Uncharacteristic Actions

"Where is it?" Dom muttered as he thumbed through the papers on his desk. "I've gotta find it or Gerrick will have my butt in a sling!" He turned one way, then the other, at a loss. "Wait! Is that it?" Without a thought he practically dove under his bed. In doing so, he missed the quiet sound of the door sliding open behind him.

"Ah hah!" He came out from under his bunk, holding his math homework triumphantly. He stood, turned, and came face to face with... "Alan!" He blinked twice then asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Dom," Alan said with a slight chuckle. "My dad and I are here to get some of my things." He made a slight motion toward Jeff, wincing as he did.

Dom shot a quick glance toward Jeff, who had come up behind Alan. "Hey, Mr. Tracy." Then he turned back to his roommate. "Aw, I'm sorry, man," he said, his shoulders slumping. "Hopefully I'll be back in time to say goodbye. Right now, I've gotta run or I'll be late for math." He edged around his roommate and his roommate's father, grabbed his backpack and hurried out the door. Turning so he was walking backwards a bit, he called, "You're looking better, man. See ya! Bye, Mr. Tracy!" Then he spun on his heel and took off.

"But I'm not... leaving...," Alan protested as he turned toward the door, watching his roommate break into an uncharacteristic sprint. He shook his head a little, making a sour face. "Hmph. I hope he has his inhaler with him."

"I'm sure he does, son," Jeff said. He looked around the room, taking in the posters, Dom's messy desk, and Alan's neat one. "So, this is your new room. A bit different than the one I saw last time."

"Yeah." Alan pulled his athletic bag out of his closet. "Hm. I think I missed laundry day."

"Sit down. I'll do this. And don't worry about the laundry," Jeff said, as he took the bag from Alan. "We can hit a laundromat somewhere and wash up what's dirty."

"You? Washing clothes?" Alan gave his father a skeptical look as he sat down in his desk chair.

"Yes, me, washing clothes." Jeff's glance back was a challenge. "Who do you think kept you and your brothers in clean jeans after your mother died?"

"Grandma," Alan replied bluntly, not looking up from unplugging his computer. "I distinctly remember her doing the wash."

"She did your laundry... once she arrived. Up until she did, I had to do it. And after she came, I still had to wash my own stuff." Jeff began to pull clothes from Alan's chest of drawers. "She figured I should stay in practice for the day she left." He laid a small pile of underwear in the athletic bag. "If you're embarrassed that your father is doing your laundry for you, I'm sure that the hotel would have some sort of service..."

"It's not you washing my clothes, it's going to a public laundromat that worries me," Alan said, glancing at his father. "Can you imagine the headlines... and the pictures?"

Jeff stopped and matched Alan's gaze. There was a long pause, then he sighed. "You have a point. The hotel's service it is."

The teen grunted his acquiescence and finished what he was doing. "What did Mrs. Belvedere say when you told her I was staying?"

Jeff snorted a laugh. "She was surprised, to say the least."

"Are you certain about this, Mr. Tracy?" Mrs. Belvedere's posture had been ramrod straight, her hands folded on her desk, her face a study of concern and puzzlement. "I am not sure that Wharton will be able to provide the level of security that Alan may require after this... incident."

"I'm aware of that, Mrs. Belvedere." Jeff had looked the epitome of calm and aplomb, but inside, he was just as uneasy as the lady facing him appeared. "I have to trust that the police have done what they say they have in mopping up this gang. And... I have to trust Alan to take care of himself." He had smiled slightly. "I'm not going to be able to keep him under my wing forever. Better he learn how to protect himself now, under relatively controlled conditions. It will help him in the future."

The director of student services had taken in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her officious persona had risen to the fore and she'd said, briskly, "Very well. I shall make arrangements for his teachers to forward his assignments and notes to him via email for the next few days. How long do you intend to keep him with you?"

"Very likely until the end of the week," Jeff had replied. "There's no sense in him staying on campus and distracting the other students. By then the swelling should have gone down enough that he won't be stared at quite so much." He'd smiled widely this time. "Besides, I want to see Fermat Hackenbacker compete in academic quizzing."

"I bet she was," Alan said, cutting in on his father's reverie. He glanced at the athletic bag in his father's hand. "You about ready with that?"

Jeff glanced down. His hands had automatically packed his son's belongings as his mind had been woolgathering. "I think so. I'll duck into the bathroom and get your things from there."

"Don't forget my dirty clothes bag," Alan called after him.

"I'm on it."

Jeff came out of the bathroom, one arm full of toothpaste, soap, shampoo and such, the mesh bag containing Alan's dirty clothes slung over the other shoulder. He dumped the toiletries into the duffel. "You about ready?"

"Let me leave a note for Dom so he won't think he's missed saying goodbye or anything." Alan pulled out a piece of notebook paper and scrawled, "See you in a few days, when I'll be back to stay. Alan." He laid the note on Dom's pillow, and hefted his computer's case. "I'm ready."

"I'll take that; it's heavy," Jeff said, grabbing the case. "You can take the dirty clothes." He thrust the mesh bag into his son's hands, slinging the duffel over one shoulder and the computer case over the other.

Alan looked down at the bag with an expression of disgust. "Gee, thanks Dad."

Jeff grinned. "Anytime, son. Let's go."

The door opened, and Alan stopped just outside. "Uh, Dad? One thing before we leave."

"Yes?"

Alan activated the hand print reader beside the door. "Need to add you as someone who can enter my room." He looked at his father expectantly.

Jeff chuckled, shaking his head slightly, then put his hand to the reader. "All right. Add me."

The teen sighed happily, and entered the appropriate key sequence.

He'd had breakfast with Jeff and Alan in their suite, then the two Tracys went off to Wharton, leaving Brains at loose ends. There were still two hours until lunch time at the school, and Fermat was in classes until then. The only thing that he found interesting on the TV was a Weather Channel report about the combination of factors, including a lingering La Niña, that was responsible for lower than normal temperatures in the northern U.S. "Explains wh-why I wish I'd br-brought heavier cl-cl-clothing," he muttered.

The sudden ringing of his cell phone startled him, and he fumbled around for a moment to find it. "D-Daniel Sugimoto?" He clicked on the speaker. "H-Hello?"

The inventor's face appeared in the small screen. "Dr. Hackenbacker? It's Daniel Sugimoto. I'd like to talk to you about those specs I said I'd send. Could we meet, say at the hospital, in a half-hour?"

Brains frowned, pacing around the sitting room and he spoke. "I'm a-afraid that M-Mr. Tracy has taken our v-v-v... rental c-car."

"Oh." Brains's answer seemed to perplex him.

"You could c-come here, to our h-hotel..."

Dr. Sugimoto shook his head. "I don't think so. Mr. Tracy..."

Brains jumped in. "Y-Yes, I understand. It might be a-awkward." He glanced idly out the window, and his eyebrows rose as he saw something that pleased him. "Th-There's a restaurant across the s-street from our hotel... it looks like the food would be p-palatable. Perhaps we can m-meet there?"

"That sounds like a good idea. Would you like me to pick you up?"

"It m-might be a good idea. The road looks b-b-b... well-traveled." He gave his caller the name of the hotel, and they agreed on a time. The call ended, and Brains put the phone in his shirt pocket. He rubbed his hands together. "Now to g-get my g-gear ready, and give my l-lawyers a call."

"I don't like this," Scott softly confided to Virgil. They watched, standing a pace or two behind John as he argued with a man in a military uniform. Scott was fairly sure they were speaking Russian.

"Neither do I." Virgil replied. "But who else is going to get those cavers out?"

The call had come in two and a half hours ago, from a radio on top of the Arabika Massif, in the Abkhazia region. The tiny republic, still stubbornly clinging to its declaration of independence from Georgia despite spotty recognition from other countries (and none at all from the world government), was still a volatile place. It was also home to Voronya Cave, the world's deepest cavern.

The call for help had come from the base camp of the caving expedition that was currently exploring Voronya, trying to break the world's record for deepest descent into a cavern. The current record, set five years prior, was 2330 meters below the opening of the cave, and so far, another 70 meters had already been added to the total.

But the expedition was an unlucky one so far. On the final rappel to the level where the cavers currently rested, a belaying carbiner gave way, sending one caver into a near free fall. She fell onto one of her colleagues, and now both had broken bones and concussions. The leader of the party realized that there was no way to get the injured parties back to the surface; they'd had to dive through the icy cold water in two sumps to get where they currently were. So, she called to the base camp through the fiber optic line they'd laid on their way down, and asked for assistance.

"I don't care what they do to get us out," she'd said. "Just get us out!"

As a result, John, Scott, and Virgil were standing near the base of the Massif, waiting to deploy the Mole and dig out the injured cavers. Unfortunately, the local military captain took offense... though what the nature of his offense was, Scott and Virgil had yet to know.

"Damn soldiers," John muttered angrily as he turned away from the captain in disgust.

"What's wrong?" Scott asked.

John took a deep, calming breath, and said, his tones clipped, "Captain Oblivious over there wants us to leave because he hasn't gotten any notification from Sukhumi that we are allowed to be here. 'No permission, no rescue'." He gave Scott a keen look. "How do you want to handle this?"

Scott stood quietly for a moment, stroking his chin in thought. "We could just ignore them and begin operations," Virgil suggested. "I mean, the Mole is pretty much impregnable, and they don't seem to have the level of weaponry it'd take to damage either One or Two."

Scott shook his head. "No, that'd create a backlash in the international community. Sure, most of the sane countries would see it as putting the needs of the trapped first, but they're the ones who don't necessarily worry about us coming and doing what we do best." He glanced over at the captain, who was talking to his men and glancing over at the trio, much as Scott was doing. "The paranoid ones... they'll make a stink and lives will be lost." He huffed out a breath through his nose. "What would Dad do?"

"I'm not sure," John said, scratching his head. "Has he ever come up against this before?"

"Should we call and ask?" Virgil wanted to know.

To that, Scott shook his head decisively. "No, he's got enough to worry about with Alan." He thought a moment more, then his eyebrows went up as he considered a plan. He activated his communicator. "Scott to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five here, Scott," Gordon promptly replied. "What do you need?"

"Can you find out who the leaders of this... country are and get some coordinates as to where we can find them?" Scott eyed John speculatively. "I'm mounting a little retrieval mission."

"I'll do what I can," Gordon said.

"Be quick about it, Gords. We're stuck twiddling our thumbs down here and the clock is ticking."

"F-A-B, Scott. Thunderbird Five, out."

"Now what?" Virgil said. "And what's this about a retrieval mission?"

"Now, we pull the Mole out of the pod," Scott said firmly, "then button Two up tight. As soon as we have those coordinates from Gordon, I want you, John, to take One and fetch whoever you can find at home. If it's a military leader, so much the better. Land in their backyard, street, wherever, and haul them back here as quickly as you can."

"Wait a minute," John said, frowning thoughtfully. "You want me to take One?" When Scott nodded, he asked, "Why?"

"Because I don't speak Russian and you do," his older brother reminded him. John slapped his forehead, and Virgil smothered a smile by looking down at the ground and shaking his head. "But," Scott continued, "you'd better bring her back without a scratch!"

"F-A-B," John said, giving his brother a sloppy salute.

"Let's get ready. I want to move as soon as we can get someone with some clout out here to argue with 'Captain Oblivious'."

The family restaurant was relatively quiet; the breakfast crowd was gone and the lunch crowd hadn't yet appeared. The two scientists found a booth in a far corner where they could talk undisturbed, except by the waitress, who kept an eye on their coffee cups for refills. Brains ordered an orange cranberry muffin – not because he was hungry, but because he felt it was polite. Dr. Sugimoto did much the same thing, ordering a sticky cinnamon roll to go with his coffee. They made polite small talk, then Daniel Sugimoto pulled out a jump drive.

"The specs are on here," he said wearily. "Do you really think your lawyers can help me?"

Brains nodded. "I've already sp-spoken to them this morning, with M-Mr. Tracy's blessing. They do a lot of p-patent work for m-me, and for T-Tracy Industries. They'll want to t-talk to you about h-h-how the other m-manufacturers might have gotten h-hold of your sp-specs."

Dr. Sugimoto sighed and shook his head. "I really have no idea. It was something I was working on at home, in my spare time." He paused. "I'm a professor at CalTech, in the school of Engineering and Applied Science. I like my job, but... there's nothing quite like the feeling of accomplishment you feel when you've created something that's uniquely yours." He cocked his head to one side a little. "Do you know what I mean?"

Brains nodded. "I d-do." Though I can never take credit for a lot of what I create. Not if I want to preserve International Rescue's security. He paused for a moment, then asked, "What m-made you send your son to Wh-Wharton? I'm sure there were m-m-m... quite a few other l-local schools you could have e-enrolled him in."

"True. And perhaps... perhaps I should have kept him at home, or at least closer to me." Dr. Sugimoto shook his head again. "I'd taken a sabbatical to work on my doctorate at MIT when Lee was ready to enter high school. My... my wife left me at that point, and I couldn't deal with being a single father and a full-time graduate student. So I looked for a boarding school where Lee would be relatively close, and well-cared for. My friend, Gary Feng, suggested Wharton." He paused, and took a sip of his coffee. "It was difficult for us, family-wise. I didn't see a lot of him during his first two years there, but I was able to finish my doctorate in that time. By then, Lee was well-established at Wharton, and wanted to keep going there. I couldn't say no, even though I was returning to California for my job."

"Then came the divorce and the custody battle and I started working on my brainchild. Money was tight, and got tighter when the first versions of my idea started showing up. I was spending a lot on lawyers who'd look at the case and sort of shake their heads over the matter. Lee had to apply for an athletic scholarship to return to Wharton and stay on the soccer team." He ran his hand through his hair and down the back of his head. "I don't know where I went wrong."

There were lots of missteps made here, Brains thought. Lots of missteps that, if I'm not careful, I could make make just as easily, and end up failing Fermat. But it may be too late for Lee. "F-From what I un-understand, h-he wanted to pl-please you."

"You heard that recording, too?" Daniel said wearily. When Brains nodded, he looked down at his coffee cup, smoothing his finger around the thick rim. "I should have guessed you had. From his tone of voice, from the anger in it, I can't help but think he was using that as an excuse."

"P-Perhaps," Brains murmured. "You w-won't know for certain until you t-talk it out." He paused to sip his coffee and break off a piece of muffin. The waitress came over and refilled their cups, smiling, leaving more creamer containers on the table for them. Brains waited until she was gone to ask. "What do the d-d-d... what medical news?"

"The current thought is that the doctored steroids were too strong for his body weight and whatever the hell those creeps added to them worked to make him more aggressive." Sugimoto mechanically tore a piece from his sticky roll and ate it. He followed it with a swallow of coffee. "He was a good athlete, a good kid. Now, he'll have a criminal record. I just hope..."

"You h-hope?"

Dr. Sugimoto gave Brains a bleak smile. "I hope I can repair some bridges, and guide him back to where he was before. Back to being that good kid."

There was a momentary lull in the conversation, then Daniel offered the jump drive to his companion. "Here. I'll be waiting to hear from the lawyers."

"J-Just a minute." Brains pulled an envelope from his pocket. "Would you p-please sign this?"

Daniel frowned as he took the envelope. "What is it?"

"It's an a-a-a-agreement, saying that neither I nor T-Tracy Industries nor any s-subsidiary thereof will u-use this information for profit nor will we release it to the p-public. All rights are y-yours and will remain y-yours until and unless we l-legally agree otherwise." Brains paused and took a nibble of muffin, washing it down with a mouthful of lukewarm coffee. "I w-want to assure you that what you're g-giving me will be l-legally safe with us." A very quick consultation with Art Trumbull produced the form, which Brains downloaded and printed out in triplicate.

"It looks like it's in order," Daniel said. He took a pen out of his pocket. "Where do I sign?"

Brains pointed out the spot on the sheet. All three copies were signed by both men, and the waitress, who had come over to offer them more coffee, was asked to sign as a witness. Daniel got one copy, and Brains put the other two back in the envelope and back into his jacket pocket with the jump drive.

"I think we're d-done here," Brains said. He glanced down and saw with surprise that he'd managed to nibble his muffin into crumbs.

"Right. I'll give you a lift back to your hotel."

Brains paid for the snack and left the waitress a hefty tip. Then he wrapped his less-than-adequate jacket around him for the short, cool, breezy walk to Dr. Sugimoto's car.