The Zeitgeist Awakens

[angelique]

The usual disclaimer. I do not own the X-Men and do not make any money off of my attempts at ficcing. The Altheim family and Father Akwenye are my original creations. And I am hopelessly driven to improve, so feedback, please.

The Zeitgeist Awakens
Prologue

Dear Professor Xavier:

I write to you today out of desperate need for your reputed expertise on raising children who, shall we say, possess extraordinary genetic traits. My wife Adimu has just given birth to our fourth child, a daughter. She is a perfectly healthy child, and appears normal. But blood work confirmed the abnormal amniocentesis my wife had. We have treated people before with unusual genetic traits, but our Kassandra carries a mutation of a like we’ve never seen before. We have no idea how or even if it will manifest itself. But we do know this: we love our child regardless, and wish to give her all the benefits of a happy and healthy childhood. My wife has ordered all Kassandra’s medical records, as well as all of her own records from her pregnancy, sealed, sharing all the pertinent information only with you. She said that while we have no problem welcoming a mutant in our family, the rest of the world just is not ready. Any and all advice from you would be greatly appreciated.



Regards,

Fridrich Altheim, President

St. Luke’s Relief Medical Foundation

Keetmanshoop, Namibia



Dear Dr. and Mr. Altheim,

First may I congratulate you on the birth of your daughter, and also for your unconditional willingness to love and care for her. If only all the children at my school had parents such as you.

Sealing the medical records as well as your lips is wise, for her safety. Yes, as if the world weren’t hostile enough in general to people who simply do not fit the norm, it fears people who, as you said, “possess extraordinary genetic traits.” (By the way, I do like how you referred to them that way. It reflects a refreshingly positive attitude. My first suggestion would be to not be afraid to use the word mutant in an equally positive context. But I digress.)

I must admit that, to my unending sadness, not all their fears are ill founded. Keeping her mutation a secret will protect her not only from the world in general, but from certain fellow mutants who might be interested in using her for their agenda. If there are any other ways to protect her, that will depend on if and how her traits manifest. Expect that to start in adolescence. I expect, based on what you’ve shared with me, that whatever traits manifest will indeed be quite unusual. Let me know right away of anything that happens, and I should be better able to help.

Also, before this happens, it may help to prepare. Most of the children at my school were brought up believing that they weren’t mutants and that mutants were to be feared. Naturally, the discovery of the truth proved quite traumatic for them. The fact that you know ahead of time can help make the discovery of her abilities a bit less shocking. As soon as she is old enough to understand the necessity of keeping her mutation secret, let her know and her siblings know. Emphasize the importance of keeping quiet. Don’t stress the mutation itself. Encourage her to regard all people, regardless of mutation or lack thereof, as equal. Do keep in touch. And you are welcome to come visit me anytime. Meeting people such as you is a pleasure I do not experience often enough.



Best wishes,

Professor Charles Xavier



And so began a very long friendship between the Altheim family, Professor Xavier, and the few other people they gradually let into their confidence, Dr. Jean Grey, Dr. Hank McCoy, and Father Akwenye, the Altheims’ parish priest, known for his toughness tempered by an eerie cognizance of other people’s thoughts.

Kassandra grew into a happy and well-adjusted teenager with a shock of wild brown curls, smooth mocha skin, wide eyes the color of black coffee, and the slender build of an avid athlete. She seemed to have everything. Good looks, plenty of money from her grandfather’s mining interests, and a delightful tendency to not care about the wealth and looks. Indeed, possibly due to having carried her secret around for years now, and also possibly due to growing up an ethnic, economic, and religious minority, she did not like drawing attention to herself. So she cultivated flair for drama and a bit of mischief to hide her secrets. Or she would divert attention to the significant accomplishments of her parents or siblings. Her father, the philanthropist. Her mother, the doctor. Her sister, Lucy, and brothers Michael and Vincent, who, respectively, grew up to work at Kalahari Gemsbok National Park, to become a doctor, and to give up professional soccer stardom for the religious life and a teaching career.

Kassandra herself tried her hand at a variety of activities as most girls do, but distance running, music, dance, and martial arts captured her interests more than anything else. She excelled at traditional stick fighting as well as fencing. She and her family also visited Xavier’s school whenever possible and made a few friends there. In fact, it was under the tutelage of her closest friend, Kurt Wagner, that she honed her fencing skills. But besides the Professor, Dr. Grey, and Dr. McCoy, none of her friends there knew she was a mutant until….

[angelique]

Chapter 2

“Hallo, Vater,” said Kassandra as she sat in the confessional. “It’s been a month since my last confession, and I think I have a pretty big sin to confess.”
“Kassandra,” Father Akwenye reassured, “You know that save for blasphemy against the Holy Spirit, there is no sin too big for God’s forgiveness.”
“Ja, Vater,” Kassandra replied. “This has been going on for a few years now. I didn’t notice at first, then I thought it was coincidence, that I could make all these guesses and be correct, but now it seems I can do this at will. I can see what people have done in their past without them telling me, and I can see the future as it takes shape. Is that a sin?”
“Well,” Father Akwenye mused. “That depends. Have you used any occult methods to do this?”
“Nein. No spirits, no trances, nothing of the sort. But I do feel sort of sick and weak after I go back into normal time.”
“Well then,” Father Akwenye concluded, “this doesn’t sound like a sin, but the way your unique condition is manifesting itself. In this case, you might not need Reconciliation, but a talk with your mother.”
* * * *
Charles wheeled himself into Cerebro. A phone call from the Altheims had woken him early that morning. Kassandra’s name didn’t need mentioning. “I’d discovered that the blackouts I’d told you about have no heretofore known medical cause,” said Dr. Altheim. “Not even the metabolic disturbances I’ve noticed. And we just got out of a conference with Father Akwenye. He said she was very worried about her future. We all agree this is it.”
So with Cerebro’s help, Charles tried to zero in on Kassandra. It was like trying to read Nightcrawler in the middle of a teleport. Impossible. She seemed to flit everywhere, sometimes popping up in two places at once, sometimes blinking out of existence. At last, he caught a direct thought that nearly exploded in his head- “We need Charles, NOW!” Then nothing.

[angelique]

Chapter 3

“A Professor Xavier and Jean Grey are here to see your daughter, Dr. Altheim,” said the nurse, in German. Doctor Altheim did not think that too unusual. She often got idealistic foreign relief workers who were so smitten with working in Africa that they’d forget to learn the language of the people they’d serve. Less than a third of Namibia spoke German. Most of them spoke Afrikaans or one of the many indigenous Khoisan dialects. And this was the girl’s first day here. Dr. Altheim made a mental note to herself to sign this girl up for language instruction once things settled down.
“Danke. Come in,” said Dr. Altheim. “Alone, bitte?” she said to the nurse. Of course the nurse knew this was a particularly sensitive case. Dr. Adimu Altheim was one of the best and most unusual medical minds of the country, with a spectacular rags-to-riches-to rags background. She had escaped apartheid in South Africa, then married a diamond heir of German extraction, then studied medicine, and, with her husband, eschewed a life of luxury to run a free hospital for the poor of Keetmanshoop. And Dr. Altheim was now coming toward the middle of the worst 24 hours of her life. Her husband had died mysteriously. Then her youngest daughter collapsed in an apparent coma even she couldn’t explain. Ah, yes, the nurse had heard whispers around the clinic, that the child had been in frequently over the past couple years, as a patient. No one was allowed to even speculate as to why. Her blue eyes flashed golden for a moment. Hers was not just innocent curiosity. And though she did not know Afrikaans, she knew English quite well. Things would get worse for Dr. Altheim if things went according to plan.
“I am glad you could finally come here and meet Father Akwenye,” said Dr. Altheim, “though I wish the circumstances were better.”
“A bittersweet pleasure, but a pleasure nonetheless,” said the Professor. “His help has meant a lot. And our deepest condolences, Adimu. We were already on the way when Ororo gave us the message.”
Jean handed Dr. Altheim a vase of roses. “Kassandra’s been so lucky to have parents such as you and Fridrich. All of us took it hard when we heard. Where are Lucy, Michael, and Vincent? And anything new about Kassi?”
Dr. Altheim wiped away the tears welling in her dark eyes and placed the flowers where she hoped her daughter’s staring eyes might see them. “The others are going to their grandparents to help prepare for Fridrich’s funeral. As for Kassi, I don’t know much more now than when I called you yesterday. I just confirmed my suspicions about there being no known medical cause. The only remaining guess I have is that this is connected to her-”
“Shh.” The Professor then attempted to probe Kassandra’s mind. And discovered he couldn’t.
* * * *
Yesterday was much longer ago according to Kassandra Altheim. Yesterday she vowed, upon hearing her father had died, to do something about it. Everything around her at that precise moment stopped. The kitchen table, the walls of the house, her mother, brothers, and sister, the police officers, the sun, the sand, the whole universe faded and shrank. And she could now see the timelines by the millions- a monstrous web they formed. But by focusing on her father, she found his line, followed it to where a few others tangled with and cut it off (how she hated the ends of timelines), and then traced it back to determine, and if possible, halt that chain of events. While learning the past like this was a familiar habit, she’d never before tried to actually change it. She’d never even tried to place herself into any point in time besides the point at which she left it. Not the past. And she wouldn’t even try going into the yet undefined lines of the future. But these desperate times called for drastic measures. And they took a while.
She stepped back into the moment just as her father was about to make his last fateful decision. Ah, that’s right. Nobody was home at the time. Not even herself. Lucy and Michael were helping at the clinic. Vincent was at the school. And she and mother were in conference with Father Akwenye. She called her father’s cellular phone. No signal. No matter. Though he was still miles out, she was a marathoner. And with the normal flow of time not her concern; she could get there instantly. She stepped out of time, and then ran.
“Papa!” she screamed, turning back, stepping into that time, and now running alongside the car.
“Kassandra,” her father slowed down and said through the window, “Was ist los? Why are you here?”
“No time, Papa,” Kassi cried. “You must turn at the next intersection, or you will be killed!”
“And have us get lost? You worry too much, Kassandra, but I will be careful.”
“Nein, Papi!”
Not careful enough. It became obvious. Timelines were like clay. The future and present were soft and pliable. The past was sharp and hard. She could see it, but however she tried, she could not change it. She might as well have just tried to change a movie by rewinding the video. Not only had she failed to save her father, she had been discovered. One of the passengers was looking very hard at her.
Kassandra burst back into normal time at the very moment she left it, just after the police informed the family that Fridrich died on the scene of a fiery car crash. She fought off the encroaching blackness long enough to gasp, “Mama! It was a plot. We need Charles, NOW!”
* * * *
Fridrich pressed on as he had planned, wondering only if Kassandra’s behavior was anything to warn the Professor about, then deciding that it was when he saw a car ahead with the hood up. The van suddenly veered toward that car, tires screaming in protest as Fridrich applied the brakes and steered hard to avoid the inevitable collision.
Metal twisted. Glass shattered. Screams erupted. And smoke filled the van.
“Everyone out! Alle Mann raus hier!” Fridrich shouted in every applicable language. All the volunteers filed out, choking on the smoke from the spectacular inferno that quickly engulfed the van. But Fridrich seemed to have a problem unbuckling his seat belt.
Pyro was enjoying his masterpiece so much he almost didn’t notice that someone failed to escape. But he saw that ruthlessness thinly veiled by a look noble distaste on Magneto’s face. He always affected that look when using his power to lethal effect. Then he saw through the smoke that poured through the shattered windshield Fridrich, gasping, choking, burning, losing the struggle to get out. The flames died down.
“What are you doing?” he shrieked.
“I was keeping his seatbelt buckled until your handiwork finished the job, of course,” said Magneto, matter-of-factly. “My dear boy, sometimes sacrificing friends is necessary for the greater good of…”
“SHUT UP!” Pyro nearly decided to let some of his “handiwork” consume that bombastic, manipulative windbag, when a nurse interrupted. She appeared diligent, composed, and concerned about everyone now stranded on the roadside. It was now their turn for her attention.
“Geht es Ihnen gut? Ist alles in Ordnung?” She shouted as she ran to them. “Nice, quick work, boys,” she whispered in English, her blue eyes flashing golden. “The Altheims have been hiding a mutant, and the father’s death has finally drawn her out. It’s Kassandra. She used foresight or something like it to warn her father. And we can find her. She was just here. She can’t be far.”
“Careful, Mystique. Xavier has had his eye on her family for years,” warned Magneto. “Unless our naïve young friend is correct that it’s nothing more than the sort of innocent friendship Charles likes to think is possible with humans, she’ll turn out to be a powerful weapon in our arsenal. Dangerously powerful.
“We will have to split up and search. Report all your findings to me. Sabretooth, Pyro, and I will search around here, her home, school, and other possible whereabouts. And have a talk with Pyro about his interfering conscience. Mystique, continue scouting the relief agency and the hospital. Report to me all you can discover. And take whatever action necessary. Dr. Altheim may make a valuable hostage if we can’t get Kassandra herself.
“Ah, but here comes your ride at last, Mystique,” Magneto said, as lights flashed and a cacophony of voices asked and sought to explain what just happened.
“Das ist gut,” said Mystique, now resuming her role as helpful Bavarian nurse. “Und was ist mit seinem Auto? Können Sie heimfahren?”
As if in terse response, Sabretooth, resentful over Pyro and Magneto getting to have all of the day’s fun, slammed the hood, crammed his bulk into the driver’s seat, and started the car. “Get in,” he growled.

[angelique]

Chapter 4

Time started to catch up with Kassandra. “Give it another try, Onkel Charles,” she said softly as she awakened. And this time their minds could meet. Charles saw what she had and wanted to know more about- the timelines that cut off her father’s. He recognized the events they contained. And the people who lived and created those lines. Kassandra in turn knew she had to see a couple old friends who were hiding just outside the hospital. Instantly.
Wolverine and Nightcrawler crouched in the shadows awaiting their next move. Wolverine sniffed. “Mystique’s here.”
“Ja, right outside my room,” Kassandra interjected.
“Kassi? Wie-?” Nightcrawler nearly broke his standing high jump record.
“We have no time!” Kassandra interrupted. “Mystique will call for Magneto and the others. Both of you stop her now!” They had never seen Kassandra so agitated before. They went.
So, the Little Elf is a mutant, after all. Wolverine had suspected it, but up until now, he’d always seen her goofing around and roughhousing with the other mutant kids or sparring with Nightcrawler. Now he could definitely tell it wasn’t just the smell of her friends hanging over her. And that nickname was appropriate, no more just because she seemed to be Nightcrawler’s smaller and prettier shadow. Now she could add out-elfing the Elf, without even trying, to her list of credentials. Wolverine would decide later if he’d let Nightcrawler live that one down.
Back inside the hospital, Mystique was growing impatient. Not a word had been said aloud since the pleasantries ended. The only new information she could glean was speculative. The girl was a mutant. That much was clear. It seemed that, though she had some kind of weakness, she was powerful enough to warrant the highly secretive and protective manner in which she was treated. Perhaps her abilities surpassed those of Destiny or even the Scarlet Witch. But she couldn’t tell. “And it’s likely they all know I’m here, anyway, trying to eavesdrop,” Mystique thought to herself. That tore it. They did know. She would call Eric now. But wasn’t she just holding her phone?
BAMF! Two feet planted themselves into her solar plexus. She flew into the grip of hairy, muscular arms, which pinioned hers. SNIKT! Three adamantium-plated blades poised at her throat. Tires squealed at the entrance and a horn blared. Jean hustled the Professor and Dr. Altheim out the door.
“Don’t you know?” Wolverine threw her aside and ran out the door. “Good nurses don’t kidnap their patients!”
“Es tut mir leid, ‘Mutter,’” Nightcrawler hissed before teleporting out.
“Ja, ganz bestimmt,” Mystique replied icily. The police had been called. The Professor, that telekinetic twit, the doctor, and the rest, were all out the door. The volunteer at the desk wouldn’t let her use the office phone. And she had to get Eric, now! She bolted out the door, deciding once and for all that she was through with the nurse disguise.
* * * *
“Elf here looked like he’d seen a ghost when the Little Elf just popped up next to him,” laughed Wolverine. Then he addressed Kassandra, “And how did you snag Mystique’s phone, anyway?”
“I knew she’d try that first to call the others, so before I left the building, I just ran out right in front of her and snatched her phone right from her hand!” Kassandra giggled. “I figured it would come in handy.”
Kassandra had, immediately after urging Nightcrawler and Wolverine to stop Mystique, stepped out of time, flit instantly into her mother’s SUV, stepped back in, drove to the entrance, and honked. When Jean, the Professor, and Dr. Altheim got there, Kassandra scrambled out of the driver’s seat and slumped over, out cold. Now Dr. Altheim was driving. Jean navigated from the passenger seat. And Kassandra, awake again, sat in back with Charles, Nightcrawler, and Wolverine, regaling them with her tale, and explaining what she could about her powers, her strengths and weaknesses. “It may appear that I can teleport, read minds, or predict the future. But I don’t,” she said. “I can step out of time. I can see people’s timelines and learn about them that way. I can’t change the past. And I can’t predict the future, but I can guess pretty accurately based on how I see the timelines shaping up. By the way,” she added, “I may not be completely bound to time, but I still am subject to biology. Is there any food in here? I hadn’t eaten since the first time I was in yesterday.”
Just then, the phone interrupted their laughter. Kassandra answered cautiously, “Yes?”
“Mystique? Magneto, Sabretooth, and I will meet you at the hospital. We’ve got the priest.”
Kassandra hung up immediately. She had lost touch with Pyro when he left Xavier’s school. And she missed him. Indeed, though he only suspected the truth, the brooding, romantic John Allerdyce could stir the embers of her heart as easily as if it were any other fire. But now that she knew exactly what he’d gotten himself into, the effect of hearing his voice was quite the opposite. She felt sick. Nightcrawler squeezed her shoulder. He also knew the pain of betrayal.
Kassandra choked back her tears. “I didn’t guess that would happen. That was John. We have to go back.”

[angelique]

“Pyro, you scout the school grounds and see what you can find,” said Magneto. “I’m going to Confession.” Pyro didn’t think he had any use for religion, but he began to think maybe there was something to unloading one’s guilt before some deity’s representative. Particularly when his eye caught a stone crucifix with an engraving at the bottom.
“Can I help you with anything?” said a woman’s voice in heavily accented English.
Pyro jumped, then turned to see that a nun, who had been patrolling the playground keeping an eye on the children, was addressing him. “Oh, yeah,” he stammered. “I don’t know much Afrikaans. I was wondering what it says.”
“’Greater love has no man,’” the nun said, cherishing the words, “’than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.’ So what brings you here anyway?”
“Oh, I was here to pay a surprise visit to an old friend,” said Pyro, truthfully enough, “Kassi Altheim.”
“Well, you won’t find her at school,” she replied, slightly upset. “Haven’t you heard? Her father died yesterday, and it seems the shock of this good man’s death nearly killed her, too! Go to the hospital now, and…” Here tears came to her eyes, “tell her and the Doctor that Sister Ursula sends her love.” Pyro could only nod before he turned and ran.
He remembered all too clearly the conversation in which he’d first mentioned the Altheims. Magneto had been griping yet again about how all mutantkind would be better off if they never had to be bothered with the fear mongering, hate spewing, masses of inferiority known as humanity.
“Now wait a second,” Pyro interrupted, “It can’t be that simple. I mean, look at Sabretooth. All brawn, no brains. And then there’s the whole Altheim family. They’ve got everything to like in people even without any X factor mutations. They’re smart, kind, and we always had fun when they visited the school. Granted, I agree that most humanity needs to make way for us, but it’s not fair to brand them all inferior just because of genetics.”
“There is,” mused Magneto, “a point that deserves careful consideration. Humans tend not to befriend us mutants at all, unless they can use us in some way, or unless they themselves are mutants in hiding. How do you know they aren’t mutants?”
“They told me. Actually I asked.” Pyro relayed that whole conversation he had with the Altheims the day he first met them.
“Why are you so nice to us?” he asked. “Are you mutants, too?”
They all replied no, except Kassi, who said, “Do I have to be? I can wiggle my ears. Does that count?”
“Kassi would never lie to me,” Pyro explained, “But she liked to joke around, so I took that as a no.”
“Hmm,” Magneto scowled in thought. “Perhaps you should tell me more about these Altheims. If indeed your friend is a mutant, it may be in her best interest for us to learn more about her and help her get the most of her power. And if all is as you think, the possibility that mutantkind may have true friends among humanity deserves investigation.”
Pyro liked the Altheims. He even considered dating Kassi. He wished he had never opened his big mouth. But he couldn’t change that now.
* * * *
Eric Magnus Lehnsherr was a very devout man. He had faith in God, when God agreed with his terms. He’d sacrifice nearly anything and anyone for his beliefs. And he had plenty of use for religion. He’d use any religion, from atheism to Zoroastrianism, to further his agenda. Today, a religion starting with C was convenient. He strolled with his head held high into St. Martin’s, into the confessional. He removed his helmet, for the appearance of respect, if not respect itself, was very important to him.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Eric droned, “It has been far too long since my last confession…”
“Evidently,” Father Akwenye interjected, with a smile. “These days, a simple ‘hello’ does nicely.” The smile faded. “But you are here to add to, rather than confess, your sins. In that case, I will not help you.”
“Oh, but I don’t think you have a choice,” grinned Magneto. He now had his bargaining chip- a friend of the family, with a convenient metal plate in his skull.
Magneto strode out of the church followed by his tormented hostage, and nearly tripped Pyro on his way out. “Hold on, my young friend,” Magneto called out. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”
Pyro stopped, and looked. The priest’s face contorted in another nauseating wave of agony, but he didn’t cry out. Magneto had that same look on his face Pyro recognized from yesterday, the nobly but not completely reluctant acceptance that one must sometimes make a mess to get things done. He was disgusted. And defeated. “To the hospital,” he sighed.
“Nice work, my dear boy,” said Magneto. “Now call Sabretooth and Mystique and tell them to meet us there.”

[angelique]

Chapter 6

As the SUV approached the hospital, Wolverine and Kassandra both sensed trouble on the way.
“Mama,” said Kassandra, faintly. “Stop the car. Everyone get out and run, now.”
“Sabretooth,” growled Wolverine, as the SUV squealed to a stop. No sooner had he said that than the hood crumpled and the windshield shattered. Sabretooth, rejoicing that at last he got to have some fun after sniffing around the Altheim home finding nothing, and driving Magneto and that bratty firebug around, dove straight for Kassandra. Instead he got Wolverine’s claws buried in his chest. Nightcrawler grabbed the professor and teleported them both out. Jean and Dr. Altheim, taking no time to wonder why their doors were already open and their seat belts detached, spilled out and took off running. Kassandra had disappeared.
After an abbreviated struggle, which would have killed him and Sabretooth both had they not been self-healers, Wolverine rumbled, “It’s been fun, bub, but I know you didn’t come to play.” At that, he withdrew his claws and leaped out.
Nightcrawler and the Professor caught up with Kassandra, unconscious and lying against a police car.
Nightcrawler set the Professor down, vanished into the shadows and then gently felt for Kassandra’s pulse. Though very slow, it was speeding up. Kassandra and Dr. Altheim had only just explained what that meant.
“She’s coming around, Professor.”
“I’ll buy some time,” said the Professor. Magneto had his helmet on, the helmet specifically designed to block out other people’s probing minds. He did not know, as the Professor did, that Mystique was hiding out among the lines of police officers, and he only suspected rather than knew the level and the potential violence of Pyro’s disillusionment.
Thankfully, it didn’t take controlling Pyro’s mind to get him to act. Professor Xavier loathed having to do that. It was rage that brought John Allerdyce into the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. A reminder that the very same rage now simmered against them was quite easy. And that’s all it took.
“It really is quite simple. I do not want money. I am not here to make some political statement, and I really do not wish to kill anyone. All I want,” Magneto demanded, “is for you to surrender Kassandra Altheim in exchange for the priest’s life, and we will trouble you no further.”
“Yeah, right,” muttered Pyro sarcastically, fully intending to blast that pompous liar into oblivion. All the cars were parked. There was no fire for him to use there. But he had his lighter. Magneto then turned his gaze to him. His lighter was crushed the second he tried to light it.
“Charles, I know you’re here!” Magneto yelled.
“Und Ich auch!” Nightcrawler stepped out of the shadows. “You speak of the lady as if she were the Botswana border. Really, a gentleman would know she is nobody’s to surrender….”
“…But mine to protect!” roared Dr. Altheim as she and Jean burst on the scene, followed up by Wolverine, who, of course, was stopped in his tracks by Magneto. Sabretooth, in hot pursuit, stopped and sulked when he saw all the guns around him. He had been shot before. He had little to fear from being shot, but it was annoying.
“So you see,” seethed Father Akwenye through his pain, “I know you only have in mind exploiting Kassi, like you have that boy. In which case, my decision is clear. You’ll have to kill me first.”
“And me, bub,” Wolverine growled.
“Und mich,” Nightcrawler chimed in.
“And me,” said Jean and Dr. Altheim.
“And me, old friend,” said Charles.
“Which begs this question,” said Fr. Akwenye. “Exactly how many of your fellow mutants… I mean, how many of us, fellow mutants or otherwise, will you kill, kidnap, or exploit before you realize your battle is self-defeating?”
At this, Magneto laughed. “You actually believe I have some scruple against killing you, rather than a simple preference?” Then, raising his hands as he had done innumerable times before, he took the guns trained on him into his magnetic grip and aimed them at the police officers. “I submit to you this question,” Magneto added, his patience at an end. “How many other people will you allow to die before you realize that I have the upper hand?”
Mystique, staring down the barrel of one such gun, metamorphosed from police officer back into her naturally sleek, blue form and stepped out of formation. She always knew Eric might sacrifice even her for his pet cause. In this case, it was not deliberate. Some other time, it could be. She wasn’t about to let it happen. Not now, not ever. But as long as she had her own reasons for getting Kassandra, she’d play along with Magneto.
“No one will die, Eric Lehnsherr!” Kassandra stepped up to him. “If anyone deserves to die, it’s you and your fascists!”
“Really?” Magneto smiled. “Is this another one of your predictions?”
“Maybe,” retorted Kassandra. She considered the possibilities. Stopping the relative flow of time might not help her in this situation, but slowing it down would. A pair of nightsticks appeared in her hands, wielded like traditional Zulu fighting sticks. Now that it came down to it, this would not be in any way like the rigorous but friendly sparring she enjoyed with Nightcrawler. For the first time ever, she’d have to really fight, for her future, and for people’s very lives, against the people who killed her father. She hated the idea, but she’d do what she must. Magneto’s smile deepened. So far, the girl played right into his hands.
“Mystique, Sabretooth,” he ordered, “take her.”
At this, Kassandra transformed into a ghostlike whirlwind. And though the forms of her opponents appeared just as faded to her as she was a transparent blur to them, they were solid enough to her clubs and feet. Mystique, with all her speed, agility, and quick thinking, went down in less than one second. She was sluggishness incarnate compared to Kassandra. Sabretooth’s teeth, claws, and brute strength were useless. Before he could even lay a hand on the girl, she’d transformed him into a bleeding, unconscious heap that even his accelerated healing would need time to restore. It occurred to Kassandra with a sickening jolt that Wolverine did not have a corner on mutant berserker rage. Had she wanted, she could have killed them all before they’d ever have a chance to defend themselves. But she had to end this fight, and surrender was not an option.
Magneto was now shocked. Less than five seconds into the battle, and the avenging spirit was now upon him. Could nothing stop this rampaging wraith? He extended his magnetic control to the steel bolts and bindings in the nightsticks, hoping to halt the barrage of blows he anticipated.
And that was just what she counted on. Time for a little trick Nightcrawler showed her. Using the now immobilized nightsticks for leverage, she vaulted up and smashed her feet into Magneto’s jaw. Awe and terror registered on his face. His helmet flew off his head. The guns, helmet, and bloodied nightsticks clattered to the ground. Wolverine and Father Akwenye were released. Magneto thudded against a wall, and slid to the ground, unconscious. Kassi twisted, landed, and whirled to face Pyro. She stepped back into time, and normal speed resumed. And though her normal appearance was restored, Kassandra, the sweet girl that Pyro once considered asking out, appeared to him as a woman transformed- trembling, fists up, eyes wild, and capabilities unfathomable. “Think about what just happened here, John, and I might forgive you. And,” she added, tossing him a cell phone, “Mystique might want this back.”
Then, as a petrified Pyro swore to himself, Nightcrawler dashed up and caught Kassandra’s inert body.

[angelique]

Chapter 7

Escaping the prison was, as usual, ridiculously easy even with the bruises and general achiness from their humiliating defeat. Magneto sprung the locks. Mystique disguised herself as a high-ranking police officer, said that Magneto, Pyro, and Sabretooth were wanted elsewhere on other charges (which was, of course, true), and off they went.
“I’m afraid there’s more to this girl than precognition,” said Magneto, as Mystique drove them away. “Either she has multiple powers, like foresight, telepathy, speed or teleportation, and maybe telekinesis, or she’s got some other power that we just don’t understand. At any rate, we need a new modus operandi.
“Are you aware of any weaknesses?” Magneto asked. “Pyro, my boy, why was she in the hospital?”
All Pyro would say was, “I heard it was shock from her father’s death.”
“Hmph,” scoffed Mystique, “Xavier and the rest acted as if using her power put her there.”
Pyro sulked silently, refusing to admit that was probably correct.
* * * *

The Blackbird cruised over the Atlantic, with nothing but good weather ahead. Jean set the autopilot and looked back on everyone else.
“How’s our patient doing?” she asked.
“Hungry!” Kassandra shouted. She then resumed devouring all the food and drink offered her and talking with Nightcrawler, softly and exclusively in German, the way these friends always shared a private conversation.
“She’s hungry, dehydrated, and exhausted,” Dr. Altheim clarified, “Just as if she’d gone for a couple of very trying days without food, water, or sleep. Which, of course, is precisely what she did in one day.” Dr. Altheim groaned in mock frustration. “I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand it.” She added, all seriousness restored, “But I do understand this. We’ve seen what slipping in and out of time can do to her. It could possibly even kill her.”
“However,” Charles reassured, “I do have a couple of ideas. If Logan is willing to help, we might be able to do something about it.”
“Hey, what do you mean, ‘if’?” Wolverine demanded.
“So,” said Kurt to Kassandra, “do you still like John?”
Kassandra chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, then said, “I care about him, but…”
“You don’t want to go out with him?” Kurt asked, feigning shock. “What’s up?”
“Bist du verrückt?” Kassandra laughed. Then she took his hand. “I have you for my friend. Mein Lieblingsfreund. That’s much better than any infatuation. I am so lucky.” With that, she yawned, “And so tired. Night, all! Gute Nacht, Kurt.” Then she dropped off into her first regular sleep, full of life and dreams, as opposed to her deathlike hibernation, since that long ago yesterday.
Kurt gently pulled a blanket up under her chin and kissed her forehead. “Schlaf gut, mein’ Zeitgeist.”
* * * *
Back in Keetmanshoop, Fridrich Altheim was buried in the Altheim family plot with the simple but full and sincere honors of the people he served. Dr. Altheim had just returned from New York to mourn her husband. Kassandra had stayed behind to undergo a regimen of medical procedures and therapy before starting her first term at the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning. But a transmission was set up courtesy of her wealthy Opa Altheim, and so all the students and faculty at Xavier Mansion saw the funeral and heard Father Akwenye’s brief eulogy.
“Fridrich’s death was tragic. It was preventable. But we must not regard his murder as a waste of a life, for that would suggest we think his life was a waste. And he certainly made sure that was not the case. As St. Paul said in the reading today, we must not mourn like those who have no hope. We have plenty of reason to hope even in our grief. While the murder was an act of evil, it of course could not stop the good that Fridrich had done. Indeed, just as surely as his soul lives on in the care of Almighty God, his example of undiscriminating kindness continues to be lived out by his wife, his children, and numerous friends both here and abroad. And so let us celebrate.”

[angelique]

Down Time
Chapter 1

“Guten Morgen, Kassi!” came a cheerful voice.
“In wie Fern gut, bittesehr?” Kassandra muttered, as she trudged back into the Xavier Mansion after a most unusually disappointing morning run. She hoped that resuming her runs in the early morning solitude would help her sort through the events of the past several days. It failed, miserably. She wanted to get away from anyone that might feel sorry for her. She wanted shoulders to cry on. She couldn’t decide what she really wanted, and this confusion further darkened her mood.
“Well,” her friend continued in German, “I was wondering if you’d like to have breakfast with me, and then after that, maybe a bit of fencing?”
Kassandra stopped. “I’m sorry, Kurt. I suppose I would like that,” she said, with a wry smile, “but it feels like I just can’t enjoy anything the same way anymore.”
“Ich verstehe.” Nightcrawler put an arm around her and steered her toward the dining room. “I wouldn’t expect you to enjoy anything the same way again after what you’ve been through. Rather, you will find the same things you’ve enjoyed before take on different meanings, and you may appreciate them differently. Perhaps even more.”
“I know that,” Kassandra sighed, leaning her head on Kurt’s shoulder and choking on the tears that escaped her dark eyes. “I already appreciate you differently and more. There!” she added, now smiling through her tears, “I’m making progress already, nicht wahr?”
Kurt smiled gently as he and Kassandra loaded up their plates and found a table. He was not empathic, much to his relief. It was difficult enough for him to deal with his own grief and see his dear friend hurting so badly, without experiencing the profound depth of her pain on top of that. He resolved to do all he could to make things better, set his tray down, and with his prehensile tail, pulled Kassandra’s chair out for her. She smirked as she sat. A small success.
Kassandra had hopes that she’d be one of the all too few that would enroll at the Xavier Institute with no more difficulty than that of any other eighteen year old leaving home and starting college. Unlike most the people who ended up there, she was raised by parents who knew all along and didn’t mind a bit that she was a mutant. Most of the others there were rejected, betrayed, or abused by their families. Some, like Nightcrawler, were rescued from mob violence. A few envied Kassandra, with her loving family and relatively normal life. No more.
Any hope that Kassandra Altheim would enjoy a normal transition into college life was shattered completely only about four days ago. She arrived from Namibia a few months ahead of schedule after the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants murdered her father, tried to kidnap her, took her parish priest and an entire police force hostage, and compelled her to tap into her powers in new and alarmingly violent ways. Now that she had a little time to recover, it was clear that her adjustment to life at Xavier Mansion would be no easier than anyone else’s.
“Liebchen, bitte iss etwas!” Kurt urged Kassandra, who was picking at her eggs. “It isn’t sporting to defeat a hungry opponent.”
“Then you’d better eat well, mein Freund,” Kassandra retorted, finally deciding she had an appetite after all.
* * * *
Nightcrawler put the music on. It had been a habit now for Kurt and Kassandra to train to music. It helped them maintain the right frame of mind, and made each of their bouts look and feel more like a beautifully improvised pas de deux, with blades. Soon, a haunting, romantic melody pealed out over the flow of broken chords.
“Beethovens Mondschein Sonaten?” Kassandra grimaced as she entered the Danger Room. “Not the best music for fencing.”
“Until the third movement, Liebling,” Kurt replied, “Meanwhile it’s perfect for what I’m doing now.”
“Was ist das?” Kassandra asked, knowing well that he was setting up to deliver another signature round of silly and maddeningly flirtatious compliments. Unlike most at the Xavier Institute, she thought Kurt’s desire to join the seminary was noble, rather than strange. At the very least, it only made sense to her that a good Catholic man would consider all his options. However, she didn’t think he’d last a minute in the priesthood.
“Well, just admiring the view,” he smiled, pulling on his customized three-fingered gloves and looking upon her in a way that made it clear that he was referring to her. Indeed, her white jacket and knickers fit her graceful, petite, slender form well and set off her milk chocolate colored skin, deep brown curls, and wide black-coffee eyes. But it wasn’t just that this one of few who could hold her own against Nightcrawler also looked very attractive. Kurt noticed for the first time as she pulled on her gloves and mask, that though she never cared very much about clothes, she wore them with authority.
“Ach, du!” Kassandra’s face grew hot.
“So, what weapons, today?” Kurt asked. “Foil? Epee?” Kassandra was quite clever with those blades, and could, on occasion, beat him with them.
Kassandra surprised him. “Nein, Kurt,” she said, cuing the music to the sonata’s third movement. She picked up a sabre and saluted. “Today I’ll win with your favorite.”
She engaged, and quickly impressed him. She parried all of his attacks strongly and successfully. While she could not get a single point, neither did she allow him any. Nightcrawler retreated and switched hands. Of course, he had taught and encouraged Kassandra to fence equally with both hands. She switched hands, as well. Now the sabre was in her left, her weaker hand. But her parries and ripostes were no weaker. And now she was throwing in counterattacks and flying lunges, forcing Nightcrawler to give ground. Fantastisch! It looked like she might get in the first point. But he also noticed something was not quite right.
Missing was the smile, the riffing on all of Kurt’s favorite swashbuckling movies, the lighthearted banter Kassandra usually employed when the two friends practiced together. Instead, she adopted stony silence, unusually aggressive attacks, and a grim scowl.
“Time to lighten the mood again,” thought Kurt. The first time he tried this maneuver with Kassandra, she doubled over and rolled out of the lines, overcome with rapturous laughter, and he won by default. He retreated, wrapped his tail around the grip, and then attacked, taking his hand off the grip in mid-lunge. Kassandra seemed unfazed. She parried and retreated. But she did smile. And he got her talking again. Another small success.
“Ungerecht! Das darfst du nicht!!” she protested. “That’s got to be below the waist.”
“Nein, Kassi.” Nightcrawler made a big show of folding his arms while engaging and attacking with his tail. “As long as I’m not attacking below your waist, this is perfectly legal.”
“Only because the rules never took us mutants into account.” Kassandra counterattacked.
Nightcrawler took his sabre back into his hand. “Which means there’s no rule against me doing this,” he replied, teleporting behind her. Kassandra knew it was only a matter of time (and a lot of practice on her part) before he’d consider her ready to handle a mid-match teleportation, so she anticipated it. She whirled, retreated, and parried.
“And I guess that means,” she retorted, “that there’s no rule against me doing this!” Here she stepped out of time and slowed it down. Here, outside of the normal flow of time, nobody could catch her. Here, she could steal Nightcrawler’s tempo and completely disengage.
“Touche,” said Nightcrawler, as the transparent blur which had been his friend dealt a smart rap to his shoulder, then passed out into his arms.

[angelique]

Chapter 2

“Logan, Scott, come in! Please sit.” said Professor Xavier. “Jean, Hank, and I just got your mother on the phone, Kassi. Adimu,” he said into the phone to Kassandra’s mother on the other side of the Atlantic, “I’m sorry to call you at this time. We just received some news, both good and bad, that we need to share. Jean?”
At this point, Dr. Jean Grey took over. “Kassandra, it seems that your unauthorized use of your power helped us confirm what’s going on and what to do about it. If it weren’t for Kurt’s quick action in teleporting you to the infirmary, we might not have caught it. Everything you’ve suspected about your hibernation, as you’ve called it, is correct. Dr. Altheim,” Jean said to her mother, “you were right when you said that even when Kassandra is outside of time, she is still subject to hunger, thirst, fatigue, and aging. We’ve confirmed that the things we’ve observed, like the changes in her sleeping habits, heretofore unexplained spikes in appetite, and yes, her blackouts and occasions of deep coma are all part of a biological safeguard. Outside of time, her biology continues as it normally would. When she steps back into time, her body, even her aging, slows down almost to a complete stop until time catches up, almost like suspended animation. If this didn’t happen, she could step out of time, then die of hunger, thirst, exhaustion, or even, theoretically speaking, old age in an instant of our time. And it would certainly cause what would appear to us as premature aging.”
“So,” said Dr. McCoy, “Part of our objective is to help her learn her limits-"
“Hang on a second, furball,” interjected Wolverine, “If all you’re saying is that her time-tripping puts her out of commission and that she’s not allowed to do it, then what’s the point of all of this?”
“-after,” the Beast continued, with a shaggy blue eyebrow cocked in Wolverine’s direction, “we minimize the medical risks.”
“This is where you come in, Logan,” Jean explained.
“So a stem cell transplant from an accelerated healer is a possibility?” Dr. Altheim asked.
“Not only is it a possibility,” said Beast, “but we have found two matches: Sabretooth, and you, Logan.”
Kassandra gaped in horror.
“Sabretooth,” Beast continued, “will donate willingly enough-“
“So he and Magneto can manipulate me!” Kassandra exclaimed. “Nein, danke!”
“Precisely,” said Beast. “That’s what makes Logan the best candidate.”
“But, but-“ Kassandra stammered, “Logan, your adamantium!” The idea of anybody trying to drill through the indestructible metal that plated Wolverine’s bones just to ease and prolong her life appalled her.
“Relax, kid.” Wolverine patted her shoulder. He’d done things even more drastic to protect the kids at the school, and he wasn’t about to make an exception for his Little Elf. “I said I’d help.”
“And I won’t have anyone vivisecting any Logan clones just to make my life a little easier,” Kassandra insisted.
“Kassi!” said Dr. Altheim, “You know none of that is necessary. There are other sources of stem cells, even in non-mutants. But quick healers have a constant and plentiful supply of uniquely adaptable stem cells in their bloodstream, ready for use wherever and whenever they’re needed, am I right, Dr. McCoy?”
“That’s right,” said Beast. “Now, Kassandra, you know overhauling your immune system like this won’t be easy.”
“I know, I know,” replied Kassandra, “Three days of chemotherapy, quarantine, throwing up, and all that. I can handle it.”
Dr. Altheim laughed in spite of herself. “So you have indeed been reading my medical journals!”
“And,” Jean added, “as a mutant transplant hasn't been attempted before, we don’t know how any side-effects will affect you. And Kassi, don’t bother looking ahead to see. If you consent to this, you’ll need to save your energy.”
Kassi waved her hand dismissively. “If Logan’s willing, if it enables me to better use my abilities, and if it will help others down the road, let’s go for it.”
All said their goodbyes. Jean, Beast, and Wolverine then headed to the lab.
“Something’s very wrong, Kassandra,” said Charles. “You aren’t just mourning your father and adjusting to your new environment. You’re afraid of something, aren’t you?”
“Ja,” she conceded.
“Something you saw in our timelines?”
“Just a glimpse,” replied Kassandra. “I was only trying to beat Kurt in fencing, but it was so big I couldn’t help noticing. Something terrible is shaping up, for all of us. It’s still a few years down the road, so I don’t know what exactly will happen. And even if I did know, I don’t think we can avoid it. The only thing I can think of is for me to get as much of my studies out of the way as possible beforehand. Onkel Charles, would it be all right if I used my down time to get ahead on my psych assignments?”
“That won’t be a problem,” Charles smiled. “I happen to also have in mind giving you an extra assignment. Some of the children have been reading The Chronicles of Narnia over the summer. Perhaps you could explain to them the ‘muddle about time’ better than Lewis did. But we also have a more immediate concern, right?”
“John Allerdyce called me yesterday,” said Kassandra. “He said he wanted to get together, try to patch things up, and discuss a cure for my hibernation problem. I told him no thanks.”
“Well then, it’s quite simple,” Charles replied. “Scott, Kurt, keep a close eye on Kassandra for the next few days. Jean, too. It seems that Mr. Lehnsherr hasn’t learned to leave you alone, right Kassi?”

[angelique]

Chapter 3

A black car pulled off of Graymalkin Lane into the driveway of a sprawling estate. A single figure, carrying a briefcase, got out, walked up to the door, and then entered the house. She then strode to the infirmary with the determined stride of a woman who held a girl’s future in her hands. Oh, yes. Mustn’t forget to scrub, too.
Voices led her to the room. Two girls, talking about guys.
“So I hear you’re over Johnny,” said one.
“Quite,” whispered the other, grimacing. “Not that he was never good to me. I mean he did put me off dating bad boys altogether.”
“Anyone new?”
“Not unless Piotr’s got an identical twin brother! Well, now that Scott’s finally twisted Kurt’s arm into leaving and getting something to eat, well…actually, Kätchen, I really can’t tell right now.”
“Oh, come on! Wait, Kassi, are you okay?”
The woman arrived and saw the patient overcome with apparent faintness, and a girl swathed in blue scrubs sitting at her bedside. And Cyclops, at the door.
“Jean!” he said, reaching out for her. “Is everything ready?”
She stepped away from him. “Oh, sorry, Scott,” she stammered, a full syringe now in hand. “I just scrubbed. Yes, everything’s ready.”
“Except for one thing,” came Kassandra’s voice, with renewed strength. “That’s not Jean.”
The woman lunged toward Kassandra, barely evading a stunning optic bolt from Cyclops.
“Hold your breath!” Shadowcat warned, phasing herself and Kassandra through mattress and the floor below. The needle drove into the mattress. A second bolt sent Mystique crashing unconscious into the wall. Cyclops grabbed the syringe and ran to the lab as fast as he could.
“Mystique’s here! Lock the school down!” Shadowcat cried, as she and Kassandra plunged into the room below. She landed and started running, half dragging Kassandra along with her. Oh, thank God, there was Kurt on his way to the dining room.
“Kurt!” Kitty yelled, “We’ve got a problem. Get Kassi to the lab, now!”
“Ja wohl!” Nightcrawler said, as he scooped Kassandra up in his arms and teleported out.
Kitty Pryde remembered all too well how she arrived at Xavier Mansion only a few years before, and hoped for Kassi’s sake that the Hellfire Club would not share the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants’ interest in her.
Jean had just finished preparing Wolverine’s cell culture for transplant, when Nightcrawler teleported into the room, carrying Kassandra. “Is it ready?”
“Maybe not!” Cyclops shouted, running into the room and handing Jean the syringe. “Jean, you may want to check this out first. And recheck everything.”

[angelique]

Chapter 4

Kassandra recovered from the transplant in record time, proving that her own healing capabilities had been completely replaced by Wolverine’s. And the whole school was now abuzz with the news that Pyro, the same boy who betrayed the Altheims and killed Kassandra’s father, had again asked Kassandra out for a cup of coffee. Even more scandalous was the word that this time she’d accepted! Nightcrawler was stunned. Wolverine, who had developed a strong paternal affection for his Little Elf, was beside himself. They confronted her.
“Relax, guys,” she reassured them. “I know something’s up, and I have a plan.”
At a coffee shop in Salem Center, Pyro looked like anyone else there, talking on the phone while waiting for someone to arrive. “She just got out of the car. No, she didn’t come alone,” he said.
He hung up as Kassandra walked in.
“Hallo, John,” she said.
“Kassandra,” said Pyro. He maintained at the very least the appearance of composure. Kassandra had to give him credit for that. She knew that since the last time they’d met, he was rather terrified of her. And for good reason. “Can I get you something?”
“Ice water, please,” she said to the barrista.
“Okay, listen,” he said as they found a table and sat down. “I am really surprised that you’d even agreed to see me. But I am glad. I wanted to see how you were holding up. And I really needed to talk to you. I know that nothing I can ever say or do will make up for what I’ve done, but I have to say this. For what it’s worth, I- I’m sorry.”
Kassandra knew that on some level, he was sincere, but it wasn’t enough.
“I also wanted to let you know that I did not tell Magneto about your fainting problem or whatever it was,” he continued. “He and Mystique figured all that out on their own. And how to cure it, as well. But there’s another problem.”
“Save it, Johnny,” retorted Kassandra, bitterly. “I know what the problem is. I know about Sabretooth’s bone marrow, as if that would make me feel I owe him anything. And I know of Magneto’s nanoprobes. And why you’ve really asked me out. It’s not so we could make amends, as I dared hope. It’s all a ploy to drag me into your little mutant supremacist movement, when my answer has been and always will be no. So stop wasting your time and mine. IT WILL NOT HAPPEN!”
Before Pyro could even think to signal Magneto, Kassandra disappeared, leaving behind her glass of water, with his lighter in it sinking to the bottom, and a note saying, “And neither will we.”
At that same moment, in a nearby parking lot-
“Guten Abend, Herr Lehnsherr.”
Magneto nearly jumped out of his skin whirling to see the very girl he was just now watching through the window standing right behind him. He looked again. She was still in the coffee shop. And right here. With fighting sticks in hand.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said Kassandra. “Oh, don’t bother torturing me with your nanoprobes. I didn’t receive them. And it wouldn’t make a difference if I did. You’d have to kill me, and you don’t want to waste such potentially useful talent as mine, nicht wahr?”
“Blob, Toad-”
“-are taking a nap. With the rest of your friends.” She indicated the unconscious bodies that littered the ground.
“But surely-”
“And it’s ludicrous that you of all people would think of appealing to my sense of honor. I neither wanted nor received anything from Sabretooth. Even if I did, I’d owe him my gratitude, not my soul. And you and your little mutant socialist party, absolutely nothing.”
At last she hit a nerve. “I see your past,” she intoned in a voice that seemed to come from beyond time, her eyes burning, wide with the horror she beheld, her appearance now somehow brighter and more transparent. “Everything about it,” the wraith continued. “I know who you really are. And how you managed to become the very sort of person you despise the most. Care for me to elaborate?”
* * * *
“Hallo, guys!” Kassandra returned, scarcely two minutes after they dropped her off.
“That was quick,” remarked Wolverine.
“It was also the most difficult work I’d ever done, except for that instant marathon I ran back home. But I’ve persuaded Magneto to leave me alone. By the way,” she added, “do you notice anything different?”
Wolverine smiled. “The Elf’s not carrying you.”
“One less ohnmächtige Dame for me to rescue,” said Nightcrawler, feigning disappointment. “I think I’ll miss how you so often managed to end up in my arms.”
Kassandra grimaced. “I thought you’d appreciate having a comrade-in-arms who doesn’t keel over all the time.”
“Well, I guess I can’t complain as long as die Ritterin who has my back is so brave, brilliant, und so eine schöne Schwertkämpferin!”
Kassandra’s face darkened. “Kurt, du bist unmöglich!”
“Stop blushing, Little Elf,” said Wolverine. “You’re only encouraging him.”

[angelique]

Another disclaimer. I owe profound respect to Excalibur, Star Wars, Highlander, and the late, great Robert Heinlein.

Love Enough for Time

Mein Liebe Kurt,

I have quite a bit of news to share, most of it relatively good, for a change. Mama and Michael have joined forces with Doctors Without Borders and expanded the relief agency’s work into South Africa and Rwanda. I’ve also enclosed a picture of Michael, his wife, and my favorite (as well as only) niece and nephew. They’ve grown in sweetness as well as size. Lucy found a man content to live happily ever after at Kalahari Gemsbok. He’s a fellow zoologist. They’ll be getting married in a few months. And my brother Vincent is now Father Vincent. He’d just taken solemn vows with the Franciscan Order. So all goes well with that odd assemblage that’s my family.
As for me, life continues to be lonely with you, Kätchen, and Piotr abroad and the X-Men gone. Work has been especially depressing, particularly after the last time I saw you. I will tell you as much as I can about it when I visit.
And yes, I will be visiting. I badly need a change of scenery. I had been considering a permanent career change, moving back to Keetmanshoop at least for the time being, and figuring out where my life should go from there. Instead, I have taken an assignment in Rome, and will need to stop in and see you on the way. Sadly, I will not be able to stay for Brian and Meggan’s wedding, but I will have a gift for them.
I am scheduled to arrive at London Heathrow 3:15 Friday. I’ll call with further information before I arrive. Tell everyone hallo for me, and that I look forward to seeing all of you very soon.

Dein’ immer,
Kassi

P.S. Tell no one that I’m going to Rome. Don’t even think too much about it, and destroy this letter once you’ve read it, bitte.

[angelique]

Chapter 2

Nightcrawler anxiously looked for one last thing to do to get the lighthouse ready for its guest, when he noticed a book Brian had left lying around, open and pages down. He picked it up and found a bookmark to keep Brian’s place, but not before noticing this quote:
“Since the word ‘love’ occurs so frequently in ancient English literature, I thought my failure to understand that word might be the block that keeps me from thinking in English.”
He thought that that the author really should have read 1 Corinthians 13, but then wondered if he really understood it so well, himself.
Now there was nothing left to do until Meggan, Brian, and Piotr returned from the airport. With Kassandra Altheim. A beautiful young Namibian-born psychologist who now only officially existed as a code name spoken only in awed whispers among the highest levels of government intelligence. Zeitgeist, ace criminal profiler and international covert operations specialist. And Kurt Wagner’s favorite fencing partner.
The elemental Meggan breezed through the door, radiant with excitement, followed closely by the man once known as Captain Britain, Brian Braddock, and Piotr Rasputin, the mighty Colossus, helping with luggage. And then, Freude, endlich! Kassandra strode in, gorgeous in a terra cotta colored pants suit and burgundy duster. She threw down her satchel and briefcase and greeted the rest of the team.
“Douglock! Rahne! Kätchen!” Big hugs all around. And a small, winged reptile fluttered excitedly around Kassandra’s head, eager for a little attention from this distinguished guest.
“Ach, unser mächtig Drache, Lockheed. Have you been taking good care of the team for me? Und Herr Wisdom….”
Pete Wisdom barely acknowledged her greeting with a strained nod. “Miss Altheim.”
And then…
“I thought a professional woman in black would actually wear black.”
“Kurt!” She raced into Nightcrawler’s arms. For a while, all they did was just hold each other.
“Es ist lange her. Zu lange,” she whispered, pressing a kiss into his blue cheek.
“It’s been way too long,” he concurred, running a hand through her wild dark curls and taking a moment to enjoy the soft scent that always seemed to emanate from her hair. The first time she’d visited him on this side of the Atlantic, he was in no condition to remember anything except wondering if she really did survive the disaster that nearly claimed his and Shadowcat’s life, or if that was just some wishful hallucination reassuring him that she was okay and would do her part to help. The second time, they were both working with Black Air, but she worked busily under such deep cover that he never knew the nature or level of her involvement. He didn’t get to see her except when Britannic requested her counseling to help deal with his jumbled memories. A lot had happened since then. Their good friend and colleague Dr. Moira MacTaggert had died. The team had to leave Muir Island. Sure, Kassandra would be leaving again after Mass on Sunday. But for now….

[angelique]

Chapter 3

Kassi helped clean up in the kitchen after tea then sat down with reams of issues of Aquerello Italiano and a variety of other books. In Rome, she would be circulating among multilingual society, but she did not want to take that for granted. She wanted to have at least a conversational fluency in Italian before she arrived. She then rethought her plan of action, got up, and grabbed some leftovers. Growing up multilingual did give her an advantage. Nonetheless, learning a new language in mere seconds would take a lot of energy. And maybe some more coffee. She sat back down and opened the book.
Nightcrawler looked in, curious about the furious rustling of paper he heard in the kitchen, seeing Kassandra blurry and transparent, pages flipping furiously before her eyes. He smiled to himself. That’s how Kassandra crammed for finals, too, once she got a grip on her mutant extratemporal abilities and stopped passing out all the time after utilizing them. Kassandra could work in a whole night or two of intensive study into a single instant, if she needed to. She then put her last book down, satisfied with her vocabulary and knowledge of verb conjugations, and stepped back into normal time.
“Buono notturno, mi amore,” Kassandra yawned, as she headed to her room.
* * * *
The next morning, Kassandra ran a few miles along the beach. She knew she was going to have to say some things she wouldn’t like later that day. She could not predict the future, but she could deduce very accurately. Also, just as if she were her mythical Greek namesake, people had an often-tragic tendency to disbelieve when she knew trouble was on the horizon. Her own ability to shape the future was limited to the range of her own decisions. She could only try to persuade. She couldn’t make other people’s decisions. While her methods of persuasion could be powerful, blackmail, intimidation, bribery, and such were only effective against people with weaknesses she could exploit. And she would not dare use this particular person’s notorious weakness for a pretty face. She had to do something anyway. And Nightcrawler, though he did not yet know, would be so entangled in the problems she foresaw that she couldn’t even guess the most probable outcome. For his sake, she’d have to have a word with him. She did not look forward to that.
Still, she felt better than she had in a long time. Though Nightcrawler and the future that was taking shape for him confused and troubled her greatly, just being around him again, even if it was only for one more day, warmed her heart. And it was difficult to not to enjoy a greater clarity of mind and soul in this environment. The mist-covered crags and gravelly beach were nothing like her favorite places- from the vast Kalahari Desert, to the Skeleton Coast, famous for its stark, desolate, and dangerous beauty. But it was just as good. In all her work dealing with the world at its ugliest, she had almost forgotten how it felt to see God’s Creation at its best and most sublime. She returned to the lighthouse with a clearer mind and lighter heart.

[angelique]

(Did I tell you I also owe a debt of gratitude to the whole James Bond franchise?)

Chapter 4

The rest of the day was busy. Kassandra spent the rest of the morning on the phone, being debriefed on her assignment, and apparently practicing her Italian at the same time. She was delighted to see that her extratemporal crash course in the Italian language paid off. She next went shopping with Kitty and Rahne, and bought an antique wall clock she knew Brian and Meggan would like. Then she met the whole team back at the lighthouse for lunch and a run-down of some of the operations and investigations she’d worked on, and how they affected them. She reminded Pete that she could dodge any heat daggers he might have for her. Oaths of secrecy did not apply to people who actually had a need to know, some of what she shared had been declassified, and as one agent once said, absolute secrecy corrupts absolutely, anyway. But she was gracious enough to not mention his substantial part in how her cover was blown and gun runners nearly rolled her up in Thailand. Finally, it was time for an appointment with an old friend in the Danger Room. But on the way, Pete Wisdom accosted her.
“Oi,” he said, “Don’t think I’m beginnin’ t’like you or anything, but thanks for not mentioning me part in the Ronsaphan incident.”
“Pete, I’ve long since forgiven you for that,” said Kassandra. “You’ve more than proven yourself to the team. And you weren’t the only one responsible for that bloodbath, anyway. But officially, I still think you were insufferably stupid getting me into that mess. And then leaving MI6 for an even worse outfit.”
“Well, that’s a bloody lot of comfort.” Pete almost allowed himself to smile. “And officially, I still think you were violating international agreement, spying on Black Air like that. And as flippantly as if you were in some bad spy film.”
“Oh, you’re one to talk, Timothy Dalton. And don’t even think of calling me Gloria Hendry or whatever.”
“I wouldn’t dream of comparing you to her.” Pete wondered briefly about how all his relationships tended to begin with mutual dislike.
Kassandra’s eyes flashed. She picked up on his thought, like glimpsing an event in his timeline. She grinned. Annoying Pete Wisdom was almost as much fun as teasing Kurt. “You got that right, George Lanzerby. I’ve always had better taste in who I work with, present company excepted. And don’t flatter yourself.”
“Well, I aint one ta keep ya from yer boyfriend, anyway.”
Kassandra stopped. “You know, Herr Wisdom, I rather liked how you put this. Sod off.”

[angelique]

Chapter 5

“So, you were Celestine Ritter all along. And Alistair Stuart and the mighty Britannic himself were your agents!” Nightcrawler said. “No wonder Pete’s been grumpier than usual around you. Unglaublich!”
“Nein, Kurt.” Kassandra shook her head. “It’s only reasonable that a bit of envy and mistrust should exist between rogue-ish spies such as him and me. Particularly since he and I have a rather unpleasant history that goes back even farther than Black Air. But I think we’re getting over that. As for me, I’m not proud of the job I did. I had to make a lot of horrible choices, and I had spread myself too thin, concentrating on too much at once to be of enough help to anyone. There were more disasters than you know of that I tried- and failed miserably- to prevent.”
“But you did help us all the same,” he replied. “It seems mein’ liebe Zeitgeist is a guardian angel in human form.”
“Und Ich werde wieder sein, Kurt,” replied Kassandra, “as you have been for me.” She pulled on her glove. A lot had changed in the past years. Many tragedies, a few joys, and a great many new things learned. Kassandra graduated college early, became a U.S. citizen, worked as a criminal psychologist and profiler for the FBI, and joined the CIA Directorate of Operations as a human intelligence specialist. Her grandfather died, leaving her a portion of his diamond interests, so she was free to work as independently as she wanted. She also learned that her ability to see and navigate timelines did not extend to alternate realities. She hadn’t seen her honorary family that was the X-Men since the Adversary so rudely interrupted their timelines and caused her to spend considerable time questioning her sanity. And though, thanks to Wolverine’s stem cell donation, she would always remain physically youthful, her haunting dark eyes now reflected the weariness of someone who had seen more life and death than possible for anyone else in their early twenties.
But some things just needed to remain the same. She would never forget how the X-Men and Excalibur earned her fierce loyalty, though she could not officially join either team. How Nightcrawler had put his life on the line for her repeatedly. How he was her constant comfort after her father and grandfather died. How he didn’t have to earn her love and friendship, and managed to deserve it so richly anyway. And that fencing to classical music would always be the sport of choice when she and Kurt were together. But standard sabre rules, this time. Kassandra felt that using her extratemporal abilities in fencing gave her an unfair advantage, Nightcrawler’s ability to wield three or even four blades at once, and generally superior fencing expertise notwithstanding.
“So,” she asked, “was Music habst du?”
“Hm.” Nightcrawler rifled through the CD’s that had collected there. “Wir haben ‘Tannheuser.’”
Kassandra grimaced as she pulled on her mask. “Kurt, you know the only Wagner I like is blue and fuzzy and about to select something less depressing.”
Nightcrawler smiled. “Point taken. How about Schubert Lieder? And not Erlkönig. I can’t have you singing along one of your parodies.”
“Ach, du verstehst ja gar keinen Spaß.”
And so the piano played a whirling spinning-wheel theme, and a mournful soprano sang the words of a familiar Göthe poem. From Faust, it was, Kassandra recalled, as she saluted.
“So,” said Kurt, as he attacked. “You said something about being my guardian angel again. Is this about your new assignment?”
“Ja.” Kassandra counterattacked. “On the surface, it doesn’t seem to directly involve you at all. But I’m the only one who knows any differently right now.”
“What do you know?” Nightcrawler parried and riposted.
“Not much yet. That’s why I’m going to the Vatican. To find out more.”
“Die Vatikan?” Nightcrawler parried a strong counterattack. He had almost forgotten that while Kassandra was already an excellent fencer, the deceptively small and graceful girl also tended to fight with Wolverine’s passion. And stamina.
“It won’t be easy. I can’t just flit in and out, grab secrets from people’s pasts, and maybe roll up some baddies. You know how I look whenever anyone can see my extratemporal appearance.”
“Like a woman transfigured,” said Nightcrawler.
Kassandra scoffed as she again countered. “That’s a nice way of putting it. There’s a reason why the angels always have to tell people to not be afraid.”
“Das ist wohl wahr.” Nightcrawler parried and riposted. Kassandra tended to appear, if visible at all, like a bright, blurry, transparent wraith when she moved outside the regular flow of time. And anyone shocked by the sight of a fuzzy blue elf would be overwhelmed to see mutant beauties such as Ororo Munroe, Rahne Sinclair, or herself transform into terrors Storm, Wolfsbane, or Zeitgeist.
Kassandra parried and riposted. “At any rate, the last thing we need is a rumor of some mystic- or demoniac- flitting about the Vatican, of all places. Kurt, you mustn’t tell anyone yet. I’m risking more than enough in telling you anything now, but you have a right to know. There are rumors of a covert anti-mutant movement forming within the Church. You’ve read the Pope’s recent encyclical on mutant rights? Well, there have been threats made against him and a number of cardinals. I still can’t make sense of how, but somehow, someone’s going to get you mixed up in all of this.
“Kurt, I know this is harsh, but you must be very careful about the company you keep. And you’ll have to make some very hard decisions, very soon.”
“Kassi, Liebchen, how hard can it be, with my angel always looking out for me?” Nightcrawler smiled and closed the distance. They were already dueling toe-to-toe. Now it was knee-to-knee, and still closing.
Kassandra parried at the forte, and inwardly cursed free will and her inability to make people believe her. Then, against her better judgement, she riposted. “You have no idea. Shouldn’t we halt this action?”
They were now corps-a-corps.
“Maybe,” replied Nightcrawler, parrying and wrapping his free arm around her waist. With the end of his long tail, he flipped up their masks.
“You’re not retreating,” she said, placing a trembling hand on his chest as he leaned toward her.
“Neither are you.”
A million thoughts flashed through Kassandra’s mind at once. Ach, ja! She wanted this. But now? When she wasn’t sure Kurt was over his last couple girlfriends? And so soon before she herself would leave? When she might not see him again for months, or years, or even ever? When he still hadn’t even made up his mind about joining the priesthood? When there was no certainty of anything but eventual heartbreak? Und verdammt! She was just talking about people’s lives on the line!
“Kurt, nicht jetzt,” whispered Kassandra. And before their lips could meet, she disappeared, leaving her mask and sabre behind. “Gretchen am Spinnrad” had spun itself out, and the first tempestuous measures of “Rastlose Liebe” began to play.

[angelique]

Chapter 6

Brian looked into the communications room, where Meggan was on duty. His blonde bride-elect had been looking particularly stunning since Zeitgeist had arrived. But the beauty she radiated was unusually fierce and tumultuous, like the view from the lighthouse on a windy day with a spectacular storm blowing in.
He kissed the top of her head and rubbed her shoulders. “What’s happening, love?”
“Nothing, darling. All’s quiet, for once.”
“You know that’s not what I was asking about,” said Brian. The empathic, metamorphic Meggan had an unconscious tendency to alter her appearance according to the emotional climate. And in an instant, he could see reflected in her, as she felt, an intense flash of passion and fury and confusion that left the room as soon as it came through.
Meggan gasped. “That was Kassi. I’d better have a word with Kurt.”
* * * *

It wasn’t at all difficult for Kurt to find Kassandra. Once he turned off the CD player, he could hear another piano thundering a theme eerily reminiscent of a Dies Irae. Whenever Kassandra was happy, she’d just hum or spontaneously burst into song. If she was excited or nervous, she preferred drumming. But if something bothered her, it was always the piano. And if she was especially upset, it was always a really big piece that involved her practically throwing her small frame at the keyboard. “Ich bin ein gesampt’ Idiot,” Nightcrawler muttered, as he slid beside her on the piano bench. “Was ist das? Rachmaninoff?”
“Ja. Das erste Klavierkonzert.”
Kurt watched and listened for a while, amazed at how even someone with almost twice as many fingers as he had could get such sounds out of a piano. Then he continued. “Meggan yelled at me for not taking you seriously. Then Brian got on my case for upsetting Meggan. Quite frankly, I deserved it. And if you want to go all Cyclops and lecture me about my irresponsibility, I’d deserve that, too. You were telling me something important, and I was behaving like some Cassanova.”
Kassandra stopped playing. “Well, I’m sorry, too. My time here is too short to waste on histrionics. And if I could force you to believe things I don’t quite understand myself, or if I even tried, what kind of person would that make me? But that’s not all Meggan had to say, nicht wahr?” No use hiding feelings from her. While Kassandra could block telepathy by venturing even the tiniest bit out of temporal synchronization, in or out of time, she could not stop wearing her heart on her sleeve.
Nightcrawler shook his head. “Meggan told me everything. And Kätchen confirmed. You’ve been more than just a constant friend to me all these years. And now it all makes sense.”
Zeitgeist sighed. “For what it’s worth, everything they said was true. I thought you should know. I just didn’t know how to tell you.” She then looked into Kurt’s golden eyes.
He then finally understood. Kassandra was not and could never be just another one of his many flirtations or infatuations, and he really could not treat her that way. The bond he had with her was not the attraction he’d feel for just any smart, kind, and beautiful woman who could appreciate a blue guy with funny ears and a tail. It was not the many other things he liked about her, her sense of humor, zest for life, how she laughed when she first saw his Errol Flynn disguise, and her stubborn efforts to remain a sterling character in a tarnished line of work. It was not based on their similarities, their common language and faith. It was not the mutual benevolence and gratitude between friends who’d put aside their own desires for each other’s best interest. Nor even the visceral affection shared by comrades who’d lay down their lives for each other. Okay, so it was all of that, but more. Something dangerous when too lightly. “For what it’s worth? I’m more blessed than Beethoven to have an immortal beloved like you.”
Kassandra blushed. “Hold that thought, bitte. We can’t afford to get too attached now. It’s likely you will go for a long time without even hearing from me. Meanwhile, you have some hard decisions to make regarding your vocation, as I will about mine. You will be forced to question your friendships and even your faith. And even with Wolverine’s healing factor, I won’t be your immortal anything if I lose my head.”
“Well, I wanted to give you something that might help.” Kurt pressed a small silver pendant into her hand.
“Your St. Michael medal!” she gasped.
Nightcrawler nodded. “To remind you that I’ll be praying daily for your safe return. And somehow I think the patron saint of soldiers and swordsmen will be of particular help to you.”
“I can’t even tell you what this means to me,” said Zeitgeist, her eyes gleaming.
“Also, I had something I wanted you to know before you leave,” said Nightcrawler, taking her shoulders into his hands and pulling her close. “Ich auch liebe dich.”
Kassandra retracted her curse on free will. Obviously it was good for something. She allowed herself to be drawn into Kurt’s embrace.
“So now that we have that out in the open, can you be content that we have to leave it at that for now?”
“Ja doch!” Kurt replied.
“Then now to get something else out in the open. I was just waiting for the right time to show you these. Hier!” She unlocked and opened this box that sat underneath the piano bench since she arrived, and took out two sword belts, and live sabres stronger than any ever made before and sharp as razors. One had “Epheser 6:10-18” engraved upon the flat. The other, a shorter blade which was presumably meant for Kassandra, said simply, “Hebräer 4:12.”
“Donnerwetter,” said Nightcrawler, awestruck. “Ist das-?”
“Ja. Logan decided that someone with a healing factor like his should also wield adamantium like him. So he had this made for me. And he thought it would be only fair to make sure new swords were made for both of us Elves. They’re light, indestructible, always sharp, and not for regular fencing. ‘An elegant weapon,’” she said, imitating Sir Alec Guiness’ clipped accent, “’ From a more civilized age.’ I selected the verses. And if you’re fast enough, you could destroy or deflect anything they can fire at you.”
Nightcrawler looked incredulous.
“You can learn a lot from angry arms smugglers,” Zeitgeist explained. “How about trying it out in combat simulation?”
“Unbedingtlich. After I’ve heard the rest of this piece. But one more question. When Meggan said you’d kill for me, did she mean it literally or figuratively?”
Kassandra glanced furtively away as she shook out her hands. “That’s classified information.”

[angelique]

Another disclaimer. I claim no ownership to Bob Dylan, the Beatles, Domenico Modugno, L'Osservatore Romano, St. James' Hospital, the communities of Butte or Dillon, Montana, Yellowstone National Park, the Swiss Guard, etc., in other words, anything real or fictional in this story except for my original creations, the Altheim family and a couple of fictional background characters. Please do not sue me.

Zeit und Zwischenraum

Mutants at our Masses:
Catholic or Catastrophic?
By Angelique Sauvegarde

Throughout history, it has not been unusual for the Catholic Church to weigh in on a variety of issues, from large-scale injustices like poverty and war to everyday matters like family harmony, regardless of the popularity of its teachings. So it surprised very few to hear that the Pope had taken a position on mutants and their place within our society. His recent encyclical, Nostra Familia Mutantis, however, has stirred a firestorm greater than even the controversy surrounding Humanae Vitae.

In light of this, it is only fitting that we devote a series of articles to detailing and investigating reactions from all sides. Starting today and throughout the week, we will feature articles by and interviews with leading doctors, clergy and religious, scholars, politicians, and everyday people, Catholic and otherwise, with a variety of opinions regarding and experiences with mutants among us. For a great many of us, this is a frightening issue that forces us to question what it means to be human and where humanity stands in the whole of God’s creation. But these questions need to be asked. It is our hope that we may provoke honest but thoughtful discussion guided by the kind of reasoning many say is the divine spark, the wisdom we like to think makes us homo sapiens.


Who and What are Mutants, Anyway?
Notizie San Gabriel


Equally human: 48%
Members of separate and superior hominid species: >1%
Members of separate and threatening species: 33%
Other: 14%
Don’t know: 4%


A scientific study of 50,000 randomly selected people revealed these results. Further probing revealed that the general public does not accept mutants as much as these numbers alone would indicate.

Of those who regarded mutants as non-human threats to humanity, all were in favor of eradicating mutant populations. “It’s not as if they, like lions or tigers, contribute anything to the ecosystem,” said “Sierra”. “And as long as they are allowed to fancy themselves human, they’ll feel entitled to destroy and consume as much as humans. Humanity, and the earth as a whole, will not lose anything. Indeed, we will only benefit from the extinction of these species.”

Of those who voted “other” or “don’t know,” 5% were in favor of extending mutants equal rights. 60% favored restrictions, such as have been proposed under numerous nations’ mutant registration acts, and 35% supported eradication. “I don’t think they’re human,” said “Tom,” “but if a dog started speaking up and demanding its rights, I’d listen. But if it asked to be taken off its leash, no way.”

The percentage that regards mutants as separate and superior was overshadowed dramatically by the study’s 2% margin of error.

Finally, even those who regard mutants as fully and equally human revealed some anti-mutant bias. 70% favored restrictions under various mutant registration acts. “I don’t see how law enforcement could keep up with mutant crime, without restrictions,” said “Edith.” “And while I’m sure there are mutants who are kind, decent people, I don’t think I’d want my daughter to go out with one.”

From the Scientific Community
“There are a few mutants, to be perfectly fair, who arrogantly claim to be of a new, separate, and superior species, and act as if the morality that governs all humanity does not apply to them,” says Dr. Adimu Altheim, coauthor with geneticist Dr. Henry McCoy of various studies and articles such as “The Ethics of Mutant Stem Cell Research.”

Biologically, mutation is nothing more than a suddenly occurring genetic variation, and it actually occurs in humans quite frequently. “Most of the time, mutations are no more noticeable or bothersome than one’s habit to get up earlier than most, or an extra bone in another’s foot,” Dr. Altheim says.

She also says that sometimes mutation, while never a disease in and of itself, can result in diseases or disabilities such as a tendency toward cancer or depression. “But in a truly human society, we would seek exercise prevention where there is a risk for disease, or treat the illness should it arise, rather than eliminate the patients. Only very rarely does a mutation actually produce extraordinary abilities in the people possessing it. As revolutionary as it may seem to many, mutants are in fact just as human as anyone
else.”

The Church’s Position
Philosophy professor and Canon lawyer Father Patrick Brady called into question common definitions of humanity, citing numerous works, “from the medieval Platonists, to Chaucer, to C.S. Lewis,” suggesting or even stating outright that even having a seemingly inhuman body does not preclude having a mind or soul that is or is equal to human.

He also says that the ramifications of any anti-mutant bias in the Church could interfere with the Church’s ability to minister in seemingly unrelated areas. “If we deny believers their humanity and a place in the Church based on genetic traits,” he says, “what, then, of the child who has Down’s Syndrome, or the beloved parish priest with osteogenesis imperfecta?” He insists that only by very flawed logic can we continue to oppose racism, sexism, abortion, eugenics, discrimination against the disabled, and other crimes against anyone likely to be arbitrarily denied their rights as human beings if the Church does not welcome mutants. “His Holiness really has come to the only conclusion consistent with the Church’s regard for all human life. For the sake of all the good the Church ever has and ever will stand for, we must extend the same welcome to mutant believers that we would to anyone else.”


News Publishing Office Robbed and Vandalized
Reporters Escape Bombing Attempt
From L’Osservatore Romano
Rome- The main office of Catholic news service Notizie San Gabriel was robbed and vandalized yesterday after running several articles addressing mutant issues. Workers arrived to find windows broken, threats spray painted upon the walls, papers and computer equipment strewn everywhere, and a parcel bomb addressed to freelance reporter Angelique Sauvegarde, author and editor of the controversial Mutants at our Masses series. Several computers were also stolen.

“So many groups called in and claimed responsibility,” said police chief Rafael Neri, “that it’s hard to tell if they were lying, covering for the real perpetrators, or actually involved.”

The staff remained undaunted and issued the following statement. “In the name of fair reporting, we had actually hoped that people on all sides would contribute more letters and interviews, rather than this. We encourage the newspapers and magazines we serve to run the rest of the series, and refuse to be intimidated by those who do not value the free exchange of ideas.”

* * * *
Nightcrawler read and re-read the article. Violence against mutants or mutant sympathizers was as disturbing as it was common. And every time it seemed society made progress in solving that problem, something would happen that would galvanize the bigots. But something else bothered him as well. Angelique Sauvegarde was a rather unusual name, true. A name, French or otherwise, that literally meant “angelic safeguard” was most likely a nom de plume. Or nom de guerre. But didn’t he recently refer to a dear friend as his “guardian angel,” before she left for an undercover assignment?

“Ja Himmel noch a‘mal!” He hastily folded his copy of L’Osservatore Romano and teleported to the Professor’s office.

Professor Charles Xavier was unruffled by the explosion of smoke and the sudden appearance of a blue man crouching on his desk, frantically waving a newspaper.
“Was ist los? Ist sie-?”

“Yes, Kurt,” said Charles. “It is she. Don’t worry. I think she actually chose that alias so you could check on her without compromising the mission. She is safe, and she trusts that we will keep her identity to ourselves. Meanwhile, she is actually far more worried about us. You in particular.”

[angelique]

Chapter 2

Angelique Sauvegarde had done her work. The last of her articles was written and ready to run. And because of her and the pressure she put on local police, the Vatican Security Corps had more insight as to the budding international threat they had on their hands. She could now take a break from freelance journalism, investigative reporting, and conducting studies, and disappear for a bit, perhaps to work more on writing a book or whatever. It would be wise, anyway. Her uncanny ability to deduce and anticipate the near future saved her from opening and detonating that parcel bomb. Brave woman that she was, she knew when it was time to retreat.

An extended sabbatical in Russia might be in order. Her old friend Piotr had been gone for months. She would never acknowledge his death. And her persistent tendency to miss the funerals of loved ones became almost the subject of a running joke among her friends and family. But she still felt bad about going for so long without at least paying her respects. Such a gentle, self-sacrificing soul. Even if she refused to mourn, she still missed him.

Meanwhile, the Vatican Security Corps took on a new security consultant fresh from Arlington, Virginia, FBI criminal profiler Elizabeth Errol-Koenig. When she first arrived and settled into her new office, she took a second to scan the room for bugs. Thoroughly. In an instant, she was as confident of her office’s security as any spy who’d spent hours seeking out bugs could be. She never said or did anything of tactical importance without checking. Granted, this was the Holy See’s equivalent of FBI headquarters, but she would not take any chances. She was given this assignment based on her reputation as one of the world’s best criminal investigators, with a tough but squeaky-clean character to boot. So her methods had to be respected, including her insistence on working quickly, quietly, and, for the most part alone.

She’d spent her first weeks in Rome getting acquainted with the people she’d need to know, some of whom had corresponded with Angelique Sauvegarde, or at least were familiar with the reclusive writer’s work. All were good contacts: the Vatican’s chief of security, the chief of Rome’s Polizia, the commander of the Swiss Guard, and the Secretary of State. She never expected to find anything on them, nor on anyone directly connected to them. But these were good, resourceful people who were quite willing to help her help them. Particularly the Secretary of State, who, according to his job description, had to know everything and say nothing. She liked him right off the bat. She hoped for everyone’s benefit that the work she’d rope them into wouldn’t be too sordid. But for now, it was a relief to know that her biggest difficulty at the moment was keeping her black hat from blowing off that wind-tossed mess of tight curls some liked to call her hair as she made her way across Piazza de San Pietro. This particular meeting called for an extra measure of decorum.

Elizabeth dropped to her left knee and kissed the Fisherman’s Ring. “Santitá, You must have indeed stirred up a hornet’s nest of controversy for you and Cardinal Vallejo to ask me here.”

“More foolishness to the wise, that’s all.” He helped her to her feet, more out of simple courteous habit than out of any need he perceived. Indeed, the child seemed, despite her appearance, almost strong enough to break a man in half with her bare hands. “I never expect the right thing to be popular. And particularly at my age, I am not worried about protecting my own life. Still, I am grateful that Signora Sauvegarde’s articles ran when they did. She took a terrible risk and redirected a lot of this anger away from me and toward herself, didn’t she?”

“That was part of her objective, in addition to publicizing your encyclical and exposing the reactions to it, Your Holiness,” Elizabeth replied. “Simply to safeguard other people’s lives and liberty and ensure your work along the same line is not in vain. She said it’s a risk worth taking. And I agree absolutely.”

“And for the sake of our shared objectives,” said the Pontiff, “His Eminence and I have agreed to granting you complete access. I will put anything you need at your disposal.”

“Ringrazio la Vostra Santitá.”
“E ringrazio te, figlia mia.”
* * * *

The officer had Vatican Security’s crime laboratory to herself. Now came time to study the case history and the evidence. Angelique Sauvegarde was a freelancer, not officially on San Gabriel’s payroll, and she worked on her own laptop, which was now safely in the officer’s hands. She memorized the surveillance tapes. The figures were black clad, gloved, and blurry. Forensics said they left behind little evidence. It didn’t matter to her. She had the crime scene pictures, rocks, and other debris she could study.

Then the officer code named Zeitgeist, stepped out of time. Even the very rocks had timelines she could trace, with her mutant extratemporal abilities, back to the hands of the people who threw them. With an event she could recognize, the vandalism at the Notizie San Gabriel offices, she could find those lines and trace them. In an instant, she had some names, and better yet, information on a few criminal backgrounds. But there were a few things she needed to clarify. Some things in their backgrounds did not seem to make any sense. She returned to time.

“Let’s see if we have any files on them,” she thought to herself, sitting at her computer. Ah, yes. They all had records, mostly for various hate-related vandalisms and assaults committed across Europe and North America. By all appearances, they were common anti-mutant thugs, but for the theft of the computers. Obviously they weren’t interested in committing random acts of terrorism. They were more sophisticated than they let on. They wanted information. She smirked. They didn’t get it. But she could get them. Still, she felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. She didn’t like having to do this, but she would have to question one or more personally. She called her station chief.

“I have names,” she said. “Our agent will bring one in.”

[angelique]

Chapter 3

“I’ve done all I can,” said Polizia Chief Rafael Neri. “This Arnold Eastman is a tough one to crack. He would only answer in disjointed Bible verses and un mucchio di sciochezze that I can’t sort through.”

“He will open up,” said Elizabeth. “You play ‘good cop, bad cop’ here, too, don’t you?”
“Si, si. And I suppose you’ll be the good cop?”

Elizabeth smiled, knowing it didn’t occur to Neri that a doe-eyed, diminutive, cultured slip of a girl could ever play the bad cop. “Stavolta, si.”

They both entered the interrogation room.
“I’ve just heard, ‘Brother,’ that you are charged with causing some trouble in the United States, as well as here. The FBI has gone to a lot of trouble to send Agent Errol-Koenig here. So I hope, for your sake, you will stop talking nonsenso,” said Neri.

The suspect looked over to the dark, black-suited young woman that sat before him.
“Touch nothing unclean…” he said almost to himself.

Neri leaned on the table, his menacing frame looming large. “Racist, no? Don’t worry. And don’t flatter yourself. I don’t think she’s interested.”

“It is a disgrace for a woman to speak…”

“Capo, posso fare questo,” the woman interrupted. “’Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities,’” she quoted to the suspect, “’for there is no authority except that which God has established.’”

“I follow a higher authority.”

“Higher than God, Mr. Eastman? I will continue. ‘The authorities that exist have been established by God. ’ Yes, Mr. Eastman, I’m afraid that includes women in authority. Even Black women. And federal agents. If your higher authority is any good whatsoever, and if you have nothing to hide then you will respect me.”

“Dio mio,” thought Neri, as he stepped out of the room. If this was what Elizabeth was like playing “good cop,” he didn’t know if he could stand to ever get on her bad side.
“I hear you don’t even want a lawyer.”

“The Lord is my advocate…”

Elizabeth leaned toward him, eyes ablaze. “And mine, too. I just wonder if we’re talking about the same Lord.”

Eastman blinked and squinted as the woman before him seemed to blur and
brighten for a split second. He also felt a need to either stop or redirect the conversation.

“But you look faint, and I’m a bit hungry, myself. How about something to eat?” Elizabeth said, in a low, smooth voice. She punched an intercom button and rattled off a few more words Eastman could not understand. An officer brought in some coffee and a couple of sandwiches. His vision blurred again.

“The best Rome’s finest can offer.” Elizabeth shoved a plate and cup toward him. “Buon appetito. And when you’re ready, might as well come out and tell me everything.”

Eastman took a bite and glanced up. He’d never seen, let alone eaten, anything on ciabata bread before, and was a bit cautious. But Elizabeth was right. He was hungry, and it was pretty tasty. After several more bites washed down with coffee, he felt much better.

Elizabeth continued. “While you finish eating, I might as well tell you how I moved up with the FBI. I don’t practice any occultism, but my first official capacity was as a psychic.”

“You have the gift of prophecy?”

“You could say that. But my point is that I’ll find out whatever you try to hide one way or another, so you might as well save us both the trouble and be upfront with me. And there is that commandment against bearing false witness.”

Eastman noticed a silver medal she wore around her neck. “So you are a believer. You know Scripture. And that medal-”

“Yes. It’s of St. Michael the Archangel. Patron saint of soldiers and police officers.”

“Appropriate.” Eastman smiled. “But you forgot swordsmen.”

“So I did. Not very many people know that outside the salle. Do you fence much,
by any chance?” she asked. Establishing authority and then trust helped, but how on earth did he know that?

The question caught him off guard. “No. Do you?”

Elizabeth smiled. “A bit, but back to the subject, Mr. Eastman-”
“Brother Eastman.”

“Brother Eastman, from here on out, try quoting Scripture correctly and in
context. The Lord also said you shall not kill. And you’re here on charges for attempted murder.”

Eastman looked down. “That reporter was marked for excommunication.”

“Excommunication just means being denied Communion, ‘Brother,’ not being
blown up.”

Eastman about choked on his coffee. “For treason against humanity? Comforting
mutant abominations? The Supreme Pontiff said such a death would be a merciful punishment for those crimes.”

“You’re not talking about the current Pope, are you?”

“That apostate?”
“I didn’t think so. So tell me more about your ‘Supreme Pontiff,’” Elizabeth demanded.

“I don’t know. Even a believer like you may not fathom-”
“In my line of work? Please. I specialize in the unfathomable.”

“Very well, then. His story is the stuff of legends….”
Neri watched through the window in disbelief. Here this guy was rambling on and on with the same feci della mucca that he had to hear. And Agent Errol-Koenig smiled, nodded, and took it all in, occasionally asking questions like whether or not Eastman had met this “Supreme Pontiff,” and what the “Church” hierarchy was like, almost, after the initial confrontation, as if it were nothing more than a friendly interview over lunch. Most of what Eastman said sounded like rote recitation, and her questions seemed to confuse him. But she seemed to get some answers, though Neri could not venture a guess as to how.

Before long, Agent Errol-Koenig got up to leave. “You have helped out considerably, and I thank you. Maybe, if you get a lawyer, we can see about reducing the charges for your cooperation.”

And certainly get this guy a deprogrammer. To think he really believed all he was saying! And with all his talk about combining technology and sorcery, maybe he needed a copy of That Hideous Strength as well.

She then turned back, her eyes ablaze. “Out of curiosity, what do you make of this ‘apostate’ Pope’s ex cathedra statement that those who do not welcome mutants have cut themselves off from the Church?”

“True enough. We just have to rebuild the Church anew in our image, of untainted humanity.”

* * * *
Back at Vatican Security Headquarters, Zeitgeist worked on her laptop, drafting a report for the chief of Vatican Security. She emailed a copy to her station chief. Then she added two more paragraphs and saved it to her A drive. It wouldn’t do to send personal email from a CIA computer. Anyway, there was a cute cyber cafe she wanted to visit.
* * * *
To: wingman (wingman@wi.com)
Re: Polizia Romana Case #374613924
I’ve narrowed down our leads in this case. While the suspects have all been linked to one or another of the organizations that claimed responsibility for robbing Notizie San Gabriel and for the attempted bombing, all are connected to yet another group that was not listed. This group is the one most likely behind all this.
This new organization seems to be recruiting primarily from Catholic excommunicants disenfranchised by the Pope’s expressed sympathy for mutants. Make no mistake. This is not a movement within the Church, as I previously suspected, but now an entirely separate sect that will try to infiltrate the hierarchy. They want to remain under the radar for now, but expect their attacks to become more frequent, more sophisticated, and more flagrant as their plans progress, particularly since this organization seems to be as much doomsday cult as hate group.
And while there is an active cell in Rome, it’s constituted almost entirely of U.S. and Canadian citizens. As is most of their leadership. Be on the lookout for a lot of activity Stateside. I am having trouble determining their base of operations, as this group seems extremely mobile. And I cannot get any concrete information at all on this person they call the “Supreme Pontiff.” I will need to investigate further.
Attached is a list of all the suspects and the leads they’ve provided.
Also, I must warn you that your investments are targeted to take a literal as well as financial beating, starting with this operation in Clark County, Nevada. (Also, if I were in your situation, heads would roll in the boardroom about that one. This business is technically legal otherwise my people in the Bureau would have busted them a long time ago. They’ll wish we could have before long.) And I need to get in touch with Kurt somehow. Don’t ask me how, but this group knows about him.
And due to the sensitive nature of this information, do not forward or respond to this email, bitte. You may, however, want to pay a visit to Mr. Cassidy on your way to the upcoming G8 conference. Nothing personal against him, but he’s likely to ruin everything.

-Zeitgeist
* * * *
To: rinasiog (rinasiog@xcorps.org)
From: unknown address
Re: you know verdammt good and well
If you so much as even entertain the idea of trying to contact me ever again, that your militia will crumble from within will be the least of your concerns. And rest assured, it will, in the worst possible fashion. I never thought what you were doing, particularly with the people you’re “recruiting,” was a good idea, in the first place.
Oh, yes, and I know you haven’t tried to contact me yet. But I also know you’re considering it. Nothing personal, but your kind of “help” will endanger us like nothing else. I have my eye on you, and have alerted some of my operatives already. If you or anybody connected to your X-Corps even thinks about my whereabouts, or me or acknowledges me as anything other than some false reading you’ve tapped from Cerebra, I will know. And I won’t enjoy what I’ll have to do to keep you quiet and away from my mission and me. Sean, you are a good, but misguided, man with noble intentions. You know who I am, and that’s too much. Don’t tempt me to introduce my blade to that overdeveloped trachea of yours. This is your only warning.

[angelique]

Chapter 4

Elizabeth clicked “send,” finished her biscotti, and “accidentally” spilled the remains of her cappuccino on the disc. Then she paid her bill and headed out. She’d had a long day at work, especially by Italian standards, but it was far from done. She’d have at least one more report, far more extensive, to file in quadruplicate before the night was over.

She phoned her station chief, then Neri. “Capo, incontriamoci alla Fontana di Trevi. E porta l’aiuto, per favore.”

She tried at first to look as casual as anyone would be after winding down from a day’s work as she headed ostensibly for her apartment. But to no avail. She knew Eastman would call his friends. And he delivered.

“Gentlemen,” she said, without stopping or looking back, “I don’t want us to create a scene in front of all these tourists.”

“If you cooperate with us, we won’t have to.”

Elizabeth stopped. “And if I don’t?”

“Brother Eastman has revealed to you the gospel of humanity. Your choice is now to accept membership into our fellowship or be cut off.”

Elizabeth turned to see seven black-clothed figures surrounding her. All with guns drawn. Okay, this might be a problem. “The only honest choice I have,” she said, carefully, “has been preordained by my Creator.”

“Yes?”

“Any of you watch any good television?” she asked.

They stood around, saying nothing, and trained their weapons on her.

“Because if you had, you’d know from X-Files that the short, cute, female agent is the one you least want to mess with,” she hissed.
“Polizia! Mi aiutate!” she shrieked.

Then time stopped. Completely. All faded and froze. The waters of the Trevi Fountain ceased flowing. Even the finest droplets from its spray hung suspended in midair like crystal beads strung on the finest fishing line. The bystanders stared with unblinking eyes, their jaws locked in horrified gapes. Neri and his officers were frozen in midstride. All was perfectly still and silent except for Zeitgeist. She administered her boots, fists, and elbows to several heads, thanked Heaven for Krav Maga, and resumed time. Before anyone could see how it possibly happened, seven men fell, unconscious.

“Andiamo a prendere questi rifiuti!” Neri shouted. He ran up to Elizabeth, who was now rubbing bruised hands and elbows. “Sta bene? Che cosa é successo?”

“Stoi bene. You’ll have my full report by morning. And I look forward to seeing yours.”
And so passed another event Zeitgeist could recognize in several more timelines she needed to investigate.
* * * *
To: wingman
Re: Polizia Romana Case #374613925
The attack on me last night has resulted, as I anticipated, in bringing us an abundance of useful information. The involvement of a Swiss Guard applicant,
Claudio Testabianco, has alerted us to some unsettling developments in Switzerland, as well as to the need to improve the screening process for applicants as we have for Vatican Security positions. We will need to make mandatory polygraph testing and background checks standard. And run those on all current members, as well. All intelligence saying that this cult will try to infiltrate Church organizations to gain access to their targets has been confirmed, and we cannot be too careful.
Now we’re on to extending similar protection to the cardinals outside of Rome who have lent their support to drafting Nostra Familia Mutantis. Attached is a list of their names and each archdiocese they represent. We will need operatives posing as personal assistants or secretaries providing security. It was the original intent of my attackers to intimidate or even kidnap me, but they had orders to try to kill me if all else failed. Our agents should be prepared to fend off all levels of attack, including assassination attempts. And for the sake of efficiency, they should report all suspicious activity directly to me as our Vatican and Roman contacts have.
We are also trying to deal aggressively with the designer gene problem. While not directly connected, it does play right into the hands of those who are convinced we are responsible for the decline of human civilization. I have enough on my plate without fanatics who think raising a generation of drug-addled mutant wannabes is part of our plan. Any help from you would be greatly appreciated. The weather’s getting too hot not just in Rome, but also in all Europe. I forecast a heat wave in Paris. Ask Logan what that means.

Zeitgeist thought for a bit before adding this paragraph. With his position as chairman emeritus of a Fortune 500 company and former tabloid and gossip column subject, with chiseled features and a wingspan that made him look like he’d just flown straight from off a church window, the openly mutant Warren Worthington III usually had a good command of the media. Still, she strongly suspected that his upcoming press conferences would not be so easy.

And save this email, bitte. Yes, this time I need to leave proof of our correspondence. We will need to go public with our own knowledge of this organization and their affiliates quite soon, otherwise, the reaction to Waco will look paltry by comparison. And the last thing we need is future Timothy McVeighs imagining that mutantkind is teaming up with the federal government for the sole purpose of persecuting anti-mutant religious minorities or whatever. I think Miss Sauvegarde is due to return to journalism soon anyway, and she’ll be more than willing to help.


-Zeitgeist

[angelique]

Chapter 5

To: googoogajube (more)
Re: Operation Conclave
We have information concerning this international terrorist organization that has targeted the Catholic Church hierarchy for infiltration and assassination. They appear to have multiple objectives: elimination of all mutants and their supporters, takeover of the Vatican, and from there, manipulating all the Holy See’s diplomatic ties and resources toward world domination. Or destruction. They couch their rhetoric in various twisted misinterpretations of end-times prophecy, leading us to conclude that this is a doomsday cult as well as a terrorist organization. So whether they succeed or fail, mass murder will be on their agenda. And it may be of such a scale undreamt of even by Hitler or Stalin, I am afraid. Hundreds of millions, mutant or otherwise, will die.
Your assignment, should you accept it, will be simple, but not easy. There is a substantial risk that you will not survive. Each archdiocese listed in the attached file has a position open. The cardinals there need new secretaries or personal assistants. You are to keep track of their appointments, monitor all correspondences and activities, report to me anything even remotely suspicious, and above all protect them. And tell no one. But their support of the real Pontiff has made them all targets.

-Zeitgeist
* * * *
Three weeks later…

To: googoogajube (more)
Re: Operation Conclave
EXFILTRATE NOW!
-Zeitgeist
* * * *


“Buon giorno, Santitá. E grazie.” Elizabeth slipped into the confessional at the back of St. Peter’s Basilica. “I’m glad you made the time to hear my confession before Mass.”

“And I am glad that you understood that all I put at your disposal included the Sacraments, too, figlia mia. So how long has it been since your last confession?”

“Seven weeks. Santitá, let me begin with some business. Our success in halting this group’s infiltration of the Vatican means it’s time for me to move on. Everything is as close to under control here as they can get, and I can do no more good here. In fact, you’ll be in greater danger if I stay.

“And now on to my sins. Would it be all right if we continued the conversation in German?”

“Sprichst du Deutsch?” said the Pontiff, surprised that she didn’t reveal up until now that she knew his native language.

“Ja. In fact, I have not been honest with you since we met. My name is not Elizabeth Errol-Koenig. And while you may have guessed that Angelique Sauvegarde is a nom de plume, she’s not a friend or colleague. She’s another one of my aliases. Ich heiße Kassandra Altheim. And I am not with FBI.”

“But the FBI said you were their top investigator,” said the Pope.

“Ja, I was. I mean, Elizabeth is. But I’m with the CIA. I am a spy.”

The Pope had heard worse sins confessed than this. But no confession made him quite this nervous before.

“Not to worry, Eure Heiligkeit. We still share the same objectives. But my interest in this matter is not just that of anyone who loves the Lord, hates oppression, and all that. Heiliger Vater, Ich bin ein’ mutant.”

The Pope looked into the girl’s black-coffee colored eyes. She was shaking. Here was an opportunity to prove he meant what he said about welcoming mutants. Or prove he was a hypocrite who could speak very nicely of mutants as long as he never came face-to-face with them. But he didn’t see an opportunity to prove anything. He only saw before him a person in need of comfort and some absolution. “Meine Tochter, being a mutant is not a sin,” he said.

“Ich verstehe. But deceit, intimidation, blackmail, bribery, and violence? My abilities make me very effective at that sort of thing. Furthermore, I never revealed to either agency that I am a mutant. Granted, they never asked. But under current US law, I am a double agent. A traitor to my country. I have been sharing sensitive information with a couple of my fellow mutants, and I’ve even had some work for me as operatives. Even though it is in the interest of protecting lives and my country’s ideals, technically, under the law, I have recruited more double agents, including a few with criminal backgrounds. They are not enemies, though several countries certainly see all of us as such.”

The Pontiff took a deep breath. “Can you think of the good you’ve been able to accomplish with your talents, without resorting to violence and such, and breaking the law?”

“Not really. My ability to get things done with minimal fuss is not the same as getting things done with none at all. I know you heard that I helped bring in seven armed assailants from that doomsday cult. What you may not have heard is how I did that single-handedly, and without drawing a weapon. I stepped out of time and knocked them all unconscious before they could so much as fire one shot, Heiliger Vater. And it is likely that I will actually be responsible for several deaths before this assignment is done.”

The Pope thought for a bit. “I am aware that your CIA has paramilitary capabilities. And I can guess that you don’t wear that St. Michael medal just because you enjoy fencing. You see yourself as a kind of soldier, nicht wahr?”

Kassandra nodded.
The Pontiff continued. “Just recall that in the early days of the Church, when it was illegal to even be Christian, there was a controversy over whether Roman soldiers would be allowed in the Church, and whether Christians would be allowed to serve in the military. The answer was yes.
“And at various points throughout history, attending Mass, reading Scriptures, or even simply professing the Faith was, and in too many countries even now still is, a grave act of civil disobedience. Do not confuse conscientious objection to an unjust law with disrespect for authority.
“There will come a time for you to beat your sword into a plowshare, but until then, as long as you fight only for just causes, with humane and honorable methods, and only after diplomacy fails, you are not sinning.”

“And if any part of me enjoys the fight, then what?”

“A Rosary on the Sorrowful Mysteries for your Penance. They may be criminals, but they are as much God’s own creations as any other person. Reflect upon that and pray for their souls. And get yourself back to the salle, so you can enjoy the grace and power of your fencing without hurting anyone.”

“Oh, that brings to mind another matter I need to confess, Heiliger Vater,” said Kassandra. “I told you about my friend Kurt, right?”

“Your favorite fencing partner, the off-and-on-again seminarian? How could I forget? You seemed so happy to hear when he was finally ordained to the transitional diaconate.”

Kassandra blushed furiously. “Well, that’s another thing I wasn’t entirely honest about.”
* * * *
It wasn’t easy getting on the first and quickest flight from Fiumicino to her rendezvous at Kennedy Airport. Rapidly escalating tensions in Zürich, Paris, and Berlin meant airports overcrowded with people who, like her, were desperate to leave Europe before things heated up any more. But Kassandra had anticipated that and pulled a couple of strings to get on that plane.

Now all she had left to do was wait until they’d landed. And she could not wait. Her best efforts to save every life at that X-Ranch in Nevada only resulted in one girl rescued. And that little genius, while fidgeting with some artificial teleportation device, managed to zap herself directly into enemy headquarters and was nearly killed there. After giving away the Xavier Institute’s location. Then Nightcrawler, always the gallant knight in the shining leather X uniform, led that rescue. And then something else went wrong. So dreadfully wrong that Zeitgeist had to drastically step up her plans.

Maybe some music would soothe this savage beast that paced behind Kassandra’s black coffee-colored eyes. She pulled on a pair of headphones. “Di mi quando tu verrai,” Domenico Modugno sang. “Di mi quando, quando, quando.” Nicht jetzt. Kassandra changed the station. Now it was the Beatles. “Anytime at aaall, anytime at aaaall….” Any other time, she’d like that song. Now it was downright depressing. How about some classical music, preferably some that would specifically get her mind off of what troubled her, rather than remind her of it? She changed stations just in time to get a headache’s worth of Richard Wagner’s Gotterdämmerung. When Siegfried was tricked into drinking the potion that erased his memory, no less. Great. Just great. Maybe the movie would provide some nice escapism. What was it? Captain Blood, starring Errol Flynn. What kind of verdammter flight was this? Apparently she was doomed to be taunted by the fates of ironic in-flight entertainment. She yanked the headphones off, pulled a sleeping mask over her eyes, and figured she should at least try to rest.

Even that escape was denied her. The nightmare that woke her early that morning and drove her to frantically arrange last minute meetings, fire off emergency orders, and commandeer a seat on this plane haunted her again. And so all she could do was pray that the plane would land safely. And soon.

[angelique]

Chapter 6

“Logan!” Kassandra threw her arms around her favorite self-appointed honorary crazy uncle, who saw fit to meet her at the Institute’s hangar.

“It’s good to have you back, Little Elf.” Wolverine returned the embrace, then recoiled. “You’re still using that stinky herbal hair oil?”

“Fair’s fair, Logan,” said Kassandra, as they headed toward the mansion. “You still smell like stinky cigars and cheap beer. Now does Kurt know I’m here?”

Logan’s mouth twisted. “Yeah. He’s very excited to meet you. How was your flight?”

“Don’t ask.”

“That good, huh? So, what more do you know, besides the hot weather Warren’s talked about?”

Kassandra knew she could depend on Logan to understand CIA jargon for, to put it mildly, trouble. “Everything,” she said grimly. “And the weather’s going to get even hotter here.”

And she knew all too well.

“Kassi,” said Logan, “meet Stacy, Xavier’s newest stinkbug.”

“Stacy-”

“So, you’re the cop who tried to shut us down!”

“Correction. I’m the fed who tried to shut you down. But let’s not talk about that disaster. I wanted to thank you for saving Kurt the other day.”

“Did somebody say my name?” Nightcrawler entered the foyer.

At the sound of his voice, a young vision looked up to him with hauntingly dark eyes awash with joy, grief, anger, and- and something else. He couldn’t tell what. “Hallo, Kurt,” she said. “Ich bin es. Dein’ Zeitgeist.”

Zeitgeist. A charming girl, with a reputation for brilliance, sweetness, fun, and occasionally kicking serious Arsch, according to what he’d heard about her. Who spoke fluent German with a rich accent he hadn’t heard before. Or had he? And he’d heard a bit about her extratemporal powers. What an appropriate code name! How did she get it? Why did she refer to herself specifically as his Zeitgeist? How did she know his name? And he was usually quite at ease meeting pretty young mutant women. Just what was it about this girl that was different? An awkward smile played across his face. He took her hand in his. She had such perfect hands with smooth brown skin, graceful fingers, neatly trimmed nails, and a firm, muscular grip. She had to be a musician. Or a fencer. He swept into a deep reverénce and kissed her hand. He hadn’t exactly felt like his old silly, overly chivalrous self lately, yet somehow, this felt strangely appropriate. “Meine Dame. Have we met?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kurt Wagner was still a teenager when he, as the Incredible Nightcrawler, became a sensation as the Munich Circus’ star aerialist. It was about an hour before showtime, and he felt a need to gather his thoughts at the nearest suitable retreat. But this time, he didn’t have the sycamore tree to himself. Sitting on the same branch and leaning on the trunk was a dark-haired girl about fifteen, who didn’t look like she was in any condition to be sitting up in the highest branches of any tree. Indeed, she looked quite faint and about ready to topple over.

He scrambled over to her, wrapped his tail around the branch, and put his arms around her to steady her.

“Bleib bei mir. Ich hab dich.”

Her eyes rolled back, and she went completely inert.

“Gott im Himmel!” Kurt decided he needed to get this girl down and inside, immediately. But a look into her dark face, quite foreign-looking by most Bavarian standards, and an approaching clamor of voices convinced him that perhaps she was indeed safer where she was.

“Wo ist unser kleiner Mischling? Wo ist sie hin?”

“Away from you Schweinehunde,” Feuer Langhagen bellowed after them. “And the next time you torment a member of my audience, I’ll make you a part of the show!”

Kurt clutched the girl even tighter. For her to fall from that height would have been bad enough. For her to fall into that would be even worse. At last, the noise died down, and the girl began to stir.

“So, was ist los?”

Her eyes fluttered, and she looked up. “Nightcrawler?”

“Sag einfach Kurt zu mir. Warum bist du hier?”

“Rassistenschweine. My family went in to save seats for the main show, but I wanted to see more of the fire-eater’s show, so I stayed behind. And then these people came up to me, and just asked what I was. They decided I was too pale and my hair wasn’t coarse enough to be eine-” her face crumpled in disgust. “-you know, that N-word, and that I must be, begging your pardon, a ‘filthy gypsy’ or- oder eine Türkenschl-”

“Say no more.” As if the slur about the Roma wasn’t bad enough, they had to call her that? Kurt seethed, baring his fangs. “That sort of thing makes me ill, too.”

“Ach, it gets even worse,” she said, furious tears springing from her eyes. “Finally, they concluded that I must be something ‘worse,’ and started pushing me around and calling me eine Mischlingshündin! I said it was none of their business what I am, and reminded them that racism went out of style here with the toothbrush mustache.”

Kurt almost laughed in spite of himself. That seemed just the sort of thing he’d want to say under those circumstances. “You know, that was a good one.”

The girl dried her eyes. “For a moment, I thought we were mistaken in thinking that visiting my father’s relatives in Germany would be safer than visiting my mother’s in Soweto! But at least this behavior’s illegal here, nicht wahr?”

Kurt nodded. “And if you didn’t come here, I wouldn’t have the privilege of sharing my tree with you. Anyway, how did you get away, and you being sick and all?”

“I don’t know. I wanted so badly to put a stop to everything, it feels like that’s what happened. Everything just seemed to stop. Then I found myself here. Kurt, how do you deal with stuff like this?”

“Well, actually, I’m not Rom. But Daj Margali always said it didn’t matter, and would never tolerate anyone calling me ‘gadje’ or the old ladies shaking their skirts at me. Of course the racists don’t bother about facts before they pick their targets. They only know what little they allow themselves to see, and I pity them. Just think about what they’re missing. I get to sit in a tree with a cute girl like you, and they don’t!”

The girl blushed slightly. “You have a point, but I wasn’t just talking about your ethnicity. Or what they think it is. They tolerate you because they think you’re just an acrobat in a blue demon costume, nicht wahr? Don’t ask me how I know, but I do. That’s not a costume, and you’re no demon. You’re just the person I needed to talk to, the one I somehow knew I’d find here. By the way, what are you doing up here, anyway?”

Kurt, already a bit self-conscious and more than a little mystified as to how this stranger could know so much about him- and not be bothered by it, looked away, embarrassed. “Well, I climbed up here for a reason far more mundane, I’m afraid, than to rescue ladies from falling out of trees. I was just contending with a bit of stage fright.”

“Ach. That’s perfectly okay. You’ll do fine. Besides, my piano teacher once quoted Pavarotti as saying that if a performer doesn’t get a little stage fright, that’s when there’s something wrong.”

Kurt took one of the girl’s hands into his own. Her hands were small, like the rest of her, but perfect musician’s hands regardless. “So it seems you’re also just the person I needed to talk to. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Kassandra Altheim.”

He gently brought her knuckles to his lips. If there was any girl who could possibly get his mind off Jimaine, it might be her. “Kassandra. Ein schöner Name für eine schöne Dame. Sehr erfreut Sie kennenzulernen,” he said, with no small amount of exaggerated formality. “Ich heiße Kurt Wagner. Now it should be safe. Let’s get down from here before the show starts. Are you feeling any better?”

“Ja, ein bißchen,” she said.

“Gut. Hold on to your stomach.”

He held her close and teleported them safely to the ground. The girl looked a bit peaked and staggered as her feet touched the ground, but she quickly regained her footing. As he helped her to big top, he said, “I’m impressed. You handled your first teleport quite well. By the way, you don’t seem alarmed by my appearance.”

“Nein,” said Kassandra, still waving the noxious smoke away from her face. “I have another blue furry friend in New York who looks about twenty times as scary as you.”

“Is that where you’re from? New York?”

“Nein. My mother is South African. My father is a German Namibian. We live in Keetmanshoop.”

“So that’s where you got your charming accent!”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kassandra responded to Nightcrawler’s half-joking courtliness with a low curtsey of her own. “Well met,” she replied, with a mournful smile.

And as they rose, Kurt noticed that her near-black curls smelled softly of jasmine. And a small silver pendant, almost the only jewelry she wore, caught his eye. It seemed everything about this girl was disconcertingly familiar.

“I like your St. Michael medal,” he said. “It looks like one I used to have.”

“Do you know what happened to it?”

“Come to think of it, I don’t remember.”

The girl surprised him by taking off the medal and pressing it into his three-fingered hand. “Es ist deins,” she whispered. “Verzeihung.”

And she swept out of the room.

[angelique]

Chapter 7

A thoroughly miserable Zeitgeist bolted madly down the hallway and nearly barreled into Dr. Jean Grey.

“Kassi?”

“Jean!” she sobbed. “What happened? WHAT DID THEY DO TO HIM?”

Jean put her hands on Kassandra’s shoulders and looked steadily at her. “Kassi, I am afraid you know that better than I do.”

Kassandra’s eyes widened in horror. “It was just like when you all took on the Marauders, or the Adversary. I wanted to think it was just a waking nightmare. Something just yanked me out of time. I saw what happened, I couldn’t look away, and I couldn’t stop it!”

Kurt was tempted to follow this girl out of the room, especially after he overheard something about the Marauders. And nightmares. He’d been having a lot of those lately, himself. Perhaps the déjà vu she inspired stemmed from some remote common experience. But she seemed extremely upset, and he figured Jean was, at the moment, better equipped to deal with that. He would try to find out just what bothered this girl when she had some time to simmer down.






He remembered Riptide coming at him. The feeling of being nearly flayed alive and powerless to resist. Then nothing.

Eventually he locked in on a soft smell, dim light, and low, muffled voices.

“I know I said ye talkin’ and readin’ tae him would be good, but, och, lass, ye need t’ rest, too. I ha’ enough patients on ma hands as it is, and I canna ha’ ye and Ororo both breakin’ doon.”

“I’m almost finished, Doktor,” said the husky voice of a young girl who had spend the last Kurt had no idea how long talking his pointed ears off, reassuring him that she’d survived the massacre and that it looked like Kätchen would be okay too, even though she was not in good shape at the moment.

Kurt stirred. She was wrapping up reading Die Drei Musketiere. Outside the Bible, that had to be one of his favorite books. What happened? Where was he? He rolled his unfocused, comatose eyes toward that voice, and could finally see… Kassandra? She put the book down and took his good hand, hoping for the response he’d been trying, and up until now, unable to provide. “Kurt, kannst du mich hören?”

“….Himmmmmm….el?”

The girl smiled and stroked his forehead. “Nein, Kurt. Nur Schottland. Muir Insel.”

Kurt squeezed her hand slightly, and a bleary smile flickered across his face. It took most of his strength, but he had to say this. “Gnad…. Ennn…gel.”

And the bewildered, exasperated, and embarrassed mix of expressions on her face was like a refreshing balm to his many wounds. “Kurt, du bist unverbeßerlich!

“Moira,” she said to Dr. MacTaggert, “it’s confirmed. He’ll definitely pull through.”

“Well, at least his ability t’make ye blush has nae been affected, love. But I’m afraid all this flirtin’s tired ‘im oot!”

And so it had, but it was well worth it, if it wasn’t all a dream.



-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kassandra was beside herself. “They went into his mind, but not like you’ve ever done. They erased stuff. A whole lot of stuff, including most everything pertaining to me! Worse than that, THEY HURT HIM, Jean! Gott steh uns bei! Even I don’t know how badly!”

Utter despair threatened to envelope her. All those years they’d been friends, fencing partners, comrades-in-arms, and maybe even more- gone just like that. She couldn’t just tell him about it all. He wouldn’t believe her. Having Jean try to psychically restore his memories would only do more damage. Psychology wouldn’t help. This was no ordinary case of amnesia, and in this case, Kassandra had good reason to doubt her clinical objectivity. Nightcrawler didn’t surrender this or any memory willingly. Kassandra knew that. So they nearly killed him, went into his mind against his will, toyed with his dreams, stole memories, and stripped him of a few crucial things that made him Kurt. Hot tears stung her eyes at the very thought. No, just as it was with Wolverine, Kurt would start remembering things and inquiring only when he was ready. And then maybe she could help. But until then, she had other things to do.

As if that weren’t bad enough, now Zeitgeist’s operatives began to disappear. Granted, she alerted them to all the risks, telling some under no uncertain terms that, while she’d do all she could to help them, they were not likely to survive. And they were willing to take those chances. Most agents took assignments for some personal gain. Not these people. They were in it purely on principle. And losing such good people did not sit at all well with Zeitgeist.

“Kassi, I also have seen evidence of this psychic tampering,” said Jean. “What do you know? Who did this, and why?”

Kassandra took a couple of ragged breaths, composed herself, and tapped her forehead, signaling that she wanted to communicate telepathically. “I might as well tell you, Jean, but only on the condition that you do not even tell Scott.” Because Cyclops would want to get all the X-Men involved in her mission. There would be a time for that, but she needed them to stay where they were for now. “I have a conference with a couple of my people in about an hour to deal with just that. I’d like very much for you to come with me. Meanwhile, I think having Logan run me through some combat simulation will do me some good.”

“I agree,” Jean thought, as they headed down the hallway. “We also have something for you, that you may want to try out.”

[angelique]

Chapter 8

Nightcrawler teleported about the Institute hoping to find that strange and intriguing girl that he, somehow, upset. He found her in the Danger Room.

“There’s a strong chance they’ll come at me with everything they’ve got, Logan,” she said. “So don’t hold anything back.”

“Not a problem, Little Elf.” Wolverine was not usually known for holding back, anyway, his fondness for Kassandra notwithstanding. “What would you like?”

“Try to surprise me.”

Logan chuckled. “Is that even possible?”

Kassandra drew her sabre and saluted Logan. “Well, you saw it happen once or
twice.”

She then turned to Kurt, saluted him with a smile, and took her en garde stance.
The very way she saluted, just sharp enough, profoundly respectful, and devoid of any extra showiness, made him more uncomfortable. She was definitely a veteran fencer. He could see her looking quite fetching in a white canvas jacket and knickers. Or maybe he had. Verdammtes déjà vu. At any rate, she wore black now – what appeared to be a modified X-Men uniform and trench coat that made her look like some anime heroine. Not fetching. Stunning.

Kassi regretted that she would not be dueling with Kurt this time. But preparing to finally go toe-to-toe with this doomsday cult seemed a perfect occasion for music anyway. A requiem, in fact. And nothing less than all the driving rhythm, percussive thunder, orchestral fireworks, and the operatic style of Verdi would do for the upcoming Dies Irae.

“Mutant signature detected. Terminate immediately,” the robotic voice boomed.

“One sentinel, Logan?” she said, as she began dodging and deflecting its various bolts and missiles. “I thought you’d give me something harder.”

No sooner had she said that than two more appeared. Her eyes gleamed, and a ghost of a smile appeared.

“You’re still in normal time!” said Logan “Want a bigger challenge?”

“Bring it on!” She leapt, dodged, and parried, biding her time until she could put her power to use against a real threat. Then grinned widely as six more began firing upon her.

“Oh ja! That’s more like it!” she shouted.

“Ist sie verrückt?” Kurt thought. The girl must be suicidal. And his suspicions appeared confirmed when she cut a missile down, and took several pieces of the flying shrapnel in the side. He leapt up in alarm. “Ja, Himmel noch a ‘mal!”

“Easy, Elf,” said Logan. “Kassi, you okay?”

“Gut, danke!” She did not even slow down. The sentinels closed in. And then, with eyes ablaze, she transformed. Kurt’s own golden eyes widened in shock. All he could see of her, a bright, transparent human cyclone, looked like a woman transfigured. Or possessed. She did not seem constrained by laws governing time or velocity. Und was ist das? Teleportation, and bilocation? Perhaps she was an angel incarnate. But what kind?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The television was on CNN. “This just in, the President will give an address regarding this morning’s sentinel attacks on Arlington, Virginia and Washington DC from an undisclosed Air Force base…”
“He will deny all knowledge of how it happened, blame it all on faulty technology, promise that changes will be made in the Secret Service, and make no mention of mutants in the government, if he wants to stay in office,” said the new FBI intern who now sat next to Kurt.

“Kassi?” Kurt turned his shocked gaze to her. She had only just turned up again at the Institute this afternoon. “Did you have anything to do with this?”
Kassandra folded her arms. “Alles.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The whirlwind took down all nine sentinels before the Tuba Mirum ended. She stepped back into time, resumed her normal appearance, and saluted again, then walked up to Kurt. “I’ve seen your thoughts in your timeline, Herr Wagner, and I daresay I am insulted.”

“I did not intend to compound upsetting you with insulting you, Kassandra. I was not familiar with the scope of your abilities. Well, not entirely. I do feel like we’ve met before.” And as Kassandra sheathed her sabre, Kurt made note that not only was it a live blade of unprecedented strength, but it had an engraving on the flat. “Hebräer 4:12.”

Kassandra decided to take a chance. “Then give me a regular fencing sabre, and I’ll prove upon your body that everything you suspect about me is true. Except for the part about me being crazy, a demon, or possessed. You of all people should know better. What’s more, I shall prove that I once was and shall again be your favorite fencing partner.”

“A bold claim, Liebchen. Why would I enjoy dueling someone against whom I clearly have no chance?”

“Because you’re always up to a good challenge.”

“Well, now that you put it that way…”

“You Elves may need to save buckling that swash for later,” said Logan. He was pleased to see the two of them up to their old stuff, but… “Kassi has a meeting.”

“Very well. Wenn wir uns wiedersehen,” said Kurt.

“When we meet again,” Kassandra concurred. She tried hard not to think “if.”

[angelique]

Chapter 9

A tall, shapely redhead joined the short, burly man and the petite, almost boyishly slender girl making their way down the hallway, as a few others decided to take their turn in the Danger Room.

“So how did your new getup serve you?” Jean asked.

“Well, it moves with me quite well. I like how the built-in reinforcements replace the plastron and the chest guard. Und Herr Drake,” Kassandra said to Iceman in a voice to rival his own abilities, “you can refrain from wondering why I’d need one of those.”

Logan smirked as they walked past. Bobby Drake imagined himself to be the wittiest of the X-Men, and quite frankly, often had most everyone wishing he’d just freeze his mouth shut.

“Anyway,” Kassandra continued, as they entered the War Room, “the long coat is perfect for giving a point to my concealed weapons permit. And it seemed to protect me quite well. The shrapnel didn’t do any worse than sting when it hit. Altogether, I like it, danke.

“And, Warren, Logan, Jean, now that we’re all here, let’s shut the door and convene immediately.”

“Does Xavier know about this?” Jean asked.

“I’ve allowed him to check in on me, of course. But no. Not about this specific operation. Jean, we need you to guard all our thoughts. There may come a time when we will need to reveal records of this conference and what is said here,” said Kassandra. “But until a subpoena says otherwise, not a word or thought about this leaves this room.

“Since you encountered this group at what appeared to be their headquarters in Montana, Kurt’s sustained partial memory loss of a nature I’m beginning to understand. And since then, my mission has been compromised. Most of my agents have disappeared. A few are already dead. A few have exfiltrated, but it is all too likely they’ll eventually be rolled up, too. I am afraid there is a connection. The reason why Kurt survived the attack on him, and why any of my agents are still alive, is because this group has plans for all of them.”

“You have new operatives, right?” asked Logan.

“His Holiness and the cardinals are in good hands, Logan. However, I could not get new agents. At least no more directly answerable to me. If I did, I’d put more people in more danger. And that’s also why I have to leave tonight.”

SNIKT! Wolverine’s claws instinctively shot out. They were no longer threatening phantoms like Angelique Sauvegarde or Elizabeth Errol-Koenig.

“Yes, Logan,” said Kassandra, “my covers are completely blown.”

“That’s why they stole Kurt’s memories!” said Jean.

“Partially. I’m not in any terrible danger yet, despite the fact that I’ve inconvenienced them terribly. No, they have some use for me, too.”

Logan stood and slammed a clawed fist on the table. “Then why aren’t we rescuing your agents? Why aren’t you in hiding? Why aren’t your fed buddies helping? And why, dammit, won’t you let Xavier know?”

“BECAUSE!” Kassandra leapt up and stared Logan down as best as her 5 foot 1 inch frame could allow. “With the complete fiasco brewing in Europe, and the fact that these people will soon bring the battle to New York, you are going to have more than enough to do. I, on the other hand, have to get them when, where, and how they least expect it. And Charles has been under the microscope since going public. He cannot have anything to do with this.”

“And,” interrupted Archangel, “’the last thing we need is future Timothy McVeighs imagining that mutantkind is teaming up with the federal government for the sole purpose of persecuting anti-mutant religious minorities.’ Logan, I don’t like sending her into this alone any more than you do. But based on the information she’s sent me, I think she knows what she’s doing.”

“Danke, Warren. And while I appreciate your desire to help me, it is precisely for that reason that I must handle this alone. And I really shouldn’t even wear the X.” Kassandra removed the belt buckle from her uniform. “Nobody must think the X-Men or the federal government are responsible for what’s likely to happen. If anyone gets hurt or killed in this operation, I have to take the fall.”

“But Worthington and I tangled with these people before. We know what they can do. They aren’t like the sentinels, kid. They’ve got this kamikaze thing going.”

“I know.” Kassandra tried to sound reassuring, but her voice and an unfamiliar scent gave her away. The few times he’d seen her go into battle, he smelled grim determination on her. This time, it was indeed different. However worried Wolverine was about her….

“Warren,” Jean thought. “Kassandra cannot say this or Logan will pitch an even bigger fit. But before you get back from Paris, we need you to try and talk Jubilee into returning with you. She’s under the false impression that she’s safe with X-Corps.”

“Logan,” said Jean. “Kassi’s already afraid. More than you are. And not of what they might do to her.”



-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That medal. Kurt knew it wasn’t among the few things he had at the rectory. He rifled among the things he’d kept in storage here. Come to think of it, he didn’t even recall having it when he returned from London. But Brian would have let him know if he’d left anything of his there.

Puzzling. He rifled through his things some more, and found a sword belt and sabre. Ah, yes. It had been a very long time since he had last seen this. Logan had it made for him. But what was that it said on its flat? “Epheser 6:10-17.” Logan would not have thought to inscribe a Bible verse on it. Come to think of it, when Kurt thought of how he got that sword in the first place, his mind drew a complete blank. Strange, how it looked like a slightly longer version of Zeitgeist’s weapon.






As they left the War Room, Logan retracted his claws and grabbed Kassandra. “I’m sorry, kid. Not everyone can have my stomach for fighting. And that’s one thing I never wanted to give you.”

“You’ve been nothing but generous to me, Logan. But that killer instinct? I’m afraid I did not get that from you.”

“And I think I know what scares you now, kid,” said Wolverine. “I never got all it is that you and the Elf get out of your religion, but whatever it is, I think it’ll help keep you human. And I don’t think you’ll really go into this or anything alone as long as you hang on to that.”

Kassandra wrapped her arms around him and planted a peck on his grizzled cheek. “I’ll remember that, Logan. Danke schön.”

As they walked down the hallway, Nightcrawler dropped in on them. “Kassandra, Ich muß mit dir sprechen.”

“I’ll leave you two alone, then,” said Wolverine.

“Tschüß, Logan!”

“No goodbyes, Little Elf! Just get back here safely and soon.”

“Leaving so soon?” Kurt asked.

Kassandra sighed. “Ich muß.”

“Would you mind if I walked with you to the hangar?”

Kassandra almost laughed. Why would she mind? “Nein. I’d like to talk with you, too.”

“So why did Logan call you ‘Little Elf?”

“Why do you think?”

“Warum ‘Little Elf’? Is it because he thinks your abilities are similar to mine?”

“Ja, so könnte man es sagen.” And because we’ve shared more than similarities, she was tempted to add.

“Oh,” said Kurt, still not one hundred percent satisfied with the answer. “And the medal- I remember. You weren’t just giving it to me. It really was mine. And the only way you could have ended up with it that makes any sense is if I had given it to you. I mean, how else would you know it was mine? But we only just met today, nicht wahr?”

Tears welled up in Kassandra’s eyes. She blinked them away. “Kurt, Liebster, I hope you’ll believe me and take this easily. But as it’s said, the simplest explanation is usually correct.”

This statement left Kurt more than a little befuddled. He’d have to think about what she meant by that later. “So would you like this back?”

“Nein, Kurt. Keep it, bitte. To remember me. Or at the very least hang onto it until I get back.”

“And I’ll look forward to when you do, Liebchen. Gehst und kommst du wieder mit eine steife Brise.” Kurt briefly wondered about the Piratensprache he suddenly found himself speaking. Lately, he hadn’t felt up to the daring swashbuckler role he used to enjoy so much. But for some reason, around her, he seemed to fall right back into it.

Kassandra surprised him again before she entered the hangar. She grinned and held up an imaginary cutlass in a salute. “Ja wohl, Käpt’n.”

[angelique]

Chapter 10

“Hey, cop!” Stacy strode up to the plane just as Kurt left and Kassandra was about to board. She had some things to say, and didn’t want anyone else at the Institute to hear. She didn’t want anyone thinking she was going soft. Or willing to socialize with law enforcement. “We gotta talk.”

“Ja?”

“Listen.” Stacy lowered her voice. “I just wanted to say thanks for trying to save our butts out there at the X-Ranch.”

Kassandra smiled. “Bitte. But it’s not as if my efforts did much good.”

“Can’t blame you for trying, though. But we need to talk about something else. I’ve seen plenty of weird real-life soap operas, a couple going on right now in that mansion. Logan and anyone else who can smell it may be fine with it, but this is just too weird, even for me. What’s this thing you’ve got going on with Wagner?”

Much to Stacy’s surprise, Kassandra did not deny anything, behave defensively, or act at all like a woman put on the spot.

“I might as well be upfront. You’re almost as good as an empath.”

“No kidding, Captain Obvious. You knew his name. You said something in German. And you topped it off with the pheromones. Good girls like you never fire off so many like this over guys they’ve just met, especially if the guy wears a collar. Something’s up.”

Kassandra sighed. “Remember how you found Kurt back there in Montana? Don’t tell him unless you want to do similar damage. He needs to remember this on his own. Everyone knows this but him, right now. But he’s been one of my best friends for, oh, about ten years, give or take. And they erased it all.”

Stacy could hardly believe her ears. It was bad enough that they murdered what few friends she had. It was bad enough that they tried to kill her. But at least they had the decency to let her keep what few happy memories she had. If anything could possibly be worse, this was it.

“Well, what’s a soap opera without someone getting amnesia, anyway?” Kassandra said, her attempt at humor failing utterly to mask her bitterness.

“There’s more to it than that. Level with me, hon. You and he weren’t ‘just friends,’ were you?”

Kassandra could argue quite effectively that even those in the most platonic relationships deserved more than to be labeled “just” friends, that such a friendship was just as important, if not more so, than any other sort of relationship, and that she’d be content if she and Kurt were “just” friends. She would have technically been telling the truth. But Stacy would know she was also dodging the question. She morosely shook her head. “Not to sound judgmental, Stacy, but I always knew you were wasting your talents at the X-Ranch. Someone as perceptive as you would be a terrific counselor. Or detective.”

“You’re not making fun of me, are you?”

“Not at all. Oh, and by the way, you'll have some good friends among the X-Men as long as you make no assumptions about how they like you. Warren in particular. Tschüß!” Kassandra closed the cockpit.

Well that tore it. Stacy didn't know what Kassandra meant about the bird boy, but a cop who’d already gone to a bit of trouble on a prostitute’s behalf, and then respected her enough to admit honestly why she radiated heartbreak, rather than keep up some futile pretext of toughness, deserved more than a mere thank you. What was the one thing that cop wanted most? For Kurt to remember her? Maybe for them to pick up wherever they’d left off? There were ways to go about reminding him that that hadn’t even occurred to Kassandra. That cop most certainly would not help him forget his collar. She was far too much of a good girl for that. Well, Stacy wasn’t. And for a fuzzy blue guy with funny ears and a tail, Kurt was kind of cute anyway.

[angelique]

Chapter 11

In the Name of Humanity

Part 1 of 12

By Angelique Sauvegarde



To members of the Church of Humanity, Christ dwells exclusively in an unmutated human genome.

His representative claims no name, but a centuries long history, unverifiable according to investigators, of mingling with famous scientists, explorers, and occultists, and the title of “Supreme Pontiff,” much to the offense of all upstanding Catholics.

Many followers are excommunicated Catholics, unhappy with the Vatican’s expressed sympathy for mutants. They carry AK-47’s, hand grenades, and a variety of other weapons of unknown origin. And at a glance, the Kevlar-reinforced clothing of their clergy bears a superficial resemblance to priestly vestments.

And while their base of operations is tucked in the most inaccessible reaches of Montana’s Rocky Mountains, their activities have taken them to cities like Rome and New York.

They believe the end of the world is near, and that they are to secure an eternal place for humanity- without mutants.

Members pay dearly for their beliefs. Investigators have reported that the leadership:

● ordered attacks upon mutants of unknown capabilities

● enslaved mutants who could serve their purposes

● used torture and other means of mind control to ensure compliance from members and mutants alike



Authorities have also questioned former members about their involvement in the attempted bombing of Notizie San Gabriel in Rome, the assault of an FBI agent investigating that and other crimes, their stockpiles of illegal and even unknown weaponry, and their connections with the Acculturation Resistance Movement based in Zürich, Switzerland. Further allegations suggest they are behind the attacks on a Nevada brothel and an Atlanta gene research facility, as well as a number of disappearances and murders currently being investigated. However, due to lack of evidence, the authorities have been unable to act on these and the aforementioned complaints.

Reactions have been mixed in the nearby communities of Dillon and Butte. On one hand, residents fiercely defend the right of this group to believe and teach what they want. But many are concerned about how the presence of a group allegedly responsible for numerous acts of domestic and international terrorism will affect the safety, economy, and reputation of their community. Butte mayor Shannon Downey summed up the feelings of the community this way. “We’ve always been a community that values radical and even unpopular thought. On the other hand, with the current state of our economy, we can only hope that tourists, businesses, and new residents are not scared off by the presence of this group.”

[angelique]

Chapter 12

“…and all that you've held sacred falls down and does not mend...
”…when you're standing at the crossroads that you cannot comprehend…
”…and all your dreams have vanished and you don't know what's up the bend, just remember….”



The full moon shone brightly over New York. Even so, there were plenty of shadows the light could not penetrate. Kurt sat atop St. Michael’s rooftop after a few acrimonious words from Father Whitney. A boy he had tried to help just died from his inability to control his mutation. Back in Salem Center, the new girl Stacy had made some very obvious advances toward him that he rebuffed, not because of his vow of celibacy, and not because he did not desire a woman’s companionship, but because, much to his surprise, a woman did indeed occupy his thoughts. A particular woman. The nightmares and unexplained flashes of memories he wasn’t sure were his had been only getting worse since she showed up. And obviously, there was some kind of war brewing, if the X-Men would work with such artillery as her.

All this served to deepen the misgivings he’d already been entertaining, about his vocation, and even his faith. He unfastened his Roman collar. That he even thought he had the right to wear it in the first place seemed completely unreal. In fact, so much of his time at St. Michael’s seemed that way. And when he revealed to Father Whitney that his troubles could not be addressed by simple daily reading of the Breviary, what response did he get? No offer to pray with and for him. No direction to appropriate Scripture passages. No referral for counseling or a recommendation for going on retreat. None of what Kurt knew a priest or deacon with doubts could expect. Just a terse “you know the way out.”

Only one thing was clear now. Merely wearing a collar and working at that church would not give him the lasting peace he so badly needed. He had gathered up the few things he could, including a letter addressed to him. He had long forgotten what it said, but had a feeling it was important, otherwise, he would not have kept it. Then he left the rectory. Leaving the collar behind him. Somehow, Kurt suspected that leaving the priesthood really shouldn’t have been so simple.

“Hello, Warren? Bobby? Anybody? Any X-Man out there with a communicator on?”

“Nightcrawler, it’s Northstar. How far can you teleport?”

At any rate, rejoining the X-Men would not be so simple. But once back in Salem Center, he reread the letter.



Mein Lieber Kurt,

Getting a hold of you has been rather difficult lately. I couldn’t email you or call, but I have Warren to thank for your address. First off, I wanted to say tolle arbeit, busting that slave ring. You’ll make a good agent, yet. And you’ve just proven that while it is possible to remove a good mutant from full-time heroics, removing the heroism from the mutant just won’t happen. At least not in your case.

Nonetheless, I wish I could tell you to completely disappear for the next several weeks, or that I could do anything to keep you out of the mess that’s brewing. I may have to create the biggest flap ever to expose this anti-mutant cult and put a stop to their plans once and for all, and I really do not want you in the middle of it. Far too many people will suffer as it is, and many, many more will if we both aren’t terribly careful. But I know you will throw yourself into any maelstrom to protect someone. And so all I can do is pray. And remind you of what you once said about me, that I am not yours to surrender. Remember that you are God’s own by adoption and by His Sacrifice, and not your own to surrender. Remember that, no matter what you see or hear, particularly over the next several weeks.

I am also beginning to see that your future and mine are somehow connected in all this. For the sake of your safety, you will not hear from me again until I see you. But keep your eye on L’Osservatore Romano. Or really any newspaper, for that matter. And, this Father Whitney- trau Ihm nicht!

Dein’ immer,

Kassi

Strange way to sign a letter. Kurt wondered if that was a habit of hers.



Thousands of miles away, the snow, which lightly powdered the ground at Yellowstone National Park only intensified the light of the full moon and the stars blazing across the sky. Kassandra had retired early that evening hoping to get plenty of rest for the events she anticipated. She awoke with a start, threw on her clothes, grabbed her weapons, and left the lodge as quickly and as quietly as she could manage. Instantly. Before she plowed ahead into a future that frightened even her, she had to experience this moment in utter solitude, without any tourists looking on.

Logan was only partially correct. Sure, she was frightened of what she could become. But that was a familiar cross to bear, this constant wondering if she fought for just causes or a bloodthirsty desire for vengeance. She doubted Kurt remembered how he once called her an angel of mercy. Just as well. At this point, she felt he couldn’t be more wrong. This was beyond a crisis of conscience. And while she never liked the idea of going into any real battles, this was not the relatively prosaic fear in anticipation of war. No one went into war without enough intelligence on the enemy. She couldn’t even read their leader’s timeline to confirm if all she’d heard was true.

Of course, it helped that what she’d heard was so far-fetched that another run of Angelique Sauvegarde’s articles had seriously hurt the cult’s credibility in the area. And some journalistic research brought more critical information to the surface. The illegal involvement of state governments and even some of her fellow federal agents with this cult, as troublesome as it was, would only help her case in the long run, if she made it that far. She couldn’t go public with that knowledge, yet, but at least she made sure the information was now in Xavier’s hands. So far, so good. Nonetheless, the imminence of directly taking on an unknown enemy by herself played a pounding, discordant Stravinsky ballet upon her nerves. That riotous Rite of Spring, no less.

And now she sat on the foremost bench, a black-coated silhouette. In one hand, she held a CIA standard issue Smith and Wesson, never fired outside of target practice. Across her knees, lay a glittering sword, which did not share her gun’s relatively pacific history. She could, theoretically, just leave. Leave her weapons and disappear. She briefly contemplated hurling them to where even volcanologists feared to tread. She might as well. As far as she was concerned, her career, and perhaps her life, would soon be over. The gun would be destroyed in the superheated waters. The adamantium sword would not be, but it would soon be completely embedded in the travertine deposits that constantly formed here, to never again be wielded by anyone. No, that was a criminally stupid idea. Still, the idea of retiring her weapons permanently had some appeal. She sure felt like a criminal anyway.

She scanned the surrounding area, then suddenly stiffened. No one else was awake, but there were eyes on her. Oh, stupid, stupid Kassandra. Just barely thirty-five yards away, and slightly to the right of the geyser mound, some large creature or creatures stirred in the shadows. Bison. She looked over to get a better look, and caught with her eye the warning sign. “Dangerous Ground,” the bold letters screamed, even in that dim light.

Some people, mostly locals from Montana or Wyoming, tended to refer to this part of the Rocky Mountains as “God’s Country.” A bold claim, and perhaps not very accurate, its sublime power and beauty notwithstanding. The whole place testified to the precarious balance and outright danger of its existence, even on a gorgeous night like this. The magnificent beasts who were, for now, content to sleepily observe her from a distance could be stirred to deadly stampeding rage with the least provocation. In rushing springs, still and vibrantly colored pools, and not far below the seeming tranquility of the forests, rivers, and the earth’s thin, snow-dusted surface stirred waters hot and acidic enough to burn the flesh clean off anyone unfortunate enough to fall in. And not far below that, the world’s largest magma chamber awaited a day when it might, or might not, finally blow. She wept quietly.

It became clear. Any feeling of peace even this most beautiful of places could give her was ephemeral at most. She opened her eyes, and they fell to the engraving on the sabre’s flat. “Hebräer 4:12.”

“’Denn lebendig ist das Wort Gottes, kraftvoll und schärfer als jedes zweischneidige Schwert;” she murmured to herself this favorite of verses, “est dringt durch bis zur Scheidung von Seele und Geist, von Gelenk und Mark, es richtet über die Regungen und Gedanken des Herzens.’”

She recalled the rest of what Logan had said, about her not really being alone. “Lieber Gott,” she whispered, “I know my options. But I need to understand. Which is the path You want me to take through this fallen world?”



“Just remember that death is not the end.” [1] (#_ftn1)



The tension became palpable. The bison, somehow knowing that their warm campsite would soon be flooded with scalding water, got up and moved further away. Steam began pouring more furiously from the vent. And with a gurgle, a whoosh, and then a hissing roar, with only one moonlit silhouette to witness it at that hour, Old Faithful erupted.

And though the steam blanketed all around in a glittering white mist (that smelled a bit like a teleportation signature), Kassandra saw what she had to do. She sheathed her sword, wondering what possessed her to consider getting rid of such a gift. Then she holstered her gun, stepped out of the fog, and returned to the lodge. There would be a time for beating swords into plowshares. When the fabric of time and space would be torn up, and everything that ever was good in every universe would be rewoven into perfection. She looked forward to that. But until then, as long as there was a need to stake everything against any unjust war, she’d keep her sword just as is.

And though she finally understood exactly how Nightcrawler felt about attempting a blind teleport, she felt a little, very little bit better. Not any braver, but at least more resolute.


[1] (#_ftnref1) Bob Dylan, “Death is not the End”

[angelique]

Chapter 13

And so Kassandra flew her favorite unmarked stealth fighter dangerously low over the Montana border around the looming mountains of the Continental Divide. Once again a mutant would herald a battle coming, not as foreseen, but when and how she saw fit, like a thief in the night. They would not know of their moment of reckoning until they’d return to that violated sanctuary they called their Cathedral, and find her ready and waiting for them. And there it was. She circled round, firing upon where she was told their anti-aircraft artillery was, then landed. She choked back a sob, wiped her eyes, and willed herself to maintain adamantium resolve and emotional control as she marched right into that den of iniquity. Empty. But the lions would return. She drew her sword, held it point down, dropped to her right knee, and made the Sign of the Cross. “Heiliger Michael, bete für uns. Vater unser im Himmel, geheiligt werde dein Name. Dein Reich komme. Dein Wille geschehe, wie im Himmel, so auf Erden. Unser tägliches Brot gib uns heute.”

She left time and saw the timelines of what horrors approached, intent on tangling with her. One in particular tore her heart. The one they’d call their false prophet.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The mutant designated 143 could see in his mind, the only part of him that had any function left, a bright, transparent vision in the sanctuary, kneeling. “Und vergib uns unsere Schuld, wie auch wir vergeben unseren Schuldigern,” she said.

This worried him. She was there, but somehow beyond the reach of his telepathic influence. He could only get one thought from her. Remarkable. Somehow she knew he’d try to probe her mind. She was now addressing him with not so much as a thought but a strong feeling.

“Mein armer Liebling, what have they done to you?”
Saliva dribbled from his perpetually gaping mouth. Nobody here had addressed him before, except with orders. Forget about compassion. But that was meaningless. Compassion would not help him do what was needed. And it was a rhetorical question anyway. The girl already knew. And what had been done to him was nothing quite like what they’d do if he didn’t cooperate.

And here they came.
Zeitgeist stood up. She raised her voice and her sabre. “Und führe uns nicht in Versuchung, sondern erlöse uns von dem Bösen. Amen!”

“Your prayer will not help you. The prayers of the wicked are not heard.”
“Feeling judgmental today, aren’t we? And how do you know I’m one of the wicked?”

“You are part of a mutant plague that’s infected the government. And you are to deliver the war of our apocalypse.”

So be it. They had some use for her. Others had and would have similar ambitions for her. If a rider of war was what they wanted, that’s exactly what they’d get.

“Prepare for your part, mutant, and gaze into my abyss.”

“How philosophically egalitarian.” said the wraith, as she instantaneously dodged a bolt of blue energy. “You mangle Nietzsche as badly as the Bible. And your cheesy attempts at mind control will not work.”

“Nonetheless, you will surrender all you hold dear. Your answers. Your secrets-”

Zeitgeist glanced past the giant in the cartoonish mockeries of papal attire. Finally, it was clear why she couldn’t get a timeline on this character. “They are not my own to surrender. Particularly to some holographic Jim Jones.”

“Brethren, neutralize the mutant. But we need it alive. Inhuman creature, your claim to know Scripture, philosophy, and the human mind is laughably pathetic.”

“Let’s share a laugh, then. Reverend Stryker was least remotely interesting, but still just a spring without water, a mist driven by a storm. I’m almost disappointed, because I’d heard quite a bit about you. And then I discover that you, Your Unholiness, are not even real! Now can all of you please stop firing and put down your weapons? I’d like for us to handle this like homo sapiens.”

“You dare consider yourself human?” the hologram sneered.
“For once you got something right. Sure I’m human. My father, God rest his soul, was human. My brothers and sister are human. And God knit me in my human mother’s womb. I just happen to have a human X-factor mutation and an all too human temper, which I will lose if you don’t call off your dogs.”

“Arrogant monster. You will suffer for your insolence.”
“Yes, I will. But not how you think.” The peaceful resolution that was meant to be would not happen. She’d prayed for God’s will to be done. But the people claiming to fight in His name clearly had other plans. “And you’ll only send your followers to their deaths if they try to kill me.”

“A glorious martyrdom.”
“No, a most undignified suicide.”
“We cannot make this vermin cooperate. Brethren, exterminate it.”
“Come on guys, you’d have a better chance of surviving if His Unholiness just served out some of his Kool-Aid.”
“He who loses his life for my sake will save it.”

“Jesus said many would come claiming to be Him, and warned against following them. Okay, guys, obviously you don’t get it. I HAVE appealed to your alleged faith and your human reason. And now I have had ENOUGH!”

With time slowed, she could still dodge whatever they fired at her, but still allow them enough time to see what she was doing. Maybe learn that theirs was an exercise in futility.
“Ever read Deuteronomy 30:19?” she shouted. And with her adamantium sabre now whirling furiously, she stopped cutting their bullets out of the air or deflecting their bolts harmlessly away. Now she deflected everything right back at them.

“’CHOOSE LIFE THAT YOU MIGHT LIVE!” They kept going. That’s right, verdammt. Their twisted parodies of priestly cassocks and vestments were reinforced with Kevlar, as their minds were with the twisted idea that true martyrs actually abandon hope and long for a violent demise. She could not afford to remain on the defensive.

“Gott, erbarme Dich unser,” Zeitgeist prayed, and her sabre bit flesh. One man lost both his arms, his armor giving little resistance to her adamantium blade. The others surrounded her, pumping more bolts and bullets into the air. Even with time slowed, she had to use every muscle in her body to duck, dodge, parry, and slash. Two more fell. They weren’t learning. She stopped time altogether. If she had to hack her way through this mess, the only humane thing to do then was to get it done quickly. In an instant, the ranks she cut down fell around her, spilling blood and limbs all over the floor.

She then flit over to the red-robed image. Its overlarge wrist guards were hooked up to all kinds of technology. Kassandra didn’t want to be bothered to check which controlled the image inducer or the teleportation nets. It didn’t matter. She severed all connections, then resumed a slow flow of time. There was no escaping now. And in the instant that the image of the nine-foot tall, three hundred year old cosmonaut flickered out, Kassandra saw all she needed- the reality behind the phantom, and the timeline she sought. It was a past full of pride and pain. And a present and future dominated by an understandable bit of post-traumatic stress mixed with a huge amount of paranoia, megalomania, and- ach, forget the psychology- one insanely bitter vendetta. Kassandra didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream.

Instead, the wraith held her sabre point to the ‘Supreme Pontiff’s’ throat. Her eyes burned. “If I fly them to Butte right now, they might survive. Don’t even THINK of disintegrating them with your desecrated hosts.”

“You don’t want to kill me. I hold the memories of one dear to you.”
The glowering wraith pressed her point. “Should that impress me? I know all about you now. You hurt him and others dear to me. You had similar plans for me. I do take that very personally. And you have been plotting all kinds of mass murder. I DO want to kill you. But be thankful this is not about what I want.
“My Lord Himself said, ‘Upon this rock I will build My Church, and the Gates of Hell will not prevail against it.’ Your plot to bring it down was doomed to fail from the start. Rest assured, though. Your last chance for redemption will come soon. I do suggest you take it. Until then, it looks like you’ve got quite a mess to clean up before your next guests arrive.”

With that, she disappeared, along with a couple of wounded to take to the hospital, under federal custody. The fact that she did what she must, that she tried to be honorable and humane and all that, and that it was all for a just cause did not ease her conscience one bit. She tied one last tourniquet and wiped the ghastly crimson mess off her sabre.

At St. James’ Hospital, the doctors had taken charge of their new critical care patients. Kassandra specifically requested that they monitor their patients’ signs for unusual electrical activity and to filter their blood for nanoprobes, hoping against odds that it would be enough to ensure their survival. Then the priest finished administering Anointing of the Sick, and Kassandra finally had some time for an important conversation.

“Hallo, Father. It’s been one week since my last Confession. The two to whom you just gave Anointing? I’m responsible for that. What’s more, there are eleven more that weren’t as fortunate.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It took a while for her to get a good signal, but she needed to make sure nobody but her own people would be tapping the line. She called Cyclops on his X-Link.
“Cyclops, it’s Zeitgeist.”
“Kassi?” He was surprised.
“I need to cut right to the chase. There is a reason why Worthington did not brief you about the Cult of Humanity.”

Scott noted that Kassandra avoided calling this group a church. She continued. “It actually was a good thing Kurt had expected him to brief you on their encounters with them. Because I trusted that he wouldn’t.”
“What?”

“Espionage, mein Freund. This is classified information. Religious leaders are world leaders, too. And you didn’t think an international plot to start a genocide by assassinating them would go unnoticed by anyone in my line of work, did you?”

“So why are you telling me now, after so many people-”
“-like so many of my operatives, died? And Jubilee and Magma almost with them? You think this is easy for me, Scott? I knew there was a chance this would happen. I told them in no uncertain terms when I gave them their assignments that they would not likely make it. And they were all willing to take that chance. You would have done the same.”

“And I would have gotten everyone else to help you.”
“Yes, and gotten everyone else killed, which is why you could not know up until now. I know you’ve had your hands full enough in New York. But now I have a personal favor to ask of you in Montana.”
“But-”

“Not another word! Listen!” Zeitgeist could not have him revealing on record that he was heading up there anyway. “Just so we’re perfectly clear, this is NOT an X mission. I am ordering a raid on the Cathedral. I have scouted and softened their defenses a bit. And I disabled their teleportation nets, so they think they have no choice but to stick it out and fight. Now I need to lead a full cavalry charge to wipe them out before they’ve finished regrouping.”

Scott grit his teeth. Kassandra was a nice kid, though she could get a bit intense, but who did she think she was, giving him orders?
“Trust me, Scott. You do not want to be responsible for this. They will show no mercy, but rather try to take what they deserve. Jean knows they have a powerful telepath under their sway, so trust nothing you see when you get here. But tell Logan to trust his nose. And bring everyone you can.”
“But-”

“Yes, I’m concerned about what’s come over Polaris lately, too. But she’ll come through. I’ll see you soon.”

[angelique]

Chapter 14

The final confrontation went just as well as Kassandra expected, much to her dismay. Her investigator had perished, along with everyone else in the cult. Not one of them survived. This bitterest of victories was no Waco. It was even worse than the mass murder-suicide that was Jonestown. Even those who managed to leave the cult went missing. Those whom they could find all turned up dead, despite Kassandra’s orders that they be put under witness protection. The two at St. James Hospital, despite everyone’s best efforts, disintegrated right before their doctors’ eyes, before Kassandra could question them. And even the X-Men did not come out of this unscathed. Logan, Scott, and Lorna were all wounded.

Back in Salem Center, Kassandra needed a break before returning to McLean, Virginia and preparing for her eventual grand jury investigation. She had just checked in on Jubilee and Magma, then warmed up her fingers and now sat at the piano staring at the keyboard, for once at a loss regarding what she felt like playing.

Kurt slid beside her. “I know I have forgotten a lot of things lately, but I do remember this.”

“Was ist das?”

“You issued a challenge. And I accepted.”

Kassandra for once wasn’t sure she felt at all up to fencing, but there was more than honor on the line. “Das ist wohl wahr, Kurt. You choose the weapons and styles.”

“Sabres, unrestricted styles, and…” Kurt thought for a bit. “For some reason I feel like listening to Mendelssohn.”

“Mir ist’s recht,” said Kassandra. “But just to make things even more interesting, I will not use my mutant abilities, though I hope you don’t exercise similar restraint.”

In the Danger Room, at last, Kassandra cued the music, then saluted. Kurt noticed that though she held the sabre in her left hand, she had both hands gloved.

“Bis zum ersten Kontakt,” she said.

This shouldn’t take long at all, thought Kurt. “To the first touch,” he agreed.

The piano played a charging theme, as they engaged. Nightcrawler attacked immediately. Kassandra parried and riposted. A tenor began lightly singing the words to a Heinrich Heine poem.

“In dem Mondenschein im Walde sah ich jüngst die Elfenreiten..,”

“You won’t let me get a point in, nicht wahr?”

“Just as I said. I’m fighting to prove my point. Besides,” Kassandra grinned, “I know something you don’t know.”

“Ihre Hörner hört’ ich klingen, ihre Glöcklein hört’ ich läuten.”

“You’re not left handed.” Kurt smiled as he parried and retreated. So she’d seen The Princess Bride, too. And she was actually pretty good with the left hand. Forget about switching hands. Time to switch styles. He grabbed another sabre. But had Kassandra fought this match before? She was already attacking with a blade in each hand, and some style that wasn’t strictly Florentine, but seemed oddly familiar anyway.

“Was ist das?”

“Unglaubich, nicht wahr?” said Kassandra. “I adapted a few techniques from Zulu stick fighting.”

* * * *

“Was ist das?” Kurt was almost taken aback by how Kassandra, now just finishing her second year at the Institute, had taken so well to fighting with two blades, despite the fact that he’d only been working with her on Florentine style for a few minutes. While she was barely within the rules, she was throwing in tricks that weren’t familiar even to him. And this element of surprise enabled her to get in the first point, for the first time within normal time. She possessed the speed and ferocious agility of a sabrist, but typically fenced with the patient endurance of an epeeist. While she had beaten Kurt before without using her mutant gifts, she usually took a hit or maybe two before she could anticipate his plans for attack and rally.

“Zulu stick fighting, Kurt,” Kassandra replied. “It did originate as a two-sword form, after all.”

“This will be interesting. Let’s see what other African tricks you can adapt.”

“Nun gut. You asked for it!”

Kurt smiled as Kassandra attacked with everything she had. “Just bear in mind, I don’t think you’ll be able to fence competitively like that.”

“Oh, and like your typical style is all competition legal?”

“Touché.”

* * * *



The song was now in its second verse. “Ihre weissen Rößlein trugen gold’nes Hirschgeweih’ und flogen rasch dahin; wie wilde Schwäne kam es durch die Luft gezogen.”

Kurt decided he’d start using the advantage he had. He began teleporting about Kassandra, trying to steal her tempo. It didn’t happen. She was always right where he was with a parry or counterattack.

Kassandra smiled. “As I expected, you put even Errol Flynn’s footwork to shame. Too bad I know all the ways you telegraph.”

“Was?”

“Those little cues you don’t know you provide. You always smirk when you think you’re going to surprise me.” And Kassandra did appreciate seeing that again.

“Lächelnd nickte mir die Kön’gin,..”

But speaking of footwork… Kurt’s tail darted for Kassandra’s right ankle. Well, she agreed to suspend the rules for him.

“…lächelnd in Vorüberreiten.”

She allowed him to pull her- into a back aerial, and as she parried with her right, her left hand’s blade smacked him across the abdomen on the way up.

“Touché!”

She landed, saluted, then promptly transferred her sabre to her right hand, removed her mask, and tucked it under her elbow. Kurt did likewise, and took her left hand in his. “Sehr gut. Who taught you to do that?”

“Galt das meiner neuen Liebe? Oder soll es Tod bedeuten?”

“Du, mein Liebster,” Kassandra replied. “And I didn’t mention how your tail always twitches when you think about trying to trip me up.”

Kurt rubbed his chin in thought. “Well, now that you’ve proven pretty conclusively that you have fenced me before, I feel the need to discuss the ramifications of this revelation. Perhaps over dinner tonight? My mind must have been scrambled pretty badly for so brilliant und so eine schöne Schwertkämpferin to escape my memory, and we must get better reacquainted.”

“Du bist unmöglich, Kurt, wie immer. I accept. I’ll be at St. Anne’s until 6 for choir rehearsal. I’m filling in for their regular organist. Maybe you could meet me there?”

[angelique]

Chapter 15

Rehearsal wrapped up, Kassandra finished the piece she’d selected for the postlude, and then she pattered down the stairs from the choir loft. She paused at the holy water font to bless herself. Strange. She knew Kurt would be here, but she couldn’t see him. And she was vaguely aware of some strange man approaching from a side chapel.

A hand grabbed her shoulder. Kassandra immediately let loose an ear-splitting shriek and swung her fist. Only this man’s carefully honed reflexes kept her from breaking his nose.

“Kassi?”

Oh, mei! Kassandra took a ragged breath. That voice, that Bavarian accent, and the fact that the stranger, up close, looked a bit like a young Errol Flynn could only mean one thing. “Kurt?”

“Es tut mir leid, Kassandra. I usually never affect people this way with the image inducer.”

“I didn’t know it was you!” Kassandra gasped.

Kurt smiled. The irony of having to ask this question was not completely lost on him. In fact, it was delightful. “So would you be more comfortable if I kept the image inducer off?”

“Ja! Meaning no disrespect to the image of Herr Flynn, but this is a church. It’s never supposed to be a masquerade. And you do remember what the Pope said about mutants in the Church, nicht wahr?”

“Very well.” The image flickered out, and there stood Nightcrawler, perfectly pointy-eared, pointy-tailed and yellow eyed. And nobody screamed about a devil in God’s house, but…

“Kassandra, are you all right?” Nearly the entire soprano section, which had been chatting in front of the church, clattered through the vestibule and burst through the doors.

“I’m fine. My friend here just made the mistake of startling me.”
Kassandra then whispered to Kurt, “Sei unbesorgt. For one, they already know I’m a mutant.”

“Es tut mir leid, ladies.” Kurt dipped a finger in the holy water and made the Sign of the Cross. “And I promise to be more careful from now on. I wouldn’t want to risk any of you losing your fine voices on my account.”

And so, amid good-hearted laughter, Kurt and Kassandra strolled from St. Anne’s to what Kurt promised was the area’s best place for a couple of mutants to share food, wine, and conversation, keeping mostly to the shadows, as they knew all too well that not everyone shared the same kindly attitude toward people who look different.

“Lucky you,” said the pale, purple-eyed hostess, “A table in the mutant section just opened up.”

“Mutant section? Was ist das?!” Kassandra looked over at Kurt, appalled.

“Sorry, Miss,” said the hostess. “Most of our low-gene customers are uncomfortable eating around people like your friend.”

Low-genes. Oh, this kept getting better. “I’d think your non-mutant customers would be more uncomfortable if they heard you calling them that,” Kassandra hissed, recalling the names she’d been called, even when people thought she was just a biracial, German-speaking, Catholic immigrant. She spun on her heel and started for the door in a huff. “Kurt, ich kann hier nicht essen.”

“Kassi,” whispered Kurt, putting a gentle hand on her elbow. “This is the only place around here besides the dives that will serve me without requiring my image inducer. And most of those are segregated, too.”

Kassandra stopped, sighed, then resigned herself to being seated. And she nursed the idea of writing a letter to the management about the stupidity of separating mutant and non-mutant customers.A very strongly worded letter. “Ich verstehe. But I’ll never be comfortable with any kind of genetic apartheid. And our hostess’ attitude just proves once again that ‘evolved’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘improved.’”

“Well,” said Kurt, “It certainly sounded like the latest evolution over at St. Anne’s was an improvement.”

They talked for a while longer about music. Kurt confessed that he was almost amused at the athletic way he saw Kassandra stretch her petite frame to reach the pedals and the top manuals simultaneously. Especially for a piece as demanding as that Widor toccata she played after the choir had finished. Almost. For some reason, he was not surprised that she pulled it off.



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Kurt knew that Kassandra’s small, slight appearance was just that, and it completely belied her ability to do big things. Like physically throwing her body and outstretched hands against a keyboard, and, almost as if by some miracle, eliciting the most beautiful sounds possible out of that instrument. This was also a girl who, before she began working with the government, normally regarded fencing whites as formal wear, and whose typical idea of Sunday best was a clean track suit and running shoes, ostensibly because she liked to jog after Mass. For a more formal occasion, she could be persuaded to wear a skirt and blouse. And even after she took her jobs with the government, she tended to dress rather, as she put it, practically. She always looked cute to him, regardless. But tonight she was radiant, taking the stage for her recital with a shy bow- in a perfectly fitting off-the-shoulder dress of palest coral, the lacy hem of which swirled around her well-defined calves as she turned and sat at the keyboard. She had evidently succumbed to Kätchen’s insistence upon shopping for something other than track or business suits.

And the inferiority complex watching her play nearly gave him, well, he was glad she addressed that earlier as he watched her warm up.

“Nicht alle können Klavier spielen, Kurt. Und das ist gut so. So you don’t have as many fingers as I do. You’re still a better gymnast, you’re better at literally hanging out, and I’ve just accepted that I’ll never look as good in blue as you do. Now relax and enjoy the show.”

And the program was amazing from start to finish, including a particularly inspiring rendition of Chopin’s sixth polonaise. But at the end, which seemed to come too soon, after a flushed and beaming Kassandra bowed to shouts of “Encore!” she returned to the stage. Taking another bow, she winked mischievously and obviously in Kurt’s direction, and sat back down at the piano. There would be an encore. Of course no note of it was made on the program. But this time, after all the years Kassandra endured Kurt’s flirting and teasing, she finally had a chance for revenge. A purple tinge crept up Kurt’s face. That first low trill ascending into a slinky scale could only be Gershwin. “Rhapsody in Blue.”






Kassandra interrupted his thoughts. “Kurt, was ist los?”

“Just another one of these moments I’ve been having since I first got back from Montana. Nightmares, flashbacks, and the like. And I’ve heard that you can tell people things about their pasts that even they don’t know.”

“Anything in particular, Kurt?” Kassandra asked.

“Try everything that’s been erased.”

“Let Kurt ask the questions,” Jean said, before Kassandra had left that afternoon. “Answer only the most specific ones. Don’t accept carte blanche to read his entire timeline back to him.”

“Kurt, are you sure you want to know all of that, right now? A lot of it is pretty traumatic stuff.”

Kurt frowned, then shook his head. “Since Father Whitney confessed how I was being used in their plot, I thought just knowing that would make everything better right away, and it hasn’t.”

“I’m not surprised. But actually, Kurt, I am amazed that you’re recovering this quickly.”

“Quickly?”

“I’ve been having nightmares about this, too, and they couldn’t even touch my mind. I’ve seen the sort of things most people try to block from their memories. Honestly, Kurt, at this point, there are some things you are better off not remembering.”

“Well it isn’t just the nightmares. And I didn’t bring you here to talk about that, anyway. It’s thoughts and images, some of them actually quite pleasant, that seem to come from nowhere, and I don’t know if they’re real memories or planted like my whole time in the priesthood was.”

“You’re right to wonder. You’d been given what has to be one of the worst case of selective amnesia and false memory syndrome I’ve ever seen.”

“Was? Don’t tell me you’re a psychologist too!”

“Eigentlich, ja. But I tend to accept dinner invitations from friends rather than patients.”

“And that’s what I wanted to talk about.”

[angelique]

Chapter 16

The conversation stretched for hours through a prime rib dinner and, afterward, an excellent bottle of port wine. Kurt shared what he could remember in flashbacks, and Kassandra helped him make sense of them. It was not easy for her, as she did not wish to exert any influence over Kurt’s own memories, there were more than a few items that would be a bit too difficult to deal with then and there, and it was little awkward for the shy and unassuming girl to see herself in Kurt’s timeline. After a while, Kurt decided he had to address some questions that did not pertain directly to his past.
“Kassi, it’s just struck me that as bad as it was to be stripped of these memories, they didn’t really succeed in taking away what is dearest to me.”

“Your faith, Kurt?”

“Nur gequetscht, nicht gebrochen. I’ve discovered that I really am not cut out for the priesthood. But after what you’ve told me of your own experiences in Montana, while I may still wonder about my calling, I think my confidence in God’s will is returning. Do you often struggle with these moments of doubt?”

“Ja doch. Immer. But it’s this beautiful, treacherous world we live in, and our ability to find our own way through it, that I do not trust. God always has a plan for the best, even when I can’t see that. Whether to cooperate or not is our choice and our responsibility. Nearly all of human history, including that of us mutants, is made up of refusing to do God’s will, and the dreadful and complicated effects of those choices.”

“That cult also believed God had a plan.”

“Nein, Kurt. They had a plan of their own that they made into a false god. And the supreme pontiff chose to reject your offer of mercy and let rage take control. To the detriment of us all.”
“So, do you ever wish we did not have free will?”

“It would solve a lot of problems, nicht wahr? But for one. Think about what the X-Men would be if Charles just telepathically manipulated everyone to do what he wanted, except on an omniversal scale. Like what the Beyonder had already attempted. We’d be incapable of any real virtue, trust, love, and friendship. Would I be here now reconnecting with an old friend because I genuinely care for this person, or because it was programmed into me?”

“Speaking of reconnecting,” said Kurt, as they donned their coats and headed out. “I was also thinking about hope. I think I am meant to share my adventures with someone. As wonderful as it is to confirm that we’ve indeed had a happy history together, I’d like to know if we could pick up where we left off.”

“It is possible,” Kassandra blushed. She had to make sure this was real, and that she was not even unconsciously trying to sway Kurt’s decisions. Many people could not see past his outward appearance, and they feared him. A few women could see and appreciate the handsome features, lean acrobat’s physique, and the considerable charm beyond the plush-like blue skin and glowing yellow eyes. Past all that, Kassandra knew was a genuinely gentle soul, and to reduce her feelings to terms of attraction or desire, she felt, would not do him or her regard for him any justice. And especially after all that happened, he needed to make his own decisions. “But what kind of future would you want? Rehashing your relationship with Cerise? I mean, I can’t promise you many adventures to share if I end up behind bars. After all that’s happened, all the blood I have on my hands, serving in prison ministry might be a good option, if you want to see anything of me once the grand jury hands in its indictments.”
Kurt chuckled. “A teleporter in prison ministry? You don’t really think that’ll happen, nicht wahr?”

“It might have to.” Kassandra shrugged.
“How about what you want? I’ve noticed you don’t often talk about that.”

He had to mention that? “Because it’s easier to not think about it. Regardless of how the investigation and trial pans out, I am officially done with the CIA. The best I can hope for is that, besides having exposed that cult’s activities, I’ll have to actually start living more or less as a regular mutant. For now, I can’t say what all that will entail, besides being feared, hated, and all the usual stuff. Anyway, whatever I want for myself usually doesn’t happen. If my luck holds, I’ll just have to continue dealing with that.”

Kurt wrapped an arm around Kassandra’s slender waist and cupped her chin in his other hand. “One of the things I’ve learned from all this is that life requires constant adaptation. Can you adapt to a change in your fortune, Liebchen? Because I’m willing to take that chance.”

Kassandra looked up into those smiling golden eyes. Seeing Kurt actually smiling again after all he’d been through was, in and of itself, a consolation worth everything she’d been through. Perhaps even worth everything she’d done. But no, she would not think of that now. Only one thing could prevent her from enjoying this moment. Or seven, rather, who seemed determined to cause some trouble. “Ich vermute es, aber-”

“Hey, mutie! Getcher filthy deformed hands offa her!” bellowed one man.

“Remember what I said about living as a regular mutant?” said Kassandra, with a nervous smirk. “Looks like I’m going to get some more practice.” She then bolted, to Kurt’s horror, almost directly into one of the thugs who now surrounded them.

“Where ya, goin’, sweet thing?” he said, wrapping his thick arms around her. “Ashamed to be seen with that freak? Ya should be.”

“Yeah,” said another, his breath now repulsively hot in her ear. “Pretty little piece a’ tail like you really should be datin’ yer own kind.”

Kassandra struggled. “What, like you? Let go, or you’ll see just what ‘my kind’ is!”
“Ooooh, that mutie-lover’s a feisty one.”

“Gentlemen,” said Kurt, fangs bared and tail lashing, struggling and resisting the urge to teleport those who dared lay hands on them to uncharted dimensions infernal. “The lady’s given you fair warning. She really is not your type.”

“Shut that freak up, guys. Make sure he’ll never look at a girl like that again.”
“As for you, girl, once we take care of yer mutie boyfriend, we’ll show ya what real men-”
“Kurt! Raus!”
“Nein!”
“I AM A FEDERAL AGENT!”
“OH, SH-!!!” One man took a foot unconstrained by physics to the solar plexus. Another only just barely saw a blurry, transparent fist head his way before lights out. They flew back about twenty feet. Kurt made quick work of two more, teleporting vertically out of their grip and slamming their heads into each other. And Kassandra’s wraith-like image spun, eyes burning and fists up, to face the remaining three.

“So, what was your friend saying about ‘real men’?”
“And didn’t I warn you,” said Kurt, “that she’s not your type?”

They turned away to run, only to find the wraith suddenly blocking their path. Turned again. And there she was, as well. And again.
“Had enough of me already?” said the wraith. “I’m afraid you all are under arrest.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Bist du verletzt?” Kurt reappeared from the shadows, as the last of the police cars left the scene.
“Es tut mir leid, Kurt,” said Kassandra.
“Are you hurt?” Kurt repeated. He took her left hand.
She winced. “Es ist nur gequetscht, nicht gebrochen.”

“Only bruised, not broken? Donnerwetter, Kassi! How much speed did you pack into that punch?”

“That would be a question for the physics department, nicht wahr?” Kassandra shrugged. “Look. I’m okay.” She held her hand up, and flexed her fingers. Already the swelling and discoloration, which would have taken weeks to heal for most anyone else, had subsided. “I just feel a bit foolish. I knew you wouldn’t like this. I could’ve seen this coming. We could have ported out of that mess, but…”

“But they attacked us, and we had to stop them before they’d tangle with people less able to handle them. You knew, and they pretty much admitted, that trouble was all they had on their agenda. Why else would people like that linger outside any place that serves mutants?” Kurt gently pulled Kassandra closer and with velvety fingertips brushed the stray curls away from her face. “We did right, Liebling. I just want you to take better care of those hands. And now, where were we?”

Kassandra thought for a bit as Kurt’s tail gently twined around her calf. He did refuse to leave her to fend for herself, even though she was capable of handling the situation, he hated fighting even more than she did, and he had ample opportunity to escape. Typisch Kurt. She still had to be careful. It wasn’t as if she was sure she’d see a lot of him in the future. On the other hand, she was not sure when or if she’d have the opportunity to enjoy his company like this again. There were too many possibilities, most of which were not pleasant. Meanwhile, the soft tenderness of his touch was driving her nearly frantic. Oh, well. She’d have to adapt to that. “Strangely enough, we were talking about my circumstances actually improving.”

“Starting right about now?”
“Ich vermute es. No time like the present.”
“Das ist wohl wahr,” said Kurt, as his lips finally met hers.

Everything seemed to stop. This would be no shy or playful first-date type kiss, Kurt realized to his surprise. Feelings long locked away and forgotten, which only recently started clamoring again for recognition, could no longer be denied. He then wondered if she’d managed to transport him out of time. It sure felt like it. He cracked open one eye to make sure. No, everything looked normal. But he was beginning to feel quite weak in the knees. And, while nothing could feel more natural, something about this did not feel at all familiar.

He reluctantly retreated to take a breath, savoring the soft scent of her hair, the lingering taste of fine wine, and the way her lean, athletic body softened like butter in his strong embrace. Apparently, he’d had a similar effect upon her. “Well, mein’ Schatz, I should have figured that you’d port through a celestial dimension.”

“Du schmeichelst mir.” Kassandra blushed, but checked herself. Some part of her was shocked by this, even though she had seen it coming and even dared hope for it. But coming out of a past of guilt, horror, and disappointment, heading into a future that held only a slim chance of lasting happiness, she had silently resolved to never again let fear and uncertainty ruin a good present, however fleeting it might be. But something was still amiss. “Aber was ist los?”

“How is it that I could have known you for so long, and only just now get around to giving you even the least of what you deserve? Ich verstehe es nicht.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I deserve this. But it’s not as if you hadn’t tried before.”
“Now that, I can believe. By the way, I think you have something blue on your lip.”
Kassandra smiled as she wove her fingers through Kurt’s wavy indigo hair. “Das glaube ich!” And they kissed again.

[angelique]

A Time to Heal

Kurt and Kassandra strolled hand-in-hand down Graymalkin Lane after an outing that, as Kurt was glad to see, was ending up like an excellent date as well as an evening getting reacquainted with an old friend. Okay, so the night didn’t go entirely without a hitch. A segregated restaurant here, some threats to their lives there. But a couple of mutants on the town could hardly expect better. Especially when one could go from delightful to devilish in an instant, and the other only looked like a stereotypical demon.

“Kurt,” said Kassandra, in her richly Namibian-accented German, “Ich hat ein wunderbar Abend. Ich enttäusche dich nicht gern, aber-”

“Liebchen, how could you disappoint me?” said Kurt, as they walked up to Xavier Mansion.
“It’s not what I could do, but what I’ve already done.”
“You seem ready to face the consequences.”
“Ja. But I don’t think I can adequately prepare you for this.”
“Was?” Kurt blinked, and then saw Kassandra standing en garde with her sabre ready. Of course it took her no time to retrieve her weapon. But why here and now?

“Logan! Don’t!” one girl shouted from the foyer.
Kurt looked frantically to Kassandra. Nobody ever told his best friend “don’t” expecting him to listen. And nobody ever tried unless he was about to do something dreadful.

“Kassandra, raus!” Kurt did not like the idea of her seeing his best friend in the throes of his feral rage.

“She damn near led you to your death!” a man roared.
“Kurt, gehst du raus!” Kassandra retorted. She didn’t like the idea of such a gentle soul such as him seeing her duke it out with his best friend. Especially since such a battle would likely be quite fierce and bloody. “He won’t settle down until he faces me.”

“And I’M GONNA RIP THAT LYING HEART OUT!!!” Wolverine burst out the front doors, followed by a distraught Jubilee hobbling out the door. He bounded toward Kassandra with all adamantium-plated claws extended. And Kassandra dodged, parried, and retreated, but made no effort to stop the furious feral.

“Was ist los?” Kurt ported over to Jubilee, too upset to remember his English.
Jubilee was too horrified to recall that she didn’t understand German. “I told him I took one of Zeitgeist’s assignments before joining X-Corps, and he now blames her for- for what happened.”

What happened. That fateful morning when the X-Men woke to find the consequences of not heeding warnings to improve their security. Jubilee, Magma, Skin, Bedlam, and two others, kidnapped by what Zeitgeist called “that cult” for various nefarious purposes, then crucified and left for dead on the front lawn of the Xavier Institute.

Kassandra could not keep up the fight in normal time. Wolverine fought with what amounted to three daggers on each fist, and though he wasn’t much taller, he packed more than twice her weight in solid muscle and adamantium. And the ferocity of one betrayed by his Little Elf. As Kassandra stepped out of time and slowed it down, she did not need to see the timeline to know that there were only two ways to effectively stop the fight.

“Logan, you’re right to be upset-”
“Save the psychobabble.” Wolverine pounced upon her with his full weight and all the force he could muster in both fists. And just as Kurt decided to ignore what Kassandra had said and intervene, she parried with a strength that defied physics. Then screamed and fell over, dropping her sword as searing pain exploded in her right arm. Logan raised his fist to run his claws through her. Killing her would be easy, healing factor notwithstanding. Up through the solar plexus, and some shifting of gears could make mincemeat of her vital organs, ensuring she’d bleed to death before she’d have a chance. But he caught a look at the sudden sickly chalkiness of her face. When she was outside the normal flow of time, she could look quite ghostlike. But nothing like this. And then there were the tears. Wolverine had nothing against making blood flow. But tears were another matter. Dammit. He only meant to kill the kid, not hurt her.

And with that, she disappeared.
“WHERE’D SHE GO?!”
“To the infirmary,” came the well-modulated voice of Professor Xavier. “Dislocated shoulder, broken wrist, and compound humoral fracture. Hank and Annie are diagnosing it as we speak.”

“Mein Gott!” Kurt teleported to the infirmary. It didn’t take a medical degree to know what compound fractures could mean for someone whose bones were very quickly, in all probability, healing all wrong. And for someone who played the piano and organ to have something go wrong with her arm….

“You literally came down too hard on her, Logan,” the Professor continued, “and you should count yourself lucky to still be in possession of your head and viscera.”

Chuck had a point. This was a kid whom had twice single-handedly KO’d Sabretooth, armed only with a couple of sticks rather than an adamantium sabre. She didn’t fight full out even then, and the first time, she couldn’t even do her time warping thing without passing out.

“Now, I do believe she’ll actually want to see you, after you’ve calmed down.”
“Logan, please?” cried Jubilee.

Logan took a couple of shaky breaths. And retracted his claws. If there was one thing that he and Kassandra had in common, besides the healing factor, it was that for either one of them to be willing to extend any kind of olive branch was no small gesture.

He picked up the sword that Kassandra had left lying in the grass. “I’ll see her now.”

[angelique]

Chapter 2

“So, also das ist die Stewardeß über die du immer sprichst.”
“Kassi-”
“Mir ist’s recht, Kurt,” interrupted the strange blonde woman Kurt was trying to introduce. “Ich spreche auch Deutsch. Und du,” she said to Kassandra, “mußt Kurts guter Freund Kassandra sein.”

“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises!” said Kurt.
“I could show you more,” the girl practically purred with a wicked glint in her blue eyes.

“Um…” Kurt cast a slightly embarrassed glance Kassandra’s way. Her politeness notwithstanding, she could not help looking the way she felt. Awkward. Most awkward. And perhaps a bit nauseated.

“What, lover?”
“It’s all right,” said Kassandra, “but if you want to tell Kurt something in my presence that I won’t understand, try a language I don’t know. Like maybe Romany.”

“Was?” said Kurt, dismayed by the flurry of invisible daggers that suddenly flew between his best girl friend and his new girlfriend- two people that, despite their differences, he desperately wanted to get along.

Kassandra glanced over to Kurt, then cast her eyes downward. “Macht nichts, Kurt. It’s nice to meet you, ‘Amanda.’”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

“Was ist los, Kurt?”
“You just had your arm broken, and you’re asking me what’s wrong?”
“Tell me. You obviously feel some need, and I need the distraction.”

“Well, if it will help get your mind of things now, when Amanda and I were seeing each other, I recall you and she being quite testy with each other.”

“Oh, we were. I hated her persistent and flagrant dishonesty, and she hated my hypocrisy. We had only two things in common. We both care about you in our- shall we say- different ways, and we both were right to feel the way we did. So for your sake, we ended up agreeing to keep our mutual dislike amicable.”

“Even so, I remember this managed to strain our friendship. But I can’t remember you being the jealous type.”

“And I wasn’t. Should I have been?” Kassandra tried to smile. And only barely managed to succeed.

“Hank, have you given Kassandra anything for the pain?” Kurt asked.
“Hang on, Adimu.” Dr. Henry McCoy and nurse Annie Ghazakhanian were in video conference with Kassandra’s mother, Dr. Adimu Altheim. “I just did, Kurt, right before you bamfed in here.”

“It looks like it already wore off.”
“I don’t think it ever took,” said Kassandra.
“Oh, dear.”

“Kurt,” said Kassandra, “I know what you’ve been thinking. How on earth we manage to get along with each other when I have trouble getting along with others dear to you.”

Just then, Professor Xavier, Logan, and Jubilee all walked into the infirmary. Kurt glanced uneasily from Kassandra to Logan.

“Sei unbesorgt, Kurt,” Kassandra whispered.
“I ain’t gonna kill her, Elf, even if she deserves it.”
“And she doesn’t,” Jubilee retorted. “You wouldn’t let me tell you it was my own fault I didn’t follow her escape plan.”

“Jubes, I put you at risk even offering you that assignment, and you know it,” said Kassandra. “I’m responsible. And the only one left alive who is, for that matter.”

“Besides me.”
“I’m not the one recovering from a crucifixion. And I didn’t tell anyone you were involved. Considering how Logan sees it, venting his anger on me may not be an appropriate response, but it is perfectly understandable. And I knew he wouldn’t kill me anyway. Too sensitive.”

“Well, thanks kid,” said Logan, scratching his head, “I think.”
Jubilee threw her still bandaged hands in the air in frustration. “What kind of drug do they have you on, Kassi?”

“Nothin’ strong enough for her kind of hurt,” said Logan. “And I ain’t just talkin’ about for her broken arm.”

“Which already needs rebreaking, in several places,” interrupted the Beast.

“Was?” Kurt was feeling a little overwhelmed. Seeing his best friend try to kill the girl he was beginning to remember he loved was disturbing enough. For her to basically admit she had it coming, after she had predicted to Kurt something about grand jury investigations and prison time, to then see that Logan and Kassandra understood each other possibly in a way he never could, well, that just boggled his mind. Forgiveness from either of them tended to be hard earned. Of course, it was for different reasons. Wolverine, in his rage, would forget everything but the sheer burning rawness of whatever he felt at that moment. Zeitgeist, on the other hand, never forgot a thing, good or bad. She couldn’t even if she wanted. Regardless, here they were. The berserker, and… and exactly what kind of person was this girl with whom Kurt was very happily lip-locked only less than an hour ago?

“And it’s because you’re all so sensitive that I’m afraid none of you can stay,” said Beast. “We’ll have to operate.”

“Sorry, Logan, Jubes,” said Kassandra. “Es tut mir leid, Kurt.”
“Sorry, too, kid, Elf. By the way,” said Logan, indicating her sword. “Adamantium or not, I just couldn’t let you leave this lying around outside.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Logan passed a haggard-looking Annie on his way back to the infirmary. He’d just spent he couldn’t guess how long splitting a few cords of firewood. Finally, he decided he’d had it with waiting. He was going to look in on the Little Elf, regardless of what was going on. Seeing Annie leaving was a good sign that at least she was out of surgery. “How did it go?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah, you’d like to know how we fixed your handiwork!” Annie said with pardonable sharpness. “She’ll be fine, no thanks to you. But so help me, the next time we have to operate on an accelerated healer….” She then flounced down the hallway, muttering something about declawing and other… veterinary procedures.

Logan supposed he deserved that. He stepped into the infirmary to see Kurt and Xavier already there, sitting at Kassandra’s bedside. They both looked about as worn as the rosary Kurt clutched. Kassandra, on the other hand, looked relatively peaceful, despite the fact that one arm was cast from shoulder to fingers and in traction.

Dr. McCoy was again on the line with Dr. Altheim. “Setting the shoulder was the easy part. Resetting the bones proved to be nothing short of nightmarish, however. I had to give her anticoagulants to prevent inopportune clotting, and the incisions acted like they had minds of their own, trying to close up before I was even done. Furthermore, I gave her as much anesthesia as I dared for someone her size. It didn’t help at all that she woke up ten minutes into the procedure, delirious, throwing off the inhibitors, and losing all control over her time warping. I suppose she was trying subconsciously to speed up the procedure and recovery time. But of course I could not proceed when I couldn’t see her properly. So my only choice was to call in Charles.”

“Good thing for my sake,” said Xavier, “that Kassandra’s convinced this will never happen again. I hope, Logan, you share her resolve. Otherwise, you may have to take it upon yourself to track down Stacy and persuade her to return. I don’t look forward to ever again serving in the place of an anesthesiologist.”

Of all the people to leave the X-Men for something as stupid as a simple misunderstanding, it had to be the one person who could have handled this better than the Professor. Logan glanced over to Kurt. The Elf could not mask the expression on his face. The broodiness Logan had seen far too much of lately was back and more concentrated than ever. He then remembered that there was a reason he called the girl Little Elf. If it were this bad now, there was no telling how Kurt would have reacted if his best friend wasted the kid. Hell, Logan was pretty sure it would be about as bad as he’d end up feeling. Likely worse than how he felt when he found Jubilee out there, for all intents and purposes, dead.

“Anyway,” Beast continued, “because she can’t help but block telepathy when she’s outside of time, I had to take a calculated risk, sedate her again and put her in restraints before Charles could get into her mind and convince her to stay out, and stop pulling off and destroying the inhibitors. Highly difficult. It’s a good thing the healing factor means fewer visits to the infirmary, because true to form, nothing personal Adimu, but that same healing factor has made your daughter a terrible patient.”

Logan tried, and almost succeeded, to suppress a smile. That was a universal characteristic among accelerated healers, and the fact that Kassandra got her healing factor from his stem cell donation rather than from her own genes did not make the least bit of difference. Except that he began to feel almost proud of her for becoming the latest thorn in the furball’s side.

“Nothing new about that, Henry,” said Dr. Altheim, with a warm smile. This was a woman who’d known poverty, wealth, oppression, pandemics, and war from a number of perspectives, tried against the odds to give her four children a normal life, and still insisted she owed all the worry lines in her forehead exclusively to her youngest daughter. “She always was the most difficult of my children anyway. Is she still under sedation?”

“No, Adimu,” said Charles. “That has long since run its short course. It was not easy working with someone who can resist drugs and telepathy. But now, she’s only asleep. I managed to convince her to enjoy a deep, painless sleep for the next ten hours.”

“And,” said Dr. McCoy, “Based on my observations, with the inhibitors now off, that should be more than enough time to put her well on the mend.”
Both Kurt and Logan heaved enormous sighs of relief.

“Well, at least that’s good to hear,” said Dr. Altheim. “Now let’s just hope she never has to use that healing factor that way again.”

“Never again on my account, Elf,” Logan said to Kurt. “I won’t let it happen.”

Kurt finally looked Logan in the eye. “I wouldn’t be so sure, mein Freund. Not if you put it that way. I may not understand the way she shows it, but she does care about you.”

And Logan remembered the conference Zeitgeist called with him, Jean, and Archangel before she had taken off on her last assignment. She’d take on far worse than his anger for him, Kurt, and the rest. In fact, she counted on it. But he just wished she could be a little more forthcoming about who and what all that involved.

“And, Charles,” continued Dr. Altheim, “it seems you have the right idea. I’m going to prescribe a good night’s rest for all of you. You’ve all had far too eventful a night.”

Her recommendation was eagerly accepted by all but Kurt. After all said their good nights, Logan turned to him. “You especially, Elf. I can’t blame you for taking this hard and for wanting to watch over her, but she will still be here in the morning.”

“And Jean will look in on her until then,” added Charles.
But before Kurt could leave, he looked back on Kassandra. It would be hard to rest when the image of her fighting with Logan was still so fresh on his mind. And what did Logan mean about her “kind of hurt”? But it seemed to be water under the bridge at the moment. For some reason, Kassandra looked quite placid now. What was she dreaming? He tabled his fears and kissed her smooth brown cheek. A small smile graced her sleeping face, and she breathed a contented sigh.

“Dort wollen wir niedersinken unter dem Palmenbaum, und Lieb und Ruhe trinken, und träume seligen Traum.” Kurt wondered about that snippet of Heinrich Heine poetry that found itself in his head. No matter. He had a better idea of why this sort of thing had been happening lately. And it was rather appropriate. Whatever she was dreaming about, he could try to dream about the same thing. There would be no more nightmares, at least not tonight.

[angelique]

Chapter 3

“Guten Morgen, Kassi. Es ist halb elf, und du brauchst Frühstück, nicht wahr?” said Kurt as he swept into the infirmary balancing a dangerously loaded tray on one tridactyl hand. “I forgot what you like best, and having seen how you can eat last night, I just thought I’d bring you some of everything.”

A slightly rumpled, sleepy-looking Kassandra perked up and smiled. “Danke, Kurt. Aber….” She looked quizzically at the tray set before her, then up at Kurt, with an eyebrow raised. A sliced orange. She could handle that. Scrambled eggs. Okay, maybe. Waffles smothered American-style in butter and maple syrup.

“Was?”
Kassandra inclined her head slightly to the right. Her arm, was still coated shoulder to knuckles in fiberglass and in traction. “I’m not left handed.”

Kurt smiled as he poured out a cup of coffee. “Well, this is not how I originally had in mind serving you breakfast in bed-”

“Kurt!”
He ducked to avoid being hit by a flying orange segment. “…aber das ist gut so, Liebchen!”

“I don’t think I’ll be removing that cast, come to think of it,” said Beast, as he stared nonplussed at the orange wedge that landed at his feet. “First, warping in here and frightening the living digestive byproducts out of Annie, then wanton destruction of power inhibitors, and now food fighting in the infirmary. In fact, I just may need to immobilize your other arm.”

“Sorry, Hank,” said Kassandra, as she took a cautious sip of her coffee.
“So how is her arm?” asked Kurt.

“Ja. Meaning no disrespect, but it would feel a lot better if it weren’t for that verdammtes itching.”

“Well,” said Beast, “based on these latest X-Rays, your troubles there will soon be relieved. When you finish actually eating your breakfast, we’ll see about replacing that cast with some splints, and I’ve taken the liberty of setting up an appointment for you with an orthopedist in McLean tomorrow.”

“Is it healing quickly?”
“Oh, yes, no problems there,” Beast chuckled. “But you won’t be playing the organ again by Sunday or any day if it doesn’t heal correctly.”


And so the rest of the morning was spent. Kurt helped Kassandra finish her breakfast. Dr. McCoy took her arm out of traction and sawed off her cast. And finally Kassandra emerged from the infirmary, cleaned up, dressed, and ready to leave, with her arm slung and swathed in splints and bandages, and her coat draped over her shoulders. Annie had apparently even made a valiant, and rather futile, attempt at getting Kassandra’s hair under control. Nightcrawler offered to fly Kassi back at least as far as Washington DC. Kassandra was quite grateful. While she was normally a good pilot, particularly with her extratemporal reflexes, she never let on how nervous a passenger she could be. Kurt was an excellent pilot and even better company. The only way she could be happier was if she was in any shape to copilot.

Logan followed them to the hangar. “You know I was never any good at following doctor’s orders, Little Elf, but don’t follow my lead. I second everything Hank says. Stay out of fights, be careful when you time trip, and see that doctor friend of his. And Elf, take care of her. If anything bad happens-”

“Logan,” said Kassandra, with just the slightest hint of warning in her voice. Nothing would go wrong. But she didn’t want Wolverine entertaining the notion of indulging his violent overprotectiveness again by popping his claws at Nightcrawler. “I’m only going to Virginia, and you’ll see me Sunday. Relax.”

“Right, kid. Take care.” He nearly enveloped her in a big, rib cracking hug, then, remembering her pinioned arm, reconsidered and patted her shoulder. Carefully.

So Nightcrawler and Zeitgeist boarded the X-Jet and strapped in. Or rather, Kurt helped Kassandra strap in before he took his seat. And once they were airborne, Kurt said, “So, I guess this means you’ll miss Alex and Lorna’s wedding, nicht wahr?”

“Ja,” Kassandra replied. She paused. She wasn’t sure she should tell him exactly how she felt about missing out on that, the long awaited union of Havok and Polaris. But this was related to another matter she needed to discuss. “Kurt, how would you feel if you found out I was not entirely forthcoming with you- about your past, and about your near future, for instance. Or about mine?”

Kurt stiffened. “Have you been lying?” He had, after all, entrusted her with the task of helping him recover and make sense of his memories.
“Nein, ich hab nicht Dich belogen. I wouldn’t dare. Just keeping some secrets.”

“Well, you told me there are some things that I’m better off not remembering. I must admit I’m still not sure I even want to remember all that was erased. And I think you said enough when you said you’d seen things most people try to block from their memories. I’m not sure it’s deliberate dishonesty. Just a problem posed by your unique relationship to time, and the nature of your occupation.”

Kassandra remained silent while Kurt brought the plane in for landing, then spoke. “I hope you remember this, Kurt. Because details of all the terrible things I’ve done will become public knowledge soon. And you will find out some terrible things about your own history.”

“Like what?”
“If I told you now, it would completely ruin this moment. You’d either not believe me, or you’d be traumatized. Just brace yourself, and keep to your prayers.” Kassandra unbuckled her safety belt as Kurt walked over to help her up.

“Werde ich, mein’ Zeitgeist,” said Kurt. “And I wouldn’t want you to forget this.” He pulled a small silver pendant out and as carefully as he could with his tridactyl hands, and thankful that Kassandra had her hair somehow pulled up in a large pony tail, fastened it around Kassandra’s neck. His St. Michael medal.

Kassandra could not resist the opportunity. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him tenderly before she turned to deboard the plane. “Danke schön, Kurt. Now be sure to behave yourself at Alex’s bachelor party.”

“Liebchen, when have you known me to not behave?”
“Heute, beim Frühstück,” said Kassandra, returning Kurt’s mischievous grin.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Guten Tag, Herr Direktor!”
“Zeitgeist. Have a seat.”

“Danke.” Kassandra sat, then set her briefcase on her lap, opened it, and pulled out a couple of papers. And upset a whole lot more all over the floor.

“Here, allow me,” said the director, as he helped clean up. “So what’s all this?”

“Every last little thing I could gather on the Church of Humanity, including a few items regarding the raid at the Cathedral, and, oh yes, my letter of resignation.”

The director was nearly floored. “Are you sure you want to do this? Since your name and your involvement in Operation Conclave were leaked, the press has run everything they could today, including those ridiculous rumors that you were behind the raid on the Cathedral. If you resign now, it will look as if you were indeed responsible.”

“And if I don’t, the CIA will appear responsible, at the very least for covering for me.” Kassandra closed her briefcase and rose. “I suggest you look all this over thoroughly, and begin investigation immediately. Call me if you have any questions.”

“Well,” said the director, as he glanced through the papers, most of which was a report she had yet to submit. “I think I already have a question. What exactly were you doing with this assignment?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Lucy?” Kassandra had just checked into the Washington Suites, under an alias, of course, and phoned the only person in her family she knew would be awake at that hour. Lucy was a zoologist at Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park. The brown hyenas there had been acting irregularly lately, and so, at the moment, Lucy needed to be up all hours of the night studying their behavior.

“Kassi!” Her sister practically shouted, as loudly as she dared, anyway, over the line. “Wie gehts? Mama told me about your arm. Is it any better?”

“Ja. Mein Arm ist in Ordnung. Aber es geht mir nicht so gut, Lucy. Has Mama or anyone else heard anything on the news about me, lately.”

“Nothing you haven’t written, and nothing about you. Warum?” Lucy was always a bit curious as to why her little sister would study psychology and hone her brilliant musical skills, only to become a reporter.

“Gut. I need you to tell Mama, Michael, and Vincent before they hear it from anyone or anywhere else. It’s already in the news here, and will soon be all over Namibia. You remember the ‘story’ I wrote on the blood diamond operation? You didn’t think I took that job myself just because we’re familiar with the business, nicht wahr? And why do you think it had such an effect internationally?”

“Kassi?” said Lucy, warily. She was not sure she liked how this conversation was going.

“Journalism was just a cover, Lucy. I was with the CIA all this time. And you’ll soon find out I’m under investigation for some horrible things. I’ve lied, stolen, leaked information, and killed people. All for the greater good, of course, and you know how much better that makes me feel,” Kassandra said bitterly.

“What are you going to do?” Killed people? Killed people?! Lucy knew Kassandra had a bit of a temper, and, though small, was quite a scrapper, but….

“I’m going to face justice, Lucy. Unfortunately, that will mean I won’t be able to come home, at least for a very, very long time. Lucy, tell the others, bitte. I can’t bear for them to hear it from anyone else.”

“Werde ich, Kassi,” said Lucy, “und wir werden für dich beten.”
“Danke, Lucy. I hate to cut this short, but I have an important call coming in. Tchüß.

“Hallo,” said Kassandra.
“Zeitgeist, this is special prosecutor Emily Fitzsimmons. I’d like to get your testimony tomorrow. Could I fax you the subpoena now?”

So much for government bureaucracy moving slowly. “Sure. And what time do you need me there?” said Kassandra.

“9 am.”
Verdammt. Kassandra would have to reschedule her doctor’s appointment. And call her attorney right away.

[angelique]

Chapter 4

“As this regards work I’ve done in covert operations, and as I have critical information about others under investigation, I am willing to testify on the condition that I be given full immunity,” said Kassandra, to the prosecutor.

“We will take that into consideration,” said Fitzsimmons. “However, you are the one under investigation, and since we did issue a subpoena, you must testify or be held in contempt.”

“But of course,” sighed Kassandra, putting her unmanageably tousled head in her good hand. This was the best she could hope for. And she hoped she wouldn’t have to plead the fifth.

“Would you consent to a polygraph examination?”
“Yes, but if I were to commit perjury, that would not prove anything, other than perhaps my willingness to appear cooperative.” Kassandra looked directly at Fitzsimmons now. “You know I’ve been trained to trick even the best lie detectors. Might as well save the government’s time and the taxpayers’ money.”

“Point taken. On with the next question. We have records from St. James Hospital in Butte, Montana, that you flew two men in from the Church of Humanity who needed blood transfusions and limbs reattached. You seemed desperate to keep these men alive. Were you?”

“Yes.”
“But then we intercepted a call you made to Cyclops, ordering, presumably, the X-Men to raid the Cathedral, and as you put it, ‘wipe them out.’ Ladies and gentlemen,” Fitzsimmons addressed the grand jury, “allow me to play back the recording.”

Kassandra sat strangely emotionless as the recording played.
“So do you deny ordering the raid?”
“No.”

“And you knew that the deaths of the cult members would be a likely result?”

“Yes. Of course, they would have died the same way, regardless. And taken far more people down with them.”

“And what of your report that you were responsible for the two men’s injuries, and that you killed eleven, yourself, before ordering the raid? Is that also true?”

“Yes. It was in self-defense, to ensure no more of my operatives would die, to stem the overall loss of innocent life, and salvage my mission.”

“Ah, yes, your mission. Your station chief and Director Karst agree that you were actually very effective in ensuring the safety of the Pope and no less than 40 cardinals all over the world, even at risk to your life, and at the cost of others.”

Kassandra winced at that remark.
“But,” Fitzsimmons continued, “while you were ordered to leave Europe once you made them aware that the mission was compromised, neither of them recall sending you to Montana. You had no orders, and no warrant, to set foot in this group’s compound, and therefore, what you did there can hardly be considered self defense.”

“My mission was to expose and neutralize the threat posed by the cult of Humanity. Based on my intelligence, I could not do that without going there.”

“According to whom?”
“As I said, just the intelligence I had.”
“Not even Charles Xavier?”
“No. He did not know about this.”

“Strange, because all your records indicate that you have ties with him, and with the X-Men. What’s more, we have evidence that both you and Xavier were involved in blackmailing the governor of New York and FBI Special Agent Ishikawa.”

“The raid on the Xavier Institute was illegal. As were the means Ishikawa used to secure Alpha Flight’s cooperation. What’s more the governor was receiving campaign funding from the Church of Humanity, also illegally.”

“And Xavier agreed to not disclose that to the press to keep his students. But who disclosed that information to him?”

“His attorney.”
“-who is also your attorney. Did you leak that information to him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you realize you leaked information about a government informant?”

“You mean the double-dealing traitor who never provided any useful information, led an illegal raid to kidnap, I mean ‘forcibly remove’ innocent schoolchildren, and indeed tried to sabotage my mission, and is still going about business as usual despite having been ratted out. Yes, I did. But that doesn’t mean Xavier had anything to do with raiding the Cathedral.”

“No,” Fitzsimmons conceded, “you’re right. You hadn’t been dealing directly with Xavier. But this does raise some other concerns, namely, your willingness to work with mutants.”

“So I’m not prejudiced. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Miss Altheim, the very presence of mutants poses a threat to our national security. And do you deny that some of the operatives you’ve recruited had criminal backgrounds?”

“No. But I’ve also never recruited operatives as unreliable as Agent Ishikawa. Or Raven Darkhölme, for that matter.”

The mention of the notorious mutant terrorist and double agent sent a murmur of consternation through the grand jury.

“Anyone else the government chooses to employ does not concern this investigation.”

“Oh, I think it might,” retorted Kassandra. “Aren’t I being investigated also for slitting a certain former Interpol and X-Corps officer’s throat?”

“Do you deny attacking Sean Cassidy?”
“Yes. In fact I’m glad he survived. But I was already in Montana when Raven Darkhölme herself attacked him.”

“Still, that does not mean anything. You could have ordered the attack on him just as easily as you ordered the raid on the Cathedral.”

“Except this time I didn’t. All it took was that one threat to ensure his silence about my whereabouts. I had neither the desire nor the intention to see it carried out. Nor did I have anything to do with Frau Darkhölme, and her record in at least Germany, France, Switzerland, Namibia, and the United States bears out each of the many reasons why I choose not to. And you won’t find any evidence proving that any plan you claim I had to hurt Mr. Cassidy got any further than sending that one email.”

“So it’s entirely a coincidence then that Mystique acted out exactly what you threatened to do, without any correspondence from you?”

“No. Of course she wants to make it look like I was behind it!”

[angelique]

Chapter 5

Back in Salem Center, Alex’s bachelor party rapidly degenerated into a disaster. The guys hired a shape-shifting stripper. And they thought it would be funny to request she look like Annie, the nurse that, at the very least, earned Alex’s fond admiration since the bombing that first landed him in her care. Naturally, the joke was lost on Alex.

Then Logan opened his inebriated mouth, and suggested the stripper perform a nun act for Kurt. Kurt soon joined the guest of dubious honor in bemusement. After a few pointed words, he soon left to examine his own disturbed conscience. Would it have made a difference if Alex knew all along that the stripper really wasn’t Annie? Apparently not. Should it have?

Kurt thought about Schwester Maria Boniface, who oversaw much of his first religious instruction, never caring, perhaps owing in part to her blindness, about what this boy from the circus looked like. And then about… Kassandra?! And, verdammt, why should it even matter whose appearance this woman could adopt? Why should anyone try to defend her honor only when she looks like someone important to them? Why shouldn’t she be treated with the same respect, just as she was? Kurt decided that it shouldn’t make a difference, not to an honorable man, anyway.

He had already apologized to Alex. Perhaps he should later explain that he now better understood how he felt. But now he just needed to hear someone else’s voice.


Kassandra herself had quite a roller coaster of a day. After the somewhat grueling testimony, she was lucky to get in a late afternoon appointment with the orthopedist Dr. McCoy recommended. And though her arm was still a bit sore, much to her joy, the doctor said it could come out of its sling and splints. After that, she grabbed a bite to eat, discussed more of her case with her attorney over the phone, then, anxious for a bit of exercise, walked back to her hotel. Being officially unemployed was proving to be just as hard work as the job she’d just resigned.

Once she settled in, she brewed a pot of chamomile tea, found a nice jazz station, and quickly scanned the ads for a new apartment. It was all too likely she’d need to stay in McLean for a while. And finding housing would not be very easy, especially now that Kassandra was again a private citizen. She would wish that the Fair Housing Act would be amended to ban genetic discrimination, but at this point, it didn’t look like it would matter. It looked like more landlords and managers were more flagrantly disregarding that law altogether. In addition to seeing “No mutants allowed” in the ads, she began to see “No mutant libs” and even “No Catholics.” Ah well. Their loss. Kassandra would almost prefer living in a Morlock tunnel to paying rent to those bigots. She circled what few options seemed best, thankful that at least the hotel couldn’t be bothered to ask if she was mutant or human, Catholic or Christian, et cetera. She might have answered the same way she usually answered when people would ask if she was Black or White, which was usually along of the lines of, “Yes. Should it matter?”

She then drew a nice piping hot bubble bath. Just as she was about to set foot in the tub, her phone rang. It was from the Institute.
“Hallo?”
“Kassandra? Ist es für dich grade günstig?”

As good a time as any, Kassandra figured. She always had time for this person, especially when he sounded so dejected. And, yes, she decided she’d very much like to hear his voice as she wound down. “Ja, Kurt. Wie gehts?”

“Nicht so gut. Es tut mir leid, Kassandra. I didn’t behave myself at the bachelor party. We played a rather cruel joke on Alex, and I think you know the rest.”

Kassandra sighed. Of course she knew. Still, she would not say she told him so.

“Und jetzt bist Du enttäuscht von mir oder?”
Kassandra paused for a brief moment. There were only two other things Kurt had done which disappointed her, both of which were, in fact, considerably worse than this. Even then she chose not to write him off. After all, she had to weigh in all the good he had done, and that was considerable to say the least. And he stood by her when she’d had her own moments of stupidity, as well, like that long ago crush she had on Pyro. “Nein, Kurt,” she replied. “Nicht von dir. And after all, you were the first besides Alex to understand that it wasn’t funny, nicht wahr?”

“I hope you haven’t lost respect for the rest of the guys, Kassandra.”
Kassi sighed. “I can’t forget this happened. It’s in the chronological record. I’ll see it if I look at that point in your timelines. Aber Kopf hoch, Kurt. The same goes for all the good stuff, too. Though someone should remind Logan that I once considered joining the Dominicans before he cracks any more nun jokes.”

“You did? I thought I remembered something about that. And feeling quite relieved that you didn’t go through with it.”

“Was?” said Kassandra, teasingly. “You have something against that order?”

Kurt laughed. “Nein. I just somehow suspect that you’re not suited for that vocation.”

“Irgendwie?” laughed Kassandra. Hmm. However did he get that idea?
“And, seriously, Kassi, I rather wish I were in McLean right now.”

“Und ich auch, Kurt. I haven’t exactly had a great day myself. But we both will have big days tomorrow. Jack and I have to gather more evidence that’s been subpoenaed for the investigation, I have to find some more permanent housing, and I’ll have to catch up on my music practice if I’ll be any good on Sunday. And as for you, well, Alex will need all the moral support he can get the next couple days. And someone’s going to have to tell Logan that my arm’s all better.”

“Beßer? And how are you celebrating?”
“Ich bin so müde, Kurt. After the day I’ve had, the only way I’m celebrating is with a pot of tea, a soak in the tub, and as soon as I hang up the phone, I’m drying off and going to bed.”

“Wirklich?”
“…!”
Of course Kassandra realized the potential effect of what she just said. Kurt could practically hear her blushing over the phone. But the longing Kurt felt returned with additional and, under the circumstances, surprisingly innocent poignancy. He actually wasn’t imagining what she looked like in her current state. Well, okay, but only for a moment. But all he really needed and wanted was so much simpler and more profound, that he quickly banished that thought. “Well, I look forward to your return, Liebchen. And to helping you put both of your arms to proper use again.”

“Ich auch,” she admitted, smiling. “And if all goes smoothly, I might be back in town Saturday evening, rather than Sunday morning. Für jetzt, gute nacht. Und, Kurt?”

“Ja?” Kurt thought he could hear Billie Holiday singing “Blue Moon” in the background as he awaited what Kassandra had to say.

“Ich liebe dich noch immer.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a miracle Kassandra managed to get anything whatsoever done on Friday. First, the phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Kassandra only barely managed with screening the calls.

Logan called first, bless his heart. “Hey, kid. Elf just told me your arm’s all better. How’s the rest of ya?”

Then Mama, on the rare occasion when she couldn’t speak a straight sentence in one language, crying in a frantic mix of Afrikaans, German, and her native Zulu, “Kassi, I just spent half a day away from my patients being debriefed by Henry about how you shattered your arm fighting with Logan, and now Lucy tells me you are in more trouble, and that you’ve killed people! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW? Did I give you life for you to just throw it away? So help me, if I find you’ve been abusing your God-given talents like those Evil Mutants….”

Lorna, aka Polaris, aka The Green-haired Bridezilla. “And Juggernaut will move the piano out onto the lawn so you can play…. What do you mean? Of course you can. After what you’ve done, the least you can do… you have to be back in court? … Let them hold you in contempt, Kassandra. Special session or not… Yes I’m sure it’s a landmark case for mutant rights, yada yada, like I EVEN CARE right now. The other musician backed out, and I NEED MUSIC FOR MY WEDDING! … NO, I WON’T USE A RECORDING!!!”

Someone who just made a bad business decision. “$1,200 a month rent, $1,000 security deposit, and $700 more for pets or mutants.”

The orthopedist. Kassandra’s brothers. Mama again. Dr. McCoy. Mother of Bridezilla. Unknown Caller and Out of Area went unanswered. Somehow she managed to get through to her banks, her phone companies, the FBI, all the people from whom she needed additional records to bring to court. And an apartment manager and a couple of proprietors returned her calls and said nothing in particular about race, politics, or religion.

Next she had to go through all of this additional paperwork with her attorney and send it to Fitzsimmons. Finally there was the search for the apartment. Unlike Kurt, as Kassandra didn’t look particularly unusual except when using her powers, she did not receive quite as much overt discrimination- on the basis of her mutation, anyway. And so she usually could get by on other people’s assumptions that she was not a mutant. But she knew ethnic and religious discrimination all too well, and what she experienced really was no different. In some ways, it just compounded things.

The first she visited was a complex of several buildings. It appeared quite nice and clean, with a lot of amenities. And the manager seemed very proud of the fact that his complex housed mutants as well as non-mutants. “Now if you have any problem having mutants as neighbors, there are a whole lot of other places you can stay.

“Over here in these buildings we have our apartments for mutants and their families.”

Kassandra looked down at the brochure’s map of the complex. There was not just one nice large swimming pool, but two. Not one fully equipped gym. Not one Laundromat. In fact, there was at least two of everything here, it seemed. “So you still have mutants living separately?” Kassandra asked.

“Well yeah. Keeps the rest of us safe, y’know, like in the event of a sentinel attack.”

“Uh-huh,” said Kassandra, clearly unimpressed by the flimsy excuse.
“And, well,” the manager said with a nervous laugh, “you know how those pyrokinetic kids can be, playing with fire and all that. Nice to have them as neighbors, but would you really want them in the same building?”

“I don’t suppose you house the smokers separately here, too,” said Kassandra dryly, “or ban residents from visiting their neighbors on the other side of the complex, right, you know, in case of a sentinel attack?”

The next complex was by no means like the first. Not exactly a slum, but it was apparent that the owners couldn’t afford to be bothered about the genetics or religious beliefs of those whose rent checks and maintenance fees kept the place from becoming one. That aside, the landlady seemed friendly enough. But there was still something not quite right about this.

Kassandra requested a moment to think things over.
“Take all the time you need,” she said. She then went over to the community bulletin board and started removing flyers, inwardly lamenting the fact that one of the tenants saw fit to promote right-to-life events. She wondered if that lady would feel the same if she ever was stuck pregnant with, say, a deformed or mutant baby.

“Note to self..,” said the prospective tenant.
The landlady about jumped out of her skin. Where she had seen a well-educated, soft-spoken African girl, there was now this… horror, putting down unsigned papers.

“…call Mama and thank her for letting this mutant baby be born.” And with that, another lease and a security deposit disappeared.

Finally on to the last one. It wasn’t an apartment building or complex at all, but a family home that had a separate apartment in the basement. The owners, a kindly retired couple, decided it was for let after they’d fallen upon hard times. And when a car crash left their grandchildren orphaned and in their care, things were getting desperate. The apartment wasn’t much. A studio, really. Ororo might not be able to stand it in there, but it was comfortable enough for Kassandra. The couple also had a piano in their living room that she was welcome to come up and play. And then came the kicker.

“I hope,” said Mr. Slawson, “that you like the kids, and that you won’t take issue with the fact that one has special needs.”

“Why should I have any problem with that?”
“Well,” said Mrs. Slawson, carefully, “It’s just that our previous tenant left within a week after we got the kids, and we’ve been having such trouble finding another on account of Ben’s… condition.”

“Can I start moving in today?”

[angelique]

Chapter 6

“… und die Kinder sind so süß, Kurt. Naomi’s a starry-eyed little daydreamer who I know will love Kätchen’s stories. And she didn’t want me to stop practicing piano because she had too much fun, playing ballerina. Of course, practicing was interesting with Baby Janie insisting on trying to sing along. Oh, and Janie thinks my hair tastes good.”

“Wirklich?” said Kurt. “And all this time I only thought it smelled nice. Maybe I’m missing something. But how about the other child- the one with the ‘condition’?”

“Ben’s the oldest, and it’s mostly because of him that I’m there. He has a fairly healthy fascination with superheroes, so I went ahead and told him I’m a mutant.”

“I take it he reacted well to that.”
“Ja doch! He began insisting that I just had to stay. And the grandparents then were interested, not fearful. They reacted no differently than when I told them I played piano. So I gave them a small display of my ability. I told them to go to the kitchen, where they found the dishes washed, dried, and put away.”

“So, ist Ben ein mutant? That would explain why they’ve had trouble finding a tenant, nicht wahr?”

“Nein, Kurt. Er hat nur Tourette’s. But I guess it’s logical in some twisted way that people who hate mutants would come to regard a kid who only happens to have tics the same way.”

“Das arme Kind. But at least it’s great to know you’re staying with good people. How’s the legal battle?”

“So weit, so gut. Fitzsimmons is having trouble getting a hold of a couple of witnesses- Raven Darkhölme und ein Nils Steiger. And she neither can nor will prove any connection to the others who’ve used my code name.”
“By the way, I wondered how you got that code name. I seem to recall it was actually a nickname first. And a rather appropriate one.”

“It was a nickname, Liebster. One you gave me. Anyway, it actually helped that others used the same code name. Kept people confused about my real identity, activities, and whereabouts. And now it looks very likely that I will avoid all the totally bogus charges. That will strengthen my credibility when I go to trial on the real ones, and after today’s testimony, my success there appears more likely. Also, it’s bought me a little more time before that happens.”

Kurt worried about just what Kassandra considered success, but he was happy to hear about this little additional time. “What do you hope to do with this extra time, Liebling?”

“Prepare to face the indictments when they come in, keep trying to smooth things over with my family, discuss with Charles how to deal with Alex and Lorna-”

“By the way, I’m glad you weren’t here for the wedding, Kassandra.”

“And I’m glad Alex had the sense to call it off, even if he could have picked a better time to do that. It saved me the trouble of having to call in at ‘speak now, or forever hold your peace.’ Aber wir schweifen ab. Most importantly at this moment, I have time for watching The Sea Hawk with you. That’s what you were planning, nicht wahr?”

Kurt chuckled. It was great to know Kassandra had her priorities straight. “Ich kann es kaum erwarten.”

“Und du brauchst es nicht, Liebster. I’m getting off the train now, und-”
BEEP! The call was dropped. Followed by a knock at the door.

“-und hier bin ich!” Kassandra chimed, as Kurt opened the door for her. She threw her arms around his neck. Kurt scooped her up and swung her around a couple times.

“That’s exactly what I was talking about, putting both of your arms to proper use again,” he said, finally putting her back down.

“Oh, I thought you wanted another match of Florentine,” said Kassandra.

“Wielleicht später,” Kurt replied, steering Kassandra toward the rec room. “Im Moment ist alles was ich will ein guter Film, eine Flasche Zinfandel, und dich.” He put the movie in, then sat beside her. “Aber, besonders dich,” he added. Kassandra had just peeled off her hooded sweat jacket, revealing a heather-colored camisole top that only someone with her slight, athletic figure could wear with perfect modesty. Still the sight of her exposed shoulders- strong enough to bear the weight of the world, yet somehow soft enough that Kurt felt it horribly wrong that they should, invited his own strong and soft touch like nothing he had heretofore imagined. Kurt’s tail, which had made itself at home twined around her knee, tightened slightly.

Kassandra sighed as Kurt brushed her wild, dark curls out of the way and kneaded her shoulders and the back of her neck. “Kurt, I think this movie is strangely appropriate, given my current circumstances. You know what the difference is between a privateer and a pirate, ja doch.”

“One acts with the government’s support, and the other doesn’t.”

“Or, as the case often is, the difference is more like the fact that it’s politically expedient for governments to support one’s activities and not the same activities of the other. Espionage is a lot like that. Intelligence has always been the most valuable plunder and the most powerful weapon anyway. But any spy who incurs public disfavor is on their own.”

“Ebensogut, moderne Freibeuterin oder Piratin,” said Kurt, “Du bist immer noch die selbe alte Zeitgeist, nicht wahr?”

“Kurt, im Ernst-”

“I am serious.” He then tipped up her chin, running his other hand down to the small of her back, and engaged her red-wine mouth in a long, smoldering kiss.

And Kassandra couldn’t help thinking that all the musket and cannon fire in the sea battle that unfolded on the screen- Donnerwetter! -even Jubilee and Gambit combined at their most powerful could not produce pyrotechnics to match this.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“There’s only one reason why any two people here would want the rec room to themselves, Jean-Paul,” said Annie. “Good Catholics or not, it’s a safe bet that they aren’t really watching that movie.”

“Still, I left a pile of economics papers in there, and I really should finish grading them,” said Northstar.

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Annie turned away and headed to the dining room. “You want me to get you anything?”

“Non, merci.” Jean-Paul Beaubier cautiously approached the rec room. The door was left ajar, and through that, he could hear laughter punctuated by an alarming variety of noise. While there were some people in Quebec who knew German, Jean-Paul wasn’t one of them. Not that it mattered. What he heard at least sounded tres indiscrete. And regardless of gender or sexual orientation, he maintained a respectable disinterest in catching anyone en flagrant delit. But he really wanted to get some work done. And maybe tell those two to keep it down or take their sottises someplace more appropriate. Like Kurt’s room. Or maybe, based on the noise, anyway, the Danger Room.

“Und hier kommt mein Lieblingsteil.”
“Das is auch meiner. Bist du bereit?”
“Ja doch!”
THWACK! THWACK!
“ACH! Mmmmph… Kurt! Herr Wolfingham und seine Handlangere haben nie so gekämpft!”
THWACK!
“Sie haben auch nie gegen eine so schöne Gegnerin gekämpft.”

Jean-Paul braced himself, entered, et calvasse! There they were, Kassandra standing on the sofa, which was threatening to tip on account of Kurt, perched precariously on the back. Both up to nothing worse than jumping all over the furniture in an apparently unsuccessful bid to reenact the final battle with foam sabres, three of which Kurt wielded.

“Jean-Paul,” said Kassandra. “Your papers are over there. And tell Annie to get her mind out of the gutter.”

[angelique]

Chapter 7

“Well,” said Kassandra, as she and Kurt were on their way out to Mass the next morning, “I’m glad we got some kind of reprieve between Alex and Lorna’s non-wedding and…”

“Und was, Liebling?”
Kassandra had suddenly slipped out of time. “Get Northstar, Bobby, and Hank or at the very least Annie, as well as the police and fire departments over to St. Anne’s. MACH SCHNELL!” She then disappeared.

And arrived a second too late. Three windows were already shot out, and Molotov cocktails thrown through them. She could not prevent that now. But Father Dinh, Deacon Rezendez, the lector, the altar servers, and the choir director, along with a few others, had already filtered in to prepare for Mass. At this precise moment, with time stopped, Kassandra could be everywhere she was needed.

Gott steh mir bei! Kassandra may not have been subject to time, but while she could drag everyone out before they could take one more whiff of smoke, she still had to breathe.

Northstar flew to the front lawn of St. Anne’s. Nightcrawler teleported in the merest fraction of a second later, bringing along Iceman and Annie. Smoke billowed out from the doors and shattered windows of the church. Annie immediately took charge of the confused huddle that gathered in front of the church. Nothing worse than a couple first-degree burns and a little smoke inhalation. “Is everyone out?”

“Ja! Now, Iceman! Do your thing!” barked an unrecognizably hoarse voice. Kurt turned to see Zeitgeist, unusually haggard, face smudged with soot and tears, setting an altar server down on the grass, and a look in her bloodshot eyes of which he thought only Wolverine was capable. But just before he could recognize with certainty her expression, she disappeared.

“Northstar, try to follow her, and notify me when you’ve caught up.”
The fastest man of all time never needed to catch up with anyone. But Jean-Paul knew this was no time to address petty slights.

One piece of shattered glass, a drop of spilled, burning fuel, that was all Kassandra needed to see, to access the timelines of the ones who threw those makeshift incendiaries. And she would get those Schweinehunde. She could even enjoy making them suffer for what they’ve done, even the very way the idea sickened her. They were about a mile and half away already. Fine. Solche Feiglinge! Of course they’d try to speed away as quickly as their car would take them, like that would save them. Still, catching up to them instantaneously, running that mile and a half past one car after another, past time itself, should have been easier. Yet she was tired and nauseous and her lungs still burned without mercy, verdammt. When would that healing factor kick in?

And there they were, in a white El Camino. A strange choice of vehicle for people who hate mutants. Sabre now in hand, she resumed a slow flow of time.

“Yeah, we got those-”
THUNK! SSSSSCCCCCHHHHRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNG!!!!!!!!!! THUD!!!

The car suddenly stopped running. Driver and passengers, whiplashed out of congratulating each other for their stupidity, noticed that the hood and pretty much everything underneath it had been pretty well shredded. And a sword-wielding wraith stood atop the wreckage.

“-those disgraces to humanity?” said the wraith. “I could … take out a few… right here.”

SNICK- CLICK.
“Nightcrawler, she’s got them,” Northstar said into his X-link. “A mile and half due west. Get the gendarmerie-”

BAMF! Nightcrawler teleported on the scene.
“Kurt!” Kassandra gasped. She really did not want him there right now.

A hail of bullets shattered the windshield. Time stopped.

[angelique]

Chapter 8

Chelsea was sure those muties should have gone down, especially that psycho blurry thing waving that sword around. She had emptied an entire magazine and had just reloaded. And there was no way she could have missed at that range. But now her dad’s gun was suddenly in the hand of the first freak who should have died. It didn’t look blurry anymore, but still seemed no less dangerous. Chelsea looked over to Tom and Rick. Their faces said the same thing. All were imagining what it must feel like to look for the last time into the eyes of an angry bear or lioness. Of course that thing would kill in defense of its own life and kind. Chelsea also claimed to fight for her own kind. But she never knew what that really meant until now.

“Kassandra-” said the blue devil-looking thing.
“You would have killed him…, me…, all those people in the church..., and you dare compare me… to a dangerous predator?” the lady said through labored breathing. Ooh, the comparison seemed more apt by the second. The lady jumped off the mangled hood, stepped over to the passenger side. “Glock 18… nice weapon… used by law enforcement…” She then glanced over to the blue guy. “…not by ex-feds.”

Some other guy suddenly descended before them. “The police are on the way already, non?”

“Ja,” said the blue guy. “And Kassi looks like she needs medical attention. Again.”

“Get her back to the church then. I’ll keep an eye on these delinquents.”

“Thank you, Jean-Paul,” said the lady. It suddenly occurred to Chelsea like a thunderclap. If these mutants were mere animals, she and the guys would have died, whether by sword or by the gun that was turned upon them. Supposedly, what set humanity apart was the ability to reason, to not be under the constant and exclusive sway of animal instinct. If that was indeed the case, then….


“Nice job getting the fire out, though I don’t know how you did it,” said the fire chief.

“It’s a gift,” said Iceman.
“The criminals were apprehended, and there were no major casualties.” The chief looked over to the one person who seemed to have it worst. A blue man was holding her through a vicious coughing fit while a nurse administered oxygen. “Amazing. I guess miracles do happen.”

“If you call mutant intervention a miracle…” said Bobby.
“I would,” Father Dinh interrupted. “I mean, how did you come by your mutant gifts and the conscience to use them well? Now, Chief, is it safe to go in?”

“I wouldn’t recommend holding Mass in there today, Father,” said the fire chief, “though you’ll probably want to get some things out, right?”

“Yes. And since the weather’s pleasant enough, and the news cameras are gone, we might as well have Mass out here. Kassandra, are you up to providing some music?”

She nodded, pulling the oxygen tube from her nose. “I’m feeling better now, Father. Danke, Annie, Kurt.”

“Good. We’ll move the piano out here, and your friends are welcome to celebrate with us if they like.”

Jean-Paul was about to say no thank you, as he hadn’t felt welcome in a church since he couldn’t remember when. Kassandra suddenly grabbed his hand. “You know, you have at least as much right to be here as anyone else,” she whispered.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ich muß zugeben, Kassandra,” Kurt said in a low voice, as he and Kassandra walked together after Mass. “I worried a bit about the safety of having Mass outdoors, especially after this.”

“I must admit I was more worried when the TV stations showed up. At any rate we were as safe as Jean-Paul being out of his closet. Or you going out without your image inducer.”

“That brings up another point. There’s a reason why I usually prefer attending Mass at the home for the blind. There, I can just be another member of the congregation. Here, even if the parishioners did welcome me, too many still looked at me strangely.”

“Ich verstehe,” Kassandra admitted. “But I don’t think this is just the case with mutations. Even the most truly open-minded people may need time to get used to the various things that make people different and see people for who they really are. I know I do.”

“Du?!” said Kurt, astounded. One of his few surviving memories of Kassandra from before his encounter with the Church of Humanity was of how utterly unfazed she was by his appearance when they first met. “I thought your ability to peek into people’s pasts would actually make you better at that!”

“Ja, und nein. I can see people’s actions, events in their lives, and sometimes strong thoughts. But I can also see how their actions tie into and relate to other things that happen, and I can lose sight of a person’s individuality if I don’t maintain strict control. Those kids- I didn’t just see troubled and insecure young individuals. I saw everything their behavior represented..,” Kassandra choked back tears. “…and what it would likely escalate to if we didn’t stop it. Killing them would have come all too easily to me if I didn’t anticipate even worse consequences.”

“Ja,” said Kurt, a little nervously. “The Gospel reading really hit a nerve with all of us today, but I noticed you seemed particularly affected.”

“That parable of the unforgiving servant- I always had trouble with that one. And it takes constantly reminding myself to remember that vengeance is not mine to take. This is no easy cross to bear, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“But none of us were meant to bear our crosses alone, Kassandra.” Kurt was amazed at just how alike opposites could be. His cross was how people saw him. Kassandra’s was all about how she saw people. He then recalled to her words that had often given him comfort. “Jesus sagtet, ‘Kommt alle zu mir, die ihr euch plagt und schwere Lasten zu tragen habt. Ich werde euch Ruhe verschaffen.’”

“Kurt, I wonder if you’ve been quoting that to Logan.” Kassandra threaded her arm through his and leaned her head against him. “Just before I left for Montana, he said, ‘I don’t get what you and the Elf get out of your religion, but whatever it is, it’ll keep you human. And I don’t think you’ll ever be alone as long as you hang onto that.’”

“Eigentlich, I’ve been quoting that to myself quite often lately.”
“Gut.” Kassandra didn’t tell him about a particular timeline she’d begun to see- virulently, opportunistically, and parasitically entwined around Kurt’s, but she had to say something. “I think we’ll both need to be especially mindful of that over the next week, Liebster.”

[angelique]

Chapter 9

Logan joined Kurt and Kassandra for lunch, and was very interested to hear from Kurt about Kassi’s heroics at St. Anne’s. He was also glad to see the Elf was back to doing one of the things he did best- embarrassing the Little Elf.
“Kurt’s exaggerating slightly,” Kassandra protested.
“Slightly,” Kurt smiled. “But the truth is that Bobby, Jean-Paul, Annie, and I would not have been able to do a thing had not Kassi seen this coming.”

“Speaking of that,” said Kassandra, as she got up and cleared her place, “I see myself being late for Alex’s appointment if I stick around here any longer. Could we perhaps meet at the hangar in a couple hours?”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“I can’t really say much about Alex, Onkel Charles, even if he did sign the release form. But I understand the root of the questionable judgment he’s been showing of late. He’s still trying to piece his own life together in his own way. Even if he had broken up with Lorna before the bombing, she represented a connection to his old life. If he was going to go back to life as an X-Man, it only made sense in some way that he get back together with her, as well. Not the best reason to rekindle that flame, especially given Lorna’s state of mind, and how Alex is still dealing with a major, but perfectly understandable, side-effect of Annie’s care.”

“Which is-” said Charles as he helped Kassandra pack.
“Remember the story Mama told, about her experiences treating war wounded? ‘Sometimes the quickest way to a wounded soldier’s heart-”

“- is through his IV.’” Charles smiled, recalling that that story ended with Kassandra and her siblings embarrassing their mother by arguing about how many impulsive marriage proposals she had to turn down at a patient’s bedside. “But speaking of Lorna, I was also hoping she could talk with you about her own emotional instability.”

“It won’t happen, Onkel Charles. At least not at this point. She’s not just angry with me for not coming to the wedding. I sent her on a violent mission in Montana. I might as well tell you that much. And besides that, I think she also blames me in part for my inability to prevent Genosha’s latest disaster.”

“Well, that at least provides some additional insight regarding her behavior.”

“I can only tell you what happened to her, Onkel Charles. You’re by far the best for helping her sort out her feelings about all that. And until we figure out which of these recent events have traumatized her most, I’m afraid we cannot properly help her.”

“Do you think she’d consent to my probing her mind?”
“Absolutely. And this may seem a bit of a gamble, but if you detect any biochemical imbalance…”

“Lorna will need medical help, of course.”
“And, strangely enough, she will likely insist that Annie help out. Which I think may be a good sign.”

“Well,” mused Charles, “it certainly is at the very least an interesting suggestion. But speaking of gambles, I am also concerned about the recent developments in your relationship with Kurt.”

“I know,” said Kassandra. “I warned him about the best and worst case scenarios, and so far, we are still in agreement that this is worth it.”

“Are you?” said Charles, pointedly. “I know you’ve always had the most affectionate regard for him, even as a friend, and so the possibilities that you’d both be hurt as a result of this relationship must make you feel terribly conflicted.”

Kassandra abruptly powered up, silently telling Charles that he hit a raw nerve. “I’m not just a missing link to Kurt’s memories, and there’s no way I can be an ‘Annie’ to him either. We discussed it. We chose to take the chance. And I’m doing all of what little I can do to ensure the best possible outcome.”

Charles took her into his arms as he’d often done on those occasions when he was not just Professor Xavier, but the longtime friend of Kassandra’s parents and honorary Onkel to her and her siblings. Except she was no longer the baby of the large family of Altheims that often invaded his mansion. Nor was she the newly fatherless teenager whom he helped rescue from the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. “It’s all right, Kassandra. You can power down. I don’t need to read your mind to understand.
“And now I do believe you are about ready to leave, right?”

“Except for one thing,” said Logan, as he and Kurt entered the hangar. “I don’t believe the Little Elf’s given me a proper hug.”

“And I wouldn’t dream of leaving without making sure you got one.”
Logan ran his hand up Kassandra’s right arm. “Good as new already, eh, kid?”

“Ja, except when it’s about to rain. So I guess you’ve given me another neat new power.” Kassandra planted a kiss on Logan’s cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

And so Kassandra boarded the X-Plane with Kurt yet again. But this time, Kassandra flew.

“So,” said Kurt, as he strapped in. “Will you be returning soon?”
Kassandra sighed. “Nein, Kurt. I think I’ll be seeing all of you again soon- in court. The prosecution will want to hear from you, Warren, and Logan in particular regarding how cavalier I’ve been about sharing information.”

“You know,” said Kurt, looking a bit uncomfortable, “It’s just as well you’re flying. All this talk about the investigation just makes me want to take you far away from it all. Maybe on some Caribbean vacation.”

“Well, if I could leave the country, I’d prefer an African vacation- going back home to Keetmanshoop and regrouping with the family. Then I’d take you north of Swakopmund. We could explore the ephemeral rivers and the shipwrecks of the Skeleton Coast. Besides, didn’t you only just get back from the Caribbean?”

“Ja. And it was amazing. So much history. I could not see it all and not consider bringing you back to have a look. And just think of how nice it would be visiting Port Royal, Tortuga, or the Pearl Islands. Or if you’d rather, we could just find some uncharted island off the Bahamas, inhabited only by the two of us- mein’ Geliebte und mich. And I would fly us there now if I could.”
Kassandra blushed. “Kurt, du bist unmöglich.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kassandra unpacked the last of her things and tried to make her humble little apartment presentable. She then walked over to a nearby cybercafe to catch up on email. And set up a new account, as she really should no longer have .gov at the end of her address. The next day, she would at the very least have to buy a new computer.

“Spam, spam, spam, spam….” Kassandra sang under her breath as she repeatedly hit delete. Ah, here was something completely different. “Your future employment,” read the subject line. From “unknown address.” She deleted it. A few better emails awaited her reading. She printed those to reread later, then returned to her table.

“After days of not being able to reach you by phone, I now see you’ve deleted the email I just sent you. It’s almost as if you were trying to ignore me. And you know that was bound to stop working. After all, I’d been watching you.”

Kassandra remained standing, staring at the man who was now sitting, uninvited, at her table. He spoke German in a low, smooth voice with an accent she could not place. And while he could cut a fairly dashing figure, Kassandra found him somehow repellent.

An instantaneous glimpse into this person’s timeline revealed nothing. Okay, so the man’s jet black hair and trim goatee were real. But that was not enough truth to go on at the moment.

“Es tut mir leid. Did I invite you to sit with me?”
“Strange. I thought you’d be friendlier to someone who has so much in common with you, especially since I’m only trying to help salvage your career.”

“Ganz bestimmt,” said Kassandra, icily. “And if you’d been watching me, you’d know that the success of my last mission depends now on NOT salvaging my career.”

The man leaned in and whispered in English, “Black Ops.”
Kassandra was unimpressed. “So? It’s not as if I hadn’t worked with them before.”

“So… many different nations, companies, and organizations not sympathetic to our cause are interested in information and weapons from AUTEC. The Naval base on Andros Island has resumed researching military applications of the Hutchison Effect. This information will prove cataclysmic in the wrong hands. We need you to investigate and eliminate any possible leaks. You could keep doing what I know you do best under the best possible cover, you’d have the full immunity you seem to want so badly, and this should not interfere with your current objective. Your mission will succeed, you will be able to continue as what you’ve called a modern privateer, and you’d get a chance to see the Bahamas, wenn wollst du, mit dein’ Gel-l-l… dein’ L-l-l-” here he suddenly started stammering like Billy Zane in that Tales from the Crypt movie. He just couldn’t bring himself to say that word.

Kassandra stepped out of time again. This time, visibly. “Okay, now I think I know enough about you. Completely dishonest except when you need to be manipulative. You think I’m a complete idiot? In Jesus Namen, hau ab!”

The man did not move. “Now I know you tend not to use your Lord’s name lightly, but I will not leave. And I do not take kindly to being called a liar.”

“Ach, fahr zur Hölle!”
“Uh, Miss,” said a nervous manager, “This is a no-mutant establishment. I’ll have to ask you to-”

Kassandra disappeared, leaving a wad of bills on the table.
“-uh… leave?”

[angelique]

Chapter 10

From: michaelaltheim@slrm.org
Re: Ich hoffe das hilft dir

I want to begin by thanking you for telling Lucy about your trouble so she could break the news to the rest of us before we’d hear from anyone else. This gave us some time to brace ourselves and help Mama calm down before our news ran with the stories. Poor Mama still cannot grasp that you have actually killed people in your line of work. Our dear brother Vincent is taking this rather philosophically. He, our family’s greatest pacifist, of all people, reminded us that Ecclesiastes did say there is a time even to kill. He believes that what you were trying to prevent must have been dreadful enough to warrant the measures you took. For everyone’s sake, I hope he’s right, and I hope you succeed in whatever you’re trying to accomplish creating the stir you have. I still remember too well how even a just cause does not and should not necessarily ensure an easy conscience. Like how many people died so we could simply set up a field hospital during the Rwandan genocide.

Anyway, I did some searching and sent you some articles from some papers around the world, hoping that it will help if you know how people outside the States are reacting to this.

Give my regards to Onkel Charles, Jean, Hank, and the rest. Even Logan. I figure, if you, the person who never forgets a thing, can find it in your heart to forgive him for breaking your arm, I suppose I should as well. But tell him I am still tempted to search for ways to break adamantium just in case. ;)

Wir lieben dich, und die Kinder beten täglich für ihre Tante Kassi.

-Michael


Kassandra read the printout of that email, as well as of the attached articles that were sent with it. Right and left wing papers alike from countries as diverse as Canada, Egypt, Thailand, and Switzerland echoed the sentiment expressed in Italy’s left-leaning La Republica, of mistrust for the US government, their inconsistent regard for humanity’s best interests, et cetera. Interestingly enough, the oft overtly political Namibian contained most levelheaded reports, considering that up until only a few decades ago, when a certain diamond heir created quite the scandal and eloped with a woman from the opposite side of apartheid, the Altheim name seemed inextricably and rather prominently linked with colonial oppression. No matter. In only a few days, any objective, levelheaded reporting on her case would fly out the window altogether.

And now for reading the next email. From blauritter@xavier.edu. She figured Kurt would lose no time sending messages like this. A sweet couple of sentences, the gist of which were that he missed her already. And he would console himself by planning a- purely hypothetical, of course- scuba diving adventure for the two of them, exploring ships sunken off perhaps Bimini or Abacos, and it would get their minds off all of their recent troubles.

Kassandra certainly understood. While Kurt was indeed recovering nicely from his run-in with the Church of Humanity, he was still tormented by some very ugly flashbacks. One in particular, involving a waterfall, Kassandra didn’t have the heart to explain when he told her about it. But she knew, more than Kurt, what it meant. And the very idea that a mother could not only abandon a child, but hurl him off a cliff, turned Kassandra’s stomach. A vacation could be good for him. She would have liked one, too. But why the Caribbean? And what was with all this talk about the Bahamas? Kassandra decided she’d had enough and had to call Kurt, now.

“Kurt, Liebster, I have a different idea for an adventure. One that I think we should take now.”

“Was ist das, Liebchen?”
“Fly down here right now, stay for a few days, and I can show you Washington DC like you’ve never seen it before. And we’ll try to arrange with the court so you can deliver your testimony while you’re here.”

Kurt suddenly had an impression of Kitty Pryde on the phone.
“Kassi, after all this,” she said, “what I think we all need is to see England without any work-related distractions. You especially. You’ve obviously forgotten what it’s like to travel for fun.”

“Kassi, I’d like that,” said Kurt, “but it’s late. How about if I fly in first thing tomorrow?”

“Kurt?” Kassandra didn’t know how to tell him that she was terribly worried it wouldn’t happen. “I’ll pray you get here safely and soon. Can we meet at Langley Air Force Base? Forge owes me a couple of favors, anyway.”

“Nun gut. Ich liebe dich, Kassi.”
“Und ich liebe dich auch, Kurt. Gute nacht.”

[angelique]

Chapter 11

FORMER SPY A MUTANT!

Westchester County, New York- One of the mutants that appeared on the scene at the bombing of St. Anne’s Catholic Parish, Salem Center, was identified by eyewitnesses as Kassandra Altheim, the rogue CIA covert operations specialist responsible for the Church of Humanity massacre.

The CIA has denied any knowledge that she was a mutant and has disavowed the raid she led on the Cathedral. “It’s clear now,” said Director Gerald Karst, “that her reasons for overstepping her bounds were personal.”

A spokesperson for the families of those lost at the Cathedral agreed, and said wrongful death lawsuits would not be filed against the government, but against Altheim herself.

Special prosecutor Emily Fitzsimmons has vowed to close the criminal investigation and indict as soon as possible. This revelation, she said, “changes everything….”


Kassandra didn’t need to finish reading the article. While she appeared successful in taking heat off the government, she was still dismayed at the fickleness of public opinion. How quickly she’d gone from outed operative “allegedly” responsible for the “debacle” in Montana to rogue spy and mass murderer, all with the revelation of a genetic quirk.

“So, Zeitgeist,” said Forge. “Enjoying more objective reporting at it’s finest?”

“I’m just amazed at how we’ve managed to get the Washington Post and the Times to agree on something. So how’s everything?”

“I should be asking you. I haven’t been dealing with anything remotely mystical in years, you’ve been justifiably mad at me that whole time, and you call out of the blue asking to get together. Then you turn up and drag me here, hours before we originally planned to meet. So what dire warnings could you have for me now?”

“No warnings yet. Just a couple of questions, and you, being the government’s main guy for Techint and research, should provide me with the insight I need. Quickly,” said Zeitgeist, “what can you tell me about AUTEC’s projects? Anything about applying the Hutchison Effect?”

“What do you know about the Hutchison effect? You never struck me as very strongly inclined toward physics.”

“All I know is that it’s something about using electromagnetic currents to warp time, space, or both. I only know because it’s been bandied about in an attempt to explain everything from the Bermuda Triangle to how Kurt can teleport- or how I can control time. That, and it figured prominently into a couple of my favorite X-Files episodes- except those blamed Area 51 rather than AUTEC.”

“And now you can say you know something else about it. The Navy’s not responsible for the Bermuda Triangle phenomena. The artificial teleportation technology the military currently has wasn’t developed at AUTEC, and it is still too primitive and dangerous- though I know that didn’t keep your ‘friends’ in that cult from stealing and using it.”

“That’s why they resorted to some of those Mengelian experiments- they wanted to be able to teleport their troops without- without rehashing the Philadelphia incident,” said Kassandra.

“And as for temporal manipulation, well,” Forge smiled, “you may be happy to hear that we’re not ready to replace you. Not in this time or reality, anyway. Why do you ask?”

“Some creep claiming to be from Black Ops said the Navy was again researching possible military applications of spatial and temporal warp, and wanted to send me to Andros Island to investigate, and, ah, eliminate, all possible leaks. I figured if that were true,” Kassandra smiled in return, “you’d at the very least know something about it.”

“Know something! At this point, all I know is this is beyond even Black Ops if this gets by me without my notice.”

“I figured as much. It’s like when Pete Wisdom left MI6. Somebody’s going to try to wrap me up in something worse.”

“You’re right. Maybe we should go and check it out.”

“Forge, obviously you haven’t gotten around to reading the paper yet. I really can’t leave the country now, not since being outed as a mutant as well as a spy. SHIELD clearance or not. But here he is. An hour and a half early. Have your people ready to move, quickly."

The X-Plane had only just landed when Forge and Zeitgeist strode out to greet Kurt. A door opened, and a small gangway descended. And nobody came out. Kassandra cautiously stepped up. “Kurt?”

No response.
“Liebster?”
Kurt turned his head and looked her way.

“Gott steh uns bei!” Kassandra gasped in horror. Instead of the gorgeous smiling blue face she wanted to see, she saw sunken cheeks, hollow, contracted eyes, a face drawn in an expression of uncontrollable, unspeakable, and uncomprehending melancholy. Like something had poisoned his very existence, making it a nightmare which he could not understand, and from which he had no hope of waking.

“Kurt, kommst du mit mir, bitte. And, uh, you may want to borrow my coat. It’s… a bit cold out for what you’re wearing.”

He still said nothing, but his eyes widened, he tilted his head slightly, and whatever it was that made him look so foggy and gloomy seemed to clear slightly. To be replaced by a grim, almost fierce determination.

“Z!” Forge yelled, as he caught Kassandra tumbling to the tarmac. Kurt took to the air yet again. “What was going on in there?”

Kassandra picked herself up. “I just received confirmation that I really should stay put and get a hold of Charles. And you’ll need to try to intercept Kurt in Miami. NOW!”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

So. The one Margali called Nightcrawler would not bring the girl, though he would deliver the Steiger boy. Strange. The boy knew how she could escape, and made no attempt to stop her. Still, this could not be considered an abject failure. He had demonstrated considerable will power, even under mind control. He just might have the strength to survive what was in store for him.

On the other hand, the girl, while not a teleporter, was still important to his scheme. Her absence would mean less likelihood that his newest recruits would survive the mission, let alone succeed. And she was a difficult, willful little brat, possibly too smart for her own good. But still, he had a couple of other options for recruiting her.

Meanwhile, Kassandra decided to take a literal time out to find out more about this timeline that had wrapped around Kurt’s like the tendril of a parasitic plant. Apparently, it tangled with his before, at a couple of points very early in Kurt’s life. But only recently did it seem to exercise any influence. And now that influence was suddenly overwhelming.

Kassandra followed that connection, for that’s how she began to see it, back to its source, an excruciatingly long line, that led right up too…

…well, there was no use in running. This man was, after all, only one of the best dimensional teleporters she had yet encountered. She reentered time upon arriving at the courthouse.

And was not surprised to soon feel a repulsive breath down her neck. “I thought I might catch up with you here.”

“And I thought you were smart enough to figure out that I want you to leave me alone,” said Kassandra, loudly and in English.

“Are you always this pleasant to people trying to help you?” said the man with an unctuous smirk.

“And how am I supposed to believe you’re trying to help when you-”

“Ich bin hier,” said the man, “um dich zu warnen. Dein Gel-l-l… dein Freund Kurt, was under the influence of a telepathic directive to ensure your immediate arrival at a secret military outpost due northeast of Harbor Island. His resistance, and his failure to take you with him, however, could mean the death of him and many others.”

“Oh, and if I had come along with him, or if I consented to working with you, that would save them? Likely story.”

“You discern the truth well. And that is a weapon you wield even more skillfully than that sword you wave around. But that is only the least of your powers, nicht wahr?”

Kassandra said nothing.

“Oh, please don’t tell me you haven’t explored the full potential of your abilities to manipulate time.”

“Personally, I think you are too easily impressed by that stuff. The truth is most important. Like what I’ve been able to dig up about you. For instance, if you were who you’ve claimed to be for, oh, a few of our millennia now, you would have fled at the first sign of resistance.”

“Rotsnaze! You are aware that if you refuse to cooperate, you may seal the fate of everyone dear to you. Do you want to be responsible for that?”

“You’re the one bent on world conquest. It’s your responsibility. I, on the other hand, have depositions and indictments to deal with.”

The man reached toward her in a last-ditch effort. “Well, if you really trust a human justice system, that’s your business. But you don’t really even have to leave the country, if you’d just-”

“HÄNDE WEG!!!” Kassandra then felt herself dragged into the eye of a perfect temporal storm.

“Gott steh mir bei,” she gasped, wrenching herself free of that abhorrent grasp as a wave of dry heat smote her.

“Gott ist nicht hier, Fraulein. Nicht in meinem Haus. Wilkommen in der Hölle.”

[angelique]

Chapter 12

So this was it? Eternal separation from God, all in a convenient pocket dimension size. Eternal torment enclosed by temporal currents at a juncture between time and space. Eternal death, where the living apparently could come and go as they pleased through small spatial gaps. Kassandra herself had been there before, in fact. Once, mid-teleport in Nightcrawler’s secure grasp, she paused at that instant to have a look. None of that made any sense.

“What is this?!” said one of the people that now gathered round. The large, winged man with the eye patch stooped low and looked Kassandra over, then, noticing the medal she wore around her neck, stood back and took a swing with some monstrous sword-axe hybrid. And Kassandra discovered that, while time flowed differently, it still flowed through this supposedly timeless, lifeless realm. And wherever, whenever there was time, there was power, even if it was harder to control. She dodged, daring even to laugh in delight over her discovery as he attempted swing after futile swing.

“Stop that!” shouted the black-haired man.
“She wears the emblem of an archangel!”

“I am well aware of that, but she is a powerful warrior.” The man would not venture a guess as to how powerful, but seeing that she could manipulate time even in his realm excited him. “And as such, she is to be respected as my distinguished guest, if she is willing to parley.”

“You know,” said Kassandra cautiously, as she resumed temporal synchronization, “I daresay my opinion of you is beginning to change.”

His face twisted into a mirthless mockery of a smile. “I thought you might come around. After all, you and I do have a lot in common. You are not a dishonest person at heart, yet you engage repeatedly in tactical deceptions, and if not outright lies, then withholding or manipulating the truth to accomplish your objectives. I have done likewise as you are now well aware, all for a cause I think you would find noble. I seek your assistance in purging the earth of corruption once and for all.”

“If you were really so concerned about eliminating corruption, you’d start with yourself! You’re not a liar so much as you are delusional. Auf nimmer wiedersehen!” Kassandra disappeared and, threading her way through the lines that, when moving, eddied ferociously within, beyond, and around the edges of… wherever, whenever she was, found her way back to where she’d left off.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

A security guard watched with increasing concern as what looked like a potentially dangerous situation unfolded outside the courthouse. Some guy bothering a girl who had just said in plain English that she wanted to be left alone. Though he wasn’t speaking English, he appeared to understand clearly. And he kept pestering her anyway. The discussion became very heated. Then he grabbed a hold of her. She screamed. And then, all of the sudden, the assailant was gone, leaving the girl coughing in a rapidly dissipating cloud of sulfurous smoke.

“Are you all right, Miss?”

“I’m fine. It’s just… I’m fine.” Her phone rang. “Hallo?”
She sighed and muttered something that, while not in English, did not sound in the least bit pleasant. “Thanks Forge. I’ll let Charles know.”

She then aggressively punched a button on her cell phone. “Hallo? Charles and Lorna are still in session? Tell them Alex, Carter and the rest will need their help, RIGHT AWAY! Yes, Carter, too. Somebody should let Annie know where her son is. And tell Charles to stick with following the telepathic signatures. Forge says radar, line of sight, and compass bearings are acting up again past Miami.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

That was quite a display of power. So he was right that the girl could control and navigate through even the fiercest and most erratic chronological tempest. She would indeed have been valuable in helping the teleporters hold open the space-time rift and speed his forces through the portal. Also, there was her ability to discern and manipulate the truth, as well as her unique position in the genetic holy war he’d claim credit for engineering- after his victory was assured. Granted, she did wipe out quite a number of his unwitting pawns in Montana, but they were only human cannon fodder anyway, and a knight such as her still could be extremely useful to him, if only he could play her right.

She didn’t even have to set foot on his island, though it might have been easier for all involved if she did. His island, a locale so carefully selected. Since long before the surrounding area was known as the Bermuda Triangle or even the Sargasso Sea, since even, as a couple of those pathetic Christian pub rat authors from England put it, before the fall of Númenór, its natural magnetic anomalies weakened the boundaries between dimensions. And, while he hadn’t been watching her for anywhere near as long as he’d observed the others, he was pleased with how the seed of ruthlessness had taken root in her.

But as she was no offspring of his, manipulating her of course would be more difficult. And he may have underestimated just how cold and obstinate she could be. His appeal to her patriotism, her idealism, and her frustrations failed. And she l-l-l… she was, rather, utterly besotted with that Nightcrawler boy, right? Emotional, yes, but apparently not easily swayed by emotion.

“Ginniyeh,” he said to one of his minions, “You will need to play the role of truth-reader, starting now, and possibly until our conquest is complete. Is there any possibility the time-rider would consider changing her mind to save the Nightcrawler’s life?”

“None whatsoever, my lord Azazel.”

[angelique]

Chapter 13

Church of Humanity Lawsuits Settled
Former CIA Operative Still Faces Criminal Charges

Washington DC- In a move that defied the expectations of even her own attorney, mutant ex-spy Kassandra Altheim insisted upon settling with the families of the eleven men she killed prior to ordering a raid on the Church of Humanity’s compound outside of Butte, Montana, and two more who died shortly thereafter.

“This by no means qualifies as an admission of guilt,” said attorney Jack White. “It was Miss Altheim’s hope that settling out of court would simply save the families some additional heartache.”

A spokesman for the victims’ families had this to say: “We might believe that this gesture was motivated by remorse. But it could also be an attempt to buy justice. There can be no justice and no reasonable expectation of closure for these families and those of all the others lost in the raid until this woman is at the very least put away for good.”



Closure? What closure? There was only moving from one stage of grief to the next. Even accepting the reality was a stage of grief, not the end of it. Beating the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants into pulp- some of them twice- brought her no closure after they murdered her father. When Magneto’s evil inclination took an all-too-brief vacation during Kassandra’s last year at the Institute, she saw how the crimes he’d committed tormented his restored conscience. She did not have closure then. If Magneto, Pyro, Mystique, and Sabretooth were all locked up for life or even executed, she would not have closure. Even if she had the twisted satisfaction of killing them herself. No. Justice might be done from time to time. Acceptance, yes. Hopefully even reconciliation and healing. But closure? Never in this reality. Expecting it would always be unreasonable. It was only a pipe dream entertained by people who either never suffered a tragic loss, or never cared enough to notice if they had. An empty word never used by people who really understand.

A lump formed in Kassandra’s throat, and fat, hot tears splashed onto the afternoon newspaper that now shook in her hands.

“Kassandra?” A friendly hand rested itself upon her shoulder. “What’s the matter? You look like you’ve been through-”

“Don’t say it, Jack. But you’re right. I’m not feeling very well at the moment.”

Not feeling well? Jack was only vaguely familiar with what Kassandra’s abilities were- just enough to know that “not feeling well” either meant she would feel fine in a second, or big trouble was on the way. “Well, I could arrange to postpone the hearing if you think it will help.”

“Nein, danke. We need to get this over with.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Your honor,” said Fitzsimmons, “the people charge the defendant, Kassandra Altheim, with eleven counts of murder in the first degree, twenty one counts of murder in the second degree, two counts of first degree manslaughter, four counts of treason, and one count of burglary.”

“And how does the defendant plead?”
“Not guilty on all charges, Your Honor,” said Jack.

“Mr. White, is your client all right?” The Honorable Thelma Montgomery had tried young killers before, and was all too familiar with the scared, vulnerable kid act they could pull in court to get sympathy. What shocked her was how this accused traitor and mass murderer looked like she could almost get away with that. And she didn’t try. But she did look like she was going to be sick.

“Let’s get on with it,” the girl said.
“Very well. What do the people recommend?”

“As Miss Altheim has friends and family in countries not likely to extradite, and given the magnitude of the charges and the fact that she is a mutant,” said Fitzsimmons, “the people recommend that she be remanded to federal custody pending trial.”

Judge Montgomery noticed the girl exchanging whispers with her attorney. “Mr. White, does the defense have anything to say?”

“We do, Your Honor,” said Jack. “We have evidence in emails, phone records, surveillance, and eyewitness accounts that Miss Altheim had several times refused opportunities to flee to the Bahamas, or even to leave the country at all. She also had only just recently moved to her current address in McLean. And finally, she had told her sister that she intended to face justice. If she posed any flight risk at all, she would have been gone by now. Also, she does not have a criminal record outside of these allegations. There is no evidence that, regardless of her mutation, she poses any threat to the community.”

Jack was interrupted by a flurry of frantic gestures and whispers from the girl, who was looking worse by the moment.

“Well, I think I’ve heard enough for now,” said Judge Montgomery. “I’ll take five minutes to consider. And Miss Altheim, I recommend you take that time to get some fresh air or a drink of water. I don’t put up with people playing sick in my courtroom. I’m certainly not going to tolerate the real thing.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Kassandra, as she got up, and bolted for the restroom.

And got there at just barely the right moment.

Sometimes, subconscious awareness of an imminent tragedy was all it took to pull her involuntarily out of time. And this was more than subconscious. She knew what was wrong the same way someone without the healing factor might notice a cerebral spinal headache. And it was almost as gut-wrenchingly, excruciatingly physical. She pulled off the power inhibitors the court had started making her wear.

And just like it was with the Adversary or the Marauders, Kassandra was immediately zeroed in on what was wrong. And she could not look away. But if there was any truth in what that repulsive man said, she was not powerless to prevent it, even from a restroom in Washington DC.

Now what was it he intended for her to do? Create a localized temporal warp field large enough to encompass the spatial rift the teleporters’ combined powers were creating? She hadn’t attempted anything of that magnitude since her own ill-fated encounter with the Adversary, but, theoretically speaking anyway, while it would cost her, she could do it. And from the convenience of where she was, at least as far as space was concerned, she could see events and manipulate time even on an uncharted and unfortunately named Atlantic island, where the dimensional boundaries seemed weakest. Slow time down within the confines of her field to give the army assembled on the other side of the rift the advantage of extratemporal speed? Not a chance, particularly with Logan, Jubilee, Iceman, Havok, Husk, and young Carter Ghazikhanian there. But she could try something similar.
She certainly couldn’t do nothing. Already, the strain of combining their powers to hold open the spatial rift was taking a toll on the teleporters assembled on that island. Indeed, Mein Gott!- some appeared to be melting together. Just as if- how did Beast put it?- electrons were forced to orbit through the space within other atoms, to produce not a molecular bond nor nuclear fusion, but quite simply atoms sharing the same space at the same time. But of course, that was all academic in light of the grisly reality. The man apparently was being half-truthful. They were already dying. Her inaction could kill all of them. As, on the other hand, any mistake on her part could kill them and many, many others.

So she got to work. And it was actually harder for her to create localized fields and manipulate the flow of time than it was to stop it altogether. Though stopping time was hard physically, temporal manipulation took more control and concentrated effort. But within the dimensional rift, time would flow indeed at a different rate than on the rest of that island. She’d speed it up. And for just one critical heartbeat at the right moment, for any longer could endanger all but maybe Logan, she would stop time around the lines of everyone on the island, outside the rift, giving them every advantage she could, right… here it is…NOW!


The mutant who had for so long called himself Azazel that he and many others began to believe that was who he really was, claimed he knew the dimensional currents in his little pocket universe like he knew his own tail. But nothing he knew could account for why his army took so long to arm and assemble, and why it seemed his side of the portal was so slow in opening to let through anything other than a couple of bowshots. Except for maybe… he opened a dimensional window to look in on the time-rider. And saw her, or rather, what appeared to be two blurry images of her superimposed on each other, in that restroom, and yet somehow not exactly there. And looking simultaneously sickened and giddily intoxicated with anxiety and righteous fury. The rotten little sneak. She somehow knew exactly what he wanted of her, and was doing the exact opposite. He would just have to push the few of his children that had any strength left to hold the gateway open a bit longer. And then his mental control over them slipped. His strongest telepathic blast accomplished nothing. In came the X-Men.

And the dimensional portal was destroyed.

A clerk walked into the restroom. “Miss Altheim, the recess is up- oh my God!”

“Ich konnte sie… nicht alle retten…”

[angelique]

Chapter 14

“This just in,” said the anchorwoman. “An earthquake registering at 6.8 struck early this afternoon, causing structural damage throughout the north Caribbean and down the coastal areas of the southeastern United States. The US Geological Survey has placed its epicenter at 500 miles east of the Kennedy Space Center. While it says the chance of a tsunami is unlikely, the government of the United States joined those of the Bahamas, the United Kingdom, Haiti, and the Dominican Republic in urging people in the affected areas to stay away from the beaches.
“So far, there are only reports of minor casualties, but….

“Minor casualties? MINOR casualties?!”
“You should be resting, not watching this. Oh,” said Mrs. Slawson, as she noticed the news crawl running at the bottom of the television screen, “it looks like your little spell made the news, too. Exhaustion? I thought your healing factor could prevent that.”

“Even I can overextend myself.”
“Well, the doctors certainly agree. Now Naomi insisted on making you some chicken soup. Dear me!” said Mrs. Slawson, putting a squirmy Janie down as the television again grabbed her attention.

“Tonight,” said a serious-looking man in glasses, “Had rogue spy Kassandra Altheim really reached her limit, or was her sudden courthouse collapse merely a ploy for the judge’s sympathy?”

“Looks like neither Hannity nor Colmes are going to be particularly sympathetic to you tonight.”

“I didn’t think they would,” said Kassandra.
Janie held a pudgy finger up to the television. “Bwah bwah bwah bah!” she said with utmost conviction.

“That’s right.” Kassandra smiled. “The liberals advocate rights for all humanity, but they define humanity a bit too narrowly. Those calling themselves conservative may also have some good ideas, but they’re too afraid of change to do anything. I figure I haven’t done my job right if I don’t catch it from both sides.”

“Thpthpthpthpthpt!” said Janie.
“That’s right, dear,” said Mrs. Slawson. “Not a fun position to be in, Kassandra. I remember when my Joe came back from Vietnam, he was treated by one side as a worthless failure and the other as if he were personally responsible for My Lai, when all he thought he was there to do was strike a blow or two for freedom.”

“Did he talk much about..?”
“He told me as much as he could. Really, I don’t think the whole subject is good for his blood pressure, especially how the media covered the retaking of Hué.”

“I can certainly understand that,” said Kassandra.
A pair of little feet pattered down to her door, where a small tap sounded. “Gamma, Ta-see! Gampa say soup weady!”

Mrs. Slawson opened the door to reveal two-and-a-half year old Naomi, clad in a tie-dye tee shirt, bib overalls, and a pink tutu, her fine honey-blonde hair sticking out from behind a purple plastic tiara. “Chi-chen soup ma’e you bettah, Ta-see?”

“Ben and Naomi always have their special chicken soup when they’re not feeling well,” said Mr. Slawson, as he brought down a tray with a steaming bowl set on top.”

“Ah-na-na-na-na!” Janie squealed.
“An’ Danie yikes it too!” said Naomi, insistent that nobody forget her baby sister.

“Goo,” said the baby, content that she made her intentions to be fed known.

“Well, plenty of that for all will certainly help,” said Kassandra. “And after we get some rest and Ben finishes his homework, I think I’ll be ready to tell you more stories, maybe this time about the mysterious Blue Knight of Schwarzwald.”

“Yay! Boo Knight!”
And Kassandra only nurtured this one hope as she finished eating. That somehow, despite all the odds, her blue knight and the team sent to retrieve him would all come out of this okay. But she was too tired to look and make sure. Still, if anything really bad were happening at the moment, she was pretty sure she’d know.

She was awakened a few hours later by her phone ringing. “Hallo? Kurt?! Kurt, was ist los?” she practically shrieked. “Ist alles in Ordnung? Ich habe mich so gesorgt. Ich konnte nicht-”

“Kassandra…” said Nightcrawler. “Kassi, du weinst doch nicht etwa, oder?”

As if in reply, Kassandra sniffled and wiped away the tears of relief that gushed from her eyes. “Und Logan, und…”

“All the rest are fine. And I’m taking a couple of other survivors back to New York as we speak.”

“Wie viele?”
“Only two.”
Kassandra sighed. She would have liked to do far better. Still, this was better than she expected.

“And,” Kurt continued, “I think you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve got with me one of your star witnesses, Nils Steiger.”

“Sehr gut, Kurt. Though I won’t need his testimony any more. I wasn’t charged for attacking Sean Cassidy or killing Leyu Yoshida- the crimes he witnessed. And of course the repulsive question came up of if it counts as homicide when a mutant is killed. But he’ll still be a valuable witness in the case against…”

“You can go ahead and say it. Against my mother. She stopped dropping hints and finally came out and told me. And I also met my biological father.”

“Kurt…”
“If I ever regretted that I wouldn’t be able to take you home to meet my parents, I don’t any more.”

“Gut,” said Kassandra, “because I’ve already had the dubious honor of meeting den alten Teufel, and you may be thankful that I’m not calling him that literally. No offense, while he is dishonest, manipulative, and not above sacrificing any life besides his own for his agenda…”

“Don’t forget lecherous. This guy apparently got around. He didn’t lay a finger on you, nicht wahr?”

“He only tried to recruit me to control the temporal currents in and around the dimensional rift. He may be evil, but not stupid enough to try anything else with me.”

“Hey, uh, you ripping on the old man? ‘Cause if so, I might like to add a few things!”

“Wer ist das?” Kassandra asked.
“Nils. Apparently he is my half-brother. As well as this other guy from New Zealand. And several others who didn’t…”

“I know. I tried to protect all of you… and couldn’t.”
“Kassandra.” Kurt made a valiant effort to keep himself pulled together. He’d been shocked to the core at witnessing the deaths of many he only just found out were his siblings, then giddy with excitement about meeting two surviving brothers. And apparently Kassandra once again did something drastic for his benefit- and felt she’d somehow failed. “What exactly did you do?”

“A little remote work with temporal warp fields, that’s all. I couldn’t do much. I just didn’t want that army to have enough time to get through the portal.”

“So, I guess you saw the worst of what happened, then.”
“Unless what happened to you while I was recovering was any worse, Gott bewahre.”

“Well, it looks like all my worst suspicions about my parents were confirmed.”

“Nein, Kurt. Not the very worst ones. Okay, so Mystique ist dein’ Mutter. But the old man isn’t who he thinks he is. And even if he were, I don’t see how it would make a difference regarding you. Do you have any memory of when I first enrolled at the Institute- about a year after you joined?”

“Eigentlich..,” Kurt thought for a bit, as he was still sorting through his flashbacks. “’ Ein Vater der Waisen, ein Anwalt der Witwen ist Gott in seiner heiligen Wohnung.’ I seem to remember you- you cried when I quoted that to you. Was that… at your father’s funeral?”

“Ja. And you quoted one more to me. One of your favorite verses.”
The familiar and comforting words of Romans 8:15. “’Denn ihr habt nicht einen Geist empfangen, der euch zu Sklaven macht, so dass ihr euch immer noch fürchten müsstet, sondern…” It was Kurt’s turn to choke up.

Kassandra finished for him. “’…ihr habt den Geist empfangen, der euch zu Söhnen macht, den Geist, in dem wir rufen: Abba, Vater!’ Und Kurt? In your plane right now I think we have three living examples of how life is by no means like an Omen movie.”

[angelique]

Chapter 15

The next day at the courthouse, jury selection wrapped up. And already the jurors were well aware that this was not going to be another hassle to weasel out of, nor another vacation paid for by the government. The defendant was being charged with all kinds of heinous crimes. Yet she didn’t look or even act as if she was capable of hurting even a gnat. Her attorney, on the other hand looked far more worthy of the shackles she wore than she did. He had just angrily requested to approach the bench. The trial hadn’t even really started, and already things were getting interesting. A few of the jurors leaned in hoping to catch a little of the apparently heated exchange he had at the sidebar with the prosecutor and the judge.
“It’s one thing if the grand jury that’s in session happens to have no mutants on it, but to deliberately select only non-mutants for this jury violates my client’s right to a trial by her peers.”
“Your Honor,” said the prosecutor. “The defendant had for years been passing herself off as human and even to this day identifies herself as human. An all-human jury should suffice. Besides, we don’t want to risk, say, a telepath on the jury manipulating the proceedings.”
Judge Montgomery was not comfortable with the regulations placed upon mutants, but she was first and foremost an interpreter and enforcer of the law. “Mr. White, while I appreciate your point, as we had explained to the selection pool, it is your client who is on trial, not mutant regulations, nor,” she looked hard at the prosecutor, “mutants or mutation in general. Swear in the jury.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“And our reporter is coming to you live from the Washington DC federal courthouse, where the trial of mutant spy Kassandra Altheim just got under weigh this morning. How are things going out there?” said the anchorman.
“Things are already getting quite heated out here,” said the newswoman, indicating the crowd of anti-mutant protestors and attention starved goofballs trying to get their faces on television.

“And the cross-examinations promise to be even more so. Witnesses are being brought in from as far away as England, France, Italy and Altheim’s native Namibia to take the stand. And even witnesses from the United States include people such as CIA Director Gerald Karst, Warren Worthington III, and various members of the notorious band of mutants, the X-Men.”

“Will Charles Xavier be there? I understand he was a longtime friend of the Altheim family.”

“No. As telepaths, he and Dr. Jean Grey will actually not be allowed there at all. Some other witnesses, due to the nature of their mutations, will also not be allowed in the courtroom. Rather, they will have to deliver their testimony via closed-circuit feed. Others might- and this is purely speculative- but they might be allowed in on the condition that they wear inhibitors while delivering their testimony or leave immediately when they’re finished. The only one who will be allowed to stay in the courtroom for the duration of all the proceedings will be Altheim herself, also on the condition that she wears inhibitors and restraints.”

“So I bet the mutant rights activists will be up in arms over this treatment,” said the anchorman.

“Oh, they are,” said the reporter. “But if you look at it one way, it’s really no different than forbidding weapons in the courtroom.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------

“The defense would like to call Warren Worthington III to the stand.”
Archangel was sworn in, then took his seat by the judge’s bench. Kassandra had not seen as much as she would have liked of him lately, but was glad to see that he was looking remarkably well, especially considering all he’d been through. And she was even more pleased to see that nobody insisted on binding his wings.
“So, Mr. Worthington,” said Jack, “I’ve heard you’ve had a rather checkered history with my client. Would you agree with that description?”
“Yes,” said Warren. “Yes, I would.”
“And why?”
“In the time I’ve known her, I’ve known her as an ally, an enemy, and finally as a friend.”
“How would you describe her in each of those capacities, Mr. Worthington?”
“As an enemy, make no mistake. She can be dangerous. As an ally, she can be difficult and unpredictable, and may not take orders or suggestions well. But as a friend, she is very loyal.”
“Would you say she extends that same loyalty to her country?”
“Absolutely. I can’t tell you how many assignments she’d taken at risk to her own life out of her sense of patriotic duty.”
“But based on what you do know, do you think she is the sort that would intentionally betray or kill anyone.”
“No.” Warren thought for a bit. “No. Not intentionally.”
“Thank you, Mr. Worthington.” Jack took his seat.
Fitzsimmons rose and approached the stand. “Mr. Worthington, could you state for the benefit of the jurors who may not already know what your occupation is?”
“I am chairman emeritus of Worthington Industries.”
“And how did such an illustrious person as yourself come to regard Miss Altheim as an enemy in the first place? Was it anything she did?”
“No, it was not.”
“What happened, then?”
Warren hesitated, one wing giving a nervous flutter.
“Jack, you’ve got to stop this!” Kassandra whispered frantically.
Fitzsimmons pressed on. “Did it have anything to do with your affiliation with the mutant known as Apocalypse?”
“Kassandra, it might help if the jury knew you went up against that guy,” Jack whispered back.
“Still,” Kassandra replied, “She’s going to ask questions Warren can’t legally answer.”
“Objection!” said Jack, aloud. “How is this relevant to the case?”
“Your Honor,” said Fitzsimmons, “this bears upon the witness’ credibility as well as his relationship to the defendant.”
“Permission to approach, Your Honor?”
“Granted,” said Judge Montgomery.
“Your Honor,” said Jack, “this line of questioning could compel Mr. Worthington to reveal information that, while potentially helpful to my client, the CIA itself has determined is irrelevant to this case, and has kept classified.”
“Your Honor,” said Fitzsimmons, “Information on Mr. Worthington’s involvement with the Horsemen of the Apocalypse was easily available courtesy of Mr. White’s own colleague Jennifer Walters.”
“But no information on my client, Your Honor,” Jack retorted.
“Overruled,” said Judge Montgomery. “Ms. Fitzsimmons, you may present to the jury your evidence about Mr. Worthington’s affiliation with Apocalypse, but I suggest that, I suppose in the interest of national security, you change your line of questioning. And rephrase the question.”
“Looks like I won’t be calling on Logan to testify,” Jack muttered as he returned to his seat.
Fitzsimmons presented the documents in question to the bailiff, then resumed pacing before the witness stand, trying not to look like she’d just shot herself in the foot. “Very well. Mr. Worthington, can you say if Apocalypse had anything to do with the one-time animosity between you and the defendant, without going into classified specifics?”
“Yes,” said Warren. “It did.”
“And now,” said Fitzsimmons, “could you elaborate on how you came to regard the defendant as an ally? Did that have anything to do with the ties you share with Charles Xavier?”
“Actually, no.”
“Why, then, did you go from being casual acquaintances with mutual friends to actually working together?”
“After the depth of my uncle’s involvement in diamond smuggling came to their attention, the CIA recruited Kassandra to expose that syndicate’s connections in Angola, South Africa, and Namibia. I had to keep her and her station chiefs updated regarding developments on my end.”
“And as a diamond heiress, the defendant had a personal, vested interest in ending this illegal competition, right?”
“What about it?” said Warren, a little annoyed. “Most agents take assignments for personal gain. And do you know what she and her family have been doing with their money?”
“Mr. Worthington,” snapped Judge Montgomery, “answer the question.”
“Yes, she did,” said Warren.
“And you were officially a contact for the CIA during that operation. Did this relationship with the agency continue up to and during Operation Conclave?”
“Officially, no.”
“And yet, we have on record that she continued corresponding with you about an operation that was supposed to be top secret.” Fitzsimmons presented some more papers to the bailiff, who handed a couple to Warren before distributing them to the jury. “Did the defendant send you these emails?”
“Yes she did.”
“And did she call an unauthorized conference with you, the mutant formerly known as Weapon X, and Dr. Jean Grey?”
“Yes.”
“Did she discuss her intentions to go to the Cathedral, without a warrant or any federal authorization?”
“Yes, she did, as well as her reasons-”
“Thank you, Mr. Worthington.”
“Now just a minute-” Warren about jumped from his seat, wings whirring in indignation.
“That will be all Mr. Worthington,” said Fitzsimmons, sharply. “Thank you.”

[angelique]

Chapter 16

The prosecution then called CIA Director Gerald Karst to the stand.
“Mr. Karst,” said Fitzsimmons, “what did the defendant report to you about her involvement in Operation Conclave?”

“It’s all in the written report she submitted with her resignation- more paperwork for the jury to read through, I suppose, but there was one other thing. She admitted to me that she deliberately leaked her involvement in the raid to the press.”

“And how long has the defendant served under your direction?”
“Since she first joined the CIA.”

“And in all this time under what kinds of cover did she work- that you are at liberty to disclose to the jury, of course?”

“Zeitgeist remained working with the FBI, only under a different department and under the name Elizabeth Errol-Koenig. She’d also worked under her own identity as a diamond dealer and a member of the Hellfire Club. Bear in mind, she could work under two or more covers simultaneously, and so in addition she worked on those assignments respectively as freelance journalist Angelique Sauvegarde, and as rogue CIA officer Celestine Ritter.”

“Tell me about Celestine Ritter, what you can anyway. For what purpose did the defendant work under that alias?”

“That was so she could investigate the Hellfire Club both in New York and in London. That way, if she stepped on any toes within British Intelligence, we could sacrifice Miss Ritter without losing Zeitgeist. Fortunately-”

“Half a moment,” said Fitzsimmons. “Now, whose idea was it for her to adopt the cover of rogue officer?”

“Hers,” said Karst. “And, actually, her mission succeeded in no small part because of that.”

“Regardless,” said Fitzsimmons, “what do you think now about that willingness she showed to play the part of a rogue spy? Do you think it’s possible that reflected a growing desire to disregard the law, the chain of command, and take matters into her own hands?”

Karst looked unsure. “It’s possible, I suppose.”
“And what can you tell me of her assignment in Ronsaphan?”

“Quite simply, her cover there was as a mercenary and an assassin looking to improve her weapons proficiency and find more work. Her assignment was to track illegal weapons shipments and terrorist trainees that came through Thailand.”

“I understand that did not go quite as smoothly. Now I understand that the details of who did what wrong there are being kept secret both by the CIA and MI6. But the end result was..?”

“According to Zeitgeist’s report, the mission was compromised. The whole smuggling and terrorist training operation there was wiped out, but it came at a terrible human cost. She and only one other survived. Everyone else, even village bystanders, was slaughtered.”

“How many died by her hand?”
“It was impossible to determine.”

“But is it safe to assume that when this mutant menace gets herself in trouble, people die by the dozens, or in this case, perhaps even hundreds, right?”

“OBJECTION!” shouted Jack.
“No further questions,” said Fitzsimmons. She returned to her seat, feeling quite confident as Jack, looking as if he’d been suddenly forced to completely scrap and improvise the cross-examination, approached the stand.

“Director Karst,” said Jack, “when my esteemed counterpart questioned you about my client’s work as Celestine Ritter, you were about to say something about the purpose of creating that persona, but were cut off. What was it you were going to say?”

“I was just going to add,” said the Director, “that Scotland Yard and MI6 shared our concerns about Black Air and their apparent connections with the Hellfire Club. Through Celestine, consequently, we were able to cooperate more fully and directly with British Intelligence. But officially, Celestine did play fast and loose with our agreement to not spy upon British subjects, and once her assignment was done, she had to disappear.”

“You also said you supposed it’s possible that her willingness to take that role reflected a growing desire to flout the law and chain of command, and take matters into her own hands. Did you ever consider the idea that this actually reflected some different characteristic?” Jack asked.

“Yes, I most certainly did, at the time, even if I’m not so sure any more.”

“What was that?”
“A tendency to put herself on the line for our best interests.”

“And after Operation Conclave, how did you feel about her resignation?”

“I personally hoped she’d stay on at least until the investigation was closed,” said Karst. “She had proven herself a very capable operative, able to get unusual amounts of information, for instance, from contacts, while avoiding potentially compromising situations far more effectively than most. I was worried that her resignation would amount to a premature admission of guilt. But, of course as it turned out, she had to go.”

“Did she say why?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” said Karst. “She did not want the agency to appear to be covering for her.”

[angelique]

Chapter 17

And so the day dragged on. One witness after another was called up. Witnesses from the hospital, describing the wounds her boys suffered. Forensic scientists testifying about swords and ballistics. Newspaper editors. Cult experts. It seemed Miranda would never be called to the stand, but at last her turn came. What was her name? Miranda Eastman. From Napa, California. She answered flatly, like a woman who’d cried out all her tears and was utterly drained of any emotional vitality. Was she related to Justin and Jason Eastman, who had died at St. James Hospital in Butte, Montana? Yes. Yes, she is- was- their mother. As well as the aunt of Arnold Eastman.

What had become of her nephew? He’d left for Rome. The family then heard nothing from him until word got back that he was being questioned regarding his involvement in a supposed terrorist network. Then shortly after that, he went missing, and is now presumed dead.

And how about her sons? A similar story. They joined the Church of Humanity. Once she made it clear that, while she supported their decisions, no matter how religiously unorthodox, she would not follow the same path, she heard nothing more from them. Until she got a call from the hospital. At this point, an unexpected reserve of emotion started bubbling up to the surface.

“May I ask what they were being treated for?” said Fitzsimmons.
Miranda swallowed hard and tried to compose herself. “Justin lost both arms. Jason lost an arm and was shot through the leg and stomach. So I flew up to Butte as quickly as I could, and by the time I got there, they… were… gone.”

A muffled sob came from the direction of the defendant’s table. Miranda glanced over to see the defendant’s family, evidently not mutants as they were allowed to sit in the courtroom, huddled behind the surprisingly diminutive form of the accused. All appeared just barely keeping it together as Miranda was asked to recount how she suffered losing her boys, and not even being allowed to bury them.

The defendant- well even a vicious dog could appear contrite when caught. In fact, Miranda wondered why they were even bothering with a trial. It wasn’t like she was human. And she was only American on a technicality. Immigration never bothered to ask if she was a mutant. So it seemed human rights and the rights due a citizen didn’t really apply. The creature needed to be put down.

That it would mean one more human mother left behind to grieve, well… suddenly Miranda wasn’t so sure. Some people, even those who shared her anti-mutant sentiment, called her sons religious fanatics after they joined that cult and then stopped having anything to do with her. She was still their mother, and would mourn accordingly. So this other woman birthed and raised a mutant. She was certain to soon lose a daughter. They didn’t seem all that different any more.

Fitzsimmons had asked her last question, leaving Miranda to brace herself for the cross-examination. The defense attorney paced before the witness stand before he spoke.

“Mrs. Eastman, I can only imagine the enormity of your grief. After all, you didn’t lose your sons just once, but twice- the first time being when they joined the Church of Humanity. That must have been particularly painful, considering, and I’m assuming here, that you didn’t raise them to hate mutants or Catholics… or did you?”

“I never raised my boys to hate anyone!” Miranda sobbed, suddenly infuriated. “I encouraged them to think for themselves, create their own path in life, and live by their own morals, but never to hate!”

“I understand. Sometimes the apple does indeed fall farther from the tree than we expect. But just so we’re perfectly clear, you yourself don’t harbor any prejudice against mutants or Catholics, do you?”

“No, no of course not.”
“May I,” said Jack, “remind you that you are under oath?”

“Well, okay. That scandal just shot what little credibility the Church ever had with me completely. And then they had the nerve to insist that human rights must apply to mutants, like to feti, the socially unfit, all that garbage while ignoring the plight of living, productive, human children, and completely disregarding the rights of majority who don’t even think mutants are human. Yeah, I have a problem with that. And no, I don’t think mutants are fully human like you or me. Or, actually,” Miranda said, lowering her voice as she noticed the increasingly prickly demeanor of the defendant’s mother, “come, to think of it, I’m not so sure. But at any rate, I’m not prejudiced.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Eastman. No further questions.” Jack returned to his seat, muttering under his breath, “that woman assumes far too much.”

[angelique]

Chapter 18

If the mutant who called himself Azazel had any virtue whatsoever, it was perseverance. If one plan failed, he always had another. So the X-Men, particularly with that Polaris’ finely tuned magnetic abilities, laid waste to his fortress and forced him to beat a hasty retreat. So what children weren’t killed off in his previous invasion attempt could not open a portal large enough for his army. He did not need a fortress any more. He might not even need his army. He could start with a few easily manipulated souls desperate for approval, power, or revenge. Then, if he simply executed this new plan correctly, barring the involvement of some opportunistic interlopers eager to lay claim to his prize, he would have a super powered army already on earth, desperate for decisive leadership, eager to take action against that human plague. Even if it wasn’t happening as he originally planned, his war was still taking shape quite nicely.

“I don’t like the look of that crowd out there one bit,” said Kassandra, as they prepared to leave the courthouse. Outside the main entrances, beyond the crush of media, hordes of protestors strove to out-shout each other. “Could I please take the inhibitors off now?”

The police officers about to escort her out looked at each other not quite knowing what to say.

“My daughter has a point,” said Dr. Altheim. “Just look at this. If I were a mutant, I wouldn’t want to venture out there without my powers.”

“And from the looks of things,” said Warren, “you’ll have your work cut out for you protecting the others.”

“But we can help you, of course,” said Kurt, who had been watching the proceedings on the feed to the mutants’ room and had just stepped into the lobby. He then carefully outlined a plan for getting everyone out of there with minimal fuss. Warren was impressed to see Nightcrawler using the leadership skills he seemed to lose after their first misadventures in Montana. And Kassandra was glad. She may have doubly wished that Sean Cassidy could be in any shape to help. One word in his commanding voice could quell any impending riot. But she had another idea.

“Einen Moment, Kurt,” she said, pulling her inhibitors off. In the blink of an eye, she checked a timeline. “Great idea. It should work, of course, on a couple of conditions. We have to keep the sentinels out of this, even if there are mutant supremacists in the crowd posing a threat. We don’t want a panic. And besides the usual anti-mutant media tools, we’ve got a certain breath of fresh air reporting. Jack, while we’re departing, how about if we also give her something exclusive? And after we all get out?”

“We all meet for dinner at Gregor’s,” said Jack, “though I can’t stay for long. I’ve got Cain Marko’s case too, and unfortunately, not Kassandra’s time management skills!”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“This is Trish Tilby reporting from the federal courthouse where the first day of testimony in the trial of Kassandra Altheim has just concluded.”

Professor Xavier might have been able to restrain his desire to check in on the proceedings telepathically, but televisionally was a different matter entirely. Some of the other new reports, objective only in the minds of their reporters and producers, were beginning to annoy even him. On the other hand, this lady was the first he’d heard refer to Kassandra by name without first calling her “mutant ex-spy,” “accused traitor and murderer,” or something even worse. He was glad to see someone reporting on the situation who didn’t think presumed innocence allowed exceptions for mutants.

“The crowd is very tense here at the moment,” Ms. Tilby continued, “and security has been tighter than usual today. It also appears that- what’s this?”

“What’s just happened?” the anchor asked.
“I have just been somehow handed a written statement, signed by Kassandra Altheim and her attorney, Jack White. They call this a preemptive renouncement of violent demonstration. It says here that they hope the people gathered here tonight can express their opinions peacefully, and, I quote, that “demonstrators on either side unable to do so will discredit their cause and likely endanger some of the very people whose right to exist they claim to support.”

“Does this seem ludicrous to you, given the magnitude of the charges against Miss Altheim, that she would renounce violence now?”

Xavier cringed.
“Not at all,” said Ms. Tilby. “Bear in mind, Miss Altheim’s family and some of her closest friends are here tonight. It stands to reason that she would insist extra measures be taken to protect them. And of course no law specifically exempts mutants from presumed innocence. This also says that Miss Altheim and some of the witnesses have pledged to cooperate fully with security to ensure that everyone can leave the courthouse in safety.”

The shouting in the background redoubled.
“And based on what I see now,” said Ms. Tilby, “I’d be grateful for that extra help.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kassandra was the first out the door. In an instant, she made sure Trish Tilby had her statement in hand. Then she flit over to the tree where Nightcrawler had arranged to meet her and resumed time. And with a muffled bamf and the feel of his arms around her, she soon found herself standing with him on the highest limb able to support their weight.

“Nette Außicht, Kurt.” But this was no time to simply enjoy the view. Kassandra gazed across the lawns and the front walkway. She could see by the sufficient light of the setting sun Archangel on the roof of the courthouse.

“We’re in position,” said Kurt into his communicator.
“Now,” Miss Tilby continued, “Apparently Miss Altheim and a couple witnesses have already managed to leave the courthouse, so it’s unlikely that we’ll be able to see or get any comment from them, but…”

“Gottes Wille geschehe,” said Kassandra.
The doors to the main entrance opened, and out came a security detail escorting the jury to their transport.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” said Kassandra, as the van drove away and another few cars pulled up. “Oh, Lieber Gott!”

“I hear a shouting match startin’ by that news van,” she heard Logan say into his communicator. “And they’re usin’ fighting words.”

“And there’s some shoving going on about 20 feet behind the press line on the east side,” said Warren.

“We’re on it,” said an officer.
But Kassandra seemed suddenly distracted by something else. “Guys, make sure Fitzsimmons and the prosecution witnesses are the last to leave.”

“But-”
“I don’t know about you, but I actually want to keep them alive. Logan, can you get in there and make sure they stay?”

“Sure thing, kid,” said Logan.
Kurt could feel Kassandra relax, but only a very, very little bit as her family and Jack were ushered out the door. “Dr. Altheim! Mr. White! Father! Mrs. Pulayantlha!” cried the reporters vying for their attention and hoping to get a comment.

“We need more reinforcements along the press line,” said Warren.
“People are trying to break through,” said Kassandra.

“Mutie-lovers! You should be tried for treason! You- you’re a doctor! Why didn’t you abort that thing? Or find a cure? Some loving human family, raising up a monster! You’re only getting what’s coming!” shouted the unsympathetic masses.

They walked to their car offering no response but a solemn and somewhat graceful stoniness.

“Mama knew stuff like this would happen eventually,” Kassandra said, choking back tears and wishing she had some duct tape on hand to apply to more than a few deserving mouths. “Wir waren uns alle dessen bewußt.”

“Deine Mutter ist stärker als meine,” said Kurt, planting a kiss on the top of her tousled head. “For what it’s worth, my mother threw me over a waterfall rather than go through the sort of thing your mother is facing today.”

“It still doesn’t make hearing the things they’re saying any easier.”
“Ich verstehe, Kassandra.”

Kassandra suddenly stiffened, then said in English, “Okay, everyone, we’ll have to get moving. Be on guard. On my signal … NOW!”

With that, Kurt teleported himself and Kassandra down from the tree then grabbed Fitzsimmons, who had just stepped out the door.

“We ain’t gonna just stand there and let ‘em railroad another one of us, are we?” a voice cried out.

“What the-?” BAMF! Fitzsimmons suddenly found herself in her car, choking on noxious smoke.

“You could thank me for saving your life, but I think I’m spoken for.”
BAMF!

Back in front of the courthouse, most of the people who had first disregarded the order to disperse were beginning to understand what it meant, and quickly scattered. Und Gott sei Dank! Kassandra saw this getting worse with every upcoming minute, and didn’t want any extra people around. “Warren, intercept him dead ahead of you, twenty four feet up, NOW!” she cried. “Logan, you smell out the rest of them?”

“Sure do, kid, but could use some help roundin’ ‘em up.”
"Okay officers, you know the drill,” said Kurt.

“Big show of force for anyone who isn’t leaving or trying to help us, but don’t engage them. Got it.”

“And guard your thoughts!” Kassandra shouted. “We’re in for big trouble!” Then her comlink, which had been operating erratically, finally went dead.

[angelique]

Chapter 19

So Warren flew into Toad at the peak of his leap, knocking him down. But Toad landed on his feet and bounced back up- shooting toward a cult expert the prosecution had brought in. Warren swooped down to intercept him again. It looked like he would have a real fight on his hands.

As Logan already did, battling Time Shadow. For once Logan didn’t need to try to avoid killing the enemy. He in all his phase forms dodged each swing of the claws perfectly, taunting Logan mercilessly. And Logan did not seem to be getting the help he needed keeping him back. What was with the security officers?

Verdammt. Kurt was going to have to teleport the witnesses into the van himself. The security detail had actually closed in around them, not helping while he, Warren and Logan facilitated the escape and fended off enemies. In fact, they weren’t doing anything at all except blocking his view, making his job more difficult. Worse yet, some protestors, whether out of fear or morbid curiosity, apparently changed their minds about following the dispersal order, and they were jostling with people who were trying to leave. The press of course had to stick around and get all this, and they also found themselves in the way. And where was Kassandra?

“Of course she’ll go straight for me,” thought Ticktock. “But we should be able to remove that threat. It’s not very clear, but I don’t expect she’s willing to hurt the security officers.”

“No, I was actually hoping to stay out of this fight altogether,” said the wraith that stood right before him, wielding a couple of borrowed nightsticks. She took swing after swing. And missed.

“You don’t have a choice, now, do you?” said Ticktock, as Time Shadow’s phase forms now engaged her as well as Wolverine, Toad and Archangel tusseled, and even Kurt was beginning to suspect he might have to fight, rather than just teleport himself and the witnesses out of this mess. Why couldn’t Kätchen be here now? Or Jean? Or a few Madroxes? Or even Scott? Even with Kassandra’s temporal multilocation, it looked like they could use all the extra help they could get.

“I always have a choice,” said Kassandra. “RUN!” she screamed, throwing up a temporal field, stopping time around the witnesses that Kurt hadn’t yet teleported out. And they were gone.

“Very well,” thought Gamesmaster. “Your ascendancy must begin with bloodshed. If we can’t get our original targets, these people will serve just fine. Fall back and let security take them.”

Kassandra detected that thought. It rankled that she couldn’t tell just then where it came from. But no matter. Toad had finally managed to leap onto Warren’s back and yank out a couple handfuls of feathers bringing them both down. Logan’s irritation at being neither allowed nor apparently able to kill Time Shadow was beginning to get the better of him. And while Kurt and Kassandra fared a bit better against the temporal phase forms, there was Ticktock’s extratemporal gift of anticipation, a handful of angry, frightened stragglers, and no small number of fully armed and telepathically manipulated guards to reckon with. Ticktock particularly impressed Kassandra. However, there was one thing he did miss.

Something distracted Gamesmaster. Ticktock knew that was probable, but as he didn’t understand how, he dismissed the likelihood. And yet it happened. And that distracted him, too, giving Kassandra all the opportunity she needed. In that instant, it was lights out for Ticktock, Timeshadow, and Toad.

“Kurt, raus mit ihnen,” Kassandra cried, indicating Logan and Warren. “Jetzt!”

Kurt knew better by now than to disbelieve Kassandra. He hoisted up Warren, threw an arm over Logan’s shoulder, and teleported them a short but, he felt, safe distance away. And noticed something very odd. Normally teleporting with two people took a lot out of him. This time, it took almost no effort, and he felt fine. And it seemed that his teleportation released less than the usual amount of smoke.

“You know the way to Gregor’s from here?” Kurt asked.
Warren nodded, looking a bit dazed.

“Good, because I don’t.” Kurt teleported back to the courthouse. And that felt normal.

Kassandra had just put down the nightsticks, and while she was still powered up, there were no more extra wraiths flitting about. And Ticktock, Toad, and Time Shadow lay at her feet unconscious.

“You’ve got them, Miss Altheim. Now power down,” said a rather disoriented looking security officer as his forces now completely surrounded her.

“You’ve got your guns trained on me,” said Kassandra. Gamesmaster could hardly blame the girl for radiating mistrust over the situation. He had been trying, with frustratingly limited success, to refocus after that momentary distraction. While he couldn’t read her thoughts, there was never any doubt as to how she felt. And he suspected she was on to him. Better to break all concentration before she was sure.

“And some mutie’s been poking around in my mind!” shouted one of the braver, more defiant stragglers. The shouting of the remaining protestors and the violence of their struggles redoubled in response. So the apparent telepathic manipulation had ceased. That did not by any stretch mitigate the danger.

Kurt, deciding this was his cue, caught Kassandra up in his arms, and teleported out. He noticed again that porting took less effort and released less smoke than usual. And found himself, much to his astonishment, taking them right to Gregor’s front entrance. He set her down and after a giddy lip lock, asked, “Wie sind wir hier gekommen?”

“A five mile blind teleport?” said Kassandra, equally astounded. “I kind of navigated and sped us through. What I wonder about is how I took you outside of time twice today, and you’re not showing any effect.”

“Was?!”
“Oh, I knew you’d be okay. I just still don’t understand how.”
“Das ist gut so, Kassandra,” said Kurt, “aber, die anderen?”

“They’ve regained consciousness, but are still feeling like they’ve got some jet lag.”

“Still, did you have to do that, and knock Toynbee and the rest out while they couldn’t fight back?”

“Kurt, the prosecutor and the witnesses are alive and safe, and I’ve held off the start of a genetic race war. Granted, the ends don’t justify the means, but what would you have had me do?”

“Ich wiße nicht, Liebste,” said Kurt, pulling Kassandra close, winding his tail around her waist. “I really don’t know. But,” he said, smiling again, “I’d like to figure out just how we managed to port like this.”

“Und ich auch,” said Kassandra, smiling in return, “Perhaps this is something we should ask Hank about. But I think the others are waiting for us. And I think we should all at least try to have some fun tonight.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Kurt could hear Johnny Cash’s version of “Hurt” emanating from an open car window.

“Isn’t there always?” said Kassandra, trying in vain to lighten her own mood. Kurt frowned.

“Es tut mir leid, Kurt,” she apologized. “You know there are facts that we must face. For one thing, I am far from innocent in all this.”

“That doesn’t make you a murderer, though,” said Kurt, a little defensively.

“And it’s up to the jury to determine if that’s even relevant, Kurt. Don’t get your hopes up. You remember reading To Kill a Mockingbird, nicht wahr?”

“Macht nichts, Liebling,” said Kurt, noticing that whatever Kassandra expected would happen the next day horrified even her. “Du bist rechtig. Let’s try to enjoy what’s left of the evening.”

“But first, I should call Charles,” said Kassandra. “He may already know we’re okay, but I think he’d want to hear it directly from us.” She then picked up her cell phone. And hit redial.

[angelique]

Chapter 20

Kurt and Kassandra entered Gregor’s private banquet room to find Warren fussing over Lucy’s insistence on examining his wings.

“I’m not hurt badly, and your mother can check for herself,” he said.
“Nonsense,” interjected Dr. Altheim. “I may be a medical doctor, but I’ve never worked on wing injuries.”

“I, on the other hand, have,” said Lucy. “And Warren, you should know me better than to think I’d mistake you for some martial eagle.”

“Jackass penguin might be more like it,” said Kassandra, with a merry little smirk. “And you flew about as well as one after Toad got a hold of you.”

So Warren begrudgingly relented, but was thankful to hear he’d sustained nothing worse than the loss of several flight feathers and a strained humeral joint- “The avian one, of course,” Lucy clarified. “And I’m amazed you weren’t hurt worse. That must have been some fight you were in.”

“And you all should have seen it!” said Kurt.
“Actually,” said Kassandra, interrupting before Kurt could mention anything about what she’d done, “I’m rather glad they didn’t.”

And so they spent a short but otherwise remarkably pleasant evening. Very little else was said about the trial, though the subject was very much on everyone’s mind, threatening to cast a pall over the evening. Instead, they talked about everything from the latest cute things Michael’s children said, to a certain orphaned cheetah Lucy recently tagged and released into the wild, to Dr. Altheim’s most recent visit to the krall where her own mother was raised, to the quality of the food, which was excellent due to the chef’s enhanced senses of taste and smell. There was laughter in retelling the story of the first time Vincent tried to play soccer in his full Franciscan habit and sandals, and bickering, as when Warren shocked the Altheim women by insisting Kassandra should not pick up the tab.

“Warren,” said Dr. Altheim, “if a Zulu woman offers you a pint of beer, you accept it. And if Kassandra wants to pay for dinner, you have to accept that!”

“Especially since this was my idea anyway, even if Jack suggested the place,” Kassandra added.

After that was settled, Kassandra really did not want to leave. But she was a bit tired after the events of the day and could not be bothered to stretch out the moment. All agreed that it would be best if they retired for the evening, and Kurt saw Kassandra home, supposedly just in case trouble arose.

“But you don’t really expect any trouble, nicht wahr?” said Kurt.
“Eigentlich, nein,” said Kassandra, mischievously.

“Hätte ich auch nicht gedacht,” said Kurt, gently squeezing her shoulder. And so they continued walking like that, by Kassandra’s new parish, the salle where she’d tried to get in some occasional fencing practice, all the places of interest on their way back to her apartment.

“So I knew you were spying on Black Air, but I didn’t know you were actually in the Hellfire Club. Could you tell me more about that?” asked Kurt.

“There isn’t much to say, Liebster,” Kassandra replied. “Hanging around a bunch of power mad snobs and scantily clad Barbie dolls, that was the least exciting part of my mission. If I were into that sort of thing, I would have gone to Yale and joined Skull and Bones.”

“Wirklich?” said Kurt, amazed. “Actually, I was wondering about how well you followed their dress code.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” said Kassandra, blushing.
“So this is a bit of a long walk. Why didn’t you get a place in the mutant district?” Kurt asked, as they walked down the steps to her porch. “Wasn’t there any housing available there?”

“Nein,” said Kassandra. “Not that it would make that much of a difference if there was. We didn’t work so hard to overcome one kind of apartheid just so I could impose another upon myself.”

Kurt chuckled as he lightly brushed her lips with his. “Das ist mein Mädchen! So, I hope you don’t mind me bringing up the trial, but-”
He felt her stiffen just enough to know he had to watch what he said.
“- the Director said you were good at avoiding compromising situations. Does that mean what I think it does?” he asked.

Kassandra fumbled with her key before opening the door and letting herself in. “Kurt, du bist unmöglich. I suppose you’d like to put me in one, nicht wahr?”

Her efforts to be funny notwithstanding, Kurt could tell she was becoming quite agitated.

“Well, theoretically speaking at least,” Kurt smiled, taking Kassandra in his arms and leaning in for another, more ardent kiss.

“Ich liebe dich, Kurt,” said Kassandra, returning his kiss, then extricating herself from his embrace. “Gute nacht.”

She quickly shut and locked the door, then fell back upon it, holding her fingers to her lips, tears streaming down her face.

“Du wißt, ich kann nicht dir verlaßen jetzt,” said Kurt, teleporting in and now crouching before her. “I was joking about compromising situations. Well, kind of. At any rate, it’s far too early for you to begin solitary confinement.”

[angelique]

Chapter 21

Xavier normally was not one to channel surf, let alone to watch any kind of television for more than the barest possible minimum amount of time. But after the events of the previous evening, in which he was by no means a remote, passive observer, he felt he needed to keep better tabs on Washington DC. And he figured there’d be lessons in this for the communication and pre-law students, as well as a civics lesson for the younger pupils. The same reporter that had so annoyed him last night was back on, live from the federal courthouse.

“All protests and pickets have been banned here as a result of the violent turn last night’s pro-mutant demonstration,” she said. Xavier cringed yet again.

“As it is,” the reporter continued, “the mutant presence in this courthouse is, if anything, stronger than it was yesterday, with testimony delivered by Scott Summers, Alex Summers, Jubilation Lee, Robert Drake and Kurt Wagner, who, it’s just been confirmed, is the son of the mutant terrorist code named Mystique.”

As if that had any bearing whatsoever on Kurt’s character, let alone upon this case. Xavier was not a vindictive sort. But he knew someone who would be interested in spearheading a class-action libel lawsuit. She had dropped a mental hint of it when she spoke with him last night.

“ Also it has been rumored that the accused herself, Kassandra Altheim, will take the stand.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” the bailiff intoned.

“I do,” said Kassandra, firmly and quietly. She removed her hand from the Bible and walked to the witness stand as gracefully as she could in her shackles. The bailiff could not resist the instinct to offer her a hand up. He was a good old southern gentleman just shy of retirement. It was hard to forget his prejudices, but even harder to forget his manners. That she was a foreign-born mutant mattered less than the fact that she behaved very much like a regular lady. In fact, the only indication that she was anything but, besides the accusations against her, was the way she glared over reactions to that blue devil looking mutant taking the stand. But though she, like most women these days, would not admit to needing help up to the stand, she graciously accepted anyway. And thanked him.

And now she sat at the witness stand, right hand resting extended before her, the left tucked under her right forearm. Kurt looked upon her, via the closed circuit feed, of course, recalling the long conversation they’d had the night before. It was so like when her father had died. There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to help her through it. And was she? Yes, she was content just to have his friendship. And he never could deprive her of that, even during the times they spent oceans apart. Even when the time he spent on the phone with Kassandra after her grandfather died annoyed Amanda. And then there were other little things he was beginning to remember. Like the expensive phone call Kassandra made from Boston to Hong Kong, just to make sure he’d be okay after Amanda had finally left him.

“Kassandra,” said Jack, approaching the witness stand, “what specifically was your mission with regard to Operation Conclave?”

“To expose and neutralize the threat the Church of Humanity posed to international security.”

“Which was detailed in your reports as well as the testimony of at least five other witnesses. But why would a small religious sect pose such a threat? You and the others seemed so convinced that even if they had succeeded in setting up Mr. Wagner as a modern antipope, their plot was doomed to fail.”

“Because the plot I got from the so-called supreme pontiff was not to just bring down the Catholic Church, but to play out the Church of Humanity’s own misinterpretation of apocalyptic prophecy. This would have included bringing all religions together into a single ecclesiocracy, after bringing on a false rapture, then attempting to rid the world of mutants- and any non-mutants who wouldn’t toe this new religion’s line.

“Yes, of course this was doomed to a spectacular failure. And they knew it, too, at least the top three in command did. But it would have been a failure that would cost millions- rather than a few score- lives, if we didn’t intervene. Do I need to reiterate everything they were under investigation for at the time, from no small amount of espionage of their own, to theft, assault, false imprisonment, and murder?”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Jack. “All that is already well documented and submitted to the jury.
“Now, did you plan out your attack on the Cathedral?”

“Agonized over it would be a better way of putting it,” Kassandra replied, “but yes.”

“Did you intend to kill anyone when you went there?”
“No.”
“Thank you. No further questions.”

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“Ach, das ist lächerlich,” groaned Kassandra, throwing down her pen in frustration over filling out her applications for the FBI. “If I’m not required to answer this question, why are they asking it in the first place?”

“Was ist das?” said Kurt. He looked over her shoulder and smiled when he saw the question that irked her so.

“What is your race or ethnicity?” it said. “Check one- white, black or African American….” How on earth could a half-white, African born American immigrant answer a question like that honestly?

“And would you look at that! Blue isn’t listed at all,” said Kurt, in mock disappointment.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fitzsimmons now took her place before the witness stand, a little bit flustered. The judge had ruled while she questioned Kurt Wagner that questions about his relationship with Mystique were irrelevant, so she knew that inquiring about the rumored closeness between the accused and the son of a terrorist would not get her anywhere. Still, as long as the defendant was being this cooperative, there was still potential to extract some damning testimony from her. “Miss Altheim, what was your first position with the government?”

“I served as a criminal profiler for the FBI.”
“And is it true that you were accepted because of what they regarded as your psychic skills?”

“Yes.”
“Are you psychic?”
“No.”
“Did you tell anyone in the Bureau that?”
“No.”
“Did you ever tell them that you were a mutant?”

“They asked if I had any special abilities, not whether or not I was a mutant. I didn’t think it was relevant how I came by my abilities, and I didn’t want to risk exposing myself to workplace discrimination. So no, I didn’t tell them. Just like I didn’t answer questions about my ethnicity.”

“Well, now that everyone knows you are a mutant anyway, what exactly are your abilities?”

“Where to begin?” said Kassandra, the ghost of a smile flickering across her face. “I like distance running. I’m a pretty good fencer. I’m one of the few women trained in the Zulu martial art of umshiza. I can speak seven languages. People tell me I play the piano pretty well. And, oh, yes. I also have accelerated healing, and I can control time.”

Fitzsimmons had to wait for the muffled laughter from the defendant’s family to subside. “So you do not have the gift of telepathy or precognition?”

“No.”
“Strange how the FBI would get the impression that you were. Why was that?”

“Because I can, under the right circumstances, find out about the past just by looking at the right timelines, and I can see and anticipate the future as it takes shape.”

“Now I’m going to have to trust you here, but could you provide a demonstration for the court?”

“Is that entirely necessary?” said Judge Montgomery. “I heard she gave a fine demonstration last night outside the courthouse.”

“Nothing the jury or I saw, however,” said Fitzsimmons.

“Very well. Bailiff, please remove the defendant’s inhibitors,” said the judge.

Kassandra found it a pleasant break to be relieved of the inhibitors. They gave her a bit of a headache. And while they did hinder her, she seemed to have Wolverine’s resistance. In fact, while she would not reveal that, the only reason they appeared to work was because she let them.

“Now,” said Fitzsimmons, “Do you agree that we have not collaborated on arranging this demonstration and that you haven’t spoken to me outside the grand jury investigation and this courtroom?”

“Yes,” said Kassandra.
“Very well. Tell me something about my future.”

“Your most probable future,” said Kassandra. “Nothing’s definite until it happens. But…” she blinked. “…Okay, I am certain about this. Your biopsy will come back negative.”

Fitzsimmons stared agape for a second. She certainly hoped this was right. At the very least, the accused had picked up on just what had been on her mind the most lately. But she quickly regained her composure, as Kassandra expected. And much to her credit. But as the bailiff replaced the inhibitors, Kassandra didn’t need full use of her powers to see where this was headed. She braced herself.

“So,” said Fitzsimmons, “when you went to confront the Church of Humanity, did you anticipate the probability that you would kill these people?”

“Yes.”
“And yet you went there anyway?”
“That was because something worse-”
“Answer the question.”
“Yes, of course I did,” said Kassandra.

“And you were aware of Lorna Dane’s violent state of mind at the time you specifically told Cyclops of the X-Men to bring her along for the raid?”

“Yes, I was.”
“Why, then, did you ask to bring her into a situation in which you knew she was likely to kill?”

“Shockingly enough, that was the option likely to result in the least bloodshed. Normally I don’t go on about what would have happened, because once something happens, the alternatives become irrelevant. But if she hadn’t gone and killed their snipers, Scott, Kurt, Bobby, and Alex would have been killed, and likely Jean and Logan, too. And that cult would have gone on with some adapted and more dangerous form of their original plan.”

“So do you think good intentions justified you acting outside of your government authorization, and taking command of a band of mutants?”

“No, I don’t think good intentions justify much of anything on their own, particularly something like this. I am sorry.”

“Thank you, Miss Altheim,” said Fitzsimmons. “No further questions.”

[angelique]

Chapter 22

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” said Fitzsimmons, “from the time Miss Altheim lied to the FBI about not being a mutant, she has proven risky to national and international security, and eventually a threat to human lives every time she gets into a scrape. And in the rare instance when the people have reason to believe she is being completely honest, she admits openly to being responsible for all these deaths. That she premeditated these crimes. While she may claim that her intent was to prevent further bloodshed, we have little evidence supporting the allegations that the Church of Humanity posed such a threat to the world as she suggested. Whatever her intentions, her intent was clear- to complete her mission regardless of the cost, even if it meant violating orders and at the expense of innocent people’s lives.

Ladies and gentlemen, while you deliberate, consider the following. The men who died because of this mutant may have been pawns in an evil scheme. But that does not mean they deserve to die. And consider the precedent any leniency might set. If you decide, despite the evidence, that the accused is not guilty, what’s to prevent mutants, in the government or otherwise, from taking the law into their own hands? Every law would be rendered pointless, and our nation, our civilization, our way of life, will give way to chaos and vigilantism. On behalf of humanity, I thank you in advance for your role in removing this woman from the general population.”

Fitzsimmons resumed her seat, and Jack stood to address the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, my esteemed counterpart brought up an interesting point when she mentioned intent and premeditation. As you know, the prerequisites for being convicted of these charges are motive, intent, and premeditation. Sure, Kassandra had motive. Her testimony and the reports submitted for your consideration make that abundantly clear. But think about how you’d react if your church leaders were threatened, your friends and loved ones kidnapped, assaulted, enslaved, or even murdered. That happened, yes, and by the same people who twice tried to kill her even before they knew she was a mutant. So yes, she had motive.

“But as for intent, we also have in her reports as well as the testimony of several witnesses now that her intent was, at worst, that of someone plotting the surrender of enemy combatants who had declared war upon all mutants and their sympathizers. Bear in mind, the supreme pontiff had issued statements openly declaring war upon mutantkind. Only after she tried to negotiate with the very people who were, at that same moment, firing upon her, did she finally react- to defend herself. The evidence, such as her behavior at St. James’ Hospital, actually proves that she did not intend to kill anyone.

“And as for premeditation, that also has not been proven beyond a reasonable doubt. There is a tremendous difference between planning to commit a felony, and knowing the likelihood that you might do something terrible in the fulfillment of your mission, and trying to avoid having to do so.

“The same goes for the other charges. We cannot say beyond a reasonable doubt that she is a traitor when the evidence overwhelmingly shows that in this, she was motivated actually by loyalty to the ideals of our nation.

“Ladies and gentleman, your duty is to find my client guilty only if the evidence is convincing beyond all reasonable doubt. If there is any doubt in your mind whatsoever, the Constitution dictates that we must presume innocence, and acquit.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gamesmaster normally was not interested in wasting concentration on anything after being defeated once. But the proposal of that extradimensional character with the tertiary mutations and the nigh-impregnable psi-blocks intrigued him. For a chance to play such an important role in the upcoming war of mutant ascendancy, he was willing to make another attempt.

“Kassandra, ist alles in Ordnung?” Vincent asked. He did not like one bit the look Kassandra’s face took on as they prepared to leave the courthouse.

“Oh, ja,” she replied. “Warum nicht?” Indeed, why not? While she had been raked over the coals and very much dreaded the verdict, she looked forward to this evening. Evening Mass at St. Philip Howard’s with Kurt, Mama, Lucy, Vincent, and Michael, then meeting all the others for supper. And after that, whether to have some fun on the town, turn each to more prayer, or ideally some combination of both remained to be seen. At any rate, it was more time with family and friends, and she was not about to let her apprehension, no matter how much it made sense, ruin it. But this sudden depression- and the urge to hide it rather than get it out of her system- she had no idea where that came from. And that frightened her.

Vincent remained unconvinced. Maybe Kassandra could lie with the easy composure necessary to pass a polygraph examination, but emotional distance while among people near and dear to her was not normal.

“Level with me, Schwesterlein,” said Vincent.

“Only if you stop calling me that.” Kassandra lightly punched him in the shoulder as they strolled out. On their way, they overheard Trish Tilby reporting.

“Yes, the testimony that has been delivered today does shed new light on the evidence, and if the jury does indeed hold no bias, things look very good for the defense…”

Kassandra sighed with relief. “Well, it appears I’ve accomplished what I intended.”

“And the rest is in God’s hands now,” Vincent replied.

Not if the Gamesmaster had anything to do with it.
"Still, maybe Mama or Lucy should stay with me tonight. I’m not feeling quite like myself,” said Kassandra.

[angelique]

Chapter 23


“We have joining us now from Washington DC Dr. Valerie Cooper, and Evangeline Whedon of the Mutant Rights Coalition…”

“Bist du still wach?” Lucy asked. After a long final day of testimony, the day was far from over. They had said a rosary on the Luminous Mysteries while in Adoration, and stuck around for evening Mass as planned. Then Kurt reminded Kassandra, not that she needed it, that she offered to show him around Washington DC, and he hoped that would include some nightlife.

“And we can pray all the while that this won’t be our last opportunity for all of us to enjoy this time together,” he said, with a sad, knowing smile that no one but Kassandra seemed to understand. And so, after supper with the others, yet again at Gregor’s, they caught a swing band called Hybrid Vigor playing at the Helix, a new and refreshingly non-segregated club near the famous Lincoln Theater. And all that seemed to lift Kassandra’s spirit a bit. Or so Lucy thought.

“Ich kann nicht schlafen,” said Kassandra, her eye still on CNN. “I’d been having the most terrible dreams.”

“Kassandra, you were successful. Now that everyone’s talking about how that cult was genuinely dangerous rather than just misunderstood, nobody will ever again try to pull what they did. And most everyone’s saying after Jack’s closing statements, it looks like you might be home free.”

“Wir können hoffen,” said Kassandra, dryly. Indeed, throughout the whole trial, Jack couldn’t have done a better job if he was Gregory Peck playing Atticus Finch.

“Such is the life of a mutant, Ich verstehe,” said Lucy. “You know what I had observed among my hyenas lately? The family groups started behaving aggressively toward certain solitaries. And we also had a case of one clan turning against another. I’d never seen anything like it. But I also noticed their social structure is suffering as a direct result.”

“That’s abnormal for them, nicht wahr?” said Kassandra. “And people think we’re so much smarter than the animals.”

“Now try not to get too cynical. I don’t think Kurt would like that.” Lucy finally got Kassandra’s full attention. “Speaking of Kurt, I’m surprised you didn’t ask him to stay with you.”

“Well, I may have been the difficult child, but I got Mama’s point- why she had us both help at the hospital, and why she and Ugogo insisted we learn umshiza. And espionage is never like the James Bond movies, anyway, you can rest assured of that. For some reason, right now I can’t trust myself to avoid being impulsive. Like I said, I’m not feeling quite like myself. But I suppose my feelings have been pretty obvious.”

“Oh, ja, sehr klar. And also the way he looked at you, danced with you, insisted yet again on walking you home even though we all had a ride-”

“You know I prefer walking or running anyway.”

“Ja doch, especially if it means more time alone with Kurt, nicht wahr?”
Kassandra blushed. Lucy had her and Kurt both pegged.

“Anyway it was as if he was wondering if he should start negotiating lobola. We suspected, oh, ever since you came to your senses about John, that it was just a matter of time before you and Kurt kicked the friendship up a notch.”

“Ich weiß. Michael told me he had planned to ask Kurt for no lobola other than a promise to keep me out of trouble. But that would be a bit much, nicht wahr?” said Kassandra, sardonically. “Not that it matters.”

“Kassandra, this depression or whatever, especially after we’ve all had such a great time, is so not like you. No more watching the news. How about..?” Lucy began changing channels. Mostly news. Some infomercials. The only thing remotely good on included Law and Order reruns, a Metropolitan Opera production of Bluebeard’s Castle, and, on AMC, The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex.

And as if a dam finally ruptured, Kassandra finally burst into tears.

As if to make up for that annoying tendency to evade telepathy, Gamesmaster found toying with this girl’s emotions delightfully easy- at least as long as that telepathic friend of hers wasn’t on guard. He didn’t need to even project anything, just direct her focus to some things she was already feeling. But there were more important things for him to concentrate on than just having his own kind of fun.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The call came far too early the next morning.
“Kassandra, I’m afraid the jury has already finished deliberation,” said Jack.
“And it doesn’t look good, nicht wahr?” said Kassandra.
“I may be good, but not that good,” said Jack.
“Can I clean up the apartment and say goodbye to the Slawsons first?”

Kassandra filed into the courthouse with her family, all looking somewhat the worse for wear. But instead of proceeding to the courtroom, all decided they were going to sit in the mutants’ gallery. Security followed them frantically in there, protesting.

“I’m a mutant, aren’t I?” snapped Kassandra. “And if you will not let all my friends sit in the courtroom like you do for other defendants, I will seize what few rights I can.”

“Während sie still kann,” thought Kurt, as he took his seat behind her, beside her mother. All rose as Judge Montgomery entered and took her place at the bench, then resumed their seats. And with minimal fuss, she asked if the jury had reached a verdict.

They had.
Kurt braced himself. He would have liked to leave his hand resting on Kassandra’s shoulder, but she had to stand yet again. On her own. That just seemed so wrong. And he could see in her face and posture, as well as feel in his own knotted stomach, that knowing it would likely come down to this didn’t make facing the reality any easier. But Dr. Altheim, for once sitting right behind her daughter and yet powerless to protect her was trembling. Michael held one hand. Kurt took the other, giving thanks that Logan had the presence of mind to decide he really should not be there.

“Very well,” said Judge Montgomery. “How do you find?”
“On the first charge, murder in the first degree,” said the foreman, “we find the defendant, Kassandra Altheim..,”

Kurt nearly winced in pain as Dr. Altheim’s grip tightened, her fingers digging into his.

And the probability solidified into certainty. The verdict was delivered. Each word the same, like one of Wolverine’s clawed fists to the stomach, times forty.

Guilty. Kassandra’s knees buckled, but a stone-faced Jack steadied her. Dr. Altheim’s face blenched. Havok and Archangel both were aghast. Michael sat still, but for his mouth and forehead, contorting with every repetition of the word.

“Oh, no, no, no.” Cyclops wasn’t even particularly fond of Kassandra, but he knew Jean was already unhappy about this. And he found himself losing his resolve to be a strong example for Jubilee, who clearly wondered just what evidence the jury saw, but for once had her mouth tightly shut against the raging conniptions that threatened to erupt. Jubilee was at least thankful that wherever Logan tended to run off to at times like these, it was usually far away from people and property in general. Matching almost Logan’s own ferocity was the torrent of tears Lucy shed, sobbing on Vincent’s own quaking shoulder.

Amid the courtroom celebrations Miranda Eastman found increasingly morbid and distasteful, she looked toward the monitor, on which she could see the devastation in the mutants’ gallery. She couldn’t imagine herself feeling any sympathy for the girl who made mincemeat of her sons, but at the very least for the sake of her mother, brothers, and sister, couldn’t the foreman have just read “Guilty on all charges,” instead of reading out all forty of them, one by one, drawing it out like this?

A guilty verdict on forty felony charges, fifteen of which were capital offenses. Kurt looked upon Kassandra through his own tears. He wanted to reassure Kassandra. The fencing practices. The way Kassandra blushed when he’d compliment her. Movies, conversations, letters, and moments when all he wanted to do was hear her music. And finally the kisses. So cruel that he would reclaim all his memories of his dear friend and eventual beloved, for her to then be torn from him like this. But he knew the possibilities, and he would not have given up any of that just to make this moment easier. He wanted to tell her that, or say something, anything, to be of comfort, but the lump in his own throat got in the way. Kassandra had regained her footing, if not entirely her composure. She stood, head down, eyes half shut, tears streaming down her own face, her mouth moving almost inaudibly.

“Es tut mir leid. Es tut mir leid. Vergeben mir, Mama, Kurt…” She whispered.

[angelique]

Chapter 24

“I have Jack White with me right now,” said Trish Tilby. Behind her Kassandra could be seen, shackled, wearing inhibitors, being walked toward a waiting police car.

“Mr. White,” said Miss Tilby, “what do reactions do you and Miss Altheim expect to the verdict that was delivered today?”

“Well,” Jack replied, “there’s what we expect, and what we hope. Two completely different things. We expect that people who take issue with mutants sharing the world with them will feel emboldened to act upon their hatred. And we expect that mutants and their supporters will feel angry, perhaps betrayed by our justice system.”

Ja, that was about right, Kassandra reflected. She could feel that as well, increasing with every step she took toward the car. Jack looked that way, too. Confused and almost despondent. Never mind the confident assurances he just gave before they left that he thought most of those convictions would be overturned on appeal. None of this made sense. And that pushed Kassandra even further into despair. Was the whole world going emotionally unstable along with her?

Warum bemühst du. Dein leben, wie du es kennst, ist irgenwie vorbei. That thought, barely more than a mental articulation of her increasing despondence- where did that come from, verdammt? This would be so much easier if only Kassandra could remove the inhibitors. If only her hands were free. Oh well. Kassandra grit her teeth and tried to redirect her own thoughts. Gott, mein Kopf tut mir weh.

Okay, Oh, mei this burned, but all she needed was to resist enough to interrupt the flow of electricity, and then, so far so good. Right as Gamesmaster planned. But now that she could trace his thought, she’d tell its source she would not cooperate. In No Uncertain Terms.

“This does indeed show we have much work to ensure equal treatment for mutants, yes.” Suddenly, Jack’s thoughts cleared, and though he still felt quite low and now light-headed to boot, this mysterious urge to mention nothing of hopes for peaceful reactions and successful appeals had subsided. The hard resolve he felt once he recovered from the shock of the verdict returned. “However, on behalf of the Altheims and the victims’ families alike, I think it’s safe to say we all want everyone to resist acting out of their fear or anger. We do not want any more bloodshed.”

The air was pierced by a sudden shriek.
“It looks as if we’ve already got some commotion right behind you,” said Trish’s anchor. “Can you see what’s going on?”

“I’ll find out. Thank you, Jack. Excuse me. Sir?” Trish got the attention of a police officer. “What happened here?”

“Get them off me! GET THEM OFF ME!” Kassandra screeched, amid a flurry of sparks, some of them already smoldering in her hair and clothing.

“Apparently some kind of inhibitor malfunction,” said the police officer.
BAMF!

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“Kassandra, wartst du,” said Kurt, finding himself sitting in the back of a police car, his arms and tail still firmly wrapped around Kassandra. While he had managed to teleport her out of her shackles and inhibitors, this was nowhere near where he intended to take her.

“Sei unbesorgt, Kurt. I haven’t restarted time yet. They can’t see us.”
“Aber, warum sind wir hier?”

“Kurt, We’ve already talked about this,” said Kassandra. “We need to prove that we don’t think being mutant makes us above the law. I know I already have my work cut out for me there, but running will just make things worse.”

“But the appeals process could take years, and we’re still not sure if I’ll be able to keep seeing you. Und das-”

“You know I did not want you to get hurt.”
“Ja. And you made sure I knew the chances. But it doesn’t make things any easier. Still-” He ran his velvety fingertips over Kassandra’s forehead, where the sparks from one of the malfunctioning inhibitors had singed her. Not a single scorch mark was left. “You’ve healed wonderfully.”

“Not the way I need to the most. Aber du willst, Liebster, bei-” she couldn’t bring herself to say the rest.

“Beizeiten?” Kurt smiled sadly, all too aware of the double meaning.
“Besides, I still have another card to play. Meanwhile, Liebster, you know I’m freezing this moment for a reason.” Kassandra twined her fingers through Kurt’s indigo hair. “Don’t waste it.”

And with the entire universe still and faded around them, she gently drew Kurt closer.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kurt stepped out of the car and back into time, the soft warmth, pressure, and the taste of what he hoped would not be Kassandra’s final kiss still lingering, seeming to transcend any temporal barrier.

“She’s all right,” Kurt announced.
“But where did you take her?” said the police officer.

“Right here,” Kassandra shouted, sitting up in the back of the police car, trying in vain to tidy up her hair.

And with that, the door was closed, and Kassandra was driven away.

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Warum bemühst du. Dein leben, wie du es kennst, ist irgenwie vorbei. -
Why do you bother. Your life, as you know it, is over anyway.

Gott, mein Kopf tut mir weh. - God, my head hurts.

Kassandra, wartst du- Kassandra, wait

Aber, warum sind wir hier?- But why are we here?

aber du willst, Liebster, beizeiten- but you will, dear, in good time.

[angelique]

Chapter 25

“So, Kassandra,” said Jack, “would you care to explain to me what happened the other night? Just as your inhibitors went on the fritz, I felt like, just for a moment, everything stopped around me. Then I felt sick. And this seems like just the sort of thing you’d do.”

“Well, I admit I owe you at least an explanation and my apologies Jack,” said Kassandra, over the telephone. “But the instant I could see it, I had to act. I traced a very subtle thought articulating exactly how I felt. And well, you ever felt so out of character that you wonder if your feelings or thoughts are even your own?”

“As a matter of fact…” said Jack.
“You were under telepathic influence to deliver a speech so depressing that you’d incite violence without even trying. I had to break it. Of course, this same person was trying to manipulate me, too. Would you believe I almost felt like hurting myself?”

“Well…”
“Okay, that was a bad way of putting it. No, I actually do not have a death wish. That’s why we will appeal this, nicht wahr?”

“All right, but you couldn’t resist pulling that other stunt?”
“What do you mean?”

“It’s already all over the gossip columns and the tabloids. ‘Kassandra’s Cop Car Canoodle.’ ‘A Dimensional Dalliance?’ And that’s just the stuff I can stand to quote back to you. You mother apparently saw some of it; stuff about you emerging from that teleport partially clothed and with your hair messed up, and called me up, livid. She’s saying we should add them to your already burgeoning list of libel suits. What I want to know is do you think we have a case, or is she in denial over something?”

Kassandra could see this coming. Still, she blushed furiously. “I had sparks flying all over my hair and jacket. Of course I’d look a bit disheveled! And it’s amazing how I can’t even kiss someone goodbye, outside of time, when no one could even see us anyway, without people jumping to conclusions. The- the very idea that I could be so… that Kurt would…”

“Right. I get your point,” said Jack. “Anyway, you should then reassure your mother that you haven’t completely lost all good sense. And can I trust you to behave until I get back from Vancouver?”

“Absolutely!” said Kassandra. “I’ve got a surprise for the sentencing hearing that I wouldn’t want to spoil, anyway.”

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Kurt had had a terrible night’s sleep. It wasn’t that his dreams were that bad. He had just been up late helping the Altheims sort through the few things Kassandra had left behind.

“Hier, Kurt,” Lucy said, handing him a plain box with her right hand, her left hand under the forearm. “Kassandra wanted you to have this.”

It was a simple framed eight by ten picture.

“Mein Lieber Kurt,” said the note that came with it. “I never actually needed to get close enough to the Inner Circle to have to wear this in the Hellfire Club, but I knew you’d like to see it. As for the regular membership dress code, would you believe they thought the beadwork isidwaba I’ve worn to the Reed Festival was immodest? This from girls who got plastic surgery so they could look better, running around in their underwear!”

And while she was quite thoroughly covered, she was by no means dressed like a proper eighteenth century lady. Rather her loose canvas shirt and petticoat breeches, the bandana holding back her wild curls, the high sea boots, the sword belt, the bandoliers heavy with flintlocks and dagger, and most of all her bearing made her look like she’d have been quite at home serving on the deck of an eighteenth century privateer. And in one leather gloved fist, she wielded that beautiful adamantium sabre, the one engraved with “Hebräer 4:12.”

Logan returned from wherever he was sometime that night. “Heard the verdict, Elf. You gonna keep brooding or drown your sorrows with me?”
And over their beer, little was said, except when Logan asked, “Missin’ her already, again?”

Again? That’s right. Except for the few years Kurt and Kassandra were both at the Institute, a steady stream of emails, long-distance phone calls, and chatty, affectionate letters in blue airmail envelopes characterized most of the time they’d known each other. Punctuated by visits that never came often enough, and all too rarely seemed to last longer than a couple bouts of fencing and an Errol Flynn movie marathon. Auf Wiedersehens accompanied by long and, until recently, entirely platonic, though strangely no less loving, embraces. But this time things were different, nicht wahr? “Ja,” said Kurt.

“They ain’t gonna kill her, Elf,” said Logan, “if that’s what’s buggin’ you.”

“I know,” said Kurt. “But that is not what’s bothering either of us.” He had put his great, thick, blue finger right on it. There were worse things that could happen to a mutant than death. He had seen it himself at X-Corps headquarters in Paris. While he was grateful for Logan’s support, no amount of alcohol could dull his apprehension. And when he finally did turn in, his dreams turned to Kassandra and what she said when she held him, the two of them both caught up outside of time. To not waste the moment. In one of the letters of hers that he kept, she stressed the importance of remembering. And the way she always signed her letters. How was it? Dein’ immer? What exactly did she mean with that?

A call from Warren, who had already returned to New York, awakened Kurt far too early the next morning. There was trouble with Husk’s family back in Kentucky, and it looked like the Guthries could use all the help they could get.

[angelique]

Chapter 26

After dealing with the crisis triggered by young Josh Guthrie’s star-crossed love, Kurt had a short reprieve. He returned to the Institute to find a letter for him, from inmate 50471, Red Onion State Prison. On the complete opposite side of Virginia, but supposedly the nearest prison capable of handling the perceived risks of incarcerating Kassandra.


Mein Lieber Kurt,

So here is the first and hopefully only letter you will get from this address. By the time you get this, I will have just had a nice visit with Mama, Michael, and Lucy. Unfortunately, Vincent has not been approved to visit. They say he is a security risk. Unglaublich, nicht wahr? (Und Gott sei dank, some of the people this letter has to get past know German. I couldn’t sneak anything past them if I wanted, and nobody can accuse me of trying just because I’m writing in our language.) Anyway, Vincent went to a bit of trouble to arrange for Mama to take Communion to me. And the guards have told me that that’s an unusual privilege for an inmate here.

I really should not say too much about the accommodations. But I am kept in, ja, this is what they call it, “segregation” here. Which means I am denied many privileges, such as talking with you over the phone, but I do get (and I am trying to look on the bright side, here) lots of time to myself. And I can’t complain about how other inmates and guards have treated me. While I would prefer to do without this notoriety, I suppose that’s one advantage to it. But they’ve added some extra security measures as well and have told me in no flattering terms that I should not be here. In light of that, don’t count on being allowed to visit. And be thankful that I will be here only until sentencing.

Speaking of the sentencing, it’s entirely up to you if you want to be there. If you choose to go, I’d suggest bringing a handkerchief, a bucket, and smelling salts. After that, I don’t expect where I’ll be transferred to be much better. And Logan will not like it one bit. Let’s continue praying for a successful appeals process.

And yes, that will take a while. I can’t even begin to guess how long, as I have not been using my powers here. Remember our agreement about this. Or rather, our disagreement. I know you still intend to wait. I still anticipate nothing but misery if you take that course of action, though part of me appreciates that you want to try. I am grateful for the time we’ve had together. I still agree this was worth the grief of parting. And even if our relationship has to again change course, even if picking up where we left off in the unlikely event that I get out anytime soon will not be as simple as me stepping back into your life, you have always at the very least been mein Lieblingsfreund. I have determined that that will never change. And I hope to similarly remain dein’ immer.


-Zeitgeist


Kurt noticed no small number of splotches and smudges where apparently tears splashed upon the paper. And by the knot in his throat, he suspected that a few of them were from him. He quickly shoved the letter away, his head in one hand.

“Kurt?” A deep, regal-sounding contralto drew his attention to the tall, shapely silhouette in his doorway. Ororo Munroe, with her preternaturally blue eyes and white halo of hair, and outer beauty that paled compared to her inner strength, could not help but command attention and respect. It was easy to see how her Masai tribespeople came to regard her as a weather goddess. “The team has combat simulation planned in the danger room. Care to join us?”

Kurt sighed. It always was hard to say no to Ororo. And she would not make it any easier.

“I also got a letter from Kassandra,” she said. “She requested that if we think you are spending too much time brooding, that I pull rank as your new team leader and insist upon you having some fun with the rest of us.”

“Very well.” Kurt rose from his desk and left with Ororo. “With the loveliest ladies in my life now conspiring together, I do believe I am powerless to resist anyway.” And if Kassandra was arranging for his other friends to be extra supportive in her stead, the least he could do was be there for her sentencing. And hopefully steal one more moment with her for the long, uncertain road ahead.

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“Before we commence,” said Beast, “can I have some assurance that the mitigating details I will disclose will not be shared with the media?”

“A reasonable request,” said Judge Montgomery. “I will order the jury and anyone in the courtroom to not divulge the details of this testimony, on pain of facing charges for contempt and possibly for defamation, slander, or libel. Now please proceed.”

“So, Dr. McCoy,” said Fitzsimmons, “exactly what qualifies you to deliver this report on these supposedly mitigating circumstances?”

“In the first place, I have known Kassandra’s parents for years as esteemed colleagues and trusted friends. Since Kassandra started attending school Stateside, I took over as her primary physician. And together, her mother, Dr. Jean Grey, and I researched treatments to minimize the medical hazards her mutation posed.”

“It says here, in one of her earliest FBI reports, that she had a rare medical condition that was treated successfully with a stem cell transplant from an unnamed accelerated healer,” said Fitzsimmons. “So you pioneered this treatment?”

“Yes. The treatment was successful. But we could only make educated guesses as to the side effects she’d experience. And it turned out we guessed correctly. Not only did the transplant minimize the risks temporal manipulation posed to her, but it gave her the same accelerated healing capabilities her donor has.”

“And this is a mitigating factor to be considered in sentencing, because…” said Fitzsimmons.

Beast’s calm look and delivery belied his own consternation at being put in this particular spot. “If the jury recommends the death penalty, how do you suppose the sentence could be carried out?”

Kurt once again clutched Dr. Altheim’s hand. He now understood just what Kassandra meant about what to bring to the sentencing hearing. Lucy, Michael, and Vincent looked more than a little worried. But they did not yet realize the implications the way Kurt and Dr. Altheim did. “Oh, iNkosi,” Dr. Altheim moaned, shaking, looking nauseous.

Beast became a bit more animated. “Now, of course Dr. Altheim and I are not thoroughly versed on how to kill mutants, as it has been our business to preserve lives, but other sources have hypothesized that it is possible to kill an accelerated healer of Kassandra’s capabilities by beheading, bleeding out, live cremation, or disintegration.”

At that, the blood drained even from Miranda Eastman’s face. Disintegration, according to her sons’ hospital records, was not a mercifully instantaneous way to go, nor was it painless. How long would the other methods take to kill her? Burning her alive? That was just out of the question. Sure, the girl may not have been human, but Miranda was sure even vicious animals did not deserve to die like that. And supposedly, those whom she did not kill instantly she was desperate to save. Why…

“Wouldn’t standard, legal execution methods work if her powers were inhibited?” Fitzsimmons asked.

“Theoretically speaking, yes,” said Beast, “if she’d allow that to happen. Along with the healing factor, she received a resistance to anything that could hamper her, like drugs or inhibitor technology. If she does not want an inhibitor to work, the tiniest warp in time is all she requires to disrupt and overload the system.”

Pandemonium erupted in the courtroom, as the jurors recognized the implications of recommending a death sentence, some of them turning quite green at the prospect.

“Order!” snapped Judge Montgomery, rapping her gavel. “Ms. Fitzsimmons, please continue.”

“So why is it that she’s not breaking through the inhibitors now. How is it that we’ve had no report of her doing likewise over at Red Onion?”

“Your hypothesis is as good as mine,” said Beast. “Perhaps for the same reason other convicts might not plot their escape.”

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The jury took even less time deliberating on a sentence than they did on the verdict. The mandatory minimum sentence for the burglary charge, and 39 life sentences to be served concurrently. At an undisclosed mutant detention facility. So she would at least live. Kurt noticed that while most of the family broke into silent sighs and sobs of simultaneous grief and relief, Kassandra’s face looked surprisingly grim, even during the grievous and seemingly inappropriate Auf Wiedersehens she exchanged with her family. Until Kurt grabbed her shoulder and whispered, “Ich verstehe. Das ist nicht notwendigerweise beßer, nicht wahr?”

Kassandra’s face crumpled. “Vielleicht beßer. Aber nur ein Bißchen.” And she allowed him one last, discrete, little peck before being pulled from his grasp and escorted away.

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Oh, iNkosi- (Zulu) Oh, God

Ich verstehe. Das ist nicht notwendigerweise beßer, nicht wahr?- I understand. That is not necessarily better, right?

Vielleicht beßer. Aber nur ein Bißchen.- Maybe better. But only a little.

[angelique]

Chapter 27

Trish Tilby hadn’t been this excited in a long time, and her distinguished career had given her plenty of cause for excitement. She had been asked specifically to conduct an exclusive interview, and…

“I’d like to welcome to our studio Father Vincent Altheim and Lucy Altheim Pulayantlha, siblings of the so-called Cathedral Killer, Kassandra Altheim.”

After the pleasantries were exchanged, Trish tried to gently start into the questions. Preparing this interview was not easy in the least. Most of the questions suggested to her just seemed so crass and morbid, especially when she finally came face to face with her guests. She hoped they were feeling particularly talkative, otherwise this would be a much shorter interview than she expected. How was Kassandra, growing up? No, that was a terrible way of putting it, talking about her as if she had died. How was growing up with her? Better. She asked that.

Good. She heard stories of life with a girl who could be difficult and temperamental, and had, due to her circumstances, a firmly entrenched habit of calculated secretiveness. Some heartwarming anecdotes of life with a funny and basically kind-hearted sort. And some rather alarming stories, such as how she kept the manifestation of her mutant abilities secret for three years, and how acting on her sense of justice and adventure had on more than one occasion put herself and others in danger.

“But of course,” said Vincent, “things almost always turned out for the best in the end.”

“Almost being a key word, right?” said Trish, somewhat sympathetically.
Lucy and Vincent both nodded morosely.

“What has she been up to lately? Is there any truth to the stories that she is suing several news sources for libel?”

“Yes,” said Lucy and Vincent, almost in emphatic unison.
“But we can’t really say much more about that, since the lawsuits are pending,” said Lucy. “I haven’t had a chance to speak with her since the sentencing, anyway.”

“And I haven’t been allowed to speak with her at all since the verdict,” said Vincent. “She also was not allowed to speak with any other priest, on account of the supposed security threat posed if one were to hear her Confession. I’m afraid she has been allowed no privacy and limited freedom of religion.”

“So whom has she been allowed to see?”
“Just Jack, Michael, Mama, and me,” said Lucy. “Jack can see her any time, as her attorney. And we can visit every weekend and on holidays. Which would be fine if any of us actually lived on this continent!”

“How about any of her friends?”
“Most of her friends,” said Vincent, “are people she’s known from her work or fellow mutants. In other words, more security risks.”

“Including Kurt Wagner?”
“Especially Kurt Wagner,” said Vincent. “If I’m not allowed to visit on account of posing some security risk, there is no way they’re letting a teleporter in. But Kassandra has been putting a lot of pressure on the Department of Corrections to allow us and a few other close friends on her approved visitors’ list.”

“Now, you, Father, I can understand, as you are Kassandra’s brother,” said Trish. “But as for Kurt Wagner, is there any truth to the stories that the two of them have been an item?”

Lucy spoke up. “Kurt has been a dear friend to all of us for years, especially over the course of this trial. Whether he’s been involved with my sister or not is irrelevant. Of course it would mean a lot to her if he could visit.”

There were a few more questions, most of which pertained to how Kassandra was holding up in prison. As well as could be expected, considering the bad food, the constant headache she suffered from wearing the inhibitors, and how, on days when she was allowed outside, she could not even run fast enough to give her a good workout. In other words, not good. And the isolation she’d suffer once her family tried to resume their normal lives in Namibia. But how Lucy responded to the questions about Kurt remained in his mind long after he’d finished watching that interview, confirming that this separation would, if anything, be harder on Kassandra than it was on him.

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Kassandra endured an insufferably long drive, hooded and fighting off the effects of a continuous stream of wetware coursing through her veins. Not soon enough, she felt herself pulled out of the car, then roughly walked through what sounded like endless spiraling corridors and staircases. Finally, she was dumped into a chair. The hood was unceremoniously yanked off her head, along with a handful of hair.

“Ach!” Kassandra recoiled from the light that assaulted her dilated pupils. Then, Linderung, endlich! The inhibitors were removed, and the feeling that her entire nervous system was compressed in an allover vice grip abated. She took a deep breath, took a moment, and then shut her eyes briefly, trying to relax. No such luck. An officer jabbed another needle into her arm.

“Verdammt! Would you stop that?” she cried, wincing.
“Why?” said a man’s voice from the darkness behind that infernally bright lamp. “What difference does another dose of mutant suppressant make, when it seems to wear off so quickly in you?”

“Because you know well it hurts about as badly as those inhibitors,” said Kassandra. It wasn’t as if she’d never before been on this end of an interrogation, but the fight against the drug’s effect made her very irritable. “And, meaning no disrespect, but the officer wasn’t quite quick enough with the needle. I know where I am, despite your best efforts, and I can also guess what you want from me.”

“Very good, then,” said a woman. “Of course, you made this more difficult by going public, but we may still have some use for you. Perhaps even eventually as a field operative, if you can behave. And I am sure you can anticipate what will happen if you do not consent to helping us out.”

It was true. And the prospect of her even having a say in this would not have been possible had she not behaved so cooperatively even in the oppressive conditions at Red Onion. Still, that amount of control she was given over her situation looked like it could be just rope enough for her to hang herself. What were her options? To deliberately choose to work under their thumb, or for them to physically and psychologically torture compliance out of her? Maybe target those near and dear to her if she herself proved too strong- which she knew she would. She had to restrain the urge to think out loud. Clever of them, to shoot her full of sodium pentathol as well as mutant suppressant drugs. If she didn’t blurt out her thoughts, she’d at least be more vulnerable to telepathy- at the moment, anyway.

“I’ll let you know what my decision is when the drugs wear off, and not a second sooner,” said Kassandra. “All right?”

There appeared to be some disagreement on the matter. Kassandra thought she overheard the woman whisper something like, “It’s the same reason why we can’t use memory implants on her… Yes, allowing her to think things over completely may ruin everything, but she’s not like Wolverine. We can’t afford to impair the very abilities she brings to our table…”

Kassandra listened with interest as the woman prevailed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kassandra heard a muffled implosion behind her. “Ach, est ist du, wieder,” she said. “I was wondering when you might turn up.”

“Ich bin hier zu…”
“Ja, Ich weiß, ‘Azazel,’” said Kassandra with a wicked grin. “You are here to claim the scapegoat. There are just a couple of problems with that, however. You just ported into a mutant confinement unit with a fully functional block-wide inhibition system that I have no intention of destroying. Just try to port me out of here against my will.”

So he grabbed a hold of the girl. Nothing happened. His surprise gave Kassandra all the advantage she needed. An elbow to the solar plexus, and then a firmly placed back kick, and he collapsed against the wall.

“Not surprising.” Kassandra placed her foot upon the helpless teleporter’s stomach, ready to put what weight she could on it if he so much as looked at her wrong, and not altogether pleased at how taking him on without using any mutant abilities was so… easy. “Idiocy is, after all, the default mode of evil. But if you were a real demon, an inhibition system wouldn’t pose any problem. As it is, it’s now the least of your concerns. The Devil already claimed me. For reasons that are entirely my own, I belong to Weapon Plus now, und… WE HAVE AN INTRUDER!” Kassandra screamed.

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Linderung, endlich!- Relief, finally!
Ich bin hier zu… - I am here to...
Ja, Ich weiß- Yes, I know

[angelique]

Chapter 28

Logan smelled something in the mailroom. He couldn’t quite figure out why, but he didn’t like it. Where was it? Somewhere in the W’s? Here it was. Of course, he knew the return address was not real, but there was no mistaking. The Little Elf had written this letter. But who else had handled it before it got here? He sniffed. Oh, ****!

“Logan!” The commanding voice sent him spinning, almost involuntarily.
“Oh, uh, hey, ‘Ro,” said Logan. “I was just-”

“Sniffing through Kurt’s mail?” Ororo deftly plucked the letter from Logan’s hands. “I see,” she said, looking over the return address, before returning it to Kurt’s slot. “All the more reason for you to remember that you and I have plans for the evening.”

It wouldn’t do for Logan to figure out exactly where Kassandra was and what she was up to. But an evening on the town catching The Boy from Oz would be just the thing to keep his mind off that. For the time being.

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Kassandra finally had a moment to put pen to paper, and had a hard time deciding what to write. There were some things she felt Kurt should know, including information she didn’t want the security personnel reading. And some matters she did not feel comfortable relating. In her first week there, she had subjected a mutant to the indignity of being committed to the block for criminally insane mutants. Well, indignity was putting it mildly. She knew he’d prove to be of no use to the program- and would be eliminated. Sure, he was a delusional, genocidal maniac. But, on the other hand, regardless of what Kurt thought of him, regardless of what Kassandra thought of him, how could she break it to Kurt that his biological father faced an unsanctioned euthanasia because of her, and how even if she could, she doubted she would do a thing to stop it? Even though she had so narrowly avoided the death penalty herself, and the slightest mistake could put her on death row regardless of the court’s sentence.

She also helped other “volunteers” make sense of memories she knew and could not say were false implants. She assisted in interrogations, forbidden to intervene when drugs and torture were involved, even when she could anticipate that they’d do no good. Good cop, bad cop- with the good cop being a convicted spy and mass murderer. In the event she’d finally be allowed to set foot in a confessional, she felt for the first time that she might opt for remaining behind the screen. What could she say about all the things Weapon Plus had her doing?

“Mach fest, Kassandra,” she thought to herself. “So you’re feeling some well-deserved guilt. Neglecting to write Kurt will only compound that.”

She sighed, head in hand, trying to recall the consequences she anticipated before being led back to her own cell, then began to write.

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Kurt had just gotten out of a danger room session with Rachel Grey. Upon discovering that she had never seen any of his favorite movies, he figured the only thing to do was to give her a crash course in the appeal of the swashbuckling adventure genre with his own combat simulation. He was quite pleased to see how she actually got into it and had some fun, so much so, he almost didn’t notice just how much he was letting go and enjoying himself, taking on ranks of undead pirates. Oh, wunderbar! Rachel had just made quick work of one, and now took on… Oh mei! No time to think! She needed help now. Parry, kick, port her out of there, slash the rigging and bury the enemy under their sails. And what’s a dramatic rescue without… einem Moment, what just happened here?

He and his damsel formerly in distress retreated from that shockingly impulsive lip lock to find Ororo and Logan standing below, Logan biting his tongue against what Kurt knew he was thinking. The woman who’d been an unmitigated source of comfort and consternation of late, and his best friend, dressed up for a date.

At any rate, Kurt didn’t feel so great any more. He needed some time to think, about Rachel. The various and numerous reasons why he could not bring himself to kiss her again, no matter how worthy she may have been, tore through his mind, making their presence known, yet not allowing him a chance to determine exactly what they were before crowding each other out. He then thought about Ororo and what she appeared to have going on with Logan. He should have been happy for them. He didn’t know how to feel. Finally, maybe he would read his mail. Oh, wunderbar. A letter from yet another woman complicating his life.


Mein Lieber Kurt,

Well now that I’m finally settled in, I actually have time to write. First the good news. I am allowed occasional reprieves from the headaches the inhibition system gives me. As it is important to this program to keep certain inmates in reasonably good health, I’ve been allowed outside every day to run. And this time I have escorts that are in better condition to keep up with me, so I can work on shedding those extra pounds I put on at Red Onion. Ja, Kurt, it really doesn’t take long for it to show when someone my size hasn’t been eating or exercising as well as usual. I also get to interact fairly regularly with other inmates, sometimes in a professional capacity as a counselor. More importantly, I am allowed on occasion to use my powers.

And because of that, I have been able to continue the work you had me start, piecing together your past. In that, I have also discovered some anomalies within your timeline. The first one disappeared. Suffice to say, I’m positive der alt Teufel will never again try to mess around with you or your brothers. However, this other one concerns me very much. I think it has something to do with your improving teleportation, and how I could take you out of time without hurting you. Liebster, whatever’s causing this will not be easy to deal with. I still can’t quite figure out why, but I think Margali and Jimaine may have some explaining to do.

As for what else has been going on at the Institute- so Jean’s not a minute in the grave, I get around to checking in, and I find out Scott’s been carrying on with Emma Frost?! As if it’s not bad enough she’s at the Institute to begin with, this all smacks of a Hellfire plot. You know she hated Jean all along, nicht wahr? And so she claims no loyalty to the Hellfire Club. I actually believe her there. Most of the Inner Circle is loyal to nobody but themselves, anyway. Okay, ja, I am grieving. And furious. Maybe Scott can’t help being putty in that manipulative mind-bender’s hands, but, well, I’ll say no more about that.

And I am concerned about Sage. She may serve well with the rest of you on the XSE, but that seems to be a limited time offer.

Finally, ja, I know you are not looking forward to your birthday. All the more reason for me to plot something to make it more pleasant. Even though you may not see me and are hopefully beginning to move on with your life, and while I cannot venture to suggest how, I will still continue to serve as some kind of guardian angel for you.


Dein’ immer,

Zeitgeist


Well, that was reassuring. Kind of. Kurt could see Kassandra settling back into the role she was accustomed to having in his life- constant and, with the exception of those last couple weeks he’d had with her, constantly backstage. Life, he felt, would be so much easier if circumstances hadn’t removed Kassandra from his embrace. Or if he had just remained celibate, even if it would be for the wrong reasons. But an easy life was not the life for an X-Man. And while he knew he had no reason to feel guilty, that did not make him feel much better.

His communicator beeped, interrupting his thoughts. “Ja?”
“Better get moving, Elf,” said Logan. “We got trouble in District X.”

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Mach fest- roughly, "steady"

[angelique]

Chapter 29

“He’s worked with, and even has been linked with, some of the hottest women in superheroics. And yet Nightcrawler remains alone. We explore why and the rumors of his latest heartbreak next, on VH-1’s Behind the Heroes…”

Ororo blew into the rec room with an armful of paperwork. “Logan, have you seen Kurt? We’ve got an assignment just for him.”

“Sure, ‘Ro. Didn’t want to see the rest of his show, so he stepped out to get some air. You might find him out climbing trees or somethin’.”

“Good. Thank you, Logan.”
Logan watched some commercial shilling some books on the Elf’s various exploits, then decided Kurt showed some good sense, leaving. It was fun, watching about his upbringing in the circus, and the times they had when they first joined the X-Men. But Logan could understand all too well Kurt’s discomfort over media coverage of his rather convoluted love life. He didn’t want to see it, either. They’d talk about Amanda. He never cared for her involvement in that touchy-feely magic stuff. They might mention that Cerise chick that stole the Elf’s breath in England. They might mention that Kurt had his golden eyes on Ororo at various points. That idea put Logan on edge. And they most likely would talk about the Little Elf. This separation was not like any of the other times they’d spent apart. Logan knew this time they were both hurting. The Elf was, however, beginning to cope with that. But on the other hand, Logan’s nose in the mailroom said Kassandra was not holding up as well, for that… and other reasons. Before his mood could be any further darkened, Logan turned off the television and stepped out.

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The assignment was to investigate a crime, the cold viciousness of which would have turned Kurt’s stomach had it not so seriously provoked his sense of justice. Thirteen patients killed in Metro-General’s psychiatric unit. Thirteen innocent children killed. And the only one who seemed to have any crisis of conscience about it was Barney Franks, the security guard who somehow just had to take a bathroom break right before it happened. Kurt tried to save him from burning in an apparent spontaneous combustion. Franks pushed him away.

So once again, someone Kurt wanted to save, to protect realized what Kurt never seemed able to even entertain- that he could not save everyone and would only hurt himself- and pushed him away. The familiarity ached liked like a healed fracture before a bad storm.

This left the only remaining witness, Seth Walker, a traumatized child, the sole survivor of the atrocities. He was somehow unwilling or unable to talk. Indeed, the only one who volunteered any help was that night nurse.

Christine. He could like her. And he saw that the feeling was already more than mutual. But she couldn’t help with everything. The way Barney Franks had died smacked of something mystical. And Kassandra said that Jimaine needed to explain something to him, anyway, so….

“Let me guess. You want my help with that little boy,” said Jimaine/Amanda/Magik/whatever identity she claimed at the moment. Of course she was right as to at least this one reason why Kurt would visit her all of the sudden. He had, up until then, what appeared to be a policy of maintaining a substantial yet amicable distance from this particular ex-girlfriend.

Kurt also understood why Kassandra said Amanda disliked her hypocrisy. They both had their ways of getting people to speak openly without being upfront themselves. So Kurt told her all about Seth Walker, even about the piece of knotted string Christine noticed in his constant grasp. That got Amanda’s interest like nothing else. Perhaps this boy had his own secrets to protect- among them that he was the rare variety of mage born with his powers.

“Now, Kurt, I’ll tell you about binding spells, if you’ll tell me about…”

Oh, nein! She wasn’t going to tease him about his current love life again, was she? She knew about Kassandra, obviously. “Gehst du nicht dort! Show some respect to the brokenhearted. If you want to pry, ask about someone who isn’t such a 100 pound elephant in the room, bitte!” Kurt thought, desperately.

“… Nurse Palmer, was it?”
Okay, he could handle that, for now. But perhaps he should establish some new boundary. If he was going to deal with Amanda again, discussing the love life would be off limits from here on out.

Amanda had just seen Kurt off, when the last voice she expected to hear addressed her. “I know respect for me had nothing to do with it, Jimaine, but thank you for not mentioning me to Kurt.”

“Wie-?”
Kassandra stepped out of the many thick shadows that so filled the sub-infernal realm the woman who once mistook her for a rival now ruled. “One of our operatives went rogue, so while I’m allowed to use my powers and examine reasons to present as to why my superiors should let her live, I thought I’d send a phase form here to make sure you’d be kind to Kurt. Between you and me, we’ve both done a number on the poor man, and I just did not want to see any old wounds reopened.”

“Warum bist du hier, wirklich?” Amanda asked, suspicion freezing her voice to near absolute zero. “You know I’d rather not talk about you, anyway.”

“Das ist wahr wohl.” Kassandra nodded. “However, you had an opportunity to be honest with Kurt about a matter that I can see will put him and a lot of other people dear to him- and you too- in mortal danger, and you couldn’t see fit to give him fair warning.”

“He won’t see how it’s relevant,” Amanda sniffed. “You know what it’s like trying to warn him of anything. And if it’s that important to you, why don’t you tell him?”

“It’s your responsibility. But I’ll tell him for you if you want.”

Amanda looked down through half-closed eyes upon the irate wraith. “You’re bluffing. You don’t even know what’s happening.”

“Oh?” Kassandra stepped forward, glowering. “Even if I didn’t, I see only two more chances for you be honest with Kurt for once in your life without circumstances pushing you to it or someone else blabbing.”

“And are you going to tell him how you’re getting involved, besides calling yourself his ‘guardian angel’?” Amanda demanded, her voice sounding ever more like chips being chiseled off a block of ice.

“You can check the timestream yourself, Jimaine,” Kassandra seethed. “And you’ll see that the blood of Winzeldorf will be on you hands if you don’t tell Kurt, soon, what you have done. A friendly warning for you, not a threat. Now you know how much I’d love to stay here and chat, aber Ich habe arbeit.”

Kassandra disappeared. Auf nimmer wiedersehen, thought Amanda, as her Pinot Noir poured another glass of itself for her, and she sat back down with her book.

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Gehst du nicht dort! - Don't go there!
Warum bist du hier, wirklich?- Why are you here, really?
aber Ich habe arbeit- but I have work

[angelique]

Chapter 30

Kurt spent a great deal of time up in his room, lately. More than before the events of last week. That might have bothered Logan and Ororo, if not for the fact that in addition to catching up on letters and his journal, he now had so much more to just think about. He, his life, and nearly everyone associated with his past had been targeted for attack by forces no less than supernatural. Of course he’d be the last to know that he was the latest custodian of the Soulsword, a mystical weapon coveted by sorcerers and demons alike. He wondered if Kassandra was okay. He figured she had to be wrapped up in this, somehow, the way a few things happened at just the right time. How Kätchen happened to be available to help Kurt infiltrate that coven, at that exact moment. How he, Ororo, Logan, and Christine were all there in time to witness and prevent a catastrophic subway accident.

But no more time to think. Scott had called Kurt down to the library. Kurt glanced over to his calendar- the Olympic fencing champions calendar Kassandra had miraculously found and sent him for Christmas last year. Sigh. This time of year, he wasn’t particularly interested in keeping track of what day it was. Es muß’ das tag sein, nicht wahr?

“Surprise! Happy birthday…”
Okay, so acting pleasantly surprised wouldn’t be so difficult after all. Front and center in that room full of X-Men stood Christine, holding a cake she made, the blaze of candles that Lockheed just lit no match for her smile. She had been through so much with him in only one week, taking on challenges that many mutants and superheroes would balk at, and all without any superpowers of her own.

Aber was ist das? The singing ended, and everything stopped. Even the flames atop the candles appeared frozen. All was completely still and silent. This looked like an old trick of the Professor’s, putting people on pause. Perhaps he’d come to surprise him, too. He followed a low, shuffling sound, the only sound in the mansion, down to one of the parlors. Okay, so maybe this wasn’t the Professor, Kurt mused, as he began to hear low notes on a piano. This could be just the sort of trick Kassandra might pull, if she were even allowed, if she even thought it was safe, to turn up at the Institute. Stop time around him, her, and the piano, and give a private, extratemporal recital. It sounded like just the sort of piece he’d enjoy most watching her play anyway. Driving, dramatic, big enough to pose an athletic as well as artistic challenge to her. Perhaps something by Lizst. But it could not be Kassandra, nicht wahr? His hair would have prickled with foreboding, even if it weren’t so suddenly cold in the hallway. But rather than hesitate, he felt impelled to open that door. And really, it was the only course of action that made sense. He recalled reading something in one of Kassandra’s favorite books. When explorers to an uncharted island sighted a dragon that then disappeared, what was it one of them said? “If there’s a wasp is in the room I like to be able to see it.”

He opened the door, recognizing too late the piece he heard. How strangely appropriate. He brought forth the Soulsword.

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The figure in the parlor was not particularly keen on music. But a CD left on the stereo caught his attention. Ah yes, music of that Catholic abbé from nineteenth century Hungary, who, of all people, decided to name some four waltzes after him. Just this once, he might want to hear the pieces that bore his name while he waited.

The door flew open, flung by just the person he intended to see.

“Mephistopheles!”
“Please,” he said, rising and turning toward Nightcrawler. “No need to stand on ceremony. Mephisto.”

Of course, Mephisto had a deal to make. The boundaries between dimensions were beginning to break down. When the final war would begin, wouldn’t it be noble for Kurt to ensure that those near and dear to him were protected? And as an added bonus, Kurt could have his foster-brother Stefan, the tormented subject of so many of his recent nightmares, brought back from the dead. All he had to do was keep out of the battle, keeping the Soulsword in neutral hands determined to strike a blow for neither side.

There were some other things Mephisto said that rankled Kurt even more. Yes, Storm had asked Kurt to investigate the coven that had killed those children. Just where did Ororo get her information?

“Let’s just say the so called ‘forces of good’ can be as manipulative and self-serving as the ‘forces of evil,’” said Mephisto.

Suddenly, things came together, making even more, and more alarming, sense. To think that Kurt was only joking when he said Ororo and Kassandra were conspiring together!

“Appalling, isn’t it,” Mephisto continued, “that you’ve been doing their dirty work and were given no choice in the matter?”

Wrong! What did Kassandra say? “I always have a choice.” Kurt could have begged off. He could have taken a sabbatical. It was always understood that he could back down if he wanted. That he never did, no matter how tempting it was, was a matter of his own choice. And so it would continue to be.

“I’ll grant you, in other words,” said Mephisto, continuing to ramble about all he’d offer if only Kurt would step aside, “your greatest wish. I can do that. Believe me. I can.”

A beautiful right hook to that monopolizing monster’s jaw, and Kurt had a chance to make his decision known. The priest mentioned in his homily on Sunday that doubt has its place- when dealing with anyone, anything that demands misplaced trust and shakes true faith. Kurt seethed, fangs bared, tail lashing. “I’d sooner burn in Hell myself than make a deal with you, Mephisto.”

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Christine saw Kurt stick around only for a polite sliver of cake before he slipped out.

“Lookin’ for someone, kid?”
Only a profound act of self-restraint kept Christine from screaming, half in subconscious expectation of feeling once again adamantium slip between her ribs. Sure, she knew that Logan was in full control of himself now. Not possessed by a Soulsword seeking demon. But she had heard whispers around the Institute that he, not too long ago, broke a friend’s arm, and all without any demonic intervention. She hoped he wouldn’t take it personally- oh, what the heck, he could probably already smell that she was ill at ease around him. She took a deep, shaky breath. “Uh, yes. Did Kurt leave already?”

“Probably went outside. He’s been doin’ that a lot lately. Up in his room or outside. Got a lot on his mind, y’know.”

“I know. Thanks,” said Christine. She poured out some wine in a couple of those plastic party goblets, the ones with the detachable stems, then stepped outside.

Ah, good! Kurt hadn’t gone far. She offered him a glass. What she had to say would not be easy. First a harmless icebreaking question. And some jokes about how different they were and how a relationship wouldn’t work out. She finally looked into her glass, figuring Kurt would of course prefer a wine far too bold for her taste. “How many times do I have to almost die before I get the message: ‘Leave New York’?”

Kurt was dumbfounded. But if there was one thing he learned lately, carpe diem meant never again letting a good woman leave without a proper goodbye. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had good practice with that before, anyway.

They both strolled inside.
“Ah, just in time,” said Ororo. “We have someone on the phone for you.”

“Ich kann nicht sprechen jetzt, Liebster,” said the hushed voice on the other end. “But if you’d like, meet me at Wannabe’s tomorrow evening.”

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The book quoted is The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, by CS Lewis. And of course the savvy reader will note that I've quoted extensively from Nightcrawler 12.

And now for translations:

Es muß’ das tag sein, nicht wahr? - It must be that day, right?
Ich kann nicht sprechen jetzt, Liebster- I can't talk now, dear.

[angelique]

Chapter 31

Kurt was more than a little apprehensive setting foot in the club. Sure, Wannabe’s was pretty much the only establishment that didn’t cater specifically to mutants where he could more or less blend in. It was more who he was meeting and how he was even able to see her that raised his suspicions. It did not help matters that more than some of the patrons at this superpower themed club were dressed as her. One sidled right up to him dressed in a mauve dress suit, a ratty wig, and a frightful false tan worn in obvious and unsuccessful attempt to make her look darker.

“Great costume! You weren’t the Nightcrawler who won the Halloween costume contest, were you?”

“No, I was not.”
“Well, your costume is great. I like how you built the tail to move so well,” she said, reaching for his hand, “and those gloves are just… how did you do that? ”

Kurt started to blush as he pulled away his hand, with a combination of embarrassment and frustration, hoping the dim light would hide the evidence that this girl was seeing his real skin. “Danke schön.”

And with hands aflutter and a gasp of delight, the girl whirled away. “Amy, he speaks German, too, with the accent and everything,” she squealed to some friend several feet away. “Isn’t he perfect?”

“Kommst du mit mir,” said a much more familiar voice. She handed him a beer, then tugged his hand and helped him make his escape, leading him back to a booth farthest from both bar and stage.

“So,” said Kurt, “kannst du beweisen, dass du die wirkliche Kassandra bist? Weil…”

“Ich kann,” said the girl, as they sat down. “I’d kiss you hallo, but that would be awkward so soon after you’d just kissed Christine goodbye, nicht wahr?”

Kurt blushed, noticing with some relief that Kassandra spoke with no spite. Also, that despite the many things that were taken from Kassandra, the St. Michael medal he gave her still gleamed below her throat. He changed the subject. “So warum bist du hier, und nicht…”

“And not at that ‘undisclosed mutant detention facility’? See ‘Carol Danvers’ and ‘Nick Fury’ over there?” She nodded discretely in their direction. “Nein! Sehst du nicht her! They are operatives with an assignment they specifically need my help with. I’m here under their strict supervision, and nobody’s supposed to know that we’re even here. At any rate, I can’t blame you for having not followed the news lately.”

“Was?”
“Most of those convictions could not withstand appeal, and I’m now serving a sort of reduced sentence. At least that’s what the news says.”

“Wunderbar!” said Kurt.
“Nicht wirklich. If word got out who I report to, just what this mutant correctional department is, Logan would be furious.” She edged closer to Kurt, not for any romantic reason, but to whisper, “That is exactly what they want, and probably more than you should know.

“So,” she said, again in full voice, “war deshalb es ein guter Geburstag?”
Kurt did not quite know what to say. “Ja. As far as my birthdays go, it wasn’t so bad. But you know what happened, nicht wahr?”

Kassandra nodded. “And I must admit this time I am a bit jealous.”

“Von Christine?”
“Ja. But don’t you think she deserves it? I mean, while you were under all kinds of attack, she was there for you the whole time…”

“Aber du war auch, Liebste.” Kurt found himself tossing out that term of endearment almost as a matter of habit, a habit he suspected he’d like to keep. “Don’t dismiss what I know you’ve been doing as my ‘guardian angel.’”

“Kurt,” said Kassandra, with no small amount of difficulty, “Christine was actually with you throughout all this, in just the way you needed, a way I could only wish to have been. That’s why I envy her. And I know just because she’s moving, it doesn’t mean you’ll have seen the last of her. Du wißt das auch, nicht wahr?”

Kurt dropped his head in assent. “Well, I’m not so sure. If she finds out I lied to her about not liking musicals…”

Kassandra burst out laughing. “You should have told her you’d prefer to see Man of La Mancha.”

“But- but,” Kurt stammered, smiling, “that would have been unchivalrous.”
“And so you sat uncomfortably through the Phantom of the Opera to convenience a lady.” Kassandra tried in vain to stifle a wistful, faraway smile and the uncomfortable way her cheeks darkened. “Typisch Kurt.”

“Kassandra…” Kurt put his hand on Kassandra’s shoulder, not knowing quite what to say.

Kassandra tried to gently shrug off his hand. But it seemed important to him to maintain that simple, friendly contact, so she reconsidered. “Kurt,” she said, “I must confess I also envy you a bit. How you dealt with you-know-who, or didn’t, for that matter? You’re a far better person than I am. And I know that you will remain strong when that time comes.”

“You sound so certain of that. I suppose you know about all this talk about the Final War and all that?”

Kassandra nodded. “Classic horror movie tripe.”

“None of that makes you nervous?”
“Mephisto isn’t as in the loop as he lets on if he doesn’t know. While we’re still drawing the battle lines, the war, the Real War, was won a couple millennia ago, remember? As for me, the only thing I’m concerned about is remaining in good standing with the winner.”

“So, warum?” said Kurt, now more than a little upset. “If the war was already won, why does anyone continue to fight? Why, everything that’s happened these past several days?”

“Kurt, sei ruhig.” Kassandra held her hand up, perhaps a little too close to his mouth, and then lowered it. “The enemy doesn’t know, except for their innermost circle, that their war is lost. Those that do know don’t care. All they want is to drag as many of us down with them as possible. Und du, you will always be like my favorite character in The Last Battle.”

“Ich errinere. I remember everything now, strangely enough. You like Poggin the Dwarf, and his determination to, if need be, strike a blow for right before all’s said and done.”

“And speaking of that, I got you a present.” Kassandra slipped a small parcel to him. “Ich muß gehen.”

“Wartst du,” said Kurt, putting his hand on Kassandra’s before she could slide out of her seat. “I also remember never letting you leave without one of these, and I don’t plan to start now.”

He pulled her to himself, practically engulfing her in his arms. She returned the embrace, as profound as it was platonic. And all too brief. “Ich muß gehen,” she said again, this time looking a little frightened.

“Auf Wiedersehen?” Kurt asked, rather than said.
Kassandra nodded. Then smiled and slipped out.

And as Kurt stepped out, he passed Kassandra at the bar paying her tab. “Nick Fury” sidled up to her. “So are you going to meet her?”

Kassandra coolly looked straight ahead. “They’re both in one place. But no, I won’t meet them, unless you want this whole thing blown sky high.”

“You really shouldn’t have said that.”

“Let me be the judge of that. You want my help here, or not?”
Kurt tried not to look preoccupied as he slipped past and out the door. It didn’t seem to make much sense, and he didn’t understand the context, but that snippet of conversation made him more wary for Kassandra than anything he’d ever heard her say before. But he managed to put that out of his mind until he got back to his room and unwrapped the package. It was a book. The pages fell open, and a small laminated card fell out.

“Herr,” it said, “wenn deine Leute stilles haben Bedürfnis von meinen Diensten, werde ich die Mühe nicht vermeiden. Dein Wille geschehe. Ich habe den guten Kampf lang genug gekämpft. Noch, wenn du mich bietst, halte weiter die Kampflinie in Verteidigung von deinem Lager, ich nie werden betteln, von Versagenkraft entschuldigt zu werden. Ich werde die Arbeit machen, der du zu mir anvertraust. Währen du befehlst, werde ich unter deinem Banner kämpfen.”

He turned the card over. On the other side was a picture of what was supposed to be a Roman cavalry officer, sword in hand, cutting his cloak in half for a beggar in rags. Heiliger Martin von Tours, natürlich, the saint on whose feast day Kurt was born. He then turned to the book, a volume of supernatural folk tales from around the world, apparently. Creepy, like the one to which the book had fallen open. His heart leapt to his throat when he realized he had heard it before. An Irish story about Countess Kathleen O’Shea.

The phone rang. Kurt had to climb down from the ceiling to answer. “Ha-hallo?”

“Kurt, are you all right?” It was Christine.
Kurt had to will his breathing, heart rate, his fear itself into submission before he could say anything else. “Ja, Christine. I think I will be, now, thank you. So did you get in okay? How was your flight?”

“I think you’ll be relieved to hear it was uneventful. Didn’t even get airsick this time,” said Christine, her warm smile coming through even over the phone. "I just called to let you know I arrived okay, and that you can still reach me on my cell at least until I get a permanent place lined up. But are you sure you’re all right? You sounded-”

“A bit shaken, ja. But it had nothing to do with you. I just realized right before you called that an old friend may have gotten into trouble over her head.”

“Kassandra?” said Christine, with honest concern. She suspected that Kassandra, besides Storm, was another reason why Kurt balked at getting involved with her. Regardless, it was well known that Kurt was quite upset when Kassandra was found guilty, and Christine could at least respect that. “How could things get any worse for her?”

“I don’t know,” said Kurt. “I’m not sure I want to know. But I am sure that she could and probably has figured out how.”

“Well, based on the sound of things,” said Christine, “I’m half tempted to almost consider booking a flight back to New York.”

Kurt began to smile again over the next several minutes they talked. One thing that came to mind most when he thought about Christine was how she, like a few other people he’d been blessed to know, had earned a lifelong place among his dearest friends. So he could not regard her as a girlfriend. So their relationship took a course away from that before it could really even begin. But friendships like that did not end. Not with last-ditch kisses goodbye, nor even with a fib about disliking musicals.

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Notes and translations

kannst du beweisen, dass du die wirkliche Kassandra bist? Weil…- can you prove that you are the real Kassandra? Because...

Nein! Sehst du nicht her! No! Don't look!
war deshalb es ein guter Geburstag? Was it a good birthday?
Aber du war auch, Liebste- but you were also, dear
Du wißt das auch, nicht wahr? You know that, right?
Typisch Kurt. Typical Kurt
sei ruhig- roughly, relax
Ich errinere. I remember
Ich muß gehen. I must go.

The Last Battle is the final book in the Chronicles of Narnia by CS Lewis.

The Prayer of Saint Martin of Tours

Lord, if your people still have need of my services, I will not avoid the toil. Your will be done. I have fought the good fight long enough. Yet if you bid me continue to hold the battle line in defense of your camp, I will never beg to be excused from failing strength. I will do the work you entrust to me. While you command, I will fight beneath your banner.

Countess Kathleen O'Shea, according to legend, made a deal with the devil to ensure that her subjects would neither starve amid famine, nor sell their souls for food. According to the story as written by WB Yeates, however, the devil was never able to collect on the deal.

[The IronMan]

Great job Angelique-This made for great reading keep it up!

[angelique]

Ein Anderes Mal
Chapter 1

To: blauritter
Re: Was ist los.

I sent Ororo all the information I could dig up those “Weaponeers” you’ve been dealing with. It isn’t very much at this point. However, as the people I report to don’t like them any more than you do, they’re quite happy to let me help in this respect.

Speaking of trouble on and around my home continent, I’ve been assigned a long-term mission in Genosha. And personally, I’d like it very much if, after dealing quickly and decisively with these Weaponeers, you could maybe hop over to Hammer Bay and meet me there.

Finally, if you haven’t already, be sure to pop open an extra beer with Logan for me in memory of his old Avengers friends.

Ich vermisse dich noch immer.

-Zeitgeist

Kassandra clicked “send,” logged off, then scooted her chair back and rose. She would have liked to write more, but she had a plane to board.

Six months later

The guards assigned to supervise Mutant Conscript #50471 were not at all thrilled with this latest mission. They might have been relieved that their charge had been taken off the X-23 assignment for the time being. That target was too much like a leaner, meaner version of Wolverine for their comfort. However, while their new target was not as likely to eviscerate any of them, she didn’t seem any safer. Nor did the mutant whom they were supposed to supervise. Her cooperation seemed to have more to do with anything other than the program’s best interest, and ever since the deaths of the Avengers, the operative code-named Zeitgeist had been acting more and more erratically. Something or someone, she warned her superiors, was disrupting her ability to use her powers as effectively. But as it tied in to what she was investigating, she would figure it out. And take care of it.

And so this investigation led to an old church, one of the few structures left even remotely standing in this perpetually bombed-out capital city. She would meet her target, confirm a few details, and hopefully lure this person out of the church. In the unlikely event it would come down to a more typical Weapon Plus operation, she did not want to violate that sanctuary… any further, she thought, as she looked over the ruin.

“Stay back and let me try to talk to her first, please,” she said. “We’d like this done neatly and quietly, right?”

An easy request. They knew she wouldn’t like this assignment and would prefer dealing with this target in her capacity as psychologist rather than assassin. But they could trust that she’d do whatever was needed. And just in case things got out of control the three guards could train their weapons on the target and the conscript alike through the blasted out windows easily enough. Kassandra vanished.

They could now see her blurry, transparent visage sitting in the front pew. Powered up, ready for anything.

“Hallo,” she said, to no one they could see. “Wie gehts?…Ganz gestimmt…Ich bin Kassandra, eine Freundin von Logan… Ja, eine Psychologin… Ich will dir helfen. Erzähl mir alles. Was ist los?”

“Mein Gott! Charles darf nicht hierher kommen.” Another wraith appeared with the guards, abject terror and confusion lending an edge to her whisper almost as sharp as that adamantium sword she’d been allowed to carry again. “Understand? This place stands at a juncture of opposing realities. It’s highly unstable. I can barely stay grounded. Xavier must not come here! In fact, tell him to cease all contact with the Maximoffs, now.”

What was she talking about? How information so far-fetched, so disjointed, obtained by apparently sitting there, talking only to herself be of any use? “Mir gefällt meine Existenz auch nicht, aber zumindest spiel ich nicht mit der Realität herum,” continued the image sitting in the pew, in a gentle, almost tender voice. “Das ist nur zu wahr. Ich kann das nicht. Aber nur weil du es kannst, heißt das nicht, dass du das auch machen solltest.”

“Warum?” shouted another wraith, standing with sword drawn, looking in an altogether different direction. “Nur Gott hat das Recht dazu und wir alle müssen mit den Folgen deiner Einmischung behandeln.”

“Ich nie vergeße, und ich kann die Vergangenheit akzeptieren. Warum du nicht auch?” said the quiet image in the pew.

“Xavier’s coming, verdammt! He’s in danger here,” whispered the wraith that stood with her guards. “Stop them!”

The guards exchanged puzzled glances. They each wondered how they were going to get this woman, or rather, her three wraiths, to power down and start talking sense without hurting her and drawing the ire of the mutant rights groups, when she was obviously raving. “I don’t see any ‘them,’” said one.

Another, who knew enough German to exchange occasional snatches of conversation with this lonely conscript, replied, “It seems her assignment finally got the best of her, in which case… oh, God!”

The realization just hit that a real extra-dimensional struggle could look very much like what they were witnessing. The sword-wielding wraith finally lunged, screaming in a voice that all too likely pierced dimensional boundaries and carried beyond the universe, “WAS BILDEST DU DIR EIN?!”

Apparently, any effort to do whatever she thought she needed to be done neatly and quietly wasn’t working.

“Trank her! She’s losing it!” barked the sergeant.

“Are you kidding? None of our best shots can get her like that!”
“You got any better ideas?”

And amid a fire of tranquilizer darts, the wraiths vanished, and Zeitgeist hurtled, as if hurled by this sudden burst of white light, into the smoke-blackened wall.

“We didn’t do that, did we?” said one of the guards, gazing awestruck into the shadows.

“Get down! Someone else is in there now, though I’m damned if I know how they got there,” said the sergeant. “Did you see them come in? Or you?”

Both of the other guards shook their heads, mystified.
“At any rate, we’ll have to retrieve her, quietly. What the-?” The white light began to grow. And intensify.
“Oh, SH-!”
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Translations:

Ich vermisse dich noch immer- I still miss you.
“Wie gehts?…Ganz gestimmt…Ich bin eine Freundin von Logan, Kassandra… Ja, eine Psychologin… Ich will zu dich helfen. Erzähl mir alles. Was ist los?”

How's it going?... Agreed, totally... I am Logan's friend, Kassandra... Yes, a psychologist... I want to help you... Tell me all about it. What's the matter?

Charles darf nicht hierher kommen. -Charles must not come here.

Mir gefällt meine Existenz auch nicht, aber zumindest spiel ich nicht mit der Realität herumDas ist nur zu wahr. Ich kann das nicht. Aber nur weil du es kannst, heißt das nicht, dass du das auch machen solltest.

I also don't like my existence, but I don't mess with reality. That's true enough. I can't. But just because you can doesn't mean you should.

Warum? Nur Gott hat das Recht dazu und wir alle müssen mit den Folgen deiner Einmischung behandeln.

Why? Only God has that right, and we all must deal with the consequences of your meddling.

Ich nie vergeße, und ich kann die Vergangenheit akzeptieren. Warum du nicht auch? - I never forget, and I can accept the past. Why won't you?

WAS BILDEST DU DIR EIN?! - Who do you think you are?!

[angelique]

Before you proceed with reading this next chapter, I must provide another disclaimer. This story earns its PG-13. If you could not read chapter 13 of Zeit und Zwischenraum for the violence, and if tastefully worded details of a healthy, romantic involvement embarrass you, read no further.

Chapter 2

Wanda? Braddock? Saturnyne?!

A fragrant and surprisingly warm early morning ocean breeze stirred the lace curtains over Kassandra’s bed as the unhurried notes of an acoustic guitar fell like gentle raindrops on her sleepy consciousness. Her bed- not a hard bunk in a cold brig that, if it had a window above water, would have looked out onto war-ravaged ruins? And where did the music come from? She wasn’t allowed a CD player. This had to be a dream perhaps brought on by that hard knock she took on the head last night. She pulled around her one of the precious few comforts she’d been allowed, a plush blue blanket Nightcrawler sent her for Christmas. And the blanket wrapped itself more tightly around her, pressing its soft warmth against her surprisingly bare flesh.

What? What happened to the itchy government-issue pajamas? And if it was one of those dreams, she didn’t expect to be plagued with them. Shyness notwithstanding, she did not have many body consciousness issues. Anyway, where was the audience? Why did she feel relatively safe and content, rather than insecure and vulnerable?

“Shhhh, du träumst,” the blanket murmured in a low, familiar voice. “But how would you like to start the day, Liebchen?” Okay, that was just plain verrückt. Kassandra felt soft pressure settle on her hip. And an unfamiliar tightness around one of her fingers. Not one for jewelry, even if she was the daughter of a diamond heir and a Zulu tribeswoman, she almost never wore rings. Never on that finger, anyway!

The voice continued, attempting to sing along with the CD. “We could talk away the morning….” His Bavarian accent, coupled with the gentle delivery, made this otherwise goofy Frank Sinatra impression irresistibly endearing. The pressure took the shape of a familiar tridactyl hand and began to migrate slowly up, navigating the subtle curves of Kassandra’s lean, modest form in languid, circular strokes. And what felt like another set of three long, thick fingers gently brushed her tangled, shoulder-length mess of dark curls away from her neck.

“…read the papers…”
“Sein Händedruck, und- ach!- sein Kuss!” Kassandra thought to herself, as she felt the first of a series of kisses on her neck. She’d have to put away that blanket. It was giving her dreams that would only intensify by contrast the cold loneliness of her sentence, but still…

“… oder ‘misbehave.’”
“Mmmm…Kurt,” said Kassandra, sleepily. His tail, which had been idly tracing its way up from her ankle, finally curled firmly around her thigh. She had never before had such a vivid dream that didn’t leave her shaking and sweating in terror. This was almost as enjoyable for its novelty as well as for… the obvious reasons. Still, she muttered a weak protest. “A good Catholic shouldn’t entertain these thoughts.”

Kurt chuckled, gently turning Kassandra over. “Guten Morgen, Frau Darkhölme.”

Kassandra’s eyes flew open and about the room, resting briefly upon a photograph. Odd. She could not recall where or when it was taken at the moment. But Kurt stood behind her with an arm around her waist, all smiles. She could see a green bracelet tied around his wrist. She wore a plain black leather skirt, and a round hat that sat like a crimson halo upon her head- the isidwaba and isicholo of a Zulu bride. And an expression of happiness barely restrained by the desire to appear appropriately solemn. On her nightstand was a paperback copy of the book Toxic In-Laws. Then her eyes turned finally to Kurt, his smiling, tousled, early-morning charm everything she expected it to be, and more. Very real and apparently very much hers. Any protest that this must only be a dream died on her lips, happily smothered by his.

Kassandra could not think of any other way she’d rather be start the day, tasting his kisses, running her hands down his back, reveling in how paradoxically beautiful the firmness of his muscular physique under the softness of his velvety skin felt to her touch. But still, nothing about this felt quite right.

Kurt retreated. The way he felt his beloved wife’s muscles tense beneath her own smooth, café au lait skin, quite the opposite of her usual response, and the confusion he could now see in her large deep brown eyes was indeed not right. Granted, things had been a bit awkward between them lately. They were only just getting accustomed to married life when a new assignment as well as the lure of living at least on the same hemisphere as Kassandra’s mother and siblings induced them to pack and move across the globe to Hammer Bay. It was an ideal move, or so Kurt thought. Or it would be, anyway, if he and Kassandra could actually spend more time home together. Kurt and his mother, whom he still hoped might warm to his new bride, still worked together as special operatives in the elite mobile unit of the Red Guard and was often out on one mission or another. Kassandra, on the other hand, earned a commission answering directly to the royal family, and had, in her short time on that job, also earned the personal confidence of the princesses.

Together she and Kurt bought a nice, modest house on a bluff overlooking a stretch of beach where Kassandra liked to jog or take Kurt for long strolls. The house was just big enough for them, Kassandra’s piano, a couple rooms they set aside for when they’d have children, and a large, deep walkout basement they’d already turned into a miniature danger room. Of course, they had access to the training facilities the palace and SHIELD had to offer. But for reasons so obvious the couple never had to speak of them, they both preferred to work out in the privacy of their own home whenever possible. It was also near enough to church, the palace, and the new SHIELD headquarters, which was important not only because Kassandra hated to drive, but because they also could be called in to work in literally a moment’s notice.

They had all the best this life could offer, and yet Kassandra still was not content. Nobody could understand why. None of the many possible explanations seem to quite cover it. She and Kurt both guessed that it was due in part to when she took out that anti-mutant cult in Montana a few months before their wedding. Though she’d won medals for her bravery and leadership, which she would only bring out at the royal family’s command, she’d seemed a bit traumatized afterward. That was understandable. Given Kassandra’s background, she was actually quite sympathetic toward non-mutants, so naturally having to kill so many, even when they were shooting at her, would not sit well with her. And these suspicious nightmares and waking terrors that had plagued her ever since had been driving her a bit to distraction. Kurt felt awful that, as wonderful as their life was, there was nothing, not even taking a permanent position at headquarters, he could do to ensure her complete happiness, and she knew it. Kurt guessed that this was the reason for the emotional distance that Kassandra was beginning to display.

“How long have I been your wife?” she asked. She had great difficulty referring to herself as Frau Darkhölme. Of course she would be proud to add Kurt’s name to her own, but since when did he go by… by that woman’s name?

Questions like that coming from her meant either that she was teasing, or, most likely, especially based on her reactions and the talking in her sleep, she had just had another one of those dreams, and needed some gentle reorientation. He propped himself up on one elbow, softly caressing her neck and shoulder with one hand and her leg with the spade of his tail. “Three wonderful months and the dawning your last chance to rest before the festivities. Our first real day off together since-”

“I have to get to Mass!”
Kurt looked at her with increasing concern. As much as he liked waking his wife to that song any day of the week, he realized that “It’s Sunday” wouldn’t help on a rare weekday morning off if things like this kept happening. “Es ist Donnerstag. St. Marcella’s doesn’t have Mass on Thursdays any more, remember? Though you did have choir practice last night.”

Last night. The church. Yes, Kassandra remembered something about that last night. Still disturbing. It was never like her to forget.

“Ist alles in Ordnung?” said Kurt.
Kassandra sighed, feeling her focus on the here and now improving as she drew closer and wrapped her free leg around Kurt’s. “Ja. Danke. And I think you’re right. I do need to talk to someone… someone else about- about what I’d been seeing. I’m tired of this confusion, and I don’t want this to interfere any more. Aber jetzt, Ich vermute ein Bißchen ‘misbehavior’ konnte in Ordnung sein.”

“Bist du sicher?” Kurt asked.
Kassandra nodded.

Kurt smiled. “Nur ein Bißchen? Das wird schwierig sein.”
“Gestimmt!” Kassandra laughed, twining her legs around Kurt’s waist as she found herself quite blissfully entangled in his arms and tail.

They spent the next hour simply enjoying each other that way. And if their coming together was any less momentous than the union of time and space itself, Kassandra did not want to know.

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Translations:

du träumst- you're dreaming

Sein Händedruck, und- ach!- sein Kuss! - more Goethe poetry that will only be mangled in the translation, from Gretchen's spinning wheel scene in Faust. "The pressure of his hands, and -oh!- his kiss!"

Aber jetzt, Ich vermute ein Bißchen ‘misbehavior’ konnte in Ordnung sein. - (roughtly) But now, I suppose a little misbehavior could be all right.

Bist du sicher? - Are you sure?
Nur ein Bißchen? Das wird schwierig sein. - Only a little? That will be difficult.

[angelique]

Chapter 3

Kurt looked upon Kassandra, his golden eyes in no hurry to cease making love to her even after the rest of his body was well spent. She had just pulled on a pink tracksuit and tied her hair back into a loose ponytail. “Laufst du jetzt? Didn’t you just get a good workout?”

“Du bist immer wilkommen, mit mir zu kommen,” said Kassandra, leaning over to lightly graze Kurt’s lips with her own.

“Ja doch.” Kurt drew Kassandra into a much deeper kiss before letting her go. Persuading her to stay and knuddeln some more would not be difficult. But she could be if she skipped her mile-a-day minimum. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Das ich will gern sehen.” Kassandra smiled, dodging a tridactyl blue hand aimed for her rear, then disappeared.

“Ach, solche Dreistigkeit!” Kurt threw on some sweats and scrambled out after her, deftly avoiding stumbling over his pants as he hastily pulled them up. Perhaps he had some energy left for a jog after all.

Kassandra was glad she got a good head start on Kurt. She needed just a moment to think. Just what would she, could she, tell anyone about these dreams, visions, whatever they were? Were these glimpses into another reality mere reflections of her difficulties adjusting to a happy, if not entirely perfect, new life? Kassandra hoped so. Even at her best, she did not handle alternate realities well. The ability to see and control the timelines within one reality could overwhelm her, physically and mentally, if she wasn’t careful, even with her healing factor. And rare glimpses into parallel universes, such as what she’d seen upon her first encounter with the beings some called the Celestials, tended to leave her disoriented, even, on occasion, to the point of doubting her sanity. Of course this helped her relate when Brian Braddock requested her counseling after his own tumble through time. Wait- when had she ever counseled the King of England? When had any of that happened?

At any rate, her ability to return to her place within time depended very much on being solidly grounded in one reality. And yet lately, she’d been seeing events from alternate timelines in her sleep as well as whenever she stepped outside of time- one past in each of two different realities for each person whose timelines she might try to read. And she could not shut it out. She had seen things like this before in the fractured timelines she observed when studying disassociative disorders or cases of total amnesia. No, that had to be in her own other reality, nicht wahr? She was no psychologist. Or was she? There was no sense in delaying another day, Kassandra decided. She’d call Professor Xavier immediately after breakfast.

Verdammt, not again! Who was this Xavier? Cassandra Web could handle this sort of thing. Oh, that’s right. She said, despite symptoms similar to generalized anxiety or something like that, nothing was wrong. How about Dr. Strange? But the only Xavier Kassandra ever knew about died in the revolution before she was even born…nicht wahr?

Ah, well. If she could indeed see into another reality in which she was a psychologist, maybe she could take a thorough look and figure out a thing or two. “Gemütarzt, heilt dich,” she thought to herself.

Kurt scrambled down the bluff. He even skipped using the long staircase that wound its way downward, as was his habit. It might have been quicker and easier to teleport down to the beach, but he preferred climbing anyway. Plus, he reasoned, it wouldn’t make any difference how quickly he could get there. He would catch up with Kassandra only if she wanted him to.

And apparently she did. No sooner had his hands and feet hit the sand in his own unique running stride than he skidded to a halt.

“KURT!” A tearful, terror-stricken, breathless Kassandra appeared before him, running hell for leather, sweat and tears coursing down her face, allowing him just enough time to stagger upright before she barreled into his arms, knocking him over.

Kurt clutched her firmly until the racking, consuming sobs subsided, struggling to will his own alarm at this outburst into submission. “Kassandra, meine Liebste, was ist los?”

“Kurt, ich sehte…” Kassandra gulped. “Ich sehte ein anderes mal, eine andere Realität. Es ist kein Traum! Ich bin sicher!”

Kurt took a deep breath, then brushed away Kassandra’s tears. A lifetime being raised by none other than Raven Darkhölme on a steady diet of war stories, groomed for nothing other than a career ensuring that mutants would remain forever victorious had not prepared him very well for showing compassion in others’ moments of weakness. Nonetheless, this tender little gesture came surprisingly naturally to him. Perhaps it was something about Kassandra, or more likely the fact that married life necessitated it, that brought this out in him. His mother could complain all she wanted. And she did, frequently, about how he married a mutant raised among and identifying with- oh, the horror- flatscans! He felt he was a stronger man for this, regardless. “Kassandra, alles ist in Ordnung…”

“Nein, Kurt,” she said. “Alles ist nicht in Ordnung. Ever get the feeling like this… this existence is too good to be real?”

“Ja doch. Immer,” said Kurt warmly. He then quickly apologized as Kassandra’s face clouded over again even more ominously. There was just no humoring her, especially when she was in that mood. “Es tut mir leid, Liebste. But whether or not any of this is too good to be true, now’s probably not the best time to worry about that, nicht wahr?”

Kassandra nodded slowly, trying her hardest to pull herself together. Kurt had always been patient with her and her idiosyncrasies, as she had to be with him and the attitudes his mother tried in vain to impart to him, but she knew better than to take that for granted. Nobody she knew of who went by the name Darkhölme regarded tolerance for any kind of frailty a virtue. “I think it would be better to discuss this over breakfast, anyway.”

“Gut,” said Kurt. “Care for a port up? You look like you’ve already run much more than your usual mile.”

“Well…” Kassandra smiled again at last, threading her fingers through the lank indigo waves that Kurt had finally succeeded in growing out. “I was warned about accepting teleports from strange men, und…”

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Translations:

Laufst du jetzt?- Are you running now?
Du bist immer wilkommen, mit mir zu kommen. - You are always welcome to come with me.

Das ich will gern sehen. - That I will like to see.
solche Dreistigkeit!- such insolence!
Gemütarzt, heilt dich- Mind doctor, heal yourself.

Ich sehte ein anderes mal, eine andere Realität. Es ist kein Traum! Ich bin sicher! - I saw another time, another reality. It's no dream! I'm sure!

[angelique]

Chapter 4

After a quick shower, abbreviated only because their appetite for food, at the moment, anyway, exceeded even their appetite for each other, and because they had the potatoes boiling and didn’t want them to overcook, Kurt and Kassandra happily busied themselves in the kitchen. Kassandra started the coffee and beat the eggs, observing Kurt at work with a smile. “Ich denke dass, der Speck bereit ist,” Kurt said, handing, or rather, tailing her the spatula while he continued slicing the potatoes, onions and tomatoes and cubing the ham.

Helping Kurt preparing a large Bauernfrühstück as only he would was exactly what Kassandra needed. A little fun, and continuing the flirting that began again with mischievous glances in the shower, would make it easier when they finally sat down to go over this dreadful bit of news. Kassandra carefully transferred the crisp brown bacon to a paper towel, then, hot pad and frying pan in hand, began to drain the fat. “Achtung,” she said, feeling his tail curl around her waist. “Das ist heiß.”

“Ganz bestimmt.” Kurt grinned, the flat spade of his tail patting her on the rear as she set the pan back down on the stove and poured in the eggs.

Kassandra gasped in mock indignation, though the flush whipped to her cheeks was genuine. In any reality she’d care to be in, she could expect no less from breakfast with Herr Wagner… Herr Darkhölme… Kurt. At any rate, now the eggs, mixed up with everything else, had set. Kurt dished up the food then grabbed the newspaper, and Kassandra poured out the coffee- black for Kurt, sugar for her. They pulled up their bistro stools, and after giving their thanks, began to eat.

For a while, they said nothing. While neither of them even pretended to be excellent cooks, helping each other in the kitchen was fun. And more often than not, they didn’t have to depend on the appetites their work and, in Kurt’s case, living mostly on commissary food had given them to help then clear their plates.

“So,” said Kurt, “the dream- or whatever you saw last night- was it the same as the others?”

“Die anderen?” said Kassandra, somewhat confused.
“You know, you in a brig on board an aircraft carrier, Hammer Bay still in ruins, sentinels still targeting mutants, white lights and black walls…”

“Ja,” Kassandra sighed, getting her bearings again.
“This alternate reality is not a very pleasant one, nicht wahr?”

“Im Moment, nein,” said Kassandra. “And I realized that solving this problem will not be as simple as keeping me grounded in this reality. The reason why I can even see this other one is not just because they’re connected somehow, but… but Kurt, remember Madame Web’s diagnosis?”

“She said you didn’t need any adjustment. Warum? Do you think you do?”

“Well,” said Kassandra, choosing her words carefully, “Would you believe I’m a criminal psychologist in that other reality? Anyway, it’s a difficult thing, assessing my own condition based on knowledge I never had in this reality. I’ll need to consult another professional to confirm or debunk my suspicions once and for all.”

“You’ve already seen the best in Genosha and within SHIELD. Who do you have in mind now?”

“Stephen Strange,” replied Kassandra. “I know, it may mean a trip back to New York, but…”

“…but if the man on psychiatry’s cutting edge says you’re not crazy, Mama will have one less reason to bug me about marrying you, and that can only be a good thing,” said Kurt.

Kassandra rolled her eyes. “Speaking of that,” she said, pointing to a pertinent blurb on the television schedule, “They’re actually going to air Alison Blair’s interview with Princess Ororo here tonight.”

Ah, yes, the other reasons Mystique disapproved of Kurt’s marital selection. Sure, popping a brain stitch or two was nothing to be ashamed of. It happened quite frequently among all the SHIELD ranks. But a son who’d choose to marry someone, knowing full well she had only one foot in reality, was a different matter. And then there were the political differences. Kassandra’s devotion to and upbringing with her non-mutant family contributed to some ideas even more radical than the views aristocrats from Kenya and England were beginning to express, some of which were rubbing off on that far too sensitive son of hers. And then as if that wasn’t enough to guarantee discord, the royal family decided her sympathy for the human cause specifically qualified Kassandra for a special commission to oversee all their security. Still, Mystique would never trust Kassandra. Kurt put those thought out his mind. He smiled. “I suppose you’ll want me to watch that with you, nicht wahr?”

“Nein, danke,” Kassandra smiled. “I already know what she said. She kind of skipped over a few issues, and that alliance with Emperor Sunfire raises some very disconcerting questions anyway.”

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Kurt did not often get to visit Darkhölmberg, his mother’s estate in Bavaria. Mama felt that the non-mutant servants and caretakers at the castle resented her since royal fiat directly from Hammer Bay itself decreed that she would inherit everything from her late, titled husband, the Baron Wagner. Unfaithful though she was, she was nonetheless his wife. And a heroine in the mutant revolution, though merely being a mutant in this new world where mutants in general, and Eric Magnus Lehnsherr in particular, reigned supreme was enough to ensure she’d get preferential treatment over the Baron’s relatives. And the right to change the name of the castle.

But, though they’d been spending more of their time in the States lately, Mama decided it was important to go back and show Kurt’s newly adopted sister Anna Marie the old family estate. It was nice returning. He did enjoy hiking through the Alps, though Mama was not at all keen on letting him venture out on his own. Sneaking over to the church and visiting Schwester Maria Boniface was always pleasant. Mama was, of course, even less tolerant of that, dismissing anyone, mutant or otherwise, who subscribed to religion as an evolutionary throwback. And occasionally seeing Der Jahrmarkt was a cause for mixed emotion, mostly celebration. Mama nearly had a coronary once when she caught him imitating the aerialists, until she noticed he seemed to have much more than just a knack for it. That marked the end of his boyhood, such as it was, and the beginning of his training among the Hellions, eventually to enlist in one of SHIELD’s special forces units. He still loved the circus, and he had resolved to see it again when he had the chance. But, as he strolled down the midway with Anna Marie, toward a knot of people that weren’t moving with the general flow of the crowd, he had the feeling that this would not be just another harmless day’s fun.

“Kurt,” said Anna Marie, as the knot erupted in malicious laughter, “Ah don’t much lahk the sound of that. What’re they sayin’?”

“Warum ist eine Schwarze sapien hier, anstatt im Museum mit den Neandertalern?” one boy yelled.

“Sorry?” said Kurt. While his English was good, it was still nonetheless the English equivalent of Hochdeutsch. Anna Marie drawled almost exclusively in some heavy American Dialekt, and he still wasn’t completely used to that. “Oh, nothing you’d want me to translate.”

“Warum beweisen Sie nicht, das Sie wirklich sind homo superior,” retorted an indignant feminine voice, “und lassen mich alleine?”

At that, all laughter ceased. “Wie unklug von dir, in diesem Ton zu Wesen zu sprechen die dir genetisch doch weit überlegen sind!”

Anna Marie didn’t need to know German to understand that meant trouble. “Uh-oh.”

Kurt cleared his throat, edging past Anna Marie to see, to his horror, a girl thrashing, suspended in the grip of the four thick, ten-foot long tentacles one boy had for arms. Even if this wasn’t a mutant, Kurt had to respect her wit- and courage. And quite frankly, he and Anna Marie both tended to be rather embarrassed by mutants who’d amuse themselves by tormenting those weaker than themselves. This one looked only about fourteen, fifteen at most. Maybe younger, though it was hard to tell, as she was quite small. “The lady has a point,” he said, tail lashing, fangs bared.

All eyes turned to him. Even though the previous generation had fought a long, bloody war, the end of which Kurt was barely old enough to remember, to establish a society where people like him could walk about freely in public without fear, many people, including fellow mutants, found his blue, tailed, fanged appearance quite intimidating. Kurt was grateful that Mama had taught him how to put that to good use. The bullies immediately stepped back in alarm, their would-be human piñata dropping to the ground. The girl seemed to vanish upon landing. Kurt’s mind worked quickly. She looked like she might be a good runner and could have darted out of there easily, but they didn’t seem to nor needed to know. “Sie entlauftet sehr schnell, was? Haben Sie, Herren, bedacht, dass sie ein Mutant sein könnte, trotz ihrer Erscheinung?”

With that, he teleported himself and Anna Marie out, hoping he’d left those bullies with enough to think about while he tried to find and catch up with the girl. Her dark appearance and accent made it pretty clear that, no matter how well she spoke the language, she was not from Germany. If she really wasn’t a mutant, well, Kurt had heard about times when society as a whole felt threatened by mutants. Some of his own first memories were about rarely being allowed outside or near windows. He did not like to see anyone being given legitimate cause for such fear. Anyway, someone should apologize on behalf of perhaps a couple groups of people, or at least ask if she was okay.

“Kurt, ich bin hier. Mach schnell.” The voice came from almost directly overhead. Kurt looked up, into the branches of a sycamore tree, and could barely make out the girl’s frightened face, peering down among the leaves. Whatever had happened, however she got up into that tree, she did not look at all well. Her eyes, lids aflutter, suddenly rolled back into her head.

Mein Gott! Kurt teleported up, landing perfectly perched, and grabbed the girl before she could topple over. “Bleib bei mir,” he said, holding her inert body as securely as he could, his tail wrapped firmly around the branch. “Ich hab dich.”

“Kurt?” said Anna Marie.
“It’s all right, I’ve got her,” he said. “Go ahead and save me a seat- and you might want to take your gloves off if you have to deal with those Schweinehunde again.”

“Ya don’ have to tell me twahce,” said Anna Marie, peeling off her gloves as she strolled toward the big top. “Dam’ morons don’ know how to pick on someone their own sahze? They’ll get what’s comin’.”

The girl stirred in Kurt’s arms. “Kurt…” she said faintly.
“Was ist los? And how did you know my name?”
“Ich weiß nicht,” said the girl. “I don’t know how any of this happened. I just wanted everything to stop, and that’s what it felt happened. Everything stopped. And then I just knew I could talk to you, but… but why did you bring up the possibility of my being a mutant?”

“Bist du?” said Kurt.
“Macht es einen Unterschied?” she said, pointedly.

“You’re right. It shouldn’t matter. And it doesn’t to me,” said Kurt, trying not to sound defensive.

“Gut,” said the girl, “because where I’m from, these things matter far too much.”

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The stories about human rights violations on the southern end of Africa were almost universally dismissed as highly exaggerated accounts from non-mutant malcontents. Kurt knew better. While Mama had stories about mutants victimized by mob violence, Kassandra had stories of every non-mutant in her home city of Keetmanshoop being dispossessed of their homes and livelihoods, rounded up, and forcibly relocated to Tseiblaagte Township. How her only options throughout her childhood were to keep her own mutation quiet as long as possible and grow up in squalor, or be separated from her family to be raised by “better” people. How her mother, in an effort to combat the diseases that ran rampant there, had to study medicine in an old underground SWAPO training center, with the help of some wealthy foreigners and one or two sympathetic mutants. How her father died while smuggling medical supplies into the township. How families such as hers used their life savings to go on genealogical tours, hoping to perhaps improve their social standing with some evidence of mutant ancestry. How only when Kassandra revealed she was a mutant were her family’s considerable mining assets restored.

So while Mama and Kassandra had been oppressed by different groups, they had pretty much all the worst in common. They both grew up among non-mutants, fearful, albeit for opposite reasons, of revealing their true selves, and they both bore some pretty deep scars as a result.

“I’ll begin with the good news about this other reality I’ve been seeing, Liebster, such as it is,” said Kassandra, looking up from her coffee. “I still love you, James is still your best friend and isn’t involved with your mother, and speaking of her, after seeing what s