GO WEST

Chapter 9: "Welcome Me"

Once again, it was the sound of an airplane that woke Catseye. The motel to which she'd brought herself and Marie-Ange the night before was situated very close to Shreveport's small airport, and planes had been making flybys for most of the night. More often than not, Catseye slept like a brick, but for the past few nights, she'd been on guard at all times, only taking the time to catnap. Each of these naps ended, however, with the sound of a plane going overhead, and finally, Catseye rose and stretched rather than go back to sleep again.

Rather than shift out of her cat-form just yet, she crept clear of where redhair was still sleeping (if her state could be called sleep), and reached for the CD walkman she'd left on their bedside table. In cat-form, she still had opposable thumbs and fairly long fingers on her front paws, so she was able to pop open the player and put in a disc with no problem. This one was David Lanz; both Catseye and redhair were fans of this new age pianist, so Catseye had picked it up the previous evening, to add to their variety of travel music.

"Good morning, redhair," Catseye whispered in the deeper, more throaty voice of her cat-shape. She crept back to Marie-Ange's side and settled down alongside her friend. "Slept well? Good. Ready to wake now, yes?"

Marie-Ange did not move, nor show any sign that she had even heard. Catseye let out a huge sigh. "Catseye is sorry, redhair. Should have been faster. Catseye knows. Is why redhair not speaking to Catseye, maybe? Redhair angry at Catseye for not being quick enough?"

After another silence, Catseye shifted into her tall, slender human form and took her friend's limp body in her arms, holding her tightly. "Forgive Catseye? Please? Wake up and talk to Catseye? Is bad to be alone, yes?"

Nothing. Redhair was still breathing, and her steady pulse was quite audible to Sharon, but that was all.

Catseye hung her head, letting it rest upon redhair's shoulder. Then, after a while, she gently set her friend down and got off the bed. There was still a lot to do before they could get started with another day of travel, after all.

Rummaging through her backpack, Sharon found a black turtleneck and slipped it on. The high neckline was bothersome to her mane, but it kept her mostly covered. Next, she pulled out a can of spray-on hair color she'd acquired from a costume shop in Birmingham, and headed off into the bathroom of their small motel suite.

She made a face as she started applying the spray in liberal doses to her mane. The stuff had a strong smell, but it was good enough to disguise her lavender hair without having to resort to dye. It had its own unique problems, of course, such as coming off on anything that touched her hair (she'd ruined a perfectly good white shirt the previous day with this stuff), but that could be worked around. At six foot three inches, Sharon was already odd enough a sight, but adding to that a truly unique hair color only enhanced the spectacle. Best to be as inconspicuous as possible (given the circumstances).

After a few minutes, she was done, and her mane was now a very sedate shade of black. After letting the stuff dry for a few minutes, she went back into the main room, sneezing at the fumes in the air.

"Faugh! Must be better way someplace, yes? But is good, too."

She started to back up their sparse belongings in her pack, shutting off the CD player and putting it away last. Afterwards, she moved back around to the side of the bed and gave her friend the once-over. She smelled clean, which could be expected, considering that she hadn't accepted food or water from Catseye for the duration of her coma. All the more reason to get where they were going as soon as they could.

"Redhair will see. Catseye is sorry, and will make all better. Will find place to stay and make new life, together. Catseye will make it up to redhair, and never leave again, yes? Will always be there when redhair needs Catseye, yes? Of course."

She knelt beside the bed and bent to carefully kiss Marie-Ange's dry lips. "All will be well soon, redhair. Catseye does not lie."

Heartbreak Hotel, near Los Angeles CA
Monday, 1 November 1993 1:22 pm PST

"Okay, try it now!" Rictor called from the rear of the car.

Mickey turned the key in the Volkswagen bug's ignition, and was rewarded by the sound of absolutely nothing from the engine. Not even a click from the starter.

Ric leaned over and set his head against the rear window, closing his eyes. He thought he'd really had it, that time.

"Uh, wanna try it again?" Mickey asked, poking his head out the side window.

"Not right now, Mick." He let out a terse series of curses, then stepped away from the rear of the car and took a few deep breaths. He couldn't even find himself to get angry at the bug this time.

Mickey got out of the car and came around to the back, looking mildly apologetic. "Sorry, man. I wish I knew more about cars so's I could help."

"Would anyone here know anything about how to fix it?"

Mickey considered this. "Kate..? I don't think so. Link doesn't, but he's not here anyway. Then there's Lucy, but I don't think she does either."

"I guess I haven't met Lucy yet," Ric said, trying to place the name.

"Don't think so," Mickey shrugged. "She just got in from Santa Barbara late last night with Other Mick, and then went straight to school this morning."

Ric nodded slowly, his mind wandering. Not too long ago, school had been one of his chief concerns as well. "Let's get some air," he suggested at length. "You can tell me more about this place."

"Sure," Mickey agreed, giving Ric a lopsided grin.

They emerged from the garage and headed out from the rear of the Heartbreak Hotel, Ric leading the way while Mickey walked to the left and just slightly behind him. Other than Kate, the owner of the Hotel, Mickey was the only inhabitant Ric had met so far, and the two had become fast friends. Mickey was a skinny kid, maybe sixteen or seventeen by Ric's estimation, and had the most bizarre-looking curly white hair, which he wore in a loose ponytail. His eyes were a strange shade of orange; with that and the hair, he was pretty easily tagged as a mutant. He had a bright and easygoing manner, far removed from the perpetual tension and heavy-duty angst-factor of the crew at Doug's place, and Ric found that he liked his company.

"So, everyone here's a mutant?" Ric asked, as the two wandered toward the edge of the cliffs that overlooked the beach. "Or at least, all of the people who I ain't met yet but who supposedly live here?"

"Well, pretty much," Mickey explained. "This place just seems to attract misfits, particularly mutants. Some of us, like me and Link and Lucy, have been here three or four years now. It's just nice to have a place where no one cares what you are as much as who you are."

"Yeah, must be nice," Ric nodded. "And no one pays rent or nothin'?"

"Nope. Kate seems to have some money stashed away; she used to be a superhero, but she won't tell anyone who she used to be. Anyway, she just opened the place up and let people come in. All of us that live here just pitch in with keeping the place clean, or working the gardens, or in the greenhouse, or dealing with the chickens out in the shed."

"You keep chickens?" Ric asked.

"Yeah, the shed's out alongside the greenhouse. Don't tell me you don't hear the roosters crowing every morning."

Ric thought about this. "Huh. Guess I just didn't put it together. And everyone here's a mutant? Cool."

"Yeah."

"So what can you do, Mickey?"

Mickey paused, and seemed to be searching for a way to put this. "I'm kind of a wild telekinetic. I make things move around me, but I can't control it real well. It gets worse if I ever get real stressed, or mad, or just emotional. I used to think I had a poltergeist following me around, but it's just my power acting up all around me. Link's helped me figure some of it out; he's a telekinetic, too."

Ric's eyes widened. "Geez, that sounds kind'a familiar."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, sounds like you've got what I've got, only... smaller. When I used to get pissed, or amped out, whole buildings would start fallin' down around me."

"Whoa!" Mickey gasped, impressed. "Did you ever get control?"

"Yeah, but at first it was pretty messed up. See, I can make little earthquakes around myself. Some anti-mutant fucks called The Right nabbed me while I was in 'Frisco and tried to use me to shake down the whole town."

"Geez! Did you get away?"

"Yeah, I got rescued by X-Factor."

"The government team?"

"Nah, this was back when they were posin' as mutant hunters. They were all really mutants themselves, though, and they taught me how to control it better. I can even aim it now."

"That's pretty cool, man," Mickey nodded. "Can you show me?"

Ric looked around for something to use as a demo. He picked up a rock and tossed it to Mickey. "Chuck this up in the air."

"Okay." Mickey leaned back, then hurled the stone off the edge of the cliff. Ric brought his hands up, and sent a rumbling shockwave after it. In midair, the rock shattered into pieces that rained down into the ocean below them.

"Radical," Mickey grinned.

Ric couldn't help but grin along with him. He was enjoying Mickey's enthusiasm. No one had ever been impressed with his powers like this.

The two of them heard a car motor then, and Mickey looked around. "Hey! Lucy and Mick are back! C'mon, I'll introduce you to 'em."

Before Ric could get in a word, Mickey was leading the way back down toward the hotel, where an old grey Pontiac was pulling around to the side.

"Hey, brief me, would ya? I wanna know what to expect from 'em."

"Well, Mick's from Australia, and he's a telepath, but his power only works when he's sleeping."

"Mick from Australia?" Ric asked, skeptically.

"Yeah, but he says he's been called Mick since long before 'Crocodile Dundee' came out, so don't bring it up. Lucy's got the power to change the color of any plant she touches."

Ric nearly missed a step. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. That's all she can do. She's going to a CC and studying Botany, to see if she can figure out why her power works, and how she might be able to do more with it. Hey, guys! I want you to meet someone!"

Mickey's shout caught the two just as they were heading into the hotel. They looked around, then, and waited for Mickey and Rictor to catch up.

Slightly out of breath from hurrying, Mickey made the first set of introductions. "Lucy, Mick, this is Ric Torres."

Mick was a tanned, sandy-haired man somewhere in his early twenties, wearing a wide-brimmed Aussie outback hat. "G'day, mate," he grinned, sticking out his hand to shake with Ric. "Michael MacPherson from Sydney. Ye can call me Mick, or do like Little Mick here does and call me Other Mick."

Ric was momentarily taken aback, both by Mick's thick, practically stereotypical accent, and by the sheer friendliness and speed of his introduction. "Nice to meet you, Mick. You can call me Ric."

"Oh, great," said the other, rolling her eyes, but giving them a humored smile. "So now we've got a Mickey, a Just Mick, and a Ric. Nice to meet you anyway, Ric. I'm Lucy."

Like Mick, Lucy was blonde and had a fairly dark complexion, no doubt from the California sunshine. She was a bit under Mick's height (5'8" or so), and if not for her complete lack of accent, Ric would have guessed the two to be related. She was somewhat plain-looking, average of face and of build, but she had the most beautiful dark brown eyes Ric had ever seen.

"Ric just got in over the weekend," Mickey said by way of explanation. "His car broke down, so he'll be staying a while until we get it fixed."

"Ah, ye sure picked a dead weekend to show, then," Mick laughed. "Me an' Lucy an' Chance were up in Santa Barbara for Halloween weekend. Huge party, all around the University."

"So, you kids gonna stand out on the porch all day, or is someone gonna give me and Chance a hand with the lunch?"

The quartet turned around to see Kate leaning out the door, giving them a look of maternal patience.

Mick grimaced to Ric and Mickey, then winked. "O'course, love!" he said then, giving Kate his brightest smile. "C'mon, Ric, we can't leave a lady in distress."

Before Ric could protest, Mick was guiding him up the front steps with one hand on his shoulder. They followed Kate into the lobby, and back into some rooms Ric had never seen before. Ric cast a desperate backward glance at Mickey and Lucy, but they just shrugged and left him to his fate.

"Hey, who's Chance, anyway?" he asked Mick.

"Oh, you'll find out," Mick grinned. "You two should get along smashin'ly."

Interstate 20, west of Dallas TX
Tuesday, 2 November 1993 11:44 pm CST

The night drives were the worst. He'd trucked across I-20 so many times he knew every landmark on every long stretch of the road. Nothing but long nights hauling frozen chickens across the Great American Southwest (he always gave that term sarcastic capitalization in his thoughts), with nothing to break the monotony but a string of country music stations and the occasional pit stop. Plenty of time to let his imagination run wild.

One of these days, he kept telling himself, he was going to write a book about a truck driver's life, but doggone it, he'd give it a little more pizazz than the real thing. The idea of truck driver as romantic hero suited him just fine. Carrying his precious cargo across the hostile countryside, dodging crooked lawmen and other evils, living on the edge of danger, master of this huge piece of technology...

Wait, there was something. He was the knight who'd conquered the dragon, and now travelled with it from village to village, having bent it to his iron will.

Nah. Too fairy tale. Maybe the last rider of the Pony Express, with his trusty steed, out into the wilderness...

Too western. Maybe something like Star Wars. The renegade smuggler dodging the bounty hunters and making his deliveries to the furthest outposts of the Federation. No, wait, the Federation was Star Trek, not Star Wars.

Ah, screw it. Stick with the basics. A dashing truck driver, the best of his breed, high adventure on the highways and byways of life. He was called upon to carry the most dangerous cargo: shuttle parts for NASA, missiles for the government, dodging commie hijackers all the way, maybe radioactive whozajigs for some important labs someplace. And in every city, in every town where he made a stop, a beautiful woman was always there waiting for him. "Oh, Bud," they'd whisper, "you came back! Ah just knew you would. And Ah've been waiting just for you..."

This was the part of the story he liked. They'd take him away to someplace private, dim the lights, put on some good, slow Clint Black, and he'd watch as they danced before him, eyes beckoning, breasts heaving with each deep, shaking breath, lips parted, waiting for his kiss...

Yeah, right. That was the problem with romantic fantasy. It bore no resemblance to reality.

Bud sighed and blinked a few times to focus on the dark, empty road ahead of him. All he needed was something... anything to break the monotony.

All of a sudden, he got his wish. Up ahead in the distance, right along the side of the road, he saw two figures -- probably hitchhikers. One was seated, but the other was standing with one thumb raised. As he drew closer, he could make out a few more details. She was a tall, slender, young-looking lady, with a puff of black hair and legs that just went on forever.

Bud checked his mirrors, and when he saw that no one was behind him, he hit the air brakes, and came to a stop just ahead of her. He quickly leaned across the front seat of the cab and opened the door for her.

Maybe there was room for the romantic hero after all.

"Evenin', Miss!" he called as the tall girl stepped up beside the truck and peered up at him from behind a pair of sunglasses. "Where ya headed?"

She cocked her head to one side. "Where you headed?"

"Uh, next stop's El Paso, then eventually up to Albuquerque."

"That is west, yes?"

"Uh, yep. That's west a'here."

"Good. Be right back!"

She dashed off, then came back a moment later, with a backpack over her shoulders, and carrying the other, a red-haired girl, in her arms. She stepped lithely up into the cab without even needing to hold onto the door, and set her friend down on the seat. Bud could tell right away there was something wrong with the redhead. Something about the boneless way she moved was just not quite right.

"Is tired," the brunette said, indicating her friend. "Is place to lie her down?"

"Uh, yeah," said Bud, pointing over his shoulder and into the back of the cab. "I got a mattress back there behind the curtain."

"Ooh, very good," she said, giving him an unnervingly wide grin. She effortlessly slipped over the seat and into the back of the cab, dragging her friend after her. Bud decided this would be as good a time as any to get going, so he reached across to close the door, then put the rig back in gear. After a while, the tall brunette clambered back over the seat and flounced down, setting her pack in the floor in front of her.

"Uh, my name's Jimmy Anders," he said to her. "Ever'one jus' calls me 'Bud,' though."

"Bud-man!" she grinned. "Call me Emily, Bud-man."

"Uh, right," he nodded, looking back at the road. Already, he was making amendments to his plot, making sure that the dashing truck driver never stopped to pick up tall, crazy lady hitchhikers in the middle of the night.

Emily dug through her pack for a while, then came out with a battered Rand McNally road atlas, which she began flipping through. "Still on road number 20, yes?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah. This is I-20. It turns into I-10 in a couple hundred miles, before we get to El Paso, then it turns into I-25 on the way up to Albuquerque."

She traced one finger along her own map as he said this, then frowned. "Hmmm. Not needing to go to Albuquerque. Many wrong turns there. Will stop before road number 25, at..." she studied the name carefully, "...Las Cruces. Is okay to get out there?"

"Yeah, sure, Miss. Wherever you like."

Emily suddenly leaped across the cab and gave him a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek. Bud was so shocked he nearly swerved into the center divider, and as he pulled himself back on course, he came dangerously close to jackknifing the whole rig.

"What the hell'ja do that for?" he demanded, once he got both the truck and his voice under control.

"Just wanted to say thanks, Bud-man."

Definite story revision. Dashing hero, yes. Woman in every town, sure. Heaving breasts and parted lips, you betcha. But the part with the hitchhikers was going right out.

Massachusetts Academy, Snow Valley MA
Wednesday, 3 November 1993 3:58 pm EST

The intercom on Emma Frost's desk suddenly buzzed to life. Without looking up, Emma pressed the "talk" button and said "Yes?"

"Several of the Hellions are here to see you," came Tessa's voice over the speaker.

Frost sighed. "Send them in." She'd been expecting this...

The door to her office opened, and one by one, in stepped Haroun Al-Rashid (Jetstream), Buford McGwynn (Beef), Etienne Delacroix and his brother Jean-Pierre (Bevatron and Lightningrod), Kristina Yarborough (Embers), Keiko Kimota (Floater), Gilbert Dane (Rabbit), Marsha Wilson (Farsight), and Paul Spangler (Gemini, currently in male form). Nine out of the remaining nineteen. Frost was impressed in spite of herself.

"And what can I do for all of you?" she asked, though she already knew what they wanted.

"We want to find our missing comrades," Jetstream explained, simply.

"Surprise, surprise," Frost thought to herself. Aloud, she said "I'm sure that you do. And so do I. And we're already doing all that we can to do just that."

"With all respect, Miss Frost," Beef added in, keeping a surprisingly cordial tone, "we wanna do more. An' we've been workin' on a plan."

Frost took off her glasses, then folded her arms across her desk. "A plan?"

"Yeah," Buford nodded, looking around at the others. "We got all the power we need."

"Not to mention tracking," Gilbert put in. "If they left that crash by foot, I could sniff 'em out."

"And I could check for psychic residue all around the area," Marsha added. "Even if Brainwash was covering his tracks, he might've slipped up somewhere."

"And once we find zem," Etienne finished, "we will strike at zem before zey can make a move against us."

Jean-Pierre nodded to his brother. "Just let zem come between us, brozair," he said in a low voice. They each held up one hand, as if to high-five, and a bolt of electricity arced from Etienne to Jean-Pierre.

"I see," Frost nodded. "You make it sound so simple."

"Well, of course it ain't gonna be easy," Buford scowled, hearing the sarcasm in her tone, "but we're all in this together. The A group's up for it."

"The stealth team's ready, too," Paul nodded. "If we find where they're hiding out, you might need us. And even the C group's ready, right?"

He addressed this to Keiko and Kristina, both of whom nodded. "We want to help, if we can," Keiko said, softly. "Marie-Ange was our teacher, after all. She helped us, and we want to help her."

"What's more, I'll bet a bunch of the folks from Greenbriar will be willing to give us a hand," Kristina added. "We made a lot of friends there over the weekend. I'll bet they'd be glad to help. And I'll bet Go West would help us out any way they could."

"Tell me, did you rehearse all of this?" Frost asked the group.

There was a stunned silence, after which Jetstream squared off with his teacher. "We are very serious, Headmistress. We will do everything it takes to bring our teammates back alive."

"Nineteen against two, eh?" Frost nodded. "Very well. Now you listen to me. Need I remind any of you that one of the two men you're after is Devin Johnson, who singlehandedly took over the minds of each and every one of you less than a month ago, and reprogrammed you with very little effort or strain? What makes you think he couldn't do it again?"

"We'll be ready for him this time!" Beef insisted.

Frost stood up and regarded her students coldly. "No. You won't be, Beef. For all your training in mental defense, he could crush your minds like so many eggshells. This man is dangerous, and I will not, repeat not risk any of you against him at this time, do you understand?"

"You can't keep us from goin' after him," Buford said, quietly.

"Oh, yes I can," she replied, "though I wish you wouldn't force my hand. Please, believe me when I say that we're doing all we can for Tarot and Catseye. I've enlisted Blackwood's aid in this already. Let us deal with it, while you continue with your studies. That is what you should be concerning yourselves with now. If I have to keep you under house arrest to keep you from going out and throwing your lives away in a suicide mission, then so be it. But I've already lost one student to this man, and possibly two others. I won't let any of you be next."

She could tell that they weren't happy with her ruling, and to be fair, she didn't blame them. But she also sensed that beyond the anger, they all knew deep down, even Buford, that she was right. That was the most frustrating part of all.

"If there is nothing else, you are dismissed," she told the assembled group. She then took her seat and turned back to her work, ignoring them.

In a few moments, they began to trickle out, muttering amongst themselves. After a while, there was silence.

Frost looked up then to see that Keiko had not yet left the room. "Is there something else, Floater?" she asked the young telekinetic.

Keiko opened and closed her mouth a few times before she actually got any words out. "I... I am sorry, Headmistress, I just... miss her."

Frost stood, came around to the front of the desk, and put her arms around the girl. "I know, Keiko," she said, reassuringly. "So do I."

Motel 6, Las Cruces NM
Wednesday, 3 November 1993 8:11 pm MST

Another town, another inexpensive, out-of-the-way motel room, another fruitless search for the proper music to travel by.

It had been almost a week now that Catseye and redhair had been on the road, and things weren't getting any better. Perhaps trying to find redhair's favorite music wouldn't help any more than any of the other things Catseye had tried to get through to her catatonic friend. Difficult enough to have a friend wasting away before one's eyes, but far worse to be confronted with the possibility that nothing at all could help.

Catseye climbed up onto the bed to lie beside redhair, a bottle of mineral water in her hand. She propped herself up on one elbow beside her friend and unscrewed the bottle's cap. "Come, redhair. Make Catseye happy. Drink something."

She dipped one finger into the water, and brought it to redhair's dry lips, letting one drop at a time fall. There was no reaction at all; the water simply beaded and trickled down. Marie-Ange made no effort to drink.

It had been like this all week. Catseye had even tried to force her to drink once, but had nearly drowned her in the process, as there was no voluntary movement from Tarot at all -- not even the mostly reflex action of swallowing.

Catseye looked down and closed her eyes for a moment. "Please, redhair?" she asked. "Catseye knows humanpeople not able to live without water. Please drink. Redhair's skin is so dry..." She paused here to run her wet fingers along Marie-Ange's face and throat. "Please..."

Nothing.

For a while, silence reigned. Catseye again looked down, as though centering her thoughts, and when she looked up and spoke again, her voice had dropped half an octave, and lost almost all traces of its normal singsong accent.

"Tarot... Marie-Ange... Can you hear me?"

Shallow breathing was her only reply.

"Please, listen to me. It's Sharon. Do you hear me?"

She poured more of the water over her fingers, then traced over the other girl's lips to moisten them. "Where are you, Angie? Where have you taken yourself? Where have you gone that I can't find you? I wish you'd come back. You know how much I hate to be alone."

Catseye took a deep breath before she went on. "Don't do this to yourself, please. Come back to me. You're dying, Marie-Ange, don't you realize that? I wouldn't be able to bear it, I... I'd want to die, myself. You can't just let yourself waste away! Your life is too good not to live on. I love you, and I want you to live."

There was a change, then, so subtle that only someone with sensitive hearing like Catseye's would have heard. Just the slightest change in Marie-Ange's breathing. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Sharon leaned closer, and looked into her friend's sightless eyes. "Marie-Ange, listen to me. If you die, then you've let him win. You'll let him kill you, just like you were always afraid he would. Don't let him win, love. Don't let him win."

A single tear formed in Tarot's right eye, and rolled down the dry skin of her face. Sharon studied her eyes, and gradually, they focused, so that she was looking at Catseye rather than through her.

Immediately, Catseye's voice shifted back. "Hear me now, redhair?" she smiled softly. "Talk not, just drink." She brought the bottle up to Marie-Ange's lips and tipped it just slightly.

This time, she drank. Her throat was so dry from their trek across the southwest, though, that she coughed and sputtered her way through the first couple of swallows. Catseye lifted her to a seated position until her coughing subsided, then helped her to drink some more.

This seemed to be all the effort Marie-Ange could make in her current state. Once she had drunk enough, Catseye helped her recline herself on the bed again, and she immediately closed her eyes. In less than a minute, she was fast asleep.

Catseye let out a long sigh. "Good girl, redhair. Catseye will stay right here with redhair until ready to wake up. Then we go together, yes?"

Looking very much heartened by this, Sharon nestled down beside her in the bed and let herself doze off as well.

University of California, San Diego
Thursday, 4 November 1993 6:58 pm PST

The recital was one in the UCSD Music Department's continuing series, and it served several functions: it gave some of the more advanced music majors, minors, and just plain musicians a chance to play for an audience, it gave the weary Music Appreciation students a variety of choices for their required Six Concerts Or More to witness and report on, and it showed that the department was getting results in this time of fiscal crunch, hopefully warding off further cuts.

As student recitals went, this one got a pretty good pull. Harris was pretty well-known to the student body as one of the best drummers in town, and Aaron and David (or Doug and Warlock, but most didn't know that) were already making themselves known in the department for their accomplishments in the University choirs (two accomplished tenors appearing out of nowhere is a sight not often seen in any choir), and had invited all of their friends, including a very curious Danielle and Rahne.

They weren't disappointed. The show had begun with a speech by one of the music faculty, stating the purpose of the series, and trying not to sound too much like he was begging. Then, the three performers came out, to the polite applause of the audience. Harris was at his hippie best, in spite of suggested attire for recitals: he made a point to wear un-ripped jeans, along with a tie-dyed tuxedo shirt. He took his place in the midst of his huge drum kit and started limbering his fingers. Warlock, the very picture of elegance in a white tuxedo that contrasted sharply with his dark skin, stood stage right of Harris, surrounded by several MIDI-linked keyboards. Doug was wearing grey slacks and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and he took his place stage left of the drums, seating himself at a grand piano, yet still within easy reach of the two keyboards set up behind him.

It started simply, with Doug on the piano, playing "Prelude," from Mannheim Steamroller's first "Fresh Aire" album. He let the sound wash out over the audience, growing in intensity and volume, but still remaining mostly octave melodies and block chords. Harris and Warlock sat and stood at the ready, waiting for their cue.

This cue came at the end of "Prelude," where Doug followed with the rapid melody line of "Chocolate Fudge," joined a couple of measures later by Harris doing an impossibly rapid series of sixteenth notes on his high-hats. They added a bit at a time, Doug first bringing in his left hand to play bass notes, Harris adding in his toms and snare to keep the beat, and the two of them wove it together flawlessly.

The first section of the song ended with the feeling of a rapid four-beat becoming an equally fast three-count swing, and here Warlock joined them, playing two boards with one hand each, adding a wild bass countermelody with the one while the other arpeggiated over the higher octaves. Doug banged out low, rhythmic chords at the mid-low range of the grand, and Harris kept them steady with his attention to the beat. It got nice and loud in the middle of the song, with Doug pounding the keys while Harris slammed the crash cymbals on each beat to make the point. The two were getting wild, but Warlock was the picture of serenity in the midst of his boards, his smile being the only concession to the fact that he was having a marvelous time up there.

The first set ended with the surprised applause of the audience, and with the sounds of several music faculty members reaching for their earplugs. This was hardly an orthodox recital, after all, and was thus unique by University standards. The trio wouldn't have had it any other way.

The next set was comprised of what the three had, in the program, written up as "Loud Madrigals." Doug switched over to one of his keyboards and brought up a very realistic harpsichord patch, while Warlock again played a board with each hand, giving a synthesized duet of baroque and classical instruments, first two recorders, then recorder and oboe, and lastly recorder and fiddle. Harris came down from his drum kit throne and gave them rhythmic accompaniment with an assortment of hand-percussion instruments, including a tambourine and a genuine honest-to-God Turkish doumbek, adding an odd, somewhat foreign sound to the familiar madrigal pieces.

After this, they switched back to the modern, playing Yanni's "Looking Glass" with drums and four-handed electronic keyboards. This one belonged mostly to Doug and Warlock, and they threw the melody back and forth, from one set of keyboards to the other, adding effects and background as they saw fit. They switched the mood again afterwards, moving on to the Alan Parsons Project's "Lucifer," sounding for all the world like a musical journey through Milton's "Paradise Lost." Again, it was drums and four-handed keyboards, Doug going back to his harpsichord patch and pulling up a mandolin on the other board, while Warlock added bass with one hand and switched back and forth between a sampled choir and a horn section with the other.

The final song brought them back to Mannheim Steamroller for "Mere Image," a seven-minute baroque-meets-New-Age-fusion mini-epic. It started innocently enough, with a sampled recorder from Warlock, joined by Doug's favorite harpsichord patch and Harris with a small tambourine. It rapidly grew in complexity, though, and after one run of the verse with recorder and harpsichord, Doug leaped to the piano to join in with some rolling broken-chord patterns played with heavy pedal, underscoring the melody and counterpoint as now played by Warlock's synthesized oboe and cello. Then, quite abruptly, the mood of the song changed as Harris brought his sticks down hard on his low tom in unison with his bass drum. Doug's piano playing got a little more bluesy than baroque, and Warlock came in with a heavily accented synth-bass line. The theme of the song remained unchanged, but the style had made a dramatic shift to the twentieth century, with complicated drum kit rhythms and some thoroughly interesting piano by Doug, with Warlock's synth oboe and orchestra keeping things at least somewhat in period. The song had been written to represent the journey through life, and the finale came with broad, expressive passages from Warlock's 56-key orchestra and Doug's piano, at last coming to rest, with the ghostly, almost haunting tone of the recorder returning for one last echo of the theme before silence.

The audience went wild in sections, starting with Danielle and Rahne, who got to their feet and applauded loudly (along with a few loud whistles from Danielle). The applause from music students was a bit more hesitant (the department had not been given such an injection of new age in recent memory), but most seemed to find the change of pace enjoyable. Up on stage, Warlock, Harris and Doug took their bows, and by looking at them, anyone could tell that they were immensely pleased with themselves, whether the audience liked it or not.

Later, Dani and Rahne found the three mutually congratulating one another backstage. "That was awesome!" Dani said, giving first Doug, then Warlock, and even Harris a big hug. "You guys were great out there! I guess locking yourself in the MIDI lab all week paid off, eh?"

"Oh, I think it was worth it just to see the look on my Theory instructor's face," Doug laughed. "We were up there breaking most of his rules, and I couldn't care less."

"And here I never thought I'd be able to cut loose like that on campus," Harris added, massaging his fingers. "Thanks for getting together with me for this, guys."

"No problem," Warlock smiled, keeping his voice level. "It was... our pleasure."

"We need to do this more often," Doug nodded.

"Aye!" Rahne agreed. "Ye sounded wonderful, all of ye. I'm verra much impressed."

"Ahthankye," Doug smiled, giving her a mock bow.
 
 

The excitement level remained high as the four mutants left the campus for the short walk home (Harris declined to join them, stating that he and his girlfriend had a prior engagement), and it took most of the walk for the topic to turn from music.

"Heard something interesting on the news this evening while you guys were out rehearsing," Dani began.

"What's that?" Doug asked her.

Rahne made a face. "Och, 'tis horrid."

"Yeah," Dani added. "You know your pal Shadowwing up in S.B.?"

"Well, I've never met the guy, so we're not exactly pals. What about him?"

"He and his partner got nailed today. Hard. Someone found out who they really were and leaked their identities to the public."

Doug's expression became very serious. "Really?"

"Yeah. Right afterwards, three supervillains come knocking at the campus to find them. Destroyed a few buildings, but at least no one was hurt. The shitty part is that the University of California immediately issued a statement that the two of them were as of today expelled, not just from UCSB, but from the whole UC system. It was pretty harsh -- they made a point to say something like 'superheroes and their ilk have no place in the college community, due to the risks involved with their lifestyle.' It's a crock, is what it is."

"That's fucked up," Doug said, very quietly. "And you know the scary part?"

"If selfriends and self are discovered, precedent is now set for immediate expulsion," Warlock replied.

"Bingo," nodded Doug.

Rahne shrugged, trying to look at it with some shade of optimism. "So it looks as though we'll just have t' be careful, as we've been doin'."

"I hate working with the system," Doug sighed.

"Especially when the system sucks, eh, Doug?"

"You said it, Chief."

Motel 6, Las Cruces NM
Saturday, 6 November 1993 11:34 am MST

Three days had passed in the New Mexico motel room, and while the immediate danger had passed (Marie-Ange was finally accepting both water and food with some regularity), her catatonia had not abated. Though Catseye spent much of that time sitting and talking with her, perhaps trying to break through the barriers, as she had the other night, there was still no response. Tarot would not die, but nor would she awaken, at this rate.

Finally, on Saturday morning, Catseye returned to the room after an absence of two hours, apparently having reached a decision.

"Hello, redhair," she smiled at her friend. "Catseye thinks it would be best to go now. Not much else to do in littletown like this. Still a ways to go on map, and Catseye thinks redhair will get better muchsoon once redhair and Catseye reach newplace."

She bustled about the room, gathering up their belongings as she continued to talk. "Motel not helping redhair to wake, so will move on now and find better place. Redhair will be looked after and loved and protected there, so can wake up and not be afraid, yes? Will be good. And this time, Catseye not need to find ride with people like writerguy and Bud-man. Catseye found roller that Catseye and redhair can drive."

She paused for a moment, looking for all the world as though she was waving off a surprised comment from Marie-Ange. "Was good deal. Found little car in yard few blocks down, with man in house selling it. Told Catseye it was barely used, and ran well. Catseye paid, and even convinced man to bring it here to motel! Can now follow road 10 without walking! Will be nice, yes?"

She paused again, and then giggled, as though reminding herself of something. "Car is called rabbit, like bunnyman back at schoolhome. Does not look like rabbit, does not look like bunnyman, but is okay. Is good car, like man said, and runs well. Come, Catseye will show redhair, and may begin on road right away."

Sharon zipped up the backpack and slung it over her shoulders, then bent down and sniffed at Marie-Ange. Once finished, she very carefully picked the other girl up and carried her from the room.

Having already paid for the extra days, Catseye proceeded straight to the parking lot, where, as promised, they found an old Volkswagen Rabbit. Anyone with even basic knowledge of cars would have quickly noticed that it was in horrible shape. There was no paint (the car was a nice primer grey) and the body was rusted pretty badly in several places. The upholstery was shredded, and the windows were pocked and scratched.

None of this seemed to matter to Catseye, however, as she used her new set of keys to open the passenger's door and set Marie-Ange inside, buckling her in with the seat belt. She then came around to the other side and opened her own door, pausing to set her backpack in the back seat before she sat down at the wheel. In another few moments, she, too, was buckled in and ready to go.

It was here that they hit a snag.

"Hmmm," Catseye frowned. "In writerguy's car, was handle with marks for P, N, D, R, 1 and 2. This car has 1, 2, 3, 4 and R. Very strange. And is third pedal for feet. Whyfor? Catseye not have three feet! Cannot drive this car the way writerguy drove. Must be another way, yes? Catseye remembers that redhair's topless car had numbers instead of letters as well. Catseye never really watched redhair drive, though. Hmmm..."

After a pause, in which Catseye's face creased in a look of comic concentration, she nodded to herself, pushed down on the clutch with her left foot, and turned the key in the ignition. It was a long time starting, but Catseye waited patiently until the motor turned over.

"Let's see. Will need to go fast to get there soon. Catseye will use number four." She pulled the stick-shift into fourth gear and hit the gas, at the same time releasing the clutch.

And immediately stalled, of course.

"Whoops. Catseye will need to get the hang of this, yes?"

Heartbreak Hotel, near Los Angeles, CA
Monday, 8 November 1993 4:11 pm PST

Chance turned out to be a Korean girl of about Mickey's age, and at first glance, Rictor had mistaken her for a young man -- the short, messy black hair, the James Dean leather jacket, and the growly, husky voice had completely fooled him, as did her flat-chested, narrow-hipped build. It wasn't until during lunch with the whole group that Ric had managed to divine the opposite, with a series of carefully-phrased questions.

He'd finally asked "Chance, uh, don't take this the wrong way, but... are you a girl?"

Mick and Mickey had both burst out laughing, and Chance gave him a sour grin and stuck out her hand for him to shake. "Congratulations, Torres. That was an entry-level intelligence test, and you passed. Welcome aboard."

Since that afternoon, Ric had spent more time with all of the younger denizens of the Hotel. He went fishing with Mick (though Mick seemed to prefer the method of standing in the shallows with a spear and waiting patiently -- Ric didn't want to ask where he'd acquired the spear), helped out in the gardens with Lucy, and even did time in the kitchen with Kate. He also heard a lot about the Hotel's three absent mutants -- Link, a telekinetic who used his talents in a mime act (he was also Mickey's best friend), Gomi, a brilliant young non-mutant given telekinetic power by cybernetic implants (apparently an old friend of Chance), and Sybil, about whom no one really knew much, except that she came in only rarely.

Of all of them, though, Ric ended up spending the most time with Mickey and Chance. In Link's absence, Mickey had seemingly latched on to Ric, and was always full of questions about Ric's control of his powers, his life as a mutant, and his adventures. Ric made a point to put up an air of older-sibling toleration for Mickey, but in fact enjoyed being looked up to, and told him several accounts of his adventures with the X-Terminators and New Mutants (making sure to use codenames, and perhaps making his role just a wee bit more heroic in the telling). Chance often hung around with the two of them, and Ric found that he and she had a lot in common. Both were former gang-members, both carried a knife, both liked spicy food and action movies, and both had done their time living on the streets. In spite of her (already questionable) femininity, Chance was basically one of the guys, probably because she made no effort to be anything but just that. She put Rictor in mind of Danielle, but infinitely more down-to-earth.

Monday afternoon found Ric in his room with Chance, talking about nothing in particular. He reminded himself of what a welcome change of pace it was, not having to talk about grand visions and the Future Peace, and how hard everyone was going to have to work to bring it about. Instead, they talked about old groups they had known. Chance told him about the Fallen Angels, a gang she and Gomi had run with until fairly recently. Ric almost swallowed his tongue when he found out who exactly had been in that gang.

"You knew Boom-Boom?" he asked, incredulously. "How long ago was this?"

Chance furrowed her brow as she thought about this. "Geez, must'a been more'n three years ago, now. She wasn't with us for long. Left just a little while after DaCosta and that funky alien dude did."

"DaCosta? Wait, you don't mean Roberto DaCosta, do you?"

Chance grinned. "Yeah. Dark skin, nice pecs, cute butt... You know him?"

"Yeah, Bobby's an old friend'a mine!" Ric exclaimed. "And the alien guy -- was his name Warlock?"

"I think something like that," she nodded. "Half the time I couldn't ever figure out what the hell he was saying, so I wasn't sure."

"Yeah, Warlock an' me were buds, too," said Ric. "That's weird, man. I guess Boom-Boom must'a been with you guys back when she took off from X-Factor. She never told us where she was while she was gone, but she'd giggle about it a lot and say something about lobsters."

Chance laughed. "Yeah, Gomi had a couple of -get this- bionic lobsters. One of 'em got squished by this big dino critter, and the other died of old age last year. He's been trying to make more of 'em ever since. I think that's got somethin' to do with the road trip he's takin' with Link right now. Hey, have you seen DaCosta lately?"

"Yeah, just a couple of months ago."

"What's he doin' these days? He still got a cute butt?"

Ric was a bit taken aback by the second question, but went ahead and answered the first. "His papa died couple'a years ago, and he inherited the family corporation. He's back in Rio rollin' in the bucks."

"No shit?" Chance gaped.

"Nope."

"Damn, should'a stuck with him," she laughed. "Maybe I'll look him up one'a these days."

The talk was interrupted by a knock on the open door. Ric and Chance looked up to see Kate there, with an unfamiliar figure standing behind her.

"Ric, looks like you've got a new roommate. Hope you don't mind, but yours is the only double with an extra bed."

Rictor and Chance exchanged glances. "No problem, I guess," he shrugged. He was living here rent-free anyway, after all.

Kate nodded and smiled, then stepped aside and showed the other in. "Ric, Chance, meet Hector. Hector, that's Ric Torres and Chance."

Hector was a young Hispanic man of about Rictor's age. He was a couple of inches shorter than Ric, but made up for it in musculature. He all but radiated "star athlete" at first glance. His hair was black and cropped, and his eyes were hooded and sullen. He carried a single suitcase, and a leather jacket was slung over one shoulder.

Ric stood up, partly to shake his hand, and partly to finish sizing him up. He got the impression Hector was doing the same. "Nice to meet you," Ric nodded.

"Thanks," Hector said in a gruff voice. "Anyplace I can put this?"

For a moment, Ric wasn't sure what he meant, but then, he realized Hector had been indicating his suitcase. "Oh, yeah, sure, anywhere. Make yourself comfortable."

Kate took this opportunity to leave and let the three get to know one another. Chance also seemed to be sizing Hector up as he crossed the room and set his case down on the free bed. Ric wasn't sure whether or not he liked the V-shaped grin she was shooting his way.

"So, you guys are all mutants, no?" Hector asked, suddenly.

Rictor almost laughed. That had been his first reaction here as well. "Yeah, looks that way. You, too?"

Hector sat down on the bed and regarded them. "Yeah," he said, carefully. It looked as though there were more he wanted to say, but he kept his silence.

"Cool," Ric nodded. "I make earthquakes, and Chance here can raise or lower someone else's power. How 'bout you?"

At this question, Hector looked genuinely surprised. "I'm... an empath," he said at length.

The word "empath" brought silence to the room, and Rictor's vague grin vanished. "Really?" he said, his tone suddenly more guarded.

Chance looked over at him. "What's with you, Torres?"

Ric shook his head. "Sorry. No offense, man, but the last empath I met totally fucked my life up."

"Oh," said Hector, as though he understood perfectly. "Don't worry, man, I won't screw with you. Besides, all I can do is project fear."

"Bummer of a power, man," Chance nodded.

Hector nodded with her. "Yeah," he said, softly. "Yeah, it is."

Carson & Sons Auto Repair, Tucson AZ
Tuesday, 9 November 1993 11:24 am MST

Catseye peeked under the jacked-up Volkswagen, where the elder Carson mentioned on the sign was inspecting the underside. "So... is okay?"

Carson pulled himself out from under the Rabbit, gave her a look that seemed to ask where the hidden camera was, and shook his head. "I don't know how you even got it here, miss. All the gears are completely stripped 'cept reverse, the tranny's being held in place by chewing gum and paper clips, more'r less, the front axle's got a crack in it the size of my fist, the rims're all tweaked, and the engine itself... like I said, I don't know how you even got it here." He picked up a greasy sport-bottle from a nearby tool chest and took a drink.

For a while, Catseye thought about this. "So... can fix it, yes?"

Carson nearly choked. "Miss, there ain't no way! All's you can do for this thing now is shoot it; I don't think you could even strip it for parts the shape it's in."

Catseye took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You sure? Cannot stay here, have to get west as soon as possible."

"Where you headed?" he asked, hastily amending with "Just for the sake of curiosity, mind."

"West," she repeated. "Far west."

"Well, there's a bus station not too far from here," he began.

"No, no buses," she interrupted. "Sure you cannot fix car?"

Carson looked her squarely in the eye (though he had to crane his neck upwards to do so). "Miss, where're you from, anyway?"

"East coast," Catseye smiled.

"Ah," he nodded, as if that explained it. "Well, like I said, this poor Rabbit of yours is already dead. I'm a mechanic, not a miracle man. And besides, the amount of money it'd cost to replace all those parts would practically get you a new used car, in plenty better shape than this."

Catseye sighed through her teeth. "Not good."

"Nope. By the way, miss, if you don't mind my asking, what exactly did you do, take it off-roading?"

"Just drove it. Am not good driver, though."

"I see. And you don't want to take a bus?"

She shook her head emphatically. "No. No bus."

"Well, I'll tell you what," he said, leaning against his workbench. "One of the boys is making a run to Yuma tomorrow to pick up some parts from a shop my cousin runs out there. He could give you a lift that far, and you might be able to find your way from there to wherever you're going."

Catseye furrowed her brow. "Yuma. Is west on road 8, yes?"

"Yep. Right on the California border, practically."

"Oh, good!" she grinned suddenly. "Yes, will be fine! Shall come here tomorrow morning, yes?"

"Yeah, he'll be leaving about eight."

To Carson's surprise, she stepped up to him and gave him a big hug. "Thank you. Been much help."

"Uh, sure. Um, what d'you want me to do with the Rabbit, then?"

"Keep it," she waved over her shoulder as she left. "Will not be needing it now."

Carson scratched his head, still not entirely sure that this wasn't going to end up on that funny home video program. He then sighed and got back to work.

Heartbreak Hotel, near Los Angeles, CA
Tuesday, 9 November 1993 3:11 pm PST

Rictor and Mickey found Hector sitting out on the cliffs with a large pad of paper braced against his knees. "Yo, Hector!" Ric called.

Hector did not seem to notice them. Ric and Mickey exchanged glances, shrugged, and approached him. Not until they were practically on top of him did he even look up. "Oh. What's up?"

"What're you doin', man?" Ric asked, coming around behind to get a look at the tablet. It was a sketch pad, and he saw that Hector had been drawing a picture of the hotel in pencil. Ric looked at the picture, then up at the hotel itself. "Geez, man, you're pretty good!"

"Thanks," said Hector, looking maybe just a bit embarrassed. "I was an art major back at school."

"Really?" Mickey asked. "That's cool."

"I never would'a guessed it," said Ric. "Got any other good pictures in there?"

Hector closed the tablet and looked up at Ric. "I might."

Rictor nodded, finding the concept of gruff, surly Hector as a shy artistic type pretty funny. "So why aren't you still at school?"

"Got kicked out," Hector said, looking Ric in the eye. "You got any more stupid questions, Torres?"

For a moment, Ric was robbed of a reply. He tried not to get angry, though, remembering how sensitive those artist-types got. Besides, he didn't want his new roommate on his bad side, especially considering their difference in size. "Well, me an' Mickey and the others are puttin' together a game of football. You wanna come?"

Hector widened one eye at him. "Football?"

"Yeah," Mickey nodded. "Now that you're here, we can play three on three again. Just two-hand touch with no powers."

"Hmmm," Hector nodded. "Sure, so long as I can QB."
 
 

The six young mutants gathered on the beach to choose teams. Hector ended up on one side with Mick and Lucy, while Ric teamed up with Chance and Mickey. The sides looked fairly well matched, all things considered.

Ric's team won the coin toss, so once they'd drawn lines in the sand for the end zones, Mick punted the ball their way. Mickey called for it and caught it, leaving Ric and Chance to give him adequate blocking. Against a charging Hector and company, though, it was a difficult prospect at best. Lucy got by and tagged Mickey before he could get ten yards.

Ric called a huddle, and asked for suggestions. Chance suggested she be running back to Ric's QB, and Mickey agreed. Ric pointed out that the rules stated two completions for a first down, and a run wouldn't count for that. Mickey assured him that it wouldn't matter.

The two teams lined up, Mickey playing center, Hector and Lucy ready to rush while Mick covered the backfield. "Set one!" Ric called. "Set two! Hut! Hut! HUT!!"

Mickey hiked him the ball and stood ready to receive the rush, while Hector and Lucy started counting out the five-second rush delay. Ric backpedaled two steps, faked to his right, and then slipped the ball to Chance.

She did the rest, managing to slip between Hector and Lucy without either one getting more than one hand on her. From there, she raced down the field at a dead sprint, so thoroughly faking Mick out that she seemed to walk right past him. With no one left to catch her, she made it all the way to the end zone, then spiked the ball, doing a little dance and whooping "She came, she saw, she kicked ass!"

From there, Ric kicked off to them, and Hector ended up with the ball. Calling out for Lucy and Mick to block, he charged down the field, faster even than Chance had run. He made it about halfway to the opposite end zone before Mickey got him with a diving two-handed tag.

The teams lined up again, with Mick as center, Mickey and Chance as rushers, and Ric covering the receivers. Mick hiked the ball, and he and Lucy immediately rushed out, leaving Hector protected only by the five seconds counted off by Mickey and Chance. Mick and Lucy cut opposite ways, so Ric stuck close to Mick, chasing him down the field. Both were going long, and Ric wondered what Hector had in mind.

The five seconds were counted off, and Mickey and Chance rushed in. Hector deftly dodged them, though, and sent up a perfect spiral bomb. To Lucy. She snagged it out of the air two steps from the end zone, and ran the rest of the way in. Two plays, two touchdowns.

Mick patted Ric on the shoulder. "Some friendly advice," he grinned. "Don't underestimate the ladies 'round here."

"Yeah, I'm beginning to see that," Ric nodded.

He looked downfield to see Hector giving him the thumbs-up, and even, for the first time since Ric had met him, smiling. It was going to be an interesting game...

McAudry House, La Jolla CA
Wednesday, 10 November 1993 10:57 pm PST

Wednesday night movies were something of a tradition by now with the members of Go West. None of them had early classes on Thursday (with the exception of Warlock, who didn't tend to require much downtime anyway), so right after the first few stories of the late-night news, they'd plug one into the VCR and try to stay awake long enough to finish it. This week, it was Dani's turn to select the movie.

Warlock and Rahne were already seated at the TV waiting for the news to start as Danielle came in, a bag of popcorn in one hand and a two-liter bottle of Coke in the other. Doug was seated at the opposite end of the whatever-room, talking to someone on the cordless phone. "Have I missed anything yet?" Dani asked.

"'Tis not started," Rahne replied.

"Who's Doug on the phone to?"

"Jenny Stavros."

Dani considered this. "Isn't it a bit late to be calling the east coast?"

"Actually, she called us," Rahne shrugged. "What film did ye get?"

Dani set down the popcorn and Coke, and produced a Blockbuster Video case. "Everyone's favorite: 'The Beastmaster.'"

Rahne made a face. "Och, Dani, we've seen that one a hundred times!"

"Yeah, but you know how cute you think his ferrets are, admit it."

"Self agrees with movie of choice," Warlock added. "Query: as self is now major in History, self wishes to know at what point in time moviefilms such as 'Beastmaster' took place."

Dani chuckled as she sat down on the couch next to Warlock. "Well, you see, it didn't really take place at all. That's why it's a fantasy movie, and not a historical one."

Warlock gave her a confused look. "Clarification, please: how could events not take place in history? History covers all time and space. Could events not have taken place on another world similar to Earth?"

"Well, yeah, I guess, if you want to think about it that way," Dani agreed, with a shrug. "It could have. But really, 'Lock, it's just a movie. Movies aren't necessarily real, remember?"

"Which movie are we talking here?" asked Doug, suddenly, standing behind the couch and looking over their shoulders.

"Oh, hey, Doug," Dani smiled at him. "How's Jenny doing?"

"Not well," Doug sighed, collapsing the antenna of the cordless. "There still hasn't been any news at all. No good news, no bad news, just no news, period. Still no ransom demands, and no leads on where they might have been taken."

"I'm sure they're okay," Dani assured him. "Catseye's tough, and Tarot's powerful. They won't be able to hold 'em for long."

Doug didn't look convinced. "I just wish there were more we could do." He'd spent much of the time since the Mutant Fair trying to look at things optimistically and not let himself brood over the disappearance of his two Hellion friends, but there were times when that was simply not enough.

The eleven o'clock news chose that moment to come on. "Good evening," the anchorwoman began, wearing her "serious face." "In our top story tonight, the Santa Barbara vigilante Shadowwing is missing and presumed dead after a dramatic rescue aboard an offshore oil platform. Jon Lawrence has more."

"Holy shit," Doug whispered. "Dani, turn it up."

Heartbreak Hotel, forty seconds later

Approximately a hundred miles north of the McAudry house, most of the mutants living at the hotel were in the TV room when a similar news bulletin had come on. They watched, stunned, as the picture went to a videotape of the burning oil platform.

"Less than two hours ago, a fire broke out on this Santa Barbara oil drilling station, and quickly went out of control. This video, taken by a local resident, shows the early stages, and the arrival of Shadowwing."

As he said this, a set of tiny black wings seemed to eclipse the distant fire.

"Damn," Kate whispered. "That kid was one of the good ones..."

"Who was this guy, anyway?" Ric asked, looking around the room. He noticed a similar look of dismayed shock on the faces of Lucy, Mickey and Mick, but Hector was watching the set intently, eyes wide and vacant.

The picture cut to an interview with one of the workers who'd been rescued from the platform. The man's coveralls were streaked black and his face was dripping with sweat and sea water; apparently they'd caught him for questioning just after the rescue. "We were trying to get to the boats, but the fire was really bad all over. Then all of a sudden he swooped in and bought us some time. We all got to the boats, and he gave us a push off with his wings 'fore he went back in to try and stop it. 'Bout a minute or so later, it blew."

They switched back to the videotape, which showed the entire rig go up like a torch. "According to eyewitness reports, Shadowwing had not emerged from the platform before the explosion, and there has been no trace of him found. The oil line miraculously collapsed inward on itself, however, preventing further seepage, or a possible iceberg fire."

"Jesus Christ, Gene," Hector whispered. "You stupid fuck, what the hell'ja have to do that for?"

"What're you talking about?" Ric asked.

The newscast switched then to a scene of a partially demolished college campus. "It was almost a week ago that Shadowwing and his partner Wolfsong were revealed to be UCSB students Gerald Corvus Jr. and Hector Sanchez, on the same day that a metahuman battle between the two locals and a trio of mutant terrorists destroyed sections of the University. The UCSB board of Regents reacted by immediately expelling the two, and tonight was Shadowwing's first public appearance since their expulsion. There have been no further sightings of Hector 'Wolfsong' Sanchez, and it is unknown whether or not he was with his partner on the platform as it exploded."

"I don't believe it," Hector whispered. "I don't fucking believe it. Gene, you stupid son of a bitch..."

"Dude, what's wrong?" Ric insisted.

Hector looked over at him. "Don't you fucking get it, Torres? I'm Hector Sanchez. I'm Wolfsong."

Plaster City, CA
Thursday, 11 November 1993 6:24 pm PST

For all practical purposes, Plaster City existed only as a tiny industrial community -- it had been named for its major export, after all. Situated in the middle of California desert less than a mile from Interstate 8, it was a prime example of the southern California that no one ever thought about.

Catseye had managed to hitch a ride here from Yuma, with the as-yet-unconscious Tarot still in tow. It had been the only ride she could find that was heading west, but this was as far as it went; the driver had been making a pickup and then heading straight back to Yuma.

More maddening was the fact that traffic through this backwater crossroads was almost non-existent. The idea of just finding another lift was just not going to cut it.

As evening fell quickly, Sharon wandered the (very few) streets of the town, hoping for some way -- any way -- to get further west.

Before long, she found it. On the outskirts of town, a freight train was waiting patiently to make its next run. Upon inspecting the tracks, Catseye found that they seemed to be heading more or less in the direction of the sunset, which she knew, of course, to be west.

Sneaking around a freight yard was difficult to do while carrying someone else, though, so Catseye found an isolated spot to set Marie-Ange down, then cast around a few surreptitious glances. No one seemed to be about, and she shifted into her cat-shape, leaving her pack on the ground beside her friend.

Moving on silent paws, she scoped out the freight yard. No one was left about; the place seemed to be closed for the night. Cautiously, she checked out the train itself. Several long freight cars were linked in a row, with a small caboose bringing up the rear. The open-top freight cars were covered by large, thick tarps. Catseye managed to clamber her way up onto one and peek under the tarp. There was plenty of empty space there in which to hide, but the floor and slanted walls seemed to be coated with a fine white powder that made Catseye sneeze. Sleeping in such conditions would be impossible. Each and every one of the cars had the same problem.

That left the engine up front, which didn't look too hospitable, and the caboose, which looked infinitely more promising.

Catseye quickly found an open window in the caboose and climbed inside. It was small compared to the other cars, but this one actually had rooms, rather than just space. In one section, she found what looked like a very spartan sleeping room, which probably belonged to one or more of the engineers. That looked like a tempting place to rest, but it would also be a place where they'd be readily found. She kept checking.

Eventually, she found a large storage closet stuffed with coveralls and other work clothes. Here, too, Catseye smelled the fine, white dust, but there was far less of it. This would be a much better place...

Smiling excitedly, Catseye bounded around to the rear of the caboose and unlocked the door from the inside. She then carefully snuck out and went to retrieve Marie-Ange and her backpack.

"Come, redhair," she whispered. "Found place on train for us."

Catseye carefully picked her friend up, then brought her into the caboose, and into the storage compartment. Here, she made the two of them a nest amidst the piles of work clothes, and set redhair down, curling up around her protectively.

"You see, redhair?" she whispered. "Will be there before we know it."

Heartbreak Hotel, near Los Angeles, CA
Friday, 12 November 1993 11:11 pm PST

For the two nights and two days that followed, Hector had been simply unapproachable, and made it clear that he wanted to deal with the death of his former partner by himself. Finally, though, Friday night, he'd come back inside, tracked down Ric, and asked him if he had anything to drink.

"Well, I still got most of a case of Corona," Ric had shrugged.

Hector hadn't looked too pleased, but he nodded. "Good. Bring it."

A while later, the two went down to the beach, along with Mickey, and started a bonfire. They were soon after joined by Mick, Lucy and Chance, and the six shared Ric's eighteen remaining bottles, some to a greater degree than others (Lucy and Mick, for example, only had one each, Mickey had two before he started feeling loopy, and Ric and Chance each had maybe one or two too many). Over the course of the evening, Chance had actually been sticking pretty close to Ric, and as it grew colder, even leaned up against him, presumably for warmth.

As they drank, Hector told them about being Wolfsong. He'd been given a mystic talisman by a man claiming to be his real father. Apparently, as the last in the line of the Cantolobos family, he was destined to be given the amulet, which was called "El Espirito del Cantolobos," or The Spirit of the Wolf-Song. The talisman gave him powers of shapechange, and of fear: projected through his eyes, and through his howl. He'd come to UCSB as an art student at the College of Creative Studies, and in his first heroic endeavor, met the other new local hero, Shadowwing. The two became partners, but never really seemed to hit it off as the best of friends, mostly because of their different attitudes. Shad wanted to get the drugs out of the school, even if it meant cracking down on friends. Hector had been a bit more lax, seeing as he enjoyed a good party as much as the next student.

Everything had come to a boil when their identities had been leaked. They'd been captured by a group of mutant terrorists, and in the process, El Espirito was destroyed, leaving Hector powerless... or so they thought. Somehow, he managed to make the change to his wolf-self without it, and together, he and Shadowwing escaped. Shad had suggested that Hector was a mutant all along, and that the talisman had only amplified his powers. He asked Hector to stay in Santa Barbara, and fight their expulsion, but Hector wanted no part of it. It had come to blows between the two, and Hector had walked out.

Considering the terms under which they'd parted, Hector wasn't sure at all how to react to the news that Shadowwing was dead. In one sense, he'd been a pain in the ass, not to mention a complete obsessive when it came to his goals. But then again, they were still amigos, and they'd had some good times together.

The conversation turned away from that, though, as they went on drinking. Lucy had brought up Hector's brief career as an art student, and asked what it had been like. This had led Hector into a story about his first class session at the CCS.

"So after I got my schedule straight, my first class was figure drawing with Professor Ellis on Monday morning. The catalog had said to bring sketch pads, pencils and charcoals to the first meeting, so I showed up with all my stuff, ten o'clock, Monday morning- I went to a high school that started every morning at 7:15, so when I got to college, I made a point to schedule all my classes no earlier than ten.

"Anyway, the classes at CCS were real small. This one had maybe nine people, tops, mostly freshmen like me. Professor Ellis turns out to be this outrageously good-lookin' lady -- I thought she was one of the students at first. Couldn't'a been past her mid-twenties. Anyway, she takes roll, then starts telling us what the class is all about. We'll be gettin' nude models in every week, and just spend the whole class learnin' how to draw by actually doing it. I thought it was pretty cool, and we've got this complete babe prof.

"So anyway, once she finishes telling us about what we'll be doing all quarter, she stands up on the platform in front of the room, then starts takin' all of her clothes off, right there in front of the class. She strips down 'til she's butt naked, then stands there and says 'Now, draw me.'"

"Southern California," Mick laughed. "Y'gotta love it."

"Sweet!" Ric grinned. "So what did you do?"

Hector shrugged, his smile about ready to crack his face open. "Well, I drew her! I've still got a bunch of sketches of her on one of my pads. I break 'em out every now and then for renewal of purpose."

Lucy had laughed at the story, but then her face creased into a half-frown. "How could she do that, though? She'd go the whole way through the class knowing that all those guys... brr!"

"I'll never understand artists, man," Chance chuckled, shaking her head.

"Well, hey, maybe she was a model before, and just wasn't shy," Mickey suggested.

"And you gotta admit," Ric pointed out, "it'd be good incentive to go to class every week."

Mick laughed loudly at this, and nodded. "I know what you mean, mate. An old teacher of mine... you wouldn't believe the outfit she'd wear to class ever' so often. Me an' me mates figured it was to keep us loyal."

"You don't talk about your old school much, Mick," said Lucy. "Why did you leave?"

"Well, I didn't leave," Mick shrugged. "I've been spending this semester on walkabout, working on my Master's projects. I'll be goin' back there in the wintertime to get my degree. B'sides, I got me a girl there, an' she'd be kind'a hacked off if I didn't come back."

"Old girlfriend?" Hector grinned. "What's she like?"

Mick got a faraway grin and went on. "Well, her name's Cassie. She's a sweet girl, but she knows somethin' like seven different martial arts styles and works out in the gym like there's no tomorrow. We hit it off really well, she and I. It's been a challenging relationship, though."

"In what sense?" Mickey asked.

"Well, y'see," Mick explained, "she's got this brother. Name's Paul, which is my middle name, so I always knew he an' I'd be mates. And he's a nice fella t'hang around with. The problem is that he an' Cassie are real close. I mean, real close. Any closer, an'... well, you get the picture. And 'cause of that, sometimes... he gets in the way."

"Why don't you tell him to fuck off?" Hector asked, taking another drink.

"Wouldn't do any good," Mick shrugged. "Having Paul around is a necessary part'a having Cassie around. It's complicated. But enough 'bout me. How about you, love? Got any old boyfriends?"

He'd addressed the question to Lucy, and she was a bit taken aback. "Well, not really. I've been here so long that I haven't exactly been much of a social butterfly. But there's this guy in my Biology class who's sort of cute. We were assigned to be lab partners together, and he seems really sweet, but... I don't know if I should ask him out or not."

Mick, Hector and Ric immediately chorused in, with things like "Aw, go for it!" "Ask him already!" "C'mon, Lucy, make your move!"

"Thank you, thank you," she smiled, putting her hands up to block their verbal assault. "How about you, Mickey? Any girlfriends you've been keeping hidden from us?"

Mickey seemed shocked by the question, and his mouth worked silently for a few moments. "Girlfriends?" he finally managed. "Ah- no, no, no girlfriends, not me."

"I think he's sweet on Sybil," Chance smirked.

"I am not!" Mickey shot back, red in the face.

"Hey, who the hell is Sybil, anyway?" Hector asked. "And howcum I've never seen her?"

"Yeah, I've been wonderin' that, too," Ric added. "Who is she?"

"None of us're really sure," Mick shrugged.

"She's weird." said Lucy, emphatically. "I think she might be on some serious drugs, too. The only time I've ever had a halfway-intelligent conversation with her, she was babbling about this cult that used to worship her, or something like that. And she's always going around in these frilly negligées and things, even in broad daylight."

"What, is she an exhibitionist?" Hector asked. "Kind'a like our old teachers, no?"

"It's not that," Mick replied, his face creasing as he considered it. "She just likes having soft things around her all the time. She can't even handle other people touchin' her, 'cause they ain't soft enough. Her room is like a giant nest, full of all the softest stuff she could find. I don't even think her feet touch the ground when she walks."

"So she goes 'round in skimpy nighties and doesn't want no one touchin' her?" Ric asked. "Yeah, that makes a lot of sense."

"She's a goddamned showoff, is what she is," Chance grumbled. "Got this body stacked out to Missouri and she goes around lookin' like she just stepped out of a lingerie catalog or somethin'..."

Hector got what could only be called a wolfish grin. "Can't wait to meet her."

"You'll be so-reeee," Lucy mocked.

"Seriously, mate, leave this one alone," Mick agreed.

Mickey, seemingly having regained his composure, got the conversation back on track. "So how about you, Ric?"

"How-'bout-me-what?" Ric asked.

"Yeah!" Mick grinned. "C'mon, mate, any old girlfriend stories?"

"Nothin' you guys would wanna hear," he replied, shaking his head.

This time, everyone chimed in with mocking encouragements. "Yes we do!" "C'mon, Ric!" "Tell, man, tell!"

Ric reached one hand out to Hector. "Beer me first. I'll need it."

Hector tossed him another bottle. Ric popped the cap off and drank about half of it before he went on. "Her name was Rahne."

"'Rain?'" Lucy asked. "That's a neat name."

"Yeah, an' she was a neat girl," Ric sighed. He paused a moment to finish the beer (his fifth), and by the time he was done, it was too late to turn back. "She was a little too... nice, though. Really religious. I'm not jus' talkin' cross necklaces an' bibles on the nightstand, I'm talkin' church ev'ry Sunday, prayers ev'ry night b'fore bed, biblical quotes at the drop of a hat, all kinds'a religion."

"You don' strike me as bein' too religious, Torres," Chance grinned.

"Well, I'm not. Not really. I mean, I b'lieve in God, but I can't get that whole fundie mind-set of havin' to do ever'thin' all the times of your life just t'serve God. What kind'a God would'a created alla us just t'sit down here on Earth and scratch his back for him?"

"Bet that didn't go too smooth with her," Hector nodded.

"Well, it wasn' bad, really," Ric shrugged, holding out his hand to receive yet another bottle from Hector. "We got 'long fine, mostly, 'til one night... she starts comin' on t'me like... she wanted t'go t'bed with me."

"Always the repressed religious types," Hector nodded, sagely.

"So, did you?" Chance asked.

"Well... yeah. We did. Next mornin', I wake up an' she's cryin', an' tells me to get out; wants me outta her life. Suddenly started thinkin' she'd done somethin' wrong, an' she wanted me out."

"Ouch," Mick grimaced. "That's tough, mate. What did'ja do?"

"I left," Ric sighed. "Never looked back. An' here I am."

There was a silence.

"You mean you didn't even try to talk it out with her?" Lucy asked, incredulously.

"She wouldn'ta listened," Ric sighed again, but the sigh became a burp.

"You don't know that," Lucy insisted. "Maybe she was pretty whacked out the morning after, but Jesus, I don't blame her! That's a pretty big step, and she was probably scared!"

"Luce, she tol' me she wanted me t'leave, and I left."

"Well, Ric, you can say some pretty fucking stupid things when you're that scared," she shot back at him. "Did you ever think of that?"

There was another pause, and this time, Lucy stood up, suddenly near to tears. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to spoil the party," she managed, before turning away and hurrying out of the firelight.

"I'd better go too," Mick added, quickly. "I'll make sure she finds her way home. Nice chattin' with you, mates."

Then he was gone as well, following Lucy into the night.

"Man, I wonder what's up with her?" Hector wondered.

"Sorry," Ric muttered to the others. "Didn't mean t'screw it all up for you guys."

"Nah, it's okay," Chance assured him. "It's late. We should be gettin' back anyway." She stood up, looking a little wobbly, then offered her hand to Ric. They nearly both went down then, but somehow managed to keep their feet.

"You comin', guys?" Ric asked.

"Nah," Hector smiled, looking up at the stars. "Got a pretty decent sky tonight. I think I'll lay out here a few hours and enjoy it."

"How 'bout you, Mickey?"

"I'll... be up in a while," Mickey nodded. "I think I need to take a walk or something."

"C'mon, Torres, I'll help you find your room," Chance laughed, leading the way back at an unsteady clip. Ric followed, but the ground didn't seem to want to cooperate. He hadn't been this blitzed in a while, and at this point, he didn't think he liked it anymore.
 
 

"Next stop, home of two Mexican hunks," Chance giggled, as they finally arrived at Ric and Hector's room. Ric, by now, was feeling the full effects of those last two, and was content to lean on Chance, in spite of their difference in stature. Chance took a moment to lean him up against the wall while she tried to get the door open. "Stay, Torres. Don't go nowhere." She quickly let go, swung the door open, and caught him before he collapsed. "Whoa, boy," she laughed. "Just a little longer."

She guided him into the room, and he took the seven necessary steps to reach his bed and collapse, while Chance found her way to a chair and sat down heavily.

"Mmm prmtmm mmmtmmm, mmm?" Ric said indiscernibly, his face smushed into the covers.

"How's that, Ric?"

He looked up at her, trying not to laugh. "I'm pretty wasted, huh?"

She gave him a vampy grin. "Not too wasted, I imagine."

After taking a moment to steady himself, Ric pushed himself to his feet. "Aaah," he muttered. "Stop the room, man."

Chance just laughed, and continued to grin at him. Oblivious, Ric kicked off his shoes, unbuttoned his pants, and pushed them down around his ankles.

"You got a nice butt too, Torres," she smiled. "Nicer than DaCosta's, even."

Ric stopped dead in what passed for his tracks and looked around at her. "Chance, d'you mind?"

"Not a bit," she giggled, shaking her head at him.

"Well, I'm takin' my pants off, here."

"I can see that."

"Well, shouldn't you be, like, in your room?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. What say I take my pants off too, and then we'll be even."

Ric considered this. "Yeah, that works," he mumbled, kicking off his jeans. He then went to his bed, pulled back the covers, and collapsed a second time, yanking the blankets up over his head.

Chance got to her feet as well, and started slowly crossing the room, trying not to wobble. She shuffed off her everpresent black leather jacket and tossed it in the direction of the chair she'd just occupied, then started fumbling with the buttons of her jeans. "Torres, a guy like you's wasted hangin' around with the saints. You should be down here with the rest of us sinners. We're lots more fun. Think Billy Joel said that."

After stepping out of her shoes, she sat down on the side of his bed to steady herself as she slipped her jeans off, and followed this with her shirt. Then, she slipped under the covers beside him.

"Hey, Torres, don't tell me you're asleep," she giggled, snuggling up close to him.

Ric mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "Okay, won't tell," then turned over onto his back.

She positioned herself a bit closer, then, and put her hand under his T-shirt, feeling the smooth muscles of his abdomen and chest. "Come on, Torres, work with me here." She took one of his limp hands and placed it on her hip. "There we go."

Quite suddenly, Ric seemed to stir his way back to semi-consciousness, but still didn't open his eyes. He moved his hand from her hip, and along her bare back.

"Hi, Rahney," he whispered, his face lighting up in a beatific smile. "I love you, baby. Glad you're here."

With that, he collapsed again. Chance lay very still for a while, but then carefully extracted herself from his embrace. "Yeah, you too, Ric," she said, softly.

Not looking back, she gathered up her clothes and got the hell out of there.

Friday, 12 November 1993 5:04 pm PST

A sudden change in the train's pace woke Catseye from her uneasy catnap. She tensed, listening to everything around her. The train was slowing down, and she heard voices outside. Apparently they'd reached a stop.

She crept up to the doors of their storage closet, and opened one just a crack to peek outside. There was no activity to be heard in the caboose itself, but in the distance were the sounds of loud masculine voices and heavy machinery.

"Catseye got bad feeling, redhair," she whispered, looking back at Marie-Ange. "Will go take look-see, yes?"

Still in her cat-form, she slipped out of the closet and bounded to the nearest window. What she saw made her eyes widen in shock.

They were in the middle of some mountains somewhere in the desert. The train had just rolled into a huge, fenced area, and there were a few men milling about. They were wearing work clothes similar to the ones Catseye and redhair had been sleeping on. Looking ahead, she saw a large structure, with even more working men. It was from there that the sounds of machinery came, and Catseye smelled the white powdery stuff all around.

The tracks also came to a dead-end just ahead. They'd reached the end of the line, and if Catseye didn't move fast, they'd both be caught. That would mean police, and that would mean...

Catseye dashed back to the closet, threw the doors open, and carefully scooped up first her pack, and then Marie-Ange. "Sorry, redhair, but must move quick!" She made the switch back to humanoid in order to better carry both the pack and her friend, and then dashed back to the rear of the caboose.

The train was still moving, so she'd have to time it just right. It wouldn't be a soft landing regardless, but the sooner they got out of there the better. Catseye took a deep breath, and leaped from the rear platform.

She managed to keep her feet as she landed beside the tracks, and she immediately dashed back the way the train had come, and slipped past the fence before she was seen.

Here, she hid behind a large sign mounted on the fence and stopped to catch her breath. After a few moments, she looked around at the sign itself. The words GYPSUM MINE and UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT were the most prominently visible.

"Government," Catseye whispered. "Hmmm, good thing were not seen, yes?"

That didn't change the fact that they were now in the middle of the California desert with no sign of civilization save the mine behind them.

There was a blacktop road leading away, though. It was going north, instead of west, but at that moment, any road would do. Catseye adjusted redhair in her arms and began to walk.

Split Mountain Road, Ocotillo Wells, CA
Fifty minutes later

It was a long walk down the road, and all the way, Catseye did not see a single car. There were a few distant buildings out in the plains and chaparral, but they looked deserted. At one point, the road curved west near a huge electrical power station. Where there was electricity, there would surely be civilization close by.

The road curved north again, though, and still there was no sign of anything living, except for a couple of rabbits darting away from her as she passed by. In the distance, the roar of an off-road-vehicle was clearly audible over the silence of the desert, but it was not visible.

At last, she found something; a large building surrounded by funny-looking trees, with a sign reading DE ANZA INN on a large post beside the road. Upon closer inspection, though, it was clear that this place, too, was deserted.

"Did Catseye wander into ghost town?" she wondered aloud. "Must be someone somewhere."

Further down the road, she found that there was civilization here after all. Off to her right, she saw a large plot of land with some sort of miniature houses on wheels arranged in rows. There were people living in them; people working on motorcycle engines, people having cookouts, kids playing out in a nearby fenced-off field... Civilization. Or something like it. Catseye eventually found a sign proclaiming it SPLIT MOUNTAIN TRAILER PARK. It also had what looked like a store, but it was closed.

To the left, though, was a small building with several cars, trucks, and dune buggies parked all around it. A sign above the doors proudly bore the name IRON DOOR. As Catseye approached, she heard the sounds of many people inside, laughing and carousing. She even heard the distinctive sounds of country music, and people playing pool. The smell of beer, and lots of it, was also quite apparent.

There was a large wooden porch built outside, with a few tables and chairs set up. Catseye set Marie-Ange down on one of them and let her lean against the building. "Stay here, redhair, okay?" Catseye suggested. "Will need to go in and find ride, but then will come back. Just wait." She took off her pack and set it at Marie-Ange's feet, then kissed her friend on the forehead, straightened herself up, and stepped into the swinging saloon-style front doors.

The Iron Door could be considered a reputable dive, if indeed such places exist, and was the watering hole for the hundred or so residents of Ocotillo Wells, not to mention any vacationing off-roaders or miners from down the road. It was decorated in a good rustic American southwest style. A lot of strange folks have passed through its doors since they first opened.

The owners would be hard pressed, however, to remember anyone stranger than a 6'3" woman with a pouf of hair that ranged from lavender to black in places. Every head turned as Catseye entered, and most eyes stayed on her as she made a cautious circuit of the room, checking the place out. At length, she stepped up to one of the rough-looking fellows at the pool table.

In a low, accented voice, she said "I need your clothes, your boots, and your motorcycle."

"What?" he asked, blinking a couple of times.

Her face suddenly broke into a huge grin. "Sorry. Saw that in movie once. Actually, need ride. Can give me one, yes?"

The roughneck looked her up and down, then looked back at his pool partner and gave him an oily laugh. "Hey, she needs a ride, Ron. We can give her one, can't we?"

Ron mirrored his friend's nasty grin. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure we can."

"That's enough outta you boys," came another voice, then. "You go on back to your game, now."

Catseye looked over to see a large, heavy-set man, who looked about as wide as he was tall. He had a long salt-and-pepper beard, and his hair was of the same color. In fact, he looked quite a bit like Santa Claus, down from the north pole during the off-season to get a drink. He wore thick glasses, but underneath them, his eyes were as sharp as knives as he stared down the two pool players.

"Hey, it's cool, Bill," the first one said in a patronizing voice. "Just answering the lady's questions."

"I'm sure you were, Joey. Miss, why don't you just come over here with me for a minute."

"Sure," Catseye shrugged, following him outside.
 
 

As they emerged into the post-twilight air, the first thing Bill noticed was the unconscious redhead at one of the tables. "Who's this?" he muttered.

"Oh, she is with me," the stranger explained.

"Yeah," Bill nodded. "Why don't you sit down and tell me what that was all about in there?"

The two of them sat around the table to either side of the redhead, and the tall girl took a moment to look him over (what color were those eyes, anyway?). "What is name?"

"Mine?" he asked. "I'm Bill Pearcy. My friends call me Big Bill. Yours?"

"Can call me Emily. You live here, BigBill?"

"Well, I got a place down the road, but I mostly live in San Diego. I've been comin' out here most of my life, though, and I ain't never seen you 'round these parts. What brought you into town?"

"Got here by accident," Emily explained. "Have to get west of here soon as possible." She pointed to the redhead. "Been on road long time, and she needs place to rest. Can help us?"

Bill coughed a couple of times, then looked from the one to the other. "How does someone wind up in the middle of nowhere like this by accident?"

Emily let out a long sigh, and then leaned forward and looked him in the eye. "Please, BigBill?" she asked, her voice cracking just slightly. "Just need a ride, and then will be safe and sound, and she can get better."

For a while, Bill stared into her violet slit-pupil eyes. Though they were completely alien in appearance, he could tell by looking into those eyes that this girl was near the end of her rope.

"Well, my truck's parked right over there," he said. "Where d'you need a ride to, anyway?"

McAudry House, La Jolla CA
Saturday, 13 November 1993 1:32 am PST

Doug awoke to the sound of the front door chimes being struck repeatedly. With bleary eyes, he looked over at his bedside clock.

One-thirty? Not fair. Not fair at all.

He pulled on a pair of sweat pants and stumbled out of his bedroom, nearly walking into the opposite wall in the process.

Danielle poked a weary face out of her room. "Who th'hell's that?"

"I got it, Dani," Doug waved. "Go back to sleep."

He headed down the short "spoke" corridor which connected to the wheel-shaped inner hallway. It wasn't until he was almost to the front door that he realized that anyone ringing the doorbell must have somehow cleared the fence...

He dismissed the notion as he deactivated the alarms. It was probably Rictor, finally getting back from wherever and realizing he'd forgotten his house keys, the idiot.

"Okay, Ric, lay off the bell!" he grumbled as he unlatched the door. "You'll wake... Rahne..."

Doug opened the door and stood agape at the impossibility before him.

Marie-Ange Colbert -- ragged, filthy and quite unconscious -- being carried by another familiar figure: one equally travel-worn and disheveled, but with a spark of happy recognition in violet cat-eyes.

"Hello, goldenmane! May we come in?"
 
 

Next: "Où Vont les Coeurs Brisés?"

Go West #9: "Welcome Me"
by Jeremy Bottroff, 30 December 1993

This story (c) 1993, 1999 Jeremy Bottroff

"Welcome Me" performed by Indigo Girls, words and music by Amy Ray, (c) 1990, 1999 Godhap Music (BMI), from the album NOMADS, INDIANS, SAINTS

Haroun Al-Rashid (Jetstream), Beef, Bevatron, Boom-Boom, Chance, Marie-Ange Colbert (Tarot), Roberto DaCosta (Sunspot), Sybil Dvorak (Gypsy Moth), Emma Frost (White Queen), Gomi, Kate The Owner, Link, Danielle Moonstar (Mirage), Douglas Ramsey (Cypher),  Rictor, Mickey Silk (Poltergeist), Rahne Sinclair (Wolfsbane), Sharon Smith (Catseye), Jennifer Stavros (Roulette), Lucy Sterling, Tessa, Warlock, Heartbreak Hotel, Massachusetts Academy, Fallen Angels, New Mutants, The Right, X-Factor, X-Terminators (c) 1999 Marvel Entertainment Group

Jimmy "Bud" Anders, Phil Carson, Gerald Corvus Jr. (Shadowwing), Gilbert Dane (Rabbit), Jean-Pierre Delacroix (Lightningrod), Professor Ellis, Joey The Roughneck, Keiko Kimota (Floater), Jon Lawrence, Michael MacPherson (Dreamwalker), Ron The Roughneck, Hector Sanchez/Cantolobos (Wolfsong), Castor "Cassie" Spangler and Pollux "Paul" Spangler (Gemini), Marsha Wilson (Farsight), Kristina Yarborough (Embers), El Espirito del Cantolobos created by Jeremy Bottroff, (c) 1999 Jeremy Bottroff

Alexander Blackwood and The Greenbriar Academy created by Michael Jones, (c) 1999 Michael Jones/Everbard

The Mutant Fair was a joint-venture writing project within the project, based on an idea by M. Scott Stewart, and may be found elsewhere on this site.

The (defunct) De Anza Inn, the Iron Door and Split Mountain Trailer Park are real places in Ocotillo Wells, California, which is in turn a real place in the Anza-Borrego Desert, roughly a hundred miles inland of San Diego.

"Big" Bill Pearcy left this world several years ago, and the desert has never been the same without you, big guy.

Harris Finkelstein may or may not actually be able to play the drums, but in this universe he does, darn it.  (If Harris ever reads this story, he'll no doubt have a few choice words for the author...)

Speaking of which, this chapter contains the first in a series of Jeremy Writing Extensively About People Playing Music You May Never Have Heard scenes.  The author apologizes to those for whom these scenes are a drag, but hey, he just really likes doing them.  (And if you think this one was bad, wait until he gets to the Collectively Known concert...)

Thanks to Keith for the "body stacked out to Missouri" line.  Lord knows where he got it from... (Missouri, perhaps?)