I have a very pleasant home. Admittedly, I would hang curtains over the windows too, but somehow I never get around to it.
The Genie from the Lamp.
**************
Walter Mayer.
Traveling from the Canadian wilderness to home would have been simple if my luggage had not included a captive mercenary and my passenger had not been a girl without documents. I would have to improvise. Fortunately, the 'Walter' puppet left in New York proved extremely useful. Under my careful direction, it called the officers and offered them an interesting package belonging to an 'acquaintance.' We selected a conspicuous lake near the Canadian airport from which I had departed for the bunker only ten hours earlier. The men promised to send a 'courier' within one or two days. Until then, we could rest in a small motel near the airport.
Our journey there was unusual. I had no desire to walk through dense forest or continue wearing Arctic Fox's mask before the girl. After asking her not to be frightened, I transformed back into Walter. Mm. Such enormous eyes. At least the change interrupted her despair, even if only temporarily. The girl jumped backward and prepared either to fight or flee at maximum speed.
"Who are you, and what do you want?"
She no longer possessed faith in people, which was unsurprising. The initial shock had passed too. What should I answer?
"My name is Walter, and I truly am your relative. 'Uncle' is the closest description. I can also be called a mutant, though I suspect you already understood that."
"I cannot have relatives." Her voice carried a despair far beyond childhood. "I'm only a clone... a weapon."
So that was the situation. Many things now became clear. I had expected something similar. 'Logan's daughter' did not fit the canon I remembered, though over two centuries he could theoretically have produced a considerable number of children. In any event, it changed nothing. Especially for me. I approached and embraced her carefully. Laura twitched but did not hurry to escape.
"You can feel. You can care. You are a human being, regardless of what those bas—those creatures in the bunker tried to tell you." Whew. I had almost failed to restrain myself. "Anyone who claims otherwise can go to hell—or come to me. We'll settle the question."
I smiled and, yielding to impulse, ruffled the girl's hair. She smiled timidly. Perhaps I should overwhelm her with new and unusual experiences to displace the events of the previous hours, at least slightly? It was worth trying.
"Tell me, niece. Are you afraid of heights?"
"No." She shrugged. "Why?"
For some reason, I doubted ordinary twelve-year-old girls spoke this way. Hard experiences forced children to grow quickly.
"How would you feel about flying for a while?"
Interest appeared in her eyes.
"Flying? How? Do you have a helicopter nearby?"
I bent toward the child and whispered conspiratorially.
"Let us use first names, or I'll feel ancient. And I don't need a helicopter to fly. Well? Shall we?"
She nodded uncertainly.
"Then hold on."
I adjusted the sack containing the unconscious mercenary on my back—Symbiote was an ideal tranquilizer, and she had no business overhearing private conversations—and lifted the girl into my arms. A flight toward inhabited territory awaited us.
Renting a room—or rather, a small apartment with several rooms—proved cheap and uncomplicated. The motel's owners, an elderly married couple, accepted the story of a 'father and daughter' returning home after traveling around the world. I had modified my appearance slightly to give us more features in common. Alongside the room, I ordered an abundant dinner, which arrived for a similarly moderate price. Laura barely ate, moving the food around her plate more often than actually consuming it. I sent her to rest. The day had been extraordinarily difficult. The flight had brightened it slightly, but changed nothing fundamental.
The child did not argue and soon lay quietly on the bed. I watched her sleep and thought. I had no idea how to heal the scars across her soul. Only banal phrases entered my mind: 'surround her with care' and 'never give her to anyone.' What those meant in practical terms, I did not know. I would think of something.
I had Curt, who had experience raising two children, and even one bald professor in a wheelchair. I disliked the idea of giving Laura to Xavier, however. He might be a decent man, even without skeletons in his closet, but his school contained many children. Laura would become merely one among them.
That did not satisfy me. I would manage myself. I had to. In other respects, I had accomplished my objective and removed the poor girl from Hell. The removal itself, however... Mm. I possessed no experience assaulting fortified facilities. Something suggested I had committed many mistakes—perhaps not every mistake possible, but a large selection. I did not regret cleansing the bunker and felt no guilt over its 'innocent victims.' The execution of the mission was the problem. Combat mode now raised many questions. After using it on such a scale, I saw its obvious weaknesses.
Yes, it provided rapid reactions to changing circumstances and eliminated hesitation. But—what a charming word, 'but'—in combat mode I acted only inside the framework of assigned objectives. Within that framework, my freedom was broad. Creating something fundamentally new was impossible. Such a method suited direct combat but was laughable for strategic calculations, unless I somehow learned to create perfect plans accounting for every possible detail. I could not remember anyone ever succeeding at that.
The second disadvantage was that combat mode moved me close to Symba's instinctive level. His instincts consisted of slaughtering everything alive and collecting genetic material. The result was what we had now: a destroyed bunker full of dead scientists and complete uncertainty concerning who had arranged the project. Had Rice worked for someone, or had it been his private enterprise? Kimura might answer some questions.
For the future, I needed to calculate situations more carefully. I awarded myself a C for my first hostage-rescue operation—and even that in advance. For now, I would poke around inside the mercenary and practice psionics upon someone I did not pity. In the worst case, I could extract information from her blood. Time passed quickly during the fascinating process of pulling information directly from consciousness.
Kimura's brain offered relatively little, but enough. Laura truly was Wolverine's clone, despite not being male. Something had been wrong with the genetic material. The mercenary did not know the details. Fortunately, the girl's bones were not completely coated in adamantium, as I had secretly feared. Only the claws possessed the metal, and their appearance had caused my concern. I still did not understand why anyone had performed the procedure at such a young age. The claws could not grow with her body. Perhaps they intended to remove them later and allow new ones to grow. The answer would probably remain secret. Naturally, no one discussed such matters with Kimura.
The woman Laura mourned had been her surrogate mother, Sarah Kinney, and one of the project's leading scientists. Hm. Evidently, she had not been merely 'surrogate' if the child had mourned so sincerely. Again, Kimura lacked details, which was understandable.
Rice, by contrast, had been an ideological maniac. He wanted to create the perfect weapon and direct it against Logan. He apparently possessed a personal grievance against Wolverine. Such a weapon could also earn excellent money. The charming pair of monsters planned to use Laura as a contract killer beginning around age fourteen. The project had received private rather than military funding. I could not discover the source, but the client's general requirements were disturbing.
The girl's future targets were to include prominent politicians, businessmen, and cultural figures. That alone was unsurprising. No one spent decades preparing an assassin to murder an ordinary janitor. The method of assassination was different. From the client's general 'wishes,' I understood that the killings were to occur in public places with many witnesses and active use of the girl's mutant abilities.
The resulting image would be fascinating: a mutant attacks an upstanding citizen in a city center and tears off his head. I suspected the public would not respond with understanding. Was this the first step toward provoking war between mutants and ordinary humans? Damn. I needed to investigate further, and I possessed even less experience with conspiracies than fortified assaults. Gods. Imagining how much more I had to study was terrifying.
There was no alternative. I finished only in the morning. Then it was time to move toward the lake. The officers had no reason to know about Laura, so I asked her to hide among the trees nearby. After restoring Arctic Fox's appearance and mask, I entered the open area while swinging the sack containing the drooling Kimura. Apparently, I had overdone the exploration of her brain. Never mind. I believed the soldiers would accept her in that condition. The 'courier' did not keep me waiting. A helicopter landed directly on the lakeshore—one of those machines called an Apache, I believed.
The men confirmed their identities. The officers had simply contacted 'Walter,' informed him that 'wizards in a helicopter' had arrived, and he had 'relayed' the message to me. The pilots found the suit unforgettable. Receiving the packaged Kimura hand to hand made them look upon the unknown mercenary with considerable respect. Once the valuable cargo changed ownership, the men hurried away.
I returned to Laura in the small forest. Finding her was easy through the marker made from my cells. I had applied it automatically, though it had to remain external. The child's immune system destroyed any foreign intruder rapidly and efficiently. It could not kill Symbiote cells, but the attempt itself might have been unpleasant for her.
"Well, little one. Shall we fly home?"
The child nodded uncertainly, but climbed onto my back with some pleasure and anticipation. Thank you, Comrade Symba, for our empathy. I covered us with a cloak of Venom cells and rendered us invisible. There was no reason to frighten people with the sight of a flying man carrying a child. A journey of almost ten hours awaited us.
The trip itself was peaceful and pleasant. I remained at low altitude (flying into an airplane would have ended my happiness) and the girl soon fell asleep, lulled by the warmth of Symba's cloak and the monotony of the view.
My future plan became clearer. I would adopt Laura. There could be no doubt. How should it be arranged? Officially through an orphanage? Not even amusing.
First, I would part from the girl only in the event of my sudden death. Adoption through an orphanage required placing her inside one and leaving her there for some time. In her condition, that could end very badly. Second, there was no guarantee they would allow me to adopt her. The United States was apparently strict about such matters. That method was unacceptable.
Approach Curt's friends? Possible, but the officers were not idiots. They would quickly add two and two. First, an extremely angry Walter searched for Kimura, a famous creature in certain circles renowned for love of her fellow beings and concern for humanity. Then an unknown person in an interesting suit delivered her in a mindless condition. At approximately the same location and time, a powerful explosion occurred. Then Walter Mayer requested assistance adopting a girl who had appeared from nowhere. Hiding Laura from the 'couriers' would have been pointless.
I would approach the officers only as a final resort. They seemed decent, but I did not wish to reveal too much. I had already provided ample material for speculation. I wondered what they considered me now. An intelligence agent? Probably not. More likely a representative of 'respectable' organized crime, though clearly not local.
That left the vampires and their connections. Why would they inconvenience themselves for me? I was stronger and could bend them into knots if necessary, but forcing them to accept my leadership would require more than raw power. Federico had sworn allegiance almost immediately because he had possessed little reason to continue living, while I offered hope and possibility. Some might follow for new strength and abilities. I doubted the old vampire would choose many beings interested primarily in personal power, however.
I needed to attract them with something else. Why reinvent the wheel? I wanted to build an organization that would quietly guide and push humanity along a desirable path. Its first task would be preventing a third world war against mutants. I lacked direct evidence but possessed enough indirect signs. Let the vampires verify my conclusions and consider the future themselves.
Decision made. When they arrived, I would present several observations and a little information concerning the approaching disaster—the Sentinel program alone was enough. Then I would propose a... council, let us call it, where we could consider escaping the situation with minimal losses. From there, I could gradually persuade them of the need to unite around me.
Hm. Ominous laughter seemed appropriate. Very well. Mwah-ha-ha-ha. Then we would solve Laura's documentation problem. Nothing terrible would happen if she lived with me temporarily without papers or official guardianship.
Home, sweet home.
I had been absent only several days and already missed the familiar walls tremendously—though less than I missed one blue-eyed young woman and, to a lesser extent, Zinaida Prokopyevna's cooking.
"Welcome home, niece."
I opened the door to my modest residence. Laura entered uncertainly and looked around. A terrifying mixture of surprise, disbelief, and hope filled her emotions.
"Will this really be my home?"
Enormous green eyes watched me hopefully.
"Of course, little one."
I ruffled her already disordered black hair. The girl froze in mild shock. Apparently, such simple affection was new to her. Once again, I regretted that Rice had died so easily and painlessly. To break the awkwardness, I smiled and continued as though I had not noticed her reaction.
"Now let us choose your room."
The process took some time, not because Laura disliked anything but for the opposite reason. She did not care where she lived. The concept of personal space did not exist for her, so I had to explain at length. A private room was not merely a place to sleep. It was a corner where one could remain alone with one's thoughts and where no one would disturb you without permission. I had no idea how clumsy my explanation sounded. I had never had children in my previous life and knew nothing about raising them. The only idea I possessed was surrounding the girl with warmth and care. I did so, using the Symbiote as a transmitter for my emotions at an empathic level. Eventually, Laura selected a room and went to the bathroom to wash properly after her adventures.
I called Zinaida Prokopyevna and asked her not to visit for several days because a new resident was unaccustomed to strangers. The old woman sounded surprised but asked no questions beyond whether I needed anything. I ordered more sweet cheese pastries, buns, and other treats for tea. Children supposedly liked sweets. Damn. Clothing. I had forgotten clothing completely.
Naturally, I owned no children's things. I shortened one of my terrycloth robes. It was not especially elegant but would suffice at first. I needed to solve that problem too. I had not been prepared for a child—especially a girl—to appear inside my home. We needed to purchase a mountain of supplies, and I would still forget something. No. I needed help. Felicia would know. I called my beloved immediately. After several rings, she answered.
"Oh, look who finally appeared." Her voice dripped poison. "First you surround yourself with mystery, then you vanish somewhere for several days. Not a word. Your phone doesn't even answer!" She began shouting. "Do you have any idea, you insensitive blockhead, how worried I was?"
"Forgive me, beloved. I had to leave urgently. I told you why at the time."
The angry breathing on the other end softened.
"And... how did it go?"
Felicia's intelligence could not be denied. She understood immediately.
"Reasonably well. But that isn't why I'm calling. Or rather, not the only reason. This isn't a telephone conversation. Could you come to my place tomorrow at approximately ten in the morning?"
Silence reigned for a while.
"Fine. But if this is some joke, you will spend a very long time apologizing, Walter."
The line disconnected. Whew. I had survived. She remained angry but understood that the matter was serious. I wondered how Miss Hardy would react to my request for a shopping expedition in a close family circle. I giggled involuntarily at the imagined scene. Then the doorbell rang.
Grandmother's gift had arrived. How had that formidable old woman baked pancakes with jam and preserves, syrniki, and sweet cheese pastries in only twenty minutes? I genuinely did not understand. I began suspecting the pensioner of temporal-manipulation abilities.
Laura emerged from the bathroom, forcing me to postpone the investigation for more urgent matters. The child needed to be wrapped in the robe, seated at the table, and fed properly with every available delicacy. Heh. I must have looked amusing from outside: the ideal killing machine and almost-Dark-Lord rushing around the apartment with his tongue hanging out, attempting ten peaceful tasks simultaneously. Mm. A fascinating conversation took place at the table.
I still perceived Laura as an ordinary girl. That was not entirely correct. At first, matters went well. The child consumed sweet pancakes and tea with visible pleasure. Evidently, the bastards at the facility had rarely offered anything delicious. Once the first hunger faded, questions began.
"Tell me, Walter. What are your future plans for my use?"
They had trained her to control voice and expression superbly. Her emotions, however, remained another incomprehensible mixture.
"What do you mean, plans for your use? I want you to be happy and free. In my opinion, every human being seeks those two things. If you don't object, I would like to become your legal guardian."
"What benefit does that provide you?"
Attentive green eyes studied me. In five years, boys would probably fall in rows at their owner's feet.
"Benefit?" I shrugged. "None, other than the satisfaction of preventing various frea—unpleasant people from tormenting a child."
"I'm not a child. I'm a weapon. A clone."
Gods. I had known we would return to this subject, but I had not wanted to think about it. Now solve it, Walter. Although... What if... It was true. It might work.
"So what if you're a weapon? I was created for purposes that were hardly peaceful too." Symba certainly had been, and since he was me... "That doesn't prevent me from considering myself human and enjoying life. All of that is nonsense. It doesn't matter what others call you or consider you. What matters is how you see yourself."
I smiled at the child.
"You were created too?"
"Yes. I remember almost nothing about my life before this city, but here I found friends and interesting work. I enjoy living freely. I hope you will too." I rose from the table. "Now it is time to sleep. Tomorrow will be busy. We need to buy an enormous number of things for you, and my wardrobe could use several additions as well."
I waited for Laura to stand and accompanied her toward her room.
"May I ask a small favor?"
"What kind?"
Curiosity appeared in her eyes.
"Tomorrow, my... friend will join us for shopping. I have no idea what we need, and she has much more experience managing a household. She doesn't know that I possess several properties unusual for most humans. Therefore, could you avoid mentioning my little secret before her? I'm not emotionally ready to confess yet."
Laura looked confused. She had not expected such a request.
"What if she asks about the bunker?"
A sensible question. I had not expected such rationality from an eleven-year-old.
"Uncle Arctic Fox rescued you from the bunker. Uncle Walter is simply his good friend."
I winked. The child smiled timidly—or tried to. Smiling was evidently unfamiliar. We reached her room. I was preparing to leave when an unexpected request stopped me.
"Walter, will you tell me a story? Mama..." Sadness entered her voice. "Sometimes she read me a book before bed."
I mentally kicked myself hard. Walter, you genius worthy of death by slipper. The girl had lost the only person she considered family several days ago, and you intended to leave her alone in an unfamiliar dark room. Idiot.
"A story?" I smiled. "I know few fairy tales, but I can tell you one story. Climb into bed and cover yourself." I sat in the nearby chair and began.
"This happened a very long time ago in an unusual place..."
I closed my eyes and began retelling the familiar opening of 'The Hobbit,' describing the comfortable underground home of a hobbit named Bilbo Baggins.