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Let us start by apologizing for leaving the cliffhanger with which chapter 30 ended hanging for another chapter. There is a really good reason, involving what else is going on in the CSU, why this chapter cannot address the events of Saturday. Which means that Josiah, Maureen, Jonas, Harry, Calvin, and Peter are taking the chapter off, while events in the lives of the rest of the Jigsaw crew catch up to where they ended chapter 30, late Friday evening. The character 'Runt' in this chapter and Camp Bam Bam is dedicated to our real-life acquaintance Dillon Guy, who went through much of what 'Runt' has had to deal with. As always, Darryl the Radio Rancher, ACFan, Ilùvantìr, Roland, the Story Lover, and a host of others have been worlds of help, and we gratefully appreciate it.
From Chapter 30:
Across the commbadges, Adam Casey's voice could be heard firm and clear: “This is Commander Adam Casey. We are currently setting up for a full scale Military invasion of a hostile base holding many Genesis Children. The Special Forces division is asking for any help that can be given. Please contact Daileass with what you can do. Thank you.”
Skipper triggered his commbadge. "Daileass, this is Skipper Hamilton. Let Adam know he's got a trained Navy corpsman available as a combat medic here."
Bobby's eyes were blazing with determination. "Add me to that, Daileass. After this gift, if Adam needs help, where Skipper goes, I go."
Grace spoke up. "You're my only son, Bobby...."
"Mother, this is something I've got to do." Bobby was adamant, and more than slightly angry.
"You misunderstand me, son," Grace said calmly. "I know you have to do this. What I'm saying is, I'm still a trained and certified nurse, and I won't let you go into danger without me. Count me in; I'm coming, too."
"You two don't have combat training," Skipper began to say, when he was cut off by Brandon. "I want to help, too. You said you'd teach me."
Little Andy looked terrified that he'd be left out, left alone as the people he'd come to count on went off to war. "I'm coming too," he said with little-boy determination.
Skipper triggered his commbadge again. "Got a problem, Dail."
"Hang on a moment, I'm putting you through to Will. Daileass said.
"Will Casey. What's up, Skipper?"
Feeling stressed, Skipper said, "Listen, I'm combat trained, Navy corpsman. But I've got Bobby, Grace, and our two boys insisting on helping out, and I have no intention of taking untrained people into combat."
Will's smile came through in his tone even over the voice-only commbadges. "That situation can be easily rectified — and I think I have a pilot trainee there who needs to learn to fly his bird, too." He paused, obviously listening to off-mike instructions too faint to be audible. "Just tell everyone to get on board the helicopter, and relax."
Surprised but determined gazes met him from the other four. He gestured to the helicopter. "Guess we do what the man said." They hopped on, Bobby taking the pilot's seat and little Andy the copilot's, while Grace, Skipper, and Brandon looked over the fully equipped Medevac 'copter. A few seconds later, the helicopter vanished from the scene.
What met their eyes was unexpected, to say the least. They had expected to be transported to the Unit's hangar bay, but they, and the Medevac helicopter they were in, were sitting in the middle of a meadow. A blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds was overhead; the grass around them was speckled with blue, orange, and yellow wildflowers. Perhaps 100 feet away, a large group of young people was emerging from ... somewhere ... and the Unit's 'copters were scattered beyond them over more meadow. Off to one side was some sort of giant war machine, bristling with weaponry, and a young Klingon looking boy with Hispanic features in fatigues was dancing around it.
"Well, this is freaky!" Bobby said unnecessarily; Brandon and Andy giggled. He made as if to climb out.
"Stop!" his mother said. As he turned, irritated, to see what she was on about, she continued, "When you're in a situation you don't expect, always move cautiously, and think through what you're going to do first if there's time. And you have people you're responsible for; you can't take risks you don't need to, while you're responsible for them." Her gesture took in Brandon and Andy. "Probably everything is just fine, from what you've told me about Adam and his crew. But it won't hurt to wait here and find out."
Skipper nodded. "She's right, mugwump. I want answers as much as you do, but I want to be pointing guns in all directions at once, trying to make sure the four of you are safe. It won't hurt to wait and find out what's going on."
They didn't have long to wait; a few minutes later, Will came trotting over, followed by Mickey, Jed, Jared, and four other boys.
"Hey, guys!" he called out cheerfully. "Come on out here, and let me explain what's going on!"
Bobby didn't need to be invited twice; Skipper jumped down just behind him, and Grace and the two younger boys followed.
"Okay, here's the scoop: we're inside a police box from 1950s London."
{That's what I look like, not what I am} came from nowhere and everywhere. They all looked around, startled.
"You know the Doctor Who stories? Well, they're real ... sort of. Only the Doctor this time around is a ten-year-old boy, and that was the TARDIS talking ... again more or less."
Grace looked skeptical. Will noticed. "I don't blame you, there. Hey, just this morning we met some refugees from a world where we're all characters in stories. It's more of the same thing. Apparently, what the Clan's got involved in is attracting the attention of some unusual entities. Anyway, the Doctor showed up, and offered us Time. It's kind of like, we can take as long as we want, in here, train as much as we need. You won't grow older, you won't miss anyone, it'll seem like five minutes or so to you afterwards. And we'll go back to right when we left." He paused. "Or so the Doctor says, and he ought to know."
He was hit with a barrage of questions. "Whoa! One at a time!"
"Okay, first. Everybody's going to go through a sort of basic training, a boot camp for people our age. Then specialty training, to give you the skills you need." He grinned. "And yes, Bobby, that includes piloting this baby." He patted the Superhawk.
"I want to get trained to be like Bobby," Brandon said, chin out and trying to look brave.
"We can do this," Will answered. "And that means both combat medic like Skipper, and copiloting this bird, right?"
Brandon's eyes grew wide. "Yeah!" he exclaimed, in a tone you might hear from a kid whom Santa has just told him he's going to spend two weeks at Disney World.
"Mister?" Little Andy's voice was tremulous, but he was standing straight, determined to do his part. "I want to help, too!"
"I'm Will, not 'mister'," he answered. He paused, looking at the eight-year-old. "How are you at games that make you balance stuff?"
"Pretty good," Andy answered, mystified.
"He's really good at them," Brandon volunteered, backing up his little brother.
"Good; I've got just the job for you," Will answered, remembering a time early in the Unit's existence when he'd dealt with the same thing from another boy. "You can be the loadmaster."
"Huh?" Andy asked, echoed by Bobby and Brandon. Skipper however smiled, seeing it as the perfect answer.
"For a bird to fly safely, it has to be in trim, in balance, side to side and back to front." Will went on. "That's not bad for a cargo or fighting 'copter, and even passenger transport is fairly easy to balance. But on a Medevac, you have wounded patients, medics moving around working on them, and for the pilot to fly it safely, he can't have the balance shifting as he flies. So that means there needs to be somebody in charge inside, making sure the load stays in trim. Your job would be to keep it in balance by telling people to move from side to side, or shift things from side to side, while making sure the medics have space to work. Sound like something you can handle?"
Andy was grinning from ear to ear. "Yeah!"
"Let's talk about school," Francis said to the four boys, as he and Bernie sat down opposite them in one 'conversation group' of furniture.
Blakey and Tory looked upset, but said nothing, yet. Pat opened his mouth; Benny cut him off. "We're not going back to school!" he said firmly. "None of us wants to have to constantly get into fights and then be punished for defending ourselves. None of us care a whit for the sort of stuff teachers think we ought to be learning. Why should we care that Des Moines is the capital of Iowa when we'll probably never go there? Or what the Bill of Rights is supposed to guarantee, when obviously it doesn't apply to kids?"
Bernie seemed taken aback by Benny's vehemence. "Without an education, you won't know how to run our business when you get old enough to, or even to get a good job, if you decide to go do something else,/ instead. And you know what the alternative is, from your own experience, already."
Pat interjected, "We like learning stuff, mostly. It's school we don't like, and Benny said why. We get hassled and don't learn anything useful, just facts we have no use for."
Francis nodded. "I thought that might be the case. You don't object to learning interesting stuff; it's attending public school, and what happens there, that you have an issue with."
"Not a private school, either," Benny said. "You gotta wear those monkey suit uniforms, and if somebody's going to be sticking it up my butt, I want it to be because he's paying me, not because it's his privilege as an upperclassman."
"You heard about them, then?" Bernie asked. "Mine wasn't quite that bad, but I'd hate to be the one trying to talk you into going there."
"Oh, I don't know," Francis said with a quirky smile. "I think these four could teach those insufferable prigs quite a bit."
Benny started to raise an objection; Francis hushed him. "Whoa! We aren't seriously suggesting prep school for any of you, not unless it was what you wanted."
"So what do you have in mind?" Pat asked, his curiosity aroused by what had been said already.
"Bernie, do you know if Trevor has found a position yet?" Francis asked.
"No, he hasn't. No matter how the law reads, nobody is prepared to hire an openly gay upper elementary/middle school teacher," Bernie answered. "You're thinking...."
"Yes. Want to give him a call, have him come for lunch, and then the boys and we can interview him?"
"Huh?" Blakey said. "Interview him? Us?"
"Yes," Francis said. "I wouldn't want to hire a tutor that you four couldn't get along with. But I think you and Trevor will get along just fine."
Basic training was tough, even in the Tardis. But Grace and the boys stuck with it. Bobby had the attitude, 'If Skipper can do it, so can I!' and Mickey was equally committed, knowing he was responsible for his wife-to-be, an old lady who was like a grandmother to them all, and four younger boys. And Jed and Jared had the same attitude as Bobby – 'If Mickey can take it, so can we!'
After basic. Will came around to take Bobby off to train him to pilot his 'bird'. Brandon was determined to learn to copilot for him. Will looked appraisingly at the ten-year-old, all 4'8" and 85 pounds of him, and said, "Sure!"
"Really!? You mean it?!"
"Sure do. It takes aptitudes, learned skills, and a sense of responsibility, not measuring up to somebody's arbitrary age or height qualifications. How old do you think I am?"
"You're older, like Bobby."
"Nope. He's going to learn from someone two years younger than him. And a year and something older than you. Not that much difference, huh?"
"That's ridiculous!" Bobby said hotly. "We're doing this to save lives, not to take them!"
"Nonetheless, that's how it's going to be," Billy said. "Adam insists on it, and I'm completely behind him. After Saturday, we will never send anyone into a combat situation that isn't both equipped and trained to defend himself, and those around him."
"I see his point," Skipper interjected. "I had to think this through before I went for Navy combat medic training. Bobby, nobody is saying you or I have to jump into battle like Two-Gun Brady, spraying bullets everywhere. But what if you're on the battlefield trying to bandage a wound, splint a break, or whatever, and you look up and there's a sniper about to shoot at Brandon or your mother? You need to take him out of the equation, the same way as you need to clear spectators gawking at wounds back so you have room to work. You don't have to shoot to kill, just to incapacitate. And frankly, anybody who thinks it's God's will to torture kids, you're making it a better world if you send him on to his judgment."
"Well, um..." Bobby hadn't thought of it in those terms.
"I want to make sure you guys are safe while you're trying to save my brothers and sisters," Billy said. "And frankly, the UNIT doesn't have the manpower to stand guard over you while you work. You've got to be able to protect yourselves."
Grace put in her two cents. "They're talking sense, son. Remember, I made a bargain with you, when you and Skipper committed to each other – I'll treat you as an adult, and not give you orders as a parent, as long as you're using common sense and reasonable care in what you do? Have I broken that bargain?"
"Well, no..."
"Then listen to what they're saying, as an adult with kids you're responsible for. Don't be an idealistic kid, face facts and make the right decision yourself. Don't make me get all Mother knows best on you."
"All right," Bobby conceded. "I see what you're saying. But I don't have to like it."
"Nobody said you did," Billy said. "None of us do. I'll kill who I have to kill, but I never lose sight of the idea that they were once little kids playing on swings, same as we were. That's the hell of it."
Brandon was exhausted. Though he was big for his age – almost eleven – and in good physical shape, Adam's "Basic Training for Kids" was nearly as grueling as the Army's, and that was for young men full grown. He flopped down into the water gladly, enjoying its relief from the sweat and mire.
Hearing a noise to the left, he looked over. Another kid about his size was climbing in, maybe six feet away. "Hey," he said, and smiled a weary smile. "I'm Brandon Jessup," he said. "Who're you?"
The 'Kid' seemed lost in his own thoughts, as indeed he was. This was nothing like what he had expected when he took the offer to come to this place. He'd been here all of two days, and so far he'd been blown away at almost every turn. He didn't talk to anyone, or at least anyone that looked like they could be in charge. He didn't trust anyone, yet, no one pushed him to tell them 'his' story. He'd overheard many of the kids telling things about their pasts, but no one ever pushed him to talk.
He didn't even realize there was someone else in the 'pool', but when Brandon introduced himself, the boy decided that maybe it was time to have a friend. He wouldn't of course, tell him everything, but it would be nice to have someone to talk to. The kid seemed embarrassed at first to answer, and when he finally did, Brandon realized why. "My name's Runt."
That raised several questions in Brandon's mind. But with youthful brashness, he went ahead and raised them, one by one. "That sucks; why'd your parents name you something like that?"
Runt shrugged and changed the subject quickly. "So, you must have been another of the homeless street kids they rescued this week, like me?"
"Not exactly," Brandon explained. "Our parents – my brother Andy and me – died, so we were living with my grandpa."
"Hey, same here, sorta!" Runt said with a big smile.
"Your grandpa beat you, so you ran away to be a street kid?" Brandon asked.
"No – it took Grandfather a long time to get used to me, but by the time he died, we had got really close," Runt said sadly. "Is that what happened to you?"
"Nope," Brandon said. "I thought about running away, but I'd need to save Andy too, 'n' I was tryin' to figure out what I could do to keep us alive if we ran away. I just figured you had, 'cause you said you were a homeless street kid." He felt like he was making a new friend, and decided to level with him. "Grandpa beat us, 'n' these triplets that are part of Clan Short figured that out and called in the Tiny Terrors to help rescue us." Brandon, of course, had made the common mistake of thinking Danny of the U.T. was a third member of a set of triplets, not a year younger than his twin brothers, and both Brandon and his brother had already gotten to know the Unit's Strike Team Foxtrot and the nickname they bore proudly. "So Skipper and Bobby adopted us, and we came along with them to learn how to be medics like they are. It's like a dream come true for us."
"Don't get your hopes up," Runt said dourly. "I've had dreams come true before, and they don't last. Enjoy them while you can, before you lose them again."
Brandon was shocked. "Whaddaya mean?" he asked.
"Just what I said," Runt answered with a mixture of patience, irritation, and sadness in his voice. "Dreams do come true, but they go away again. 'S the story of my life." He too decided to spill the beans, seeing a friendship building and longing for it. "Father found me when I was five, and got me away from my birth mother. She didn't really want me anyway; the only use I was to her was to get more money from the government. It was supposed to be to feed and clothe me, but she needed her crack to survive." He glowered.
"Father really wanted me, and he made me feel wanted and loved. I'd never known, till then, you were supposed to feel that way. 'N' he told me that it'd take time for Mother and Grandfather to get used to the idea of having a little boy in their family, but if I kept loving them, they'd learn to love me back. And he was right."
Runt began to tear up a little at the memories; he wiped his eyes angrily, ashamed of the weakness. "That lasted five years. Then Father and Mother got killed in the Twin Towers on 9/11, when I was ten. And the reason they went there was to transfer the trust stuff, because we already knew Grandfather was dying. So I lost him too."
Brandon did some fast math in his head. "When you were ten?" he asked, more or less rhetorically. "That was three years ago, and you don't look any older than me." He smiled, to take a little of the sting off. "Though they tell me I'm big for my age."
"Told ja my other mother, the one who gave birth to me..."
"Your real mother?"
"Mother was my real mother!" Runt said vehemently. "Doesn't matter she was legally my stepmother; she was the one who loved me, at least after she got used to the idea." He grinned inwardly at the memory. "That's why I call her 'Mother' and the woman who gave birth to me 'my other mother' or 'my birth mother'."
"Sorry!"
"'S okay; I know what you meant. But I had ta make that clear. Anyway, I told ja my birth mother was a crackhead, and didn't feed me right." He shrugged. "Th' doctors said I'd grow out of it eventually, or they could give me some kind of shots. Fat chance of that now, though!"
"Why's that?" Brandon asked.
"The bast- um, the crooks stole my family's money after Grandfather died. That's why I was on the street. So I'm stuck being a runt forever, I guess. What you see is what you get."
He noticed the sun was dropping down the western sky. "C'mon," he said, jumping out of the pool. "I gotta go over to the mess halls and find a good cut of meat."
"Is that part of your diet, to help deal with...?" Brandon's gesture finished the thought his words didn't – 'to help deal with the fact that Runt at nearly 14 looked very much like a healthy ten-year-old like Brandon.
"Naah. Wouldn't do me enough good to bother with, the doctors said." Runt was dismissive of the idea. "It's for Khan."
"Khan? The big tiger kid?"
"Yeah. He takes pity on me or something – he makes sure to bring me a cup of good coffee every morning. Dunno why, but it really means a lot to me that somebody big and strong like him is that kind to a shrimp like me." Runt shrugged again. "So every night I can, I go looking for a really good cut of meat before they cook it, for him. 'S the least I can do to say thanks for his kindness."
Francis answered the door. "Good, come on in, Travis," he said affably.
The man who walked in seemed to Pat to look, somehow ... fragile. Slender almost to gauntness, dirty blond hair, a large narrow nose just one size too small to appear oversized, "eagle beak", but close. Sea-blue eyes, prominent cheekbones, a chin that was not quite receding but seemed slightly too small, long arms and fingers. And a hint, just a hint, of effeminateness. A warm, bulky sweater in a color complementing his eyes, and tan corduroy slacks. He hugged Francis warmly, then turned and did the same to Bernie as Francis deftly took his jacket, then looked at the four boys with a warm smile and an assessing look.
"Our sons, Trev," Bernie said with, wow!, he sounded proud of them. "This is Tory, then Benny, Pat, and the little cutie there is Blakey. Formal names are Salvatore, Benjamin, Patrick, and Blake, but now you've heard 'em, forget 'em; they prefer the nicknames. I'll give them to you again later for the formal records. Boys, this is our good friend Trevor, who is a professional tutor. Wine, Trev?"
"Yeah, if you have something light and white."
"We have a nice zinfandel without too much of a kick; will that be all right?" Francis asked.
"Sounds good." He turned to the boys. "Hi, guys!" Somewhat lackluster responses from them caused him only momentary surprise. "You know, don't you, this is a job interview?"
"Huh?" Tory was baffled.
"Okay, what's going to go on is that I'm going to brief you guys on what I plan to do with you if Francis and Bernie hire me, but more importantly, answer any questions you guys have, and I mean any questions. If I leave here today with a job, it will be because seven people agree I should be teaching you: that's Bernie, Francis, myself, and the four of you. That means if any of you really don't like me, you can say 'No' and make it stick. Though if the other three do like me, I might just end up teaching them, while you get your own tutor that you like better."
Blakey's eyes were large at the idea he had a veto. Benny looked up at the two men with something like affection. "You really meant it," he said simply, with an undertone of gratitude.
"Yep. I won't say you'll never/i> get an order from one of us and be expected to do it, or get told 'No' for really good reason," Francis said, "but your days of having no say in your life are over."
"I laid out my plans for how today will go first," Trevor said, "to give you a clue of how I take charge and how I explain things, but the other half of the equation is important too: Are you boys happy with doing it that way? And do you have any questions yet?" He was met with silence. "Go ahead; let me know what you think," he expanded. "This is pretty much what I told Francis I'd do earlier. Nobody is going to be upset if you have an opinion even if you disagree."
"Doesn't sound like we have much of a choice," Pat said with a resigned tone to his voice.
All three adults turned to argue with him. Trevor, noting his expression, held up his hand. "That's about half true, Pat," he said. "Since that's where I planned to go next, let's level with each other." Guardedly, Pat nodded. The two younger boys were watching this exchange nervously.
Trevor went on. "You need to be given an education. That's something you don't get a choice about, because the law requires it."
"You four are special cases, thanks to Pen and his friends," Francis interjected. "But I'd like to see any of you try to convince Ambassador Sarek that leaving you uneducated is logical." He smiled.
"Where your choice comes in," Trevor continued, "is in how you learn, as well as, to some degree, what you learn. As you've probably noticed, your ... guardians?"
"Fathers," Bernie supplied.
"Your fathers have the resources to give you a lot of choices there. What I've found works with kids like you, who don't like a public school environment, is to turn it into a college-style tutoring experience. You know why the three of us liked college so much?" Trevor's expression invited an answer.
"Sex, drugs, and rock and roll?" Benny supplied with a grin.
"Well, one third right, is one part of it," Trevor grinned back. "Freedom from adult orders, including about sex, yeah. But the key part was we could study what we were interested in, what we could use in our careers, not what some state bureaucrat figured we needed to learn. To get our degrees, we had to learn certain things, and sometimes we had to take boring prerequisites to get the classes we really wanted. But the main point is, we got to choose."
Trevor had the boys' attention now. He continued, "That's what I hope you'll agree to my doing. You guys figure out, on an ongoing basis, what you want to learn. I work with you, one on one or four on one, to help you get there. Most of it will be do-it-yourself study – I show you where and how to get what you need; you study it, with me available to help you past any rough spots. When I've got Benny set up with what he wants for the day, I do the same thing for Tory. Then for Blake and Pat. Or the other way around," he added hastily at the looks from the last-named two.
"I don't get the pre-wreck-sit thing," Blakey said leadingly.
"It's pretty simple," Trevor replied. "Sometimes, before you can learn a particular thing, you need some background from another course. So you have to take that other course first before the one that really interests you."
"I get it," Tory said. "Like if we wanted to learn how to blow things up, we'd need to know chemistry before we could learn about explosives?"
"Probably not the example I'd have picked," Trevor said with a laugh, "but you've got the idea down pat there."
"I don't get it," said Blakey.
"Okay," Trevor said. "Benny, what do you think of Bernie's Esprit?"
"His sports car? It's beautiful! I can't wait for a chance to go for a ride in it."
"Why bother getting a ride?" Trevor said. "Get the keys from Bernie, and take Blakey here out for a drive!"
Francis was ready to angrily object; Bernie, catching a hunch of what Trevor was up to, motioned him to wait.
"Huh? I don't know how to drive; I'd wreck it!"
"That doesn't matter. They have loads of money; they can afford to replace it."
"But we might get killed!" Blakey was wide eyed and shocked.
"You don't want to go for a ride with Benny?" Trevor asked him.
"Well, yeah, but after he learns how to drive." Blakey said. Then, "Oh, now I get it!"
Bernie was smiling. Trevor asked, "Any more questions?"
"You're gay, aren't you?" Tory asked abruptly.
"Yes, I am," Trevor said. "Does that pose a problem for you?"
"Nah, we're gay too. But does that mean you're gonna wanna do sex stuff with us?"
"Nope. I like men – big strong men. You guys are cute, but you're not my type." Trevor was nervous about this question, but trying to carry off an 'unflappable' image to them.
"That's all I needed to know," Tory said. "That's cool; I hope you get a good guy."
"As the old sage said, a hard man is good to find," Pat said impishly. Trevor did a doubletake and gave a delighted laugh.
"Any other questions?" he asked. "We can get into exactly what the state expects and what all you guys can get into beyond that after we know if I'm hired."
Pat looked at the other three, then said, "I think we don't have any more questions."
"Okay, then," Francis said. "I'm going to go fix lunch, and Bernie should probably check in with the stores. Trev, join me, if you please. You four, talk it out and let me or Bernie know if you want us to hire Trevor." He turned and walked to the kitchen.
As Francis efficiently put a lunch together, he asked Trevor, "I think you passed with flying colors, but let's see what they have to say. But I have to ask, what was that bit with the car about?"
"It's simple. You can explain a concept over and over, with examples, and they'll either get it or they won't. But if you lead them to figure it out for themselves, it'll stick with them. Over and above which, I noticed Blakey is just a touch insecure. Which way is better at saying to him, 'You're a smart kid, you're worthwhile and important': explaining it to him or having him figure it out?"
"Ah. As Stanislavsky said to the actor playing Lear, there's method to your madness!"
Trevor grinned. "That was one of your worst puns, you know."
"So what about your schedule?" Francis asked.
"Well, I went over it. I'm going to have to not be available Tuesday afternoons for a month. Barton and Esther want me to keep working with Trey, and I really can't drop that. Being outed at his prep school and the attempted suicide – he really needs all the help he can get. But I'll be glad to be rid of Emily Carmichael. That's one self-styled princess that makes me glad I'm gay. And my other two clients are 'on call' situations, where I can say I've taken on a commitment without offending any one."
"Sounds good. We'll find out what the boys think, at lunch."
"I get the impression that they really don't believe it's their choice," Trevor mused. "Maybe we need to address that?"
"I did everything but write them out a notarized contract to make it clear to them," Francis said.
"Let me," said Trevor.
After "Basic Training for Kids," they got down to some serious business. Everyone went for specialized training in one or more military specialties. Skipper found himself drafted to help Chang and three UNIT Medics in training a group of would-be healer kids and teens up to combat medic level. Will Casey and Billy Tompkins, with the help of Chris Dempsey and Lisa Kingston, undertook to train new 'copter pilots. Bobby and Brandon, of course, signed up for both. Other experienced UNIT members would be training flight crews and ground crew to service the 'birds'.
With a sense of having limited choices but still able to have a piece of his dream, Runt trudged towards those signing up for ground crew. Brandon noticed, and caught Billy's eye. "He's already got some fixed-wing pilot training, thanks to his dad," Brandon said. "And I know his dream's to fly a 'copter. Did you guys tell him he couldn't?"
Will had walked up behind his boyfriend, and overheard Brandon asking about his new friend. He thought things over, and decided to 'bend' one of Adam's directives. He reached out with his telepathy and did a surface scan of what Runt was thinking. "Go get him, babe," he said to Billy. "Good catch," he added to Brandon, and turned to deal with the group lined up in front of Lisa.
"You're headed in the wrong direction, Bartholomew," Billy said, using Runt's formal given name on purpose.
"No, I'm not," Runt replied. "What you see is what you get. I'm never going to be much bigger than this."
"It takes dexterity and quick reflexes to fly a helicopter, not size and strength. In fact, up to a point the less you weigh, the better – it makes room for more payload."
"But I won't be able to reach the controls!"
Billy spun Runt around and looked him square in the eyes. "Runt, do you know how long I've been walking?" he asked rhetorically. "Since Sunday night. Before that, I expected to be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. They adapted my bird so I could fly it without working legs. Making adjustments for someone who's ... vertically challenged ... is child's play by comparison." He paused. "Now, if you can keep looking me in the eye and tell me you don't want to learn to fly, I'll leave you alone to join ground crew training or whatever. Otherwise, go stand over there by Brandon, while Will and I start the first briefing for prospective pilots."
With a song in his heart, Runt carried out his orders.
Malinda was pleased, and secretly amused, to be working with Jory to train those who "wanted to make big booms", that is, to work in demolitions – about half of whom seemed as interested in her body as in her knowledge of military explosives. She chuckled at the thought, and at Daileass's comment that both her military specialty and her favorite recreation could be described as 'making things explode.' Her course grew popular, not the least reason for which was her own private twist on pre-classroom calesthenics.
Mickey had developed an unexpected talent for tactics, which his teachers were encouraging. Todd, of course, was fully engaged with his clone-brothers in figuring out what A.U.S.T.I.N.-level Generation Three android programming was capable of in terms of intelligence gathering and processing. The Chipmunks were as happy as, well, a squirrel that's found the secret passage into the Planter's Peanuts warehouse.
"Clan Short Orlando, McKendrick/Templeton Detachment, C.J. speaking." The beep of the boys' Vulcan terminal had interrupted the 'rescue' he and Raffy were mounting on their bedroom floor, using plastic toy Army tanks and figurines and Starfleet shuttlecraft and interceptors, and C.J. was giving his eight-year-old best to sounding 'official' in answering it.
It was not, however, anyone from the Clan or the Embassy on the line. "C.J.? We need you guys' help again. There's a couple of high school kids that got wind that we got ol' Ralphie locked up, and they said they were gonna get Lee for it, rough him up in revenge. Missy Atwater overheard them talkin', and she told me. And Dad's providing security escort for some bigwig, so he's not available. Help!"
"Hey, Lonnie! No problem. Jed 'n' Jared an' Mickey are just finishing up their security training now. They'll be home in half an hour or so, and we'll come right over!"
"Wouldja? Awesome! Thanks, bro!"
"Count on us, Lonnie. C.J. out."
As C.J. excitedly began to tell Raffy what Lonnie had said, Sylvia's voice rang out. "Boys!? Come here, please."
They ran out to the living room, where Sylvia was sitting next to the telephone. "That was Mickey on the phone," she said, though the boys, focused on the terminal, hadn't heard it ring. "They just got sworn in, issued their uniforms and phasers and all, when that Adam Casey called. Apparently more of the kids who got kidnapped by that general are being held somewhere, and they're going to go rescue them. Mickey, Jed, and Jared are going with them."
"But we..." Raffy started to say.
"What they're doing is more important than what they promised us," C.J. interrupted to say. He had a plan in mind, and it was important that Sylvia and Rina not catch on, or they'd stop them. "C'mon back to our room, and let's talk about it."
"That's a very mature attitude to take, C.J.," Sylvia complimented him. "I know you two are disappointed, whatever you and they had planned, but I'm glad you can put it in perspective, and see that what they're doing is more important."
"What we were gonna do together, Raffy and I can take care of," C.J. said. "It'll just be a little tougher than if we had our big brothers to help." Raffy looked at him with open eyes and mouth, catching a glimpse of what C.J. was thinking but not willing to get him in trouble by speaking up and tattling.
They headed back to their room. "We can't do this by ourselves," Raffy said.
"Sure we can," C.J. said. "Look, I figured out what Nate and Lije needed last Saturday, and you passed sentence on Ralphie and them. We can handle it! C'mon!"
"I got a bad feeling about this," Raffy said.
C.J. pulled out their Clan cloaks and started to put his on, handing Raffy his. "We'll go out the back way and get our bikes," he told Raffy. "It'll go smooth; we know what we're doing."
"I hope so," Raffy said. "But we did promise Lonnie, and the guys aren't going to be home to help. So I guess we better go."
Resplendent in their Clan cloaks, they slipped down the hall to the back door, and out onto their bikes. Neither noticed that sitting on the shelf above the table between their beds were their commbadges.
After getting a hyped-up Dan back into his bed, Tony curled up for the night on a spare bed at the Camp Bam Bam Clinic. As he dozed off, he thought with a sense of wonder what his life had been like the past week. Only eight days ago, the world had been his oyster – high school was a drag, for sure, but he had a girl friend who put out – sometimes – and a rich male "fuck buddy" who worshipped his dick and would do just about anything he wanted – and 'loan' him money for it. He remembered the tryst with Pen after school on the abandoned farm, just a week and a day ago. Then Friday, the abortive make-out session with Lisa, finding Pen in order to get his rocks off, the urgency he'd felt, the result that had injured Pen, the strange trial at the school Monday, being called by Jonas just that morning, and the day that had turned his life around. He was working harder here at the Clinic than he ever had in his life, but the strange thing was, he felt good about it. Not to mention that Malinda wanted to jump his bones, and made no secret of it, in a way Lisa never had, even when she was horniest. Then there was Dan, little and immature for his age, putting his trust in Tony. And finally the debriefing he and Dan had been ordered to sit in on, where this UNIT had taken out a kiddy-diddler – and he realized with shock what the story was with Dan. No wonder he wanted a friend so badly, and was so embarrassed by popping a boner!
Then it dawned on Tony what everybody was so upset about on Monday. He saw himself through their eyes, and realized that to them, he wasn't a whole lot different from Jerome. Sure he didn't use kids, but what he'd done was the same thing – he wanted Lisa, and Pen, not for who they were, with sex something they liked doing together, but as people he could screw – and in fact had more or less screwed over. Just like Jerome had screwed over Dan and Little Petey.
That didn't sit well. Nobody likes to face that sort of truth about themselves, and Tony was far from an exception. He committed himself to being the big brother that Dan seemed to need, and a good boyfriend for Malinda – hopefully with a lot of the promised sex thrown in.
As he drifted off to sleep, that felt right. He was thinking straight again, realizing his mistake and ready to make the changes he needed to. But what he forgot was that they might have other plans.
Clarke's Third Law says that any sufficiently developed technology is indistinguishable from magic. Through the technology, or magic, of the Time Lords, three and a half years of training and preparation were completed in what was to the outside world ten minutes. Nor did it seem like they'd been away that long, even to them. How this was accomplished, I have no idea. But then again, I have no idea how the union of a sperm and an egg turns into a new individual, with his or her own unique hopes, fears, dreams, and loves. Some things just are the way they are, and even the Vulcan Academy of Sciences doesn't have all the answers.
When they emerged from the TARDIS, after Joel's practical joke, Gen. Larkin had supplied them with new vehicles – extremely good new vehicles: Blackhawks, an Apache gunship, a MI-26, two Hind-D gunships, and in addition to the helicopters, two Harrier jump jets. Will was orgasmic.
Then came the operation itself – the attack on the last of the Project Genesis bases – if indeed it was the last; Adam and the UNIT had thought they'd found 'the last' base before, and been wrong. The plan was simple and audacious – and scary. To ensure the kids whose lives Gen. Adams had threatened were not killed, the infiltration teams from the V.S.O. would move in from the rear of the base, while the UNIT came in with a frontal attack. It had a high chance of success, yes, but also a high risk of casualties. And, of course, 'no combat plan survives first contact with the enemy.'
Strike Team Charlie, one of the few teams with all seasoned, 'blooded' personnel, was at the forefront of the action. At Austin's insistence, they were all wearing full field combat armor – 'Kevlar underwear' was Ethan's pithy phrase.
They moved in fast, deploying according to doctrine. While the enemy seemed to know what he was doing, the attacks were sufficiently uncoordinated that they found it relatively easy to fight – until the tactical surprise. The 'uncoordinated attacks' were effectively kamikaze snipers, 'cannon fodder' as it were, to lure the six teens too far forward. Then a truly well coordinated counterattack began.
They fought grimly, covering each other. At a relative lull, Bryan signaled Malinda, and they moved forward, their weapons on full automatic, burst mode. Tony would have been rendered impotent if he could have seen Malinda's face. These were the men, or men like the men, who had stolen her innocence, used her for their pleasure when she was still small, and who now thought to do this to her little brothers and sisters. The killing lust was on her, and her grin was a rictus of pain and revenge. Bryan shuddered, then turned his attention to methodically killing off Gen. Adams's troops.
"Ethan's down," came the shout from behind them. Becky efficiently moved forward. The English girl was an effective combat medic, but some things were beyond her. "We need to evacuate him," she called out.
"Pull back," Austin called out, frustrated by the two men who had taken up position behind a barricade of sandbags. No one could drop a bead on them.
"Like Hell," Malinda yelled back, then, in a slightly lower tone, "Cover me," to Bryan. She holstered her sidearm and, with a speed much faster than a teenage girl should have, she made a zig-zagging charge. She drew a throwing knife in one hand and her dagger in the other. He concentration was rock solid. Her thoughts were dark and full of the killing intent that had been trained into her being. Well, they made me into this. Time for them to reap the benefits of what they have sown.
Every time a bead was drawn on her, she changed direction as Bryan used suppression fire to make the men behind the sandbags duck for cover. Faster than should have been possible Malinda was vaulting the sandbags. With a feral scream that sent chills down the spine of everyone within earshot, she hurled her throwing knife into the throat of the man farthest from her. Her foot landed in the stomach of the man closest to her. As the man was still falling, she slashed his throat with the dagger, then quickly stabbed him four times in his heart. Before the man died, she had stabbed the other man in his kidneys and heart.
Then calmly she cleaned and sheathed her dagger and retrieved her throwing knife, doing the same. She then moved forward to the wall of the building that was their objective, and quickly used a tricorder to establish that no children were inside, then planted a charge at the base of its wall, and dropped back.
Bryan nodded. They covered each other as they retreated to where Austin and Becky were throwing together an impromptu field stretcher. Malinda turned and depressed the trigger on her RC detonator. The shaped charge turned the building wall she'd attached it to into a set of projectiles that took out the other building walls and everything inside. The roof collapsed on the mess. "Building go boom and fall down," Malinda said with a smile of accomplishment.
Austin looked over at Becky. "The female of the species," he quoted, "is deadlier than the male." She and Malinda smirked and nodded agreement.
Strike Team Kilo was brand new. A buck sergeant from before the Montana ambush had been coopted to command; three of the recent Intake kids, plus Mickey, Jed, and Jared fleshed out the team. They wore hastily made patches stenciled from the only known photograph of the girl and five boys who had been the original Kilo, all killed in Montana and buried at Patriots Point.
Their mission was to be a decoy, to draw fire at the right side of the frontal attack, moving ahead relatively slowly – fast enough to keep up the pretense of a serious attack, slow enough to keep the unseasoned team out of serious combat, while another team with more veteran members took out the building next to the one they were supposedly attacking, then hit the force opposing Kilo from the side and rear.
And it would have been a very effective tactic if the enemy had played the same game. Unfortunately, whoever commanded the forces they were engaging twigged that he was not being attacked with quite the impetus of other nearby teams, correctly concluded that he was facing green troops, and went on the attack. In short order the team commander and two of the Intake guys were down, not dead but incapacitated by wounds.
Mickey drew his phaser. "To hell with whether Adam likes Starfleet weapons. We've got a battle to fight!" Jed and Jared copied him. The three Maine boys and the last Intake kid, using the semi-automatic carbine he favored, moved doggedly forward, picking off the enemy with phasers set to heavy stun.
A surprise attack from around the side of the building, though, brought home to the boys that, while conventional bullet weapons cannot stand up to phaser fire, phasers don't make one invulnerable. Jed was down in seconds, a row of bullets stitched across his chest. "Jed!" Jared screamed, turning to him.
Mickey tried to cover for his brother, and took a bullet to the leg that knocked him down. He went to get up and was hit again by two of Gen. Adams's troops advancing on the three of them. "It was good to walk again, and to find Rina," he said to Jared. "Tell her I loved her, and take care of Raffy."
Jared spun, his face full of hatred at the two men who had shot his boyfriend and his big brother. Inside, he realized how much of a spoiled kid he had been, and in that moment grew up, to be the man defending his beloved and his brother. He picked both men off with his phaser at point blank range, then pulled out the pistol Grace had insisted he take when she and Bobby had popped in as they were prepping. With desolation in his voice, he called out, "I need backup and a medic here," and settled down to guard his fallen as best he could.
Before it was all over, Jared would lose count of the men he had killed. He didn't feel guilty, but a deep sense of remorse filled his soul. It was one thing to talk about protecting the ones you love, and quite another to do it. He knew something had changed. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he didn't feel quite the same about things anymore. Things he took for granted seemed so much more important now.
"Luncheon is served," Francis called out.
The boys came running. "Whoa! Slow down!" Trever called out, laughing.
"Never stand between a teenager and food!" Bernie said as he made his way in from the couple's home office.
Francis motioned Pat to help him, and between them they carried a hearty soup-and-sandwiches meal to the table. Francis stepped back into the kitchen and carried back in a tray with six compotes on it. "Dessert," he said. "For after the main meal."
"Those look pretty," Blakey commented.
"Thank you," Francis replied.
"Before you boys announce your decision," Trevor said seriously, "I'd like to ask one thing. If it's negative, would you make it conditional, and give me opportunity to convince you to hire me, before you make it definite and final?"
Francis smiled inwardly, knowing what Trevor was doing.
Pat had taken on himself the job of keeping the little flat they'd been hiding out in going, so far as he could. Now he continued that leadership role. "Don't need to," he said. "We talked about it, and we think you're trying your best to make the idea of school something we can stomach."
"Well, I hope to do better than that!" Trevor said.
"Don't know if we'll like the idea of classes again," Benny said. "We kinda got out of the habit. But we'll give you a try."
"No funny stuff, though," Tory said and giggled. Trevor looked at him, realized it was his way of trying to joke with the new teacher, and broke into a laugh.
Bernie's cellphone chimed. "Hello," he said, pulling it out and answering it. Then, after a pause, "Um, just a minute." He ostentatiously muted the phone.
"It's Bertha," he said to Francis. "Remember we invited Chatsworth and her to dinner tonight two weeks ago."
"Oh, damn," Francis said. "Well, what's done is done. What time?"
"Seven o'clock," Bernie said.
"We'll go through with it, then. But let's fill the boys in now, after you hang up." All four boys' ears perked up at this.
"Seven is fine, Bertha," Bernie said. "You can meet our new sons; they'll be dining with us. – Yes, it was a surprise. I'll tell you all about it, this evening – Very well, see you then."
Bernie shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder," he said. "Bertha was surprised to find that 'our kind' were allowed to adopt. But she's happy for us, or so she said."
Trevor's lip quirked, but he didn't comment.
"Boys, we forgot about a dinner invitation we made a couple of weeks ago. Chatsworth is one of our bankers. He's a stuffy old fuddy-duddy, and can be fairly irritating. But he's good at what he does, so we tolerate him. He and his wife, Bertha, will be here at seven."
"What about us?" Blakey asked nervously.
"You'll be joining us and them for dinner," Francis said. "In case you hadn't figured it out yet, we're proud of you guys." He thought. "Oh, and don't worry about the which-fork-to-use stuff and all that sort of thing. See the spoons you're using for soup, how they're almost a circle? Those are soup spoons; that's the only odd silverware you'll be using, and, kind of obviously, you use them for soup. So, if you remember that and are reasonably polite to our guests, that's all we would expect."
"We can do that," Pat said.
"Good. Then that's settled," Bernie said. "Trevor, the only doubt in my mind was if the boys would be happy with you. Given they've agreed to hire you, can you start Monday?"
"No problem," Trevor said with a warm smile.
Friday morning, Tony made it a point to talk to Doctor Gordan first thing, insisting he be allowed to continue taking care of Dan. "He needs me," he said simply. "He's scared, doesn't trust anyone, doesn't think anyone could care about him. And for some reason, he trusts me. I don't know why. But I do know that I promised to be there for him."
Gordan regarded him. "Sometimes, the most important part of a rehabilitation is the psychological part," he said at length. "If what you're saying is true – and I have no reason to doubt it – then we need to keep you as Dan's primary non-medical caregiver. You're the one thing that's motivated that boy." He smiled. "Now go grab his breakfast and take it to him. I'll page you when we need you for something else."
Tony did as instructed. But when he got to Dan's room, he noticed Dan acting ... distant toward him. After the closeness of last night, that worried him.
"Dan? What did I do? Why are you upset?"
"You didn't do nothin'. And you wouldn't understand."
"Try me." Tony was not going to give up on what he'd committed to, without a fight.
"You heard about Jerome."
"Yeah."
"All about Jerome."
"Yeah."
"So you know what I did for him." Dan was tense, almost like he expected to be hit.
"Yeah. So?"
"I was his boy toy, his butt buddy. How can you not be disgusted with me?"
Tony hit a moment of truth. Unfortunately, he chickened out, and told only a part of the story. "Remember when I put the stuff on your butt?"
"Yeah. You didn't know what had been in it, then."
"I had a pretty good guess." Tony paused, thinking how to say this. "Remember I told you I had a friend that needed it done for him?"
"Uh huh."
"Why do you think he needed that done?"
Dan was dumbstruck. "You knew he liked to... and you considered him a friend anyway?"
"Yeah. Just like another friend I made recently, huh?"
"Tony!" Dan was nearly in tears at this point. Tony reached in and held the smaller boy in his arms "It's okay, little buddy. Let it out."
A few minutes later, Tony and Dan released their holds on each other, almost simultaneously.
"Tony, I..."
"...am not going to say anything more about it right now. Instead, you're going to eat your breakfast. Then we're going to see if Dr. Gordan wants us to deal with the six rugrats, or what."
"Okay." Dan fell to on his breakfast. Tony smiled.
The Sikorsky Superhawk Medevac helicopter was hovering, Bobby piloting and Brandon copiloting, Skipper and Grace doing sporadic eyeball checks of whether they were ready for ... anything, Skipper put it. In the rear, little Andy fidgeted, trying to keep his concentration on a game but wondering if they'd have to go in and pick up wounded, and if he was ready to be the loadmaster.
Chang's voice rang out over the speakers. “SKIPPER!!! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE NOW! ADAM'S DOWN!”
Bobby was momentarily stunned. He had never heard Chang so much as raise his voice. But then his training kicked in, and he kicked the helicopter up to full speed. He grabbed the radio and replied, "We'll be there in ten seconds."
When they touched down, though, there was no Adam to be seen. Nor Chang. Nor Janet. Logan called out "ALL RIGHT EVERYONE!!! LETS FINISH WHAT WE STARTED! ADAM WANTED THIS MISSION COMPLETED, AND WE AIN'T GONNA LET HIM DOWN. ALPHA, BETA, DELTA TEAMS, TAKE POINT. I WANT THIS PLACE CLEANED UP - NO SURVIVORS!"
"What happened?" Bobby asked.
"Adam was fading fast," somebody answered. "Janet had Daileass transport them out, him,. her, and Chang." A pause. "We've got wounded, though."
"Let me at them," Skipper said. He spotted Malinda carrying Ethan's body towards them, with Becky trying to work on him, and ran, took him from her, and jogged back to the Superhawk.
"Is he enhanced?" Becky asked.
"No, just strong!" Malinda said with a smile.
As Grace began to work on Ethan, Jared's call for help came. Skipper and Bobby looked at each other, motioned Malinda and Becky to follow, and ran towards where Jared had found cover. A few quick shots and a grenade were all it took to give them room to work.
"Are they...?" Jared said.
"No," Bobby said. "Wounded, yeah, but they'll be all right."
Skipper put Mickey into fireman's carry, and Malinda followed suit with Jed, and they headed back to the Superhawk. Bobby pointed to the three others from Kilo. Wordlessly, Becky followed him. Malinda saw them, handed off Jed to Grace, and jogged back to give them a hand.
Two other injured filled the available space on the Medevac. Skipper, Bobby, and Grace set to work on them. "Brandon, take us up!" Bobby ordered.
"Me?" Brandon squeaked.
"Yeah, you can do it, and I need to work on these guys."
"Yessir!"
Brandon went through the proper steps, lifted off, contacted Jack for approval to take the ship up, then called out to the medics to ask where.
"Nearest hospital!" Skipper said curtly, being busy.
"How about I transport you back to Camp Bam Bam?" came Daileass's voice from the radio.
"Do it!" Skipper called out.
Raffy and C.J. skidded to a stop on the sidewalk in front of the playground area near the Carlsons' home, which Lonnie had set as a rendezvous. "What's the story, Lonnie?" C.J. asked after greeting him.
"Like I toldja, some friends of Ralphie's and Newly's decided they was gonna get revenge on Lee 'cause Ralphie got locked up and grounded. Lee's at the High School, at his chess club meeting. Missy said they're gonna ambush him when he comes out."
"How far, and when?" Raffy asked.
"It's about nine blocks up that way, and he gets out in ten minutes."
"No time to wait; let's ride!" C.J. said, kicking off from the curb.
"Where's your brothers?" Lonnie asked.
"They're off rescuing some guys the Army had locked away," Raffy said proudly. "So we came to help instead." He still had some reservations as to whether he and C.J. could accomplish anything, but he wasn't going to say that in front of Lonnie!
Lonnie took the lead, and they made it to the high school barely in time. It was an older building, brick with picture-window walls, parking lot in front and some playing fields sprawled behind it. "That's the door I'm supposed to meet him by," Lonnie pointed.
They looked around. No sign of the tough kids. "Let's go over and wait," C.J. suggested.
Lee came out about ninety seconds later. "Hey, Raffy, C.J., good to see you!" he said warmly. "See you later," he called out to a shorter kid with glasses, who jogged around the corner of the building, evidenty heading for the parking lots.
"They came down 'cause Missy Atwater told me Porky and his crew were out to get back at you 'cause Ralphie got locked up," Lonnie said.
"Hey, you guys didn't have to do that!" Lee said to them.
"Looks like they chickened out, though," Raffy observed, waving his arm at the fields. And nothing was in sight but an old equipment shed, a set of empty bleachers, and a scoreboard with two rusty speakers atop it. That, and two equally empty soccer goals in the near distance beyond them.
"C'mon, let's head for home," Lee said, getting his own bike and setting off past the equipment shed towards the street.
Out from behind the equipment shed came five teenage boys, two heading to block Lee's route while the other three headed directly for him.
"Halt! In the name of Clan Short!" C.J.'s voice piped out.
"Oh? Who's going to make us?"
"That would be us." Raffy was quick to back C.J.
"Sounds like you guys want a piece of what we planned on giving Lee the Rat here," the bully who had spoken said, lunging for Raffy.
Off balance on his bike, Raffy wasn't able to avoid the lunge. The others were intercepting C.J., Lonnie, and Lee. The bully grabbed him. He reached for his commbadge, and realized he'd left it home.
Raffy thought fast. He remembered Mickey's instructions: "If a bigger kid tries to beat you up, get him in the balls. Then run like hell and find me." He brought his foot up and landed it square in the bully's crotch.
"Oofppp!" the bully screamed, releasing his hold on Raffy and doubling over. Raffy grabbed his bike to run off for help, when the speakers atop the scoreboard came to life with a familiar and welcome voice.
< Do you boys need assistance? >
"Yes, Ark, and hurry!" Raffy called out.
Seconds later four Starfleet Security men materialized on the field, holding cardboard cups of coffee. "We didn't call for a transport," one of them said unnecessarily.
"Clan Short; we're trying to prev..." Raffy got out as the bully grabbed him and swung his fist to hit him – hard. Raffy reflexively closed his eyes, and felt himself falling.
He opened his eyes to find himself on the grass, with the bully lying next to him stunned and unconscious. A short distance away, the same was true for Lonnie.
"Unhand those boys!" one of the Security men ordered in a voice of command. Looking down the muzzles of phasers, the other bullies released Lee and C.J., both of whom were holding spots where they'd been hit.
"What's going on here?" came a blustery call from a man in a suit emerging from the door Lee had come out of.
"That's Mr. Harris, the vice-principal," Lee gasped out.
"Starfleet Security, sir. We were unexpectedly transported in here, and found a fight in progress."
The vice-principal looked at the group, then spoke to Lee. "I told you if you would just change your behavior, you wouldn't have these incidents happen to you."
The lead Starfleet man took a closer look at Lee. "Gary Carlson's boys, right?" he asked.
"Yessir," Lonnie spoke up. "And I was told, by a friend that overheard them, that those guys were planning an ambush on Lee. That's why we're here."
"Well, thank you for your intervention," the vice-principal said. "But this is an internal school matter; I'll take it from here."
"Like you did the last five times Lee got beat up?" Lonnie said hotly. "'If you would just stop being a target, you wouldn't have these problems,'" he mimicked the man's mannerisms.
"Will you be pressing charges?" the Starfleet man asked Lee.
When he didn't answer immediately, Lonnie said, "Yes, he will."
"I said this was a school matter," the vice-principal interjected.
Raffy spoke up. "There was, sir, a premeditated plan to beat Lee up, which we ended up getting as well. Use the Safe Haven Act."
"We're not supposed to interfere with local law enforcement..." one of the other Starfleet Security men said tentatively.
Raffy had heard enough. "They're not protecting him; you heard that man, and what Lonnie said. I'm invoking Article 200. Clan Short will bring charges under Section 11.1 against the five of them."
The lead Security man looked at the little eight-year-old, in T-shirt, shorts, and Clan cloak. "As you wish, sir," he said to Raffy, saluting. "What about him?" he asked, pointing to the vice principal.
Raffy thought about what Lonnie had said. "I think he's in violation of Section 81.2," he said with a feral grin, tapping his memories of when Xain and the Wonder Twins had dumped the Safe Haven Act into his memory.
The Starfleet man gave him a conspiratorial smile in return. "I think you may be right," he said. "I'll give him a chance to explain to Commander Martin why he shouldn't be held in violation of it, anyway."
The Security men had the five erstwhile bullies in a group. "You're from Orlando Spaceport?" Raffy asked the lead man.
"Yes. I'm still not clear how we got here."
"Ark? Would you be so kind as to transport these men and their prisoners back where they came from?"
And just like that, they were gone.
"Thank you, Ark," Raffy called out.
< You are welcome > came from the speakers.
"Who's that?" Lonnie asked.
"Oh, that's the Ark. She's a giant A.I. in Antarctica that monitors, well, everything," Raffy said with a smile
"Everything? You mean, when you go out on a mission, she's watching?"
"No, everything. Ark, when was the last time Lonnie picked his nose today?"
< At 1:12:34 this afternoon. He was in the art class at the time. I speculate that the paint odors may have bothered his nasal passages. It was the fifth time he did so today. The first time was.... >
"Thanks, Ark. No need to go into detail."
< I still do not understand why you boys find it necessary to refer to me by the female pronoun. >
C.J., Lonnie, and Raffy burst into giggles.
"C'mon, let's get home," Lee said, getting on his bike.
If Marsha had been bemused by Peter's antics, she was absolutely captivated by the twin redheads, who were out to charm her. And were having fun doing it, swapping parts of sentences back and forth and flirting outrageously with her. Jack looked on, amused; George was preparing a meal for them all.
Then Drew, monitoring the room, sat bolt upright and said, "Bro? Take Brett outside and show him the river. You know what to say."
Philip, who was in the process of getting a dump of Brett's fears placed into his head by Randy, nodded. "C'mon. The river's beautiful this time of year. And this house is right above it."
They walked outside, and Philip turned to Brett. "The twins told me your worries, bud. You need to relax."
"But they ... what if they ..."
"Hey, I'm the token straight guy in Northeast Division; all my Clan brothers are gay. It's not a problem. And your parents love you. You don't know how lucky you are, to have been brought up by parents who love you." Philip tensed up a bit, as some of the bad memories came back.
"But...."
"Here's what the twins told me, based on their scans. Your mother loves you more than anything. Your dad, well, he loves you a lot. He doesn't understand, but he still cares. He'll never turn his back on you, and he'll try to understand. You've just got to give him time."
"Now relax. Work out your frustrations by throwing some stones in the water. That works for me."
"You got a girlfriend yet?"
"Nope. Well, maybe. I met this girl when we were in Florida, and she's beautiful. She's coming here to live, with the Judge and Maureen, sometime soon. I've got hopes..." A toch of the old guilt, at having sexual feelings, twinged Philip, and he fell silent.
Together the two boys walked along the river, enjoying each other's company, silent and thinking their own thoughts.
"Do I look okay?" Pat asked nervously. "Do you think they'll like me?" He adjusted his tie for perhaps the tenth time, smoothed out his sweater and straightened the crease in his slacks, each for more times than Francis had been counting. Blakey looked positively petrified. Tory and Benny, though both visibly nervous, were at least trying to occupy themselves with a game on the xBox Bernie had picked up earlier in the day.
"Come here, guys," Francis said. He seated himself on the couch, pulled Blakey onto his lap, and motioned Pat and Benny to sit on either side of him. Tory jittered; Benny pulled him down so his head and shoulders rested partly on Benny's and partly on Francis's knees.
"Look," Francis said. "These people are our business and social acquaintances. Yes, we do want you to make a good impression on them. But you're our kids. You mean more to us than they ever could." He frowned. "I'm really sorry that we are dumping them on you on what's pretty much your first day here, not counting last night. But we did invite them before we ever knew we'd be getting you, and we both thought it was important to keep that promise."
"Chatsworth is a good banker, a man who knows how to manage money," he went on. "And Bertha is well to do in her own right, and does a lot of charitable work. They're both old style Boston brahmins, social elite and proud of it, and ready to rub your face in it. But don't let anything they say or do throw you; you four matter more to Bernie and me than a hundred of them. Okay?" He emphasized this with a squeeze to both the older boys' waists.
Blakey grinned. "They've got your arms pinned down, Poppa," he said. "So you have no defense against" he pounced "the Incredible Tickle Monster!"
"Hey!" Francis said, squirming and loving it at the same time. "Just wait until I get you, you little...."
He squirmed one arm free from behind Pat and grabbed Blakey, exacting tickle-revenge.
"Okay, guys," Bernie said, coming into the room. "That was building security; they just passed them into the garage. They'll be here shortly."
"Take Blakey with you to welcome them," Francis urged. "He could use the comfort, and unless I miss my guess, he'll charm Bertha just by being his cute little self." He smiled at the ten-year-old, who gave a nervous grin back. Francis gave a reassuring pat on the shoulder to Pat, and stood up himself.
The elevator chimed and the doorbell rang. Bernie let them in. "Welcome! It's good to see you! This is our youngest, Blakey," he said, strong hand on Blakey's shoulder. Blakey mustered up a nervous smile and extended his hand to shake, first Chatsworth's, then Bertha's. She smiled warmly back at him.
Francis brought the other three into the entry. "Bertha! Chatsworth! Come in! Let me present Benny, Tory, and Pat." Pat gingerly shook hands with the couple, followed by Tory.
"May I take your coat, ma'am?" Benny asked politely.
"Certainly, young man! Thank you!"
"And Chatsworth, give me yours," Francis said.
"Give it to me, Dad F.," Benny told him, reaching out his arm for it. He carried them into the guest suite to lay them out on the spare bed, with a peculiar, closed-in expression on his face.
"Won't you come in"" Francis asked urbanely, leading them into the great room, where he'd arrayed couches and chairs for maximum comfort. He poured Bertha, Chatsworth, himself, and Bernie cocktails, while Tory retrieved sodas for the four boys.
"You must tell me how you came by these delightful boys," Bertha said. "I had no idea they were letting you people adopt." Bernie cringed at 'you people', but Francis gave no evidence of having noticed it.
"I was up in Maine on a buying trip when I found out how severe the homeless-child problem really is," Francis said. "When I arrived back in Boston, I prevailed on Bernie to go with me to see what we could do to help. We found these four looking for a home. They'd been making a precarious go of it in an abandoned flat down on Quincy Street, and were slated to be dumped separately into the system. We adopted them, of course."
"They got us a lot of stuff," Tory volunteered, "but even more important, they love us."
Bertha smiled. "That's wonderful," she said. "Quincy Street – that's down in Dorchester, correct?" Benny nodded. "We do the Sunday dinner giveaway down there, at the Catholic Charities on Columbia Street. Did you boys ever make use of that?"
Pat started, as though he had something to say, but stayed silent. Bernie, beginning to become attuned to his boys, caught it. "Speak up, Pat," he said. "I can see there's something on your mind."
"Um, it's not really my place to say," Pat said. "I don't want to sound like I'm criticizing or anything."
"Go ahead, young man," Bertha said, slightly sternly now.
"Well, I went down there in August, 'cause I'd heard about it," Pat said. "They gave us one meal for the four of us. I heard one of the volunteers talking about she had ten of them stashed away because she was having company come for Labor Day." Pat gulped. "I, um, well, I didn't go back there."
"That's outrageous," Bertha said vociferously. Pat quailed; Bernie moved to comfort him.
Bertha saw, and altered her tone. "Pat, I am sorry. My anger wasn't directed at you. That's not the first report I've heard of people skimming things from those who truly need it. And to my shame, I thought it was petty jealousy on the part of some volunteers, making up stories to discredit people they disliked. Thank you for telling me. I'll make sure that gets looked into, pronto."
Bernie gave Pat a fast affectionate squeeze of his shoulder, as if to say 'You did well' to him.
Chatsworth saw and harrumphed. "I'm very surprised that you have put your boys on exhibit like this," he said. "I suppose it's only part and parcel of this modern anything-goes philosophy." He scowled.
"We don't agree with the ideas of my parents' generation," Francis said obliviously, "the 'feed the children first' gimmick and all that. The way children develop adult social skills is by learning them interacting with adults." But it was obvious from Chatsworth's expression that was not at all what he had meant. The two younger boys noticed it and cringed; Benny was quietly angry.
"When I was growing up, there were some things that just were not done in polite society," Chatsworth said. "A man might, for example, have a mistress on the side, but he was expected to be discreet about it, not embarrass himself and his family." He glanced around the apartment. "It's one thing that you two live together like you were a couple; after all, you are business partners. But to trot out these boys in front of us...!"
Bernie at last caught on to Chatsworth's implication, and rose angrily. "That bit of innuendo, Chatsworth, is completely out of place." His face reddened and he drew a breath.
He was, however, forestalled in whatever angry remark he may have been preparing to make when Benny stood up. "Let me, Dad B.," he said. He turned to Bertha. "May I ask you a very personal question, ma'am?" he requested.
Wondering what the boy was up to, she nodded yes. "Then let me ask you: when that man has sex with you, does he expect you to reach up and play with his hairy nipples, while complimenting him on the size of his erection – something that takes some creative license to come up with on the fly, so to speak?" he asked her.
"What in the world...?" Francis was aghast.
Chatsworth was darkly angry. Bertha said, "How in the world would you ever know...." She trailed off as she figured out exactly how it was that Benny knew that.
"Is that the sort of thing that you're expected to keep discreet?" Benny asked rhetorically. "Because you neglected to explain that to me. In fact, you had very little to say to me, other than 'legs up' and 'suck harder'. So I wouldn't know the social niceties of discreetness. But I do know that treating my brothers like they were less than human, and my Dads like they were somehow engaged in something filthy, in their own home, is against the kind of politeness I was brought up to show."
"Well, Chatsworth?" Bertha prompted him.
"I don't have to sit still for this," he blustered.
"No, you don't," Bernie agreed. "You can start by leaving our home immediately, and follow up on that by closing out all our accounts with your bank tomorrow, and having drafts for the full balances ready for me to pick up by, let's say, noon."
"Bank policies require three days notice," Chatsworth rejoined, taken aback by that.
"Let me put it this way," Bernie said. "You have a choice: explain to Renard why you decided to override bank policy for long-time depositors who decided to move their business elsewhere, in hopes of someday winning them back, or explaining how Benny knows your personal sexual kinks to a friendly detective on Boston's Vice Squad – after, of course, getting Benny full immunity in exchange for his testimony. It's your choice."
"And," Bertha said, "you can do all this from your club. I'll have your things sent over to you. I refused to credit the allegations Melissa made about you and street hustlers. That seems to have been a mistake."
"Just a little politeness, a kind word that said you were happy for me and my brothers that we got something better in our lives, and this wouldn't have happened. I'd have kept my mouth shut, just like you expected," Benny said. "But when you started assuming my Dads were using us the same as you did me – well, that was going too far. They love us, you know."
Chatsworth was apoplectic. "Leave. Now," Bernie said to him. Chatsworth looked like he was going to argue some more, but then stood up and stomped out.
"I hope you don't insist on including me in that dis-invitation," Bertha said. 'I've been looking forward to one of Francis's creations, and I'd like to get to know your boys a bit better."
"You're always welcome here, Bertha," Francis said. Tory gave her a small, nervous smile; she gave him a broad one back, with a wink.