Eva’s injury had finally thawed him. Here was something he could do. Some way he could help. He wasn’t much of a fighter, and he hadn’t brought his staff with him anyway. So he’d dropped to the ground and made his way toward her, thankful to have something to do that made him forget his fear of becoming a target himself.
He finally got to her, tugging her toward him as gently as possible. But before he could heal her, he felt the cold muzzle of a gun press against his temple. His entire body went rigid with fear.
“Hand her over, mutant,” said the SWAT officer who stood above him.
To his immense shame, he almost did it. But if he did, what did that say about him? His Ma had said he’d amount to nothing, like his pop, and he’d wanted to prove her wrong. Turning Eva in to save his own skin would only prove her right, and he was stronger than that. After all, he’d saved Emma Frost earlier.
The thought of her reminded him – this wasn’t real! The cops, the guns, all of them were Danger Room simulations. The bullet might hurt, but it wouldn’t kill him.
“If you want her, you’ll have to go through me,” he said, closing his eyes.
Illyana’s voice came from thin air. “End program.”
The room faded away in slow stages, taking the SWAT officers, their guns, and the busted van along with it. Eva’s bullet wound faded away along with their surroundings. As the simulation ended, Fabio moaned.
“Wait!” he exclaimed. “I never got my taco!”
•••
After the Danger Room, the students filed into the dining hall to find Magneto standing over a tray full of wrinkled paper lunch bags. Christopher felt too numb to even consider eating, given everything that had just happened, but he didn’t have the energy to protest. Fabio didn’t share his reluctance. He picked up a bag and peered eagerly inside. His face fell.
“Turkey sandwiches again?” he asked. “Man, after taunting us with tacos, that’s harsh.”
Magneto’s eyebrows crept toward his hairline, salted with iron gray. Although age lined his face, he still looked like he could spit nails. Literally. Christopher had only seen him in action a couple of times. He didn’t often accompany the students on their training missions, and as a result, none of the students were very comfortable with him. Fabio shrank before his disapproving gaze, and his hand closed over the lunch bag.
“I mean, it’ll be fine,” he mumbled.
“There are more important things in play than the contents of your sandwich, Mr. Medina,” said Magneto. “You would do well to remember it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fabio’s eyes went to the ground and stayed there. He took his lunch and found a spot at a table. David joined him a moment later, clapping him on the shoulder. The other boy’s face instantly lightened, and they began to joke around.
“Man, we should have gotten those tacos, and let the others handle the cops,” said David. “They would have been fine.”
“You think?” Fabio looked down at his squashed, sorry excuse for a sandwich. He took a bite and chewed sadly. “They sure sound good right now, even if they weren’t real.”
“They were real to us, man. That’s good enough for me.”
Benjamin sat down, his elfin features eager underneath his fluffy hair. “So they were like Schrödinger’s tacos?” David and Fabio turned identical blank looks in his direction. “You know, real and not real at the same time?” Still no reaction. “Well, I thought it was funny.” He tore into his sandwich.
Christopher debated joining them but quickly decided against it. Although he and David had made peace after their argument that morning, they just didn’t mesh. He didn’t see how anyone could joke about the morning’s training. It had been terrifying and sobering in turn, not funny at all. Besides, the morning’s excitement had given him a rare headache. Strange how he could heal others but didn’t know how to help himself. So he found a spot at an empty table and hoped the relative quiet might help.
He opened his lunch bag, pulled out his food, and groaned. Slices of green, glistening pickles covered the sandwich, their juice soaking the bread. He hated pickles. There were few things in the world that he hated more than pickles. Sighing, he tried to soak up the juice with his napkin, but the bread already looked like a lost cause.
Eva pulled out the chair opposite him and took a seat. He nodded a hello and continued blotting his sandwich as she watched with a curious tilt to her head.
“You don’t like pickles,” she said, finally understanding.
“I hate them,” he responded, exhaustion saturating his voice.
“Allow me.” She took his sandwich from him, opened her own, and divided them both in half. She put the two pickle-free halves together and slid them toward him, keeping the remainder for herself. “There you go, mate. Problem solved.”
It was such a little thing, but he could have cried. Exhaustion, probably. Lack of sleep exacerbated by stress could make anyone a little overemotional. He wanted to curl up in a corner and take a nap, but that wasn’t going to happen. Oh, no. He had a class. He’d finally passed enough flight simulator modules to take his first solo flight in the X-Copter. He’d be lucky if he didn’t kill somebody.
He took a bite of his sandwich. Once he got some food into him, he’d feel better. Hopefully.
“Thanks,” he said, indicating the sandwich. “I’m famished.”
“Hey, I owe you one. You healed me, didn’t you?”
“Didn’t get a chance. Illyana ended the simulation too soon. But I would have,” he said. “You almost passed that simulation singlehandedly. Between the two of us, I think we could pass it if we had another chance.”
“No doubt.” Eva nodded, holding her fist up for him to bump. “We make a pretty good team. We’d have it in the bag.” They bumped fists, and then she continued. “We should team up for the copter flight this afternoon. You’re cleared to fly too, right? Cyclops said we have to pick partners, and I don’t want to team up with somebody who isn’t going to take it seriously.” She scowled in the direction of David and Fabio’s table.
“Yeah, cool. OK,” he said. His headache faded as the joy of being asked took him over. It felt good, especially after such a crappy day. He waggled his eyebrows at her in a ridiculous manner. “You sure you’re not just trying to get me alone for a couple of hours?”
“Not in the slightest,” she said, deadpan.
“OK. Just joking.”
A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, making them both jump. Christopher looked up to see Magneto standing over him. The mutant leader’s face cracked into an unaccustomed and somewhat terrifying smile. He looked less pleased and more like he might take a bite out of someone.
“I hear you had an eventful morning, Triage,” he said.
“Oh. Uh…” Christopher gulped, fighting the wave of nerves that threatened to overcome him. Yes, Magneto might be intimidating, but they were on the same side. “Yeah. But it wasn’t real.”
Magneto squeezed, and it took every ounce of willpower Christopher possessed not to cry out.
“Ah, but I know full well that the Danger Room feels real in the moment. And still, you went to the aid of a fellow mutant. Well done, my boy. Very well done. I shall have to keep my eye on you…”
With that, Magneto released him, patting him on the shoulder like an approving uncle and wandering off to check on the other tables. Christopher pulled a can of apple juice out of his lunch bag and opened it with a hand that didn’t shake, possibly because it was entirely numb.
“That wasn’t frightening at all,” said Eva in a quiet little voice.
“Nope. Definitely not terrifying.”
“So we’re flying together?”
“Yeah. Can’t wait. The sooner we get out of this cafeteria and away from him, the better.”
Their eyes met over the table in a moment of complete und
erstanding.
Chapter 6
After lunch, all Christopher wanted to do was find some quiet place and sleep. The food had calmed his shaking, but his heartbeat still pounded in his ears. He needed rest, preferably without any screamo music. He didn’t care what David said; he thought it was awful. Hopefully they could move him to another room before lights out.
He considered sneaking back to bed for a quick nap but rejected the idea. It just wasn’t his style. At college, a lot of his friends had skipped classes to hang out on the quad, enjoying the sunshine and playing games for hours on end, but he couldn’t afford to lose his scholarship. The hard work ended up paying off anyway. At the end of the semester, while his friends had panic attacks and sent desperate emails to their professors trying to salvage their grades from the garbage heap, he rested easy on a soft carpet of straight As and excused finals.
He hadn’t skipped then, and he wasn’t about to start now. Not when the material really mattered. If he forgot the difference between cubism and surrealism, which they’d covered at lengths in Art History, it wouldn’t really matter. But here, the things they learned might literally make a difference between life and death. As a result, David and Fabio’s preoccupation with the tacos bothered him more and more as he continued to mull it over. How could they think about snack foods when lives were on the line? How did he see it when they didn’t?
At least Eva seemed to get the importance of their training. He had to admit he’d written her off when they’d first met. She looked like a goth pixie with her striped hair and short black skirts, and for some reason, when he heard her Australian accent, he inexplicably thought of surfboards. He’d thought she’d end up being a slacker, but he had been very wrong. He’d heard Illyana and Cyclops talking in the hallway on the way to lunch; she’d offered to train extra in order to help send the time-displaced mutants back to where they came from. It was a big offer, and he respected her for it.
She’d also helped him with his pickle dilemma, which qualified her for sainthood in his book.
To his surprise, he found himself looking forward to their flight that afternoon. He did, however, find a quiet corner of the lunchroom to rest for a few minutes after he finished his food.
When Eva shook him by the shoulder, he startled.
“Come on,” she said. “I let you sleep as long as I could, but they’re starting.”
He sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“Thanks. Guess I needed that more than I realized. How long was I out?” he asked.
“Only about twenty minutes. I would have let you go longer if I could, but…” She shrugged. “I told Cyclops you were in the bathroom. If you don’t come to class soon, I think he’ll send a rescue mission to the toilets.”
“Thanks.”
He rubbed his hand over his dreadlocks, trying to shake the cobwebs from his mind as she led him toward the hangar. The halls were silent. Tomblike. Their footfalls echoed as they rushed to class, and the only other movement in the hallway was the repeated flashing of the security panels at the doors. Although they’d tried, none of the instructors could figure out how to turn them off. Illyana had destroyed one of them with her Soulsword, but Cyclops had told her to knock it off before she’d got any further.
“We’re flying in groups,” Eva explained breathlessly as they neared the hangar doors. “You and I are first. Jean and young Scott are working in the simulator while we fly. Then when we come back, Fabio and David go out, while Benjamin and Angel do the simulator. The Stepfords are going to do their flight tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Christopher flashed her a thumbs-up. “Now that I’ve had a nap, I’m feeling pretty good.”
Cyclops stepped into the hallway and stared them down. Although they couldn’t see his eyes from beneath the red-tinged ruby-quartz glasses, Christopher felt pinned by the instructor’s knowing, laser-like gaze.
“Nap?” said Cyclops. “I thought he was in the bathroom.”
“I… fell asleep on the toilet. That’s what took me so long,” Christopher lied transparently.
Cyclops stared at him for a moment, clearly not believing the lie for a moment. But he let it go anyway.
“Right. If you two would join us, we can get started.”
“Yes, sir,” said Eva. “Sorry, sir.”
She scurried into the room, looking chastised, and Christopher followed. He liked the hangar. The tall ceilings made the space feel less cramped in comparison to the rest of the facility, and it smelled like clean metal and cold air. In here, he couldn’t detect the faint tang of mold that pervaded the lower levels. The X-Copter sat in the first bay, gleaming and perfect, ready and waiting for their flight. In the second one, a broken-down X-Jet sat amidst a pile of parts. Cyclops and Hijack had been tinkering with it nonstop, trying to get it working again. But apparently it needed a variety of parts that weren’t just available at the corner store, if they’d had a corner store to go to. Which they didn’t, since the school was located in the middle of a frozen wasteland and didn’t have any nearby corners.
Next to the X-Copter stood Jean Grey and the younger Scott Summers. Christopher had found that being in a room with both versions of Cyclops was very distracting. He couldn’t resist the urge to keep comparing them. Young Scott had a fresh-faced appearance. His jaw was firm and strong, his bearing straight and proud. He looked ready for whatever life threw at him. The older version bore a few more scars, and the dark hair had a hint of gray at the temples, but he was still the kind of man who could lead armies. Christopher had followed him. He wanted to learn from the best, and he firmly believed that Cyclops was it. Learning from him made sticking around this dump worth it.
Cyclops cleared his throat and looked them over, making sure he had their full attention before beginning.
“OK, let’s get started. We’re going to review the pre-flight inspection. You might be tempted to skip this. I know a lot of X-Men who felt the same.” A ghost of a smile flitted over his face. “They’d tell me things like, ‘But Kurt can teleport us out if the engine cuts out over the ocean,’ and ‘But Ororo can keep us aloft with wind currents if the propellers fail,’ but that’s rubbish. You do the inspection. Every time. Because doing it every time creates habits, and the one time you forget to will be the one time you need it. You got me?”
His gaze raked over them once again, the overhead lights flashing off the red glint of his visor. They all nodded, and he nodded back.
“Good. Once we’re done, we’ll be splitting into teams. Eva and Christopher are flying, and Jean and… uh… Scott…” His hand rubbed at his face, rasping against unseen stubble. “That’s awkward. You’ll work on the simulator.”
Christopher raised his hand. “Can I ask a question?”
“You don’t have to raise your hand, Christopher. Just ask.”
“OK.” He put his hand down. “When you get a pilot’s license, you have to put in hours and hours of training before you can fly solo. Is this legal?”
“How do you know? Is your dad a pilot or something?” Jean asked, with what sounded like genuine curiosity.
“I used to be addicted to this flight simulator video game, and I wanted to be a pilot for a while. It was just one of those kid things.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “That’s cute.”
“It’s a good question, though,” said Cyclops. “And I’m going to answer it honestly. Will you have a legal right to land at an airport? No. We’re not flying out of those. We’re not using air traffic controllers. We’re bypassing a lot of government regulations here, because we’re needed. People are dying, and I think that makes cutting a few corners justified. But I understand if you’re not comfortable with that. I also understand that your training kicked up a notch this afternoon, so I want to make this clear, and I’ll make sure that every student hears this. If at any point you feel that this place isn’t for you, I’ll take yo
u home. But you need to know that the minute you go back, I can guarantee that S.H.I.E.L.D. will be breathing down your necks. You’re a mutant now, whether you like it or not, and I’m sorry to say that this means that your life will never be exactly the same as it used to be. But it’s still yours to do with as you like.”
He paused, looking around at them. Christopher met his gaze, nodding in appreciation for his honesty. Then Cyclops turned to Jean and the younger version of himself. “I… wish I could make the same offer to the two of you. But we’re working on that.”
Jean’s luminous green eyes gazed into his. “It’s OK.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Christopher felt incredibly awkward, and he was fairly sure that he wasn’t the only one. Young Scott shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. The tension felt somehow incestuous and strange. When the older Cyclops looked at Jean, he saw the wife he’d lost. But she hadn’t lived through any of that, and the whole convoluted mess made Christopher incredibly uncomfortable.
“That sounds good,” he said loudly. “Thanks for explaining it.”
Cyclops blinked, coming back to himself with visible effort. “Right. So let’s go through all of the elements of a thorough inspection, and then we’ll get you up in the air. Your task will be to take the X-Copter to a specific set of coordinates, record what’s on the ground, and then return back. You don’t need to land the copter, especially since as Christopher here has pointed out, we don’t have the authority to do that. So we only do so when there are lives in danger. Are you with me so far?”
He paused, waiting for their nods.
“Good. Now, this is an older model of the X-Copter, so you’ll notice some differences from the most current model. I know we’ve gone through them in class, but let’s review and make sure we’ve got them all down pat before I let you fly it…”
He led them around the massive, gleaming body of the armored helicopter, pointing out its many attributes and features. Although Christopher had spent hours memorizing all of this, he wrote it all down again. After all, this knowledge could mean the difference between life and death, and he needed to be ready.
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