Hero: Anybody's Son Will Do [5/5]

Manufactured by Benway

There were no problems when they arrived at the church in Winnipeg. Lee and Artie were taken away somewhere in a minivan, and he was given another set of papers and put on a plane to Toronto. There, he was met, blindfolded, and driven to a farm in country that looked uncannily like the one in the fire zone. He was interrogated for the better part of a week in accented and unaccented English. Madrox visited twice, and Lee called on his real birthday. They set him up in a room in Toronto and told him to wait. It was suggested that he stay indoors until informed that it was safe. He watched television in a language other than English for the first time.

Within two weeks, he had read all of the ten books in the room. He had watched the coverage of the assaults begin to leak out into the media. He watched thousands protesting at the American consulate only three miles away. He was on the verge of going to see what was going on when the celphone that he'd been given rang for the first time.

"Get ready," said Lee. "Funeral. Car coming in an hour."

"Funeral," he said.

"For her," said Lee. "For you."

"For me," he said.

"Don't worry," said Lee. "Won't let you forget."

The line went dead. Half an hour later, there was a knock at the door. He opened it to see a tall gaunt figure in a black leather aviator jacket.

"Steve Gilbert," said the man in some kind of Southern accent. "Got a suit?"

He hadn't, so Gilbert drove him to a mall where they found a place that could do one in an hour. Gilbert said very little the entire time, just stood looking at the floor.

"You knew her?" he asked as they pulled out of the mall.

"Could say that," said Gilbert. "Not as well as you knew her."

"My sister was at her school," said Gilbert, fifteen miles later.

"Was she-" he said.

"Yes," said Gilbert. "Still alive, though."

A half hour later, they took an exit, crossed a large river and entered a completely nondescript city. It reminded him vaguely of Sioux Falls, but with hills. Gilbert parked in front of a church in what was left of the downtown. They entered the anteroom of a small chapel. Gilbert introduced him to no-one, but left him in a corner and went to talk to a blonde girl with one leg sitting in a wheelchair. He looked away.

There were ten others there. Gilbert and the girl who might have been his sister was sitting in one corner, talking to a woman whose red and white hair was almost completely hidden by a black kerchief and a wiry man who said Ja from time to time. On the other side of the door, a short man with black hair streaked with gray was talking to the man he knew as Cassidy, a huge blond man, and a Japanese woman with purple hair. Every so often, two or three of them would turn to him at the same time for a quick glance, then return to whatever they were whispering about. They were all obviously soldiers. Two old women dressed in black came in, holding the largest handbags that he'd ever seen. He wondered what other settings the image enhancers might be set to.

"Hey," he said to them.

"Cheap," one of them said to the other. "Coloring the hair like that."

"I think you might have the wrong funeral," he said.

"Oh no," said the other one. "We've got it right. We knew her well, played bridge every Sunday. Are you American, then?"

"Yes," he said.

"You do have such lovely voices," said the first one. "Mary and I listen to the services from Buffalo every Sunday morning."

The other one grunted.

"Such an example of devotion to god," said the first one. "If only your kind in Africa could follow your example."

"We had them in the apartment underneath," said the other one. "Them from Africa. No idea what a toilet was for. They used the bathtub. Had to have it all out when they left. The man from the housing told me."

The doors to the chapel opened and the others filed in. He followed, but sat near the back. The two old ladies sat down beside him. A minister stood at the front and talked in cliches about higher powers and meanings that could be assigned. Prayers were mumbled, with heads bowed. There was no music. The minister never once said her name. There had been testimonials for his grandmother. There were none for Emma. Only the girl in the wheelchair and Cassidy were weeping. He had wept before, alone in the room in the farmhouse and in the room in Toronto, but not here. He could find no part of her in the chapel to miss. Instead, he felt a slow anger building.

It was all over in 15 minutes. Outside, there was a table of food put out by the ladies' auxiliary. The two old ladies tore across the lobby almost at a run, and huddled alone at the table. As he approached them, he could see them not-very-surreptitiously stuffing cream cakes wrapped in paper napkins into each other's handbags. He gritted his teeth, then began to smile. It took everything he had not to burst out laughing. A hand landed on his shoulder and he started. He turned to see the short man behind him.

"Logan," said the man.

"Marc Washington," he said.

"Sean Cassidy," said Cassidy, joining them. "You're the one who was with her at the end."

"Yes," he said.

"Something wrong, lad?" said Cassidy.

"This," he said. "Her. Do they care?"

"This is the tenth funeral we've had since the fourth," said Logan.

"Aye," said Cassidy. "I need a Guinness."

"Coming?" said Logan.

He looked up. All of the others were staring at him, stonefaced.

"Sure," he said.

They walked down the street and around the corner into what looked like the main shopping street. Logan led them up a staircase to an upscale bar that was empty at 2 in the afternoon. Logan ordered three pints of Guinness.

"Not your sort of place," said Cassidy.

"Only place around that has Guinness on tap," said Logan. "My kind of place has Blue."

They sat in silence until the waiter brought the draughts. He took a sip. It tasted metallic and bitter.

"Not used to stout?" said Cassidy. "Drink up, it'll make a man out of you."

He forced some of it down. He and Logan watched in silence as Cassidy finished a pint in under a minute.

"How did she die?" said Cassidy.

He looked at Cassidy's face. It was covered in scabs and tiny scars. It was impassive.

"He deserves to know," said Logan.

"Weren't you told?" he said.

"I want to hear it from you," said Cassidy.

"Were you her husband?" he asked.

"No," said Cassidy, laughing hollowly.

"She asked about you," he said. "She smiled when I told her you were OK."

"What kind of smile?" asked Cassidy.

"Small," he said. "She looked away like she didn't want me to see it."

Cassidy buried his head in his hands and started to sob, silently.

"All we do now is cry," he said, trying to fight back his own tears.

A heavy hand covered his own.

"Part of growing up," said Logan.

Cassidy lifted his head and stared, red-eyed. He fought the urge to look away.

"She and one other were the loves of my life," said Cassidy. "The only reason I know that the other might be alive is because you saw her being taken away. Please. How did Emma die?"

"In her sleep," he said.

"Sleeping with you?" said Cassidy.

"Hey," he said.

"Ease up," said Logan. "This is important, Marc."

He swallowed, hard.

"No," he said. "I came back from getting some shopping and I found her lying in the bed, dead. The book said she might die like that."

"Book?" said Logan.

"Went to the library," he said. "Found a book on her disease. Thought she was getting better, but the book said she could die at any moment."

"You were sure she was dead," said Cassidy.

"She was cold," he said. "There was no pulse. There was bleeding from her nose, blood in her eyes."

"Oh Lord," said Cassidy.

"Why did you put her in the river?" said Logan.

"Don't know," he said. "I couldn't leave her behind in the room, not with Artie and Lee to get to safety. We couldn't take her with us."

"Why could you not have buried her?" said Cassidy.

"No time," he said.

"You wanted to get rid of her," said Logan.

"I wanted her to escape," he said. "To get away."

"You buggered that up," said Cassidy.

"How?" he said.

"Guess you weren't thinking straight," said Logan. "They found her body two days later stuck in the gate of a dam downriver."

"Oh shit," he said.

Logan put a tiny stainless steel container in front of him. It looked vaguely like a film canister.

"What?" he said.

"I stole the body before they could ID it," said Logan. "I had it cremated. That's some of the ashes. There's another one for the school."

He stared at it. He picked it up with both hands. He half expected to be warm. It wasn't. He held it to his chest and closed his eyes.

"You filthy liar," said Cassidy, rising.

"Sit down, Sean," said Logan.

Cassidy sat, glowering.

"We only kissed," he said.

"Could that have been enough?" said Cassidy.

"Don't know," said Logan. "Have to ask-"

A bald man materialized in the empty seat beside Cassidy.

"-Chuck," said Logan.

"Charles Xavier," said the newcomer.

Cassidy said nothing.

"I must apologize for not being here in person," said Xavier. "Even so, I would think that you might have chosen a venue that somewhat more accessible."

Cassidy grunted.

He looked at Xavier. Middle-aged, maybe 50, wearing a dark suit, and a tie. Wore one every day, it looked like. Thin lips. Cold eyes.

"The situation has improved in the last hour, gentlemen," said Xavier. "Our gunner here will give a press conference tomorrow in Toronto, describing what he saw after the attack on the centre. That, and the testimony of the Braddocks should press Gore into not running for a second term. None of his challengers will maintain the campaign against, not once the pictures are leaked out. Kelly may go down, and if he goes, so goes the Sentinel program before any of the new units are fully operational."

"You cold bastard," said Cassidy. "More than a third of us are gone."

"Yet we have a victory," said Xavier. "No-one died in vain."

"Why did anyone have to die at all?" he said.

"Both Mr. Cassidy and our other security experts believed that the defenses were adequate," said Xavier. "Emma was not ignored."

Cassidy looked down at the table.

"She had a point, Chuck," said Logan.

"And you were both over-ruled," said Xavier. "I had no notion that the military were willing to go that far. They were careful to psy-shield all their officers. It's a pity we don't still have Mr. Washington here still in the services. He might have been able to obtain some of their gear for us."

"She said she saw you once," he said. "In a hospital, when she was drying out. She said you left her behind. That you told her she was useless."

"I have no recollection of it," said Xavier. "I saw so many in those days, so many who had thrown their gifts away on drugs."

"You put a fail-safe in, didn't you?" snarled Cassidy. "You didn't fucking trust me to keep them safe, did you?"

Cassidy looked almost ready to lunge, but then froze and went limp, slumping into the corner.

"He'll be quiescent for the next hour or so," said Xavier to Logan. "I'll deal with him on the way back."

He stared at Xavier.

"Fail-safe?" he whispered.

"If she were to engage in sexual activities with a person that she knew to be under the age of 20, then her nervous system would cut out," said Xavier. "She would be unable to move or even to breathe. I rather counted on her victim being there and able to summon assistance."

"I killed her," he whispered.

"Hardly," said Xavier. "You couldn't have done anything she didn't want you to. You had no will to resist her desires."

The cut, she had said. Cut off the from world. Not even able to move her eyes.

"Or breathe," said Xavier. "Artificial respiration might have been of use, but I believe you were out shopping."

He lunged, but his fist passed through empty air. Logan caught him in an unbreakable grip and made him sit down.

"You fuckers," he breathed.

"It was the most sensible course of action," said Xavier. "Logan suggested summary execution when she first came to us, but we do not kill."

"But you-" he said.

"She could have waited," said Logan. "It was only a week."

"Fundamentally, she was a weak woman," said Xavier. "The fail-safe was a compromise solution. I was in favour of an immediate cut, but Kitty and Jean and Elizabeth spoke for her, as did Sean. Don't weep for her, she was a murderer many times over. She was crawling with disease."

"You set it up," he said. "You set them all up to die."

"If I had, I'm certain that Logan would have killed me by now," said Xavier.

"It was bad luck, kid," said Logan. "Just bad luck."

"I gave up my family and my life when I went over to you because I thought you were right," he said. "I thought you were for life. For right. For good."

"But we are," said Xavier. "This is a war that we did not declare. We were forced to fight and, if there is a fight, there will be casualties."

"Fuck you and your war," he said.

"And you really believe we're going to let you stand in front of the microphones and tell the world about Emma?" said Xavier. "I think not."

*

He was sitting in a restaurant. He shook his head. He was the only customer there. The plate from his hamburger was sitting empty in front of him. He looked at his watch. He had fifteen minutes to catch the bus. The drop had gone perfectly according to schedule. He had left the envelope with the bookstore owner after he had purchased the book that he'd been told to. He felt a warm glow. Every little bit helped the effort, helped bring the end of the war one day closer. He reached into his pocket and found a metal canister there. He had no idea what it was. It looked like a film cylinder. As he went to leave it by his plate, the image of his mother came into his mind, saying waste not, want not. It was an unusual thing, perhaps having some worth. He placed it back into his pocket.

He made his way to the bus terminal and gave the return ticket to the driver of the Toronto bus. It stopped at a corner for a light a block from the terminal. He looked out of the window. Two old ladies with enormous handbags were walking down the street, pointedly not paying attention to the three girls behind them. The girls couldn't have been older than 16, and all were dressed in short skirts and spandex tops, just like the girls who used to hang out at the bars in Lawton. Two of them were gesturing and yelling at the two old women, but the third hung back, aloof. She was tall and had long blonde hair, like cornsilk. She paid no attention to her companions, but looked right at him. Her pupils were so huge, he couldn't tell what colour her eyes were. He placed his hand to the glass. He began to weep. She looked right through him. The light changed and the bus drove off. He watched until she disappeared from sight. He sat back in his chair and wiped the tears away. She reminded him of someone he could just seem to recall. He closed his eyes and smiled. He knew that it would all come back to him some day.

FIN

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