3
Breathing in the fresh, slightly bitter odour of green tea, Ming-Na Chan closed her eyes and took a small mouthful, enjoying the quiet. Petite laced boots dangling, she cradled a delicate bone china cup decorated with lotus blossoms. Gazing around the clutter of her office, at the somewhat battered steel filing cabinets and scratched desk, she listened to the muffled chorus of shouts from an intermediate lesson in the main hall. A polite knock sounded at the open door and she looked up to see a young Anglo-Chinese man in a neatly-pressed shirt and tie.
"I'm off home, boss," he informed her cheerfully."It's my Grandmother's birthday and my Mum will box my ears if I'm late."
Ming-Na nodded understandingly, suppressing a smile at the mixture of embarrassment and pride in his voice. Traditional Chinese respect for the elderly was clearly at war with any young man's need to define his own boundaries and image.
"But of course – send my regards to your grandmother, Lee. I'll see you in the morning."
Giving a small wave and a respectful bob of his head, Lee trotted off towards the exit. Moments later, the honk and snarl of the busy street filtered through as the door swung shut behind him. Settling back in her creaking office chair, Ming-Na contemplated the browny-green shimmer of her tea. Twisting the cream-streaked jade bangle around her reed-slim wrist, she looked at the clock on her desk, moving aside a sheaf of papers. She had another three quarters of an hour before her eighth dan students arrived for their daily training session. As Sensei, she took her responsibility to her students extremely seriously, her role often encompassing confidante, agony aunt and in some cases, parent.
The loud report of the metal outer door smashing back against the inner wall echoed resoundingly through the linoleum-floored corridor. Giving the briefest of frowns, thinking it to be one of many energetic teenagers who frequented the dojo, Ming-Na did not bother getting up to investigate. An academy full of martial arts-trained instructors and students usually meant any trouble was swiftly dealt with. Even the city's resident population of Triads thought it more trouble than it was worth to attempt to extort protection money from Sensei Chan and her pupils.
She was unprepared when a sobbing, bedraggled girl wearing a torn school uniform stumbled into her office and collapsed three steps over the threshold. Alarmed, Ming-Na leapt from her chair and over the desk. Features obscured by fallen hanks of finger-snarled chestnut brown hair, chest heaving with exhaustion, confusion and fear, the teenager trembled uncontrollably.
"S-Sensei," she quavered. "Sensei – please, p-please."
Kneeling at the distraught schoolgirl's side, Ming-Na reached out a comforting hand and touched her shoulder, brow furrowing as she jumped like she had received an electric shock. Taking in the ripped coat, shredded stockings and state of panting breathlessness, the Sensei realised she had run the six or so miles from her school.
"Helena," she said gently, automatically looking for signs of injury she had to remind herself she would not find. "What happened? Sit up, child, get your breath back and tell me from the start."
Slipping a maternal arm around her, she helped her sit up, then squatted on the floor next to her, smoothing the tangled hair from her forehead. Lower lip trembling, the teenager's fists unconsciously clenched.
"I-I was taking it back and a load of kids attacked me," she began, her face crumpling with pain. "There was so many of them, Sensei. Screaming, calling me a freak, kicking me, hitting me. I couldn't help it… Icouldn'thelpit! Ilostcontolandmyshieldsbuckled – andandand…"
Holding up a finger to stop her frantic babbling, Ming-Na took the girl's face in her tiny hands, brushing away the tears with her thumbs.
"Hush, quiet your mind, regain your centre." Watching as her student nodded and began to breathe deeply and rhythmically, she patted her arm reassuringly. "Good… now, carry on."
Hazel green eyes apple-moist with unshed tears, Helena hugged her elbows and gathered her disarrayed thoughts. Her Sensei had known she was a mutant before anyone else, had taught her meditation techniques to block the terrible, deafening mental chatter inside her mind, taught her to focus her will and thoughts. Ming-Na Chan did not treat her like a subhuman third-class citizen, she called her powers 'gifts' and insisted she learn how to use them as they emerged.
"I don't know what I did to them," she admitted, fighting to keep the tremor from her voice. "But when I opened my eyes they were all just lying there. Out cold, the whole lot of them. But that's not all, Sensei… I've got another nasty surprise."
Ming-Na raised a dark eyebrow enquiringly, watching curiously as her protégé raised her hands and gingerly balled her fists, features tensing in expectation of pain. Unable to stop herself, the Chinese woman sucked in a startled breath as bone claws snapped from between the teenager's knuckles. Glistening like excised elephant tusks, covered in a quickly evaporating patina of blood, they extended to more than twelve inches in length.
"I don't know what's worse," Helena whispered, her voice hollow as she stared at her claws. "That I've got them, or how badly I wanted to use them… I nearly gutted the bloody headmaster. You should've seen the way he looked at me, Sensei – like I was a Nazi!"
She smiled mirthlessly, her eyes abruptly cold and clear as green glass. There was a small, almost unnoticeable movement of her wrist muscles and her claws shot back. The exit wounds vanished, smoothed into non-existence by her healing factor.
"Maybe they're right. Maybe I am a monster."
"No," Ming-Na said sharply, causing her to look up. "You're not – they fear what they don't understand. Just as buffalo fear the dragon."
Standing, the martial arts master crossed to her desk and picked up the phone, dialling an interior extension. Rattling off a quick instruction in Mandarin when it was answered, she replaced the receiver and turned to her pupil, who had just slunk into a chair.
"There's somebody I'd like you to meet," she revealed. "He has come up from London especially."
Helena visibly wilted, knees pressed close together, chin sinking down onto her chest. She sighed and kneaded the bridge of her nose, feeling the low, throbbing beginnings of a migraine at the base of her skull.
"Sensei, I really don't feel I can demonstrate any techniques to a posh Southern bloke right now."
Ming-Na shook her head firmly in the negative, crossing to the still-hot teapot and kettle at the back of the office. Pouring a generous cup, she handed it to the teenager, who obediently began to drink.
"He's not here for that, child. I've told him all about you and he has a wonderful opportunity for you."
"You told him I'm a mutant?!" Helena squeaked, eyes widening with shock. "Bu…"
Catching a new male scent not familiar to her nose, she turned, nostrils instinctively flaring as the aroma receptors in her brain processed and identified it. A tall, pinstripe-suited man with short, neat silvery hair and a grave demeanour stood in the doorway.
"Indeed she has, young lady," he said, his voice a deep, educated baritone. "And that is exactly why you are perfect for the job."
Setting her cup down on an uncluttered corner of the chipboard desk, the teenager wriggled about in her chair until she faced him, faint suspicion evident in her expression.
"Helena, this is Mr McKellen," Ming-Na introduced. "He works for the Government."
The young mutant eyed him over and nodded a non-committal greeting. He looked like a civil servant, screaming middle-aged, middle England bureaucracy from tailored suit to carefully polished brogues. Tentatively, she reached out an ill-trained mental probe and was astounded to find he had durable shields. Concealing her surprise, she feigned disinterest.
"I gather you don't work for the Inland Revenue, sir?" she observed with ghosted sarcasm.
Ming-Na watched, noting with satisfaction that she did not allow the upset and turmoil she was feeling to show. She was determined, strong-willed and resourceful. She deserved a better future than the mutant-hating general public was willing to give. McKellan's lips twitched in a brief smile at her bravado.
"Quite," he allowed. "I've a proposition for you, if you're interested."
Helena shrugged with the studied indifference of a teenager and began picking at her nails, surreptitiously tugging up the torn flap of her school skirt.
"My department runs a programme for people with unique gifts – we teach them to harness and develop them to their fullest potential. We provide everything you could want – top notch training facilities, a place to live, money in your pocket, your own gramophone and wireless."
Covering her interest with a look of scorn, Helena inclined her head, the cynicism bred by too much harsh experience for her young age emerging. The offer of money and gadgets was simply too good not to have a hidden catch.
"What do you lot want in return?" she asked "There's a war on and I don't think it'll be over by Christmas, no matter what the BBC says."
McKellan smiled again, amused by her attitude, realising she was just as incisively intelligent as her mentor had described.
"No. We expect you to work for us eventually, once you turn sixteen."
"What kind of work?" she asked, eyes narrowing.
"Work suited to your talents," he returned softly, evenly. "Which I believe are self-evident."
"Soldiering?"
"Possibly."
"Inevitably, I should think," she commented, then frowned.
Seeing her mulling it over, her quick mind running through various scenarios and outcomes, McKellan shot his spotless shirt cuffs and glanced at Ming-Na Chen. She was desperate to get her protégé away from her deprived background, away from anti-mutant racism that would inevitably result in the serious injury and death of persecutors who pushed her over the edge.
"Nobody would ever call you a monster again, Helena," he said quietly, with authority. "You would earn more money in a month than the average worker does in a year. We'll train you to be the absolute best, the elite. You'll never want for a place to live, never have to settle for second best of anything. Wouldn't you like that?"
The girl looked up with growing hope, "My foster parents…?"
"Will understand. Ming-Na tells me things have been difficult at home since you developed your powers." He leaned forward and risked placing a fatherly hand on her shoulder. "All you have to do is say yes, my dear, and I'll take you away from all this hatred."
Helena looked to her Sensei, who tipped her chin encouragingly. Eyes tracking between the tiny Chines woman and the man in a handmade suit, she bit her lip, then looked up and gave a shaky grin.
"Do I really get a gramophone?" she asked. "They're really expensive."
McKellan chuckled and nodded, "We'll teach you how to build one, if you like."
Her expression brightened at the prospect and she swung her crossed ankles, examining a scuff on the toe of her boots. Ming-Na looked up as the Government man touched her arm and she smiled gratefully.
"Don't worry, Ms Chan," McKellan declared in his chocolate voice. "You made the right decision to allow us to see her. I promise you – no harm will come to her."
Watching as he sat down and pulled a thick, glossy-paged booklet from his briefcase that he handed to the excited teenager, she returned to her desk and poured more tea.
A better future, she thought to herself. Away from all this hate. Away from harm…
*
* Well, think we can guess things don't quite work out as planned. Hope you enjoyed this little companion piece. It may give a few teensy-weensy spoilers for those who haven't read the trilogy, but it's just a bit of background filler for the character, really. Remember – never trust a man from the Government!