Gifted

  There was silence for a moment. Then Logan said in obvious disgust, “I’d ask what this was all about if I gave a crap. You’re both idiots.”

  Jay hung his head, but Edward still had enough spirit in him to say, “Right, because getting into fights…you’d never do anything like that.”

  Logan reached down and picked up one of the largest shards of glass. Without a word he slid it across his forearm, leaving a vicious trail of blood. He held the arm up to Edward’s face. Edward felt a little sick, seeing such a nasty gash so close up.

  Within seconds it had healed over completely. There wasn’t the slightest hint of any damage.

  “Can you do that?” said Logan. Edward shook his head. “Then shut up.”

  “Yessir,” said Edward.

  “Get your asses to the infirmary…”

  “No need.” One of the other students, Josh Foley, was climbing out the window. His skin was golden; even his tousled hair shared the same color. If he’d been bald, he’d have looked like an Oscar statue come to life. He dropped to the ground and walked quickly over to them. He put one hand on Edward’s arm and another on Jay’s.

  It took Josh a full minute to cause the gashes in their skin and all other damage to melt away, just as Wolverine’s injuries had vanished.

  “Handy,” said Logan. “What do they call you again?”

  “Elixir,” Josh said. He sounded a bit dubious. “I’m not wild about it. I was hoping for something like,” and he held up a hand and said dramatically, “Messiah.” Then he paused when he saw Logan’s face. “Too much?”

  “Just a little.” Logan turned to Jay and chucked a thumb toward the mansion. “You, in there. You, the wingless wonder: over there. Stay there until someone comes for you.” He pointed toward a bench situated some distance away in the garden. “I don’t want the two of you in the same place until you’ve had a chance to cool off. Understood?”

  “Yessir,” Edward said once more.

  He rose up off the ground and took one last defiant look at Jay. “This is who we are,” he said, and then glided across the way to the bench.

  He was still sitting there when Kitty Pryde plopped down onto the seat next to him. He glanced at her. She smiled. He didn’t smile back.

  “So I understand we had a problem a bit earlier,” said Kitty.

  He shrugged.

  “Ah, the teenage shrug,” she said. “I know it well. Done it myself more than once.”

  “You say that like you’re so much older than me,” retorted Edward. “You’re not, y’know. Only a few years.”

  “It’s not the years, honey. It’s the mileage.” When he didn’t reply, she said, “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

  “I know. I get it.”

  “Good. But I don’t get why you’re suddenly throwing down with Icarus. You want to fill me in on that?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. He stared off into the sky, imagining himself there, his arms spread wide, the wind in his face, the feeling of complete and utter freedom. It was incomparable. Who in their right mind would even think of giving that up, of becoming less than they were?

  He continued the stream of consciousness into actual words, not caring that he wasn’t directly answering Kitty’s question. “First time I landed, I broke both my legs.”

  She nodded, not interrupting him.

  “I kinda just assumed if I was flying, I was invulnerable, too. Which is, uhm…not actually that bright,” he admitted sheepishly. “But you know…they sometimes go together and yeah, then I was freaked out for a while, just freaked by the whole concept. It was unnatural. But when I got good at it…when I got it, I mean…

  “Flying. Jeez…

  “When you’re flying, the world goes away. It makes everything else…smaller…and sort of okay, too. It’s the most important feeling. I can’t lose that.”

  “So that’s what this is about? You think you’re going to be forced to give up your power?”

  “Among other things.”

  “Okay, well that’s just not gonna happen.”

  He looked at her as if noticing her for the first time. “It’s not?”

  “Wing,” she said patiently, “just ’cause someone goes on TV and says they have a ‘cure for mutation,’ that doesn’t mean it’s true. And even if it is…nobody’s gonna force it on you. Mutants are a community. We’re a people, and there’s no way anybody can make us become what they want. We stick together…you’ll see. We’re stronger than this.”

  He did nothing to keep the incredulity from his face or voice. “Miss Pryde…are you a freaking idiot?”

  She scowled. Which wasn’t that big a deal. Logan scowls, you worry he’s going to gut you. Kitty Pryde scowls, and it’s almost kinda cute.

  “Ex-cuse me?” she said. “I’m not thrilled about your tone or your word choice—”

  “Miss Pryde, we got people gunning for us with a serum that castrates us, and you’re worrying about my word choice? Really?” He shook his head, trying to find a way to get through to her, desperate to convey his concerns. “Look…I told you what it was like to fly. So there’s Jay, and he must have the same feelings I do about flying. He has to. There’s no way he couldn’t. But he was willing to just toss it all away. I mean…if it’s a mutant whose power is that he has red flaky skin that itches all the time, and it keeps falling off and regrowing and he’s in actual, physical pain 24/7, then okay, yeah, I get it. Then it’s like a cure for your own personal hell. Fine. No one in his right mind could have a problem with that. But there’s Jay, and there’s others too, I know it, I’ve heard them talking about it. I mean, I know it was a hologram, but that Sentinel crashing through…Jeez. You’re training us to survive in a world where giant robots and evil mutants are going to try and kill us. How many others of us are gonna say, ‘Screw that. I’m just gonna be normal, and then those things won’t be out to kill us anymore.’”

  “And there will still be evil mutants running around,” said Kitty, “except people who embrace the cure won’t be able to defend themselves or anyone else.”

  “Exactly,” said Edward, “which means the government’s gonna start rounding up the evil mutants to get rid of them. To make sure they can’t do any damage. And you know what happens then? They start rounding up all the mutants just to make sure none of the good ones turn evil and become a threat. And at some point soon, real soon, they’re just gonna decide, y’know, what the hell: good, evil, makes no difference. Just take away their powers and make the world safe for all the nice, normal humans. The humans who maim and murder and rape and become serial killers and dictators who commit genocide against their own people. Because the world’s so much better having nice, normal people like that instead of people with powers who might be able to stop them.

  “And that’s when they’ll be coming for me, Miss Pryde. That’s when they’ll be coming for me. Because guys like Jay are going to make everyone else think the world is divided into two types of mutants: the evil ones who need to be stopped, and all the others who wish—sometimes secretly, sometimes openly—that they could just be rid of their powers. So when the government comes around and forces it down our throats, there won’t be a damned thing we can do about it.

  “So instead of lecturing me about the mutant community, maybe you should be trying to figure out a way to bury this whole building underground so no one can ever find us and take our powers away.” He raised his voice and demanded, “You get it now? Do you finally freaking get it? Do you even believe one word of the crap you’re trying to sell me? Huh? Do you?

  She got up and walked away without another word. Edward shouted after her, “I guess that’s my answer, huh?” Seconds later he was alone again, left to stare at the sky, wondering when—not if—its heights would be denied him.

  EMMA Frost was in the teachers’ lounge, pouring coffee for herself, when Kitty Pryde stalked in, her fists clenched. Logan sat in an easy chair, his legs up, watching CNN’s coverage of the cure. The ubiquitous lin
e of massed mutants at the Benetech facility was on the screen. “Where’s Scott?” demanded Kitty.

  “He took the Blackbird,” said Emma. “Something about an appointment. Since he wasn’t in his battle gear, I assume it was merely information gathering.”

  Emma didn’t require a telepath’s ability to know Kitty was upset. Kitty’s face was red, and her body trembled with barely suppressed fury. And if all that hadn’t been enough of a dead giveaway, the fact that Kitty actually spoke to her like a person, even a colleague, rather than using Plan A (ignoring her) or Plan B (excoriating her), spoke volumes.

  “How much detention are we allowed to give?” Kitty asked her. “What’s the maximum amount of detention the human body can withstand?”

  Tread carefully, Emma thought. Don’t bother pointing out our bodies aren’t human. Be sympathetic. Commiserate.

  “Counseling going well, then?” Emma asked.

  “Great.”

  “Let me guess. The ‘mutants are a community’ line didn’t quite fly.”

  Kitty made an irritated noise. “Don’t talk to me about flying right now. As far as I’m concerned, everyone who can fly right now can take a flying leap.”

  “You looked at the news, punkin’?” said Logan. He switched the television to mute. Subtitles snapped on, detailing much of the same reportage as before. Other than the swelling ranks of mutants who would prefer to be former mutants, nothing had changed.

  “Mutants aren’t a community, Katherine,” said Emma. “They’re pathetic sheep, begging to be shorn.”

  “You really have a thing about comparing people to sheep, don’t you,” said Kitty.

  Emma ignored her. She put down her coffee cup and started ticking off offenses on her fingers. “Three students were missing from my ethics class. Seventeen missing from the school, overall. While you were dealing with the aftermath of the fistfight that Logan broke up, he had to attend to a second one, and a mystical swordfight. And that dreadful Guatemalan crab-boy… what was his name…?”

  “Felipe,” Logan reminded her.

  “Right. Felipe is at Benetech telling reporters this is every mutant’s only chance to avoid burning in everlasting hellfire. This business with the cure is eating us from the inside out.”

  She picked up her coffee and started to sip it, then noticed Kitty staring at her with a look of amazement.

  “Oh my God,” Kitty said. “You teach ethics?”

  That’s her takeaway from this?

  “Yes. Do let’s make jokes right now,” said Emma.

  “I’m not joking. I have a very large problem with that concept.”

  Emma tossed aside all notions of trying to make nice. “Our students are fleeing the school, you half-wit!”

  “Well, maybe it’s time for another peppy ‘They will always hate us’ speech. I’m sure that helped.”

  “I thought I was the one with the claws,” muttered Logan.

  “Are we really back to that, Katherine?” said Emma. “That’s ancient history.”

  “It was two days ago! And that, along with your ‘Here’s-a-Sentinel-to-scare-the-piss-out-of-you welcome package,’ is part of the reason why Eddie is completely paranoid about the government taking away his powers.”

  “It’s hardly paranoia if they are out to get you.”

  “Yeah, there’s a new thought.”

  “At least it’s more realistic than your Pollyanna—”

  A low, exhausted growl from the doorway stopped both of the women in midstream. Hank entered slowly, rubbing his eyes. The growl was followed by a request that, in its tone, sounded more animal than human. “Just tell me there’s coffee.”

  Kitty immediately picked up the coffee pot. Hank, who normally moved with astounding fluidity, was shuffling as if anchors were attached to his feet. “Maybe we could just hook me up with an IV,” he suggested.

  “Have you been up all night?” said Emma in surprise.

  Hank reached for a mug that read ‘Women Love Me; Fish Fear Me’ and held it out. Kitty filled it. “I was in the lab. Checking out a sample of Doctor Rao’s serum.”

  Emma looked stunned. “How did you—?”

  “She gave it to me.”

  If he had walked in and announced that he was going to move to Seattle and start giving psychiatric advice on the radio, he could not have received a more astounded look from the others. Logan took his feet off the ottoman one at a time and placed them on the floor. Emma just stared at Hank. Kitty nearly let the pot slip out of her hand.

  Instead of acknowledging their shock, Hank gazed into the coffee cup, assessing it. “Peruvian blond, first beans of the season,” he said in an affected British accent, the one he used when he was trying to sound like James Bond. “Emma, your taste never fails to impress.” He took another sip. Then, sounding like himself again, he continued, “I went to see Kavita. She agreed I should verify her results and gave me a sample. I’ll be a day at most.”

  And with that he walked out of the teachers’ lounge, leaving his colleagues in stunned silence.

  “SOMEBODY’S gonna die. You know how I know this? ’Cause I’m gonna kill ’em.”

  Nick Fury, the head of S.H.I.E.L.D., was not one to issue threats lightly. That was something Scott knew from personal experience. Indeed, it had been Fury’s famed prickly personality, and his tendency to view anyone and everyone as a potential threat, that had prompted Scott to wear his street clothes when flying the Blackbird up to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier. Like it or not, his costume—any costume, really—could be interpreted as an invitation to a fight. He had no desire to make Fury think he had come to S.H.I.E.L.D. to start trouble.

  Fury was an old military man. It was obvious in his attitude, in his bearing. There were some who claimed he’d fought as far back as World War II, which Scott didn’t give much credence to. This was not a man in his eighties, nor was Fury a mutant. It wasn’t like he had a healing factor. So either “Nick Fury” was a name secretly passed down from father to son, along with the eyepatch, or else the rumors about him were greatly exaggerated.

  Still, however long Fury had been around, there was no question that he was a soldier through and through. And as a soldier, Fury saw the entire world as a potential war zone, and everyone in it as a possible enemy. Best to provide him as little reason to be suspicious as possible.

  Fury was cradling the sleek machine gun that Scott had salvaged from the penthouse. His one eye studied it, his hands hefting the weapon. He was not a happy spy.

  “So it is one of yours,” said Scott.

  Fury nodded curtly. “The casing’s been modified, but the package is definitely S.H.I.E.L.D. design. Experimental. Very new.”

  They stood on the landing bay of the Helicarrier, near a desk where the deck officer typically sat. The Helicarrier was aptly named: The main deck looked very much like a typical aircraft carrier, with various air vehicles routinely landing upon it and taking off from it. But it was kept aloft some thirty thousand feet courtesy of four gigantic engines, two forward and two aft. The airborne vehicle enabled S.H.I.E.L.D. to go anywhere in the world within hours, and that had proven an extremely valuable asset any number of times in the past.

  Upon Scott’s arrival, Fury had appeared immediately and told the deck officer to take five. It was clear that Fury intended to meet with Scott right there. On the one hand Scott understood this, since it was the most efficient means of dealing with the matter at hand. On the other hand, the X-Men leader realized Fury wasn’t the least bit interested in allowing him access to the floating facility beyond his point of entrance. Scott tried not to feel insulted by that.

  Fury was disassembling the gun on the desk, inspecting the components. “If one of those clowns had gotten a round off near civilians once it went hot…”

  “We made sure they didn’t,” said Scott. He’d thought as much: that firing bullets was just one of the gun’s capabilities. Seeing the gun in parts, he noted what looked like a grenade launcher, a flame thrower, a
pulse blaster, and several other offensive options that he didn’t even recognize. Once it really got revved up, genuinely locked and loaded, a single one of the weapons might well have been able to annihilate the entire penthouse. Scott couldn’t help but wonder if Ord knew what the firearms were really capable of. And if Ord had known, would he even care?

  “What are a bunch of second-rate mercs doing with S.H.I.E.L.D. weaponry that isn’t even in the field yet?”

  “If I knew that, I’d be killing somebody already,” said Fury, taking a seat behind the desk.

  “Yes, so you said. So the next question is, what are a bunch of second-rate mercs doing with a psychotic alien warrior? ‘Ord of the Breakworld.’ Any bells?”

  “Breakworld is what we call the room with the coffee maker and snack machines, but I doubt there’s any connection. You know for sure this guy’s an ET?” said Fury.

  “Well, we were in the middle of a firefight, so we didn’t really have a chance to hook him up to a polygraph. In terms of absolute proof, right now I don’t know too much.”

  “So he could be anything.”

  Scott didn’t love where this was going.

  Sure enough, Fury pointed out, “Could even be a mutant.”

  Scott’s lips suddenly felt very dry. He leaned forward on the desk. “Am I missing something?”

  “I just don’t have a lot to go on, is all.”

  “You know about this ‘cure’ thing, right? ‘Mutants are a disease’? This monster shows up right when all that comes out, running a crew carrying your ordnance, and the best you can do is accuse him of being one of us?”

  He hadn’t intended to sound so challenging, but he couldn’t help himself. Ord had nearly killed them, and Fury was insinuating that—what? That the X-Men had brought it on themselves somehow?

  Fury’s face tightened, his single eye staring daggers at Scott. “Don’t get in my face, boy. That ain’t a right you’ve earned.” He paused to let that sink in, and then said, “I let you up here ’cause Xavier’s got some cred with the powers and he says you’re in charge. Now I’ll run this name down, this ‘Ord,’ and I’ll share whatever I find.” Then he got to his feet, bringing himself up to eye level. “But if he’s got some beef with your team, that problem’s not mine. And if you think anybody here is losing sleep over whether you mutants might all suddenly lose your powers, well…then you ain’t been to Manhattan lately.”