Chapter 26: Teacher’s Edition
What a marvel these new Mark 3 planes. From insane acceleration to outer space travel, this vehicle did it all, and comfortably too--made riding in a limo seem like going four-wheeling in a Pinto. If she weren’t half-drunk and speeding to rescue her friends, Kitty would’ve enjoyed the trip.
“How did Scott and Logan get into space?”
The only other occupant in the plane, Jean, peeked at her while fiddling with instruments. “Sense I got before Scott blacked out was Fantomex tricked them. That’s why Rachel and X’ian are intercepting him in the other Mark 3.”
Scott and Jean... always in the eye of the X-Men storm, weren’t they? Through life and death they managed to stick together. For any other couple, sudden black outs were rare emergencies. For this couple, desperate last gasps just inches from doom were common place.
“How do you deal with everything?”
“Practice,” the red head answered. “Hold tight, we’re coming in to their location.”
Practice? “So the wonders of taking your husband’s possible death in stride is practice?”
“Practice,” she nodded sagely.
“How do you even get used to it? Doesn’t it just tear you apart?”
“It does, but life goes on. I take each moment as it comes, the joy, the sadness, and I deal with it the best I can.”
That’s it? “You make it sound so simple.”
“Yes,” she admitted, “but it isn’t. Trust me, the line of thought sounds much simpler then you’ve been one with the cosmos. Oh, and Kitty?”
“Yeah?”
“Suit up. We’re going into a vacuum.”
The Mark 3 hurled toward a large, jagged space station on the verge of collapse. Debris bobbled about, bad things just waiting to happen. Stars shined majestically and the blue earth elicited visual pleasure; the decaying space station served as a counterpoint to the awesome sights. And in a sense, the station was awesome in and of itself. Incredible engineering, the utmost of luck, and the right conditions had to happen for that thing not fall apart in an instant.
Like an expert, Jean docked with the mass of junk.
“You’re so calm, Jean. Every battle, every dangerous situation, my hands still shake and I still get nervous.”
The red head smiled as she zipped up her space suit. “Just like Logan, though he hides it well.”
“But he never-”
“Some things people never get over, Kitty. Acknowledge it and move on--don’t dwell on it. Time doesn’t go in reverse.”
Kitty sighed. “This is advice about Peter and Illyana, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s general advice that can be applied to many life experiences.”
Further conversation ceased when the Mark 3’s hatch opened. For a breached area, the docking pads held well, even going so far as to house an undamaged escape pod. Sensing her husband close by, Jean used her telekinesis to pull herself and Kitty further into the station.
Sleek metal gave way to drab rock. No wonder the place didn’t completely fall apart: it was built into an asteroid. Another couple hundred feet and two bulkheads later, the station even seemed in good shape--no breaches and little structural damage cropped up. Life support activated here, and if they so inclined, the two X-Women could’ve taken off their space suits.
Not that either wanted to chance it.
Gravity returned after passing through another bulkhead.
“Weird,” noted Kitty, “It’s like someone else made this part of the station.”
A lump of person rested unmoving up ahead. “Scott,” Jean breathed, hurrying to his side.
He didn’t look good: broken nose, two gunshot to the left arm, and probably a laundry list of other injuries. No amount of shaking or alarms sounding affected him, but he still breathed and his pulse remained strong. Jean tore her own space suit off and started outfitting her husband.
“Take Scott back to the Mark 3,” Jean ordered while she worked, “Get him into the medlabs as soon as you can.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to look for Logan.”
“I’m talking about walking naked into space.”
“I’ll form a telekinetic shield around myself and head into the escape pod when I find Logan. If Scott doesn’t have a suit on, I can only assume he doesn’t either.”
Thinking better of arguing, Kitty nodded and hefted Scott onto her shoulders. What a bother. Seemed like she’d been hauling unconscious X-Men around all week. “Are you sure you’ll be ok by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine,” Jean smiled, “I know Scott is in good hands and I know Logan is still alive. It’s the most we can ask for in this catastrophe.”
Wasting no time, the red head ran down the corridor. Just the definition of a soldier, wasn’t she? Took everything in stride and continued on. Never left a comrade behind. Personal feelings came in a distant second to The Dream. Jean was one of Charles’ first students and, as years of hard fought living attested to, his finest. Strong, tough, resilient, relentless--Kitty aspired to be Jean, worked half her life trying to emulate her behavior, and yet she failed.
One look at an injured Scott explained why: Kitty couldn’t put those personal feelings behind The Dream. Fighting for peace on earth wasn’t easy, and it became that much harder when loved ones fought--and died--by her side. The cynic in her scoffed. As long as people were different, peace could never be attained. To work toward a greater good didn’t bother her; to work toward a greater good and lose the reasons for fighting did.
Selfish? Yes, she was selfish, but after so much strife, she deserved peace. This... this superhero way... this was no way to live.
Kitty recalled Jean’s words: “Some things people never get over.”
She got over the physical toll of becoming an X-Man. She got over the moral dilemmas coloring every mission. She got over never receiving an ounce of accolades for saving innumerable lives. She got over never being Jean.
She couldn’t get over seeing her friends hurt, suffer, and die.
Then why was she here? Because if she didn’t act, her friends would still hurt, suffer, and die. Logan pointed that fact out as clear as day: just a vicious, inescapable cycle. No light loomed at the end of this tunnel.
Kitty sighed and prepared to make the tough journey back into the Mark 3. Suddenly, going back to Chicago and curling up in bed didn’t seem like a bad idea. Shit still happened but at least she didn’t have to see or deal with it.
*****************
After stealing Forge’s vast knowledge, she worked in silence. Even with his mutant ability and ungodly intelligence, Cerebra remained an enigma. Oh, she could fix it, get it running again, but some of the innermost workings still baffled her. A machine reacting to and modifying psychic energies through nothing but wires, electricity, and a load of software? Far out.
However, observations could wait: Remy couldn’t. Knowing this, Rogue pushed herself, tweaking circuit boards and ironing out software conflicts. This stopgap style repair job wouldn’t fix the issues Forge was working on, but at least Cerebra would work. As she delved further and further into her task, she experienced what had to be known as an inventor’s high. Hey, they had a runner’s high, so why not an inventor’s high? The way she clicked on all cylinders, the way everything came together, the way she once-overed stuff and got it to work, this feeling had to be an inventor’s high.
Grooving now, Rogue got a chance to take stock of a still woozy, still scowling Mystique, though thankfully the scowl wasn’t directed at her. Funny how the woman could be so tender, vulnerable, and sinister all at once. Hard to believe the parent who kissed away her childhood boo-boos was the same villain who caused her so much grief in adulthood.
Rogue used to think she had an inside track to Mystique’s head, but no longer. Mystique was a chameleon. Mystique was also her mama.
Entire body tucked underneath a control panel, the brunette decided to break her silence. “Why ya helpin’ me?”
Mystique flinched, the words stinging more than the wound. She forced her voice to remain even. “Because you’re my daughter.”
“Didn’t seem ta matter fo’ years.”
Rebooting one’s genetic template for healing purposes took energy and effort, and if Mystique any left, she would’ve given Rogue a good piece of her mind. Since she had neither, she tried something she hadn’t done in ages: be honest.
“It was for your own good, Rogue.”
“Like ah haven’t heard that b’fore,” she mumbled.
“You think that’s not true?”
“Ah know it ain’t,” she said, closing the panel door with bang. Cerebra began its long rebooting process. “Turnin’ ‘way from me when ah joined the X-Men hurt. Playin’ yo mind games with ma life made me wondah if you still loved me. Lotta stuff you said, lotta things you did, they hurt, Mystique. How can ya even say it’s for ma own good?”
Hurt. Yeah, those acts hurt, and the hurt cut both ways. “Would you have gone to the X-Men if I’d been kinder?”
Rogue rolled out from the machinery and frowned. “’Course not! You n’ Irene treated me good till ma powers came, then y’all started usin’ me like a pair o’ washed out jeans. Ah had ta turn to the X-Men, n’ back then, it sure as hell wasn’t by choice. What? Ya think ah liked Logan tryin’ ta take ma head off every chance he got?”
“If I treated you well, you would’ve stayed?”
“Yeah!”
“Then you would’ve died.”
They stared at each other, Mystique dead serious (and dead tired) and Rogue clueless. “Whatcha sayin’, Mama?”
“Irene and I couldn’t control your mutant powers. Not only were you dangerous to us, you were dangerous to yourself. If we kept you at home, you wouldn’t have led any kind of life worth mentioning. Probably would’ve gone in depression if we locked you up; probably would’ve gotten found out by the wrong people if we left you alone. What could we do? There was no way I’d put you in a government sponsored, mutant death camp and leave your fate to a handful of fucking humans. Irene didn’t want you caught up in our dealings with the Brotherhood. The X-Men were the only choice we felt comfortable with, not because we liked them, but because they would treat you the best.”
“So ya make ma life miserable so ah’d run away?!”
“Don’t you get it, Rogue? We couldn’t train you. If you absorbed too many people at such a young age, you would’ve destroyed your mind if not flat out died. Xavier, for all his inane rhetoric, taught you control and gave you experience to hone your abilities.”
“Then why didn’t ya just tell me to come here?”
Now fully in parent mode, Mystique placed her yellow eyes squarely on her daughter. “Remember how stubborn you were? If we dropped you off here, you would’ve been home in two minutes. Also remember how none of us were on good terms with the X-Men? You think old man Xaiver would’ve let you into his precious school if I enrolled you?”
“But the Professor’s ‘bout helpin’ mutants-”
“No, Rogue. Your Professor is about helping his own cause. He wants his coexistence and he’ll stop at nothing to get it regardless of human and mutant sacrifices. You know he’s shadier than he lets on--the X-Men isn’t his only weapon to further his goals.”
The dawn of understanding settled in to Rogue’s head. She slowly sucked in a breath. “So all this time...”
“I didn’t enjoy what I had to do to you. I didn’t enjoy putting you with the X-Men. If I had my way, I’d hide you from this mutant-human war and never let you go, but then I’d be selfish. Irene and I stayed up many nights figuring out how to give you the best life we could. Sacrifices were made, I had to alienate myself from you, but I’d do it all over again because this was the only way. THIS is the only future I’ll accept and the only one we’ve been working toward for two decades.”
“And what’s this future?”
A pad of skin on Mystique’s thigh receded to reveal a small, thin book. “Remember Irene’s diaries you fought over?”
“Yes...”
She peeled the object out of her body and held it up. “Consider this the teacher’s edition.”
A mechanical, female voice broke in. “Cerebra reboot completed. System diagnostics, 78% functionality. Awaiting command.”
********************
- To be continued...
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