April 21, 1957

Moira MacTaggert had lived in a world of data since she first entered the CIA three years prior. Facts and figures had filled her days, an endless search for the right piece of data that could be elaborated on and turned into a way to defend her country. Her work was, in many ways, dull, but she knew it was useful.

It was all changing now. Swallowing she looked out the window of the plane. Beneath her the sea stretched endlessly. It was night out, making it hard to make out anything, let alone her destination. Next to her Levine shifted uncomfortably. It was his first mission too, and they both knew that it was important.

They had both been deemed experts on the Genosha situation, although Moira was more in the dark than she normally liked. For instance, they still weren't completely sure which factions had risen up against each other. Obviously the constitutional monarchy that had been there for a century had been overthrown, but there had been very little signs of the instability that normally threatened a new country.

There was no way that a communist faction had overthrown the old order. The Soviets had been working with the Genoshan government. A democratic faction seemed the most plausible explanation, but she wondered how the country could remain so united when so many traditions had been overthrown. There were still reports of small flare-ups, but they seemed to be taken care of quickly. So much had changed for Genosha though, and she wondered if it could last. The French Revolution had been an example of a tremendously botched tradition replacement.

So how was the new faction doing it? From their pitiful reports it sounded like they had kept the basic system of a constitutional monarchy while expanding on the parliament's powers. The amendments that had been made to the constitution, and again she didn't know much, sounded suspiciously American. However, she would have known if the CIA had someone working on the inside.

Sighing she leaned against the back of her seat. They had almost landed and she felt exhausted. Her mind went back to Rahne. Moira was glad that she had someone like Kayla that she could count on to babysit her. Despite her protestations of being a grown-up Rahne was only eight. Moira disliked leaving her alone for two hours, let alone two weeks.

The panic she had seen in Rahne's eyes when she told her she was going away had been heartbreaking. Moira had been her mother for three years, but whatever abandonment she had first experienced had obviously stuck with her. She had clung to Moira and begged her not to go, but Moira had assured her that she would be back. Even so Rahne's glum expression on the day she left haunted her.

Nothing should go wrong though. It was just a brief diplomatic and investigative mission. They wouldn't be there for more than two weeks. The real objective was to figure out if they were willing to be allies with America against the Soviet aggressors who would surely try to reclaim their territory. The situation hadn't come out in the papers yet, but when it did the Soviet Union would feel humiliated and, consequently, angry.

Normally they would have sent more experienced field agents. Moira knew that she and Levine had about enough experience between the two of them to fill a thimble. However, they were the only ones at the office who had been assigned to Genosha from beginning to end. They probably thought their knowledge would be more valuable than their negotiation skills. She fervently hoped that they were right.

She thought over what she knew about the revolutionaries. The fact that they'd been able to retake their land at all was impressive. From their scraps of information she'd found out that their leaders hadn't been afraid to fight alongside their troops. They had been organized, moving quickly and efficiently. The size of the island was probably a factor too.

No matter the reason these were successful people, successful fighters. The fighting hadn't been over for long either. The man they would meet was going to be one of them, the person on their side who seemed most interested in talking. Moira didn't like the connotations of that, and neither had Levine. That meant that, for whatever reason, many people hadn't been open to the idea.

Moira felt grateful to the one that was willing to talk, although nervous about how convinced he was that anything would come of this. She was only there to iron out the basics and trade information. Right now things were upfront. Later, if they judged them as a threat, there would be more of a spy level attached to it.

She hoped fervently that things wouldn't go that far. In a way Genosha was her pet project, although she didn't like how demeaning it sounded. Moira had been the one who repeatedly suggested and asked if they could send some form of aid to them. She'd been frustrated by the overwhelmingly negative supplies. It was like her superiors weren't sure that they wanted them to win, which made no sense, but they were preparing if they did.

"This is the captain, we'll be landing shortly. The weather is foggy, so please be prepared for some turbulence."

Tugging on her seatbelt in the military plane she glanced over at Levine. Once they landed and grabbed their scant luggage the pilot would be off again. After that they would be on their own in a country that spoke a mixture of Russian and Swahili. It wasn't exactly the most promising idea, but Moira knew some basic phrases. She'd also been assured that English was one of the dominant languages on the island.

True to the pilot's word the landing was bumpy. As soon as it stopped moving Moira and Levine unbuckled. She grabbed her backpack and shoulder bag and headed to the exit of the plane. The door had barely opened and she was already on the steps, Levine close on her heels. They both knew they couldn't afford to spend too much time there, to be photographed, to have their visit documented.

She stepped out on the dirt field, feeling disoriented for a moment. Shaking it off she continued until she was out of range of the plane. Before she knew it she heard the plane taking off again, leaving her partner and her alone in a strange country. In the murk she could just barely make out her contacts.

"Hey, stick close to me," Levine said.

Moira tilted her head. She knew Levine knew that she could take care of herself. At the same time his bravado ended up showing more when he was nervous.

"And I'll do the talking," she smiled.

He grinned quickly at her before assuming a stoic face. Moira squared her shoulders as three figures walked up to them. One walked in the middle of the other two, obviously some sort of formation. He had bodyguards. A leader of the rebellion who had bodyguards? She doubted that he needed him. They were probably for show.

Still, she wouldn't have liked to have gone up against either of them. The scent of tobacco smoke hung heavily around one of the men who was built like a star football player. He looked twice as irate though. The other was a woman, but she could only tell that by her silhouette. The entirety of her face was obscured by a hood.

The man in between them was younger than both of them. He moved quickly, his hands folded behind his back and standing ramrod straight. Moira estimated that he was about her age, but there seemed to be something old in his eyes as well. Of course, if she'd lived through a rebellion and given orders for its duration then she would probably seem older too.

"Agents MacTaggert and Levine?" he said.

She nodded, extending her hand.

"Minister Xavier?"

He smiled, taking her hand and shaking it.

"Please, call me Charles," he said, "I became Prime Minister just two months ago. I keep thinking they're talking to someone else when they say it."

Her eyes flickered over to Levine as he shook hands with him.

"However, I understand that you would probably prefer last names," he said, "After all, you are here on business."

The man next to him grunted. A tight smile appeared on Charles' face.

"Ah yes. On my right this is Logan our…chief of security I suppose," he said, "And on my left is Neena. She's our top markswoman."

"I never miss," she said.

A smirk crossed her lips.

"Never."

"Please don't think they indicate we don't trust you," said Charles, "We never move outside the main buildings unless we're in a group of three. Old habits die hard I'm afraid."

"Of course," said Moira.

He gestured towards a large building a few yards away. Moira recognized it as a rest stop that had been brushed up a bit for the visit.

"Logan, Neena," said Charles, "Their luggage."

For a minute Moira felt unaccountably nervous. She took a deep breath. She'd been prepared to have her luggage searched. It wasn't as though they were hiding anything they needed to be ashamed of. It still made her uneasy. Moira thought she was doing a good job at keeping her face impassive, but the frown on Charles' face told her otherwise.

"Thank you," she said politely, handing hers to Neena.

Neena took both bags with a disinterested expression. Logan repeated the action with Levine, looking decidedly less impassive and quite a bit more irritated. He glanced over at Charles whose lips tightened. Logan looked away. It happened in less than a second but Moira noted the small exchange.

"Shall we?" he asked.

She nodded and Neena and Logan took a few steps away from Charles. Moira moved to keep up with him, her on his left and Levine on his right. His bodyguards, or partners, she wasn't sure which, took the outside. It made her feel uncomfortable, as if she were being hedged in. She had the sneaking suspicion that this was the intent.

Levine didn't like it either, she could tell from the way his eyebrow twitched. However, they weren't there to be intimidated. Moira refused to let herself be so. Her job was to do the best she was capable of, and that included not letting yourself be bowled over.

The doors opened. It was dinghy inside, but she had expected something of the sort. Charles walked over to a table and sat down at it. Moira took note of how Logan and Neena didn't sit but instead went over to the exits and stood by them.

"Have a seat," he said.

They both sat down. Moira was surprised that a round table had been selected. There weren't any charts, no maps. It seemed that the intimidation factor had stopped at the door. Moira had no intentions of letting her guard down though. These deliberations could be the gateway to an important ally for her country.

"Now, I find it highly impolite to talk around a subject," Charles said, "I'm assuming that you are aware of an organization known as the Mutant Response Division and hence know probably know what's been happening here."

Moira drew a blank. She scrabbled around her memory for something. Quietly she dissected the words in her head. She called up Kayla. Kayla had said that people had come for her and her siblings. She'd believed that it had come from their abusive and perfectionist father to get rid of strange shoots on the family tree. He'd certainly had the resources, resources that Kayla had claimed when she went back for revenge. She had never mentioned any government forces.

Still, that might have been what they were. She had heard rumors about mutants, the only word that seemed to suit Rahne. Moira had actually looked into it and found no information beyond a few newspaper articles about denials of such a thing as a mutant. Obviously they were wrong, but it seemed odd that this was the first thing that Charles would bring up.

"No?" he said, looking at their expressions, frowning, "I'm…surprised."

"No such Division exists," said Levine irritably, "Mutants, really? Hell, it's as messed up as that program that investigated aliens. It's just something to keep hysteria down. No such thing as a mutant."

Oh? I hope you're not too convinced in that belief. Otherwise these next few days are going to be rather difficult.

Levine jumped out of his chair and got to his feet. Moira remained motionless, feeling her breath catch in her throat. Charles' eyes were on her, curious.

"What the hell was that?" Levine demanded.

"Levine, calm down," said Moira, finding her voice, "We're just in the presence of a mutant."

From the corners of the room she heard their bags drop. Logan leaned back and bone claws slid out of his hands. Neena pulled back her hood. Beneath the hood her skin was pale with a black circle drawn over her eye. Moira couldn't tell if it was a tattoo or a birthmark and her lips were pure black.

"Three mutants," she corrected, "Sit down Levine."

He gave her a furtive look which she countered with a firm expression. He sat down, still looking alarmed and confused.

"Very dramatic," she said, "Of course, we might not have believed you otherwise."

"Perhaps you would have," Charles said, cocking his head.

Moira smile d dryly. She wasn't going to tell him about Rahne or Kayla. An idea came to her head, forming slowly.

"The uprising," she said, "it wasn't done for a democratic society, was it?"

"Bravo Agent MacTaggert," Charles smiled, "No, it wasn't. It was done because in Genosha mutants from all over the world were being imprisoned and experimented on."

Her heart clenched painfully. Moira had force down an image of someone hurting her daughter. She would never let that happen.

"Some of us, myself included," said Charles, "were originally from the United States."

"That's a lie," Levine said before Moira could stop him, "There's no such thing as a Mutant Response Division!"

Charles gave him a sad smile.

"I wish you were right."