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Neena wants to keep him in the infirmary overnight, but by the time they finish arguing about it, the stab wounds have already healed into angry red slashes on his abdomen.
“Are those going to scar?” asks Tabitha, peering at the bed where Shatterstar is laying. Neena puts a repressive hand on her shoulder and she looks back, irritated. “What, a gal’s not allowed to ask questions?”
“Weren’t you supposed to be getting dinner ready?” asks Neena.
Tabitha sighs but lets Neena shove her out the door, making a “call me” motion with her hand at Shatterstar as she leaves. Neena just rolls her eyes, turning back to Shatterstar.
“Cable’s getting his way, as usual,” says Neena. “But I still want you to keep an eye on those.”
“I have done this many times before,” says Shatterstar. “I can assure you, my performance is not compromised.”
Neena raises an eyebrow. “Not what I meant, but sure,” she says. “There’s a shower in the back over there, with towels and stuff. Go get washed off.”
Shatterstar nods and jumps down off the hospital bed.
As soon as his back is turned, Neena rounds on Nathan. She doesn’t say anything out loud but the tilt of her head and the lift of her eyebrow make her feelings very clear: Where the fuck are you finding these kids?
Nathan just shrugs. “He would probably fit into some of Jimmy’s clothes, don’t you think?”
Neena rolls her eyes. “Sure,” she says. “I’ll just go ahead and ask him.”
Shatterstar is still standing by the door of the study when he walks in. He’s wearing an old pair of grey sweatpants and a tie dye Grateful Dead shirt, and even damp-haired and barefoot, he’s holding a perfect ready position: legs spread and knees slightly bent, arms relaxed at his sides, back straight. The only thing that betrays him is the faint tremor in his hands.
Hunger, probably, Nathan thinks. He’s never met a healing factor that didn’t burn a hell of a lot of energy, but Neena had said he’d refused dinner. Not that Nathan could blame him: Tabitha and Sam’s cooking tended to feature canned pasta as a primary ingredient and frequently skirted the edges of edibility.
Without warning, Nathan tosses the packets in his hand at Shatterstar. The kid catches them out of the air in a practiced move without a second of hesitation. It’s a bit showier than Nathan had been expecting; the way the kid flicks his head to toss his hair afterwards is as calculated as it is unnecessary, but it was about as good a response time as you could ask for. Whoever trained this kid trained him up good.
“You’re welcome to take a seat,” says Nathan, gesturing at one of the couches.
“I will remain standing,” says Shatterstar. He holds up the pale brown pouches, one in each hand. “What are these?”
“Suit yourself. Those are MREs, food.”
Shatterstar takes a moment to eye the packets skeptically.
“You can read English, right?” asks Nathan.
Shatterstar’s eyes flick from the packet to Nathan’s face then away just as quickly. “Of course,” he says. “I have completed the learning feeds.”
There’s a kind of defensiveness to his words that Nathan is all too familiar with, one that’s daring him to press the issue. Nathan doesn’t bother, if the kid wants to eat cold MREs, that’s his prerogative. Calories are calories.
“So,” says Nathan. “The Cadre Alliance, huh?”
Shatterstar’s brow furrows. “I have already explained my mission—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Nathan cuts him off. “I was aware of rumors of a rebellion on Mojoworld, but cross-dimensional time travel technology is difficult to come by, especially for a failing rebellion. Why would they send a single kid if they really wanted this to work?”
Shatterstar lifts his head, an arrogant tilt. “As I said, the trip is difficult. It damages the uemeur . I am a child of the arena, a warrior born, with a run of nearly 8 seasons. I was granted self-renewal, and so I can do what others cannot.”
Bright Mother, the kid looks young standing there, chin out, so sure he was sent because he’s special . “If you’re so important to the rebellion, why’d you volunteer on a suicide mission?”
“Becoming a performer fit for the primetime is never an easy task,” says Shatterstar. The words sound as practiced as everything else about the kid, and Nathan can’t shake the feeling he’s watching somebody read words off a script. “If my mission succeeds, it will be broadcast on every channel for all to see. My name will become legend. If my story ends in service of the rebellion, I would consider it a worthy finale.”
Nathan bites back a sigh. The timestream is filled with more despots and failed revolutions than he cares to count. He’s seen empires rise and fall, and watched dozens of doomed rebellions struggle under the thumb of autocrats and dictators and ancient gods and more than a few omega mutants gone mad with power. Somehow, every one of these rebellions manages to have an endless stream of potential messiahs. They die by the dozens: brutally, painfully, usually without ever accomplishing anything. The most successful of them die quickly, before the disillusionment can set in. Nathan should know, he used to be one of them.
But that was a long time ago. He’s got bigger problems now, and he certainly doesn’t have time to take on the cause of another would-be messiah. If he were smart, he’d point the kid at whatever’s left of the X-Men these days and wish him good luck. But the kid’s a soldier through and through: even standing there drowning in that ridiculous t-shirt, shaking gently with tremors he can’t quite repress, there’s determination in his eyes, a clarity of purpose that Nathan knows he can use.
“You have no way to get back, do you?” asks Nathan.
He can practically see the gears turning in the kid’s head, trying to decide if he should lie. “I was told the X-Men could help me return to my own time, once I explained my situation to them. They are very powerful, such technology is freely available to them,” he says finally.
Nathan laughs at that, he can’t help it. Sure, kid, I bet they said that . “Listen,” he says. “Your mission doesn’t have to be over. The X-Men can’t help you, but I can. I’m from this dimension’s future, I have technology that can get you back to your rebellion, I’ll even bring my team with you to help. But I can’t go yet. I need you to help me fix the situation I’m dealing with here, and then we can get you back.”
He watches the kid turn this over in his mind. “And if I do not agree?” he asks finally.
Nathan shrugs. “Then you’re free to go and try to find the X-Men yourself. But I won’t be able to help you, and I can’t have somebody in my base who isn’t committed to my cause.”
The kid stands there for a moment, silently. He’s injured, with no way home and no way to find the X-Men and even though he’s putting up a front now, Nathan can see how badly the kid needs a hot meal and a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. Neena would probably chastise him for the manipulation but she isn’t here right now, and as much as Nathan respects her, this isn’t something she can ever fully understand.
“What do you say, kid?” asks Nathan. “It’s now or never.”
Shatterstar nods, a definitive action. “I accept,” he says.
Nathan smiles. “Glad to hear it. Welcome on board.”
Neena is exactly as angry with him as Nathan knew she would be.
“What the fuck did you say to him,” she hisses. It’s late, and they’re in their shared suite, but even with thick walls, they still have to account for nosy teen mutants.
“He’s a good soldier,” says Nathan. “He’d be a valuable asset to the team.”
“Who gives a shit,” says Neena. “Good soldiers can be trained, you know that better than anyone. And I’m not going to some fucking hell dimension to risk my neck in a useless rebellion.”
“Neither am I. But they sent him here to die, they’re not expecting him back any time soon. We can use him now.”
“The kid’s a wreck,” says Neena. “Don’t tell me you can’t see it. He asked if the logo on the shirt I gave him was one of our sponsors. ”
“He can be a useful wreck,” Nathan says.
Neena’s silent for a long moment, but Nathan knows better than to think she’s ready to let the issue go.
“I hate when you do this,” she says finally.
“Do what?” he asks.
“Take on some bullshit charity case and then pretend like I’m the insane one for asking about it.”
“It’s not a charity case. The rebellion sent him to die, he’s too brainwashed to acknowledge it. We may as well get some use out of him while we can.”
“If that’s how you want to pretend it is, then fine,” says Neena. “But don’t think you’re fooling me.”
Nathan smiles, he can’t help it. “Does that mean you’ll stick around?”
“I'll think about it,” says Neena. She’s trying to stay pissed, but there’s a smile tugging at the edges of her mouth, and Nathan knows he’s won.