Unvanquished so far

Fermat sat in the third chair, designated "Wharton three". They were assigned seats in alphabetical order, so Aaron sat to his right, and Tom Lopez sat to his left. He wiped suddenly sweaty hands on his uniform slacks, and leaned forward a little, as Mr. Feng had taught him.

"Everyone settled?" The other team's coach, a tall, balding gentleman whose dark pate gleamed in the overhead lights, smiled at the contestants. He glanced at his sheet of questions, adjusted his mike, cleared his throat, and said, "Let's begin." He paused, then read, "History. Name five of the Mercury Seven astronauts."

Fermat knew he should let Robbie take the question but he couldn't help himself. He knew the answer, and jumped to his feet. Robbie did so, too, and someone from the other team was also standing. Aaron looked up at Fermat with a puzzled look. The coach referred to the laptop computer, and glanced toward Wharton's side of the stage.

"Wharton one."

As Robbie began to answer the question, counting on his fingers as he said each name, Fermat sat down. In the audience, he could see Mr. Tracy and Alan were both paying close attention to the response.

"Mercury Seven astronauts were, uh, John Glenn, Scott Carpenter, Gordon Cooper, Virgil Grissom, and, uh... Walter Schirra!"

The coach intoned, "That is correct. Point to Wharton." The audience broke into appreciative applause.

Fermat barely smothered a snort of laughter at Alan's stunned expression. Mr. Tracy was quietly laughing, while trying to hold the vidcam still, and Alan exchanged his expression of disbelief for a glare in his father's direction. Fermat's attention was brought back to the here and now as the applause died down and the coach cleared his throat again.

"Science. Using the smallest exponent, numerically define a nanosecond."

A player from the other team stood as Fermat jumped to his feet; he prayed he was faster.

"Wharton three."

Fermat relaxed a little as he answered the question. "A n-nanosecond is a 1000 to the negative ninth power second."

"That is correct. Point to Wharton."

Fermat sat down, sparing a moment to glance out at the audience again. His father was grinning from ear to ear and paused in his clapping to give him a thumbs up. The coach glanced over his shoulder briefly, then turned back, a puzzled expression on his face. I don't think he's heard this much applause at a quiz team meet before, Fermat mused.

The next few questions were split evenly between Wharton and their opponent. In fact, the Wharton underclassmen were able to pick up a point by replying correctly to a question that the other school, Robert Courmier Academy, missed. So it was with a confident air that the Wharton players anticipated the last question of the round.

"Literature. Name the most famous of the U.S. Colonial Era female poets."

An answer popped into Fermat's head, and before he could think about it, he was on his feet. Tom, the designated player for literature, was also up, as were two players from Courmier. The coach glanced at his laptop, and called, "Wharton three."

With a troubled look at his teammate, Tom sat down slowly. The two players on the Courmier side remained standing, waiting to see if Fermat had the correct answer. Firmly, Fermat said, "Anne B-Bancroft."

He could hear Tom's soft, "No!" beside him as the coach said, "That is incorrect. Courmier two."

Fermat sat down slowly, blinking his eyes in shock, the audience groaning at his faux pas. The opposing team's player confidently replied, "Anne Bradstreet."

"This ends round two, part one," Courmier's coach stated. "Will the teams please prepare for part two?"

Robbie pulled at Fermat's jacket sleeve to get him moving. "C'mon, Fermat. It's not th' end of th' world," he murmured.

But Aaron had a different opinion. "You should have let Tom answer it!" he hissed. "That was his specialty!"

"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry!" a flustered Fermat whispered back. "I th-thought I h-had the a-a-answer!"

"Don't do it again!" Aaron muttered. He plunked himself into a chair, folding his arms and scowling. Miserable, Fermat sat as far away from him as he could.

"Poor Fermat," Tin-Tin whispered to Alan. "He looks miserable."

"Yeah, he doesn't like to be wrong," Alan replied. "Wonder why he answered that one. He told me he wasn't in charge of lit questions."

"We can ask him later," she replied, as she tried to catch Fermat's gaze. When it seemed she had, she gave him a vibrant smile and a little wave.

"He should have gotten the question about the Mercury astronauts." Alan continued as if he hadn't heard her at all. "Can you believe that other guy didn't even mention Alan Shepard? What planet has he been on?"

"Earth, I'm sure," Tin-Tin replied, distracted. She kept her eye on Fermat, and was rewarded as the younger boy sat up straighter and returned her smile with a sheepish one of his own. Once contact had been acknowledged, she turned to her companion. "Maybe he just likes the name 'Walter' better than 'Alan'."

Alan shot her a look of disbelief before Lady Penelope reached over to shush them both.

By the end of round two, Wharton's lead had been reduced to one point. The tension had been building, not only in the players, but in the audience as well. "I never knew how cool this could be," Zave murmured to his brother. "It's almost as good as sports."

Round three found the four underclassmen sitting behind the table. Fermat sat at one end, with Robbie beside him. Aaron sat at the other end, still fuming. Mr. Feng, officiating during the last portion, continued this role; Courmier's coach would take the second half of the round.

"Since Courmier is behind, they get the first question," Mr. Feng announced. "Discussion or calculation is for sixty seconds, and you may begin when I say 'Go'. Is that understood?" He glanced at both sides; each boy raised a finger to show that they had received and understood the instructions. "Very good. Let's begin." He shuffled the papers he had on the podium. "Art. What American art movement was propounded by Grant Wood, Thomas Hart Benton, and John Steuart Curry?" He hit a button on a timer. "Go."

The Courmier team put their heads together, discussing the question in low, excited voices. It was obvious that at least one member had no idea what the question was about, but that at least two were in agreement. The buzzer went off noisily far faster than Fermat had thought possible, and the team quieted, looking toward Mr. Feng.

"Your answer?" he asked firmly.

"American regionalism?" one of the team members cautiously responded.

There was a pause, then Mr. Feng said, "That is correct. Point to Courmier."

There was a smattering of polite applause. The Courmier team members grinned at each other, and the one who answered wiped his hand across his brow with a quiet, "Whew!" Wharton's team, on the other hand, sat up straighter, their expressions tense as they waited for their first question.

Mr. Feng turned toward their table. "Music. Which nineteenth century English composer was responsible for the hymn, 'Onward, Christian Soldiers'?" He pressed the button on the timer. "Go."

"Aaron? This one's for you," Tom said softly.

"I know! I know!" Aaron replied. "Let me think! Nineteenth century... English... there are so many." He glared at Fermat. "You know this one?"

"N-No, I don't," Fermat replied, not looking at Aaron.

"Don' know why, but somehow, the name Sullivan comes t' mind," Robbie muttered.

"Sullivan? Sullivan?" Aaron pronounced the second word thoughtfully, then his face went from puzzled to delighted. "Yeah! Yeah! I know now!"

The buzzer chose that moment to sound off, and Mr. Feng asked, "Your answer?"

"Sir Arthur Sullivan," Aaron said confidently.

There was a pause again, and Mr. Feng replied, "That is correct. Point for Wharton."

The audience applauded with much more enthusiasm now. Fermat leaned over and murmured to Robbie, "H-How'd you kn-kn-kn... where'd that c-come from?"

"Singin' hymns in church, I s'pose," his teammate replied with a shrug.

Courmier's next question was on government, and they answered it handily. Fermat's stomach tightened and his nervousness grew as Mr. Feng fixed his gaze on Wharton once again.

"Geography. Name the tallest peak in the eastern United States and the state it is found in. Go."

"That's easy," Tom said confidently. "Mount Washington's in New Hampshire."

"But that's wrong," Robbie insisted. "Tallest is Mount Mitchell in North Carolina."

"Uh uh," Tom countered, shaking his head. "Washington."

"Nope. Mount Mitchell."

"I'm the geography expert!"

"An' Ah'm th' natural science one!"

The two glared at each other, then Fermat broke the impasse. "Go with R-Robbie. If we g-get it wrong, we g-get it wrong," he said morosely.

"Okay." The buzzer went off in the middle of Tom's muttered statement. "You can blow it this time, Bennett."

"Your answer?" Mr. Feng called.

"Tallest peak in th' eastern US is Mount Mitchell, in North Carolina," Robbie stated flatly.

Mr. Feng consulted his papers, while Aaron crossed his fingers. Finally, "That is correct. Point for Wharton."

Robbie grinned from ear to ear while Fermat let out a breath he'd been holding. "See, Ah told ya," the blond said quietly, nudging Tom.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." The sophomore waved a dismissive hand, his comment all but drowned out by the appreciative audience reaction.

The opposing team's next question was literature oriented, and they very nearly didn't get it answered. One of the players blurted out a reply, a guess really, and the whole team was surprised to find discover that their guess was correct. Their relief was noticeable over the light applause.

"Mathematics." All three of his teammates glanced at Fermat, who sat up, alert, and picked up the pencil. Mr. Feng noted this, and continued. "Calculate, to the 1000ths, the volume of a pyramid, where the area of the base is fifteen square centimeters, and the height is eight centimeters." He pressed the timer. "Go."

Fermat thought for a moment, then began to write. The other players squashed their natural inclination to peer over his shoulder, and left him alone. He checked his work and checked it again, not putting down his pencil until the timer went off. Then he laid down the implement and looked toward Mr. Feng.

"Your answer?"

Fermat spoke slowly, being very careful to pronounce the numbers without a stutter. "The v-volume of the p-pyramid is 39.996 c-cubic centimeters."

There was the now familiar pause, and Mr. Feng said, "That is correct. Point to Wharton."

Robbie patted Fermat on the shoulder, and Tom grinned at him. Even Aaron gave him a grudging, "Nice work."

The round went back to Courmier for their last underclassmen question. It was language, and with language questions there were sometimes different rules. A challenge could be general information, or identification of a particular tongue, or it could be a translation. In the case of a translation, the designated player was given an opportunity to see what he was dealing with on a screen and to copy it down. Once the copy was made, the timer was started, for two minutes instead of one. The challenges were chosen specifically with the player in mind so they wouldn't be presented with a tongue they hadn't studied. The line was also usually a famous phrase of some sort to make it a little easier to fill in any gaps.

The Courmier squad was given a translation, something in German. One of the team members scribbled down the phrase, and when he was through, the countdown began.

The entire room was silent as the player worked. Dom leaned forward, wishing he'd thought to have the yearbook photographer on hand. Jason silently tried to translate the phrase in his head. Xavion's arms were folded; he was beginning to get bored. Qaeshon took notes on the competition; he didn't see anyone from the school paper there covering the event. Parker gently snored in the seat behind Jeff, who had handed the camera over to Alan for a while. Tin-Tin watched Fermat as he leaned on the table with his casted arm, her pretty face creasing into a frown. Penelope leaned toward Jeff, who put an arm around her shoulders. Brains had his elbows on his knees and his chin propped up on his folded hands. Art Trumbull had an arm around his son as A.J. impatiently waited for his roommate to step up to the plate again.

The buzzer went off, startling several in the room. Mr. Feng turned to Courmier's squad. "Your answer?"

The player took a deep breath. " 'Was herauf geht, mus herab gekommen'. What goes up, must come down."

"That is correct. Point to Courmier."

The applause this time was louder and heartfelt, congratulating the squad on their effort. Mr. Feng waited until the applause died, then turned to his own team.

"Language, translation."

The Wharton boys' eyes widened, and they looked toward Aaron, who had been assigned Atif's specialties in language and music. He sat straighter, and picked up the pencil.

"Translate the following Latin phrase." The phrase flashed up on a screen between the two tables, and Aaron began to write it down as Mr. Feng read it. " 'Quaerite primum regnum dei'." He watched patiently for Aaron's signal, then started the timer. "Go."

Again, as they had with Fermat, the boys refrained from looking over Aaron's shoulder. He wrote down the words he knew for certain first, puzzled over the others for what seemed an eternity, then looked to his teammates. They moved in to assist.

"Look f-first k-kingdom God," Fermat muttered. He glanced up at Aaron, then Tom. "I d-don't get it."

"Ah do... Ah think," Robbie said. He took a second pencil and scribbled something below Aaron's translation. "Try that."

"Makes sense to me," Aaron replied, nodding. The buzzer rang, and the Wharton boys sat back to wait for their coach. Fermat crossed his fingers beneath the table.

"Your answer?"

" 'Quaerite primum regnum dei'," Aaron quoted. " 'Seek ye first the kingdom of God'."

Mr. Feng checked his answer sheet. With a small, proud smile, he said, "That is correct."

The small crowd erupted into loud applause! There was a shrill, familiar whistle, and Fermat whipped his head around to see his father, standing and clapping, then putting his fingers in his mouth for another whistle. He laughed, watching as Jeff pulled on Brains's arm, trying to make him sit down.

"You're as bad as the kids," Jeff said when he'd finally succeeded.

"Th-That's my b-boy up there," Brains countered, grinning. "D-Don't you tell me you w-won't be d-doing the s-s-same thing when it's A-Alan on the tr-track."

Jeff laughed. "You've got me there, Brains. But at least I'll be outside!"

"Y-You did really w-well tonight, R-Robbie," Fermat said when the meet was over. Wharton had maintained its lead, answering all the questions in the second part of the third round, and defeated their opponent by two points.

"Yeah, Ah guess so," Robbie said with a shrug. "Makes up for sittin' out the first meet, anyway." He chuckled. "Ah noticed that our squad wasn't given any natural science questions."

"B-But the older s-squad got two, and you g-got to answer a history question," Fermat countered. "Plus you were a b-big help with everything e-else." He nudged the blond. "At l-least you didn't blow a question l-like I d-did."

Robbie gave him a thoughtful look. "How come you answered that one anyway? It wasn't your specialty."

Fermat shrugged. "The answer j-just p-popped into my h-head and I c-couldn't help myself." He paused, looking up to see his father waiting for him. "I'll r-remember that f-for next time." Grinning at his companion, he said, "C'mon, I'll i-introduce you to my d-dad."

He led his teammate over to the small group that included Brains, the Tracys, Lady Penelope, Tin-Tin, Parker, the Trumbulls and his friends. "Hey, e-everyone! This is m-my t-teammate, R-Robbie B-Bennett."

There was some handshaking and murmured, "A pleasure," and, "Nice to meet you," as Fermat introduced him around to everyone.

"Excuse me." Fermat and Robbie turned to see Mr. Feng come up with some of the other team members. "If I may borrow these two boys for a while, we are having an ice cream celebration in the snack shop."

"I w-was g-going to take F-Fermat out for d-dinner," Brains said quietly.

Fermat looked from his coach to his father and back again, indecision on his face. Mr. Feng smiled. "Go with your dad. He's come a long way to see you. We'll have other victory celebrations." He glanced at Robbie. "Come on, Robbie. There's ice cream waiting."

"See ya later, Fermat," Robbie called, waving as he followed Mr. Feng.

"L-Later!"

"Hey, Pin... I mean, Alan," Jason said, coloring a little, "when are you coming back to campus?"

"Should be late tomorrow morning," Alan replied. "Dad's gonna drop me off before he and Bra... Professor Hackenbacker leave for home."

"But right now, boys, we're going to head for dinner," Jeff said. He turned to Art Trumbull. "Art? You and I haven't had that talk I promised you yet. Why don't you and Andrew come to dinner with us?"

Trumbull looked down at his son, who turned pleading eyes toward his father's face. "That sounds like a good idea, doesn't it, Andrew?"

A.J. simply nodded.

Jeff now faced Xavion, Jason, Dom and Qaeshon. "Would you boys like to come with us? We'd be glad to have you; my treat."

"Well, yeah, we'd like to, Mr. Tracy, but I think it'll have to be another time," Xavion explained. "With our first track meet tomorrow, I've got a lot to do, and need an early night."

"I'd like to go, but Kay and I are in charge of the snacks for tonight's kung-fu movie marathon." Dom grinned.

"Don't want to get half the dorm mad at us for not bringing the pretzels!" Kay confirmed, nodding.

Jason took a deep breath and gave Jeff a sheepish smile. "I'm going to have to bow out, too, Mr. Tracy. I'm expecting a phone call from my parents." At Jeff's questioning look, he added, "They're somewhere in Siberia, I think. We don't get to talk much. Time zones, y'know."

"Then I guess we'll have to plan this for next time," Jeff said.

"You're on, Mr. Tracy," Zave replied. He pointed at Alan. "Pinky! You gonna be here for the meet?"

"Coach says I'm in the stands, but yeah, I'll be there," Alan told him.

"Then the pizza's on you tomorrow because we are gonna win!"

Everyone laughed or chuckled, and when the laughter died down, Jeff glanced at his watch. "Well, we'd better get going. Nice to meet you, boys. We'll see you again soon."

"Bye, Mr. Tracy." "See you tomorrow, Pinky!" "Nice to have met you all!" "See you for breakfast, Fermat!"

The boys walked away, already talking among themselves. Alan watched them go, feeling like an outsider for the first time that year. Jeff beckoned to the group, and they began to discuss who would be riding with whom.

The restaurant was nice, perhaps not as posh as Lady Penelope was used to, but the best that Pittsfield had to offer. The food was acceptable, the wine and spirits better, the music and furnishings conducive to lingering and chatting rather than eating and leaving. Still, the party was quiet; the adults having something to talk about that would be easier if the children weren't there, and the kids wanting some time to discuss things that the grown-ups didn't necessarily need to hear.

At last, Tin-Tin excused herself. "I'd like to see the fountain in the lobby, if you don't mind?" she said as she carefully laid her linen napkin by her plate.

"Go ahead, Tin-Tin," Jeff said, smiling and nodding.

"I'd l-like to g-go, too, if it's o-okay with you, Dad," Fermat said, turning to his father.

"G-Go, but d-don't leave the r-restaurant," Brains admonished.

The pair rose and walked off, already beginning to converse in low tones. Brains watched his son leave, a concerned frown on his face.

"Dad? I, uh, need to use the restroom," A.J. said, his face looking distressed.

"Okay, son," Art replied. He glanced up at Alan, and smiled. "Alan? Could you take him, please?"

A.J. began to look stubborn. "Dad, I..."

"I'll go with him, Mr. Trumbull," Alan cut in. "I need to go anyway." He rose from his chair and motioned A.J. to join him. The younger boy did so, scowling as he went.

"I'm not five years old anymore," he grumbled. "I don't need an escort."

"I know that, A.J.," Alan said, "but remember how my dad commented on wanting to talk to yours?"

"Yeah, I do." A.J. pushed open the door to the men's room. There was a small sitting area outside the actual lavatory, but he passed through and headed straight for the stalls, closing the door behind him.

"I think he wanted to talk without us being there," Alan said as he stood before the gleaming white urinal and began to unzip his fly.

"Really?" Andrew's voice sounded muffled, and a bit strained. "Why?"

"I'm not really sure," was the reply.

There was a moment of silence, broken by an occasional grunt, then A.J. sighed. "Dad's here to take me out of school. Says he found a school in Geneva."

Alan finished what he was doing and zipped up. He walked over to the marble sinks. Waving a hand under the soap dispenser got him a palm full of fragrant white foam. Moving his other hand beneath the spigot started the water, and he began to wash. "What kind of school is it? Would you board or be a day student?"

"He's been talking as if it's a boarding school." The toilet flushed, and a moment later, A.J. appeared, still fastening his belt. As he began to wash up, he sighed again. "I'd be starting over."

"It might not be so bad," Alan said, raising his voice to be heard over the air dryer.

"But... why can't I stay here?" The younger boy started the second dryer. "I probably wouldn't see my dad any more than I do now; he'd still be too busy for me." He shook his head. "It's not fair! He hasn't even asked me what I want!"

A.J. sounded on the verge of tears, and Alan put an arm around his shoulders. "I know you want to stay and all, but it may be better this way. You would be closer to him, especially since he seems to spend so much time over there. You probably would see him more often."

"I wish my dad were like yours," A.J. said, wiping a sleeve across his eyes. "He pays attention to what you say."

It was Alan's turn to sigh. "Not always. Besides, you're a lot younger than me. It's easier for a parent – any parent – to think of someone your age as a kid. Hey, in a lot of ways, my dad still sees me as a kid, and it's... okay. Because when you come down to it, I am one. And you are, too." He smiled at the younger boy. "Things will work out, A.J. Whether you like it or not, your dad's doing what he thinks is best. Try to remember that, okay?"

A.J. sniffed, then sniffed again. "I'll... try." He ducked back into the stall and came out with a length of toilet paper. "I'd better blow my nose."

"I can wait." Alan sat in one of the seats outside the lavatory, as A.J. did what he needed to. The younger boy disposed of his makeshift handkerchief, then he pulled open the door, and the two boys left. As they approached the dining area, Alan glanced over to where the knot of adults were talking, then nudged A.J. "Let's go find Fermat and Tin-Tin. I think someone's using their own brand of 'Tracy charm' on your dad."

Jeff took a sip of his whiskey, watching as Alan herded A.J. off to the men's room. There was a silence between the adults as the boys left, then Jeff put down his glass and asked, "So, Art. Have you found that school yet?"

Art snorted a brief laugh. "Always to the point, aren't you, Jeff. Yes, I think I have. Haven't been out to see the place yet, but it comes highly recommended." He took a sip of his martini, then placed the glass on the table and turned it around by the rim. "They said they had an opening; I still hope they have it when Andrew and I go to Switzerland next week."

"Lake Geneva is a beautiful place," Penelope said before sipping her Pernod. "I haven't been there in years."

"I've only seen it from afar, your ladyship," Art replied. "My business has always kept me hopping when I'm over there. No time for sightseeing."

"Please, call me Penelope," she replied with a smile. "Formality ill becomes equals, in business and in pleasure. Especially in our particular business."

Her stress on the word "particular" made Art frown, so Jeff jumped in. "Penny, like you, is a member of the family business. She holds a position similar to your own, but with a different specialty."

Art's eyes opened wide, and he smiled suddenly. "Of course! The pink lady! I've heard of you. Very nice to make your acquaintance."

"And I yours," Penelope replied. "It would have been lovely if we had time on this little jaunt to become more fully acquainted, but sadly, my visit is nearly at an end. I was merely to deliver Tin-Tin to Jeff for her transport home." She smiled. "Seeing Fermat compete was an added pleasure."

"Home?" Art asked, curious. "Back to the island?"

"Yes." Jeff sipped his whiskey again before continuing. "Tin-Tin was attending a boarding school in England when something happened. It involved a peer's daughter, and though Tin-Tin was the one provoked, she was also the one asked to leave."

"Well, that's unfair of them," Art commented.

"V-Very unfair," Brains said firmly, taking a sip of his wine. "But p-perhaps it's best for her. Sh-She was doing well at h-home."

"And she was having difficulty adjusting to the new culture in which she found herself," Penny added. "It was difficult for her to be so far from home and thrust in with girls who already knew how to... 'blend in' would be an appropriate term."

"Hmm." Art sipped his martini, giving Lady Penelope, then Jeff, a thoughtful look. He put the glass down again and laced his fingers, propping his forearms on the edge of the table. "Are you double-teaming me here?"

"I beg your pardon?" Penelope asked, sitting straighter in her chair.

"I know Andrew wants to stay at Wharton," Art explained. "And I'm sure that Fermat and Alan would like to see him stay. I assumed – perhaps hastily – that was what Jeff wanted to talk to me about: leaving Andrew where he was." He glanced at each of the adults at the table. "Am I wrong?"

"Not quite in my case," Jeff admitted. "I did want to talk to you about Andrew. I wanted to find out what your plans were and if I could somehow persuade you – not so much to leave him at Wharton – but to perhaps settle down in one spot so you could be more available to him." He shrugged. "If moving him to Geneva will accomplish that, then more power to you."

"T-Tell me, Art, wh-what kind of sch-sch-sch... academy is this n-new place?" Brains asked. "D-Does the faculty sp-speak English? A-Are there lots of A-American students? W-Will he board or l-live with you?"

"Well," Trumbull drawled, "the faculty is multi-lingual, as much of the area is. English, French, German, Italian and even Spanish are the spoken languages. I suppose that English isn't a first language for some of the faculty, but according to the materials they sent, the teachers are fluent in it." He stopped to think for a moment. "There are American students, most of them the sons of diplomats who serve in Geneva. And," here he sighed, "it is a boarding school. No day students allowed." He held up his hands in a gesture of capitulation. "At least I can take him off campus on weekends, have him stay with me then."

"Art, you do a lot of traveling," Jeff said. "What happens when you're away from Geneva?"

"The same thing that happens when he's here and I'm there; he stays at school," was the answer.

There was a pause and Penny exchanged a long look with Jeff. "I think that what Jeff is trying to say is: what if something untoward should happen while you are away from Geneva."

Art was getting irritated. "The same thing that happens here. He's taken to the local hospital and they call me. I come."

Brains was now up to speed. "Ah, y-yes. So the school arranges f-for Andrew t-to be t-taken to the l-local Sw-Swiss hospital..."

"Where they may not speak English," Jeff said, finishing his engineer's sentence.

Trumbull blinked, and sat up slowly, a frown born of sudden, unwanted enlightenment on his face. "I-I never thought of that." His look toward Jeff had an air of pleading in it. "Surely some of the staff would speak English..."

"B-But would they u-understand Andrew?" Brains said, pressing the point. "B-Basically, when you tr-travel, you're l-leaving him alone... in a str-str-strange country."

Art had no answer, just a sudden slumping deflation of his shoulders. Penny took pity on him, and decided to try another tack. "Mr. Trumbull..."

"Please, call me Art."

"Hm. That is perhaps a bit too colloquial for me. Is your name Arthur?" When Trumbull nodded, she smiled. "I shall call you that, then. It is a kingly name." At his half-smile she continued. "Arthur, where do you consider your home to be? Switzerland or the United States?"

"The States, of course." His answer was quick and sure. "Our place in Connecticut."

"And where does Andrew call home?"

Art looked down. He took in a deep breath and let it out in an equally deep sigh. "Connecticut. That's home to him."

"Then, Arthur, shouldn't he at least be near home, if he cannot be at home?"

"More importantly," Jeff quietly added, "shouldn't you be near home, if you can't be at home?" When there was no response, he went on. "Art, your firm is big enough, and you have enough clout to stay here in the States, maybe commute to Washington or New York and see Andrew on the weekends, like you plan to do in Geneva. But if he stays here, he'd be in a culture and a language he understands, and if something happens, you can be at his side quickly." Jeff smiled. "You could head over to Geneva during the summer break, and take him with you. That way you're still keeping your contacts open there." He finished off his whiskey. "I'm not saying you have to keep him at Wharton; if you're uncomfortable with it – and I can see that you might be - find another school, perhaps even closer to home. But... he's so young, and needs his dad as close to twenty-four seven as he can get."

Art looked at Brains, raising an eyebrow. "Your boy isn't much older than mine," he challenged. "How can you justify leaving him at a school so far from home?"

Brains rubbed the back of his head, and looked rueful. "G-Good question. I gu-guess it's b-because he's so br-br-br... intelligent, my o-only alternative is to t-t-t... educate him m-myself. And I c-can't do that and w-work." He smiled. "B-Besides, he's n-not alone. He has A-Alan... and vice-v-v-versa." He played with the stem of his empty wine glass. "Still, it's n-n-n... never easy."

"My observation has been, with regards to Tin-Tin, that she was having trouble with the culture of the school she was attending, and integrating herself into it," Penny said. "Even though I was available as an 'honorary aunt', so to speak, she was far more used to having her time as her own, and being accepted as an equal among peers." She shook her head. "Had I known that the students of the school would be such little bi... well, I shan't be coarse. Had I known this, I would have suggested a less prestigious school, or perhaps that Tin-Tin could live with me and go to state school in the village... though I understand that even there she would have had difficulty fitting in."

"That's very likely, Penny," Jeff said, regret coloring his tone. "I've suggested that perhaps she should go to school somewhere near the boys, but then she won't even have an honorary aunt to lean on. She'll probably be better off at home, and returning to her satellite studies."

There was another quiet interlude, and Art looked at each of the people facing him. Then he cleared his throat. "I... appreciate what you've said to me this evening. You've brought up some salient points for me to consider." He paused, and drained the last drop of liquor from his martini glass. "I love Geneva and what I do there, but I eat, breathe and sleep it. To be honest, I probably wouldn't have much more time for Andrew than I do now. I'll think about what you've all said, and for the time being, leave Andrew at Wharton." He shifted his position and pulled down on his waistcoat. "However, I think I will take him home for a day or so and spend some father-son time with him. He needs it; we both do."

"Good," Jeff said, nodding in satisfaction. He glanced at his watch. "Now, where did those kids get to?"

"It's g-good to see you, T-Tin-Tin," Fermat said as they left the dining room for the restaurant's spacious lobby. "We h-haven't had time to t-t-t... speak with each o-other though."

"That's why I wanted to go to the fountain. I'd hoped you and Alan would take the hint and follow me," Tin-Tin said. She glanced back to see Alan and A.J. emerge from the dining room, and paused, one hand on Fermat's casted arm to stop him. But the other two walked off in the opposite direction, toward the lavatories, and she sighed, then turned to Fermat. "How's the arm?"

"It's o-okay," he said. "Itches like h-h-h... c-crazy."

Tin-Tin smiled. "I was afraid that you'd cracked open your head falling from the bunk. How'd you manage just the arm?"

"Some of Sc-Scott's tr-tr-tr... lessons on falling m-must have p-penetrated my sub-c-conscious," he replied.

"That makes sense, I guess."

They came to the fountain, a moderately-sized marble construction with edges wide enough to sit on, a classic Greek damsel pouring water from a marble pitcher into a round tray, and a number of coins in the smooth lower basin. They sat on the side that faced away from the double doors. The maître d' saw them come in, recognized them as part of the Tracy party, and smiled at them. "If you need anything, let me know," she said.

"Thank you," Tin-Tin replied for them both.

"S-So," Fermat began, settling his cast in a comfortable position. "How come you're g-going home?"

She bit her lower lip and was quiet for what seemed like a long time. "It... it's hard to talk about," she finally murmured. "There was this girl; she's the daughter of some Lord or other. She took a dislike to me from the first day, it seems. Made fun of the way I talked, the way I walked, the way I dressed, my skin, my eyes... just everything!" She clenched her fists on her lap as she talked. "I tried to avoid her as much as I could, but she had lots of friends and if she wasn't putting me down, they were. None of them even tried to get to know me."

"I-I'm s-sorry, T-Tin-Tin," Fermat said quietly, putting a hand on her arm.

"Thanks, Fermat," she replied, giving him a wan smile.

"So, wh-what happened?"

She sighed. "I really don't want to talk about it, okay?"

Fermat frowned. To him, this was something new. Tin-Tin was usually far more open with him, and with Alan, than she was being now. He decided to say so. "Tin-Tin, this isn't l-like you. You u-usually tell me... st-stuff."

"Well, I don't want to tell you this."

"Why n-not?" His sharp question made her turn to him in shock. "We're fr-friends, aren't we?"

"Yes."

"Then why w-won't you t-tell me?"

Her shoulders slumped and she turned her body away. "B-Because you might not want to be my friend anymore."

He hadn't taken his hand from her arm, and now he gave it a little squeeze. "N-Not g-gonna happen, not ever."

"Even if...?" Her voice sounded as if she were about to cry.

"Even if wh-what?" he prodded gently.

She turned back to him, tears beginning to run down her face. "Even if I'm becoming just like my uncle?"