A Quiet Year

by Purupuss

It was supposed to be a quiet year... Wasn't it?

2. A Quiet Interruption

2: A Quiet Interruption

It had been a long and arduous week. Long and arduous because it had been made up of one mind-numbing, repetitive job after another. If it wasn't linishing, it was drilling endless holes, and if it wasn't drilling it was using the press to punch out bracket after bracket after bracket… It wasn't until Wednesday that Virgil had decided that he had shown himself dedicated enough to the job to not incur Max Watts' wrath by piping music into his earmuffs. The music had made a difference… But not much…

Virgil Tracy, known to those present as Virgil Tancy, listened to his own voice and then snapped his cell phone off.

A twig in the fire snapped and rolled off the log sending up sparks into the darkness and Bruce Sanders pushed it back into place. "You're becoming paranoid over that voicemail message. You do realise that don't you?"

"Not paranoid," Virgil corrected. "I just know my brother. And once he thinks of a prank like this he'll keep doing it over and over again until he gets bored with it." He pushed the phone into his pocket and relaxed. It had been a good idea of his to come to this simple, but warm, one room cabin.

"Oh… Say, Virgil…" Bruce nudged the twig back into place again. "The two of us were hoping that you'll clear up a big question mark over you…"

Virgil looked at him, wondering if somehow his true identity had been revealed to his two companions. "Yes?"

"Sometimes I'm sure I see you working with your right hand…"

Virgil chuckled. "Oh, yes…"

"Yeah," Louis Fleming added. "But I'm sure I've seen you working with your left."

"So you've got us wondering," Bruce said. "Which hand do you write with?"

"It depends on which hand my pen is in," Virgil told him. "I can write or draw with either."

"You're ambidextrous?" Louis asked.

Virgil nodded. "That's right. It comes in handy sometimes."

"I'll bet it does," Bruce exclaimed. "I'd give my right hand to be ambidextrous."

Louis groaned. "That joke's older than these trees," he said waving his hand at the centuries old pines that were dark silhouettes beyond the cabin windows.

"Show us," Bruce begged. "Draw something with both."

"I can't do it at the same time," Virgil told him, reaching into a nearby backpack and pulling out his sketch pad. He paused, pencil hanging over the paper. "What do you want me to draw?"

"How good an artist are you?" Louis asked.

Virgil gave a modest shrug. "Not bad."

"Could you draw Buzz's jalopy?"

"Okay." Virgil had often seen Bruce's rusting mode of transport over this past week and had a pretty good idea of how to translate it into a suitable caricature. He drew the front of the vehicle with his right hand and the rear with his left. "How's that?" he asked, handing over the pad.

Bruce gave a whistle. "I'm impressed."

"How do you learn something like that?" Louis asked.

"I didn't. It was just something I was born with," Virgil admitted. He put the pad back in his bag, stretched and gave a sigh of contentment. "You don't know how much I've been hanging out for this."

"We can hazard a guess," Bruce said. "Mega hasn't been off your back since the moment you started."

"Yeah," Louis agreed. "He's really got it in for you, Veggie."

Virgil regarded his companions. Over this past week he'd got to know them better and was beginning to form firm opinions about them. Bruce in many ways was like Gordon. Easy going, friendly, a joker, but with a serious side that quickly came to the fore whenever the situation demanded, and Virgil was coming to regard him as a friend. Louis Virgil wasn't so sure about. While he was similar in personality to Bruce, there was a malicious edge to him that would never be found in Gordon, and one that Virgil couldn't quite take to. The nickname of 'Veggie', while it had been funny at first, had been used so often and in such a way that Virgil was rapidly growing tired of it.

"Why are we talking about work anyway?" Louis asked. "It's the weekend, time to forget all about it." He reached into a chiller. "Want a beer, Veggie?"

"No, thanks, one'll do me. I'll make do with Grandma's juice."

"Come on, another won't hurt you."

"Not now," Virgil agreed. "But I'm flying the three of us out of here tomorrow, and I'm sure you'd rather that I had a clear head."

"I thought we weren't leaving until tomorrow afternoon," Bruce remarked. "I should hope you'd be well and truly sober by then."

"So would I, but if something happens, say the weather starts closing in and we decide to leave early, I want to be in a fit state to pilot."

"We came out here to enjoy ourselves!" Louis held out a can of beer to Virgil. "Relax. You don't have Mega looking over your shoulder now. Here!"

"No, thanks," Virgil reiterated, raising his glass. "I'm quite happy with this."

"Why don't you pour some beer in it?" Louis suggested. "It might improve the flavour and loosen you up a bit." He twitched the can in Virgil's direction.

"Leave him, Lou," Bruce sighed, pushing Louis' arm away from where it was hovering in front of his face. "If he doesn't want a beer, he doesn't want a beer. So what?"

"So… I thought we came out here to enjoy ourselves… Not kill the party before it's even started."

"I'd rather that Virgil 'killed the party' rather than kill us," Bruce told him. "Now put that beer back in the chiller and give me one that you haven't shaken up."

Grumbling to himself, Louis threw him another can, before he opened the beer and drank most of it.

"So, Virgil," Bruce said. "What can you do with both hands apart from draw and write?"

"Practically anything," Virgil admitted. "I'm slightly more predisposed to using my left, but in general it doesn't matter which hand I use."

A branch snapped sending more sparks skyward into the blackness.

"I see the Big Cheese is making his monthly visit on Monday," Louis commented.

This sudden change in subject threw his companions slightly. "I thought we'd agreed we weren't discussing work," Bruce said.

"The Big Cheese?" Virgil queried, guessing that he probably already knew the answer.

"Jeff Tracy," Bruce said. "Our lord and master. He likes to visit regularly to make sure that his minions are behaving themselves."

"What's he like?" Virgil asked, thinking that that was the question that anyone who didn't know Jeff Tracy except by reputation would ask.

"Actually he's not a bad guy," Bruce said. "He makes an effort to get to know his workers by name. When he's talking to you he seems to be genuinely interested in you and what you're doing."

"Yeah," Louis said. "If he'd gone into the movies he could have won an Oscar."

"Do you think it's all an act?" Virgil asked, knowing it wasn't.

"Must be," Louis grunted into his can of beer. "He's got all this dough. Why should he worry about us? We're nothing to him."

"Maybe he genuinely cares about people?" Virgil suggested.

"Trust me," Louis drawled. "A guy who starts with nothing and ends up a billionaire has trampled a few people on the way. The only thing Jeff Tracy cares about is the bottom line."

"Come on, Lou," Bruce admonished. "He's not that bad. What about that time that Warrick Templeton's daughter had that accident in Hawaii? Jeff Tracy got Warrick a flight there in one of his private jets. No charge. No fuss."

"Warrick Templeton's ACE's top draftsman," Louis said. "It was in Tracy's interests to get him there and back A.S.A.P. He was looking after his own interests."

"But isn't that part of his ethos?" Bruce asked. "He knows that if he treats his employees right, then we'll treat him right."

"How was his daughter?" Virgil asked, not having heard this particular story.

"Tracy doesn't have a daughter, only sons," Louis informed him.

"No, I meant Warrick Templeton's daughter. What was the accident?"

"It was a car crash and she was pretty badly injured," Bruce said. "Broken legs, pelvis, concussion… I think there might have been some internal injuries. She's still not quite right, isn't she, Lou; but they're hopeful she'll make a full recovery."

Louis threw another log on the fire. "I'll bet Tracy never took his kids camping." He took a swig at his can.

Virgil said nothing. In the early years, when Jeff Tracy was in the process of building up his fledgling business he made a point of taking the family on a camping trip at least once a month, whatever the weather. For Jeff, it was a chance to get right away from the stresses of daily life and enjoy some quality time with his boys. For Virgil and his brothers this was the time when they had their father's undivided attention. From their father they learnt woodcraft, survival skills, and how to face uncomfortable and unpleasant situations without complaint; such as that time when it didn't stop raining all weekend and the tent developed a leak.

Those weekends were some of the happiest memories of Virgil's childhood years.

"Nope," Louis was continuing. "They were probably brought up by a nanny who responded to their beck and call. I'll bet the first thing they learnt to do was snap their fingers so she'd come running."

"How many kids did he have?" Bruce asked. "Four? Five?"

"Five," Virgil confirmed without thinking. His workmates looked at him and he covered his tracks quickly, glad of the fire as an excuse for his burning face. "I read an article on him before I started."

"There was publicity about his family?" Bruce exclaimed. "That's unusual. Most of his private life kept pretty… well… private." He gave an abashed grin. "What else did it say?"

"Uh…" Virgil prevaricated. "I can't remember."

"I know this much," Louis boasted. "The eldest is some sort of hotshot in the Air Force… At least he thinks he is. Remember how he got shot down in Bereznick last year?"

Virgil nodded as Bruce exclaimed: "I remember! Tracy must have gone ballistic when he discovered his son was in the news."

Virgil bit his tongue. Maybe not quite ballistic; but it sure was close.

"Tracy was in the Air Force too," Louis continued, warming to his theme. "He probably got his son in through the old boys' network. The guy can't be much of pilot if he let himself get shot out of the sky by Bereznickies."

"Didn't he get some kind of award for that?" Bruce had screwed up his face as he tried to remember the few facts he'd heard about the Tracy clan. "Isn't the second one doing something with the space programme? He…"

"No, that's the middle kid," Louis interrupted. "The second one's some kind of artist."

"I thought the middle one was the artist."

"No, the second one is the artist…"

"I'm sure it's the second one that's the space cadet," Bruce persisted. "I remember Mickelson saying something, sometime about him taking after his old man too and becoming an astronaut."

"When did you ever have a conversation with old Micky?"

"I didn't. I had to take something into the office and I overheard Micky having a chat with Tracy."

"Okay, so whichever one he is in the order of things, we agree he's an astronaut, right?"

"Right."

"I heard a whisper that the only reason why he got into the space programme was because of his old man…"

Virgil knew that John would not take kindly to the suggestion that he'd gained access to the elite world of space exploration because of anything other than his own talents and abilities, but as he had already decided that it was safer not to say anything, he didn't correct Louis.

…Who was still slandering the Tracy family. "…Apparently the kid was a bit of a dreamer. He always had his head in the stars so Tracy made him an astronaut…" Louis laughed at his own wit.

John had often been described in this way, so Virgil felt free to laugh along with the others.

"Okay, Lou," Bruce challenged. "Since you're such an expert on the Tracys, tell us about this artist. Where ever he fits into the line up."

"Well… He's an artist…" Louis offered. "He's, ah…"

"He's a mystery," Bruce offered. "I've never heard of him being in the limelight. He can't be that good at painting or sculpting or whatever it is he does."

Virgil suppressed a smile.

"What do you know about the art world?" Louis asked.

"Well… Nothing…" Bruce admitted.

"And you're surprised you've never heard of him?"

"No… Hang on! Isn't that one of his paintings of some mountains in ol' Micky's office?"

The rendition of Hamish Mickelson's hometown had been a present given by Jeff Tracy on the occasion of his friend's 15th anniversary in charge of ACE. Virgil had forgotten that the painting hung in pride of place in Hamish Mickelson's office and briefly wondered if its presence would be enough to expose his identity.

"The family's probably ashamed of this artistic son," Louis said, suddenly confident in his story telling as he started another beer. "That's right!" He snapped his fingers as if a long buried memory had surfaced. "I heard that he's the black sheep of the family. An outcast! You know, long hair, beard, always spaced out on some drug or other, always in trouble with the law, into these really wild scenes. He's a disgrace to the Tracy name and Jeff Tracy's disowned him. His brothers refuse to talk to him."

Virgil looked at Louis in astonishment, not knowing whether to laugh at or be angry. With an effort he reminded himself that if he didn't say anything, he couldn't give himself away.

"Come on, Lou…" Bruce was saying. "That can't be right. You're making it up!"

"I swear it's true."

"Yeah, right."

"The fourth one was swimmer," Louis said, sidestepping the argument. "He won a gold medal at the Olympics." He took a swig at his beer.

"Doing what?"

"Swimming."

"I know that you idiot. Which variant of swimming? Which stroke?"

"Uh…" Louis thought for a moment. "Freestyle," he hazarded and Virgil didn't correct him.

"That's as logical as anything you've said tonight," Bruce sneered.

"Well, you did ask the question."

"I suppose now you're going to tell us that the youngest is a ballet dancer…"

This was too much. Virgil barked out a laugh at the image of Alan in a tutu.

Even Louis gave a boozy grin. "Of course not. You know as well as I do that Alan Tracy's into car racing. There's a good chance he'll win the championship this year…" He frowned in thought and stared short-sightedly into the fire. "Do you realise that apart from the swimmer's fifteen minutes of fame, he's the only Tracy son to make the headlines?"

"True, but have you noticed how he never gives interviews and refuses to let himself be photographed?" Bruce asked. "Do you think it's a superstition or an order from his old man?"

"Knowing Tracy Senior, Alan Tracy's probably well and truly under his father's thumb."

"Wearing a ballet frock."

The three men laughed at this mental image.

"Is Jeff Tracy married?" Bruce wondered. "You never see him with his wife and you never hear about her?"

"Where have you been?" Louis asked. "She died years ago. Tracy probably wore her out having so many children."

Virgil frowned. They were getting into territory he wasn't comfortable with.

"I remember!" Bruce exclaimed. "I thought it was some kind of accident."

Whether the beer was doing something to Louis' mind or whether he was enjoying making up stories for his audience's benefit, he seemed to have lost all grasp with reality. "Yeah. It was a car accident. She was leaving Tracy for another man… It was hushed up at the time for their kids' sake."

Virgil stared at him. "What!"

"Yeah!" Louis said, with a floppy wave of his hand. "She'd been playing around for years. Every time Tracy was heading off into space; he'd no sooner be out the door and she'd have thomeone else in her bed…"

Virgil felt his hands balling up into fists.

"…and then nine months after the space flight, bang! Out would pop another kid."

"Louis…" Virgil began.

In his drunken haze, Louis didn't hear him. "After she died they did a paternity tetht on th' kidth…"

"…No…"

"Know wha' they found out?"

"…Stop this…"

"Only the eldes' was Tracy's."

"NO!" Virgil found himself being stared at by his two companions.

"What is it, Virgil?" Bruce asked, surprised by the venom in his friend's voice.

Virgil took a deep breath to get his anger under control. "I… I don't think we should be talking about this. We're slandering Jeff Tracy's and his family's good name."

"Shlander?" Louis drawled. "Itsh only shlander if it not true."

"But it isn't true," Virgil insisted.

"I'll admit that it sounds a bit far fetched," Bruce said. "But how do you know for sure that it isn't true?"

Virgil shrunk back into the shadows. "I just know, okay?"

"How?" Louis demanded.

Virgil kicked at the fire as if he wanted to bury the conversation. "I just do."

"Shure," Louis sneered. "I s'ppoze they taught you tha' at Denva too?" He belched into the flames.

Virgil ran his hand over his face and came to a decision. "If I tell you guys something that no one else at work knows about me, will you promise to keep it a secret?"

"Shecret?" Louis drawled. "Oh, goodie…" He rubbed his hands together in anticipation and opened another beer.

"Oh, put that away," Bruce said peevishly. "You've had too much. What's this secret, Virgil?"

"Please promise not to tell anyone else?" Virgil begged. "If you tell other people it'll… Well… It could change things..."

"Now, you've really got me curious," Bruce said. "I won't tell anyone. Scout's honour!" He flipped a salute and Virgil looked at Louis. "Don't worry about him. He probably won't even remember what you tell us tomorrow."

"I godda good memory," Louis protested. "I 'membered tha' about Tracy didn' I?"

Bruce dismissed the boast. "That was rubbish that you made up tonight."

"It'sh true!"

"No, it's not, Louis," Virgil insisted. "Lucille and Jefferson Tracy loved each other."

"But how do you know that?" Bruce said. "Do you know them?"

"I… ah…" Still unsure if he was doing the right thing, Virgil hesitated.

Bruce was looking at him with an intense expression. "You don't want to tell us, do you?"

Feeling miserable Virgil shook his head. "It's not that I don't trust you guys…"

"But you don't think you know us well enough yet?"

Virgil gave the young man an apologetic smile. "We've only known each other one week."

"Well, you don't need to worry about me, I can keep a secret. How about you, Lou?"

"How abou' me wha'?"

Bruce sighed, clearly fed up with his workmate's drunken behaviour. "Do you promise to keep Virgil's secret secret?"

"Shecret," Louis' eyes appeared to look right through him. "Wha' zecret?"

"Any secrets, you idiot."

"Oh, yeah. I c'n do tha'."

Bruce looked away in disgust. "I think you can take that as a 'yes', Virgil. Now what's this secret?"

Virgil picked up a twig and snapped it. "I… My…" He snapped the twig again. "My last name's not 'Tancy'."

"Huh?" Bruce stared at him, while Louis didn't appear to be listening. "Not Tancy?"

"No."

"But why? Why go by another name? What's wrong with your name?"

"Nothing's wrong with it. I'm quite proud of it, but I wanted to be treated the same as everyone else at ACE. I didn't want any special treatment…" Virgil broke the twig into smaller pieces.

"Special treatment? Why would anyone do that?"

Virgil managed to look at him. "Because of who my father is."

Bruce gave him a sideways look and Virgil could almost see him putting two and two together. "And your father is…?"

"Jeff Tracy."

There was silence.

Bruce was the first to speak. "You're Jeff Tracy's son?"

"Yes." Virgil gave an unconvincing chuckle. "I'm the 'black sheep' artist."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No," Virgil repeated the chuckle. "My brothers say that I don't know how to kid…"

"You're…" Bruce tailed off as the realisation of what he'd been told hit him. "Oh, heck." Then he grinned. "You don't look like someone who's into 'wild scenes'."

Virgil, relieved at the way his friend was taking the news, chuckled. "You see, that's how I know that Louis is wrong about my parents. Ma loved…"

"You bin spyin' on us!" The shout took both Virgil and Bruce by surprise. They'd almost forgotten that Louis was listening.

"No, I haven't," Virgil protested. "I wouldn't…"

"You bin spyin'" Louis repeated. "You tol' Jeff Trazy that we got you inta trouble!"

"No, I didn't, Louis," Virgil responded. "That's why he and I had that argument last Monday. Hamish Mickelson was worried about what happened and he told Father, which he shouldn't've. Father wanted me to tell him who was behind it all so he could clear my record, but I refused. I don't want to get you guys into trouble."

"Well, that explains how a guy who's just graduated can afford a flash studio apartment, a halfway decent car and his own plane." Bruce gave a dry chuckle. "I don't believe it! We got the boss's son a final warning on his first day of work. That's priceless…" He laughed and Virgil managed a wry grin of his own.

But Louis didn't appear to find humour in the situation. "Don' you know what he done?" he demanded of Bruce. "He got us to get him a bleeder. I've go' a bleeder! You know wha' tha' means, dontcha?"

"Virgil didn't ask us to get him a bleeder, Louis," Bruce said patiently. "That was your idea."

"I ain't got a zecond chance," Louis ranted. "Coz of him I'm out of a job!"

"You're not out of a job," Bruce soothed. "Virgil hasn't, and won't, tell his father who pushed him. Right, Virgil…"

"He'll tell…"

"No, I won't, Louis. I promise…"

Bruce patted Louis on the shoulder. "Don't you think that if he were going to get us into trouble he would have done it by now?"

Louis shook his friend's hand free. "But that was before I zaid 'bout his fam'ly."

"I'm sure that if you tell Virgil you're sorry he'll forgive you," Bruce offered. "Right, Virgil?" Virgil, more than happy to let bygones be bygones, nodded. "See. Now say you're sorry and then let's turn in for the night. We can start the new day with no secrets."

But, either because of the drink or his own stubbornness, Louis appeared unable to apologise. "I'm not sorry for speakin' the truth."

Virgil tried to remain calm. "Part of what you said about us is true. But every word you said about Ma was wrong. My father and mother loved each other. Her death nearly killed him."

"'Im!" Louis waved a sloppy finger under Virgil's nose. "Nearly killed 'im. Bu' wha' I said waz the truth."

"No, it wasn't…"

"Your mudda waz leavin' your fadda…"

"Shut up, Louis," Bruce hissed.

Virgil attempted to keep control of his anger. "No, she wasn't."

"She 'ad 'nudder man."

"There was no 'other' man in the car! Only…"

"I know why you don' uze the name Trazy!" Louis said triumphantly, pointing a wavering finger at Virgil.

"Shut up, Louis!" Bruce had seen a dangerous light in Virgil's eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about."

The finger continued its unsteady accusation. "You're 'shamed of your name!"

"No, I'm not!"

Bruce got to his feet and pulled on Louis' arm. "I think you should go to bed…!"

"Get off!" Louis pulled his arm free and resumed pointing. "You 'shamed! You 'shamed coz Jeff Trazy not your fadda!" He gave a triumphant cackle.

This was too much. Virgil sprang to his feet. "You take that back!"

"Jeff Trazy not your fadda," Louis taunted.

Unwilling to stay, unable to trust himself not to lash out, Virgil Tracy turned on his heel and strode out the door towards his aeroplane's hangar.

He heard a voice behind him. "You 'shamed, Veggie…" followed by the cackling laugh. "You 'shamed coz your madda a trollop!"

Virgil opened the hangar door.

"Shut up, Louis!" Bruce stormed. "How would you like it if someone called your mother a trollop?"

Louis seemed surprised by the question. "Bu' she iz one."

"That explains why you're a…"

Virgil slammed the door behind him. He climbed into the aeroplane, threw himself into the pilot's seat and sat there glowering at the controls. On impulse he flipped open his cell phone and speed-dialled his own number.

Gordon's voice answered:

"Virgil's not here

He's playin' the piana.,

But I'll give your message,

To his gal, Pollyanna."

"Gordon!" Virgil shouted uselessly into his own answer-phone. "Leave my messages alone!" He hung up, redialled, and reprogrammed the answering service.

He'd cooled down somewhat when there was a knock on the plane's fuselage. He looked through the cockpit windows to see the door open and a flag made out of an off-white t-shirt tied to a stick above Bruce's head. "I come in peace," he flag bearer stated. "Is it safe to enter your domain?"

"Come in," Virgil said. "I won't bite."

Bruce entered the plane and shut the door behind him. "It's not biting I'm worried about. I think you'd told me you've done some martial arts training and I'd like to be reassured I'm going to leave here in one piece." He settled into the passenger's seat in the cockpit. "What are you doing?"

"I needed to talk to someone." Virgil glanced at his watch. "So I was going to call my brother when he'd finished dinner."

Bruce looked at the dead control panel and closed phone. "Why wait?"

Virgil managed a chuckle. "You don't know Scott. Nothing comes between him and his food."

"And which was he in our mess of uninformed inaccuracies?"

"He's the eldest. The one in the Air Force. He's actually a better pilot than I am…" Bruce heard the pride in Virgil's voice. "He got an award for the way he landed that plane in Bereznick." He looked at his watch again.

"Look…" Bruce stared out through the windshield into the darkness. "I'm sorry about what we said, but we didn't know your relationship to Mr Tracy."

Virgil glanced at him. "Would you normally call him 'Mr Tracy'?"

Bruce's smile was rueful. "I would to his face, or to ol' Micky… I mean, Mr Mickleson, or Mr Watts."

"See, that's why I'm going under an alias. I don't want people to think 'Oh, he's Jeff Tracy's son. I'd better be careful what I say'. I want people to relax and treat me like anyone else."

"I expect what we were saying about your family came as a bit of a surprise."

Virgil smiled. "It was interesting at first. I mean, I know we five are fair game because we've tried to keep a low profile; but that's because we all hate publicity. Back when Ma was killed, I can remember trying to get into the hospital where I thought they were keeping her and this photographer stuck his camera into our faces. Just because our father was a famous astronaut!"

"Rough."

"Yeah. All I wanted to do was see my mother and this huge guy from the press was blocking our way! You can't imagine what an impact that had on young kids."

"Must have been a tough time," Bruce commented.

Virgil nodded. "Louis said that it must be because of Father that we shy away from publicity, and that's partially true. We saw what effect that constant press attention had on him, and us, and we don't want to be part of that again." Virgil sighed. "I know that people who work for him are bound to talk about him. He's famous enough to be an object of interest and I can live with that. But what Louis said about Ma…" He balled his hand up into a fist.

"I understand," Bruce acknowledged. "And I'm impressed. If someone had been talking like that about my mother I think I would have hauled off and punched him!"

"I was tempted."

"So I see." Bruce indicated the clenched fist and Virgil looked down as if he were surprised at what he was doing.

He shook his hand to refresh the circulation. "I'm sorry that I had to lie to you guys. But, you do understand why, don't you?"

"Yes, I understand and don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

Virgil smiled at him. "Thanks. But what about…" he indicated the cabin and its drunken occupant.

"Don't worry about Louis. He knows full well that if he spills the beans about who you are, then you could just happen to mention to your father who got you into trouble. He's got a final warning too and he knows that sending the boss' son on a roller-coaster ride is guaranteed instant dismissal. He won't say anything; deep down he's a coward…"

---I-R---

---F-A-B---

The following morning dawned clear, but the atmosphere in the cabin was oppressive. Virgil, feeling that his associates' attitude to him had changed dramatically and not for the better, kept largely to himself. Louis, nursing a sore head, maintained a sullen silence. Bruce, feeling like some kind of U.N. Peacekeeper, attempted to jolly things along without success.

By mid-morning they all decided that the best thing to do was fly home again.

Their gear having been safely stowed in the plane, Virgil took one last look around the cabin to ensure it was just how his grandmother would leave it. Satisfied, he locked the door, turned to return to the aircraft…

"Ouch!"

Bruce Sanders stepped closer. "What have you done?"

"Impaled myself on that twig." Virgil indicated his right hand, which had blood oozing from a small wound.

"That was clever. At least it's bleeding. That'll help clean it."

Virgil examined the injury. "I think I've got a splinter in there."

"Can you get it out?"

"No, but it's not a problem. I'll leave it."

"You'd better stick a plaster on it if you don't want blood all over the cockpit." Bruce's eyes twinkled. "Maybe we can convince Louis to kiss it better."

Virgil screwed up his face. "I think all that poison would make it worse!" He submitted to Bruce's assistance in dressing the wound before climbing past Louis Fleming, who was already seated, and into the pilot's seat. "Safety harnesses on."

There was one click behind him as Bruce did up his safety harness. Virgil waited for the second click but none was forthcoming. "Could you put your safety harness on please, Louis?"

"No."

"This plane doesn't leave the ground until everyone's safely strapped in."

"Why? Don't you think you can 'leave the ground' safely?" Louis taunted.

Virgil heard Bruce's exasperated sigh and refused to rise to Louis' bait. "I know I can, but that still won't make me take off until I know everyone's secure."

"Why not?" Louis taunted again. "Gonna make Daddy make me?"

"Because it's not safe. You wear your personal protective equipment at work, don't you?"

Louis didn't reply.

"But you don't put on your P.P.E. because you think you're going to need them," Virgil continued. "You put them on in case you need them."

"Put it on, Lou," Bruce instructed.

"You keep out of it, Buzz."

Virgil turned in his seat and looked at Louis who folded his arms and glared defiantly back. Virgil gave a nonchalant shrug. "Okay. If that's the way you want it." He reached into a locker, pulled out a sketch pad, and started drawing the mountains that encircled their cabin.

He was enjoying his drawing and had almost forgotten about his companions and when he heard a muffled curse and a familiar click. "All done up tight?" he asked as he slipped the pad back into the locker.

"Aye, aye, Capt'n," Bruce replied.

A short time later the little plane was heading for the skies.

---I-R---

---F-A-B---

Monday morning. The start of another week at Aeronautical Component Engineering.

Virgil had made his way to work, amazed at how this time last week he'd been so excited at starting his new job, whereas now… Now the idea of a day at ACE had all the appeal of a tooth extraction.

Virgil, the top of his overalls tied around his waist, found a spot outside, away from his colleagues, and sat down to try to recharge his batteries. His right hand, the one he'd impaled on the twig back at the campsite, had ached for much of the night and he hadn't got any sleep. He examined his hand morosely. He'd managed to apply a fresh bandage, but the skin around it had reddened and was starting to swell…

"Is this where you're hiding?"

Virgil looked up. "Oh… Hi, Bruce."

"What are you doing skulking around here?"

"It's cooler."

"Cooler?" Bruce lost his jovial smile. "Are you all right? You're looking a bit pale."

"I'm okay."

"Virgil?" Bruce crouched down so he was closer to Virgil's eye level. In doing so he caught a glimpse of the new bandage. "Your hand's looking a bit inflamed."

"It's okay."

"You should let the doctor have a look at it."

"I will," Virgil admitted. "I'll make an appointment for the morning tea break."

"I don't know that you should wait that long," Bruce warned.

"The doctor doesn't arrive until nine," Virgil reminded him. "Fifty minutes won't matter."

Bruce didn't agree. "Tell Mega you're going to see the quack…"

"I've only been at work a week," Virgil protested. "How's it going to look if I try to take time off now!?"

"Then I'll cover for you."

"You can't do that; you might get into trouble…"

"Virgil…"

"Bruce! I'm okay!" Virgil snapped. "I don't need to see the doctor yet!" Bruce looked taken aback and Virgil immediately felt ashamed of his outburst. "I'm sorry. It's only for two-and-a-bit hours and then I'll get it checked out."

"Are you going to be able to work with only your left hand?"

Virgil favoured him with a wry smile. "I'm ambidextrous, remember?"

"Yes, but you'll need two good hands in there, unless you tell Mega you want light duties."

"He'll give me light duties anyway," Virgil forced an ironic laugh. "He promised me that I could start the day linishing those components."

"Don't forget that your father's coming to visit the shop today. Are you going to be able to hide that hand from him?"

Virgil had forgotten about Jeff's impending visit. "Oh, heck… I'm going to have to somehow." He rubbed his forehead with his good arm. It came away wet. "Why does he have to visit today of all days?" he asked.

"I take it that was a rhetorical question."

From somewhere in the bowels of the factory an alarm sounded.

"Well, there's our call to action," Bruce joked half-heartedly. "Let's see what Mega's got lined up for us…" He watched Virgil slowly rise to his feet. "You'd better put your overalls on properly."

Virgil slid his injured hand into the sleeve and winced as the cloth pulled against the inflammation.

"Here," Bruce grabbed the sleeve. "Let me help." He held the material clear of the injury as Virgil slid the hand through and then assisted with the other sleeve. "Come on. We're going to be late."

Max Watts didn't notice their arrival, a minute after everyone else. Louis Fleming did though and he nudged Burt and Paul before whispering something.

Virgil eyed them nervously. "Do you think he's told them?"

"Nah," Bruce replied. "Like I said yesterday. He's a coward."

Watts appeared to be in a state of excitement as he doled out his subordinates' tasks for the day. "He's always like this whenever we have a royal visit," Bruce explained and Virgil managed a smile. He accepted his relatively easy task of linishing with relief and started work.

He'd been at it for about an hour, each component seemingly weighing more than the previous, when he became aware of a minor commotion behind him. He kept his head down and kept working.

"Stop working!" someone shouted into his earmuffs.

With a mixture of relief and dread Virgil did as he was told. He casually rested his injured arm out of sight on a ledge behind the linisher and removed his earmuffs with a strained smile.

His father, looking at first surprised and then concerned, and Max Watts, looking like a puppy eager to please, were standing there. "Mr Tracy," Watts said with an important air. "Let me introduce you to our newest employee, Virgil Tancy."

As quick as he could, Virgil extended his left hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mr Tracy. Were you a Boy Scout?"

"Why… Yes… Yes, I was," Jeff replied, accepting the universal Scouting handshake. "I take it you were too?"

"Yes, that's right."

"I was in Scouts," Watts said, keen to be included in his employer's circle. He hadn't seemed to have noticed Virgil's awkward stance.

"Virgil…" Jeff mused. "It's not a common name. One of my sons is named Virgil too; after Virgil Grissom, the astronaut."

Virgil could imagine that his father had been rehearsing that line all weekend. "That's a coincidence," he replied. "So did my father."

"Tancy's straight out of the Denver School of Advanced Technology," Watts boasted. "He graduated top in his year. No one but the best for ACE."

Jeff ignored the boast and looked Virgil straight in the eye. "Are you feeling all right, son? You're looking a little flushed."

"I'm feeling fine…" Virgil managed to bite back a 'Father', decided against using 'Sir', and eventually ended up with a belated, "Mr Tracy".

Jeff's eyes left Virgil's and followed the line of his arm down to where it was hidden by the machine. "Have you got something wrong with your hand?"

"My hand?" Virgil showed his left hand. "It's fine."

"I meant your right one," Jeff growled.

Virgil had only a split second in which to think. "Oh, my right one!" he said quickly. "It's got a slight scratch on it, we went skiing this weekend, but it's nothing much."

"May I see it?" Jeff asked.

Virgil considered defying his father, but he knew from Jeff's tone of voice that the elder man wouldn't take no for an answer. Reluctantly he withdrew his hand from behind the machine.

Jeff looked at the red, swollen tissue then at Virgil. "Have you seen a doctor?"

"Ah, no," Virgil admitted, feeling guilty. "I was going to see him during the next break."

Jeff turned to Watts. "And you let this man work with his hand in that state?"

Watts withered under Jeff's gaze. "I… ah…"

Virgil leapt to his supervisor's defence. "He didn't know. I didn't tell him." He received a furious glare from Max Watts and a visual scolding from his father.

Jeff looked at his watch. "0845 hours. The doctor should be arriving soon. You," he looked pointedly at Virgil, "are to go to his surgery right now and ask to see him immediately. Tell him I sent you. Understand?"

Feeling suitably chastened, Virgil hung his head. "Yes, Sir."

"I will be along shortly to ensure that you have carried out my orders."

Virgil gave his father a pleading look, but repeated his "Yes, Sir."

"Now," Jeff turned back to Watts. "What else do you have to show me?"

---F-A-B---

Upon hearing that the owner of the company had sent Virgil along for treatment, Doctor Daldy had accepted Virgil into his surgery immediately. After an examination, blood tests and the bandage replaced by a new one and a sling, they both emerged into the front office to find Jeff sitting alone, waiting patiently. "How is this young man, William?

"Hello, Mr Tracy. Well, I'm afraid you won't be getting any work out of him for the rest of the week. I've advised rest."

Virgil couldn't look at his father. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Now, let's just fill in the details of your visit and then you can go." The doctor rifled through some cards. "I'll update this in the computer later…" He read something and clicked his tongue. "It says here under 'next of kin' to see Mr Mickelson," he said. "Is he a relative?"

"No," Virgil responded. "Not exactly."

Doctor Daldy clicked his tongue again. "I'm sorry, but that won't do. I've got to have the name of your next of kin in case of emergencies." He sat at the desk with his pen at the ready. "It can be anyone in your family; mother, father, siblings, grandparent…cousin…" He looked at Virgil expectantly.

Virgil looked down to where his left hand was toying with the material of his new sling. "Uh… Father."

"'Father'," Dr Daldy dictated as he wrote. "Name?"

Virgil glanced at his father whose face was impassive. "Umm… Jeff."

"Jeff," the doctor recited. "With a 'J' or a 'G'?"

"J."

"Ah. The proper way," Dr Daldy beamed at his employer and wrote J.E.F.F. "Last name 'Tancy'…"

"No…" Virgil interrupted.

The doctor stopped writing. His pen still at the end of the crossbar of the letter 'T'. "No?"

"No… My… My last name's not Tancy," Virgil admitted.

"Your name's not Tancy?" Dr Daldy repeated. "It says Tancy on your card."

"I know," Virgil admitted.

"Then what is your last name." Virgil didn't answer. "Is it the same as your father's?" Virgil nodded. "Come, come now. I know it seems trivial, but it could be important at some point in the future." The doctor received no response. "Now, Virgil. What is your last name? Remember patient confidentiality. No one else need know if you wish to maintain this 'Tancy' charade. Ah…" he glanced at Jeff, "would you rather we conducted this interview alone in my office?"

"No," Virgil said. "Fa… Ah, he knows who I am."

"Then would you care to share it with me?" William Daldy asked.

Virgil shot his father an agonised look then resumed his inspection of his sling. "Tracy," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that."

"Tracy."

Dr Daldy began writing. "Jeff Tra…" He stopped; pen mid-air and stared at what was on the page. Then he looked at Jeff.

"Yes," Jeff confirmed. "Virgil is my son."

"Oh," said the doctor.

"We didn't want anyone to know of our relationship so that he'd be treated like all of the other employees."

"Oh," the doctor repeated. "I understand."

"Virgil will be coming home with me," Jeff continued, laying his hand on his miserable son's shoulder. "We'll be flying back to my island in the South Pacific."

"Father…" Virgil protested.

"Your grandmother's already there," Jeff interrupted. "For both our sakes, you'd better come with me. You know that she won't accept you staying here alone."

Virgil realised that had no choice but to accept the inevitable.

To be continued…