2 - Jewel Song

"Virgil Tracy, you're in serious trouble." TinTin walked into the lounge, her expression severe.
"Why?" Virgil looked up from the piano. "What've I done?"
"You left a piece of metal in the pocket of your uniform, and it's fused the autocleaner. Just when Grandma and I have a whole lot of washing to get through."
"Can't you boys ever learn to turn out your pockets?" Jeff Tracy rumbled irritably from behind the World News.
"I don't remember any metal," Virgil protested. "And how do you know it was my uniform? They all look the same, without the sashes."
"Because it was the muddiest," TinTin replied firmly. She held out her hand. "Do you recognize this?"
Virgil took the disc and gazed at it for a moment. "Gee, I'd forgotten about that. Guess it's a case of guilty as charged."
"You'd better come with me, then. Grandma and I have already decided on the sentence."
"What's that?"
"You fix the autocleaner. That's after you've drained it and cleaned it out. And that's after you've mopped the water off the kitchen floor."
"I thought finding a coin was supposed to be lucky." Virgil held up the disk and looked at it without enthusiasm. "Say, Alan, do you want this? You're interested in archeology. It could be real old, maybe Roman; I found it on the Lake Reno trip."
Jeff raised his eyes from the newspaper. "If that turns out to be some kind of antique I want it mailed straight back to the Institute - anonymously of course. We're not keeping anything that ought to be in a museum."
"Great, Virgil, thanks." Alan's face lit as he took the disc. "Wow, it's in bad shape, but we'll soon get that off." He weighed it in his hand. "Heavy, too. You never know, it could even be gold. I'll get Brains to clean it up right now. Want to come and watch?"
"He's got a prior engagement," TinTin reminded them.
"Okay, I'm coming," Virgil said, resigned. "See you lunchtime, Alan."
"If you're lucky," TinTin said.

"Is that it, Brains?" Alan asked impatiently as the tap washed the gray sludge down the laboratory sink. "If I'd known it was going to take this long TinTin and I would've gone for a swim." He looked at the blue square of the window with regret. "Sure is hot in here."
"There're a few things I-I'd rather be doing, too," Brains answered, a shade testily. "But if you want the last of this uh, encrustation removed without i-injuring the metal it has to be done properly. You don't get something for nothing, Alan: that's the first law of thermodynamics." He marched over to the other side of the room and lit a Bunsen burner with a pop.
"We've caught him at a bad time," TinTin explained in a low voice. "He's got the refit for Thunderbird One's launch bay on his mind at the moment, and he's working on some new circuits for a robot. He thinks he's made a breakthrough in fuzzy logic."
"New circuits?" Alan raised his eyebrows. "Well I hope they're better than Braman's." He glanced over to where the copper-colored robot drooped in the corner, arms limp at its sides and square head hanging forwards, like a hazard suit on a peg. "Brains lost interest in him pretty quick, didn't he?"
"Braman's logic always was a little fuzzy anyway, I'm afraid," TinTin said. "And his hardware's completely out of date now. You know, I'm sorry for Brains." She tapped her forehead. "His research department comes up with new ideas so fast his manufacturing division can't keep up. As soon as he's finished building something it's obsolete."
"Uh, almost ready." Brains returned to the sink, carrying a flask in a pair of long tongs. He set it down, added the contents of a test tube, and a cloud of stinking yellow fumes shot up with shocking speed, like a genie from a bottle.
"Oh, Brains!" TinTin complained. She reached for the door control pad but the door slid up unassisted, to reveal Virgil in the corridor outside. He stepped back hastily, wrinkling his nose.
"Whew. I had a message for Brains, but I guess I'll come back later."
"No, come in." TinTin stood aside to let the fumes roll off on an exploration of the corridor. "You're just in time. Brains has finished cleaning your find, only we've already discovered that it isn't what you thought it was. Tell him, Alan."
"It isn't a coin at all," Alan said, "it's a locket. It isn't gold, it's silver, and it sure isn't Roman. Brains reckons it can't be more than thirty years old."
"The ah, plating process is very distinctive." Brains upended the flask into a fog-filled tank. "I believe it's mainly used on more uh, economical articles." He fished in the tank and held out his hand. "There, you should be able to prize it open now."
"I don't care if it isn't valuable," TinTin said, "I think it's pretty." She took the disc from Brains's palm. The silver gleamed alluringly, still smoking slightly and sprinkled with a fine frost as the last traces of its carbon dioxide rinse sublimed. On its uppermost face the random worm-tracks were revealed as a tolerably well-executed image of a flowing fountain, circled by a tracery of vine leaves. A tiny hinge and clasp and a hairline crack around its perimeter betrayed the object's true nature, and TinTin carefully inserted a fingernail tip. "Alan's given it to me. I hope you don't mind, Virgil."
Virgil shrugged. "Guess it wasn't mine anyway. And it wouldn't look too good on Alan."
"Of course if there's any clue to the real owner we'll try to return it," TinTin went on. "That's why we want to get it open." She dug her nail a little deeper into the crack. "Brains thinks it was probably thrown away. It's..." The two halves of the locket sprang apart without warning, and her eyes flew wide in surprise.
She frowned, holding the jewel up like an open oyster for inspection. "Alan, look. Whatever does it mean?"
There was no faded photograph or brittle lock of hair; in fact the locket was empty. But on the inside of the backplate, as unexpected as a pearl, the following inscription had been engraved in a neat but slightly unsteady hand:

G I U L I A N A

2 7 0 M

Beneath it, a fine network of intersecting lines had been carved into the metal with care and precision. Each junction of the principle lines was distinguished by small circle, and across one of the circles was incised a large bold X.
"It's a road map," Alan said, astonished. "But who's Giuliana? And what's two-seven-zero M?"
Virgil leaned over his shoulder. "Looks like a heading. Two hundred and seventy degrees magnetic. Or magnetico, in their case."
"Could be miles," Alan said. "Two hundred and seventy miles."
"Miles from where?" TinTin asked. "Anyway they don't use miles in Europe, it's kilometers."
"Two hundred and seventy meters, then." Alan frowned. "From where the X is, maybe."
TinTin looked up from the locket and met Alan's eyes. "Alan! X marks the spot! Perhaps it's buried treasure."
"Perhaps it's u-utter nonsense," Brains said with a deprecatory little snort, giving the interior of the locket a cursory glance. "I'd take a bet that it never meant anything, except to this Giuliana and whoever her ah, Romeo may have been. It's my experience that people who carve things i-inside lockets are seldom in possession of their full uh, faculties."
Virgil stared at him in open curiosity. "What experience was that, Brains?"
"N-Never you mind." Brains colored. "You had a message, I seem to remember."
"Yes. Dad wants to see you about the refit."
"And the figures aren't ready," Brains fretted, shrugging out of his stained labcoat. "We may have to house Thunderbird One with Thunderbird Two while the bay's being stripped down. You'd ah, better come with me, Virgil."
TinTin followed them to the door. "I'm going to find a chain for the locket, Alan. Even if it is full of nonsense I'm still going to wear it. I'll see you in the lounge."
"See you," Alan murmured vaguely as the door closed. He picked up a pen and traced a couple of intersecting lines on the desk pad, connected them with a circle, then poked the pen into the circle's center and twirled it absently, making a small cross- shaped crater. "X marks the spot," he said thoughtfully to the empty room.

The atlas balanced on the edge of the dinner table slipped suddenly, toppling the sugar sifter that stood by the freshly-cut apple pie. Hit by the sifter a knife flew up, striking the loose lid of the mustard pot a glancing blow. Decapitated, the pot overturned into the pie.
"Oh, for Pete's sake." Scott sat with his spoon halfway to the pie dish. "Can't you be more careful, Alan?"
"It's okay for you," Gordon pointed out, "that would've been your second helping. I haven't had any yet."
Jeff Tracy lowered his Washington Herald. "If you boys would learn some manners and not read at the table this sort of thing wouldn't happen."
"Okay, I'm sorry." Alan retrieved the book. "But I'm on the verge of a breakthrough. I've found a match for the road pattern on TinTin's locket." The table set into an instant and determined silence, but he went on: "It's just outside San Giuliano, in Tuscany, so that explains part of the inscription as well. The backplate's kind of buckled, and if you look the A at the end of Giuliana could just as easy be meant to be an O. The way I figure it, the treasure must be two hundred and seventy meters off the highway from where the X is. Problem is, in which direction? If I could just see the place..."
"That'll do, Alan." Jeff put the paper down with a slap. "If you can't find another topic of conversation you can leave the table. I told you I didn't want to hear that word again."
"Word?" Alan asked innocently. "Did I say something?"
"You know what I mean. Treasure. Lockets, maps, secret inscriptions; it's hogwash. And I'm not having it at my table."
Gordon choked.
"And that's enough from you." His father's eyebrows bristled dangerously. "Weren't you supposed to be careening the cruiser today?"
"Aw, but it's too late," Gordon complained. "It'll be dark by the time..."
"Not if there's two of you. Alan, you can help him. And you'd better start now, if you don't want your supper on the beach. Now move."
Left alone with Scott, Jeff sat back wearily and pinched his brow. "Something'll have to be done about this nonsense. Books, charts, hours shut up in his room - it isn't healthy for a boy his age."
"You mean Alan's buried treasure?" Scott poured himself a coffee. "Yeah, he hasn't talked about anything else for days, he's driving us all nuts. Every time Brains wants to get on the computer there's Alan, working his way through the chart bank. I was trying to find some plans in the library yesterday, and there wasn't just a book missing, there was a whole shelf."
"Alan?" Jeff asked.
"Alan. He'd just dumped them in a barrow and wheeled them into his room: charts, plans, technical manuals: the lot. He said it saved him time. I know things have been quiet and he's got nothing to do, but Brains and I are trying to work on the refit. Alan's been talking about a trip to Italy, and I almost wish he'd take one. That might save us time."
"You're right, Son." Jeff nodded. "I've already made up my mind. Alan needs to work this treasure business out of his system, and the best way to do that is to let him discover for himself that it's all horse feathers. He's been pestering me to let him take a vacation, and I'm going to do just that. Penelope's got a villa at a little place called Monte Thesauri; I've checked, and she's more than happy to lend it to us for a couple of weeks. TinTin wants a break too, but that's okay because the house is big enough for six. In fact it's perfect because if I remember correctly Monte Thesauri's not too far from San Giuliano. Which leaves us with only one problem."
"What's that?"
Jeff raised an eyebrow. "I should've thought that was obvious. I'd be failing in my duty to Kyrano if I let those two go vacationing alone. Apart from that I don't want them running around Italy unsupervised. TinTin's got common sense, but with the mood Alan's in I doubt that she could stop him digging up the Coliseum if he thought there was a bag of gold under it. The trouble is that neither you nor I can be spared while the refit's on."
"Well, I don't know the answer," Scott admitted. "I'm sure Gordon would love to go along, but I guess he and Alan together'd be a recipe for disaster."
"No." Jeff shook his head decisively. "What's needed here is someone with maturity. Someone tolerant enough to put up with a few high jinks, but who can be relied on to keep an eye on those two and set them a sober, sensible example. And I think I know just the person."

"A vacation?" Virgil looked up at his father in surprise.
"That's right, Son." Jeff leaned on the piano, smiling down beneficently. "It's a long time since you've had a break. It'll do you good to get away for a while."
"But supposing we have a call? You'd never manage without Thunderbird Two."
"That's all taken care of. With Thunderbird One's launch bay out of commission for the next few weeks it's an ideal chance for Scott to put in some flying hours in Thunderbird Two, if and when we get a call. That means it's also an ideal chance for you to take a rest and enjoy yourself. How do you feel about a couple of weeks in Italy?"
"Italy? But that's where Alan's been talking about going."
"Exactly. Both TinTin and Alan are due for time off, and I've decided to let them go. But they'll need someone to keep an eye on them while they're there."
"You mean a chaperon?" Virgil asked, suspicion beginning to dawn.
"No, I don't mean that at all." His father's voice reverted to its normal dyspeptic growl. "I mean someone to keep this treasure craze of Alan's in check. You'll be staying at Penelope's villa, near what she tells me is a peaceful little village, and I don't want anything happening to change that. The last thing we need are any embarrassing incidents that might reflect back on her. Do you understand?"
"But with Alan and I away that just leaves Scott and Gordon. What if..."
Jeff held up a warning hand. "No more buts. You and Alan will still be on call. You'll be traveling in Thunderbird One, which solves our problem of where to house it during the refit, but also means you'll be able to make it to the rescue site in plenty of time if there's an emergency." He reached out and clapped down the lid of the white baby grand with a finality that set the strings singing in protest. "Now, if you can tear yourself away from this thing you'd better start packing. If you boys spent less time moping around the house and got more fresh air we'd never have had all this trouble in the first place."

TinTin dropped the heavy suitcase in the disordered interior of Thunderbird One and looked around in dismay. "There're still a lot of books to pack, Alan. But there'll never be room for all these cases."
"We'll get some more in the hull space yet." Alan squeezed out from an open panel in the cabin wall. "The more information we take along the more chance we've got of finding the treasure." He inspected the suitcase for scuffs. "And take it easy, this is my personalized luggage."
"Well, you can carry the rest of it yourself." TinTin sat down in the control seat, tired, hot and cross. "I think Brains was right, anyway; there probably never was any treasure. Why can't we just forget about it and enjoy our vacation, Alan? Italy's so beautiful at this time of year."
"Why shouldn't we enjoy it?" Alan asked, surprised. "There might even be some spare time for sightseeing, if that's the sort of thing you want. Dad's arranged for a hire car to be waiting when we get there, and the villa sure sounds comfortable. It's got a fully equipped kitchen; you'll be able to put together some great meals. You always said you liked Italian food."
TinTin regarded him icily. "I meant I like eating it, not cooking it. I do enough cooking as it is, when I'm not up to my elbows in grease helping Brains. This is my vacation too, you know, and I'm not going to spend it in a kitchen, however modern it is."
"But I just thought..."
"Well, you'd better think of something else." She lifted her chin. "If you just want a robot to do your housework why don't you go on vacation with Braman? I'm sure he'd be lovely company."
"Braman!" Alan almost shouted, "Braman! TinTin, you're a genius. That's it."
"That's what?"
"We take Braman with us, of course. Then he can do the cooking and the cleaning, and anything else we don't want to do. Brains won't miss him. And you can program him with the necessary instructions before we go."
"Perhaps," TinTin said doubtfully, "but I don't think Virgil will be very pleased. We've got too much luggage already."
"So we take something out. You can't need all those outfits. If we get Braman programmed and stowed now Virgil won't know a thing about it until we're there. Anyway he'll thank us when he realizes he doesn't have to cook his own breakfast." Alan stepped out onto the boarding gangway. "Come on, let's get busy. The villa may be modern but Monte Thesauri's way out in the wilds; there're probably a hundred things a robot could help us do. Somehow I've just got this feeling that he's going to come in really useful out there."