Scott walked into the living area for debrief to find an atmosphere you could have cut with a knife. Alan, who hadn’t gone out on today’s rescue, looked bemused. John, on video screen from Thunderbird Five, wore his usual relaxed expression. Jeff was frowning.

“All fixed?” Jeff asked, in what Scott suspected to be an attempt at normality. He obliged.

“Yes, Father. Understood, at least. Brains thinks replacing the primary inlet valve will solve it.” Scott hoped so. He hadn’t much enjoyed his flight home, power oscillating wildly and randomly, hoping the systems would hold together long enough to get him back to Tracy Island. It was a long time since he’d felt the need to put One down on the runway rather than docking her in the silo, even longer since they’d used the emergency lifters to get her into the main hangar and out of Two’s way.

Not fun. He hadn’t so much as spoken to the Thunderbird Two crew, who today had been Virgil and Gordon. They now sat as far apart as possible, spines rigid, looking anywhere but at one another. Virgil’s jaw was set. Gordon’s cheeks had that bright flush which meant temper, and fury, and the sort of loss of control which Scott had thought him long past.

“Guys, what happened?” he asked.

“They’re farming dolphins,” Gordon spat out, “and that’s just fine by Virgil.”

“Now wait a minute –”

“You didn’t give a damn. Did you even take those pictures, or was it too much trouble?”

“How dare…?”

Both men erupted to their feet, rapidly followed by Alan and Scott. The seats they’d chosen put Alan in front of Gordon, leaving Scott with Virgil. Alan was talking, words like ‘relax’ and ‘easy’. Scott just caught Virgil’s eye and held it. This isn’t you. He knew he didn’t need to say it out loud.

Virgil’s eyes dropped, and he took his seat again. Gordon shook Alan’s hand from his shoulder with a furious, wordless growl, and Jeff stood up himself. He didn’t raise his voice. He’d never needed to.

“Enough! Right now, I don’t care what has happened between you two. We are debriefing a rescue operation. Is this matter related?”

“No, Father.” That was Virgil.

Jeff turned his stare on Gordon, whose gaze dropped. “No, Father.”

“Very well. Scott, if you would…”

Scott hastily gathered his thoughts. Thankfully, the rescue had been short and simple. No loss of life. Not even a serious injury – nothing beyond a few scratches and bruises and one broken wrist. The only reason that International Rescue had been needed at all was that the remote island nation of Tirivalu simply didn’t have the heavy lifting and cutting equipment needed to deal with the overturned pleasure craft. Gordon had gone in underwater and extracted the five trapped crew members, and Virgil had lifted the boat into shallower waters. They’d discussed rolling it upright and floating it again with the profoundly grateful harbour staff, and left them to do so in their own time. As rescues went, it had been easy.

Too easy, maybe. Thunderbird One had started doing the nearest thing a rocket plane had to misfiring within minutes of him taking off, and now this. Dolphin farming? He’d seen nothing except a tropical paradise.

Scott gave his usual brief rundown of the rescue itself. Virgil and Gordon both nodded as appropriate, and shook their heads when asked if they had anything to add.

There was a momentary silence. Calm before the storm. And Jeff cleared his throat in his unmistakeable ‘I’m in charge’ manner.

“Do I need to talk to you two separately?” Or can you behave yourselves? was implicit.

Scott held his breath. Normally his brothers were consummate professionals. All of them were, but these two especially. Could whatever have gone down between them have been so major?

“I’m good.” That was Gordon, tight-lipped.

Virgil just nodded. He seemed to be under rather better control now, after his one furious reaction.

“Gordon.”

Correct choice, in Scott’s opinion. Let the shorter-tempered man have his say first.

“Tell me about this dolphin farm.”

“Due west of the harbour, just outside the sea wall. I could hear them, Father. They’re distressed. Got a good look at it too, on my way into the boat. Steel mesh cages. Dozens of them.”

“You didn’t say anything while we were there,” said Scott.

That earned him a furious glare. “Don’t worry, Scott. I can do my job. But when it was over…”

The glare turned on Virgil. “I expected better. I thought you’d care. Instead, you stopped me from doing what was right.” He swallowed. “I was wrong. I can’t be professional about it. Talk to Virgil. If this is how you all feel, I’ll be considering my future with International Rescue.”

Scott half expected him to stomp out and slam the door. Instead, there were quiet footsteps, and slumped shoulders, and real distress.

“I have one question,” Alan said as the door closed behind Gordon. “What the hell?”

“He’ll be heading for the pool,” Jeff said. “Alan, would you go watch him? Discreetly?”

Alan raised his eyebrows. “Sure.” He grabbed a handful of magazines from the coffee table and left by the side door, heading for the balcony. Scott hadn’t been sure Alan was capable of discretion, but apparently so.

“Now,” said Jeff, “Virgil, would it help if we watched the cockpit tapes?”

Virgil shook his head, and Scott saw him glance toward the drinks cabinet. He could have used a Scotch himself. Unfortunately they could both also use completely clear heads here. Time for the alternative.

He crossed quietly to the intercom. “Kyrano, any chance of coffee for three?”

“Of course, Scott.”

Kyrano arrived so quickly that he must surely have anticipated the request. Poured three mugs of coffee, handed them round, left again silently. You never had to tell him something was wrong.

Virgil downed half his coffee in three gulps, put it down, and looked from Scott to Jeff to John’s image on the screen.

“The tapes won’t help. They’ll show you Gordon calling me every name under the sun, then us not talking all the way home. I didn’t know what else to do. Once Scott took off, Gordon was all for confronting the authorities there and then. He was steaming mad. I suggested we discussed it in private, by which I meant Two’s flight deck, with Scott on the radio. But Scott radioed that he had a malfunction and was running for home before I could ask him. Gordon said that was fine, just me and him, we needed to make them understand the dolphins had to be freed, we could use Two to intimidate them into doing it…”

“You should have radioed me anyway,” Scott said.

“Given what you were saying to Brains, I figured you had your hands full. Father and John… you hadn’t been there, it wasn’t fair to ask you to make the call. I sealed her up, I took off and I came home. And Gordon’s beyond pissed about it.”

He picked his coffee mug up again, looked at it, put it back down. “And the worst of it? I wanted to do what he suggested. Give him a gun and a laser cutter and line Two up looking big and green and intimidating. They wouldn’t have known she isn’t armed. I love dolphins. And I did nothing.”

Scott glanced at Jeff, who nodded fractionally. You take it, that meant.

“You were wearing an IR uniform,” he said. “Virg, you weren’t military, you’ve not faced it before, and that’s probably why Gordon waited until I’d left. He knew I’d say no. IR doesn’t do animal welfare.”

“Compartmentalisation? I suck at it.”

“No, you don’t. You did the right thing. Nobody said anything about having to feel good about it.” He pointed at Virgil’s abandoned coffee mug. “Drink up.”

“That’s not going to help the way Gordon feels about it. He’s serious. He might walk away from International Rescue over this, if we don’t do something.”

“I agree.” Jeff turned towards John’s image. “Tell me about dolphin farming regulations.”

“There’s an international agreement against it. Tirivalu hasn’t signed up to it.”

Virgil groaned.

“Probably because they weren’t even a country at the time. They’ve only been independent for five years. They’re desperately trying to get their economy going. Tourism, mostly. They’re trying to sell themselves as an unspoilt destination.”

“Then dolphin farming makes no sense,” said Virgil. “I did take those pictures Gordon asked for. Sure look like cages to me. Why do that?”

Scott was wondering the same thing. Tirivalu was beautiful – the same sort of island paradise as Tracy Island, though considerably larger and with actual flat land available. So why farm dolphins? Tourists would be attracted by wild ones, but caged and unhappy? It didn’t match the image. It didn’t match the people he’d interacted with, who had been friendly, apologetic… and deeply concerned about possible damage to the environment, should the capsized boat leak oil. Due to Virgil’s skill, it hadn’t.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” he said. “They’re not cruel people. I wonder whether… whether they’re trying to breed them? Set up a big local population? Because that would be a mighty fine tourist attraction for the sort of people who’d consider them as a holiday destination. It’s got to be something like that. They’ve just gone about it the wrong way. Surely we can do something to help?”

No , he knew the moment it left his mouth. International Rescue don’t do animals. We don’t have time. Imagine John handling animal cruelty reports as well as requests for help. It’s impossible.

And Jeff’s expression said the same thing. “We’ve spent enough time on this already,” he said. “However, that doesn’t mean we don’t care. I’ll make a few calls.”

Scott glanced out in the direction of the pool. “Shall I…?”

“And I’ll talk to Gordon.”

Scott took his second mug of coffee out onto the balcony, leaving a still shaken Virgil to go shower. Alan was out there, sprawled in a deckchair, with iced lemonade in one hand and a racing magazine in the other. He nodded in the direction of the pool.

“He’s calmed down. A lot.”

“You’re kidding.” The endless current had to be going at top speed.

“Even my stroke’s better than his was ten minutes ago. We sorted?”

“We will be.”

Jeff had come out onto the pool deck, and now crouched alongside the pool. Nothing was audible from this distance, but the current slowed. Gordon eased to a halt, and accepted a hand out of the pool. Much better body language.

Scott turned and headed away from the balcony rail before Gordon could see him watching. Some things were best dealt with by family, not field commander, and this one was much better dealt with by a father, not a big brother. Compartmentalisation. There might still be family disagreements, but International Rescue was just fine.

Always assuming that Brains could persuade One’s inlet valve to stop behaving like an incontinent hosepipe.

Brains, it turned out, could use a second pair of eyes and hands, preferably attached to a longer arm than he himself owned. Removal and refitting of the part in question, at fingertip length and round about five tight right angle bends, took a couple of hours. Testing the system took another one. Towing One out onto the runway, taking her up, and lowering her under perfect control into the silo, only ten minutes.

Scott emerged into the living area from One’s access point, thinking dinner sounded like a very good idea, to see Gordon heading across the room straight for where Virgil was sitting. He froze. No way to get between them fast enough.

But Gordon had his hand out, and the aggression was gone.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong. You were right. Not an IR issue. Best dealt with quietly through backchannels. Father’s seeing to it.”

Virgil shook his hand without hesitation. “Apology accepted. Did Father tell you who the backchannels were?”

“A couple of acquaintances who run major tourism companies, a few top wildlife experts, that sort of thing. People who Tirivalu would really like to have making noises about what a wonderful tourist destination it is and how fabulous their wild dolphins are.” He snorted. “Carrots working better than sticks. You’d think I’d have figured it out, being a carrot and all.”

Virgil stopped, stared, and burst out laughing.

Scott relaxed. Someone much more suitable than them would make sure the dolphins were safe. Virgil and Gordon were friends again. And International Rescue could focus on what it did best.