to circle his fellow traveler. At first the sunlight blinded him, but he knew it was Jean. Spreading from her back were wings like his own, made of feathers instead of flames. But hers weren't simply white; their colors composed a dazzling spectrum from violet to crimson to bright gold – the same as the angel in the skylight.
Jean reciprocated his motion, rising diagonally on thermal currents. A mysterious centripetal force pulled them closer and closer. As the ellipse of their rotation contracted, Warren curled his arms around her torso under her wings; she clasped his neck.
The revolving pair whirled inside a tall, narrow gash in the steep incline of the highest ridge. The shape of the opening lent it a whimsical character. It was roughly reminiscent of a person wearing a top hat. The dimensions of the aperture were nonetheless considerable - three hundred feet high, though never more than forty feet wide.
Grey spoke soundlessly. Warren, where are we? What is this place?
Mount Verloren, the 'lost' mountain, he responded with his thoughts. Sanctuary.
Jean's flowing red hair coiled around his fingers as he cupped the back of her head. The attraction of her lips was irresistible. Their mouths locked together. Oblivious to the gathering darkness, the two drifted deeper into the cavern.
Soon Warren couldn't see anything. Jean seemed lighter than air in his arms. Desperate to keep her from floating away, he grasped her tighter, crushing her to his chest. Then he realized he was clutching nothing. He sensed barriers all around. He was alone, in an enclosed space, and he might as well be blind. Voices came through the walls.
"He's developed nearly complete secondary systems - avian ligament and coracoid structures. And you've both seen them, he's got...feathers."
"Yes, Doctor, we've seen his deformities." It was his father talking. "Remove them."
"You don't understand, Mr. and Mrs. Worthington. Your son is growing wings."
"I don't care what's coming out of him! If he's got a shell or a tail or hooves… He needs to be cured. Cut those damn things off!"
Angel had to get away. But he couldn't move. Thick straps bound him. An intravenous drip pierced the inside of his elbow. Were his veins filling with drugs? In the darkness, he struggled uselessly against his restraints.
Suddenly the seams of the room lit up. Lines of fire streamed above. A flaming golden feather drifted down and hovered over his chest. The buckles holding him unfastened and the IV unthreaded itself from his arm. His free wings pumped the air as he chased the rising feather. Before he could touch it, the radiant object dispersed. Ripples of energy fanned out to the edges of the chamber. He slammed against the ceiling.
"Sleep well?" The micro speaker in Warren's slim silver phone made Josh sound more nasal than he did in person.
"Not exactly," Warren answered; his senses were simmering from the dream. He was lying in bed in the midst of the immense former zeppelin hanger. His eyes studied the padded white surface thirty meters overhead. Varun Minar had put in the retractable tertiary ceiling prior to leaving for Mount Verloren. Angel was glad he had hit his head against the soft fabric instead of the adamantium reinforced steel plates of the layer above.
"I didn't sleep well either," Josh continued. "Candy decided to stop by last night, after that Hellfire thing. She was totally blitzed. I haven't seen her like that for years. I thought she would pass out, but she kept me awake until three. She's pretty messed up about whatever happened."
"Sorry to hear it."
Traffic noise indicated Josh was on the street. "So, you're really into this mutant girl?"
"Her name's Jean." Warren threw off the covers.
"Jean Grey, I know. She's one of the X-Men."
"She was." Angel stretched his wings and walked to the wall of screens he'd had installed five days earlier. At the moment, he was monitoring three news channels – with the audio muted – and seven of the eighty-five recently acquired cameras he'd ordered stationed strategically throughout the Worthington Tower. "Now she's only going to school, and living in the city…"
"Is she there with you?" Josh's vocal level shrank to a whisper.
"No." One of the news programs cut away to a multidimensional graphic of a crystalline orb traveling through space. "Xavier and the rest of them don't want me to see her."
"Might be a good idea. Candy said she can kill people just by thinking about it." An ambulance siren wailed between Josh's words. "Is that true?"
"If you thought about it, Josh, you could kill people – you could drop a law book on somebody's head or, I don't know, run over someone with a car…"
"I can't drive, Warren. But I take your point."
"Don't we have other things to discuss?"
"Like challenging your father's control of the board this afternoon? We should really talk about that."
"Hey, if you want to forget it, I understand." Angel's stomach tightened while he witnessed the moon-sized sphere on the digital display smash into the Earth. "Maybe I should be more focused on other stuff anyway."
"That's not what I'm getting at." Josh's tone deepened. "I peeked at the agenda for today's meeting a couple of minutes ago. The main topic is something called 'Project Archangel'."
"That's interesting. A mutant named Domino was telling me about Project Archangel at the Hellfire Club. She said it's a new Sentinel that's modeled after small aircraft. They can do the job without making a mess, supposedly." Warren watched the cosmic impact fade into an aerial shot of the Starcore launching base in Cape Herald, Florida.
"They've scheduled a major publicity event for Monday morning in Times Square," Josh went on, "and there's going to be a demonstration."
Instantly Warren saw his father's priorities in vivid Technicolor. "So, that's why he's here – to introduce your friendly neighborhood Archangel Sentinel. I'm only a minor complication."
Josh jumped on Angel's last sentence. "Let's escalate that complication. Warren, it's time you became a serious threat."
Jean Grey couldn't keep her eyes tethered to her reflection in the mirror. They kept drifting away – through the thirty-story window of her dorm room to the sky beyond the high-rise apartment blocks of the Upper West Side. What would she do if she saw Warren out there? Her feet responded by lifting off the floor. Angel's voice ricocheted inside her mind.
Jean, don't you feel this?
Words, images and sensations wove within her consciousness. Warren held her in his arms as they sailed towards an enormous, snow-covered mountain. A dizzyingly high cavern darkened around them.
Warren, where are we? What is this place? she asked.
Mount Verloren, the 'lost' mountain, he replied silently. Sanctuary.
His fingertips caressed the back of her head. She sensed his wings beating wildly as his lips pressed against hers.
"Yo! Look at that!" a man yelled. Jean's ears were assaulted by car horns and shouts from below.
Please, no… She was levitating outside her window, which was open, a hundred yards above Morningside Drive. At least she'd decided to match her short skirt with opaque black tights rather than semi-sheer thigh highs.
She flew inside and telekinetically reached for the adamantium-laced vest. Focusing on her image in the glass, she tugged it on over her trim red turtleneck sweater. Her experience seconds ago proved its necessity, especially if she starting thinking about Warren again. The sweater could conceivably work with it – if she was also wearing cargo pants and combat boots. But she wasn't going to attend a concert at Carnegie Hall dressed like a military wannabe; she and the great audience of New York City would just have to abide the awkward juxtaposition of a flak jacket on top of a miniskirt.
She was still reconsidering her clothing choices when she entered the student commons on the street level of Hamilton Hall. She was fifteen minutes early to meet Peter and Xi'an. They were going to have brunch at the Astral and then take the subway downtown for the matinée performance. Yet after her near loss of control the previous evening, Jean first needed to make sure she could handle being in a crowd.
The number in the commons only provided a modest sample – nine people. Three were glued to their laptops, four lounged on the couches, and a couple chatted by the snack machines. In the rear of the space Jean glimpsed a news show on a large screen. A translucent celestial body crossed the frame. The volume was low. She could barely hear the commentary.
"Starcore calls this crystal globe Anomalous Object 13. It has a diameter of thirty-two hundred kilometers, that's close to two thousand miles, slightly smaller than the moon…"
Grey instinctively used her telekinesis to increase the audio.
"Not only is Starcore saying the mysterious Object 13 is traveling faster than the speed of light – which is supposed to be impossible – but it just might be coming straight towards us."
The reclining students sat up and the couple stopped talking. Jean noticed even the laptop users were turning from their little displays to watch with everyone else. The computer-generated sphere struck a spinning model Earth.
"Holy shit," expressed one of the kids on the couch while viewing the cataclysmic collision.
The television continued speaking. "Dr. Alain Corbeau is Starcore's Research Director and he's leading the team of scientists set to launch Monday for the Eagle One Space Station. He's here to tell us more about this phenomenon." Footage of Starcore Command in Florida cut to a studio set where a paunchy, puffy-haired man sat in an armchair facing Dr. Corbeau. "Thanks for joining us, Doctor."
"Glad to be here, Dan," Corbeau answered.
"So, should everyone panic immediately, or wait until the day after tomorrow?"
Corbeau smiled. "There is absolutely no reason to panic." His tone was calm and steady. "I'm aware that clip has been all over the web, but it is entirely inaccurate. The random chance that Object 13 will intersect with our remote, backwoods little star system is infinitesimal. And for the record, Starcore has never stated otherwise."
"But what if we aren't talking about random chance? What if this thing is on a flight plan?" The show host shifted in his seat.
"There are no indications Object 13 is specifically targeting our planet."
"But a lot of people are saying the exact opposite, Dr. Corbeau. The Friends of Humanity – the folks who provided that sequence – claim this thing is an alien weapon programmed to destroy us."
"Dan, we have found no evidence of that. Let me repeat: There is no reason to believe it is being controlled by an aliens…"
"Or that the mutants are summoning it? How do you know, Dr. Corbeau?"
"We have observed nothing that could be interpreted as communication: no light patterns, or signals of any measurable kind coming from or going to the Object. And the idea that mutants are somehow involved…" Corbeau's cool was evaporating. His shoulders stiffened. "That's utter nonsense. Dan, I'm a scientist, so I work with facts. There are no facts that tell me Object 13 is anything more than an errant, anomalous stellar mass, or that it will ever come close enough to cause any negative effects whatsoever."
"What is 'close enough?'" The host leaned in.
Corbeau paused in an attempt to appear more relaxed. "This is why that animation is so misleading. The people who made that video don't understand that even though Object 13 is the size of the moon, it contains more mass than our Sun. It's not going to sneak up on the Earth and slam into it. If it came within a light year or less of our solar system, we would all notice. It would destabilize the Kuiper belt and change the orbits of Neptune, Uranus, and possibly Saturn and Jupiter…"
"You're saying all this thing has to do is knock Jupiter around and we're dead."
"Well, if it altered the movement of the gas giants, the asteroid region kept in check by Jupiter's gravity could be released and potentially impact our atmosphere, among other things... But again, there are no signs that's going to happen."
"We don't have to wait until it smashes into us. Great!" The interviewer waved his arms and addressed the camera directly. "It's over, everybody!"
"Dan, I've known you for a long time." Corbeau took a breath. "I wouldn't lie to you and I wouldn't lie to your viewers, or the rest of the citizens of this country, or the people of the world. Our mission on Eagle One is to augment the capabilities of the station and the Biruni Telescope to better track and observe Object 13. We are putting all our efforts at Starcore into studying this phenomenon. If we discover it's a threat to our existence, we will inform the public immediately."
"How far away is it now?"
"Twenty light years approximately, as of last night."
"And how fast is it going?"
"It's moving at an irregular rate. It might be passing through folded space and jumping vast distances. We aren't sure. That's something we'll be investigating on Eagle One."
"So we got maybe a week or two?" The host laughed while noting his guest's strained reaction. "I'm kidding. Thanks for coming by, Dr. Corbeau. Good luck on the launch Monday." The newsman swiveled back to the camera. "Okay. After the break, we're going to meet a newcomer to the political scene who some people upstate are calling a savior and others are calling a segregationist. His name is Edward Kelly and it looks like he's about to become the next mayor of Bayville, New York. I'm Dan McManus and this is the Saturday Review."
Jean switched off the screen with her thoughts. Then she remembered where she was. "I'm sorry," she said, glancing around the room. "Put it back on, if you want to." She moved to leave.
The guy on the couch who had spoken earlier bolted to block her way. "So, are you doing this?"
"What?" Jean wanted to disappear.
"Are you mutants calling this Object thing?"
"No… Why would we?" She sensed the girl from the couple by the vending machines behind her.
"But you'll stop it, right?" asked the short brunette.
Jean turned. "You think I can stop it?"
"You and the X-Men. Like you stopped Apocalypse. Isn't that what you guys do? Save the world?"
"Jean!" Peter Wyngarde walked in, his casual behavior dissolved Grey's anxious reaction to the students. She was never happier to see him. He loosely grabbed her arm. "Xi'an's still sorting out which coat to wear. Ready to leave?"
"Yes. Let's go." Jean avoided the surrounding stares as they exited the commons.
Timing was critical. Warren had to touch down at the precisely correct moment – one beat after his father stepped onto the helipad of the Worthington Corporate Center on Columbus Circle for the two o'clock meeting of the board of directors.
Angel glided five hundred feet above the ninety-two-story skyscraper, using the stratus cloud layer lying low over the city to veil his presence. At 1:50 p.m. a shiny Buckman 507 helicopter bearing the red and black Worthington Corporation logo stirred the heavy atmosphere. Warren dove as its rotating blades slowed to a stop on the tarmac.
The dense stratiform vapor was almost sticky, despite the chilly temperature. He folded his wings in closer to cut through the clinging mist. During his few remaining seconds in the air, his mind filled with flames. He remembered gazing into Jean's burning irises on the deck of the Hellfire Club as he gripped the thin fabric of her dress. Maybe this confrontation with his father didn't matter so much. If he could see her... She felt so real in the dream. She must have been there psychically; she must want to see him too. Would Storm really electrocute him just for flying around Jean's building?
His visions of Jean were dispelled the instant he caught his father's cold glare below. The older man disembarked from the Buckman copter. Angel tilted into an upright position and landed on the roof ten feet away. A young man followed his dad out of the aircraft. Warren was pretty sure he was Giles Tareyton, his father's new assistant. Though Angel had never seen him before – their previous contact consisted solely of a short telephone conversation – Giles looked strikingly familiar.
Tareyton had to be near his age, and he was the same height – six feet. His build and features were so similar, Warren feared he was in the company of his evil twin. In fact, Giles' twill wool suit was as fine an example of Flitcroft & Thwaite's exquisite tailoring as the one Warren was wearing himself. There were two significant differences, however: Giles' slightly sunken, greenish-gray eyes were far more like Warren's father's; and Tareyton didn't have wings.
Adam and Josh Gould emerged from inside the building and moved in between the Worthingtons. Josh was mostly focused on his shoes, doing his best to ignore the vast open horizon which was interrupted only by the city's highest spires; but he quickly flashed a broad, confident smile at Angel. Warren waited for his father to speak. They hadn't seen each other for practically a year.
"Giles, this is Warren, my son." Worthington II's displeasure was evident.
"Good to meet you in person. We weren't expecting you today." Giles had a distinct New England patrician accent. Angel hadn't heard something like it since he was thirteen and his father allowed him to tag along for lunch at the Manhattan Yacht Club. He'd just been through an operation on his back and the meal was presented as a reward for his bravery during the surgery. But even at the time Warren realized his father was testing him, particularly when he failed spectacularly. Woozy from pain and medications, young Worthington III wasn't able to keep down his food and threw up on the president of the First Bank of Boston. The banker's response, "Well, that's new on the menu," jangled in Warren's memory.
"We shouldn't be surprised, Giles," the elder Worthington remarked. "He shows up everywhere now. Yet I don't see the press corps…" After surveying the rooftop he asked Angel, "Isn't your girlfriend Candy here planning another cover story for New York Magazine?"
"Candy Southern is not my girlfriend, Dad. I'm sure you won't believe this, but I try to avoid the media. I'm here for the meeting of the board."
"Why should I let you into my board room?" The senior Worthington's brittle patience was cracking.
Angel sent Josh a questioning glance before aiming the steeliest stare he could manage at his father. "I own a big part of this company."
"What the hell is going on, Adam?" The gray-haired Chairman and CEO turned to his primary counsel of twenty years and perhaps most intimate friend, Adam Gould.
Gould raised his hands. "I have no idea…"
"Here it is in print." Josh removed a sheaf of papers from his slim leather briefcase. "Mr. Worthington, do you recognize this?" He held out a copy of Warren Worthington I's will. "Five months ago your son turned twenty-one and gained the legal right to control half the estate and fifty percent of the voting stock."
Warren Worthington II's gray eyes became slits. "Half of your grandfather's company, boy!" he raged at Angel. "You think I just sat on this pile and did nothing? The Worthington Corporation is five times the size of that old man's ticker tape, dime store dream factory! Don't you read the Wall Street Journal, War? No, you're too busy flying around playing superhero for the cameras!"
"My name isn't 'War'." Warren stood firm.
"Sir, even if Warren accepted your position – and I am not saying he will – he'd still own ten percent of the shares and the bylaws state…" Josh started.
Worthington II thrust a fist up to Josh's face, stopping barely an inch shy of the young lawyer's nose. "I ought to bash your face in, kid."
"And that would be another lawsuit." Josh didn't flinch.
Adam Gould shifted to shield Josh. "Warren, believe me, I had no clue the boys were going to do this. But the legacy exists and you and I both know it. Your son has the right to petition the board. And more importantly, he's asking to learn about the business. He's trying to become a part of your life. That's what you've always wanted."
"Where are you going, Dom? We passed it already." Lance Alvers, also known as Avalanche, was mystified by the actions of the woman in the driver's seat next to him. Domino had passed their target on Columbus Circle and was slowly cruising West 55th Street.
She faced him for a second. The dark patch ringing her left eye exaggerated her expression of annoyance. "You think we should just roll up onto sidewalk in front of the Worthington Corporate Center, jump out and bust our way in?"
Lance's brows furled in puzzlement. "What's wrong with doing that?"
"And you questioned Mystique when she put me in charge? It's a No Standing, No Loading, 'Don't even THINK of parking here' Red Zone! And it's crawling with police. The moment we opened the doors we'd have a hundred traffic cops tearing our heads off, and in the time it would take us to pound those bodies, Special Forces and those crazy MRD guys would arrive and be all over our asses before we got in the lobby."
"Okay, genius girl, let's spend the next three hours trying to find a place to park instead."
"Found one." A minivan pulled away from the curb right in front of them. "I always get a space." She slipped on a pair of dark glasses with lenses large enough to cover her tattoo and retrieved a black valise from the rear seats. "Keep in mind: Low profile. Let's save the show for the main stage, all right?"
Warren Worthington II led the way to the conference room. Giles walked less than a step behind, followed by the Goulds, and lastly, Angel. A crisply dressed woman with neatly trimmed bangs was stationed by the entrance.
"Hello, Carolyn." Worthington II's breezy manner betrayed none of the anger he had displayed on the roof.
"It's wonderful to see you Mr. Worthington." Carolyn's voice was as refined as her appearance. "The members are all here."
"My son chose to drop in on us, so we'll need another seat," instructed the older Warren. "Actually, I don't know if he can sit in a normal chair with those things of his."
Carolyn's attention flitted from her boss to the winged young man.
"I'll be fine. They bend," Angel explained.
"And Carolyn, Giles will be running the meeting. You may leave once everyone is seated." Worthington moved into the large chamber. Carolyn nodded as he went by. Angel picked up a note of disappointment in her reaction.
The minute Warren entered the conference space he was drawn to the enormous panoramic window that comprised three quarters of the east wall. Beyond the glass, the gold and orange autumn tree cover of Central Park formed a lush carpet bordering the stately parade of Beaux-Arts buildings that stretched down Fifth Avenue. Angel turned from the view and took the chair set for him beside Josh. Giles Tareyton was situated a few feet away, by the entry doors, on the opposite end of the long table from Warren's father.
Giles yanked Carolyn aside before she exited. "I shouldn't have to tell you this, but in case you're unaware, all communication goes through me." He handed her a slim phone. "If something comes up, you don't come in, you don't even knock. You call me and I decide whether or not to disrupt the proceedings. Understand?"
Worthington II began, "I am happy to see you all." He made quick eye contact with each of the eight directors. "Let's get started. First, let me introduce my new assistant, Giles Tareyton. He has proven himself indispensable, and he will be helping us this afternoon. Also, my son Warren is joining us, in a purely educational capacity. He's finally interested in finding out what my job is."
"Hear, hear! Good to see you taking your place, Warren." Angel recognized the speaker across from him. The man had been a frequent visitor to Falkenmore – back when his parents still threw parties, before they discovered their child was a mutant.
Giles listed the board members in attendance, "Mr. Halsley Woodhull IV…" Angel now had a name to attach to his supporter. "Dr. Jonathan Hodge…" Warren recalled Hodge from his childhood as well. "Mr. Toshio Ashida-san, and Mr. Guy Spear," Tareyton finished reading off the last ones. "Mr. Adam Gould serving as counsel. Others present: non-participating observers Mr. Joshua Gould and Mr. Warren Worthington III."
A thick curtain closed over the wide window as the interior lighting dimmed. On the other side of the room, the senior Worthington stood by a huge screen which showed a gigantic Sentinel being violently disassembled by a menacing Magneto. "I'm certain all of you will agree with me that the greatest challenge of our time is the Mutant Question. Some, perhaps most mutants pose no more than a minor danger to our society – I'm including my son in that category." The latter remark elicited several chuckles. "But there are others, extremely powerful individuals, who could at any moment wipe us out."
A montage of destruction filled the display. Angel nervously watched images of Storm summoning a whirlwind and hurling lightning; Cyclops crumbling the embankments of a colossal hydroelectric power station with a massive optic blast; and Jean telekinetically crunching the propellers of three Apache military helicopters into heart shapes.
"Our success containing and controlling mutants will determine our survival, not just our profits. The support we provided Bolivar Trask made the Sentinel Warrior Mark I possible. And with the re-instatement of the program we are locked in to produce the next series, the Mark II. But it is undeniable that there are serious problems with the Sentinel Warrior."
Video of people fleeing exploding cars and falling concrete in the wake of a Sentinel attack on the X-Men and the Brotherhood accompanied Worthington's speech.
"The first issue we must address is the fear these fifty-foot machines have stirred up throughout the public. In combat situations they've caused countless civilian injuries, destroyed entire buildings and caused millions of dollars worth of property damage. People are more scared of the Sentinels than they are of mutants. So, the MRD requested something smaller, more accurate, and less threatening that would specifically counter the abilities of the worst mutants – the select handful the MRD considers a Priority One security risk."
Warren leaned over to ask Josh, "What's the MRD?"
Josh wrote the words "Mutant Response Division" on a scrap of paper.
"That laid the groundwork for Project Archangel," Worthington II continued. "It's a twenty billion dollar contract for this year alone. And Monday morning in Times Square, we intend to deliver."
Schematics of a jet fighter-like unit came up. Warren noticed the dimensions – the fuselage was merely twenty-seven feet long and the wingspan just eighteen.
"Giles has prepared a thorough report." Worthington crossed in front of the screen and sat down.
Tareyton strode along the east wall, passing by the curtain and Warren and Josh. He positioned himself by the screen. "This is the Sentinel Reaper Mark I," he announced clearly. "Their small size and aerodynamic capabilities grant them the stealth and speed to surgically strike individual targets while minimizing civilian casualties and collateral damage."
The Sentinel plans dissolved into scenes of daily urban life. The label 'non-target' flashed repeatedly as a crowd of commuters filed into Grand Central Station.
"The units are programmed to assess every engagement. They will spare the lives of innocent normal humans and preserve property whenever possible. In fact, cultural institutions and historic landmarks are given particular deference. We don't want to level New York City."
The diagram of the Reaper's skeletal frame reappeared. The lines became bolder and more defined. Contour shading gave the concept sketch multidimensionality.
Giles' voice got louder. "The body is basically a scaled down Buckman F-35 Falcon…"
"That's the real reason we acquired Buckman Aircraft," Worthington II interjected, "to get their structural design staff." Laughter erupted.
Angel got up from his chair. "Dad, I can't believe you've done all this!" Huffs and gasps swept the chamber. "You even bought an aircraft company? You always said aerospace was a terrible investment…"
Tareyton cut him off. "Mr. Worthington, you do not have the right to interrupt this presentation. You are here strictly as an observer and you are not entitled to make any statements at any time."
Josh rose too. "Mr. Tareyton, as Warren's counsel, I must inform everyone that you are incorrect. We have the right to petition this board, and we intend to exercise that privilege."
"Not while he's talking, boy!" Despite the low light, Angel could see his father's neck and jaw tensing. "Sit down!" the older man commanded.
Warren and Josh obeyed. Worthington II exhaled audibly.
Giles acted as if nothing had happened. "The Reaper Sentinels' strategic planning and mutant classification software is far more sophisticated than the Warrior series. Not only can they access thousands of potential battle scenarios, they have been engineered to neutralize the mutant abilities of Priority One targets."
The Reaper prototype on the monitor grew layers of dark material.
"To increase the odds against combatants with the ability to control magnetic fields – meaning Magneto – we exclusively used non-conductive components with the greatest resistivity: newly developed carbon filament reinforced polymers with a boron carbide ceramic exterior shell. Even the armaments contain no metal parts. A full load carries six Chimera photonic missiles."
Angel wished there were more detailed shots of the mountings for the weapons.
"This lack of conductivity combined with the high heat resistance and radiation absorbing qualities of the boron carbide will also counter the powers of mutants who can generate live electric current, including weather manipulators," Tareyton went on, "like Storm."
Shining with its final coating of ceramic, the digital Sentinel withstood multiple electric discharges.
"Lightning bolts will have little to no effect."
The unit on the screen now darted and dove, exhibiting its aerial prowess.
"Once the so-called 'Windrider' realizes she can't fry these guys, she'll find it impossible to escape. No mutant can outmaneuver or evade these things in the air."
The Reaper then rotated to reveal a broad, oblong red crystal panel.
"It has a ruby quartz deflector to protect it against Cyclops' optic energy blasts as well." Giles stepped forward. "Even if you are not impressed, gentlemen, by the defenses described so far, I think you will be amazed by this next feature."
The picture of the deflector cut to video of Jean speaking to a large gathering of parents at a Bayville School Board meeting.
"Jean Grey is among the most insidious category of mutants: psychics. Like her telepathic mentor, Charles Xavier, she appears to be a perfectly normal person, most of the time, as she does in this footage. But make no mistake; according to the MRD, her powers currently are unquantifiable, and they're growing – some intelligence sources claim exponentially."
Warren felt sick. A barrage of clips portrayed Jean as a super-powered mutant dynamo – launching abandoned cars at a Sentinel Warrior; swooping down from the sky to stop a runaway freight train with her mind; and containing a ferocious multi-tank chemical explosion with a telekinetic force field.
"The MRD ranks her with Magneto as having the highest destructive potential. Luckily, we've recently found a way to use Jean's psychic abilities against her." Giles' lips curved into a smirk.
The action sequence faded to black and was replaced by a table listing letters of the Greek alphabet with corresponding frequency ranges.
"New research conducted by our friends at Shaw Industries has revealed a register of brain activity that only psis produce, called omicron waves. Psychics use these frequencies for mental communication and manipulation. When Shaw's tests confirmed that psis can be overwhelmed by a surge in the low end of the omicron spectrum, we formed a partnership to develop psionic security technology for the Sentinel Program. The Reaper can emit a devastating omicron signal pulse that will knock Jean Grey unconscious."
Domino slid the fingers of her free hand along the contours of one of the giant bronze slabs in the lobby of the Worthington Corporate Center. A warbling sound decreased in pitch as she lowered her arm. "Cool… Don't you think, Lance?"
Avalanche's response came through gritted teeth. "I'm trying not to think right now. 'Cause if I do I'm gonna get really mad."
"You're so impatient." Domino swung her valise while strolling over to the other humongous art installation – a thirty-foot high waterfall that appeared to miraculously defy gravity by flowing upwards. Lance stomped after her. "I just want to check this stuff out," she told him. "This place might not be here tomorrow."
"Let's ax the sightseeing. If we're going to do this…"
Domino arrested his words with a look. "Let's do it now." She casually mounted the ramp to the mezzanine and approached the elevators to the corporate offices.
One of the guards behind the security desk moved out and blocked her path. "Corporate offices are closed on Saturdays, Miss. You and your friend need to turn around."
"Oh, sorry, I didn't know we had to check in. We're here for the meeting of the board." Domino pushed her sunglasses against the bridge of her nose.
"You'll have to come with me first. We have to call upstairs." The security agent led her to the large marble counter where his colleague was already on the phone. Domino glanced back at Lance and subtly motioned him in the direction of the lone elevator at the end of the hall.
"Ms. Cheng? Carolyn, we have two people who say they're here for the meeting… Yeah. Hold on." The guard on the phone asked Domino, "What are your names?"
"Daisy and Donald," she answered while opening her valise.
"Last names?"
Domino closed the lid and held up two Glock 9mm semi-automatic pistols. "Try and duck."
The model of the Sentinel Reaper Mark I slowly spun on the digital monitor like a jewel on a carousel platform in a mirrored case. All the men in the conference room were applauding Giles' presentation, except Warren and Josh.
"Thank you." Giles beamed proudly.
Warren didn't wait for the clapping to die down. He shot to his feet.
"When did you decide to become a merchant of death?" he yelled at his father. "I'm just wondering. Is it something you're proud of?"
"Are you exercising your privilege?" asked Giles with a sneer.
"Yes, we are," Josh responded.
Warren expanded his challenge to the rest of the board. "What if Charles Xavier is right and mutants and non-mutants can learn to live together? What would happen to this company if sometime in the future, maybe in four or five years, people accepted the idea that we are all human beings, whether or not we have a mutation? You know what would happen? The Worthington name would become synonymous with genocide."
"Well, War, I wouldn't worry about that too much." Worthington II got up and obscured part of the rotating Sentinel on the display. "And if it does happen, you can help your friends the X-Men create aerial predators to hunt down the last real humans."
"The X-Men are not my friends. But you and the MRD have them totally wrong. They're not like Magneto. They are not seeking world domination. Even in most of the video you edited together to demonize them, the X-Men were risking their lives to save people, normal humans."
"From other genetic freaks! That's the thing. Mutants are too powerful. That nice-looking young redhead who's a student uptown, Jean Grey, she might be the next Apocalypse. That little girl could destroy thousands, maybe millions of lives. No one should have that kind of power."
"No one except you."
An electronic chime rang from Giles' suit jacket. He reached into his inside left breast pocket and removed his phone. "Yes, Carolyn, we're almost done. What is it? Oh? Well, don't worry about it. I'm sure security can handle the situation."
Worthington II turned towards Tareyton. "What's going on?"
"I don't think it's a major concern. Security called up saying some people in the lobby are claiming they have an appointment with the board."
Suddenly a tremor shook the chamber. The doors to the conference room burst open and Carolyn Cheng fell inside followed by the two guards from downstairs.
A tall, thin woman in black leather entered accompanied by a pumped-up guy with a sinister-looking mullet. The woman tracked the faces of the assembled executives with one of her guns. "Don't move. Anybody!" The room froze. "You know the deal. Hands up!" She switched her focus to Angel. "Hi there, bird boy. Having fun playing big business man?"
"Domino, this is not the way to help mutants. You're proving them right. This is just what they want," he said, as calmly as he could.
"Shut up!" she shouted. Warren fell silent. "Now. Everyone listen to me." The black circle around her eye widened beyond the edge of the left lens of her dark glasses. "I'm a mutant and so is my friend here. Just so one of you big guys doesn't try to be a hero, let me explain what we can do. Avalanche here can send another quake through this joint if you misbehave. You know, really stress test the foundations… Sounds fun, huh? I'll show you my mutant power." She took aim at Worthington II and fired. Giles threw himself in front of the muzzle but the bullet whizzed by him, grazing his collar.
A loud groan came from the floor. Warren looked where his father had been standing and saw blood splattered across the shiny image of the Sentinel Reaper Mark I.
Domino released her grip on the trigger. "I never miss."