Unhappy Campers

Gordon turned off the recorder and sat back, relieved. His brother was safe and on the way to the hospital. Those who had been tormenting him were on their way to the police station, under arrest. Fermat was going, too, as a witness. He reached over and flicked a switch, turning off the mute to the speakers on Thunderbird Five, then sat up. "Hey, guys?"

John and Scott were on their feet and to the desk in a heartbeat. There was some good natured wrangling about who was going to sit in their father's chair and, predictably, Scott won. He sat and leaned back, while John perched his rear on the edge of the desk, and Virgil, not feeling particularly competitive, joined them, standing in the background.

"What's up, Squirt?" Scott typed into the IM box.

"I've got the mute off, that's one thing," Gordon replied as he saw the message appear. "Fermat and Alan aren't transmitting anymore, so we're safe."

"Ah, good," Scott said aloud. He shook his head. "Man, that was one hairy scary scene back there."

"You're telling me!" Gordon replied. "I was sorta watching it all unfold via satellite and infrared images. I could see three of the guys closing in on Alan, and the fourth one sitting by the fire pit in the Hollow." He shook his head. "I should have known Pierce was involved."

"Pierce? Wasn't he the guy you wanted to room with at Wharton?" John asked.

"Yeah, he was. He was expelled for using steroids the year before I graduated." Gordon grimaced. "I was glad later that Dad put his foot down about rooming with Pierce, but I wasn't too pleased at the time. He was a big man on campus, a star athlete... but I guess sports was everything to him."

"And in trying to keep a competitive edge, he took the easier way, huh?" Virgil asked.

Gordon nodded. "Yeah. Don't know how Dad saw that in him; I sure didn't."

"Trust Dad's instincts, I always say," Scott said smugly.

"You do?" Gordon asked, giving his older brother a "tell me another one" look. "Since when?"

John raised a blond eyebrow, eying his brother with skepticism. "I must have been in Thunderbird Five whenever you've said it."

"And where was I when you gave us this pearl of wisdom?" Virgil asked, grinning.

Scott glanced at his brothers with a slightly surprised but bland expression. "I've always been of the opinion that we should listen to Dad's instincts."

"Except when you, you know... don't," Gordon replied.

Before Scott could reply, John jumped in. "Totally off-topic here, but did you happen to get a recording of that whole exchange on Alan's watch?"

"Yeah, I did," Gordon said, folding his arms over his chest. "I'm not the only one who knows how things work up here."

"Pffft." John rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "You're in fine form today, Gordon."

"Well, hearing your kid brother get beat up kinda gives you a somewhat cynical attitude toward life," Gordon replied, scowling.

"Whoa, whoa!" Virgil made a "T" using both hands. "Time out!" When he had the attention of all his brothers, he continued, "This has gotten us all riled up, yeah, but let's not take it out on each other, okay?" He turned to Gordon. "Can you download the file to us?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Gordon said in a resigned tone, reaching over to do as he was asked to.

"And can either of you come up with a reason why this whole episode was taped?" Virgil asked, turning to John and Scott. "It would be prime evidence, if we could come up with a realistic explanation for it."

John and Scott both frowned thoughtfully for a few moments, then John's face brightened. "Hey, Gords? Can you find the recording of the last time the watches were used?"

"You recorded that, too?" Virgil asked, puzzled.

"It was automatic since I was the one to answer it," John replied, spreading out his hands. "Just like a call for help. If they had just activated it person-to-person, it probably wouldn't have been."

"I see." The three older Tracy brothers waited as the younger searched for the file.

"I don't know... wait, here it is." Gordon looked up and asked, "There are two files here, one for Alan and one for Fermat. Which do you want?"

"Try Fermat's," John said. "I think that one's longer." He turned to his brothers. "When they first used the watches, they hadn't had any instruction on how to do it. So I patched Fermat through to Alan. But it also meant they didn't know how to turn the watches off. As a result, the conversation was recorded for a while after the action was over."

"And what does that have to do with what we've been discussing? Scott asked.

"I'm pretty sure that Fermat said something about the watches we may be able to use."

Gordon tapped a few keys, and a small window appeared on both his screen and the corresponding screen in the office. "There's visual on this one."

The recording began to run, showing the close up on Fermat's white face and recounting what he and Alan said to each other. It switched to the dizzying, swinging images that Alan had seen, and the aftermath of Fermat's daring run to the rescue. Little snippets of the conversations that followed were heard, and anything that Fermat said, or that was said in his close proximity came out loud and clear.

"I don't see anything," Scott said as the recording went on.

"Shh!" John hushed him, irritated. "I think it's coming up soon."

Suddenly, they could hear Fermat say, "The w-w-watch! Isn't it c-c-c... great? It's a t-t-two-way wrist r-r-radio!" Two boys could be seen peering at the watch, the view shifting slightly from one face to another. One of the boys, a dark-haired, Hispanic-looking youth said, "It's cool... if that's what it is. How'd you get it?"

"F-F-From my dad!" Fermat's voice was loud and clear. "W-We're b-b-b-beta testing it f-for him."

"That's it!" John cried.

"What?" Virgil asked, puzzled.

"The beta-testing business." John rubbed his hands together. "We can say that because the radio is being field tested, conversations are automatically recorded made to ensure that the picture and sound are clear!"

Virgil nodded his head and shrugged a little. "That would explain it, I guess."

"We can run it past Dad," Scott said. "But I think you've got it, John."

Before John could reply, the home phone line rang. Scott leaned over to check the ID. "A Mr. Magnuson."

"Wharton's head of security," Gordon supplied helpfully.

"Ah, good. Better minimize this window," Scott said. John used the keyboard to do so, as Scott picked up the phone. "Tracy residence, Scott Tracy speaking."

"This is Carl Magnuson, head of security for Wharton Academy, calling Jefferson Tracy. Is he available?"

Scott shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Magnuson, but he and Professor Hackenbacker are on their way to the States on business. Is there something wrong with Alan?"

Mr. Magnuson gave Scott a tight smile. "I'd rather go into it with Mr. Tracy. Where can I reach him?"

"I can transfer you to his satellite phone, Mr. Magnuson, but he may not be able to answer right away. He's piloting."

"I see. Would you please do that, anyway? Hopefully I can speak with him before he reaches the States. It's imperative that he comes to Wharton as soon as possible."

"All right, sir, I'll transfer you." Scott began the process, but as he did, he asked, "Could you tell us what's wrong? It sounds serious. He's our brother, and we are concerned."

"I'm sorry, but I have to talk to your father first," Mr. Magnuson said with regret. "School policy, you know."

Scott sighed. "I understand. I'm transferring you now."

Mr. Magnuson thanked Scott, then the call was broken off at their end. All three of the Tracys sighed.

"Now we wait to hear from Dad," Virgil said. He glanced at his watch. "Did Onaha call us for lunch yet?"

"I don't know," John replied, "But I'm going to eat in here."

"Good idea," Scott said. "Virge, please tell Onaha that we're all eating lunch up here."

Jeff was not a happy camper. His call from Carl Magnuson had not gone particularly well; Jeff wanted to tell the man he already knew about the "incident", but he had to act shocked instead. It was difficult for him to keep his temper under control, too, and Mr. Magnuson could give him no details on Alan's injuries. So it was a very disgruntled, angry, and frightened Jeff Tracy that arrived in Springfield, bypassing Boston entirely... only to find himself scrambling for a rental car. What he'd ended up with was hardly appropriate for his station in life, and the totes he'd brought along barely fit in the trunk now, when empty and stacked one within another. They certainly wouldn't fit once filled, not with four people sitting in the small sedan. Still, as unsuitable as he found the car, he took it. "I don't have time to wait around for something bigger," he growled. "I have to see my son."

"W-We'll g-get something b-better in P-Pittsfield," Brains assured him. Jeff merely nodded, and let the scientist take the wheel.

Their first stop was a hotel, the one where Jeff usually stayed when he brought Alan to and from school. Here they got a much more welcoming reception, and the kind of service Jeff expected. Once he and Brains had dropped off their luggage and checked in, they headed for the hospital. He'd been told that Alan was staying there at least overnight, and though the pair had been flying for several hours, there would be no rest for him until he saw his son. Fermat was back on campus, and had been given permission to miss classes for that day, as had Jason, Xavion, and Zave's two friends. They'd all been kept up very late making statements to the police, going over every detail of what happened several times.

Pierce had been seen by a doctor, and his broken nose had been treated. All four of them - including Lee, who was a few months short of 18 - were incarcerated in the New Ashford jail, and would be tried as adults. They were joined by two more young men, one who worked with Mickey in the laundry, and the other a friend of Pierce's from New Ashford. Because of his age, Ralph was taken to a juvenile facility. He was the reason the other two men had been picked up; he was cooperating with the authorities so the charges against him would be reduced.

At that moment, however, Jeff didn't care about the legalities of the situation. All that mattered to him was Alan. Fortunately, the staff at the hospital in Pittsfield had been forewarned of Jeff's arrival.

"Mr. Tracy? I am Dr. Gupta, the pediatrician on call this evening. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." The doctor, a short, younger gentleman of Indian extraction, offered his hand.

"Jeff Tracy, and this is Professor Hackenbacker," Jeff said, shaking the physician's hand.

Brains also shook hands with Dr. Gupta, then said, "M-Mr. Tracy, I'm going to get some br-breakfast. I'll be in the c-c-c... lunchroom if you n-need me."

Jeff nodded. "Okay, Hiram. I'll call if I need you."

Brains left; he knew that this first discussion should be between father and pediatrician, and at the moment, he was a third wheel.

When Brains had gone, Jeff asked tersely, "What's his condition?"

Dr. Gupta said, "Come with me, please," and led Jeff to a small waiting room, where they could speak without being overheard. He sat down and took out a data pad, and began scrolling down to read over his notes. Jeff started to pace, but thought better of it and perched himself on the edge of a chair instead, leaning forward, looking the doctor in the face.

"Mr. Tracy, Alan is a lucky young man, and looks worse than he actually is," the doctor commented. "His left cheek and eyebrow took quite a beating. We have glued the worst of the injuries to his eyebrow, but his cheek has more of a deep abrasion than an actual laceration." He glanced up at Jeff. "We have cleaned and dressed it, but you may want to consult a plastic surgeon when the swelling goes down. We also flushed his eyes to remove bits of plant detritus."

Looking at the pad again, Dr. Gupta continued. "His abdomen is bruised; it seems he took two or three punches or kicks there. However, there are no signs of internal bleeding; the bruising is mostly muscular in nature. He will be sore for quite a while." He paused to read some more, then added, "His knees were already slightly injured, and those injuries were healing. Unfortunately, several gashes developed from being forced to his knees at one point. Those injuries have been glued. His right shoulder was hyperextended and there is indication of strain. A period of resting, use of anti-inflammatory medication, then gentle exercise will help." The doctor gave Jeff a wry smile. "He was very upset that his injuries would keep him from his first track meet this weekend."

"I'm sure he was," Jeff replied. "Anything else?"

"A variety of minor scrapes and bruises. He did report graying out at one point. We are looking for signs of concussion, and may want him to stay longer, depending on his neurological checks." The doctor put his pad on the table. "That is all."

"May I see him?" Jeff asked, trying to keep his impatience under control.

Dr. Gupta smiled and nodded. "Of course. Please, follow me."

He guided Jeff down a corridor to a room where a New Ashford police officer stood guard. "This is Mr. Tracy," the doctor told the officer. "Alan's father. I am sure he will be in and out of here during the day today."

The officer nodded, and Jeff followed the doctor inside. The room was set up as a double room, but Alan was the only patient there. Jeff drew in a sharp breath when he saw his son.

Alan was asleep, his face turned to the right. Half of his face's left side was covered with bandages, from the thin, butterfly bandages that held together the gash over his eye to thicker white gauze over his cheekbone. He had two black eyes; the flesh around the left one was so swollen that Jeff knew Alan would have trouble opening it. There was a bruise around his son's right wrist. The other injuries were covered by the hospital gown and blanket, and Jeff was glad they were out of sight.

"Wait here for a moment, please, while I examine him," Dr. Gupta requested. Jeff nodded, and the doctor approached the bed, raising it's head while calling, "Alan?" He took a penlight out of his coat pocket. "Wake up, Alan. I need to do a neurology check."

Alan stirred, and opened his good eye as far as he could, and his swollen one just a slit. As Jeff hovered out of viewing range, the doctor used the penlight to check his patient's response to light, and asked him to do some simple things, like touch his finger to his nose. Then he quietly asked some questions, which Alan answered correctly, culminating in the question, "And who is this?"

Jeff stepped forward and Alan murmured, "Dad!"

"Hey there, son," Jeff said. Dr. Gupta moved out of the way, smiling, letting Jeff take his place at the bedside. "Thank you, Doctor."

"You are welcome."

The physician left, and Jeff lowered the bed rail, maneuvering himself to sit on the edge of the bed. He reached out to stroke Alan's hair back. "How are you doing, son?"

"I'll be better once I can get out of here, and get some real sleep," Alan said softly. "They keep waking me up for neuro checks."

"Never go to a hospital when you want to sleep," Jeff said, smiling slightly. He paused, then asked, "What happened, Alan? What made you go into those woods?"

Alan looked away. "It... it was a gut reaction, Dad. Ralph told me someone was in trouble and I didn't even think twice about it. I just went. I figured that if I could get there quickly, I'd keep someone from getting hurt. Thought I'd have back up when I needed it. But... I screwed up, Dad. I should have put more thought into what I was doing, brought help with me instead of going it alone." He turned back to his father. "It never occurred to me that someone could hate me so much, or would go out of their way to hurt me so bad." He swallowed hard, and his voice sounded very small and lost. "I should have known, especially after... after what happened last spring." His voice dropped to a whisper as he said, "I'm sorry, Dad."

Jeff let out a long, deep sigh. "C'mere, Alan," he said, leaning over and gently pulling his son to him. He didn't want to squeeze too tightly; he was mindful of his son's injuries. He gently rubbed Alan's back as the boy began to sob.

They sat that way for what seemed like a long time; Jeff, the rock for Alan to lean on, and Alan holding on as if he never wanted to let go. Finally, Alan quieted, pulling back a little. Jeff helped him ease back down onto the mattress, and pulled a few tissues from a box by the bed. "Better?" he asked.

"Yeah," was Alan's response. He blew his nose carefully, and wiped his eyes. The left one was closed all the way now, and the right one drooped, indicating how tired he was.

"Dad, what... what's going to happen now? To Sugi? And Ralph?"

"I don't know yet, son. But we'll talk about it later, after we've both had some rest." Jeff smiled a little, and brushed Alan's hair back again. "Just know this: I agree that you could have, and should have, thought things through before haring off to the rescue. But I'm glad you took action, instead of looking the other way." He smiled wider. "Sometimes it's what you have to do."

Standing, Jeff stretched and yawned. "I think I'd better get something to eat, and some sleep. It's hard on the old man, flying back in time."

"Not as young as you used to be, huh?" Alan quipped lightly, smiling a little.

"Nope, but I can still take you on, and don't you forget it," Jeff replied, pointing at Alan emphatically, a twinkle in his eyes. "I'll be back in a few hours. You get some rest and don't hassle the nurses."

"Yes, sir," Alan said with a sigh. As Jeff turned to go, Alan frowned a bit, then called, "Uh, Dad?"

Jeff glanced back at his son. "Yes, Alan?"

"Do we, uh, do we have a relative named... 'Dick'?"