Thanks ED and Mitzy, for your reviews of 11. Here's a little bit more, to be edited soon. Still studying, as I've got into the habit and can't think what else to do.
12: Sowing Dragon's Teeth
The thirteen shards had eluded detection for some time by slipping beneath layers of dense, heavy rock, and by dampening their own energy signatures. Captain Black had been caught and subdued… locked in the deepest hazmat crypt that Spectrum could locate… but the pieces of his escape ship had not.
They were out there, still, positioning themselves. Making ready. Captain Scarlet remained at large, as well. After taking a hand in the defense of Tracy Island, he'd gone to ground, again, leaving nothing behind but confusion and rumors.
Desperate to find him, Spectrum officials instituted round-the-clock surveillance of Simone Girardoux and the home of his elderly parents in Boise, Idaho. Sooner or later, they reasoned, he'd visit his folks or the beautiful woman he loved. (Just like the surviving astronauts, Paul Metcalfe had been put through a high-stress wringer of mental and physical exams upon reaching Earth. In Scarlet's case… testing the limits of his supposed "immortality"… they'd done their level best to kill the poor man. A pregnant Linda Bennett had received the least harsh treatment, while her husband and the other male astronauts fared only slightly better than Metcalfe.) Spectrum, "the Sword-Arm of WorldGov", could not afford to be patient. Or kind.
They'd taken delivery of a powered-down living machine; one of several planes involved in the attack on Tracy Island. A Commander Garrett had captured and switched off the infected craft, which represented a gem-studded platinum mine of potential information. Information they planned to extract using any means necessary.
Even so, with machine-attacks increasing all over the world and Moon, it was beginning to look as if they'd no choice but to wake and interrogate Conrad Lefkon, Captain Black.
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Elsewhere, traveling-
Brains and Fermat were kept in a windowless section of the WorldGov transport craft. Once scanned for illicit tracking devices and robbed of their electronics (which wouldn't have functioned anyhow, thanks to John) they'd been shown to their "guest cabin", served drinks and a light snack, and then left strictly alone.
Fermat fell asleep almost immediately, stretched out on a comfortable reclining seat, listening to engine noise; lulled by his father's work-mode grumbling and pencil scratches. Dr. Hackenbacker was an inveterate doodler and sticky-note scrawler. He differed in that respect from John Tracy, who thought best in stillness and silence, with blond head lowered and arms folded across his thin chest, peering steadily inward.
Sometime in the night, they landed. Fermat couldn't tell where, because his father shook him quietly awake, after which he was fed and allowed to visit the plane's lavatory, and then blindfolded. Ms. Beckwith's voice greeted them outside the aircraft, once they'd been guided down a boarding ramp and onto what felt like gritty tarmac. There was a light breeze stirring the chilly, fuel-scented air. Other than that… Fermat heard more night-sounds than voices (insects, not tree-frogs) and no ocean, at all. Inland, he thought, out in the country and higher or lower in latitude.
Ms. Beckwith snapped a few directions; telling his father that they were not to speak or attempt to remove their blindfolds, as any effort to do so would result in their being tranquilized and then hauled like the mail. Fermat nodded in response and pressed a little closer to his dad, whose comforting hand had never left the boy's shoulder.
Next, they were guided into a land vehicle of some kind, fairly tall (Fermat did not have to duck his head to enter). Once inside, when the engine purred to life and they'd been scanned again for devices, the two Hackenbackers were permitted to remove their blindfolds and make themselves comfortable.
Here, again, they found themselves in a windowless but relatively pleasant leather-paneled enclosure. Too large for a limousine, Fermat decided, keeping his thoughts to himself, but hardly tour-bus sized. A van or panel-truck, possibly? Whatever, Ms. Beckwith was clearly taking great pains to ensure that Dr. Hackenbacker was not seen, nor had any idea where he was being conducted.
A small refrigerator unit contained juice and soda pop from an eclectic mix of nations. Fermat sampled all of them, together with a bag of five-spice edamame. Better yet, there was strawberry Pocky. Fermat ate while his father continued to mutter and work, every so often patting his pockets absent-mindedly for the long-gone PDA. Wanting consultation with John Tracy, most likely.
No luck on that score (fortunately, for John) and Hackenbacker was meanwhile very careful not to speak to his brilliant son in any collegial manner, keeping WorldGov's suspicious attention focused on himself, alone. He spoke like a father, giving no hint that Fermat had been involved in deciphering the alien code or hacking Black's escape ship.
It was during this nowhere ride, while his father scribbled, grunted, got up to switch seats and ran both hands through his lank brown hair, that Fermat conceived a cunning plan.
Why not, he thought to himself, gnawing on Pocky, contact the Discovery Adventure Team, and offer a deal? His data and hacking expertise in return for access to any "mystic green shards" he helped them to find. All he needed to do was arrange a way to contact… what's his name… Farrell Cummings (not hard at all; the team's chief scientist twittered and blogged incessantly) and convince him that a 13-year-old school boy was worth doing business with.
Fermat had to stifle his own excitement at the thought, lest his father or their conductors notice. He was just a passenger… just a nobody… a kid riding along with his dad, that's all. Nothing to see here, folks. Move along.
Eventually, the vehicle slowed down; seeming to descend some sort of long, gradually sloping, and gently curved incline. You could hide a lot of things by cutting off someone's vision, but acceleration would come through, regardless. Speed change and turns… these could not be concealed, thanks to Newton and inertia.
Dr. Hackenbacker looked up and around, and then began nervously gathering his pencils, pens and paper scraps. Fermat helped him, trying very hard to seem appropriately kid-like. (Alan made a pretty good model, there.) The vehicle stopped moving a few minutes later.
"We're here," Ms. Beckwith's voice announced sharply, making them jump. "The doors will open presently, gentlemen, at which time you may exit the vehicle."
"R- Right," Brains responded, looking in vain for the hidden speakers responsible for that drifting, directionless voice. "Will, ah… will do."
Then, holding a hand out to his son,
"Are y- you ready, Fermat?"
The boy took his father's proffered hand and gave it a quick, unselfconscious squeeze.
"Y- Yes, dad. I am," he said, just before the doors opened to a huge and echoing underground chamber. "W- We got this."
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Tracy Island, a bit later-
TinTin Kyrano faced a very important decision, one which made rest and focus nearly impossible. The very next day, Gordon would leave Kanaho to rejoin his crewmates aboard Mako. Cruise length and destination highly classified, and undoubtedly hazardous.
Her trouble was this: ought she… would it be correct… should… shouldshehavesexwithhim?
Away in her room, staring at her own pale, pretty reflection in an oval vanity mirror, TinTin bit her lip, begging God and his Saints for understanding and forgiveness. She was by now deeply and painfully in love with Gordon David Tracy; with his broad, freckled shoulders and explosive laugh. His hazel eyes and the dear bump on that twice-broken nose. The way he sometimes caught her up and whirled or tossed her, for the sheer joy of it. The warm, humor-spiked buzz of his mind against hers. In short, very much she wished to give the red-haired young man the truest gift of a loving, committed heart. But…
Suddenly nervous, TinTin took an ornate silver brush from the vanity's crowded top, and then commenced brushing her long, black hair. Would it… Would it not be wrong, a sin, to lie down with him thus? And, beyond that, even…
Could she safely come so near, mingling their thoughts utterly? Would she perhaps lose control in the midst of…? (Deep blush) …and harm him? TinTin might have asked Gordon, himself, but she did not think that he would give to the matter serious thought. He was all heart and strength, humor and courage, her young man. For him, danger was a thing to be dared and laughed at, not feared. He would call her "angel" and embrace her, saying that all would be well. And… curled near to such bold and confident warmth… she would believe him.
And how might anyone number the days which remained to them? Had not poor, grieving Scott expected a long life with Cindy, his wife? Had TinTin not heard him, in the supposed secrecy of his heart, mourning time and opportunities lost? Little ones never to be? His quiet sorrow was very deep, and it had affected the girl, who could not help but overhear.
The thought… what if Gordon were taken, lost at sea in one of those ever-mounting machine attacks… tormented her greatly, adding to TinTin's shy, confused yearning. There was no mother to speak with but Mary, who would surely disapprove. Grandmother Tracy might think her wicked and grasping, a… a… "digger of gold". And Lady Penelope? Mais non! Her Ladyship was too fine and honorable for such doings. TinTin had rather face a firing squad, than be disgraced in Lady Penelope's eyes.
What then, the girl wondered, was she to do? Certainly, nothing on the vanity desk held answers; not her jars and boxes of scented silk powders, her flowers or lip-tints. But a framed picture of Gordon shifted digitally as she watched, passing from uniformed portrait to pool-side athlete, and then to Olympic champion… ending with a simple shot of the two of them, hand-in-hand by the shore.
"Je t'aime," she whispered to his image. And then someone knocked twice at her door.
