Scott and Forge, Monday morning

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

In Budapest, Scott and Forge had one of those long and thoughtful conversations about what they're doing there. Not surprisingly, there are no clear-cut answers.


They'd been given a suite in one of Budapest's better hotels, and Scott was surprised upon returning to see that the door to Forge's room was open. "I didn't think you'd beat me back," he called, setting the briefcase with his laptop down on a table. "Although if your meeting was anything like mine, I'm guessing they took all the ideas you gave them and stamped them as approved?" He'd been surprised by how well his meeting had gone. There'd been a variety of representatives there, mostly from the National Police and the Hondesveg, although the deputy Minister of Justice had been there as well, which had made Scott a bit nervous. He wasn't used to dealing with politicians.

Forge barely glanced up from his PDA. "Hm? Oh, yeah, went quickly. I basically just went in and gave a brief pitch, then did my best to swing them towards Robert MacDonald - you know, Garrison's big boss up in Canada. It sounds like the potential for a similar program in Hungary is there, but that's not my area of expertise. I think when I offered the concept of technological assistance, a few ears perked up. Although when I mentioned it wasn't going to be pro bono, I might not have made a whole bunch of new friends."

Scott leaned against the doorframe, watching Forge. "I think it's tomorrow - no, the next day, sorry, that we're supposed to be meeting with the people who'll be hands-on with this new team. I strongly suspect we're going to be asked about the Danger Room - I noticed a few ears perking up in my meeting this morning when I talked about the need to create a training infrastructure."

With a sigh, Forge closed his PDA and turned to face Scott, resting his elbows on his knees. "Yeah, about that," he said guardedly. "It's something that's been kind of weighing on me. You know I believe in the X-Men, what we do, what we stand for. I wouldn't be assisting otherwise. We've got a holographically-adaptive training facility like none other in the world. The Professor has a machine that can boost his telepathy to find a mutant anywhere on the planet. We've got a supersonic VTOL stealth jet that I flew into god knows how many foreign airspaces with. We're better outfitted than the militaries of some Eastern European nations."

He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. "But I believe in what we do - when we do it. I know where our goals and direction are. Prime Minister Barath... he's a good man. But one man doesn't run a nation, and given his rather controversial and precarious position anyway... I'm not completely comfortable with saying 'here, make your own X-Men'."

"If it's any consolation, me either," Scott said. "Fortunately, Charles feels the same way, and he's already established with Barath that we're not handing over the whole farm." Charles had actually been very specific that Cerebro in particular was not even to be mentioned, although Scott wouldn't lay money that Barath himself didn't know it existed. "The reason I raised the issue of the Danger Room is that I'd like to keep that discussion to one of training methods, rather than the technology, should it come up again. The good part there is that I'm not sure we don't do too much in the Danger Room, so I intend to make that clear. They'd have an advantage over us on that score, since they could more easily stage extensive training exercises outside."

"You're missing my point," Forge said darkly. "I'm still not convinced this change in the weather is a good thing. And I know how weird that sounds. It's like... okay, I may not pay much attention to history, but I read about back during the Cold War when the United States gave weapons to and trained a bunch of Afghan rebels to keep the Soviets at bay. And they thought it was justified because it was serving this mythical 'greater good of democracy'."

He steepled his fingers, tapping them idly against his chin. "Because of that action, the United States is tacitly responsible for the upgrading of the tension in the Middle East from a bunch of primitive robe-wearing theocrats yelling at each other to suddenly having nuclear capability. That's what politics does, it turns a bad situation into a worse one with the best of intentions. I'm worried that's what we might be doing here, Scott. This whole playing politics thing... it doesn't sit well with me."

Ah, so it was the big picture at issue here. Scott made a thoughtful noise, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know," he admitted finally. "You know what came up twice in my meeting? Veres and that original homicidal rampage of his. Two years later and they're still kicking themselves over not having been able to handle that themselves. The problem is, there are and are going to continue to be mutant threats that the 'regular' authorities aren't going to be able to handle. Especially in countries like this, that are actually attracting mutant immigration because of their social policies. Do they ignore the need to have a way to address problems like that because of what might happen politically? I note they're doing this fairly quietly, so they're obviously concerned about reactions. I caught two police representatives talking happily about the lack of press." He smiled a bit tiredly; he was a bit jet-lagged, still. "There's a certain inevitability at work here, and if nothing else, it has a better chance of providing a good model. Something like this is less likely to be that proverbial road to hell than something like Mistra or Weapon X."

"When I found out that the Canadian government had used my designs to... well," Forge paused, not sure how informed Scott was about Garrison's enhancements and the technology involved. "I have some issues with my abilities being used to facilitate violence, or contributing to some inevitable military juggernaut that's going to be used for the whims of the proverbial fat white men in suits. I turn down defense contracts at least four or five times a week."

He stood up, pacing in front of the suite's window for a moment. "I'm not saying that Barath's not trying to do a good thing. And I do think we should help. But I think we need to draw some serious lines, not only here, but as a rule in general. I believe in the team and in the Professor because I believe in the goal of helping mutants. Not trying to help some podunk Balkan nation achieve independence or equality or anything like that. Remember Smichov?" he said bitterly. "How many people died because everyone was too concerned about 'political repercussions' instead of just going in there and ending it? I know the party line about it not being our place to try and force anyone's path. I just find it a little ironic that we sat on our hands then, and we're jumping to help now."

"This is actually the second time we've done something like this," Scott pointed out, coming in the rest of the way and sitting down. "And really, Hungary's getting less from us than Canada did. Talking to us for a week, versus having someone working with us for a year..." Scott let his hand rest on his chin for a moment, thinking. "Canada and Hungary have something in common," he pointed out, finally. "They both talk the talk and walk the walk, in terms of helping mutants. I imagine that's why Charles sees them as special cases. I suppose..." He paused, then shook his head slightly. "I suppose I agree, when it comes right down to it. I see Garrison's time with us, and our week here, as reinforcing the type of behavior we want to see nation-states exhibiting. That's not necessarily going to stop other nation-states from taking the wrong path, or remove the need for somene to respond to those situations, too. But the example they provide might help the fence-sitters go the right way, instead." And he was never going to be able to look back at Smichov without feeling a certain amount of shame, was he? Not that he thought they could have done anything else, even now.

A strange smile tugged at Scott's lips and he leaned forward slightly. "You know what's occurred to me once too often, lately? Charles is getting old. I mean, I'm hoping and praying he lives to 102 with all his faculties intact, but... I've had to think about what you just said, about drawing lines. Because sooner or later - hopefully much later - the buck is going to stop with the rest of us, instead of with him."

Forge thought about that for a moment, then nodded. "I can see that. I just hope we're assisting with a good example here. I'm not so naive that I think Barath's going to turn Hungary into some paragon of human-mutant equality and a glorious brave new world or something... it's just not something I can really wrap my brain around all the ramifications of. Jefferson described society as 'a great machine', but I can tell you it's nothing at all like that. Machines make sense, you don't get the toaster rising up against the coffee maker blaming years of oppression."

Whereas human relations were a messy, unpredictable thing. "We're all experiments, you know. The X-Men, everything Canada and Hungary are doing... just experiments," Scott said. "Think about how long it took us to start intervening in a substantive way. I don't know what the timeframe in Canada's like, but the Hungarians are talking 2010 for their team and thinking they're being ambitious." Scott surprised himself with a brief laugh. "Tempting, to stick to the one-day-at-a-time thing. I know I'm still trying to wrap my mind around keeping an eye on the short and long term simultaneously. Thankfully I married someone more politically aware than me."

"And why you lead the team and I am content with being 'hero support'," Forge agreed. "Well, that and the fact that you tend to come back from a third of the missions with your face looking like a catcher's mitt. I'm far too pretty to risk like that."

"Don't knock the value of a few manly scars. They make the chicks go wild," Scott said, getting up. And don't knock the value of those questions,he thought, but didn't say. If he was going to get a good grasp on what he'd need to do in that hopefully distant Charles-less future, he needed to keep hearing them. "Anyway, did you eat? One of the uniformed gentlemen at my meeting told me there's a very good bistro down the street." He paused a beat. "I won't even complain if you bring your PDA and work at the table."

"Turn down food? If I ever do that, tase me and check for blue scales."