Honour To The Living And The Dead

by Dyce

It's Easter Saturday night. A time of renewal. Life from death, hope from despair, a new day dawning from the night death of the old. And I'm working the evening shift instead of being at home with my kids, putting carrot-sticks out for the Easter bunny.

Jayme and Rylee were good about it. They know Daddy's gotta work. Gotta make money to buy them carrot-sticks, right? Karla knows too. She'll tuck 'em in while I sit in the control-booth and sift the evening news. Line up the prerecorded interviews, watch the camera-angles... wanted to be a movie-editor once, but I guess that's just a pipe-dream. This job's okay. Miz Manoli's a nice lady, easy to work with. As long as you do your job, she doesn't bug you none.

She's there now, smiling and readin' out the headlines, while I get ready to switch to our first story. "More unrest than ever today, as protestors riot outside the new Beaureau of Mutant Registration," she says with her bad-news face on, and that's my cue. I play the tape, and I see Miz Manoli droop as she watches people beatin' each other up with their placards. Half o' them yellin' about how registration shouldn't be optional, that the muties are too dangerous and should all be locked up. Other half o' them screamin' about how Mutant Registration -optional or not - is the next thing to a police state.

Maybe they're right.

Sure, some of them big fights get pretty dangerous. An' there was Onslaught a while ago, too, and that still scares folks. But me, I'm older, I guess. Karla and I got our suspicions about Rylee, the way she always seems to be hearing something nobody else can. When she was little, she used to say that the trees sang to her. It scares me that someone could hurt a little girl like that just 'cause trees sing to her. I remember some of the things that've happened to people 'cause they're different. I still remember my grandfather telling me about the concentration camps right here in America, how he got locked up just for bein' part Japanese. I still remember hearin' about all that awful stuff that happened in Genosha, right here at this station.

An' on the flip side, I still remember Dallas.

Me'n Miz Manoli, we remember Dallas.

She looks so sad now, watchin' those folks fighting. A man from the crowd is talkin' now, saying how all muties should be put in camps, that they're dangerous monsters, that decent folk like him are afraid. He points at mutants like that X-Man, Wolverine, and says how they're animals, killers, that they should be put down.

Suddenly I'm mad. He didn't oughta say things like that about Wolverine. That man's a hero, a real hero, and before I know what I'm doing I've grabbed the special tape, the one from Dallas, and I'm shoving it into a player and switching the feed over.

"It's just not right, these people," the man says, all smooth and folksy. "The fear they cause, the suffering, it's just wrong. They should be contained, for everybody's good. I think-" He's cut off.

Wolverine is talking. This is my favourite part of Mr Neal's tape, and I left it set here on purpose last time I watched it. "-this is a trap, no sense in all of us being caught. Moreover, somebody's gotta stay behind to protect the civilians. You're Feds, Mystique... that gives you a credibility my outfit can't match."

My supervisor's yelling at me. I lean over to lock the door, then I look out my window. Miz Manoli's starting at me. I can tell she recognizes the tape. She was doin' my job, the first time this went to air.

"The X-Men, we're outlaws. Expendable. Nobody'll care if we toss our lives away. Moren' a few'll probably breathe a sigh of relief. And some'll cheer." He's got a deep, gravelly voice, an' he talks kinda like me. Sounds like a soldier, the way he talks about them dying.

"Wolverine, Destiny sees nothing but *death* for you...!" Mystique. Tall, beautiful, with blue skin and crimson hair. She went bad a long time ago.

"Yup," Wolverine agrees. "Ours alone... or ours an' the world's. If we gotta go either way... might as well make it mean something."

My supervisor's banging on the door and screamin' his ass off. Miz Manoli's got a tear running down her face, and I can see her tellin' the crew to leave me alone. I sit back, and let the tape keep rolling. We watch as the X-Men fight monsters and demons and soldiers, all at once. We watch Mr Neal Conan insist on taping, even when he gets told to go home, so the world will see what the X-Men really stand for.

We see the pretty red-haired lady talkin' about her husband an' baby, and I get a lump in my throat.

Then the final battle, and they're losin'... we see the shaman, Forge, kiss his lady goodbye, see Wolverine try to send the redhead away, see her say goodbye to her baby and then join the others. Forge starts to chant, and he casts the spell that'll send her and the others into death. We hear Mr Neal talking.

"I'm crying, Manoli... so is he... as his voice grows impossibly louder than the Adversary's laughter -mocking, triumphant, what's so funny, it's almost as though *he's* about to win - until finally, with a fierce war cry, the star is thrown!" Beautiful light leaves the shaman's hand, burning into the dark creature he calls the Adversary. There's a blinding flash. "And just like that..." Suddenly all there is on the screen is a glowing bit of stone. "It's over."

Miz Manoli's crying as the shaman says his last words. "The scales are balanced," he says, his voice thick and heavy with grief. "The ghosts are gone, the spirits of my friends finally free to rest in peoce. But I tell you, Roma... the price now, as then..." his voice catches as he turns away, "...isn't worth the victory."

The whole news-hour is almost gone. I stop the tape, my hands shaking. I'm gonna lose my job, I know it. All because I couldn't sit still while some jerk expressed his opinion. All I hadda do was sit still. But I couldn't, I just couldn't. Not tonight, of all nights. Not on Easter. This's supposed to be about hope and life, not about hating people who die for you.

The cameras in the studio come to life, and Miz Manoli gives me a quick thumbs up behind the desk as she turns to face the lens. "I hope you're still with us," she says soberly, not trying to hide the traces of tears on her face. "Although I can't explain how that tape got started-" Bless you, Miz Manoli! "-I can only hope that its message has been heard. Today is Easter Saturday, viewers, and tomorrow, on Sunday, Christians all over the world will celebrate the rising again of a man who sacrificed himself for the sake of all the world."

She leans forward, her voice soft and sincere. "It's easy to place blame, in times like these, and it's easy to be afraid. But please believe, whether you are Christian or not, that tomorrow is a day not only for chocolates and bunnies, but also a day for honouring the fallen. Honouring Jesus Christ, who is believed to have risen from death on this day..." Her voice catches, and she doesn't try to hide that either. "... and all the others, Jew and Christian, Buddhist or Hindu, black or white, young or old, human or mutant, hero or ordinary person, who have given of their lives to protect us all. Some have risen again. Many have not. All are worthy of our praise, and deserving of our gratitude." She wipes her eyes, and smiles at the camera. "For myself, speaking as one who was in Dallas that day, I want to thank the X-Men, old and new alike, for being willing to make that sacrifice. And God himself too, if He's listening, for His wisdom in sending them to us. Thank you everyone, and goodnight."

The phones are all ringin' off the wall, and maybe she and I're both gonna be lookin' for work tomorrow, but when she comes into my little control-room I give her a big hug, and she hugs me right back. We did good, we know we did, and that means something. I think maybe the Good Lord himself would be proud of what we did today.

I set up the credits before I get up to leave, and instead of the theme music I set it to play my favourite song, by Tracy Chapman. Just a little bit.

"Oh, my momma told me...
'Cause she said she learned the hard way...
If you wanna spare the children,
Don't ever give or sell your soul away.

'Cause all that you have, is your soul.

Don't be tempted by the shiny apple,
Don't you eat of the bitter fruit,
Hunger only for a taste of justice,
Hunger only for a world of truth.

'Cause all that you have, is your soul."

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