X2 Fanfic: Talons (all chapters - complete)

[Maelstrom]

This is already on MWP's Thunder and Brimstone site, serialized into 12 parts. For those not familiar with, or who don't frequent, T & B, I'm going too put it up here, one part at a time.

Just a note: there is some KuRoro in here, but it's subtle. A little flirting, mainly. Also, there's a fair amount of violence that does on, especially in the next chapter. Not that this will exactly keep anyone away, but I just like people to be forewarned.


Talons

Chapter 1


Professor Xavier did not often leave the institute grounds. Textbooks came to the Xavier Institute from every publishing house, all in the hopes of enticing him to buy more. Food was shipped in weekly. Contractors came to him. When he did leave, it was almost invariably for "professional" work, whether it was giving academic speeches, "enrolling" another student, or attending yet another board on the "mutant problem". Today, a blustery, cloudy Thursday in March, was a rarity. Today, he, Scott, and Ororo had taken the day to get some personal errands done in Westchester proper. It was one of the few chances Xavier had to add to his collection of rare books.

Scott pulled into the crowded parking lot of Kepler's Used Books and found an empty, blue-lined stall right next to the front door. The Professor's handicap license plates came in very handy in times like this. Kepler's, a privately-owned bookstore, shared the parking lot with a supermarket, and it seemed everyone must be shopping early for Easter. Scott popped the trunk and headed straight for the back to retrieve Xavier's wheelchair. As he went, he glanced at the supermarket across the lot, its entire front a wall of glass. He stopped and looked closer. Though it was a ways away, he could tell from this distance that there was something wrong. There were no people entering or exiting through either sets of doors. A man in dark clothes was pacing back and forth along the windows, gesturing violently with his arms.

Professor..., Scott thought, ill at ease.

I know, Xavier replied calmly, his voice in both Scott and Ororo's mind. The man is disturbed, and he has a weapon. He does not intend to kill people....

Ororo got out of the car and stood beside Scott. Xavier remained in the back seat, apparently reading one of his texts. His brow furrowed.

However, he cannot differentiate between reality and hallucination, Xavier continued. I am attempting to calm him.

Have the police been called? Ororo asked.

Yes. The man has not been there for long. Xavier's frown turned into an angry scowl. I don't like this. It's difficult to 'latch onto' this man's mind. He is clearly psychotic. He should not be able to evade me in this manner.

"I'll go take a look," Scott said aloud. "Ororo, stay by the Professor."

Do not fire on him unless I cannot stop him myself,Xavier ordered. These are suppressed memories fighting their way to the surface. I think we need to examine this man further, and in one piece.

Scott nodded as he strode toward the supermarket. As he got closer, he could hear the man inside shouting unintelligibly as he paced, waving the pistol around as if he'd forgotten it was in his hand. There were still people in the front of the store, but not many. Most must have hidden somewhere in the back to avoid this unstable individual, if not fled through the loading dock. The rest were too scared to run.

Suddenly the man stopped and pointed the gun at a terrified cashier, screaming, "Get it out of my head! Get it out! Get it out!"

Scott put his hand to his visor, ready to take this man down on the Professor's word. The man's gun hand trembled, then fell, the gun hitting the floor. Xavier must have finally found a way into his mind. Scott breathed a sigh of relief.

Before the last wisps of breath exited Scott's lips, a hole appeared in the wall of windows, and the deranged, disarmed gunman pitched forward, silenced at last. Cyclops felt Xavier's stunned, painful cry in his mind. He must have still been in contact with the gunman when he went down. Cyclops dove between some parked cars and looked around. Where had the shot had come from? A policeman wouldn't use a silenced rifle, would he?

Professor! Was that a police sniper?he mentally shouted.

Stay down, Cyclops!came Xavier's reply. Whoever it is, I can't sense him! He's shielded!

More holes appeared in the glass, even though it looked to Cyclops that the gunman had been taken down with the first bullet. So many holes appeared in one small section that the entire pane shattered into shining glass gravel. One of the clerks inside the market started screaming hysterically.

Storm heard something odd and out of place on the roof of Kepler's. It was a soft whine, as if from a car's turbo engine winding up. From her angle, so close to the building, there was no way she could see what was happening. Instead, she reached out invisible fingers, touching the soft breezes, feeling their shifts. There was a disturbance up there, something strong, like the downdraft from a jet. Something was lifting up. Their sniper?

"Cyclops!" she shouted. "Wide blast on the roof!"

Cyclops spun around and swept the roof with a wide blast, even though he couldn't see his target. He caught something in the middle of his pass. The crimson energy hit a figure near the edge of the roof, flowing around and outlining as if it was a submerged rock in the middle of a rushing river. The figure was covered with some sort of armor and had a long rifle in its grasp. That was all Cyclops could see of it before it fell to the roof again, out of his field of vision. Storm immediately took up where Cyclops left off, flying up to the roof. Thunder rumbled overhead somewhere in the heavy cloud cover.

The figure on the roof was slowly coming into view as it stood up. Its form seemed to flow about it like quicksilver, white and blue sparks springing off, as whatever mechanism camouflaged it shorted out. It had to be a man, wearing something that looked more at home on the silver screen than standing on the roof of a book store. The sniper was completely encased in strange, futuristic, powder blue armor, leaving no spot open. That turbo-whine was winding down, and what must have been a flight mechanism built into the back of his armor coughed, sputtered, and died. The sniper raised the rifle and shot at Storm, who just barely avoided the shot. For someone wearing such encompassing, bulky armor, he moved with frightening speed.

Cyclops ran into the supermarket as the rain started. Storm could handle this. She had to, because he had no line of sight on anyone in the middle of the bookstore roof. Perhaps the gunman inside the store was still alive. Perhaps his wounds weren't lethal. Cyclops shouldered his way through automatic doors that opened far too slowly for his tastes. The sales clerk was still screaming. Cyclops shook his head grimly. The man was dead, all right. The sniper must have wanted to make sure. The first shot through the chest looked like it would have done it, and yet there were three more shots through the head. No wonder the clerk was so horrified. Cyclops walked to the corpse, which was oozing blood, gray matter... and something else. He knelt down and looked at the base of what had been the man's skull. A glint of blue gel peeked out from under his short hair. The blue was present nowhere else, despite all too ample opportunities to leak out the man's exposed braincase.

The first shot to silence, the next ones to eliminate the evidence? Scott wondered.

The clouds darkened and disgorged sheets of rain and hail as Storm brought down her lightning. The sniper jerked spasmodically as electricity coursed around him. He fell to one knee, then sprang up and ran across the roof. He took four bounding steps, Storm following close behind, and was gone in a flash of white light. Storm pulled up suddenly. Another teleporter. There had been a mutant in that suit.

I've seen entirely too many teleporters lately, she thought. You'd think they were as common as grains of sand.


* * * * *


It had been raining off and on all day at the Institute. It was late March, that annoying time between winter and spring, without the fun of snow or joy of bright days. It was terminally overcast, dreary, cold, and wet. By the time late afternoon rolled around, it was pitch black outside, the rain was steady, and Bobby Drake was going completely stir crazy. He sat across the sofa, legs kicked up on the armrests, flipping through the channels with one lazy hand on the remote. Everything was just kind of boring right now.

"It never fails to amaze me how there can be so many channels, and still nothing on," Kurt's voice drifted from somewhere behind the couch.

Bobby sighed and sat up. "500 channels and nothing on," he agreed. "Maybe a DVD or something."

As Bobby took a step off of the couch, the lights flickered, then died. All the hums of electricity fell silent, the room eerily quiet except for the softly tapping rain. Bobby looked around in annoyance.

"Does this happen often?" Kurt asked.

Bobby knew the man was there, somewhere in the dark, but for some strange reason he couldn't find him among the grainy shadows.

"Twice last year," Bobby replied. "They were supposed to have updated that switching station by this month, but I guess the electric company had more cutbacks. The generator should kick in--"

The lights came on. Finally he saw Kurt, standing over by the video and DVD media shelf. How strange, that Bobby could see through Kurt when he was in shadow, as if he was truly invisible.

"Somebody likes Michael Crichton, I see," Kurt noted. "Andromeda Strain, Rising Sun, Jurassic Park and Lost World. Even Congo." He paused, then mumbled, "That must be solely to complete the collection."

"I read Jurassic Park last year," Bobby commented, walking up to stand next to Kurt. "Y'know, usually books don't translate all that good to movies, but they got that one really close."

"Yes, usually Hollywood just takes the book's title and makes it up as they go along," Kurt agreed. He quickly grabbed a DVD from a different shelf. "Aha! Case in point."

He held up the DVD. It was the original Frankenstein with Boris Karloff. Bobby took it and looked at the back. He'd never actually seen the movie all the way through, but, like everyone else, he knew several key scenes.

"What, didn't Dr. Frankenstein actually make a monster in the book?" he asked.

"Well, yes, but with nowhere near as much style," Kurt mumbled. "The man was a wiener."

Bobby burst out into incredulous laughter. Kurt had not used such distinctly American slang in front of him before, and it sounded so funny coming out of his mouth, especially the way he pronounced it with a soft V instead of a W.

"A what?" Bobby giggled. "A 'veenah'?"

Kurt leaned against the shelf and crossed his arms. "Have you ever read Ms. Shelly's original book?"

"No."

"Let me give you a quick summary." Kurt stood away from the shelf and took a couple steps toward the center of the room, giving his hands space in which to act out his words. "In the movie, the mad doctor animates his monster with lightning, screaming 'it's alive', yes? He laughs with demented glee and pride." Kurt dramatically lifted his fists to the heavens. "I am God! See what I have created!" He then looked back at Bobby. "In the book, he uses some sort of chemistry to do it. No storm, no dramatic lightning. And what does he do when his creation sits up? What does this man do, when his monstrous son stands up and takes a step towards 'papa'?"

At that point, Kurt put his hands up, palms out, and gave a high falsetto shriek, his eyes wide with spurious terror. Bobby almost doubled over laughing. Kurt put his hands to the sides of his face, eyes still wide, voice still artificially high.

"Oh, it's a monster! Oh, oh! It's ugly! I'm scared! Oh, get away from me, you nasty, ugly monster! Oh!" He dropped the act, his face fixed with disgust. "The man was a complete wiener."

"Are you serious?" Bobby asked, still laughing.

"Absolutely. Go read it for yourself. When I read that part, I threw the book across the room."

Bobby's grin faded as he heard a tense undercurrent in Kurt's voice. He quickly replayed Kurt's mocking words in his head. "Get away from me you ugly monster." Ouch. How many times had Kurt heard those words aimed at him? It sounded like this story hit a nerve.

"Gee, I guess you must really hate the Hunchback of Notre Dame," Bobby commented.

Kurt tensed, eyes flashing, and Bobby immediately regretted the slip of his tongue. Stupid, stupid, stupid! What on earth had possessed him to say that?

"Don't you have homework to do?" Kurt snapped.

He turned quickly and moved to the door, leaving Bobby standing there with his contrition and a DVD. When Kurt reached the doorway he stopped, a hand on the doorframe. Then he bowed his head, tension draining from his body.

"I'm sorry, Bobby," he apologized softly. "Please forgive me. I should not have snapped so."

"No, it's my fault," Bobby responded. "I mean, I should have known better. It was a stupid thing to say. I wasn't thinking."

Kurt sighed. He still faced away from Bobby. "I was eventually able to read through Frankenstein, but not the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I've tried. I have honestly tried. I just can't do it. I can't even sit through any of the film versions."

"Even the Disney one?" Bobby asked, a bit timid.

Kurt turned halfway around, looking at the floor. "Even the Disney one. I get to the point that Quasimodo is exposed...being tied down, ridiculed, humiliated...." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "That's it. I can't stand to watch any longer."

"But you know how it ends, right? Everything turns out O.K."

Kurt laughed once, a mirthless sound. "Disney has a love of happy endings. Originally, everyone burned to death in the church, so I've been told. That's not much incentive for me to finish the story, is it?"

Bobby put the Frankenstein DVD away and quickly scanned for something else. He pulled the object of his search and held it so that Kurt could see the title.

"How about Shrek instead?" he asked hopefully.

Kurt couldn't help but smile.

Before Bobby had the chance to follow through on his selection, Professor Xavier's voice called out in both their minds.

Everyone, I need to see all of you in the study, he requested. We may have a problem.


* * * * *


Kurt arrived first, appearing up in a corner of the room accompanied by the gentle, muffled bamf of exploding air. Ororo, Scott, and Xavier were already there. Kurt clung where he was, out of everyone's way, as he waited for the others to arrive.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Did you run into trouble in town?"

"We got involved in trouble," Scott replied. "It wasn't aimed at us. We just got caught in the crossfire."

"The story of my life," Logan muttered as he walked briskly into the room. "Wrong place, wrong time, weird shit."

Peter jogged in, and Bobby and Rogue arrived a few seconds later, a little winded from their sprint to the study.

" 'Sup?" Bobby asked, finding a seat.

"I'm afraid we may have another conspiracy on our hands," Professor Xavier said, his expression somewhere between weariness and concern.

Kurt dropped to the floor and made his way to a seat, where he perched on the edge, tail flipping back and forth at the very tip. All gathered around the professor as he related the day's events, from their stopping at the bookstore to Storm's chasing off the sniper.

"I used one of the store's plastic bags to get a sample of that blue gel from the base of that man's head," Scott finished. "I also managed to get a fragment of some sort of hard material along with it. It was so small that I didn't realize I had it until we got back to the lab and started the analysis."

"Another Goddamn teleporter," Logan snarled. "With a sniper rifle and a hard suit. That's not just training, that's big bucks."

"Any idea what that blue stuff was?" Rogue asked.

"Considering the placement, I have my suspicions that it may be some sort of conductive neural gel," Xavier answered. "We'll know more when the analysis is complete. One thing I know for certain. That poor man's mental activity was so disrupted that he was having violent hallucinations, and in one of those hallucinations I found an image very similar in appearance to the suit Ororo saw on the rooftop."

"Another escapee from some testing lab?" Logan asked coldly. "They killed him to keep him from talking or being examined?"

"It's starting to look like that. However, we have no proof that this is a government operation."

Logan stood up, gesturing violently. His claws shot out. "Come off it, Charley! You know what it takes to do the R and D on something like a battlesuit? Much less to put it into production? Who else would have the resources?"

Kurt absently touched the back of his neck. That ugly sore left by Stryker's tender care had gone down to something more like a bad insect bite, but it was still there.

"I'd like to think that President McKenna would be watching for operations of that sort, now that Stryker's program has been revealed," Xavier replied evenly.

"Maybe we're seeing another version of the Brotherhood come up," Rogue said. "I've seen what Magneto can do. He could make a suit like that."

"Yes, but why?" Scott asked in reply. "What would be the point? Weapons are for humans, not 'us'. He disdains guns. He'd never arm one of his own with one."

"And if he could teleport and turn invisible, why not just go in, grab the man from the store, and teleport out?" Bobby asked. "Why kill him?"

"Perhaps he can only carry himself," Kurt reasoned. "We know nothing, except that he teleported once off of the roof. Perhaps it is such a strain that he can only do it once or twice a day."

"Perhaps the flake with the pistol was useless and it was easier to just kill him," Logan snapped at Kurt, his tone sharp. "Jesus, Kurt, you should know how these bastards work!"

Logan gestured angrily Kurt's way. Despite himself, Kurt flinched, his tail clutching the leg of his chair. Logan must not have realized his claws were out. Upon seeing Kurt's reaction, he hastily sheathed them.

"We don't have enough information one way or the other," Ororo said. "It's a sure bet it's an organization, but we don't know what kind. Could be a black op, could be Brotherhood, could be a third party."

"For now, we wait for the lab results," Xavier added. "But I want everyone to be a bit more alert in the coming days. Yes, we've put in sensors around the estate, but we can't afford to let them be vigilant for us."


* * * * *


He was there, again. The white walls. The men in black suits with little white plugs sticking out of their ears. They move in slow motion compared to Kurt. The dark puppeteer pulls his strings, setting Kurt flying into the agent's chest, snapping ribs like twigs, smashing the door behind him into splinters.

God, please, stop it. Someone stop this. Can't one of you shoot me?

One agent raises a gun and fires, but to Kurt's anguish his body is too fast. The bullets miss as he teleports. His nails are sharpened talons, his tail has a venomous stinger. He is destroying the men in the Oval Office, and each face burns into his memory as if from a white-hot brand. Finally he leaps on the President, who is terrified beyond reason. He has a right to be. The dark puppeteer is intoxicated with power, aroused by the destruction, while Kurt is held prisoner inside. But at the last instant, as Kurt draws the knife, he turns around at another presence in the room. A man, with a collar around his neck, is staring horrified. Kurt picks up the President and shoves him his direction.

I've done my part, apprentice, his mouth snarls to the frightened man. You do yours.

Kurt woke suddenly, bolt upright in bed and gasping for breath. His covers lay mostly on the floor, torn off by the subconscious lashing of his tail. He frantically reached out for the lamp on his end table, almost knocking it over in his haste to turn it on. When the bulb lit up, he leaned against the wall, eyes closed with relief. It wasn't that he needed the light to see by, but he had to be sure he was no longer dreaming. Too many times he thought he had awoken in his room, only to have the whole thing start again. A lamp was his one infallible trigger. Still dreaming, it wouldn't turn on. Awake, he would have light.

He glanced at the clock: 2am-ish. He brought his knees up to his chest, resting arms on knees, head on arms, trying to come back to an infinitely preferable reality. Trembling. He was in the mansion, not the White House, nor the Oval Office. He had no dagger in his room, let alone his sinister hand. Stryker was dead and gone, along with the entire Alkalai Lake base and staff. There was no one left to force the darkness up to the surface, to shove him back into his mind as a horrified rider. It wouldn't happen again. It couldn't happen again.

Except, today, it had. It happened to one lost soul in a supermarket, with some sort of artificial tap at the base of his skull. Kurt rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. The welt would never fade completely. It was as permanent as any of his scars, even if it was given against his will. Its placement was like the attachment point of a leash. Now someone else had been forced to wear that dreadful leash. It was starting all over again.

He slowly uncurled. Just as slowly, even tentatively, he stepped off his bed, his initial touch to the floor as hesitant as one testing ice for firmness. Clad only in sweatpants, he moved to the window and opened it. It had stopped raining some time ago, but under night's chill none of the water had evaporated. From his view on the top floor, everything glistened in the light of the quarter moon, the sky half-filled with clouds. The sudden, damp cold hit with unexpected force; he hunched over with a shiver and sharp intake of breath. It was good, though. It reminded him he was awake and alive.

The nightmares had eased after they returned from West Virginia. Kurt found a measure of control over them. During one last week, he was even able to break away from the White House tour group before anything started. Now they were worse than ever, with one addition; a stranger Kurt only learned about a few hours ago. Stryker's hand reached far beyond the grave.

Kurt picked a pen and small notepad from his desk. The idea of going back to sleep didn't appeal to him in the least. He needed the cold air. He needed to do something. He clutched pen and pad in his tail as he crawled out of the open window and up the cold, damp side of the mansion. At any other time, this would bring to mind romantic images of a charming rogue, scaling the castle walls for some forbidden assignation. Not now.

He made it to the highest point of the mansion and stood atop the tower. From there, he could see past the grounds' wide expanse to the sparsely-traveled road beyond. He was uncomfortably chilled, but for all his complaints about cold to his comrades, he couldn't bring himself to go back for a shirt, let alone jacket. He perched like a gargoyle atop one of the crenellations and rested the pad of paper on his thighs. Hunched over in that position, with only the light of the stars and waning moon, he began to draw.

I was never meant to succeed in my 'mission', Kurt thought as he started with a small circle. If Stryker wanted the President dead, he surely would have had me go a different way. I could have teleported to the window of the Oval Office, then in and out, in under two seconds, with no one the wiser. No, he wanted the spectacle. He wanted pictures from every angle. He wanted wounded, heroic agents, he wanted scared, detained tour groups. It was a suicide mission, to discredit all mutants and let him crow 'I told you so'. The pen slowly spread its reach, fine lines branching out from the initial circle. I was to be shot, mounted, and stuffed like a trophy. I wasn't supposed to get that close. I was *too* good.

He wasn't sure which symbol to chose for this scar. The important thing was not to hide the welt but build upon it. He could never cover up what Stryker had done. He couldn't blithely tell himself that it wasn't his fault and walk away, whistling in his graveyard. It did happen. It was part of him, now. If he was to somehow atone for this, it couldn't be by denial. It had to be by inclusion.

Far off, somewhere down the road, he heard the faint sounds of traffic. Kurt glanced up to see three tractor-trailer rigs, lit by headlights and running lights, slowly moving down the road in a late night convoy. He went back to his work. Rigs were common enough this time of night, traveling at a time to avoid traffic or disturbance. Several seconds later, though, he still picked up the faint rumble of their engines. They should have moved on beyond his range of hearing by then. He looked up. Had they stopped for some reason? Perhaps they were switching relief drivers?

The three rigs had pulled over to the side of the road, a good quarter-mile away from the mansion itself. Kurt's excellent night vision could make out the decals on the side of the trailers: Bestway Shipping. No one had exited yet, and from Kurt's angle he couldn't see inside the cabs. He was about to go back to his drawing when the lights on the side of the lead rig's trailer began to move upwards. Kurt set down his pad and slowly stood up. Before his eyes, the entire long side of the trailer rolled up like a garage door, revealing row after row of large tubes.

Kurt swore loudly in German. That was a missile rack, and it was aimed right at the institute.


To be continued....

[Siona]

Ah, I read this on T&B! Very nice, I liked the thought of Rogue turning blue later on in the story.

~Siona

[Maelstrom]

Naughty, naughty, Siona! No fair revealing future chapters!

[Sorte Springer]

Nice work. It has action, chatacter dept and a sensible use of intertextuallity. I like the idea that Nightcrawler doesn´t like " The Hunchback of Notredame". Futhermore, there seems to be a really interesting plot evolving in this story.

[Maelstrom]

Talons

Chapter 2


Kurt teleported twice in rapid succession. First, he appeared in the empty control room under the mansion, where the rigs sat calmly on one of the many monitors. Kurt remained just long enough to slam the alarm button, teleporting out before the siren even started. Another 'port brought him to just outside the cab of the lead rig. The controls had to be in there somewhere. A quick look in showed two men. The driver, wearing a plaid flannel shirt and Yankees baseball cap, calmly adjusted something on his dashboard that was most definitely NOT a radio. The passenger, similarly attired and wearing a handsfree headset, was by chance looking straight at Kurt when he appeared. As the passenger raised a weapon, Kurt made his final teleport into the cab, between both men, and knocked out the driver with one unexpected blow. The passenger wheeled about and fired at the invader.

"Red!" he shouted into the mouthpiece.

A quick codephrase; it had to be. He got off one shot before Kurt ripped the gun out of his hand with his tail and pinned him to the passenger-side door. He wouldn't have much time before this man's compatriots came running to his aid.

"Who are you?" Kurt hissed, baring his fangs. "Who sent you?"

Kurt heard footsteps running up to the cab. He should teleport away with his "prize", but that meant leaving the cab undefended. What would stop someone else from using it? He could shoot the control panel, but would that trigger the missiles? He saw the head of another trucker as he stopped short under the passenger window. The first shot of many ripped through the door and Kurt's instincts took over. He teleported outside, behind the trucker, as the man unloaded his automatic weapon into the cab. On the other side of the cab, Kurt could hear someone doing the exact same thing. For a second, Kurt froze, stunned by the utter brutality of it all. These people had just killed their comrades to get at him!

The instant the shots died, Kurt heard the cab door open on the driver's side. Someone else was getting in to fire the missiles.

Nightcrawler wasn't quite sure what happened after that. Everything went on "autopilot". His training kicked in, that much was certain. When it was all over, six men lay about; two bloody messes in the cab and four more gently taken out of action outside. Nightcrawler was panting and shaking with adrenalin, his body tingling, as he stood alone on the cold, wet road. The missiles had not left their tubes. An exhilarated thrill ran through him.

Then strange, mechanical sounds, like the whine of hydraulics, issued from the trailers of the other two rigs. The long sides rolled up and open, as had the side of the missile launcher. Exhilaration turned to nausea as Nightcrawler imagined scores of missiles launching from their bays on some automatic timer.

As the sides rolled up completely, Nightcrawler saw that there were no missiles there. Instead came out two large robots, each one barely small enough to fit in its respective trailer. Nightcrawler swallowed hard and took a step back as they stood up to their full height, two humanoid forms at least ten feet tall, with manipulatory hands and digigrade legs. Nightcrawler grabbed one of the automatic weapons on the ground and started shooting. The bullets dented the robot's plating, but did not penetrate. The closest robot lunged for him with incredible speed, far more than such a bulky thing should possess. It moved with the grace of a martial artist, almost grabbing Nightcrawler before he teleported away. Were there humans driving them? The torso looked large enough to hold a pilot, or they could be under remote-control.

This is like some terrible movie, he thought. 'Kung Fu Robots from Hell'.

Nightcrawler appeared on top of the missile-laden trailer. If they attacked him and missed, perhaps the explosion would take them out. However, the robots weren't that foolish. One of them made a standing leap that could have easily cleared the trailer and lashed out with one leg to kick Nightcrawler off. Nightcrawler teleported again, the robot only connecting with thin air. Nightcrawler materialized on the other side of the trailer from the robots, trying to figure out his next move. There was no way he could fight these monstrosities. Did they have any way of launching the missiles through a remote control? Should he just go back to the mansion and get more support?

The second robot suddenly leapt over the trailer and landed in front of Nightcrawler. Nightcrawler yelped and stumbled back, almost losing his balance. It wasn't the abrupt arrival of the robot that so shocked him. It was that fact that the machine landed squarely on one of the men laying around the cab, crushing him to death on the glossy asphalt. Blood splashed up on a nearby wheel. This was insanity.

Nightcrawler teleported behind a tree some yards away. The robots seemed to lose track of him. They cast about, their heads literally swiveling 360 degrees in some kind of sensor sweep. Nightcrawler stayed absolutely still, holding his breath. Then the machines started moving, and Kurt heard the most sickening crunching sounds. Dear, merciful God... they weren't....

He looked around the tree to see something that made him think he was still held captive in a nightmare. The robots were methodically stepping on everyone left around the cab, crushing them underfoot. By the time Nightcrawler realized the awful scope of their actions, the deeds were done, and they were turning their attention to the longnose cab. They were going to launch the missiles themselves.

Nightcrawler would never know how he got the killing machine's attention. He might have made a horrified sound. He could have moved just a little too much. And he could have done nothing at all; the thing's sensors could have been that good. In any case, one of the machines turned to him and leveled an arm. A weapon flipped out from its forearm.

From somewhere to the left, a crimson beam lashed out and caught that arm, sending its aim far to the right, where hundreds of rounds shredded three maple trees. A lightning bolt hit the second robot, arcing through it and the cab it was investigating.

The rest of the X-men had finally arrived.

Cyclops' shot put the enemy off its aim, but did not disable the arm. The robot spun about, sweeping back with its gatlin-type gun still firing. The bullets tore apart whatever they touched, sending asphalt shrapnel every which way. The second robot pulled its head out of cab, still arcing electric blue, and faced Storm, flying high above. It readied itself for a leap, and Nightcrawler's heart pounded in his throat. From what he'd seen, Storm was easily in its leaping range. He teleported up to Storm as it leapt. Storm had a moment of shock as the robot shot up straight at her, as fast as a bullet from a gun. Nightcrawler appeared behind her, grabbed, and teleported, just as the robot punched a bladed fist through where Storm had been. Nightcrawler and his passenger appeared at the rear of the parked convoy, out of the immediate danger zone.

"Stay back," Nightcrawler warned her. "They're fast. They're as fast as me."

His voice unintentionally cracked and broke, as if he was on the edge of tears, and his labored breath burned his throat and lungs.

The front trailer, which held the missiles, lurched up and turned over, landing "face-down". Now angled down to the street, the missiles could no longer be launched. Colossus, shining silver in the faint moonlight, held onto the trailer a bit longer, like a wrestler waiting for his two second pin count. One robot punched him in the face with a blow that sounded like the impact of a wrecking ball. Colossus' head rocked back, but he still clung to the trailer, tearing holes in the metal as he dug in further. Logan came in and cut halfway through the robot's leg, the limb too thick for him to completely sever in one blow. Cyclops ran in a little closer, looking for a good angle, when he seemed to slip on something. He looked down and jerked back.

"Jesus!" he screamed, scrambling away.

"Storm, don't look at the ground," Nightcrawler whispered into her ear. "Stay airborne as high as you can. Don't look at the street. Don't look."

He forced himself to let her go, before he left bruises on her arms.

"What's down there, Kurt?" she asked.

"Smashed bodies." His voice broke again. "The robots smashed them like bugs."

Storm took a steadying breath, then flew high into the air, three times the distance as before. The robots concentrated on Colossus, pounding him over and over in a bid to get him to let go of the trailer. Colossus continued to hold onto the missile trailer, keeping either robot from turning it back over, while Cyclops and Logan attacked with all they had. It was the first time Nightcrawler had seen Cyclops unload completely. He always held back, for fear of killing someone. Now he must be opening his visor wide. Bullets tore through Logan, one ripping at his chest to expose a gleaming metal rib. It did not stop him from finishing off his target's leg. The robot fell heavily to one side, crippled but still fighting. Cyclops took the head off the other one. It seemed to blind it, but it was still moving. Storm called a lightning bolt into the robot's open stump, frying sensitive, exposed circuitry. It flailed about, then fell still. Cyclops and Logan finally succeeded in removing the other robot's limbs, leaving only the torso intact.

Kurt teleported back to the group only when he would no longer be a distraction or hindrance. Everyone was dressed in their nightclothes. Like Kurt, they had come to the fray without their armored uniforms. There was simply no time. Colossus was sitting on the gouged road, still armored, still staring straight ahead, still clutching a torn corner of the trailer. His bloody face and blank look told Kurt all he needed to know about his state of being. Cyclops looked like he was going to be sick as he kicked away a fragment of skull from his shoe. Even Logan was disgusted by the scene.

"So much for dental records," he mumbled. "We'll have to do DNA."

"Christ, Logan, I've got DNA all over my fucking boots!" Scott snapped. "Can't you think of anything else?"

"Yeah, I'm thinking it's a good thing we didn't let Bobby help like he wanted."

That was all Scott could take. He bent over and threw up. Kurt stood behind Scott and gave what support he could. Scott wiped his mouth with a trembling fist and looked back at Kurt.

"Thanks," he coughed. "How're you holding up?"

"Numb," Kurt answered quietly. "I will surely pay later."


* * * * *


Cleanup took longer than any would have wanted. They took blood-soaked clothing from the bodies for DNA analysis, then let Ororo call down rain and horizontal wind to sweep what was left into the drainage ditch. Colossus dragged all three tractor-trailer rigs off-road, missile rack still pointed down to the ground. Then Logan did his level best to camouflage them under the forest canopy, even setting some of Xavier's motion sensors around in case their enemies decided to return for their goods.

It wasn't a perfect or long-term solution, but it was all they could do for the moment.

Finally they brought back what was left of the robots themselves, hauling them down into the Blackbird's hanger for temporary storage. Colossus did double and triple duty that night, moving everything that had to be moved, and though his head was still ringing, his nose still bleeding, he did so with nary a sound. Professor Xavier supervised the entire process, watching Colossus carefully as the young man stoically arranged the robot "parts" on the floor of the hanger. Bobby and Rogue, already wearing latex gloves, stood nearby, first aid kits at the ready, anxiously waiting for the inevitable.

"Peter," Professor Xavier said gently. "You have done enough. Please, go sit down."

Colossus looked his way, his blank expression further enshrouded by the metal covering his eyes. He fell to his knees heavily, then sat back on his rear without an ounce of grace, barely catching himself before he fell over. He seemed to absorb the metal back into his skin, revealing a bloody young Russian with blackened and swollen eyes. Bobby ran in and caught Peter by his shoulders to help him lay flat, while Rogue placed a pillow behind Peter's head.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Bobby asked, holding up a closed fist.

"Please...a different question?" Peter mumbled. "I cannot see well."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that." Bobby created a form-fitting ice mask for Peter to keep the swelling at a minimum. "O.K., what's your name?"

"Piotr Rasputin."

"What day is it?"

"Very late Thursday night or very early Friday morning."

As the questions went on, Logan tapped Kurt on the shoulder.

"O.K., elf, get on the counter over there," he ordered, pointing to a nearby equipment bench.

"Why?" Kurt asked.

"You mean you can't tell? Take a look, bub."

Logan pointed to Kurt's right side, just above his hip. Kurt looked down and saw a vivid red gash that continued to his back, out of easy view. It didn't feel deep, and it didn't bleed much, but it looked dreadful. Now that Logan brought his attention to it, it started to burn and sting.

"Looks like a close range powder burn and abrasion," Logan continued. "Someone try to shoot you in the back?"

"Several times. I did not think I was hit." He hissed as he moved to the counter. "It is not in a convenient place."

"I'll take care of it for you," Logan offered. "Let me grab one of the kits from the kids; they don't need both."

"I'm already on it," Ororo told him, holding up one of the two medical packs as she walked over.

Kurt smiled, though it was just a bit strained. "Let the beautiful woman do it, Logan. I can't whimper and expect sympathy from another man, after all."

"Peter, how many times did that thing hit you?" Rogue was asking.

"Six...maybe seven times," Peter mumbled. "I lost count."

"Twelve times," Logan called over his shoulder. "It was trying to take Petey's head off."

Kurt obediently stretched out on the counter, exposing his wounded side for Ororo as he watched the rest of the hanger. Bobby and Rogue tended to Peter in the foreground, while the Professor and Scott looked over the robots' "parts" further back. They were taking particular interest in the torsos. Scott was kneeling at the side of the one whose limbs had been lopped off, running his hands along it and shaking his head.

"There's a seam running down the side, but damned if I can find the release latch," he said.

"Logan, could we have your assistance in this?" Xavier asked.

Logan's claws shot out as he walked over. "Need me to pop the hood, huh?"

"Be careful, Logan," Xavier cautioned. "These are cockpits. There are humans in there."

Logan and Scott bent over the impromptu "cockpit" carefully, trying to plan the best way to proceed.

"We gotta worry about the pilot getting up and causing trouble?" Logan asked.

"No," Xavier responded.

Both Logan and Scott glanced up at the cutting tone in Xavier's voice.

"Are they still alive?" Scott asked further.

"Their mental activity suggests they are comatose."

Kurt took a sharp intake of breath through his teeth as Ororo started to clean his wound.

"Why does this seem so familiar?" he hissed.

"Maybe because it's how Jean and I found you?" Ororo asked softly in return.

"Yes, once again, I am having a gun wound tended to on my left side. I am beginning to hate guns." After the initial, painful shock, the rest of Ororo's ministrations did not seem so bad. "It is shallow, yes?"

"A surface wound," she agreed. "I imagine it burns something awful, though."

"It does sting," he admitted.

"If you're going to whimper for sympathy, you'll have to do a better job of it," she said, smiling. "You're being too calm and collected right now."

He looked up at her with a wide grin. "I just remembered that to whimper means I must also cringe, and cringing would make things harder for you. I suppose I must settle for looking pitiful."

"Found it," Scott proclaimed, touching a spot on the side of the robot torso.

"It ain't opening," Logan commented. "You sure it's the right spot?"

"It's the right spot for your claws. Slice it open here, about a half inch to start."

Logan did. The torso sprang open on a hinge like a giant box. Ororo turned around to watch and Kurt raised himself on one arm to get a better look. A lanky man laid inside the torso, wearing a skin-tight, shiny black suit that seemed to cover literally every inch of his body, though he wore a pilot's breathing mask over his mouth and nose. He was curled in a fetal position, laying in a form-fitting, black plastic "bed". A mirror plastic form was on the inside of the lid. When closed, he would have been completely encased as if in a two-piece mold, so tightly restrained that movement would have been impossible.

"How the hell could he drive the thing like that?" Logan asked.

"I've got a feeling I know, and I don't like it one bit," Scott answered tersely.

The pilot's eyes were hidden behind the suit. The only sign of life was the steady rise and fall of his chest. Scott bent over his head, examining the base of his skull where it pressed against the plastic.

"I'm going to try and remove him," Scott stated.

He looked to the Professor for confirmation. Charles nodded, and Scott slowly pulled on the pilot's head. As Scott had expected, there was a flexible probe of some kind that lanced an inch into the man's head at the base. Bobby stood up and walked closer to the action.

He gasped. "Good God, is that some kind of input jack?"

Xavier nodded grimly. "That, Bobby, is exactly what it is."

Scott cradled the pilot in his arms as he fully peeled him out of his artificial womb. There was only one "input jack", the one at the base of his neck. Though the shiny suit did not cover the man's mouth under the breathing mask, it also showed no seams, zippers, or other means of entry.

"What did they do, paint this on him?" Scott murmured, drawing a hand across the slick, rubbery material.

Logan went to the other torso, which was still attached to all its limbs, and popped it open the same way. A similar sight greeted him, though this man seemed a bit more muscular. Logan looked at the two pilots, and at their own two wounded.

"Medlab's about to get pretty crowded."



To be continued....

[NightPoofer]

That's really good. I want to know what happened after that.

[Maelstrom]

Talons

Chapter 3


Down in medlab, underneath the mansion proper, the entire group watched and waited as Scott arranged the two pilots on separate examination tables. Kurt stood against the wall, trying to ignore the stinging sensation under his bandage. Peter got his own table; he was in no position to stand.

The pilots' suits had to be painted on, or maybe they were dipped in the material. Logan had to literally cut them out. He started with the smaller one, who turned out to be Caucasian. Logan snorted with disdain as he viewed the man.

"We've got a problem with this one, I'll tell ya that right now," he grumbled.

He lifted up the man's right elbow, which was covered by a large, intricate, black spider web tattoo. Kurt gave a slight wince as he looked at the tattoo.

"That must have been very painful to make," he noted.

"I wouldn't expect you to think about something like that," Ororo said, a bit surprised. "Didn't you do all that work on yourself?"

Kurt raised an elbow slightly, just enough to call attention to it. "Do you see any marks on my elbow? Joints are not good places to mark. A scar will never turn out right, and as for tattoos there is nothing to absorb the needle sticks. It would be like hitting bone over and over."

"This isn't just a macho thing," Logan warned. "You earn this kind of mark by murdering someone. It's an initiation."

"Not necessarily," Rogue said. "I mean, I knew a guy who had it done, and he never killed anyone or went to jail."

"So some poser turned it into a fashion statement. I've seen it too many times, kiddo."

"Cut the other suit off, Logan," Scott requested. "Let's see if they're both from the same 'fellowship'."

"You got it," Logan muttered as he made a few quick swipes.

As often as Rogue saw Logan's claws in action, she was still impressed by his grace and control. He made quick work of the suits, yet didn't leave so much as a mark on the pilots' skin. Of course, then she turned away for a moment while Scott covered the pilot's groin with a towel. They really were nude underneath. This man was Latino, a little younger, and more muscular. In fact, he was in better condition all the way around. In comparison, the Caucasian's face seemed a bit drawn. Logan stepped aside as Ororo and Scott started placing monitors on the pilots' chests.

"No spider web," Kurt noted.

"Nope," Logan agreed. "He's in better shape, too."

Professor Xavier positioned himself at the head of the Caucasian man, out of Scott and Ororo's way. He placed his hand on the man's forehead and closed his eyes. Scott kept an eye on his mentor. If what Charles picked up from the gunman earlier today was any indication, this was going to be a most unpleasant duty.

Xavier stayed in contact with the pilot for several minutes, his face a mask of concentration. Scott and Ororo, long since finished with their sensor attachments, stood back and waited for the professor to return. Only the rhythmic beeps of medical equipment broke the tense silence.

Xavier returned with a long, shuddering breath, like a man waking from a nightmare.

"He's not coming back," Charles said. "And after what I saw in there, that may be for the best." He turned to Logan. "You were right, Logan. This man is a killer."

Logan nodded. "Gang-banger?"

"Ex-military, drummed out some time ago with a dishonorable discharge for rape." Charles looked at the other man. "I'm almost afraid to know what I'll find in there."

"Maybe you should rest for a little while?" Bobby asked.

Charles shook his head. "This attack was coordinated by the same people we saw earlier today. They trailed us back here once; they can do it again. I need to work with all speed."

He wheeled around to the second pilot. With a trace of hesitation, he put his hands on both sides of the man's head. Xavier's body tensed as he closed his eyes. However, after a few seconds, he began to relax. It took only a minute for him to come back.

"This one is a student at a police academy," he said. "He was abducted sometime last month, I believe." He paused. "He will awaken, given a bit of time. Unlike the other man, this one was not in the exoskeleton willingly."

Kurt shuddered and Scott shifted his stance with discomfort, all too familiar with the concept of an unwilling combatant.

Charles noted their reactions. "This is similar to Stryker's methods, but not the same. There are two crucial differences.

"First of all, this is an entirely mechanical form of control. When the pilot is 'plugged into' his vehicle, his conscious mind goes dormant as if asleep. It places him in a very susceptible state, following any orders given without doubt or hesitation. When he leaves the suit, his conscious mind reawakens, with no recollection of time passed.

"Secondly, I have a hunch that this was not designed as a form of mind control. Considering the placement, and from what you have told me of the vehicle's speed, I think this may have originally been designed as a cybernetic interface, making the robot an extension of the user's own body. The pilots are both experts at hand-to-hand combat, as well as excellent marksmen."

"So it's military," Bobby said quietly, downcast.

"No!" Kurt barked. "No soldier would do the things I saw!"

"You didn't see what Stryker's men did to the school," Rogue said.

"I'm not talking about that! I'm talking about what they did to each other!" His tail lashed about behind him, making his agitation all the more vivid. "They casually shot through each other to get to me! The robots deliberately crushed the others underfoot! It was madness!"

"Kurt's right," Scott added. "I can't imagine even a black op casually killing their buddies that way. A terrorist suicide squad, maybe. Criminals, sure. But not soldiers. It couldn't be Magneto; I can't imagine him trying to blow up the school, no matter his feelings towards us. This has to be a third party."

"A third party with big bucks, bleeding edge tech, and serious military-grade weaponry," Logan snarled. "That's reassuring." He gestured to the two pilots. "So what do we do with them? They've got something out of Neuromancer stuck in the back of their heads. Everyone and their brother is going to want to get their hands on them."

Xavier sighed. "I'll have to make some calls to a few acquaintances for that. Right now, we put one on life support and I'll work with the other. But for long term, I'm not sure."

"We'll have to find the people responsible and launch an assault," Scott said. "They know we're here, they've come after us once. They'll do it again, especially now that we've got their hardware."

"We also need to do a bug sweep on everything," Ororo added. "They could have transmitters in those suits or in the rigs."

"Or imbedded in the pilots themselves," Charles said. "It would seem we have a long night ahead of us, I'm afraid."

Kurt shrugged. "I wasn't going back to sleep, anyhow."


* * * * *


Kotoko knew the risk he was taking. The world was utterly alien to him. The only facts he knew for certain were that it was suited for life, that the rebellion had never investigated this land before, and the King's Own were here, somewhere, trying to fortify their position. Kotoko knew nothing of the dominant life forms, nor their technology, and they most likely knew nothing of him.

Yes, there were always risks. If the King's Own found him, he was worse than dead. If the dominant life forms found him, they could respond unfavorably. But Kotoko was the best scout the rebellion had. He'd been to tens of worlds, tracking down the King's Own wherever they went. Each world was different, but each mission the same.

He arrived at daybreak, following a power signature that must have been from the King's Own. He opened the portal some distance from the now inactive power source. The King's Own had chosen to hide themselves in dense foliage. Kotoko stood there for several minutes after the portal closed, his suit performing a sensor sweep. The terrain was rough, but there were roads nearby. The King's Own, for some reason, had chosen to make their base perilously close to the dominant life forms of this world. How long had the butchers been here? Had they made an alliance with the natives, or were they in the midst of taking over?

Kotoko curled up his five limbs and hovered above the ground, then activated his camouflage field. He did not want to leave tracks, nor make any sound to betray his unseen presence. He moved slowly towards where he knew the power source to be. So far, it was still inactive. He was not quite prepared for what he found. This was not a fortified encampment, not even a bivouac. No one was there. Instead, three identical wheeled vehicles waited side by side, clumsily camouflaged among the trees. The power had emanated from within these boxy things, which seemed to be designed for hauling freight. The vehicles' operation cockpits were far too small and oddly-shaped for Kotoko to use: they must have been piloted by the natives of this world. Kotoko reassessed the situation. Had the natives discovered some of the King's equipment? Judging from the shape of one of the vehicles, there had been a vicious firefight.

A warning chime echoed in Kotoko's hardsuit. He stopped immediately. Little blips of power, so faint he didn't detect them before, encircled the three vehicles. Someone had placed sensors here. The power signature wasn't King's Own, rebellion, or any other type he'd ever seen. He didn't even recognize it until it had been triggered. The natives must have placed them there. Clever. Kotoko rose slowly into the air, careful not to brush by any branches, and arranged his invisible form in the branching trunk of a sturdy tree. He waited there. The inhabitants would have to come and investigate soon. This was a good a time as any to observe them.



Ororo sat in the control room, occasionally glancing up at the monitors that lined the wall. She tossed back last of her coffee, before it got too cold to stomach. The sun was up, the Professor was still working with his patient, Logan was patrolling the grounds, and Scott was still going over the incredible technology they had come across. Kurt must have gone to bed after she took over for him an hour ago.

With that in mind, Ororo was surprised to hear Kurt's distinctive teleportation in the far corner of the monitoring room. She spun in her seat. Kurt, dressed and showered, was there with a breakfast tray and thermal pitcher.

"Everyone who could had breakfast in the kitchen," he told her. "I thought everything would stay warmer if I brought yours this way."

Ororo smiled. "So long as my eggs don't taste like sulfur. Tell me that's coffee in there?"

She pointed to the pitcher as Kurt brought the tray over. As he set the tray down, he picked the pitcher up with his tail and refilled Ororo's coffee cup.

"The most widely used drug in the world," he said. "Civilization would grind to a halt without it."

"You wonderful man." Ororo took a grateful swig. It was strong and black, with no cream or sugar to get in the way; just the way she preferred it. "You're looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

"Four hours sleep is enough for me."

"Hmph. And during those four hours, you sleep like the proverbial dead."

His eyes fairly danced as he leaned against a nearby counter. "Now, how would you know that? Have you been peeping into my bedroom window?"

She smiled over her coffee cup. "It's no secret, Kurt. The first night you spent with us, you slept on the couch in the rec. room. The kids almost sat on you as they watched their cartoons, at high volume I might add, and you didn't even roll over."

His expression fell with comical exaggeration. "Damn. And here I hoped you were peeping into my bedroom window."

Ororo caught herself before she performed an embarrassing spit-take. It would do no good to spray the monitors with coffee, even if it didn't have cream or sugar.

"You flirt!" she coughed. "Next time I'll pull the 'hand in lukewarm water' bit on you!"

He gave her a smug grin. "Don't bother. It won't work. My circus brothers tried many times."

An alarm behind Kurt went off. He jumped aside to grant Ororo access. Ororo set her coffee down quickly. Those were the motion sensors on the trucks.

"We've got a contact," she said, reaching over to the control panel.

"Maybe another rabbit?" Kurt asked skeptically. "That was the last contact I had."

"Maybe," she agreed.

They waited for a few more seconds, to see if other sensors went off. There was only the one. It could be an animal.

"We need to check it out, just to be sure," Ororo said. She activated the intercom. "Scott? We've got another contact near the trucks. Kurt and I are checking it out."

"Go ahead," Scott's voice replied.

Ororo stood up and looked to Kurt. Kurt nodded and gently held her to him. A wrenching second later, they were on top of one of the trailers. They laid flat against the metal for a moment, listening. They only heard the occasional birdsong. Kurt glanced to Ororo, who shook her head. The two stood up and leapt down to the ground. There was no one here, and no sign that there had been.

"It looks like our rabbit is back," Kurt noted. "Isn't there a way to avoid these false alarms?"

"I don't know," Ororo answered, looking for the triggered alarm. "We'd need something that could determine size and mass. This is really just thrown together. It's better than having to stake one of us here, but not by much."

"I could just see Logan camping out here. Nothing would come within hundreds of feet."

Ororo looked up at the sprawling, 200-plus year old oak tree. For a second, she thought she felt something. She stopped. There was a strange obstruction in the breeze, something not accounted for by the mass of the tree trunk. Kurt saw Ororo's stance shift as she crouched on the balls of her feet. He froze where he was, ready to teleport away at first notice.

Kotoko watched with fascination. Down below him, two beings with bilateral symmetry appeared on one of the vehicles in a discharge of blue smoke. How was that done? There was no power signature at all! No portal activation, no power spike, nothing!

The natives walked erect on two of their specialized limbs. Sounds issued from one nubby appendage, which seemed to only have a single joint upon which to rotate. They were obviously intelligent. Kotoko remained frozen, watching. Creatures with specialized limbs always fascinated him. Did their brains reside in just one limb, or did they spread all the way through the body? One of the two had a fifth manipulatory limb, the other twin symmetrical projections. Perhaps one was female and the other male? The one with two projections stopped short and twisted its nub around. Kotoko felt a breeze come up around him. Without thinking, he automatically spread his limbs out further, to disperse his bulky signature among the branches.

Ororo's eyes turned milky white for the briefest of instants as a breeze rustled the leaves. What she thought was an obstruction was gone, without any disturbance to the surrounding winds. If there had been anything up there, and it had leapt down or otherwise moved away, she would have felt something. Her eyes returned to their piercing shade of blue, and Kurt felt he could exhale.

"A false alarm," she said softly. "I suppose I'm a bit jumpy after last night."

"You aren't the only one," he said.

She walked back to Kurt. "Well, I think the perimeter's as secure as it's going to get. Why don't you just get us back before my eggs get cold?"

"You know, this used to make you sick."

"I'm getting used to it, I suppose."

The creatures' nubs must have been specialized for communication. They would turn them in specific directions as they issued their sounds. Perhaps the long filaments that coated one side of the nub were sensory in nature. That would explain why the one with the longer, pale filaments seemed to sense Kotoko's presence while the other did not. The one with the fifth limb touched the one with the long filaments, and they both disappeared in another blue discharge. Before Kotoko could consider getting a sample of the particulate, it had dissipated. If these aliens all had such abilities, they could be invaluable allies or horrendous foes. He had to discover their lair, but how could he track something that came and went through an untraceable portal?

Perhaps he was looking at the wrong thing. After all, they came in response to Kotoko's triggering one of their alarms. That meant the sensors had to lead back to them somehow. He started scanning frequencies.


* * * * *


The lab intercom beeped again. Scott looked up from his work.

"We're back," Ororo's voice came through. "Another false alarm."

Scott reached over and pushed the button. "Sounds like Kurt's 'bunny' is going to give us trouble."

"We need to get some kind of mass sensor up and running on those sensors. We're lucky the squirrels aren't setting them off."

Scott rubbed at his temple. Yes, he knew they were imperfect, but they were all they had at the moment. He glanced at the clock. 8am? No wonder his head hurt.

As if sensing his discomfort, Kurt's voice came over the intercom. "Scott, did you want to take breakfast down there? I can bring it, if you would like."

Scott groaned and stretched before replying. "Gimme a minute. Let me see how the Professor is doing. We might need something for our new patient, too."

"All right, then. I'll wait here with Ororo."

Scott stood up with another over-arm, reaching stretch, then left the electronics lab. Whoever this new enemy was, they were pushing technology in a direction he'd never seen before. This stuff may as well have come from an alien spacecraft, for all the sense he could make of it. He half expected to see a "made in Roswell" stamp somewhere.

A quick right turn, and he was walking into medlab. Peter was long gone, released to recover in his own room. The robot pilots were the only patients left. Scott inwardly cringed at the sight of the tattooed pilot. Despite his obvious youth, his lanky body, drawn face, and pale skin made him seem like an old man. The plethora of diagnostic and life support equipment attached to his body didn't help matters. By contrast, the other pilot laid in his bed without a single monitor, unless you counted the professor himself, sitting by his side.

Xavier gripped a pen in one hand and rested a tablet of paper on his lap. Judging by the sheets that were flipped over the top, he had been writing a great deal, but for now his hand laid still. He looked up as Scott entered the room. He had not left the medlab all night. It was something of an oddity for Scott to see him in a robe and slippers at this time of day.

"Breakfast is ready," Scott told him. "Did you want something brought down for our 'guest', too? Or is he not that close to waking up?"

"That won't be necessary, Scott," Xavier replied. "He will be resting through early afternoon. He has accumulated a great deal of sleep debt, and now he can finally pay it off."

Scott cocked his head. "Is this something you'll be explaining later?"

Xavier sighed and looked down at his tablet. "It's something I'll be explaining as soon as everyone can come down here."



Not surprisingly, Kurt was first. He arrived with both hands full of breakfast trays, accompanied by his vocal chime of "room service". The others, including a bruised but nowhere-near-as-lumpy Peter, filed in somewhat later. Soon the medlab was crowded again.

Xavier sipped at his coffee as Rogue finally entered the room.

"My turn at dishes," she explained, smiling sheepishly.

"That's quite all right, Marie," Xavier said, a light smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "I would have let you know if I needed you sooner."

He set the cup aside. The rest of the X-men shifted into a position of attention. Time to get to business.

"It has taken me this long to make sense of what I've seen in the pilots' minds," Xavier began. "It's like putting together a puzzle all one color, which is also missing half the pieces. This young man --" he gestured to the healthier one sleeping nearby "-- is easier to read, but paradoxically has less important information. I have been forced to delve into our sterling example of humanity over there."

He pointed to the other pilot, half hidden by equipment. Ororo examined the monitors more carefully and noticed that the EEG was distressingly quiescent.

"Dear God, the man's brain dead," she gasped. "When did this happen? The EEG was active when we hooked him up last night."

"I fear it doesn't end there," Xavier told her. "All of his vital signs are growing weaker by the hour. I had to intubate him not that long ago. The man may not live much longer. I was fortunate to get what I could out of him before his mental functions shut down.

"His name is Glen Carter. He has been in trouble with the law most of his adolescent and adult life. He joined the military as soon as he could for the sole purpose of learning how to legally kill and destroy. He made it through Ranger training, but a year after that he was caught raping a civilian and was then kicked out with a dishonorable discharge."

Rogue shivered. The professor made it sound like Glen had done that kind of stuff before, but not been discovered.

"He made a living as a drug lord's hired muscle for a while," Xavier continued, "and then someone came to him with an offer of extremely lucrative work. It seems that they told him something about an operation, but he didn't care so long as he was well paid. Whoever these people are, they have this implanting procedure down to a science. Glen was given a sedative in an office, and he woke up later in his own bed. Occasionally they would call him up, he'd be driven to a mobile lab much like the rigs you dispatched, and he would climb into one of those exo-suits. Once inside he would black out, waking up seemingly moments later after his mission was completed. It seemed like a rather cushy position. Climb in, go to sleep, wake up, get paid $10,000. He had no idea what he was doing during that time, nor did he know what it was truly doing to him, but I think his employers did."

Xavier looked back at the sleeper by his side. "This man's name is Isidro Delgado. He happens to be a fifth Dan and has won several competitions. He was also a police cadet from upstate and worked nights as a security guard at a construction site. I was a little off in my earlier estimations of time. It was just last week that he came early for his shift and found a fellow guard helping someone steal heavy equipment. In itself, this was bad enough, but some very large, very familiar mechanical suits were doing the stealing."

"They were using these things to grab bobcats and backhoes?" Scott asked, stunned. "They were using billion-dollar, cutting edge, experimental-level hardware to steal $50,000 of used equipment you could buy off the lot?"

"Apparently so. I don't know the reason, either, but Isidro clearly remembers these suits lifting the vehicles up and loading them into empty trailers disguised as mobile homes. He was caught, restrained, drugged, and obviously implanted. He has been in that suit for the past three days, ever since his capture."

Xavier leaned forward. "There are many advantages to this 'input jack' system. Most importantly, it saves time. A good fighter pilot takes years of training, and learning to use an exoskeleton like that would have a similar learning curve. With an input, the mechanical body becomes your own. Anyone off the street could use it efficiently, and we've seen the results of a trained fighter. It also ensures complete, fearless obedience by removing the subject's conscious mind from the equation. And it makes it almost impossible for me to pick up their thoughts, due to this semi-comatose state."

"It sounds like it also gives the pilot plausible deniability," Logan said. "After all, he'll never remember what happened."

"Yes...and no. This is where the system shows its literally fatal flaws. It's like the mental equivalent of radiation poisoning. A little exposure you can recover from, but the more you get, the worse off you become. Those convenient blackout periods don't last, Logan. They start to bubble up to the surface as nightmares, then flashbacks, then constant, waking hallucinations. Eventually, your REM sleep stops entirely. No matter how hard you try, or what drugs you take, you just can't get any true rest.

"During the first stage, the input disrupts your neural pathways. During the second, it disrupts your entire nervous system. It is unlikely someone would live long enough to get to that stage, as after a week of such neural disruption, the victim will go violently insane. The gunman in the store reached stage one. Glen has managed to degrade to stage two. I received the impression that his masters may have known what was happening. Previous missions might have lasted a day or two, but he has been in that suit for over a week. I doubt they were planning on letting him out before he died. If they did, he would become as unstable as the gunman."

"You wouldn't know that from the way he fought," Kurt said. "I've never seen anything so fast."

Scott, Logan, and Ororo nodded or otherwise voiced their agreement. For a man who was self-destructing, Glen was certainly agile last night.

"Perhaps the vehicle itself keeps the user alive, as shots of adrenalin would keep one awake," Xavier explained. "I have no explanations, only theories to go along with the facts of Glen's physical degradation."

"Use him up completely, then throw him away," Ororo said. "Not that I feel especially sorry for Glen, but the idea is still horrifying."

All looked back at the wasted life hidden by medical equipment. The EKG showed a slow beat, which slowed further.

"We're losing him," Kurt said softly. "Can nothing be done?"

"No," Xavier responded. "The best hospitals in the would not be able to save Mister Carter."

As they watched, Glen went into ventricular fibrillation, his heart losing all sense of rhythm and ability to pump. Ororo looked over at the defibrillator. They might be able to shock him into a stable beat once more, but what would be the point? His body was only following through with what his brain began.

After a few seconds, the erratic lines on the EKG went flat, the chirping little beeps resolving into one long piercing whine. Rogue moved a bit closer to Bobby, who put his arms around her. Neither one looked at each other; they were too fixed upon the quiet death in the corner. Kurt put his hand in one pocket and withdrew his rosary, his head bowed in silent prayer.

Peter's softly accented voice broke the stillness. "What will we do with his body?"

"For now, we will put it on ice," Xavier replied. "Doctor Henry McCoy will be arriving this afternoon, and he'll want to do an autopsy."

"And after that is over?" Peter continued.

Logan moved over to Glen's form and started to switch everything off. "Leave that to me."




To be continued....

[Maelstrom]

Talons

Chapter 4



It did not take long for Kotoko to discover the natives' dwelling. It was a large structure with several floors, apparently made from the surrounding stones and trees as opposed to metal or resin. He could spend hours just examining the materials, let alone the architecture. There was an alien beauty about the place, curiously asymmetrical from the intrusion of vines and other organic matter.

Unfortunately, he was here to watch the natives for military applications, not their building methods. That could wait for a scientific crew, if they ever sent one. He had not seen evidence of the King's Own yet, nor had their equipment been activated since that first, initial reading. Kotoko had the feeling the natives were storing the equipment somewhere in this building, and they were smart enough not to turn anything on.

A few hours of watching showed many natives moving back and forth, in and out of the dwelling. Judging by the way the smaller creatures deferred to the occasional larger creature, it seemed that this was a nest of some kind, or perhaps a training center. He still couldn't tell male from female, assuming these beings had such reproductive differences, but that was only of minor importance. Of more importance was the fact that he had to carefully pick his way past sophisticated sensing equipment. For whatever reason, these people (for they were people, despite how alien they looked) felt the need to defend themselves.

Of primary importance was the strange array of power he found in this place, held in the hands of adults and young alike.

One of the natives could create ice out of the surrounding moisture. Another tossed small nodules of superheated, short-lived plasma. Another seemed to enhance the surface tension of an artificial pond to the point of running across it. Several times Kotoko recognized the first two natives he'd encountered, appearing behind the windows or on the grounds. So far, only the first, portal-generating native had a full compliment of five limbs, and only the second native travelling with it had the twin projections. If only he could tell something about their leadership structure….

An alarm went off in his suit, and Kotoko felt his hearts chill. A portal had been opened. He tried to trace the pulse, but it came and went so fast that he couldn't pin down a precise entry location. The King's Own had appeared somewhere on these grounds.

Things were about to get very, very ugly.




When Scott came up on Kurt late that afternoon, he found him perched on one of the marble benches outside, alternately watching the kids play baseball and sketching on a relatively small notepad. Kurt glanced back as he heard Scott walk up, then invited him to sit beside him by way of moving to the left. Both men were in their armored costumes. The situation seemed to warrant such caution.

"Has Isidro awoken yet?" Kurt asked, hopeful.

Scott shook his head. "Professor says soon, but not yet." He sat next to Kurt, facing the children. After a pause, he mumbled, "Why the backhoe?"

Kurt blinked. "What?"

Scott gave a frustrated, open-armed shrug. "I'm still trying to figure out why the hell someone would use those suits to steal backhoes. It just doesn't make sense. They're so paranoid about discovery that they willfully kill each other to keep things secret, yet they'll risk it all to grab a backhoe."

"Maybe they needed to do some landscaping, and they spent all their money on suits?" Kurt offered, grinning.

The batter hit the ball squarely this time, sending it arcing into the brush. Both Regis and Jamie ran after it as the batter tagged first base.

"Makes as much sense as anything else I've come up with," Scott sighed. "Kitty's offered to call up some construction crews, see if they've been hit recently. Maybe we should have her check for nursery heists, too."

Kurt cupped his hands over his mouth to mimic the muffled, static-laden tone of a police radio. " 'All cars, be on the lookout for a runaway birch. Last seen heading north. May be in the presence of a maple. Suspects are considered armed and deciduous.' "

Scott's lips curled into a disgusted snarl and he cuffed Kurt on the side of the head. "That was awful. You're not supposed to be good enough at English to pun like that."

"I'm hearing nothing but English here, and you wonder why I'm improving?"

Xavier's voice all but shouted in their heads. Scott, Kurt, get the children indoors! We've had a perimeter alarm on the west border!

Scott bolted to his feet and gave two short optic bursts over the kids' heads to get their attention. They looked back at him.

"Everyone inside!" he barked, motioning broadly with his arm. "Now! Let's go!"



Regis and Jamie plunged into the bushes, searching for the ball. They didn't have long to find it. If Cathy made a home run out of this, the rest of the boys would never let either of them forget it. Jamie considered making a few duplicates to help, but this was a "no powers" game.

"Found it yet?" he called to Regis.

Somewhere off to the left, Regis called back. "Not yet! Man, where is it?"

"Everyone inside!" Scott's voice shouted far behind them. "Now! Let's go!"

Now they had even less time. If it wasn't under this bush, Jamie was going to just forfeit. He looked under the last bush and saw a white sphere in the shadows. A-hah!

"Found it!" he crowed.

Just as he was crawling under the bush to retrieve the softball, he heard Regis frantically screaming. Jamie scrambled out from under foliage and jumped to his feet. He froze in shock at what he saw.

There were three of them. Three huge, monstrous, metallic...things. They looked for all the world like detached, armored, eagle talons. They had five limbs, symmetrically spaced and sized. Each limb had three joints, and they balanced on what seemed to be clawed tips. Each robot was a good five or six feet in diameter, and that was with half of their legs' length curled under so they could stand. A large creamy white blister sat on top of their center, where all their legs met. An eye?

One of them fell on Regis and completely enveloped him, curling around him with its massive body as a fist would curl around a small stone. The other two things stood off to either side as Regis disappeared into the robot's grasp. Then there was a flash of golden-yellow light from within Regis' mobile prison, and Regis reappeared six feet away, scrambling backwards on all fours like a crab. The three things responded in an agitated manner, issuing strange hissing and popping noises.

"Hey! You! Uglies!" Jamie shouted, jumping and waving his arms.

He couldn't really tell which way they were facing, but he knew he had their attention. One of them leapt his direction. Jamie deliberately slammed into a tree. As it landed, it stamped its feet in confusion as ten Jamies scattered in front of it. Distracted by them all, it lost its chance to grab one.



The kids were jogging back to the mansion when Regis screamed far back in the underbrush. Without hesitation, Nightcrawler grabbed Cyclops and teleported to the edge of the lawn. Regis had stopped screaming, and they could hear strange popping and hissing noises, sounding for all the world like a combined rain and hailstorm as heard from under a wooden awning.

"Hey! You! Uglies!" Jamie shouted from somewhere in front of them.

Cyclops and Nightcrawler ran into the bushes, the latter leaping up into the trees for a better view. Several Jamies ran out, two of them helping Regis, who was pale as snow. A huge spider-ish, metallic robot burst through the foliage. It was about to land on the Jamie-Regis-Jamie trio when Nightcrawler fell on them and all four disappeared. The thing gave a hissing roar as it landed on the ground alone. Cyclops revamped his estimation; that was a reaction of frustration. Maybe there was something alive in there? Whatever it was, electronic or organic, Cyclops blasted it, hard. It spun off and smashed into a nearby tree, all five of its limbs twitching.

Two more of the things leapt through the brush, right at Cyclops. Cyclops fell flat on his back and blasted up at one as it leapt over him. The center underbelly of its radially symmetrical body must have been a weak spot. It gave a distorted screech as Cyclops' beam hit, the kinetic force of the blow shoving it up and back before bursting out through the white blister on top. The remaining creature came to a complete halt, planting its five claws in the soft ground. A blue beam emanated from its dome. Cyclops rolled away just in time as the beam burned a trench by the side of his head.

Nightcrawler returned alone top find Cyclops in the middle of a firefight. There were two mechanical beasts up, and they had Cyclops pinned down. The white blister was some kind of sophisticated weapons platform, from which a single blue beam lashed out. That silent beam swept back and forth to follow their target's movements, burning as it went. Despite the recent rains, they were going to have a fire, and soon. But how could he get to Cyclops without becoming just another casualty to rescue?

Nightcrawler picked up a heavy river rock in one hand. It was too heavy to throw, but it might be able to crack the weapons pod if he got in close. Quick in, quick out, and once the thing was distracted, he'd get Cyclops and go. He appeared in mid-air "behind" one of the creatures, away from where it was firing, and brought the rock down on the white blister with all his strength.

He was prepared for a stinging physical shockwave down his arm, especially if the white dome was too tough for him to crack. He was not prepared for the electrical jolt that burned his fingertips and threatened to set his sleeve on fire. The white dome cracked under the stone, unleashing enough amperage to kill the mutant twice over, had he been touching the ground. His heart, his lungs, his muscles, his thoughts, everything seized up as crackling fingertips of electricity clawed at his arm, as if threatening to pull him into the fissure he'd just created. The shock came too fast for Nightcrawler to teleport away, let alone scream. A flash of blue, a rush of darkness. He fell unconscious, smoking and twitching, in the looming shadow of the mechanical talon.




It was not difficult for Kotoko to judge where the King's Own had come in. As he picked through the brush, slowly, so as not to overload his camouflage field's capability, he heard high pitched screeches from one end of the property. He picked up chatter on the enemy's frequency.

"What happened?" one demanded. "You had it! I know you had it!"

"It generated its own portal!" another shouted. "The little shit makes its own gates!"

"Don't let it get away, you idiot! It's too valuable!"

Kotoko heard more high-pitched screeching from not too far off. It was the distress sound of a young native, of that he was certain. The King's Own must have been collecting samples of the native fauna. Kotoko abandoned all caution and deactivated his camouflage field. He pulled his five limbs in tight, turned on his side, and rolled, zipping through the bushes and around trees.

"How in--!" came the second soldier's voice. "Now there's ten of them?"

"It's just a hologram!"

"Holograms don't leave footprints!"

Kotoko was getting closer with every passing second, leaving a trail of crushed branches and scattered leaves. He twitched one leg to leap over a log without uncurling from his tight wheel. He landed and kept rolling. The chatter on the radio was intermingled with a strange sound, like a chemical blaster of some kind. One soldier was slightly injured, while another's death scream was deafening. Now there was no more chatter, and Kotoko's sensors picked up the weapon discharges typical of the King's Own.

Kotoko rolled into the clearing. Two natives were trying to hold off two of the King's Own. One native was in a firefight with a soldier. It used a mechanism attached to its small nubby appendage to fire a powerful pressing beam. The native with five limbs had just broken the weapons port of the other soldier, but seemed to have electrocuted itself in the process. It fell to the ground next to the enemy. Though the enemy's weapons were gone, all he had to do was raise one limb and step down, and the native was dead.

Kotoko bounced up and slammed into that soldier full-force. His limbs still tucked into an armored wheel, he came down directly on the enemy's fractured weapons blister. The white shattered completely, the last of the stored energy arced around both combatants, and Kotoko left dents in his opponent's battle armor as he came down for a second time. With any luck, he'd fried most of the loyalists' systems with one of those blows.

Kotoko bounced up once again, spun, and unfurled as he came down on top of the five-limbed native, shielding it with his body. At that moment, the last loyalist got a good shot on the native who used the kinetic blaster. There was no way Kotoko could protect both natives. And as the last of the King's Own turned its attention to Kotoko, he wondered if he'd be able to protect himself.

"Traitor!" the loyalist shouted.

He shot at Kotoko, who knew his light scouting armor could not withstand a direct hit. He ducked down, digging into the soft soil with his claws. There was a way to save himself and both natives, if he did it right. He dug his claws further into the ground, clutching not only dirt and leaves, but the five-limbed native along with it all. Then he tucked, turned, and rolled, the loyalist still shooting at him as he went.

"Oh, no you're not!" the loyalist snarled. "You're mine!"

The loyalist tucked and rolled, firing away at Kotoko as he chased him across the tended grassy fields.




Storm was in her room when she heard Xavier's warning.

Ororo, get to the west border of the grounds! There's been a perimeter alert!

Scott immediately afterwards shouted something to the children. Whatever he said was in his "command" tone of voice. He didn't use that except for missions, or battle situations. Storm flew out her open window, heading for the disturbance. She heard Regis screaming, then Jamie, then all the kids. As she cleared the roof of the institute, she could see the western-most edge of the manicured lawn. Cyclops was in a firefight, battling two huge, silver, mechanical...claws? In the blink of an eye, Nightcrawler came in, both he and Cyclops fell, and Storm was still too far away to be of any use. She picked up speed as the skies darkened. A third, slightly smaller mechanical claw rolled through the brush, a greenish-white blur, and landed squarely on one of the other two, which was about to spear Nightcrawler through his chest. Thunder rumbled. The last silver claw fired at the white and green newcomer. With hellish speed, the newcomer dug into the soft earth below it, curled up its five limbs, flipped up on its side like a great wheel, and rolled away. The silver one flipped its limbs in and did the same, firing its weapon at the newcomer. There was a gaping wound in the earth from where the white and green claw scooped up a good foot of soil, and Nightcrawler was missing along with it.

Cyclops was still down, but he didn't seem to be in any immediate danger, and Logan was running towards him, claws out to defend. But Kurt had been abducted, and those two things were too fast to be followed on foot. Storm changed direction and increased speed. It was all up to her.

The first claw, the greenish-white "abductor", had made it to the road and was picking up speed. The silver pursuer was somehow still firing at its quarry, despite its incredibly fast rotation. The abductor weaved about, dodging right and left, and even making short hops, in an attempt to avoid being hit. The attempts were not always successful. Storm had to take out the pursuer first. Kurt was somewhere inside the abductor's body; if that blue beam penetrated, no telling how badly he'd be hurt.

A frosty-white gust came up, momentarily obscuring the distance between target and pursuer. In its wake the asphalt suddenly became slick with a wafer-thin layer of black ice. The pursuer slid the instant it hit the slick surface. It must have been going forty or fifty miles an hour at that point, for it went through one of the younger trees that lined the road before disappearing into the undergrowth. Storm kept going. She could follow the fallen pursuer some other time. Right now she had to get Kurt. Perhaps she could lift her new target into the air until Logan arrived. Then he could cut Kurt free with a few swipes of his claws....

Storm fought the urge to scream as her target disappeared in a flash of white light.




To be continued....

[Siona]

Maelstrom? *waves hand in air* I've read this two times now, and I still can't find out what Kotoko is: alien who happens to have a Japanese name, or just a Japanese guy caught up in all this? :/

~Siona

[Maelstrom]

Ah. Kotoko is an alien name. He's 100% pan-dimensional alien. It has a Japanese kind of sound to it, but it's actually the closest approximation English can come up with, considering the difference in speech patterns and speech organs.

[Siona]

Ah, I see, said the blind man!!

OK, I read your fic, now go read mine! Look for "On the Blade's Edge"!! *is shameless*

~Siona

[Nandireya]

Have read this at Maddie's site...most excellent fic

[Maelstrom]

Talons

Chapter 5


"Stay down, Cyc," Logan's voice filtered through the haze. "Just stay down. We're still dealing with it."

His voice, gruff as always, also had the uneven stress of someone in heavy activity. Cyclops opened his eyes as he laid on the ground, but he could not see past the bush he'd fallen under.

"Goddamn fuckin' monster.... Fall down and die, willya?" Logan snarled.

Logan was close, very close. He couldn't be more than five or ten feet away. There was a lot of movement over there, along with that "hail and rainstorm" sound that the claw creatures made. There was the snapping, cracking sound of Bobby's ice, and a deep, breathy roar that could not have come from human lips.

"Good one, Iceman!" Logan shouted.

Then there was that high-pitched, inhuman screech again, and the sounds of movement stopped.

"Jeez!" Bobby cried. "That thing bleeds blue!"

Scott tried to lift his head, but he felt too weak. He settled for scooting to one side so he could see through an open spot in the bushes. He saw a lot of ice, thin blue "paint", and one of Logan's boots. Since the boot wasn't moving, Scott felt reasonably sure that the danger was past.

"Where's Kurt?" Scott asked, slowly pushing himself up.

"Storm's chasin' after him," Logan answered. "One of these damn things grabbed him and rolled off like a runaway wheel."

Logan and Bobby walked around the bush and knelt by Scott.

"Take it easy," Bobby implored. "If you weren't wearing your costume, we'd be seeing daylight through your chest. You got clocked a few times."

"Jamie and Regis?" Scott asked, ignoring Bobby's concern.

"Back at the mansion," Logan answered. "And yes, we've accounted for every single Jamie. Roll over if you can. Lemme take a look at your chest."

Scott turned his attempts to sit up into a roll onto his back. Bobby winced in sympathetic pain as he saw two fist-sized holes in Scott's armored costume. Underneath, the skin was beet red and white blisters were already starting to form.

"Second degree burns on your chest, pal, and God knows what else," Logan said. "Bobby and I are getting you inside."

Scott caught sight of one of the creatures, half-immobilized in a block of ice and missing two limbs, as Logan and Bobby each took one of his arms. Incongruously, the fresh corpse smelled a bit like roses. Then Scott blacked out once more, head lolling on his chest.

"He's in trouble," Bobby worried aloud. "We'd better carry him the rest of the way."

A traditional fireman's carry would have been easier for Logan, but that would only aggravate Scott's wounds. Instead, he and Bobby clasped their hands together and cradled Scott between them, slowly walking sideways across the field.

"Man, I never realized how heavy dead weight really is," Bobby panted.

The wind came up around them; Ororo was returning. To Bobby and Logan's consternation, she arrived alone, and in none too good a mood. She landed on the brick patio and opened the French doors for Bobby and Logan. Her face was as hard as steel.

"We lost him, didn't we?" Logan grunted.

Her retort was sharp, though all knew the anger wasn't aimed at them. "I'm not sure which is worse, Logan! The fact that I lost Kurt, or the fact that someone's found a way to teleport mechanically!"

Bobby stared at her. "What?"

"You heard me, Bobby!" She slammed the doors after they were through. "That thing teleported away with Kurt in the exact same way that suit teleported away from me yesterday! That's not a mutant, that's a device!"

"God-fucking-dammit," Logan growled. "Anyone got to Charley on this one yet?"

"I'm about to," she spat.


* * * * *


As Kurt came to, he was first aware of a high-pitched ringing in his ears. Then came the horrible, spinning sensation. He laid on the dry, packed earth, but he felt certain he was on some sort of mad potter's wheel, the way he kept spinning and spinning. He moaned and opened his eyes, half-expecting to see the world flying past. The spinning lessened somewhat, but everything kept jerking to one side.

It was dark. He was inside a large, decrepit, wooden structure, perhaps an abandoned barn, and the sun had gone down. Crickets chirped outside, but it was otherwise silent. No cars, no people; he was completely alone. Had he blacked out during a teleport? Did he teleport? He tried to remember, but nothing came.

He heard movement a few yards behind him, barely audible over the constant ringing. It was a gentle sound, like the shifting and clacking of heavy plastic. Then he heard a hissing and popping noise. Kurt's breath caught in his throat. He recognized that sound. He wasn't sure from where, but he did, and it wasn't something he ever wanted to hear again. He rolled over to look behind him. Something huge was huddled in the corner. It made several more pops and one long hiss, and began to stand.

Kurt's memories came back in a disorienting rush. The claw machines. The shooting. A rock in his hands. Pain. He tried to rise, but he could barely manage to push himself to all fours. Too weak to teleport, too much vertigo to jump. No way out.

He was a dead man.



Kotoko had been watching the native for a while now, trying to ignore the burning pain in his limbs from where the King's Own had scored hits. He hoped that this abandoned structure would be good enough to hide them from visual scans, as his battle armor didn't have enough power left to generate another portal. Still, as uncomfortable as he was, he didn't dare peel out of his armor yet. He couldn't take that chance.

He had never been so relieved as when the native made a sound and moved. It had regained some measure of consciousness. It had been badly shocked by the weapon discharge, and reawakening was not certain. It must have been very strong to withstand so much electricity.

"It's all right," he told it. "The fight's over. They can't get to you here."

The creature rolled over, turning the filament-laden side of its nub away from Kotoko. Apparently, the filaments were not sensory organs. The creatures invariably turned this bare side in the direction of any sound. The native shakily got to all fours, forgoing its usual bipedal stance. It was trying to move away. The fifth limb had nothing to do with locomotion. By the way it waved back and forth, it seemed to be specialized for signaling intent. Despite its alien build, it was obvious it was upset.

Why wouldn't it be? Kotoko asked himself. The poor thing's less than half my size, and the King's Own just tried to abduct its young and kill its fellows. So how do I signal my peaceful intent?

The spoken language barrier was insurmountable, at least in the short run. That left body language. Perhaps submissive posture would do it. Kotoko did a quick sensor sweep of the area. There was no one in the immediate vicinity, native or otherwise. It looked like this was a good a time as any to peel out of his armor. He unlatched the ports from the inside and let everything slowly fall to the ground. Despite his best efforts, he hissed with pain as he moved.

The native stayed still, its limb twitching back and forth, as the last of Kotoko's armor dropped to the packed dirt. So far so good. Biting his mouths against outcry, Kotoko slowly rose up on two of his limbs, exposing his vulnerable underbelly.



Kurt watched as the talon-like thing rose up on its claw tips once more. He remained as still as possible, though his tail lashed about like a wild, angry cat's. Every muscle tensed, ready to spring away if this thing made one move towards him. A series of clicks sounded from the thing, different from the usual hissing, and pieces of its armor plating dropped away. It wasn't a machine, then. It was some sort of a living being. Kurt fought to control his tail's movements. God only knew what he could be signaling to this thing right now.

It stood, naked, in front of Kurt. Each identical limb was tipped with a dark, glossy spike at the end. The rest of the creature was covered with tough, warty skin. Small, raised orifices, perhaps as long as Kurt's thumb, dotted the body at irregular intervals. Kurt noticed that the interior of the creature's armor was covered with blunt projections that must have fit into those openings. Were those barnacle-like projections mouths? A giant eagle's talon with dozens of mouths?

The thing sat still, hissing occasionally from those "mouths". It seemed to be hurt, but how badly Kurt couldn't tell. Was it too hurt to move? It had removed its armor, leaving it less defended, if not defenseless. Was it being submissive?

Then it rose up on two of its legs, extending the other three all the way out. Exactly like a tarantula rearing up just before it attacked. Kurt gasped and scrambled back.



What went wrong? The native seemed to respond favorably to Kotoko when he removed his armor, but now it was withdrawing in fear. Kotoko's submissive display must have meant something else. A mistranslation. Damn! Even their body language was contrary! He fought the urge to drop quickly to the ground, which would surely terrify the little thing further. Instead, he slowly lowered himself back, despite his screaming muscles. He'd have to move slowly, ever so slowly. One fast move, and the native was sure to bolt. He had to find a way to communicate. If the native managed to get away and warn its mates, Kotoko knew they would hunt him down and kill him. The natives were just too strong.

He could only think of one alternative to submissive posture as a way of showing benign intent. Kotoko took a few seconds to study the creature's posture, especially the movement of that long limb.



The huge talon slowly lowered itself to the ground. Just as slowly, it took a step forward.

God help me, I'm being stalked, Kurt thought, frantically trying to think of a way to escape.

He tried once again to stand, but he was still too dizzy. Everything lurched to the left again, the ringing increased, and his ears started to ache. He fell to one side, helpless, swaying, trying to regain a measure of control.

The creature took one step forward, then crouched. Here it came. It was going to spring. It swayed back and forth, its rear leg flipping to and fro, as if deciding which way Kurt would leap. Kurt moved slowly to the right, and it matched him. He moved to the left, and it matched him. Kurt backed up to the wall, his tail thumping against the wood. Incredibly, the creature backed into the wall behind it, its fifth limb also smacking against the wood....

Kurt could almost see the metaphysical light bulb over his head. The creature wasn't blocking his exit, it was imitating him. It was deliberately replicating every move he made, right down to the way he must have been swaying with vertigo. Kurt led his tail drop abruptly to the ground. The talon dropped its rear limb just as abruptly. Kurt raised his right arm, and the talon mirrored the gesture. Was it trying to communicate? Part of him wanted to move closer, but his instincts were still screaming at him to run. These things had tried to abduct Jamie and Regis. They tried to kill him and Cyclops. They were huge. They terrified him.

Kurt Wagner, for *shame*! he thought. If it wanted you dead, it had far too much time to do it in! It's trying to show it means no harm! How many times have people thought *you* frightening and hideous? If anyone should understand, it should be you!

He crawled forward on all fours. The talon did the same. It was making those hissing and popping noises again. All right, if it was going to go to all the trouble to replicate Kurt's movements, perhaps he could give a try at the sounds.



"Yes, that's it," Kotoko whispered as he crawled forward. "You've got it. I won't hurt you. Good.... Good...."

The native moved forward and stopped. Its single visible orifice (a mouth?) opened and it mimicked Kotoko's speech.

"Aes, kas it," it said. "Nou ot it."

Not perfect replication, but it was more than Kotoko had ever hoped for. It understood what he was trying to do! It was trying to communicate in return! Kotoko took a chance that movement replication was no longer necessary. He stopped and indicated himself with two of his limbs.

"Kotoko," he said slowly.



By the way its dozens of mouths suddenly opened and shut, Kurt figured the talon was probably excited. It stopped where it was, lifted its front two limbs, and curled them inwards, pointing to itself. It made a series of deep pops and hisses, which sounded something like "Kh't'kh." It repeated the gesture and the noises.

Me Tarzan, you Jane, Kurt thought. I'm starting to really appreciate that movie, now.

Kurt reached out and pointed to the talon, doing his level best to repeat the creature's sounds with hisses and tongue clicks. With any luck, he hadn't just leveled a mortal insult. Then Kurt put that same hand to his chest.

"Kurt," he said slowly.

The talon pointed to him, once again mirroring his actions, and its mouths hissed something close to "khhhtt."

The ringing in his ears suddenly changed pitch, growing deeper and louder. Just as abruptly, the pain in his ears increased tenfold, as if someone had shoved an ice pick in. He curled up and put his hands to his ears. He felt slick warmth trickle down. Blood. One of his eardrums must have burst, if not both. The talon slowly reached forward with one limb and gently touched the side of Kurt's head, the massive spike brushing through his short hair before retracting. Its posture seemed to be one of...contrition? It must have been speaking to Kurt, but he could barely hear anything, now. Damn that ringing.

"You aren't hurting me," Kurt whispered, though he almost couldn't hear his own voice. "I don't blame you."

Kurt managed to reach a hand up and touch the talon's limb before it retracted completely. His fingers settled on the smooth, oddly warm spike, and the talon froze, all mouths opening and closing in unison once more. It extended its limb again, fully, reaching out and down to make it easier for Kurt to touch.



The native did a passable job of speaking Kotoko's name. With only one mouth, it didn't have much hope of an exact repetition. Then it gestured towards itself and gave a strange yowling sound. These creatures communicated with tonals? Kotoko would need some kind of musical instrument to replicate those. He did what he could to pronounce what he assumed to be the creature's name.

"It looks like we're going to have a hard time understanding each other, doesn't it?" he added.

The little creature curled up, pulling its limbs in. Two limbs it pointedly curled over its nubby, mouth-bearing appendage. It was in pain. Was Kotoko's speech painful for it to hear? Or was it reacting to the injuries it surely sustained from the King's Own? Kotoko reached out with his unwounded limb and gently, ever so gently, brushed the side of the native's nub. The filaments that sprouted from the nub were soft and gave way easily.

"I'm sorry this had to happen," he murmured. "I would rather have made contact in a different way."

Before Kotoko could retract his limb, the native reached up with its own and touched him. Its skin was so incredibly soft, like flower petals. It spoke, though its tones were much more muted this time. It was so plainly wounded, but it didn't seem to fear Kotoko for its condition. Kotoko slowly extended his limb completely, angling it down to the ground.

"Go ahead and touch me," he said. "I doubt we can hurt each other more than has already been done."


* * * * *


When the doorbell rang, both Jubilee and Syryn went to answer it. No one felt all that safe going anywhere alone anymore, even just to the school's front door. Standing there on the porch was a big, broad man in slacks and a sports coat. Jubilee thought to herself that this guy was even bigger than Peter, and that was saying a lot. He stood there, huge hands clasped politely in front of him.

"Good evening, ladies," he said, smiling. "Could you let the good Professor know that Doctor Henry McCoy has arrived, and would very much appreciate being lead to his patients?"

Jubilee's lips twitched in a vainly-suppressed smile. "Doctor McCoy? That's really your name? It's not a joke or anything?"

He sighed, still smiling. "Yes, and I've heard all the Star Trek jokes. Just call me Dr. Hank. I believe we'll find that a satisfactory compromise."

The two girls stepped aside to admit Hank into the foyer. Syryn closed the door behind them.

"Professor X is down in Cerebro right now," she said. "He said to bring you down to the infirmary--"

"Sickbay," Jubilee snickered.

"--right away," Syryn finished, glaring at Jubilee. "Jubes! This is important!"

Hank held up a hand, still smiling pleasantly. "Ladies! Ladies! Let's not fight over handsome men. Just lead me there, and if you wouldn't mind elucidating on the way, I would be thankful. Understandably, Charles didn't want to discuss very much of this over the wires."

The girls led him into the elevator.

"Well, Cyc is hurt pretty bad," Jubilee said in a rush. "And Petey's bashed up, but he'll probably be O.K. And we got attacked by these things just a couple of hours ago, and the bodies are downstairs somewhere, and we don't know where Kurt is. Miss Munroe and Logan and Pete are out doing patrols on the grounds and stuff, and Rogue's in the monitor room, and Bobby's downstairs, and there's this other guy they said they found way late last night--"

The elevator doors opened on the brushed steel corridors of the lower level.

"And they're, like, not telling us much about the other guy, just that he needs your help somehow," Jubilee went on as they walked out. "It's a real mess, O.K.?"

"I gathered that," Hank mumbled.

They led him to the medlab. Bobby looked up from his book as he entered, then quickly jumped off the stool he'd been sitting upon.

"You're Dr. Hank?" he asked, extending his hand.

Hank shook it, his huge hand literally enveloping Bobby's smaller one. "The one and only." He turned to the two girls and gave a slight bow. "Ladies, I thank you for the escort, but I must turn my tender ministrations to my patients. Please accept my most puissant prose of thanks."

The two girls blinked in unison, utterly bewildered.

"Uh, yeah, whatever," Jubilee muttered. As they left the room, she whispered, "That guy swallow a dictionary or what?"

The door closed behind then, cutting off what was sure to be Syryn's caustic reply. Hank's smile faded, his countenance serious and professionally detached.

"Scott's this way," Bobby said, leading him further into the lab. "He's been kind of shocky, but I think he's coming around. The other guy--did the Professor tell you very much about him?"

"He said I'd be looking at something as revolutionary as nanotechnology, but for obvious reasons did not elucidate further," Hank replied. "The girls mentioned that you seem to have mislaid a teammate along the way."

"Yeah, Kurt got taken. The Professor is trying to find him right now."



To be continued ....

[Maelstrom]

Talons

Chapter 6


Xavier had been in Cerebro for the past hour, searching for Kurt. To say it was tedious would have been an understatement. Cerebro was not designed to be used for more than ten minutes at a time. He didn't dare try to hook into the main Westchester grid for the power; the drain would attract too much attention. He was limited to using the Mansion's capacitor, which took time to recharge. Ten minutes on, ten off, ten on, ten off.

So far, he hadn't found Kurt.

Xavier waited with growing impatience for the power indicator to turn green. He tapped his fingers on the side of the controls, as if that would somehow speed things along. He hadn't bothered removing Cerebro's helmet; he just sat there, staring into the cavernous space. Waiting. Waiting was all that it seemed anyone could do right now.

The indicator went to green. Xavier closed his eyes and calmed himself in preparation. Perhaps, this time, he would have more success. The chamber darkened, then filled with countless points of red light. Xavier mentally flew by dozens of red motes, which briefly resolved into men, women, or young adults as he passed. Thousands of mutants, and, as usual, he only wanted to find one.

To his shock, he found Kurt almost immediately. He was so close by, less than fifty miles away from the mansion. Xavier closed in on the image, then gritted his teeth. Kurt was in pain. Charles could feel it even over Cerebro's dampened link. He was laying on the ground... drawing something in the dirt with his finger? As Xavier cast about, getting a feel for the area, he felt another presence. Something so utterly alien that Cerebro couldn't lock onto it. Whatever it was, it was within bare feet of Kurt, and Kurt was making no moves to escape. Kurt was clearly agitated, but was that from fear or pain?

There was only one way to find out.



If he and "Kh't'kh" were going to talk, Kurt could only think of one truly universal language. No matter where you went, one plus one always equaled two. He dug that simple equation into the dirt before him with his left, uninjured hand, first with symbols, then with Arabic numbers:

. + . = ..
1 + 1 = 2

Kh't'kh extended a limb over the two equations, mouths clicking away. It carved strange symbols into the dirt just below Kurt's numbers. The ground was slowly turning into the equivalent of a Rosetta Stone.

Kh't'kh then carved another formula, using the same basic "dot" symbols Kurt had used:

. + . + . = ...
1 + 1 + 1 =

It pulled back, plainly waiting for Kurt to fill in the numeral for three. Kurt did so.

This is all well and good, but how am I going to say, "Hello, my name is Kurt, exactly why did your people attack us" using numbers? he thought.

That pain in his ears was getting worse. He ground his teeth and started a new line of numbers. It gave him something besides the dizzying, ringing pain to focus on.

Kurt.

Kurt gasped and froze. Professor?

Kurt, are you in danger?

From my injuries, perhaps. From my newfound friend, no.

"Newfound friend"? Can I assume that is the alien presence I feel in front of you?

Yes.

Kurt was now listing numbers, from zero through twelve, with accompanying dots. It would be faster to make a mathematical "dictionary" for Kh't'kh than to keep going with simple addition.

You're trying to communicate with this being, Xavier thought. And it seems to be reciprocating, from what you're showing me.

The other ones were intent upon capturing or killing, but this one is not. I'm not sure of anything else, but this one is peaceful, and wounded.

According to Storm, your "abductor" was being shot at as it ran away with you. I wonder if we are not caught between two warring parties. This is going to take time to sort out. Stay where you are. I'm coming with Storm and Colossus to get you both.

Staying is no problem, Professor. It's moving that I can't do.

The pain turned into a stab of agonizing intensity. Kurt grimaced and held his hands over ears, a strangled moan escaping him. For a moment he felt utterly alone, with only ringing, vertigo, and pain for company. As the white-hot needles retracted from his ears, he could become aware of the Professor again, and then of the ground, the comforting darkness, and Kh't'kh.

Please... hurry, Kurt thought weakly.



Kotoko watched with no small amount of sympathy as Khhhtt curled up again, issuing sounds of distress. This time it did not come out of it. It stayed that way, pressing its limbs to either side of its nub, its body clenched in pain. It started speaking again, softly and quickly, its voice like a repeating, musical chant.

Kotoko extended a limb and laid it alongside Khhhtt to give some measure of comfort and support.

"We're a sight, aren't we, little guy?" he said softly. "Neither one of us are in any condition to walk, so we just stay here trying to teach each other math. I wonder if you're a warrior? You've been pretty good at working through pain up 'till now."

As time passed, he felt something odd. Something alien. A strange itching at the back of his mind. What was going on? Was someone else there? There was no one but Khhhtt in the structure with him.

...Friend....

A voice? A disembodied voice, so loud and clear, and yet it did not come from any one place. It was as if it began and ended in his own mind. Kotoko slowly rose up on his tips.

...No harm.... Difficult... give aid....

"Where are you?" Kotoko demanded aloud.

...Look inside....

Kotoko moved over Khhhtt and crouched just above it, giving the vulnerable creature what protection he could.

"I don't see you inside the structure," Kotoko shouted. "Show yourself, now! Shut off your camouflage field!"

The hidden conversationalist smiled somewhere. You move to protect our comrade. That is not necessary, but I am pleased to see you do it.

The words were more fluid, now. Kotoko got the distinct impression of a learned individual, an elder.

I am Kurt's teacher, Charles Xavier. I am coming with others to retrieve you both. Kurt tells me you are injured as well.

"You're... in communication with him? Is this how your species communicate with each other?"

What I do is very rare, indeed. I do not think you will find another who can speak so directly. Will you allow me further in?

Kotoko moved off of Khhhtt (or was it Kurt?). He curled up nearby, just inches away. He wanted to find a way to communicate with these creatures, and it had just been presented to him.

Yes, Kotoko thought. Come speak with me, Charles Xavier, teacher of Kurt. I am Kotoko, First Rank Scout of the peoples' rebellion. I have to explain things. I don't know how much time we have before the King's Own find us again.



Xavier's body was calmly sitting in his wheelchair, which Colossus was securing inside the Blackbird. But as Storm went hastily through the final system checks, Xavier's mind was elsewhere. He stood in a dark blue void, listening to the thoughts of an alien.

Yes, the being thought. Come speak with me, Charles Xavier, teacher of Kurt. I am Kotoko, First Rank Scout of the peoples' rebellion. I have to explain things. I don't know how much time we have before the King's Own find us again.

The imagery changed. All around Xavier rose a shimmering, transparent field, a mental filter that would render images in a familiar format. From the other side, someone faded into view, as if walking out of a dense fog. The person resolved into an Asian male in the prime of life. Xavier's subconscious choice of race was no doubt influenced by Kotoko's Japanese-sounding name. The figure was dressed in the distinctive uniform of a Green Beret. And yet over that, he wore a white lab coat with several pens sticking out of the breast pocket. He saw himself as both soldier and scientist.

Kurt was right in his estimation to Xavier. Kotoko was wounded and running the ragged edge of exhaustion. His clothes, both uniform and lab coat, were stained with blood, and he walked with a slight limp. Still, he approached with determination and calm. For one in such poor condition, he had remarkable discipline.

Kotoko's eyes widened as he beheld Xavier from his side of the filter. He put up one hand and tentatively reached out touch him. Xavier put his hand out in return. Kotoko grasped his hand in wonder.

"Are you one of us?" he asked, shocked.

"No, but it is an image you are comfortable with," Xavier replied. "To me, you look like one of our warrior elite, as well as a scientist."

"And to me, you are a teacher," Kotoko responded. "A man of learning and experience...." He traced a line over Xavier's face, his finger just above his skin. "Not all of it pleasant, judging by the scars."

Interesting. Xavier had never seen himself as one scarred, and neither had anyone else. Had Alkali Lake affected him so deeply, or was Kotoko that sensitive? Kotoko stood back to a more formal distance and bowed, as a junior to his superior.

"Teacher Xavier, your people are in great danger," he stated. "Your world has come to the notice of the King's Own."

Images flashed behind Kotoko as he spoke. The images were honest and unskilled, laden with emotions. The first few scenes were those of companionship with his troop, which Xavier saw as a platoon of soldiers in casual fatigues, laughing and playing cards in a field tent. Also there were spots of joy Kotoko felt when on scouting missions to different worlds. He was part scout, part forward observer, and when the opportunity arose, part anthropologist. He had met several different intelligent species besides his own, and part of him always yearned to stay and study further.

But then the scenes changed. Xavier's eyes narrowed. Kotoko's loathing of the King and the King's Own was so strong that it dredged up the darkest images from Xavier's memory. The "King's Own" took the form of Nazis, and the king himself Hitler. There were camps, much like Stalinistic gulags, where Kotoko's people perished by the millions. There were torture rooms. There were child soldiers drafted into battle. The only horror that Kotoko had not witnessed, nor even considered, was rape. Apparently, that particular form of violation and domination just didn't apply to his race.

"As far as we can tell," Kotoko continued, "they have been sending reconnaissance to this place for the better part of two years. Until recently they were sending scientific surveys away from populated areas, checking for suitability. But now, the war has gone so badly for the despot's forces that they are growing desperate for a fallback position. Your world is the closest, and the most suitable, and I fear that they have already gained a beachhead."

Xavier saw pictures of soldiers collecting samples of water, plants, soil, air, and small animals, all done somewhere deep in the wilderness. And then Charles saw something that made him start with surprise. When Kotoko mentioned "beachhead", he brought up an unfiltered, all-too-familiar image of the three rigs that had attacked the institute last night.

"Wait," Xavier said. "These vehicles. When did you see them?"

"At daybreak. I picked up the distinct signals from the King's Own from very close to this spot, but by the time I arrived, they had been off for hours. They are your vehicles?"

"These vehicles attacked us last night. They held advanced exoskeleton weaponry, and they used pilots from my race to power them."

"Your race? I...don't understand. Surely the King's Own have not been here long enough...to do experimentation on...your people?"

Kotoko's voice trailed off in horror. Images leapt up around them, abstract views of men being merged with machines, being exposed to chemical and biological agents. In short, being used as unwilling test subjects. Xavier could tell that Kotoko himself had not witnessed these atrocities, but he had heard of them.

Storm's voice floated through to Xavier from the outside. "Professor, we've landed."

Xavier put his hand on Kotoko's shoulder. "Kotoko, there are two more of my kind arriving. They're coming in to help you and Kurt."

Kotoko nodded, but his calm demeanor had been shattered. He was trembling, his breaths short and shallow, his skin paling. The idea that the King's Own had established itself here so strongly was more frightening to him than the looming specter of his own demise. Xavier gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"Kotoko, trust us. As you may have noticed, we're not defenseless."



Storm knelt in front of Xavier and waited for his reply. Sometimes it took a few seconds when he was in such a deep state of concentration. Xavier calmly stared straight ahead for several more seconds, unblinking.

"They both understand," the Professor murmured. "Go."

"I do not like leaving the professor this way," Colossus whispered. "There should always be one of us with him."

Storm lowered the Blackbird's ramp with the flick of a switch. "We don't have that luxury right now, Colossus, and we've got our orders."

She jogged quickly down the ramp before it had touched down. Colossus followed reluctantly, glancing back over his metallic shoulder as the ramp automatically retracted into the jet. Storm kept her eyes straight ahead. Until they had Kurt back, she could allow nothing else to distract her.

The barn was like so many others that randomly dotted the countryside. It had long since been abandoned, but the owners of the property had seen fit to leave it for some odd aesthetic appeal. Whatever paint had been on it had long since flaked away, and the bare, silvered wood continued to deteriorate year after year. She reached the heavy double doors first, but waited for Colossus before opening them. Xavier may be sure of their "guest's" intentions, but she wasn't.

Colossus opened the door carefully, lest he rip it from its rusty hinges. When nothing leapt out, Storm opened the other door and stood beside him. It was pitch black inside, but they could hear Kurt's voice, wavering with stress and pain, mumbling in German somewhere within.

"Du bist gebenedeit unter den Frauen und gebenedeit ist die Frucht deines Leibes, Jesus...."

They switched on their flashlights, and found Kurt immediately. He was a small, huddled mass on the ground, a combination of black uniform and indigo skin. He clutched his head, hands over his ears, and grimaced in agony as he prayed. However, he was also just in front of something from out of Storm's worst nightmares. The thing, the huge, disembodied claw, was waiting behind Kurt, looming over him even as it sat with its legs tucked under its body.

Storm gasped. Her right hand went slack, the flashlight dangling in her loose grip. The beam shone directly in Kurt's face. Even though his eyes were closed, he cried out in pain and tried to turn away from the glare. Storm hastily turned the light off and hooked it to her belt.

"That is the 'he' the professor spoke of?" Colossus asked, staring at the creature.

"For its sake, Kurt had better be all right," Storm threatened, advancing on both Kurt and the claw. "Because if it hurt him, I'm going to quick fry it to a crackly crunch."

Kurt opened his eyes and looked up at her. "Storm?"

Storm threw all caution to her favored winds and bolted to Kurt's side. There was something wrong with his eyes, but she couldn't place it right then. She lifted him up to a sitting position, which he plainly could not keep without her help. He kept swaying to one side. Now that she was so close, she could see what was off about his eyes. They kept jerking to one side, back and forth, as if he was trying to follow a single slat in a picket fence from the seat of a speeding car. He didn't seem able to focus on her. She pulled his hands from his ears. They came away bloody.

"The talon didn't do this to me," Kurt whispered, his voice slightly slurred. "Don't hurt it. It didn't do this. We're trying to talk." He looked down at his hands, stunned. "Lieber Gott, I can't hear myself talk...."

Throughout Ororo and Kurt's exchange, the creature behind them remained still. Ororo gave it a nervous glance, then helped Kurt to his feet. She tried to pull his arm around her shoulder, but he shuddered, bowed his head, and covered his bleeding ears again, leaning heavily into her. His tail shook and swung to only one side, pulling him further off-balance. Something had badly damaged his ears. They had to get him to Hank, fast. She grabbed him with both arms and started to walk him to the door.



Kotoko watched as two natives opened the door and stepped in. Xavier's patient, calm voice spoke to him as they slowly approached.

The large metal one on the right is named Piotr, he explained. He is a male, as is Kurt. The smaller one on the left is Ororo. She is female. I realize that you're seeing rather extreme and unusual examples of humanity, but can you see the similarities and differences between our sexes?

Ororo ran to Kurt's side, directly in front of Kotoko. He had a very good vantage point for comparison.

I think so, Kotoko replied. Females alone have the two symmetrical projections? I don't see these so pronounced on the two males.

That is one of the more obvious differences, yes.

She is concerned. Is Kurt her mate?

Kotoko felt some amusement come through from Xavier's side. Not to my knowledge, though to be truthful I have not asked. They are comrades. We are like family.

I will remain still for her. I don't want to stress her further. The other one, is he employing a hardsuit?

No. He can alter his molecular structure. The steel you see is his own skin.

He can *alter* his own molecules? How is that possible?

The process is not well understood, but it is useful. If need be, he is strong enough to carry you into our ship.

I would think so....

The female, Ororo, helped Kurt up and held him close as she guided him out. The remaining male, Piotr, stood where he was. Kotoko started to uncurl, then bit his mouths against outcry. The pain from his burns had magnified during his inactivity.

I'm sorry, teacher, but I don't think... I can uncurl, he thought. But I can't leave my battle armor here to be found.

Rest, Kotoko. We'll take care of everything for now.



Colossus stood his ground as Ororo brought Kurt outside, but it didn't look like his caution was necessary. The monster didn't move once. He stared at it in amazement, wondering what it was thinking, what its skin felt like, wondering all sorts of things. After Ororo left, the creature began to uncurl from its position. Dozens of little "barnacles" opened up and hissed all over its body, as if they were venting invisible steam. The creature curled back up, in obvious pain. Colossus moved forward, shining his light over the creature's body. There were several large, nasty-looking burns on the knobby, orangish- brown skin, and cobalt blue blood oozed from one particularly bad one.

Piotr, Xavier's voice called softly.

Yes, sir? he asked back.

Our new guest will need help to get to the Blackbird. As you can see, he is too wounded to move on his own. There should also be a pile of equipment nearby that would be what's left of his battlesuit. If you could, please bring that onboard as well.

Understood, sir. He moved closer to the creature. Should I lift "him" up by anything in particular?

Xavier did not answer right away. When he did reply, his thoughts were tinged with bemusement.

He says to just turn him on his side...and *roll* him....




To be continued....

[Maelstrom]

Talons

Chapter 7


Hank waited just outside the hangar doors as the Blackbird landed within. As much as he wanted to get in there, he knew to wait until the jets cut out. From what Ororo said, they already had one X-man down with an ear injury. No one needed Hank with blown eardrums as well.

Finally the noise died down. Hank strode into the hangar, the last whine of the jets dying away. The ramp lowered in perfect time for him to bound up into the Blackbird without breaking stride. In front of him, Kurt clung to his seat, leaning to the right, head tilted even further, as he mumbled German prayers through clenched teeth. He cradled his right arm in his lap, swaying just a little. He bared his teeth in something between concentration and pain, his ears smeared with fresh, glistening crimson.

Hank took no notice of anything else. He went straight for Kurt. He unzipped the small instrument bag he clutched in his massive hand and withdrew a transparent plastic "bite stick". He held it up in front of Kurt's face.

"Use this before you crack the enamel on those pearly whites," he said.

"I can't hear you," Kurt told him.

"I was afraid of that," Hank muttered.

He held up the plastic and pantomimed biting down on it. Kurt nodded. Still clinging to his seat, he allowed Hank to place the stick in his mouth. Ororo came back to sit beside him. Hank pointed to his index finger and slowly moved it back and forth in front of Kurt's face, watching as Kurt tried to follow it with his eyes. They were still jumping to the side.

"Wonderful nystagmus you've got there...," Hank noted.

He put an ostoscope to Kurt's left ear. Kurt strangled a cry of pain and bit down harder on the plastic stick. "There's one tympanoplasty tonight...."

He went to the other ear, and Kurt shied away from the probe despite himself. Ororo put both hands to the side of his head and gently held him still. Hank was as careful as he could be with the ostoscope, but it still hurt terribly.

"....And there's another tympanoplasty," Hank finished. "Both tympanic membranes are blown wide open."

To Kurt's relief, Hank set the ostoscope down. Then the doctor lifted Kurt's favored right hand and turned it over. There were burns running along his fingers and palm. No wonder he was cradling it that way.

"Electrical burns, mainly first degree, a few second." Hank turned to Ororo. "If I didn't know any better, I'd wonder if he tried anything funny with you, my dear. I've seen people lose their eardrums to lightning strikes. I don't suppose you know how this happened, do you?"

"I didn't get a good look, no," Ororo replied.

Professor Xavier's voice calmly issued from farther up front. "According to Kotoko, Kurt disabled one of the enemy's weapons with a well-placed rock. He was nearly electrocuted in the process."

"He held the rock in this hand, then?" Hank asked, glancing back at the professor. "He didn't throw it?"

"Yes, he held it in his hand."

Hank turned back to Kurt and started unzipping his singed right sleeve. "That's a useful bit of information. By the way, who's Kotoko? A new student?"

"Look behind you, Henry. He's up against the wall, next to Colossus."

Henry turned on one knee. At first, he thought he was seeing a damaged spare wheel for the blackbird, secured to the wall by a cargo net. Then he blinked and looked again. That couldn't possibly be a wheel. It issued noises from dozens of barnacle-like projections, the sounds reminding Hank vaguely of someone popping bubble wrap, or dropping marbles down a set of stairs. Colossus pulled back the cargo net and gently rolled the being out, and for the first time, Dr. Henry McCoy got a clear picture of the creature that was Kotoko.

His jaw dropped. "Oh my stars and garters...."



The bulk of the student body lined up along the corridor outside the hangar, eager to get a glimpse of the creature Jamie and Regis had described. First came Hank, cradling Kurt in his arms as if he weighed little more than a child. The lithe acrobat was curled up in a ball, right down to his tail, his hands over his ears and a plastic stick clenched between his teeth. Hank did not look down at the children; he strode right by them, business-like and professional. Ororo followed directly after. The three were gone in seconds. A bit later, the talon itself came by the waiting children in a ludicrous manner, rolled down the hallway like a giant tire. A giant tire with knuckles, warts, and barnacles. Regis paled and moved further back, where three Jamies were there to surround and protect him.

"Regis, Colossus is doing the pushing," one Jamie said. "It's not going to get away from him. He's too strong."

Regis swallowed and nodded quickly, unconvinced.

"Does it like being rolled that way?" one of the students asked.

"It's a 'he'," Colossus replied. "The professor told me that was what he wanted. It must be comfortable for him."

The professor himself came last, his motorized wheelchair quietly moving along. He stopped among his students, and after the alien had been rolled down another corridor, they turned to look at him.

"The alien's name roughly translates to Kotoko," Professor Xavier said. With his next words, he made a point of addressing Regis and Jamie. "I understand that he is frightening, but I want everyone to know that he tried to stop the other three that attacked us today. The situation is complex, but understand that Kotoko is not a prisoner, nor is he a threat. In fact, I think he will be able to help us a great deal." As Xavier scanned the group, he noticed that there was a noted, and unexpected, absence. "Has anyone seen Kitty?"

"Yeah, she's up in the room," Jubilee said, pointing up with her thumb. "She said she was working on something for you. You know how she gets when she's on that computer. You can't pry her away."



Kitty clicked on "print" and kicked her rolling chair back across the floor, to where the printer hummed into activity. It had taken a long time to search through the police DNA database, but she did have something to show for it.

"Man, Mystique would be able to do this in half the time," she mumbled ruefully.

She heard the distinct mechanical whine of Professor Xavier's wheelchair outside her open door. Just in time. She plucked the finished sheets from the out tray.

"Kitty, Mystique is at least twenty years your elder," he said as he rolled to the doorway. "Try to be a bit easier on yourself, or at least make your comparisons more fair."

She stood and walked over to him. "Yeah, well, in geekspeak, that means she's an old geezer, and I should be able to spike, spoof, and nuke her into next week. It just bugs me, that's all."

Xavier's eyes shone. "So, someone in their thirties is an 'old geezer'? I'm afraid of what that would make me."

"Pre-Cambrian." She handed him the printout. "One more minute, and I'd have it spiral bound for you. Is Kurt O.K.?"

"Henry is taking care of him right now. We'll know more in a few hours"

Xavier flipped through the pages, getting a quick idea of what Kitty had discovered. She had DNA matches on two of the six casualties from last night, dossiers on Glen Carter and Isidro Delgado, a chemical breakdown on the "blue gel", as well as the tiny bit of plastic that floated in it, and, tagged onto the end, a few price lists of construction equipment, new and used. She shrugged and grinned as he reached the last pages of information.

"Scott talked about doing it, so I told him I'd do it instead. 'Cuz, like, I had a lot of time on my hands, waiting for the DNA matches to come back. I mean, there had to be a reason why they stole the stuff, right?"

"And what did you find?" Xavier asked, looking back up at her.

She leaned against the doorway with one arm, still looking over Xavier's shoulder at the printout. "I called up everyone in the phone book. Nobody in the state has a bulldozer to spare, forget Westchester county. 'Cuz of the winter flooding upstate, everyone and their brother is rebuilding and stuff. There's a waiting list a mile long. Dealers are backlogged, and all the used stuff has been snapped up. And don't even bother trying to rent something until late spring. They'll just laugh at you."

Xavier rubbed his chin and narrowed his eyes in thought. "Kitty, would you mind spiral binding this for me? I think we'll all need to see this."

The lights flickered, then died. Kitty's systems remained on and intact, thanks to the UPS and surge protectors. For a brief second, her flatscreen was the only source of light for the room. Before her and the professor's eyes could adjust to the sudden darkness, the lights came back on.

"Jeez, that's the second time in two days," Kitty said, irritated. "What the hell is up with Con Edison?"

"I don't know," Xavier said, his voice soft and strangely tense. "But I'm going to find out."


* * * * *


Kurt drifted in and out for several hours after the anesthesia wore off. He didn't completely awaken until mid morning the next day. The first thing he was aware of was a soft conversation. No ringing, no spinning. He was curled up in bed, but it wasn't his own. He opened his eyes to find Ororo and a thickly-built stranger standing over him.

"Good morning, Herr Wagner," the man chimed, smiling. "It's nice to see you open those pretty yellow eyes of yours."

Their voices were muffled. Was his hearing loss permanent? Kurt lifted a hand to his ear, tentatively checking. He found a lot of cotton and gauze.

"Do I know you?" he asked tentatively, rolling onto his back.

"Yes, you've never met me before, have you? My name is Henry McCoy, but you can just call me Dr. Hank. Charles and I go back quite a ways.

"Now, there are a few rules for people who've just had their eardrums reconstructed," Hank started, ticking off points on his fingers. "No drinking through a straw, no blowing your nose, no heavy lifting, no sneezing with your mouth closed, no swimming, no plane rides, no pretty girls blowing into your ears, and no teleporting unless your life depends on it, as I have the feeling you experience radical pressure changes. Basically, don't do anything to pop your ears or put pressure on your eustachian tubes. Oh, and I'm afraid your life as a violin virtuoso is over."

Kurt managed a grin. "But doctor, I'm a concert pianist."

Scott's voice called from Kurt's left, "Show him the bite stick, Hank."

Ororo gave a theatrical shudder. "You men are positively macabre."

Kurt looked Scott's way. He was sitting up, his mattress at a forty-five degree angle. His chest was bare, except for two gauze patches. He wore an oxygen mask over his face, but otherwise seemed in good spirits.

"Oh, yes. I'll have to keep this one," Hank commented, reaching over to a mobile platform. "Tell me, Kurt, how were you regarded by dentists?"

"I did not see them often," he admitted softly. "There was one old man friendly to me, but he died years ago. As far as anyone else, they did not want to get too close to me. I was known as Herr 'Your-Teeth-Are-Fine-Get-Out-of-My-Office'."

Hank picked up the clear plastic that Kurt vaguely remembered biting down on. "Yes, I can imagine that would be a problem. Your teeth are quite strong, in case you were interested."

He handed Kurt the stick. Kurt gazed at it with amazement; it was utterly demolished. It had been an inch thick, yet he had bitten down on it so hard that his shark-like teeth literally poked holes all the way through from both sides.

"Of course, the jaw is one of the strongest muscles in the body," Hank went on. "It's almost always in use one way or another."

"Especially when it's giving out vile puns," Scott put in.

"Still, this is impressive by even my standards," Hank finished, taking back the deformed object. "I'll have to mount this somewhere."

"Kurt, dear, we have to talk," Ororo spoke up. She leaned over him. "This is twice in the past two months you've been teleported away during battle, twice we've launched a search for you, and twice I've come up on you wounded and helpless. This is getting repetitive."

"Yes, you're right," Kurt sighed. "Next time, dinner and a movie instead?"

Ororo tapped her fingers on the side of the bed, then turned to Hank. In a casual tone, she asked, "So, Hank, when will he be well enough that I can start beating him?"

"If you don't hit him in the head, you can start now," Hank replied, turning away.

"I think that's my cue to leave," Kurt mumbled.

He sat up too fast, and the world lurched to one side. He fell back to the bed with a startled groan and put his hand over his eyes.

"And no sitting up quickly," Hank added.

"Now he tells me," Kurt moaned.

"And you shouldn't be leaving too soon, in any case," Hank called over his shoulder. "We have to change that dressing."

Kurt removed his hand slowly. The world had stopped spinning, mostly. He glanced at Scott.

"So what are you in for?" he asked

"Pulmonary contusions," Hank answered for him.

"Bruised lung," Scott clarified. "And a snapped rib or two."

"And he's been positively insistent that he be kept informed of all situations as they occur, instead of resting as he's supposed to," Hank added, pointing a thick, accusing finger.

"I am resting!" Scott objected. "I can't do anything but rest sitting in bed like this!"

Ororo remained silent, watching the two argue with a slight shake of her head. Kurt slowly sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed. She aided him with a warm, soft hand to his back.

"You're being quiet today," he whispered to her.

"I'm not getting in the middle of that," she replied, just as softly. "Those two have been going at it off and on since Scott woke up. Hank's threatening to sedate him."

Kurt looked down at his right arm. Deep purple spots ran the length of it, growing fainter the closer they got to his shoulder. Burns. His hand was in a cotton mitten, and it felt like there was some kind of ointment on underneath. It was moderately painful to flex his fingers.

"I hope I didn't cause you too much trouble," he said quietly. "I didn't think that weapon could explode like that. I just meant to distract the thing long enough to get Cyclops out of there."

"Well, you did give me a scare for a while," she replied. "But since you brought back a big piece of this puzzle, I guess we can call things even."

"The alien?" Kurt looked back at her. "Is it still alive?"

"Both of them are. One is friendly, the other's locked up in the danger room until we figure out what to do with it."

Hank came over to Kurt's side with a small basin of gauze, packing, and ointment tubes.

"This may irritate," he warned.

Kurt hunched over and clenched his teeth as Hank slowly pulled what seemed to be two yards of yellow-stained, glistening packing from Kurt's left ear. Kurt paled in wide-eyed disgust as he saw the discarded material.

"Not to worry," Hank said cheerily. "That gunk is from the antibiotics. Your ear isn't weeping that badly."

"That's a relief," Kurt muttered. Then Hank replaced the packing, and Kurt grunted, "I spoke too soon."

"You'll also get to take oral antibiotics for the next two weeks. Won't that be fun?"

"I have had 'fun', and this is not it." Kurt hissed, gripping the thin mattress with his good hand. "I'm getting dizzy again."

Unnoticed by Henry, Professor Xavier entered the medlab. He moved his wheelchair over to Scott's side. Scott greeted him silently with an upraised hand.

"Well, it appears that Kurt is up and around," Xavier noted. "And Scott is doing much better. So that leaves our new 'guests', doesn't it, Henry?"

"Ah, yes, professor," Hank replied, now turning his attention to Kurt's other ear. "Kotoko has been resting comfortably in the next room. To be honest, the bulk of my ministrations have been strictly tertiary. His blood chemistry responds favorably to antiseptics and analgesics, but I have little idea of where to go from there. His interior structure is nothing short of bizarre. Without that little first aid kit he carried with him, all of this would have taken far longer. At least I had a chemical launching pad."

"And as for Mr. Delgado?" Charles asked cautiously.

Hank finished torturing Kurt and turned around to face Charles. "The good news is that 'input jack' isn't interfering with his central nervous system just by its presence. If it wasn't such a succulent selection of hyper-tech, I feel it could be left there without complications. The bad news is that it, and he, will be entirely too attractive a target. His erstwhile 'employers' are going to want him back."

"Hell, we still don't know how they found us in the first place," Scott added. "The general public doesn't know where Storm or I live, and the professor was never out of the car to be seen. All I can think is that they've got some kind of government clearance to get into Stryker's files."

"Or they've just hacked into them as Mystique is wont to do," Ororo countered. "Kitten has done enough similar work."

"Yes, and I have the results of Ms. Pryde's latest foray right here," Charles said, lifting a spiral-bound portfolio with one hand before setting it back on his lap. "I'll be going over this with you in a little while, but for now, I'd like to be sure of Mr. Delgado's state."

"He's in the other room with Logan," Hank answered. "I can bring him in here, if you'd like. He's awake."

"Do you think... that's a good idea?" Kurt asked nervously. "I'm still a bit dizzy to walk out of here."

"My cyotic comrade, I wouldn't suggest it if I thought Isidro would have a problem. We've been talking with him for the past hour or so. He's a surprisingly tolerant individual, and it looks like he may be staying with us for a bit longer. He'll need to be introduced to you sooner or later, won't he?"

Kurt did not reply. Instead he looked down at the floor, with the self-conscious, maddening hunch to his shoulders that made Ororo want to both slap and hug him at the same time. As Hank left to fetch Isidro Delgado, Kurt closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and forced himself to sit up straight.

" 'We shouldn't have to,' " he whispered to himself.



Henry McCoy took a few short steps down the corridor to one of the many auxiliary rooms. He touched the chime and waited; it would be rude to just barge in.

"C'mon in," Logan's voice called.

Hank walked in a few feet and stopped as the door shut behind him. Isidro, clothed in the standard academy sweatpants and t-shirt, was going through a workout with Logan. He was a compact, leanly-muscular man, his black hair cut short in a standard, academy-approved style. Though he wasn't especially handsome, his sculpted body could make him a bit of a lady-killer. He kicked, spun, and punched, aiming at Logan's upraised hands with each blow. Hank grinned broadly as Isidro wound down, his shirt damp with sweat around the neck and under the armpits. Whatever had happened to the young man, at least his body was in prime condition.

Isidro danced a few steps on his toes. "You're right. Kicking those hands is like hitting a steel plate."

Logan smiled. "Hey, you were the one who felt like a workout."

"Yeah, I was." He smiled, a bit winded. "Next time I'll know better, huh?" He looked over to Hank and tapped the back of his head, his smile fading fast. "Hey, Dr. Hank! Any idea what to do about this damn thing?"

"That's one of the things I came to talk to you about," Hank told him. "Professor Xavier would like to speak with you face-to-face. It's not that we desire you as our prisoner, but it isn't safe for you to leave just yet."

Isidro swallowed and glanced away. "Yeah, I kind of figured that. I'd like to contact my folks, but I don't want them getting involved in all this, either." He ran a hand through his hair. "God, did I really try to kill you guys?"

"You personally?" Logan asked back. "No. And you're not the only guy who's gone through this." He looked at Hank. "Is Kurt up yet?"

"Yes," Hank replied. "I don't suppose you've warned Isidro about him?"

"Warned me about who?" Isidro asked, looking from one man to the other.



To be continued....

[bluefooted]

Hey Maelstrom, I sent you a u2u!

Love this story! I already know what's going to happen!

[Maelstrom]

Talons

Chapter 8


The doors to medlab opened. Kurt's entire body clenched, his tail thumping beside him on the bed. Isidro Delgado walked in, rather hesitant, followed by Logan and Hank. Isidro took one look at Kurt and froze, eyes wide. Kurt thought he could take that stare, that he was strong enough, but he found his strength and resolve fading fast. Perhaps he should just leave.

As if Ororo could see into his soul, she grabbed his shoulder and shook. "No!" she hissed. "Don't teleport! Remember what Hank told you."

And he had been about to do just that, to return to his room. Lord help him, it was so difficult to stay there, with this stranger staring at him, shock and horror on his face. Kurt looked down and away, unwilling to meet Isidro's gaze.

"You're the guy," Isidro muttered. "You look... just like the news pictures...."

Kurt closed his eyes. "Yes," was all he could say.

"And you too?"

Kurt glanced up. Isidro sounded like he turned his head when he asked that second question. He was right: Isidro was looking at Scott, now, that same shocked expression on his face.

"Me too, what?" Scott asked, perplexed.

"You guys were both...." He trailed off, Adams apple jumping as he gave a nervous gulp. He touched the back of his head. "You know. Like me?"

"Yeah... yeah, damn close to it," Scott answered softly.

"You just don't have some kind of permanent thing in your skull, right?"

"There is a mark," Kurt said. Silently, he added, The mark of Cain, if truth be told....

Isidro turned to him, and Kurt bent forward, exposing the back of his neck. Isidro walked closer, hesitant, but whether it was from fear of Kurt or fear of what he might see on Kurt's neck, it was difficult to tell.

"Jesús Cristo," he breathed.

The name was spoken with a distinct Spanish flair, the J pronounced as an H and the R rolled. Kurt could not see the Isidro's face, from this angle, but he clearly saw the man do the sign of the cross over his chest. To Kurt's surprise, Isidro did not jump away after that. He stayed there as Kurt slowly raised his head.

"Do you... remember everything you did... when you were under?" Isidro asked.

"By this time, yes," Kurt answered. "I am not so sure that is a blessing. It has taken almost six months."

As Kurt looked into that young man's eyes, he saw many things. He saw sparks of hope, he saw determination, he saw anger and horror and relief that all stemmed from the knowledge that he was not alone. The one thing he did not see was fear.

Isidro took a steadying breath and looked around the room. "All right. How do we find the fucks behind this?"

Most of the room just looked at Isidro, his words catching them by surprise. All but Logan, whose mouth tugged into a grin.

"Look, I'm serious," Isidro went on, maybe a little too rapidly. "I've got a good idea who you are. You're mutants, right? I saw Logan over there on a training film from the Boston police. I guess you got the other three here somewhere, right? 'S O.K. I figure nothing would've happened if that stupid shit didn't shoot first, y'know what I mean?" He gave a nervous laugh. "Our instructor liked to call clip that 'How Not to Approach Mutants'. But y'know something? I don't care. I'm serious. I don't fucking care, 'cause these fucks stuck me into a tin can and made me step on people--...."

His voice caught, as if someone had strangled him from behind. He swore again and quickly wiped his eyes.

"I want these people dead, all right?" he choked, his voice shaking. "I want this whole thing shut down before anyone else has to go through this. I don't care what you have to do to me, I don't care if it's dangerous." He looked at Xavier. "You're the guy that helped me out, right? I remember you."

Xavier nodded, watching Isidro carefully. "Yes. And I also advised you against pushing things too hard."

"O.K., fine. But if you need something that I've got all locked up, go in and get it, all right?"

Xavier nodded again. "If it comes down to that, and we have no choice, I know I have your permission. You're a strong man, Mr. Delgado, and the last thing I'd want to do is damage any part of that strength."

Isidro nodded quickly, wiping his eyes again. Xavier turned to Hank.

"Henry, would you mind putting the control room on-screen?" he requested. "I want to include the others in on this discussion."

"Time for another information dump," Henry said. He glanced at Isidro. "I don't suppose we want to involve Kotoko at some point?"

"Jeez, give the guy a break, Hank," Logan quipped, gesturing to Isidro. "He just got here, fer Christ's sake. Don't sic Kotoko on him yet."

"We will involve Kotoko a little later," Xavier pronounced, heading off any potential argument. "He needs his rest as much as any of us, and it will take little time for me to bring him 'up to speed'."

Hank made a bow of acquiescence and went to one of the monitors. In a second, the flatscreen activated. Rogue looked out at them.

"All ready?" she asked.

"Just as soon as we get the other two gentlemen, my dear," Hank replied.

"They're right behind me. Hold on, let me widen this thing...."

The angle went from close-up to wide view. Behind her stood Bobby and Peter, the latter of whom was unarmored. She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. "O.K., shoot."

Introductions were brief. Everyone already knew Isidro, and Isidro knew several of them from media exposure.

"Where's the other guy?" Isidro asked. "The one who made all the fire in Boston?"

There was a pause, which Xavier verbally stepped in to fill. "He is no longer with this institution."

Isidro looked like he was ready to ask other questions, but he bit them all back, mumbling, "O.K."

Xavier lifted Kitty's printout on his lap, just enough to draw attention to it. "Ms. Pryde has done an excellent job of analyzing this information. Two of the casualties from the night before last had police records. One had multiple listings for armed assault, armed robbery, theft, and other violent crimes. The other one was wanted for a string of gas station holdups that ended in murder. To make a long story short, it seems that this organization likes to recruit violent offenders. I have little doubt that the other four have records of their own, but didn't have their DNA on file.

"The chemical analysis of the 'input point' at the base of Mr. Delgado's skull holds something puzzling and disquieting." Isidro squirmed a bit Xavier continued, "As we expected, the gel is a neuralgia mimic, highly conductive. The small, hard fragment within the gel is a simple polymer chain, and is unquestionably a chip of the surrounding plastic used for the input housing. Although we have no reason to believe any of this is detrimental to its carrier--" he nodded to Isidro "--the chemical breakdown matches very closely that of Kotoko's kind."

"What?" Scott demanded, starting upright in bed.

Hank cleared his throat. "According to both the autopsies I have performed on the 'talons' anatomy, and the swab samples Kotoko has willingly donated, it would appear that this chemical structure duplicates a naturally-occurring material in their body. Each of the small orifices located on their limbs is coated internally with this same substance, though from the looks of the cell division rates, the gel was created relatively recently. Kotoko's division rate seems to put him in adulthood, while the gel we found in Scott's sample and in Mr. Carter had a rate closer to that of an infant's."

Isidro blanched until he was almost as pale as Scott. "What the hell did they put in my brain? What's a talon?"

Hank turned to Isidro. "You needn't worry about having something eat your brain away, Mr. Delgado. Regardless of the cell division rate, the substance is relatively inert. It has no way to multiply and divide past its own boundaries. On its own, it's completely compatible with our own biochemistry. And these 'talons' are... well... difficult to explain."

"They're aliens or something, right?"

"Effectively, yes. They are foreign to this world."

Isidro looked like he was going to hyperventilate. Kurt moved aside on his bed and thumped the open space with his tail.

"Isidro, maybe you should sit down," he offered. "The space behind you is clear."

Isidro stumbled back and hit his thighs against the raised bed. Kurt carefully guided him to a sitting position, as he didn't care to look where he was going.

"I've got an alien implant," Isidro mumbled. "I don't believe it. All that X-Files horseshit about aliens is real."

"Not in the way you think," Hank corrected. "I have the feeling this gel has an entirely terrestrial origin. It seems to be a duplicate, rather than a donation. What I find interesting is that Kotoko's biochemistry so closely matches our own that such a thing would be possible."

"It does make sense, though," Xavier mused, resting his hand in his chin. "Kotoko mentioned a faction of his kind trying to establish some sort of beachhead on Earth. They wouldn't do that unless they could live here comfortably off the land, and in that case, they would have to have some similarities with us, even if it would be no closer than humans and reptiles."

"Are you saying those aliens are behind the whole thing?" Bobby asked from the screen.

"They are certainly involved in it, but I'm not sure if they are behind it all," the professor replied. "According to Kotoko, the talons only sent small scouting parties here, deliberately avoiding human contact, and this all started two years ago. It has been just one month since they decided to come here in earnest, and the organization directly behind this has been employing this implantation technique for a bare minimum of four months, as that was when they recruited Mr. Carter. The speed and success of his implantation suggest this was a well-known and well-practiced procedure for them at that time. So unless Kotoko's information is wildly inaccurate, it would seem this started well before the talons took a particular interest."

Ororo and Scott looked at each other. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked her.

She nodded. "We've got to talk to Kotoko, and we've got to interrogate that other alien I forced off the road. This is starting to look like a three-way war."

"Four," Scott corrected. "Because now we're caught in the middle."


* * * * *


The natives had been especially kind to Kotoko. Teacher Xavier kept in contact with him throughout his trip back, as he was rolled into the medical facility, and as he was waiting for treatment in one of the side chambers. When another native came in some time later, he set right to work putting topical anesthetics onto Kotoko's skin, then examined him with great care. And still, through all this, Xavier kept in contact, translating back and forth for him and the physician.

Finally they cobbled together a bed. They set down padding on the floor, then even made the curling ball for him to wrap his aching limbs around, so he could rest in comfort for the first time in days.

In all his time as a scout, no natives had ever treated him so well. Of course, in all his time as a scout, Kotoko had never met someone like Xavier.

He was not sure when he finally slept, but he had the feeling it was not long after he curled around the soft fabric ball. What woke him up was the sound of a soft chime once, then again, and again. He stretched as well as he could, though one of his limbs was still too painful to use.

He heard Xavier's voice softly in his mind. Kotoko, are you awake?

Yes, he thought back. Please enter. I welcome your presence.

I am not alone outside the door.

Your comrades are welcome, also.

Kotoko recurled around the luxurious, soft ball, grateful for the support it gave. The door opened, and many natives entered along with Xavier. To his relief, one of them was Kurt, and he was moving without aid.

All of the ambulatory X-men present in medlab had joined Xavier in his little trip to Kotoko's room. To no one's surprise, Isidro wasn't quite ready to deal with the alien yet, and Hank stayed behind to make sure he didn't slip into mental shock. Xavier opened the door to reveal Kotoko resting on a couple of mattresses, curled around what looked like a great big, spherical pillow; a cushion Logan knew from experience was filled with every spare blanket, towel, sheet, and comforter they could lay their hands on.

As Kurt entered the room, Kotoko raised up a little and extended two legs, issuing a very close approximation of Kurt's name.

"He's glad to see you," Xavier explained softly. "This is like a handshake. He expects you to touch the end spikes of his legs, open-handed."

Kurt stepped forward and did so, having to spread his arms out fairly wide to reach Kotoko's.

"It's good to see you, too," Kurt said.

A short touch, lasting a second, and then Kotoko retracted his limbs and settled back onto the stuffed ball. Xavier looked a bit surprised, then nodded.

"This is encouraging," he said. "I had not expected Kotoko to learn our language quite so quickly, even with my extensive help last night. So far, he has been able to understand everything we've said. This will make translating a bit faster, though I will still have to speak for him. He has no way to replicate our speech patterns without mechanical aid."

"I guess having no lips or tongue will do that," Ororo noted, watching Kotoko's orifices open and close.

In the bright light, curled around a pillow and crouched on mattresses, Kotoko didn't look nearly so threatening. In fact, he gave the strange, incongruous impression that he was possessively hugging a stuffed toy. He was colored a mottled orangish-brown, the skin of his body lined with deep wrinkles and warty, sealed bulbs. The many "mouths" opened and shut regularly, but no part of his body swelled and receded to indicate breathing at any point. This close, all could see that he did have some hair, tiny, coarse fibers that jutted irregularly from the wrinkles or the bulbs, but never the barnacles that were his mouths. The claw tips were a deep, glossy brown, smooth and featureless, and so curled under the ball that they did not puncture the mattresses below. The X-men could not see his underside, but all had the distinct impression that doing so would be the equivalent of "looking up one's skirt".

Ororo went to the single monitor on the wall, activated it, and split the screen, allowing the control room and medlab to follow whatever they did. Scott whistled softly as he beheld Kotoko for the first time.

"Well, I'm impressed," he said.

Kotoko made a series of hisses and clicks. Xavier said, "Yes, that's the one. The force beam you saw is organically produced." Kotoko's mouths opened and shut in rapid succession. Xavier turned to the screen, addressing Scott. "He's quite impressed with you, too. Apparently, a full-on blast from the beams that took you down would have crippled him, if not slain him outright." His gaze shifted to the second part of the screen, where the three teenagers stood. "Colossus, I wonder if I could have you bring the separated piloting 'cockpit' from the hangar bay. I would like Kotoko to see it for himself."

"Right away, professor," Peter answered as he left the screen.

"While he's doing that, I'd like to ask you something, Kotoko," Ororo said. "Why did you run off with Kurt last night?"

Kotoko "spoke", and the professor translated, "He did so in the hopes of saving Kurt's and Scott's lives. His armor is meant for scouting, and he had no effective way to fight the enemy off. He gambled that if he picked up Kurt, he would save him from being crushed underfoot, and if he ran, the soldier would follow, leaving Scott alone." Xavier paused. "He apologizes for the distress he caused, but he could see no other way."

That lingering resentment Ororo harbored towards Kotoko evaporated. It wasn't a kidnapping, it was a rescue attempt. Despite their fearsome appearance, if there were other talons as noble as Kotoko, Ororo felt she could get used to them quite easily. She walked closer to the alien.

"You endangered your own life to save two aliens you didn't even know," she said, extending both her hands. "Thank you, Kotoko."

Kotoko reached out with two limbs. Instead of touching Ororo's hands with his end claws, he met her fingers with the portion of his skin just above them. The texture reminded her of sharkskin, rough and leathery. Ororo looked to Xavier, curious as to the change in hand placement.

Xavier smiled just a little. "He knows you're a female, Ororo."



It did not take long for Colossus to haul the robotic torso back, though it was an awkward fit down the corridors. However, when he set the piece aside and opened the door, he found it a bit too crowded for him and his prize to haul inside.

"That's all right, Colossus," Xavier told him. "Kotoko can move to it instead."

Inside, Kotoko uncurled and left his bed, careful not to make any holes in the fabric. The tips of his claws clicked heavily on the metal floor as he made his way to a jumble of plastic and ceramic plates in the corner of the room. With one limb he probed the pile, obviously searching for something. As he lifted that "arm" away, several pieces of equipment stuck to the underside. The equipment then seemed to slide around and rearrange their positions of their own accord. The rest of the people in the room moved aside to give him space as he walked to the open doorway.

Kotoko had originally been rolled into the room, curled up tight. Exiting was a bit tricky, forcing him to creep through the doorway one limb at a time. When he got to the cockpit pod that Colossus deposited in the hallway, Kotoko arranged himself over it and paused. Then he opened the cockpit and straddled the entire apparatus again. He spoke in his percussive, clicking language during the entire procedure, and a quiet beep occasionally issued from the equipment he carried. After several minutes of this oddly motionless examination, Kotoko used one limb to physically probe the inside. Finally, he placed the limb against the input jack, gently inserting the probe into an open barnacle and closing around it.

"It is as we suspected," Xavier said from inside the room. "Kotoko believes that this is what his scanning equipment had picked up. The input mechanism used on the human pilots is nearly identical to the technology the talons use, whether from Kotoko's side or the King's Own. He would like to go to the hangar and examine the rest of the equipment as well. Though this pod is too damaged for him to repair, the other exo-suit may be intact enough for a power-up, and then he would be able to match power signatures and know for certain."

Scott's voice called to them, slightly distorted as it came through the screen. "We might want to wait on that for a minute. Storm has seen Kotoko teleport the same way as the battlesuit on the roof. That sounds like a mechanism, and we don't know if the big suit might have that mechanism in it. The last thing I'd want is for it to spontaneously teleport back to its masters."

"Or act as another signal for other teleporting enemies to come in on," Kurt added. "If Kotoko found it, others could, yes?"

The pops and hisses of Kotoko's speech tripled in speed.

"That pissed him off," Logan muttered. "I can smell that from here."

Xavier winced a bit, touching the side of his head.

"Slower, please, Kotoko," he requested. "Calm down."

Kotoko stamped with three of his legs, somewhat like someone drumming their fingers. His rate of speech slowed.

"Kotoko is concerned enough that the King's Own seem to have given input technology to us," Xavier translated. "The idea that we have their portal technology is far worse. His kind use the portals to teleport not just as Kurt does, but to go through dimensions as well. Portals seem to be their equivalent of space travel.

"Kotoko himself was only trusted with a portal generator after years of training, and still there is an element of risk that he keeps in mind, as if he was a fighter pilot. If someone miss-steps, the consequences could be as simple as getting lost, or as severe as scattering the user to the four winds." He closed his eyes and shuddered. "Or only scattering part of that user. Kotoko saw that happen once, when a device malfunctioned. A worst case scenario would be opening an uncontrolled wormhole. That doesn't happen anymore, with the safeguards put in, but it happened several times before Kotoko's lifetime, when the technology was first being investigated."

Kurt's mouth went dry. They knew for a fact that the talons' counterfeited input technology was less than perfect. If the teleportation technology was just as faulty....

"We've got to get to the danger room," Ororo said, speaking what was on everyone's minds. "We've got to know just how much involvement the King's Own have."



To be continued....

[Maelstrom]

Since I'm going on vacation soon, I probably won't be able to post the rest of this on a per-day basis, so I'm going to go ahead and put the rest up in one big "blat".

------------------------------------------
Talons

Chapter 9


The door to the Danger Room had an extra, very obvious magnetic seal on it. For the hard-of-thinking, Logan wrote "Ugly Fuck Inside: Don't open" in permanent marker right above the lock. Xavier tried to hide his irritation as they bypassed the main door and headed for the observation / control booth. Logan's foul language could be particularly irksome at times.

Kotoko followed behind the X-men, taking up the entire breadth of the corridor as he went. Kurt glanced behind him to Kotoko, muttering something in German under his breath.

"What's that, elf?" Logan asked.

"I was thinking that Kotoko won't fit in the observing room," Kurt said, louder. "That little booth is a tight fit for us alone. We'll need to hook up an outside screen for him."

"Or we let him into the Danger Room after we find a way to restrain the prisoner. With all the stuff Charlie dishes out on us, there should be something in there to do the job."

Kotoko had just passed the main door when he stopped, let off a few clicks, and walked "backwards", standing just outside the Danger Room. Apparently, talons never needed to turn around "the right way".

"I guess he liked that idea," Logan commented, glancing over his shoulder. "He doesn't like that guy in there. Doesn't like him one bit."

"I'm surprised you can get so much off of him," Ororo noted. "I would think you'd have more trouble gauging an alien's scent."

"He lets off a lot of the same scent combinations. I can pick up 'pissed off' easy enough."

They entered the observation booth, the professor coming in first. Peter made sure to return to his normal form before squeezing in behind everybody else. The inactive Danger Room had but one occupant, another talon, curled up in the far corner. This was the pursuer, the armored one who attacked Cyclops and then followed Kotoko as he ran down the road. It wasn't hard for Logan and Colossus to find, still balled up into a great big wheel. After it skidded off the road, it plowed through not one but five trees, only the first one being in Ororo's field of vision. Logan had Colossus pick the thing up over his head and simply walk it back home.

Its battle armor was nothing short of incredible; though the weapons blister was shattered beyond repair, the rest of it was still intact, even after so many high-speed collisions. Sometime during the night, Professor Xavier must have learned from Kotoko how to remove the enemy's impressive battle armor, because now it was sitting naked on the floor. It had similar markings and coloration as Kotoko, though it was perhaps a shade darker.

"Is it just my imagination, or is that one bigger than Kotoko?" Ororo asked, peering at the balled-up talon.

"It is definitely bigger," Peter told her, nodding his head. "It is bigger than Kotoko as I am bigger than Kurt."

That was a sizable difference. Was Kotoko notably smaller than average for his race, or was this one that much larger?

"He ain't got no manners, that's for sure," Rogue drawled, shaking her head. "He woke up 'bout an hour ago and started attackin' the glass. 'Course, since this stuff could take a small missile, he didn't have much chance of doin' much...."

She tapped the shatter-proof, armored "glass" that separated the Danger Room from the control booth. Despite the attacker's best efforts, the glass was just badly smudged. Of more interest was the fact that the observation booth was a good twenty feet above the floor. The talon could leap quite a distance.

"How long has he been quiescent?" Xavier asked, taking his customary spot at the head of the controls.

"Once he realized that he couldn't break the glass, he calmed down pretty fast," Bobby answered, shrugging. "We got some nice pictures of his underside. That is a 'he', right?"

Xavier nodded. "Kotoko seems to think so, based on the voice."

"Well, his underside is lined with all these little waving tendril things," Bobby went on, wiggling the fingers on his right hand. "It reminded me of a starfish. Ever seen the underside of one of those?"

Xavier keyed in a control set, and the windows automatically washed themselves from the outside. The talon below slowly lifted up on its claw tips. Kurt could then appreciate the trouble Kotoko must have gone through last night, to make his motions as non-threatening as possible. Everything this talon did exuded the menace of an angry, cunning, bloodthirsty monster.

"That's it," Xavier encouraged softly, keying in another, different sequence. "Focus in on the wipers.... Let me sneak up on those powerful legs of yours...."

He finished the sequence, then held his hand above the activating button, waiting for just the right time. When the talon was at what seemed to be full extension, Xavier hit the button. Thick cables shot out of the walls and around each of the talon's limbs. The creature roared in anger and jerked about, but it had no way to free itself. Soon it was bound fast. Xavier tapped his finger on the console in thought. Judging from what Iceman and Logan told him about the fight last night, the tensile strength of the cables was superior to that of Bobby's block of ice. They should hold....

Of course, Bobby's iceblock held against a different talon, who had been wounded beforehand, he thought. He turned his wheelchair to fact the assemblage. "Those cables should hold, but I would feel better if we had a bodyguard for Kotoko in case something went wrong."

Logan smiled. "No problem. See you down there."

The room was a little less crowded after he left, but not by much. Kurt decided it would be easier if he just hung from the ceiling instead, but as he crawled halfway up the nearest wall Ororo stopped him, tugging his tail just enough to get his attention.

"You're not going to hang upside-down, are you?" she asked.

"There will be more room for the rest of you," he responded.

"No way, mister," she ordered, her voice imperious. "Remember what Hank said?"

"He said nothing about hanging."

"He said to do nothing that would aggravate those ears. Just what do you think's going to happen when all the blood rushes to your head?"

Kurt hadn't considered that. Hank's "activity restriction" was going to be harder than he thought. He reluctantly stepped back to the floor. By then, Logan's voice came over the intercom.

"I'm here," he said. "You want me to take care of the extra lock, too?"

"No," Xavier replied, punching in the codes to disable the lock by remote. "Though I will want you to scrub your profanity from the door when this is over."

Logan grinned as the extra magnetic sealer detached and retracted back into the wall. Well, it all kept the kids out of the Danger Room, didn't it? Another series of clicks and beeps issued from the door itself, and the ready light glowed green. He turned to Kotoko.

"Just so you know, I'm your bodyguard," he said. "Anything goes bad in there, it's my job to get you out. You O.K. with that? One click yes, two clicks no."

All of Kotoko's barnacles clicked once in unison, and he crouched and came up quickly, like a bouncing bow.

"Ready to go?" Logan asked.

Kotoko gave one click again. Logan nodded, then extended both sets of claws.

"We're goin' in, guys," he called.

All eyes were on Logan as he walked into the Danger Room below the control booth. Kotoko entered a few steps behind. The enemy talon roared and strained against his bonds. Logan swiped a section of wall next to him, casually shearing through the plate. Then he aimed the same set of claws at the enemy, who silenced instantly.

"Mine are stronger than yours, bub," he warned softly. "Don't make me use 'em."



Xavier watched the exchange, the sounds piped in through the intercom for all to hear. Logan and Kotoko got halfway across the Danger Room before Logan called a halt, putting his hand out and stopping where he was. That was as close as he felt like getting.

Teacher Xavier, this is one of elite of the King's Own, Kotoko thought. He is strong and powerful, and will take a long time to break under a professional interrogator. Since I am not an interrogator, I must assume you are going to look into his mind as you have mine?

Yes, Xavier responded. However, you still have a vital role to play. As you ask him questions, he will bring up the answers in his mind, even if he does not tell them to you.

I see. Will he be easier to read if he is agitated, or will such strong emotions make it harder for you?

It will make things easier.

Very well. It will begin.

"Hello, oh brave baby killer," Kotoko said aloud. "How does it feel to finally run across a race that fights back?"

The differences between Kotoko's and the prisoner's thought structures were like night and day. Kotoko saw things in shades of gray, neutral and indefinable until distinctly and laboriously researched. The prisoner was like a binary computer. He compartmentalized everything into "good" and "bad" and there was nothing in-between. What the King said was good, everything that contradicted him was bad, and any evidence that could point somewhere else was rationalized away or considered anathema. Circular reasoning insulated him from having to make choices about his life or motivations. It was the totalitarian mindset of a cultist, something Xavier had seen all too often among humanity. The fact that it existed among aliens made this kind of tragedy even worse.

At first the interrogation went reasonably well. Xavier could see that this being, whose name was Taktak, was part of a small survey party. Taktak had been with his squad for only a few months. He had been sent to Earth to collect animal samples. None of his squad had any idea if the children they tried to abduct were sentient or not, nor did they care. Unlike Kotoko, they wasted no time in studying their prey. However, there was another, underlying reason for their foray so close to the Institute. Something just under the surface, which Xavier couldn't quite see.

Suddenly, primitive shields went up in Taktak's mind. He was doing the equivalent of chanting his name, rank, and serial number over and over, ignoring everything his interrogator said. Whatever Xavier wanted now, he would have to dig for it, something he never had to do with Kotoko. A loathsome prospect under any condition, made worse by the fact that he wasn't sure where he was going in this alien mind. However, there would be no reasoning with Taktak, and more than just Xavier's students were at stake.

Xavier's hands curled a bit tighter around the arms of his wheelchair. He was going in.



Ororo noticed the little changes in Xavier's posture. The way his eyes narrowed, the way his fingers clenched, the way his breathing slowed.

"Oh-ohh," she muttered. "He's had to go deeper."

"Deeper?" Peter asked.

Ororo nodded. "It looked like he was doing a surface read up until a few seconds ago. Now he's going deeper. You've never seen him do this, Peter. He doesn't like to do it. The after effects can be pretty brutal."

"For him or for that?" Kurt asked, pointing to the prisoner.

"For both."

Kotoko was still speaking, but he elicited no further response from their captive. Things seemed to be at a stalemate. Then, without warning, the prisoner began to shriek. Everyone in the booth, except Xavier, put their hands to their ears in shock. Kurt hastily shut off the intercom with his tail, cutting the volume by a good percentage. It was a horrible sound, painful to hear. Not the kind of personal pain from claws across a blackboard, but the empathic pain transmitted through screams of another's agony. Kotoko scuttled back as the captive struggled anew, still emitting the horrendous shrieks. Logan crouched, arms wide, claws ready. It hadn't broken free yet, but if it did....

The captive suddenly collapsed, as a marionette without strings. His shrieks died down to pathetic squeals, then stopped entirely. He shivered with the parts of his body not under restraint. A split second later, Xavier gasped and leaned forward, shaking and panting for breath.

"May God forgive me," he whispered in a shaking voice. "I snapped him."

"You had to kill him?" Rogue asked with shocked disbelief.

Xavier rested his head on his left hand and closed his eyes. "The prisoner was part of a cult of personality. Cults short-circuit your natural thought processes, disengaging the gears of critical thinking in your mind. His entire world hinged on his leader. In seeking the information we needed... I somehow re-engaged those gears and forced him to truly see the lies he lived under." He wiped his brow and sat up. "The process is called 'snapping'. Even under the best conditions... it is a horrible, wrenching process for the subject."

Down in the Danger Room, Logan sheathed his claws and straightened up. Kotoko tentatively moved closer to the fallen prisoner.

"Imagine learning that every single, irrefutable fact you grew up with is a lie," the professor went on. "Imagine your entire world shattering as you watch, with nothing left to hold onto, and you're helpless to stop it." He paused, and when he next spoke, his voice was on the edge of tears. "And I didn't even do it correctly. He may never recover."

Kotoko drew near the quivering talon that once belonged to the best of the King's Own, now reduced to a trembling, incoherent child. What could possibly have caused this?

Xavier's voice whispered in his mind, Kotoko, I'm so sorry. I pushed this one too hard. When he blocked me out, I tried to slip past his defenses. I did not take the correct paths. I fear I have injured him severely.

Teacher Xavier, there was no choice, Kotoko responded. He reached out and touched the ex-soldier's closest limb, a surprisingly tender motion. We are fighting for the lives of both of our peoples, now. This was regrettable... but unavoidable.

Logan shook his head, hands akimbo. "Hope you got something useful before he imploded," he called up to the booth. " 'Cause we ain't gettin' another shot at the poor bastard."

"I am well aware of that fact, Logan!" Xavier snapped. "I do not need you to remind me!"

Ororo laid a hand on Xavier's shoulder. "Easy, Charles. We all know that Logan has the tact of a six year old child."

"Are you all right, professor?" Scott's voice queried from a monitor to the right.

Xavier glanced at the screen. Everyone watching from medlab had been so quiet that he'd forgotten they were even there. He took a deep breath, clenching and relaxing his fists.

"I'm better than our prisoner," he replied.

"I hate to sound callous, sir, but did he have any useful information?" Scott asked.

Yes, Taktak did have useful information. Xavier didn't think he could live with himself if this disaster hadn't yielded at least something.

"Taktak was a low-level soldier, not privy to the command structure, but he did know something of value," Xavier stated. "He and his compatriots came primarily on a 'sampling' mission, which was why they went after the children. However, they were also prepared for a rescue mission. Apparently one of their first scouting parties went missing nearly two years ago and hadn't been heard from since. They had been assumed lost, either a portal accident or casualties of war. However, the signals given off by the exo-suits the other night gave them hope that the missing squad was still alive."

"This is starting to look like someone 'stumbled across' the missing talon squad and scavenged their technology," Scott said. "I'd like to think they were dead beforehand, but they could have been ambushed and taken prisoner."

"How well armed would that first scouting party have been?" Ororo asked. "Would they have been armed to the proverbial teeth, or in a hardsuit like Kotoko's?"

"They would have had light armor like Kotoko," Xavier said. "It would not have been nearly as difficult to take them down as it was the three invaders yesterday. It seems to me an army platoon could take them out, but that assumes they could find them at all. Those standard scouting suits have no room for armor and weaponry because of all the countermeasures and sensors built into them."

Scott removed his oxygen mask.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Hank demanded.

"I can't talk with this thing on," Scott replied.

"Talking or not, your oxygen absorption level is too low. You need the extra oxygen. Put it back on. Now."

"Scott, it's O.K., we can hear you fine when you talk," Bobby told him. "Even Kurt, right?"

Kurt quickly looked to Bobby, having caught his name, but not the rest of the words. Bobby's eyes pleaded, and just out of Scott's field of vision he gave a thumbs up sign. Apparently, he was supposed to say "yes" to whatever Bobby just said.

"Yes, it isn't a problem," Kurt answered, resolving to listen more closely next time.

Bobby turned back. "See? We can all hear you. Let Hank have his way, all right?"

Scott finally did so, making a show of his reluctance. Ororo leaned closer to Kurt, though she was still looking at the screen. She whispered out of the side of her mouth, just loud enough for Kurt to hear her.

"If you ever decide to act as macho and stupid as Cyclops, I will personally wring your neck."

Kurt looked back at her, slightly apologetic, and pointed to the tufts of white in his ears. "I'm sorry, but I cannot hear when you whisper. Could you repeat that?"

Ororo stifled a growl of frustration. If it was anyone else, she'd swear Kurt was doing this on purpose.

"Professor, how many times have the King's Own sent those 'sampling patrols' lately?" Scott asked. "Kotoko made it sound like they were picking up in frequency, if they're making some kind of beachhead."

"Taktak seemed to have the same impression," Xavier answered, "though he did not know what the other squads were doing. They could have been doing sample collecting at different points around the globe, looking for a suitable place to set up operations."

"Or they could already be in some kind of war with this 'third party' who attacked us the other night." Scott held up Kitty's report, which Xavier had left for his perusal. "According to Kitty, thanks to the upstate floods, the demand for construction vehicles is far outstripping supply. There's been six equipment heists in New York state over the past month. Two of those cases have been resolved, and another two look like the work of a known, professional ring, which leaves us with two mysteries. We know for a fact one of them is Isidro's, and the other one looks suspiciously familiar. In both cases the entire night shift went missing without a trace, and there were no tire or tread marks in the ground to show where the stuff may have been driven to before it hit the road. That means we have one definite 'robot heist' and one probable, and both of those were within the past week.

"This organization is desperate for heavy construction equipment. They're under such time constraints that they're willing to take the chance of discovery rather than wait a few weeks and buy it all from out of state. They're panicking. I want all of you to think: what could possibly scare an organization with this kind of firepower, intelligence capability, and sophisticated infrastructure into making rash moves?"

"Discovery?" Kurt asked. "Cockroaches flee from the light. Perhaps when that poor man fled to the supermarket, the FBI investigated the crime, and now they are being led to these fiends' doorsteps? Perhaps they need to make a new nest in which to hide themselves?"

"Or the King's Own have been homing in on their signals one too many times," Ororo said. "What if the talons attacked one of this group's bases and inadvertently freed that gunman?"

A dreadful thought came to Kurt's mind. He looked at everyone in the booth. "What if they're not homing in on just a signal? What... what if this group has made a wormhole with their teleporting wrong? What if they are coming through there instead?"

Kurt finally looked to the professor for confirmation or denial, praying that he was wrong. The very idea of an uncontrolled gateway so frightened Kurt that his hands started to go cold.

"I'm not sure, Kurt," Xavier confessed. "I will have to ask Kotoko about that."

He looked down to Kotoko for many seconds, silent. He scowled. As his body tensed further, Kurt felt his mouth go dry. He so hoped he was wrong....

Xavier shook his head, muttering, "I knew it; I shouldn't have blithely accepted their explanation. I should have listened to my instincts." He spun his chair around, addressing the crew in the observation booth. "From the theories Kotoko knows, the wormholes generated by a single suit are of two kinds. The first covers a large area, but has a duration of only a few seconds, a minute at most. The second is small, only a foot or two in diameter, but can last for days or weeks. Either one is insidiously dangerous, able to let in toxic atmospheres, hostile creatures, and energy surges, among other things. One actually was on record of spitting out fast-moving lava."

Xavier's voice sharpened. "However, these limitations are due to a hardsuit's power restraints. If enough power is pumped into the device, it could make a wormhole large enough for a tank division to roll through, and remain that way indefinitely. Has anyone besides myself taken note of how many blackouts we've had recently?"

---------------------------------

Talons

Chapter 10



Isidro clearly remembered everything up until he discovered he had a bona-fide alien implant in his brain. At that point, everything went all pear-shaped. He heavily sat down next to the "gentle devil", and he just couldn't focus on anything that was said. Someone did surgery on him and put alien goo in his skull, and try as he might, he just couldn't wrap his brain around the concept.

Someone get Mulder and Sculley, he thought. I've got a doozy for them.

His head felt light, and once the gentle devil left the bed, he laid down for a while. The big doctor guy, who Isidro just swore he'd seen on professional wrestling, asked him if he wanted to have some peace and quiet somewhere, maybe a private room, or at least draw a curtain and dim the lights. Yes, he thought, that'd be nice. Just to lay there for a little bit and try to untangle everything.

He was in the so-called "mutant training facility", along with two aliens that he hadn't seen yet, and he'd been used in someone else's evil schemes of global domination. Wonderful.

Anything else you just want to spring on me today, God? I'm so numb at this point that you could tell me my cousin is actually a secret agent cyborg from the future and it'd make perfect sense.

He laid there for a while, in a confused haze, with the lights mercifully dim and a curtain drawn around his bed. The doctor and the guy with the red shades occasionally argued over something. There were other voices that must have come over a monitor. And then he heard a terrible, agonizing, utterly inhuman scream.

He flipped off of the bed and tore aside the curtain so hard he was surprised it didn't rip. The scream was coming through the monitor, which showed most of his "hosts" in some kind of control room, watching something off screen with horror, their hands to their ears. The scream quickly cut in volume, but it would ring in Isidro's ears for a very long time.

"What're they doing?" he demanded, looking from doctor to patient.

"We don't know, Isidro," Hank answered, shaking his head in shock. "Everything was going well, and then...."

On screen, Professor Xavier, the only one who seemed unaffected by the noise, suddenly gasped and leaned forward, shaking and panting for breath.

"May God forgive me," he whispered in a shaking voice. "I snapped him."

Isidro listened to the rest of Xavier's explanation, feeling a cold and hollow space grow in his chest. So this was why the professor didn't want to just go rooting around in someone's mind. The deeper he went, the more dangerous it got. A thought flitted through his head, that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to give him carte blanch to go in and grab anything he could find.

No, he thought. We've got to find these bastards, and I'm the only one who knows about them. I'm the only lead they've got. It's got to stop here.

Now they were talking about scavenged alien scouts, teleporting, wormholes, and power ratings, not much of which made any sense to him. He never was a science fiction buff.

"Has anyone besides myself taken note of how many blackouts we've had recently?" the professor finished, his voice harsh.

"What did Con Ed say about the blackouts? Did they even mention they sent people out?" Scott asked.

"According to dispatch, the outages have been caused by downed trees, and they've all been resolved," Xavier answered. "I am finding the truth of that statement more and more in doubt. The fallen trees could have been staged as a cover up, or the crews themselves taken and someone else returned the all clear."

Scott turned to Hank. "I'm getting up now, and you can't stop me."

For once, Hank didn't argue with him. He didn't look happy, but he didn't argue. Instead, he removed the oxygen mask and turned to one of the medicine cabinets.

"If you're going to do this, you'll need to be at full power for the next few hours," Hank said. "Will you accept a mild stimulant?"

Scott's face tugged into a half-smile as he removed diagnostic patches from his chest. "So long as it isn't laced with a stronger sedative."

"You do realize that you'll feel like hell after this wears off?"

"I'll consider it a blessing. It means I'm still alive and conscious."

"And then you'll be right back in this bed for an extended stay?"

"Just give me the damn shot, Hank."

"You're going to the switching station, aren't you?" Isidro asked.

"Just as soon as we get the jet warmed up," Scott said.

"What can I do?"

Scott swung his legs over the side of his bed and stopped, looking back at Isidro. Or, at least, it seemed he was looking at him. With that visor on, it was hard to tell, short of head angle. Behind him, Dr. McCoy was readying a shot.

"Can you handle an assault rifle?" Scott asked. "We've inherited a few lately, and we've got a lot of kids to guard."


* * * * *

Everyone who could come on the flight, did. Kurt was out of action for the time being, and Rogue had no hope of using her powers against battlesuits, aliens, or battlesuited aliens. The two of them stayed behind with Xavier, but they were in the hangar to see off the Storm, Logan, Iceman, and Colossus as they prepped the Blackbird for takeoff. Just before they left, Cyclops walked briskly in, followed closely by Henry McCoy. Storm watched as their team leader, who she knew to still be injured, jogged up the ramp onto the Blackbird.

"Hank, why are you letting him do this?" she hissed into Hank's ear. "You forbade Kurt to use his powers, and his injuries aren't life threatening!"

"Currently, Scott's aren't life-threatening, either," Hank replied evenly, looking past Storm to the Blackbird's ramp. "His abilities do not specifically aggravate his injuries, whereas Kurt's do. And, finally, you'll need his power in this kind of fight. Against the heavy armor you'll be running into, Kurt is less than useful."

After Scott disappeared into the jet, Hank turned to her and his voice dropped. "What you'll need to watch him for is pulmonary distress. The stimulant combination I gave will only remove pain and fatigue. Especially under battle conditions, he's not likely to notice if he gets into trouble."

"I've got a small oxygen tank stowed away," Storm told him. "I just hate the idea of him putting himself in harm's way like this." She paused, and then her voice was almost too soft to be heard. "Is he really that eager to follow after Jean?"

"Not consciously," Hank replied sadly.

Storm sighed, then embraced Hank as best she could, though her arms didn't quite reach all the way around him. She looked behind him, to where Kurt was speaking with the professor. "I'll take care of Scott. You take care of Kurt. Deal?"

"It's a deal."

She raced up the ramp, which retracted behind her. Those remaining behind quickly left the hangar as the engines started to whine. Rogue crossed her arms and smiled ruefully at Kurt.

"Welcome to the home guard, sugar," she told him. "Now y'all get to see just how much fun you been missin' out on." She looked to Professor Xavier and sighed. "If y'all excuse me, I get to pull monitor duty for the duration."

"Not alone, Rogue," Xavier told her. "Wait just a moment, please."

Rogue stopped, cocking her head. "I thought Kurt was gonna be helpin' Hank."

"He is."

A nearby set of elevator doors opened and Isidro Delgado stepped out. He was wearing one of the X-men's armored uniforms, though it didn't fit quite right, and had an assault rifle slung over one shoulder. He smiled sheepishly as he walked toward them.

"It's a little stiff," he admitted, flexing an elbow. "I feel like I'm breaking in a new set of bike leathers."


* * * * *


The closest Con Edison switching station was barely a few minutes journey by Blackbird. Having taken Lady Bird Johnson's "American Beautification" program to heart in the 60s, what was by nature an eyesore was nestled into some foothills, invisible from the road and far from human habitation. At one time, heavy equipment had passed this way, carrying the necessary components during construction. Now only a single access road led in and out, a one-way, gravel path. Xavier and his students were fortunate enough to find a satellite over the area, but when they hacked into the feed, the live pictures showed them nothing of any importance. Everything looked completely normal, completely deserted. In this isolated area, it would have been child's play to create a hidden base.

Whether Xavier's hunch was right or wrong, all would know soon. Ororo looked back at the faces around her, the men of her extended family. Iceman was a bit nervous, tapping his heel against the floor. He had not bothered to "ice up" yet, probably to save energy. Colossus, also, was unarmored, but that may have been for purely practical reasons. With his powers active, he would be too big to comfortably sit in his seat. To her relief, his ugly bruises had faded to yellow in record time.

Logan and Cyclops, for once, had the same stoic, focused look, which she found chilling. She never wanted to see that kind of "do your worst, I don't care" expression on Scott's face.

Scott, I loved Jean too, she thought. She was a sister to me. She wouldn't want you to become so reckless. Let Logan fulfill that role. He can recover, you won't.

"Look sharp," Cyclops ordered as he slowed the plane. "Ten seconds."

Iceman and Colossus armored themselves. Storm devoted her attention to the array of sensors she had in front of her. No radar contacts, no locks... and no power emanations.

"Cyclops, I'm not getting any readings at all," Storm told him. "I think we're being jammed. There should be enough power going through that switching station to light up the county, and we're reading zero."

"Why does that not surprise me," Cyclops grumbled.

They flew over the hills, then over the switching station, at a very low altitude and banked for a turn. The station seemed to be empty, which was to be expected. Only rarely did a worker come out to perform maintenance or repairs. When Storm tried to get some ground density readings, she only came up with the default level, even underneath the switching station, which had to be heavily compacted. Someone was definitely hiding something.

Cyclops came back around at a different angle, cutting across their original path. As they flew over the foothills again, a huge, amorphous red field sprang up out of nowhere, pulsing and sparking as it wavered, reaching far up above their flight path. How the hell did they miss that before? Did it activate after they flew by, or was it a truly two-dimensional object, only accessible by one side? Cyclops knew it was too late to reverse course, and the field was too high to climb over on such short notice. Instead he banked hard left, their only hope of avoidance.

He would have made it, too, if the field didn't suddenly expand and engulf them all.


* * * * *


Kotoko stayed by the fallen soldier while Teacher Xavier and his students planned their action elsewhere. Whatever they were doing, he was in no condition to play a direct part in it.

A fine example of brutality and mindless strength, he thought as he looked at that which had been of the King's Own, reduced to an invalid. I wish the King himself could see you. If this didn't convince him to look elsewhere for conquests, nothing would.

The natives had been trusting enough to release the stricken one from his bonds. Their trust was not misplaced; all the soldier did was clench and unclench his arms like a small child. Sometimes he would moan softly. He almost surely deserved what Xavier had been forced to do. The King's Own were chosen for their cruelty. This one had probably committed heinous atrocities while in service.

And yet, Kotoko could not leave the poor man to suffer his confusion alone.

The door to the large training room opened. Teacher Xavier rolled in first, followed by Doctor Hank, Kurt, and one new (most likely male) native with whom Kotoko was not familiar. That new native stopped and made what Kotoko had learned was a voluntary intake of air, a gesture of shock. It must have been the first time he saw Kotoko.

"The others have gone on the mission?" Kotoko asked.

"Yes," Xavier answered. He turned and indicated the new male. "Kotoko, this is Isidro Delgado. He is one of the two we spoke of last night. He felt he was ready to see you."

So this was the pilot, forced to fight against his will. Kotoko scanned his body, but could still only find one mouth on the native, and it was the same type of multi-functional orifice the rest had. It could not possibly have connected to his nervous system as Kotoko's did.

"How did he connect to the vehicle?" Kotoko asked. "Your mouths are ill-suited for this."

Isidro glanced between Xavier and Kotoko. "Did he just say something?"

"Yes, he was asking how you connected to the exo-suit," Xavier translated.

"So... he really doesn't know? He had nothing to do with this?"

"Nothing at all. It appears someone on our world has been adjusting his technology to fit."

Isidro let out a slow exhale of breath and nodded. "You think I should show him the thingy?"

"It may help," Xavier agreed. As Isidro set his rifle on the floor and turned around, Xavier told Kotoko, "It was done through an artificial implant. Isidro will show you, if you wish."

Kotoko hesitated. "Just one implant? Only one 'mouth'?"

"Yes."

Kotoko slowly moved closer to the group. "No wonder you're having so much trouble. We need at least ten plugs for the most basic interface. My hardsuit requires thirty."

Isidro closed his eyes and exposed his small input jack. It meant turning his back on this thing and leaving himself wide open. His traitorous body started to tremble, and he forced it to stop. He won't hurt me... he won't hurt me... he won't hurt me....

The doctor was explaining basic human physiology to Kotoko, while Xavier translated Kotoko's questions. The creature's speech was nothing but percussion and hisses. Isidro stayed frozen in place, holding his short hair to one side. He could feel movement behind him; he kept expecting a touch that never came. Kurt moved into Isidro's field of vision and touched a hand to his shoulder. God, what weird fingers the guy had.

"This must be very hard for you," he said softly. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone so brave."

Isidro gave a nervous laugh. "Hey, what's the big deal? I'm just re-working my whole idea of what fits 'human', that's all."

Something beeped for attention in the cavernous room. To the group's left, a steel panel separated from the wall and slid aside. A monitor thrust forward to fill the space. When it activated, Rogue's anxious face filled the screen.

"Professor, we got ourselves a problem," she said quickly. "We just lost the Blackbird off the scopes, and I think the bad guys are callin' in reinforcements."

Xavier rotated his chair to face the screen. "First things first, Marie. What happened to the Blackbird?"

"I don't know. One second it was there, passin' over the switching station, and the next it's gone." She swallowed nervously. "Like it teleported or somethin'."

Kurt crossed himself, his worst fears realized. Dear God in heaven, let them be all right....

"And the supposed reinforcements?" Xavier went on.

Rogue turned her attention to some controls off-screen. "Here, let me punch up the satellite feed." The scene shifted to an overhead view, as if taken by a high-flying plane, and Rogue's voice said, "All right, here's the main road. See that little split, there? That's the little road to the switching station. The rest of the road comes straight down here." The view tightened, focusing on a convoy of six big rigs, each carrying double-trailers, heading down the main road toward the split. "Now, I know trucks do convoys, but not down this road at this time of day. It looks right suspicious."

Xavier's lips set in a thin line. "I agree. Keep that view up, Rogue. Let me do a bit of investigating."

He leaned back and closed his eyes. The view on the screen drifted up, and then shifted back down.

"Sorry 'bout that," Rogue apologized. "The satellite's startin' to orbit out of range. I don't know how much longer we'll have a decent feed."

A few other cars passed by the convoy as they watched. The shot was taken from so far away that everything seemed to move in slow motion. It was not yet possible to tell whether the trucks would turn onto the dirt path or keep going on the main road.

His eyes still closed, Xavier intoned, "Rogue's concerns are justified. Half of these trucks are going to the switching station. The others are coming here." He paused. "One of the trailers is a missile launcher. The rest are loaded with those piloted suits."

"That means there are at least five giant robots coming to this school," Kurt whispered in horror. "It took all we had to stop the first two. With the rest of the X-men out, how can we stop five?"


* * * * *


Cyclops and Storm both wrestled with the Blackbird's controls as the electrical systems went haywire. All around them was a pulsing red haze, thick and impenetrable like bloody clouds. The pilots pulled back on the yokes with all they had. They were nap of the earth when they entered the field. With the indicators all malfunctioning, no one could tell how close they were now, or how close they would be when they came out.

"I think we just hit Ko's wormhole!" Logan shouted above the alarms.

"Thank you for that blinding flash of the obvious, Logan!" Cyclops snapped.

They could feel the jet moving upwards, hear the turbines scream under the strain. The red haze abruptly cleared as they burst out into a orangish-red sky. The instruments instantly went back to normal operation. And once again, Cyclops was forced to make a dangerous, insanely fast turn as a craft of some kind flew in front of them. They avoided that one, but clipped three others in close formation. The sky was crowded with aircraft. Cyclops deliberately flipped the jet over for a moment, both as an evasive maneuver and to see what was below. He and Storm were in for a shock.

There had been a battle here. A long and protracted one, from the looks of things. The wreckage of at least thirty large exo-suits laid about, as well as the bodies of hundreds of silver-armored talons and other burned-out vehicles. A few large robots still fought on, but they were being overwhelmed. From a large, slow-moving ground vehicle, a beam lanced out and sliced off a robot's arm.

Cyclops flipped the jet back over. That was all he and Storm needed to see: the invasion had begun.

Storm knew Cyclops was the better combat pilot. She put her hands up. "Scott, you have the controls!"

"Hang on!" Cyclops ordered.

"I never stopped hanging on!" Iceman yelled from in back.

He rolled the Blackbird right and down, as fast a turn as he could manage. They were now being followed by the alien craft, being fired on from above and below. Storm reached out to the winds, but this wasn't her land. She didn't speak its language. What would she get if she pushed? How badly would she warp the weather patterns?

It doesn't matter here, she thought. We can't let these things come through the wormhole en masse. We've got to slow them down.

Her eyes turned white... then red. A low moan escaped her, unheard in the raging battle. She clutched her seat with her hands, even though she was securely strapped in.

Obey me! Obey me! OBEY ME!

She finally did something she had never done in her life: she forced her will upon the elements. The elements went wild, fighting back. She pushed harder, angering this world even more. Always she had control over her abilities. Always she knew what to expect. Here, her powers were like dynamite; she lit the fuse and hoped she could get away in time.

"Storm, what are you doing?" Cyclops shouted. "Aim the hail away from us before it clogs the intakes!"

"Get us out of here, Scott," she warned, her voice hollow. "I've lost hold of the tiger's tail."


-----------------------------------

TBC....

[taekwondodo]

Just as riveting as the first time I read it at T&B. Great work! Love your stories. So much time, effort and research obviously go into them to provide such rich detail. Much more like reading a 'real' novel than much fanfiction, which is frequently like reading a script minus the stage directions - you know, almost totally dialogue based. Really enjoy your wonderful writing style.

TKD

[Maelstrom]

Oy Vey! Here I'm going out for a week, and I see that my post is screwed up! TKD, I'm sorry that the entire thing isn't here. It seems that half of chapter 11 and all of the Epilogue has gone missing. I guess there's a limit to how much can be cut and pasted into one post, and I managed to exceed it. My apologies, everyone! I'll post the rest of it on September 8th!

[Maelstrom]

Sorry about the cut-off, folks. Here's the rest of it, each chapter a post. Hopefully, that avoids the cut-off problems.....


Talons

Chapter 11


Five suits. Five suits. Kurt kept going over the fact in his mind, in some pathetic hope that the repetition would help spark some idea of what to do about it. Isidro stared at the screen, watching the convoy of trucks inch their way ever closer. They were only ten miles away, well within missile range and closing with relentless speed. Xavier did not move from his previous position, eyes closed, hands folded across his lap.

The convoy of trucks, despite the fact they were making their way down the screen, were inching into the upper left corner along with the rest of the topography. Rogue compensated as best she could, but the satellite was moving further out of range.

"Are there any other satellites you can switch to?" Hank asked.

"Kitty's workin' on that now," Rogue's voice called.

From what sounded like a farther distance away, Kitty herself said, "I'm working on it, guys, but it doesn't look good. The closest one is strictly a telecommunications satellite. No visuals at all."

Xavier breathed out, a sigh of relief, and relaxed a bit. The rigs seemed to have stopped moving.

"What did you do?" Isidro asked.

Xavier opened his eyes. "I gave us a little breathing room. The drivers have all stopped their vehicles and snapped their keys off in the ignition."

"That keeps the robots away from us, but what about the missiles?" Rogue asked.

Missiles! Kurt turned to Hank. "Hank, Scott once told me you did miracles with electronic things. Could you operate a missile rack?"

"Could I what?" Hank asked, mystified.

Kurt pointed out in the direction of the fight a few nights ago. "The first attack, they tried to use missiles on us, and the trailer is still out there full of them! I don't know how badly Storm damaged the controls in the cab, but I know that the trailer should be intact! All we need to do is... turn it over...."

He trailed off helplessly, realizing there was no way to do that. Only Colossus had that sort of strength.

"No, maybe it could still work," Isidro said. "If we got some cables and used other cars to pull the trailer upright--"

"There's no way to get the cars in there," Kurt sighed. "It's too far off the road."

Isidro looked at Kotoko, then at Xavier, then back to Kotoko. He touched the back of his neck.

Xavier's eyes widened. "Mister Delgado, surely you aren't even considering--"

"It's strong enough," Isidro interrupted. "I know it's strong enough to roll a trailer."

"But even if we could make that damaged suit work, you don't have any consciousness while inside. How would you control yourself?"

Isidro flung his arms wide in desperation. "Look, do we have a better idea? Do we? Even if those rigs are stopped dead, they can still fire the missiles at us from there!"

"And with the trucks stopped, that's exactly what they'll do," Kurt added dully. "I'm the only one that has a chance of getting there before they're launched."

"Kurt, that's near the edge of your range as is," Hank warned. "And remember what I told you about teleporting in your condition? You'll blow your eardrums again and be useless by the time you get there. You'll just be another hostage, assuming you survive the experience."

"No he won't," Rogue's voice objected. "Y'all give me two seconds to get down there."


* * * * *


Storm had not feared the weather since she was thirteen. She usually felt at one with it, nestled in its motherly embrace. Now, that mother had turned vicious and abusive. Winds strong as a jetstream pushed at the Blackbird, shoving it away from the bloody, pulsing edge of the wormhole. Cyclops had his hands full just keeping the jet level. The other craft in the sky were in no better shape. Wind shear tossed them around as if they were petals in the wind. Those that could landed. Those that could not landed with more catastrophic consequences. The talons on the ground huddled and hooked together, interlinking their arms like ants creating a bridge. The largest vehicles, tanks, Cyclops supposed, were unaffected by the sheer force of the wind, but they had stopped firing. Whether they were running out of ammunition or the weather was interfering with their weapon locks, Cyclops didn't know, nor did he care.

"Storm, we need a clear pocket," he ordered. "Don't bother trying to bring it under control, just give me a pocket, a tunnel, anything to get us into that wormhole."

Storm's eyes were still as red as the sky. Her whole body clenched with the stress of exerting control. She bent over, still holding onto her seat, until her head rested against the shuddering yoke. She closed her eyes and bared her teeth in a feral snarl.

I'm stronger than you are. You're not beating me. No, you're not....

The wind abruptly stopped. Cyclops did not question, he simply aimed. Her engines already revved to overload, the Blackbird leapt into the wormhole.


* * * * *


The plan was simple in its desperation. Simple, if ludicrously dangerous. Kotoko went to the hangar and did everything he could to make Isidro's headless robotic suit work. Xavier worked with Isidro himself, forming a telepathic bond that would hopefully be strong enough to withstand Isidro's upcoming neural disruption. Hank cannibalized some of the Danger Room explosives into a crude, powerful bomb. It was up to Rogue to get that bomb to its destination, and there was only one way she could do it. The thought scared both her and Kurt, but it did not deter them. The two stood, facing each other, in the danger room while Hank worked furiously in the background.

"How much longer, Hank?" Rogue called over her shoulder.

"A little bit," he said.

Rogue sighed and hugged her arms close. She never enjoyed using her power. Bad enough that it hurt people, but the added personality overlay was murder, and it never completely faded away. At least, the personalities hadn't gone away yet. Maybe they would, eventually. Maybe when she could control her powers more....

"I'm seconds from finishing, Marie," Hank told her. "Start it now."

Rogue removed her right glove and she and Kurt knelt on the floor within arm's reach. It wouldn't do to have him fall from a standing position and crack his skull open on the floor. And he was going to fall, unconscious, twitching, just like the rest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, reaching for his hand.

Kurt reached out and bypassed her hand, placing his on her forehead. For the first moment, there was nothing. Then there was fire, numbing pain, the feeling of falling into a horrible black pit, clawing at the edges and unable to climb out as the floor retreated further and further and the light faded out completely--

He gasped and shook, eyes rolling into the back of his head, as his hand dropped. Rogue grabbed his hand. She had to imprint further. As much as she hated to do it, she had to make sure she had all of his power for this. He mumbled something as he slipped further, and Rogue found herself joining him, praying in a language that was previously foreign and incomprehensible. She caught him before he fell, gently laid him on the floor, and finished the prayer for him. Rather than the expected flash flood of emotions, his psyche washed over her gently, like the rising of the Nile.

If only everyone was as peaceful inside as you, she thought.

She stood up quickly, using only her legs, and spun with unaccustomed speed and grace. Hank was stepping up to her, a backpack held in one hand.

"The instructions are simple," he told her. "Pull the line, and you've got five seconds to get out." He indicated a thin red cord that dangled outside the daypack. "I don't think I have to tell you not to bother withdrawing it from the backpack?"

She took the pack and slung it over one shoulder. "No, Doktor McCoy. That will not be necessary. Danke."

She had Kurt's accent and mannerisms. She also had Kurt's yellow eyes and a blue tinge to her skin. Hank decided not to tell her about the latter parts. She had enough on her mind.

"Watch yourself, Marie," he told her softly. "The robots have been activated."

They both looked back at the screen. The switching station itself was gone. The stopped convoy was in the upper left corner, barely visible. Much more visible were the mechanical suits walking down the road. Considering the scale, they were "walking" at thirty miles an hour, if not more.

Rogue teleported out in a cloud of blue. Hank knelt beside Kurt, who was passed out on the floor. His pulse was slow, but steady, skin a little cool.

Well, he thought, it was marginally better than him teleporting there himself....

He looked back at the screen. Whatever Rogue was going to do, she had to do it fast. She'd use up Kurt's power quickly with such a long teleport. By that time, the convoy was off the screen. Hank swore under his breath. They no longer had the ability to keep track of her.

"I know, I know, but I can't do anything about it," Kitty's voice apologized. "There's nothing else in range for at least half an hour."

From the upper right corner of the screen, where the convoy was parked, they could see part of the silent bloom of a fireball. Hank knew for a fact the device he gave Rogue didn't have that much punch. That was the sight of some much heavier ordinance going off. Upstairs, they must be hearing the boom by now. Seconds passed.

"Hank?" Kitty asked hesitantly. "Shouldn't Rogue be back by now?"


* * * * *


Another dizzying, tumbling journey through the wormhole, and the Blackbird arrived over the switching station. Unfortunately, it was hardly alone. Cyclops had no idea how all these ground troops had managed to get out past them, but now the area was literally crawling with the King's Own, and more were coming out of the wormhole with every passing second. It was like looking at a sea of silver spiders.

"We need to cut off the power," Storm mumbled, wiping her sweating forehead. "We'll never get anywhere with more of them coming through."

"With that maelstrom you unleashed back there? Are you kidding?" Iceman asked, incredulous. "Nothing could make it through that!"

"So how do you explain all those troops coming out of the wormhole?" Logan growled.

Iceman was silent.

"It doesn't matter," Cyclops said cryptically. "If the talons spread out and go to ground, we'll never catch them all. We've got to cut the power and contain them, and we can't do that from in here."

Cyclops cleared his throat and wiped his mouth. Storm caught a faint smear of red on his lips. He turned to her.

"You up to flying this thing right now?" he asked her. "If we park it too close, it'll be a sitting duck for the rest of the invasion force."

Storm nodded and grabbed the controls, her eyes once again their normal blue. It would do no good to tell Cyclops to be careful, that he was starting to bleed again. He must have tasted the blood in his mouth. He knew already. She swung the Blackbird around as everyone gathered at the ramp.

"I'll take care of cutting the power," Cyclops told them. "Colossus and Logan, concentrate on heavy weaponry first. Try to go easy on the station itself. Iceman, start with the walls. Lots of them. If the talons want to go back through the wormhole, let them go, but nowhere else. Understand?"

They did. At Cyclops' order, Storm opened the ramp in mid-flight. Colossus dropped out first, before she had a chance to slow down. Iceman and Logan dropped out together, and Storm caught a glint of one of Iceman's patented slides as it formed. That left Cyclops. She slowed as much as she dared before he dropped out at the far end of the station. Storm retracted the ramp and pulled the jet up and around.

As the jet circled, Cyclops took aim at the main power lines, thick, highly charged cables that connected the switching station directly to one of the Indian Point power plants. With one sweeping blast, he sliced the lines clean, cutting off power to a large section of Westchester County. He turned around, expecting the wormhole to fade out of existence. It didn't. It was still there, stretching over the top of the rise, as powerful as ever. What was it Kotoko warned them? Given enough initial power, a wormhole could last practically forever?

Cyclops coughed again. The taste of blood was stronger now, and his chest was starting to feel heavy and congested. All that jerking around in the Blackbird must have opened something up again.

He clambered up the foothill, back to where his teammates were fighting. So long as he lasted as long as the wormhole, that was all that mattered.


* * * * *


The human/talon hybrid technology was something of a stretch for Kotoko to work on. The equipment was bulky and fragile at the same time. Fortunately, the only thing he had to do was reattach the sensors and change out a few burned parts. He made do with modules scavenged from one of the King's Own's battlesuits. He wasn't sure how long it would hold, but it should do for the simple hauling job the natives (humans, he reminded himself) needed done. And, perhaps, it would also hold long enough for the thing Kotoko himself needed done....

Teacher Xavier was working with the pilot, Isidro, preparing him for what he had to do. Isidro had been very nervous before. Now he was calm and relaxed, and the amplification suit was as ready as it was going to be. Kotoko took the time to fully integrate himself into his own hardsuit. Its protection wasn't complete, but it was better than naked skin.

Isidro slowly removed his borrowed X-man armor, stripping down to his underwear. He moved as a sleepwalker. Henry walked briskly into the hangar as Isidro was in mid-strip. He had an army-style pack on his back, laden with electronic equipment and tools.

"Since we're still here, I assume that Rogue was successful?" Xavier asked quietly.

Hank nodded. "We caught a glimpse of the fireball before the satellite moved out of range. However, the robots had already gotten clear of the rigs by then, and they run at a fair clip. We don't have much time."

Xavier eyed Hank warily. Hank wasn't telling the whole story. Unfortunately, he was right: they didn't have much time, certainly no time for Xavier to ask questions.

"Help Isidro into the cockpit, Henry," Xavier said. "He can't do it alone."

By then Isidro was kneeling into the open cockpit. Henry went over and carefully guided the police cadet into position. He did not resist in the slightest, allowing Hank to place him wherever he chose. The trance was so deep that he looked through Hank instead of at him. Finally Hank "plugged" Isidro in and placed the breathing mask over his face. Isidro gave a great sigh and his eyelids drooped, as a man who was dropping off into sleep. Hank closed the cockpit and added a secondary magnetic clasp to keep it closed. Then he stepped back, his hands subconsciously tightening on the straps of his backpack. If this didn't work, they were in a world of hurt.

There was no expected electronic hum, no whine or servos or gyros. The exo-suit soundlessly sat up, its head rotating 360 degrees in a sensor sweep.

Xavier could hear the overlay programming intruding on Isidro's thoughts. Scanning... scanning... not in reset area... presumed hostile....

No, Xavier overrode the commands. This is home base.

Isidro's psyche was confused. Two voices, saying two different things. Which was right? Xavier came forward and swung Isidro to see him.

Listen to me. You know me. You trust me.

Hank wasn't sure whether he was relieved or worried when the amplification suit stopped scanning and stood up. Hank looked back at the professor, whose entire world seemed to be restricted to this suit.

"I can guide him," Xavier said, "but it will take constant tending. Kotoko, I will not be able to translate for you if you leave with Hank."

"I understand, Teacher Xavier," Kotoko replied. "But I will be more helpful there than back here."

"He's going with you, Henry," Xavier translated. "He wants to give whatever help he can. Remember; one click means yes, and two means no."

Henry nodded and pressed the stud to open the hangar doors. Kotoko crawled onto Isidro's vehicle and latched onto his back. Isidro knelt and extended both arms toward Henry.

"Hold on tight, Kotoko," Xavier warned as Isidro held Henry close to his chest. "This is going to be jarring."

The hangar doors above them were now open wide enough for Isidro to fit through. He tilted his head back, crouched, and leapt effortlessly through the opening. He landed on the still-moving doors, which were disguised as part of the basketball court. Judging by the sound, they'd have to do a little repair to the blacktop once this was all over. Isidro then took off running, the wind whistling through Hank's hair. Every pounding step reminded Hank vividly of the placement of each of his internal organs. About the time he thought he was going to fall apart, Isidro stopped, and Hank found himself staring at the battered trailer of a certain well-armed rig.

Isidro opened his arms enough to give Hank room to move, and Hank leapt to the ground, then immediately sprang to the cab itself. He glanced back to make sure that Kotoko hadn't fallen off somewhere in the middle of their flight. Kotoko was detaching himself from Isidro's back, apparently none the worse for wear, though he was talking up a storm.

Probably giving Isidro hell for that little jaunt, Hank thought as he flung open the passenger door. I know I'm going to be feeling it for a few days.

He ripped out a few panels to assess the extent of the damage. It was as he feared. Storm could let loose with a lot of voltage when she desired, and the wiring was a melted mass of plastic and metal. Utterly useless. He backed out of the cab and shucked off his pack. Fortunately, he had planned for this little contingency....


* * * * *


Colossus came rocketing out of the Blackbird and slammed into a large vehicle that was either a troop transport or a tank. The solid nature of the armor told him tank, but the way it slid told him it wasn't in full contact with the ground. Was it some kind of hovercraft?

Colossus leapt to the ground, kicked a startled talon out of the way, and picked the tank up over his head. His ears rung with a roaring sound that came from under the tank, and he felt a terrible pressure bearing down on him. Whatever repulsion drive this thing used to keep off of the ground was still active, and lethally so. Colossus threw the tank away before the pressure could increase. It impacted on the side of the nearest foothill, crushing talons underneath and burying itself deep in the ground.

Wait a minute! Colossus thought. I'm not that strong! There's a hollow space there!

The talons coordinated their fire on him. It hurt a little bit, like a magnifying glass and hot sunlight. He picked up a nearby talon and swung it around his head. The others now gave him a respectable berth. That berth widened considerably when he tossed his ungainly "throwing star" into a mass of its brethren.

Iceman had put up dozens of walls in his attempts to keep the talons fenced in. He made the hills slick and icy so they couldn't roll. But that damned wormhole was still open, and the King's Own still poured through. Logan fought beside him, guarding his back. Another blast hit Iceman in the shoulder, reducing his armor to slush. He cried out and fell to the ground to avoid a follow-up shot. From behind him lanced out Cyclops' familiar red beam, and a talon that had gotten too close for comfort found itself careening over the heads of its fellows.

"Cyc, I thought you were gonna shut off the power!" Logan shouted as he sliced into another talon.

"I did!" Cyclops shouted back.

"Doesn't seem to have helped much!"

"No, it doesn't, does it?"

"You seen Petey around?"

Before Cyclops could say "no", a large vehicle went sailing over their heads. Talons spilled out of it as it went: it had been a troop transport. It flew into the wormhole and vanished.

"Never mind," Logan added.


* * * * *


"Isidro, I need you to detach the cab from the trailer, then turn the trailer over until the missiles are pointing straight up," Hank requested. "We'll need a lot of angle for the missiles to clear the trees."

Isidro knelt by the fifth wheel and brutally wrenched trailer from cab. An involved, tedious job took barely a second, though it wasn't easily reversed. He rolled the trailer over once, then again, taking great pains to keep it all from impacting too hard on the ground. From his pack Hank pulled out something that looked like an old style, bulky laptop, plugged its cables into some seemingly random access port in the trailer, and turned it on.

"I'd have you cross your fingers, Kotoko, but I don't think that's going to work," Hank told him with a nervous smile. "I just hope at least a few of these missiles have survived the beating they took the other night."

The screen showed a very basic, overhead line drawing of the missiles in their tubes, showing up as a flat grid with circles in each square. As Hank's "laptop" accessed each missile's diagnostic program, the circles would fill in white for acceptable or be crossed out for unacceptable. Half of the flight systems were labeled unacceptable. That left more than enough for what they needed to do. He flipped open his radio.

"All right, Katherine, I've got the estimated coordinates of the robots' location, based on their speed."

"That's not gonna be all that precise. You could be off by fifteen feet."

Hank gave a wry smile. "Trust me, my dear. That's well within range for ground zero. Just let me know when the road is clear."

"Clear?"

"Yes, we can't let these missiles loose with other cars in the area.

Her next words came out more as a hushed whisper. "Hank, I can't see the road anymore. The satellite's completely out of range now."

Hank's blood ran cold.


* * * * *


Storm set the Blackbird down on the top of another hill overlooking the battle. She watched the silvery chaos below her. By then all the hills around the switching station were coated with ice. Bobby was outdoing himself today. Occasionally, Cyclops' blast lanced over the crowd, and another large lump of vehicle went flying into the wormhole. She only had evidence of her teammates' existence; she was too far away to discern them from the masses. She was also still too shaky from her wrestling match with that other, red-skied world to have any hope of pinpoint accuracy with her powers.

She stumbled down the ramp and fell to her hands and knees on the new grass, breathing deeply of the cold spring air. Re-establishing her ties with the land. Behind her, she felt a static charge. It wasn't the leading edge of lightning; she was quite familiar with that sensation. No, this was something else. Something alien.

She spun around. A glaring gash of white was opening behind her, and talons stepped out. She stood and backed up. This wasn't happening. They were barely holding on as is. They couldn't take more of the King's Own, especially from a flanking maneuver.

But as the talons stepped away from the backlighting whiteness, Storm saw that they didn't look the same as the others. They were a bit smaller, and their hardsuits were green and white.


Cyclops fell to the ground as the world pressed in on his chest. He couldn't seem to catch his breath. His pulse was racing, and he couldn't get the taste of iron out of his mouth. He wasn't sure if he was still conscious or not as he felt himself lift off the ground, his body light as a feather. As he sped up and across the field of battle, he finally recognized the hallmarks of Storm's power, felt her arms around his heaving chest. Maybe he could get some good shots from up here before he passed out completely....

"We're going back to the Blackbird, Scott!" Storm told him. "This fight's over for us!"

"We can't let these things break through!" Cyclops objected.

"We're not! Look again, Cyclops! We just got reinforcements!"

As she flew them over the field, raising higher and higher, Cyclops saw that the hills were lined with hundreds of other talons, all wearing green and white hardsuits. There were even a few tanks cresting those hills, also marked with a green and white insignia. Kotoko's rebel forces had arrived, and with their appearance, the King's Own turned around and made a hasty retreat through the wormhole, which was finally shrinking in size.

"Remind me to kiss Kotoko's knuckles when we get back," Cyclops wheezed.


* * * * *


"Hank, you know those things could have long range sensors, right?" Kitty asked nervously over their link.

"Yes," Hank replied.

"And if you can see them, they can see you, right?"

"I'm aware of that, Katherine. But I have to be sure no one else is on that road. The destructive force of this ordinance is extreme, to say the least."

This had to be the craziest thing he'd ever tried. The entire reason Hank wasn't with Xavier full time was so that he didn't have to do stuff like this. But there was no way he was going to risk catching innocent lives in a hail of missiles just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Even if it meant letting those refugees from a giant robot flick get closer than he liked.

He sat in an oak tree, watching the road with his binoculars. They should be visible, soon....

Behind him, he heard something very big moving through the brush. He glanced back to see Isidro, curled up in such a tight ball that he had no larger a sensor profile than one of the bushes.

"Isidro, what are you doing here?" he asked.

Isidro extended an arm and pointed down the road. Hank turned that way again and put the binoculars to his eyes. Finally he saw them, a group of identical exo-suits running down the road in formation. He ground his teeth as he counted the number. There were twice as many there as the professor foretold. For some damn reason, they were all heading for institute, not just half. Did they have enough firepower to do this?

They were almost at his marker. A little further... a little further....

Suddenly the lead three suits stopped swinging their arms back and forth as they ran. Instead they extended both arms ahead of them, their speed unaffected by the awkward change. What the hell--?

Isidro sprang up and snapped Hank's tree, bringing him down branches and all. As he fell, a hail of bullets erupted just above him, digging into Isidro's armor. Hank crashed down to the ground and rolled away, the bullets following his path. Isidro jumped over Hank, rolled to his feet, and braced himself against the metal storm. Some of the bullets ricocheted off of his armor. Others struck and buried themselves deep. In the space of two seconds, Isidro lost an arm.

"NOW!" Hank screamed into his radio. "NOW KOTOKO! LAUNCH THEM NOW!"

Hank covered his ears. He barely heard the roar of the launch over the gunfire. He could not possibly miss the deafening, concussive booms of impact. The bullets stopped. Isidro fell to his knees and his hastilly-reattatched sensor head rolled off. Several of the bullets had passed through the chest cockpit.

Hank chanced a look back down the road, and saw smoking craters where the enemy suits had been. The only movement was single piece of glittering metal, falling to the side of the road.

Public Works was going to hate this.


* * * * *


Scott Summers laid on the floor of the Blackbird, oxygen mask over his face. At least there wasn't any pain this time. He was just so damned tired he could barely keep his eyes open. The oxygen helped; now he didn't feel so light-headed.

At first it was just he and Ororo in the jet, two exhausted combatants trying to regain their breath. Next up was Bobby, followed closely by Logan. Bobby promptly flopped into a chair and leaned his head back, gasping for air. Even Logan was winded. As they looked down at Scott on the floor, he weakly gave them a thumbs up sign.

"Where's Peter?" he croaked.

Logan gave one of his patented half-grins. "Signing autographs, I think. Kotoko's guys really like him out there."

Bobby smiled weakly. "He scared the living shit out of the bad guys. Did you see the way they ran from him?"

"I guess drop-kicking a few tanks would give a guy a rep."

As if on cue, Peter walked up the ramp, unarmored and unharmed. It was as if that beating he took that awful night had inured him against all the damage to come.

"You done signing autographs, Petey?" Logan asked, dropping into a passenger seat.

Peter blinked, bemused. "Signing autographs? Nyet. I was showing them the hole I found in the mountain."

Scott sat up. "What?"

Peter pushed him back down. "Careful, Cyclops. There is no need to be upset. Those people who made the suits had made a base in the side of one of the hills. We looked in it, but ...." His face turned somber and grim. "But everyone was dead. The equipment inside was melted, and the bodies were burned. It is good I do not need to breathe when metal, because there was nothing but smoke in there." He smiled again. "On the other side, I think we have found all those backhoes you were looking for...."

Someone was tapping on the ramp. Peter, the closest, looked back down the ramp, where a talon was tapping on a step with his claw. The alien motioned for someone to follow as he moved off.

"What's up, Peter?" Bobby asked, sitting up straight in his seat.

"I don't know," Peter admitted as he went down the ramp. "Let me look."

As he set foot on the ground, he glanced into the little valley where the switching station was located. The bleeding gash of light that was the wormhole had reduced to something the size of a small car, and was shrinking in front of his eyes. Ah, so that is what the talon wanted him to see. He smiled and pointed to the wormhole, signaling his understanding.

Apparently, that wasn't it at all, for the talon was still nudging him in another direction. Peter turned to see another talon walking towards him with someone curled up on its back. That person looked up, a sheepish smile on her face, and Peter recognized the distinctive white stripe in her long, matted, auburn hair. She looked like she'd been through hell itself, her usually fair skin smudged with black grit.

"Rogue, what are you doing here?" he demanded. "You are to be with the professor at home!"

"Long story, Petey," she said, her voice heavy with exhaustion. "Awful long story."


* * * * *


"Hey, honey, y'all wake up, now."

Kurt woke to the sound of Rogue's voice. He opened his eyes. He was in his own bed, under all the blankets and sheets. Rogue knelt nearby, her gloved hand on his shoulder. Her hair was still wet, and she smelled faintly of lavender.

He smiled. "It must have worked. Things are good enough for you to have showered."

"It worked mostly," she said. "I got there O.K., but I couldn't get all the way back. I burned out your power right quick with that first 'port. I woke up on the side of the road with a bunch of Kotoko's buddies around me. Turned out Kotoko also made that big battlesuit into a giant radio when he fixed it up, used it to contact his troops. Accordin' to Storm, they arrived just in time."

Kurt sat up against the head of the bed. His head felt like someone had used it for an ashtray. Rogue handed him a glass of orange juice.

"This aughta help," she offered. "Get you some potassium and all that."

"Danke."

He didn't even realize he was thirsty until the liquid hit his dry mouth. He speedily downed the juice, then leaned back and sighed.

"Isidro?" he asked.

"He got shot up a little savin' Hank's hide. Hank said the wounds weren't life threatenin', though. He's restin' now."

"Bobby?"

"Restin'."

"Peter?"

"Restin'."

"Cyclops?"

Rogue chuckled. "Sedated."

He looked directly at her. "Storm?"

"She's restin' too, sugar. Even Hank's restin'. The only one who ain't is Xavier. He and Kotoko's buddies are talkin' about stuff. I think they're talkin' about callin' this world 'out of bounds'. Looks like Kotoko's gonna be leavin' soon, too. Oh, and they'll take that poor bastard in the Danger Room, though I ain't got no idea's what they'll do with him."

"How much damage was done?"

Rogue winced. "The gov'ment's come out and cordoned it all off. Oh, man, I don't know how they're gonna cover this up, but they're tryin'. I think they're afraid to come up and ask us what's goin' on, 'cause they ain't showed up here yet, and Xavier says they ain't gonna."

Kurt nodded and sat up on the edge of the bed. He'd been placed there still in his uniform. He stretched his arms, then his back.

"Remind me not to sleep in this thing again," he grunted. "I think I will stick with boxer shorts."

Rogue watched him as he stood up, as if searching for something. He looked back down at her, curious.

"When you gonna tell her?" she asked suddenly.

He blinked. "Vas? What are you talking about?"

She looked away uncomfortably. "When I... imprint peoples' powers... I also get their feelings. I get their thoughts and their memories." She looked back up at him shyly. "I know how you feel about her. About Miss Munroe. You were awful worried about her. It was... kinda obvious for me." She paused, then hastily added, "I won't tell no one."

He smiled gently at her, a thing that let Rogue know all was forgiven. "There was a good chance you would find out, wasn't there? You did say you would feel my feelings. And I thank you for saying nothing." He looked out the window, where the evening shadows were deepening to night. "Perhaps I will tell her at some point. I am... not certain yet. It is so easy for leading men to see what leading ladies think in movies. It is not so easy for me." He shrugged, his smile returning. "I have time, I think. She is not leaving, and neither am I."

He turned deathly serious as he turned back to her. "What did they find at the station? Was there a base?"

"Yeah, what was left of one. It was dug into the side of a hill, all underground. Petey said it looked like they just dug it all out not too long ago and moved in a bunch of stuff, but it was hard to tell. He guessed they were playin' around with teleportin' or somethin', because all the equipment was fried. They had a big fire in there. Everyone was dead, about twenty bodies. They found the whole mess of stolen bobcats and backhoes in there, like they was storin' them or something."

"What about those trucks? Did they get any of the drivers alive to question?"

She shook her head. "They found a couple bodies in the rig we blew up, but that's it. The rest of the drivers were long gone. They probably bailed. I figure the feds got a manhunt going, but I ain't holdin' my breath."

Kurt sighed. "So we're no closer to finding the responsible people than we were before."

"Well, the professor thinks they were so rude to us 'cause we were too close to their little hideout. Might be they'll leave us alone after this. After all, we cost them a lot both times, and now the feds are here, too. It'd probably be right dangerous to keep after us now."

He nodded. "Perhaps so. It's just I hate loose ends. They make me nervous." Pause. "I must have missed dinner, yes? It looks late."

"Yeah, everyone was so tired they just kind of nuked a few burritos and went to bed. I made some spaghetti for the rest of the students. There's still a bunch left, I think. I could heat it up for you if you want."

"You don't need to do that for me, Rogue. I have figured out how to use a 'nuke'."

"No, it's O.K. I kind of need to talk to someone, anyway. Professor's busy, and Bobby's all wiped out and all... and I kind of think you'd be a nice guy to talk to...."

She blushed a little and looked away. He patted her on the shoulder and they walked out of the room.

"I am always happy to talk and to listen," he told her. "Let's go, then."

He spared a long look down the corridor, toward the women's wing of the mansion, before following Rogue down the stairs.





Next; epilogue.............

[Maelstrom]

Talons: Epilogue

The morning was cold and crisp. There were enough clouds in the sky to lend artistic beauty to the sunrise, but not enough to obscure the wild colors of dawn. This, Ororo ensured. If they were going to see their strange allies off, they would be doing it under the best conditions she could manage.

Though the morning was beautiful, there was another, more sobering reason for their timing. The spy satellites that watched the estate would not be overhead at this hour of the day. Bad enough that the talons had come here in such force, but to see so many massed on Xavier's lawn would invite more government scrutiny than even the professor could avoid.

Only Scott and Isidro stayed inside, their wounds preventing them from leaving their beds. The rest of the school, including Hank, turned out on the lawn to watch. Kotoko stood near his commander, a slightly larger and older-looking talon by the name of Ushkut. As Xavier made mental contact with Ushkut, once again his subconscious chose a race based on the name, in this case a middle-aged man of Middle-Eastern descent. Unlike Kotoko, Ushkut's mental image was straight, 100%, career soldier. He gave Xavier the impression of being a so-called "mustang", an officer who worked his way through the ranks as opposed to separate training.

"It's a shame you and your government structure seem to be at odds," Ushkut told him. "Your people are obviously advanced enough to figure out our technology. It would be a good alliance. What I wouldn't give to have beings like you fighting alongside of us." Ushkut pointed to Piotr. "Especially him. I wouldn't have believed he could stand under a grav tank if I didn't see it myself. That would have smashed any one of us to a pulp. You're sure you don't have any more like him you can spare?"

Xavier smiled. "I'm afraid not, Ushkut. Piotr is one of a kind, as are we all."

As they communicated, Hank came up to Kotoko with a footlocker in his arms. He set it down and opened it. Inside was a solar powered radio/CD player, dozens of CDs, an unabridged Webster's Dictionary, hardback copies of Gray's Anatomy, Crichton's hard science fiction classic The Andromeda Strain, Jim Lovell's Lost Moon, and a host of other books on flora, fauna, and ecology. He lifted up the CD player and a CD.

"Now, most of these are readings of books," he said. "Do you know how to read English?"

Kotoko gave one click, then two, then one.

"Ahh, I see," Hank said, nodding. "You're still figuring it out?" One click. "This may help. This book--" he lifted Andromeda Strain "-- is read on this disc. Here's how it works."

While Hank was instructing Kotoko in the proper use of a CD boom box, several of the talon troops had moved over to a paved section of the estate. To the fascination of the students, they started going through what could best be described as drill routines, walking in lock step, flipping up and rolling, and leaping over one another.

"I hope their behavior isn't too distracting," Ushkut thought with concern. "When we found out there were kids here...." He paused and shifted two of his limbs. "Well, a lot of my people have been fighting for years, and they miss their families. Even if these are alien children, they're still children."

Xavier nodded, watching the talon soldiers perform their routines. "I hope they will be able to see their own children soon."

"Thanks to you people, it's a lot closer now. The King's Own lost a lot in that battle, on both sides of the wormhole. We intercepted a few panicky transmissions from them about how the natives knew they were coming and set up a defense. When they saw us come over the hills, they assumed this was one of our strongholds instead. If they were desperate before, they've got to be running scared now. I think you just cut months off of this war, if not years."

The soft strains of Mozart drifted through the air. Kotoko had quickly mastered the use of the CD player, and was trying out different discs. He swiftly attracted an audience of the remaining talons. His dozens of mouths clicked and hissed away. The player looked so small under his massive limb, like a doll's toy in an adult's hands, and yet he had no trouble manipulating its controls.

Some of the more courageous students were taking turns riding on top of the talons as they raced each other. "Alien piggy-back rides", they called them. Other were content to be entertained by just watching. Only Regis stood apart from the crowd, his arms clutched tightly around his chest.

Kurt walked up and dropped into a crouch next to him. "With that coat on , I don't think you're that cold."

The boy didn't answer right away, but he did move a little closer to Kurt.

"You're still frightened?" Kurt asked softly. Regis nodded, and Kurt continued, "Why?"

"They scared the shit out of me!" Regis whispered loudly. Kurt fixed him with a stern glare, and Regis hastily amended his statement. "They scared the daylights out of me, okay? Just two days ago I had one of those things jump out of the woods and grab me. There were these plates and spiky things underneath and it hurt, okay?"

His voice cracked with those last few words. Kurt put his hands on Regis' shoulders and positioned him in front. When he spoke, his words went softly into Regis' ear, meant for and heard by him alone.

"And so, because one of that race was cruel, they are all cruel?"

Regis looked down, silent.

"Regis, do not fall into the same trap as Magneto has fallen. Do not fall into the same trap as Senator Kelly fell into. Do not lump others together like that. Especially when there is so much evidence that they are not the same." Kurt gestured to the "talon races" going on in front of them. "If those were men, playing with the others, would you still fear them?"

"No...," Regis confessed softly.

Kurt patted Regis on his shoulders. "Forgive, Regis. You will find life so much easier if you can learn to do that."

"My main concern is that we have yet to find those of my race who were involved," Xavier told Ushkut. "If they're still an active organization, and they still have access to faulty versions of your portal technology, this may just be the beginning of a protracted hunt on our side."

"I don't think the King's Own will take advantage of another wormhole again, but there's plenty of other problems that could arise," Ushkut admitted. "If the situation was different, we would be happy to help you hunt this organization down. As is, we just can't afford to let up on the King yet."

"I understand."

Xavier could feel Ushkut's attention shift to Kotoko and the "care package" they had given him. "Since we're exchanging gifts, I have something for you, Xavier. I imagine I might get in trouble for doing this, but I'd rather beg forgiveness than miss my chance because I waited for permission."

He extended an arm and presented Xavier with a strange device. It looked vaguely like a 1960s-era curling iron. As Xavier watched with his mental eye, Ushkut held the device in his hand and activated it by squeezing the handle in his fist.

"This is a transdimensional beacon," he stated. "It works on a frequency I doubt your science would even pick up. You'll know it's working because of the light on the end. While we can communicate through it, I'm afraid we won't be able to really talk until we can figure out some sort of device to replicate your tonal structures. Kotoko intended to work on that while he was in convalescence. With your playback device, he'll have a much easier time of it." His mental form smiled. "Your stuff will keep that boy happy for weeks. He's hoping to come back here for a deeper study, once this is all over."

"I can't speak for my government, but we would welcome him here," Xavier said. "I wish I could guarantee his safety should he return...."

"There are never any guarantees, Teacher Xavier," Ushkut finished for him. "Scouts accept the risk, or they wouldn't be Scouts. You wouldn't be the first aliens we've contacted with precarious political situations, and I'm sure you won't be the last. In any case, I find you can learn more about a culture by living with a minority than with the power structure. Your assistance would be welcome."

Ushkut's body made a quick, snapping movement of his front limb, extending diagonally down to the ground. His mental image stood up straight and saluted.

"I'm afraid we must be going," he said. "We're due to rendezvous with the main force soon. I hope when we next meet, it will be under more peaceful circumstances."

Ushkut made a loud cacophony of clicks, whistling hisses, and a single roar. Those talons around Kotoko hastened to their leader's side. Kotoko himself quickly put everything back in the footlocker, then thanked Henry by way of extended arms before picking up his prize and joining the ranks. The soldiers playing with the students stopped and gently set the children down before swiftly leaping into formation with their brethren. Their parting pops and hisses to the students were likely forms of goodbye. All the talon soldiers stood together, so tightly their limbs overlapped, as Ushkut opened the white portal. As one, the platoon of talons and their commander extended their front limb in perfect, snapping, downward salute, then marched into the shimmering rift. In seconds they were gone, leaving only pressed spots in the lawn to mark where they had been.

Xavier looked down at the transdimensional beacon in his hand. And though he would enjoy speaking with and learning from Kotoko again, he prayed that he would not have to use the beacon any time soon.


Finis

[Karl]

Maelstrom,
I have no idea if you'll ever read my comment, but I have to agree with the others: excellent story!! Well thought out and well told. Thank you for a great read.