I have to thank two of my reviewers, Teobi and Tikatu, for inspiring me to write this little sequel to Captain Cannonball. They both suggested what a great idea it would be for Scott to do it himself.

So, with much thanks to you both, here's Scooter's first ride down the chute of death - with a bit of extra Virgil for good measure as he takes his first ride down Thunderbird One's. Yes, folks, here's proof (if it were ever needed) that boredom in the Tracy household can be extremely hazardous to your health!

Enjoy!

Aww, Chute!

Every part of his famous common sense was telling Scott that this was a really, really bad idea. After all, the harness that Brains had designed for Virgil's launch chute to Thunderbird Two had been tailored specifically for his brother's height and build. But ever since he'd heard that joyous yell during yesterday's test run -

"...whhhheeeeeee-yaaaahh-whhheeeee...!"

- well, he'd been just itching to try this mother of fairground rides himself.

First, though, he had to get past the little voice in his head that was still telling him not to do it. And it was becoming increasingly hard to hear it above the other voice that was telling him to stop being such a wuss, and just get on that damn footplate.

A quick, 'coast-is-clear' glance around the den sealed it. Rising from the couch, he then strode to the painting that led to that wonderful ride. Straight away, though, he had his very own 'Houston, we've had a problem' moment.

Oh, he was in the right position, his back nicely flattened against the tipping board, but... nope, nothing was happening. Glancing down, he started to realize why. His big bear of a brother had at least ten pounds on him, and since the pressure pad under his feet needed to recognize that extra weight -

*boink*

*boink*

*thoomp*

- yes, as John would say, you could always rely on good old fashioned science to solve these things. Or, in this case, a couple of well placed jumps, and... oooooooh! Showtime!

Trying to keep the grin off his face, and failing miserably, Scott took in a view of the den that he'd never seen before. A glimpse of sky through its windows, and - hey, was that a crack in the ceiling? If Virgil had noticed it too, why hadn't he mentioned, and... aah. That was why.

Ye-ah, this tipping board went backwards a lot faster from in here than it looked from out there. These shoulder restraints, too, felt... kinda... off. There was too much of a gap between them and his chest, and when he did that rollover manoeuvre in a few seconds time... yeah, he was going to be in serious trouble. And it really didn't help when his nagging inner nanny told him what he already knew.

'There, ya see? Didn't I tell you this was a bad idea, huh? Didn't I? Didn't I?'

"Aww, SHUT UP!"

Striding through the den, Virgil threw a 'what-the-hell?' glance towards the wall beside him, before re-directing it to the mug in his hand. Yeah, he was definitely overdoing the coffee, because there was no other way to explain what he'd just heard. Not just the sound of his launch chute being activated, but also the muffled yell that had risen above it.

"Whooaa-eeee-yaaarggghhhh!"

Staring again at the painting in front of him, Virgil didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or hit the proverbial roof.

"Damn it, Scott, that's my ride!"

In the end, though, his reaction came from something else completely. Aside from an emergency callout, nothing galvanized a Tracy into action like a bit of big brotherly rivalry. And since he'd already envied that overgrown flyboy for his much easier ride down to the hangars... well, this was the perfect time to try it out. If Scott could sneak in this little joyride, then so could he.

Quickly finishing his coffee, Virgil trotted over to the panel of wall that hid such unseen wonders behind it. Pulling down the light fittings on either side of him, he then stared at the uniform that then spun into view. Sheesh, no way he was going to fit into that, and... hey, no harm, no foul. He'd settle just for the ride, thank you, and leave that puny little suit on its rack.

Speaking of which... oookaaay, that ride was running just a little... bit... fast.

"...whooooaaaaaa!"

Real fast. And spinny, and... oooooh, he should not have drunk all that coffee. Wherever his stomach was right now, it sure as hell wasn't with the rest of his body, and... oh, great. Everything that was still somehow inside it was about to make an imminent reappearance.

"Bleeeeurggghhhh!"

Screwing his eyes shut, Virgil fervently vowed that he would never, ever, do this again. If he lived through it... yeah, from now on, he'd be taking the stairs.

Oddly enough, Scott was thinking exactly the same thing. He was also doing a pretty good impression of a six foot four inch cygnet coming in for its first landing. Wide, slightly freaked out eyes fixed on the handbars ahead of him, his arms were flapping in what, his ever helpful inner nanny now kindly told him, was a fruitless attempt to slow himself down.

Maybe it was this less than dignified desperation but, by some blessed miracle, Scott's hands slapped into the bars ahead of him with a satisfying *whack*. But that's as far as his luck went, because the impact stung them so badly that he instinctively let go, and... oh, yeah. Right along with doing this damn stupid thing in the first place, that ranked right up there as one.. big... boo-boo.

It was just a matter of seconds, but being released from his harness by that fractional timeframe now left Scott with one massive and unavoidable consequence. Sliding along Two's roof, he saw its access hatch looming up ahead of him, and groaned out the painfully inevitable.

"Aww, this is gonna huuuuuuuuuuurrrtttt!"

It did. If he hadn't grabbed the rim of Two's hatch to slow himself down, it would have hurt a hell of a lot more. As it was, Scott landed square on his butt, bouncing over the floor of Two's cockpit with enough force to make his eyes water.

Still, he was down. Bruised in places he really didn't want to think about, but down all the same. And as his old CO had always told him, any landing you walked away from was officially 'good.'

Of course, he had to get back on his feet first, and it took two painful attempts to do it. Flexing a spineful of kinks out of his neck and shoulders, he then straightened his shirt, tugged his jeans back into alignment and, with as much dignity as his spaghetti legs allowed, headed for the exit hatch.

Yes, without doubt, this little mishap would be filed away under the 'let's-not-ever-do-that-again' part of his mind, and... oooh, hel-lo?

Catching sight of an unmistakeable figure weaving unsteadily ahead of him, Scott frowned. For some inexplicable reason, Virgil appeared to be in the self same boat. A boat that had... well, left him as green around the gills as Grandma's gravy.

Wondering why his brother looked like one of those old Wild West cowboys who'd left his horse behind, Virgil stared back. Of course, he had a dawning suspicion, but... no, no way in hell was he letting Hopalong Tracy admit to the moment of madness that had led to his own. Instead, he mustered up a casual nonchalance that, rather interestingly, his brother was mirroring to utter perfection.

"Scott? Hey, what are you doing down here?"

"Me? Oh, nothing, Virg. No, I was... um, you know, just checking that everything's okay."

Uh huh. Yeah, if Virgil had ever wondered where the Terrible Twins had learned that 'who, me?' trick, its master now stood right in front of him. If he'd had the strength, he'd have pursued it further, but... no, right now, all he wanted to do was get back upstairs, rinse his mouth out, and hit his system with several gallons of antacids.

Suffering in the same, stoic silence, Scott needed some serious comfort too, and... oooh, all those steps? Nope, for his still smarting butt, that just wasn't an option.

"Hey, Virg? You, um... don't want to take the elevator?"

Freezing in mid stride, Virgil turned to stare at him as if he'd just grown an extra head. Muttering something about needing the exercise, his brother then tottered onwards, leaving Scott to stare curiously after him. And just as Virgil had felt before him, he really didn't have the energy to follow him. Instead, gently rubbing his still suffering butt, he waddle-walked to the nearest elevator.

By the time he reached the den, it was worth the extra effort of limping down to the kitchen for an ice pack and some extra strength painkillers. Heading back upstairs, he eased himself onto the nearest couch, and sighed with relief as his aching backside grew blessedly numb.

Closing his eyes, he then opened them with a puzzled frown that, for once, he couldn't be bothered to pursue. Whatever Virgil was doing with that mop and bucket - no, he really, really, just didn't want to know.