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A crippled shuttle drifting in orbit. Should Henry step in?
Not a chance.
He hadn't gone up there to light fireworks for free publicity, and as long as that thing didn't come crashing down on his plane, he wasn't about to play the hero.
So he shut the window, sat back down, and calmly flipped open War and Peace again.
The other passengers lost interest soon enough too. A few snapped some photos, then returned to their drinks, their books, or their in-flight movies. Like any wonder, stare at it long enough and it just became background noise.
Hours later, the plane touched down smoothly at Geneva International. Their driver—already booked in advance—waited in arrivals, holding a neat placard.
From there, the journey was uneventful. They drove back to Audrey Hepburn's farmhouse in Tolochenaz, a modest 18th-century property with two floors, a loft, orchards, a vegetable garden, and rolling lawns that had once been her pride. In recent years, the UN had taken all her time; the garden was more neglected than she liked to admit.
Robert Wolders, who lived with her, was less a gardener and more a dog wrangler. His passion lay with the five Jack Russell terriers Audrey had gifted him for his fiftieth birthday—Mish, Tobby, Penny, Picery, and Jackie. A small army of wagging tails, always ready for chaos.
Aside from Audrey, Robert, and a housekeeper who came by daily, the farmhouse was quiet. Audrey's children were grown, visiting only on occasion. Henry had more or less become the "third lodger." Originally he'd planned to rent in town, but Audrey had offered him a spare room. Easier for work, easier for errands—he was, in many ways, like an old-fashioned retainer living under the same roof as his employer.
There was no gate, only a hedge and stone archway. The car rolled right in, and before Henry even had the bags out, the barking started.
Audrey brightened immediately, her fatigue from the flight vanishing as the dogs swarmed. Henry opened her door, offered a hand to help her down, and then braced himself as five fur missiles rocketed toward her.
"Easy, easy!" Audrey laughed, already crouching to pet them all. She had a method—left hand, right hand, rotate, never favor one over the other.
Robert stepped out onto the porch, grinning. "Welcome home." He pulled Audrey into a warm embrace while the dogs, feeling betrayed, turned to Henry.
He sighed, bent, and gave a couple of half-hearted head pats. That seemed enough for them to forgive him, and they proceeded to weave between his legs while he carried the bags inside.
Audrey, meanwhile, was recounting the strange sight from the plane. "We saw the oddest thing. A flame, above the clouds—beautiful, but eerie. We even took photos. Once Henry develops them, you'll see."
"Oh, that," Robert said knowingly. "It was in the news. NASA claims it was a solar flare, close enough to Earth to cause problems. Unfortunate timing—Endeavour's first STS-49 mission was caught in it. Shuttle took heavy damage."
Audrey's smile faltered. "Oh no. Were the astronauts safe?"
"They'll be fine," Robert said with casual confidence. "Even if NASA couldn't handle it, there's always the X-Men. Weirdest set of powers on the planet—someone's bound to be useful."
Henry almost rolled his eyes. This—this—was exactly what unsettled him about this world. Mutants weren't just controversial; they were convenient. If something went wrong? Call the mutants. If something was wrong? Blame the mutants.
Superheroes, at least, were loved and hated in equal measure. Mutants carried all the burden without the spotlight. And Henry, who could pass for just another face in the crowd, had no intention of volunteering for that mess.
Still, "solar flare"? Really? That was the official line?
If that had truly been a coronal mass ejection, Earth would already be fried with electromagnetic storms, not sitting comfortably while one unlucky shuttle took the hit. And the fact that every astrophysicist on the planet stayed silent? Obvious cover-up.
But again—none of his business. His laundry was. He unpacked his bags, threw clothes into a wash pile, and went about his evening like nothing happened.
By dinnertime, Robert was in the living room, petting dogs and watching the news, while Henry chopped vegetables in the kitchen alongside Audrey.
It wasn't servitude; it was necessity. Audrey could whip up dinner quickly enough when cooking for two. But when Henry ate? It was like feeding three or four extra mouths. If she cooked alone, it would feel like hosting a banquet every night. So he joined in, and the result was a richer, more varied spread. Nobody minded—especially since Henry never left leftovers.
"Ha! Called it," Robert suddenly crowed from the other room.
Audrey glanced up from her cutting board. "What is it?"
"News just confirmed it," Robert called back. "Endeavour's shuttle crew—rescued by the X-Men. Every last astronaut safe and sound. President personally thanked them. Professor Xavier even got a medal out of it."
"Oh, thank goodness." Audrey exhaled in relief. "No casualties, then?"
"They didn't say, so probably nothing serious. Bad news travels fast—if there'd been deaths, we'd have heard by now. They also claim the solar flare danger is gone."
Henry said nothing, but the thought gnawed at him.
Solar flare. Shuttle crippled. X-Men dispatched.
The puzzle pieces slid into place, aligning with something he half-remembered from another life.
Dark Phoenix.
The infamous movie where no one—hero or villain—came out looking good. A cosmic fire, mutants in over their heads, an alien menace badly written into the script.
Henry frowned.
If that was really what he thought it was…
Then this world was about to get much more complicated.
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