Chapter 9

One Week Later

Office of Marian Shultz, Microsurgeon

"You want me to what?" Scott asked Dr. Shultz. She smiled sympathetically and tapped a finger on Scott's unwrapped hand.

"The infection is clearing and we're ready to think about reattaching your finger. Medicine has come a long way in a hundred years and reattaching amputated limbs has much better outcomes than it ever did back then. But the fact remains that smoking damages the body's ability to circulate blood. When we reattach your finger, the best possible circulation is vital to allow the transplant to take."

Scott found himself clutching his injured hand. "You mean that if I keep smoking after the operation, it may not work?"

"That's correct. Now, I know that they've cured lung cancer but you should know that smoking is devastating to other body systems." She peered through her glasses at Scott. "I understand that you're something of an athlete?"

"Yes, I try to stay in good condition," Scott replied in puzzlement.

"As you get older, do you find that your colds last longer? That you get out of breath more easily?"

"Doctor, I'm only in my thirties," Scott said desperately. "I'm not old yet."

"But you'll age faster if you keep smoking," she said placidly. "It's your choice. If you smoke after I've repaired the circulation in your hand, the operation could fail and you could lose the hand to gangrene." She picked up her clipboard. "I see that your brothers have accompanied you today. Are they smokers, too?"

Scott nodded. "The whole family smokes. How am I supposed to handle that?"

"I'm afraid I can't advise you about that, except to tell you that second-hand smoke is just as bad. You can't be around it and hope that your hand heals properly. So, you stop now and in two weeks I see you again for the first surgery?"

Scott nodded dumbly and watched as she re-wrapped his hand and followed her out to the waiting room.

Virgil and Gordon closed on Scott as the door shut quietly behind him.

"Scott, what's wrong?" demanded Virgil.

"Yeah, what did she tell you?" added Gordon

Scott looked at them both with an expression of abject misery. "I have to quit smoking or the operation won't take."

Four Days Later

Tracy Island

"Is he always going to be standing out there on the balcony?" Alan asked and knocked some ash off his cigarette. "We never see Scott anymore."

Virgil put down his drink and eyed his brothers through a blue haze of cigarette smoke. "You know what the doctor told him. When we light up, Scott has to leave the room. "

"Yeah, but honestly, he's been on that balcony for so long, you'd think he was planted there," Gordon commented and ground out his smoke. He eyed his oldest brother and sighed. "I know what he's going through and he shouldn't have to give up Thunderbird One." He paused. "Okay, that's the last cigarette for me. Scott's right, smoking isn't very good for us in any case."

"Hey, wait a minute," exclaimed Alan. "They've cured lung cancer; it's not as bad as it used to be."

"Doesn't matter," Gordon shook his head. "Look, we'd risk our lives for Scott out on a rescue, wouldn't we? Is this any less important? This isn't gonna be easy, but I'll try."

Virgil looked down at his cigarette and ground it out next to Gordon's. "Okay, I'm in," he said.

His two older brothers glared silently at Alan until at last Alan put his cigarette out. "Okay. Me too." He paused. "But can't I even smoke outside?"

"No," said Virgil. "You're either quitting or not. There's nothing in between."

"Oh, all right," said Alan reluctantly.

The family dinner that night was strained, for no reason that Jeff Tracy could see. Scott was home, safe and seemed to be recovering well. Gordon hadn't played any practical jokes lately, so no one was holding any grudges, yet all of his sons seemed awfully tense.

"All right, out with it," Jeff finally said. "What's going on?"

"What?" asked Virgil "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're all jumpy tonight, you're tense. Is something going on that I should know about?" Jeff looked to his eldest son, who usually knew what was going on. "Scott?"

"I don't know, Father," Scott said. "Nothing that I know of."

Virgil, Gordon and Alan exchanged glances until Virgil sighed. "Okay, Father, I guess you'll figure it out eventually. If Scott can't smoke, we won't either. We've given it up, too."

Jeff's eyebrows raised. "Really? Well, that's a great show of solidarity for your brother's predicament. I'm very proud of you all."

"Well, father?" Alan asked.

"Well, what?" Jeff replied in a puzzled tone.

"Aren't you going to quit smoking as well? You smoke a pack a day, last time I checked," Alan said smoothly.

"Um…well, I hadn't really planned…." Jeff met the combined level gaze of his four sons and gave in to the inevitable. "All right, I'll quit too. It should improve our health and our efficiency as a unit."

It wasn't easy, Scott later reflected, trying to change a long-standing habit. He was grateful that the rest of his family had taken such a drastic step to try to help him. He suspected that Alan and his father occasionally took secret cigarette breaks elsewhere on the island, but the air wherever Scott happened to be was smoke-free.

April

Mendocino County Superior Court, Fort Bragg, California

The People of the State of California v. Theodore Slater, .

Scott walked back from the stand and seated himself back at the counsel table, rubbing his sweaty hands against the tops of his suited legs. He had testified for the past two days, and then been cross-examined by Mr. Baring, the defense attorney. He didn't think he'd done badly, at least the deputy district attorney looked satisfied. Davis had been as good as his word; the DA had determined that charges against Scott were unwarranted.

Thank God that was over. He looked down at his left hand, still scarred but more functional and usable. His finger had been successfully reattached and although various parts of his hand and finger were numb, it was improving. He did his motion exercises religiously. The scars where the axe had hit him remained bright but they would fade with time and further surgeries. Best of all, he could fly again.

A week ago, with Father's assent, he and Virgil had taken Thunderbird One for a spin around the island. Virgil was there to take over if Scott lost control but hadn't been needed. Scott sighed with relief, remembering how smoothly she'd taken off into the sky, then sailed into level flight. With Virgil's grinning agreement, Scott had taken TB-1 through barrel rolls and loop-the-loops enough to make any pilot airsick. Any pilot but Scott Tracy, that is.

Gordon told him later that Father had watched their antics from the balcony, first with white face and pursed lips, then, as it became apparent that Thunderbird One was going to stay in aloft, moving into a big grin. After Scott had set her down with a gentle thump, he found his father waiting to hug and congratulate him on a successful flight.

Now, this was the last thing and he could put Slater behind him. The early parts of the trial had been hard. John had come down from Thunderbird Five to attend, so the entire Tracy clan sat in the observers' section directly behind Scott's table, watching the proceedings and silently supporting him. When the prosecutor introduced the pictures of Scott in the hospital, he'd heard his brothers gasp. Scott himself had felt a bit nauseated.

Slater's two partners had already pled out for shorter sentences and had testified against Slater in this trial. All that was left was was for the Defense to present its case, then turn it all over to the jury. As far as Scott was concerned, Slater was ancient history.

Alan and Gordon had already given Scott their opinions of what the jury would do, when they all met for coffee during a break.

"Do you see that blonde in the front row?" asked Gordon. "She hasn't stopped looking at Scott since the trial began. Scott, I think she's falling for you."

"Oh, c'mon now, that's ridiculous," said Scott, sipping his coffee, carefully holding the mug in his right hand. His left was still numb in spots and he had to be careful with hot liquids.

"No, I think Gordo's right," said Alan with a snort. "And the brunette in the back row isn't any better. They've both been leering at you , big brother. I think you've made two friends!"

"Well, all I hope is that the jury is fair," said Scott, finally. "I don't plan to date any of them."

Scott smiled a little at the memory. Okay, maybe the blonde was kind of good looking…He heard a rustle and turned his head to the Defense counsel table to his left. Slater, neatly dressed in suit and tie, had stood up. Interesting. The D.A. had told him that it was unusual for a criminal defendant to take the stand; something about having a right not to incriminate themselves.

"I'd like to call Theodore Slater," said Mr. Baring. The judge nodded, and Slater walked around the counsel table and began to pass the Bailiff's seat. Then he suddenly dove at the Bailiff, knocking him down, snatched the Bailiff's gun and pointed it at Scott Tracy.

Scott just stood dumbfounded, then slowly raised his hands. He could see Slater walking slowly forward until the gun was pressed against Scott's chest. "You always got the breaks, RichKid, didn't you. Even now, you show up in court in your designer suit and half the women in the courtroom are swooning at your feet," Slater snarled. "Look at you! I locked you in that cabin for a week and damn near killed you, and you don't have so much as a scratch on you now!" He gestured with the gun. "There's no real justice in this world." He made eye contact with Scott. "I may be in prison for a long time, but I'll still outlive you," Slater nodded toward the courtroom door. "Stay ahead of me. We're leaving."

Scott held his hands up and began to slowly walk down the aisle in the crowded courtroom. As he walked, he made eye contact with Virgil, then Alan, then Gordon. Each one looked helplessly back at him. None of the Tracy's were armed; it wasn't allowed in the courthouse. Last, he met his father's eyes and saw love and blind terror in them. He and Slater walked through the courtroom door and into the marble hallway outside the courtroom.

Immediately someone shouted "Down!" and pushed him to the floor while someone else, a deputy? Shouted at Slater "Drop your weapon! Drop it now or I shoot!" From the floor, Scott saw Slater make eye contact with him, smile and aim the gun in his direction. Before Slater could pull the trigger, he went down in a hail of bullets from the two deputies' guns.

Scott could feel himself flinch with every shot fired, then found himself standing flat against the wall, watching as the deputies walked over to the fallen Slater and kicked his gun away. The second deputy went to Slater's body, checked for a pulse and shook his head.

Scott was still standing there when the courthouse door opened and the observers began to file out. He couldn't take his eyes off the body of the man who had declared himself his enemy.

"Son, are you all right?" His father's voice came from beside him. "Scott?"

"Yeah," Scott said in a hoarse voice. "I'm okay. I'm not hurt."

"Come on, son," said Jeff Tracy. "It's been a very long day. Let's go home." He put his arm around his eldest son's shoulder and led the family out of the courthouse.

On the jet home, Scott turned to his father and asked, "Dad, how do you deal with envy? I mean, you've earned a fortune over the years. What do you do when someone chooses to hate you just because you have money?"

"There isn't much you can do," Jeff replied tiredly. "I try to make sure that we use our wealth to benefit society. But there will always be those who envy us, whether it's our technology or the money." He paused. "What they don't understand is that I would give everything I own to preserve the things I value most, without exception." He glanced over his sons, seated around him. "Top of that list is my family, my sons. If I lost any one of you, I'd be a poor man indeed."