A/N: Apologies for the delay in writing/posting this chapter, it's been a busy few weeks. Thank you to all my followers and reviewers for your kind words and encouragement.

07

It was near enough midnight in New York State when Logan and Ororo touched down in Tanzania. Yet in this part of Africa the sun was already up, the tropical morning fresh and promising. Logan groaned; he could feel the jetlag starting to kick in as his body clock protested. A whole day traveling he could handle, but missing out on a night's sleep at his age… whatever that was. Ororo didn't seem to notice, busy checking the coordinates that Jean had given them for Vuyani's home village against their current position. "Problem?" Wolverine asked.

"The coordinates are not as…precise as I expected," Storm said tactfully, meaning that Jean was no Xavier when it came to operating Cerebro. "Clearly there is no village here." She started to punch controls on her display, concentrating on the three dimensional map it projected. "I will scan the area to see what I can discover. Can you check in with the mansion?"

Logan didn't bother to reply. Giving Storm the room she needed to work he went to a drop-down console in the rear of the jet. He leant one arm on the curved panel above his head as with his other hand he pulled down the console and started to put in the commands he needed. Within seconds his call to Westchester was answered.

"Bin waitin' for you," a bored male voice answered as the image flickered into lift. Gambit's head and shoulders filled the screen, and occasional flashes of white across the bottom of the image were the playing cards he was shuffling.

"Yet you don't sound happy about it, Gambit," Logan drawled, "Did you get the short straw again? I thought you liked being nocturnal?"

"It depend why Gambit being nocturnal, non? Surely sittin' around waiting for his team to check in is the job of a team leader. Yet Cyclops tells me he an' Jeanie gonna be up all night with a teethin' child, an' as I don't got no classes to teach tomorrow I get to run point for you. Never mind dat Gambit might have plans for an evening, eh? Mon Dieu, never mind dat Gambit might have a social life…"

"My heart bleeds," Logan said without inflection. "Just so you know Jeanie's coordinates were crap. We're gonna have to go look for this kid the old fashioned way."

"D'accord," Gambit sighed.

"We'll check back with you in a couple of hours," Logan said with a grin. Remy laughed and called Wolverine a rude name. They both knew Logan had only said that so that Remy would have to stay put in Westchester until whatever ungodly hour Storm and Wolverine decided to call back. "Ask Blaze to keep you company?" Wolverine suggested.

"Mon Petite otherwise engaged," Gambit said with a grimace.

"Date?"

"Somet'ing like that."

"Sucks to be you, Bub," Logan consoled the Cajun. Gambit heartily agreed and terminated the call. Logan put the screen away and turned back to Ororo, "Found anything?"

"There is a village after all, maybe an hour's walk from here. I don't understand how Jean missed it, unless the boy was travelling when she last spoke with him. I suggest we leave the jet and walk to the village in our civilian clothes. Maybe we can find Vuyani without attracting too much attention."

"Angry North American white man, remember? I think we'll attract attention, but I can't think of a better plan so lead on."

Leaving the jet, Logan was actually speechless. He couldn't remember being in Tanzania before (not that this meant a great deal), and if he had any preconceptions of what awaited him they were well short of the reality. From horizon to horizon the countryside rolled like a vast green blanket, verdant and empty of signs of human life. The lush shadows of forested mountains in the north were a temptation to Logan, who always felt a kinship with the high places. The occasional tree shimmering in the morning haze brought to mind the work of Monet; somehow richer and more real than the deciduous giants that populated Westchester.

Birdsong danced in the air, filling Logan's sensitive ears with a heady chorus of chirrups, whistles and melodies. When he inhaled, the rich earth smell was complemented by the delicate fragrance of small purple orchids that blossomed freely amongst the long grasses. In the middle of this tapestry of scent, Logan detected a mellow odour which was familiar. Diesel fumes. He headed out into the wilderness to investigate as Storm activated the remote which would engage the stealth features on the X-Jet, rendering it invisible to the casual eye.

"You were right about the kid being on the move," Wolverine told Storm when she joined him a short distance away. Crouching down, he brushed the flattened grass with his hand. "Tyre tracks; someone driving off-road and at speed. They headin' towards your village?"

"It appears that way," Ororo confirmed, following the twin lines of flattened grass with her gaze.

"Then I guess we've got our boy. Let's go."

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"Hey, Mzungu!" cried the school children, running out from the yard besides the village school as soon as they saw Logan approaching, "Mzungu!" They seemed to take great delight in chanting the word, dancing around the white man and tugging on his clothing. Logan bit down hard on his cigar and resisted the temptation to box ears until the kids calmed down. Storm laughed aloud, clearly delighted by the children who beamed back at her with innocent enthusiasm.

"You know what that means?" Logan asked Ororo, who shrugged before correctly guessing, "White traveller, perhaps? It doesn't seem to be offensive."

"Says who?" Logan groused; feeling affronted despite the obvious warmth of the children's tone. He looked around over their bobbing heads to admire the village. Round mud huts seemed to be the most popular type of dwelling, scattered higgledy-piggledy around the village centre. Yet the school building and the missionary church that lay at the outskirts were verging on colonial, built of wood and primly whitewashed. There were tracks for vehicles and animals to be driven, although the village didn't seem to be on a direct thoroughfare to anywhere.

There were a few women stood chuckling in the shade of a thorny tree, pointing at Logan and Storm and their entourage. A street vendor was grilling some meat on skewers, which she called mishkaki when Storm pointed at them. The mishkaki looked good after their long flight and ensuing hike, so Storm bought two along with cups of deliciously sweet, milky tea laced with ginger called chai tangawizi. Logan was incredibly impressed that Storm had brought the local currency, the Tanzanian Shilling. He guessed there was a story there about a mission gone wrong and vowed to ask her at some point in the future. Certainly he was glad she had come along for the ride, otherwise he'd be going hungry.

The villagers were initially warm and friendly, but although the X-Men asked everyone from the school children to the street vendor and the gossiping women whether they knew Vuyani, they got blank looks and vacant shrugs in reply. No one would meet their eyes after they had asked. The villagers drifted away, the children returned to school, and Logan could feel the unseen eyes watching him.

"Is it just me, or is this place a whole lot less welcoming all of a sudden?" Wolverine asked. Storm pursed her lips and tucked her white hair back behind her ear.

"The boy is a mutant, maybe the first one they have had in the village. It's little wonder they are suspicious."

"Call it a hunch," Logan argued, "but I don't think that's it at all. I think they know Vuyani is associated with the kind o' people you don't want to invite round for mishi-cocky."

"Mishkaki," Ororo corrected instinctively. "You may be right, Logan. But look, not everyone has disappeared…" Logan followed Storm's gaze, to where a young boy who probably should have been in school was peering at them from behind a hut. He watched them openly for a moment, as if sizing them up. Then he beckoned them with a finger, his expression comically serious for one so young. Logan and Ororo exchanged a meaningful glance and then followed the boy, who led them out of the village and into the surrounding fertile farmland.