"Tahiti, Tahiti! We've never been to any Tahiti. They feed us perfectly well here!"
One indignant cat.
******************
Walter Mayer.
My morning began with strange sounds from Laura's room. Paranoia cheerfully supplied a dozen possible disasters, from unknown enemies attempting to abduct the girl to the girl herself entering a sudden rampage for reasons of her own. Reality proved more ordinary. The little one was training—or rather, warming up and performing a series of strange exercises during which she nearly tied herself into knots. Then she noticed me and smiled.
"Good morning!"
Mm. So much happiness and positivity that I could not help smiling in return.
"Good morning. Training already? A sound mind in a sound body, certainly." I looked at the clock. Half past six. "But getting up this early..."
The girl shrugged.
"I always train at this time. I'm accustomed to it."
"Understood. Begin finishing, then shower and breakfast. We have many great deeds ahead of us today."
"All right. When will your friend arrive? You said something about her yesterday." Curiosity burned in her eyes.
"We agreed on ten. As a true lady, Felicia may be... slightly delayed. I think you'll like her." More accurately, I desperately hoped so. "Now end this improvised interrogation and march to the shower and breakfast."
I ruffled the child's hair and turned her toward the bathroom. At this rate, tousling Laura's hair would become a reflex. While she washed, I prepared breakfast. Perhaps I should take several lessons from Zinaida. The situation was becoming embarrassing. Fortunately, many delicacies remained from the previous evening, and my culinary talents sufficed to heat them in the microwave.
During breakfast, we attempted to create a shopping list. 'Attempted' was the important word. Despite her intelligence and experiences, Laura remained an eleven-year-old girl with an extremely specialized education. She sincerely failed to understand why she needed toys or elegant dresses, yet could compare the performance characteristics of an M16 and a Kalashnikov rifle with professional accuracy, listing every advantage and disadvantage. Mm. This would be far harder than expected.
Time passed unnoticed during list-making and passionate arguments about weapons. Laura demonstrated the difference between an amateur who occasionally read gun magazines and an eleven-year-old professional who had assembled and disassembled models I had never heard of. At precisely ten, the doorbell erupted in a piercing trill. Mentally crossing my fingers, I went to receive our guest.
A highly irritated Felicia stood beyond the door, pressing the bell viciously. What a struggle must have occurred inside her that morning. Arriving exactly on time lacked style, yet curiosity screamed and demanded immediate knowledge of why Walter Mayer had vanished, returned, and made veiled remarks. Our eyes met.
"Mayer, if this is some joke, you will regret it!"
Her irritation required an outlet. The only target within reach was one modest monster from outer space. Poor creature.
"I'm pleased to see you too."
I moved aside and allowed the indignant young woman to enter. Felicia went into the kitchen. I followed while quietly considering what might happen next. Then came the historic moment: Miss Hardy met Laura for the first time. Silence. Young woman and girl examined one another with interest. I risked looking at Felicia's emotions. Oh. I had heard women were more emotional than men, but this was excessive. A storm struck me: surprise, curiosity, pity, warmth toward the child, a little jealousy, and an enormous quantity of rage directed toward those who had tormented her. Laura's voice rescued me from the shock.
"You really are beautiful, just as Uncle Walter said."
What? Had I said that? Pleasure and slight embarrassment flowed from Felicia, mixed with remorse directed toward me. She blushed faintly. Laura, I adored you. One sentence had calmed Miss Hardy and placed her in a benevolent mood. Impressive.
"Mm. Thank you for the compliment. Let us introduce ourselves properly. My name is Felicia. What's yours?"
"Laura. Laura Mayer," the girl finished proudly.
Mm. Shock, our preferred method.
"Mayer?" So much surprise.
"Yes." The little one nodded seriously while consuming another pancake with jam. "Uncle Arctic Fox rescued me from bad people and introduced me to Uncle Walter. Uncle Walter said he would care for me and, if I wanted, arrange... what was it? Guardianship. Yes. That means I'll become his daughter, so I'm Mayer."
The small miracle delivered this with complete childhood directness. Formally, everything was exactly as she described, and I had no objection to such a daughter. Felicia's gaze expressed obvious approval. Judging by her emotions... I examined myself in case white wings and a halo had appeared. Finding no such compromising attributes—especially compromising for a future Dark Lord—I sighed with relief. Prematurely, as it happened. The cunning woman decided to extract several of my secrets through an innocent child. The plan was good. The child was far from simple or naive.
"Laura," Felicia began gently, "you mentioned Uncle Arctic Fox. Who is he?"
My liver suggested trouble.
"Uncle Arctic Fox is Walter's acquaintance. He works as a mercenary and calls himself a 'killing machine,'" the girl began enthusiastically. "He rescued me from the bad people by, as he said, conducting a cleansing. I want to become like him when I grow up. He's strong."
The sweet little girl finished with perfect seriousness while looking toward me. My eye began twitching.
"Uh. I'm delighted that you found common ground so quickly, but perhaps we should go shopping? We need many things, and time is always limited. Felicia, you won't refuse to help me choose Laura's clothing and supplies, will you? I'm afraid I would buy less than half of what she truly needs while salespeople sold me twice as much useless nonsense."
The blonde sighed theatrically.
"Oh, men. What would you do without us? Of course I'll help."
Miss Hardy agreed. Judging by her eyes and emotions, however, an interesting conversation awaited us later. I feared I could not answer most of her questions. Not yet.
"I am profoundly grateful, my lady." I bowed elegantly.
"Move, gentleman," she answered cheerfully.
We dressed Laura and ourselves quickly, then went shopping. The child needed several sets of clothes, personal-hygiene products, and many other things.
*******************
Approximately the same time and place. Rogue.
Anna Marie walked through the street and considered the previous week's events. Among a crowd, loneliness became weaker. She could imagine herself as an ordinary person with happiness and sorrow, daily concerns and problems. Her thoughts returned constantly to the stranger with white hair and amusement hidden inside warm brown eyes. Who was he? Without realizing it, the girl had spent nearly a week circling the site of their first and only meeting.
New York's city services had removed every consequence of the recent events. They had replaced broken windows, repaired roads, and erased claw marks from the skyscraper. Only the witnesses' memories and municipal reports now testified to what had occurred. The young woman sighed sadly and immersed herself in memory. After examining her blood samples, Dr. Hank spent some time striking his head against a wall, chewing his own tie, and even running across the ceiling. Eventually, he calmed somewhat—and returned to the floor—and Professor McCoy shared his conclusions.
"Anna, I must admit that I do not understand how this could have happened."
"You mean something is happening to me, and you don't know what?"
The girl became frightened.
"No," the blue monster reassured her. "I said I do not understand how. As for what occurred, your genetic structure changed and acquired new properties. By comparing sections of your new genome with samples from other mutants, I concluded with ninety-two percent probability that your organism has acquired high-level self-levitation and a general increase in physical parameters. Your structure has now stabilized, indicating that the changes are not temporary. I recommend learning to control the new capabilities."
Beast delivered the verdict under a flood of scientific terminology. The girl looked at the mutant scientist pitifully.
"Doctor, can you say that in English?"
Hank stopped and scratched an eyebrow with one claw.
"Uh. Forgive me. I became carried away. In simple terms, you are much stronger and should be able to fly. Permanently. I have no idea how it happened. I have never heard of mutants capable of granting abilities to others."
The shaggy blue monster completed his summary. Several days went into learning control. At first, strength exercises produced flattened iron spheres, while attempts to fly produced a collection of bruises and bumps. Logan even offered to 'lend' his healing factor after observing his student's suffering, but the girl disliked the idea. Gradually, she mastered the abilities well enough to guarantee the safety of herself and those around her.
On the fifth day, she spoke with Professor Xavier. For the first time, the girl entered the director's office. The workplace of one of the world's strongest mutants was comfortable: wooden wall panels, soft chairs for visitors, many potted plants, and a thick carpet. Light entered through a large window beside the Professor's desk.
"Anna, thank you for coming," the man in the wheelchair greeted her. "How do you feel? Is everything all right?"
"Yes, thank you, Professor. Everything is fine."
"I'm pleased to hear it. You see, Anna, you are an adult young woman, so I can speak directly. Our world currently exists in a precarious balance. Any event could disturb it and send us into the abyss. Our school was attacked recently. Then came the events involving Dr. McCoy. All of this shows that we must be able to defend ourselves, our families, our friends, and those dear to us." He continued gently. "For some time, I have gathered gifted individuals and helped them as far as possible, including providing protection. You have met those who confront danger—Cyclops, Jean, Storm, and, of course, your mentor Logan." The telepath allowed himself a slight smile. "Now I invite you to become one of them. Your brave actions during the recent operation demonstrated determination, and your abilities could save dozens of lives. What do you say?"
Doubt tormented Rogue. Become one of the X-Men? The entire school whispered about them, and almost every student secretly dreamed of joining their ranks. The Professor's words sounded so correct and persuasive. She had nearly agreed when she remembered that 'recent operation,' where she had been required to jump onto a bloodthirsty monster. Without the man in black robes... Joining the team abruptly appeared less attractive. Instead of agreeing, she said:
"May I think about it?"
"Of course. Tell me when you reach a decision."
The Professor smiled—and ate a slice of lemon marmalade. A powerful collision knocked the girl out of her memories in the literal sense. Someone's arms caught her immediately and prevented a fall.
"Forgive me. I was distracted and didn't notice you."
A young man with black hair falling below his shoulders supported her carefully. His features looked strangely familiar.
"It's fine," Rogue muttered.
She was more concerned with avoiding accidental contact through bare skin than politeness.
"I'm all right."
After pulling away, she saw that the young man was not alone. Beside him stood an attractive golden-haired woman and a girl of approximately twelve whose features also appeared vaguely familiar. The couple and child soon disappeared into the crowd, while Rogue remained still, trying to understand what had seemed familiar about the man. She could swear under oath that she had never seen him before. What was it? Anna shuddered. The eyes. Her rescuer had possessed exactly the same eyes.
The young mutant rushed frantically through the crowd, bumping people and stepping on feet, but in vain. The black-haired man had gone. Anna could only return to the institute. Thoughts of the child with similarly familiar features left her mind.
***********************
Walter Mayer. Several eventful hours later.
Hm. I had encountered Rogue along the way. Was it coincidence, or was someone trying to track me? Nothing dangerous occurred. She had not recognized me or attempted to follow our route, though she looked thoughtful and distracted. I had neither time nor desire to investigate the encounter. Now to the shops.
Gods. Women and shopping. Shopping and women. Perhaps the most terrifying combination ever devised by the twisted human mind. At first, it amused me—especially Felicia's attempts to dress Laura in something cute. The girl resisted and tried to break into a military-surplus store, but Felicia was not easily defeated. Laura eventually surrendered and accepted several dresses.
Then something began awakening inside the child. Perhaps those terrifying feminine instincts.
Soon both my ladies were plunging into clothing and lingerie shops. I could only clutch my head mentally and pay obediently. To their credit, they did not grab everything. They chose genuinely beautiful, high-quality items. Without the stores' delivery services, however, I would not have possessed enough arms to carry everything.
While Felicia and Laura purchased clothes, I visited the toy department and obtained two plush souvenirs: a black cat with a cunning face for Felicia and... a Arctic Fox. No, truly. A perfect Arctic fox—white, fluffy, and satisfied with life. I thought Laura would like it.
Felicia accepted her gift graciously. Laura accepted hers with confusion. Near the end, they finally dragged me into a military shop. To the owner's amazement, a small girl professionally selected load-bearing equipment, footwear, and other useful supplies. What were you doing, little troublemaker? Now I would have to explain her specialized knowledge to my beloved. The remark about the 'killing machine' could no longer be blamed on childhood impressionability. Poor me. Everything ends eventually, including our expedition. Felicia said goodbye and went home, whispering before leaving that we needed to talk. Mm. What should I tell her? At least she had given me time to gather my thoughts.
Laura and I headed home. We still had to unpack the purchases, prepare dinner—or ask Zinaida Prokopyevna to prepare it—and decide what to tell Felicia. Those plans did not survive. Someone I had almost forgotten amid the whirlpool of events called me. Federico had returned to the city. He had not returned alone.
*********************
Federico, a three-hundred-year-old not-quite-vampire.
The count looked over his companions once more. Seven vampires. Only seven, but the Spaniard would stake his own head on every one of them. Many elders no longer lived. Some had died. Others vanished without trace, probably walking out to meet the dawn. Some refused because they no longer believed in anything or simply did not care about the surrounding world. Those who remained were truly interesting individuals, each with a history and objective. They shared one trait. Every one had lost someone dear, searched for new knowledge, or sought new experience. Now they had gathered and traveled to New York—some for power, some for knowledge, and some from eternal curiosity.
Federico had suffered greatly while recruiting this varied company. The old vampire entered his memories. The first person he visited was Grigory Romanov. They had met almost a century earlier, in the Russian Empire of 1903. Grigory fiercely denied any relation to the imperial dynasty, but his manners and resemblance to portraits of past rulers created doubts. Whatever the truth was, Grigory—simply Gri to friends—was now one of the founders of a major oil-and-gas corporation. On weekends, he trained anyone interested in fencing without charge and even organized tournaments with prizes. The old friends met in a restaurant inside a Moscow hotel.
"Federico! How many years and winters has it been (Approximately seventeen) What wind brought you here? I hope you'll stay. Finding a respectable sparring partner has become nearly impossible." Romanov was sincerely delighted. "Hm. Something about you has changed. Wait. Are you tanned?"
"I am pleased to see you too, Gri. As for the pile of questions you so shamelessly threw upon a weary traveler: I am here on my suzerain's orders, and yes, I am tanned." The count smiled. "After three centuries of night, lying upon the sunlit beaches of my homeland... mm."
The Russian aristocrat straightened. He no longer resembled a cheerful young man, but a predator preparing to spring.
"I doubt you told me that without purpose. Kindly provide the full story."
"Very well. Listen. It began when I decided to admire the sun for the final time..." Approximately one hour and two bottles of wine later. "So an ancient being grants impressive abilities in exchange for service and wishes to prevent a future war of everyone against everyone. I find that difficult to believe. Why would an Ancient—assuming it truly is one—care about ordinary mortals?"
"Perhaps because those 'ordinary mortals' can already destroy the planet during their internal quarrels?"
Grigory considered the point. Why not? At minimum, it would be interesting. Agreeing immediately would be improper.
"Fine. I will look at this 'Lord Mayer.' Without substantial evidence of the coming Armageddon, however, forgive me, but I will not sign anything."
They agreed upon that. he situation with Yumiko, a petite Japanese pureblood vampire, was more interesting. She did not object to swearing herself to a lord who had appeared from nowhere, but only if he proved his strength. The others required less persuasion. Federico's reputation played an important role, but he also discovered the most effective argument. Sunlight. Every vampire feared the sun, without exception, while secretly longing for it somewhere deep within. Many purebloods—especially old ones—would serve the Devil himself if he gave them light.
Far from all of them satisfied the old Catalan's standards. Ultimately, all seven potential vassals reached a common position. They would enter service, but first the prospective suzerain had to prove his strength, provide evidence of the future war Federico had described, and—if they accepted him and swore loyalty—protect not only them but their 'fledglings' from sunlight. Those fledglings would automatically enter his service as well.
A private flight requested permission to land at a New York airport. The count studied his companions again. Cheerful, reckless Grigory—or a man wearing the mask of one. Petite Yumiko with her eternal smile and narrowed eyes—Gin Ichimaru in a skirt. Permanently dissatisfied Manfred. Thoughtful Oleg. Carefree Olga—why should one of the best-known mercenaries in certain circles worry? Lee, calm as stone. Even experienced Oleg could not pronounce the Chinese vampire's true name, so a general vote renamed him Lee. He did not object. Last in the list but not in importance was Nyssa, a relatively young pureblood of only fifty-eight and daughter of the leader of a major North American nest.
Dusk approached. The Catalan called his lord and requested an audience to introduce the candidates. The meeting with the potential vassals would occur at four in the morning.
**************
Walter Mayer. Evening.
Mm. As though I lacked trouble. How was I supposed to produce evidence for them? Demonstrating strength was simple. That would create no difficulty. The first requirement was another matter. My only direct proof was sleeping soundly in the next room, and I would not permit them to disturb Laura. I also possessed some of Kimura's memories, which indirectly supported my conclusions, along with information about Colonel Stryker and the Sentinel project remembered from my previous world. Hm. What if I transferred part of the mercenary's memories and added information for consideration? If they discovered the unpleasant facts themselves and independently confirmed my predictions, they could not later accuse me of manipulation or express distrust.
Yes. That was the best solution available. I would provide several of Kimura's memories concerning the 'contract list' and the intended methods for Laura's assignments. Then I would direct the gentlemen—and ladies—toward further investigation. Only one tiny detail remained: learning to transfer memories within several hours. Fortunately, I had two 'volunteers' nearby. They no longer possessed minds to burn, making them ideal for practicing the process. Had their brains remained, my attempts would certainly have removed them.
The difficulty was not transmission itself, but controlling the amount of information. I could not isolate the necessary fragment from my own memory. Sending more than twenty years of life directly into a brain within five minutes simply boiled it. That might eventually become an interesting defense against mind-readers. I did not trust the kind uncle in the wheelchair. Precise transmission, however, remained impossible.
I used another route. First, record the necessary memories into the 'memory of blood.' Then place that blood inside one puppet. Finally, transfer the selected information through it to the recipient—the second puppet. A programmer's joke entered my head: I could feel with my ass that a simpler solution existed, but this one worked, and as always there was no time to improve it. I sent Federico to receive the guests while I hunted experimental material. Before transferring data to vampires this way, I needed to make certain their minds could survive the intervention.
Glorious New York and its beautiful alleys tirelessly supplied researchers with human material in the form of street thugs and vagrants. I drew from that inexhaustible source. The first experiments were... unsuccessful. I had to enter combat mode because the manipulations required extreme precision and therefore greater computational power. The subjects—five of them, enough for initial statistics—displayed various psychological abnormalities. In simpler terms, they went insane. Mental overload was the cause. I had to extend the information-transfer period.
Different subjects possessed different capacities for receiving data. Perhaps that depended on brain development, though I doubted gopnikus vulgaris used the organ often. A firmer conclusion would require more data and material.
Oh. It seemed combat mode had finally released me. Using it in battle was acceptable. Using it to improve analytical performance... Never again. I suspected physicians in concentration camps had once thought approximately the same thing. Brr. What could be done? Severe lack of time would soon become my normal condition, and I had to exploit every opportunity. In any case, I achieved what I needed. I could transfer information, though through an extremely twisted method. The important thing was not to hurry.
Speaking of time, I was beginning to run late. It was improper to keep guests waiting. Concentrating on the coming conversation, I returned home. The clock showed half past three in the morning.