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The cliche of the setting was never lost on Ashford. A round room, dimly lit with a lesser circular table in the center that glowed a subtle white on its surface. The cigarettes however, were exquisite. He and a few others smoked as another presentation was given and the fine aroma permeated the large space. Sometimes the center of the table was used as a holographic display, but the presenter used a wide, stone-cut, wall map and a very traditional wooden stick to point to his various subjects which glowed or emanated in points of light as he dictated. The room was quiet as the smoke rose in slow whisps. Ashford tapped his ashes away and glanced around briefly to study some of the others’ reactions. Like himself, some wore more casual business attire, some were in full suits while others wore military uniforms representing various countries. All in attendance were men and all carried a varying degree of studied stoicism. The presenter wore a similar military uniform, however unlike the others, he wore a red arm band with a familiar icon, though rotated vertically to form a cross rather than an “X”. The symmetrical overhead fixture carried a likewise pressed in motif that also glowed overhead.
The presentation had only briefly continued when a voice sounded over the presenter. “Dr. Malcolm, you are skeptical?” The accent was sharply eastern european and familiar to Ashford. He turned his glance across the table to an older man in a green uniform. Various campaign badges adorned his chest along with an ornamental rope and a shined medal at his collar covered his crisp ensemble. He looked down his round-framed glasses from the dark recess of his sunken eyes.
Ashford enjoyed one last pull from his cigarette as he politely shrugged what he knew was more an accusation than a question. “Yes, I disagree.” He placed the butt in an ashtray before him. “Registering them will be one thing, controlling them thereafter will be another.”
“An ironic statement coming from one with experience and abilities such as yourself, Dr. Malcolm.” The man replied.
“We have greater than three-quarters registered willingly on the continent, doctor.” The presenter interjected. He had an equally distinctive German accent and held his wooden stick horizontally in patient waiting. His meticulously planned exhibition had been halted and he was irritated with the interruption. “Our methods have never failed to achieve success, for generations.” He said darkly looking at Ashford. “As you know.”
“Yes,” Ashford conceded with a tone of satirical affirmation.
“The question is not whether or not our cause will be unified, but who will stand at the precipice of destiny with us?” The older man said. “Do you think you deserve it, doctor?” There was some unsettlement in the room as the man’s tone became much less veiled. “North America is lawless. Mutants are killing in the streets and you have a dead staff member and our own liaison in Los Angeles to prove it!”
“Is it that he can’t control it... or that he won’t?” The presenter added with a dark smile.
Ashford gave a huff of amusement and couldn’t hide a small smirk. “Just what are you insinuating?”
“He wants to know where your loyalties are, doctor. I am curious myself.” The man across the table answered.
Ashford cut the older man an unimpressed glance back. “Who provided the fuel for your trip, General? Who provided the aircraft?” He tilted his head slightly as he spoke as if studying something of amusement. “Who paid the crew? Or furnished the chair you’re sitting in?”
“Monetary contribution does not prohibit you from the reproach of this council, doctor. That is the purpose of our assembly.” The man replied more sternly and sat up in his chair. “We are all well aware of your fortunes, but the facts remain that your work in North America has scantly produced a tangible result in decades and lags far behind our progress in Europe.” The last comment produced a flurry of commotion in the room.
“Progress is a point of view, General. I have only seen opportunity and success.”
“Perhaps it would be best to ensure that your goals are still in line with the rest of this council?” The speaker interjected again. He was pacing back to his original position and preparing to continue his presentation. He had been saving his point for a later discussion, but the atmosphere in the room gave him a sense that there would be no better time. “You will need a replacement for Adam Pierce and we will need a substitute for Alexander Stagnum. This is a fitting, ‘opportunity’ to consolidate our efforts, is it not?”
“We do not need any further staff at the Institute-”
“Send Armstrong,” The General interrupted with some smugness in his voice, looking towards a younger man standing in the dim backlighting of the room. “Armstrong will go back with you to Los Angeles.”
-----
An Air Force C-17 was taking off on the ice runway just as their helicopter landed. The cold was biting and Ashford wore a heavy thermal jacket as he stepped off the helicopter along with his appointed liaison. He shielded his face as the wind from the rotors kicked up ice and snow. The sound from large transport’s engines howled overhead and off into the bright blue distance. For a moment he watched the exhaust trail from the engines as it pulled away, but a slender shadow cast over him from behind, stark against the white ground before him.
“I’m genuinely looking forward to our work, Dr. Malcolm,” The man said. He grinned broadly as Ashford looked back. His tall figure looked comically disproportioned under his heavy jacket and he wore no head covering of any kind causing his short, straight hair whip around wildly in the helicopter’s turbulence as it flew away.
“It’s Dr. Ashford when we get back to Los Angeles.” He said with a sigh and patted his jacket briefly. Underneath the heavy insulation, there was still one last cigarette in the breast pocket and he checked his watch before he dug inside. A few moments passed as they stood in cold silence and Ashford enjoyed the last few drags before a quieter, sleeker sound approached in the distance with its bright nose-gear light acutely visible on descent. The much smaller craft daintily glided in and set down on the long runway and began carefully taxiing to the small boarding area. Ashford flicked the butt into a snowdrift and picked up his small bag. “C’mon, we can talk on the ride back.”
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