BLIND AMBITION - BLIND FURY by PURUPUSS RATED FRPT

Sometimes the easiest of rescues end up leading to the hardest of times...

Twenty Six

It was 9 am two days later. The doctor took his stethoscope out of his ears. "You're that fit," he told Virgil, "you shouldn't be lying about in bed. You're lucky."

"Really!" Virgil couldn't believe his ears. "Does that mean I can go home?"

The doctor chuckled. "No, I think we'll keep you in until tomorrow, to make sure."

Virgil was momentarily disappointed but then perked up. "But can I get up now?"

"If you like. You could take Scott for a walk if he wants to go."

Scott was out of his bed in a flash. "C'mon, Virg. I need the exercise." He plucked at Virgil's sleeve.

"Oh, I don't know," Virgil teased. "I've kinda got used to relaxing all day."

"Virgil!" Scott pulled at his arm. "Come on."

"Okay, if you insist," Virgil chuckled. "Thanks, Doc."

"Just take it easy," the doctor reminded him. "No 100 metre sprints."

Five minutes later found them at the hospital entrance. "You know," Virgil said, "I'm tempted to walk out of here and just keep going."

"Only as long as you took me with you," Scott told him. "I would hate to be left here all alone."

Virgil shrugged his shoulder, getting used to the weight of the cast. "Well... Where do you want to go?"

"How about circumnavigating the grounds. There's some flower gardens I want you to describe to me. They smell wonderful."

Virgil smiled. It had been a long time since Scott Tracy had taken any interest in flowers. "Did Nurse Stone take you there?"

Scott's mood darkened. "Yeah. She said they 'stimulated the senses,'" he did a mocking imitation of her voice. "How stupid."

"And did they?"

"Did they what?"

"'Stimulate the senses.'"

"Are you kidding?"

"No. You've already said that they smelt good. Did you hear anything? Did you touch anything...?"

"Did I taste anything? You're beginning to sound like her!"

They'd reached the corner of the building and rounded it. To their left was the 12-storey hospital. To their right an eight-foot concrete block wall.

Virgil continued his theme. "Is that a bad thing? She was only trying to help. Why don't you like..."

"Can you smell something?" Scott asked.

"What? There's no flowers here." They'd stopped walking.

"No. Not flowers. Gas."

"Gas?" Virgil looked around and then his eyes widened. "Wait here," he ordered and before Scott could respond, he was gone.

He was slightly breathless when he returned. "It's one of the maintenance engineers. A gas canister's fallen on him, across his chest. He's unconscious. I've turned off the valve - stopped the gas. Do you think you could lift the canister while I pull him out?"

"If you think I can, I can."

The gas bay was in a little alcove, which effectively cut it off from view at the front of the hospital.

Virgil surveyed the scene quickly. "The door to the gas bay's locked. He's lying on the left side, so I'll have to pull him out that way. There's still plenty of gas about so we'll have to hold our breaths. I'll get you into position and you start lifting. As soon as we're clear I'll let you know and you'll have to follow us. Can you do that?"

Scott took a deep breath. Partly to get a good lungful of clean air, and partly to steady his nerves. "I can do it," he said positively. He looped the handle of his cane about his arm so he wouldn't lose it.

"Good." Virgil took a couple of deep breaths himself. "Lets go."

It was the fastest Scott had moved under his own power, since his accident. He put his faith in Virgil not to let him trip over anything. They stopped and Virgil placed Scott's hand on the canister. Feeling around it Scott bent his knees, got a grip and started straightening his legs.

Virgil managed to lift the man's upper torso slightly and wrapped his good arm under the older mans arm and around his chest. He then pulled backwards. To his great relief the man slid out easily.

Lungs bursting Scott listened to the scraping sound. When he thought they were clear he lowered the canister again. Then he had the problem of finding his way out of the dangerous gas pocket.

"Over here, Scott," he heard Virgil call in an expulsion of air. "Follow my voice."

Scott turned to the left and moved forward, tapping his cane in front of him. He desperately needed to take another breath, but wasn't sure if it would be safe. His cane met with the wall of the hospital and he put his right hand out to touch it. From there it was a relatively simple matter to follow the wall with his right hand while his left used the cane to check for obstacles.

"He's not breathing!" there was urgency in Virgil's voice. "I'm going to have to start C.P.R!"

Scott released his breath hoping he was far enough away from the gas to be safe. On his first intake of air he realised it smelt relatively clear.

Virgil was struggling with only being able to use one arm. "I can't get the airway open enough." He tried a couple of breaths, but was barely able to get the engineers chest to move. He looked at Scott who was now parallel with them. "Can you manage C.P.R?"

"With my eyes shut," Scott assured him.

"Good!" Virgil attempted one more, ineffectual breath and then stood up quickly to get Scott. The world spun slightly. "Whoa! Oxygen depletion."

"You okay?" Scott asked in concern.

"Yeah, fine. This guy isn't though." Virgil led Scott to their patient and showed him where to kneel. He then went to the opposite side of the victim so he could keep an eye on things and keep out of Scott's way.

Scott quickly exhaled two breaths into the man's lungs and looked down the unconscious man's body. If he could have used his eyes he would have been watching for the rise and fall of the chest. Instead he felt the expulsion of air on his cheek.

"It's working!" Virgil said excitedly.

Two more breaths and Scott felt for a pulse. "I'm not getting anything!" He reached down to the man's chest, felt up the rib line to the sternum and placed his hands in position. The fifteen compressions were punctuated by an all to familiar, unpleasant sound.

"There go the ribs," Virgil noted.

Two more breaths and then back to the chest compression. Scott was getting into the routine.

Virgil decided that it was time to try and get some assistance. He stood again. "Help! Is anyone there?" he yelled.

A bird flew off with a rustle of feathers, but the only other sound was of the life-giving C.P.R. and a distant hum of traffic.

Virgil tried yelling again, but to no avail.

"I'm going to have to go and get help." Virgil knelt on one knee and placed a hand on Scott's shoulder. "You going to be okay?"

Scott was back into the chest compressions. "Go!" he said tersely.

Virgil went. He sprinted to the front of the hospital and then around the corner. His cast was banging uncomfortably against his rib cage, but he ignored it. As he ran towards the entrance he noticed an ambulance pulled up outside. The paramedics were standing around talking.

"Hey!" Virgil tried to yell, but they didn't hear him.

He barrelled up to them and they looked at him as if he'd just arrived from another planet. His robe hung open, his sling had slipped, he was perspiring and panting for breath.

"Need help!" Virgil gasped. A week of illness and inactivity had taken its toll. "Gas leak. Unconscious. No pulse. Not breathing."

"Where?" One of the paramedics grabbed a kit from the back of the ambulance. Another reached in for a stretcher.

Without wasting breath Virgil set off on the return journey. The paramedics followed closely until they rounded the corner and saw Scott hard at work. They took off at a run to assist.

"Thanks, Pal," one of them said to Scott. "We'll take over now."

Virgil arrived. The short sprint had absolutely exhausted him. "Come on, Scott." He placed his hand on Scott's shoulder. "Let's get out of their way."

Scott stood and let Virgil lead him back a few steps. A paramedic moved in to take his place.

Scott noticed that Virgil was leaning on him. "Are you alright?"

"Just a bit shaky. Didn't the Doctor say something about not doing 100 metre sprints? Now I know why."

"Come on. Where's the wall. Let's get you sitting down."

Once he was seated with the wall for support Virgil felt better. He started describing what was going on to Scott.

"...They've got an oxygen mask on Joe..."

"Joe?"

"That was the name on his overalls. Hang on someone's coming over."

A paramedic walked over to them and crouched down in front. "Are you two okay?" he asked solicitously.

They nodded.

"My name's Stan. What's yours?"

"Scott Tracy and this is my brother Virgil."

"Are you feeling alright, Virgil? You were a bit out of breath back there."

"Yeah. I've been confined to bed for a week. I'm not used to the exercise."

The paramedic studied him. Virgil still looked a bit flushed, but as his breathing had improved he decided to leave it for the moment.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

Scott explained about finding and then rescuing Joe. "Is he going to be okay?"

"We've got a pulse, but he's still having problems breathing. Once we've got him inside the hospital we'll let the experts take over. They'll be able to give us a better idea. What are you two in for?"

"A generator blew up in my face and Virgil broke his arm trying to save me." Scott gave the abbreviated public version of their story.

A command of "Lift" alerted them to the fact that Joe was being transferred to a stretcher. He was soon readied for transportation into the hospital building.

"I think perhaps you'd both better go back to your rooms now. Do you need a hand?" Stan asked.

Scott shook his head and stood, but Virgil extended his arm. "I think I need a hand up." Stan took the proffered hand, pulled and Virgil rose quickly to a standing position. His legs buckled and Stan steadied him. "Do you want me to get you a stretcher?"

Virgil shook his head. "No. I'll be fine. I've just got to get the feeling back into my legs."

"How about a wheelchair?"

Virgil gently flexed his numb extremities. "No. Honestly I'm fine. They're starting to feel better already. If you let go I promise I won't fall over."

Reluctantly Stan released his grip and as promised Virgil remained standing. "Thanks," he said to the paramedic and then turned to his brother. "Are you ready to head back inside, Scott?"

"Do you feel up to guiding me?" Underneath the bandages, Scott was getting a worried look that he got when things were slipping out of his control.

Virgil took Scott's arm and positioned it so that he could slip his own arm under it.

"Sure. Nothing to worry about."

Twenty Seven

They took their time heading back to the ward. By the time they'd reached it word had filtered through that Joe was breathing on his own and was getting stronger by the minute.

"Yes!" Scott crowed when they reached their room. "We did it, Virg. We did it!"

Virgil released Scott's arm and tiredly shut the door behind them. "We certainly did! We're quite a team!" Scott swung round so he was facing Virgil's voice.

"I feel great," Scott said. "We just saved Joe's life!"

"You make it sound as if saving someone's life is a new experience for you," Virgil laughed as he moved towards his bed. Scott turned to follow the sound of his brother's voice.

"Well obviously it's not. But somehow this feels different."

Virgil had a pretty good idea why, but didn't comment. "All the nurses were congratulating us." He gave a dramatic sigh. "What a shame we're their patients. There's quite a bit of talent there."

Scott laughed. "You mean we could 'get the girl' instead of 'riding off into the sunset' as usual."

"Yep, Pardner." Scott was in such a good mood that Virgil decided to broach a difficult subject. "Scott..."

"Yes, Virg."

"Talking of nurses. Why are you so tough on Nurse Stone?"

Scott's good mood evaporated instantly. It was almost as if a black cloud had settled over the room. "Why'd you have to bring her up?" he asked sullenly.

"Because she doesn't deserve the treatment you're giving her. She's a good nurse."

"You think so? I think she's terrible."

"That doesn't give you the right to be rude to her."

"She didn't have to treat us like little kids!"

"She was looking after us. After all, we are her patients. This is a hospital!"

"I can't believe you're sticking up for her." Scott was becoming angry.

"And I can't believe the way you're treating her," Virgil's tone matched his brother's. "If I'd been that rude to someone you would have told me off pretty darn quick. So why is it okay for you to do it?"

"Because of the way she's treating me!"

"Which is?"

"Like a cripple! 'Here's a cane. Let me take your arm. Let me take you for a walk. Let me read to you.' She treats me as if I were disabled - permanently!"

"She's trying to help you! Keep you..."

"...Stimulated!" Scott spat. "Has she brainwashed you?"

"I was going to say occupied. Geez, Scott. She's doing just what I would've if I'd been able! What we've just done!" Virgil was just about at the end of his tether with Scott's attitude.

"I'm fed up with this!" Scott snapped. "Where's my bed?"

"If you don't need help, find it yourself!" Virgil sat down heavily on his own bed.

"Don't you leave me like this!"

"Like what? Like a spoilt brat who's spat his dummy over not getting his own way?"

"I can't see, Virgil! Am I supposed to be happy about this?" Scott was shaking in anger.

"I know..."

"Virgil Tracy!" Scott threw the cane forcibly down on the floor. It bounced once and rolled under his bed. "Don't you dare say that you know how I feel, because you have no idea! You don't know what I'm going through! You don't know what this is like!"

"If you'd shut your mouth and opened your mind and listened instead of going off half cocked. You'd know that I wasn't going to say that," Virgil yelled. "I can't begin to imagine what it's like for you. What I WAS going to say was that I KNOW you are frightened!"

Scott stood stunned at the words. It was as if someone had pricked a balloon. All his anger seemed to evaporate.

Virgil looked at his brother guiltily. "I'm sorry, Scott. I shouldn't've..."

"Why do you say that?" Scott asked quietly.

"Because - One - I would be in your situation. Two - I've known you all my life and I know how you react when you are scared. And three..." Virgil was almost speaking in a whisper now. "Three - because I'm frightened too."

"You're frightened?" Bemused Scott rubbed at his forehead. "But why?"

"All through my life you've been there for me. After Ma died. Whenever I got picked on at school. If I ever got hurt... And now, when it's time for me to be here for you... I don't know if I can help."

"You've already been a help, Virg," Scott said gently.

"You remember that time at school when I was bullied?"

"Which time in particular?"

"I think I was eight," Virgil hadn't been a particularly big child and that coupled with his love of art and music had made him an easy target for bullies. "Remember, I found a flower with an interesting spider's web coming off it and I was sketching it."

"I remember."

"And some kids came over and started hassling me. Said things like 'Look the pansy's drawing a pansy,' which I didn't really understand at the time as the flower was a geranium."

Scott gave a little chuckle.

"They started getting rougher and started pushing me about. I was sure I was going to get beaten up. And then all of a sudden they ran away. I look up and here's big brother striding over the field to the rescue."

"They'd ruined your drawing and stamped on the flower." Scott well remembered that day. Virgil had bravely tried to pretend that he was not upset and had not quite succeeded. It was ten minutes after the bell by the time they'd gathered together all of Virgil's scattered possessions, calmed his nerves, and made their way back to the classroom. Scott had taken Virgil into his class and informed the teacher that it was his fault, not Virgil's, that Virgil was late. Which meant that he was 15 minutes late for his own class and ended up in detention.

Virgil's teacher, who was more astute than they gave her credit for, had realised what had actually happened and had told Scott's teacher. The end result being that Scott's detention was cut, from an hour for tardiness, to half an hour for lying; Virgil's class received a lecture on always telling an adult if you were bullied; and Virgil ended up idolising Scott.

"I don't know how you knew I was in trouble, or where I was, but you did! You were my hero - You still are." Virgil finished quietly.

"Don't say that! I don't deserve it," Scott muttered in embarrassment.

"We've always had that bond, that link, and it's been one of our biggest assets in our work," Virgil continued on. "We work well with John, and Gordon, and Alan - but it's not the same as when you and I are working together. And I'm frightened that if you are unable to continue, I'm not going to be as good at my job."

"You will be," Scott said quietly.

"And what if father decides that I'll have to take on your role in the organisation. I don't have your decision making abilities..."

"Don't sell yourself short. It was your decisions that got us safely out of...trouble the other day."

"And got me a broken arm."

"That was bad luck, not poor decision making."

"It also figures that, if I get your job, I'll be put in charge of One. And I'm frightened that I'll have to sit back and watch Gordon operate Two!"

Scott laughed at the mock serious tone in Virgil's voice. Then he sighed. "I don't know. I never could remain mad at you. You'd embarrass me in front of my friends; I'd be just about ready to throw you into the nearest waterway; and you'd look up at me with those big, brown puppy dog eyes of yours and next thing I knew I'd be taking you to the park and pushing you on the swing!"

"Must be my winning personality. The big, brown puppy dog eyes wouldn't be as effective now."

"No," Scott agreed. "You're right there."

"I didn't mean... Oh heck, I just meant that I'm older now, not that you..."

"It's okay, Virgil. I know. Now would you please tell me where my bed is?"

"It's two steps to your left."

"Oh." Scott bumped into it. "So it is." He climbed on to it.

As usual Jeff was working at his desk. He started when the videophone beeped at him. His blood ran cold when the caller ID told him it was the hospital.

"Jeff Tracy," he said cautiously.

The administrator on the other end of the 'phone was all smiles. "Mr. Tracy. Great news about your sons. They're heroes..."

The doctor removed the stethoscope from his ears and unwrapped the blood pressure cuff. "I thought I told you not to go running any sprints," he reprimanded Virgil gently.

"Well I guess I could have walked to get help..." Virgil grinned, "I just didn't think at the time."

The doctor chuckled. "Well you helped Joe, but you haven't done yourself any favours." Scott's head jerked up in alarm. "Your blood pressure's up slightly. Nothing serious, but I think we should keep you here tomorrow too, just to be sure."

"You're kidding." Virgil flopped back on his pillow, disappointed. "I was looking forward to getting out of here. No offence."

"None taken, quite understandable. On the plus side, it might mean that you and Scott will be discharged at the same time. It'll save your father having to make two trips. I'll go phone him now." Taking the blood pressure monitor with him he walked out the door.

"Blood pressure's up," Virgil said sourly. "Now I wonder what could have caused that?"

"Sorry, Virg. I guess I had something to do with it."

"No," Virgil sighed. "It was probably just a combination of factors." He groaned. "Another day of looking at these walls. I wish I had my paints. I could soon brighten them up."

"Fancy another walk?" Scott suggested.

"No. Not yet." Virgil was determined to finish their previous conversation. "You still haven't told me what you've got against Nurse Stone."

Virgil fully expected Scott to blow up again, but instead his older brother leant back into his pillows. "I don't know."

"There must be a reason surely!"

Virgil watched as Scott struggled to find the words. "I... Um... I... All right! I admit it! I AM frightened. I've never been so frightened as I am at this moment. I've always been in control. It's always been me who kept an eye out for you guys when we were young. It's me who gives the orders when we're on a job. And I'm frightened that if this condition is permanent I'm going to lose that control. What use am I going to be to anybody? I guess I just needed to take out my frustrations out on someone, and the poor lady just happened to be there."

"Why not take them out on me. She's just doing her job."

"It may have escaped your notice, Virg," Scott said wryly. "But you're in hospital too, and you've been sicker than I was. I couldn't yell at you."

"You just did."

"Yeah. Sorry about that," Scott said abashedly.

"It's not me you should be apologising to..."

Scott groaned. "You're right! I hate it, but you're right." He swung his legs out of bed. "I'll go and apologise to her now."

"You can't. She'll have finished her shift," Virgil informed him.

Scott was already standing. "I need some fresh air. How about that walk now. We'll take it slow."

"Why not! We didn't get to the flower gardens last time."

Twenty Eight

The day had arrived.

That it had only been a week seemed beyond belief. It had seemed more like a year. A year of pain and fear and misery and anger and hope and...

Scott Tracy lay in his bed and listened to the sounds around him. He could hear the now familiar sounds of nurses and orderlies going about their daily business. The ring of a phone, the hum of traffic, the clatter of the meal trolley, the patter of rain on the window, the sounds of his brother sleeping...

"Scott?"

"Are you awake, Virg? I thought you'd be asleep."

"You must be joking! I've been awake the last couple of hours."

"You'll upset your blood pressure again."

"Too late. If it's gonna happen, it's already happened."

"So why are you awake?" Scott asked feeling that he already knew the answer.

"Couldn't sleep," was the reply. "What's your excuse?"

"Oh the same." Scott heard Virgil sit up on the edge of his bed.

"Now are we going to admit the truth?" Virgil asked.

"Which is?" Scott was unwilling to voice his concerns.

"I thought you'd tell me."

They would have continued in this vein for ages, neither willing to admit their fears, if it hadn't been for an orderly bringing in their breakfast.

Virgil settled back in his bed and accepted his tray. Taking a sip from his orange juice he watched as Scott felt for the knife and fork and attacked the food in front of him with gusto. It took more than a few fears to put Scott off his food and Virgil had watched with interest over this past week, as Scott had grown in confidence in his tackling of the little things in life. It bode well for the future - whatever that held.

Virgil looked at his own tray. Scrambled eggs on toast. While not up to the standard he was used to, the food wasn't too bad, but someone clearly either had a warped sense of humour, or didn't realise that some things were quite difficult to achieve when you were struggling with only one hand. Cutting toast was one of those challenges that Virgil was having to deal with each day.

He took up the challenge and grasped the knife in his right hand. Getting it into the soggy toast wasn't difficult, but then he could only succeed in pushing the bread around the plate, knocking a fair proportion of his eggs onto the tray. He gave up on the toast and picked up his fork, deciding that scrambled eggs alone would do him this one morning. The egg seemed to have it's own ideas though and he chased it around the outside of the toast, occasionally managing to spoon a small amount into his mouth. Eventually he scraped what egg he could onto the toast, dropped the fork back onto the tray and picked up the toast in his hand. It collapsed back onto the plate, spilling what little egg he had left on to the tray, his bedclothes and the floor.

"Need a hand?"

Virgil looked at Scott. "If you wouldn't mind. I just need to get this toast cut."

"You only needed to ask."

"Thanks, Scott."

Scott shifted his tray to the bedside table and slid out of bed. He grimaced when his bare feet came in contact with the cold floor. "What was that I just stood in?"

"Sorry. It's my scrambled eggs. I swear they've got a life of their own."

"So what did you do? Decide to give it its freedom?" With a little help from Virgil, Scott succeeded in reducing the toast to bite sized pieces. Gratefully Virgil eventually managed to enjoy most of his breakfast.

Later that morning, after a wash, a clean up around the bed and Virgil's medical examination, ("Your blood pressure's still slightly high." "Blame breakfast!"), both Scott and Virgil were sitting in thought, awaiting 11 am. The time Scott had dubbed "My unveiling."

"You slept better last night," Virgil eventually commented. "No nightmares?"

"That's because I didn't sleep."

Virgil climbed out of his bed, slid his feet into his slippers and sat in the chair beside Scott's bed. Placing a hand on Scott's arm he said quietly. "It'll be okay, Scott. You'll see."

"Virgil," Scott's voice sounded strained. "Thanks... Thanks for everything. I think I would have lost it before now if it hadn't been for you."

"I'll always be here for you, Scott. I said I'd never leave you and I mean it. What ever happens remember that..."

The quiet moment was disrupted by the door banging open.

"Let me guess," Scott said dryly. "That's got to be Gordon."

The Tracy family were followed by Scott's doctor. "Quite a crowd," he noted.

"We're never ones to miss out on a good party," Gordon told him.

"Well I hope it's going to be good," Scott said.

"Well the signs are encouraging," the doctor told him. "How do you feel?"

"Nervous," Scott said honestly. "Otherwise fine."

"Do you remember what I told you that we're going to do?" the doctor addressed Scott, who nodded. "That's good, but for the rest of your family I'll remind you. We'll lower the light levels right down. This helps prevent any sudden stress on Scott's eyes. Then, once we've taken the bandages off we'll slowly raise the light level, to give him a chance to adjust."

"Sound's reasonable enough," Jeff was sitting to Scott's right, his mother at his shoulder, the doctor beside them.

On Scott's left, Virgil was sitting in his now familiar place at Scott's shoulder, his hand on his brother's arm. Around him were crowded Alan, Gordon, and John wanting to get close, to know that their eldest brother was going to see again.

The light levels were dimmed so that they could barely see the person beside them. "Well Scott," Mr. Read said. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Scott sounded confident, but he slipped his arm out from under Virgil's and grasped his brother's hand for support. Virgil felt the grip tighten as the bandages were unwound from Scott's head. Then the eye pads were carefully removed.

"Open your eyes slowly. That's good, now remember it'll take a little while for them to adjust."

Virgil noticed that rather than slackening, Scott's grip of his hand seemed to tighten. It sent a chill through his system.

The tension was thick. They were all willing Scott to say something, but no one was willing to push him against his will. They became aware that, for them at least, it was becoming easier to see. The lights were becoming brighter.

"Scott?" Mr. Read prompted.

Scott's features were pale. His lips were set tight.

"Son?" Jeff laid a hand on Scott's arm.

The family held their breath, waiting to hear what he had to say...

Slowly Scott shook his head. "I can't see..."

...

"I-I can't see..."

...

...

Twenty Nine

"I-I can't see."

The words hit them like a bombshell. No one wanted to believe it.

"Give it time, Scott," his father pleaded.

"I've given it time! I've given it a week!" Scott drew in a ragged breath as he fought to keep his emotions under control. "I'm never going to see again!"

"Doctor!" Jeff turned anxiously to the doctor who was standing there looking at his patient. "Can't you do something?"

"Let me look at you, Scott," the doctor said gently. He got his pencil torch from out of his pocket and shone it into Scott's eyes. There was no change in the dilation of the pupils. No squinting. No blinking.

No reaction.

The doctor stood back and laid his hand on his patient's arm. "I'm sorry, Scott. I wish there was more I could do, but... I'm sorry," he repeated. "I'll give you all some time alone. If you have any questions, I'll be in my office..." He left a room full of devastated people.

Jeff wanted to say something, anything. He was supposed to be the patriarch of this family and he should be able to say something to make everyone feel better. But what words could put this right? There were none. Just as when Lucille had died, Jeff felt at a loss. Once again, when his son needed him the most he felt that he was failing him...

Grandma Tracy tried to hold back the tears. Over the past week there had been so many times when she could have given way and sobbed herself into a soggy mess, but she'd resisted, she'd remained strong. But somehow this was different. She'd convinced herself that Scott would be all right and the knowledge that he wouldn't be had come as a bitter blow. She could no longer hold back those tears...

John saw his Grandmother start to weep and quickly circled the bed to be at her side. Wrapping his arms around her he held her close, but found himself unable to speak. He remembered the voice of the member of Regnad Corp cheerfully telling him that the seven scientists had safely got out and suddenly found himself hating the man. If International Rescue had been told earlier then none of this could have happened. Then John started questioning his own performance as he had many times over the previous few days. Could he have let Scott know earlier? Could HE have prevented this tragedy? He hugged his Grandma tight...

Gordon remembered the bunting and streamers that he'd got together to celebrate Scott's homecoming. He'd chosen bright colours to greet his big brother and now he knew that Scott would never see those colours. Feeling sick he walked to the window and looked out. Scott would never see this view, never see the flower gardens, see the trees, see the clouds. Never pilot another plane. He leant his forehead on the glass as the nauseous feeling intensified...

Alan wanted to run. To get out of this room. He felt as if he were to escape then this nightmare wouldn't have happened. That if he could walk out of that door, Scott's eyes would once again hold that spark of life. He remembered Tin-Tin. He'd promised her and Kyrano and Brains that he'd 'phone as soon as he had news. He'd readily promised to call, firmly believing that the news would be good. He could leave; he had the excuse - but the family... Scott needed him now...

Virgil felt numb. This couldn't be happening! Not to Scott. Scott who was always so strong, so sure, so clear-eyed. Then he remembered the last time he'd seen those eyes and shut his own to try to block out the horror of the image. It was then that Virgil realised that he'd always known that Scott wouldn't have a chance to see again. He'd repressed the knowledge, deluded himself to believe that Scott would see again, to give Scott hope, but still he'd always known...

Scott didn't know what he felt. One moment he wanted to yell and scream and throw things and deny it all... The next he felt a calm acceptance. He'd survived one week okay, taking one day at a time. He could do this... Then he just wanted to curl up into a tiny ball and cry and beg his father to take this pain away, to make things right. Parents were supposed to be able to do that.

But only when you're a little kid, he thought. You're not a child, Scott. You're a grown man who's got to learn things all over again. How to read, how to write, how to find your way around, how to... I can't even imagine 'how to' what at the moment...

It was Virgil who eventually broke the silence. "Scott," he said softly. "I'm so sorry. But I'm here for you, we all are. We'll help where we can." There were murmurs of agreement from his family.

"Thank you," Scott said tightly. "I'm going to need it..."

The room was quiet for a while longer. Alan decided that he could no longer bear the oppressive silence. "Excuse me," he said. "I promised I'd ring Tin-Tin."

"Sure, Alan," Scott said. "Give her my love. I guess I won't be seeing her anytime soon."

"Scott..."

"Go on kid. I meant I'm going to have to be in rehabilitation for a few weeks."

Alan escaped to the safety of the hallway. Once there he leant up against the wall and took a few deep breaths. After composing himself he went to the nurses station and asked if there was a 'phone nearby that he could use. He was directed to an empty room down the hall.

He waited a full minute before he made the call.

Tin-Tin answered almost immediately. "Alan, how is..." she started eagerly and then her face fell as his expression sunk home. "Is he...?"

Alan nodded. "It appears to be total."

"Oh, Alan! Poor Scott!" Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Tin-Tin... please don't," Alan begged. He didn't know why he felt like this. His big brother was still alive. He would be coming home. But still Alan felt bereft as if Scott had somehow died. Seeing Tin-Tin's tears brought his own to the surface...

Thirty

It was a subdued group of people on Tracy Island the following day. There were no joyful reunions. Each family member went their own way to be with their own thoughts.

Gordon collapsed on his bed and looked about the room. His eyes fell on his Olympic gold medal, proudly displayed in its case on the wall. He remembered Scott's expression when he'd first seen it, a mixture of pride and awe. But his comment had been typically down to earth. "That's a nice bit of jewellery you've been given Gordo.' But I'm not sure you've got the right outfit to go with it."

Sitting above the display case was a yellow, plastic, toy fish. 'Fishie' had been Gordon's favourite toy when his mother had been alive. He'd lost it during the avalanche when she'd been killed. If it hadn't been for Scott finding the correct place to start digging, both he and Alan may have suffered the same fate. If Scott hadn't been able to see the right place...

Alan and Tin-Tin were sitting together on the beach. "I can't believe it," Alan kept repeating. "Not to Scott. I can't believe it."

For some reason he kept remembering his first competitive Go Kart race. As he'd rounded the final bend he was only just behind the leading kart. He'd glanced into the crowd and there'd been Scott cheering him on - watching every moment of the race. He'd lost, but only just. "Never mind kid," Scott had said. "You'll do better next time. I can see how good you're going to be." And Alan had been as proud over hearing that comment from his oldest brother as if he'd actually won the race...

Tin-Tin's memories were decidedly different. When she'd been a child she'd had something of a crush on the oldest Tracy brother. He'd been tall, dark and handsome, and to her tender years had seemed so grown up, especially with the way he'd cared for his younger brothers. She'd longed to have him take notice of her, and when those blue eyes would smile at her, she'd melt every time. She didn't know if he'd realised as he'd never said anything to her and she'd been too shy to tell him. She remembered those blue eyes. She hadn't seen them since before he'd set out for Regnad... would they still smile...?

Kyrano was in the kitchen. Sooner or later the family would need to eat and he had to be ready. He picked up a spoon and tried to decide what to prepare. It seemed to him that every dish he could think of had been a favourite of Scott's. The young man had often come into the kitchen and watched him in awe. "I don't know how you do it, Kyrano. I'm never bored with your cooking and to watch you... it's like watching an artist at work. Only don't tell Virgil I said so," he'd said once with a grin.

Kyrano sighed. Mister Scott would never watch him again...

Brains had retreated into his lab. He'd read and re-read every piece of literature on Scott's injuries that he could find in the hope that something might lead him to a cure. He'd drawn a blank. He booted up his computer, and once again started to trawl through the mountain of information at his disposal. Surely this time he could come up with something? He was supposed to be one of the most intelligent men on Earth. He had to find something to help his friend...

John was sitting on the balcony, his feet resting on the railing. He wasn't taking in his surroundings. He was remembering yesterday's events. He was still in shock. They'd known that being members of International Rescue would be dangerous. They'd all been injured at some time or another, sometimes seriously, but it there'd never been anything that had resulted in a permanent disability. And now this!

Scott had been their leader, he'd always watched over them, even when they were children. John remembered often dragging Scott to his telescope to show him something new that he'd discovered. "That's great, Johnny," Scott had always said enthusiastically, even though he hadn't shared his brother's interest in astronomy. He'd always made it sound as if John's interests were more important than his own. To a young, quiet boy like John, his brother's endorsement had always meant so much.

Then John started going back over the events of a week ago. He'd received the call from Regnad Corp. that the scientists were out, he'd ascertained how they'd escaped and then he'd tried to radio Scott. After five attempts he'd given up and contacted Virgil who was in the process of bandaging Scott's eyes. He hadn't reached Scott because he was already injured, but was he injured when he'd first learned the scientists were safe? Should he have radioed Scott straight away? John tried to work out the time factor and came to the conclusion that he couldn't have reached Scott in time to save him.

But then that nagging doubt crept back again...

Virgil sat at the piano. Under normal circumstances he would have been thrilled to be home, but now he felt as if he'd left a large part of himself behind.

He stared at the closed keyboard. At times of high emotion he'd always expressed himself through his music or his art. Now, with his left arm still in a cast he was unable to release his feelings through the piano. He could still paint, but had lost any inclination to. It had been blown away in that explosion a week ago...

Grandma Tracy had retreated to her own room and had got down the photo albums that had commemorated her grandsons' childhood. She started at the beginning. A tiny scrap wrapped up in a blanket that had seemed too big for him. His dark hair was in stark contrast to the white of the cloth and his blue eyes gleamed from beneath sleepy lids.

She turned some pages. Here was the five year old looking excitedly through the brightly burning candles on his birthday cake. A huge grin appeared to split his face almost in two as he gazed at the camera.

A few pages on and she found a photo of a teenaged Scott standing proudly beside his father and an aeroplane. Pinned to Scott's lapel were his newly gained pilots wings. It had been his proudest day and the culmination of his life's ambitions. Now he had his wings his life was mapped out before him. Like his father before him he was going to be a pilot. He was going to fly...

With a sigh she put aside the photo album and stood up, smoothing her skirt as she did so. She had a job to do. This family needed her support and now she felt strong enough to offer it. She knew that there were two in particular who would need her assistance and she left the confines of her room to find them. She'd deal with John shortly, but first she started off by heading for the piano.

"Virgil?" she sat on the piano stool beside him. "Are you alright, Honey?"

He was still staring at the keyboard lid. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Are you sure?"

The anguish in his eyes as he directed his gaze towards her gave her the true answer. "I-I knew, Grandma."

"Knew what, Darling?"

"I knew Scott wouldn't be able to see again."

This statement surprised her. "How? Even the Doctor's didn't know until yesterday."

"I-I saw his eyes... after the explosion... It was horrible Grandma. I'll never forget... His eyes will haunt me forever." He looked away and she saw that his right hand was clenched into a fist so tight that his knuckles were white.

She drew him into an embrace. "Don't think about it."

"I can't help it. I keep wondering, was there something else I could have done?"

"You saved his life, Virgil. Remember that. There's no way he could have escaped without your help. You should be pleased with yourself. It's thanks to you that he'll be coming home."

"But will he thank me?"

She looked into her middle grandson's devastated face and was about to rebut the question. Then she remembered the photo of the young man standing proudly beside an aeroplane, wearing his newly acquired wings... and wondered...

He heard the door close behind him. The familiar voice spoke. "Come over to these chairs and sit down. I'll go and find the receptionist." He nodded numbly.

What a day. What a miserable day.

Today should have been a glorious day filled with sunshine and flowers and ocean views. Instead... nothing.

Today he should have been heading home. Home to friends, and family, and familiar surroundings.

Home with Virgil.

And now Virgil was at home and he was in a strange new place. A place to learn how to live, how to cope, how to survive.

He couldn't comprehend it. His world was in darkness... permanently. This couldn't be real. Surely it was a dream?

"Scott?"

He looked up.

"Scott, this is Dusty."

Scott felt her take his hand. "Hello, Scott. I'm here to help you. I'm your therapist."

He managed a weak 'Hi."

He could hear sympathy underlying the cheerful tone in her voice. "First thing we'll do is get you set up in your room. I'll show you where everything is. If you'd like to come with me..."

Scott stood and took her arm. They started walking. Scott heard his father pick up their bags and follow. He felt as if his mind was cut off from his body, as if he were watching a TV show with no picture.

Dusty was explaining to him about the layout of the building, but he wasn't really taking it in. "This is where your father can stay... And here's your room," she said. "It's simple and uncluttered. There's a chest of drawers here," she led him over to them and allowed him to feel it, to get some idea of its dimensions. "And here is your bed."

Scott sat down on it. It was soft, and comfortable, but it wasn't his bed. He wanted nothing more than to be able to retreat into his own bed and hide away under the covers. He wanted to hide from this nightmare.

"Scott," Jeff asked uncertainly. "Do you want me to put your things in the drawers?"

He received a numb nod by way of reply.

That first meal was a challenge. What he'd managed with relative ease in the hospital suddenly became an obstacle of Everest sized proportions.

Jeff looked on with concern as his normally confident son hesitantly attempted to feed himself. Scott had barely said two words all day and Jeff was worried that his silence signified some kind of psychological deterioration.

Scott speared a piece of carrot and raised it to his mouth. Jeff looked away as the carrot fell, bounced off Scott's shirt and then rolled away onto the floor.

Scott dropped the fork back onto the table. "I want to go back to my room."

"But, Scott, you've hardly eaten..." Jeff started to say.

"I want to go to my room!" Scott said forcibly and stood up. In doing so he caught his plate and knocked it and it's contents onto the floor. He heard the crash. "Please," he pleaded.

"Of course," Jeff said quietly as laid down his own fork, ignoring the sympathetic glances they were receiving from others in the canteen. "Give me your arm."

Back in the bedroom Scott pulled down the sheets. "I'm going to bed."

"I'll get your pyjamas," Jeff offered.

"I can't be bothered." Scott slipped off his shoes.

"You can't go to bed in your clothes," Jeff protested.

"Why not?" Scott snapped.

"You've got cheese sauce down your front. It'll get onto the sheets."

Scott felt his shirt. His fingers came away covered in sauce. He wiped them on his shirttail before removing the garment. Jeff took it and handed him his top.

Scott felt for the edge. He found the buttons and tried to work out which way was up. He found a sleeve and slipped his arm into the hole. Something felt wrong and he realised that he had it on upside down. He pulled his arm out and started again. This time he managed to successfully get one arm in, but couldn't find the other sleeve.

Jeff pulled the sleeve out so that it was lying correctly. Scott managed to get his arm through the hole. He did up the buttons.

Jeff decided against telling him that the top was inside out and that the buttons and buttonholes weren't lined up correctly.

Scott pulled off his trousers and accepted his pyjama pants. In attempting to put them on he managed to get the legs knotted up, one leg inside out and the whole mess upside down. In frustration he threw them onto the floor and, only partially dressed, got into bed, curling up on his side.

Jeff picked the pyjama pants up. "Can I do anything else for you, Son?"

"No."

"I'll go and call home. Do you want to say anything?"

"No."

"Do you want me to give them a message?"

"No."

"Okay. I'll let you get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning." Automatically Jeff reached out brush a dark curl that had crept under the bandages that still protected much of Scott's face.

At Jeff's touch Scott rolled further away from his father, burying his face in his pillow.

With regret Jeff pulled his hand back. "Good night, Son."

Scott didn't reply.

Thirty One

Next morning Jeff stood at the door connecting his room and Scott's. He knocked tentatively. "You awake, Scott?"

Upon receiving no reply he quietly opened the door.

Scott was still in bed, lying on his back, eyes open, gazing sightlessly towards the ceiling.

"Morning," Jeff tried to sound cheerful. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Scott replied unemotionally.

"Breakfast's ready. Time to get up."

"Not hungry."

"You'll have to get up. Dusty's getting everything ready for you."

"Don't want to get up."

Jeff sat on the edge of the bed. "You can't stay in bed all day."

Scott didn't move. "Why not."

"You've got things to do."

"Why bother?"

"You can't just give up."

"Why not?"

Scott's monotone was starting to get to Jeff. He didn't know what to do. "Shall I lay out some clothes for you?"

There was no reply.

Jeff got the clothes ready anyway. Task finished he tried again. "Would you like me to help you get dressed?"

Scott didn't acknowledge the question.

"Scott... I - I want to help you. Tell me what to do."

"You can't do anything for me!" Jeff was startled by the sudden emotion in Scott's voice as he sat up. "You can't help me! No one can!" He grabbed his blankets and lay back down again, pulling them over his head.

"Scott..."

"Leave me alone," the voice was muffled by the blankets.

Unsure as to what else he could do, Jeff complied. He escaped to the hallway and leant against the doorframe trying to regain his own sense of composure.

He was still standing there when Dusty found him. She gave him a smile of greeting. "How are you?"

Jeff ran his hand over his face wearily. "I've been better."

"How's Scott."

His face spoke more eloquently than any words could. "He refuses to get up."

"Ah," she said understandingly. "Maybe I should talk to him. Is he decent?"

He remembered the episode with the pyjamas. "Mostly."

"Mostly?"

He explained.

"Ah," she said again. "Maybe you'd better go tell him that if he doesn't get dressed soon I'll send 'Butch' in to dress him."

"Butch?" Jeff queried.

"One of our male nurses. Butch is his nickname. He doesn't stand any nonsense. I'll wait out here."

Jeff was back in two minutes. "Give us half an hour."

Dusty smiled again. "Fine. I'll be waiting."

Before they started the morning's session Dusty sat Scott down to talk to him. Jeff sat off to one side to observe.

"Tell me a bit about yourself, Scott."

She thought she sensed a little uneasiness come over the pair of them but ignored it.

"Um. What do you want to know?"

"Tell me how you lost your sight?"

She saw the emotion rage across his face as he struggled with the memories. Hesitantly he gave her the public version of events.

"And your brother? Is he okay now?"

For the first time he relaxed slightly. "Yeah. He's going to be fine once his broken arm's knitted."

"What is your job?"

He tensed up again. "I-I work for my father."

"Doing what?"

"I am... I was a pilot."

"Oh." She glanced at Jeff Tracy whose face was set like stone. "What hobbies do you have?"

"Hobbies? I-I don't know. I play the occasional game of chess. Work out in the gym. Most of my interests revolve around planes and flying. I've always wanted to fly."

She decided to change the subject. "Who's in your family? There's your father, and you have a brother..."

"I've got four brothers. I'm the oldest. I've always looked out for them. Watched over them..." his voice petered out.

"Anyone else?" she prompted.

"My Grandmother. And we live with Tin-Tin and her father, Kyrano and also Brains. They work for Father, but they're our friends too. They're good friends..."

"So you've got plenty of people to support you," she noted.

Scott nodded sombrely.

"Have you used a cane before?"

"Yeah. The hospital leant me one."

"Good. Let's see how good you are." Dusty led him over to the centre of the room and took a step backwards. "Just a couple of steps will do."

Hesitantly Scott took one step forward and then froze, paralysed with fear. "I-I can't. Not without help."

"It's okay, Scott," she said reassuringly. "There's nothing in front of you. I won't let you hurt yourself."

Scott swallowed and managed another step.

"You're doing fine," she said. "Would you mind if I gave you a couple of pointers?"

"Please."

"Sweep the cane from side to side just above the floor. You don't need to touch the floor, just have it high enough so that you will know if the way's clear or if there's an obstruction." "Okay." Timidly he took another step.

By the end of the session Scott was worn out, both mentally and physically. He took his father's arm and together they headed down to the canteen.

"You were doing well," Jeff complimented him.

"Thanks," Scott said quietly.

Strangely Jeff was dreading the mealtime saga more than anything else. He was relieved when Dusty came and sat with them. "Time for lesson number two, Scott," she explained. "Are you used to using an analogue watch?"

"Yeah," he said, confused.

"Good. You've no idea what trouble I have with those who only use digitals. We're going to pretend that your plate is a clock."

"Huh?" His confusion was growing.

She studied the meal that had been placed in front of him. "Okay. You have corn, meat, potatoes, carrots and beans. Now the corn is at 3 o'clock, meat at 7 o'clock, potatoes at 10 o'clock, the carrots at 6 o'clock and the beans are at twelve."

The confusion cleared from his face. "Now I understand. We used the same sort of system in the Air Force."

"Bandits at 3 o'clock? You've got it. Your glass is at 1 o'clock. Don't be afraid to ask for help. You've got both your father and me here."

"Okay." As he smelt the freshly cooked food Scott suddenly realised that he was hungry. He hadn't had a proper meal since early yesterday. He took a stab at where he supposed the carrots would be and was pleased to feel the resistance as the vegetable yielded under his fork.

Jeff smiled at Dusty as his son took his first tentative mouthful.

Thirty Two

"How are you feeling today?" Dusty asked brightly. It was day three.

"Fine." Scott gave his standard answer. He was starting to get used to the continuing blackness, but was struggling to reconcile himself to not being in control of his surroundings. His daily gamut of emotions ranged from acceptance to sadness to fear to anger. Both Dusty and Jeff had stoically borne the brunt of his outbursts. Both were more than willing to act as outlets to his frustrations.

"I've set up an obstacle course for you today," Dusty told him.

"Obstacle course?" Scott said faintly.

"Nothing too tricky. Only three obstacles. There's a chair, a table and cardboard box. I've put a rope fence along the sides so that you keep within the course. See?" She placed his hand on the stand that held the rope.

He nodded.

She let go of his hand. "Now this isn't a race. Take your time." She stepped back.

With some trepidation and keeping his hand on the rope he felt about with his cane before gingerly taking a step forward.

"That's good. Now let go of the rope."

"Let go..." Scott paled.

"You'll be okay, Scott," Jeff said. "Walk towards me."

"Bet you didn't think you'd be teaching me to walk after all this time," Scott said without any humour in his voice. He released his grip on the rope, felt in front of him and took another step.

"Great!" Jeff exclaimed. "Now the next one."

This time the cane came in contact with an object. Scott traced its outline. It was the cardboard box. Slowly he tapped his way around it.

"Well done," Dusty commented.

Scott took another step and found himself pressed up against the rope. He adjusted his direction slightly. Two more steps and he found the table. He negotiated this by sliding his hand along the edge to keep track of his position.

"Only the chair to go," Jeff said. "And you've done it."

With slightly more confidence Scott took a step forward. His cane caught in the chair's leg. As he stepped to the side to release it, his own leg caught around a stand in the rope's fence and he overbalanced, falling towards the chair.

Jeff stepped forward to catch his son as he saw him fall helplessly. He cringed as he saw Scott's head bang against the chair's arm.

Scott let out an exclamation of pain as his burned face came in contact with the unyielding wood of the chair. He lay on the floor trying to fight against the feelings of pain and fear that coursed through his system. For an instant he was back in the dust filled corridor of Regnad Corporation.

"Scott!" Jeff crouched beside him and assisted him into a sitting position.

"M-My head," Scott gasped.

Blood had begun to soak through the bandage.

"I'll get the first aid kit," Dusty said. She raced over to the conveniently placed box that sat at the side of the room. She quickly removed the old bandage and placed a gauze pad over the wound. "It's okay. It's only a graze," she said reassuringly.

"I can't do this," Scott cried. "I can't cope with this." He pulled his legs up and hugged his knees.

"It's okay, Scott," Jeff tried to reassure him, dismayed at how his normally in control son appeared to be disintegrating before his eyes.

"No it's not," Scott gulped. "I want to go home."

"You can't, not yet..."

"Please. Take me home!" Scott begged.

"No Scott." It felt as if it were the hardest thing that Jeff had ever had to say. "No. We can't go home now. I'm sorry." He wrapped his arms around his son. For an instant he was back 25 years comforting his distraught child.

"Then leave me alone!" Scott said heatedly pushing his father away. Still in a crouching position Jeff fell backwards onto the floor.

Dusty was becoming worried about Scott's condition. Perhaps the blow to the head was worse than she'd realised. "Look after him," she ordered an extremely worried Jeff. "I'll go get help." He nodded his acknowledgement.

She was back a short time later with a doctor in tow. Scott had calmed down somewhat and was allowing his father to comfort him.

The doctor was all business. "Now then let's have a look at your face." He removed the temporary bandage. "That's fine. Just a graze. The skin's still healing and you knocked it." He replaced the bandage, did another couple of tests and then, when he was satisfied that there was nothing more serious to worry about, packed his bag and returned to his surgery.

Scott wiped his eyes. "Can I at least go back to my room?"

Jeff looked at Dusty questioningly.

She nodded. "I think we've done enough for now. We'll do something else this afternoon. You did very well, Scott. Tomorrow will be better."

"Yeah sure," he sounded unconvinced.

Thirty Three

They were sitting alone outside. Enjoying the last rays of the setting sun. They'd survived the first week in rehabilitation.

"You should go home," Scott surprised Jeff by saying.

"Home? I can't go home yet," his father exclaimed.

"You're needed there. There's no one to take control if there's an emergency. It was always either you or me in charge."

"But I can't leave you alone."

"I'll be fine," Scott said quietly. He didn't sound convincing.

"Scott..." Jeff started to protest, and then he stopped as an idea popped into his head. "Would you like Virgil to take my place here?"

"Virgil?"

"He's on sick leave at the moment anyway. He needs physio on that arm and there's a physiotherapist on site. If he's agreeable would you like him to come here and support you?"

Scott smiled. It was the first smile Jeff had seen from him in a long time. "Yes. That'd be great."

"Fine," Jeff grunted as he stood up. "I'll go phone him now."

"Father!" Scott managed to catch his parent's arm as he walked past.

"Scott?"

"Thanks for everything. I know it hasn't been easy, but you've helped me survive this first week."

Jeff laid a hand on Scott's shoulder. "That's okay, Son. If you ever need my help you only need to ask."

Scott nodded. "It helps to know that."

"It's always been true. I know I'm not the most demonstrative father..."

"I've always known though. We all have. None of us could have asked for a better Dad."

Jeff found himself overwhelmed by the statement. He squeezed Scott's shoulder and hurriedly left the porch. It wasn't until he was back in his room that he realised that his haste had been unwarranted.

Scott wouldn't have been able to see the tears that had formed in his eyes...

"Hey there, Scott!"

"Gordon? What are you doing here?"

"Virgil still can't pilot the plane so I offered to bring him. Dad's just showing him around. So how's it going?"

"Fine."

Gordon looked at his oldest brother. Scott appeared to be pleased to 'see' him and yet... There was an air of fragility about Scott that Gordon had never seen in him before. "You've got some brilliant bruises there."

"That's because I keep on bumping into things."

"But apart from that how are you coping?"

"Well... I'll tell you, Gordon, I'd rather be piloting a crashing Fireflash at the moment."

"And I'm not here to save you this time."

Scott made a helpless gesture. "I just want to go home."

"I can understand that, but the sooner you've got the basics mastered the sooner you'll be able to get home."

Scott sighed. "I know. How is everyone?"

"Missing you. We need you to boss us all around."

"Now that Father's going home he can do it."

"It'll be good to have him home..."

Scott sensed that there was something missing from this sentence. "Why?"

"'Cause it means Virgil'll be out of our hair. He keeps on trying to play his favourite pieces and getting frustrated because he can't play the treble and bass one handed. So he takes it out on us. At least you'll be able to keep him occupied."

The anticipated chuckle from Scott wasn't forthcoming.

"So..." Gordon said awkwardly. "How much longer do you have to stay here?"

"Whatever it is it'll be too long..."

Jeff had given Virgil a quick tour of the complex. They ended up in the room that was going to be Virgil's for the next month or so.

"Sit down, Son. I want to talk to you before we catch up with Scott and Gordon."

Virgil frowned in concern. "What's wrong?"

"I just want to prepare you for what you'll have to deal with. Scott's finding it hard. Very hard. You think he's coping and then he blows his top or breaks down completely." He explained about the highs and lows that they'd experienced over the previous few days. "I wouldn't even consider going home if it weren't for... the business," Virgil nodded his understanding, "and for the fact that you are going to be here to support him. I won't lie to you, Virgil. You're going to find it hard. The instant it gets too much for you I want you to call me and talk to me. I don't care what time of the day or night it is. Call me! And if you need to come home; tell me. We can swap places again."

Virgil nodded again. He didn't know how often he'd be on the phone to home over the next few days.

"I'm sorry to lay all this on you. I wouldn't even consider it if hadn't been Scott's suggestion. And, I guess, you've got the best idea of all of us what Scott has been through."

Virgil nodded a third time.

There was a knock on the door and Jeff went to answer it. "Dusty, come in. Virgil, this is Dusty, Scott's therapist. Dusty. This is my son Virgil."

Virgil held out his good hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," she said. "Scott's told me a lot about you."

He appeared surprised. "He has?"

She didn't elaborate. "If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask."

Thirty Four

One week later Scott opened the door that connect their two rooms and walked in. It was the only part of the whole complex in which he felt comfortable getting around unaided. "You know," he said, "every time I come in here I expect to smell oil paints."

"I didn't bring my paints," Virgil said flatly.

"Oh! Did you bring your pastels then?"

"No."

"Crayons?"

"No."

"Pencils?"

"No."

"Virgil!" Scott was astounded. "Did you bring anything?"

"No."

"Why not?" Scott was amazed at this admission.

"I didn't want them, that's all."

"Is it your arm?"

"No it's not!" Virgil said irritably. "But you've just reminded me that I've got a physio appointment soon. If you want me to take you where you should be we'd better leave now!"

But Scott had decided he was going to find out what was wrong. "Then what's the problem?"

"Nothing!"

"Have you drawn or painted anything since the accident?"

"I did in the hospital if you remember."

"But since then?"

"Scott! We're both going to be late if we don't leave now. Are you coming with me or do I leave you?"

Stunned, Scott said nothing further until they'd met up with Dusty.

Virgil made his excuses and left.

"I don't remember him mentioning a physiotherapy appointment this afternoon," Dusty noted.

"No. Me neither," Scott admitted thoughtfully. "Dusty, you don't have to be here now do you? Would you mind doing me a favour...?"

Dusty found Virgil sitting in the garden. "Didn't you have an appointment to go to?" she asked.

He looked away. "I'd got the time wrong."

"Scott was worried about you."

"He shouldn't. He's got enough to worry about."

"He seemed surprised that you haven't done any artwork since you left the hospital."

Virgil eyed her angrily. "Has he got you acting as his detective now?"

"Yes. But only because he cares about you and you clearly don't want to tell him what's bothering you."

Virgil was silent.

Dusty pondered her next move. "If I promise not to tell Scott will you tell me what's wrong?"

He didn't speak.

"Please. I'd like to help. Is it something to do with Scott?" She saw his jaw muscles tighten as he listened to her words, and decided to try another tack. "Scott tells me that you like to play the piano."

"Yes I do," he said cautiously.

"He says you're good."

"He's biased."

"You know there's a lot of people in this place who would really appreciate a good bit of piano playing. They've lost so much else, it's something they could still enjoy. Would you consider giving us a some sort of concert?"

Virgil raised his injured arm. "I haven't been able to get in a lot a practise lately."

"But would you consider it?"

He looked at her. "Yeah I don't mind. Once I can fully use my fingers. That's if I can get in some practise and reassure myself that I won't be too embarrassing."

Dusty smiled. "I'm sure we can arrange that." She looked down at the satchel that she'd placed beside her chair. "Scott told me to remind you that you weren't to blame yourself for what happened to him."

Virgil smiled ruefully. "I know. Up here," he tapped his head, "I know that there's nothing more that I could have done. I wasn't even close when the... generator," For an instant a guarded expression crept over his face, "exploded. But down here," he moved his hand to his heart. "I keep wondering. Was there something else I should have done?"

Dusty nodded in understanding, and then reverted back to the original topic. "So you're happy to play the piano... why won't you draw or paint anything?"

Virgil looked at her angrily. "That again? Why should I bother? What's the use? What would I achieve? Who'd appreciate it? Scott won't be able to..." As he became aware of what he'd said he looked almost frightened.

"Is that what worries you, Virgil?" Dusty asked quietly.

He nodded sadly.

"You are both very close aren't you?"

He nodded again.

"I thought so. That's why he wanted me to get you these." She reached into the satchel and pulled out a sketchpad and some artist's pencils. She held them out to Virgil.

He looked at her, and then hesitatingly took them.

"Virgil... I know it's hard for you, and everyone in your family. It's hard to watch someone you love struggle with things they used to do so easily. But believe me, he will find it easier eventually. At the moment he's finding everything strange and new and frustrating, but one day it will all seem natural to him. It'll either happen slowly, or suddenly, like a light bulb turning on. He'll learn to cope. His blindness will become a natural part of his life, both to him and to you. In the meantime he doesn't want you to give up on what is important to you."

Virgil looked down at the sketchpad and slowly turned the cover over so that top page lay exposed. He gave a quiet chuckle. "So he's still mothering me is he?" He looked at her and noted a questioning expression on her face. He began to sharpen a pencil. "What do you know about Scott's history?"

"When it came to talking about his brothers, Scott was very... voluble," Dusty told him. "But when it came to talking about himself he didn't have much to say. He couldn't even think of what hobbies he had."

"What did he say?" Virgil began to draw.

"Chess, the gym and flying."

"Oh, so he doesn't count bossing his brothers around as a hobby then?" Virgil was grinning as he drew a couple of sweeping lines on his pad.

Dusty smiled. "Does he do that a lot?"

Virgil laughed. "He probably regards it as a calling rather than a hobby. He's had to do it since he was a kid."

"Had to?"

Virgil stopped drawing. "I'm holding you up here. Shouldn't you be working?"

"Knowing about my clients is part of my work. If I know how they tick, then I have a better chance of helping them. At the moment I don't have to be anywhere else, so tell me about Scott."

Virgil thought for a moment, began drawing again, and started to speak. "Well you know there's five of us boys, and that Scott's the oldest." Dusty nodded. "We were all kids when Ma died... It was an accident... Alan was only a baby." She saw the sadness of the memory in his eyes. "Father had to give up being an astronaut..."

"A what?"

"An astronaut."

"A real astronaut?"

"Yeah. He went to the moon and everything," Virgil laughed.

"You're laughing at me," she protested.

"No I'm not. In our family our father was an astronaut. He was just a part of our family. You forget that most other people aren't related to astronauts. Sorry that I laughed, I just realised how silly it is that some jobs are more 'special' than others. For our family it was just another job."

"Makes sense," Dusty said. "Go on."

"He realised that it wasn't ideal for an astronaut to be a solo dad to five boys so he gave up his job. Those first years must have been hard for him. I don't think we boys ever knew just how hard. He had to find work that allowed him to earn enough to keep us all fed and housed as well as giving him time to look after us all. Scott saw the difficulties and started taking care of us as well. He'd make sure we were ready for school on time, had our lunches, did our homework. By the time Grandma came to live with us I think it was ingrained into Scott's psyche that he had to look out for the rest of us. Remember Alan was still a baby and Gordon wasn't much older, John had his head in the stars and I was always covered in paint!"

"You've always been artistic then." She'd noticed that he'd started to relax now that was allowing himself to be creative.

Virgil nodded. "Scott did well at school, both academically and on the sports field, but he always wanted to fly. He wanted to be just like our father and join the Air Force."

"Did he want to be an astronaut too?"

"I don't think so. He just wanted to fly planes, the faster and more manoeuvrable the better."

"Did he join the Air Force?"

"Yeah. He became quite high ranking too."

"So why did he leave?"

There was that guarded expression again. She'd noticed that all the Tracy's got that expression when they talked about their present lives. "He decided to work for our Father."

"Being a pilot."

"Among other things, yes." Virgil clammed up.

Dusty sat for a moment in thought. She couldn't quite make out this family. They appeared close and yet no one had come to visit Scott. Perhaps Jeff Tracy believed that the business should come first in their lives. She dismissed that idea. While he'd been here supporting Scott he'd been attentive of his son. There'd been no clock watching, fidgeting or worrying about how things were going at work. Scott had been his only concern.

Then there was the strange fact that here were five extremely eligible young men. Handsome, personable, sons of a billionaire, and yet none of them were married or even in serious relationships, although Scott had hinted about something between the youngest and their friends daughter. Maybe Jeff Tracy felt that no one was good enough for his boys. She rejected that idea too, feeling that Scott, at least, would have stood up for himself and would probably have supported his brothers if they'd found any romantic attachments. Maybe the five men just enjoyed the playboy lifestyle, being free and easy. As she looked at Virgil she rejected that idea too, and clocked it up to one of the great mysteries of life.

"So now that he works for your Father what does Scott do to relax?"

"Relax?" Virgil smiled as he thought. "Play chess, work out in the gym..."

"Fly planes," she finished off. "He must do something else surely."

"Work keeps, kept..." for the first time Virgil used the past tense, "him busy."

"But you work for your father too and you find time to play the piano and paint."

"You've got to remember that our father is a billionaire and that he worked hard to get there. We've all inherited something of his work ethic." There was nothing bragging in Virgil's tone. It was uttered as a simple fact. "But we live in a place that you'd expect a billionaire to live in - pool, tennis courts, games room. We've got plenty to keep us occupied when we're not working. Scott keeps himself busy with plenty of variety, but nothing that you could pin down as a 'hobby.'"

"Oh," Dusty said. "I see. It's good that he has such varied interests. With a bit of equipment modification there's no reason why he shouldn't continued to enjoy them." She looked at her watch. "I'd better go get ready for my next session." She watched him finish his drawing and wondered once again about the Tracy's. Then she gave herself a shake mentally. It was none of her business. Her job wasn't to understand this family. Her job was to give Scott Tracy his life back.

Virgil looked at his sketch. "It's not one of my best works. It would have been better if I'd done it left handed, but..." he signed it with a flourish, tore the page off and handed it to Dusty. "Give it to your husband so that he remembers what you look like while you're here all hours."

She gasped as she looked at the picture. It was of her. She hadn't even realised he'd been observing her as he did the drawing. "I-I don't know what do say. If this isn't one of your best then your best must be wonderful... Thank you."

He smiled. "No. Thank you!"

Thirty Five

Over the past two weeks Virgil had discovered that he had three outlets for when things got too much for him. Drawing, playing the piano and calling home.

The past few days the third option had become a lifeline.

The call he made at lunchtime on day 14 had been after an especially trying morning.

Jeff Tracy answered the phone with a smile. Unfortunately Virgil hadn't been able to return the gesture.

"What's wrong, Son?"

Virgil looked as devastated as he had been when they'd first learnt that Scott's condition was permanent. "Nothing," he said quietly. "I just wanted to say hi."

"Was it a tough morning?"

Virgil nodded. "He's getting angrier and angrier and more and more frustrated."

"And he's taking it out on you?"

"It's what I'm here for."

"No you're not. You're there to help him. What did he do?"

"Nothing."

This was going to be as hard as getting blood from a stone. "What did he say, Virgil?"

"It doesn't matter."

Jeff was glad that none of his other sons were in the room at the moment. "Come on, Virgil," he said gently. "Tell me."

Virgil hesitated. Surprisingly he looked to be on the brink of tears. "I'm being over-sensitive."

Jeff waited. Virgil clearly wanted to share what was worrying him, hence the phone call. But something was holding him back. Jeff waited patiently.

"He said that he was glad that he'd lost his sight."

This was a shock. "Why?"

Virgil swallowed. What he was about to say would probably hurt his father too. "Because it meant that he didn't have to look at me and be reminded of Ma, and remember that it was my fault that she was killed."

Jeff cringed inwardly. Of all the things to come out with, this was the worst. Insult one of Virgil's paintings and he would have passed it off as being a comment from someone who didn't understand what he was trying to express. Make a negative comment about his music and Virgil would have assumed that you didn't have a musical ear. Doubt his sexuality (as had happened occasionally in the past) and he would have laughed and offered you the phone numbers of several girls who would have said otherwise. Say he'd failed during a rescue and he would have agreed and worked hard to make sure the error didn't happen again.

Nothing upset Virgil and yet Scott had managed to hit on the one nerve that was raw. As he no doubt had meant to.

He could now understand why Virgil looked so devastated. "The accident wasn't your fault, Virgil. We've discussed this."

"I know. I also know that he didn't mean it. It's not so much that he said it, it's that he even thought of it to say it!" He grimaced. "I'm not making myself very clear."

"Don't worry, you're clear enough." Jeff was grim faced. "I don't care how badly he's feeling, he has no right to talk to you like that. Maybe I should come out there and you could come home..."

He was not surprised when Virgil dismissed this suggestion. "No it's okay. With any luck we've hit rock bottom and things will start getting better."

They were both silent for a moment.

The connecting door opened and Scott entered the room hesitantly. "Are you in here, Virgil?"

Virgil wiped his eyes and tried to get his emotions under control. When he spoke his voice was nearly normal, if slightly cool. "Yeah, I'm here. What can I do for you?" He didn't tell his brother that their father was on the phone.

Scott's ears picked up on the fact that Virgil's voice was only nearly normal. "I, uh, you didn't come down to lunch."

"I didn't feel like having anything," Virgil admitted.

"Rough morning."

"Yeah," Virgil agreed.

There was silence during which Jeff wondered if he should disconnect the phone call or alert Scott to his presence.

"We'll be starting the afternoon session soon," Scott said uncomfortably.

"Yes," Virgil agreed again.

"Are you going to join us?"

The look on Virgil's face told Jeff that this idea didn't appeal. "Of course."

"I appreciate that, Virgil. I'm glad you're here with me."

"I said I wouldn't leave you."

"I, uh, I don't deserve your support."

"No you don't," Virgil agreed in a whisper. The words tore at Jeff's heart.

"No I don't," Scott echoed in agreement. "I'm sorry about what I said, you know, about Ma. I didn't mean it."

Some strange emotion played across Virgil's features.

"It must have hurt."

"It did," Virgil said honestly.

A look of anguish flashed over Scott's face. "Please forgive me?" he begged. "I've got no excuse. I was hurting and I wanted someone else to feel the same as I did. You don't deserve that treatment with all you're doing for me. Father would kill me if he knew I'd said that to you... Have you told him?"

"Yes."

Scott paled. "I bet he was livid."

Tell him, Virgil, Jeff thought. Tell him his father is ready to give him such a bawling out, the likes of which he's never had before. Tell him he can't get away with what he said to you.

"He wasn't very happy," Virgil said quietly.

"I'm sure he wasn't."

Virgil glanced at his father's image. Jeff's face was sombre.

"I've made things worse haven't I?" Scott was asking, interpreting Virgil's silence as a signal that their relationship had cooled. "Now you hate me."

"I don't hate you."

"Yes you do. And I don't blame you. I hate me too."

"I don't hate you, Scott."

"Well I do. I hate the way I am, I hate what I've become, I hate the fact that I tried to hurt you. And I especially hate the fact that I succeeded."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Jeff felt a sneeze coming on and pushed the mute button on his videophone. He was just in time.

Gordon breezed in. "Have you seen Alan?" he asked brightly.

"No!" Jeff snapped irritably. "Look Gordon I'm in the middle of an important 'phone call. If you wouldn't mind..."

"Yeah, sure," Gordon said cheerfully, not minding his fathers sour mood. "I'll go see if he's in the hangar." He ambled out of the room.

Jeff turned his attention back to the video image on the phone in front of him. Nothing had changed.

"Why is everything so hard, Virgil?" Scott suddenly asked. "I used to be able to do everything so easily, and now..."

They hadn't yet hit rock bottom.

When they did, it would be painful for them both.

Thirty Six

Dusty met them cheerfully, but warily. She'd seen how the Scott's unfeeling comment had hurt Virgil. Scott had said those hateful words and Virgil had instantly stalked out of the room. He hadn't heard Scott call the apology after him. She'd noted Virgil's absence from the canteen at lunchtime and Scott's lack of appetite. She was glad to see them working together again, but noticed that the younger man was a little distant from his brother. She hoped that this afternoon's session would ease the tension between them.

"This obstacle course is a little trickier," she told them. "We've got smaller objects lying about the floor and there are various delicate objects on the larger pieces of furniture. I'm not going to tell you what there is or how many items, Scott. You're going to have to figure it out for yourself."

Scott didn't look happy about the challenge.

Virgil surveyed the course. The ubiquitous rope fence was still there, but now instead of following a straight path it curved to the right and back against itself. The obstacles ranged in size from a couple of tables and chairs, to smaller items such as footstools and small cardboard boxes. The 'delicate objects' consisted of what looked to be three plastic vases on each table. He put his feeling of unease down to what had happened earlier.

Dusty led Scott to the beginning. "Ready when you are."

He nodded and took a step forward. The first few steps were fairly easy. Then he came to a table. Wary of the 'delicate objects' that sat on it he tried to give it a wide berth. He wasn't expecting to find a footstool so close and fell over it heavily, landing on one knee with a jarring thud.

Virgil automatically took a step forward to assist and was held back by Dusty. "No. Let him do it himself."

Scott heard her. Yet again anger and frustration welled up inside him. He staggered to his feet and kicked the footstool away.

"Scott!" Virgil exclaimed.

"You heard her!" Scott snapped. "You're to let me do this myself. I'm coping the best way that I can. Who cares if I get hurt or if I hurt you? I'm useless at this. I'm useless at everything I try."

"No you're not, Scott," Dusty protested.

"Yes I am! I can't even dress myself! Something as easy as that and I can't manage it without help! How many times did you have to help me this morning, Virgil?"

"Only once..."

"Once! That's one time too many. And what about meals? Another simple task and yet I can't eat anything without spilling something onto my clothes, and then it's back to get changed again. Back to needing help getting dressed! Do you know how humiliating that is? When we were kids I used to have to help you, Virgil, it shouldn't have to be the other way around now!"

"I don't mind..."

"But I do! I don't want to be reliant on others!" Scott shouted.

"You won't forever," Dusty tried to reassure him. "You will learn."

"Forever! Forever trapped. A misfit in a sighted world. You should have left me when this first happened, Virgil. You should have saved yourself and then maybe you wouldn't have broken your arm! You should have left me to drown! When I told you to go on without me you should have obeyed me! I gave you an order!" He was starting to get hysterical.

Virgil glanced worriedly at Dusty. This was getting too close to International Rescue. "I couldn't..."

Scott was continuing with his tirade. It was as if he hadn't heard his brother speak. "Here I am and I can't even walk safely around a table! A table! I used to be able to fly a plane in ways most people couldn't even dream of! I've flown at speeds faster than most people can comprehend! And now I can't even negotiate my way across a room!"

"Calm down, Scott," Virgil said anxiously.

Scott flung his arm out and it struck against the table causing the vases to rattle. "Are you sure you can even trust me around such delicate objects, Dusty? Don't you realise that I destroy things that are precious. Things like friendships! I might break one of your delicate objects!" He found a vase and picked it up. "Just like this!" He dashed the vase to the ground. It didn't break, merely rolling away under the rope. This made him angrier. "I can't even do that properly!" He found another vase and threw it against the far wall.

"Scott!" Virgil cried in alarm, "Stop!" He ducked as the third vase came sailing with great force in his direction. "You'll hurt someone if you carry on like this."

"Hurt someone? What about me? How many bruises and grazes and sore knees do I have to get before someone says enough? Doesn't it matter that I'm hurting all the time? Both body and soul? Well I've had enough!" With a yell and a martial arts kick that he should have been proud of, the table splintered into pieces. He picked a larger piece up and threw it, not caring where it went or who it hit. Fortunately it sailed wide of the two extremely worried and somewhat frightened people.

"I'm going to get help," Dusty whispered to Virgil before she slipped out of the room. The sound of the door closing behind her was enough of a guide that Scott was able to hurl a piece of wood accurately in that direction. It crashed against the door and clattered to the floor.

Virgil knew he'd have to do something before someone was injured. "Scott," he begged. "Please calm down." He was rewarded by having a table leg thrown in his direction.

When Scott turned his attention to demolishing a footstool Virgil decided that it was time to take some action. He pulled down the rope barrier and stepped quickly up to his brother, deftly avoiding another lethal piece of wood. He grabbed Scott by both arms. "Stop it!" he ordered.

Although he now wore a smaller cast that gave him use of his left hand, the strength in that hand wasn't enough to restrain an irate older brother. Scott freed his right arm and swung his fist into Virgil's face.

Virgil hit the floor and lay there stunned.

The horror of what he'd done sunk into Scott's angry brain. He knelt beside his brother. "Virgil! Virgil, I'm sorry. Are you alright?" He reached out anxiously.

Virgil sat up groggily and felt his face. "That's quite a right hook you've got there, Brother." He flinched as Scott gingerly laid his hand against the injury.

Scott was dismayed at the swelling that he could feel around Virgil's eye. "I'm really sorry. Let me get you an ice pack." He stood and made his way over to where he knew the First Aid kit resided. He managed to find two ice packs and brought them back to where Virgil was still sitting. He placed one against the affected area, holding it in place.

Virgil took it from him. "It's okay. I've got it."

"I'm really sorry." Scott took the other pack and laid it over his own knuckles. "I can't believe I did that to you. I hurt you this morning and I've hurt you now. I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologising, Scott. I'm okay."

The door was cautiously opened. Dusty entered followed by the doctor. He took in the mess. "Are you both okay?"

"I hit Virgil," Scott said sadly.

"So you did." The doctor was looking underneath Virgil's ice pack. "Quite a good shot too, by the looks of it."

"I didn't duck quick enough," Virgil said lightly, and flinched again as the doctor examined a cut to his eyelid.

"I'm sorry, Virgil," Scott sounded really miserable now.

"I know you are, Scott. You don't have to keep telling me."

"I think I've damaged a couple of things."

"Yes you have," Dusty agreed with him. "But we won't worry about that just now."

Scott turned to her voice. "I'm sorry, Dusty."

"Scott," Virgil said quietly. "Do you realise what you've just done?"

"Hit you. I'm sorry."

"No, I didn't mean that. You helped me just then, with no instructions. You got the ice pack without anyone's help."

"I did?" Scott sounded surprised. "Oh yeah. So I did."

"See. You're not helpless, Scott," Dusty told him. "I know you are frustrated, but you are not helpless. You will learn. Maybe you're just trying too hard at the moment."

"Yeah. Maybe. Can I try again?" Scott ignored the doctor, who was checking his hand before placing the ice pack back on it.

"What? Now?"

"Yes now. Don't they say that if you fall off a horse you should get straight back on?"

"Yes, but..."

"Please," Scott begged.

"Okay. But let me get rid of some of the debris first."

Scott managed a little laugh. "You call that debris? A few bits of furniture? That's nothing. Right, Virg?"

Virgil chuckled. "Right, Scott."

Neither of them elaborated to either Dusty or the doctor.

The latter stood up. "Well no real harm done. If you have any problems with that eye, Virgil, let me know, but I think you'll be okay."

Virgil stood also. "Thanks, Doc."

"Well I guess that's all." The doctor looked at Dusty. "Do you want me to stay?" he fingered his bag lightly.

She shook her head. "No. I think we'll be fine this time."

Later that evening Virgil made his nightly phone call home. He smiled when his father answered the videophone.

Jeff had stayed close to the phone all afternoon in case Virgil had needed to talk to him again. He hadn't known what to expect and what he saw was a shock. His eyes widened as he took in Virgil's bloodshot eye, his bruised swollen skin, and the steri-strip that held the edges of the cut together. "What happened to you!?"

"Scott punched me," Virgil told him truthfully.

Jeff waited. Despite the shock of the lunchtime phone call this was too hard to believe. "Okay. Now what really happened?"

"He did! Scott hit me. With his fist."

Jeff was struggling to get his mind around this. "It was an accident, right?"

"No. He meant to do it."

Now Jeff was worried. "Is he alright? Are you alright? Do you want to come home?"

"No. Everything's okay."

Alan had been listening to the conversation. He walked around his father's chair so that he could see the videophone screen. He gave a whistle and then a little grin. "So did you hit him back?"

"Alan! When a guy as powerful as Scott hits you, you don't get the chance to retaliate! I was down for the count and seeing enough stars to keep John happy for a year!"

"Virgil," Jeff said patiently. "What happened?"

Virgil explained about the incident. "Dusty even went to get the doctor to sedate him so he wouldn't hurt himself or anyone else."

"He hurt you though!" Jeff sounded angry.

"Actually I'm kinda glad he did," Virgil admitted.

"What!" Jeff was flummoxed.

"Oh yes," Alan smirked. "Is this some kind of masochistic tendency of yours we didn't know about, Virgil?"

His brother chuckled. "No nothing like that. I just mean that the shock of hitting me brought him back to his senses. And what's more, he took control. Found the First Aid kit without any trouble. Well he's had enough experience needing it that you'd expect him to know where it was. But he got out two ice packs, walked back to me, and put an ice pack on my eye. He wasn't thinking about what he was doing, he was thinking about what needed to be done. And he did it! With no help!"

There was a knock on the connecting door before Scott poked his head in. "Are you decent?" he asked flippantly.

"Come in, Scott. I'm on the 'phone to home. Do you want to say hi to Father and Alan?"

They were unsure of what the answer would be. Scott hadn't being willing to talk to his family since he'd gone into rehabilitation.

"Why not," he said. "Hi, Father."

"Hi, Scott." Jeff decided that he would try not to be angry with his eldest. "How are you?"

"Not bad." Jeff was pleased that the standard phrase 'fine' was not used. "How are you, Alan?"

"Great," Alan replied. "I see you've been getting in a little boxing practise with Virgil."

Scott cringed at the reminder. "Does he look that bad."

"I've seen him worse..." Scott relaxed. "But only after he'd fallen down a river bank, broken his arm, got hypothermia and nearly drowned."

"Oh," Scott said quietly.

"What happened, Son?" Jeff asked.

Scott sighed. "I don't know. Dusty had made the obstacle course more of a challenge than I was used to. I tripped over a footstool and then heard her tell Virgil not to help me. And then I guess I lost it. As I think Virgil told you..." he looked embarrassed, "...I'd made a bad mistake at this morning's session and this just capped it off. I felt sore and frustrated and humiliated and out of control. And I just blew my top."

Jeff decided not to mention the 'bad mistake.'

"I'll tell you one thing, Scott." Virgil was standing beside the videophone. "There's nothing wrong with your hearing. You were deadly accurate with most of your throws. I had to be pretty quick on my feet to escape being hit..." he gingerly fingered his sore face, "... Well I was most of the time."

"I'm sorry, Virgil."

Virgil laughed and rubbed Scott on the back. "I know you are. You don't have to keep telling me. Anyway you cleaned up on the obstacle course afterwards. I think that must have been some kind of record."

Jeff looked over to the doorway when he heard a sound. "Gordon! Would you like a word with Scott?"

"Can I?" Gordon sounded surprised. "Hey, Scott, how's it going?"

"Not too bad."

"You've got less bruises than you had last time I saw you. Things must be getting better..." then Gordon's gaze wandered over to Virgil and his expression changed to one of surprise. "Or are you just getting Virgil to do the hard work for you? What happened to you?"

Scott reddened.

"I walked into a cupboard door," Virgil lied. "Get Alan to explain it to you later."

"Are things getting any easier, Scott?" Jeff asked.

Scott screwed up his face. "Not everything. There's some things I still have a heck of a lot of trouble doing." Then his face lit up. "I'll tell you one thing I achieved though," he said proudly. "I managed to change my shirt tonight without any help."

Virgil saw Alan open his mouth to make a comment and gave his youngest brother a warning glare. Alan closed his mouth again.

"That's good, Son," Jeff was saying. "You're making progress then."

"Yeah. Except that the reason why I had to change it was because I managed to spill my dinner onto the old one. I'm doing okay with most things, but I just can't get the hang of eating peas. They keep on rolling off, and when they're coated in mint sauce you've got no chance of keeping clean. I've got a heck of a big laundry bill."

"Mush your peas up," Gordon suggested. "At least they wouldn't be able to roll then."

"That's a thought," Scott said. "I might try that next time." He changed the subject. "How's things at home. Have you had any call outs?"

"Things have been quiet, thank heavens," His father replied...

Much later, after that 'phone call, Jeff was finishing up for the night. The rest of the family had already retired to bed. He jumped when he heard the familiar beeping sound. Instinctively he looked towards John's portrait. His son's immobile features smiled down at him.

He realised that the sound and accompanying flashing lights were actually coming from Lady Penelope's portrait.

"Evening, Penny. Have you had a good holiday?"

"Wonderful, thank you, Jeff. Parker and I had a most relaxing time..."

He realised with a jolt that she didn't even know. No one outside of the immediate family group knew of the turmoil that had occurred to this family over the last few weeks. Jeff suddenly realised that he would actually have to tell people of Scott's disability.

Disability. One word. One word that, rightly or wrongly, changed your perspective of a person. Scott had always been so... able. And now there were things that he was no longer able to do, that he would never be able to do again. Disabled. It seemed a crime to pin such a label to him, but such a label would inevitably be assigned.

Who needed to know? There were a few extended family members, Scott's Air Force buddies, old school friends... Agents. International Rescue agents would have to be told. Some who were good friends should be told personally but others... he would have to compose and send out a worldwide memo to the vast network of agents that worked for International Rescue.

"... And so, after we convinced the authorities that Parker's tools were not intended for breaking into the safe, but rather for some domestic chores at Margery's manor, we decided that it would be prudent to head home. So here I am. Rested and ready for your next challenge..." Lady Penelope paused. "Jeff! I do believe you haven't heard a word I've said!"

He suddenly realised that she'd been talking and he hadn't taken in a word. "Sorry, Penny," he said ashamedly. "What did you say?" "I said I'm ready for any challenges. What's wrong?"

"Um. We've had a challenging few weeks ourselves."

She studied his face. He looked older than his years. Drawn, preoccupied and tired. Normally he was a good listener, but this time he'd practically ignored her. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Jeff?" she prompted. "What's happened? Is it the boys? I didn't hear about any rescues on the news."

He nodded slowly and she prepared herself for the worst. "It wasn't reported. It was in a top secret facility." He gave her a brief rundown of the events of a month ago. "They both nearly drowned and were suffering from hypothermia when they were rescued."

'Nearly' and 'rescued.' She latched onto those words with relief. "How are they?"

She saw sadness in his eyes. "Virgil's arm was pretty badly broken, but it's on the mend."

"And Scott?"

He appeared to be struggling. "The burns to his face are healing..."

"Yes?" Whatever he was about to say must be serious.

"Penny! He's lost his sight. He can't see."

She caught her breath. "Is it... is it permanent?"

He nodded.

"Oh, Jeff. How's he taking it?"

"Hard. He's still in rehabilitation. Virgil's there to support him, but he's even striking out at him! I don't know, Penny. I'm really worried. I'm worried about both of them. Virgil's doing his best, but I can see that he's finding it a struggle. And Scott... He's normally so in control and now that he's losing that control..."

She understood. "Do you think he'd like me to visit him?"

"I don't know. Virgil calls home at least once a day, but I've only spoken to Scott once since I left, and that was tonight. He seemed fairly cheerful but..." He shrugged helplessly. "Scott said he didn't want us to visit so that we wouldn't leave International Rescue understaffed, but he hasn't tried to contact his brothers at all. It's as if he's pushing us all away."

"Well I'm not family. He might react differently to me. Where is the facility? Parker and I can fly there tomorrow..."

She got the necessary details and bid him a fond good night. "Keep positive, Jeff. It will get better."

She sat in thought a moment before gracefully reaching out and gently pulling on the bell pull.

"You rang, M'lady?"

"Yes, Parker. I've just had a rather disturbing phone call."

"H-it wasn't the cops, ah, h-authorities was h-it? They didn't see too 'appy at our sudden departure," he said anxiously.

"No, Parker. It wasn't the police. It was Mr. Tracy."

"Mr. Tracy, M'lady?"

"I'm afraid there's been an accident."

"An accident? Not to one of them Tracy boys?"

"I'm afraid so, Parker. It appears Scott has been blinded." "Blinded! Blimey. That's not good, M'lady."

"No, Parker. Not good at all. We shall fly out tomorrow to offer him support." She gave him the details. "Arrange it will you."

"Yes, M'lady."

Later that evening Virgil told Dusty about much of his 'phone call home. For the first time, in a long time, he was starting to feel positive about the future. "You know. I think that light bulb you were talking about might have been switched on..."

Thirty Seven

It was morning on Tracy Island. Time for breakfast. Jeff Tracy was walking down the hallway from his bedroom to the dining room.

As he passed Alan's room he became aware of voices inside.

"You've deliberately put that in my way haven't you!"

"Put what in your way, Gordon?"

"This - this thing..."

Jeff cautiously pushed the door further open and looked inside. His two youngest sons were in there and both were blindfolded. Gordon looked as if he was trying to leave the room via the wardrobe and Alan was standing in the middle with his arms outstretched.

"What are you two doing?" Jeff asked.

They both jumped. "Dad!"

"Well?"

"We got to thinking about how proud Scott was about changing his shirt yesterday," Alan said. "I mean it's such a simple task. So we thought we'd give it a go... See how difficult it really is for him."

"Take your blindfolds off," Jeff instructed them gently.

Sheepishly they complied and then burst out laughing. Gordon was wearing odd socks and his shirt was done up with 'too many buttons one side, not enough button holes the other.'

Alan looked down at his own clothing. "Gee, I was sure I was putting on my red jersey and white shirt," he said as he gazed at his clashing bright purple and orange ensemble.

Gordon stepped forward and pulled at the jersey at his brother's throat revealing the label. "Not only that, you've got it on back to front."

Jeff smiled. "If you want to see what Scott's going through, how about doing it properly?"

They gave him their full attention.

"We'll make it an International Rescue training session," Jeff suggested. "Only you'll take it in turns. This way you'll also learn what you need to do to help him."

They nodded in agreement.

"Okay. Alan, you can be blindfolded first." Although he was sure that Gordon would respect the fact that it was a training session, Jeff wanted to ensure that the redhead didn't decide to try any funny business. "You can do this morning's session, including breakfast. You can swap over before lunch and Gordon can do the afternoon shift. We'll discuss your findings over dinner. It'll also give us the opportunity to discover if there are any alterations to the house that we'll need to make before Scott comes home. Are you both happy with this?"

"Sure," Alan said as he removed his purple jersey and replaced it with a cream one. "Blindfold me, Gordon."

"Wait a minute, Jeff said. "Do you want to use a cane?"

"A cane?" Alan asked.

"Scott's learning to use one."

"Oh well. If Scott's using one, then we should too," Gordon said. "Do we have one?"

"I'll find you something you can use," Jeff offered. "But first I'll go and tell the others what you're up to. You should be able to make your way to the dining room without too much trouble."

"Okay," Gordon said, grabbed Alan's arm and proceeded to drag him towards the door.

"Hang on, Gordon!" Jeff instructed. "Let Alan take your arm. That's better. And don't go so quickly, remember he's new to this... and that it'll be your turn this afternoon."

"Yeah," Alan said. "So watch it. Remember I've got a good memory."

It was with more than a little relief at lunchtime, that Alan removed the blindfold and handed it to Gordon. "Hey! No cheating! I couldn't see where everything was at breakfast." He tried to shield his brother's eyes from the dining table.

"Okay, okay," Gordon grumbled and allowed the blindfold to cover his eyes. "Is this as hard as it looked?"

"Harder," Alan said cheerfully.

"Great!" Gordon said flatly.

Alan was examining his shins. "Look at the bruises! I'm sure you steered me into things on purpose."

"No I didn't," Gordon said defensively.

"Yeah, sure," Alan clearly didn't believe him.

Gordon was starting to get worried. "Alan. Honest. I didn't."

Jeff took pity on him. "I'm sure he didn't, Alan. I gave Scott several bruises myself when I was leading him around, and I'll guarantee that Virgil's done the same. We've got to learn as much as Scott has. You've got to try to remember that you're seeing for two people, not only yourself."

Gordon was trying to make his sandwich. "Where's the bread?"

"At 10 o-clock," Jeff said automatically.

"Huh?"

Jeff explained. "The butter's at 2 o-clock."

Gordon attempted to butter his sandwich and succeeded in digging a hole through the bread. "Where's the jam."

"Here," Alan held it out to him. "I've got it here at 3 o-clock."

"It'll be 3 o-clock by the time I've got the thing made," Gordon said glumly.

"What's your hurry?" Alan asked chirpily. "You got a hot date or something?"

Gordon managed to get his sandwich made, picked it up to take a bite and then groaned as he felt something land in his lap. "What was that?"

"That was your jam," Alan informed him. "It fell through the hole in your bread."

"Hole? What hole?"

"The one you put in when you were... Oh, never mind. Would you like me to make you a sandwich?" Alan offered.

"Please."

By dinnertime Gordon was not in a good mood. "Did you have to take me on a tour of all the hangars, Alan?" he moaned as he ripped off the blindfold and rubbed his eyes.

"Dad said we had to find anywhere Scott could run into difficulties."

"You enjoyed seeing me fall over! I could hear you laughing," Gordon said grumpily. "Dad. There's a killer step leading from Thunderbird Two's hangar..."

"It was Thunderbird One's," Alan told him.

"Well it must have been at least a metre in height."

"You'd be lucky if it was a centimetre."

"Okay. I'll check it out later," Jeff said.

"So what was the worst bit?" Tin-Tin asked.

"The first time Gordon left me alone..."

Jeff frowned at Gordon.

"Well a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do," Gordon shrugged, "and there are limits to brotherly love."

Alan continued on. "It was so disorientating. I wasn't sure where I was and I couldn't hear anything. It's amazing how silent this house can be. It was as if I was the only person left on Earth. I suddenly realised how much I miss Virgil's piano playing."

"For me it was when I went for a swim," Gordon admitted. They stared at him. "Alan guided me to the deep end and I figured I could dive in no problem."

"And..." Grandma Tracy prompted him.

"There was a problem. I surfaced and suddenly realised I didn't know how far I was away from the edge. I had this sudden impression that I was in the middle of the ocean and miles from land. For a moment I just wanted to rip off the blindfold... But I didn't..."

"What stopped you?" Jeff asked.

"Scott doesn't have a blindfold," Gordon said quietly. "It sure must be hard for him..."

A day later and the receptionist was looking at the woman before her in awe. "LADY Penelope! Yes, Lady Penelope. Come right this way your ladyship." The receptionist practically grovelled her way backwards out from behind her desk. "I'm sure the Tracy gentlemen are in the sunroom."

Lady Penelope examined her surroundings approvingly as she was led down the hallway.

Parker was less impressed. "Don't think much of the staff 'ere," he whispered in his mistress's ear.

She rubbed it delicately. "I'm sure they are all most efficient. Mr. Tracy wouldn't have anything but the best for his sons."

They heard the sounds of masculine laughter before they reached the sunroom. The receptionist indicated where they should go and fled. They quietly entered the room.

Scott and Virgil had their backs to the door. They were in hysterics. Then Scott stopped laughing. He sniffed the air.

"I know that perfume! Lady Penelope?"

Virgil looked over his shoulder. "Well I'll be. Penny! Parker! Good to see you." He stood and offered Lady Penelope his seat so that she was able to sit next to Scott. He then managed to get two spare chairs so that he and Parker were able to sit close by and join in the conversation.

"Thank you, Virgil," Lady Penelope said graciously. "Ah, how are you both?"

"Getting better every day," Scott said cheerfully. "How was the holiday?"

He seemed so bright and friendly that Lady Penelope was thrown for a moment. "Oh, ah, Parker and I had a most enjoyable time. Most relaxing. Wasn't it, Parker?"

"H-except for the last day. Yes, M'lady."

"I'm sorry we haven't been to see you sooner," Lady Penelope continued, "but I only spoke to your father the day before yesterday. He was... quite concerned about you." As she looked at Scott she found it hard to believe that the nature of his injuries had been so serious. Apart from the new pink skin from the healed burns on his face, nothing appeared to have changed.

"Yeah. I bet he was," Scott agreed. "It's been a tough few weeks, hasn't it, Virg."

She looked at Virgil and noticed he was nodding emphatically. She also noticed his black eye. "What happened to you, dear boy? Surely that bruise isn't a result of the, er, accident."

"What this?" He fingered where his eye was still swollen. "No, this only happened a couple of days ago." He didn't elaborate.

Scott did. "You want to know how bad it's been up till now? I punched him."

"What?" For a moment Lady Penelope lost her poise.

Parker shifted so he was able to get a better look. "H-impressive. H-I did a bit a sparrin' in me younger days, Mister Scott. But H-I never managed to land a 'it like that one."

"Maybe you'd better teach me a few moves, Parker," Virgil said. "So I'll be able to duck next time."

"There's not going to be a next time," Scott said firmly. "That was a mistake. It's not going to happen again."

"You both seemed to be in high spirits when we arrived," Lady Penelope noted.

There was a second's pause and then both Tracy men burst out laughing again.

Scott tried to smother his grin. "Sorry. I'm trying to learn Braille and I haven't quite got the hang of it yet."

"I'm trying to learn it too," Virgil added. "You never know when it might come in handy, and I don't want him having any secrets from us."

"So I typed up a sheet for him to read... You know, 'The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog' type thing," Scott said.

They burst out laughing again.

Lady Penelope and Parker looked on mystified.

"It's not easy," Scott admitted. "Punching the correct keys so that you get the dot combinations right. I'm still making a lot of mistakes. And Freudian slips."

Virgil decided that no matter how good a friend Lady Penelope was, there were some things that shouldn't be said in front of a gentile lady. "Lets just say that the 'h' and 'j' are too similar."

"Way too similar," Scott agreed and laughed again. "Sorry. I guess when you've had several weeks without much to laugh about, all of a sudden the silliest things become hilarious."

"Are they treating you well here?" Lady Penelope asked.

"They're the best!" Scott stated. "They're understanding, but focussed on getting you adjusted. I've got a great therapist. She's never flustered. No matter what I throw at her. Just as well she's got a well stocked first aid kit." He felt his watch. "Speaking of Dusty... Is the time 1:30, Virgil?"

Virgil looked at his own watch. "Yes it is. I guess we'd better get moving."

"Hang on." Scott reached out his hand and found Lady Penelope's arm. He turned so that he was facing at her. "Penny. Will you do me a favour?"

As she looked into his blue eyes she found it hard to believe that he wasn't seeing her. "Of course, Scott."

"Will you take Virgil away from here for a few hours? The next session is something mundane like how to fill and carry a glass of water. He doesn't need to be there and since he's got here he's spent all his time either with me or at the physiotherapist. He needs a break."

Lady Penelope was surprised when Virgil didn't disagree with this statement. "Are you sick of me already?" he asked cheerfully.

"No. But I don't want you getting sick of me. Do you mind, Penny? Do you have anything else planned?"

"No. I was hoping to spend some time with you boys."

"How about dinner tonight," Scott suggested. "If you both can stand the sight of me spilling food down my front."

"Remember what Gordon suggested," Virgil reminded him. "Mush up your peas."

"I'm sure that's what the etiquette books say you should do when dining with a titled lady," Scott chuckled. "First find your vegetable, then squash it."

"We should be delighted to dine with you both," Lady Penelope stated. "And do what ever you have to, Scott. You know I've never insisted on ceremony with your family."

"That's what we like about you. That and the fact that you're so darn useful to the organisation." For a moment the smile disappeared from Scott's face and they could almost hear him adding the words 'unlike me.' He reached beside his chair and retrieved his cane. When he stood the smile had returned. "If you'll all excuse me, I'd better be going."

It was only when they saw the cane and how Scott had to rely on it, that it hit home to Lady Penelope and Parker, that his life had indeed been irrevocably changed.

Virgil remained seated. "Can you manage okay?"

"Sure. Piece of cake. Catch you tonight."

"Au revoir, Scott," Lady Penelope called after him.

Scott was inadvertently heading towards a cabinet.

"Watch out, Mister Scott," Parker called.

Scott stopped.

Parker realised what he'd said. He turned red. "H-I'm sorry. H-I meant, be careful, sir," he said ashamedly.

"Don't worry about it, Parker. You don't have to change the English language on my account." Scott's cane hit the cabinet. "Thanks for the warning." He adjusted his course and exited through the door.

Virgil stood and tiptoed quietly across to the doorway himself. He stood there and watched his brother negotiate his way down the hallway and then turn into a room. Satisfied that Scott was okay he returned to his seat. "Like he said. Piece of cake."

Lady Penelope stood. "You've been told you, er, 'need a break,' Virgil. The Rolls Royce is outside. Shall we go for a drive? And then you can tell me how you are..."

Later that evening after Lady Penelope had called Jeff Tracy and reassured him that all seemed to be well she remained sitting at the telephone desk in her hotel.

She took a pen and paper out of the drawer and carefully printed, The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

"Now what were those two letters?" she asked herself. "H and J."

She crossed out the relevant letters and replaced them. At first it didn't make sense. But then a word caught her eye. She gave a little smile.

Refined she might be. Naïve she wasn't.

Thirty Eight

"Come on, Slowpoke," Virgil said cheerfully as he waited for Scott to finish his morning ablutions. He leant against the wall and folded his arms casually. "Dusty's waiting."

It was two weeks after Scott had hit Virgil and things had improved markedly. Their friendship was as strong as it had ever been, and Scott was beginning to take his changed life in his stride.

"I haven't finished shaving yet," Scott's voice was muffled by sound of the razor. It stopped and he appeared at the door to the ensuite bathroom. "How do I look?"

"You missed a bit."

"Where?" Scott felt his chin.

"Not there. Your top lip."

"Oh that. I'm trying to grow a moustache," Scott said smugly.

"Going for a new look are you?"

"Yep. Thought it might impress the ladies."

"Well that'll really impress them. You've shaved half of it off."

Scott fingered his top lip. "Darn," he said lightly. "Must have been force of habit. Oh well I'd better go even it up." He disappeared back into the ensuite and Virgil heard the shaver start up again.

Scott was out again a moment later. "Better?"

"Much."

"Good." Scott headed over to the dresser and picked up his hairbrush. "Why do you think they put mirrors in these rooms?"

"Why do you still try to look in it?"

"Some habits are hard to get out of."

"So just where do you think you're going to meet any ladies anyway?" Virgil asked. "The only one you see regularly is Dusty, and she's married."

"We're going into town today aren't we. I may as well look my best. I'm quite a catch. Young, handsome, talented, great personality, son of a billionaire..."

"And with an ego the size of North America."

Scott laughed.

There was a knock on the door.

"I'll get it." Virgil opened the door. "Come in, Dusty. We'll be ready as soon as he's finished preening himself."

She smiled as she took in how relaxed they both were. Things had certainly improved over the last couple of weeks. "Ready for your trip to town, Scott."

He laid down the hairbrush. "I think so." He headed for the door.

"Hey!" Virgil said. "You forgot this."

"What?" Scott felt Virgil place the end of his cane against his hand. "Oh, yeah. I guess I might need that later. I have to be ready to protect any damsels in distress." He pretended to sheath the cane like a sword and strode confidently from the room unaided.

Virgil raised his eyes heavenward and Dusty burst out laughing.

"I think it's time for you to go home, Virgil."

"What?"

It had been a successful day. Scott had confidently negotiated the unfamiliar streets, paid for lunch, and embarrassed Virgil by loudly telling a busker that his brother was a better pianist than him.

Virgil had escaped before Scott had a chance to make him prove it.

"In my opinion Scott doesn't need your support so much now. He can cope on his own."

"What do you think, Scott?"

Scott was looking surprised. "I hadn't thought about it."

"You won't need to be here for much longer." Dusty explained. Scott looked pleased. "We've just got to iron out a few rough edges and improve your Braille reading skills. It's nothing that Virgil can help you with and it'll be an opportunity for him to make sure that your house is safe for you."

"She's right, Virgil," Scott admitted. "I think I can stand on my own two feet now..."

Thirty Nine

It was two weeks after Virgil returned to Tracy Island, and the Tracy household was abuzz.

Scott was finally coming home.

The place was tidied up and a few alterations had been put in to make it easier for him.

Jeff smiled at his mother. "Won't be long now. Virgil'll be picking him up shortly."

"It'll be so wonderful to have him home." Grandma clasped her hands together in pleasure. "To have the whole family together again."

Scott was enjoying the ride in the car. It felt great to know that he was finally heading back where he belonged. "So how's everyone?" he asked the driver.

"Fine, fine. Excited about you coming home," Virgil told him.

"This is a long trip. Are we heading to the airport?"

"No. We're going to a farm."

"A farm? Where? Why?" Scott was confused.

"Here. And I'll show you why in a minute." Virgil turned off the road and the car bumped gently along as it drove over the unsealed road. He pulled up outside a barn. "This is where we get out."

Scott opened the car door and stepped out. "Sure sounds and smells like a farm..."

There was a shout from across the paddock. "Everything sorted, Virgil?"

"Sure is, Frank. Thanks for lending us the car. Scott, this is Frank Morrison - agent 107."

Scott heard the crunch of a footstep on the gravel. "Nice to meet you, Frank." He held out his hand in greeting.

"Glad to meet you, Scott." Frank shook the proffered hand. "Would you both like a cup of coffee before you head off?"

"No thanks. We'd better get home," Virgil said. "Is the barn clear?"

"Just as you left it," Frank said.

Scott was confused. What did a barn have to do with going home? He felt Virgil offer his arm and he took it as a guide.

"We thought you might want to head home in style, Scott," Virgil said conversationally as they entered the building.

"In a barn?"

"No. Give me your hand." Virgil placed Scott's hand on the craft they were about to board.

"Thunderbird One!" Scott recognised the feel of the rocket plane instantly. "I should have guessed with all the secrecy. And it could only be One, we'd never fit your 'bird in a barn."

Virgil was quiet and Scott suddenly realised that in the last couple of months there could have been some changes as to the 'ownership' of the various Thunderbird craft. To try and relieve the sudden tension Scott continued talking.

"How come I'm privileged enough to warrant being flown home in Thunderbird One. We never use it for personal use."

"We were out on a rescue," Virgil explained. "It was decided that it would have been easier for me to swing by and pick you up, than to head home and grab the jet. We're lucky that Frank lives nearby and has a ventilated barn."

"Ventilated barn?" Scott heard a motor start up and then felt the hot sun warm his back as the roof retracted. "Oh, I see."

"Climb aboard," Virgil said. "We'll take off in two minutes." Unassisted, Scott eagerly complied.

"How was the rescue?" They'd been airborne for five minutes and Scott was keen to find out what changes had occurred since he'd been gone.

"Fairly straightforward. Some miners were trapped underground. Alan and Gordon got them out in The Mole."

"Were you manning Mobile Control?"

"Yeah. I'm not on full duties yet. It's my first mission since I got back home."

"Has Father said who's going to take my place?"

"No!" Virgil's answer was curt.

Scott let the subject drop.

Virgil felt he'd been a little sharp with his reply. "Would you like a go?"

"Would I like a go at what?" Scott asked.

"You know. Flying her."

"Flying Thunderbird One," Scott breathed. "I'd love to, but would I be able to?"

"I don't see why not. You've done it often enough."

"Father would have a fit!"

"He doesn't need to know everything does he? There's not another living soul about for miles. We're perfectly safe." Virgil was grinning as he set the plane into hover mode.

Scott's hands were shaking as he undid his safety harness. With an effort he tried to bring them under control, as he slid into the familiar pilot's seat. "Are you sure about this, Virgil?"

"Of course I'm sure. Just don't try any fancy stunts; I haven't got my safety harness on. I'll stand here and keep an eye on the gauges."

It was like greeting an old friend again; one that he'd believed had died. Scott pressed the throttle forward, feeling the rocket planes motors surge into life. "Virg! This is great!"

They continued on towards home in this way for five minutes. Scott piloting with ease, Virgil occasionally reading out changes in altitude or wind speed.

Eventually Virgil placed a hand on Scott's shoulder. "I'm sorry, but we're nearly home."

Scott was in a buoyant mood "Don't you trust me enough to land her?"

"I'm more worried about the reception I'd get from our father."

Chuckling Scott relinquished the pilot's seat. "Thanks, Virg. That's just capped off my day."

Forty

Thunderbird One finished its ride back up into its loading hangar. Scott heard the thunks as the mighty rocket plane was locked into place, and the familiar whine as the engines wound down.

Then he heard the rattle of Virgil's safety belt as he got out of the pilot's seat.

"Are you ready?" Virgil asked.

Scott pulled a face. "Can't we go for another ride?"

Virgil laughed. "Come on. They've waited seven weeks to see you. You can't disappoint them now."

Scott felt the change in air temperature as the door slid open. He hesitated before stepping onto the platform. "Want to hear something odd."

"Sure."

"How many times have I travelled on this thing? I've never thought anything of it, but now..."

"Want me to travel across with you?" Virgil asked quietly.

"Please. All I can think of is that gap and the 115ft drop. Guess there's some things they didn't think of training me up on at rehab."

"Gee. I wonder why," Virgil said in mock amazement.

They rode the short distance between Thunderbird One and the twin lamps in silence.

"You'd better go first," Virgil suggested.

"Okay." Scott placed his back against the wall, reached up and grabbed the familiar light fittings, took a deep breath and rotated into the lounge.

He hadn't had a chance to let go of the lamps before he found himself smothered by an affectionate embrace.

"Hi, Grandma," he said with a chuckle. "Did you miss me?"

"It's good to have you home, Darling." He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Mmmn. You've been baking cinnamon buns haven't you."

"Yes." She sounded surprised. "How'd you know?"

"I can smell them, and believe me they smell better than any perfume you could wear."

"Oh, Scott," she chided him.

"Mother. How about giving the rest of us a chance to say hello." Scott heard his father's deep voice.

Suddenly Scott felt shy, and annoyed with himself for feeling this way. This was his family for Pete's sake. He loved them and, although he hadn't always admitted it, had missed them. But still it all felt strange.

He heard an intercom come to life. "Any chance of me being allowed to come in there? Or do I have to spend the day with Thunderbird One?" Virgil asked irritably.

"You heard the man," Gordon said. "You'd better step away from the wall and say hello."

Scott took a step forward. "Hello."

Once again he was surprised to be swallowed up in a bear hug, except this bear hug was in triplicate and was given by his brothers. "Whoa! Put me down!"

"You're looking great, Scott," Alan said loudly.

Scott rubbed at the ear. "No need to shout, Alan. It's my eyes that don't work. My ears are just fine."

"Oh, sorry," Alan said abashedly.

Scott laughed and pulled him into a hug of his own. "You idiot. Don't worry about it."

"He hasn't changed," Gordon said. "Still a typical kid brother."

"Yeah, well. So are you." Scott hugged him.

"How could he change in only seven weeks?" John asked.

"Seven long weeks," Scott admitted as he hugged him. "How come you've been released from the tin-can?"

"Dunno. Dad thought today was special for some reason or other."

"Come here, Father? I need to thank you for that."

"I'm right here, Scott." Jeff Tracy wasn't one for physical displays of emotion but he still gave his eldest born a hug that was full of warmth. "Welcome home, Son."

"I'm glad to be home."

"Welcome home, Mister Scott." He heard Kyrano's soft tread as he stepped forward.

Scott stretched out his hand and then decided that a simple handshake wasn't enough. It was Kyrano's turn to be surprised by an embrace.

"Your turn, Brains," Scott announced. "You're part of this family."

Partially embarrassed, partially pleased, Brains submitted to a rough hug.

"Tin-Tin," Scott could smell her perfume and turned so he was facing her. "Come here and give me a hug, Honey." Her hair smelt clean as she wrapped her arms around him. Then he heard a sniff. "Hey, what's this?" he asked. "No tears, okay? I'm home. That's what matters."

"Sorry Scott," she sniffed back the tears. "It's wonderful to see you... I mean..." she covered her mouth in horror.

To cover her confusion Scott laughed and hugged her again. "It's okay, Honey. It's only a word."

"I see why they say absence makes the heart grown fonder," Virgil griped gently. "I've only been away from you for two weeks and all I got was a hello."

"Aw," Scott said sympathetically. And Virgil was rewarded by being placed into a headlock.

"I love you too," he said flatly.

"What do you want to do first, Scott?" Jeff asked.

"Actually, I'd quite like to see my room again," Scott admitted.

"Take my arm," Alan, Gordon, and John said eagerly in unison.

Scott laughed. "I wonder how long it'll take before you get sick of saying that? No offence, but in the short term at least, I'd rather stick with someone who knows what they're doing. Virgil?"

"We've been practising," Alan volunteered. "We won't let you bash into anything."

"I'm sure you have, Alan. But bear with me on this, okay. Give me a couple of days to get my bearings again."

"At your service." Virgil was by his side and Scott took his arm.

As they walked down to the bedroom, Scott tried to estimate where the turn off to each room they passed was. He was pleasantly surprised to find that he knew when to turn into his own room.

Virgil led him in so that they were just inside the door and then detached himself.

Slowly Scott stepped forward. His Grandma had given the room a spring clean judging by the odours. He could hear the comforting sound of the ocean on the beach and the tick of his clock.

"We haven't changed anything in here," Jeff said. "But we've made one or two alterations in the rest of the house. Nothing major."

Scott was feeling along the edge of his dressing table, trying to remember where everything was. He reached out and placed his hand on the toiletries that resided there. Then he moved his hand to the left and it came in contact with a model aeroplane. It was one that he'd made when he was at school. Carefully he picked it up and felt around its contours, before replacing it.

His family watched as his hands continued their exploration, re-familiarising himself with his belongings. He came across some aircraft books. "Guess I won't need these anymore."

He heard Tin-Tin give a sob and run down the hallway to her room. He heard Kyrano's footsteps follow after her. He heard the rest of his family shift uneasily.

Scott moved on, finding his chair, desk, and other articles of furniture. He came to his bedside table, hesitated and then slowly reached out, picking something up. He traced the outline of his bed until he reached its foot, and sat down.

Jeff was reminded of the first day in rehab. Scott had the same expression of desolation.

Virgil moved forward and sat beside his brother. He looked at Scott's hand.

Scott was clutching his wings. His pilot's wings that he'd worn so proudly.

"Scott," Virgil said tentatively. "Do you want to check out somewhere else or would you like us to leave you alone for a bit?"

"Just give me ten minutes, okay, Virg," Scott's voice was choked with emotion.

"Sure," Virgil patted his brother on the arm. "Tell you what. I've got to run through Thunderbird One's checklist and make sure she's shipshape. When I've done that I'll grab your bags and give you a hand unpacking. Okay?"

Scott nodded dumbly.

Virgil stood and gestured that his family should leave also.

Quietly they filed out of the room.

Lunch was punctuated with gaiety, but it was a forced gaiety. No one wanted to be the one to put a foot wrong. No one wanted to say the wrong thing.

Everyone was curious and yet no one wanted to be the one to ask about how things had been in rehabilitation.

No one wanted to be the one to ask the question, but they all wanted to know what Scott was now capable of.

Everyone wanted to behave naturally and yet no one was able to.

Even Virgil found himself constrained by his family's apprehension, and he knew most of the answers.

Scott felt as if he were on display in a museum, there to be admired, but not touched in case he should fall apart.

After lunch, they checked out the rest of the house.

Scott clung to Virgil's arm as they toured the complex. The rest of the family tagged along as if they were following the Pied Piper.

They ended up in the courtyard by the pool.

The tension was getting to Scott.

Virgil felt it. "Hey Scott," he said. "I've been practising my Braille. But I'm not sure if I've got it right. Could you read what I've written and tell me? Maybe give me a few pointers."

"Sure Virg. Be glad to," Scott tried to sound cheerful.

"Well if you boys are going to get some work in, I guess I'd better too," Jeff said perceptively.

"And we three were going to get in some practise in the simulator," John stated.

"But..." Alan started.

"Come on, Alan. You and I need to get in some practise together. We don't get too many opportunities," John insisted.

"That's because one of us is always stuck up in Thunderbird Five," Alan pointed out.

"All the more reason to make the most of the opportunity," John noted.

"What am I supposed to do?" Gordon asked.

"You can programme the simulator," John told him pulling him away.

"Yeah!" Gordon grinned excitedly. He already had several devious scenarios going through his mind.

"Aw, no..." Alan groaned as he tagged along behind. "He's gonna try to kill the both of us."

"I-I'm working on a few prototypes," Brains admitted. "I-I'd better get back to work. I'll be in my lab.."

"And I've got some baking I've got to do," Grandma said a trifle over-cheerfully. "If we want dessert tonight I'd better get started."

Soon Virgil and Scott were the only ones left outside.

Virgil relaxed. "I thought they'd never go," he said. "Want me to follow them?"

"No stay!" Scott said hurriedly and then he too relaxed. "I love them all, but it was getting a bit much for me. So, where's your Braille?"

"That can wait. What do you want to do?"

"A nice quiet, lonely walk along the beach would be nice."

"Sure."

Alan looked down from the balcony. "I thought they were going to do some Braille reading."

"You clot," John admonished him. "We were following them round like a flock of sheep. It was an excuse to get away from us."

"So the simulator was an excuse too?" Gordon asked disappointed.

"Yes, but a good one. I need the practise," John informed him. "Come on you two." He took one last look at his older brother and yet again found himself wondering 'what if'...

They took off their shoes and felt the soft sand squish between their toes. "That feels better," Scott said.

"You know, normally, if I chose to walk along a beach with someone hanging off my arm, I'd prefer it to be female," Virgil noted.

Scott laughed. "I've had some major changes in my life, but that would be going too far." Then he hesitated. "Was that a hint?"

"Obviously not too subtle a one. You've been hanging on like a limpet all day."

Scott released his grip on Virgil's arm. "Sorry. It all feel's so weird. It feels like home and yet I feel as if I'm a stranger. As if I'm in a strange place. Everything's where I expect it to be and yet..."

They slowly started walking along the beach.

"The same but different, is it?" Virgil asked.

"That's it."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Not at the moment. I just need to get my bearings again. And it would help if everyone else would relax. Everyone's tip toeing around me as if I were one of Grandma's bone china dishes."

"Do you want me to talk to them?"

"No. It'd only embarrass them."

"Don't be afraid to ask them for help. As Alan said, they've been practising. They know to look out for you as well as themselves. They want to help."

"Maybe tomorrow. Today is strange enough as it is. I'm comfortable 'hanging off' your arm. I know I can trust you."

"Give it time, Scott. It will get better. You'll be able to trust them."

Scott gave a wry grin. "You sound like Dusty."

"Who knew what she was talking about."

For a day that he'd been looking forward to for such a long time, Scott was glad when it came to an end.

Virgil guided him to his bedroom. "I know you can cope from here. Can you remember where to find everything?"

"Pyjamas, bathroom, bed," Scott pointed each item out. "Yeah. I can manage."

"Anything else you want me to do?"

"No thanks. I'll be fine."

They heard the sound of a klaxon.

"Bother," Virgil said. "I guess the automatic relay's working. I've got to go. Do you want to come down and see what's happening?"

"No. I'll go to bed."

"Are you sure you don't need anything?"

"No, I'm okay."

"Would you like me to send Father down once everything's settled?"

Scott shook his head. "No I'll be alright. Let him concentrate on the rescue. I've coped without you these last two weeks. I can cope tonight. You'd better go, there's someone out there who needs you more than I do."

Virgil stopped before he reached the door. "Scott."

"Yeah, Virg."

"I'm glad you're home."

"Thanks."

Virgil had made it into the hallway when he heard Scott's voice.

"Virgil!"

He stuck his head back into the room. "Yeah?"

"Be careful!" Scott said anxiously. "And look after the guys too."

"Sure. We'll be back before you know it," Virgil said confidently.

Scott heard his footsteps run away down the hallway.

He collapsed his cane.

He walked around to his bedside table and placed it there.

He sat on the side of his bed.

He reached out to the small table and picked up his pilot's wings.

His fingertips traced their outline.

He felt a rumbling vibration grow and fill his room.

He grasped the wings tightly in his hand. So tight the points dug into his skin.

He heard the roar of Thunderbird One as she was launched out through the swimming pool.

With a roar of his own he threw the wings far away from him.

He heard them hit the wall and clatter down onto the floor.

Behind a cabinet...

Out of reach...

Forty One

Virgil Tracy clenched his jaw muscles to try to stop himself from grinding his teeth together in frustration.

It was just on three weeks since Scott had come home and Virgil was as pleased as anyone in his family to have his brother back where he belonged. But, and he hated to admit this, the way his family was treating Scott starting to get on his nerves.

"Would you like me to give you some more apple sauce, Scott?" Gordon asked.

"That would be great thanks, Gordon," Scott finished his drink as Gordon spread the sauce on the sandwich. "Any more juice?"

"I'll get it!" Alan grabbed Scott's glass and filled it.

It wasn't only that everyone was slavishly catering to Scott's every smallest need that irked Virgil; it was the fact that Scott was letting them.

Scott tried the pork sandwich that his Grandmother had made him. "I think this needs a bit of salt."

"I'll do that..." Tin-Tin reached for the saltcellar.

"For Pete's sake! Let him do it himself!" Virgil finally snapped. It was as if the words had popped out unbidden and he found himself being stared at by eight pairs of eyes.

"What?" Tin-Tin asked.

Virgil took a breath. There was no backing down now. "I said let him do it. He's capable. Aren't you, Scott."

"Well..." Scott's reply was cut short by a rumble from Jeff.

"Virgil!"

The stares were becoming vaguely hostile. Virgil tried to explain. "He's not helpless. He can look after himself. Can't you, Scott." His plea for support went unanswered.

"Virgil Tracy. How can you be so heartless?" Tin-Tin pouted.

"Heartless... Is that what you think? I'm being realistic. You're all feeling sorry for him and not giving him a chance to do things for himself. To do the things that he went to rehab to learn," Virgil was starting to feel a little hot under the collar.

He wasn't the only one. "I think we should finish this conversation - later," Jeff said ominously.

"Why?" Virgil asked stubbornly. "To give me time to feel guilty and apologise. Well it won't happen. How can he learn what he can and can't do if you won't let him do anything?"

"Virgil!" There was a definite warning in Jeff's voice.

"What!" Virgil snapped. He'd had it. "Can't you see what you're all doing? I'm sorry, Scott but I can't take this anymore. This isn't you! You've changed? Why? You've lost your sight, not your personality!"

Virgil's statement resulted in a collective gasp from the family. "Steady on, Virg," Gordon said quietly.

Virgil wasn't listening. "That doesn't mean you're helpless. I know EXACTLY what you can do!"

"Do you? What do you want me to do, Virgil?" Virgil's tirade was finally getting to Scott. "I'm a bit limited with my options now..."

Virgil gave a bitter laugh. "Limited! The only thing that's limiting you Scott is attitude. Yours and our family's." He stood up, his chair banging against the wall. He ignored it. "Look at yourselves! You all think you're helping him, but you're not. And Scott you're certainly NOT helping yourself. I'm not going to stay here and watch you all ruin his life!" With that pronouncement he stormed out.

"Virgil Tracy! Come back here and apologise!" Jeff yelled. But Virgil had gone.

Although all his sons were now men, Jeff expected, and usually got, unquestioning obedience. Virgil ignoring him on top of what had just been said enraged his father.

"How dare he..." Jeff rose and strode off after his errant son.

He reached the hallway and hesitated. Virgil could either have retreated to his room, or headed into the lounge. There were no sounds coming from the piano so Jeff decided to try the bedroom.

The door was shut. Jeff was angry enough to open it without knocking.

The room was empty. Becoming even angrier Jeff stormed off back down the hallway to the lounge.

This room was empty too. There was a myriad of exits that Virgil could have taken, both obvious and hidden, but Jeff knew he had an advantage. "Base to Thunderbird Five. Come in John."

John's portrait disappeared to be replaced with the real thing. The smile of greeting quickly disappeared. "What's wrong?"

Jeff wasn't in the mood to elaborate. "Can you track Virgil's watch for me!"

"Sure." This was an unusual request, but John complied without question. "He's on the chute to Thunderbird Two..."

"I should have guessed..." Jeff was about to head to the transporter plane when John stopped him.

"The signal's heading back up the chute. It's stopped now."

"Stopped! Then the little devil's left his watch on the slide!" Jeff knew that from Thunderbird Two's hangar there were any number of exits that Virgil could have taken. The fact that he'd left his watch behind showed that he didn't want to be found.

"Thanks, John," he eventually said. "Go back to lunch."

"Lunch! Is it lunchtime. I hadn't even thought about it. What are you having?"

"Pork sandwiches."

"With Grandma's apple sauce? I'd love one of those now."

"The way Virgil's been behaving you may be relieved earlier than you expect. You could come home and have your meals here."

"Virgil! What's he done?"

"Told us to stop helping Scott."

"Virgil?! You're kidding aren't you?"

"I wish I was. Go get your lunch son. I'll talk to you later."

Forty Two

Virgil kept a low profile for the rest of the day. The family sat down to the evening meal and noticed an obvious vacant space.

Jeff was the last to arrive. "Where's Virgil?" he growled.

"We haven't seen him since lunchtime," Alan said.

His Grandmother looked a trifle guilty. "He came to the kitchen ten minutes ago and grabbed his dinner. He said something about not wanting to see us make fools of ourselves, and that he'd eat in his room."

"He what!" Any trace of good mood Jeff had left evaporated. "When we have a meal I expect the entire family to be present. I'm going to get him!"

"Father!" It was Scott who spoke. "Let me go. I think we need to talk."

Jeff took a breath to calm down. "If you really want to. I can talk to him later. Do you want a hand getting to his room?"

Scott retrieved his cane and stood up. "Yeah, if you wouldn't mind."

Scott found Virgil's room with his father's assistance. He knocked on the door and was somewhat surprised when he heard it slide back.

Virgil was sitting at his desk toying with his food. He'd played with it more than he'd eaten it. He hated the situation he'd got himself into, but felt that now that he'd made a stand he'd have to stick to his guns. "Come in, Scott. There's a chair to your right if you want to sit down," he said quietly. "I guess you have a few words you want to say to me."

The invitation to be seated was ignored. "I'll say I do," Scott surprised even himself with the venom in his words. "What gives you the right to suppose that you know what I can and cannot do?"

Scott was expecting some sort of reply or explanation and was somewhat annoyed when he didn't get one. "You don't know what it's like to be in total darkness all the time, to have your life taken away from you. To lose your hopes and dreams. To become suddenly useless. What good am I now, Virgil? I'm no use to International Rescue; I'm no good to the family. The only thing I could do really well was fly and I can't do that anymore! And now you telling me that I'm not pulling my weight?"

Virgil remained silent. He'd let Scott have his say before launching his own attack.

"I thought you'd support me, Virgil, help me. And all you are doing is giving me more grief than I've already got. Why are you trying to turn our family against me?"

Virgil's continued silence stirred Scott up even further. He began yelling. Yelling in frustration. Yelling in anger. Yelling that intensified until it reached a climax and he ran out of things to say.

He stopped.

"Have you finished?" Virgil asked.

"For the moment, yes."

"Good. Then let me tell you a few things. You asked what gave me the right to know what you can do. I'll tell you. Two months of watching you achieve things that you thought weren't possible. Don't forget it was ME who watched over you as you clambered over the debris at Regnad. It was ME you were with when you climbed that ventilation ladder. It was MY arm that YOU saved. It was you that gave ME hope when I was sure we were going to die. It was ME who shared a hospital room with you for a week. It was ME who stayed with you for over a month and supported you while you were in rehabilitation. It was ME who saw you gain confidence..."

"That doesn't give you the right..."

"Hang on, Scott! I let you say your piece now you let me say mine! In that week that we spent in hospital you learnt to feed yourself, you learnt how to get about with only the cane. You could use the phone no sweat. You helped me with things that I couldn't do because of my busted arm. Heck! You saved Joe's life! And all this was without any formal training. Since then you've learnt how to do all that and more. When I left you, you were doing really well. You'd got your confidence back and didn't need any help. And yet you come home and expect our family to do everything for you!"

"Like what!" Scott said stubbornly, but with less assurance than before.

"Like... Before the accident you thought nothing of sneaking out to grab a midnight snack. No need for lights or a cane. You could find your way in the dark! Now you sit in your room all day waiting for someone to come and collect you for your meals!"

Scott didn't say anything.

"The first week home, I was so glad to see you that I was more than willing to do all that I could for you. I figured 'Scott deserves it. He's had a hard time.' The second week was... 'Well he's got to come to terms with it all.' But it's been three weeks, Scott! Three weeks of you feeling sorry for yourself."

"Aren't I allowed to?"

"Occasionally, but not all the time. And not at the expense of our family. I'll tell you something else, Scott. I lost all sympathy for you last week, when you made Grandma pick up your slippers."

"She offered."

"They were right beside you! You only had to reach down and get them!"

Scott was silent.

"And what about Trudy?"

"Huh?" Scott was confused. "Who?"

"The little girl. It was, lets see, your second week in rehab. The day that I came to stay. What you didn't know was that I saw Trudy fall over beside you. The therapist who was showing me round was going to rush over and help her, but I stopped her because I wanted to see what you would do."

"I remember," Scott said quietly and he found the chair and sat down.

"Trudy was in tears, partly because of the fall and partly because she was frightened of not being able to see. You talked to her, calmed her down, got her on her feet again, led her over to some chairs, and got her a drink of water. And all the time I'm standing there watching and thinking 'it's going to be okay. Scott's going to cope just fine.'"

"Poor kid." Scott rolled his cane between his palms. "She'd been there a month. She was only nine and had been blinded in a car accident that had killed her father. Her mother couldn't stay with her because she had two younger children to care for and no support. She was alone and frightened."

"She'd been there a month," Virgil said quietly. "You'd only been there one week and yet you were looking after her. You're not helpless."

"So is that what I'm meant to do with my life? Pick up upset little girls? It may have escaped your notice, but there aren't any here on the island! Tin-Tin and Grandma are a trifle old!" The anger had returned to Scott's voice. It reignited Virgil's own anger.

"For Pete's sake, Scott! Get over it! That explosion cost you two things. Your sight and my respect!"

"I never asked for your respect!"

"No. But you earned it. With the things you did, what you said, your never say die attitude. So you can't see! That's no reason to give up."

"But what am I good for? Answer me that, Virgil!"

"Listen to you! I'm fed up with pussyfooting around! You're blind, Scott! You're not helpless!"

It was as if Virgil had hit Scott. Up till now no one in the family had mentioned the 'b' word.' "Virg..." he said weakly.

Virgil suddenly felt sorry for his oldest brother again. "Scott... You'll never find out what you can do if you don't try. You're more than just a pilot. You still have a mind. You're intelligent. You still have those leadership qualities that were so valuable to International Rescue. At some point you are going to have to sit down and decide what you want to do with your life..."

"But what can I do?"

"At the moment you're carrying on as if you're planning on seeing out your days sitting on a street with a tin cup and a sign saying 'International Rescue member blinded on duty. Please spare a dime.' If that's how you want to spend the rest of your life then tell me and I'll paint the sign right now and arrange the flight out. If not - you've got to take some responsibility for yourself!"

Scott buried his face in his hands. He stayed there for a long time. Virgil was unable to see his face, to read what was going through his mind. Eventually he felt he had to say something. "I am sorry, Scott," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have brought it up in this way, in front of the family. I was just so exasperated that it slipped out."

Scott quietly lowered his hands. "Why do I hate it when you're right?" he eventually asked sombrely. "When I was in rehab, at first I was angry."

"I know," Virgil said. "I've got the scars to prove it."

"You what?"

"I'm kidding. Go on."

"I tried to find someone to blame. I blamed Regnad Corp. I blamed International Rescue. I blamed Father for starting International Rescue. I blamed John for not letting me know that the scientists had gotten out sooner..."

"John's blamed himself too," Virgil said quietly.

"Why? It wasn't his fault. I don't blame him now... you neither. At one point I even blamed you for not helping me more. I think that's why I hit you. And then as soon as I'd done it I realised that hurting you was the last thing that I wanted to do."

He didn't see Virgil stiffen slightly.

Scott sighed. "Then after a bit I started to think, 'It was an accident. It was no one's fault. It was just one of the risks of being a member of International Rescue.' That was when I started to think 'I can do this! I can survive this!' Everything was a major challenge, but I started to learn, with a lot of bruises to the body and ego."

Scott looked towards Virgil, his sightless eyes staring into the middle distance. "And then I came home and it was as if I'd been expecting everything to be as it had always had been. And it's not!" Virgil walked over and knelt beside Scott's chair, laying a reassuring arm around his shoulders. "The shock that's not going to be as it was hit me hard. I guess I've gone to pieces. It's me who should be apologising, Virg. To you and our family." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Virgil. I hate to say this. But I'm frightened. For the first time in my life, since Ma died, I'm frightened of the future."

No words of reply seemed adequate. Virgil pulled Scott into a brotherly hug. He could feel Scott shaking.

It was a measure of how frightened he was that Scott Tracy willingly submitted to the embrace, even welcomed it. "Help me, Virg," he whispered into Virgil's shoulder. "Help me get through this."

"I will, Scott. I'll do all I can. Whenever you need help you only need to ask. But only when you need it, not when you only want it. You are NOT helpless. We will find a role for you in International Rescue. I don't know what, but we'll find something that makes use of your talents."

"I wish I could think of something." Scott pulled away and stood up. "You know, you are the only person who can make me see sense.."

"At least it didn't involve physical violence this time."

"I thought you'd forgiven me for that!"

"I have, but it doesn't mean that I was happy about it. It hurt! A lot!"

"Oh," Scott said sheepishly. "I'm sorry."

"You can stop saying that. You've apologised for hitting me and I've forgiven you. It over! Finished!"

They were silent for a moment. Then Virgil got to his feet and walked over to his desk. He opened a drawer and took out a sheet of paper. "Scott," he said awkwardly.

"Yes?"

"I want you to keep this," Virgil handed him the paper.

"What is it?" Scott asked.

"It's a declaration, stating that should anything happen to me, I want to donate my eyes to you."

"What!"

"I've discussed it with Father, and there's a signed copy in the safe, but I thought you should be aware of it."

Scott ran his fingers over the raised dots. "I don't know what to say. I'd rather have you in one piece. Besides brown's not my colour." He gave an uncomfortable laugh.

"I know," Virgil said seriously.

"But..."

"Think of it as a gift. Also if anything should happen to me International Rescue is going to be short a pilot, and you're the best we've got."

"But why are you telling me this?"

"Because if the worst should happen, and Father suggests it, I want you to know that it's what I want. Or if he forgets I want you to not be afraid to suggest it to him."

"What do the rest of the guys think?"

"I haven't discussed it with them. The time hasn't been right."

"I don't like this, Virgil. I feel as though we're pre-empting the future."

"Don't worry, I'm not about to break the habit of a lifetime and start behaving recklessly, and I'm not feeling suicidal. I just feel that in the event of something happening, we should be prepared."

"Like a good Boy Scout."

"We both know how easily it can happen. We both nearly died in Regnad, and we know how close it was for me later in the hospital. I wonder what the doctors would have suggested if I had died before we knew your condition was permanent."

"This is getting too morbid."

"Okay, I won't mention it again. Just don't forget if the situation ever arises, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you," Scott said numbly as he refolded that page and placed it in his pocket. "I just hope the situation never arises."

"I've gotta admit. I do too." Then Virgil snapped his fingers. "I know what you can do for International Rescue! You can taste test Brains' next batch of edible transmitters. Make sure I don't get a rotten one."

Scott gave a quiet chuckle. "Talking of things edible. How about joining us at the dinner table."

"Sure." Virgil made his way to the door. "Thinking about it, you'd probably do quite well with the tin cup. Being from International Rescue would give you extra kudos." Then he stopped.

Scott hesitated too. "What's wrong?"

"I'm unsure about how our family's going to react to seeing me."

"Don't worry about it. If any of them give you any grief, tell them to come and see me. I'll sort them out. I'm told I've got a great right hook!"

The dining room was quiet when they returned. "My dinner's cold," Virgil stated, "I'm going to heat it. Do you want me to heat yours Scott?"

"Yes thanks, Virg."

"That's generous of you, Virgil," Alan said sarcastically. "Had a change of tune?"

Virgil gave his youngest brother a cold look. "No. Just being courteous. I'm doing what I'd do for any of you - most of the time."

"Virgil!" Jeff growled. "I'll want a word with you later."

"Leave him, Father," Scott said gently. "Everything that had to be said has been said."

"Not by me."

"No. But by me... And Virgil. And Virgil was right. I'm sorry, but I have been using you all, maybe without realising it, but I have been. I don't need as much help as you've given me. I'm grateful that you are willing to help me so much, but, as Virgil said, I've got to become more independent. That's not to say..." he grinned ruefully, "that it's going to be easy. I will need help occasionally, making sure I'm wearing the same coloured socks springs to mind, but now the main thing I'm going to ask for is your support. ...And your forgiveness."

Virgil leant against the counter watching his family's expressions. That they were surprised by Scott's admission was an understatement. He felt now was the opportunity for him to try to mend a few bridges. "While we're offering apologies..." he began. "I'll give you all one myself. I shouldn't have blown my stack the way I did. There would have been a better way and time for bringing all this up. I'm sorry if I upset you all. But I won't apologise for what I said."

The buzzer on the reheater beeped and he retrieved both his and Scott's plates. He settled Scott's plate on the appropriate tablemat. "Okay, Scott. Meat's at one o-clock. Peas at ten, potatoes at seven, carrots at five and your cauliflower's in the centre. Your cup's in the usual place, salt is at twelve o-clock and you'll have to ask Alan to pass you the butter. Okay?"

"Okay." With no problems Scott started tucking into his dinner. The only complication was when he miscalculated the position of his cup and spilt his drink. Without a word he got up, found a cloth and mopped up most of the spillage himself.

Virgil enjoyed that meal.

Later that day Scott was wandering through the house, reminding himself of its dimensions and the locations of various articles and pieces of furniture. He suddenly realised that he was alone in the lounge. He made his way over to his father's desk. Feeling about he found the switch that activated the link to Thunderbird Five.

"Scott!" he could hear surprise in John's voice.

"Hi, Johnny. We didn't get much time to talk while you were home so I thought I'd give you a call and say hi."

"How are you?"

"Not bad. I'm actually amazed at how easy I'm finding it is to get about the house. You don't realise how well you know a place until something changes and you have to relearn. So how are you, John?"

"Me? I'm fine. It's been quiet these last few weeks. There's been a few emergencies that I've kept an eye... ah, I've watched... I've kept on listening to, but the local rescue authorities have managed without our help."

"Just as well. International Rescue has been a bit short-staffed these past few weeks."

"I know. How's Virgil's arm? He still seemed to be favouring it a bit."

"I don't know. He hasn't complained to me about it." Scott filed this bit of information away for later. "So have you discovered anything new and exciting lately?"

Now he could hear enthusiasm in John's voice. "Brains installed a new telescopic attachment last time he was here. And I think I've discovered a new star! And not only that, there's every possibility it's got planets orbiting it! I'll have to do some more research, but I'm pretty sure I'm onto something. Next time you're up here I'll have to show you..." John's voice petered out as he realised what he'd said. "I'm sorry, Scott. I forgot."

"That's okay, John. I'd rather you were able to forget. I want everyone to treat me as they've always done."

"It's not going to be easy."

"I know. It's not easy for me either, but it's something we've all got to get used to."

"I had a weird call from Dad earlier today," John said tentatively.

"Yeah? What did he say?"

"He wanted me to track Virgil's watch."

"Oh."

"He said Virg had told everyone to stop helping you. Why?"

"You may not believe this John, but Virgil was actually talking sense, although the rest of us didn't appreciate it at the time." Scott looked somewhat shamefaced. "Everyone was mollycoddling me, and I was letting them. I was feeling sorry for myself. And Virgil was getting annoyed because he could see what was happening. He just got a little steamed up and told us all to snap out of it."

"And Dad didn't take to kindly to it," John said dryly.

"I'll say!" Scott grinned. "Just as well Virgil was quick on his feet."

"And everything's alright now?"

"Yeah. It's like I said. I've realised that I want everyone to treat me normally. The problem is that Virgil's had a couple of months to get to know what I can do, he's learnt with me. But it's going to take some time for everyone else to adjust and get to know what I'm capable of."

"It's going to take me even longer," John said quietly. "I'm not there to see you in action."

"Just treat me normally. That's all I ask. I'll let you know if I need your help."

"I'll try to remember."

"Say, John," Scott started to manoeuvre the conversation around to where he wanted it to go, "I don't think I thanked you for the help you were while we were stuck in Regnad."

"I wasn't much help," John said despondently.

"Don't you believe it! You kept us believing that we could get out, even though we had all those obstacles to get through. You kept us focused. And when we were down you made us laugh. You don't know how important that was to us. I remember that we both commented on how glad we were that you were there guiding us. I understand your piloting skills were pretty awesome too."

John chuckled at the memory. "That was a real challenge! All I could think about was how Virgil was going to kill me if I so much as put a scratch on Thunderbird Two. And then when I lost contact with her I started wondering if I could ask Dad if I could live up here permanently."

Scott laughed. "The way Virgil was going on about that edible transmitter swap I wouldn't have been surprised to hear Alan had asked to join you."

"Of course if Thunderbird Two had crashed neither of you would have been here," John pointed out. "There was no way we could have got you out in time."

"That's the way these things happen," Scott saw the opening he'd been waiting for. "Sometimes things go our way, sometimes they don't. We survived. That was fate. I'm blind. That was fate too. It was no one's fault."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I'm sure that it was an accident. That I was unlucky to be looking over that wall at the moment that the generator blew. If I'd looked a moment earlier I would have been all right. A moment later and, well, I wouldn't have looked. I would have been running for my life. There was no way that I could have been warned in time. Don't blame yourself, John."

"But I do blame myself. I keep thinking that maybe I could have let you know that the scientists were out sooner." Scott could hear frustration in John's voice.

"Don't. It wasn't your fault. It was no one's fault. Believe me, there are times when I feel like getting someone from Regnad, pushing them up against a wall and yelling at them 'look at what you've done to me.' But I can't blame them. The only person I can blame is myself."

"You?" John was curious about this idea.

"Yes me. I knew being a member of International Rescue would be dangerous, but I still joined willingly. It's the same for you, and Virgil, and Gordon, and Alan. We all know the risks and yet we've all put our lives on the line. I can only blame myself for what happened to me."

"I'd never thought of it that way," John mused. "But then I've never had to." He sighed. "But still... if I'd radioed..."

"John," there was exasperation in Scott's voice. "Repeat after me. 'It was not my fault.'"

"Are you sure?"

"John! Say it!"

Slowly John complied. "It was not my fault."

"Good," Scott smiled. "Now believe it, because I believe it and I know everyone else believes it."

John smiled. "Okay, Scott. I'll try." And Scott was pleased to hear relief in his voice.

From the shadows of the hallway Jeff Tracy smiled too. For the first time he began to realise that Scott was still Scott. He was still watching over his brothers even though he couldn't see them...

Forty Three

Two days later...

Jeff walked into the lounge, he had a couple of things he wanted to do at his desk before he finished for the day. A figure on the balcony caught his attention. Scott was leaning on the balustrade, his face turned out towards the Pacific Ocean.

Jeff walked over to him. "You look like you're deep in thought, Son."

"I'm remembering," Scott said quietly. "At least I'm trying to."

"Remember what?"

"All this." Scott swept his hand out so that it encompassed the scene before them. "I'm trying to remember, where the palm trees are, the shape of the pool, the position of the diving board, what the house looks like... I don't want to forget."

"You won't, I'm sure. Important memories stay with you forever. I can still see your mother as clearly as if I'd seen her yesterday."

"Yes. But you've got things to remind you. You see faces everyday to remind you. 'Two eyes above a nose above a mouth.' References to remind you of the basic proportions of a face. Heck, you've got Virgil..."

"You all have a little of your mother in you," Jeff interrupted gently. "Not only Virgil."

"But you also have photos to remind you. I don't have any of those references anymore. Nothing to remind me of what a face looks like, what a tree looks like, what colour something is. I suppose everything's got an orange glow at the moment."

Jeff looked about. The setting sun was indeed casting a glow over everything on the island. "It's closer to yellow tonight."

"See, at the moment I can picture that. While we were in rehab they got an old guy to come talk to us. He'd been blind for decades. He said people would describe things to him, for example say something was yellow. And he couldn't remember what yellow was like, he couldn't visualise it. At the moment I can see Thunderbird Four, or Virgil's sash, or the daffodils in Grandma's garden and I know what yellow is like. But will I be able to do that in fifty years? Ten? This time next year?"

It was something that Jeff hadn't thought about. The idea saddened him. "I wish I could do something to help. I'd spend every cent I have if I could bring your sight back."

"I know you would. I've just got to get used to the fact that I'll never see yellow again. Or my family."

They were silent for a moment.

"What would you say," Jeff asked quietly, "if I said I was seriously considering shutting down International Rescue."

"I'd say why didn't you have your head read while there were professionals about!" Scott exclaimed. "Why?"

"Can't you guess?"

"Because of what happened to me?"

"Because of what happened to you. And because both you and Virgil were nearly killed in Regnad. And because Virgil almost died later in hospital!"

"But he didn't. We're both still here. Maybe I'm not in one piece, but I don't want what happened to me to affect the work International Rescue does. And I know that if you asked Virgil he'd say the same."

"But if something happened to one of your brothers, I'd have to live with the fact that I sent him to his death."

But Scott was shaking his head. "No. He would have gone willingly, not because you gave an order. If it meant saving someone he would think sacrificing his life was worth it."

Jeff sighed. "I don't know."

"Well I do! Just before we started operations the five of us sat down to discuss this. And we all agreed that should something happen to one of us the other four would keep International Rescue going. We knew it would mean a major shake up, but we'd fight tooth and nail to keep the organisation operational. It's five lives versus, potentially, hundreds, and in the scheme of things one Tracy boy isn't that important."

"One Tracy boy is important to me though..."

"I know. And they're all important to me too. But we all agreed..."

A gull wheeled overhead as it headed to is evening roost.

The sun dipped lower into the Pacific Ocean.

Father and son leaned on the balcony, each wrapped up in their own thoughts.

"If I had a wish... if I could wish to see one thing or one person again... do you know what I'd want to see?" Scott asked quietly.

Jeff ran various scenarios through his mind. "No."

"Virgil," Scott said sadly. "I'd pick Virgil. Just to show him that I didn't mean what I said the other week... He did tell you what I said, didn't he?"

"Yes he did," Jeff was quiet too.

"He said you weren't very happy with me."

"That's putting it mildly. But I thought you'd both come to a reconciliation over that."

"We haven't really discussed it. We went into the afternoon session and I hit him. He said he's forgiven me for that... and everything seemed to be okay... but..."

"Yes?"

"He's never said anything, or done anything, but every now and then I..." Scott struggled to find the words, "...I sense that something's wrong. It's as if he's suddenly remembered what I said and draws back from me. It's only for a moment and I'm not even sure if it's real or I'm imagining it."

Jeff hadn't noticed anything amiss. "His arm's still giving him some problems. Maybe that's it. You should talk to him about it."

"And if I am imagining it? I might re-open old wounds and make him really hate me."

"I don't think Virgil could ever hate you. If it is eating at him he needs to get it out of his system. By the same token, if it's still worrying you, you should talk to him for your own sake."

Scott looked unhappy. "I couldn't."

"Scott..."

From inside the lounge they heard the piano start to play. Virgil had started his evening practise session.

"Well I'm not achieving anything standing here." Scott pushed himself away from the handrail. "I'm going to go and reacquaint myself with one of the hangars."

Jeff knew that Scott had made up his mind to ignore the problem, hoping that it would go away. "If you're going to do that would you mind getting Alan for me? I want to go over the specs for the new space rescue pods. I think he's in Thunderbird Three's hangar at the moment."

"Sure. Glad to do something useful."

"Is anyone there?"

Scott was looking for Alan in Thunderbird Three's hangar and was surprised to hear his brother's voice come from somewhere off to his right. "Alan?"

"Scott? Is that you?"

"Where are you, Alan?"

"In the electronics room." Scott thought his youngest brother sounded a touch embarrassed.

"Well Father wants you. He wants to go over some design modifications in the space rescue pods."

"And he couldn't radio me?"

Scott was wondering why Alan didn't come out of the room. "I said I needed the practise finding my way about... Come on, Alan. You know he doesn't like waiting."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"The electronic lock's fused on this side. I can't get the door open." Alan's embarrassment at being trapped was plain to hear now. "Can you get Virgil or Brains to open it up?"

"Gordon's closer," Scott said innocently.

"NO! Not Gordon! Anyone but Gordon, if he fins out he'll never let me live it down."

Scott took sympathy on his brother. "Let me see what I can do."

"Wouldn't it be simpler if you got help? Like you said Dad doesn't like being kept waiting."

"Hang on, Alan," Scott said lightly, "I'm not that hopeless that I can't remember how to punch in a key code." He found his way over to the panel and ran his fingers over it re-familiarising himself with the buttons positions. "Okay, fingers crossed." He entered the code and stepped back.

There was an optimistic hum, but the door remained closed.

"Sounds like you got the code right, but there's something jamming the door," Alan said.

"Hang on, let me check about." Scott used his cane to tap around the door. "Something's fallen in front. It feels like that filing cabinet Father's been at you to shift. Looks like it's finally fallen over."

"Can you shift it?"

"Alan! It's full of files and weighs a ton empty. I'll have to get help."

As if on cue a sound behind him made him turn. It was Virgil. "Have you found Alan? Father's starting to get annoyed."

"I'm in here, Virgil."

Virgil looked at the filing cabinet. "Nice one, Alan. Now you know why Father's been at you to shift and stabilise it."

"I know, Virg. Just get me out!"

"Virgil!" Scott said. "You go get the pallet truck and I'll see if I can find the jack. That's if Alan's been putting his tools away in the correct places..."

"I have."

"I don't know, Scott. Maybe we should let him sweat a bit longer. Make sure he's learned his lesson."

Alan wasn't impressed at the thought. "Come on guys, Dad's waiting."

Whistling lightly to himself Virgil went to get the pallet truck.

Scott moved to his left. If he remembered correctly the jack should be under a bench around about... "Here!" he said triumphantly as his hand closed about the handle.

He carried the jack back to where Virgil was waiting. "There you are, Virg. Stick it where it's got to go. Then I'll operate the jack while you slip the truck under it."

"Okay," Virgil agreed. "You ready?"

"Yep." Deftly Scott operated the jack and slowly the cabinet rose high enough that Virgil was able to position the truck underneath.

"Right. You can remove the jack," Virgil said.

"Do I need to support the cabinet from this end as you pull it out of the way?" Scott asked.

"It would make it easier."

"Right." Scott collapsed his cane to a size where it would fit into his pocket and then felt his way around to the end of the cabinet and braced himself. "You steer."

Now the filing cabinet was easy to move and they quickly got it clear of the door.

"Now to enter that code again." Scott once again pushed the keys.

The door slid open.

"There you are," Scott said. "Easy!"

"Thanks fellas," Alan said gratefully. "I was thinking I'd have to radio for help. That would have been too embarrassing. Especially if Gordon had heard."

"Any time, Kiddo," Scott said smiling.

"I'd better go. Thanks again," Alan said as he jogged from the hangar. Scott followed at a slower pace.

Virgil watched them both leave, a thoughtful frown creasing his face. It might work. He'd have a word with Brains first.

"Ah, Brains! There you are!" Virgil wandered into the lab.

Brains had his head buried in a box that housed some sensitive equipment. "Virgil," he acknowledged, his voice muffled by the box.

"I was wondering," Virgil began. "Would it be possible to modify Mobile Control so that Scott could use it?"

Brains raised his head so that only his spectacle-framed eyes were visible above the lid. He blinked at Virgil owlishly. "Pardon?"

Virgil tried again. "Would it be possible to modify Mobile Control so that Scott could use it?"

"M-Modify Mobile Control? What does M-Mr. Tracy say about this?"

"What does Mr. Tracy say about what?" Jeff Tracy said genially as he walked into the lab and dropped some papers on a bench. "There's our notes on the space rescue pods."

"Ah, th-thank you." Brains looked at Virgil and didn't answer the question.

This piqued Jeff's curiosity. "Well?"

"I just asked Brains..." Virgil started hesitantly.

"Yes," Jeff prompted.

"If he could modify Mobile Control so that Scott could use it?" Virgil repeated for the third time.

Jeff frowned. "Are you serious?"

Virgil nodded.

"Why?" his father asked.

"I think Scott could still be of use on rescues..."

But Jeff was shaking his head. "No. Out of the question."

"But why, Father?"

"He'd be in the middle of the danger zone. It'd be too dangerous, both for Scott and anyone about him."

"I'm not talking about him being on the front line. There's no reason why he can't continue being the Rescue Co-ordinator from Mobile Control."

"What does Scott think about this?"

"I haven't mentioned it to him."

"Then don't! The idea's absurd."

"Why?"

"The Rescue Co-ordinator needs to be able to access all the information available to him. And that means being able to see it!"

"Not all the information comes in visual form. A lot is from what we tell him over the radio. Then there's optical character recognition and voice recognition software that could convert any information he's given into something he can use. And I don't see why all information received couldn't be transmitted to Thunderbird Five. It would give John something to do other than listen to us. He could be a back up..."

"How on earth did you get such a harebrained idea?" Jeff asked.

"I was the Rescue Co-ordinator on the last rescue, remember. All I did most of the time was cool my heels and listen in to what Alan and Gordon were up to. They were underground so I couldn't see what was happening. I had to rely on their reports and what information was being fed to Mobile Control..."

"I'm not going to listen to any more of this," Jeff snapped.

Virgil determined that he was not going to lose his cool. "Please hear me out. Surely Brains could set up Mobile Control so that all information is displayed in tactile and audio form."

"Virgil..." Jeff protested.

Virgil continued on gamely. "The way things are at the moment, we've only got three operatives able to carry out rescues and if one has to remain at Mobile Control..."

"There's always Brains and Tin-Tin."

"Capable, but their talents are better used elsewhere. As I was saying, if one has to remain at Mobile Control and someone's injured or on leave we're seriously understaffed. If Scott's on Mobile Control that would free up the rest of us up to carry out the rescue."

"How do you expect Scott to get out there? He can't fly Thunderbird One and he can't travel in Thunderbird Two. The whole point of One was to get things organised before you arrived."

"Someone else, lets say Alan or John, would pilot Thunderbird One, help Scott set up Mobile Control and be on hand to help when Thunderbird Two arrives."

"Brains!" Jeff appealed to the engineer, who'd tried to keep out of the family argument by doodling ideas on some draft paper. "You can see the idea's ludicrous can't you."

Brains looked up. "O-On the contrary, M-Mr. Tracy. I-I think the idea has some merit."

"Then you can modify Mobile Control?" Virgil asked.

Brains nodded. "I've already been w-working with Scott on some of the suggestions you've made." He noted their surprised expressions and added quickly. "N-Not for International Rescue's benefit, j-just for day-to-day use. B-But they could be m-modified certainly."

"Great!" Virgil smiled. "What do you think, Father?"

"No! Absolutely not! I'm not exposing International Rescue to ridicule."

Virgil stood there with his mouth hanging open. "Is that what's worrying you? That we'll lose credibility just because the rescue is co-ordinated by someone who's blind."

Jeff's already deep frown got even deeper. "People have to be able to trust us. How can they if they are dealing with someone who can't see them, can't see what's going on?"

Virgil folded his arms firmly, trying to keep his temper in check. "You know what that is don't you. It's discrimination. You're discriminating against your own son."

"No I'm trying to protect him and the organisation."

"I think Scott can look out for himself. As for International Rescue, I thought we were bigger than that."

"While Scott can't see..." Jeff started.

It was too much for Virgil. "For Pete's sake! Can't anyone in this household say the word? He's blind! It's not that big a word and it's something we've all got to get used to."

"Virgil!" Jeff anger was obvious.

"Did Alan tell you why he was late getting to your meeting tonight?" Virgil asked.

"He got stuck in the electronics room when the door fused," Jeff said wondering what this had to do with anything.

"Right!" Virgil noted that Alan had obviously omitted a few facts when giving the explanation to his father. "And who got him out?"

"You and Scott."

"Right! Me AND Scott. Scott was first there. He ascertained what was wrong and what was needed. By the time I got there Scott had it all worked out. He told me to get the... necessary equipment and found some of it himself. He couldn't see the problem, but he solved it. I believe he can still be our Rescue Co-ordinator and operate Mobile Control!" Virgil decided that there wasn't any use in pushing the point any further. If his father wasn't prepared to accept the idea then he'd have to leave it. For now anyway.

Jeff thought for a moment. "What do the other think?" he said finally.

"I don't know. I haven't discussed it with them. I wanted to see if Mobile Control could be modified first.."

"We'll have to check. If they're uncomfortable with the idea it'll never work."

Virgil stared at his father. "You're prepared to give it a go?"

"If Scott's got 100 percent support. If he hasn't it just won't work. And there's something else I think you haven't thought of, Virgil?"

"What's that?"

"What if Scott doesn't want to do it?"

Half an hour later Jeff called a meeting in the lounge. Brains was keeping Scott out of the way by agreeing to discuss the plans for some aids he'd come up with.

"Hi, John." Alan greeted his older brother, who was joining them via his portrait.

"Hi kiddo. Watcha done wrong this time?"

"Nothing!" Alan protested.

"Yeah sure." Even from this distance John enjoyed giving his kid brothers a hard time.

"What's up, Dad?" Gordon flopped onto a seat and propped his feet up on the coffee table. His Grandmother quickly swatted them down again.

"I've called you together because I want to sound you out on a few things," Jeff began cautiously. "How would you feel about Scott taking over Mobile Control again?"

"What! No way!" Alan exclaimed. But it was an exclamation of disbelief rather than dismay.

"But how?" John said.

"You mean out there... while we're on a rescue?" Gordon asked.

Jeff nodded. "Brains thinks he can modify Mobile Control so that Scott can use it."

"What does Scott think?" Alan asked.

"He doesn't know," Jeff admitted. "I wanted to see how you feel about it first."

"It's a risk isn't it?" Gordon said.

"A calculated one. Obviously he'd have to be fully trained up again. We'd have to be sure that he was totally confident that he could do the job. We were thinking of routing all the information to Thunderbird Five so that John could keep an eye on things."

"But is it safe, Jeff?" his mother wanted to know.

"No. But then it never was. And Mobile Control is safer than doing the rescue itself."

"But Mobile Control has to be first on the scene..." Alan started.

"The thought was that you, or John, and Scott would fly to the danger zone in Thunderbird One, and you could help him set up." Jeff sat back. "I'd like to know your thoughts. Do you think it could work? Gordon?"

"I-I don't know. It sounds great but..." he shrugged.

Jeff left him "John?"

"It would give me more to do, which would be good," John said. "I think between the two of us we could handle it."

"Alan?"

"It'd be great to have Scott ordering us about again..." Alan turned to Virgil who was standing off to one side, arms folded, watching proceedings. "But what about you, Virg? You haven't said anything."

"It was Virgil's idea," Jeff informed them.

"You just want to get control of Thunderbird Two again!" Gordon accused. "But I think it's worth a shot, Dad. See how Scott goes in simulated situations and then make the decision."

Virgil smiled. Just as he'd thought, all his brothers had welcomed the idea.

Forty Four

Thunderbird One made a near perfect landing. As it's motors died away Alan unbuckled his safety harness and climbed out of the pilots seat. "We're here, Big Brother. Ready for your introduction to the world?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." Scott retrieved his cane and stood up. He'd been more than a little surprised, all those months ago, when his father had suggested that he resume control of Mobile Control.

"What do you think Scott? Do you want to do it?"

Did he want to do it? Virgil had told him he had to decide what he was going to do with his life and from the moment he'd heard his father's words he'd known exactly what that was. That his father and brothers had faith in him had been a good feeling. That he was going to be doing something worthwhile with International Rescue was an even better one.

Alan stood beside Scott and offered his arm. "May I escort you to the ball?"

"Depends on how good a dancer you are?"

"I'm pretty nimble on my feet." They reached the hatch. "Okay. Here we go!"

The warm sun fell on their faces when they went outside. Scott heard footsteps coming towards them. "International Rescue! Thank g..." The voice petered off.

Scott had a feeling he'd better get used to that reaction. He extended his hand in greeting. "Who do we have the pleasure of dealing with?"

"Oh, uh. I'm Doctor Hughes. I'm the medical officer in charge of St. Helena Hospital."

"Pleased to meet you," Scott said. "We're going to have to get our equipment set up. Where have the emergency services set up their base?"

"In the lecture theatre."

"Okay. We'll move our communications gear into there," Scott said.

"I'll take care of that," Alan said. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sure. If the good doctor doesn't mind leading me?"

"Of course." Doctor Hughes allowed Scott to take his arm.

Alan disappeared back into Thunderbird One. Doctor Hughes and Scott started to make their way over to the rescue headquarters.

"We're really grateful that International Rescue are able to help," the Doctor was saying. "One of the seven people trapped has asthma. The dust is aggravating it and she doesn't have her inhaler with her."

"Okay, I'll make sure we have the appropriate medical equipment. Anything else I should know about?"

"One of the others is trapped under a beam. They don't think he's badly hurt, just unable to free himself." They turned the corner. "What we are really worried about is the wall that looks as if it's going to collapse onto where they're trapped."

"Okay." Scott was already formulating a few plans. "Once we're set up we can decide on the best course of action."

They continued on walking a few paces. "W-We have met before," the Doctor said hesitantly. Scott tensed up. "I was involved with another rescue of yours," Scott relaxed, "but you could... you were..."

"I could see then?" Scott offered. "That would figure. Don't tell anyone else but this is my first time on duty since the accident. Don't panic though, we've put plenty of backups in place."

"Work related?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry but I can't place you. Which rescue was it?" Scott asked companionably.

"I was in charge of the medical team during the rescue from Regnad Corporation. There were seven scientists trapped..."

Scott had stopped walking.

The Doctor turned to face him. "What's wrong? You look as if... Oh no! It wasn't then was it?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah. That's where it happened."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know. We didn't realise anyone had been injured."

Scott started walking again. "That's okay. We have our own medical personnel. It helps with security."

"We thought your Thunderbirds were staying for a long time. But we didn't consider that anyone had been hurt. What happened?"

"It was when the second generator exploded. I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I hope no one else was hurt."

"Not initially. But one of our other operatives did suffer injuries trying to get me out."

The Doctor groaned. "I feel terrible. If we'd only known."

"There was nothing you could have done. Don't feel bad."

"I know it's small conciliation, but they've punished some people pretty severely for what happened." They arrived in the lecture theatre. "Here's your colleague."

Alan got Mobile Control into position. "If you can take care of the set up, Scott, I'll go scout about."

"Okay. Thanks, Alan."

It didn't take Scott long to get Mobile Control set up so that he could use it. He borrowed copies of maps, site plans and building blueprints and scanned them so that he could read them. He got reports from everyone he could and fed the information into the system via voice recognition software and a Braille keyboard.

Alan came back. "Here's what I saw, Scott. Are you reading us, John?"

"Sure am, Alan." From Thunderbird Five John was getting a visual representation of what Alan was explaining.

Alan started drawing with his finger on a pad on Mobile Control. Scott placed his hand flat on another section and could feel every line Alan made. "Five floors have collapsed. The outer wall is still standing and seems to be only supported by two cross beams." He drew the appropriate lines on his diagram. Scott nodded his understanding. "I was talking to an engineer and he said that the trapped people are three floors below ground, directly under this collapsed section. If that wall goes, it'll probably fall inwards and crush everything and everyone beneath it."

"So we'll need The Domo to hold the wall in place?" Scott asked.

"I'd say so."

"I know Thunderbird Two's got The Mole. I'll double check on The Domo." Scott opened the radio frequency. "Mobile Control to Thunderbird Two."

"Thunderbird Two. Go ahead Mobile Control." Virgil's voice was as clear as if he were standing there. "Receiving you strength five."

"What equipment do you have on board?"

"We are carrying both Mole and Domo."

"Good. Thanks. Mobile Control out." Scott brought up a map. "Alan, double check this for me will you? We've got a flat area here," he pointed at the map, "where The Domo could work from, and The Mole could start tunnelling from here."

Alan looked over Scott's shoulder. "Looks spot on to me."

Doctor Hughes cleared his throat. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go check on my team."

"Fine. Thanks Doctor." Scott listened to the Doctors footsteps recede. "Okay, we're all set. All we need is Thunderbird Two." He took a deep breath and opened the channel that linked him to the transporter craft. "Mobile Control to Thunderbird Two. Come in, Virgil."

"Thunderbird Two. How's it going?" Scott's use of his name had caused Virgil to relax procedures a little.

"So far so good. Everything's working well, Alan didn't crash Thunderbird One, and I'm feeling good."

"So you should be. You've been practising hard enough. Now you're back in the saddle again it'll be like old times."

"What's your ETA?"

"16 point two five minutes. Any instructions?"

Scott felt the map on Mobile Control. He didn't know how Brains had done it, but somehow he'd got it set up so that the map could be felt in 3D. "Come in to land at reference 18G-5. I'll give you further instructions soon."

"F-A-B."

Scott shut down the communications link. He DID feel good. He was in control. He knew what was going on. Thunderbird Two was on its way and he knew that his brothers were confident in his ability to do the job.

Virgil was, in fact, a mess of nerves. Scott didn't know that it was Virgil who had suggested that Scott be reinstated in the role of Rescue Co-ordinator. The battle had been won, but Virgil knew that should Scott make a mistake, Virgil would have no one to blame but himself. And a mistake could mean the loss of innocent lives.

Flying with Virgil in Thunderbird Two, Gordon noticed his brother's apprehension. "He'll be fine, don't worry. Look at all the practise he's had. John'll keep an eye on him. And Scott's not too proud to ask for help if he needs it."

"Yeah, but what if he doesn't realise that he needs it?"

"Relax will ya. You're the one who said we've got to let Scott do things for himself. He'll be fine."

"Course he will," Virgil said with a sudden burst of confidence. "I don't know what I'm worried about. It's Scott we're talking about after all."

Everything had gone smoothly. Thunderbird Two's landing place, the position where The Domo had to operate from and The Mole's drilling place had been, in Alan's words, 'Spot on.'

Virgil was seated in The Domo. The Demolition and Object Moving Operator was doing its job well. The wall was gently being pulled away from the pile of rubble that it had threatened to fall on. Virgil used his left hand to adjust the tension on the artificial gravity suction pads. It was a constant challenge, keeping the tension exactly right, while his right hand operated the amount of thrust coming from The Domo's motors.

He'd been doing it for just on two hours and the muscles in his arms were starting to complain. Especially his left. His first job back on full duties wasn't physically demanding, but was still taking its toll.

Back on Tracy Island Jeff Tracy stared at the row of portraits and drummed his fingers irritability. He still wasn't 100 percent convinced that Scott was up to it, but as his other sons had been more than happy to have their big brother back on the job he'd kept his concerns to himself.

It was all that he could do to stop himself from calling Mobile Control every five minutes for a progress report. As it was he contented himself with calling John in Thunderbird Five every half hour, and beating a tattoo on the desk.

"Jeff will you stop that!" his mother finally said with a trace of irritation in her voice.

"Stop what?" he asked absently.

"That infernal noise."

"What noise?"

She stood up and walked over to the desk, before pressing his hand into the desktop. "Keep those fingers still!"

He looked at where her small, wrinkled hand covered his larger one. "Oh. Sorry, Mother."

"He'll be fine," she said, reassuringly squeezing his hand. "They all will. They know what they are doing. First sign of trouble and John will take over!"

"I know." He looked at her kindly face and then back at the portraits. "I think I'll give John a call..."

She gave an exasperated sigh. "You'll drive the poor boy to distraction. And Scott will think you don't trust him. And you do don't you, Jeff... Jeff?" She peered closely into his face.

He looked away.

"Jeff Tracy!" she scolded. "You've never been happy with Scott being Rescue Co-ordinator again, have you!"

Somewhat shamefaced he managed to look at her. "No. Sorry, Mother," he repeated

"It's not me you should be apologising to. It's Scott! You realise that you're the only one who doesn't think he can do it!"

"It's not that I don't think that he can do it... It's that... I don't know... This whole rescue has got me worried..."

Alan and Gordon had broken through to the basement where the people were trapped. It had taken a long time for The Mole to reach its destination. They'd dug down deep to avoid the foundations and to reduce the amount of vibrations to the building. They were painfully aware of how tenuous The Domo's grasp on the wall was. The last few metres had been tunnelled at a speed that was little more than a crawl.

The door from The Mole slid open. "Come on," Alan urged. "Lets go find them."

Gordon grabbed an oxygen cylinder and followed his younger brother out the door. Together they exited the room they'd surfaced in and made their way down a hallway to where they'd assumed those trapped would be.

The door was jammed shut.

"Better use the laser on it," Gordon instructed and Alan fired the tool into life. In a short space of time the door was falling away from them.

It landed in a cloud of dust.

Six pair of eyes blinked at them, the seventh was hidden behind some debris.

Gordon grabbed the oxygen cylinder and ran over to where one lady was being support by two of her colleagues. She was clearly struggling to breathe. "Just relax," he said kindly. "We'll have you out of here shortly." Deftly he slipped the oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. He watched her face start to relax as breathing became easier. "Feeling better?"

She nodded.

Alan was checking on the trapped man. "How're you feeling?" he asked. "Have you got any pain anywhere?"

"No, I haven't, young man. I just can't move my blessed legs. There's something holding them down."

Alan examined the chunk of concrete that lay across the lower half of the victim. "I'll need a hand for moving this. I'll get my colleague." He turned to where his brother was assisting the asthma victim over to the door. "Gordon! I'll need your assistance, and a couple of jacks."

"Okay. I'll bring them back with me," Gordon acknowledged.

Seeing that the other five victims were trailing after Gordon, Alan concentrated on clearing as much debris as he dared from around the trapped man. As he did so he kept on talking, engaging the victim in conversation to keep him calm. "So what's your role in the hospital?"

"I'm a mortuary attendant."

This floored Alan for a moment. "Oh... That would be... interesting. Is that where we are? The mortuary?" He tried not to imagine that he was surrounded by dead bodies.

The man chuckled. "No. This is a storage area. Things had been pretty quiet in my department, so I was helping out here."

"I would have thought things would always be quiet in your 'department,'" Alan said.

The man chuckled again. He seemed to be way too cheerful a chap to be working in the mortuary. "True, we don't get too many complaints from our 'guests.'" A shower of dust sprinkled down on them from the ceiling. "How safe is that roof?" he asked showing some concern.

Alan was reassuring. "Don't worry. We've got it under control."

"Well that's grand. I really admire you guys, risking your necks for people you don't even know. If only there were more people in the world like you. Unselfish."

"We just do what we can," Alan admitted looking at his watch. How long had Gordon been?

Gordon was making sure his charges were safely seated in The Mole. He also radioed Scott to check how things were holding up.

"Virgil's reporting that one of the suction pads seems to be coming loose," Scott's disembodied voice told him. "Better get a move on."

"F-A-B," Gordon acknowledged and once again left The Mole. He reached the door they'd just cut open when there was a rumbling sound from above them. Instinctively he crouched down to protect himself.

Alan was also aware of the rumbling. As debris started to rain down he threw himself over the sole remaining victim, becoming a human shield. Through his wristwatch telecom he realised that Virgil was yelling something about suction pad two having slipped. It was the last thing he was aware of before the chunk of concrete caught him on the head and knocked him unconscious...

Forty Five

The rumbling sound stopped and rubble ceased falling. Gordon got to his feet and peered through the dust that still floated in the air. He could hear someone calling.

"Help me! Help him! Please!"

Gordon became aware of a dusty blue coloured figure lying still in the gloom. He ran over. "Alan!"

He was more than a little relieved when Alan groaned.

"He's alright!" the man Alan had tried to protect sounded just as relieved. "When I saw that lump hit him I thought the worst."

"Take it easy, Alan," Gordon assisted his younger brother so that his weight was no longer on the trapped man. "Are you okay?"

Alan coughed. "Yeah. I think so."

"Were you knocked out?"

Alan seemed a touch confused. "I don't know. Maybe."

Gordon held up his hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three," Alan said correctly. "I'm okay, Gordon. Just a slight headache. Don't worry, just help me get this guy out of here."

"Okay." Gordon handed him a jack and watched him closely. Alan had no trouble positioning the jack and then waited for Gordon to position his so they could be operated in tandem.

In no time the last victim was freed. They assisted him back to The Mole. He sank gratefully into one of the seats and Alan assisted him with his safety harness. "Thank you," he said simply.

The trip back to the surface was uneventful. "We're clear, Virgil," Gordon radioed.

"F-A-B." Virgil relaxed his grip on The Domo's controls. The remaining suction cups slipped away and the wall fell forwards crushing everything beneath it.

Scott heard the crash of the falling wall and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Whew!" Doctor Hughes echoed his thoughts. "Thank heavens your machine held!"

Scott was already mentally preparing what needed to be done before they returned home. "Do you need our help anywhere else?"

"No that's all," Doctor Hughes said as he watched Virgil steer The Domo into the pod. "Once we've got the victims out of your Mole machine you can head home. With our thanks."

"It's our pleasure." Scott's attention was arrested by a voice coming out of Mobile Control.

"Mole to Mobile Control."

"Go ahead, Gordon."

"We're about to surface. No real injuries, but it wouldn't hurt for the asthma victim to get checked over."

"Good thanks..."

"Just one thing, Scott..."

Scott frowned. Gordon had lowered his voice so that it wasn't so easily heard. "Yeah?"

"A chunk of concrete hit Alan on the head. He says he's fine, but I think he was knocked out briefly."

"Does he seem to be okay?"

"Seems fine. Claims he's got a bit of a headache, but his reflexes are okay and he seems to be thinking clearly."

"Okay, Gordon. We'll see how he is when you've got everything packed away."

Virgil had made his way over to Mobile Control. Scott didn't see him rubbing his forearm. "Trouble?" he asked.

"I don't know," Scott admitted. "Gordon thinks Alan was knocked out briefly. But he seems to be okay."

Virgil grinned. "You never know. You might have to fly Thunderbird One home!"

Scott chuckled. "I wish."

"How about you?" Virgil asked. "Things seemed to go okay here. Any problems?"

"No. Things went well."

"I knew you could do it."

Doctor Hughes cleared his throat, and Scott remembered that the doctor was still there. "Virgil. This is Doctor Hughes. He's the Chief Medical Officer here." Scott paused. "He was also in charge of the medical team at Regnad Corp."

Virgil had stretched his hand out in greeting when he froze. "Regnad Corp?"

"Yes," Doctor Hughes said embarrassedly.

"Virgil was the other operative I was telling you about," Scott said casually.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," the Doctor said apologetically.

Virgil dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand. "These things happen."

"I wish I could make it up to you... Wait a minute!" The doctor started ferreting about in his pockets. He pulled out a personal digital assistant and a pen and paper. "This is the name and number of a Professor," he said slowly as he scribbled from the PDA onto the paper, "who has done a lot of research into retinal burns. No guarantees, mind you," he added as he passed the piece of paper to Virgil.

"We've tried everywhere," Scott said.

"I'm sure you've tried all the mainstream medical establishments," Doctor Hughes told him. "But Professor Bunsen shuns the mainstream. Don't let his, ah, eccentricities put you off. He's a genius. If anyone can help you he can. I promise that I won't mention this to him or anyone else."

"Thanks," Scott said, not sure what to think.

"I'd better get back, but I have to say thank you. To you and all your team," Doctor Hughes said. "At least talk to Professor Bunsen... Goodbye," he finished awkwardly and then hurried away.

Virgil looked at the paper and then pressed it into Scott's hand. "What do you reckon?" he asked.

Scott gripped the paper tightly for a moment and then shoved it into his pocket. "I don't know. I've kinda got used to being blind. I don't know if I want to go through all the hope, fear and pain again."

Virgil looked at the pilot's seat and the controls that he would need to use. He came to a decision. "Gordon!"

"Yeah Virg?"

"How'd you like to fly Two home?"

"Fly Two? Me? Why?"

"Guess I'm not up to full match fitness yet. My arms a little sore..."

"Your arm!" Gordon was more than a little concerned. For any of the Tracy boys to voluntarily relinquish control of their craft was almost unheard of. "Is it okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine. I guess I can't expect to hold up a concrete wall for nearly three hours and not feel a few aches and pains. It's been a while since I've been on full duties remember."

"If you're sure," Gordon said hesitantly.

"I'm sure." Virgil gave him a light push. "Go on before I change my mind." He headed to a passenger seat as Gordon eagerly slid into the pilot's position.

"Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird One. Preparing for lift off."

"Gordon! What are you doing? Where's Virgil?" Alan was clearly surprised.

"Having a rest. He says he's getting too old for this game. The old boys are falling apart, they just can't hack the pace anymore..."

"Hey!" Virgil protested, "I can change my mind you know."

"No chance. I'm here now. You'll only get me out of this seat with a crowbar. See you at home, Alan."

"Race you!"

"Don't you dare!" Virgil threatened his replacement.

Gordon chuckled and Virgil watched him run through the start up procedure, and then, with the confidence born of hours of practice in the simulator, set the great plane in motion.

Minutes later they were easily overtaken by Thunderbird One.

"Darn, he's beating us," Gordon commented lightly.

Virgil tried flexing his fingers. The muscles in his left arm had really locked up. He hoped that they'd relax before he got back to base. He didn't want to take the chance that he'd be sidelined from the next mission.

He hadn't noticed any improvement when Gordon spoke. "Hey! I've got a visual on Thunderbird One."

"What? They should be almost home by now." Virgil came and stood at Gordon's shoulder. "Where are they?"

Gordon pointed to the radar and then out the cockpit window. "Doesn't that look like them?"

"Yes!" Virgil automatically reached for the radio. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird One. Come in, Alan!"

The lift off from the danger zone had gone smoothly, Scott reflected. Alan could fly Thunderbird One nearly as good as he'd been able to. He sat back in his seat and tried to reconcile himself to the idea of someone else flying his plane.

"Hey there's Thunderbird Two," Alan had said. "We passing them... now! So long suckers, eat our dust."

Scott chuckled.

They hadn't said much over the intervening minutes until Scott detected that Thunderbird One was slowing down.

"Ah, Scott..." Something in Alan's voice, coupled with a change in motor sounds made Scott sit up. "I'm not feeling too good. Mind if we just hover a bit?"

"What do you mean 'not feeling too good'?" Thunderbird One had stopped its forward motion so Scott felt safe in unbuckling his harness and moving over to the pilot's seat.

"I'm... feeling a... little... dizzy," Alan gulped. The cabin was spinning and growing darker. He felt nauseous. The sounds of Thunderbird One were receding into the background.

Scott found his brother's head. "Hey! You're sweating. Lie down on the floor for a bit."

"Yeah... I... think... I... migh..." Alan lost his battle to retain consciousness.

"Alan. Alan!" Scott felt for a pulse. It was still there, but Alan was out cold.

Scott took stock of the situation and reminded himself of the whereabouts of the sensitive hover controls before taking action. Grabbing Alan about the chest he wrestled him out of the seat and onto the floor of Thunderbird One, before placing him into the recovery position. He then found Thunderbird One's onboard first aid kit and retrieved the vital signs monitor and an emergency blanket. Treading carefully so that he wouldn't kick his brother he worked his way back to where Alan lay and applied the VSM. A reassuring beep assured him that there was no further deterioration in Alan's condition. He covered his youngest brother in the blanket to keep him warm.

Time to get help. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five. What are you up to, Scott? Did you push Alan out of the pilot's seat?"

"He's collapsed, John. He's unconscious. Can you put me through to Father?"

"Sure." Quickly John completed the circuit.

Scott wasted no time in updating his father as to what had happened.

"You s-said he took a blow to the h-head earlier," his father's voice was replaced by Brains stutter.

"Yes. But that was at least an hour ago."

"C-Could be delayed c-concussion. He sh-should get prompt medical attention."

"That's kind of difficult at the moment, Brains," Scott reminded him. "I don't exactly qualify as a pilot now."

"Thunderbird Two should be getting close to your position," Jeff said. "See if they can effect an air-to-air transfer."

As if on cue Virgil's voice cut into the conversation. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird One. Come in, Alan!"

"Scott here, Virg. We've got a problem. Alan's collapsed, possibly with delayed concussion. We've got to get him help. One of you two will have to come across and pilot Thunderbird One."

Gordon shook his head and pointed at a gauge on Thunderbird Two's control panel. "We can't do it. Look at the wind speed."

"Sorry, Scott. An air to air transfer would be too dangerous at the moment," Virgil relayed back. "The wind speed's fluctuating between 35 and 45 knots."

"We've got to do something! Any suggestions?"

Virgil looked at Gordon.

Gordon looked at Virgil.

"Anyone?" Scott asked. "We can't stay up here till the winds die down."

The silence was heavy on the airwaves.

Virgil bit his lip. "There is one possibility," he said hesitantly.

Scott smiled to himself. He knew Virgil wouldn't let him down. "Which is?"

"You fly her."

This time the silence was longer before being punctuated by Jeff. "Did I hear you correctly, Virgil?"

"I said that Scott could fly Thunderbird One."

Scott swallowed. "I don't know about this, Virg."

"We both know you can fly in a straight line Scott. You've done it previously. We can keep an eye on your altitude and bearings from Thunderbird Two. We'll worry about landing when we get home. With any luck the winds won't be so strong and we can do a transfer there."

"Fly home! It's one thing to do it with you standing at my shoulder, but by myself..."

"You can do this, Scott. We know you can. I'll be your eyes!" Virgil said. "Just take it slowly and don't do anything fancy. You'll be okay."

"I guess I don't have any other option. Did you copy that, Father?"

"What's this about flying previously?"

"I don't have time to explain now. I'll make an attempt. Just pray that I remember where everything is."

"You'll be fine, Scott." Gordon reassured him. "We'll keep an eye on you." He paused communication and looked at Virgil. "Do you want to take over Thunderbird Two now?"

"No. You're doing fine. You concentrate on flying Two and I'll worry about Thunderbird One." They reinstated the communication link.

"Okay, I'm ready." Scott took a deep breath. "Taking her out of hover mode. Moving... I think."

"You're doing 50 miles per hour, Scott." Virgil watched Thunderbird Two's speedometer as Gordon matched Thunderbird One's pace. "You need to change your bearing two degrees to the right."

"How much is two degrees..." Scott started to ask.

"That'll do!"

Scott brought Thunderbird One back into a straight line again.

Back on Tracy Island Jeff turned to Brains. "They're taking a risk."

"B-But it's a calculated one. I-I'm happier w-with them doing this than w-waiting. The sooner Alan gets m-medical attention the better."

"I guess you're right Brains. I'm just worried. Scott's looking out for two lives out there..."

The further into the flight he got, the more confident Scott became. His speed increased to 100 miles per hour, 150... 200... 500... 1000... 5000 miles per hour.

"Tell him to slow down," Gordon said. "He'll outpace us."

Scott received the radio communication. "We're getting close to home, Scott," Vigil radioed through. "Start easing off your speed."

Tracy Island was registering in the distance on the radar, steadily growing closer and closer.

"Halve your speed. Good. Now one degree to the left. You're doing fine. Nearly there."

"Good," Scott replied. "This is the worst trip I've had in her for a long time. What's the wind speed like?"

"Only one knot, Scott," his father told him. "The boys should be able to effect an air to air transfer, no problem."

Vigil felt a knot form in his stomach. "Cut your speed. You're doing 500 miles per hour. 200... 125... 50... 10..." The last few miles were covered in a crawl.

"You're over the runway, Scott," Jeff announced. "Resume hover mode."

Scott obeyed and let out the breath he'd been holding. "How're you doing, Alan?" There was no reply except the steady beeping of the VSM.

"H-How's, Alan?" Brains asked.

"He sounds okay, according to the VSM," Scott said. "But the sooner we get this transfer over and done with the happier I'll be."

"Me too," Jeff agreed. "Are you boys ready?" he asked the crew of Thunderbird Two.

"Do you want to pilot, while I do the transfer, or vice versa?" Gordon asked before noticing his brother's expression. "Virgil? What's wrong?"

"I-I can't do either," Virgil said tightly. "I can't move my hand."

"You what! Since when?"

"Since the beginning of the trip. I hoped it'd be better by now."

"Come in Thunderbird Two," Jeff called them.

"What are we going to tell them?" Gordon asked, horror stricken.

"The truth I guess," Virgil said miserably. "We've got so close..." He reached for the microphone. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird One and base. We can't effect an air-to-air transfer. I repeat. We can not effect air-to-air transfer."

"Thunderbird Two. Am I hearing you correctly? You are unable to effect the transfer?" Jeff asked urgently.

"That's right," Virgil confirmed unhappily.

"But why?" Scott practically yelled into the mike.

Virgil briefly weighed up the pros and cons of giving a full explanation. "It's not important. We'll explain later."

"Not important!" Scott yelled and then calmed down somewhat. "Well what are we going to do now?"

Jeff turned to his mother, Tin-Tin, Kyrano and Brains. "Any suggestions anyone?"

Forty Six

From his seat in the pilot's chair of Thunderbird Two, Gordon looked across at Thunderbird One. That Scott had managed to safely fly her this far was amazing. That there was now no way to land her was unthinkable.

For some reason, a catch phrase of a decades old TV show sprang to mind.

"Beam me up, Scotty."

He hadn't realised that he'd actually vocalised it and was surprised when Virgil answered. "Yeah. It would simplify things wouldn't it."

"Except that you'd be left here unable to land Thunderbird Two."

"That would be a problem."

Mrs Tracy was staring up at the rocket plane that held two of her grandsons. "He's flown so far. We can't stop now." She turned back to Jeff. "Surely it won't be that hard for him to land it himself... would it?" she finished uncertainly.

"I don't know mother. Scott is... was... is a good pilot, but to land with no instrumentation..."

"The early aviation pioneers didn't have instrumentation," she persisted stubbornly.

"No," Jeff agreed. "But they could see where they were in relation to the ground." He looked over at the giant green bulk that was Thunderbird Two. "I wish they'd tell us what's..."

"We're still waiting for ideas," Scott's voice interrupted his train of thought.

"M-Mr. Tracy," Brains said differentially. "I-I think Mrs. Tracy may have the best solution at this time. There is no one else here able to u-undertake an air-to-air transfer a-and Alan needs urgent attention."

Jeff mulled it over for a moment. "Brains. Get everyone into the shelters," he said quietly before raising the microphone. He now spoke with more assurance, "Scott!"

"Yes, Father."

"You've come this far. Do you think you could land her?"

"Land her? I don't know. Flying is one thing, but landing..."

"I'll talk you down. It'll be easier from the ground. You'll be okay," Jeff reassured him.

"It's a good idea. You'll be fine, Scott," Virgil added.

Scott rubbed his sweating hands on his trousers. "Do you guys think we can carry this off?"

"I'm sure we can," His father sounded so reassuring.

"Thunderbird Two to base. I'm handing control over to you, Father," Virgil said.

"Thanks, Virgil. I want Thunderbird Two to stand clear..."

"But..."

"No buts, Virgil. If anything should go wrong you and Gordon have got to be able to effect a rescue. I've already sent everyone else to safety. I want you out of the way and maintaining radio silence. Let him concentrate on what he's doing."

"F-A-B," Virgil intoned with obvious reluctance.

Scott, following his father's instructions brought Thunderbird One in low over the runway. Then he changed to hover mode.

"Let me know when you're ready, Son."

For the first time since he'd settled into the pilot's seat Scott began to have serious doubts about his ability to complete this manoeuvre successfully. "I-I don't think I can."

"You can. You've got to, Scott."

"B-But what if I do something wrong. I've got no references to follow!"

"Nothing will go wrong. Bring her in."

"I-I can't," Scott's determination was leaving him.

Jeff was still trying to talk Scott down. "You know what to do, Scott. Lower her down ten feet and stop."

"How will I know when it's ten feet?"

"I'll tell you."

"This is Thunderbird One, we're talking about, not a paper plane. If I miscalculate it's not only curtains for Alan and me, there's you and half the island as well." The stress was clear in Scott's voice.

"Don't think of that, Scott. Think of what you're doing."

"I am!" Scott yelled. "And I can't do it!" To Jeff's horror he heard something that sounded like a sob.

"He's losing it," Gordon said.

"Do you blame him?" Virgil asked.

Scott shut his eyes although it made no difference to the scene that he saw. His palms were sweaty, his uniform felt clammy, he was hyperventilating, his heart was racing. He hadn't felt like this since... since...

...Since he had been trapped in that ventilation shaft, newly blinded, with the water creeping mercilessly towards them. Then, as now, he had a loved brother with him. Then, as now, that brother had been unconscious. Then, as now, he hadn't known how badly that brother was injured...

A welcome voice cut through his reverie. Virgil had disobeyed his father's order to maintain radio silence. "Scott," he said quietly. "It's me, Virgil."

"V-Virgil. I-I'm sorry. I can't do this."

"Yes you can. You often said you could land Thunderbird One with your eyes shut. Now's your chance to show us."

"I'm out of practise."

"Scott, you'll be fine. You've just flown her half way around the world. You're only metres away from safety. You've got to do this - for Alan." Virgil's voice was calm and composed. To Scott's ears it sounded as though he truly believed that his brother could land Thunderbird One safely.

A new thought crept into Scott's mind. He took a breath to bring his emotions back under control. Last time he'd felt like this he'd been trapped and totally helpless. This time he COULD do something, and moreover, he would.

He wiped his hands one more time. "Right! Let's do this!" There was a trace of the old steel in his voice.

Jeff started talking. Trying to keep Scott focused, to keep him reassured. "Okay, Scott. You're 50 feet up. Bring her down. A bit more. You're doing great. You can do this. We all have faith in you. You're at 30 feet. You're doing great, Son. Keep it up. You can do this..."

Scott was starting to feel overwhelmed again. What with listening out for Thunderbird One's motors, the control panels warning bells, Alan's VSM and his father's continual reassurances, he was starting to lose control again.

It was as if Virgil realised his situation, because once again Scott heard that calm voice. "Father. Just give him the details. Let him concentrate on the sounds of Thunderbird One. He'll know when to operate the VTOL jets instinctively. But he'll need to be able to hear the change in the sounds Thunderbird One is making... Scott. We can hear the VSM here on Thunderbird Two. We'll keep an ear on Alan, you concentrate on landing."

"F-A-B, Virg. And thanks."

"Not a problem. We'll see you soon."

Forty Seven

Deep in the hillside of Tracy Island Mrs. Tracy, Brains, Kyrano and Tin-Tin cooled their heels. They could hear the radio conversation, but were otherwise shut off from the drama that was happening outside their home.

Mrs Tracy looked at the young engineer. "Can he do it Brains?"

Brains took off his glasses and wiped them, giving himself time to think. "I-I honestly don't know. I-I've no knowledge of anyone landing a p-plane without some kind of visual reference."

"Scott's landed in white out conditions before," Tin-Tin said hopefully, blinking away some tears that threatened to run down her cheeks. Her father held her tightly.

"Y-Yes, but then h-he's had Thunderbird One's instruments to guide him. N-Now he's only got the audible a-alarms."

"Poor Scott," she whispered as the tears flowed. "Poor Alan!"

Kyrano wrapped his arms around her protectively. "Hush my daughter. Mister Alan will survive. Mister Scott will ensure that."

"How do you think he is?" Grandma Tracy asked Brains.

"H-How long has he been unconscious?"

She looked at her watch. "Nearly half an hour. Is that all? It seems so much longer!"

Brains seemed surprised too. "Y-Yes it has. I would be h-happier if he were to regain consciousness, but I'm not t-too worried just yet."

Brains may not have been worried about Alan's present state of health, but he was worried about the possible future health, of not only Alan, but also Scott and Jeff Tracy.

Thunderbird One was descending slowly to the ground. Jeff resisted the inclination to act as a one man cheerleading squad and restricted his comments to the height of the craft.

"Only 20 feet to go, Scott."

Scott took a deep breath and for a moment turned his attention to the sounds of the VSM and Alan. There appeared to be no change. In a strange sort of way it gave him a sense of relief. At least Alan's condition wasn't deteriorating.

Another deep breath, and activating the VTOL rockets, he started his descent again.

"15 feet."

Scott conjured up a mental picture of how big 15 feet actually was.

"Ten feet... Nine... Eight..."

Something changed, there was a change in the tone of the exhaust gases from Thunderbird One's VTOL jets; there was a change to the vibration in Thunderbird One's hull. Scott knew instinctively that now was the time to cut the rockets.

Jeff was just about to give that order when the VTOL jets stopped ejecting their flames. Thunderbird One continued sinking gracefully towards the ground.

"Three... Two... One... You're down, Scott!" Jeff started running towards International Rescue's scout craft.

Scott sat for a moment in disbelief. He'd done it! They'd made it!

"Open the hatch, Scott!" his father ordered via the radio.

He fumbled the switch that opened the hatch to the outside world. As it swung open he heard Thunderbird Two's jets as she came in to land.

Jeff was inside and examining Alan, before Scott had a chance to undo his safety harness. "You did well, Son," Jeff said briefly by way of praise. "Get Brains out here will you."

"Sure. Thunderbird One to Brains."

"Brains here!" he panted.

"You on your way? Alan's still unconscious."

"On m-my way," Brains was gasping for breath.

In the distance Scott could hear pounding feet. They belonged to Gordon and Virgil.

"Nice one, Scott," Gordon said as he entered.

"Yeah. We knew you could do it," Virgil added.

"I'm glad someone did," Scott commented.

"Boys get... Good you've got a stretcher. Let's get your brother out of here." They carefully manoeuvred Alan onto the stretcher and then each, including Scott, made their way to a corner.

Gordon went to grab the front left handle and then looked at Virgil. Without a word he went to the other side of the stretcher and prepared to grasp the handle with his left hand. Virgil grasped the left handle with his good right hand.

"All set?" Jeff asked. "Right, lift!"

It was a bit of a squeeze, but they managed to negotiate the exit. Brains was waiting for them outside. He bent over Alan and then checked the VSM. "G-Get him to the sick bay!" He stepped back.

The warmth of the sun appeared to have a reviving effect on Alan. He groaned. At once Tin-Tin was at his side. "It's okay, Alan. You're safe now. You'll be all right, Alan." She squeezed his hand and was relieved to feel him squeeze it back.

"W-What happened?" he asked groggily.

"W-What can you remember?" Brains asked him as he was carried towards the house.

"We were at the rescue. At the hospital. Something fell on me. I was okay. Last thing I remember..." Alan's eyes opened wide. "I was piloting Thunderbird One. How'd we..."

"Shush, Alan," Tin-Tin said soothingly. "Scott flew you home."

"Oh." Alan had closed his eyes again. Then they snapped open again as the words sank in. "Scott!"

"Yeah. And don't ever do that to me again," Scott ordered, trying and failing to sound stern.

"How'd... How'd you..."

"Don't worry about that now," Jeff ordered him. "Just relax. We'll tell you everything once you've been checked over."

An hour later, everything, and everyone, had started to calm down. Alan was instructed to rest up for the next few days. He was moved back to his own room to sleep. The rest of the family group assembled in the lounge.

Jeff sat at his desk, grateful to have his family safely under the one roof again. "Scott," he said, "that has got to be the most amazing bit of flying I've ever seen. I'm proud of you."

Scott lowered his head modestly. "Yeah, well. You do what you have to do." He looked back up. "What I want to know though, is why Thunderbird Two couldn't undertake an air-to-air transfer."

"Better ask 'The Claw,'" Gordon gestured towards Virgil.

"Virgil?" Jeff queried.

Virgil explained about his arm locking up. "It's starting to feel better now," he finished lamely.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Scott demanded.

"I thought you had enough to worry about."

Jeff shot Virgil a look that clearly read 'I'll talk to you later!' "Go get cleaned up and out of your uniforms boys. Virgil! Get that arm looked at."

Scott stood up, thrusting his hands into his pockets. He felt a piece of paper. "Hey! With all the excitement I'd forgotten about this." He handed the note over to his father. "One of the doctor's at the hospital thought that this guy might be able to restore my sight!"

"Restore your sight?! Are you sure, Scott?"

"He didn't give any guarantees, did he Virgil, but apparently this doctor... whatever his name is..."

Jeff read the paper. "Professor Bunsen."

"Professor Bunsen is some kind of genius and has done a bit of work with retinal burns. The doctor said that if I have any chance of seeing again, that's the guy to do it."

"Do you want to try?" Jeff asked, knowing the answer.

"I certainly don't want to find myself in today's situation ever again. Yes I want to try."

"Okay, Scott. Go get washed and I'll give him a call."

"Great!" Feeling top of the world, Scott left the room, closely followed by everyone else.

Everyone except Virgil, who'd been beckoned to by Jeff. "Father, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my arm, but I thought it'd loosen up by the time we got home, and I'd got Gordon to fly Thunderbird Two so I thought I wasn't causing any problems and I didn't foresee Alan..."

Jeff held up a hand. "I'm not going to tell you off, Son. You're right, there was nothing else you could do. I just wanted your opinion on this doctor that was talking to Scott."

"Oh. He was the head doctor at the hospital. I guess you don't get that position by having a screw loose. He seemed genuine to me. He was grateful for what we'd done and wanted to help in return."

"Okay. Thanks. How's the arm?"

Virgil managed to move his thumb slightly. "Better than before. I've got some movement back."

"Go ask Brains to look at it."

"F-A-B."

Later, as the family sat down to dinner, Jeff had an air of suppressed excitement about him. "I've been on to Professor Bunsen, Scott."

Scott paused, a forkful of peas halfway to his mouth. "And?" he said eagerly.

"And, I've sent through your file and he'd like to see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow! That's great! Thanks, Father." The fork resumed its journey.

"I'll get the plane ready tonight and we can leave at first light."

The fork halted its progress again. "Um," Scott said hesitantly. "Father, would you mind if Virgil came with me? He's kinda been my Guardian Angel throughout this and I'd like him with me."

Gordon snorted a laugh and received a light cuff around the ear from his grandmother.

Jeff glanced at Virgil whose face held an expression of surprise. "Would you mind, Virgil?"

"Ah, no. I guess not," Virgil said hesitantly.

Gordon mimed taking something down from over Virgil's head and polishing it. "Watch it, Virg. Your halo's got a little tarnished."

Virgil scowled at him. "And yours has got so rusty it's coloured your hair."

"Boys, behave!" Jeff scolded gently. "Virgil, I'll help you get the plane ready after dinner."

As usual the family jet was in perfect flight condition, but Jeff and Virgil worked their way through the standard checklist, checking and double-checking everything.

Jeff watched his son at work. Virgil was largely doing everything one handed as his left arm was encased in a hot poultice that his Grandmother had insisted would loosen up the muscles.

"Scott's really excited about tomorrow," Jeff began conversationally.

"You can't blame him," Virgil agreed. "If you'll excuse the analogy, it's almost as if he's seeing a light at the end of the tunnel."

Jeff chuckled and then moved onto the subject he wanted to discuss. "Ah, when he suggested that you go with him, I got the impression that you weren't too keen."

Virgil hesitated in his work and turned to face his father. "It's not that I don't want to. It's just..."

"Yes?"

"This is so important to Scott. What if I don't trust this Professor Bunsen, but Scott wants to go ahead anyway. I don't want to be the one to put paid to his hopes. Or what if I think it's okay and this guy turns out to be a con artist. Or even worse, he does more damage to Scott in some way. I couldn't live with that."

"Obviously Scott trusts your judgement," Jeff said comfortingly. "If you think it shouldn't go ahead, he'd be upset, but he'd understand. Don't worry about it until it happens."

"How much is he charging?"

For the first time Jeff's demeanour changed. "Quite a lot. He seemed interested in the fact that I had money."

"What did he look like?"

"I couldn't tell. He had the videophone on sound only."

"So not only is Scott trusting me with his health, you're going to trust me with your money."

"That goes without saying. You do what ever you think is right," Jeff looked at Virgil, who still looked troubled. "Sleep on it tonight. You might feel happier about it all tomorrow, or..." he paused meaningfully, "your arm might not be up to piloting the plane."

Virgil stared at his father. He was actually being told that if he didn't want to go it would be okay to lie to Scott. He straightened his shoulders. "No," he said firmly. "It's feeling better now. It should be fine tomorrow."

"That's good, son. Get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow's a big day..."

Forty Eight

Virgil rang the doorbell of the imposing eighteenth century house. I wouldn't be surprised if Igor answered, he thought to himself and jumped when an intercom sprang into life.

"Yes!" the voice snapped.

It was Scott who replied. "Scott Tracy to see Professor Bunsen."

"Come in." The door swung open, seemingly of its own accord. They stepped inside.

They were in a large foyer. Five doors exited off, but all were closed. "Now where do we go?" Virgil asked out loud.

As if in reply the second door on their right opened. Virgil felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Well?" Scott said impatiently. "I heard a door open. Are you going to take me there or do you expect me to find my own way?"

"Sorry," Virgil mumbled and led Scott into the room.

It smelt musty. Scott sniffed the air. "Where are we?"

"It seems to be some kind of study or library. Imagine one of those rooms you'd see in those old mystery films set in the 1920's or 30's."

"Walnut, leather bound books, old paintings?"

"That's it."

"Take a seat," the disembodied voice intoned.

"Is someone here?" Scott asked in surprise.

"No." Virgil wasn't happy, but resolved to keep his feelings to himself. He didn't want to prejudice Scott's impressions of the man they were about to meet; after all whether or not the treatment would proceed would ultimately be Scott's decision.

Virgil led Scott to a threadbare leather chair and then sat in one himself.

As they waited a variety of thoughts floated through their minds. Scott's ran along the lines of I wonder what this guy is like. Is he any good? Can he help me? What kind of place is this? What is that smell? Why does Virgil seem to be so uneasy? The questions looped over and over again in his mind and he waited impatiently for the answers to present themselves.

Virgil's train of thought started off by taking in their surroundings. Amazing place, but in such a mess. All those books! How can he find anything? I'd like to have a closer look at that painting. Scott seems calm enough. I wonder what he'd think if he could see where he is. What is this Professor Bunsen like? Professor Bunsen - what a name for a scientist. Is it real? Is he for real? Can he help? Why is he keeping us waiting?

Then Virgil remembered the morning's conversation. He'd been using his left arm quite freely and yet his father had still asked how it was, if he was confident piloting the plane. Virgil had looked at Scott's expectant face and decided that there was no way that he could let his big brother down. Jeff's smile told him that his father was relieved when Virgil had told him that his arm felt just fine.

Virgil looked at his watch. Ten minutes had passed since they'd been ushered into the room.

"I'm glad you came," Scott suddenly said, breaking the silence.

"Not a problem."

"I kinda sensed that you weren't too keen when I suggested it yesterday."

"You just surprised me that's all," Virgil said.

"You could have told me this morning that your arm was too sore to pilot the plane, and I would have believed you," Scott continued on.

Virgil stared at him. Sometimes he himself wondered about the connection he and Scott had. "Do you think Father would let me lie?"

Scott chuckled. "No. Of course not." He felt the hands on the watch on his arm. "It's been quarter of an hour. Where is that guy?"

The door slammed open. "Mr. Tracy." Virgil's eyes widened when he saw the figure that spoke those words. The man bounded across the carpet and grabbed Scott's hand. "I'm Professor Bunsen. And you are Scott Tracy." The words were spoken as a fact, not a question. "And you are...?" This was a question and it was directed at Virgil.

"Um, ah, Virgil Tracy. I'm his brother."

"Virgil? After the poet?"

"The astronaut."

"Oh." Professor Bunsen dismissed Virgil as being of no consequence and turned his attention to Scott.

"Let me look at your eyes." Virgil watched as this strange man looked deeply at the oblivious Scott. "Fine. Fine. Now where's my eye examiner ophthalmoscope retinoscope thingy?" He moved away to a disorderly-stacked bookshelf and started pulling books off onto the floor.

Scott and Virgil 'looked' at each other.

"Your father's a billionaire isn't he?"

"Yes..." Scott said slowly.

"Good." The Professor turned his attention to another bookshelf and starting knocking books and bric a brac off it. "Ah! Here it is." He picked an extremely battered case off the floor. He opened the case and removed the delicate medical instrument. "How are you my lovely? I haven't seen you in such a long time." He stroked it lovingly before remembering why he'd been looking for it. He jumped over the table, landing in front of Scott. "Now let's have a good look... Hmmn... Uh huh, uh huh. It was an explosion wasn't it? Quite a big one going by the damage you've done." He threw the instrument carelessly onto the desk and sat on it. "I think I can help you."

"You can!" Scott leant forward eagerly.

"Oh yes. I'm sure I can. I just need to get the necessary equipment manufactured." Scott's face fell. "That's where your father's money comes in. He'll have to pay for it."

"But," Scott protested, "surely you've already got the equipment? For your experiments?"

"Oh, it's never been made. I've never done this before."

"Never done...?" Scott spluttered. "But then how can you be so sure that you can heal me?"

"Young man. You are looking at the most brilliant medical mind known to mankind. I KNOW my designs will work. Unfortunately the fool hospitals can't see that."

"Why not?" Scott wanted to know.

"They say it's too expensive. But do you want to know the truth. The small-minded mainstream doctors are frightened of my abilities. So they say that there isn't a big enough demand to warrant spending the necessary money. How can they put money before people's health and wellbeing? They have no right to call themselves doctors! Quacks the lot of them." He made a sound like a duck.

Virgil had been sitting still for too long. His arm had started to stiffen up again. Quietly he stretched out his arm and flexed his fingers.

Professor Bunsen saw the move and suddenly decided that maybe Virgil was of interest after all. "Your arm. It's injured?"

"It was. I broke it saving Scott after the accident. The muscles have stiffened after the flight."

"Let me look." Before Virgil could protest, Professor Bunsen had the sleeve rolled up, bandage off and was examining the scar that ran up his arm. "I suppose they inserted a plate."

"That's right," Virgil confirmed.

"You should never have let them..."

"I didn't have much say in the matter at the time," Virgil told him. "I think I was unconscious."

"I don't like inserting plates. A) because the body isn't designed to hold metal, and B) the extra weight puts extra strain on the limb. Once the bone's knitted I'd think about having it removed if I were you."

Virgil's silence was his only comment on the idea.

The Professor continued to examine Virgil's arm. "There!" He pushed a finger into the muscle.

"Ow!" Virgil said involuntarily.

"Rub there!" the Professor ordered. "It'll help relax the muscle. Go on!"

With some reluctance Virgil obeyed.

"Not in a circle. A figure eight! It helps centre the energy. That's right." the Professor was about to return his attention to Scott. "Don't stop!" he ordered seeing Virgil hesitate.

Virgil decided that it was better to humour the man.

Professor Bunsen looked at Scott. "You were a pilot!" he stated.

"That's right. How did you know?" Scott was continuously being surprised.

"A) Your father was a pilot, your brother is a pilot, so chances are you were a pilot. And B) you are wearing a jacket of the Air Force. I assume this means you were part of the 'Killing Machine'?"

Scott had forgotten that he'd grabbed his leather jacket this morning. "'Killing machine'?" he repeated.

"The armed forces. Were you a member?" the Professor had rounded back on Virgil.

"Me? No. I went to university."

"Really." the Professor showed more interest. "What did you major in?"

"Engineering."

"Oh. An 'Engineer.'" This was said in a disparaging way and then Virgil was ignored again.

"Well, were you part of the 'Killing Machine'?" Scott was asked again.

"Yeah, I was in the Air Force. You can't find a better place to train at being a pilot."

"Did you leave because of your accident?"

"No I'd already left."

"Why?"

Scott was wondering where all this was leading to. He shrugged. "I guess I preferred the idea of saving lives to taking them."

"Ah," the Professor softened his tone. "Good." He looked at his patient speculatively. "I can reinstate your eyesight," he said finally.

Scott struggled to stop himself from getting too excited. He wasn't sure how to take this man. "I thought you said you didn't have the equipment."

"I don't. It needs to be built. Perhaps your brother..." He looked at Virgil.

Surprised at being included, Virgil stopped massaging his arm, until a look from the Professor reminded him to keep going. "I might be able to, but I don't have the experience with medical equipment."

The Professor gave him a look that clearly said 'typical engineer.'

"We have a friend who is a genius with machinery and has quite a bit of medical training though," Virgil continued on gamely. "If you wouldn't mind him looking at your schematics I'm sure he could come up with what you need."

"Very well." Professor Bunsen proceeded over to a filing cabinet. He opened it and went straight to what he wanted. Virgil was surprised to see that the filing system was neat and in order. "Here!" the Professor shoved the diagrams into Virgil's lap.

He picked them up with his left hand so he could continue massaging and quickly flicked through them. "This looks straight forward enough. I'm sure Brains could..."

"Brains! Did you say Brains?"

"Ah. Yeah," Virgil said nonplussed.

"That's what we call him," Scott volunteered. "He doesn't particularly like going by any other name."

"About my height? Slightly younger? Thick glasses with blue rims; because that's the only colour he can see when he's not wearing them? High forehead? Stutter?"

"Yeah, that's him," Scott confirmed mentally revising his image of the Professor's age.

"Well, well. How is old 'Robot Head'?"

"Robot Head?" Virgil and Scott chimed together.

Professor Bunsen continued on as if he hadn't heard them. "We were at university together. Do you know that that man is nearly as great a genius as I am." He didn't notice the twin grins from the Tracy brothers at his lack of modesty. "I kept saying to him. 'Give up on engineering and the other sciences and concentrate on medical science. That way you can help people; save lives! But would he listen?" He rounded on Virgil, who jumped in surprise. "No! I suppose he's stuck in some little workshop out the back of some conglomerate's factory. Wasting his talents." He waved his hand in dismissal.

Scott was trying not to laugh. He was sure he could sense amusement alternating with bemusement coming from Virgil's direction. "Ah, no. Actually he lives with us. He works for our father." He was tempted to add 'building machines that save lives' but resisted.

"Really!" the Professor looked at Scott as if he were deciding the best way to dissect him. "I've done a bit of research on your father. He does good work, helps a lot of people. Very well! Take the diagrams to Robot Head and get him to make them up. Tell him to contact me if he needs help."

"Great!" Scott wondered if the interview was at an end.

Virgil had other ideas. "On a different subject. Would you mind if I had a look at your painting over there?"

"The Constable? Of course."

"It's a real Constable?" Virgil asked as he examined it closely. "I wondered if it was."

"Let me put a bit more light onto it," the Professor switched on a desk lamp and redirected it so that it fell on the painting.

"That's better," Virgil breathed. "It just comes alive when it's lit properly doesn't it." He examined the painting closer. "Constable was a true exponent of the Romantic School, wasn't he." He remarked on some of the highlights of the painting.

"You know art?" Professor Bunsen was finally deciding that maybe Virgil was of interest after all.

"I do a bit of painting myself."

"A bit!" Scott had been feeling a little left out. "The only time when he's not painting is when he's playing the piano."

Virgil remembered his brother. "Sorry, Scott. I guess this isn't very interesting for you is it?"

Professor Bunsen stared at Virgil. "You are a good pianist?"

Scott saved Virgil from being immodest. "Brilliant!"

"Not bad," Virgil said tactfully.

"I wonder..." the Professor started sweeping objects of the top of a rectangular table and then removed a brightly coloured blanket that protected it. "...Could you play this? It's been so long since anyone has played it and unfortunately I don't have the necessary skills."

Virgil circled the article of furniture. "It's a 'Square Piano' isn't it?"

"That's right."

Scott was a touch confused. "A square piano? You mean it doesn't have that curve in it, kind of like an upright?"

"No. It's the instrument that evolved between the harpsichord and the piano, otherwise known as a 'Table Grand.' What year was it made?" Virgil asked the Professor.

"1780," Professor Bunsen said proudly as he and Virgil lifted the lid back so the intricate interior was displayed.

"Look at that fretwork," Virgil said in amazement. "Scott, come and look at this!"

Reluctantly Scott got to his feet and made his way to the Square Piano. He felt the intricacies of the woodwork. "Not something you'd knock together in an afternoon."

"What's the wood?" Virgil asked.

"Rosewood. Please take a seat and play something," the Professor urged.

"Can I stop this?" Virgil held up his arm for the Professor's inspection.

"Of course," the Professor said impatiently. "How does it feel now?"

"To tell you the truth it's the best it's felt since before the accident."

"Good. As soon as the muscles start to tire do that massage. You'll soon be right. And get rid of that plate."

Eagerly sitting at the keyboard Virgil played a scale the length of the piano. It didn't sound too bad until he hit Middle C. "Ouch. That could do with some tuning."

"Could you?" The Professor delved into a pile of objects and retrieved a piano tuning kit.

Virgil did his best with the unfamiliar instrument. "The main difference between a 'Square' and a regular piano," he explained to Scott as he worked, "is that its strings run at right angles to the keys and the keyboard is usually five to five and a half octaves." When he'd finished tuning it wasn't perfect but Middle C sounded much better.

"Do you read music?" the Professor asked.

"Yes." Virgil found himself pushed off the piano stool as Professor Bunsen threw open the lid and retrieved a sheet of music. He held it out to Virgil expectantly.

Virgil took the sheet music hesitantly. It was yellowed with age and gave the impression that it could disintegrate at any moment. "What's the piece?"

"Something my Great-Great-Great-Great-Great..." Professor Bunsen counted down off his fingers, "I've lost count. Great-Grandfather wrote. I can't play, but I'd love to hear it."

"I'll give it a shot." Virgil quickly scanned the music and then started to play. "It needs a lighter touch than a modern piano," he noted.

Scott laid his hands on the wooden surface of the 'Square.' He could feel the vibrations of the music through the soundboard. He was feeling and hearing nearly three centuries of history. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

The Professor was standing at Virgil's side. His eyes closed in rapture; his body swaying in time to the music; his long fingers tapping out the rhythm.

Virgil was caught up in the beauty of the piece, and in the freedom of movement he was experiencing in his arm. It was a long time since he'd been able to play without pain or stiffness.

As the last note died away, they remained silent unwilling to break the spell of the music.

Virgil was the first to speak. "That was a wonderful piece to play. Would you mind if I got a copy?"

"Of course!" the Professor said joyfully. "You have done it justice, you have a right to it." He slipped the music into an ancient copier and gave the fresh sheets to Virgil who slotted them in with the diagrams he already had.

"Here. I'll help you cover the 'Square' up again," Virgil offered grasping one side of the lid.

"Tell me... Virgil... You have the name of a poet, the eyes of an artist and the soul of a musician. So why did you take up engineering as a profession?" Professor Bunsen asked curiously as together they wrestled with the tight fitting cover.

Scott listened intently. He'd often wondered this himself, but would never have phrased the question in quite this way.

Virgil thought for a moment. "Well you've got to admit that there is a certain artistry to the conceiving of a device, drafting it so others can visualise it, creating the necessary components so they work together perfectly and then building your creation. I guess I wanted to be able to do something that people would find useful."

The Professor nodded sagely as if he'd never thought of it in that way. "We all have our roles to play in life," he eventually pronounced grandly. "But never forget, my friend, that the arts have the power to heal, to calm the soul. Never forget that you have that gift," he finished with a flourish.

"Ah, right," Virgil said uncertainly. "Do you need us anymore."

"No. No. Get Robot Head to give me a call when he's examined my diagrams. And then when your father has paid me we can get started."

The mention of money rang a warning note in Virgil's mind. "That might be a problem."

Scott and the Professor stared at Virgil.

"What do you mean 'a problem'?" the Professor asked.

"You said you've done a bit of research on our father, so you know how keen he is on philanthropic interests," Virgil said, wondering if he was doing the right thing. "What you probably don't know is that where it comes to his sons he's a firm believer in us working for everything, like he did. He won't help us in any way..."

"But he sounded so keen yesterday?" Professor Bunsen said.

"He always sounds like that." Virgil wasn't enjoying the lie he was telling. "But he still expects Scott to pay for his own operation. I'd help..." he added quickly, "but since the accident both of us have been unable to work and have had no income. But we've both had... commitments... if you know what I mean."

The Professor assured him that he did.

"So the long and the short of it is, we have some money between us, but not as much as if our Father was bankrolling us." Virgil couldn't look at Scott's devastated face.

"I would never have believed your father would desert you like that," Professor Bunsen said quietly.

"He'd happily pay out if the operation is a success, but that's how he's got to where he is today, by only betting on sure things."

"I see," the Professor was even quieter. Then he shrugged. "Then I will not expect payment first. I will front up the money myself. If I succeed then your father will pay. If not, I'll have my machine and the memory of your music."

Scott couldn't believe his ears. "You mean that?"

"Of course. I do not lie!"

Virgil was, by now, feeling very guilty. "So we can tell our father, what's Scott's chances of regaining full sight?"

"Oh, I'd say 80 to 90 percent."

"80 to 90..." The best Scott had been hoping for was 50 percent.

Forty Nine

Neither of them spoke to the other until they were on the plane heading home.

"So..." Virgil eventually said. "What did you think?"

"He's..." Scott struggled to find the right words, "...a little odd..."

"That's putting it mildly," Virgil commented.

Scott continued. "But I kind of liked him and what's more, I trusted him. What about you? You two seemed to be getting on like a house on fire."

"Only after I asked about the Constable. He was ignoring me up till then."

"So what did you think?"

"He's... eccentric is being polite. You should have seen what he was wearing."

"Let me guess. For you to notice it must have been something clashing. Pink bow tie, green shirt and fluorescent orange trousers."

"Oh, no. I couldn't fault his colour sense," Virgil chuckled. "Everything was perfectly co-ordinated."

"Then what was wrong?"

"He was wearing a rabbit outfit."

"You're kidding me!"

"I'm not! Right down to the floppy ears and the fluffy tail. You heard him jumping about the room. He was hopping like a rabbit! It looked so weird watching you get examined by this giant rabbit and you didn't know a thing about it!"

"Heck," Scott exclaimed. "I'm glad you didn't tell me at the time.... So apart from the eccentricity, what did you think?"

"Believe it or not, I liked and trusted him too."

"So what was it with that 'But he still expects Scott to pay for his own operation,'" Scott mimicked Virgil's soft voice, "rubbish you were spinning."

"He seemed a little too keen on getting his hands on Father's money. I had to be sure that he wasn't taking you for a ride."

"And now how do you feel."

"Guilty! Really guilty!" Virgil admitted. "I could have spoilt everything for you. I think he genuinely believes he can help you."

"And can you and Brains make his machines?"

"It looks fairly straightforward."

"Great!" Scott thought for a moment. "Another question. Just what did you have in mind when you said, 'But we've both had... commitments... if you know what I mean.'" Once again he'd mimicked Virgil's voice.

"You know, I could get very annoyed with that, very quickly," Virgil said mildly.

"So what were you thinking of?"

"Nothing really. I thought I'd leave it up to his imagination."

"The mind boggles at what he could be thinking."

The plane soared on for a few miles more.

"Is that true what you said about why you took up engineering?" Scott eventually asked.

Virgil shrugged. "I've never really thought about it. I guess so. It sounded good anyway, he seemed impressed."

"It impressed me."

"Really," Virgil seemed surprised.

Tracy Island came in to view.

"Nearly there."

They arrived home. Scott was so excited he barely acknowledged his family and rushed off down to the lab to get Brains.

"I take it that it went well," Jeff said wryly.

"Professor Bunsen is a bit of an odd-ball, but he thinks he can do it." Virgil dropped the folder containing the plans on the desk.

"You believe him, Virgil?"

"Yes I do. He seems to know his stuff. My arm had stiffened up again and he showed me how to relax the muscles." He held out the arm and rotated. "It feels great."

"Your arm is a fair distance away from Scott's eyes though," Alan noted.

"He just needs the necessary equipment built," Virgil said. "He's given me the plans for Brains to look at. I think between the two of us we should be able to manufacture what's needed."

Gordon picked up the folder. The sheet music fell out. "Trust you, Virgil. How are these going to help Scott regain his sight?"

"Give them here." Virgil put the music on the piano as Scott, practically dragging Brains along, re-entered the room.

"Where's those diagrams, Virg?" Scott asked eagerly.

Gordon handed them to the little scientist who started flicking through. "Yes. Yes. This s-seems straight forward enough." He looked at Jeff. "We could even m-modify some of International R-Rescue's equipment, it'd save time. The procedure could p-probably be carried out here on Tracy Island."

"Good," Jeff stated. "You and Virgil get started as soon as possible. What did the Professor say about payment?"

Virgil coughed embarrassedly. "You don't have to pay unless the operation is successful."

Jeff stared at him. "You're kidding?"

"Only because Virgil very nearly blew it," Scott said. "Now the Professor's got the idea that when it comes to your sons you're a bit of a tightwad."

"What!" Jeff stared even harder at Virgil.

"I just wanted to make sure he wasn't taking us for a ride. So I told him you wouldn't even consider paying unless he was 100 percent sure he'd be successful."

"And how sure is he?" Grandma Tracy asked.

"80 to 90 percent," Scott grinned.

"Good odds, Scott," Alan said. "You going for it then."

"If we can make the equipment, you bet!"

"I'll have to meet this Professor B-Bunsen." Brains was still scanning the schematics.

"Oh, you already have, Brains," Scott said. "You were at university together."

Brains looked up. "W-We were? I don't remember a..." he glanced at the folder's cover, "Onslow Bunsen."

"He said he had a nickname for you," Virgil said, grinning.

"Everyone c-called me Brains," Brains said his face creased in confusion.

"Apparently not this guy," Scott said.

Brains confusion cleared. "Not Bunny Bunsen!"

Virgil nearly choked.

"Bunny," Scott said thoughtfully. "Figures."

"He didn't!" Brains was aghast. "Not the r-rabbit suit." Virgil was nodding.

"What..." Jeff said slowly, "...is this about a rabbit suit."

"Bunny Bunsen had th-this theory that if you w-were going to take him seriously th-then you would be able to see past the r-rabbit suit and see how clever he was. His family l-left him plenty of money and h-he was able to indulge his passions for m-medical research. He's not afraid to think o-outside the square and has come up with some quite b-brilliant innovations. He kept on at me to t-take up medicine, said I'd s-save more lives that way..." Brains stopped talking briefly. "He's nearly as great a genius as I am," he added as an afterthought.

It was Scott's turn to choke.

Virgil grinned at Brains' lack of humility and the obvious rivalry that had existed between the two men.

"So you managed to see past the rabbit suit?" Gordon asked Virgil, with an impish grin.

"I couldn't see it," Scott shrugged. "So it didn't worry me. At least not until Virgil told me about it on the flight home."

"Y-You know, Mr. Tracy," Brains said slowly. "Bunny B-Bunsen could be an asset to I-International Rescue. W-We could do with a d-dedicated medical researcher. It w-would free me up to..."

"Be a typical 'Engineer'?" Virgil asked laughing.

"I suppose he told you off f-for choosing that c-career, did he?"

"I got the feeling he wasn't too impressed with me, yes," Virgil acknowledged.

"At least he warmed to you," Scott said. "I thought he'd refuse to have anything to do with me just because I'd been in the Air Force."

"Ah! Th-The Killing Machine," Brains said. "To B-Bunny Bunsen human life is sacrosanct."

"Imagine his reaction if he knew we were International Rescue?" Virgil said.

"So, Brains," Alan said casually. "Just what was your nickname?"

"N-Never you mind," Brains flushed.

"Virgil will tell us later anyway. Won't you Virg?"

"No way. Us 'Engineers' have got to stick together."

"You'll tell us won't you, Scott."

"And jeopardise any chance of getting the equipment made? Sorry, Gordon."

"I'd like to c-call him and get a few th-thing clarified, Mr. Tracy. If I may?" Brains asked his employer.

"Be my guest, Brains." Jeff vacated the chair so that Brains could sit in front of the videophone. "Tell him I'd like to meet him whenever he's ready. He can visit us on the island. We'll pick him up in the jet."

Brains made the call.

Professor Bunsen answered with the video turned on. "Robot Head, is that you?"

Alan and Gordon looked at each other and mouthed the words "Robot Head?" in astonishment.

"I-It is, B-Bunny."

"Have you still got that stutter, Robot Head? I could fix it you know."

"I-I have no doubt that you could, B-Bunny. About th-these plans for Scott. We should get together and d-discuss them. Mr. Tracy suggested th-that we could send a p-plane to pick you up. Y-You could come to Tracy Island and m-meet the family."

Bunny Bunsen seemed a trifle surprised. "Visit Mr. Tracy? But of course, just tell me when."

"Whenever would s-suit you. B-But please, Bunny. Leave the r-rabbit suit at home..."

Alan and Gordon looked disappointed. They'd been looking forward to seeing the Professor in his costume.

The Professor visited the next day. "You lied to me," he said accusingly to Virgil. "You said your father wouldn't pay."

"Call it the curse of the Engineers," Virgil said easily, although his stomach was knotted up with worry. "We're always very careful with money. Besides I was testing you... just as you were testing us with the rabbit suit."

Professor Bunsen laughed. "Touché. Very clever, my friend. How's the arm."

"Haven't had any problems since you showed me that massage."

"Good, good." Professor Bunsen turned back to Brains.

Virgil mimed wiping sweat from his brow and grinned sheepishly at his father...

Fifty

"What are you guys up to?" Scott asked as he wandered into the simulator control room.

He heard Gordon jump and smiled at the reaction. Now that the family had come to accept Scott's condition and regard it as just a normal part of life, Gordon had decided that it would be fun to try to sneak up on Scott. Which he tried, again, and again, and again. What he hadn't reckoned on was Scott's hearing becoming more acute. The result being that Scott heard Gordon every time. What had started out as a simple practical joke had become, for Gordon, one of his life's ambitions. But what really irked him was that Scott managed to sneak up on him so often, usually without trying.

"Oh, ah, Scott," he stammered. "We're just trying something out."

"Really, what?"

"Tell him, Alan."

Alan glared at his redheaded brother. "Thanks," he said sarcastically. "Um. We were just trying to see if we could do what you did."

"What I did?" Scott said in surprise. "What was that?"

"Um, land Thunderbird One without being able to see."

"Oh." Scott hesitated a moment. "And can you?"

"No!" Gordon said. "We've all had a go blindfolded. We've tried to replicate the conditions you were under and we can't do it."

At that moment the door to the simulator opened and Virgil jumped out in a huff. "I don't know how he... Scott!"

"What happened, Virgil? Did you crash Thunderbird One?" Scott asked wryly.

"Yes, but not that time."

"You succeeded?"

"No. I was trying it in Thunderbird Two."

"But surely you made it in Thunderbird Two?" Scott asked.

"Don't worry, Virgil," Gordon said with a laugh. "We'll give you a good funeral. Shame there wasn't enough left for a decent burial. We'll just scoop what was left of you and Two up together and drop you in the hole."

"I don't get it," Virgil said. "I could understand me not being able to land Thunderbird One, I'm not so tuned in to her. But Thunderbird Two..."

"I thought you were supposed to working with Brains on that equipment," Scott said. "Not crashing all of International Rescue's aircraft."

"Brains doesn't need any help at the moment. He's going to page me as soon as he needs me. I thought to relax I'd get in a bit of practise on Thunderbird One, and then these two came up with this harebrained idea."

"Let me have a go," Scott suggested.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd want to got through that again," Gordon noted.

"I wouldn't in real life, but maybe there's something missing from the simulation. I might be able to pick up on it."

"Okay, Scott," Alan agreed. "Same conditions as last time?"

"Same conditions as last time," Scott stated firmly.

"In you go, Alan," Gordon grinned. "You can lie there like a dummy. I'll get the VSM."

"Except that!" Scott said even more firmly. "Who's got the blindfold?"

Alan and Gordon burst out laughing as Virgil absentmindedly held it out to him.

Scott sat in the simulators seat. As he ran his hands over the controls re-familiarising himself, the memories returned as to the circumstances he'd been under last time he'd tried this.

"Ready, Scott?" Gordon asked through the intercom.

"F-A-B."

"Okay, you've hovering over the runway. Do you want me to be Dad?"

"Only after Virgil told him to shut up."

"You did what?" Alan's astonished voice was heard in the background.

"I did not!" Virgil said. "I merely suggested that you'd cope better if he restricted what he was saying."

"Just as well you did, or my landing might have been as good as yours. Okay fellas. What's my height?"

They'd replicated the conditions as closely as they'd been able. Gordon read out Scott's 'height' off the ground.

The three observers watched as the simulator mimicked the forces and movements of Thunderbird One.

The ground was getting closer. Scott was sweating nearly as much as he had been the other day. Something was missing. He lowered 'Thunderbird One' a bit more.

An explosion sounded, nearly startling him out of the pilot's chair. He was glad he couldn't see the fireworks that he knew would have been displayed on the simulator screen.

"Nice one, Scott," Alan said dryly. "I'm glad I'm not with you this time!"

"It's not the same," Scott protested.

"Yeah. Sure."

"Honestly. There weren't the vibrations and change in sounds when the VTOL rockets went off against the ground and the hull. That's how I knew we were close. It's why none of you managed to land."

Virgil sounded relieved. "I knew there had to be a reason."

"Yeah. The reason is that even blind Scott's a better pilot than you," Gordon teased.

Scott smiled as Virgil snapped an indignant reply. It was good to be alive. And if Professor Bunsen could reinstate his eyesight it would be even better.

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