The Book of Chimera

      Rica was standing in the doorway and looking around with curiosity. The room was absolutely unfamiliar: supposedly, it was a laboratory, but still… On the tables, there were standing devices, flasks, vials, microscopes, containers — and on the walls, something was humming, squeaking, blinking with multi-colored lights. The girl couldn’t help but have an association with a starship from sci-fi films. Moreover, as soon as she left the doorstep, the door closed behind her back with a quiet hissing.       Moved by curiosity, Rica went to the table pledging to herself that she wouldn’t touch anything. She couldn’t be certain that after accidentally pushing some button, the system of self-destruction wouldn’t launch! Those labs, you know… And if she would just look — what bad could happen?       Out of everything that was standing on the table, Rica drew her attention to the largest object. It was a massive round flask with a narrow neck filled with a clear solution in which some thick black substance was swimming. This substance resembled a blot out of ink jelly. The girl came up closer and stared at the quirky mass, entranced. The mass was swimming without any system like it was alive. It was changing its form slowly, and strange flecks were running across its surface. Rica took another step forward and bent down, hands on her knees, to examine it closer.       The mass stopped shortly as if it was a beast that smelled something. Then, it swam to the wall of the flask and stuck to it — as if it was looking towards the place where Rica was standing. The girl cocked her head to the side hesitatingly. The black clot grew a smaller pseudopod and bent it to the side repeating her movement. Rica blinked and cocked her head to another side. And she was imitated again.       Suddenly, the girl felt creepy. She moved back — but instead of repeating after her, the black blot hit the glass first, and then it darted upwards, to the neck of the flask! The unsealed neck… Rica jumped back, hit something, displaced something, and the black clot broke loose and darted straight to her face, opening wide around like the hungry jaws of a ravenous flower; the girl gave out a desperate shriek…       And then she woke up.       Rica was lying in her bed, in the room that was in the Freaks’ house that was on the territory of Professor Xavier’s school that was in Britain that was… The girl blew out a breath, sat up on her bed, and rubbed her hands over her face.       The morning sun was merrily shining into the window, through the light white curtains.       The door opened, and Conrad looked into the room. Her face was a bit worried.       “Did you have a nightmare?”       Rica swallowed viscous saliva and cleared her throat in order not to croak too much.       “Was I— screaming?”       “No.” Conrad smiled. She left the door ajar, came up to the bed, sat down, and covered the girl’s hand with her palm carefully. “But I don’t need to hear a scream, remember?”       The sympathy in her eyes made Rica want to cry — but at the same time, it was easier for her to breathe.       “I— I had a strange dream. All of a sudden. I never had those. In my nightmare, I’d rather see my home, that tempest, and…” Rica stopped short, rubbed her forehead, and realized with amazement that she lost her thought without finishing it. Then again… it didn’t matter. “I’m not Elf, I’m not fascinated with sci-fi. And I haven’t seen any horrors about lab experiments for a long time now…”       Conrad squinted her eyes. She stood up and took the water bottle standing on the night table. Then she poured some water into the glass and gave it to Rica. The girl drank it up in one gulp with gratitude.       “The dream, unusual for you…” Roentgen glanced her over from head to toe, giving her the familiar feeling: she was surveyed. “You should go to the Professor with this matter. Right now. Without waiting for peritonitis, as Colossus says.”       “Who?” Rica asked inertly and put the glass aside. But Conrad waived her hand.       “That mad Russian teaches us applied physics, you don’t need to go to him. Not right now, that’s for sure. At least, because he left for his ancestral homeland for a while. Go to the Professor, I’m telling you. If you miss the breakfast, that’s no big deal; our guys will fight back your serve.”       Rica agreed with a sigh and threw back her blanket. Conrad smiled, glanced away from her pajamas, and left the room with a promise to snatch an extra glass of compote for her.       Rica changed her clothes quickly, washed herself in a hurry, and tied her hair in a ponytail. Then she sniffled and thought uncertainly, “Professor, do you hear me?”       She felt unbelievably stupid doing that. But the answer came in no time at all.       “I hear you, Rica. Did something happen? You are disturbed.”       “Yes… I would like to see you. Right now, if you don’t mind. I had a very strange dream, and Conrad—”       “Conrad wouldn’t give you some bad advice. Because she is Roentgen. I will wait for you in my office. We will work everything out, Rica. Do not worry. And don’t consider it some nonsense you should not bother me with. I am sorry, you are doing it very loud.”       Rica felt, almost physically, that Xavier was smiling during those thoughts, and she couldn’t help but smile back.       “Thank you, Professor. I’ll be right away.”

***

      It was quiet in Xavier’s office. It would seem, last time, laughter and voices of students sounded through the door, through closed windows even, but now — as if they were cut off. But Rica didn’t feel deafened or covered with cotton wool. She heard the ticking of the large grandfather clock with a pendulum, both clicking of cups they were drinking tea from against the plates and her own slurping with this tea… But all of that was inside the office. And nothing came from the outside.       Rica just finished telling — and showing — her dream and munched a cookie intently. The Professor clarified especially if she was ready to relive all that so that it would be easier for him to conceive the dream correctly. She agreed. And now, they both were silent. She was silent chasing away the remnants of her fear that invaded her once again. He was silent with a strange expression and a deep wrinkle that cut his forehead from the bridge of his nose, and his chin was set on his interlaced fingers. Rica sensed with her skin that doubt he emitted, altogether with paradoxical certainty that was spiced with a touch of foredoom, and — the excruciating guilt. The latter was so obscure for her that she coughed softly breaking the silence.       “Professor… what was that? What did you understand?”       Xavier blinked, and his sightless glance regained clarity and a sense of purpose. He smiled at Rica, soft and sad, and made a sip from his cup.       “You see, my dear girl… I know what your dream means. I do not fully understand how it is possible, but still. However…” A complex range of feelings reflected on his face again, and he rubbed his eyes with a sigh. “We have two options, Rica. The first one: I will tell you nothing. You will just believe — or not fully believe but agree that the adults will handle this on their own. And you leave it to us. And you will be living in the way you already have begun: going to school, connecting with your friends, starting hobbies, and being happy. I will not allow such dreams to reach you, you can be sure about that.”       He lingered as if he was waiting for Rica would say yes and this conversation would be over. Moreover, she realized especially distinctly, suddenly, that he was hoping for it quietly. Not because he thought of her as a gosling who’s too young to meddle in adult matters but… Although, no. Too young, exactly. The Professor wanted so much for her to have a serene youth growing up from the country of sunny childhood…       But Rica bit her lip stubbornly and kept silent. For some reason, that was really important right now. And the Professor sighed and continued, “The second option: I am telling you everything I know about this black blot. And not only about it. And this will imply pain, grief, fear, and challenges. You will have to become an X. And to help us, adults, keep you safe.”       Rica made a quiet sigh and put her cup to the plate. She knew who the X-Men were. Superheroes. Mutants. Those who saved humans from their evil brethren. Sometimes, they appeared for a moment on TV and YouTube, but never in focus. And most frequently — on cell phone videos. All the more so, no one ever connected them openly with Xavier’s school. Of course, there were rumors, but Rica never concerned herself with them — that’s why she never delved into the subject. No one knew their names or even real nicknames — unlike Superman, for instance, or Avengers. Except one person, perhaps…       Mystique. The female metamorph with red hair and blue skin who saved President Nixon once. And Remy mentioned her. That meant, their base was here…       Rica frowned.       “But why do I have to become an X to find out what I dreamt?”       “You want me to believe that you, knowing about everything, won’t meddle in some reckless undertaking on your own, really?” The Professor grinned and interlaced his fingers under his chin. “Or that you won’t decide to run away in order not to put everyone around you in danger? Come on, my girl, I don’t even have to read you. You have it all written on your face.”       “Why, everyone around me is in danger, or what?” Rica specified suspiciously, and Xavier laughed quietly.       “You see? I told you. Considering the fact that you keep interrogating me — I take it that you’ve chosen the second option?”       Rica tilted back her head in some challenging way and nodded positively. The Professor sighed and nodded back. A cloud of uneasy sadness appeared on his face, but then, rays of wrinkles ran from his eyes and lips again when he smiled and offered her more tea. Then, he closed his eyes and explained to her a few moments later, “I asked Jean to bring us breakfast. We should not have such a conversation on an empty stomach. And a couple of cookies is not the right food for your growing system.”       At that moment, he leaned over the table and whispered in confidence, “And don’t you worry… The extra serve of compote won’t escape you, that is for sure.”               Rica made herself comfortable with her feet in the soft chair and tossed her sneakers onto the carpet. The absent-minded Professor was sitting in his chair, with his back to her, and looking into the window. The girl was waiting patiently: she saw that it was not easy for him to prepare for such a speech, even during breakfast.       Finally, he spoke.       “As you might know, five years ago, during the Moon development program, a spaceship was launched and crashed very quickly… Yes, I see, you know about it. Good. So, you are aware that the crash and everything related to it was classified, and the program was folded up in haste. And now I am going to tell you about the fact known by very, very few people.”       The Professor turned his chair to Rica, but their eyes didn’t meet. Xavier’s eyelids were half-closed, his breath was measured, and his speech was smooth and deliberate. As if he… calms himself?       “Those very few ones know that the crew that consisted of five astronauts brought back… a passenger. A fare-dodger, so to speak. It was a creature, alien for us, with properties unknown to science — and with a psyche that defied our analysis…” He screwed his face. “If it could be called a psyche at all.”       “Did you see it?” Rica leaned forward, but Xavier shook his head.       “I did not. And I would not have found out anything about it if not for… circumstances. We don’t work with the government so out in the open, Rica. Not all of the state secrets are free for us to know. In a word, they classified exactly that creature. And then — as it usually happens when people begin to play with something obscure without thinking — the creature escaped. I am not exactly sure how, but it does not matter.”       “But I dream about it, right?” Rica interrupted him impatiently. “But why? And why me, what’s it got to do with me?”       “Patience, my dear girl.” Xavier stopped her short softly without opening his eyes. “Yes, your dream was exactly about it. Why you — we’ll get to it shortly. And why do you dream… From all appearances, it acts exactly like this. You see…” He sighed and grew dark. “Four and a half years ago, my old friend addressed me. Or enemy, that depends… He had a dream about this creature, too. Although, it was far less clear and vivid than yours. And it didn’t jump at him from the flask. It… talked to him. Promising unthinkable strength. Power. Abilities he couldn’t dream of before. Everything in exchange for an opportunity to merge with his body. To experience the world with his eyes and senses. To become his symbiont.”       “How did he respond?” Rica asked quietly, feeling that the pause was way too long.       Bitterness twisted Professor’s lips.       “He agreed. I tried to talk sense into him, convincing him to take it slow, not to believe… But he didn’t listen, as usual. Erik always gets his own way. Frankly, I don’t know why he contacted me that day. Perhaps, he still had some doubts… And I ruined everything with my excessive insistence. Repeating the same mistake once again. And it was the last time we spoke telepathically.”       Xavier moved to the table, poured a glass of water from the pitcher, and took a sip. His throat was obviously dry. Rica was sitting quietly as a mouse; she was afraid even to stir.       “And now I must apologize to you, Rica.” The Professor’s voice turned dull and cracked somehow. Suddenly, she saw clearly how old this man was. “And not once. Because I couldn’t convince my friend not to give his body to the alien creature. And it possessed his mind. Exactly that is the reason why the world began to shudder at the memories of the name of my old enemy and his Brotherhood of Mutants again. Exactly that is the reason why Erik Lehnsherr, also known as Magneto, performs deeds of madness and ferocity on this Earth again. And, little by little and step by step, he’s been gaining such powers he couldn’t dream of before.”       “Magneto…” whispered Rica. This name was familiar to her — not only from the web and television. Remy spoke about it when— when…       Professor’s palm, dry and warm, lay on her forehead; the girl didn’t even notice how he appeared nearby.       “The one more fact I must apologize for,” he sighed removing his hand. “When you just arrived here, I noticed you surrounded the tragedy you had experienced with an empathic barrier, all by yourself. Do not think, do not remember… Does it ring a bell? You are not a telepath, Rica, you can’t erase the memory; but you are an empath, although not a very strong one. Mildly speaking. You tried very hard to shield yourself from that pain and grief, and I decided… to help you with that.”       Dumbfounded, Rica looked into his eyes that lost their color because of age, and she realized all those moments when she was about to remember something important — and lost track of it; when she thought of home — and her thoughts were carried aside, and the feeling of loss and grief was replaced by nostalgia about mother savannah that was even pleasant somehow…       “So, it was you…” she whispered.       “It was.” No, he didn’t martyr demonstratively; he didn’t rush off to self-condemnation; he didn’t avert his eyes in shame. He just looked, directly and honestly. “I am at great fault before you, Rica. I wanted you to feel good and easy here. And I took advantage of what you did with your soul yourself. Convincing myself that if I would build protection on your basis, it would be with your permission somehow… No. Not with yours. I had no right to do that. And I broke my promise… not having a chance to give it to you.”       The girl bit her lip and lowered her head. In theory, in such moments, she was supposed to scream, to cry, to stamp her feet, to ponder with her fists on the shoulders covered with his strict gray suit, to demand everything back, and then she was supposed to take her bits and pieces and get out to never, ever again trust this bald old man with sad eyes…       But she couldn’t. Because she felt the guilt he emanated. Sincere and unimitated guilt. And his desire to do better. And no, all the reasons of conscience that the Professor could fake all that, they stumbled onto the unstinting conviction of something kernel, wild, animal: he couldn’t. Against that — the thing that was tumbling somewhere deep inside her — no telepathy would help. Because thoughts weren’t the issue.       And then she realized.       The smell.       A liar can’t smell like that. This man doesn’t lie.       And everything fell into place.       Rica lifted her head. The Professor was looking at her, awaiting his verdict calmly and with dignity.       “Please, give me back my ability to remember them,” she asked with a hoarse whisper. “But— I’m not ready to mourn them yet. Those emotions— they… I will deal with them myself later. You wanted to help me, Professor. And… I understand that now… if I curl up in my bed, it wouldn’t help anyone, and—”       The girl cocked her head desperately.       “You do understand what I want from you!”       “I do,” he echoed and put his hand on her forehead again.       And her memories gushed out.       Mom’s eyes, Dad’s smile, canned soup over the fire, dusty boots, reading of traces, a grass-blade that tickles her nose, a rope around the tent (against snakes), Uncle Mbeki’s guttural laughter, starry sky, smell of metal and skin in the car, the impossibly green dress — and everything that was left there, on the other continent, beyond the equator, across the whole world from here…       As Rica came to, she realized that she was burying her face into the Professor’s chest, clenching convulsively into the lapels of his jacket, and sobbing quietly. Her tears were flowing not due to the emotional understanding of the deaths of her loved ones; she remembered and was aware of their passing but still, something didn’t let her feel that completely, just like she wanted. Her tears were flowing because all of that had been so warm, near and dear, but all of that would never happen anymore; it would be something else, no less warm, perhaps, but never, never like this…       I remember they are dead. But I want to feel them alive.       Rica drew back hastily, drying her tears, but Xavier held his palm on her shoulder and squeezed it carefully. His gaze was full of understanding commitment but he was silent — and in his thoughts, too. There was no need for words.       “Thank you, Professor,” the girl breathed out, sniffling. “I’m better now.”       He nodded and released her shoulder.       “Do you want to continue now?”       “Yes,” Rica confirmed without pondering for a second. “Just… one moment. That flash drive from the camera Remy took from me when we arrived. I want to see it. I want to know what happened.”       “I can tell you everything without it,” the Professor said quietly as he drove off to the table and poured some water into a glass — for her this time. “But I sense that you are determined. So be it. But first, the answer to your question, Rica. What it is got to do with you.”       Obediently, Rica took a sip from the glass he offered her. She was overwhelmed by a heavy blanket of empty fatigue as it happens to kids after bitter tears. But she knew that would not be for long.       I must be strong. Especially now.       The Professor drove off to the window again. He connected his fingertips and rested his elbows on the arm pads.       “Back when I was speaking to Eric for the last time, he mentioned that the alien creature had been looking for someone. It stated right away that it was not perfectly okay with Magneto as its host. Although he was the strongest of all it could choose. Actually, that’s what brought Erik over: its apodictic honesty, as he said. Though I’m not so sure that was exactly the case… oh well. In any case, Erik was pleased with such state of things — at least, because the name of the host that the creature needed was downright unpleasant for him.”       “He dreamt of it,” muttered Rica clenching her glass in her palms. “And now I dream of it. As you’ve said… clearer and more aggressive. Does that mean it needs me exactly as a host?”       “Yes, Rica.” The Professor nodded with sympathy. “Exactly you. It needs an ideal victim.”