"We were on the same flight from Alice Springs to Sydney, and she had the seat next to mine." They turned off down a residential street, heading for the wooded area where Toad and the new recruits were waiting.

"What were you doing in Australia?" Pietro asked.

"Pyro's paternal grandmother had passed away. He was born in Australia, and he was her next of kin. As he was under eighteen, an adult had to have power of attorney to settle matters with the estate, and he entrusted it to me. He had only met her twice in his life, so he felt no pressing need to go along." That was true, and it had happened four months before he met Grace.

"Naturally it did not escape my attention that someone extraordinarily good-looking was sitting next to me. However, she was quite involved in looking over some yarn sample cards, and I wasn't about to intrude. Much to my surprise, she turned to me and said, 'Excuse me, but can you see any difference between these two shades?', holding out two strands so I could see them."

"I said, 'If there is any, I can't see it.'

"She replied. 'That's what I thought. Thank you. I hope I didn't bother you.'

"'Not at all,' I said in turn. 'Are you planning to make something?'

"Yes,' she answered. 'A business deal.' The ice having been broken, we talked all the rest of the way to Sydney. By the time we got there, I knew her opinion of every yarn fiber from acrylic to yak—and I was thoroughly entertained the entire time. Not everyone can make worsted-weight yarn an amusing topic of conversation, but she managed it." He had indeed had such a conversation with her, and much to his surprise, she had him in stitches—so to speak.

"What did you talk to her about?" They turned off the street and headed up a little hill.

"I told her I was a retired metallurgist. We were transferring to different flights back to the U.S. when we reached Sydney, but there were several hours of layover involved. So I asked her if she would join me for dinner. She accepted." The ibuprofen were beginning to work; he could feel it.

"But you didn't tell her who you were." Pietro stated.

"I did consider it, but 'By the way, I'm Magneto. You may have heard of me.', did not seem to me to be an effective pick-up line. After dinner, we went to our separate gates to wait—but not before exchanging contact information.

"Over the next few months, we kept in contact. I…found that I liked her. I liked that there was someone who never thought of me as Magneto. I thought about her often. When she said, during the course of one phone call, that she was going back to Australia, and she was sorry she couldn't run into me again, I told her I was free that week, if she didn't want to face Australia alone."

"What, just like that?"

"May I remind you that you married Crystal on rather less acquaintance? Yes, just like that. We're both consenting adults; why not? We took separate flights, both coming and going; we stayed in the same hotel, but we had separate rooms. All very discreet of us… It was meant to be—I suppose you would call it a 'fling'. It was never supposed to lead to anything more."

"When was this?"

"The middle of July. She turned forty-seven; we celebrated together."

"And her baby is due in April. I can do the math, you know."

"I know. At any rate, by the end of the week, we parted badly. She knew I was keeping something from her, something important. I was. I didn't want her to know I was Magneto, but in concealing that, I'm afraid I gave her the impression I was married.

"She was upset at the thought that she was the 'other woman', and I—I did not correct that impression. I could not imagine how she would fit into my life, but once we were parted, I found she was never far from my mind. I missed her. I missed her very much." It was the truth. "We did not have any contact between then and the day after her house was vandalized, nearly ten weeks later."

"When you went to her rescue, only to find the X-Men had gotten there first."

"Exactly so. You know what happened from there. I have a question for you, now. Why, when I cohabitated with Mystique for nearly twenty years, should there be such outrage at my new relationship?"

"You really want to know?" There was a spark of—could it be?—humor in Pietro's eye.

"Yes."

"Okay. You brought it up…It was never possible to imagine that any man who knew what Mystique was really like—not just how she looked, but what her power was, and the sort of person she was—that any man could get and sustain an erection around her. Let alone do anything with it. She gave off the vibe that she'd happily sprout teeth down there at any moment."

The danger was part of the attraction, but I daren't say that to him. "Implying that Grace seems more approachable?"

"Uh-huh. A lot more." And then they were there.


In the midst of the chaos at Stryker's laboratories, as he watched them spread the poisoned bait around, he received a phone call from the president of Marine Star Care's board of directors. "I've called an emergency meeting of the Board for eight tonight. You had best be there."

"What? Why? Can't it be rescheduled?"

"No. It can't. Your secret genetic database isn't a secret any more. We've received a letter from an attorney representing a woman who is claiming her rights have been violated—and we do not have a snowball's chance in hell of defending ourselves, as you ought to know. If you do not show up this evening, I will have exactly no compunction against selling you down the river. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Stryker?"

"Abundantly. How was it leaked?"

"If you want to find out, you'll have to show up." Click. Stryker looked at the phone, and hung it up with such force he cracked the receiver.

"Get us tickets to New York. Tonight. I want to be there no later than seven, their time."

Somebody was going to pay for this…

He made it there on time, but only just, thanks to the traffic. Due to his sudden and drastic weight loss, his business suits fit so poorly that he was forced to buy one off the rack in a department store, and wear it without alterations. It fit better than his old suits, but the fabric looked cheap, shoddy. It put him at a disadvantage, and he knew it. That Oyama looked as sleek and professional in her clothing as he did rumpled and seedy annoyed him further.

Nodding at her to open the boardroom door, he stopped in the doorway, startled by the blow-up of the woman's face on the large screen behind the president's chair. God was in a good mood the day He made that one, he thought. The look the camera had captured suggested that she liked men and that men liked her, and that she knew it.

"Come in, Mr. Stryker." The president suggested. "Would you be so kind as to close the door behind you? Thank you. You will have noticed the photograph on the screen behind me. That is Grace Engstrom. Take a seat."

The only seat left empty was on the far side of the table, near the front of the room, meaning he had to walk all the way there with the combined weight of their stares on him—a psychological tactic, to put him off. He ignored it, or tried to.

"Now," he said with false heartiness upon reaching his seat. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I hardly know where to begin, Mr. Stryker. Grace Engstrom, who you see up there on the screen, has been a Marine StarCare client for over twenty-two years, predating your investment with us by some time. She was a good client, paying in full and never requiring expensive hospitalization time. Several months ago, she came in for her annual 'Well Woman' check-up. She was sold on the advantage of genetic testing for the breast cancer genes, and submitted both her check for two hundred dollars and a sample.

"As per your program, your illegal program, she was screened not only for the breast cancer genes, but for all other known genetic markers. At this point, I believe I'll let Moynihan, who's Chief of Data, take over."

Moynihan, a short, red-faced man with peppery hair and moustache, stood. "For the last twelve years, Marine StarCare's policy has been to hire temps for all data entry and data processing positions." he quavered. "Before we would have to start providing benefits, we fire them. While in some ways this is cost-effective, there's a trade-off.

"The disadvantage is that all our data people are barely qualified and ignorant of company procedure, and as soon as they become competent and knowledgeable, they get fired. One of our newest temps made an error on his first day out of training. Instead of just entering the genetic work-ups into your database, he uploaded them to our clients' personal files. Then he entered the summary as well. All told, one hundred and seventy-two genetic work-ups were mistakenly made public—and each file received the shorter summary document as well, with the full names, the ID numbers, and their Marine StarCare center locations as well. Ms. Engstrom was one of the hundred and seventy-two."

"Thank you, Moynihan. You may sit down. That was the error which put that information into the hands of Dr. Alexander Bertram, who for almost eighteen years was Grace Engstrom's primary care physician. Dr. Bertram is, or was, a member of the Association for Genetic Purity."

Stryker winced. The AGP were a right-thinking organization, but they were clumsy.

"This would not matter, except that Grace Engstrom tested positive for the mutant gene."

"Is that what this is all about? One mutant who got herself outed, and is crying her eyes out?"

"No, Mr. Stryker. That is not what this is all about. First of all, mutants have the same right to genetic privacy as anyone else. The Supreme Court decided that four years ago.

"Dr. Bertram made matters worse. He'd never seen a real live mutant in his life before, and he got so excited he nearly messed his pants. When she returned for a check-up last month, he bungled it. He didn't inform her of her rights; he drew blood for a second test without her informed consent, and then he threw her out, or the next best thing to it."

"Can you blame him?" Stryker joked.

"Yes, Mr. Stryker, I can. Just as I blame you. You convinced us that your database was necessary and desirable.

"Dr. Bertram then called the local Mutant Registration Board. Precisely how, we don't know, but the AGP got wind of it, and when Grace Engstrom got home, her house had been vandalized. She was assaulted in her living room with the intent to kill."

"That mess in Michigan." Stryker said, remembering.

"Yes. That mess in Michigan. Now, this woman isn't like most mutants. All she has, as far as the work-up shows, is a minor healing factor. She's forty-seven years old, a law-abiding tax payer who has never even been arrested. She volunteers her time with the Girl Scouts and other youth organizations, to teach them knitting and crochet. She supports charities and attends fund-raisers. She is, in fact, a model citizen.

"Now she wants reparation for the damage done to her, to her house, her financial future, and her reputation. Do you want to know who our co-defendant is in this matter, Mr. Stryker?"

"I can see that you want to tell me."

"She's challenging the Mutant Registration Act on the grounds that it's unconstitutional. She wants anti-discrimination laws for mutants. And thanks to you and your secret, private and illegal genetic database, Mr. Stryker, she might just get them. Tell me how you're going to get us out of this disaster, because I'm just dying to find out."