Alex walked ahead of the two researchers he and Haze were escorting along a flat stretch of river bed. It had been three days since the team had arrived and Alex had begun to wonder if Professor Song planned to do more than just walk about and take notes. The squad had not done much beyond follow River Song and Sergeant Barnes around in circles.

Alex paused in his stride and wiped his brow. He glanced back and saw Professor Song intently examining the large wrist strap she wore. Barnes stood nearby, scanning the far tree line silently. He never said much from what Alex had observed but at least Barnes seemed to be a trained soldier. Professor Song walked around the jungle like she owned the place, self-assured and apparently unconcerned with the potential threat from hidden Charlies. Haze brought up the rear of their party, looking cautious and unassuming as always.

Professor Song sighed, using a pencil to make notes in a small black pad. She spotted Alex watching her and walked toward him.

"Well?" River Song asked the mutant soldier, "What do you think?"

Alex frowned, "Ma'am?"

River pushed a lock of curled hair from her face and folded her arms.

"What do you think of this place?" she asked, vaguely.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Alex replied.

"You've been here for quite a while, Private Summers," she said with an odd grin, "What do you think of it?"

Alex shook his head and shrugged, "I don't know. It's hot... lots of bugs... can't get a good cheeseburger anywhere..."

River's grin widened, an almost impish gleam in her eye. There was something very strange about this woman but Alex could not say what. He wondered, not for the first time, if she was a mutant herself and testing him for some reason. There was a hardness about her that Alex would have expected from a combat veteran, not a scientist.

"I mean about Vietnam," she replied, "Do you think your time here has had some value? How will people in the future remember this point in history?"

Alex recoiled slightly, taking a moment to collect himself before he replied.

"I think those are loaded questions, Ma'am," he said, starting to walk forward again. River followed and kept pace at his side.

"I think everyone hopes their existence has some kind of purpose," River continued, her casual tone contrasting her words, "That there is meaning behind all this conflict and suffering..."

Alex's face creased in a frown but he did not reply.

"And what about mutants?" River asked, "Do you think the existence of mutants has a purpose? Or was it all just a random jumbling of DNA?"

Alex shook his head again, "You're askin' the wrong guy, Professor," a small smile crept onto his lips as he continued, "Actually...there's another professor I know who you'd be better off talking with about that stuff."

River raised her eyebrows curiously, then pursed her lips.

"No one seems to talk about it," she said, "About your mutations that is..."

Despite the Private's obvious discomfort, River prodded on.

"What is it you can do?" she asked.

"It's... it's hard to explain," Alex replied, quickly losing patience with the woman's line of questions.

"Would you give me a demonstration?" River asked.

"No," he said, "Not when there's no reason. We're not a side show, Professor Song."

A long stretch of silence lingered between them. The flowing waters to their left churned gently toward a ravine that currently separated their party from the main camp.

"I apologize if I seem crass," River finally said, "But I happen to believe that mutant powers manifested in this world for a reason, Private Summers."

Alex stopped his stride again and looked at her. The Professor seemed sincere but Alex had encountered enough over zealous scientists curious about his mutation to be cautious.

"You may find," she continued, "that you and your comrades were meant to be here."

River gave him a soft smile and then called back to the others.

"I think I have what we need for the day. Why don't we head back camp."

Barnes and Haze nodded, moving past Alex to follow after Professor Song. Alex lingered, thinking on the Professor's words. He and many of Charles Xavier's students had been drafted, a factor that lead to the closure of the School for the Gifted. He looked around at the foreign terrain and did wonder what history would remember of this place. Specifically, if it would tell about the mutants who served in this war.

Rebecca Malloy tapped keys on the typewriter before her with agitation. The machine had not seemed like it should be difficult to use. However, after three days in the clerks' office, she realized the ancient transcribing device would never be her ally.

Still, she tried to coerce the piece of metal to work with encouraging words as if it was a computer with a senile AI system.

"Oh, come on, typewriter," she muttered, tapping intensifying, "Come on. I just need an 'A'. It's the first letter of the alphabet. Not that hard. Just give me an 'A'. Come on... oh smeg now that's too many 'A's. Aaaarg... why do you hate me so much?!"

The clerks' office buzzed with activity, a dozen more typewriters clacking and personnel moving about completing their daily work.

A young woman with blonde hair sitting to Malloy's right gave her a sympathetic smile. She had a patch on the arm of her green uniform jacket emblazoned with a red cross, the word NURSE written in white in the center. Her name was Irene Fielding and she had been Malloy's desk neighbor since the head clerk had assigned the spot.

Malloy "aaaarged" again and smacked her forehead into the keyboard.

"I don't think that's going to help," Irene said, her voice melodic with a formal English accent. She had an unusual inflection, drawing her words out with precise annunciation. Malloy thought it made her sound a bit flighty but the other woman was much more adept at her duties than Malloy could ever hope to be.

Malloy raised her head with a defeated sigh.

"Yeah, I know," she agreed, "But makes me feel a little better."

"Really?" the other woman asked, sounding innocently shocked.

"No," Malloy admitted, rubbing the impact spot above her left eye, "Not really."

"Oh, good," Irene said with a nod, "If you had been serious, I would need to report you to the staff psychologist."

Malloy grinned at this idea, considering her problematic memory and that she was a time traveler from the future.

"That would be a trip," she said, then added in a gruff voice, "Wait'll they get a load of me."

Irene frowned, "What?"

"You know," Malloy said, "From Batman. Jack Nicholson."

"You mean that television program with the dancing man in the cape?" Irene asked, "I didn't know Jack Nicholson appeared in that."

Malloy's eyes widened, realizing her mistake. Trying to keep her references to popular culture within the correct time frame had been another big challenge. She hoped River did find the rift activity soon so her smegging memory would improve.

"Oh, no, sorry," Malloy said quickly, "I... must have confused Nicholson for that other guy on the show."

Irene blinked with surprise, "You mean that little chap in red? You confused him with Jack Nicholson?"

"I guess so," Malloy said, giving the other woman an embarrassed smile.

"Are you sure you don't need to see one of the doctors?" Irene asked with genuine worry.

Malloy bit her lip to hold back a fit of giggles. Irene had been incredibly nice and unceasingly helpful these past days. She did not want to insult the other woman by laughing at her concern.

"No, I'm fine, really," Malloy said, leaning back in her chair and waving a hand at her nemesis "It's just this thing. I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

Irene reach over and turned Malloy's typewriter around to examine it. The young woman pointed down into the machine's exposed parts.

"The tape has broken," Irene said, "Oh, dear. I'd give you a replacement but I used my last one this morning. You could ask someone from supplies to bring more over..."

"Nah, I'll just take a walk over there," Malloy said, getting to her feet, "I need to stretch my legs anyway."

Irene pulled a paper from a drawer and passed it to her, "Don't forget a requisition form."

"Right, more forms," Malloy said, "Thanks, Irene."

"You're welcome," Irene replied in her sing song voice and again began rapidly typing as Malloy heading out of the clerks' office toward Shed 4.

Ink took a long drag on his cigarette as he leaned against the handle of the supply cart. Fury had assigned him to help distribute provisions for the day and he was bored out of his mind. Ink would have preferred to be out in the field with Summers and Haze but instead was stuck here being one of the camp gophers. Luckily, Toynbee pretty much took care of all the requisition orders which meant Ink was able to relax a bit out of the mid-day heat.

It seemed like the next couple weeks were going to end up being a total drag. He was still pissed off at the research team and those dickheads in command for delaying his discharge home. Especially since it looked like he would be stuck with these peon duties for the rest of the time.

Ink opened his right hand and examined the inside of his palm. The bio-hazard symbol was only one of the tattoos imprinted on his body that triggered his mutant abilities. But right now, we was wishing he had gotten one more.

Marilyn Monroe, Ink thought with a sigh, Or Natalie Wood. I should'a got a tattoo of one of them. Maybe I'd be able to call up one of those vixens every night...

His daydream was interrupted as Toynbee shoved into the shed with his own supply cart. He spotted Ink's cigarette and scowled.

"You're not suppose to smoke in here," Toynbee remarked, rolling his cart toward the back wall.

Ink took another drag and glared at the other Private, "Deal with it, Toad. It's hot as hell outside."

"And what if Fury walks in?" Toynbee asked before leaping upward and landing deftly on the top of a stack of large wooden crates.

"To hell with Fury," Ink grumbled, dropping the cigarette butt to the ground and stamping it into the dirt floor, "You got the clip board? What's next on the list? I wanna get this shit done and get to the mess hall."

"It's on the cart," Toynbee called from his perch then added, "You got the pry bar?"

Ink grabbed a long metal tool from a nearby shelf and tossed it upwards. Toynbee opened his mouth and his long tongue shot out, snatching the bar just before it hit the floor.

"Whoa, easy there, soldier," a new voice said and the two mutants looked toward the shed door with surprise. For one terrified moment, Ink had a vision of Fury finding the discarded cigarette butt before he realized a female voice was speaking.

Malloy continued, looking up at Toynbee with an amused grin, "You could take somebody's eye out like that."

The goggled young man was stunned, the pry bar across his open mouth. When he tried to speak, it clattered from his tongue and fell to the floor.

"Sorry," Malloy said, picking up the tool and handing it back to him, "I didn't mean to startle you guys."

Toynbee reached down and took the bar, stammering quickly, "S'alright. Didn't hear you come in is all. No big deal."

Ink rolled his eyes and, sounding irritated, asked, "Did you need something?"

"Just some typewriter tape," Malloy said, "Mine broke and I..."

"I can grab it for you," Toynbee said quickly. Malloy watched him with surprise as he leaped down from the crates and landed easily in a crouch. He walked toward the back of the shed and disappeared behind a row of shelves.

Glancing back up at the height Toynbee had come from, Malloy asked Ink curiously, "Is that his mutation? To jump like that?"

Ink narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He did not trust Malloy, or any of the research team. They had been respectful to the squad, never seeming to care about working with mutants versus normal soldiers. But he was sure they had some other agenda. Why bother trying to be chummy with the freaks unless there was some secret motive.

"Yeah," Ink replied to the woman, "That and the tongue. That's why we call him Toad. He does... toady things."

Malloy nodded, not reacting to the man's coarse tone, "Right. The code names. Summers told me about that. Or... what do you guys call him?... Havok. And your's is..."

"Ink," the Private shot back, raising his tattooed arms, and adding, "Obviously."

With a wry grin, Malloy folded her arms and asked, "So, what can you do then? Make poorly drawn dolphins appear on the asses of drunk co-eds?"

Her unexpected quip left him speechless for a moment and, before he could reply, Toynbee appeared again carrying the requested supplies.

"Thanks, Toynbee," Malloy said, exchanging the box for her requisition form. She glanced between the two men and added with smile, "Gentlemen...see ya around."

The two mutants watched her leave the shed without further comment. Toynbee looked rather pleased with himself and began loading boxes onto Ink's cart. Ink, on the other hand, looked more annoyed then ever.

"Well," he said, "Ain't she a pain in the ass."

His cohort glared at him in response. At least, Ink assumed he was glaring. Never knew for sure with those stupid goggles on his face.

"You know what I think?" Toynbee shot back, continuing to move supplies.

"Don't care," Ink replied, grabbing his clip board.

"I think..." Toynbee continued, "...she's a mutant."

"You think any girl who talks to you must be a mutant," Ink mocked, "News flash, Toad. She might'a just needed some tape. And she talked to you all nicely so she could get it."

Toynbee scowled again but did not reply. Ink checked over his next payload and tossed the clip board aside. With a shove, he got the cart rolling and knocked open the shed doors, leaving Toynbee to brood on his own.

The sun was hot and Ink thought about heading back to his bunk for a hat. He rubbed one of the lightning bolt tattoos on his scalp and then paused.

Don't screw it up this time. The words echoed in his head clearly, as if someone had spoken them in his ear. As the bio-hazard symbol on his palm could make people sick, the lightning bolts some times let him hear other people's thoughts.

It's gotta work, the voice continued, The sensor will trigger when the mutants are near and then I'll have ten minutes to get out...

"What the hell?" Ink said aloud to no one. He stood confused in the middle of the road, touching his scalp tattoo and trying to listen for other foreign voices in his mind. The blaring horn of a passing jeep jerked him back to reality and the telepathic sensation was gone.

Ink got the cart moving forward again toward his destination. He was not sure if what he had just sensed was real but he knew he needed to report it to Summers as soon as his squad leader returned to camp.