Hi, there! Me, again. Taking a brief side-trip, before getting back to the main story. Thank you for reading. Obviously, I don't own these guys, but they're a lot of fun to spend time with. =)
Thunderbirds Are Go: Interlude
1
Gran Roca Ranch, Wyoming Territory, in the former United States-
The night was getting cold. Scott Tracy sat on a threadbare couch in the living room (which Grandma still called the parlor). His sock feet were propped up on an old wooden coffee table, and he leaned back with his hands behind his head. Hadn't turned the lights on or lit a fire, because he preferred to relax there in moonlit darkness, listening to Virgil play. Just sitting around, staring through the big window.
No special music; his brother was simply riffing, playing bits of this and that, composing to the night and the moonglow. Virgil tended to turn whatever he heard and saw… even rows of blackbirds perched on a barbed wire fence… into melody.
Scott had been nursing a beer for over an hour. He wasn't in a hurry to get buzzed, or anything… just wanted to dull the edge, a little. Let the day's stress roll away. Times like these, Scott turned off his mind, drank a few beers, and did nothing but watch the night. Sometimes came up with poetry, as a way to process all that had happened.
Virgil achieved the same effect by spending hours at Mom's old piano, letting the music take him away. John always lit out for the stables; would spend the night there, if his brothers didn't drag him back out for family time, and something to eat. As for Kayo, she was off prowling the gulches and ridgelines, being wild and uncatchable. John could be ordered back. The girl would return when she felt like it.
Gordon was over in their detached garage, messing with Granddad's battered red truck. Swore he'd have the thing running again, soon. Recalling all those rides he and John had taken in that gas-burning monster, Scott had to smile. He couldn't drive an old-style stick shift, himself, although John claimed that it was extremely simple, in principle. If Gordon did get it running once more, the astronaut was going to have to put his money where his mouth was, and actually drive the d*mn thing. If they could get him away from the horses, that is.
Alan wasn't hard to find, either, being up in what had always been called "the boys' room", playing ancient video games on a handheld device. Grandma didn't like screen time, out here, but she and Penny had gone into town for supplies and party stuff, so she wasn't around to scold the kid. Parker had gone with the ladies; as body guard, rather than driver. Out here, Grandma Tracy drove herself.
Brains was down in the lab with Max, meanwhile, planning tomorrow's challenges. The engineer got no more rest here than he did on the island, but that was his choice, and Scott had no sympathy.
He took another long pull at his beer, which had gone bitter and flat, but still made him feel good. Scott stretched a bit, arching his back and slowly flexing the tension away. Virgil, still playing, said softly,
"Think Dad 'll come by?"
Scott didn't look over. Kept his tired blue eyes on the full Moon, as it glided up past the tall, jagged east ridge. He'd be twenty-eight years old, in just two days. Pushing thirty, hard. Finishing the last of his beer, he set it down on the low table with a slight click.
"Maybe," Scott replied. "Depends on how busy he is. The World Council keeps him pretty well chained to his desk. You know that, Virge."
The music's mood shifted. From light and rambling, to faded threnody.
"It's like he's around… but he isn't," said the big pilot, with quiet stubbornness. "I mean, we got him back, in a way."
Scott shrugged. Considered another beer, then decided against it. Not worth a fuzzy head, in the morning; not with Brains up half the night, plotting worst-case scenarios. End-of-existence disasters were bad enough, without throwing in a hangover.
"At least he's alive, Virge, and only a phone call away. Could be worse. Was hella bad, for six whole years."
His peaceful mood shattered, Scott sighed, gave himself another stretch, and sort of an all-over shake. Then, he got to his feet, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand.
"C'mon," he grunted, turning to face his shadowy brother. "Let's go get John. I promised Grandma I'd feed everybody, and that includes Ponyboy, out there."
The musical background changed its tone, again. Virgil had two playing modes. He could become the music, just soaring off somewhere, while his hands and right brain did their thing. Or, he could talk and interact, letting the piano reveal his moods. Now it had shifted to playful and fast. He said,
"It was pizza yesterday, so that means… let's see… hot dogs and canned beans, tonight."
Scott leaned down for a couch pillow and threw it at him, nailing the top of Virgil's head. The house defenses arrested the pillow before it could wreak any further havoc, using forcefields and laser tracking to stop the thing in midflight. Scott hardly noticed.
"Shut up, Wise-ass. It's food. You'll eat it, and like it, or no dessert."
A serious threat, since the caretaker had left a big chocolate cake in the refrigerator, as a welcome-back gift. Keeping Alan away from the thing was a full-time job.
Virgil chuckled. The piano emitted three loud, clashing chords, like this: duhn, duhn, DUHN! And then, no more music. Scott heard him push back his bench, and close a folding cover over the piano keys, then give the instrument a fond pat. After a moment, Virgil stood up; just a hulking silhouette in silver-brushed darkness. Good-naturedly, he pointed out,
"Better put some boots on, Scott. If you ruin another pair of socks, or track up the house, Grandma 'll have kittens. Then, she'll tell Brains that we aren't being challenged enough, and he'll kick up the scenario, again."
Scott grunted. What happened in holographic simulation was backed up by extremely realistic weather effects and powerful machinery. He was still exhausted from the day's Mars Colony rescue sim, which they'd failed the first time through. Got only seventy-two percent on the second go-round… except for John. The astronaut had received a fifty-eight percent rating… and a stern lecture… for getting himself "killed" going after the base commander, who'd clearly been beyond help.
Once his boots were on, Scott led the way through the creaky old screen door and out onto the front porch. Was scanned and identified in the process; would be tracked relentlessly throughout their property. He'd grabbed a sheepskin jacket on his way out, because on a night of diamond stars and searchlight Moon, the temperature was falling fast. Got an extra for John, since his brother wouldn't have thought of it.
Together, he and Virgil ambled out to the stables, hands in their pockets, breath misting. Still enveloped in music, too, as Virge had started to hum. The caretaker's dogs… a couple of brindle deerhounds… appeared from the barn to lope along beside them, tails wagging, breath steaming, but not making a sound. Too well trained.
Scott didn't have any treats, but Virgil never left the house without something to offer, and was soon flanked by This'un and That'un. Smiling, Scott crossed the stony, weedy distance from house to stables, taking in deep lung-fulls of cold, dry air. Granddad had smoked like a powerplant, claiming that some nights, a cigarette was all that kept him from freezing. But he'd threatened to tan their hides and stretch them out on the woodshed to cure, if he ever caught the boys lighting up. Scott missed the smell, though, and their grandfather's deep, growling voice.
Virgil stopped humming as they neared the snug wood and stone stable.
"Could you see living out here?" he asked. "As in, permanently?"
Scott looked at his brother, then around at tall, rocky spires, twisted sagebrush and scrub pine. At the house, cozy behind them in its faint blue shielding. At the twining, tail-wagging hounds and moonlit sky.
"Someday," he said. "But we'd need to put in an airstrip. I can't live without flying, Virge."
"And a pool, for Gordon," Virgil suggested, getting into the notion. But, Scott shook his head.
"He wouldn't stay. Too far from the ocean, and he doesn't have all our memories, here. Just a vacation spot, as far as he and Al are concerned. Never was home, for them." Just like Virgil didn't remember Kansas. That was him, and John… a little.
Virgil grunted, then changed the subject.
"Scott… if you ever had kids… would you want them to do this? What we do?"
The first pilot stopped walking to glance at his big younger brother.
"You mean, put our ass on the line, day after day, to 'save the world'?" he asked. Then, when Virgil nodded. "I dunno, Virge… not if they didn't want to, I guess. But, um… I don't think I'll have any kids."
Virgil kicked at a stone, seeming troubled. One of the hounds… That'un, probably… whined softly and pushed her long nose into his hand.
"Only reason I ask is, today, when John died…"
"Yeah," Scott finished for him, staring bleakly up at the Moon. From John's perspective, it would have been only a sim crash, with the words 'Critical Failure' in glowing red letters. The rest of them had gotten the works; a full, horribly vivid death scene, complete with ravaged corpse. "That was pretty intense."
Virgil nodded again and messed with the dogs, his dark eyes shadowed by memory.
"It's just… if Em and me ever have kids… I mean, she wants a few, and who knows? We might get a permit… I dunno if I could stand having them put in that kind of danger, on the reg. You know?"
Scott tried considering things from Dad's angle, pushing away the suddenly restless dogs. At last, he said,
"Maybe it's different, if you have a lot of kids, and they're all boys. Maybe then, it's just an adventure."
"Why only boys?" came a new voice; soft and feline, from out of the darkness. It was Kayo, slipping alongside without warning, as usual. Graceful and poised as a dancer in her boots, leggings and jacket.
"Dammit, Kay!" Scott snapped, "Stop doing that! We're nearly always armed, out here, and you could…"
"Could what?" their sister demanded playfully, a sly smile on her beautiful face. "Dodge your bullet, and then feed you the gun?"
Virgil snorted with laughter. He'd sparred enough with Tanusha to know that she meant what she said.
"Speaking of feed," he cut in, "Scott's about to sacrifice another pack of hotdogs on the altar of broken dreams… aka gas grill. Want to help us snag John? He listens to you."
Kayo had come close enough to pet the dogs, and muss the hair of both tall young men.
"I'll do my best," she said, "but he may not be hungry. We had pizza rolls for lunch, after all."
And nobody liked Scott's cooking. Yeah. Great. He got it. A cold, shifting wind brought them the scent of horses and sweet feed. There was a little light from the fogged-up stable window, casting a pale-yellow square on the ground. They heard a few low whickers as Summer, Apollo, Billy and Apple sensed their approach. This'un barked in reply, very softly. That'un just wagged her long, brushy tail; managing to trot and undulate like a snake, at the same time.
Together, Scott, Virgil and Kayo pushed through the stable doors and went on inside, followed by a pair of lean, brindle deerhounds. Horses snorted and whickered in greeting, expecting treats and immediate attention.
John looked over a stall door as they walked in. He'd been currying Apple. The strawberry roan mare butted her head against his shoulder, displeased by the interruption. She was Apple 5, actually. Not the fifth horse he'd owned, but he liked prime numbers.
John started to say something, but Scott wasn't inclined to put up with nonsense, that night. He cut the astronaut off and threw him a jacket, saying,
"Supper time. Wash up, and let's go."
John glanced in the direction of the house, frowning a little. Like Scott, he was blue-eyed, but more aquamarine, than sapphire.
"I don't smell anything burning," he said, innocently. "Anyway, I'm not hungry. I had…"
"Nobody cares," Scott snapped. "If I have to cook, you by God have to eat it. Now, move."
John's expression shifted from mild annoyance to stubborn frost, never a good sign. Then, Kayo opened the stall door, strolled in, rubbed her face against Apple's warm neck, and took John's hand.
"Don't forget the cake," she murmured. "Once Alan finds out that nobody's guarding it, he'll demolish the whole thing. We'll have nothing left for dessert but crumbs."
Virgil had been ambling down the row of stall doors, greeting each horse in turn, and having his gelled hair nibbled affectionately at every stop. Now, he turned back, grinned and said,
"Besides, even if he somehow burns water extra crispy, Scott's still a better cook than Grandma. No one's gotten sick, yet." Which was a fact. Still, John hesitated.
"Maybe I'll just…"
"No," Scott cut him off. "You'll stop arguing, wash up, get your ass inside, and eat enough to stay alive. Virgil, you round up Gordon. Supper's gonna happen, whether anyone wants it, or not."
Turned out to be not that bad, because (though he wouldn't admit it) Scott had been studying videos. With his apprehensive brothers gathered around the kitchen table, and Kayo hovering, Scott dished up hotdogs fried in butter, and big scoops of warmed-over beans, plus ketchup. There was peanut butter and sliced bread, too, just in case.
Scott knew he'd made a breakthrough when Gordon and Alan asked for seconds, and John only slipped part of his food to the waiting dogs. Virgil, of course, just shut up and ate. It was warm and bright in the small kitchen. Sort of cozy; almost like it had been, back when Mom and Granddad were still around.
Just before the cake was brought out, golden-haired Alan looked up from his plate and said, almost casually,
"That was some training sesh, huh?"
Silence followed the statement, for just a moment. There was sort of an unwritten rule about no shop-talk at supper. Grandma's rule, really… only, she wasn't there to enforce it.
Gordon scraped up the last of his bean juice with a slice of bread, then devoured the lot in two bites. His beard was gone, having been half-shaved in the night by a mischievous Alan. He'd had no choice but to take off the rest, himself, and was awaiting a chance to get even.
"Didn't think it was fair, myself," he mused leaning forward to reach for more bread. "I mean… it was kind of a set-up, when you think about it. Pete McCord is a friend. If that had been Buddy and Ellie in the sim… or Brandon, Lee or Conrad, any of us would have gone barreling in there, too."
Virgil scowled.
"Maybe that's the point," he said. "Maybe it's supposed to teach us that some situations can't be fixed, and we'd just get killed if we tried."
Scott had risen from his seat at the head of the table to fetch that chocolate cake from the refrigerator. He returned and plopped it down on the table, glaring around to stop all those boarding-house reaches. Now, slicing cake onto plates and handing them out, he said,
"There's a such thing as too real. I didn't like it. Yeah, put on the spot, like that, probably any of us would have gone in when we shouldn't have… and it's something we gotta work on, but, um…"
He thumped down onto his wooden seat, then picked up his mug and gulped hot coffee.
"…There's better ways to be taught." He could still hear John's urgent message, and that choked-off, last cry. Then, the explosion and fire.
The red-haired astronaut, very much alive and well, merely shrugged.
"I thought I could make it," he said. "Just because Pete wasn't answering, didn't mean he was dead. I wouldn't want to be left."
Kayo had squeezed onto the chair beside John, intending to eat half his cake. She bumped him with her left shoulder before tucking in.
"What we need to do," she said, around a mouthful, "is work out a plan to beat the next doomsday scenario that involves someone we care about. Today's sim targeted one of us. I'll bet tomorrow's will, too, but if we do this right…"
"It'll get confronted by all of us, working together," Virgil cut in, beginning to smile. Brains was his friend, but that didn't mean that he couldn't have fun tricking the devious little bastard. Everyone looked at Scott, who was finishing coffee and cake like a starving man. At last, he stretched and leaned back in his straight-backed chair, yawning till his jaw cracked.
"We'll need some code words," he decided. "To communicate our situations without tipping off the 'test proctor'. Also, some in-system fail-safes, and that means hacking. John, can you get in there, tonight, and cross a few wires?"
His brother cocked a red-golden eyebrow.
"I could tie them in a square-knot… or the digital equivalent, thereof. Tell me what you have in mind."
Scott grinned, flashing a pair of wicked dimples.
"Okay, guys," he said, motioning his siblings in closer. "Here's how we're gonna beat Hackenbacker at his own game…"
Except, of course, that Brains wasn't the only one running the system. Not anymore.