Variable X: When Worlds Collide - Part 9
by Jim Gould
magnus@netusa1.net
 
 
*Five hours later.* 
"Fake!" 
The fist connected again with my face. I was sure I felt some of my teeth
- more of my teeth - get loosened. I wasn't sure which way was up or down,
and I really wasn't sure how to use my powers right now. This was the most
recent in a series of incredibly painful hits I'd taken. My opponent
smiled. 
"Charlatan!" 
I felt a rib crack as the next punch hit me from the side. I was already
drooling blood. The room spun as I tried to get my bearings, and the floor
- my new destination - was coming up to meet my face quickly. Just before
impact, one of the ham-sized hands that had been mauling me caught me and
put me back on my feet. 
A blur of golden surface and wire came into view, forming a face that was
twisted with a mechanical rage. I thought of the hissing of hydraulics and
the slam of a machine press. "You claim to have the next hope for Legacy's
cure, and you bring Dr. MacTaggert *her own, stolen research*!" I went
flying across the room as my opponent threw me. "You are a fake," he said,
quietly, the distortion of his unnatural vocal rendering mechanism adding
to the quiet threat in the words. 
I lay there, expecting another beating. When it didn't come, I tried to
gather my senses enough to put up a slight telekinetic shield, and attempt
some speech. "I never claimed" - here I paused to spit out a tooth that
had indeed come out of its socket - "I never claimed to have the cure. You
heard what you wanted to hear. And now you've taken it out on me." 
"That makes us the same, Earlywine." Douglock, his rationality somehow
stripped from him, leered in my face. "Days ago, you would have willingly
ripped me to shreds, because I stepped in while you were gone, and filled
the emptiness in Rahne's life. Now, she's locked in a prison of her own
making." 
"And you thought I offered the key." 
"Yes. When you just gave Moira her own research, fresh from someone else's
computers…" He trailed off. 
"Where did you learn to be so violent?" I asked, quietly. "I resisted my
own dark urges, pal. Let me tell you something, too… you pack a hell of a
lot more punch than I do." 
We'd flown out to Muir with Beast shortly after he recognized some of what
he was reading, in hopes that it could just be someone else's work that
would complement Moira's. It wasn't the case. Shaw had somehow stolen
Moira's own research, and we were simply giving it back to her. We were
all disappointed - but when that walking tin can discovered that his
beloved Rahne would be still imprisoned in glass and metal, he lashed out
at the one who gave him hope. For all I knew, our teams were still looking
for us, and one of the sub-basements would be the last place they'd check. 
For all his earlier rage, it looked like Doug was coming around, and
coming to some serious regret. He put his face in his hands. "I'm sorry.
I… can't… I… I'm sorry." More of the same came out. 
I didn't feel like being the bigger man. "Hey, Doug?" He looked up. I
tried to smile, and he flinched. "Guess what. Fuck you, man." 
He hung his head, and I tried to lift mine. I knew, when I tried to move,
that I definitely had problems in the region of that rib he'd cracked. I
moved slowly. My head hurt, and I was starting to see a couple of
Douglock. I drooled out another tooth. Suddenly, that tooth was all I
could focus on; I watched it tumble to the steely floor with a wet
'plink.' I wanted to laugh suddenly, like something was hilariously funny.
I couldn't, for fear something might puncture one of my lungs. 
"Ever since I came back, you metallic hunk of refuse… ever since then,
I've fucked up. Everything I've tried, I've turned into a huge, friggin'
mess." There were definitely two of him, now. They both looked up at the
sound of my voice. "The only difference here is that I finally got the
beating of my life. This is for every time I badmouthed someone just
because they pissed me off, for every time I beat up on someone because I
just didn't know how else to handle them. This is 'what goes around comes
around' for me." 
"Mr. Earlywine…" 
"Shut up, kid." I coughed a little; it hurt. A little more blood. That
worried me. I tried to send Wolf a quick mental impulse - an image of
where I was. I didn't know if it worked. "Just because it's payback time
for me doesn't mean I have to kiss your ass for dishing it out. Just keep
your trap shut." 
Seconds ticked by, and turned into minutes. I was getting kind of tired,
actually, but I knew sleeping wouldn't be a good idea. Douglock had
apparently decided it was time to try again. "I don't know if I should
move you." 
"Then don't. Let me die here. Let it end." This wasn't real, I'd decided.
It was all a dream, and I was going to wake up back home in Zanesville,
back in my own room, fourteen years old again. I wasn't a mutant. This was
all cooked up by one too many comic books and my own weird imagination.
The only way I could get back home, though, was to die in the dream. It
was okay. It was a painful dream, the kind that would make my heart hurt
even after I woke up. I would awaken with a sense of loss so deep and
profound that it would make what I felt now seem small. "Let me die." 
"Your body temperature has risen by several degrees." He stood and went to
the door. "According my sensors, that is. I'm going to go retrieve Beast." 
"Beast," I muttered. Half-singing, I continued. "Beast. 'Beast is the
word…'" I began, before I dissolved into small, painful chuckles. I looked
up to see the door sliding shut. I was alone in my dream, and the golden
man was going to get a beast. This was a funny dream. The golden man must
be a pagan sun god, and he was going to retrieve his battle mount. We were
going to go to battle! I reached for a sword that wasn't there and was
momentarily surprised. 
This wasn't my home. Home was far away, and today was Saturday. I had a
baseball game with the guys down at the park today, and tomorrow, Dad
would preach his sermon on grace. The importance of forgiveness. That was
my favorite sermon of his, and he gave it once a year. After so many
years, I almost knew it by heart. "'More important than courage, though…
is grace. Courage, as I've said, is loving others more than yourself, and
therefore being able to lift the world on your shoulders for them. Grace,
though… with grace, you add to your own burden by lessening theirs.'" 
The doors slid open. People came in, I guessed, but I was too busy giving
my daddy's sermon. "'Grace, you see, is not a free license to do what you
want with the assurance you can always come home. It's an expectation for
you to do your best - and how hard is that? - and understanding for your
limitations. That's grace, my brothers and sisters.'" I looked up at the
faces around me and smiled. More blood ran down my chin, but I didn't
notice it. "Let's pray." 
I closed my eyes. 

*End of Part 9*