Inbetween Days

a gen-x alternities serial

a-t d.m. lasher

chapter V: "Divergence/Convergence"

Omniday Personal Journal
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[Dominic]
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Journal Entry Dated: 991101

"I learned some pretty horrifying interrogation

techniques in Sarajevo. Some were taught me by

my own squadronmates. Others by my NATO

allies. But the most frightening ones, however,

were those taught by the Bosnian Muslims.

Cold, battle-weary, conscience-seared, they had

nothing to lose. Before the war, the person in the

chair could have been a neighbor, even a relative.

No matter now. All were reduced to a screaming

mass of bloody tissue within minutes, roaring

futilely as our hands danced across their nerves

Like a pianist's fingers across the keys.

I learned the true depths of inhumanity there.

I realised there was little difference between the

Bosnian Serbs and Bosnian Muslims. One had

turned the other into a mirror of himself.

And I'll always remember the twisted leer of satisfaction

As Hamid Cacic, the chief interrogator, peeled the

Serb's eyelids off.

Not five years earlier, he was Hamid's son-in-law…

…before the Serb butchered his own wife and two

children when the war began. It earned him an

immediate promotion in the Srpska militia.

And a painful death years later.

The laws of karma are a bitch in Bosnia."

Saving 991031 to the hard drive...
Encryption?
[MIT PGP v2.7.4]
Saved.
[Exit Application]

Xavier's Institute for Higher Learning

1407 Greymalkin Lane

Salem Centre, New York

991031

22:01 hours…

"Warn them of the Day

That is ever drawing near,

When the Hearts will

Come right up to the Throats

To choke them;

No intimate friend

Nor intercessors will the wrong-doers

Have, who could be

Listened to."

Sura 40 (Al-Mu-Mim) A. 18

The Qur-An

"Dominic."

I froze immediately. "Yes?"

"Henry briefed me on your...your situation and the plan you've proposed to get around certain...difficulties of the ethical sort. I need to speak with you for a moment... Would you join me for a cup of Darjeeling in my office?"

A 'request' from Magnus was more like a subtley worded demand. One just didn't say 'Nah, can't make it today, Buckethead'. That would be like insulting the president or, since I despised the current occupant of the White House, something even worse. Like dissin' Wayne Gretsky.

So, what else could I say? I turned on my heel, reversing my direction, and smiled lightly. He and I both knew it was a pleasantry but sometimes life her revolves around such things. "Sh-sh-sure, Magnus. Now, I take it?"

He gave a laconic grin. "Perferably before you turn our prisoner into a gelantious pile of ichor, yes."

Uh oh. This didn't sound good at all...

We walked swiftly down the hallway to his secluded office on the western wing of the Institute. Not a word passed between us and I could see the look of consternation on his face; something that told me that there was more to this than a little bit of 'speaking'. I had the disquieting notion that I was in for either a serious reaming or at least a 'gentle' nudge. Irregardless, I could not allow that to deter me. Somewhere out there, in Palembang for all I knew, Savij was being held against her will by a group of people powerful enough to take on Cannonball (and win) and arrogant to the point of ignoring half a zillion federal, State and international protocols while doing it.

I swallowed hard. This was going to hurt, no matter how Magnus approached it. It was all I could do to keep my natural performance anxiety under wraps. Each passing step seemed heavier than the one before it; each one taking me closer and closer into somewhere I'd rather not be.

"Please, sit down," he motioned to me as he closed the door to his office room with a wave of his hand. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. Not so much because of any effects of his powers--no, if anything he was much too subtle for that--but because he so casually did it. Casually, as if it were nothing at all; second-hand.

For a moment, he sat emotionless behind his desk, his hands steepled and resting on the bridge of his nose. Blue-grey eyes locked onto mine. I felt a cold shiver wash over me and my mouth went completely dry. Not only have I been unused to this kind of scrutiny since my days as a junior enlistedman, but the intimacy of the moment-no one there but he and I-caused an almost visceral fear in me which locked me into rigidity right there and then. Then: "You know, of course, that this path you're attempting to take can have--probably will have--deletrious or even disasterious aftereffects, don't you? And I'm not limiting the scope to the...the interogatee. But also to you. To the X-Men, Generation X and the rest of the denizens of the Institute. It cuts across the very fibre of everything Charles Xavier taught us to believe in."

I smiled wanely, half-hiding my fear with a token gesture of enuii. Not too long ago, Bobby had said something similar, though he was talking about the recent MLF-GC attack. My immediate reaction to him was a visceral loathing. But with the words coming in reasoned tones from the lips of Magnus...the arguement seemed much more serious. "Suh-suh-sounds like the best imitation of Charles I've heard since the luh-last time Scott spoke to me," I smiled. Before he had a chance to speak--and before my confidence fell through the floor--I pressed on. "In the short tuh-t-t-t-time that I've buh-been here, sir, I've come to the conclusion that you're nuh-not one to cave in under pressure. Certainly your puh-puh-past history shows this, unless I'm missing my guess the wrong tuh-textbooks."

He stared at me, quiet, unmoving. Then, with a flicker in his eyes, he bore down on me. "Very observant," he said, leaning over the desk, placing himself directly inside my personal space. My heart leapt fifty feet immediately. "But, as any good historian would tell you, the slightest of environmental and/or psychological changes can have a profound effect on a person's life. Where did Hitler and Stalin go 'wrong'? Where did Yitzak Rabin do 'right'? I have found that, over the decades, my attitudes and the options engendered by them were drawing me in the wrong direction. I tried to change that, once, only to find it oppressive and tempermentally unsuited for me."

"Now that I'm attempting to make a second stab of it," he spread his hands, "I'm a little bit more determined to succeed than I was initially. I have a stake in the matter, and it's not just for posterity's sake." He leaned forward. "I'm sure you understand what I mean by that. There's much more at stake in America now than there was even two years ago. The passage of the 28th Amendment and the setting up of the mutant home-sovereignty cantons has both created opportunity and looming disaster for our people. We've unprecedented autonomy in a way that not even the recognised aboriginal tribes have, and certainly not the States, themselves. We've our own courts, our own local currency for each viable canton, a supra-currency that covers all cantons and, of course, the Old Greenback. We even have our own circuit court with which use to interact with the federal government, should the need arise." His eyes slit. "You were in the field when this nation underwent most of the changes. You did not see the troubles that nearly swallowed the major cities up. Flaming buildings, riots, National Guardsmen mobilised for the first time en masse since the late Sixties... Do you realise that I have no choice but to be circumspect about things? Charles' Dream, however fanciful and idealistic, was the notion which we sold to Washington. In a very un-Washington moment of clarity, they bought it; hook, line and sinker, as you say. Now we have to live up to it, no matter how much we personally do not agree with some or maybe even most of it." He leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Some personal sacrifices must be made for the betterment of all. Sacrifices that no one likes...but are nonetheless essential."

I worked my jaw, single-handedly managing to be infuriated and humiliated at the same time. There was at least some kernel of truth to what he said, some measure of sanity in this mixed-up world we'd created...but I did not want to see it. I wanted to ignore it, place blinders on my eyes, and pass right on by. Things were so much easier in the 'Boz. If something shot at you, you aimed for the center of mass. Or, if you were that crack of a shot, for the head. Either way, the fool deserved what he'd gotten. You were just the messanger.

"Soooo," I said, my voice unsteady and full of suppressed rage. "You're tuh-tuh-telling me that we cannot interrogate that sonofabitch down there," I sneered, my anger pumping bile like an active volcano, "because you've finally decided--after threatening the whole fuh-fuh-friggin' world for duh-decades--that your conscience bothers you now?!"

Magnus stared me down, his face now weary and almost...disappointed. Well, he wasn't the only one in this room who felt that. "I would have thought you'd have know better of me. I agree in the need to extract information from our prisoners, but not through the method you've envisioned. We have to maintain a certain amount of principle--"

"LIKE THEY FUH-FUH-FUH-FUCKING DID WHEN THEY KIDNAPPED SAVIJ?!" I roared, fury suddenly spilling unabated from my lips. "And what, pray tell, do you wuh-want us to use on them, huh? My f-f-f-favourite curse words? Is that in Ruh-Russian, Serbo-Croatian or Arabic or FUCKING CHEYENNE?!" I turned on my heel, half not believing what I'd just done and half not giving a beggar's damn. Hot tears welled up in my eyes in fury and regret. Savij had just become a part of my life. She'd made me laugh and insisted I look at things in colours other than shades of black. Now all of that was gone...and I felt worse than ever.

"Sharpmoon-De Nant!!" Magnus bellowed, rising so swiftly from his chair that the force of the action slammed it into the wall, pinning it underneath the window sill. "Who--?!"

I sneered over my shoulder, spittle exploding from my lips as I struggled with my tongue and mind to get my message across. "We're f-f-f-f-fuh-fighting with one tied behind our buh-backs and four of the five fingers lopped off the other!" I growled. "On my first cuh-combat deployment in the 'Boz, outside of Banja Luka, muh-my First Shirt t-t-told me before we made our raid that if we chickened out that we wuh-wuh-were to immediately haul ass back to HQ and expect to be retrained. There was no tuh-time for jerking around when your most experienced guy on flight had only seen 'duty' in Haiti, while the Serbs had been fighting for years in guerrilla warfare of the nuh-nuh-nuh-nastiest variant." I bored into his eyes. "The fact of the muh-matter is, sir, is that if you're nuh-not part of the solution, you're part of the problem." Without even allowing him a chance to speak, I walked out of his office, slamming the door behind me with not a little satisfaction.

For long moments, as I tore down the hall and into the 'Day Room', I waited for that crackle of energy; that tang of ozone, the feel of my hair standing up on end. But it never came. The attack I'd always feared--ever since I caught a glimpse of his records--would not land this nite.

It was then that I made a decision...and headed immediately up to Moshe's room.

Ethics or no, a dream's legacy or the harsh light of realpolitik, something constructive was going to be done.

Too bad it would make me my team's most reviled enemy. They--and I--had no choice. If Magnus represented the majority faction of the Institute, then they had to stop me, if only to salvage their reputation in the flatscan media.

Conversely, nothing was going to stop me from doing the right thing, come hell or high water.

And screw the consequences.

The House of Orange

(Headquarters of the Ulster Seed of the British Hellfire Club)

1 North Imperium St.

Belfast, Ulster

United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland

991101

07:01 hours…

There were no Seeds in Palembang or, for that matter, anywhere in Srivijaya. The land was as hermetically sealed as my mother's chastity belt ever since me pa died.

And so, this meeting was very unusual. Certainly 'Eye's Only' material that would never, God willing, find it's way to Edinburgh, Cardiff or, worst of all, London. The thought of what my rivals in the various British Seeds might do if they knew a Minister-Without-Profile from Srivijaya was here talking to me is rather...hmm...disconcerting.

To say the least.

"Forgive me for being slow of wit, Minister Rao," I smiled, knowing full well this little oily, curry-smelling old bastard wasn't fooled for a second by my act. "But explain to me, once more, what the Ulster Seed's--to say nothing of the whole Hellfire Club's--interest is in helping you, ah, launder this girl and basically keep her imprisoned here. Not that we're not unused to such things," I added quickly, "but they're usually rather discreet and are highly charged events. Much political capital is expended during these operations. Deals are cut, shipments made, politicians and bureaucrats bought...not so easy as you would believe, coming from such a...ah...'controlled' society such as yours."

If he acknowledged or even understood my subtle jab towards his militaristic country, he made no visual impression of it. My respect for him edged up a notch...though I suppose all good diplomats know not to piss on the nice, polished shoes of foreign comrades-in-class. Especially when they paid well.

He bowed his head slowly. "If there is any forgiveness needed, Mr. MacClemmon, it is yours. I apologise for not having as good a command of the language as I should...even though it, like Hindi, is a native tongue of mine."

Nice jab, I thought.

"In any case," he continued, smoothly papering over the opening steps and getting down to business. "You and I are both aware of the delicate situation here in-country."

"The Troubles," I said, grinding my teeth together.

"Yes, the Troubles. We are aware that there is a great perception amongst the majority Protestant community that London is, what is the phrase?, yes, 'selling you out' to Dublin. Am I correct in that most basic of assumptions?"

I licked my lips delicately, running my hand over my neatly kept red beard. What was he alluding to? He couldn't possibly know of our clandestine support to the Sword of the Orange Order and the United Ulster Volunteer Regiments...could he? "Yessss," I answered slowly. "Yes, there is growing sentiment for that. Realistically-speaking, though, the commoner doesn't realise that London cannot simply divest themselves of us, especially when a majority want to remain British and a substantial minority of the Catholics do as well."

He held up a light brown finger. "Ah...but that doesn't stop contingency planning does it?" he smiled.

I froze. He does know! Jesus, Mary and Joseph--!

"From your expression--though you struggle to maintain the mask of civility--I can see that my answer is in the affirmative and my aim is true, is it not?" I nodded, stunned at the ramifications. How the Devil did the Srivijayans, of all people, manage to keep tabs on us? Of what worth are we to them? "We are much like you, then, it seems," he continued. "There are always...possibilities. Contingencies that need to be planned for, lest fate tears opportunities away from your grasp."

He lifted his chin somewhat, his lilting, sing-song accent acquiring a deeper timbre. "Let me put the cards on the table, Mr. MacClemmon. We are aware of the level of the support you are giving to various paramilitary factions which hold viewpoints most impolitic in this age of 'peace in our time'. These groups see, through rose-tinted glasses, exactly the type of abandonment from London you and I now will never take place. They're preparing for two things," he held out his right hand. "The secession of Ulster from the UK and, if necessary, a three-way conflict between Catholic Ulstermen, the British authorities and a sympathetic government in Dublin. Am I correct in these assumptions?"

Stunned, I merely nodded, my blood pumping furiously through my temples.

"Irregardless if they can win--and our analysts are divided on that issue, but don't discount Britain simply throwing up her hands in disgust and pulling out--there would be enormous economic and physical destruction, to say nothing of a bloodbath that will make Bosnia look like the weekly riots in Mumbai, India. Neither you nor my government believes that is a good thing. However, having a very intimate knowledge of Her Majesty's Government and through the hindsight of our cousins in India, we can sympathise with the secessionists...though not openly."

"Here, then, is our proposal: firstly, support. We are a Great Power. We have the wherewithal and the capability to open up a wide pipeline to these activists, funnelling through training, expertise, and, most importantly, modern and even some experimental weaponry." I lifted my brows in incredulity. "It could be a turning point in the movement. It could make or break their cause."

"Secondly, because we are a Great Power, we weild the veto, something we've never used since the UN was created. Nations and analysts have become lax with our policies, thinking us only sedate and unable or unwilling to intervene in world affairs. They are all wrong. We were simply waiting for the best opportunity. And that opportunity is right now. We'll tie up the Security Council and the General Assembly, making the UN, for all practical purposes, useless to prevent what we are leading up to."

"Which is?" I said, betraying my curiousity by inquiring much too fast.

Rao smiled benignly. "You'll see," he answered cryptically. "As for your earlier question, about the girl and how she fits into this whole paradigm, that much I can tell you of. She is an American. A student, actually. Quite fetching if I may say so. She also is the half-sister of a pivotal member of a so-called 'hero' group, located in Westchester County, outside of New York City. I believe you're aware of the reputation of the X-Men, correct?"

I blinked my eyes, slowly. "Mother of God...," I hissed. "Generation X, right? You're talking about Generation X?" He smiled, wanely, perfectly odered white teeth flashing out from underneath his lips. "Bloody hell. Damn right I'm familiar with those...those loathsome fops!" Oh yes indeed. Memories of last summer raced through my mind, and of the brutish collison between my Hellions and the X-Men's proteges. The latter came out on top, though not unbloodied.

The thought of them made my world turn scarlet.

"You see, do you not? How perfect this, ah, 'favour' is?" Rao said coldly. "It fits perfectly. We have already kidnapped her. We will hand over custody of her to you. That will wash the trail that would nominally lead to us--"

"Nominally? What the devil for?" I interrupted. "Why would they suspected Srivijaya?!"

He closed his eyes. "For reasons I am not at liberty to discuss, Mr. McClemmon." I ran a finger over my lips. "In any case, that will free us up to fulfill our end of the deal; to train and supply the militia's you've chosen to support."

I shook my head. "You only want cover? And because it involves Generation X, with whom there is no love lost between us, you're using us to obtain it? In return for...what?...support for a bunch of secessionists more likely to screw up Ulster than save it from Provo or British domination? You want me to believe that?!"

"Believe what you will, Mr. MacClemmon," the Minister said, steadily. "I am merely the chosen messanger. If you want to scrutinise the message, I am not the one to converse with, I'm afraid." He held up an index finger. "But, I will say this: Palembang is know for its cautious approach to relations with the outside world. It is in our blood. This is a 'real deal', as you say. There are other threads, some that neither you nor I know of, that go into making this weave. It is very possible that no one save the Emperor Jayasimha and his Privy Coucil knows the full scope of what is planned...and maybe not even them."

I nibbled on my lower lip, scrutinising the curious little man who stood before me and seemed to effortlessly lay bare what I thought were my most hidden agendas. "It's a foregone conclusion that I'll get a negative response to this, boyo, but I might as well try anyway: before I give my answer, how did you come by our agendas? We're not exactly overt. Hiding from MI5 is not an easy task."

The smile Minister Rao gave chilled me to my very soul. "Under normal circumstances, we wouldn't've been able to attain such situation. Great Power though we are, we are not as advanced as, say, the UK or the US. Recently, however, we've gained...shall we say--discretely, you understand--a new source of intelligence. One that isn't likely to be misleading or fallacious."

"A mole?"

"Hardly," he chuckled humourlessly. "But I've already stepped over a line that has been drawn for me. Your answer, please. Alliance...or no?"

The implications of a 'no' were obvious, and I wasn't foolish enough to tempt my luck. "Yes," I said. "Yes, I think we can agree on those terms."

"A most wise choice, Mr. MacClemmon. A most wise choice."

Another involuntary shiver.

I swallowed, trying to regain my composure. "And the girl? Her name? I need to make some arrangements to, ah, 'facilitate' her laundering."

"De Nant," he replied. "Her name is Ashley De Nant."