"Open curtains."

Charles let his chair drift forward to the windows. He looked out. He was carefully considering paying a contractor to come to the school to landscape the grounds. The Zen masters who had laid out this version of the copses of trees dotted around the main house had now retired. The students with their own abilities were now no longer concerned about being at one with Nature or doing chores that involved ordinary labor. If he asked for a volunteer to uproot, dice, incinerate, morph, evaporate, crush, pulp, reimagine, or negotiate with a tree, there would be a line from his office to the main gates. But a bit of restrained pruning, or the gathering of a few twigs could only enthuse one or two of the exceptionals.

"Lazy bastards."

Charles turned.

"How are we today, Logan?"

Logan stood in the doorway, his eyes shadowed by the crease of his brow. His clenched hands looked ready to fight.

"I asked those new students, the European ones, to bring me back a couple of packs of dime-store batteries. They forgot."

Charles had to resist the urge to smile. "Surely those are on our stop-list? We have Amazon deliver dozens of those twice a week."

Logan stepped into the room. "Some clever nut unchecked the automatic refill box on our account. Claims we can switch to more environment friendly sources of power. Batteries, for god's sake."

"Leave it with me," said Charles. "Probably my own fault. I gave one too many ecology seminars last week."

"Happy to leave it with ya," said Logan with a little nod. "Let's me get on with our security review."

"Yes," said Charles. "I've a feeling that we need protection against more than the usual threats. The B-Sentinels are already old hat."

Logan pinched his bottom lip. Those who knew him, even those without psychic ability, knew that he was thinking about smoking a cigar. "A feeling, Professor? Or one of those psychic hunches you get?"

"Probably the opposite. Kurt is missing. And, to me, a missing mutant is a very strange concept." He rubbed the left side of his head with his hand. He could only reveal so much to Logan. "I felt his fears. He always hated confined spaces. The nuns locked him in closets, and attics, sometimes coffins, when he was young, before he could fully control his abilities. Then when he began to escape they worked out how to shield his prisons."

"Sure, Boss," said Logan. "But we're his friends here. We get him."

Charles knew he would have to give out some of the small details. Logan was a hunter. He could find out anything if he knew he was looking for it. "Something has figured out his fears. Something was playing on his fear."

"Something?" Logan asked. "Not a person? A thing."

Charles sighed. He looked back to Logan then returned to the scenic view. "There's a possibility of an off-world connection. The patterns are certainly alien to me."

"Great," Logan growled. "I'll get out my big book of xenomorphs." He bumped his knuckles together.

Charles nodded. "That might not be such a bad idea. But you should also consider getting more specialized help." He turned back to Logan. "Give Baxter a call or Reed's team. I'll get some information together for you to pass on to them."

Logan rested his hands on the back of Charles' chair. "You want to book some time on Cerebro? I tell ya, I'm just looking for an excuse to toss those Berkeley postgrads out of here for the rest of the day."

Charles nodded quietly. The school took students at any time of year - it had to - but they still ran a regular academic year. This month was supposed to be the downtime before the new term began, but there were so many visitors and contractors around the premises that it was beginning to feel a little overcrowded. "Yes. Maybe after lunch. But some traditional meditation might help too. Maybe you could take me down to the trees. I'll be a bit more relaxed there."

"Okay, Boss," said Logan. A thought occurred to him. "You want coffee before we go out? I've got a pot sitting in the tutors galley. I can fill a couple of flasks real quick."

Charles nodded. "Bring it out, Logan. We'll get some sandwiches too. That might be just what I need to relax."

Logan was going to protest. He had not been thinking of a 'jolly' afternoon with a picnic basket. That sort of thing made him restless. Then he saw the light breeze and the shade. He was reminded for a fraction of a second of a Swift boat on the Mekong and that made him think of a small pleasure. A short cigar. Charles would complain, but he was tolerant of all sorts of aberrant behavior, and smoking was low on the list of dangerous behavior.

"Straight away," he said.

"Thank you," said Charles. He rubbed his eyebrows to remove a cramp.

Logan was going to pull the door closed. Then he leant back into the office. "What do I tell Storm?"

"We tell her nothing for now."

"Doesn't that go against your - our - school philosophy. Openness, honesty, emotional maturity." Logan added the last phrase to tease the Professor.

"There's precisely nothing to tell her right now. Wait until we have more." He raised his eyebrows. "Please?"

"Sure," Logan nodded. "I wouldn't know what to say anyway. But…"

Charles sighed audibly.

Logan continued. "Storm was a bit of a mentor to the Crawler. We've all got stories." He paused. "We have ways to cope. But she helped him the best."

Charles drummed his fingers on the edge of the chair. "Close curtains," he said quietly. "If there's anything to know... She'll know." He let his head dip slightly as the drapes closed. The room darkened briefly then lit up as the automatic lights kicked in.

"One of your bulbs is out." Logan nodded to the strip in the far corner. "I'll get maintenance on it."