A Million is a Statistic 2?
The Right Stuff
I clear my throat cautiously. I'm not quite sure what to say here, and I'm still having trouble getting a grip on what's happening in Genosha. Cyke seems to know what he's doing, though, and he's making the right decisions in a crisis. At least, he's making decisions, and somebody has to. I can't do it. I don't trust myself to. When I make decisions, people get killed, because I'm crazy. When Scott makes decisions, most of his people get home, or if they don't, it's not because of anything he did.
Scott's not been the same since he got free from Apocalypse. I know it, the Professor knows it, and he knows it. He's even colder on the outside, even more disciplined, and he's cynical in a way that disturbs me.
But it doesn't matter. None of that matters, because Scott is all we have. I remember a story about John Glenn, how the scientists at NASA would do tests to make sure the astronauts could handle stress. No matter what they did, the wires hooked up to John never got any reaction, because he was just that cool. Noises, lights, yelling, exercise, whatever – he could take it without his heart rate skipping a beat. So finally the research guys dropped a big anvil behind him. He didn't say a word or even sweat, but his heart rate spiked up one big mother of a jump. When he got out of the booth, all he said was, "You bastards."
That was Glenn. And that's Scott, too, because he's our John Glenn. He's got the Right Stuff, and he's the best leader we've got. Anything happens to him again the team might as well pack it in, because that's it. Without him we're just a bunch of people in funny outfits. All I've got is the Bad Stuff, and I know it. Someone has to lead, someone has to be in charge, and that's Scott. The Prof is impressive with his powers and his money and his sound bites, but he's for show. He gets people fired up, he's got the ideas, but he needs Scott to get them going in the right direction.
Only thing is, Scott scares me. He can makes decisions cold that I'd have to make hot, and he gets them right. But even though Summers was ice cold all the way through Ecuador and getting us off the base, I can smell trouble rising off of him that he can't hide. No human could sense it, but I'm like a dog – or a wolf. Something's bothering him in a way that the news about Genosha didn't. I dunno what it is, but I need to find out. I do my best to be subtle, while painfully aware that I don't really know how.
"Scott...Cyclops...Y'know, things are going to be different after this, aren't they? They have to be. What are we going to do about it"
He doesn't reply for a while, but I can tell he's thinking of what to say. I let him. I'm in no rush to get home. I didn't do anything wrong -- well, at least not this time -- but I still didn't stop the bad guy in time. So we're screwed. But Scott will have a plan. He always does, that's what I like about him. He may be a guy with a stick up his ass, but he's a planner and I'm not. At least not for anything on a regular basis. If I planned the menus for the mansion, we'd be eating hamburgers and french fries all the time, because I put off decisions until I have to see what's in the fridge. Then I just cook whatever looks easiest, which usually involves the grill or boiling oil. Scott, on the other hand, reads recipes, makes balanced menus, and assigns grocery shopping to get every ingredient. Then he actually makes the food. That's why he's team leader; you couldn't pay me to have the job. I didn't always feel that way until I had to lead. The less said about that, the better.
"The professor will crack her mind like an eggshell. We'll strap her into a chair into the basement while we keep her sedated and find out her secrets. Then we'll figure out what to do with her."
I blink, startled. I was expecting a little more of a long-term plan. I also wasn't expecting that particular short-term one.
"Uhh...Scott, I thought you didn't approve of torture? And what I mean is, what are we going to DO! She just blew up Genosha."
He nods. "I'm surprised at you, Wolverine. Sometimes the means do justify the ends. They don't excuse it, but I don't think Cassandra is a person, and the same standards that we give a person don't apply here. That's why the rules change. When we find out what she knows, we'll give her to SHIELD or the United Nations. The rest is spin control."
I take a long look at Scott as a muscle in his cheek twitches, while I take in what he's telling me. Are Scott and I friends? I dunno. We haven't killed each other yet and I guess we're not going to. I even like having him around most of the time, though I'd hate to admit that. But he knows it anyway, because what I figure out through instinct, he figures out by paying attention and using his brain. We go around and around a lot, but we're two sides of the same coin. No repression and total repression: chaos and order. I guess we need each other for some kind of balance. Even when we hate each other's guts, and sometimes we do, we're still... friends? Buddies? Partners? Teammates. Something. It's a bond we can't break, probably shouldn't even try to explain. Then the first report comes in over the radio, and I stop wondering how close my buddy and I are.
"Live from CNN, this is Wolf Blitzer. These are real-time satellite photos of the devastation of Genosha. As you can see, the island is under attack from giant robots of as yet-unidentified make, though experts will weigh in on the matter shortly. Over half the manmade structures in Genosha have already been destroyed, and the swarm is progressing rapidly over the remainder. No help from nearby countries is estimated to be forthcoming, in part because of Genosha's strict policy on nearby military bases. The closest United Nations contingent is still at least an hour away. America may have the ability to interfere, but only by deploying satellite or long-range missiles herself. Any superhuman intervention, whether independent or government-backed such as the Avengers, is only speculation at this point. The President is expected to come on shortly to make a speech."
Scott punches a button, and images of giant robots,
like refugees from some stupid Saturday morning cartoon, fill the viewscreen. Only these refugees are knocking over actual skyscrapers, not cartoon figures, and the people aren't getting back up. They look like little ants running along the street. Toylike cars are gridlocked on the interstate, but there's nowhere to go to. The Sentinels point their particle beams and their lasers and whatever the hell else they've got, and the city keeps blowing up. I'm horrified, but I can't look away.
We've got to get back to the mansion. I start to tell Scott to step on it, but even as the words leave my mouth, I feel the hopelessness. The news is already outpacing us, events moving beyond control, and maybe past anyone's reach.
Next: Reap the Whirlwind
