A CHALLENGING DAY by BOOMERCAT RATED FRPT

Scott finds Gordon's birthday particularly challenging.

Scott Tracy opened his bedroom door and stepped into the hallway of the palatial Tracy Villa. Seeing his younger brother slowly sluffing down the hallway ahead of him, Scott was about to call a good morning when the brother, Gordon, stretched. The younger man's back sounded out a series of cracks and pops that made Scott cringe. "Gordon! Don't DO that!"

Gordon casually looked around at his brother and grinned. "Scott! Whadja get me?"

"What?"

"I said, what did you get me?"

"It's too early for guessing games. What are you talking about?"

"Today is my birthday. What did you get me?" Gordon spoke slowly, with exaggerated patience.

"Oh my God! Is today the fourteenth? Oh, damn it! Gordon, I'm sorry. With Thunderbird One's refit the time just got away from me. Listen, I didn't get you anything yet, but I'll make it up to you, okay?"

Gordon heaved a sigh. "Not gonna work, Scotty-boy. You tried that last year and the year before. I know perfectly well you didn't forget my present, so why don't you just fork it over and save yourself the constant pestering that I plan to use?"

"Damn it, Gordon, now you're making me feel bad. I'm really sorry, but I've hardly had time to think let alone go shopping. I'll tell you what, I'll ask Dad if we can go over to the mainland today. I'll get you anything you want. How's that?"

"I want what's in your sock drawer."

"My sock drawer? What are you talking about?"

"Let's go in your bedroom and look in your sock drawer. I want any birthday present that just happens to be in your sock drawer."

Scott shook his head sadly. "I'm telling you, there is nothing in my sock drawer but socks. I haven't got a birthday present for you, and I feel like a total jerk. Come on, we'll go talk to Dad."

John coming out of his room yawned, saying, "What's going on? What are you guys standing out here for?"

"Whadja get me?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Happy birthday, Squirt."

"Thanks. So, whadja get me?"

"Something fabulous."

"Yeah? So, where is it?"

"Hidden where you'll never find it."

"Oh, now that sounds like a challenge."

"Only sounds like? Let me be clearer then. I dare you to find my birthday present for you. Clear enough, little brother?"

"Crystal. You're such a communicator. Okay, you're on. The first place I'm gonna look is Scott's sock drawer."

"Hey! Leave my socks out of this!"

"Gordon, not even Scott would be dumb enough to hide your present in his sock drawer for what? The tenth year in a row?"

"More like the twentieth, and I'll bet you five bucks he did."

"You're on."

"Okay, let's go check it out."

"Excuse me!" Scott blocked the corridor. "You two seem to forget, you need permission to enter my room."

John crossed his arms and said, "What? Your sanctum sanctorum? Your fortress of solitude? Your bat cave?"

"Your chamber of horrors?"

"Don't worry, Scotty, we won't tell Grandma about the porn."

"Porn? What porn? John, what are you talking about?" All three men flinched at the sharp voice of their grandmother.

"Uh, nothing Grandma. Good morning."

"Hmm. Good morning to you, too." The tiny elderly woman turned and reached up to caress Gordon's cheek. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."

"Thanks, Grandma."

"Now you boys come on down to breakfast. Gordon, I've made your favorite, strawberry waffles. The cost of those berries would have made your great grandmother moan, and I don't want them to spoil so hurry it up."

"Grandma, you're the best!" At the prospect of food, all three Tracy brothers forgot their discussion and followed their grandmother to the kitchen.

At the breakfast table, a large wrapped box sat on Gordon's chair. "Ah, the old purloined letter technique, eh, John?"

"Hey, who put that there? The rule is no presents until dinner."

"You hush now, Scott. Truth is, I put it there. Sweetie, you just go right ahead and open it."

"Grandma, I can understand why you might want to give me a present early, but this is Gordon we're talking about."

"John, I'll have none of that kind of talk in my kitchen. Your brother deserves your respect."

"Sorry, Grandma."

"Gordon! What are you doing? No gifts until dinner, you know that!" Jeff Tracy's voice boomed as he entered the room. Gordon started guiltily and stopped pulling at the bow.

"Now, Jeff, you just come in here and sit down. I gave Gordon that present, and I want him to open it now. Here, take this." Ruth Tracy handed her son a plate of waffles loaded down with strawberries and whipped cream.

"Thank you, Mother. This looks wonderful. Happy birthday, Gordon. So what's in the box?" Jeff looked expectantly at his son who grinned at the implicit permission and tugged again at the ribbon.

"Scott, here." Ruth handed him a plate of waffles with half an eye on her grandson who was shredding the bright paper to get at the box.

"Gordon's right. You are the best, Grandma." Scott wasted no time digging in, nor did John when given his share. Both brothers watched Gordon with interest.

With the paper crumpled on the floor, the fourth Tracy brother finally ripped open the box, and pulled aside the tissue. He paused staring at the contents of the box.

"What have you got there, son?" Jeff asked as he swallowed a forkful of the delectable waffles.

It was Ruth who answered. "It's a new uniform. Brains developed that new fabric for the military, and I thought if it was good enough to stop a bullet, then it was good enough to protect you on rescues."

"But Grandma... it's not blue."

"Well, now I know, dear. Try as I might I couldn't get it to accept any dye. It's gray, and gray it's going to stay."

Gordon pulled the uniform out of the box and held it up. "It looks like one of Alan's old racing get ups." John sniffed disdainfully.

With a frown, Jeff said, "Mother, if you wanted writing down the sleeve, you should have put 'International Rescue', not 'Thunderbirds'."

"Well, unless your sons all grow their arms another foot or so, 'International Rescue" just plain doesn't fit. Gordon, go try it on. I want to see if I got the fit right."

Gordon sat unmoving, a deer-in-headlights look on his face. Ruth's voice took on an injured tone. "Of course, if you don't want it, I'll understand."

"No, Grandma! Of course I want it! I'll go try it on right now." The young man jumped up from the table, and carrying the uniform, paused only long enough to give his grandmother a hug, murmuring his thanks before heading for his bedroom.

"Now, do any of the rest of you have anymore comments? No? Good. I swear you boys are too young to be so inflexible." Ruth turned back to the stove.

"You realize, don't you, that he's going to make a detour to check your sock drawer?" John pointed his fork in the general direction of the bedrooms.

"Aw, shit!" Scott blurted out, leaping to his feet.

"Scott!" The reprimand came simultaneously from both Ruth and Jeff.

The eldest Tracy son had the grace to look sheepish. "Sorry. I've got to get in there."

He turned to leave and practically ran into his brother Virgil, looking sleepy-eyed and disheveled. "Look out, Virg."

Virgil responded with a grunt, then moved to the table, sitting down heavily.

"Morning, son." Jeff continued working his way through his breakfast, knowing he was unlikely to get any answer from his second son.

Virgil was not a morning person, but when Ruth leaned over to place a plateful of strawberry waffles in front of him, he perked right up. "Strawberry waffles? Oh, these look great. Thanks, Grandma."

"You're welcome, dear. Here, have some coffee."

"Grandma, is there enough for seconds?"

"Well, it wouldn't be much of a birthday if there weren't, now would it? Give me your plate. Jeff?"

"I won't say no. Mom, you've outdone yourself."

Virgil frowned at the crumpled paper and box on Gordon's chair. "Hey, what's this? Are we changing the rules?"

"Grandma's designed us a new uniform. She wanted Gordon to have his first." John's voice was so neutral that Virgil sat confused.

"So, why couldn't he have it first at dinner?"

"Oh, for goodness sakes! Can't a grandmother give her grandson a gift without causing all this fuss?"

"Well, Mother, the presents-at-dinner is your own rule, after all. I can still remember in third grade when Bobby Wallace came in wearing his Spiderman mask. It was his birthday, and his sister gave him the mask at breakfast. I was totally shocked. I thought it was in the Bible or maybe the Constitution... Thou shalt not have any presents before dinner."

Virgil and John both chuckled. Ruth playfully swiped at her son's head. "Well, it's a good rule. And don't any of you think we'll be dispensing with it anytime soon."

Scott returned a disgruntled look on his face. John snickered, "Beat you to it, didn't he?"

"Yes. Damn, he's slippery. I would have sworn he couldn't have gotten in and out of there that fast."

"What?"

"Gordon got into my room and swiped his birthday present."

"No he didn't. I went and got it out of your sock drawer yesterday and put it with mine."

"You did? Great. Thanks, Virg."

"No problem." Virgil mumbled around a mouthful of waffle.

With a fresh waffle, Ruth said, "Honey, hand me your plate." Scott was quick to comply.

The Tracy men lapsed into silence as they ate their breakfast. After a few minutes, Gordon appeared decked out in the new uniform. Ruth looked her grandson over with a critical eye, smoothing the fabric down his leg and tugging to get the elasticized waist just right.

Virgil frowned, a forkful of waffle halfway to his mouth. "It's..."

When it was obvious that words had escaped his brother, Scott said helpfully, "it can't be dyed."

"It says..."

"Because our arms are too short."

"But it..."

"Yeah, but what're you gonna do?"

"Does it..."

"I'm not sure. Grandma, does it come with a hat?"

"Well now, I was going to save it for later, but yes it does. Let me just get it."

"Grandma, before you do, can I have some waffles? I'm starving."

"Of cou.... Oh, my! Oh, no!"

"What's wrong, Mother?"

"The waffles... I used up all the strawberries on you boys, and now there's none for Gordon! Oh, I can't believe I did that! Oh honey, I don't have any more strawberries, but I can make more waffles. Let me get the syrup from the pantry."

Ruth stepped out of the room, leaving a dumbfounded Gordon staring after her. Scott and Virgil glanced at each other and surreptitiously began to eat faster.

By the time Gordon looked back at his family, all four had clean plates and sincere looks of sympathy. Gordon plopped himself dejectedly in his seat and began to toy with his coffee cup. Ruth returned carrying a bottle of maple syrup and a brown paper bag, both of which she placed before her grandson before moving to the stove.

Jeff stared at his son pensively before turning to his mother. "Mom, I have my doubts about this uniform. Rescue work is a dirty business. This gray white color is going to be a pain to keep clean."

"Oh! Cool!" Gordon had reached into the bag and pulled out a dark blue baseball style cap, with International Rescue worked in gold thread on the bill. He immediately put the cap on, settling it at a jaunty angle. His brothers looked on with approval.

"Actually, that fabric is a wonder. Tin-Tin and I spilled some juice on it while we were working with it, and it just wiped off. It's just like Teflon."

John looked up at this, and a slow smile formed. He reached over and picked up the squeeze bottle of maple syrup. Casually popping open the top, he suddenly turned and squirted it at his brother.

"Hey! What're you doing?"

"You heard Grandma. I just wanted to check out her claim. See if it wipes off."

Gordon shot his brother a dirty look, but reached for a napkin to swipe at his syrup-spattered front. To his surprise, the syrup wiped off easily leaving the uniform unstained. "Wow. It works."

Scott and Virgil stared for a moment before standing as one.

"I'll get the ketchup."

"I'll get the axle grease."

"Scott! Virgil! You'll do no such thing! You boys will just have to take my word for it. That uniform is not going to stain."

"It sort of itches, though, Grandma."

"That's just new clothes stiffness, dear." With a flourish, Ruth placed a plate of waffles piled high with whipped cream and strawberries in front of Gordon. "As if I would let you go without strawberries!"

Gordon grinned ear to ear. "Good one, Grandma!"

Ruth leaned close and said in a stage whisper, "You're my favorite. You always have been."

Gordon beamed happily, "I know, Grandma."

Virgil raised an eyebrow and said sardonically to Scott, "The pathetic thing is he really believes it."

"It's sad, isn't it?" The two eldest Tracy's looked on their brother with pity.

"Jealousy is such an ugly thing... So, Virg, whadya get me?"

"A large pin to deflate your swollen head."

"Dad, Scott says he'll take me to the mainland today and let me get whatever I want, if that's okay with you?"

"Wait a minute... What happened to 'whatever is in the sock drawer'?"

"Well, I've been thinking it over, and I want to go to that Harley dealership."

"Harley? You better be thinking in terms of a key ring!"

"But Scott, you said whatever I wanted, and I've always wanted a V-Rod."

"Do I look like I'm made of money?"

Gordon batted his eyes at his brother. "Nope. You look just like my big brother. The one who has never, ever broken a promise to me."

John barked a short laugh. "Check and mate!"

Ruth placed a large bowl of strawberries and an ever-hot container with enough waffles to feed an army in the middle of the table. "Honey, a promise is a promise. If you told your brother he could have anything he wants, then you'll just have to live with the consequences." Ruth turned back to the counter for the bowl of freshly whipped cream before continuing. "Now, I've got some sewing to do, so here are the rest of the waffles. I'll see you all later."

"Thanks, Grandma. So, Dad, can Scott and I take off? I promise it won't take long, I know exactly which one I want."

"Uh, Dad..."

"Sorry, son. He's got you on a technicality. You can fly over this afternoon. But I'll hold you to that promise, Gordon. No more than half a day, and stay in touch."

"Yes, sir. So, then... Dad... Whadya get me?"

Jeff smiled and reached below the table. "I thought you'd never ask. It's right here." He pulled a package the size and shape of a shoebox out and placed it on the table. He touched something on one side. "And right here is where it's going to stay. Brains rigged it for me. You so much as touch it, and you're going to be one sorry Aquanaut."

"What is it?"

"It's your birthday present."

"But what's in it?"

"Your birthday present. You'll find out tonight at dinner."

Gordon stared at the gaily-wrapped present. His hand moved toward it, but he caught himself, and with a frustrated sigh looked down at his plate. After a moment, the redhead looked up. "Aren't you guys just a little peeved? That Grandma gave me a present and you all have to wait all day?"

The kitchen rang with denial as each man stated emphatically no.

"Fine. Be that way." Gordon sniffed and turned to his waffles and dug in, only occasionally glancing with a frown at the tempting package in the middle of the table.

"John, pass me those berries, would you?" John slid the bowl down the table where Jeff reached in with his spoon and selected a strawberry. As John looked on with raised eyebrows, his father pulled the bowl of the spoon back with one finger, and flicked the strawberry directly at Gordon.

Gordon started when the berry hit his chest. He stared at it then looked up at his parent with a question in his eyes. "I just wanted to verify your grandmother's claims about that fabric, son."

Gordon paused, trying to come up with a suitable reply, but apparently the words escaped him because after a moment, he shook his head then returned to his breakfast. When the second berry hit him, he didn't even look up. The next several minutes were quiet as the men finished their breakfast, with the only sound being the clink of silverware and the occasional plop-thud of strawberries and globs of whipped cream hitting Gordon's new uniform. The young man only objected when a berry hit him squarely on the nose. "Hey, hey! Watch the hat!"

When Gordon finished, he sat back, looking up only to find himself facing his father and brothers all poised to launch a simultaneous attack. Someone had pulled out four large serving spoons, and now each man had filled their spoons with the juicy fruits. Gordon started to say something, apparently thought the better of it, and said sweetly, "Gee, I wish you guys wouldn't. You're wasting good food."

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than four spoonfuls of fruit and juice flew through the air. The multiple thuds were drowned out by the strident voice of Ruth Tracy. "Jefferson Grant Tracy! What are you doing?"

The four perpetrators flinched even as Gordon muttered "Suckers!"

"Look at this mess! Who is going to clean it up?"

"Now, Mother, we'll take care of it. The boys and I were just having a little fun."

"It's a sin to waste food, especially those strawberries. It took Kyrano days to find them and have them shipped. Thank the Lord that he and Tin-Tin aren't here, I don't know what he'd say. Jeff what kind of example does it set to encourage your sons to be wasteful? Gordon! You sit right there! I won't have you tracking that goop all through the house!"

"Sorry, Grandma."

"As well you should be. Let me just wipe you down. John, Virgil, get some paper towels, this stuff is all over the floor."

The Tracy men leapt into action, Scott and Jeff clearing the table as Virgil and John wiped up the mess. Ruth used a sponge to wipe down the miracle fabric of Gordon's uniform, and within moments the crisis was over. With a wary glance at his mother, Jeff said, "Well, I've got some work to do. Scott, what are you all doing today?"

"Virg and I are finishing up the refit on Thunderbird One. We could have it done if we had all day."

"John, Gordon, what are your plans?"

"I promised Brains I would keep track of a couple of his experiments, but other than that, I don't mind helping out Scott."

"Actually, I had intended to get on the Internet and look at pictures of V-Rods, but seeing as I'm going to get my own this afternoon, I'll help out too."

Scott rolled his eyes and led the way out of the kitchen, Virgil following. John tossed a brotherly arm across Gordon's shoulders, "You've got that annoying thing down pat, don't you?"

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I do." Gordon squirmed under his brother's arm. "I'm going to get out of this uniform. It itches like crazy."

The brothers separated, John following after Scott and Virgil, Gordon heading for his bedroom. They had all barely crossed the lounge when the distinctive sound of a call from Thunderbird Five rang out. Jeff reached his desk, and pressing an unobtrusive button called out, "Go ahead, Alan."

"Father, we have a chemical plant explosion in Ireland. A number of people in a nearby housing complex are trapped. The authorities have asked for our help."

"Scott, is Thunderbird One airworthy?"

"Yes sir. We were down to interior fittings yesterday afternoon."

"All right then, off you go. Alan will fill you in once you're airborne."

"Yes sir."

As Scott stepped up to the entrance point to Thunderbird One's hangar, Jeff turned back to the live picture of his youngest son. "Okay, Alan, what have we got?"

"A pharmaceutical manufacturer right on the outskirts of Dublin, a town called Clondalkin. They had a fire in one of their labs. The locals thought they had it under control but then there was a series of explosions. The fire crews took some heavy hits, five dead and eleven injured. Apparently some of the chemicals at the plant are so volatile that they could go off at any moment. The local fire chief has had to pull his men back." Alan paused to consult his notes. "Here's the kicker, Dad. This plant is a self-contained community. The workers all live in a compound that's actually surrounded by the plant itself. Most of the people got out okay, but there's a bunch that's unaccounted for."

Jeff sat back, shaking his head at the folly. "Why would anyone put people's homes in such danger?"

"This is a state-of-the-art facility, Dad. They thought their safety systems would protect them."

"All right, Alan. We're on our way. Virgil, you'll need pod five. John, you'll double crew. Gordon, it's your birthday, and you shouldn't have to work today, but..."

"Father, they're going to need me. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on John."

"Hey, I heard that!"

"Good enough. It'll be a true test for your grandma's wonder uniform. Get going, boys, and be careful out there."

"FAB, Father!"

It was sometime later that Scott watched Thunderbird Two landing next to his position in a large parking lot. "Okay, Virg, I want you to take the Firefly over to that big archway at your two o'clock position. Clean it out so John and Gordon can take the Firebus on through.

"FAB, Scott. I'm on my way."

Scott turned back to the fire chief, who was grim-faced in the face of the deaths on his team. "Chief O'Dwyer, do you have any idea exactly what kinds of chemicals we're dealing with here?"

"For the most part, they're non-toxic, but there is supposedly a ten thousand liter tank of compressed chlorine in the main lab. Saints help us all if that goes up."

Scott swallowed hard. That much chlorine could create a cloud big enough to wipe out half of Dublin. He keyed his mike and spoke to his brothers. "Virg, we've got a real problem here. There's a large tank of chlorine somewhere on this site. I don't need to tell you what will happen if it explodes. I want you to do only as much as necessary to get the Firebus through. John, you and Gordon are going to have to move fast to get those people out. Get your Hazmat suits on, guys."

"FAB, we're on it."

"Chief, I'm going to need blueprints, or someone familiar with the site."

"One moment."

Scott listened with half an ear as the deep rumble of the Firefly started up. He glanced over to see the powerful machine make it's way down pod five's ramp. He turned back to his console and keyed a switch that connected him with his home base. "Mobile Control to base."

"Go ahead, Scott."

Seeing the fire chief approach with a man in a soot-covered lab coat, Scott continued. "Base, we've just deployed Firefly to clear a path for the Firebus. We have an additional problem. Apparently there is a large tank of chlorine on the premises."

"All right, Mobile Control. Your priority is the people, and then containment. Keep me apprised. Base out."

"Excuse me, Scott. This is Dr. Geert. He's the head of research and development here."

Scott reached out to shake hands with the man. "Dr. Geert, I'm going to need your help here."

"Of course. Whatever I can do."

"Thank you, doctor. Now I understand there is a tank of chlorine on the premises. Can you tell me exactly where it would be located?"

Chief O'Dwyer pulled out a large rolled up map and glancing at Scott for permission, spread it out on the Mobile Control console. It was marked as property of the fire brigade and had hydrant locations and exit doors clearly highlighted.

Dr. Geert turned the map around and quickly pointed to the corner of a large building. "It's located right here, in an underground storage area. The area was designed to protect against this kind of thing, so I am sure there is nothing to worry about."

Scott raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Doctor, it's my understanding that this entire compound was designed to prevent this kind of event."

The scientist ducked his head. "True, very true. But we must hope that the safeguards will prevail. The danger is not from the chlorine alone."

"What do you mean?"

"We work with some very dangerous pathogens. Should they escape containment the results would be catastrophic."

"And you didn't tell me that when I sent my men in?" O'Dwyer's voice was hard with anger.

"I'm sorry. I had no idea this fire would get out of control so quickly. I thought our interior systems would handle it, and your men would be simply a precaution. Nobody regrets this incident more than I do, chief."

"All right, there will be time for recriminations later, for now, we need to get the situation under control. Doctor, where are these pathogens?"

"As soon as we realized there was a problem, we locked down the containment unit. It's located here, right above the underground storage facility."

Scott felt a brief shiver. The situation was more dangerous than it at first seemed. An unlucky wind could blow a deadly cloud of disease and chlorine right across the Irish Sea into England or the continent beyond.

"What about these explosions? Where did they take place?"

Chief O'Dwyer reached over and tapped a second building. "The big ones were here and here."

"Yes, that would be the methane tanks."

"Okay, so, aside from the chlorine, is there anything here that would cause a major explosion?"

"Major? No, I don't think so. Most of the volatile substances in that lab are kept in small quantities."

"All right. Doctor, can you give me some detail on that containment system?"

"Firefly to Mobile Control."

"Excuse me, gentlemen. Mobile Control, go ahead, Virgil."

"Scott, I've cleared the path for the Firebus. Where do you want me next?"

"Virgil, come on over here to Mobile Control. We're going to need to work this out."

"FAB, Scott."

"Mobile Control to Firebus."

"Go ahead, Scott."

"John, Virgil has cleared a path for you. Now, we've got uh, seventeen adults and six kids unaccounted for. I've transmitted the list of names for you. I need you guys to get in there and pull them out quickly."

"FAB, Scott. We're on our way."

Chief O'Dwyer looked as if he would say something, but Scott raised his hand. The Firebus disembarked from the pod, and headed over to the breach in the wall that the Firefly had opened. It was a new piece of equipment, and Scott would have preferred to been behind the wheel himself. Not that John and Gordon weren't competent, but until it had proven it's worth, Scott disliked putting his younger brothers at risk.

The large tracks of the machine tore up the asphalt as it moved into the breach. As Scott watched, the dicetylene nozzles started up, instantly dousing the fire as the machine plowed ahead. It had the capacity to carry up to fifty survivors safely through 3000-degree heat. Scott could only hope his brothers found the missing people alive.

With a glance at the two men patiently waiting for his attention, Scott keyed the mike. "Mobile Control to base."

"Base here."

"Base, the Firefly has cleared a path for the Firebus. We're considering our options on the chlorine tank."

"All right Mobile Control. Let me know if there is anything you need from me."

"Thank you, Fa... sir. Mobile Control out."

Scott turned back to the waiting men. "Chief, if you'll concentrate your efforts here, on the south side, your men should be away from any potential blasts."

The chief glanced where Scott pointed and with a brief nod, stepped away to talk on his radio. Scott motioned to Dr. Geert. "Doctor, my colleague will be here in a moment, and then we'll go over that containment system."

The doctor nodded. He started to say something, then shook his head and looked away.

"Doctor? Was there something you needed?"

The doctor looked up, pain in his eyes. "No. Yes. I... wonder..."

"Yes?"

"Look, the thing is, my wife and I, we lost our only child last year. A beautiful little girl. She was hit by a car, and in an instant she was gone."

"I'm sorry, doctor."

"Yes, well, it was really nobody's fault. But the thing is, the only thing we have left is our daughter's little dog. I wouldn't ask for myself, but Lucille is so fragile these days. I hate thinking what it will be like if that animal dies. I don't want you to put your men at any risk but if they find the dog, could they... I mean, if the dog is somewhere where they're searching anyway..."

Scott frowned. "I'll let them know to keep an eye out, but doctor, my men won't put a dog's life ahead of a human one."

"Thank you. I understand."

"Mobile Control to Firebus."

"Firebus to Mobile Control. Scott, you should see this place. It's like it's own little village. We're doing a house-to-house search, but we haven't found anybody yet."

"Most likely they will congregate at the school. Here." Dr. Geert pointed to a building in the center of the map.

"Gordon, there's a school at the center of those homes. I've got a guy here who thinks the survivors will be there."

"Great. We'll head that way. Thanks."

"Gordon, I want you and John to keep your eyes pealed for a little dog."

There was silence from the radio. After almost a minute Gordon replied in guarded tones. "Do you know the house number?"

"My wife and I live in number 4-A."

"Did you get that Gordon? 4-A."

"Uh, yeah. Code 23, Scott."

Scott frowned. Code 23 meant that Gordon wanted to speak with him privately. He pushed a lever and a hidden drawer opened with a state-of-the-art headset with mouthpiece. Slipping it over his ears, Scott turned away from the now anxious doctor.

"Okay, Gordon, you're on a private line. What's happening?"

"Scott, we're at number 4-A right now. That dog's in a bad way."

John's voice was full of compassion. "Scott, we were going to put this dog to sleep. It's in shock, shaking like a leaf. Somehow it got out and over to that fire. The poor thing's fur is all singed off and it's skin is black."

"Damn. Look guys, is there anyway it might make it? The man here says it's very special to his wife."

"I dunno Scott, it looks pretty bad."

"Yeah, but it's breathing okay. Maybe it'll be all right."

"All right, I'll back whatever you guys decide. You need to get a move on. That chlorine tank could go at any minute."

"FAB, Scott."

Scott shut down the link and took off the headset before turning back to the worried doctor. "They'll do what they can, doctor."

Scott was saved from any further discussion as the Firefly rumbled up. The deep roar of the idling engine made speech impossible. After a moment, the engine shut down, and Virgil popped out of the cabin, trotting over to where Scott awaited him.

"Okay, Scott, what's the action?"

"Virg, this is Dr. Geert. He works here and knows the plant. In addition to the chlorine tank, Dr. Geert says there are pathogens in a containment system."

"What kind of containment system?"

"It's a class III B2 BSC. It's totally self contained with it's own power system and fourth generation HEPA filtration."

"Okay, that should withstand a lot. Where is it hooked in with the building exhaust?"

"Here."

Virgil looked up to compare the map with the building. Scott followed his eyes and saw the same thing. Flames were leaping skyward and a thick black smoke covered the area.

"Okay. Uh, where is the chlorine tank?"

"Chlorine tank is in the basement. Right under the containment system." Scott's ironic statement caused Virgil to raise his eyebrows.

"All right, then. I'd better get going. I think I'd better breach the building away from this area. Doctor, what kind of interior walls are we talking here?"

"For the most part, the walls are just movable screens, but the containment area is all reinforced plascrete."

"Good enough. Anything else, Scott?"

"No, just be careful."

Grinning, Virgil sketched a salute, and trotted off to his machine. Scott reached to transmit again to base, but the speaker came alive. "Firebus to Mobile Control."

"Go ahead, Gordon."

"Scott, we've located the survivors, all accounted for, plus a few special guest survivors."

Scott frowned. "Guest survivors?"

"Yeah. In addition to that dog, we've picked up two more dogs, a cat, and Mr. Fuzz, the school hamster. We also have a ten-year-old named Colin Riordan, and two firemen, Michael Sheedy and Nick McDermot. Both the firemen have burn injuries and will need ambulance transport. McDermot is in serious condition. Other than that, all other injuries are minor."

"That's good news. I'll have the ambulances on standby. Be careful coming out. The archway you guys went through collapsed a couple of minutes ago."

"Scott, I could drive this thing through the Gates of Hell and I wouldn't break a sweat, but yeah, we'll be careful."

"FAB. See that you are."

Scott looked around, and spotting Chief O'Dwyer, waved him over. "Chief, my men have picked up the survivors. In addition to the people on the list, they located a boy named, uh, Colin Riordan, and two of your men, Michael Sheedy and Nick McDermot. Sheedy and McDermot are going to need ambulances. Can you arrange that?"

"Oh, God of Mercy! We thought they were dead! I'll have the ambulance pull up to the left of that tender over there. What kind of condition are they in?"

"They have burn injuries, McDermot's are serious."

"Ah, but they're alive and that's a miracle in itself. Thank you, Scott. I'll just be going over to spread that happy news."

"You're welcome, Chief." Scott smiled at the man's back as he hurried away. Scott turned to the doctor standing patiently by. "Dr. Geert, my men are bringing out your dog, but I'm afraid it's been injured in the fire. You might want to call your veterinarian, have them stand by."

The doctor closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened again, they were shining. "You people are remarkable, but then I suppose you know that. Thank you, Scott. I'll call Dr. Peters now."

It was one of the rewards of being the field commander, Scott thought. He had all of the worry and grief, but he also occasionally got to deliver the good news. As the doctor hurried off, Virgil's call drew his attention. "Firefly to Mobile Control."

"Go ahead, Virg."

"Scott, these folks built this facility right. I've cleared a space around the containment area, and as far as I can see, it's in good shape. I've put my back to it, and I'm knocking down the fire in the rest of the building. I reckon ten minutes, and I'll be available for whatever is next."

"Good job, Virg. John and Gordon have the survivors, and should be out within the next few minutes. As far as I can see, the local forces have the rest of this under control. Finish up there, and come on out. We'll see where we stand then. We may be able to wrap up and head home."

"FAB, Scott."

Scott flipped a switch and called, "Mobile Control to base."

"Go ahead, Mobile Control."

"Dad, we've run into some good luck out here. John and Gordon found all of the trapped people alive, including a couple of firemen who had been believed dead. Virgil has confirmed that the chlorine tank and a pathogen containment system are intact and in no danger."

"That's good news, Scott."

"Yes sir. Virgil is knocking the fire down, and John and Gordon are on their way out with the survivors. Barring unforeseen incidents we should wrap this up within an hour or so."

"Very good, son. Let me know if the situation changes."

"FAB, Scott out."

Scott looked up at the deep rumble as the Firebus appeared. Flipping another switch, he called, "Firebus, to your right you can see a red fire engine. Pull up over there, that's where the ambulance will be. Unload your injured, then move to the rear of Thunderbird Two, where the aid station for the survivors is set up."

"FAB."

Scott keyed the lock on Mobile Control. It was unlikely anyone would touch it, but Scott wasn't going to take the chance. He trotted over to the where the Firebus had come to pause. Seeing the ambulance attendants hanging back, he waved them over to a rear hatch that was slowly cycling open. "Fellas, do you have portable burn units in your rig?"

The older of the two men shook his head. "No, mate. We have standard ALS equipment, nothing specialized."

"Okay, you're going to have to take ours. Here they come."

Scott directed the men to the first gurney appearing on a heavy-duty lift. It was a self-contained unit looking something like a rounded coffin. Scott had no fear that the specialized equipment would be traced. International Rescue was very careful about paper trails. He glanced at the victim in the unit, but the man appeared to be unconscious.

Gordon hopped down to give the ambulance men the lowdown on the injuries. By the time the first victim was loaded, the second gurney had been lowered to the ground. Unlike the first fully contained unit, the second man was lying propped up on a standard medical gurney. The man's arm and shoulder were swathed in white plaskin, a special bandage developed by Brains especially for burn victims.

Scott could see from the man's eyes that his brothers had administered a strong painkiller. Despite this, the man was aware enough to venture a weak smile when Chief O'Dwyer came up and grasped his good hand. "Mikey, we thought we'd lost you, lad!"

"Take more'n a building fallin' on me to get rid of me, you know that Conor."

"Aye, I do. You lie easy now. I've told Caitlin, and she'll be meeting you at the hospital."

"Thanks, Dad."

Scott's eyebrows climbed up his forehead at that last. The chief noticed, and as the injured man was loaded onto the ambulance said quietly, "He's married to my daughter. He's a good man."

Before Scott could think of a response, Gordon called from the hatch of the Firebus. "Scott? You coming?"

"Uh, yeah." Scott trotted over and swung himself aboard. He couldn't help looking back at Chief O'Dwyer as the big machine trundled away.

He finally turned to move into the Firebus. The rear cabin was stacked with the specialized burn gurneys, and could accommodate a dozen seriously burned people. As he moved forward, he entered the center section of the Firebus. This area gave the Firebus its name. A center aisle was flanked by front facing double seats. Except for the lack of windows, it did somewhat resemble a bus, or a passenger jet. One look at any of the seats and the resemblance ended. Each seat was equipped with a five-point safety harness and a series of body sensors that hooked any of the lesser injured to a status board.

Scott ignored the technology. Gordon was halfway up the aisle, squatting down as he spoke to one of the victims, a frown on his face. Scott moved forward to see if he could help. As soon as Gordon saw him, he called out, "Scott, come over here, would you?"

"What's up?" Scott looked down at a young boy who was looking skeptically at Gordon.

"Niall, this is Scott. He's the boss of the Thunderbirds. Scott, this is Niall."

Scott solemnly shook the youngster's hand. "How do you do."

Niall looked up at Scott, a huge smile blooming on his face. Gordon said dryly, "Niall thinks I'm a kidnapper."

Scott barked a surprised laugh, "What?"

"Go ahead, Niall, tell him."

The child flicked suspicious eyes at Gordon, but addressed himself respectfully to Scott. "Well, he doesn't have a proper uniform, does he? Everybody knows Thunderbirds have proper uniforms. Blue ones, like yours, right?"

"Right, Niall. As a matter of fact, I don't know this man at all."

"Scott, you're not helping."

"He looks pretty shifty to me. What do you think, Niall?"

"He looks just like a kidnapper I saw on the telly."

"Scott, I have one word for you. Red Ferrari."

"That's two words."

"Niall's right. That's two words." Scott's smile was feral. If there was one thing he never backed down from, it was a threat, no matter what it was or who made it.

Perhaps fortunately, the Firebus came to a halt at that moment and the two brothers were immediately back in business mode. Gordon strode to the front of the machine and picked up a microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, please pick up any belongings that you brought with you and proceed to the exit at the rear of the bus. International Rescue thanks you for you co-operation and attention."

Scott went to the rear to open the hatch, but smiled as a spontaneous round of applause and cheers broke out.

Scott stood at the base of the short flight of stairs, offering assistance to those who needed it, letting people shake his hand, and say their thanks. When International Rescue had started, he had been uncomfortable when approached by those he rescued, but over time, he came to understand that people had a real need to say thank you. Now he stood there, letting women place a hand on his arm, as the men shook his hand. His smile was genuine, and he managed to say a few words to each person who passed.

When young Niall came down the steps, he was wearing a concerned frown. "Scott, is Gordon really a Thunderbird?"

"Yes Niall, he really is. In fact, we couldn't do it without him. Don't tell him I said that, though. We don't want him to get conceited."

"No, I won't tell him. Oh! There's my mommy! Bye!" With that the boy ran away into the arms of a crying woman.

At the tail end of the line of people came a young lady carrying a cage with a small rodent, presumably Mr. Fuzz, and a man leading two dogs on leashes. As the last two victims and their charges made their way to the aid station, Scott moved to climb the stairs, but then stood back as John appeared, holding a cardboard pet carrier at arm's length. From the carrier came a loud growling yowl, and as Scott moved closer, a white paw flashed out of one of the air holes. Scott jumped back and John said dryly, "Somebody's widdle snookie ookums is a tad displeased. Watch it, it's fast and has claws the size of scimitars."

"Okay, well, take it over to the aid station, let them worry about it."

"Right. Gordon's bringing that dog. I hope its owner has a good vet."

"Scott."

"Virg, you've got it knocked down already?"

"Yeah. Whatever else, they've got a good internal firefighting system. The containment area and the chlorine never were in any real danger of a breach. It's all just mop up now."

"Great. We can shut it down and head for home then."

"Are you sure we shouldn't stay, just in case?"

"What? Why? Is there something I should know about?"

Virgil sighed. "No, I just thought you might prefer to avoid a certain trip to a Harley dealer this afternoon."

"Oh. OH! No, that won't work, he'll just say he wants to go tomorrow. Besides, now it's a Ferrari dealership."

"What? Oh, now that's going too far. I say you push him in front of the Firefly, and I'll run him over."

"That could work, except for John."

"What about me?" John said as he walked up.

"We need you to get lost. We're murdering Gordon, and we don't want witnesses."

"Well, I'm not going to get lost and that's that. I will help though. Are we using guns or knives?"

"We're thinking of running him down with the Firefly."

"Too bad we don't have the Mole with us. Now, that would be painful. Tell him his shoe's untied, and when he bends over, wham!"

Glancing up at the Firebus, Virgil said in a stage whisper, "Quiet, here he comes now."

Gordon came down the steps, a second cardboard pet carrier in his arms. "Guys, you need to see this. I'm beginning to think this dog isn't injured at all."

Gordon set the carrier on the ground, and carefully opened the lid. Scott and Virgil made small gasps of sympathy for the small animal. It sat in its box, visibly shaking. It's eyes looked weepy, and it squinted as if in pain. The poor thing had once been covered in white fur, but except for wispy little poufs on its head, tail and paws, it was entirely hairless. It's skin was black and when Gordon reached a hand it to touch it, his brothers cried in dismay. The dog seemed unfazed by the touch, looking up at Gordon with a doggy smile and wagging its whiptail.

"That has got to be the ugliest dog I've ever seen."

"Yeah, but I think that's its only problem. I thought the fur was singed off, but look, it's skin just happens to be black."

"Do you think they shaved it, or something?"

"Maybe, but why would they do that?"

"Maybe it's the result of some experiment." John's statement brought stares from his brothers. "What? This is a research lab after all. Who knows what goes on in a place like this?"

"This dog is a family pet, John. It belonged to a little girl who died in a car accident. I doubt these people would give a research animal to a child."

"Who would give a child something this ugly?" Virgil was bemused.

"Yeah, and look at it shake. Whatever else, this is clearly not a normal dog."

"Aw, it's not so bad. I'll give you it's uglier than sin dipped in misery, but it's real friendly." Gordon picked the animal up, and it responded by trying to lick his face. "See?"

"Yoda!" The brothers turned to face the approaching Dr. Geert. "You found him! Oh, thank you so much! Come here, boy!"

The dog struggled to escape Gordon's protective grip, and he carefully handed the small animal over. As Scott looked on, he realized that the doctor's wife was not the only one who would have been devastated by the loss of this dog. Dr. Geert held the excited little thing with tears flowing down his face. "I can't tell you what this means to both my wife and I."

John was skeptical. "What's wrong with it?"

"Excuse me? Oh, you mean, why does it look like this? Gentlemen, this is Champion Heavens Gate Yoda's Light Saber. He's a purebred Chinese Crested Hairless. He's supposed to look like this." At the looks of surprise on their faces, Dr. Geert chuckled. "I know. I would have preferred a real dog, but my wife and daughter fell in love with this little man. I have to admit he's grown on me. I can look at him now without automatically thinking he's got some odd disease."

"Why does he shake like that?" John's tone had changed to real curiosity.

"Dogs rely on their fur to keep them warm. Yoda doesn't have the fur, so he gets cold easily." The doctor had slipped the dog under his labcoat where it had happily settled in. It's shivering had abated, apparently due to the doctor's body warmth.

"Alright, fellas, let's get this wrapped up. John, get the Firebus loaded. Gordon, you help him. Virgil, while they're doing that, you want to come help me load up Mobile Control?"

"Sure Scott."

Scott stuck out his hand. "Dr. Geert, it's been a pleasure."

"The pleasure has been all mine. Thank you again for everything you've done here."

"You're welcome, Doctor. Take care of yourself."

"Yes, I will."

Scott smiled and turned to trot after Virgil. When he caught up, his brother glanced over at him and said, "I still say that's the ugliest dog I've ever seen."

"No argument there."

"So, are you and Gordon going to head over to the mainland this afternoon?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Yeah. I think I have a plan."

"What?"

"I'm going to tell him I do have a present for him and he'll have to decide which he wants more."

"Not gonna work."

"Why not?"

"Scott, do you really think he'll give up a Ferrari?"

"You know, I think he just wants me to admit I didn't forget his birthday. You know how he is."

"And you're going to give in? Scott, he'll never let you live it down. And neither will John or Alan."

"So you think it's better to hold out, and have him tootling around the island in a red Ferrari? Either way, I'm screwed, and at least if I give in, I won't have to see the results."

"Well, I wouldn't give in, but it's up to you."

"Okay, that's got it. Thanks for the help."

"No problem. I'll see you back at base." Virgil turned and headed over to the Firefly.

Scott went in search of Chief O'Dwyer. He found the man with two men in suits. As he approached, Chief O'Dwyer hailed him. "Ah, Scott, there you are! I'd like you to meet Mayor Timothy O'Hanlon and our chief of police, Liam Fitzgerald."

Scott shook hands with both men. "Gentlemen. A pleasure to meet you."

"No, the pleasure is ours. Chief O'Dwyer tells me that your machines kept this from becoming a real disaster. I want to thank you on behalf of all the people of Clondalkin."

Scott smiled at the formality. "I accept your thanks on behalf of International Rescue. Actually, I think you all owe a debt of gratitude to Chief O'Dwyer and his men. They've done a great job of knocking this fire down."

"To be sure we do. The fire brigade of Clondalkin is second to none, and I, for one, am very grateful for their courage and fortitude."

Scott had little use for the bluster of politicians, but long experience kept his response polite. "I have to agree with you there, Mayor O'Hanlon. Chief, my men and I will be headed back to base, unless you feel we might be needed?"

"No. You've been a tremendous help, but my men and I can handle things from here." O'Dwyer reached out to shake Scott's hand, and when Scott obliged, the chief held tight. "I want to add my personal thanks. If you're ever in need, you call, and me and mine will answer."

Scott was warmed by the honest emotion in the chief's ruddy face and he responded with a smile. "Thank you, Chief, I appreciate that."

"Thunderbird Two to Scott."

O'Dwyer released Scott's arm so he could answer the call. "Go ahead, Virgil."

"Scott, I'm ready to leave."

"All right, Thunderbird Two, you're clear. I'll be following shortly."

"FAB."

All four men stood watching as with a roar of engines, Thunderbird Two powered up. Scott had a small grin as the mighty transport left the ground as if she were a feather caught up in a light breeze. Nobody was better than Virgil was when it came to a deceptively gentle takeoff. The illusion was blown away, of course, by the pressure wave that flowed over the men. Scott was prepared for it, and stood braced, tall and proud. The others were forced to step back to keep their balance. In almost no time, Thunderbird Two was only a dot in the distance.

"Now that's a grand thing to witness." Chief of Police Fitzgerald's voice was soft with awe.

Scott glanced over, noticing even the mayor was temporarily speechless, reduced to nodding his head in agreement. "Well, gentlemen, I must be leaving. Please keep everyone back from my ship."

"We'll do that. Safe journey, Scott."

With a grin and a wave, Scott trotted off to Thunderbird One. Once onboard, he put in a call to his father. "Thunderbird One to base."

"Go ahead, Scott."

"Father, we've finished up here. Thunderbird Two is on the way, and I'll be taking off within a couple of minutes."

"Good job, son. Let me know your ETA once you're in the air."

"FAB."

Scott powered up his ship, and shot into the air. Virgil was a master of finesse, but Scott preferred a display of pure power. Brains' ingenious pressurization devices kept Scott from being a smear of grease on the back wall, but there was still enough of a kick to get his pulse racing. He kept Thunderbird One's red nose pointed upward and was soon so far above the clouds that the sky had turned to twilight.

"Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird One. Scott, are you in the air yet?"

"Yeah, Virg, I just took off. What's up?"

"It looks like you've been given a reprieve."

"Reprieve? What kind of reprieve?"

"It seems our little brother is allergic to his uniform. John says he's covered in a gawd-awful rash."

"A rash? You're kidding!"

"Nope. John says it's pretty bad. When Gordon took off the uniform, he was covered in some sort of white fibers. He took a shower, and everywhere the fibers were, he has this rash. It sounds pretty funny, but John says it looks painful."

"God. Only Gordon."

"Yeah... Anyway, John's trying to treat it, but Gordon's not cooperating. He's apparently grabbed a monkey wrench."

"You want me to talk to him?"

"No. I told John to leave him alone. When we get home, we'll tell Grandma. She'll fix him up."

"That works for me." Scott paused. "You know, I won't mind if we can't use those uniforms. I mean, I like blue."

"Yeah, and think of all the toy manufacturers. They'd go broke." Virgil said with a malicious chuckle. Since the appearance of International Rescue, several lines of supposedly accurate toys had appeared on the market, including action figures. The dolls looked nothing like any of the brothers. Virgil was particularly aggrieved by the unrealistic depictions of Thunderbird Two, especially the bright lime green color that seemed so popular.

"On the Firebus, there was this kid, maybe five years old. He was convinced Gordon looked like some kidnapper he'd seen on TV. He refused to believe Gordon was International Rescue because he knew International Rescue had blue uniforms." Scott paused, chuckling as Virgil guffawed. "I mean, it was pretty funny, but under different circumstances, it could be a disaster if people didn't believe we are who we say we are. You know what I mean?"

"I do. I don't know how we can stop Grandma, though. She seemed pretty determined this morning."

"I suppose it'll depend on how bad that rash is."

"Yeah. Well, as long as it keeps you from having to make good on that promise this afternoon, I'd say this rash is a good thing. Maybe teach him some humility."

"Humility. Gordon? Somehow those two words just don't go together."

Virgil's hearty laugh brought an answering smile to Scott's face. "Listen, I'll put in a call to Father, make sure Grandma's on hand with the calamine. What's your ETA?"

"Uh, two hours and forty-three minutes."

"FAB." Scott cut the connection, then hailed his base. "Thunderbird One to base."

"Go ahead, Scott."

"Dad, I'm in the air, my ETA is one hour and fifty five minutes. Thunderbird Two is forty-eight minutes behind me."

"Very good. We'll be ready for you when you arrive."

"Uh, Dad, we've run into a slight problem."

Jeff's face immediately tightened into a frown. "What kind of problem, son?"

"That uniform Grandma made Gordon has caused him to break out into a rash."

"A rash? How bad?"

"I haven't seen it myself, but apparently it's pretty bad."

"With Brains at that conference, we don't have medical back-up here at the island. I'll put a call in to Doc Carraker."

"Actually, I was thinking..."

"What, son?"

"I was thinking we should let Grandma treat it."

There was a pause as Jeff looked at his eldest with a shrewd eye. "You want to nip this new uniform idea in the bud."

Scott ducked his head. "I don't know. No... Yes... I hate to cross Grandma, but I just don't see any need to change our uniforms. They do the job, and we're used to them, and they're easily recognizable. Gordon actually had this kid who didn't believe he was with us. Kid took one look at me, and knew I was International Rescue."

"You seemed to like the hat this morning."

Scott looked his father in the eye. "Yeah, I do, but the hat is just as much a part of the uniform as that stupid sash. I mean, if accepting the baseball hat appeases Grandma, I'm all for it, but this hat seems more, I don't know, professional."

"Well, as it happens, I agree with you one hundred per cent. I've been trying to come up with a legitimate reason not change the uniform since I first saw that overall. It looks like a janitor's outfit. I would never wish anything like a rash on any of you boys, but we may just be able to use Gordon's discomfort to our advantage... All right, son, I'll hold off calling in the doctor, at least until I see this rash for myself."

"FAB, Dad."

Scott shut down the connection and settled into the pure joy of flying Thunderbird One.

Almost three hours later, Scott stood with his father and grandmother in Thunderbird Two's hangar, waiting for Virgil, John and Gordon to exit the mighty transport ship. When the hatch opened, and Gordon caught a glimpse of the reception committee on the hangar floor, he threw John a nasty look and said something only for his blond brother's ears. John for his part returned Gordon's glare with a cool stare.

Scott stepped forward at the same time as his father. He shared a look with Jeff, then headed for John as Jeff called out to Gordon. "Son? Come over here. Your grandmother and I want to have a look at this rash you have."

Scott threw his arm over John's shoulders and stepped him away from the incipient confrontation. "You okay?"

John's tense body immediately relaxed. "Oh sure. No problem. Gordon always gets cranky when he doesn't feel well. Remember that toothache a couple of years ago?"

"Yes. Actually, I was pretty relieved to see him. I figured there was a fifty-fifty chance you'd shove him out of the hatch at fifty thousand feet."

John chuckled. "No, it wasn't that bad. It's his birthday. He has to maintain a minimum level of civility, at least until he scores his presents. You owe me, by the way. I talked him out of the Ferrari. He's back to a V-Rod again."

"You're kidding! Why would anyone pick a Harley over a Ferrari?"

"Hey, I just saved you about a hundred thousand. If I were you, I wouldn't question it."

"You're right. Thanks, John." Scott looked over to where Gordon was rolling up a sleeve to show his father the rash. "I need to check this out. I'll see you later."

John stopped him with a hand on his arm. He said softly, "Scott, don't let him get away with that. The rash isn't so bad on his arms, but it's nasty on his stomach."

"Thanks."

Scott strode over to where his grandmother was inspecting Gordon's forearm. "Well, honey, that's not so bad."

"It's nothing, Grandma. No need to fuss."

Jeff flicked a glance at Scott and Virgil. "I was led to believe it was much worse, son."

Scott looked at the small patch of pinkish skin on the underside of Gordon's arm. He felt a certain relief that it really didn't look all that serious. Mindful of what John had said, he reached out and without ceremony or permission, pulled his brother's shirt up. Gordon twisted away with a yelp, but not before Scott had glimpsed angry red skin. "Damn."

"What? Let me see." Ruth Tracy pushed forward past Virgil.

"It's nothing, Grandma."

"You let me be the judge of that, Gordon. Now lift up that shirt so I can see."

Gordon stood defiantly holding his shirt down. "Grandma, I said it's nothing."

Jeff opened his mouth to say something, but Ruth held up a hand, stilling him. "Gordon, you come with me. The rest of you go about your business."

Scott reflected that it would take sterner men than any of those present to defy his grandmother when she used that tone of voice. He and Virgil turned as one to the pod. Restocking supplies was a necessary duty, and both men preferred to do it as quickly as possible.

Jeff called after his sons. "Debrief in an hour. Someone let John know."

Virgil waved an acknowledgement as he followed Scott into the pod. Scott looked over his shoulder saying, "I'll recharge the dicetylene tanks, if you want to take care of the disposables. Oh, and we'll need a replacement for one class three burn stretcher and for a standard gurney."

"All right. So, the Firebus did okay?"

"Actually, it did great." John said, entering the pod. "It maneuvers well, and with the air conditioning units, you couldn't even tell there was a fire outside."

"John, why don't you go get the washers running on it? Virgil and I can handle the re-stock."

"Sure." The blond middle Tracy brother moved casually, headed for the front of the machine to set the automatic washer running. All of the brothers appreciated the upgrade. Before Brains had devised the automatic system, the pod machines had to be manually washed. While none of the brothers minded hard work, the time it took to clean up the larger machines was usually time better spent on other projects.

Scott pulled on heavy work gloves and got to work. Dicetylene was one of Brains' wonder chemicals. A quick-acting fire suppressant, it was biodegradable, non-toxic, and it didn't even smell bad, a trait that Scott particularly appreciated. Recharging the tanks of the big Firebus was designed to go quickly and efficiently, and within twenty minutes, Scott was done.

Scott moved into the cab of the big machine, finding John with his feet up on the console. John looked up from where he had been inspecting his fingernails. "I'm exhausted. Cleaning this thing is hard work."

Scott chuckled taking a swat at his brother. "Come on, let's get some lunch."

"Lunch? You need to check your watch every once and a while. It's almost dinner time."

Startled, Scott checked his watch. "Damn, missed lunch again."

"You know, that's one of the nice things about space station duty. Doesn't matter how desperate the situation is downside, I never miss a meal. Remember last month when Virgil fell over the edge of that cliff, and you were panicking trying to get to him?"

"I never panic, John."

"Yeah, right. Well, while you were crying in a surfeit of non-panic, I was eating a bowl of ice cream."

"I'll remember that the next time you're dangling above a hundred foot drop. C'mon, let's go find Virg."

The two brothers headed back through the Firebus, coming into the rear section just as Virgil put the last of the burn pack replacements in a cabinet. "Virg, we're going to get a snack. You coming?"

"A snack? I want more than a snack. I'm starving."

"So are we, but dinner's in a couple of hours, and you know Grandma always goes all out for birthday dinners."

"You think she'll make those stuffed pork chops? Gordon loves those."

"That or maybe beef Wellington. Either way it's going to be a good dinner."

"Yeah, but you aren't going to get any. You're going to the mainland, remember?"

"Naw, the last thing Gordon is going to want to do is go over to the mainland if it means missing his birthday dinner."

"So, are you going to give him that gift I hid for you?"

"I'll put it out on the table and tell him he can have either it or the Harley, but if he picks the Harley, I'll heave the present I have into the trash."

John laughed. "That's diabolical. You know perfectly well he'll go nuts."

"Serve him right." The elevator door opened and Scott led his brothers through the lounge.

Ruth Tracy entered from the hallway. "Jeff..."

Jeff looked up from the report he was working on. "How is he, Mother?"

"Oh, that boy! He didn't want to show me the rash because he didn't want me to feel bad about that uniform, as if any piece of cloth is more important to me than my grandbabies. I gave him a piece of my mind, let me tell you." Ruth tsked. "Oh, stop frowning son, he's fine. The rash is nasty, but once contact is broken, it clears right up. He got most of the fibers off with a shower, and you could see from his arm that it was clearing. His stomach was still inflamed because some of the fibers got caught up in his belly button. I cleaned it out and it's already looking better."

Scott let out a breath of relief. In a glance, he could see Virgil was relieved also. Jeff replied for them all. "That's good news, Mother. Where is he?"

"He went to get a snack."

"I think we'll go join him. What's for dinner, Grandma?"

"Gordon asked for stuffed pork chops."

"Great!"

"Have I mentioned you're my favorite grandma, Grandma?"

"Yeah, mine too."

"Thank you, boys. I'll try not to remember that I'm your only grandmother. Now, go, you can have some ice cream, but don't spoil your dinner."

"Okay, Grandma!"

The three brothers headed for the kitchen, but before they reached the door, they were surprised by a loud yelp. Scott hurried forward and pushed open the kitchen door to find Gordon alternately sucking and shaking his fingers. "What did you do? Let me see."

Scott reached for Gordon's hand, but the younger man snatched it away, cradling it protectively. He nodded towards the gaily wrapped birthday gift Jeff had left on the table earlier in the day. "It bit me!"

John and Virgil both started to snicker. "Well, Dad told you not to open it, didn't he?"

"I wasn't going to open it, Scott. I was just going to shake it. Shaking's allowed. Shaking's always allowed."

"He told you you'd be sorry if you touched it."

"Yeah, it's like he's psychic or something."

"Guys, enough. Gordon, are you all right? Or do I need to call Grandma in here?"

"I'm fine."

"You want some ice cream? We're going to have some."

"What kind?"

"I'm not sure. What kind is it, Virg?"

Virgil stepped over to the deep freeze and lifting the lid, inventoried the contents. "Uh, we got triple chocolate, butter pecan, cherry chocolate chip and liver."

"Liver?"

"That's what it says. Either it's mislabeled, or someone put meat in the ice cream bin." Virgil didn't wait for preferences, instead just tossing the containers over his shoulder to Scott who tossed them behind his back to John who tossed them through his legs to Gordon who simply put them on the table.

"Do we need bowls?"

"Naw, but I suppose we should use spoons."

"Okay." Virgil opened a drawer and pulled out four tablespoons, which he flung end over end to each of his brothers.

The four sat down, Virgil reaching for the butter pecan and Scott grabbing the triple chocolate. Gordon snatched the cherry chocolate chip, encircling it in his arms and hunkering over it staring at John with narrowed eyes.

John, for his part ignored his younger brother, instead scooting his chair closer to Scott and reaching for a spoonful of chocolate. "You're not fooling me, Johnny. I know you covet my ice cream."

In a mood to be helpful, Virgil said, "No, no, you've got them mixed up again. This one's John, your older brother. It's Alan who covets your stuff."

Enlightened, Gordon replied, "Oh. That's right. I can never keep those two apart."

"It's easy. I'm the good looking one." John ignored the derisive snorts of his brothers, pointing his spoon at Gordon. "I hear Grandma had to get the lint out of your belly button."

"Yep. She oiled my butt and changed my Pampers while she was at it. It feels all snug and comfy now." Gordon's hand had reached out as if of it's own volition toward the birthday present still in the middle of the table. His brothers stilled, watching. Just short of touching it, Gordon seemed to remember and pulled his hand back. Looking up at his brother's bemused expressions, he said, "You know, it's just plain wrong to leave a present out like that."

Scott who had leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed responded. "Think of it as a lesson in discipline."

"Exactly," Jeff said as he entered the kitchen. "Dinner is in less than two hours, son. Even you should be able to wait that long." He crossed the room to the silverware drawer and pulled out a spoon of his own. Glancing at the cartons, Jeff pulled a chair up next to Gordon and helped himself to a spoonful of cherry chocolate chip.

"It's not a matter of whether I can wait, Dad. It's whether I should have to wait. It is my birthday, after all."

"Yes it is, but patience is a virtue. I'm just helping you become virtuous." Jeff's pious statement started a wave of laughter around the table, including Gordon.

"All I can say is it better be worth all this virtue." Gordon said drily.

"You'll see at dinnertime."

"Well, come on Scott, let's get going."

"What? Go where?"

"My V-Rod, remember? We're going to go get my V-Rod."

"It's too late. If we leave now, we won't be home until midnight. Grandma's making stuffed pork chops for dinner. You don't want to miss that, do you?"

"Son, I have to agree with your brother. I know I said you could go, but that was before that rescue took up most of the day. It would break your grandma's heart if you weren't here for your own birthday dinner."

"Fellas, I'm not missing anything. Scott, we can special order a V-Rod direct from the factory over the internet. It costs more, but hey, I'm worth it. Now come on."

Scott sighed. "Okay. You win. Gordon, I didn't forget your birthday. I've already got a present for you."

A collective groan came from his father and brothers, overridden by Gordon's triumphant crow. "YES!" Scott looked confused at the looks of disgust around the table.

"Okay, you guys, pay up!" Gordon snapped his fingers then held out his hand. Jeff, Virgil and John each reached for their wallets, pulling out one hundred dollars each and turning it over to a gleeful Gordon. He jumped up and pranced to the doorway, "I'm going to go call Alan.!"

Doing a slow burn, Scott looked to Virgil for an explanation. "We bet he couldn't get you to admit you hadn't forgotten his birthday before dinner."

"Am I that predictable?"

John answered with some asperity. "Scott, you haven't changed your act in twenty years. It was a sure thing, until you promised him a V-Rod."

"I didn't promise him a V-Rod, John."

"Next year, I'm talking him into a Ferrari instead of out of one."

"There will be no 'next year'. I'm a reformed man. Actually, I like your idea, Dad. Put it right in front of him and don't let him touch it."

"Yeah, I do too. What did you do to it? He touched it and said it bit him."

"He touched it? Hmmm." Jeff reached into his pocket and pulled out a small remote. Pointing it at the present, he press a button.

Reaching out, he picked the gift up and tossed it to Virgil who juggled it for a moment before grabbing it. "It's warm."

"Yes. See the metallic strands in the paper? They conduct electricity. Gordon got a bit of a jolt when he touched it."

"Good one, Dad."

"Thank you, son. Keep it in mind the next time any of you decide to pull one over on me." As his sons chuckled, Jeff stood. "Let's go get the debrief over with, shall we?"

Putting away the ice cream and dropping the spoons in the sink, the three brothers filed out of the kitchen behind their father.

"Anyone for one last chop?"

"Mom, if I eat any more, I'm going to burst."

Scott, John and Gordon all sat back waving the platter of food away. Virgil helped himself to his fourth stuffed pork chop, saying with disdain, "Wimps." As the rest of the family passively watched, Virgil worked his way through the pork chop with great relish.

When he finally put his knife and fork down, Gordon asked calmly, "Are you finished?"

Virgil sat back with a pensive look. After almost a minute, Gordon prompted him, "Well?"

"Don't rush me, I'm thinking about it."

John snickered, but Ruth took things in hand. "Virgil, don't tease your brother. You boys go on into the lounge. Jeff, if you'll help me with the cake?"

"Of course, Mother."

The brothers headed for the lounge, playfully pushing and shoving. On a coffee table was a pile of gifts all brightly wrapped, except one, which seemed to be wrapped in newspaper, held together with a few bits of tape. Gordon took the seat of honor, immediately picking up the gift on the top of the pile and shaking it. "It says it's from Tin-Tin."

Gordon started to pick at the tape, but Virgil reached over and slapped his hand away. "Wait for the cake."

Gordon sat back with a disgruntled look, staring at the pile of gifts. Anything he might have said was cut off as the lights in the room went out, and his grandmother appeared with a large cake lit by a couple dozen festive candles. The brothers broke out into a enthusiastic if not vocally adept birthday song.

Gordon was all grins as he blew out all of the candles in one mighty breath. When his grandmother handed him the knife to cut the cake, he made as if to cut mere slivers for his brothers and a huge piece for himself, but was thwarted when his father decreed that his brothers could each pick their piece.

Finally, Gordon was allowed to open his presents. All four brothers liked the retro Hawaiian shirt that Tin-Tin had found. Gordon had to mock-threaten Virgil to get him to return it. Gordon was likewise thrilled with the painting Virgil gifted him with. Unlike most of his work, this was a tiny watercolor of the view from Gordon's bedroom. Gordon kept peering at the details, a delighted smile on his face. "Thanks, Virg, this is really super."

"Glad you like it, squirt."

"Like it? I love it!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Open mine. That one in the blue paper." John pointed to a large box.

Gordon needed no additional prompting, and reached for the box, giving it a shake as he gathered it onto his lap. "It's heavy."

"Open it up!"

Gordon tore into the bright paper uncovering a box depicting the latest in sport wetsuits. Made of a new material that was said to be lighter in weight than neoprene, it was nonetheless rated to five hundred feet. Scott said doubtfully, "It's yellow. You'll look like a big banana in the water."

John's smile froze, but Gordon said happily, "No, it's not banana yellow, it's SpongeBob yellow! This is so great! I love it! Thanks, Johnny!"

John relaxed and Scott pointed to the newspaper-wrapped gift. "I remembered the present, I just forgot the wrapping paper."

Laughing, Gordon picked up the gift and ripped open the paper. "Oh my God! Where did you find this? I've been looking for a copy of this for months!"

"I have my sources." Scott sat back, a satisfied smile on his face.

"What have you got there, son?"

"It's this old movie. Al and I saw it at a revival theater in Auckland last summer. It's really hilarious. What are these other ones, Scott?"

"They're all by the same comedy troupe. See? They all say Monty Python."

Gordon sat back reading the backs of the three DVDs. "I didn't realize they were a group. I thought it was just the one movie."

"What is it called, dear?"

"It's called 'Monty Python And The Holy Grail.' It's pretty old, and it's British. I doubt you've ever heard of it."

"Heard of it? Oh my! Your grandfather loved that movie. But the one he liked best was called, oh, let me see... oh, of course, 'The Life Of Brian'."

"Really? Grandpa liked it?"

"Oh, honey, where do you think you got that silly sense of humor of yours? Of course, he loved Monty Python. So did I, come to think of it. It was very daring in its day."

As this conversation took place, Jeff had called John aside, and after a short quiet conversation, the blond Tracy brother had left the room.

"Well, now I can't decide. Scott's got me The Holy Grail, The Life Of Brian, and something called Jabberwocky. Which one shall we watch first?"

Virgil piped up. "It's got to be that Holy Grail thing. It's all you and Alan talked about for months."

"Well, wait until you see it. It's really great. Let's put it in now."

Gordon made a move to get up, but Jeff cleared his throat rather loudly. "Are you forgetting something?"

"Huh? What?"

"You still haven't opened my gift."

Gordon looked at the harmless looking package on the table. "Oh, yeah. Right."

When he made no move to reach for it, Jeff said calmly, "Go ahead, son, it won't bite."

"Uh, yeah... um... Virg, why don't you hand it to me, you're closer."

Virgil, who was actually on the far side of the room, got up and came over. "Sure thing, birthday boy." He picked up the package, and put it down at the edge of the table directly in front of Gordon.

Seeing his brother pick it up with no ill effect, Gordon reached out, but as soon as his fingers brushed the wrapping he yelped, pulling his hand back. Ruth frowned. "What on earth..." She reached over and picked the small gift up and peered at it suspiciously, but could find nothing wrong.

"You unwrap it, Grandma."

"Now, you're just being silly. Here."

Ruth made as if to hand the package to Gordon, but he swiftly put his hands behind his back. "Nothing doing. It hates me."

Scott grinned, "Here, Grandma, let's see if it hates me."

Ruth handed the gift over, and Scott inspected it carefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see John entering from the balcony, pushing what looked like a new motorcycle. Feeling a rush of love for his family, he glanced at this father then suddenly tossed the gift to Gordon, calling "Think fast."

Gordon caught it by reflex, then just as suddenly dropped it, yelping. Scott and Virgil could maintain their composure no longer, and both broke into hearty laughs at the injured look on Gordon' face. Jeff was laughing so hard he had to wipe away tears. Ruth stood glaring at all three of the men. "All right, you've have your fun, now let the boy have his present."

Catching his breath, Jeff caught Gordon's eye, and held up a small black control box. "It's a remote. Go ahead, pick it up, I've turned it off."

Gordon sat back and crossed his arms. "I don't think so. You pick it up."

Smiling, Scott crossed to where the gift sat innocuously on the floor. Picking it up, he tossed it to his father, who caught it one-handed. "See? It's turned off."

Gordon didn't budge. Jeff smiled. "Okay, you want me to open it for you?"

"Be my guest."

"All right." Jeff made short work of the wrapping paper, revealing a velvet covered box, like the ones commonly used for jewelry. He opened the box and sat admiring it what was within.

After a few minutes, Gordon could take the suspense no longer, and in a curious voice asked, "What is it?"

Jeff glanced at his son, then back at the contents of the box. Just when it looked as if he was going to ignore the question, he turned the box around, revealing a key on a silver keychain.

Gordon sucked in his breath. "A key? What's it a key to, Dad?"

"Oh, I don't know, something lying around the house, I suppose. The keychain is pure silver, and look, it has your initials on it."

Gordon was grinning ear to ear, staring at his father, knowing full well the key was to his real present. "It's a new Skiddoo, isn't it? Did you get me a Skiddoo?"

"No. Actually, it's something in the house. You're just going to have to look around to find it." Jeff's look was pure innocence. Scott, John and Virgil were all grinning in anticipation, and Ruth's look was of love.

"A treasure hunt! Cool!" Gordon looked around, deciding where to hunt first, totally unaware of the motorcycle sitting directly behind him. "Is it bigger than a sock drawer?"

Not waiting for an answer, Gordon jumped up from his seat, and headed for the hallway. Ruth laughed with delight, and Gordon turned to see what the joke was, and spotted the motorcycle. He stopped dead, staring with his mouth hanging open.

John called, "You looking to catch a fly? Close your mouth, squirt."

"It's... it's..."

Virgil looked at Scott. "Mark this date on your calendar. February 14th, 2026, the day Gordon was actually struck speechless."

Scott replied gravely, "A momentous occasion, indeed."

Gordon ignored his brothers, walking over to the motorcycle and running his hand over the leather seat. "Dad, this is exactly the one I wanted. How did you know?"

"I have my sources."

Gordon took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were shining. "God, I can't believe you guys. All of you. Every year, it just gets better. Thank you, everyone. Thank you for making this a really great birthday."

Gordon paused, looking as if he would say more, then shook his head, and stepped over to his father, and pulled him into a bearhug, murmuring his thanks. When he stepped back, he turned and hugged his grandmother for good measure.

John was the closest of his brothers, and Gordon eyed him speculatively. John for his part growled. "Let's not get carried away."

"Aw, Johnny... Okay, well, how about just a kiss?" Gordon reached out his arms, lips pursed, making smacking sounds.

"I'll pass. Let's go check out the bike."

"Where?"

"Hangar floor?"

"Cool! You guys coming?"

Scott and Virgil both glanced at the remains of the birthday cake before Scott responded, "We'll be there in a while."

Waiting until John and Gordon pushed the bike out through the sliding glass door. Scott, Virgil and Jeff helped themselves each to a second piece of cake. "Let me see that painting, Virgil."

Virgil reached across the table to hand the delicate work to his father. Jeff held it so Scott could see. "This is beautiful, son."

"Thanks, Dad. I doubt he'll even remember it. How did you know to get him that V-Rod?"

"Alan."

"Figures."

"All right, boys, let's get this mess cleaned up, then we can go watch your brother with his new toy. What do you think, Scott? Cargo netting or sandbags?"

"Sandbags to protect the equipment, cargo nets to keep him from slamming into Thunderbird Two." Scott smiled. It had been a good day.