A blonde haired woman walked slowly from the beach toward the ruins of a large house. Small hands surrounding hers, the child on either side stared wide eyed at their environment. Few ever had the opportunity this family experienced.

'Is this really the place,' the boy, golden hair the same as his mother's, requested. Fine boned, black eyed, his darker skin tone suggested his male parent came from oriental decent.

'Yes,' the woman smiled down at her son.

'Mom,' the girl tried to pull away. Jet black hair the only indication of her father, she'd kept her mother's green eyes and pale Irish skin tone.

'Mum,' the woman corrected.

Rolling her eyes in an expression only a six year old could managed, she echoed, 'Mum.'

'Yes,' the woman patiently offered.

'When will Dad be here,' she wined. 'He promised he'd come.'

'You're father will make it,' Kallan Beyda nee James lightly berated her daughter with a stern tone, 'if he can. You know he has a very important job and can't always be with us. Until then, we can take a look around and explore.'

'All I see,' complained the little girl, 'is a building no one has lived in for ages. There's no water in the pool and the house is crumbling down.'

'Seventy years,' Kallan informed her child. 'The family that lived here moved all those years ago and founded Acrology.'

Their family lived in the massive, mile high edifice. Aware of the cities importance, they'd grown up surrounded by technology. Home of the IRO's elite rescue squad, the children saw the vehicles inspired by this place almost every day.

'Where you really a Thunderbird Captain, Mum,' the boy looked up with new respect.

'Yes, before I wanted to stay home with you and your sister,' Kallan smiled. 'There is a very special place a little further down the beach.'

'Have you been here before?' asked the girl.

'Once, with your father.' Green eyes misted with emotion at the memory. 'It was open to the public back then. Not everyone who came respected this place so the IRO closed it down. We're very lucky to be able to see this island.'

The little group fell into silence. The two children seem to understand it upset their mother. Approaching a grassy area twenty metres from the water, a bronze statue stood. Six men, immortalised in metal stared out over the ocean, forever at peace.

Their quiet contemplation interrupted, the little girl clapped her hands. Pointing to the black aircraft quickly descending on their position, she pulled at her mother's hand. It wasn't enough to break the hold.

Hovering half a kilometre from the island, a bay door opened. Shooting out, a smaller red plane approached the beach. Patiently the woman forced her children to wait. Eventually the craft made a vertical decent between them and the calm sea.

'Daddy,' the little girl ran to the man climbing out of the machine.

Catching her up, he hugged the child. Curling a finger, he indicated the boy should also approach. Pushed by his mother, he finally allowed his delight to show. Running, he jumped into his father's free arm.

'I knew you'd make it, Daddy,' the girl cooed.

'Let me say hello to your mother,' he let the kids down onto the sand gently.

Advancing on the woman waiting patiently at the tree line, his deep chocolate eyes never left her green ones. 'I've missed you,' he muttered, before allowing his lips to tell her exactly how much.

'I'm glad you could make it, Dylan,' Kallan broke away. Calling her children, she pointed to the statue. 'See the older man, the one in the centre.'

'That,' Dylan gathered the rest of his family to him, 'is the man you're named after. Jeff Tracey.'

'Is that why,' the intelligent boy looked up to his father, 'you called me Jeff and my sister Tracey, because you're both Thunderbird pilots?'

'Yes,' Kallan nodded, a delighted smile covering her face.

'About seventy years ago,' Dylan took up the story they'd decided the children when they were old enough to understand, 'Jeff Tracey used his money and influence to create the first Thunderbird team. He had five sons who piloted the very first vehicles.'

'The Commodore, your grandfather,' Kallan added, 'became one of the first young men Jeff Tracey trained at Arcology when the IRO expanded. Your Dad and I decided when we had children, we wanted to pay a tribute to the men who influenced our lives and careers.'

'Daddy's still the Senior Thunderbird Captain,' Tracey looked proudly at her father.

'Dylan,' Kallan knew that look. After almost twenty years together, he couldn't hide anything from her.

'I'm looking for a new Captain,' he announced. 'Feel like coming back to the team?'

'Why?' Kallan asked, aware the latest incarnation of the team should have a life span of at least another five years.

'Grant's moving back to England at the end of the year,' he caught and captured her eye, 'and I need to train a new Senior Captain.'

It meant he'd been promoted to Commander and would take the team lead. Stationed at Arcology, Dylan Beyda would now be responsible for more than just the Thunderbirds. Not wanting to refuse outright, Kallan took her husband's hand.

'This might come as a shock,' she placed his palm on her still flat belly, 'at my age, but I though Alan would always make a good boys name.'

Surprise wared with adulation. 'I didn't think we could have any more,' his face slowly grew into a smile.

'Miracles do happen,' she returned the expression, 'just don't think any daughter of mine will be called Penelope or Tin-Tin.'