Brennan swung the low slung red sports car into the parking slot with practiced ease, turning off the engine and double checking that the anti-theft devices were on. It wasn't too long ago that a car like this would have been a perfect target for him, and old habits died hard. It was early evening as they arrived at Barry's Watering Hole, prime time for people getting out of work and not yet willing to head home to a frozen dinner to be nuked in the microwave.
Shalimar preceded him into the bar, a dimly lit room with smoke hovering above, a wood-grained bar top wiped smooth from many years of many spilled beers, and the omni-present jukebox in the corner spitting out a whiny tune of lost love that could barely be heard over the clink of glasses. She coughed delicately, feeling sorry for Brennan whose nose was closer to the pollution than her own. Then again, Brennan didn't have feral senses to be annoyed by the aroma of used nicotine, so perhaps it worked out.
Brennan showed the picture that Shalimar had pulled off of the internet of O'Hare. "Ever see this guy before?"
The bartender took a quick look. "Who's asking?"
"We're not friends of his," Shalimar said. The bartender had an honest face. And, more importantly, he smelled honest. He only watered down the drinks a little, which is why the place was on the full side. "And we're not looking for money. We're actually looking for his previous boss. We can't find the factory. Do you know where he used to work?"
"Sure. Not a problem. It's the industrial park, just north of here." The bartender jerked his thumb in a vaguely northern direction. "Not sure which factory, though. Guy came in, did his drinking, went home. Then did it all over again the next night. I was glad when he changed jobs, went some place else. Seemed like a nice guy. Deserved better than a job that turned him into a drunk."
Brennan nodded, as if in agreement. The bartender obviously didn't know that O'Hare hadn't changed jobs, just changed work locations. He stayed casual. "Gene-Wright have a place up there?"
The bartender shrugged. "Could be. I don't keep track of the companies. Go look at the directory at the entrance to the industrial park. That'll tell you."
Shalimar glanced uneasily at Brennan as they left the bar. "That was odd."
"What? We came, we asked, we got answers. What's so odd?"
"Seems like every time I come to a bar with you to ask a few questions, we get involved in a fight."
"You're paranoid, Shal."
"Maybe. But I'll feel better once we get the obligatory fight out of the way. Then we can get down to business."
Brennan laughed. "Get in the car, Shal."
Splat! A bullet whizzed by his ear. Brennan yelled, and dove into the car, Shalimar right behind him. He revved the engine and zoomed out. Shalimar looked back, trying to find where the sniper was. Another car pulled out behind them.
"That's them," Shalimar said, adrenaline pumping. "Three of 'em. Black sedan. Different license plate, though. Not our wayward fugitives with the files."
"Seatbelts, Shal." Brennan concentrated on keeping the car on the road, taking the curve much too fast. Another bullet creased the paint. "Damn. I just waxed this thing."
"This is getting annoying," Shalimar commented. She grabbed onto the dash to keep from being flung against the car door. "Just who did you piss off enough to track you this far to take pot shots at?"
"Haven't the foggiest," Brennan said. He put the car into a racing turn, flinging it ninety degrees to the right and flooring the pedal. The car leaped forward. Their attackers took a more sedate path around the corner, losing ground but not their target. "Hang on."
"Can you pull over? I'd like to ask these bozo's some questions. Like, why they keep shooting at you."
"Me? What did I do?"
"Good question. Was it your breath?" She looked around. "Hey! They're veering off. After them! I've got questions, and they've got the answers!"
"Too late." Brennan swung the red sportster around, but their quarry had already taken advantage of the V-8 engine under the black sedan's hood to flee. "Damn. I would've liked to have asked them a few questions myself." He leaned back in the seat, trying to pretend that he wasn't as shaken as he looked. Little electrical sparks leaked from his fingertips, and he hurriedly quashed them before he sent Shalimar's hair up in an static electric frizz. "This is getting seriously annoying."
* * *
The first black sedan, best guess according to the license plate partial, belonged to a Mr. Jonathan A. Tarbell, of Gloucestertown, with an address that Lexa recognized as belonging to the 'fabulously wealthy and not afraid to show it' set. Mr. Tarbell owned several companies, one of which was located in the industrial park not too far from the bar that Shalimar had located. Lexa wasn't about to admit it, but when the two locations dove-tailed, she knew she had the right place.
She considered alerting the pair, then decided against it. Let them waste their time at the bar, drinking a beer or two. She had better things to do, and a mission to accomplish. Dealing with Mutant X was the challenging part of her present assignment. As good as they were, none of her current teammates possessed the drive to succeed that she did, the need to follow the orders of the Dominion. They were always quick to question, to ask if what they were doing was really right. As valuable as that was, it made them difficult to work with. Especially when the Dominion required a task that, on the surface, appeared to be not in mankind's best interest.
Lexa herself sometimes doubted the Dominion's wisdom. But now was not the time to indulge in such luxuries. She headed out.
* * *
"This way." Ernest led Jesse out through the back of the house and into the woods behind. The trees stretched for miles; Lady Esther had chosen a remote location to raise the children, a place where things could happen and not be noticed. It had seemed a wise decision a year ago, and still seemed to be one today. Ernest, at least, had prospered.
The trail led through the trees, with low hanging bushes trying to scrape Jesse's hair off of his head. Ernest, still a foot shorter, had no such problems, skipping ahead with pleasure at being back in the forest again. He'd missed hiking back here on the week-end, he confided to Jesse. Mrs. Pettigrew wouldn't allow Jacob's parents to let him out of their sight, not after Tess bolted. Both molecular's shared a liking for such activities, and Jesse paused to smell the clean air.
"So where's this Rock?" Jesse gave the location the same emphasis that Ernest had.
"Back here a ways." Ernest kept them going. "It's really a cave, but it doesn't go too far in. More of a roof over a little patch. Tess and I would go there like every day at first. Then it got better, when we started to know more kids at school. But it's still Tess's and my special place. Even Granny Esther doesn't come here. Says that we ought to have a place of our own, away from everybody, even her. She's pretty neat, for an old lady."
"Yeah, she is," Jesse agreed, remembering his own introduction to Lady Esther. Emma had been entranced by her: an old lady who pretended to be a crazy white witch so that she could cover up her meager mutant abilities as a psionic. He covered over a cough; Emma should be here, instead of lying dead in the hard cold ground.
But life moved on. Jesse had already resolved to stick around until Lady Esther was out of the hospital, and then some. The house needed repairs, things that an old woman didn't have it in her to do and two kids wouldn't have the first clue about. It would be like a vacation. And Ernest had already been bugging him for some computer upgrades. That would be fun.
Ernest stopped him. "She's there," he whispered.
Jesse could barely see the outline of the girl between the trees. She sat inside The Rock—it really was a shallow cave, just enough to keep the rain off if the wind didn't blow it in—with her arms hugging her knees and her light brown hair falling into her face. Tess had grown as much as Ernest, he realized, her figure going from little girl filling out into the promise of a beautiful young woman. Emma's long dead words came back to him: be careful with her, Jess. She's at the impressionable age, and you've definitely impressed her. She's got a crush on you, and probably will for some time. Watch what you say and do. Keep it platonic, no matter what.
"Wait here," he whispered to Ernest. The kid nodded, trusting in his fellow molecular. Jesse would make it all better.
Jesse made no attempt to hide, but neither did he crash through the underbrush. He moved quietly but purposefully until he stood some twenty feet from the opening of The Rock. The girl still didn't notice him, rocking back and worth, trapped in her own world. "Tess?"
Her head flew up, and she started in alarm. "Jesse?"
"Tess, why are you out here? What's wrong?"
"Stay away from me!" she stammered, trying to get to her feet. She grabbed onto the wall of the cave to brace herself, and Jesse had to stop himself from rushing to her. The girl was clearly weakened by whatever was going on. She could barely stand, and needed help. Ernest had been right. Not getting a charge from another mutant had made Tess ill. "Stay away! I don't want to hurt you."
"You're not going to hurt me," Jesse soothed. "We're friends. Aren't we?"
Tess looked pale, and sick. "Jesse, please stay away from me! I'm no good! I hurt everyone who comes near me."
Jesse stopped. Tess looked about ready to bolt, despite her illness. Had she picked up pneumonia staying out here in the woods at night? It was another possibility. "Tess, please let me help you. Come inside."
"You can't help me," she sobbed. "No one can. It just hurts." She staggered to the back of the shallow cave, almost collapsing.
Jesse could stand it no longer. He dashed forward, grabbing her to prevent her from sliding to the cold stone floor.
She felt light and frail in his arms, and chilled. He slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around her, then picked her up and nestled her against his chest. "Ernest," he called, "I've got her. Go back to the house and start heating up something to get inside her. Some hot soup, or hot chocolate. Something like that."
"On it."
Tess murmured something unintelligible. Jesse shifted her weight more securely in his arms. "I'm taking you home, Tess."
Tess stirred. Half-conscious, she put up a wondering hand to his face, as if unable to believe that he had come to get her. Then realization hit her: "Oh, no!"
It was too late. The power drain had begun. Tess couldn't take her hand away from Jesse's face. Helpless, they both tumbled to the ground, Tess's hand riveted to Jesse, pulling a 'charge' deeper than she'd ever done before in her life. Something inside her kept her going, forcing her to drain the power out of her best friend. Jesse crumbled in front of her, the life ebbing from his eyes, too late understanding what Tess was trying to prevent.
* * *
"I haven't had my obligatory fight yet," Shalimar reminded Brennan. They had successfully entered the warehouse that belonged to Gene-Wright Industries, and were sneaking through the corridors, trying to keep from being noticed. The two guards at the front entrance didn't count; Brennan had taken them down from a distance with two well-placed streams of electrons.
"Count your blessings."
"I already have, and this is not one of them. Let's get Lexa's files and get out of here."
"Don't you want to know what Maguire is doing here?"
"I already know. It's something evil and malicious, and the world is better off without it. And Maguire, for that matter, but I won't quibble. And I don't care if Lexa never gets her precious files, as long as nobody else does either. Shall we blow up the place instead? Return the favor from Maguire's other factory that he blew up just for us?" Then Shalimar froze, her eyes going slitted. She cocked her head, peering at nothing. Then— "You can come out now, Lexa."
"Do you have to make so much noise?" Lexa materialized beside Brennan.
The elemental gave a start. "Where did you come from?"
"Same place you did. Sanctuary. Only my route was more direct."
"But you took longer to find it."
"Can we stop arguing, and get on with this?" Shalimar asked. "Since there are a number of opposing forces coming at us from down this hall?"
"Keep 'em busy," Lexa advised, and vanished in a flicker of light. "I'll get the files," came out of thin air.
"You'd think she could stay and help," Shalimar groused. "This is her mission, after all." Then she grinned: four men were running down the hall at them, mayhem in their eyes. She took out one man with a spinning back kick, ricocheted off the wall, and knocked another into submission on the way down.
"Quit your complaining. You're getting your obligatory fight, aren't you?" Brennan chose the low tech but effective blow to the jaw. His opponent staggered backwards and slid to the floor. He whirled around to deck another when he caught sight of something. "Hey, what's that?"
'That' was a white gas that was seeping out of the air vents. Moments later there were several sleepy men and two mutants passed out on the floor.
* * *
Absalom Maguire looked Lexa over very thoroughly. More thoroughly than she would like, considering that he had her securely tied to a chair. He looked almost like the picture that she had managed to pull up on him after gaining the name from the informant O'Hare and filling it out with more info by Mutant X. There was a shock of white hair that made him look like a tacky version of Einstein, and a skinny chest that spoke of too little time spent working out. His skin was pale, suggesting that a day at the beach was not in this man's mind-set. But on his cheek and extending from his wrist onto his hand was a savage-looking red burn that looked to be approximately a year old. That was an easy deduction for Lexa to make after hearing Mutant X's story of rescuing Maguire's children from him. Maguire had been burned in the fire that almost killed Mutant X and the two children. Obviously it hadn't slowed him down for very long.
And just as obviously this scientist knew mutants. Lexa had walked right into the trap completely unawares. Maguire didn't need to see her coming; hadn't, in fact. Lexa had bent the light around her so that she could approach invisibly.
But Maguire had movement sensors out, and a fine filament net dropped over her as soon as she entered the target zone. An electric shock played through the metallic fibers had knocked her out. When she woke up, she was sitting here in front of a gloating Maguire.
He walked around her, observing her from every side. Lexa didn't give him the satisfaction of following his progress with her eyes, though every other sense she possessed kept track of his whereabouts. He finally came to a halt in front of her. He cocked his head.
"An elemental?"
Lexa didn't answer.
"Of course you are. Bending light, I believe, according to what the security cameras showed. Or rather, what they didn't show. Too bad I was prepared for you."
"You didn't know I was coming," Lexa shot back.
"Not you personally, no. But someone would come. They had to. I am rather glad that it was someone with your talents. You're going to be useful."
"I'm not going to help you. Get that thought out of your pointy little head."
"Your bravado is wasted on me. I wouldn't bother, if I were you. Have you seen one of these?" Maguire held up a black leather collar that was shot through with silver wires.
"No. What is it?" But Lexa, with a sinking feeling, had heard of this device from the rest of Mutant X. It had been used on Jesse a little over a year ago. Shalimar said that the molecular had woken up with screaming nightmares for three nights afterward. Lexa gritted her teeth, and told herself that she was made of sterner stuff. I hope.
"This collar has two rather useful attributes. One, it allows me to control your actions. I can literally point you like a weapon with this collar on your neck."
"And the other useful attribute?" Lexa strove for sarcasm instead of fear. Maguire wrapped the black thing around her neck, moving behind her to buckle it in place. It felt snug against her throat. She swallowed hard.
"The second is that it concentrates your gift. You will be able to perform feats with this that you never dreamed of. For example," and Maguire warmed to his topic. "Your gift is the bending of light. With this collar, I can have you bend light so powerfully that the strongest laser is a mere flashlight compared to what you will do. And precise! I will be able to aim your light to within a micrometer."
"I'm sure that you have a useful function for this talent that you seem to think that I have." For the life of her, Lexa couldn't see why Maguire would be so pleased that she was a light elemental. What could he be planning? Sending a laser bolt around the world?
"Quite so. Shall I enlighten you? Oh dear, a pun."
"I'll forgive you. What are your plans?" And why does the Dominion want you stopped?
"There is this young man in the room next door. Like you, he is a mutant. Unlike you, he is not an elemental. He is a psionic, able to impose his thoughts upon anyone that he chooses. A rather powerful one, I might add, except for something in his brain that appears to be preventing him—and me—from utilizing his gift." Maguire paused to add weight to his next statement. "When that element in his brain has been burned out by a powerful yet precise laser and then removed, there will be no one in the world that will be able to resist his will."
"Except you."
"Well, yes, of course. For I will control the controls." Maguire held up a small black box. "I expect that the young man will eventually be grateful. My work with psionics has led me to believe that an inordinate number of them go insane due to the constant overload of psychic input. He is already showing signs of instability. After my interventions, that will no longer be of concern."
"And you think that I'll help you with this mad scheme."
"Like the young man, you will have no choice." Maguire fiddled with the black box on the table, adjusting the controls. Lexa struggled with her bonds, but they were too tight. "I recognize that I do not yet have the capability of removing the obstruction from his brain, but I expect that problem to be remedied shortly."
"You're mad!"
"No, merely impatient. To remove the obstruction after you have burned it into uselessness, I will require a molecular. In fact, there's one that I will enjoy using this collar on. He has caused me a great deal of trouble in the past, and I shall enjoy returning the favor. I set up a trap for him, and baited it with a conundrum."
Lexa stayed silent. As she expected, that didn't stop Maguire from boasting about his plans.
"I hired some assassins. Their job was to enrage the entire Mutant X team into chasing them back to this facility. It has worked; the team entered, and the soporific gas released into their vicinity. My men are picking them up from the main entrance corridor as we speak."
Lexa kept still. Maguire apparently didn't know that Jesse, the sole molecular among the group, hadn't come along. Maguire was still one molecular short, with a few screws loose.
* * *
"Jesse. Jesse, wake up."
Jesse groaned. The lights were on, it was broad daylight, and it was Tess's voice in his ear. Dimly he recalled stumbling back to the house, leaning on two half-grown children, and collapsing onto the day bed downstairs. Crawling up the staircase to the guest bedroom had been out of the question.
"Jesse, you got to get up. The social worker lady, Mrs. Pettigrew, she's at the door."
It all came crashing back to him; that and a pounding head-ache that threatened to send him reeling to the bathroom. He'd found Tess, and she'd drained him. Again. The last time was a year ago, but the sensation was unmistakable. Not Tess's fault, he reminded himself. She'd warned him to keep away. A mere touch was all it took. Getting a 'charge' off of another mutant must be like a narcotic to her, part of what her 'gift' was. 'Psionic vampire' was a more apt description than any of them had guessed.
"Jesse," Tess said more insistently. "You gotta get up. Mrs. Pettigrew is here. She wants to see you."
"Why?" It came out as a barely intelligible mumble.
"I called her, said I was back. You don't want the police still looking for me, do you?"
Jesse had to admit that Tess was right. Summoning a Herculean effort, he pulled himself upright and slicked back his hair. Grabbing onto the furniture, he made his way to the parlor where Mrs. Pettigrew awaited.
Ernest was politely entertaining the social worker with manners astounding in an eleven year old boy but he was rapidly running out of conversational gambits. Mrs. Pettigrew wasn't impressed with Ernest's ability to careen through video games with the speed of a photon torpedo. His straight A's in math and science garnered him more interest but the social worker's eyes were glazing over as he described his independent forays into differential equations that his fifth grade teacher had thrown at him in over-worked despair. He cast a desperate look toward the door, a look that brightened when Tess and Jesse came in.
Jesse grabbed onto the back of a chair, hoping it looked casual instead of desperately trying not to fall down.
"Mr. Kilmartin, you look terrible! Are you all right? Your niece tells me that you've come down with the flu."
Bless Tess! Her brilliant mind was quick to come up with a plausible explanation. "That's right," he croaked. "Sorry to greet you like this. But as you can see, Tess is home, safe and sound. I'll stick around until Granny Esther is back on her feet. You won't have anything more to worry about." He swallowed hard, willing the contents of his stomach to stay there. "Would you take care of notifying the police for me? I'd appreciate it."
"Certainly, Mr. Kilmartin." Mrs. Pettigrew gave him an appraising look, as if assessing his capability to care for two wayward children in this condition. "Young lady, I hope you will obey your uncle after this. You had us all very worried."
"Yes, ma'am," Tess said demurely, so demurely that Jesse was concerned that she'd over-acted. "I won't do it again, ma'am. Now that Uncle Jesse is here, everything will be all right. I won't run away again."
Unless it suits you, Jesse thought, keeping it to himself. "'scuse me," he said in a strangled voice, and dashed for the bathroom.
When he emerged, the social worker was gone. Jesse flopped down on the sofa, feeling drained and wrung out. "You were polite to her, weren't you, Tess?" he asked suspiciously. Only Tess was there; Jesse could hear Ernest in the other room, tapping on the computer keyboard. Tess had The Rock; Ernest's refuge was his electronic Overworld.
"Very polite, Uncle Jesse," Tess replied seriously. "We didn't want her messing around here anymore."
Uncle Jesse? Since when was he 'Uncle' Jesse to Tess? There was more here then met the eye. Jesse tried to sit up straight, wishing he could just flop over and die for a little while. "What's up?" he demanded. "Tess, I know you. What's going on?"
Tess sighed, and turned a very adult face to him. "Jesse, I don't want you or Ernest to come looking for me any more."
"Tess—"
"I mean it, Jesse. I'm dangerous. I can't control my gift any longer. I have to have a fix, almost daily now. I never noticed it before, because I was helping Ernest and trying to stay alive in the city. That was my fix, and I never realized how badly I needed it. But here, now, with only Ernest to get a mutant charge from, I'm dying. If I don't get a charge, I get weak and sick. If I get a charge off of Ernest, he gets sick and weak. Look what I did to Granny Esther when she tried to help me. Look at what happened to you."
"That was an accident." What was he going to do if Tess got up? Jesse wasn't certain that he could chase her. No, make that definite. No chasing. Running to the john, yes. Chasing a fourteen year old girl, no. He tried to keep making sense. "You can't go blaming yourself, Tess."
"This isn't about blame, Jesse." When did Tess become so mature? "It's about what is. There's no cure. I'll just go on and on, hurting the people I love because I can't stop myself."
"Adam wasn't the only researcher." Jesse started getting desperate. Tess was making entirely too much sense. "There are others. Others not like your father. We can find a cure for you. We did it for Ernest, and we can do it for you."
"I don't think I have that much time." Tess smiled sadly. "Promise me you won't try to find me."
"I'll promise no such thing! Tess, you're not leaving!"
Tess stood up. "Yes, I am." She crossed the expanse of the room to put her hand lovingly on Jesse's cheek, caressing him with a surprisingly adult fashion. "I'm sorry it didn't work out." The drain began. "Do you remember the last time we did this, about a year ago? You thought that you were going to die, saving me. You told me to remember you, to do all the good things for this world that you wouldn't be able to do. Jesse, I'm going to tell you the same thing. Remember me. When you make something go right, let me have a small piece of that victory."
"Tess—" Jesse tried to say, when blackness took him down.
* * *
The pain was incredible. Lexa stopped trying to remove the black collar from around her neck and slumped down against the wall, exhausted. Then came the feeling of some warm and strong arms encircling her, rearranging her wayward limbs, an extraordinarily nice feeling of having someone around who cared. She closed her eyes briefly, savoring the sensation.
Maguire had done as he'd promised. The collar that he'd placed around her neck did indeed control her gift. Along with several of his goons, he'd forced her into the room with the boy he'd told her about, and forced her to burn that portion of his brain with a precision that astounded her. Lexa couldn't remember what had happened during that time, but the raw burning in her throat told her that she had done a lot of screaming. And that maybe remembering the scene wasn't going to be pleasant. She scratched at the edge of the collar one last time, gingerly.
"Told you not to try," Brennan said idly. "If you try to get the collar off, you trigger the pain sensors. Hurts worse than a bee sting," he added sarcastically.
"Been there, done that?"
"Been there, done that. A couple of times, which just goes to prove how stupid I can be. Thought I could short-circuit it. I was wrong."
Lexa struggled out of his arms and sat up, trying to throw off the very real need to crawl into a hole and cry. Coffee break time is over, children. And: can't let the others see me break down. She slammed her fist against the wall in a simulated rage.
"Feel better?" Shalimar drawled.
"No."
"Well, this might. Good ole Doc Maguire was not a happy camper when he found out that Jesse wasn't with us. Care to speculate why?"
"I don't need to speculate. I know why. There's this kid in the back chamber. He's about fifteen or so; another mutant. A psionic, with the power to make everyone think what he wants them to think. Except he's got this sort of inborn governor in him. Let me clarify: he had this inborn governor in his brain. It is now fried to a crisp, thanks to Maguire using his little toy on me and my mutant flashlight abilities. Never knew I could be used with such surgical precision. Pun intended." She rubbed at the collar, trying to scratch beneath it. "The internal governor's not really functional any more, but right now it's shut down the kid's mutant abilities all together. Zilch. Nada. Just as if the kid wasn't a mutant at all. Maguire's plan is to get Jesse to phase into this kid's brain and remove the organ. After which Maguire will be able to use the kid to control any mind on Earth."
Shalimar stared. "That's horrible."
"Tell me about it. Then, Maguire tells me, he will have control over the most powerful people on this planet. He will literally be King of the World. So, after carefully contemplating all the possible ways to screw up Maguire's plans, please tell me that you have already contacted Jesse and told him to stay the hell away."
Brennan wiggled his bare fingers at her. "Love to. Can't. No comm. ring. First thing to go, right after consciousness. Like I told you, Maguire and us have a history. He knows what we've got."
"Tell me that Jesse doesn't know where we are."
"Sorry," Shalimar said with false cheer. "Gave him a holler en route to this dump. We're a team; we keep in touch."
"Which means that he'll be on his way here as soon as he arranges for a baby-sitter," Lexa said grimly. "Way to go, team."
"Get real, Lexa. Tess is fourteen. She's old enough to do the baby-sitting."
Lexa flopped back down. There were no chairs to sit in, and nothing to kick except a concrete wall. "Is there anything else that can go wrong?"
She was answered by a loud squalling outside their cell. The door was flung open, and a fourteen year old girl with a black collar thrust in.
It was Tess.