For Gumnut, with many thanks for letting me play in her Marks & Wings AU, and many apologies for the appalling liberties I have taken therein.
"Um, Scott, have you got a minute?"
Scott looked up from his father's desk, where he was engaged in wading through a backlog of mission reports, to see Virgil standing at the door of the study.
Now, Virgil having something he wanted to talk to Scott about was not an unusual occurrence. Virgil always had something he wanted to talk about. He could talk 'flanges', 'turbo-encabulators' and 'high impedance air gaps' at any time and any place. He could effortlessly hold a twenty minute one-sided engineering monologue where the only parts of it that Scott understood were pronouns and the occasional verb.
For such a sensitive and astute guy, Virgil had a bizarre ability to tune out his surroundings when waxing lyrical about sprockets and the like. Scott would be hard pushed to forget the time Virgil had talked at him nonstop on the way up from the hangars, following him right the way along the house, through his bedroom, into the en suite, only stopping when Scott bounced a toilet roll off his head and bundled him bodily out of his bathroom and locked the door.
In fact, now he thought about it, even then Virgil hadn't so much stopped as temporarily paused for breath whilst he was being manhandled, then picked up where he left off just speaking louder through the door.
So, no, nothing unusual about Virgil wanting to talk.
The "Um" etc, now that was unusual. Virgil did not normally seek permission to bludgeon Scott with 'big ends', 'frangible pins' and 'flux capacitors'. Hell, he barely required Scott to make any contribution at all, other than giving an occasional indication of life. So, yes, the "Um" etc was deeply suspicious.
As was the fact that John was standing next him. A delegation no less.
"Okaaaay," said Scott, slowly. "What's wrong? What's he done this time?" The 'he' in question, Scott knew without a shadow of doubt, was one Gordon Cooper Tracy.
It was always Gordon Cooper Tracy.
Whenever an unusually diffident Virgohn or Jogil combo appeared at his door, there was an absolute, positive, one hundred percent probability that a certain pesky piscatorial Tracy was at the root of it.
So, why Virgil should start guiltily with surprise and look at him as if he had suddenly developed the power to read minds, he really couldn't say. He supposed it might be that, since Virgil, John and Gordon could actually read each other's minds, it was unexpected when one of the "squib" brothers knew stuff they shouldn't.
To be fair, brothers two, three and four's gift was more that of being aware of each other's minds. They could pick up each other's feelings and impressions, and project their own conceptual thoughts or emotional state in return, rather than communicate in words.
It only worked between the three of them. When he was younger, Scott had been frustrated that he couldn't feel his brothers in that way. He knew Alan still envied the facility. But over time, he had come to realise that it did give him much a needed mental firewall against over intrusion - in both directions.
For whatever reason, Scott and Alan did not share the talent, so had to rely on bog standard human intuition and previous experience to fathom what was going on in the others' heads. Mind you, "bog standard human " was not a term that could be applied to any of the Tracy boys. Not when they were they were all born with the Mark.
The Mark was a silvery tracing on the skin which, when activated, transformed the bearer. For Scott, John, Virgil and Alan it allowed huge, feathered, functional wings to emerge from their backs.
There was a term for what they were; Avians - humans who could fly. Avians had existed throughout history, found in the mythology of cultures all across the globe and known by many different names.
Of course, Gordon had his own terminology for his brothers. He variously referred to his siblings as, "Half-man, half-turkey", "Plover Brovers" or "Chickenoid Life Forms." CLFs for short. Gordon was, unfortunately, a wellspring of other unflattering neologisms.
Predictably, he was the only one of the brothers whose Mark did not accommodate wings. Instead Gordon's Mark allowed him to transform fully into any aquatic animal. The term 'Shapeshifter' came the closest to describing Gordon.
However, he preferred to refer to himself as; "A Godlike Marine Omnibeing, Unique in all Creation!"
Whilst expressing extreme skepticism about the "Godlike" element of Gordon's description, Scott did have to concede that they knew of no other recipient of Gordon's aquatic gift.
That made it important for Scott to be especially vigilant when his brother was out amongst the rest of humanity. As he happened to be at the moment. Scott would be the first one to go blazing in if Gordon was at risk of harm, but he needed to know why the other two were concerned.
Virgil took a breath.
"It's not that there's anything wrong, exactly," says Virgil.
"It's just that things are not right, exactly," says John.
Scott stared at them.
"We couldn't say that he's actually done anything," says Virgil.
"But we couldn't say that he's not actually done anything, either." says John.
Scott resisted the urge to face palm.
These were supposed to be the sensible members of the family. The logical, rational, articulate ones. The ones with degrees and doctorates up the wazoo. The very same ones that were standing in front of him spouting lines like characters from The Cat in The Hat.
To use their own vocabulary, what the actual...?!
"So, you two came in an idiot convoy especially to tell me that there either is or isn't anything wrong exactly, and Gordon either has or hasn't done something, actually?"
"Yes," and "No," said his brothers simultaneously.
God give me strength, thought Scott.
"Well," said Scott, slowly and carefully, "much as I have enjoyed this philosophical debate about Schroedinger's Fish, I still have no idea, exactly, why I am stood here having this Hewey, Dewey and Louis dialogue with you. Unless of course I'm actually lying face down, asleep on the desk, drooling on top of three weeks of unreturned mission reports and this is just a cheese dream."
John took it upon himself to explain things more coherently.
"We've both been getting slightly odd impressions from Gordon when we connect."
"Is he hurt?" asked Scott. He asked without the level of urgency with which he would normally ask that question. He knew already that the conversation would have been very different if John or Virgil had picked up on a significant injury.
"Not exac ... " started Virgil, but stopped in the face of Scott's glare.
He started again. "Well you know he broke a toe on his first day's surfing? We felt that when it happened. Three days after that there was something similar. It felt like the same thing, as if he just caught his foot again."
"But it was nothing that wouldn't be a common or garden boarding injury," finished John.
Scott nodded. Gordon was currently on a surfing holiday in Florida with Aunt Val's nephew, Jamal. He had begged to go on his first holiday without his family and after considerable negotiation and numerous strictures, Scott had agreed. But not without misgivings.
It was nerve wracking enough letting your seventeen year old brother go trolling off to the US mainland, without all the added worry factors that;
A) Surfing could be a dangerous.
B) The Tracys were always at risk of exposure to the general public and vulnerable to those who might wish to take or harm them.
and
C) This is Gordon we are talking about.
Jamal was twenty one and a steady young man. The Tracy boys had known him forever, going on expeditions with their Godmother's family since childhood. The older siblings spent less time with him in recent years as their paths diverged, but the two youngest stayed in regular contact.
When Gordon told him that Jamal had invited him for a two week surfing holiday, Scott had grilled his 'Godcousin'. Jamal assured Scott that he was happy to take the boy and had no intention of doing anything other than spending time enjoying the beach and the ocean. He wasn't the sort to go clubbing or bar hopping.
Scott had wanted full supervisory technology deployed and Gordon vigorously objected, pointing out that they already had two 'Psychic Baby Monitors', who would know if anything went awry. Scott, against his better judgement finally agreed to give Gordon some privacy and insisted only that his brother wear a GPS phonewatch at all times.
Jamal, a less skilled surfer, chose a destination in Florida with safe, novice level waves. Ironically, this was the reason for Gordon's injury as an inexperienced surfer had clipped his foot with his out of control board.
That was thirteen days ago. Gordon's watch had showed that he had stayed within range of the beach village at all times. Scott had actually started to relax about the whole thing. But now the 'Minority Report Brothers' were acting strangely.
"So what do you mean by odd impressions?"
"Well, there was a strong sense of alarm when he hurt his foot for the second time, as if something unexpected had happened. For an hour or so after that, we got flashes of anxiety."
"And then? Asked Scott.
Virgil responded rather sheepishly, "Well, he was kind of excited and happy."
Scott opened his mouth to say something sarcastic but John jumped in.
"The thing was, he was happy but he was kinda shifty about it."
Scott stared at him. "Shifty?"
Virgil and John did synchronised nodding.
"Shifty? Gordon?"
They did the conjoined nodding thing again.
A beat.
Then Scott roared, "You've lived with him for seventeen years! In that time was there ever a moment , a single moment, when that pint-sized snake oil salesman WASN'T SHIFTY?!"
Virgil winced. John stood his ground. "He's doing something he knows he shouldn't but he's in some kind of fix. He wants us to come and help him."
Virgil nodded. "Something's changed. He knows he's gonna get into trouble for whatever the hell he's up to but he's putting out a call anyway. He'd never do that if he thought he could get out of it himself and get away without us knowing. He needs us, Scott."
And that was enough. If Scott was honest, he had known from "Um", that he was going to be heading out to Florida. He had just wanted to hang onto the notion that for once, that the words 'Gordon' and 'Trouble' wouldn't be synonymous.
But there's your Godlike Omnibeing for you; it lives on mischief and poops chaos.
Scott sighed and dropped his head briefly on the desk. He gave himself a moment to wallow in the "Why me?-ness" of his life. Then he slapped his palms on the wood, sat upright and holocalled his brother.
The watchphone rang twice before pick up and then Scott had that familiar second's disorientation where he was rendered into holographic form, and his surroundings became that of his avatar's location as it was projected from the wearers wrist.
In this case it was a cliff top with the blue Pacific in the distance and a great many bodies, clad in not very much, in the immediate environs. Live music wailed out from a huge speaker behind the silhouette in front of the camera. Clearly some kind of music festival.
Equally clearly, the wearer of the watch was not Gordon.
"Oh, Hey Scott! Hi!" said Jamal, coming into focus an arms length away. "How're you doing?"
Scott cut through the niceties.
"Jamal, why are you wearing Gordon's watch? Where is he?"
"Oh! Yeah! Of course I am! I forgot," he smiled, "He gave it to me. Mine wasn't working. It was really kind of him, see I .."
"Where is he Jamal?" Scott interrupted.
For the first time Jamal looked a little uncomfortable. "Oh, he should be back at the beach. That's where I left him..." The look of discomfort deepened. He started avoiding eye contact with Scott. "He was going to keep on surfing and he said it'd be okay for me to come to the festival with Talia." He smiled off to the right where a pretty girl smiled back.
"Jamal," an icy edge started to come into Scott's tone. " When? When did this happen?"
"Er," Jamal was squirming now. "That would be last Tuesday? I'm only just across town and he said he'd be in contact if he needed me, and me and Talia.."
Scott broke the connection. Ten days ago! Ten whole days! He'd deal with Jamal later, if Aunt Val hadn't skinned him alive by then anyway. Mind you, he wasnt the only one who was going to get their neck in a sling.
He looked up to find Virgil and John staring at him, with the apprehensive look of brothers who were both genuinely concerned but also knew that they had just landed Gordon in big, big trouble with big big brother.
Scott stared at his handset, put on a high squeaky, gushing voice and said,
"Here, Jamal, take my watch, my GPS phone that I give you out of the kindness of my heart. Off you go, wearing my watch so my big brother will think I'm where he left me, while I skip off to create mayhem and appocali in my wake, tra-la!"
John, stickler for linguistic precision that he was, couldn't help himself but murmur under his breath, "I don't think 'apocalypse' has a plur..."
He tailed off with a look from Scott. He required no psychic abilities whatsoever to see that if he finished his sentence, his brother would select a part of John's anatomy as the new home for the family copy of Webster's English Dictionary.
The unabridged edition.
He shut his mouth.
"Right. We'll take Tracy One. Ten minutes to wheels up."
With that Scott left the room to get his go bag. The remaining brothers looked at each other, grimaced, then turned to do the same.
...
They landed at the nearest private airstrip and hired a car. As they slung their bags in the boot, Scott said, "Ok, consider yourselves psychic sniffer dogs. I'll drive, you hunt the little shyster down."
Scott drove in a grid pattern across town until his brothers picked up the scent. Proximity definitely helped to get a stronger sense of Gordon's whereabouts. Using a kind of 'hot/cold' system, they zigzagged across town until they were driving on the main coast road out of town.
As they were driving, Scott couldn't help but worry that he might have read the situation wrong. I mean, it certainly looked like Gordon had given his watch to Jamal as a decoy, knowing that he would then be free to do whatever his sneaky little mind had cooked up. But there was still a small possibility that he had been taken somewhere against his will. Scott felt his ire fading as concern won out.
Until, that is, Virgil and John simultaneously yelled, "Here! He's here!" as they passed a large driveway.
A driveway with a giant billboard featuring a large cartoon sea lion with a flipper raised in greeting. Behind him, assorted Disney-esque penguins, otters and octopuses waved gaily.
The legend on the billboard proclaimed;
Surf City Marine Park
Home of the famous Florida Sea Lions!
Come and meet Desi the sea lion and his friends!
Fun for all the family!
Because kidnappers always took their hostages for a fun day out with cute marine animals before settling in to make their demands and chop off a finger or two.
Right.
Gordon. Was. Toast.
What Scott couldn't fathom was why the subterfuge? This wasn't an opium den or a house of ill repute. This was exactly the kind of place that Gordon had dragged his family to since he was first able to throw a tantrum. There had to be something else going on to account for the shiftiness.
He backed the car up, headed down the drive, bought three tickets at the drive- through booth and entered the park. The centre was indeed familiar territory. The tannoy announcements confirmed the fact that it met the three criteria required for any self respecting public attraction; it had a cafe, it had a gift shop and it had a lost child awaiting retrieval at reception.
Scott thought sourly that it was too much to hope that it would turn out to be Gordon.
There were sundry buildings and enclosures for various ocean dwellers laid out on a circular route around the grounds. It had to be said the accommodation for the animals was clearly top notch, with the human elements more of an afterthought.
The brothers waited for a moment by the Sea lion enclosure whilst Virgil and John got their bearings. A head-setted keeper was throwing mackerel to a sleek black beast perched on a faux rock, presumably the billboard's star turn. She was finishing up an informational talk in the pool enclosure.
"As you may know, we are primarily a marine animal rescue charity and we rely on the kindness of people like yourselves to keep us open, so do please help us save more animals."
Well, thought Scott, that explained the slightly ramshackle feel to the place. All the money went into the animals. The visitors were an afterthought.
".. so we hope you have enjoyed meeting Desi. If you would like to adopt a sea lion or any of our animals, or make a gift of one to a friend, you can collect one of our packs from the shop. You will get monthly newsletters, a poster and a stuffed toy of your favourite."
Gordon's empathy for marine life meant he was extremely susceptible to pleas such as this one. Each of his brothers were regularly on the receiving end of Gordon's gifts of various damp adoptees.
John, for instance, was the not-so-proud papa of a rare starfish named "Sucky", that needed care whilst he grew back a couple of missing arms. Gordon had said that as a present, he thought it was perfect, because John was interested in stars. John said privately that, as a present, he thought it was 'Sucky' by name and 'sucky' by nature. He didn't say that to his brother though.
All of them had had to muster an expression of gratitude for receiving the dreaded PPP (pack, poster and plushie) of, say, a tubercular turtle (Virgil), mutant manatee (Alan), spineless lionfish (Kayo) or some other lame duck.
In the case of Scott and his one legged mallard, literally.
Actually, the brothers did do a passable job of appearing enthusiastic because they appreciated that Gordon genuinely considered it to be a great present. He spent most of his allowance on adoptions, as his extensive plushie collection would attest.
"Anyway, that concludes our talk." announced the keeper. "For those of you interested in our otters, Megan will be feeding the boys in sector C in five minutes, thanks for listening, have a good day. Say goodbye, Desi!"
Scott reflected that they did at least have the nous to realise that engaging with people and showcasing the animals was the way to go. These places were always vulnerable because they had little steady income. Gordon always got very upset if he heard that a centre like this was closing through lack of funds. He would make empassioned pleas for Tracy industries to help, but Scott had to put a limit on how many they supported. Maybe that was a clue to why he was here surreptitiously, doing something for the centre that Scott wouldn't have sanctioned?
The sea lion raised a flipper and waved energetically to a hearty round of applause. People started drifting off, continuing their circuit of the park and John and Virgil began walking with the crowd.
"Yep," said Virgil. " He's definitely around here somewhere." John nodded his agreement.
They wound past the various pens, checking out the other visitors as they went. There was a seal habitat, closed to the public. A board on the pen explained that their only seal resident, who had come to the park a month ago, and was not yet quite well enough to face the public.
Further on, a fair few people were leaning over the rails of the penguin pool. The reasons for the "oohing" and "aahing" from the crowd were explained by overhearing a keeper who was informing visitors that the SCMP was proud to have been accepted into the government sanctioned breeding programme for emperor penguins. Lucky punters might have the opportunity to see the three home reared baby penguins when they made their debut. Which they just had.
Little brother bait if ever there was any.
But there was no sign of him amongst those crowds and Scott hurried to follow on after Virgil and John who were still following the scent. After a few minutes they were at the farthest point of the park which opened out into a space with a cafe and toilet block. Seating was scattered around a towering scotch pine and the space was edged by the otter enclosure. Between the cafe, the seats and the people gathered for feeding time show, Scott thought this seemed the richest hunting ground for their brother.
His hunch was confirmed when John said,
"He's somewhere here."
"OK, keep your eyes peeled," instructed Scott.
In the enclosure a new keeper helpfully kept everyone in place by beginning her demonstration. She tapped a tablet on the wall and suitably jaunty music played to accompany her talk. The brothers took up position at the back of the thickest concentration of people and began to scan the crowd. Scott turned the other way in order to check visitors moving across the open space behind.
In the background, the familiar routine began. "Hello everybody and welcome. My name is Megan and I'm here to tell you a bit about our otters. In a moment I'll introduce you to our boys. You might know the U.S. is home to two species: the sea otter and the North American river otter..."
Scott thought absently that he could probably do the spiel on all the animals here at least as well as the keepers. He'd heard it so many times he ran through the script in his head whilst spying on the crowd " ..have to eat 45% of body weight a day... hold hands to make living rafts when they sleep ... very gregarious.. yada yada."
Scott's parallel version was pretty much spot on, as the keeper expounded in the background. He decided he had spent far to much time indulging his younger brother in such places.
"We have the larger species, the sea otters, and here they come for their dinner. Now does anybody know what they eat?" a mumbled answer from the crowd. "Yes that's right, they eat all sorts. Today's tea is fresh fish but they also have crabs and clams. Otters are one of the few animals to use tools. They actually have a spare fold of skin in their armpits to keep small rocks that they use to break open shells."
Funnily enough, it never got old for Gordon. He was a walking encyclopaedia on marine life but he'd never tire of something like this. He never missed an opportunity to hear information about aquatic animals. He was always mesmerised by the way otters would amuse themselves by juggling their rocks in their dexterous little paws. It fascinated him.
Which was exactly why Scott knew he would be here.
"So here we have Manny and Ringo. They're mature otters, nine and six years old. Manny has been with us for six weeks after getting tangled in some fishing nets and Ringo was brought in last month. We hope to release them into the wild shortly..."
Scott tuned her out as he saw a flash of bright blond hair.
Gotcha! He started towards it. Then the head turned. Not his brother.
There was a tug on the bottom of his shirt. It was amazing how often this happened. Scott figured he must broadcast some kind of high frequency 'big brother' signal, perceptible only to children, bats and the occasional sheepdog. Kids somehow detected this and singled him out if they needed help.
Usually it was a valuable quirk, which meant he was able to gain the trust of frightened children at rescue sites, but now? It was just what he didn't need at the moment, another tearful escapee that had to be delivered to reception and advertised over the tannoy.
But it wasn't a lost child. It was Virgil. He had caught Scott's shirt when he turned to chase the red herring.
"...responded well to antibiotics. Fishing nets are significant hazard to these little guys..."
Virgil was tugging on Scott's shirt but staring straight ahead. As was John beside him.
Scott turned back and as he did so, Virgil slowly raised his other hand to point.
"Nemo is the last of our boys. He was brought in almost a fortnight ago and he likes to make an entrance!"
In the enclosure, two otters were circling in the pool near where the keeper stood at the poolside with her bucket of fish.
A third otter had appeared at the top of a fake rock water slide. It was paler and smaller than the other two. It stood upright on its back paws and began making strange wiggling movements, seemingly in time with the music, swinging it's little forearms backwards and forwards.
It was hard to tell at a distance, but unlike the bright, black button eyes of the other otters, this one's seemed to gleam dark amber.
Oh.
My.
God.
"Is that...?!"
Virgil and John did the creepy nodding thing.
Scott's mouth kept starting questions that his brain hadn't caught up with.
"Why is he...?"
"How did he...?"
Then, frowning, "What... what is he...?" Scott stared harder. "It looks like he's... he's not... he's not... Flossing?"
"Yes," said Virgil, in a strangled voice, " Yes, he is."
John said nothing, just gazed, transfixed.
And indeed, the little brother in an otter suit was attempting the old dance without a great deal of success given that his short little arms wouldn't reach very far around his back. Not that it seemed to bother him. He was giving it the full-on furry Elvis hip action.
Not that it bothered the crowd either, as they erupted into delighted applause.
Apparently heartened by this reception, the otter broke out more moves.
Stood like rocks, the brothers simply stared.
"So. Now. This is..?"
"Yep," intoned Virgil flatly. " Gangnam style."
All in a row, the brothers watched, staring straight ahead in silence as the otter crossed its paws and galloped lopsidedly on the spot, hobbling slightly on one flipper.
A beat.
Then Scott said with an air of unnatural calm, "Just so you know, if he starts to Moonwalk I'm going to have to hurdle the fence and strangle him."
Virgil answered stiffly without turning. "Fair enough".
John said nothing. Just stared with the absolute stillness of a man who'd been shot in the neck with a poison dart.
In the enclosure, Gordon had stopped throwing shapes and now launched himself head first down the slide, arms and little webbed digits out to the side. He hurtled down the ramp and was briefly airborne before diving into the water.
Watchers could see him streaking under the surface, then erupting out out of the water and doing a fast belly slide up to the keeper, before skidding to a halt and sitting up on his back legs. He then looked up at the keeper with huge eyes and held his paws out, palms upwards.
The crowd went wild.
Something about it rang a bell in Scott's mind. Then he remembered that Gordon had played the lead in "Oliver Twist" in his junior school musical.
He ground his teeth.
The keeper dropped a big piece of fish into his paws and 'Nemo' gave a dignified bow of the head in thanks. He then completely ruined the impression by shoving the whole of the fish into his mouth and downing it in a single gulp before plopping back into the pool.
"Sweet Mother of God." Said Virgil.
"You'll have noticed that Nemo is a very unusual otter," intoned Megan.
"No shit, Sherlock." Croaked Scott.
"We believe he was bred in captivity and kept as a pet. It is actually illegal to breed sea otters in captivity without a government license, and even we, as a specialist marine facility, haven't been granted one yet. Unfortunately, Nemo shows us just why the government is trying to clamp down. He has learnt all kinds of tricks that you would never see in the wild. Otters are wild animals and should never be domesticated. In fact they make terrible pets, they leave mess around the house, can't be trusted with food and generally cause chaos wherever they go."
Virgil snorted.
"We don't teach our rescuees tricks here. The behaviours that you might have seen with our sea lions are either natural or taught only to help us to handle them without stressing them if they need care or medical attention. Having said that, Nemo has had quite the impact on Manny and Ringo so we are seeing something new everyday!"
Illustrating her point, in the pool the three otters now floated on their backs with their heads towards each other. They grasped each other's paws to form a three pointed star. At 'Nemo's' sharp yap, all three began paddling their webbed feet furiously.
The star formation began to spin. Faster and faster it went, like the world's most bizarre Busby Berkeley routine.
When the rotating otter ensemble had got up a good head of steam, Gordon suddenly broke free and dived under the water. The remaining artistic swimmers rolled over, rejoined paws and continued paddling round furiously.
There was a beat, then Manny and Ringo broke apart, rising up and curling over forwards into the water like opening petals as a small furry missile shot up maybe seven feet into the air through the gap between them.
It was like watching the World Synchronised Swimming Championships after you had taken acid.
As if in slow motion, at the height of his parabola, the watching brothers saw Gordon scrabble under one arm and retrieve a trio of pebbles. He proceeded to toss up the stones, briefly managing to juggle them before losing control.
The otter squirmed in midair trying to catch a stray pebble which then ricocheted off his paw and smacked him in the head before heading off at a tangent. He twisted after it.
So distracted was he, that he hadn't noticed the water was now coming up to meet him. Little arms spread wide and windmilling in a futile attempt to retrieve the rock, he bellyflopped onto the water. Or rather , he bellyflopped onto the head of Manny who had just resurfaced.
The two animals went under in a graceless tangle of paws and tails. As a final indignity, the pair were splattered by hail of rogue pebbles which followed them down like bludgers from a quidditch match.
The crowd roared, stamping and clapping.
Scott, Virgil and John stood rigid, matching sets of eyebrows raised into hairlines. Not a muscle moved between the three of them. Until John's bottom jaw dropped open of its own account whilst the rest of his face stared on.
"Well folks, that was definitely a new one on me, and I've been here sixteen years!" Said Megan, clearly somewhat nonplussed.
"Nemo was brought in with a broken bone in his hind paw after having, very unusually, approached humans. He was in an area that has no resident otters, so he was either abandoned by his owners or escaped from captivity. He has no fear of humans which makes him great fun to work with, but sadly means he lacks the skills to survive in the wild. So, once we've checked his paw has healed enough, Nemo will be going to live with our permanent residents in our other otter habitat."
Whilst Megan had been talking, things in the pen had descended into chaos. If any further displays of half-assed un-synchronised aquatic mammal ballet had been planned, that had all gone to hell in a handbasket now.
Ringo lolloped up and down the side of the pool barking whilst an irate Manny was pursuing 'Nemo' in and out of the pool nipping at his tail. Clearly the older otter had not appreciated wearing Gordon as a toupee.
The keeper concluded her talk and threw the remaining contents of her bucket into the pool. Before leaving, she reminded punters of the interactive rock pool session in ten minutes, and the centre's closure in forty. The crowds of people drifted away until only a couple of parents and children remained pressed against the other end of the plexiglass barrier.
After five minutes or so, Manny had tired of chasing Gordon. Or, as Scott thought of it through long experience, had become overwhelmed by the futility of becoming embroiled in a frankly farcical attempt to chastise the incorrigible.
Checking for ambush, 'Nemo' made his way cautiously across the pool to the area in front of the brothers who still stood, still petrified in place.
He hopped out of the water and sat up, looking out at them. The eyes were unmistakable at this range. Gordon half raised a paw in greeting.
His brothers just stared at him.
Gordon gave slightly nervous grin and shrugged sheepishly.
There was a beat, then Scott growled and lunged at the glass. For the second time, Virgil grabbed his shirt and yoinked him back.
"No, Scott, No! You can't kill him!" The group of children and parents at the other end of the pen had looked across at the commotion and were eyeing them in uneasy suspicion.
Scott resisted. Virgil kept hold. "Think about it man! You're about to strangle one of the cutest creatures on the planet! In front of witnesses! They don't know he deserves it. Every child in a fifty yard radius will be on you in a flash. You wouldn't stand a chance!"
Scott paused and Virgil pressed his advantage. He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Think about it Scott, if you do it here, it's ottercide . They'd throw the book at you. Put you in clink and throw away the key. But if you waited...and did it when we got him home, it'd only be fratricide! With his "previous", you'd be able to prove justifiable homicide no problem. What is that? A one to three stretch, out in nine months? Yeah?"
Scott huffed but stepped back from the barrier. He fixed a now anxious-looking Gordon with a baleful eye.
"Right, you little sea weasel. We will be back to get you tonight once everyone's gone and we can jack their security cameras. Then we'll get you home where murdering your sorry ass will just be a misdemeanour."
With that, he turned on his heel to leave. "Come on, " he said jerking his head to his brothers. With a raised eyebrow at Gordon, Virgil turned and left too. They'd gone about five paces before they realised they were missing someone. "John!" called Scott, "come on."
John showed no signs of having heard. They backed up. John was still stood staring at Gordon as though he was a lab sample that had somehow crawled out of a Petrie dish overnight.
On the other side of the glass, Gordon stared back, increasingly disconcerted, shifting from foot to foot.
Scott tried once more to get John's attention, but his immediate brother remained mesmerised. Taking a deep breath and casting his eyes up to heaven in mute appeal, Scott gestured to Virgil who grabbed the back of John's collar and unceremoniously yanked him him along after them. He continued to crane his head back to the pen where a frankly unnerved Gordon stood back from the glass watching them go.
...
The brothers killed some hours in a local 24 hour diner. To stop a now functional John from running through increasingly outlandish theories about how Gordon might not actually be related to them, they got him hacking the centre's camera security.
Which he did in about forty five seconds.
John then returned to his latest theory that their brother, in fact, had always been an otter who occasionally turned into a Gordon, rather than the other way around.
The plan was to check the whereabouts of the security guards by piggybacking the cameras and then using the breach to loop pre-recorded footage on the cameras around the otter enclosure. They would fly in under cover of darkness at two in the morning.
That plan got thrown out when around 11 pm, both Virgil and John sat upright in their seats. Scott was instantly on the alert. " What is it? What's happened?"
Virgil and John were both getting up from their seats. " Scott, we can't wait, we've got to go now. Something's happened that's really freaked Gordon. He needs us right now!"
John added, "And the contact feels muzzy somehow."
They left the diner, got out of sight of any stray customers. The brothers activated their Marks, and three sets of spectacular wings unfolded from their shoulders. They lost no time in and taking to the air.
Seven minutes later they touched down next to the otters' pool. John had made short work of the cameras, and the night watchman only did rounds once every two hours, so there should be no problem with security so long as they were stealthy.
Once inside the enclosure, they made their way into the three side rooms that acted as the otters' dens. Glass panels showed that the first room held Ringo and Manny, whilst in the second, a small sandy coated otter lay curled on the floor.
Scott had the door open in seconds, crossed the room in two paces and knelt by his brother. "Gordon! It's us!".
The little creature lifted its head a fraction, eyes at half mast, then dropped it back on his paws as if it were too much effort. Scott felt worry replace his previous exasperation. Virgil and John were beside him in a beat, Virgil running a scanner over the animal. "He's been given some kind of sedative. They must have been planning to do some kind of health check or to handle him tomorrow."
"Will he be ok? " asked Scott.
"Yes, he should be fine. This will be why the connection was muzzy. It would be good to check him in his own form, though. He's going to be loopy for the next few hours and I don't know how it will affect his ability to change."
"Gordon!" Said John, shaking him a little. "Come on Gordy, wake up now. Can you shift?" The otter stirred briefly. John grasped him under the forearms with both hands and held him up to his face.
"Gordy!" Gordy blinked his eyes open. His pupils were blown and rimmed with carnelian. He looked exactly like the glass-eyed plushies in the gift shop as he hung there, paws and tail dangling bonelessly in John's grip. He looked up at his brother and gave him a slack lipped, goofy grin. A thread of drool ran down his chin and dripped onto John's hand.
"Oh, gross!" John hastened to put him down. He set him on the floor in a sitting position and took his hands away.
Still grinning, Gordon folded sideways and plopped onto the floor.
John reached out, picked him up and tried to sit him upright again. It turned out that trying to organise a stoned otter was like trying to stack an overstretched slinky. The two ends and the middle seemed to operate entirely independently of each other. If you got the top and the bottom lined up, the middle popped out. Concentrate on the middle and the ends went AWOL.
Eventually, John took to bouncing his brother on his bottom on the floor a few times as if he were trying to rearrange his innards to lower his centre of gravity. Finally after some careful positioning, Gordon was sitting up like a stuffed meerkat. John let go, hovering with his hands near and waiting a moment until the otter seemed stable, then he sat back, satisfied.
Gordon smiled gormlessly at him.
Then, as if filleted, collapsed backwards onto the floor. Still smiling.
John tutted and reached out again. Virgil who had been watching incredulously as John tried arrange his brother as though he were a beany toy, batted his hands away.
He caught Gordon's eye where he lay and said, "Ok Fish, you need to change for us now. No, don't go back to sleep! Change or I'll get Grandma!"
"I'll get Grandma," was a threat that worked for all the boys. And it didn't fail this time.
The otter drew in a big, effortful breath. Silver tracings shimmered briefly over its body, and then, ... in it's place lay Gordon. He looked pale and pasty, as if his skin hadn't seen daylight for days. His hair was plastered to him as if a sunflower had crawled onto his head and died.
Virgil scooted in and scanned him whilst the others looked on anxiously.
" It's ok," reported Virgil, "there's some dehydration in this form and the sedative is still having a proportional effect despite the change in mass, so he's going to be a bit peculiar for a while yet."
Both his brothers looked at him, eyebrows raised.
"Ok, more peculiar than normal," amended Virgil.
"The broken bone is starting to knit so that's as it should be. All in all he's ok." Scott felt relief flow through him in spite of himself.
Gordon meanwhile, was making moves to sit up and Virgil gave him a hand.
"Man, what a head rush!" he groaned as he settled at least half upright. He fixed a bleary gaze on his brothers and beamed. "But you came! You came to save me! I knew you wouldn't let them keep me!"
He sounded a little slurred and his eyes were still glassy and dilated. He lifted his arms out in an expansive gesture towards his brothers and began to topple again. Virgil grabbed one upper arm and pulled him back. As he did so, there was a clatter and 'Nemo's' three pebbles fell out from under Gordon's armpit.
There was a beat whilst all the brothers stared at the rocks, then the ex-otter's hand shot out and he scooped them up and started shuffling them.
Scott dragged his eyes away from the stones with an effort and asked,
"So perhaps you might care to explain to us how, exactly, you went from a nice low profile surfing holiday to headlining as an attraction in a marine rescue centre?"
"Man, you wouldn't believe what happened! " Scott thought that was entirely possible.
"And it absolutely was not my fault!" Scott thought that was entirely implausible.
"If that's the case, how come Jamal ended up wearing the watch that was supposed to tell us where you were?"
"That's the thing," said Gordon, eyes wide and earnest. "He needed the watch 'cos he fell in love. With this really cool girl. Boy, was he punching above his weight! But that's ok. Guy's gotta dream, right?
His face took on an even more vague and glazed look.
"I want to punch above my weight too, one day! Waay, waaay above my weight. 'Cos the girl I like, she's soooooo far outa my class. Like, if I was featherweight, she wouldn't just be a heavyweight, she'd be like a ... like a hippopotamusweight! One day I'm gonna get up the nerve to tell her how I feel. I'm gonna come right out and say it, say ' I know you're a hippopotamus but I love you anyway!' and then we'll live happily ever after."
With a pick up line like that, Scott sincerely doubted it.
"Gordon! Focus!" he barked.
"Oh yeah, where was I? Well she gave him her number but he couldn't ring her cos his phone was broken so I gave him mine and said he could keep it so they could make arrangements to meet and go to some music festival with her and I said he should go for as long as he liked and I'd be fine." He waved airily.
"And I would've been if he hadn't run off with our picnic."
What? Seriously, what?!
"I mean I'm all for him punching above his weight, but when she rang him, he went all 'Pepe Le Pew', dropped everything and ran off to meet her. He didn't even stop to tell me he was going! And we'd packed these pizza slices with cheese and peppers and little tiny..."
"Gordon!" Trying to keep his little brother on topic was like herding cats at the best of times. Since his doped brain was essentially still circling the airport, these were not the best of times.
Nonetheless, Gordon took the hint, stopped and marshalled his scattered concentration.
"Well the thing was, he went off with our lunch in his backpack. We'd gone miles down the coast 'cos on the main beach, the waves were teensy weensy." He held up his arm with finger and thumb demonstrating exactly how miniscule the waves had been. The action destabilised him and he started listing. He didn't seem to notice.
"So I was starving, literally starving! Miles and miles and miles from the nearest food. The first big waves we'd seen all week were just starting to come in and if I went all the way back to the village, they'd be all itsy bitsy again by the time I got back! "
He lifted his hand up to illustrate the itsy bitsiness of the waves and tilted to an alarming 45 degrees. Virgil had to shove him back upright.
"But then I noticed there was a kid next to me on the beach. His mom and dad had given him these sandwiches. Salmon, they were. But he didn't want them, said he didn't like fish!" Gordon looked up at his brothers, clearly expecting them to share his disbelief at such a thing.
Scott couldn't find it within himself to be outraged on behalf of a sandwich filling.
"And then, then his parents said they were just going to fetch something from the car, and if he hadn't eaten the sandwiches by the time they got back, he couldn't go on the Park rides in the afternoon."
"So I had this inspired idea! I could nip over there, and ask nicely if the kid wanted to give me the sandwiches. That way, I'd save him from having to eat stuff he didn't like and he could go on the Park rides, I'd be able to catch the decent waves, the nice fishy would go to a good home and then everybody would be happy! What's not to love about that?! Its not just a win-win situation, but a win-win-win-win..win-win-win.."
Having started, Gordon's mouth appeared to find it difficult to pull up.
His meagre concentration was evidently no longer at the reins of his speech as the syllables kept cantering off on their own. It was clear that thinking about the nice fishy going to a good home down his gullet had caused Gordon to lose his thread. His eyes glazed over even more and he ran the tip of his tongue around his lips. He juggled the pebbles in his hand with renewed vigour.
At that precise moment, Scott had the weirdest feeling he was looking at 'Nemo' rather than Gordon. He found himself thinking that maybe John's theory, that Gordon was an otter first and a box-of-frogs-crazy sibling second, maybe wasn't so mad after all...
Speaking of whom... John had gone back to staring at his brother, watching the pebbles shuffling in his hand like a man who'd been suckered into betting his mortgage on a shell game.
Then Gordon seemed to snap out of it, and gave his head a shake.
"The problem was, there was a chance that the kid might be weirded out if some random surfer just went up and wanted his lunch."
"Ya think?" muttered Virgil, staring at him in appalled fascination.
"So I had this even more brilliant idea!" His eyes were shining with admiration of his own genius. "If I was a cute little animal, then that wouldn't be a problem!"
He looked up to his brothers faces in expectation of their approval of his splendid lateral thinking solution to the lovelorn-lummox-leaves-with-lunch dilemma.
Maybe it was the drugs, but he didn't seem to notice that they were staring at him in stupified disbelief rather than rapt admiration. John still couldn't drag his gaze from Gordon's left hand which was juggling the small rocks as if of its own volition.
"So I swam out and shifted, then came back up the beach to the kid. He didn't get what I was asking to begin with, but when I pointed at the sandwiches and rubbed my belly and did a little dance, he got the idea and threw them to me."
"So it was all going great, when all of a sudden this thing slams down on top of me! It turns out the parents came back, saw me there and while I was distracted, stuck an upended coolbox over me!"
"They slid the lid underneath before I could dig my way out and managed to catch my bad paw again. I didn't even get to eat the sandwiches!"
"They didn't know what to do with me so they brought me here. I wasn't really worried 'cos I figured I'd bide my time and then shift later when I had the chance. They X-rayed my paw, and weighed me. They must have seen I was starving 'cos Megan gave me some yummy fish and a big ol' crab. That was actually even tastier than the sandwiches so my plan kinda worked out nicely in the end!"
Scott's eyes bulged. Worked out nicely in the end! Worked out nicely in the end! He ground his teeth.
He made up his mind there and then, that when they got home he was going to wait until the Godlike Omnibeing turned back into an otter before doing him in, and then he would have his pelt made into a nice fur stole for Grandma.
Not realising that biggest brother was plotting his imminent demise and subsequent taxidermy, Gordon continued his tale with renewed enthusiasm.
"So then they put me in here, which was great! Did you know the pool has this state-of-the-art cool wave machine that comes on at random times and makes these humongous waves?!" Gordon flung his arms out to depict the size of the waves.
"Not itsy bitsy waves, then? " hissed Scott sarcastically under his breath.
"It was waaay better than the beach and every couple of hours, they'd deliver all this yummy seafood! They really look after you here. And then, then I met the guys!"
Gordon's eyes lit up with zeal in a way that all the brothers recognised. This was the look he'd had on his face one time when he announced he'd set up a lobster sanctuary in the bathtub of their Kansas farmhouse, after persuading a gullible friend of Virgil's to act as a legitimate buyer for all the crustaceans on death row in the swish restaurant in town.
This was the look he'd had had when he was explaining why he had superglued the contents of Grandma's feather pillow to Alan's arms and had coaxed him into jumping off the roof of the henhouse, to demonstrate the principles of flying to the farmyard chickens.
This was the self-same expression seen whenever he'd found a hapless patsy to help him with some halibut-brained scheme. A scheme that always had as much chance of ending well as keeping a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
Nothing good ever came of that look.
Nothing.
Ever.
Gordon craned his head clumsily and squinted his bushbaby eyes trying to focus beyond his brothers to the glass panel separating them from the next room.
"Hey Manny! Hey Ringo! These are the guys I was telling you about! " yelled Gordon, waving his arm to indicate his brothers. He turned to Virgil, who was still propping him up.
"Course, that's not their real names. They keep telling Megan but she thinks they're just asking for more fish." He turned back to the glass.
"Their real names are ARRWCHGGGYOW!" screeched Gordon, at the top of his lungs. "And BWAFFMGGHL!..."
Virgil scrambled to clamp a hand over kid brother's mouth before the nails-down-a-blackboard yowling reached the security guard.
"What the Hell?!" he hissed.
He tentatively peeled his hand away from Gordon's mouth now the godawful noise had stopped.
"I know, " said Gordon, slurring and nodding his head sagely, responding as if they were having a perfectly sane conversation. "Very frustrating, but you can't really blame her. And in all fairness she probably wouldn't be able to pronounce them properly even if she knew. I mean, even I have a bit of an accent, apparently." He shrugged self-deprecatingly.
"Hey, guys!" He waved at the next room.
Virgil and Scott found themselves turning numbly to follow his gesture. In the next room, the two otters stared back at them. They were plastered against the back wall. And they were clutching each other's hands.
Scott knew there was a risk of him anthropomorphising, but he would swear that the look on their little furry faces was identical to an expression he and his brothers had once worn.
They had worn it when Grandma had guilted the lot of them into going shopping with her, en masse. On reaching the main square in the mall, she had suddenly ripped the velcroed seams of her purple onesy to reveal a sequinned leotard. She then proceeded to join a twenty-strong flash mob of septuagenarians dancing to that song from their youth, "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?" that was being playing over the PA system.
His brothers and he had all sported the same look. It was the look that your face made when the phrase, "Just when you think you know someone..." doesn't even come close to covering what you have just witnessed. Even hearing later that it had been part of an organised senior citizen's charity drive did nothing to wipe the look off their faces.
Apparently it was not exclusive to humans.
Oblivious, Gordon waved drunkenly. "The guys were great! They took me under their wing and showed me the ropes. Ringo does this amazing thing where he can eat crabs like he was sucking the filling out of a taco, and Manny showed me how to juggle three pebbles instead of two!"
"Although," he said with air of one making a huge concession, " I might need a weeny bit more practice before it goes in our routine."
"Routine?" echoed Virgil weakly, as if he really didn't want to hear the answer.
"Well, that's the thing," said Gordon, "after I met the fellas and we were having such a great time, I thought, you know what? This is loads more fun than the beach! The surf's better, the food's fantastic and, although Jamal was good company until he went all mooncalf on me, he's a terrible swimmer and he can't juggle, so really, I've got loads more in common with the guys!"
"It was a no-brainer, it was obvious that I should spend the rest of my holiday here with the fellas! Jamal wouldn't mind, he didn't even remember I'd been there with him."
"No brainer. " repeated Virgil feebly.
"And it would be good for the guys too! See the thing was, although they were really cool, they didn't have as many crowd pleasing moves as "Mr high and mighty, look-at-me-'cos-I'm-the-park-pin-up-boy," Desi. They just needed a few pointers and they'd give him a run for his money!"
"So it was perfect, we'd hang out in the mornings, juggling and sleeping and kicking back, and then in the afternoons we'd work on our routine to get the crowds rolling in! I figured pretty soon they'd have to change the billboard cos the otters would be kicking the sealions' asses!"
A pause.
"So," said Scott, with the deceptively neutral tone of one making a polite enquiry. "What exactly was it that made you decide to bail on rehearsals for "High Pool Musical" and hail a taxi home?"
Gordon's perky demeanour changed immediately. He cast anguished eyes a his brothers.
"It was all going so well. We were having the best time, and then, then he was taken from us!"
Scott was confused. "What? Who?"
"Nigel, Scottie, Nigel was taken!"
Scott could feel a twitch developing behind his left eye. "And who, exactly is Nigel?"
"Nigel! Nigel! He was the fourth of our Three Musketeers! He was like the Yoda to ourJedis! He was like.. like the jelly in our PBJ sandwich! Or possibly the bread. Or maybe the.."
"An otter, " cut in Scott, " Nigel was just another of the otters?"
"He wasn't just another otter!" wailed Gordon. "He was our go-to guy! If you couldn't open a clam, Nigel would be there for you. He was a master with a rock! I mean, sure, he'd take a cut, and with his dodgy teeth an' all, the bit you got back would be pretty chewed up, but hey, that was Nigel! " He shook his head then the looked up at Scott with moist eyes.
"He was the best of us Scottie, he was truly the best of us." He bowed his head.
Scott felt some sympathy returning. Gordon had always taken the death of any animal hard. Back when they lived in Kansas, he had been inconsolable for weeks after their sheepdog, Blue, had been put down.
"I'm sorry your that your friend died, Kiddo."
Gordon looked up at him, confused. "What?"
"I said I was sorry about your otter friend dying."
Gordon looked affronted.
"Nigel didn't die! They just took him!"
You would think, thought Scott, that after seventeen years you wouldn't just fall into the same traps over and over again. Apparently not.
He felt his eye twitching harder. "Who took him where?"
"The keepers. They said that 'cos he was old and he'd got bad teeth that he couldn't survive back in the wild so he was going to have to live out his days in the big pool with the other otters who had to stay in the park. And then, last night, they took him!"
He reached out and clutched Scott's arm. "And then they started saying that my behaviour was inappropriate, that I was psychologically damaged from captivity and I would need to go to the other pool too!"
"Psychologically damaged," sniggered Virgil. There was a slight edge of hysteria in his voice now.
Gordon ignored him.
"The thing was, I kinda assumed I could leave any time I liked, but it turned out I couldn't shift without being seen on the cameras, and I couldn't nobble the cameras without proper fingers. Catch twenty two! Then tonight, Megan brought my supper. It's always a nice dish of soft shell crabs, crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside, the perfect bedtime snack."
He licked his lips and juggled the rocks.
"But today she gave me a mackerel instead, like she did with Nigel yesterday. I should have been suspicious but I thought it was an just extra treat because she'd been so impressed by the show."
Virgil choked.
"She watched me swallow it down, and then she said I was a good boy and I would have a nice sleep 'cos she'd put something in the fish! She said I'd be seeing the vet first thing tomorrow to make sure I was ready for the move to the big pool! " His voice caught on the last two words.
Scott dimly remembered that the keeper had said something about checking 'Nemo's' paw before he was moved.
Scott didn't know why he was chosing to argue the toss over this bit of insanity, when there were so many other examples of 'buckets-o'-crazy' to take issue with. Maybe it was because this was the instance of so-called reasoning that had dragged the three of them halfway across the globe to salvage his furry little ass.
"Would you like to explain to me, you sea-going hearthrug, how, exactly, that is different from being here?! Given that up to now you've been happily basking in an otter tuxedo for a fortnight for the sake of a wave machine, room service and lessons on how to smack yourself in the head with a rock. Bearing in mind that you'd even get to hang out with your long-lost clam-mangling pal !"
Gordon wailed, " You don't understand! The big pool, it's a fate worse than death! You didn't see what they did to Nigel!" With that, he slowly lifted a shaking finger, twisted drunkenly where he sat and pointed over his shoulder to the partition window to the next den.
The brothers shifted their focus for the first time to look behind Gordon into the room beyond. There was another otter in the room. An older and mangier looking specimen than Manny and Ringo.
But like Manny and Ringo, it had "that look' on its face.
Unlike Manny and Ringo, though, Nigel was not backed up against the wall but pressed forward against the glass as if trying to check he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.
Although, technically speaking, Nigel's face wasn't pressed against the glass because it was prevented from doing so by the large plastic cone he was wearing on his head.
The large plastic cone, so similar to the one once worn by Blue.
Worn by Blue after the neighbours had complained about the litter of puppies their dog had unexpectedly produced, all of which bore a striking resemblance to the Tracy family pet.
Worn by Blue to prevent him biting at his stitches after his...procedure.
Oh.
OH.
OH!
What had Megan said? 'It is actually illegal to breed sea otters in captivity without a government license, and even we, as a specialist marine facility haven't been granted one...'
Gordon, meanwhile had reached out to grab Virgil. Huge, melting amber eyes shining with tears, he pulled feebly at his brother's shirt.
"Don't let them make me wear the cone of shame Virgie! Please! I don't wanna wear the cone! Someday I'm going to be punching above my weight with my special hippopotamus and I want to have a whole raft of little pups of my own!" He hiccuped brokenly.
"I want to take them swimming and teach them to juggle like their Pa! You'll be their favourite uncle, you can teach them how to doodle and fix toasters!
He flung his arms drunkenly around Virgil, sobbing piteously. " Please Virgie, save the pups, save them!"
Scott stood taking in the scene.
John.
John had reverted to staring, bug-eyed and mute, at his brother. He resembled the hapless victim of a stage hypnotist, who would stand like a zombie until the trigger word, whereupon he would suddenly start yodelling, being an aeroplane or making like a chicken.
And then there was Virgil.
Virgil, that great, soft walkover disguised as a Mack truck, was currently cradling and patting the part-time hairball. His dark brown eyes filling with empathic tears for the terrible fate of his beloved brother and his own dear nephews and nieces!
The terrible fate which was clearly never going to happen, by dint of the fact that the extraction team was STANDING RIGHT THERE!
The undeserving recipient of Virgil's overactive sympathy gland was about to be plucked out of harm's way with his future prospects still intact. No threat posed to those future furry figments of his and Virgil's imaginations, that Virgil was now reassuring his brother, in a choked voice, he would protect with his life.
And there, in the middle of it all, his second youngest brother.
Gordon.
The genius who had lived for two weeks as an otter, spending the time being pampered, teaching his cell mates to twerk in order to win a grudge match with a sea lion, and then discovering his resort of choice was not so much the Ritz as the Hotel California, where the staff were about to seriously cramp his style with a pair of shears.
All so he could scrounge a sandwich.
His family. The wheels were still turning but the hamsters were long dead.
In his mind, Scott heard the perky tones of an in-house promotion announcement, "Welcome to Tracy's Department Store, folks! Today we have a three-for-one deal going at the deranged sibling counter! Yep! Buy one, get another two thrown in absolutely free!"
Or at least he did, until he realised that listening to said voice might suggest it was a four-for-one deal.
Scott shook himself. "Right!" he bellowed. "We're getting out of here now! You..!" he jabbed John in the ribs with a finger. "Stop with the mongoose impression and check the guard's whereabouts." John jumped.
"And you," he fixed Virgil with his Commander's glare, then pointed at Gordon, "chuck him over your shoulder and be ready to move before you start knitting bootees for imaginary otters!"
John gave him the thumbs up after checking the security feed. The guard was in the office watching looped footage. Virgil had tossed Gordon up into a fireman's carry and stood awaiting the word.
"OK, move out. Once we're clear of the buildings, lift off, and head back to the lot behind the diner."
John and Virgil nodded and they all started for the door, until Gordon yelled, "Wait! Wait! Hold up!" They stopped.
"What is it? hissed Scott.
Gordon, who had perked up remarkably on realising hippopotter pups were still an option, waved a hand out behind Virgil's back to where three pebbles lay on the floor. " My rocks! I can't go without my rocks! How can I eat clams without my rocks?!"
Scott screwed his eyes shut.
"How about you give them to Grandma to open for you!?" he muttered under his breath. "She's got a few teeth left, so she can chew them up for you and spit out your share, just like Nigel!"
He took a deep juddering inhalation. "Would somebody please get the goddamned rocks?"
John scrabbled to pick them up for him. Gordon cooed at them and after a quick shuffle, clamped them under one arm. They set off again.
Gordon picked his head up from where it dangled at Virgil's back and waved his free arm. "Bye guys! Bye Manny! So long Ringo! Nigel! You're a hero, man! I'm really sorry about... well, you know. "
As they left the building, Gordon's last farewell echoed around the walls; "It's been a blast fellas, maybe we can do it again some time?!"
—-
A few hours later they were finally back at Tracy island. It had been an unnaturally quiet journey home. Scott had concentrated on flying the plane. The other two seemed to have recovered from their temporary 'folie-a-trois' and were keeping a low profile. John hadn't said a word and Virgil had kept watch on Gordon who was passed out on the passenger seats.
Somehow, rationality seemed to return when Gordon was not in a position to influence his brothers. Go figure.
in the lounge, Scott pulled out the good scotch from a secret compartment in his desk and clanked three glasses down. He didn't ask if anyone wanted them, he didn't need to. He filled each of them up to the very top. He was handing one to John and dropping a hip wearily on the desk when Virgil joined them.
"So how is the Godlike Omnibeing?" asked Scott, passing another glass to Virgil. He took it eagerly.
Virgil had carried Gordon to his bedroom and had done some final checks before leaving him to sleep off the effects of the sedative.
"He's going to be fine," he reported. He looked at the others.
"He woke up briefly. Still loony tunes."
Staring into his whiskey glass, he continued in a voice that shook slightly.
"Um, he said to say he loved us all and thanked us from the bottom of his heart. As a reward, he said, he promised to guarantee there would be swarms of little Gordons roaming the island to bring comfort to us in our old age."
He took a long swig of his drink, and shuddered.
"Swarms."
There was a long moment of silence as each of the brothers took a gulp of their whisky.
Virgil looked up at his brothers with anguish writ large on his face. "Do you think we might just have made a terrible mistake?"
Pause.
John said, " Do you think it's too late to take him back?"
Pause.
Scott downed the rest of his whisky in one go. He put the glass down and stood up. He looked at his brothers.
"Wheels up in ten."
The End
—
