CLOUD OF DOOM by BOOMERCAT RATED FRT

John and his brothers have a busy week.

Author's Notes: Once again, my profound thanks to my super betas, Sam and Lynn, without whom this story would be a mish-mash with rotten punctuation and spelling. I also want to thank Opal Girl for her invaluable help in matters of space and physics. A special thanks to the TIWF chatroom crowd for their continuing support and enthusiasm.

Warning: Paraphrasing the words of the immortal Bones McCoy, ‘Dammit Jim, I'm a fanfic writer, not a scientist!' The science in this story is probably cringe-worthy to those of you with strong backgrounds. Any errors are my own and are despite the brave attempts of those who know better to explain things to me. One other thing, this is my longest story to date. If you are the type who can't stop reading once you start, this story prints out to 160 pages. I take no responsibility for missed classes, or late nights.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"MHL?"

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

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

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

"Which one?"

"You're pushing it." John growled.

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

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

"Hah! Welcome to my world!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Son? Are you all right?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Women swoon at his feet..."

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

"Children wave to catch his eye..."

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

"Brave men tremble at his coming..."

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

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

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

"Well, maybe not soundly."

"Bring it on, junior."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gotcha!" Scott smirked.

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

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

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

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

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

"That can't be fair."

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

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

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

"That'd be great, Scott."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"About what?"

"About you faking a bad back."

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

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

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

"And he didn't say anything?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What? What's wrong?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"FAB, Dad."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Check. The board is green."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Meteors?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How many?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two voices called out, rough with relief.

"Oh thank God! Thank God!"

"Uh, we hear you, International Rescue."

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

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

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

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

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

"No Henri! You must consider your children!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alan was interrupted as Scott reported both astronauts safely aboard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"FAB, John. Good job. Standby."

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

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

"Huh?"

"What?" Both brothers wore confused frowns.

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

"I was talking about Scott."

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

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

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

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

Alan's eyes widened. "Low?"

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

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

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

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

"Gordon? Since when does Gordon fence?"

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

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

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

"Goldilocks."

"Huh?"

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

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

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

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

"Dad used to fence?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Undocking complete. Firing thrusters now."

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

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

"Seven minutes. Thunderbird Three to Base."

"This is Base, go ahead, John."

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

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

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

"International Rescue, this is WSTS, over."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Perhaps another time."

"Yes sir. International Rescue out."

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

"More like the King of Dorks."

"And you can be my Crown Prince."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"FAB."

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

John frowned. "Does what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Exciting."

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

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

"And do what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"As if!" Alan sneered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"FAB. Any problems, son?"

"No, Father. Everything went smoothly."

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

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

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

Scott smiled slowly. "I'm what?"

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

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

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

"Nice try."

"Um, I plead the fifth?"

"Tomorrow, 9am, sharp."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"FAB."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We're coming up on entry burn."

"I'm on it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you suppose happened?"

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

"Where is Dad, I wonder?"

"Lying low."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah? About what?"

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

Gordon looked puzzled. "Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why would Dad want to fence?"

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

"So's swimming."

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

"So does swimming."

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

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

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

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

"A robot?"

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

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

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

"Okay, so then what went wrong?"

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

"Veronica?"

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

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

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

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

"Wow." John remarked simply.

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

"Yeah. So then what happened?"

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

"Yeah, so then what?"

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

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

"Hey! Where you going?"

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

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

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

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

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

"He's going to talk to Virgil."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Father."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cool!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Veronica?"

"What?"

"Gordon said he named the robot Veronica."

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

"Gordon said he had to pull you away."

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

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

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

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

"Grandma made tuna casserole."

John licked his lips. "Excellent."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And leave none for Scott, I suppose."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Go ahead, Alan."

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

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

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

"Yes, Father."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Check. The board is green."

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

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

"Hang on, Scott" Alan said tersely.

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

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

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

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

"Let me talk to them, Al."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Father?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gordon."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, Scott."

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

"Yeah."

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

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

"I'm fine, Dad."

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

"Virgil, what's your ETA?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"FAB." Virgil signed off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeff slowly nodded. "All right, son."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"FAB." Gordon just grinned and signed off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

"FAB."

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

John snorted. "Constantly."

"Who asked you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean, Bax?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll do it first thing tomorrow."

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

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

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

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

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

"FAB." Gordon signed off.

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

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

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

"Yep." John smirked.

"9am. In the gym. Sharp."

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

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

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

"Sleep well, son."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lobster and eggs?" Gordon asked hopefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And you call me sunshine." John grinned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Enough. Go on, Gordon."

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

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

"Good job, son" Jeff nodded.

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

"You're kidding!"

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

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

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

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

"Thanks, Dad."

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

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

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

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

Scott nodded thoughtfully. "Good idea, John."

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

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

"Your funeral." Gordon muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

"A copy will do fine, son."

"FAB."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're supposed to be helping."

"We are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

John smiled, "Sure, Scott."

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

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

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

"Absolutely. Especially with Veronica to help us."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John blinked. "Moldova has a satellite?"

"Moldova has a military?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John sat back. "Well, now what?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you, Father."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scott snorted. "You feel better now?"

"Huh?"

"You've got new lines."

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

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

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

"About the same as John beating me fencing."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"If only to have you within reach."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Try the other station." Scott said softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Understood, Father."

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

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

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

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

"Oh, for God's sake." John shook his head in disgust, then took over the communications. "MBS Two, this is Thunderbird Three. It's come to our attention that you may have doubts as to our identity. Please direct your cameras to the honkin' big red rocket approaching. You'll notice first that it has Thunderbird Three written very prominently on its side. You'll notice second that it's a damn sight more advanced than anything the Ukrainians could throw at you. And you'll notice third that it's beautiful. And even if it was as ugly as a Ukrainian beauty pageant winner, it would still be beautiful to you, because it's here to save your butts. So how about it? Are you going to give us the approach feed or do we go home?"

The silence seemed to last an eternity, but finally a gruff voice called out. "International Rescue, you are very welcome here. Sending approach feed now."

"Thank you, MBS Two. We'll be with you shortly."

John cut the line, and smiled smugly at his older brother. "Any questions?"

Scott rolled his eyes, and opened contact with their father. "Thunderbird Three to Base, Dad, John has convinced them to let us approach."

Jeff's eyebrows rose. "I was just going to call you. The head of the Moldovan Space Agency told his people to let you approach."

Scott looked over at John. "Any questions?"

John grunted as he guided his ship to an airlock highlighted by blinking lights. With a deft touch, John slid the big rocket into position. As the locks engaged, John murmured for Alan's benefit, "The Galactic Emperor of Docks."

As the words left his lips, there was a jolt that traveled through the entire ship, and to John's horror, red lights swept across his status board. Moving rapidly, he barked out, "Disengaging locks, firing thrusters. Get me a status report. What the hell happened?"

"Oh God." John felt his blood run cold as Alan's flat statement. Throwing his brother a quick glance, before concentrating on his own instruments, his stomach turned at the white-faced fear on Alan's face.

Scott's voice was diamond hard. "Alan, report."

"Uh, it looks like the station's lock suffered catastrophic decompression. I've got at least three bodies out there."

"Are they suited?"

"No." Alan reported softly.

John clenched his jaw. He reached over to Alan's board, and flipped a switch. "Thunderbird Three to MBS Two, what is your status?"

The Tracy brothers waited tensely for a response. When there was no response, Scott asked, "How many people would a station like that carry?"

Glancing at the station layout, John returned curtly, "Anywhere from two to fifteen."

Scott was silent for a moment, then ordered, "Alan, bring up the infrared. Let's see if we can spot any individual heat signatures."

"They'll be indistinguishable from the background heat of the station, Scott." Alan said sadly, but obediently keyed up the necessary screen.

The brothers looked intently, but as Alan had predicted, the areas of the station that had power were a uniform bright yellow. Scott asked quietly. "Is this something we did?"

John shook his head. "No, I don't think so. This is all part of whatever is causing these blowouts in the first place."

"Okay, someone is going to have to go over there."

"That's what I'm here for." Alan responded, unbuckling his safety harness.

"Wait a minute, Alan." Scott said.

"Those people may not have minutes, Scott." Alan responded coldly.

"Shut up and listen. If there is anybody left over there, they may not be very happy to see you. These are military people in a cold war situation. They are as likely to believe you're the enemy as not. I'm coming with you."

Alan narrowed his eyes, but Scott simply ignored him, unbuckling his own harness. "You show any sign of aggression, and I do mean any sign, and they will take you out before you say hello. Alan, I'm serious here. We need to be very careful in everything we say and do over there. Remember, we're their only hope of survival, whether they realize it or not. Got it?"

Alan thrust out his jaw. "I don't need a babysitter."

"And I don't need insubordination."

"Scott, I can do this without you looking over my shoulder."

"John, call over to that station, let them know we're coming." Scott entered the elevator, and raised an eyebrow at his younger brother.

John carefully looked away from his youngest brother, and flipped a switch. "MBS Two, this is Thunderbird Three. We are sending people to assist. Repeat, we are sending someone over to help."

"Oh, and you think that's going to help?" Alan was seething, as the elevator door shut on him and Scott.

John sat back taking a deep breath. He studied the monitor to try and see what went wrong. He leaned forward to trace an area next to the dock, where the blowout had actually occurred. It chilled his heart.

There was no apparent cause for the problem. If it could occur here, what was to keep it from happening on Thunderbird Five? He decided that as soon as he got home, he would approach his father about returning to space monitor duty early. He didn't want to risk his baby brother's life. In fact, he would have preferred to accompany Scott himself to the station.

Setting his concern aside, John hailed his father. "Thunderbird Three to Base. Father, our attempt at docking with the station was unsuccessful. Alan and Scott are going to go EVA to get over there."

"Unsuccessful? Why, John? What happened?"

"Uh, they had a blowout in the lock chamber just as we approached, Dad. We count three dead."

Jeff paled at the news. "Son, I want you suited up. Whatever the hell this is, I don't want you caught unaware."

John nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense, Dad. I'll go now."

"FAB." John shut the link and started unbuckling his harness. Before he could complete the action, an alarm blared, and his communications console came to life.

A heavily accented voice spoke above the sound of the proximity alarms. "International Rescue, this is Ukrainian Rescue Flight One. Come in, International Rescue."

John swore under his breath as he slapped a switch that cut off the alarm. Responding with a calmness he didn't feel, John replied. "URF One, this is Thunderbird Three. What can I do for you?"

"Thunderbird Three, we are here to help our comrades. We appreciate your rapid response, but your assistance is not required."

"Actually, I was about to say the same thing. We are already onsite, and involved in rescue operations. We have things in hand. If you'd like to standby, we'll let you know if we need your help."

There was a pause, and then the voice was back. "You misunderstand. We are not requesting that you leave, we are telling you to leave."

"Sorry, can't comply. I've got two people already over there on that station."

"Scott to control room. Alan and I are ready to open the airlock."

"Scott, the Ukrainians have showed up. They want us to leave."

"We aren't going anywhere."

"Yeah, I told them that."

"All right, stay put, but let Dad know what's happening. Alan and I are on our way over."

"FAB." John reached to contact his father. "Thunderbird Three to Base. Dad, the Ukrainians have arrived. They're telling us to back off."

"What exactly are they saying, son?"

John had been listening to the increasingly strident demands from the Ukrainian ship with half an ear as he conducted his conversations with his brother and father. "Well, so far they're just telling us to get lost. No specific threats."

"Hold your ground, son. I'll see if I can do anything from here."

"FAB." John turned his attention to the Ukrainian ship. It was still over a hundred kilometers off, but steadily getting closer. He scanned for any sign of weapons, but nothing was obvious.

He flipped a switch and called out with fake courtesy, "URF One, I'm sorry I wasn't listening. What was it you were saying?"

International Rescue, you will depart immediately or suffer the consequences." The voice ground out.

You're going to have to be a little more specific. What consequences are you referring to?"

"This station is in violation of Ukrainian airspace. It is our intention to apprehend the criminals onboard and then destroy the station. If you interfere, we will simply destroy the station with your people onboard. It is up to you."

With an angry frown, John fired Thunderbird Three's thrusters, and maneuvered the big ship so that it was between the station and the oncoming threat. Opening a channel to his brothers, he said. "Scott? What's happening over there?"

Alan's voice was tense as he responded. "We've got a situation here, John. Scott's trying to convince them not to kill us."

John felt his stomach take a nosedive. He swallowed hard, "Well tell him if they don't kill you the Ukrainians might. They're out here threatening to blow the station to kingdom come."

"Stand by, John." Scott's reply was curt.

"Swell." John muttered. Thinking for a moment, he opened the channel to the Ukrainians. "URF One, who am I speaking to, please?"

"This is Colonel Bohdanko Drabczak. Do not think moving your ship will protect the criminals. If necessary, I will destroy you."

"Colonel Drabczak, is your government really willing to risk worldwide censure? Shooting down an unarmed rescue craft?"

"You are interfering in the national security of a sovereign country. We have a right to protect ourselves."

"Are you saying you fear attack from International Rescue, Colonel? That doesn't seem very reasonable, does it?"

John watched as the Ukrainian vessel approached. Close up, it was obvious it was a second hand ship at best. John reflected it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that they could end up rescuing the Ukrainians.

"Enough of this. We will be on final approach within the next five minutes. You have that much time to recall your colleagues and vacate this area." There was a loud click as the Ukrainian cut communication.

John rubbed his suddenly sweating palms together, wondering if he dared communicate with his brothers. Letting loose a deep breath, he instead contacted his father. "Thunderbird Three to Base. Dad, the threats have gotten specific."

Jeff sounded pre-occupied when he responded. "I'm working on it, son. Just try to stall them for as long as you can."

"FAB." John reluctantly cut the communication. He watched as the Ukrainian loomed ever larger on the screen. Despite the omnipresent sounds of his ship, John felt surrounded by a deafening silence as he waited for someone, anyone, to talk to him.

He was watching the obstinately silent station when there was a sudden soundless explosion. John felt his heart climb to his mouth as what had to be the common area of the small station suddenly opened to space. As he watched, debris and several bodies flew away from the stricken station. He pulled up real-time imaging, and let out a relieved breath when he saw that all of the bodies were in spacesuits. The relief was short-lived when he realized that one of the victims was in the distinctive suit used by International Rescue.

"Alan to Thunderbird Three! John! We've had another blow out! Scott got pulled out!"

"I'm on it, Alan."

"John, I'm fine. I've got it under control. Get those other guys first." Scott's voice was calm and cool.

John took a moment to calm himself, and responded in a like voice, "FAB, Scott."

He turned to the targeting system. He immediately noticed one of the victims was moving erratically, a sure sign of a suit leak. Zeroing in on the man, he let loose a line. As soon as it hit, the sensors started delivering information on his condition. As John suspected, the man was in serious trouble.

The readout said the suit was damaged and losing air and pressure at a dangerous rate. John slapped a few switches and watched the readout tensely, as the soft grip at the end of the line performed one of its primary functions; spreading a covering web over the astronaut's ruined suit. The web became a balloon that provided the function of a patch job. Another switch, and the line stiffened as oxygen was pumped through it. John watched as the man stabilized.

As he started the retraction procedure he took a moment to take in the overall situation. He saw that three of the astronauts had linked up, and as he watched, he saw the third jet away toward a fourth man. He realized the third man was his brother Scott rounding up the victims. He targeted the two linked men, sent out a line, and then opened up communications.

"Alan, I've got an injured man. How soon can you get over here?"

"Two minutes, John. I've got the rest of the survivors ready to go. Can you send me a line?"

"On it." John quickly targeted the open gap in the station, being careful not to cross either of the lines already extended.

"Thunderbird Three, this is Ukrainian Rescue. You will leave now, or be destroyed."

John groaned. For a moment, he considered just ignoring the man. His hands were full, and the last thing he needed was a distraction. John realized that he had to deal with the Ukrainians once and for all.

Clenching his jaw, he watched as several people in suits left the station, using the line that he had sent as a guide rope. There were five, then Alan at the rear. Scott had added a third to the group at the end of the second line and was moving again to the one remaining free floater.

Thinking quickly, he finally responded to the so-called rescuers. "All right Colonel. I will vacate the area immediately. Let me just set up the recorder first."

"Recorder? What recorder is this?"

"Just a formality, Colonel... Okay, it's set up. Let me start... This is International Rescue representative John on Thunderbird Three. Colonel, state your name, please."

"What? Why?" The Ukrainian's voice was suspicious.

"For the recording. State your name, please, Colonel."

After a pause, the man said warily, "Colonel Bohdanko Drabczak."

"Thank you, Colonel. You are a representative of the Ukrainian government, correct?"

"Yes."

"And you are ordering International Rescue to cease and desist rescue operations related to Moldovan Border Station Number Two, correct?"

There was another pause. "Yes."

"And you state that if International Rescue does not cease and desist, you will destroy Thunderbird Three, correct?"

"What is the purpose of this recording?" The Colonel had had enough.

"This will be presented at the World Court, Colonel. International Rescue will be suing you and your government for the destruction of their property."

"You are violating Ukrainian airspace! We are defending our national interests!"

"Your government can present that argument in the court, Colonel. That's always assuming they back you up, that they don't just leave you hanging out to dry." John had been keeping an eye on Scott's progress. His brother had finally reached the last man, and was jetting back to the line where the three others were tethered.

Alan had already reached Thunderbird Three's airlock. John had left the communication lines open with both of his brothers so they could hear the conversation between him and the Ukrainian. Both men had remained quiet letting him get on with the job.

"Your ploy will not work. You will leave now."

With a worried eye on his brother, John replied in a hard voice, "Ploy? You think this is a ploy? International Rescue has pledged to rescue people whatever the cost. You either back off and let us finish the job or you blow us out of the sky. Your choice, but I don't have time to chitchat any longer. Thunderbird Three out."

John slammed the switch so hard, his hand stung. He watched as Scott reached the tether. "Scott? You ready for retraction? I'd, um, kind of like to get out of here."

"Do a fast pull, Johnny. Good job with that guy." Scott's response was succinct, but full of approval.

"John? Did you get a good look at that ship? It looks like an old Russian Kadinsky."

John was watching as Scott and his rescuees were pulled quickly toward the hatch. He responded absentmindedly to Alan's question. "Yeah, it is. At least twenty years old."

"Well, how about firing off a sealpatch at them? It would clog any missile tubes they might have."

John perked up at the suggestion. The sealpatch was another of Brains' wonder inventions. In fact the web that John had used to rescue the astronaut with the damaged suit was a small version of one. The sealpatch Alan was suggesting was a much larger envelope intended to cover a breach in a ship or station. If John could aim it right, he could hit the Kadinsky's missile ports, making a launch impossible.

"I like that idea, Alan. Scott, what do you think?"

"I think Alan should have thought of it ten minutes ago. I'm aboard. Let's get out of here."

John felt a certain disappointment at not being able to implement Alan's suggestion. Sighing, he acknowledged, "FAB, Scott. Engaging thrusters."

As his hand came down on the control, an alarm blared. Startled, John checked his board. The Ukrainian ship had opened its missile ports, and Thunderbird Three's sensors showed they had been targeted.

"Son of a... Scott, Alan, hard burn in three... two... one... mark." John hit a control and felt himself slammed back into his seat.

Ignoring the sudden cacophony of calls from his brothers, he tensely watched his screen. Sure enough, a missile had floated out of the Ukrainian ship's port and was using thrusters to move away from the mother ship before firing. John watched his power output, hoping the missile was as old as the Ukrainian ship itself and that he could out run it.

He sucked in his breath as the missile finally fired. His computers barely had the chance to compute its energy output before it hit its true target, the Moldovan station, which disintegrated in eerie silence.

The Ukrainian ship, its mission accomplished, turned away, apparently no longer interested in Thunderbird Three. John sat back, his heart pounding. After a moment, he reached up and shut down the still thundering engines.

Only then did he respond to the clamoring voices of his brothers. "Okay guys, it's all over. That damn idiot fired off a shot, but it was aimed at the station not us. Everything okay back there?"

There was a moment of dead silence, then Scott said tiredly, "John we have a medical emergency back here. We need to get a couple of these guys to a station with medical facilities."

In a glance, John pinpointed their location. "Okay, Scott, let me get on the horn with the bus terminal. We're headed that way anyway."

"FAB."

John flipped the necessary switch. "International Rescue to World Space Transit Station, please acknowledge."

The speed of the answer led John to suspect they had been listening in. "WSTS to International Rescue, we hear you. How can we help?"

"WSTS, we're on our way to you with injured men in need of medical attention. Can you assist?"

"If you can specify the injuries we can have a medical team standing by."

"Understood, WSTS. Let me switch you over to my colleague. He'll fill you in on the details." John connected to his brother. "Scott, I've got the terminal on the line, they want to know about the injuries."

"All right, John put them through. What's our ETA?"

"A little over ten minutes."

"All right."

When Scott said nothing else, John connected the station through, then contacted his home. "Thunderbird Three to Base. Dad, we've picked up the Moldovans and are headed to the bus terminal."

"Is everyone okay?" Jeff's voice was concerned, but firm.

"Yeah, Dad, Scott, Alan and I are fine. We have some injured people though."

"What happened with the Ukrainians?"

"Well, I'm not too sure if I was that persuasive or it was just all bluster. They waited until we had rescued everyone, then they blew the hell out of the station."

"Damn. Brains wanted some metal samples from that station."

"Yeah, I was thinking about that too. What about the French station? We could go over there once we've gotten the victims to safety."

"It will have to do. Contact the French authorities and get permission, though. I wouldn't want anyone to accuse us of looting."

John smiled tightly. "FAB, Dad."

He noticed the communications indicator from the hold to the bus terminal had winked out, so he put his own call through. "Thunderbird Three to WSTS, come in."

"Yes, Thunderbird Three, we are tracking you, sending approach vectors."

"Thank you, WSTS. Our ETA is a little over six minutes. May I ask if those folks we brought over yesterday have left yet? I'd like to speak with the station operations manager if he's available."

"They're scheduled to depart for Earth in two weeks. Hold on while I locate the manager."

"Thank you, WSTS."

"Call me John."

John laughed. "That's my name, too."

"I know. We're paging the manager. Listen, that was a hell of a thing, facing off with those Ukrainians."

"Yeah. Not my idea of a good time. In the end, they waited just long enough for us to do the job, then they fired a missile and took out the station."

"Yeah, we were watching the whole thing. You guys are amazing."

John smiled, but didn't answer. The voice continued quietly, "We were hoping you wouldn't back down after yesterday."

John felt his jaw clench. "If it had been my decision, we wouldn't have backed down then, either."

"Hey, nobody blames you. Stinking bureaucrats."

"Did they get to them in time?" John asked quietly.

The response, when it came, was just as quiet. "No. They never even tried."

Despite expecting the answer, John felt a flush of anger, mixed with guilt. He said softly, "There was absolutely no reason for those people to die."

"I agree. If it makes you feel any better, the World News Network got hold of the audio transcripts. They did a special bulletin on it about an hour ago, and there's hell to pay for the Chinese. Just about every government is jumping on the ‘condemn the Chinese' bandwagon."

John just shook his head. "Doesn't do those two who died any good. Or their families."

"Maybe not, but John, it should sure make the next time easier."

John smiled tightly. "I thought this was the next time, and let me tell you, it wasn't any easier."

The other John laughed. "True. Well, maybe next time. You are coming up on docking, please use slip seven. We have the medical team ready and waiting."

"Thank you, John. Thunderbird Three out." John used a sure hand to guide the big rocket to a gentle docking. As the airlocks mated and sealed, John called to his brothers, "Scott, Alan, I've completed docking, they say the medical team is ready and waiting."

"FAB." Was Alan's curt response. John settled back in his seat. As he considered contacting the station again, Alan called him. "John? Listen, there's a guy here who says you wanted to talk to him."

"Oh, that must be the operations guy. He was supposed to just call. I don't want to leave here, and I don't think it's a good idea to let him come up, so could you ask him for permission for us to take samples of the metal from that French station?"

"Samples? Got it. I'll ask him." Alan cut the circuit, leaving John to sit and monitor his board.

After a few minutes, John put in a call to his father. "Thunderbird Three to Base, we are at the bus terminal and unloading the victims. The operations manager from the French station is still here, and Alan is asking him for permission to get the metal samples."

"Good. John, your idea of an anonymous email worked even better than we hoped. Yesterday's fiasco is all over the news. The Chinese are backpedaling like crazy."

"Great Dad. I'll tell Scott and Alan when we've finished up here."

"All right, son. Let me know when you leave for the French station."

"FAB, Dad."

John sat back. He still felt he should have done more to save the two lives on the Chinese station, but the fact that the people responsible were facing hard questions gave him some peace.

Given the time to reflect he hoped his actions wouldn't have any unseen consequences. As with Colonel Drabczak, Mr. Wu was only acting on the orders of others. While the man could have been more enlightened, John didn't want him to become his government's scapegoat.

John had checked his status board for about the fifth time when finally, the sound of the elevator caught his attention. Not waiting, he started the short checklist for departure, and when he heard Scott and Alan enter, he called out, "WSTS, this is Thunderbird Three, we are ready to disengage."

"Roger, Thunderbird Three. Separation is complete, please do not engage engines until you are 200 meters out. God's speed and safe flight, John."

"Thank you, John. Thunderbird Three out."

John shut down communications and glanced at Alan. "Did you get that permission from the French?"

Alan grinned. "Are you kidding? That guy would have given us his firstborn child if we asked."

Nodding, he turned back to his controls. "Scott, can you compute a course for... My God! What happened to you?"

Irritated, Scott waved off the question. "It's nothing. Give me a minute to get the course locked in."

John peered at his older brother. Developing bruises traveled a line down his face and neck, disappearing under his collar. A glance confirmed a swollen wrist and hinted that the bruises continued down Scott's entire left side.

With Scott studiously ignoring him, John looked the question at Alan, who responded, "He wasn't secure when you did the burn."

"Oh man. I'm sorry, Scott. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Coordinates locked in. I'm fine for now." Scott shook his head ruefully. "I'll probably be feeling every one of these bruises tomorrow morning, though."

"Good, then. You'll have an excuse when Johnny whips your butt." Alan said cheerfully.

"Cut it out, Alan." John barked, irritated. "Scott, I'm really sorry about that. The ship's computers said the Ukrainians had a target lock on us."

"Don't apologize. You did a hell of a job. You know those crazy Moldovans were set to fry Alan and me. It was you moving Thunderbird Three between them and the Ukrainians that convinced them we were legit. You probably saved our lives."

Alan nodded solemnly, confirming Scott's statement. "And you had no way of knowing that missile wasn't going to come after us. You're the official Thunderbirds Hero of the Day."

The nascent guilt squelched, John ducked his head. "I'm still sorry you got hurt, Scott."

"Yeah, so am I. Grandma's going to have a fit. I am her favorite after all."

"Concussion. He's delusional. It's the only explanation." Alan's deadpan delivery elicited chuckles from both of his brothers.

"Okay, let's get moving. Buckled in there, Scotty?" John smirked, then continued. "Burn in three... two... one... mark."

John applied just enough thrust to move the big ship over to the orbit of the damaged manufacturing station. Within five minutes, it was coming up on the horizon.

"We'll be within range in two minutes. I'll go get suited up." John started to unbuckle his harness.

"You? Why you? I'll go, you guys just sit back and let an expert do it." Alan remarked.

"No, we'll let John handle this one, Alan." Scott said. "You've had your EVA for today."

"Oh, that's so wired, Scott. This isn't like flying. There isn't a time limit on how much you can do." Alan said, annoyed.

Scott sat back and cocked his head. "You know, when I was a kid, ‘wired' was a good thing."

"That's because back when you were a kid, you needed wire for the fences to keep the wooly mammoths out of your carrot patch."

John, who had been moving to the elevator, smiled as the door closed on the argument. In the ready room, he found his custom made space suit, and with the help of the robots designed by Brains, he donned it. He had just confirmed the seal on his helmet when the light above the airlock turned green, indicating docking had been completed.

"Scott to John, we're docked at the same cargo dock as before. It looks like about half of the station has blown out. You should be able to get your samples if you turn left once you board. Be careful."

"FAB." John replied succinctly. He felt a mix of anticipation and fear, as he always did when doing an EVA. He double-checked his tool belt before slapping the control to open the airlock.

When he entered the station he was mildly surprised to find the gravity was off. A touch of a wrist control pad, and his boots clamped to the deck with a metallic thud. An inspection of the station's airlock mechanism showed that more than the gravity was off. There was neutral pressure, indicating the room beyond the lock was airless. John keyed in an override sequence, and was almost surprised that it worked. He had half expected the power to be totally off.

John stepped through the lock and turned to the left as Scott had suggested, then came to a startled halt. There, no more than two feet in front of him, was a breach big enough to drive a small car through. "Wow."

"What was that, John?"

"Uh, I said, ‘wow.' I just got a look at the breach over here. It's a good thing we got those guys out of here."

"Yeah," Alan acknowledged. "We show a 93 loss of hull integrity. Those people would have been toast."

John grunted. Moving forward to the breach, he peered closely at the ragged edge. He frowned. It almost looked as if it were dissolving. He squinted, staring at the very edge, then shook his head. His imagination was getting away from him, something that tended to happen on spacewalks.

He reached to his tool belt and pulled out a small laser torch and a pair of pliers. Using the pliers like tongs, he cut away a piece of the skin about five inches square. He transferred his prize to a carrysack at his waist and moved to the other side of the breach for a second sample.

As he crossed the room, he could see the debris field that engulfed the station. He saw what looked like a desk bounce slowly off the nose of Thunderbird Three. Shaking his head at the waste, he repeated the procedure, cutting away another small piece of hull.

Deciding he wanted to head to one of the original breaches for his next sample, he looked down at his carrysack to deposit the second piece of metal. What he saw caused his heart to climb to his mouth. "Oh, shit!"

"John? What's going on? What's wrong?" Scott called out sharply.

John started breathing heavily as he moved rapidly back to Thunderbird Three. "I've got an emergency here! Scott, open the airlock, quick!"

"Airlock is open." Alan's voice was tense.

John pushed off hard, and hit the back of the airlock. He called out, "Alan, cycle it! Fast! I'm losing suit pressure!"

"I'm on it."

John stood breathing hard, heart thumping, as the airlock sealed itself and raised the air pressure up to normal limits. When the light turned green, he let out a shuddering breath of relief.

The inner lock cycled open, and Scott was there, all big brotherly concern. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Nodding, John looked down, only then realizing he was still holding the pliers with his second sample. Lifting it gingerly to eye level, he could see the sample was noticeably smaller than when he first acquired it. "Whatever it out there is still active. I need a non-reactive container."

Frowning, Scott looked at the sample, then turned to a locker and pulled out a glass jar used for biological samples. "Will this do?"

"I don't know. We'll have to try it." John said dropping the piece in. "Help me get out of my suit. I had another sample in my carrysack, but it ate right through it, and started eating through the suit."

Scott immediately started unlatching John's helmet, but kept looking down, trying to see the damage. "Where? I thought this suit was supposed to be self-repairing. Shouldn't it have fixed itself?"

As he stepped up into the chamber that would start the robots removing the bulky suit, John indicated his thigh. "It's right there, somewhere. I could see the air escaping. It was like a pinhole puncture. I don't know why the suit didn't heal."

Scott bent and squinted at the material. It looked unblemished to his eye. Shaking his head, he stood up. "Well, whatever it was, it's gone now. I think we better quarantine the suit just in case."

"I agree. Scott, we need to get out of here. This stuff is incredibly caustic, and we can't be sure Three's hull is safe."

Scott nodded, and contacted Alan. "Alan, get us out of here, now."

"Is John all right?"

"I'm fine, kiddo, just get us moving."

"Thrusters in three... two... one... mark."

John felt the gentle tug as the maneuvering thrusters fired. Putting his suit in a large non-reactive bin designed to contain any contaminants, he set the glass jar with his sample on top and sealed it. With Scott's help, he moved the bin to an ejection pod for safety. If the pod sensed the bin was compromised in anyway, it would eject it into space.

Satisfied that they had done what they could, the two brothers moved to the elevator and returned to the control room, where Alan pounced before they even entered the room. "What happened?"

"Piranhas."

"What?"

"It was giant mutated space piranhas. They almost got me. Strip your bones in thirty seconds flat."

"Are you sure it wasn't brain-eating space army ants? ‘Cause I could swear yours got eaten."

"Nope. Definitely piranhas. Either that, or whatever is causing these blowouts is still active out there. I got some of it on my suit, and had a pinhole rupture."

"Oh, man! I thought Brains' suit was supposed to prevent pinholes."

"So did we. Alan, we need to get home. Boost us over to Thunderbird Five." Scott returned to full commander mode. "Thunderbird Three to Base. Father, we've collected a sample from the French station and are returning to Thunderbird Five to drop off Alan."

"Son, what happened to your face? Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine, Dad. We'll tell you about it in de-brief, okay?"

"FAB."

John just looked at Scott as he shut down the communication. Scott glanced over, then did a doubletake. "What?"

"Weren't you the one who didn't like it when Gordon said ‘tell you later'?"

Scott's eyes widened. Chuckling, he shook his head ruefully. "I guess Dad was right. It is different from this end."

John shrugged, and opened a separate line. "Thunderbird Three to Brains. We've got your sample."

"Uh, I'll need more than one, uh, John. To perform the uh, full range of t-t-tests, I'll need several samples."

"Sorry, Brains, one is all you're going to get. Whatever is out there is still active. It's too dangerous to bring any more aboard."

"Yeah, Brains, it ate through your wonder fabric on John's suit." Alan piped up.

"It did? Uh, that's remarkable. How soon will you uh, b-b-be home?"

John checked his console. "Give us about forty-five minutes."

"Very well, uh, John. Bring the uh, sample straight to the containment lab, please."

"Sure thing, Brains." John shut down the link and sat back watching the real time image of Thunderbird Five as they approached her.

The docking was smooth under Alan's sure hands. When he caught John's eye, Alan said smugly, "The Universal Overlord of Docks."

As the youngest Tracy started unbuckling his harness, Scott said suddenly, "Alan, how would you like me to finish out your duty?"

Shocked, Alan could only say, "Huh?"

With a flash of irritation, John said, "If anybody stays, it's going to be me, Scott."

"Look, John, I just don't want to deal with all the fluttering. These bruises are no big deal, but you know how everyone will react. I'd just rather spend a few days up here."

"Oh! You're trying to get out of fixing the Mole, aren't you?" Alan said suspiciously.

"No. Scott, listen, this is my ‘bird. I'll stay. You and Alan go home, and get Brains on this."

"Not happening, John."

"What? Oh! Oh, are you two playing ‘I'm the better martyr' again? Geez, just knock it off. It's my ‘bird for now, you guys just go home." Disgusted, Alan got up and stalked to the elevator.

Scott frowned, looking like he was going to get up. John shook his head. "Forget it, Scott. He's right."

"Until we know what this is, I don't like leaving him up here."

"Well, then, I guess we better hustle and get the sample to Brains, right?"

Still not happy, Scott nodded curtly, "Yes, let's go."

Seeing the green light indicating Alan had sealed the airlock, John followed his undocking procedure, and set a course for home. Scott contacted their father to let him know they were on their way, and the two brothers sat back in silence for the trip.

Once they had entered the atmosphere, John adjusted the attitude and extended the force field that acted as ‘wings' to turn the hurtling rocket into a glider. When they had reached an altitude of ten thousand feet, John fired the retro thrusters to drop the ship to a vertical aspect, and with bursts from the atomic engines dropped the speed until Thunderbird Three slipped into her round house berth as gently as a leaf settling to earth.

The brothers made short work of the shutdown. Instead of taking the couch conveyor to the lounge of the villa, Scott and John carried the bin holding the damaged spacesuit and the glass container with the sample over the gantry to a monorail car that took them to the laboratories.

Entering the contamination laboratory, John called out, "Brains? You in here?"

The slight figure of the scientist appeared from behind a cabinet. "Uh, yes, John, I'm here. Place the container in the decontamination chamber, p-p-please."

Scott and John did as they were bid, then joined the scientist behind a thick transparent barrier. "Have you got any ideas about this stuff yet, Brains?

"Uh, I have my uh, suspicions, Scott, but I'm unprepared to uh, explain them at the moment. Are you all right? You, uh, appear to have been, uh, injured?"

"I'm fine, it's just some bruising. What kind of suspicions, Brains?"

"Uh, let me do some tests on the sample, then we'll discuss it." Brains said firmly.

John nodded absently. He knew his friend was a purist at heart, and never wanted to speculate until he had very firm facts at his hand. He sat down to watch as Brains keyed several controls to bring his manipulating robots online. He had to admire the ease with which the scientist was able to control the delicate operation of the robotic hands that opened the bin, and picked up the glass jar.

Both John and Scott frowned at the jar. It appeared to be empty except for a bit of silvery gray dust coating the bottom. "Brains, there was a piece of metal in that jar!"

"Uh, how large was the specimen, John?"

"I'd say about five inches by five inches, right, Scott?"

"Yeah, about that." Scott nodded.

"And how long ago did you place it in the jar?"

"Maybe an hour, hour ten minutes max."

"Hmmm. Interesting." Brains had the robot arm place the jar in a gas spectrometer. "This may tell us something."

Once the scientist had set the spectrometer to work, he turned his attention to the spacesuit. "Now. Can you uh, tell me exactly where the suit was damaged?"

"On the left upper thigh. I had a carrysack attached at the waist, and I put a sample of the metal in it. It ate through the carrysack, and some of it must have gotten on the suit, because I saw a pin hole rupture."

Brains frowned, shaking his head. "Theoretically, that s-s-should be impossible, uh, John."

"Looks like your theory needs updating, Brains." Scott said with a small sympathetic smile.

"Perhaps." Brains focused his attention on the suit. When nothing was visible to the naked eye, he pushed a few buttons, and a machine like an MRI swung down and ran along the length of the suit. All three men watched a screen intently. The suit displayed on the screen in varying shades of green. When the imager passed over the thigh region, the green suddenly went blue. A patch about the size of a saucer went from soft blue at the edges to a small spot of navy blue in the center.

John's eyes widened. "Whoa! That's a damn sight larger than a pinhole!"

"Yes, the fabric has been corrupted over a large area. That explains uh, why it was unable to repair itself. You're uh, very l-l-lucky to be alive, uh, John."

"Brains, can this affect Thunderbird Three? Or Five?" Scott was all business.

"It's impossible to say at this juncture, uh, Scott. Until I know exactly what is causing the uh, damage, I can't say for sure."

"Well, how long will it take until you know?" Scott asked tensely.

John reflected that Scott's question showed the faith the entire family had in the scientist. To Scott, it was not a matter of ‘if', only of ‘when'.

"I should have some preliminary results within, uh, a few hours."

Scott ran his hand over his face. "All right, then. Let me know when you have anything, okay?''

"Yes, Scott." Brains turned to his controls, for all intents and purposes ignoring the two brothers.

Knowing his friend worked best without people looking over his shoulder, John followed Scott out of the laboratory and up through the villa to the lounge. He heard the sound of the piano long before they reached the room. John listened carefully, hoping to gauge Virgil's mood from his choice of music. As far as he could tell, all was well.

Entering the lounge, Jeff greeted them. "Boys. Scott, did you have Brains take a look at those bruises?"

"No sir. There wasn't any need, and I felt it was more important to get him on this issue with the blowouts. Father, John was damned lucky not to have a total suit failure out there. He reported a pinhole rupture, but when we looked at the suit under the atomic imager, the entire leg was compromised."

John felt a note of irritation. Scott was neatly deflecting his own injuries by turning their father's attention to him. He needn't have worried, though. With a glance at his middle son, Jeff focused in on Scott. His voice was softly concerned. "Is your wrist swelling there, son?"

Scott looked down at the offending limb and shrugged. "Maybe a little."

Virgil had appeared at his brother's side. With a frown he said, "I'll get an ice pack."

John, who hadn't heard Virgil come up, jumped. Scott glanced at his brother and said simply, "Thanks."

Satisfied that Scott was allowing at least some treatment, Jeff nodded briefly. "Let me just contact your brother, and we'll do a debrief right now."

John relaxed on a sofa, and Scott took a seat next to him.

"Hey! Everything go okay?" John looked over his shoulder as Gordon entered the room grinning. "Whoa! Scott! What did you do? Piss off Alan?"

Scott was taking the cold pack Virgil had just brought in, and he turned to eye his younger brother. "Are you implying you think Alan could deck me?"

Gordon gave a pretense of considering his response. Virgil moved past him, and casually reached up and smacked the younger man in the head.

"Thanks, Virg. Saves me the effort." Scott said laconically.

"All right, boys. Scott, why don't you begin." Jeff called the meeting to order, and both Virgil and Gordon found seats.

"Well, as you know, when we arrived on scene, the station would not respond to us. Either something you said or something John told them convinced them to let us approach, but as John was lining us up, there was an explosion. John moved us away, and we confirmed that the section of the station that included the airlock had suffered catastrophic decompression. We counted three dead."

Scott paused, giving everyone an opportunity to absorb the gravity of the situation. He continued. "We attempted to re-contact the station, but there was no response. We attempted a thermal scan to locate survivors, but we were unable to distinguish any bodies from the general background heat. I determined we would need to go EVA to the station."

"I still say I could have handled it alone, Scott." Alan's voice was tinged with petulance.

Scott went on as if he hadn't heard. "I decided that both Alan and I would go. I felt there was at least a chance that the Moldovans weren't responding because they thought we had something to do with the blowout. We suited up and headed to the airlock."

"I thought the airlock was damaged?" Gordon piped up.

"The lock itself was unharmed. It was the ready room that had blown out. We entered through the airlock as a matter of safety. The hole was fairly large, but the edges were jagged. Neither Alan nor I felt it was worth the risk of suit damage. Anyway, we entered the ready room through the lock, and proceeded to the main station through the secondary lock. When we reached the main common area, they were waiting for us."

Alan took up the tale. "Yeah. With guns. Scott was right. They were convinced we had blown the ready room ourselves. They were hunkered down for a siege. For a while there, I didn't think even Scott's silver tongue was going to save us."

Scott waved the remark away with a shake of his head. "It wasn't my tongue that convinced them. It was John."

John, who had been listening intently, raised his eyebrows. "Me? What did I do?"

Scott answered, looking at his father. "John moved Thunderbird Three between the station and the Ukrainian ship. Until that point, the Moldovans were convinced we were the bad guys, but when John made his move, they just about fell over. The station commander offered me his gun, and just as quick as that, the stand off was over."

"Yeah. I think they really kind of wanted to believe us right along, but they were so used to assuming everyone was an enemy that they couldn't accept that we didn't blow their lock without some sort of proof. Johnny's moving the ship was all the proof they needed." Alan added.

"Smart move." Jeff nodded.

With a little grin, John shrugged. "Thanks."

Scott continued his narration. "We told the commander to get his people suited up, but he didn't want to send anyone to get the suits. He felt the common room was the safest area of the station."

"It didn't work out that way." Alan scoffed.

"No, it didn't, did it?" Scott replied. "Alan and I went and collected the spacesuits, and brought them back to the common room. We barely got them all suited, when one of the walls gave way. I don't know who was more surprised, me or that commander. We both got sucked out."

There was a general intake of breath at that statement, but Scott didn't seem to notice. "Of course, I had the advantage of the accelerator pack, so I was never really in any danger. As soon as I got over my surprise, I started getting the other folk who were blown out together. John was pretty quick off the mark and got a line to the only one in any real trouble."

John nodded. "I could tell by the motion that he was in trouble. I shot a line to him, and used the sealpatch web to get the suit protected. By the time I had done that, Scott had a couple of guys together, so I shot them a line, then another one to Alan so he could evacuate his survivors. The Ukrainians arrived about then, so I talked to them, then I retracted Scott and his bunch, and just as we were about to leave, the Ukrainians targeted us, so I had to do a hard burn to get us out of there. That's when Scott got hurt."

"When John did the hard burn, I hit the wall, along with a couple of the survivors. No serious damage, but the man with the suit puncture was in bad shape, as well as another guy who got thrown up against the wall when the room decompressed. John got us over to the bus station, and we off loaded the victims there."

"And I got permission from the operations manager of the manufacturing station to go and take metal samples." Alan provided.

Scott nodded. "At that point, we headed over to the French station and John did the EVA."

John shifted in his seat again. "I entered through the airlock. There was no gravity or air pressure, but the lock itself was still functional. Once I was on board, I found that a large section of the wall has been breached. I cut out my first sample, then moved to the other side of the breach for a second sample. When I looked down at my carrysack, I discovered that the first sample had eaten through the sack and was gone. I also saw air escaping from what appeared to be a pinhole rupture of the suit over the thigh. I returned to Thunderbird Three, and with Scott's help, removed the suit, and put it in a containment bin along with the second sample. We loaded the bin into the ejection pod and after dropping off Alan headed home."

With a devilish look on his face, Alan added. "If John could swim as fast as he, ahem, ‘returned' to Thunderbird Three, he'd have given Gordy a run for that Olympic medal."

As Scott barked a laugh, John grinned. "Oh yeah, I definitely boogied out of there."

"It's a damned good thing you did. Dad, the pinhole probably saved John's life. When I saw how badly that suit was compromised, my mouth went dry. Brains was right, John. You were incredibly lucky." Scott slowly shook his head.

John arched an eyebrow. "No luck, son, just skill."

Everyone burst into laughter at the remark, Gordon reaching over to slap his brother on the back. Jeff shook his head, grinning. "Well, as long as you're safe. Good job, everyone."

"Speaking of safety, Father, I think we should automate Thunderbird Five for the duration." Scott said firmly.

"What? Oh, come on, Scott! I'm fine here!" Alan's protest was indignant.

Jeff nodded his head. "That makes sense. Son, I'm not willing to take any chances. Until we know what this is, I'd prefer that you come home. Start the automation procedure, and I'll send someone up to get you."

Disgruntled, but seeing the need, Alan said curtly. "FAB."

Virgil got up off of the couch he had been sharing with John and Scott, and moved away. John waited for his father to trigger the conveyor system. Jeff for his part, sat eyeing his sons. Just as John opened his mouth to ask, Jeff nodded sharply, saying, "Boys, get up. I'll take Thunderbird Three up to get your brother. Gordon, you're co-pilot."

"Me?"

"Father, wait a minute..."

"Dad, I'm fit for this..."

"Enough. This is my decision. Now, the both of you get up. Gordon get over here."

All three young men chorused "Yes, sir," with identical frowns on their faces. The only one not frowning was Virgil, who had his hand covering his mouth to hide the smirk.

Scott moved to his father's desk, and triggered the conveyor system. As the couch descended into the floor, Gordon's face twisted into a parody of horror, and he mouthed, "Kill me now!"

Despite his misgivings, John couldn't help but smile. When he looked up, he found both Scott and Virgil grinning too. Virgil chirped, "I hope you have Three stocked with barf bags."

"I hope he's wearing the industrial strength diapers." John replied, to his brothers' laughter.

Scott tossed his good arm over John's shoulders. "Come on."

"Where we going?"

"Outside. Let's go watch her take off."

John's eyes brightened at the prospect. He rarely got to see Thunderbird Three launch, because he was usually onboard when she did. All three brothers headed to the pool area to get a good view, Scott grabbing a laptop on the way.

As Scott opened up the laptop, John snagged a few loungers and set them up facing the distant roundhouse. Virgil disappeared for a few moments, returning to hand out sunglasses to his brothers. Thus prepared, the three settled in to watch the launch.

With the laptop, Scott was able to connect to the main house computers and provide clearance when his father asked a few minutes later. A vibration followed by a deep muted roar heralded the launch. As the ship rose majestically into view, the roar became thunder that John felt as pounding pressure all over his body. For the first few hundred feet, Thunderbird Three appeared to be moving at a snail's pace, but that illusion was shattered as the mighty rocket disappeared into the sky above.

John sat back with a sigh. Thunderbird Three was without question the most beautiful ship in International Rescue's fleet. He said as much to his brothers. Scott shook his head. "She's very pretty, John, but hardly beautiful."

Virgil agreed quickly. "Yes. If you want true beauty, you need look no further than Thunderbird Two's hangar."

"But only when Thunderbird One is there."

"Well, you both are entitled to your insane opinions, of course." John said offhand.

Scott chuckled. "Virg, how's the Mole coming? Shall we go work on it?"

Virgil shook his head. "It's coming fine. Gordon and I got the under-housing fabricated and installed. Brains came up with a composite for the blades that will stand up to the torque, and we've got them fabricated, but they have to cure for 48 hours so there's nothing to do."

"Really? That was fast."

Virgil looked off to the side, nodding. "We, uh, used Veronica to help."

"Veronica?"

"The robot. Brains found the computer fault and fixed it."

"Why ‘Veronica'?"

Virgil rolled his eyes. "You'd have to ask Gordon. He named it. Oh, and he found a picture of an old movie star that he plastered on the robot's side. Veronica Lake, I think. Pretty girl."

Scott blinked, then shook his head. "Is anybody else hungry? Let's go find something to eat."

Scott headed back into the lounge, John and Virgil trailing behind. They headed for the kitchen, and as soon as he entered, Scott froze, causing both John and Virgil to bump into him. "What...?"

John got a whiff of cinnamon, then spotted what had stopped Scott. On the far counter sat four pies, steam still rising. Behind him, Virgil sighed. "Target acquired."

John felt obligated to make at least a token attempt. "Scott, Grandma will kill you."

Scott never said a word, he just moved cautiously forward, like a lion stalking its prey. Virgil and John stood back, arms crossed. Pausing to get a knife and plate, Scott moved in. He got as far as the first cut, when like an avenging angel, Ruth Tracy pushed between Virgil and John. "Scott Jefferson Tracy, what do you think you're doing?"

Caught red-handed, Scott didn't even flinch. "Well, I thought I'd have a piece of this pie, Grandma."

"Just like that?"

Scott looked from his grandmother to the pie and back again. "Uh, yes."

John and Virgil stood back, waiting for the hammer to fall, but Ruth just smiled. "Well you can have one piece. Just one. And cut pieces for your brothers too. And I don't mean cutting it in thirds either. Here, let me do it."

John and Virgil grinned with delighted surprise. Their grandmother was a constant in their lives, and they were all the better for the discipline she instilled in them, but she still was able to surprise them at every turn. They moved forward to accept their share of the pie. "John, you'll take a piece down to Brains, won't you?"

"Sure, Grandma."

"I'll take it. I want to talk to him about that sample anyway." Scott offered.

"Be sure he eats it. That man will waste away to nothing if we don't watch him."

"All right, Grandma." Scott left the room carrying two slices of the still warm pie.

John and Virgil sat down at the table, their grandmother joining them with her own piece of pie. "Well, that finished off that! I'm glad I had the apples for four pies. How are you both? How is your day going?"

Swallowing the pie in his mouth, John answered. "It's going okay, Grandma. Scott, Alan and I went out on a space rescue, and we saved ten people. Lost three, though."

"Gordon and I made a start on repairing the Mole. Brains got his robot fixed. Gordon named it Veronica, after some movie star named Veronica Lake. You know who that is, Grandma?"

"Well, she's before my time, of course, but I have a vague recollection of long blond hair."

"Yeah. Gordon pasted a picture of her on the side of the robot."

"Now, how would your brother know about her? She was a star before I was born."

"Who knows? Anyway, we only need to wait until the blades are ready and we'll be back in business."

"That's nice, sweetie. Where is Gordon, anyway? It's not like him to miss out on pie."

"Dad's decided that until we know what's causing the problems with the space stations he doesn't want anybody on Thunderbird Five. He took Gordon with him to go pick up Alan."

If Ruth was surprised, she didn't let it show. "So all of you boys will be here for dinner? I'll have to think of something special."

"Pork chops?" Virgil asked hopefully.

"Chicken Cordon Bleu?" John put in his vote.

"We'll see. You boys put those plates in the sink when you're done." Ruth said as she got up and headed out the door.

"Yes, Grandma," came the obedient replies. The two brothers finished their pie, slightly disgruntled looks on their faces. They both knew ‘we'll see' meant ‘no'.

Sighing as he put his plate in the sink, John asked, "Well, what else is on the repair schedule?"

"Not sure. I think it's replacing the battery packs in Thunderbird Four."

John made a face. Replacing battery packs was a tedious job. But it had to be done, so he said, "Okay, why don't we get to it? With the both of us, we can have it done before dinner."

Virgil smiled slyly. "Let's let Dad know. He might have something else he'd rather we did."

John grinned slowly. "Yeah, good idea."

The two brothers knew it would drive Gordon nuts to know they were working on his ‘bird without him. They headed for the lounge to put a call into Thunderbird Three. As they entered the room, an alarm blared, making both men jump. They raced to their father's desk to pick up the rescue call, John praying that it was not a space rescue.

John hit the switch to hear the call. The particular warble of the alarm had already alerted them to the fact that Alan had completed the switchover on Thunderbird Five. When John opened up the communication line, a heavily accented voice was saying, "International Rescue, this is Indian Space Control, do you read? International Rescue..."

"This is International Rescue, what is your emergency?"

"International Rescue, we have a shuttle in a transfer orbit to the moon. It is reporting a loss of pressure in its cargo hold. We have reason to believe it is a blow out. Can you assist?"

John's jaw clenched at the news. A transfer orbit meant the shuttle was somewhere between the earth and the moon a quarter of a million miles away. "How far out is she?"

"The Vishnu Star is about one hundred thousand miles out. She will reach lunar orbit within forty hours, at which point our moon station can assist. However, her captain feels he must have assistance before then. The WSA can not get a ship there in less than 28 hours. Can you respond quicker?"

John was already calculating, assuming a quick turnaround once his father landed, with full thrust, they could be in the general area in a little over fifteen hours. Nodding, he started to speak, only to be interrupted by his father's voice. "Indian Space Control, this is Thunderbird Three. Please send the coordinates. We are on our way."

John's immediate reaction was to tell his father no, but he realized very quickly that by not returning to earth, they could cut off a substantial amount of time from the rescue. He shook his head, unhappy.

Scott came striding in. "What have we got?"

"A lunar shuttle, same as all the rest, a blowout."

"Any casualties?"

"None reported. It was a cargo area that blew."

"All right. How soon will Dad be back?" Scott was in take charge mode. Perhaps anticipating his brother's likely reaction, Virgil casually moved away.

"He's not coming back. He heard the call, and he's going out there himself."

"Damn it." Scott swore softly. With a jerk of his head, he ordered John out of their father's chair. John complied willingly, curious to see how Scott would handle the situation.

Scott wasted no time in contacting his father. "Base to Thunderbird Three."

It was Alan who replied. "Thunderbird Three to Base, go ahead."

Scott paused, then said firmly. "Thunderbird Three, we recommend you return to Base immediately."

Jeff appeared on the screen and asked coolly, "For what reason, Base?"

John watched his brother. He could almost see the wheels turning. Scott finally answered. "Sir, for a rescue like this you need your most experienced people. That means John, Alan and me."

Jeff raised an eyebrow. "That almost sounds as if you think you have more experience than me."

"In Thunderbird Three, yes, I do."

John was tickled by Scott's blatant statement. He glanced over at Virgil, who was wincing knowing their father was unlikely to let the challenge pass.

"How many trips to the moon have you taken, son?" Jeff asked calmly.

Scott ignored the question, instead trying a different tack. "Dad, we could argue this all day, but what about Gordon?"

"Leave me out of this!" Gordon's voice came clearly from the background.

Jeff's look turned hard. "Your brother has had the training. Despite his personal feelings about space, he will perform the job. Unless you think he is incapable?"

Scott's lips thinned in a firm line. "No sir, I don't."

"All right, then, our ETA is eight hours and forty minutes."

John frowned. "Are you sure? That seems a little fast..."

"Given our previous experience with these blowouts, I've chosen to do a straight hard burn."

John's eyebrows went up. While theoretically a straight shot was the shortest distance to the beleaguered shuttle, it burned so much fuel that conventional spacecraft couldn't attempt it, instead opting to use the earth's gravity well to ‘slingshot' them into space. With her atomic engines, fuel wasn't an issue, but still, International Rescue tended to follow the standard procedure, if for no other reason than to keep their propulsion methods secret.

"All right. Keep in touch." Scott responded.

"FAB." Jeff's reply was tinged with approval.

Scott stood staring at the screen for a long moment after it returned to a portrait of Alan. Virgil and John stood waiting. Scott looked around, rubbing at his wrist. "So, what are we working on this afternoon."

Virgil nodded briefly. "We're replacing the battery packs in Thunderbird Four."

Shrugging, Scott said, "All right, let's go."

"Uh, Scott, it's really only a two man job. Virg and I can handle it."

"Yeah, why don't you stay here and keep an eye on things? With that wrist, you'll be more hindrance than help."

"All right. If you need me, just holler."

"FAB." Virgil said over his shoulder as he led John toward the elevator.

When they were out of Scott's earshot, John said admiringly. "I don't know how you do that."

"Do what?"

"If anyone else including Dad were to tell Scott he was a hindrance, they would get their heads handed to them on a platter. You say it, and he says ‘okay'."

"That's an exaggeration, John. Scott is more sensible than you give him credit for."

John considered Virgil's comment, and decided not to pursue it further. Virgil was nothing if not loyal.

As they entered the hangar, Virgil instructed John to head for Thunderbird Four and start disconnecting the batteries while he went to the storage area to get the replacements. John used the hoist in Pod Four to lift the small submarine up. Once its belly was exposed, John keyed the computerized jacks to move in to prop up the sub for servicing. By the time Virgil arrived with the batteries, John was already working on disconnecting the leads.

Virgil grabbed an electronic wrench and started working from the opposite end. "So, how's the book coming?"

John glanced up. "It's not. I'm waiting on some data from Lick, and they're taking their own sweet time about it."

Virgil grunted. "Maybe you should change subjects."

"Well, I was considering writing some sci-fi. Have the title already. Wanna hear?"

"Sure."

"Naked Biker Babes On Mars."

Virgil hooted. "Classy."

"Oh, I was going to use a pseudonym. Virgil Tracey with an ‘E'."

"I want a cut of the profits, then."

"No profits. This is art."

"So, don't quit your day job, eh?"

"No. It's a labor of love."

"Dad, of course, will kill you."

"All great artists suffer for their art." John sniffed.

Virgil chuckled. "Don't I know that. I'm suffering constantly."

"Ah, damn it."

"What? What did you do."

"It's nothing, just banged my thumb."

"Well, you aren't supposed to be whacking at it anyway."

"Stupid lead was stuck. I had to whack."

Virgil looked up at the offending lead. He reached up and wiggled it, and it dropped free of the battery. "Uh-huh."

John made a face. "It only did that because I whacked it."

"Uh-huh."

John opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Shaking his head, he returned to the task at hand. "What was that music you were playing when Scott and I got home?"

"Uh... Oh, that was just a little thing I've been working on."

"Really? It sounded good, Virg."

"Thanks. Okay, I'm ready to start pulling the batteries if you'll finish the leads on those last two."

"All right. So, do you think I'm turning into a hermit?"

"What?"

"Alan thinks I'm turning into a hermit. He wants me to go over to the mainland and get a hooker or something."

Virgil snickered. "Did he say that?"

"Well, his exact words were ‘you need to get yourself laid, man.'"

"He told you that from his vast experience, did he?"

"Yes. It was disconcerting to say the least."

Virgil shook his head, still laughing. "I'll tell you what. Why don't you and I go over to Christchurch this evening? We'll have a night on the town. Who knows, maybe we'll get lucky. And if not, we can always lie."

"That sounds great, Virg, but I don't think tonight's a go, not with Dad and the terrible two playing Lost In Space."

Virgil paused. "You're right. Okay then, as soon as Brains has this thing figured out for us, we'll go."

John asked thoughtfully, "What do you think of asking Brains along? He could do with a night out."

"Good idea. I owe him anyway. He got Veronica up and running for me. Wait until you see her in action."

The brothers fell silent as they hefted a series of fifty pound batteries into Thunderbird Four's compartment. Once the batteries were loaded, it was simply a matter of re-connecting the leads. When they had all but one of the batteries re-connected, John took the cart with the discarded batteries to the storage area where the battery chargers sat waiting.

By the time he was finished, John had worked up a good sweat. He headed up to his quarters, and took a shower, and checking his chronometer, headed to the dining room. He entered the room and came to a stop. "Uh-oh."

The table was set with places for the entire family, including Brains. Apparently no one had thought to tell his grandmother that his father and two brothers would not be available for dinner. John considered leaving, but it was too late. Before he could make his move, his grandmother was there, carrying a large platter of meatloaf. "Here, let me get that for you, Grandma."

"Thank you, John. Would you call your brothers and father for me? I'll just go get the potatoes."

"Um..." John watched as the tiny woman disappeared into the kitchen. Sighing, he headed for the lounge. Finding Scott and Virgil both, he called out, "Hey guys, dinner's ready."

Scott glanced up. "Could you bring me a plate? I don't want to leave the desk."

"Not a good idea, Scott. Nobody told Grandma that Dad and the boys wouldn't be here for dinner. She made a shit load of meatloaf."

Scott looked up, startled. "Oh. Well, I guess I can leave for a few moments."

Virgil mumbled something about washing his hands, and disappeared down a hallway. Scott showed no hesitation, striding forward to the dining room, John trailing in his wake. "Grandma, I'm sorry, I should have let you know that Dad, Gordon, and Alan are out on a rescue."

"A rescue? What kind of rescue?"

"A shuttle on its way to the moon had one of these blowouts. Dad figured it was quickest to do a hard straight burn out to them."

Ruth looked around at the bounty on the table. Shaking her head, she said, "I wondered why I didn't hear Thunderbird Three return. I thought I had missed it when I was in the food locker. And I worked so hard to make this dinner. Well, I daresay it won't go to waste. Your father likes meatloaf sandwiches better than hot meatloaf anyway. You boys sit down and eat while it's hot. Scott, how long will your father be gone?"

"At least until morning, Grandma, and more likely until noon."

"That's not so bad. Not like that time you and Alan and Tin-Tin went after that Sun Probe."

"No, this is just out to the moon and back. A walk in the park."

Virgil strode in, Brains on his heels. "Scott, Brains has some answers!"

"Finally. What have you got, Brains?"

"Now, Scott, you let the man eat his dinner before you start in on that."

"Grandma, lives are at stake here. We need these answers now."

"It can wait the fifteen minutes it will take you boys to bolt down your food. Now, I'm putting my foot down. We'll have a quiet dinner, then you can all get back to saving the world."

Scott opened his mouth to respond, but then snapped it shut so quickly that John suspected Virgil kicked him under the table. As curious as he was, John was relieved that Scott didn't press the matter. All of the Tracy boys had come by their stubborn streaks honestly, in a direct line from Ruth Tracy. He silently agreed that the solution to their current problem could wait fifteen minutes.

The conversation settled down as the family tucked into their dinner. Scott and John each had second helpings, and both Brains and Virgil took thirds. As he watched Virgil continue to eat, John sat back and tried to lighten the underlying tension between Scott and their grandmother. "That was great, Grandma. You make the best meatloaf I ever tasted."

"Thank you, John, but truth be told, it was Kyrano's recipe. My mother, bless her soul, would never have even considered curry powder in any recipe let alone meatloaf."

"She didn't like Malaysian cooking?" Scott asked curiously.

"Sweetheart, when my mother was learning to cook, Italian was considered exotic. I daresay she would have considered anything with curry in it as Indian, and far too adventurous for a farmwife. Oregano was about as wild and crazy as it got for her."

The brothers all smiled at their grandmother's memories. As Virgil finally laid his fork aside, Scott turned to Brains with determination. "Okay, so, what have you found out?"

Ruth quelled Scott's enthusiasm with a sharp look. Turning solicitously to Brains, she said, "Have you had enough to eat? Would you care for some more of these potatoes?"

Brains, who had been so lost in thought he hadn't even heard Scott's question, looked up with a vacant expression. "Uh, excuse me?"

Scott said loudly, "She asked if you were done eating."

The scientist paused looking around the various platters on the table. "Oh, uh, yes, well, uh, perhaps a bit more of the meatloaf, and maybe, uh, some more of the potatoes. It's all very uh, good, Mrs. Tracy."

"Thank you, dear. John, pass over that meatloaf, please."

"Yes, Ma'am." John dutifully handed the platter over, fully aware that his two brothers were following his every move. Totally oblivious, Brains helped himself to another heap of potatoes, and two thick slices of the meatloaf.

As John moved to put the platter aside, Scott spoke. "So Brains, is it space piranhas?"

Brains looked up from his dinner, nonplused. "Uh, uh, excuse me?"

John grinned wryly, "Don't mind him, Brains. What have you figured out on these blowouts?"

"Oh, uh, yes. It is a product called Etch-rite. It is an advanced form of fluoritic chloride. It has been on the uh, market for less than a year."

"Wait. You mean to tell me this is a man-made problem?" Virgil asked, focusing an intense gaze on the scientist.

"Well, uh, Virgil, there was never any real uh, doubt about that."

"Okay, so what are you saying? This was deliberate?" Scott frowned.

"Sabotage? I don't think so, Scott. I mean, a saboteur could conceivably take out the French station, but I doubt those Moldovans would have put up with a stranger floating up and throwing something at them." Virgil stated, shaking his head.

"And besides, even if you assume a mole on both stations, there were only two people on that Chinese station. Unless these were all suicide missions." John contributed.

"Why would anyone want to sabotage all of those stations? They had nothing in common as far as I can see." Virgil puzzled.

John's voice took on a hardness. "I can think of one group."

"Earth Alone." Ruth entered the conversation, nodding her head with conviction.

Scott and Virgil both nodded after giving a moment's consideration. Earth Alone was a small but vocal organization of eco-terrorists. Considered crackpots by most, they held a belief that man had no business polluting space, and worked to prevent any and all space exploration or commerce. They were just the type of group that would revel in the destruction of multiple stations.

"Wait a minute." Virgil said, grimacing. "Even assuming it was Earth Alone, how could they sabotage three stations and a shuttle? I mean, the last I heard, they were practically shut down. And they lost their only financial backer when that Swedish guy, what's his name, died last fall."

"Greger Lindblad."

"Right. So how could they afford to get into space anyway?" Virgil asked.

John nodded. Despite the space plane craze of a few years earlier, space travel was still an expensive proposition. It was an interesting puzzle. The table fell silent as the family contemplated it.

Brains finally finished his dinner and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of everyone at the table. "Uh, I don't believe this is a terrorist act. I believe what we are, uh, seeing is an industrial accident."

"Industrial accident? What do you mean, Brains?" Scott asked.

"It is the nature of the compound, uh, Scott. Fluoritic chloride is a very potent corrosive. It is used in very small amounts to etch motherboards for the smallest of computer components. It is released a few molecules at a time to uh, do this. It is kept under tremendous p-p-pressure to maintain it in a liquid state. It becomes gaseous when the pressure is lessened, and it is that transformation that causes the etching to occur."

"Okay, so what are you saying?"

"Scott, a mere liter of this compound under pressure would be uh, sufficient to etch your name across the face of the moon deep and wide enough to be seen from Earth."

John chuckled at the stunned look on his brother's face. It was hard to tell which confounded the eldest Tracy son more, the idea of the power of the chemical, or the mental vision of his name scrawled across the face of the moon.

"Do us a favor, Brains. Don't use that particular analogy in front of Gordon." Virgil drawled.

Amid the general groans, Brains smiled. "I'll keep that in mind, uh Virgil. My point is, to be in a sufficient quantity to cause the damage we have seen, it could only have been one of the larger commercial stations."

"But Brains, surely we would have heard if a large station had an industrial accident." John denied the possibility.

Brains simply shrugged. "P-perhaps the Chinese are uh, not the only ones covering things up."

"Hey, wait a minute." Virgil shook his head. "You said it had to be under pressure. Once it was released, and became gaseous, wouldn't it be less dangerous?"

Brains nodded. "That's a good assumption, but no, actually, it is far more c-c-corrosive in its gaseous state than as a liquid."

"Okay, so assuming a hidden industrial accident. How does that lead to these other stations being damaged?"

John nodded focusing on the thin scientist. That was the million-dollar question. Brains responded calmly. "I postulate a cloud of gas in geosynchronous orbit. The three effected s-s-satellites were all in geostationary orbits. I believe they were each infected, as it were, when they passed through the, uh, cloud."

John sat up at that. "If that's the case, we should be able to set up a computer simulation to see if any more stations will be affected."

"Can we backtrack? Find out where it all started?" asked Virgil.

"Maybe."

Scott interrupted his brothers. "Brains, how do we destroy this cloud?"

"I've been thinking about that, uh, Scott. I am working on a counteragent, but it will be s-s-some time before it is ready."

"Right. Well, you keep on it. I'm going to go talk to Dad about it." Scott set aside his napkin and stood up, Virgil only a step behind.

John waited until the two men were out of the room before turning to his grandmother. "Well, it looks like I'm the only one who appreciates your pie, Grandma."

Ruth chuckled. "Well, then, maybe you should just eat a whole pie."

"My thoughts exactly." John replied brightly, standing up to head for the counter with the pies.

Ignoring her grandson, Ruth placed her hand on Brains', gently commanding his attention. "Would you like a piece of pie, Brains?"

"Yes, please, uh, Mrs. Tracy."

"John, don't cut me any. And make sure you leave a piece. Lord knows you boys don't need a quarter of that pie apiece."

"Yes, Grandma." John cut a two-inch sliver before dividing the pie into an additional four pieces. He looked over at the table, and when he saw his grandmother had left the room, he took two plates over, handing one to Brains. "Brains, when this is all over, Virg and I are going over to the mainland to have a little fun. We want you to come too."

Brains lit up with pleasure. "Thank you, John. I'd appreciate that."

"Great. I'll let you know when."

"Okay. Will you uh, set up the simulation?"

"I'll get a start on it as soon as I've checked on Dad's progress."

"Thank you. Have you had any response on your inquiry to, uh, Lick Observatory?"

"No. I'm a low priority as far as they're concerned." John lamented.

"You could mention your relationship to Tracy Enterprises."

John winced. "I'm not in any hurry. They'll get around to me eventually."

Brains just stared. John realized he might as well have been talking in gibberish. Everything Brains did tended to be Important with a capital ‘I'. The idea of leisurely research was foreign to him. With a wry grin, John got up, starting to clear off the table. "Don't worry about it, Brains. If I get to the point where it's life and death, I'll tell Dad to bring out the big guns."

By the time he had put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, Brains had left the table. Grabbing the pieces of pie for his brothers, John headed to the lounge.

As he entered the room, Scott was shaking his head. "There's got to be another way."

From Alan's portrait, their father's image shrugged. "I'm open to suggestions."

"What's up, guys?" John asked as he handed the dessert plates to his brothers.

It was Virgil who answered. "Dr. Ribicoff and his wife are onboard the shuttle."

John felt his eyes widen. Leon Ribicoff had been his mentor at NASA, and more importantly, Alan's mentor also. Both Tracy sons were well known to Ribicoff and his wife, Sara, as was Jeff, who had been instrumental in getting Ribicoff his position with NASA. "Damn."

"That's an understatement." Alan's gloomy voice could be heard through the speakers.

"Well, what are you going to do?"

"The only thing we can do. Alan and I will stay in the control room, and Gordon will handle the evacuation,"

"Won't they recognize him?"

"Nah. Don't you remember, John? He was 20,000 leagues under the sea when I graduated, and in basic training when you did. He never met either Leon or Sara." Alan assured him.

John nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, okay. So will this involve an EVA?"

"No, son. Unless something drastic happens in the next six hours, we'll just dock and transfer the people."

"Sounds easy enough."

Scott shook his head with misgiving. "Yes, if nothing goes wrong, but I'd rather there were two people handling that transfer."

"Oh, come on, Scott, you didn't need a second person at the French station." Alan pointed out.

Scott waved the objection aside. "We didn't know how dangerous the situation really was. And besides, I could have called either you or John if I needed you. Gordon's going to be on his own here."

"If Gordon needs help, he'll ask for it. If it's between those lives, and International Rescue's secrecy, we'll forfeit the secrecy. But I don't expect it to come to that." Jeff was cool and calm.

"Yes, Father." Scott gave in.

"Now, about this computer simulation. John, how long will it take you to set it up?"

"Shouldn't take more than an hour."

"All right, son, get to it. Let me know as soon as you have anything. And tell Brains if he can't come up with a way to stop this cloud, I want him to get on the horn to NASA. Let their scientists have a crack at it. This is just too dangerous to keep under wraps."

"All right, Dad." Scott was nodding.

"And boys, try to get some rest. It's going to be a long night."

"FAB."

Jeff shut down the connection from his end. Virgil looked down at the desk, and seemed to notice the pie for the first time, and with a smile dug in. To his surprise, John realized Scott's pie was already gone. His brother had apparently inhaled it while talking to their father.

Shaking his head in amusement, John headed for the roundhouse and his computer. It took him the full hour and a bit more to key in all the existing data along with search parameters. When he set the program to run, he leaned back and stretched.

A check of his chronometer showed it was barely seven in the evening. Knowing it would be a while before the computer completed the simulation. John got up and headed back to the lounge.

Scott looked up from the desk as John entered. "So, how's the simulation coming?"

"I've got it set up. The computer's working on it, but it's going to take a while. I'm going to hit the sack for now."

Virgil, who had been noodling on the piano, glanced out the window where the sun was still a couple of hand spans above the horizon. "Don't you want to stay up with the big kids?"

John smiled. "I figure Dad will make it to that shuttle at about midnight. I'll sleep until then, and stay up the rest of the night so you and Scott can catch a nap."

"Good thinking. Well, then, good night."

"Yeah, ‘night."

John waved a hand as he walked out of the room. When he reached his room, John settled on the edge of his bed, and considered lying down. Despite the long day, he wasn't especially tired. He thought of taking a hot shower to relax his muscles, but decided against it, opting instead for some stretching exercises a former yoga-enthused girlfriend had taught him.

He carefully locked the door to his room, not wanting his brothers to see the exercise. If word got out that he practiced yoga, no matter how infrequently, his life could become a living hell. His younger brothers would be all over him, and Scott and Virgil would get their licks in too. The worst part would be, if they teased him about it, he would have to practice it more openly and more often just to prove he could. No, it was far better to keep it under wraps.

As he became engrossed in the regimen, his mind cleared and emptied. Within twenty minutes he was relaxed enough to sleep. With the blinds closed against the still bright sun, John shucked off his shoes and jeans and climbed in between the sheets. Within minutes, he was asleep.

When his alarm blared at midnight, John Tracy startled awake, feeling as if he had had no sleep at all. As his hand slammed down to shut off the alarm, he considered just rolling over and going back to sleep. Remembering the computer simulation, and the real danger his father and brothers could be in, he pushed himself into a sitting position.

Five minutes later he was still sitting on the edge of the bed, only half awake, and wishing he wasn't. He thought wryly that he was probably the only astronomer in the world who wasn't a night owl. Yawning hugely, and stretching to his full length, John finally forced himself up and headed to the shower.

A short time under the hot spray, and he was wide-awake and ready to go. He pulled on some clean jeans and an old Harvard tee shirt and headed down the darkened hall toward the lounge. He entered the room to find his older brothers engaged in an arm wrestling battle. Shaking his head he flopped onto the couch. "If either of you lands up wearing a cast, I'll let Gordon dye it pink."

"Hey John." Scott remarked casually, never letting his concentration waver. "Sleep well?"

"Well enough. Thunderbird Three at the danger zone yet?"

"No. Probably be another twenty, thirty minutes."

John nodded. "Okay, then, I'm going to go check on that simulation." He got up from the sofa and watched his brothers for a moment. As far as he could tell, it was a dead heat. Though both were straining, neither was giving an inch. "So who's winning?"

"I am." The emphatic statement came simultaneously from both men.

With a nod and a slight smile, John headed for his computer. In his study, his monitor greeted him with a blinking light indicating the machine had completed its task. Sitting down, he brought up the program. As he read the results a frown crossed his face. The frown turned to a look of wide-eyed horror as he reached the end. "Shit."

John typed a few commands, and headed back to the lounge. He entered the room at speed, saying urgently, "Guys, we've got a big problem."

His brothers, who to all appearances hadn't moved a muscle while he was gone, looked up with alarm, but not before Scott slammed his brother's arm down on the table. "What've you got, John?"

"I've got a plot for that cloud. Guys, in less than twenty-four hours, that thing is going to hit the bus terminal!"

"Oh my God."

"Okay, so Dad has to stop and pick up more people. It shouldn't be that big a deal."

"No, Virg, you don't understand. The World Space Transit Station is not just a space station. It's more like a city in space. There have to be a couple thousand people up there. Even if there was time for ten trips, we could never evacuate everyone before it was too late."

"Geezus, what are we going to do, then?"

Scott strode to their father's desk. Hitting the intercom, he called. "Scott to Brains. Get up here, we've got big trouble."

"O-o-on my way."

John moved to the desk and his father's computer. "Move over, I'll bring up the report."

As Scott started to move, the eyes on Alan's portrait lit up. "Thunderbird Three to Base."

Scott quickly depressed a contact. "This is Base, go ahead, Alan."

"Scott, we've reached the Vishnu Star. We've looked her over, and honestly, it just doesn't look like the same thing. We can see where the cargo hatch has blown out, but there's none of the damage we were seeing with the French or Moldovans." Alan's voice held a tone of puzzlement.

John spoke up. "Yeah, I think I can shed some light on that, Alan. I ran that simulation, and as far as I can tell that shuttle is an anomaly. It doesn't fit the parameters."

"Are you sure about that, son?" Jeff deep voice was calm.

"Yes, sir. I've plotted the course of that cloud of gas Based on all the available information, and that shuttle was nowhere near its path."

"Well, that's good news."

"Yes, sir, as far as it goes. But Dad, there's more." Scott took over the conversation. "John says that cloud is going to hit the World Space Transit Station in less than twenty four hours."

There was a moment of silence as those on Thunderbird Three absorbed the information. John looked up as Brains joined them. The scientist's furled brow indicated he had heard Scott's statement.

Jeff's voice was still calm, but with a slight tremor as he said, "All right, son. You'll need to alert the WSA and NASA. John, you're absolutely sure the Vishnu Star was not touched by that poison?"

"Yes, sir. I'm totally confident. The rest of the plot works perfectly. The shuttle is the only anomaly."

"All right, then. I'll try to convince the captain that his ship is in no real danger, then we'll turn around and head for the bus terminal."

"Uh, uh, Mr. Tracy, I believe we would be better, uh, served if you were to return, uh, directly to Base."

"Brains, we don't have time. We have to get those people to safety."

John shook his head, dismayed at the enormity of the problem. "Dad, even if every available ship were to launch immediately, there still wouldn't be enough to rescue everyone."

"Could we like, pull it out of the way or something?" Gordon was heard asking.

"No son, it would be like using Thunderbird Four to move the Atlantic Dome." Jeff said, mentioning the largest undersea habitat to give his aquanaut son a frame of reference.

"Uh, uh, excuse me, Mr. Tracy, but I, uh, have a solution."

The room went still as all eyes turned to the slight, stuttering man. Jeff's relief was plain when he responded. "Let's hear it, Brains."

"I have come up with a counteragent that I believe will render the fluoritic chloride inert."

"That's great, Brains!"

"Yes, but there are uh, issues that must be r-r-resolved."

"Issues? What issues?"

"First, I must produce a s-s-sufficient quantity of the counteragent. I'll need to get over to Auckland to uh, get the materials I'll need. Second, we'll need a delivery system. A high-pressure sprayer that will work in, uh, zero gravity. And third, I'll need to modify one of the chemical fuel tanks on Thunderbird Three to hold the counteragent."

John frowned at the idea of modifications to Thunderbird Three. Virgil shook his head. "That's a lot to get done in less than twenty-four hours, Brains."

"Yes, it would be impossible if not for my uh, secret weapon, Virgil."

Virgil smiled, intrigued. "Your secret weapon?"

"Yes, Virgil. My secret weapon. You."

All three brothers' eyebrows shot up as Virgil squeaked, "Me?"

Brains smiled. "Yes, you, uh, Virgil. I'll start the design of the sprayer while you take Thunderbird Two to Auckland for the material for the counteragent. When you return, you'll fabricate the sprayer while I manufacture the counteragent. And when Thunderbird Three returns, you can help me modify the fuel tank."

Scott crossed his arms. "And what will John and I be doing in the meantime?"

Brains looked up as if it were obvious. "Sleeping. You'll both be uh, sleeping."

"I don't think so." Scott used his command voice.

"Son, it makes sense. It'll take us a good eight hours to get home. I need you boys to be fresh, on your game. Now, you two get to bed, and that's an order."

"Dad, there's no way I'm going to be able to sleep with this going on."

"All right, son. I understand." Almost before the surprise could register, Jeff continued. "I'll have Alan sleep here, and he and John can handle the flight."

"Now, wait a minute..."

"No, Scott, you wait a minute. This is going to be a very hazardous situation, and I'm not about to allow you to fly punch drunk. Either you find a way to sleep or you're grounded."

John and Virgil both suddenly found the floor fascinating. It was rare that their father used that particular tone, and rarer still when it was directed at Scott. The result was instantaneous as Scott reddened with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "Understood."

John shot a sideways glance at Virgil, who jerked his head toward the hallway. Without another word, John fled the lounge and headed for his quarters. He sincerely hoped his brother would see the sense of what their father said. He had no desire to fly with a cranky, sleep-deprived Scott.

As he sat on the edge of his bed, he could understand what Scott had meant about not being able to sleep. It was one thing to be suddenly called to a dangerous rescue, but quite another to know a trip was just a few hours away. And it also grated to let Virgil do all the work. The habit of helping one another was deeply ingrained in all of the Tracy sons.

Sighing, John got up and hit the shower. It took a long time for the streaming hot water to loosen the muscles in his back, but eventually, he felt himself relaxing.

Drying himself off, John climbed once again into bed. Lying on his back, with his hands behind his head, he wondered what his father was doing at the moment. If it were up to him, he'd have both Jeff and Alan resting. A straight shot trip should be well within Gordon's abilities, at least until they reached the Earth's exosphere. Gordon could sleep once they got home.

Alan had the reputation in the family of being able to sleep anywhere, and John knew for a fact that his youngest brother had no problem sleeping in weightless situations. Their father, of course, was an old hand at sleeping in space.

When he heard the bass rumble of Thunderbird Two taking off, John hoped Virgil had been able to settle Scott down. Apart from their father, Virgil was the only person in the world that Scott would allow to take care of him, and John thanked his lucky stars for that. Without Virgil to act as a safety valve, Scott most likely would have gone around the bend long ago

John closed his eyes and practiced his deep breathing. At some point he drifted off, only to startle awake at the sound of Thunderbird Two's return. He turned blearily to his alarm clock to see it was only 3 a.m., and rolled over and went back to sleep.

John Tracy awoke the next morning with the sun warming his face. He blinked several times to clear away the sleep and rolled to his side to look at his clock. His eyes widened slightly when he realized it was after 8 a.m. He sat up quickly and did a quick scratch of his head with both hands then, forgoing his shower, got dressed and hurried out toward the kitchen.

Entering, he found himself alone with his grandmother. "Morning, Grandma. Where is everybody?"

"Good morning, sweetheart. Sit down and have some breakfast." The elderly woman handed her grandson a mug of coffee, and reached up to run her hand over his cheek, but she made no comment on his unshaven state other than a raised eyebrow. "Virgil is working with Brains in the workshop. For a wonder, Scott isn't up yet. I suspect Brains may have given him something to help him sleep."

John nodded, slathering butter and syrup on the French toast his grandmother had set before him. "Yeah, that makes sense. Dad ordered him to get some sleep, but he said he couldn't with everything going on."

"Yes, Virgil told me all about it. I practically had to drag him in to have his breakfast. Brains too."

Both John and Ruth looked to the ceiling as a distant growing thunder seemed to shake the house. John stood up, but his grandmother speared him with a look. "John, you just sit down and eat. You don't know how long it will be until your next meal, and you'll be needing all of your strength."

John looked down at the inviting plate of food and gave in. "Okay, Grandma."

Scott came striding in, looking fit and eager. "No breakfast for me, Grandma, just coffee. I have to get to the hangar."

Ruth sidestepped to stand directly in front of her eldest grandchild. "Scott, you need your breakfast."

"Okay, Grandma." Scott pirouetted around the tiny woman, snatching the coffee mug from his grandmother with one hand while scooping up a fistful of bacon with the other before escaping out the door.

John hid his grin when Ruth turned a gimlet eye on him. "Don't think you'll be getting away so easily, kiddo."

John raised his hands in mock surrender. "Wouldn't think of it. Besides, it means more French toast for me."

Ruth turned back to her stove, fists on her hips. "He took enough bacon for six people." Shaking her head, she forked the remaining few pieces onto John's plate, along with two more slices of toast, then proceeded to cook more bacon.

After mumbling his thanks, John dug in, eating quickly. He had just polished off the last of his breakfast when Jeff and Alan entered the room, Gordon trailing behind. "Is that French toast? That'll hit the spot."

"Good morning to you too." Ruth said tartly. "Sit down and I'll have this ready in a moment."

All three men stopped in their tracks, surprised at the sharp tone of voice. They warily sat down never taking their eyes off Ruth's turned back. Jeff looked to John, the question in his eyes. Under the sound of his chair scraping the floor as he pushed it back, he said softly, "Scott did a dine and dash."

Ruth whirled around, giving no doubt to the quality of her hearing. "No, he did a snatch and run. John, you take him that toast and a piece of fruit. That much fat isn't good for him."

John looked over at the counter, where a plate of buttered toast sat. He picked it up and grabbed a banana. "Son, tell Brains I'd like an update on their progress, please."

"Okay, Dad." John replied as he went out the door. Deciding Scott didn't need all four pieces of the toast, John juggled the banana onto the plate and took a piece, gnawing it as he went.

As he reached the elevator, he could hear the rumble indicating it was in use. He waited, curious to see who it was. When the door opened, he was surprised to see Scott, Virgil and Brains. "Uh, you want to step aside there, John?"

John stared at Virgil. "You guys can't be finished already. Thunderbird Three just landed."

"Change in plans. Where's Dad?"

"In the kitchen. Oh, here, Scott." John said absently thrusting the plate of toast at his older brother. "Grandma says you're too fat."

"What?"

"What change in plans? You're not refitting the fuel tanks?" John asked, leaving behind a bemused Scott as he trailed after Virgil and Brains.

"Uh, no, John. When I, uh, completed the design for the sprayer, and uh, had a chance to l-l-look at your figures, I realized we could, uh, use a much smaller tank. It was simply a matter of uh, changing out the escape pod with the new tank, and we're in b-b-business."

"You removed the escape pod? Dad's not going to like that." John shook his head, entering the kitchen behind the others.

"I'm not going to like what?" Jeff said from the table where he sat with Alan, eating breakfast.

"We revised the plans, Dad. Instead of refitting the fuel tanks, which will take at least another two hours, we came up with a smaller tank. It's configured to fit in the escape pod's bay. We've already finished installing it, so John and Scott can leave whenever they're ready."

"And me." Alan said firmly. John noticed his youngest brother looked fit and ready to go. Alan continued, "Brains, how're we going to spot this cloud? I mean, as far as we know, none of the stations that were hit saw it coming. Did you figure out a way to detect it?"

"Well, uh, yes and no, Alan. We have John's plot for an approximate position, and I have configured several probes to detect the uh, contaminant. Unfortunately, you are probably, uh correct when you say it is invisible to the naked eye.

John shifted uneasily. "Okay, so how is this going to work? The sprayer deploys from the escape pod bay?"

"Yes, uh, John. Upon reaching the danger zone you will use a handheld remote control to deploy the sprayer. You will maneuver Thunderbird Three back and forth over the cloud, spraying as you go."

"Just like cropdusting at home." Scott nodded with satisfaction.

"Yeah, except at home, the crops can't eat your ship." John grinned wryly.

Scott chuckled and slapped his brother on the back. "You guys ready to go?"

Alan stood up, holding his plate, fork in motion. As if waiting for that very action, Ruth pounced. "Alan Tracy you sit down this moment! You're not going anywhere until you've finished. And don't gobble, you'll get a bellyache."

Alan looked to his father, but Jeff said serenely, "Brains and Virgil have bought us two extra hours. We can afford to spend five minutes eating."

Alan nodded and ate as fast as he dared under his grandmother's scrutiny. Virgil sat down with a mug of coffee and stretched out his legs. "Where's Gordon?"

"He went to bed. He handled Thunderbird Three so that Alan and I could rest."

"Poor dear was so tired he didn't even want any breakfast."

"Awwwwww." Chorused the four brothers at their grandmother's comment.

Ruth turned in time to see the four identical smirks. She frowned ferociously for a moment, then chuckled. "You boys!"

"Actually, a nap doesn't sound half bad. I think I'll head for bed." Virgil stood, weary now that the work was done.

Alan was still putting away a prodigious amount of food. Scott watched him for a moment, then turned to Ruth. "Grandma, do you think I'm fat?"

"Just around the head a bit." Alan piped up.

"Oh, I don't know, seems like more to me, Al. He just doesn't have the same girlish figure he used to." John smirked.

"All right, boys, that's enough." Jeff rumbled.

"Okay, I'm ready. Let's go." Alan said, standing up and automatically moving his dirty dishes to the kitchen sink.

"'Bout time." Scott grumbled.

The three Tracy sons moved with their father to the lounge. John sat on the couch, his stomach clenching with familiar feelings of anticipation and trepidation.

Jeff sat down at his desk and eyed the three young men in front of him. "I don't have to tell you boys to be careful, but I want you to keep in mind that this contaminant is incredibly dangerous, and Thunderbird Three is as vulnerable as any other ship. God speed, boys."

As Jeff hit the control to send them on their way, Scott answered for them all. "Thank you, Father."

When they were out of earshot, Alan turned to Scott. "You're dead meat, you know."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Now what?"

"Gordy really didn't appreciate you calling him incompetent."

"I never called him incompetent."

"You implied it."

"Gordon's going to have to grow up."

"Alan's right, Scott. You definitely implied it."

"Oh God. You guys just let it alone. We have a job to do. Let's just concentrate on that, okay?"

Alan turned to John a smirk on his face, and mouthed, "He's dead meat, all right."

John grinned tightly. Gordon was pretty forgiving, but he'd probably do something just to make a point with Scott.

As they approached the big red rocket, John found himself staring at the section holding the escape pod. A shiver went through him. In all the time since International Rescue had been in existence, the pod had never been needed. John wondered what the odds were they'd need it this time.

When they reached the control cabin, both John and Alan headed for the pilot seat. Scott said firmly, "Alan, you pilot. John, you'll handle the sprayer."

John sat in the communications position, disgruntled, but not willing to make an issue of it. Full of exuberance, Alan grinned, "Pull those safety straps tight, boys, let's rock and roll!"

Jeff had barely called the clearance before Thunderbird Three fairly leapt from her silo. John sucked in a deep breath as the rocket hurtled through the atmosphere.

Unable to contain himself Alan let out a war whoop that had both John and Scott laughing with delight. Unlike their previous rescues, this one was to end the problem once and for all, and that filled the Tracys with determination and not a small amount of joy. John reflected that all too often, International Rescue was reactive. The chance to be proactive was just not to be missed.

Once out of the atmosphere, and with the course set, John put in a call. "This is Thunderbird Three calling World Space Transit Station. Come in, please."

"Thunderbird Three, this is World Space Transit Station. John? It's good to hear your voice."

"Hey, John. Good to hear you too. We're on our way to you right now."

"Yeah. I don't suppose you can evacuate a couple of hundred at a time?" The station operator sounded exhausted and discouraged.

"Actually, we're not coming to help evacuate. Our scientists have come up with a counteragent that we intend to spray on that cloud."

"What? Are you sure? Our people have been trying to come up with something since your people contacted us about this. They say that stuff is unstoppable."

"Well, I'm confident. Our people say it will work. And it better or a lot of your people are going to be breathing vacuum."

"Oh dear God! Oh, thank you! Thank you! You don't know what it's been like... This is..." John's voice cracked as he wept.

John glanced over at his brothers then lowered his voice to a confidential tone. "Hey, hang in there, Johnny. We've got you covered. Take it easy, okay?"

After a moment, the man composed himself. "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired, you know? I've got to get this news to Mr. Eckenrod. How soon will you be here?"

John looked to Alan, who flashed fifteen fingers. "Fifteen minutes."

"Okay. Uh, WSTS over and out."

"They'll be dancin' in the tubes tonight." Alan grinned.

"Yeah, if this works." Scott growled.

"It's gonna work." John said confidently.

"Yeah. It is." Scott subsided.

John looked over at his brother, wondering how much sleep the man had gotten. Alan caught his eye and raised an eyebrow. John shrugged.

John's concern cleared up when after a few minutes of silence Scott asked him, "Exactly what was it Grandma told you about me being fat?"

John hid the quick grin that threatened. He considered, and decided in the interest of the mission to let his brother off the hook. "Hmmm. Now that I think of it, I believe her exact words were ‘that much fat isn't good for him.'"

John waited a moment for the comment to sink in, then continued. "She was talking about the bacon."

Alan sniggered and raised his hand in an invitation for a high five, which John gladly supplied. Scott glared at both brothers and said in a soft voice, "How would you two like to walk home?"

John joined Alan in batting innocent eyes at their big brother. Scott tried to maintain the glare, but eventually succumbed with a chuckle. "Okay, I give you five points for that one, John."

"Thank you. Thank you verra much." John did his best Elvis impersonation.

"Okay, guys, we're coming up on the station. Showtime." Alan said. "If your figures are right, the cloud should be about three kilometers off the port bow."

"What do you mean, ‘if'?" It was John's turn to growl.

Scott ignored him, entering commands into his station. "Probe one deployed. Bring up the telemetry, John."

John flipped a switch, and all three brothers turned their attention to an overhead screen. Scott ordered calmly. "John, tell Base we're at the danger zone."

John glanced over at his brother, a bit embarrassed at having to be reminded. "FAB... Thunderbird Three to Base."

"Go ahead, son." Jeff's voice was a calm anchor.

"We've arrived at the danger zone, and deployed our first probe. Sending telemetry now."

"How far away is that cloud, John?"

"We believe it to be about 3 kilometers away, Dad."

"All right. Don't get any closer until you're sure."

"FAB."

John cut the communication. His eyes had never strayed from the telemetry screen, and now he commented. "The probe should encounter it any second now."

Nothing happened for an eternal five seconds, then the figures on the screen started changing rapidly. "Bingo." Scott said, fiercely.

The probe continued to transmit readings for another thirty seconds before, after a short burst of static, it went dead. John hit several commands into his computer, and the overhead screen started a line by line recreation of what the probe had seen.

The Tracys watched as the contours of the cloud took shape. When the screen completed its picture, they could see a three dimensional amorphous shape that was sliced off at each end. Scott looked at his board and with a few keystrokes, sent another probe on its way, aimed toward what had to be the leading edge of the cloud.

Again came an almost interminable wait before the monitor indicated the probe had penetrated the cloud. This time the data stream lasted less than fifteen seconds. "Must be more concentrated there." John commented. He shifted uneasily in his seat, when after the recreation was completed and matched to the previous input, the cloud showed no signs of a leading edge.

Scott was undeterred, and sent a third, then a fourth probe in rapid succession. The brothers all were silent waiting for the input. When it came, John could see that Scott had programmed one of the probes toward the rear of the first two, and it did indeed show a marked dissipation indicating the trailing edge of the cloud.

The probe at the other end again failed to show the leading edge of the cloud. "Big sucker." Alan grunted.

Scott said nothing, he simply deployed yet another probe. The brothers waited with held breath as the probe's information was integrated with the existing graphic. Finally a definite border could be seen. John mused that Alan was indeed right, it was a big sucker, extending almost a kilometer in length, varying in width from a few hundred meters up to almost a kilometer.

Scott had his game face on. He cracked his knuckles and said. "Let's go get it. John, deploy the sprayer."

"FAB." John replied, every bit as serious. He picked up the remote that Brains had supplied. Looking it over, he found a button labeled, ‘Extend Sprayer'. Pressing the button, he looked up mildly surprised when one of the ship's monitors lit up.

It was the view from near the nose of the rocket. It was one that John always liked, looking back as it did along the length of the ship. As he watched, a hatch halfway down opened and a long spidery contraption extended out of the ship. The contraption delicately unfolded itself into several thin arms that eventually proved to be as long as Thunderbird Three itself.

"Wow." John whispered.

"And they did this in eight hours?" Alan shook his head in wonder.

"Well, we can admire it later. Alan, I want you to follow this course." Scott put a plot up on the navigation screen.

"You got it, bro." Alan immediately fired his thrusters, and within seconds the screen showed Thunderbird Three in perfect synchronization with the plot.

"All right, John, release the counteragent on my command."

John had his thumb on the button, just waiting for the command, but his eyes never left the screen. When Scott's calm command came, he was ready, hitting the button almost before the word was out of his brother's mouth.

John checked the monitor, and saw... something... emitting from pinpoint nozzles all along the individual arms of the sprayer.

"Watch your course, Alan." Scott said sharply.

"Yeah. Sorry about that. That sprayer is acting like a thruster, pushing us in the opposite direction. I'm compensating now."

John watched as another monitor lit up. It was a visual of an empty area of near space, presumably where the cloud was located. "What's that for, John?"

"Came on by itself. Something Brains programmed. I'm not sure wh.... Oh, look at that!" The screen had lit up with a myriad of tiny sparks.

"Ah, cool!" Alan breathed.

Scott laughed, then hit a switch. "Thunderbird Three to Base. Dad, are you getting this?"

"Yes, son, we sure are. Very pretty, but once you're done with this pass, I want you to stand off and send another probe. Brains wants to see how much coverage you're getting."

"FAB, Dad." Scott replied, then turned to Alan. "You heard the man, Alan. John, prepare to shut down the sprayer."

John glanced at the remote to make sure he had his thumb on the right button, and when Scott said, ‘now, John,' he was ready. He shut off the sprayer, then did a visual check to be sure the spray had ceased. "Okay, Scott, it's shut down."

"Thanks, John. Alan, stand off two kilometers while I send another probe."

"FAB."

When the ship was in position, Scott sent another probe. The three men watched the screen with anticipation as the computer read the data received. The swath cut by the counteragent was clearly visible as a wide stripe across the front of the cloud.

John found himself frowning. "It's not enough."

"I agree, uh, John. You must move closer before releasing the uh, counteragent. F-f-far too much is dissipating before reaching the uh, target."

Scott blew out a loud breath. "Brains, how much closer? We were within a half kilometer as it was."

"Well, uh, Scott, your analogy of uh, cropdusting was apt. You would not dust a field from half a kilometer in the air. You must be within several uh, meters for this to w-w-work."

"Several meters? No. No, that's too close." Jeff was firm.

John listened to his father as he watched Scott plot a new course. He wiped his palms on the fabric of his uniform and licked his lips. Cropdusting was one thing. You always had a good view of your target. But this cloud was invisible. One misstep and they'd be the ones needing rescue.

"Here's your course." Scott said quietly to Alan, then raised his voice to speak with his father. "Dad, we came here to do a job. We're not leaving until it's done. Don't worry, we'll be very careful."

"Son, I have no doubt about that, but look at your scope. That cloud is not uniform. The variation is at least fifty meters from the one area to the next. You accidentally fly through a patch and you'll find yourselves with the Thunderbird Three dissolving around you."

"We're taking that into account, Dad. Bear with us, we're going to try a run now." Scott was firm. Turning to his brothers, he ordered. "Alan, no deviations. John, release the counteragent on my orders."

"FAB," came the twin replies.

John was so tense he felt as if he would break apart. He watched as Alan matched Scott's plot with pinpoint accuracy. When his brother ordered him to start the sprayer, he hit the button so hard, he felt sure his thumb was bruised.

The monitor again showed the twinkling sparks that meant the counteragent was doing its job. John couldn't help but notice that the twinkling was far more concentrated, and seemed to start as quickly as the spray left the nozzles, attesting to the frightening closeness of the cloud. By the end of the three-minute run, John was covered in sweat. He could hear Alan's harsh breathing in his ear.

"Good job, guys." Scott was the epitome of a professional. His utter coolness helped to stiffen John's resolve, and he sensed Alan settling down next to him.

When they once again reached a station-keeping position, Scott released yet another drone. This time when the results appeared on the screen, the three brothers grinned. Nodding, John said fiercely, "Now that's what I'm talking about!"

The cloud showed a large chunk missing. The computer reported over a 25 loss of volume. Scott traced a finger along the upper reaches where a few wispy strands showed as disconnected from the main body of the cloud. "We've got to make sure we take out all of this stuff."

"So how do you want to handle it? Do we go after the loose stuff or hit the main cloud again?" John asked.

"Let's take out the main cloud, then we can clean up after ourselves." Alan offered.

"I agree." Scott nodded. "Thunderbird Three to Base. Did you receive the last telemetry?"

"Yes, son, we did." Jeff's deep voice was calm. "Are you seeing these areas that are separating from the main mass?"

"Yes, sir, we do. We're going to destroy the main cloud then police up the area."

"We agree down here. Brains feels you can probably complete the main cloud with six more passes."

John raised his eyebrows and Alan blurted out, "No way! Three passes, max!"

"Easy son."

"Uh, Alan, please remember the c-c-cloud varies in concentration. Allow me to uh, show you a revised, uh, graphic." Typically, Brains' stutter became worse with stress.

The brothers looked up at the representation of the cloud. After a moment, the screen was updated to show the same cloud, this time in shades of color running from soft yellow to a hard, bright red. At a glance, John could see that although most of the cloud was yellow, there were some big areas of red, including an area right at the front, bulging outward like an ugly wart in the area that had already been sprayed.

"As you can see, this section here was uh, less affected by the counteragent than the uh, surrounding area." A pointer appeared on the screen highlighting the bulge. "I recommend that this section be uh, specifically targeted. John, you'll uh, be able to increase the s-s-strength of the spray by opening the back of the uh remote, and adjusting the dial you find there to two. Scott if you slow your pass to uh, half speed, that should provide sufficient coverage to eradicate the concentrated area."

John flipped the remote over and found a small hinged compartment that he would have assumed was for the batteries. Using a thumbnail, he pried the compartment open and found a tiny dial marked in increments from .5 to 3.5. It was currently set at .75. Using the tip of his finger, he adjusted the dial up to two.

Alan, looking over his shoulder, asked. "Brains, why is it set so low? Wouldn't it go faster if we just set it at three point five?"

"Uh yes, Alan it would, but it would exhaust your supply of c-c-counteragent in less than a single pass."

"Oh. Okay, just asking." Alan replied, abashed.

Scott had been working out a plot, and now transferred it to Alan's station. "Here's your plot, Alan. John, you ready? Base, we're going in again."

"FAB, Thunderbird Three."

Scott cut the line to their home and put a hand on Alan's shoulder. "I was thinking the same thing, Al."

John nodded, somewhat more relaxed with the success of the previous run. He sat with his thumb on the release button, determined to be as calm as Scott this time.

A tight smile showed Alan's appreciation of the support. Wiggling his fingers for a moment, he took the controls, saying, "Hold on, boys, here we go again."

John kept his eyes on the monitor, watching as Alan once again matched the plot Scott had laid out. As they approached the co-ordinates of the cloud, Alan hit reverse thrusters to slow the big rocket down. Anticipating the order, John hit the button a split second before Scott could give the order.

As soon as his thumb depressed the release, there was a large thunk. John's eyes shot up to the monitor.

"Shut it down! Shut it down!" Scott yelled urgently. "Alan, get us out of here!"

"Oh God."

John slammed his hand down on the shut off key, his eyes wide with fear. The monitor that had previously shown a delicate but orderly spider web of spray arms, showed a nightmare tangle before the screen clouded over as the lens was hit by the spray.

A glow out of the corner of his eye drew John's eye to Alan's pilot board flashing an array of red warning lights. Alan's hands flew as he shut down systems, trying to bring the cascading failures under control. "I have failure of numbers two, three, four, six and eight thrusters."

"Use the rockets, Alan." Scott was shaken but still in control.

"Primary rockets are offline. Guys, we aren't going anywhere."

"Thunderbird Three to Base."

The call was met with a profound silence. John ran a diagnostics check. "Communications is offline, Scott."

"Okay, what do we have?" Scott's demanded.

"Uh, we're okay on life support. We've got long range sensors, but we're as good as blind up close."

"All right, what the hell happened?"

Both Scott and Alan stared at John who felt a bit lost at the attention. "I don't know. Well, I mean, obviously something went wrong with the sprayer, but I have no idea why that would affect the other systems."

Looking at the still clouded monitor, Alan said uneasily, "You don't suppose that counteragent is corrosive too?"

John shrugged. "Maybe. Whatever it is, we need to figure out a way to move or we're going to be that cloud's next meal."

"All right. Alan, you stay here. John, you're with me."

"What? Wait, what are you going to do?" Alan asked, the slight tremor in his voice betraying his nervousness.

"The answers are outside." Scott responded shortly.

"Right. And I have more EVA experience than you."

"Yeah, but I need you in here. Stay put, Alan."

John paused, swallowing hard. The look Scott shot him got him moving again, and he joined his older brother in the elevator. The door shut on a distinctly worried looking Alan.

The brothers reached the ready room and suited up with neither saying a word. They turned to each other automatically checking that each other's seals and seams were tight. John jerked his head in a nervous nod. Scott led the way to the airlock without a word. Once the brothers had entered, Scott hit a switch and said in a maddeningly calm tone. "Alan, we're at the airlock, ready to commence EVA."

"You are go for EVA. Good luck, you guys. Keep your comm lines open, okay?" Alan was just this side of pleading.

"FAB. Come on, John, let's go see the damage."

John nodded as Scott triggered the airlock cycle. When the air had evacuated the chamber, John did a last check of his suit systems as Scott did the same. After a moment, Scott asked quietly, "Ready?"

"Yeah." John answered succinctly.

As the outer hatch irised open, John concentrated on hooking his safety line to an attachment point. That done, he looked around, and involuntarily gasped.

Thus alerted, Scott twisted around, then blurted out, "Oh, shit!"

"What? Oh shit, what?" Alan could be heard over the radio.

"The cloud. It's visible to the naked eye, Alan. The monitors must screen it out as distortion." John explained. "It's kind of pretty, actually."

The cloud was visible as a shimmering iridescence, a gossamer scintillation of color against the black velvet backdrop of space. A coruscating rainbow of color is what John and Scott saw.

"Okay. How close is it?" Alan said calmly.

"Too damn close." Scott replied succinctly. "We've lost about a third of the sprayer array. It doesn't look salvageable. John, you see if you can figure out what went wrong with communications. I'm going to cut away the damage."

"FAB." John raised his forearm and keyed a command into the pad there. His boots immediately clamped onto the hull of Thunderbird Three. Thus prepared, John headed up the side of the ship toward the communications array.

As he moved along the side of the ship, one of the thruster clusters caught his eye. Detouring, he frowned at the sight. The cluster was a series of swiveling pressure nozzles that could be directed individually or as a group to give the pilot pinpoint control. The nozzles were of course driven by a sophisticated computer system.

John could see some of the nozzles were covered in some sort of hardened metal slag, looking very similar to the hardened lava he had seen when he visited Kilauea a few years back. He bent down reaching out to touch the slag, pulling his hand back at the last second.

"Hey, guys, I've found some sort of debris on the number four thruster pack. Looks like something melted over it then hardened."

"John, can you bring your helmet camera online? I want to see it." Alan asked.

"Yeah, Al, sure. Hang on." John hit his keypad, turning on the camera mounted on his helmet. A display lit up on his faceplate, giving him a virtual viewfinder to target the lens. "How's this?"

"Great, thanks." Alan said distractedly. "Hey, John look up at the left-hand corner. Does that look like a chunk of pipe?"

"Now that you mention it, yeah, it does."

"Okay, so part of the sprayer came in contact with the thrusters, and melted on contact. We should be able to get it off okay, don't you think?"

"Maybe. I want to check with Brains before touching it. Who knows what that counteragent did to that metal. I'm heading to the communications pod now."

"FAB."

Reaching the panels, he found more of the slag appeared to have drifted over from a nearby thruster cluster. It was plain bad luck. It had settled onto the solar panel that powered the small motors that kept the antennas aligned with Thunderbird Five, which in turn boosted the signal to Tracy Island. It was the minute computer-aided adjustments to the antennas that ensured the tight beam that kept their communications private.

"Alan, I want you to get into the security program, okay? I need you to shut down the comm system subroutines. The power panel is out, and we'll need to use wide beam to contact Base."

"Belay that, Alan. John, you need to find another way. We aren't going to broadcast our situation to the whole world."

"Scott, I need to talk to Brains before we do anything."

"Fine. What about the battery? Doesn't it have a battery back-up?"

"The solar panel stores the energy it needs within its cells, but this crap has shorted out the connectors to the whole energy storage system."

"Well, what about an exterior battery pack?"

"Yeah, I guess I could do that."

"Whoa, John! A battery pack will burn the motors out!"

"I know, Al, but we should get at least ten minutes before that happens."

"Wait. Ten minutes? That's not enough."

John rolled his eyes. "It was your idea, Scott."

"John..." Scott's voice was deadly.

"Yeah, yeah. Listen, Alan, pull up the wiring diagrams in section A143, would you? I seem to recall a G6 conduit runs behind this panel, but I don't want to waste time opening it up if it isn't where I think it is."

"Checking now." Alan was all business. "Yeah, you're right, Johnny. It's there. I'm sending the schematic to your head's up now."

John's faceplate lit up with another virtual display, this one a diagram with the G6 line he needed blinking in blue. "Thanks, Al. Scott, I'm going to need your help here."

"I've just finished here, I'm on my way."

John looked up in mild surprise. Given the amount of damage, he had assumed Scott would be working for hours clearing it away. Scrutinizing the work his brother had done, he realized Scott hadn't bothered trying to sort any of it out, but had just cut through the supporting structures near the Base of the sprayer.

He saw that Scott had launched the entire damaged portion of the sprayer toward the deadly cloud. John nodded in satisfaction. Let the cloud make itself useful by devouring at least one chunk of space trash.

John turned back to the problem at hand. The solar panel was of a tough, light material held in place by thirty bolts all around its perimeter. Without waiting for his brother, he took a tool from his kit and got to work

He glanced up when a shadow crossed his vision, but it was only Scott, who started on the connectors at the other end of the six-foot long panel. Between the two of them, the work went quickly, and soon the panel was floating a few inches above the ship.

"Okay, Scott, I need you to hold it up from this end so I can get under there and disconnect the power leads."

"You've got it." Scott grasped the edge of the panel and lifted it as far as it would go. It gave John about two feet of clearance, and he cautiously wormed his way under. The power leads weren't difficult to disconnect. Still, John felt clumsy working with the heavy suit gloves.

One last lead, and the panel was free, floating up easily in Scott's hands. "This thing is dangerous floating free. Should we store it, or toss it at that garbage disposal out there?"

John, who was already working at connecting the G6 conduit to the communications line, replied casually, "It cost a quarter of a million dollars, Scott. We should probably wait and see if Brains thinks it can be repaired. There. Alan, run the dish alignment program, see if that's got it."

"FAB, running program now."

John could hear the muffled whine as the computerized motors worked to align the dish with Thunderbird Five. Alan called out. "It looks good. Thunderbird Three to Base, come in Base."

"Base to Thunderbird Three, are you boys all right?" Jeff's voice was cool and professional, but the immediate response told John that his father had been worried.

"Yeah, Dad, we're fine. We had a problem with the sprayer."

Scott took over. "We lost several arms. About 30 per cent. Unfortunately, some of the metal came into contact with about half of our thrusters and melted and hardened around them. The shipboard computers shut everything down. We need to know how to clear the thrusters. The main engines shut down too, but we haven't determined why. Oh, and the solar panel for the communications array was damaged too. John spliced in a G6 cable, so we should be all right for communications."

"All right, Scott. Is John still outside? We need someone to check the main engines, see if they are fouled." John couldn't fault his father's sense of priorities. It was bad to lose thrusters, but without the main engines, it could spell doom for Thunderbird Three.

"Scott and I are both outside, Father. I need Brains to take a look at this damage. I need to know if the counteragent has contaminated the slag in any way."

"Uh, John, I'd uh, like to see some of the damage that you are referring to."

"John, I'm hooking in your live feed to Base."

"Thanks, Al." John touched a control on his wrist pad to bring the virtual viewfinder back online. He targeted the slag attached to the solar panel that Scott patiently held. "Shift it to the left a bit, Scott, so the sunlight hits it."

John zeroed in on the largest patch, tightening the focus to give the best view possible. "Are you getting this, Brains?"

There was a pause before Brains replied in a somewhat distracted tone. "Yes, uh, John, I see it. I am running a calculation, give me a, uh, moment, please."

Scott spoke into the silence. "Dad, we discovered that the cloud isn't invisible after all. John thinks the computers eliminate it from the monitors as distortion."

"How close is it to your position, Scott?

"I'd say maybe a kilometer, maybe a little more."

"All right, son, I want you to go eyeball the engines while we wait for Brains' calculation."

"FAB, Dad." Scott replied. "Hold this."

Scott thrust the unwieldy panel into John's hands, and headed off, down the length of the ship. John stood holding the panel, regretting not letting Scott throw it at the cloud. After standing for a moment, he headed for the cargo hatch to stow the damaged panel.

Before John reached his destination, Brains was back. "Uh, John, I do not believe the uh, counteragent would have bonded to the metal of the sprayer. The heat from the thrusters would have destroyed it before the sprayer would have melted. It should, uh, be safe to touch."

John stopped and cocked his head. "Okay, so this isn't going to eat right through my glove if I touch it?"

"No, I don't believe so. However, I suggest taking the panel onboard before putting it to the, uh, test."

"Yeah, that sounds good, Brains. I'm at the cargo lock right now." John hit the airlock controls and when the hatch opened, he wrestled the panel aboard.

When the lock had cycled, John moved into the cargo bay. Putting down the panel, he reached up to disengage his helmet, but two hands were already there. John gladly accepted Alan's help in removing the helmet. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Alan replied simply. The two brothers stared at the panel that John had laid on the deck. "So, you gonna touch it?"

John quirked a small grin. "Well, I really hate for you to feel left out. Why don't I let you have the honor?"

Alan froze for a second, the said brightly, "Okay."

As his younger brother reached out with his unprotected hand, John leapt forward grabbing his arm. "Hey, that's not funny, Alan."

"Aw, you do care." Alan crooned.

"Just stand back." John replied, irritated. He reached down and poked at the slag with a finger. When nothing untoward happened, he grabbed the largest chunk, and tugged. The slag did not come off, but John felt the give through his gloves. "It's friable. Brains, I think we can probably get it off with tools."

"Actually, I believe I have a, uh, better idea. The sprayer arms have a relatively low, uh, melting point. I suggest using oxyhydnite torches to vaporize the metal."

"Whoa! Won't that kind of heat damage the thrusters?" Gordon's voice came from the background.

"Heat? We ain't afraid of no stinkin' heat." Alan grinned.

John returned the grin. "Gordon, the thrusters are designed to handle high heat. How hot does it have to be to vaporize this crap, Brains?"

"The melting point is a little over 900 degrees, John. I believe it will vaporize at 1500."

"What about residue?"

"It should burn very cleanly."

"Excellent." John replied, and looked around for his helmet. Alan was already at a set of lockers on the far side of the cargo bay, pulling out the oxyhydnite kits.

John settled his helmet back in place as Alan lugged the equipment across to the lock. When John moved to meet him, he saw the question in his brother's eyes. Wary of other ears listening, John shook his head.

He knew his brother wanted to come out and help repair the ship, but John agreed with Scott. They needed Alan at the controls. If things went wrong and he and Scott didn't make it, his younger brother would be all that stood between the people on that station and death. John couldn't think of anybody he'd trust more in that situation.

With an apologetic glance at his brother, John entered the airlock, and slapped the control. Soon he was once again in space, trudging along the surface of the ship, cutting gear in tow. When he reached the first of the damaged thruster clusters, he clipped the kit's safety line to a nearby attachment eye, carefully set the controls to insure the correct temperature, and then got to work.

Aiming at the Base of a big chunk of slag, he jumped back when the piece unexpectedly shot straight up at his facemask. He sat back on his haunches and watched the fist-sized hunk of metal fly up into space. John nodded to himself, figuring the heat was interacting with the slag, causing a rapid expansion of the gas as it was obliterated, acting almost like a rocket propelling the chunk up and away. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, this time starting at the top and working down.

As the metal vaporized he nodded in satisfaction. "Alan, let Base know that heating is working. I estimate it will take about twenty minutes to clear each thruster group."

"FAB."

"Well, that's one piece of good news anyway. I've been all over these engines, and I can't find a thing wrong. No slag, nothing." Scott's voice held a tone of worry.

"That's actually, uh, good news, uh, Scott. I believe it is a computer safeguard malfunction. When multiple thruster computers detected, uh, problems and shut down, the main computer may have shut down all propulsion systems as a p-p-precaution."

"Yeah, you're probably right, Brains. I'll have to go over the entire program when we get back. In the meantime, Alan, if you pull up the protocols, you can probably find the glitch." John said.

"Okay, I'm on it." Alan replied.

"Okay, then, John, did you bring out a second kit for me, or do I have to go back onboard?" Scott typically was focussed on the job at hand.

"It's in the airlock, Scott. Be sure you start from the top down." John continued working without looking up.

"Yeah, okay." Came Scott's distracted reply.

There was a purposeful silence for several minutes as each of the brothers got on with their various jobs. The silence was shattered by a startled oath from Scott. John looked up to see his brother floating away from the ship at some speed.

Not particularly worried, John shook his head. "You didn't start at the top, did you, Scott?"

"Uh, I can't get my accelerator online."

John frowned, realizing his brother was breathing heavily, despite the calm tone. "What happened?"

"Piece of that rock shot up, hit me in the chest, knocked me loose. I think it damaged the controls on the suit." Scott continued calmly. "Thing is, I seem to be out of control here. I think I'm going to need help."

John's eyes widened as he realized his brother was headed directly for one of the stray wisps of cloud. Without another thought, he dropped the cutting torch and hit the control on his accelerator pack. He realized his error a split second later as he realized the momentum he built up would knock them both into the wisp.

Before he could angle his direction, he felt a thump on his back. "John, what're ya doin' man? I was aiming for Scott!" Alan complained.

It was too late. John rammed head on into his brother, hearing the ‘oof' of Scott's expelled breath as he did so. He grabbed on, yelling, "Alan, retract us!"

"Oh, I don't know. You guys make a nice kite. What do you say you just float there for a while?"

By this time, John was facemask to facemask with his brother who rolled his eyes at Alan's comments. Barely daring to move, John glanced over Scott's shoulder, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. In a shaky voice, he clarified the situation for both of his oblivious brothers. "Alan, there is a wisp of that cloud no more than three feet behind us. You retract us now, or you're going to be going home alone."

John immediately felt the pull of the line on his back. He breathed deeply in relief. It had been a little too close for comfort. Alan was all apologies as the two brothers were pulled smoothly toward the airlock. "God, I'm sorry. Are you guys alright? Did any of that crap get on you? Scott? John? Answer me!"

By this time, the brothers had touched down on the deck of the retraction lock. Scott answered, still calm. "We're fine, Alan. Good job. I'm going to need to change into my back-up suit. Meet me in the ready room, would you? I'll need some help. John, break's over, back to work."

The matter of fact way Scott spoke calmed John right down. He nodded, heading out of the lock so that Scott could get it to cycle. He went back to the thrusters he had been working on, belatedly glad for the deadman's switch that automatically shut the cutting tool off when he had dropped it.

He settled back to work, finishing off the clearing of the thruster group. Finally satisfied with his work, he unclipped the safety line and headed for the next thruster cluster. Seeing Scott emerging from the airlock, he called out. "Scott, if you start from the top of the slag instead of the Base, it will vaporize without shooting off."

"Oh, is that what you meant? When you said start at the top, I thought you were talking about the thrusters nearest the nosecone."

John felt his stomach drop to his toes. The accident that could have so easily killed his brother was his fault. "God, Scott, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. We'll talk it over in the debrief. For now, let's get the job done. We're losing our safety margin as it is."

"Okay, Scott." John realized his brother was right. Once they got the ship repaired they still had to eliminate the threat to the space station, and the loss of a third of their sprayer would seriously slow them down.

John got back to work with a will. He glanced over at his brother every few minutes, but there were no more accidents. He was just finishing the last of the groups when a warning light appeared in his heads up indicating he had less than thirty minutes of air left.

"Scott? I'm getting low on oxygen. Can you finish up without me?"

"Yeah. I'll be done in five minutes at the most. Go ahead and go on in."

"Alright, but no kite flying without me, okay?"

Scott snorted a laugh. "Yeah, got it."

John headed back to the airlock. "Alan? Did you have any luck finding the error on the main engine program?"

"Yeah, I did. Everything's all set here. I've verified that all thruster groups except number six are up and working."

"Scott's working on six. I'm coming in."

"I'm already in the ready room, come on in."

"Thanks, Al." John entered the airlock and waited patiently for the cycle to complete. As promised, Alan was standing by, and between them, they got John out of the suit, and had the suit in the recharger just as the lock began to cycle again.

"You want to help Scott while I go verify that thruster group six is back online?" Alan asked.

"Good idea. We'll be up in a minute."

John turned to help his brother as Alan left for the control room. As John lifted the helmet from his head, Scott reached up to scratch his ear. "Thanks. I've had an itch for the last hour."

John smiled. "Well, if you'd bathe once in a while..."

"Bathing's for sissies." Scott replied, causing John to chuckle.

They got the suit into the recharger and headed for the control room. As the elevator rose, Scott said quietly, "Don't waste any worry over that accident, John. It was as much my fault as yours."

John shook his head, eyes on the floor. "I'm supposed to be the big time communicator, Scott. I should have been clearer."

"Starting from the nosecone didn't make any sense to me. I should have asked you what you were talking about." Scott sighed. "We both were in error. The good thing is Alan was here to save our butts, and we'll never let something like that happen again, so let's just drop it, okay?"

John listened thoughtfully, and after a moment, responded, "Okay, Scott."

"Oh, and let's not mention the butt saving part to Alan, okay?"

John shot his brother a glance. "Goes without saying."

Scott smiled as the door of the elevator opened. The two brothers strode to their respective stations, Scott calling out, "Okay, Al, are we ready here?"

"Everything looks good."

"All right. Let's see our position."

Alan obediently pressed a few keys and a graphic appeared on one of the monitors, displaying Thunderbird Three's position in relation to both the cloud and the space station. John couldn't help a mental comparison of a single warrior standing between a city and a ravening horde.

"Okay, deploying probe now." Scott said in a cool professional tone.

The three brothers watched as the probe's data scrolled onto the screen. John entered a few commands into his console and the screen changed to once again show the contrast of reds and yellows depicting areas of concentration. He looked closely at the section they had been targeting at the time disaster struck.

John shook his head, unable to see any change. "That last pass didn't do squat."

"Well, we'll just have to try harder. John, make sure that sprayer is back at the original setting. Alan, what we're going to do is slow our speed over the concentrated patches to get more coverage. Give me a moment to set the course."

"FAB, Scott. I'll let Base know what we're doing." Alan opened up communications with Tracy Island.

John listened with half an ear as he worked to re-set the sprayer back to .75. When he was finished, he advised Scott. "All set here."

Scott nodded. "Alan, here's your course. Are you going to be able to adjust for the loss of the sprayer arms?"

"What, you mean, the lessening of the thrust? Yeah, I got that calculated, you just give me the course, and I'll fly it for you."

"All right, guys, let's do it." Scott settled a bit deeper in his seat.

John watched as Alan lined up on the course that Scott had set. He had an ear tuned to the sounds of the ship around them, listening for any off notes, but as far as he could tell, Thunderbird Three was responding with her usual grace and power. Eyes on the monitor, he waited anxiously for Scott's command.

When the order came, John pressed the button, and watched with bated breath. The sprayer showed no further inclination to malfunction, and the pass was completed with no problem. Scott nodded. "That looked good. We'll just keep it at the lower rating."

Both Alan and John nodded. Scott deployed yet another probe, causing John to wonder just how many there were. The three brothers watched the data come up on the screen.

John shook his head in frustration. While the yellow areas showed a satisfying reduction, the red area of concentration stood out even more than before. "It's like it's not having any effect at all."

Scott stared, a thoughtful look on his face. After a moment, he said firmly, "We'll see about that."

The eldest Tracy brother typed furiously into his console, and with a final savage stab, said, "Let's see how this works."

John peered at the monitor. Seeing what Scott had in mind, he exchanged a glance with Alan and shrugged. "FAB."

The course Scott had chosen was very straightforward. They would essentially park in front of the concentrated area and blast away with the sprayer. Scott gave the order, and Alan moved in. Once they were in position, John hit the sprayer button.

The twinkling effect started immediately. John found himself mesmerized by the effect. "How long are we going to stay here?" he asked.

Scott didn't answer immediately and John glanced over to see his brother staring at the screen much as he had moments before. "Scott?"

Scott held up a finger to hold back the question, and puzzled, John looked back at the screen. After almost a full minute, the twinkling died down significantly, and Scott finally answered. "Okay, that's got it. Alan, can you move us forward just a single ship length?"

Realizing Scott's intent, Alan responded. "Yeah, I think so."

Babying the controls, Alan nudged the big ship forward, and the twinkling on the screen showed up with renewed vigor. All three brothers watched the screen, and when the twinkling died down, Alan moved forward again without urging.

When the pass was complete, Scott sent out yet another probe, and this time grunted in satisfaction when the results showed the dangerous concentrated area had been dispersed. John saw it differently however, and with a finger pointed to the screen. "Uh, guys, it looks like we're creating more of the wisps."

It was true. The momentum of the spray hitting the cloud was acting like a pebble hitting water. The immediate area was being obliterated, but the shockwaves were rippling out, dispersing the edges of the cloud over a wider area.

"Crap."

"Are we going to have enough counteragent to get it all?" Alan asked nervously.

"Find out, John." Scott ordered grimly.

With a short nod, John turned to the communicator. "Thunderbird Three to Base. Are you guys getting this telemetry?"

Jeff's voice was strong. "We see it. Hold on a moment."

The three brothers sat back for a moment, then Scott sat forward again. "Let's not wait. I'm setting up another pass."

When he saw the course his brother had set up, John felt his mouth go dry. "That's awfully close, Scott."

"More bang for your buck. Alan, this all depends on you. One slip up and we're toast."

Alan's grin was fierce. "I can do it."

"All right, then, let's go."

John shook his head, blowing out a deep breath. He concentrated on the screen, his thumb tense on the release button. When Scott gave the order, he jammed the button hard, his eyes never leaving the screen. A split second after he hit the button, the twinkling started up attesting to the proximity of the deadly cloud.

John was again so tense, he thought his muscles would crack. The three-minute run seemed to stretch on forever, but finally, Scott gave the order to shut it down, and John could finally relax.

As Alan moved the ship to a safe distance, Brains' voice came over the communicator. "B-b-Base to Thunderbird Three. John, I've determined that you do not have, uh, sufficient counteragent to uh, complete the job."

John nodded, his mouth a grim line. He had suspected as much, but had hoped he was wrong. It was Scott who asked the question. "All right, so what are our options?"

"Please refer to the, uh, graphic I am sending now." The brothers looked up as one of the monitors lit up. It showed the cloud with a semi-circular cut taken from one side. "I have calculated that if you can clear the above section, the main body of the space station will be untouched."

A second graphic showed the cloud superimposed over the WSTS. John felt his stomach clench. While it was true the central hub would clear the cloud, many of the ancillary arms would be destroyed. "Brains, I can't accept that. There has to be a way to stop this damn thing."

It was Jeff who replied. "Enough, John. We're working on it, but in the meantime, we need to consider the safety of the people on that station. Now, we've already advised them to evacuate to the central hub, so you boys get to work on Brains' plan."

"FAB, Dad." Scott ended the communication. "Well, you heard the man, let's get back to work. Alan, move us over to the left side of the cloud while I program our next run."

"Okay, Scott." Alan's fingers flew over his control board. "What do you suppose Dad meant when he said they were working on it?"

Frustrated, John shook his head. "No clue."

The brothers got back to work, and over the next ninety minutes, they completed several passes along the flank of the cloud. When John announced he had an indicator light showing the counteragent tank was almost empty, Scott ordered a withdrawal.

He sent a final probe into the cloud, and when the results came up on the screen, all three brothers nodded in satisfaction. When Brains' schematic was overlaid, they could see that they had improved on the cut by several meters.

Scott flipped a switch. "Thunderbird Three to Base. We've done all we can with the counteragent. How are you coming on a solution?"

Jeff replied. "Good job, boys. Your brother flew Thunderbird Two over to Woomera about forty-five minutes ago. They are going to boost a package up to you. I'm sending coordinates now. Move over and get set up to capture it."

John felt a smile form. Woomera was Australia's space Base, and had a good reputation for their Kingsford Smith delivery rockets. He glanced over at Alan's board and saw that the intercept point was half a world away.

John's smile turned to a frown. "Is there going to be enough time for this?"

"It's going to be down to the wire, but keep in mind, you've already saved hundreds, if not thousands, of lives today."

John wasn't mollified. He had spent time on space stations like WSTS. He knew how cramped the quarters were at the best of times. Losing a large chunk of that station was going to mean real hardship for those people until they could evacuate enough folks to bring it down to a manageable population.

"How fast can you get us there?" John asked his younger brother.

"Real fast, but it won't do much good until they throw the rocket at us." Alan shrugged.

"Dad, when will they launch?" Scott asked.

"I'm told it will take a while."

"Well, tell Virgil to kick them into gear."

"Virgil?"

"Yeah, Virgil. You sent him to Woomera, right?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"Well, it had to be either him or Gordon, and let's face it, Virgil would sooner..."

"Son," Jeff interrupted, "You do realize that your brother is right here listening to this?"

"What?" Scott saw a blur of motion in the corner of the screen as Gordon left the room.

"Scott, that's the second time in twenty-four hours that you've impugned your brother's abilities." Jeff's voice was diamond hard.

"What? No... Damn," Scott said, shaking his head wearily. "Dad, all I was trying to say was how much Virg hates for anyone else to fly Two...we all know that..."

John rubbed his hand over his eyes to hide his expression. He didn't dare look at Scott.

"Son, you can fix it when you get back. For now we have a space station to save." Jeff got back to business. "Now, about the package. Disengage and retract the sprayer before you head over there. When you get to the pick up point, you're going to have to open up the escape pod bay from the outside and pull the tank. We're sending you another full tank. Once you've recovered and installed the new tank, you'll need to hustle back. If everything goes according to plan, you'll have a good twenty minutes before the leading edge of the cloud hits the station."

As soon as his father had mentioned retracting the sprayer, John had done just that. He watched with a critical eye as the damaged construction folded in on itself. He was fearful that the damage would somehow prevent the sprayer from being able to retract fully, but his fears proved unfounded. By the time Jeff had finished his instructions, the sprayer had disappeared back into its compartment.

Scott nodded in approval. "All right, Father, we're ready to go here. Alan, I want your best speed."

"You've got it." Alan immediately fired the main engines and John felt himself thrown back in his seat.

"What is up with him?" Scott asked bemused.

"I told you, Scott. He was really pissed when you said you didn't think he could handle the flight to the moon." Alan snorted.

"I never said that. What I said was we needed our most experienced people out there."

"That's not how Gordon heard it. Or me either for that matter. You dissed him in front of Dad, Scott."

"I wasn't dissing him, Alan." Scott looked over at John. "You don't think I was dissing him, do you?"

"Doesn't matter whether you were or not, Scott. He's obviously upset about it. Talk to him. You know how he is. You apologize, and he'll forget about it."

"Well, thank you, Sigmund Freud." Scott said sarcastically.

John shrugged, unwilling to take it any further. The three brothers sat in silence for the duration of the flight.

With Thunderbird Three's power, the flight did not last long. Scott looked over at his brothers with a speculative gleam in his eye. "I don't know about you two, but I'm thinking we need to drop lower, pick up the package deeper in the atmosphere."

John's smile was grim. "I'm game."

Alan didn't immediately respond, and Scott finally prompted him. "Alan?"

"Oh, yeah, absolutely. But I was thinking it would be a good idea if we jettisoned the other tank now, before we picked up the package."

"I agree. Come on, we'll go now. John, mind the store."

"FAB" John watched as Alan bounced after Scott. He felt no envy, partially because removing the tank from the escape pod was going to be a tedious job, but mainly because he wanted to go over Brains' calculations to see if he could shave any time off to give them a bigger safety margin.

He contacted Woomera directly to get their time schedule, and with that and the trajectory of the Smithy rocket, he calculated they could drop into the atmosphere and do a running capture, similar to a relay race handoff. Then if they returned to the vicinity of the cloud before installing the tank...

John shook his head in frustration. Returning to the space station before installing the new tank would mean they would have to tow the package, a dangerous proposition at full thrust. It wouldn't do them any good to hustle back only to find the new tank had been damaged by the trip.

No, there was no help for it, they would have to install the tank as soon as they picked it up. But he could make sure it was done quickly. "John to Scott. How are you guys doing?"

"Just about done. You know how Brains is, if there's anyway to make it go smooth and quick, he'll figure it out."

"Great. Listen, I'm thinking you guys should just stay in the ready room when you're done. Woomera is scheduled to launch in five minutes, and I want to meet the rocket just after the engines shut down."

"That sounds tricky. Are you sure you don't want me up there?" Alan asked.

John waited a beat to keep his response civil. "No, that's okay, Alan, I'll just have to muddle through."

"My, aren't we touchy today?" Alan's smirk was clear in his tone.

"If I decide to touch you, you'll feel it." John growled.

Alan only laughed, and after a moment, John felt a small smile form. He set his communications board up so he could listen both to his brothers and to the countdown underway at Woomera.

The Australians were in the final seconds of the countdown when Scott announced. "Okay, John, we're done here. Alan and I will be back onboard in a minute."

"Well hurry it up, guys. Woomera just launched, and I want to get moving."

"Okay, airlock is cycling now. We're onboard."

"'Bout time." John muttered. He made one last correction to his course trajectory and fired the main engines. "Let me know when you're buckled in so I can go to full thrust."

"FAB."

John watched the progress of the Smithy rocket as he dove into the atmosphere. Just when he got to the point where he'd have to either increase the thrust, or re-calculate his trajectory, Alan announced. "Okay, Johnny, we're good to go."

John wasted no time in pushing the throttles open. It was a dangerous move to enter the atmosphere at this speed, and John wouldn't have considered it in any other ship. But Thunderbird Three was unlike any other ship. The ride roughened as he picked up speed, but John was not reckless. He knew exactly what his ship was capable of.

He let off on the throttles as he sighted the distant contrail of his target. His intent was to match speeds with the still firing rocket, and as soon as it shut down and disengaged from the capsule containing their package, he would swoop in and capture the prize.

Alan was right, it was a tricky bit of flying, but John was confident that he was up to the challenge. He still had the line open to Woomera, and he heard their commentary with half an ear. The ground controller was keeping a professional stream of information, but his voice was rising in excitement as the scanners followed Thunderbird Three's daring flight.

John matched his speed with the rocket, slightly behind and to the left to keep out of the rocket's exhaust. Listening to the separation countdown coming from ground control, he increased his speed a split second before the controller announced the separation was complete. Swooping in like a falcon diving on a dove, he hit his magnetic grabs just as he passed the capsule, neatly capturing it, then smoothly climbing to again escape the atmosphere.

The ground controller gasped, and John thought he heard muffled swearing. In the background there was a roar of applause and cheers as the rest of the ground team acknowledged the success of their efforts. Grinning, John opened his line. "Woomera, this is Thunderbird Three. The package has been delivered. International Rescue extends its appreciation for your assistance."

"Uh, roger that, Thunderbird Three. Glad to help, mate, any time. Any time at all." The controller had regained his composure, and sounded very satisfied with himself.

Still grinning, John replied. "Thanks, Thunderbird Three, over and out." John hit the intercom. "Guys, I've got the capsule. You've got two minutes before we're in position for you to get it installed."

"Good job, John. We'll be ready when you are."

"Base to Thunderbird Three. Scott, what in the hell were you thinking?" Jeff said angrily.

"Uh, Dad, this is John. Scott and Alan are in the ready room."

"Son, it's all over the news down here. Did you dive into the atmosphere to get that capsule?"

"Yes, sir, I did. Scott, Alan and I agreed that it would save time."

"Did you consider the danger? If you had missed, Thunderbird Three could have been destroyed, and you and your brothers along with it."

John shifted uneasily in his seat. He knew he was right, but he didn't like confronting his father with the fact. When he spoke, it was with quiet confidence. "Yes sir, I weighed the risk against the potential gain, and determined it was worth it."

"We'll talk about this more when you boys get home." Jeff sighed. "The news people are very... enthusiastic... about this. You did a good job, there, son, but next time, I want you to tell me when you're planning a stunt like this."

John was irked that his achievement was being characterized as ‘a stunt', but responded simply, "FAB, Dad."

Watching his control board, John once again hit the intercom. "Okay, guys, we're at station keeping."

"On our way." Scott said succinctly. John glanced down at his board, and released the magnetic grabs, confident that inertia would keep the capsule floating in tandem with Thunderbird Three."

As he waited, John set up the calculations to return to the cloud in the shortest time possible. It would have to be a running calculation because he could not anticipate the exact moment that Scott and Alan would have the new tank installed, but John had faith in his ability to set the problem up for the computer.

He listened in on his brothers as they worked to open up the capsule containing the tank of counteragent. Satisfied that they weren't running into any problems, John took a moment to stretch. A glance at the chronometer told him that it was well into the afternoon on Tracy Island.

Seeing the time reminded him that he had missed his lunch. He considered breaking out the ration bars but with a grimace of distaste decided he could stand to miss a meal every now and then. Still, his brothers might be hungry. "Hey guys? Do either of you want a ration bar?"

"Okay." Alan responded eagerly. John shook his head. Alan actually liked the nasty things.

"Scott? You hungry?"

"Not that hungry." Scott's dislike was equal to John's own.

"I could dig out the MREs if you'd like."

Thunderbird Three had a supply of high quality instant meals that were really quite good. They came with a pull tab heating unit that made preparation easy enough. John wasn't hungry enough to bother with one, but he was willing to get a couple out for his brothers.

"No thanks, John. We're coming in."

"You're done?"

"Yeah. Piece of cake."

John smiled grimly. The fast work would almost double the safety margin. After snagging a ration bar, he opened up a line to Tracy Island. "Thunderbird Three to Base. Dad, the tank is installed and Scott and Alan are on their way back in."

"That was quick. Very good, son."

"Yes, sir. I calculate we'll be back on station in less than ten minutes."

"All right. John, I know I can trust you not to become careless."

John heard the warning implicit in his father's statement. He looked Jeff in the eye and replied firmly. "No sir, we'll be careful."

Jeff nodded. "I'll take you at your word, son. Keep your brothers safe for me."

"FAB." John signed off, heartened by his father's trust. When he heard the soft whine of the elevator behind him, he punched in the final course. As the doors opened, he called out "Hard thrust in five... four... three... two... one."

As expected, Scott and Alan hustled to strap in, and by the time John finished the short countdown, they were buckled up and ready. John hit the throttle and Thunderbird Three leapt forward like the true champion she was.

"Where's my ration bar?" Alan asked.

John tossed the bar to his brother then turned his attention back to the controls. He pushed the mighty ship to her limits. When they arrived back on station between the cloud and the beleaguered city in space, Scott merely grunted his approval as he keyed in the command to deploy a new probe.

The three brothers sat tense and quiet as they awaited the results. "Damn it." John blurted out his frustration. The results on the screen showed that dangerous wisps had spread wide.

"It's okay. We can handle this. Give me a moment to set a course." Scott was calm, his confidence bolstering John's own.

Within a few minutes, Scott had his course plugged in. John looked on and finally nodded his head, deploying the sprayer. Scott's strategy was to continue cutting into the flank of the cloud. Each pass would clear more of the deadly chemical and enlarge the safety area of the space station.

"What about these?" Alan lifted a gloved finger, tracing a number of small wisps. "They're small, but the trajectory is going to put them right on top of the station."

"Well, I guess that just depends on how quickly you can get this pass done, doesn't it?" Scott challenged.

Alan smiled fiercely. "I guess it does. Firing engines in 3... 2... 1... mark."

The red rocket moved with pinpoint accuracy, and watching his monitors, John needed no instruction, hitting the spray release button just at they reached the cloud's perimeter. Their flight took them on a back-and-forth course along the flank of the cloud destroying a quarter of the remaining volume in a single pass.

As Scott deployed yet another probe, he muttered, "Only 6 left."

Alan and John exchanged uneasy glances. "What do we do if we run out of probes?"

"Don't worry about it, Alan. If it happens, it happens. Personally, I think we'll be done with a few more passes." Scott said. "And if not, we'll just deal with it. Okay?"

"Okay, Scott." Alan nodded, reassured. John kept quiet. He wasn't as optimistic, but he didn't want to worry his brothers.

When the scan results came in, John felt a little better. Scott was right, they would probably finish off the cloud itself in two or three more passes, and most of the wisps would miss the station by a safe enough margin.

Then John compared the cloud's position to that of the space station, and realized they were rapidly running out of time. "Scott, we need to pick up the pace. We're getting too close to the station."

"Yeah, I see it. Alan, here's the course I want. John, you need to be tight on the sprayer, all right?"

John looked at the course, eyes widening a bit. Scott had spotted something he had missed. Three of the wisps, each several yards wide, were ahead of the main body of the cloud, and on a collision course with one of the outlying spokes of the station. Instead of a straight forward run along the flank of the cloud, Scott's course would zigzag Thunderbird Three past the three patches then on to a run on the main cloud.

John would have to turn the sprayer on and off with unerring precision. He nodded, settling himself firmly in his seat. With the relative smallness of the target, it would take all of his concentration to be sure he got it all without wasting the counteragent "Let's go."

With similar concentration, Alan once again moved the big ship out. John hit the first target square on, but when Alan twisted the ship to get the second wisp in range, John felt rather that saw his thumb slip just a bit, causing the spray to engage a split second too late. Before he could comment, they were past the second target, and almost on top of the third.

John hit the release the third time, and watched with satisfaction as the monitors showed the patch of chemical flare up in a fireworks sparkle of destruction. The rest of the run was practically routine, giving John an opportunity to agonize over his failure with the second wisp of cloud.

As they reached the end of the run, John opened his mouth to apologize for bungling, but before he could say a word, Scott spoke up. "Alan, this course, now."

Without missing a beat, Alan turned the ship on a dime and headed back in. John glanced at the course, and saw that the end of the run would land up at the second patch. Feeling his cheeks redden, he concentrated on making this run perfect. This time when they passed the small patch, John hit the release with a savage strength, as if he were punching the cloud itself instead of an innocent button.

As the big ship returned to station keeping, John again opened his mouth to apologize, only to be beaten to it by a shamefaced Alan. "I'm sorry, Johnny. I was just too slow on that twist. I didn't give you enough time to set up."

Stunned, John ran his hand through his hair. "Alan, you were perfect. It was my timing that was off, not yours."

Scott started chuckling. "And I was just about to apologize for making that course too difficult. This has to be a record - three Tracys all admitting to a mistake on the same day." He shook his head ruefully. "What's the world coming to?"

As John laughed, Alan looked startled for a moment, then with a sly smile said, "Well, now that you mention it, it wasn't my mistake after all."

John immediately jumped in, "Yeah, Scott. It was all your fault!"

The three brothers all relaxed, sharing the joke. Not one to waste precious time, Scott sent another probe even as he and his brothers laughed. The break in tension restored all three brothers' good humor, and the news from the scan lifted their spirits even more.

For the first time since they had faced off against the deadly menace, John felt relief. The last pass had all but spelled the doom for the pernicious cloud. John flipped a switch to superimpose the expected trajectory of the cloud, and Alan burst into a cheer as John and Scott laughed. The remainder of the cloud and its attendant wisps were well clear of the space station.

Scott flipped a switch. "Thunderbird Three to Base, are you getting this, Father?"

"We are. Good job, boys."

"Thank you, Father. We should be finished up here in about an hour or so, then we'll drop Alan off and be home in time for dinner."

Generous in the face of victory, Jeff smiled, shaking his head. "No, son, you bring Alan on home with you. Kyrano and Tin-Tin just got back from the mainland with enough lobster and crab to feed an army. We'll have a nice old-fashioned clambake tonight, and your brother can return to Thunderbird Five in the morning."

"Oh man, that sounds good!" Alan exclaimed.

John licked his lips in anticipation, grinning. Scott looked over at his brothers, smiling. "All right, Father, that sounds great. We'll contact you once we've finished up out here."

"FAB, son. Be careful."

"FAB, Dad."

Scott shut down the communicator, then turned to his brothers. "You heard the man, let's wrap this up and get home."

Scott turned back to his station, and plotted yet another attack on the scintillating cloud. As Alan and John settled at their respective consoles, Alan said casually, "You know, Scott, I think I'll take you up on your offer."

Finishing up the plot, Scott looked up with a slight frown. "What offer?"

"To finish out my tour of duty."

John hid a smile as Scott replied airily, "Sorry, Alan, that boat has sailed."

Alan sniggered, and without another word, brought Thunderbird Three up to speed. John kept his smile private as he eyed the monitor, waiting to release the counteragent. He hit the button right on cue, and sat back with satisfaction, knowing this would be the last run on the main cloud.

As he watched his monitor, preparing to shut down the sprayer, there came a raucous alarm. John's heart leapt to his throat as he recognized the meteorite alert signal. It was designed to sound if the ship was struck by micro-meteors that weren't detected or stopped by the ship's automatic defenses. In this case it could only mean Thunderbird Three had come into contact with the deadly chemical of the cloud.

"Oh God!" Alan exclaimed, the color draining from his face. "We're hit!"

Scott's reaction was swift. "Alan, move us out of range, and shut that damn alarm off. John, where's the damage?"

Scott's command voice elicited instant action from his brothers. As Alan fired the ship's engines, John scanned the automatic damage reports spewing across one of his monitors. In a shaky voice he responded. "It's, um, right along the top third of her. A long streak. It extends the length of the cabin, Scott."

John couldn't help staring up above himself where he knew the deadly chemical was eating through the skin of his ship. He swallowed hard. "We need to get suited, Scott."

"All right, listen up you two. John, I want you to run the sprayers. Alan, you roll the ship around in the spray. We've got to get that crap neutralized before it damages anything vital. I'll get the suits. Now get going."

Scott was firm but calm, and John found himself nodding his head. As Scott left the control room, John looked over at Alan. The younger man had regained his composure, and looked as determined as John felt.

"Okay, Al, here we go." John said, amazed that his voice didn't shake. He hit the release for the spray, and watched the monitor as the lifesaving spray jetted out into space. After a moment, Alan nudged the controls, and the big rocket started to gently spin.

"This had better work."

John made no reply. He kept his eyes on the monitors, but he couldn't help stealing glances at the ceiling above his head. He wondered if he'd hear the hissing before the cabin was ripped open and he was flung into space.

Alan was breathing hard next to him, and after a few moments asked shakily, "Does it look like it's stopping?"

Thunderbird Three's outer skin was actually a very sophisticated alloy embedded with microscopic processors that reported the skins condition to a series of microcomputers that in turn reported to the main computer, giving John an onscreen schematic showing the location and extent of the damage. John shook his head at Alan's question. "It's definitely slowing down, but it hasn't stopped."

Alan moaned softly. John knew it was as much for the damage to the ship as for the danger to their lives. Suddenly, Scott was there, panting under the weight of a spacesuit. John frowned when he saw only one suit. "John, help Alan get suited up, then I need you down in the ready room."

With that, the older Tracy left as abruptly as he came. John and Alan stared at each other for a moment, then Alan shook his head. "You just go, Johnny. I can get suited without help."

Fearful as he was, John shook his head firmly. He knew that donning the suit without the help of the robots in the ready room was a slow job even with a second pair of hands. "Not happening, Al. Let's see if we can break the record, though."

John grabbed the lower half of the suit, and after a moment, Alan hustled to step into it. Working quickly but carefully, the brothers got Alan into the suit in less than 10 minutes. John was checking the integrity of the seals, when Alan said urgently, "Go, John."

John looked at his terror reflected in his youngest brother's eyes, and swallowed against the dryness of his throat. "It's going to be okay."

"I know. Just go."

John took a deep breath, then with a single sharp nod, headed for the elevator. He leaned against the back wall as the elevator took him into the bowels of the ship. He spared a thought for the escape pod. He closed his eyes in pain at a sudden thought. If he and his brothers didn't make it, Virgil and Brains would be destroyed knowing that removing the escape pod had been their decision.

The elevator door opened, and John had no more time for thinking. He headed directly for his spacesuit, hung in its rack ready for him. Positioning himself on the dressing pad he slammed his fist on the control, and the robots took over, lowering the instrument heavy top half, and pulling up the lower half.

As the machinery settled the suit in place and started seaming it up, John looked out over the ready room to where, dressed in his spacesuit, Scott was crouched down working intently on something. He felt the pressure on his body as the suit automatically triggered the decompression cycle made possible by a tiny implant just under his shoulder blade. He thanked God once again for his brother Gordon, who had pestered Brains until the scientist had come up with the implant as way to eliminate the need for decompression in deep sea diving. Without the chip, it took two hours to simple reach a point where donning the hardsuit was possible. When a soft tone told him the suit was sealed, he strode over to his brother.

"Scott?" John was slightly puzzled at what he saw. Scott had two of the ship's fire extinguishers laid out beside him. He was using a wrench to tighten the valve on one of them.

Looking up, he nodded. "Good, you're here. Grab that one over there and let's get going."

With raised eyebrows, John picked up the second extinguisher. "Okay. Where we going?"

Scott started for a second, then faced his brother. "Brains says we can bleed off some of the counteragent into these cylinders and then we're going to go get that crap on the ship."

John felt something release in his gut. He nodded his head fiercely. "What are you waiting for? Let's go!"

As they waited for the airlock to open, Scott hailed Alan. "Alan, how are you doing up there?"

"We've still got integrity, but I don't know for how long."

"Okay, well, John and I are going out. Brains came up with a way for us to get some of the counteragent into fire extinguishers. We're going to hand spray the outer skin."

"Scott..." John heard anguish in his younger brother's voice. "Thunderbird Three is MY ship. I want to go out. I want to fix this."

John said quietly, "You wouldn't sit back if it was Thunderbird One, Scott."

Scott was clearly torn. Finally he shook his head. "If I knew I needed to pilot Thunderbird One to save my brothers' lives, I would. I wouldn't like it, but I would. Alan, you and John are better pilots on Thunderbird Three than I am. One of you needs to be onboard, and John is already here. I'm sorry, but that's the way it's going to be."

Scott finished his speech by hitting the controls to cycle the lock. John waited for the explosion from Alan, but it didn't happen. Instead Alan's response was subdued. "All right, but you owe me big time. The both of you."

John shook his head, reflecting that his little brother really wasn't little anymore. Still volatile, Alan had become as reliable as any of his brothers. John smiled. Despite the desperate situation, he couldn't help a small thrill of elation that came over him. With his brothers at his side, there wasn't anything that he couldn't face.

"Alan, keep Base advised on what's going on." Scott ordered. Coming out of the ship, he led the way over to where the delicate arms of the sprayer were joined together to a massive valve on the counteragent tank. Just as John wondered how they would bleed off the chemical, Scott pointed to a much smaller valve about a foot to the side of the main valve.

John looked a question at his brother, and Scott chuckled softly. "The man thinks of everything. I barely got our problem out of my mouth before he was telling me what to do."

"Thank God he's on our side."

"Tell me about it." Scott knelt by the valve, and connected his tank. It was a matter of a few moments before the pressure valve indicated the tank was full. Scott handed his tank to John and then took the second tank to repeat the action.

Soon the brothers were making their way across the ship to the area damaged by the cloud. As they came up to the cabin level, John's heart sank to his toes. The once pristine skin of Thunderbird Three was scored with a long line of black jagged pits.

Less affected by the sight, Scott was all business. "Alan, we're onsite. Can you give me a readout of the worst areas?"

"Yeah, just gimme a moment. Can you bring your camera online, John? I want to see."

John shook his head sadly. "No, you don't."

"Yes, I really do." Alan responded firmly. "Here's a heads up on what's happening, guys."

A virtual screen appeared before John's eyes, and he immediately moved to an area marked in red as active. Pointing the nozzle of the extinguisher, John sprayed the blackened pocked area. After a moment, he called out. "Alan, I just sprayed section A14. Do you see any response?"

There was relief in his brother's voice. "Yeah, it's stopped spreading. John, I'm serious. Bring up your camera."

"Moving to section A15."

"John..."

"Alan, I've finished C23 and 4. Did I get it all?" Scott interrupted.

"Scott, if someone doesn't turn on their cameras, I'm coming out there."

"Fine. You want to see, here you go. Now, are C23 and 4 clear?" Scott's voice held a note of annoyance.

"Yes." Alan replied curtly.

John shook his head and continued spraying, his eyes on the skin of the ship. In most places, the damage seemed to be superficial, but in others it was several inches deep, exposing circuitry and damaging the underlying structure. At least he could take comfort knowing their quick action was preventing further damage.

"Uh, guys, I think we're gonna need a sealpatch on some of that."

John nodded at Alan's comment. "Yeah, I think you're right. Some of these areas won't survive re-entry without reinforcement."

"Will the sealpatch be enough protection?" Scott asked as he continued spraying.

"Yes, it's designed to withstand high heat. I think we're going to be okay." John said with some relief.

Scott and John continued their work in silence for some minutes. Alan burst into the silence, saying shakily, "Guys, I've got a breach imminent alert here."

"Where?" Scott demanded.

"Section A3, on your heads up."

John saw where the schematic was flashing red. He and Scott arrived at the danger point at the same moment, and both hit the area with spray. John stared as the foot-wide hole in the skin of his beloved ship. "Damn."

"Alan, did we get it?" Scott was professional. When Alan didn't immediately respond, Scott repeated, "Alan? Did we get it? Is there a breach?"

John looked over at his brother with concern. Even if the hull had been breached, Alan was in his hard suit, and should not have been seriously affected. "Alan? Answer me. What's happening?"

"Here. I'm bringing out a sealpatch. Even if you stop the chemical, the structure is weakened, and it'll breach eventually."

John saw Scott nod within his helmet. "All right. John, you take that end, and I'll take this end. I want the entire area saturated."

"FAB." John replied succinctly.

Taking up a position at one end of the long scarred area, John started sweeping back and forth with the fire extinguisher. His virtual heads up kept him apprised of the areas where the chemical was active, and he made sure he doused these sections liberally. He had met Scott in the middle when his canister sputtered, the gauge indicating it was empty.

Both brothers looked up as a shadow crossed their vision. It was Alan towing a large tube on a floating sled. "God, it looks even worse up close."

"It's mostly cosmetic, Al. And anything that isn't, we'll fix."

"That's assuming we can get her home in one piece."

With a tight smile, John responded. "Don't you worry about that. I'll be flying her, so you know we'll be okay."

"Aw, thanks for the offer, Johnny, but I'll manage just fine."

"Okay, you two, enough. How are we going to get the sealpatch on?" Scott asked.

"Well, you know it's supposed be fired from the ship's cannon. It has to have a certain amount of velocity to spread properly."

"Right, so what do we do?"

"Okay, so I'm thinking you two will tether yourselves really good and anchor a couple of snapcords. I'll use my accelerator pack to pull the sealpatch as far away from the ship as possible. Then I let it fly, and bingo! The ship is repaired."

John and Scott stared at their brother for a moment, then John replied. "How about you anchor, and I accelerate?"

"Will this get enough velocity?" Scott was more concerned with the actual procedure.

"Brains is the one who came up with it. He says it doesn't need to be all that much, because the area it has to cover is relatively small."

"Sounds good, but I think we can maximize the effect if we tether the snapcords and all three of us do the accelerating." John was firm.

"And four snapcords, not two. It'll give it a better balance. Less chance of the sealpatch going off course." Scott said, nodding.

"But I only brought out two!" Alan seemed miffed that his brothers were altering the plan.

"Well, then, you'd better go get two more." Scott replied, his attention already on the tube holding the sealpatch. "Oh, and bring out three hookgrabs while you're at it. John, can you get the attachment points set up, please?"

"I'm on it." John moved to one end of the scarred area, then moved a good ten feet to the side. Finding the section of skin that he wanted, he pulled a small tool from his kit and got to work. With a twist of his tool, a small square of the skin rotated and flipped, exposing a heavy duty ring, intended for use when Thunderbird Three needed maintenance. Making sure it was seated properly, John moved ten feet to the opposite side of the scar before locating a second ring.

By the time John looked up from setting up the fourth ring, Alan had returned, and between him and Scott, had gotten the snapcords tethered to the first three rings. Alan pushed the fourth snapcord in John's direction telling him to catch, then turned to assist Scott in making sure all four cords were attached to the sealpatch.

The cord floated into John's gloved hands, and he turned to get it attached to the ring. The snapcord was Brains' version of a bungee cord. Lighter and far more flexible, the cords could withstand more pressure than even the most heavy-duty bungee. John used the snaplock at the end of the cord to attach it to the ring.

Turning back, he found Scott and Alan had completed their preparations and were waiting for him. As he approached, Scott handed him a hookgrab. "Okay, here's what we are going to do. We'll float it out until the snapcords are tight. Then we give a three- second burst on the accelerators. Then when I count three, we let it fly. Got it?"

John nodded and hooked his hookgrab onto the lip of the tube holding the sealpatch. Alan and Scott positioned themselves with their own hookgrabs and Scott looked each of his brothers in the eye. "Ready? Okay, we push off in three... two... one... now!"

All three brothers flexed their knees and pushed against the hull of the ship. They floated in perfect tandem up and away from Thunderbird Three. As they moved away, John looked back and felt a deep pain at the ugly scar on the beautiful rocket.

"Don't worry, fellas. We'll make it right." Scott said serenely. John looked over at Alan and wondered if the glisten in his younger brother's eyes was just a reflection off of the facemask.

Swallowing the lump in his own throat, John nodded. He knew the ship could be repaired, but it didn't make it any easier to see her damaged. Sighing, he was pulled up short as they reached the end of the tethers.

"Okay, now, we have to get this right, guys. I want your accelerators at 100 per cent. Set the timers, don't try to do it manually. Three seconds. Then fifty percent to maintain station-keeping. Both hands on the grabs. Don't release until I signal. If you feel it slipping, sing out. It's better if we all let go early than if it slips and goes off course. All right? It's just like knocking a beer can off the fence with a slingshot. Three... two... one... now!"

John triggered his accelerator pack and grabbed on to his hook with both hands. The accelerator seemed deceptively slow. It did what its name implied, it accelerated John faster and faster. By the time the three seconds were up, he was straining to hold onto the hook. The snapcords were stretched tight.

"Okay, now, on three. One... two... three!" Scott's panting command came. The three brothers released their holds, and the sealpatch flew back through space toward Thunderbird Three. It hit the ship and unfurled, covering the scar and a good bit of area beyond.

Shutting down his accelerator, John cheered along with Alan at their success. Scott's voice was tinged with relief when he said, "Okay, guys, let's get back onboard before something else happens."

Cheered by their success, John nodded and headed for the hatch. Beside him, Alan practically bounced along, using a touch more on his accelerator in the last few feet to arrive first. "I win!"

John shook his head, a fond smile on his face. "You keep right on thinking that Al."

As the airlock cycled, Scott said, "I want someone in the control room while the other two are de-suiting."

John and Alan glanced at each other, the same sly smile on their faces. As soon as the inner hatch opened, both blond brothers sprinted for the suit stations positioning themselves on the activation pads before Scott could even exit the airlock. "Okay, Scott, I guess you're up." Alan said innocently.

With an aggrieved frown at being outwitted, Scott could do nothing but trudge over to the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, the two blond Tracys sniggered. Brains' design of the spacesuits made them infinitely more convenient than any commercial suit, but even still, they were bulky and heavy, and in the ‘shirtsleeve' atmosphere of Thunderbird Three's control room, uncomfortable.

Alan was out of his suit first and stood waiting for his brother. John raised an eyebrow. "You don't need to wait for me. I'll be up in a minute."

"Ha! If you think I'm going to face Scott alone, you're crazy."

John laughed, "Chicken!"

"Just call me Gimmizah."

"Uh, what?"

Alan chuckled. "It's a weird breed of chicken. Gordon came up with it."

John joined in with a chuckle of his own. "Gimmizah, huh? God."

Finishing up with his suit, John headed for the elevator, slapping his brother on the back as he moved.

In the elevator, Alan asked, "So, you think Dad will let me stick around while we get Thunderbird Three repaired?"

John shook his head ruefully. "Hard to say. It won't be the same priority as, say, Thunderbird One would be."

"What, are you kidding? With the number of rescues we've had in just the last week?"

"Yes, but we've neatly resolved the problem, remember?"

The elevator opened, and as the brothers stepped out, Scott brushed by between them without a word. As the doors closed, Alan asked incredulously, "Is he actually pissed at not getting to go first?"

John shrugged. "I don't know. It's not Scott's style, but he's been under a lot of pressure today."

"And we weren't?"

"Ah, but we're both expert astronauts. We knew everything would turn out fine."

Alan's eyes widened for a moment, then he burst out laughing at the outrageous statement. John grinned and turned to the controls. "You think you can handle launching a probe? I don't want to wait for Scott to get this all wrapped up. There's about forty pounds of crab at home with my name on it."

"You can have the crab, just give me the lobster." Alan replied a bit distractedly as he launched a probe.

Both brothers studied the monitor as it eventually lit up with the information on the remnants of the deadly cloud. John traced a finger over a large wisp. "That's what was left when we had to back off."

"Okay, well, if we hit that, and these bits here and here, then all we'll have to do is get that patch over here and we'll be done." Alan traced a zigzag course on the screen.

"Sounds good. Plug it in, and we'll be done before Scott comes back."

"Plug it in? Naw, I can eyeball it. You just be ready with the bug spray."

With that, Alan hit the controls, moving the big ship forward. John started to comment, then changed his mind. Protocol demanded that the course be entered into the navigation computer, but John knew he could fly the simple course, and he had faith Alan could too.

With his eyes on his monitor, John hit the spray button with confidence as they passed the first of the targets. With no break in concentration, Alan flew the ship on a course that gave John the best possible shots at each of the remaining wisps of cloud.

John heard rather than saw Scott enter just as they were finishing up the run. "All right, fellas, where do we stand?"

John glanced over at his brother, a slight frown on his face. Instead of satisfaction at a job well done, Scott looked tired and defeated. "Scott, what's wrong?"

Ignoring the question, Scott stared at a monitor. "Did we get it all? I want to confirm with a probe."

As Scott programmed a last probe, Alan replied hesitantly, "Yeah, Scott, that last run was just to clean up. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Scott's response was curt. He fired off the probe, then ignoring his brothers' stares, concentrated on the monitor. John and Alan looked at each other, mystified.

As the probe's results were displayed on the screen, John nodded, gratified. There was no sign of the cloud. With a sigh, Scott said, "Good job. All right, we're going to head over to the bus terminal."

"What? Why? Can't we just head home?" Alan demanded.

"Yes, Scott. We've missed lunch, and you know Virgil and Gordon will eat everything in sight if we're not there to stop them."

Shaking his head sadly, Scott replied, "You guys aren't thinking. We can't go anywhere near the island. That damage to the hull..."

"No, Scott, it's okay. The sealpatch will hold. That's what it's designed to do." Alan said reassuringly.

John, on the other hand, felt the color drain from his face. He knew what Scott was going to say before the words left his mouth. "It's not a matter of holding, Alan. The sealpatch ruins the stealth coating on the ship. We go home, or even to Thunderbird Five, for that matter, and the whole world will know where we are."

Alan put his head in his hands. "Aw, dammit. You're right."

"All right, we may be stuck up here for a while. I want uniforms smart, and minds on professional, got it?" Scott gave his brothers the ‘Dad' look, and they both responded automatically, nodding as they straightened in their seats.

"John, notify Base we'll be heading to bus terminal, then contact the station manager. Alan, wait until we have approach instructions."

John and Alan responded in unison, "FAB."

John flipped a switch. "Thunderbird Three to Base. Father, we've completed our last run. The cloud is destroyed."

"Copy that, Thunderbird Three. Well done, boys."

"Thank you, Father. We had an issue with some damage to Thunderbird Three's hull. We were able to repair it with a sealpatch, but of course, we've compromised our stealth capability. Scott recommends we stay at the World Space Transit Station until Brains can come up with a solution."

"Actually, son, Scott has already apprised us of the situation. Here's what you're going to do. I want you to start re-entry procedures with a target of Fortaleza Spaceport. You're going to need to slow to mach ten by 80,000 feet."

John heard a sudden intake of air from his brothers. His own eyebrows climbed. Jeff continued with nod acknowledging his sons' reactions. "Thunderbird One will fire a stealth coating from her cannon. It's a temporary fix, but Brains assures me it will work."

"Wow." Alan was the only one to come up with a response in the silence that followed. John tensed, waiting for the question they all knew was coming.

"Uh, who's going to pilot Thunderbird One, Father?" Scott tried to sound casual, but couldn't quite pull it off.

Jeff stared coolly at his eldest. "Do you have a recommendation?"

John couldn't quite help flinching. His father was really sticking it to Scott. They all knew Scott could barely stand the idea of anyone flying ‘his' baby, but given a choice, he would naturally pick Virgil. From their father's tone of voice, it was obvious that Gordon was in the room, and he intended to give Scott an opportunity to redress his earlier comments.

Scott tensed, then with a sigh, said neutrally, "No sir, I was just curious."

In the ensuing silence, Alan said brightly, "It's too bad John and I are both up here, Dad. Scott admitted we're both better pilots than he is."

The comment broke the tension, and Scott's exclamation of denial was overridden by laughter from both the ship and ground. Smiling, Jeff nodded. "Set your course, and transmit it directly to Thunderbird One. She's already airborne."

"FAB, Base." John shut the communicator down. "Crab legs, here I come."

While Scott computed and transmitted their course, John remembered the earlier order to contact the bus terminal, and reached forward and set the communicator. "Thunderbird Three to WSTS, come in, please."

"This is WSTS."

John smiled as he recognized the voice of the operator. "Hey, John. We've finished up here. The cloud is gone."

"We've been monitoring right along, John. That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Listen, I'll be dirtside for a month starting the fifteenth. Is there any chance we could meet? I'd like to buy you dinner."

"I'd like nothing better, but regs won't allow it. Sorry."

"Yeah. I pretty much thought so, but no harm in asking. How about you guys could come over here for dinner? There are a couple thousand people who'd like to say a personal thank you."

"Well, again, we'd like too, but as you can see, we're coming up on a sunset, and well, you know, we're kind of required to ride off into it."

John chuckled. "I see your point. Well, I guess it goes without saying, but if there is anything we can ever do for you folks, you just send up a flare."

"Thank you, John. Thunderbird Three out."

"Course is computed and transmitted." Alan was all business.

"Move over. I'm taking her in." Scott said firmly.

Scott's order had been given so calmly and confidently, that Alan actually started to move before he realized what had been said. John shook his head. "If Alan gives up the controls, it's me who'll be taking over, Scott, not you."

"And I'm not giving up the controls!" Alan said, indignant at the very thought.

"Listen, you guys, I've had more experience in atmospheric flight that the two of you put together."

"Absolutely true. But this is our ship, not yours. You need to put your CFA card away and let us take care of it." John's voice was rock hard.

Scott bristled. He had never appreciated the Control Freaks Anonymous card that Gordon and Alan had gotten him as a joke years ago. "You seem to be forgetting who's in command here."

"As if we could. You're the commander, but I'm the designated pilot, Scott." Alan's voice was as hard as either of his brothers. "I've got the controls and I'm keeping them. Now buckle up, we're going in."

Alan ended the argument by initiating the re-entry burn. The mighty engines of Thunderbird Three lived up to the ship's name, roaring with a sudden thunder that vibrated up through John's feet and shook his spine. He knew there would be a discussion at home about the whole scene, but for now, he just wanted to get dirtside safely.

As they slowed, gravity exerted its prerogative, and the ship dropped out of orbit. Right on cue as they hit 80, 000 feet, the communicator came alive. "Thunderbird Three, this is Thunderbird One, I have you on my scope."

John felt a slight relief to hear Virgil's voice. Knowing Virgil was flying Thunderbird One should relieve a least a bit of Scott's anxiety. "Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird One, we see you. You're going to have to move faster than that if you want to play with the big boys, Virg."

"I'm pedaling as fast as I can. Maintain this altitude and fly her straight. I'll come in from above."

"FAB." John responded. "You heard the man, Alan. Straight and true."

Alan grunted, his concentration on his flying.

Scott had remained quiet, if a bit antsy. As Thunderbird One approached, he piped up. "Virg, how close you coming?"

"I've got a high pressure sprayer onboard, but with the speed we're moving, I have to be right on top of you to keep it from being blown away. Think in terms of in-flight refueling, and you'll get the picture."

Seeing Scott pale at Virgil's words, John wished his brother knew how to lie. He asked sardonically, "I trust you've been laying off the coffee today?"

"Only fourteen cups. Hold her steady, I'm extending the sprayer."

John and Scott kept their eyes glued to the monitor showing Thunderbird One's approach. John jumped a foot when the collision warning alarm started beeping insistently. He reached over and slapped the switch.

A series of thuds a few moments later had him flinching again. His eyes flew to the monitor, but Thunderbird One was still flying above them, albeit closer that he had ever wanted to see. The thuds continued for a few more seconds, then Virgil's voice was heard. "Thunderbird One to Base, I've sprayed her, Father. Can you confirm that it worked?"

"Ah, yes, uh, Virgil, she's uh, disappeared off c-c-conventional screens."

"Hey, Brains, I thought you said this stuff was transparent."

"It is, uh, Virgil."

"Um, okay."

Alan and John looked at each other. "Virgil, what do you mean? What are you seeing?"

"Don't worry about it, it's probably an optical illusion, not much light up here, you know."

A suspicion formed in John's mind. "Is it purple?"

"Yeah, actually, it is. How did you know?"

John responded flatly, "Lucky guess. Talk to you on the ground, Thunderbird Three out."

Alan stared questioningly at his brother. John said vengefully. "He's dead."

Scott snickered, relieved at the success of the spraying. "Well, good. Try to kill him before he gets me, would you?"

Alan smiled evilly. "I was wondering just the other day what would happen if you put garlic extract into his scuba tanks."

John had a wicked smile of his own. "I think we should find out as soon as possible."

"Can you think of a way to make it delayed action? That's the only thing that's stopped me."

"Hmm. I think I can rig up a pressure switch. 80 feet seem right to you?"

"No, make it 50 feet. He's more likely to reef dive than deep dive."

Scott shook his head ruefully. "And I thought I was kidding about keeping you two apart."

Both blonds turned their smiles on their brother. "Keep it mind the next time you challenge us on our own ship."

Never one to back down from a challenge, Scott narrowed his eyes. "Anytime you two get tired of life you feel free to try something."

John chuckled. "Okay, now that we've all asserted our Alpha dog pretensions, can we get home? I'm so hungry I could eat a lobster raw."

The mention of food got his brothers nodding. Alan said wistfully, "I hope Grandma's making those cheese biscuits."

"And coleslaw." Scott sighed in anticipation.

"Okay, we're coming up on transition." Alan returned to business.

John flipped a switch. "Base, this is Thunderbird Three, requesting landing clearance."

"You are clear to land. Welcome home, boys."

"Thank you, Father. Thunderbird Three, out."

Alan expertly flipped the ship into a tail first position, and with retros roaring, dropped the ship through the clouds and into her silo.

"Thank you for flying Alan Airways. Please return all seats and trays to the upright and locked position. Wait until Elvis has left the building before exiting. Please make sure to gather all barf bags and watch your step as you leave."

John snorted as he got up and stretched. "You know, I could stand to go a day or two without a rescue."

Scott chuckled, reaching over to drape his arms over both his brothers' shoulders. "You guys really did a fantastic job. A lot of people are alive today because of you two."

John flushed with the praise. There was nobody he'd rather hear it from than his big brother. Alan grinned. "That's true. You hardly held us back at all."

The friendly arm tightened around both blond brothers' necks, pulling them both tightly to Scott's chest. "What was that, Alan? I didn't quite hear."

Laughing, Alan relented, "I said you did a great job yourself!"

Releasing his hold, Scott said, satisfied, "That's what I thought you said."

The three brothers flopped in companionable silence onto the couch. John reached around and triggered the switch to convey them back to the lounge.

When they had dropped out of the ship and started trundling across the silo floor, Alan looked up and swore. The upper third of Thunderbird Three was marred by a long streak of almost fluorescent purple.

John patted his shoulder. "Remember, it's only paint. And most of it's on that sealpatch which is coming off anyway."

"Yeah, and we're gonna get him." Alan said determinedly.

"Damn right."

As the couch locked into place in the lounge, a section of wall with two light sconces spun revealing Virgil. From behind his desk, Jeff smiled at his sons. "Welcome back, all of you. Why don't you all go freshen up. Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes. We'll hold off de-brief until tomorrow morning. For this evening, let's just celebrate a job well done."

Their father's decree brought smiles all around, and Scott spoke for them all. "Thank you, Father."

Scott and Virgil moved away together, and Alan headed to the kitchen, probably in search of Tin-Tin. John hung back, wanting a moment in private with their father. Jeff cocked an eyebrow. "Something on your mind, John?"

"Yeah, Dad. I wanted to talk to you about that chance I took picking up the replacement tank."

Jeff held his hand up. "Before you say anything, I want you to understand I admire your skill and courage. In fact, one of the issues I had with the whole episode was that move was so much like something I would have done twenty years ago, that I kept expecting someone to make the connection." Jeff shook his head. "But if I did do something like that twenty years ago, my commanding officer would have torn me a new one. And rightfully so. You took an unnecessary chance, John."

"I don't see it that way, Father."

"I know you don't. I wouldn't have either. Well, we'll talk about it in the de-brief. For tonight, you just relax and enjoy yourself. I'm proud of you, boy. You did a fine job, and between you and me, that was as nice a piece of flying as I've ever seen."

John smiled. "Thanks, Dad."

He left the room, and headed for his quarters and a hot shower. In the hallway he ran into Gordon. "Hey! Back from spray painting the universe?"

"Yeah. We just got in."

"Just in time for dinner, of course."

"Saving the world is hungry work, kiddo."

Gordon chuckled then grew quiet. "Johnny, I wanted to ask you. A long time ago you told me the reason we had to bring all the trash home from Thunderbird Five was because if you jettisoned it out, it would just float there next to you."

"Yes, so?"

"Well, how come that gas wasn't just staying where it was jettisoned? How come it could just fly wherever it wanted to?"

John smiled. "Well first off, it wasn't ‘flying.' It was orbiting. And it wasn't changing its trajectory, it was moving in a predictable path."

"Yeah, okay, but shouldn't it have just stayed in one place? If it wasn't being propelled, how could it move faster than those stations?"

"It's easier to show on the computer, but in essence it was not moving faster than the stations, it was moving slower, and the stations all overtook it. What was pushing it along was actually the solar winds."

"Yeah, but didn't you tell me the solar winds were weak?"

"Yes and no. Think of it as a weak current in a stream... It can't move a pebble, but it does move a leaf. The substance of the cloud had almost no mass, so even a weak wind could affect it."

"Okay, I've learned enough physics for this year. I gotta go. I promised Kyrano I'd help with the clambake."

"All right. Hey, do you know if he got any crab?"

"Oh, never fear, we have representatives of all the major sea-bug groups."

As Gordon headed down the hallway, John called after him, "Don't think I don't know who put the purple paint in the stealth coating spray."

The younger man didn't acknowledge the comment, but John had the satisfaction of seeing him move faster, hunched over as if expecting something to be thrown. John nodded to himself and continued on to his room.

Stripping off his clothes he stepped into the shower and let the hot water work out the kinks. By the time he finished, he was loose and realizing he was tired enough to sleep for a week. Pulling on a polo shirt and shorts he headed for dinner.

Coming out into the lounge, he found his brother Virgil at the window staring intently at something out on the beach. Curious, John moved up beside his brother and looked out the window. Down on the small sandy beach, he saw Gordon and Kyrano tending a pit fire with a large cauldron. Kyrano half turned and saw what had captured Virgil's attention. Scott was crossing the sand, a couple bottles of beer in his hand.

With a small bow, Kyrano excused himself. Apparently hearing someone approach, Gordon turned, and seeing his brother, stiffened then turned back to the fire. As John and Virgil watched, Scott began speaking earnestly to their brother who continued to tend the fire, not looking Scott's way.

After a few minutes, Scott held out one of the beers, nudging Gordon's arm with it as he did so. Gordon spun at the touch, and said something harsh, if his aggressive stance was anything to go by. Scott continued to hold the bottle out, speaking placatingly, shaking his head as he spoke.

John became aware of Virgil muttering intensely, "Take it... take it... take it..."

John found himself hoping for the same thing. Gordon seldom held a grudge, but when he did, it was like a pall was cast over the entire family. Scott continued to speak, and gradually Gordon's posture loosened. Finally, he seemed to notice the beer and reached out and accepted the peace offering.

"Houston, we have lift off." Alan's remark caused both John and Virgil to jump.

"Geez, Alan, don't do that!"

Alan simply snickered. "Come on, let's go eat!"

"Are we eating out on the beach?"

"Yeah, see? There's Grandma and Tin-Tin. Let's go, before Gordon paints the crabs purple."

John looked out and saw where Tin-Tin and Grandma were taking platters and bowls from a cart and putting them on a long picnic table. He followed his brothers out onto the balcony and down the stairs, a small private smile on his lips. A successful rescue operation, his family and crab legs. His life couldn't be better.