Causality: Part Two
2007
The transition wasn't any better the second time around. There was the same relentless assault on his senses, the blizzard of color and sound that tried to blind and deafen him as he was dragged headlong through the chaos.
Along the way, there were--images that came to him. Hallucinations, maybe, or his mind's attempt to hold the madness at bay by making something out of the raw material of it. In one flash, Harry walked out of a burning building, his eyes terrible. In another, a bloodied, battered form barely recognizable as Nick hung in a web of chains.
And Clare was there, too, closing her eyes and screaming in something that sounded like agony and ecstasy both as light like nothing he'd ever see before washed over her. He saw her stretch out her hands, straining to reach for something--
And everything came to a stunning stop that left him semi-conscious, his senses reeling. It was hot, he registered as his head started to clear. Very hot, and he was in a closet. A closet, Nate thought hazily, and fumbled the door open. Staggering out, he saw that he was in what looked like a fairly standard conference room, which was thankfully empty. Clare's being careful about where she puts me, I guess--
Where. Where was important, Nate thought blearily, but WHEN was vital. He reeled over to the windows on the other side of the room, somehow managing not to fall on his face. Time--time was important, if he was inside a nexus window again. He had to figure out his exact temporal location, or he wouldn't be able to do a damned thing about whatever Stef was planning here.
Wherever here was. Steadying himself on the windowsill, he tried not to curse. What was the matter with him? His equilibrium was off, and his vision kept blurring--reaction to the time-jump, still? That didn't make any sense. He was moving forward in time. The transition might still be a bitch, there was probably no getting around that, but the side effects should be dwindling, not getting worse.
The city outside the window was more than vaguely familiar. Nate stood there blinking at the view for a few minutes, until the look of the architecture on some of the more distinctive buildings clued him in. He closed his eyes and scanned the minds in the vicinity for confirmation of his suspicions.
He got that, and more. "The conference," he muttered, leaning a hand against the window and trying not to grind his teeth. "Stef, you absolute bastard."
It was the third week in May, 2007, and he was in the Semiramis Intercontinental Hotel, in Cairo. Somewhere in this building, probably a few floors below him, delegates from all over the world were meeting, negotiating the shape of the world in the aftermath of Apocalypse's death and the Merge.
Sometime within the next few days, they would sign the Cairo Accords.
Going right for the jugular, aren't you, DaCosta? Well, to hell with the kid gloves approach, then. Straightening, welcoming the flush of anger that drove away some of the haze inside his skull, Nate projected the strongest 'look-past' suggestion he could manage, and strode from the room.
*
This is just a little hard on the nerves, Stefano thought, and made himself smile at the security guard who swiped a scanner over his fake identification badge and then nodded, waving him forward into the main conference hall.
One hurdle passed, at least, he thought, moving into the hall. But he'd had serious second thoughts about this particular nexus; there was just too much room for error, for random chance to step in and derail all his plans. Random chance, Stef reflected bleakly, shuffling through the crowd, towards the central tables. Part of him wished he could believe it was chance that had put Nate in the role of the one hunting him down.
But he knew better. This was all Clare's doing, her fault. She was using Nate because she knew it would put him off-balance, make him think twice about removing the obstacle Nate represented--
Stef wished he'd planned a stop at a nexus where he could have done something about the bitch. She'd been a fucking tyrant since she'd taken over the XSE's Counterterrorism Division. Her last target before him had been a bioweapons facility in China. She'd reduced it to smoking cinders, and Stef was sure that only his headquarters' location in downtown New York had saved it from similar treatment.
Clare was everything he hated about the XSE. She was self-righteous and brutal and drunk on her own power--
Stef forced himself to focus, to think past the white-hot rage provoked by the thought of her, the image of her face, those cold gray eyes--damn it! He HAD to focus. She wasn't here, and if he was successful, none of it would happen in the first place. Clare might even wind up as something closer to the girl she'd been, instead of the bitch she'd become. That would be ironic, wouldn't it?
His hand closed around the psi-screamer in his pocket. It was about the size of a handheld digital recorder, and designed to pass as such. Stef smiled faintly. It was one of his R&D division's more interesting little inventions, although he doubted Nate would agree. Bringing a gun in would have set off the scanners - he'd had to leave the pack with his weapons up in the room he'd appropriated as his bolthole - but the psi-screamer hadn't. And it was so much more destructive, in the end.
Slowly, he told himself, continuing to make his way through the crowd. If he seemed rushed or tense, he'd give himself away. Slow and steady wins the race--
*
Come on, Stef, where are you? Nate thought in agitation, slipping unseen through the crowded hallways of the hotel. Those damned shields of his, wherever he'd gotten them, should be giving him away. Blank spots like that should be EASY to find on the astral plane.
But he wasn't having any luck. Damn it, he needed to figure out what Stef was planning. Nate's jaw clenched as he considered the possibility of Stef trying to do what he'd very nearly managed to do back in the mansion's infirmary. But Nathan's powers had been in full working order at this point. It would be very risky.
Clearly Stef would be trying to sabotage the Accords, but by what method? The security here at the hotel had been enormously tight, by all reports. It had to be something that could slip in under the 'radar', something that none of the number of telepaths around would catch--
Nate stepped quickly into a crowded elevator, reinforcing the 'look-past' suggestion as he found himself pressed into the side wall. Physical contact made it harder to convince people not to see him, but he managed, and took the opportunity to scan the minds of those around him as the elevator headed towards the ground floor. Apparently the afternoon session was about to begin, and that was the reason for the crowds.
The afternoon session-- There had been pivotal events taking place at nearly every session of the conference, that was the problem. The elevator stopped, doors sliding open to reveal an even larger crowd, which seemed to be flowing towards several sets of open doors--the main conference room, Nate realized. He sidled out of the crowd and headed down a side corridor that seemed slightly less crowded. Smelling food, he realized the kitchen had to be somewhere around here, and was hit with the incongruous and somewhat amusing realization that he hadn't eaten for either ten hours or thirty-six years, depending on how you calculated.
Taking a deep breath, he pulled his thoughts back to the task at hand. Knowing as much as he knew about the Cairo Conference - he was passionately glad, at the moment, that he'd always been a history buff - what would have been the best way to cause the most damage? He had to think like a terrorist; that was what Stef had become, in essence.
A terorrist. Something twisted in his chest, raw and painful, and he fought it down fiercely. He had to focus on what was, and what he had to do. He couldn't even begin to consider how he might help Stef--
Not until he stopped him.
It would have to be something destructive. Something that would breach security--something that would shake people up, injure or kill some of the major players, and make it impossible for the talks to keep going. The negotiations had come so close to failing that even a minor disruption could create enough of a variation in the course of events to spawn a new timeline--
The telepathic attack that hammered him down into unconsciousness, slashing through his shields like a sword made out of ruby light, came seemingly out of nowhere. Nate had only a moment to register that he knew that psi-signature before he crumpled to the floor, his thoughts spinning off into darkness.
*
"Well," a soft, amused voice asked him. "When did you come from, young man?"
Nate blinked up at a smooth beige ceiling, realizing muzzily that he was lying on some sort of a couch. Lying down on the job--Dad would be lecturing me-- He pushed himself up to a sitting position carefully, wincing at the pain in his head. Wonderful. As if he needed any more of a headache than he already had.
The sight of the diminuitive black-haired woman perched on a chair beside him made the breath catch in his throat and drove any idea of complaining about the headache straight out of his mind. "Uh--" Nate coughed, hoping rather desperately that his voice would come back. "Aunt Sulven, I can explain."
"This should be interesting." Sulven smiled at him winningly as he swung his feet over the edge of the couch. "Considering that you were just born a few weeks ago, I'm very intrigued by what would have brought you back this far in time."
Nate tried to smile. "You mean you didn't scan me while I was out?" he asked weakly.
Sulven shrugged. "A little, but you were guarding your thoughts very carefully, even unconscious. Once I knew who you were, I didn't see the need to peel away your shields." She reached out, trailing a hand along the side of his face, and Nate straightened as the pain in his head receded. Not entirely, but enough to allow him to think more clearly. It was all the apology he'd get, he knew. She must have mistaken him for a hostile; part of the risk of walking around trying to be invisible, Nate admitted to himself.
"You turned out well, I think," Sulven said softly. "Now, what's the problem?"
Nate swallowed, and explained as quickly and succinctly as he could. At least it was Sulven who'd found him. The last full Askani sister in this timeline would certainly know what information had to be kept to herself, and the limits of what she could do to help him.
"I don't even know what he's planning this time," Nate concluded, hearing the edge of desperation in his voice and wishing it wasn't there. But old childhood habits were kicking in or something; none of them had ever been able to keep anything from Aunt Sulven. "But I know how critical a nexus point this is, and--"
"Nathan," Sulven said very quietly, stopping the flow of agitated words before it could go any further. He bit his lip, cursing himself for the break in control, and she shook her head slowly. "Calmly," she said soothingly.
Nate squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. focusing on controlling his breathing. This was just so wrong, and all his instincts told him things were going to get worse, not better, from here. "Right," he said roughly, after another long moment. Duty first. The rest of it later.
Sulven nodded almost absently. "Better," she said. "A little risky of Clare to send you back, you realize. Physiologically, you're not equipped for this, not when you don't have even the slightest chrono-variant tendencies. You'd be able to handle a simple there-and-back jump without too much difficult, but this constant stopping and starting is going to be hard on you, especially given the distortion." She nodded again, as if she'd just settled something in her own mind, and then reached out, taking his hands in hers. #Show me what you saw, the shape of his shields,# she projected crisply. #You need to conserve your energy. I can look for him.#
Nate took a deep breath, and opened his somewhat battered shields to her. Linking with her was a familiar thing - she'd taught him very nearly as much as Nathan had, over the years - but there was a delicacy to her touch today that he'd never noticed before. She took what she needed and then cut the link gently. #Thank you,# she sent softly.
Nate nodded and closed his eyes, focusing on sealing his shields once more as he sensed her awareness moving outwards to search for a single mind amid the crowd.
*
The astral plane in the vicinity was absolute chaos. It couldn't have been anything but, Sulven reflected, given the sheer number of people crowded into this single building, and the intensity of their thoughts and emotions under these circumstances. They were reshaping the world here, and even the most headblind and chronally-unaware of those present understood the importance of this conference, if only on an intuitive level.
No wonder young Nathan had been having trouble locating a single blank spot in all this. It would be like searching for a needle in a haystack, as that charming saying went.
Fortunately, she wasn't looking for sewing implements.
#Little brother,# she called, soaring to where the elder Nathan's shining golden presence hovered like a sentinel over the proceedings. For the space of a thought, she savored the brilliance of his mind, unutterably grateful to see him like this, free from at least the worst of the pain and weakness that had burdened him for so long after Akkaba. #I need your help.#
#Let me guess,# Nathan sent back wryly, and Sulven shivered a little at the sheer resonance of his 'voice'. The astral plane itself seemed to imitate her. #We have a problem.#
#You could say that,# she said, and showed him.
She'd expected shock, or at least a moment of surprise. #Ah,# was all the Askani'son said, the words tinged very slightly with sadness. #I was wondering when he'd reappear.#
*
Stef could see the central tables through the crowd now. Summers and Xavier and Lehnsherr would all be there by now - there were history books documenting just about every moment of the Cairo Conference, and he'd done his research thoroughly - and that was really all he needed. Plant the psi-screamer, trigger it when he was safely out of the way, and watch it create enough havoc to disrupt the talks. It might kill the two telepaths, but that would just be--the icing on the cake, he told himself with a strained smile. They weren't his targets, this time. The temporal analysis his people had done had been very definitive. If he disrupted the talks severely enough, the enormous change that the Accords represented would lose its window to come into existence--
Stef stopped in his tracks, something like panic closing around his throat like a vice. There was a break in the crowd, and through it he saw Nathan Summers sitting at one of the tables, staring straight at him.
RIGHT at him. With a strange little half-smile that made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. Stef swallowed, part of him wondering absently why his throat was so dry all of a sudden. He tightened his grip on the psi-screamer, almost reflexively.
The corner of Nathan's mouth quirked upwards.
Stef very calmly turned around and made his way back out of the conference room. He could feel Nathan's eyes on him all the way, and keeping his outward guise of composure was very, very hard. Why isn't he stopping me? Stef thought disbelievingly. If he knows what I'm doing, why I'm--
Why the HELL didn't I just activate the damned psi-screamer?
The psi-screamer twitched in his pocket, as if someone had flicked it with a finger.
It took every bit of self-control Stef had not to break into a run. By the time he was out of the room and into the elevator, he was breathing hard. He couldn't mask his agitation from the other people in the elevator, and their obvious curiosity was grating. Part of him wanted to shout at them to mind their own business, to stop staring, but that would just be drawing more attention to himself, and that would be bad.
For all he knew, Nathan had already alerted security. Maybe he'd just let him leave the room to avoid a scene in the midst of the conference. Stef's jaw clenched. Much as he disliked that idea, it seemed like the most logical possibility.
But as he left the elevator when it reached the twenty-first floor and headed towards the room he'd appropriated, no security guards appeared. Stef used the keycard to open the door, cursing himself. He'd been so sure Nathan had seen through him, but if he'd overreacted, wasted this chance--
It didn't mean anything. So what if he had? All that meant was that he moved on to the next nexus and tried again. There were other opportunities, even if this one had been so good that he could have derailed the whole timeline in one fell swoop.
Stef checked his watch and gathered his things quickly. A minute or so more and this window would close. For better or worse, he was done here. And he hadn't seen Nate, either. Maybe he'd lucked out, and Clare had lost his trail--
No, that was too much to hope for. He had to be realistic. Nate was almost certainly around here somewhere. Whatever had kept him from intervening, Stef couldn't count on it to hold. Slinging his pack over his shoulder, Stef took a relieved breath as the room started to swim around him again.
He saw the flash of light as Nate teleported past the locked door, but it came only a split-second before the timestream swallowed him once more.
*
Nate swore and dove at Stef, only to crash to the floor as Stef vanished, there one second and gone the next. If he'd been a fraction of an instant earlier, he would have been pulled along for the ride, Nate realized as he felt the energy of the timerip pull at him.
But it faded, leaving him sprawled on the floor, every nerve in his body screaming in protest. Spitting an Askani curse, Nate pushed himself up to his hands and knees, trembling badly and damning himself for being too slow. If he'd just--
A flash of light to his left made him flinch away, even when it coalesced into Sulven. She helped him up, a tiny, sad smile flickering across her features. "Are you all right?" she murmured.
"You shouldn't be here," he muttered. She'd been the one to pinpoint Stef here in this room, but she'd been supposed to leave it to him and get back to what she should have been doing at this time on this day. Sulven might be chrono-variant, but she was a pivotal player at the Conference. There was no point in taking any chances--the less disruption was caused, the better.
"Being ten minutes late to meet Logan won't make too much of a difference," Sulven said, "and in any case, Clare can compensate." She squeezed his shoulders. "Don't be too hard on yourself," she insisted. "It's better this way. It would have been dangerous to risk a confrontation here."
Only now he'd have to face another at some point farther along the timeline. "I suppose," Nate muttered with a heavy sigh, a great wave of gray depression rearing up and sweeping over him as he contemplated doing this all over again. He hadn't even stopped Stef this time--Stef had stopped himself, or decided the conditions weren't right or something--
"Look at me, Nate," Sulven said firmly, reaching up and taking his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her. "You don't have to do it on your own. You DON'T. Remember that--"
She was definitely trying to tell him something. He opened his mouth to point out that he was here to stop the cross-time disruption, not worsen it by dragging everyone around him into this whole mess. But even as he started to speak, he was pulled back into the timestream.
*
Sulven leaned back as Nate disappeared. There was no need to shield herself; the rift opened and closed with commendable swiftness, taking only what it meant to take. She spared a moment to appreciate Clare's control.
#He's gone,# she sent, then, a little testily. #They both are.#
#Good,# Nathan replied.
Good? There were a number of adjectives she could think of to describe this situation. Good wasn't one of them. #He could have had him, you realize. Why did you have me delay?# She'd been tracking Stefano since he'd left the conference hall, once Nathan had helped her locate him. Keeping silent had been vexing, to say the least. She could have sent Nate after him ten minutes ago, but Nathan had insisted she wait.
#Because sometimes it's better to live to fight another day,# Nathan sent back more sharply, his presence--darkening, somehow. #They will fight, you know. I just couldn't let it be here.#
Sulven raised an eyebrow, contemplating that particular statement. It implied a great deal. She'd have to persuade him to give her more details about whatever he was seeing in the timestream. #Surely the disruption wouldn't have been that significant.#
#I wouldn't lay money on that.# A little quiver of something that felt almost like self-loathing colored his words, and Sulven frowned. #We're walking the edge here, Sulven. One wrong step and we could lose everything. Why else do you think Stefano chose this nexus?#
#Logical, I suppose.# Sulven rose smoothly, reaching out to locate Logan. She needed to go and meet him; the longer she delayed, the more distortion she created for Clare to deal with. #Still, we may regret allowing it to continue,# she pointed out.
#I think we're going to regret that it ever started,# Nathan said bleakly, and Sulven realized what was dulling the brilliance of his mind.
It was sorrow.
2041
Clare's eyes snapped open as she pulled Nate along Stefano's temporal path. Briefly, she was dizzied by the double-image of the Tinex chamber and the timestream, but it passed as she closed her eyes and focused again. She'd just been surprised, that was all. There was hardly any distortion at the point Stefano and Nate had just been. That's very strange, she thought, and dealt with the few tiny ripples with ease.
It didn't really make sense--not that she was complaining, but even if Nate and Stefano had avoided each other completely, the fact still remained that there had been two non-chrono-variants in a highly sensitive nexus for long enough that even the mere fact of their presence should have created more of a disruption than that.
She tracked Stefano to his next destination and deposited Nate there, more carefully this time, before she allowed herself to split her attention and go back to examine whatever was going on at that last nexus. The last bits of distortion were unraveling even as she watched, and Clare lingered, realizing what was happening.
Someone else was at work here, and she had a pretty good idea who. Dad, she thought wistfully, wishing that she could talk to him, that telepathy was possible across the gulf of years like this. But it wasn't. She couldn't even sense his presence; all she could see was the results of his work.
Maybe it was a good thing that she couldn't speak to him. Her father wouldn't have had to rely on his instincts in all this; he would have known what was going on, what had to be done to stop Stefano and keep the timestream intact.
What had to be done to keep Nate safe--
But wishful thinking wasn't going to do her any good. She withdrew, focusing all her attention on the new nexus.
2016
More images. He was standing on a balcony, watching Zara walk along the railing, perfectly balanced, smiling brilliantly as she flirted with the fifty-storey drop to the ground. Then that flash was gone, and his father was streaking across the night sky, every star in that sky an exploding ship.
Again, it was gone before he could notice any more details, and he was standing on a dusty, barren plain, helping Nick hold back a snarling, struggling Harry as the three of them watched Clare walk away, shoulders squared and head held high as she moved towards something that glimmered in the distance--
Nate came back to his senses lying in a pile of garbage bags. Not really a dignified position, he reflected, pulling himself back to his feet and staggering towards the front of the alley. I think I left my stomach in 2007. He was definitely going to have a talk with Clare when he got back about being so damned abrupt, he resolved hazily.
He must have blacked out before arrival, this time. That wasn't a good habit to be getting into. He'd have to work on that. Right now, though, he had work to do.
Leaning a hand against the wall of the building beside him for support but careful to stay in the shadows, Nate breathed deeply of cool night air that carried the distinct smell of exhaust fumes, and did a brief but broad scan of the area. It took him only a few moments - surprisingly little time - to gather enough information to identify where he was.
D.C.? he thought, surprised, and sighed tiredly. Oh, that narrows it down. Or would have, if there hadn't been half a dozen major nexus points in this city in the last thirty-six years.
This was quite clearly one of them; he could tell that much, simply from the amount of tension he was sensing in the minds in the area. This was a commercial area, not residential. There shouldn't be this much activity at night, but there were an alarming number of people on the street, all projecting worry, fear, restlessness. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, Nate thought, and wondered where the image had come from.
A small group of people was clustered around the storefront, just down the street. Nate took a deep breath and walked out of the alley to join them, projecting a suggestion that encouraged the crowd to see him as if he were one of their number, dressed in civilian clothes rather than battle armor. It seemed to hold; he didn't get more than a couple of cursory glances as he joined the small crowd.
It was an electronics store, and all the televisions were tuned to CNN. Well, that'll be helpful in ascertaining my temporal location-- Feeling like he was in a bad time-travel movie or something, Nate edged closer. The crowd was quiet enough that the voice of the CNN anchor was audible even through the glass.
"--bases are on alert, waiting for orders. We have very little information beyond that at this point. From all reports, the XSE does not appear to be mobilizing in response, but considering the rapid-reaction nature of most of their forces in the continental US, that's certainly not as much of an indicator as we might wish it to be." The anchor hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering off to the left, and for a moment, his professional demeanor seemed to crack, revealing the weariness and concern beneath for a split-second. "We'll go now to our own Annika Larson at UN Headquarters. Annika?"
The shot changed to show a red-haired woman standing in front of what looked like the doors of the Security Council chamber. "Thank you, Tom," she said with a professional smile. Nate could read the tension in her expression, too, despite the effort she was making to hide it. "It's been several hours since the media was asked to vacate the Security Council chamber, but the negotiations are still going on. We can only speculate as to how the other members of the Security Council are dealing with the demands of President Gyrich as relayed through Ambassador Sorensen. Perhaps our best indication was this afternoon, when Nathan Summers, who was only last week named ambassador to the UN for the Antarctic New Lands, addressed the General Assembly."
And then, of course, Nate knew. As the picture switched to an image of his godfather glowering fiercely as he spoke to the General Assembly, footage that the caption informed him had been taped 'earlier today', Nate didn't need to listen.
He knew every word of this speech by heart, like every other XSE officer who had gone through the Academy.
"We have a choice today," Uncle Nathan was saying harshly, in the sort of deadly serious voice Nate had only ever heard him use a few times before, and only in the most grim of situations. "We either go backward, into a past that leads only to factionalism and conflict, or we follow the path that we chose in Cairo, and go forward into the future. This crisis is not about anti-mutant sentiment, or American national security. It's about fear--fear of change, fear of losing control. If President Gyrich's fear leads him to make the mistake of firing the first shot, so be it. He may choose to start a war, but let me assure you, we will finish it."
Nate closed his eyes. 2016. August. If he remembered the date of Nathan's speech as accurately as the contents, it had been five days since President Henry Gyrich, eight months into his first - and only - term, had ordered the UN to remove all XSE troops from US soil. The XSE would leave, Gyrich had stated, or the United States of America would withdraw from the Cairo Accords.
The televisions were now showing another 'previously aired' clip of President Gyrich in the Oval Office, addressing the camera with a resolute expression on his face. "We can no longer tolerate the presence of foreign troops, subject to a questionable agenda, on American soil. Our nation's destiny must remain, as always, in our own hands."
Nate knew the whole of that speech, too.
Opening his eyes, he started to move away, leaving the crowd riveted to CNN. This wasn't nearly as simple as the last two stops, he reflected grimly. This wasn't an all-or-nothing proposition on Stef's part, it was an extremely complex situation, a delicate course of events that could be derailed at half a dozen different points that he could identify, and that was just off the top of his head.
He had no idea where to start. If he guessed Stef's intentions wrong, made his way to one critical point while Stef was elsewhere interfering in another--
You don't have to do it on your own, Sulven's words echoed in his mind. You don't. Remember that.
It would be a whole lot easier to figure out what he was doing next if he could shake the urge to fall over and rid himself of the nonexistent contents of his stomach. Or at least get rid of the damned headache--that wasn't too much to ask, was it? But Askani pain control techniques took concentration, and he was too distracted at the moment to spare the attention necessary for a concerted effort.
Sulven had warned him about this, too. That the stopping and starting was going to be hard on him, physically, because he didn't have any chrono-variant tendencies--
His mind finally made the connection between that, and what Sulven had been trying to tell him. Nate muttered a curse. Well, that took an embarassing amount of time to figure out.
If he didn't have to do this alone, and couldn't enlist help from someone whose actions might damage the timeline, he had to get help from someone who could act without those inevitable consequences. Given the circumstances, and the date, he knew precisely where he had to go next.
It was a risk. If he wasn't careful, this could create as much disruption as anything Stef might do, but he didn't have much of a choice. The only other option was to wander around and hope he stumbled across whatever Stef was planning, and that was clearly out of the question.
Play the odds, he could almost hear Clare say.
It was a plan, at least.
*
"--reasons why this is not a good idea!"
Nathan Summers smiled faintly, and took a sip of his coffee. Dom would have been on his case for drinking it this late at night, but frankly, he needed the caffeine. There hadn't been much time for sleep lately, between all the political maneuvering and backroom meetings that this latest crisis had spawned.
"Would it surprise you to know I don't disagree, Val?" he asked the more irate of his two guests calmly. While it was generally amusing to watch her seethe, he owed it to her to be a little more serious, the situation being as grave as it was. "I don't want to be here any more than the two of you want me here, but your President didn't leave me with much choice."
Valentina di Fontaine scowled at him and strode over to the window, twitching the curtain aside to peer out into the night. "This is insane," she said grimly. "There are plenty of things I could be doing tonight--plenty of things I SHOULD be doing." She shot him an evil look. "Instead, I'm wasting time trying to convince a born meddler not to go rushing in where angels fear to tread. What's wrong with this picture?"
"You're exaggerating," Nathan said wryly, wishing she'd sit down. Knowing he'd need all his resources to deal with Gyrich tonight, he'd been trying to meditate when they'd arrived. The tenuous calm he'd managed to achieve was steadily being compromised by the amount of anxiety his two guests were leaking. "I just thought I'd take a little evening drive up to the White House and have a friendly chat with President Gyrich--"
"Okay, the situation's insane, and so are you," G.W. said incredulously from where he was sitting stiffly in an antique armchair. In sharp contrast to Valentina, who was perfectly at ease in the overly elegant surroundings of the study, Bridge had looked like he was afraid of breaking something from the moment he'd walked in. He'd paced across the Persian rug for nearly fifteen minutes before he'd finally picked somewhere to sit. "You can't be serious, Nathan! I thought you were just here to--"
"Sit in the embassy and wait until Gyrich comes to his senses? Sorry to disappoint, G.W."
G.W. looked openly suspicious for the first time. "He won't see you," he said definitively, leaning forward in the chair. "You've got to know that."
"He'll see me," Nathan murmured. The suspicion in G.W.'s eyes mounted, and Nathan raised an eyebrow at him. Alarmed as he was at Gyrich's choices as of late, G.W. clearly still had problems with the idea of any sort of telepathic intervention. "I don't need to tell you that I know what you're thinking, do I?" Nate asked a little nastily. G.W. flushed and started to retort, but Nathan didn't give him the chance to say anything defensive. "I know what I'm doing, and the two of you need to stop worrying." He snorted. "I certainly don't need extra security. You realize you both could be court-martialed for offering?"
"Why don't you let us be concerned about that?" Val said, turning away from the window and folding her arms across her chest as she met his eyes stonily. "You need to be a little more concerned about your own safety," she continued, and Nathan found himself rather touched by the honest concern he was sensing from her. They'd had their disagreements over the years, but it was rather rewarding to realize she was as worried for his sake as she was for the political implications. "This is not wise, Nathan. I can't believe Magnus approves of you being here under these circumstances."
"I didn't ask, actually," Nathan admitted, and made a dismissive gesture as G.W. sucked in breath for an angry retort. "Be serious, both of you. Can you really see Gyrich trying to detain me?"
G.W. was giving him his best disapproving look. "If you think he'd hesitate just because you have diplomatic immunity--"
"Did I say anything about diplomatic immunity?" Nathan asked, letting amusement creep into his voice. He had to admit it was mildly disturbing that G.W. thought Gyrich would even consider provoking an incident with the New Lands by moving against one of their accredited diplomats. No, I can't see him doing that. He has at least enough sense that he doesn't want to provoke hostilities on two fronts. And Nathan was very sure about what Magnus's reaction would be to any action against his ambassador or his embassy. "I don't think he'd be willing to--"
A wave of dizziness hit him and he stiffened in his chair, swallowing as the room around him faded for a moment into transparency, overlapping with the wild, vivid colors of the timestream. It roared like a speeding train or some angry animal, and he squeezed his eyes tightly closed as the whole world seemed to lurch a few centimetres out of place.
"Not now," he muttered, wincing as his vision returned to normal and a pounding headache started to build behind his eyes. "Of all the lousy timing." 'What is, is', he supposed, but this was going to compress his timetable uncomfortably. If he didn't get to the White House before Gyrich's advisors could do any more damage and 'encourage' their President into a shooting war, things would go to hell rapidly.
But he couldn't wait until afterwards to deal with this. Nathan shook his head slowly, sensing both of them, two presences out of sync with the timestream here-and-now. One was still a little way off, but the other was somewhere very close, maybe even on the embassy grounds.
And something very bad had just happened.
"Nathan? Are you paying attention to me?" Valentina was asking, frowning at him.
"Val, sit down," Nathan murmured, narrowing his eyes against the growing pain in his head and studying her and G.W. speculatively. "I think the two of you need to stay here and wait for me to come back," he said, implanting the suggestion in their minds swiftly, not giving himself a chance to regret having to do this to them. Distasteful or not, he didn't have a choice. He couldn't have them interfering.
Smiling humorlessly, he limped from the room, leaning heavily on his cane.
*
Stef holstered his gun and went out to pull the dead security guard into the trees, where the corpse would be out of sight. That had been a little too close, he thought, breathing hard. If the man hadn't been looking the other way when Stef had materialized, things could have gone very differently. What it implied about the precision of the temporal analysis his program relied upon was unsettling. He was supposed to be sliding into places and moments where no one would notice him. Sanctuary points, the technical term was.
This certainly hadn't been one. Thank goodness for silencers. He had a fair amount of expertise in hand-to-hand - his father had been quite insistent about him learning to defend himself, Stef thought with a momentary pang - but he hadn't been prepared to take any unnecessary risks. A shot to the back of the guard's head had been perfectly adequate in this case.
He left the corpse behind a row of bushes and crouched beside it for a moment, studying the embassy thoughtfully. This was probably a loss already, Stef thought in frustration. Wasted time, again-- It was hardly his fault. But someone was sure to miss the guard, soon. He needed to get off the embassy grounds, maybe set up an ambush farther along the route--
"I'm getting a little annoyed with you, Stefano," someone said coldly from behind him.
It was a very familiar voice. Blood running cold, Stef turned around slowly, the tiny part of his brain that was still functioning rationally trying to figure out whether it would do any good at all to draw his gun. This was--not good. So many of the nexus windows he'd included on his list involved this man in some role, but Stef had very carefully structured his plan of attack so that he would not wind up in this situation, face to face with Nathan Summers while the latter was in full possession of his powers.
At the moment, his so-called 'uncle' was looking just as exceedingly displeased as he sounded. His features set in a harsh mask, his left eye blazing with light, almost spitting sparks in the near-darkness, Nathan glared down at him icily.
"Do you have any idea what you just did?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous growl.
Stef kept his mouth shut, and tried to see a way out of this. If Nathan attacked him telekinetically, maybe the feedback from the shield would stun him for long enough to let him get away--
"I don't suppose you really care," Nathan said, biting off each word viciously. "It wouldn't matter to you to know about the people that will die or never be born because you just murdered a man."
"No," Stef said, as calmly as he could. His voice came out surprisingly steady. He might be in an untenable situation at the moment, but he wasn't going to show any fear. "It wouldn't."
"Ending a life creates more change than any other method of intervention a time-traveler has at his disposal. It does more damage." Nathan's tone was calmer now, as if he were delivering a lecture, but Stef wasn't fooled. He could still see the dreadful look in the older man's eyes. "I can repair almost everything you could do, but I can't bring back the dead."
It sounded almost like an accusation. Stef forced himself to take a deep breath before he spoke. "Creating change is sort of the point," he said very carefully. "I have--a bit of problem with the world as it stands." He managed, somehow, to smile. Nathan only continued to glare at him. "I'm sure you can sympathize with that. Wasn't that what brought you back to the twentieth century, Uncle Nathan?"
Nathan's hand went white-knuckled on his cane, and for a moment he didn't say anything. A tiny, perverse part of Stef pointed out gleefully that there really wasn't anything Nathan could say and not sound like a hypocrite, because he'd done the exact same thing as Stef was doing now.
"Under somewhat more altruistic circumstances, boy," Nathan finally growled, the heat in his voice unmistakable.
"Really?" Stef forced himself to say casually. Cane or no cane, he reflected, Nathan still looked perfectly capable of ripping him from limb to limb with his bare hands. He let the words already forming in his mind come out, knowing they would be goading, knowing it was dangerous, but unable to think of anything else to do. He had to distract Nathan somehow, or he had no chance. "The fact that you lost everything that meant anything to you didn't have anything to do with it? That surprises me."
Nathan's eyes narrowed alarmingly, and Stef flinched, despite himself. "Let's not play these games, shall we?" he snapped.
"Yes, let's not," Stef said, keeping the smile on by sheer force of will. "You wouldn't want to come off as a hypocrite, would you, Uncle Nathan? You did EXACTLY what I'm doing now. You decided you didn't like the world you were living in, so you decided to change it."
The air between them seemed to grow heavy, charged with something more than Nathan's obvious anger. "I could stand out here until the next century turned pointing out the differences to you, but I'm not going to bother." He took a limping step forward, and Stef managed not to take one backwards in response. "I want you to stop this, Stef. Now."
Stef gave a strained laugh, hardly able to believe his ears. "You--want me to stop. That's all you have to say?" He shook his head disbelievingly. "What are you trying to do, appeal to my better nature?"
"Either that or your sense of self-preservation." The light from Nathan's eye died suddenly, but that heaviness in the air remained. "You stop or I make you stop, Stef. It's that simple."
No. He wasn't going to give up, not when he'd come this far already, not when the only thing waiting for him back in 2041 was a prison cell at the very best. "I'm surprised you're even giving me the option," he rasped. "Your bitch of a daughter wouldn't if she were in your place."
Some indecipherable expression flashed across Nathan's face like lightning. "Watch your mouth," Nathan said harshly.
Another laugh burst from Stef before he could stop it. It really was funny, in an appalling sort of way. "Why?" he asked innocently. "Don't you want to know what kind of monster she turned into after you were gone? Or maybe you'd approve--using people and throwing them away was a favorite tactic of yours, wasn't it?" Nathan's eyes narrowed again, and Stef fancied he saw that cold mask fracturing at the edges. "Oh, I could tell you stories, believe me. Would it make you proud to know that your little girl grew up into a cold-blooded, murdering whore with delusions of godhood?"
Nathan's eyes widened slightly and he scowled. "I'd be thoroughly hypocritical to have a problem with most of that," he said tightly, "but there are healthier things to do than looking me in the eyes and calling my daughter a whore." His eyes narrowed again. "But it's odd, sometimes, what dictates word choice," he muttered, and Stef flinched at the indescribable sensation of what he knew, intellectually, had to be his shields being meticulously peeled away. "Let's just take a look and see where that came from, shall we?"
Stef gave a choked laugh and opted for bravado. "You can--look, Uncle Nathan--but I don't think you're going to like it." He's going to see everything! part of him protested, half in terror, half in fury. The thought made him nauseous, the very idea of having a telepath inside his mind again, violating his privacy, seeing--
Everything. Inspiration hit in a sudden, crystal-clear moment, and Stef closed his eyes, barely holding back another, wilder laugh. "You--want to see why I hate her, Uncle Nathan? Here!" he gasped out, and called up the memory.
It was so easy to summon it up in such detail. He'd frozen the memory in time, so that he'd always remember--so that the shame of it would stay with him forever. Eight years in the past, and it was still as clear as day.
No one had wanted him to go ahead with the Christmas ball that year, not when the plane crash that had killed his father had happened barely two months beforehand. But Stef hadn't listened. He'd known what his father would have wanted. The ball was a tradition. Appearances had to be maintained.
Nariah hadn't understood. In retrospect, she hadn't understood much, had she? He'd married her thinking she was perfect, everything he wanted in a wife. Nariah had reminded him so strongly of his mother, both of them tiny, exquisitely beautiful women from impeccable families. But she'd broken faith with him at the time he'd needed her most, when he'd been struggling to keep the company afloat after his father's death. She'd started to demand more of his attention than he could give, complaining constantly that she was unhappy--threatening to leave. He'd been forced to make it clear to her that it wasn't an option.
Appearances had to be maintained.
Then, on the night of the ball, she'd burst out shrieking at him in public, accusing him of all sorts of horrific things, berating him in front of his guests. He'd pulled her aside to reason with her, to get her to calm down, but she'd persisted, flying into a wild rage when he tried to remove her from the ballroom so they could speak in private.
And that was when Clare had decided to interfere. It had been none of her business, none at all, but Nariah had seemed to see her as some sort of defender, turning to her for support, repeating those ridiculous accusations at the top of her lungs.
It would have taken the self-control of a saint not to slap his wife. Fortunately, they'd been in the hallway outside the ballroom through all of this. Very few people, if any, had seen him strike Nariah, or Clare haul him away and all but break his jaw.
He'd fallen, and laid there stunned for a moment, looking up at them. Tiny blonde Nariah in her bronze silk dress had been weeping hysterically and clinging to Clare, who had loomed over him implacably, a tall, dangerous presence in sleek, glittering black.
You will never do anything to hurt her again, Clare had said coldly, and he'd felt her inside his mind, burning the words into his thoughts so that he'd never be able to escape them, so that even the thought of violating that command caused him pain.
The two of them had turned and left him lying there, humiliated. He hadn't seen Nariah since. He'd had only one recourse for his wounded pride, only one person upon whom he could take revenge for the wrong done him.
And oh, how he had. In as many creative ways as possible, he'd made her life harder, caused her pain, made her suffer and rage helplessly at the whims of fate. It had always been at arm's length, so that Clare would never even suspect him. The death of a thousand cuts--only some had been far deeper than others. Stef took particular pleasure in the memory of a collared Clare in the hands of a mutant anarchist group only too happy to take the funding and information he'd offered and use it to capture and make an example out of the XSE's counterterrorism commander. His only regret was that they hadn't gotten the chance to kill her before she'd been rescued--
Staggering backwards, Nathan fell to his knees and shook his head almost frantically, a growl that sounded more animal than human escaping him. "You--you son of a flonq," he gasped out.
Stef seized the opportunity and swiftly pulled his gun. His hand was shaking so badly that he nearly dropped it, but Nathan was still clearly dazed. One shot, he only needed one clear shot--
"No!"
Someone slammed into Stef from behind just as he was taking aim, someone who hung on even where the shield flared to life. Stef cursed and struggled, managing to get his gun hand free. He couldn't get a shot off, not at this angle - he couldn't even see who'd jumped him, damn it! - but he was able to smash his attacker across the face with the barrel of the gun.
Nate - of course it was Nate, who else would it be? part of Stef laughed hysterically - reeled backwards, clearly stunned. Stef didn't spare a moment to wonder how he'd gotten here, how he'd guessed. There wasn't time. He whirled, bringing his gun to bear on Nathan again.
Nathan was still on his knees, doubled over as if in pain. The air around him was beginning to glow, lighting with a soft green radiance. "Stop," he grated, his voice raw and anguished as he clutched at his head. "Stop it--you don't know what you're doing, Stef--"
What the hell? Stef thought disjointedly. I haven't even-- Shouts rang out from the direction of the embassy, making his decision for him. Stef gritted his teeth and squeezed the trigger.
Someone came through the bushes in a blur of unnatural speed and stumbled, maybe over an uneven patch of ground, maybe something else entirely. Falling between him and Nathan, the slender, white-haired woman in civilian clothing - not a guard, Stef thought in a flash - looked up at him wide-eyed and started to blur towards him.
He'd already pulled the trigger. The shot took her in the chest, and Tara Parrish - former member of the Askani network and as of 2016, attached to the New Lands embassy in Washington - fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, just in front of Nathan. Stef watched as the woman who in 2041 had been the Minister of Foreign Affairs for the New Lands and an important player on the global political stage, struggled to breathe, choking on her own blood.
#NO!# Nathan suddenly roared in his mind. #Stab your eyes, NO!# Green-gold energy exploded outwards from his kneeling form like a shockwave, blotting out the world.
This time, the timestream howled in rage as it reached out and pulled Stef back into the chaos.
2041
Distortion erupted outwards from that point in the timestream like a raging tidal wave. It smashed into her before she had the chance to shield, let alone try to undo it, and Clare moaned in pain, fighting to stay conscious.
It was a losing battle. The last thing she felt was her tether to Nate snapping, and then, nothing at all.
to be continued...
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