PUPPET ON A STRING by PURUPUSS RATED FRC

Author's Notes: This is a story that I originally wrote and posted in 2004, prior to the "Thunderbirds" movie coming out. Since then my writing skills have improved, a new fan fiction web site called fanlib.com has arrived, and I've seen the Travesty… ah, I mean movie.

Wanting all of my stories posted on 'Flib' to be at my present standard, or higher, I had updated the story, but hadn't intended to repost anywhere else. Then I remembered that Rabid-Cheetah had suggested something that I wished I'd thought of... Then quiller gave me another line that was too good to be left out… Then ejb sent me another brilliant idea… So here is the updated and improved, "Puppet on a String – 2007 – Mk III point five".

As usual I can not lay a claim to Thunderbirds, or any of the characters or craft (or G.A.), I'm just tying them up in knots for my amusement.

Thanks to quiller and D.C. for their invaluable advice and proofreading skills. And a big thank you to Rabid-Cheetah, quiller and ejb for their suggestions.

So here for your reading 'pleasure' is the final ever version of "Puppet on a String"… Unless someone gets themselves into gear and creates the promised (or not) CGI TV series.

F-A-B

John Tracy stood in the middle of all the devastation and looked skywards. He could dimly make out moving shapes and, not for the first time, wondered what was up there in that almost impenetrable blackness.

Philosophising over he surveyed the scene about him.

They'd successfully completed their latest rescue. International Rescue had only to pack their equipment away and then they could leave the local authorities to begin directing the long, hard clean up. As he thought about this, John ran his fingers of his right hand through his blonde hair.

At the same moment he flew up into the air, spun about in an alarming manner, and then came crashing back to earth; seemingly unfazed by this strange event.

"Well, that was graceful." Gordon said laconically. "What was that in aid of?"

"Dunno," John replied, as he tried to lower his hand. "I think someone sneezed." He continued his attempts to extract his fingers from his hair.

"What are you doing, John?" Alan asked. "Stop mucking about and give us a hand."

"I will," John informed him, "as soon as I can move again. I – can't – seem…" each word was punctuated by a tug at his head, "…to…" tug "…be…" tug "…able…"tug, tug "…to – lower – my – arm." He gave an irritated sigh and stopped pulling. "It's no good. I think the strings are tangled."

Scott wandered over from Mobile Control, looking at the air immediately above his younger brother's head as he did so. "Yeah, they are. Try spinning back the other way."

John thought for a moment, trying to remember which way he'd revolved the first time. Coming to a decision he slowly started to turn in a clockwise motion. Initially the plan appeared to be working and, encouraged, he increased the speed and vigour of his rotations, only to realise too late that his limbs were becoming impeded as the strings wound tighter. He stopped; still unable to get his arm into a more comfortable position. "I must be going the wrong way?" He reversed his course.

Intrigued by the inactive knot of brothers, Virgil came over to see what was happening. "Is this some kind of new dance you've invented, John?"

"No, it's not!"

"It's not working either," Alan noted.

"Stand still and let's have a look," Scott directed. He gave a low whistle as he examined the wires stretching above John's head. "You've got yourself into a right tangle."

"Well untangle me!" John was clearly becoming frustrated by his immobility.

"Gordon, stand here." Scott led the redhead to John's side so he could compare the arrangement of strings that ran up into the air from his two brothers' bodies. "Okay, the one from your right ear should go up this way…"

"Instead it goes around the one from his hand and back between the solenoid line and his left leg's string," Alan said.

"I don't need a full description," John snapped. "Just fix me up!"

His four brothers spent the next five minutes trying to untangle him, without tangling their own wires as they worked closely together.

"Move your left arm, John…"

"No don't do that! I've nearly got this knee string sorted…"

"Lift your left leg…"

"Let's untangle this temple wire…"

"Lift your right leg…"

"I can't lift them both, I'll fall over!" John said in exasperation. "And, Virgil! Will you stop humming that infernal song in my ear?"

Virgil stopped working on one of John's head wires. "I thought it was appropriate."

"You know I can't stand 'Puppet on a String'."

"You only say that you don't like it because you know G.A. doesn't like it," Virgil stated. "And, because you know that he also doesn't like you, you're trying to get into his good books."

"No. I just don't like it, period! Hum something else."

Virgil started humming.

"But not that!"

"Don't you like ABBA songs?"

"'I'm a Marionette' is not exactly tactful at this point."

Virgil grinned at his brothers. "Any requests?"

"Yeah. Go somewhere else. We've got too many people working here," Scott commanded.

"Fine." Virgil pretended to be affronted by the order. "If you don't appreciate my input I'll sit over there and enjoy seeing you four make fools of yourselves." He sat down in Mobile Control's command seat and watched his brothers in amusement.

Alan was using a needle to try and loosen the knots that connected John to his controlling wires. The needle slipped and the sharp metal implement scratched along the back of John's hand, to the accompaniment of a howl of pain from the entangled man.

"Alan!" Scott scowled. "For Pete's sake be careful! Other people have got to use those hands, you know!"

"Sorry."

They struggled on for another five minutes before falling back to look at John, who, if anything, was in an even worse mess.

"We could always remove his arm, untwist the wires, and then replace it," Gordon suggested.

Scott bit his lip in thought. "It's an idea," he mused.

"Remove my arm!" John yelped in horror. "Forget it! There's no way that you are removing any of my body parts. I'm too attached to them." He scowled at his brothers. "Understand?! Think of something else."

"Okay… So, since dismemberment's out of the question," Scott conceded, "any other ideas?"

"I know!" Alan exclaimed. "Don't move, John." He turned and ran back to Thunderbird Two.

"I can't move," John shouted after his brother's retreating back. "That's the problem!"

"If anyone's interested," Virgil began, "I have a suggestion. All we need to do…"

Alan reappeared, carrying a laser. "Stand back!" he ordered.

A white light shot from the end and John crumpled to the ground. "Thanks, Alan," he muttered into the blue material of his trousers.

Alan heard a note of sarcasm. "At least you don't have tangled strings any more."

Scott glared at the youngest Tracy. "He's got nothing to support himself either."

Gordon was examining the severed ends of John's strings. "And you've fused some of the wires together."

"Brilliant!" was the muffled comment from the heap on the ground. "Now what am I supposed to do?"

"I did have a more, ah, shall we say practical solution," Virgil said. "But since you didn't want to listen to me…"

John groaned. "Just do something, will you."

Unperturbed by the change in John's circumstances, Alan grinned. "We'll tie his strings together again."

"And they'll be a couple of inches shorter and his feet won't touch the ground," Scott reminded him.

"Oh." Alan's face fell. "I didn't think of that."

"I didn't think you had."

Gordon was rummaging through the first aid kit. "Here's some replacement wire." He held up a spool.

"What thickness?" Scott asked.

Gordon examined the label. "0.003 inches."

"Too thin. It'll never support him…"

"It'll do for his arms," Virgil interrupted.

"Good. Here." Gordon tossed the spool to him. "What about…" he checked a second spool, "0.005 inches."

"That'll hold him."

They spent the next 20 minutes rejoining the strings that were still connected to John, to those wires that had been dangling uselessly above him. Finally he was able to stand unaided and his brothers took the opportunity to stand back and examine their handiwork.

John's head lolled drunkenly to one side. His left shoulder was hunched up next to his ear. His right leg was bent so his foot was suspended in the air. He moaned. "I think I was more comfortable when I was on the ground."

His brothers laughed. "Say that again, John," Alan requested.

"Why? Aren't your ears working?" John saw the expressions on his brothers' faces. "What are you lot smiling at?"

"I didn't realise ventriloquism was one of your talents, John," Gordon teased. "You're the puppet, not the puppeteer."

"Huh?"

"Your lip isn't moving," Scott informed him.

"Huh?" John repeated; his lower lip immobile.

"All you need is the appropriate dummy." Gordon's grin widened. "Alan, help him out will you?"

He received a scowl from his younger brother. "Who pulled your string?"

"It's not surprising really," Virgil looked at the empty spool in his hand. "We haven't used the right type of wire to connect his solenoid. It's not receiving the signals telling his mouth to move."

"You can still hear me talk though, can't you?" John asked; his face expressionless.

"Yes." They all nodded.

"Then… GET ME HOME! Brains can fix me up properly."

Scott extended his hand in an expressive gesture. "There's Thunderbird Two. You climb aboard and we'll join you when we've finished our business here."

"Just as soon as I've finished some business of my own." John's glassy eyes were fixed on Alan.

"Ooof!"

Surprised, three Tracys looked at Scott. "John…" he gasped, "why… did… you… elbow… me?"

"I didn't," John protested. "I was trying to grab Alan. Like this."

"Ooof." Scott repeated, as John's elbow once again connected with his solar plexus. He took a precautionary step backwards.

"Who fixed up his arm?" Gordon asked, following the strings up towards the sky. "You've put them on back to front. If he tries to move his arm forward it's gonna go backwards."

"So I gathered," Scott said as he moved somewhere safer, rubbing his bruised abdomen.

"If that's the only mistake we've made, we've done well," Virgil said.

John rolled his head to look at Gordon. "I don't think that's the only mistake, Virgil."

"Why are you looking at me?" Gordon asked. "Virgil's over there."

"I was trying to look at him." John's head lolled in the other direction. "You've got my head wires mucked up too."

Gordonexamined his brother dangling disjointedly before him."What a cock-up!"

"Hey!" Scott admonished. "This is a children's show!"

"I always thought that phrase came from the artillery," Virgil said. "You know; if you didn't cock your gun correctly…"

"I heard that it was related to wine and beer making," Alan interrupted. "I was told that the faucet on a keg or barrel is called the cock and…"

"As I was saying," Virgil continued, "it's actually an archery term…"

"In actual fact it's a nautical term," Gordon informed them all. "The cock is the upper foremost corner of a gaff sail rigged sail. When the sail was being raised…"

"Guys," John sounded patient. "As much as I'm enjoying this etymological history lesson, GET ME THE HE…"

"Children's show," Alan teased.

"…HECK OUT OF HERE!"

"Just get into Thunderbird Two," Scott instructed. "We'll worry about straightening you out when we're home."

"Right!" John attempted to walk to the aeroplane. His right leg swung forward in an ungainly fashion and then veered off to the side. As he tried to compensate, his left leg appeared to decide of its own accord to move off at an oblique angle. Once again he ended up in a crumpled heap on the ground. "I'm getting sick of this. Can't you guys give me a hand?"

They solved the problem by picking him up and carrying him over to Thunderbird Two before dumping him without ceremony on the floor of the pod. He lay there moaning: not in pain, but in frustration.

"You'll be safe there until we get home," Gordon called over his shoulder as he descended the ramp. "Just pretend it's winter and you're a hibernating polar bear, and get some sleep."

"Thanks." John's sarcasm was directed into his boot as the door to the pod was raised, blocking out the bright sunlight.

They'd been home for a few hours when a fully restored John finally made his appearance.

"Well?" he asked, giving them a twirl. "What do you think of the new look?"

His family gaped at him. "How'd you get through the door without having to remove the lintel?" Alan asked, awestruck.

Like his sons, Jeff was amazed at the transformation. "Where are your strings?"

"Don't need them," John replied, his smile as broad as Thunderbird Two. "Brains has come up with this new under-floor arrangement. It's much more convenient."

Grandma entered the room and gasped. "John! Your head's shrunk."

"Yep. Brains shifted the solenoid to my chest. I don't need such a big head now."

"No strings!" Virgil exclaimed. "Could you do that to me too? I'll be able to launch Thunderbird Two much quicker if I don't have to unhook my strings every time I slide down to my seat!"

Scott circled his newly restored brother to examine him from all sides. "This new system has stiffened you up a lot."

"Why don't you see if Brains can do the same for you, Alan," Tin-Tin suggested.

Alan's cheeks flamed, but embarrassment wasn't his only problem.

"Alan!" John rounded on him. "Now, once I get my hands on you, you'llneed your strings replaced."

Aware that he was in trouble, Alan began retreating.

Intent on revenge, John followed him…

…Until something impeded his path.

Surprised he looked down at his feet.

…Or where his feet used to be.

He'd been travelling along a slot in the floor and suddenly realised that this severely restricted his mobility options. "Brains!"

Jeff looked at John's predicament. "I don't know about this, Brains. I don't think that cutting a hole in the bottom of the space station is such a good idea."

"N-No, Mr Tracy. Y-You could be right," Brains mused, and scratched his head as he considered their options.

"What are we going to do?" John asked, as visions of being banished from Thunderbird Five floated through his mind.

"Th-There is a-a-another option."

"Yes?" John's eyes lit up.

"We, ah, could, um, m-make you human," Brains suggested. He didn't seem to be enamoured with the idea.

"Human?" John sounded impressed. "You mean with no strings? No rods? Nothing to hold me up or hold me down? I could move anywhere and do anything? You can do that?"

Fascinated, Gordon sat forward. "Or are you stringing us along?"

Brains remained serious. "I-It has been d-done before. It's known as the, er, Frakes procedure."

"Can you do this 'Frakes procedure' on me next?" Virgil begged. "It sounds like the answer to a lot of problems."

"Yes," John agreed. "Do Virg next. Then I'd be oldest, Virgil second oldest, Scott…"

"Hey!" Scott protested.

"Whoa!" Jeff stopped the potential argument. "You can forget about that idea. I already have enough trouble keeping track of your birth order as it is!" He turned back to the little scientist. "How safe is this procedure, Brains?"

"I-It d-depends…"

"Depends?" John's enthusiasm was waning fast. "Depends on what?"

"Th-The competency of the director. Done well it is an excellent system. But p-performed by s-someone with n-n-no, er, empathy for the subject then…" he hesitated. "th-there could be several s-side effects."

"Side effects?" Jeff frowned. "Such as?"

"Th-The sensation of f-f-floating in a vacuum."

"Is that permanent?" John asked.

"N-No. It appears to be t-temporary."

"Floating in a vacuum," John thought. Then he shrugged. "Well, I'm an astronaut. So long is it is only temporary I can deal with that."

"There c-could be other c-complications."

John stared at Brains. "Like…?"

"In s-some cases the subject has a-appeared to decrease in age."

"You mean they become younger?" Jeff ran his fingers through greying locks. "That might not be a bad thing."

Brains did some rapid calculations. "It could mean that, a-as an example, A-Alan would have the appearance, both ph-physically and m-mentally, of being fourteen-years-old."

"Who'd notice the difference?" Gordon asked, and was punched on the arm. "Ow! See what I mean."

"Fourteen?! Again!?" Jeff held up his hands in protest. "I've already had to deal with five teenaged boys. I'm not going through that again."

"Or," Brains continued, "it may h-have the opposite effect?"

"And we could age?" Grandma exclaimed. "Jefferson! We can't do this!"

"In earlier experiments an a-alteration to hair colour and other, er, identifying characteristics have been noted," Brains continued. "F-Features of one individual can morph into another's so their identities become analogous…"

"You mean people wouldn't be able to tell us apart?" Gordon asked.

"Y-Yes."

"Are you trying to tell us that if we were humans instead of Supermarionettes we'd be… ah…" Alan's forehead creased into a frown as he sought the right words. "…A bunch of nobodies…? Or some kind of Frakenstein's monster?"

Brains nodded. "More seriously, the procedure has even been kn-known to create havoc with the u-universe as we know it. I-Integral members of, ah, family units h-have been known vanish, forgotten by their f-families, to b-be replaced by new, er, entities."

"New entities?" Tin-Tin repeated. "What do you mean, Brains?"

"P-Previously unknown parents, spouses, children…" Brains explained. "It is not an exact science."

"Obviously," Scott agreed. "So this Frakes procedures not an option. Any other ideas?"

"I-I, p-personally, prefer 'Computer Generated Interfacing', c-commonly known as CGI," Brains clarified. "The s-subject is controlled not by w-wires, but by a r-remote computer. It offers as much f-freedom, if not more, th-than the Frakes procedure. A-And it is possible to achieve a, er, world similar to that we have now. But…"

"But?" Jeff prompted.

"L-Like the F-F-Frakes procedure, CGI requires someone w-with empathy to control the outcome."

"Mr Brains." Up till this point Kyrano had been listening in silence. "Do you have such a person in mind?"

Brains nodded. "I am thinking of a man who kn-knows our universe well. He has dealt with our k-kind as well as CGI."

"Will he help us?" Jeff asked.

"I-I believe that he would like to," Brains admitted. "But, at present, there are forces beyond e-even International Rescue's control p-preventing him from assisting us."

"Perhaps Penny and Parker can do something about these 'forces?" Virgil suggested.

Brains shook his head. "Even they are powerless against this law."

"So," Jeff concluded, "in the short term we only have one option open to us: we stick with Supermarionation. Does everyone agree?"

Everyone, including John, concurred.

Brains looked relieved at his employer's suggestion. "I-If I may say, Sir. I-I agree wholeheartedly. This is the best solution."

"Good." Jeff returned to his desk. "String John up again, Brains."

"Y-Yes, Mr Tracy."

The end

And if you're wondering who was manning Thunderbird Five while all this was going on, it was Lady Penelope. She'd been told that the space station was free of mice.