Jeff

…

/// Eventually Ben, the chief medic, and later lifelong friend, draws me aside and sits me down.

"Jeff, for pity's sake, get over yourself. It's as plain as the day that you're madly in love with this woman. But unless you want to make it back to Earth only to find that she's found some other guy and he's bringing up your kid, I suggest you contact her and let her know how you feel."

I freeze.

It hadn't even occurred to me. I'm that stupid.

I begin to send frantic messages.

Her due date comes and goes.

There's no news.

Why the hell won't anyone tell me what's going on?

After a week, I'm useless. After two, a wreck.

"Jeff? Word just came through from Mission Control. Congratulations – you're a father."

I blink, uncomprehending for a moment.

"You're kidding…you mean, Lucy…?"

"Healthy baby boy" ///

…

My stomach suddenly growls. I glance at my watch in surprise. How the hell did it get to eight-o-clock? I stretch.

As if on cue there is a soft knock at the door. Kyrano.

He enters, tray in hand.

"Oh, Kyrano – sorry. I'd intended to head down to the pool."

He shakes his head very gently in response.

"No?"

"Not a good idea, Mr. Tracy."

"The boys in exuberant spirits this morning, I take it?"

"I believe there was a full moon last night," he responds, poker-faced.

I grunt. "Any sign of John?"

"I have not looked in on him. Would you like me to?"

I shake my head. "Let him sleep. He'll need a couple of days to himself." John always needs time to acclimatize himself to human company. His brothers understand this and give him some space. But not everyone does. "I'll try to get Hackenbacker to leave him alone for a while."

Hiram's a good man, but a tad over-enthusiastic sometimes and he lacks empathy. He's been known to drag Johnny into the darkest recesses of his laboratory the moment he steps back onto the island. They're pretty much of an age, and my middle boy's the nearest thing our resident wünderkind has to a close friend, I guess.

It'll be good to have John home.

John was a very odd child, and though he wasn't wholly lacking in social skills I worried constantly about his ability to fit in. He still maintains an emotional distance that torments his more passionate brothers at times. I imagined he'd turn out rather like Hiram, but they're not in the least bit alike, except for their towering intellectual capacities. I worried that John, too, lacked empathy, and maybe he does. But, if so, he does a mighty good job of emulating it. It's a skill he's honed on the fairer sex, I guess, but he's learned to apply it to reassuring the frightened and the injured and the desperate.

I sit back and sip coffee, wondering. Just when was it he learned to do that?

Ten minutes later and there's the faintest of noises from the window, a soft footfall as someone vaults in, and an arm snakes around my neck.

An overtly noisy – and slightly sticky - kiss plants itself on my temple. A moment later powerful hands start to massage my lower neck; he knows instinctively where the cricks are and irons them out in a few swift strokes.

It's hard to resist a smile. "Good morning, Gordon."

"Yeah, yeah," he says dismissively. He releases me and risks helping himself to a mouthful of coffee from my mug as he swings swiftly around the desk.

I growl at him a little, and he pulls a face and puts the mug down. "I don't know how you can you drink this stuff so strong, anyway." He hesitates before getting round to the reason for his visit. "Just wondering…"

It's a tone of voice I recognize well.

"What do you want this time, boy?"

"Well, I thought with Johnny back…if you didn't need me at the weekend…I might hop over to the mainland to watch Alan race."

Gordon, my dearest Gordon, I am learning how to say no to. I wouldn't describe him as spoilt – far from it - but he's always known how to play me. Moreover, I'm finding out that he is quite capable of living with it. Gordon, I am discovering, is a consummate professional.

This is one of those times. "I'm sorry, son. You've had your fair share of shore leave recently; Scott and Virgil could both use some downtime sometime soon."

He snorts. "You might be right about the big fella. I figure he's on heat. If he doesn't pay a visit to his love-bunny soon something's going to explode."

Or at least, this is what I choose to hear. The reality is something even cruder; he likes to remind us he was Navy, albeit for a short time. I pretend I haven't heard it at all, but I do make a hasty scribbled note to myself. I'll send Virgil to the mainland just as soon as we can spare him.

Gordon considers further. "Scott won't take it, though."

I beg to differ. Lately he's been as skittish as a mustang on ice. If I don't send him off soon to climb a serious rock face he's going to start climbing the villa walls instead. But Gordon's right, he'll take more persuading.

"That's still a 'no'," I respond firmly.

He shrugs then smiles. "Johnny okay?"

"I haven't seen him yet…don't even think about disturbing him."

He opens his eyes in mock alarm. "'kay already. I'll leave the Great White Owl alone."

"Do you have work to do?" I inquire mildly.

"I'm going, I'm going." He leaves by a more conventional route than he entered.

It isn't the last of the interruptions.

The vid-phone beeps. I sigh.

Alan.

Now, Alan was spoilt. As a baby he was a little premature, a little small, and we all fretted over him. He got a lot of attention, and he's always enjoyed the spotlight. But he's growing up into a fine young man, and, with a bit of effort, admittedly, I am learning to let him. He's highly principled, and in that respect, a true Tracy. I'll be glad when he finally joins us full time and John can take a little more of a back seat and be the intellectual powerhouse of the operation that he ought to be.

For a split second I wonder what he's doing up at this time in the morning, before I remember it's four in the afternoon there.

He sounds a million miles away. There's a lot of background noise. He's excited to the point of incoherence and it takes me a few minutes before I can slow him up enough even to begin to figure out what he's going on about. He's dressed in racing gear, and I debate whether or not to tell him that the hand he's running through towsled blond hair is oil-stained.

"Dad, thank you…I can't tell you how much this means to me. I've been trying to cut into the Cahill League for months but I couldn't get a backer…"

"The Cahill League?" I've heard of it. It's a new-ish circuit but I don't know much about it – except that some of the routes are on real roads, and it's got a reputation for attracting hell-raisers. There have been accidents. I have a slightly uneasy feeling about this.

"Don't kid, Dad. I know what you're up to. I've got a fantastic team. The chief mechanic is Kenny Malone – I mean the Kenny Malone. The car is great, unbelievably fast, and I…"

"Just hang on a minute," I try to cut in.

"Look, I've got to go; we've got the prelims on Sunday and I need to get used to the way she handles; I've got the track in five minutes – but I wanted to ring and say thanks so much Dad, you're the best. See you."

"But I didn't…."

But he's already rung off, leaving me wondering – admittedly not, with Alan, for the first time – what the devil he's talking about.

…