Subject: [OTL]: The Chosen Ones, Part 1 Date: Mon, 4 Oct 1999 11:22:36 -0700 (PDT) From: D Benway The Chosen Ones, Part 1 of 12 A Visit From Old Friends Benway did this. ******************************************************************* This story is not intended for children of any age. It contains descriptions of human behaviour which many might find distressing. You have been warned. The characters belong to Marvel. The story is my own, and copyright to me. Many thanks for the editorial assistance of Luba K and Tina S. Other stories are archived at the website of Luba. ******************************************************************** They became immanent outside the small, century-old cottage. The larger of the two men, if that was what they were, pointed to the sign at the entrance to the old school grounds across the road. "Can you see the irony of it, old friend?" "The Harrison Leland Institute For International Peace. Peace is wonderful." The larger man sighed. With all of the changes that they had undergone, he resented the fact that he had been left so far behind and had retained so many human characteristics. Even his resentment, he supposed, was a sign of that atavism. "That's the house. Where they are." "Yes. Try to remember what it was like before. They are sensitive to unusual things, so you must be careful not to do anything that could be misinterpreted. Please, try to think, first, before acting." "Facades are frequently made of glass, when they aren't made of metal." The larger man sighed. Of all of those who had Returned, they were the least changed. Many of the Returned could no longer manifest themselves on the physical plane, and some were so changed that ordinary humans would not survive in their presence. That would soon change. It would be so wonderful, the very thought of their elevation bought a tear to his eyes. The larger man recalled what it was to walk, and approached the door of the house. His companion drifted along in the air beside him, inverted. They stood by the door for a few moments, before it occurred to him that the inhabitants of the cottage would have no way of knowing that they were there. The door was an obstacle. Going through it was feasible, but that action might lead to a misunderstanding. Sounds. They could sense sounds. It was one of their five senses. He struck the door carefully, so as not to break it. There was no response. "When one sense is lost, the others often become sharper," said his companion, pressing the glowing button on the doorframe with the point of his tail. "Is there not supposed to be a sound?" The door opened. A man stood there, tall, bald, and wasted. For a moment, it appeared as if he might collapse. "You've come back," said the old man. "I knew that you would come back. I told her." The voice was oddly modulated. He decided that it was deafness. He recalled that some of the deaf could read lips, so he made sure that his moved when he spoke. "Yes, Samuel, we have come back. We have many things to talk about." Guthrie didn't invite them in, but instead turned and staggered back into the house, leaving the door open. His companion floated in, and he followed. They entered the front room of the cottage. In the back somewhere, someone dropped a ceramic object. A second wasted figure returned with Sam. It had to be Rahne. He could smell the stink of death on them. It was not the death of the body but the other, more terrible kind. "I'll put the tea on," she said, with the speech of the deaf. Sam returned and sat down on a small wooden structure. He recalled what sitting was for, and the appliances required. He Made a chair, for that was what such devices were called, and sat in it. Guthrie's eyes widened at this. He tried to remember if he could Make things before, but failed to come to any conclusion. His companion floated in the air beside him. "Piotr, what's happened to Mr. Wagner?" He was not sure how to respond to this. There were so many possible answers. "Happened?" asked his companion. "What has happened to you, little flying man? You are a prisoner of gravity, and I am one no longer." "Where did you go?" asked Guthrie, his strange voice cracking. "We had no idea what happened to you. You left us all alone." "It is not easy to explain. I would prefer to wait for Rahne before saying any more. We mean you no harm." "Harm?" Guthrie stiffened, defensively. He wondered why they were so suspicious and fearful. "We've come to help you." "Help us? How do you intend to do that?" Guthrie smirked, his face contorting into a sneer. This was unexpected. He used higher senses to confirm the identity of his host. He felt a chill come over him. It was a human but useless reaction. Rahne came back onto the room with a tin tray. Four mugs rattled on it as she walked. He politely took the mug that she offered him, but did not drink. He wasn't sure that he knew which orifice it was polite to use, or what he was supposed to do with it once he had ingested it. Kurt had reoriented himself to a horizontal position, and was drifting around the room at head level. His hosts looked on silently, with dread in their eyes. "We need to know what has happened," he began. "When we returned, we found the mansion gone, and its grounds filled with dwellings. The records for most of you appear to have vanished from synthetic information accumulations." "Synthetic information accumulations?" asked Rahne. "Cyberspace," said Kurt. "The wired world. Nerd heaven. Computer memory." "Mr. Wagner-" began Rahne. "Why did you leave us?" Her eyes glistened. "If I may answer that," he interrupted. "We received a summons. It was not to be refused. We were taken to another place, and we fought something there. We conquered it, and became as we are now." "Who did you fight?" asked Sam. "That is difficult to say. Perhaps we fought nothing at all, perhaps we fought everything." "We looked into the eye of God, and it blinked." Kurt was upside down again, slowly rotating. "Our God?" whispered Rahne. Kurt giggled. "What a stupid question." Rahne started to weep. "You won't see anything clearly if your eyes are full of water," suggested Kurt helpfully. He put out his hand to touch her shoulder. She barely suppressed an urge to flinch away, but he felt it all the same. "Rahne, you must understand. Kurt means no harm. We were all changed by our experiences. Greatly changed. Some of us were destroyed, others transformed beyond recognition." "Who died?" whispered Rahne. "None of our immediate group. All of the X-Men lived." "Where are they?" asked Sam. "Some are in an abandoned Sentinel base in the Adirondack Mountains. The rest stayed behind, outside this space and time as you know it. They find it difficult to return. The effects of the transformation were profound. We are much more than you can see of us." Rahne morphed to half-human form. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "You _are_ different." Sam was glowering at her. "Was that necessary?" "It confirmed what he said. It was necessary. " "Why should her transformation be necessary, Sam?" he asked. "It's nothing," muttered Guthire, not meeting his eyes. "We agreed not to use our abilities, except when there was no other choice." "This is puzzling." "Cut your nose off to spite your face!" exclaimed Kurt, who appeared to be relieving himself on the ceiling in defiance of gravity. But then, gravity always was vaguely ridiculous. "We were not worthy of our gifts," said Sam quietly. "This is related to our disappearances?" "Why did you go for so long?" Rahne said so quietly that human ears would not have heard her. "Gone for a long time?" asked Kurt, quizzically. "A picopicopicosecond in the grand scheme of things." "The grand scheme of things be damned!" exclaimed Sam. "It was almost our whole lifetimes! Our lives, wasted, ruined!" "We returned as soon as we could. Where we had gone, time had no meaning. It was difficult for us to re-introduce ourselves to causality, but we did so. We needed to do it for you. For all who are still like you." "I'm sorry," choked Rahne. "It's been so long. We've been waiting for so long." "Tears. Wet. Storm. Rain. Rahne. Kurt did not want. I did not mean to upset you. Correct?" She stared at him, then shook her head. "No. I'm sorry Kurt. If you are happy as you are now, I am glad. We are transformed too, but we are not happy." Sam placed his hand over hers, but did not smile. He did not seem to have smiled for a very long time. "Piotr, you want to know what happened to your sister, and to Kitty." "Yes. This is what I want to know. And what happened to the others. We located Roberto Da Costa, but he was not as accessible as you were." "Rahne, do you want to leave?" asked Sam. "Samuel Guthrie, I have no intention of leaving. I have lived for this day, just as you have. We must tell it all." Sam closed his eyes and nodded. "We must. Oh Jesus, we must." [Next: The Blasted Heath] =====