Chapter 3
Hey, it's an even shorter chapter! Oh, well.
The Greenfield Country Club was one of the most exclusive meeting places in the state. Doctors, judges, businessmen, senators-all met there to socialize and, hopefully, to improve one's status. Tonight, however, the reason for the crowd was slightly different, albeit that the same sort of people showed up.
Mark Salinger was one of those people. He was very rich, for he owned a shipping firm, and his silver hair, neatly combed back, gave him the air of an actual aristocrat. Sipping at his champagne, he smiled politely at everyone gathered there, enjoying the music of Bach softly playing from the speaker system. It was safe to say that he was the most important man there, for he was head of the gathered organization-the Fellowship of Humanity.
It wasn't that he hated mutants, for it was not their fault that they were born diseased and inhuman. No, the only thing that bothered Mark about them was the fact that they were pushing humanity aside-that much was evident. Mutants were powerful indeed, and could prove to be a real threat to the dominant species of earth.
They had to be stopped before they could do any serious damage.
He had been involved in this organization for many years; in fact, he had first started it when he had seen the kinds of things that mutants could do to a normal man. The Fellowship did little for his business, but that was fine, for it had set up only to help all of mankind. If anything, Mark had poured a considerable amount into this little project, a group that few knew about. The media themselves had no idea how much power Salinger's organization wielded, for, behind the losers like Peter Kart, there were many influential men and women.
Mark was finishing the champagne when a squat man with thinning hair waddled up to him, followed by a tall boy that was no older than seventeen. The short man he recognized as being the mayor of New York City; the adolescent he did not recognize.
"Mr. Salinger?" The squat man, Rupert Cornwall, asked, extending one plump hand.
"Indeed. You must be Mr. Cornwall."
"I am," The obese little man laughed, and then gestured to the boy behind him, who watched the party with cool, sea-green eyes, "and this is Joseph Whitaker. He's the one they've been talking about."
Mark raised one gray eyebrow, intrigued, and then shook hands with the blonde boy.
"Yes, I've heard much about you, young man," Mark told him, flashing a pearly white smile. The boy did not return the grin, his face as composed as the millionaire's. He motioned for them for join him in a private room, where he shut the heavy oak doors and faced the two.
"Gentlemen," he said, taking out a cigar and lighting it, "I believe that you already know why you're here." Rupert eagerly nodded, whereas Joseph just folded his arms and gave an abrupt "yes." Mark puffed on the cigar, and then said:
"All of your expenses will be paid for, of course. If you need anything, Rupert over there has the number to a bank account that will provide for anything you desire."
"I understand," Joseph replied. Mark nodded slowly, holding the cigar in one hand.
"And you know where you're going?"
"Yes."
Another puff, and Mark looked over at him, gray smoke filling the air.
"I want you to know that what you are doing, young man, is one of the greatest deeds I've ever seen committed. You are helping to save the human race, and for that I, and everyone here, will be eternally grateful."
The silver-haired man then turned, opened the engraved doors, and nonchalantly walked back out into the party as though nothing had transpired.
Hey, it's an even shorter chapter! Oh, well.
The Greenfield Country Club was one of the most exclusive meeting places in the state. Doctors, judges, businessmen, senators-all met there to socialize and, hopefully, to improve one's status. Tonight, however, the reason for the crowd was slightly different, albeit that the same sort of people showed up.
Mark Salinger was one of those people. He was very rich, for he owned a shipping firm, and his silver hair, neatly combed back, gave him the air of an actual aristocrat. Sipping at his champagne, he smiled politely at everyone gathered there, enjoying the music of Bach softly playing from the speaker system. It was safe to say that he was the most important man there, for he was head of the gathered organization-the Fellowship of Humanity.
It wasn't that he hated mutants, for it was not their fault that they were born diseased and inhuman. No, the only thing that bothered Mark about them was the fact that they were pushing humanity aside-that much was evident. Mutants were powerful indeed, and could prove to be a real threat to the dominant species of earth.
They had to be stopped before they could do any serious damage.
He had been involved in this organization for many years; in fact, he had first started it when he had seen the kinds of things that mutants could do to a normal man. The Fellowship did little for his business, but that was fine, for it had set up only to help all of mankind. If anything, Mark had poured a considerable amount into this little project, a group that few knew about. The media themselves had no idea how much power Salinger's organization wielded, for, behind the losers like Peter Kart, there were many influential men and women.
Mark was finishing the champagne when a squat man with thinning hair waddled up to him, followed by a tall boy that was no older than seventeen. The short man he recognized as being the mayor of New York City; the adolescent he did not recognize.
"Mr. Salinger?" The squat man, Rupert Cornwall, asked, extending one plump hand.
"Indeed. You must be Mr. Cornwall."
"I am," The obese little man laughed, and then gestured to the boy behind him, who watched the party with cool, sea-green eyes, "and this is Joseph Whitaker. He's the one they've been talking about."
Mark raised one gray eyebrow, intrigued, and then shook hands with the blonde boy.
"Yes, I've heard much about you, young man," Mark told him, flashing a pearly white smile. The boy did not return the grin, his face as composed as the millionaire's. He motioned for them for join him in a private room, where he shut the heavy oak doors and faced the two.
"Gentlemen," he said, taking out a cigar and lighting it, "I believe that you already know why you're here." Rupert eagerly nodded, whereas Joseph just folded his arms and gave an abrupt "yes." Mark puffed on the cigar, and then said:
"All of your expenses will be paid for, of course. If you need anything, Rupert over there has the number to a bank account that will provide for anything you desire."
"I understand," Joseph replied. Mark nodded slowly, holding the cigar in one hand.
"And you know where you're going?"
"Yes."
Another puff, and Mark looked over at him, gray smoke filling the air.
"I want you to know that what you are doing, young man, is one of the greatest deeds I've ever seen committed. You are helping to save the human race, and for that I, and everyone here, will be eternally grateful."
The silver-haired man then turned, opened the engraved doors, and nonchalantly walked back out into the party as though nothing had transpired.