Editor's Notes: Thank you very much for your detailed reviews. You have no idea how much they mean to me. :-)
Neisen: As you can probably tell, Kurt is one of my favorites as well. Hell, it was his picture on Xmen 145 that got me interested in collecting the comic in the first place! I'd been "out of the loop" with the Xmen since the late 80s (just before Genosha), and stopped collecting Excalibur in the mid 90s, so it was the arrival of X2 that rekindled my interest. Their version of Nightcrawler fascinated me, a fusion of monk and swashbuckler (who was understandably shell-shocked through the whole ordeal….) The scars, a controversial topic to be sure, added an interesting dimension to his personality as much as his skin. And I have this thing for complex, "scarred" characters….
Mistoffelees: I've always believed that one of the things that separates "acceptable" violence from "unacceptable" violence is the reaction. It's the difference between an action-escapist flick like Rambo II and a gut-wrenchingly realistic one like Saving Private Ryan. Watching some guy in a movie cut down random, faceless enemy soldiers without a qualm just doesn't seem real to me, and I strive for as much realism as possible in my stories. According to military studies, 98% of the human population cannot handle the idea of killing, and will break down in prolonged combat. That 2%, who can somehow handle violence without post-traumatic stress disorder, makes up our professional soldier or police class (or, regrettably, our criminals). Obviously, Logan belongs to that class as well… ;)
Mmuhlenkamp: My artistic abilities are pathetic, which is why I stick with a keyboard instead. :-) I thank you for the offer, and would be honored to see any illustrations you feel like doing.
* * * * *
Talons
Chapter 4
Down in medlab, underneath the mansion proper, the entire group watched and waited as Scott arranged the two pilots on separate examination tables. Kurt stood against the wall, trying to ignore the stinging sensation under his bandage. Peter got his own table; he was in no position to stand.
The pilots' suits had to be painted on, or maybe they were dipped in the material. Logan had to literally cut them out. He started with the smaller one, who turned out to be Caucasian. Logan snorted with disdain as he viewed the man.
"We've got a problem with this one, I'll tell ya that right now," he grumbled.
He lifted up the man's right elbow, which was covered by a large, intricate, black spider web tattoo. Kurt gave a slight wince as he looked at the tattoo.
"That must have been very painful to make," he noted.
"I wouldn't expect you to think about something like that," Ororo said, a bit surprised. "Didn't you do all that work on yourself?"
Kurt raised an elbow slightly, just enough to call attention to it. "Do you see any marks on my elbow? Joints are not good places to mark. A scar will never turn out right, and as for tattoos there is nothing to absorb the needle sticks. It would be like hitting bone over and over."
"This isn't just a macho thing," Logan warned. "You earn this kind of mark by murdering someone. It's an initiation."
"Not necessarily," Rogue said. "I mean, I knew a guy who had it done, and he never killed anyone or went to jail."
"So some poser turned it into a fashion statement. I've seen it too many times, kiddo."
"Cut the other suit off, Logan," Scott requested. "Let's see if they're both from the same 'fellowship'."
"You got it," Logan muttered as he made a few quick swipes.
As often as Rogue saw Logan's claws in action, she was still impressed by his grace and control. He made quick work of the suits, yet didn't leave so much as a mark on the pilots' skin. Of course, then she turned away for a moment while Scott covered the pilot's groin with a towel. They really were nude underneath. This man was Latino, a little younger, and more muscular. In fact, he was in better condition all the way around. In comparison, the Caucasian's face seemed a bit drawn. Logan stepped aside as Ororo and Scott started placing monitors on the pilots' chests.
"No spider web," Kurt noted.
"Nope," Logan agreed. "He's in better shape, too."
Professor Xavier positioned himself at the head of the Caucasian man, out of Scott and Ororo's way. He placed his hand on the man's forehead and closed his eyes. Scott kept an eye on his mentor. If what Charles picked up from the gunman earlier today was any indication, this was going to be a most unpleasant duty.
Xavier stayed in contact with the pilot for several minutes, his face a mask of concentration. Scott and Ororo, long since finished with their sensor attachments, stood back and waited for the professor to return. Only the rhythmic beeps of medical equipment broke the tense silence.
Xavier returned with a long, shuddering breath, like a man waking from a nightmare.
"He's not coming back," Charles said. "And after what I saw in there, that may be for the best." He turned to Logan. "You were right, Logan. This man is a killer."
Logan nodded. "Gang-banger?"
"Ex-military, drummed out some time ago with a dishonorable discharge for rape." Charles looked at the other man. "I'm almost afraid to know what I'll find in there."
"Maybe you should rest for a little while?" Bobby asked.
Charles shook his head. "This attack was coordinated by the same people we saw earlier today. They trailed us back here once; they can do it again. I need to work with all speed."
He wheeled around to the second pilot. With a trace of hesitation, he put his hands on both sides of the man's head. Xavier's body tensed as he closed his eyes. However, after a few seconds, he began to relax. It took only a minute for him to come back.
"This one is a student at a police academy," he said. "He was abducted sometime last month, I believe." He paused. "He will awaken, given a bit of time. Unlike the other man, this one was not in the exoskeleton willingly."
Kurt shuddered and Scott shifted his stance with discomfort, all too familiar with the concept of an unwilling combatant.
Charles noted their reactions. "This is similar to Stryker's methods, but not the same. There are two crucial differences.
"First of all, this is an entirely mechanical form of control. When the pilot is 'plugged into' his vehicle, his conscious mind goes dormant as if asleep. It places him in a very susceptible state, following any orders given without doubt or hesitation. When he leaves the suit, his conscious mind reawakens, with no recollection of time passed.
"Secondly, I have a hunch that this was not designed as a form of mind control. Considering the placement, and from what you have told me of the vehicle's speed, I think this may have originally been designed as a cybernetic interface, making the robot an extension of the user's own body. The pilots are both experts at hand-to-hand combat, as well as excellent marksmen."
"So it's military," Bobby said quietly, downcast.
"No!" Kurt barked. "No soldier would do the things I saw!"
"You didn't see what Stryker's men did to the school," Rogue said.
"I'm not talking about that! I'm talking about what they did to each other!" His tail lashed about behind him, making his agitation all the more vivid. "They casually shot through each other to get to me! The robots deliberately crushed the others underfoot! It was madness!"
"Kurt's right," Scott added. "I can't imagine even a black op casually killing their buddies that way. A terrorist suicide squad, maybe. Criminals, sure. But not soldiers. It couldn't be Magneto; I can't imagine him trying to blow up the school, no matter his feelings towards us. This has to be a third party."
"A third party with big bucks, bleeding edge tech, and serious military-grade weaponry," Logan snarled. "That's reassuring." He gestured to the two pilots. "So what do we do with them? They've got something out of Neuromancer stuck in the back of their heads. Everyone and their brother is going to want to get their hands on them."
Xavier sighed. "I'll have to make some calls to a few acquaintances for that. Right now, we put one on life support and I'll work with the other. But for long term, I'm not sure."
"We'll have to find the people responsible and launch an assault," Scott said. "They know we're here, they've come after us once. They'll do it again, especially now that we've got their hardware."
"We also need to do a bug sweep on everything," Ororo added. "They could have transmitters in those suits or in the rigs."
"Or imbedded in the pilots themselves," Charles said. "It would seem we have a long night ahead of us, I'm afraid."
Kurt shrugged. "I wasn't going back to sleep, anyhow."
* * * * *
Kotoko knew the risk he was taking. The world was utterly alien to him. The only facts he knew for certain were that it was suited for life, that the rebellion had never investigated this land before, and the King's Own were here, somewhere, trying to fortify their position. Kotoko knew nothing of the dominant life forms, nor their technology, and they most likely knew nothing of him.
Yes, there were always risks. If the King's Own found him, he was worse than dead. If the dominant life forms found him, they could respond unfavorably. But Kotoko was the best scout the rebellion had. He'd been to tens of worlds, tracking down the King's Own wherever they went. Each world was different, but each mission the same.
He arrived at daybreak, following a power signature that must have been from the King's Own. He opened the portal some distance from the now inactive power source. The King's Own had chosen to hide themselves in dense foliage. Kotoko stood there for several minutes after the portal closed, his suit performing a sensor sweep. The terrain was rough, but there were roads nearby. The King's Own, for some reason, had chosen to make their base perilously close to the dominant life forms of this world. How long had the butchers been here? Had they made an alliance with the natives, or were they in the midst of taking over?
Kotoko curled up his five limbs and hovered above the ground, then activated his camouflage field. He did not want to leave tracks, nor make any sound to betray his unseen presence. He moved slowly towards where he knew the power source to be. So far, it was still inactive. He was not quite prepared for what he found. This was not a fortified encampment, not even a bivouac. No one was there. Instead, three identical wheeled vehicles waited side by side, clumsily camouflaged among the trees. The power had emanated from within these boxy things, which seemed to be designed for hauling freight. The vehicles' operation cockpits were far too small and oddly-shaped for Kotoko to use: they must have been piloted by the natives of this world. Kotoko reassessed the situation. Had the natives discovered some of the King's equipment? Judging from the shape of one of the vehicles, there had been a vicious firefight.
A warning chime echoed in Kotoko's hardsuit. He stopped immediately. Little blips of power, so faint he didn't detect them before, encircled the three vehicles. Someone had placed sensors here. The power signature wasn't King's Own, rebellion, or any other type he'd ever seen. He didn't even recognize it until it had been triggered. The natives must have placed them there. Clever. Kotoko rose slowly into the air, careful not to brush by any branches, and arranged his invisible form in the branching trunk of a sturdy tree. He waited there. The inhabitants would have to come and investigate soon. This was a good a time as any to observe them.
* * * * *
Ororo sat in the control room, occasionally glancing up at the monitors that lined the wall. She tossed back last of her coffee, before it got too cold to stomach. The sun was up, the Professor was still working with his patient, Logan was patrolling the grounds, and Scott was still going over the incredible technology they had come across. Kurt must have gone to bed after she took over for him an hour ago.
With that in mind, Ororo was surprised to hear Kurt's distinctive teleportation in the far corner of the monitoring room. She spun in her seat. Kurt, dressed and showered, was there with a breakfast tray and thermal pitcher.
"Everyone who could had breakfast in the kitchen," he told her. "I thought everything would stay warmer if I brought yours this way."
Ororo smiled. "So long as my eggs don't taste like sulfur. Tell me that's coffee in there?"
She pointed to the pitcher as Kurt brought the tray over. As he set the tray down, he picked the pitcher up with his tail and refilled Ororo's coffee cup.
"The most widely used drug in the world," he said. "Civilization would grind to a halt without it."
"You wonderful man." Ororo took a grateful swig. It was strong and black, with no cream or sugar to get in the way; just the way she preferred it. "You're looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."
"Four hours sleep is enough for me."
"Hmph. And during those four hours, you sleep like the proverbial dead."
His eyes fairly danced as he leaned against a nearby counter. "Now, how would you know that? Have you been peeping into my bedroom window?"
She smiled over her coffee cup. "It's no secret, Kurt. The first night you spent with us, you slept on the couch in the rec. room. The kids almost sat on you as they watched their cartoons, at high volume I might add, and you didn't even roll over."
His expression fell with comical exaggeration. "Damn. And here I hoped you were peeping into my bedroom window."
Ororo caught herself before she performed an embarrassing spit-take. It would do no good to spray the monitors with coffee, even if it didn't have cream or sugar.
"You flirt!" she coughed. "Next time I'll pull the 'hand in lukewarm water' bit on you!"
He gave her a smug grin. "Don't bother. It won't work. My circus brothers tried many times."
An alarm behind Kurt went off. He jumped aside to grant Ororo access. Ororo set her coffee down quickly. Those were the motion sensors on the trucks.
"We've got a contact," she said, reaching over to the control panel.
"Maybe another rabbit?" Kurt asked skeptically. "That was the last contact I had."
"Maybe," she agreed.
They waited for a few more seconds, to see if other sensors went off. There was only the one. It could be an animal.
"We need to check it out, just to be sure," Ororo said. She activated the intercom. "Scott? We've got another contact near the trucks. Kurt and I are checking it out."
"Go ahead," Scott's voice replied.
Ororo stood up and looked to Kurt. Kurt nodded and gently held her to him. A wrenching second later, they were on top of one of the trailers. They laid flat against the metal for a moment, listening. They only heard the occasional birdsong. Kurt glanced to Ororo, who shook her head. The two stood up and leapt down to the ground. There was no one here, and no sign that there had been.
"It looks like our rabbit is back," Kurt noted. "Isn't there a way to avoid these false alarms?"
"I don't know," Ororo answered, looking for the triggered alarm. "We'd need something that could determine size and mass. This is really just thrown together. It's better than having to stake one of us here, but not by much."
"I could just see Logan camping out here. Nothing would come within hundreds of feet."
Ororo looked up at the sprawling, 200-plus year old oak tree. For a second, she thought she felt something. She stopped. There was a strange obstruction in the breeze, something not accounted for by the mass of the tree trunk. Kurt saw Ororo's stance shift as she crouched on the balls of her feet. He froze where he was, ready to teleport away at first notice.
Kotoko watched with fascination. Down below him, two beings with bilateral symmetry appeared on one of the vehicles in a discharge of blue smoke. How was that done? There was no power signature at all! No portal activation, no power spike, nothing!
The natives walked erect on two of their specialized limbs. Sounds issued from one nubby appendage, which seemed to only have a single joint upon which to rotate. They were obviously intelligent. Kotoko remained frozen, watching. Creatures with specialized limbs always fascinated him. Did their brains reside in just one limb, or did they spread all the way through the body? One of the two had a fifth manipulatory limb, the other twin symmetrical projections. Perhaps one was female and the other male? The one with two projections stopped short and twisted its nub around. Kotoko felt a breeze come up around him. Without thinking, he automatically spread his limbs out further, to disperse his bulky signature among the branches.
Ororo's eyes turned milky white as a breeze rustled the leaves. What she thought was an obstruction was gone, without any disturbance to the surrounding winds. If there had been anything up there, and it had leapt down or otherwise moved away, she would have felt something. Her eyes returned to their piercing shade of blue, and Kurt felt he could exhale.
"A false alarm," she said softly. "I suppose I'm a bit jumpy after last night."
"You aren't the only one," he said.
She walked back to Kurt. "Well, I think the perimeter's as secure as it's going to get. Why don't you just get us back before my eggs get cold?"
"You know, this used to make you sick."
"I'm getting used to it, I suppose."
The creatures' nubs must have been specialized for communication. They would turn them in specific directions as they issued their sounds. Perhaps the long filaments that coated one side of the nub were sensory in nature. That would explain why the one with the longer, pale filaments seemed to sense Kotoko's presence while the other did not. The one with the fifth limb touched the one with the long filaments, and they both disappeared in another blue discharge. Before Kotoko could consider getting a sample of the particulate, it had dissipated. If these aliens all had such abilities, they could be invaluable allies or horrendous foes. He had to discover their lair, but how could he track something that came and went through an untraceable portal?
Perhaps he was looking at the wrong thing. After all, they came in response to Kotoko's triggering one of their alarms. That meant the sensors had to lead back to them somehow. He started scanning frequencies.
* * * * *
The lab intercom beeped again. Scott looked up from his work.
"We're back," Ororo's voice came through. "Another false alarm."
Scott reached over and pushed the button. "Sounds like Kurt's 'bunny' is going to give us trouble."
"We need to get some kind of mass sensor up and running on these things. We're lucky the squirrels aren't setting them off."
Scott rubbed at his temple. Yes, he knew they were imperfect, but they were all they had at the moment. He glanced at the clock. 8am? No wonder his head hurt.
As if sensing his discomfort, Kurt's voice came over the intercom. "Scott, did you want to take breakfast down there? I can bring it, if you would like."
Scott groaned and stretched before replying. "Gimme a minute. Let me see how the Professor is doing. We might need something for our new patient, too."
"All right, then. I'll wait here with Ororo."
Scott stood up with another over-arm, reaching stretch, then left the electronics lab. Whoever this new enemy was, they were pushing technology in a direction he'd never seen before. This stuff may as well have come from an alien spacecraft, for all the sense he could make of it. He half expected to see a "made in Roswell" stamp somewhere.
A quick right turn, and he was walking into medlab. Peter was long gone, released to recover in his own room. The robot pilots were the only patients left. Scott inwardly cringed at the sight of the tattooed pilot. Despite his obvious youth, his lanky body, drawn face, and pale skin made him seem like an old man. The plethora of diagnostic and life support equipment attached to his body didn't help matters. By contrast, the other pilot laid in his bed without a single monitor, unless you counted the professor himself, sitting by his side.
Xavier gripped a pen in one hand and rested a tablet of paper on his lap. Judging by the sheets that were flipped over the top, he had been writing a great deal, but for now his hand laid still. He looked up as Scott entered the room. He had not left the medlab all night. It was something of an oddity for Scott to see him in a robe and slippers at this time of day.
"Breakfast is ready," Scott told him. "Did you want something brought down for our 'guest', too? Or is he not that close to waking up?"
"That won't be necessary, Scott," Xavier replied. "He will be resting through early afternoon. He has accumulated a great deal of sleep debt, and now he can finally pay it off."
Scott cocked his head. "Is this something you'll be explaining later?"
Xavier sighed and looked down at his tablet. "It's something I'll be explaining as soon as everyone can come down here."
Not surprisingly, Kurt was first. He arrived with both hands full of breakfast trays, accompanied by his vocal chime of "room service". The others, including a bruised but nowhere-near-as-lumpy Peter, filed in somewhat later. Soon the medlab was crowded again.
Xavier sipped at his coffee as Rogue finally entered the room.
"My turn at dishes," she explained, smiling sheepishly.
"That's quite all right, Marie," Xavier said, a light smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "I would have let you know if I needed you sooner."
He set the cup aside. The rest of the X-men shifted into a position of attention. Time to get to business.
"It has taken me this long to make sense of what I've seen in the pilots' minds," Xavier began. "It's like putting together a puzzle all one color, which is also missing half the pieces. This young man --" he gestured to the healthier one sleeping nearby "-- is easier to read, but paradoxically has less important information. I have been forced to delve into our sterling example of humanity over there."
He pointed to the other pilot, half hidden by equipment. Ororo examined the monitors more carefully and noticed that the EEG was distressingly quiescent.
"Dear God, the man's brain dead," she gasped. "When did this happen? The EEG was active when we hooked him up last night."
"I fear it doesn't end there," Xavier told her. "All of his vital signs are growing weaker by the hour. I had to intubate him not that long ago. The man may not live much longer. I was fortunate to get what I could out of him before his mental functions shut down.
"His name is Glen Carter. He has been in trouble with the law most of his adolescent and adult life. He joined the military as soon as he could for the sole purpose of learning how to legally kill and destroy. He made it through Ranger training, but a year after that he was *caught* raping a civilian and was then kicked out with a dishonorable discharge."
Rogue shivered. The professor made it sound like Glen had done that kind of stuff before, but not been discovered.
"He made a living as a drug lord's hired muscle for a while," Xavier continued, "and then someone came to him with an offer of extremely lucrative work. It seems that they told him something about an operation, but he didn't care so long as he was well paid. Whoever these people are, they have this implanting procedure down to a science. Glen was given a sedative in an office, and he woke up later in his own bed. Occasionally they would call him up, he'd be driven to a mobile lab much like the rigs you dispatched, and he would climb into one of those exo-suits. Once inside he would black out, waking up seemingly moments later after his mission was completed. It seemed like a rather cushy position. Climb in, go to sleep, wake up, get paid $10,000. He had no idea what he was doing during that time, nor did he know what it was truly doing to him, but I think his employers did."
Xavier looked back at the sleeper by his side. "This man's name is Isidro Delgado. He happens to be a fifth Dan in Karate and has won several competitions. He was also a police cadet from upstate and worked nights as a security guard at a construction site. I was a little off in my earlier estimations of time. It was just last week that he came early for his shift and found a fellow guard helping someone steal heavy equipment. In itself, this was bad enough, but some very large, very familiar mechanical suits were doing the stealing."
"They were using these things to grab bobcats and backhoes?" Scott asked, stunned. "They were using billion-dollar, cutting edge, experimental-level hardware to steal $50,000 of used equipment you could buy off the lot?"
"Apparently so. I don't know the reason, either, but Isidro clearly remembers these suits lifting the vehicles up and loading them into empty trailers disguised as mobile homes. He was caught, restrained, drugged, and obviously implanted. He has been in that suit for the past three days, ever since his capture."
Xavier leaned forward. "There are many advantages to this 'input jack' system. Most importantly, it saves time. A good fighter pilot takes years of training, and learning to use an exoskeleton like that would have a similar learning curve. With an input, the mechanical body becomes your own. Anyone off the street could use it efficiently, and we've seen the results of a trained fighter. It also ensures complete, fearless obedience by removing the subject's conscious mind from the equation. And it makes it almost impossible for me to pick up their thoughts, due to this semi-comatose state."
"It sounds like it also gives the pilot plausible deniability," Logan said. "After all, he'll never remember what happened."
"Yes...and no. This is where the system shows its literally fatal flaws. It's like the mental equivalent of radiation poisoning. A little exposure you can recover from, but the more you get, the worse off you become. Those convenient blackout periods don't last, Logan. They start to bubble up to the surface as nightmares, then flashbacks, then constant, waking hallucinations. Eventually, your REM sleep stops entirely. No matter how hard you try, or what drugs you take, you just can't get any true rest.
"During the first stage, the input disrupts your neural pathways. During the second, it disrupts your entire nervous system. It is unlikely someone would live long enough to get to that stage, as after a week of such neural disruption, the victim will go violently insane. The gunman in the store reached stage one. Glen has managed to degrade to stage two. I received the impression that his masters may have known what was happening. Previous missions might have lasted a day or two, but he has been in that suit for over a week. I doubt they were planning on letting him out before he died. If they did, he would become as unstable as the gunman."
"You wouldn't know that from the way he fought," Kurt said. "I've never seen anything so fast."
Scott, Logan, and Ororo nodded or otherwise voiced their agreement. For a man who was self-destructing, Glen was certainly agile last night.
"Perhaps the vehicle itself keeps the user alive, as shots of adrenalin would keep one awake," Xavier explained. "I have no explanations, only theories to go along with the facts of Glen's physical degradation."
"Use him up completely, then throw him away," Ororo said. "Not that I feel especially sorry for Glen, but the idea is still horrifying."
All looked back at the wasted life hidden by medical equipment. The EKG showed a slow beat, which slowed further.
"We're losing him," Kurt said softly. "Can nothing be done?"
"No," Xavier responded. "The best hospitals in the would not be able to save Mister Carter."
As they watched, Glen went into ventricular fibrillation, his heart losing all sense of rhythm and ability to pump. Ororo looked over at the defibrillator. They might be able to shock him into a stable beat once more, but what would be the point? His body was only following through with what his brain began.
After a few seconds, the erratic lines on the EKG went flat, the chirping little beeps resolving into one long piercing whine. Rogue moved a bit closer to Bobby, who put his arms around her. Neither one looked at each other; they were too fixed upon the quiet death in the corner. Kurt put his hand in one pocket and withdrew his rosary, his head bowed in silent prayer.
Peter's softly accented voice broke the stillness. "What will we do with his body?"
"For now, we will put it on ice," Xavier replied. "Doctor Henry McCoy will be arriving this afternoon, and he'll want to do an autopsy."
"And after that is over?" Peter continued.
Logan moved over to Glen's form and started to switch everything off. "Leave that to me."
To be continued…