Yay! Success! Thanks, Bow Echo, for all your advice and encouragement. Third time was the charm. =) And hugs to Whirl Girl and Tikatu, as well. I appreciate your comments and feedback, more than I can adequately express. Edited more!

14

At the western border of Gran Roca Ranch, inside a firelit rock shelter-

"What the h*ll happened, back there?!" Scott demanded, fighting to keep his voice even and calm. The man he faced, Hiram Hackenbacker, was dazed and injured; having been shocked insensible by forces unknown. His thought processes seemed slower, more muddled, and there were red burn-streaks (Kayo called them "Lichtenberg figures") on his back and waist. He'd been unconscious when they found him, and wasn't doing much better, now.

"T- To what are you r- referring?" he asked, clutching Max's personality cartridge. Almost, the engineer looked ready to cry. Just smoke from the glowing firepit, probably.

Scott took a deep breath, counted backward from ten, thought about Penny, and did all of the other things that (usually) helped him stay calm. Then, he said,

"Brains, we went into training, yesterday, determined to win at a normal, fair test. Something went wrong, in fairly short order. According to John and Eos, it wasn't you running that Godawful sim. I want to know why."

He stood leaning aggressively over the slender engineer, who sat huddled and blinking on a small, reddish boulder. Hugging Max like a teddy bear, Brains shook his bruised head.

"I d- do not know how to, ah… to answer th- this accusation, Scott. I c- cannot seem to r- recall anything beyond greeting you all at th- the testing center."

Then, looking around at various injured and jacked-up Tracys, plus the two dogs, he said,

"B- but I do not see Braman. What of h- him? Did no one think to save him, as w- well as Max and myself?"

Scott straightened; his mouth a thin, hard line.

"Braman?" he demanded, suspiciously.

The dark-haired engineer nodded anxiously, saying,

"My n- newest assistant. M- Max's brother. Did you not find him w- with us?"

Scott thought back, trying to picture their mad, pounding rush through the testing control center. He hadn't been first in, or anything, but… No, couldn't recall seeing a second robot. Still… it jibed with something that John had mentioned, quickly, in passing. The pilot turned around and scanned their temporary shelter.

Alan was sitting near the small fire with This'un and That'un; the sheen of anesthetic healing ointment on his bald scalp. Virgil was perched on another boulder, having his ribs strapped up by a very tense-seeming Kayo, who was working by firelight, with donated, torn-up tee shirts. John was off to one side, still fiddling with that patched together wrist comm array, while Gordon crouched somewhere outside the circle of light, keeping watch.

Grunting, "Wait here," Scott went over to John, who glanced up at his brother's rapid, all-business approach.

"Got a minute?" the pilot asked, in one of those not-really-a-question tones, of his.

John nodded, rising from his seat on the uneven shelter floor without having to think through the process of moving in a gravity well. Having been Earthbound for some time now, he was getting used to being pinned down, again. Didn't much like it, though.

Scott jerked his head at the jumbled and sandy back of their shelter, where a band of ancient pictographs seemed to dance in the firelight. Then, he began walking off. John followed him, casting a wistful glance back at his in-process work. Once they were out of earshot of the others, Scott started in; voice low, blue eyes hard.

"Okay, Little Brother… you said that something other than Brains was running our testing scenario. Are you sure of that? Are we talking about outside interference, or an inside job? Could the Mechanic have hacked our system, again? And what do you know about Braman? Any sign of another robot assistant?"

John's blue-green eyes narrowed a bit, as he thought over Scott's many questions. Then, he said,

"Yes, I did. Pretty d*mn sure, considering I had to sneak past it to shut down that hole. Could've been either, but I haven't picked up any signs of outside intrusion. It's possible. He learns fast; has some kind of crazy organic coding style that's more like adapted thought than a second language. And, nothing. Never heard of Braman, didn't see any stray robots. Wait… did Brains try out a new AI on us? Is that what you meant by 'inside job'?"

His gaze unfocused for a second or three; probably talking to Eos. Then, John was back, and not happy with whatever he'd learnt.

"There's, um… a 'high probability' that a computer intelligence created by Brains could hijack the system, if properly motivated. No sign of it, now, though."

"Sh*t," Scott muttered, kicking at a pile of smooth granite pebbles. "And now it's out there, doing God knows what, with all of our codes and equipment specs. Great. Just effing wonderful." Glancing back at their engineer, who'd slumped over and appeared to be dozing, again, Scott snapped, "Goddam geniuses are more trouble than they're worth, half the time… present company excepted, of course."

But if John was offended, he didn't show it. Instead, the tall, red-haired astronaut said,

"Plenty of time for a post-mortem later, Scott. Right now, I've reconfigured the house and lab systems, and summoned a couple of cargo flitters. Thought about whistling up Thunderbird 2, but…"

Scott shook his head, reddening slightly.

"No need for an unscheduled launch, John. Let's, uh… keep this on the down-low, until everything's sorted out, back home." By which he meant: I don't want Grandma and Penny to find out that we had to evacuate.

John disliked 'body language', but he had long experience at reading his older brother, who was nothing, if not consistently stressed. He smiled a little, saying,

"No problem. The flitters aren't all that fast, so we've got about twenty minutes to wrap things up here, and head back." Another brief, unfocused moment followed. Then, John added, "…and Eos will nose around for any sign of this 'Braman'. Unless his intelligence can transfer from one housing to another, he can't have gone far. We've already unlocked Brains' planning notes. Maybe keep that one quiet, though."

"Yeah. Good idea," Scott agreed, clapping a hand to his brother's left shoulder. "Let me know what Eos turns up, the moment you hear something… and let's get this show on the road. I hate camping."

As they headed back to the fire, John shot his brother a swift, sidelong glance.

"You made Eagle Scout. How could you not like camping?"

Scott shrugged.

"It was just another goal, John. Made Dad proud, and met expectation. Personal feelings don't matter, when something's that important. You do what you have to. But, um… if I never see another tent, campfire or weenie-roast again, it'll be too soon for me. Sue me. I like civilization."

John shook his head, still turning the concept over in his mind. Didn't like learning new things about old people. Friends and relations were supposed to be stable. Secure. Especially brothers. Next, Gordon would say that he'd developed an allergic reaction to seawater, and Kayo would come out for peace, or something. Well, at least Eos was behaving according to specs. That was a plus.

The cargo flitters arrived a short time later, hovering a few feet over the rocky terrain, on powerful anti-grav motors. Remotely summoned, they'd used GPS and wrist comm signals to find their way over, turning up in a low, rumbling dust cloud.

Brains and Alan were in the worst shape, so they got a cargo flat to themselves; stretching out in back while Gordon sat up in the open cab, with the two dogs. Kayo, John and Virgil claimed a seat in the next flitter, which was about fifteen feet long, and unenclosed; like an un-wheeled, convertible flatbed truck. Scott flew that one, a little faster than maybe was safe; but he really wanted to beat Grandma home, and not have to explain. Yet. Until he had answers in hand, and a strategy in place.

Tanusha, sitting between two of her favourite brothers, with both knees drawn up to her slim chest, was fighting to control her own surging emotions. She'd touched him. A lot. Strapping up Virgil's cracked ribs and treating his cuts had meant that he'd been in her hands for most of an hour. And all of that time, she'd forced herself to stay calm and professional. A little stern, even. On the inside, though, deep down, the girl was squealing and turning handsprings. Hadn't conversed with him much, because what did one say to the handsome, muscular brother who could not seem to stay out of trouble? Even weary and hurt, he was fiercely attractive.

So, Kayo went to the opposite extreme and ignored Virgil all that ride home; addressing her very few comments to John, instead. Mostly, though, she focused on starlit darkness, icy wind, and the flitter's slight, bouncing vibration. Other than wind gusts and occasional coyote-music, they were the loudest things moving, that night. The warm solid bulwark of two brothers and the humming drone of their flitter made her sleepy. Kayo fought it off, though, needing to stay alert, for security reasons. Around moonrise, when that first glowing sliver crested the mountains, they'd made it back home.

At that point, Scott gave everyone their marching orders. Virgil was to handle obvious structural damage, John to assess and repair any rifts in their computer systems (and send a 'false alarm' signal to Grandma, Penny and Parker). Meanwhile, Gordon and Kayo were ordered to care for the injured. As for Scott, he intended to oversee operations, and to fix one warped, leaky window in Grandma's sitting room. After all, he'd promised.

Of course, he knew that 'mission creep' would cause John to check on the horses, first; Gordon to abandon medical detail to help out with repairs, and Alan to put on a baseball cap and climb out of bed. H*ll, he expected it, his brothers being the fractious, independent lot that they were. That's why someone had to be there to crack the whip and keep them on point. Yeah... sometimes, he really missed dad.

Close to dawn, Scott finally allowed his siblings to rest. Nobody made it upstairs to bed, though. Instead, they sacked out in the sitting room, curled up in an armchair, on the bright, Navaho rug, or their battered old sofa. Ought to have posted a watch, but Scott figured that's what the dogs were for. His last conscious thought was, "H*ll of a way to start my birthday…"

The sun was already up and shining through that newly repaired window, when Scott heard the distant "We're home" beeping of Grandma's blue truck. Same rhythm as the secret knock, it meant: I'm back with supplies, and all's well.

Scott jolted awake, shoved the nearest brother (Virgil) and growled,

"Everybody up. They're here."

Leaving his siblings to sort themselves out and visit the head, Scott stepped onto the front porch; banging through their squeaky screen door in a manner that would have drawn a sharp fuss from Grandma, had she seen him do it. It was cold, outside, and breezy. Clean-smelling. Better yet, not an ash-flake in sight. Forty-five, maybe fifty degrees, at the most, Scott figured. Peering into the molten-gold distance, he first spotted a long plume of floating dust. Closer to, he watched gravel scatter and ping; heard the tired old engine cough like a five-pack smoker doing laps. The dogs took off running to meet Grandma's truck, barking and bounding like twin brindle lighting bolts. Smiling, he shaded his eyes with one hand, and watched her roar in.

Scott lifted a hand in greeting, squashing the urge to grin and wave. He wasn't a kid, anymore. Soon enough, he'd have left his twenties behind, entirely. On the brighter side, there wasn't much sign of the recent chaos, beyond a few shattered rocks, and Alan's burnt hair. A good thing, too, as Scott had no desire to advertise what had happened. Naturally, there'd be an emergency meeting later, but not with Grandma or Penny present.

And speaking of Penelope… Scott rubbed at the back of his head, wishing he'd had time to change out of his grubby jeans, sock-feet and sweatshirt. Well, he could always shower and dress for his birthday dinner.

Hands in his pockets, Scott descended four rickety-seeming wood stairs and crossed over to meet the blue truck, which swept to a halt in a spray of crunching gravel and tail-wagging deer hounds.

"Hey, Grandma… Hey, Pen," he began. Was about to greet Parker, as well, when Grandma Tracy's birthday surprise stepped out of the truck, bent and cramped from their trip.

"Dad…?"

This time, Scott did break into a grin; loping over to shake hands with the older man, and greet both the ladies. Vigorously. Penny, too, had emerged from the truck, looking compressed but impeccable. Parker had ridden back in the truck bed, cap pulled down low, arms folded across his chest; only springing to life to help Lady Penelope out of the crowded cab. Needless to say, it was quite a reunion.

"Happy Birthday, Son," said Jeff Tracy, smiling broadly as he clasped Scott's wide shoulder.

"Thank you, Sir," the pilot replied, all at once understanding why Grandma's shopping trip with Penny had taken so long. "Glad you could make it out."

Once released, he bent down to embrace the old woman and murmured,

"Thanks, Grandma. This means a lot."

Sally Tracy smiled up at her tall, blue-eyed grandson.

"Only get one birthday a year," she excused herself, as though ashamed of all that sentimentality. "Wanted t' do it up brown."

The others were straggling up, by this time; all pretty much dusting or drying off, and hiding assorted wounds. Al wore an old ball cap, rakishly backward. John had stripped off his sling. Virgil hid his tightly strapped ribs, and tried to move normally. Dad's backslap made his eyes water, but he kept the smile on his face, even when Grandma asked,

"Everything okay over here, Boys? Tanusha? We got an alarm call from the house, last night, and then the all clear. Some kinda intruder alert?"

Scott cleared his throat and then shook his head, no. He'd been off to one side, embracing Penny so close they were just about fused. Now he said,

"False alarm, Grandma. One of the dogs got into the house and tripped an eyebeam, and, uh… some… some…"

"Blackbirds," John supplied helpfully, radiating total innocence.

"Right, blackbirds. From the stock pond. They got loose in the hangar and set off a security breach. Other than that, no excitement."

Added Virgil, grinning slyly,

"Scariest thing we had to deal with was Scott's cooking. Honest."

He pretended not to notice his brother's glare, and the extra patrol time it threatened. After all, dad was home. And so, for the moment, what else mattered?