Zan Zar Zameen: Recruiting

[x-dominion.livejournal.com]

Garrison goes to talk a lot of people into helping him. The results are predictably bizarre.



Professor Creepy Von Evilsatan. Kyle did have a pretty open way of
expressing his opinions about people, Kane had to admit. He didn't know all
that much about Professor Farouk either personally or academically, but for
once, one of his father's rambling stories had actually proved useful in
dropping his name, and with this entire Afghanistan situation coming up,
dropping in on the Professor could be a valuable asset. He'd even briefly
considered wearing the uniform, but figured Farouk would see right through
it.

Instead, it was the street clothes and an innocent expression for the man.
That certainly would not be expected.

It was only after the second ring of the doorbell that Amahl remembered
Trotsky's recent assessment of the fare offered by the mansion's kitchen.
Given the loving detail with which he dwelt upon the topic for the most of
yesterday, it was probably a safe bet that his grocery expedition would be a
while. The upshot being that Amahl had to abandon his very comfortable
chair, the pleasantly half-melted bowl of Cherry Garcia and bid adiu to Brad
Pitt chopping the Persian army into bite sized chunks while quoting
Herodotus.

Life was crushingly unfair sometimes.

Theoretically, he of course should have been busy with any number of more
important things. At least pretending to work on the lesson plans for the
Fall might have been advisable. Even flipping the TV back to the news
channel to follow the Attilan Incident fallout, would be wise. It was after
all only a matter of time before it was displaced by another Paris Hilton
Makes Out With Alison Blair story.

But the hell with it.

The Quantico trip wiped him out. It was worth it though, he thought as he
absently tucked his shirt in and ambled toward the door, wiping his mustache
off with a napkin. The academia was finally beginning to wake up to the
Mutant Question (unsurprisingly lagging behind the military), and soon
enough the community of the scholars devoted to it would grow and lose it
its somewhat club-like feel. But not yet.

And it was interesting to see the challenge through the eyes of the US war
establishment. Some aspects were not as obvious as he might have imagined.
He shrugged and dismissed the thought, opening the door. He squinted for a
second, his glasses laying forgotten in the living room, and then smiled
amiably.

"Good morning, young man. How may I be of assistance?" Good God, Beaver
Cleaver is at my door!

"Professor Farouk. We haven't had a chance to really meet. I'm Garrison
Kane." Kane said, offering his hand out to the older man.

Sometimes, Amahl thought resignedly as he shook the Kan's hand and
beckoned him inside, it seemed as if he spent the most of his time being
introduced to people. It was beginning to get tiresome. "Come in, come in,
Mr. Kane."

"Thank you, Professor. I know you're a busy man, so I won't take up much of
your time." Kane said as he walked into Farouk's room and stood easily in
the centre of it."You'll have to put up with a little backstory here. Six months ago, an earthquake hit the north of Afghanistan, causing considerable damage in the region. In the breakdown of services that followed, the Taliban government finally agreed to allow aid organizations an increased presence in order to help. Since then, there have been eight major refugee camps set up to house those either displaced or who lost their homes in the disaster. One of those camps, not far outside of Mazar-e-Sharif, is next to a Canadian medical aid field hospital. Last week, two Canadians from the facility were found murdered and left in a ditch near the roadside. The Taliban is grudgingly allowing Canada to send an investigator, and in my
capacity as an Inspector for the RCMP, I've been assigned to the case."

Farouk sunk into his chair easily, and reached back for his ice cream.
Kane's desire to stand indicated could either nervousness or a particularly
unsubtle form of establishing power position in the conversation. Since the
man was apparently a cop, it was likely to be the latter. On the other hand
given the task he just had dumped on him...

Either way polishing off the remnants of his dessert should do nicely in
restoring the equilibrium.

"Yes, I have been following the story. I must admit the Taliban's
acquiescence surprised me, however. I don't envy you the trip. A
particularly unsettled area that."

In fact Taliban's sudden generosity probably had much to do with the fact
that their control there was still precarious. Massoud, having largely
recovered from his wounds by now, was in fine form again, the Northern
Alliance making a surprising nuisance out of themselves to the surprise of
most analysts who had written them off six years ago. Still... Humanitarian
agencies and the PR bonanza of having invited them in was one thing. Openly
disclaimed paramilitary personnel coming in, with the Taliban's permission
to investigate a murder... Something was happening there, under the surface,
more than met the eye. He could feel it.

"I wish you luck, of course."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but that's not why I came. My briefing material
says that there have been issues with some of the groups in the area working
actively as slavers; kidnapping young men and women for sale in other parts
of Asia. Since we've got a student here from the area who happened to be
bought from slavers, I know that isn't fiction." Garrison said, talking with
an uncommon seriousness.

Most people were used to the constant stream of jokes and sarcastic barbs
that made up Kane's conversion, but here he seemed professional, and very
competent at what he did.

"There's another element that worries me. Apparently there's a madrasah in
Mazar-e-Sharif that is gaining some notice; highly fundamentalist 'kill all
the non-believers' stuff, but with a twist. Apparently the madrasah has a
number of mutants involved, and have interpreted Islamic text so that
mutants are the new chosen or something. It sounds like Magneto's philosophy
mixed in with some extremist Islamic teachings. Considering your background,
I wanted to know what sort of information you might have on this kind of
thing."

Farouk cleaned his spoon very carefully and placed it softly on top of the
bowl. "Interesting. What background are you refering to, specifically, Mr.
Kane?"

"According to your bio, you've got a very strong reputation in the Middle
East, especially on potential historical aspects of mutation. You've done
numerous research projects in countries that are traditionally difficult to
access, and that means to do so, you've got to have a certain level of
friends and connections." Garrison shrugged easily. "I know it's a bit of a long shot, but a madrasah that's playing heavily
into the mutant connection has a good chance to have crossed paths with your
work before."

Farouk nodded and squinted consideringly at the window.

"I see. I can make some calls, yes, but I would like to see the data you
have, before beginning my inquiries. There have been a number of theological
trends in Islam in an attempt to come to terms with the Mutant Question."
He glanced at Kane, eyebrow raised. I'll show you mine…

Sometimes, it was good that Canadian intelligence services were not all that
successful in some parts of the world, Garrison considered, as he pulled the
folded two sheets of letter size paper from his pocket and handed it over.
"Here's my data."

Farouk reached for his glasses and perused the documents, scanning through
the text that apparently consisted largely from the summaries of newswire
reports within seconds and making up his mind.

Amateur hour. Nobody wants this to amount to anything, so they pull this
baby out of the woodwork and send him on a wild goose chase. Unless I miss
my guess they didn't even put him in touch with the Brits operating up
there.

And if this is all they are willing to give him in terms of intel, one
shudders imagining the assets he'll have available to him on the ground. No
wonder he's casting around and grasping at straws, like a fortuitously
available history professor. Unless of course he's holding out on me…
Amahl looked up at the younger man, sizing him up. No, that wouldn't make
much sense in the circumstances. If he needed Farouk's help, it would have
been in his interest to share the data. Plenty of ways to do that while
safeguarding his sources.

He seemed to be nervous about something though, a little on edge. Probably
smart enough to realize that he was just sold down the shit creek.

Pity. But not Farouk's problem.

"Well," He carefully folded the papers and offered them back. "It's not much
to go on, but as I've said I'll make some calls. You have to realize,
however, Mr. Kane, that people that usually helped me would be much more
reluctant to cooperate with you – a non-Muslim and a Western policeman. I'll
try to get back to you as soon as possible, if I have anything of use."
And since you're going to be shepherded by the Talib minders 24-7 there's
sure as hell no chance I would have given you anyone of value even if you
weren't the designated black sheep, kid. As soon you are out of the country
they'd get the chop on general principles. If the Taliban even deigns to
wait that long.

"I'd imagine. Still, Professor, I'm sure that you've got at least some
influence in helping me bypass that cultural barrier. After all, considering
that my father knows your name means that you obviously must be able to
influence people successfully." It was a shot in the dark, certainly, but
Kane needed more to go on, and the only one even close to those spheres of
influence was Farouk.

Ah. Farouk thought, as the puzzle pieces suddenly fit together with
an almost audible click behind his eyes. So the penny drops. Not too
subtle, my boy, I must say. And I must be getting old and senile, not to
have caught it sooner. Oh, for fuck's sake, Christian. A son? A Canadian
Mountie son?!

He tugged on his mustache again, thinking. The scar behind his shoulder
began to itch, in what couldn't be anything else but psychosematic reaction.
The decision was already made, of course. In fact, on the balance, it was a
cheap enough way to pay back the marker. And Farouk firmly believed in
maintaining a reputation for honest dealing and keeping his word. It made
for so much more profit, when one finally broke it.
Now it was time to haggle.

Something nice and blunt for a start, I think…

He chuckled, spreading his hands deprecatingly. "Dear Christian tends to
overestimate my abilities, I am afraid. What exactly did Kane the Elder have
been telling you?"

Little enough, I bet. He might have developed a whole slew of paternal
instincts since I last bled all over him, which seems doubtful. But even
then, for him to disregard tradecraft and make his files into bedtime
stories for his brat… Give me a break.

"Dad? Not a thing... yet. But I have a very good idea about the interests
and occupations of the type of people that show up on his radar." Kane said.
"Look, I'd say I'm not trying to pressure, but really, I am. I need a pass
into the madrasah to check it out, and I'm willing to bet you can make that
happen. If you can't, I do have to go through my old man, which is something
I really loathe the idea of doing. Which means I'm less likely to be
cautious while co-opting your contacts, and that doesn't serve either of
us."

Farouk reached for the ornate wooden box on the table next to him and
plucked out a cigar, using the elaborate ritual of snipping off its end and,
after lighting, puffing on it as a convenient cover for a sardonic smile
that threatened to break through his reserve.

You're not pressuring me, boy. You are blackmailing me. Because – to sum
up – you've got exactly jackshit. And if I don't give you what you want
you'll go looking for something that might harm me, maybe. Coopting my
contacts… And after you are done with that – why don't you overthrow Taliban
all by your lonesome and ride back home on a white horse across the
Atlantic. God's blood.

He looked at Kane over his cigar, taking in the grim, focused mien.
Competent enough at what he did, probably. But new at this. Unused to the
rules of the Game. Probably accustomed to having the Law, the Order and the
State behind him with all that such implied.

But he was off the beaten track now and, it looked as if, uncomfortable with
being there – away from Rightness and the moral certainty that came with it,
uneasy with the world where all the rules were crooked and all laws needed
to be bent.

But it's interesting that his first instinct upon hitting polite denial was
to resort to threats. More like your father that you know, puppy.
Farouk mused, still watching Kane with hooded eyes. Or perhaps more than
you want to admit. But green yet. Rough around the edges.

Wherein laid the problem of course. Whatever prompted it, Kane's ultimatum
led the conversation into a dead end. Amahl counted on him to put forth a
counter-offer, to set up the boundaries of a bargain to be struck.

Now…

He couldn't afford to give in to 'pressure.' No one in his position could.
There was no free lunch. Would be like painting a target on his back,
setting the smell of blood in the water.

The kid wasn't trading in his father's favor, just waving his name around in
a vague threat. Out to get something for nothing…

Greenhorns. Farouk thought with an incongruous stab of pity.And
They are going to stick him in Northern 'Stan. Good God. Christian better be
keeping an eye on his boy. And now, how the hell do I get him to pull his
head out of his ass…

He chuckled warmly, " Some day you must tell me more about 'the type of
people' your father associates with. I do hope he hasn't sunk to the level
of conversing with political scientists. Surely History professors is bad
enough."

He shook his head. "My dear Mr. Kane, as loathe as I am to jeopardize losing
my far-flung army of informers, composed of old university buddies and
theology scholars to you, I am unsure what you are expecting." Nodding
toward the skimpy 'file' he shrugged. "Anyone looking as you do –and I
assume lacking local language skills – attempting to enter a radical
madrasah with the blessing of central government, would engender a firestorm
of hostility. Even if I could locate someone who might put you in touch with
appropriate people, they would likely laugh in my face.

I think you are drastically overestimating the gratitude that might have
been engendered by your government's humanitarian mission. In the area as
volatile as northern Afghanistan, where a multitude of groups are in
constant competition for men's loyalties nobody will be willing to risk
their lives to help a stranger just to feel good about themselves."

Any clearer, Farouk thought as he puffed on his cigar, and I'd
have to bloody wink at him.

The only problem Farouk was running into was the fact that Garrison wasn't here to make a bargain. Not only would the Canadian government not get behind him on it, but frankly, he was playing a hunch hoping that it would turn out to be a dead end.

"I've got people of my own that can get into the madrasah, especially with their admiration of Magneto as a well intentioned infidel. What I need is an endorsement for them by someone in the region that they have a reason to respect. If you can't provide that, I'm stuck going through my father, which is really not something I want to do." Kane shrugged, a strangely eloquent gesture. "If you want to make a deal, you can talk to him about how much help you were. Because, Professor, I do know that if my old man has your name, it's because he's got information on you that you really don't want him spreading about."

Farouk smiled thinly. “If one lives long enough, everyone has something to
hide. You, me, your father… even Professor Xavier. Which is why I personally
found it much more productive, in the long term, to establish ties based on
mutual benefit, rather than mutual distrust.” He looked at his cigar,
twirling it in the low light of the room. “It’s possible, of course, that
your plan will succeed – but if you in fact do have people capable of
penetrating the madrasah already, I would recommend that you first use them
to supplement your file on the situation, which is currently…” Farouk nodded
somewhat derisively at the folder, “…somewhat thin. I also think you are
underestimating the level of distrust percolating in the region, if you
count on a cover as a budding convert to see someone through in an
environment where several intelligence services, including the Russians, the
Iranians and the Taliban are operating vigorously.”

Farouk shrugged. ”I might be overly pessimistic, of course. Truth to be told
- the friends I have managed to acquire over the years are mostly in the
south and east of the country.”

His attention was once again seemingly absorbed by his cigar. “In fact, I
would be rather interested in what you find in Balkh province generally and
this madrasah specifically.”

"Playing the low level convert will take too long. I've got a star for them to entertain with the right person to make the introduction. If you don't know the right person for this, then this is nothing but a waste of time." Garrison refolded the paper and slipped it back into his pocket. "I want to eliminate them as a suspect, not dick around playing quid pro quo on the international spy scene. But if you don't have the capability, I guess I'll have to deal with my old man. At least I know what he's got planned for the information he'll want."

"That's very optimistic, of you." Farouk shrugged and got up. "If this is
your position, I am afraid I can't help you. If you are interested in a fair
exchange..." His lips quirked. "Or as you so eloquently put it - 'dicking
around playing quid pro quo,' I will happily have this conversation again.
If, however, you are intent on utilizing my resources while offering nothing
in return but vague threats, I regret but I see little future for a working
relationship. I wish you luck, Mr. Kane."



Well, if the Canadian information about the madrasah was correct, Kane was in an interesting position. He needed someone that could fit the profile of a disgruntled mutant who's got a thing for the Magneto partyline but has been disillusioned by the purple helmeted old weirdo at some point. Garrison didn't want to get too fancy with the undercover work if he could avoid it, which meant actually finding someone to fit the bill. Someone that could be dragged out without incident. Preferably someone he didn't like much.

Ah. Of course.

"John!" Kane pounded on the door. "Open up, eh!"

The feeling of dislike was of course mutual; he hated cops. Another thing he had a great dislike for was a loud voice in the early hours of the morning. John however, managed to school his features into a blank mask and made a move to open the door.

"Marie's not here," he said. "Try again later."

"I have made a long and careful study of Marie's whereabouts, Allerdyce. Got a tracking chip implanted in the back of her neck and everything. It's pretty cool." Kane replied as John opened the door, although made no move to invite him in. "Believe it or not, I'm actually here to see you."

John arched an eyebrow in response to that and leaned himself against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't about to invite the guy in and he sure as hell wasn't about to prolong the conversation for any longer than necessary. Whatever Garrison had to say, he could very well say it in the hall. Clearly, he remembered Kane's comment on his journal entry regarding his rap sheet and figured it had something to do with that. A long time coming though.

"I find myself in need of someone that was dumb enough to follow Magneto for a while in a really public way, and not so publicly disassociate himself with the Brotherhood later. Somebody that slightly psychotic mutant racists can really look up to. You know, a creep." Kane smiled. "So I checked my list and you were the closest one on it. Feel like taking a trip?"

"Obviously, your recruitment attempt leaves a lot to be desired for," he said. "But since you've acknowledged me as a creep, I'll just have to show you what a real bastard I can be." He managed a smirk at Garrison. John wasn't going to say no to anything involving travel out of New York, but sadly, he had obligations these days; work with Elpis and that damn degree to finish, classes to attend. All in all, a good enough reason to be difficult.

"What the fuck makes you think I'll be interested to help you out?"

"Because it involves a couple of innocent people getting killed, and the potential for a lot more if the ugly little worst case scenario that potential exists happens. Consider it enlightened self interest. Can you imagine what would happen when Islamic fundamentalists add mutant abilities into their political actions? The Middle East melting down aside, every Western government would go nuts and launch some 'War on Mutant Terror'. Camps, illegal detentions, anti-mutant movements dominating elections; all of Magneto's dreams come true." Kane shrugged. "Either way, you of all people have a strong vested interest that doesn't happen, since you'd be boned either way."

So the guy had made a good point. There was very little known about John except for his clear disregard for human lives and his interest in politics; it was the one thing he actually gave a damn about. Obviously, Garrison had done his homework and suffice to say, John was bought; hook, line and sinker.

Kane caught the look in his eyes and fought back a smug luck. He'd been right about how to play John. If he'd come appealing to his better nature or trying to be nice, the man would have slammed the door in his face, or worse, stuck Garrison in the position of ominous threats that would have likely earned him a talking to by the Professor. This way was so much easier.

"I'll even throw in drinks service on the way back."



It was like Halle Barry trying to play Paris Hilton. That was what
Monet reminded him of, Kane realized suddenly. Not in a 'sex tape
showing some extremely inept oral sex' kind of way, but in the surity
that the world owed her, well, everything, and everyone else was
simply getting in the way of her collecting. She had similar abilities
to Marie, as far as he could tell; strength, flight, near
invulnerability. That was not only handy, but the low level telepathy
on top of it all could prove a useful backup.

To be honest, all of this was backup. Kane was positive that all he
was doing was providing the dustiest vacation any of them had ever had
by the end of all this. Still, just in case, it would be hard to
choose a better last ditch asset to have than Monet.

Assuming the cost of her agreement wasn't more than the GNP of
Afghanistan, to be paid entirely in shoes.

Monet tilted back in her chair and stared at Kane. Could she get away
with calling him Candy-Baby? "What's in it for me? I mean, this
Afghanistan. Not likely to be much in the way of oh, showers or
reliable safety, is there? And what am I supposed to do? Play Ms. Aid
Worker?"


"There's absolutely nothing in it for you. At best, you get stuck in a
refugee camp for five days, wearing an uncomfortable outfit, eating
bad food and missing showers. At worst, you get some kind of fight in
what is best described as an openly hostile area, without much in the
way of backup." Kane grinned as he outlined the bleak potentials.

"That's it?" Monet pouted slightly. "You're not even going to make a
token attempt to bribe me? Ca'rn, Candy-Kane, that's just real weak.
So why me? You've got this house full of X-Men and whatever it is goes
on in town. So why do you want some student type to go to
Afghanistan?"

"You're not a real student. Technically, you're in college and using
this place for free room and board, it seems. I figure that since you
aren't an X-Men, you have no responsibilities tying you here. As of
right now, this is just a murder investigation, which really has
nothing to do with the X-Men, even if you don't add in the whole
diplomatic angle." Kane said simply. "On the other hand, if it does
turn out to be something bigger, having the invulnerable party girl
with nothing better to do as backup could come in useful."

Ah, youth. "But, if you don't feel up to it, I understand. Not every
one is suited for this kind of work."

Monet narrowed her eyes and looked over at Kane. It could be
interesting. Or it could be very, very horrible. Fuck it, what the
hell. "I want a contract. With rates of pay and reimbursement set out
in case of robbery, injury ... death, all that crap. I'm not going
without one."

Kane shrugged. "I'm not General Motors, Monet, and I didn't offer you
a job. This is strictly based on whether or not you think you've got
the skills to handle it. You want to make money in Afghanistan, go
toss a resume at Halliburton or something."

"You're making this sound less and less attractive. I'll go, but I
swear to fucking god, if anything happens, you're getting the full
wait of the St. Croix lawyers down on you. Er. Am I going to need fake
id? I'm kind of high profile and there was that kidnapping just
recently."

The smile on Garrison's face grew positively evil. "Oh, with what I have in mind, being recognized is not going to be an issue."



Sitting and quietly reading a book at a lone table. That was exactly the kind of timetable that Garrison was looking for. He slid into the chair next to Tabitha, jarring her slightly from her book as he did so. With his hands folded and elbows resting on the table, Kane leaned over.

"So, there's this book, right? And the point of the story is that this blonde librarian agrees to a slightly lunatic idea from this Canadian for the good of the world and freedom and those little frozen corndogs you can only buy in the really cheap Southern grocery stores. Have you seen it?"

She tried not to flinch as the jostling knocked the pens from her hair to let it fall in her face. The only way to deal with Garrison was to be cool and not agree to ANYTHING until she had all the facts. She coolly flipped the page in her book, even though she'd completely forgotten what she was reading.

"I'll need a bit more information before I can say for certain." Her muscles hummed with barely restrained tension. She REALLY wanted to say yes and ask questions later. Whatever the crazy Canadian wanted, it would probably involve life and limb.

"I have a little assignment over in the Middle East. A couple of Canadian aid workers turned up murdered at a field hospital in Northern Afghanistan. You know, one of the response groups to that earthquake five months back?" Kane said, not taking anything for granted. Some of the people in the mansion were news junkies, and others didn't watch anything that hadn't been animated by Koreans. "Taliban government has agreed to let the Canadian government to send in an investigator, in order to avoid creating a diplomatic incident."

"And you need a blond-haired, blue-eyed woman as distraction?" She waved her hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter. Just promise I won't end up scalped or on the cover of National Geographic and I'm in."

"Distraction wasn't actually my first thought. I doubt that anything serious is going to come out of this, but just in case, I could use someone with X-Man training that can fly under the radar as backup for me." Garrison gave a bit of a shrug. "Keep an eyes and ears in the field hospital itself, just incase there's anything that I've missed. At worst, you're volunteering for a five day humanitarian relief gig."

"I'm not particularly known for my "under the radar" skills, man." She rested her chin in her palm and studied Kane. "Not without some pretty specific directions, anyhow. Mostly I blow things up and look cute." She paused to think about that. "Or find obscure information."

"You haven't been on national television flying a killer whale around." Kane pointed out. "That's what I mean about under the radar. The Canadian government would remove my liver and fry it in front of me if I got the X-Men involved and it somehow went public. What I need is someone that can get people to talk to them, and if on the very slim chance things go to hell, can blow shit up with some training to back her up."

Her shoulders relaxed and she beamed at him. "Well now, that I can do." She closed the book without marking the page. "When's the briefing?"

"As soon as I get everyone else together." And go have a quiet liedown wondering exactly what I'm getting them and myself into, he thought.



Well, she was weird. Not soup in the hair weird, but certainly post-its over the eyes while singing pop songs strange. The kind of girl that spends entirely too much time near the Starbucks vibrating oddly. Looking through the window of the lab, Kane watched Paige Guthrie at work. She had sharp, precise movements from which you just knew she organized her paperclips by size and had every colour highlighter the market offered.

However, her power and her skills made her too useful not to approach, and Kane put on his best 'harmless nice guy' look before rapping on the door of the lab. "Hello?"

"Random abnormalities in the pyrimidine base," was her muttered reply, holding up a finger to indicate the number of moments she would need as, with the other hand, she neatly jotted notes within her ledger. There was a succession of beats, filled only with the noise of lead on paper and the cheerful blips of machines, but finally Paige pulled off her glasses and looked up, finding him in the glass of the door. "Yes, Garrison?"

"Can I come in, or do I need a lab coat and a degree in bio-chemistry?" Kane said in a cheerful voice. As shallow as it seemed, at least she was pretty. Talking to weirdos is a lot easier when they happened to be blonde cuties. You could ignore the random twitches.

"We do allow the company of those not lucky enough to have found bio-chemistry, yes. If Forge shows up and especially irritating I'll even tell him you have a visitors pass." Paige smiled easily, absently fiddling with one of the arms on her glasses as she spoke. "Or throw acid on him. Can I do something for you, or are you just here to bask in my strange, foreign genius?"

"I basked for lunch. No, I've actually got a question for you." Kane took a seat at the side of the desk, relaxing easily into the chair. "I've been watching the footage of your Danger Room sessions, and a strange thought came to me. I know you've been working on powers training at Muir. When you husk, can you actually change your features or skin colour? On the files, even when you're stone or steel, you still look, well, Paige-like. I wondered if that's always the case?"

There was a surprised blink before Paige's smile turned into something more amused than just polite and welcoming. "Now, either Moira has been boasting or your secondary mutation is extreme serendipity, as that's very curiously what I was working on in between assisting her work with Jono," she replied. "Colour, mostly. Things like bone structure are even more difficult than compositions, but I'm taking into account that my main study, even before I came to Xavier's, was chemistry, not the nuances of facial features and builds between ethnicities. I hope to get to that point, but I'm being realistic in admitting it won't be for a time."

She paused for a breath, almost surprised that she'd be talking long enough to warrant it. "So far I've always looked vaguely "Paige-like", though, yes. I feel vaguely stalked; any reason why you ask?"

"You do realise that police officer translates in Thai to 'nosy bastard' right?" Kane leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. "Seriously though, I have an ulterior motive. There's a Canadian aid station not far outside of Maser-e-Shiraf in northern Afghanistan, provided medical aid to a refugee camp set up after that big earthquake a month ago. A couple of the volunteers turned up dead, and my government is sending me into investigate. They're pretty sure it was just a random act of violence, but the whole area is a bit of a pressure cooker, and I want to be able to make sure. I was thinking about taking some of the people around here who aren't currently pulling triple duty as student, teacher and X-Man with me, just in case there is more going on. With your background in the med lab, even if nothing happens, the camp could use the extra help."

"See, I was unaware of that." Paige turned her head slightly to the side, realising that her time in Scotland had left her with very little knowledge of anyone even vaguely new. "So you're asking me to be your bodyguard slash nurse in, I'm assuming, disguise?"

"That's what I was hoping. According to the Professor, there's this telepathic process you can do that overlays a new language over your native one, so if you've got someone who can speak it locally, suddenly you can too. You lose your native language for the whole time the process is in place, but still..." Kane explained. "I was thinking that if you could alter your skin tone or something, and with the language in place, you'd be able to move through the camp like a native. Just incase there is something else going on, that they're likely not going to talk to the tall white foriegner about."

Paige's nostrils flared, just a little, as the corner of her mouth pulled back into an annoyed grimmace. The expression was vaguely similar to a spooked horse, surprising since she'd had so little time with them lately. "And who would have to do this process, exactly? It makes sense, don't get me wrong, it's quite smart in fact, but the idea of someone being able to blanket my brain like that still-"

"The Professor will put the overlay in place, and according to him, it's simple enough that any telepath can reverse it, like pulling the end of a shoelace knot." Garrison said, having anticipated this question. "I was thinking of asking your boyfriend to come on the mission as well. I could use his help, and he could reverse the effects as soon as I find out enough to call off the investigation. What do you say?"

"If he goes, I will as well," she answered calmly, with a short nod. "No bullying him into it, though. I'll know. I have a sense. And then I'll be forced to make your life miserable, and not in a fun way. In the evil genius but who wins, none of this sharks and lazers thing sort of way. Just let me know and we can go through the list of telepaths I would trust enough to make me speak English, alright?"



The Music Room. Garrison winced everytime he walked by while class was in session, and a discordant jumble of offkey notes and fumbles spilled out into the hallway as the younger students tried to learn an instrument. Kane wasn't going to be challenging Eric Clapton to a guitar play off any time soon with his skill, but he'd gotten past the point of the musical trainwreck back in his teens. You had to be a brave person to teach that class.

Kane didn't know if Jono was brave, but he was the only available telepath that he could get his hands on, and he needed someone that could bypass the language in Afghanistan to make sure he was getting the information he needed. Hopefully missing a couple of days of atonal audio clutter would be enough enticement.

"Hey. Are the kids finally done for the day?"

Jono looked up at the doorway and nodded to Garrison. "All the scheduled ones," he answered, remembering to direct his psionic 'voice' directly to his visitor instead of the wider 'voice' he used to talk to an entire class at once. "The X-geezer's big on this open door policy, but I've not had one take it up yet."

"I've noticed that. Considering the number of musicians kicking around this school, I'm shocked that you haven't tried to organize a festival or something. Mutantpolooza. Magneto could come in to fight the headliner or something."

"We had a band once," Jono explained, gently loosening the strings on an acoustic guitar before replacing it in its case. "Mostly just a bunch of folks mucking about, nothing serious. Besides, the danger of a mutant music festival is that Alison Blaire might show back up, and where's our credibility then?"

"It would fulfill Scott's love of pop music, that's for sure." Garrison agreed as he sat back in one of the class chairs. "So, with class done what's on your schedule for the next... five or six days?"

"Classes, an'... classes..." Jono pondered. "Why, you wanting to learn to play? I warn you, if you're looking for clarinet lessons, you're on your bleedin' own."

"Nah, I've already got my fumbling around on the guitar as advanced as I'm going to. What I was thinking of was something a little more intensive." Kane said carelessly. "To make a long story short, I'm being sent to Afghanistan by my government to look into the murder of a couple of Canadians. I don't speak the language, and I seriously doubt the intrepreters that the Taliban government will provide are going to be all that dedicated in their job. I could use a telepath to cut through the language barrier, and you're the only one I know that isn't already signed on to the team."

Jono's eyes went wide with a mix of surprise and confusion. "Wait, you're being sent into Afghanistan, and you don't want the X-Men with you? You've completely lost me, mate."

"What could I really ask the X-Men for, Jono? It's a murder investigation, not some mutant terrorist. Even if it wouldn't be a major diplomatic incident if we got caught, for all I know, all that happened to two aid workers got in the wrong place at the wrong time and got killed. If we suited the X-Men up for that, we'd be working 24/7 in New York City alone." Garrison pointed out. "Only reason that I'm talking to some people about coming is that just in case there's more to this, having some backup would be nice. I want to be able to leave being absolutely sure that those two getting killed was nothing more than a random, unfortunate act, and I need your help to do that."

"Good enough reasoning," Jono agreed. "Odd twist, you realize. Me doin' a favor for the police, in a way. Spent a wee bit of time bein' a young blight on society, suppose it's only fair. What d'ye need me to do?"

"All teenagers are a blight on society. It's the default state." Kane pointed out. "I need someone that can operate as a direct interpreter to the people I need to talk to. I learned this winter that if you don't speak the language, you're at the mercy of someone else's agenda, and with police work, you need to be exact. Considering your powers, you can get pass any potential barriers and tell me exactly what they're saying."

Jono nodded, reminding himself that he'd done almost exactly that with Yvette's mother a while back. "Might not be exact, but I've done it before. Afghanistan, though..." He motioned to the black bandages that wrapped his face and chest. "This gonna be a problem?"

"In a country that likes big robes as much as they do, I think we can make it work." Kane grinned as he got up. "Your girlfriend, however, is going to be a lot trickier to make non-descript than you, my friend."

If Jono had been drinking, not to mention had a mouth to drink with, he would have done a spit-take at that revelation. "You're taking Paige? Into Afghanistan?"

"She agreed, yes. I could use her powers, and the aid station there could use her experience no matter what crops up. Tell her it's like a date and you're win romantic of the year." Kane said glibly.

"That'll be the day," Jono said, shaking his head. He narrowed his eyes slightly at the thought of Paige heading off into possible danger alongside Garrison, then stood up and nodded. "Right, I'm in."

"Excellent. I love it when I don't have to resort to blackmail and threats of violence to get my way." Kane clasped Jono on the shoulder as he went past. "Mind you, I'm dating the invulnerable super-strong girl, which explains why I never ever get my way in any case."

Jono rolled his eyes and nodded. "We're all of us in that boat together, mate. Let me know when we're leavin', so I can get someone to cover my class. Wouldn't do any good to give these blights on society any more free time than they've already got, yeah?"



Garrison Kane was mildly surprised to see that Tommy's room door didn't have a 'Keep Out' sign on the front of it. It surprised him because the young man had all but stamped one on his personality, seeming to keep every one but the most harmless at a distance. Kane had read his file, both the one at the mansion and his police record. They'd filled him in about the situation with the cops in Salem Center, something that he'd already decided needed to be looked into when he had the time, and the fact that incidents with them had kept Jones a virtual prisoner in the mansion since his sensational arrival almost two years ago.

As far as Kane had been able to see, most of his time was spent studying or, well, alone. He was hoping that the man would take the free trip as bait to go along with his idea. After all, with his powers, Tommy was almost the perfect choice as support.

"Hey Tommy! Can you hear me!" Kane said as he rapped on the door. "I can't believe I just said that."

"Me either." came the reply as the teenager opened the door and leaned against it the frame, a collection of Mark Twain's short stories still in one hand. Tommy gave him a skeptical look before asking, "Can I help you?"

"With my new and exciting Who prediliction? I doubt it. However, since you're offering some assistance, I actually do have a favour to ask." Garrison grinned. "I could use a hand flying to a very foriegn and potentially hostile country to investigate a pair of murders that may or may not be the start of a wave of violence against people of the European or North American persuasion. Also, there's no money involved."

Tommy raised a stoic eyebrow. "Aren't you looking for Shiro then? He's the one who runs around in leather saving the world." There had to be a catch. Why was Kane asking him for help in something that clearing sounded like something the X-men or one of those other groups would do? Not that Tommy wouldn't help...he just wanted to know all the reasons.

"That's exactly why I don't want him, because this isn't about saving the world." Kane leaned against the opposite wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "A couple of Canadian aid workers were killed at a medical aid camp in northern Afghanistan. I'm going over to investigate what happened, and make sure it's nothing more than an isolated incident. In fact, I kind of doubt that anything sinister is going on, but I was taught to be paranoid. So I'm thinking of dragging along a couple of people who aren't X-Men, to keep from my government yelling at me a lot. Most likely it'll be a boring week while I play cop. The reason that I thought of you is, well, frankly, you could use the sun but more importantly-"

Kane paused for a second and grinned again, this one not mocking but actually the sincere reaction to a great ideas. "Aid camps like that often live hand to mouth. Getting essentials in can be very tricky, especially when dealing with expensive medications that have a very high resale value on the black market. On the other hand, a crate full of Advil tablets and your powers could provide those people with the kind of access to drugs and medication that they could never even hope for."

Tommy had snorted in disdain at the sun comment but listened carefully to Kane's other reasoning. And he was right, if Tommy could figure out the chemical compounds in time, because at the moment, he doubted he could manage even the simplest of drugs. He made a show of thinking for a moment then nodded. "Alright. I'll go. But I'm going to need a list of the drugs the camp needs. I can't manage something like that right now and I want to be able to research enough to get it right and not hurt anyone." He was sure he could...it would just take alot of time in the library and one of the labs. "When are we leaving on this venture?"

"Fairly soon. As in, during the next day or so. Talk with Doctor Grey. She'd be the best to figure out what they're likely going to need most, and can get you the details. Oh, if I didn't mention it before, there is a chance that you might be shot at in the process of this."

"Thanks for the advance notice." Tommy said sarcastically as he backed up a few steps into his room and in a few movements; threw his book on his bed, picked up and put on a hoodie hanging on his desk chair, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and slipped his feet into his sneakers by the door. He figured he better go have a smoke now, he won't have a chance for the rest of the night if he wanted a prayer of getting any of the needed substances right. "Being shot at is the least of my worries in the city, why should it be in a foreign country?" He said matter a factly for that was what it was, a matter of fact. "I'll be in the library or one of the labs if you decide to leave with as much notice as you recruit."

"Aw, it was so much fun this way though." Garrison clasped him on the shoulder on the way out. "Thank Tommy. I appreciate this."

Tommy just gave him a sarcastic look, but at least waited until Garrison was out of earshot before muttering. "Let's hope you still appreciate it after this is all over..."