Part Two

Against A Clock





Adam held up two fingers spaced apart by the thickness of a piece of paper, his expression

oddly unreadable.

"I'm having so much fun, I'm this close to killing him."

Sitting alone for the first time in almost an hour, the slightest smile on her face, Emma

replied in a hushed whisper, "you only think you're joking." As she spoke, her eyes darted

around, searching for their host. She sighed and pressed a hand against her forehead, frustrated

and tired, the beginnings of a headache plaguing her. "The worst part is, he really is fun to hang

out with. Any other day and I'd be having a great time."

Another deep sigh passed from her lips. Gently swaying rock music wafted toward them

from the nearby dance floor, along with the rhythmic thrum of moving bodies and tapping feet.

She turned briefly and considered it with a look of deepest longing, the personification of

wanting. So many people were there, smiling and laughing, twirling each other about and loving.

Adam said, "I wanted to spend time with you. Not Brennan Mulwray. I don't care how

great a guy he is. He's pushing me toward the brink of madness." Head in hands, he reminded

Emma of a depressed version of "The Thinker" or some similar statue.

She raised an eyebrow at that thought. Emma knew just how similar to that muscular,

naked statue he really looked. Under those clothes, the veneer of mild scientist, her man was

chiseled muscle. For a moment, a smile took shape. There were so many things about him that

only she knew, little things that most people wouldn't have found that important. Only she knew

them, the simple secrets of a complex man. Emma wasn't the first woman in his life but it was

easy for her to believe that she might be the last.

Gazing at the dance floor almost broke her heart. How she wanted to be on it with Adam,

spinning and twirling and holding on to him. When was the last time she felt such a yearning for a

man? She couldn't remember. The only thing she could think about was the fact that her desires

had to be put on hold while Brennan continued to hang around them like some puppy dog sitting

outside the back door of a butcher's shop, waiting for a scrap of steak.

Sounding obscenely depressed even to herself, she said "same here. This whole situation

would be fine if we'd wanted to party with Brennan. As it is. . . well, I'd love to hit that dance

floor with you but. . . ." She shrugged, as if to say the situation was hopeless.

He nodded. "Exactly my point. If I kill him, we can dance."

"Stop it. You're starting to make me think that would actually be a good idea."

"It is a good idea. It would solve a lot of problems. He is distracting Shalimar lately."

"Adam, you're evil."

"Not likely. Have to talk to Charlotte Cooke about that. Perhaps she could play a role, be

a co-conspirator in our plot against Mr. Mulwray." The slightly elated tone of Adam's voice

might have worried Emma if not for the fact that she understood perfectly how he felt. She

wasn't exactly pleased by Brennan's constant presence. Quite the opposite.

Sighing deeply, Adam shook his head and tapped on the Formica table top. "Listen to me.

I'm going crazy. That man is driving me out of my mind."

Emma smiled at him. "Well, at least you're in good company, because I'm on the express

train to Crazy Town at this point. He hasn't left our side since he walked into the garage. I hate

to say it, but I'm hoping he has a freak accident on the way back from the bar!"

Adam smirked, his vision cast over her shoulder. Pointing, he said "no such luck. Don't

look now, but he's back with the drinks."

"Goody."

Walking up rapidly, balancing three large drinks in his hands, Brennan smiled as he came.

"Hope you two didn't miss me too much. Virgin strawberry daiquiri, made fresh while I

watched, for Ms. Emma." He set the drink down in its chilled crystal glass, an extra berry

serving as a garnish. "A little eyeopener coffee for the boss." Down came a large mug of molten

java. The steam alone was strong enough to make Adam blink in sudden alertness. "And a

glass of the house special for me. Guaranteed good or you can leave."

Brennan slid over Emma to get to his place in the booth. He sat down between them,

seemingly unaware of just how annoying that was. Ever since they'd left Sanctuary, this had

been happening. Walking between them, sitting between them, and always being around them.

Calling him a "third wheel" wasn't enough; Brennan was acting like a blasted wedge.

If she hadn't known better, Emma would have sworn he was doing it on purpose.

"Did you miss me?" He asked, his eyes shining and friendly. It was almost as if he were

inviting them to a share a great joke. The way he smiled made them feel guilty about their earlier

remarks against him. Adam especially.

Even so, they didn't lie and act like they were especially happy he was back. They weren't

happy at all.

"Whoa. Tough crowd." Brennan muttered, taking a long sip of his drink.





Watching from the bar, eyes focused on the reflection of the Mutant X teammates, sat a

very handsome man with skin even darker than Adam's coffee. Though his attentions were

elsewhere, he easily caught the bartender's eye with a gesture and an uneasy smile. "No offense

barkeep, but I think you should deflower this girl for me." He tapped his chilled glass that was

almost identical to the one Emma had, except for the fruit used in this virgin daiquiri. His voice

trembled very slightly when he spoke, not enough to seem out of place, but enough to be

noticed.

"Want me to give it a dash of rum after all?" The bartender asked, his voice sounding

oddly mushy. His jaw had been broken a dozen times before now in barroom brawls. Like the

mark of Cain, or a scarlet letter, his voice was now evidence of those many battles over women,

football, and whether lite beer was better than regular beer.

"Rum would be fine." The dark skinned man kept his faded jade eyes on the mirror behind

the bartender. He could see his quarry easily. "If you have to drink anti-freeze, best make it the

kind that tastes sweet. Unless maybe you've got some real Russian vodka lying around?"

Chuckling, the bartender shook his head and moved away to get rum for his customer's

soon-to-be-not-so-virgin daiquiri.

Relatively alone, Devon Bowden, the black man with an almost feminine beauty to his face,

eyes the color of jade sculpture from oriental empires long vanished, whose life and continued

happiness now rested in the hands of others, thought about the series of events that had led him

to this place.

The first thing that came to mind was Katherine Grant, his wife of a year and a sure winner

in a Helen of Troy Look Alike beauty pageant. Without her, Devon might never have been

forced into this position. The mission he'd been given had to be carried out successfully or else.

Katherine meant more to Devon than he could easily put into words. She wasn't just a woman.

She was "the" woman. His boss's deceptions and manipulations put that fact to good use. He

could not expect to see her alive again if he failed to do what he'd been ordered.

"Here you go." The bartender was back. He doused the daiquiri with enough rum to

knock out an army of alcoholic hobos.

"Thanks." Devon tasted, wished he could let himself get stone drunk, then gazed again at

the reflection of his quarry. Studying them in turn, analyzing the way they moved and gestured

while they sat together talking and sipping drinks, he wished he were with Katherine. Alcohol

helping to numb his brain, he memorized Adam's intellectual brow and warm smile, the fatherly

quality the man exuded, the way his face brightened ever so slightly when he looked at Emma.

Next, he studied Brennan, that bad boy grin he flashed easily, that almost Zen quality that made

him always seem both relaxed and on edge. Devon lingered on Emma's face. She was

beautiful, obviously intelligent, and a walking contradiction. Confidence warred with self-doubt,

kindness with a hard edge that lingered below the surface, a woman with secrets that perhaps

not even she knew.

Four years of college courses in psychology, a special course in profiling taught by an FBI

special agent, and three years of private detective work had honed his abilities to analyze people

to near perfection. He didn't need mutant gifts to know what was going on in their minds. He

could read their faces and gestures as easily as a simple children's book.

Devon drank deep from his daiquiri. Soothing warmth exploded deep inside his body as

the alcohol went to work. His mind whirled like a windmill in a tornado, ferrying a perplexed

Don Quixote toward the land of Oz. Soon, he would leave the club. Outside, parked

inconspicuously near a park, was a car which had been provided by his boss. In the trunk lay

his purpose for being at the club. He had two choices. Let Katherine die and save his own soul

or be damned to hell for all eternity, saving his wife from an early tomb.

After a long hesitation, he finished the drink in a few deep gulps, stood up, and walked out

of the bar. He headed straight for the car trunk and opened it. He removed the briefcase. He

carried it to a lonely place. He opened it. He took out the gun, silencer, and ammunition.

"Better my soul than her life." Devon whispered quietly to himself, wondering for just a

second what it would be like to live without Katherine. A tear ran down his cheek. "That's a

price even I wouldn't pay."





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"We have to go back." Speaking plainly and making sure to emphasize every word,

Shalimar watched Jesse for a sign that he'd heard her. For the last few minutes, she'd been

trying without success to contact the rest of the team. She's spent almost as long trying to get

through to her friend and pilot, who'd barely said a word since leaving Sanctuary. Each

second's passing brought greater foreboding. Why wasn't anyone answering?

A pleading tone entered her voice. "Please, we have to go back and find out what's

happened. Someone should be answering us. I can't get anyone on the comlinks. The Helix's

comm. system is dead too, that can't be a coincidence." The unwavering silence that was her

only reply would have infuriated her, if not for the sheer depth of it. She could not be sure he'd

heard her voice. "Whatever's happening out here, we have to check in with the others.

Something strange is going on. You know I'm right."

She didn't think Jesse would answer her, considering he'd ignored her previous attempts

at a dialogue. Watching him, the set-in-stone expression that ruled his face, Shalimar got chills.

He never acted like this. He was always calm and collected. He was stable. That was what she

liked about him, his enduringly serene nature. This new side of his personality reminded her a

little of herself, but harder, rougher, and far more driven.

Without warning, Jesse slammed a fist down on the controls in front of him. The Double

Helix shuddered like a whipped child, vibrating in pain. For one moment of heart wrenching

terror, they began to plummet. Very calmly, Jesse brought the ship under control. That done,

his calm facade disintegrated like the wings of Icarus. He swung to glare at her, his face

contorted, a roaring tidal storm of emotions barely suppressed by will. "We don't have time to

go back. We didn't have time to wait for anyone, we sure as hell can't go back. Charlotte

needs us."

Shalimar threw her hands up in the air out of sheer frustration. "So that's it, huh? We just

ignore the fact that something is wrong at Sanctuary? For who, for Charlotte? Charlotte Cooke

who turned Adam into a maniac?" A yellow gleam came to her eyes; she snarled too. The

whole situation unnerved her. It was insanity. "I know its been a long time, but have you

forgotten what she did to us?"

"Of course not!" Jesse thundered. Visibly making an effort, he rubbed at his forehead and

tried to calm down. He took a deep breath and nodded back the way they'd come. "Adam,

Emma, Brennan, they've been trained to fight. They go up against death every day and beat the

odds. Charlotte isn't a fighter, not yet." His expression softened faintly. "Do you remember

what they told us, what Adam, and especially what Emma, said? She was a part of Mutant X."

"That future doesn't exist anymore and I can't believe that you'd want any part of it to

remain. Eckhart conquered the world in that time line, or did you forget?"

"Shalimar, I don't think I could possibly make myself ignore something that bad. What I

am trying to get through to you is that, if we don't get to Charlotte ASAP, she's dead." He

looked at her, his gaze piercing in a way she'd never before known it to be. "Do you really want

her blood on your hands? Do you, huh, because I'll be damned if I have to live with that for the

rest of my life." His voice had slowly gone quieter as he spoke. Now, it was barely a whisper

as he said, "we can't let her die. She was a part of Mutant X. I don't care when or how or if it

might ever happen in this world, but I won't let her die. She saved Emma's life in that other

future. In my world, that still counts."

Jesse turned away from her. All focus went back to the sky in front of him, save for a

glance at an electronic G.P.S. readout, which made him frown. He made a minor adjustment in

their course, never looking away from instruments or windshield. They flew in silence like that,

seconds ticking slowly by.

"Look," he said abruptly, turning toward Shalimar. She sighed and looked at him. A

contrite smile formed on his face. "I'm sorry." He seemed more like himself, kind and soft. The

gentle soul inside him was visible again in those big blue eyes. Much of the tension that had been

in his voice could no longer be heard. "I've really messed this up, haven't I?" He looked away

from her, obviously feeling guilty for his earlier outburst.

"A little bit." Shalimar admitted, reaching out to take his hand. "You're right though.

Whatever's happening at Sanctuary, the others can handle it. Assuming anything's wrong at all."

A sheepish smile formed on her face. "I overreacted too. So what if no one's answering back

home? Brennan said something about maybe going into town, Adam probably had some

important research to do and Emma's probably off with her boyfriend."

The words didn't really strike Jesse for a moment, his attentions were still mainly on the

journey to Charlotte. Then he blinked and did a double take straight out of a cartoon. His eyes

grew marginally wider, his brow furrowed in perplexed sudden interest. "Wait, wait, go back to

the part about Emma having a boyfriend."

"Jealous?"

He laughed, a bit darkly. "No, curious. Anything to take my mind off what Charlotte told

me for a few seconds. I keep seeing. . . ." Slipping back into silence, he glanced down at the

G.P.S. readout, and nodded to himself when it verified that they were still perfectly on course.

"Talk. I don't want to think right now."

Instead of obliging him with conversation, Shalimar turned her attention forward. Her eyes

seemed to see far away to their destination; her mind crafted with ample imagination a thousand

scenarios that might have made Jesse act so rashly and so angrily. An air of unease ruled the

inside of the Double Helix. Turning to face her friend, her words barely more than a whisper,

Shalimar said, "back at Sanctuary, you were happy and joking before that call came. Then you

changed. . . it was like someone flipped a switch. I don't think I've ever seen you that upset

before." She touched the G.P.S. readout, let her finger trace the machine's outline. "What did

Charlotte tell you? What's going on?"

Like he had before, Jesse was silent for a time. His eyes said that he'd heard her, but he

did not answer. Tomblike silence stretched long. Then, very quietly, he started to tell her

everything, all the things Charlotte had said in the rapid fire speech of the chased.

Long before he finished, Shalimar was crying.





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"Go to a place where sorrow knows no hold and angels tread in silence." When she heard

those words, uttered many hundreds of kilometers away, Charlotte's breath caught deep in her

chest. A sensation of unreality enveloped her in a blanket of confusion. She nodded, though

Jesse could not possibly have seen her.

A sudden shower of sparks from a nearby wall accompanied the death of the

communications system. Rattled first by the words and now doubly disturbed, Charlotte spun

around. Her eyes darted left, right, left again. There was only one possible reason why the

system would fail.

Heart pounding so fast that she felt certain it would burst from her chest, she very quietly

stepped away from the console. Shivers raced up and down her spine, a dance of dread fear.

Breathing in short gasps, her ears alert, she started toward the back of the safe house. She felt

like a mouse in a maze. Others lurked in the labyrinth with her, dark ones.

Somewhere nearby, a shattered lamp sparked. Her eyes were drawn there for a moment.

What she saw made her double over and spin away, though she'd seen it before. "Not again.

Don't look at them, damn it. Just don't." Her stomach felt like a fish flip-flopping on the shore.

Even in the relative darkness, she could see too much. She succumbed to horror and vomited,

hating herself for being so weak. "They're all dead," Charlotte sputtered a moment later, trying

to keep herself focused on the situation.

Hand pressed against her mouth, wiping at the saliva around her lips, she looked again at

the crimson stains on the floor. Streaks of blood in vast swaths told a story of death at play.

Her heart felt pierced. In this room were the bodies of three new mutants. Each had been

murdered in a gruesome manner; all had been her friends. Charlotte didn't want to look again

but she forced herself. This time, when her stomach tried to curl up and jump out of her body,

her sense of duty kept her from puking.

Deep inside, Charlotte knew that the killers were still there, still hunting her. Jesse had

ordered her to run but she just couldn't leave her friends, not before she found out why they'd

been taken from the world. No matter how stupid that was, it was what Charlotte was going to

do. It was all she could do for them. She had to know why. And who made it happen. She

had to bring her friends justice.

'Probably just die trying.' She thought sadly, dwelling on her failings and not on her

strengths. 'Still have to make the effort.'

A crash, the skitter crunch of glass underfoot.

Something moved elsewhere within the safe house.

Noises carried down the hallways, loud voices that made no attempt to hide themselves.

The killers. No fear, no remorse, no mercy. They were coming closer, drawing near.

Charlotte looked about her. Near the body of David Cooper, who'd loved to read poetry

and short stories about scary things, lay a shard of jagged metal. It gleamed faintly in the light

from a shower of sparks that shot from the deep puncture in the nearby wall. She fell upon it

with fear in her heart. Gripping the sharp shiv strongly, never noticing how the metal bit deep

into her palms, drawing a flow of blood, Charlotte fell back toward shadows. Her mind raced,

trying to come up with a place to hide.

She knew where Jesse had wanted her to go. How he'd known those words, those

meaningful and special words, she still couldn't figure out. At the moment, all of her thoughts

were focused on survival. And the dead. She couldn't stop thinking about them. She kept

remembering details.

David Cooper had loved the macabre and the eerie. He always had a kind word for

everyone, even her. The first time they'd met, he'd just smiled and shrugged away her sins. He

had brown hair like a deer's fur and eyes so brilliantly blue that they hurt to look at. A faint scar

marred his chin, but otherwise he was a handsome man. Yet, he was painfully shy and spoke

very little. David was a man who'd never hurt anyone.

Still, they'd killed him. Blood filled a deep depression in his skull where one of the men

had struck him over and over again with something heavy and blunt. A talented Psionic, David

died trying to force the attackers out the front door. Charlotte couldn't understand how they

could have murdered him so easily. It didn't seem possible that he could have died like that.

Or Anna. Anna Gates, whose mother had been a model once and whose father was

Greek. When that wedding movie came out, Charlotte teased her mercilessly for a week.

She'd never been mean, it had made them both laugh. That was the kind of person Anna was;

funny and sweet and the best friend a girl could want. She was always willing to lend a

sympathetic ear. Her hair was black, like fresh soot. Her eyes were so dark a shade of brown

that they, too, seemed pure ebony.

Anna hadn't died easily or quickly. She'd been a fighter. A Molecular with the power to

adjust her physical form, her powers hadn't saved her. When they'd come, it looked like she'd

tried to make herself into a hulking behemoth to fight them. Her body was soaked in blood, so

much that Charlotte did not know what had killed her, except that it had been brutal. By the

expression her friend's face, it had also been terrifying.

Yet, it was nothing compared to what they'd done to Kari Morgan. Charlotte hadn't

known her very well. Kari had preferred being alone. Sometimes, when she couldn't sleep,

Kari would spend hours sitting out on the safe house's balcony, watching the stars. That was

where Charlotte had seen her last and that was how she wanted to remember her.

She didn't want to ever think of her dead. Not after what they'd done to her. Even a

violent death, a sickeningly brutal death, was better than the horror Kari had endured before

they'd finally finished her off. A very neat and clean hole in her forehead told how. Torn clothes

strewn about screamed of worse things. She hadn't even been able to use her powers to fight

with. All she could do was see in different spectrums of light. Harmless.

Everyone had died this night. Four more bodies were spread out in different rooms, laying

in deep shadows. They'd fought for their lives, tried to save each other. One by one they'd

fallen, murdered by men in black suits. Everyone had died. Everyone that mattered was gone,

lost forever to an uncaring darkness.

Not Charlotte though.

She'd been out. She hadn't been there to die with them. While her best friends in the

world were fighting for their lives, fighting and losing, she'd been watching a movie. An old

action film. The people in the movie died but got to go home after the credit's final roll. In real

life, Charlotte got to live until she got home. Now the killers were drawing close to her, playing

their role better than their film counterparts ever could have.

There was only one thing going for Charlotte. The bastards weren't even trying to hide

themselves. She'd seen them, but they hadn't seen her.

How that advantage could be put to use, she still hadn't quite figured out. She wasn't a

fighter, though once upon a time she'd caused Mutant X a spot of trouble, and even armed with

the sharp metal in her hand, Charlotte had no illusions about her chances of survival. They had

guns and murderous black hearts. Her powers were useless too, despite a recent mutation,

because they required physical contact with the enemy. Close quarters were out of the question.

She had no intention of ending up like Kari.

Another crash nearby. "Are you sure she came back here? Can't imagine anyone coming

back. This place is an abattoir, Duncan." The words came from another room, they echoed

around in the den. Charlotte held her makeshift weapon close, blood from her hand staining her

shirt. Carefully, trying to be as quiet as a corpse, she hid under the overturned couch as the

voices came even closer. "Seriously, you'd have to be either Grade-A dumb or just plain

desperate to come back here."

"I find you're lack of chronological comprehension astounding." Another killer answered

back, presumably Duncan, in a cold voice that wouldn't have been out of place coming from the

lips of the Terminator. It chilled Charlotte's soul, as if by hearing the words she was bing

infected by evil. "Cooke just got back from her movie perhaps six minutes ago. Her first

response was probably to scream. Her second, to cry. If we hadn't had to eliminate that police

unit the Morgan girl called, we could already have captured her."

"Not my fault." Simon answered back in an angry whisper. "After what I did to her, how

was I supposed to know she'd still have her wits intact?"

The other killer continued in a dispassionate voice, as if he hadn't even been paying

attention to his partner. "Then Cooke called Adam's people, this Mutant X team. Now, if our

employer's intelligence may be trusted, the heros are on their way. We have to have Cooke in

our custody before they get here or we lose the advantage." There was a short pause. Then

Duncan spoke again in a tone laced with icy interest. "Now, Simon, I want you to tell me what

an abattoir is because I've never heard that word before."

"Slaughterhouse." Simon the murderer replied.

"Ah. Fitting." Duncan the psycho responded.

"Please, Jesse, please hurry." Charlotte the frightened prayed.





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"Harrison! Where are you?" Gabriel Ashlocke called out, his booming voice filling the

cavernous interior of the old museum base. Several Links heard him but pretended not to. He

wasn't calling for them and no one hated to appear weak more than Gabriel Ashlocke. "Doc, I

swear, if you've run away. . . ." Feral glow coming to his eyes, he started walking down a long

hallway lined with forgotten artworks, feeling more like a hunter on the prowl than a patient in

search of his doctor.

Watching him pass through their ranks, many of the Strand's members were disturbed by

his appearance. In the past few weeks, since learning that he was dying, Gabriel had been

inconsolable. He hadn't eaten or slept much. Though his powers allowed him to go much longer

without food or rest than an ordinary new mutant, he was now treading on dangerous ground.

His face was sallow and his eyes lacked much of their former strength. Every battle in which he

or his forces faced Mutant X was a dismal failure as well. Everyone that saw him could see the

fear that lived on his face and in his eyes.

Gabriel Ashlocke, dread Patient Zero, the first child of Genomex, was terrified.

On some level, he knew his followers were losing faith in him. By ones and twos, Links

kept trying to escape from him. Capturing them and putting their rebellious hearts to rest took

ever more of Gabriel's concentration, because he could not stop thinking about death. He felt

hunted in a way that seemed terribly unfair.

"I've never been afraid in my entire life." Gabriel whispered as he stopped for a moment

in an empty corridor, his hands balling into fists at his side. "I'm a god. A god among pathetic

mice that scurry about and call themselves a civilization. I can't die. It's not fair." Those last

words came to his mind all the time now. Had he possessed something even approximating

common human empathy, rather than just a Psionic's gift for playing mind games, Gabriel would

have realized that every person he'd ever killed had thought the same thing before they died.

"It's not fair."

Rather than thinking, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'Where are you Doc?'

He thought in powerful psychic waves that flew out from his mind and slide through the corridors

of the museum, hunting prey like some enormous gelatinous beast. Room by room his mind

searched better than eyes ever could. Even Feral eyes could not match the power of the mutant

mind. Still, it wasn't enough to make a man appear who wasn't there.

"Damn it!" Gabriel roared and cast an Elemental energy ball out, smashing an abandoned

piece of modern sculpture to dust. Without hesitation, he heaved another down the hall to

destroy a painting. Then another to put a hole in a nearby wall. Gabriel threw energy balls

around until he slumped down. finally feeling drained and dead.

Back against a wall, exhaustion and frustration filled him. None of his plans had worked

out. Every day brought him a step closer to the grave without even the illusion of hope.

Slamming his head back against the wall, because the pain meant he was still alive, Gabriel swore

fiercely and with great creativity.

Never in his life had he felt anything other than smug superiority. Many years ago, when

he came home from Genomex with all his powers, a quadr-mutant, he'd felt that arrogance

justified. That was why he'd killed the fools who called themselves his parents. They treated

him like a stupid brat, not like a son. They were inferior. Useless. Nothing more.

Now, he felt a deep and disturbing sensation of envy. "Everyone else in the world gets to

live thinking they're going to be running around forever. Why not me?" The words were naive

on many levels, but in the ears of a man like Gabriel Ashlocke, they sounded deeply

philosophical and bitterly resentful.

"Gabriel? Are you alright?"

The voice made him look up from the floor. Something must have gotten into his eyes for

his vision was blurry. He blinked away tears, having no memory of crying them and not wanting

to admit they were even his. Kelly Rice, looking concerned, stood nearby. For a moment, he

admired her beauty, the lovely lines of her body and the enchanting features of her face. Then,

as he stood and tried to act like the god he was, Gabriel sighed and spoke in a voice that

sounded depressingly pessimistic. "What is it Kelly?"

She came closer to him. "I lost the Clark girl." Her voice was very quiet and afraid. All

the Links feared Gabriel's punishments.

To her shock, he merely nodded. "Figures." Molecular powers kicking in to heal the

bruise he'd given himself striking his head against the wall, he started to walk away.

Kelly reached out and touched Gabriel's arm, something no Link ever did without express

permission. Surprised, he turned back toward her. He felt no ruthless rancor rising to strike her

down nor was he particularly comforted by the concern she showed. Gabriel expected nothing

less from his followers. "I found this in Dr. Clark's lab. One of his 'failed' experiments." She

handed him a test-tube filled with a bluish slime.

Slowly, Gabriel's mouth curled into a grin. "The Doc should have stuck around. He might

have been the one to do something right instead of you." He reached out and ran his fingers

through Kelly's blonde hair, making her practically coo with happiness. Recently, he had begun

to question whether or not she was useful to his cause. Now, he had his answer.

"You're lucky." Gabriel said as he leaned in to kiss Kelly, indulging himself in the feeling

of her body as she stepped forward to press herself against him. Without this success, he

doubted that she would still be alive. "More than you'll ever know."

He whispered the words so sweetly, Kelly never considered their meaning.





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Alone in his home office, Dr. David Clark poured over his notes and, piece by piece,

painstakingly recreated the experiments he'd been conducting before he'd ever heard of Gabriel

Ashlocke. Retrieving a computer disk from the box of materials Mutant X had rescued, he

paused and considered his rather unsavory comments toward them. He hadn't meant to vent his

frustrations so vehemently. His words had been cruel.

He did not, for one moment, regret them. He believed humans should always stay humans,

maintain their species purity. Anything that involved manipulating DNA struck him as an

abomination to the ultimate achievement of the universe. Though he was an atheist, Clark

considered humanity a conscious creation, a special race set above all other life.

In his mind, the goal of the human race was to unlock its hidden power. What could be

accomplished if everyone used their entire brain rather than a fraction of it? Earlier experiments

had been aimed at finding the answer to that question, but he'd met with too many failures to

continue. His last two subjects had died during the procedures.

Those deaths were blessings in disguise though, for they pushed him in the direction of his

current crop of projects. Learning of the existence of new mutants had been a shock that still

made him queasy, but it helped his work too. It gave him a focus.

So far, nine out of eleven trials had been a success.

"That means nine mutant freaks won't be around to pollute the race. Too bad I couldn't

do anything about Mutant X." Clark mumbled to himself as he inserted a computer disk into his

machine and started running down a list of files on it.

"Still," an amused tone crept in, "I do owe Kane's pack of anomalies for fetching this box

for me. I could have wasted years trying to put all this back together without it. Time better spent

on cleansing the earth of them." A predatory grin formed on his face. "Some mutant lynch mob

will tear that arrogant race traitor to shreds when they find out he's responsible for my work

coming into being so soon."

Typing in a sequence, he focused on the task at hand. His computer, an amalgam of

various components from numerous sources, hummed while it obeyed his commands. That was

how it should be, real humans being served by their inferiors. Clark glanced wistfully to the large

red and black flag that hung down over his bedroom doorway, hearing in his mind a chanting

crowd rasing one arm in the air in salute.

A beeping noise brought him back to himself. "Let's see what we have here." He clicked

on an icon and, within seconds, a video clip loaded. A simple black rectangle with rounded

edges appeared on the screen, its meaning clear to Clark. It was one symbol of his delightful

work. "This should be fun to watch."

"What should be dad?" Tiffany Clark asked as she came into the office, dragging behind

her a bag of trash. She abandoned her chores instantly, walking quickly to his side. "Can I

watch, please dad, can I?"

"Of course sweetheart. Take a seat." A gesture directed her to a nearby stool. "This is

from the experiment I'm working on right now. Government project, very hush hush." He

grinned and put an arm around his daughter's shoulders, pulling her closer, as if she were his wife

rather than his child. "I know you can keep your mouth shut about it. Right?" His voice was

kind enough, but when he asked, his hand gripped Tiffany's shoulder a little harder, knuckles

going faintly white with pressure.

"I can keep a secret." She said casually. "Come on, I want to see!"

Grinning, Clark reached out and pressed a key with an overly theatrical flourish of his

hand. A few seconds of darkness passed on the screen. Then, quite suddenly and surprisingly,

a bright white lab appeared. There were three people standing around in a circle. A nasally

voice provided commentary.

"Experiment number Twenty-Four commencing on the second hour of the fifth day of

June, third year of the project. First testing of gas Schrader's Folly on mutant subject. Gerhard

Schrader is the German scientist credited with discovering Saran nerve agent."

Tiffany rolled her eyes. "Boring." She said, extending the rolling R sound for a long time.

"Fast forward through this to the good part!"

"Quiet, it's coming." Clark muttered, pointing as a woman strapped in a wheelchair was

pushed into the room by a man in a black suit. Gauze and medical tape covered her mouth and

eyes, her ears were plugged, only her nose was unobstructed. She had medium length brown

hair and wore only a thin hospital robe. Despite being moved around in a harsh and jerky

manner, she did not seem to be aware of where she was. Once, she had been lovely. Minimal

care had reduced her weight and appearance to skeletal.

Again, the nasally voice began to speak. "Subject's name is Pamela Fries, formerly an

agent of the covert Genetic Security Agency. At some time after the massacre at the Genomex

corporation, the GSA's public face, subject was rendered brain dead by unknown mutant

assailant. Damage to sensory organs of sight, taste, and hearing have not been able to heal,

prompting coverings. Response to Schrader's Folly expected to be termination." On the screen,

Dr. Clark walked in from off camera and motioned for the other scientists to move away and

man various machines.

Watching himself, Clark could not help but smirk. This was his project, his dream coming

to life. A dream of a world where only the purist humans would survive. The recording voiced

his thoughts even as he had them. "This gas will reshape the world. If it has no effect on pure

humans, it will be our greatest weapon against the menace of mutant animals." On screen, he

nodded to a scientist who reached out and pulled a heavy lever. Suddenly, thick clouds of

reddish fog swarmed in around Dr. Clark's feet from vents. Moving swiftly under foot, it rolled

and billowed and started to rise.

As it reached Pamela's nose, she started to twitch, her body reacting instinctively to the

pernicious tang of the air. With every breath, more movement. After less than ten seconds, she

began to spasm, jerking in the chair as if suddenly trying to escape. Twenty seconds passed and

the gas dissipated steadily, while Pamela slowly stopped moving, her limbs going even limper

than they had been. Before half a minute was gone, Dr. Clark checked her pulse and grinned.

"Subject terminated. Monitoring will begin of myself and all who have breathed the gas. If

we live, Schrader's Folly will have succeeded in becoming the first example of genetically

targeted poison gas. Mutants are the first step toward exterminating all impure and inferior

breeds of human to ensure that human evolution will not stall. We shall cleanse the world of the

small minded, the weak, the infirm, and the mad. Schrader's Folly will burn out all who dare

oppose the glorious reign of true humanity."

As the video ended, Dr. David Clark pulled away from his daughter and smiled at her,

expecting praise for his brilliance.

Instead, Tiffany looked up at her father, who was quite a bit taller than her even sitting

down, with eyes that gleamed with worry and nervous dread. "Dad, um, did you have any of

that stuff in your office? Like, a liquid form or something that just looked like it?" She asked,

anxiously rubbing her aching shoulder. Where his hand had been, there would be a new

bruise. It wouldn't be lonely for long.

"Why?" His eyes narrowed and turned cold. A darkness crept into them. "What did you

do?" He asked in a chilling whisper no daughter, no person, should ever hear.

"Nothing!" Hands raised defensively, she stood up and took a step backward, obviously

afraid. It wasn't that she hadn't known her father was capable of killing. He'd told her plenty

about his efforts, and those of his organization, to purify humanity through eugenics and selective

murder. After explaining the whole idea, she'd even begun to agree with him. Tiffany was,

however, fully aware that sometimes his research made him crazy.

She had scars to prove it.

Deciding that the best way to put her concerns about his research forward was to be blunt,

Tiffany said, "I found a syringe filled with red stuff in your office and I stabbed that blonde mutant

with it. She didn't die. I thought she was going to, but she didn't."

At her words, Clark relaxed. "Oh. Yes, that." He sighed and shook his head. "Slight

problem with the first batch. The gene-specific programing wasn't done right, the gas targeted

the wrong genes. The effects were. . . not what we intended." Turning back toward his

computer, Clark started to sort through his research again.

"Don't worry honey. You didn't do anything wrong." He spoke in a lifeless tone that did

nothing to alleviate Tiffany's worries, but she nodded and left the office anyway.

Watching her go out of the corner of his eyes, her father sighed again. "Too many

mistakes in the beginning. But we've got it now." He reached into the box and pulled out a

test-tube filled with a red fluid with a black label. In his hand, it felt like distilled power. A dark

grin of twisted faith came to his eyes as he whispered, "Hitler would be proud."





************************************************************************





"Harrison would be proud." Gabriel said warmly as he watched Kelly work at the lab

station, running three different tests simultaneously. A bemused smirk formed on his face. "All

this time, I had no idea he was teaching you his job. To think I almost. . . ah, but that's not

important now." For a moment, Gabriel had almost been prepared to inform his rather clueless

charge that she'd come perilously close to having her death date marked on a calender. Instead,

he chuckled to himself and watched the way Kelly's hips swayed while she worked.

In the last few minutes, they'd learned a great deal about the vial of goo she'd acquired

from Dr. Clark's warehouse. Unfortunately, it wasn't going to be very useful to him. It might

have been useful back when he was a child, before Adam's failed procedure.

Strangely, although the medicine was useless to him, Gabriel felt himself restored by its

discovery. With his renewed sense of hope came an overflowing of fondness for Kelly.

'She's something,' he thought to himself as he watched her running new tests to make

absolutely certain the medicine could not be used in the present. 'Maybe I was too hasty in

planning her funeral. She has been more loyal to me than Morgan ever could have been.'

Gabriel's eyes roved up and down the blonde's body. 'Better in bed too.'

Unaware of either the negative or positive thoughts running through her master's head,

Kelly was deep in her own considerations. She felt worthless for failing to retrieve a medicine

that could save Gabriel. Yet, her heart fluttered with happiness, because he was smiling and

sounding strong again. She thought he was impressed by her knowledge of Dr. Kenneth

Harrison's lab too. That made her positively giddy.

As she worked, Kelly could feel Gabriel's eyes upon her, the hunger and lust burning in

them. He looked at all the pretty Links that way. She knew he did. Knowing he wasn't a

monogamous deity didn't detract from her own desires. Gabriel was a force of nature, powerful

and intoxicating, unlike any other man she'd ever known. Every time he came back for the

pleasure of her body, her voice, her love, Kelly felt herself elevated by him, and not merely to

blissfully dizzying heights of physical ecstasy. When they were together, she felt more than mere

passionate fulfillment; she felt greatness and a yearning to be like Gabriel.

Even though it wasn't possible for someone as weak as herself to have such power, Kelly

liked to dream.

"Useless." Her voice held a note of disappointment, but not of the crushing sort. Spirts

buoyed by Gabriel's lust, and the not-quite-victory she'd achieved, Kelly was surprisingly

optimistic. "We'll find something. A cure must exist for what's happening to you." She turned

back to face him, Patient Zero, and couldn't help but shiver in his presence. "We will save you

and defeat all your enemies. You're the most powerful mutant who has ever lived, a god

amongst us, and we will not let anything harm you."

Gabriel nodded after a moment. He was feeling more and more like his old self, smug

confidence and warranted arrogance filling him, empowering him. Standing in the lab, amongst

the various sundry items of modern medicine, the crowning achievement of Genomex's scientists,

Gabriel suddenly threw back his head and laughed.

Every thundering guffaw rolled over memories of fear and foolish depression. "Thank

you, Kelly, for reminding me that I have friends here. I had begun to doubt that anyone

understood or cared what I have been going through." His eyes sparkled with more than just

mirth, Feral light glimmered there. "In the great mosaic of my plans, you have just guaranteed

yourself a place of honor. I've been wasting away here, feeling sorry for myself." His face

clouded at that admission.

"I never lost faith in you." Kelly whispered, reaching out to touch his hand. She hoped he

wouldn't think about how she'd tried to escape once upon a time. It was in the past, but still too

recent for comfort.

She didn't want him to consider her recent brush with temptation either. Jesse Kilmartin

had almost fooled her into leaving the Strand and Gabriel. Kelly had no illusions about what

would happen if she was foolish enough to tell him of her weakness. The "example" he'd made

of Morgan was still fresh in her mind.

Thinking at him, Kelly tried to send a subconscious command. 'Please don't bring up

anything that will embarrass me. Please don't.'

Gabriel obliged her by failing to leave his favorite subject: himself.

"I have let myself believe I was beaten. When the Clark situation came to my attention, I

planned the attack dispassionately and without interest. That was a mistake." He turned his eyes

upon Kelly and she felt his mind caressing her own. The sensation thrilled her. It was unlike any

other feeling, as if a thousand tiny fairy fingers were gently massaging her soul, and she let out a

tiny noise of enjoyment.

Gabriel sighed with contentment. Carefully, he made changes in the way his follower's

mind worked. Every one of the Links experienced this. The risk of losing control of them was

too great. Until he was whole again, Gabriel would not dare relinquish the Strand. He needed

them.

There were many reasons he needed the Strand. A very specific one came to mind as he

finished reworking Kelly's mind to keep her loyal. He grinned, disarming and charming without

any remorse, and drew closer to her. "My life isn't over yet," he grabbed Kelly, pulled her into

his arms. Their eyes met as he started passionately and ravenously kissing her. She matched his

intensity easily. When they broke apart, Gabriel ran a hand slowly through her blonde hair,

making her ache with need. "Time I stopped acting like I'm already dead. We've got work to

do. Clark must be stopped. A cure must be found."

He took Kelly into his arms, lifting her up so that their mouths met in a delicate kiss. She

nibbled on his lower lip. Urgently, Gabriel carried her to his bedroom beside the lab. As they

practically fell through the doorway, the need for each other became overpowering and all

consuming.

They didn't make it to the bed.

Someone was waiting for them in the room. He stood by a pile of pillows, Gabriel's latest

taste in sleeping style, appearing unsurprised by the two of them crashing in. A white lab coat

billowed about his body in the faint breeze from an overhead vent. His eyes were slightly

protruding, creating a disturbingly credible image of what a toad would look like as a human

being. Thinning grey hair on his head clashed with a neat black chin beard.

Gabriel and Kelly were so shocked by the presence of this man that neither said or did

anything about him. Except stare. They did a lot of staring in the space of six seconds.

"Mr. Ashlocke?" The man asked. His voice was quiet, mildly wispy, but also savagely

cold and intense. When he received no answer, he shrugged. "I presume you are Mister

Gabriel Ashlocke, Patient Zero, the first of the Genomex children. Assuming I am correct, I have

a message for you." The man reached into his coat and pulled out a plain grey envelope.

Casually, as if this were a common event, Gabriel took it, never letting go of Kelly, though

he'd forgotten he was carrying her. With surprising ease, he opened the letter and began to

read. His eyes tracked slowly toward the end. They lingered on an odd symbol at the bottom.

"Double Helix." He muttered. Two S's had been intertwined to make them seem less

initials and more a picture. "What is this?" Raising his head as he asked, Gabriel blinked in

surprise.

The man had disappeared.

"What is it?" Kelly asked, reminding Gabriel that she was still in his arms.

He looked into her eyes and smiled. "Nothing to worry about. Just a friend telling us

where to find Dr. Clark, his hell spawn daughter, and his new invention." Gabriel sighed and

shook his head, bemused again but very pleasantly so. "Let's celebrate the good news."





************************************************************************





Striding about the den as if he owned the safe house, Duncan Ladd searched in the

darkness for a sign that Charlotte Cooke had been there. He avoided the freshest, and thus the

wettest, blood stains and kept his hands wrapped tightly in handkerchiefs while he worked.

Fussily precise in all things, he meticulously sifted through rubble yet managed to avoid getting

any dust or blood on his jet black suit.

Simon, on the other hand, took great pleasure in kicking corpses out of the way and

smashing what little still remained intact. "Must you do that?" Duncan asked when his partner

gleefully swatted a porcelain statuette to the floor.

"No. I just like it, that's all." Standing a few meters away from Duncan, the other man

casually stomped the figurine out of existence, seeming to relish the sound of grinding powder.

"You're too uptight." He said with a laugh.

Frowning, Duncan gave him a look. A military man would have called it sniper's eyes. It

was a look that said two things; don't mess with me and if you do, I will make you pay. "Our

employer," he freighted those words with enough importance to elevate them to holy scripture,

"wanted this to be a clean capture, not a massacre. Now, assuming Cooke hasn't managed to

elude us, we must focus our energies on capturing her."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Simon waved away his partner's concerns. "Whatever. Hey, give me

a hand with this couch. The blueprints I studied before we came here said there was an entrance

to the basement under some floorboards." He leaned down and reached under to get a grip.

"Maybe our diminutive babe's hiding—."

He never finished that sentence. The moment Charlotte, who'd been hiding under the

couch since the men entered the room, saw an opening, she struck. Improvised or not, her metal

fragment made a decent knife. It cut deep and long, opening a gash in Simon's side large enough

to put an arm through and have room on all sides. Sputtering in surprise and pain, he fell

backwards, a hand clutching at his wound, as Charlotte used her legs to heave the big couch

away. With practiced speed and grace, she leapt to her feet. She saw an opening, a chance to

escape, and started running as fast as she could.

Behind her, Charlotte heard Duncan cursing angrily, his voice still disturbingly machinelike,

and a sound that made her force greater speed from her body. It sounded like something

loading, almost like a gun, only there was an electric hum. She knew that sound from her very

brief time as a member of the GSA.

It was a subdermal governor implanting device purring to life.

"Hit that bitch!" The words sounded wet and, had anyone actually been paying him any

attention, they would have seen spittle and blood running from the corner of Simon's mouth.

Regardless of everyone's lack of concern, he was badly injured. "Mute her mutant powers then

give her to me."

Eyebrow raised in a smirk, Duncan glanced at his partner again, that same deathly gleam

in his eyes. "Our employer wants her unharmed." Rasing a weapon which looked more like a

pistol than an implanting tool for governors, he took careful aim, and pulled the trigger. From the

barrel came a sound like a loud, flat cough. A glittery metal object streamed out, trailing white

smoke. It struck Charlotte in the back of the neck and knocked her flat on the floor. When she

struggled to rise, Duncan reached into his suit and pulled out a remote. Charlotte saw and barely

choked down a gasp. She knew what was coming. He pressed a button and made her shriek in

agony. Her hands went to the governor and tried to tear it away.

Again, he brought the pain.

Tears pouring from her eyes, Charlotte lay still, praying for a miracle. A sharp kick to her

ribs brought a groan of misery. She turned over and found herself staring at Duncan's

uninvolved face. He would have looked no different were he standing in line at a grocery store.

Then, quite suddenly, his face twisted into a smile. "It just occurred to me, we were told

to bring you back unharmed. No one said you had to be untouched." He looked toward his

injured partner who was on his feet, barely, and shuffling over with an evil leer. One hand was

pressed tightly to his stomach, holding organs inside, trying to keep blood loss to a minimum. He

looked horrible but far from dead. He looked like wild dog circling prey.

"After what you've done to him, I think Simon deserves a little fun, don't you?"

Charlotte glared back at them both, her gaze one of pure hatred and revulsion. Inside, she

felt all of her fear melt away. It died in the fires of the rage that now filled her heart and eyes. In

a very matter-of-fact tone, she said, "if I live through this, you're dead."

As the killers laughed, something exploded outside.

"What they hell was that?" Simon spun around and nearly lost his balance, stumbling

sideways into a wall, leaving a thick stain of red. Confidence leaked from him when he saw.

Time was running down, running out.

Charlotte took advantage of their distraction. The aftershocks of pain from the governor

made her legs and arms numb, but she forced them to work. As quietly as she could, she

dragged herself across the floor. Each breath she took seared her lungs. Something felt broken

inside. The governor felt tighter, as if it were gripping her neck and spinal cord, trying to pinch

the life out of her. Tears streamed down Charlotte's cheeks as she moved. Some were from

fear. Some from pain. Most were born of hatred and a burning fury, a need to stop being

weak, to turn around and strike the two murderers down.

Without looking back at her, Duncan raised the remote and pressed a button. Electric

agony surged through every nerve and fried every synapses inside Charlotte's body. She

screamed in agony.

Simon coughed blood, his mouth slightly pink with froth. A coldness was seeping into his

body along with an empty hollow feeling. Dread passed into his heart. "Damn it. I think I'm

dying."

"I suppose you want me to cry?" Duncan asked, his left eyebrow kinking up in a gesture

of pure contempt. A chuckle escaped his lips. No mirth, only savage unmerciful disgust. "You

are such a pathetic waste. Why our employer ever bothered with a boy like you, I can only

speculate." Duncan's face was an impervious mask of unconcern. "Regardless of his reasoning,

you have failed miserably in this assignment. You jeopardized the mission for your personal

amusement. Disgraceful. I should have done this before. For plausible deniability." With callous

briskness, he reached into his coat and drew a heavy caliber pistol.

"What are you—?" Before the word 'doing' could escape from Simon's mouth, a great

roar filled the safe house. Simon collapsed bonelessly.

Charlotte shuddered as her would-be rapist's eyes landed directly in line with her own.

Body aching, blood racing, she managed to roll over, to escape the dead man's gaze. As she

did, she saw a mosaic of bone and brain mixed with crimson, an artwork from hell placed on the

safe house wall.

"In case your interested," Duncan spoke in an earnestly concerned voice, "I set a number

of perimeter mines before we came in. A precaution against Mutant X's interference." He

turned toward the nearest window and glanced outside, his expression momentarily unreadable.

Then, quite suddenly, he started to laugh. He turned toward Charlotte, cold eyes pinning her

down and making her freeze in place. "I believe their ship was called the Double Helix." Wry

amusement brought out a ferocious and ghoulish grin. "The Scrap Metal Pile would be a more

fitting designation now."

Outside, another and much larger explosion occurred.

It made the whole building tremble. . . as if a plane had just crashed nearby. Or rather, its

fuel tank had gone up after it had crashed.

"Look's like you're friends had a little accident."

Horror filled Charlotte as she realized what must have happened. "Oh God. Jesse. . .

they're dead. You bastard, you killed them!" She was prevented from hurling herself at the killer

by yet another governor induced pain that filled her body. Duncan watched her much like a man

might examine a bug before crushing it underfoot.

He returned his pistol to a shoulder holster but kept hold of the governor remote. "It's

time to go Ms. Cooke. You're days of menacing humanity are over."





Broken.

Slagged.

Destroyed.

The words rolled lazily through the mind of Shalimar Fox as she drifted. Nothingness

surrounded her, embraced her. She felt pleasantly numb, but knew it wouldn't last much longer.

Her sensitive Feral nose twitched, her eyelids skinned back. The stench of fuel burning and

sizzling oil invaded her nostrils and burned her eyes. Something wet struck her face. When she

reached to wipe it away, she realized that she couldn't move her right arm. The left seemed fine,

though, so she doubted she'd been paralyzed.

Devastated.

Injured.

Crushed.

Shalimar groaned and lifted herself up as best she could. Her right arm was pinned

beneath one of the other chairs. The interior of the Double Helix had been remodeled rather

drastically by. . . she wasn't sure by what. "What in God's name happened?"

From nearby, a masculine moan.

"Jesse? Are you okay?"

"No. But I'm alive." The answer came from just a couple of meters ahead of her, but

Shalimar could not see him. A thick black cloud of smoke outside, probably from the fuel tank

that had very nearly delivered them their heavenly reward, also blocked all light. She was too

shaken by the explosion, the second today, to think about her night vision.

Jesse hissed in pain. "I'm not sure that's such a good thing, but I am alive." His voice

was strong like her's, no evidence that he was masking pain or pretending to be in better shape

than he really was.

"Can you move?" Since she wasn't inclined to chew her arm off at the elbow, that was a

very important question to Shalimar. No matter how much more Feral she'd gotten since her

mutation grew stronger, she still wasn't going to eat Mrs. Benedict's steak tartar nor was she

going to gnaw off a limb like some trapped animal. If they were both pinned, however, they'd

either have to wait for help or free themselves by just such drastic measures. Both were

unlikable alternatives to Jesse being able to play the hero.

"Yeah. I think I can move." There came a series of rustling and crunching sounds; Jesse

tested his hypothesis and found it sound. He came into view when he moved, his body parting

the black smoke for a second or two. His clothes were singed and sooty, but otherwise nothing

seemed wrong. When he saw Shalimar, he jerked in shock, then relaxed. "Whew. I thought

that was blood on your face."

Shalimar frowned and then remembered the liquid that had dripped on to her just a

moment before. She glanced down at her hand. Even in the inky pitch inside the Helix, she

could tell it was a special oil Adam had concocted. Memory told her it was, indeed, very much

the color of a vampire's dinner.

Jesse drew near and leaned down. He checked her. "I'll phase the chair. We've got to

hurry, before the people after Charlotte get away."

"Or come after us."

"Whatever. We still need to hurry." As he touched the chair and took a deep breath, as

Shalimar pulled her arm loose and wondered if it was dangerously numb, as the Double Helix lay

destroyed on its side, a scream of horror broke the relative peace of the accident.

Jesse shot to standing. His head whipped around toward the safe house. Their reason for

being there came back to him with a vengeance. "Charlotte!" In a soft whisper, he said "don't

let us be too late. Please, don't let us be too late." It wasn't perfectly a prayer, but Jesse hoped

it was close enough.





************************************************************************





Sitting together, drinking together, the moment crept upon them, a happy crescendo that

grew in force and intensity in secret then whooshed into being. It came when Emma casually

asked a simple question. "Brennan, why have you been in such an up mood? Are you high or

something? You've been loopy all morning."

It seemed at first that, with both Adam and Emma herself smiling at the words, he felt the

questions were sufficiently humorous that they might not have been intended to elicit answers.

Sometimes you ask a question just to see how people react to it. Perhaps sensing that he wasn't

obligated to answer made Brennan want to answer. Maybe he felt like unburdening himself and

explaining how he could have gone through such a rough battle, nearly been blown up, been

exposed to the Clarks' venomous hatred, and yet be so incredibly warm and happy. For

whatever reason, or none at all, he answered honestly.

Setting down his drink, he said "we all could have died in that explosion. When I woke up,

I started thinking about all the times we've beaten the odds. First with Eckhart and now with

Gabriel Ashlocke, battle after battle, I survive. You two survive. Jesse and Shalimar survive."

Brennan looked down at his glass, staring into the murky liquid. "Terrorists tried to kill us and

failed, mutants have tried to kill us and failed, everyone's tried to kills us. And failed."

"Good training." Adam muttered to himself.

Brennan nodded. "Yeah. You're right. We're good. We've got skills, sure, but how many

times can we fight the good fight and win? That's why I'm feeling so great. I'm still here. Still

alive. We may be living on borrowed time, but so far, all of us can say we haven't paid the price

for it." He smiled warmly. "There's no feeling in the world better than betting everything and

coming out on top. You can't help but be a little loopy when every rational part of your mind

keeps yelling that you should be six feet under by now."

"Isn't that a little. . . a little," Emma blinked. She honestly wasn't sure what she thought

about what Brennan had just said. On occasion, she'd thought almost the exact same thing.

Once, she'd read that after a war, soldiers often found themselves falling into deep depressions,

not because of what they'd done during the fighting, but because their lives had no excitement left

in them. After the ultimate thrill of spitting in Death's eye, how could anyone get used to

working behind a desk?

Emma felt like scratching her head in pure indecision but stopped herself. She sighed,

thinking about what she'd seen. The dark future and everything that had happened filled her

mind. It had been war, certainly, but she'd seen only a fraction of its horrors. What she'd seen

haunted her now, no less than any veteran and worse than some. When she woke and saw

Adam's face after the battle for Capitol, after nearly dying at Catherine's hands, Emma

remembered feeling such an amazing sensation that despite all the pain, she'd felt amazingly and

indescribably happy.

Life was an amazing gift and she'd been forced to realize it in that moment. The revelation

had come at a terrible price, one she sometimes worried had not yet been paid in full, but she

cherished the newfound understanding. Every day, she looked in her mirror, and thought to

herself 'DeLauro, your alive. Try not be too ungrateful.'

In a way, wasn't that the same thing her friend had just said?

If nothing else, It made Emma's head hurt.

She smiled and shook a finger at him. "Brennan, sometimes I don't know whether you're

a genius philosopher or the single most obnoxious person on the planet."

Grinning, he said "why can't I be both?"

They all laughed about that for a while, bantering back and forth. Thinking like Brennan

made all of them a little easier to smile and quicker to laugh. Why waste time being miserable or

wishing you could spend the time alone when you were damned lucky just to be there? "Isn't it

lucky?" Adam said to himself, giving Emma an inconspicuous look of adoration. He amplified

the statement a moment later. "Isn't it lucky that we're all friends."

Brennan solemnly took his glass in hand and raised it high. "I'll drink to that." He started

to lower it to his lips then paused. "No. Wait. Let's all drink to that! A toast." Up again came

the glass. "To the best friends a man could want, to the best family a man could want. May we

all grow old together."

"Excellent notion." Adam said and clinked his coffee mug against Brennan's glass and

Emma's too, for she joined the impromptu toast with an eager smile. Everyone took a sip of

their drinks. Then, surprising even himself, Adam raised his mug. "To Brennan. For making us

have a good time despite the company."

"Oh very funny." Brennan tried to make the words sound harsh but he was grinning and

actually blushing a little.

Emma raised her daiquiri. "No sense letting the men have all the fun. Even if I am the

only woman here." She cleared her throat and tried to look serious. In a soft and sweet voice,

she said "to Adam Kane, without whom we wouldn't have had those last two toasts. You made

us what we are today. Friends and heros."

In all of her life, she could not recall ever before seeing such an expression as the one on

Adam's face. He was simultaneously touched by her words and deeply embarrassed by them.

She couldn't help but snicker at his obvious discomfort. Nor could she help but wish they were

close enough to kiss.

Glasses clinked again regardless. "Amen." Sipping his drink, Brennan shook his head.

"You've got that one dead on. We wouldn't even be alive if it weren't for you Adam." He

inclined his head toward their leader, friend, and mentor. "You made us more than a team. You

really are the one who made us a family. You're sort of like a father to Mutant X. Right Emma?"

Brennan turned to her in expectation.

Brennan asked the last just as Adam was sipping the dregs of his rather murky coffee. He

spluttered and almost chocked, coughing harshly, his face turning vaguely red. For an instant, it

looked like he couldn't breath. Then, with a wheeze, he did.

"What's wrong? Something I said?"

Adam cleared his throat, then hacked one last time. "Coffee hot."

"What?" Brennan blinked, fairly certain he'd misunderstood.

Perhaps in a state of shock over chocking, or the idea of being the team's "father," Adam

seemed unable to come up with more words. "Coffee hot." He repeated in a dumbfounded

voice that made him wince.

Emma's eyes were flitting back and forth between the men. She wanted to do or say

something, but her brain seemed to be on the fritz worse than Adam's. It seemed remarkably

difficult to string more than two words together inside her own head, everything she wanted to

say sounded moronic at best. 'Well of course I've gone stupid,' she thought caustically, 'my

brain's blown a fuse. If Brennan talks about Adam being a father to us again, I think I'll go nuts.

I'm sleeping with the man for goodness sake!' The thought was so loud in her mind, Emma was

actually surprised no one seemed to hear it.

On the other side of Brennan, Adam was having the same trouble trying to regain use of

his vast vocabulary. He looked worn out. His eyes were locked on the cup in front of him.

Coughing faintly before making a distinct effort to rally his thoughts, Adam tried a smile. It was

lopsided but passable.

"I'm sorry Brennan, you caused me to lose my train of thought." The words came out

smooth as polished marble.

The corner of Brennan's mouth twitched upward in a mocking grin. "Well then, let's

board at the sation. I was saying that you're like a father to us. Don't you think that's a pretty

apt analogy?" He favored Emma with a look, one that made her think he expected agreement.

Something about the way his lower lip quivered gave the impression that he was barely

restraining a stampede of laughter.

Adam did not agree with Brennan. In fact, his eyes narrowed slightly as he contradicted

him, as if deeply insulted by what had been said. "First, I want to say that I have never thought

of myself as the father figure of Mutant X. I admit, I practically raised Shalimar, but I've always

thought of myself as your teacher and your friend. I'm a mentor. A guide." He seemed to grow

more confident with every word. His eyes grew warmer momentarily as he glanced at Emma.

Behind Brennan's back, she blew Adam a kiss.

"Besides," Adam said as he focused his attention back on Brennan, "if I were the father of

Mutant X, what would that make you and Shalimar?" He waited a moment for that question to

sink in. When it did, Brennan suddenly seemed distinctly uncomfortable. A predatory smile

formed on Adam's face. "You'd be siblings. Now," he winked at Emma, "don't you disagree

with the whole familial issue?"

"Okay, okay, you've made your point." Brennan tossed up his hands in a mock surrender

that was less mock than usual. Something seemed to have gone out of him. The impish grin he'd

been wearing before was gone completely. "Bad analogy. Very bad analogy."

"It certainly was." Emma muttered so softly no one could have heard. Adam glanced

toward her anyway. Brennan hadn't noticed her speaking. For a moment, they shared

something between them, as if their souls touched over the gulf of space between, space

currently occupied by a Mulwray, one of the most annoying creatures ever. Both of them

suddenly decided that they weren't so fond of Brennan as they'd started to think.

Despite suddenly being disliked, Brennan seemed very contrite about what he'd said.

"You know, I don't know what I was thinking. I've always just thought of you as 'The Boss,'

you know?" He smiled and shook his head. "I really am loopy today. Forgive me. I plead

temporary insanity."

Frustrating even when he was being a good boy, Brennan sighed and rubbed the back of

his head. His eyes got a faraway look in them. "I wonder what the others are up to."

Adam, perhaps trying to take a minor revenge for being so deeply embarrassed by his

teammate, grinned wickedly and said "Shalimar and Jesse probably took the Double Helix to

Hawaii for a romantic sabbatical. They've always been so close."

Across from him, Emma's glare was reproachfully amused.

The words and glare were wasted efforts. Brennan didn't notice them. "I wonder," he

mumbled to himself, an odd veneer of worry creeping onto his face. After a moment, it passed.

"Just got the weirdest feeling. It was like that anticipation you feel when you wake up and just

know that a storm's coming. Weird huh?" His smile was charming and ingratiating. "Weather's

been great all day."

Adam and Emma nodded. "Yeah, weird." They muttered in unison, which made them

stare at each other for a second before smiling.

Emma added "I'll bet when we get back to Sanctuary, we'll find out that Jesse grabbed

one of your Walt Whitman books. Or Shalimar."

"Nah. When someone does that, I feel like a train ran over my grave."

They all laughed at that. Strangely, their tone wasn't one of perfect mirth, but that of a

graveyard chuckle. Whistling in the dark. Even if they didn't realize it, their instincts knew what

was coming. Deep down, beneath a thick quilt of civilization, the part of each that was

connected to earth and sky and all of the natural world, quivered with understanding.

A storm was, indeed, coming.







******************************END OF PART TWO*************************