...So what I've done for this chapter is incorporate S.H.I.E.L.D. Remember, this is all X-Men, therefore, all Marvel, etc. Martha McGuiness is another one of my OCs.

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China, the not-so-near future

It wasn't a member of Alpha Flight, or even a Canadian that was sent to help Marc, but a member of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Psy-Ops division, a vigorous seventy-year-old lady named Martha McGuiness, Irish by name, telekinetic and telepathic by nature, gentle by demeanour, and soon one of the most important people in thirteen-year-old Marc's life. She arrived at the embassy by taxi, dressed in a white blouse and black trousers, black low-heeled shoes and a black jacket, which covered her S.H.I.E.L.D. issue Taser.

Designed to drop an angry rhino at forty paces, the Taser fired two needles attached to flexible, current-conducting wires into someone. A 40,000 volt shock overloaded the nervous system, leaving the victim lying helpless on the floor, twitching. It was enough to take the fight out of nearly anyone, with the sole and dangerous exception of electrotechnic mutants, those who could crate, control and manipulate electricity. It was the best in non-lethal weaponry. Martha carried one out of habit, even though she never had need of it. Psychically, she was perfectly able to take care of herself. It was very rare that someone surprised her.

She had begun a conversation with Marc soon after she had landed at the airport, so he was well placed to meet her. She checked into a hotel five minutes from the Embassy, where she unpacked, showered, and had a light meal. Walking swiftly to the Embassy, she presented her S.H.I.E.L.D. badge, passport and Taser at the main desk, and was signed in. Marc was in the lobby to meet her.

All this procedure. Anyone would think you've not told them I'm coming.

They do know, but it's because you're carrying a weapon that you have to go through all the steps. His mind's tone coloured into humour. It also might have something to do with being Irish!

Cheeky boy! She thought, flicking a humorous look at him as she signed.

He grinned. Well, it wasn't all that long ago, was it?

She slowed the pen, her thoughts moving from laughing to pensive. No, I suppose not, she thought, with a tinge of sadness. He caught the thought before she could stop it.

Your nephew?

What? Oh, yes, it was my nephew. He was killed in an attack in London some years back. They never prosecuted anyone for it. He was training to be a doctor.

I'm sorry.

She straightened up, retrieving her items from the man at the desk, then took the laminated security pass from the guard who held it out. Slipping the cord round her neck, she headed over to where he was sitting reading the cartoons, trying to figure out the Mandarin symbols. "Don't be," she said in a soft voice, a lilting Irish brogue. "I'll find them, and when I do, they'll wish they'd never heard of the term 'collateral damage'."

They walked up to Marc's room, and he introduced her to his parents. Marie offered refreshments while Jacques asked questions.

"What will his training be like?" he asked, sipping a steaming mug of coffee.

"Well, primarily, it will be about teaching him control over his gift, and moving on from there. I must first determine his range of telepathy, and the strength, and so on. After forty years of training telepaths, I think you'll find he's in safe hands." She smiled gently, cupping her mug of tea in both hands. "There isn't really any kind of examination at the end of the training, one where we can say, 'Oh, you scored forty per cent, I'm sorry but you mustn't use your telepathy.' It doesn't work like that. I train according to the principle of control of the gift, not active use.. I've had all sorts come to me. People who thought they were going mad from all the voices in their heads. Most of the people I've trained have been patients at mental wards at one point or another. I now make a point of going round some mental wards six times a year to try and find more telepaths. Most of the poor souls can't keep their thoughts in, let alone anyone else's out."

"I've been able to block people since I started hearing their thoughts," said Marc, determined to impress his new tutor. She turned to stare at him, one eyebrow raised, sending a firm mental probe.

He felt a slight nudge on his mental shields. He tightened them, blocking her out completely. She looked slightly surprised.

"Well, if anything, I'm going to have to teach you how to reach out, not to block." She turned to Jacques and Marie, who were sitting on the sofa with a slightly worried air about them. "I think that Marc's already got all the control he needs, and now he needs to know about filtering thoughts and allowing other people into his head."

"Marc… Why didn't you tell me?" asked Marie.

"I thought you'd be angry," he said, eyes at the floor.

She rose and walked over to him, and enfolded him in a warm hug. He hugged her back, and she said, "I could never be angry about a gift like this. You are still our son, and we love you unconditionally."

"It's nice to see that not all people throw their kids out when they discover they're mutants," Martha observed. She folded her hands in her lap.

"You mean… people still do that?" asked Jacques, shocked.

Martha snorted. "Close to three quarters of the people I've trained or come into contact with who are mutants have been either disowned, cut out of wills, or been frozen out of families for basically evolving."

"That's despicable," breathed Marie, still holding Marc.

"That's life, Madame Duchaine," she said, with a shrug. "If people would rather put their narrow-minded religious views before their family, then that is their choice. I personally do not believe in the Almighty, but if He does exist, He's going to have a lot of supposed 'believers' wondering why they didn't get into Heaven. I also think that He must have a well-developed sense of irony." She grimaced. "On more than one occasion, I've been tempted to go and 'adjust' some parents' thinking, seeing the anguish their children have gone through, because the parents are scared God will punish them for bringing a mutant into the world. I've never done it, of course," she added, catching the looks of both elder Duchaines. "That would be betraying the basic trust of most of humanity. Besides," she added, "I could never do something like that, and have it on my conscience."

The Duchaines left the meeting considerably relieved, and Marc began his first lesson.

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"Hmm…. Okay," said Martha, twenty minutes in. "Now, I want you to lower your shields completely."

"Completely? But that'll mean I'd get bombarded!" said Marc. "It was difficult enough just letting you in, how will I relax them enough?"

"What's your favourite CD?" she asked.

"Err… I'll go and get it," he said. He returned in less than a minute, carrying a slim jewel case. Opening it, he put the CD into the small tabletop CD player and turned it on, the volume low. The piano intro to "New Born" filled the room. Martha picked up the case in surprise.

"Muse? How appropriate," she muttered. Marc was humming along to the melody. "Okay, I want you to relax completely," she said. "Stretch out on the sofa if you need to, but you need to be as relaxed as possible."

He lay down on the sofa, hands across his chest, and closed his eyes. The music flowed. Watching him, Martha could feel his shields slowly lowering, layer by layer, although he was still filtering the thoughts of everyone around him. She slipped into his mind, watching as he lowered the final shield, and then 'spoke'.

That's good, but you're still filtering. You're now wide open, but I can't see how far your telepathy reaches if you filter anyone who thinks.

But I don't know how to not filter! He cried mentally, starting to bring his shields up again.

No! Relax, I'm here with you, I can block anything that might get through. Now, she said, softening her mental tone, show me these filters of yours.

He 'showed' her the filters, and she examined them for a second, marvelling. And you've never met another telepath?

No, why?

Because I'd expect filters like this on a telepath who has mastered his gifts, not on someone who I only met three quarters of an hour ago, and who has had no formal training in telepathy.

She examined them for another minute, then withdrew. Her thoughts moved fast as she worked out the best way to help the bright young man.

"This is going to take some serious effort on your part, but I'm confident that in three month's time, I can have you ready for a small test."

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She was as good as her word. In between studying Mandarin, karate, school, a new-found passion for ice hockey, and using his first computer, Marc was instructed in shielding, filtering, memorising and recognising people by their thoughts alone, and communicating over long distances. He also discovered he was telekinetic.

A crash of breaking china alerted his parents and Martha to an incident in his room. Being telepathic, she knew immediately what had happened and smiled, nodding to herself. They found Marc, red-faced, pointing at the pieces of a broken plate that lay along one wall.

"I moved it!" he said excitedly. "I thought about moving it through the air, and then it started hovering!"

"So why is it broken?" asked Marie, relieved to see that it was a regular side plate and not one of the very expensive decorative plates.

"Um… I don't know," said Marc, dropping his arm. "I guess I lost control."

"And learning control of this is going to be your next job, young man," said Martha, surveying the remains of the plate with a smile playing on her face. "Now, see if you can do as good a job of cleaning up as you did making the mess." She smiled at him encouragingly.

He turned back to the remains of the plate, and bit his lip. Slowly, with a lot of wobbling, the large sections of the plate rose in the air, and stacked themselves on the desk, next to the wastepaper basket. The smaller pieces followed, and finally small ceramic slivers levitated and fell into the bin with a small sound.

"The slivers weren't important to your next task anyway," said Martha, coming into the room and seating herself of the edge of his bed. "Have you a small bottle of superglue?"

"Somewhere, I think," he said. He started rummaging through his desk drawers, finally producing a half-full bottle. Placing it on the desk next to the shattered plate, he turned to Martha expectantly.

"Well, fix it then," she said, gesturing at the pieces and the bottle.

He reached for them, but was stopped by a gesture from Martha. "Telekinetically," she said.

"Oh." He looked at the pile of ceramic, considering. Two pieces rose slowly into the air, less wobbly than before but still slightly unstable. The bottle cap slowly unscrewed itself, then the bottle wobbled into the air, tipping slightly to leave a thin smear of glue along one edge. The two pieces then floated closer to each other, closer, closer…

…and met.

"Now hold it there for two minutes and give the glue a chance to set," said Martha softly.

"But it'll drop in a second," said Marc worriedly. The wobble on the plate started to get worse.

"No it won't, not if you concentrate. Put the glue down if you need to, but hold the two pieces together tightly."

The glue bottle floated to the table, and the plate steadied. It became motionless, as a thin film of sweat broke out on Marc's forehead.

"Good work," said Martha approvingly. "Now, let's see if you can completely fix it."

It took the better part of an hour, kinetically fitting all the pieces together to complete the plate, but after the final piece had been set in place there were no visible cracks to be seen. He finally put the plate down with a tiny clatter, and fell onto his bed, exhausted. Martha smiled.

"I'll bring along some other bits and pieces tomorrow which I want you to deconstruct and reconstruct for me," she said. He nodded slightly. "I'll also be holding a general knowledge quiz at the same time, to get you used to multi-tasking. Then we'll go for a walk and see how well you speak and read Mandarin." He nodded again, too tired to talk. She made her way out of his room and went to see Jacques and Marie.

"How is he?" asked Marie.

"Very tired, as he isn't used to using telekinesis for long periods, although I hope to be able to increase his endurance and dexterity over time. Some of the more powerful telekinetics I know can hold up a car, and completely strip it without using a single tool."

Jacques whistled. "That's impressive. What did he do that tired him out so?"

Martha summoned the plate from Marc's room. It floated just in front of Jacques' face, and he inspected it, surprised.

"This is the plate, all right, but I can't see any cracks or anything. And he fixed that? All by himself?"

"There were a few moments where I thought I might have to step in and steady it for him, but I didn't need to. He can be very stubborn when he's trying to prove something to someone." Pride suffused her voice. "I was very impressed."

"Yes, he's impressed us both, countless times," said Marie.

"Let us hope he doesn't feel like stopping anytime soon," said Jacques.