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stop him from saying or doing anything rash.
    "Our pilot, Billy, is probably still on board," Trish said, by way of explanation. "If you detest murder as much as you claim, you won't kill him as part of a simple exercise."
    Magneto nodded, turned his right hand in the air, and the helicopter flipped on its side in the air. After a moment, the door popped open and Billy slid his legs out, then quickly dropped, cursing, to the park below.
    "Holy—," Kevin hissed angrily.
    Then they watched in astonishment as the helicopter seemed to implode, crushed into a ball of screeching metal like an empty beer can in a huge invisible hand. A ways away from where Billy had leapt out, the helicopter thudded to the ground.
    Speechless, Trish turned to Magneto, who stood imperiously awaiting her reply. Without consulting Kevin again, she gave the only answer she could think of.
    "We'll stay."
    "Excellent," Magneto said, smiling again. "Now go and see that your friend is unharmed, and if he wishes to remain with you. Then return here and we will all move on. There is much to be done before daybreak."
    With an enormous relief that they were to be allowed out of Magneto's presence, even for a few minutes, Trish turned to follow Kevin back into the park, searching for Billy.

    "Just a moment," Magneto said, and her stomach lurched. "The camera."
    Kevin handed it over, as silent as Magneto's two Acolytes, who had quietly observed the proceedings without comment. They were well trained, or very frightened of their leader.
    Magneto passed a hand over the film cartridge, then returned it to Kevin .:
    "You might want to rewind and start again," he said. "The tape is now blank."
    "What?" Kevin asked, obviously pissed off.
    "You said we could record anything we wished," Trish reminded him.
    Magneto's face remained impassive.
    " Almost anything."
    • • •
    During her years as a member of the X-Men, Ororo Munroe had established a reputation for extraordinary calm during battle. That was part of the reason that Charles Xavier had made her co-leader of the team. Ororo, also called Storm, had learned patience as a child thief on the streets of Cairo, Egypt. Now, though, her patience was wearing very thin.
    And clearly, she wasn't the only one.
    "What is all this waiting?" Bishop snapped, pacing across the room with military stride, as he'd been doing for nearly twenty minutes. "What does Professor Xavier expect to gain from speaking with the government? It is their hatred of us that caused this crisis to begin with!"
    "Bishop," Storm said, "we're all on edge here, but let's not forget that those Sentinels would still be sitting in a silo in Colorado if Magneto hadn't hijacked them."

    Bishop turned to her angrily, about to issue some sharp retort she was sure, but then his features softened and he shook his head. Storm knew that look. It said that she didn't understand, that none of them would ever understand. And she knew, as well, that it was true.
    "You're right, of course," Bishop said. "But for how long, Ororo? For how long?"
    The room was quiet for a moment. At the window, Wolverine stood looking out at the night. He didn't tap his fingers, or his feet. He didn't hum. He didn't pace. Wolverine was a hunter, and though he lacked patience, and might voice his annoyance, he would never physically give himself away.
    Bobby Drake was his opposite. He still sat at the table where they had met with Professor Xavier, but he was rapid-fire-drumming the Lone Ranger theme on the table with the fingers of both hands. From time to time, he would sigh, or mutter to himself. Storm couldn't help but smile as she watched him in her peripheral vision. For Bobby, this behavior was amazingly restrained.
    Hank McCoy, was another story entirely.
    "No matter what the government concludes, we cannot linger here," Hank said hurriedly as he bounded from his chair to stand beside Storm. ''The longer we tarry, the more mutants enter Manhattan, the stronger the opposition