Disclaimer: Thunderbirds is owned by Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. This is a non-profit experiment in creativity.
Warnings: Mild bad language and adult themes. There are some disturbing conditions described in this chapter.
Authors Notes: Another big and warm thank you to all my reviewers for your kind remarks and critiques.
A few of you have remarked that this is like the X-Men 2 movie. When I looked back over it I thought 'Wow! This is a lot like that movie!' but that really wasn't my intention. It can't be denied it touches on a lot of similar themes. I like to think they're more universal than just X-2 though (grin).
I'm a little ambivalent about this chapter – it turned out different than I intended it to be. It's the longest yet, but there's almost no action in it. It mostly centres round Jeff, and the plot beginning to thicken around the boys. But, not to worry! I've got the next chapter all planned out, and there lots of action and gratuitous power-use in it.
You'll notice I've decided to use Fermat's character, again in line with the movie-verse. I needed him to introduce the device that will play a role in the coming chapters, and he was too cute not to use.
Just for the record, I'm not a neurologist or an engineer! The explanations within are completely made up from plausible sounding words that are probably completely off the mark. Chalk it up to this being a work of science fiction, if you please.
Again, please read and review. Please.
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Part III – The Eccentric Mr Hackenbacker
In which there is – A Conversation with John – 'Stay Close to Home' – A Call from Grandma – Lady Penelope's Assistance – The Eccentric Mr Hackenbacker – the Device – 'What do you need?' – 'What could go wrong?' – Enemies Gather
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Jeff shuffled through the last of the paperwork – it was well past midnight now, and he had decided to make a start on the leave preparations he'd wanted to do back at the office, since he was too worried and keyed up to sleep.
His sons were in bed – since grounding was immediate in this household, Gordon had Alan had wisely decided to make a start on cleaning their room after dinner. Jeff had shuffled them off to sleep early, since they had school tomorrow, but allowed them an hour or so for clandestine 'lights on' in their room to chat. He knew he couldn't be completely rigid with them, especially since they had so forthrightly accepted their punishment.
Scott, John and Virgil hadn't lasted much longer – it had been a long day, Virgil still had a headache and the evening news had been depressing. Protests were already congealing around the White House and pro-psychic organisations around the country, and the authorities were struggling to keep order on the streets. Psychics had been advised to take care, which had been a further, sour note.
When Jeff had suggested rest, they had willingly taken it and had trudged off to their own room, which they all shared. Scott had re-emerged briefly to apologise for the museum, which Jeff had been expecting. Sometimes Scott had a habit of over-owning responsibility. Jeff didn't think he should be blamed for optimism. Jeff would have made the same decision to let them go off together had he been there, and he told Scott as much. Before going off the bed, his eldest had given him an unexpected embrace, something which he hadn't done in years. It was indicative of just how much the whole situation scared his son, even though Scott would never say it.
He was glad his sons still felt comfortable enough to hug their Dad, even past childhood. He was lucky in that regard – psychics 101 said that all gifted children needed to be touched – hugged, cuddled and reassured. Touch was the least of the psychic senses, the sense most grounded in the physical reality, and that was a vital fact recognised by parapsychologists around the country. It meant that something as simple as a touch could ground a psychic lost in their extra senses, give them focus and balance, keep them calm and controlled. He couldn't remember how many times he'd shared his bed with his wife cuddling one or more of his sons, especially John who could lose touch with reality so quickly under the flood of thoughts around him. Alan too, though Alan had gone more to Scott and John, because Jeff's feelings had been so fragile immediately after Lucille was killed.
Others on the outside often spotted it, but his boys rarely realised how touchy-feely they were – forever slinging arms across shoulders, noogie-ing, punching and knuckling each other in a macho, teenage male sort of way. They had shared rooms long past the age where they should have their own, which was a safety measure – Alan's visions could literally damage his mind if not properly handled, Gordon often surfed a thin line between diabetes and hypoglycaemia as well as other metabolic concerns, Virgil had migraines and bone fractures, John's brain chemistry could swing like a bipolar sufferer, and Scott often suffered from non-impact concussions and muscle spasms; and all of that was just the tip of the iceberg. They all needed to keep an eye on each other to ward off the dangers of the plethora of side effects of their gifts.
Of course this closeness and the constant need for tactile stimulation that psychics suffered had negative connotations. People often associated it with sexual deviance; 'ghost rape' was the new buzz word floating around for it. Which was patently ridiculous, because of the other negative side effect of being gifted - which was that gifts were strongly intertwined with emotional centres. It meant that while touch was necessary for a psychic, too much touching, intimate or emotional interaction and…well, to put in nicely, all associated activities could lead to a massive lack of control and wild, rogue usages of power – which made the path into adulthood a lot more thorny. Psychic powers could be handed down through families, but very rarely was it handed directly – psychics didn't tend to be able to have children, and often didn't marry – they were too volatile a health risk. When they did, there was usually not much chance that the children would show talents – it was a complex mix of aptitude and genetics that made for psychic potential. That's what made the Tracy family so rare, and in many ways it was the reason they were so well adjusted.
There was a familiar beep from the microwave. Jeff looked up – there was movement in the kitchen; soft, slippered footfalls across the wood and slight bumps of cupboards opening and closing. Jeff headed down the corridor and towards the dim light emerging from the room.
He had vaguely expected Scott because his eldest son was famous for pacing the halls at odd hours, checking his brothers or going over flight manuals in his head when he couldn't sleep – he'd memorised the manuals and instructions for the family jet by the time he was fourteen, and Jeff taught him to fly it at fifteen because he thought it was best to get in early before his fly-boy son tried it on his own.
But it was his blonde stargazer John who was padding around, hair mussed up, wearing an old threadbare blue dressing gown that once belonged to Jeff – it hung off him, since he had his father's height but his mother's lithe, wiry build, but no amount of coaxing, hinting or yearly gifts of gowns from his Grandmother would induce him to part with it. He appeared to be searching through the cupboards for something, blearily focusing on each shelf. A mug of something warm steamed on the counter.
Amused, Jeff spied the sugar bowl on the kitchen table, and moved in to scoop it up and hold it in front of his son's semi-awake face.
John blinked at the glazed ceramic pot, and then jumped as he realised someone was holding it up. "Geez, Dad," John shook his head to clear it. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that."
Jeff raised a sardonic eyebrow. "In this house Johnny? I take the rare opportunity to do so."
John's warm chuckle filled the room. He tipped a generous amount of sugar into his mug.
"That's not coffee is it?" Jeff asked, concerned. His son needed sleep.
"Cocoa," John replied. "Want some?"
"I won't say no."
They adjourned to the kitchen table, mugs in hand, dim stove light making the clay tiled and cream painted room a warm, quiet sanctuary.
"Can't sleep?" Jeff asked softly.
"Everyone is thinking about it," John grimaced. "So I'm thinking about it."
"If you need help sleeping…" Jeff offered.
John flipped a long fingered hand through the air. "No, I don't need any pills. I hate those things. Besides its not overwhelming, it's just…annoying. Everyone in the neighbourhood is thinking the same thing, it makes the thoughts loud. I've slept through worse. I went in to check on Alan and he's already curled up with Gordon, so he must be getting some emotional input too."
Jeff felt the beginnings of a headache. "Perhaps it would be best if you all went to stay with Grandma for a few weeks."
"Dad, no!" John protested vehemently. "It's only the first day, it's not that bad! And what about school!"
"Alright, alright," Jeff held up a hand. "It's just a suggestion so far. But that's exactly my point, Johnny. Its day one and already the signs are showing. As capable as you are John, I'm not going to wait until you're falling over from exhaustion and Alan's suffering from chronic stress before I take some action. It may not be safe to stay here anymore in any case. I'd be a lot happier if I knew you boys were well out of it."
John took another sip. "That's not fair, Dad. Scott's legally an adult and I'm nearly there, and we're all going to have to learn to deal with the bad things some time. I don't think hiding is going to help."
"Not hiding," Jeff shook his head. "But finding a safe sanctuary where you can live free of this mess for a time. That's important, John. Plenty of psychics don't make it to thirty without being institutionalised for chronic mental conditions. You need some sort of clear space, where you can think and learn and live without all these mental pressures and hatred. Don't tell me it doesn't get to you; it gets to me every day."
John couldn't find an answer to that, so he tried a compromise. "Don't be too hasty, Dad, please. Summer vacation's coming up in less than a month – we can wait it out for a couple of weeks, surely?"
"I don't want to try it and find out that I'm wrong, John. Not with you all. I'm not certain you can hold out, not after what happened at the museum today…"
"That was a one-off. Gordon and Alan don't instigate these things," John defended fairly.
"It won't matter to the PRA if they do or they don't, son," Jeff said heavily. "And I don't want to take any risks, not with the PRA." Jeff put his head in his hands wearily. "Scott, Virgil and you never caused this much trouble."
"Virgil's had his moments," John smiled slightly. "I just wasn't the type. And Scott never got the chance to develop his more childish side." John realised what he had just said with dismay. "I didn't mean…"
"Its okay," Jeff patted John's hand. "I know what you meant. I kind of relied of Scott a lot during those years, didn't I? I just wasn't up for the domestics of it all after she died." Jeff's smile was oddly sad and regretful.
"Dad, you make it sound like you abandoned us!" John sent his father a reproving look for his gloomy self-assessment. "You did a great job raising us alone. You never let us down, not ever, not where it counted. Scott took on a lot of new roles but Scott is kind of like that, he's good at the whole commander-in-chief thing. Besides, you're allowed to grieve – how many times did you tell us that?"
"Point taken," Jeff nodded, smiling at his son. "Fair enough. But I still have the problem of whether or not you can all handle this. Gordon and Alan…"
"Are not Scott, Virgil or I," John cut in firmly. "And while they may not always get it right, they're always trying, Dad. You've got to give them the chance to prove themselves sometime."
"Alright, alright, I give up!" Jeff raised his mug in salute. "You win. You can all stick around and drive each other nuts if that's what you want." Jeff's face split into a proud grin. "When did you get so smart, anyway?"
John
smiled back shyly. "Someone had to take after mom." His face
changed into a cheeky smirk.
"Watch it young man," Jeff
mock-growled. "Or Gordon and Alan will have an assistant in the
woodshed."
John laughed.
------------------------------------------
Jeff had just enough time for a brief conference with his three oldest while his two youngest were doing the breakfast dishes the next morning. He hadn't really been planning it, but sometime in the night, tossing and turning, he had decided to strike while the iron was hot.
He shut the door of the study after Virgil sidled in, third coffee still clutched in his hand like a lifesaving elixir. He saw John and Scott watching their brother, amused.
"Hey Virgil?"
"Hmm?"
"Count my fingers," Scott held up three digits in front of Virgil's face as he flopped next to them on the couch.
"Count mine," Virgil growled belligerently, holding up only one. He gulped down another mouthful of coffee, blinking heavily.
"All right, knock it off you lot," Jeff called them to order. "I have some ground to cover and not much time, and I don't need any morning grouches." Jeff was pleased to see his sons sit up straighter. "Right. Now, I'm sure I don't need to tell you the state of the nation after last night, do I? There are going to a lot of angry, frightened people out there today, and in the end it won't matter that you've never done anything to them. I need you boys to understand that there will be some changes to be made in the next few weeks."
"Shouldn't Alan and Gordon hear this?" John asked, startled.
"The last thing I need right now is to turn up the pressure dial on them right now. Between their exams and their still surging gifts, any more stressors could wipe their control – we don't need another public display, especially not now. Wood-chopping duty will keep them close to home and out of trouble for a little while, that'll do for now."
Jeff perched on his desk and looked over his tall, matured sons, all athletic, well built and fit. You'd never guess the kind of health risks they faced every day.
"I need you boys to stick close to home for the next few days. No going out on the weekends, or anything like that – Scott, I know I have no real standing to order you around any more, but I'd like to think you can see the necessity."
Scott nodded. "Right, Father."
Jeff nodded back. "Right. I'd also be happier if none of you went out alone – anywhere, not even to the corner store. And watch yourselves at Garstone too. I'm going to the safe deposit boxes today to pick up the chains. I want you to wear them wherever you go – that way I'll always know where you are. And I'm going to organise some check-in times and evacuation procedures."
"Evacuation?" Virgil echoed, eyebrows up.
"Virgil, this isn't a game," Jeff replied sternly. "I've seen situations like this before; some people only need half an excuse to get violent, and they'll be coming after us. I'd rather overdo this than underestimate how bad it will get."
"I got it, Dad," Virgil held up a hand, convinced.
"Just so long as you do son," Jeff replied. "I'm going to be relying on you all to look out for one another and for your younger brothers as well. If worst comes to worst, you may have to know what to do if I can't reach you. When I've sorted everything out and worked out a few plans, I expect you to know the procedures and to make sure your brothers follow them too. I have a feeling I might be taking long hours in the near future so I can forward my annual leave as much as possible. We've all got to pull together on this, boys. We stick together and act sensible and we'll get through this."
"We know Dad," Scott answered him. "You can count on us. Are we going to Grandma's?"
"Well, I thought about it," Jeff winked at John, who smiled. "But I was convinced to let thing lie, at least for now."
Both Scott and Virgil, on either side of John, ruffled his hair and slapped his back. Virgil added a 'woo, way to go Johnny!'.
Scott looked pensive. "Dad, not that I don't appreciate the chance to stick it out, but maybe we should send Gordon and Alan there after exams – or before, if it gets bad."
"Do you want to try to convince them to go?" John looked amused. "All I'll say is 'good luck'."
"They should be out of this," Scott stuck to his guns.
"Let's face it, they'll never go. They can be brilliant when it comes avoiding things they don't want to do," Virgil shrugged, chuckling.
"It won't matter what they want once they're there," Scott argued. "Grandma will keep them in line."
"I thought about it, Scott," Jeff cut in. "I really did. But I think its best if we all stay together on this – both of them might need the support only we can give. There shouldn't be any necessity to send them away, not if we're all pragmatic." Jeff sighed, and rubbed his eyes. Alan and Gordon sounded like they were finishing up. "Well, that's about it, boys. Stay alert, stay together and be smart. We'll get through it, I know we can."
His boys all smirked, eyes alight with the joy of a challenge.
"Absolutely!"
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"Jefferson Josiah Tracy!"
He knew that tone. Oh God, did he ever know that tone. It was a power all of its own – whoever it was turned on had the terrible experience of being rendered, not only seven years old again, but a seven year old caught elbow deep in cookie jar.
"Of all the absurd, disrespectful things you've done to me! It's the wooden spoonfor you when I get you in my reach, young man!"
"Really, Mother," Jeff attempted weakly. "I was planning to call…"
"Planning? Planning?" the seemingly frail Mrs Tracy repeated, face crimson with molten Kansas vitriol. Jeff shifted uncomfortably in his office chair while Grandma's face flayed him from his office view screen seven feet away. "Lords a goshin', boy, all the planning of the world comes to the weight of an empty sack if you don't actually do anything!" She glared at him over the video image, brown eyes no less destructive than they were in person. "Imagine me having to find out from Elmer Ghaddon (that silly man), that my son and grandsons were about to be hunted down, staked and burnt…"
"Now that's just ridiculous, Mother," Jeff found his voice again. "It's not anything like that!"
"Oh really?" Mrs Tracy's eyebrows rose, and Jeff felt all his sins laid out to bear for her scrutiny. "Is that why they're talking about riots in Washington?"
"Er…well…"
It had been noted before by Scott that the Tracy boys rarely saw their parent squirm. But if you ever wanted a sure-fire way to do it, then Grandma Tracy, undisputed matriarch of every Tracy on the mountains and plains, was the key ingredient. All the silver tongued suave and firm leadership was so much ice in the fire under the tyranny of Grandma, because it's just impossible to take a firm, dominant tone with someone who has seen you bake mud pies and talk to cows.
Jeff took a deep breath. Whatever happened, she couldn't get him with the spoon through the vid-phone. Probably.
"We're all fine, Mother," he assured her. "The boys spent the night at home and I left early to be with them."
Mrs Tracy gave him a look that would put microscopes to shame, and appeared to accept the answer. "Well, at the very least you've started spending more time with the boys," she allowed grudgingly. Her tone switched to concern – her grandsons were the apples of her eye. "How are they, Jefferson? And don't give that 'fine' nonsense!"
Jeff shrugged eloquently. "Scott's more uncertain than I've ever seen him. John's coping, but the stress is telling. Virgil's controlling himself. Gordon's frustrated, and Alan is worried."
"And you?"
"A little bit of each, I think," Jeff's smile was weary.
"Jefferson," Mrs Tracy looked a bit more sympathetic. "You know the boys are welcome to come and stay. I was so anxious last night that I actually started cleaning out the bunk rooms."
Jeff gave her a lopsided smile. "You've seen us coming?"
"No. That's why I was so upset. You should really, Jefferson." Grandma Tracy fairly quivered with utter certainly. "But…no, I haven't seen you coming at all. You're not, are you?"
Grandma Tracy's Nauscopy was usually quite accurate – over sixty years of experience with the low grade clairvoyance had given her uncanny expertise. Nauscopy was a weak and not well known ability for knowing when things were arriving – be it people, ships, trucks or storms. It wasn't a potent talent – it was really nothing more than an extra sensitive intuition - and it came with no exceptional health risks, but it was a useful gift in the farmlands, where people needed certainties with regard to supply lines and climate in order to get the best crops. Grandma Tracy was the weather witch of her region – farmers called in from miles around to check what Grandma was seeing coming.
"Not for now, no. I've always thought that the boys need as normal a life as I can give them. Running because we're different would undo all of that," Jeff shook his head. "It might seem a bit risky, but I think the damage done by disrupting our whole lives over this would be far worse." Jeff sat back on his chair, idly running a hand through his hair.
"John been talking to you again?"
The woman didn't miss a trick.
"Yes," Jeff admitted wryly. "But the more I think it over, the more right his ideas seem. I can't ask them to just drop everything and run. I don't want them to think they're guilty. You know I never allowed them to view these powers as a curse or an oddity."
"I know you do, Jefferson. And Lord knows they've grown up beautifully under that idea. I just don't want you to confuse cowardice with common sense. You've been guilty of that before, I recall." Grandma's eyebrows rose, daring him to challenge it.
Jeff had the grace to look sheepish. "Not lately, I hope. And I won't say the proposal to run wasn't tempting after what the boys did yesterday."
"Oh? What was that?" Grandma asked, curious.
"Gordon and Alan caused a scene with their gifts at the museum. It's a miracle they weren't arrested and locked up."
"Good Lord! They're alright, aren't they?"
"They'd better be, with a week of wood-chopping duty ahead of them," Jeff chuckled. Then he sighed. "I've told them time after time, Mother. Honestly, what more can I do? I know they're smarter than that."
"Of course they are," Mrs Tracy nodded reassuringly. "And you've done all you can do with them. They're just young Jefferson. Some things take time to grow and ripen, and there's just no way to hurry them along. They're good boys and you've done a fine job, and they're already growing up bright and strong; but sometimes you must just let things come to be."
"I'm not good at that, Mother," Jeff smiled.
"You think I don't know?" Mrs Tracy laughed warmly. "Not to worry, Jefferson. It will happen, I can already see that same shine in them that you had. I don't like it when they falter anymore than you, but I've always known things to comfort me when they do."
"Like what?" Jeff asked. Maybe it would help him deal with the anxiety.
"Well," Grandma replied, a twinkle in her eye. "I seem to remember a young lad from long ago. Big, strapping boy he was, wore his father's plaid and his grandfather's hat. Once wrapped up old Rawly Frome's tractor in so much barbed wire that they practically had to take it apart to get it clear; and let me tell you, he got a lot more than a weeks wood chopping from his father over it!" She gave a sly smile in her son's slightly red face. "I don't suppose you remember him, do you? After all, you did grow up with him."
"I remember him," Jeff sighed, his eyes suddenly looking far into the past days of a Kansas summer. "I've never forgotten him. But don't tell the boys, whatever you do!" He came back abruptly. "I have enough trouble maintaining discipline in my household as it is!"
"Just so long as you do remember him, son, and how his story ended." Grandma smiled at Jeff, and Jeff smiled back. Suddenly he felt much more optimistic about the day.
"Don't worry about us," he assured her. "We're clear of the mess for now. I'm keeping the jet fuelled just in case. You know that I can smell trouble. The minute anything hits the fan, you'll see us pulling up on the fallow field, you mark my words."
"I am, young man. And I suggest you be careful. And no long hours! Stay with your sons, boy, I'm expecting to see them hale and healthy in the summer!"
"Yes Mother," Jeff bowed his head in recognition of her supreme authority. "You take care too. The PRA is about to squeeze – I don't need to have precognition to know that," Jeff warned.
"Lord, boy, not a farmer in these parts'd stand for them high and mighty townies!" Grandma said disparagingly. Her opinions on the matter were very clear. "If they want to take me, they can go ahead and try."
Jeff knew who he was betting on in that case. "Sounds fair enough to me." Jeff looked at his watch, and groaned at the time. "I have to go, Mother, I'm expecting a call. Take care of yourself, you hear?"
"I will if you will," was her challenge in reply.
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"Jeff Tracy, you awful cad!"
Jeff sighed. He we go again…
"Is it really so difficult for one – an engineer one, no less – to make a quick call? Really! A gentleman should not keep a Lady waiting by the phone!" Lady Penelope's glare was far softer than Grandma's, but then again so were diamonds.
"Sorry Penny," he replied to the glowing pink Lady with real contriteness. "I had plans in place after I learned on the attack and a call to you was right up there, let me tell you."
Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, long time friend of the Tracy clan, Lucille and Jeff in particular, raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow in unspoken query.
"I had an unexpectedly efficient visit from the PRA," Jeff admitted. "Nothing groundbreaking, but the whole thing disgusted me enough to send me straight home to check on the boys. They certainly didn't waste their time," Jeff's voice was angry and bitter.
"Now Jeff," Lady Penelope was consoling. "You know it couldn't have been avoided. And now that, I'm sure, you firmly shown them the outside of your door, they will not have any overt means of contacting you. You psychics still have a few rights left on your side of the Atlantic I believe, and that's one of them."
"It's not the overt means that have ever concerned me Penny," Jeff sighed. "But, as usual, you're right. Better to just get it over with, I suppose."
"I always am, Jeff," Lady Penelope's smile was both cocky and pretty. "How are the boys?"
"Coping as well as usual," Jeff replied, and gave her the same brief run down that he'd given his Mother, including the museum incident. He was not entirely surprised to hear her laugh merrily when she heard the story; she had always been a bit soft on the boys. He gave her a slightly reproving look.
"Oh, come on Jeff," her eyes sparkled mischievously. "You know I don't like the idea of them getting caught out, but you couldn't possibly be too old to remember how good it felt to give your bullies and tormentors a well deserved what-for."
"It's not the 'standing up for yourself' bit that I disapprove of," Jeff protested mildly. "Just the methods which they used."
"I'm sure they've learned their lesson Jeff, so there's really no need to be worried about a repeat performance."
"I certainly hope not," Jeff replied fervently. "Not after yesterday's attack."
Lady Penelope sobered up slightly. "I hope not too. My sources are telling me that two Secret Service Agents and a Senator and a Senators Aide were murdered. The President and about half of the White House staff are down with injuries, and a good many of them are critical. The uninjured members of the staff and various Chiefs of Staff have cobbled together an emergency committee for the running of the country. It looks bad for the gifted population of America, Jeff," she shook her head. "A lot of psychic control Bills and proposals never went through simply because not enough anti-psychic groups within the Congress and Senate could agree on what was an appropriate measure of control. Now a lot of the more conservative proposals are being pushed aside, and the more drastic ones are emerging from the field. A lot of fence-sitters and reluctants have been swayed by the attack. You can be sure that their reaction to the attack will not be very understanding – there's not a single psychic in either Congress or Senate that can stand up for your rights, either."
Jeff put his head in his hands. "I don't think I can stop it, Penny," he said sadly. "Maybe with the right pressures in the right places I can slow it down, but it's about six hundred to one against the psychics in this country. They're not a big enough minority for people to care, and the fear factor keeps everyone well away in any case."
"There are times when even you can't save the world, Jeff. It won't be safe for psychics in America soon. Might I suggest you bring the boys to London? They're always welcome, of course, and they'll have access to all the best old schools. Parker would love to see them too, and so would I."
"Tempting, Penny, but I've already decided to let them run out the school year, such as it is, if we can," Jeff replied kindly. "And after that…did you take a look at the papers I gave you?'
Lady Penelope nodded with a smile. "Better. I ran is past my lawyer, Parker's lawyer, some of the best legal scholars in Cambridge and Oxford and several members of the Queens Counsel. They all agree, at the core, that your legal position is sound. Psychic control was always considered a national not an international issue, so international law can protect you without controlling you."
"Fabulous," Jeff felt heady with enthusiasm. "Just what I needed to hear. Is everything settled?"
"Just a few more days to confirm the validity of your Letter of Credit, and then it's done. The PRA won't be able to get in the way of it, either."
"Good," Jeff nodded. He felt the same contented satisfaction he felt after seeing one of his machines running to perfection for the first time. If this actually worked… Something Lady Penelope said suddenly registered as a point of interest. "Wait, Parker has a lawyer?"
Lady Penelope stared at him. "You do know what he used to do for a living, right?" she asked, disbelieving. "Mr Cobblestone is not a…elite lawyer, but he's quite a slick street representative and a sly operator. Not a single lawyer I spoke to knew more about legal tricks and loopholes. If anyone could spot a weakness in the argument, he could. He seemed quite tickled by the idea, I thought. What can I say," she shrugged philosophically. "The best man to spot a con is a con-artist."
"Fair enough," Jeff agreed. "Thanks for all your help, Penny."
"It's not a problem Jeff," Penelope smiled. Then she raised a finger in warning. "But if you leave me sitting by the phone again when something else happens, it will go very hard for you. Clear?"
"Crystal."
---------------------------------------------------
It was several hours many meetings later. Jeff was sitting in richly carpeted and wood panelled office, working his way through a blizzard of paperwork. He worked as quickly as he could and had asked not to be disturbed – if he didn't follow his Mother's orders and have no long hours she would know.
Squinting at his engineering corp.'s atrocious handwriting as they reported the progress of the latest line of personal use helijets, he was abruptly interrupted by the outer office com buzzer.
"Mrs Collen?"
"There's someone here to see you, sir," Mrs Collen spoke clearly and concisely. "He doesn't have an appointment, but I thought you'd want to see him. It's Mr Hackenbacker, sir."
Hackenba…"What, Dr. Hackenbacker?" Jeff was startled.
"Yes, sir."
Jeff wasn't often surprised, but this visit had come out of left field. He certainly wasn't going to leave the man waiting. "I'll see him."
"I though you might, sir," Mrs Collen replied, amused. "I told him to wait in the conference room."
Jeff hadn't seen Hiram Hackenbacker in six years. They had collaborated on the design of a series of passenger jets able to land vertically, which had been a tricky and problematic project that had reaped many millions when they had come up with a viable design and prototype.
Jeff still remembered meeting the reclusive scientist at a symposium, where he'd been amazed at the awkward, stuttering, bespectacled figure standing uncomfortably at the podium, and then astounded at the brilliance and simplicity of his multi-scientific prowess. Jeff Tracy, no slouch in the genius stakes, took his hat off to the supernova that was the gangly scientist's mind.
He, like so many other CEO's, had been willing to pay top dollar to employ the man, but Dr Hackenbacker had been strictly a freelancer – doing temporary engineering and design contracts in between university teaching and gaining his four PhD's. His was known as an erratic, eclectic worker – he chose projects on their complexity merits not their financial gain, something which made most corporate heads tear their hair out. Not many outside projects ever captured the eccentric man's interest. He had come to do work for Jeff simply because the project had been considered impossible.
Jeff had wanted to make a job offer as soon as he heard Hackenbacker speak at the symposium, but the man's wife had died very soon after, and Jeff Tracy was sensitive about things like that. He had chosen sentiment over business, and left the man alone to grieve. Hackenbacker had all but withdrawn from society until making an offer to work with Tracy Corp on the aforementioned project.
During the project, they had formed an odd sort of friendship – Jeff Tracy as one of the few men who had a hope of keeping up with the wild leaps of inspiration Hackenbacker had, and Hackenbacker, Jeff had always felt, had always been oddly impressed with the breadth and scope of Jeff's visions. He'd also been grateful to Jeff for allowing his son, Fermat, to hang around while they were working. The boy had been painfully shy and had the same chronic stutter as his father, and had apparently been home schooled, so he had nowhere else to go.
Come to think of it, Jeff recalled, he'd brought Alan in a few times to play with the boy, since they were the same age, and it was pretty hard for an eight year old to be stuck in a design lab all day. He smiled as he remembered how patiently the usually bouncy young Alan had waited for the young Hackenbacker to overcome his shyness approach him. It had been a very tactful thing to do, and proof of the boy's sensitivity, even then. Hackenbacker had been startled by how well his son had gotten on with the youngest Tracy – he usually barely spoke at anyone at all.
After the project had finished, Hackenbacker had withdrawn again, doing a lecture circuit of the top universities on nanotechnology. Jeff had been sorry to see the man go, but often got e-mails of drafts for articles from him, which were mini masterpieces. Jeff would sometimes send him an odd design or problem that he had no time to pursue but was interesting enough for the scientist to experiment with. They hadn't actually spoken, however, since their collaboration.
Jeff moved to automatically straighten his tie, then stopped, remembering who he was going to meet. He would only notice what you were wearing if you walked in naked.
When he walked into the conference room, he found the scientist, just as gangly and bespectacled as he remembered, sitting in one of the middle chairs of the long, polished boardroom table. At the far end of the room, the huge multimedia screen glowed with an artistic watery screensaver, causing the dim room to glimmer soothingly. Hackenbacker appeared to be examining a scale model of a rocket, mounted in a glass case in the centre of the table. He bent over it, thick glasses and lank, dark hair slipping all over his face.
"Like it Brains?" Jeff said in greeting. He remembered the old nickname his other engineers had given him – appropriate and less of a mouthful than 'Dr Hackenbacker'. It had stuck irrevocably.
Brains straightened jerkily, nearly knocking his already askew case off the conference table. He righted it, and then nearly tripped over the chair as he moved to meet Jeff. Nope, he hadn't changed a bit – the grace and brilliance of his mind was forever offset by the awkwardness of his body.
"M-M-M-Mr Tracy," the super-brain began, looking slightly nervous. "It's a pl-pl-pl-pl it's a real treat to see you again, sir."
Jeff smiled soothingly at the man. "It is indeed, Brains," he shook the man's hand firmly. "How have you been?"
"F-f-f-f quite well, M-Mr Tracy," Brains replied. "I was just, uh, admiring the, uh, m-m-m-m…copy of the rocket's design. The 3PB-3050 I-I believe? It's thr-thr-thr-thr…the tri-booster design is quite distinct-distinct…unique. Uh, however, uh, I believe," slight smile graced Brains' face. "That the o-o-o-original craft was, uh, painted in blues and b-blacks." He gestured at the bright red model.
Jeff grinned. "That was my son's idea. I bought him in when he was sick one day and they were putting it in. He insisted it had to be a red." It still made him laugh years later when he pictured Alan's tiny face set in complete indignation over the stupidity of painting a rocket blue, and the engineering section had been so amused by the boy's insistence that they had hijacked a paint gun from the factory floor and had repainted it. Jeff had to admit, the model was certainly more distinctive now.
"I, uh, believe the pre-prevailing theory at that age is that the r-r-r crimson hue increases the uh, accelerating p-p-power exponentially."
Jeff laughed along with the scientist. Every boy knew that red cars go faster.
"I-I-If I may uh, ask, Mr Tracy," Brains looked over the small rocket. "W-w-w-w…How did you choose the 3BP? It w-was fraught w-w-w-with engineering fau-fau-fau…problems due to the, uh, over-powerful engine, c-c-c-c…responsible for m-metal stress. It was, uh, grou-grou-ground…it was scrapped as too expensive, uh, wasn't it? No-no-no one needed a re-re-re, a rocket you could use multiple t-times."
Jeff shrugged. "I've always felt it had more merit that people thought. A rocket that was more like a plane, which could take flights instead of one launch? It was an idea before its time, that's all. We've come a long way since then."
Brains smiled at him, and Jeff knew the man agreed.
"How is young Fermat doing, Brains?" Jeff asked, the memories from the model building taking his mind onto another track.
"Oh, oh, he's very w-w-w-w healthy Mr. Tracy," Brains straightened up, smiling more. "He began the uh, mainstream schooling just e-eighteen months ago and he, uh, seems to be coping q-q-q very well with it."
"That's fantastic. I'm glad to hear it," Jeff said sincerely.
"Uh, yes…uh well," Brain's face was suddenly pensive. "Uh, ac-ac-actually, Mr Tracy, I-I-I-I came here today…to…to, uh, ask for your assis-assis…I need your help, Mr Tracy."
Jeff was in a position to be startled again. "What? What's the problem? You know I'll help if I can."
"Uh, well, uh," Brains sighed. "M-m-maybe you'd better sit down."
Jeff did so. He watched the genius' face and its drawn, worried expression.
"Uh, well," Brains began. "A-a-as you know, uh, Mr Tracy, I am, uh, gifted with Electropathy," the man tugged out the coded armband, and spun it anxiously around his wrist. Jeff remembered – building things was a quick job between the two of them. Brains' ability to generate electric currents in his body was similar to Gordon's fire making, and Jeff had known how to deal with it. "I-I-I never s-said anything, uh, Mr Tracy, b-but my son is, uh, gifted as well. Technopathy."
Jeff took a breath at that. Technopaths – people with the ability to psychically read and change the electronic pulses of machines and computers – control them, really – was a rare gift indeed. Now that he thought about it… "He always did have uncanny skill with computers," Jeff said out loud.
"Y-y-yes, Mr Tracy," Brains nodded. "T-t-that was his p-p-p-p, his aptitude at work. B-b-b-b, however, as I'm, uh, sure you know, uh, Mr Tracy, the gifts c-c-come with physiological ri-ri-ri dangers."
Oh yes, he definitely knew that. How many times had teams of specialists been called in for his sons? Jeff reckoned he'd spent more time in ER's than some doctors.
"M-m-my son w-w-w-w so inu-inu-inur, so mired in the currents and electronic data being transmitted in the air all, uh, over the world, his b-b-brain cou-cou-cou…it was impossible for him to s-sleep. His b-b-b-rain picked up the f-f-frequencies, and the electronic stimulation, uh, made it impossible f-f-for the natural, uh, ceasing of uh, neuron activity that al-al-al…lets a person sleep. E-e-even under sedation, uh, his brain was still ju-ju-ju…exactly as active as it would have been, uh, if he'd been conscious, uh, perhaps even more so."
"Good God," Jeff exclaimed. Even John had never had that kind of problem! "I imagine that was wearing out his mind like an overloaded computer."
"Oh yes, Mr Tracy," Brains replied vehemently. He opened his case and dug around in it, before extracting a video disk. "M-M-May I…?"
Jeff went over to the video screen and clicked back a panel off to the side, revealing the multimedia equipment. Brains followed him and slid the disk in, accepting the remote offered by Jeff.
"T-t-this is a tape I, uh, made back w-w-when Fermat was three," Brains explained, fiddling with the buttons. "It, uh, demonstrates the, uh, well….take a-a look…"
Jeff did, and was utterly sickened by what he saw. A tiny child, dark haired but shot with premature grey, in a wheelchair and hooked up to IV's, his face as gaunt as a bare skull, black bags around his eyes and stress lines all over his face. His dark eyes were dazed and dull, his lips moved without stopping as he muttered and slurred words, pieces of messages and codes rendered to gibberish in his overworked mind. He just sat there, slumped, still in diapers, crying as be stuttered and mumbled, his hands and face a patchwork of nervous tics. A small woman, looking equally worn out, sat with him, stroking his hair, trying to soothe him, touching him exactly as Lucille had caressed their sons. The boy's mother, Brains' wife.
No horror movie could have done better. Jeff was wholly relieved when Brains shut off the tape.
"It was t-t-terrible, Mr Tracy," Brains said quietly, not looking at him. "Everyday, my son suffered. B-b-but take a look, uh, at this one…"
He put on another disk. This one was worlds better. It showed young Fermat, one year older, his face a now healthy tone, filled out and years younger looking, not twitching or jerking, his eyes bright and curious and his natural hair colour restored. The wheelchair and the IV's were gone, and he was dressed like a normal four year old, sporting glasses like his fathers.
He was doing a puzzle – a difficult one – with lightning speed.
"M-Mama l-l-look! I f-f-finished!"
"Already?" The woman was back, looking much happier. "Wow, mama can't even do it that fast! That's really amazing! You're such a bright boy."
"Daddy! D-D-D-Daddy, look, look!"
"I s-s-see it! Mama's right, that was, uh, ex-ex-excep…really terrific," came Brains' voice from behind the camera. "You're s-s-spatial perception is uh…" there was a pause of incomprehension. "You did s-s-so well…" Brains finished simply.
Brains shut off the disk, and took it back while an eloquent silence filled the room.
Jeff stared at the watery patterns on the screen, his mind on fire. "How?" he asked eventually.
Brains' smile was slightly wry. He dug around in his briefcase again, withdrawing what looked like a swimming cap strung out with wires. It was attached to a light battery, and looked rather like a brain wave measurement matrix.
"T-T-This is what I, uh, came here about," the scientist held it up. Jeff took it gently, turning it over in his hands and giving it an engineer's once over.
"The s-s-science behind the, uh, the device is quite, uh com-com-com, it's quite hard to describe. Put in the s-s-s-simplest terms, they h-h-have found that psychic's intracranial, uh, neuron transmissions – that's the g-g-g…the creation of psychic e-e-energy in the brain – occur at slightly, uh, different frequency, uh than n-n-n…than mundane thought. The e-e-electo magnetic uh, wavelength that the, uh, d-d-device produces is designed to, uh, interfere with those frequencies, e-e-enough to cause transmission mal-mal-malfunctions. It k-k-k-ke…it stops the brain from gen-gen-gen…making enough psychic energy in the brain, uh, for the brain to, uh, use."
Jeff turned to device over in his hands again. His voice sounded far away when he said "The PRA's Psy-Blockers do the same, don't they?"
"Oh n-n-no uh, Mr Tracy. The Psy-Blocker d-device is a complete, potent, uh, electronic charge that, uh, des-des-des…knocks out the ability to, uh, concentrate. It's c-c-centred around the Medulla Oblongata - the, uh, brain stem - and can c-c-cause havoc with n-n-nervous systems and, uh, c-c-c-cognitive functions. This device, as you can, uh, see," he took it from Jeff's hands and turned it upright, to show him the roof of wires, and pointed out the two central sensors which would sit over the front of the forehead. "This d-d-d…this is centred over the, uh, frontal lobe. It's also not a charge, uh, its a magnetic wave, so it m-m-merely gen-gently stops the psychic transmissions from reaching the, uh, frontal lobe as they move from the, uh, central ner-ner-nervous system. Sort of like a r-r-r-roadblock. The Psy-Blocker's are, uh, more a-aligned with miss-miss-miss…with cannons shooting down psychic, uh, energy producing centres."
"Its…" But there was no word for what it was. A machine that could stop a psychic's power, and still leave them able to function? It was...indescribable. Jeff wasn't sure how to feel. "Fermat doesn't wear it all the time?" he asked, his engineer's brain suddenly wanting all the details.
"A-a-at first, yes, Mr Tracy," Brains withdrew a dishevelled bundle of papers and spread them out over the conference table. Years worth of researching and testing rose up to meet Jeff as he skimmed over the messy note work. "But as his, uh, concentration and h-h-h-health improved, uh, we were able to get him into a Mental C-C-Control course. Control c-c-c-came quickly to him, b-b-b-because now the flood of d-d-d…information had been s-s-stopped and he could, uh, really c-c-c…focus." The stutter was more pronounced as the scientists enthusiasm expanded. "A-a-all he needed w-w-was a, uh, way to quiet the, uh din, so he could d-d-d-d…could learn control mechanisms. After that, uh," Brains shrugged. "He just needed it t-to sleep."
"Good Lord, Doctor," Jeff said finally. "Do you know what you have in your hands?" He raised an eyebrow. "You really do, don't you? That's why you came to me."
In the right hands, this device could be a therapeutic and useful means of preserving a psychic's health and mental well being. In the wrong hands…Jeff suddenly saw a world where hate mongers and fanatics and the PRA had a way to control psychics with the touch of a button, where powers could be switched on when needed, and switched off on the whim of organisations that had no interest in what the actual people wanted or thought or needed. And who would stop them? Uncontrolled psychics were the biggest recorded fear on any statistic census you care to name.
Brains needed someone to help him protect this – bury it even, if things got bad. He was a brilliant scientist, but he wasn't politically powerful, he didn't walk in powerful circles, even if he drew their attention. And he needed someone who would understand it from a psychic's standpoint – and a fathers.
"Mr Tracy," Brains said softly. "I-I-I created this s-s-so my sons could have a g-good nights sleep. If this," he looked at the things in his ands. "Uh, is rev-rev-revea…if this gets out, I think, uh, it will be me who will n-n-never be able to sleep."
Jeff stared at him, and back down at the device in the scientist's hands." What do you need?"
-----------------------------------------
"I need more books."
"John," Scott rolled his eyes. "You've got a library at home. You've actually used the Dewey system in our house. Why do you need more books?"
"Professor Slater hinted at a further exploration of frequency transmission along laser lines in the exams, and Giuseppe's Lasers Across Worlds has an entire section on it and the library is all out. I need to pick up a copy soon so I can read through it before the exams or I could fail…" he trailed off in the face of Scott's disbelieving stare.
"John," Scott said with fraternal patience. "You need to get a life. You? Fail an exam? If someone walked up to you right now and put it in your face and told you that you had six minutes, you'd still ace it with a minute to spare."
John punched Scott's shoulder. "Says the man who booked out the flight simulators every weekend for a year and still had sweaty palms when he took the pilots licence test. It'll take me ten minutes at the mall. Virgil told me he needs to get more parts for his Advanced Shop project as well."
"Didn't Dad say just this morning that we needed to stay close to home? Besides, we only bought the SUV today. I don't think Dad would be happy if you were stuck walking home from the mall, even if you're together," Scott shook his head, clearly not happy with the idea.
"So? We can all go, can't we?" John argued.
"Uh, the brats are grounded, remember? We can't leave them home alone and go back out, either, Dad would definitely kill us. He told us to stick close."
"Ten minutes at the mall isn't grounding-breaking," John grinned at his brother's groan over the weak pun. "We'll take the brats with us. All together – Dad can't disapprove of that."
Scott sighed. There were things he needed to pick up too. "I don't know, John…"
"Call Dad and ask him," John suggested. "I'm sure he won't mind as long as Alan and Gordon aren't left on their own."
Scott gave up in the face of this sort of logic, and made the call. His father sounded slightly distracted when he spoke, but reluctantly agreed, as long as the visit was short.
"Just be careful, Scotty," his father said, sounding weary. "And make it short. Get everything you think you might need for the next few weeks and then get on home. And watch Gordon and Alan, for goodness sake, we don't need a repeat of the museum. Don't let them go off to do their own thing – they're still grounded."
"Yeah, okay, Dad," Scott affirmed. Concerned, he added "Are you okay? You sound a little…" Scott didn't know another word, but you couldn't really apply the word shaken to his father.
"I'm okay, Scotty," Jeff replied tiredly. "Dr Hackenbacker's here, and he's just shown me something new. You remember Brains, don't you?"
Scott had a vision of a gangling form and a chronic stutter. "Yeah, I remember him. What's he got, something good?"
"Something…profound," Jeff replied. "I'll tell you at home, I think you ought to know about it. Don't worry, its nothing bad. Take care out there, alright? I'm going to be a little late."
"Okay Dad. See you tonight."
Scott stared at the phone after he hung up. Dad hadn't sounded right at all, but he hadn't seemed scared or angry. He said they'd talk when he got home. Scott intended to hold him to that.
"Scott?" John said from behind. "Do you know what Brains would've shown him?"
Scott shouldn't be surprised that John read the whole conversation. "Not a clue. We'll find out tonight. Let the brats know, okay? I've got a lecture."
"And Virgil?"
"'Brats' includes Virgil," Scott snickered, and John followed him. "I'm still not happy about this, John." He added pensively.
"Its ten minutes at the mall," John shrugged. Then he did something he should have known better than to do. He said "What could go wrong?"
----------------------------------------------------
G.H. Randall was a worried man. "Are you sure?"
"Yes sir," the young security worker responded with certainty. "The silver Sedan followed," the security worker consulted the sign in sheet. "Mr Hackenbacker's convertible right up to the plaza, and it's been sitting there ever since. Pressure sensors indicate too much weight for just the two people we can see, and when I did a bug sweep over it I was definitely picking up activity."
"So he's under surveillance. Anything off the plates?" Randall asked.
"According to the federal DMV, the car doesn't exist."
Perfect. It meant they were either criminals or spooks, and Randall, a man of many covert missions, wasn't sure which was worse.
"Send a man out to tell them they can't park in the plaza, turn on the white noise generators and put more people on building surveillance. Our bug sweeper isn't exactly legal for use outside the building, so arresting them is out. Just make sure they can't hear what's going on."
"Yes, sir."
Mr Tracy wasn't going to like this.
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End Part III
