xp_logs | Lost and Found, part one: Into The Storm

The Blackbird is already in the air and on its way when Nathan is contacted by MacInnis' telepath, who has some bad news. A Mistra team, one unlike any the X-Men have faced thus far, is on its way to the crash site as well. Nathan lets Alison know that the race is on.

He could feel the movement of the Blackbird through the air. His eyes closed, Nathan sat very still in his seat, wondering if the raw feel of his powers was due to stress, or the precognitive twinging that had started, oddly enough, at precisely the moment that Scott had agreed that Alison should be the one heading up this mission despite the fact that he was the team leader on duty this week. What that meant - well, he'd be damned if he knew. It wasn't a 'this is bad' sort of twinging, at least he didn't think so. But what this chain of events was leading to, down the line...

No. He'd drive himself insane, worrying about that. The here-and-now, that was what he had to focus on. He let the air in his lungs out slowly, concentrating on a meditative pattern. Had to stay in the moment. Consequences would take care of themselves. What was, was.

He could sense the others around him. Haroun and Alison in the cockpit, Madelyn and Hank, Kylun and Kurt... something of a focus on the physically-enhanced, in the team Alison had chosen. Made sense for a medical evac under these conditions. Just like it made sense to have him along. Telekinesis was so very handy that way. Though he was well-aware of the fact that Scott had been a little uncertain about Alison's choice to include him. Fair enough, Nathan supposed. And Scott hadn't, in the end, voiced the doubts aloud.

He could handle this. He'd damned well make sure he could handle this, for the sake of getting six kids away before a conditioning team could lay so much as a finger on them...

Something brushed against his shields and he twitched violently, instinctively reinforcing them before he realized that the new presence was backing off, waiting for him to acknowledge it. #Elliot?# he ventured warily.

The presence was light, uncertain of itself. Youthful, Nathan thought suddenly. #Yes,# a light baritone voice replied in his mind. #We've got a problem.#

#What, another one?# Nathan sent back wryly, but stiffened as the other telepath sent back a flashfire sequence of impressions. Psi-signatures, most of it. Minds that he knew.

#They're on their way,# Elliot sent shakily. #They're at the edge of my range. I'm not sure what that translates to in terms of flight time...#

First-generation operatives. Not just Morgan, leading a mixed team - they were all first-gens. The sort of team Mistra hadn't fielded for... well, for years longer than he'd been gone, damn it! Reeling inwardly, Nathan struggled to hold onto the contact with the younger telepath.

#How many?# he sent back numbly, trying to focus on the impressions, analyze what Elliot had given him. Team dynamics. What kind of dynamics would they be facing? Most of the first-gens had trained extensively together, even if they were rarely sent out in more than pairs these days.

#I can't quite tell,# Elliot replied uncertainly. #At least ten. Some of the psi-signatures are hazy...#

#They're meant to be hard for telepaths to lock onto,# Nathan snapped, a little more heatedly than he'd intended, tracing Elliot's thought back in the direction of the pursuing helicopter. It might have been out of the younger telepath's range, but it wasn't out of his. Not ten, Nathan realized very quickly. Twelve. Twelve first-gens. Not heavy on the energy-projectors, thankfully. That was one small mercy. #That's part of the conditioning, remember?#

#I know that!#

Very young. A little panicky, too, and Nathan took a deep breath, trying to even out his thoughts. #I'm sorry. Calm down,# he sent back. #We're on our way, but I don't know if we'll beat them there. Can your weather-manipulator amp up the storm?#

#I'll get him to try.#

#They'll be regarding you as priority targets,# Nathan said rapidly, feeling Elliot started to lose his grip on the connection - distracted? He could only imagine, with members of his team down and half a dozen kids who were most likely terrified out of their wits. #But they'll be wanting to take the kids back alive and intact. Use that to your advantage. Keep the kids with you, no matter what you do.#

#Use them as human shields?# Elliot cried, sounding almost indignant.

#Yes,# Nathan hissed at him. #Because them being there is the only thing that'll keep Morgan from walking over and pounding you all flat, or stop Valeri from turning you all to ash from a distance. And if you and your team go down before we get there, who's going to stop them from taking the kids back to die?#

There was a moment of shocked silence before Elliot finally answered. #I... all right. I'll tell MacInnis.#

#You do that. We're coming,# Nathan projected forcefully, trying to send confidence along with the words. #You can do this. You got them this far - you just have to hold on.#

Elliot's presence was gone, then, fading as quickly as it had come, and Nathan gritted his teeth, taking a deep breath before he reached out with his mind again, this time to the woman sitting in the copilot's seat. #MacInnis's telepath just made contact,# he sent, mulling over the images that had come along with the contact.

There was a pause in Alison's thoughts, the quiet ticking off of 'Things to do' and 'Things to look out for' being neatly set aside as she turned her full attention to the statement - and the images that followed, along with the undertone of emotions underlining it all. The quiet remained for a moment, before everything burst into overdrive, one of the images catching her attention further. #This means we can't leave Madelyn in the bird as planned. Too dangerous for her. We'll have to bring her along.# The brief anger at that fact was damped down, set aside for later. #Ok. We take her to MacInnis as a priority. What more do you have?# More information, as much as she could have was good, even as she went over the faces associated to files in the database back at the mansion.

#Mick's replacement. Melina Konstantakis.# He flashed her an image, although he suspected she'd probably remember Konstantakis from the files. Mel was one of the first-gens he'd provided a complete dossier on. #Perfectly accurate precognition up to ten seconds ahead. Makes her hell to deal with, hand-to-hand.#

#Yes, it would.# Oh, Alison had gone over that file. And then some. Just as she had every single other one they had on the first gens, along with asking Mick questions and letting him talk as much as he wanted about each person. #Nash. Dyson. Pulaski. Cole. Matsuda.# She reviewed the rest of the info he'd sent her, sorting out who absolutely had to be kept away from a team member in particular, to avoid a power weakness that would not forgive.

#Kylun or Kurt or Hank should be able to handle Piers - the feral.# He thought hard. If only they'd known before leaving the nature of the opposition they'd be facing... they hadn't brought enough people who could strike from a distance. Fuck. #Lense... he could be awkward. The gravity shifts are hard to handle. And I swat Valeri as soon as I see her - no fucking around with Microwave-Lass.#

There was agreement to the last, very much so. #They won't mind hurting us. But we don't want to hurt them. Valeri has to be taken out as soon as possible, if we're going to manage that.# That no plan withstood the battlefield perfectly was doubly ironic considering that the first one, a simple medical evac, was already out the escape hatch and heading down without a parachute. #Lense I can take out.# Realization sunk in at that, and Alison cursed mentally. #If I can see him to take him out. Flying will be awkward for him though, so he'll be near the ground or working from cover. The winds will blow him away if he lightens himself up too much to go high.# The images were gone over, once more. #Forrester. Density manipulation. Jaeger. Damn. In this weather, the metamorph is likely to be our worse problem, actually. No way to keep track of anyone and you're not ready to do the switchboard thing yet.#

#No, I'm not. I can carry on a couple of conversations at once, yes, but I can't channel them.# Nathan thought. #Jaeger's hand to hand skills are only middling by Mistra standards. He doesn't use his power very well to offset that. If one of our agility-enhanced types can get at him...#

#Beast, Kylun or Nightcrawler.# Who all had access to the database and would know who to look for. #If we're lucky, we'll get to pick who faces off with who.# Pulling away briefly, she glanced out of the corner of her eyes at Haroun as he piloted the jet, keeping silent - he'd guessed she was talking to Nathan, obviously, and she sunk back in the seat and focused on the discussion once more. #What kind of distance from the crash site are we looking at? What is the zone of influence of that blizzard they've got going?#

#MacInnis' weather-manipulator is just intensifying the winds in the storm that's already there.# They had both reviewed the meteorological charts before heading out. #How close we get with the 'Bird depends entirely on Haroun.# Nathan ran over the images in his mind again, swearing to himself. Twelve first-gens. Fuck. So much for a relatively simple medical evac. #I'll brief the others? Need to tell them to stay clear of Morgan.#

#Do that. Tell them to keep clear of Konstantakis if at all possible as well. I want Kylun on point for scouting once we leave the 'bird, too. Security measures will be fully active when we leave which means someone on team needs to escort Madelyn and Mac's team as well as the kids back, at the very least.# She was planning on them coming back, obviously. #We've got enough time until arrival for Hank and Madelyn to prep whatever they need here.# She sighed, double checking one of the numerous screens in the cockpit.

#Trang gun for Madelyn is on board.# The mental image of where and the access code of the case was crisp and clear. A 'just in case' measure she and the other team leaders had settled upon, should something like this happen. Just in case.

#All right.# Nathan pushed himself up out of his chair. #I'll keep an ear out for further updates from Elliot.#

---

Nathan tells the rest of the team that they're no longer facing a simple medical evac, and finds out that yes, Hank's optimism and practical-mindedness don't go away under pressure.

Nathan moved to the rear cabin of the Blackbird, where Hank and Madelyn were going over the medical equipment. Madelyn vanished into the cargo hold, and Nathan hesitated, but then went over to Hank. He could always catch Madelyn up when she came back.

"Problem," he said to Hank, his voice tight. "I just heard from MacInnis' telepath."

Hank nodded, checking the box with the delicate equipment used to repair damaged and uprooted feathers. Unlikely, that they'd need it this time, but you never did know. "Bad news, I suppose," he said quietly, looking up. "How bad?"

"They've got a Mistra team in pursuit. He and I managed to get a clear read on who," Nathan said, biting off the end of each word in a mixture of quiet incredulity and anger. Even after having told Alison, and related the same information to Kylun and Kurt, he still couldn't quite believe it. "It's a team of twelve first-generation operatives, Hank. That's almost half the first-gens still active. Mistra hasn't sent a team like that out in... hell, fifteen years."

"It's always nice when people make a special effort for us, isn't it?" Hank said dryly. "I know I'm feeling very appreciated. And wishing I'd spent a little bit more time on brushing up my fighting skills... still, the medevac training will probably be just as necessary." Damnit. Nothing was ever easy, was it?

"I know these people, Hank," Nathan said, and for a moment there was some indefinable emotion, bleak and tense, in his voice. "Morgan's leading them, of course. But they're all over thirty, with my level of training and experience and some pretty nasty mutations." Nathan concentrated for a moment, flashing Hank quick images and descriptions; it saved on words. "If they get there first..."

"We'll do what we can and pray for a miracle, as we generally do anyway." Hank sighed. "They often show up, too, so our chances aren't quite as bad as they could be. And these agents know that we're not trained in the same way they are, and that we're volunteers rather than being programmed, right? Is that likely to lead them to underestimate us?"

Nathan gazed at Hank for a moment, troubled. "I know you must have read the files," he said, "but there are things I never quite managed to convey properly in them. I know I said Mistra uses Spartan symbology, Hank, but that doesn't really cover it. The operatives... they are Spartans. They only know one way to fight, one way to face the enemy." A brief, sad smile tugged at his lips. "They're punished if they do any less."

"Which will give us an advantage," Hank said quietly. "A not inconsiderable one. We know many ways of fighting, can switch between them quickly, and can flee... or appear to flee... at will. A flight which would be pursued by one certain of an easy victory, which might not be so... I've used the ploy before."

"They know MacInnis got a message out. But they don't have a telepath with them, so they don't know who's coming." The faint smile returned. "They'll expect me, of course. I'll have to go for Morgan, as soon as I see him."

Hank nodded. "You, too, might want to consider the tactical advantages of running away," he suggested. "Given that, as far as they know, you are still totally incapable of doing so." He opened the large crate that contained bandages of every possible description. Fully stocked, good... of course, he'd checked before they left, but rechecking kept him relatively calm. "In my experience, an opponent doing something completely impossible tends to shake a fighter up. Especially one who's been trained not to get creative."

"With any of these operatives but him," Nathan said, thinking about Lense and Piers, Konstantakis... he didn't know the others quite as well, and he knew none of them as well as he did Tim. Morgan. "Have you read his file? He was my replacement, Hank. He's got the special pack leader conditioning, more freedom to be creative... and he's quite possibly as strong a telekinetic as I am." Nathan sighed, mentally reviewing their last few encounters. "The only saving grace is that he has to channel it into his exoskeleton for maximum efficiency. I have more flexibility. But for the rest of you... hell, I don't even know if Alison's lasers can penetrate his exoskeleton. If she focused them tightly enough, maybe." Nathan took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "I can't let any of the rest of you engage him," he said, "and I cannot let him anywhere near those kids or MacInnis' people."

Hank nodded. "Good luck," he said quietly. "I know I won't be able to help you, there... wouldn't even if I wasn't planning on heading the other way, towards the wounded." He sighed. "Since I doubt there's much chance of him being distracted enough to get hit with a tranquillizer or beaned with a rock, which are my preferred means of dealing with rampaging psis."

Despite everything, Nathan smiled suddenly. "You've taken out a rampaging psi with a rock before?"

"Once." Hank grinned. "It was a fine throw, if I do say so myself. The medical training means I know exactly where and how hard to hit, and satisfactory unconsciousness followed immediately." He shook his head, smiling. "It's an advantage of having entirely physical mutations, I think... those with powers get into the habit of using those powers. Those of us with no blasts or bolts to throw, remember that we can resort to rocks."

Nathan observed, with some bewilderment, that he was sitting down on the bench suddenly. Also, that there was semi-hysterical laughter absolutely screaming to get out, and he wasn't absolutely sure how he was managing to hold it back. "Ohhh... rocks. Need to remember that. Definitely." Hank was giving him an alarmed look, and Nathan waved at him, half-desperately. "Not laughing at you. Really. Not sure what I'm laughing at, but it's not you."

Hank nodded, smiling. "I understand. I admit, I joke around a lot at times like this for much the same reason... it helps to keep me from getting so tightly wound that I fall apart. Although the rocks are definitely something to remember. If you do manage to fight Morgan to a standstill, a firm application of stone or metal to the lower back of the skull is a fine way of bringing a resolution to the matter. If nothing else, I've never known a psi whose concentration didn't at least flicker under a sudden blow to the head. Including the Professor."

"I don't want to hurt them." The words slipped out before he could stop them, and his jaw clenched, as if he could hold the rest back. "But I suppose I'll do what I have to do, won't I?" Nathan took a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his face for a moment. "Still. These kids we're rescuing, Hank... these operatives were them, twenty years ago."

"I know." Hank nodded. This had to be incredibly difficult for Nathan, and he reached out to rest a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I... well, I can't understand, obviously, but I can imagine. I wish there was more I could do to help."

The physical contact was more comforting than he'd expected it to be. Nathan took a deep breath, let it out again, then repeated the process. Where had all his focus on the here-and-now gone? Oh, right. The here-and-now had developed all kinds of new, nasty complications all of a sudden.

"We do what we can," he said finally. And he had to get his head in the game, here. They were maybe a half-hour from landing. "We save what we can. I just have to keep telling myself that."

Hank nodded. "We do what we can," he repeated. "It's all we can do, and it's what we always have done. As much as we can. Sometimes a little more, if the miracle comes through." He smiled. "And so you know... Madelyn and I have quite the collection of tranquillizers in here, including some that would drop Logan in his tracks. If you can knock someone out, we can keep them under, if you need us to. Actually..." He rummaged around, and picked out one of the heftier darts, its tip covered by a tiny metal cap. "Put this in your pocket, or something. It's quite powerful, and I wouldn't recommend using it on anyone below standard adult size, but... you never know. It might be useful."

Nathan took the dart, his hand closing around it. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"I've found that it's good to have a backup plan." Hank touched his belt, noticeably thicker and bulkier than the standard X-Men issue. "I have several in here, along with other small and useful items that I like to have where I can get them in a hurry. I'm like Batman that way," he added, grinning. "Or a boy scout. Be prepared, and all that." He patted Nathan's shoulder again. "And remember, rocks and debris make perfectly acceptable weapons in a pinch."

He felt a bit steadier. Hank's confidence was contagious. "Rocks and debris," he murmured. "And trees." He looked up at Hank. "When it comes to first missions, I sure can pick them, can't I?"

"Oh, that shows you're real X-Men material," Hank said cheerfully. "If it wasn't a crisis, it wouldn't be happening to us. The less-than-disastrous is for weenies."

---

On the Mistra team's helicopter, their leader makes a surprising choice.

"Morgan? I think we're going to have company down there."

Staring out the helicopter window at the rapidly worsening blizzard, Morgan looked around to see Konstantakis at the comms station, waving him over. He went over to join her, ignoring the range of thoughtful and wary looks he was getting from the rest of his team. They'd picked up on the fact that he was... mulling over things, he knew. Picked it up, and were suspicious, or at the very least wondering what was up. He wished idly for a minute or two of telepathy, to be able to know what they thought of him examining the options this closely.

"We've got a contact," Melina said, looking up at him. "Heading into the target zone. We just got the relay from the AWACS."

"The X-Men?" They'd gotten word from Dispatch that a call from MacInnis had been intercepted, a call that had 'maybe' gone to Westchester. Dispatch was supposed to have gotten back to them half an hour ago to confirm. Why they hadn't, he didn't know. Wasn't too upset about it either.

"Probably," his new second-in-command said, her dark eyes speculative as she looked up at him. Morgan gazed down at her, smiling faintly. Mick, she wasn't. They had a decent working relationship, but no rapport. "Complicates things. Especially if Cable's with them."

"Nate does tend to have that effect on a situation," Morgan said, not missing the flicker in her eyes at his use of the nickname. Yeah. Definitely not Mick. He squelched the little quiver of loneliness firmly, his eyes roving back over the black-armored men and women packed into the helicopter. Not all friends, he thought dimly. A couple of them weren't even particularly friendly.

But none of them really wanted to be here, on this mission, with these orders. They had that in common. He'd ever overheard Matsuda and Valeri whispering, cursing the fact that MacInnis hadn't gotten away cleanly with the children.

The children. Six innocent kids, just like they'd all been. Morgan's expression went stony as he thought about what would be waiting for the kids, if they got them back as ordered. White rooms and faceless shapes and more than likely a bodybag and a shallow grave, in the end...

No. There was a twinge of pain behind his eyes, his obedience imperatives detecting the flicker of defiance, and Morgan closed his eyes, forcing his thoughts to a state of calm. Assess the situation. Assess all the options. Find the loopholes, like Nathan had taught him. They had to be there. There had be something...

The X-Men were possibly en route.

Dispatch hadn't gotten back to him.

Dispatch hadn't gotten back to him. Yet.

Without really thinking about what he was doing, Morgan reached out and shut down the helicopter's communications systems. The link to the AWACS, the radio... all of it. He heard Konstantakis catch her breath beside him, but she didn't say anything.

"Tim." The warning growl came from Lense, the gravity-manipulator pushing himself to his feet and advancing on him. "What are you doing?"

"Sit the fuck down, John," Morgan said, his tone wintry. "I'm giving us a little flexibility." No link with Dispatch meant no specific orders about the X-Men. Suddenly things weren't as cut and dried. There possibilities, in the absence of specific kill orders.

"Flexibility?" Lense demanded heatedly. "Give me a fucking break." Morgan raised an eyebrow at the hostility, wondering if this was finally going to be the day that John challenged him. That had been coming for a while.

On second thought, they were in the field. If this was the day, Lense would probably wait until they got back... small consolation there.

Someone else cleared their throat, and Morgan and Lense both looked at Nash, who gave them a faint smile. "Nasty weather out there," the big man mused almost idly. "Messing up our coms something awful..." Piers, beside him, gave a disgusted snort, but just shook his head and slouched in his seat, closing his eyes.

Morgan looked around at the other members of his team, making eye contact with everyone but Cole, who was behind him in the cockpit, of course. Lense was clearly angry. A couple of the others looked a bit uncertain, but the rest seemed... intrigued. He'd just done something unpredictable.

Flexibility was a good thing, he told himself. Even if he paid for it later. "Never say no to a loophole when it presents itself," he said quietly, and Lense snorted.

"Fine," the other man snapped, going back to strap in. The storm was beginning to toss the helicopter around with more enthusiasm. "Maybe I only speak for myself, Morgan, but don't expect me to cover your ass for this when we get home. If I'm asked, I tell the truth."

"I never asked you to lie for me, John," Morgan said, holding eye contact with him until Lense looked away, grimacing. Morgan glanced back at Konstantakis, who arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm not asking anyone to lie for me," he murmured.

"Good," she said, her lips twitching slightly, her voice low enough that only the two of them could hear it. "Because I'm not Foley."

---

Landing the Blackbird turns out to be somewhat challenging, and Haroun has to set her down well short of the crash site.

Haroun glanced down at his weather radar display and frowned. "This is bizarre." he said to everyone and no-one. "It's like we're sitting on a localized storm that isn't like anything I've ever seen before. Weather shouldn't _act_ like this!" he grumbled.

She'd briefed him on what Nathan had told him already and even though looking out the window was bound to be without result considering their current altitude, Alison couldn't help the reflex. "They have someone keeping a blizzard up near the downed heli, to keep Mistra from finding them easily," she replied. "I'm just... glad he's not on Ororo's power level. We'd be landing miles away if that were the case. How near can you get us for now?"

Haroun reflexively scowled at the mention of Ororo Munroe. "Couple of clicks, and that's if I can find a decent landing site that can handle the 'Bird. It's not like I can touch down, offload, and then bug out." he grumbled. "We'll see. This may get a little bumpy - do me a favor and double-check that our gear is stowed?"

Alison nodded, unclipping her harness to go through the cockpit quickly, making sure everything that might not have been secured actually was. A few brief words to the team in the back confirmed that the same was happening there as well. "Done. We're clear here, back is being taken care of." She slipped back into her seat and buckled up again, quickly. And resisted looking out the window to try and spot the storm. "I warned them the landing might be affected by the blizzard a bit. They're set."

Haroun nodded. "OK, good. According to weather radar imaging, it's a fucking mess down there." he said unabashedly. "Windshear alone is going to be _grim_ - the old girl does NOT like the rough weather." He put both hands back on the stick and steered the Blackbird right into the storm.