Chapter Two:
A commercial aircraft heading west toward Los Angeles shimmied slightly as it passed through a pocket of unstable air. The disturbance was minute. The experienced flight staff hardly took any notice. The stewards attended to their passengers normally and reassured any anxious travelers of the plane's safety. After a few minutes, the pilot's voice spoke over the cabin intercom system, calmly delivering information about the turbulence, and then offering travelers a distraction by pointing out several landmarks below that would be of scenic interest.
Yuriko watched with vague amusement as the worried commuters began to relax in their seats.
It was interesting that people were so quick to trust the pilot, who was locked apart from them, rather than the live and present flight attendants, who had probably clocked the same number of hours over their career but, unfortunately, did not share the same esteem as the "Captain." Perhaps it was whole disembodied nature of the intercom that gave the passengers confidence, as if the voice of a deity was calling down on them and promising a safe path to their destination.
Yuriko sighed heavily and made a polite flagging motion to a passing stewardess.
"Ma'am?" the enduringly courteous woman asked as she reached Yuriko's seat.
"How long until we land?" the Lady asked.
"We're expected to arrive in about one hour," the stewardess said, and then added, "Weather permitting, of course."
Yuriko gave the woman a sympathetic smile, "I won't hold you to the exact minute."
"I appreciate that," the stewardess said with a sarcastic grin, "Is there anything else I can get you?"
"No, thank you," Yuriko replied. The woman nodded and moved on.
Once Yuriko was sure she was no longer subject to anyone's attention, she opened up one of the files on her tray table and began to read. She was nearly finished with the papers she had retrieved at the New York records office and additional information she retrieved from a safety deposit box Magneto had opened decades earlier to keep certain personal papers secure.
Most of the information was straightforward, nothing out of the ordinary. There had not been a single mention of the word 'mutant' in any of the documents, giving testament to how novel the term had been in society only two decades before.
For a moment, Yuriko tried to imagine what the world would be like without the term 'mutant.' What if scientists had never discovered the genetic abnormality present in the mutant population? What if there was no word to define those with supernatural gifts? How would society deal with those they deemed too different?
Yuriko was not sure she wanted the answer to her last musing. She had the feeling without scientific classification many mutants would be faced with pleasantries such as burning at the stake or the 'if you don't sink, you're a witch' test.
As she reached the end of the file, Yuriko pieced together the history of Magneto's children in her mind. Erik Lensherr had moved to America with his family approximately twenty-five years earlier, around the same time Xavier founded his school for the gifted. His children had immediately begun attending a prestigious private school in New York City. All seemed well for a few semesters until the first reports of Wanda's disruptions in the classroom began to appear. Yuriko scrutinized the academic documents curiously.
One of the earliest read, "Despite her excelling academic skill, Miss (Wanda) Maximoff's behavior continues to have a detrimental effect on her ranking. Over the past semester, her professors have filed frequent disciplinary notes about her unruly behavior and overall attitude toward authority figures..."
Another read, "Miss (Wanda) Maximoff reported to the disciplinary office today after she reportedly instigated a rather large fight in the dining hall. One of the large tables had to be removed as it had been cracked in half (table was one of the old oak luncheon counters, direct cause of damage is unknown...)
One of the final notes read, "In one of the most troubling instances to date, Miss (Wanda) Maximoff was responsible for the destruction of school property, including desks, windows and one wall mounted slate blackboard. Her direct culpability could not be confirmed, however, as both the teacher and other students in the room could not explain exactly how the damage was caused. (Miss Maximoff was apparently seated at the time of the incident and displayed no direct physical aggression toward any of the damaged objects)"
Another shutter of turbulence rolled over the plane. Yuriko held the files and papers in place with one hand and glanced at her watch. She was surprised to see that nearly forty-five minutes had passed since her conversation with the flight attendant.
She packed away the documents into her traveling briefcase and stowed it beneath her chair. She stood and moved gracefully down the aisle toward the restrooms. Most of the passengers were still dozing, waiting for the soft chime meaning safety belts were to be worn and tray tables to be placed in their full, upright positions.
As the Lady passed her eyes over the cabin, she met the gaze of a little boy, no more than five, sitting quietly next to his sleeping parent. One of his small hands was wound around his father's fingers, and the other was holding a thumb securely in his mouth. The boy's eyes were wide, dark and completely alert to the activity (or lack there of) around him. He did not seem the least bit put off by the occasional shutters of turbulence. He had not reason to be. His world was secure, so long as he had a grasp on his parent.
Yuriko suddenly paused in stride as an eerie sense of deja vu suddenly washed over her.
Why's the plane shaking, Papa? Are we going to crash?
No, we're just bothering the clouds and they're grumbling about it.
The Lady pushed on toward the center of the plane and opened the door of an unoccupied stall. She glanced back once and realized the little boy had turned around in his chair and was still watching her with strangely rapt interest.
Clouds don't grumble, Papa.
Of course, they do. Wouldn't you grumble if someone decided to go flying around in your belly?
Yuriko wavered unsteadily on her feet for a moment, then took a step forward into the restroom and closed the door. She leaned against one plastic wall and put her hands to her face. What the hell was happening to her? Another wave of nauseous familiarity hit Yuriko with unexpected intensity and she sat down on the closed lid of the toilet.
How high will we be flying, Papa?
Yuriko lifted her head and stared forward into the adjacent mirror. Her face turned white as she realized what was happening. She was remembering. Some memory from her childhood was finally forcing its way through the years of reprogramming she suffered during her time with Stryker.
Since Magneto had helped her escape from Alkalai Lake, the Lady Deathstrike had never been able to recall anything from her life before the Weapon X program. She knew from Stryker's records that she had only been with him for a little over five years. It was as if the crazed Colonel had taken an eraser to her mind and wiped out any remaining evidence of who Yuriko Oyama had been prior to her indoctrination into his experiment.
Not too high, a ghostly voice echoed in her mind, The clouds are nice to visit, but we don't want to get stuck in them...
Even without her supernatural senses, Yuriko would have been able to hear her heart beating at that moment. The sense of nausea was passing, however, the psychological impact of these sudden memories would take a while longer to sort out.
Yuriko took a long breath and closed her eyes. The plane, the turbulence, the small child sitting next to his father... the safe and calm serenity she saw in his eyes... the lack of fear...
She remembered a plane, a very big plane, bigger than the one in which she was now flying west. She remembered how big everything had seemed, including the two large bodyguards who had accompanied them from Japan.
My father, Yuriko thought bitterly, I hope you can hear me from hell, Stryker. You lose. You failed. I remember my father...
Time seemed to take hiatus as she struggled to draw more memories from her abused mind. When a flight attendant knocked on the door, Yuriko automatically jumped into a defensive position.
"Sorry to bother you, ma'am," a woman's voice called, "But the captain has just made the announcement for all passengers to take their seats."
"Thank you," Yuriko said with deceptive calm, "I'll just be a minute."
The flight attendant, apparently satisfied with the response, walked away from the door. Yuriko's body relaxed and she stood normally again. She flexed her hands and glanced down at the ten silver blades sticking out from the tips of her fingers. The brief euphoria stirred by her memories began to cool.
"Too strong," Yuriko whispered, not so much to herself as to her dead tormentor, "Maybe lose was too strong a word, you bastard."
There was a soft metallic click as the adamantium claws slid back into her hands.
"Let's call it a draw."