Generation X - Genogoths Read online

  And so it was that, Mister, not general, Macauley Sharpe sat in a control room nearly a hundred feet under the South Carolina countryside. Rather than a general’s stars, he wore another kind of uniform, the suit of a corporate warrior. In front of him, a bank of monitors allowed him to observe every corner of the hidden installation called “the Foxhole.” His attention was focused on one screen in particular, showing the interior of a holding cell and the three young males housed within. Though it wasn’t much evident from the picture on the 'screen, each of these young men was a mutant, hand-picked as an experimental subject by Sharpe himself.

  In front of him, two men worked at a sweeping horseshoeshaped console, overseeing the operation of the Foxhole. One of these men, Happersen, had served under him at Shadow-base. “Are the test results in, Happersen?”

  Happersen spun around in his chair. Light reflected off the lenses of the horn-rimmed glasses hiding his eyes. Though he wore coveralls bearing the logo of the fictional “Canus Mining Company,” his erect posture and short haircut clearly marked him as a former military man. “All but the final genetic profiling, Mr. Sharpe. Everything looks positive. They seem to be ideal subjects for the program.”

  “Begin the prep work then. Have the bionetics lab begin tuning the power amplifiers to their mutant auras. Have the armorers adapt the field gear to complement their individual mutant abilities. And of course, tel) the behavior modification lab that we’re ready to begin conditioning our subjects immediately.”

  Happersen nodded and smiled slightly. “Eager to begin trials, sir?”

  Sharpe nodded. “You know me, Happersen. I believe that a new weapon can only be truly proven in the field. It won’t be long before our guests are changed into obedient hounds, eager to help us hunt down their fellow mutants in the service of humanity.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  'Wmi

  Jono had escorted Espeth back to the bio-bed to complete her treatment while the students made preparations for the journey. Fortunately, the school had its own gas pumps, so they were able to top up the Xabago’s tanks before leaving. A raid on the school’s pantry7 stocked the vehicle’s kitchen.

  The biggest problem was cash. They’d been caught off guard by Espeth’s announcement that they’d be unable to use plastic of any kind, credit cards, debit cards, ATM cards. The Genogoths would be looking for such transactions and would use them to track their travels.

  '“You mean,” said Paige, after she’d made this proclamation from her infirmary bed, “that the Genogoths aren’t just unwilling to help, they’re actively trying to stop you?”

  Espeth nodded. “I thought that was obvious. It’s what made my journey here so arduous. I had to hitch, jump freight-trains, and walk more miles than I can count, often cross country. I did my best to throw them off the trail, but they can’t be far behind. We have to get out of here just as soon as we can.” She turned her attention back to Jono. “So, this Xabago of yours, it’s some kind of aircraft?”

  Paige and Jono stared at each other in surprise.

  Finally, Jono said, “No, luv, it’s not exactly a bloody aircraft, but it’s transportation.”

  Espeth looked concerned. She pushed back the monitoring console that hovered over her midsection and sat up. “What kind of vehicle is it?”

  “You’ll see,” said Jono.

  Espeth looked at Paige, demanding an answer.

  “It’s a motor home.”

  “What?”

  “The Xabago,” repeated Paige, “is a motor home. A caravan. A camper van. Not a very pretty one, either.”

  Espeth’s eyes were wide. “You’re Xavier’s pups! You’re supposed to have resources!”

  Paige turned to leave. “We do have resources, but we’re at Xavier’s school. Consider yourself lucky we don’t have a big, yellow bus.”

  Jono got Espeth settled back in the bio-bed, then followed Paige down to the service garage where the Xabago was parked. They arrived there at the same time as Ev, and followed him inside. There, Monet and Jubilee were loading the last of the food and supplies that they’d scrounged from around the school. Ev and Angelo had been given their own assignments.

  “I’ve finished rerouting the phones,” Ev announced. “If I did things right, any call to any of the incoming phone lines at the* school should be routed out through another of the lines and into your satellite phone. If Emma, or anyone else calls, they shouldn’t be the wiser.”

  The Xabago, Paige observed, wasn’t getting any better looking after several months of sitting out in the harsh, winter weather. The paint was even more streaked. The spray-painted red X’s that Angelo had “tagged” the sides and front of the vehicle with were now dull and faded, chipping in a few places where the paint hadn’t properly adhered. The bubble cockpit grafted onto the roof looked slightly milky and crazed from exposure. Even the chrome women reclined on the custom mud-flaps looked tarnished. “You sure this thing runs?” Jubilee emerged from the Xabago’s door and sat on its step. “Like a champ. Runs as good as it ever did.”

  Paige was skeptical. “That isn’t saying much.”

  “It’ll get us there,” said Jono.

  The door in the side of the garage opened and Angelo strolled in, a big grin on his face. “Mission accomplished.” He held out a stack of bills and fanned them for show. It wasn’t a huge stack, and the bills were only twenties, but it was far greater than the sum total of money they’d been able to pool between them.

  Paige looked at him. “Where did you get it?”

  “The headmaster’s offices. All it took was a bent paper clip and certain unwholesome skills I learned from my gang days to get into the strongbox where they keep the petty cash.” Angelo saw the look on Paige’s face and responded. “We’ll pay it back when we return, chica. This is just a cash flow problem. I didn’t even scratch the lock.”

  Jono examined the haul. “Bloody good thing too. The Xabago doesn’t exactly sip the petrol. We’ll need every bit of it.” '

  Monet emerged to stand behind Jubilee in the doorway. “It’s going to be very crowded in here. You only had the three guys and Sean in here last trip. This time there will be seven of us.”

  ’ “We’ll sleep in shifts,” said Jono, “take turns keeping watch. This is a combat mission, not a pleasure cruise.”

  Preparations complete, the group returned to the infirmary to fetch Espeth. But when they entered the room, the bed was empty. Paige called her name, but there was no answer. They all stared at one another.

  Paige saved an especially angry stare for Jono. “You and Angelo search the room, the rest of us will fan out and see if she’s still in the building’’

  Angelo picked up the pillow off the bed and threw it angrily at the door. “Madre de dios, she’s run out on us!” He shook his finger at Jono. “You see, I knew this would happen. I know something about loyalties, and that chica is conflicted.” ' '

  Jono checked in the bathroom, but emerged, obviously having found nothing. “If that’s the way you felt, Angelo, why didn’t you say something earlier?”

  “I voted my way, I kept my suspicions to myself. I figured I could trust the rest of my compudres to be smart enough to figure it out for themselves. But some people weren’t thinking with their brains.”

  Jono glared at him. “What’s that bloody supposed to mean?”

  Just then they heard Paige call from down the hall. They both ran out to join the others standing outside a janitor’s closet.

  “The door,” explained Paige, “was ajar.”

  Angelo smirked grimly. “I wish 1 was in a punning mood.” He saw Jono glaring at him. “I know, ‘shut-up, Angelo.' Shutting up now.”

  Paige looked from Jono to Angelo, trying to figure out what was going on between them, then turned her attention back to the interior of the closet. Among the mops, buckets, brooms and bottles of cleaning supplies, a ladder was bolted to one wall of the small room. “Roof access,” she explained.

  “So,” said
Jubilee, sarcastically, “she’s using her mutant powers to fly away.” She looked mockingly surprised. “Wait! Not a mutant. Well, duh.” Her mask dropped, and she frowned at them all. “Cut her some slack. Maybe she just needed some air, you know?”

  The phone rang. Paige muttered under her breath. She tossed the phone to Angelo. “It’s the old people. Take this out of earshot and handle them.”

  Angelo looked perplexed.

  “Do it,” she hissed.

  He flipped a sloppy salute and trotted back to the infirmary'.

  “I could fly up,” suggested Monet, “and look for her.”

  The hatch above them flopped open. “Not necessary,” said Espeth. She stepped onto an upper rung of the ladder, then slid down the outside of the side rails gripping them with her hands and the sides of her feet, in the manner of a sailor from some old submarine movie.

  “Where have you been?” Paige demanded angrily.

  “Well, duh, again,” said Jubilee.

  Espeth didn’t seem to hear either one of them. Her expression was grave. “Are you ready to travel?”

  “Yes,” said Paige, “we’re ready. We were coining to get you. What did you think you were doing?”

  “You don’t understand,” she said, “I was on the roof scouting. There are people in the woods all around the school. The Genogoths have us surrounded. We’ve got to leave, now,” She started walking toward the garage, and the rest just naturally started following her.

  Paige looked puzzled. “What? The security system hasn’t picked up any—”

  “It didn’t pick me up either, did it? And these people have better equipment and vastly more experience than I do. These aren’t amateurs you’re dealing with here, they’re Genogoths.” As they passed the door to the infirmary, Angelo emerged from the door and fell in step with the rest of them. His eyes widened slightly as he spotted Espeth.

  “She was watching our backs for us,” said Jono.

  ' Angelo smirked. “Watching her back, at least.” He handed the phone to Paige. “Sean says ‘hi,’ and to be sure to put away the croquet set when we’re through. The wire hoops are hell if they get caught in the lawn mower.”

  He followed them all silently for a few yards as Espeth broke into a trot, and the rest kept in step. “Somebody want to tell me what’s happening?”

  Jubilee’s eyes remained fixed straight ahead. “Genogoths. Surrounded. Imminent danger. Gotta split.”

  “Oh,” he said, “sorry I asked.”

  The conference room was in one of the chambers that had been used for the radar base that preceded the Foxhole. Though the conference table, chairs, podium, lighting fixtures, and flat screen computer monitors on the rock walls were all relatively new, someone, either out of whimsy or frugality, had left a pair of early 60s vintage ceiling fans hanging over the table. They whirred quietly over the assembled staff meeting, adding a faint whiff of ozone to the air.

  Sharpe stood at the head of the table, and all eyes were on him. He let the moment linger. He liked attention, liked to wield authority. He missed his uniform, the stars, the brass buttons, the medals and ribbons representing his service in covert actions in South America and the Mid East, and his two years on the staff of General Thunderbolt Ross at Hulkbuster Base. Despite his continued service to the government, his continued authority at this project, he missed the power, authority, and respect that only a military officer could truly command.

  That had been taken from him forever. It was something he could never truly forgive, never forget. His time with General Ross had given him little sympathy for super-humans, and now, after his encounter with X-Factor, he had even less for mutants. They were vermin, suitable only for use as experimental animals. Nothing more, nothing less.

  He scanned the faces in front of him, men and women, mostly former military or intelligence personnel. Most were wash-outs from their former organizations, expelled for the very ruthlessness that Sharpe coveted for his organization. Fortunately, his shadowy employers had made a list of such people available to him. There were a few new faces, needed technical specialists that had only recently made it through their convoluted recruitment and relocation.

  “Before we begin, I want to review our project’s methods and goals for our newest staff-members. Most of you are familiar with ‘Project Homegrown.’ The objective of Homegrown was to analyze so-called superhumans in order to duplicate their powers in normal humans. For our purposes, we were allowed the use of convicts as experimental subjects on which to test our methods. We were successful, not only in temporarily inducing powers in these subjects, but in developing the rudiments of mind-control technology that allowed us to use our subjects in field trials.”

  He touched a control on the podium, and an image of the Shadow Force, the test subjects from Homegrown, flashed on the big screen behind him. He turned to look at the six men and women dressed in similar green uniforms, topped with power inducing yokes and their prototype mind-controi headpieces.

  “Unfortunately, our project ran afoul super-human intervention. Several of our subjects were terminated, our project exposed, and our installation, Shadowbase, was destroyed. I willingly sacrificed my military career, as did some of the others in this room, to provide plausible deniability for my superiors, persons at the highest level of government.”

  He scanned the room, paying particular attention to the new troops, without making it obvious that he was doing so. They were lapping it up. The “noble sacrifice” thing always got them, even if it wasn’t exactly true. It didn’t matter. Truth was what your superior said-it was. He’d learned that a long time ago.

  “It is publicly believed that all the equipment and data from Project Homegrown was destroyed with Shadowbase. Given the ongoing threat of super-human involvement, we’ve worked hard to maintain that impression and to remove ourselves from those areas frequented by super-humans.

  “In fact, much of the equipment and data from Homegrown survived in off-site storage facilities and our superhuman data acquisition stations in Manhattan. These formed the basis of our current program. In recent months, we’ve made great progress in improving our mind-control technology, and adapting our shadow-agent technology for use on mutants.”

  He pushed another button on the podium, cutting live to the camera in the holding cell. Though the sound was off, one of the subjects, the most recent capture, seemed quite agitated, not an unusual after-effect of the sleep-gas used. He smiled. He wanted them disoriented. That was part of the plan.

  “In the last day we’ve obtained our first three mutant subjects. Obviously, they are not volunteers. They have been designated code-names for the purposes of our project. The stocky one is an animal telepath with minor physical mutations. His designation is ‘Top Dog.’ The small one is a telepathic locator, designation ‘Bloodhound.’ The tall one is a negative-thermomorph, code-name ‘Three Dog Night.’ ”

  One of the new people, a rather striking woman with long, blonde hair raised her hand. “Fortuna Bouille, Mr. Sharp. My understanding of Homegrown was that the technology was used to give powers to subjects without any special abilities. These are mutants, they should already have powers, shouldn’t they?”

  “A reasonable question, but not all mutants are in the power class of Magneto or X-Factor’s Havok, Bouille. Some have minor mutations of limited power, sometimes effectively useless. But all mutants carry the X-gene, and our research has shown that this gene gives them an enhanced bio-signature, an ‘aura’ for lack of a better word, one that allows them the potential to tap vast energies in a way we don’t understand. The Homegrown technology also worked by enhancing an(i altering the normal human bio-signature, but there were drawbacks that came out in field-testing.”

  He pushed another control, and a picture of a large and advanced power reactor appeared on the screen. “The biggest was a dependence on a centralized broadcast power, much of which was wasted simply maintaining the altered bio-signature. It’s ironic that accidental readi
ngs taken of the mutant Havok during the destruction of Shadowbase were ultimately responsible for our breakthrough.

  “As you said, mutants already have special abilities, no matter how weak, and we have also discovered that they all have the potential, even if they can’t directly access it, to tap into vast energies.”

  He turned and smiled at Bouille. “Therefore we don’t need to impose an altered bio-signature, nor do we need to supply power. All we need do is enhance what is already latent in any subject carrying the X-gene, then control that subject for our purposes. Our job is actually simpler by an order of magnitude.”

  “So,” said Bouille, “we’re here to perform dangerous biogenic experiments on unwilling, mind-controlled, human-mutant subjects?”

  Sharpe raised an eyebrow. “You have a problem with that?” ‘

  She grinned and shifted in her chair. “No, it’s pretty much my dream job.”

  Black sat in his car, parked beside the road near Xavier’s school. About a mile ahead, there was a cutoff to a private road leading to the school itself. He held an unfolded road map in front of his face for show, but in fact, all his attention was focused on the nearly invisible radio receiver in his left ear.

  A voice said, “I’m picking up motor noise on my shotgun mike. Heavy diesel, coming from the service garage. No sign of movement.”

  ' 'Another voice, “Do you have visual on any activity there?” The first voice again. “Negative, the doors are closed, and the rear access to that building is not visible from beyond the compound.’*

  Black felt himself tense. This was a critical moment, and there were decisions to be made, not only when to move, but how to move. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and turned his wrist so that he could talk into the disguised microphone in the clasp of the watchband. “Leather, this is Black.” “Go ahead,” said Leather, “we’re ready to move in on your authorization.”

  “Your orders are that the mutants are not be harmed. That is the priority. They are to be captured unharmed if possible. Only Espeth is expendable. And no firearms.” The latter instruction should have been unnecessary, the philosophy of the Genogoths called for use of minimal force where possible. In theory, if the operatives were good enough, guns should be necessary in only the most dire circumstances, and the Genogoths were good.