Peacekeepers: Remnant Shadows
Part One
by Alicia McKenzie
DISCLAIMER: Marvel's characters belong to Marvel, and are used without permission for entertainment purposes only. The original characters are mine; please do not use without permission. Rated PG-13 for violence and some disturbing imagery.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Set six months before the beginning of Black Knights, and roughly 25 years after the events of True Believers.
The office was huge, with a panoramic view of New York - not surprising, this high up in the XSE 'Tower' - but was almost painfully spartan, reflecting the tastes of its occupant. Logan had been here a few times a week for the last ten years or so, for conferences, briefing, and purely mundane conversations. It had been a long time, though, since Bishop had called him in to give him a field assignment, and his curiosity was trying to run away with him.
"All right, Bish," Logan growled, sitting down in the chair his former teammate indicated. "What's so all-fired important that you had to drag me out of CIC?" Not that sitting behind a desk in the Combat Information Center was his favorite thing to do, but it was part of the job, these days. "I've got half a dozen things I'm trying to keep an eye on at the moment--"
"I'll send Wisdom down to take over for you," Bishop said, a flicker of a smile crossing his face. "Will that do?"
Logan grumbled, settling into the chair. He knew that look. "All right, kid. Spill it." He reminded himself, yet again, to stop calling Bishop that. It hardly fit anymore. Fifteen years in charge of the 'new' XSE had aged him, subtly but noticeably--and marriage and fatherhood had probably helped that process along. Although Raphaela seemed like a mannerly little thing, Logan reflected. Not like his two hellions--
"I was hoping you'd run an errand for me," Bishop said guilelessly, wearing an expression he'd learned from his wife, who'd learned it in her turn from Emma Frost. It was innocent, meek, and looked so incredibly out of place on Bishop that Logan almost laughed.
"Well, that's specific," Logan said wryly. "This one of those 'run down to the corner store for me and buy some milk so Gina doesn't kick my ass when I get home' errands, or something else?"
Bishop's expression grew more serious. "Forge contacted us."
Bishop's words rocked Logan as if they'd been a physical blow. "Shit," he muttered, meeting the younger man's dark eyes, searching for any hint this might be a joke. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Perfectly," the commander in chief of the XSE said gravely. Logan started to shake his head, hardly believing it. Forge had dropped out of sight years ago--rumor had it he'd ended up on the wrong side of the US government over something that had happened during the first Prime Sentinel outbreak after Apocalypse's death, and been forced into hiding.
They'd always expected to hear from him, once the XSE had been organized and things had started to settle, but he'd never reappeared. Not even so much as a message, to let them know he was all right.
"And?" Logan asked finally, finding his voice again. "Is he in trouble?"
"He didn't say, but he did seem--distracted," Bishop said thoughtfully. Logan's eyes narrowed, and Bishop shrugged. "He wasn't asking for anything, Logan. He was OFFERING us something--and yes, before you ask, he contacted me directly."
Logan grimaced. "That mean he's not coming back?"
"Perhaps you can convince him to do so, when you speak to him," Bishop said with perfect aplomb.
"When I--what?" Logan swore quietly under his breath. "Okay, what did you get me into this time?" he growled, more for form's sake than anything else. When it came right down to it, he was pretty damned interested in finding out what was up with Forge. The man was a friend, one he hadn't seen hide nor hair of in far too long--and Logan liked to keep track of his friends.
Bishop leaned forward, sorting through minidiscs and papers on his desk. "He has something for us, and you're the only one he'll give it to," he said briskly. "It's the blueprints for a specialized detection system, Logan."
"Detecting what?"
"Psi-merges," Bishop said, very softly.
Logan was silent for a long moment. "No more Denvers, huh?" he asked roughly, his mind drifting back inexorably to the day six months before, when a bunch of psychotic nutjobs with the gall to call themselves the 'Unity' had killed a city as a warning to those who didn't share their ideal of a group mind.
It had been a step up from the smaller sort of terrorism the group had been carrying out up to that point, and one they thankfully hadn't duplicated--yet. Logan shook his head slowly. Every telepath and empath in the hemisphere had felt Denver die. Stronger psis had been affected more intensely. Logan would never forget waking up to the sound of Sulven's screams in his mind as his wife convulsed in bed beside him, or holding his weeping daughter in his arms after Zara shown back up on the doorstep, in the rain, after a week's duty in the disaster zone.
His son--hadn't been affected nearly so dramatically. At least not where Logan had been able to see. Nick had stayed on duty in Denver for almost a month, he remembered suddenly. Hadn't said a word about it afterwards, either.
"It's not foolproof," Bishop pointed out, almost reluctantly. "But if it gives us a better chance to catch a merge as it forms, it's worth it. We have telepath-teams standing by twenty four hours a day, now. With enough advance warning, we could stop a repeat performance." His mouth twisted bitterly, as if at his own wording, and then straightened. "Especially with Nathan remaining open to us around the clock these days--"
Logan frowned. "Huh?" This he hadn't heard--
Bishop shrugged, looking suddenly uneasy. "He's got a light link with the supervising telepath at all times. They pass it to their relief, when the shift changes--" Logan scowled and Bishop made a sharp, oddly helpless gesture. "He knows exactly how to break a merge, Logan, and he's still the strongest telepath around these days. We can't afford not to make use of him--"
"He's also spread six ways to Sunday, Bishop, and this is going to make it worse," Logan snapped, and then sighed. "Never mind," he muttered. "I suppose he feels like he's got to do something, considering Clare."
"Exactly," Bishop said heavily. Logan fell silent, remembering. The civilian deaths had been overwhelming, but there'd been more personal losses, too. Of the seventy-nine XSE agents in Denver that day, only Clare Summers and Harry Wisdom had survived, and it hurt to think of what the Unity's attack had done to his two godchildren. He wasn't even sure how the two of them had survived; if you'd asked him beforehand, he wouldn't have given two high-end psis much change of surviving an astral-plane catastrophe like that. They hadn't survived quite--intact, of course. Clare was a ghost of her old self, and Harry was a wreck.
"Besides," Bishop continued with a slightly forced smile, obviously trying to change the subject, "have you ever tried telling him to cut back on his workload?" He laughed softly, and Logan gave him a skeptical look. "Just remembering some of the little verbal wrestling matches we used to have--"
Logan snorted, smiling despite himself. "You mean the ones you STILL have. Don't think scuttlebutt hasn't gotten around about Nate storming out of here last week shouting about how he who controls the funding has the power."
Bishop muttered something under his breath. "He hadn't had enough coffee that morning," he said dourly. "He was being miserable for the sheer joy of annoying me." He leaned forward and tapped something into the keypad of his terminal. "Back to business, shall we?"
"By all means," Logan said ironically, mimicking his pedantic tone.
Bishop gave him a suspicious look, and then continued. "Forge will be in the Princess Bar Thursday night, with the blueprints. He wants you to meet him there."
"Madripoor?" Logan scowled thoughtfully. "Wonder why he's out there."
"He didn't volunteer the information, and I didn't ask," Bishop said calmly. "You'll need a tail, Logan. A telepath--" Logan started to shake his head, and Bishop frowned ominously. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm hard to read, Bish, you know that--"
"To read, yes, but no matter what you've picked up from Sulven over the years, there are still telepaths out there who could turn your mind inside out." Bishop glared at him. "And plenty of people who would pay them to scrape the brain of the head of XSE black-ops. It's not worth the risk."
"Point," Logan muttered. "So who's my watchdog?"
Bishop suddenly smiled. "I have someone in mind," he said, far too reasonably for Logan's comfort. "Having him with you would be the perfect cover--"
Logan didn't NEED to be a telepath to know exactly which XSE agent Bishop was talking about. "Absolutely not," he growled. "No way in hell."
"Then you can explain it to him," his 'boss' said ruthlessly. "He's waiting for you in the hangar."
***
"Hey, Dad."
Logan smiled a little uncertainly at the tall, black-haired young man in the red and gold of an XSE field officer who greeted him as he walked into the busy hangar. "Nicholas," he said dryly, craning his neck to look up at his son. Nick was almost a full foot taller than him, as if he'd gotten all the height that should have been shared out between him and Zara. "Where's your sister?"
"Security duty at the UN," Nick said, his dark blue eyes flickering briefly with glee. Logan rolled his eyes. His children were as close as twins could be, but that didn't stop them from competing with each other fiercely--over assignments and everything else. "Watching tourists to make sure none of them turn out to be homicidal maniacs. She was swearing a blue streak over breakfast this morning, until Mom told her to stop or she'd wash her mouth out with soap."
A burst of laughter escaped from Logan before he could stop it. "Makes me sorry I went in early this morning," he said with gruff amusement.
Nick shrugged eloquently, and Logan gave his son a sideways look. It seemed sometimes like Nick had gotten all the self-possession, along with the height--Zara had a double share of temper, from both sides. Maybe that was why--Logan cut off the thought, something he'd grown practiced at doing over the last twenty years. Sort of a necessary skill, with two telepathic children. "So," he said, managing to suppress his sigh. "Up for a trip to Madripoor?" The walk down here from Bishop's office had been ample time to realize just how doomed any attempt to convince Nick to refuse the assignment would be.
Nick gave him that slight smile that always made Logan wonder what was going on in the boy's mind. "I've never been there before," he said. "Should be interesting. Especially meeting Forge--"
"You just do what I tell you, when I tell you," Logan muttered, unsettled by the sudden image of Nick in Lowtown, doing the sort of things he himself had done years ago. "Don't go showing off your powers." The comment was unfair - Zara was the one with the 'flair', as Sulven so dryly put it - and Logan winced as he saw the flash of--something in Nick's eyes. "Still a nervous place, Madripoor," he continued quickly. "Even after all these years."
"Don't worry, Dad," Nick murmured, his expression shuttered, almost too bland. "I'm along to watch your back, remember?"
"Right," Logan muttered. As if he wasn't going to worry.
Nick's expression relaxed slightly. #I'm a big boy, Dad,# he sent, his 'voice' almost warm.
"Manners, Nicholas," Logan said, trying unsuccessfully to sound stern. The innocent look he got in return was as familiar to him as his own reflection. He'd seen that look almost every day for the last twenty-five years, on his wife's face.
"Sorry, Dad," Nick said, almost meekly.
"Don't do that, either. I know you don't mean it." He couldn't help an answering smile at Nick's sudden grin. "Before you start debating philosophy with me, boy, keep in mind you're not too big to spank."
"Social conventions," Nick said, gesturing towards the personnel carrier nearest them, which had just finished refueling and looked to be warming up its engines. Logan grimaced at the sight of it. He'd flown on the damned things countless times over the last decade, but he still hated them. Flaming boxes with wings, that's all they were; they looked aerodynamic as a brick. "Sometimes you say you're sorry," Nick continued blithely. "Because it's expected."
Logan looked up at his son, wondering if he was trying to tell him something, but Nick took no notice of his regard. "You got your gear stowed already?" he asked instead.
"Change of uniform, civilian clothes, and my psimitar," Nick said as if by rote.
Logan stopped dead on the ramp leading up into the carrier. "You aren't planning to carry that thing around Lowtown, are you?"
"Don't worry. No one's going to see it unless they know where to look," Nick reassured him and stepped up into the personnel carrier.
Logan muttered a curse under his breath. "Quit being so damned cryptic."
"What?" Nick tossed lightly over his shoulder, sitting down in the seat closest to the door and strapping in. "It's easy. You just cloud the perceptions of the people around you--"
"Nicholas, I think I can safely say I don't want to know," Logan growled, half-ruefully, half-humorously, as he shoved his bag in the storage compartment and sat down beside his son.
"But it's not even really unethical--"
"According to whom? Your mother? Nate? Neither of them see ethics the same way as the rest of us."
"I thought you didn't want to debate philosophy?" Nick grinned.
"I said--" Logan sighed and leaned back into the chair. "Never mind," he grumbled. This was going to be a long flight.
#We could play cards?#
"You cheat," Logan said sourly.
#Of course I do, but then you could have fun complaining--# Nick continued mischievously.
Logan snorted and closed his eyes.
***
"This isn't bad," Nick said, tossing his bag onto the nearest chair. He stood his psimitar case in the corner with rather more care, Logan noted with a flicker of amusement. "I thought we'd be staying at the base."
"Much too high-profile," Logan said, eyeing the cramped confines of the room thoughtfully. He adjusted his eye-patch, smiling wryly. Felt strangely nostalgic, to be dragging out the old 'Patch' identity. "Old friend of mine owns this place. We can spend the night, meet Forge tomorrow, and then head back to the base for transport. Quick in-and-out--best way to go, these days."
He hadn't liked what he'd seen on the way out from the XSE base. Madripoor was different than it used to be, and the change was unsettling. If he'd been alone, he might have gone out and explored a little, to get a better sense of what was going on, but he sure as hell wasn't taking Nick with him. No, better to stay off the streets until they had to meet Forge.
Nick muttered something under his breath and stretched out on the bed. "I think I'm jet-lagged," he sighed.
"Well, get some sleep," Logan suggested, taking off his jacket. "We're not going anywhere for a while."
"I should be meditating instead," Nick said, closing his eyes. "But I can't. There's something strange in the atmosphere here."
Logan frowned. If Nick was picking up on it--"Get some sleep," he repeated, sitting down in the other chair and pulling out the file the base commander had given him, a sort of status report on the state of Madripoor these days.
Things hadn't changed all that much, he noticed as he read. A new Prince--some new players to replace some of the old. But it was the same game--
He dozed off at some point, and dreamed about watching Zara and Nick as children, running through a field of tall grass under a cloudless sky. Sulven, sitting beside him, laughed and called to Zara, who came running back and made a flying leap into her mother's lap.
Nick kept running, though, and Logan got up, frowning worriedly as he saw his son's slight figure getting closer and closer to the woods--
Something deeper than instinct nagged at him, tugging him back out of unconsciousness. Blinking to clear his vision, he closed the file lying open on his lap and set it on the table beside him.
A soft moan came from the direction of the bed, and Logan frowned, leaning forward in his chair at the sight of his son tossing and turning in his sleep. The smell of sweat and fear was so overwhelming that it took Logan a moment to suppress his own instinctive reaction.
Only a moment, though. "Nick," he called softly. "Hey."
A few muttered, anguished words in Askani were his only answer, as his son continued to fight with whatever nightmare had him in its grip. Logan got up, walking over and sitting down beside Nick on the bed. "It's all right, son," he said, more gruffly than he'd intended. Reaching out and gripping Nick's shoulders, he shook him lightly. "Come on, Nicholas," he said. "Just a dream--wake up now--"
"Get away--no--" Nick muttered, his voice slurred, hoarse with fear. "NO!" His eyes flew open, full of stark terror, and fixed dazedly on Logan's face.
"It's okay," Logan said gently. "You were dreaming, that's all."
Nick stared up at him for a long moment. Seeing the disorientation in his eyes fading, Logan let go of him, a little reluctantly. "Madripoor," Nick said, the slight tremor in his voice unnoticeable unless you were listening for it.
"Right," Logan said, standing and backing off a bit as Nick sat up, rubbing his eyes with hands that shook visibly. "Madripoor." Something occurred to him, and he set his jaw. "Not Denver," he said very deliberately, watching Nick for a reaction.
Nick's whole body jerked. "I--I wasn't dreaming about Denver."
Logan sighed. There was a specific taste to guilt that was impossible to miss when it was gnawing away at your innards. He should have realized this. Some father I am.
"Funny thing," he said casually, sitting back down beside Nick on the bed. "That you haven't said anything about it, I mean. We all know what kind of shape Clare and Harry are in. Your sister cried herself to sleep for two weeks after she got home--"
"Clare and Harry were there when it happened," Nick said harshly, standing up and pacing across the room to the window. "They LIVED it. All the rest of us did was try and clean up after the Unity. Zara's got more empathy than I do--"
"There's something you're not telling me," Logan said, certain of it. Nick wouldn't meet his eyes, and that was a dead giveaway.
"What?" Nick said almost bitterly, without looking around. "You haven't spontaneously developed telepathy or something, have you, Dad?"
Logan blinked, and then narrowed his eyes. "Fate worse than death, eh?" he murmured.
#Would you quit analyzing me?# The dark-gold presence in his mind seethed, but Nick didn't move away from his position by the window, keeping his back resolutely to Logan. #I said I'm fine.#
"And I say that's bullshit, Nicholas."
"Would you LEAVE it, Dad?" Nick snapped, finally turning to face him. He had his expression back under control, but his eyes were a different matter entirely.
It hurt. Those smoky dark blue eyes -Sulven's eyes - looking so old in such a young face. So full of pain Logan didn't understand, and couldn't do a thing to ease. "Not a chance, Nicholas," Logan said softly. He wasn't going to stop trying, of course.
Nick swore in Askani, turning back to the window. "What do you want?" he asked restlessly. "A play-by-play of my nightmare? I think I'm past the age when I need to come crying to you, Dad--"
Logan watched him in silence for a moment, remembering. "You never made a habit of that," he murmured. "But I wish you could at least talk to me, Nick."
"So do I," Nick muttered savagely, and went over and took his psimitar out of its case. Sitting down in the chair next to the window, he stared out into the night, his hands white-knuckled on the psimitar's staff.
Logan bit back a sigh and went back to the file, trying not to be too noticeable about keeping an eye on his son.
to be continued...