Generation X - Crossroads Read online

  “You’re saying ... ?”

  “We should attempt to haul back on the mother hen instincts.”

  She started to take offense, and he saw it in her face.

  He shrugged and grinned. “I was mainly talking about me-self, lass. I’m the mother of all hens.”

  At that, she laughed. He used that Irish charm to his advantage too, but this time she was willing to let it slide by.

  She glanced up as a tractor pulling a string of canvas-draped baggage carts snaked between them and the students. The canvas on the lead cart had been thrown back and five men in airline coveralls squatted inside. The tractor slowed to avoid the childen, and in doing so, sputtered and stalled. The driver stared at the vehicle’s dashboard, as though unfamiliar with its operation, then tried to restart it. The men in the cart instantly became agitated and were hissing instructions to the driver.

  She realized that Sean had casually put his hand on her arm, but his fingers were far too tight on her flesh. She slipped into his mind.

  In the forward cart—his thoughts were as clear as a laser, his policeman’s training cutting in—among those cleaning tools, there’s an assault rifle. You can just see the barrel and clip poking out. And there’s probably more where that came from.

  She reached out to the minds of the men on the luggage train, lightly brushing the surface of each. It was enough. Their intent was clear and unguarded. There’s a bomb in the last cart, Sean. They’re taking it to the international terminal.

  Sean nodded. Bombs are my kind of business. Don’t let them. see me.

  She projected a mental distraction at the men. They all glanced toward the international terminal, as though they’d heard a noise. Sean rushed forward, lifted the canvas, and slipped inside the trailing cart.

  She tapped into his head again, for a moment looking through his eyes. She saw three large plastic barrels, robin’s-egg blue, bound together with red nylon stripes and wired into a metal box on top. Is it as bad as it looks?

  His thoughts were grim. Not as bad as Oklahoma City, but enough to total the terminal, and us, for sure. I’ve got no tools, but I can disarm it with my sonic powers. It won’t be quiet, though, and I don’t want to be disturbed.

  Between two of the luggage carts, she could see the students standing impatiently outside the door to customs, still unaware of the reason for the delay. Time to let them know. It will be a good exercise for the children.

  Emma! Don’t!

  Concentrate on the bomb. The children will be safe.

  She telepathically alerted the students, at the same moment planting a mental suggestion in the mind of each of the terrorists. As the children rushed forward, the alerted terrorists reached for their weapons, and instead picked up the mops and brooms that camouflaged the rifles. She’d already alerted the students to her plan, so they weren’t surprised by the faux weapons.

  Husk took the lead but, to Emma’s surprise, didn’t use her powers to shed her skin for some more combat-worthy form. Instead, she directed the others.

  “Pick your man,” yelled Husk, letting the others sweep by on either side. Jubilee, her powers most effective at a distance, made the first strike, blinding the driver with a large yellowish fireball, then blasting his “weapon” to splinters with a smaller red one, finally knocking him off his feet with a large blue explosion that Emma could feel deep in her rib cage. Jubilee grinned and blew smoke off the tip of her index finger.

  Skin ran low and zigzagged, avoiding imaginary bullets with the caution of someone all too familiar with gunfire. When he was close enough, he snapped his right forearm, whipping the skin of his hand out to wrap around a terrorist’s ankles, then using the strength of both arms to yank the man’s feet from under him. Using the elastic properties of his amazing epidermis, Skin shot forward like a rock from a slingshot, flying right over the fallen man and knocking the broom from his hands. He hit the ground running on the far side of the action.

  From inside the luggage cart, Emma could periodically hear

  Sean’s sonic scream blast for a moment, as he cut a wire or disabled a circuit.

  M flew past her, making no effort to hide herself or avoid fire. Her invulnerability might have made that unnecessary even if the weapons were real, but it still bothered Emma. M’s arrogance might someday be her downfall. She settled lightly in front of the largest of the terrorists, a bristle-topped giant who stared at her with open amazement. She seemed to study his expression for a moment before flicking her fingers into the man’s chin. It was a small gesture, and her super strength only threw the man about six feet before he landed in a heap.

  To her right, Chamber and Synch were moving in unison on two terrorists, one crouched behind the stalled tractor, the second trying frantically to get it restarted.

  Chamber unhooked the scarf that covered the gaping hole in his face and chest. A halo of crimson energy flashed out like a nest of angry snakes made from fire, then flared into a solid column of energy that lanced out and neatly punched the motor right out of the tractor’s hood. It rolled thirty feet before coming to a stop on the tarmac, still glowing red hot in spots. The terrorist behind the tractor had been thrown clear by the blast, and lay groaning on the tarmac.

  The man in the driver’s seat stood and began “firing” with a squeeze mop. Emma looked for Synch, but he had slipped from sight while she’d been watching Chamber. Unlike the others, Synch had no overt powers of his own. He could only “synch” with the auras of other mutants, and at the moment, all that he had available to him were his teammates.

  Again she heard a sonic scream, but from the fog bank, not the trailer with the bomb. Then Synch came flying at the driver—having chosen to appropriate Sean’s powers—blind-siding the man with a sonic blast, knocking him face first into the asphalt.

  Synch landed at his side, his feet skidding to a halt, and laughed. “That’s got to hurt.”

  That left one terrorist, and Husk, who still hadn’t used her powers. Instead, she walked slowly toward the desperate man as though she owned the world. The man was buffaloed. He’d seen what the other kids had done, and didn’t know what to expect from the blonde teenager stalking him.

  Is the child showing off, Emma thought, or is she just insane?

  Sean poked his head from under the tarp and nodded at Emma. The bomb was safe. He quickly scanned his surroundings, assessing the situation and trying to decide what, if anything, he should be doing about it.

  Without taking her eyes off the remaining terrorist, Husk stooped to pick up a fallen push broom. She lifted the business end to her shoulder, squinted down the imaginary sights, and settled her aim between the man’s widening eyes.

  “Bang,” she said.

  The terrorist’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he fainted.

  There was a moment of silence. Then the other students began to applaud. Husk turned and took a bow.

  Emma stepped angrily forward. “What did you think you were doing? Armed or unarmed, that man was a threat. Why didn’t you use your powers?”

  Paige’s smile faded, but she stood her ground. She met Emma’s eyes without flinching. “Strategic decision. The men weren’t that big a threat, and we still needed to get out of the airport. If I husked, I’d be stuck in the alternate form for at least a while, and that would be conspicuous.”

  Emma blinked. The child was right.

  Behind her, Sean was shaking in silent laughter.

  Emma nodded. “Good thinking. It’s easy to become too dependent on one’s powers anyway,” she said, giving M an icy stare. “There’s more to effective combat than blasting away with everything you’ve got.” She turned her glance to Jubilee. “That goes for you too.”

  Jubilee rolled her eyes and groaned. “Always the goat.”

  M crossed her arms defiantly across her chest. “Plenty to go around.”

  Sean had given up his laughing and was looking around anxiously.

  Emma noticed a cluster of customs people just i
nside the glass doors, their hands and faces pressed against the foggy glass, and in the distance, she could hear sirens.

  He nodded at her. “We’d best be going, and skip the paperwork. I know I sometimes discourage your using your mind tricks too much, but in this case—” he shrugged “—do what you have to do.”

  Her mind began to immediately sweep the area, seeking anyone in the office, on the apron, or up in the terminal who might have seen, jumbling their memories, causing them to remember fog and confusion rather than the faces of the students, or where they’d come from.

  Then her mind touched someone approaching them. There was a flash of terror, the image of a blue steel automatic pistol pressed into a neck, and the smell of gun oil, too close. She spun. The bomb had distracted her from scanning the area in detail as she should have when things had first started to go wrong. One more terrorist had been hiding nearby, unseen, and he had found a hostage.

  The terrorist was tall and gaunt, wiry muscles showing in his forearms where they poked out of his coveralls. His hair was short, black flecked with gray, his eyes pale blue and seething with unchecked emotion. Emma didn’t have to scan the fear, the anger, the adrenaline-produced elation. She could read them in his eyes. “Get back, imperialist puppets!” The man’s voice carried a heavy Central European accent. “I will shoot him if I have to. Get back!”

  The hostage was a security guard, slightly overweight and obviously approaching retirement. The terrorist’s left hand held his throat, pulling the guard back against his chest, the gun barrel jammed deep into the soft folds of the man’s neck.

  Emma attempted to correct her oversight, slipping into the man’s mind. She wondered if this was how Sean had felt when confronted with the bomb. The pistol’s safety was off, the terrorist’s finger twitching on a hair trigger.

  Given time, she could slip into his mind, paralyze his hand, stop him in a hundred ways, but now she could hear the sirens approaching. Security guards would be here in seconds, police and SWAT teams in minutes. Soon there would be dozens of bystanders, hundreds of guns, and the situation could spiral out of Emma’s control. She couldn’t handle the terrorist and all the others too. There was no choice.

  Chamber, take him, and take him hard.

  Jono had frozen in midaction when the hidden terrorist appeared, his scarf over his face but not secured, only his hand holding it in place. He dropped the scarf.

  The terrorist’s eyes went wide, and for a moment Emma was afraid he would pull the trigger. Then his grip on the hostage loosened, and the guard tried to pull free. The gun slipped away from the guard’s neck.

  Energy exploded from Chamber’s chest. The gun seemed to vanish from the terrorist’s hand, his fingers bleeding, his head snapping back as the beam of force glanced off his cheek. He fell backward. The hostage slumped to the ground, from fright rather than injury.

  Emma looked for the gun. It was embedded in the concrete wall of the passenger terminal thirty feet behind them. She scanned the terrorist’s mind. He was unconscious, but apparently only slightly injured.

  Chamber stepped forward, extending a hand to help the guard up.

  The guard shrank back, staring at him with openmouthed horror. He swatted Chamber’s hand away. “Get away from me, you—freak!” He lay down, hiding his face behind his arm. “Mutant freak. Monster. Don’t touch me. Freak.”

  Chamber stumbled backward a few steps, then looked at Sean for guidance.

  Sean was distracted. Security guards were running toward them from three directions, weapons drawn. “Emma!”

  “I know.” She reached out. Handling so many minds at once, all so intently focused on them, was a strain even for her talents. The fog helped, allowing their minds to easily question their vision, to feel that they were in a dream. She used that. One by one they relaxed, emerging from their hiding places, lowering their weapons, trotting up to put handcuffs on the fallen terrorists and to collect the weapons.

  Sean and most of the children headed for a gate in a nearby noise fence. Dozens of police officers ran past them as though they were invisible, thanks to Emma’s talents. Only Chamber remained, staring silently at the security guard. She could only imagine what he was feeling; she didn’t have the time or energy to find out for herself. “Go,” she said, “I’ll be right behind you.”

  One loose end to clear up first. The security guard who had cursed his rescuer. Emma reached into his mind and wiped his memories of the event.

  She was not gentle.

  The prearranged stretch limousine was waiting for them outside the terminal. The driver was a longtime employee of Frost Enterprises, and knew better than to ask questions about what was going on. He merely loaded the luggage in the trunk, opened the doors for them, glanced at the written address that Emma handed him, and they were shortly on their way through a typical airport strip of business hotels and car rental lots. The rain had stopped, and shafts of sunlight could be seen through the clouds ahead.

  Sean leaned back from the forward passenger seat and scanned the kids’ faces. “I want ye all to know, mistakes were made, but that’s gonna happen. All in all, ye did good out there, especially you, Paige, and you, Jono. Ye could have taken that perp’s head clean off with your blast....”

  Jubilee clucked. “It wouldn’t’a been a great loss, if you ask me.”

  Sean shot her a look, then focused his attention on Jono, who sat off to one side, his forehead against the glass, looking blankly out at the passing traffic. “But you handled it like a surgeon. Precision and control. I’m proud of ye, lad.”

  Jono said nothing, and an uncomfortable silence followed.

  Emma squirmed in her seat. She could ease the boy’s mind with little more than a thought. It was within her power, but she also remembered what Sean had said to her. Jono had to learn to live with what he was, with how the world looked at him, no matter how painful.

  Outside, they were entering the freeway headed north for the city. The fog was starting to bum off, and they could get a look at the landscape rolling by.

  Paige finally broke the silence. “It’s so green.”

  “They call it the Emerald City,” volunteered Everett.

  I need to find the Wizard and ask him to give me a face.

  Emma glanced at Jono, who hadn’t moved. Had he really projected the thought, or had she only imagined it?

  “Where are we going?” asked Paige, climbing forward for a better look at the sparkling skyline rising ahead of them.

  Emma nodded appreciatively. It was a good time to change the subject. “Someplace that should cheer us all up.” She paused for effect. “We’re going to a party.”

  The four-door sedan was silver-gray, of American make, several years old, needed washing, and was in every way undistinguished, an impression that had been carefully calculated. As Ivan merged with the heavy morning traffic on northbound Interstate 5, making sure to remain several cars behind the limousine, his car’s inconspicuous appearance was a special blessing.

  While it is possible to follow a car with only a single vehicle, it is not advisable. There are too many ways to lose the target car, too many ways to be spotted. Still, Ivan was very good at what he did.

  Though he had never had any formal training by the KGB, for whom he had acted as an informant until the fall of the Soviet government, he had made it something of a hobby to pick up techniques and information from the agents with whom he had worked. He could tail a car, or plant a listening device, or kill a man with his bare hands. He had hoped someday that the KGB would welcome him as one of their own. Instead, they had made him a scapegoat for their own misdeeds, and forced him to flee in the confusion of the Soviet breakup.

  Nonetheless, he thought as he changed lanes to keep pace with the limousine, it had brought him to this land of unexpected opportunity, and his instincts told him that the occupants of the limo represented another one.

  Without taking his eyes off his quarry, he reached down, picked up a cellular p
hone, and punched a speed-dial button. He ignored the recording that answered on the second ring, and punched in a five digit code.

  The phone rang twice more before a man answered. “This is the Expatriate.”

  “This is Ivan. The diversion worked, and the package is on a truck bound for the transfer point. Some interesting complications arose, however.”

  There was a pause from the other end of the line. Somewhere in the background, Ivan could hear a radio commercial playing. “What kind of complication?”

  “Mutants.”

  “You’re sure? The X-Men?”

  “I don’t think so. Several had obvious mutations, though.

  My mind was probed, but the KGB taught me techniques to resist. Still, it was a close thing. Most were young, not much more than children. Two adults as well, but they stayed in the background and exhibited no obvious mutations. No uniforms, but they clearly had drilled their combat skills.”

  “The World Federalists?”

  ‘ ‘They were easily captured, the fools. The bomb was never planted and did not go off. They did not provide nearly the diversion we had hoped for. We barely had time to escape the customs warehouse with the package, but all is well.”

  ‘ ‘Mutants. This disturbs me, my friend, for obvious reasons. Can you follow them? Find out who they are and what their interests are. If they’re onto our plan, I need to know it.” Ivan smiled. Just south of downtown Seattle the limousine turned off the freeway and he carefully followed. “I anticipated your request. I am following them already. I can catch up with the package later.”

  “I’m counting on you, Ivan. Find out about them. Send me pictures. We’ve come too far, the two of us, to let more of these blasted American mutants interfere.”

  Ivan smiled. The chase was on. He lived for this. “They will not interfere.” He chuckled. “Mutants can be formidable adversaries, but they do not frighten me. They bleed like everyone else.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Topping our headlines, two are dead in the Ohio ‘Mutant Panic,’ including an eighty-six-year-old man with an asthma condition struck down on a crowded downtown street comer. According to one witness, an unidentified attacker yelled, ‘He’s breathing funny. He’s one of them,’ then fired a pistol at short range. A forty-six-year-old woman was found dead in her burned home. Riot-related arson is suspected. Dayton city police have taken a twenty-two-year-old man into protective custody. The man, who has not been identified as a mutant, is believed to be the cause of the panic. He was wearing a costume and helmet similar to that often worn by mutant terrorist Magneto. He claimed to have donned the costume in order to appear in a college film project.” —excerpt from WNN news report