X-MEN ETERNITY

New X-Men #4: "Beauty and the Beast"
Rated PG-13 for violence and language

by R. John Burke
X-Men Eternity Message Board: http://solofan.proboards76.com/index.cgi

DISCLAIMER: The X-Men are a copyright of Marvel Comics. I don't own them, but this is only non-profit fan fiction. No money is involved and no infringement is intended.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: X-Men Eternity started (in Uncanny #1: The Shattering) with the events at the end of "House of M" and went in a different direction. Nothing that happened after that is canon for our purposes, and in fact a few things have changed. The team is now scattered through time and space.

"New X-Men: Eternity" is a series following the adventures of a splinter group of X-Men whom the reality-shift left trapped in the future.

***************************************************************

"If you will forgive a somewhat unoriginal opening... this is the city."

Los Angeles, California
July 5, 2032 (Monday)
Alternate Reality #502

"Humans used to call it the City of the Angels, but for us it has become a singular... the City of Angel. There is a statue of Warren Worthington at the port in San Pedro, at Angel's Gate where a lighthouse used to stand. Now he is our beacon, he and the Morlocks who died with him when the humans stole New York, so many years ago.

"The seat of government remains further east, in Denver, but... Los Angeles is our heart, the sanctuary we fortified for ourselves, where we swore it could never happen again. Perhaps it was inevitable-- the city of flash and revelry, where the unlikely is a daily event and a certain amount of... oddity is to be expected. Our race was born for California. Hollywood at its grandest never could have imagined us."

The man with blue fur and odd, yellow eyes stared at the recording device clutched between his oversized fingers. It felt reassuring, but did not inspire him to heights of eloquence. He expanded his vision outward: The room around him wasn't any better. Four walls, peeling wallpaper, a single lamp with a torn shade, the gentle click-clack of roaches scurrying out of reach as the light turned on... and most prominently, a lumpy, flea-ridden bed with springs peeking up through the mattress.

Kurt Wagner sighed. He knew the surroundings by heart, and he had no words to use on them. Yet he felt he must have the words, somewhere, to express for posterity what he was going to do... the heart-wrenching sorrow that had driven him to it. He could not imagine the right way to begin; imagination needed hope and hope was something he'd forfeited long ago. But he thought he remembered, now, where he'd left it.

Short of his God, Kurt knew of no greater source of hope than beauty... so he called to mind all the beautiful things he'd ever seen, and particularly the one beautiful thing that had brought him where he was. And suddenly he knew where to begin. He cleared his throat and triggered the recorder:

"Two nights ago, I met a young woman..."

****

Two Nights Earlier (Saturday)

"Hey hey-- what d'you think we got here, Burn?"

"Looks to me like a couple'a fine *chicas* out past their bedtime."

"Maybe they got better things to do at night than sleep."

The one called Burn laughed. "Think so? Maybe we should ask 'em..."

The two young men, a tall blonde and a stocky dark-haired fellow, stood on a street corner surrounded by the glitz and glamor of West Hollywood's fabled Sunset Strip. If much of the mutant world had seen better days since the Normals started fighting back in earnest, the Strip remained at the height of its power-- the air crackled with sights and smells and music of a dozen different kinds, including what was called bio-beat, music that could only be created through the unique genetic talents of mutants. Always the place for the flashiest, the liveliest, the most fun, the Strip might now have been the center of a gigantic carnival, a neon-flashing cavalcade of all that was glorious about being a living, powerful mutant. Even Rachel Grey, who'd never had much time to learn how to party, felt herself pulled along irresistibly, in rhythm with the heartbeat of the place...

But, thought Rachel, every carnival had its freaks, and the couple of lowlifes approaching her and her dark-haired, jittery friend definitely qualified.

"Ladies," said the tall one, his walk almost a parody of cool. "My name's Chill. My compadre's Burn. We're--"

"Don't tell me," said Rachel with a sigh. "Pyrokinetic. Wannabe Iceman. Close?"

"Hey, we don't wanna be nothin'!" said the smaller man.

"You're off to a good start. Maybe you could round up some other archetypes like Metal Man and Dustbunny Man and start a group."

"Hey, listen!" said the blond, his eyes flashing, "we just thought we'd be nice an' offer you girls a chance to really party, but if you're too flatscan, we got our pick of *chicas*."

"That's nice," said Rachel. "Why don't you go look for them?"

The guy sneered. He didn't like Rachel's tone-- or maybe he was just drunk. Or stupid. Anyway, he reached for her, cold reminiscent of Bobby Drake's coming off him in waves...

SHIKT. Rachel's friend stepped between them, popping a handful of adamantium-laced claws right under the blond guy's throat.

"You're crowding us, twerp. Back off."

"X, we don't have to..."

"Hey!" said the little guy, his hands now seemingly on fire. "Nobody disrespects Chill like that. You girls are so--"

SHIKT. Another claw, pointed in the opposite direction. He trailed off.

"Go ahead," said X-23. "I've got two for each of you."

"And she hasn't even popped the foot claws yet," Rachel murmured.

"Babe. You have *foot claws?* How lame is that?"

X growled. Rachel sighed. So much for conducting their search in an orderly and reasonable fashion. She gestured for the other young woman to lower her claws.

"Thanks, X, but I'm sure this isn't necessary. I know our new friends will act like gentlemen and leave us in peace. Won't they?"

The blond guy sneered, but when he opened his mouth, what came out was: "Of course we will. We're sorry we troubled you."

"Maybe as a sign of remorse," said his friend, "we'll go jump in a lake."

"You do that," said Rachel, the Phoenix emblem burning brightly over her eye. She gave them a mental nudge in the other direction; a moment later, they'd vanished into the crowd.

X-23 retracted her claws. "You just scrubbed my exercise routine."

"I'd like to scrub my *brain!*" Rachel shuddered. "When I think about the stuff I had to pick through to access their teeny, tiny logic centers..."

A voice past her shoulder laughed. "I guess I shouldn't have left you two alone..."

The bionic mutant known as Forge leaned against a nearby wall, arms crossed over his chest, a peculiar little smirk on his face. Rachel turned to him and shrugged.

"You know men are stupid, right?'

"The thought crossed my mind."

"Forge... by the way, do you have a full name?"

"Yes."

"And it is...?"

"*Mister* Forge."

"Ah." Rachel glanced in both directions, then sidled closer so the passing crowd wouldn't hear any of the juicy parts: "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Some of it," Forge said. "Still hunting, though. Even in the most sophisticated mutant city in the world, parts for a trans-dimensional gateway don't just fall off the apple tree. I'll find what we need, but..." His lip twisted.

"But you're worried about Ororo."

Forge nodded. "I should have gone with her. There'll be parts enough in Wakanda... it's at *least* as advanced as..."

"Sure, in *our* world," Rachel said. "Here, the humans and mutants have been waging war across Africa for a decade. Who knows what she'll find? We need you here."

Forge sighed. He understood at that, but... "It's the not-knowing-what-she'll-find part that bothers me."

"C'mon, if anybody can take care of herself..."

"Yeah."

"And she's got some pretty serious backup."

"Yeah."

"...But you still have feelings for her, so of course you..."

Forge grimaced and pushed away from the wall. "Thought you telepaths had rules about poking around a body's mind..."

"I was guessing, actually."

"Well, stop it." Forge looked around in both directions. "Where's Cable?"

"I dunno, he was here just a few minutes a..."

CRASH! Two bodies came flying through the window of a nearby club. The large one was the muscular, born-for-battle form of Nathan Christopher Summers, Rachel's brother Cable... or at least, his Reality 502 counterpart. The other was lithe and dark and...

...and boasted a prehensile, blue tail, which snaked around Cable's throat.

"I warned you once about following me, mein herr..."

"Not my fault this time," Cable choked, his own hands closing on the other mutant's throat. "Gettin' old, Wagner. Time was, you would've killed me."

"Ah, mein freund, the night is young..."

The two men tightened their grips. Rachel ran forward, the Phoenix emblem reappearing as she loosened both their grips with a burst of teke, then knocked them away from each other. Cable was already on his back and too large to move far, but Kurt Wagner went flying...

BAMF! He reappeared a few meters away and landed on his feet, regarding her cautiously. X-23 popped her claws again, but Rachel motioned her back.

"Uh... hi, Kurt."

Kurt's eyes widened as he put the pieces together... the Phoenix emblem, the redhead who looked ever so slightly familiar... "Jean Grey?"

"No, um... long story."

"Pity I have no time to hear it."

"Kurt, wait...!"

"Danke for the quick action, fraulein. You've prevented something rather unpleasant. Tell your excitable friend that I'll kill him next time."

"But..."

BAMF! And he was gone. Probably only to someplace in visual range with the first 'port, but with the lights and the crowd... Rachel turned to X-23, who shrugged. If she couldn't track him, nobody could. Meanwhile, Forge was helping Cable off the ground.

"Who's he calling excitable?" Nathan Summers muttered. "Damn fuzzy elf."

"Aw, don't talk like that," Rachel said. "And after he used to read you bedtime stories as a kid..."

Cable whirled. "How did you..."

"The nickname gave you away." Rachel's eyes searched the crowd, but... still nothing. She sighed. "Looks like we'll do this the hard way..."

She put a hand to her brow, Phoenixing again as she spread her awareness out across the city... hundreds, thousands, millions of minds, like sifting grains of sand...

There. No, gone again. There! Almost... slipped away...

"*There,*" Rachel said, as their teleporter came to rest.

"Then let's go get him," said Cable. He drew a pistol from his vest, checked to make sure it was fully loaded...

"No," Rachel said, touching his arm. "Let me."

"Like hell! I'm not on this trip for my health... I'm here for *yours*."

"Fine. Then follow at a distance."

"But..."

"Y'know," said Forge, "the lady might be better off without your... interpersonal skills."

Cable bristled. "I have *great* interpersonal skills! People I like, I like. People I don't, I kill. Where's the problem?"

"Works for me," said X-23.

"A *distance*," Rachel repeated, and walked away.

Cable watched her go; then he and the others hurried after her. Feeling his sense in her mind, Rachel could only smile. There weren't many things she preferred about this reality, but she already felt as much like family with its version of Cable as she ever had with his counterpart... or even her own parents... in the reality she called home. It was a nice feeling.

She didn't see the shadowy form drifting along the fringe of the crowd in his wake...

****

Southwestern Europe
Airspace Above the Iberian Peninsula

"Looking for something in particular, Storm, or just browsing?"

Ororo Munroe turned in her seat on the Lady Sarah's private jet-- averting her gaze from the pink and golden silhouettes of clouds streaking past beneath them, to the impressive bulk of Lucas Bishop, sitting across the aisle from her.

"Thinking," she said with a frown. "I wonder if I should have undertaken this journey alone."

Bishop shrugged. "You said it yourself, we're a team. Anyway, traveling this world alone might not be so easy for a woman who's wanted for questioning in connection with the murders of Matt Murdock and Hank McCoy." (* last issue)

That, at least, was true enough. Dozens of cameras had caught Storm in St. Louis a few weeks ago, saving her friend Hank-- the Beast-- from an assassin's bullet. Unfortunately, she'd kept on going, and according to the story their ally Tessa had spread, Storm had actually spirited away Hank's body *after* the round struck home. Murdock actually was dead, and the false rumor allowed Hank to investigate that killing in secret-- but also complicated matters for Storm. Not that things hadn't already been complicated enough, since most of the mutant world thought she was a traitor (* NXM #2).

Now Storm was off on a quest literally to find herself-- at least, her alternate-reality duplicate-- and get some answers, with a team consisting of Bishop (for backup), the aging, war-weary alternate of the Morlock leader Callisto (minding the jet for her employer, among other points of interest), and Esme Cuckoo, the telepathic representative of the Five-in-One group mind (along mostly because they had no safe place for her, and Storm preferred to have the girl's safety be her own responsibility, rather than anyone else's).

Of course, Esme's talents had other uses, too... such as when air-traffic controllers started getting suspicious.

"Gibraltar Control to Gene Nation aircraft 772," one of them was saying now, "you are not authorized to enter this airspace. Please turn around now or you will be escorted out."

In the pilot's seat, Callisto snorted. "Listen, son, we're here flying Lady Sarah's personal flag, so unless you want to quibble with the House of Lords, I suggest..."

"I understand that, 772, but this airspace is restricted."

"Since when?"

"Since Invictus started using the African continent for a chew toy," the controller responded, sounding fatigued. "Believe me, 772, it's in your best interests to turn around now."

"Pilots incoming," said Esme from the rear, her eyes glowing white. She said 'pilots' instead of 'vehicles' because that was what she saw... a pair of new minds approaching. As a rule, even youthful telepaths cared little for technology.

Storm didn't have that luxury. She stood and proceeded forward, gesturing for Esme to follow her. Bishop went, too, curious as to their situation.

"Confirmed," Callisto said as they arrived. She pointed to two blips on the screen. "Aw, crap, those're the new Mark Two S/A jets. We can't rabbit from those."

"Let me speak," Storm said. "Gibraltar Control, this is... Lady Sarah's personal assistant. I'm afraid we are on a fact-finding mission and cannot be delayed. I strongly suggest you do not interfere."

The controller laughed. "Suggest all you like, ma'am, but you've still got two superior aerospace fighters on your six. Sorry, but we've got orders just like you."

"I understand," Storm said, while the jet around her shuddered from a warning shot. She contemplated leaving the jet to deal with the interlopers personally, but that would cost them time, almost guaranteeing they would be tracked and followed to their destination. Disrupting their flightpath might be dangerous, so...

"Esme," Storm said with a gesture.

The girl came forward. "Would you like him befuddled or simply brain-fried?"

Storm and Bishop shared a look. It was clear to them that the girl's power had grown exponentially since the Five-in-One's rebirth (* see Uncanny X-Men #1). How much damage could she do, if she put her mind to it?

Bishop cleared his throat. "Uh, the basic 'These-aren't-the-droids-you're-looking-for, move-along' routine should be fine, thanks."

"If you're sure," said Esme. Her eyes glowed--

"They're opening fire!" Callisto snapped, before she could get started.

The missile appeared-- a single blip on Callisto's screen. It was another warning shot, but it was on them in a moment and struck a glancing blow. Bishop grabbed onto Storm but missed his snatch at Esme, and the girl was thrown for a loop, hitting her head--

"OW!" she snarled. Her eyes glowed very bright...

The two blips behind them ran together and disappeared. Their own course smoothed out. Callisto studied the scope in confusion while the controller squawked...

"Mid-air collision," Callisto said. "Both jets are down. Lucky for us... but we'd better scoot, 'cause they'll have friends."

Storm nodded, then gripped Esme's arm tight and pulled her aside. She'd seen the little flash of telepathic power-- a half-second of clouded perception would have done it...

"We instructed you not to hurt them," she told the girl.

Esme was stone-faced. "I didn't do anything. They just got careless."

Storm tightened her grip-- for a moment, she felt Esme's touch in her own mind, but the girl almost immediately withdrew. Ororo Munroe had been tested against better telepaths than this one without being conquered. That, at least, was a comfort.

She lowered her voice to its most dangerous whisper. "Since it was a momentary lapse and cannot be undone, we shall consider it an accident for now. But you *shall not kill again*, Esme... and you shall regret the next lie you tell me. Understood?"

The girl stuck out her lower lip. "I'll stop killing when Wolverine does."

"He is not your concern. You are mine. Your history with Magneto notwithstanding, taking life is unacceptable here. I say this only once, Esme: Do not force the issue. You do so at your peril."

Storm held the teenager's eyes until she blinked, murmuring an unenthusiastic "Yes'm." She trudged back to her seat when Storm released her.

Ororo Munroe steepled her fingers in front of her, deep in thought. They did carry several telepathic inhibitors with them. She decided to make certain Bishop and Callisto wore one at all times. Just in case the issue forced *itself*...

****

Denver, Colorado
Magnus Administrative Center-- "The M Building"
Seat of power for Gene Nation, America's mutant government

Katherine Pryde grabbed a stack of files off her secretary's desk and, juggling them with the cup of tea she held in her other hand, backed through the door into her office-- literally backed *through* it, saving herself the need for another hand. If they could ever keep the State Office properly staffed, instead of treating diplomacy like a distant second option and distributing personnel accordingly...

"Hi there," said someone behind Katherine, the moment she turned solid again. Rough hands grabbed her-- she felt a *jolt* of something-- and suddenly she was on the ground.

"Bad move," she said, and phased through the floor-- or tried. She gasped...

"Not going anywhere?" said a voice. "What a shame."

The voice belonged to the exotic young woman she'd first met as Henry McCoy's protégé at the Xavier Institute, a few weeks ago (* New X-Men #2). She stood over Katherine with hands on her hips, smirking and superior.

"We apologize for the drama," said Hank's gravely voice. He sat behind Katherine's own desk, staring out at her from behind a pair of spectacles. "But it's time for this to end, Katherine."

"Hank?! How did you... I don't... you're DEAD!"

"The rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated." Hank rose to his feet and stepped around his desk. "Again."

"The rumors of yours, on the other hand," said the young woman, "are just getting started."

"Temper, Monet. We are going to talk, first. I want to be certain we all understand each other very well before proceeding."

Katherine tried again to phase. Nothing. Still on hands and knees, she turned to the Beast angrily. "Is that what the girl is, Hank? Your personal leech? Is that how you did this?"

"Did you just call me a leech?" said Monet, taking a dangerous step forward...

"*Temper,*" Hank reminded her. "And no, I'm afraid Monet's vast assortment of skills does not include the ability to steal your power."

"That would be my doing," said a third voice, behind Katherine.

She was on her feet instantly, in a ready stance. "You...!"

The mutant called Tessa-- Sage-- arched a single, graying eyebrow. "I know you're surprised, Katherine. When last we met, I could only jump-start mutations, not suppress them. But that's the nice thing about being a living computer. You're always learning new tricks-- and I have had some years to perfect mine."

Katherine's lip twisted. "I bet. So that's it, Hank? You're going to kill me? Is this a coup de tat?"

"THIS IS JUSTICE!" Hank exploded. He leaped across the room, his claws under her throat. "It's about punishing the murderer of Matthew Murdock."

"Murdock?" Katherine laughed. "I wasn't even in the same city when he was killed." (* last issue)

"Weren't you?" said Tessa. She frowned at something on the computer display hidden behind her pink-tinted glasses. "Official records say you flew to St. Louis to speak at Henry's funeral two days after the assassination attempt that cost Murdock's life and, apparently, his own. But my sources tell me you canceled all your appointments for those two days--"

"Out of *respect*," Katherine said, with a glare at Hank.

"Incidentally, thank you for the eulogy," he said. "It's nice to know I was a peerless leader and a true companion."

"I take it back!"

Tessa continued: "--because, in actuality, you'd come to St. Louis the same day Hank did, in secret, making the arrangements as soon as you returned to this office from your meeting the day before. You can, of course, deny it, but I have sifted all my sources for weeks to put together this timeline, and you will find that I am never misinformed."

"She's almost as irritating as *I* am, that way," said Monet.

Katherine felt herself growing angry. "Why didn't you come to me and ask where I was, Hank? Why not tell me the truth, instead of this--"

Hank lowered his eyes. "We've been watching you, Kitty."

"Do NOT call me that! Only old friends call me that!"

"I had to know what you would do. I had to be certain, before..." He looked at her again. "Now I know. Why did you lie to people?"

Katherine grunted. "Not that I'm on trial, but yes, it's true. I went to St. Louis that day. I did it for you, Hank. I knew what you were doing was dangerous. I tried to protect you, but I was too late..."

"But not too late to protect your government," said Monet. "Protect their war from the peace movement Dr. McCoy so treacherously threatened to begin..."

"Yes, that's right!" Katherine told her, eyes blazing. "Nothing is as dangerous to us right now as peace, Hank. You don't understand Invictus like I do. If we weaken for a moment, they will crush us."

"They're crushing you already," Hank said. "Do you think that justifies murder?"

"It *would*," Katherine said. "It would justify killing a hundred to protect the rest from them."

"I'm not concerned with a hundred, only ONE!" Hank snarled. He pressed close to her-- Katherine could feel his hot breath on her neck. It was very like being sniffed by a tiger who'd decided to have you for lunch and was wondering how you'd taste. He said:

"This is the part, dear, where the good guys win out. This is where we unveil the murderer."

"Wrong," said Katherine, "this is where you lose."

She *moved* and dislocated Hank's arm with a technique she hadn't used in years. He howled and swiped with his claws, but she danced out of range... of him *and* his friends.

Katherine grinned, breathing heavily but surging with adrenaline. "D'you think I'm a pushover without my powers, Hank? Think again. I was trained as a ninja..."

"Oh, please!" Monet rolled her eyes. "Are all you little Wolverine groupies so pointlessly competitive?"

"Don't you DARE mention Logan to me! You don't have the right! I've lived my whole life making sure what happened to him NEVER happens again!"

"I could crush you with a finger," said Monet. "With a *little* finger."

"Well if that's what you want..." Katherine fell into ready stance again, calling to my mind everything she'd ever learned from her favorite teacher. She smiled. "Bring it on, bub."

"I guess we'll do this the hard way," said Monet, stepping up...

"No, we won't," said Tessa. She drew a pistol from her jacket. "I suggest you clear your conscience, Minister, before your execution."

Katherine stared at the weapon, took a deep breath. If it ended here, she would go down fighting.

But Hank stayed his companion's hand. "Put it down, Tessa."

"It's the only way, Hank. She's too dangerous to leave alive."

"Do you think so? Was Matt Murdock the same?"

"I assume she thought so, yes."

"And what did you think?" The Beast stepped between the two of them, his fangs bared. "Why don't you tell us why you did it, Tessa?"

It was practically a trademark of the mutant called Sage never to be surprised-- she analyzed, she observed, she planned, and was never taken aback. But she was now. She practically spat out her teeth, and when her aim shifted, Hank knocked the gun away.

She recovered, stammering, "Henry-- you're insane!"

"Am I?"

"Yes-- for one thing, Murdock told you himself that he was killed by a phasing mutant!" (* last issue)

"No," said the Beast. "He said 'She wasn't really there' and she 'reached into my chest.' Is his weakened state, any telepath could have tapped his brain to alter his heart function-- perhaps even yourself, depending on how many of these charming new abilities you've been keeping from me."

"I wouldn't!" Tessa protested.

"Wouldn't you? You're very good, Tessa. I'm sure my alternate self was as taken in by you as Sebastian Shaw was by your counterpart in *my* timeline. Your mistake was hiring Inez Temple as your assassin."

"I don't--"

"Yes, you do. In my Universe, we call that woman Outlaw, and she never misses. But she somehow managed to miss you."

"She missed *all* of us!" Tessa protested.

"No, she hit Monet. Monet simply healed. And she would have hit me, if Storm had not appeared. Her aim was perfect for us. But slightly off for you."

"Delivered a clean flesh wound," said Monet. "Very convenient."

Hank growled under his breath. "You've been manipulating me, Tessa, from our first meeting. (*NXM #1) Once I started watching you for it, the clues were plain enough. You said your Henry McCoy was no longer the man you married... was it because he came to believe in peace and you did not?"

"Wait, wait!" said Katherine, waving her arm. "Her Henry? Your Universe? What the hell...?"

"Later, dear," said Monet. "Political intrigue before quantum physics."

Katherine was about to object-- until, before her eyes, the charade fell away. Tessa's frightened demeanor vanished, in favor of a self-assured smile.

"I serve mutant-kind, Henry. I work always to the benefit of my people. It is not to our benefit to compromise. Your opposite number never understood that. It... painful for me, having him killed. More than you know."

Hank stepped forward. The Beast inched closer to the surface. "Small comfort."

"I did it for him, in a way. If he had lived, he would have been a traitor. The man who brought down our entire race. I preserved the man I loved... by making him a hero, to be worshiped for all time."

"It was not only me, Tessa. Murdock was a good man. He died in my arms. He wanted this madness to end!"

"So do I," Tessa said. "This will allow it to end in the only acceptable way: On our terms."

Rage blossomed in Katherine Pryde's mind. Looking at Tessa, she literally saw red:

"You killed... our Hank. Your own husband. My... last remaining friend. For WHAT? For power? To perpetuate this war...!"

Tessa arched an eyebrow. "A course of action, Minister, you yourself endorsed only a moment ago."

"That was when it was theory... but this?" Something broke in Katherine Pryde; maybe it was the last remaining memory of a man named Charles Xavier, coming to the fore. Maybe it was just despair. She pushed past Hank, trembling with rage. "Everything I've become... was to stop the killing of the people I loved. Maybe Logan or Storm could have done better... I tried, but I was mostly talk. I never could have killed a friend."

"Then it's fortunate you have me," said Tessa.

"Yes," said Katherine, taking a deep breath. "It's also fortunate you're not my friend..."

"Kitty, don't!" Hank cried.

She aimed a blow at Sage-- hard, focused, and deadly. The other woman dodged, just a hair too quick. She caught Katherine's arm; the moment they touched, Katherine felt the intrusion-- just as Tessa had stripped away her phasing powers, now she reached into Katherine's brain and *squeezed*...

Hank roared. Monet shouted something. The world become very bright, and then very dark.

****

Kurt Wagner was not-quite-enjoying his usual modest breakfast in his usual, modest room, thinking dark thoughts about Nathan Summers in particular and the past in general... when suddenly, that redheaded girl from the previous night was standing not three feet in front of him.

"Guten morgen," she said. "Got enough for two?"

"Ach du lieber!" Kurt exclaimed, and BAMF!-- he was standing behind her, with his knife held to her throat. "It is not polite to interrupt a man so early, liebling. I might not have been decent."

"Chance I had to taken."

"How did you...?"

"I blanked your mind for a couple of seconds. Your locks aren't exactly teke-resistant. Sorry."

Kurt growled. "What is it you want with me?"

"To talk, if you'll let me."

He released her and sighed. "Do you think I would not?"

"Well... my brother told me you're a dangerous man."

"Is that Nathan? He's one to talk." Kurt laughed, stepping around her to return to his bed, where he began to clean up the spilled food. Then he stopped. "But Jean had no second child..."

"In this timeline," the girl said.

Kurt put a hand to his brow. "Ach--! Alternate timelines, that is all I need."

"You speak like a man who has experience with them."

He peered at her, showing a glimpse of his old, dashing smile. "Well, I have done a great many things, liebling... some of them surprising."

The girl pulled over a ratty chair and sat down across from him. "I gotta say, you don't seem very dangerous."

"I will try not to take that as an insult." Kurt shrugged. "As you can see, I am... no longer the man I was."

"Who were you, then?"

He opened his mouth to dismiss the question-- to make some off-the-cuff remark-- but then he stopped. It had been so long since anyone had thought to ask who Kurt Wagner was, so long since he himself had considered the question... it was actually sort of a relief, to have someone to talk to. To tell his story. It wasn't as though he had anything to lose.

"One of six bold knights destined to change this terrible world," Kurt said, looking away. "But we failed."

"Tell me," she said, leaning forward.

Kurt Wagner smiled. "I am no longer in Der Jahrmarkt, liebling. I need not perform on demand. Although, perhaps... if I knew your name..."

She gave him a brilliant smile. "It's Rachel."

"Mine was Nightcrawler, many years ago... in the beginning. When there was no Invictus, no Gene Nation... just the world that was, and a man named Erik Lehnsherr, set upon changing that world."

"Taking it over, you mean."

Kurt nodded. "Ja. But he was not alone, at first... there was also a man named Xavier, who dreamed a different dream..." He looked up suddenly. "Tell me first... if your mother was Jean Grey, then... your father was...?"

Rachel blinked. "Scott Summers, of course."

"Of course." Kurt laughed. "In that case, I fear you will not like this story, liebling... for in this timeline, Scott Summers was the devil himself."

****

Even as Katherine Pryde fell, the doors to her office slammed open. A bodyguard raced in, summoned by the ruckus. He triggered his comm: "Code Red, Code Red! The Minister is down! Assassins in the State Office!"

"Assassins? Plural?" said Monet. "I like *that*..."

She sized up the bodyguard, who must have been seven feet tall, with olive skin and red hair. He looked like a purebred bruiser, but he opened his mouth and SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-- a burst of pure sound pounded Monet into the wall. The bodyguard turned on Tessa and Hank.

Monet sighed, slapping a palm to her ear several times. "Lovely. A sonic screamer. I *adore* those... My turn..."

Before the fellow could turn his scream on the others, Monet slammed into him bodily, knocking him into the antechamber beyond the office.

Tessa, meanwhile, was standing over her latest kill, an oddly blank expression on her face. "I'm... sorry, Kate. I wish it hadn't been like this, but you're too soft. You'd have given away everything we've gained. You'll serve your people better as a martyr."

"Too many martyrs," Hank growled. "Too many causes. People shouldn't have to die over memories, Sage."

"People will die, Henry. If we inspire them, at least they'll die for the right reasons."

"And who determines those reasons? You?"

Tessa shrugged. "Who better? Who else can chart the future, but a Sage?"

"Your 'wisdom' has led us to this," Hank said, claws scraping the ground, bloodlust upon him, ready to pounce. "It ends here."

Tessa squared off with him. "I don't want to hurt you, Henry."

"You already have, my dear."

She studied him for a moment, and nodded. "If that's how you feel... then so be it."

The Beast attacked.

Tessa appeared to concentrate for a moment-- attempting to get in his head? He'd borrowed one of Cable's inhibitors, just in case. She could still hurt him by scrambling his genetic code... but Hank rather thought she needed to touch him for that, and he denied her any opening, slashing and biting and sending her flying across the room with a swing of his massive arms.

Even hand-to-hand, Tessa was deadly. Any form of combat she'd ever seen, she copied, and perfect muscle control meant she never made a misstep. If she lacked in raw power, she excelled in technique. She found her feet and pummeled him, blow after blow aimed for pressure points, intending to disable and then destroy them. Hank barely evaded the worst of them.

He leaped over a roundhouse kick, grabbed an overhead light fixture, and landed behind her, lashing back with one clawed foot to slash the small of her back. Tessa stumbled. In the time it took to whirl and lunge at her, she was no longer there, instead landing a blow to the side of his neck that would have taken off a baseline human's head. Hank rolled away.

Tessa dove for the gun she'd lost. Hank was a hair's breadth quicker, kicking it away and raking his claws across her chest. She landed a solid kick to his midsection. They separated.

"You sad, pitiable man," Tessa said, panting. "I know you too well. I know your every move. I know what you fear. I even know why you love humans."

"Common decency?"

"You'd make peace with them, Henry, because you envy them. You've always seen yourself as a freak. It broke my heart... to watch you waste yourself. Such a magnificent mutation, a whole new form of life, and you'd rather be a shrieking little monkey. Do you know what pained me most of all?"

"Frankly, my dear..." Hank snarled, "I don't give a damn."

He pounced. Tessa dodged-- but one claw caught her on the way past. She fell to her knees, stunned. For a moment, Hank had a clear shot at her throat. He bypassed it, knocking her against the wall instead. She dropped down it and lay still.

Hank didn't even watch. He bounded to Kitty, cradling her head in his lap. It was the second time he'd had to watch a friend die like this; he felt he could not bear it.

"Please... not again..."

"Hank... sorry, Hank... I really wanted to make things better... I just... forgot..."

"I know, dear." Hank's vision filled with tears. "Hush now."

"What d'you like... for the obit? Shadowcat? Ariel? Sprite? Maybe a new one?"

Hank choked. "Kitty... I'm so, so sorry..."

"No. You'll make it right. You always do. My love to the X-Men, Hank. Always." Her eyes drifted skyward. "Piotr..."

Katherine Pryde died. For the second time in two weeks, Henry McCoy wept. He wept until his eyes were dry... until he felt two hands clutching his head at the temples.

"It pained me most," said Tessa in a ragged voice, "that you would have made our son as weak as you."

"Sage, enough of this! Don't..."

"If you really hate it so, being a god, Henry, then I've good news for you... here comes mortality."

Hank McCoy's brain turned to fire, and he screamed...

****

Kurt Wagner pulled out a set of rosary beads and started working them between his fingers, as though he wished to exorcise the very name he'd just spoken.

Rachel arched an eyebrow. "You still have your faith. I'm kinda surprised, after everything that's happened."

"Ah, liebling, but faith is not dependent on good things happening. When they do not is when you need it most."

His hands kept moving over the beads. Rachel took them in her own.

"Tell me about Scott Summers."

Kurt took a deep breath. "Scott was... Xavier's most loyal pupil, and his greatest. They were dubbed 'X-Men' in the press. For a while, it seemed as though mankind might actually accept us... that we might become as respectable as any of the human heroes..."

"Something happened," Rachel said.

"Scott's brother Alex... was also a mutant. The two had been orphaned, and had only just reunited, when... he lost control of his power, somehow, in the middle of a shopping mall. Several hundred humans died. An accident... but he never lived to see his trial. They pulled him out of jail and lynched him."

"No..." Rachel breathed.

"Scott blamed himself. Then he blamed humans. By degrees he turned, from Xavier's pupil to Magneto's. He joined the Brotherhood, taking most of the original X-Men with him. The rest, as they say, is in the history books. With their help, Magneto conquered the world."

Rachel found herself nodding slowly. "You said *most* of the original X-Men."

"Hank McCoy would have no part of it," Kurt said. "In the aftermath of the first war, he helped Xavier train a new team, intended to make things better... to minimize the damage done by the first. That's where I come in."

"Always coming to the rescue, huh, fuzzy-elf?"

The other mutant smiled wearily. "There was a time, liebling. There was a... there were six of us then. Sean Cassidy, Banshee, who fell in love with a human and was murdered for it. Ororo Munroe, Storm, who betrayed us. Piotr Rasputin, Colossus... killed by Sentinels while protecting a mutant child from a mob. Kitty Pryde, who was shattered by his death. She lost faith, and learned to compromise. Myself... the last holdout, foolish to the end..."

"And Logan," Rachel prompted.

"Yes," Kurt sighed. "And Logan. A hero of the first war, the Wolverine. A butcher of humans. Somehow, he... changed. We changed him. He fell in love with your mother, just as things became... difficult... between her and your father."

"Let me guess," she said. "Affair with Emma Frost?"

"Er... actually, yes. How did...?"

"Oh, some bad things are just bound to happen. Go on."

Kurt shook his head. "It was more than that, though. Jean and I were friends, despite our differences. I saw it happen. She said there was nothing left of the good man Scott had been, and she could... no longer bear being the Phoenix, the destroyer so feared by the humans. She was going to run away with Logan. Scott learned of it, and went to stop them..."

"And?" Rachel asked, on the edge of her seat.

"And..." Kurt tossed up his hands. "The Sentinels caught up with her. All three were killed. I don't know exactly how. Truthfully, I... did not wish to know."

Rachel forced back tears, reminding herself forcefully that these were not *her* parents, that all of it was only one possibility, just as her own bleak future had been different from the life she lived now. "What about Xavier and Magneto?"

"Ach, they were both assassinated years ago. That is yet another sad story... and you have taken up enough of my time."

BAMF and he was on the other side of the apartment, at the sink, where he began to wash his dishes. He didn't know why he bothered, the water quality was always so bad...

Rachel's hand fell on his shoulder. Kurt sighed.

"What *else?*"

"Nothing. But... I came here, Kurt, expecting to find you in danger. It's not the kind I expected, but I think maybe you are. Terrible danger."

He laughed. "Danke for the concern, liebling, but I have been dispatching would-be assassins, both human and mutant, for years. Ask Nathan about that." Kurt lowered his eyes. "He blames me, you know, for what happened to your parents. For not stopping her. Maybe I should have..."

Rachel grabbed his arms and made him look at her. "I meant... in danger of fading away. Losing who and what you are. You're an X-Man."

"The word means nothing."

"It means *everything*," Rachel said. "It's the difference between the futures like yours and mine, and the ones that could be. You have your faith, Kurt, but what are you doing with it? Hiding? Is that who you are?"

"Who are you to judge me?" he snapped. "Whatever I used to be, Rachel, I am nothing but a tired old man *now*. Anything else was forgotten years ago..."

"Then I'll remind you." He tried to pull away, to avoid her eyes, but Rachel wouldn't let him. She kissed him, sending him every mental picture she had, so that he would see himself as she saw him: Kurt Wagner the adventurer, the dashing hero, the man of faith who would walk through hell for the sake of his friends. She could feel him in her mind, he almost didn't *want* to believe it...

They separated. Kurt gasped. He studied her, wide-eyed.

"Do we do this often... where you come from?"

"We kissed once," Rachel said, blushing.

"But... even if you are from the past, I'm still a contemporary of your mother's!"

"Well... I'm kinda older than I should be. Like I said, long story. It's not important anyway." Rachel reached out for his hand again. "Nathan says you're a lot alike, you two. That sounds weird, but... I think he's right. You both refuse to accept this world. But he's out there in it, fighting..."

"In his own, special way," Kurt said. "Don't trust him, Rachel. You don't know what he's capable of."

"...meanwhile, you're in denial," Rachel finished. "So it's time to decide, Kurt. You're gonna die one way or the other. Do you want it to be as the man you are... or the one you could be?"

"Rachel, I..." The words caught in his throat. He studied the floor.

Someone cleared his throat, and Kurt started: Nathan Summers stood in the doorway, armed but not looking particularly dangerous at the moment. He narrowed his glowing eye at Kurt, but spoke to Rachel:

"Time to go. Just heard some bad news from Denver."

Rachel nodded. "Okay. I think I'm done here."

"Rachel..."

"Good luck, Kurt," she said. "You remember the dream now. Making it real's up to you."

Rachel Summers turned and joined her brother; they left the apartment with Cable glaring daggers all the way. Kurt Wagner stared at the open doorway for what seemed like a long time. Then he returned to his bed, let his head fall into his hands, and began to cry.

****

Tessa knelt over her handiwork, and smiled. As a work of art, it was definitely lacking. As a work of vengeance... perfection. As ever. Poor Henry. She really had loved him... once.

Her interface glasses had fallen off during the struggle. She reached for them... just as a boot came down upon them, crunching them to shards. A hand fell on her shoulder. Tessa looked up...

"Pink wasn't your color, dear," said Monet St. Croix. "How do you feel about funeral black?"

The next thing Tessa felt was her own body flying through Katherine Pryde's office window. She remembered, with her everlasting clarity, that it was precisely 168.35 meters to the ground.

She anticipated some degree of discomfort.

****

Someone was slapping him-- repeatedly. It really didn't bother Henry McCoy very much-- the part of him being slapped actually hurt slightly *less* than every other cell in his body. At length, though, pride took over, and he grabbed the offender's wrist, while his eyes blinked open.

Monet sighed. "Finally! Doctor, we have to go now! There are more goons where that one came from-- and they'll be here in a moment!"

"I'm... yes, of course, Monet. Sage?"

Monet jerked her chin at the broken window. "Absent."

"Good." Henry groaned, planted his hands on the floor to lever himself off his back. He gasped. "Monet!"

She sighed. "Yes, doctor, I was going to break that to you gently. I... doctor! Come back!"

But Hank was already on his feet, digging through the drawers of Kitty's desk, hoping for... there! A small mirror! He held it before himself...

"Doctor, please, they're coming!"

"Oh, my stars and garters..."

Hank stared at the mirror. His own face stared back. Not the catlike face whose whiskers he'd combed this morning, not even the simian visage he'd grown accustomed to over the years. It was, in fact, the face he'd joined the X-Men with, and had later reacquired at the start of the original X-Factor.

Hank looked down at his body again... slightly misshapen. Long arms, oversized hands and feet. He was still the Beast in that sense, but in most respects-- those that mattered-- a man.

"Hello, Hank," he said to the face in the mirror. "It's been a very long time..."

****

Now
(5 July, 2032)

Kurt Wagner clicked his recorder to pause and slid it into his pocket while rummaging around in the bottom of his closet. He finally located the object of his search-- a black case, dusty and battered, which he carried to the bed. With trembling fingers, he unfastened its clasps.

He glanced back at the radio on his nightstand, where the news announcer had just finished the 100^th salute of the day to Katherine Pryde: hero, philanthropist, politician, martyr. And one thing more, something Kurt Wagner now remembered and the rest of the world didn't.

Kitty had been an X-Man, the last of a rare breed that specialized in tilting at windmills, with more idealism than sense and more courage than brains. An odd species of animal, doomed to extinction, some would say, almost from the start. Perhaps they were better off dead.

And yet... what was life without a few windmills? Especially to an old fool who'd just had a chance encounter with his own, personal Dulcinea?

He opened the case and pulled out a relic of another time... a black and red suit composed of unstable molecules, with a prominent "X" at the belt.

Kurt Wagner smiled. He retrieved the recorder: "For you, Katzschen. And you, Rachel. And... for Charles Xavier. Perhaps it does not matter, old friend, if your dream can be made real. Perhaps it only matters that we dream it. *Sehr gut*, then. I have lived, and I will die, an X-Man."

Kurt began to get dressed.

END

In Issue #5: Storm Fronts-- In Collision!
See the other Eternity series- Uncanny X-Men, X-Force, X-Factor, and eXcalibur, online now!
Up Next: X-Force #3: "Those We Left Behind"