Chapter 5
Rogue knocked lightly on the door to Peter's - no, Archetype's room. She cursed silently, reminding herself that Peter was no longer the occupant. "Come in," she heard from the other side. She opened the door and went through.
Archetype was seated at his computer, busily typing away. He glanced up at her. "Hello, Rogue," he said politely, taking off his glasses.
She looked at him. "Why don't you wear contacts?"
"What, and ruin my secret identity?" He smiled at her chuckle.
"What are you writing?" she asked him.
"Something I've been working on for a while now. It can wait. What's up?"
"We're taking you out to eat. It's an X-Men tradition."
"Anywhere in particular?"
"Harry's Hideaway. It's been the X-Men's watering hole for years."
He nodded. "All right. Give me a few minutes to get changed." He reached behind the desk, pulling out a straight cane, which he leaned on as he got out of the chair.
"Did you hurt yourself?" she asked him.
"It's an old injury," he said. "Sometimes it acts up. I think I strained it during my Danger Room session earlier. I'll be fine," he assured her. "Be down in a few minutes." She nodded and left, meeting Bobby at the front door.
"What's keeping him?" Bobby asked.
"He wanted to get changed." She had already changed into a matching skirt and blouse, both in her trademark green. Bobby wore a turtleneck and jeans.
He nodded. "What was he doing?"
"Working on his computer. He settled in pretty quickly."
"Home is where you hang your hat, Rogue," she heard behind her. She turned around to find Archetype stepping out from behind the staircase.
"How'd you get down here so fast?" Bobby asked.
He shrugged. "The elevator." He had changed into a pair of light blue jeans, with a grey shirt and black denim vest. He also wore gloves, and was still leaning on his cane. The overall effect was to make him look older. "Are we all ready?"
"All set," Bobby replied.
"Let's go, then." He reached out at the air in front of him, and his jacket appeared in his hand. He put it on, opened the door, and motioned for Rogue to go first. She smiled and walked out, Bobby and Archetype following in turn.
As she and Bobby headed towards the garage, Archetype spoke up. "Um, excuse me, but isn't the road that way?" he said, pointing with his cane.
"Yeah, but the garage is this way," Bobby said.
"True, but I passed Harry's when I walked here before. It's only about three kilos away. Why drive?"
"Because it's three kilos away," Bobby replied.
"Let me get this straight," Archetype said, leaning on his cane. "You spend three hours a day in physical training, and you're all built like fitness ads, but you won't walk an easy three kilos? Why spend all that time in the gym, when the real world has enough physical challenges for you?"
"He's got a point, Bobby," Rogue said. "Besides, it's a nice night. Let's walk."
"All right," Bobby sighed. He joined them on the road which led to Graymalkin Lane. They made good time, Rogue realized, since Archetype, even with the cane, moved at a brisk pace.
"Your leg seems to be feeling better," she remarked.
"It improves if I walk it off," he replied. He looked at Bobby. "I can shorten the trip if you want."
"How?"
"The same way I got here yesterday. I'll fold space-time."
"Is it safe?"
"Totally. It'll look a little strange, though."
"Just what do you mean by strange?" Bobby asked suspiciously.
He frowned for a moment. "Ever watch a car as it came towards you?" When they nodded, he continued. "Did you notice that, if the car was moving fast, it seemed to flatten out slightly?"
"Yeah," Bobby replied doubtfully.
"Well, everything's going to look like that for the next few minutes. Well," he amended, "everything but us."
"How long will it take us to get there, then?" Rogue asked him.
"About ten minutes," he said. "I won't compress things too much."
"All right," Bobby said, "let's get moving, then."
"Just one moment, Mister Drake." Archetype furrowed his brow for a second, and everything
seemed to dim. "We're ready now." He started walking towards Graymalkin Lane, which seemed to be approaching very quickly as they followed him.
"Will anybody see us?" Rogue asked him.
"No," he replied. "We're appearing in normal space, but for only a fraction of an instant at any given time, faster than the time which the brain needs to process new information. No one will notice us. I'll put us back in normal space somewhere where we won't be noticed for a moment, so people will think we had just walked in." By the time he had finished his sentence, they were on Graymalkin Lane and heading towards town.
"Have you ever had any problem with the people in town?" he asked them.
"Nothing we haven't been able to handle," Bobby replied. "We're far enough away to keep the curious away, but we show up often enough to remind them that we're still around. We've never been in any trouble, if that's what you mean."
He nodded. "I just wanted to know if there was anything I should be aware of. Should I simply say that I'm a resident at the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning if asked?"
"That should work," Rogue said. "If it doesn't, you can just fake a really strong accent, and make like a lost foreigner."
"Sounds fair. This the place?" he asked as they approached Harry's.
"That's it," she confirmed.
"Let me put us back in normal space. Let's go over there," he said, pointing towards an area of the parking lot that was only dimly lighted. They entered the shadows, and Archetype closed his eyes for a moment. The light around them became slightly brighter. "We're baaack," he said in an eerie voice.
"Cute," Bobby said dryly.
"I rather liked it," Archetype replied brightly as they went inside.
Harry's was rather crowded for a weeknight. The reason why was evident, as the band on the stage was being met with cheers and applause. Archetype winced slightly as he removed his jacket. "Something wrong?" Rogue asked him.
"My hearing is pretty sensitive. That's a bit too loud for my comfort."
"The booths over there are quieter," she said, pointing to the opposite corner of the taproom.
"Why don't we go over there, then?" They found a booth where the noise level was considerably lower. "What's on the menu here?" he asked.
"It's a pretty standard grill menu," Bobby replied. "The waitress will tell us what tonight's specials are." A few minutes later, they put in their orders. Bobby and Rogue ordered their usuals, while Archetype ordered potato skins and a mushroom cheeseburger with a cola.
"You don't drink?" Bobby asked him. He and Rogue were sharing a pitcher of beer.
Archetype shook his head. "It's hard enough for me to maintain my concentration when I'm sober. I don't need intoxication added to the mix. In any case, I never acquired a taste for alcohol."
Bobby smiled. "That should frustrate Wolvie's plans for male bonding."
Archetype smirked. "And I hate most organized sports."
"Oh boy, you're gonna be in real trouble with him, then. He goes nuts around Super Bowl time."
"Oh, I'll just stay in the kitchen and make snacks for everybody. That should get me off the hook."
"So what do you do for hobbies?" Rogue asked him.
"Well, like I told you earlier, I do a lot of reading. I also do some writing on the side. I do a lot of traveling..."
"Your way or the usual way?" Bobby interrupted.
"The usual way. I'll decide on the spur of the moment to go somewhere and then I usually just go to the airport and take whatever the next available international flight is. I play it by ear from there. When I get sick of living out of a suitcase, I go to my nearest safehouse and rest up."
"If you're so rich, why not just take a private plane?" Rogue asked him.
"Calls too much attention. Besides, I prefer not to throw my money around if I can help it. I prefer to just go with the flow." He stopped talking as the waitress returned with their orders. "Either of you want one?" he said, gesturing to the potato skins. Rogue and Bobby took one each. Archetype put some steak sauce on his burger and dug in.
"Well, enough about me," he said. "How about I learn something about you two?"
"Like what?" Bobby asked.
He shrugged. "I know why I'm here. Why did you two join this outfit?"
That question prompted a discussion about the history of the X-Men. Archetype seemed to accept most of it, although he looked a bit disbelieving at certain points.
"Let me make sure I understand this," he asked Rogue. "You really did die that night in Dallas?"
"All the X-Men that were there did," she informed him.
"I'll take your word for it," he said dubiously. Then he raised an eyebrow. "I must say, though, that you're the most voluptuous corpse that I've seen in some time." Then he winced.
"What's wrong?" Bobby asked him.
"That lead guitar. It's so out of tune it's pathetic. I'll be right back." He got up and walked over to the stage, where the band was taking its break.
"Well, he's certainly a flirt," Bobby said to Rogue after he was out of earshot.
"Yeah, but it's a nice sort of flirting," she replied with a smile.
"There's an explanation for that, I suppose."
Rogue thought for a moment. "There are two ways that a guy can flirt with a girl. They sort of reflect the approach that he wants to take with her. The first way is more common - the old lines, the obvious ploys - and a girl can spot them a mile away, because she's seen them all before." She paused for a moment. "I think that the other way, being a nice flirt, means walking a very fine line. You have to compliment a woman's looks without making her feel that they're the only reason you're interested in her. "
Bobby raised an eyebrow. "You think he's interested?"
She shook her head. "I don't think so. But he doesn't seem to mind using the compliments anyway. They seem to let him fill up the space in a conversation. You did see how nervous he was looking ?"
He nodded. "I don't think he's looking out for anybody. He told us himself that he's worked alone for a long time. I don't think he's used to dealing with large numbers of people. You said that he considers himself an introvert."
"That's true," she conceded. "And Jean and Betsy have had problems in crowds before. If his powers are psychic, maybe he has a similar problem."
"Could be." He nodded towards Archetype, who was talking with the guitarist of the band as he tuned the offending instrument. "Did you get any clue as to the music he prefers?"
She shook her head. "No. He seems like an oldies type, though. Looks like he convinced the band to let him play a set." She had noticed that he was getting on the stage with the rest of the band.
"What do you think? Beatles? Stones?"
Archetype played the opening riff. Rogue and Bobby looked at each other.
"Metallica?"
"Why didn't you tell us you could play an instrument?" Bobby asked him as they walked out of Harry's about an hour later.
Archetype shrugged. "There wasn't any room on the application. Besides, I didn't really think it had any practical use for the sorts of things that you guys do. What would I use it for? Serenading the Juggernaut to sleep? Getting the female supervillans to start swooning and fainting?" He snapped his fingers. "I've got it! You guys need theme music!"
"You, my friend, are out of your mind," Bobby informed him.
"Oh, we're all mad here," he replied gleefully. "I'm mad, you're mad."
"How do you know I'm mad?" Rogue replied, remembering the lines from Alice in Wonderland.
"You must be," Archetype said, "or you wouldn't have come here."
"You got that right, asshole," said a voice behind them. They turned around to find four young men, who appeared to be in their late teens, standing before them. Their dress and mannerisms suggested that they had each spent some time under the watchful eyes of the state at one time or another.
"Can I help you gentlemen?" Archetype asked mildly.
"Your money... now," one of the teens said, in as close to a menacing tone his warbling voice could get.
"Now isn't this just a bit cliched?" Archetype asked them. "Late at night, a deserted street... next thing you'll tell me is that you're all carrying guns."
The apparent leader of the group pulled out a Glock-7. "Gods," Archetype said, covering his eyes with one hand. "Why must the young always show such a lack of imagination?" He looked up at the sky, raising his hands as if imploring.
He then swept his right arm down in a flash, striking his cane on the outstretched arm of the punk. Rogue heard the crack! as the young man's arm broke. He fell to his knees, moaning in pain. Archetype was moving before the young man had fully fallen to his knees, striking one of remaining four in the stomach with the head of the cane, then downing another with a leg sweep. He placed his foot on the neck of one of the fallen, then looked at the two would-be assailants who were still standing. "Are you two ready for more of the same?" he asked them. They bolted. He then stooped down beside the young man who had pulled the gun, picking it up by the tip of the barrel. "I'll dispose of this if you don't mind," he told the punk. He then looked at Rogue and Bobby. "You two coming?" he asked them.
They followed him, not knowing what else to do or say. After a few minutes of walking, Rogue finally spoke up. "Just how did you do that?"
"Do what?" he asked.
"Break that guy's arm!"
"Oh. Would you hold this, please?" he asked Bobby, handing the cane to him.
"Sure." Bobby took it, and almost dropped it again as soon as Archetype had let go. It weighed a ton. "Jesus Christ!" Bobby swore. "What is this thing made of?"
"Well, the outside is a wood veneer, but the core is solid brass." He took the cane back, then looked at both of them. "Two things to remember. One: hardly anything is what it seems. Two: like I told Xavier earlier today, I'm neverunarmed. Shall we head back?" he said, moving in the general direction of the mansion.
"What are you going to do with the gun?" Bobby asked.
Archetype thought about it for a second. "If I throw this up in the air, can you freeze it?"
"No problem. How cold do you want it?"
"Cold enough for the steel to crack. After that," he said, looking at Rogue, "it's all yours." He tossed the gun into the air.
Bobby froze the gun on its way down, and Rogue shattered it with one blow. "Not bad," Archetype said.
As they made their way back, one of the streetlights that they walked under burned out. "Not again," Archetype groaned.
"Something wrong?" Rogue asked him.
He pointed to the streetlight with his cane. "You just saw the reason why you don't want me around the computers for very long. Let's get going."
Chapter 6
"He seems to use deception to gain a tactical edge," Henry remarked after Bobby and Rogue had briefed the other senior team members on the events of that evening.
Rogue nodded. "I don't think there was ever anything wrong with his leg. He used the cane to carry a weapon in plain sight. I doubt he'll use the same trick in front of us again, though."
"You're probably right," Logan replied. "He's more likely to use it in public, when we have to go incognito. For a guy with no training, he seems to know what he's doing. What was his fighting style like?"
Bobby frowned. "Nothing definable. It was actually pretty standard stuff - leg sweeps, blocks, stuff like that. He knew how to use that cane, though. Reminded me of your stick fighting style, Ororo."
Ororo shook her head. "I don't think that's possible, Robert. I learned how to fight like that when I was a girl, as a thief with Achmed on the streets of Cairo, and he only taught it to his prize pupils. Archetype could not have learned it."
"Now that we know about his combat skills in more detail, maybe he'll agree to a demonstration," Xavier mused. He punched the intercom button on his desk. "Xavier to Archetype."
There was a brief pause, then Archetype's voice came over the speaker. "Yes, Xavier?"
"Would you be opposed to a demonstration of your stick fighting skills?"
"Not at all. What sort of setting?"
"How about a one-on-one against Storm?"
Another pause. "All right. Advise her to wear some form of protective clothing. And some headgear with a face mask. Archetype out."
Ororo frowned. "Why would I need a face mask?"
Two minutes into the combat session, Ororo understood why.
It had started simply enough. Archetype, who had walked in wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, had simply deflected whatever strikes Ororo used against him, declining obvious openings for offensive moves. At one point, she got through his defenses, striking with a rather nasty crack against the back of his legs. He buckled slightly at that point, falling to his knees without a sound.
He stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, not moving. Ororo was afraid that she had seriously hurt him. He then opened his eyes, looking at her.
"Come now, little one. You can do better than that," he said to her in Egyptian, his eyes glowing.
Ororo was suddenly filled with an irrational anger. She wasgood enough! She could prove it! She would not be laughed at again! She gritted her teeth and pressed her attack, which Archetype parried easily. He then jumped out of her range.
"Here. I will make it easier for you," he continued in a taunting tone. He drew the sweatband which he was wearing over his eyes, effectively blindfolding himself. "Surely you can hit a defenseless target." Ororo gritted her teeth and closed in for a strike.
Archetype moved in a flash, parrying her thrust. He followed through on the move, reversing the position of his stick, thrusting the opposite end of the stick directly towards her face. Despite the fact that she was wearing a face mask, Ororo flinched involuntarily. Archetype took advantage of her temporary loss of bearing by leaping to his feet. As he did so, he altered the direction of his thrust so that the first foot of the stick whizzed right through where Ororo would have been. He then swept her right leg with his left, while simultaneously pushing her off balance by sweeping his stick to the right. Ororo, who was usually as graceful as a cat, landed unceremoniously on the floor in a sprawl.
Archetype thrusted downward with his stick at a point about three inches away from Ororo's nose. The stick impacted with enough force to splinter.
"Had I not altered my point of aim," he told her matter of factly, now speaking English, "your cranium would now be ventilated." He removed the sweatband, then helped her to her feet. "Good match, though."
"Yes, thank you," Ororo replied absently, as she struggled to regain her bearings.
Archetype looked up at Xavier and Henry, who were visible from the observation window. "Any objections if I call it a night?" he asked them.
"No," Xavier replied in a weary voice. "We'll start you on psionic training in the morning at eight-thirty. Good night."
"Night."
"All right, Storm," Scott asked her, "just what happened down there? You never lose your temper in the middle of a training session like that."
"I'm not entirely sure myself," she replied thoughtfully. "With a few words, he made me feel like I was an eight-year old again, back in Cairo, still under the training of Achmed. My responses were the same as they were back then. For that matter," she grimaced, "so was the end result. Achmed used to beat me just as easily as Archetype just did. By the way, Bobby was right. His technique is very similar to my own, although there were a few moves I was unfamiliar with. His fighting style seems to be a synthesis of many differing combat techniques."
"He also seems to be very skilled at using psychological techniques to gain an edge in combat," Henry remarked.
"That's hardly surprising, given the fact that he holds an associates degree in counseling psychology," Xavier replied. "One of my sources informed me this afternoon."
"Does he have a specialty?" Hank asked.
"His background seems to be a bit eclectic. He took the classes here and there over a period of years. His background is Jungian, but he seems to be very well informed about his own condition - attention deficit disorder. He attends most of the lectures on the subject in this country."
"Is he licensed?"
"Not in New York."
"Chef, counselor... he seems to have had a lot of schooling," Jean observed.
"He's a dabbler," Scott grunted. "Doesn't follow through on anything."
"Do you have any evidence to support that conclusion, Scott?" Xavier asked him evenly.
"No," Scott replied glumly. "Look, Charles, I'll be honest with you. I don't like him... and I can't tell you why. He hasn't said or done anything which should make me suspicious - but I still am. His attitude just grates on me."
"Because it's so different from your own?" Hank asked him.
Scott frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Archetype is very casual about the use of his abilities. He's used them to acquire wealth and power, but as far as we've been able to find, he doesn't throw his weight around. He just coasts along, allowing events to happen around him. He hasn't taken a direct role in the affairs of anything until recently."
"That's exactly it," Scott said. "Why hasn't he done anything with his power and wealth to help mutants?"
"Because he's not a mutant, Scott."
Scott was taken aback by that. "Then where do his abilities come from?"
Hank shrugged. "I don't know yet. I asked him to give me a cell sample this morning so I could study his genetic structure. He's not a mutant - not in our sense of the term, anyway. His A.D.D. is due to a mutation, but it's not on the X-factor gene. That gene isn't active in his system. His abilities could be magical in nature, but I need more time to determine if that's true or not."
"If he's not a mutant, then why does he want to join the X-Men?"
"Why don't we just take what he said to us at face value, Scott?" Ororo asked him. "He wants to make a difference, and he thinks that he'd be most effective with us."
"Whatever his motives are," Xavier said, "We really don't have any choice but to keep him around. If the psychic energy that I felt during his Danger Room session was any indicator of his ability, then he's far too dangerous an individual to be going around untrained. Valerie was right. He's a powerful weapon, and we have to make sure that he's under control."
The next morning, Archetype entered Xavier's study at precisely eight-thirty. "How do you want to do this?" he asked Xavier.
"Just sit down and relax," he was advised. "We aren't going to start out with anything too taxing. The purpose of the initial tests are to determine the limits of your natural mental abilities. They will also get you used to the sensations of mental probing and telepathic communication."
"Fair enough," Archetype replied as he sat down across from Xavier and Jean, looking around the room as he did so. "No electronic monitoring?"
Xavier shook his head. "It won't tell us anything that we can't learn on our own. I doubt it would do any good in your case, anyway. When I reviewed your session from earlier, I noticed that when your mental powers were active, there was a bit of static on the monitors."
Archetype frowned. "Psychic interference?"
Jean nodded. "It's not uncommon among psis. Some psychic functions operate at electromagnetic wavelengths that are close to those used by electronic equipment, so their use interferes with more delicate components."
Archetype nodded absently. "That might explain my effect on electronics. Rogue told you about the streetlight last night?"
"Yes," Xavier replied. "I think the reason why that sort of thing happens to you frequently is that your powers aren't fully under your control. If you can learn to restrict them to a narrower space, then that sort of thing should happen less frequently."
"Sounds reasonable," Archetype replied, closing his eyes.
"You're ready?" Xavier asked him.
"All set."
"Shall we fire at Will?" Jean asked in a teasing voice.
"I'm going to ignore that."
"All right, seriously now, let's begin."
Xavier and Jean extended the telepathic 'feelers' which they constantly had active from long training, and reached out towards Archetype's mind.
Do you sense anything unusual, Jean? Xavier asked her as they approached.
Not yet, she replied, but we're not there yet, either. Here we go...
Contact. –
WhatinthehellisgoingtohappenheremanI'mtiredshouldn'tbeupthisearlyhavetotakecareofthe
disheswhenI'mdoneherelet'sseethenweightswithWolverineandphysicalwithBeastnohesaidcallhimHenry
thentrainingintheDangerRoomafterlunchthenIguessanapnoI'vebeensleepingtoomuchlatelyI'llseewhatthe
othersaredoingandseeifIcantagalongdamnI'vegottogetalifeofmyownaroundherewhenisthisgoingtobeover-
Are you making any sense out of this? Xavier asked Jean.
No, it's the same as before. His thoughts are going all over the place. Can you get any deeper?
No. I can't find any pathways. Let's break contact.
They both withdrew from their telepathic probes and relaxed. "We're done," Xavier said.
Archetype opened his eyes. "You two must be very subtle. I didn't feel a thing."
"That's because we never entered you're mind," Xavier said with some asperity. "We weren't able to penetrate your defenses."
"What defenses? I wasn't resisting you at all."
"Maybe not," Jean said a bit more calmly than Xavier, "but we weren't able to get past your surface thoughts. You see," she explained, "a telepath looks for what Charles and I call 'pathways' in order to enter the mind of another. It's sort of like finding a door to enter an unfamiliar building. Your thoughts were shifting so quickly, we couldn't find any pathways which could lead us deeper into your mind."
Archetype brooded for a minute. "Would you two be open to a suggestion?"
"We always listen to suggestions," Xavier replied. "We may not do anything with them, but we will listen to them."
"I think that what you just encountered is a result of my A.D.D.. You might have better results if I'm wear myself out."
"You just lost me," Jean told him.
"You probably picked the worst time possible to try this. It takes me a good two hours after getting up to focus my mind to any appreciable extent. Some of the chemicals which the human body produces during exercise allow people with A.D.D. to regain some sense of focus. I've noticed that my mind tends to be slightly clearer after I exercise, so why don't we try again after my weight session with Wolverine? About half an hour afterward should do it."
Xavier nodded. "All right. See you then. By the way," he added as Archetype started to get up. "Have you decided on a uniform?"
Archetype looked puzzled. "Uniform? I thought I was on probation."
"It may be necessary for you to go out with the X-Men on a mission if we're short on people. You should have a uniform in case of that possibility. Ask Rogue or Bobby to show you our CAD/CAM equipment."
"Right. See you at lunch."
After he had closed the door behind him, Xavier turned to Jean. "He had the most stringent defenses I've ever encountered in a psi-blind person, except for Magnus, of course."
"Are you sure he's psi-blind, Charles? We never really attacked him, just scanned him."
Xavier blinked. "Good point. We'll try a mild attack soon."
Two hours later, Archetype found Rogue and Bobby in the sitting room. "Xavier said I should go about making myself a team uniform. Could you show me where this tailor from hell is located?"
"No problem," Rogue said with a smile. "Follow us." She led the way to the elevator, and they made their way down to the sub-levels.
"This may be a silly question," Archetype said as they exited, "but what do you guys do if the power goes out? Never mind, I just figured it out. Your power is on an independent grid, right?"
"Right," Bobby said. "We have a geothermal power tap that goes down a few miles."
"Who did you guys get your technology from? Mister Wizard?"
"It's a long story," Rogue told him. "We'll explain later. We're here."
"Here" was the Shiar molecular transformation chamber where the X-Men produced most of their high-technology equipment.
"How does this thing work?" Archetype asked.
"Just open the door and walk in," Bobby instructed him. "Empty your pockets and take off your shoes, so the computer gets an accurate measurement of your height."
"What are you wearing under the turtleneck?" Rogue asked.
"Nothing, why?"
She grimaced. "You'll have to take that off, too. The neck of that thing'll interfere with the measurements."
Archetype shrugged. "All right." He removed the shirt, again showing the scars on his back.
Bobby, who was seeing them for the first time, winced. "That must have hurt."
"What?"
"Those scars."
"Oh." He shrugged again. "They're the only part of me that hasn't healed completely from my accident. I think it's because I can't see the injured area very well. If I can see where I've been injured, and examine the extent of the wound, I usually heal cleaner and faster. What do I do once I get in this thing?"
"Just stand on the crosshairs and close your eyes while the lasers measure you," Rogue told him. "It should only take about a minute." Archetype nodded and entered, closing the door behind him.
"That thing scans right through any non-living material on default settings," Bobby said to Rogue in a quiet voice. "He didn't have to take off his shirt."
"I knew that," she said with a small smile, "but he didn't. It gave me an excuse to see his bod. If you hadn't opened your big mouth, I would have gotten a good look at his butt, too."
"You're a very naughty girl," Bobby told her, also smiling.
"We all have our faults," she shrugged. When the scanner finished its cycle, she opened the door. "Come on out."
"What's the next step?" Archetype asked as he slipped back into his shoes.
"That's up to you," Rogue replied. She frowned a moment, then touched the communication board. "Rogue to Xavier."
"Xavier here," the intercom answered.
"We need two senior team members to give Archetype access to the computer system."
"Jean and I can do it from here. Archetype, stand by the intercom, would you?"
"All right, I'm here."
"Computer, Priority Access modification, voice code Xavier One-Alpha. Acknowledge."
"Acknowledged," The computer replied.
"Computer," Jean's voice said, "Priority Access modification, voice code Phoenix Blue-One. Acknowledge."
"Acknowledged."
"Create new file, name Archetype, for tertiary access. Pause. What we want you to do now, Archetype, is to speak constantly for about one minute, so the computer can get a record of your voice pattern."
"Should I say anything in particular?"
"You don't have to. Just say anything that comes into your head. Try quoting from a story that you know."
Archetype furrowed his brow for a moment. "All right. I'm ready."
"Computer," Jean's voice said, "Execute." There was a short beep, similar to the tone of an answering machine.
"'True,'" Archetype exclaimed, "'nervous... very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses - not destroyed - not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily - how calmly I can tell you the whole story.
"'It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain, but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture - a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees - very gradually - I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.'" He paused. "How's that?"
"Uh... fine," Jean said. "Computer, Commit pattern to memory. Execute. Confirm pattern."
"Confirmed," the computer replied. "New file Archetype recognized and committed to memory."
"All right, you're set," Jean told him. "By the way, what was that quote you used from?"
"The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allan Poe."
"I thought I recognized it. Bobby, can you two handle it from here?"
"No problem, Jean. Bobby out." The intercom clicked off. "Can we leave you alone now?"
"I guess so," Archetype said dubiously. "How do I work this thing?"
"Just describe what you want to the computer. Computer, create holographic wire frame model of dimensions corresponding to pattern Archetype." A hologram appeared in front of them, which looked like a dark grey grid mannequin. "Just tell the computer what you want on this model, then tell it to make you a uniform corresponding to the pattern, with whatever colors you want."
"All right. See you two later."
After they left, Archetype told the computer, "All right, computer. Open primary file Uniform under account Archetype. Open secondary file...Personal Weaponry."
Later, at lunch, everyone started to sit down. "Where's Archetype?" asked Henry. "I haven't seen him since his physical."
Rogue and Bobby looked at each other. "He couldn't still be down there, could he?" she asked.
"He's not," a voice said behind her. They all turned around as Archetype entered the room.
"Well?" He asked. "What do you think?"
He was wearing grey pants with black boots. His shirt - or was it a jacket? - was charcoal grey, and fit tightly on his frame. The collar was high, cut close to the neck, and two small 'X' - shaped pins, similar in design to U.S. Army insignia, were attached to it. Over it, he wore a grey coat that reached the tops of the boots. His black leather gloves were held in his hands. The ensemble was topped off by a black fedora, perched slightly off-kilter on his head.
"You look like a cybertech Mountie," Logan told him. "Why a hat?"
"I just feel more comfortable wearing a coat and hat. It might be because hats only went out of style about forty years ago. Or, maybe I'm just a retro kind of guy. The coat conceals whatever weapons I might carry - and one other item I developed."
"Two questions," Xavier said. "What weapons, and what item?"
"Well, the weapons will probably change, depending on who we're going up against, but for now..." He opened the coat, pulling out a broadsword, a Glock-7, and five daggers. He then reached down towards his boots, and pulled out two more daggers.
"What about the other two in your boots?" Bishop asked him.
"Nonremovable. I'll use them for climbing, or as a last-ditch attack."
"Those daggers are British paratrooper design, aren't they?" Logan asked.
Archetype nodded. "In my experience, they're the best design around. They're efficient, sleek, and balanced for throwing."
"But you're very vulnerable to a magnetic attack," Henry pointed out.
"Not all of these blades are metal. Some are made from composites, others are resin, and two are carbon fiber."
"What about the gun?" Xavier asked.
"To be used only in emergencies. I have three clips of standard rounds, and four of tranquilizer-loaded plastic rounds."
"Anything else?"
He removed the coat. His shirt was crossed with a series of metallic 'ribs' that moved along with him.
"What the hell are those?" Bobby asked him.
"They serve a few purposes. The first one is damage control. These will help hold my body together long enough for me to heal, if I ever suffer major injury. There's also a simple wire and cable system which slightly magnifies my strength. And lastly," he continued, "is weapons storage." He flicked his left wrist slightly. There was a slight click!, and a dagger flew into his hand.
"Very impressive, Archetype," Xavier said, "if a bit overly dependent on weaponry."
"I started from the assumption that my powers wouldn't be working, and worked up from there."
"Probably not a bad idea. No electronics, I noticed."
"Given my scrambling effect, I figured it would be an exercise in futility. The only electronic item I plan to carry is a communicator."
"Reasonable," Xavier agreed.
"The effect is a bit... dark, though, isn't it?" Rogue asked him.
"I tend, Rogue," Archetype said seriously, "to be a very dark man."
"You'll have a chance to test out the equipment this afternoon," Xavier said. "You're scheduled for a group session at four. Why don't you get changed before you sit down?"
"All right," Archetype said, and disappeared.
"Now that," Warren said, "was the most extreme costume I've seen around here in a while."
"Not really," Logan disagreed. "He took a lot of elements from various military uniforms. The boots were a lot like jump boots, and the trench coat was Russian."
"The exoskeleton was an ingenious idea, I have to admit," Henry said. "He solved the problem of strength enhancement without using anything that could be turned against him. I think I'm safe in guessing that he used composites for that as well. The only weakness I can see is the lack of protection for his head."
"Most of us run the same risk, Hank," Bobby pointed out. "By the way, how did his physical turn out?"
"I'd rather not talk about it," Henry said glumly.
"Oh come on, it didn't go that badly, did it?"
Henry looked at Rogue. "When Archetype did his run yesterday, how winded did he seem at the end to you?"
Rogue thought about it for a moment. "Not very. He recovered pretty quickly."
"That's an understatement if I ever heard one." He looked at Xavier. "I asked him to do a brief run so I see how his body reacted to stress. In the middle of his run, while he was doing about seventy-five kilometers an hour, he flatlined."
Xavier, who was drinking his water at the moment, choked slightly. "He what?"
"His heart rate and breathing stopped... cold. They just quit. Most of his neurological functions remained the same, except for his EEG. That became even more complex than it was before. He entered the deepest theta state that I've ever seen in a person who wasn't drugged. His body just kept on running. When he was done running, he slowed down and took a deep breath, his vitals started up again, and his brainwaves returned to normal." Hank snorted. "Whatever that means in a case like him."
Just as Hank finished talking, Archetype walked into the room, dressed in the clothing he had worn earlier in the day. "Normal is boring, Hank. I prefer to be unpredictable."
"Being legally dead is about as unpredictable as you can get," Xavier agreed. "How did you do it?"
"When I'm at an accelerated time rate for long periods of time, I stop using chemical energy. I seem to get my strength from... somewhere else. Don't ask me where, because I have no more idea than you do. As for the EEG... well, my mind sort of... 'retreats', I guess. I sort of lose myself within the collective consciousness, letting my thoughts drift within it. When I come back from wherever it is that I go, my body goes back to a more normal state. That's why I don't usually use my heightened reflexes on short notice. It takes me a moment to adjust my thinking and perceptions. If I don't get that prep time, it's a much greater strain on my systems - both physical and mental."
"What happens if you overtax yourself?" Warren asked.
Archetype shrugged. "I age."
"That's it? You age? Everybody ages."
Archetype shook his head. "You don't understand. Do you know what the term tanstaafl means?"
"I do," Bobby said. "It's from Heinlein, isn't it?"
"Yes. It's short for 'There ain't no such thing as a free lunch'. It's essentially an idiot version of the Law of Conservation of Energy. What it means is that you can't get something without giving something in return. If I exert myself too much, I pay for it by losing a bit of my own life energy, and I age as a result. My abilities, however, eventually restore my youth."
"Wait a minute," Rogue said. "Are you trying to tell us that you actually get younger?"
"That's right. It's a long process, and not very pleasant for me, but it does happen." His eyes became distant for a moment. "You'll see it happen soon enough. Shall we eat now?"
Two hours later, in the Danger Room, Archetype found himself surrounded by Rogue, Archangel, Wolverine, and Psylocke. "What's the purpose of this scenario again?" he asked.
"We want to see how you do against a superior force in purely physical combat," Xavier told him. "Psylocke won't be using her mental powers for this exercise. Your goal is to take down at least one of your opponents."
"Define 'take down'."
"Immobilize, knock out, or otherwise disable them."
"All right. Let's get at it."
"You sure you're ready, rookie?" Logan asked. "Immortal or not, I still plan to take a piece of you."
"You're certainly welcome to try." Archetype replied.
"This shouldn't take long," Warren said. "It's just a simple cat-and-mouse game."
Then Archetype smiled. "Well, let's make things interesting then... and make all the cats grey."
Then he pulled out his gun.
"Lights out."
He aimed at the lights in the ceiling and shot them, shattering the glass and plunging the room in blackness. The sound of one of the light racks falling was deafening.
The others milled about in confusion for a moment.
"What the hell..."
"Where is he..."
"Shut up and listen... ow, what was that..."
"What was it, Betsy, what hit ow!..."
"He's moving around the room hey he just went by me..."
"Stay frosty people, he's tagging us somehow oof..."
Then Archetype's voice, seemingly everywhere in the blackness at once:
"The hunt is on."
"Watch it, people," Wolverine said, "he's planning somesquarrrkkk..." Wolverine's voice died out in a strangle of static.
"He got Logan!" Archangel shouted. "Look out, he's moving asquarrkk..." Archangel was silenced in an instant.
"Warren!" Psylocke screamed. "You son of a bitch, if you've hurt him, I'll screech..."
"Betsy!" Rogue exclaimed. "Professor, help me out here, where the hell is Arkkkkkkk..." Rogue's voice was reduced to a dry rasping.
Silence. No movement. No life.
"What the hell just happened in there?" Scott gaped.
"I don't know, Scott," Xavier replied in a dazed voice.
Then they heard Archetype's voice over the intercom.
"Shall we end this charade?"
"Computer," Xavier ordered, "restore lighting."
The light returned. What they saw was horrifying.
Archangel was trapped waist-deep within one of the walls, one wing pinned in the wall, the other flailing uselessly. Wolverine was sprawled on his back, his hands, claws extended, impaling his bodiless
head. Psylocke was staring stupidly at her lower torso, which was jerking spasmodically five feet in front of
her. And Rogue had been fused with the fallen lighting fixture. Her groping hand was pulling her forward, with the fixture, passing right through the back of her head and out her mouth, being dragged along for the ride.
"I would say," Archetype said casually as he leaned against a wall, "that the battle is over."
Chapter 7
"All right, Archetype," Xavier asked ten minutes later, "just how did you know you were fighting robots?"
His reply was a cold smile. "Maybe I didn't."
"I don't buy that," Logan cut in. "Obviously, if you wanted to kill any of us, you could've done it days ago. You were proving a point."
Archetype's face took on a sheepish expression. "Not really. I was irritated more than anything else. I had been preparing myself for days to use my abilities to alter the psychological perceptions of my opponents. My initial attacks were designed to simply tag each of you so that I could keep track of where you were."
"And when you did that," Ororo said, "you found out that your opponents were mechanical. How did you do it? Our androids are based on SHIELD technology. They're the most state-of-the-art products on the planet."
"I don't doubt that they are," Archetype replied, "but as good as they are, they're still not alive."
"You can tell whether or not something's alive?" Henry asked him.
"Yes. I had a good idea that they weren't alive before I made my attack. The strikes simply confirmed what I already knew." He became thoughtful for a moment. "Remember what I told you about seeing things at many levels at once?"
"Yes," Ororo replied. "I do much the same thing myself. I perceive the natural forces which comprise the weather as patterns of energy."
"Really?" Archetype replied, one eyebrow going up. "We might want to compare notes later. In any case, I can look at a person and 'see' certain things about them. I see them not as a person, but as a pattern of energy. I can get a general idea of their mental state and physical condition. When I looked at you - or rather, your duplicates - in the Danger Room, I didn't see anything. At that point, I realized that none of you were real. I therefore felt justified in using some extreme measures."
"'Extreme'!" Scott said in a rather sarcastic voice. "If those had been real people, it would have been a massacre!"
"But they weren't real people," Archetype replied calmly, "and I knew that when I did it. If they had been real people, I would have used non-lethal, and probably non-violent, means of resolving the conflict."
"Such as?" Hank prompted him.
Archetype brooded for a moment. "Can I have a volunteer?"
Rogue shrugged. "Sure. I'll bite. How do you want to do this?"
"Let's make it a simple game of endurance. Last one on their feet - or in the air, in your case - wins."
"Okay. Hank, can you set us up an environment?"
"Any preferences?"
She thought about it for a moment. "How about Wundagore?"
Henry nodded. "No problem. Head on down. It'll be ready by the time you get down there."
They both went down in the elevator. As they descended, Archetype spoke up. "Just how much punishment can you take, Miss Rogue?" he asked, with a touch of concern in his voice.
"Do your worst," she replied. "If I can take a punch from the Juggernaut, than I can handle anything that you can dish out."
He nodded as the doors opened and they stepped out into a frozen ruin. "Impressive," he noted, turning around as he surveyed the stark, crumbling walls of what was once the base of operations for Magneto. "Does ten paces of distance seem fair to you?"
"Fair enough," she replied. As she started walking off the distance, she told him over her shoulder, "Don't worry, I'll be pulling my punches."
"I would prefer if you didn't do that."
"Oh? Why?" she asked him, turning around. He stood there before her, a shadow on the snow.
"Because I'm not," he told her.
And disappeared.
Uh oh, she thought.
Better get airborne. She floated about a meter above the ground. After a moment of looking at her options, she decided to back up against a sheer rock formation, which would allow her to see him from any direction.
She waited there for about a minute, with no sign on him. After a while, she began to get nervous. She knew he was watching her (which, in other circumstances, she decided, would not be an unpleasant experience), but she didn't know where he was. After a while longer, she decided that it might be best to draw him out so she could take him on her terms.
"All right," she said loudly, "when are you gonna..."
She never got a chance to finish the sentence. She felt something grab her from behind and jerk her back. There was a moment of blackness, and she suddenly saw the ground coming up fast.
She was able to stop her momentum, but only barely. She floated about a foot above the ground, still facing the snow. "You're gonna have to do better than..." Again she was interrupted by the shock of feeling a foot kick her in the rear.
Splat.
She got up quickly, sputtering through a face full of snow. She looked wildly around her. "Where are you, you... you Yankee!"
"Aw," she heard behind her in a taunting voice, "don't tell me I went and got you mad."
She spun around, finding Archetype not ten feet in front of her, sitting on a rock. "Come on," he continued, "I heard you people were supposed to be good." He stood up, hands outstretched. "You've got
to be able to do better than that. Tell you what," he said, "I'll even turn around," doing so.
Rogue refused to get angry the way Ororo had. Don't lose your temper. He uses that against you. Keep calm. She hovered about six inches in the air, and tried to tackle him. Before she reached him, however, there was a flash of light, and she found herself heading straight towards the boulder, which she shattered with her impact.
"Oooh," Logan said, "that's gotta hurt."
For the next forty minutes, Rogue wore herself out chasing Archetype all over the Danger Room. He would occasionally send her straight into a rock, causing a fair amount of damage to the surrounding landscape in the process. Xavier and Logan, who watched from the observation booth (Scott had left several minutes earlier, saying that he didn't appreciate the kinds of games Archetype played), looked at one another.
"He's just going to keep dodging her until she drops," Xavier said.
Logan shook his head. "I'm not so sure. I think he's planning something."
A few minutes later, Rogue stood panting as Archetype stopped teleporting about the room. "Hold still, damn you," she told him.
"And let you turn me into chunky salsa? I don't think so." Then he sighed. "I think we've both had enough, anyway. It's time to finish this up."
Xavier and Logan had trouble determining just what happened next. For about five seconds, Rogue appeared as if she would if she were being illuminated by a strobe light: flickering away, then returning in a heartbeat. When her form stabilized again, she dropped to the ground, limp as a rag doll.
Archetype walked over to her fallen form and gently, almost tenderly, picked her up, cradling her in his arms. He then looked up at Xavier.
"Stick a fork in her," he said. "She's done."
A few minutes later, Rogue awoke to find Jean standing over her. "Rogue, are you all right?"
"Yeah," she said groggily, "I'm fine. What happened?"
"That's what I wanna know," she heard Logan say from behind her. She turned around to see him pinning Archetype to the wall, his right hand extending a claw on either side of his neck. Archetype, however, seemed totally undisturbed.
"Miss Rogue," he said politely, "would you be so kind as to inform this gentleman that you have come to no harm?"
"I'm fine, Wolvie, really," she assured Logan. "Let him loose." Logan seemed disbelieving, but he retracted his claws and released Archetype, who dusted himself off.
"As I was in the middle of saying," he said as if picking up where he left off, "what I did was teleport Rogue back and forth to the same place several times in a very short duration. A single teleport leaves a person somewhat disoriented. Multiple teleports have a cumulative effect, and are manifested as extreme fatigue. This effect, however, is temporary, and there is no lasting aftereffect. Any questions?"
"Yeah," Rogue said, yawning. "what do I do now?"
He shrugged. "I'd advise taking a nap. The others, however, might want to give you a physical first."
Rogue looked at Xavier. "Well, Professor? Should I have Hank give me a once-over?"
Xavier shook his head. "I don't think it'll be necessary right now. He can look at you after you get up. Go get some rest."
"I'll take your shift for tonight," Logan informed her. "Take the night off."
She nodded and got up unsteadily. Archetype looked at Xavier. "All those transitions tired me out as well. Mind if I hit the sack, too?"
"One question before you do," Xavier replied. "How did you make all those dimensional transitions so quickly?"
"I dilated my time sense, the same way I did when Mister Worthington startled me awake."
"You seem to be under the impression that we've been comparing notes on you."
"Why shouldn't I? Pooling and coordinating your intelligence would be the most effective way of learning about me." He yawned again. "I could really use that nap, Xavier."
"All right. We'll hold off on the debriefing until tomorrow. Hank and I will probably be up most of the night trying to figure out just what happened here, anyway. You're both off duty until then. Go get some sleep." Rogue and Archetype both nodded weakly and clomped out of the room.
"Apparently, what he just did took a toll on him," Henry said . "He's hiding it well, but he's about to drop."
"Any idea why?" Logan asked.
"He told us himself before, remember? Without sufficient preparation, using some of his abilities drains his life energy. He told me that a brief nap tends to take the edge off that, provided he gets it in time."
"I have to admire his strategy," Xavier noted. "He doesn't have the physical strength to take down Rogue in combat, so he whittled down her strength gradually, then used those multiple teleports as a final blow - all without causing her any physical harm."
"Would that work against someone like Juggernaut?" Logan asked.
Xavier thought about it. "Against Cain? It just might be the only non-psionic attack that would work... provided that Archetype is capable of teleporting someone of his size. We should test that in a future training session... as well as the possibility of his tracking another teleporter, such as Kurt. We'll talk about it after dinner."
Rogue and Archetype, meanwhile, had staggered into the elevator, and were on their way back up to the mansion itself. "I'd like to apologize, Rogue," he informed her.
"About what?"
"I was a bit more... aggressive in that session than was warranted. There were alternatives to what I did to you, but I didn't think them through."
"Don't worry about it. We all tend to get pretty down-and-dirty when we're in the Danger Room. We have to be. Anybody we fight isn't going to pull any punches, and we have to be prepared for that."
Archetype bit his lip, an expression which Rogue thought rather cute. "Still," he said, "I'd like to make it up to you." He paused again, looking uncertain, a pose which did not suit him. "I'm going to an art exhibition at a gallery in Greenwich Village tonight. There's going to be an informal party where guests meet with the curators and artists. I was planning on eating afterwards." He paused again. "Would you be interested in joining me?"
She smiled. "I'd love to. What time were you planning on leaving?"
"That would depend on how you want to get there. It'll probably take us about an hour if we drive, but I can teleport us there instantly."
"I think I've had enough teleportation for one day. Can you do that distance compression again?"
He shook his head. "The more developed the area, the more difficult it gets. New York City would be almost impossible."
"Why don't we travel my way, then? We'll fly."
He tilted his head slightly, considering it, then nodded. "All right. How long would it take you to get there?"
"About half an hour if I'm carrying someone. I could go faster, but it wouldn't be very comfortable for you."
"Why don't we leave at about seven-fifteen, then?" he suggested. "That should leave us some margin for error."
"All right. What's the dress code?"
"Dress shirt and tie for me. It'll be an artsy-type crowd. You could get away with almost anything. I'd suggest something you could wear at a nice restaurant."
"No problem. I'll knock on your door at seven."
He smiled. "Uh uh. I'm the one who's supposed to knock. Your job is to stagger me with your beauty when you open the door. It's in the rules, someplace."
Rogue smacked her head. "Oh, that's right. That's right up there with the one that says you're paying for the whole thing, right?"
He shrugged. "I'm the multibillionaire. I thought that went without saying. See you at seven, then?" he asked her as the elevator doors opened.
"Wouldn't miss it."
After informing Xavier via intercom that she and Archetype would be off the grounds for part of the evening, Rogue flopped into bed, and slept until five forty-five. She then took a shower, styled her hair, and decided on an Indian print broomstick skirt over black leggings, coupled with a white blouse, a blue paisley vest, black high heels, and a cameo pin. Not bad, girl, she told her reflection. She then put on her makeup, deciding on green eye shadow and deep red lipstick, applied a dab of her favorite perfume, then grabbed her purse and packed a hairbrush, the makeup, a small mirror, and a bit of money to cover emergencies. She then put on her best pair of black gloves. Looking at her watch, she saw that she had about three minutes to spare. She checked herself one more time, then sat on her bed and waited.
Two minutes later, there was a knock on her door. She got up, took a deep breath, then opened it.
Archetype stood there, wearing a charcoal jacket with black pants and a white shirt. His only concessions towards color were a vest which had a zig-zag pattern of blue and red stripes, and a bolo tie which had a lapis lazuli bird on the catch. His hat hung on the cane in his left hand. He slowly looked her up and down. "That is a lovely outfit, Miss Rogue," he said softly.
Rogue couldn't help blushing slightly. "Thanks," she said. "I don't get a chance to dress up often."
"Then I will inform you that the effect is stunning." He crooked an elbow out to her. "Shall we be on our way?" Smiling, she linked her arm with his, and they descended the stairs to the foyer.
When they reached the first floor, they noticed Warren talking on the phone. "My," he said, looking up, "don't we look distinguished." Archetype bowed slightly to him as he walked by. "See you two later," he called as they went out the door.
"Any warnings for me before liftoff?" Archetype asked her.
"Just hang onto your hat," she said, picking him up.
"Is there some link between mutations and bad puns that I'm unaware of?"
"I don't understand the question."
"Never mind."
"Tell me if I'm going too fast for you," she advised him, and took off. Once they reached what she considered a suitable altitude, she headed in the general direction of New York City. Archetype, for his part, looked at the surrounding countryside.
"Mind if I ask you a question?" she queried.
"What, like I'm going to say no at this height? What is it?"
"What do we call you besides Archetype?"
"You can call me Will, though I'll answer to Liam."
"Liam?"
"It's Gaelic for William."
"Oh. What will they be calling you at this party?"
"Probably Mr. Riley. I've been showing up at art exhibits in New York for the past six months. I wanted to establish a network of people in the city who could attest to my identity if I ran into any problems with the X-Men."
"What sort of problems?" she asked suspiciously.
"Well, if you choose not to accept me as a member, I'm shit out of luck, aren't I? I wanted something to fall back on in that event. I'm hoping it doesn't become necessary, though."
So do I, thought Rogue. She remained silent until they came close to the Greenwich Village area. "Should we land anywhere in particular?" she asked him.
He looked around. "How about that dark area over there?"
"Okay." They settled to earth in an area where the streetlights were in disrepair.
"Let's see," he said, putting on his hat and glasses, "now just where are we?" He walked to the nearest corner, came back. "It's about fifteen minutes walk thataway," he told her, gesturing with his cane.
"That's not another club you're carrying, is it?" she asked.
"What? Oh, the cane. No, this one is a sword cane." He held his right arm out for her again. She linked arms with her again and they started walking.
"You're right handed, aren't you?" she asked.
"Yes, why?"
"Why do you have me stand on your right, then?"
"Because the street's on my left."
"I don't understand."
"The general rule is that a gentleman is the one closer to the street, so he can be the one to take the majority of any dirt that may splash up from the street. It's a tradition that dates back from the days of horse-drawn carriages."
"Oh. I never knew there was a reason."
"That's what comes of being a history major."
"I thought you had a chef's degree."
"I have a bachelors in history, too."
She nodded. "Where will we be eating?"
"It's a surprise. We make a left here."
She was silent for a few minutes. "Why did you decide to leave Ireland?" she asked suddenly.
He didn't answer for several moments. "I'm often torn between love and disgust for Ireland. I can't stay there for very long."
"Why?"
"Ireland has been divided for eight hundred years over the subject of religion. As a result, Ireland is now so rabidly Catholic that hardly any dissent is tolerated. Imagine an entire country run like a Catholic school in the 1950s. I think that both Ireland and Northern Ireland would have been better off if both countries had established secular states after the revolution, rather than making their respective faiths part and parcel of the governments. Well, enough rambling. Here we are."
"Here" was a three-story brownstone, from which soft music could be heard. "Should I call myself anything in particular?" she asked him.
"Nah. There are enough eccentrics here that a beautiful young woman who calls herself Rogue won't be looked at twice... except for the obvious reasons." Rogue found herself blushing again.
They walked in to find a small group of about twenty people talking idly. Paintings and sculptures lined the walls of the room. A small table, stocked with cheese, crackers, and a collapsible bag of white wine, stood in one corner.
"Will this be too crowded for you?" she asked him quietly.
"Actually, this is about right for me," he replied. "The noise level is just where I like it, too." He scanned the perimeter of the room. "Shall we go look at the pretty pictures?" She giggled and followed him.
Rogue didn't know much about art, but she did know that she didn't have a clue of what most of the stuff she was looking at was. "Do you have any idea what this is supposed to be?" she asked him, looking at one particular sculpture that defied description.
Archetype looked closely at the tag on the wall. "Criticism Number 7," he said. "Looks more like Mental Constipation Number Nineteen." Rogue had to stifle her laughter.
The upper floor held some works that they both found more accessible. "Oh, this one's gorgeous," she exclaimed, gazing at a small bronze sculpture of a stag which carried a lithe, naked woman whose hair flowed back behind her.
Archetype looked at the tag. "It ought to be, considering what she's charging for it. I have to admit, though, it's a very nice piece. I'll be right back," he said, and walked off into the crowd. He returned a few minutes later. "I thought so," he said.
"Thought what?"
"She got the idea for this in a dream. These images are right out of the collective unconscious."
"Are they?"
He nodded. "The woman is the Earth Mother, or Great Goddess, and the stag is a symbol of the Horned God. It's right out of Celtic myth. What's that one over there?" he asked, looking at another painting. Rogue followed, her eyes gazing at the stag one last time.
About half an hour later, Archetype asked her if she was getting hungry. She said yes, and started towards the door. "Catch up in a moment," he told her, as he headed back towards the crowd. Rogue just shook her head and headed outside.
Five minutes later, he came out, holding a box in his hands. "What's that?" she asked him.
"A surprise," he informed her. "I'll tell you during dinner. There anywhere you're fond of around here?"
"Not really. I'll eat anything, to be honest. How about you?"
He thought for a minute. "There's a very good coffee shop about five blocks away. They have a good dinner menu, and they're open all night."
"Sounds good to me," she said. "Let's go."
Twenty minutes later, Rogue was tearing into a delicious three bean salad as Archetype munched on lemon chicken. "Want a piece?" he asked her.
"Yes, please." She looked at him. "Why don't you eat very much?"
He smiled. "You're basing your perception on the fabled mutant metabolism. My metabolism is pretty slow, so I have to watch what I eat. Besides, I'm saving my appetite for dessert." He was true to his word, ordering a chocolate peanut butter cheesecake along with a raspberry steamed milk, while Rogue had a cafe au lait with an apple tart.
When they were both finished, Rogue leaned back in her chair. "Okay, what's the surprise?"
"Boy, you're impatient, aren't you?" he said teasingly as he handed her the box. "Open it."
She untied the string and opened the box. Inside, wrapped in a felt cloth, was the stag sculpture she had seen in the gallery. She gasped. "How much did you pay for this thing?"
"It doesn't really matter," he replied. "I'm made of money, Rogue. I couldn't go bankrupt if I tried. The interest on what I have tied up in investments alone makes me a very rich man. If I can use a little bit of my money to help my friends, then where's the harm?"
"But you paid for it," she protested. "You should keep it."
"Tell you what," he said. "Let's compromise. You said that your tailor from hell in the basement of the mansion could duplicate non-living matter, right?"
"Right. We use it to make most of our high-technology equipment."
"Well then, a little bronze statue shouldn't be any problem, should it? When we get back, we'll make a duplicate of this, exact to the tiniest detail. I'll keep the original, and you keep the copy."
"Deal," she said, smiling.
Archetype looked at his watch. "Speaking of the mansion, we should get back there. It's getting late. What do you say to getting back my way?"
"Sounds good to me."
"Fine, then. Check, please!"
Half an hour later, they were in the elevator of the mansion, heading up from the basement, each holding their own statue. As they stepped out onto the residential floor, Rogue turned to Archetype. "I had a great time... Will," she told him. "Should I let the others know that you want to be called that?"
"Why not?" he replied as they walked towards her room. "At least it'll avoid the inevitable degradation of my code name to 'Archie'. And I had a great time, too."
"By the way, why did you drop the 'Miss' earlier tonight?"
"I call professional colleagues by 'Mister' and 'Miss'. I refer to friends by their names."
"But you have to know that Rogue isn't my real name."
"I know that it's not the name you were born with. People have at least three names in their lives, Rogue: the name they're born with, the name they choose for themselves, and the name they earn for themselves. You chose to be called Rogue. Who am I to argue with that? I wasn't born with either the names of Archetype or Will Riley. I chose them for myself, so why should I deny you the same right?"
When they reached her door, Rogue froze momentarily. Oh God, what do I do now? He can't expect a goodnight kiss.
Archetype, however, solved the problem for her. He gently took her gloved right hand in his, kissed it gently, and smiled at her. "Sweet dreams, Rogue," he said softly, and walked to his room.
"Mister," she said softly, "you have no idea."