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56

Tracy Island, the pool deck, on a golden warm, late afternoon-

The breeze might have done it, carrying sea-scent, tropical flowers, and just the first hint of evening. It ruffled his hair and blew across the top of a half-empty beer bottle, producing a slight, moaning whistle. Or, it could have been sunshine, dancing with the umbrella's dark shade on his drowsy-closed eyelids. Or, the sound of Gordon and Alan, horsing around in the pool.

Anyhow, something woke Scott Tracy up. He yawned and stretched in the sunshine, feeling about as good as a young man… not yet 28 years of age… can feel, in the pride of his strength. Hadn't opened his eyes yet, though, for the sheer, un-guessed-at wonders of lazy.

Then he heard the creak and sigh of a cushioned lounge chair, as somebody else stirred awake. Scott opened his eyes and looked over, just in case this calm afternoon called for leadership. Saw John, just sitting up and scrubbing a hand through his tousled, red-golden hair. Odd, because his brother was A: here on Earth, and B: wearing nothing more than his black swimming trunks and '5' tattoo. Turned out, they'd been sharing the same wrought-iron and glass umbrella table, close by the sparkling pool.

Looking around a bit further, Scott saw Virgil passed out, sawing logs on a shady chair of his own. Looked pretty comfortable, too; unlike Kayo, who'd just busted out of the house. Typically, she did not use the stairs, but vaulted right down from her balcony, to land on the deck in an athletic crouch. Scott started to bark at her, then shrugged; for some reason, just too relaxed and at peace to yell. Made eye-contact with John, who was downing an icy cold beer.

"You okay, Little Brother?" he enquired, having vague premonitions of illness. John set the beer bottle down, considered a moment, and then said,

"Yeah. Feel pretty good, considering, y'know… gravity. You?"

Scott stood erect, reaching across the table to offer his red-haired brother a hand up.

"Can't complain," he decided, starting to smile. Then, his wrist comm buzzed, shattering that fine, tranquil moment. "Crap. It's Colonel Casey."

John stepped nimbly away.

"Tag, you're it," he said, as Kayo came loping over to join them.

"What?" Scott blurted. "You're the space monitor, it's your job to field her d*mn calls!"

John shrugged.

"Only when I'm upstairs," he said. "Down here, I'm off duty. Enjoy."

"Jackass," Scott muttered. Then, "Good afternoon, Colonel. How can I help you?"

Shooting his brother an exceedingly filthy look, Scott stomped away to do what he earned the big bucks for. Meanwhile, Kayo put her arms around John and hugged him close. She had a funny look on her face… seemed lost, or something.

"Hey, Little Bit," John greeted his sister. "Everything okay?"

Her green eyes were huge and haunted, but slowly, Kay nodded her head.

"I… think so, John. Yes. It's just…" a powerful ache had developed, somewhere inside of her, and she didn't know why. Just needed a hug, was all. "…Guess I'm getting hormonal, or something."

John made a face.

"Better you than me," he said. "Don't envy that mess, at all."

Her brother did provide that hug, though, and kiss the top of her head. So, why did she still want to cry? What had gone suddenly missing?

Nearby, the twin jokers down in the pool had splashed Virgil, finally waking him up. Like Scott, the big pilot gave a jaw-cracking yawn and stretched himself, causing his '2' and Tasmanian Devil tattoos to broaden and flex.

"Hey, guys!" he half-yawned, half-laughed, clambering to his feet. "What's going on besides Doofy and Goofy, getting me baptized?"

Someone had dropped a pan in the kitchen, that's what, with a loud and echoing clatter. From the pool, Gordon said,

"Just Grandma, burning dinner, again. I'm betting we get carbonized meat-product flambé, or extra-crispy ash nuggets."

"With a side order of buuuurn!" Alan snickered, slapping his brother's broad shoulder. He, too, had a feeling... restless, or something, but didn't know what to call it, or why he kept looking around.

Then Grandma came hurtling out of the kitchen, not holding a tray of anything blackened and awful.

"Boys!" she cried out, almost sobbing.

Concerned, Virgil and John went to meet her, while the younger two vaulted out of the pool, and Scott put Casey on hold. Necessary, because Sally Tracy was actually shaking; hugging each of her grandsons in turn, like they'd just dropped off of the Moon, or something.

"Look at ya!" she snapped, dabbing at unexplained tears. "Skin and bones, every dang one o' you boys. Come on inside, an' I'll heat us up some frozen meals."

"Ooh…!" Alan gasped. "Real food! Is it somebody's birthday?"

Scott cuffed him, just before Dad, too, called in… and then Uncle Lee, and Penny. Even Pete, out on Mars. Literally everyone they knew called to check up and say 'hi'. Not that the news was all good; Colonel Casey had some damfool idea for a GDF backup rescue team, and a new, onsite WorldGov liaison. Some loser named Rigby. Well, he'd put a stop to that nonsense; quick, fast and in a…

"W- Wait! Stop!" Someone shouted. Scott pivoted to face the call. Saw Brains come charging out of the lab maintenance exit, looking like he'd just seen a whole graveyard of rattling bones. The racing engineer almost crashed right into them, except that Virgil caught hold of his skinny shoulders, saying,

"Whoa, there, Brains… what'd you do? Blow something up? Sample Grandma's cooking?"

Only, Hackenbacker wasn't smiling.

"International R- Rescue," he panted, "we h- have a situation, and a new, ah… new ally."

At which point the Mechanic jet-packed out of the blue, clear sky to land on their pool deck, not ten feet away.

"Holy sh*t," said John, stepping in front of Grandma, who tried pushing past him.

Calls forgotten, Scott stalked over to stand with his brother and sister; helping nudge Grandma back under cover, behind them.

"Brains, you'd better have a d*mn good explanation," he growled.

"Like, the best frickin' excuse in the history of what-the-h*ll kind!" added Gordon, edging around the big, impassive cyborg. The Mechanic tracked his motion, but did not respond. Instead, he was focused on Virgil.

The cargo pilot was no longer smiling, and his posture… bulging muscles, clenched fists… promised a fight.

"Please do," invited the Mechanic, flexing armoured might of his own. "Promised Horatio one go at this, but I'd rather beat the sh*t out of some dumbass heroes. Go ahead, jump. See what happens."

Young Alan opened his mouth to snipe back, moving to stand beside Gordon. Then a stolen GDF scout flitter rose from the jungle, as if in response to Kane's words. Armed and locked on, it inched for the pool deck and Tracys.

"I s- said stop!" Brains snapped at them all, nervously pushing the glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "There is a r- reason for the Mechanic's presence h- here! Scott, J- John, Kane, Mrs. T- Tracy, you must all, ah… all c- come with me to the ring. The rest of you, w- wait out here. Please believe th- that everything depends upon a s- successful alliance!"

Scott shifted his gaze very fractionally, from the Mechanic's grim face, to John's.

'Well, Little Brother?' he asked, with that gem-blue hard stare of his.

After a long, icy moment, hand at his earpiece, John gave him a nod.

'One chance,' his brother conveyed, using only his narrowed sea-green eyes.

Grandma had once again pushed her way forward. Marching directly up to that murderous animal, she stabbed a bony finger at his armoured chest and said,

"You ain't done nothin' yet, and maybe y'r intentions is pure… or maybe ya got Brains snowed, somehow. Don't know. Do know that I don't trust ya no futher 'n I could throw ya… and I ain't gonna let ya pull nothin' shady, here at our home. Get me, Tin-man?"

Surprisingly, the Mechanic did not simply swat her onto the ground. Almost as if he were quite accustomed to female authority, Kane rumbled,

"I will abide by that truce, if they do."

Grandma Tracy snorted rudely. Then, looking around at her rebellious grandsons and Kayo, she grated,

"Boys, Tanusha… we got a guest. You'll behave y'rselves appropriate, hear?"

"Yes, Ma'am," they grumbled, one at a time. Only Virgil said nothing, managing not much more than the barest of nods, dark eyes vowing mayhem. Then,

"Scotty, John Matthew, show our guest inside. Brains… I'm expectin' one gosh-danged amazin' story," seethed Grandma, too angry to look at him.

The air was so electric with tension that you could have powered Island Base for a month with it, but somehow, nobody quite broke that truce. Somehow, they started to talk.