Mobile Control didn't get set up this rescue; we were in too much of a crunch with Brains and Virgil in the midst of an engineering breakthrough at Tracy Engineering on the mainland. Virgil insisted he and Brains could get here quick in Tracy Three. "No," I told him with all the confidence I'd felt back then. Had it been only four hours ago, that conversation?

"No. Tin-Tin, John and I will be able to handle this. Pretty standard stuff," I'd told him. He gave me a look, and I'm never surprised when he does because I know every one of his looks like I know my own name. He was telling me I didn't have to go without a full complement. But I chose to. Because I thought it was the right thing to do.

Now? Now I don't know if I'll ever see Virg again.

Sucks being stuck?well?anywhere, really. But all the places I've been stuck in my life, I think my current opinion is that the worst place you can be stuck is on a ten inch-wide ledge, on the side of a cliff, with mud and rocks pouring down at you from above during a monsoon.

Yep. That about takes it for me.

I'm plastered up against the cliff. It's so slick from all the rain and dirt slithering down its surface that my hands can't get any sort of purchase. I guess I ought to be glad I handed that little boy off to Tin-Tin before the entire section of earth at my feet moved and propelled me over the edge.

Under normal circumstances, finding myself alive on a ledge rather than trying to glare St. Peter into submission at the Pearly Gates would be satisfying. These are not, however, circumstances that could be considered normal in any way.

I know Tin-Tin didn't see me fall; she was already running back through the jungle canopy toward waiting EMTs about a mile back, the five or six-year old kid clinging to her body. And John was?somewhere. Why couldn't I remember? I'm supposed to know this shit. John was?oh, right, John was trying to get at a group of campers about two miles up the ridge from where I am.

So unless someone tried to contact me and didn't get an answer, they wouldn't know anything was wrong. They'd just figure I'd run into someone else who needed help and was working at giving it. Yeah, well, normally I could just use my communicator, but as it is, one of the rocks?maybe more like a boulder?that came down with me and the dirt and the water? Well, it bounced off the edge of this ledge I'm barely standing on. Trouble is, my wrist?yes, the one with the communicator attached?was directly in that rock's path.

Told you it sucks.

The only reason we even answered this call was because Hawaii's traditional rescue teams, who are experts in everything from deep-sea to shark attacks to volcano eruptions to jungle rescues, simply didn't have enough men, women and equipment to go around for this. It's been four days of non-stop, pouring-down monsoon-like rain for this chain of islands, and eventually their personnel started getting injured, their equipment started getting stuck or ruined, and the sheer number of people who need help is staggering.

So out we came with our special equipment, and our motto and our blue uniforms and our big 'Birds. Coming to save the day, that's International Rescue. So when those boys (and girl, in this case) show up, the entire State of Hawaii breathes a loud sigh of relief because these guys, they're superhuman, right? They'll save every last one of us with a snap of their fingers or by pushing a button in that silver rocket or that big, green hulk hovering over top of us.

If only it was that easy.

Other than my smashed wrist, I'm surprisingly unharmed. Don't count that gash on my head that bled all over my shirt. Head wounds are always bleeders. Once the adrenaline and instinct for self-preservation kicked in, my elbow and foot became a substitute for my broken wrist, and somehow between those and the working hand, I managed to flip myself onto my side on this narrow-ass ledge. I also, and you know, I'm really quite proud of this, actually?managed to get myself to an upright position.

I guess if I'm going to face Death, I want to do it standing.

I popped a couple on-the-spot painkillers from my sash belt. Between that and the rain soaking me through, the wrist is just throbbing now. I'm using my sash to cradle it. One way or another, that's going to be the least of my problems, though, in about thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes is my estimate, though I'm guessing these painkillers have started making me a little fuzzy on how exactly I came to that conclusion. They're non-narcotic, though, non-addictive?something Brains invented just for us, so we could work through minor injuries (all right, maybe mine isn't altogether minor right now), so it shouldn't be affecting me this much.

Blood loss? Maybe my wrist is bleeding out, and here I was thinking about my little head wound. I can't move well enough to look down at my shirt and pants. I can't see well enough in the dark of night with driving rain pelting every inch of me. So maybe I've had blood pouring out of me every since the rock hit me, and just can't tell because it blends with the rain in soaking me.

I won't know for sure unless someone comes to get me out of here, and soon. Trouble is, I don't think that'll happen. Because I'm feeling the side of the cliff shake, just a bit. No matter if John or Tin-Tin found me right now, fact is neither Two nor One could get close enough in these winds to even winch down a ladder. And standard helijets are no match for it either, which was why we were called out to begin with.

I swallow hard, leaning my head back against the almost smooth rock of the cliff. For the first time, I think, I may have just been beaten on this one. Because whether I want to face it or not, I'm out of time.

Thankfully, the little boy is safe and sound. He's crying, though it's not because he's injured. From what I could gather, he doesn't know where his mother, father and older sister are and the paramedic, while kind and gentle, is a poor substitute for those he loves.

Scott had said there were no others in his quadrant. He has us moving in a north-south direction, and it was only because I'd stepped the wrong way that I ran into him at all. I lift my watch and turn on GPS, which tells me how to get to where I was supposed to be, to begin with.

All our equipment, so useless here, in a situation like this. We had enough trouble landing the Thunderbirds as it was, and the ground is far too rain-soaked for us to bring in any heavy machinery. We would simply wind up stuck, and it does no one any good for the rescuers to become victims themselves.

So, really and truly, we're nothing more than three extra pairs of hands on this one. Scott ran through every permutation the three of us could think of for how to make this easier. Not one of them bore fruit, and so we're trekking through a jungle, wet to the bone, and not together.

It's not that a jungle frightens me. After all, I am from a country where there are more jungles than cities, and even lived in the jungle a few times here and there during my childhood. Father taught me everything about surviving in a place like this, though at the time I don't think he had any inkling I'd be using those skills for rescuing others.

Trying to initiate contact with anyone else right now is not in our best interests. We have our marching orders, and Alan can track us from Thunderbird Five, which I'm sure he is. His face briefly flashes before my eyes and I smile even as I slap large leaves and branches away from my face on the way to my next search quadrant.

I've got nothing on my mobile locator. It's a lovely piece of equipment Brains and I developed, no larger than my very own hand, which simply tells me with little colored dots if there are any live beings within a half-mile of wherever I am. Red means they're larger, adult-sized. Green dots indicate smaller life signs, which could be either children or larger animals. White dots indicate smaller creatures such as cats or rabbits.

I doubt I'll find any rabbits here.

Be that as it may, I'm picking up nothing at all to indicate there's anyone alive in my vicinity. So I keep plowing through the undergrowth, hitting the edge of my next sector and checking the locator. Nothing. I'm not disappointed that no one needs to be rescued, heavens, no. I guess I'm a little like the Tracy boys, though, in that the very act of saving someone's life can be addicting.

Perhaps it's the adrenaline that courses through your veins, or the headiness that results from accomplishing the impossible, against all odds. Or maybe it's simply the idea that you're doing something that helps other people. Somehow, it's not the same feeling as manning a soup kitchen, and I've done that, too. It's different. It's something that makes you feel alive.

I look down and check my locator again. There's a red dot that's appeared almost due west of me. I frown. Right in the center of the red dot is a smaller, blue dot. That means the adult-sized life I'm picking up is International Rescue.

This is much too far north for it to be John. And Scott should've been at least a mile further down by now. For the first time I feel cold on my rain-drenched skin as I swipe across my eyes to better see where I am. The dot isn't moving. My heart is starting to race.

I lift my watch and have to nearly yell to be heard above the din of the monsoon. "Scott, come in!"

I expect to see him, looking like a big, drowned rat, making a face of annoyance at the unnecessary interruption. But I don't. There's nothing.

"Tin-Tin to Thunderbird Five."

"Everything okay down there?"

"Alan, I need to know if Scott's GPS puts him about a quarter-mile west of my present position."

"Let me check."

It's an interminable amount of time, it seems, before Alan's face reappears in my watch. He looks as though someone just erased every bit of color from his face and I feel my breath come too fast.

"His GPS is gone."

I swallow. Gather intel. Assess. Formulate. Act. "Then is John the person who's west of me?"

"No, John is a mile-and-a-half south of you, Tin-Tin. His GPS is coming in loud and clear."

"Then why is the locator telling me one of our people is almost parallel to my position?"

"You designed that to read our watches, right?"

"Precisely. It shouldn't be able to tell someone's IR without their watch."

"Maybe it's malfunctioning because of the rain?"

I shake my head. Curiouser and curiouser as Alice might say. "I'm checking it out. If somehow this thing has picked Scott up with a wrecked GPS, he hasn't moved the entire time I've been watching the indicator, which means he's either hurt or he needs help."

"F.A.B. I'll let everyone else know. Be careful."

Words that are unnecessary, but greatly appreciated for the affection they carry with them. "I will, Alan. Tin-Tin out."

Christ, if I never see another drop of rain as long as I live, it'll be too soon. There's a reason I like Thunderbird Five, and it's not because I'm not into human contact. I've only been on one mudslide rescue before, and it was a four-day op that had us sleeping in four-hour rotations aboard Two. No sooner would we get ourselves cleaned up in her on-board shower than we'd be caked with mud head to toe again.

Futile effort, at best, but we got an awful lot of people out from under what had once been a tall foothill. Their huts ended up being for shit, but at least all but two of the villagers survived. This is way different, though. It's hard to wrap your mind around the fact that you're not in some Third World country where you would expect there to be no help for its citizens.

This is part of the United States, and yet right now I feel like I've dropped off the face of the Earth. I feel my watch buzz and look down to find it filled with Alan's face. "What's up?" I say as loud as I can while I keep running.

Ducking through, around, over and between bushes, plants and trees is not easy, no matter what they make it look like in the movies. Trust me on that one.

"Scott's GPS is gone."

I skid to a halt on the slick jungle floor, almost lose my balance. I bring the watch closer. Alan's face tells me I definitely heard him right. "Explain."

"I don't know, John. Tin-Tin picked up a life sign on her locator that said it was one of ours, and that it hadn't moved in several minutes. She wanted to know if it was you or Scott she was picking up, but Scott's GPS is just gone."

"Location!" I bark, heart pumping, adrenaline starting pour into my body. Shit. Shit shit shit, Scott of all people wasn't the one John ever thought would need rescuing. In the case of their little three-person army right now, he'd have bet Tin-Tin over either Tracy any day. The thought made me wince. Tin-Tin would've had my head if she heard that.

"I just fed the coordinates to your watch GPS."

I look down and see I've got to hike back the way I just came and then about another mile beyond that to reach them. "Have Tin-Tin call me when she gets a visual."

"F.A.B. Base has been informed. Honolulu won't give clearance for any aircraft to land right now, so we can't get Virg and Brains there unless someone goes and gets them in One."

"Let me see if Scott's even fit to fly, then I'll let you know about One."

"Thunderbird Five out."

Shit.

I can't even think of anything sarcastic. It's all well and good when it's done in fun, to get a scowl or a laugh out of one of my brothers. Scott's especially the one I like to pop zingers at because he's the one whose skin it gets under easiest.

I won't allow myself to think anything other than the fact that when this damn rescue is over, I'll be sitting back in the Game Room watching him try to beat me at pool. I'll be handing him his ass on a platter and giving him a litany of reasons why an 'old man' shouldn't try to beat the far superior genetics that made it to me after it got rid of the crap-ass ones.

Virgil will protest, Scott will want to deck me, and Gordo and Alan will laugh their asses off. That's how what little down-time we have is spent. Whoever's on Five comes through on a monitor feed and we hang out like we always have.

That will happen again, I vow, as I barrel through the canopy. Scott's fine. Tin-Tin should be on him soon, and then she'll call and tell us something that'll no doubt have me sarking him left, right and center for a good two days, and life will go on.

Problem is, in situations like these, that's what everyone believes before the unthinkable happens almost out of spite, as if its only reason for happening at all is to prove you wrong. I move faster. I've got to get there. As good as Tin-Tin is, if Scott's in trouble, there's no way her tiny frame can help him ? he's just too big.

Damn him. The one time he isn't sitting on his ass at Mobile Control, and this is what happens. Not only had he already given me a dressing-down for not assessing the situation properly before stepping near the edge of a cliff, not long after we got here, but he'd lectured me about remembering protocol even in the midst of tense situations.

Like he never fucks up, or forgets one little thing. Never mind that if Scott hadn't been there I would've gone over the edge when the sodden ground gave away.

Somehow I knew I'd never hear the end of any of this.

I'm starting to shiver and while I know that's definitely not a good thing, I'm far too aware of the fact I can't stop. You wouldn't think you could get hypothermia in Hawaii, would you? Hot temperatures, warm water; pretty much the same climate as we have back on the island.

The island. What I wouldn't give to see her right now. Five years into operating and I'm still not tired of her. Of course, whenever we get the chance, my brothers and I and hell, even Dad, leave her for civilization. Grandma's in and out, visiting relatives or seeing places and things she's always wanted to. The only one who sticks close to home besides Brains ? and only because his lab's there ? is Kyrano. Tin-Tin usually winds up going wherever Alan goes. No big surprise there.

Dammit, my teeth are starting to chatter. I clamp my jaw down, but it just makes my head shake even more. Okay, take stock of things. Maybe not hypothermia. Maybe shock. Maybe I was right before, and I have lost too much blood. So I'm going into shock. And while I can tell you ten ways to counteract shock, right now I haven't got anything on me that I need to do it.

It's still as dark as ever, and the rain's still pounding into me as much as ever, only I think I've gone numb. Before, it felt like a million tiny pinpricks. Now, I can barely register it hitting me. Not good. I know this. But there's nothing I can do. What's to say this ledge I'm balancing myself on doesn't give away, too? I'm a lot heavier than what's usually on it, which is some dirt and maybe leaves or little pebbles.

I hear something skittering above me and for a moment hope rises that it's another human being; preferably John at this point, to haul me out of here. But then the skittering becomes silence and I flatten myself up against the cliff as far as possible. Which isn't far enough, I find out, when a boulder the size of a basketball bounces off my shoulder and heads into the abyss below.

Oh, God, did that sound just come out of me? Now I'm really glad nobody else is here. That would have been monumentally embarrassing for another soul to hear, because I do not scream. Okay, maybe it wasn't a scream. Maybe a cry. That sounds even worse. A yell? I'll go with that. It was a yell, because that rock hitting my damn shoulder hurt. I think I deserve a little slack for the high-pitched tone of that yell, thank you very much.

Christ, I'm getting delirious. I know I am. Shit. I am well and truly stuck. I mentioned how bad that sucks, didn't I? Of course I did. See, thing is, I know I'm going through all the stages here. From the moment you're injured until the moment of death, I know them all intimately; we all do. But even though I can categorize, analyze and conclude, I'm powerless to actually stop it from happening.

The other thing that sucks really bad? The one that's worse than finding yourself trapped on a ten inch-wide ledge? Is when you're hit with the realization that you're as human as all the people whose lives you save regularly. Not something we like to think of ourselves as. No, the Tracys are superhuman, all the websites say so. We're machines; robots. Androids. Or we're cyborgs. Or we're gods. Or maybe even magically protected.

That's what they all seem to think. But we're not, and having to be reminded of that fact when I'm probably ten minutes away from my own demise, sucks worse than realizing it did. The cliff shakes again, harder this time, and I'm thinking I might need to revise my estimate. Because ten minutes is a little too generous, I think, as another cascade of mud and rocks washes over me.

I probably look like I've been dipped in a mud bath. Tin-Tin would love it; says it does wonders for your skin. Never been particularly worried about my skin. I never even had acne as a teenager. The other guys at school hated me for it. Good genes, I told them, and then, well, they just said I was being an ass because of who my father is.

Thinking of Dad makes my stomach knot up tight. To lose his wife and his first-born? This could spell the end for my father, though I wonder simultaneously if I'm playing up my own role in his demise. Maybe it would hurt, but not kill him. I'd prefer that. Dammit, I don't even have a way to hand out last messages with my watch broken. I can't tell anyone anything before I go. Have I made it clear enough through the years that I don't need any final messages?

I tense with the sudden, stark realization that I probably haven't, and now that's the thing that sucks even more than being stuck on the ledge or realizing I'm just a human being. When was the last time I commended John for his latest discovery among the stars? When was the last time I congratulated Gordon and Kyrano for their successful hybridization of sea plants and land plants? When was the last time I asked Brains if he needed some snacks or a bottle of water while he worked like a slave in his lab?

When was the last time I hugged Tin-Tin and told her I liked having her as an adopted sister? When was the last time I told Alan I was proud of him for how he handled himself in that last auto race he won against all odds? When was the last time I thanked my dad for giving me the life I never knew I'd wanted, but somehow he did? And when was the last time I just told Virgil that I loved him?

Introspection is a bitch.

Maybe that's what you do if you have time before you die. I suppose Kyrano would say something about making my peace with the life I've lived, forgiving and sending out positive thoughts to everyone I love. But I'm not like him that way, and admitting there's anyone to forgive isn't exactly my forte. I don't even know how to send out positive thoughts, like it's some sort of switch you flip on to make brain waves shoot out of your skull into the air. How would they even find their intended targets in a world this big?

Yeah, better not try to rationalize that mystical stuff he gets up to. Oh, him?I wonder when the last time was that I thanked him for being my dad's best friend? Because let's face it; other than Kyrano, there isn't really a guy anywhere around Dad's age who knows absolutely everything about Dad's life that there is to know, that Dad also happens to trust completely. So by design or by default, Kyrano sort of became his best friend, and what an odd pair they make.

I'm thinking too much. I'm shivering a lot harder now. To the point where it's got my wrist and hell, my entire arm, just throbbing. So much for the non-narcotic painkillers. My vision starts to swim, though to be honest I'm not sure how I can tell when I've got rain pouring into my eyes.

I can feel my body starting to shut down, starting with my legs. If I keep shaking like this, I'll be the one who brings the ledge down. My good hand and my arms feel like lead, and my wrist is fucking killing me. I yawn, and somewhere on the edges of my thought process I register that yawning is definitely not good. It means I'm not getting enough oxygen, and that in turn means I'm probably going to pass out soon.

Maybe I ought to try and see if I can lay down on my side again, and somehow wedge myself into place so that when I do pass out, I don't take a flying leap off into whatever's beneath me. I mean, the rain has to stop some time. This is unusual for a place like a Hawaii. It's been going on too long. It has to stop, and then someone will find me and haul me out of here. But only if I don't go ass over tea kettle off this ledge.

I've decided I should get to it, and am fighting an internal battle with the muscles of my legs to get them to cooperate, when I hear it over the loud rain and wind. I strain to hear, my senses all on alert. I push up on the balls of my feet, my back sliding against the smooth rock, as though coming millimeters closer to the sound will make it more audible.

It's her. It's her voice. It's Tin-Tin. I close my eyes for a moment, then open my mouth and yell her name as loudly as I can.

I recognize this area now. At least, I think I do. It's different somehow, but it takes a few minutes for me to understand how it's different. Even with the rain smoothing down the rough edges, I can tell the edge of this cliff has recently broken away, and the understanding of that fact makes my stomach take a dive into my toes.

This was where Scott had been standing when he handed me the boy.

In spite of the water soaking me through, my throat has suddenly gone dry. I aim my open mouth skyward and force myself to drink in enough rainwater to get my voice working again. I call out, and by my own personal standards, it's a pathetic attempt. The next one's a bit better. By the time I yell Scott's name for a third attempt, it's nice and piercing and loud.

Then I listen. It's awfully difficult to hear anything but the sound gigantic raindrops make against the leaves of all the green around me. I strain to hear over the extra-loud mini-slaps that sound almost like pint-sized artillery fire. Difficult at best.

So I call out again, and I think I managed it louder this time. I would believe maybe Scott had gotten away before the cliff dissolved under his feet, but my locator's telling a different story. A scarier story. Of course, the locator doesn't give me vertical readings. It's only designed to give horizontal locations, being the points of the compass. It's only 2-D right now in its first incarnation. I make a mental note to advise Brains our next step of making it 3-D needs to happen sooner rather than later.

One more time, at the top of my lungs, screaming his name out in a voice I'm not sure isn't completely desperate in tone. But desperate is okay right now, because that's what I am. That's when it comes back to me. That's when I know the locator was right, even though it should never have been able to pick Scott up at all without his GPS functioning.

"Tin-Tin!" comes the bellowed sound from over the side of the cliff.

"Scott!" I yell back and stuff the locator into my pocket. I drop to my hands and knees, figuring the best way I can determine his condition right now is visually. I pull the small flashlight from my utility belt, turn it on, and move forward slowly. I test the ground with each hand before I firmly plant it palm-flat into a good five inches' worth of mud. The same with my knees as I slowly advance toward Scott's voice, which has called out again.

"I'm coming!" I yell. I want to move faster, but if there's one thing Jeff Tracy's drilled into all our heads from the word 'Go,' it's that risking your life is one thing; taking unnecessary chances with your life just to try and effect an impossible rescue is foolhardy.

But this is Scott.

I take a deep breath and hold it to keep my body as still as possible as I move forward the last few inches to the edge. I flatten to my belly and scoot forward a few inches more until my head's over the side. Then I slowly move my hand up so the flashlight is pointing downward. I gasp because the ledge Scott's standing on isn't even wide enough to fit his entire foot. At the very least his toes are hanging off the edge ? more like a good two inches of his boots.

I can see the cut in his forehead as he looks up at me, squinting at the sudden, strong beam of light. He also has his left arm tucked into his sash like a sling, and it gives me a pretty good idea of why we couldn't reach his communicator or locate him via GPS. Yet the locator still picked him up. I shake my head; that's a conundrum best saved for later?after Scott's safe and sound.

"You're injured!" I yell across the roughly ten feet separating us.

"Yes!"

Scott Tracy just admitted he was injured. I fear blood loss in the extreme. To what else can I attribute his willingness to admit to weakness? I feel my watch vibrate on my arm and slowly raise it so I can see the face. It's Alan.

"I've found him, he's alive. He's perched on a narrow ledge over the edge of a cliff."

"Shit!" Alan swears. "John's on his way, he'll probably get to you in about four minutes."

"I need some sort of rope," I muse, more to myself than to him. I roll a bit to my side and shine the flashlight up at the trees and plants surrounding me. There's a vine hanging from one of the many Nepalese alder trees. Maybe I can use that, I think, if I can cut it down. I have a knife; we all carry one in our utility belts. But I'll have to climb the tree to get high enough to cut it longer than ten feet. Perhaps John will make it easier on me when he arrives.

"Tin-Tin, please be careful. If Scott went over that cliff, you could too."

"I am being careful, Alan," I assure him, shifting a little to look back down. "We're going to haul you up, Scott, just a few minutes more, all right?"

I see Scott nod his head, and it's the last thing I see that isn't dancing wildly. The ground beneath my chest gives way without even a hint of warning, and the flashlight flies from my hands as a combination of Alan's and Scott's strangled cries reach my ears. I'm falling, fast and hard. What surprises me the most, however, is how quickly I stop.

I hurt a bit, but a quick assessment of my body tells me nothing's broken or even dislocated. Small favors being what they are, I'm grateful. I did some sort of somersault in the air and landed on my hands and knees. When I feel around me, there's no rock. This surprises me. If Scott's ledge is what stopped me, I should be feeling rock under my fingertips.

But it's jungle. Leaves and grass and twigs. I frown. Did I fall farther down than it felt like? Am I dead and just don't realize it yet? I get up, my legs shaking a bit from the fright of it all, and see that my flashlights only a couple feet to my right. So?I'm not on a ledge, maybe?

I can hear Alan yelling from my watch, and Scott yelling from?above? Wait. Wait just one?oh, my God.

I retrieve my flashlight, turn and look up toward where it sounds like Scott's voice is coming from. I shine the beam of light and there, on his narrow ledge looking so panicked I instantly feel a protective streak run through me wanting to soothe the fear from him, stands Scott. Scott standing. On his narrow ledge.

Scott's narrow ledge is only two feet above my head.

Finally made it. Just as I stop in the place my watch tells me to, I hear Alan calling me and answer. He has a huge shit-eating grin on his face, and then he actually laughs before trying to pull his face back into a more serious look. Trying and failing. Miserably.

"What the hell's so funny?" I grouse because dammit, that last big leaf sliced a good chunk out of the back of my hand. That'll need stitches.

"Scott's fine," Alan reported. Okay, so maybe he was just laughing because he was hysterical with relief? "So is Tin-Tin," he continues. "Although, I think Scott's pride might have suffered on this one."

Wait, Scott's?pride? "What happened?"

"They both fell over the cliff that's two feet to your left," Alan says, and he's so calm I start wondering if he's gone off his rocker. He pauses, and I can tell he's building up to something. I'm right. "They fell," he says, and I'm thinking, great, now he's repeating himself. "Scott fell ten feet." Now his face is twisting like someone's tickling his ribs hard and he's under direct orders not to bust out laughing. "And Tin-Tin fell to the bottom of the chasm."

"To the bottom?" No, that was most definitely not a squeak in my voice. "How far? Is she hurt?" Is she-?"

"Twelve feet," is Alan's reply.

I have to hand it to him. He's got deadpan down to an art. "Twelve?feet?you say?"

Alan nods. "Twelve feet."

"If Scott fell ten feet, and Tin-Tin hit the bottom of the chasm at only twelve feet," I begin, and then realize I sound like I'm solving an elementary school word problem.

Alan picks up that train of thought. "Then how far away was Scott from complete safety, which means he was totally unaware of the fact that he could've jumped to it at any time?"

The grin that spreads across my face contains a fair amount of maliciousness, I'll grant you, when I reply, "Two feet."

"Two feet," Alan confirms. "He's told Tin-Tin that when he fell over the cliff and landed on the ledge, he just figured it was a big cliff. Tall cliff. And that he couldn't risk trying to get back up or he'd fall to his death."

That's it. I can't handle it anymore. I just start belly laughing and I can't stop for a good minute. Alan's laughing right along with me, and the thing is?the beautiful, perfect, wonderful thing is?that for once I get to throw Scott's very own lecture back into his face.

When I finally get myself under control, I say to Alan, "Guess he didn't do very good reconnaissance of his surroundings before resigning himself to being stuck on a ledge."

The way Alan shakes his head tells me that he instantly understands I must have gotten my ass busted for not doing that, and that I'm subsequently going to give Scott shit about this for the rest of our natural lives. His broad smile tells me he approves wholeheartedly.

"He's going to be so embarrassed," Alan finally says.

"Good," I reply. "Where are they?"

"I headed them toward the nearest base camp. Scott's bled plenty, but now that he knows he's not in mortal danger, it seems he can walk under his own steam."

I nod. This is going to be fun. See, sometimes Scott just gets a little overeager treating us all like those who were under his command in the Air Force. And it's not that I don't appreciate discipline and protocol. It's just that half the time I can't figure out if he's being a hard-ass just because he's a former captain, or if it's just to remind me I'm younger than he is.

Truth be told, it doesn't matter, because I've never been real good at taking orders from anybody. 'Problem with authority," one of my junior high report card comments had been. Dad had just chuckled and told me both he and Scott had the same thing on their own reports at some point in their school careers.

But this? This gives me something I can torture him with endlessly when it suits me. He's going to glare. He's probably going to tell me six ways from Sunday to 'shove it where the sun don't shine.' He might even haul off and punch me square in the jaw.

Thing is, I'll welcome it. Not because I'm into pain. But because it means my big brother's still alive to do it.