CLOUD OF DOOM by BOOMERCAT RATED FRT

John and his brothers have a busy week.

Author's note: Once again, my profound thanks to my super betas, Sam and Lynn, without whom this story would be a mish-mash with rotten punctuation and spelling. I also want to thank Opal Girl for her invaluable help in matters of space and physics. A special thanks to the TIWF chatroom crowd for their continuing support and enthusiasm. Warning: Paraphrasing the words of the immortal Bones McCoy, ‘Dammit Jim, I'm a fanfic writer, not a scientist!' The science in this story is probably cringe-worthy to those of you with strong backgrounds. Any errors are my own and are despite the brave attempts of those who know better to explain things to me. One other thing, this is my longest story to date. If you are the type who can't stop reading once you start, this story prints out to 160 pages. I take no responsibility for missed classes, or late nights.

John Tracy paused, razor in hand, to stare in the mirror at the blotchy, yellow-tinged bruise decorating his jaw. He turned his face this way and that to get a better look. After a moment, he grimaced in disgust and continued shaving.

The rescue the previous day had not been particularly dangerous or difficult. The injury had only been a fluke. A piece of falling debris had shattered on impact and sent shards flying like scattershot.

It was a minor accident that his brothers Scott and Virgil treated as a major disaster, stopping their own work to come and hover anxiously over him. He sighed. Did his brothers really think he was incompetent or something? It was true he had the least field experience of all the Tracy boys, but that was due to his primary duty as Space Monitor. In spite of that, or maybe because of it, John trained harder than any of them.

Shaking his head, he wiped his face on a towel and strode from the bathroom, grabbing a tee shirt from his dresser as he went. He opened his door, and entered the hall, still tugging the shirt on, and in his pre-occupation ran into his younger brother, Gordon.

"Hey John. You want to help me this afternoon? I'm gonna install that laser prog... Whoa! What happened to your face? Are you okay?"

Gordon raised a tentative hand toward John's face, but with a glare, John knocked it away. "Don't you start too. It's bad enough with Scott and Virg fluttering around. I'm fine, it's just a bruise."

Far from offended, Gordon chuckled. "Trouble with the ol' M.H.L., huh?"

"MHL?"

"Yeah. Short for T.G.M.H.L.O.T.I." Gordon wiggled his eyebrows and waited expectantly. When John didn't rise to the bait, he clarified in a helpful tone, "Formerly the T.G.M.H.L.O.K.K."

John considered not asking the question. If it had been Alan, he wouldn't have needed to say a word. Alan would have blurted out the meaning of the acronym almost before John could formulate the question. Gordon, on the other hand, was a whole different kettle of fish. Gordon would take the answer to the grave before he would say anything.

The question in John's mind was did he really want to know what the letters stood for? Deciding the answer was yes, John cocked his head to the side, and with a tiny smile said, "Okay, I give. What does it stand for?"

"Which one?"

"You're pushing it." John growled.

Gordon just grinned. "It stands for The Greater Mother Hen League of Tracy Island. A league, I might add, of which you are a charter member."

John snorted. "Well, I'm not too crazy about being on the receiving end."

"Hah! Welcome to my world!"

"Oh come on. At least they don't smother you. One little bruise, and you'd think the world was coming to an end!" John knew he was exaggerating, but yesterday's incident had been frustrating to say the least.

"Aw, is poor widdle Johnny being picked on?"

"Only by a younger brother who's not going to get any help if he keeps it up."

Gordon grinned, unfazed. "Tell you what. You help me install the laser program in Thunderbird Four, and I'll get Scotty off your back."

John wore his skepticism on his face. "And just how are you going to do that?"

"Just watch the master." Gordon headed off toward the kitchen. Reaching the doorway he winked at his following brother and subtly changed his stance.

John watched in fascination as Gordon shuffled into the kitchen where the rest of the family was already eating breakfast. There was nothing overt in Gordon's movement and it took John a moment to figure out what was different. His devious younger brother had simply stiffened his back, and maybe slumped his shoulders a bit. If John hadn't been with him, he would have believed that Gordon's back, injured a few years earlier, was bothering him.

The effect of the ruse was immediate. Scott's forkful of eggs stopped halfway to his mouth. Their father Jeff's head swiveled like a targeting laser locking on. Even Virgil mustered up a sleepy frown.

"Son? Are you all right?"

As if he just realized that he wasn't moving right, Gordon stood a bit straighter and said warily, "I'm fine, Dad."

"Your back is bothering you." Scott stated flatly.

"My back's fine. Dad, did you see John's face? That bruise is huge."

As he pulled out a chair and sat, John's jaw tightened momentarily, but Scott waved the comment away. "Don't try to change the subject. John is just fine. How bad is your back, Gordon?"

"I told you, Scott. My back is fine. Uh, no eggs, thanks, Kyrano. Do we have any corn flakes?"

Accepting a plateful of sausage and eggs, John kept a straight face. He had to admit it was indeed a masterful performance. Gordon was actually telling the truth, but Scott wasn't buying it for a minute. Turning down the eggs was an excellent touch, implying a lack of hunger totally out of character for his younger brother.

John glanced up at his father, and it was like a bucket of cold water over his head. The tight look on the elder Tracy's face poorly covered his heartbreak at seeing his son in supposed pain. John immediately regretted his part in the subterfuge. He tried to signal Gordon, but the red haired Tracy was busy keeping his head down over his cereal as if he didn't want to meet anyone's eye.

Jeff cleared his throat. "What's on everybody's agenda today?"

"Uh, the Mole." Virgil spoke up, his voice a gravelly with sleep. "I got word yesterday evening that the replacement blade is on the dock in Christchurch. I'm going to head over in the freight heli this morning. I'll need everybody, um, except Gordon, to help me get the broken blade changed out this afternoon." Virgil became more animated as the thought of working on one of his favorite machines woke him up.

John grimaced inwardly. Replacing the half-ton blade would take all afternoon. Jeff simply nodded. "Anything else?"

Gordon responded even as Scott opened his mouth. "John's going to help me install that laser targeting software upgrade this morning."

"Oh. I was hoping John would want to work out with me this morning." Scott's disappointment was plain.

Jumping up, John put his hands on his hips, thrust out his jaw and in his best super-hero voice said, "Fear not, citizen! I shall install the youngster's software, single-handedly replace the Mole's blade, balance a few checkbooks, and still have time to thrash you soundly!"

Not to be outdone, Gordon did his Ned Cook impression, "Yes, folks, it's that time again! Time for the Amazing Adventures of Johnny-On-The-Spot. Yes, Johnny-On-The-Spot, strange visitor from another planet..."

"...Strange being the operative word." Scott interjected.

"Women swoon at his feet..."

"... Having Grandma nearly pass out when she opens your clothes hamper doesn't count."

"Children wave to catch his eye..."

"... Actually, they were flipping you off."

"Brave men tremble at his coming..."

Scott started to say something, then paused. With a raised eyebrow, he deadpanned, "I wouldn't touch that one with a ten-foot pole."

Everyone in the room laughed. Even Kyrano permitted himself a soft chuckle. Still grinning, John said, "Seriously, I don't see that upgrade taking that long. Why don't you and I hit the gym, and Gordon, I'll get with you in a couple of hours?"

Scott nodded, grinning wryly. "Yeah, that'll work for me, although it may take you more than a few hours to, uh, I believe you said ‘thrash me soundly'?"

"Well, maybe not soundly."

"Bring it on, junior."

"Can I have your stereo when you're gone?"

John turned a gimlet eye on his younger brother. "You should be asking Scott that question, not me."

"Okay. Scott, can I have John's stereo when you've killed him?"

"All right, boys, that's enough. Gordon, I'd like a word with you in the lounge."

"Sure, Dad." Gordon popped up from his chair, apparently forgetting his ‘bad back', and followed Jeff out of the room. In an unconscious parody of earlier, Scott again froze with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth.

Virgil watched with raised eyebrows. Sighing, he shook his head, then stood finishing off his coffee. He glanced as his older brother's sour face and said casually as he headed out the door, "Wait until I get back, then we'll get him."

Thinking his younger brother was not long for this world, John stood. "Ready?"

Scott shifted gears, the frown clearing. "Yeah. I was thinking we could do some Greco-Roman."

"Oh, I'll just bet you were. I was thinking more along the lines of foils."

"Well, I haven't had a decent match in ages, but..."

"Give it up, Scotty. Gordon told me Alan whipped your butt just a few weeks ago."

Irritated, Scott replied. "Gordon's got a big mouth. And no, Alan did not whip my butt. He was up by a touch, and the alarm sounded."

"Ah. Well, I won't need to be saved by any tocsin. Prepare to suffer ignominious discomfiture at my hands, varlet!"

"I'll come up with a pithy rejoinder once I've checked my dictionary." Scott remarked dryly as the two brothers headed to the gym.

They split up in the locker room, and John eagerly donned his gear. He had fenced competitively in college, and although he never made the top rank, he still enjoyed the experience. He settled the lame over his chest and looked up at the sound of footsteps.

Scott stood, foil in one hand, mask in the other, frowning. John returned the frown. "Where's your lame?"

"This is just a workout, John. We don't need to keep score." Scott responded warily.

"Yes, we do. It's no fun if we don't keep score. Come on, Scott, let's do it right." The lame was a chest protector that was made up of a special electrostatic material. When the foils were switched on, any touch to the lame would register as a point. There was a time, not long past, when the fencers actually had to be ‘hooked up' with long cords to a scoring machine. In modern times the foils and lames were all linked with microprocessors and ion-lithium batteries.

With a sigh, Scott decided. "All right. It's your funeral."

"That's the spirit!" John grinned. He relished the idea of beating his big brother at anything.

John headed for the gym floor, where he started stretching. It was hard work keeping fit on a space station. The lighter gravity made the workouts all the harder because he had to train longer to get the same benefit of working out on Earth.

John caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror across the gym, and he paused to really look himself over. Tall, not too thin, the white fencing uniform added to his height. He struck a pose, standing at attention, the foil held out and down. He decided he didn't look half-bad. "Preening again?"

John jumped at his brother's dry remark. Covering his embarrassment by donning his mask, he said lightly, "Ah, well, at least I have a reason. White just isn't your color, Scott."

Scott put on a look of mock indignation and stood in front of the mirror. John had to admit, with his sleek muscular build Scott did cut a dashing figure, but he'd be damned if he'd say it out loud. The older Tracy finished his self-examination and turned, saying casually as he pulled on his mask, "You are a dirty dog liar, and you're going to have to pay the price."

The brothers moved to the middle of the floor, and after a few more stretches, engaged their blades. John moved first, parrying neatly and then lunging forward. Scott wasn't fooled, though, and he parried and riposted with more finesse than John would have thought possible. He stepped back for a moment. "You've been practicing."

Scott chuckled evilly but said nothing, instead launching a furious attack. John found himself backing up under the onslaught, but soon found a way to steal the tempo. He dropped his foil low, and Scott paused, unsure what was happening. After a moment, the older Tracy again pressed the attack. John found that Scott kept trying to close the distance, lunging again and again. After a few moments John let him close, and then derobing a beat from this brother's blade, snuck a touch in. "Hah!"

A soft tone let the fencers know that a point had been scored, and the two disengaged and moved back to the middle of the floor. "Prepare to defend yourself." Scott's growl was deadly. There was nothing Scott took more seriously than competition.

There might have been a time growing up when John would have been intimidated, but that time was long past. He snorted his defiance.

They engaged again and Scott's aggressive lunge was more of a leap, covering almost six feet. John tried to beat aside Scott's blade, but the older man just ignored him, driving in for a touch so hard it bent the flexible foil almost in half.

John looked down at his chest to find the Scott's foil was pressing directly over his heart.

"Gotcha!" Scott smirked.

John stood head cocked for a moment before saying dryly, "Uh, you want to disengage there, Scooter?"

Behind his mask, Scott grinned toothily. "Not particularly."

John rolled his eyes and took a step back then moved once more to the middle of the floor. When Scott moved back into position, and they touched blades, John challenged his brother. "Try that again. I dare you."

Scott laughed, but then did exactly that. This time, John was prepared. He sidestepped the lunge and again brought his foil down low. The resulting soft tone was drowned out by Scott's surprised cry.

With his own evil laugh, John put a bit more pressure on his blade and said, "Be very still Scott. We wouldn't want any mistakes down there, now would we?"

"That can't be fair."

"It's within the rules." John relented, easing off the pressure of his foil then moving to the center of the floor again.

The bout took up a rhythm. Beat disengage attack, parry riposte with disengage, counter parry riposte touch. The genial insults continued with the wit as sharp as the swords. The movement was fast and furious, with John's catlike grace against Scott's power and aggression. They spent over an hour going back and forth.

Much to John's surprise and delight, Scott proved a very worthy adversary, and by the time they both called uncle, John had only been able to take three out of five matches. Scott only gave in because he knew John needed time to help Gordon before Virgil returned with the part for the Mole. "What do you say we try this tomorrow? Same time, same place?"

"That'd be great, Scott."

"Okay, then. Tomorrow I won't be so easy on you."

John laughed as he headed for his room and a quick shower. As much as he loved the solitude of Thunderbird Five, he loved being with his family even more. He didn't get time alone with Scott nearly often enough, and the morning's workout had been great fun. He hit the shower, rinsing off an hour's worth of sweat then headed for the hangar, and Thunderbird Four.

Entering the pod, he found his younger brother sitting at the controls of the submarine, muttering under his breath. "How's it going?"

Gordon didn't even try to hide his relief. "It's not. I can get the damn program loaded only so far, then the whole system just seizes up. I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

"Move aside, let me see what I can do."

Gordon relinquished his seat quickly. "Thanks, Johnny. I don't know what it is, but every time I try to do something with this stupid computer, I just mess things up."

"Don't worry about it. I can fix it for you. What did Dad say?"

"About what?"

"About you faking a bad back."

"Oh, that. He didn't say anything, really. He just asked me what was going on, and I told him and that was that."

"You told him? What did you tell him?" John looked up from the keyboard.

"I told him the truth. That Scott was being overbearing and I was just diverting his attention." Gordon made it sound like the most reasonable thing in the world.

"And he didn't say anything?"

"Naw. I think he figures Scott will take care of it."

"Yeah, he'll take care of it all right. You do realize he's going to kill you, don't you?"

With a cocky grin, Gordon replied, "He can try. The thing is, John, you just have to..."

The alarm rang cutting Gordon off and both brothers jumped up and sprinted for the elevator. As they entered, John noticed his brother had gone pale. "Gordon? You all right?"

Gordon glanced at his brother and swallowed hard. "Do you know if Virg is back from the mainland yet?"

With a frown, John checked his chronometer. "No, I doubt it. He won't be back for at least another hour."

Gordon leaned against the back of the elevator. "God."

"What? What's wrong?"

Gordon shook his head. "I'll take on Scott any day of the week, but Virgil? You know he's convinced I can't fly Thunderbird Two worth crap. Doesn't matter what I do, he'll find some damn dent and be all over me for a month."

John laughed. "Is that all? I'll tell you what. I'll handle Virgil for you, okay?"

Gordon's eyes widened in surprise. Then he smiled sloppily. "You're my hero, you know that?"

John rolled his eyes as the elevator opened, and the two brothers rushed to the lounge. John saw Scott enter from the other side of the room just as he and Gordon reached their father's desk. John's attention was immediately drawn to the wall, where Alan was speaking.

"No, Father. They don't have a clue. I've targeted the station with long-range sensors, but as far as I can tell, there's no sign of meteor activity. At a guess, I'd have to say the problem is internal."

"All right, son. Your brothers are here now, let me just brief them."

"FAB, Dad."

"John, a French space station has had a section decompress. They're not sure if it is an isolated incident or if the rest of the station is in danger. I want you and Scott to take Thunderbird Three up and check it out."

John's eyes widened slightly. Space rescues were few and far between. The opportunity to use his skill as an astronaut filled him with anticipation. He nodded firmly as he moved to the couch that would deliver him to Thunderbird Three. "FAB, Father."

Scott joined him on the couch, and as it dropped down, John saw Gordon mime wiping his brow in relief, then waving cheerfully at him. He acknowledged his brother with a tight grin, then settled down for the three-minute trip to the giant rocket.

John glanced over at Scott, but the older man was staring straight ahead, no doubt mentally preparing himself for the trip. As Thunderbird Three came into view, John couldn't help a thrill of delight that ran up his spine. It was a beautiful design, sleek and efficient. His fingers itched to get his hands on the controls once again.

Soon the couch locked down with a ratcheting thump. John leapt up and headed for the elevator that would take him to the flight deck. Scott was a step behind. "Careful, Johnny, you're actually showing enthusiasm there."

John laughed. "What's the matter, big brother? Afraid I'll do something rash?"

Scott grinned. "No, I don't have nearly enough imagination for that."

The door slid open and the brothers enter the flight cabin. John grinned devilishly. "Tighten those straps good, Scotty! I'm gonna rock your world!"

Scott laughed with delight as he buckled up his safety harness. John was warmed by the knowledge that his control-freak brother trusted him implicitly with the powerful space ship.

The two working together soon had the pre-flight checks done. John once again thanked his lucky stars that his father had met Brains. His last space flight with NASA had entailed a checklist that literally took two days to complete. Brains' automation of that checklist meant that Thunderbird Three was ready to go at the drop of a hat. And yet, the checks were so meticulous that John had no trepidation in just lighting her up and setting her free.

"Thunderbird Three to Base. We're ready here, Father."

"All right, son. God speed and take care."

"Thank you, Father. Launch in three... two... one... mark." John toggled an innocuous switch, and suddenly the mighty ship came to life. With a bone-shaking rumble, the most powerful engines on the planet started to lift the mighty ship into the air.

John sucked in his breath as he and Scott were pushed deeply into their seats. His heart started to pound, and he had to repress his desire to whoop out his excitement. A glance over at his brother confirmed that Scott was enjoying the g-pull as much as he was. A fleeting thought that it was in the blood passed through John's mind, as he turned his attention to his array of controls.

"Shutting down primary. Prepare for switch over to maneuvering rockets."

"Check. The board is green."

"The board is green. Switchover in three... two... one... mark." John cut the heavy thrusting chemical rocket and brought the powerful but small atomic engines online. As soon as the primary engines cut out, John felt his body shift in his seat.

"Bringing up artificial gravity." Adjusting another control, John felt himself settle back down into his seat.

Scott flipped a switch and called out, "Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird Five. Alan, we're ready for the coordinate feed."

"Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Three. I have you on my screen. Listen, guys, I think you should head over here. This rescue might require some serious extra-vehicular activity. Scott, you and I should trade places."

Scott folded his arms across his chest and with a raised eyebrow asked. "Did I miss the memo? Did Hell recently freeze over?"

John, however, found himself nodding. "No, Scott, it makes sense. Al has more experience than you."

Scott turned to his brother, his face expressionless. "Not going to happen. But I'll tell you what, I do agree Alan has more EVA time than me. I'm considering picking him up and allowing him to tag along."

"Tag along? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

John just shook his head at Alan's explosion. "Be nice, Scott."

Scott relented. "Alan, there was never any doubt. We'll be rendezvousing in thirteen minutes."

Alan narrowed his eyes. "That's more like it."

"And don't forget to make a pit stop. I don't want to have to turn back once we get started. Scott out." Scott cut the connection before Alan could reply.

John snickered. "And you wonder why Al is always whining."

Scott just smiled, then opened a line to their home to tell their father the arrangement.

"We're coming up on the station now, Father."

"All right, Scott. Be careful, son."

"FAB." Scott shut down the communicator and turned his eyes to the image scanner. "You guys see anything yet?"

John couldn't help himself. Using his gloved finger, he tapped the screen. "Yeah, Scott, we were thinking this big thingie here was the space station."

"But we'd defer to your opinion, of course." Alan nodded sincerely.

Scott who had been peering intently at the screen paused, then growled, "This is why we keep you two apart."

John batted his eyes innocently at his brother knowing instinctively that Alan was doing the same.

Scott glanced up at the identical looks and fought back a grin. "Don't make me pull over."

The two younger men laughed then all three returned to their study of the imaging screen. Dissatisfied with what he was seeing, John flipped a few toggles saying, "Switching to infrared view."

The station bloomed with reds and oranges and yellows. A few areas were an ominous blue edging into black. All eyes were immediately drawn to these areas.

"Doesn't look so bad." Scott said finally.

John shook his head, but Alan answered first. "Yeah, it does actually. See, these areas are the living quarters. They're nowhere near the manufacturing pods. That means this wasn't the industrial accident we've been assuming. These living areas are built with all sorts of redundancies. There shouldn't be any way they could have had these blowouts."

"Meteors?"

"No, I don't think so, Scott. Look here, see these two sections are open in one direction, but this one here is open almost 180 degrees in the opposite direction. It would be really unusual to be hit with three separate meteors from different directions. And look at this." John pointed to the screen. "This section opened up on an interior angle. Any meteor would have had to zigzag to miss these other sections and hit that one."

"So what are you saying, then? Sabotage?"

Alan shrugged and John finally answered slowly shaking his head. "Who knows? The point is, it's unknown, and out here, the unknown is deadly. We've got to be very careful here."

"Agreed. Let's get these people evacuated and get the hell out of Dodge."

"Whoa! Did you see that!" John and Scott turned back to the screen at Alan's exclamation and as one, gasped. Still on infrared view, one section that had previously been a warm yellow was rapidly turning blue.

John checked his readings. "We had the cameras running. Maybe we can get a good look at what's causing this."

"We'll go over it later. Right now, we need to get those people off that death trap." Scott said firmly as he keyed in the communicator. "International Rescue to FMSS 7. What is your status?"

"We have you on approach International Rescue. Another section has decompressed. We've got some people cut off over there. Can you assist?"

Alan pointed to one section on the screen. The yellow was a duller, softer shade than the other sections, indicative of failing power, but worse, the blue black of dead sections surrounded it.

"How many?"

Scott had gone quiet as if talking to himself but the station operator answered. "Two. They went over to check out the damage."

"So they're suited up?" Scott's voice was cool, professional, but John could see the relief in the set of his shoulders.

"Yes, they should be, but we haven't heard anything from them since the section let go. They may be outside."

John slapped a switch that broadened the imager's view. "Initiating search now."

The three brothers waited tensely as the computer sorted through near space looking for hot spots of a particular size. As they watched, the screen blinked then displayed two small dots moving away from the station and each other at some speed.

Alan let loose a low whistle. "Wow! Look at ‘em go!"

John allowed a small smile at the remark but never looked up from where he was working on his communications console. Finally satisfied with the settings, he flicked a switch and heavy terrified breathing came through the speakers.

In a calming tone, John spoke. "This is International Rescue. You are on our scope, and we are coming to get you."

Two voices called out, rough with relief.

"Oh thank God! Thank God!"

"Uh, we hear you, International Rescue."

As Alan started maneuvering the big ship over toward the two men, John continued. "All right, guys, are either of you hurt? Low on air?"

"I'm fine. You'd better pick up Henri first. He has a wife and kids."

John noted it was the calmer of the two men who had spoken. There was a pause that John imagined was guilt-ridden on Henri's part. Scott smoothly filled the silence. "None of that, fellas. We're picking you both up."

There was a nervous laugh, but John couldn't tell from which man. "All right, do either of you have control packs on? Henri?"

"No. No control packs. We were not expecting to do an EVA." After a moment, he continued in a shaky voice. "Listen, you pick up Jean-Louis first. I can wait."

"No Henri! You must consider your children!"

"My children do not need a coward for a father, Jean."

"I never called you a coward. But think Henri, I have no one who will weep if I do not return."

"That is not true, Jean. Think of all those students of yours."

The Tracy brothers listened to the conversation as they worked their controls. As Alan brought Thunderbird Three up between the two men, Scott zeroed in with a targeting system.

Scott paused and looked over at John who rolled his eyes at the ongoing argument on the speaker. With a grin, Scott said, "Deploying now."

John returned the grin then watched the screen as two lines shot out from Thunderbird Three. The lines hit the two stranded astronauts at almost the same moment, and the argument ended with two surprised grunts.

"Gotcha." Scott remarked smugly as he keyed in the command to retract the lines.

John scanned the telemetry with a practiced eye. More than just a grapple, the rescue lines Scott had deployed had sensors in their soft-hand grips that immediately told him the condition of the rescuees. Apart from elevated heartbeats, and other indications of stress, they seemed fine. Both had full suit integrity and sufficient oxygen.

Glancing at the readouts, Scott unbuckled. "I'd better go welcome our guests. Alan, head over to the station, but I don't want you to hook up anywhere near the living quarters, understand?"

John felt Alan bristle next to him, so he answered quickly. "Yeah, Scott, we figured we'd dock at the cargo lock."

With a grunt, Scott headed downship. John was careful not to look over at his volatile younger brother. After a few minutes, he sensed Alan relaxing. "One of these days, I'm telling you, I'm gonna kill him."

"Oh, yeah, there's a plan. You know what happens if you kill Scott?"

"What?"

"Virgil becomes the oldest brother. You really want that?"

Alan gave it some thought. "No, I suppose not. But he just makes me so crazy."

"Yeah, I know." John paused for a moment then changed the subject. "Did I tell you I kicked his butt fencing this morning?"

"You did? Excellent! I had him nailed a couple of weeks ago, but of course, he won't admit it."

"Yeah, Gordon told me. Did he do that ‘I'm a gazelle' thing with you?"

"What, that forty foot leap thing? Yeah, he did..."

Alan was interrupted as Scott reported both astronauts safely aboard.

John acknowledged, then called the station. "International Rescue to FMSS 7. We've picked up your missing men and we will be docking with you in... four point five minutes."

There was a sigh of relief before the station operator responded. "Roger that, International Rescue. Do the men require medical attention?"

"No, your people are fine. Are you folks ready to evacuate?"

"Yes. After that last blowout, even the dawgs are ready."

John smiled at that. Seasoned space veterans were universally known as space dawgs and were considered to be tough as nails.

"Understood. We will be docking on the cargo lock. Get your people down there, will you?"

"Already done. That's where the majority of our life pods are anyway, so we'd already sent the NEP's there."

"Good. We'll be with you shortly. International Rescue, out."

John turned to watch as Alan approached the lock with a deft touch. He reflected that it would have been much harder and a lot more dangerous if the World Space Agency had not passed dock standardization legislation a few years back. As it was, Alan was able to dock with a barely discernable bump. The dock itself sensed the presence of the ship and sealed itself around Thunderbird Three's airlock.

John confirmed the seal and pressurization and hit the intercom. "Scott, docking complete."

"FAB, John. Good job. Standby."

Alan frowned as the intercom clicked off, and John braced against a complaint that Scott hadn't acknowledged Alan's contribution. "So what did you do?"

"Come on, Al, you know he meant us both."

"Huh?"

"What?" Both brothers wore confused frowns.

Alan broke the stalemate. "What are you talking about?"

"I was talking about Scott."

"Yeah, me too. So, what did you do?"

Feeling like he had stepped into an obscure vaudeville routine, John took a deep breath. "What did I do about what?"

Alan looked at him as if he were a rather dim child. With exaggerated patience he replied, "Fencing. That Tinkerbell leap. How did you handle it?"

"Oh!" John exclaimed as the light dawned. "I came in low. Really low."

Alan's eyes widened. "Low?"

"Let's just say if he hadn't been wearing protection, your progeny would have moved right on up the line of succession." John smirked.

Alan laughed out loud. "Geez, John! What did he say?"

"What could he say? It was a legal move. But I noticed he stopped leaping right after that."

"Oh God, I wish I'd been there!" Alan wiped away tears of mirth. "Man, I gotta remember that move. Hey, you didn't tell Gordon, did you? I wanna try it on him."

"Gordon? Since when does Gordon fence?"

"Well, he doesn't. Not really. I've bugged him to help me practice, but you know how he is, he won't take it seriously. I know he'd be good if he'd just try." Alan shook his head in exasperation.

"Well, why don't you just practice with Scott?"

Alan looked at this brother as if he'd grown a second head. "Scott turns everything into a death match."

"Goldilocks."

"Huh?"

"You sound like Goldilocks. Scott is too hard, and Gordon is too soft, and you want someone who is just right."

Alan rolled his eyes, but John smiled a small smile. "You know, you should try looking through Grandma's old scrapbooks once and a while."

Alan blinked at the non sequitur. "What? Why?"

John considered his answer. Looking his brother in the eye, he discarded his half-formed plan to send him on a treasure hunt. "Because I was helping Grandma sort some stuff out last month and I came across an old high school picture of Dad in full gear with a foil in one hand and a trophy in the other. I was going to ask him about it, but something came up and I forgot all about it."

"Dad used to fence?"

"I think so. I mean, if you think about it, it makes sense, right? We started in high school, and Coach Daugherty was there when Dad was a kid, too. And you know Dad was the one who donated all that equipment we used to use."

"Yeah, but he donated half the stuff the school had anyway." Alan eyes took on a faraway look. "It would be neat to work out with him."

"And he'd be just your speed too. Scott's killer instincts without the reflexes."

Alan chuckled softly. "Oh man, this is going to be great. I hope he's willing."

John smiled, sharing the feeling. All of the Tracy sons loved doing things with their dad. "You know, I really like the idea too. Would you mind if I tried him out for you?"

"No, that'd be great. You could kind of warm him up for me." The two brothers sat back in companionable silence wearing identical soft smiles of anticipation.

They were still quiet within their own thoughts some time later with the intercom clicked on. "John, we're all loaded here. The station manager's asking that we take them over to the bus terminal."

"FAB, Scott. We'll be undocked in a couple of minutes." John set to work getting the appropriate coordinates as Alan began undocking procedures. The bus terminal was actually a large well-established station run by the World Space Agency. In addition to acting as a platform for scientific research, it was a jumping off point for all exploration and commerce in the solar system. Like Rome and its roads, all space travel seemed to lead there. It was known as the bus terminal because of the regular shuttle runs to and from Earth and beyond.

"Undocking complete. Firing thrusters now."

"Co-ordinates are locked in." John hit a final switch.

"Okay, we are on course, E.T.A. at WSTS in seven minutes."

"Seven minutes. Thunderbird Three to Base."

"This is Base, go ahead, John."

"Father, we've evacuated the station with no casualties. We're taking them to the World Space Transit Station. We estimate we will arrive there in about seven minutes."

"All right, son. Let me know if you need anything."

"FAB, Dad." John disconnected from his father, then re-set the communicator to a different frequency. "International Rescue to World Space Transit Station, please acknowledge."

"International Rescue, this is WSTS, over."

"WSTS, we are on a vector to rendezvous with you with evacuees from FMSS 7."

"Understood, International Rescue. We have you on our screens. Please dock at slip seven. Sending codes now, over."

"Codes received. We'll be docking momentarily."

"Roger, International Rescue. The World Space Agency welcomes you aboard."

John and Alan glanced at one another uncomfortably. "Thank you. Uh, we will be off-loading our passengers, but then we need to return to our Base."

The response came from a different voice. "This is Station Manager Paul Eckenrod. We'd like to have you men join us for a meal. It's the least we can do."

"Thank you, sir. We appreciate the offer, but we're on duty and it just isn't possible." John hoped the reference to duty would prevent any offence at their turning down the meal.

"Perhaps another time."

"Yes sir. International Rescue out."

During this conversation, Alan had been busy bringing Thunderbird Three in a line with the airlock on the massive station. Again he displayed his skill, nudging expertly into position. As the dock engaged, he shut down his board, a smug grin on his face. Catching John's eye, he said, "Admit it, John, I am the King of Docks."

"More like the King of Dorks."

"And you can be my Crown Prince."

"Crown Prince of Dorks. Great. Just what I always wanted."

"Well yes, I've known that you've been aspiring to it for a long time."

"I guess I just don't have your natural aptitude."

"Never was a truer word ever spoken, Johnny."

With a snort, John shook his head. Flicking on the intercom, he said, "John to Scott. How long until the passengers have departed?"

"Give it another five minutes. Have you reported to Base?"

"Yes, we did. Let me know when you're ready to button her up."

"FAB."

As John shut off the intercom, Alan remarked agitatedly, "How can you be so calm when he does that?"

John frowned. "Does what?"

"John, he was checking up on you! He didn't trust you to call Base without him telling you to!"

John shook his head, sighing, "Al, you've got to stop reading things into everything Scott says and does. He trusts me just fine. And he trusts you too."

"Yeah, that's why he had to tell me to stay away from the living quarters on that station."

"Kiddo, if he didn't trust you, you'd be down in the hold right now playing flight attendant."

"No, he just figures you're here to keep me from screwing up."

John reached over and punched his brother's arm. "Will you stop? Scott trusts us, that's all there is to it."

Alan harrumphed but didn't say anything more. After a few moments, he changed the subject. "So what are you doing dirt-side? You got any plans?"

"Well, today, I was helping Gordon with a computer program when the alarm went off."

"Exciting."

"Yes, and this afternoon, we're going to change out a blade on the Mole."

"Gee, the thrills never stop. John, you need to get out more. Why don't you head over to the mainland for once?"

"And do what?"

Alan shook his head. "God, do I have to explain? John, you need to get yourself laid, man!"

John guffawed, startled, "What? And what led you to this conclusion?"

"You spend all of your time on Five or the island. It doesn't take a Harvard grad to know you aren't getting any. Trust me on this, Johnny, flying solo is no substitute for the real thing."

John sat nonplussed. He started to say something then shook his head and closed his mouth. Alan was having none of it. "What?"

John took a few moments to come up with words to express what he was feeling. "I don't know, Al, there's just something surreal about getting a sex lecture from the kid brother who thought babies came from cabbage patches until he was fifteen."

Alan shook his head in exasperation. "It's just that I worry about you, Johnny. You're turning into a hermit and you never used to be that way."

John laughed. "Don't you worry about me. When I'm ready to go find a girl, believe me, I'll go find her."

"There's a girl lost?" Scott asked as he came in.

"Alan's worried about my love life." John said dryly.

"Ah. Maybe now would be a good time to tell him about you and Tin-Tin."

"As if!" Alan sneered.

John looked at his brother askance. "You don't think I could?"

"Not a matter of coulds, Johnny. It's a matter of woulds. You have honor, so you wouldn't, and she has me, so she wouldn't."

John rolled his eyes and opened a line to the station. "WSTS, this is International Rescue, we are ready for separation."

"Roger, International Rescue. Dock release is complete. Please do not fire main engines until you are at least 200 meters out. Thanks for your assistance. God speed, and safe flight."

"Thank you, WSTS, International Rescue, out."

John reached to flick a switch, but found Scott had beaten him to it. "Thunderbird Three to Base. We've dropped off the survivors and are now heading back to Thunderbird Five."

"FAB. Any problems, son?"

"No, Father. Everything went smoothly."

"All right, then, let me know when you've dropped off Alan."

"FAB." Scott shut down the communications system and sat back. "Well, we didn't need you after all, but still, I'm glad you came."

Alan grinned. "I'm glad I did, too. John and I had a chance to talk, and we've decided you're too easy, so we're going to ask Dad if he'll fence with us."

Scott smiled slowly. "I'm what?"

"Too easy. John and I need more of a challenge, and since we don't get to work out together, we thought we'd give Dad a shot."

John sat between his two brothers very quietly, hoping not to be noticed. He winced when Scott called in a soft voice. "John?"

He turned to his older brother and said sincerely. "I've never seen this man before in my life."

"Nice try."

"Um, I plead the fifth?"

"Tomorrow, 9am, sharp."

John sighed. "Sharp being the operative word. Thanks a lot, Al."

Alan grinned brightly. "You're going down big time now, Scott!"

John silently shook his head, but he made a mental note to himself to teach Gordon the thrust to the groin move. Scott sat whistling something that might have been a death march. Alan for his part sat back with a satisfied grin on his face.

Thunderbird Five rose on the horizon as they approached her, and John's spirits rose along with the station. John couldn't help admiring Five's sleek lines. She was the most sophisticated station in orbit, years in advance of anything else out there. He smiled a small smile and tried to pretend he wasn't staring at her. Scott and Alan seemed to understand and minded the controls.

All too soon, they were docking and Alan was popping up. "Okay, guys, thanks for the ride, it was swell."

"I'll be waiting for you when you come home on the fifteenth, Alan."

"Well, forgive my skepticism, Scott, but I fully expect John to kill you tomorrow morning. At 9AM. Sharp." With that, Alan darted away his laugh trailing behind him.

John slipped over into the primary pilot position, and checked his instruments. As soon as a telltale light came on, he reported. "Airlock closed. Alan's signaling. We're clear to separate."

Scott contacted his father. "Thunderbird Three to Base. We've dropped off Alan and are returning to Base. ETA, 23 minutes."

"FAB. Virgil got home over an hour ago. You boys hurry down before he has a stroke." Jeff's dry words brought smiles to both of his sons' faces.

"All right Dad. Tell him to hold his horses, we'll be there soon."

"FAB."

Scott shut down communications and stared at the control board. After a few minutes, he said casually, "You know, we're going to have to come up with something special for Alan."

John snorted. "Oh, I'm going to get him. I'm not sure exactly how, but I'm going to get him good."

"Actually, I think a collaboration is in order. He was casting aspersions, after all."

"I'm glad you recognize that it was him and not me."

Scott snorted. "Don't think you're off the hook, Junior. I know how your evil little mind works, John, and I know perfectly well you were mouthing off about beating me this morning."

John flushed. "Ah, yes, but I said it with love."

"And when I slice you into tiny pieces tomorrow, it will be with love."

Resigned, John nodded his head. "Well, as long as it's with love."

"We're coming up on entry burn."

"I'm on it."

The two brothers tended to business, and in a short time had Thunderbird Three cooling on her launch pad. They rode the mock couch back up to the lounge, and were both surprised that their father was nowhere to be seen. They looked at each other and John shrugged, so Scott led the way across the lounge toward the hall.

Gordon came striding out. When he saw his brothers, he called a warning. "Guys! Head for the hills! Virgil's at critical mass and about to blow!"

Gordon tried to get around his brothers, but as one, they blocked his path. Scott put his hand in the middle of Gordon's chest. "What did you do?"

"Honest to God, it wasn't me." Gordon looked over his shoulder back the way he'd come. "I'm telling you, you don't want to be in the room when he gets here."

There was a loud crash followed by angry cursing that brought all three brother's heads up. Seeing his chance, Gordon sidestepped Scott and took off. John and Scott stood like deer caught in headlights, listening to the steady stream of foul language coming from the hallway.

John cleared his throat and said quietly. "So, you going to talk to him?"

Scott glanced at the blonde and said, "Sounds like I'd better, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, well, good luck." John turned to head the other way.

As he came out on the balcony, he did a double take as Scott joined him. John raised an eyebrow, and Scott grimaced. "I'm going to talk to him. Later."

"What do you suppose happened?"

"From the sounds of it, I'd say something got damaged. From the decibel level, I'd say it's probably Thunderbird Two."

"Where is Dad, I wonder?"

"Lying low."

John snorted his disbelief. Scott just shook his head. "Dad didn't get to where he is by being foolish. I'd say he's probably in one of the labs with Brains talking over how to fix whatever is broken."

John scratched his head. "Well, if we aren't replacing that blade, I'd better go find Gordon and get that laser program loaded."

John turned to re-enter the lounge, but a harsh sound coming from the piano changed his mind, and instead he trotted down the steps toward the pool. Looking around, he spotted Gordon headed for the runway leading to the hangars. He whistled sharply to get his brother's attention.

Gordon paused, and when he saw John, he waited for him to catch up. "Hey, how'd the rescue go?"

"Piece of cake. Basically we just provided cab service."

"That's good. I hear you picked up Alan." Gordon resumed heading for the hangars, and John kept pace.

"Yeah, we did. Turns out we didn't really need him, but it was nice to have some time with him. Had a good talk."

"Yeah? About what?"

"Fencing mostly. We're going to ask Dad if he'd like to work out with us."

Gordon looked puzzled. "Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why would Dad want to fence?"

John looked at his brother, trying to determine if the question was sincere. Deciding it was, he gave the simple answer. "Because it's good exercise."

"So's swimming."

"Fencing develops co-ordination, balance and poise."

"So does swimming."

Exasperated, John replied, "You can fence without ever getting wet, Gordon."

"That's not a selling point, Johnny." Gordon grinned.

John shook his head. "What happened with Virgil, anyway?"

"Ah, well. He got home about, I dunno, two hours ago. And of course, he wants to replace that blade on the Mole right now, chop-chop, right? So, I'm trying to talk him into waiting for you guys, and he's threatening me with bodily harm and in comes Brains, see. And he tells Virg he'd been thinking about the problem of replacing the blade, and he's come up with a solution. He says he's built this robot to do it for us."

"A robot?"

"Yeah, a robot. He took one of the heavy duty forklifts and he tricked it out with a computer brain and this cool laser sensor system and these big ol' claw things."

By this time the two men had reached the hangar. Gordon opened a side door and cautiously looked around. John said wryly, "The coast is clear. He's upstairs murdering the piano. Scott's going to talk to him."

"Scott's got a death wish. So anyway, we go down to the Mole, and Brains whips out this remote and pushes a button, and here comes this robot. Well, it's big and it's loud, so of course, Virgil's eyes just bug out. So Brains pushes another button and this robot puts on this little light show. Brains says it's the sensor system and what it's doing is figuring out exactly where the Mole is. So it finishes with the lights, and it sort of pauses, and then it whips out these arms equipped with power wrenches and wham, it attacks the blade on the Mole, and quicker ‘n spit, it has the bad blade off the housing." Gordon shook his head wonderingly. "I have to say, I was impressed. Virgil, of course, was in severe lust. I thought he was going to kiss the damn thing he was so happy."

"Okay, so then what went wrong?"

"Well, we got the replacement blade out of the heli, or, should I say, Veronica did."

"Veronica?"

"Yeah, I decided the robot needed a name. Anyway, Veronica carries the new blade back to the Mole, right? And she starts up the light show again, figuring out the new blade and the housing. And then..."

As the pause lengthened, John prompted, "And then what?"

"And then, I dunno, Veronica went nuts. She tried to put the blade on backwards, and then one of the claws tore right through the housing. Virgil goes dead white, then he starts yelling. Brains is having this major anxiety attack, pushing buttons left and right, trying to watch Veronica and Virg at the same time. And Veronica is just kind of in one spot with her power wrenches waving around and her claws chewing up the blade. I swear, she looked kinda like a crab trying to eat the Mole." Gordon punctuated his story with gestures, waving his arms wildly about his head, snapping his hands like claws.

Finally he wound down, and stood shaking his head ruefully. "I had to drag Virgil out of there. All he saw was the Mole getting wrecked and he started hitting Veronica with a crowbar. But that damn robot actually bent the damn blade! She would have killed Virg if I hadn't of done something."

"Wow." John remarked simply.

"Yeah, seriously. Oh, and then Brains hits a button and Veronica finally backs away from the Mole, but she backed right up against Thunderbird Two. And these arms with the power wrenches are still flailing away, and one of them put a gouge in Two. I thought Virg was gonna have a heart attack right then and there. It's not really that big a deal, just about a foot long, and no circuitry or anything was hit, but it might as well have been a knife in the heart as far as Virgil was concerned, you know?"

"Yeah. So then what happened?"

"Well, Brains got Veronica shut down, and Virgil just stood there staring at the gouge, and the Mole."

"Yeah, so then what?"

"Are you kidding? I ran for it. Can you blame me?"

John shook his head. He didn't blame Gordon one bit. Their brother Virgil was usually calm and even tempered, but when angry he tended to be less than rational. Gordon had been leading the way to where Pod Four with Thunderbird Four sat on the pod conveyor tracks, but John swerved in a detour.

"Hey! Where you going?"

"I want to take a look at this gouge." John had nothing particularly in mind, just simple curiosity to see the scene of the crime. He sensed Gordon's hesitation, but ignored him, striding firmly toward Thunderbird Two.

As he strode across the hangar floor, John was aware of sounds coming from a large, twenty foot tall machine standing askew to the side of Thunderbird Two. Approaching, he found his father in earnest conversation with the resident genius Brains. From his agitated mannerisms, John could tell that Brains hadn't quite recovered yet from the failure of his latest invention.

Both men looked up at John and Gordon's approach. Jeff smiled a welcome. "John. Everything all right?"

"Everything in outer space is just peachy, Father. I understand we can't say the same for Tracy Island, though."

Jeff smiled, replying wryly, "No. Where's Scott?"

"He's going to talk to Virgil."

"Scott has a death wish. Listen, boys, what do you say to fixing your brother's Thunderbird before he gets back down here?" Jeff's gesture included all three of the younger men.

Both Brains and Gordon nodded, but it was John who answered. "I think that's a great idea, Dad. Maybe we can convince Virg he dreamed it."

Jeff chuckled. "Well, I have my doubts about that, but let's get to work. Brains, what are we going to need?"

Brains, who still looked slightly shell-shocked, started at being addressed. "Uh, uh, w-w-we're only going to uh, need the oxyhydnite welders and a, uh, uh b-b-bit of alutite paint, Mr. Tracy."

John listened with sympathy. Brains' distress was made plain by his increased stuttering. He reached over and put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Brains, don't worry about it. Scott'll calm Virgil down, and we'll have TB2 looking good in no time."

Brains released a sighing breath. "T-t-thank you, John. But I'm afraid T-t-thunderbird Two is the uh, least of our problems. The, uh, robot seriously damaged the, uh, Mole. It will take more than a little paint to, uh, repair it."

"Aw, come on, Brains, it's not as if you wrecked it on purpose! Veronica was a great idea, and as soon as you work the bugs out, Virg will be singing your praises to the heavens." Gordon encouraged.

The scientist smiled shyly. "Thank you, uh Gordon, but I think I'd uh, prefer if he didn't sing."

All four men shared a laugh. None of the Tracy men could sing, and that included Virgil despite his prowess at the piano. Jeff threw his arm over Brains' shoulders and said, "All right then, let's get this show on the road."

Pulling Brains with him, Jeff led the way to Thunderbird Two's forward starboard strut. Brains and Gordon pointed out the gouge about three feet above their heads. John frowned, then snorted his derision. "That? That little scratch is what all the fuss is about?"

Gordon glanced over John's shoulder, eyes widening. "Oh, hi, Virg."

John jumped a foot and spun around. Virgil was nowhere in sight. He glared back at Gordon, who grinned unrepentant. "It's only a little scratch if it's someone else's ‘bird, Johnny."

John shook his head then turned back to the issue of repairing Thunderbird Two. After a moment, he said, "Dad, this isn't going to take four people. Why don't you let Gordon and me do it? You two don't need to stick around."

With a quick glance at Brains, Jeff shook his head. "Tell you what. Brains and I will handle the welding. We'll call you two when we're done, and you can come do the finish work."

"Yeah, I like that idea. It'll give John an opportunity to help me get that laser program loaded on Thunderbird Four. Whaddaya say, Johnny?"

Crossing his arms, John cocked his head. "I say people who want help shouldn't push their luck."

Surprised, Gordon replied, "Push my luck? What are you talking about?"

"It's only a scratch if it's someone else's bird?" John mimicked.

The light dawned in Gordon's eyes, and he nodded. "Ah. You got me there. Okay, what's it going to take?"

"You. Me. In the gym, fencing."

Gordon snorted. "Okay, but I get to be Basil Rathbone."

"Fine. That means I'm Errol Flynn."

"Curses. Okay, but we load that program first."

"All right, let's go." Satisfied that he'd gotten what he wanted, John led the way to Thunderbird Four.

Pre-empting Gordon's pilot chair, John settled down to work. It was a simple matter to load the program, and give his brother a few pointers on dealing with upgrades. With the program loaded, Gordon and John changed places, and Gordon ran a simulation. "Ah, John this is great. It does exactly what I wanted it to. Thanks."

John nodded, a small smile gracing his features. It always felt good to do things for his brothers. If something as simple as loading a computer program could make Gordon happy, he was glad to have had the chance.

As the simulation was ending, Jeff stuck his head in. Seeing the computer simulation, he stepped up into the small craft. "That looks pretty good."

"Yeah, it's great, Dad. I'll be able to target within micrometers. No more trouble like that Black Sea thing."

John nodded, remembering the near disaster that had occurred when Gordon had accidentally cut through a power line while clearing debris from a sunken crane barge. It had been a close thing, and though Gordon had waved off the seriousness of the situation, John had known his brother had come very close to death that day.

The grim look on his father's face confirmed the older man had felt the same way, but his voice was mild when he replied. "Good. You boys ready to finish up on Thunderbird Two?"

"Yes, Father."

"Sure. What do you say we paint it purple? Be nice for a change, don't you think?"

"Actually, son, that sounds like an excellent idea. You go right ahead and do that."

His father's dry agreement brought a big grin to Gordon's face. "Okay. I'll mix up the paint, and John, you can slap it on."

John shot his brother a look and stepped past his dad to get out of the small submarine. He headed for Thunderbird Two, aware that his father and brother were trailing behind him. As they got out onto the hangar floor, Jeff called out, "I'm heading up to the lounge. I'll see you boys later."

John glanced back at his father, and nodded acknowledgement. "Okay, Dad."

Gordon caught up just as John reached Thunderbird Two. Seeing Brains stowing the welder back onto its wheeled cart, John went over and started coiling the power cord. Looking up at the strut, he nodded, satisfied. "You did a good job there, Brains. Not even Virgil will be able to spot the difference."

Brains glanced up at the strut, then looked back down. His voice was so soft, John had to strain to catch it. "It shouldn't have been necessary."

"Stop it right now, Brains. It was an accident. That's all there was to it." John said sharply.

Still not looking up, Brains started to say something, then just nodded. John cast about for something to say. Knowing how his friend's mind worked, he finally said, "Actually, this might just be a blessing in disguise. The Mole has done a great job for us, but you know, it's over five years old now. It could do with a re-design. You've come up with new alloys, and God knows, I can build new computers for it."

Gordon came up, nodding. "Yeah, and this time you can design it together with Veronica so they're, like, compatible. You're on to something there, John."

Brains' head came up, his eyes sparkling as he considered the possibility. "Uh, you know, I, uh, think you're right. I could increase the power and reduce the weight. We could use that new composite for the, uh, blades. If I were to take the batteries and..." John and Gordon shared a grin as Brains wandered away, fingers itching to start his new design.

Smiling fondly at the retreating back of the scientist, Gordon said softly, "Good job, Johnny."

John slapped his brother on the back. "Come on, let's get to work. I'm just about starving, but I don't want to leave it until we've got it done."

"Okay, I'll go get the paint. You wanna do the sanding?"

"No, I'll get the paint, you do the sanding."

"Gee, it's almost as if you don't trust me or something."

John snorted then headed for the supply lockers. Pulling out a spray gun, he searched the locker for the alutite particulate powder. The strut wasn't actually painted, but the high tensile titanium alloy could be buffed with the powder to give a shining unstained sheen.

Taking his time, he had gathered the right supplies, and headed back to the ship. He could hear the sound of the power sander at work. He approached from the backside of the strut, and could see the sparks flying as Gordon worked to smooth the rough edges of the welding job.

Coming around the strut, he saw that the job was almost done. He squatted on the hangar floor, neatly laying out his supplies. By the time he had everything sorted to his satisfaction, Gordon was shutting down the sander.

Climbing down the few steps of the ladder Brains and Jeff had set up for the repairs, Gordon flipped up the clear face shield. "Aw, aren't we going with the purple?"

"This is purple. It just looks gray until it dries."

"Cool!"

John climbed up the ladder and extended his hand. Like a surgical nurse, Gordon slapped the spray gun into his brother's hand. With a flick of a switch, John turned on the sprayer and with a few swipes had the repaired gouge covered with the powdered alutite.

Turning off the gun, he handed it down to his brother who slapped a heating tool into his hand. This was a bit trickier. If the powder wasn't heated evenly, it could run and leave a drip pattern on the metal. John's hand was steady, and he applied all of his concentration to his work. At last satisfied with the result, he switched off the heater, and handed it down.

Gordon finally handed up the buffer. "Hey, I'm going to go put this stuff away."

Eyes still on the now almost invisible gouge, John nodded. "Yeah. See you upstairs."

Working carefully to insure a consistent finish, John labored to blend the edges of the repair into the existing shine. After ten minutes, he shut down the buffer, and leaned back. He stroked his hand across the metal, feeling for any burrs he might have missed. The surface was silky smooth, and pleased with the result, John hopped down off the ladder.

As he hit the ground, he felt a steadying hand on his hip. Looking up, he found Virgil standing next to him, eyes upturned to the repaired strut, an inscrutable look in his eyes. Looking up himself, John felt smug. The repair was invisible as far as he could see.

John waited, and after a moment, Virgil said softly, "Thanks, John."

"I didn't do it alone. Dad and Brains did the welding, and Gordon sanded it down. All I did was the finish work."

Virgil reached up a hand to stroke the strut tenderly. "I'll thank them later."

"Yeah? Well I think you need to do more than thank Brains. You scared the crap out of him."

Sighing, Virgil turned to face his brother. "I wasn't angry with him. It was that damned robot."

"When I got here he could hardly put two words together, he was so upset. You need to think about how you affect people before you go flying off the handle, Virgil." John said with more heat than he had initially intended. It wasn't until he said it that he realized just how angry he was. "You know, all he wanted to do was help. Make things a little easier around here, and you start screaming at him."

"Now wait a minute, here. Who said I was screaming at Brains?"

"Nobody had to say a thing. I could see it in how Brains was acting. You know, if it wasn't for him, there wouldn't BE a Mole! Or a Thunderbird Two for that matter. And what do you do? You give him grief for not being perfect the first time out of the box. You're such a jerk, Virgil."

"Okay, I'm not going to listen to this. I know I upset Brains, and I intend to apologize and make it up to him, but that's between him and me."

"Yeah? Well, let me tell you this. You pull a trick like that again, and I swear to God I'll clean your clock for you." John got right up in his brother's face.

Virgil's eyes flashed for a moment, but then he stepped back, breathing deeply to control himself. When he finally responded, it was with a touch of humor. "To tell the truth, my clock is in good shape. You could dust and wax the piano if you wanted, though."

John felt his anger switch off and he snorted. "No, I don't think so. But I mean it about Brains, Virgil. He works his butt off for this family, and I won't put up with anybody giving him grief."

Virgil ducked his head. "Actually, neither will I, okay?"

"Okay." Crisis over, John scratched his belly. "I'm hungry. Let's get some lunch."

"Lunch was two hours ago." Virgil said somewhat absently as they headed for the elevator. "I really didn't yell at Brains, you know. I was yelling at the robot."

"Veronica?"

"What?"

"Gordon said he named the robot Veronica."

Virgil just shook his head. "He would. You should have seen it. At first it was fabulous. It disassembled the blade from the housing in nothing flat. You know those blades are half a ton each. This thing treated it like it weighed nothing. But then it just plain attacked the Mole. It was absolutely malicious. I've never seen anything like it."

"Gordon said he had to pull you away."

"Gordon is clueless. John, the power plant is right behind that housing. If that thing had cut through the containment shield, Tracy Island would have gone up in a mushroom cloud. I was trying to get the damn thing shut down before that happened."

"Tried to save your life, eh? Damn him."

Virgil shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, okay, I'll apologize to him, too. But I draw the line at apologizing to the robot. Veronica."

John felt a tickle of amusement, wondering if he could coerce his brother into apologizing to anybody else. He considered it, but then rejected the possibility, preferring to save his persuasive abilities for more important issues. "What was for lunch?"

"Grandma made tuna casserole."

John licked his lips. "Excellent."

The elevator opened up onto a hallway in the villa. John turned toward the kitchen, and Virgil headed for the labs, apparently in search of Brains.

Finding the kitchen empty, John got into the refrigerator and pulled out a half-empty casserole dish. Deciding he could eat it all, he popped it into the nuclear heater. While waiting for the heating cycle to run, he pulled out a can of soda and snagged a bag of potato chips.

He had wolfed down about a third of his lunch, when his grandmother appeared. "John Glenn Tracy! You are not eating that entire casserole! Dinner is in less than an hour!"

Starting guiltily, John looked up with his most puppy-like expression. "But Grandma, I'm starving! I didn't get any lunch, and hardly anything for breakfast."

Unmoved by his plaintive remark, Ruth Tracy pursed her lips and held out her hand. With a sigh, John handed her the casserole dish. "I seem to recall you being around when your brothers were growing up, so I know for a fact you weren't raised by wolves. You know better than to eat out of a serving dish."

"There's no point in dirtying up another dish, Grandma. I was going to eat it all." John said reasonably.

"And leave none for Scott, I suppose."

"Well, like you said, dinner's in less than an hour. I figured he could wait." John grinned ingratiatingly.

Ruth chuckled. "Well the joke's on you then. I'm making halupkis for dinner."

Despite having just eaten, John's mouth watered. "You're making halupkis? For me? Ah, Grandma, you are the best!"

"So we can put the casserole away, then?"

"Absolutely." John drained his soda, and took the large spoon he had been using to the sink. "Can I help you with anything, Grandma?"

"You can get out of my kitchen. Shoo now!"

John started toward the door, then stopped, and with a smile, came back and bent to kiss the tiny woman on the cheek. "Thanks, Grandma."

Heading into the lounge, John found his father going over some paperwork with Scott. "John. We're going over the quarterly power consumption reports. Can you get on the computer and dig out the reports for the same period from the last three years?"

"Sure, Dad." Moving to his father's desk, he booted up and entered a few commands. As he worked, Scott's stomach let out with a large rumble. Without looking up, John remarked, "Halupkis for dinner."

Scott wrinkled his nose. "Damn. I was hoping for something good."

John smirked but didn't reply as he continued his work. The three men spent the next hour going over various reports, making notations and plans for the next year.

Called to dinner by Ruth, the men were joined by Gordon and Virgil. No sooner had they sat down than a call came in from Alan, and all four brothers joined Jeff in rushing to the lounge.

"Go ahead, Alan."

"Father, it's the weirdest thing, but another space station has had an unexplained blowout." Alan looked away as he pushed a button to forward the distress tape to his home.

Over the speakers, John heard a gibberish of Mandarin overlaid with the mechanical voice of Thunderbird Five's Universal Translator. The gist of the call was that a small communications satellite with two operators aboard had suffered a catastrophic decompression. The two operators were holed up in what was essentially a storage cupboard with limited oxygen, and no access to their suits or the escape pods.

"John, you and Scott are up. Get a move on, boys, those people can't last for long."

"Yes, Father."

As he dropped onto the couch John turned a gimlet eye on Virgil. "I'll wax more than your piano if you eat all those halupkis."

Virgil just smiled sweetly and wiggled his fingers in a goodbye wave. Disgusted, John sat back. They were below floor level when he heard his grandmother call. "John! Catch!" John looked up to see a large sack falling toward him. He reached out instinctively and caught the bag.

Peering in the bag, he saw two ever-hot containers. Grinning, he called up, "Thanks, Grandma!"

Pulling out one of the containers and a fork, John opened it up, then frowned. Instead of the expected halupkis, he found a bowl full of tuna casserole. "Gimme that." Scott commanded.

John complied willingly and opened the second container. He smiled with pleasure when the aroma of cabbage hit his nose. "Excellent." John murmured as he dug into the first of the four large cabbage rolls. Both men were silent as they gobbled as much of their dinner as they could before reaching Thunderbird Three.

Conventional wisdom held that astronauts should never eat right before blast off, but the Tracy boys were anything but conventional. They came by it honestly. Jeff Tracy was legendary throughout the space community for his ability to eat anything at anytime, anywhere.

By the time they reached Thunderbird Three, both brothers had eaten a good portion of their dinners. Without comment, John handed his container to his brother, and headed for the control room. Before John had clearance to blast off, Scott had stowed the containers and buckled in.

"Launch in three... two... one... mark." As the engines rumbled their bass thunder, John had a strong sense of deja vu.

Once the sky had darkened from bright blue to black, John leaned forward against the g-pull. "Shutting down primary. Prepare for switch over to maneuvering rockets."

"Check. The board is green."

"The board is green. Switchover in three... two... one... mark." John frowned. "I gotta get me some new lines. I'm getting in a rut."

Scott chuckled. "It does seem strange when you do it twice in the same day, doesn't it?" He reached out and flicked a switch. "Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird Five, Alan, we're ready for the coordinate feed."

"Hang on, Scott" Alan said tersely.

The two brothers glanced at each other. John spoke up, frowning, "What's the hold up, Alan? Those people can't wait."

Alan's troubled face came on the screen. "The Chinese government is saying they don't need any help."

John's eyebrows climbed. "They don't? They've already launched?"

Alan shook his head in frustration. "No, they haven't launched, but they're warning us off."

"Let me talk to them, Al."

"Be my guest." Alan made a show of switching the connection.

"This is International Rescue, Thunderbird Three. Who am I talking to, please?"

"I am first assistant to the under secretary of the People's Republic's Minister of Space Exploration and Acquisition. You may call me Mr. Wu." The response was in Mandarin.

Glancing at his controls, John flipped on the universal translator so Scott could follow what was being said. Mandarin was one of the languages that John was totally confident of his fluency in, so it was in that language that he said, "We are within ten minutes of your station. I understand you have not yet launched your rescue vehicle."

"Launch information is classified. The People's Republic thanks International Rescue for their concern, and respectfully declines their assistance in this matter."

"May I ask why?" John put on his professional voice, cool and emotionless, to hide the anger coursing through him. He was aware of Scott on a separate channel enlisting their father's help in clearing the way.

"The station in question represents a grave danger. The People's Republic would not wish to be responsible for the deaths of any of International Rescue's brave men."

Scott snorted, but John ignored him. "Mr. Wu, International Rescue takes full responsibility for our own safety. Please put your mind at ease on that score. No blame will fall on the People's Republic if we are unsuccessful. But you must realize the international space community will not look favorably on your Minister if we are not permitted to save lives that are subsequently lost."

"Nevertheless, I must ask you to turn away. The operators of the station have taken all necessary precautions to insure their survival until our ship arrives."

John glanced at Alan, who shook his head, and typed something on his console that scrolled across the bottom of the screen. ‘They don't have anything. Estimate on remaining air: 20 min max'

"Mr. Wu, let's be frank here. Your people are going to die if we don't get over there. I can understand that you don't want us to see certain parts of that station. But you need to understand, we don't care about your secrets. We only care about saving lives. That's all. Now, we are going over and getting those people off, whether you want us to or not. I promise you we will take nothing, we will photograph nothing."

There was silence for a moment, then an alarm blared. "Oh, you have got to be kidding!" John was dumbfounded.

Scott's voice was suddenly hard. "We've been targeted."

Mr. Wu's voice was full of false regret. "Thunderbird Three, you speak of understanding. Understand this. The People's Republic will defend its property. You will change your course immediately or we will have no choice but to destroy you."

Scott's hands had been flying across his board, but now they stilled, and he pointed to a readout. "There. A weapons platform."

John glanced over. His voice when he spoke was no longer cool, but hot with anger. "You are condemning those people to death."

"They are not your concern. You have ten seconds to comply."

Scott narrowed his eyes. "This isn't over yet. John, change course to vector 34.3 slash 5.2. We're going to put the station between us and that weapons platform."

"Yeah." John smiled grimly. He liked the way Scott thought. He angled Thunderbird Three so that it appeared they were leaving the area.

Mr. Wu's voice was hard. "My most sincere apologies, but you must change your vector. My military advisor suggests that you may be attempting to use our unfortunate comrades as cover. We will not allow this."

"Shit." Scott swore softly. He turned to John, a speculative look in his eye. "What are our chances?"

Disgusted, John shook his head. "If they let loose with a missile, our only option would be to blast out of here and hope we could out run it. Even if we did, we wouldn't be able to get back to the station in time to do any good."

Scott cast about looking for an alternative. The comm distracted both men. "Base to Thunderbird Three. Come on home, boys."

"Father?"

The older Tracy was discouraged. "John, I've been on the line with the WSA and the USSF. Nobody is willing to intercede on behalf of those two poor souls. The political situation in Nepal is touchy and no one is willing to upset the balance. The answer I got was it was a Chinese problem, let them handle it."

"Dad, John and I aren't ready to just walk away from this. There's got to be some way we can do this."

"Son, I'm sorry, but the bottom line is I am not prepared to throw your lives away."

"Dad, I understand what you are saying, but we are the only chance those guys have. What if we just stay here? I mean, what if the Chinese come to their senses? We won't be able to do anything if we just leave." John said with a touch of desperation.

Jeff considered, then shook his head. "I understand your feelings, but that weapons platform is a real threat. I don't think we can risk it."

"Dad, John and I are willing to risk it. The Chinese aren't stupid. They won't risk the repercussions of shooting us down if we aren't actually moving in."

"Scott, the decision is mine. Thunderbird Three, my orders are to return to Base. Please acknowledge."

Both Scott and John sat stunned. John watched his older brother warily. Disobeying was unthinkable, but leaving two people to die felt like a blow to the stomach.

Scott sat, breathing harshly. After an interminable time, he said savagely. "Acknowledged. Thunderbird Three returning to Base."

As much as John wanted to object, he kept his mouth shut, turning instead to his controls, setting the course and powering up the engines. The trip back to the island was tense, the only conversation the necessary checks and responses to get the big ship safely down.

When they had landed, Scott ripped off his harness and stalked out. John took his time setting the systems to do the automatic post flight checks. When he left the control room, he was not surprised to see the sofa delivery system still in place. When Scott was that angry, he either had to jog or hit something to calm down.

John was no longer angry, but rather, he was sad. He knew in his heart that there was no way he could have convinced the bureaucrat, Mr. Wu, to allow the rescue. Wu was obviously just a flunky. But still he felt he should have been able to come up with something, some way to make it work. He sighed, grabbing the dishes from their hurried dinner, and sat on the couch. With the flick of a switch, he was headed for the lounge.

As the couch locked into place in the lounge, John saw Scott standing white-faced in front of his father. He felt his stomach tighten. From the look of pain on Scott's face, he could only assume the two operators were now dead. He was surprised when his brother Gordon's portrait started to flash, indicating he was calling in.

"Mobile Control to Base. I'm all set up, Father. Virgil's ETA is fifteen minutes. Oh, hi Scott."

"Gordon."

John had never admired his brother more than that moment. After the disaster in space, he was faced with the fact that Gordon had flown his beloved Thunderbird One to a rescue. Instead of falling apart, or threatening Gordon, he had remained calm and civil. John hoped he would stay that way.

"Um, I'm glad you're there. I'd appreciate your advice on this situation. Dad tell you what's going on?"

"No, I just got here. What do you have?"

"Construction crew building a tunnel. They're about eighty feet in. The mouth of the tunnel has collapsed behind them. I'm trying to get an accurate count on the number of men trapped, but it's chaos here."

"Okay, Gordon, your primary job is to deal with the chaos. They'll listen to you, just take them in hand. Assign jobs, even if you don't think they'll do any good. People need to be busy."

On camera, Gordon nodded, listening intently. John felt that his younger brother understood that particular concept very well. Scott was already looking better, more relaxed.

Knowing he would not be needed, and that the hard part wouldn't begin until Virgil and Thunderbird Two showed up, John took the time to take the dirty dishes to the kitchen. Spying his grandmother about to exit through a different door, he called, "Grandma, we're home."

The elderly woman turned and smiled sympathetically. The look on her face told John she knew what had happened. "Are you all right, dear?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Grandma. The entire situation was ludicrous. Some backroom bureaucrat signs a piece of paper, and two people die for absolutely no reason." John shook his head. "Dad should have let us stay up there. Something might have changed. Someone might have woken up."

"Honey, your father was worried that those foolish people might have blown Thunderbird Three out of the sky."

"I'd like to think they aren't that stupid, but I'm afraid you're right, Grandma."

The tiny woman reached up to caress John's cheek. "Well, it's a damn shame, John, but you'll forgive me if I rejoice that neither you nor Scott were hurt."

"I'll forgive you this one time, Grandma. I'm not so sure about Scott, though. What was Dad thinking, letting Gordon take Thunderbird One like that?"

Ruth pursed her lips. "Your brother is perfectly capable of flying that silly rocket. If Scott says a word to him, I'll give him a piece of my mind."

"No, Grandma, don't." John said softly. "He's taking that rescue pretty hard, and he doesn't need any more pressure."

Ruth looked at her grandson with love. "You're a good man, John. And a good brother. I think I'll just make a few pies. Lord knows, apple pie has cured worse woes in this family."

John laughed. "Okay, Grandma, you do that. I'm going to go listen in on this rescue."

"All right, baby. Take that coffee pot with you, and those cookies over there."

John pulled out a tray, and loaded it with coffee, cups, and the plate of cookies that his grandmother had indicated and headed back to the lounge. As he came in, his brothers were deep in conversation.

"The site engineer says the area is pure granite. What a time not to have the Mole." Gordon lamented.

"Don't think about what we don't have. Let's concentrate on what our assets are. Now, how deep is the blockage?"

"Scanner says about twenty-eight feet, then there's clear space."

"Okay, first thing is to get oxygen in there. The borer is in compartment eighteen. You remember the markings? It's WT31Y. Got it?"

"Got it. I'm on my way."

"Don't forget to lockdown Mobile Control. And keep your communicator on."

"Okay, Scott."

"And don't try to bore from ground level. Get to the top of the debris pile."

"Yeah."

John poured a mug of coffee, and pressed it into Scott's hand. Scott glanced down, and showed a quicksilver smile as thanks. There was a short break in the action as Gordon located the borer and headed to the site.

Jeff took the coffee John offered him, and asked quietly. "You okay, son?"

"I'm fine, Dad."

John looked at the cookies, but decided he wasn't hungry. The hot coffee felt good going down, but already sat queasily on his stomach. He listened in as Scott called up Thunderbird Two.

"Virgil, what's your ETA?"

"We'll be at the danger zone in 5.3 minutes, Scott."

"Okay. Listen, the area is granite. You've got almost thirty feet of debris to get through. What are your thoughts?"

"Cut it out, Brains, it wasn't your fault." Virgil turned back to the screen, "Yeah, Scott, I'm thinking we could use the Firefly to bulldoze the opening. Then work with the laser drills. It won't be as neat as the Mole, but they'll get the job done."

"I agree. Brains can handle Mobile Control, and you and Gordon will work the drills."

John heard a mutter off mike from Thunderbird Two. Virgil shook his head. "No, I agree with Scott. Yes, you designed them, but Gordon has more practical experience working them. I'll tell you what, why don't you handle the Firefly for me?"

Virgil listened for a response then nodded his head. "Okay, Scott, we're all set here. Uh, where do you want me to land?"

"I've got no idea. You'll need to contact Gordon when you reach the site."

"FAB." Virgil signed off.

John shifted in his seat, smothering a yawn. A glance at his chronometer confirmed it was after ten o'clock. Given the efforts of the day, he had already decided to forego his usual stargazing, but he knew he wouldn't sleep until his brothers were on their way home.

During the break in the action, Scott started to pace, an intense frown on his face. Jeff watched patiently for a few minutes, then called out, "Scott, sit down, you're wearing a hole in the carpet."

Distractedly, Scott responded, "Yes, Father," but continued to pace.

John caught his father's eye and grinned. Jeff shook his head in exasperation, but said nothing more.

Several more minutes passed before Virgil called in, an annoyed look on his face. "Base, we have a problem here."

Jeff responded all business, "What kind of problem, son?"

"I'd say it's an ego problem, Dad. I told Gordon that he and I would handle the drills, and he said no."

Sighing, Jeff flicked an innocuous switch. "Base to Mobile Control. Gordon, what's going on there?"

"Just a little insubordination, Father. Nothing I can't handle." Gordon responded coolly.

Scott jumped in. "Gordon, we recommend that Brains take over Mobile Control and you handle one of the laser drills."

"Recommendation noted, Scott. I'm in command out here, and I have my reasons for my decision."

"I'd like to hear your thought processes, son."

John watched the confrontation with great interest. He suspected Gordon was thinking of Brains' feelings, which was commendable, but not a great command decision. He winced when he saw the look on Gordon's face. He knew what was coming even before Gordon opened his mouth.

"Sir, respectfully, I'll be happy to detail them in the debriefing. Right now, I have a rescue to run, and no time for philosophy." John fought the smile that threatened at Gordon's bold statement. Gordon really knew how to command when he needed to, and right then, he sounded eerily like Jeff.

Jeff slowly nodded. "All right, son."

"I'm signing off for a moment, Father. I need to get this rescue moving."

"FAB." Jeff responded, and only then did he look over at Scott, who was sitting blank-faced.

John watched apprehensively. With Scott's mercurial temper, John could never be sure which way he'd go. Suddenly, Scott jumped up, and headed for the door.

"Where are you going, son?" Jeff called out, his voice tinged with concern.

"I've got to get out there." Scott replied, grimly.

"Hold on there, son. You're not going anywhere. Now come back here and sit down!" Jeff's command brooked no disobedience.

Scott stopped without turning and paused, head thrown back, shoulders tense. John watched, still not sure what Scott would do. He felt his own stomach clench, not wanting to be party to the confrontation, but also not wanting to bring attention to himself by moving to leave.

Finally, Scott seemed to deflate, and he turned, nodding. "You're right, Father. Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. I put Gordon in command for better or worse. It's my responsibility. I am choosing to trust his judgement. And I am confident that it's the right choice."

Scott ducked his head, coloring. "Yes, sir, you're right. I guess I'm pretty tired."

"I'm sure you both are. I don't suppose there is any point in telling you two to go to bed?"

John shook his head, and Scott just smiled. Jeff shook his own head in fond exasperation. "All right, boys. You can stay if you want to, but this looks to be a long one."

Scott opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Gordon calling in from the danger zone. "Okay, Base, we've got the entrance cleared away as much as the Firefly can do. Virgil and Brains have started drilling."

It was obvious from the view, that Gordon was handling the Firefly himself. He looked away at his controls for a moment. "The Firefly is loaded back up, and no, Scott, I won't forget to button Thunderbird Two up when I head back to Mobile Control."

"See that you don't." Scott growled. Despite the harsh words, John could see that Scott was relaxing a bit.

"FAB." Gordon just grinned and signed off.

Jeff ran his fingers through his hair. Scott caught the movement, and shook his head. "No, Dad, you made the right decision. Gordon is onsite, and he knows what he's doing. It'll be okay."

Jeff stilled for a moment then said wearily, "I certainly hope so, son. But I just can't help wondering if Brains is... is physically strong enough to handle that drill."

John piped up, "Oh, geez, Dad, that's not even a question. Brains designed those things so even a kid could handle them."

It was true. The laser drills were far more sophisticated than their name implied. The power supply was pulled behind the operator on an anti-gravity pad. The drill itself was more like a fire hose. You simply pointed it at the rock, and it was instantly vaporized. But more than just vaporizing the rock, a secondary device sealed the surrounding rock with a structural sealant that was as strong as anything available in the world. As the drill penetrated, it formed its own tunnel, capable of bearing tons of weight. All Brains had to do was point and shoot, and follow the drill along.

"Yes, Father, I don't have any doubt about Brains' ability to use the drill. I'm not so sure about how he'll do with the rescuees."

John shot his brother a dirty look. It was true that Brains was almost painfully shy around strangers, but that didn't mean he couldn't handle himself.

"Don't look at me like that, John. There is nobody on this island who appreciates Brains more than me. But I'm not blind to his shortcomings, few as they are."

"I'm sure he'll do just fine, son." Jeff put an end to the conversation.

The three men sat quietly for what seemed to John like hours. In the quiet of the lounge, John's thoughts grew still, and he fell into a light doze. When Jeff suddenly shifted in his seat, John opened his eyes instantly. A glance at his chronometer confirmed that almost 90 minutes had passed.

Jeff opened up his communication line, calling out, "Base to Mobile Control. How's it going, Gordon."

When Gordon opened the link, his face was red with anger. "Mobile Control to Base. I'll get back to you in a minute." With that, the connection was abruptly broken.

John and Scott had both unconsciously leaned forward. John let out a breath. "What do you suppose that's all about?"

Scott stood and paced in front of the desk. "I don't know, but I sure as hell don't like it."

"We'll give him five minutes, son."

"Yes, sir."

John pulled his long legs in to keep from tripping his older brother, whose pacing was like that of a caged bear. He kept quiet and still, though his mind was racing with scenarios, each one worse than the last.

Although he was sure it seemed like an eternity to Scott and his father, John sat forward again when in less that five minutes Gordon was back, still with a look of lingering anger smoldering in his eyes. "Mobile Control to Base. Everything is under control here. Virgil and Brains report they are within about six feet of breaking through. I've got ambulance crews standing by, and a triage center with two doctors set up. I think we'll have this wrapped up within another hour or so."

"Son, what went wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Dad. I'll tell you all about it when I get home, okay?"

"All right son, I'll hold you to that."

"FAB."

The connection was severed again, and Scott suddenly slumped into a chair. "God, Dad. Do I do that too? Leave you in the dark about what's happening?"

John snorted. "Constantly."

"Who asked you?"

"Enough you two. Yes, Scott, you do just that. But you know as well as I do, you only do it because you have other things on your mind. It's a little different from this end, isn't it?"

Scott rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll say. I never really thought about how it would sound from your point of view."

"Well, don't worry too much about it. This is just the way it goes. Your brother will be back as soon as he has anything worth reporting."

Scott sighed then sat down on the couch next to John, leaning back and closing his eyes. John, for his part picked at a thread on the couch arm, glad for the quiet. Jeff picked up a report from his desk and went to work.

Determined not to fall asleep again, John asked, "Dad, can you turn on the news? I want to know what happened to those people on the satellite."

Jeff looked up. He eyed both of his sons before abruptly nodding. He turned on the wall monitor. As usual, it was tuned to the World News Network. The familiar face and voice of the anchor pulled John's attention. The story at the moment was of the upcoming coronation of the new King of England.

John watched with little interest. He wanted to know about the space rescue and everything else was pointless in his mind. Almost everything. His ears perked up at the next report.

"Breaking news from the small Albanian city of Gurr, where International Rescue is on the site of a tunnel collapse. We go now to our reporter on the scene, Baxter Weatherly. Bax, I understand there is some problem with the rescue?"

"Yes, Bob. We are here outside the city of Gurr, where the Eastern Slavic Union had just started construction of a tunnel expected to link Tirana, the capital of Albania, with its eastern provinces.

"As you know, Bob, factional violence in the area has long been a problem for the Albanian government. The new tunnel was intended to draw the people together. Construction of the tunnel started only a week ago, and the engineers had only gotten about 100 feet in.

"Earlier today, the mouth of the tunnel suddenly collapsed, trapping a construction crew inside. Although the authorities are refusing comment, most of the folks I have talked to say sabotage is the cause of the collapse." The reporter paused for a breath.

"Bax, is there any word on how many people are trapped?"

"Well, again, the authorities have clamped a tight lid on things, so there is nothing official, but the locals say at least fifty to sixty people."

"I understand International Rescue is there. Is there some problem with the rescue?"

"It's hard to tell, Bob. In the past, International Rescue has used a digging machine called the Mole for situations like this. For some reason, they are not using that machine and instead are relying on handheld drills."

"Handheld drills? Won't that delay getting to the victims?"

"I can only assume so, Bob. What is more troubling is the fact that they have chosen not to use the Mole. The speculation is that the area is too unstable. It's difficult to say what that will mean to the people caught in this tragedy. But International Rescue has a phenomenal record of success so we are hoping for the best."

"All right, Bax. Any idea on how long it will take?"

"As you can imagine, the authorities are keeping us from talking directly with the International Rescue operatives, and there is no official word, so it's impossible to say. One other thing I'd like to mention, Bob. This area of Albania is very isolated. If I had not brought my own interpreter, I doubt I would have found anyone here who spoke English. It seems International Rescue has had the same problem."

"What do you mean, Bax?"

"Well, from what I've been able to learn, they were using a local man as interpreter, but there was some difficulty with the interpretations. The local man was led away by the police just a few minutes ago. I've sent my interpreter over to see if she could be of any help, but they're using a mechanical translator so they turned her down."

"Interesting development, Bax. You'll let us know if you find out anymore, right?"

"Right. This is Bax Weatherly reporting for WNN in Gurr, Albania."

Scott looked over at John. "So, how's your Albanian."

"Non-existent. What do you suppose the difficulty was?"

Scott quirked a smile. "Maybe Gordon asked for water and the guy thought he asked for a hooker."

John returned the smile. "Yeah, but would he consider that a difficulty?"

"Depends on how thirsty he was." Jeff quipped slyly.

The three men turned back to the news, a bit lighter of heart. After forty minutes of news with no mention of the disaster in Space. John pounded his fist on the arm of the couch. "The bastards are covering it up."

"Father, what about that? Can we put out a press release?"

Jeff shook his head. "I know how you boys feel. I feel the same way myself, but we can't let our feelings cloud our judgement. A press release could back the Chinese into a corner. Do we want to risk being banned from any rescue in that entire country? No. I think we'll just have to keep quiet."

"Well, how about an anonymous tip to say, Ned Cook?"

Both Jeff and Scott looked over at John in surprise. Cook had long been a thorn in International Rescue's side. Jeff slowly nodded. "You know John, that's not a half-bad idea. How would you go about it?"

"Easy. He has that tipster's website. I could take the audio transcript, scratch it up a bit, and say I got it over my ham radio set."

Scott clapped his brother on the shoulder, smiling grimly and nodding. "Good. I like it."

"I'll do it first thing tomorrow."

"Okay, now I'll want..." Jeff was interrupted by a report from Gordon.

"Mobile Control to Base, we're through, Father. Twenty-six survivors, eight dead. Most of the survivors are ambulatory. I've sent stretcher crews in for the wounded."

"Good job, son. Brains and Virgil okay?"

"They're fine, sir. Brains is loading up the equipment and Virg is playing traffic cop. I'm turning over control of the site to the local police chief. I expect Thunderbird Two to be headed home within the next ten minutes."

"All right, son. Have Virgil call in as soon as he's airborne."

"FAB." Gordon signed off.

Jeff sat back in his chair and stretched. "Well, it sounds as if we have another success on our hands, boys."

"Yeah, and it sounds like Gordy's going to give Scott a run for his job."

Scott turned a look on his brother. "Is that what it sounds like?"

"Yep." John smirked.

"9am. In the gym. Sharp."

"Absolutely. I have it on good authority that you'll be going down. Hard." John said sweetly.

Jeff listened to the exchange, a tolerant smile on his face. "Well, if you boys are going to be in the gym at nine, I suggest you go to bed now. The rescue is over but for the shouting, and I've no intention of holding a debrief in the middle of the night."

John stood up and stretched. "I think you're right, Father. Good night."

"Sleep well, son."

"G'night, John." Scott made no move to join his brother.

John made his way to his room, ruefully thinking he was glad it was Gordon and not himself who had to land Thunderbird One in the middle of the night under Scott's anxious eye.

John got ready for bed in no time flat. As he settled under the crisp sheets he gave a last thought to the poor abandoned souls of the Chinese satellite. Sighing, he drifted to sleep. When the night sky lit up with the fire of Thunderbird One's rockets, and a while later with Thunderbird Two's VTOL engines, he simply rolled over and pulled the blanket up higher.

The next morning, John awoke with the dawn. He put on shorts and a tank top, intending to run before breakfast. Leaving his room, he found Scott coming up the hall. "Hey. What time did you get to bed last night?"

Scott shook his head. "I think it was about one o'clock. Even then I couldn't relax enough to sleep. How about you?"

"I slept fine, thanks. Listen, if you want to call off the fencing, I'll understand."

"God, as much as I hate to do that, I think we'd better postpone at least until tomorrow. It's not that I couldn't slice you up today, of course, it's just that Virgil is freaking over not having the Mole available."

"So, what, you think we can repair it in a single day? I heard it was pretty badly damaged."

"I had a look at it, and I think it may be salvageable. Virg and Brains were talking last night about redesigning and building a new one, but that'll take months, and we need something in the meantime."

"Okay, I'm up to give it a try after breakfast. I'm going for a run on the beach, I'll see you later."

John made his way out of the villa and down to the beach where he started his pre-run ritual of stretches. He loved this time of day before the sounds of the world woke up. The air wasn't exactly cool as it would have been in Kalvesta or Cambridge, but still, it hadn't attained that soupy quality it would have later in the day.

As he started his run, another ritual kicked in. One of his cross-country coaches in college had taught him the knack of emptying his mind when running. It was a relief for John whose mind normally ran at warp speed. Now he just listened. To the rising thump of his heart. To the pound of his feet on the rocky beach. To the soft susurration of the tropical birds beginning their day. To the pervasive roar of the breakers coming in.

By the time he had ended his run, he felt energized and ready for the day. He went to his room and showered and shaved, and then headed for breakfast. When he reached the kitchen, he was surprised to find only Scott at the table. His eyebrows climbed in surprise. While it wasn't unusual for Gordon or Virgil to be late, it was odd not to find his father in his usual seat.

"Morning, Grandma, Kyrano. Where's Dad?"

"Right here, son." John jumped at his father's voice in his ear. Jeff chuckled. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

John narrowed his eyes. He could see the twinkle, despite his father's attempt at an innocent look. "Uh huh."

Jeff just smiled. "Good morning, son. Did you sleep well?"

With a look of mock irritation, John harrumphed and said, "I slept fine, Dad. Scott says we're going to work on the Mole today."

"Good. Let me just get my coffee, and we'll go over it. And I want to de-brief last night's rescue."

John sat down at the table and Kyrano place a plate of hash and eggs in front of him. "Ah, this smells great. Thanks, Kyrano."

"You are most welcome. Would you care for some juice? Orange? Or perhaps tomato juice?"

"Uh, no thanks, Kyrano." John started on his breakfast, nodding his thanks when his father placed a coffee mug near to hand.

A few minutes later, Gordon strode in. "Mornin' everyone. Grandma, I'm starving. What's to eat?"

John winced a bit at Gordon's high spirits. There were times when his younger brother filled a whole room with his presence. As his brother sat down, John heaved a long-suffering sigh. Gordon grinned all the wider, "Good morning, sunshine!"

Ruth smiled. "Well! You're in a good mood! Give Kyrano a minute, and you'll have some nice fresh eggs."

"Lobster and eggs?" Gordon asked hopefully.

"Hash, dear. Although, I've been thinking a clambake might be nice for dinner. That is, if anybody could get me some shellfish?" Ruth made a show of looking around at everyone.

"Sure, Grandma. I'll go get you some right after breakfast."

"Hold on a minute, son. You're going to be needed in the hangar. We need to get the Mole functional." Jeff said. "Tell you what, Mom. I'll order some live Maine lobsters and steamers to be shipped. We can have a real clambake tomorrow. How does that sound?"

John had been listening, and he piped up, "And crabs, too?"

"Perhaps I could arrange for a selection of seafood when I go to Honolulu today." Kyrano bowed. He was taking an overnight trip to pick up his daughter, Tin-Tin, who had been on a shopping trip in San Francisco.

"Can't wait!" Gordon grinned. "About the Mole, though. How are we going to fix it? Veronica really ripped it up."

Jeff looked slightly puzzled, but responded. "That's the first item on the agenda, then. I'll need you boys to evaluate and determine what will be needed. Where's Virgil? He needs to be in on this."

"Brains too, right, Father?" Scott said, as he stood to go find his missing brother.

"No, Brains is working on a new design for a new Mole. I'd rather he put his energies into that as much as possible. If you boys can't handle the repairs, we can bring Brains in later. But wait a minute, there, Scott. We'll give Virgil a little more time to wake up. In the meantime, I'd like a debriefing on both of the rescues yesterday."

Scott sat back down, his face going expressionless. "There's not a lot to say about that sightseeing trip John and I took."

With a sigh, John entered the conversation. "Dad, we hadn't even gotten the coordinate feed from Alan when it was called off."

"Yes, but you did get coordinates, and you headed over to the satellite anyway, didn't you?" There was no accusation in Jeff's voice.

"We tried to. We only got within about 300 kilometers when that weapons platform targeted us. We tried to maneuver to put the station between us and the platform, but they knew what they were doing, and stopped us. You called us home, and that was it."

"Shit." Gordon swore softly. He looked sympathetically at his two brothers.

Jeff gave the silence a moment then spoke up. "All right, then. Gordon, what happened with you?"

Gordon took a moment to finish chewing on a piece of toast. "Well, I reached the danger zone and set down. The area was all mountains covered with scrub. The tunnel was at the Base of one, with a little village nearby. There were a lot of people running around, but as near as I could tell, there was no one in charge, everybody was just in this state of hysteria, yelling but not really doing anything."

Gordon paused as Virgil trudged in. He headed straight for the coffeepot. Looking over the mugs lined up next to the pot, he shook his head and opened an overhead cabinet, and moving things around, finally found what he was searching for... a soup bowl-sized mug.

Virgil turned back to the kitchen table to find his father and brothers all watching him. Scowling he said, "What?"

"And you call me sunshine." John grinned.

Virgil continued to scowl as he sat, not quite sure if the general snickering was aimed at him or not. Kyrano placed a plate of toast in front of him, knowing that until Virgil was truly awake, he would not appreciate anything heavier.

"So, anyway," Gordon continued, "I took Scott's suggestion. I sounded the siren to get their attention, and I took charge. This guy comes up and says he's the mayor of the town, and as he's the only one who speaks English, he'll interpret for me. Well, I remember you telling me once a live interpreter is always better than a machine, so I took him up on the offer." Gordon looked at John, and John nodded, remembering the conversation.

"All right, so, I tell him to get the people away from the mouth of the tunnel. There were all these people, including little old men and women trying to dig their way in, but this wasn't dirt, it was these big boulders. I could see right off that it wasn't stable, and I was scared to death some of these folks were going to get crushed." Gordon grimaced in remembrance.

"The guy translates, and it works like a charm. Everybody listens, and clears away. I told him to set up an area for the injured and another for the survivors, and another for a morgue area. He starts directing people this way and that. Well, the people start moving but they're giving me some weird looks."

"What kind of weird looks?" Scott asked frowning.

"Weird looks, like they can't believe their ears. At first I thought it was because of the morgue thing. Nobody wanted to believe people could die with International Rescue on the job, you know? But it kept happening. Everytime I gave an order, the guy would translate, the people would hop to, but they'd be shaking their heads like they were disgusted or something."

Gordon shook his head, ruefully. "You know, it took me forever to figure out something wasn't right. Scott, you would have known right off, but I just kept thinking it wasn't anything."

"Well, what was it?" Virgil piped up. John looked over to find his brother was much more alert, listening to Gordon's report, a plate of hash and eggs in front of him.

"I'm getting to it. Anyway, I took the borer over, and it worked like a charm as always. I had air going in, and radio contact with the victims. When the guy translated that, this cheer went up, and I thought everything would be fine, but then he said something else, and the people got all angry. That's when Thunderbird Two showed up." Gordon nodded toward his brother.

Virgil frowned. "I didn't notice any anger."

"That's because you were focussing on the fact that I turned down your idea of Brains taking over Mobile Control. I had just figured out that something was getting lost in the translation, and I figured Brains' stutter wouldn't help things."

Jeff nodded. "That was the right call, son."

"You could have said so, Gordon." Virgil said resentfully.

"I wasn't about to say something like that to Brains, especially after the way you shredded him."

"Enough. Go on, Gordon."

"Okay, I got about ten feet cleared with the Firefly, then Virg and Brains went to work." Gordon looked over at Virgil.

"Yes, I took the upper half, and Brains the lower. We made good progress. Brains did a great job. It took us a good two hours to breakthrough. The survivors were in good shape. The crew chief had kept his head and when we got there, the wounded were ready for transport, and the rest just walked out, no panic, no problems."

"Good job, son" Jeff nodded.

"Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I decided to try the Universal Translator. I put it on, and before I could tell the guy I didn't need him anymore, I hear him telling the people that the money was due before the construction crew would be released. Can you believe it, this guy was shaking these people down! Right in front of me!" Gordon's eyes flashed with remembered anger.

"You're kidding!"

"No, I am not. He wasn't the mayor at all, he was just a crook who saw an opportunity. He had those folks believing that International Rescue charges for its work. Oh man, was I pissed! I saw a cop, and I waved him over. You should have seen the look on the guy's face when I told the cop through the translator to take him away. Almost made it worth it."

"You should have punched his lights out." Virgil growled coldly.

There was a pause as Jeff waited for Scott to rebuke his brother. Eyebrow raised in surprise, he looked the question at his eldest son, who kept mulishly silent. John felt his heart warm to his brother's silent defense of Virgil's bold statement. Like Scott, John agreed with Virgil's solution.

With a sigh, Jeff finally said, "No. You did the right thing, son. I'm proud of the job you did. Well done."

"Thanks, Dad."

Scott was shaking his head. "You know, I doubt I would have cottoned on any quicker than you did, Gordon. You just don't expect that kind of thing at a rescue."

"About that. Scott, I think we need to take a look at our operating rules. While I understand the advantage of the human touch, we can't afford to have something like this happen again." Jeff said, a thoughtful frown on his face.

"Right, Father. I was thinking the same thing, but I'd still rather use a live translator whenever possible. The Universal Translator is great, as far as it goes, but it can't handle slang, or regional idiom."

John thought for a moment. "I could probably come up with an earbud that could link to the UT. You could use a live translator, but hear exactly what they're saying."

Scott nodded thoughtfully. "Good idea, John."

Gordon and Virgil were both frowning. Gordon looked like he'd comment, but Virgil beat him to it. "Are you sure, Scott? I'd think it would be very distracting."

"Maybe at first, but I'll bet I could get used to it pretty quickly. Besides, like Dad says, we can't really afford not to take precautions."

"Your funeral." Gordon muttered.

Scott smiled slyly, "You mean you aren't gunning for my job?"

Gordon's eyes widened. "What? Are you nuts?" When he saw Scott's eyes narrow, he backpedaled fast. "Uh, I mean, you're so very truly good at it, I could never hope to reach your level of excellence. I'd never be so foolish as to think I could ever attain you level of skill. You are beyond the best, Scott. Absolutely beyond. Honest."

Scott stared for a moment before nodding sagely. "As long as you understand that." Virgil blurted out a laugh, and John snickered.

As breakfast broke up, Jeff said quietly, "John, before you go help your brothers, I believe you were going to send an email for me."

John smiled devilishly. "Yes, Dad, I believe I was. Scott, I'll catch up with you guys later. Dad, did you want to see it before it went out, or do you just want a copy?"

"A copy will do fine, son."

"FAB."

John left the kitchen table and headed for the roundhouse. One of the nice things about the villa was there were enough rooms that John was able to commandeer one for a private study. He had chosen one on the far side of the roundhouse that had a balcony facing away from the villa. It allowed him to set up one of his telescopes with a minimum of light pollution from the house.

Of course, he had several better scopes set up in an observatory on the far side of the extinct volcano cone that than was the main feature of their island home. The study was just for casual observations.

In addition to the telescope, his study housed his main computer set up. Totally separate from the high-speed science system set up in Brains lab and the main household computer, John's computer was as good as anything the average university could offer.

John liked keeping his ‘work' separate from his living quarters, where all he had was an entertainment center and an antiquated games computer. It was a quirk that got a lot of razzing from his brothers, but he felt it was important, especially as he couldn't separate work from leisure on Thunderbird Five where he spent half of his year.

He booted up his system, and entered a command that would connect him with the main household computer. He downloaded the audio file from the aborted space rescue. Listening to it, his hackles rose again. It was a damn load of crap, and anybody with half a brain hearing this tape would know it.

Using a program he had written himself, he ran the audio through filters that added just the right amount of static and hiss. Then he sat back for a few minutes before composing his message. He tried to put a certain excitement, using slang that a teenager might use. He re-wrote the message several times before he was satisfied. With one last re-read, he nodded his head and sent it through another program that would prevent any hacker from backtracking it to his computer.

Sending a copy to his father, John shut down the computer and headed for Thunderbird Two's hangar. Coming out on the hangar floor, he headed for Pod Three and the Mole. He'd barely gone two steps, when movement caught his eye.

He looked over and saw Gordon perched on Veronica, sitting cross-legged, apparently absorbed in the yo-yo he was playing with. Heading over, John called, "Hey, aren't you supposed to be helping evaluate the Mole?"

Gordon looked up and deadpanned, "They're communing."

"Oh." John started climbing to reach his brother's perch. Scott and Virgil were so attuned to each other that their conversation would occasionally degenerate down to a series of phrases, grunts and significant looks. Nothing could make the younger Tracy brothers feel more superfluous than when this happened, and all three of them had learned to not even try to interfere.

John made himself comfortable and looked around. "Nice view."

"Yeah." Gordon grunted, then paused in his yo-yo practice. "So, what kind of email did Dad want you to send?"

"Chinese Government is covering up that fiasco from yesterday. Dad and I thought Ned Cook might appreciate an anonymous tip."

Gordon nodded fiercely. "Way to go, John."

Gordon went back to his yo-yo, and John watched quietly. After a few minutes, Scott and Virgil appeared from Pod Three, Virgil wiping his hands on a rag. Spotting the two younger men, Scott narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing?"

John cocked his head. "Waiting for you two."

"You're supposed to be helping."

"We are."

Virgil crossed his arms across his chest, "Funny, it looks more like you're goofing off."

"Ah, it only looks that way, Virg. In truth, we are helping evaluate the Mole."

Scott and Virgil looked at each other. Virgil shrugged his shoulders, and with an air of knowing he'd regret it, Scott asked, "And just exactly how are you doing that?"

"By staying out of your way." Gordon said brightly.

"Of course, we could always come down and give you our opinions on how to fix it, but then you'd have to explain why our ideas wouldn't work, because you've already decided what needs to be done. This is just more efficient." John stated in a tone of sweet reason.

Scott pretended to think about it for a moment, then nodded. "You're right, of course. But seeing as Virg and I did all the brainstorming, you two can do the grunt work."

John smiled, "Sure, Scott."

"Okay, Scott." Gordon confirmed. The two younger brothers started climbing down from their perch.

Virgil in the meantime was frowning. "Uh, Scott, um, I think I'd really prefer to do the work myself."

"No, that's okay, Virg, we can handle it, can't we, Johnny?"

"Absolutely. Especially with Veronica to help us."

John watched Virgil's face with interest as emotions flashed across it. He was disappointed when the look that finally took hold was one of shrewd reckoning. "Oh, you're just hilarious today, aren't you, John?"

"Well, actually, I would have categorized it as witty rather than hilarious."

"Definitely. Witty, I mean." Gordon supplied helpfully.

"Enough, guys. Listen, we're going to have to get out the extruder and fabricate a frame for the blades."

John nodded. He had assumed as much. "Come, Olympic Boy, to the fabricators!"

"Right, Johnny-On-The-Spot! We must once again save the world!"

"Oh, God, somebody just save me," sighed Scott following with Virgil behind his now-prancing superhero wannabe brothers.

The four brothers moved across the hangar floor to a separate warehouse area. By unspoken agreement, Scott and Gordon went to the lockers and started pulling out and building the extruding machine.

John and Virgil headed into an office-like structure and booted up the CAD program on the computer and conferred on the design and materials to be used. "I want to run a test study on that composite Brains developed last year. The X7B29. If it can handle the torque, I want to use it." Virgil stated.

"Well, why don't I run the study, and you pull out the specs? You know what you're looking at better than I do."

"Yeah, okay." Virgil and John both got down to work. For John, it was an easy job to set up a computer simulation to study how Brains' composite would stand up as the spinning, boring blades of the Mole. After loading the initial parameters, he had the computer simulate how it would stand up under 1000 hours of hard use.

The high-speed computer did its work in a matter of minutes, and soon the results scrolled across the screen. John peered at them then said softly, "Uh-oh."

Virgil's head shot up from where he was working on designing the frame. "What? Uh-oh, what?"

John shook his head. "This stuff is tough, but not tough enough, Virg. See here? The heat the blades generate cause stress fracturing after only 450 hours."

"Damn. I really would have liked to use that stuff. It could have saved a lot of weight."

"Well, what about that other composite? The um, X7ST3?"

"No, we might as well use the old tried and true as that. It doesn't offer any advantages."

"Are you sure? I thought Brains said..." John was interrupted by the blaring of the alarm.

"Again?" Virgil frowned, but followed as John bolted out the door.

They met Scott and Gordon at the elevator. On the way up, Scott noticed Virgil's frown, and looked a question at his brother. Virgil gave a brief shake of his head. "Composite fractures."

Scott grunted, and both he and Virgil put on identical frowns. Gordon rolled his eyes, and John just smiled. As soon as the elevator doors opened, the four men hustled into the lounge.

"Ah, good, you're here. It's another space rescue, John." Jeff said.

Surprised, John looked up at Alan's portrait. "What? Not another blowout?"

"I'm afraid so. This time it's a military satellite, from Moldova."

John blinked. "Moldova has a satellite?"

"Moldova has a military?"

"Quiet, Gordon. Go ahead Alan." Jeff commanded.

"FAB, Dad. Moldova actually has two satellites, part of a treaty with Belarus after the problems with the Ukraine a few years ago. Belarus supplied the technology and Moldova has them stationed above the border."

Jeff shook his head at the foolishness of politics. "Son, is anybody else launching?"

"Yeah, Dad. The Ukrainians are trying to get up there. They say to rescue the astronauts, but both Belarus and Moldova are threatening to shoot them down if they do."

John felt a chill run down his spine. This was sounding a lot like yesterday's disaster. Scott apparently thought the same, because he asked. "So, is there any point in us launching?"

Alan's eyes widened in surprise as his brother's aggressive stance. "Uh, well, nobody else is fast enough, Scott. The World Space Agency is estimating twenty hours, and everyone else it beyond that. The men on the satellite say they can hold out for maybe fifteen hours. It's us or the Ukrainians."

John was already on the couch when their father shook his head. "We can only try, boys. Thunderbirds are go."

As Scott joined him on the couch, John said thoughtfully, "Dad, one blowout, yes. Two, maybe. Three just plain stretches credulity. We had the cameras running on Thunderbird Three when we went up to that French station. Can you have Brains take a look? I don't know if this is sabotage, or some freak of nature, but we need to know what's behind all of this."

Jeff hit the switch that would send the couch to Thunderbird Three. "I'm way ahead of you, son. Brains is already reviewing those films. Be safe, boys."

"FAB." Scott called as they dropped from sight.

As the couch continued its journey, John said quietly. "I'd like to pick up Alan again, Scott."

Scott, who seemed to be in a trance, took a deep breath and looked over at his brother. "Yeah, okay."

John nodded in satisfaction. "And Scott? Whatever happens, we're not leaving anyone to die today."

Scott looked searchingly at his brother. Then apparently satisfied with the level of resolve he saw in John's eyes, he nodded grimly. "Not anyone."

Reaching the big rocket for the third time in two days, John took a deep breath. He wondered briefly about Thunderbird Three's ability to perform. The silo was still warm with the residual heat from yesterday's two flights. He dismissed the nascent worry from his mind. If Three wasn't up to the task, the sensors would tell them in a big hurry. And John knew for a fact that Brains had designed the ship with multiple rapid launches in mind.

Both Scott and John were up and moving before the couch locked in place. In the control room, John slipped into the pilot's position feeling as if he had come home. His hands moved automatically across the various switches and monitors. "Thunderbird Three to Base, we're ready to launch."

"Base to Thunderbird Three. Hold on, son, we have traffic."

John looked over at his brother. "FAB, Dad."

John sat back. "Well, now what?"

"Um, I Spy? Rock, Paper, Scissors? Tic-Tac-Toe?"

John chuckled. "You know, if Brains were a REAL genius, he would have built a backgammon game into the main console."

Scott smiled wickedly. "Wouldn't take a moment to download something from the main computer. I think Gordon just got Fantasy of Lies VII the other day."

John's eyes widened at the thought, but he reluctantly shook his head. While playing computer games had never held that much appeal for him, the idea of doing something forbidden with his ultra-responsible eldest brother was hard to resist.

After a moment, he smiled. Scott always seemed to know how to keep him from winding too tight. He wondered what would happen if he agreed. He started to say something, but was cut off when his father announced, "Base to Thunderbird Three, you are clear to launch. God's speed and good luck."

"Thank you, Father."

"And boys, everybody comes home today. Nobody gets left behind. Understood?"

"FAB Dad." John flipped off the communicator. "Launch in three... two... one... mark."

The powerful rockets kicked the big ship into the air, driving harder and harder to escape the atmosphere. John sat back, watching his instruments, letting the pressure flow over him. Despite the tension, he felt fully alive with the big ship strapped to his back.

When they had reached the outer edges of the atmosphere, John said, "Primary shutdown, prepare for switchover."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "We are green for switchover."

"Green for switchover." John acknowledged. "Auxiliaries in three... two... one... mark."

John shut down the heavy rockets and atomic engines online. "Artificial gravity on."

Scott snorted. "You feel better now?"

"Huh?"

"You've got new lines."

"Oh. That. Why yes, I do feel better, thank you."

Scott chuckled as he reached for the communicator switch. "Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird Five, we're ready for the coordinate feed, Alan."

"Sending now. Scott, what are the chances of me tagging along again?"

"About the same as John beating me fencing."

"Aw, come... uh..." Alan frowned as he tried to figure out Scott's meaning.

John and Scott both watched the monitor expectantly. Alan looked from one brother to the other searching their faces for a clue. Frustrated, he finally said, "I'll, uh, get back to you."

As the connection was cut, Scott raised his hand in an invitation for a high five. With a laugh, John slapped the hand. "Good one, Scott."

"Yeah. Wonder how long it will take him to figure it out."

"All he has to do is watch our trajectory and it'll be obvious in a few minutes."

The two brothers settled down to guiding the big rocket to Thunderbird Five. John kept waiting for Alan to acknowledge their approach, but when it didn't happen, he finally contacted the station. "Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird Five, wake up Alan, we're on final approach."

Alan's image appeared immediately, wearing a look of innocent surprise. "Oh! You changed your mind, Scott?"

John barked a short laugh, then cringed away from his older brother. Scott stared hard-eyed for a moment, then growled, "Actually, I have. Right now."

Unfazed, Alan batted his eyes, "Oh good, so then you are picking me up?"

"If only to have you within reach."

Alan smiled happily. "Yeah, we know all about you and that physical affection thing, Scott." Glancing at his board, he turned serious. "Contact. Engaging locks. I'll be aboard in a minute. Thunderbird Five out."

As John tended his console, Scott sat back and mused, "Do we have a toy chest aboard?"

John smiled at the memory. Once a very long time ago, Virgil had put Gordon in the toy chest when the pre-schooler had refused to give back a toy he had taken. Far from being upset, when Scott had opened up the chest, Gordon had been found happily playing with Virgil's Cub Scout flashlight. For several weeks after, they had had a hard time keeping the four-year-old out of the toy box.

"Hey guys! Scoot over, Johnny, I'm driving." Alan bounced into the control room.

John looked over at Scott. "No toy chest. Would a barrel of toxic waste do?"

Scott snorted. "Sit down and buckle up, Alan, John's doing just fine."

Alan sighed, and took the communications station. John kept waiting for the outburst, but it didn't happen. Feeling like the sword of Damocles was hanging over him, he disengaged the connection to Thunderbird Five, and using maneuvering jets moved the ship away from the station. Once they had drifted far enough away from the station, John announced, "Engines online, prepare for thrust in three... two... one... mark."

The atomic engines provided plenty of kick, and John and his brothers were pushed deeply into their seats. The boost only took a few seconds, but at the end, they were moving quickly toward their goal, the Moldovan space station.

As they approached, both Scott and John reached to open a communication channel only to find that Alan had beaten them to it. With the Universal Translator on, he called out, "Moldovan Border Station Number Two, this in International Rescue. We are on vector 23.7 axis 41.93. We're coming in from your sun side, boys, can you give us an approach feed?"

All three men watched the speaker as if their eyes could force a response. When none was forthcoming, Alan tried again. "Moldovan Border Station Number Two, this is International Rescue, do you read?"

The silence made John nervous. "I thought you said they had fifteen hours, Alan."

"That's what they reported." Alan snapped. "Moldovan Border Station Number Two, this is International Rescue, do you read?"

"Try the other station." Scott said softly.

Alan and John both frowned, but Alan obediently called out, "Moldovan Border Station Number One, this is International Rescue, do you read?"

When there was no response, Alan said, confused, "But there wasn't anything wrong with Station One! Why aren't they answering?"

Scott didn't respond directly, instead he opened a different channel. "Thunderbird Three to Base. Dad, we've got a problem here."

Jeff's image appeared immediately. "This is Base. What kind of problem, son?"

"Sir, we're approaching the danger zone, but we've been unable to contact the station. The other border station isn't responding either."

Jeff's eyes widened. "Thunderbird Three, you are not to approach. Do you understand?"

"Understood, Father."

"Let me get on the horn with the Moldovan authorities. I'll be back with you in a few minutes." Jeff abruptly cut the connection.

John glanced at Alan who looked about as confused as John felt. Turning to Scott, he asked, "Scott, what's this all about? What do you and Dad know that Alan and I don't?"

Scott ran a hand over his eyes. "Guys, this is a military operation. They have no way of telling that we're not the Ukrainians here to wipe them out. If we try to dock, they'll probably blow us out of the sky."

Alan crossed his arms. "Well, how are we supposed to rescue them if they don't trust us?"

"Oh, for God's sake." John shook his head in disgust, then took over the communications. "MBS Two, this is Thunderbird Three. It's come to our attention that you may have doubts as to our identity. Please direct your cameras to the honkin' big red rocket approaching. You'll notice first that it has Thunderbird Three written very prominently on its side. You'll notice second that it's a damn sight more advanced than anything the Ukrainians could throw at you. And you'll notice third that it's beautiful. And even if it was as ugly as a Ukrainian beauty pageant winner, it would still be beautiful to you, because it's here to save your butts. So how about it? Are you going to give us the approach feed or do we go home?"

The silence seemed to last an eternity, but finally a gruff voice called out. "International Rescue, you are very welcome here. Sending approach feed now."

"Thank you, MBS Two. We'll be with you shortly."

John cut the line, and smiled smugly at his older brother. "Any questions?"

Scott rolled his eyes, and opened contact with their father. "Thunderbird Three to Base, Dad, John has convinced them to let us approach."

Jeff's eyebrows rose. "I was just going to call you. The head of the Moldovan Space Agency told his people to let you approach."

Scott looked over at John. "Any questions?"

John grunted as he guided his ship to an airlock highlighted by blinking lights. With a deft touch, John slid the big rocket into position. As the locks engaged, John murmured for Alan's benefit, "The Galactic Emperor of Docks."

As the words left his lips, there was a jolt that traveled through the entire ship, and to John's horror, red lights swept across his status board. Moving rapidly, he barked out, "Disengaging locks, firing thrusters. Get me a status report. What the hell happened?"

"Oh God." John felt his blood run cold as Alan's flat statement. Throwing his brother a quick glance, before concentrating on his own instruments, his stomach turned at the white-faced fear on Alan's face.

Scott's voice was diamond hard. "Alan, report."

"Uh, it looks like the station's lock suffered catastrophic decompression. I've got at least three bodies out there."

"Are they suited?"

"No." Alan reported softly.

John clenched his jaw. He reached over to Alan's board, and flipped a switch. "Thunderbird Three to MBS Two, what is your status?"

The Tracy brothers waited tensely for a response. When there was no response, Scott asked, "How many people would a station like that carry?"

Glancing at the station layout, John returned curtly, "Anywhere from two to fifteen."

Scott was silent for a moment, then ordered, "Alan, bring up the infrared. Let's see if we can spot any individual heat signatures."

"They'll be indistinguishable from the background heat of the station, Scott." Alan said sadly, but obediently keyed up the necessary screen.

The brothers looked intently, but as Alan had predicted, the areas of the station that had power were a uniform bright yellow. Scott asked quietly. "Is this something we did?"

John shook his head. "No, I don't think so. This is all part of whatever is causing these blowouts in the first place."

"Okay, someone is going to have to go over there."

"That's what I'm here for." Alan responded, unbuckling his safety harness.

"Wait a minute, Alan." Scott said.

"Those people may not have minutes, Scott." Alan responded coldly.

"Shut up and listen. If there is anybody left over there, they may not be very happy to see you. These are military people in a cold war situation. They are as likely to believe you're the enemy as not. I'm coming with you."

Alan narrowed his eyes, but Scott simply ignored him, unbuckling his own harness. "You show any sign of aggression, and I do mean any sign, and they will take you out before you say hello. Alan, I'm serious here. We need to be very careful in everything we say and do over there. Remember, we're their only hope of survival, whether they realize it or not. Got it?"

Alan thrust out his jaw. "I don't need a babysitter."

"And I don't need insubordination."

"Scott, I can do this without you looking over my shoulder."

"John, call over to that station, let them know we're coming." Scott entered the elevator, and raised an eyebrow at his younger brother.

John carefully looked away from his youngest brother, and flipped a switch. "MBS Two, this is Thunderbird Three. We are sending people to assist. Repeat, we are sending someone over to help."

"Oh, and you think that's going to help?" Alan was seething, as the elevator door shut on him and Scott.

John sat back taking a deep breath. He studied the monitor to try and see what went wrong. He leaned forward to trace an area next to the dock, where the blowout had actually occurred. It chilled his heart.

There was no apparent cause for the problem. If it could occur here, what was to keep it from happening on Thunderbird Five? He decided that as soon as he got home, he would approach his father about returning to space monitor duty early. He didn't want to risk his baby brother's life. In fact, he would have preferred to accompany Scott himself to the station.

Setting his concern aside, John hailed his father. "Thunderbird Three to Base. Father, our attempt at docking with the station was unsuccessful. Alan and Scott are going to go EVA to get over there."

"Unsuccessful? Why, John? What happened?"

"Uh, they had a blowout in the lock chamber just as we approached, Dad. We count three dead."

Jeff paled at the news. "Son, I want you suited up. Whatever the hell this is, I don't want you caught unaware."

John nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense, Dad. I'll go now."

"FAB." John shut the link and started unbuckling his harness. Before he could complete the action, an alarm blared, and his communications console came to life.

A heavily accented voice spoke above the sound of the proximity alarms. "International Rescue, this is Ukrainian Rescue Flight One. Come in, International Rescue."

John swore under his breath as he slapped a switch that cut off the alarm. Responding with a calmness he didn't feel, John replied. "URF One, this is Thunderbird Three. What can I do for you?"

"Thunderbird Three, we are here to help our comrades. We appreciate your rapid response, but your assistance is not required."

"Actually, I was about to say the same thing. We are already onsite, and involved in rescue operations. We have things in hand. If you'd like to standby, we'll let you know if we need your help."

There was a pause, and then the voice was back. "You misunderstand. We are not requesting that you leave, we are telling you to leave."

"Sorry, can't comply. I've got two people already over there on that station."

"Scott to control room. Alan and I are ready to open the airlock."

"Scott, the Ukrainians have showed up. They want us to leave."

"We aren't going anywhere."

"Yeah, I told them that."

"All right, stay put, but let Dad know what's happening. Alan and I are on our way over."

"FAB." John reached to contact his father. "Thunderbird Three to Base. Dad, the Ukrainians have arrived. They're telling us to back off."

"What exactly are they saying, son?"

John had been listening to the increasingly strident demands from the Ukrainian ship with half an ear as he conducted his conversations with his brother and father. "Well, so far they're just telling us to get lost. No specific threats."

"Hold your ground, son. I'll see if I can do anything from here."

"FAB." John turned his attention to the Ukrainian ship. It was still over a hundred kilometers off, but steadily getting closer. He scanned for any sign of weapons, but nothing was obvious.

He flipped a switch and called out with fake courtesy, "URF One, I'm sorry I wasn't listening. What was it you were saying?"

International Rescue, you will depart immediately or suffer the consequences." The voice ground out.

You're going to have to be a little more specific. What consequences are you referring to?"

"This station is in violation of Ukrainian airspace. It is our intention to apprehend the criminals onboard and then destroy the station. If you interfere, we will simply destroy the station with your people onboard. It is up to you."

With an angry frown, John fired Thunderbird Three's thrusters, and maneuvered the big ship so that it was between the station and the oncoming threat. Opening a channel to his brothers, he said. "Scott? What's happening over there?"

Alan's voice was tense as he responded. "We've got a situation here, John. Scott's trying to convince them not to kill us."

John felt his stomach take a nosedive. He swallowed hard, "Well tell him if they don't kill you the Ukrainians might. They're out here threatening to blow the station to kingdom come."

"Stand by, John." Scott's reply was curt.

"Swell." John muttered. Thinking for a moment, he opened the channel to the Ukrainians. "URF One, who am I speaking to, please?"

"This is Colonel Bohdanko Drabczak. Do not think moving your ship will protect the criminals. If necessary, I will destroy you."

"Colonel Drabczak, is your government really willing to risk worldwide censure? Shooting down an unarmed rescue craft?"

"You are interfering in the national security of a sovereign country. We have a right to protect ourselves."

"Are you saying you fear attack from International Rescue, Colonel? That doesn't seem very reasonable, does it?"

John watched as the Ukrainian vessel approached. Close up, it was obvious it was a second hand ship at best. John reflected it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that they could end up rescuing the Ukrainians.

"Enough of this. We will be on final approach within the next five minutes. You have that much time to recall your colleagues and vacate this area." There was a loud click as the Ukrainian cut communication.

John rubbed his suddenly sweating palms together, wondering if he dared communicate with his brothers. Letting loose a deep breath, he instead contacted his father. "Thunderbird Three to Base. Dad, the threats have gotten specific."

Jeff sounded pre-occupied when he responded. "I'm working on it, son. Just try to stall them for as long as you can."

"FAB." John reluctantly cut the communication. He watched as the Ukrainian loomed ever larger on the screen. Despite the omnipresent sounds of his ship, John felt surrounded by a deafening silence as he waited for someone, anyone, to talk to him.

He was watching the obstinately silent station when there was a sudden soundless explosion. John felt his heart climb to his mouth as what had to be the common area of the small station suddenly opened to space. As he watched, debris and several bodies flew away from the stricken station. He pulled up real-time imaging, and let out a relieved breath when he saw that all of the bodies were in spacesuits. The relief was short-lived when he realized that one of the victims was in the distinctive suit used by International Rescue.

"Alan to Thunderbird Three! John! We've had another blow out! Scott got pulled out!"

"I'm on it, Alan."

"John, I'm fine. I've got it under control. Get those other guys first." Scott's voice was calm and cool.

John took a moment to calm himself, and responded in a like voice, "FAB, Scott."

He turned to the targeting system. He immediately noticed one of the victims was moving erratically, a sure sign of a suit leak. Zeroing in on the man, he let loose a line. As soon as it hit, the sensors started delivering information on his condition. As John suspected, the man was in serious trouble.

The readout said the suit was damaged and losing air and pressure at a dangerous rate. John slapped a few switches and watched the readout tensely, as the soft grip at the end of the line performed one of its primary functions; spreading a covering web over the astronaut's ruined suit. The web became a balloon that provided the function of a patch job. Another switch, and the line stiffened as oxygen was pumped through it. John watched as the man stabilized.

As he started the retraction procedure he took a moment to take in the overall situation. He saw that three of the astronauts had linked up, and as he watched, he saw the third jet away toward a fourth man. He realized the third man was his brother Scott rounding up the victims. He targeted the two linked men, sent out a line, and then opened up communications.

"Alan, I've got an injured man. How soon can you get over here?"

"Two minutes, John. I've got the rest of the survivors ready to go. Can you send me a line?"

"On it." John quickly targeted the open gap in the station, being careful not to cross either of the lines already extended.

"Thunderbird Three, this is Ukrainian Rescue. You will leave now, or be destroyed."

John groaned. For a moment, he considered just ignoring the man. His hands were full, and the last thing he needed was a distraction. John realized that he had to deal with the Ukrainians once and for all.

Clenching his jaw, he watched as several people in suits left the station, using the line that he had sent as a guide rope. There were five, then Alan at the rear. Scott had added a third to the group at the end of the second line and was moving again to the one remaining free floater.

Thinking quickly, he finally responded to the so-called rescuers. "All right Colonel. I will vacate the area immediately. Let me just set up the recorder first."

"Recorder? What recorder is this?"

"Just a formality, Colonel... Okay, it's set up. Let me start... This is International Rescue representative John on Thunderbird Three. Colonel, state your name, please."

"What? Why?" The Ukrainian's voice was suspicious.

"For the recording. State your name, please, Colonel."

After a pause, the man said warily, "Colonel Bohdanko Drabczak."

"Thank you, Colonel. You are a representative of the Ukrainian government, correct?"

"Yes."

"And you are ordering International Rescue to cease and desist rescue operations related to Moldovan Border Station Number Two, correct?"

There was another pause. "Yes."

"And you state that if International Rescue does not cease and desist, you will destroy Thunderbird Three, correct?"

"What is the purpose of this recording?" The Colonel had had enough.

"This will be presented at the World Court, Colonel. International Rescue will be suing you and your government for the destruction of their property."

"You are violating Ukrainian airspace! We are defending our national interests!"

"Your government can present that argument in the court, Colonel. That's always assuming they back you up, that they don't just leave you hanging out to dry." John had been keeping an eye on Scott's progress. His brother had finally reached the last man, and was jetting back to the line where the three others were tethered.

Alan had already reached Thunderbird Three's airlock. John had left the communication lines open with both of his brothers so they could hear the conversation between him and the Ukrainian. Both men had remained quiet letting him get on with the job.

"Your ploy will not work. You will leave now."

With a worried eye on his brother, John replied in a hard voice, "Ploy? You think this is a ploy? International Rescue has pledged to rescue people whatever the cost. You either back off and let us finish the job or you blow us out of the sky. Your choice, but I don't have time to chitchat any longer. Thunderbird Three out."

John slammed the switch so hard, his hand stung. He watched as Scott reached the tether. "Scott? You ready for retraction? I'd, um, kind of like to get out of here."

"Do a fast pull, Johnny. Good job with that guy." Scott's response was succinct, but full of approval.

"John? Did you get a good look at that ship? It looks like an old Russian Kadinsky."

John was watching as Scott and his rescuees were pulled quickly toward the hatch. He responded absentmindedly to Alan's question. "Yeah, it is. At least twenty years old."

"Well, how about firing off a sealpatch at them? It would clog any missile tubes they might have."

John perked up at the suggestion. The sealpatch was another of Brains' wonder inventions. In fact the web that John had used to rescue the astronaut with the damaged suit was a small version of one. The sealpatch Alan was suggesting was a much larger envelope intended to cover a breach in a ship or station. If John could aim it right, he could hit the Kadinsky's missile ports, making a launch impossible.

"I like that idea, Alan. Scott, what do you think?"

"I think Alan should have thought of it ten minutes ago. I'm aboard. Let's get out of here."

John felt a certain disappointment at not being able to implement Alan's suggestion. Sighing, he acknowledged, "FAB, Scott. Engaging thrusters."

As his hand came down on the control, an alarm blared. Startled, John checked his board. The Ukrainian ship had opened its missile ports, and Thunderbird Three's sensors showed they had been targeted.

"Son of a... Scott, Alan, hard burn in three... two... one... mark." John hit a control and felt himself slammed back into his seat.

Ignoring the sudden cacophony of calls from his brothers, he tensely watched his screen. Sure enough, a missile had floated out of the Ukrainian ship's port and was using thrusters to move away from the mother ship before firing. John watched his power output, hoping the missile was as old as the Ukrainian ship itself and that he could out run it.

He sucked in his breath as the missile finally fired. His computers barely had the chance to compute its energy output before it hit its true target, the Moldovan station, which disintegrated in eerie silence.

The Ukrainian ship, its mission accomplished, turned away, apparently no longer interested in Thunderbird Three. John sat back, his heart pounding. After a moment, he reached up and shut down the still thundering engines.

Only then did he respond to the clamoring voices of his brothers. "Okay guys, it's all over. That damn idiot fired off a shot, but it was aimed at the station not us. Everything okay back there?"

There was a moment of dead silence, then Scott said tiredly, "John we have a medical emergency back here. We need to get a couple of these guys to a station with medical facilities."

In a glance, John pinpointed their location. "Okay, Scott, let me get on the horn with the bus terminal. We're headed that way anyway."

"FAB."

John flipped the necessary switch. "International Rescue to World Space Transit Station, please acknowledge."

The speed of the answer led John to suspect they had been listening in. "WSTS to International Rescue, we hear you. How can we help?"

"WSTS, we're on our way to you with injured men in need of medical attention. Can you assist?"

"If you can specify the injuries we can have a medical team standing by."

"Understood, WSTS. Let me switch you over to my colleague. He'll fill you in on the details." John connected to his brother. "Scott, I've got the terminal on the line, they want to know about the injuries."

"All right, John put them through. What's our ETA?"

"A little over ten minutes."

"All right."

When Scott said nothing else, John connected the station through, then contacted his home. "Thunderbird Three to Base. Dad, we've picked up the Moldovans and are headed to the bus terminal."

"Is everyone okay?" Jeff's voice was concerned, but firm.

"Yeah, Dad, Scott, Alan and I are fine. We have some injured people though."

"What happened with the Ukrainians?"

"Well, I'm not too sure if I was that persuasive or it was just all bluster. They waited until we had rescued everyone, then they blew the hell out of the station."

"Damn. Brains wanted some metal samples from that station."

"Yeah, I was thinking about that too. What about the French station? We could go over there once we've gotten the victims to safety."

"It will have to do. Contact the French authorities and get permission, though. I wouldn't want anyone to accuse us of looting."

John smiled tightly. "FAB, Dad."

He noticed the communications indicator from the hold to the bus terminal had winked out, so he put his own call through. "Thunderbird Three to WSTS, come in."

"Yes, Thunderbird Three, we are tracking you, sending approach vectors."

"Thank you, WSTS. Our ETA is a little over six minutes. May I ask if those folks we brought over yesterday have left yet? I'd like to speak with the station operations manager if he's available."

"They're scheduled to depart for Earth in two weeks. Hold on while I locate the manager."

"Thank you, WSTS."

"Call me John."

John laughed. "That's my name, too."

"I know. We're paging the manager. Listen, that was a hell of a thing, facing off with those Ukrainians."

"Yeah. Not my idea of a good time. In the end, they waited just long enough for us to do the job, then they fired a missile and took out the station."

"Yeah, we were watching the whole thing. You guys are amazing."

John smiled, but didn't answer. The voice continued quietly, "We were hoping you wouldn't back down after yesterday."

John felt his jaw clench. "If it had been my decision, we wouldn't have backed down then, either."

"Hey, nobody blames you. Stinking bureaucrats."

"Did they get to them in time?" John asked quietly.

The response, when it came, was just as quiet. "No. They never even tried."

Despite expecting the answer, John felt a flush of anger, mixed with guilt. He said softly, "There was absolutely no reason for those people to die."

"I agree. If it makes you feel any better, the World News Network got hold of the audio transcripts. They did a special bulletin on it about an hour ago, and there's hell to pay for the Chinese. Just about every government is jumping on the ‘condemn the Chinese' bandwagon."

John just shook his head. "Doesn't do those two who died any good. Or their families."

"Maybe not, but John, it should sure make the next time easier."

John smiled tightly. "I thought this was the next time, and let me tell you, it wasn't any easier."

The other John laughed. "True. Well, maybe next time. You are coming up on docking, please use slip seven. We have the medical team ready and waiting."

"Thank you, John. Thunderbird Three out." John used a sure hand to guide the big rocket to a gentle docking. As the airlocks mated and sealed, John called to his brothers, "Scott, Alan, I've completed docking, they say the medical team is ready and waiting."

"FAB." Was Alan's curt response. John settled back in his seat. As he considered contacting the station again, Alan called him. "John? Listen, there's a guy here who says you wanted to talk to him."

"Oh, that must be the operations guy. He was supposed to just call. I don't want to leave here, and I don't think it's a good idea to let him come up, so could you ask him for permission for us to take samples of the metal from that French station?"

"Samples? Got it. I'll ask him." Alan cut the circuit, leaving John to sit and monitor his board.

After a few minutes, John put in a call to his father. "Thunderbird Three to Base, we are at the bus terminal and unloading the victims. The operations manager from the French station is still here, and Alan is asking him for permission to get the metal samples."

"Good. John, your idea of an anonymous email worked even better than we hoped. Yesterday's fiasco is all over the news. The Chinese are backpedaling like crazy."

"Great Dad. I'll tell Scott and Alan when we've finished up here."

"All right, son. Let me know when you leave for the French station."

"FAB, Dad."

John sat back. He still felt he should have done more to save the two lives on the Chinese station, but the fact that the people responsible were facing hard questions gave him some peace.

Given the time to reflect he hoped his actions wouldn't have any unseen consequences. As with Colonel Drabczak, Mr. Wu was only acting on the orders of others. While the man could have been more enlightened, John didn't want him to become his government's scapegoat.

John had checked his status board for about the fifth time when finally, the sound of the elevator caught his attention. Not waiting, he started the short checklist for departure, and when he heard Scott and Alan enter, he called out, "WSTS, this is Thunderbird Three, we are ready to disengage."

"Roger, Thunderbird Three. Separation is complete, please do not engage engines until you are 200 meters out. God's speed and safe flight, John."

"Thank you, John. Thunderbird Three out."

John shut down communications and glanced at Alan. "Did you get that permission from the French?"

Alan grinned. "Are you kidding? That guy would have given us his firstborn child if we asked."

Nodding, he turned back to his controls. "Scott, can you compute a course for... My God! What happened to you?"

Irritated, Scott waved off the question. "It's nothing. Give me a minute to get the course locked in."

John peered at his older brother. Developing bruises traveled a line down his face and neck, disappearing under his collar. A glance confirmed a swollen wrist and hinted that the bruises continued down Scott's entire left side.

With Scott studiously ignoring him, John looked the question at Alan, who responded, "He wasn't secure when you did the burn."

"Oh man. I'm sorry, Scott. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Coordinates locked in. I'm fine for now." Scott shook his head ruefully. "I'll probably be feeling every one of these bruises tomorrow morning, though."

"Good, then. You'll have an excuse when Johnny whips your butt." Alan said cheerfully.

"Cut it out, Alan." John barked, irritated. "Scott, I'm really sorry about that. The ship's computers said the Ukrainians had a target lock on us."

"Don't apologize. You did a hell of a job. You know those crazy Moldovans were set to fry Alan and me. It was you moving Thunderbird Three between them and the Ukrainians that convinced them we were legit. You probably saved our lives."

Alan nodded solemnly, confirming Scott's statement. "And you had no way of knowing that missile wasn't going to come after us. You're the official Thunderbirds Hero of the Day."

The nascent guilt squelched, John ducked his head. "I'm still sorry you got hurt, Scott."

"Yeah, so am I. Grandma's going to have a fit. I am her favorite after all."

"Concussion. He's delusional. It's the only explanation." Alan's deadpan delivery elicited chuckles from both of his brothers.

"Okay, let's get moving. Buckled in there, Scotty?" John smirked, then continued. "Burn in three... two... one... mark."

John applied just enough thrust to move the big ship over to the orbit of the damaged manufacturing station. Within five minutes, it was coming up on the horizon.

"We'll be within range in two minutes. I'll go get suited up." John started to unbuckle his harness.

"You? Why you? I'll go, you guys just sit back and let an expert do it." Alan remarked.

"No, we'll let John handle this one, Alan." Scott said. "You've had your EVA for today."

"Oh, that's so wired, Scott. This isn't like flying. There isn't a time limit on how much you can do." Alan said, annoyed.

Scott sat back and cocked his head. "You know, when I was a kid, ‘wired' was a good thing."

"That's because back when you were a kid, you needed wire for the fences to keep the wooly mammoths out of your carrot patch."

John, who had been moving to the elevator, smiled as the door closed on the argument. In the ready room, he found his custom made space suit, and with the help of the robots designed by Brains, he donned it. He had just confirmed the seal on his helmet when the light above the airlock turned green, indicating docking had been completed.

"Scott to John, we're docked at the same cargo dock as before. It looks like about half of the station has blown out. You should be able to get your samples if you turn left once you board. Be careful."

"FAB." John replied succinctly. He felt a mix of anticipation and fear, as he always did when doing an EVA. He double-checked his tool belt before slapping the control to open the airlock.

When he entered the station he was mildly surprised to find the gravity was off. A touch of a wrist control pad, and his boots clamped to the deck with a metallic thud. An inspection of the station's airlock mechanism showed that more than the gravity was off. There was neutral pressure, indicating the room beyond the lock was airless. John keyed in an override sequence, and was almost surprised that it worked. He had half expected the power to be totally off.

John stepped through the lock and turned to the left as Scott had suggested, then came to a startled halt. There, no more than two feet in front of him, was a breach big enough to drive a small car through. "Wow."

"What was that, John?"

"Uh, I said, ‘wow.' I just got a look at the breach over here. It's a good thing we got those guys out of here."

"Yeah," Alan acknowledged. "We show a 93 loss of hull integrity. Those people would have been toast."

John grunted. Moving forward to the breach, he peered closely at the ragged edge. He frowned. It almost looked as if it were dissolving. He squinted, staring at the very edge, then shook his head. His imagination was getting away from him, something that tended to happen on spacewalks.

He reached to his tool belt and pulled out a small laser torch and a pair of pliers. Using the pliers like tongs, he cut away a piece of the skin about five inches square. He transferred his prize to a carrysack at his waist and moved to the other side of the breach for a second sample.

As he crossed the room, he could see the debris field that engulfed the station. He saw what looked like a desk bounce slowly off the nose of Thunderbird Three. Shaking his head at the waste, he repeated the procedure, cutting away another small piece of hull.

Deciding he wanted to head to one of the original breaches for his next sample, he looked down at his carrysack to deposit the second piece of metal. What he saw caused his heart to climb to his mouth. "Oh, shit!"

"John? What's going on? What's wrong?" Scott called out sharply.

John started breathing heavily as he moved rapidly back to Thunderbird Three. "I've got an emergency here! Scott, open the airlock, quick!"

"Airlock is open." Alan's voice was tense.

John pushed off hard, and hit the back of the airlock. He called out, "Alan, cycle it! Fast! I'm losing suit pressure!"

"I'm on it."

John stood breathing hard, heart thumping, as the airlock sealed itself and raised the air pressure up to normal limits. When the light turned green, he let out a shuddering breath of relief.

The inner lock cycled open, and Scott was there, all big brotherly concern. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Nodding, John looked down, only then realizing he was still holding the pliers with his second sample. Lifting it gingerly to eye level, he could see the sample was noticeably smaller than when he first acquired it. "Whatever it out there is still active. I need a non-reactive container."

Frowning, Scott looked at the sample, then turned to a locker and pulled out a glass jar used for biological samples. "Will this do?"

"I don't know. We'll have to try it." John said dropping the piece in. "Help me get out of my suit. I had another sample in my carrysack, but it ate right through it, and started eating through the suit."

Scott immediately started unlatching John's helmet, but kept looking down, trying to see the damage. "Where? I thought this suit was supposed to be self-repairing. Shouldn't it have fixed itself?"

As he stepped up into the chamber that would start the robots removing the bulky suit, John indicated his thigh. "It's right there, somewhere. I could see the air escaping. It was like a pinhole puncture. I don't know why the suit didn't heal."

Scott bent and squinted at the material. It looked unblemished to his eye. Shaking his head, he stood up. "Well, whatever it was, it's gone now. I think we better quarantine the suit just in case."

"I agree. Scott, we need to get out of here. This stuff is incredibly caustic, and we can't be sure Three's hull is safe."

Scott nodded, and contacted Alan. "Alan, get us out of here, now."

"Is John all right?"

"I'm fine, kiddo, just get us moving."

"Thrusters in three... two... one... mark."

John felt the gentle tug as the maneuvering thrusters fired. Putting his suit in a large non-reactive bin designed to contain any contaminants, he set the glass jar with his sample on top and sealed it. With Scott's help, he moved the bin to an ejection pod for safety. If the pod sensed the bin was compromised in anyway, it would eject it into space.

Satisfied that they had done what they could, the two brothers moved to the elevator and returned to the control room, where Alan pounced before they even entered the room. "What happened?"

"Piranhas."

"What?"

"It was giant mutated space piranhas. They almost got me. Strip your bones in thirty seconds flat."

"Are you sure it wasn't brain-eating space army ants? ‘Cause I could swear yours got eaten."

"Nope. Definitely piranhas. Either that, or whatever is causing these blowouts is still active out there. I got some of it on my suit, and had a pinhole rupture."

"Oh, man! I thought Brains' suit was supposed to prevent pinholes."

"So did we. Alan, we need to get home. Boost us over to Thunderbird Five." Scott returned to full commander mode. "Thunderbird Three to Base. Father, we've collected a sample from the French station and are returning to Thunderbird Five to drop off Alan."

"Son, what happened to your face? Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine, Dad. We'll tell you about it in de-brief, okay?"

"FAB."

John just looked at Scott as he shut down the communication. Scott glanced over, then did a doubletake. "What?"

"Weren't you the one who didn't like it when Gordon said ‘tell you later'?"

Scott's eyes widened. Chuckling, he shook his head ruefully. "I guess Dad was right. It is different from this end."

John shrugged, and opened a separate line. "Thunderbird Three to Brains. We've got your sample."

"Uh, I'll need more than one, uh, John. To perform the uh, full range of t-t-tests, I'll need several samples."

"Sorry, Brains, one is all you're going to get. Whatever is out there is still active. It's too dangerous to bring any more aboard."

"Yeah, Brains, it ate through your wonder fabric on John's suit." Alan piped up.

"It did? Uh, that's remarkable. How soon will you uh, b-b-be home?"

John checked his console. "Give us about forty-five minutes."

"Very well, uh, John. Bring the uh, sample straight to the containment lab, please."

"Sure thing, Brains." John shut down the link and sat back watching the real time image of Thunderbird Five as they approached her.

The docking was smooth under Alan's sure hands. When he caught John's eye, Alan said smugly, "The Universal Overlord of Docks."

As the youngest Tracy started unbuckling his harness, Scott said suddenly, "Alan, how would you like me to finish out your duty?"

Shocked, Alan could only say, "Huh?"

With a flash of irritation, John said, "If anybody stays, it's going to be me, Scott."

"Look, John, I just don't want to deal with all the fluttering. These bruises are no big deal, but you know how everyone will react. I'd just rather spend a few days up here."

"Oh! You're trying to get out of fixing the Mole, aren't you?" Alan said suspiciously.

"No. Scott, listen, this is my ‘bird. I'll stay. You and Alan go home, and get Brains on this."

"Not happening, John."

"What? Oh! Oh, are you two playing ‘I'm the better martyr' again? Geez, just knock it off. It's my ‘bird for now, you guys just go home." Disgusted, Alan got up and stalked to the elevator.

Scott frowned, looking like he was going to get up. John shook his head. "Forget it, Scott. He's right."

"Until we know what this is, I don't like leaving him up here."

"Well, then, I guess we better hustle and get the sample to Brains, right?"

Still not happy, Scott nodded curtly, "Yes, let's go."

Seeing the green light indicating Alan had sealed the airlock, John followed his undocking procedure, and set a course for home. Scott contacted their father to let him know they were on their way, and the two brothers sat back in silence for the trip.

Once they had entered the atmosphere, John adjusted the attitude and extended the force field that acted as ‘wings' to turn the hurtling rocket into a glider. When they had reached an altitude of ten thousand feet, John fired the retro thrusters to drop the ship to a vertical aspect, and with bursts from the atomic engines dropped the speed until Thunderbird Three slipped into her round house berth as gently as a leaf settling to earth.

The brothers made short work of the shutdown. Instead of taking the couch conveyor to the lounge of the villa, Scott and John carried the bin holding the damaged spacesuit and the glass container with the sample over the gantry to a monorail car that took them to the laboratories.

Entering the contamination laboratory, John called out, "Brains? You in here?"

The slight figure of the scientist appeared from behind a cabinet. "Uh, yes, John, I'm here. Place the container in the decontamination chamber, p-p-please."

Scott and John did as they were bid, then joined the scientist behind a thick transparent barrier. "Have you got any ideas about this stuff yet, Brains?

"Uh, I have my uh, suspicions, Scott, but I'm unprepared to uh, explain them at the moment. Are you all right? You, uh, appear to have been, uh, injured?"

"I'm fine, it's just some bruising. What kind of suspicions, Brains?"

"Uh, let me do some tests on the sample, then we'll discuss it." Brains said firmly.

John nodded absently. He knew his friend was a purist at heart, and never wanted to speculate until he had very firm facts at his hand. He sat down to watch as Brains keyed several controls to bring his manipulating robots online. He had to admire the ease with which the scientist was able to control the delicate operation of the robotic hands that opened the bin, and picked up the glass jar.

Both John and Scott frowned at the jar. It appeared to be empty except for a bit of silvery gray dust coating the bottom. "Brains, there was a piece of metal in that jar!"

"Uh, how large was the specimen, John?"

"I'd say about five inches by five inches, right, Scott?"

"Yeah, about that." Scott nodded.

"And how long ago did you place it in the jar?"

"Maybe an hour, hour ten minutes max."

"Hmmm. Interesting." Brains had the robot arm place the jar in a gas spectrometer. "This may tell us something."

Once the scientist had set the spectrometer to work, he turned his attention to the spacesuit. "Now. Can you uh, tell me exactly where the suit was damaged?"

"On the left upper thigh. I had a carrysack attached at the waist, and I put a sample of the metal in it. It ate through the carrysack, and some of it must have gotten on the suit, because I saw a pin hole rupture."

Brains frowned, shaking his head. "Theoretically, that s-s-should be impossible, uh, John."

"Looks like your theory needs updating, Brains." Scott said with a small sympathetic smile.

"Perhaps." Brains focused his attention on the suit. When nothing was visible to the naked eye, he pushed a few buttons, and a machine like an MRI swung down and ran along the length of the suit. All three men watched a screen intently. The suit displayed on the screen in varying shades of green. When the imager passed over the thigh region, the green suddenly went blue. A patch about the size of a saucer went from soft blue at the edges to a small spot of navy blue in the center.

John's eyes widened. "Whoa! That's a damn sight larger than a pinhole!"

"Yes, the fabric has been corrupted over a large area. That explains uh, why it was unable to repair itself. You're uh, very l-l-lucky to be alive, uh, John."

"Brains, can this affect Thunderbird Three? Or Five?" Scott was all business.

"It's impossible to say at this juncture, uh, Scott. Until I know exactly what is causing the uh, damage, I can't say for sure."

"Well, how long will it take until you know?" Scott asked tensely.

John reflected that Scott's question showed the faith the entire family had in the scientist. To Scott, it was not a matter of ‘if', only of ‘when'.

"I should have some preliminary results within, uh, a few hours."

Scott ran his hand over his face. "All right, then. Let me know when you have anything, okay?''

"Yes, Scott." Brains turned to his controls, for all intents and purposes ignoring the two brothers.

Knowing his friend worked best without people looking over his shoulder, John followed Scott out of the laboratory and up through the villa to the lounge. He heard the sound of the piano long before they reached the room. John listened carefully, hoping to gauge Virgil's mood from his choice of music. As far as he could tell, all was well.

Entering the lounge, Jeff greeted them. "Boys. Scott, did you have Brains take a look at those bruises?"

"No sir. There wasn't any need, and I felt it was more important to get him on this issue with the blowouts. Father, John was damned lucky not to have a total suit failure out there. He reported a pinhole rupture, but when we looked at the suit under the atomic imager, the entire leg was compromised."

John felt a note of irritation. Scott was neatly deflecting his own injuries by turning their father's attention to him. He needn't have worried, though. With a glance at his middle son, Jeff focused in on Scott. His voice was softly concerned. "Is your wrist swelling there, son?"

Scott looked down at the offending limb and shrugged. "Maybe a little."

Virgil had appeared at his brother's side. With a frown he said, "I'll get an ice pack."

John, who hadn't heard Virgil come up, jumped. Scott glanced at his brother and said simply, "Thanks."

Satisfied that Scott was allowing at least some treatment, Jeff nodded briefly. "Let me just contact your brother, and we'll do a debrief right now."

John relaxed on a sofa, and Scott took a seat next to him.

"Hey! Everything go okay?" John looked over his shoulder as Gordon entered the room grinning. "Whoa! Scott! What did you do? Piss off Alan?"

Scott was taking the cold pack Virgil had just brought in, and he turned to eye his younger brother. "Are you implying you think Alan could deck me?"

Gordon gave a pretense of considering his response. Virgil moved past him, and casually reached up and smacked the younger man in the head.

"Thanks, Virg. Saves me the effort." Scott said laconically.

"All right, boys. Scott, why don't you begin." Jeff called the meeting to order, and both Virgil and Gordon found seats.

"Well, as you know, when we arrived on scene, the station would not respond to us. Either something you said or something John told them convinced them to let us approach, but as John was lining us up, there was an explosion. John moved us away, and we confirmed that the section of the station that included the airlock had suffered catastrophic decompression. We counted three dead."

Scott paused, giving everyone an opportunity to absorb the gravity of the situation. He continued. "We attempted to re-contact the station, but there was no response. We attempted a thermal scan to locate survivors, but we were unable to distinguish any bodies from the general background heat. I determined we would need to go EVA to the station."

"I still say I could have handled it alone, Scott." Alan's voice was tinged with petulance.

Scott went on as if he hadn't heard. "I decided that both Alan and I would go. I felt there was at least a chance that the Moldovans weren't responding because they thought we had something to do with the blowout. We suited up and headed to the airlock."

"I thought the airlock was damaged?" Gordon piped up.

"The lock itself was unharmed. It was the ready room that had blown out. We entered through the airlock as a matter of safety. The hole was fairly large, but the edges were jagged. Neither Alan nor I felt it was worth the risk of suit damage. Anyway, we entered the ready room through the lock, and proceeded to the main station through the secondary lock. When we reached the main common area, they were waiting for us."

Alan took up the tale. "Yeah. With guns. Scott was right. They were convinced we had blown the ready room ourselves. They were hunkered down for a siege. For a while there, I didn't think even Scott's silver tongue was going to save us."

Scott waved the remark away with a shake of his head. "It wasn't my tongue that convinced them. It was John."

John, who had been listening intently, raised his eyebrows. "Me? What did I do?"

Scott answered, looking at his father. "John moved Thunderbird Three between the station and the Ukrainian ship. Until that point, the Moldovans were convinced we were the bad guys, but when John made his move, they just about fell over. The station commander offered me his gun, and just as quick as that, the stand off was over."

"Yeah. I think they really kind of wanted to believe us right along, but they were so used to assuming everyone was an enemy that they couldn't accept that we didn't blow their lock without some sort of proof. Johnny's moving the ship was all the proof they needed." Alan added.

"Smart move." Jeff nodded.

With a little grin, John shrugged. "Thanks."

Scott continued his narration. "We told the commander to get his people suited up, but he didn't want to send anyone to get the suits. He felt the common room was the safest area of the station."

"It didn't work out that way." Alan scoffed.

"No, it didn't, did it?" Scott replied. "Alan and I went and collected the spacesuits, and brought them back to the common room. We barely got them all suited, when one of the walls gave way. I don't know who was more surprised, me or that commander. We both got sucked out."

There was a general intake of breath at that statement, but Scott didn't seem to notice. "Of course, I had the advantage of the accelerator pack, so I was never really in any danger. As soon as I got over my surprise, I started getting the other folk who were blown out together. John was pretty quick off the mark and got a line to the only one in any real trouble."

John nodded. "I could tell by the motion that he was in trouble. I shot a line to him, and used the sealpatch web to get the suit protected. By the time I had done that, Scott had a couple of guys together, so I shot them a line, then another one to Alan so he could evacuate his survivors. The Ukrainians arrived about then, so I talked to them, then I retracted Scott and his bunch, and just as we were about to leave, the Ukrainians targeted us, so I had to do a hard burn to get us out of there. That's when Scott got hurt."

"When John did the hard burn, I hit the wall, along with a couple of the survivors. No serious damage, but the man with the suit puncture was in bad shape, as well as another guy who got thrown up against the wall when the room decompressed. John got us over to the bus station, and we off loaded the victims there."

"And I got permission from the operations manager of the manufacturing station to go and take metal samples." Alan provided.

Scott nodded. "At that point, we headed over to the French station and John did the EVA."

John shifted in his seat again. "I entered through the airlock. There was no gravity or air pressure, but the lock itself was still functional. Once I was on board, I found that a large section of the wall has been breached. I cut out my first sample, then moved to the other side of the breach for a second sample. When I looked down at my carrysack, I discovered that the first sample had eaten through the sack and was gone. I also saw air escaping from what appeared to be a pinhole rupture of the suit over the thigh. I returned to Thunderbird Three, and with Scott's help, removed the suit, and put it in a containment bin along with the second sample. We loaded the bin into the ejection pod and after dropping off Alan headed home."

With a devilish look on his face, Alan added. "If John could swim as fast as he, ahem, ‘returned' to Thunderbird Three, he'd have given Gordy a run for that Olympic medal."

As Scott barked a laugh, John grinned. "Oh yeah, I definitely boogied out of there."

"It's a damned good thing you did. Dad, the pinhole probably saved John's life. When I saw how badly that suit was compromised, my mouth went dry. Brains was right, John. You were incredibly lucky." Scott slowly shook his head.

John arched an eyebrow. "No luck, son, just skill."

Everyone burst into laughter at the remark, Gordon reaching over to slap his brother on the back. Jeff shook his head, grinning. "Well, as long as you're safe. Good job, everyone."

"Speaking of safety, Father, I think we should automate Thunderbird Five for the duration." Scott said firmly.

"What? Oh, come on, Scott! I'm fine here!" Alan's protest was indignant.

Jeff nodded his head. "That makes sense. Son, I'm not willing to take any chances. Until we know what this is, I'd prefer that you come home. Start the automation procedure, and I'll send someone up to get you."

Disgruntled, but seeing the need, Alan said curtly. "FAB."

Virgil got up off of the couch he had been sharing with John and Scott, and moved away. John waited for his father to trigger the conveyor system. Jeff for his part, sat eyeing his sons. Just as John opened his mouth to ask, Jeff nodded sharply, saying, "Boys, get up. I'll take Thunderbird Three up to get your brother. Gordon, you're co-pilot."

"Me?"

"Father, wait a minute..."

"Dad, I'm fit for this..."

"Enough. This is my decision. Now, the both of you get up. Gordon get over here."

All three young men chorused "Yes, sir," with identical frowns on their faces. The only one not frowning was Virgil, who had his hand covering his mouth to hide the smirk.

Scott moved to his father's desk, and triggered the conveyor system. As the couch descended into the floor, Gordon's face twisted into a parody of horror, and he mouthed, "Kill me now!"

Despite his misgivings, John couldn't help but smile. When he looked up, he found both Scott and Virgil grinning too. Virgil chirped, "I hope you have Three stocked with barf bags."

"I hope he's wearing the industrial strength diapers." John replied, to his brothers' laughter.

Scott tossed his good arm over John's shoulders. "Come on."

"Where we going?"

"Outside. Let's go watch her take off."

John's eyes brightened at the prospect. He rarely got to see Thunderbird Three launch, because he was usually onboard when she did. All three brothers headed to the pool area to get a good view, Scott grabbing a laptop on the way.

As Scott opened up the laptop, John snagged a few loungers and set them up facing the distant roundhouse. Virgil disappeared for a few moments, returning to hand out sunglasses to his brothers. Thus prepared, the three settled in to watch the launch.

With the laptop, Scott was able to connect to the main house computers and provide clearance when his father asked a few minutes later. A vibration followed by a deep muted roar heralded the launch. As the ship rose majestically into view, the roar became thunder that John felt as pounding pressure all over his body. For the first few hundred feet, Thunderbird Three appeared to be moving at a snail's pace, but that illusion was shattered as the mighty rocket disappeared into the sky above.

John sat back with a sigh. Thunderbird Three was without question the most beautiful ship in International Rescue's fleet. He said as much to his brothers. Scott shook his head. "She's very pretty, John, but hardly beautiful."

Virgil agreed quickly. "Yes. If you want true beauty, you need look no further than Thunderbird Two's hangar."

"But only when Thunderbird One is there."

"Well, you both are entitled to your insane opinions, of course." John said offhand.

Scott chuckled. "Virg, how's the Mole coming? Shall we go work on it?"

Virgil shook his head. "It's coming fine. Gordon and I got the under-housing fabricated and installed. Brains came up with a composite for the blades that will stand up to the torque, and we've got them fabricated, but they have to cure for 48 hours so there's nothing to do."

"Really? That was fast."

Virgil looked off to the side, nodding. "We, uh, used Veronica to help."

"Veronica?"

"The robot. Brains found the computer fault and fixed it."

"Why ‘Veronica'?"

Virgil rolled his eyes. "You'd have to ask Gordon. He named it. Oh, and he found a picture of an old movie star that he plastered on the robot's side. Veronica Lake, I think. Pretty girl."

Scott blinked, then shook his head. "Is anybody else hungry? Let's go find something to eat."

Scott headed back into the lounge, John and Virgil trailing behind. They headed for the kitchen, and as soon as he entered, Scott froze, causing both John and Virgil to bump into him. "What...?"

John got a whiff of cinnamon, then spotted what had stopped Scott. On the far counter sat four pies, steam still rising. Behind him, Virgil sighed. "Target acquired."

John felt obligated to make at least a token attempt. "Scott, Grandma will kill you."

Scott never said a word, he just moved cautiously forward, like a lion stalking its prey. Virgil and John stood back, arms crossed. Pausing to get a knife and plate, Scott moved in. He got as far as the first cut, when like an avenging angel, Ruth Tracy pushed between Virgil and John. "Scott Jefferson Tracy, what do you think you're doing?"

Caught red-handed, Scott didn't even flinch. "Well, I thought I'd have a piece of this pie, Grandma."

"Just like that?"

Scott looked from his grandmother to the pie and back again. "Uh, yes."

John and Virgil stood back, waiting for the hammer to fall, but Ruth just smiled. "Well you can have one piece. Just one. And cut pieces for your brothers too. And I don't mean cutting it in thirds either. Here, let me do it."

John and Virgil grinned with delighted surprise. Their grandmother was a constant in their lives, and they were all the better for the discipline she instilled in them, but she still was able to surprise them at every turn. They moved forward to accept their share of the pie. "John, you'll take a piece down to Brains, won't you?"

"Sure, Grandma."

"I'll take it. I want to talk to him about that sample anyway." Scott offered.

"Be sure he eats it. That man will waste away to nothing if we don't watch him."

"All right, Grandma." Scott left the room carrying two slices of the still warm pie.

John and Virgil sat down at the table, their grandmother joining them with her own piece of pie. "Well, that finished off that! I'm glad I had the apples for four pies. How are you both? How is your day going?"

Swallowing the pie in his mouth, John answered. "It's going okay, Grandma. Scott, Alan and I went out on a space rescue, and we saved ten people. Lost three, though."

"Gordon and I made a start on repairing the Mole. Brains got his robot fixed. Gordon named it Veronica, after some movie star named Veronica Lake. You know who that is, Grandma?"

"Well, she's before my time, of course, but I have a vague recollection of long blond hair."

"Yeah. Gordon pasted a picture of her on the side of the robot."

"Now, how would your brother know about her? She was a star before I was born."

"Who knows? Anyway, we only need to wait until the blades are ready and we'll be back in business."

"That's nice, sweetie. Where is Gordon, anyway? It's not like him to miss out on pie."

"Dad's decided that until we know what's causing the problems with the space stations he doesn't want anybody on Thunderbird Five. He took Gordon with him to go pick up Alan."

If Ruth was surprised, she didn't let it show. "So all of you boys will be here for dinner? I'll have to think of something special."

"Pork chops?" Virgil asked hopefully.

"Chicken Cordon Bleu?" John put in his vote.

"We'll see. You boys put those plates in the sink when you're done." Ruth said as she got up and headed out the door.

"Yes, Grandma," came the obedient replies. The two brothers finished their pie, slightly disgruntled looks on their faces. They both knew ‘we'll see' meant ‘no'.

Sighing as he put his plate in the sink, John asked, "Well, what else is on the repair schedule?"

"Not sure. I think it's replacing the battery packs in Thunderbird Four."

John made a face. Replacing battery packs was a tedious job. But it had to be done, so he said, "Okay, why don't we get to it? With the both of us, we can have it done before dinner."

Virgil smiled slyly. "Let's let Dad know. He might have something else he'd rather we did."

John grinned slowly. "Yeah, good idea."

The two brothers knew it would drive Gordon nuts to know they were working on his ‘bird without him. They headed for the lounge to put a call into Thunderbird Three. As they entered the room, an alarm blared, making both men jump. They raced to their father's desk to pick up the rescue call, John praying that it was not a space rescue.

John hit the switch to hear the call. The particular warble of the alarm had already alerted them to the fact that Alan had completed the switchover on Thunderbird Five. When John opened up the communication line, a heavily accented voice was saying, "International Rescue, this is Indian Space Control, do you read? International Rescue..."

"This is International Rescue, what is your emergency?"

"International Rescue, we have a shuttle in a transfer orbit to the moon. It is reporting a loss of pressure in its cargo hold. We have reason to believe it is a blow out. Can you assist?"

John's jaw clenched at the news. A transfer orbit meant the shuttle was somewhere between the earth and the moon a quarter of a million miles away. "How far out is she?"

"The Vishnu Star is about one hundred thousand miles out. She will reach lunar orbit within forty hours, at which point our moon station can assist. However, her captain feels he must have assistance before then. The WSA can not get a ship there in less than 28 hours. Can you respond quicker?"

John was already calculating, assuming a quick turnaround once his father landed, with full thrust, they could be in the general area in a little over fifteen hours. Nodding, he started to speak, only to be interrupted by his father's voice. "Indian Space Control, this is Thunderbird Three. Please send the coordinates. We are on our way."

John's immediate reaction was to tell his father no, but he realized very quickly that by not returning to earth, they could cut off a substantial amount of time from the rescue. He shook his head, unhappy.

Scott came striding in. "What have we got?"

"A lunar shuttle, same as all the rest, a blowout."

"Any casualties?"

"None reported. It was a cargo area that blew."

"All right. How soon will Dad be back?" Scott was in take charge mode. Perhaps anticipating his brother's likely reaction, Virgil casually moved away.

"He's not coming back. He heard the call, and he's going out there himself."

"Damn it." Scott swore softly. With a jerk of his head, he ordered John out of their father's chair. John complied willingly, curious to see how Scott would handle the situation.

Scott wasted no time in contacting his father. "Base to Thunderbird Three."

It was Alan who replied. "Thunderbird Three to Base, go ahead."

Scott paused, then said firmly. "Thunderbird Three, we recommend you return to Base immediately."

Jeff appeared on the screen and asked coolly, "For what reason, Base?"

John watched his brother. He could almost see the wheels turning. Scott finally answered. "Sir, for a rescue like this you need your most experienced people. That means John, Alan and me."

Jeff raised an eyebrow. "That almost sounds as if you think you have more experience than me."

"In Thunderbird Three, yes, I do."

John was tickled by Scott's blatant statement. He glanced over at Virgil, who was wincing knowing their father was unlikely to let the challenge pass.

"How many trips to the moon have you taken, son?" Jeff asked calmly.

Scott ignored the question, instead trying a different tack. "Dad, we could argue this all day, but what about Gordon?"

"Leave me out of this!" Gordon's voice came clearly from the background.

Jeff's look turned hard. "Your brother has had the training. Despite his personal feelings about space, he will perform the job. Unless you think he is incapable?"

Scott's lips thinned in a firm line. "No sir, I don't."

"All right, then, our ETA is eight hours and forty minutes."

John frowned. "Are you sure? That seems a little fast..."

"Given our previous experience with these blowouts, I've chosen to do a straight hard burn."

John's eyebrows went up. While theoretically a straight shot was the shortest distance to the beleaguered shuttle, it burned so much fuel that conventional spacecraft couldn't attempt it, instead opting to use the earth's gravity well to ‘slingshot' them into space. With her atomic engines, fuel wasn't an issue, but still, International Rescue tended to follow the standard procedure, if for no other reason than to keep their propulsion methods secret.

"All right. Keep in touch." Scott responded.

"FAB." Jeff's reply was tinged with approval.

Scott stood staring at the screen for a long moment after it returned to a portrait of Alan. Virgil and John stood waiting. Scott looked around, rubbing at his wrist. "So, what are we working on this afternoon."

Virgil nodded briefly. "We're replacing the battery packs in Thunderbird Four."

Shrugging, Scott said, "All right, let's go."

"Uh, Scott, it's really only a two man job. Virg and I can handle it."

"Yeah, why don't you stay here and keep an eye on things? With that wrist, you'll be more hindrance than help."

"All right. If you need me, just holler."

"FAB." Virgil said over his shoulder as he led John toward the elevator.

When they were out of Scott's earshot, John said admiringly. "I don't know how you do that."

"Do what?"

"If anyone else including Dad were to tell Scott he was a hindrance, they would get their heads handed to them on a platter. You say it, and he says ‘okay'."

"That's an exaggeration, John. Scott is more sensible than you give him credit for."

John considered Virgil's comment, and decided not to pursue it further. Virgil was nothing if not loyal.

As they entered the hangar, Virgil instructed John to head for Thunderbird Four and start disconnecting the batteries while he went to the storage area to get the replacements. John used the hoist in Pod Four to lift the small submarine up. Once its belly was exposed, John keyed the computerized jacks to move in to prop up the sub for servicing. By the time Virgil arrived with the batteries, John was already working on disconnecting the leads.

Virgil grabbed an electronic wrench and started working from the opposite end. "So, how's the book coming?"

John glanced up. "It's not. I'm waiting on some data from Lick, and they're taking their own sweet time about it."

Virgil grunted. "Maybe you should change subjects."

"Well, I was considering writing some sci-fi. Have the title already. Wanna hear?"

"Sure."

"Naked Biker Babes On Mars."

Virgil hooted. "Classy."

"Oh, I was going to use a pseudonym. Virgil Tracey with an ‘E'."

"I want a cut of the profits, then."

"No profits. This is art."

"So, don't quit your day job, eh?"

"No. It's a labor of love."

"Dad, of course, will kill you."

"All great artists suffer for their art." John sniffed.

Virgil chuckled. "Don't I know that. I'm suffering constantly."

"Ah, damn it."

"What? What did you do."

"It's nothing, just banged my thumb."

"Well, you aren't supposed to be whacking at it anyway."

"Stupid lead was stuck. I had to whack."

Virgil looked up at the offending lead. He reached up and wiggled it, and it dropped free of the battery. "Uh-huh."

John made a face. "It only did that because I whacked it."

"Uh-huh."

John opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Shaking his head, he returned to the task at hand. "What was that music you were playing when Scott and I got home?"

"Uh... Oh, that was just a little thing I've been working on."

"Really? It sounded good, Virg."

"Thanks. Okay, I'm ready to start pulling the batteries if you'll finish the leads on those last two."

"All right. So, do you think I'm turning into a hermit?"

"What?"

"Alan thinks I'm turning into a hermit. He wants me to go over to the mainland and get a hooker or something."

Virgil snickered. "Did he say that?"

"Well, his exact words were ‘you need to get yourself laid, man.'"

"He told you that from his vast experience, did he?"

"Yes. It was disconcerting to say the least."

Virgil shook his head, still laughing. "I'll tell you what. Why don't you and I go over to Christchurch this evening? We'll have a night on the town. Who knows, maybe we'll get lucky. And if not, we can always lie."

"That sounds great, Virg, but I don't think tonight's a go, not with Dad and the terrible two playing Lost In Space."

Virgil paused. "You're right. Okay then, as soon as Brains has this thing figured out for us, we'll go."

John asked thoughtfully, "What do you think of asking Brains along? He could do with a night out."

"Good idea. I owe him anyway. He got Veronica up and running for me. Wait until you see her in action."

The brothers fell silent as they hefted a series of fifty pound batteries into Thunderbird Four's compartment. Once the batteries were loaded, it was simply a matter of re-connecting the leads. When they had all but one of the batteries re-connected, John took the cart with the discarded batteries to the storage area where the battery chargers sat waiting.

By the time he was finished, John had worked up a good sweat. He headed up to his quarters, and took a shower, and checking his chronometer, headed to the dining room. He entered the room and came to a stop. "Uh-oh."

The table was set with places for the entire family, including Brains. Apparently no one had thought to tell his grandmother that his father and two brothers would not be available for dinner. John considered leaving, but it was too late. Before he could make his move, his grandmother was there, carrying a large platter of meatloaf. "Here, let me get that for you, Grandma."

"Thank you, John. Would you call your brothers and father for me? I'll just go get the potatoes."

"Um..." John watched as the tiny woman disappeared into the kitchen. Sighing, he headed for the lounge. Finding Scott and Virgil both, he called out, "Hey guys, dinner's ready."

Scott glanced up. "Could you bring me a plate? I don't want to leave the desk."

"Not a good idea, Scott. Nobody told Grandma that Dad and the boys wouldn't be here for dinner. She made a shit load of meatloaf."

Scott looked up, startled. "Oh. Well, I guess I can leave for a few moments."

Virgil mumbled something about washing his hands, and disappeared down a hallway. Scott showed no hesitation, striding forward to the dining room, John trailing in his wake. "Grandma, I'm sorry, I should have let you know that Dad, Gordon, and Alan are out on a rescue."

"A rescue? What kind of rescue?"

"A shuttle on its way to the moon had one of these blowouts. Dad figured it was quickest to do a hard straight burn out to them."

Ruth looked around at the bounty on the table. Shaking her head, she said, "I wondered why I didn't hear Thunderbird Three return. I thought I had missed it when I was in the food locker. And I worked so hard to make this dinner. Well, I daresay