Another night, another nightmare. Kurt Wagner rolled over in his sheets until wrapped like a mummy, bound in body by the winding cloth and in spirit by recollections which could never be completely held at bay. From safety to danger, from friendships to fear, his present situation dissolved in memories, replaced with events he had lived through a very short time ago. As the night crept along, memories from farther in the past came to call like Scrooge's ghosts. But the replay of time began with the previous few days as they impinged on his dreams.
It was almost 2 AM, but Kurt had some coins jingling in his pocket and a thirst for a beer. The rainy streets of the port city seemed to urge him on in search of a place where warmth spilled from the windows and song from the tables. He slipped along the dirty streets, looking for some place enough out of the way to harbor someone of his distinct looks, yet not so dangerous as to require fighting skills. He needed to de-pressurize, to think about what he had done and where it would lead him. Center of attention was all very well in the circus or on stage, but at this juncture in his tumultuous life, a temporary hideaway in this small island town would fill the bill.
Someone beckoned to him from a half-opened door. "Mister, come in out of rain. We have nice fire and good drinks." The urchin's intensity reminded him of his own childhood, desperate for a kind word or simply to be acknowledged by a fellow human. Although many would not count Kurt Wagner as human. Sometimes he wondered about it himself.
As his hand reached out to pat the youngster on the head, the grimy child recoiled. "What kind of costume you wear?" Kurt pressed his lips together and silently prayed for patience. Would he never find acceptance? Was fear always to be the first reaction when people met him? "I am a performer. I will not harm you." He reached in his trench coat pocket, damp from the night's wanderings, and with his other hand gently drew the little fellow's hand up to press a few coins of small worth into the grubby palm. Money was usually something which quelled people's suspicions. And Gott[1] knew this lad looked as if he could use some good food.
He smiled – not too widely, for his canine teeth were longer than most – and half-lidded his eyes so the glowing yellow would not be too noticeable. "I have more change if you would show me to a quiet corner table where I may enjoy a few drinks, alone."
"Dis way, suh," the youngster said in the native patois of this backwater. "I show you place where you not be disturbed."
Kurt slid onto the rickety chair, careful to keep the spade of his tail tucked into the special pocket inside the shoulder of his coat. He did not remove the Alpine hat as normal politeness would have required, but kept it on to hide the strange-colored skin and blue-black hair as well as the pointed ears which invariably aroused comment. No Spock jokes tonight.
"I would like a dark imported beer, please," he told the boy, his German accent explaining the beverage preference. After giving what he hoped would be the proper amount of American currency, he waited til the boy's back was turned, then pried the custom boot off and massaged his foot. The boots, with long tips and a slight heel, allowed room for his peculiar feet, the hind parts of which sloped into the hollow heels while his two elongated front toes clasped the special toe grip molded into the innersole. Kurt replaced the footwear and tucked both feet well under the chair.
As the youth scurried to do his bidding, the visitor tried to relax against the hard wooden chair back. But any unfamiliar place caused him to be hyper-vigilant; with his genetic uniqueness, he had to be alert to trouble before it could get out of hand. The native lad returned with a foamy mug and was rewarded with a generous tip. When Wagner was certain the shadows had swallowed himself, he wrapped both three-fingered hands around the chilled mug, lifted it to his lips, and enjoyed a taste of home in this foreign locale.
Home. Had he ever known such a thing? And now, he was out of a home, out of a job, even without friends or family. How had he come to this?
The Incredible Nightcrawler mentally replayed the scene of his latest mistake as he enjoyed the shelter of the tavern, unwilling for now to resume wandering the alleys. Nor had he the stomach to return to the cruise ship where, until this evening, he had worked as an illusionist, accompanied by his foster sister, Jimaine. Not after the mess he had made of his ultimatum to the boss.
"They have cruises for all sorts of people now. For the blind, for gays, for Christian musicians, for ornithologists. Why not one for mutants, where we can be free to be ourselves without fear or hiding?"
"Because," the cruise ship owner said with a grimace, "the insurance companies would bleed us dry. Nobody wants to take a chance on gathering so many people who some factions of the business world consider to be dangerous —"
"Dangerous?" Kurt snarled, patience fleeing, pushed out by years of frustration, "I, who single-handedly rescued those imbeciles that launched themselves into a lifeboat, then panicked when it shipped water? What about the time I saved the millionaire whose heart condition put him in peril on the mountain climbing trip – does no one realize he would have perished but for my ability to teleport him to the hospital? Am I so dangerous that people do not flock to see my performances?"
He would have continued, but his own emotion made further speech impossible. He settled for a continued glower at the unflappable magnate.
"Now, son —"
"I am nobody's son!" At times his fatherless state caused his insides to roil; at this moment, they seethed alongside the memory of his foster mother's parting words on the day she rejected him forever. Kurt exploded. "I am nothing to you but an oddity!"
Floyd Leggett kept his cool. "Please, take a deep breath and re-think the situation. I realize you're speaking from your pain—"
"Which you have caused by treating me and all mutants like some kind of untamed animals—"
Leggett took his own deep breath, lips moving as he counted to ten. The sturdy man fiddled with his cufflinks, giving his star attraction time to calm himself, then continued. "You and your sister have a wonderful suite, are treated as celebrities deserve, and, I might add, your contract is quite generous. It was you who asked for the extra income from cleaning the cabins."
"I might as well, since people shun me. At least I can see how the other half lives."
The businessman smiled at his tempestuous headliner. "All I am doing is stating the facts as they stand. As long as enhanced individuals are seen as a risk, I cannot afford to take an entire ship full of them and still turn a profit."
"But you are wiling to allow Jimaine and me to work for you. What a hypocrite," Nightcrawler spat.
"I'm sorry. This is simply the situation in which I find myself."
"Well, I find myself in a situation which has me constantly hiding from the very people I am paid to entertain. Should I not have every right to stroll about like the others, without being accosted or accused? I grow weary of hiding in the shadows!"
The boss tilted back in his leather ergonomic chair. "From all reports, you make good use of the shadows when entertaining the ladies."
"I take my amusement where I may, and always behave as a gentleman. But a few open-minded Fräuleins[2] do not make up for the dreary existence which forces me to hide away for hours at a time lest the passengers be scared."
"You must remember, Kurt," Leggett spread his hands, "part of a cruise ship's charm for the customers, as you well know, is that each voyage is full of new faces. So, while your presence is a deciding factor for many to choose us, many others are unfamiliar with you."
"Always the story. I am the fearful unknown," Kurt said with a sigh.
Floyd continued, "My liabilities can only stretch so far. We are a small line - very small, not like those huge companies that can cater to a variety of people. We love your act, we love you, but business facts are facts, and this corporation cannot afford the insurance."
Kurt jammed his hands into his pockets and pivoted away from the boss. "I want no part of your prejudice and injustice, never mind the weak excuses. Why can't I be treated like any other performer?"
The businessman, fingers steepled, swiveled in his chair, looking out the window toward the expanse of ocean. "I won't bullshit you. You aren't like any other performer. You are special. But that uniqueness causes problems too. When we booked a singer who had no arms, certain adjustments had to be made for his comfort and safety. The Chilean Lobster Act necessitated some special measures as well." He twirled back and shrugged at Kurt, who was now facing him over the edge of the desk. "Even the wealthy sometimes have to play by other people's rules. If it were a perfect world you'd be accommodated."
"In a perfect world, I would be married to your lovely wife, and take her on cruises while keeping up with my investments. But instead, the poor little mutant must find his way through one sordid career after another. It is obvious that this suits me no more than," he paused, ashamed to admit some of his past enterprises, "other fields in which I have sought employment."
"I'm loathe to lose you, Kurt. Perhaps we can come up with a compromise." A kind smile did not placate the mutant, who had capitulated to his wrath as to a seductress.
"If there can be no change," Nightcrawler gave a dramatic flourish of his arms, drawing himself up to his full height, tail whipping behind his lean form, "then I serve my notice."
"You have a contract, Wagner." Floyd stood, then propped his knuckles on the massive brown cherry executive desk. "If you wish to quit, so be it, but you owe us two cruises after you finish this one."
"I have no more patience with you or your prejudiced customers. Find another freak for your show." In a blast of brimstone, he quit the room, 'porting to his cabin.
[1] God
[2] Young women