The Chaos Factor
Chapter Five: "Humdrum"
by Jim Cannon

    As it turned out, convincing Cyke to do anything at all about
Logan's absence proved to be difficult enough.
    "Look, Remy, I can understand your concern, but Logan does this a
great deal," Scott Summers said in that officious, authoritarian voice
of his. Behind the scarlet glasses, Summers' eyes were inscrutable, but
Remy could tell Summers was agitated.
    Remy itched for a cigarette, but he contained himself. He looked to
the hirsute Henry McCoy for aid. But the blue-furred Beast merely
shrugged his shoulders. Remy made an exasperated sigh.
    "Gambit was jumped, Cyke. Somebody got de drop on me. An' dey
nabbed de Canuck."
    Summers shook his head. "You're still drunk, Remy. Like as not you
just fell down and Logan left you there."
    "Listen to me, Summers," Remy said, jabbing a finger in Summers'
chest. He tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his head. "We is under
attack. Again. Sooner you figure dat out, safer we all be."
    Summers grabbed Remy's finger and twisted his hand. Remy wrenched
his hand free and stepped back. Summers shook his head. "See, Remy?
Would I have caught you like that if you weren't off your crock? Go
sleep it off. And tomorrow at breakfast, Logan will be here to give you
a hard time about tonight. Okay?"
    Remy held a hand up to his forehead.
    "Perhaps I *should* take a look at you," McCoy offered.
    Remy waved him off. "Neh, don't worry yerself on account a' me," he
said. He gave Summers an ironic grin. "Gambit jus' go sleep it off,
'kay?"
    Summers nodded and clapped him on the back. "Good night, Remy."
    "Fuck you too," Remy LeBeau muttered under his breath as he headed
up the stairs to his room. But he'd be damned if he was going to spend
any amount of time in there. Logan was just about the best friend he
had left on the team, not counting Storm, and though that wasn't saying
much, Remy LeBeau had come to value that friendship. He wouldn't let a
boneheaded fool like Scott "I'm related to everybody" Summers let Logan
down.

               *   *   *   *   *   *   *

     Stephan Strange led the three travelers, Sam, Rogue, and Thor,
into his living room. Thor promptly collapsed in a masive recliner,
while Rogue and Sam both chose to share the sofa. Strange himself took
a stiff backed chair near the fireplace.
     "So, tell me, how may I be of service?" Strange asked.
     Thor looked at Rogue, and Sam sat back. Rogue shifted forward on
her seat, almost as if she were reacting to Sam. When she spoke, her
voice betrayed her exhaustion, and perhaps, a hint of trepidition. "Its
like this, Doc. Ever since mah powers manifested themselves, Ah haven't
been able to touch anybody without absorbing everything that they are.
Well, thats not entirely true. Ah used to have *some* control. It was
really when Ah absorbed Ms. Marvel's powers that mah own abilities went
screwy.
     "Ever since then, I haven't been able to control them. I went to
the X-Men, thinking Prof X would be able to help, but even his psionic
abilies were taxed tryin' to poke around in mah head. See, Ms. Marvel's
psyche was still rootin' around in there. After I went through the
Siege Perilous, I lost my powers and Ms. Marvel's voice in my head. ah
thought Ah was finally free.
     "But eventually they came back, stronger than before. And Ah miss
what I had for that brief period of time. Ah miss being able to
touch... to love."
     Dr. Strange sat back in his chair, and steepled his fingers before
his face. "I see," he said. 'Tell e, do you want me to remove all of
your abilities?"
     Rogue shook her head. "No," she said. "Ah still believe in what
the X-Men stand for. Ah want to be able to support them when Ah can.
All Ah want is the control Ah used to have. But, if that's not
possible, if Ah have to become normal... Ah'd rather be normal."
     Strange looked at her oddly. Then he stood up. "Samantha, Thor, if
you would remain here. Rogue, come. We'll go up to my study and see
what we can do." He offered her his hand, and she took it. She followed
him out of the room and up the creaking steps to Strange's study.
     In the living room, Thor stood up. He looked at Sam. "You knew
about all this, didn't you?" She nodded. Thor shook his head. "Why do
we always overlook the causes of problems? We never try to help
criminals. We just hit them until they fall down."
     "Rogue isn't a criminal," Sam said.
     "No," Thor agreed, "she is not. But I wonder, if we had set a
precedent for it -- would she have come to the Avengers for help,
rather than the X-Men? Could Hank Pym or Reed Richards or even Dr.
Strange have helped her all those years ago?" Thor took off Sigurd
Jarlson's glasses and slipped them into his pocket.
     "What's done is done, Thor," Sam said softly. "You cannot change
the past. And we have no guarentee that Strange can help Rogue at all.
All we can do is plug away, and hope everything turns out alright."
     "I like to think there is more to life than simply 'plugging
away'," Thor said grimly. "Even though the Norns would have it
otherwise."
     Sam smiled sadly, but kept her silence.

           *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

     He floated for a time. And then, suddenly, he was conscious. He
opened his eyes slowly, and took in his surroundings. Bare, sterile
room. Walls lined with cables and machinery. Smells of plastic, steel,
and death. And one human being.
     Slowly he stood up, feeling stiffness in his joints where there
should be fluidity. He turned, and saw a man in a white suit of
military cut. His eyes glowed a malevolent blue. And he was grinning.
     Logan flexed the muscles in his forearms, and the claws popped
free. "You didn't tie me up. Bad move, bub," he growled.
     And still the goon grinned like some mad clown. "I did not think
it necessary. You are a shadow of your former self."
     Logan snarled, and took a threatening step towards the man with
the glowing eyes. "I don't know you," he said.
     "No, you would not. We have never met. Yet you may recognize the
man I am employing." He stepped back, and behind him, in the blank
white wall, a door opened up. And the blocky, bluesteel clad form of
Sinister stepped into the room.
     "Good morning Wolverine," he said, smiling with that shark's mouth
of his. Logan snarled and leapt for Sinister, but the man in white
grabbed him in mid-air and heaved him against the far wall. Logan felt
his shoulder shatter, and several ribs snapped. He coughed blood, and
he knew that one of his lungs was punctured.
     Feebly, he tried to stand. "I don't know what you want from me,
Sinister, but you aren't going to get it."
     Sinister only smiled more broadly, as if that were possible. The
man in white stepped towards Logan, and his blue eyes blazed. Logan
slashed at him with his claws, but he was slow and old and his healing
factor wasn't working as swiftly as it should have. The man caught his
wrist, and squeezed. Logan felt more bones shatter, and muscles
ruptured. The man drove his other hand, balled into a fist, into
Logan's solar plexus.
     Logan felt something inside him burst. And as he faded out of
conciousness yet again, he heard Sinister say, "Do not worry,
Wolverine. I don't plan on taking anything from you. Indeed, I wish to
help you."

           *   *    *   *   *   *  *   *

    "Okay, kids, this first lesson will be very simple," I said. "All
you need to do is get from one side of the room to the other." I was
leaning against the control panel of my Danger Room. Dexter lounged in
the chair, all grins and sly jokes.
    Ranged before us, in varying stages of athletic dress, were my
kids. They looked slightly uncomfortable and self-concious. Most of
them anyway. Hawkins looked like the cat who ate the canary, and
Liberty appeared to actually be anticipating her run. Most of the kids
were jumbled up, but Parker stood off to one side, his wings wrapped
around himself like a cloak.
    "Don't worry. Nothing in there will give you anything but a few
bruises. May fracture your pride too, but don't worry about that.
Everybody fails at first. Success comes with practice. Lots of practice
practice. Today we're going to start something that may take years to
accomplish.
    "I'm going to show you how to survive. How to use your abilities to
protect yourself and your loved ones if some nutty supervillian comes
calling. I will *not* show you how to be a costumed adventurer." I
gave Hawkins and Liberty meaningful looks, but they ignored me. Ah, the
wisdom of youth.
    I waited a moment, and they all looked at me like I had sprouted a
second head. "Any questions?"
    Hawkins spoke up, like I knew he would. "What happens if we break
something?"
    I smiled. "You won't break anything. Now, who's first?" Hawkins
raised his hand, eager to make a fool of himself apparently, but I
wasn't biting. "Jordan, you want to give it a try?"
    The young albino opened and closed his mouth like a fish. "If you
don't want to, someone else can go before you. But make no mistake:
before the day is through, you will go through the test."
    He shook his head, and found his voice. "No, no. I'll go." He
sighed and turned to teh back of the room, where the stairs down were
located. Dana patted him on the back, and several of the others wished
him luck. When Jordan disappeared through the door, they all crowded
around the veiwscreen.
    I turned to Dexter. "Initiate Ransome-1," I told him. He turned to
the console, and his fingers flew over the keys.
    Down below, as Jordan found the door, the scene began to take
shape, conjured out of thin air by Shi'Ar technology. Garadually, a
massive castle took shape, all obsidian stone and hard angles. A moat
of flowing lava encircled the keep, and a heavy stone drawbridge
spanned the moat. Standing on the rocky ground, near where the tip of
the drawbridge connected to the Earth, were a pair of knights in dark
stell armor, with helms shaped like dog's heads.
    Jordan cautiously stepped out onto the plane.
    Behind me someone whistled. "Pretty elaborate," Parker offered.
"Everyone's test like that?"
    I turned to look at him, and in the darkened control room, his
reptilian eyes gleamed. "Yes," I told him. I could have gone further. I
could have told him that each scene was programmed to have too much for
any of them to handle just yet. But I the whole purpose of the exercise
was to show them. Not just tell them.
    Down below, on the rocky plain Dexter conjured, Jordan took a few
careful steps toward the drawbridge. The knights stood stock still,
almost like statues. Which they might be. No one could tell. Only
Dexter and I would know the truth, until Jordan got too close.
    And when he did, the statues moved. Jordan backpedaled wildly, but
the knights advanced on him. One of them drew a massive sword, while
the other produced a massive spiked mace. Jordan looked fearfully from
one to the other.
    Something in my gut twisted, but I ignored it. The safety locks
were engaged, and I only I could reverse that program. Jordan wasn't in
any real danger.
    The other kids were crowding around the window now. Hawkins started
shouting for Jordan to smash the bejeezus out of the drones. I heard
Dana, Simon and a few others shout encouragement as well. Out of the
corner of my eye, I saw Dexter flick the intercom on, and suddenly
Jordan could hear his classmates cheering for him.
    He looked up at the booth for a moment, and then that fear leached
away. He smiled, and turned to face his attackers. The dogface with the
sword slashed at Jordan, but suddenly Jordan's body was sheathed in a
suit of armor as well; black as pitch, the suit seemed to absorb light
around it, and it protected Jordan from harm.
     The mace came around, and smashed into Jordan's side. Jordan was
knocked to his knees from the impact, and the mace was brought up for a
crushing blow.
     Behind me I heard Chris Parker hiss, "Don't give up Jordan." I
doubt anyone else heard him, especially with Hawkins and some of the
other more vocal teens shouting to wake the dead. But I was glad that
Parker cared enough to voice concern. perhaps he might come out of his
shell after all.
      And it appeared that Jordan wasn't done yet. As with his armor,
he could summon up a longsword of the same black substance. He did so
now, and as the mace descended, Jordan brought the sword up to block
it. Darkforce met metal with a screech like fingernails on a
chalkboard, and Jordan held his ground.
      The other knight attacked, swinging its sword at Jordan's
forearms. The blade connected, and Jordan's arms were pushed downward.
The mace smashed into Jordan's darkforce helmet with a resounding
clang. Jordan lost his concentration, and his armor dissipated like
smoke. The fight ended right there; the mace came back for the
finishing blow, and Jordan was laid out like a mackeral.
      Quickly, Dexter disengaged the program, and the whole scene
warped out of existance. Jordan struggled to sit up, and I ran for the
door at the back of the room. Down the stairs in fifteen seconds, and
ten more until I burst into the Danger Room.
      "You okay?" I called to Jordan.
      He sat up, shaking his head. "My ears are ringing. But I'm okay."
I knelt down beside him to make sure he was alright. He looked fine.
"That wasn't fair, y'know," he told me with a glare.
      I nodded. "Nor will real life be. But trust me: you did very well
for the first run. And by this time next week, you'll be defeating the
knights and getting into the castle." I smiled. "And then the fun
starts."
     Jordan groaned. I helped him get to his feet. "Don't be like
that," I said. "Once you get the hang of it, this will become fun. Now,
head for the showers." I gave him a pat on the back.
     "Okay," he said, heading for the door. When he reached the
doorway, he looked back at me. "It was cooler than a Playstation," he
said. "Do you think I could get a Tekken2 program running on this
thing?"
     Kids. Sore at you one moment, happy the next. I don't understand
them at all. I headed after Jordan, and back up to the booth. Time for
the second test.

           *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

     Wally West was as good as his word. A scant few hours after Dick's
phone call, the ferry from the mainland arrived at Muir, and Wally was
on it. Dick met him at the docks.
     As tourists and and tour guides bubbled out of the ferry, Wally,
lugging a trio of heavy duffle bags, wobbled across the gangplank. As
soon as he saw Dick, he heaved two of teh bags at him. Dick caught both
deftly, and grunted theatrically.
     "What did you pack for me?" Dick groused.
     Wally grinned. "Clothes, mostly. I know you always like to look
your best. I also smuggled your box and a couple hundred CDs. And I
actually took the time to find some boring, dry, unreadable texts that
were gathering dust in your apartment."
     "Great," Dick said. "I've been meaning to read those for a while
now. Never could find the time..."
     "Yeah," Wally said, as the smile faded. "Why are you retiring out
here, Dick? What about New York, or even Gotham?"
     Dick shrugged, and set the bags down on the surface of the dock.
"I have an obligation to take care of this girl. As soon as she's
comfortable here, I'll head home."
     "And when will that be?"
     Dick shrugged.
     "You still torn up about Kory?"
     Dick gave him a black look. Wally decided to let that one drop.

     "Where's Dick?" Desdemona asked as she took her seat on the
platform, and Dr. MacTaggert attached EKG pads to her temples. Another
strange contraption was fitted over her heart, clipped to her maroon
sweater.
     "I dinnae know where he's gone of te, lass. But I'm sure he'll be
along shortly," Dr. MacTaggert assured her. The doctor stepped back.
"Comfortable?"
     Desdemona just nodded. But her eyes betrayed her fear. Dr.
MacTaggert patted her on the shoulder. "Relax, dear," she said. "We're
nae gonna hurt ye. This test will help us help you." Desdemona tried to
relax as Dr. MacTaggert stepped off the platform and took a few steps
toward a huge computer console built into one of the walls of the
small, underground lab.
     The lab looked sterile and cold, despite the fact that Desdemona
could see someone had tried to prettify the place up. A layer of
skyblue paint was splashed on the walls, all the furniture was padded
with plush, violet cushions. The lighting was softer than that of an
operating room, but not by much. And everywhere Deesdemona looked, cold
machinery dominated. From teh huge computer, to the gurney in the
corner -- Des wondered what that was for -- to the very platform upon
which she sat, plugged in to whatever nefarious device Dr. MacTaggert
had designed to test her abilities.
     Rachel Summers, the beautiful redhead with the strange fashion
sense, stood just a meter or so from the edge of the platform. She too
gave Desdemona a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. If anything goes
wrong, Kurt and I are right here to take care of you."
     That was a relief to the frightened young girl. The mutants
actually expected something to go wrong? Desdemona resisted the urge to
leap from the platform and run through the mansion, looking for Dick
Grayson. She had to admit, though, that as upsetting as reclining on
the platform might be, she definitely did not want that Kurt Wagner --
Nightcrawler indeed! -- getting too close to her, let alone touching
her.
     Nightcrawler was so frightening looking -- with his body covered
by dark fur, the curling barbed tail, the sharp canine teeth, the
strange yellow eyes, the bizarre hands and feet. He wasn't human. He
was some sort of monster out of Hell or worse.
     "Alright, Des," Dr. MacTaggert began. "I want ye to relax. Clear
yer mind of thought. Imagine yer floating on clouds... or lying on a
beach, listening to the sound a' the surf."
     Desdemona's face wrinkled with incredulity. What claptrap was
this? What were they going to do? Hypnotize her while a telepath stood
three feet away? Hardly. These people didn't care about her. All they
wanted was anoher soldier for their crusade, another warm body to send
against Magneto or Dr. Doom or whoever it was they fought. More than
ever, Des wished Dick were present. She knew he cared for her. Her
mother trusted him, and Dick really did seem to...
     There was a sudden burst of light, and Dick Grayson materialized
in the room.
     "Lets not get -- what the hell?" Dick looked wildy about him,
unconciously shifting into a martial arts stance.
     "Hello, Dick," Rachel fairly purred. The hussy.
     Desdemona lurched from her seat. "Dick! You came after all."
     "Des... what happened?" Dick asked, taking a step towards her.
     Dr. MacTaggert let go an exclamation of surprise. "The energy
pulses Des gives off when her power works... they're almost identical
to those given off by our old friend Widget." MacTaggert looked up from
her computer. "Where is Kate anyway?"
     Nightcrawler, leaning against a wall, spoke. "I believe she and
Kylun are on a trip to Ae'rath. They should be back in a few days..."

     Back on the docks, Wally West watched as his best friend
dematerialized. He dropped the duffel bag in his hand and scanned the
surrounding area. No immediate sign of trouble. Wally decided to do a
quick scope of the island. But just before he took his first step, he
heard a sound from out of his nightmares.
     Wally spun on his heels, and beheld a massive, reptilian form
rising from the water of the sound. Waves buffeted the ferry and
crashed against the docks. Behind Wally, people screamed.
     Wally West, the fastest man alive, reacted.

NEXT: Wally and Excalibur face off against the sea monster, Des gets
more unruly, and Dr. Strange chats with Rogue, while Remy engages in
some sleuthing. Be here in thirty!
***********************************************************************
Well, by now you should have an inkling of what kind of an Excalibur
lives in this story. Everybody from Davis's run will at least make an
appearance. You won't see much of Wisdom though. He's around, but I've
never read a book with him in it, so I won't even attempt to write him.

The X-Men, Dr. Strange, Excalibur, etc are copyright Marvel Comics

Nightwing and the Flash are copyright DC Comics

But this story -- characters, plot, and referances to cheese dip -- is
all mine. I hereby give permission to transmit this story
electronically so long as no money changes hands and the document
itself remains unchanged.
Copyright 1996 James M.G. Cannon

Archived at:
http://www.stlawu.edu/x8cg:http/index.html