xp_logs | Operation: Xorn - Recruitment Drum

The job is going to need two telepaths, so Pete calls in a favour...

"Mr Haller? It's Pete Wisdom here, from Snow Valley." Pete leant back in his chair. "I'll cut to the chase: I need you to do something dangerous and illegal for me. And I need to make sure that Charlie doesn't hear about it until it's done, so that if it all goes tits up, he can say that he had no hand in it without lying."

Jim lifted the cellphone away from his ear for a moment and stared at it. After the night he'd had an opener like that was just a little too surreal for him right now. Wisdom? Why did that . . . distant bells rang. Bells like "former student counselor," "current co-worker of Betsy, Wanda and Remy," and "briefly believed evil."

"Um . . . okay," Jim said, putting the phone back to his ear. "Hello, person I've never met. Can you maybe give me a little more to go on?"

"I like to think that all of Xavier's surviving guidance counsellors share a special bond." Pete leant forward again, searching through the papers on his desk while he talked. "You called us a few months back for help finding a couple of your more wayward students. Now I need you to return the favour, and come with us while we break into a Chinese military base and stop some poor bastard from killing a few million people. Our best guess is that the job is going to need two telepaths, and if we get caught, we want people without too many ties to the American government. I'm sorry to rush you on this, but time is a very big factor here."

Jim leaned around the doorframe of the bedroom to look at the woman curled on the couch, thanking god his phone had been set to vibrate. The sudden absence when he'd risen to take the call had evoked a mumble, but no more. For now the lingering link still stretched between them seemed to be contact enough.

"How euphemistic is this 'stop'?" Jim asked, pulling his head back behind the wall to keep his voice from disturbing her. "Debt and the very special bond of both being examples to the next generation who've attacked our own coworkers notwithstanding, you're shopping in the Damaged Goods Aisle. In case no one's told you already, be aware that as far as my telepathy is concerned the sleeves aren't completely even and it's better kept under low lighting. If you're looking for someone willing and capable of inflicting psychic obliteration, sorry, I'm going to have to direct you to Aisle Five."

Pete smiled slightly to himself. "Don't panic, squire, your part of the job is right up your street, as much as it's up anyones. You'll get a better briefing from the people who'll be more directly involved, but we're going to need to effect a direct mental contact with an extremely unusual, and possibly traumatised mind. Any obliterating of other people that may be in the way will be done by trained professionals in the field."

He dug his cigarettes out from under the papers, and fumbled one out of the packet.

"How soon can you make it to Snow Valley?"

"I'm in the middle of something right now. But . . ." Jim pinched the bridge of his nose, working through the other man's words -- past the terms they were couched in to what was actually being asked -- direct mental contact, traumatised mind. After the truly impressive snap in San Diego he didn't even trust himself to go into the Danger Room for powers-training he knew they needed, desperately. Put into another stressful situation with two unpredictable, telekinesis-wielding alters created as David's self-defense mechanisms, who knew what they would end up with?

Except what was being asked of him now didn't even require a second thought.

"The inevitable breach of international politics aside," Jim said in a low voice, still mindful of Betsy asleep in the other room, "in the future, you realize the only pitch I need to hear is 'someone needs help.'"

Pete lit up. "Yeah, well, sorry for trampling on your good nature and everything, but I'm racing a clock I can't see very well, and you're pretty much me best shot. Couldn't chance you saying no, and I'm much more used to dealing with people who lack a certain nobility of spirit. I'll bear it in mind next time I need you to commit crimes, though. What time should I tell everyone here to be ready to brief you by?"

"Sorry you're not getting as much of my good nature as I'd normally be offering. The overabundance of nobility isn't exactly a natural thing for me. I just think all things should strive." Jim glanced at the bedside clock, then back towards the living room area. 'At least two telepaths,' the man had said. He had three guesses as to who the other one would be, and the first two would have been pointless. The plastic of the cell shifted against his ear. "Give me about three hours. That should be long enough."

"Good, that'll give everyone else long enough to be ready. And I'm bound to forget to say it later, so I'll do it now: thanks. I'll see you in three hours."

Jim said into the dialtone, "You're welcome."

With a sigh the telepath clicked the cell closed and went to the other room. He hated to do it, but it was going to have to happen sooner or later. And with this . . . probably sooner was better. At least this would him an opportunity to make sure she got some food into her stomach this morning. Which was a consideration that only reconfirmed the fact that he spent far, far too much time with Lorna.

Jim settled down next to the sleeping woman and reached out with hand and mind in a gentle coax back to consciousness, meeting her weak complaints with the light stroke of a thumb across her cheek.

#I'm sorry, Betts, but I just got a phonecall I think we better talk about. It's okay. It was someone you can stab in the head later.#