The Blackbird was a remarkable craft. Heavily retrofitted with Shi'ar technology, it performed far beyond the capabilities of the SR-71 that it was originally based on, and had a radar profile so low as to make a brave engineer weep with jealousy. It was perfectly capable of making a round trip to Genosha and back without refeuling, and doing so at speeds few jet fighters could match for any length of time.
At the fuel-efficient Mach 4 speed, it would take about three hours to make it to Genosha. Time zones being what they were, that meant they left New York state at 6:30pm so they would arrive in the early morning at their destination. Kurt was at the controls, Kitty sitting next to him as copilot.
Normally Rogue insisted on flying (she sometimes wondered if it was her or Carol who loved jets so much) but she hadn't slept well over the weekend, and was trying to catch up. The others, Ororo and Logan in particular, were also trying to get as much sleep as possible on the way. The two pilots weren't talking much, to avoid waking them.
An indicator flashed on the control board, with a buzzing. Kitty touched a switch and the sound died while she checked readouts. "Something's behind us. Following about a quarter mile back." She frowned. "Small, doesn't show up well on radar or infrared." No heat signature meant it wasn't any kind of jet or rocket.
Kurt exchanged glances with her. "Well, ping it. That'll tell us if it's him." Kitty tapped quickly, and a focused radar pulse was sent to the object. They looked at the reading. "Human shaped, and it reflected a lot of the energy back this time. It's Greg all right." His field would let minimal amounts of radio energy through, but a strong radar beam could cook food, and triggered his defenses.
"So, what do we do?" Kitty asked. Kurt was in charge when Storm was unavailable.
"We can't outrun him. We might as well invite him aboard. At least we can keep an eye on him here." Kurt watched as Kitty opened a channel. Sure enough, Greg was wearing a Shi'ar helmet. Besides communication equipment and a fairly bright little computer, it sported an infrared mode that enabled him to follow their exhaust.
The other mutants awoke as the airlock cycled, allowing Greg to enter even while the craft was flying at speed. "As I recall, you were not invited to this expedition," Storm said as he pulled off the helmet.
"I don't suppose I can talk you people out of this?" he said, looking around. No one answered. "Fine, then I might as well come along for the fun. I've been hankering for some payback."
"That ain't the way Rogue told it," Logan said dryly. She was pointedly ignoring Greg, looking out a window.
"Yeah, well, I'm here now," Greg replied curtly, settling into a couch at the back.
"You realize you shall be following orders?" Storm asked pointedly. "And that this is not exactly a promising start?"
Greg looked at her. "I'm not an idiot or a cowboy, I'll play nice. But I'm coming along."
Logan, like the veteran warrior he was, had already fallen back to sleep. It took the others a bit longer, Greg and Rogue in particular.
The Blackbird landed almost silently among a few scraggly trees a few hundred yards inland, about half a mile from Vigilance. The mutants swiftly pulled camouflage netting over the craft and set up watchpoints. Kurt checked in with Xavier by satellite as the rest of the team disembarked.
Dawn was still a couple of hours away and Storm and Wolverine wanted to take advantage of the darkness while it was available. They swiftly grabbed their gear and checked their encrypted comlinks. Everything was in place, so they loped off into the night toward town.
There was no sign that they had been detected, but no one was comfortable enough to try to sleep again.
Storm had been orphaned young, and lived for much of her childhood on the streets of Cairo. She had learned theiving from masters of the craft, and though she didn't need to practice those skills to stay alive now, she remained world-class. She could tell at a glance if a house was occupied, or ripe for the plucking. It was a simple matter to find a wealthy home and break in. The expensive alarm system fell so quickly she felt a bit cheated.
"These guys'll be gone for another week on vacation, it looks like," Logan said, rifling through the home office. Storm had already gathered enough local currency from the wall safe, and examples of identification papers. She was busy forging them some convincing replicas. One line on the driver's license gave her pause - 'gene-positive'. She marked 'no', as in the examples before her, but she was troubled.
They chose some local clothes from the closets, trying out of courtesy not to take too much that wouldn't be insured. Setting off in the early dawn, they made their way into the town proper. They intended to catch the morning train for the capital, and investigate in earnest there. Arriving a bit early, the pair bought tickets and went to get some hot drinks at a stand outside, overlooking the harbor.
Logan pointed down to one of the docks. "Check that out."
Storm looked; a big man in an odd, multi-colored, skintight suit was lumbering along, carrying several large crates without apparent effort. He placed them next to the road and ambled back for more. She couldn't hear what happened then, but Wolverine's enhanced hearing picked it up clearly.
A dock worker came up, yelling. "Jeez, you genejoke, even you can't be that damn stupid! Those crates are going to that ship over there!"
The big man looked sad. "Sorry, boss, sorry, boss. Charlie said by road."
"Charlie doesn't know crap! Don't blame this on him, you stupid mutate! Just get those crates loaded!"
"Yes, boss. Sorry, boss." The big man lumbered away, picking the crates up and moving to the other ship.
"Damn things are more trouble than they're worth," the man muttered, headed toward the office. "Charlie, you moron, did you tell that genejoke to move that load to the street?", he called as he strolled back inside, slamming the door.
Logan told Storm what he'd heard. She was quiet and pensive on the train ride in.