Yishuv

the birth of a nation

chapter I: "the viscount"

"Forgive me, Your Highness, but I must admit to more than a slight...confusion as to why you and your retinue chose me to seek out for advice. I am not known for giving it."

Augustus Lloyd Saxe-Coburg & Gotha, Viscount and Lord Peer, Chairman of the Mutant Philanthropic Society of the United Kingdom, sat comfortably in the chair I'd proffered him, slowly swirling the cup of sherry he seemed to be relishing. Not a trace of consternation betrayed his middle-aged face, though a smile hint of a smile tugged at the edges of his lips. "I need your advice for a simple reason: you paved the way for me and you are the one most capable of actually attaining that which I've only now, in recent times, have striven for."

"Riddles, Your Highness," I said, pouring myself another snifter of Scotch. "You might as well be speaking in Altaic to me. I don't know whereof you speak."

The viscount placed his goblet down and leaned forward, his blue eyes only now taking on a blazing sense of purpose and life that had somehow eluded my notice when we first met. "A home for our people, Magneto. A land to call our own. A solution to the 'mutant question'. That is what I'm here for: to ask for your help in pursuing a cause you, yourself, set into motion nearly thirty years ago."

I blinked once, twice, three times, stopping my snifter in mid-rise to my lips. My fingers squeezed the glass. "Surely you jest, Your Highness," I said softly, so softly that even I had trouble hearing myself. "My days of activism are long gone. I am of no use to you, even if I agreed with what you are proposing...and, truth be told, I'm not even sure that I do."

"Oh I think you do," the tall Briton said, still holding my eyes. Without shifting his gaze, he gestured to one of his four-man entourage, the latter of which proffered a document that Augustus then placed on the table and slid across towards me. It barely made it half-way but the title font was large enough so that I could see it. I chilled at the sight. The Mutant Manifesto: Autoemancipation as the Final Answer to the 'Mutant Question'.

Dear heavens... "Where...where did you get this?" I asked, reaching forward to grasp the paper I'd thought long-destroyed. How many years has it been since I drafted that? Twenty? Twenty-five? "There's no possible way you could have a copy of it. I destroyed them all." Or did I? Has my memory finally failed me? Was there one I left laying about somewhere it could be found? Impossible!

"Yes, I'm sure you did," the viscount agreed, nodding. "Something like this, given the proper timing for release, would positively electrify the mutant community...and scare the dickens out of their less gifted cousins. It would've been very wise if you hadn't written this at all. But you did, didn't you?" I could only nod, amazed at what I was seeing. Gently I turned the pages, memories flowing back to me, memories decades old. The words, the phraseology, the concepts...all the same. I could recall them as if they were yesterday's meal.

"How?" I asked once more.

"That's my mutant power, Magneto," Augustus replied. "To summon things, if you will. I don't know where this copy came from, to honest. I don't even know if it was truly written by you...but the writing style seems to conform with the half a dozen communiqués you've sent off to the world press over the decades. You've a...unique...way of expressing yourself," he smiled. "In any case, I've long suspected that if what I'm attempting to summon does not presently exist--but has in times past or will in the future--my power will track it down, somehow, and send it to me. Or, alternately, create it ex nihilo. Either way, the process worked, didn't it? I've managed to confirm that you wrote this treatise, haven't I? And I've apparently stirred the pot in your mind as well, refreshing the details of your earlier faith in solutions seemingly impractical at the time."

"And nothing has changed to shift my opinion of its impracticality," I said, shaking free the cobwebs. I closed the treatise and turned it over, face-down. "Indeed, my attempts in later years have only reinforced that opinion. I am lucky enough to be alive today because of those attempts."

Augustus flipped his hand as if shooing a fly. "I'm an avid reader; I pay close attention to current events. I know a little bit about the events of the early Nineties Magneto and it occurs to me that betrayal without and within does not in any way invalidate that conceptual arguments you put forth in the Manifesto. Your analysis is incisive, accurate and perhaps even prophetic...but it is not denigrated by time and failure. I believe the time has come to try again. And this time, I believe it can be done."

I placed my snifter down, her contents untouched, and pushed it away. "Forgive me for being blunt but...what kind of fool do you think I am? The last time I endeavored along this route the Great Powers were in disarray, the Soviet's having just fallen apart and the United States still in the throes of a recession. Such is not the case now. Even perpetually-enfeebled and indecisive Europe has managed to get her house in order. America and Russia are by no means as weak as they were then. And, as I'm sure you can surmise, they have contingency plans to deal with a threat such as myself. Their reaction to any attempt on my behalf to follow through on my earlier designs would surely be met with overwhelming offensive force...force that even I cannot be certain to turn away, force which would, in any case, doom those who would follow me." The admission felt like ash in my mouth. It was, in effect, an admission of powerlessness; defeat without even attempt. "What would you have me do?"

Augustus slowly rose from his seat and, for a moment, I thought he was going to ask me to take him back to Earth. Instead, he tucked his arms behind his back and lowered his head, walking slowly from around his side of the table towards my general direction. "I want you to try again," he said, "this time allying yourself with people you can trust, people who are capable of helping you in ways you haven't considered."

"People like yourself, I suppose, eh?" I scoffed, skepticism creeping into my voice.

"As a matter of fact, yes. I sincerely doubt any of the Great Powers would harm a distant member of the British Royal Family and a member of the House of Lords." A small grin. "Not even Tony Blair, the populist that his is, is that foolish."

I'm actually listening to him, I thought. What on earth is possessing me? "I suspect you've a much more inflated view of your own self-worth when compared to the security needs of desperate men in desperate straits, Your Highness." I sighed, a long, slow wheeze of air that seemed to collapse my lungs as it leaked out from me. The decades of struggle weighed heavily on my shoulders. I could feel them...as much as I could hear the voices of those long since left to dust. "I'm still...still listening. For now," I cautioned, though I knew even as the words left my mouth that this sly Briton had ensnared me once more...or had I ensnared myself?

He nodded briefly then furrowed his dark bushy brows. "I agree with your central thesis 100%: mutants, so long as we are something of a phantom people, will always be hated. No one knows when or if they'll produce mutant offspring. Our abilities scare the humans half out of their wits. Security-mongers of all shapes and stripes coalesce around our capabilities, wondering if their nation's state interests are inherently violated by our very presence. We're distrusted and it's human nature that whatever it distrusts, it eventually hates. It is only a matter of time now before drastic measures, perhaps even draconian ones, are taken to stem what other nations feel is a direct threat to their sovereignty." He stood before me now. "The trouble we have is we've nowhere to go; no home to call our own. So I think the central question we should ask is: where do we go?"

I rubbed my lips disconnectedly, uneasy with the ease this man remunerated my long-held beliefs before my eyes. Obviously, he was well versed in my language...he'd read the Manifesto many, many times. "All avenues are problematic," I said. "Space is open. This is my second 'Asteroid M' in as many decades. Space is also a difficult medium to cross...and an even worse one to settle. I'd earlier decided to use a planetoid such as this as a colony, but even then I didn't think about precisely how I would supply it. Logistically, I can maintain the lives of a handful here indefinitely...but not hundreds of thousands...or, more likely, millions."

"That doesn't, however, close out this option," I added quickly. "There are larger planetoids out there, ones we can easily hollow out given the correct tools. Eventually, we might even be able to farm and create a self-sustaining biosphere. At the time of my last attempt, though, I hadn't thought of that. I was...I had my mind on other subjects."

"Are there other options?" Augustus asked. "Closer ones, perhaps, to fruition? Or must everything be such a Herculean task?"

I snorted. "Don't be simplistic. Of course there are other options...and yes every last one of them will be Herculean, requiring efforts the likes of which neither of us, I'm sure, have fully thought out." My fingers found my temples. "Down on Earth, there are no more lands left unexplored, no more areas left unclaimed that are worth claiming."

The viscount frowned. "Is there any way we can...we can make the land necessary to sustain us? I don't know," he gestured nervously, "create it or something? Are there any mutants capable of doing something like that?"

I nodded. "There are...but it's risky. The geological stability of such a landmass would be suspect, depending on whom you actually had create it. I know of several people who...who might be able to assist us along those lines--that is, should they be willing to follow along with such a plan. Of that I cannot assure you."

"But you think it can be done, yes? That it is feasible?"

"Yes, but I would be liar if I didn't say that I preferred another route or at least not use that one as our only option," I said. "Any mistake on our behalf, especially one that might lead to harm to the geosphere, itself, would not be in our best interests. Indeed, I can already see the public relations campaign such an event would engender. Greenpeace, alone, would become more than a nuisance for us, to say nothing of more radical offshoots of the environmental movement." I turned my head to look up at him. "But I'm getting ahead of myself, here. You haven't yet explained to me why I should place my head under the guillotine once more. You are but one man and I am another. That's hardly a force worth reckoning, even if we are mutants."

The viscount sat on the edge of the table. "Every national movement begins small, yes? Mazzini in Italy, the Founding Fathers of the United States, etc. All small groups, groups which eventually grew into inexorable movements. As it so happens, I know of other mutants who could be easily persuaded by your words...if you so much as published them."

"Impossible," I snapped, turning away, my jaw tightening.

"Don't dismiss it out of hand, Magneto, your words are precisely the kind of incisive analysis that we need to jump-start a national movement of our own. And you're the precise kind of inspirational figure to lead that movement."

I refused to look at him, but he continued anyway. "I'm in my fifties now, far too old to vigorously lead something like this. Besides, I am neither inspirational nor do I have a well-known track record of advancing mutant causes in spite of my chairmanship of the MPS. My mutancy, in fact, is little-known amongst many. I don't 'hide my candle under a bushel', so to speak, but no one has made much of the connection...yet. I'm certain that will change, though."

"I'm not exactly a young man anymore, Your Highness," I said. Though that wasn't, exactly, true. Physically I was in my mid-forties and still in the prime of my life. Mentally, however, I was in my late seventies. That age wore on my now even as I knew he spoke the truth. If anyone could lead such a movement, my credentials were impeccable. "In any case, the Manifesto is inflammatory. The last thing the world needs right now--and our people in particular--is a Molotov cocktail being thrown at them."

"Then tone it down, if you must," the viscount said earnestly, "though for the life of me I do not understand why you would want to. What is so inflammatory about telling the truth?"

"The 'truth'?" I cocked a brow, steepling my fingers. "What is the 'truth', Your Highness? I find it exceedingly hard to believe that you actually feel I should lob this hand grenade onto the world and then expect me to be able to lead a movement afterwards. That's like saying 'I'm sorry' after the deed is already done!"

Augustus went silent for a moment, his head lowered, his bald pate slick with beads of sweat. "I...I suppose you're right. I doesn't make much sense, does it?" He shook his head. "I'll be the first to admit that the intricacies had not occurred to me, Magneto. The House of Lords, in my time, never sunk its teeth into much realpolitik and it does even less now that Blair's emasculated it."

I pursed my lip. "Of course...we could always publish the Manifesto anonymously." He glanced up at me. "Wait a few months, let it have its desired effect, stirring the pot as it were, and then I can announce my intentions," I said, stroking my chin. "During the interim, we'd need to start building an infrastructure of sorts, an organisation to promote this enterprise. We cannot expect to live on yours and my largesse forever."

Augustus nodded vigorously. "The Mutant Philanthropic Society is a good start, actually. Most of the people who work for me are mutants themselves, married to mutants or are our sympathisers amongst the huddled masses, as it were."

I allowed my consternation to rise to the surface of my face. "We need something a bit larger than a charity, Your Highness. And I'm not too certain that those who are used to charity work would be so adept at the kind of public relations campaign needed to raise a nation."

"Why not?" he replied. "What's the difference? Both types of campaigns would rely on sympathetic calls to arms, correct? It's a matter of tweaking the message a bit."

I began to gently rub my temples. "If it were only as easy as you say... Things will change once the Manifesto is published and the Society shifts gears. There's a whole new set of problems to deal with afterwards, not the least of which is dealing with official annoyance. I'm not an expert in British politics, Your Highness, but I can surmise that London would not be entirely happy with the message, especially if I were the one preaching it."

"That depends entirely on your approach," Augustus countered. "Remember, Blair dealt with Gerry Adams and Sein Fein, anathema to Britons in general, in order to lock down a peace settlement in Ulster. In spite of my personal feelings regarding him, I think Blair is the only kind of Prime Minister who could cut a deal with you."

"'Cut a deal'? You sound as if we need the British to support us, perhaps even help us."

"Why not? Who would be easier these days? Washington or London? Forget Paris, Moscow or Beijing. I don't think you really need me to spell out why Britain would be the only power that might be willing to help us."

Actually, I didn't and he knew it. The plight of mutants--and other metahumans for that matter--had gotten progressively worse since the turn of the millennium. Even the so-called 'autonomous cantons' provided for by the US Constitution's 28th Amendment were no more than ghettos...something I fought against vehemently while I still lived there. Ironic that Charles and I would agree on that single item where we disagreed on practically every other matter.

Ever since...since Dominic's trial, though...things had gotten much, much worse. Fully a third of the original cantons are now completely reliant on federal subsidies, and many were simply lines on paper with hardly any settlement involved. Lynchings are more common now than they were during the Great Pogrom of the Ninties. Not a week goes by in New York that some scurrilous story is written about my people. It is as if the whole world has turned its back on us. I knew the idyllicism that swept the land during the passage of the 28th Amendment would be short-lived. What surprised me was just how short it would be. I shook my head sadly, fighting the urge to clench my jaw.

"What?" Augustus asked, eyeing me.

"Reminiscence is a harsh mistress, Your Highness," I offered, cryptically. "We need hard guarantees that this homeland will not suffer the same fate as America's cantonment policy. I want to make this absolutely clear: no more false hopes, no more half-solutions."

The viscount nodded solemnly. "I understand, but don't you see? This is our answer to cantonment! America's policies haven't worked and, frankly if I may be so bold, they were never designed to. They were merely attempting to move the problem of mutant habitation out of the major cities, particularly New York. Now, with Congress more fractured than ever amongst four parties--two of which support stricter controls on mutants and one other tottering on the edge of doing likewise--and the White House essentially a palace for a figurehead, our people are in more dire straits than they've ever been. Now that a portion of them have moved out of the cities, mutants can, in the public's eye, be marginalised. 'Out of sight, out of mind'."

"Our plan is simply to point out that the cantonment policy hasn't worked and that the only possible option left is the one we're offering. Certainly it's something of an either/or fallacy but I'm more than assured you can make the rhetoric fit."

I stroked my chin thoughtfully. "I think you're putting an overly grandiose amount of faith in my ability to make myself clear without alienating my audience." Something Charles constantly pointed out to me when I headed the Institute, lo those many years ago. My temper always managed to infiltrate my words. I told him it was merely the bitterness in my soul and that, like his unfailing optimism, it was a natural expression of my being. He would always chuckle at that, claiming that a man could always change. Perhaps...but in the aftermath of Dominic's trial, I felt justified in my pessimism.

"Sometimes, my friend," Augustus said softly, "alienation is exactly what is needed to stir ossified minds into action. We will never see our people free and independent without occasioning the discomforture of others, of that you can be certain. No great undertaking is ever without its price in ruffled feathers."

My fingers closed on my glass. "There are still some...legal problems that need to be addressed," I said taking a quick sip, fire spilling between my lips and across my palate. "My status in the United States is uncertain. Though the crimes against humanity charges were laid defunct long ago, at my trial before the World Court, I still have some problems regarding my activities around the turn of the century, when the federal government closed down Xavier's Institute. In short, I don't know how much use I'll be if I cannot tour in America, to say nothing of fund-raise for the cause."

The viscount pursed his thin lips. "Fair enough. I'll look into it and see what I can do, but Magneto, remember, the State Department even gave Gerry Adams and Yassir Arafat visas for their various activities. As soon as your name is associated with a legitimate political movement, Washington will have almost no choice but to succumb to reality. And, I might add, if we begin with European diplomacy and establish a base following there, we'll have a lot more leverage when we finally have to confront the problems in America."

"No," I shook my head. "I can see where you're heading, Your Highness, but America is probably the greatest repository of our people currently known...and they are certainly the ones who need our help the most. I'm not going to wait until we've established ourselves in areas where the problems are less dramatic, sacrificing the American branch for pragmatic reasons. I won't be a party to that. We must approach both simultaneously."

"It'll be difficult, as you've already surmised," Augustus warned.

"I know, I know," I said, testily. "I just can't let them suffer because of my reticence to involve myself in Washington's nonsensical political claptrap. I've already done them enough damage, years ago, but not standing up when I thought it best, by remaining passive when all my instincts screamed for activism." My eyes found his. "I'm not going to make that same mistake again, Your Highness. If it's the last thing I do, I will see my people freed."

Behind the viscount, the yahrzeit candle flickered, a promise never to forget.

I nodded to myself. This time, I would not forget. "We will do this my way, Your Highness," I said. "I appreciate your reigniting the spark within me but, in the end, as you've already indicated, the message is mine. I want no manner of deviations or accretions attached to it, no counselling towards 'pragmatic solutions'. Our people have suffered enough from such things and they must not be led down the false trail of another such disaster."

"Of course, of course," Augustus said. "I will lend my connections and purse but the cause and message are yours to shape. I only ask that I keep your counsel."

"I think that can be arranged," I replied. "However, we must act soon." I swept up the copy of the Manifesto. "This old treatise needs to be fine-tuned for the new millennium; I'd like to think my skills in rhetoric have improved in the last generation or so. You, on the other hand, need to prepare for the reorganisation of the MPS," I directed.

"Along what lines are you thinking? Money, of course, is no object right now. The MPS is small enough that I can substantially revamp it with only marginal effects on her finances."

"A name change, first off," I said, my heart rate beginning to accelerate with the thought of finally taking action after all these years of inactivity. "Perhaps something along the lines of the 'World Mutant Congress' or somesuch. Put more of an emphasis on its transborder and political orientation. I would like, if at all possible, for this organisation to evolve into a sort of parliament-in-exile, much like the Congress of Nonrecognised Nations is vis a vis the smaller nationalities."

"'World Mutant Congress'," the viscount said, wistfully stroking his granite-like chin. "I like the sound of that. Grand, expansive and loaded with symbolism. Yes, yes I like that a lot."

"Good, then you need to a leg on it and make it a reality, Your Highness," I said, lifting myself from my chair. "I have some redrafting and a lot of catching up to do. I must admit to being a bit lax on my current events. I think I should make myself aware of our people's state as I'm rewriting the Manifesto, with an eye towards making it as modern as possible."

Augustus proffered his hand, which I grasped and shook strongly. His grip, in spite of his age, was firm. "Thank you, Magneto," he said, almost breathlessly, his enthusiasm now showing across his chiselled features. "Your people will remember you always for this."

"I'm not interested in remembrance, Your Highness," I said. "I'm interested in emancipation. Full, total and irrevocable."

His eyes positively lit up. "My God, that's a perfect line! Almost made for a public relations campaign. Emancipation-Full, Total, and Irrevocable!" He turned from me, his handlers gathering up his garb. "I'll get to work as soon as I arrive back on Earth. As soon as the redrafting is finished, I'll need it. It won't take me long to line up a publisher for it. I've got several in mind already."

"I'll let you know, of that you needn't worry," I said, following him out of the antechamber. As we passed through the doors I took a final look at the yahrzeit candle, flickering now in our passage.

Never forget.

Never!