"Is John hurt?  Is Virgil?"

            Scott stopped, looking surprised and slightly offended.  "No, Father.  He's fine – he's upstairs with Virgil.  They're both fine."

            It took all of Jeff Tracy's considerable self-restraint to call both of his boys down in front of him to make sure of this himself.  He nodded at Scott.  "All right, Scott.  Go on."

            Scott shifted in his chair.  It must be how snakes feel shedding their skin, Scott thought.  Agonizingly uncomfortable at the outset, but when you were finished…well, you were a new snake.  Which was probably good.  Scott continued doggedly with his story.   He really didn't want to do this, but he knew there was no way he would be able to look his father in the eye if he didn't tell him what happened.  And he also knew there was no way he could get away with not looking his father in the eye.

When Scott finished, Jeff sat back in his chair.  "Let me get this straight.  You and John heard about these pipes, planned to go exploring, and when John got in trouble, you and Virgil got him out."

            Scott looked down and to the side uncertainly.  That version hadn't really occurred to him, and it certainly wasn't what he expected his father to come out with.

            "I guess so," he said.    

            "And how was it that John got in trouble?"

            "I'm not really sure what happened," Scott said.  "John thinks the rope broke, but the knot could have been badly tied – he doesn't know and I don't…anyway, Virgil and I were up top and suddenly I realized that there was no pressure on the rope.  And before, I could really feel him. We tried to see if he could reach the rope but he couldn't.  So I tied the rope to me and Virgil and I went down to see if I could get him."

            "Why you?" his father asked.

            Scott looked surprised.  His father shook his head.  "I'm not trying to second-guess you.  I'm just curious as to why you decided to do what you did.  Virgil is smaller and lighter – it would make more sense to have him go down, wouldn't it?"

            Scott nodded.  "He was against the whole idea, and he was pretty scared.  I mean, he was fine, but…I thought it would be safer if I went down."

            "And John couldn't climb up by himself?"

            Scott shook his head.  "If he could have, he would have.  The tunnel was like this," he held his hand at a forty-five degree angle.  "He was afraid if he moved, he would lose his grip and slide further down."  He decided not to tell his father about the fact that John had been hanging over a vertical drop.  He suddenly understood what John meant when he said it didn't make a difference.  Anyway, that was John's side of the story; he would tell it.  He looked at his father cautiously.  His father just looked thoughtful.

            "Call him, will you?"

            Jeff sat back in his chair as Scott rose and went to the door to yell for his brother.  He's so tall, Jeff thought.  Three years ago, his house had been filled with children.  Suddenly Scott – his earnest, lovely, serious son, was filling doorways with his frame and the house vibrated with the penetrating light baritone of his voice, trampling over the memory of the boy he had been only a few years before.   And  John – Jeff raised his eyes as his second son dragged himself into the study – when he left for school last September he had been Virgil's height, a cheerful chatter of nervous energy.  Now he was uncomfortably almost Scott's height, all bone and sinew with an almost permanent air of sullen detachment.  He wondered, as he had been doing quite a bit lately, if he had perhaps made a mistake in the way he had structured their lives – the boys away at school, the six of them all together only for the summer and holidays.   Ever since Scott had complained that his first grade teacher was trying to teach him that he didn't already know how to read, Jeff had made the education of his boys a top priority.  He also knew that a sharp mind would not be content with boredom, and after hearing the stories of some of his colleagues' children, he knew how dangerous the combination of wealth and boredom could be.  But soon Scott would be in college – and the others would be flying off from him before he knew it.  There were no other people on the planet that he would rather spend time with then his five boys – how had it come about that they spent so little time together?

            "Sit down, John."

            John reluctantly sat down on the chair next to the one Scott has just vacated, on the other side of their father's desk.  Jeff looked at him for minute, and then rose and walked over to the couch that ran along the back wall, between the two floor-to-ceiling bookcases. 

            "Come over here, boys."

            They both glanced at each other, and then walked over to join their father on the couch.

            "So…Scott tells me you boys had quite a day."

            "Yes sir." John said, not meeting his eyes.

            "Do you want to tell me about it?" Jeff asked him. 

            "If Scott told you about it, I don't know if I could add anything that matters," John said quietly.

            "John…"  Jeff started, then stopped.  He looked at the two of them, sitting straight up on the couch.  He was often commended on the politeness of his sons.  He always thanked whomever mentioned it, but he knew that it wasn't always motivated by a desire to actually be polite.  At his wife's wake, Scott and John had sidled up to him.  "People keep telling us that they're sorry," Scott had said.  "What are we supposed to say?"

            "Just say thank you.  You don't have to say any more than that." Jeff had told them.   And they had, stiff like little soldiers, gravely thanking all the grownups who told them they were sorry that their mother had died.  They all learned young that proper form was an excellent place to hide.

            "Tell me," Jeff said.  "Why didn't you call for help?"

            "I  didn't bring the cell," Scott said, slightly dully.  This was an old argument – Jeff insisting that he needed to be able to get in touch with them at any time, and the boys conveniently forgetting the means to that happening. 

            "Do you see why…"

            "Yes, Father."  Scott interrupted, and then stopped.  "I'm sorry.  But I do.  I…"

            "Scott couldn't just have Virgil go and get someone," John jumped in.  "Scott needed Virgil to hold the rope to come down and get me…if Scott had come down by himself it just would have been the two of us stuck in there, after all."

            Through the door of the study, they could hear the sound of a piano.  Virgil was running through scales. 

            "But John, there are professional people who do this for a living," Jeff said.  "Or, something like it.  Didn't you think it would be wiser to get help?"

            "Yes," Scott said.  "I should have."

            John glanced at Scott.  "I don't know, Father.  It's a bit different when you're actually there.  I would have done the same thing Scott had, I think."

            "We didn't know how much time we had.  And John might have fallen."

            "I wasn't really going to fall." John said, a trifle touchily.

            "John was less worried about that," Scott said, sounding annoyed.   "But he was hanging over this precipice…"

            "It wasn't a precipice," John said.  "It was a bend in the pipe.  It probably only dropped down a few feet.  But I really didn't want to chance it to find out."

            Scott remembered he hadn't meant to let that slip.  "We should have checked the pipe before we went down.  I should have."

            "I was checking the pipe," John cut in.  "Sort of.  Anyway, Scott didn't even know about the whole precipice thing until he got down there."

            Jeff looked confused.  "Why not?"

            John shrugged.  "I knew Virgil would…well, I was afraid Virgil would just…he didn't need to know.  He didn't even want to go inside.  We were…he was right, as it turned out."

            "Yeah…he's still pretty shaken up," Scott said.

            "He's really angry at me," John said, more to Scott than their father.

            "None of this was Virgil's fault, Father." Scott said.

            Jeff sat back, listening.  They were so careful to cover each other, to keep each other safe.  Scott would try to take all the blame himself, and John was trying to cover as many bases as possible.  If his being away so much had distanced him somewhat from his sons, the opposite had happened between his boys. 

            "And you?" Jeff asked.

            They both stopped.  In the other room, Virgil rumbled around the bottom of the scales, paused, and began chord progressions.

            "You two don't seem very shaken up." Jeff said.

            John looked down.  Scott bit his lip. 

            "There's no shame in…" Jeff started, but Scott interrupted him.

            "I'm not ashamed.  That's not it.  I was scared…for a moment there I really thought…"

            "Yeah, so did I," John said.   He took a deep breath.  "You don't…really realize how easy it is for something like that to happen to you.   How…killable you are."

            "I've always found you pretty killable," Scott told him.

            John didn't rise to it, intent on his point.  "I mean that you're – I'm – nothing special.  That nobody is.  Just because I'm me and you all would miss me doesn't mean that I couldn't suffocate in a pipe somewhere or get hit by a bus or eaten by a shark…"  he stopped and looked at his father, smiling nervously.  "I had just never thought about it before."

            Scott was shaking his head.  "I wasn't thinking anything like that.  I just wanted to get you out of there."

            "Yeah.  I'm glad you did.  Holding on was…" John stopped, a troubled expression on his face.

            Scott looked at him for a moment.  "You wouldn't have let go, you know," he told him.  John only shrugged slightly, still looking uncomfortable.

            Jeff sat back.  "What do you think the consequences of your actions should be?" he asked.

            Scott looked down, but John just looked puzzled.  "Hasn't that already happened?"

            "He means how should we be punished," Scott told him, with a slight roll of his eyes.  He shook his head for a moment, and then looked at his father.  "I think I should call the fire department or the town council and tell them that that pipe is there and that they should fill in the entrance because some people were exploring in there and might have gotten hurt."

            "That's a good idea," Jeff said.  "Anything else?"

            The two boys exchanged glances, and Scott shrugged almost imperceptibly.

            "Dad, whatever you decide, that's fine…" John said.  "I mean, if you want to ground me and Scott and keep us inside I know we deserve it but…it's not going to be a punishment.  I mean, it's not going to compare.  If exploring the pipe was the crime, I had the punishment.  So did Scott."

            "What do you think about that, Scott?"

            Scott sighed inwardly.  His father did this all the time – made them weigh in on their own punishment – and it drove all of them nuts.  On the other hand, he thought John had a pretty valid point.  They had done something that had almost gotten John killed, with the possibility of himself being casualty number two.  Honestly, being grounded sounded like a welcome reprieve. 

            "I understand what he's trying to say, but I see how you might not see it that way."

            Jeff was impressed in spite of himself – that was more diplomatic than he expected.  "Don't worry, Scott.  I know you're not trying to get out of anything."  He looked at them.   "But I'm not so sure the fact that the two of you nearly scared yourselves to death is a reason for you not to face the consequences of your actions.  Today you ignored the basic fact that there is a line from action to consequence, and you can't ignore it simply because you think you know what you're doing."

            John ducked his head, but Scott kept looking steadily at his father.  Jeff continued.

            "You were brave today, Scott.  I'm sure you're aware of that.  In a sense, I'm proud of you because all of you kept your heads, and you worked together – and because of that, you're all safe and sitting here talking to me.  But you wouldn't have to have been brave if you had used your judgment – your better judgment – in the first place.  Frankly, Scott, I'm surprised at you.  You're usually much smarter than this."

            John looked up.  "It was both of our judgment, Father," he said.

            "I didn't say I was surprised at you, John." Jeff said. 

            John looked down, stung.  Jeff regarded him for a moment.  "You need to learn to keep your head.  And we still have the matter of this morning to discuss."

            John raised his fingertips to the scar on his mouth.  "I had forgotten about it," he said, almost absently.

            "We'll talk about it later," Jeff said.  "Scott, do you understand what I'm trying to say to you?"

            Scott nodded. 

            Their father let out a sigh.  "I would appreciate it, in the future, if you would not try quite so hard to kill yourselves.  The next time Virgil points out that you're doing something that is foolhardy, please listen to him.  And the next time you find yourself doing something that you know is dangerous, as I expect you both did, stop."

            "I'm sorry, Father," John said.  Scott said nothing.

            "I know you are, son.  And I'm glad you're all right.  Now let me finish up a few things here.."

            The boys looked at each other, and then back at their father.

            "You're free to go," Jeff said dryly.  John darted out of the room like a fish, but Scott stayed on the couch.  Jeff looked at him affectionately.  He had expected this.

            "Something on your mind, son?"

            Scott dragged the toe of one sneaker along the rug under the couch.  "I wasn't brave, Father.  I was stupid.  I had John by the hair.  We had no idea how high that dropoff was.  He could have gotten trapped."

            "But he didn't."

            "But he could have."

            "All right.  But he didn't."

            "But he could have!" Scott burst out.  "I'm not supposed to let stuff like that happen!  I'm supposed to be the reason things like that don't happen!"  He looked up at his father.  "Father, it was so dark in there, and John kept laughing – you know how he does when he's upset about something – and it was cold, and there wasn't any air, and all I kept thinking about was having to come back and tell you that…" he stopped, and curled his hands into fists.   "I never should have…you said there's a line from action to consequence, and you're right:  me.  I'm the line."

            Jeff sat back down next to his son.   Scott didn't look at him.

            "Scott," Jeff said.  "There is a difference between looking after somebody, and taking responsibility for their actions.  I certainly never expect you to…"

            "But what about my actions?" Scott cut him off.  "John could have died."

            There was a pause, and dimly, from somewhere else in the house, they could hear John bellowing, "I was not going to die!"

            Scott opened his mouth, but his father stopped him.  "Son, one of the great contradictions of authority is the more responsibility you hold, the more you have to let go.  I've always tried to let you boys make your own decisions as much as possible, because I never wanted the five of you to grow up to be the kind of men who can't make decisions when they need to be made, who can't think for themselves.  Every time I see you, I see that you're turning into someone who other people can depend on.  Your brothers trust you.  I trust you."

            "I don't know," Scott said.  "I don't feel very trustworthy at the moment."

            Jeff put his hand on his son's shoulder.  "Scott, you do too good a job of punishing yourself for these types of things.  You can't let the fact that you made one bad decision make you think you don't have the ability to make decisions.  I'm not laboring under the impression that you're perfect.  You did something that was reckless, but when it came to a crisis, you proved you can rely on yourself and your brothers.  We both know you didn't show good judgment going down those pipes – but once the wheels came off the wagon, you made decisions, you acted, you kept the three of you together."

            "That doesn't seem like it's good enough," Scott said.

            "It's going to have to be." Jeff said.  "For now.  Pretty soon, you're going to be away at college and they're not going to have you around to look after them.  And when they do well, you'll know what I mean."

            Scott was a little confused by that, but he nodded anyway. 

            "Now let me finish up here."

            Jeff sat back after his oldest had gone.  Seventeen years old was a long time to carry the world on your shoulders by yourself. 

            Scott leaned in the doorway of the sunroom, where the old upright piano was kept.  Virgil was submerged in some piece of music or other – all classical music sounded pretty much the same to Scott, especially when it was played on the piano.  He liked to noodle around on the piano a bit – they all did – but Virgil was the only one who continued to take lessons.  Belatedly, Scott realized that Virgil was playing pretty well.  If a little stormily.

            "You still mad at me?" he asked Virgil. 

            "Yes," Virgil said shortly, after a minute.  He couldn't talk and play at the same time.

            "Okay," Scott said.  "Let me know when you're not."

            Virgil just drew his eyebrows further together and played more emphatically.

            Scott turned away.  Maybe his father was right, and this was how it would be.  Virgil would slip away into music, John into astronomy or astrophysics or whatever, and he'd be chasing the sound barrier in the thin air somewhere.  He'd be in college in a year, flying faster than all of them.  With a slight start, he realized it would be the first time he would be at an academic institution without at least one Tracy since he was twelve.

            Weird.  He pushed open the screen door and walked out to the backyard.  Well, he was sure John could look after Virgil, and occasionally the other way around, when John needed someone to beat up.  And Gordon and Alan – well, they were kids.  Still, he was amazed that he had never really thought about it, about them all splitting up.  He had always figured he'd grow up and be on his own, but it was hard to picture himself without the massive throng of his family around. 

            He looked up and saw John sitting serenely on the roof, watching him.

            "You can't leave it just for one day, can you," Scott said. 

            "I'm fine when I'm up here," John told him.  "It's when I jump off that there are problems.  So I don't jump off, and there aren't any problems."

            Scott picked up a rock and threw it out past the fence and into the field behind the house.  "So, you going to talk to Dad about that school?"

            "Well, not today." 

            "Don't you have to let them know now?  School starts in a month or so."

            "I actually thought I'd wait.  See, there's this program that I applied to at the school in New York – I could take classes at Columbia.  But it's only open to seniors, so I'd have to wait a year."

            "When do you hear?"

            "A week ago.  I got in.  I just have to ask Dad if it's okay."

            "You'd live in New York?"

            "Yep.  At the school, though.  It wouldn't be much different from Greene, probably."

            "So why go all the way across the country?"

            "It's Columbia, Scott."

            "Yeah, okay, but…New York.  It's so big."

            John shrugged.  "So is this."  He gestured to the miles of open fields around them. 

            Scott snorted.  "Well, good luck talking to him.  New York is pretty far away."  He thought for a moment.  "On the other hand, no place is really that far away when your father thinks Mach 2 is for people who aren't trying hard enough."

            John laughed a little.  "I'm not so sure I can convince him of that.  I'm going to try though.  I really want to go."

            "I noticed that," Scott said.

            "So, what's wrong with that?" John said touchily.  Scott just shook his head, and climbed up on the top of the tire swing. 

            "Of course, Columbia is a pretty good school," Scott said.  "Maybe I should make it a safety."

            John gave Scott a look of such hostility that Scott burst out laughing.  "My God, you are paranoid!  Are you going to start building bombs or something?"

            "Go find your own college," John said.  He seemed to be trying to keep the emotion out of his voice, but Scott could tell that he meant it.  "Man, if I were you…I'd go to school in France or something.  England.  Guam."

            "Guam…" Scott said.  He wasn't really listening.  The fact that John wanted to get away so badly stung him a little – and made him wonder if he shouldn't feel the same way.   "What do you think is going to happen when we all graduate from college?"

            John stared at him for moment.  "For starters, by the time Alan graduates – if any college will even take him – you'll be almost thirty."

            Scott thought about that for a moment.  "So what do you think we'll all be doing?"

            John made an exasperated sound.  "How should I know?  You'll be a superhero.  I'll be holed up in an observatory in the Australian outback with a bunch of other freaks.  Virgil will be in the CIA.  Alan will be burying bodies in the back yard.  I don't know."

            "Don't you think it will be weird?  Not being…not that I care, you know.  But like, seeing Alan once a year or something.  Not being around each other, at all."

            "Not seeing Alan?"

            "Okay," Scott conceded.  "Not seeing Virgil."

            John considered this for a moment.  "I don't know.  You know Dad.  Tracy Industries casts a wide net.  None of us might get away at all."  He stood up.  "But you know, you'll probably get time off from defending the poor and helping the helpless.  And Alan will get paroled eventually.  And anyway – Dad's never around,  but it doesn't really seem like it.  It might not be any different for the rest of us.  I mean, there's distance, and then there's distance."  He started walking to the edge of the roof.

            "Knock it off,"  Scott said.  "I'm tired of explaining you to Dad."

            John windmilled his arms for a moment, pretending to lose his balance, and then stopped and smiled.  "Come around the back.  I'll show you how to get up.  You know, so you can feel useful if I fall."