. I .

Bishop walked the mansion corridors with the bemused air of a man walking through his own home in a dream. Here was a place that looked familiar to him and yet so unfamiliar. Nothing and everything was the different. Entire passageways and rooms would be exactly the same as he remembered them, until he would suddenly chance upon a different painting, or a cupboard he had never seen before; and it would horrify him, cause every hair on his back to stand on end. It was like walking through a monstrosity, some obscene mockery of a place he once knew, like some cruel, sadistic joke. Even doing the simple task of walking from Xavier’s office back to his own room was repulsive to him. To tread the old familiar route that now seemed so alien made him want to gag. It did not make it any easier to know that he had been in this situation before. Somehow, that everything seemed so similar was all the more offensive to him.

Only a few weeks back, Bishop had leading a normal life in a relatively sane world. Being a member of the mutant outlaw group, the X-Men, was not something most humans would have considered normal, but then Bishop had hailed from a time in the not so different future, when mutants were being exterminated and he was having to battle the mutant-killing sentinels daily. He was what many old sci-fi buffs would have considered the quintessential time-traveller – and that, in fact, was the ironic thing about his current position.

One morning, he had been sitting in the dreamscape, meditating. The next moment, he had been whisked away by the mutant teleporter, Gateway, to this alternative universe where everything was hauntingly similar and yet frighteningly different. The trauma of the unexplained transition had left him in a coma for so many weeks, during which he had been fighting for life on the astral plane. With the help of this universe’s Xavier, he was finally able to recover – and to convince this alternate team of X-Men that his case was a genuine one. It was not the first time Bishop had been transported to another world, but for some reason, this universe alarmed him more than any other he had been to. Perhaps because it was so normal. So peaceful. So quiet.

He stopped in the middle of a certain corridor, finding the unfamiliar atmosphere cloying. He had the sudden urge to forget about returning back to his room and go out to get some fresh air. He could hardly stand being in this building anymore. He was feeling more and more alienated by it, and yet oddly daunted by everything it represented. He needed to get out.

He turned, only to collide headlong with Rogue, knocking the wind out of him.

“Ah’m so sorry,” she apologized, concern showing in her voice as he leant against a wall attempting to catch his breath. “Ah didn’t mean…Ah was in such a hurry, an’ ah never saw you there…”

“It’s all right,” he half-smiled at her as she attempted to help him to regain his balance once more. “No harm done, Rogue.”

She stiffened as he said her name with all the old familiarity and warmth of a long friendship.

“Excuse me?” she said.

“I said, no harm done, Rogue,” he repeated, this time his tone a little more distant. She suddenly looked embarrassed.

“Ah’m sorry,” she apologized again, awkwardly. “It’s just that…It’s so strange to hear you call me that…”

“It’s all right. I know,” he replied. It didn’t help that his counterpart in this universe had been a woman, someone so different from him that for his old comrades to meet him had been akin to meeting an entire stranger. It was difficult enough for them to accept that he even went by the name of Bishop. So far, everyone except for Xavier and Jean Grey had resisted calling him by name. It probably seemed distasteful to them, to call a outsider in their midst by the name of a woman they’d known for so long. It certainly didn’t make his position any easier.

“You just got back from talkin’ t’ the Professor?” Rogue asked, by way of conversation, and – he suspected – by way of easing the sudden awkwardness between them.

“Yes,” Bishop replied shortly, not knowing what else to say.

“What did he say?”

“He wants me to head a new team of X-Men,” Bishop returned soberly. He was still having trouble getting used to Xavier’s latest suggestion. He had always been confused as to exactly why he had been transported to this particular universe. It had seemed that, at the time he had arrived, the mutant world had been in something of a crisis – not the usual kind of crisis that involved the habitual super-villain or mutant-hating mob. Mutants, instead, were going missing. And to make matters even more complicated, Roma, Guardian of the Timestream, had informed Xavier that the whereabouts of these missing mutants would be explained in the pages of the Libris Veritatus, prophetic diaries written by the long-dead mutant seer, Destiny; otherwise known as Irene Adler. Strangely enough, the Diaries seemed to point to Destiny herself as being the mutant kidnapper – how and for what reasons were as yet unknown, other than that it had something to do with the Timestream itself. It was Bishop’s job, Xavier had concluded, to discover the whereabouts of these missing mutants and the true status of the woman calling herself Destiny. And so, he had proposed Bishop form a new band of X-Men to aid him in that search.

“Oh,” Rogue said. There was a conflict on her face that Bishop could only half understand. He knew Rogue had her own personal interest in this matter, since Irene Adler had been Rogue’s foster-mother. But whenever the Dairies happened to be mentioned, there would always be something more on her face than just plain discomfort. Bishop was at a loss to know what it was. He had never been particularly good at reading the emotions and faces of others.

“Is everything all right?” he asked her, seeing the look on her face.

“O’ course. Why shouldn’t it be?” Her tone was just a little too defensive. It was not hard for him to read that.

“No reason, I suppose,” he said doubtfully. Why did he get the distinct impressions that she was hiding something?

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Well, I should leave you to whatever it was you were doing,” Bishop spoke up awkwardly, half-turning; but she stopped him.

“No, wait…Bishop.” She said the name with an unintended clumsiness, causing her to blush before she continued with an embarrassed air. “Ah wanted t’ ask you…Since you’re here an’ all…Whether the Rogue you knew back in your world…Whether she was any different…?”

He was almost surprised at her question. Ever since his entry into this world he’d been treated as a sort of pariah. This was the first time any of his so-called comrades had confronted him directly about the aspects of his home world. He didn’t know exactly how to answer her question. It was like to explain the differences in one’s life after meeting an old friend again after so many years.

“She’s…a lot like you,” he said at last. It was far from satisfactory, even to himself.

“In a good way, or a bad way?” Rogue asked. “Can she control her powers? Is she, y’know…happy?” The last word escaped her lips like some sacred utterance. He caught the wistful note to her tone. Once more he did not know what to say. He knew all to well the difficulties Rogue had been going through at the present moment. Recently her own foster-mother, Mystique had temporarily stripped her powers along with Gambit and Jean Grey. Not only had Rogue been having trouble dealing with the instability the loss of her powers had caused, but she had also had to cope with her relationships with Mystique and Gambit. How was he supposed to put her mind at ease?

“She’s…happier than she used to be,” he answered at last. He knew it was hopeless to try to say the right thing. She seemed to realize his uneasiness, for she suddenly looked away, biting her lip.

“Ah’m sorry. Ah know ah shouldn’t be askin’ you these things. Ah just wanted to know how things would be for me if ah was, y’know…in another place an’ another time. Ah guess we all wish that.” She suddenly smiled at him, but her voice still shook. “Maybe it’s better ah don’t know, right? Guess ah should be concentratin’ on livin’ mah own life, just like everyone else here.”

She didn’t give him the time to answer – not that he could have given an answer anyway. He was still perplexed by her jumpiness.

“Ah’m sorry for takin’ up your time, Mr. Bishop. Ah’ll go now.”

She brushed past, hurrying along like she was making a hasty getaway from some crime scene. He stared after her, a bemused expression on his face. Things were definitely not going the way he had expected they would.

As he walked slowly in the direction of the grounds, he absently wondered what he would be doing right now if he were back home.

*

Gambit sat and waited.

He had been like this for the past couple of hours, he guessed, sitting in this godforsaken corner of the corridor, chewing gum silently, wreathed in shadows. He didn’t know why he was doing this, other than that he was feeling strangely bothered by the whole affair. Normally, he would have considered all this fate crap a crock full of bullshit, and would have walked away from it all. Life, in his experience was a game of chance. Nothing was predestined. That Xavier and the rest of the X-Men had invested so much time and interest in the Libris Veritatus – Destiny’s Diaries – was as pointless to him as it was somewhat disconcerting. Why bother in investigating a load of old mumbo-jumbo that might possibly turn out to be the truth but then again might not? Human beings, after all, had the power of choice. He, for example, delighted in throwing up his chances in the face of Fate. Everything in life was luck – choice was based on instinct. It was not based on the idea that his choice had already been made for him.

He shifted, ignoring the pins and needles in his feet and the growing numbness in his legs. The question still remained as to why he was sitting here, in the middle of the night, sneaking about furtively in the darkened mansion. It would be so easy to walk away and forget about it – what did he care? It had, of course, all started with the appearance of the imposter Bishop in this universe. Up until then, everything had been relatively fine, apart from the fact that mutants were disappearing and there seemed to be some problem with the Timestream. But somehow, Bishop or someone had convinced Xavier that the reason for all this trouble lay with Irene Adler’s damned diaries. And now both Bishop and that obstinate, maddening woman Sage were both convinced that Remy himself had something to do with the diaries’ phony prophecies.

It’d been nearly two hours and there still hadn’t been any movement. Remy began to wonder if that woman was ever going to come out of that room and go to bed. It wasn’t that he minded stakeouts. It was just that he couldn’t stand predicting anything that deviated so much from normal human behaviour. And, Remy thought, God knew that sometimes Tessa seemed less than human.

He began to hum a tune absently into the quiet of the empty corridor, his voice echoing but not enough to carry down to Sage’s private computer room at the end of the adjacent passageway. He’d been watching her for about a week now, familiarizing himself with her daily routine only to find that it possessed little pattern. All he knew for sure was that her life revolved around her computer. If she needed it, she would go to it. If she didn’t need it, she would disappear on errands he couldn’t quite make out, only to return at times he least expected. The past several days she had only slept a couple of hours a night. Remy had figured she would go to bed early that night. But no – 3:30 am and she was still at it. Not even he possessed the tenacity she displayed.

He was just about to give in and drop off into sleep when he heard the sound of a door opening down the next corridor. Poking his head just round the corner, he saw Sage finally emerging from her den, still fully clothed and not seeming in the least tired. He quickly ducked his head back. He knew that Sage was the kind of woman who could track a ghost. He was lucky that she hadn’t already begun to suspect him. Or maybe she had, and was just playing him. Remy decided not to think about that possibility. He’d decided to strike tonight and tonight he would. He watched on as she locked her door and began to walk in the opposite direction towards her room. It was only when he was completely sure that she had gone that he stood up and padded silently down the hallway to her room. The door, of course, was securely locked; but that was no obstacle to Remy. After all, he wasn’t a member of the Thieves Guild for nothing.

Once he had picked the lock he slid inside the room, pausing before finding the light switch and flicking it on. He’d rarely been in this room before – for one thing it was Sage’s and he had no special love for the woman, and on the other hand, just standing in it gave him the heebie-jeebies. It wasn’t that he had a particular dislike of computers. It was just the cold, airy setting of the place, its spacious, impersonal atmosphere. It was entirely bland, entirely functional. Even in here, he felt Sage had some sort of a hold over him. It was almost as though she could see him.

Holding in a breath he walked over to the main computer and switched it on. A wall monitor slowly flickered into life. This was technology not even the American government were party to, technology handed exclusively to Xavier from the Shi’ar. Remy set about hacking into Sage’s Dairy files with a calm efficiency. He was no expert hacker, but he’d learnt enough about it from Theoren back at the Thieves Guild. It was several minutes before he had got to the file he wanted. One thing he had to give Sage. She was a meticulous record keeper. It was amazed at the data she had already collated on the Diaries. He grimaced. It seemed a waste, for so much time to be wasted on what he considered such trash.

“Here we go,” he murmured to himself. “Hm, ‘The Seven’. Now why does dat sound so eerily familiar? Or is it jus’ me?”

The screen flickered, data scrolling down in a torrent of words and figures. Remy scanned quickly over the paragraphs until he had found what he had been looking for.

“ Now lessee… ‘The Seven have been isolated as being the Paradox, Chronomancer, Retributor, Advocate, Link, Witness, and Timebroker.’ ” He paused, reading out the names again slowly. He’d only heard one mentioned before. The Witness. Sage had mentioned it in passing the previous week, during a meeting. For some reason, Bishop had given him a strange look, one that hadn't escaped Remy, even though he’d pretended not to see it. The reason why he’d given him that look was the reason why he was here. He read onward.

“ ‘The Chronomancer has almost definitely been identified as being Bishop, Lucas, codenamed Bishop. Also suspicious that the Paradox is Charles Xavier, for reasons outlined in file 005. Aforementioned Bishop, Lucas, has offered suggestion that the Witness is LeBeau, Remy, codenamed Gambit. Unverified – currently awaiting verification when sufficient data is available.’ ”

Remy frowned momentarily. “Why, Tessa,” he murmured lightly. “How li’l faith you have in dis cajun. Why am I not surprised?” He smiled grimly. “But dis ‘unverified’ piece of information explains a lot. Such as why Mystique felt it necessary to zap my powers. Hm.”

Since there was no further information, he was about to log out when something more suddenly caught his eye. He scrolled downward, eyes hawk-like on the screen, his expression suddenly grave. What he now read faintly troubled him.

‘After analysis of Book One, pages 21-25, have come to conclusion that the identity of the Retributor is Rogue, name unknown. Calculation was made with regards to subject’s intimate relationship to Irene Adler, codenamed Destiny, Savant’s leader, Diary ID: Architect. Diary links between Retributor and Architect, although tenuous, seem to point to aforementioned conclusion. Cross reference Rogue’s precog powers. Further analysis pending.’

Remy read it all over several times, brow furrowed, before logging out and turning off the computer quietly. So, Sage was thinking that Rogue was involved in this whole crazy affair too? He should have known. Should have known since Mystique had targeted Rogue too. Not to mention Jean – which probably also meant that Jean herself was also implicated.

Remy silently left the room, his expression thoughtfully, once more shrouded in darkness. It was hardly Rogue’s involvement that troubled him, although that alone was cause enough to worry. What bothered him was the blunt reference to Rogue’s apparent pre-cognitive powers. As far as Remy knew, Rogue had never possessed such powers.

But if she did, then he was going to have to find out just how and why.

*

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