INHERITANCE by QUILLER RATED FRC

A rescue in England takes an unexpected turn for Scott.

Author's Notes: This tale was sparked off by a discussion at the Brits get-together this summer (2006). We were staying in a house which had pictures by the owner's son, fantasy artist Andrew Stewart, in all the rooms. One of the pictures (shown here) also helped inspire this story. To see more of this artist's work go to this site. And thank you to Boomercat and Purupuss for letting me borrow ideas from their stories, also to Purupuss and Jules for their proofreading and helpful suggestions.

Final note: I have left the location of this story deliberately vague as there are several sites in both England and Wales that would claim to be the setting for my tale.

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three

Chapter One

As the credits rolled up the screen, Scott stretched his long legs in front of him. "Well, that was a complete waste of time," he remarked. "Somebody remind me why we were watching it."

Virgil picked up the magazine lying on the floor and consulted it. "According to Kiné, it's a re-release of a twentieth century classic about King Arthur and the knights of the Round Table."

"Well, all I can say is that this was one film that should have stayed unreleased."

"Hey, it wasn't that bad!"

Scott snorted. "Fairy tales for kids."

"As a matter of fact, Scott," said John, scooping up the few remaining morsels of popcorn from Virgil's bucket, "there is evidence that the tales are based on a real person who lived back in the Dark Ages, just after the Romans left Britain."

"Yeah, I can buy that there was a real person once. But the whole mythical thing about the ‘once and future king' who will return when his country needs him? What good could he do in this day and age? A sword wouldn't be much good against a jet fighter or a machine gun."

Virgil stood, stretching until his shoulders cracked, then turned towards his brother. "You're just in a bad mood because One got scratched by that piece of shrapnel on the last rescue. Come on, let's go and see if the paint's dry now. One more coat and she'll be as good as new."

Two weeks later Scott and Virgil were engaged in a game of pool when the alarm sounded. On entering the lounge they found their father in discussion with John, who was now doing his turn of duty on the satellite.

"So these cavers have been missing for over twelve hours and the authorities are concerned that they might be trapped by a rockfall?"

From his picture on the wall John nodded. "That's right, Father. And there has been a lot of rain in that part of England recently, so there's a danger that the cave system might be flooded."

"Sounds like we'll need the Mole, then," Virgil put in.

"No, Virgil," replied John. "According to the authorities, this area of limestone is very unstable. I think you'll be better off with the hand-held cutters."

Jeff turned to his sons. "OK then, Gordon. I'm sending you with Virgil. He might need an extra pair of hands. Sounds like you'd better take your scuba gear as well."

"Can I go too?" said Alan. Only two days after his return from Thunderbird 5, the youngest Tracy had wrenched his shoulder while helping a victim trapped on a cliff. Like all the Tracy men he hated being unfit and had been griping about it ever since.

Jeff opened his mouth to reply, but Scott spoke first. "You know, Father, that wouldn't be a bad idea. We'll have quite a lot to carry into these caves. Alan could stay behind and man Mobile Control.

Jeff considered the idea, then nodded. "OK, Alan, but you stay at Mobile Control, understood? That shoulder won't get any better unless you rest it."

"FAB, Dad," said Alan, a grin creasing his features. At last, a chance for some action.

In a few minutes Scott was airborne and contacting John for details of the landing site.

Whilst he was entering the coordinates on his autopilot, Alan, sitting in the jump seat, voiced the concern that was on his mind. "John, has anything struck you as odd about this call? Why do they need us? Most cave complexes usually have a local volunteer group willing to go in and rescue anyone who gets lost or trapped."

John nodded. "Yeah, I thought that too. But this seems to be the exception. Apparently the locals don't go anywhere near the place. The cavers who are trapped are some group from Germany who were visiting England on a holiday to explore caves in various parts of the country."

"What, are they haunted or something?"

John gave a shrug. "The authorities are hardly likely to tell me that. But if you do see anyone wandering around with their head tucked under their arm, just remember that you're not there to rescue them." John was always teasing Alan about his fondness for ghost stories as a teenager.

Scott made a small adjustment to Thunderbird One's trim "Alan won't be seeing anyone in the caves. He'll be sitting tight at Mobile Control, right, kiddo?" Sitting behind Scott, Alan made a rude face at his elder brother's back.

Soon the sleek silver craft was approaching the rescue site. Scott touched down halfway up a hillside topped by a radio mast. He noted with approval the arrangements that had been made by the local police, who had cordoned off an area big enough for both Thunderbird craft. Onlookers seemed to be confined to an area at the bottom of the hill, where a small cottage stood next to a car park and a road snaked away, presumably to the nearest town.

Scott smiled to himself as he helped Alan set up Mobile Control. The sky had the pale blue of an early English spring. Virgil complained that it always seemed to rain when he came to England. Maybe this time he would be lucky.

The roar of engines indicated the arrival of the transporter craft. "Mobile Control to Thunderbird Two," Alan spoke into the microphone. "Virgil, make a pass over the hill. See if Two's sensors can pick up any life signs - it might give us an idea of how deep these cavers are."

After a minute Gordon's voice came back. "I'm getting life signs, but they're quite deep. Looks like we've got a long trek ahead of us."

While the giant craft was making its final approach, Scott had a word with the local constable on duty, then wandered over to where the man had told him the entrance to the cave was located. He doubted if he would have found it by himself. The entrance was concealed by a large slab of limestone, behind which was a set of iron gates, once locked but obviously not used for some time as they screeched on their hinges when Scott pushed them open.

"You're not going in there!"

Scott turned at the voice, and found himself facing an old man, dressed in a variety of mud-splattered garments. The stranger looked like he spent his time sleeping under hedges, and frankly, smelt like it too.

"Yes, we are." Scott wondered how the old man had got past the police cordon.

At the sound of Scott's accent, the old man shook his head. "More bloody furriners! What is this place coming to, all these furriners running around? I told the last lot not to go in there. I told them!" He glared at Scott, as if holding him personally responsible.

Scott realised the old guy was, as Gordon would have put it, not quite playing with a full deck. "Well, we have to go and get the other ones out," he said, trying to explain as simply as he could.

"Why?"

Scott's patience was running out. "Because that's our job. We help people. We're the ones people go to when there is no-one else who can help."

Scott suddenly found himself the object of intense scrutiny. The old man's eyes, which before had seemed cloudy and confused, now seemed to be seeing right into Scott's soul. This only lasted for a second, then the old man nodded.

"Well, if you must," he said, his confused manner back again. "But make sure you touch nothing down there, you hear? Nothing!" He turned and walked away, muttering into his beard. Scott watched him go, then walked back to where his brothers were emerging from Two's pod, carrying armfuls of gear which was soon distributed amongst them.

Scott looked at his brothers. "All set? OK, let's go. See you soon, Alan!"

Scott had never seen the attraction that caving held for his youngest brother. He preferred open sky around him. At first the going was easy, but on several occasions they were forced to crawl through narrow passages, grateful for the protective overalls they were wearing. Many of the passages had water draining down the walls or dripping from above, and some were punctuated with stalactites hanging overhead and stalagmites growing from the floor.

The portable Victim-locator gave off a steady signal, leading them deeper into the hillside, until they were forced to stop by a pile of fallen rocks that was blocking the passageway.

"The signal is quite strong here," said Gordon. "I think we might have found them."

Scott and Virgil unslung the portable rock-cutters from their backs and aimed them at the rock pile. They worked together in silence, cutting a hole big enough to pass though. The work was proceeding well when Gordon suddenly yelled a warning from behind them. Scott's reaction came just a fraction too late as a lump of rock hit him on the side of the head and everything went black.

Chapter Two

Darkness. Total darkness. Scott wondered for a minute if he had opened his eyes at all, as it hadn't made any difference, except to increase the pounding in his skull. "Virgil? Gordon?" No answer. His fingers groped around and, to his relief, found the torch. Switching it on, he could see he was in a large cave. ‘Must be on the other side of that rockfall, then.' The cave was filled with stalactites and stalagmites, some connecting together to form complete columns, but all casting strange shadows in the torchlight. No sign of his brothers, though. Surely they wouldn't have left him behind. Hold, on, was that a figure resting at the base of one of the rocky columns? It wasn't in IR overalls, but could be one of the cavers. He moved towards it, but as he went deeper into the cave his attention was caught by a curious shape in the centre of the open space. A stalagmite, with the customary fused appearance of melted wax, but this one seemed to have something extruding from one side.

Though his instinct told him to check on the recumbent figure, a compulsion too strong for him to resist was pulling Scott towards the strange object. The extrusion looked like some sort of long, slender cross. He touched the upper part and felt a tingling sensation, like a mild electric shock, run through his fingers and up his arm. He pressed harder, and the encrusted limestone broke away in pieces, like ice off a puddle. No, he realised, it wasn't a cross, but a sword, the hilt now free of its limestone covering. His interest mounting, he rapped on the blade and again the limestone broke away. To his amazement the blade showed no sign of rust, but gleamed in the torchlight. Grasping the handle firmly, he pulled. There was a slight cracking sound as the limestone around the base let go, but then the sword pulled free of the rock.

At once there was a sound like rushing wind, and for a second the cave seemed to be filled with a golden light. Scott stood, bemused, holding the sword and uncertain what to do next. A movement behind him made him spin round. He had forgotten all about the figure he had seen.

Four figures were coming towards him in the torchlight. As they got nearer, Scott realised their features were familiar to him Two were blond, one dark and the fourth had hair that glowed copper in the torchlight. But to his surprise the four knelt in front of him and bowed their heads.

"Hey, fellas, what's all this?"

The tallest one, with blond hair, looked up. "Sire, your knights are ready to do your bidding."

"John?"

The man looked bemused. "No, sire, 'tis Lancelot."

The dark haired one next to him spoke next. "Bedivere, my lord, at your service."

The one with copper-coloured hair met his gaze, a grin crossing his features. "Gawain, sire. It is good to see you again."

The last one raised a blond head. "Galahad at your command, my liege.

Scott's mind was whirling. "What's going on? Where did you come from? Why are you here?"

The one who had called himself Bedivere answered this time. "Merlin brought us here to wait for you. He said you would come for us when it was time, when we were needed."

"Needed? So someone needs our help?"

"Someone must, my lord" said the one identified as Lancelot," else you would not be here to awaken us."

"There is no-one here, sire," said Gawain peering into the dark recesses of the cave. "Perhaps outside?"

The pounding in Scott's head made it difficult for him to think. Hadn't he come down here to find someone, or something? That seemed a long time ago. But there was certainly no danger down here now, so they must be needed elsewhere. No matter if he couldn't understand the rest, someone needed help - that he could deal with. "Come on then, let's go and find out who they are and what we have to do."

All the way back to the surface, Scott kept glancing at his companions. ‘OK,' he thought to himself, ‘you are dreaming all this. Just go with the flow'.

As the figures emerged from the cave, the first thing Scott noticed was the cold, damp air. The sky was now heavily overcast, with the sun's disc barely visible. A thin smattering of dirty grey snow lay over the ground. The Thunderbird craft had gone, and a twisted spike of metal was all that was left of the radio mast.

Bedivere looked at the sky and scowled, wrapping his cloak tightly around him. Scott followed suit, only then realising that he was no longer wearing his overalls, but was dressed like the others in a woollen tunic and leggings. Over these he wore a cloak, held in place by a brooch in the shape of a dragon.

The group headed down the hill, past the ruins of the cottage, now an empty shell, and onto a road that was pitted and scarred. What had been lush green fields on either side were now a barren wasteland, except the field that contained the wreckage of an aeroplane, its spars sticking out like the skeleton of some prehistoric beast.

"I can see smoke up ahead," the copper-haired knight observed. "Must be a village coming up."

The dark-haired one spoke up. "That's too much smoke to be ordinary fires. Could be trouble."

Scott listened to all this with only half an ear. However, the sound of feet running towards them brought his military training into action. With a quick wave of his hand he gestured his companions off the road, where they crouched behind the remains of a wall. As the running feet approached, Scott jumped out.

"No! Mercy! Please don't hurt me!" It was a young boy, probably no more than twelve years old, dragging a smaller girl by the hand. Both were dressed in ragged clothing.

"We aren't going to hurt you." Scott spoke as gently as he could. The children were clearly terrified. "We just want to know what is going on."

"Robbers!" the boy was gasping for breath. "A band of robbers attacking our village, looking for food. We don't have much but they are taking it and burning the village. My mother told me to take my sister and hide in the old caves. She said the cave-spirits would protect us."

"But what has been going on here?"

The boy looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Scott gestured to the ruined landscape. "All this devastation."

The little girl gave him a confused look. "But it has always been like this."

Her brother shook his head. "She is too young to remember the Great War that put the sun out."

Nuclear winter. The phrase echoed in Scott's head and he closed his eyes for a moment in grief over all that had been lost. Then he opened them again. That he could do nothing about, but there were people here who needed his help. He looked at his companions and saw a similar resolve in their eyes.

He looked down at the children. "You head on up to the cave like your Mom said. When it is safe again she'll come and find you."

The village came into view, a mixture of brick-built houses, now mostly ruins, and shacks that had obviously been built from parts cannibalised from the houses. The men heard hoof-beats coming towards them at a rapid pace. They looked at each other and drew their swords. Round the corner came a woman, running with desperation, glancing back over her shoulder at the man on horseback who was rapidly gaining on her. Galahad leapt out from their cover, and, showing reckless a disregard for his own safety, grabbed the horse's bridle. As the beast reared, Gawain ran out and took hold of the rider's leg, tipping him from the saddle.

The woman had stumbled and Scott went to help her up. "It's all right," he reassured her, "we're here to help. Can you tell me what's happening?"

She grasped at his arm. "The robbers have shut everyone in the old schoolhouse. They're setting fire to it! Please! My family are in there!"

"Where is the schoolhouse?"

The woman pointed back down the road towards the centre of the village.

"Do you know how many of them there are?"

"About five, maybe six. I'm not sure." Scott could see she was in a state of shock.

"OK, you stay here. Leave this to us." He looked around at his companions, who fell in behind him.

As they approached the schoolhouse they could see smoke and flames emerging from it, accompanied by muffled screams from inside. Five men stood outside, their arms folded, obviously enjoying the spectacle. Nearby a cart was loaded with boxes and bags, presumably the spoils of their raid.

The men turned at the sound of approaching feet, and for a moment looked alarmed to be facing five well-armed men. Two of them drew swords and the others picked up cudgels, then with a shout, rushed at the newcomers.

Scott found himself facing a man armed with a section of iron pipe, who took a swing at him. He blocked the blow then used his attacker's own momentum to swing the man over his head in a judo throw. The man had not expected this and let out a yell as he sailed through the air, arms flailing widely. His head hit the ground with a crack and he lay still.

Scott glanced about him to realise that his companions had also dealt successfully with their opponents.

The cries from the schoolhouse were becoming frantic, but the door had been barricaded with debris. Scott gestured to his blond companions. "You two, clear the door." He turned, "and you two find something to use as a battering ram. I think we're going to have to break our way in."

He then ran back down the street to where he had noticed a water butt standing beside one of the houses. Pulling off his cloak, he dunked it in the water, then returned to where his companions had managed to open the doors. A blast of heat emerged, and some figures staggered out. Scott crouched down beside a man who had collapsed on the ground. "Are there many more in there?"

The man looked at the faces of those who had emerged, then nodded. "Yes. The heat...it was too much... they collapsed...we couldn't help them."

"Well, that's why we're here," replied Scott, his tone grim. He approached the entrance, pulling the wet cloak over his head and shoulders like a protective hood. The heat was intense, but with this it was bearable. Once inside, he looked around and saw two small figures collapsed against a pillar. He scooped them up in his arms, heading for the door. On his way out he passed another figure hooded like himself and realised one of his companions must have copied his idea. Outside he gulped a lungful of much-needed air as he passed the small forms to Lancelot. "Who else went in there?"

"Bedivere, sire, and Galahad."

Covering himself with the cloak again, Scott re-entered the burning building. The smoke was thick now, making it hard to see anything, but he spotted a pair of legs sticking out from behind a desk. These turned out to belong to an old man, who Scott threw over his shoulder and carried from the building. He emerged at the same time as Galahad, who was carrying a similar burden.

"That's the last one, my lord."

Scott rested his hands on his knees as he gulped for air. Then he straightened up and looked at his companions. "We want to make sure there are no more robbers left. Lancelot, stay with the villagers: Galahad, Gawain, you go that way, Bedivere, with me."

They made their way down the street with caution, looking about them all the time. A series of weak cries drew them down a side turning to find an old woman who had been pinned by the legs beneath a pile of timber that had once formed a shack. The two men worked to clear the rubble, then Scott lifted the last piece of timber as Bedivere pulled the woman free. As Bedivere was checking her injuries more screams rang out. They seemed to be coming from an alleyway between two of the houses. Without thinking, Scott ran towards the sound, gripping the handle of his sword as he went. He rounded a corner to see a man pinning a young woman up against a wall, ignoring her frantic struggles.

"Leave her alone!" Scott shouted.

The man pushed the woman to the ground and turned towards Scott. Scott himself was tall, but his assailant equalled him in height and was broad as well. The man looked at Scott with contempt in his eyes, drawing his sword and picking up a wooden club in the other hand. He lunged at Scott, who ducked and tried to parry back. Scott had done some fencing in his schooldays, but found the unaccustomed weight of his sword was hampering him. The robber seemed to realise his opponent's inexperience and made a great lunge. Scott managed to side-step the blade, but did not see the swinging club that caught him a glancing blow to the side of the head. He staggered back and his assailant, sensing victory, swung his sword over his head. Scott saw his opening and stabbed upwards with his blade as the man rushed forward, driving the blade into his opponent's chest. The robber dropped lifeless to the ground.

Scott heard running feet behind him and turned to see Bedivere approach. Just then he was overcome by a wave of dizziness and the world went black.

Chapter Three

"Scott. Scott! Can you hear me?" Scott was aware of his name being called from a long way off. Then something cold and damp was placed on the side of his head. It stung for a moment, but then the pain eased, though he wished whoever it was could also turn off the pounding sensation in his skull. He opened his eyes, then shut them in protest at the bright sunlight.

"Come on, Scott, try again." He knew that voice. This time he just opened his eyes a fraction, to see Virgil bending over him.

Virgil smiled down at him. "Welcome back, big brother." Behind his brother, Scott could see the radio mast poking skywards and to one side was the looming bulk of Thunderbird Two.

"What happened?" His voice was rough.

Virgil looked at his brother, concern in his eyes. "You got a knock on the head, just before we finished breaking through the wall to where those cavers were. You went a bit woozy on us, so I thought I'd better bring you out. Just as we got to the entrance you blanked out for a minute. Gordon's bringing out the last of the cavers now."

Scott sat up gingerly, his mind trying to reconcile the two different versions of events.

Virgil patted him on the arm. "You sit tight for a minute. I'm just going to have a word with Alan."

Scott watched his brother walk away, then a shadow fell across him from the other side.

"I told you not to touch anything!" The old man's eyes were blazing with fury. "You never listen do you? You always think you know best. Why can't you do what you're told for once?"

Some instinct told Scott that the old man, mad as he seemed, might have the answer to some of the questions buzzing in Scott's bemused brain. "What was all that?" he whispered, half to himself. "What did I see? What happened down there?"

"Something that you weren't supposed to see." The old man, realising Scott's bewilderment, spoke in a gentler tone. "Not yet, anyway. Probably not in this lifetime."

Scott put his hand to his throbbing head. "Those men, down there. They woke up. They thought I was ..." his voice trailed off, unable to say the words.

The old man smiled. "Yes, you are Arthur Pendragon, King of the Britons."

"No!" Scott shook his head unable to grasp what he was hearing. "I'm Scott Tracy, I'm an American!"

"In this life, yes. This soul is too good a one to lie dormant for long. You are honing your skills, leading men into danger, protecting those who need help, until your time comes again. When the time is right, you will know, and I, Merlin, will be there to help you." He crouched down beside Scott, passing his hand across the younger man's eyes. "You are not ready for this yet. You will sleep soon, and when you wake all this will be just a dream." He straightened up, with a small smile on his lips. "Now I'd better go and put everything back. Goodbye, Arthur."

He turned and slipped around the limestone slab and out of sight.

Scott was still staring after him, slack-jawed, when Virgil returned.

"What's the matter, Scott?" he asked, concerned at his brother's dazed expression.

Scott gestured in the direction the old man had gone. ‘The old guy..." he broke off, unsure how to continue.

"What old guy?"

Scott looked up at him. "The old tramp. The one who was just here."

Virgil shook his head. "Scott, I've been watching you all the time I was at Mobile Control. There's been no-one near you. That settles it. You're riding home in sickbay. Alan says he can fly One even with his bad shoulder, and Dad agrees with me. Now can you walk, or do you want me to get a stretcher?"

As his brother's words sank in, Scott felt a wave of relief rush over him. If he had imagined the old man then the cave, the sword, the knights, the ruined countryside and everything else must also have been his imagination, brought on by the blow to his head. That, and watching old movies with his brothers. Much as he hated the idea of Alan flying his ‘bird, right now the idea of lying back in a bed in sickbay and drifting off to sleep sounded an attractive proposition.

He put his hands on the grass to help himself up and his fingers touched something hard. He picked it up to see what it was and froze, the colour draining from his face.

Virgil wondered what his brother was staring at so intently, and bent forward for a closer look. It was a brooch, presumably dropped at some time by a walker. Quite pretty really. Shaped like a dragon.