Trying to do a better job of editing, this time, to eliminate those pesky run-together words... Happy New Year!
10
Tracy Island, headed for the roundhouse-
He'd at last gotten a second generator online, providing the house with a bit of here-and-there, will-o'-the wisp illumination. Most of the robots and cleaning mechs were down, though, and all but emergency comm disabled. Outside, the storm grumbled and snarled like a diesel truck in reverse.
After viewing the boys' computer-trap scenario, and taking copious notes, Brains (alias Dr. Hackenbacker) decided to speak to Jeff Tracy. He was halfway to the auxiliary office when his young son called, needing permission to leave campus. Hackenbacker gave it, but not without a frozen lump of misgivings.
One thing arguing for the boys' purpose was this: Fermat, Sam and Daniel must be given a chance fix what they'd done… And Brains, too, for that matter. Hackenbacker was well aware, as he stalked along the carpeted hallway (hands clasped at his back, white lab coat flapping in the breeze of his rapid passage), that he bore an equal share of the blame for all this.
A complicated situation, shot through with randomness and non-trivial knotting. At the heart of it all was a young man who'd designed and built a mighty computer, and what had come to pass because he did so.
Changes…
For some reason, Hackenbacker's thoughts turned back to his son. The boy had been… a surprise.
Being an orphan himself, Brains hadn't received love as well and early as most of his colleagues. But then, when it finally happened… when he realized that the thin, quiet girl who sat beside him in fluid dynamics and computer drafting shared every bit of his joy in science and math… he was overwhelmed.
Her parents had called her after a star of golden-age films. Myrna Loy Wells was her name. She'd had brown hair and blue eyes, and she talked too fast, head down, but always smiling. She'd shared her lunches with him and, more importantly, her ideas.
Against advice, young as he was, he'd married her. After all, how often do you get a chance like that? How often do you see, and recognize, and take to yourself genuine love?
She'd worn a borrowed dress and carried a hand-picked bouquet into Princeton's chapel. He still remembered.
He'd have built castles for her, if he could have. Instead, they'd moved into married student housing, laughing over their 'found object' décor and ramen noodle dinners. It's not what you eat, after all, but who's sitting across the paper-strewn card table from you, shaking salt on the powdered eggs.
They'd worked cross-word puzzles and sudokus together, gotten jobs and gone to class. He'd stayed up late most nights, working on his book.
The stupid book.
She hadn't wanted to tell him about the coming baby. She'd worried that he'd be upset. Against advice, young and poor as they were, they'd decided to have the child, and to keep it.
Thank God.
Accidents happen, they'd told him. Roads ice over, people drink too much on holidays and cross that yellow line… and innocents are killed. Good, intelligent, wonderful young wives, loving mothers…
Rest in peace.
If it hadn't been for the boy, he'd have ended himself and joined her. If it hadn't been for the book, he'd have been driving, that night. They'd have been together.
But she was gone, and the hole could never be filled. He could never turn to her again with a theory or a puzzle, or another surprising example of the golden ratio. Never watch her make faces as she changed the baby.
But, there was Kurt, still; their little boy. All that remained of passion and joy and partnership. Of Myrna Loy Wells-Bremmerman, whom time would not return, and death hadn't spared.
Sometimes he took refuge in work, sometimes in talking to a good friend, but mostly, he thought about his son.
Now the engineer intended to join Fermat's expedition to Princeton, to protect the boy, and to guide him. First, though, he had to face Mr. Tracy. He had to tell a worried father what had happened to his missing son.
He entered the auxiliary control office after a polite knock, found Jeff sitting at the desk in his big leather chair, slamming down a telephone hand-set.
The elder Tracy seemed perplexed and exhausted. His iron-grey hair was mussed, his brown eyes deeply circled. He'd worn the same blue shirt for the last two days, having subsisted on coffee and cat-naps. Gennine Rivers stood at Jeff's side, one brightly-ringed hand on his shoulder. She had her blonde hair clipped back in a limp ponytail, and she wore a pale pink dress.
Said Jeff, his voice hoarse and harried,
"Why the hell won't they tell me what's going on? All I got from Frasier was the same 'wait and see', 'too early to tell' nonsense that Guthrie tried feeding me. Guthrie! We flew six missions together, dammit! The least Saul could do is tell me the truth!"
Gennine rubbed timidly at his shoulders with her good hand. So much lay between them, and so much of it painful, that she had to relearn these little shows of tenderness.
Jeff crushed a throbbing headache with the fingers of one hand. Spotting Brains he said,
"Good news?"
Hackenbacker's blue eyes dropped to the beautifully patterned carpet, which had once graced the Shah's winter palace. A gift.
"P- Possibly, Mr. Tracy. It, ah… it depends on y- your perspective. M- May I speak with, ah… with you in p- private, Sir?"
Jeff stirred in his creaking seat. Cracked ribs made it difficult to find a comfortable position, despite all the aspirin and strapping. He hadn't been entirely honest with Scott, about his condition.
"Anything you have to say, Brains, can be detailed in front of my wi… my ex-w… Damn it!"
He turned too fast, hurting himself, then recovered enough to give Gennine a sharp look.
"Marry me?" Jeff demanded, as though closing a stock transfer. Her jaw dropped. One hand flew upward to clutch at the base of her white throat.
"But… Jeff, I don't know… I have all these… things. I…"
Brains uttered a quiet cough. He really needed to get on with this, to get to his boy.
Jeff gave him a swift nod, then pointed at the possibly 'once and future wife', snapping,
"Think it over. Get back to me in twenty. Brains, you're on. Go."
Hackenbacker found it difficult to concentrate after all that, but he had to explain himself, so…
"M- Mr. Tracy, I th- think I may, ah… may be able to, ah… t- to clarify what's h- happened with the m- mission."
Jeff stilled, suddenly. Without taking his eyes from Hackenbacker's face, he reached up and over to seize Gennine's hand.
"Go on." His voice was brittle-dry; a mere whisper.
Brains took a very deep breath. Thin ice, treacherous waters…
"As y- you've learned, Sir, th- the, ah… the Ares III crew encountered s- something on Mars that, ah… that attempted to, ah… to take control of the computer."
He paused momentarily, gauging Jeff's reaction. Five was a sore subject with Mr. Tracy, who'd long worried that an artificial intelligence of such power might someday turn on them. This part, the engineer knew, would be very tricky.
"T- To deal w- with, ah… with the p- problem, John asked F- Fermat to release m- my virus. Th- the one that was supposed to d- drop even a quantum c- computer in its, ah… its t- tracks. Y- You see that he, ah… he chose to f- fight, even at r- risk to his, ah… his 'child'."
Another pause. Very much, Brains did not wish to drive another wedge between father and son.
"I'm listening," Jeff Tracy replied, still clasping Gennine's hand. She was staring at the desk clock, her face curiously pale. Brains went on, saying,
"R- Right. Well, it, ah… it worked. S- Sort of. The virus apparently d- devastated the, ah… the attacker and c- computer, both. H- Here's where the chunks start f- flying. M- My son f-felt terrible about releasing the virus and, ah… and p- possibly driving John's computer into h- hiding. There is no d- doubt, Mr. Tracy, that Five possesses at, ah… at least rudimentary emotions, and is q- quite attached to John. She… I mean, it… c- could be dangerous, if, ah… if threatened. Or if he is."
Jeff began to frown, his heavy dark brows drawing together.
"What are you saying, Brains? That all of this is the damn computer's doing?"
"N- no, Mr. Tracy. I believe not. It would be, ah… be fairer t- to say th- that Five is m- more sinned against, than s- sinning. We j- jumped to our various conclusions and, ah… and forced her t- to act. All of us."
Hackenbacker stuck his hands in the pockets of his white lab coat, thought for a few moments, then went on. Curiously, the storm seemed to be letting up, just a bit. Moving off, perhaps?
"About th- the same time that, ah… that I tried opening a w- wormhole, th- thinking of deep space drive s- systems, Fermat c- came up with a plan to, ah… to c- catch Five, for reprogramming. H- he and his, ah… his friends d- devised a scenario, a p- program that should have been, ah… b- been convincing enough t- to lure Five into isolated st- storage.. trap the electron spin information and, ah… and f- freeze her. But th- that portion of the p- plan fell through."
Brains sighed, then forged onward. If only Fermat had asked, first…!
"The boys' scenario included th- the transfer of sh- ship and crew from Mars, c- collusion between, ah… between Pete McCord and the military, as well as p- people and creatures being, ah… being shifted through time and s- space, with a threat to John from, ah… from the H- Hood."
Jeff blinked. It was a lot to take in at one sitting. He focused on the last bit.
"The Hood? You mean the animal that tried holding Virgil for ransom in Macedonia? The same one who attacked us on San Marco and used Tin…"
Just in time, Jeff stopped himself. The girl had never been told what had happened that night. They just… didn't talk about it. Ever. TinTin was the most innocent among them, and deserved at least that much protection.
"Y- yes, Mr. Tracy. That Hood. Th- the scenario b- brings him back to life. N- not for long, f- fortunately. It sh- should have worked beautifully as, ah… as a catchment scheme, b- but we had an incredible ch- chain of bad, ah… bad luck."
Jeff rang for more coffee. He'd have liked something far stronger, but had a feeling he'd soon be needing all of his wits. Lowering the volume slightly on the chatter from Thunderbirds 2, 3 and 4, he said,
"Keep talking. How did this supposedly fool-proof plan go bad?"
"In a n- number of ways, Mr. Tracy. Fermat accidentally uploaded the p- programmed scenario after Daniel had, ah.. had performed a c- calculation of its probability."
Shoving at the lank brown hair which fell over his forehead, Brains added,
"Nothing in the universe is certain, Sir, until it is observed, and working the f- figures is the ultimate f- form of observation. Five picked up the program. I, ah… I opened the wormhole, providing power and threat, both. She ran the script, and all, ah… all h- hell broke loose. Quakes, st- storms, missing p- persons, downed planes, and displaced c- creatures."
"That sea monster?" Jeff inquired, glancing at the desk-top comm from which Thunderbird 4's progress was continually monitored.
"Among others, Mr. Tracy, y- yes. I very m- much doubt that an overgrown T- Tylosaurus is the w- worst thing we're g- going to, ah… to see tonight."
Jeff drummed his fingers. Alan seemed to be faltering a little, up in Kuiper. Their father sent Scott a brief message, advising him to remain in constant contact with his younger brother. Nine times out of ten, you could talk someone out a panic attack.
"Bottom line?"
Brains shifted position, folded his arms, then unfolded them.
"Th- the bottom line is, Sir, that the astronauts have been transferred. Three, according to Sam Nakamura, have been f- found already, alive and, ah… and well."
Jeff surged from his chair as he'd done once before, when his son, stiff and apprehensive, first brought him the news…
"John's been found? He's safe?"
But Brains shook his head. As rain in languid silver sheets caressed the windows, he said,
"F- found, no. But w- we mustn't, ah… mustn't despair, Sir. The scenario requires John t- to be alive. F- Fermat believes him to b- be back at Princeton. My son and, ah… and his friends h- have gone with, ah… with a teacher, to find yours."
Jeff Tracy was quick-witted, a verydecisive man. He did not sit down again. Instead, he indicated the chair to Gennine. (Grandmother Tracy was napping in an antechamber, packed and ready to move still higher, if the water kept rising.)
As Kyrano had by now bowed his way into the office with a tray of Turkish coffees (brewed over a little spirit lamp, just like the old days), Jeff took one of the cups and said,
"Let's go, then. I know you'll want to help Fermat redeem himself, and I won't let you face the Hood alone. He's proven himself extremely dangerous."
Brains acquiesced with a brief nod, despite the fact that everything they'd done so far only seemed to make matters worse.
"Th- thank you, Mr. Tracy. Your, ah… your help would be very w- welcome. We c- can get there fastest in, ah… in Thunderbird 6."
Very glad to be seeing action, Jeff next turned to Kyrano. The loyal old manservant, elegant and quiet as ever, bowed low.
"Mr. Tracy?" he inquired softly, his voice a smoky mélange of French, Malay and Polynesian accents.
Jeff clapped a hand to Kyrano's shoulder, snagging ragged fingernails on sheer silk.
"Kyrano, I'm relying on you to assist both Mrs. Tracys in holding down the fort. Keep the boys moving in the right direction, old friend."
Again, Kyrano bowed. Were his eyes a bit yellow? If so, Jeff failed to notice, nor Brains, either.
"It shall be as you say… friend."