X-Men: The Gifted Ones

2. CEREBRO, XAVIER MANSION, WEST CHESTER, NEW YORK

Professor Charles Xavier was pleased with himself, pleased with his team. At last, a Cerebro unit, developed by Hank McCoy at the CIA headquarters in Virginia, was now installed at his home in New York. Charles derived some satisfaction of accessing Cerebro from home. He figured if the CIA tasked him to form a special team to help fight the war in Vietnam, then concessions needed to be made. Charles could hardly believe he was in the role of recruiter for the United States Department of Defense. He was a geneticist, wheelchair-bound, and hardly the idea of a recruiter of any army. Or the army he wished to form, the one that the CIA did not authorize.

Tasked with finding people who possess superpowers, yet I cannot even walk. He chided himself. I don't need my legs to be a geneticist! I don't need my legs to be a telepath! Charles' superpower was telepathy, and he was powerful at it. He could control the thoughts of anyone, even alter time to manipulate reactions. It was a tremendous skill to possess and he used it carefully. It was his telepathy that had averted a nuclear war. He was able to enter the mind of a Soviet Naval officer and prevent the start of a third World War. And yet the CIA was content to sacrifice me on a beach far from home when the fight took a turn for the worst! He reeled to remember the scores of missiles heading toward him and his friends on that deserted beach. Erik had stopped them from being blown to nothing. That did not excuse what Erik did next, when he pointed the missiles towards the rival ships offshore.

I saved the world. I did not need my legs to save the world.

Still, no matter how powerful his mind, the loss of his mobility continued to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He had been severely injured in a fight in which he had not started, in which he had wanted no part of. He still could not believe that a professor from Oxford could have been shot in the back while averting an international crisis between the United States and the Soviet Union on the shores of Cuba. Sure, it was an accident, but he had paid the price of everyone's folly. He paid the price of the Americans, the Soviets, the mutants.

Yet the United States wanted more from him. They wanted him to search for mutants with skills that may help the efforts in Vietnam. They called, and Charles answered reluctantly. He stopped asking himself why he did.

Yes, building a Cerebro here was the least they could do for me, he concluded. He could use it for their purposes as well as his own. They didn't need to know. The least they could do for a man they rendered paralyzed in a fight I wanted no part of. They could not expect a cripple like me to travel when it suits them.

Charles could never point the blame at the two friends who had caused the bullet to sever his spine. Was it Moira, who, in trying to protect herself fired at Erik? Was it Erik, who, in trying to protect himself, deflected the bullet out of instinct, and Charles happened to be in the way?

It was easier to blame the US Government for stranding them on the beach. Use us and dispose of us. I averted one war only to be thrown into the midst of another war.

He knew he would never be able to fully explain why he continued to help. He supposed he felt compelled to, that one day, it would pay off. That one day, he and his fellow mutants would be accepted in society.

He wanted to prove Erik wrong. Charles wanted to prove Erik wrong about how the world would soon see mutants. Erik viewed humanity as the enemy, mutants as the future. Charles envisioned a world where mutants and humanity could live together. As it stood, the world continued to hate and fear mutants and it was not likely to change. He reminisced about his friend Erik. He could never bring himself to call him Magneto. Erik never expected him to. It was a strange form of intimacy that Erik allowed. Charles refused to see Erik as his enemy, yet Erik's actions made it clear that the two friends would never be on the same side of the human-mutant conflict.

Charles had trouble seeing himself the way the CIA appeared to see him. He was a professor, an Oxford man, better suited to tweed suits and laboratories, being surrounded by fellow academics and students. He found himself out of his element when he was around the CIA, being surrounded by agents and men in uniforms.

Still, he was a part of them now and there was no going back. His Oxford days were in the past, as was any chance he could ever live in peace.

Charles gazed around the large, spherical room. It was certainly spectacular. It was the largest single room in his home, or rather under his home. Large reticular panels were placed along the walls of the sphere in a manner in which only McCoy could comprehend. Engineering wasn't Charles' forte. Cerebro combined Hank's engineering skills with Charles' genetic knowledge and mutation in a way that enabled Charles to find any mutant, any place, anywhere in the world. Charles wheeled himself along the catwalk that extended into the middle of the sphere. He approached the podium at the end on which sat a helmet. Not just any helmet, but a neural path to any mutant in the world. He did not understand how it worked, he only knew that it did.

He closed his eyes and picked up the helmet, the thick wires connecting it to the podium, and connecting him to the world. He calmed his mind, closed his eyes, and applied the helmet to his head. He could never get used to the feeling as Cerebro made contact with his brain. It felt like a vise gripping his skull, squeezing, boring into it, and finally, the release. The connection was made and his mind was opened to the entire world.

Charles opened his eyes, a satisfied smile spread across his face. It always exhilarated him to see the foggy blue shapes of humanity, then the red shapes of the mutants appear. There are so many of us out there, Charles marveled.

Cerebro quickly darted from mutant to mutant and his attention finally focused on a young woman. Charles was captivated by her. Her brown hair was pulled back into a chignon at the nape of her neck, but loose strands broke free, waved in front of her face. She was sweating heavily, her sleeves on her uniform were rolled up, her forearms covered in perspiration. He realized she was holding the hand of a dying soldier and somehow easing his pain. He concluded that she was a nurse, and was in Vietnam. Her face looked anguished, but the soldier seemed content. Drugs? No, something she is doing, he realized with a start, something in the contact she is having! It is affecting the both of them! The soldier was heavily wounded, yet he seemed content. The woman seemed to be waiting for something to happen, her breathing was starting to become faster. She was clearly in pain.

"Angel of Mercy," the soldier whispered as he took his last breath. The woman let go of his hand, her pain seemed to be subsiding. She seemed to put aside her own fatigue as she closed the soldier's eyes and started to remove his clothes bathe him one last time.

Charles was finding himself breathless, entranced by what he had just witnessed.

Charles found himself focusing on her, not realizing that to do so through Cerebro could possibly cause her pain. He tried to find out what she had been doing, what made her show up as red in Cerebro. He then realized what the woman was doing: Somehow, she had been absorbing the dying man's pain. She had absorbed enough to give him a peaceful death, to ease his passing. She looked around, over her shoulder. She was fatigued, her mind foggy.

"You are exactly what I need," he said to the vision of her, knowing she could not hear him. "An Angel of Mercy..."

He noticed that the young woman winced and looked around, unsure where the voice she heard was coming from, but she seemed to be in a great deal of pain.

Charles felt his spirits soar when he realized she could hear him, but then he realized the connection must be causing her pain. He stopped the connection, tried to focus on another mutant, but his mind kept returning to her.

He would ask the US Army to bring her to West Chester as soon as possible. He needed to meet this Angel of Mercy. Not for the CIA's efforts in Vietnam, but for his own army.