-X- X-Men: Foundations part 2: Changing World Summary Chapter 1: Bright Stars Chapter 2:Stand Still Chapter 3: Empire State University Chapter4: Distant Early Warnings Chapter 5: Brand Annex Chapter 6: Open Secrets Chapter 7: Change of Faith Chapter 8:Winter Breaks Chapter 9: Healing Breaks Chapter 10: Ice Skate Eve Chapter 11: Razor's Edge Chapter 12:Last Call Chapter 13: Thoughts Ignite Chapter 14: Red Tide Chapter 15: The Pass Chapter 16: Spring Breaks Chapter 17: Kid Gloves Chapter 18: Second Natures Chapter 19: Prime Movers Chapter 20: Moving Parts Chapter 21: Barriers Fall Chapter 22: Hand Over Hand Chapter 23: Hand Over Fist Chapter 24: Open Hand Chapter 25: Open Hand Closed Fist Chapter 26: Racing Heart -XX-
X-Men: Foundations part 2: Changing World
Chapter 3
-X-
Empire State University
For incoming freshmen the first few days of college at Empire State University began with a weekend orientation. It was a chaotic blur of finding their ways around campus, moving into dorm rooms, and meeting with advisors before finally starting classes. Scott, Ororo, and Jean began their morning with moving in and unpacking. First, Jean and Ororo, who were sharing a room in one of the big high rise dorms popular with freshmen students (mostly for its location on the edge of campus where there was easy access to the city). Then Scott, who had been placed in a smaller dorm closer to the science and math complex. “Dr. Peter Corbeau Science and Math Honors Dorm.” Jean waggled her eyebrows at Scott after reading the plaque posted outside his dorm’s entrance. Apparently his science and math scores had gotten someone’s attention. “Forgot to mention that part?” Scott shrugged. “The location is good.” Ororo studied the plaque for a moment. “Why does that name sound familiar to me?” “Dr. Corbeau? He’s been all over the news recently for the Starcore.” Scott looked between the two of them. “It was a really big deal! Starcore One? It’s the first privately operated space station to successfully launch – scientists from all over the world will use it to study the sun. He’s a legend in astrophysics... like Hawking?” “Oh, right, I know him!” Jean said. “The famous scientist with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.” “Lou Gehrig’s Disease. Right. That’s Hawking, not Corbeau.” Scott shook his head, having finally almost made a connection there, and began lugging his bags inside. Jean and Ororo followed, amused and also a little pleased. That was the first time Scott had shown any sort of enthusiasm toward being here. Scott’s move in took far less time than Jean’s and Ororo’s had. Scott had completely unpacked his bags (leaving plenty of space in the closet and dressers for his yet-to-arrive roommate) in the time it took Jean and Ororo to dress one of the room’s two twin beds with his blankets and sheets. “I packed only what I needed,” he countered Jean’s persistent ribbing, “unlike some people, half of whose bags I carried up four flights of stairs.” Jean stuck her tongue out at him in response. “I think he packed for a short vacation, in the hopes of not staying,” Ororo prompted Jean. Jean shook her head. “I think he just packed clothes for two weeks, then laundry, and repeat,” “And why not?” Scott asked. “I’m going to classes, not putting on a fashion show.” All three laughed. Truth be told, it was a bit of a relief just to slip back into old patterns. While Scott had been helping Ororo and Jean move in, Scott had teased Jean relentlessly over the four suitcases they’d had to lug up to her dorm room, until she’d finally conceded it had been easier packing it all. She was alluding, of course, to earlier this morning when she’d simply used her TK to neatly float everything downstairs. Scott didn’t miss the catch in her voice, maybe a hint of regret for leaving home, certainly an acknowledgment that things were different now. Speaking plainly about their mutant abilities, even among themselves, was now a thing they had to be careful about, and using their abilities was certainly off limits here. She’d shot him a warning look, but Scott wasn’t going to tease her. In that moment it had been enough to know that they were all a little worried and regretful, just as they were all a little excited and hopeful. It was everything, all at once, this move.... Ororo checked her new watch. “There’s time enough for lunch before afternoon advising and walking tours of the campus.” Any lingering regret forgotten, Jean took hold of Ororo’s hands, practically jumping up and down with excitement, a gesture which Ororo readily returned. Scott frowned, taking in anew how cramped the dorm rooms and halls really were. It probably seemed like a prison to Ro, but outwardly she showed nothing more than mild impatience to go outside. She was already adjusting. Scott fell into stride behind them. “Oh.” The door had opened in front of her just as Ororo reached it. “Please excuse us.” Jean glanced back. “Well catch up with you later, Scott.” Ororo and Jean made their way out into the hall, past a man and woman who were making their way toward Scott’s room. “Alright,” Scott answered, taking Jean’s hint. As the adults stepped back to let Ororo and Jean pass, a young man Scott’s age stepped forward. He was well-dressed, as were the adults Scott assumed to be his parents. Roughly as tall and slim as Scott, but with short blonde hair and pointed features which were softened only slightly by round glasses in thin metal frames. “Hi,” Scott introduced himself with a proffered handshake, “I guess I’m your roommate. Scott Summers.” The return handshake hesitated just slightly as his future roommate’s gaze lingered, taking in Scott’s appearance and pausing for a second over Scott’s glasses. “Cameron Hodge.” Scott released the handshake with a nod. Out in the hall he clearly caught a bit of conversation from Cameron’s parents, something about “falling standards” as they noted Ororo and Jean’s exit. That remark immediately rubbed Scott wrong. “And those are my friends,” he was quick to point out. If he’d expected the Hodges to reconsider their initial rudeness, he found that not to be the case. Instead Hodge Sr. retorted to his wife more quietly, in a tone of mild surprise, something along the lines of, “So, ESU really is taking all kinds now.”. Scott could assume he meant that as more of a good-natured concession, but the words came out too condescendingly to be mistaken for generous, accepting, or even amused... only disapproving and condescending. “Where are you from, Scott?” Hodge Sr. asked next, his attention now set on Scott, looking him over as though he were studying a distasteful bug. Despite what Jean referred to as being “neatly buttoned down”, Scott’s attire was decidedly casual in comparison to all three Hodges’ clearly high-end wardrobe. “Westchester.” For a moment Mr. Hodge looked at him with renewed interest. “Ah– then you must be....” Before he could decide what branch of some exclusive Summers family tree Scott must have belonged to, Scott explained, “I’m here on scholarship.” “Of course you are. Academic... or athletic?” Hodge Sr. inquired. “A private scholarship from the Xavier Institute.” “Xavier.” Mrs. Hodge recognized the name. “Oh yes, dear, I heard that Charles Xavier had taken over his parents’ estate in Westchester with the intention of turning it into some sort of boarding school,” she explained to her husband. “Yes, ma’am. He runs a school for gifted students,” Scott offered. “Yes. Of course,” she replied coolly, “that’s it.” “Gifted.” Hodge Sr. repeated the one word like it was a disgusting euphemism for ‘underprivileged’. With that, Scott decided he’d heard more than enough. “I can see you have a lot to unpack,” he told Cameron. He’d meant that as a polite excuse, regardless of luggage. But in this case, Scott could also see roughly twice the amount of luggage Scott, Ororo, and Jean, combined, had brought with them from Westchester waiting for Cameron out in the hall. “I’ll just leave you to it.” Scott paused awkwardly. Where normally he’d say something along the lines of, “nice to meet you” to Hodge’s parents, for politeness sake, he found he had nothing more to say to these people. Scott gratefully took his leave of the Hodges.
-x-
“Jean! Ro! Wait up,” Scott called, jogging to catch up with them. Jean turned back, surprised to see him. “That was quick.” Scott fell into stride beside her, and she and Ororo immediately had to pick up their own pace to keep up with him. “I was afraid if I stayed any longer his parents might try to swat me with a fly swatter.” “Whatever for?!” Ororo questioned. “They only met you five minutes ago.” “Scott,” Jean challenged him, “they can’t be that bad... can they?” she trailed off. Scott was agitated. It took a lot for someone Scott didn’t know to get any show emotion out of him. “Remember Warren warned us we might run into some old money elitist jerks? Hodge’s parents– jackpot in three.” “Well, perhaps the son will prove himself more open-minded than the parents,” Ororo offered diplomatically. “I certainly hope so,” Scott agreed, reserving judgment on that for now. Jean had stopped pressing for details. She was currently scowling, her initial shock bleeding into vivid displeasure. Scott deliberately cleared his mind of his earlier interactions with the Hodges. “So, lunch?” Jean nodded in reply, her expression brightening. “Professor Xavier is waiting for us, Hank and Warren too.”
-x-
“I say, give it a little time,” Warren advised. Scott had just noted to Warren the general awfulness of meeting the Hodges. Warren knew of the family (very old money) and agreed with Scott’s assessment (probably elitist jerks). “I don’t doubt that they’re terrible, but I’d say the same for the Worthingtons. You have no idea the sway old money families have over their kids. Chances are he’s never had an independent thought – one not pre-approved by mommy and daddy, or planted in his brain by some tutor or boarding school headmaster – in his entire life. Once he gets some space away from his pampered life – every move orchestrated, every thought curated – he may show symptoms of having a mind of his own. Cameron Hodge might surprise you.” Warren’s lunch companion laughed so hard she nearly choked on her iced tea. “What?” Warren asked. Candy Southern shook her head, “I guess hope springs eternal. But I had the very great displeasure of attending graduate school with Lord Maxwell Hodge.” “Cameron’s older brother,” Warren translated for Scott. “I remember that one, he was a few years behind me in prep school.” “In four years, he never stopped insisting we call him ‘Lord’ instead of ‘Maxwell’, or heaven forbid, ‘Max’.... I wish you luck, Scott.” “Thanks, I think?” Scott answered her with a grin. Together, Candy and Warren gave off the strong appearance of a matched set. Sharp minds equally equipped with sharp wit, and a taste for indulging in high society while also skewering it. “Hey– remind me to give you my new business card, I can help with finding a student job, if–” “That reminds me, congratulations are in order.” Warren tapped on a glass to get the rest of the lunch table’s attention. “The brilliant Candy Southern has just taken on a managerial position with ESU’s Human Resources Department.” Warren raised his glass in salute and everyone else followed his example, adding their own congratulations. Candy elbowed him in the ribs as Warren sat down, but she also looked pleased by his over-the-top gesture. Across the table from them, Hank was also accompanied by an old friend, Vera Cantor, who currently worked in ESU’s Science Library. If Candy and Warren were a matched set, Vera and Hank were oppositely matched, at least in appearances. Vera was tiny in voice and in stature, right down to her pixie haircut. Currently Xavier was bringing Hank and Vera up to speed on several meetings he’d had this morning while Scott, Ororo, and Jean had been busy moving into their dorms. Officially, Xavier was serving as an advance coordinator for Dr. Moira MacTaggert’s upcoming speaking visit to campus (and helping to facilitate her talks with ESU administrators over a prospective lecture series, assuming the initial visit was well-received). Unofficially, he’d been sure to meet with Scott’s, Ororo’s, and Jean’s major advisors as well. “I met with the new Head of Clinical and Genetic Research. I’m told he’ll also be taking over the Natural Sciences Department this semester,” Xavier added, addressing that bit of pertinent information to Ororo. “He expressed to me ESU’s ongoing interest in recruiting more genetics researchers, starting with their interest in Moira. He mentioned they’d like to have her teach a class of her own choosing in the spring, as follow up on her fall lecture series. I told him I’d be sure to pass that interest along to Moira.” “They seem to be having a lot of shake-ups in upper level administration,” Warren noted, keeping a careful eye on Candy’s reaction, though he addressed the question to Charles. “They certainly seem focused on gathering together genetics experts,” Hank added. “No offense, but isn’t Karl Lykos a bit of a crackpot?” Candy asked Charles. “He has seen the center of some controversy,” Xavier admitted. Hank politely hid a smile at Charles’s understatement. “His reputation did take a public hit with his recent interest in hypnotherapy. But, aside from that eccentric quirk, Dr. Lykos is a well-respected clinical physician with a strong background in genetics. He worked in research for years before semi-retiring to found a groundbreaking psychological clinic in Argentina. Quite frankly, he was doing so well there – even given the unfortunate stir over hypnotherapy – I’m surprised ESU convinced him to return to academic research and administration full time.” “I heard Professor Lykos is taking over as Head of Clinical and Genetic Research to free up Professor Waren for some big, new project. You couldn’t give us the inside scoop, could you, Candy?” Vera prompted, perched on the edge of her seat in anticipation. “Absolutely not!” Candy laughed. “It’ll all be announced within the week. If I let slip before then, it’d cost me my job and probably get me sued to boot. I signed so many confidentiality agreements working in corporate PR... you know, I used to have nightmares about getting up in press conferences and reading the wrong briefing! I’m glad to be out of there.” “Hank– Hank McCoy. And Vera. I don’t believe it!” Hank stood to shake hands with Ralph Roberts. “Ralph, I didn’t know you were back at ESU.” “I’m not really, but Brand Corp. lets me play here part time. They call it ‘research and development recruiting’.” “Please, won’t you join us for lunch?” “Do you have room for two more? Today I’m here on mostly unofficial business, helping get Ted settled in.” Ralph put his arm around his kid brother, pulling Ted forward by a step. “Ted here’s gonna be part of Dr. Waren’s new superstar research team this semester.” “Then you’ll be working with Jean. Jean’s starting in Dr. Waren’s research lab this semester as well.” Vera propped her chin on her hand and grumbled, “How is everybody in on this but me?” “These young superstars will be more famous than us soon,” Ralph declared, clapping Hank’s shoulder. “That shouldn’t be too hard,” Hank kidded in return as Ralph and Ted drew up a couple seats between Hank and Jean, and exchanged introductions with the rest of the table. “Hank, you should come by the new Brand Corp. Annex. I’ll give you a tour. Everybody’s invited,” Ralph added. Hank chuckled. “So long as it’s not a recruiting visit.” “Aw, Hank. You should consider it,” Vera encouraged. “The Brand Annex is state of the art.” Hank patted her hand affectionately. “Always trying to recruit me back into academia.” “Well, now’s the time, if ever there was one,” Ralph agreed. “Very big project in the works. Miles Waren told me he’s completely clearing his plate for this one– you might give him a buzz.” Hank laughed at Ralph’s suggestion. “Seeing as how the last interview I had ended with my taking off my suit and tie and jumping out the window, I think that door might be closed permanently.” “Ouch. Bad interview?” “Let’s just say I’d had my fill of polite rejections at that point. Anyway, that was a long time ago, and I’m quite happy in my current position.” “Well, their loss was our gain,” Jean declared. Hank gave her an appreciative little bow. “You know, back in the day, we all came up together through Brand’s research division,” Ralph explained. “Hank and me, Karl Lykos, Miles Waren– Carl, Linda, and I are the only ones who stayed on at Brand, and they went all the way up to the top. Not that any of us had such high ambitions at the time. Back then Brand Corp. was one of the few places around willing to let us biology wiz kids cut our teeth on genetic research.” “It was about the science then,” Hank recalled fondly, “before the Roxxon buy out, before Carl and Linda sold their shares to a millionaire robotics investor,” Hank concluded distastefully. “Now it’s all about profit.” “What else could Carl and Linda do, Hank? It was sell or lose everything fighting off a hostile takeover. Besides, Stephen Lang just wanted to pad Roxxon’s investment portfolio with a successful bio-science company. Carl and Linda still run Brand.” “While Lang makes a profit. And you provide the talent.” Ralph held up one hand. “You’re not wrong, Hank, but profit also creates opportunity. You think without the Brand endowment and the new Annex ESU would be in the running for cutting edge research projects? The entire world is vying to break this science, best of the best. People like Karl and Miles know that, and they’ve put themselves in positions to take advantage of the opportunities Brand Corp. can provide.” Hank frowned just slightly. “I can only wonder what Brand Corp. will expect in return.” There was a brief silence before Xavier changed the subject. “Scott, I think you’ll like Dr. Conors. Head of the Physics department. Brilliant mind for quantum physics, and an excellent teacher.” Scott nodded, listening politely to Xavier’s assessment of Scott’s soon-to-be major advisor and department head. Conversation gradually resumed all around the table, but as their food arrived he caught himself straining to hear what Ted was saying to Jean. “To be honest, it’s psychology that really interests me but – Ralph, well – for as long as I can remember Ralph’s been obsessed with cancer research. He wants to find the cure, or now he wants to help Brand to find the cure.” Ted paused. “And I get it. Psychology isn’t curing deadly disease, but, I think healing the mind is just as important as healing the body,” Ted declared momentously, giving the impression he’d made this argument before, probably to his older brother. “Ralph wants to help me get into research, follow in his footsteps, you know? I just don’t know if that’s what I want to do yet.” “You can always try it for a semester,” Jean offered her opinion after listening to Ted. “If you decide research isn’t for you, you can try something else.” Ted shook his head a bit helplessly and lowered his voice, leaning closer to her. “Ralph would kill me if I gave up that research position.” Then he smiled. “But at least I already have a lab partner, maybe?” he added hopefully. “Maybe,” Jean agreed, blushing slightly, before turning her attention to her food. Scott had a hard time pretending to ignore Ted for the rest of the lunch. Finally, once lunch was finished, Scott, Ororo, and Jean said their goodbyes to Hank, Warren, and Xavier, promising they’d be back to the Institute for visits. Then they were off to their advising appointments with an agreement to meet each other at the dining hall for dinner.
-x-
Scott scanned the crowded dining hall and quickly caught sight of Ororo, who tended to easily stand out in a crowd. Jean was seated at her side. And to Ororo’s other side, around a small round table, sat two girls Scott remembered seeing earlier in the day: neighbors at Jean and Ororo’s dorm. The girls giggled as Scott took an open seat beside them. “Oh, hi, Scott,” Jean greeted him. “You remember Amanda and Meggan.” Scott nodded and said, “hello”. Meggan stared at him until Amanda gently nudged her. “Oh, hi, Scott.” “Meggan’s still working on her English,” Amanda explained, herself speaking with an accent that Scott couldn’t quite place. Bavarian, perhaps, but also with slightly British overtones. “So, what did you think of Dr. Lykos?” Amanda asked Ororo. “He seemed personable, quite intelligent, a tad eccentric, perhaps.” “That’s an understatement! He was holding advising appointments out on the floor of the paleontology wing at the ESU Natural History Museum!” Amanda shook her head. “And I’m not sure I believe him when he says it was only because his new office in the Natural Sciences Department upstairs is still being remodeled,” she told the rest of the table conspiratorially. Scott couldn’t help smiling. “Maybe he just really likes dinosaurs?” Meggan giggled. “Amanda is double majoring in natural sciences and psychology. And we also share an introductory sociology course,” Ororo offered in recap for Scott and Jean before she paused. “What subjects are you studying, Meggan?” Ororo regarded her kindly, identifying with the unique culture shock of a foreign exchange student. “Meggan stared intently for a few moments before Amanda answered for her. “She’s majoring in mass media communications, right?” “Oh, right,” Meggan agreed happily. And she continued to watch everyone aptly without speaking very much. The two of them didn’t stay long before heading back to the dorm. The rest of dinner passed in a chaotic rush, comparing ambitious schedules. Scott and Ororo were each enrolled in an accelerated three-year teaching program. Jean, of course, was pre-med, but she’d just learned from Dr. Waren that ESU was offering a new seven year joint MD-PhD degree. The hook was that she’d be able to use her undergrad research in his lab toward earning a PhD in genetics. “Lab assignments came through then?” Scott asked. Jean nodded. “Now we just need to know what we’ll be working on.” “How strange, that they haven’t told you yet,” Ororo noted. “Dr. Waren said they’re only keeping it secret for a few more days. Apparently the university president wants a big public announcement at the end of the week. I just hope I like the research,” Jean worried. “It’s the equivalent of starting a part time job that’s going to last the next six years of my life! You know, on top of three years of college and two years of med school....” “That’s only a five year program,” Scott pointed out. “Then a one year residency for clinical medicine.” “And year seven?” “Finish the research, write up a thesis, and defend the dissertation.” “Is that all? And I thought we were going to be busy,” Scott quipped. “You think it’s too much?” Jean’s face fell with worry. “I think it’s insane,” Scott replied, deadpan, and arching an eyebrow at Ororo for emphasis. “But if anyone can do it, you can. Dr. Doctor Grey,” he added with a grin. “I agree with the latter,” Ororo decided. “Aw, thanks. It’s a little scary, but at least this way I can graduate with you guys and start med school early... though, technically, I don’t earn the BS until after year one of med school– I know, confusing, right?” “We won’t hold that over you for a whole year at all,” Scott retorted. “Oh, of course you will.” Jean laughed, shaking her head at them. “So, how was your advising?” Scott shrugged. “Conors seemed okay.” They’d discussed physics and the elective Scott was most excited about: aerospace engineering. Scott had assured Conors neither the engineering elective nor his math-heavy schedule would interfere with his physics work. “I wish we three had at least one class in common,” Ororo said. “Next semester, for sure, if Dr. MacTaggert has a class to teach,” Jean said. Scott nodded. Next semester was a long way away though, and he was feeling freshly melancholy, especially with Jean and Ororo having Intro Psych. together with Amanda (and Ted Roberts, Scott remembered, from lunch). After diner they’d have separate dorms to go back to and Scott wouldn’t be seeing them constantly throughout the day anymore either. Jean picked up on Scott’s sudden burst of melancholy. She couldn’t really blame him. At least she had Ororo for a roommate. While Scott had to leave the only friends he had here to go back to an unfamiliar dorm and a new roommate he already suspected he’d have nothing in common with, at best. “We have the perfect distraction. Our dorm is having a movie night.” “And I’m allowed to come?” Scott asked, his ears turning slightly red. “Sure. Guests are allowed in the common room downstairs until ten.” “What’s the film?” Ororo asked. “I suggested The Wizard of Oz; Ro’s never seen it,” Jean explained to Scott. Scott smiled. That sounded like fun. “What do you think of flying monkeys?” “Flying monkeys?” “Don’t spoil the surprises for her, Scott!” Jean chided him. “Unless you’d rather explain flying monkeys to your new roommate.”
-x-
Scott set a copy of the Daily Bugle down beside his breakfast tray the following morning. Jean gave him a double take. “You’re not reading tabloid news?” Scott sat down heavily. “Not exactly. I went for a run this morning and picked up a newspaper on my way back. When I got out of the shower my newspaper was gone, my roommate was gone, and this one was left in its place on my bed.” Ororo picked up the Daily Bugle and paged through it. “This passes for news reporting? It’s all rumor and vague innuendo, celebrity scandal and political intrigue.” Jean winced. “I guess that’s what passes for big city news and politics: more sensationalism than substance.” “I find that approach unacceptable,” Ororo countered. Scott agreed. “But it does explain a lot about my roommate, actually. I found out he’s a statistics major, but with all of his electives in mass media and communications. Of course, I don’t know if he means the paper as his manifesto to me or an attempt at brainwashing.” “Could be both, statement of intent and an attempt at conversion,” Jean offered playfully. “More likely, simple evidence of his own brainwashing,” Ororo decided. Scott nodded. That seemed the most chilling option somehow, especially since he didn’t stick around to discuss his views or take credit for his actions. “Have you two talked at all?” Jean asked. Scott made a face. “That would be a no,” Ororo surmised. “If it makes you feel better, you’re already very popular among our dormmates.” “Why?” he asked. Scott looked so horrified it made Jean burst out laughing. “Never mind,” she decided against explaining before Ororo could elaborate. Jean was already trying not to overhear one of the conversations Ororo was alluding to. A gaggle of girls from Jean and Ororo’s dorm had noticed Scott and were angling for a closer look, amid giggling. “That guy? He’s just weird.” “I think he’s cute.” That was followed by a quick exit as they hurriedly left the dining hall. Jean vaguely remembered seeing at least one of them at the movie night, a girl with shoulder-length sandy blonde hair. Another looked slightly older, maybe an upperclassmen living off campus or an older sister here for a visit. Scott didn’t notice any of it. He simply finished his breakfast, wished Jean and Ororo luck in their classes, and headed off to his own first class of the day.
-x-
“Should have known that would be garbage,” Scott mumbled as he gave up trying to read the Daily Bugle and tossed it into a nearby trash can. Missing his actual newspaper, he hoped Cam wouldn’t be playing these stupid games all semester. He had a free period before his next class. Since reading the morning paper was out, he might as well take a look around campus. Scott took a moment to get his bearings; he was still searching for ideal locations where he could crash for a few extra minutes of studying or reading between classes. Ororo had sworn off the two main quads early during their first explorations of campus, finding the two city parks that marked east and west campus borders more to her liking (acceptable enough, for city-dwelling, she had declared them). Scott tended to agree, finding the parks far better terrain than campus for his morning runs. He mostly avoided the campus bookstore and student union for the same reasons Jean did: always over-crowded. The main library, while close to Math and Physics, was a good place to study, but it put him across campus from the science library, where Jean and Ororo would be studying if they had down time. An obviously brand new dedication at the foot of a wide front staircase next caught his eye. Scott had to laugh once he got close to it. He had expected an historical marker, but this thing was just an eyesore! A giant monument to someone’s overinflated ego, complete with a bronze-mounted bust. The accompanying plaque was inscribed: Jameson School of Journalism and Mass Media. Dedicated in memory of John Jonah Jameson Sr. – publisher and editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle, founded 1898. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Scott looked up to see he was, in fact, standing in front of the School of Journalism (J.J.J. School of Journalism was inscribed slightly more inconspicuously above the door atop the stairs). But behind that obnoxious monument, barely visible among the shrubbery, Scott saw a sign in a basement level window under the stairs: “Help Wanted”. The unexpected contrast from gaudily ornate to painfully simple tweaked his interest. On impulse, he walked up the steps only to make a quick U turn once inside and then down a flight of steps to ground level. “Hello?” he called. The place seemed deserted, in addition to being filled with a wide collection of ancient and broken-down looking communication equipment. Then he heard a door slam. He followed the sound around another tight corner where he found two small rooms crammed into the basement: an office and a radio broadcast booth. He gave a knock on the office door and was met by a middle-aged man sporting a faded tie dyed t-shirt. Face nearly hidden behind long and graying bushy hair and beard, he was holding an old electrical panel in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. He looked Scott over for a second. “TV studio’s upstairs.” “I’m not–” “Journalism department too, fourth floor.” “I saw the ‘Help Wanted’ sign.” “You know this is radio.” “Yes, sir.” Scott motioned over his shoulder at the radio booth. “I gathered that.” “Don’t call me ‘sir’.” “Is the job still available?” “Of course it is. Nobody wants to go into student radio. They all want to be on TV.” He seemed to realize he had yet to introduce himself and set the screwdriver aside long enough to offer Scott a grimy hand. “S.J. Wels. I’m station manager, also program director, also DJ, also repair and maintenance – pretty much anything that needs to be done to keep this station on the air.” “If nobody wants to go into radio, then why bother?” Scott asked. He gave Scott a curious look, as if checking to see that his question was in earnest before answering. “I was here through it all: Vietnam, Civil Rights, Women’s Lib., Save the Whales, No More Nukes. Back then radio meant something. It was how we got the word out, told people what was going on and what mattered in the world. Maybe that time is gone and I’m foolin’ myself by thinkin’ anybody’s still listening.... But I’ve covered six presidents’ swearings in, two of them shot, one impeached. I reported from the scene of Three Mile Island and the Stonewall Riots– And I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve read news copy on air that matched up to the drivel ole J. Jonah Jameson – Jr. or Sr. – had plastered across his front page.” “I’d like to apply for the job,” Scott stated flatly. “You’re hired, kid.” “Hey– you’re not replacing me my first week back, I hope.” S.J. grinned at a newly arriving college student. “Not a chance. Just adding on a newbie. What’s your name, kid?” he asked Scott. “Scott Summers.” “Summers, this is Emory Holmes. Whenever I’m not around, he can show you the ropes.” Emory shook Scott’s hand. “I’d offer you the new hire tour, but this is pretty much it, and I’m about to start my shift.” “Not if I don’t swap out those sound boards.” S.J. pushed past them into the studio booth. “Hope you don’t mind your radio with a side of electronic repair,” Emory warned. “This place is always one short circuit away from dead air. You a journo. major?” Scott shook his head. “I know you’re not mass media; S.J. wouldn’t have it.” “None of the above. I’ve never worked in radio or journalism. This job seemed a good way to broaden my campus perspective.” He grinned at Emory. “In other words, I’m sure I’ll need all the help I can get learning the ropes. But I catch on pretty quick and I’m not afraid of hard work, repair or otherwise.” “You’re on in five, Holmes, newscast is on the dash,” S.J. announced as he left the booth. “Come on in.” Scott followed Emory into the radio booth, first taking in the ancient-looking sound equipment, then the shelves lined not only with vintage recordings but stacks of books and magazines, some dating back decades by the looks of them. Meanwhile, Emory took a seat and read through the news copy, familiarizing himself with his material before he went on the air. “Do you like working here?” Scott asked after a few minutes, once Emory was done reading. He nodded. “When I first took the job I thought it was a blast from the past: S.J., this place, all of it. I’m an English major, journalism minor. I like the written word. You go upstairs, and everything’s super slick, all polished for media consumption, page or screen. They have to sell it before anybody gets to see it. Here is just the opposite. When we put out a story, the words paint a picture; it’s on us to make people care enough to listen.” He glanced at the clock on the dash, which had started to flash the time, counting down from 60 seconds. “And I’m on.” He pulled a headset over his ears and motioned Scott toward the door. “Catch ya later, Summers.” Scott stepped out with a nod and closed the door tightly behind him just before an “ON AIR” sign lit up above his head. A crackly speaker in S.J.’s office switched over from music to Emory’s delivery of the twelve o’clock news.
-x-
“Did I miss anything?” Scott joined Ororo and Jean on a shady patch of grass across the quad from the biology building. In front of them a large tent had been set up for the afternoon, under which a throng of reporters were packed, milling among tables of university dignitaries, all of them awaiting Dr. Miles Waren, who had just stepped out onto the front steps of the biology building. “You’re just in time,” Jean assured Scott. “This is going to be exciting; Dr. Waren announced it in bio. this morning. Even had a photographer there from the school paper.” Jean handed him a flyer. Ororo was already reading her own flyer. “You’re right. It sounds exciting,” Scott agreed. “You haven’t read it yet!” Jean objected. Scott chuckled. “I saw it already, this morning, in an advance press release. Not my fault ESU wants to make a big splash with this announcement; tomorrow it will be all over the news.” “And how did you see a press release when it hasn’t been officially announced yet?” “I got a job, as a news broadcaster, at the student radio station.” “Congratulations,” Ororo offered brightly. “Thanks. We already know Jean’s going to be busy. You have any luck on the job front?” Scott asked Ororo. “Yes, actually. Candy Southern recommended that I apply for a job at the ESU Natural History Museum on campus.” “Congratulations, Ororo!” Jean swatted Scott’s arm for the revolted face he was making. “At least I won’t be cooped up in a tiny, windowless room, talking to myself for hours at a time,” Ororo shot back at Scott. Scott only shrugged. “I think I’ll like radio.” Jean laughed. “Scott Summers, who hardly says a word unprompted. Since when did you get interested in radio?” “Well, I never paid much attention to who delivers the news or why. But here they have a whole school dedicated to journalism and media, not to mention programs for public relations and advertising. All of those things, shaping how the rest of us get news and information, influencing how we think and the decisions we make– I decided it’s important for me to know what’s going on in the world before anyone with their own agenda can put their spin on the straight facts.” “And this way you know how to get out your own straight facts,” Ororo stated. Scott nodded. “If it comes to that, yes, absolutely.” “Well, I’m looking forward to starting at the ESU Natural History Museum. It sounds like a fascinating place to work. They have a partnership with the Museum of Natural History uptown, allowing ESU to display priceless artifacts from all over the world.” “I guess after this weekend the honeymoon’s over,” Scott decided. “We’re all going to get even busier.” Jean put a hand on Scott’s forearm. “We should celebrate making it through our first week!” Scott smiled at her suggestion. “Since I spoiled your surprise, what if I take you out to a movie? Ro?” Scott offered.” “Thank you, but you know my feelings on movie theaters.” Jean frowned. “We can do something else then, dinner?” “Nonsense. You two go to the movies. I’ll enjoy a pleasant evening outdoors. You can share your thoughts on the movie with me afterward.” “Jean?” Scott asked. “Okay then.” After a moment’s hesitation she smiled brilliantly. “I’m in. You pick the movie, I’ll get the snacks?” “Deal,” Scott agreed. “Ooo, they’re starting.” Jean settled herself on the grass between Scott and Ororo to listen to Dr. Waren’s announcement, her contagious excitement causing Scott and Ororo to grin at one another. Scott had to admit, the science was way over his head. Even after reading a press release and skimming over the announcement flyer, half of Dr. Waren’s speech made no sense to him. Jean, on the other hand, hung on every word. He supposed that was why she was the bio. major and he was a math/physics guy. What he did understand was the enormous scope of the project – an effort to map the human genome – larger and more ambitious than anything of its kind ever attempted before. Research would be occurring not just at ESU but at a dozen other universities in the US and all around the world. The project was launching now, after six years of planning by the US government in conjunction with the National Institutes of Health (NIH), and it was expected to take a decade or more to complete. Jean clapped enthusiastically at the end of the speech. “Jean, I have a question,” Ororo offered. “How can it be, when each of us is different – the design of our DNA unique, like that of a snowflake, and belonging to each one of us individually, like a fingerprint – how is it then possible to map a single genome, one meant to act as a blueprint representing the DNA of all humans?” “You’re exactly right, Ororo. But that’s the beauty of the project! Each person, each human genome, is unique. But by sequencing the DNA of just a few individual donors and pooling their samples we can piece together a complete sequence for each chromosome until eventually we assemble an entire genome – less like a blueprint and more like a mosaic – not of any one specific human, but belonging to all humans.” Scott hesitated. “And what about the ones who are– less like the others?” “Actually, I was hoping to talk to you two about that.” Jean glanced between the two of them cautiously, as if double checking their privacy level. “Each of us working on the project is being asked to donate a blood sample, and to solicit two other samples.” “Is that–” Scott trailed off. Ororo finished, “wise?” just as Scott concluded, “safe?” “The donated samples are my working pool for the research, the genetic sequencing, that I do. They serve as a guide, like a template or a reference point, for my work.” “Then you aren’t reporting on those results, just using them as guideposts?” “Officially, that’s correct. But, in this case, my research may generate some ‘off the books’ results as I compare my pool of samples to the official data. I wouldn’t share those sorts of findings with anyone else, except maybe for Hank. As far as the official research goes, my data will go through several additional steps meant to weed out any anomalies.” “Rewind for a second,” Scott prompted. “So, you donate blood. What happens next?” “You said something about pooling the individual samples,” Ororo added. “Yes. My three control samples are pooled together. I receive another set of three pooled samples as my test case. I do the lab work to sequence each set of pooled samples and report out a specific genetic sequence for the test case. Lather, rinse, repeat, until I’ve reported out the entire section of genomic mapping that I’m responsible for.” “Great. I understood the: ‘lather, rinse, repeat,’ part,” Scott quipped. Jean shook her head, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “And the actual blood samples?” Ororo asked. “I have access to them, with the rest of my findings, under lock and key, in the lab. All of our results will be anonymized and quantified against the others in our lab. Basically, parts of my map will always overlap with someone else’s in the lab, and so on, for redundancy’s sake. Then that work product goes for another round of analysis – basically to be approved by Dr. Waren – before the entire group’s findings are reported as one entity.” “It doesn’t sound like there’s any chance of, say, coming up with a whole extra gene.” “Exactly.” Jean paused. “I can’t rule out something in our blood, some further genetic anomaly we don’t yet know exists, something science hasn’t yet detected.... But I’ve studied Dr. MacTaggert’s entire body of research. I’ve read her and Xavier’s early work from Oxford. I’m familiar with it all, enough to be certain that I can omit any suspicious references from my own data as errant anomalies. It won’t affect my work product, and I’ll protect the anonymity of my donors, of course.” Scott leaned back, propping one hand behind him in the grass. “I guess it would be foolish to think Professor Xavier was unaware of all this being in the works.” “I suspect, at the very least, Moira MacTaggert knows, and Xavier through her,” Jean conceded. “Remember, Dr. MacTaggert’s been an expert in the field of genetic research since well before we were born.” “If our involvement in such a project could pose too great a risk to ourselves, I’m sure the professor would have made that known to us,” Ororo reasoned. “Risk or not, don’t we have to put our chips down on this?” Jean asked. “Bottom line: This is the future. We understand genetic code, we understand what makes us– us. It’s such an important first step–” Neither Scott nor Ororo spoke, only a measured look exchanged between them. “Anyway, I am,” Jean decided firmly. Scott nodded. “If you’re in–” Ororo started. “Then we’re in too, Jean,” Scott finished simply. All their chips were down. Rise or fall. Together. Jean smiled, looking a bit teary-eyed. She hugged them each tightly.
-x-
“Oh. It’s you.” Scott had just returned to his dorm room after dinner. After giving a brief look over his shoulder, his roommate returned his attention to packing an overnight bag. “Expecting company, or on your way out?” Scott asked as he set his books down on a small study desk beside his bed. “Both. Girlfriend’s picking me up. We’re getting out of this hell hole for the weekend.” A brunette with short curly hair appeared at the door. Cam glanced over his shoulder again, clearly seeing her, but said nothing to her. The brunette smiled at Scott. “We haven’t met yet.” “That’s just my roommate.” “Scott Summers,” Scott introduced himself, offering a handshake. “Trish Tilby.” She shook his hand in a dainty, low contact sort of way. “Charmed.” Cam looked annoyed and Scott thought better of the handshake, which had already continued on a few seconds longer than Scott expected or intended, especially after Trish noticed Cam’s annoyance. Scott let go of her hand and Trish entertained herself by looking around the room: Scott’s side painstakingly neat, Cam’s a mess. Scott occupied himself by taking today’s school paper and his Human Genome Project flyer from this afternoon out of his book bag and tacking each to a spot on the wall behind his desk. He didn’t want those to go missing just because Cam preferred the Daily Bugle. If for no other reason, this felt like history in the making, times worth documenting. A few seconds later, today’s late edition of the Empire State Excelsior provided a backdrop for his textbooks, alongside a few auto mechanics books, a brand new copy of Steven Hawking’s A Brief History of Time, and a pile of periodicals Scott had checked out of the library to trace the history of Halley's Comet. “The first Halley's Comet of the space age” was emblazoned vividly on the cover of a 1986 Popular Science magazine atop his Astronomy and Astrophysics: Into the New Millennium textbook. “I wrote that article,” Trish pointed to the paper. Biggest story in the world, and I got the byline on it.” “In a school paper. What a big deal! Give me a break.” Tilby, hands on hips, was now staring daggers at Cam. Not keen at being in the middle of an argument that didn’t concern him, Scott changed the subject slightly. “My friend’s working on that research. That’s her in the lab photo. I already knew she was gonna save lives as a doctor, but her work on this is gonna change the world.” Cam slammed his suitcase shut. “I’ve never heard anything so stupid.” Scott faced him. “Not trying to be rude, but what is your damn problem?” Cam looked strangely satisfied. “You are my problem.” “Yeah. I gathered that. You wanna tell me why, exactly?” “You, and your friends, people like you. You think you belong here but you can’t get through the door without special rules, preferential treatment the rest of us don’t get. Then there are special scholarships and financial aid funds to support you while you’re here. Already being white and male are two strikes against people like me, now just being normal is a disadvantage. I don’t get extra ‘disability’ points for my glasses.” “No, your preferential treatment comes in the form of legacy admissions: you get special ‘points’ because your daddy and granddaddy were here before you. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that a third of ESU’s admissions are legacy students, and I’m sure your father’s becoming a university trustee has nothing at all to do with your admission. I can almost understand his bitterness – coming from a system where trustees get to choose their own successors, from alumni association-approved pools of candidates – it must be intolerably frustrating to the old guard when things like Affirmative Action, and Title IX, and the Toward Independence Report tell them they can’t handpick the entirety of ESU’s student body directly from their own ranks.” Cam nodded slightly. “I really thought you’d deny it, give me that equal rights, equal opportunity, bleeding-heart-liberal jargon about how everyone deserves the same chance on merit alone. Refreshing to hear someone admit it, all that talk of equality just ends up being discrimination in reverse.” “You ever wonder why we have those laws? Why something as fundamental as human equality needs to be legislated? Because when those laws don’t exist the people in charge – the mostly rich white men in charge – can and do arbitrarily decide that women, minorities, the disabled, and the disadvantaged are inherently unqualified to be here. And the ESU trustees know that if they keep tuition high enough they won’t have to admit anyone who doesn’t look, think, and act exactly like themselves. So, yeah, if it takes creating a few scholarships and awarding a few rich white guys’ spots to other, more deserving, students in order to reset the scales to even, to finally include the ‘underprivileged’ students that have been deliberately excluded for generations– That’s fine by me.” Cam shook his head. “My father is exactly right. So-called ‘social progress’ will be the ruin of ESU, the ruin of all decent society– if we let it. Standards around here fall any lower, we’ll all be in the gutter. Only some would notice the change.” Scott wasn’t particularly bothered when Cam took his suitcase and walked out. As far as Scott was concerned they’d said everything that needed to be said. He was about to make an apology to Trish, realizing belatedly that it wasn’t fair for him and Cam to air their grievances in front of her, but Trish Tilby elected to follow Cam out without a word.
-x-
A short time later, a few blocks off campus, a very unhappy Cameron Hodge was on a mission to collect a replacement copy of today’s school newspaper. Trish had decided to kick him out of the car just after he’d decided to throw her paper out the window. Luckily the journalism building was within walking distance of Tilby’s place. He only had two options at the moment: humor her or keep walking back to his dorm room. “Hey, watch it!” Cam nearly lost his replacement paper when he was jostled by a man jogging down the stairs outside the journalism building. He stood a few inches shorter than Cam, and looked to be only a few years older, with slightly shaggy dirty blonde hair but dressed in suit and tie. “Wait. I know you. J. Martin; Mr. Martin, I’m in one of your classes: Public Media is Public Relations.” “And I know you, or at least I know of your family. Mr. Hodge, right?” “Cameron Hodge, yes, sir.” “You can call me Martin; everyone does outside the classroom.” Martin motioned to the paper in Hodge’s hand. “What do you make of this genome project news, Cameron? I know I should be all in favor of it; I’m serving as the university’s new public relations consultant for the Brand project. But I don’t mind telling you, personally, it kinda gives me the creeps.” Cam readily agreed. “Everybody is so proud of this ridiculous thing. ‘ESU, chosen for government-sponsored genetic sequencing project’,” Cam read aloud from the front page. “Never thought I’d see the day where they catalog our DNA – innocent people – and we just blindly support it. Some great medical breakthrough! Next thing you know, the government builds up some kind of top secret genetic database to put us all on file somewhere.” “Have you gotten to the end yet? Asked yourself, What are they going to do with all that information, once they have it?” Martin questioned. “The way things are going now, they’ll decide everything for you based on your gene pool,” Cameron Hodge scoffed. “I think that’s exactly where they’re going, eventually. And I wouldn’t worry about it so much– if like-minded people were involved in the project... and later on, maybe even making those decisions for the government. Information like that could be useful, in the right hands. But not the sticky hands of some bleeding-heart government bureaucrats. Surely your family has noticed, as mine has, that change isn’t always for the better, even here, at ESU. So-called ‘progress’ can be deceiving.” “I know exactly what you mean,” Hodge responded. “Already family reputation – a name, a legacy – those things used to mean something for people like us. We could open all kinds of doors for ourselves. Now they want to throw the doors wide open, let all the riffraff stampede straight through. Before too long, if we’re not careful, they’ll make us the minority in our own country.” “Ah, you mean, if we do nothing about it,” Martin countered. “The way I see it, the answer to that question I posed earlier depends entirely on who controls the information. What if that same database we envision could someday be used to weed out certain undesirables. You know the ones I mean, the ones that only drain society rather than contributing to it.” “You’re right. But you’ll never convince people of the truth,” Cameron insisted. “They’ve already been brainwashed into believing anything some politician or professor calls ‘progress’ is necessarily good. And standing in the way of their progress only makes people like us look like the bad guys – when all we want is to keep what’s always been ours: our birthright, our legacy, our country.” “I think you’d be surprised, there. I see it all the time in my line of work, Cameron. Facts are malleable and the average person is, shall we say, ‘easily influenced’ by those who have the right communication skills. Tell people the facts they want to hear rather than a bunch of facts they don’t like, and they’ll follow you anywhere. Hell, politicians and traveling preachers have been bilking a sucker a minute long before P.T. Barnum came along. But now, modern mass media changes the whole game. The right message, the right messenger, can reach the whole world. Remake the whole world.” Martin pointed to the headline in Cam’s paper again. “Is it science in the public interest or a threat to every individual’s God-given liberty and free will?” Martin gave a shrug. “That, my friend, depends on which of those two things the public can be convinced is fact, perhaps which one they most want to believe... or which future they would most fear waking up to as their new reality.” Cam nodded. He was beginning to see a vital need to control this information. Martin noted, “The right information has the power to shape politics, religion, even public opinion itself.” “Then our first line of defense should be to convince people, starting here,” Cam held up the paper, “that this genome project is not simply some feel-good PR victory for ESU. It’s far more complicated, and potentially far more dangerous than that.” “Very astute, Mr. Hodge.” J. Martin placed an arm around Hodge’s shoulder and began walking, side by side with him, down the journalism building steps. “If you don’t mind taking a walk with me, I’d like to introduce you to someone very important.”
-x-
“I hope you warned your roommate you’d be out late.” “I don’t think it matters. When I came in today he was packing for the weekend. I guess he’s already had his fill of dorm life, or me, or both.” “It’s not you,” Jean insisted. “No, I think it is,” Scott replied. “Every time I think I start to get a handle on him, he says something that’s just– wrong. Every conversation I try to have with him is like that. At first I wondered if he was testing me, or just getting a kick out of messing with me. Now I’m just starting to think Warren was right; his world is so narrowly defined that he simply can’t comprehend any conflicting viewpoint as worthy of merit.” “How pitiable, to have no interest in understanding others or widening your view of the world,” Ororo mused. “I am only beginning to study history and sociology. Already, it is fascinating to see how the two shape one another, how social and cultural norms become defining traits of a place and its people.” “Maybe Hodge should try that. He’s got no interest in listening to me. I don’t want to argue with him all the time, but I can’t just humor him any more than I can validate his blatant ignorance or outrageous bigotry with my silence.... So, we’ve mostly started avoiding each other in our spare time; I study at the radio studio, he hangs out at his girlfriend’s apartment.” “Tilby. Who prefers to go by her last name, for her byline,” Jean identified. “You know her?” Jean nodded. “She’s in our intro. psychology class. Apparently it’s part of the required ethics curriculum for journalism majors, which she reminds us science geeks of regularly. Let’s just say, it sounds like she and Cam deserve each other, peas in a pod, so to speak.” “You remember Amanda,” Ororo added to Jean. “She told me she was initially assigned to room with Trish Tilby. When Tilby’s parents found out her roommate was a foreigner, and Roma, they pulled her out of the dorm, insisted ‘the gypsies’ would steal everything.” Amanda said she cried for hours. Scott shook his head. “I’m starting to think Warren and Xavier are exceptions and a part of being super rich is being horrible about people who aren’t.” “I think the effect is particularly concentrated here, in light of recent changes,” Ororo decided. “In other words, they have no experience dealing with regular people,” Jean surmised. “And they resent being forced to do so,” Scott agreed. “Exactly. Shall we go, Scott? I don’t want to be late for our movie.” “Absolutely.” Scott held the door for Jean. “Don’t stay out too late, children.” Jean stuck out her tongue at Ororo before the door closed behind her.
-x-
Meanwhile.... J. Martin accompanied Cameron Hodge along a busy street a few blocks away from campus. They walked past a handful of ground floor restaurants, bars, nightclubs, shops with apartments nestled overhead on their second and third floors. Finally they stopped at a corner bar. An historical marker designated it as a one-time speakeasy. On the main floor Cam could see a full crowd through the windows: upscale clientele, live jazz music playing loudly. Inside well-dressed patrons, out for a Friday night on the town, were sipping cocktails provided to them by servers dressed in roaring 20's-style attire. Cam started to climb the steps only to be stopped by a hand on his elbow. “We’re not going that way.” Instead they went down a short set of steps under the main stairs. Inside, then down a second set of stairs, through an old wine cellar. Cam’s hopes of being invited into the fancy party upstairs faded, as did visions of himself hobnobbing with rich and influential patrons. Disappointment and then curiosity gave way to something different as they descended through another round of dark, cramped hallways. Finally, Martin pushed open a squeaky wooden door to reveal a room richly furnished in the 1920s style, clearly the site of the original speakeasy. The room was dominated by a rich mahogany bar set against one wall, booths against the opposite wall, and a smattering of crisp white-tablecloth covered tables in the open space between. Everything was dimly lit: low hanging lights over the bar, booths, and tables, meant to provide the bare minimum lighting for dining while keeping its occupants hidden from view. No longer bustling with crowds seeking forbidden adventure, today the room was occupied by only one man. Upon seeing the room’s sole occupant, Hodge stopped short in the doorway out of pure instinctive fear, prompting Martin to nudge him forward. The upper level may have offered fame and glamor; this lower level was pure power. In this hidden room sat a man Hodge could only assume to be mafioso... he was meeting a bleeping godfather! The man was impeccably well-dressed in dark suit, his matching navy overcoat rested draped across the back of the chair facing him. A red handkerchief was tucked into his breast pocket, and red diamond-shaped cufflinks adorned his sleeves. His hair was slicked back, neatly combed, and so black it took on an almost blue tint in the room’s dim lighting. His skin looked unnaturally pale, but it was hard to tell if that was just another trick of the room’s old-fashioned lighting. A wide brim hat (also navy blue, with a red strip that wrapped around at the base) lay resting in front of the coat on white tablecloth. “Mr. Bocklin.” “I see you’ve brought in a new recruit, Mr. Martin.” “I– don’t know what this is about, sir, but I didn’t agree to anything yet.” “Not to worry. It’s a non-binding agreement.” Cam turned around toward Martin. “What agreement is he talking about?” “He’s messing with you, kid. Don’t worry about it.” “Allow me to show you something, Mr. Hodge, is it?” Martin continued to usher Cameron forward. The man in the shadows extended a pale hand to place a small cylindrical device about the size of a cigar on the table in front of him. “This device is made to quickly inject epinephrine into the body. Originally intended to act as an antidote for nerve gas exposure, but today it is more commonly used to reverse extreme allergic reactions. I have specially modified this one for other types of injections.” Cam’s eyes were getting steadily wider behind his glasses. “It’s not for use on you. Not today, at least. Mr. Martin is, however, going to use this ingenious device to tag a control group of your fellow students.” “Tag? You’re not going to– poison– anyone– are you?” He sounded equal parts scared and salaciously hopeful. “Heavens, no. Such crude conclusions you jump to, Mr. Hodge. No... that would quite defeat the purpose altogether.” “And the purpose is?” “The only purpose. Research. Certainly you’ve heard that by now, the way everyone is talking about this Human Genome Project.” “Of course I have,” Cam grumbled. “While their goal is to establish a universal template, I’m far more interested in isolating the genetic variants.” “Variants?” That got Hodge’s attention, especially given his earlier conversation with Martin. “I have particular interest in your new roommate.” “I knew it– I knew that guy was a fraud! This thing proves it– right? What does it do again?” “As I said, research. First we gather data; then we draw conclusions.” “And why am I here?” “I have a specific task to assign you, Mister Hodge.” “What is it?” “I want you to take this device.” Martin handed Hodge a small metallic device. This one was smaller than the injector pen, flat and thin, about the size of a quarter, but heavier. “You will take it back to your dorm room and place it near to Mr. Summers.” “How am I supposed to plant a bug on him without him noticing?” “Not on. Just near.” “It has a magnet. Press here to activate it.” Martin demonstrated. “Under his bed will do. Near his head would be best.” “Then once it’s in place, what does it do? I sleep in that room too, remember?” “The transceiver,” Bocklin nodded toward the device in Hodge’s hand, “broadcasts collected data back to me.” Bocklin held up a hand before Hodge could protest. “A shortwave emitter only, meant to interact with the tag which Mr. Martin will place.” “What’s it gonna do to him?” “Surely that’s not a hint of worry I detect for your new roommate’s welfare, Mr. Hodge?” “No. He never should have been here in the first place. Him and all his friends. They’re a drain on the system; taking up slots they don’t deserve, and I want all of them gone. But I’m not taking the blame if this thing makes him sick or– worse.” “Such a suspicious mind you have, Mr. Hodge. I grow tired of assuring you that my plans are not lethal in nature.” Hodge fell silent, picking up on the slight change in the man’s voice, a new colder threat to his tone. “But I understand your concerns.” Bocklin nodded, as if in concession. “It is reasonable to be wary of things beyond one’s limited understanding. But to monitor a subject’s biowaves is a purely a subliminal procedure. No long-term physiological side effects are expected. “I assure you the process will have no effect at all on you. Unless, of course, you fail to do precisely as you are told; in that case I would be– quite unpleasant to deal with. Baring that unfortunate possibility, no one near the subject need be affected by the experiment, and I expect even the subject to well-tolerate the procedure, remaining– undeterred by any psychological changes.” Before Hodge could ask anything further Bocklin made a slight hand motion, which Martin took as prompt. “Now, if we’re done here, I trust you can see your way out,” Bocklin stated. Martin was already ushering Cameron toward the door. “Oh– There is one more thing. From time to time, Mr. Martin may ask you to adjust the setting on the transceiver. The emitter is very sensitive. One notch at a time – one click forward on the control dial, and no more – will be sufficient for each adjustment. Now. You may go.” Martin resumed ushering Cameron toward the exit. “Mr. Martin will keep in touch.” “But what does it actually do?” Cam asked in hushed tones once they were back on the street outside. “Better not to question, kid. Just do what he wants done and keep your eyes on the prize.” “Which is?” Martin took hold of Cam’s elbow to guide him over to the historical marker outside the club’s main entrance. “Take a look.” Cam paused to read the marker again, this time taking note of the fine print at the bottom: This historical site is sponsored and maintained by a funding grant from the Hellfire Club. “Exactly,” Martin responded to Cam’s obvious recognition of the name. “People like you and me, we may not know or care much for all this scientific mumbo-jumbo that’s going around... but a lot of important people are watching this stuff closely. Understand?” Cam nodded wordlessly. “Good. Like I said, don’t worry yourself about the details. Just do what you’re told, and the right people will notice. You’ll go places, kid, important places,” Martin added, nodding toward the plaque again before he gave Cam a pat on the shoulder. Cam’s attention again shifted to the front windows, this time wondering who might be among the rich, famous, important patrons inside.... When he looked around again J. Martin had already gone.
-x-
“You’ll let me know when they’re ready for me, I assume?” Bocklin concluded somewhat dismissively upon Martin’s return. “Biowaves?!” Martin asked. The man calling himself Bocklin gave a shrug. “A simple explanation was in order for a simple mind.” “Then what is it he’s really helping you track?” “Young Mr. Hodge will be helping me finish a study I started long ago, before Charles Xavier intervened in the course of my experiment. You see, much like a unique human genome, each mind has a unique mental signature. I’m quite familiar with Mr. Summers’. I want to see how his mind has progressed in the years since his powers have manifested.” “Why this one? Why not say, Xavier or McCoy?” “Many reasons. As I told Mr. Hodge, I find the anomalies to be of great interest.” “If it was me, I’d want to tap into the most powerful mind I could find.” “Power and influence.” Bocklin sneered. “Always the ultimate goal of the weak-minded. You may be a half step above Mr. Hodge in the useless pursuit to amass power and influence.” “What beats power and influence, then?” Martin challenged. “Time. The ability of evolution to shape life over time into perfect vessels of survival. Each one wholly unique, yet only one in a continuous line, threading from past to future, generation to generation. The ultimate mystery, evolution. From primordial soup to–” he motioned with a sweeping gesture meant to include himself, “the product of time. For now, I wish to see what new mysteries time has gained for Mr. Summers’ continuing evolution.” “Oh, well, if that’s all...” Martin mumbled sarcastically, already headed for the cellar stairs, eager to be back above ground, where things made more sense.
-x-
Regan Wyngarde wove a path unnoticed through the dining room crowd. An attractive blonde in simple but elegant black dress, easily blending in among the club servers, she ascended the stairs, and gave a knock at the ornate door which guarded entrance to the second floor meeting room. Almost immediately, the door opened and Regan entered. She was not much older than Cameron Hodge, and like Hodge, far too young to be seen as anything but a well-to-do child of well-to-do club patrons. She glanced around the ornate but still empty meeting room, waiting. Gold name plates at the mahogany table read like a who’s who of New York high society beginning with Sir Gordon Phillips, Lord Imperial of the Hellfire Club. Positions of honor were allotted to his Council of the Chosen: Edward Buckman, White King and Paris Seville, White Queen. Sebastian Shaw, Black King and Lourdes Chantel, Black Queen. Stephen Lang, White Bishop. Jason Wyngarde, Black bishop. The remaining seats were a scattering of Knights, members designated only by family surname: Stark, Wing, Braddock, Meachum, Southern, Worthington, Hodge. The door opened again to admit J. Martin. But by the time the door closed behind him, Martin no longer presented as the dashing, somewhat aristocratic sandy-haired young man in his late twenties who’d introduced himself to Cameron Hodge. No longer simply a younger version of his father, Jason’s, middle-aged alter ego. Now the illusion lifted to reveal a young woman, mid- twenty-something, long and dark curly hair. No longer Mr. Jason Martin, but Ms. Martinique Jason Wyngarde. She crossed the room and took a seat beside the elder Jason. “Were you able to make the approach?” Jason asked Martinique. “Like clockwork.” “And was Hodge receptive?” “Putty in our hands.” “Good. He may prove useful on his own, but the leverage we gain over his father and brother will be invaluable. “Same goes for Southern,” Regan spoke up from her post beside the door. Jason nodded. “You can remind her mother that Candy is enjoying her recent promotion.” “Probably more than I enjoy playing public relations consultant for ESU,” Martinique countered. “But you have quite the innate aptitude for mass communications.” “That doesn’t mean I like teaching it, or doing press flack for the university.” “Patience. All part of playing the long game. And, speaking of, any better idea what our old friend is up to?” “He’s still calling himself ‘Bocklin’ these days. Beyond revenge? No,” Martinique concluded. “Do you have the list?” Regan handed over a piece of paper. “What does he say it will do?” Jason asked. “He tells me it will track their movements for a short period of time, likely months. Some sort of biodegradable microchip. “Clearly, it can do more than that if he wishes it,” Martinique added. “Whatever this surveillance on the Summers kid that he’s tapped Hodge for– it’s more than tracking. Not like the others” “Any idea why?” She shook her head. “Again, revenge? Maybe spite? Xavier stole one of his toys and if he can’t have it back...” she trailed off. “He insists his methods are non-lethal, but he’d hardly admit to that if it wasn’t the case. Using the Hodge boy is suspicious.” “He might require a fall guy in case things do go bad, intentionally or otherwise. Make sure you keep eyes on the Hodge kid.” Regan nodded, accepting the list back and pocketing it. “If he ends up needing a save, all the more leverage for us with his father.” “When do you start?” “He says he’ll provide the biochips within days. I’ve already begun shadowing the key targets, planning approaches. The Grey girl is the only one that might be tricky; she clearly has some psy abilities.” “Not surprising, considering her connection to Xavier; expect the rest of his kids to have some level of psychic defense in place as well.” Regan nodded. “Anything else?” “Do what Bocklin wants. Keep a close watch, and we’ll see how it plays out. If his plans stand to endanger us at any point, I’ll give Erik a call.” “That would make his day,” Martinique noted. Jason Wyngarde chuckled. “More like his decade. That grudge goes back longer than you’ve been alive.” A door opened across the room, allowing a server bearing drink cart to enter. As he got to work setting the table he gave Jason a surreptitious glance. Jason responded with an equally surreptitious nod, barely taking his attention from Martinique in the process. “You can tell him we’ll be convening within the hour,” Jason instructed her. “I’m sure he’ll want to make a splashy entrance once the entire Council is assembled.” Martinique nodded. “The Council will be more than willing to give him his little victory lap in return for providing them with a well-placed mole at ESU.”
-x-
Scott had chosen a retro-styled movie house a few blocks off campus: an old theater now converted to show movies on film. Jean’s face lit up when she saw the name of the film outside. “Scott– you remembered!” “I saw in the paper that it was playing; let’s just call it good timing,” he conceded, handing her a ticket for The Princess Bride. She took the ticket and linked her arm through his excitedly as they joined the entrance que. “We should definitely make a habit of this.” “I’m game if you are.” “Again next week?” “Agreed.” Scott was momentarily reminded of previous movie nights in the mansion rec room, haggling over movie selection... and still, that experience wasn’t quite the same as this one. Standing outside the movie house in the cool evening air, listening to ambient sounds of the city bustling around them, undeniably in the here and now. It felt good. Scott suspected he was going to owe Xavier a mea culpa when they next spoke; Xavier had been right about the need to be fully present, in the here and now. Already, college life moved so fast that Scott had little time left over for distant worries about the future, or any one of a million lurking unknowns that he had little control over anyway. Or maybe that was just the magic of sharing a light moment with Jean... always one of those rare instances in life when he could almost forget he was supposed to be worrying over something. Once they were comfortably seated and the lights went down, Jean leaned against his shoulder to take a handful of popcorn. The opening credits rolled, and Scott couldn’t help remembering words Warren had spoken to him weeks ago. Scott thought maybe, just maybe, he’d finally gotten his priorities straight.