The Game of Empires - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Valerie Jones
Last updated: 02/13/2010 03:54:13 PM

Chapter 13

The sentiment lasted only as long as it took her to remember why she was there. Psylocke had brought them out in an alleyway that faced the demolished Federal building, and from the mouth, they had a clear view of Erik the Red. Rogue felt her hands clenching into fists at her sides. Everything in her wanted to hurt him, but she knew better than to let her emotions rule her actions and so give away the X-Men’s position. It was hard to just stand there, though.

Erik the Red was still standing in the middle of the street. Rogue could see the faint telltale shimmer of some kind of field surrounding him. The Federal building continued to collapse in stages as Erik apparently snapped the various structural supports. Police and emergency vehicles stood off at a distance, giving her the impression that they had attempted to stop him -- unsuccessfully-- and had wisely retreated to a safe distance.

"Does anyone have a sense for what kind of power he is using?" Ororo kept her attention focused on the scene across the street.

"I can feel a resonance," Joseph said in a hoarse whisper, and Rogue turned to look at him in alarm. He was leaning against the side of the alley, arms wrapped around himself. His skin had gone pale and she could see the sweat that beaded his forehead.

"You were ill the last time you were exposed to Erik as well, if I remember correctly." Hank was studying Joseph intently.

"Are his powers magnetic, then?" Ororo’s face was calm, but Rogue could feel how carefully she was skirting Hank’s unintentional reference to Antarctica. She had never said anything, as far as Rogue knew, but the anger that simmered in the depths of her eyes hadn’t been there before that.

Joseph shook his head cautiously. "I don’t... think so. Not purely, at least." His brow creased in concentration. "He... is... manipulating the Earth’s electromagnetic field, though." He glanced up at Storm, who nodded.

"Do you think you can neutralize his power?"

"Not... from here. Further away, maybe." Rogue couldn’t help a small smile for his show of courage. It was obvious that being so close to Erik caused him terrible pain, but he was gamely doing his best for the team. He was so different from Magneto in that respect, she thought as she watched him.

Storm considered for a moment. "Beast, Maggot, go with him. I do not want him to be unprotected."

Hank nodded and offered Joseph his arm for support while Storm turned to Elizabeth. "On the chance that it is not obvious, please let us know when Joseph has done what he can."

"Ya got a plan brewin’ in there?" Wolverine cocked his head to look up at Ororo, his expression set in the grim lines Rogue recognized as the precursor to mayhem.

Ororo stared out at the figure of Erik the Red, her gaze flat. "Other than doing whatever is necessary to stop him, no, I do not."

Wolverine’s bushy eyebrows arched in surprise at the anger in her clipped speech, and Rogue’s stomach knotted. His lips twitched. "I’m beginning ta think the Cajun’s gonna be in a world o’ hurt if ya ever catch up with him."

Rogue sucked in her breath as Storm’s eyes snapped to Logan’s. "That is none of your business," she said coldly.

He was unaffected by her stare. "It is if you’re operatin’ on feelin’s instead o’ reason, darlin’."

They stared at each other until Ororo drew a deep breath, her expression acknowledging the gentle reprimand. "I am angry with Remy for refusing to return to the X-Men," she explained slowly. "I will not let that impair my judgment."

Rogue turned away, fighting tears. When people had begun to demand an explanation from her for what had happened in Antarctica, she’d told them that Remy wouldn’t be coming back to the mansion. Wouldn’t, not couldn’t. One little word that made a world of difference in the interpretation. She couldn’t even blame Remy for the lie. His persona was long gone by the time she’d been faced with that question.

Out in the street, Erik stiffened and then whirled, his eyes scanning the area.

"I think that’s our cue," Bobby commented as his form rippled, becoming ice.

Psylocke nodded. "Joseph is interfering with his powers."

Storm stepped out of the alley with the rest of the X-Men falling in behind her. Logan stayed a step behind her, though he was the unacknowledged co-leader of the team. Rogue didn’t think it was out of respect, particularly, but simply for the tactical advantage of consolidating the X-Men behind a single leader. Rogue found herself standing with Cecilia and Cannonball as they spread out. She knew the X-Men made an imposing sight, though Erik the Red gave no sign of being impressed.

Instead, he gave them an ingratiating smile. "X-Men. To what do I owe the honor?"

Rogue glared at him, wishing desperately that Storm would give them permission to assault the man who had destroyed so many of her dreams.

Storm stared at Erik without expression. "There is no honor in meeting you." His grin didn’t falter as she continued, "You will cease this destruction and surrender yourself."

Be careful, Storm, Psylocke’s warning echoed in Rogue’s mind. Joseph says he can only partly nullify his powers. He may still be able to attack us.

Rogue tensed, and saw a flicker of fear on Cecilia’s face. In another situation, she would have tried to reassure the new X-Man, but Erik the Red claimed her attention completely.

Erik crossed his arms, his posture casually defiant. "You’re short a few members, I see," he drawled.

Cold fury enveloped Rogue. In a recessed corner of her mind, she knew that he was baiting them, but she didn’t care. His smarmy grin was more than she could bear. He was at least as responsible for Remy’s death as she was, and probably a good deal more. Everything he’d done to them had been aimed at driving a wedge between the X-Men. He’d used her like he’d used Remy, and shattered her heart into a million pieces simply because it would weaken the team.

With a scream to rival Wolverine’s, she launched herself at Erik.

"Rogue, no!" Storm’s cry echoed in her ears, but she ignored it. The entirety of her mutant strength was packed into the blow as she plowed into Erik, fists first.

It was like slamming into the side of a mountain. The punch staggered him, but it was as if there was more to him than just a human body. She had the strangest sensation of a shadow overlaying him, like invisible armor that existed just beneath his skin. She didn’t think it was something physical. It was more like a force field, but even that description didn’t fit. Slightly dazed, she hovered in front of him while she regrouped.

Erik rubbed his jaw. His eyes had gone cold, and Rogue saw their color for the first time. They were a pale blue, flecked with gold. She tensed as he raised his other hand, fingers spread.

A door opened up in the space between them. Rogue back away cautiously from the gaping darkness, pressing her lips together as she spied a glowing pair of eyes within the doorway. They were yellow, and moved toward her as if they were attached to a body she couldn’t yet see. Then the creature emerged, stepping into existence as it passed through the doorway. It was nearly as large as a horse, but built much lower to the ground. The furless body was vaguely feline, though more heavily muscled. It’s skin was the color of dried blood, thick and roughly textured. The color darkened to black around the muzzle and legs. Its feet seemed overly large for the body, like a lynx’s, with the tips of heavy claws emerging from each toe. Its footfalls were silent on the pavement.

The creature stepped completely out of the doorway, then lowered its head and dropped its jaw as if scenting. Rogue shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet as it spied her.

Without warning, it lunged. Instinctively, Rogue threw her arms up in front of her body, crying out in pain and surprise as its teeth sank into the flesh of her forearm.

Logan saw Rogue go down under the weight of the demonic creature with a sense of foreboding. But he didn’t have time to sort out the meaning of the premonition as a bolt of lightning speared down at Erik from the cloudless sky.

The field surrounding Erik absorbed the blast, flaring brilliantly. Logan shielded his eyes as he dove forward. He’d heard pain in Rogue’s voice, and even from here he could smell her fear. He would concentrate on the creature attacking her and let Storm and the rest concentrate on Erik.

Rogue heaved the creature away from her while Logan was still approaching. It landed on its side about twenty yards away and skidded across the asphalt. It came to a halt and slowly climbed to its feet, shaking its head. Rogue was on her feet, her expression curious and wary as she examined her arms.

"Ya all right, darlin’?" Logan asked as he came up beside her. He kept his eyes on the demon creature as it walked slowly back up the street.

Rogue nodded. "Ah’d swear that thing bit me, sugah." She stretched her arms out in front of her. "Ah felt its teeth. But there ain’t even a rip in mah uniform."

A short ways away, Erik chuckled as the creature padded up to him and settled on its haunches at his side. He appeared unfazed by the lightning bolt. "Surely you can do better than that, X-Men." He reached up to stroke the creature’s neck absently, his gaze fastened on Storm.

In response, the wind picked up, howling around the street corners and blowing dust from the destroyed building in billowing clouds. The bright sunlight dimmed noticeably as clouds formed over head, their bellies gray with impending rain.

That creature came from the astral plane. Psylocke’s voice echoed in his head, filled with warning. I can’t read anything from him but if we’re dealing with a telepath, we need to proceed carefully.

Logan stared narrowly at Erik. That explained why he couldn’t smell the creature, at least. But it didn’t do anything to tell them who they were dealing with.

Marrow ducked around Storm and walked toward Erik, one hand resting casually on a ready bone spike growing out of her shoulder.

"Marrow, what are you doing?" Storm asked sharply.

Logan shifted slightly as Marrow glanced back over her shoulder, her smile innocent. "I told you, Wind Rider, I just want to meet him."

Erik’s eyebrows rose at that, and Logan found himself wondering just what was brewing in Marrow’s highly twisted mind. This was entirely unlike her. He watched carefully as she stopped in front of the unknown mutant and extended her right hand.

"My name is Marrow," she told him. "I’m a Morlock."

Erik’s expression cleared as he took her hand. "A pleasure, my child." His smile was bizarrely civil, even affectionate.

Logan suppressed a low growl. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself as he moved closer, but something in Erik’s attitude set off all of his warning bells. Unfortunately, he couldn’t identify what it was about Erik that made him seem like such a threat. He was powerful, true, but that generally wasn’t enough to give a man like Logan the cold shivers. There was just something familiar about him, as if he’d met this evil before but no matter how hard he racked his brain, the memory refused to surface.

"Marrow, step away from him," Storm commanded in a stern voice.

Logan thought that was the wrong tack to take with the violent, wild girl. Storm didn’t seem to understand that Marrow would disobey any instruction she gave her, simply as a statement of her hatred for the older woman. Of course, asking nicely didn’t work either, and a show of strength along the lines of beating the girl to a pulp was only marginally effective, at best. Logan thought it might simply be best to knock Marrow out cold with a lightning bolt and then cart her unconscious body back to the mansion when they were done with Erik.

He allowed himself a small smile as he noticed Psylocke. Of course Storm, being the woman that she was, was probably aware of all that, and was simply using the opportunity to create a distraction.

Marrow turned her head to look at Storm from the corner of her eye, her expression defiant. Erik, too, focused on Storm for a moment, and Psylocke picked that instant to strike. She had been slowly maneuvering herself closer to Erik, taking a wide, arcing path that put her behind him. Logan had been tracking her progress and trying to pace her as he approached the demon creature. He launched himself at the creature’s throat, claws extended, at the same time that Psylocke leapt toward Erik with her psychic knife aimed directly at his skull.

Logan heard Psylocke’s scream as his claws sank into the creature’s chest. He sliced downward, his claws passing through its body like cutting through butter. He didn’t encounter any bone, and his claws emerged, bloodless, from the base of the creature’s chest, just above the leg junction. While he watched, the deep slice marks seemed to reseal themselves, leaving the creature whole. It stared at Logan with feline disinterest, the yellow eyes unblinking.

Behind Erik, Psylocke was lying on the ground, her hands pressed to her head. A low moan escaped her. Erik still held Marrow’s hand in his, though whether Marrow could have pulled away from him or not, Logan wasn’t sure. Her free hand now held the bone spike from her shoulder, and her face was set in grim lines.

A short distance away, Storm held her arm out, restraining the other X-Men. Logan thought that was probably wise. Whoever this Erik was, he was a significant threat and should be treated with caution. He didn’t seem interested in prolonging a conflict with the X-Men. So far, he had done nothing but defend himself, except, perhaps, in Psylocke’s case. That, in Logan’s opinion, made him even more dangerous than he appeared.

"Let ‘er go," Logan growled, nodding toward Marrow. He didn’t share Ororo’s hatred for the girl, and didn’t want to see Erik use her for a shield. She’d been used enough, which was the only reason he tolerated her behavior, as well as the only reason he disagreed with Storm’s desire to evict her from the mansion.

Erik released Marrow with a flourish. "Of course." He looked between Marrow and Logan. "So, how has the traitor faired? I’m afraid I missed his final... judgment." His smile was a snake’s and Logan felt his jaw tighten angrily.

"NO!"

Rogue’s shriek was warning enough. Logan ducked as she flew past him. Erik didn’t bother to try to deflect her as she pummeled him with her fists. The blows were ineffective, but Logan didn’t think the distraught young woman cared.

"You killed him! You killed him!" she sobbed. The words were like a chant, accompanying each blow. A cold pit began to form in the pit of Logan’s stomach.

"Killed who, darlin’?" he asked softly, dreading the answer.

Rogue stopped her assault abruptly, her arms falling to hang limp at her sides. "Remy." The name was a strangled whisper.

Erik’s face split in a wide grin. "Then justice has truly been served. I underestimated you, Rogue. I thought your years with the X-Men had softened you too much to take the traitor’s life."

The violent winds suddenly died, leaving an unearthly silence in their wake. "Dear Goddess... Rogue, what have you done?" Storm’s voice was hardly above a whisper.

Logan felt cold all over. He was no stranger to death, both of enemies and those he held most dear. Gambit had always fallen in the middle of those somewhere. Logan had chosen not to judge him in the wake of the recent revelations, simply because he felt he had no right.

Rogue clapped both hands to her mouth as if that was the only way she could keep from screaming, and sank slowly to the ground.

Watching her, Erik began to chuckle.

Jean paused outside the door of the Grayscape office to wipe her palms on her skirt, then reached up and opened the door. The receptionist looked up as she entered, a pleasant smile on her face.

Jean nodded briefly in greeting, but then took a moment to look around the room. A middle aged woman sat in one of the waiting area chairs, reading a copy of People Magazine. The water cooler was still half full, and emitted a burble and a stream of bubbles as her eyes swept over it. The office was just as ordinary-looking now as it had been when they’d broken in. Nowhere did Jean see anything that might shed some light on the purpose of the place.

Finally, she went over to the receptionist, catching a glimpse of herself in the decorative mirror that lined the back wall as she did so. Jean had done her best to disguise herself. Her hair was pulled up in a conservative bun, and she had chosen an equally conservative suit of gray wool to wear with it. The suit had come from a thrift store near their hotel, and the style was very firmly eighties, though still in good condition. A visit to a one-hour eye glasses place had provided her with a pair of clear-glass spectacles. Looking at herself, Jean had to suppress a silent prayer of gratitude that her life had never taken her down the road of American suburbia. As much as she sometimes craved some normalcy for her life, she could never complain that she was in any danger of becoming the woman she saw in the mirror.

"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked politely. Inside the psi-damping field, Jean could read nothing from her, but plain intuition told her that the woman was exactly what she appeared to be. She could sense nothing hidden or secretive about her.

Jean nodded. "At two o’clock. I’m a little early." In fact, she was almost thirty minutes early, but that fit with the character she was trying to play. She was taking a huge risk in doing this. Anyone who was searching for telepaths might very well recognize the X-Man Phoenix on sight. But neither she nor Scott could think of a better way to find out what Grayscape was all about.

"Your name?" The receptionist had pulled out an appointment book rather than going to her computer. Jean had no idea if that was significant.

"Ellie Watson," Jean answered. She’d wanted to use a name that was completely different from her own, again to avoid giving anyone a hint of her true identity. Now she just hoped she wouldn’t forget it.

The receptionist looked through her book for a moment, then nodded. "This is your first visit, correct?"

Jean nodded and the other woman began to gather up a handful of papers. She clipped them to a clipboard, which she handed across the counter to Jean. "I’ll need you to fill out these forms. There’s a medical history that you need to fill out and sign, and this other one," she indicated a blue page, "is a survey that will help the doctor determine how best to evaluate your gift."

Jean kept her expression still as she took the paperwork. My "gift", huh? There was definitely some salesmanship going on here. The advertisement they’d used to find the phone number for Grayscape had used the same kind of language. It hadn’t said anything about mutants or powers, but had stuck to the more mystical contexts. Jean had been thoroughly surprised when Scott had come back from his evening run with a copy of every single rag and tabloid he could find, but his idea was, in her biased opinion, near genius. They’d gone through each of the magazines, particularly the want ads and personals at the end, and had come up with a gold mine. Doctor Levy’s mysterious office was advertising free psychic testing.

Jean went to work on the papers while the receptionist called the other woman into the back to see the doctor. She had prepared some bogus information to use on the forms for address and date of birth, etc. There actually was an Ellie Watson who lived in the D.C. area, which was how Jean had chosen the name. But, rather than cause the woman too much trouble, she was using a random social security number and date of birth. The deception wouldn’t hold up beyond a cursory search, but that was all Jean was planning to need.

She finished the paperwork and returned them to the receptionist, then returned to her seat. She picked up one of the magazines and leafed idly through it, trying not to let her nervousness show. She had had her powers stripped away in far worse circumstances than this, but for some reason the psi-damper operating in such an otherwise normal and friendly atmosphere was disturbing. She was reassured by the knowledge that Scott was outside somewhere, waiting, and would come looking for her if something happened. But still, she felt highly vulnerable, as if any moment the receptionist would point to her and say "I know who you are".

"Ms. Watson?"

Jean looked up. The other woman she had seen going into the back was now leaving, which Jean took as a good sign.

"The doctor will see you now."

Jean rose and followed the receptionist through the door into the hallway behind the waiting area. They went directly to the end of the hall and walked into the laboratory area. Jean paused at the door to look around since it would be expected of her, and to give herself a moment to adjust as her powers came back.

Dr. Levy approached and offered his hand, which Jean accepted. He was a surprisingly friendly-looking man, with unruly black hair and a pair of black rimmed glasses. He was wearing a standard white lab coat and a Marvin the Martian tie. He didn’t fit Jean’s image of a mad scientist at all.

"Hello, Ms. Watson. I’m Matthew Levy."

Jean shook his hand, and then he gestured toward the table in the center of the room. "Please, sit down. We’ll be ready to begin in just a few minutes." He took the papers that Jean had filled out from the receptionist and began to read through them.

Jean studied the rack of test equipment while she extended a fine tendril of telepathy toward the doctor. She was a little surprised that she found no shields around his mind, and no indication of psi sensitivity. Wary, she pushed a little deeper and was engulfed by his fascination for the physical science of psionics, both mutant and non-mutant. Jean forced her expression to be still. Doctor Levy was of the school of thought that believed that telepathy was not just a mutant phenomenon. She did not find anything immediately suspicious in his mind, which left her more curious than ever. This man was, at least in name, the Director of a government project that had ties to Zero Tolerance.

Jean withdrew her gentle probe as Dr. Levy sat down across the table from her. He was still reading the survey she’d filled out. He glanced up and met her gaze.

"You say here that you always seem to know what people are going to say before they say it." He indicated the blue page. "Can you tell me some more about that?"

Jean nodded and launched into the story that she and Scott had prepared. Hopefully, it would be enough to convince the doctor that she had some ability, without giving him reason to think she might have significant ability. When she finished, Dr. Levy nodded.

"It does sound like you may have some psionic ability. Do you know anything about Project Grayscape?"

Jean shook her head. "I just saw the ad in the Daily News."

Dr. Levy leaned back in his chair. "Well, we’re a government program sponsored by a number of sources, including the National Science Foundation. Our purpose is to study the existence of psionics in our country."

"Psionics?" Jean asked.

"Telepathy."

"Oh." She made a show of understanding. "Isn’t that a mutant thing though?"

He nodded. "Often, it is. One of the things I’d like to do today is to take a blood sample to check you for the X-factor. Don’t worry, it’s a confidential test. Your name will never be attached to the test results. You’ll be given a code number to give when you call the lab for the results. After you find out, you’ll have the option to disclose that information to me, or not, as you choose."

Jean digested the information in silent surprise. She hadn’t realized that mutancy testing had become so commonplace. "All right," she finally agreed.

Dr. Levy smiled. "Good. Then we’ll go ahead and do that, and check you blood pressure and such, and then we can get on with the test."

He left briefly, returning with a cart filled with the expected paraphernalia. Jean endured the pinprick of the needle, using the opportunity to touch Levy’s mind again. This time, she tried to follow the associations he had mentioned when he talked about Grayscape’s sponsors. She was staying in the outer areas of his mind, unwilling to intrude very far, but she did find the National Science Foundation in his mind. It was actually a very small partner in Project Grayscape. Much of the funding came from deeper in the government -- Defense Department, National Security Agency and the like. Jean suppressed a concerned frown. She had expected to find such ties, but Levy seemed completely trusting of the government. She found no suspicions on his part that the government might be searching out telepaths for anything but the most benign reasons.

Then she hit the wall in his mind and recoiled in surprise. Just beneath the surface activity, there was a solid wall that protected everything else. Jean backed off, not wanting to be noticed. Without testing the wall against her own powers, she had no way of knowing if she could penetrate it or not, but she had her doubts. It struck her as being a manufactured psi block, and those things were notoriously strong.

Levy was oblivious to her probe. He finished his mini-exam and turned to the rack of test equipment, handing Jean the headset with the pair of electrodes. As she put the headset on, she shut down her powers as far as she was able. She knew from her past experience that the psionic noise the test set generated was loud enough to be painful if she didn’t take steps to protect herself.

"What do I do?" she asked Levy.

He continued to fiddle with the settings. "Just sit there." He glanced at her with a reassuring smile. "And let me know if you hear anything."

She had her powers damped down far enough that she actually didn’t hear the first setting. The second hovered just on the edge of her perception, a low, irritating buzz. She ignored it, and the third setting. On the fourth, she allowed herself a puzzled frown.

"Do you hear something?" Levy asked with interest.

"I’m... not sure." If it weren’t for the possible danger of the situation, Jean would have enjoyed the roleplaying immensely. "I don’t hear anybody saying anything, but... it’s like the inside of my head itches." In truth, the sensation was downright uncomfortable at this point, but she wasn’t going to tell Levy that.

Looking pleased, Dr. Levy made some notes on his pad and then moved up to the next setting. "How about that?"

Jean nodded. "I can definitely feel that."

"Does it still feel like your brain itches?"

"Yes."

"All right." He reached over to adjust a different knob. "What do you hear now?"

Jean couldn’t quite mask her surprised reaction. "Music." In fact, it was a new song they were playing on the radio that she absolutely detested. It was almost as if the headset was broadcasting a radio feed into her mind instead of her ears. It was an odd sensation. A mind touch was entirely different.

"Do you recognize the song?" Levy was writing more notes.

"No." The woman Jean was pretending to be would not be listening to popular music of this variety.

"Can you understand the lyrics?"

"Not really."

Dr. Levy smiled at her again. "All right. Let’s try this, then." He turned the knob again and suddenly there was a loud voice speaking in her mind. The words were a little slurred, like the effect of dying batteries on a tape player, but still understandable. It was a man’s voice, and he was apparently reading "The Cat In The Hat" by Dr. Seuss.

Jean decided to hedge a little more. "I can hear someone talking," she told Levy, "but I can’t really make out what he’s saying. Something about cats, I think." She paused just a moment. "Am I really hearing this in my mind?"

Levy nodded. "Yes, you are. You definitely have psionic ability. Here, let me show you where you’re registering." He turned off the equipment and then laid down one of the pieces of paper he had with him and turned it around for Jean to see. The picture was a kind of spectrum, with a zero on one end and a twenty on the other. The area between zero and twenty was broken up into uneven intervals, with the largest between zero and one and the smallest between nineteen and twenty. It wasn’t logarithmic, but it definitely indicated a weighting toward the smaller numbers.

Dr. Levy drew a line just above the four. "You’re right about here." The line was just shy of half the distance between zero and twenty.

"Is that good?"

"Very good, actually. This scale represents all known telepathic ability, both mutant and humans. The zero represents those with absolutely no psionic ability whatsoever. About ninety-nine point eight percent of the population is in that category."

Jean watched him with interest. He was claiming to know how many telepaths there were? Even with Cerebro, Charles had never been willing to make that kind of estimate.

"Of the remaining point two percent," Levy went on, "the level of psi ability is broken down in the ratios you see here. We’ve simply labeled them Level 1, Level 2 and so on. Now, each level of ability is a factor ten greater than the next lowest, with Level 1 representing the baseline."

At Jean’s puzzled look, he continued, "That would mean that a Level 2 is ten times more perceptive than a Level 1 and a Level 3 is ten times more perceptive than a Level 2. That would make the Level 3 one hundred time more perceptive than the Level 1. Does that make sense?"

She nodded, and his expression became solemn, almost regretful. "The truth is, your score makes it very likely that you’re a mutant."

Jean stared at him, completely at a loss for how she should react. He appeared to take it as an expression of shock, and continued gently, "We’ve never seen a human psi above a Level 2."

"So... what happens now?" Jean finally asked when she thought she’d waited an appropriate amount of time.

Levy’s expression cleared. "Well, a number of things could happen now. You could simply leave here, never to return, and go on with your life. Or, you might choose to take part in one of our research studies. We have several test facilities across the country. Your expenses would be paid, and you would have the chance to develop your ability more fully."

Jean considered that. It sounded too good to be true, especially since the X-Men had never heard of such a program.

"I think I’d like to think about that for a while," she told Levy.

He nodded sympathetically. "Of course. I’ll have my receptionist give you an information packet to take with you."

Jean went back to looking at the psi spectrum, her thoughts churning. She had the feeling she and Scott had stumbled onto something far more important than they could have guessed. She didn’t have anything concrete to go on yet, but her instincts were rarely wrong when they were this strong.

"Is there something else?" Levy asked.

Jean glanced up at him. "Have you ever found a Level 20?"

His expression became guarded. "That’s an estimate, actually, based on some readings taken a few years ago during a conflict between two unknown mutants."

"Really? Where was that?" She tried to sound only mildly curious.

Levy shrugged the question away. "I don’t know. Most of that information is privileged." But very quietly, his mind whispered the name Muir Island.