45

Earlier, in Nijo Palace, near Kyoto, Japan-

Captain Wayne Rigby hadn't been that far behind Kayo, his clients' beautiful sister. Yet, he'd somehow lost sight of her; had lost a few steps in that broken-down maze of rubbish-strewn passages.

The place was cold, drafty and quite dark, for one thing; with treacherously rotted wood floors and (as Tanusha later confirmed) plenty of crumbling beams. Recall those video games that you've played, in which some brave, leaping character has to pass through a ludicrously gutted building; leaping gulfs and avoiding hazards on his way to do battle? Exactly.

What the heck, throw in some extra lives, as well, because with his dormant guest along for the ride, Wayne simply wouldn't stay dead. Couldn't, really.

What he did do was track Kayo. Tried, anyhow. His GDF locator gear appeared to be fritzing, producing two blurred images, at first… then one, and none at all. Uh…

"Miss Tracy?" Wayne called out, as he balanced on a flame-scarred and sagging wood beam. "Miss Tracy, can you hear me?"

Seriously, he hadn't waited the full time limit, even. Had instead jumped the gun, departing Thunderbird Shadow at four minutes, thirty-five seconds from last glimpse of Kayo. Nor had he loitered. There was simply no way that she could have got that far ahead of him. Not in a mess like this. Not unless she could fly.

Overhead, worm-eaten boards dribbled guano and dust, admitting a cold, hissing wind. Some of the walls were still painted with faint golden birds and fanciful, snarling bears, spotted with damp and decay. At his feet, great gaps in the flooring promised a sharp and probably fatal drop. Off to the left, through a mildewed and part-collapsed screen, Wayne spied a doorway.

Cautiously, he began edging along the splintered wood beam; both arms splayed out, for balance. Thing about legal team desk jobs… they didn't prepare you for this. For following Tracys from death to disaster, and back.

Right. So, first thing he got back to T.I., Wayne vowed, he was hitting the gym. Practicing Tai Chi and Karate with Kayo, or power-lifting with Virgil… maybe running, alongside of Scott… or trying to keep up with Gordon, out in the pool. Exercise, and plenty of it. Help him get closer to Miss Tracy's family, while scoring some autograph-selfies for Amelia, his little sister. Then,

"Wayne?" He heard. "Captain Rigby? I'm down here! Hurry, please… it's Scott! He needs help!"

Almost, the Marine lost his balance. Tanusha's faint voice had come from far below him. At his current lamed snail's pace, Wayne estimated at least thirty minutes to climb down to that level. Wretched GDF locator was no help, at all; seeming not quite able to fix her position, darn it.

Well… Captain Rigby glanced downward, peering doubtfully past splintered wood and rotted paper, to whispery darkness. He could always jump for it, trusting that the Survivor would resurrect and repair his shattered corpse, once he'd hit bottom. Not the ideal solution, but…

"Please, Captain, hurry!" Kayo called out, sounding truly frantic.

That's what decided him. In his own estimation, Wayne Robert Rigby was 'just a guy'. Marine first, lawyer second, loyal son and loving brother, most of all. But he wasn't afraid to put it all on the line when somebody needed him. Especially someone like her. Taking a deep breath, he bellowed back,

"Hang on, Miss Tracy, I'm coming!"

…and then stepped off of that beam, having entirely failed to realize that Survivor was no longer with him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Back home, in a blissfully altered Kansas farmhouse-

Scott gave his mother one more kiss and warm hug, shook Granddad's work-roughened hand, and then hurried upstairs; rocking the house with that two-steps-at-a-time charge.

"Slow down!" Shouted somebody, just coming in. Grandma, sounded like.

Scott grinned. Hanging to the newel post with one hand, he swung around it and upward. Felt… younger. Stronger.

"Yes, Ma'am!" He shouted back, slowing his pace. (A little.)

Reached the second floor just as his brother was finished up dressing. Out of his baseball gear, John had on jeans and a black tee shirt. Was sitting at the edge of his bed, hauling his boots on.

"Hey, Scott," he said, looking up. "What's for dinner?"

"Pot roast," the pilot supplied, thumping down onto their rolling chair. "Granddad wants you to help mom in the kitchen, before you head out for the barn. I'm on hay detail."

"Ouch," said John, sympathetically. Stood up next, to don a belt and tie back his wet, red-golden hair. "What'd you do to piss him off?"

Scott grimaced, remembering.

"I tried to take some of his beer," he admitted, earning a wide-eyed stare from John.

"Seriously? In broad daylight? You're braver than I thought. Dumber, too."

John had to duck the crumpled paper napkin that Scott threw at him. Caught the thing and then hurled it right back, reflexively. They threw back and forth for awhile, then; each trying to slip past the other's guard and hit something. Double points for a head shot, as always. Said Scott, after a bit,

"John… I got a question for you, Buddy… and I need a straight answer."

His younger brother was like a Goddam pitching machine, firing harder with each throw.

"I'm listening," he said, without breaking rhythm.

"Um…" (How best to ask, without sounding crazy?) "Have we always lived here? I mean, with Granddad, Mom and Grandma? In Kansas?"

John cocked an eyebrow.

"Not always," he responded, scoring a point on Scott's left shoulder. "Gotcha. Before here, we lived out in Texas, remember? At the Space Station prep base, near Houston. I was pretty young, but I've still got a few memories. That's where Dad and Mom met up."

Scott nodded. As the grey cat sauntered back in, crossing beneath their barrage to reclaim his warm, sunlit window seat, the pilot said,

"I'm gonna be honest with you, here, John… I don't remember things happening like that. I, um… I recall us leaving Kansas a lot sooner, and, ah… and Mom and Grandad being already… y' know, dead."

John caught their paper wad ball, and this time held it. His face was as taut and inwardly focused as if he'd been out on the pitcher's mound, ready to psych out a batter.

"That's not funny, Scott. Mom's fine, so's Granddad… and Dad 'll be back next month. I'm getting my hair cut before he shows up."

Scott's head dipped. He regarded those floorboards as though the familiar old knots and grain contained answers. Then he said,

"I really, really would love for all that to be true, John… but I'm not seventeen. I'm twenty-eight. I don't remember all that, because for me, it didn't happen the same way. Yeah… Dad came back, but by that point you, me and the kids were being raised by just Grandma. We left Kansas a long time before, because of… well, it didn't happen here, I guess… but we called it the Blight. Everything getting sick and dying off from radiation and weaponised germs."

John's sea green eyes narrowed.

"Sounds like you fell asleep reading one of Dad's science fiction books, Scott. Next thing you'll tell me is, we're all some kind of…"

"Heroes?" Scott finished for him. "Was that what you were going to say, John? Sounds to me like you remember more than you think. Now, maybe this is a dream. Maybe I'm injured or dying, and I've created a heaven to make myself happy… but maybe not. And maybe you know which one's the truth. I need your help, John. Talk to me, please. What in God's name is happening, here?!"