It was going to take quite a duration to rebuild Phoenix. For it to be reborn, and quite possibly for it to become a bastion of peace in the West, because all the Mutations had left now, presumably, and the populace would rest a little easier.
There had been no shortage of violence and unrest, and many would mourn those murdered by Oviedo, while fearing that another Oviedo would come to terrorize them. Many other criminals of both Regular and Mutant caliber were at large, still dangerous.
As a devout Catholic, Solomon had taken an intense interest in Mutations. What made them the way they were? What did they represent? He found it difficult to accept the official word of the Chuch on the subject, because there were virtually no dispatches on it. Mutations were a problem of the West. The Pope only knew of a few of them, such as The Worm, and these he had deemed “irrevocably attached to the designs of the Devil.”
Solomon knew The Worm by reputation. His sources of intel were plentiful and, when collated, oft indisputable. Thus, if he encountered The Worm he would either flee or attack, whichever option presented itself more practically at the chosen juncture.
In the meantime, however, there were other Mutations who were not agents of diabolical forces, such that it could be determined, and this phenomenon he intended to examine with the due diligence of a man who was well aware of his duty before God. Solomon was gifted with an extraordinary intellect, and he intended to utilize it.
He thus commenced his autopsy of Oviedo. Oviedo was both a Mutation and a “desperado”, and therefore no one concerned themselves with what became of his corpse. A few denizens of Phoenix showed an interest in urinating on his remains, but when Solomon expressed that he wished to cut the man open and perhaps into little pieces, they were soundly enthused, if a bit disturbed, by the proposition. People were curious about Solomon and his interest in the deceased. By the same token, none of them wanted the answers to their questions.
“I like it. Let the man in black slice him up,” one of them had said.
The town respected Solomon, possibly because they feared him. He spent most of his time alone among the dead, but when he was seen, he carried with him a grim aura which made most people decide that it was best not to disturb him. And yet, the town’s clergy knew him very well. They could often be found consulting with him on matters of faith, of which Solomon’s expertise was second to none. Yet, when asked about him, they would shake their heads and say things like “I don’t know about him...”
So commenced the autopsy, amid the sound of rebuilding outside. Solomon’s concentration was unshakeable.
Oviedo’s mutation manifested itself in the flexibility of his bones. The way he moved reminded those who survived his assaults of India rubber. He also had the strangest crazy look on his face, even in death, and a wild mane of red hair which defied any attempt to comb it.
It seemed that the wisest place to start would be the skeletal structure, and so Solomon opened him up completely, from stem to stern. What he discovered was less than remarkable, at first. The structure of Oviedo’s skeleton was much the same as any other human’s, save for a flexibility which Solomon had never seen before. The joints were each equipped with sockets resembling half-spheres, allowing for three hundred and sixty degree rotation. It was no kind of invasive surgery which had done this; any surgery capable of this would in any case have been far more advanced than anything that was currently possible. The bones might have become this way only as Oviedo matured, though the possibility was infinitesimal. Not to mention, what kind of pressures in his life would cause him to develop this way?
Solomon followed every notable (and some less notable) scientific journals that he knew of. He received every dispatch from the Royal Society of London, every copy of the Old Farmer’s Almanac, and he even had a foothold in a couple secret societies. He knew through the Freemasons that there were stirrings within the Pinkertons with regard to Mutations and the study thereof, but thus far it had produced no result. Solomon was aware of biological studies which demonstrated the effects of chemicals, gases and even sunlight upon the bodies of humans and animals alike. None of it approached an explanation for what lay before him on the table. He had pulled back the cover of the book, only to find that he could not read its contents.
Solomon knew that he might be dealing with something beyond the realm of conventional science. He had met luminaries of different fields in his lifetime, and developed a correspondence with such notables as Wilhelm Rontgen, Alfred Russel Wallace and Marie Laveau. Though the three had little reason to be familiar with one another and, indeed, Rontgen had no respect whatsoever for Laveau’s area of expertise, nonetheless Solomon would continue to communicate with them all. Likewise, he communicated with Jules Verne, who often brought fanciful but practical imaginings to the table. Verne was learned in Latin and in law, which Solomon found useful, but he also displayed vast knowledge of biology, and an eagerness to learn which made him happy to exchange letters with a mortician. Solomon had little use for fictional literature (or, indeed, Laveau’s Voodoo rituals), but every person on his list brought wisdom to the table.
Solomon wanted to know—were there electromagnetic forces at work here? Could magic or curses produce this result? What precedent was there in the animal kingdom for such wild variations of form within a single species?
Finally, he consulted his library. Within the tomes upon his shelf sat the recorded wisdom of generations, from Dante’s Inferno and Paradise Lost to such works as The Arabian Nights, and from there to the writings of John Dee, Plato, and even a variety of holy books. These implied the existence of such Earthly races as D’jinn and Nephilim, and such supernatural beings as Angels. One theory suggested that the Nephilim were the products of copulation between Angels and human beings. The Nephilim were a race of giants evocative of the Jotunheim from Norse mythology, while Norse myths recorded the existence of Niflheim, not a realm of giants, but a realm resembling an icy Hell.
Several possibilities presented themselves. The first was that, with ancient texts from around the world testifying to the existence of a race of giants, it was conceivable that the precedent existed for vast variations in the form of the human species. Another was that the ancient gods represented Fallen Angels and Angels in good standing alike, or perhaps simply Fallen Angels, as those were the only ones likely to allow themselves to be worshipped as gods. Those Fallen Angels would have copulated with humans to produce demigods, and perhaps even animals to produce such beasts as minotaurs and centaurs (although those could have represented a third generation produced between demigod and animal).
Solomon was ultimately more lost than found amid the seemingly endless connections between facts and philosophies, and ultimately decided that he would list his theories in letters to each of his colleagues, whom he hoped would take a more concentrated tack and explain theories of their own.
It was then that he thought he should perhaps examine Oviedo’s blood. He subjected it to every test he knew of, discovering nothing of any real value. It was human blood, through and through.
It stood to reason that Mutations were humans with simple biological differences. How this explained an ability to manifest fire out of thin air, levitate objects or render oneself intangible remained a mystery, although Solomon was confident that these things could be affected through biological means yet to be determined.
With this as the only tentative conclusion he could offer, he then determined that it was in the interest of altruism to befriend the Mutation population, perhaps to offer them a safe haven and the benefit of his wisdom during their time of struggle. He had performed the same service for Blacks during slavery and the Civil War, although he was forced to admit that he was far better equipped now, with more resources and knowledge, than he was during those trying times. If it was God’s will that he assist the Mutations in their time of strife, he would dedicate himself toward that end.
He knew of one Mutation who had remained behind when his people fled Phoenix, a man with a subtle enough mutation that no one without Solomon’s own deductive skills would ever know.
“Mister Mayor, I have a request to make of you.”
“Solomon! Come on in, sit d--” the Mayor’s face fell. “Who died?” He knew Solomon wasn’t one to make social calls.
“No one has died, and you have nothing to fear by my visit. I require something from you regarding a secret you keep. A secret I do not threaten to reveal, whether you agree to assist me or not.”
“Forgive me, friend, if that comes across just a little like a threat anyway.”
“I assure you, you have nothing to fear. I have decided I must cast in my lot with the Mutations, not against them.” His face never lost its dour expression. His voice never changed tone from its low-octave drone. Solomon gave every sign of a man who was telling the truth. The Mayor paled.
“What are you saying, Solomon? W-what’s this got to do with me?”
“You know, and so do I, but this is as far as it must go. All I require is that you put me in contact with the party which departed Phoenix, and we shall discuss it no further.”
The Mayor was sweating bullets. “You swear to God, Sol?”
“I give my oath before the Lord. As long as you take no action against me, I will not expose your mutation.”
“It’s a done deal. I’ll have a message for you in a fortnight. Now please leave my office.” He tried to gather what composure he could as he waited impatiently for Solomon to leave.
Solomon departed with a relieved posture, still tall, stern and imposing. Once he was alone, the Mayor scratched his right armpit, where those damnable red feathers were growing back again.
There had been no shortage of violence and unrest, and many would mourn those murdered by Oviedo, while fearing that another Oviedo would come to terrorize them. Many other criminals of both Regular and Mutant caliber were at large, still dangerous.
As a devout Catholic, Solomon had taken an intense interest in Mutations. What made them the way they were? What did they represent? He found it difficult to accept the official word of the Chuch on the subject, because there were virtually no dispatches on it. Mutations were a problem of the West. The Pope only knew of a few of them, such as The Worm, and these he had deemed “irrevocably attached to the designs of the Devil.”
Solomon knew The Worm by reputation. His sources of intel were plentiful and, when collated, oft indisputable. Thus, if he encountered The Worm he would either flee or attack, whichever option presented itself more practically at the chosen juncture.
In the meantime, however, there were other Mutations who were not agents of diabolical forces, such that it could be determined, and this phenomenon he intended to examine with the due diligence of a man who was well aware of his duty before God. Solomon was gifted with an extraordinary intellect, and he intended to utilize it.
He thus commenced his autopsy of Oviedo. Oviedo was both a Mutation and a “desperado”, and therefore no one concerned themselves with what became of his corpse. A few denizens of Phoenix showed an interest in urinating on his remains, but when Solomon expressed that he wished to cut the man open and perhaps into little pieces, they were soundly enthused, if a bit disturbed, by the proposition. People were curious about Solomon and his interest in the deceased. By the same token, none of them wanted the answers to their questions.
“I like it. Let the man in black slice him up,” one of them had said.
The town respected Solomon, possibly because they feared him. He spent most of his time alone among the dead, but when he was seen, he carried with him a grim aura which made most people decide that it was best not to disturb him. And yet, the town’s clergy knew him very well. They could often be found consulting with him on matters of faith, of which Solomon’s expertise was second to none. Yet, when asked about him, they would shake their heads and say things like “I don’t know about him...”
So commenced the autopsy, amid the sound of rebuilding outside. Solomon’s concentration was unshakeable.
Oviedo’s mutation manifested itself in the flexibility of his bones. The way he moved reminded those who survived his assaults of India rubber. He also had the strangest crazy look on his face, even in death, and a wild mane of red hair which defied any attempt to comb it.
It seemed that the wisest place to start would be the skeletal structure, and so Solomon opened him up completely, from stem to stern. What he discovered was less than remarkable, at first. The structure of Oviedo’s skeleton was much the same as any other human’s, save for a flexibility which Solomon had never seen before. The joints were each equipped with sockets resembling half-spheres, allowing for three hundred and sixty degree rotation. It was no kind of invasive surgery which had done this; any surgery capable of this would in any case have been far more advanced than anything that was currently possible. The bones might have become this way only as Oviedo matured, though the possibility was infinitesimal. Not to mention, what kind of pressures in his life would cause him to develop this way?
Solomon followed every notable (and some less notable) scientific journals that he knew of. He received every dispatch from the Royal Society of London, every copy of the Old Farmer’s Almanac, and he even had a foothold in a couple secret societies. He knew through the Freemasons that there were stirrings within the Pinkertons with regard to Mutations and the study thereof, but thus far it had produced no result. Solomon was aware of biological studies which demonstrated the effects of chemicals, gases and even sunlight upon the bodies of humans and animals alike. None of it approached an explanation for what lay before him on the table. He had pulled back the cover of the book, only to find that he could not read its contents.
Solomon knew that he might be dealing with something beyond the realm of conventional science. He had met luminaries of different fields in his lifetime, and developed a correspondence with such notables as Wilhelm Rontgen, Alfred Russel Wallace and Marie Laveau. Though the three had little reason to be familiar with one another and, indeed, Rontgen had no respect whatsoever for Laveau’s area of expertise, nonetheless Solomon would continue to communicate with them all. Likewise, he communicated with Jules Verne, who often brought fanciful but practical imaginings to the table. Verne was learned in Latin and in law, which Solomon found useful, but he also displayed vast knowledge of biology, and an eagerness to learn which made him happy to exchange letters with a mortician. Solomon had little use for fictional literature (or, indeed, Laveau’s Voodoo rituals), but every person on his list brought wisdom to the table.
Solomon wanted to know—were there electromagnetic forces at work here? Could magic or curses produce this result? What precedent was there in the animal kingdom for such wild variations of form within a single species?
Finally, he consulted his library. Within the tomes upon his shelf sat the recorded wisdom of generations, from Dante’s Inferno and Paradise Lost to such works as The Arabian Nights, and from there to the writings of John Dee, Plato, and even a variety of holy books. These implied the existence of such Earthly races as D’jinn and Nephilim, and such supernatural beings as Angels. One theory suggested that the Nephilim were the products of copulation between Angels and human beings. The Nephilim were a race of giants evocative of the Jotunheim from Norse mythology, while Norse myths recorded the existence of Niflheim, not a realm of giants, but a realm resembling an icy Hell.
Several possibilities presented themselves. The first was that, with ancient texts from around the world testifying to the existence of a race of giants, it was conceivable that the precedent existed for vast variations in the form of the human species. Another was that the ancient gods represented Fallen Angels and Angels in good standing alike, or perhaps simply Fallen Angels, as those were the only ones likely to allow themselves to be worshipped as gods. Those Fallen Angels would have copulated with humans to produce demigods, and perhaps even animals to produce such beasts as minotaurs and centaurs (although those could have represented a third generation produced between demigod and animal).
Solomon was ultimately more lost than found amid the seemingly endless connections between facts and philosophies, and ultimately decided that he would list his theories in letters to each of his colleagues, whom he hoped would take a more concentrated tack and explain theories of their own.
It was then that he thought he should perhaps examine Oviedo’s blood. He subjected it to every test he knew of, discovering nothing of any real value. It was human blood, through and through.
It stood to reason that Mutations were humans with simple biological differences. How this explained an ability to manifest fire out of thin air, levitate objects or render oneself intangible remained a mystery, although Solomon was confident that these things could be affected through biological means yet to be determined.
With this as the only tentative conclusion he could offer, he then determined that it was in the interest of altruism to befriend the Mutation population, perhaps to offer them a safe haven and the benefit of his wisdom during their time of struggle. He had performed the same service for Blacks during slavery and the Civil War, although he was forced to admit that he was far better equipped now, with more resources and knowledge, than he was during those trying times. If it was God’s will that he assist the Mutations in their time of strife, he would dedicate himself toward that end.
He knew of one Mutation who had remained behind when his people fled Phoenix, a man with a subtle enough mutation that no one without Solomon’s own deductive skills would ever know.
“Mister Mayor, I have a request to make of you.”
“Solomon! Come on in, sit d--” the Mayor’s face fell. “Who died?” He knew Solomon wasn’t one to make social calls.
“No one has died, and you have nothing to fear by my visit. I require something from you regarding a secret you keep. A secret I do not threaten to reveal, whether you agree to assist me or not.”
“Forgive me, friend, if that comes across just a little like a threat anyway.”
“I assure you, you have nothing to fear. I have decided I must cast in my lot with the Mutations, not against them.” His face never lost its dour expression. His voice never changed tone from its low-octave drone. Solomon gave every sign of a man who was telling the truth. The Mayor paled.
“What are you saying, Solomon? W-what’s this got to do with me?”
“You know, and so do I, but this is as far as it must go. All I require is that you put me in contact with the party which departed Phoenix, and we shall discuss it no further.”
The Mayor was sweating bullets. “You swear to God, Sol?”
“I give my oath before the Lord. As long as you take no action against me, I will not expose your mutation.”
“It’s a done deal. I’ll have a message for you in a fortnight. Now please leave my office.” He tried to gather what composure he could as he waited impatiently for Solomon to leave.
Solomon departed with a relieved posture, still tall, stern and imposing. Once he was alone, the Mayor scratched his right armpit, where those damnable red feathers were growing back again.
