THE CONSCIENCE OF THE KING by AJ CHRISTOPHER RATED FRPT

All Thunderbirds characters and related elements are the sole property of Carlton Media. This story is for entertainment purposes only. I wrote it solely for fun. No copyright infringement is intended. Some of the characters and pretty much all the text are my own invention, therefore my property and copyright owned by me. (Except where noted) Please don't reproduce this or publish it on the web or elsewhere without my permission.

Thanks to Jo for letting me bounce this story off of her and offering encouragement, and very special thanks to some of my co-workers (whom I won't name) who provided inspiration for the character of Colonel Danforth.

This story is rated PG - nothing awful here - just some minor language and light violence - believe me, it sounds much worse than it actually is.

The events of this story take place approximately four years before the start of International Rescue - As there are two different timelines that are attributed to the Thunderbirds series, I have decided to set this story in the 2020s rather than the 2060s. In addition, I've gone by the character's ages according to the information provided in the early 1990's comics, etc. so that Scott is the eldest, followed by Virgil, John, Gordon, and Alan.

A few years before the start of IR, the Tracys encounter an old enemy and a deadly game of sabotage.

Chapter 1

It was a beautiful day. The sky was a glorious blue with only a few scattered high clouds, and little atmospheric disturbance for hundreds of miles. Perfect weather for flying. Virgil was enjoying his flight home from Denver.

Being at 40,000 feet with the world so far below and the only noise the steady hum of the engines was refreshing. It was the perfect time and place for introspective self-appraisal to keep the mind and spirit clear and focused. A reality check of sorts that Virgil liked to indulge in once in a while, but almost never had time for with his demanding job as a "tester."

Virgil glanced at the chronometer. Three o'clock already! It was amazing how quickly time could pass high in the sky. The three-hour flight had gone by with astonishing rapidity. In no time at all, Airport Control was radioing with landing instructions.

"Air Control to Tracy 3, you are cleared for landing at runway 2-9," the voice crackled over the intercom.

"Roger, Airport Control" Virgil replied into his headset. "Proceeding to runaway 2-9."

He banked the small jet and descended towards the runway marked 2-9 in large white letters. With barely a jolt, the plane touched down and gradually slowed to a stop near the end of the runway. Even though he had done flawless landings thousands of times, Virgil couldn't help but feel a little pleased. Things didn't always go so smoothly; that much he knew for certain.

He guided the aircraft towards the far end of the airfield towards the large domed storage hangar that the Tracys rented to store their various aircraft. From a distance he could see the familiar red sports car parked sideways next to the hangar. It's driver, who was pacing back and forth, stopped and waved as the jet entered through the wide hangar doors. Virgil maneuvered the jet into the empty space between his Father's sleek personal jet and Scott's long-unused plane, a twin to his own.

Satisfied with the plane's position, he cut the engines.

"What took you so long? I've been waiting here forever!" Alan complained when Virgil, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, hurried out of the hangar.

"Nice to see you too, Alan," Virgil said, grinning at his youngest brother's usual impatience and exaggerated sense of time.

Alan smiled a little sheepishly. "I'm glad to see you too, Virg...Finally."

They got into the sports car. Alan, in his usual way, spun the tires and showered gravel far into the air.

Noticing how quickly the landscape whirled by in the window, Virgil glanced at the speedometer curiously. Ninety miles an hour. The speed itself didn't bother Virgil. The seventeen year old was a good driver despite the fact his foot never left the accelerator. The idea of Alan racking up another speeding ticket was much more disturbing, especially when he thought of how mad it would make their father.

"Anyone else home yet?" Virgil asked.

"Just Scott," Alan answered, keeping his eyes on the road. "He came early this morning." He didn't speak as he maneuvered around a truck. "I didn't have to pick him up," he added, a smirk on his face. "Some woman he met on the plane gave him a lift."

"Big brother's magnetic personality," Virgil said, shaking his head. Some things never changed. Tall, handsome, dark-haired Scott had had girls waiting in line since they were in high school.

They got off the expressway and Alan drove a little more slowly as he navigated through the busy streets. It was nearly 5 o'clock and people were rushing home from work.

"What about Gordon and John?" Virgil asked, once they reached the outskirts of the business district.

"Gordon, maybe tomorrow, maybe day after that. Depends on when he docks."

"And John?"

Alan shrugged. "John's a maybe. He'll make it if he can tear himself away from his telescope. Some Dr. Know-it-all at Harvard wants John to assist him in observing solar eruptions...and you know John...he can never resist a good solar event."

Virgil couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. It would have been like old times to have all of them together again. Oh, well. That's the way it often went with all of them all over the world. He idly wondered how his Father felt about it. Probably not too much. He was always so busy with work that he had little time to think about anything else.

Then they turned into the driveway. The sight of the old familiar gabled house always gave Virgil a pang. Nothing ever seemed to change. Still the same black shutters and trellis draped with ivy. A lot memories, some happy, some sad, dwelled under the shingled roof. Indeed the saying was true: there was no place like home. Not that he had the chance to see much of it lately.

Scott was waiting for them. He welcomed Virgil with a big smile and a slap on the back. "Boy, am I glad to see you, Virgil. I thought that maybe I'd be stuck solo with Dad and Baby Brother here."

"Who's a baby?" grumbled Alan. He always hated it when they reminded him that he was the youngest.

They sat in the kitchen catching up on the events since Christmas, the last time they had gathered together. Scott was stationed in Morocco, as Africa was the hot spot in the world at the moment. He was vague when it came to talking about the actual missions he had been sent on, jokingly saying that info was classified. Virgil suspected that he just didn't want to dwell on how dangerous the situation really was over there. Scott never wanted to worry anyone.

When the grandfather clock in the living room chimed seven, Scott and Virgil began to wonder what was keeping Jeff so long. The plan had been set to meet up around six and go out for dinner.

"I don't get it," Scott said, a little worried. "When I talked to Dad earlier he said he'd be here."

"Don't worry about Father," Alan assured. "What with the Nova due to launch in a few days...he always stays extra late at work. I've hardly seen him the last few months."

Scott and Virgil exchanged worried glances. So he was at it again, working day and night, even though he had been advised against it for health reasons. They weren't that surprised really; it was what they expected from their father.

Jeff couldn't and wouldn't take it easy with such an important event as the shuttle launch so close. The Nova Project was Tracy Aerospace's most important account. The Space Agency had awarded the high-tech engineering firm with the contract to build a new, updated space shuttle outfitted with all the latest technological breakthroughs in astronautical science.

Jeff doubled up on his work and oversaw the entire project down to the last detail. The new technologically advanced shuttle was built. Launch Day arrived, and quite to everyone's surprise and horror, the Nova had exploded within minutes after take-off, killing the crew instantly.

Jeff took it hard; blaming himself for the spacecraft's failure that had cost the crew their lives. Determined to salvage the company's reputation and to avoid another disaster at all costs, Jeff had been working day and night as the Nova was studied and remodeled. The next launching was in three days. This time, he was determined that nothing would go wrong.

It was close to 9 o'clock when a starving Alan suggested they call out for pizza. By the time, Jeff finally arrived close to midnight, they had eaten and were watching television.

"Sorry I'm late, boys," Jeff apologized as he came in. He set down a stack of heavy blueprint manuals down on the table and took off his jacket. Tiredly, he sat down in a living room chair. For a moment, his eyes rested vacantly on Virgil before he realised that he was there.

"Virgil!" Jeff managed a weary smile. "It's good to see you, son. How was your flight?"

"Fine, Father," Virgil said, forcing a smile. He looked over at Scott, shocked by how gray and tired their father looked. Never had he seemed so utterly exhausted. Virgil almost didn't recognize him.

"Good. Any word from John?" Jeff asked.

"Not yet, Father," Alan told him. "He said he'd try to fly in tomorrow if they got all the data the professor wanted."

Jeff nodded. He noticed the empty pizza box on the coffee table. "Just like old days, huh, boys? Take-out a la Carte for dinner."

"Are you hungry, Father?" Virgil asked. "There's a couple of pieces left. Sausage and peppers, just how you like it."

"No thanks, Virgil. I think I'll hit the sack." Jeff slowly got to his feet. "I've got to get an early start in the morning...have to be at the field by 5 am." He started wearily up the stairs. "If you boys want to come, you're welcome," he called over his shoulder as he ascended the stairs. "Just be sure you're ready to go. I can't be late.... Goodnight, boys."

"Gosh, Dad looks terrible," Virgil said, still stunned by Jeff's haggard appearance.

"He's working too hard," Scott mused. "He looks utterly worn out. How long has he been like this, Alan?"

"Like what?" Alan asked, slouching in his chair. "Working day and night? Like always. You fellas should know that."

"No, this is different," Scott said, frowning. "Figure we better go take a look at things tomorrow, Virg, to see what's cooking over at Tracy Aerospace?"

Virgil nodded in agreement. "Good idea."

"Count me in," Alan said. "I'm dying to see the Nova. Collie promised a guided tour when he heard you guys were blowing in for a couple of days."

"Great. It's all settled," Scott said as he got up from the couch. "Set your alarms then. Five o'clock sharp."

Chapter 2

They arrived at the Tracy Aerospace's airfield and design facility a little after six-thirty, late because of Alan. He had ignored both the alarm and Scott's requests first to 'rise and shine' then, later, to get his 'lazy butt' out of bed. Scott, unsympathetic to his youngest brother's pleas of 'just a few minutes more' resorted to the use of a cup of ice cold water to rouse him. It worked. Alan jumped out of bed, sputtering angrily and swearing revenge.

Jeff, true to his word, had left much earlier. He was in a meeting by the time they arrived at the company's large warehouse that housed the shuttle. To whittle away the time, the three wandered around. The building was a beehive of activity. Dozens of workers buzzed around the shuttle, moving up and down the complex scaffolding and platforms. Engineers, armed with rolls of blueprints and hand-held computers, strolled around shouting orders and talking among themselves. They stood at the outskirts of all the noisy activity. Scott and Alan enthusiastically discussed the finer features of Nova's design and technology with one of the engineers. Virgil, rather bored with the conversation, drifted away when he noticed a piece of intriguing heavy lift machinery nearby.

He was leaning over the controls, chatting with the driver when a familiar English-accented voice called a greeting.

Virgil turned to see a tall, lanky man hurrying across the floor. He was clad in overalls and heavy work boots with a set of protective goggles dangling around his neck. His straw-colored hair was uncombed and there was a grease smudge on his forehead. He reached for Virgil's hand, face beaming. "Virgil Tracy, my dear boy! How good to see you!"

"Collie?" Virgil asked doubtfully. He almost didn't recognize the Vice-President of Tracy Aerospace in his greasy overalls and flannel shirt. Collie's clothing of choice had always been of the formal, stylish kind: custom-made Italian suits with matching silk ties and expensive patent leather shoes.

Collie chuckled, noticing Virgil's confusion. "Don't you recognize me, Virgil, or have you smashed up one too many times in that crazy job of yours?"

Virgil flashed a smile. "Oh I knew it was you, Collie. I'm just not used to seeing you actually doing some work."

"Touch�!" Collie cried, delighted.

Scott and Alan were greeted with same enthusiastic welcome. Like Virgil, they too, were surprised at Collie's unusual attire.

"It's that monster," Collie explained, motioning toward the shuttle. "It's a killer. Everyone - and I mean everyone - is working around the clock. The launch is in 3 days but there's at least two weeks of work there fine-combing every nut, bolt, and circuit..." Collie's face became grim. "There can't be a repeat of last time, you know."

"If she's not going to be ready, why don't you just change the launch date?" Scott asked.

"Why, we would if we could, only it's not our decision...it's Colonel Danforth's," Collie spat out the name looking as if he had swallowed a spoonful of bitter medicine.

"Who's Colonel Danforth?" Virgil asked, curious.

"Colonel Danforth is one of the most arrogant, demanding, unreasonable, pig-headed fools I have ever come across in my entire life. And," Collie added, as an afterthought, "he's also the chap the Space Agency sent to oversee the Nova Project."

Scott grinned. "Well, Collie, I think we'd all like to meet this Danforth fellow since you think so highly of him."

"Don't worry, you'll get your chance." Collie said grimly, glancing at his watch. "Once the meeting's done, he'll be lurking about, poking his nose into everyone's business so no one will be able to get anything done around here."

Alan reminded Collie of his promise to give them a tour of the Nova. Collie, glad for a break, was only too happy to oblige. They climbed up a long stairway in the scaffolding and entered through a hatch near the middle of the shuttle. The tour went from the cockpit to the engine area. Collie pointed out every detail; taking special care when they came to the new solar-powered energy thrusters, the pinnacle of Tracy Aerospace's technological breakthroughs. They stopped for a few minutes in the lounge area of the shuttle and stood around talking.

"How's Julie?" Alan asked, interested to learn how Collie's twenty-year-old daughter was doing.

"Quite well. She is quite taken with college, so much so that I'm afraid I won't see her until she graduates," Collie joked.

They talked for some time about the family. Collie wanted to hear every detail about what each of the Tracy boys was doing.

"So, what really went wrong with the first launch?" Scott asked, when there was a momentary lag in the conversation "They never say anything on the news."

"That's because there isn't anything to say," Collie said slowly.

Alan, draped over a chair, made a face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Collie didn't say anything. They all looked at him, waiting.

"W-e-l-l," Collie said hesitantly. "No one knows outside of the company. We've worked really hard to keep it from the press. I suppose I really shouldn't tell you..."

"Now, listen, Collie, what concerns the Nova concerns Tracy Aerospace, and that concerns us," Scott said firmly, as if talking to a subordinate under his command.

Virgil and Alan nodded in agreement.

Collie sighed. "You're right of course. I'm guess I'm just getting paranoid. Sometimes I feel like the walls themselves have eyes and ears. " He paused and glanced around as if someone might be listening.

"Come on, out with it already, Collie!" Alan urged.

With a last glance around, Collie spoke in a low voice. "There was nothing wrong with the Nova itself, mechanically that is...you see, the disaster was caused by an explosive device."

For a long minute, there was silence. The three Tracys stared at Collie and each other, speechless. Scott was the first to speak. "An explosive device," he repeated slowly. "A bomb?"

Collie nodded. "Yes, a very rare type of plastic compound they used in excavating years ago. Very dangerous, just a little too reactive. It's a really bugger to detect the stuff. We were lucky to find out that it was placed near the main service hatch, that's the one we came in by, and detonated by a timing device set to go off precisely four minutes into the flight."

"But who..."Alan began.

"And why?" Virgil finished.

For a moment, Collie stood straight with one hand extended in an imitation of a Shakespearean actor. "That is the question," he quoted theatrically. He broke into a grin. "I always wanted to say that. Loved the theatre, you know. I would have been an actor except my mother made me go to MIT instead. So here I am, a lucky son of a bitch slave to technology." Collie raised his eyes upward in exaggerated reverence. "Thanks a lot, Mum."

"Aw, come on, Collie," Alan protested. "You know you love it. Every time I see you, you tell me that Tracy Aerospace is the best company in the world to work for."

Collie scratched his head thoughtfully. "I don't remember ever saying that, my dear boy. If I did, it's because I've been driven to the edge of complete insanity by your perfectionist, workaholic father."

The words about their father didn't bother any of them. There was no venom or resentment there.

Collie and Jeff were the best of friends and had a high degree of respect and loyalty for each other. Besides, they knew Collie was nearly as bad as their father was when it came to work.

Scott continued to mull over the bomb. "Didn't the investigation turn up anything?"

Collie shook his head. "The Intelligence Service has been on the trail...but they don't seem to have a clue who...and without that, there's no way to find out why."

"Maybe a rival company?" suggested Virgil. "Terrorists? An enemy of Dad's?"

Collie shrugged. "Who knows? There's no way to find out at the present. The only thing we can do is make sure no one sabotages the Nova this time around." Again, he looked around as if he thought someone was listening.

The mood was catching and Scott couldn't help but look over his shoulder. Next to him, Virgil did the same.

"What is with you guys?" Alan asked. "Got the spooks or something?"

Collie managed to smile. "That's not how I would phrase it, but yes, I guess I do have the spooks as you say."

"Why?" Alan asked curiously. "What's there to be afraid of?"

"Oh, I'm not afraid," Collie said quickly. He paused and chewed his lip. "Just...well...I guess I am afraid...don't think I've gone round the bend, my dear boys, but I always get a...a...I suppose the word is...premonition...that something isn't right around here."

"Like what?" Scott asked, troubled. It wasn't like Collie to foster a superstitious notion.

"I don't know exactly. I just feel it." Collie spoke slowly, his face drawn and worried. "Like something's going to go wrong no matter what we do...like someone's out there watching us...planning.... and there's not a thing in the world we can do about it."

Collie stopped and smiled. "I can't believe I'm talking such absolute rubbish. Maybe I need to spend some time in a rubber room, eating mashed peas and drawing on the walls with my toes. It's a good thing your father can't hear me spouting such drivel, or I'd be doing just that." He regarded the Tracy brothers somberly. "Don't tell him about this ...he's got enough on his mind without my delirious imaginings added on to the pile. Okay, my dear boys?"

"I guess so," Scott said doubtfully. "But I really think you ought to say something if you've got a hunch something's up."

Virgil nodded in agreement. "That's right, Collie. Dad would want to know if there's anything wrong."

"There's nothing to it really," Collie insisted. "My imagination's working overtime along with the rest of me, I guess. I'm just a little foggy in the head from lots of work and not much sleep. As soon as this monster's safely in orbit, I'm going to knock around for awhile and relax. Maybe take a vacation."

"Speaking of vacations," Virgil began. "We think that Dad could really use one, but you know how stubborn he can be..."

"Do I ever," Collie smiled ruefully. He thoughtfully tugged on the goggles around his neck. "But you're right; he really needs one. I suppose we'll have to resort to trickery to get him to go. Let me think about it for a day or two, maybe I can come up with something..."

The conversation ended abruptly when a technician came into the lounge, wheeling a bunch of crates.

"My, my, look at the time!" Collie exclaimed, glancing at his watch. "Almost nine o'clock. I should really get back to work."

Scott looked at his watch. "Guess we should go anyway, Collie. Surely Dad must be out of that meeting by now."

Collie stayed to help check and unload the crates the technician had brought, so they went back by themselves. Single-file, they climbed down the long, narrow scaffolding stairs, Scott, followed by Virgil, then Alan.

"I guess we know now what's wrong with Father," Virgil mused.

"Yeah," Scott called over his shoulder. "He's eaten up with worry over this whole thing."

Last in line, Alan spoke up. "Well, I don't know why he didn't tell us about it."

"I can see why he wouldn't tell you, Alan, "Scott said, grinning. "How would anything stay a secret with your big mouth?"

Alan was not amused. "Very funny, wise guy," he said sarcastically. "Quit the Air Force and become a stand-up comic, why don't you?"

They were near the bottom when Scott pointed towards a group of people. "Look, there's Dad."

Jeff and three others were clustered around a portable computer set on a wheeled cart. Helen Frost, Jeff's long-time secretary, stood with a hand-held electronic memo book, ready to type any notes. The other two men, clad in black uniforms, were strangers to the three Tracy brothers. The older of the men waved his arms, gesturing at the computer and shouting. Behind him, a younger man stood, looking uncomfortable and embarrassed.

They caught snatches of the conversation "Unacceptable...how many times...ridiculous...damn fools..." a diatribe of angry ranting and raving aimed primarily at Jeff.

Jeff stood listening, his expression darkening with each insulting word. The boys could tell their father was furious.

Jeff handled conflict in a cool, level-headed manner, and rarely lost his temper. But from the looks of things, this promised to be one of those rare occasions. Even from a distance, they recognized the telltale signs of an impending explosion. The set jaw, the steel glint shimmering in his eyes...

Scott swung into action to divert the oncoming storm. Without hesitation, he walked up and stood alongside of Jeff.

p "You must be Colonel Danforth," he said, interrupting the irate man in mid-sentence.

The Colonel glared. "Who the hell are you?"

"Scott Tracy."

"Tracy, huh?" the Colonel growled. He scowled at Jeff. "One of your relatives, I suppose? No security clearance or pass, right?"

"I assure you, Danforth," Jeff said, his voice sharp. "There is absolutely zero risk of my sons sabotaging the Nova."

"Sons?" Colonel Danforth asked, clearly puzzled by the plural. Then he caught sight of Virgil and Alan standing nearby. "More! For God's sake, Tracy! What the hell do you think this is, a family reunion? I want this area cleared of all non-essential personnel immediately, do you hear me? Immediately!"

Without waiting for an answer, the Colonel stomped away.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Tracy," the younger man began. "The Colonel doesn't mean to be..."

"Come along, Becker, don't dawdle, you fool!" Danforth bellowed over his shoulder.

With one last mumbled apology, Becker ran to catch up with the Colonel. They watched the two as they meandered across the hangar; the Colonel's arms were still waving like a windmill while Becker trailed slowly behind him, looking at the floor. Now and then, a snatch of garbled snarling managed to penetrate the din. Finally, a rumbling forklift engine drowned out the sight and sound of the choleric colonel.

"Non-essential personnel," Alan said to Virgil. "I guess that means us."

Scott whistled. "Collie wasn't kidding about that one, Father. He's a piece of work, that guy."

Jeff gave a curt nod, still irritated. "I'll agree with that, Scott. Colonel Danforth is a very difficult man to deal with, but he is dedicated to his job. His first concern is the Nova and for that he deserves some credit."

"If you say so, Dad," Alan said, doubtfully. "I guess if you like him..."

"I never said I liked him, Alan," Jeff corrected with a frown. "His methods are completely misdirected, serving only to destroy morale and discourage loyalty. It's no way to treat the people you depend upon."

Jeff managed to smile at his sons. "Why don't we get some breakfast, boys?"

The idea of food was met with enthusiasm, though there was considerable dissension on where to go. Scott was in favor of a certain restaurant, known for good pancakes but notoriously slow service. Alan, who liked the idea of pancakes, but hated waiting, pushed for something quicker. Virgil didn't care as long as he didn't have to eat cold cereal, a meal he often resorted to at times other than breakfast. Jeff settled the conflict by suggesting a small diner that had good food and quick service, just a few miles away down the road.

"That way you'll all be happy. Scott can have his pancakes, Alan can have his pancakes quickly, Virgil can eat something beside Honey Crunch Crispies,* and I can have some peace and quiet."

"If Colonel Danforth is looking for you where shall I tell him you are going?" Helen, Jeff's secretary, asked as they were leaving.

Jeff thought a moment, then smiled. "Tell him I'm doing what he wanted, clearing the area of non-essential personnel."

*From Season 2 episode Ricochet

Chapter 3

The moon set lowly in the night sky, casting its dim glow onto the Asian jungle. An ancient temple covered with layers of rotting green moss and a tangled mesh of heavy black vines cast sinister shadows into the clearing where it had sat for hundreds of years.

Somewhere in the steaming, blackness of the jungle a panther screamed. Then the stillness settled over the jungle again like a heavy, humid blanket. The only noises were the rustles and hisses of predators and the desperate hunted.

Bats flitted back and forth along the massive support columns and an eerie screech sounded somewhere in the darkness. Deep inside the temple, the arch-criminal known only as the Hood, clad in an ornately jewelled eastern robe, sat in a high-backed chair. His heavy-eyebrows were knit into a sinister V above strangely glowing black eyes, which gleamed like glittering black jewels.

Before him, a thin blue curtain stretched across an arched doorway. Behind the transparent, rippling material, a shadowy form stood. Flickering torches cast long shadows on the walls, dimly illuminating grotesque paintings of forms and symbols. Evil radiated from the high vaulted ceilings to the hideous idols set on huge marble pedestals.

"There are only three days left," the shadow behind the curtain spoke in a low hiss. "The launch must not succeed."

The Hood's face twisted into a malicious smile. "It will not."

"My agent says extra precautions are being taken..."

The Hood threw back his head and made a harsh noise resembling a laugh. "Such feeble-minded efforts do not concern me. There is not a security grid in the entire world that I can't break through."

"It won't be so easy this time. They know about the bomb...where it was...what it was made of...how it was detonated...all of it."

"So what? They can do nothing to stop me. The Nova will never reach space. It is doomed."

"Arrogant words!" the shadowy figure spat like an angry cat. "Only fools are so brazen to underestimate the resourcefulness of their enemies."

The Hood's eyes glowed like flaming embers and he leaned forward threateningly. "I am no fool," he rumbled dangerously. "And they are your enemies not mine. I have no interest in your vendetta against Tracy and his companies. I destroy their spacecraft for monetary reasons alone. As long as I receive payment, things will be as you wish." The Hood paused and smiled darkly. "As long as the Nova ceases to exist, does it matter how it's done?"

The shadow shifted position, edging away from the Hood. "No, not at all. I just thought you were planning on using the same device as last time. But since you're not..."

"Oh, but I am," the Hood said with an evil chuckle. "With some special modifications, of course." He leaned back in his chair and continued speaking quietly, as if to himself. "And this time I will plant the bomb on the morning of the launch, not before. Then they will not have a chance to detect it."

"That's impossible. You won't be able to get within a mile of the Nova once she's on the field under surveillance."

The Hood bared his teeth into a cold smile. "Nothing is impossible when you have friends in high places."

To everyone's surprise, John Tracy came home after all. John, always fascinated by all things astronomical, could not resist the allure of the Nova space shuttle. Even the solar eruption project he had been working on was put aside in favor of the launch event.

So he arrived and recruited Alan to help him carry in his stuff.

"What's in here anyway?" Alan complained, lugging in a heavy case. "Bricks?"

John opened the case to reveal stacks of star charts, notes, and pictures. He was working on another yet astronomy textbook and always brought along his research so he could jot down ideas as they came.

His much-used telescope, given as a birthday present many years before, came after, along with an astral camera that hooked on to the lens. John had accumulated a massive collection of celestial photographs from years of stargazing.

Alan, who shared John's enthusiasm for space, marveled at his latest shots while John unpacked his belongings in his garret room.

Later, over a dinner of Chinese take-out, Scott filled John in on the day at Tracy Aerospace and the revelations about the Nova disaster.

"Danforth," John said thoughtfully, spearing some fried rice with his chopsticks. "I've heard of him. He was involved in the Odyssey Project a couple of years back."

"Odyssey? Wasn't that the space observatory that crashed outside of Paris?" Virgil asked.

John nodded. "That's right. Diverted off its orbital path for some reason and came down like a missile. They never did figure out why, though some say the guidance system was faulty."

Scott chewed slowly, thinking about what John said. He remembered the accident. He had been stationed in Europe then. The disaster killed hundreds when the observatory's fiery debris rained down on a Paris suburb. "That's a strange coincidence, isn't it?" he said slowly.

They looked at Scott, waiting for him to continue.

"I mean, first the Odyssey, then the Nova."

John shrugged. "It's a tricky business, Scott. You know that. Lots of things can go wrong with a spacecraft."

"Oh, I know that, John. It's just I think it's kind of funny that Colonel Danforth, has been involved with both of the projects."

Virgil set down his plate on the coffee table and looked at his older brother intently. Never one for mincing words, he was direct to the point. "You think maybe Danforth has something to do with the Nova's sabotage? That he planted the explosives?"

Scott was quick to deny Virgil's words. "I didn't say that. I just meant that well... maybe there's some kind of connection."

John shook his head, skeptical of the idea. "I don't think so, Scott. Lethbridge Danforth is a dedicated Space Agency officer, though he does have a reputation for being a loud-mouthed jerk."

"Yeah, you can say that again," Alan said. He pointed to an untouched egg roll on Virgil's plate. "You going to eat that, Virg?"

Virgil, as by way of an answer, tossed the egg roll over to Alan.

Scott still had an uneasy feeling about Danforth. Somehow he must be connected. Somehow he had to find out.

"Danforth or not, someone sabotaged the Nova and that someone may be around for a second go-round. So we better keep our eyes out for trouble the next two days."

The next morning, Scott came into the kitchen planning to grab something quick for breakfast. Alan, the late riser of the family, was nowhere to be seen. Virgil, still dressed in his bathrobe and sweats, hunched over a cup of steaming coffee. John sat at the kitchen table, delicate tools used for electronic repair spread out in front of him. Scott was surprised, when he noticed the object of John's attention was an ordinary looking wristwatch. Knowing John, he had expected something much more unusual.

"Something wrong with your watch, Johnny?" Scott asked, leaning forward for a closer look.

John didn't look up. He selected a delicate tool. Squinting intently as the tiny mechanics, he made a fine adjustment.

Scott, eyebrows raised, looked at bleary-eyed Virgil.

"It's not an ordinary watch," Virgil explained. "It's a..." He paused, trying to remember what John had called it just a few minutes before.

"Two-way Personal com wave-modulation transmitter," John supplied. Frowning with concentration, he grabbed another tool.

"There you go," Virgil yawned. A hungry meow diverted his attention. A big yellow tomcat, a purr rumbling in his chest like an outboard motor, raked his claws along the screen of the French doors that led to the garden. None of the Tracys particularly liked cats, but "Ugly" as they called him, had been a member of the family since he decided to adopt the Tracys many years before.

Scott stood over John's shoulder, curiously watching him work. Another one of John's devices. Ever since they were kids, John always had been working improvements of every piece of electronic hardware he could get his hands on.

"And what is this two-way personal com transmitter thing of yours, or should I be afraid to ask?"

John reluctantly set his tools down. A personal com transmitter, he explained to Scott, was his answer to a tricky class assignment that involved designing a personal communication device. He designed a watch with transmitting and receiving capabilities, a kind of small, portable vid-phone. It was a deluxe model, complete with a radio, a calculator, and a compass, just to name a few of the finer features.

"Does it come with a can opener?" Virgil muttered, as he dug through a drawer trying to find something to open a can of cat food for the big yellow tomcat that yowled insistently for his breakfast.

John ignored Virgil.

Satisfied with the adjustments, he carefully put the watch back together. Scott, who was always interested in his younger brother's never-ending stream of communication gadgets, watched while John explained how it worked.

"I assigned a individual variant frequency so the transmitter can receive and send signals. The problem was that it only had short-range capacity, so I need to find a way to increase the trans-rec distance."

"Did you?" Scott asked.

"Sure. It was easy. You see...I...uh...borrowed...a connection with the World Comm's Satellite Service to extend the range globally."

"Borrowed a connection...isn't that illegal?" Virgil commented. Having found the elusive can opener, he stirred up Ugly's food, grimacing from the smell of tuna delight. "Stupid cat," he grumbled.

John paid no attention to Virgil. He scribbled down some numbers. "Here, Scott. Dial me up and I'll show you how it works."

Scott went to the vid-phone on the kitchen counter and dialed the number John had given him. In a few moments, the watch emitted a series of electronic beeps. John pushed a button and his face appeared on the vid-com's monitor.

He showed Scott the watch. "There, see? Now I'll call you."

Scott looked on expectantly while John set the correct frequency. When he finished, they waited for the connection to go through. Bowl in hand, Virgil crossed the room, heading towards the patio. Instead of the normal signal, a strange popping, crackling sound came from the vid-com. Scott and John looked at each other.

"What the..." Scott began.

Boom! The vid-com exploded, showering sparks everywhere. The monitor erupted into a ball of fire. Like a pair of hands, the angry flames eagerly grasped outward, touching the kitchen curtains. Catching the edge, the fire rushed upward, gobbling the material. Alarmed, Virgil dropped Ugly's dish. Ignoring the shower of sparks raining down on his head, he armed himself with a dishtowel and began beating at the flames.

Scott, thinking of the fire extinguisher, dashed towards the small kitchen storage closet and collided headlong into John. For a brief moment, Scott saw stars as he and John staggered in opposite directions from the impact. He wondered if he was dreaming, when a person who looked strangely like Gordon appeared in the doorway.

It was Gordon. He stood with his mouth open, staring in amazement at the chaotic scene. The situation was getting desperate; for the fire spread rapidly up the curtains and onto Virgil's dishtowel. Virgil tossed the flaming towel in the sink and desperately looked for something else to beat out the flames.

"Quick!" Scott shouted. "The fire extinguisher."

Gordon darted for the closet. A few seconds later he reappeared with the extinguisher in hand. He aimed and shot a heavy stray of white fire retardant powder towards the window. Instantly, the flames were suffocated. Gordon continued spraying for a few more moments. The powder mushroomed and spread outward, shrouding the entire room in a heavy cloud.

Scott waved his hand, trying to see. "You okay, Virgil?"

A few coughs and a couple of mumbled curses came from the cloud. Barely visible, Virgil appeared like a ghostly apparition. He was covered from head to foot in white powder, his hair and eyebrows a dusty white.

"Yes. I'm alright, Scott." Virgil's voice was quiet and calm. "Which is more than I can say for you, John, as soon as I can see where you are..."

It took nearly an hour for the powder to settle and the air to clear. They opened the doors that led to the garden and all of the windows to try and dissipate the smoke. The kitchen was an utter wreck. With Tracy determination, they attacked the mess: Scott armed with a broom, Virgil with a hand vac, John and Gordon with sponges and cloths. As a final touch, they emptied a couple of cans of air freshener to take away the stale smell of smoke.

When they finished, Scott surveyed the kitchen with satisfaction. Things didn't look too bad except for the burnt curtains and the blackened remains of the vid-com on the counter. They'd have to come up with some sort of explanation for that. He could just imagine the look on their father's face.

Gordon found the whole thing uproariously funny, especially the way Virgil looked. Unable to stand any more leg-pulling about how he had "aged overnight," Virgil told Gordon good-naturedly to "go to the devil" and disappeared upstairs to take a shower to get rid of all the white powder that clung stubbornly to his face and hair.

"I don't understand it. There's no reason why that should have happened. I'll have to do more tests," John said, perplexed.

Scott eyed the watch distrustfully. "Well, don't do any more testing around here, Johnny. Dad will be none too happy if you burn the house down. It's going to be bad enough as it is to explain all this."

"Hmmm, maybe I could reformat the actual transmitter pulse recognition card," John muttered to himself. He began rummaging through the tools.

Gordon, who could never resist a chance to tease his brothers, started throwing out crazy suggestions for the watch.

John tolerated the banter with a "what-can-you-expect-from-Gordon" air.

"Why change it? I think it's great. You get a crank or a telesales call, check the caller identity unit and give them a call back. Whammo! Instant revenge."

John, who wasn't without a sense of humor, had to laugh. "Maybe that's not such a bad idea, Gordon...what's your number again?"

"Hey, guys," called Alan, who had finally got up from bed and was watching television. "Dad's on T.V. They're having a news conference about the launch."

�...The current schedule in place for the Nova launch and then answer a few questions," a Space Agency spokeswoman was saying. She stood behind a podium surrounded by a myriad of microphones and cameras. Jeff stood behind her, towards the back of the stage. Nearby was Collie, back to his well-dressed self, somehow managing to smile and look somber at the same time.

Standing opposite were Colonel Danforth and his assistant, Becker, both looking as if they would like to be somewhere else. Colonel Danforth stepped up to speak. He carried a small e-pad in hand. Frowning at the crowd of reporters, he waited until the room fell silent before he spoke.

"The launch will consist of two parts," he growled. "The Nova will be moved to S.A. Field #2 tomorrow morning. Final preparations and set-up will take place over the following 24 hours. Actual launch time is 0800 hours on Friday."

Without a further word, he spun on his heel and marched back to his spot.

"Wait a minute! That's it?!" shouted a man in the front row. A buzz like a swarm of angry bees came from the audience, protesting loudly against the Colonel's truncated announcement.

The spokeswoman held up a restraining hand. "Please. Please. That is all the information that will be released about the actual schedule of the Nova launch. For security reasons, more details will not revealed until after the launch."

The crowd continued to grumble.

"Don't worry, you'll have a chance to ask more questions," she said, speaking loudly to be heard. "Jeff Tracy, chairman of Tracy Industries of which Tracy Aerospace is a subsidiary of, will take some more right now."

Jeff, with resolute step, came to the podium. He faced the crowd, smiling. Unlike Colonel Danforth, he radiated self-assured confidence and looked completely at ease.

"I know you have many questions concerning the Nova, but for the sake of time, I will only take a few..."

A babble of voices drowned out the rest of his words. Jeff looked to a young woman in the front row. She shouted to be heard above the din.

"Why hasn't any information been released about the nature of the Nova's original failure? What has been done to safeguard this launch from disaster?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer those questions except to say that all efforts have been made to make this launch a success. Which it will be," he added.

"What about the rumors that a bomb, not a mechanical or design fault, was responsible?" a voice from the back yelled.

"Rumors only," Jeff said without blinking. "Completely without basis in fact."

"So you're saying that it was a mechanical fault then?"

"No, I'm not saying that either."

"What reason can you give, then, for all the extra security this time around?" the same voice questioned.

"The security precautions have been planned according to Space Agency guidelines for a shuttle launch. However, due to the publicity surrounding this particular launch, extra steps have been taken to prevent any unnecessary problems."

"Is it true that no one will be allowed within the launch field, not even members of the press?"

"Yes," Jeff acknowledged. "Restricted access is part of the extended security guidelines. There will be a special area just outside the field for the press and invited spectators."

"What is your position on the claims by the activist group, Protectors of the Environment, that the Space Agency and Tracy Aerospace have blatant disregard for the wetland area located just beyond the launch area and how do you feel about their plans to demonstrate at the field to protest the launch?"

"Tracy Aerospace has always supported the preservation of environmental resources and natural areas. We do not feel that the launch in any way will effect the wetlands surrounding the launch site. As to the group's plans to demonstrate, it is within their rights, as long as they do so in a peaceful and non-violent manner. One more question..."

"With all the reports of tension and disagreement over the Nova, do you see any future between Tracy Aerospace and the Space Agency?"

"Tracy Aerospace's collaborations on Space Agency Projects have always had a high measure of success. We look forward to working together well into the future."

"So you are saying that what the Vice-President of Tracy Aerospace, Collier Davis, who happens to be here today, has said is untrue?"

Jeff hesitated a moment before speaking. "I'm not sure which statement you are referring to..."

The reporter interrupted him, reading from a piece of paper. "I have it right here. Less than a month ago, Mr. Davis told a reporter for the World News Network that, and I quote, "it will be a cold day in hell before Tracy Aerospace will ever make another deal with those dim-witted idiots at Space Agency." What do you think of that, Mr. Tracy?"

For a long minute, Jeff said nothing. When he finally spoke his voice was carefully controlled behind a tight smile. "Your source must be mistaken. Thank you all very much. There will be a press conference after the Nova launch to provide more information."

Jeff turned towards Collie, signaling the end of press conference. The reporters persistently shouted questions, unsatisfied.

"Jeff Tracy! Is it true that you called Colonel Danforth a horse's ass?" a voice yelped.

Jeff smiled but offered no response as he disappeared behind the curtain at the back of the stage, griping Collie by the elbow.

Scott hit the "off" button on the remote control of the television. "Oh, boy, I wouldn't want to be in Collie's shoes right now. Dad will cook his goose. He hates being put on the spot like that."

"Why would he say such a dumb thing to a reporter?" John wondered. "He knows how important the Space Agency projects are to Father. Not to mention the hundreds of millions that it brings to the company."

Gordon wasn't concerned. "Who cares? It won't do any harm. Collie will sweep it all under the rug; he's a good liar if he has to be."

"So is Father," Alan remarked from the overstuffed armchair. "He told a couple of real whoppers there."

"Of course. It's a press conference. What did you expect him to say?" John said, sitting on the sofa next to Gordon. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Nova was blown to bits by a bomb, the vice-president of Tracy Aerospace doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut, and Danforth is a jackass?"

Gordon laughed. "Now that's a press conference I'd love to see..."

"What I'd love to see is how Collie's going to get by Dad on this one," Alan said. "I could learn a few pointers for future reference."

"If you want a few pointers how to get by Dad, why don't you ask Virgil?" John cut in. "He's made an art of it."

Scott was surprised by the hint of bitterness he heard in John's tone. What was going on between those two? The friction between his two brothers was becoming obvious, at least to him anyway. Virgil and John had been at each other's throats all that morning. Not openly, but in more subtle ways. It wasn't so much what they said either, but how they said it.

The undercurrent of tension in the air irritated Scott. He wished that they would have a fist fight and be done with it already. But, of course, that would never happen. It wasn't John or Virgil's style to brawl. Still, if it still wasn't settled after the launch, he'd step into the role of family diplomat to get the two to call a truce. If that didn't work...well, he'd worry about that later.

The more immediate problem of the Nova blocked everything else out of his mind. Security was going to be tight, but would it be tight enough? For some reason, he wasn't so sure. Like Collie, he had the "spooks." He couldn't put his finger on it, but something just didn't seem right...

Chapter 4

To someone who didn't know him, Jeff Tracy didn't seem the least bit angry. He smiled and joked with the security guards that escorted them away from the throngs of eager news reporters. Even when a P.O.T.E. activist who, managing to gain access to the conference, threw not only profane words but also a rotten tomato at them, he seemed blatantly unconcerned. He was so calm it made the normally unflappable Collie nervous. Because it could only mean one thing. Jeff was mad. Boiling mad.

As they made their way side by side through the throngs of people, Jeff never once looked in his direction. Collie started mentally preparing for the first class bawling out he was sure to get. When they finally reached the waiting limousine, he thankfully sank into the seat. The press conference had been rather worrisome, but it was nothing compared to the storm that was coming now.

Across from him, Jeff put on his reading glasses and opened his briefcase. He began sorting vigorously through some papers. Collie looked out the window. Security was trying to clear some noisy demonstrators waving signs out of the road. An egg splattered against the window and a rock pinged against the side of the car. Those darn environmentalist nuts, thought Collie in annoyance. Didn't they have anything better to do with their time?

Collie looked across at Jeff, waiting for him to say something. Anything. Sharp words, angry curses: he was ready for them all.

But nothing happened. Jeff continued to read, his face strangely impassive. As the seconds ticked by, Collie felt more and more tense. It felt hot in the car, even though a stream cool air from the air conditioner vents blew down on him with enough force to ruffle his perfectly combed hair. Collie habitually patted his pockets for a cigarette. The silk tie around his neck suddenly felt like a noose. Loosening it, he fumbled for his lighter.

He glanced at Jeff.

Silence.

This was unbearable.

"For god's sake, Jeff! Aren't you going to say something?" he blurted when he could stand it no longer.

Jeff put down the paper he was reading, and looked sternly at him through his glasses. "What do you want me to say, Collier?" he said sternly. "That you were stupid, irresponsible, and careless?"

"Well, yes, for starters. Then you could tell me to go to the devil and punch me in the nose or something."

Jeff's lips twitched and he almost smiled. "That idea did cross my mind, I have to admit, but having a drag-out, knock down fight wouldn't do either of us any good at this point in time."

Collie wasn't convinced. "Maybe, Jeff. But if might do you some good to give me just one good sock. I know I'd feel a lot better."

This time Jeff let himself smile. "Never mind, Collie. I know just what 'dim-witted idiot' you were referring to when you said what you did. I don't like Danforth any more than you do, but there's no reason the whole world should know about it. So as long as you keep your thoughts to yourself in the future, I won't say another word about it."

Jeff adjusted his glasses and started reading again.

Security managed to clear away the demonstrators and the limousine began moving, but Collie was so astonished by Jeff's uncharacteristic reaction that he hardly noticed. Had it happened at last? Had Jeff finally gone over the edge? No shouts. No accusations. Nothing. It was eerie; just like an episode of his favorite classic show, The Twilight Zone.

Collie studied Jeff carefully, a little shocked by what he saw in the gray, haggard face: total exhaustion, weariness, and something indescribable in the bloodshot eyes. Something that Collie didn't like. Funny that he hadn't noticed it before, but then, Jeff always insisted that he was perfectly fine.

Collie thought about what Virgil had said aboard the Nova. A vacation...that was what Jeff needed...and that was just what he was going to get whether he liked it or not.

Collie smiled. He had an idea.

�What the devil is wrong with you two?" Scott demanded, glaring at his two brothers. Just a few minutes ago, they were all sitting around in the living room in peace and brotherly harmony: Virgil playing a snappy tune at the piano, Gordon and Alan at their favorite game of Chinese checkers, John working at the coffee table on his watch invention, and Scott sprawled out on the sofa, thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to do absolutely nothing.

Then it happened: a brief exchange of heated words and John and Virgil were rolling around on the floor, pummeling each other with ferocious intensity. It was so unexpected, so unlike the two, that everyone looked on in startled amazement before stepping in to break up the scuffle. Scott grabbing Virgil; Gordon and Alan hanging on to John.

"Well?" Scott asked again, when neither of them replied to his question.

"Ask him," John said angrily. "He started it."

"Me?" Virgil snorted. "You're the one who threw the first punch."

"You've been riding me since the minute I came home," John snapped.

Virgil laughed. "That's ridiculous and you know it. I don't know what your problem is, Johnny. You've got a chip on your shoulder the size of a two by four and for some reason you think it's got my name on it."

"Okay, children, that's enough, " Alan said, grinning at his older brothers. "The two of you clam up or you're both going to bed without supper."

"That's no punishment, Alan," Gordon teased. "Remember, you're the one doing the cooking tonight."

Virgil and John started arguing again until Scott, in his big brother way, put a decided stop to it. "Knock it off, both of you! Stop acting like a couple of kids. I don't know what the problem is and, to tell you the truth, I don't care as long as you settle it in a civilized manner. Like a Tracy. Otherwise, shut up and shelf it. Got it?"

Scott's words had the desired effect and they stopped fighting. John disappeared upstairs and Virgil sat back down at the piano, playing so vigorously that Scott was afraid the ceiling plaster would crack.

Scott had been so sure that Virgil and John, who were usually so sensible, would settle the conflict by themselves. But now that words had changed to blows, Scott was determined to root the conflict out into the open and deal with it. The tension from the upcoming launch was bad enough, but with a brotherly squabble added on top of the pile...

Enough was enough.

But what to do? Scott wondered. Virgil stubbornly insisted that nothing was wrong. John, who wasn't very talkative to begin with, was even more tight-lipped on the subject. There was no doubt it would be tricky, but something had to be done. The Tracy brothers always stuck together, no matter what.

Still puzzling over the problem later that day, Scott caught a whiff of smoke as he passed by the kitchen. Afraid that John was working on his watch again, he rushed into the room ready for action.

Gordon, sitting at the table, looked up and smiled. "Word of warning, Scott, if you're smart you'll run in the other direction."

"What's burning?" Scott asked anxiously, noticing a light layer of smoke swirling in the air.

"Dinner," Gordon replied, grinning. He pointed over at Alan. "Check out the master chef at work."

Alan, wearing an old apron of their mother's, hovered over a couple of smoking pots on the stove. He poked ferociously at the contents one of the pans as if he was stoking a fire. "I just don't get it. I did just what the recipe said..."

Cautiously, Scott peered into one of the pots. "What is...or should I say what was that?"

"Does it matter?" Gordon laughed. "I know you're used to taking chances, Scott, but surely even you don't want risk your life eating Alan's cooking."

Alan scowled at Gordon. "What's wrong with my cooking? I cook all the time and Father never complains."

"There it is, Scott," Gordon said. "Now we know what's really wrong with Father. He's got food poisoning!"

After some arguing, Alan finally agreed that the food wasn't fit for human consumption and scrapped the blackened, charred remains into Ugly's dish. The big yellow tomcat sniffed disdainfully at the bowl before scornfully stalking out into the garden.

"Even the cat won't eat it!" Gordon chuckled. "And Virgil calls Ugly stupid!"

"Speaking of Virgil..." Scott began. "What's do you fellas think is up with him and John?"

Gordon shrugged. "I dunno."

Alan spoke up. "I know."

Gordon and Scott turned around and stared at their brother.

"It's simple really," Alan said smugly.

"Well, don't keep it to yourself, Alan," said Scott.

"It's called displacement," Alan explained. "We're studying it in psychology at school. John isn't angry with Virgil, he's angry with Father."

"I don't get it," Gordon said flatly. "If he's mad at Father, why take it out on Virgil?"

"John's never been close to Father like Virgil, you know that. So instead of confronting Father, he goes after Virgil. That's the displacement part."

Gordon was still skeptical. "I don't know. It sounds a little screwy to me."

"It's true," Alan insisted. "Read my textbook if you don't believe me. You get it don't you, Scott?"

Scott shrugged. "I guess you could be right, Alan. I just don't know. I'm no psychologist that's for sure."

"But why would John be angry at Father?" Gordon asked, unconvinced.

"Don't ask me," Alan said. "I don't know everything, Gordon."

Scott thoughtfully pondered on Alan's idea. Maybe he wasn't too far off the mark with the displacement theory. It made sense in some ways. But like Gordon said, why would John be angry with Father?

Another mystery.

Things just seemed to get more and more complicated.

The Nova's journey to the launch field went smoothly the next morning. Except for a few P.O.T.E. demonstrators gathered at the gate waving signs and chanting, there were no signs of trouble.

From the control tower's observation area, Jeff and Collie watched as work crews prepared the Nova for the next day's launch. They had a good view of the proceedings through the large windows that covered the entire side facing the airfield. Slowly and carefully the Nova was attached to the launch tower, a huge framework of metal supports designed to hold the shuttle at nearly a ninety-degree angle in preparation for launch. Not until the tricky process was completed and the shuttle was safely anchored in to the launch moorings did they allow themselves to relax a little.

Collie sat on the edge of the observation windowsill and patted his pockets until he found a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Jeff.

Jeff shook his head. "No thanks. Between that molten lead you call coffee and lack of sleep, I'm wired enough as it is."

Collie grinned and blissfully inhaled for several long seconds, before blowing a blue cloud upward. "You know what your problem is, Jeff? You worry too much."

Jeff snorted.

"No really," Collie insisted, regarding Jeff seriously through a haze of smoke. "Once this over, I really think that a vacation is in order. What do you think?"

Jeff relaxed and smiled. "Sure, sounds like a wonderful idea."

"Great." Collie smiled, his eyes twinkling. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a paper. "Here's your plane ticket. I took the liberty of booking an open flight for you. Just chose the date you'd like to leave. You can spend a couple of weeks at my beach house in Bermuda."

Jeff frowned. "Now just wait one damn minute...you're the one going on vacation. Not me."

"Why don't you want to go?" Collie asked, the picture of innocence. "You just said it sounded like a wonderful idea."

"It does. For you. You need a vacation."

"What about you?" Collie asked.

"What about me?"

"Even though you refuse to believe it, you need to get away for a while, Jeff," Collie said, flicking some ashes into a nearby ashtray.

"That's ridiculous," Jeff growled. "I don't know why everyone keeps telling me that."

"Probably because it's true," Collie said seriously. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?"

"Yes. Every morning that I get a chance to shave," Jeff answered irritably. "What's your point?"

"You look like death warmed over."

"Thanks for the compliment," Jeff snorted. "No matter what you say I'm not going. End of story."

Collie smiled. "Whatever, Jeff. You don't have a choice in the matter, so don't be difficult. It'd be a real shame if the boys and I have to hog tie you and drag you down to the airport."

He handed the ticket to Jeff who refused to take it.

"So, the boys put you up to this did they?" Jeff glared at both him and the ticket. "Well, you can just cancel that flight. I'm not going to sit on some beach when there's plenty of work to do around here. Absolutely not!"

Collie reached out and tucked the ticket into Jeff's coat pocket. "Oh yes you are. You are going sit on that beach, swim in the ocean, and do whatever else you want for two whole weeks, so long as it doesn't involve Tracy Aerospace or any other of your blasted companies for that matter."

Jeff began to argue, firmly opposed to the idea, but Collie stubbornly refused to budge from the conviction that his employer's much-needed vacation would become a reality. The two squared off like fencers at a match, Jeff thrusting an argument against going; Collie parrying with a calm rebuttal. The ticket was passed back and forth between them, getting more tattered with each exchange.

"Now look here, Collie," Jeff snapped. "I'm not going and that's that."

"You are going," Collie insisted firmly, still smiling. "You need a vacation and you're going to take one. There's no way around it, so you may as well accept it and start packing your bags." He tapped the ticket. "When this plane leaves, you are going to be on it, one way or another."

"I'm still the boss around here," Jeff snapped angrily. "And I say it this is all nonsense."

"You are the boss, that is true," agreed Collie amiably. "But my crystal ball tells me that you will be spending two weeks in Bermuda in the very near future."

He folded the ticket and put it in Jeff's coat pocket once again.

"God almighty!" Jeff threw his hands up in exasperation. "You never give up do you? You're as stubborn as a mule."

"Thank you. It's a particular talent that I learned from you, O Illustrious Leader." Collie bowed as if worshipping at an idol. He looked so comical that Jeff couldn't help laughing.

"You really are a work of art, Collie," he said, still chuckling. "But I guess a short rest wouldn't do me any harm. After all, we'll be starting the Sun Probe* in a month..."

A drastic change came over Collie and he stopped smiling. "Sun Probe...?" he choked. "Did you say Sun Probe? I thought you said Sun Probe."

Jeff smiled. "That's what I said."

"Why?" Collie asked warily. "What does it have to do with us?"

"Plenty. I signed the contract to build her this morning..."

Collie gaped at Jeff in dumb astonishment. "YOU WHAT?" he practically shouted. "Have you gone stark, raving mad?"

Jeff's smile vanished. "No. Have you?"

Collie viciously crushed his cigarette in the ashtray next to him, and began pacing back and forth. "I can't believe this..." he muttered to himself. "Sun Probe...he says...Sun Probe..."

Jeff watched him, growing more puzzled and irritated by the moment. "What the heck is wrong with you, Collie?"

Collie stopped abruptly. "What the heck is wrong with me? What the heck is wrong with you?!!"

Jeff, completely baffled, stared at Collie. "I don't see what the problem is...the Sun Probe Project stands to be very profitable for the company."

"Great Jupiter!" Collie exclaimed. "The Nova was bad enough...but the Sun Probe. It'll kill us, Jeff...you, me, and every other person who's daft enough to work at Tracy Aerospace!"

"That's ridiculous!" snapped Jeff. "Now you're talking like an absolute fool. We built the Nova, didn't we? We can build Sun Probe just as easily."

"Sure, Jeff, we built the Nova," Collie said hotly. "But it sure as hell wasn't easy!"

"Don't worry," Jeff assured. "Things will be different this time."

Collie gave a short, humorless laugh. "Who are you kidding, Jeff? I may be a lousy businessman, but I'm one heck of an engineer. I've seen the specs and believe me, we don't want to open that can of worms!"

"It's too late. I've signed the contract and that's all there is to it. If you don't like you can..."

Jeff stopped short, biting his tongue.

Even though it was unspoken, the word 'quit' hung heavily in the air.

"Maybe I will, Jeff," Collie said quietly.

"Now, Collie..."

Collie turned his back to Jeff and gazed out the window at the Nova. "You know, Jeff, I never wanted to take on the Nova...designing some of the components was one thing, but the whole blasted monster.... I knew it would be a nightmare."

"It's just about over," Jeff said quietly. "She'll be on her way tomorrow morning."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Collie said doubtfully. "Do you know Will Thorpe, Jeff?"

Taken aback by the sudden turn in the conversation, Jeff hesitated before answering. "Of course. I know him very well. He's our chief electrical system engineer."

"Did you know that he came this morning and gave me his resignation?"

"No, I didn't," Jeff admitted. "Did he say why?"

"He sure did," Collie said, half-smiling. "I got an earache listening to his list of complaints. When I finally got a word in edgewise, I convinced him to stay. I promised him that things would be different now that the Nova was finished." Collie turned looked his boss squarely in the eye. "Don't make a liar out of me, Jeff. Let the Sun Probe go."

Jeff slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry, Collie. I can't do that. It wasn't easy to get that contract. I had to pull a lot of strings** to get ahead of AIS. Their bid was a lot lower than ours and..."

Collie's eyes narrowed. "AIS. I should've know that your silly pissing contest with James Haydyn would enter into the picture. It always does."

"This has nothing to do with Haydyn," Jeff said angrily.

Liar, thought Collie.

James Haydyn was the founder and chairman of AIS Incorporated, Tracy Aerospace's chief rival in the aeronautics field. He and Jeff had served together as astronauts many years before and had been friends until they both fell in love with the same woman: a beautiful, vibrant young artist named Lucille.

Haydyn would never forgive Jeff for stealing "his girl." Silly really, since Lucy had never been his girl. Her heart had always belonged to Jeff, from the very first moment they met.

The two friends turned into bitter rivals. The passage of time did nothing to dim the animosity the two men felt for each other. Their rivalry grew in strength as the years went by. They competed for everything: contracts, breakthroughs in technology, employees...everything.

Neither Jeff nor Haydyn would ever let it go. Collie knew this because he knew Haydyn almost as well as he knew Jeff. After all, he had worked for the man for nearly a decade before coming to Tracy Aerospace.

Collie shook himself out of his thoughts. Jeff was talking to him, reciting the same excuses he always made whenever Haydyn's name came up. As much as he disliked the man, Jeff never admitted it.

"We stand to make over a hundred million on the Sun Probe," Jeff was saying.

"This isn't about money and you know it," Collie returned. "It's about..."

He abruptly stopped talking as Danforth entered the room. He swept in with his usual sour expression, a scowl for a greeting. Becker trailed at his heels, grim and silent, his arms full of printouts and security badges.

Collie frowned and folded his arms defensively, preparing for the attack he was sure would come.

"Tracy," barked Danforth. "I went over your security pass list and I have some real problems with this."

He shook a computer printout in Jeff's face.

"Oh?" Jeff glanced at the printout. "How so?"

"Right here." Danforth stabbed a finger at a block of names. "Tracy, Tracy, Tracy, Tracy, Tracy. I thought I told you about non-essential personnel. They pose a security hazard. I don't care if they are your sons. I don't want them on the field."

Jeff took a deep breath, reminding himself to remain calm. "Now look, Danforth. My sons are not security hazards. Furthermore, they all have complete Intelligence Service background checks on file...which is a lot more than you can say for some Space Agency personnel."

Danforth frowned darkly. "What do you mean by that? Are you saying that you think that one of my people is...how dare you!"

Fury contorting his face, Danforth's lips twitched and he sputtered.

Jeff smiled wickedly, pleased to see that he could annoy Danforth as much as the man did him. He held up a restraining hand. "Okay, Danforth. There's no need to get excited. In order to humor your paranoid delusions, I am willing to ask my boys to view the launch from the press area instead of the tower. Would that suit you? Or perhaps you would like a full security detail to monitor their activities?"

"That would suit me just fine, Tracy," snarled Danforth, red-faced. "Just so I don't see them around here tomorrow."

He thrust the computer printout at Becker who scrambled to tame the rolls of paper. With one last glare at them all, he turned on his heel and stomped away.

"Hurry up, Becker, we haven't got all day!" he roared as the door slid shut behind him.

Becker nervously sorted through the pile of security badges he was carrying and selected two.

"Here, Mr. Tracy, Mr. Davis," he said as he handed each of them a badge. "Here are your passes."

"We have passes already," Jeff said, pointing to the card attached to his suit lapel.

"These are the new ones the Colonel wanted issued," Becker explained. "The ones with the special microchip."

"What's so special about them?" Collie asked, studying his badge with great interest.

"I don't really know all the technical details, Mr. Davis," Becker said apologetically. "Except there's no way they can be forged or copied. Some kind of special code that only the Colonel knows is imprinted in the chip. It's all part of our extra security precautions."

Becker cleared his throat and glanced at his watch anxiously. "I better be going. The Colonel will be waiting for me, and I still have to hand all the rest of these passes to hand out."

"Poor guy," Collie said sympathetically after Becker had left. "He's a bag of nerves. Imagine working for Danforth all the time."

"Yes, he really keeps him hopping, that's for sure," Jeff agreed.

"About the Sun Probe..." Collie began.

"Tomorrow, Collie, tomorrow," Jeff said wearily.

Feeling a stab of worry, Collie nodded. "Okay, Jeff. Fair enough."

The two men stood side by side looking out at the Nova, each thinking similar disturbing thoughts. After several minutes, Collie broke the silence. "It's too bad about the boys, Jeff. They'll be disappointed not to have a front row seat."

"They'll understand," Jeff said confidently. "It'll be an exciting thing to see even from a distance. I'm sure they won't be too bored."

*Refers to the same Sun Probe rocket in season 1 episode titled Sun Probe.

**No pun intended!

Chapter 5

All night it rained. Jeff worried that the launch would have to be postponed. Well into the wee hours of the morning, he sat in his study pouring over documents and reports. The cozy glow of the lamp and the peaceful quietness of the room contrasted strongly with the gusting wildness outside. The wind whirled and screamed, hurling torrents of rain against the windows. The trees whipped and writhed, flinging amputated leaves and branches against the house.

p Doggedly, Jeff continued to sift through a pile of papers, determined to put both the launch and the storm's noisy fury out of his mind.

But it was impossible. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't concentrate.

Finally, not able to stand it anymore, he threw down his pen. Leaning back in his chair, he folded his hands and stared out into the darkness, mulling over the troublesome thoughts that would not stop plaguing him.

The Sun Probe...Danforth...Haydyn...the boys... what to do...what to do...his mind pitched and dived like a ship on a stormy sea. An odd, tingling sensation that he had never felt before crept over him, slowly at first, then faster and faster until it reached a feverish pitch. Jeff couldn't hear, couldn't see, his chest tightened and he couldn't breathe; he was smothering; drowning.

Am I dying? Jeff wondered dimly. Having a heart attack?

Desperately, he fought to regain control, to pull himself away from the edge of the dark chasm that threatened to swallow him.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, the feeling was gone, leaving Jeff feeling weak and tired. For a long time he sat there, gathering his thoughts as his strength returned.

What is wrong with me? Jeff wondered. Maybe Collie is right...maybe I am overdoing it.

Jeff laughed out loud. How ridiculous...he had worked hard his entire life and could take anything. Collie and his silly notions. The man was like an old mother hen, the way he clucked over him all the time.

Dismissing the strange episode completely, he returned to his papers, more determined than ever to get some work done. The clock struck three. Deeply involved in reading a detailed proposal about the Sun Probe, Jeff didn't hear the door open.

"Dad!"

Startled, Jeff jumped. There was Scott frowning at him from the doorway.

"What are you doing up, son?" Jeff asked severely.

"Icame down for a drink. What are you doing?"

"Working." Jeff motioned towards the thick pile of papers on the desk.

"Great Jupiter, Dad! It's three in the morning!" Scott scolded. "You promised you'd be in bed by midnight, remember?"

"I never said..."

Scott ruthlessly cut him off. "Now really, Dad. You said midnight and you know it."

Jeff began to feel angry. "Now, listen hear, Scott..."

"No, you listen," interrupted Scott, just as angry as his father. "This is ridiculous. You just can't go on like this, working day and night, without ruining your health. It's a good thing you're going to take a vacation after the launch. When are you planning on leaving?"

Jeff shuffled some papers.

Scott stared at him. "Well?"

"I haven't decided yet. Probably in a week or two."

His answer didn't satisfy Scott.

"A week or two, Father, or never?"

"Stop badgering me. I'm going to go," Jeff growled. "Not because I need to, just so everyone will leave me alone. Then, maybe when I return I can have a little peace and quiet and get back to work."

Scott couldn't help but smile. "You're hopeless, Dad. Work, work, work. Don't you ever think about anything else?"

"Of course I do..." Jeff stopped in midsentence and pondered the question. Did he ever think about anything else? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember a time when his mind wasn't revolving around one business deal or another.

"Well, maybe not," he admitted sheepishly. "But I will, once this whole thing is over."

Scott was skeptical. "I'll believe it when I see it. For now, I'd happy just to see you sleep for a couple of hours."

"I'll sleep after the launch. Would that suit you?" Jeff asked gruffly.

"I guess so, Dad." Scott said, sounding dissatisfied. "Just remember that tomorrow when the Nova is safely in space."

"Safely in space..." Jeff sighed, and passed a weary hand over his face. "Won't that be a relief!"

"How the heck are we supposed to see anything all the way back here?" Alan grumbled. "We must be a hundred miles away."

"A hundred miles?" John smiled as he looked through a pair of special high-powered binoculars. "I don't think it's quite that far, boy."

Alan shielded his eyes from the bright rays of the rising sun, straining to see the faint outline of the shuttle. ""It may as well be. I can't see a thing."

"Stop complaining, Alan. It could always be worse."

"How?" Alan wanted to know.

"For one, it could still be raining," John commented as he continued to scan the launch field with the binoculars. Good thing he brought them, since it was almost impossible to see anything from where they stood now.

The designated press area had originally been a lot closer to the Nova, but Colonel Danforth had insisted early that morning on moving it further away as part of his security plan. They were now on the far outskirts of the compound, not too far away from the main gate.

The members of the press that had gathered to cover the launch were livid over the change in location. The Nova launch was big news and they wanted access to the field. Freedom of the press, they cried. How could possibly they get good coverage so far away? The air was simply snapping with shouts and curses as reporters and cameramen demanded answers from the security detail posted in that section. The security guards volunteered offered little information, except to say that it was for added security, Danforth's orders.

How much more security did they need? John wondered. The place reminded him of Alcatraz. There was a twelve-foot high tensile chain link barrier around the entire perimeter of the field. As an added precaution to discourage anyone that might be foolish enough to try climbing it, the fence was also outfitted with four strands of electrified cable at the very top. But that was nothing compared to the dozens of surveillance cameras, checkpoints, metal detectors and the hoards of armed guards swarming all over the place.

It was so noisy and tense, that John, who loved solitude and quiet, wished he stayed at Harvard to work with Professor Johnson. It had been a mistake coming home anyway. Nothing had gone right from the very start.

"Haven't the fellas been gone a long time, Johnny?" Alan asked.

John looked at his watch. "About thirty minutes, I'd say."

"Seems like a long time just to run over to the security station and ask a couple of questions. Say, isn't that your com transmitter thing you're wearing?" Alan asked, noticing the watch on John's wrist. "Why didn't you tell me you fixed it? I'm dying to see how it works. Virgil says it's better than a fireworks display."

"I didn't fix it yet," John said tersely. "And don't tell me what Virgil has to say about anything!"

"Okay, John. Don't displace your displaced anger on me," Alan laughed, holding his hands up defensively.

John rolled his eyes. "Don't start on that displacement crap again. You told me enough about it last night to show me that you don't know what the heck you're talking about. You take one class in psychology and you're ready to set up practice..."

John's words were drowned out by a flurry of profanity as two cameramen clashed over a particularly coveted spot a few feet away from them. The verbal battle escalated, and a fistfight erupted. Security guards struggled to get through the crowd. One of the cameramen staggering from a punch reeled into John, nearly knocking him off his feet.

"Look! There's Scott!" Alan pointed into the crowd.

John craned his neck trying to see. He caught sight of Scott zigzagging through the crowd. Behind him, Virgil came more directly, elbowing his way through. Gordon followed on his heels, taking advantage of the path his older brother was clearing.

"Wow! What a circus!" Scott exclaimed, when he finally reached them. "Can you believe this?"

"What's up?" Alan asked. "Did you find out why they bumped the press area out here?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah. We found out what the problem is all right. The Protectors of the...um...uh...whatever they call themselves, are having themselves a little riot."

"A riot?!" John and Alan exclaimed in unison.

"Yep," Gordon added, as he and Virgil joined them. "That's why the order came down to move everyone. Security's spread mighty thin. With all the extra guards pulled to help contain the demonstrators, Danforth didn't feel the launch field would be secure enough. Especially with a couple hundred reporters nosing for a story."

"So?" Alan asked. "What's that got to do with us? Aren't the demonstrators outside the main entrance?"

"Sure, they're outside, Alan," Virgil said. "Problem is they want to come inside in the worst way."

"So that explains it," John mused. "I was wondering where the security guys where hanging out. Certainly not around the Nova. It's dead quiet out there, not a so much as one guard near the launch pad."

Scott frowned. "Really? It seems kind of risky at this stage of the game to leave things wide open like that. Are you sure there's no guards posted out there?"

"See for yourself."

Scott took the binoculars John offered. Peering through the lenses, he adjusted a knob until the Nova was sharply in focus. Slowly, he scanned the area around the shuttle.

"You're right. I don't see a single soul out there."

"I told you that."

"So you did, Johnny, so you did..."

Scott continued to look through the binoculars, bringing the shuttle itself into view. Inch by inch, he studied the Nova, anxiously searching for anything unusual or out of place. It was slow going, for the complex maze of metal scaffolding that ran from the ground nearly to the top of the shuttle nearly blocked his view.

They waited for Scott to finish his scrutiny of the Nova, fully expecting him to say everything was 'a-okay' in his self-assured way.

Several long minutes passed and Scott still didn't speak.

John glanced at his watch.

Seven o'clock.

Alan began to fidget until Gordon poked him in the ribs. "Cut it out, Alan!" he told him. "You're making me nervous."

"See anything, Scott?" Virgil finally asked.

Scott didn't take his eyes off of the shuttle. "No-o-o...from what I can see...she looks clear..." He broke off suddenly with a sharp intake of breath.

"What's wrong?" Virgil demanded.

"I thought I saw something."

Scott frowned as he fiddled with the binoculars focusing knobs.

John eyed his older brother dubiously. "Like what?"

"A man...up in the launch rigging." Scott put down the binoculars and rubbed his eyes. "Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me. I don't see anything now."

"Give me those," said Virgil, taking the binoculars.

"Maybe it was one of the service technicians," Alan suggested. "Doing the final prep checks."

Gordon shook his head. "Couldn't be. All the techs left the field over the hour ago. I heard the security chief say so."

"Who else would it be then?" Alan wanted to know. "Unless it's a..." his voice trailed off.

"Saboteur," John supplied, his voice as grim as his expression.

They were quiet a moment, each thinking the same dark troubling thoughts.

"Now just hold on a minute, boys," Scott protested. "I'm not sure that I saw anything. My eyes are buggy from looking through those things for so long...."

He turned to Virgil. "What do you think Virg? See anything up there?"

"Not a thing," Virgil replied, handing John the binoculars. "Except a bunch of crapping pigeons."

"That doesn't mean there's not someone up there," argued John. "There's plenty of places to hide in all that rigging."

"True," Scott agreed. "I guess the question's not if there's someone actually up there or not, but rather can we afford to take the chance? Definitely not."

"What are we going to do?" Gordon asked.

Scott smiled wryly at his brother. "Alert security, of course. They might be interested in knowing someone's dangling from the Nova's rafters, so to speak."

"Well, what are we waiting for then?" Alan asked impatiently. "Let's go!"

"Fifty-seven minutes, Jeff." Collie sighed as he leaned back in his chair and propped up his feet on the control panel in front of him. "It won't be long now."

Jeff made no comment as he gazed out of the window at the Nova. Collie paid no attention to the shuttle, he'd had enough of the blasted thing; he was more interested in watching the security monitors. One in particular intrigued him; the view from the camera mounted on the side of the Nova away from the control tower. The source of his interest had nothing to do with the Nova or the launch. A group of pigeons had taken up residence in the scaffolding. Disturbed by the launch preparations, they flitted back and forth scolding and attacking the mechanical monster that threatened their roosts. Collie felt a kind of kinship with the birds; he hated the Nova as much as they did and wanted it to be on its way.

"Ha, look at that bugger, Jeff," Collie laughed. "I knew he'd come back. He's been landing in the exactly the same spot every ten minutes just like clockwork." He had been watching in amusement as one particular bird repeated its attack on the shuttle over and over in exactly the same way and place. Collie knew that Jeff wasn't listening to him.

He also knew what captured his attention so completely.

Collie wasn't "starstruck" like Jeff when it came to all things astronomical, but even he could slightly appreciate the awesome sight of the Nova in its moorings, the rising sun reflecting brilliant prisms off the sleek metal hull.

Wispy tendrils of smoke rose skyward as the warming engines rumbled into life.

There was a feeling of exploration, of limitless possibilities in the air. Jeff felt it keenly; the adventurous spirit of his youth still lived, despite years of hard work and responsibility.

Not so with Collie, who couldn't help but watch the seconds tick off the chronometer. He anticipated the launch as much as Jeff, but for only the strictly practical reasons. At last once and for all it would be over.

At least Collie told himself that even though the foreboding shadow of the Sun Probe lurked in the back of this mind. Somehow, someway he would convince his boss of the folly of taking on another killer project. Surely, Jeff would listen to reason and sensibly let the Sun Probe go to AIS. And if he wouldn't do it... Collie hadn't really thought about that possibility. He was so sure that he would come out the victor in the forthcoming Sun Probe battle that he hadn't formulated any other strategies.

Collie's gaze wandered back to the chronometer. "Fifty-four minutes," he said solely for his own benefit.

Jeff half-turned. "What'd you say, Collie?"

"Fifty-four minutes. Well, actually fifty-three and three-quarter minutes." Collie sighed. "Godalmighty, time seems to be passing slow!"

"A watched pot never boils, old boy."

Collie raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Boiling pots, Jeff? I'm afraid I don't see the connection."

Jeff smiled. "It's an old saying. In other words, stop watching the clock."

"Ah, if only I could!"

Jeff started to say something when Danforth's angry voice drifted over from the far side of the room where he was talking on a telecomm.

"...I don't care how you do it! If you want to keep your job, get those fools under control! I won't have those Pitas...pears...pits ...whatever... raising a ruckus while I'm in charge...."

"What the devil is he on about now?" Collie grumbled. "Pitas, pears and pits...sounds like an exotic salad or something."

Jeff chuckled. "Maybe he's ordering lunch."

"...I want order! Do you hear me, Becker? Order!" Danforth slammed his fist into the telecom's controls, effectively ending the conversation. "Idiot! Can't do anything right around here!"

He caught sight of Collie and Jeff. Pushing a control technician out of the way, he stalked across the room.

"This is all your fault!" Danforth growled at them.

"It usually is," Collie yawned, patting his pockets for a cigarette.

"What's wrong?" Jeff asked.

"Nothing serious, Tracy... JUST A BLOODY RIOT!" Danforth roared. "Do you realize there are over a thousand of those...post...pole...pet...ped...whoever they are..."

Collie smiled at the Colonel's verbal bungling.

Danforth glared at him. "Do you find this funny?"

"Not at all," Collie said casually as he lit a cigarette.

Danforth stabbed a finger at a sign on the wall. "No smoking, Davis!"

Collie smiled agreeably. He didn't mind be nice to Danforth, since in all probability, today was the last day that he would have to see him. "Sure. As you like it," he said pleasantly, nipping out the cigarette.

"Did you call in the police to help?" Jeff asked calmly.

The colonel snorted. "Of course. That's what I'm doing right now. Do you think I'm fool enough to trust security to handle it, Tracy?"

"Uh, sir," the operator called from the communications station.

Danforth whirled around. "What?"

"I can't get through to the police relay center. The Comm lines are jammed up with calls."

"Clear the board then, man, clear the board!" Danforth clutched at his own hair, as if he would like to tear it out by the roots. "I'm completely surrounded by incompetent fools!"

Collie looked thoughtful. "Sounds like our riotous Protector friends are at it again. From what I remember, they try to bugger up the com system with all sorts of crazy calls. Best just to ignore them."

"Uh, sir," the operator again said hesitantly.

"What the devil is it now?!" Danforth barked.

"Security station four's calling in..." A slow grin spread over the operator's face as he listened to the words coming over the headset. "This is the best one yet...there's some fellows claiming they saw a man up in the launch rigging..."

Danforth rolled his eyes. "A man in the launch rigging...ridiculous! Tell security four if they contact with such nonsense again, they'll all be out of a job!"

"Yes, sir."

Cursing, Danforth went to supervise the pre-launch checklists.

"A man in the launch rigging?" Collie said nervously. "Is that possible, Jeff?"

"Anything is possible," Jeff replied, smiling. "But not with Danforth's security plan. He's got all the bases covered so there's nothing to worry about."

Collie didn't answer. He stared at the security monitor again. The pigeon was still at it, circling ceaselessly.

Jeff turned back to the window. "How long have we got, Collie?"

"An eternity," Collie replied. "Forty-nine minutes."

Chapter 6

It had been so easy.

Too easy. The Hood liked a challenge, a chance to fine-tune his evil mind and sharpen his criminal instincts. He had expected more difficulties to overcome, more barriers. It was extremely disappointing. Lethbridge Danforth had not improved his techniques over the years; he was truly a pathetic adversary. But Tracy...too bad he wasn't more involved in the security planning. The businessman might be a worthier opponent. Perhaps someday he would take the time to find out. After all, industrial espionage paid very well. He could make a great deal of money from the secrets hidden within Tracy Industries.

The Hood looked down from his perch high in the scaffolding. He had taken the service elevator as high as it would go, then started climbing towards his goal: the secondary fuel valve, just above one of the Nova's emergency exits. It was a long way down, but heights did not disturb him.

What was somewhat alarming, however, was the ominous creaking of some of the metal supports as he clambered ungracefully over them. He didn't like the way some of the support pins that held the rigging together were showing their age with traces of rust around the edges. Again, Danforth showed his stupidity. Didn't he bother to check the soundness of the rigging? Fortunately, he didn't have that much farther to climb.

He was on the side of the shuttle facing away from the control tower so there was no danger that he would be spotted by human eyes. Nor mechanical ones either, the Hood thought gleefully. His practiced eye had quickly picked out the security camera intended to survey the area where he was climbing. It could not see him since his associate had specially modified it.

The Hood smiled. They made quite a pair, he and his partner in crime. The brilliant Space Agency disasters that they had planned together in the past were admired far and wide in the criminal world. The Nova's demise today would simply be another notch on their belts of felony. Of course, he wasn't sabotaging the shuttle just for the sake of notoriety. There were many other reasons...five million to be precise, waiting in a Swiss bank account.

Dependable as always, his partner made sure that a security uniform was waiting for him in a rented locker at the airport. And the details! Brilliant! The Hood couldn't help but admire how perfectly complete the outfit was...handcuffs, a headset transmitter so he could hear everything security was up to, nametag, and even a medal for good service. The only thing that was missing was a firearm; the Hood had taken care of that detail himself. The crowning achievement was Danforth's special pass with the Hood's picture on the front (not his picture actually; it was actually an image of the carefully moulded, lifelike mask he made especially for the occasion) and the specially designed microchip imbedded in the back. The pass had secured his access to the field early that morning. The guards hadn't even given him a second look, they were so sure of their system's infallibility.

The Hood chuckled contemptuously. Extra security precautions...were they designed to make it easier for him to sabotage the Nova? Danforth, the stupid fool, was unknowingly helping, not hindering his plans!

Moving the press further away was truly a brilliant strategy. For him, anyway. There was less chance of having audience while he planted the bomb. And the Protectors of the Environment! How thoughtful of them to have a riot and clear the security guards out of his way. He planned on sending them a donation. It was all so perfect that the Hood couldn't have planned it better himself.

Now, all he had left to do was plant the bomb and leave the airfield. Two things which promised to be as simple as the rest.

With powerful agility, The Hood pulled himself onto a level walkway that ran perpendicular to the Nova. Now where was that fuel valve? He unzipped the bag he had brought along and took out a small e-pad. Pushing a button, the screen began flashing detailed images of the Nova's layout.

Ah, there it is, the Hood thought as he spotted what he had been searching for. The secondary fuel valve should only be about ten meters away, easily accessible. Now for the bomb.

He was about to jimmy the panel open when the words..."man in the launch rigging..." crackled over his headset transmitter.

The Hood snarled. So someone had spotted him. He had been congratulating himself already on the success of this job, and now...

Wait.

The Hood laughed as he heard the control tower's reply to the report. Danforth, you are the biggest fool this world has ever known.

"Well, that's that," said the security guard, pushing the standby button on his transmitter. He faced the five Tracy brothers who stood next to him. "I told them everything you claim you saw. Now will you clowns please leave me alone? I've got to get back to work and you've got to get back where you belong. If my captain finds out that I let you out of the press area, I'm fried."

"Aren't they going to stop the countdown and check things out?" demanded Alan.

The guard shrugged. "I guess not."

"Well, then, aren't you going to do something?" Alan asked angrily. "There could be someone up there sabotaging the Nova right now and you stand there like a tin-plated rent-a-cop doing nothing."

"Tin plated rent-a-cop?" the guard repeated, his eyes narrowing. "Listen, kid," he said heatedly, poking Alan in the chest. "I've had just about enough your smart-alec mouth. I called Control and told them your half-baked fish story. It's not my lookout if they don't believe it. I'm doing my job, so get off my back!"

The guard and Alan stood eye to eye with their fists clenched, ready for a fight.

Scott quickly stepped forward and pulled his younger brother away. Like a diplomat dealing with a hostile country, he tried to placate the irate guard. "Of course you're doing your job. No one's saying you're not."

"He is." The guard pointed at Alan, who struggled against Scott's restraining hands.

"Oh, don't listen to him," Gordon spoke up. "None of us do."

"That's true enough," Scott agreed. "So you can see there's no reason to be angry."

The guard gave Alan one last irritated look. "I guess not."

Firmly, Scott pushed Alan over to John and Virgil. Smiling in his most winning manner, he turned back to the guard. "Now, I'm sure we can get this all straightened out if you just let me use your transmitter to contact my father."

"No way, buddy," the guard said flatly. "I'm not losing my job."

Scott never gave up easily. Like an artist at work, he poured on his smooth-talking charm to get what he wanted. Though weakened by Scott's convincing arguments, the guard still refused to let him use the transmitter.

"Look," he finally told Scott. "I like my job a whole lot and I'm not gonna risk it. Colonel Danforth is quick on the draw when it comes to firing people. If you want to make the call, go to the visitor's center over there and use the pay com...but be quick about it. I could get in a lot of trouble letting you guys roam around here with only a press pass."

Before he went back to his post, the guard pointed out the visitor's center to them. It was a nondescript, small brown military-looking building with a few straggly shrubs for landscaping. The parking lot alongside the center would normally be full of cars, but today was different. Because of the restricted access guidelines, the only vehicle parked there was a lunch vendor's van with the name "Stubby's Subs" imprinted in gaudy yellow letters along the side. Its owner, Stubby, a middle-aged man with a cigar sticking from the corner of his mouth, sat on the bumper reading a paper.

As they passed by on their way to the pay comm, he paused and grunted a greeting at them. "Want some coffee, boys? Sandwiches?"

"No thanks," Scott told him. "We're kind of in a hurry."

"That's the problem with you young people these days," Stubby grumbled as he turned back to his paper. "You're always in a hurry."

At the pay comm, Scott pulled a credit card from his wallet and slid it through the charge slot. He accessed the information directory and looked up the launch field's comm system number. They waited while the call went through.

"We should've done this in the first place," Virgil said, glancing at his watch. "It's 7:20 already."

"We've got to think of something else," John said, frowning. "We're wasting valuable time trying to contact Father. This won't work."

"Why not?" Virgil wanted to know.

"Think about it, Virgil," John laughed scornfully. "A call from a pay comm on a day like today? Anyone with a single neuron in their brain would know that they'll never put us through."

Virgil bristled at the insult and had an angry retort on his lips when Scott told them both to shut it.

The call went through and a mechanical voice pleasantly told them to select from an automated menu of extensions. Scott selected control tower and the voice cheerfully informed him that his call could not be connected. He tried all the numbers but none of them worked. Then they tried Jeff's cell phone.

The call went through but there was no answer.

"He must have left it at home," Alan suggested. "He's been awfully forgetful lately."

"How about Collie then?" suggested Virgil. "He's always got a cell phone on him."

"Yeah," Gordon laughed. "So no matter where he is, he can place a bet with his bookie whenever he gets a hot tip."

Scott looked up the number in the directory. The screen flashed 'Access Denied.' "It's unlisted. The computer won't give it out," Scott groaned.

"Want to bet?" John smiled wryly. "Let me in there, Scott old boy."

Scott stepped aside to let John at the pay comm. John cracked his knuckles and went to work, rapidly typing at the control panel. Images flashed rapidly on the screen.

"What are you doing?" Scott asked curiously, as he watched over John's shoulder.

"Getting access to World Comm's core computer directory." John kept his eyes on the screen. "A little trick I picked up at school."

Virgil raised his eyebrows. "Is that what they're teaching you at Harvard, John, how to hack into restricted computer systems?"

"I didn't learn this in class, Virgil." John stopped typing and pointed at the screen. "There. Collie's number."

They dialled it and waited.

Another message flashed across the screen.

"Oh, no!" Scott exclaimed, completely exasperated.

"Now what?" Alan groaned.

"It's says that no comm calls from this geographical area will be transferred to Space Agency Field 2. What does that mean, Johnny?" Scott looked to his brother to translate the message.

John thought a moment. "Danforth must arranged with World Comm to block incoming calls from the immediate area around the launch field. Probably the press or those Protector people are flooding the board with calls. So, if we want to call Collie, we'll have to do it outside of the compound."

Virgil checked his watch. "7:25. We've got to think of something fast."

They looked at each anxiously.

Scott took a deep breath. He was the oldest. From the time they were all children, he had almost always assumed the mantle of leadership. "Okay. I guess if we have to go outside the compound to call Collie, we'll do just that."

He turned to his youngest brother. "Alan...you've got to get to your car in the main parking lot and get out of here. Once you're clear, use your car's comm to call Collie. Take Gordon with you."

Alan nodded. "Okay, Scott. Will do."

Gordon wasn't so sure. "But Scott, how are we going to get to the main parking lot? It's outside the main gate, remember? That means we'll have to get pass through the whole P.O.T.E. mess."

"I know," Scott said, half-smiling. "You'll just have to put your brilliant minds together and come up with a good idea for a change."

Gordon was still a little doubtful, but Alan grabbed his arm and pulled him along. "Come on, Gordon! Don't just stand there with your finger in your ear. We can do it."

"What are you guys going to do, Scott?" Gordon asked, as he and Alan were leaving.

Scott's eyes fell on the distant, barely visible outline of the Nova. "Find out for ourselves just who's up there."

Chapter 7

John and Virgil both stared at Scott in complete amazement.

"You've got to be kidding, Scott!" Virgil managed to say after a moment. "How the heck do you think we're going to get on that field?"

"Yeah," John agreed, for once agreeing with his brother. "They're not going to let us in just on account of our good looks. We need one of those special passes, and that we don't have."

"Maybe not, but there must be a way," Scott said thoughtfully. His eyes fell on the fence that surrounded the launch field.

John noticed the object of his gaze. "Oh, no. No way. If you're thinking we could scale over that thing, think again, brother. It's impossible."

John's words didn't discourage Scott.

"We might be able to, Scott" Virgil said slowly. "We used to climb trees a lot higher than that when we were kids."

"That's no tree, Scott," John snorted. He pointed at the top of the fence. "See that electric wiring up there? One touch on that and we'll be able to light bulbs with our teeth for a year."

"Maybe we could dig under it," Virgil suggested.

John shot down the idea. "It'd be like tunneling to China. Besides, we don't have anything to dig with."

"Well, have you got a better idea?" Virgil retorted.

"I would if you'd shut up and give me a minute to think."

Virgil scowled at his brother. "Okay, Mr. Know-It-All. Pick your brain. I'm going to go get a cup of coffee."

Stubby looked up and set down his paper as Virgil approached. "Changed your mind, huh?"

"Yeah, give me a cup of coffee," Virgil grumbled irritably.

"Good choice, kid," Stubby said. "You look like you need one."

He opened the panel on the side of truck to reveal shelves stocked with all kinds of food, condiments and drinks. He filled a Styrofoam cup and handed it to Virgil.

"How 'bout a sandwich now?" Stubby asked. "It's not good for a young fellow like you to walk around so early in the morning with an empty stomach."

"No thanks," Virgil replied, handing Stubby some money.

Stubby's wrinkled face creased into a friendly smile. "Some day isn't it?"

"Yeah." Virgil nodded absently, not really listening. He was trying to think of some way to get onto the launch field.

Like Scott said, there must be a way. Now if only he could think of it... and before John. That would be even better.

The old man was pleased to have some company and continued to talk, not caring that Virgil answered mechanically in as few words as possible or not at all.

"I came early today just to see this," Stubby said, trying to make conversation.

"Oh, really?"

"Guess I'm pretty lucky to have a front row seat and all."

"I guess so."

"Good thing the Colonel likes my corned beef for lunch. He orders it everyday."

"You don't say."

"I suppose if he didn't, I'd never had gotten a pass with all the fuss 'round here."

Virgil suddenly became alert. "What'd you say?"

"I said, I'd never had gotten a pass if the Colonel didn't like my corned beef for lunch. You should try it, kid. It'll put hair on your chest."

For the first time, Virgil noticed the pass clipped to the old man's shirt pocket. It wasn't like the ones he and his brothers wore. The symbol on the front was blue, not yellow. Virgil realized it instantly. The whole time it had been in plain sight and he never noticed.

It was one of Danforth's special passes.

The P.O.T.E. protest had been peaceful enough at first. Orderly lines of demonstrators, waving signs declaring the "evils" of the Space Agency and its industrial toady, Tracy Aerospace, marched back and forth along the roadway in front of the main gate. Protecting the main gate, a long line of armed, very tense security guards stood in tight formation. As the launch neared, the demonstrators became restless, pressing closer. The guards herded them away over and over.

A large rock whizzed through the air. The guards, dressed in protective riot gear, held their ground. More rocks. Bottles. Broken glass. Sticks and anything else handy that made for a missile. Then, for no apparent reason, the crowd surged forward like a tidal wave. The guards, batons and shields ready, met them head on and the battle started. Now the road looked like a war zone. The injured and wounded, both guards and demonstrators, lay on the ground moaning as the violence raged on unabated all around.

Alan and Gordon stood just outside the main gate, staring at the chaotic scene before them. It was worse than they had expected. Both of them were silent; shocked by the vicious brutality that neither of them had ever experienced or seen firsthand. Total anarchy reigned on the road between them and the parking lot where Alan's car was parked.

"I guess we'll have to make a run for it," Alan finally said to Gordon. "There's no other way."

"We'll never make it."

"We've got to try."

"I know." Gordon studied the road thoughtfully, trying to see a place where they might try to cross. He couldn't help but marvel at the variety of debris littering the ground: jagged pieces of broken glass, rocks of all sizes, scraps of paper, and fragments of torn clothing. A white sneaker lay a few feet away. Too small to be an adult's, he realized, his stomach lurching into a knot.

"Look, Gordon!" Alan cried, pointing towards the parking lot. "Fire!"

A cloud of black smoke snaked upwards into the clear blue sky. Tongues of bright orange and yellow flames danced along the outer edge of the lot.

"Oh, no!" gasped Gordon.

The fire crackled onto a car, touching fuel. With an explosive blast, a ball of fire rained down chunks of super-heated metal. Flaming pieces bounced on the pavement, igniting pieces of the demonstrators' discarded signs.

There was a momentary lull as guards and activists alike scrambled for cover, trying to protect themselves from the falling projectiles. Another blast and another. Like a chain reaction, one car after another exploded as the fire raged onward like a ravenous monster feeding on petroleum.

"Come on!" Gordon shouted to Alan. "Now's our chance!"

Side by side, they darted through the fleeing people, jumping over obstacles that lay in their path. Stumbling, Alan fell to his knees. Gordon pulled him to his feet and they surged onward, dodging the fiery missiles that rained down around them.

They were almost halfway across when their path was blocked by a small mob of demonstrators. Taking advantage of the distraction, the group had surrounded a lone guard and knocked him to the ground. Circling like a pack of lions around their prey, they violently punched and kicked the fallen guard over and over. Alan and Gordon watched the beating in horror, wincing as each shattering blow fell.

Dancing like he was demon-possessed, a man stood up waving the guard's plundered gun above his head. His comrades cheered wildly and began chanting "shoot the pig, shoot the pig" over and over.

"They're going to kill him, Gordon!" Alan gasped, digging his fingers into his brother's arm. "We've got to do something!"

Without thinking, Gordon bent down and grabbed a large rock lying nearby. With a single fluid movement, he hurled it towards the man waving the gun. The rock struck its mark with deadly accuracy. With a yelp of surprise and pain, the man dropped the gun. Confused and startled, the mob stopped beating the guard and stood still, looking around for the source of the sudden attack.

"There!" someone shouted. "Them!"

Gordon and Alan backed slowly away as the group advanced towards them menacingly. Gordon counted eight men. Two of them had batons pilfered from downed guards, the others were armed with sticks and rocks. There was also the gun to consider. Where had it gone? He couldn't see it on the ground anywhere and no one seemed to have it.

"Gordon..." Alan said nervously.

Gordon didn't answer for a moment, he was watching the approaching men, measuring them up, and planning a course of action. "Alan, when I say the word, make like a bandit for that parking lot."

"What about you?" Alan asked worriedly.

"Don't worry about me. One of us has got to get to your car before the fire does and make that call." Gordon half-smiled at his brother. "And since I'm older than you, I get to call the shots."

"If you think I'm leaving you..." Alan began.

"That's exactly what you're going to do," Gordon told him. "So don't argue for once in your life."

With a stricken face, Alan reluctantly agreed.

"Okay, on the count of three then," Gordon said. "1...2...3!"

At the same time they charged, Alan heading left, Gordon straight.

Gordon was pleased to see that his charge had the desired effect. The men halted, taken aback by his brazen, frontal attack. Their attention entirely focused on him; they paid no attention to Alan who dashed away with the speed of a hunted deer.

Like a football player, Gordon ploughed into the first man. The man grunted, staggering from the impact. He swung towards another face close by. The blow connected and the face disappeared. He fought wildly, knowing all the time that he didn't have a chance in the world. Too many of them.

An explosion near his right eye. He staggered, struggling to stay on his feet. Pain in his jaw. He was losing his balance, the world spinning around him. Another blow and he was falling. He was on the ground.

Get up, Gordon, get up. The thought repeated over an over in his fogged brain. Impossible. They were on top of him now. Kicking, punching. He felt a rib crack. A dull pain in his head. Through swollen eyes, he caught a brief glimpse of a patch of startling blue sky through swirling black smoke. Sirens wailed in the distance. Then all went black and he heard and felt no more.

Jason Kelley sat alone in the security booth watching the gate that led onto the launch field. Boring with a capital B, he thought. Not that he had expected his new job at the Space Agency Complex to be that interesting really. The life of a security guard was always one of ceaseless drudgery: watching, checking, watching, checking.

The other two guards whom he barely knew had been called to the main gate to help contain the riot. As the new guy, he had been the easy choice to stay behind and guard the gate. An easy job really, since no one could possibly get to that point without first passing through the main gate or getting out of the designated press area.

He yawned and stretched. At least he didn't have to work third shift again. And he did have a front row seat to the launch. That would be something to see. He checked his watch. Almost 7: 35. Not too long now.

The sound of an engine sputtering made him look up. A white van was coming down the access road towards the gate. It slowed down as it approached. Kelley tensed, then relaxed as he read the lettering on the side, "Stubby's Subs."

It was the lunch vendor. The other guards told him he'd be coming through. Kind of early, but the techs that had been up practically all night were starving and clamoring for food.

The van came to a stop a few inches before the closed gate. Kelley smiled and leaned out the booth's window. "How you doing? Know this is a dumb question...but got your pass?"

The driver, a young dark-haired man wearing a pair of sunglasses smiled and tapped a pass attached to his shirt pocket. Kelley caught sight of the blue emblem and was satisfied. Reaching for the button to open the gate, he caught a whiff the aroma of coffee mingling with fresh bread. The odor triggered his appetite. A fresh cup of java and a sandwich might not be a bad idea.

"Hey, how about getting me some coffee and a ham sandwich?" he called.

"How about on the way back?" the driver suggested, still smiling. "I'm kind of in a hurry."

"Aw, come on, buddy, it'll only take a minute," Kelley argued. "Let those technician buggers wait for their grub."

The driver began to refuse, but then suddenly seemed to change his mind. "Okay then," he said, getting out of the truck rather slowly and going to the side of the truck. Kelley joined him.

"So you must be Stubby, huh?" Kelley said casually. "The guys told me about you. Good food. Said you've been making the rounds here for years."

"Yep, that's right."

Kelley found himself wondering a bit on that one as soon as he said it. Years? The guy couldn't be more than 23 or 24 at the most.

"Here you go." The guy handed him his coffee. "Did you say ham?"

Kelley nodded. "Right-o. Ham, lettuce, tomato, extra onions." He took a sip of his coffee, watching as the man fumbled with the bread and meat.

"Here you go."

"Put mustard on it?" Kelley asked, eyeing the dilapidated, messy sandwich that was handed to him.

"Mustard?"

"Yeah. You know, as in 'pardon me, have you got any Grey Poupon," Kelley said sarcastically, quoting a commercial he used to see as a kid.

"Sure." The man grabbed the sandwich away and began poking around in the storage compartments.

What the heck is wrong with this guy? Kelley wondered. He acts like he doesn't know what he's doing...

A flicker of suspicion crept into his mind. He studied the man critically, noticing for the first time how the dark blue uniform didn't really fit. Too short in the legs and arms, yet too loose in the body.

"Let me see your pass again," he said suddenly.

The man slowly turned around, smiling fixedly. "Pass?"

"That's right. Your pass. You were wearing it a minute ago."

"Oh, right. I left it in the truck. The clip's kind of funny. Keeps falling off you know." He headed towards the truck, Kelley trailing on his heels.

"Here it is," the man said, handing the pass over.

Kelley looked at the id picture. A gray-haired middle aged man with a sour expression looked back at him. Oh, no.

"You're not Stubby..." he gasped.

"No," the man admitted. "That I'm not."

Kelley groped for his gun, but never got it out of the holster.

A blow from behind dropped him like a rock. Barely conscious, he was dimly aware of voices.

"Good going, Virgil. Hit him a little harder, why don't you?" an annoyed voice was saying. "That way we can have murder added to our list of crimes. Right after assault, larceny, and breaking and entering."

"He'll be alright, John. I didn't hit him that hard." another voice assured. "Give me a hand with him, will you, instead of standing there flapping your gums?"

Kelley felt himself being picked up and carried. A few moments later he was gently set down, a jacket carefully placed under his head for a cushion.

"Handcuff him to the table support, Virgil," the voice of the impostor said. "That way if he comes to, he won't be able to reach the radio."

A hand fumbled at his belt for his handcuffs.

"What about his transmitter, Scott?"

"Take it."

"And the gun?"

"That too."

"Maybe if we call into the tower, they'll stop the launch."

"Maybe, maybe not. Danforth doesn't seem too open to that particular suggestion. We'll see what we can do once we get to the Nova. If all else fails, then we'll try it."

Kelley heard three sets of footsteps leaving.

"How much time have we got, Johnny?"

"Not enough. Only twenty minutes."

"The Police will be here in five minutes," the communications operator said, looking up nervously at Colonel Danforth who stood at his shoulder breathing fire down his neck like a mythological dragon.

Danforth whirled around, his face twitching grotesquely as he tried to form a smile. "Davis, I can't believe it. Your suggestion to have World Comm place a regional signal block actually worked. Quite surprising since your ideas are usually utter rubbish."

Across the room, Collie didn't answer. He and Jeff were locked in mortal combat, had been for the last twenty minutes. A mention of the Sun Probe project had blossomed into a full-fledged argument with all the unpleasant trimmings even though both of them kept reminding the other that the topic had been tabled until after the launch.

"...and that's the way it's going to be," Jeff finished, a note of finality in his voice. He looked at Collie steadily, a dangerous glint of determination in his eyes.

At that moment, Collie knew he had lost. Neither words or pleas or anything else would change the fact that the Sun Probe would play a big part in Tracy Aerospace's future for next two years.

"The Sun Probe is going to be our next project," Jeff said firmly, emphasizing each word as if to set the idea down in stone.

Collie rebelled. "Not ours, Jeff. Yours and Tracy Aerospace's. I quit."

He jumped to his feet and headed towards the elevator.

"Where do you think you're going?" Danforth barked.

"Get out of my way, you fascist jackass!" Collie snapped, pushing the Colonel aside.

"Stop acting like a fool and be sensible," Jeff growled. "We'll talk more when this is over..."

"Over?" Collie laughed scornfully as he stepped into the elevator. He turned and faced his long-time friend and employer. "Who are you kidding, Jeff? This will never be over and you know it."

Before Jeff could speak, he stabbed at a button and the door glided shut.

"There is a man who belongs in an insane asylum," Danforth growled irritably. "From the very start, I thought maybe he was a nut, now I know it for damn sure. I don't know why you put up with such tomfoolery. If he were my man, I'd..."

Jeff ignored Danforth's ireful ramblings. Something about the argument bothered him. He went over each word in his mind from start to finish. It wasn't Collie's informal resignation he decided. Those words were spoken in the heat of the moment. They'd be forgotten soon enough, once everything cooled down. It was something else. An indescribable quality in Collie's voice and eyes...a kind of tortured desperation...and the words... this will never be over. Was Collie directing the words at Jeff or at himself? Jeff wasn't sure what to make of it all, but he was determined to find out after the Nova launch.

And no matter what you say, Collie, Jeff thought grimly. It will be over, one way or another in eighteen minutes.

Chapter 8

Alan was halfway across the road when he slowed and came to an abrupt stop. If his brother thought he was going to leave him behind...think again! Had Gordon forgotten that Tracys always stuck together? Spinning around, he headed back the way he came, struggling against the current of fleeing people.

It was almost impossible to see anything. The fire in the parking lot had spread quickly; gathering speed as it consumed one car after another. A curtain of heavy black smoke settled over the road, blocking out the morning sunlight. Sparks crackled and snapped high in the air above, and an unearthly orange glow gave the landscape a surreal, hellish quality.

With burning eyes, Alan searched for his brother without success. Everything seemed so different disguised in smoke and fire that he wasn't sure if he was headed in the right direction or not. Feeling disoriented, he stopped and tried to get his bearings. Someone banged into him, nearly knocking him off his feet.

He started moving again, changing direction. The sirens were closer now. Even through the smoke, Alan could see a long line of flashing blue and red lights approaching from the east. Thank God. At last, the police were coming. Hopefully fire trucks and ambulances wouldn't be that far behind.

Now if he could only find Gordon...

A cluster of ghostly figures gathered around a fallen form came into view. Alan hesitated, unsure how to proceed. He took a step forward and his foot hit something. It was the mob's first victim, the guard, who stirred slightly and moaned.

Alan knelt by his side. "Everything will be all right now. Another minute or two, and the police will be here."

The guard's eyes wavered open. "You...you're one of those guys that got them off me..."

"Just relax. Don't try and talk," Alan told him. "I'll be right back. I've got to help my brother."

The guard reached into his vest and pulled something out. "Here. Take this, I always carry a spare."

Alan slowly took the nine-millimeter semi-automatic. Clutching the weapon with fingers that suddenly felt stiff, he lurched to his feet and headed cautiously towards the group of men.

Someone noticed him and tugged on the sleeve of a big burly man dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket decked with chain-like trim. The man barked a command and the others backed away from Gordon. From the way the others obeyed him, Alan figured he must be the ringleader of the bunch, and therefore, the one to target.

His finger on the trigger, Alan pointed the gun at the man's chest.

The man stared at Alan with small, hard eyes. "You better run back home to your mama, kid," he leered. "Otherwise you might get hurt."

"Get away from my brother," Alan said, his voice strangely quiet. "Otherwise you will get hurt."

The man laughed. "It's eight to one, kid. Not good odds for you even with your peashooter. You can't take all of us."

It was Alan's turn to smile. "You're right, but I still figure I could get in two maybe three shots. You first then a couple of your pals. I'm a pretty good shot so I won't miss."

A worried murmur arose from the group.

The man eyed Alan, sizing him up. Young, sixteen or seventeen at the most. Blond-hair, blue eyes, baby-faced.

"You don't have the guts to pull the trigger," he said confidently.

"Maybe. Question is, do you wanna bet your life on it?"

The man held his ground, but the others in the group backed away and fled. The police cars and riot squad were arriving and parking along the access road. Dozens of officers dressed in riot gear raced forward with weapons drawn. They moved through the crowd, herding the people into small groups. Anyone resisting was immediately pushed to the ground and cuffed. A second wave of officers came behind, gathering the handcuffed and others who were detained or immobilized.

With one last lingering glare at Alan, the man ran off, heading away from the police. Breathing a sign of relief, Alan went and knelt next to his brother. Gordon was unconscious and his face was puffy and swollen. He looked terrible, but his breathing was steady and regular. Nothing that a trip to the hospital and a few days of rest wouldn't put right, Alan hoped.

A few minutes later, an ambulance crew carried Gordon away on stretcher. Alan followed slowly behind trying to convince an officer who seemed somewhat sympathetic to drive him a vidcom a couple of miles down the road.

"Sorry, kid," the officer said, shaking his head. "I can't leave. Besides, if what you say is true, I'm sure security will handle it. That's their job after all."

"But they won't listen to us," Alan protested. "If you'd just let me use your car I could go and..."

The cop steadfastly refused. He left Alan at the edge of the road where the police brigade was setting up a temporary command center and told him to stay put. Alan began pacing back and forth, a habit he had picked up from his father. Time was running out. He had to make that call to Collie somehow.

The parking lot was a complete inferno now, flames rising high in the sky. No chance at all there. He thought regretfully of his beloved car. He had worked on it for ages, tinkering and modifying until it suited him just right. Now it was burned to a crisp. He sighed. If only they had taken John's car instead.

The hum of a motor made him turn around. A cop on a motorcycle drove along the shoulder of the road. Coming to a stop a few feet away from Alan, he jumped off and raced away.

Alan walked a little closer. Nice bike. Too bad his father stubbornly cherished the ridiculous notion that he was too young and reckless to have a motorcycle. It was just the type he'd like...not too heavy not too light. The keys dangled invitingly in the ignition.

A thought flickered in the back of Alan's mind. He glanced around. Everyone was so preoccupied; it would be so easy. Stealthily, he got on the motorcycle and started it. The motor purred into life. "Hey!" a voice called. Someone was running towards him, yelling to stop.

Engine roaring, Alan sped away in a cloud of dust. Since the road was clogged with emergency vehicles, he rode along the shoulder. Several times he almost lost his balance bouncing through the numerous potholes and small gullies that seemed to be everywhere.

Soon, the main road loomed ahead and he turned left, heading towards the city at full speed. The air whipped through his blond hair as he accelerated faster and faster. Ignoring both honking horns and offended shouts, he wove in and out of traffic. Nothing new there. Rules of the road never concerned him very much anyway.

Funny how people always seemed to get upset whenever he was behind the wheel of any vehicle. Other drivers, his father and brothers, even his friends. Wonder why? He thought curiously. I'm a pretty good at this if I do say so myself.

Somewhere behind him a siren wailed.

Damn. It figured.

Someone noticed him. Probably the erratic lane changing and speed. Of course the fact he was on a stolen police motorcycle didn't help him blend in either. He glanced in the mirror. Sure enough two cars were in hot pursuit.

If only could reach the vidcom in time. It was just a mile ahead.

Just one more mile.

Scott and John stood at the base of the launch rigging staring upward in awe-struck silence at the Nova. Even Virgil, who never had much of an interest in spacecraft, was impressed by the shuttle's enormous size and majesty though he would have died rather than admit it. Even so, other things quickly diverted his attention. Like the dozen or so security cameras panning back and forth directly over their heads.

"We're in plain view so they must see us," Virgil muttered. "Why don't they do something?"

"Good question." Scott frowned thoughtfully. "Danforth's security grid is sure full of holes. Look how easily we got through."

John raised his eyebrows. "Easily you say, Scott?"

"Sure, Johnny," Scott grinned. "A piece of cake. Guess we'd better get going. It's a long way up there."

Virgil glanced at his watch. "You realize that we only have eighteen minutes left. That gives us about fifteen minutes before the initial engine fire up to get up there, look around, and get back down and get put some distance, a whole lot of distance, between us and the Nova."

"Don't worry, Virgil," Scott assured. "We'll make it with time to spare."

Virgil looked up at the rigging doubtfully and sighed. "And suppose we do find something up there? What then? There's still no way we can get them to stop the launch."

"Gordon and Alan will get through to Collie," Scott answered.

"What if they don't?"

"They will, Virgil."

"But..."

"Virgil, Alan and Gordon will get through to Collie," Scott insisted, starting to become annoyed.

Virgil still wasn't convinced. "Suppose..."

"Oh, for cripes sakes, Virgil!" John cried. "Why do you always have to bring up every single thing that could possibly go wrong?"

Virgil scowled. "Because I've noticed things always go wrong whenever I'm with you guys. Besides, the saying 'fools rush in' applies here and I'm no fool. Scott's no fool either. Not usually anyway. You, though, Johnny..."

"Go to hell."

Looking at each other as if they might like to pick up where their fistfight had left off the day before, Scott stepped in.

"You guys just won't let up for a second, will you?" Scott growled. "You can beat the stuffing out of each other later if you like but we don't have time for this right now."

Scott pointed to a spot next to the service elevator. "Why don't you see if you can get that vidcom that the techs use in working shape, Johnny? Virgil and I will just take a quick look around."

John reluctantly agreed and began to fiddle with the vidcom. He quickly became interested. "That's funny," he said, frowning.

Scott and Virgil were about to leave in the tech elevator. Scott poked his head out. "What is, Johnny?"

"I've never seen anything like it. It's stuck in send mode, sending out some kind of weird pulse signal. I'll have to see if I can reprogram the transmitter card to a different frequency, otherwise there's no way we'll be to use it."

"Do the best you can," Scott said. "We'll be back in a sec."

John didn't answer as the doors slid shut and the elevator began noisily grating upward. "Wait, Scott," he called a second too late. "You'd better take the gun with you, just in case..." John shrugged. "Guess I'll hang onto it then."

Less than a minute later, Scott and Virgil stepped out onto the service walkway and cautiously looked around. They were as high as the elevator went. All was still and quiet except for a couple of cooing pigeons perched high in the metal supports. Virgil stood at the railing, looking down at the ground far below. John was blocked from sight by the tangle of rigging.

"See, Scott, nothing here. Now can we go back down and get the heck out of here?"

Scott was looking upward. "Did you hear that?" he said softly.

"No. What is it I'm supposed to hear?"

"Footsteps. Up above us."

"Footsteps?" Virgil repeated skeptically. "Come on, Scott. Now you're hearing things. No one's up there."

"There's only one way to be sure." Scott headed towards the edge of the railing, still looking upward. He swung his leg over the railing. "Come on, Virg, let's go have a quick look."

Virgil's mouth dropped open. "You're not suggesting that we climb up there, are you?"

Scott smiled. "Why not, Virg? Nothing to it. Just like climbing a..."

"Don't you dare say it," Virgil warned. "I never liked climbing trees anyway, remember?"

Scott smiled at his brother. "I don't get you. What's happened to your sense of adventure?"

"Nothing. It's just that climbing up the side of a shuttle about to launch isn't my idea of fun."

Scott was already climbing; pulling himself up bar by bar. Cursing under his breath, Virgil followed. He climbed more slowly, taking care what he was grabbing onto and where he was placing his feet. His eyes fell on the rusty bolts holding the whole thing together. "This is just great," he grumbled. "I'm a first-class sucker to let myself get talked into doing this."

Scott reached the walkway above and gracefully jumped over the railing. "Step on it, Virg," he called down.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Virgil replied. He was reaching for the next thin metal bar when he heard it. A snapping and popping noise amid the sound of grating, creaking metal. He froze in place, searching for the source of the ominous noise. A few feet away the support pins were slowly separating from their base. The entire block of framework he was standing on began to sway and vibrate.

Another inch and it's going, Virgil thought.

Holding his breath he cautiously reached for the next bar.

"Come on already. What the heck are you playing at, Virgil?" Scott called down at him, unaware of the danger.

Very carefully, Virgil adjusted his position, trying to edge sideways to the main support that he knew was strong and solid. His hand was almost touching the cool metal when the bolts suddenly gave way. With a screech, the metal bars peeled away and the section collapsed. Virgil felt himself falling and made a desperate grab for the main support. Before he had time to think, he was jerked to a stop by the thin metal bar he still held onto with his other hand. It swung him around and he smashed into the side of the shuttle. The impact knocked the breath out of him and he felt dizzy. A moment later he swung back towards the rigging and came to a jerky stop. He hung there gently swaying back and forth, grasping the thin metal bar with both hands, knowing it was the only thing that stood between him and the ground far below.

Breathing hard, he closed his eyes tightly for a moment.

"Virgil!" Scott was shouting. "Virgil! Can you hear me?"

Virgil slowly opened his eyes and looked down. Pieces of twisted metal and piping were scattered everywhere on the ground below. He shuddered when he realized how lucky he was not to be down there as well.

A creak above made him look up. The bar was still attached to the main support at one end, but for how long?

Dismayed, Virgil noticed the two remaining support bolts were coming loose just like the ones on the other side had done.

"Talk to me, Virgil!" Scott shouted. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm feeling just great dangling here by a thread," Virgil called back. "I told you this was a bad idea, big brother."

"Don't worry, I'll find something to throw down to you." Scott managed a worried smile. "Just hang on and don't go anywhere, okay?"

"Very funny, smart ass," Virgil laughed, even though he knew that any second either his grip or the pipe might give way.

Scott disappeared from sight. He began searching along the walkway for something that might double as a lifeline of sorts. He spotted an old cable, long unused, that ran along the very edge of the scaffolding next to the shuttle.

"Perfect," he said, breathing a sigh of relief. He was in the process of unhooking it when a movement caught his eye. Scott jumped back in startled surprise as a dark figure stepped out from the shadows.

Scott relaxed when he saw the blue uniform. It was a security guard.

The guard stood there in silence, regarding him with deep-set gleaming eyes as black as coal. "Who are you?" he asked in a harsh, guttural voice.

Scott shivered when he heard the voice; icy needles danced up and down his spine. "I'm Scott Tracy."

The guard's dark eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Tracy? I know that name. What are you doing here?"

"It's a long story, but we...my brothers and I...thought someone was sabotaging the Nova so we came to check it out."

The guard's mouth twisted into a cold smile. "How thoughtful of you. As you can see, there is no reason to be concerned. I am here to make sure everything goes just as planned."

There was a strange aura of evil in the air that chilled him to the bone. Scott knew it instinctively; the man before him was no security guard.

"Right." Scott managed to smile. "Seeing as you've got everything covered, I guess we'll be going."

"Why so soon?" The guard chuckled, his smile broadening into a sinister leer. "Are you afraid you might miss the launch?" With a lightning-like movement, the guard pointed an atomic pistol at Scott's chest. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you have a front row seat."

Without hesitation, Scott dived headlong at the man. His head rammed home and he heard a snarl of pain before they went down together in a tangled heap. The gun skittered across the walkway. Scott started to scramble to his feet when a vicious punch slammed into his jaw knocking him backwards.

The guard moved with lightning speed towards the gun. Scott stuck out his foot and tripped him. Then he leapt onto the back of the fallen form, locking his arms around the thick powerful neck. The guard got to his feet and tried to dislodge the unwanted passenger on his back but Scott stuck like a burr, using all his strength trying to choke his foe.

Abruptly, the guard tried a different approach and slammed backwards into a beam. Scott gasped in pain and his grip loosened. A powerful hand reached back, grabbed Scott and flung him onto the deck. As he struggled to his feet, Scott caught a brief glimpse of a huge form moving towards him with astonishing rapidity.

The guard rammed into him, pushing Scott onto the railing. Scott struggled as he was pushed inch by inch over the barrier towards certain death. His hand found his enemy's face. With all his strength he pushed. Scott felt a thrill of horror as something gave way in his hand. Had he pulled the very skin off of his enemy's face? With great dread, he looked at the object in his hand. It wasn't flesh at all; rather a carefully molded life-like mask.

With a snarl of rage, the guard fell back.

Then the dark face contorted with fury and the black, glittering eyes lit up. Scott staggered, numbness sweeping over him from head to toe, as hypnotic rays seemed to burn into his very brain.

Feeling and seeing nothing more, he crashed onto the deck and lay still.

Chapter 9

There it was. Alan spotted the vidcom the moment he turned the corner. He screeched to a stop and hit the ground running. The two police cars were closing, streaking down the street he had just been on. It would only a minute before they reached him.

Alan reached the booth and pushed a startled man out of the way. "He'll have to call you back," he told an astonished woman on the video monitor as he cut the call.

He selected audio only and rapidly typed in Collie's number.

"Call in progress, please wait..." a pleasant mechanical voice informed.

"Come on!" Alan shouted impatiently at the vidcom.

The screech of brakes told him the police had arrived. He heard the babble of voices and the sound of fast-approaching footsteps.

"Call connected. Please wait for your party to answer," the voice said. One ring...two rings...three rings...

"Pick up, Collie, pick up!" Alan pleaded.

Finally, a familiar voice answered. "Collier Davis speaking..."

Alan was out of time. Weapons drawn, the police were almost upon him.

"Collie!" he shouted. "You've got to stop the launch!"

Collie made his way to a small observation room near the base of the control tower. He needed time to think and it was the one place he knew was sure to be empty. Lighting a cigarette, he stared out at the Nova, thinking of the six people aboard making the final launch preparations.

Six men and women fated to die.

He knew it was true, had known it from the second the words 'man in the launch rigging' were spoken. That man, whoever he was, was good, a professional.

Collie rested his forehead against the window. He'd gladly sell his soul for a chance to go back in time and do things differently. So many mistakes! Laundering that illegal money through Tracy Aerospace was the worst of them.

If Jeff only knew... Collie groaned at the mere thought of it. The threat of such a horrific revelation had enabled Haydyn to blackmail him into handing over the company's technological secrets for the last year. There was no doubt in Collie's mind that Haydyn was behind the sabotage. He didn't have to hear the words spoken to know it was true.

He checked his watch. Twelve minutes. There was still time to come clean and admit everything. Yet he made to move to go. Collie agonized over it, cursing the cowardice that kept him from doing the right thing once and for all.

"Why, Mr. Davis! What are you doing down here?" A voice behind him asked.

Collie jumped guiltily. There was Becker studying him with marked curiosity. "You won't be able to see the launch very well from here, you know."

Collie smiled wanly. "I know, my dear boy. That's precisely the reason I came here."

Becker frowned ever so slightly. "Why don't you want to see the launch?"

"Because 'The play's the thing to turn the conscience of the king.'" Collie answered miserably.

"Conscience of the king?" Becker repeated, looking mystified. "I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about."

Collie was about to answer when an urgent beeping interrupted him. Reaching into his suit pocket, he took out his cell phone, snapped it open and pushed the receive button.

"Collier Davis speaking...." Collie suddenly became alert. "Alan, is that you? Slow down, I can barely hear you. Where are you? What's wrong? THEY WHAT?! Oh, no! Are you sure? Alan? Alan? Are you there?"

Getting no response, Collie dropped the phone, his face pale and stricken. "Becker! We've got to stop the launch..."

"Freeze! Put your hands up and turn around, slowly," the cop ordered, aiming his gun directly at Alan's back.

Alan did as he was told and slowly turned with his hands in the air. He was thankful that he had reached Collie, but sorry that he didn't have the chance to really explain anything. Would it be enough? Would the launch be cancelled? Time would only tell.

Becker smiled. "Stop the launch with only ten minutes left? After months and months of careful preparations? I don't think so."

"You don't understand! Security's been compromised, the Nova's been sabotaged...."

Becker continued to smile. "I know."

Collie stared at him, comprehension dawning slowly. "You..." he whispered. "It was you all along."

Becker chuckled. "That's right, Mr. Davis, but I can't take all the credit. Thanks to you I didn't have to go to the trouble of stealing the Nova's blueprints."

"You'll never get away with this."

"Ah, but we already have," Becker said smoothly, his smile never faltering a moment. "The bomb is already in place and the launch is less than ten minutes away."

"Not if I can help it." Collie made a move towards the elevator but stopped at the sight of the piece of gleaming, deadly metal in Becker's hand. Two sharp pops sounded like firecrackers and something hit him in the chest like a sledgehammer, burning and ripping.

He dropped to the floor, gasping like a fish out of water, painfully aware of the rush of blood leaving his body through two gaping bullet wounds. Becker stood over him, with the same calm, steady smile. "It's unfortunate this had to happen. I always liked you, Mr. Davis." Becker sighed. "But I can't let you spoil my plans by having a late-found twinge of conscience."

He glanced at his watch. "Nine minutes now. The Colonel will be wondering where I am, so I really must be going."

He smiled down at Collie one last time. "Don't worry, you won't have to suffer long. I always use hollow point bullets. Saves a lot on time and ammo."

Whistling happily, Becker strolled over to the elevator. Collie was vaguely aware of his departure. He fought against a crushing heaviness in his chest for each breath. His skin crawled from the stickiness of his own blood as it pooled in front of him.

Collie knew he was dying. Nothing in the world would stop it from happening. A matter of minutes...four or five at the most if he was lucky. He could see the Nova from where he lay. The initial engine warming boosters firing...

There was still time.

Gathering all the strength he had left, Collie struggled to his knees and began slowly crawling towards the elevator. Each second seemed like an eternity. Ignoring the protests of his pain-racked body, he managed to reach his goal.

Dragging himself into the elevator, he managed to hit the tower button. Twenty-seven floors to the control room. Collie only hoped he would be alive when he got there.

Where the devil are you, Scott? Virgil thought.

His arms ached, his fingers felt like jelly and the bolts were beginning to slip dangerously close to the end of their treading. Even worse, the Nova's primary engines had rumbled into life a minute before. Warm up, Virgil thought anxiously. It meant there was only seven, maybe eight minutes before take off. Barely enough time to clear the area.

"Come on, Scott, come on!" Virgil said aloud as he looked upward trying to catch a glimpse of his brother. He caught sight of a figure step over the railing and begin to climb down the main support. It wasn't Scott, Virgil realized with a sickening feeling as the person approached. Too heavily built, blue uniform, powerful but ungraceful movements...

A few moments later, the unknown man reached the spot on the main support directly across from where Virgil hung suspended. A pair of glittering, dark eyes regarded him with a mixture of cunning and amusement. The man's mouth twisted into a malicious grin. "Having a bad day? Cheer up, it won't go on much longer, at least not for you."

Virgil glared at the man. "Where's my brother?"

The Hood sighed mockingly. "I wouldn't worry about him if I were you. You've got enough problems of your own to think about." He reached up and shook the end of the pipe Virgil was hanging on. "Besides, you'll be joining each other very soon...in death."

"You'll never get away with this..."

"No? I'd say 'watch and see' but since you'll be dead long before the Nova explodes, I guess you'll just have to take my word for it." The Hood eyed his watch. "As much as I'd like to stay here and continue this pointless conversation, time grows short and I really must be going."

With a last evil chuckle, the Hood continued his descent. He jumped onto the walkway a few levels below and disappeared from sight as he hurried to the elevator.

"Scott!" Virgil called, squinting as he tried to see any sign of movement above him. Nothing. It wasn't surprising. From what the man had said, Scott was either unconscious or dead.

Virgil closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself. There had to be some way out of this mess. A desperate idea began to form. He was about eight feet or so from the main support, way too far to jump, but if he could swing closer, just a few feet...he might be able to make a leap for it. If, of course, the bolts didn't give way and send him hurling to the ground first.

It's a chance I've got to take, thought Virgil. He began swinging his legs back and forth, gaining momentum. The pipe creaked and groaned, shuddering under Virgil's weight and movement. He swung closer and closer.

Almost. Another foot...

Virgil was almost ready to jump for it when the bolts snapped. Hastily, he threw himself forward towards the main support. He hit it face first and somehow managed to wrap his arms around one of the beams. The pipe and the rest of the supporting framework hit the ground with a resounding clang.

Virgil allowed himself a moment of jubilation and relief, before he began quickly climbing upward. There was not a second to waste. The secondary engines were warming now. Six minutes until blast-off...

What was that noise? John wondered. He slowly turned away from the vidcom. He had been so involved in trying to identify and overcome the strange pulse transmission that he was barely aware of what was going on around him.

John glanced at his watch. His eyes widened in dismay when he saw the time. Five minutes to eight! Where were they? If they didn't come down soon they'd be caught in the fiery wake of the engines at blast off. He looked up at the shuttle but saw nothing.

A pile of metal pipes caught his eye. Parts of the launch rigging, John thought in alarm. He took his binoculars from around his neck, and peered through them, trying to catch sight of either of his brothers. Immediately, he spotted Virgil climbing upward.

"What the hell are you doing, Virgil?" John muttered. "You should be coming down, not going up."

The sound of the elevator coming down diverted his attention. John turned around and stared at it. Who was in it? Not Virgil or Scott for sure, since his two older brothers always stuck together like glue.

John took out the gun they had taken from the security guard and positioned himself at the elevator door, waiting. The elevator came to a stop and the door slid open.

A tall, heavily built man rushed out. Spotting John, he froze in his tracks.

The two regarded each other silently. The Hood's dark eyes glittering with anger and frustration; John's blue eyes wary and suspicious. For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

Then the Hood's scowl changed to a calculating smile. "There's still time."

John's finger closed on the trigger. "Not for you, there isn't."

The Hood shrugged. "It's your decision. I'm flattered that I am worth more to you than your brothers' lives. I am correct, am I not, in the assumption that you are also a Tracy?"

"That's right," John said slowly.

"In that case, let me be the first to offer you my condolences," the Hood said, smirking.

Slowly, John lowered the gun. "This isn't over. I don't know who you are, but someday, somewhere, you'll pay for your crimes."

"We shall see."

With a final maniacal laugh, the Hood ran around the side of the launch rigging, heading away from the shuttle. Wasting no time, John got into the elevator. Four minutes, he thought. We'll never make it.

Virgil pulled himself over the railing and quickly looked around. Scott was no where to be seen. He followed the walkway towards the Nova, heading towards the re-fuel area. Rounding the corner, he saw a slumped form propped up against some pipes. It was Scott, held in place by a pair of security handcuffs.

Virgil raced to his brother's side. He gave him a gentle shake. "Scott! Wake up!"

Scott moaned as his eyes flickered open. He gazed at Virgil dazedly. "Virgil! What happened?"

"I was about to ask you that question," Virgil answered. "But never mind that now. We've got to get out of here."

Scott rattled the handcuffs that bound him to the pipes. "Not us, Virgil. You. There's not a chance in hell for me with these cuffs on."

Virgil refused to give up. He began looking for something to try and smash or cut the handcuffs off. While he was searching, a panel on the side of the shuttle caught his eye. It was slightly ajar and he could hear a faint beep now and then emitting from within. Cautiously, he opened it. A small, rectangular object with a pulsing antenna attached on the side was nestled in among the circuitry and wiring. A digital time display was set at four minutes.

"Scott!" he called excitedly. "The bomb! It's here!"

The sound of footsteps running made him turn around. John rushed around the corner. "Thank God, I've found you guys! I wasn't sure which level you were on. We've got to get out of here and fast. Two and a half minutes and the Nova's out of here. With or without us."

John noticed the handcuffs binding Scott and cursed. "Can't you do that Houdini handcuff trick you and Kat used to do when we were kids?"

Scott shook his head. "That was Gordon. I was crazy, but never enough to pull that psycho stunt."

"Maybe we could break them with something."

"It's no use, Johnny," Scott insisted. "You and Virgil go on and get out of here."

"Forget it, Scott," John said angrily. "We're not leaving you here."

"That's right," Virgil agreed. "Either we all go or we all stay. It's the way it's always been. Hey!" He pointed at the gun tucked in John's belt. "We can shoot them off!"

"Are you crazy?" John asked incredulously. "The bullet will ricochet and kill one of us!"

"We're all dead anyway if we don't get out of here," Virgil shot back. "It's the only chance we've got."

At Scott and Virgil's urging, John reluctantly agreed to do it. "Stand back," he told Virgil as he placed the gun an inch away from the chain link between the cuffs. Slowly he squeezed the trigger and fired. With a whining clang, the bullet sliced through the chain and Scott was free.

"Good shooting, John. Now, let's make tracks and get the hell out of here," Scott said urgently.

"What about the bomb?" Virgil asked hesitantly.

"What about it?" Scott said regretfully. "We're out of time. There's nothing we can do."

John eyed the bomb quickly. "It's connected directly to the fuel valve's circuitry. Looks like it's a delayed timer controlled by an outside signal relay to explode four minutes into the flight." He noticed the pulsing antenna and his eyes widened in recognition and surprise. "Hey! Do you hear that? It's the same pulse frequency as the tech's vidcomm down there. That must be where the controlling signal is coming from!"

The Nova's engines roared into life and a wave of super-heated steam and smoke whirled upward.

"Come on!" Scott shouted to his brothers. "They're firing the primaries. Means about ninety seconds."

"We'll never make it down now," John replied, coughing.

"We can make it to the service elevator," Scott insisted. "That'll be good enough. It's got heat shielding."

With Scott in the lead, the three raced back the way they came. Scott waited on the walkway until John and Virgil were both climbing down the main support. With one last lingering glance towards the Nova, he followed them. The heat was intense and they could barely breathe. Unable to see through the thick billowing clouds of smoke and steam, they made their way down the main support by memory and sense of touch.

John made it to the walkway below first. He helped Virgil over the railing and they both pulled Scott along. Stumbling, they ran to the elevator. They piled in and hit the door close button. It was the only control that functioned since the power to the elevator was automatically shut off close to blast-off. Huddled together in the darkness, they listened to the deafening rumble of the shuttle. They could feel the heat radiating through the shielding. The air was stifling from the smoke and steam, and they choked with each breath.

"Thirty seconds," John gasped, as he checked the lighted dial on his watch.

Scott and Virgil didn't answer as the final engine firing kicked into action. They put their hands over their ears, trying to block out some of the deafening noise. Mentally, each of them began the last twenty-second countdown.

20...19...18...17...16...15...14...13...

"...12...11...10...9..." a launch controller's voice intoned the final countdown mechanically. Danforth and Jeff stood side by side in silence. Becker hung back, leaning alongside the emergency exit.

"...8...7...6...5..." Jeff found himself tensing in anticipation. Months and months of preparations and worry had come down to this last moment. The elevator door opened behind them. So Collie changed his mind, Jeff thought with satisfaction. He turned around.

His eyes widened in horror. Collie lay in a pool of blood, weakly trying to pull himself along the floor. Noticing Jeff's appalled expression, Danforth turned around. Catching sight of Collie, he instantly knew something was wrong.

"Abort blast-off!" he roared.

It was too late. The Nova was launching, propelled upward by the powerful thrust of the firing engines. Jeff dashed to Collie's side, ignoring the Colonel's despondent stream of profanity.

"Collier!" Jeff knelt down, reaching for the engineer. "What happened?"

Collie didn't answer; he was watching the viewscreen showing the Nova hurling upward through the atmosphere. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. "It's all over, Jeff."

"Call emergency services," Jeff snapped at the communications controller who sat staring in open-mouthed amazement. "It's not over by a long shot, Collie. Just hold on. You'll be fine."

"Not me, Jeff, not me. The Nova...." Collie gasped. A fit of coughing cut off his words as he choked on blood.

"Take it easy, Collie. Don't try and talk."

Collie grabbed Jeff's arm. "Listen to me, Jeff. There's a bomb...somewhere...on the Nova."

At the word 'bomb' Danforth who had been standing nearby, broke his silence. "Bomb?" he repeated in disbelief.

Collie nodded. He tried to form a word, but another bout of coughing silenced him.

For the first time, Jeff noticed just how bad Collie was wounded. Two gaping wounds in the chest.

Coldness swept over him; Jeff knew they were fatal. He looked up at Danforth. The Colonel's expression was somber and troubled.

"Emergency will be here in five minutes," the controller told them.

"Becker," Collie whispered.

"What did you say?" Danforth asked.

"Becker..." Collie repeated.

Danforth and Jeff both looked around. Becker was no where to be seen. "Alert security," the Colonel ordered.

"What's the Nova's status?"

"She's at 60,000 feet and climbing," the launch controller replied. "All systems are normal and functioning."

"Not for long," the Colonel muttered despairingly.

The power was reconnected and the lights flashed back on. The elevator automatically started down towards the ground. For a long moment, the Tracy brothers sat in silence. It had been a harrowing experience that none of them would soon forget.

"It's over," Scott finally said.

Neither John nor Virgil answered. They sat side by side on the floor. The elevator slowed to a stop and the door opened. Virgil stiffly got to his feet. John made no move to follow. "There must be something we can do," he said.

"Like what?" Virgil said drearily. "The Nova's long gone."

"Yeah," John agreed. "But that vidcomm controlling the bomb's signal isn't."

He jumped to his feet and rushed out of the elevator. Virgil and Scott exchanged baffled looks. They followed him over to the tech's vidcomm.

"Just what do you have in mind, Johnny?" Scott asked curiously.

"I'll try and jam the signal," John said.

"Is that possible?" Virgil asked, becoming hopeful.

"Yes and no," Johnny replied, as he began hurriedly typing commands into the console.

Virgil made a face. "I don't like the sound of that. What do you mean exactly?"

John continued. "Is it possible? Yes. Can I do it? Yes. In two minutes or so, realistically no."

"Sure you can, Johnny," Scott said confidently.

"Sure I could, if I had a computer to work out the algorithm that's controlling the variant of the encryption rate."

"How about your watch?" Virgil suggested. "Didn't you say it had a calculator or something?"

John nodded. "Yeah, it has a calculator, but I need one that has some more advanced linear abstract functions."

Scott glanced at his watch. "We're running out of time."

"It's hopeless!" John stepped back, totally frustrated.

"Suppose we smashed the thing?" suggested Virgil. "I'll go get a pipe over there and we'll clobber it."

John shook his head. "No way, Virgil. Whoever put this brilliant piece of work together, put some safeguards to prevent external tampering. We've got to jam the signal internally somehow."

"If only we could contact the control tower," Scott sighed.

"Too bad your watch doesn't work," Virgil said.

Always sensitive about his watch, John scowled at his brother. Virgil met his gaze without anger and sighed unhappily. John swallowed the retort that had been on the tip of his tongue.

"Yeah, Virgil, it is too bad," John said quietly. "But I can't fix it 90 seconds."

"Does it have to be fixed?" Scott said slowly, frowning as he thought.

John recognized that look. His brother had an idea. "What's on your mind, Scott?"

"W-e-l-l...do you remember what happened that day in the kitchen?" Scott began. "When you called our number, it shorted the whole vidcomm out...."

"That's right!" Virgil said excitedly, catching Scott's meaning.

"Yeah," John echoed thoughtfully. "Of course! Why didn't I think of it before!"

He slapped his forehead and turned back to the vidcomm. "I'll just call the vidcomm. It receives outside signals, even though it won't process them through." He glanced admiringly at Scott. "You know, brother, you surprise even me sometimes."

John entered the vidcomm's number into the watch. "Okay, it's going through. Let's see what happens."

They held their breath and waited.

If it didn't work, there was nothing else they could do; the Nova was surely doomed.

"We've found it," the comm controller turned to Danforth. "There's a signal originating somewhere in the rigging. It's sending a radiating pulse to the Nova."

"What's the target location?" Danforth demanded.

The controller pointed at a screen with the Nova's general layout. "Here, near the circuit panel controlling the secondary fuel valve."

"What can we do?" Danforth asked.

The controller looked at him bleakly. "Not a thing in the world."

"It's not going to work!" Virgil exclaimed, his voice thick with disappointment.

John held up a restraining hand. "Wait."

"Twenty seconds left," Scott said tensely.

"Wait. It'll go through."

"Johnny..." Scott began.

He was cut off by a crackling noise.

"Stand back!" John warned, backing up. Scott and Virgil moved to a safe distance.

The crackling erupted into a shower of sparking and the vidcomm exploded into a fiery ball. They waited in suspense until the fire died down to a few small flames.

"Well, Johnny?" Scott asked nervously.

John checked the smoking remains. "Signal's dead and buried."

They jubilantly whooped and jumped up and down.

"You did it, Johnny, you did it!" Virgil slapped his brother heartily on the back.

John smiled at him. "Not just me, Virgil. All of us. And it's not surprising really is it? The Tracy brothers always come through in the end."

No one in the control tower could understand what happened. One moment the signal was going strong, the next it vanished completely. The controller couldn't answer any of Danforth's questions. "Who knows? Maybe the bomb was a lemon and malfunctioned," he suggested with a shrug. "At any rate, the Nova will begin her descent immediately and land within twenty minutes or so. The bomb squad will be waiting for them."

Although things looked good for the Nova, the mood in the control room was subdued. Everyone was painfully aware of the ragged gasps coming from the back of the room and Jeff's quiet words of encouragement.

"Where's those damn-blasted medics?" cursed Danforth angrily.

"Elevator's on the blink again, so they're taking the stairs," the controller explained gloomily.

Danforth gritted his teeth and turned around in disgust. His eyes fell on Collie and he clenched his fists. He knew there was no hope. Nothing would keep death from coming to take the engineer.

Jeff knew it too, but he was loath to accept the fact. He watched helplessly as his friend slipped away inch by inch. Collie clung tenaciously to life, fighting for every breath. But as each moment passed he became weaker and weaker.

Suddenly, Collie swallowed and lay quite still.

Jeff sat there in silence. "Collier?" he whispered.

There was no answer.

Jeff felt a surge of grief and anger. "Don't die, you stubborn jackass!"

Collie's eyes opened and he regarded Jeff's stricken, pale face with a mixture of remorse and resignation. "Jeff...don't look like that...don't look like that...it's a break for me...I won't have to live with what I've done..."

"It doesn't matter what you've done, just don't die," Jeff said angrily.

Collie shook his head. "No, Jeff, it's over for me...let it be over for you, too. Promise me that much, for my sake if not your own."

"The Sun Probe?" Jeff asked, unsure what Collie meant. "We won't take it, Collier. You were right about it, only I guess I didn't see until now."

Collie closed his eyes and took a last breath. "No...not that...the past...Haydyn...Lucy... Once and for all, let it be over and let it go before it destroys you." He clutched Jeff's arm. "Promise me that you will."

"I will," Jeff promised.

"Julie?" Collie murmured quietly.

Jeff nodded. "The boys and I will take care of her."

Collie smiled, satisfied. "That's all I could ask for. You've always been a good friend, Jeff."

Jeff couldn't speak. He sat on the floor, holding his friend close, unmindful of the blood that soaked into his clothing like water. Collie gasped and choked, shuddering with each shallow breath, thrashing against Jeff's restraining arms.

"Let go," Jeff whispered. "Just let go."

Collie seemed to respond to Jeff's words and quieted. Gradually, all the tension and pain eased from his face. Letting out a quiet sigh he relaxed completely, his head resting against Jeff's shoulder. Jeff's eyes blurred as he gently closed his friend's unseeing eyes.

The medics arrived, out of breath, carrying their equipment and a stretcher. But all their efforts were in vain. Collier Davis was dead.

Author's Note: Loosely adapted from the play Hamlet by William Shakespeare.

Afterword

The Hood was in a foul mood. He sat deep within his temple, glaring at the newspaper in front of him. Furiously, he ripped it to shreds and hurled it away. "They shall pay for this, every single one of them. I won't rest until there's not a Tracy left on the face of the Earth."

The man known only as Becker sat across the table watching him with an amused expression. He took a drink from a crystal wineglass and smiled. "Temper, temper, Belah. Don't take it personally. Revenge, though very satisfying, is a complete waste of energy."

The Hood snarled in reply.

"Besides," Becker replied, smiling. "We have another job."

He pulled out a photograph and tossed it to the Hood.

The Hood glanced at it. It was a picture of a smiling dark-haired girl with striking green eyes. "Who is she?"

"Julie Davis." Becker reached for the wine bottle and poured another glass. "Daughter of the recently deceased VP of Tracy Aerospace."

The Hood leered at Becker. "Revenge is a waste of time, you say? Ha! You are such a hypocrite!"

"This is business," Becker said calmly, smiling as he always did. "I have no score to settle with her, even though her father did ruin my carefully constructed cover." He downed the entire glass of wine and slammed the empty glass on the table. "Actually, I'm glad that he did it. I was getting bored stealing secrets and sabotaging spacecraft and such."

The Hood chuckled, knowing that Becker was furious at his hasty departure from the Space Agency. "Of course," he purred. "It's only business as you say. What is it we must do? Kill her?"

Becker laughed. "I really find it shocking sometimes the way you hunger for bloodshed, Belah. Nothing as severe as that, unless of course she refuses to co-operate."

He shifted uncomfortably in the high back chair. "I do wish you'd get an interior designer to work on this place sometime. You need to remodel."

The Hood traced a finger over the face on the picture. "What is it he wants from her?"

Becker yawned and stretched. "Just information. Seems that her dearly departed Father amassed quite a lot of incriminating evidence. He wants it back before it falls in the wrong hands."

"And she has it?"

"Who knows?" Becker shrugged. "It's our job to find out."

"When?"

Becker smiled. "Soon, Belah, soon. We'll let things settle down first, then we'll make our move." The Hood smiled back.

In his quest for revenge against the Tracys, it was a start.