Chapter Seven
Jean Grey was lying face down on her bed, a book in her hands, trying to concentrate on reading. She read a sentence, and realized that she had read it before. Eight times.
She rolled on her back, and tossed the book aside. She was still wearing the white dress, and it felt good to be unconfined to the uniform. She wore that so often that to feel something like this-something feminine and breezy-on her skin seemed like a vacation. Scott was staying. She breathed yet another sigh of relief. This had been concerning her for some time. He was just enough of a jerk to think that he had to be self-sacrificing and noble, and go out looking for a "cure" to his mutation. Jean had learned enough biology to know that this was hopeless-like looking for a "cure" for left-handedness. And people had tried to do that for centuries, always in vain. Well, the Middle Ages were over-weren't they? Remembering some of the human reactions to mutants, she wondered.
Enough of that. Scott was staying, and even better, he was team leader. An obvious choice-but recognizing the obvious was the first duty of a leader, and Professor Xavier had passed that with flying colors. But the fact was that he wasstaying! She could have burst with joy. What would she have done, she wondered, if he had gone off on his noble quest to "cure" himself? She shivered, despite the warmth of the day. Thank goodness she'd never have to answer that.
Please congregate at the entrance to the South Wing immediately. That is all.
Jean jumped off the bed, and gathered her wits. That had sounded so determined! And the South Wing? That had always been out-of-bounds to them. It wasn't very large compared to the rest of the house, but that hadn't reduced its mystery. Of course, they speculated among themselves. The guesses ranged from an inconvenient Mrs Xavier, to the hiding places of Judge Crater and Amelia Earhart, to some sort of super-weapon. Were they really going to find out?
She practically ran down the stairs, and she could see the others coming along as well. She was first to arrive, except for Maria, who stood by the Professor's wheelchair at the entrance to the wing. Scott arrived on Jean's heels, followed by Hank, Warren, and Bobby. They all seemed rather excited, and waited for the Professor to speak.
"Thank you for your promptness, my X-Men," he said, using his voice and not telepathy. "I have made a decision I have been thinking about for some time. I know you have all been wondering about the contents of the South Wing." He produced a key, and opened the door. "I have kept the contents of this part of the house secret from you all, for what I thought were good and proper reasons. But now-I feel that there have been too many secrets in this house. And this one has no reason for existence any longer. Enter, please, all of you."
Jean looked around as she entered, and caught her breath. She could sense similar reactions from her fellow X-Men. They were in a large room, with machinery surrounding them as they walked inside. The largest of the machines was directly across from them, and appeared to be a large computer console. Above that was a giant electric grid, whic reminded Jean of a huge television screen. In the middle of the room was a chair, with a helmet on a console next to it, and what appeared to be a control panel on the other side of the chair.
Excited questions broke out from the students, and Charles put up his hand. "Please," he said. "This is actually quite simple to explain... This," he said, indicating the giant computer screen, and the control chair in the middle, "is Cerebro. It is quite likely the world's most sophisticated computer system. I have been working on it in various of its incarnations now for over ten years."
Hank, looking like a little boy in a candy store, asked in a hushed breath: "What is its purpose, Professor?"
Charles Xavier smiled slightly. "It's purpose, Henry-all of you-is simplicity itself. It is designed to find and track down the locations of mutants around the world."
Jean put her hand to her mouth. This piece of machinery could do that? "How does it work, sir?" she asked.
Charles looked serious. "It's full functioning would take hours to even begin to explain, Jean," he replied. "But, essentially, it can utilize brain patterns to locate and track the presence of mutant activity. It's been based very roughly on my own telepathy. I don't myself need a machine to pick up basic mutant brain patterns, but Cerebro helps me in fine-tuning the patterns, and greatly aids the process of location. And, if one didn't have my mental powers, Cerebro could be used to start the whole process from scratch, you might say."
"Was this used to find me, Professor?" Maria asked, fascinated.
"It was, Maria," Charles said. "Your pattern stood out from what might be called the background noise. I had been sensing you in the background for some time, to be very inexact. But I wasn't sure-there is much static and junk in the information transmission, and Magneto will sometimes try to decoy me. I honestly don't know the manner in which he does this, but it is not beyond his capabilities-in order to get me to waste my time, and to shield any actual mutant discovery from me, until after he's had the opportunity to find them first. As he did, with you, Maria." Charles frowned. "It's difficult to describe all this in words-and Maria, in any event, has strange readings on Cerebro. But I feel remiss-strange or no, they are definite mutant readings, and it should have not taken me so long to isolate them."
"It's really just as well, sir," she said softly. "I wasn't ready until now."
"Be that as it may, Magneto is very good at using Cerebro against me. He should be-he helped me build the first version, many years ago."
There was an excited outcry at this information, as its implications ran through the X-Men. Magneto-and the Professor? Working together?
"Yes," he said, a sigh in his voice. "He was not always the evil figure you see now. Yes, my X-Men, he and I did collaborate. The full story of those days can wait for another occasion-but that, too, is a secret I feel I've been keeping too long. And as far as Cerebro is concerned-well, before we encountered Maria, I had been planning, as I told you all, to take a sabbatical. I was going to take Scott alone into my confidence regarding Cerebro, as befitted his new status as team leader. But I have changed my mind. You are all becoming adults, and I am trusting my instincts that you can be told more of what is happening. I have come to feel that the knowledge of Cerebro, and the ability to use it in an emergency, is basic to the functioning of the X-Men."
Jean felt gooseflesh pop up on her skin. In its way, this was part of their graduation. He was coming to accept them as, if not yet equals, at least as adults. She felt a strong determination on her part to be worthy of the trust he was putting in them.
Warren turned to Scott. "By the way-congratulations on your appointment." He put out a hand, and Scott took it, even risking a small smile. That broke the ice for the others, and they all crowded around Scott, giving him congratulations and support. Jean actually risked a hug and a brief kiss on the cheek, which Scott took in stride, but she sensed his pleasure in the gesture. Did that mean anything-?
But before she could consider this topic further, the Professor was speaking again. "All of you will be getting lessons in the workings of Cerebro," he said. "I am beginning to feel remiss, that it has not been part of your education all along. And Maria, it shall be a basic part of yours from the start."
For the next couple of hours, Charles Xavier gave the X-Men a basic primer in the use and functioning of Cerebro. It was merely a beginning, he cautioned-intensive drilling in it was to begin the very next day. But this was enough for Jean and the others. And it gave Jean the odd feeling that the changes were only beginning-that much of what she assumed about their lives as X-Men was going to be overturned. That a new day had dawned, a good day filled with promise. She felt exhilarated, and-looking at Scott-happy. They were going to be staying together! Nothing too bad could happen now.
It was a bright summer day, but in the room where a certain figure stood it always seemed dark. Why this should be, the figure wasn't sure, but it certainly was the case. The sun was streaming into the room, and still the figure felt darkness everywhere around it. Perhaps it was symbolic of the way the world appeared to the figure. The forces in play are so strong, and I am so limited. How can I win through to any sort of decent resolution? And yet I must.
The figure seemed to be waiting for something, and looked anxiously out the window. The room it was waiting in was large, a good thirty by forty feet, and it had modernistic consoles and computers lining the walls-indeed, it looked much like the famous laboratories of Reed Richards in the Baxter Building. The figure had everything it needed here for its purposes, and spent most of its time in this room. But nevertheless, it was an oppressive place. All this information at its fingertips-too much, really. The figure preferred to spend time in the parts of its domicile devoted to books, and art, and flowers, and things that could not be calibrated and computed. The figure sighed. Well, fate had deemed it otherwise. It was a creature of duty, and that duty forced it to remain in this room.
Finally, the event the figure had been waiting for occurred. A small dot appeared in the sky. The figure watched the dot grow bigger and bigger, until it took the form of a small flying craft. The craft circled outside the figure's domicile and made a soft landing. The figure sighed, as it watched the craft's occupant emerge and stride confidently up to the front door. Those forces in play-here is one of them. I must handle him just right. I cannot afford to make him my enemy. And yet, he cannot go on in his present course. Not, in any event, regarding her.
The doorbell rang. The figure pushed a small button, and a door swished open. The figure heard a formidable tread of metal boots walking through the front hall, and the door into this room opened. In strode perhaps the most remarkable man on the face of the planet. Tall, clothed head to foot in a suit of armor, a mask of iron covering his face, a green tunic with a flowing cape covering the armor and a cowl framing the mask. Victor von Doom was unlike any other man, and had no intention of ever letting you forget it. The figure raised a hand in greeting.
"Your Majesty," the figure said. "I greatly appreciate your taking the time to come here."
Doom seemed impatient. "I have much other business to attend to," he said, with a trace of a German accent. The figure knew that that accent was something of a weapon in Doom's arsenal-he could sound like Erich von Stroheim in Sunset Boulevard, if it served his purpose, or like an Oxbridge graduate, if that did. This trace of an accent-the figure wondered if that had any significance. Perhaps it was his "standard" accent, to be used until he knew more about an opponent or a situation. The figure smiled to itself. What, it wondered, would Doom's voice sound like by the time this interview was over?
"I am aware of the constraints on your time, your Majesty," the figure said. It had decided on the best way to deal with this situation-audacity. No beating about the bush. Put Doom on the defensive. "After all, ever since your near death in the outer solar system, and your rescue by the one who calls himself Rama-Tut, you have had much to do to make up for lost time."
Doom was silent for a very long time, as he measured the figure standing in front of him. He did not react with shock or indignation to the figure's knowledge of his doings, and the figure had counted on that. Doom was always in control of himself, and his reaction would be to wonder how the other figure would know this. And, perhaps, how much more it knew, as well. And of course Doom was intelligent enough to know that it-the figure-was counting on Doom reacting without shock. Therefore, his next words would be-
"Richards. And his so-called 'Fantastic Four'. I am about to settle accounts with them, if for no other reason than to punish them for the sheer stupidity of thinking that our last encounter would prove fatal to me. To me! Richards has a first-rate intellect, I must admit. Indeed, I declare it openly, for without such he would scarcely be any kind of opponent to me. But it has its limits, needless to say, and I shall show them to him this time-before the end."
"Before, that is," the figure said, "you send him to limbo with his own encephalo-gun."
Doom's silence was even longer this time. Finally, he spoke very quietly and very clearly-with, the figure noted with a trace of amusement, no accent whatever. "You are planning on my overreacting to you," Doom finally said. "You are trying to put, and keep, me on the defensive in this interview. I can see how knowledge of my near death in the reaches of space, and my rescue, might find itself to you-to anyone who might be able to go to the effort of finding out, if they had sufficient resources. Fine. But this..." Doom paused, and looked around the room with its machines. "Hmmm," he said, almost to himself. "This isn't too primitive. It would be, I should say, worthy of Richards. Which means, of course, that it contains no surprises for me." He turned to the figure again. "You must not trifle with me. The encephalo-gun-and my plans for it. This is notsomething that anyone could find out about, with even limitless resources. No. This means that you are not 'anyone'. This means that you are a figure of some formidability. Perhaps even a danger to me, a hindrance to my plans."
The figure nodded. "Very good, your Majesty. Go on, by all means."
Doom frowned. "And that means...that means that your invitation to me today has a specific purpose. You are not afraid of me, for one thing. This is evident. That is a very great mistake."
The figure nodded. "And yet, your Majesty, I do not believe that I am making a mistake. I do not believe I am in any personal danger here."
Doom stood very still, and pondered his next words. "And that can only mean..." He looked hard at the figure. "You know more yet."
"I do, your Majesty," the figure said. "Shall we quit beating around the bush?"
Doom nodded brusquely. "Do. By all means."
"Very well," the figure said. "I know that, in addition to your current plans for the Fantastic Four-which I might as well say, are certain to fail-you are currently involved in an intricate game with your computer psycho-chess master, the Prime Mover. This game involves the X-Men."
Doom's silence contained infinite menace. He stared hard at the figure, as if unable to believe what he was hearing. "You are mad," he finally said. "Stark, raving mad. You have no idea what forces you play with."
"I should say it is the precise opposite, your Majesty," the figure said carefully. "It is you who do not recognize what you do. But to return to the point. You recognize that Magneto is currently at something of a loss. The addition to the X-Men of the girl Maria Gianelli pushes the balance of power in the mutant world very much in Xavier's favor. Even as she is-with no real idea of what she can do-she is physically the most powerful mutant on the planet, with the possible exception of Magneto himself. He knows this, and needs a counter." The figure paused. "That's where you came in."
Doom as on the verge of an explosion, the figure knew. But all he said was: "Indeed. That is where I came in. And what did I do about it?"
"You did the following, your Majesty: you created a robot of the one figure that Magnus could most use at this juncture. In fact, this robot." The figure pushed a button, and a closet in the room opened, and a figure emerged into the sunlight, facing the figure and Doom. It was not operational now in any real sense, merely walked in-yes-a "robotic" fashion. It was the figure of a girl of sixteen, quite pretty, medium height, athletic looking. It was wearing a green skin-tight costume with stripes around the middle that bared some of the waist. On the "girl's" head was a green helmet that covered most of the face. Streaming out from underneath the helmet was a mane of green hair.
Doom actually hissed, he was so shocked. "How-" He paused, and gained control of himself. "How-did-you-get-hold-of-this?" he asked, in an almost normal voice.
The figure smiled to itself. Here was a trump card and no mistake, and Doom had just acknowledged its effect on him-something that he had perhaps never done before to any adversary. "Your Majesty, does it matter? Here is the robotic version of Lorna Dane-the very robot you had been preparing to use to infiltrate Magnus' Brotherhood. The very fact that I have it here, now-when you were working on it not twelve hours ago in your castle in upstate New York-tells you something."
"It does," Doom said darkly. "It tells me that you are going to die."
The figure shook its head. "Unworthy of you, your Majesty. Very unworthy. You know better than that."
Doom did not move a muscle. "I did not say that you would die today. Or tomorrow. But die you shall, nonetheless. When you least expect it, at a time of my choosing. You have gone too far. No one does this to Doom with impunity."
"Do I look frightened, your Majesty?" the figure said, looking Doom straight in the face. Doom returned the stare, and slowly relaxed his posture.
"No," Doom replied. "You are not frightened. Of me, of anything I can do to you-and you know what I am capable of. You do not fear death at my hand. And that means-" Doom thought long and hard, and suddenly gave a small shiver. The figure smiled to itself again-that was a concession it would have bet much, that Victor von Doom had never shown an opponent before.
Doom stared at the figure. "My God," it said slowly, after a few seconds. "This is not possible." Doom suddenly stood stock still. "I do not see how this is possible-"
"Don't you?" the figure asked. "After what you've just experienced?"
Doom stood still for another few seconds. "Of course," it said after awhile. "Of course. And you-?"
"Am who, what, I am," the figure said. "And perhaps you realize now why I take such an interest in your plans."
"Yes," Doom said. he looked at the robot. "This is in many ways my greatest creation. It-no, she-would have fooled Magnus absolutely. He needs more power, as you so sagely noted. And his ambivalence towards this girl-given that he does not know in fact where the real Lorna Dane is now, and what she is doing-" Doom sighed. "He would believe in this girl completely. I would have my pawn in the game. And in time, there would be others. And I would win in the end."
"Proving exactly what, your Majesty?" the figure said. "Suppose you did 'win'? What would it gain you? Mutant affairs are out of your bailiwick."
"Nothing is out of my bailiwick," Doom said, his voice totally under his control now. "Mutants exist, and are growing in power. Any power foci on this planet is something I need to take into consideration. To weaken and divide this power-to confound Magnus-is to my advantage." He paused, and smiled slightly. "And my games with the Prime Mover-do not underestimate the simple fact of the pleasure I take in them. I play to win in everything. And dealing with the destiny of the earth-as a game-when everyone else is trying so hard in deadly earnest-"
"It puts you one up on the world," the figure said, and Doom shrugged.
"It does. Of course it does."
The figure nodded, and pressed a button. The Lorna Dane robot went back into the closet, still "asleep". "You can, of course, appreciate my concern in this matter now, can you not, your Majesty?"
Doom looked hard at the figure. "Yes, I can. And you think you can thwart me. I tell you, nothing can thwart me."
"And yet, your Majesty, I have thwarted you."
Doom waved a hand dismissively. "I do not mean this game! I mean in the greater game-of absolute power. I shall have it. I shall possess it-her-in the end."
"That is your fate, I think," the figure said. "To grasp at absolute power-and always to fall short. You feel there is nothing beyond you. That there is no such thing as nemesis, that the expression pride goeth before a fall is merely a snare for weaklings. Your Majesty-think hard. On me, and what I represent. Please do that. For I tell you, those are not empty words. You know who I am now-will you not at least concede that I might know what I'm talking about?"
Doom was silent for a time. "No," he finally said. "Will can overcome all else. Even if I was fully convinced of what you know-even so, I should not pause or backtrack." He made a dismissive gesture. "Very well-I shall find other games with the Prime Mover. But Jean Grey will be mine in the end-and the forces she represents. I tell you-yes, even you-this."
"And I tell you, Victor von Doom, that you will not. Not only will any such attempts on your part fail. Any such attempts on your part will not be tolerated."
Doom was silent for a very long time. "Indeed," he finally said slowly.
"Yes, your Majesty. And you may decide for yourself what my promise means to you."
Doom nodded to the figure, and turned on his heels. The figure could see the craft moving away from its domicile, in a determined easterly direction. The figure sighed. Would this deter this man? The figure couldn't say. It hoped so-for Jean's sake, for its own sake. Even for von Doom's sake, for that matter. But only time would tell, and the figure burst out laughing realizing that.
Chapter Eight
Maria picked up the telephone. It had been over four years since she had had a telephone receiver in her hand, and it felt strange to her rough skin. A telephone! My God, I'm becoming positively civilized. So much had happened in the past week... A bed. Three squares a day. A family. She was afraid that if she shut her eyes, she might open them to find that she was back in the wild, ready to belknap some dinner. She shuddered slightly. It was so hard to believe this was all real! But the X-Men were as real as it got. Her first class had been that morning-a long session with the Professor, and Cerebro. After the formal session, she had shanghied Hank into some extra time with the machine, with the Professor's permission. She wanted to learn everything at once, and didn't want to waste a second. Four years of wasted time was enough.
She dialed the number, and a bored female voice came on the line. "Daily Bugle," the voice said.
"Frank Gianelli, City Room, please," Maria said, and she heard a click, as the call went through...please, please let him be there... "Gianelli," a sharp voice answered.
Maria shut her eyes. Thank God. She cleared her throat and said: "Hi there. Guess who."
Dead silence. "Maria? Is that you? For God's sake-where are you?"
She laughed. "Would you believe-Salem Center, New York?"
A pause. "Westchester? You're only forty miles from the city? Kid-what's going on? I can't believe you're actually on the phone!"
Her heart soaring, Maria said: "Frank-have you ever heard of Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters?"
"Xavier-? Hey! The guy in the wheelchair I heard at Bowdoin? The expert on-" Dead silence again.
"On mutants, Frank," Maria said. "The expert on mutants."
"Well, I'll be damned," Frank said slowly. "Huh. The X-Men?"
"Could be," Maria said playfully.
"Oh, kid," Frank said. "Then I guess you didn't mind getting found by them after all."
"Guess not," she said off-handedly. "Frank-I have a home here. Friends. I thought all they'd want-all anyone would want-would be to put me in a specimen jar. Why should I think anything else? Like Magneto would have. But it's not like that at all! I've found a friend, a girl whom I can tell anything to! And the Professor! He's so nice! And well-well, I just feel so right here! You won't believe it all when I tell you!"
There was a pause, and when he spoke again, Maria could hear tears in his voice. "Kid, I don't know what to say. If anybody deserves it, you do. Maybe I can feel a little more human again, knowing that you aren't out there-you know-"
"Yeah," she said, tears in her own eyes and voice now. "Oh, Frank-it's not going to be easy. The Professor hasn't waved a magic wand. There are going to be all sorts of problems. But I have hope now! I have a place for me to be! Can you believe it!"
Frank was silent again for a long time. "Maria-would all this be happening, if I hadn't told you about Mom?"
Maria considered. "I don't know, Frank. That's a good question. Maybe not. Maybe I needed to learn some things." She paused. "Maybe I needed to grow up. I think I've done a lot of that, in just the past week."
"Maria-I feel happy. Blessed. This is more than I ever imagined."
"Thanks," she said, her voice a controlled ecstasy. "But Frank-there's some red tape. I'm only seventeen. Legally, you're my guardian. God knows what that really means-I have no idea what my legal status is. And I can't really appear in public, now, can I? But the Professor would like to see you, if you can come up here to Salem Center. Could you? Maybe even today? He knows you know about me, and would have to know about us, and everything... Could you?"
There was a laugh at the other end of the receiver. "Kid-I'd do anything to make you happy. What time does he want me there?"
Frank Gianelli looked carefully around him. This was a nice office, he had to admit. The panelling, the bookshelves, the large desk-it all had the look of a busy educator with a civilized streak. And the man across the desk gave an appearance of solidity. He remembered the impression Charles Xavier had had on him, listening to him lecture at Bowdoin. There had been something about that lecture...no one in the audience had fallen asleep. Some kind of subtle electric feeling had run through the listeners, and looking at this man whom he now knew to be a mutant, Frank wondered if Xavier had been ever-so-slightly stimulating them mentally.
He was in a chair directly across from Xavier, and Maria was sitting over to his left. He still had to blink when he looked at her-dressed in a red top and a pair of white pedal-pushers. Looking very much at home-and very happy. He still had trouble believing this was all happening. That Maria had found a home, something he could never have done for her. He had embraced her when he arrived at the Mansion, and they had both shed some tears. He shut his eyes briefly. Will all this be here, when I open them again? The thought made him actually reluctant to open his eyes, but he did-and the same office, Xavier across the desk, Maria looking happy. Well, maybe this wasn't a dream, after all.
"Mr Gianelli," Charles Xavier was saying, "we need to come to some decisions regarding Maria. Obviously, you do not seem reluctant to have her here as my student."
" 'Reluctant'?" Frank said softly. "Hell's bells, Professor-this is the happiest day of my life. I've spent four years agonizing over her. Wondering where she was, how she was surviving, unable to get in touch-not knowing what I'd do or say, if we were in touch. Having her reach a safe haven seems too good to be true."
Maria smiled and reached out, taking her brother's hand. Frank squeezed it as best he could-too hard, and his hand might start to bleed, he thought wryly. Charles looked satisfied with Frank's answer.
"I'm delighted to hear you say that, Mr. Gianelli-"
"I answer to 'Frank' at feeding time, Professor. And I'm usually hungry."
Charles smiled. "Fine. And I should prefer 'Charles', Frank- Well, things have worked out very well, in my opinion. Maria is here, and I feel she is going to make a splendid addition to the School." He paused . "Of course, I cannot pretend that she does not have special problems, Frank. For the moment, anyway, she cannot be seen in public. She has accepted this. But it is a burden on her-a terribly unfair one, one which no one has the right to place upon her. But she has indicated the willingness to bear it for now, so that the day may come when neither she-nor any mutant-need bear it again. I cannot tell you how deeply my admiration goes out to her, for doing so."
Frank smiled at his sister. "Kid-you are special." He turned to Charles. "I've always known that, Charles. Even before her mutation, she had a lot more on the ball upstairs than I did-and despite what my City Editor thinks, I'm not exactly a mutt myself."
"I don't doubt that, Frank," Charles said. "I read your stories regarding that Syndicate-and I was as shocked as anyone, that it all turned out to be run from your own paper."
Frank waived a hand. "It was quite an experience, Charles. I'm just glad that Spider-Man put the kibosh on Foswell and Company. They were getting too powerful for comfort-like the mob gangs of the Twenties, who almost took power from the elected officials. If the Syndicate had gone on the way it was-well, things could have gotten very dangerous."
Chrles nodded. "Indeed. I had even considered the possibility that the X-Men might have to take a hand in the matter. Our FBI contact had discussed the matter with me."
Frank smiled. "Well, now, that would have been interesting. Mutants out policing the city! Forgive me, Charles, but the average Joe in the street would have preferred the gangsters."
Charles sighed. "Agent Duncan came to the same conclusion-and so, in the end, did I." He frowned slightly. "Frank-I do not want to be part of any possible friction between you and your employer. You are, after all, a journalist. And you now have in your possession facts about the X-Men that would be of overwhelming interest to the general public. Am I endangering your job?"
Frank scowled. "To hell with my job. If I lose it someday because of this, I lose it. Charles-I'm Italian. The family comes first." Maria gifted Frank with a squeeze of his hand, which made him wince slightly. "Jameson would have a fit if he knew that one of his reporters covered up evidence of any super-powered figure-mutant or no. Well, to hell with him. He's got a bee up his bonnet over Spider-Man, who is A-OK in my book. Let him have one over the X-Men, too, if he wants to."
Charles smiled. "Fine, then. As long as you understand your own situation. Now-Maria's situation. Was there any sort of investigation in 1960, when she disappeared after her mutation hit her?"
Frank shrugged. "Well, I couldn't very well act as if she had never existed. No one outside the family knew about her mutation. When it happened-we told friends and other family that Maria had contracted a serious illness, and was being sent away for a cure." There was silence between brother and sister.
"What actually happened, Professor," Maria said, "was that my father basically indentured me to a circus, where I was exhibited as a freak. That only lasted a few months, as I told you during my interview, because I was just too icky even for the freak show. And also-I think people were a little scared of me." She was silent for a moment. "I think people were instinctively realizing already that I was a mutant-even though that concept was only being talked of in whispers then. But I wasn't being regarded as just another freak. That added to everyone's unease with me. And I feel that the circus owner-a real character, I might add; he was a crook, had this deal where he'd hypnotize people and grab their valuables-anyway, he finally had enough, and told my Dad to come get me. And then..." She frowned, and Frank shut his eyes in pain.
"Yes," Charles said quietly. "The attempt to sell you to Essex."
"Yes," she said. "That was enough for me. I went back home-and Mom tried to kill me."
No one spoke for some time. Finally Charles said: "Maria-your mother was a mutant. There are those of us who hate it, who just want to hide away from the responsibility that entails, who are in a state of denial. Your mother was one such. It just ate her up, consumed her with fear and hatred-of you, to be sure, but of herself most of all. I hope the time may come when you can forgive her."
Maria looked at the floor and nodded dully. Frank cleared his throat, suddenly finding it difficult to speak. "Well, Charles-in any event, when Maria took off, I just went to the police and told them that she had been very ill, had recovered somewhat, and ran away from home after Mom had a breakdown and tried to kill her. And God knows, that was close enough to the truth. So Maria went on the 'runaways' list, and sank without a trace-as so many kids do."
Charles considered his next statement. "Very well, then. What do we do now? Do we tell the authorities that Maria has returned, and is now a student at my school? If we do that, the police are going to want to interview the girl as to what she has been doing the past four years. Do we want her speaking to them? To anybody? But if we keep silent and do not tell anyone, then Maria must remain legally a cipher. She cannot technically be enrolled as a student here, because that would, again, attract the attention of the police and the child authorities. I do not believe any of us wants that."
Frank shrugged his agreement, and Maria shook her head vigorously.
"Very well. But if Maria remains a 'non-person', it also means, for instance, that she can never have a life of her own outside this school. It precludes college, a driver's license, marriage, employment. These things may seem absurd on their face, but we can't be certain of the future. The day may come when she might want or need things that only a legal identity can confer."
There was silence for a time. Frank turned to Maria. "Kid?" he asked. "What do you think?"
Maria looked pensive. "Professor-nothing you say is wrong. I can't have a 'normal' life for now, and maybe never." She looked Charles Xavier right in the face. "But we've discussed this. We fight for the day when people like me can have a chance. I've committed myself, sir. I'm here for the duration. If that means being a 'non-person', then so be it."
Frank and Charles were silent for a few moments. "Good for you, kid," Frank was finally able to say. Charles merely nodded. Frank Gianelli left soon afterwards, more at peace that he could ever remember being.
Maria looked around her. The Danger Room didn't appear to be either large or small right now. Its blank walls seemed to kill all perspective. It might have been ten feet long, or a hundred. She looked above her. There-in the control room, the only break in the general formlessness. They were all there, in costume, watching her. The Professor sat by the controls. His words were soothing.
"This is not a test, Maria. Not even in the most informal sense. We merely wish you to get a general idea of what the Danger Room is, and what you shall be experiencing here. Please, try not to feel any pressure. No one expects you to get this right on the first try. None of the others did."
"You said it," she heard Warren say. "If I told you the amazing adventures of my first Danger Room try-" Maria smiled to herself. Warren was trying to make her feel at ease, and to some extent he had succedded. The others chuckled.
"And I've told you about my first time," Jean called out. "I still have trouble sitting down sometimes." There was general merriment at this reminder of an infamous fiasco, and Maria despite herself wanted to put her hand back by her bottom. She looked around her, at the strangely undifferentiated landscape of the room. She knew she had to be prepared for anything-
Suddenly, the floor in front of her opened up. She had been striding softly along the front end of the room, and she had nearly stepped into the hole. She paused, looking down. She sensed something behind her- The floor there was opening up, too. She suddenly found herself on a small island of floor, with about, she guessed, fifteen feet of empty space around the "island". She heard the Professor's voice then.
"In exactly five seconds after I finish speaking, Maria, the space of floor you are standing on will disappear, too. You will then face a thirty-foot fall, if you have not removed yourself. This will not injure you, but it won't be pleasant, and I can promise you it will be very embarrassing."
Maria nodded, and casually stretched her legs across the gap to the safety of the floor fifteen feet away. As promised, as soon as she had moved off the small piece of floor she had been occupying, it vanished. She looked around. In a moment, the floor that had disappeared slid back into place. Where would the next obstacle come from?
Even as she was wondering this, the floor around her seemed to rise and fold itself around her. She found herself hemmed in, like being trapped in a small closet. And slowly, inexorably, the walls of the "closet" were shrinking in upon her.
She breathed deeply. Thank goodness, claustrophobia was not an issue with her. She stretched her hands up and down, and felt no "door", no opening of any kind and no weakness in the walls. Well-if this trap was as simple as the first, there was an obvious way out-
Maria simply flexed her arms, used her considerable strength, and pushed hard at the walls of the "closet". They snapped like they were made of balsa wood, and she crunched up enough of them so that she had room to simply stride easily out of the "closet". She walked a few feet away, watching as she did so the remains of the "closet" being sucked down into what she supposed was a vacuum cleaner apparatus. The parts of the floor that had been used for the "closet" were instantly replaced by new sections.
She walked around the room slowly, wondering if the traps were all going to be this absurdly simple. Even as she did so, a small section of wall opened, and a ball popped out, the wall section immediately closing. The ball smacked against the opposing wall, and headed for another section of the room. There it bounced again, and headed off once more for the far corner. It bounced again-
"Maria," she heard the Professor say. "This ball will continue to bounce; it will not lose energy. It is coated with a solution that, if it hits you, will render you instantly unconscious. Yes, it will even affect you in this manner." Maria moved slightly away from the ball as its trajectory came close to where she was standing. "Now-simply for the sake of this demonstration-you are to remain in your current state, your 'natural' state. This ball's kinetic energy is not being reduced by its bounces. It shall continue to bounce. And as it does, it slowly but surely zeroes in on the only source of heat energy in the room-that is, you. The more you move and try to dodge it, the sooner it shall find you, and hit you-thereby knocking you out. All you have to do is figure out a way not to have this happen."
Maria looked carefully at the ball. It came close to her again, and again she dodged as it went past her to bounce against the far side of the room. But this time, it came closer to her than ever on its next trajectory, and she dodged even quicker.
She ran to a far end of the room, but the ball, sensing this, followed-not on its first bounce, to be sure, but slowly, over two, three, four trajectories it slowly circled in on where she was, Maria moving slowly away from the ball all the while...
Hold on. Could it be this easy? Well, the other traps were-and she was damned if she could think of anything else. Maria went to the exact center of the room, and simply lay down, looking straight at the ceiling, and not moving a muscle. The ball appeared confused. It bounced a couple of times in the corner of the room where she had just been, then sent its trajectory across to the other side. Maria, meanwhile, didn't move at all, scarcely breathed. The ball's trajectories got less and less, and its speed slowed to a trickle. Finally, the ball hit the wall softly near the bottom of the room, and finally stopped uneasily not three feet from where Maria was lying.
"Excellent, Maria," the Professor said. "These tests have been simple, and the solutions perhaps obvious-but recognizing the obvious is the first step. Now, we'll try something just slightly harder." She heard the others chuckling, and she winced to herself as she rose to her feet. The ball disappeared into a small hole in the floor, which immediately covered itself again. Maria looked around warily, wondering from which direction the next obstacle was going to come, and as she did so, she realized suddenly that the room was smaller than it had been. She blinked. Was she imagining it? No-it definitely was slightly smaller. And that meant-
"Oh, no," she said. "You can't be serious, Professor. The old walls-closing-in trick? This was old hat in silent movie days."
There was a sound of laughter from the control room. "Well, sometimes the old tricks are the best ones, Maria," the Professor said. "But beware! This is no simple obstacle, like the 'closet' we had you in a few minutes ago. Yes, the room is contracting. In a very few minutes, it shall be closing in on you completely. Now-I tell you this, Maria. It is no danger to you. If need be, your physical strength is more than enough to smash the walls as they press in upon you. But I must also say-there is another way to escape this trap. One calibrated to your exact powers. Your job is to find out what that is, and not to Shift into another form."
Maria walked over to one of the advancing walls. She moved her hands across the wall, her rough fingers splayed out broadly upon the surface. It seemed completely smooth to her fingers. She went to the other walls, and they all appeared the same to her. She stretched her head up to the ceiling-no. Nothing there. The walls were noticeably closer now. She had perhaps three minutes before they closed in upon her, and she was forced to crush them with her bare hands. And, while the Professor said this was not a test in the formal sense, she regarded it as such-her first. She did not want to fail.
Think, girl. "Calibrated to your exact powers." Well-what were her powers, in this, her "normal" form? She was strong. She could stretch her limbs. She could even change her shape-within limits. She could become a ball, a cube, a small figure of silicon. But she could not just let the walls flatten her completely. She couldn't get that flat. (Two minutes. Think, girl!) This was still her first time. Therefore, the solution to this must still be relatively simple. Must be. Not as simple as the others-she couldn't just crush the walls, like she did the "walls" of the "closet". But the answer must be relatively easy.
She listened to the walls. Could she hear any machinery, any sound of gears or pulleys? She went around the room, listening hard, sensing with her fingers. If she couldn't smash the walls like Samson pulling the temple down, maybe she could find where some machinery was, and make a surgical strike at that one point. It seemed to be her only chance, and that seemed to be sufficiently "harder" than the first three obstacles, while still being relatively simple. Well, it was that or nothing...
The floor. Yes, there was definitely a "whirr" underneath there, if she listened hard enough. She splayed her fingers again, and peeled away some of the floor. Yes-there was a conveyor belt apparatus there. Maria grabbed a handful of the apparatus, and pulled. There was a hissing and clanking of machinery, and the floor rumbled beneath her. But the walls stopped moving in on her, and she heard a round of applause coming from the control room.
"That's it, Professor?" she said brightly. "I thought you had something really tough in mind for me."
"Famous last words," Jean said, a broad smile on her face.
"We walk before we run, Maria," the Professor said. "I assure you, it will get more challenging. But this has been a good first attempt. You seem to have a natural aptitude for the Danger Room. This is a good sign. We shall have another introductory session or two, and then you'll begin-very cautiously-to train with your fellow X-Men. Meanwhile: well done."
Maria joined the others, and they all had a handshake and some good words for her, with a hug from Jean. Maria took a deep breath. Another step forward. Maybe she'd become one of them yet.
Maria was lying on her bed, doing homework. She still didn't quite take this inconceivable luxury-a bed!-for granted yet, and doubted she ever would. She rolled on it briefly, feeling the softness underneath her heavy, irregular frame. She'd have to stop this, or she'd fall asleep again. It seemed that all she needed to do was lie down, and slumber would come, and she didn't want to get a reputation for idleness.
She had had a physics class that morning, which Hank had taught. Her own reading had included some popular physics tomes here and there, but the real thing was different. There were connections, complications, sinews of thought and logic that her reading hadn't prepared her for, and she was determined to understand all of it. Hank had smiled at the end, and cautioned her not to run before she could walk. She had agreed, but felt frustrated. Now that her Torches and Pitchforks days were over, she wanted to catch up all at once. Well, she couldn't do that, but she could sure try. Hank, she thought to herself suddenly. He was so nice to her that morning. Patient, answered all her stupid questions. God knows what sort of impression she made on him... She blinked, and sat up on the edge of the bed. Stop that, girl. That might be something Jean thinks about Scott. But you know better.
There was a mental call from the Professor. Will everyone assemble in Classroom Six, please? You have five minutes.Maria rose, stretched her frame slightly, and went out into the hall, heading for the eastern stairway. She met Warren coming from the boy's wing, and they descended together.
"Do you know what this is about?" she asked him, and he just smiled.
"You'll find out. It's a treat, really. One you're virginal about."
She whistled. "Virginal, Mr. Worthington? Who is it? Hugh Hefner?"
Warren laughed. "I wish! No, babe, I'm afraid not. But in some respects, it's better."
They reached the classroom, and Maria took a seat over by the far end of the room, next to Jean. The Professor was in the front, by the door. There was a general air of expectation among the others that Maria wondered about. Suddenly, a loud voice was heard from the hall outside.
"What is this, Charles? You didn't invite me to the graduation? It's an anti-Semitic conspiracy, that's what it is!" Into the room strode a man of about forty-five, medium height, a bit heavyset . He wore a jacket and bow-tie, had on glasses, and spoke volubly in a marked Brooklyn accent. He beamed at the Professor, at the other students, then turned his gaze on Maria. She gasped.
"Maria," the Professor said, "please stand up. This is Dr Isaac Asimov, Assistant Professor of Biochemistry at-"
"Boston University," Maria finished for him. "I know who he is, sir." She walked up to Asimov. "I'm a huge fan of yours, sir! Really! I'm honored to meet you."
The others chuckled softly, and Asimov put Maria's hand to his lips. "The honor is mine, my dear. All mine!" He turned to the Professor. "A fan, Charles! Obviously, a young lady of taste and discernment."
"So I'm discovering," the Professor said, a smile on his face. Maria retreated to her seat, not worrying for once if she were being cool or not. Asimov stood before the students.
"I understand, Maria, that you've had little formal education, these past few years," he said. She nodded from her seat.
"Yes, sir. A lot of irregular schooling, but none of it pulled together, if you know what I mean. Well, that's one reason why I'm here." She turned to the Professor. "Sir? If you don't mind my asking? How long have you known Dr Asimov?"
"About ten years, Maria," The Professor replied. "Since I was in graduate school. I was interested in mutation then already-obviously!-and read some science fiction, to see in general what they had to say about it. It is, of course, one of the classic themes of the field. In doing so, I read the Foundation Trilogy-"
"The Mule!" Maria cried. "The great mutant conqueror of the Galaxy."
Asimov's beaming smile got even greater, if possible, and the Professor nodded. "Quite so, Maria. As a result, I wrote to Isaac, in guarded terms, about mutation in the real world. He was shrewd enough to read between the lines, and he quickly became one of my human confederates. Part of my Underground, if you will. And most valuable he's been, if I do say so."
"A famous science-fiction writer," Maria said, entranced. "And a famous science writer! One who knows practically everything!"
The others laughed, and Asimov puffed his chest out. "You shouldn't encourage him like that, Maria," Jean said.
"He's been a guest lecturer here from the beginning," Charles said. "Specializing in biochemistry, naturally-but as you implied, Maria, there are very few aspects of the whole mutant issue that he doesn't have a good grasp of."
"Yes, sir," Maria said, and opened her notebook. She wasn't going to miss a word of this.
Asimov smiled at the students. "I gather you're all staying here for the nonce," he said cheerfully. "Excellent! That gives me yet more excuses to come visit Jean." He paused. "And Maria. My Number One fan."
If she could blush, Maria would have. "Oh, I'd hardly go that far, sir," she said.
"I would," Asimov said decisively. "I'll quiz you in my works after the lecture. And I have no doubt about the results... Young lady, you're my Number One Fan, if I say you're my Number One Fan. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," she said abashedly.
"And it's Isaac to my friends. You," he said deliberately, "are my friend. Is that understood?"
"Oh, yes!" Maria said, hardly able to believe her ears. She felt herself flying high above the earth all throughout Asimov's lecture, higher even than Warren could ever reach, and she didn't think she touched ground until it was over. It was a good lecture, on the properties of recombinant DNA and what this meant for hidden aspects of the brain, in both humans and mutants. Some of the material was a little over Maria's head-after all, she didn't have the background the others had in all this-but she earnestly wrote down every word she could pick up. For forty-five minutes she was scribbling away, not thinking of anything but the talk, getting everything down she could. When Asimov was finished, her wrist ached a little, but she had filled eight pages of her notebook. She looked at it, and determined never to throw this out, no matter what happened the whole rest of her life.
After the lecture, the students all gathered around Asimov, and he spoke to each of them, a few words here and there. He gave Jean a big hug, and added one for Maria. Finally, Charles suggested they all retreat to the living room, an idea which was greeted warmly.
There, Carla had some food and drink laid out, and Asimov sank into a large armchair. Maria sat on his right, still having trouble believing that she was in the same room with him. Hank sat on the other side of him, and he and Asimov began a talk on extraterrestrial life that the others listened to with various levels of interest.
Hank was discussing the Skrulls. "-Isaac, do you acknowledge that they are here? Or not? I know that some people have debunked the whole business, including the so-called 'Super Skrull' incident in New York last year. That Reed Richards is engaged in a publicity stunt."
Professor Xavier frowned. "I know Reed, Hank. We've all met him, and he's become a useful ally after the recent incident with the Puppet Master and the Thinker. I do not believe him capable of such a hoax."
Asimov looked decidedly ambivalent. "I don't believe it either, Charles. Either someone has hoaxed Dr Richards-which I admit, I find unlikely upon its face-or else the story is true. I've been a confirmed sceptic about all of this sort of thing-but I'm a man of science first and foremost. If this is where the evidence takes me-then so be it." He paused. "It appears that they are here. There have been other reports, too, not just the Skrulls. Some of them-like the so-called 'Toad Men'-I reject, if only because they resemble a drive-in movie feature just a little too much. But others-" He shrugged unhappily. "It's hard to reject evidence this good."
Maria smiled impishly at him-or, anyway, as "impishly" as she could manage. "And mutants, Dr Asimov, esteemed expert? How is the evidence on that subject?"
They all laughed, and Asimov gave Maria a mock swat. "Unless Charles is the greatest hypnotist of all time, I like the evidence for that." He grew sober for a second. "But I will confess, Maria, I was perturbed by his first few letters. I had the definite sense of being led down a path towards a conclusion that I very much wanted to reject. I didn't wantthat particular aspect of reality to escape the pages of SF. I wanted Odd John and Slan to be potential, not reality."
"And the Mule," Maria said softly. "Don't forget him."
Asimov sighed. "Indeed, my lady. Him, too." He paused. "And now, the Skrulls. Another piece of the SF world turning into fact. Well-there goes my 'all-human' galaxy. I wonder what they can do-and what they intend to do to us. Or for us."
Charles said, "what they intend and what they'll do, are two different questions. The young people in this room, Isaac, are more than capable of defending the world if it comes to that."
Asimov brightened. "Indeed! I read of your exploits everywhere." He looked at Maria. "And you're considerably stronger now, with Maria in the team."
"I think so, Isaac," she said brightly. Asimov laughed.
Scott had been listening to this interchange with some interest. "Isaac," he said at last in his quiet way, "what was it in the Professor's letters that convinced you? Was there one particular thing?"
Asimov nodded sagely. "An excellent question, that, Scott," he said. "As I'd expect of you... No. It was simply a cumulative sense of conviction I felt-in the letters, and in my own responses to them. When I met Charles soon afterwards, he told me the truth about himself. And I was ready to believe it."
The Professor smiled. "It was the beginning of a very interesting friendship, I think it's safe to say. We've exchanged information, and Isaac has of course become a part of this school-and a most valued part, too. But we continue to have-differences."
Maria saw the others smile, and she realized that this was an old subject among them. "Oh?" was all she said. "What differences might that be, Professor?"
Charles and Asimov looked at each other, and broke into laughter. "Well, Maria," Asimov said, "it's difficult to describe it exactly. We have, I suppose, differet interpretations as to what the mutant phenomenon means."
Maria frowned. "Oh? 'Means'? How do you mean that?"
More laughter. "You see, Charles?" Asimov said. "We can't even express this in simple English without getting tied into knots."
The Professor smiled. "Well, Maria, I think we can at least make some kind of sense about it. Isaac and I have a different interpretation as to why mutants have arrived now, in the manner they have-and in the numbers they have."
"Quite so," Asimov said dreamily, enjoying a glass of punch. "I believe that there is no 'deep' meaning behind the recent mutations. There is a perfectly simple Darwinian explanation, which can be explained in classic textbook terms. I admit, I do not know what that explanation might be as of yet." He paused. "The mutations are-well, exceptionally colorful. I'll concede that. And they don't seem to fit into simple explanations of 'survival advantage'. And they seem to be occurring with a startling speed-by evolutionary standards, that is. And they're just-well, colorful."
"More like magic than science," Maria said. "I've wondered about this, too, Isaac, in my layman's way. You talk of survival advantage. Well, what on earth is the survival advantage in wings? Or turning to ice? Or telepathy? In a world where humans already had filled every conceivable evolutionary niche, and had long ago vanquished any possible competitors among the other species? And why did it happen, essentially, in a single generation?"
Asimov nodded. "Indeed, Maria. That's precisely the question! Perhaps one might say that atomic radiation had something to do with it. That, I suspect, is what the public in general thinks. Well, maybe so. But consider! There are mutants who were born before atomic tests came along-Charles here being one of them. There is the one called Magneto, as well. And there are some, I know-Charles has informed me of this fact-who were born long before any atomic tests came along. How to account for them?"
Maria looked thoughtful. "Perhaps the potential for mutation has been there for a long time. And occasionally, becomes reality. But there is something in the atmosphere-either literally or figuratively-that makes mutation become more manifest in today's world."
Professor Xavier looked at Maria proudly. "That's an excellent point, Maria. And I think to some extent that is true. There is evidence that a very few mutants go back a very long time-to perhaps the dawn of civilization. But the sheer numbers that are popping up now-why? And why in such, as Isaac says, colorful manner? How could this be happening right now, in a generation? This is where Isaac and I differ."
Asimov scowled in a friendly fashion. "I do believe that Charles is a Platonic mystic."
Charles shook his head. "I am a man of science, Isaac, exactly the same as you. And I don't think you can ignore what the evidence is showing you. Mutations are not only 'colorful', as he says, but bizarrely so. There is almost a berserker quality to the variations among human mutations we are beginning to see. I think it is at least possible that these mutations are preparing the world for-something."
Maria looked thoughtful. " 'Something', sir? What do you mean by that?"
Asimov waved a hand. "He can't tell you, Maria, because he has no idea. Mysticism!"
The Professor shook his head. "You cannot deny the facts, Isaac. Look at Magneto himself. He has the power to shake the world. Why would nature throw him up, in a single generation? Unless some aspect of the world is about to change in the next few generations, and is preparing humanity for that fact." He paused, and sighed. "And of course, Isaac is correct. I am indeed propounding 'mysticism'. But I scarcely know what else to think. I believe that in the next generation or so, the world is going to-I don't know; 'need' is perhaps the best word, though I realize it is unscientific-so be it. It will 'need' the mutants in some way. And we will have to be ready." He looked around at his students. "Perhaps one of you will be the one who is 'ready'. Perhaps even one of you."
Maria listened with fascination. "Professor Xavier-is this the real reason why you started the X-Men? To get us-'ready'?"
He shook his head. "No, Maria. There is not enough certainty in my surmise to base any plans upon it. But I would be lying if I said that it has had no place in my thinking, either."
Maria looked around. the others-Hank, Warren, Bobby, Scott, Jean-were listening with unfeigned intrest. There was something in Jean's aspect that drew Maria's attention, but she couldn't decide what it was. Probably Jean herself didn't know. She turned back to Asimov.
"Isaac? If the Professor is wrong, and there's nothing-well-'mystic' about this, what is the answer? Do you have a theory? Or even a surmise?"
He shrugged. "Honestly, Maria-I don't know! My esteemed colleague, Arthur C Clarke, has said that a sufficiently advanced technology would be indistinguishable from magic. Perhaps the same is true of a sufficiently advanced biology." And that was where the discussion ended, but Maria gave the whole matter a good deal of thought in the days that followed.
"Jean..."
"Yes, Maria?"
Maria was at the door to Jean's room that evening. "Could I talk for a second?"
Jean smiled. "Sure. Come on in." Maria did so, wearing a pair of pink pajamas that made her look, in her view, like a fudgsicle. "When Isaac hugged me in the classroom today, at the end of the lecture..."
"Yes?" Jean asked, with a wicked tone in her voice.
"Jean-he pinched my ass."
"Welcome to the club."
"...You're kidding."
"He calls it a perk of the job. I call him a dirty old man. We have as yet had no resolution as to this question."
"Why, Jean Grey! You should give him a telekinetic dunking in the pool!"
Jean sighed. "I did. The first time. Isaac insisted that this was the beginning of a tradition, and that he'd bring his swimming trunks next time. I quit after that."
"So I can expect that every time he visits?"
"Every single time."
"Oh." Maria considered this. "I guess it's not so bad."
"Really?"
"Well-I am a fan. It's flattering, really."
"I hope he breaks his fingers on that silicon ass of yours."
"No, you don't."
Jean sighed. "No, I don't. I'm tired. Good night, Maria."
"Jean-"
Another sigh. "Yes, Maria."
"Were you frightened today? When the Professor talked about one of us maybe having to be 'ready' some day?"
A long pause. "Yes, Maria. Yes, I was frightened."
"Why, Jean?"
"I don't know. I just was."
"OK." Then: "Good night, Jean."
"Good night, Maria."