Aces
1
At home, sometime afterward-
Scott Tracy awoke at the creaking hinge of night and day, as dawn was beginning to suggest itself through a bank of tall nearby windows. Woke without an alarm, faintly astonished that no one had done anything stupid enough to require a rescue. A full night in bed? Asleep? With no nightmare worse than the usual naked-in-public debacle? He hadn't been that blessed in almost a year…
Power might've been out… except, no. Raising his head just a bit off the wrinkled blue pillowcase, Scott could see his holographic time/ alert/ calendar display hovering off to the left. 6:15 AM, 22 Harmony 2068. No meetings, no scheduled maintenance, no training. The pilot let out a short, surprised grunt. A… free day? Nothing at all on the calendar?
Very slowly (as if he had to approach the notion sideways, lest he scare it away) Scott sat up in his tangled sheets. The bed creaked a little beneath him, his motion causing the windows to lighten, letting in more of that magical, un-crowded dawn. The holo-clock changed its display as well, having sensed that he needed no prodding to rise.
He'd fallen asleep in grey sweatpants and… Well, that was pretty much it. Simple. Uncomplicated. Easy to get out of in a hurry, if he'd been blasted awake for another mission. Hadn't happened this time, though. Anyhow… not yet.
The rest of the house was still quiet. No piano from the lounge. No splashing or laughter from the pool deck. No bustling kitchen drones or fussing Grandma. No demands or requests or concerns, besides a hot shower and plenty of strong, ranch-style coffee. Scott got up out of bed. Had slippers, somewhere, but never could find them in a hurry. Instead, he just padded barefoot from bedside to bathroom.
Paused a second or two on the threshold of white-tiled paradise, convinced that he'd no sooner strip and start showering than all hell would break loose in twelve places at once, requiring multiple launches and infinite John. But, no. The house remained utterly calm.
Fast forward thirty-four seconds. Scott had been trained at the academy to take the perfect five-minute shower, managing to shave and brush his teeth at the same time. He was years out of military school and no longer GDF-active but kept up that fast shower mojo, because soapy and naked was not a good look for the start of a mission.
At some point during his morning ablutions, Scott began humming under his breath. Some dumb commercial jingle about "brighter days with Lectra-White Tooth Gel". Couldn't get it out of his head. Just let the tune mix with drumming hot water and flashes of yesterday's wild docking rig rescue.
Still humming, he cut off the shower, stepped out and toweled off; rubbing at his own short brown hair like a man with no worries at all what he looked like. Anyhow, his hair was too springy to style. Had he let it grow out, it would have gone curly and wild.
Once dried off, Scott went back to his bedroom for clean skivvies, blue shorts, a tee-shirt and plain white trainers. He'd planned to go running, at first, but changed his mind on a whim, digging a basketball out of his closet, instead. It felt good to palm the thing like a pro, one hand spread wide over pebbled orange leather, not letting it drop.
No one was awake but the birds, bugs and pterosaurs as the sun slowly chinned itself over the horizon. Good enough. Scott tucked his old basketball under one arm and loped (very quietly) downstairs and into the kitchen, where Max obligingly brewed him a cup of the strongest black coffee known to mankind. That, and a cranberry-almond granola bar made up a hasty first breakfast.
Tropical flowers were starting to open, shorebirds wheeling and mewling overhead, when Scott downed the last of that scalding-hot coffee and headed outside. Down a short flagstone path, between house and pool deck, Dad had put up a basketball hoop. Just one, because no one here played very much… but one was all that he needed, right then.
Jogging to the small cement court, Scott began dribbling the ball, enjoying the rhythmic smack of leather on concrete in time with his own rapid footfalls. Posted up at the free-throw line and then threw, watching the ball's smooth, perfect arc. Hearing it smack the backboard and swish through that ringing and clashing chain net. Saw it hit the ground, thwack, to bounce off and be chased down, over and over again.
Alone and loving it, Scott made up a running narrative of his own game-saving last minute plays, pivoting and ducking as though he were surrounded by hostile defenders. Working just as hard as if he'd actually been playing a game, he practiced his shots. Even slam-dunked a few, just for the fun of it.
…And still no alert. Nothing but distant sea sounds and waking jungle; rustling wind and the constant thud of ball on damp concrete. At last, Scott paused to eat his by now melty and twisted granola bar. Tasted good, anyhow, even if fighting to peel the wrapper off that sticky treat set him to cursing like Lee.
Now, the house began coming to life. Bit by slow bit. Music here. Raised, joking voices there. Clatter and fuss from the kitchen. Just, you know… life. Family. All of the stuff he was normally too busy working to sit back and drink in.
Scott Tracy smiled, squinting up at a sun now well on its way through the sky. Just for kicks, he turned, started walking and then made an over-the-shoulder hook shot, not really expecting to sink it. But you know how it is: no witnesses, no cameras, no proof. Naturally the ball arced gracefully upward and back. Just like that, it dropped right through, nothing but net.
Grinning, the pilot lunged after his ball. No one else had seen that amazing shot. No one else had to. He'd done it, that's all. Sweaty, tingling with effort and volcanic hunger, Scott gave himself a thumbs up, then jogged his way back along the stone path.
There were twenty-four hours in a day. In that much time, people could pull any number of dumbass stunts. Worse, tornadoes could strike. Rogue waves could batter shipping. Solar flares could knock out navigation and signals (again). All business as usual, from a Tracy perspective.
But Scott had had a peaceful night and a wonderful morning. Whatever came next, he felt recharged and ready to handle. Even a light, sudden downpour didn't ruin his mood, as he sprinted back to the house, dodging raindrops and laughing aloud.