Captain Scott Tracy lay on his back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He looked supremely relaxed and only someone who knew him very, very well – and those who did numbered in single figures – would know he was inwardly chafing at the inactivity.
There was a soft noise at the outer door. He didn't move.
"Visitor, sir," the orderly told him.
There was a soft jangling of keys.
"So what did you do this time?"
Scott's eyebrows raised ever so minimally, and he swung himself into a sitting position.
"Well, well, well. Must be serious if they've called in the old man."
"They didn't call me in. I didn't even know till I arrived in this godforsaken country that you'd gotten yourself thrown in the brig again."
"You make it sound like a regular occurrence. Last time was a mistake. What's the cost of a couple of aircraft against the life of a highly qualified and very expensive-to-train pilot? They admitted as much."
"I repeat – what did you do this time?"
Scott shrugged. "Don't tell me you don't know."
"I want to hear it from you."
"I slugged my CO."
"Oh, well done," Jeff's voice dripped sarcasm. "Was there a reason for this?"
"He's a jerk. He was picking on a junior officer."
"Pretty, was she?"
"Can't say I noticed."
"My hero."
"I aim to please."
"Why do you do this?"
"I like fast and shiny things?" Scott proffered. "Shooting things down is pretty cool too. It gives me an opportunity to indulge my more animalistic tendencies in a controlled environment."
"That isn't what I meant, and you know it." Jeff sighed. "But tell me again how you managed to pass the Air Force psych tests?"
"I lied," Scott responded smoothly.
"Hm. When is the court martial?"
"Who cares? They won't do anything. I'm too highly decorated. I have a reputation."
"As the craziest head job in the USAF."
Scott shrugged "I get the job done. Besides, I'm a Tracy. They wouldn't dare."
"I've talked to the prosecuting officer. He says different. That the assault charge is all that they can pin on you at the moment but - and I quote - "it'll do to be going on with." He says you're looking at twelve to eighteen months and a dishonourable discharge. Frankly, they don't know what to do with you. George says you're one of the most brilliant technical pilots he's ever come across but you insist on being a complete embarrassment to everyone."
"Yes, well," Scott muttered. "I've had a lot of practice."
"You said it. I'm not sure I can live down having a son in prison."
"You already have a son in prison, sir."
"I do?" Jeff was puzzled. He wondered briefly which one it was.
"You probably should have brought us up better."
"I probably should have drowned you at birth," Jeff growled. "Anyway, this is why I've cut a deal with the top brass. I'm buying you out."
"Out?" Scott asked blankly.
"You heard me."
"So first you make it clear that it's the Air Force or you'll disown me, and now you want to buy me out?" He looked at his father sideways. "So what now? Photocopier boy at Tracy head office? You want me to work my way up to CEO the hard way?"
"No," his father said patiently. "I have something quite different in mind for you. I'll fill you in on the way back to the States. Then I need you to find…" he clicked his fingers rapidly three times in succession "…red-head…swims a bit…"
"Gordon, sir?
"Gordon."
