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| Issue #8 August 2010 |
"The Day After Tomorrow" Written By Tony Thornley |
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“Sugar Man likes you.”
The twisted creature waved one of his four arms at the single figure in front of him. He simply nodded and set a disc on the table. Sugar Man reached across the table and grabbed it. He handed it to one of his subordinates.
“That’s what I’ll need from you for the next month,” he said. “In exchange, we’ll be able to supply you with the cash you need plus fifteen percent.”
“Twenty for exclusive,” he said.
“Excuse me?” the man said.
“Twenty percent,” Sugar Man repeated. “Then Sugar Man is all yours. No others. Devoted to you.”
“Done,” he said. “I’ll also need surveillance on several people. As detailed as possible.” He set several photos on the desk. Sugar Man cocked his head to one side, and grabbed the photos with one hand. He took one in each hand. He pointed with each with his pointed tongue.
“Dead,” he said. “SHIELD custody, Genosha… don’t know.” He turned to a small glass aquarium and speared one of the hairless rodents inside with his tongue. He dipped the writhing rodent in a vat of white liquid and slurped it down.
“Summers family,” he continued. “Very interesting. Good blood. Strong blood. No Havok.”
“No,” he said. “No Havok.”
“Down payment?”
“I thought you liked me Sugar Man,” he laughed, no humor behind it.
“Only gets you so far,” he replied. “Need operating capital.”
“Naturally,” he said. He turned and gave a nod to the gold and green suited underling standing at the door. He pulled a phone from his pocket and quickly sent a message. A few moments later, one of Sugar Man’s misshapen lackeys tapped him on the back and handed him a PDA. Sugar Man’s eyes widened and he smiled.
“Sugar Man likes you even more.”
“Consider it your first month’s salary as a member of the Brotherhood,” he said.
“Brotherhood?” Sugar Man said. “Will be fun.”
“Of course,” he said. “And you’ll like my boss. Goes by the name MODOK.” Sugar Man began giggling.
“Big fan of his work,” he said. “Good looking too. And your name?”
“My name is Kevin,” he said, a slight accent piercing his voice. “But y’can call me Proteus.”
=X=
Scott Summers sat in Nick Fury’s office aboard SHIELD’s primary helicarrier. The former X-Man known as Cyclops drummed his fingers on Fury’s desk. SHIELD’s director ignored him as he hung up his call. He removed his wireless headset and turned to Cyclops.
“Well, are you happy?” he asked. “I was just irritable towards the head of the UN Security Council.”
“Wasn’t the first time,” Scott said. “Saw the Force Works hearings. How are they doing, by the way?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fury said, meeting his gaze. Scott raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes.
“So what did you want to talk to me about?” he asked.
“We got our asses kicked in Ecuador,” Fury said, “but you kept things from getting worse than they were.”
“And I got you the most important intel we’ve needed for the last… two years,” he said. “Mesmero.”
“A greatly enhanced Mesmero,” Fury said.
“So what does that mean for me?”
“That means that Frost wants you to stay,” he said. “She simply wants to be the big picture person. She claims that she needs someone like you in the field, and if I can’t get you, she won’t be involved. Period.”
“That’s a record turnaround,” Scott said. “Took all of, what, two days?”
“You do it, I’ll erase Alaska.”
“You can’t be serious,” he growled. “I can’t believe this is still happening.” He sighed. “She was my wife Fury. It’s time to move past it.”
“And that’s what I’m offering Scott,” he said. “You’ll be the field commander and tactician for a branch of SHIELD, with all the rights that go with it.”
“And if I say no?”
“I’m sorry, but you know the answer to that question.”
“I get say in my primary team,” he said. “And full control in the field.”
“Done and done. Anything else?”
=X=
San Jose, California
“Mister Worthington,” one of the members of the crowd said. “Harold Walker, Sacramento Free Press.” Warren grinned from where he sat. This was his third meeting of this type- a small affair in an intimate setting. Today, it was a diner that had been open since the early forties, still owned by the same family. He sat on the counter, a cup of coffee and muffin sitting next to him.
“Mister Walker, you know you shouldn’t be here,” he said.
“Afraid of giving a statement?” Walker asked.
“No,” Warren said. “I asked for no press to give every person possible a chance to listen to what I have to say. The more press present, the fewer people I will represent can come.”
“Will?” he said. Warren nodded.
“Who else has a question?”
“I do,” one man said from the back. He stepped forward, taking several steps towards Warren. Two of his bodyguards stepped in front of him. The man stopped and held his hands out.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t mean to be threatening. My name is Simon Trask. I just have a simple question.”
“What’s your relation to Bolivar, Mister Trask?” Warren asked.
“Nephew.” Warren made a mental note to check on that.
“Go ahead then Mister Trask,” he said.
“Why should anyone in California vote for a mutie?” he asked. Warren’s chief of staff, Michael Palmer, opened his mouth to speak and took a step forward, but Warren put his hand out to stop him.
“It’s fine Michael,” he said. “I needed to have this question asked eventually. To have it asked by a Trask…” Warren sighed and looked Trask in the eye. “Mister Trask, mutants are simply a minority in the United States, much like African Americans or homosexuals. I’m seeking to be the first mutant leader in this country, much like Hiram Revels, our first black congressman, or Barney Frank, the first gay man in Congress. To paraphrase Doctor Martin Luther King Junior, I want to be judged by the content of my character, not the quirks in my genes.” The crowd began to clap. Warren smiled and looked around the room.
When his gaze returned to Simon Trask, the man was gone.
=X=
The fire came again.
He always braced for it, whether it visited him that night or not. He took a deep breath as it appeared again on the horizon. This time, he was in the desert when it appeared, miles of sand in any direction. He was inexplicably drawn towards it, not able to tear his eyes away or alter his path, as always. He reached a ridge, and suddenly the fire was on top of him.
Nathan Christopher Dayspring Summers sat up with a gasp. He took a deep breath. Again, it was the fire. The images of burning had haunted his dreams for months now. He shifted to the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes with his normal hand.
“Professor,” he said, “open blinds, windows at 50% illumination.” The dark room lit up, and Cable stood and walked to the window. He looked across Hammer Bay, Genosha. He sighed. It was time for another long day, policing the small nation.
“The dream again?” a disembodied voice asked. Nate nodded.
“Yeah Professor,” he said. “The dream.”
“Is it still fire, or has it evolved?”
“Evolved in what way?” he asked.
“Any new elements,” the computer explained.
“Just the setting,” he said. “But the setting has never been consistent.”
“Change is the constant,” it stated. Cable was silent for several seconds, leaning against the window with his techno-organic arm. He sighed and pushed away.
“I don’t know Professor,” he said. “Anything happen last night?”
“Forearm left a message,” he said. The voice suddenly changed to that of the former Mutant Liberation Front member.
“Please let Nate know that there was a burglary report at the food bank nearest the bay,” he said. “I spent some time there taking the report, but I think the scene needs a second set of eyes. He can give me a call when he gets there.”
“He give you a priority?” Nate asked.
“He didn’t,” Professor replied.
“Okay,” he said. “I need to meet with Lorna this morning, and I’ll stop by there immediately after. Can you call an-“
“Calling now and your shower is ready.”
“Thanks.”
=X=
“I’m sorry Madame Ambassador,” said the short aide standing in her way. “I’m afraid the President is in town, and the Ambassador-“
“Will take the time he needs to see me,” she said. “Or of course, he may want to create an international incident with the newly appointed Ambassador from Genosha.”
“Of course Madame Ambassador,” he said. He disappeared into the American ambassador’s office for a few moments, and soon a tall man exited. He offered his hand to the statuesque woman standing before him.
“Ambassador Munroe,” he said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Storm smiled as she shook Ambassador Johns’ hand.
“The pleasure is mine,” she said.
“Apologies for my aide’s rudeness,” he said. “He should have understood that your arrival was just as important as the President’s.”
“No apologies are necessary,” she said. “I am not slated to speak before the general assembly until after the President, so your attention must be directed there. I am merely here to inform you of my arrival. I have several old friends to see before I settle into the embassy.”
=X=
The flatscreen TV in Uncanny Investigations’ conference room blinked to life, as a split screen image appeared. Warren Worthington sat with his back to the sunset in his office at Worthington Industries, San Francisco, while Henry McCoy hung upside down in his lab within Avengers Mansion. Bobby Drake, Alex Summers and Kurt Wagner sat with Ororo at the conference table. Warren smiled when he saw Storm.
“Ororo,” he said, “how was the flight?”
“I slept through it, so it was quite nice,” she said with a smile. “Thank you Warren.”
“Well, thank you all for taking the time to be here tonight,” he continued. “I have some bad news for the UI office unfortunately.”
“The money you’ve invested is all we’re going to see?” Bobby asked.
“Yes, exactly,” Warren said. “My campaign people- and I agree- have said that it would probably look bad if anyone discovered that I was a part owner of a private investigation firm in New York.”
“We figured that might happen,” Alex said, “and the three of us are prepared to buy out your shares in UI.”
“Actually, Nathan and myself can take care of that,” Storm said. “We’ll take care of that responsibility.”
“As much as I appreciate it Ororo,” Warren said, “no. Alex is right. It wouldn’t look good for us if foreign interests bought out a small start-up I recent invested in.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Has anyone reached out to Scott?” The question was met with awkward silence. “Oh my hell… none of us have? He’s one of our best friends, and he also just lost his wife-“ He stopped himself and sighed. “Okay, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, and that was both melodramatic and an overreaction. I’ll try to arrange a lunch with Scott.”
“Better you than us,” Bobby said.
“Robert,” Ororo said softly. Bobby bit his lip.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Have we been in contact with any of our other allies?” Hank asked. “Have we been able to build our network any further?”
“I’ve been in contact with several still in the United States,” Alex said. “Most of them have either been offered SHIELD positions or want nothing to do with us. Many of others have fled to Genosha.” Alex gave Ororo a nod.
“Not surprising,” Warren muttered, “considering what happened in Alaska. I’d be lying if I said the thought didn’t cross my mind.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Alex said. “That said, I think we have a few contacts that are definitely in. And I know many of them still agree with our ideals.”
“We are naught but dreamers, sharing a dream of peace and harmony,” Hank said.
“Is there anything else we need to know about?” Warren said.
“We have a potential problem here in Mutant Town,” Kurt said. “Something we should all at least be aware of.”
“Oh?” Warren asked.
“Some unusual missing persons case,” Kurt said. “It appears that several transients and single mutants have vanished in last few weeks. It’s been neighbors and shop owners that have noticed the missing and then came to us. I’ve been in contact with Detective Ismael Ortega of NYPD, and his hands are tied. Given the relatively transient nature of Mutant Town’s population, the department would probably do little more than take reports without any next of kin pushing the case.”
“Was Detective Ortega the gentleman you introduced me to last week when I came to help Cecilia at the clinic?” Hank asked.
“Da,” Kurt said. “That was him and his partner, Detective Harper.”
“If I remember correctly, he mentioned that his wife and children are also mutants,” he continued.
“Izzy actually lives in Mutant Town,” Alex said. “He’s a good man, probably a valuable ally. It’s a delicate situation he’s in, so he’ll probably give us any off-the-books assistance we need, if it comes to it.”
“Let me know if I can be of any assistance,” Hank said.
“Me too,” Warren said. “We’re the standard bearers of the dream now. Let do what Charles never had the balls to do. It’s time to make that dream a reality.”
“Amen,” Kurt said.
=X=
Simon Trask walked through his California apartment, avoiding his pet that feed on the floor. He rolled his eyes as he stared at the misshapen carcass. He would need to be sure to train them to not bring dead things back home. The spider-like biomechanical creature looked up at him and whined. His eyes flashed, and the spider received the data and quickly reprogrammed itself. A small hatch opened on its belly and a swarm of nano-bugs flooded out. They covered the body of the dead mutant child, consumed all they could, then destroyed the remainder of the carcass.
He smiled as he watched. Another victory for humanity. He walked to the picture window and took in his view of the San Francisco Bay. He would have loved to take the time to surf that evening, but he had important work in New York that needed attending. He walked over to his computer and set his hand on a molded tablet . A mass of nanites flowed over his hand, and a moment later he was in his New York body.
He stood from the terminal and walked to his kitchen. Another pet crawled past him, using one of its tendrils to disassemble his weapons systems- a pair of .45 calibur automatic pistols attached to shorter tendrils on his shoulders- and clean the guns. He looked up at his and cocked his head in a very canine manner. He patted the spider-Sentinel on the head and walked into the spare bedroom. On one side of the room lay a table with a partially dissected body laying on it, a grotesque game of Operation. On the other lay a young mutant, whimpering for its life. The male once had scaly apendages and a prehensile tail. Now he was a three-limb amputee. He always left the right arm, just in case he allowed the mutant to go free.
“Hello there again,” Bastion said to it. “Let’s get started back to the topic at hand. Tell me everything you know about Uncanny Investigations.”
It began to scream as Bastion began his work.
=X=
CONTINUED IN UNCANNY X-MEN, X-FACTOR AND MORE COMING SOON…
