"That is not an acceptable response." The metallic voice was emotionless. "I repeat, state your name and your business or be annihilated."
"Ah—Ah'm Rogue. Marie D'ancanto. Ah'm a student at Xavier's school for the gifted. Mah friend here, she's unconscious. Her name's Grace Engstrom. Ah'm sorry that we're trespassing, but the plane we were flying in, something happened to it, so we had to make an emergency landing here."
All four sensor heads did a 360 sweep of the area. "Sensors detect no such aircraft."
"We're both mutants. That's how she got us down alive. The plane just came apart around us."
"Brain telemetry indicates veracity. Remain where you are. You will be escorted from the premises shortly."
"Wait! When Ah said it was an emergency, Ah meant it. Mah friend needs medical attention bad. She's pregnant, and we landed awful hard. Ah'm afraid something might have got torn loose when she hit the ground. If she tries to get up and walk, she might lose the baby."
There was no answer for what seemed like a very long time. Finally the voice said, "Remain where you are. Assistance will reach you shortly."
"Oh, thank you!" Now that the immediate crisis was past, Rogue suddenly realized how much she herself hurt. The sensor heads had bright lights built into them, so she could see clearly. She was bruised in several places, her clothing was torn, and long scratches showed in her exposed skin.
Next to her, Grace stirred. "Oooooooh." Her hand went from her head directly to her stomach.
Rogue put her hands on the older woman's shoulders and pressed her back down. "Grace—you're gonna be okay, and your baby's gonna be okay, but you can't go getting upset, and you can't stand up."
"But I'm bleeding! I can feel it." Rogue could hear the seeds of panic in Grace's voice.
"Yeah, the panther said you would, and that you'd be kinda crampy, too. But it's all gonna be all right, if you stay calm and keep flat for a week. Try thinking about something else, okay? Help is on its way, I swear!"
"Where are we?"
"That's another thing for you not to get upset about. We—kinda landed in Doctor Doom's backyard."
"What!?"
"Inner peace, okay? Ah don't know if he's home, or if it's just his people, but somebody's coming. Ah got your phone out of your purse, and called—your boyfriend. He's coming with help, too."
"You're telling me all this, and not to get upset, at the same time?"
"Yeah, and you've gotta to what I learned how to do—listen."
Help arrived in the form of four large security robots and two human EMTs. As there was no path in to where Grace and Rogue had landed, the robots trampled one by brute force, and one of the techs drove a small gardening truck rigged to serve as a motorized gurney to Grace's side. They lifted her as if she were spun glass, and drove off.
Rogue was left to walk to Doom's headquarters, or weekend cottage or whatever it was he had in the middle of nowhere. The four security robots had her fenced in, and she was reminded of Luke Skywalker in Return of the Jedi, being escorted by four stormtroopers to see the Emperor—which was a better comparison than she realized.
She had no idea where they were—or even which continent they were on. Surely they couldn't have been flung all the way to Romania or Transylvania or wherever Doom lived? The robots answered none of her questions, and so she stopped asking them.
Before long, a castle—an actual castle—emerged from the night. It was a castle. A castle, in the middle of nowhere.
Doctor Doom was widely regarded as a prize looney who lived and acted as if he were living in the Middle Ages, she knew. Much worse than Magneto. He took over his native country, (the name of which she was trying to recall) and set himself up as king of it. He wore armor and talked about himself in the third person, too. She was racking her brain to remember more of Professor Xavier's unit on World Leaders Today when the robots showed her in to a library with a black and gold marble checkerboard floor.
Some light came in from the hallway door, the rectangle in which she stood, but the only illumination inside the room itself was the fire in the huge fireplace which dominated the room. She thought she was alone in that room of long shadows, when one of them spoke.
"Your companion is in the medical unit. You may join her there shortly, as you are clearly in need of medical attention yourself." The shadow moved—a tall figure in a long dark cape. Firelight glinted off a metal mask, a gauntlet, an armored foot. It was Doom.
Rogue looked down at herself. Twigs and bits of dead leaf were caught in her clothes, in her hair, and several of her scrapes and scratches had bled freely. "Thank you, sir. Is Grace all right?"
"What a charming accent. Mississippi, is it not?"
"Yes, sir, that's right." Nobody had to tell her to call him 'Sir.' He inspired it.
"She is in severe but stable condition, according to my doctors. Your analysis of her condition was quite accurate. Do they include medical training among your other classes at Xavier's Institute?"
"We all get first aid training. Enough to know how to hang on until Dr. Grey gets there."
"You have a talent for diagnosis. Perhaps you should take up medicine as a profession."
"Ggggo ahead. Telll him about ussss." said her dragon.
"Well, Ah had some help…" She explained about the voices.
"That's not surprising," he said when she finished. "There have always been sibyls and oracles, and it's quite clear that is what the two of you are. Apparently your mutation eliminates the need of hallucinogens or other drugs to get into the proper state of mind."
"Sibyls, sir?"
"Prophetesses. Seers. Mouthpieces or interpreters for a more knowledgeable power. Ones whose messages were often unclear until the right moment—or only in hindsight. Frequently their prophecies were self-fulfilling—and unwelcomed by those who sought them out."
"Oh. That sounds—right. Thank you, sir. It's nice to have a name for it. Um—there's something Ah have to tell you. Ah don't have any idea where we are—."
"You are still in New York."
"—but that unauthorized transmission Ah made was to the Institute—to Magneto. Why he's there is... Well, it's a long story, but the phone has a GPS in it, and he's coming here with help. Ah didn't want you to think he was coming here to attack you. If Ah could maybe call him and let him know you're here, so he doesn't get the wrong idea—?"
"On one condition, little sibyl. I want your 'little friends', as you call them, to answer three questions for me."
"A-all right. Ah can ask. I don't know if they'll answer—and Ah can't guarantee you'll like or understand the answers."
"I would be deeply disappointed if I were to receive a straightforward or simple answer. One consults a sibyl for the truth, not for clarity. My first question is—When shall I defeat Reed Richards and his accursed Fantastic Four?"
Her dragon coiled down her arm and around her tattered glove. "Telll him he willl not be abllle to do it untilll he no longer feelssss any need or desssire to do it."
"He'll get mad." Rogue predicted.
"I will not hold you accountable for the message. It is dishonorable to shoot the messenger. What did it say?"
"He said you won't be able to do it until you no longer want or need to do it."
"That will not be until they have been dead and rotting for fifty years!"
Rogue shrugged and spread her hands. "Maybe that's the problem—they get you so mad you can't think straight."
"Hmmm. I shall consider it. My second question is this—How shall I destroy Reed Richards and the Fantastic Four?"
The dragon blew a raspberry noise. "Phffffft. Tell him his bessst chancssse of defeating Richardsss is to challlenge him to the bessst two of three at 'Scissorsss, Paper, Sssstone.'"
"Oh, Ah really can't tell him that! They'll be wiping me off the walls in here. He'll go postal!"
"Tell me!" Doom commanded.
"All right—He says your best chance of defeating Richards—he didn't say destroy—is to challenge him to the best two of three at 'Scissors, Paper, Stone.'"
"Scissors, Paper, Stone?" repeated the cloaked man.
"Uh-huh."
"English is not my first language, nor was I born in America. I therefore lack certain cultural references—if culture is the right word for it. Could you define for me what 'Scissors, Paper, Stone' is?"
"It's a kid's game. You learn it on the playground. It's for two players. Both of you put your hands behind your back, like this," Rogue demonstrated, "and count to three. Then you bring out one hand in the shape of one of those three—a flat hand for paper, a fist for stone, and you go like this—." She spread her thumb and first two fingers out, " for scissors. The way you tell who wins is that paper wraps stone, stone dulls scissors, and scissors cut paper. That's all. No violence, no bombs, no guns." She felt that needed spelling out.
"'Scissors, Paper, Stone.'" Doom said again. "I begin to understand why sibyls have the reputation they do. My third question…"
Rogue waited, tense.
"I believe I will save my third question, and ask at another time. Some day I will call on you for it, little sibyl. Do not forget."
"Ah won't. Can Ah make that call now?"
"Go ahead. You may tell Magneto I give my word I will not attack or detain anyone, not when the life of a mother and her unborn child are involved. I have no quarrel with either Magneto or Xavier…at the moment."
