Categories > Cartoons > X-Men: Evolution
Chapter 1: Our Mission is in Tact
“What do you want? Jean?” Scott nudged her with an elbow.
Jean pulled her eyes, and her mind, away from the perfect blue sky and forced herself to return Scott's smile. She knew he had planned this picnic for her as a chance to get away from the X-brats, a reprieve from the responsibility of helping the younger kids hone their powers and handle their endless teenage problems. This was supposed to be “together time,” but even now, even among the rolling hills and autumn-kissed trees, her mind wandered.
What did she want? College? An internship? A year of hitchhiking through Europe? How about the luxury of growing up, leaving all that comic book stuff behind her, and living in the real world, a world with no heroes or villains, just soccer moms and salesmen, plain Janes and average Joes? How about a white picket fence with a dog for the two point four kids to play with?
Those were all things she /thought /about, just like she thought about Scott Summers. But then there were the dreams. She didn't want to think about what she'd been dreaming lately. /I'm glad he's not the telepath, /she thought to herself, flushing. It wasn't Scott who held her in her dreams.
“I want-- I don't know! It's bad enough being a senior and having to make all these decisions, but being a mutant too, it's just--”
His mouth twisted into a wry half-smile. “Ah, Jean? I meant, 'What do you want-- tuna fish or ham and cheese?'” He reached into the paper bag and took out the two sandwiches, holding one in each hand.
“Oh. Tuna, I guess.” She took the sandwich with a sheepish smile.
“It's your favorite, right?”
He looked so earnest that she didn't need her powers to tell he really did care. Everything he did had to be perfect, whether it was clamping down on the Brotherhood or planning a date. Details were everything to Scott, and she knew she could ruin his day right now just by saying, “No, actually, I prefer PBJ.”
Where had that thought come from? Scott's fussiness was one of the things she loved about him. It had to be those stupid dreams, the ones that left her sweating and trembling and waking up feeling wrung-out and scared. In those dreams, she burned alive. She heard a voice calling her name through the flames, Logan's voice, but when she tried to answer, all that came out was a wordless cry.
“Yes! It's my favorite!” She took a big bite for emphasis.
“Thought so!” Scott nodded smartly and put an arm around her shoulders. “See? I know you, Jean. I know how to take care of you.”
/Then you know I haven't been myself. /Some things were easier to say with telepathy, and besides, she was chewing.
“Mmm-hmm.” Scott muttered around a bit of his ham and cheese. After swallowing, he continued, “I know. It's almost midterms, and you're worried about college admissions. You want to get in on your own merit and all that. I get it. That's why you needed a day outside in the fresh air, a chance to get away from the X-Mansion and Bayville High.”
“That's it. You're right.” Someday, she would learn to lie telepathically. For now, it was hard enough to lie to Scott using her voice.
“You bet I'm right! Whoa! What the hell?” He dropped his sandwich and pointed to the sky, where something streaked downward.
The object met the horizon, sending a tremor through the ground and making a “thud” that left Jean's ears ringing. Automatically, she reached out with her telepathy, searching for information. Near the source of the noise, she found twenty three minds, ten of them conscious, eight of them in at least some pain. Hurt. Dying-- is he? Are you--? What happened? I think they followed us. So much pain! I wish it would just end. The Crystal? The M'Kraan Crystal, is it whole? Is it--? Dying. Bleeding. How many casualties? The Crystal, is it--? It's here. The Crystal is undamaged! Then our mission is in tact.
“Jean?” Scott prompted her. “Jean, I don't understand anything you're trying to tell me!”
“I don't understand either, but we have to go help!” She stood, grabbed his arm, and started running toward the impact site. Hold on! Help is coming! /That message, she sent to the injured people. To Logan and Xavier, she sent another. /There's some sort of crash out here North of the Mansion, but don't send the police. I think it's something... out of the ordinary. Scott and I are on it, but we could use some backup. They keep worrying about something called the M'Kraan Crystal.
Xavier's response came quickly, and with a note of urgency she hardly ever sensed from the Professor. Be careful, Jean! Wait for Logan and I to assist you.
/Sorry, Professor! Those people need help now. /Shutting him out of her mind, she forced her legs to pump harder and faster. For some of the crash victims, seconds could matter.
Chapter 2: The Wrong Hands
Though she had seen it fall from the sky, Jean could tell the vessel was definitely not an airplane. It looked more like a submarine, with a blunt nose and no wings. Whatever the thing was, its door had come open and some of its occupants were emerging. When Jean saw the first face emerge from the ship, she had to call upon all of her finely honed mental discipline just to keep from screaming.
The thing was blue, like Dr. McCoy and Kurt, but the resemblance to her friends ended there. Its bulbous cranium, tapered chin, and over-sized black eyes reminded her of the “grey men” she had seen on some phony documentary about the Roswell crash. In its arms, the being carried a grey-skinned woman with long black hair. The woman's costume displayed both her muscular physique and a deep gash in her thigh. Seeing the injury, Jean berated herself for being frightened of these people. They needed help, and that was all that mattered.
She reached out with her mind. My name is Jean Grey, and this is Scott Summers. We've sent for help, but in the mean time, is there anything we can do? We both took a first responder class last semester!
The blue being laid his comrade down on the grass and motioned for Jean to come closer. “I am Earthquake. Press on Nightside's wound until it heals, Jean-Grey. How far away is the X-Mansion of Charles Xavier?”
“Not far,” Scott replied. “The Professor and Logan are on their way. Can I help get the rest of the injured out of your ship?”
“No need!” Those words came from a third strange-looking being, a man with lavender skin, pointed ears, and a black mohawk. “We will not risk the M'Kraan Crystal by allowing it to fall into any hands besides Xavier's.”
“Jean says there are other casualties inside there!” Scott argued, folding his arms across his chest. He raised one hand to touch the rim of his visor.
Jean quickly scanned the stranger's mind and sent a hasty message to Scott. Don't argue with him! His name is Gladiator, and he's a member of something called the Imperial Guard. These guys aren't like the Brotherhood, Scott. They'll kill you without a second thought if they think you're a threat to the crystal.
“Alright, alright!” Scott stepped back and put a hand on Jean's shoulder as she knelt beside the injured Nightside. “How's the girl?”
Keeping her right hand on the wound, Jean used two fingers on her left hand to feel Nightside's pulse. “She'll make it. I think. Scott, they aren't just mutants, they're--” she swallowed, not wanting to say it out loud.
“We are Shi'ar Imperial Guard, sent be Empress Lilandra herself on a mission whose failure will doom innumerable solar systems,” Gladiator finished. He sat down on the grass, leaning against the side of the ship. Earthquake had gone back inside, probably to tend more of the wounded.
“Solar systems?” Scott raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief, but his voice had gone up at least half an octave.
Jean smiled. “He's telling the truth, Scott. They're from a world so far away our scientists would say we could never go there. What they have in their ship, it's something dangerous, something powerful, but at the same time...”
She reached out with her telepathy again and felt a thing that wasn't a mind, at least not any kind of mind she had ever experienced. The thrill that shot through her when she touched it was like the feeling she had had when Logan's hand accidentally touched hers at breakfast, or the sensation she used to feel whenever Scott looked at her. It was like that but far, far more powerful. She wanted to be with this consciousness more than she had ever wanted anything, or anyone.
These feelings flowing through her must be what made people steal, or kill, or rape. She had thought herself above those things, better than the people who did them, but now she realized she had just never wanted anything this much. Could she trick Gladiator into getting out of the way? Maybe use her telekinesis to knock him over?
“At the same time what, Jean? Jean?” Scott tapped her on the shoulder, bringing her back to herself.
She flushed and pressed down harder on Nightside's wound. Helping this stranger was what she wanted to do. That was who she had decided to be-- someone who saved lives, someone who helped others. “N-nothing,” she stammered. “It's powerful, it's dangerous, it's bad. They're taking it to Xavier so he can protect it. It can't fall into the wrong hands.”
“In that case, get ready for a fight. I think the 'wrong hands' just showed up!” Scott pointed to the sky, where a second ship, much like the one in front of them, had blotted out the sun.
“What do you want? Jean?” Scott nudged her with an elbow.
Jean pulled her eyes, and her mind, away from the perfect blue sky and forced herself to return Scott's smile. She knew he had planned this picnic for her as a chance to get away from the X-brats, a reprieve from the responsibility of helping the younger kids hone their powers and handle their endless teenage problems. This was supposed to be “together time,” but even now, even among the rolling hills and autumn-kissed trees, her mind wandered.
What did she want? College? An internship? A year of hitchhiking through Europe? How about the luxury of growing up, leaving all that comic book stuff behind her, and living in the real world, a world with no heroes or villains, just soccer moms and salesmen, plain Janes and average Joes? How about a white picket fence with a dog for the two point four kids to play with?
Those were all things she /thought /about, just like she thought about Scott Summers. But then there were the dreams. She didn't want to think about what she'd been dreaming lately. /I'm glad he's not the telepath, /she thought to herself, flushing. It wasn't Scott who held her in her dreams.
“I want-- I don't know! It's bad enough being a senior and having to make all these decisions, but being a mutant too, it's just--”
His mouth twisted into a wry half-smile. “Ah, Jean? I meant, 'What do you want-- tuna fish or ham and cheese?'” He reached into the paper bag and took out the two sandwiches, holding one in each hand.
“Oh. Tuna, I guess.” She took the sandwich with a sheepish smile.
“It's your favorite, right?”
He looked so earnest that she didn't need her powers to tell he really did care. Everything he did had to be perfect, whether it was clamping down on the Brotherhood or planning a date. Details were everything to Scott, and she knew she could ruin his day right now just by saying, “No, actually, I prefer PBJ.”
Where had that thought come from? Scott's fussiness was one of the things she loved about him. It had to be those stupid dreams, the ones that left her sweating and trembling and waking up feeling wrung-out and scared. In those dreams, she burned alive. She heard a voice calling her name through the flames, Logan's voice, but when she tried to answer, all that came out was a wordless cry.
“Yes! It's my favorite!” She took a big bite for emphasis.
“Thought so!” Scott nodded smartly and put an arm around her shoulders. “See? I know you, Jean. I know how to take care of you.”
/Then you know I haven't been myself. /Some things were easier to say with telepathy, and besides, she was chewing.
“Mmm-hmm.” Scott muttered around a bit of his ham and cheese. After swallowing, he continued, “I know. It's almost midterms, and you're worried about college admissions. You want to get in on your own merit and all that. I get it. That's why you needed a day outside in the fresh air, a chance to get away from the X-Mansion and Bayville High.”
“That's it. You're right.” Someday, she would learn to lie telepathically. For now, it was hard enough to lie to Scott using her voice.
“You bet I'm right! Whoa! What the hell?” He dropped his sandwich and pointed to the sky, where something streaked downward.
The object met the horizon, sending a tremor through the ground and making a “thud” that left Jean's ears ringing. Automatically, she reached out with her telepathy, searching for information. Near the source of the noise, she found twenty three minds, ten of them conscious, eight of them in at least some pain. Hurt. Dying-- is he? Are you--? What happened? I think they followed us. So much pain! I wish it would just end. The Crystal? The M'Kraan Crystal, is it whole? Is it--? Dying. Bleeding. How many casualties? The Crystal, is it--? It's here. The Crystal is undamaged! Then our mission is in tact.
“Jean?” Scott prompted her. “Jean, I don't understand anything you're trying to tell me!”
“I don't understand either, but we have to go help!” She stood, grabbed his arm, and started running toward the impact site. Hold on! Help is coming! /That message, she sent to the injured people. To Logan and Xavier, she sent another. /There's some sort of crash out here North of the Mansion, but don't send the police. I think it's something... out of the ordinary. Scott and I are on it, but we could use some backup. They keep worrying about something called the M'Kraan Crystal.
Xavier's response came quickly, and with a note of urgency she hardly ever sensed from the Professor. Be careful, Jean! Wait for Logan and I to assist you.
/Sorry, Professor! Those people need help now. /Shutting him out of her mind, she forced her legs to pump harder and faster. For some of the crash victims, seconds could matter.
Chapter 2: The Wrong Hands
Though she had seen it fall from the sky, Jean could tell the vessel was definitely not an airplane. It looked more like a submarine, with a blunt nose and no wings. Whatever the thing was, its door had come open and some of its occupants were emerging. When Jean saw the first face emerge from the ship, she had to call upon all of her finely honed mental discipline just to keep from screaming.
The thing was blue, like Dr. McCoy and Kurt, but the resemblance to her friends ended there. Its bulbous cranium, tapered chin, and over-sized black eyes reminded her of the “grey men” she had seen on some phony documentary about the Roswell crash. In its arms, the being carried a grey-skinned woman with long black hair. The woman's costume displayed both her muscular physique and a deep gash in her thigh. Seeing the injury, Jean berated herself for being frightened of these people. They needed help, and that was all that mattered.
She reached out with her mind. My name is Jean Grey, and this is Scott Summers. We've sent for help, but in the mean time, is there anything we can do? We both took a first responder class last semester!
The blue being laid his comrade down on the grass and motioned for Jean to come closer. “I am Earthquake. Press on Nightside's wound until it heals, Jean-Grey. How far away is the X-Mansion of Charles Xavier?”
“Not far,” Scott replied. “The Professor and Logan are on their way. Can I help get the rest of the injured out of your ship?”
“No need!” Those words came from a third strange-looking being, a man with lavender skin, pointed ears, and a black mohawk. “We will not risk the M'Kraan Crystal by allowing it to fall into any hands besides Xavier's.”
“Jean says there are other casualties inside there!” Scott argued, folding his arms across his chest. He raised one hand to touch the rim of his visor.
Jean quickly scanned the stranger's mind and sent a hasty message to Scott. Don't argue with him! His name is Gladiator, and he's a member of something called the Imperial Guard. These guys aren't like the Brotherhood, Scott. They'll kill you without a second thought if they think you're a threat to the crystal.
“Alright, alright!” Scott stepped back and put a hand on Jean's shoulder as she knelt beside the injured Nightside. “How's the girl?”
Keeping her right hand on the wound, Jean used two fingers on her left hand to feel Nightside's pulse. “She'll make it. I think. Scott, they aren't just mutants, they're--” she swallowed, not wanting to say it out loud.
“We are Shi'ar Imperial Guard, sent be Empress Lilandra herself on a mission whose failure will doom innumerable solar systems,” Gladiator finished. He sat down on the grass, leaning against the side of the ship. Earthquake had gone back inside, probably to tend more of the wounded.
“Solar systems?” Scott raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief, but his voice had gone up at least half an octave.
Jean smiled. “He's telling the truth, Scott. They're from a world so far away our scientists would say we could never go there. What they have in their ship, it's something dangerous, something powerful, but at the same time...”
She reached out with her telepathy again and felt a thing that wasn't a mind, at least not any kind of mind she had ever experienced. The thrill that shot through her when she touched it was like the feeling she had had when Logan's hand accidentally touched hers at breakfast, or the sensation she used to feel whenever Scott looked at her. It was like that but far, far more powerful. She wanted to be with this consciousness more than she had ever wanted anything, or anyone.
These feelings flowing through her must be what made people steal, or kill, or rape. She had thought herself above those things, better than the people who did them, but now she realized she had just never wanted anything this much. Could she trick Gladiator into getting out of the way? Maybe use her telekinesis to knock him over?
“At the same time what, Jean? Jean?” Scott tapped her on the shoulder, bringing her back to herself.
She flushed and pressed down harder on Nightside's wound. Helping this stranger was what she wanted to do. That was who she had decided to be-- someone who saved lives, someone who helped others. “N-nothing,” she stammered. “It's powerful, it's dangerous, it's bad. They're taking it to Xavier so he can protect it. It can't fall into the wrong hands.”
“In that case, get ready for a fight. I think the 'wrong hands' just showed up!” Scott pointed to the sky, where a second ship, much like the one in front of them, had blotted out the sun.
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