Chapter 1
September 6th, 2002
New York, New York
12: 19 P. M.
"The Senate is, once again, considering the implementation of the Mutant Registration Act – a law that would require all mutants to inform public officials of their location and powers. Special interest groups from both sides are besieging their senators. We have statements here from both the 'Purifiers' and the 'Friends of Life.'"
A woman appeared, wearing a shirt with a green monster rising from the muck and the bold words "MUTANTS SUCK!" A tag line identified her as Catherine Davidson, member of the Purifiers. "It's rotten that we have to live with these damn muties anyway! If we can root 'em out, we can finally start to get rid of them!"
She was quickly replaced by a bearded man in a suit, frowning formally at the camera. "Mutants are people just like us. They should not have to live under laws that single them out. It's the Purifiers who should be registered."
The newswoman reappeared, vacant smile in place. "The Senate is not expected to vote on this issue for another few weeks, but it promises to be exciting politics. Channel Eight will be sure to keep you informed."
Doc winced and closed his eyes. After that speech by the President advocating friendship and acceptance, the government still thought of mutants like they had about the Japanese during World War II. Suppose that's politics for you, he thought bitterly.
Marty, sitting next to him, frowned up at the small TV Doc had installed in his time train. "Why would they want mutants to tell everybody what they are? Whose business is it?"
"It's the usual human failing, Marty," Doc informed his friend. "They want to discriminate against them. Despite the fact X-factor mutants have probably been born and lived among humans since we first evolved, mankind still sees them as a threat. And according to what I found out on previous trips, there's been a small mutant population boom in the last few years. To us, the threat is getting larger."
Marty snorted, disgusted. "Figures. That's humanity for ya. At heart, we're all Biff Tannen."
Doc smiled ever so slightly. "Oh, Marty, I wouldn't judge us that harsh--"
Doc suddenly began to cough extremely hard, bending double. Marty's expression quickly changed from disgust to nervousness. "Doc?" He put an arm around his best friend. Damn. I feel so helpless.
After a minute, the coughing subsided. Doc sat up and took a deep breath. "Sorry," he muttered.
"It isn't your fault, Doc," Jennifer said, coming in with Clara. They had been playing with the boys. "We heard you coughing, you okay?"
"For the moment. My respiration hasn't ceased." Doc looked down at the floor. The cough had been a rude reminder of their mission there. Back in their native time of 1987, Doc had been diagnosed with a totally new disease. His doctors had only been able to find out a couple of things about it. One, it attacked the sick person's DNA, rewriting it somehow.
Two, it was ultimately fatal.
Clara leaned over him and put her arms around his neck. "I'm glad to hear that," she said, kissing his forehead. "Hopefully this doctor can help you."
"I still don't get why we didn't go to 2015, or something," Marty admitted, making sure Doc was really all right. "Wouldn't they be sure to have a cure for you?"
"Maybe – maybe not." Doc lifted his head, feeling depressed. "If I contracted the disease in the future, which I probably did, it's entirely possible that there is – no cure. I don't want to leave any avenues open. What if, in 2015, my disease had been totally eradicated, and no one knew how to help me? Best to start here in my search." Marty shrugged.
The TV caught their attention again. "In more local news, a mutant identified only as 'Beast' terrorized a group of mourners at a Newhill, Massachusetts funeral yesterday. The mother of the deceased, Mrs. Kathleen Montgomery, told us that the Beast appeared out of nowhere, attacked a man at the funeral, then bounded away, chased by the crowd. Our own Jon Black was on the scene, and was able to get us this footage of the dramatic event."
The scene on the set changed to a cemetery, with group of black-clad mourners huddling around one grave. A few of the younger members were arguing with another group who had shown up. This group was in normal street clothes, and held misspelled signs: DOWN WITH MUTIES, Purify the Race, The Only GOOD Mutant is a DEAD Mutant – the usual.
Suddenly, in the midst of the mourners, something incredible appeared. Something that looked like a blue werewolf. People ran in fright as the Beast somersaulted over to the leader of the mutant-haters and planted a big kiss right on his lips.
Marty had to laugh. "Good for him! Serves that jerk right!"
Jennifer was a little more reserved in her praise. "He is rather scary-looking. I don't think I'd want to meet him in a dark alley."
"Yeah, he is, but he didn't attack anybody. He can't help the way he looks. I think those guys got just what they – Doc?"
Doc had gotten up and walked away from the television. He felt sick to his stomach. Nobody would let mutants live their lives. Nobody! Not even in the future, which was supposedly so "enlightened," so free of racism and sexism. His fists clenched in rage.
The TV suddenly started flickering on and off, causing Clara to jump. It was quickly joined by the lights. Marty stared as the trip log – a flat screen that stored every time hop the train took – began to scroll up and down erratically. Okay, I don't like this.
Jules and Verne ran in, ignoring their father. "Mama, something's wrong with our Gameboys®!" Verne reported. He showed her how they were turning themselves on and off, in time with the lights and TV. "What's wrong with them?"
"Are we near any electrical fields?" Jules asked worriedly. "'Cause if something like that could do that to our toys, I don't want to know what it could do to Papa's train."
"Me neither. Emmett? I think we should move the train."
"Yeah, Doc, something's messed up here," Marty agreed.
Doc blinked and relaxed. As everything returned to normal, he realized in horror what he had done. He quickly checked his reflection in the window. His eyes were normal, thank God, although his hair was a little mussier. And it didn't look like his family or friends had figured out the cause of the disturbance.
He frowned deeply as he looked at his family. After seeing those news reports, he couldn't help but wonder. How would they react if they ever found out the truth about me? If they somehow discovered that I'm a mutant. They're wonderfully tolerant of others. Would they retain that quality? Or would they drop me like a heated starch resource – aka hot potato? Doc didn't want to find out. He had lost too much from his "normal" eccentricities.
"Emmett? Don't you think we should do something?"
Oh, right. Clara wanted an answer. Doc turned around. "We should move the train. If there is unusual electrical activity in the area, I don't want to run the risk of the time circuits shorting out. Or of anyone investigating that activity walking into it."
The alarm on his left watch beeped. "It appears it's time for my doctor's appointment. You move the train while I seek out the necessary medical attention." He grabbed a walkie-talkie from the time-travel kit he had made up, as well as some 2000 money from his briefcase.
"Do you want one of us to go with you, Doc?" Marty asked. "I'd kind of like to see New York."
"Find a safe place for this first. I should be fine on my own. Once I check with the doctor, maybe we can do a bit of sightseeing."
Clara bit her lip. "Emmett, are you positive you're going to be all right? That cough just keeps getting worse."
"Even so, it's still only a cough. I should be able to get to the doctor's office. Due to what just happened, I think it's best if we think about the safety of the train in this area." He kissed her. "I'll be fine, promise. I'll call you the minute the appointment is over."
"If you're sure," Clara sighed reluctantly. "Be safe out there."
"Hope they can help ya, Doc," Marty added, pulling his best friend into a hug. "It would suck if after surviving all we did, some stupid cold gets ya."
Doc squeezed him. "I'll do everything I can."
"Bye Papa," Jules and Verne echoed, joining the hug.
"Bye kids. You two behave yourselves while I'm gone." He gently extricated himself from their arms.
"Good luck, Doc," Jennifer smiled, shaking his hand.
"Thanks, I think I'll need it." He left the train with a final wave, watching with satisfaction as it disappeared from sight. A moment later, he heard it rise into the air and chug away. Hmmm. If we do end up going to 2015 or later, I think I'll also look for something to disguise the train's noise. The invisibility device was a godsend, but hearing a train overhead is bound to attract attention. I can't think about that now, though. I have to find that doctor.
He left the alley they had been hovering over and blended in with the rest of the foot traffic. It was another busy day in New York, with the residents fighting the crowds to get on with their business. Doc wove his way through the gaps, searching for a certain skyscraper which housed Dr. Taber. Supposedly the man was an expert in the field of new and rare diseases. Doc certainly hoped he was.
As he bumped his way up to a crosswalk, Doc spotted a young girl sitting against a wall. Normally he wouldn't have given her a second glance – he knew a bum or a vagrant when he saw one – but she was different. For one thing, she was too clean to be a street person. Her jeans, T-shirt, and boots were worn, but tidy. Her hair, cut short, wasn't matted or filthy-looking. She also didn't have that glazed look most of them had. Frankly, she looked like some kid who had just ended up in New York and wasn't sure where to go.
Doc reached into his pocket. Would she accept a handout? Would he change the space-time continuum somehow by giving her one?
The stoplight turned red. The girl got up, slung her brown bag over her shoulder, and joined the crowd. Doc made his decision. "Hey! Miss!"
The girl paused and looked at him. "Me?" she asked, her voice hopeful but unsure.
Doc pulled out a five dollar bill. "I wanted to give you this."
The girl smiled a little crookedly. "I'm not asking for handouts, but thanks," she said, shyly taking the money from him. She stuffed it in her pocket.
Doc was of a mind to ask her what she was doing in New York, when someone bumped into him and spun him around. It took him a few minutes to turn back around, and when he had, she was gone. He sighed as he finished crossing. Too late. Well, good luck to you, kid.
He continued on, finally spotting his destination in the maze of metal and sky. He entered the building and studied the floor maps. Dr. Taber was on the third floor. Luckily enough, he spotted a group of people crowding into an elevator. "Hold it!" he yelled, joining them.
"What floor?" the girl closest the buttons asked.
"Eighth," "Twelfth," "Third," "Third as well," "Nineteenth," "Fifth."
The appropriate buttons were punched, and they were on their way. The woman at the buttons turned to the man standing behind her. "Hey, did you see that story on the news earlier?"
"You mean about the mutant? Yeah, I did. Damn scary if you ask me. Able to blend into normal society like that."
"They should all be rounded up and shot," another man snapped. "If we don't do somethin' now, they're gonna take over the world. Remember that freak at Liberty Island? Magneto?"
"He's on the loose again, you know. Shows how much faith you can put in the government."
"I'll say. We had a chance to stop them, before Senator Kelley whimped out on us."
"Senator Kelley?" Doc asked as the car stopped.
"He used to be for the Mutant Registration Act," another woman explained, getting off with him. "Last year he did a total about-face. I'm not for the MRA, but I don't know if I want a guy like that sponsoring it."
Doc shrugged, noncommital, and walked into the small waiting room. There were a number of people in here today. "Hello, I'm Mr. Flynn Cummings. I'm here for my one o'clock."
"Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Cummings," the receptionist said cheerily. "Dr. Taber will be with you shortly. Please have a seat."
Doc sat down by a pile of magazines. Picking one up at random, he rolled his eyes. The cover screamed:
MUTANTS! Friend. . .or Foe?
We talk with top mutation experts for our answers.
"Can this nation find nothing else to talk about?" Doc complained softly, opening it despite himself. A glance at the contents revealed the answer – except for Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck, no.
He looked through the rest of the magazines, but it was all more of the same. He resigned himself to reading the one he currently held. He did a brief skim of the latest crisis between J. Lo and Ben, then moved on to a mutant article. To his shock, it was an interview with a certain "Charles Xavier." Jean's friend? How odd. I thought for sure they were going to show mutants as strictly a threat. Smiling a little, he started reading.
"Mr. Cummings?" Doc looked up, annoyed he had been interrupted so soon. "Dr. Taber's ready for you."
Doc sighed and set the magazine down. "Thank you." He headed into the doctor's office, a few jealous glances following him. Dr. Taber himself was studying a chart. "Dr. Taber?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes, come in. I won't be a moment." Doc settled himself on the bed. Dr. Taber made a few notes on the chart, then turned his full attention to his patient. "You must be Mr. Cummings. Pleasure to meet you." Doc nodded and shook his hand. "So, what exactly is the trouble?"
"It's – I don't know," Doc confessed, letting his anxiety show. "It feels like I have a persistent cold, with a nagging cough to boot. My doctor back home told me that the virus appeared to be directly attacking my DNA. It hasn't done too much damage yet, but – later. . . ." Doc bit his lower lip for a moment, fighting the wave of hopelessness that threatened to wash him away. "I'm rather desperately hoping you can help me. I've been studying my own condition, and I've--"
Dr. Taber's face had gone dark as he spoke. He leaned down and jabbed a finger into Doc's chest. "Listen. Just get up and walk out of here. Right now."
The wave crashed over him. Doc's face crumpled. "You can't help? Can you recommend someone who can?"
"Like hell. No doctor I know would want to risk catching mutant cancer. So get out of here, you damn mutie."
How in the name of Sir Issac H. Newton did he know?! "Excuse me, I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't see the reason for such an attitude," he snapped, rising. The lights started to flicker, but he made them stop.
"Don't try to deny it! You freaks are always trying to get rid of us! One of you tried to kill the President! Another nearly set Chicago on fire! I bet muties flew the planes into the twin towers! Now there's finally something that can get rid of you. I'm not going to be the one to stop it! Get out before I make you get out!"
Doc felt himself getting enraged beyond reason. He managed to bite back a retort and stomped out. Well, at least now I know why I've heard nothing but "mutants" since we came here. Damn it, why does the populace have to be so close – minded. . . .
Uh-oh.
Standing in front of him was the group of people he'd seen before. When he had entered, they had merely been his fellow patients. Now they were his sworn enemy. "You're a mutant?"
Doc played dumb. "Course I'm not. The doctor--"
"We heard the doctor. He said you have mutie cancer. If you're not a mutant yourself, you must be a mutie-lover."
"Mutie-lover!"
"We don't want your kind in our city! You've caused enough trouble!"
"You've done all this shit to us – time we did some to you!" Doc ducked as the magazines and a few children's toys came flying at his head.
"I say we get him!" the receptionist shouted.
Doc panicked. He had to get out of here before this impromptu mob set upon him! But he was trapped in the doorway. He needed some way to block them, push them back. . . .
His fingers closed around the walkie-talkie in his pocket at the same time his hand snapped against the wall. The mob paused for a moment as Doc's eyes began to glow.
It wasn't the smartest thing they could have done. Doc promptly threw up a "wall" of electrical energy in front of him. The patients quickly backed away, hair standing on end, a few shaking in fear. Doc sighed and shrugged in an apologetic way.
He moved the sparks forward, gently forcing them back until he was able to get around them and to the door. His head turned toward the elevators, sparks of electricity flashing over his eyes. He forced one into motion, bringing it to his floor. As the doors opened, he backed into it, his shield still up. At the very last second, he let it fall and slammed the button for the ground floor. The patients vanished as the doors closed.
Doc slumped against the wall, his eyes returning to normal as he banished his power. Damn, damn damn! I've shouldn't have used my power. I can just see it on the six o'clock news. "The citizens of New York are warned to be on the lookout for a mutant who terrorized a group of patients today." Exactly the sort of thing that got me into trouble as a teenager. Once I get back to the train, we'll have to leave New York immediately. Damn it. . . .
Well, at least the encounter had some use. They know what the disease is. "Mutie cancer." Doc felt a shiver go down his spine. God, what if I have some version of AIDS? Please don't let me have AIDS.
He allowed himself a few seconds of pity, then straightened his back with resolve. The only thing to do is find a doctor willing to treat a mutant. A Herculean task, but one I must endeavor to accomplish. I'll see if I can find anything on this disease on my own first. I refuse to let this disease beat me.
He cautiously glanced around as the elevator doors opened. Luckily, the mob that had nearly attacked him was nowhere in sight. Doc considered shutting off the power in the building briefly, just to make sure they couldn't follow, but vetoed the idea. Those people upstairs were sick. Most likely they'd just be glad to be rid of him. Plus, controlling such a large amount of electricity at once – especially after already using his power – would give him one hell of a headache. He settled for a hidden obscene gesture to relieve his feelings as he left.
Once outside, he didn't immediately rejoin the throng on the sidewalks. He fingered the walkie-talkie in his pocket. In order to create his protective electrical field, he'd had to drain the batteries. In order to recharge them and get back to his family, he'd need to absorb more electricity from another source. Wishing he could simply generate the needed electricity, Doc began searching for a target.
A "Walk – Don't Walk" signal caught his eye. Perfect. I don't need a large amount; they won't even notice the blink. He fought the crowd to the signal, then ever so causally leaned against it. Through his clothes, he could feel the warm tingling of the current flowing through it. He wrapped one hand around the pole and closed his eyes.
Abruptly, his cough came back with a vengeance. Doc bent double, trying not to choke on his own saliva. The group on the crosswalk paused as the sign changed rapidly from "Walk" to "Don't Walk." A motorist blew his horn. "Yo, dipshits, outa the way!"
"Tell it to the f–king signal!"
Doc tried to let go of the sign so he could wait out this latest fit, but couldn't. His fingers felt like they were practically fused to the metal. He took a deep breath as the coughing finally stopped. What in the name of Sir Issac H. Newton –
Doc screamed as his nerves exploded. All the electricity from the sign surged into his body. The streetlight went dark as well, confusing everyone. For some insane reason, the energy was too much for his body to bear. With an effort, Doc ripped his hand away from the pole.
It didn't help though. The electricity was already within him. It surged wildy throughout his body, giving nasty shocks to his brain and limbs. The pain nearly forced Doc to his knees. Great – Scott, is this what it – feels like to be – to be electrocuted? Thank – God I was spared – this for – for 74 years.
A woman, concerned, touched his shoulder. "Sir, are you oooOOOOAAAAAAHHHH!"
She yanked her hand away, twitching. Her clothes and skin were blackened and smoking, her hair on end. Doc, losing all control over his power, had inadvertently electrocuted her.
Other people, drawn as they would be to see a car wreck, came close. Doc flung up a hand in terror. He'd already hurt one person too many. "Don't come near me! DON'T TOUCH ME!"
His point was driven home seconds later. Pain ripped through Doc's mind, making his meager control slip again. Small bolts of lightning obligingly discharged from his fingertips. People ran out of the way as they struck a light pole. The bulb inside lit up, bright as the sun – then exploded.
The crowd began running as fast as they could. Doc almost threw himself into an alley, half-blind with the pain. Why does it hurt?! his mind shrieked in protest as the inner electricity tortured him. It never hurt before! Never! I've lost control of it. I've lost control of my power.
My power's killing me.
September 6th, 2002
1: 21 P. M.
Josephine Caroline Jones, better known as J. C., tried to ignore the dull ache in her stomach. It had taken almost all of her money just to get to New York, and she still wasn't where she wanted to be. Thanks to that guy, I've got just over ten bucks left. I've gotta find a way to get more money before –
What the hell?
There seemed to be a mass exodus of New Yorkers from around the corner. A lot of them were screaming and yelling in fear. J. C.'s blood ran cold. Is it another terrorist attack? She grabbed someone's arm as he ran past. "Hey! What's happening?"
"A mutant!" the man yelled at her. "A god-damned mutant! Attacked some woman, then blew up a light pole! He's probably ready to attack the rest of New York!" The fear on his face changed to machismo and anger. "Frickin' mutants! I'm going back there and stopping him! I refuse to be afraid anymore!" He pulled free of J. C. and grabbed some metal pipe someone had thrown out. "Who's with me?"
Four other men joined with him, over their family and friend's loud protests. "Did you see what he did?!"
"Leave him alone!" somebody else yelled. "He didn't mean to hurt anybody!"
"He tried to warn us away!"
"Shut up, you mutie-lovers!" a man yelled.
"You shut up, you bigots!"
"What if he's got Legacy?" someone else pointed out. "You guys want to get it?"
"Listen, everybody," J. C. pleaded, trying hard not to show her fear. "I bet in a minute somebody will come in and take care of the threat. Maybe even the X-Men. You don't have to do this."
"Like hell. Don't talk about things you don't understand, kid." The man and his warriors prepared for battle."
J. C.'s fists clenched. Things I don't understand? Screw you. She ran past them unnoticed, intending to protect the rogue mutant. With any luck, the X-Men would come, and she could get their help.
The street was mostly deserted now. Some of the streetlights were down, and one light pole had a broken bulb. J. C. shook her head in disbelief. "All this over a burned out light bulb?"
She heard moans in an alley across the street. She ran across and looked in. Her eyes went wide in shock. The target of the mini-mob's rage was – an old man. Specifically, the old man who had handed her the five bucks. He was curled up into the fetal position, crying piteously. "Holy shit."
She looked back and saw the group of five heading their way. J. C. flattened herself against the wall and began to concentrate.
Halfway across the street, the mini-mob stopped. They gaped at the sight before them. For, instead of seeing a pretty much helpless old man, they saw a gigantic red dragon guarding the alley. "What the hell?" one squeaked, moving back a step. "Is he a shapeshifter?"
The dragon lunged at them. The men scattered as the jaws snapped, too close for comfort. The leader made a weak swing at the dragon's flank. It didn't even connect, but it got the dragon's attention. The serpentine neck twisted toward him, yellow eyes glowing bright with rage. Behind them, a spiked tail flicked back and forth.
The dragon opened its jaws wide, fangs glistening with saliva. The leader screamed in fear and ducked. In desperation, he ran under its neck. It lifted its head, looking almost amused at the humans struggles. Then it inhaled deeply. The monster's chest glowed bright orange with inner fire.
The group of men didn't stick around to see what happened next. Weapons dropping from nerveless fingers, they bolted.
The minute they were out of sight, the dragon vanished. J. C. opened her eyes again, thankful that she'd only had to deal with a small group. If it had been much larger, her only hope of fooling them might have been to smash her head into the wall.
She quickly turned her attention back to the man. "Sir?" she asked gently, keeping a respectable distance. His skin was glowing very brightly, and that worried her.
The man lifted his head. His brown eyes were glowing like his skin, and had little sparks flickering over iris and pupil. "You have to go. Now," he rasped at her urgently.
"But I want to help you," J. C. protested, stepping forward.
"GO! I'm about to discharge!"
"Discharge??"
The man suddenly jammed his right hand into his mouth. He bit down so hard on his knuckles he drew blood. Sparks of electricity manifested from his limbs, converging to form a glowing shell over him. He desperately waved J. C. away with his free hand as the sparks grew more violent and erratic. Understanding now, J. C. fled the alley and took cover behind a nearby dumpster.
There was a surprisingly impressive "POP!!", and a tiny shockwave. J. C. regained her balance quickly and ran back to the alley. The electricity around the man had vanished in a small explosion of sorts, knocking loose one or two bricks from the surrounding buildings. The man lay still, his skin a normal color again. J. C. went to his side and carefully took his pulse. It was there, but whether it was normal or not she couldn't tell. "Must've been knocked out, the poor guy," she murmured, turning him over. "I wonder what happened?"
The man stirred. "Ouch. . . . Kid?"
"I'm right here."
He looked at her with pain-filled eyes. "You have to get away. I'm dangerous."
"It's okay. I think you've been neutralized," J. C. reassured him. "What's your name?"
"Emmett." His body suddenly convulsed. He nearly screamed in agony.
"Emmett, I'm Josephine. I'm here to help. We're gonna have to get out of the area. Some guys were pretty eager to get you for blowing up that streetlight."
"I didn't mean to!" Emmett paused to cough very hard for a few seconds. "I don't know what happened. It went totally out of control. All I wanted was to recharge my batteries."
J. C. sighed. "Do you think you can walk?"
Emmett pushed down weakly. "Maybe. If I have assistance."
J. C. helped him to his feet and half-dragged him out of the alley. People, including those previously scared away, were filling the streets again. The mutant pair would have to get away very quickly? J. C. hailed a cab and bundled her sick companion inside. "Where to, miss?" the cabbie asked, starting the meter.
J. C. had to take the risk. "Do you know where Graymalkin Lane is?"
September 6th, 2002
Graymalkin Lane, Westchester County, New York
1: 56 P. M.
Doc was only dimly aware when they arrived at Graymalkin Lane. His electrical escapades had short-circuited his brain, making it hard to think. The girl who had rescued him was trying to keep him awake and alert, but Doc knew it was a losing battle. Frankly, the scientist was glad of it. He didn't want to think about what had just transpired.
The girl – what was her name? Josie? Jackie? Jane? All he could remember was that it began with J – paid the driver, getting him to accept her watch in lieu of most of the fare. She looked at Doc, biting her lower lip. "Can you walk for me again, Emmett?"
"I'll try," Doc promised, giving her a weak smile. She returned it and gently pulled him out of the cab. They stumbled up to a pair of gates together. Doc fuzzily read the sign beside them:
XAVIER'S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED CHILDREN
"I've been trying to come here ever since I arrived in New York," J told him. "They can help us here. They're all mutants, just like us. They have to help us."
They somehow made it to the front door. J rang the doorbell, giving Doc a shake. "Don't fade out on me."
Doc was about to when the door opened. A woman was there, with medium-length red hair and dull green eyes. She saw and recognized Doc immediately. "Dr. Brown!"
Doc marshaled his failing mental resources. "Hi, Jean. I need to call in my favor."
Then he collapsed.