THE NUBIAN KING

Part I

By Brent Lambert

Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

Today was like any other day for Afework Lulu. He was hard at work doing what his parents loved to see him doing most. He was playing with the other children of his neighborhood. Afework had always been a sickly child and never was allowed outside much in his early years of life. There were far too many children who died in his country from the simplest of diseases. Against the odds, Afework survived and became one of the most loved and vibrant children of his little section of the city.

“Afework! Pass the ball!” a little girl by the name of Alem said. She was a few years younger than Afework, but was more his protector than anyone else. Whenever they were playing a game of soccer in the streets she always made sure that he was on her team.

His kick needed a little work, but Afework was able to get the ball to Alem. He didn’t play with the aggressiveness expected from a hormonal twelve year old, but Alem was able to pick up his slack. She rushed past her defenders with unbridled enthusiasm and scored a goal.

“Go Alem!” Afework yelled as he jumped up and down. He was excited for his friend. She normally didn’t get to score goals because of her height. Everyone else in the neighborhood just seemed to be a lot taller.

It was then that the pain struck. Afework crumbled to the ground. His whole body was on fire and his stomach was crunching in on itself. The kids surrounding the sickly boy backed away from him, but Alem ran right to him crying out, “Afe! Afe are you alright?”

She ran to the skinny boy’s side and watched as he wreathed on the ground. He had begun to sweat far more than normal and Alem was afraid because his sweat had a green tint to it. She was about to go and get his mother when in delirious pain Afework reached out and grabbed Alem’s arm.

The tiny girl screamed as Afework’s newly acidic sweat burnt through Alem’s arm like butter and the young girl fell back to the ground in agony as she stared at her removed limb. With his pains now gone, Afework stood up to his feet in horror. He looked down at his hands in fear and up at the crowd of children looking at him in terror.

“He’s a mutant!”

“A stinkin’ mutant!”

As the children threw out their insults, parents came out of their houses and saw what had become of Alem. The green sweat was still evident on Afework’s body, but he was too horrified to even notice. One parent did and in anger lifted up a rock and threw it at the boy. The stone struck Afework in the head and sent him stumbling backwards.

The parent cried out, “Monster! Monster!”

One by one the children and other parents began to pick up stones and throw them at a bewildered Afework. He was unable to run as he was completely surrounded. At first the stones merely stung, but then they began to make cuts and bleed. It was long before an rock struck him hard enough to knock him unconscious. Probably one of life’s small favors as the rocks did not stop until Afework was completely unrecognizable.

It had only been two days since the mutant boy’s brutal death and already the fervor was to a boiling point. Mutants from all across Africa had gathered to hear the passionate speech of a man simply known as The Nubian. Rumors about this man and his group, The Future Path, had been circulating around the continent since Noh-Varr’s attempted invasion of Earth. This was going to be one of the mutant’s rare public appearances. The crowd gathered outside the abandoned hostel eagerly waiting for the grand entrance to be made. Some hoped it would be soon because it was only a matter of time before the government sent troops.

Finally, a man of Egyptian color and long silky black hair entered. His facial features were fine and held a countenance of elegance, but his eyes were locked and infused with determination. The carefully woven wheat colored cloak that hung across hid tall frame gave him the appearance of an ancient king. A lengthy black sword to match his height clung to his back. That weapon was the least of The Nubian’s powers.

Upon the sight of him, the crowd began to cheer, but he appeared unmoved by the praise heaped upon him. Waiting for the noise to die, The Nubian said, “Welcome and greetings from The Future Path. We are gathered here today in the remembrance of an innocent slaughtered by the brutal flatscans. How many of you knew this young boy?”

Four timid hands were raised out of the crowd of hundreds. The Nubian lifted his hands towards them and said, “These people need our protection and our resolve. How long until they become victims of the slaughter? We must unite! We are the future! It is time we take it!”

The proclamation sent an uproar through the crowd and it was all the reassurance that The Nubian needed. Anger was emanating from the crowd in waves, but it was a focused anger. One that The Nubian intended to harness and re-direct for the purpose of mutant freedom. It was a necessary measure to ensure the inevitable rise of mutants as the dominant force of this planet.

“Together we can and should rule! Humanity has failed again and again, but their time is over. The Future Path has recognized this and intends to begin mutantkind’s destiny. Will you join us?” The Nubian asked to uproarious cheers and applause. He believed he had his answer.

Turning away from the crowd, The Nubian stepped back into the shanty hostel and let out a sigh of relief. Giving speeches was not where he felt the most comfortable. His expertise was in combat, but to get to that point he had to rile the people up. As skilled as he was, he couldn’t fight a way by himself. Besides, that defeated the point of The Future Path. They were supposed to unite mutants against humanity’s oppression. Fighting a solo revolution wasn’t the point. Luckily, The Nubian had managed to incite the crowd into action.

Seated in the center of the hostel’s main hall was The Nubian’s web. His web was composed of three men and two women. They were sitting around a white foldout table eagerly awaiting their leader’s return. It was in their company that The Nubian felt the most comfortable. He had no doubt that they whole-heartedly believed in the values of The Future Path. Their loyalty was unwavering and that was a rare commodity in a human dominated world.

One member of his web was working through a pack of cigarettes. She looked to be in her thirties and she was from north India. Her name was Pandhi and her mutant ability allowed her to convert nicotine into a hypnotic fluid, which emitted from her razor sharp nails. Next to her was the second woman of the group who hailed from one of the poorest parts of South Africa. She was an elitist in every sense of the word. The hate she had for those in the upper class was unbound.

Her mutant ability allowed her to create fear in anyone she touched. It gave her a sense of superiority unmatched in The Nubian’s web. So it only made sense for her to make the first remark.

“You think they’re buying it?”

The Nubian found the question rather rude, but gave it affirmation. “Of course they are. Have more faith Newali.”

Another member of The Nubian’s web was a pudgy Italian named Parissimo. His mutant ability allowed him to split into a thousand spiders of any species. It was not the most powerful ability in the web, but The Nubian trusted it to be one that might save his life one day. It was Parissimo who responded to The Nubian’s call for faith.

“Sir, it is hard to have faith when we know these people will scatter as soon as the government makes a move on us.”

The Nubian smiled. “That’s why we stir them to anger. Anger will keep them in the fight. It is a powerful emotion and one I think Lawrence will be able to play upon.”

Lawrence was another member of the web. He was from the streets of Harlem and had the ability to amplify emotions. A woman angry over spilled coffee could be turned into a homicidal maniac mowing Starbucks employees down with but a whim from Lawrence. The Nubian depended upon him to stir the masses.

The last of The Nubian’s web was a man who appeared to be in his late fifties. He had been the first mutant that The Nubian recruited into his web. They had met while Ozzy had been living in Toronto. At the time the middle-aged man had still lacked precise control over his mutant ability to manipulate oxygen. The Nubian assisted him tremendously in that endeavor and made the Canadian into a true threat.

Ozzy wouldn’t say it, but he felt the same as Parissimo. Upsetting the Ethiopian government could only lead to trouble. He had always felt like The Future Path worked best from behind the shadows, but in present months it had begun making a very public approach in Africa and Asia. It was only a matter of time before people began to notice.

(( “This is Christian Missoura at the scene of a rally here in Ethiopia conducted by the country’s newest superhuman menace, The Nubian. After the brutal beating of a mutant boy only three days ago tensions have reached a peak. In only a matter of hours the Ethiopian government is expected to declare all mutants as enemies of the state.” ))

Psylocke pressed the button to turn the TV off and flopped back onto the nearest couch. She was exhausted at the idea of what lied ahead. Looking over to Cable, she said, “This is not what we need right now.”

Across from her, Cable nodded in solemn agreement. “Havok’s team blowing shit up however they please on top of everything else isn’t exactly helping the public’s image of mutants. We take one step forward and five back.”

Leaning against the TV was Rictor with his arms folded across his chest. Not making his cynicism Julio said, “Regular humans minorities have been struggling for acceptance for all of human history. I doubt we’ll do much better.”

Walking into the room, Bishop said, “That doesn’t stop us from trying. I come from a world where we failed. I’ll be damned if I let it happen again.”

“Hey I’m still here aren’t I?” Rictor said as he stepped away from the big screen and walked out of the room. Bishop gave him a suspicious stare as he passed by.

“We have to stop this,” Psylocke exclaimed. “If only it was easy enough to use my telepathy to make everyone think straight.”

“Then we’d only be confirming everything they fear,” Cable said, but knowing he felt what Betsy felt many times over. If he hadn’t become so associated with the X, he would have long ago given into his temptation.

Yet, there was something else that held Dayspring back. He hailed from an alternate 40th century and had seen what the abuse of power wrought. Every time he felt the urge to go a god the image of Apocalypse burned into his mind. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever want to resemble that monster. So no, telepathic persuasion wasn’t an option.

“We need to find out more about The Nubian and what his game plan is before we make a definite move,” Bishop said with the hopes he would lead an investigation squad. Being held back against Mother Matrix and The Marauders had mildly upset him, especially when four X-Corps came back injured. His being in the action could have prevented that entirely. He could have put a bullet through Vulcan’s head or taken one for Northstar.

Psylocke secretly loathed the idea of another mission so soon. Four teammates had been injured and she had only herself to blame for it. She should have told Wisdom the folly she saw in his attack plan, but she thought he wouldn’t listen. He always took her operational criticisms as some indictment of their past relationship. That time she should have made her objection known regardless of any perceived misconceptions. Maybe he wouldn’t be in his present condition if she had just done that. She wasn’t going to allow anything like that to happen again.

“I want to wait and see on this. The Nubian might actually be a legitimate figure. I wouldn’t wan tot antagonize a potentially ally and it’s not like we can trust the Ethiopian media to be objective,” Psylocke said.

“Can we trust any media to be that?” Bishop responded.

Betsy gave a dismissive shrug and said, “Either way I don’t think we need to make ourselves another enemy for no reason. We should be careful.”

“Let me and Bishop check into it. We’d be delicate,” Cable said with a smirk that worried Psylocke.

She knew both men’s reputations enough to know that the last thing they ever were was delicate. They’d come from futures as horrible as any genocidal war of the 20th century. Lessons learned in such an environment were neither delicate nor easy. Betsy felt that their imposing physical presence would be enough to antagonize The Nubian, but they were the most experienced X-Corps she had.

“You two go, but—don’t send this to shit,” Psylocke ordered.

Stupid piece of shit! Skin yelled in his thoughts as he punched at the black punching bag again and again. It helped him keep in shape and his emotions in check. Ever since Leyu had left him the days varied. Sometimes he was mad beyond belief and other days he barely knew what to do to keep from crying. He had loved her and today was one of those days he wished he hadn’t.

“You must plan on paying for that luv?” Psylocke asked as she walked into the gym full of weight machines and equipment for strength training.

Skin stopped his exercise and wiped his forehead with a towel. “Sorry. Just working off some steam.”

“She’s fine Angelo. I wouldn’t let her walk into something she couldn’t handle,” Psylocke said knowing exactly what was bothering her teammate.

Angelo sighed and replied, “I trust her ability to take care of herself. That’s not what’s bothering me. When I was still normal looking no girl ever got to me the way Leyu has. I can’t stop thinking about her and I feel like she doesn’t once think about me.”

Betsy smiled. “You’d be wrong.”

Skin’s expression perked up. “How would you—hey! Have you been—”

“Another story for another day. There’s a little problem I need to brief you on.”

Psylocke’s brief had been just that. Brief. Gloria Mueller was scheduled to be in Sri Lanka for a week and she wanted him to take her out. Fantomex had no problems with that. He had spotted her in three locations over the course of the last few hours and had had ten opportunities to ice her, but he hadn’t. Something was holding him back.

He knew Betsy to be a smart woman. She knew his personal connections to Mueller and she wouldn’t have sent him on this mission without taking those into account. So that meant one thing. Psylocke wanted him to take his feelings into account and that was why he hadn’t murdered Mueller.

In her own way, Psylocke was telling Fantomex to get what he needed from Mueller and that was the location of his son.

NEXT ISSUE: Bishop and Cable meet The Nubian. Fantomex continues to stalk Gloria Mueller and just what is going on with Omega?