A beat up blue sedan rumbled down the country road. The exhaust spewing from the back, and the din from the broken muffler, were the only imprints of technology in this otherwise rustic setting. This was out in the wilderness, where the only radio broadcast you could get were farm reports, if you were lucky, and connecting your cell phone to a tower was the fervent dream of a madman.

It was Razputin's car, and he was driving it to Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp. It was late evening, and he'd been driving all day. The first time he'd been to the camp, the circus had been close enough for him to make it on foot. Today, however, he'd had to drive all day, through several states, in order to make it. He wasn't sure the poor little car was going to make it. He'd never driven it further than the corner store and back, and now the car was showing signs of fatigue. Lights were flashing all over the dash. Check engine! Check oil! Check brakes! Check the battery! Check everything! Good lord, man, don't drive me another inch!

His father, of course, hadn't wanted him to have the car in the first place. "What do you need a car for?" he'd said. "When you're with us, the circus transports you, and when you're with the Psychonauts, they send out that big jet. You don't need a car."

It wasn't about the car, of course. It was about independence. Having your own car was a rite of passage, it meant you could go anywhere you wanted without depending on someone to get you there and back. Raz was growing up, faster than his father would have liked. Already he was an international superstar Psychonaut, the youngest Psychonaut ever recruited, and one of the most talented.

He was also a stellar circus acrobat. That was what his father wanted. "When you're an adult, you can go and do what you want," he'd told him. "But as long as you're legally my dependant, you're staying with me until they call for you." Raz couldn't go out on a lot of missions. True, he was a psychic prodigy, but that can only take you so far. He lacked the experience for the bigger tasks, and he wasn't emotionally ready for some of the heaver stuff just yet. Best to go out on some of the more routine ones, and always with at least two more experienced agents he was familiar with.

When he was home, his father made him practice his acrobatics. "Didn't they come in handy during your first psychic experience?" he asked his son. And Raz had to admit they had. So he continued to practice acrobatics in addition to practicing his psychic abilities.

But that didn't mean he gave up on the car, of course. He earned money working at the circus, and he earned money as a Psychonaut. When he put that together, by the time he was old enough to drive, he had enough for a car. Not a new car, but a used one. A used one that, apparently, had not seen a lot of care in its life. It was old, too, with no cassette player in it, even.

Raz cared for it, though. He checked the oil, checked the fluid, kept it full of fuel, and gave it a happy life. But it was on its last legs, and short of an entire overhaul, nothing was going to keep this car alive much longer. For that price, he could buy a whole new one. All he could do was make the car's last days comfortable and useful.

Raz adjusted his rearview mirror. Here he was, thinking about the car, trying to get his mind off why he was really going out to Whispering Rock. It was easier to think about his car and his father than to think about what was taking him out to the camp three weeks before the summer session started.

Ford Cruller was dead. He'd gotten the message one evening after a show. He hadn't said anything then. He'd just gone to his room to be by himself. The next morning he got the rest of the message, to come out to Whispering Rock as soon as possible to help sort everything out.

Raz taught there, now, along with Coach Oleander, and Sasha and Milla. Milla couldn't keep herself away from the children, loving to take care of them, teach them, and nurture them. Sasha still did "unauthorized tests" in his secret lab, along with his new assistant Sheegor. And Coach Oleander, although no longer plagued by personal demons and an obsession with meat, was still the same gruff drill sergeant-type he always was. Now he kept a hutch of rabbits near the main lodge, and Heaven help the kid who he caught messing with them. That was worse than jumping on his jeep.

And Ford still worked at the camp doing every job there was. No, not anymore, Raz reminded himself. Until a few days ago, Ford still did every job. Chef, ranger, janitor, Psychic surveillance, he took care of it all. He was the crazy old coot who managed to be everywhere at once, and to this day no one had really figured out how. Now it would always be a mystery.

Ahead were the gates to Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp. They were open, as they were expecting him. It was barely still light out, but he could see the shapes of his friends and mentors in the parking lot. He pulled the car into an empty spot, turned it off, and pocketed the key.

As he stepped out, Sasha, Milla, and Oleander came up to greet him.

"Ah, Razputin, darling!" Milla said happily, giving him a big, friendly hug. "My, look at how much you've grown! How was your trip?"

"Long," said Raz. "You got anything to eat? I'm starved."

"There's burgers up in the lodge," said Oleander. "They're waiting for ya."

"Who cooked them?" asked Raz, as they started up the path together.

"I did," said Oleander.

Raz gagged.

"Now what's that supposed to mean?" Oleander demanded. "I used to cook for my whole platoon back in the war, and it gave us the energy to take on the enemy by storm! Yessir, you shoulda seen us back then…"

"Morry," Sasha interrupted, "you were never in the war."

"Don't tell me what I have and haven't done!" snapped Oleander.

"You were too short," said Sasha. "Look, even Raz is taller than you."

"Yeah, yeah," Oleander grumbled.

"Hey, Coach," said Raz, "I think I really have grown. I can't see the top of your head anymore when I look at you. Now how will I know if you're there when I talk to you?"

Oleander whacked him in the side with the riding crop he always carried. A drill sergeant isn't allowed to do that the recruits- but a teasing coworker wasn't covered in basic protocol. "You wanna say that again, son?"

Raz rubbed his side where he'd been whacked. "Geez," he grumbled. "Touchy."

"Now, darling, don't tease Morry," said Milla.

"Sorry, Milla," said Raz.

"Don't apologize to me, darling, apologize to the Coach."

"Right," said Raz. He turned to Oleander. "Sorry, Coach Oleander."

Oleander grunted.

"Morry says thank you," said Milla.

"No, I didn't!"

"Morry, set a good example for the children," chided Milla.

"He's not a child anymore," said Sasha. "He's a young man, now."

"Thanks," said Raz. "You're not so bad yourself."

They entered the lodge. It was empty now, but in a few weeks it would be full of campers eating, laughing, and playing. They sat down at the table nearest to the oven and the camp store, Sasha next to Raz and Milla across from him, next to Oleander. Sasha floated the tray of burgers from the kitchen over to them.

"They're cold," explained Sasha. "We wanted them ready for when you arrived but you took longer than expected."

"Sorry," said Raz. "I got lost between Richmond and Pikesville. I wanted to call you and tell you I'd be late but I couldn't get a hold of you."

"Not surprised," said Oleander. "But we're used to it. In times of war it's always difficult to send messages to the battlefield."

"Is everything war with you?" Raz said, as he took a bite out of his burger.

"You've been in my mind," Oleander shot back.

Milla handed Raz a napkin. "Razputin, darling, don't talk with your mouth full."

Raz took the napkin and wiped his mouth, chewed, chewed, chewed, and swallowed. "Thanks," he said.

"And don't take such big bites," she said.

"Milla!"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just want you to have good table manners."

"Always mothering the children," said Sasha. "You'll never change, even if the children do."

"So," said Raz, "What about Ford? I mean, the message only said that he… well, you know."

"Say it, Razputin," said Sasha.

"The message only said that he… died."

"It's important to say it," said Sasha. "Don't tiptoe around the words, or you will never be able to face the difficult things in life."

"Well, like, was it part of some psychic mission or something?" asked Raz. "I mean, what happened?"

"Nothing sinister," said Sasha. "He was an old man. As near as we can tell, he died in his sleep a few nights ago."

"Wow," said Raz. "I mean, I never really thought of him as an old man before… he never really seemed old."

"That's what happens when you reach a certain age," said Sasha. "Your health can decline very rapidly very suddenly." As he ate with his hands, he telekinetically pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. He took a bite and set the burger down, then took the cigarette with one hand while he pyrokinetically set it on fire

"I wish you wouldn't do that," said Milla. "It's a disgusting habit."

Sasha ignored her. He lit the cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled slowly.

"None of us are as young as we used to be," he said at last. "It's difficult for one as young as you to understand, Razputin, but we're all getting older."

"Maybe you are," said Oleander, "but I've never been more fit in my life!"

"Don't be so depressed, darling," said Milla. "Your best days are not yet behind you."

Sasha frowned.

"I think you're still a great agent," offered Raz.

Sasha gave a small half-grin, the closest to a smile he ever got. "Thank you, Razputin," he said. "But it's not about being an agent."

"Then what is it about?"

"You'll understand when you're older."

"Not if you explain it to me now."

The three adults laughed, and Raz realized they were laughing at him. Like he was a cute little joke. So, maybe he didn't understand all these grown-up problems. Is that any reason to exclude him?

"So, um," Raz interrupted. "What about, like, his stuff? And his jobs? And his… um… you know."

"Say it," Sasha said sternly.

"What about his body?" asked Raz, and cringed at the words.

"Still being discussed," said Sasha. "We asked you down here so you could discuss it with us. After all, you were close to him, and are just as much staff as us here, besides."

"We'll talk about it in the morning," said Milla. "You should get some sleep, first, though. You look exhausted."

"Yeah," said Raz. He finished the last of his burger and stood up. "Man, I didn't realize driving took so much out of you. Why couldn't you send a jet or something?"

"The Psychonauts aren't made of jets, you know," said Oleander. "They gotta come from someplace."

"Also, we crashed it on the last mission," added Milla. "Morry was driving."

"Geeze, tell the whole camp, why don't you? I'm telling you, the sun was in my eyes!"

"Okay, chill. I'm going to my room to relax. Same one as always, right?"

"Right," said Sasha. "Give me your key and I'll get your suitcases."

Raz fished his key out of his pocket and handed it over. "They're in the back seat," he said. "Don't open the trunk. There's garbage in the trunk."

"Why is there garbage in the trunk?"

"I don't really think we need to get into that, now," said Raz. "Good night."