Chapter 9

Jean was the last to make it to breakfast. Carrying Velocity had drained more out of her than she'd thought; even after as much sleep as she could manage, she still felt groggy, and her back and brain were sore.

Scott had made sure there was food left for her. He won a lot of points for that.

There was a dining space . . . almost too big to be called a dining room, since there was more than enough seating around the huge table for the entire team plus the Brotherhood and Betsy . . . adjacent to the kitchen, where most of the team wandered with their plates. They were in surprisingly good shape, physically and emotionally. Hot food was doing wonders for their morale. Even Bobby, who'd been fatally shot not twelve hours ago, was laughing with Ray, Roberto, and Sam while eating like a horse. Nothing got a fifteen-year-old jazzed like cheating death. The only X-Man that didn't look to be in at least acceptable shape was Amara. She sat by herself in the corner, her face gray from space-sickness, mustering the strength to smile nauseously at Hank as he brought her a cup of something that steamed.

Jean had downed an entire plate of eggs, sausage, and hash browns, as well as three beignets, when Professor Xavier finally joined them. Magneto was with him.

"Sit down, please, everyone," the Professor requested. "Or at least make yourselves comfortable. We need to discuss our situation, and our plans."

More people stood up than sat down. Jean was among them. Her powers were so drained that she was still having a hard time tuning out the team's thoughts, and what she picked up was suddenly very stressed. She took a deep breath and focused on closing off her mind.

The professor let his attention move to Betsy for a moment. "Betsy . . . Where is Doctor McTaggart? And Sean?"

Betsy indicated Magneto with her head, her face grim. "He wouldn't bring Moira," she informed him flatly. "Sean wouldn't leave her. But they're both free and on the run. I opted to come. I thought you might be glad of my help."

"That I am. And I'm glad to know that your team is safe." He turned back to the team, quickly making eye contact with each X-Man to gauge his or her mental state. "Magneto and I have reached an agreement," he announced. "We are going to do everything within our power to peacefully overturn the law that has driven us from our home."

There was silence for a long moment. Toad broke it. "Yeah, go ahead, pull the other one."

"Our best hope is a decision from the courts, overturning the Registration Act. Until there is a ruling, there will be no violence between mutants and humans."

"And after it does?" Kitty asked.

Professor Xavier bowed his head. "After that . . . each of us will act as he or she sees fit to do. And I will not be involved. That was the price of the deal."

Jean's mouth flew open, but whatever she might have said was drowned in protests from the rest of the students. "You're kidding!" "But you can't!" "What the heck?" "Professor Xavier, we need you!"

"QUIET."

Professor Charles Xavier very, very rarely raised his voice to his students. He didn't really raise it now. He just infused it with an imposing reminder that most people in this room owed him their lives, and when he told them to be quiet, they'd all better do it, this instant. Silence happened so suddenly it felt like they'd all been hit in the face with a very large, invisible pillow.

"Right now, however, we're focusing on our immediate needs," Xavier continued. "We've agreed that our first priority is to evacuate any mutants we know of who may still be in danger. I did my best to make sure all our records were destroyed, but it's possible our aggressors could still find information that could lead them to Rahne and Jubilee."

"And Evan," Storm added. She still had Magneto's helmet tucked under her arm.

"Evan's wid de Morlocks, Stormy," Gambit told her. "Dey's de least of our problems. If I can't find 'em, dey's no way in hell de U.S. Government's gonna do any better."

"Don't call me that," Storm sighed.

"Forge and Tabitha are still in Bayville," Jean offered. "They're not X-Men, but they'll probably be some of the first targets, living so close to us."

"What about that guy in New York?" Rogue asked. "The one with the wings? Walter, or something . . ."

"Warren," Magneto corrected flatly. "Worthington. His money will protect him."

"We should check on him," announced Scott. It was only a small contradiction, but Jean could see a test in it. He wanted to see if Magneto would fight him for authority. When the Omega said nothing, Scott continued, "Alex's number is in my phone, and I left that in my room, so they've got it now."

"Carol's address is in my dresser drawer," said Rogue.

"The feds already know about her," Logan told her, "but she could still need a hand. She's got no powers to protect herself with."

"If she's got no powers, are they even gonna care about her?" Rogue asked.

"Will a bunch of mutant-haters be interested in a mutant who's got her powers taken away? I think they might be. Just a little."

"I got a call I need to make, too," Gambit murmured. "Old friend. Prob'ly well outta harm's way, but I won't sleep easy 'till I know for sure."

Jean caught the glance that Rogue shot at Gambit . . . not quite worried, not quite upset, but decidedly intense and concerned. Gambit answered it, and though they weren't touching, Jean could almost see some kind of communication flicking back and forth through the air between them.

"We will also address the situation in Washington," Professor Xavier told them. We need to know more about this Senator Creed . . . find out why he's doing this, and if he can be reasoned with."

"He can't," said a new voice.

The room exploded with movement and noise in less than a heartbeat. Logan, who'd been leaning against the wall where he had a good view of the entire room, was in the air, claws out and spread wide, teeth bared, the snarl of a wild, cornered animal ripping out of his chest. From the doorway, another, much larger, tawny gold form was jumping to meet him, roaring.

Jean reached out and grabbed it. The inertia and the weight pressed on her strained system, making her feel like she was carrying a car on her shoulders, but it froze. She was holding Sabertooth immobilized in midair. It was like having a tiger by the tail.

Logan, too, was suspended and frozen. Magneto had raised a hand to catch him, but he lowered it once he was sure of his hold. Ignoring both Logan and Sabertooth, he looked to Jean. "Excellent catch, Miss Grey."

"Thanks," Jean groaned through gritted teeth. "What's he doing here?"

"He's one of my people," Magneto explained flatly. "I take care of my own."

Sabertooth raged and twisted at her. Her hold slipped, letting him lunge closer. She managed to halt him within inches of her nose, not without an involuntary, grating cry of surprise and effort. Logan let out a roar that would have rattled the windows, had there been any. A vein in his forehead was standing out from the strain of fighting Magneto.

"Stop it," Magneto ordered Sabertooth, steel and thunder in his voice. "This is neither the time nor the place for your antiquated feud. And you, Charles . . . will you kindly keep your people under control?" He dropped Logan unceremoniously onto the floor.

Jean hesitantly released her hold on Sabertooth. He seemed to have lost interest in her for the time being, and though he and Logan were still eyeing one another, neither made any move to resume the fight as Logan climbed to his feet.

"Why do you say that Senator Creed cannot be reasoned with?" Professor Xavier asked him. "Do you know him?"

Never taking his eyes from Wolverine, Sabertooth muttered, "Not personally. But I know he's got no business being human." He took a deep breath through his nose, then blew it out with something like contempt. Logan shifted sideways, bringing himself closer to Jean and Scott. Though his mouth was still open, his lips drawn back in a warning, half-snarl, he, too, was breathing through his nose.

"Why is that?"

"Because both his parents are mutants. At least, that's what she told me."

"I knew it," Logan snarled. "I knew there had to be a connection. You don't get two people that sadistic both named Creed."

A half-smile pulled at one corner of Sabertooth's mouth. He shifted his weight, experimentally, watching for Logan's reaction. Logan moved to match him, putting himself between Sabertooth and the rest of the team.

"Does he know his heritage?" Xavier asked.

"Looks like it, if he's out to kill us all," Sabertooth observed, without embarrassment.

Jean was having a hard time keeping up with the two simultaneous conversations, one spoken, one conveyed in movement and scent and exposed teeth. It was like they were speaking another language, one she'd never studied.

"Who is his mother?" Xavier asked.

"Mystique," Logan answered before Sabertooth could say anything. "Right combination of bad taste and good survival skills."

Smirking, Sabertooth nodded, acknowledging that Logan's guess was correct.

"Oh, mah gosh . . ." Rogue muttered, putting a hand to her mouth as though she might be sick. Her gaze flicked to Kurt, whose jaw had dropped open, showing his pointed canines. Rogue, adopted as she was, could conveniently disown Mystique's memory whenever she found it convenient, but Kurt was the shapeshifter's son by blood. And Senator Creed was his older half-brother.

After sharing a moment of shocked silence, Kurt announced, "Ve are not putting him on the Christmas card."

Sabertooth's smirk spread wider into a grin. "Like I said . . . that's what she told me. She played the field enough, though . . . just because he has my name don't mean he's mine. Could be yours."

Logan snarled.

"Then again," Sabertooth amended, "maybe not. He's too tall. Or maybe you just don't like redheads." The feral golden eyes flicked to Jean for a split-second, and her whole body froze involuntarily. She saw his red tongue dart out and slide across his lower lip. "Scared of the politicians, little vixen? Or of me?"

"Watch it, Furball," Rogue snarled. The aggressive rumble of Logan's growl underscored the fury in her voice.

Sabertooth moved his gaze to Professor Xavier. "Looks like I'm not helping the conversation much. I'll get outta here. Thanks for breakfast." He nodded once to the Professor and once to Magneto, shot one last smile at Logan, and left the room.

After a long moment of awkward silence, Magneto picked up the discussion again. "We should deploy strike teams to evacuate those we've listed. You have your two vehicles . . . I don't need one, and your airborne team members should be able to make an in-atmosphere rendezvous."

I'll take Velocity," Logan announced. "And I'm taking Jean with me. I need a telepath."

"Are you—" Professor Xavier began.

"Yes."

"Maybe I should—" Jean tried. Herself and Logan in a helicopter alone for who-knew-how-long was probably the worst idea in the history of the world. Her stomach was twisting into knots of dread.

Please, Jeannie. Trust me.

Logan hardly ever let her communicate with him telepathically—he valued his privacy and her innocence too much. But the mental call was intense, insistent, with just the faintest tinge of wildness that would have sounded like panic if it had come from anyone else.

She gave in. "Maybe I should move the mini-Cerebro into Velocity," she finished, "so we can stay in touch with you."

"That's a good idea," Professor Xavier agreed. "With everyone we have, I can put together another to use up here."

"Okay." Jean turned to Scott and kissed him goodbye.

What's he up to? Scott asked. She could feel his unsettled worry through his lips, in his shoulders.

I don't have a clue, Jean admitted, but I think I should just do what he says right now. Be safe, Scott. I love you.

Love you too.

Jean turned to Logan, who hadn't taken his eyes off her for a second. "Let's go."

Logan nodded and headed for the door. Jean followed him. As he reached the doorway, he snapped, "Aza-chan."

"Hai." Rogue shot after them, out into the hallway where they were out of earshot of the rest of the team.

Logan and Rogue had a brief conversation in the privacy of the hall and the deeper privacy of Japanese. Jean carefully kept herself out of their heads, but learned what she could through watching. Logan was giving Rogue instructions. She was evidently struggling to understand—she'd finished a semester of Japanese already, but one semester didn't equal fluency by a long shot—but she repeated back words she didn't understand, and Logan spoke carefully and clearly. Neither one lapsed into English for a second.

Jean bit her tongue to keep herself from demanding entrance into the conversation. She wasn't Logan's sidekick and confidante anymore; that was Rogue's place now. This conversation was none of her business. Being the object of Logan's doomed love seemed to have disqualified her from being close to him in any other way.

She wished desperately that she'd studied Japanese instead of Spanish. But Logan would probably have just switched to Swahili. Or Tagalog. Or something.

Rogue nodded her acknowledgment of her orders. Logan leaned in to kiss her on the top of her head. Then he murmured, "Good luck. Be careful," and turned away, catching Jean by the arm to pull her with him.

"Where are we going?" she demanded, skipping a few steps to keep up with his astonishingly quick pace.

Out of this deathtrap. Don't talk out loud.

You're always telling me that I should talk out loud more often.

Listen to what I'm telling you now.

He navigated the twisting corridors without a second's hesitation, descending to the hangar where the Blackbird and Velocity waited.

What do you mean, 'deathtrap'? Jean demanded, watching Logan close the hangar door and plunge his claws into the computerized lock. Are the others in danger? She couldn't believe it. If the others were in trouble, Logan would never run from it himself and leave the rest of them behind.

They're not. You are. He sheathed his claws and looked up at her, his face dark with ferocity and grief. I'm so sorry, Red. Hurry up and get Cerebro moved.

Jean hurried. The Cerebro headset had been designed to switch easily between the two aircraft; it usually stayed in the X-Jet because it was nearly all metal. Logan fretted the entire time, staying between her and the door, sniffing suspiciously at the air, keeping his weight forward on the balls of his feet. Just being in the same room with him was enough to make her so jittery that every pop and hiss of the climate control system threatened to make her jump out of her skin.

Faster, he growled through the silence. Faster.

What's wrong? Jean demanded, hauling the headset and its attendant circuitry up into Velocity. What did I do? Just tell me!

You didn't do nothin', darlin'. He followed her up the hatch and threw himself into the pilot's seat. It's what I did. He closed the craft, and watched with sharp eyes until the ramp was completely and securely closed. Can you get us down into the atmosphere?

Jean closed her eyes, the better to 'see' the objects around her with her powers. His urgency was making her so antsy that she was more worried about ripping the chopper open than about being unable to lift it. Her powers tended to be harder to control when she was upset.

She managed to ease them out of the landing bay without breaking anything, then let the helicopter plunge toward the planet in a gently-controlled drop. Logan tried five times to get the engine running before it finally caught. The chopper blades roared to life, and Velocity began supporting her own weight in the air.

"Now can I talk out loud?" she asked, opening her eyes and dropping into the co-pilot's seat.

"If you have to." Logan was focused on steering the plane, guiding it in a direction that wasn't just 'down,' and very deliberately not looking at her.

"What happened back there? What did I miss?" Jean demanded.

"It's nothing you have to worry about now."

"Logan! For crying out loud! Tell me!"

He sighed, and his head sagged forward with the weariness of too many endless decades of fighting and running and suffering and fighting again. "He wants to kill you."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because of me. Because . . . look, everything has a scent. Fear, anger, grief . . . even love."

Jean felt her mouth snap closed. Against her will, blood rushed into her face. "Oh. You can smell . . . all that?"

"Yeah."

"And Sabertooth, too? Because he's like you?"

His hand clenched into a fist on the control panel, and bright pinpricks of blood appeared between his knuckles. "He is NOT like me. I am not like him." He took a deep breath and pulled back the claws that were fighting to get out, and pressed his hand to the side of his leg to wipe the blood off his skin. "But yes, he can smell it. He picked up how my scent changed when he feinted for you, so now he knows . . . everything. Enough."

"But why would he care?"

"Because he knows me, and he hates me, and he likes to make me suffer. No better way to get at me than by going for you girls."

Jean nearly jumped out of her chair. "But what about the others? We have to go back!"

"No, they're all right. He can't lay a hand on Kitty, and he can't leave a mark on Rogue. Storm isn't afraid of him, so she's not interesting, and he knows better than to mess with Wanda, not when he's at Magneto's mercy."

"Amara?"

"I don't think he'll go for her when he's hunting you, but Rogue's watching her. She'll keep her safe. And with any luck, she's space-sick enough that they'll have to take her home to Brazil in the next couple hours. So all we have to do is find someplace to stash you until I can take care of him."

"You are not going to 'stash' me. I belong with my team."

"You belong alive. I am NOT going to let you die, so just sit back and shut up and do what I tell you."

Jean set her jaw, biting back her fury. Instead of hitting him, which she would have liked to do, she reached around herself and grabbed Velocity, holding it immobile in the air. The controls bucked out of Logan's hands in protest.

"Wolverine," she announced, her voice fierce and cold. He finally looked up at her, sensing from either her tone or her use of his combat name that he'd pushed her to her limit. "I understand that it's hard for you . . . to be around me. And I feel awful about that. But none of that gives you the right to talk to me like you just did. EVER. You're not my father, or my husband, or my boyfriend, or my team commander, or anything but my friend and that was your decision, not mine, so where I go and what I do are my decision and no one else's."

He glared at her, and his glare was the sort of predator's gaze that could freeze smaller animals in their tracks. It would have frozen her, if she'd been less mad. "So you want to go back? Is that what you're saying?"

"No, I'm not. If you say I need to stay away from Sabertooth, I believe you. But I'm an X-Man, and X-Men do not get 'stashed.' Not when there are people who need us. I don't want to hide. I want to fight. So if we can't fight him, let's go find something that we can fight."

Logan stared at her for a long minute, then smiled and shook his head. "I keep forgetting just how scary you get when you get your dander up."

"I learned from the best."

"Yeah, you bet you did."

Scott allowed himself a second to be wrong-footed, but he didn't need more than a second. He was to used to Logan jumping the gun. Getting through today without Logan's guidance or Jean's support wasn't a problem he'd counted on facing, but after last night, it seemed that unexpected problems were just going to be par for the course.

He called order again before anyone had a chance to panic, including him. "Okay, guys. First things first. We're here, we're safe, so that means life continues like normal. Kitty says that there are some dorms on the next level up. We need to get our stuff moved up there and settled in. We also need to get Forge, Tabby, Rahne and Jubilee up here, like now. And we have to figure out what our next move should be. So if Magneto will do another run down to pick up our teammates . . .?" He waited for an affirming nod before continuing. "Then I need all the teachers here and the rest of the team moving stuff. And we'll meet up in the gym at eleven o'clock for training." Catching himself, he turned to Magneto. "There is a gym, right?"

"Yes, there is a gym," Magneto informed him, sounding ever so faintly insulted at the insinuation that he would have forgotten something so important in the construction of his space station.

There was a soft, wobbly, metallic sound, like the plastic tubes little kids spin over their heads to make UFO noises, and a long raised ridge appeared in the wall of the dining hall, about five feet off the floor. It ran out the doorway and away along the wall of the corridor outside.

"That way," Magneto deadpanned.

Scott took a second to wonder which freaked him out more: Magneto's mind-boggling powers or the casualness with which he used them.

"We still have to do training?" Ray griped, disbelieving. "Our whole world got yanked out from under us and we still have to do training?"

"Especially when our whole world gets yanked out from under us," Scott answered. "Be on time or you're running laps."

"There's a conference room at the end of the hall," Magneto offered. "You can have your meeting there. And you might want to use the phone to tell your team members I'll be coming. I don't want to have to knock them all out before I can evacuate them."

Scott nodded; Magneto in a hurry plus a surprised Boom Boom wouldn't end well for anybody. "I'll make the calls."

"Have them rendezvous at the beach north of the mansion," Professor Xavier instructed. "The more quietly they can be extracted, the better."

"Vhat about our families, and our other friends?" Kurt asked. "Zey'll be worried sick about us by now."

"Yeah," Scott agreed. "We'll talk about how we're going to handle contacting everyone's families, then let you know at training, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'll get your plate, if you're done," Hank offered. "Go make your calls."

"Thanks." Scott crossed the dining room and headed out into the hall, wondering as he turned towards the conference room just how he was going to explain all this to Jubilee over the phone.

Gambit ate his own food quickly and was dumping the cooking pans in the three-compartment metal sink by the time the others wandered in with their plates. The large, cast-iron two-burner skillet was giving him trouble. It was heavy, and his right shoulder was still too sore to take the weight well. Tipping it into the hot soak water was turning into a complicated process involving his knee and hip, propping the uncooperative dish precariously against the sink rim.

There was a mutter of Russian annoyance, and Piotr grabbed the pan and slid it into the water. "Gambit. You are an X-Man. You should know how to call for help when you need it."

"Yeah, well," Gambit allowed neutrally. "Hey, y'all," he called to Jamie, Roberto, and Kurt, who were wandering around the kitchen with dirty plates in hand, looking bewildered, "dey's racks over dere by de conveyor sterilizer. Just load stuff in."

"You better finish quick," Kurt advised. "Training starts in half an hour." He checked his watch, then tapped it. "Hey, vhat time zone are we in?"

"I wouldn't know that anyway," Roberto said, shrugging.

"Gambit is exempted from today's training on grounds of his injured arm," Hank announced. "And his volunteering to do dishes."

"I got shot in the gut; can I skip training?" asked Bobby.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you're fine, and you need to burn off some energy or don't blame me when Magneto throws you out an airlock."

"Ha," said Bobby. "I wonder if I could survive that if I was iced up?"

"Wanna test?" asked Roberto.

Hank shook his head, smiling, and ignored the competitive banter of the younger boys. "Piotr, will you stay and make sure he doesn't re-open that arm?"

"Yes."

"We'll get a dish rotation worked out," Hank promised.

"Take y'time. I hate trainin'," Gambit confessed, though he knew that everybody already knew this.

"And stay together," Hank instructed them solemnly. "We don't know yet just who or what else could be hanging around up here."

When Scott finished his call with Rahne, the last of the four, the other teachers had gathered and were waiting for him. Somehow, when he'd said 'teachers,' he'd pictured a larger group; suddenly the X-Men's leadership was nothing more than himself, Professor Xavier, Beast and Storm. How was he supposed to lead this team without Logan's insight or Jean's support? If they didn't finish Logan's errand and get back soon, he didn't know what he was going to do.

He didn't know what he was going to do anyway.

"So what do we do?" he asked.

The door was closed; Magneto was off the base. It was their first real opportunity for private conversation, and might be the last for a long time.

"That depends a great deal on where we stand," Storm answered. "Charles . . . will Magneto keep the promises he's made to us?"

"And if he won't, is there anywhere else for us to go?" asked Hank. "If we can't be absolutely sure that Magneto poses no immediate threat to the students, then we need to get off this station and find another base of operations immediately."

"As long as you hold that helmet," Charles told Storm, "There's nothing for us to fear from him. I'm sure of it. He fully intends to do everything that he has promised."

"But why?" Hank asked. "When it would have been so easy to kill us all last night . . . what's his angle?"

"He wants to conquer humanity without our interference," Charles answered bluntly. "He's betting that without me, the team will fall apart—maybe even that some of our people will defect to him. He doubts Scott's ability to lead."

He's not the only one, Scott commented in a mental voice he hoped didn't carry beyond his skull. "But if the courts overthrow mutant registration, it won't matter," he said aloud. "He's promised to stand down if the problem is settled legally."

"Perhaps not permanently, but yes, he will stand down and not launch all-out war . . . this time . . . if a court of law will rule that mutant registration is unconstitutional."

"So we need a court case. Can't be hard to find, right? The thing's been in effect for weeks. There must be loads of mutants arrested by now."

"How many have we heard about, though?" asked Beast. "It's fairly certain they're being arrested, but it's been happening quietly."

"Well, our exit last night wasn't quiet," Storm observed, understating. "Someone must have noticed that."

"Yes, and I'd give a lot to know what's being said about it," Hank murmured. "My kingdom for CNN."

"I think . . ." Professor Xavier brought his chair closer to the head of the conference table and ran his hand over the glossy metal surface. Lights flickered within it: touch controls. He pressed a button, and the wall at the far end of the room slid open, revealing a flat screen tv.

"Well." Hank's eyebrows raised, showing just how impressed he was. "I've got my complaints about the decor, but you can't beat the amenities around here."

Xavier switched the television on. Not CNN, as Hank had requested: NBC. Good enough. The station logo sat in the bottom right hand corner of a helicopter shot over their house. The lawn was ripped to shreds by the tanks and trucks that were parked all over it. The hole in the library, which Scott remembered Colossus smashing closed pretty solidly, had been cut open. Soldiers and guns were everywhere. Some were emerging from the house with armloads of computer parts, paperwork, or just stuff—he recognized the blue-and-purple quilt off of Jean's bed, the one her grandmother had made for her before she was born, and felt a hot rush of anger flare through his chest and rise into his eyes. Other soldiers stood guard, as though daring the X-Men to come back and get their lives.

"You're right, Storm," he said at last. "It wasn't quiet."

Professor Xavier switched channels. The news feed mercifully disappeared, replaced by a political talk show.

"The problem here is that we don't know what happened. Was it a protest that got out of hand? Was this a counterstrike against some attack that the Xavier Institute launched against the Mutant Registration Bureau? Is it a flubbed arrest? We don't know enough to speculate, and the agencies involved aren't telling us anything. That, to me, is suspicious."

"I don't think it is. Since at least one and possibly all of these mutants are still at large, we're still in the middle of a military action. Withholding information from the press could be a matter of tactical advantage."

"Look, the school's spokesman announced that their protests were gonna be peaceful. These kids had a serious point to prove. Something had to go seriously wrong for there to be violence, especially violence of this scale."

"It wouldn't be the first time in American history that a protest started out peaceful and ended otherwise. The difference is what the difference has been all along in this issue . . . it's a matter of scale, like you mentioned. With any other protesters, if things got out of hand, maybe some rocks get thrown, a few windows smashed, some cars vandalized. But when we're talking about mutants with extremely potentially destructive superhuman powers, suddenly that couple of rocks becomes dead U.S. soldiers. It's the NRA on steroids. It's not just that these people are mad and have guns. It's that these people are mad and have the potential destructive power of a bunker full of nukes."

"And yet . . . and yet, hang on just a second . . . with all this destructive power, and, as you mention, reasons to be very angry, the only thing that seems to have been destroyed is their own house. Does that sound aggressive to you?"

"Dead. US. Soldiers. To me, the words "dead US soldiers" sound very aggressive. We already have six Marines confirmed dead, and seven more in critical condition, and that's only what's been reported so far. There are fighting men and women who died in the line of duty this morning, and you're honestly sitting here arguing that the people responsible for their deaths had a right to kill them?"

"It all comes back to what started this. If this started out as an arrest attempt that turned into a battle, then I completely agree with you, it's outright murder, and my kingdom to anyone who will bring me the head of an Xavier mutant on a stick. But if this was a preemptive military strike . . . and no one has told us otherwise yet . . . well, the Marines come busting into my house in the middle of the night, and I'm gonna start shooting. That's a right. That's a Second-Amendment-protected right."

"Not if it's government personnel! No one has the right to shoot a cop. The same applies to a soldier, particularly here, when these soldiers were acting in a law-enforcement capacity. Like it or not, mutant registration is law now, and by refusing to register these people were breaking the law."

"You assume these troops were at that house in a law-enforcement capacity. You have no way of knowing that."

"It's a reasonable assumption, in the circumstances. What else would they be doing there?"

The channel switched again, to an anchorwoman in a newsroom. Over her left shoulder was a graphic of a coiled strand of DNA, with the words Mutant Shootout splayed across it. Across the bottom of the screen ran the words Six Marines Dead After Confrontation with Xavier Institute.

"I've just been handed this report . . . US Senator Graydon Creed has announced that there will be a press conference this afternoon at 5:00 p.m. to provide more information on the violent encounter this morning in Bayville, New York. That's going to be held in the White House press room . . . We will interrupt our regular programing to bring that to you live. So that's five o'clock, Eastern Daylight Time. In other news . . ."

Professor Xavier passed his hand over the controls one more time, blacking out the screen.

Six marines dead. Since it had happened, Scott been moving too fast to think too much, but in this moment of silence his whole awareness jolted back. The library, illuminated by stripes of ruby light and dripping blazes of neon orange—the carpet shuddering under his feet with every move Colossus made—the choking, salty smell of gunpowder and the painful percussion of each shot against his eardrums—and the hiss-and-squish sound of Wolverine's claws finding their targets. He'd known those men were going to die when he'd zeroed in on them and flicked open his visor. And he'd done it anyway. Six marines dead.

This can't happen ever again. Not to me, not to them. This stops here. I owe those men a lot more than that.

"All right," he announced, and he was startled by his own voice—it sounded too blunt, too detached and professional and determined, to belong to him. "We've got the whole world looking at our house. I'll turn myself in, and we'll have the court case we need."

All three of his teachers whipped around to stare at him. "What?" Storm demanded.

"I'll do it at the press conference. With cameras running, there's no way they'll get away with locking me up in some hidden prison. They'll have to give me a trial."

"But Scott—your eyes." Professor Xavier's voice was deep and serious. It was the tone of voice he used to keep reckless people from doing foolish things. Scott had often overheard it through doors and around corners, usually addressed to Logan. It hadn't been used on him in a long time. "This legal battle could take months, and it's not unlikely that your visor would be taken away from you for at least part of that."

"I can keep my eyes closed. I've done it before."

"The risks are too great. One slip, and—"

"I know what happens if I make one slip, Professor."

"Someone else should do this."

"Who? Who am I gonna send in? Who'm I gonna order to do this in my place?" Scott held up a hand and started counting off on his fingers. "Kurt and Piotr aren't U.S. citizens. Rogue's got as much chance of hurting somebody as I have. So does Gambit, and besides, he can't afford to have a criminal record. You, Professor, can't be exposed as a mutant. Storm already does have a criminal record, and so does Logan."

"I stole to survive when I was a child!" Storm protested. "That's hardly a criminal record."

"They'll use it against you. And Hank . . ."

"Fuzzy and blue, I know," Hank acknowledged.

"The younger students are all minors. The only people who could possibly do this are me, Kitty, and Jean, and I am not sending Kitty."

"If Jean were here," Storm observed, "she would never let you go."

"Why do you think I'm doing it when Jean's gone?"

"I hate to be the devil's advocate, but Scott does have a point," Hank interjected. "In a war of public opinion, what better defendant could you have than a white, middle-class, suburban American, orphaned and handicapped . . . no offense, Scott. We need to put a face on mutants, and he might have the best chance of moving the public's opinion in our favor."

"The public's opinion is less important than the opinion of a jury. Right now, we have no way of proving that we didn't start this conflict. Everything we could have used . . . the security cameras, the physical evidence . . . is in their hands. It's our word against theirs."

"We can steal the camera records back."

"I'd have destroyed them by now, if I were they," Beast pointed out.

"Destroyed what?" asked a new voice. Everyone turned to see Forge poking his head through the doorway.

"Forge!"

Considering this permission to enter, Forge walked in, followed by Jubilee, Tabitha, Rahne, and Magneto.

"That was fast," Hank observed. "Are you four okay?"

"Yeah," said Jubilee. She made eye contact with Scott and mouthed, MAGNETO?

Scott gave her a slow, deliberate nod, that without words managed to convey Tell me about it.

"Can you guys believe this place? This is SO COOL!" Forge announced.

"I'm glad you're having fun, Forge," Scott told him, his voice full of resigned long-suffering.

"Yeah," Forge agreed. Irony was not his strong suit. "So what got destroyed?"

"The house security camera records," said Hank. "Without them, we'll have a devil of a time proving what happened this morning."

"The security cameras?" Forge asked, sounding hurt. "What about the secondary system?"

Every eye was suddenly on him.

"What secondary system?" Scott asked warily.

"The secondary security camera network. The one I installed when I put the system in."

"Wait . . . you put another security camera system in, and you didn't tell us about it?"

"I did tell you about it! I said I installed a TX-54370 sub-relay on an independent power source with non-network black box style storage system, but it was gonna be low resolution feed 'cuz I didn't have room under the Professor's office for anything higher capacity. And you said fine."

Of course he'd said 'fine.' When Forge started going on like that, there was nothing else to say. "Can we get those camera records back?"

"Yeah, in theory . . . but you can't network into the computer 'cuz it's not hooked up to anything. It's gotta be copied manually off the hard drive."

"Where's the hard drive?"

"In the root cellar."

"We have a root cellar?"

"Underneath the desk in my office," said Professor Xavier. "That wing is the oldest part of the house. It's a trap door, but I'd nearly forgotten it was there."

"But if you want copies of what happened this morning, you'd better get 'em fast," Forge added. "The system's only got twenty-four hours' worth of storage space. Anything older than that gets erased."

"So we've got to get into a house crawling with U.S. military and copy off all these files before three o'clock tomorrow morning?"

"Yep."

"Okay." Scott turned to the other teachers. "Well, somebody better go tell Gambit."