Author's Note: All authors, book titles and some place names are fictitious, except for St George. Great place, St George. So many thanks to Quiller for the beta-read. No claim is made on these characters. They belong wholly to Granada. Enjoy!

Feeling the Heat

Scott Tracy watched the sun rise in red on the back of clouds that had brought the storms of the previous evening. He felt the prickle of the weather trickle through him. The temperature was well into the nineties, as it had been all week. The day already had a tense feel to it. One of those days that stretches out long and taut then when you think you have a good grip on it, snaps back to sting your fingers. He hoped not.

He used this quiet time on his balcony to re-orientate his thinking. There was often a moment of uncertainty when he woke. His job meant he hopped time zones, locations. He often needed to stop to ask where he was, what day it was. If he woke up alone then he was back on Tracy Island. The job done. The rescue complete.

As he watched the clouds recede, a pang went with them. He was a self-described cloud chaser. Both his own and other people's. Clouds were where calamity formed and that was where he would be called. Existence had little meaning without that call, his personal life on hold before it. In the strength of these summer mornings, the beat of his inner force was amplified in his temples, in the soreness in his bones from the previous day's effort, a metronome effect like the wash of the sea against the rock of their island. Each signalling time lost to him, the sum of his physical span reduced.

With the unusually oppressive humidity, it was tempting to dismiss any idea of getting dressed after his shower but, when he heard the rattle of plates in the kitchen for a late breakfast, he relented by pulling on a pair of shorts and went in search of distraction from his thoughts.

His grandma stood at the range, her face puckered and lined with sweat. Despite the heat, she had diligently prepared a 'welcome home' breakfast for Alan after his month-long stint of duty in Thunderbird Five, and she flipped pancakes on a ceramic cook top absentmindedly.

Scott stood behind her and gave her shoulders a squeeze. "You spoil us," he whispered in her ear.

He tried to take advantage of her apparent inattention. His fingers reached under her elbow to pick up a broken pancake on the edge of a plate. But the implement in her hand slapped down on the stack with a decisive swat.

"And don't you forget it," she said.

Chuckling at the near miss, Scott moved to the pot to pour a coffee and took his heart-starter over into the dining section. There was no air conditioning in Tracy Island villa. They didn't normally need it. The house was designed on passive solar principles and it was unusual for their tropical paradise to be enslaved in a week of such enervating heat.

And it was getting to him.

The heat from the kitchen was a match for the temperature of the limp breeze from the sea. Gordon, Alan and Tin-Tin were already at the table, the former two engrossed in various newspapers scattered in front of them. Scott slumped down opposite them and almost immediately wished he hadn't.

Alan had the temper of the dawn sky clearly etched into the twin lines of a frown. Tin-Tin fanned her face with the pages of a magazine, her body turned away from him. Scott groaned inwardly. Alan had only got back from space duty, yesterday. Already trouble in paradise.

And worse, Gordon looked as perky as any red-haired twelve-year-old, except his fourth brother was more than double that age. Scott could never figure out how Gordon danced around the house in weather that wilted everyone else.

Gordon finished off a bowl of cereal with an exaggerated slurp. He beamed. "Good morning."

Scott leaned his head on his hand. "Mmm."

"Where's Virg?" Gordon said.

"Where do you think?" Alan said.

"Well, Gordon," Scott said before he had to break up World War III. "We had a late one, you know."

Scott picked up a book next to Gordon on the table to read its title. Secret Sex in the Sea. He dropped it like it had burned his fingers and flipped it over so the front cover was hidden. His anxious gaze did a quick pan of the area to check for Grandma.

"At the table?" Scott whispered.

Gordon leaned on his elbow towards him. "Did you know that Wrasse are really, really sneaky. They wait—"

"Sea stars pluck their arms off," Alan said dully. "To reproduce. Certainly be a whole lot simpler."

Scott blinked at Alan.

"Isn't it hot," Tin-Tin complained, blowing a piece of wayward hair from her eyes and waving her magazine more vigorously. Alan's frown deepened.

"I slept by the pool. Beautiful down there," Gordon chirped. "Slept all night."

"Huh," the two opposite Scott grunted.

Scott looked from one to the other then at Gordon.

"This." Gordon reached across in front of the younger occupants of Tracy Island and tossed Scott a newspaper. He tapped the sports page headline with his finger.

"Angelina Holdman Wins Parola Sands," Scott read aloud. It meant nothing to him and he looked to Gordon for a clue. Gordon pointed at Alan as if to give his younger brother a cue to begin a well-rehearsed speech.

"Angelina Holdman is Philip Montero's wife," Alan said. "Philip is the number one driver. Or was."

Tin-Tin twitched and squared her shoulders. Scott knew her well enough to know she was marshalling her forces. He waited in vain for Alan to continue.

"And…?"

"His wife. He lets his wife drive."

Tin-Tin huffed.

Scott had a moment of understanding.

"She came ahead of her husband," Gordon whispered.

"I would never let my wife drive at Parola Sands," Alan said. "Never. Far too dangerous."

"Yes, but Alan, what if she wanted to?" Tin-Tin said sweetly. Tin-Tin had a way about her that intrigued Scott. She could make her point without raising her voice or giving her tone a rising inflection. Genteel, polite almost to a fault but with the impact of a steel trap.

"It's too dangerous. Women shouldn't be allowed to race. Not with the men. Especially not once they're married."

"Alan Tracy." Tin-Tin's mouth stayed open longer than necessary. "I can't believe you said that."

"Yeah, well, Scott was saying the other day that women…"

Scott sat back in the chair, holding up his hands as a defense. "Hey, Al. Remember the context. We were talking biology. Physical differences."

"A bit late to give Al your birds and the bees lecture, isn't it?" Gordon said.

Scott thought his brothers had outgrown heart-to-hearts but Alan had surprised him when he had contacted him late at night from the space station asking general questions, vague questions now Scott thought about it. He tried to recall exactly what Alan did say. It was late and he was so surprised by Alan asking him questions that he wasn't sure he listened as well as he could have.

"We were talking generically," he said between his teeth. "Male, female, you know. Not necessarily of the human variety."

Scott looked up guiltily as Grandma brought in the plate of pancakes and put them in the centre of the table. She straightened with her hands on her hips.

"And what pearls of Tracy wisdom am I missing out on?"

Scott grabbed three pancakes and dragged them to his plate before anyone could protest.

"Great cakes, Grandma. Thanks. You're an absolute wonder." He smiled broadly at the females present, to which Grandma clipped him lightly behind the ear before she returned to the kitchen. "It's all in the timing, Al. I told you before. Never bring up a contentious issue before you've eaten. Certainly not before breakfast."

Scott piled his pancakes with maple syrup and applesauce while the others divided the remainder.

"There are some things women can do that men can't," Gordon said and if he thought that would help the conversation, he was mistaken.

Tin-Tin put down her magazine with such deliberateness no-one present could misinterpret her reaction. "Some, Gordon?" Tin-Tin said softly. "Like read instruction manuals and find the pair to her socks. All the while keeping down a full-time job, doing eighty percent of the housework, popping out a few offspring in between and if she is lucky beating the world's best in her spare time."

She got up from the chair and stalked across the eatery for more coffee. Both Alan and Scott glared at Gordon.

"The manual wasn't logical," Alan said across to her. "That's why I didn't follow it."

Scott looked up as Virgil shuffled in noisily, clutching at the waistband of his pyjama pants. Virgil grunted to everyone at the table then slumped down heavily into a chair next to Scott.

"You said females are more unstable than males because their hormones fluctuate," Alan said, seemingly unable to take Scott's hint.

Scott watched anxiously as Grandma returned from the kitchen and came into hearing.

"I don't believe I used the word 'unstable'," Scott whispered across the table. "We were talking cycles. Natural patterns. That kind of thing."

It was Virgil who perhaps saved him from a verbal blast. His brother groaned as he rested his forehead on both his hands. "Anyone seen the paracetamol?"

Tin-Tin looked at Virgil. "Poor Virgil looks to be suffering. I hope it's not from his hormones."

Virgil opened one eye and glanced around the table.

"Certainly not females ones," Gordon said.

He had a point. Virgil, unshaven and with his unwashed hair at all angles, looked as rough as any male could. Scott watched as Virgil hooked a finger around Scott's own cup and dragged it closer to his face so he could stare into it.

Grandma sighed, taking in Virgil's appearance. "Look at you boys. Maybe if you put clothes on to come to the table, we wouldn't have to listen to this nonsense."

"It's too hot,' Gordon said, patting at his uncovered chest.

"That's something else, we women aren't allowed to do." Tin-Tin was wrapped in a silk kimono that was pulled tightly across her.

"You can go topless if you want," Scott said from the corner of his mouth. "None of us will complain."

"Living here, I'm beginning to think Hamingwey's right," Tin-Tin said with a sigh.

"You read Hamingwey?" Scott asked with interest. He always thought this author's subject material might be of more interest to males.

"The biology trap. I need something to explain what goes on around me. Maybe it is a trap."

Grandma had her hands on her hips again. "Have you boys ever thought that it works the other way around, too? Do you ever really think what a corrupting influence you have on us females with what you wear or don't wear?"

For some reason they all looked at Tin-Tin.

"No corruption came from this side of the table," Scott said, to which Tin-Tin went a little pink in the cheeks.

Scott did look at each of his near-naked brothers and found they were doing the same to him. In mixed company, he might grudgingly admit they were a handsome bunch. They were broad-shouldered and muscular, with not an ounce of fat between them. While among themselves, for him to look with too much scrutiny was to make comparisons with a touch of sibling envy and a compulsive competitive urge.

Even so, Scott's gaze lingered. Gordon was the most sculptured of his younger brothers present, his heavy shoulders tapering to a tiny waist. He was completely clean-shaven, oiled and bronzed, a testament to his commitment to his swimming. To observe him casually was to see a flawless example of youth. Scott knew that image was deceptive as the scars from the hydrofoil accident across his body testified.

Alan was stockier, shorter and was most like Virgil in his tendency to grow body hair across his chest and down his abdomen as a perfect match to their respective hair colours. Blond for the youngest and brunette for Virgil. Virgil was broad, solid, but tended to round in his form giving him a softer, gentler appearance. This was also a false image as Scott knew he was the strongest of them.

He saw his brothers look at him. He considered his physique the result of his personality rather than his biology, something beyond hormones and the male's natural ability to create muscle. He saw it as his duty to set the example. His hard-board, angular appearance and shaven body were the results of discipline and self-control.

Nothing more, nothing less.

"We're the product of our job, Grandma," Gordon said, flexing his well-developed bicep provocatively in front of Tin-Tin, the various layers of the muscles in his upper arm visible as they slid across each other under the skin.

"Your testosterone load, you mean," Tin-Tin breathed. "The time you spend working-out."

"We need to keep fit," Scott said between mouthfuls of pancakes. "Saves us from injury."

"So, in the gym? What are the mirrors for?"

"Yes. What are they for?" Grandma said. "I've always wondered."

"Well, it's – so we can see we move right…correctly…" Scott looked to Gordon. Gordon jumped from his chair and he gave them a view of his back, flexing his arms above his head so his shoulders opened and highlighted the broad spread of his trapezius.

"It's for balance. Perfection of form," Gordon said over his shoulder. He paraded like he was imitating Mr Universe, altering his stance as he spoke. "Back. Side. And centre. We don't want to get overdeveloped in any one area."

They groaned as a group, Tin-Tin holding up the magazine between her and him.

"Then, how about you work on developing your brain," Alan said.

"Oh, sit down, Gordon," Grandma said. She thrust out a large fork in front of her. "That sort of thing just wouldn't have been allowed in my day. My pa would never had tolerated me seeing that. Not when I was a pretty young thing. We had to go about the place decent and modest."

They looked at her blankly.

"Modest?" Alan said, glancing down into his lap. "We're modest."

"Oh, you boys just don't get it." She turned on her heels and went back over into the kitchen, muttering, "Just don't get it at all…"

"Now you've done it, Scott," Alan said. "You've upset Grandma."

"Me?"

"I'm still trying to figure out," Gordon said with a confused look. "How we got from Parola Sands to the gym."

"As I said, bro." Alan snatched up a newspaper and snapped it to get the page he wanted. "Needs work."

Just as Scott could see Gordon was working up to a gleeful retort, the emergency klaxon sounded. Scott looked at Virgil when Virgil's forehead hit the table with a bang.


"Some women have fallen down a mine shaft in Northern Australia," John was saying to their father from the video portal on the wall as they trooped into the lounge to receive their orders. He stopped his commentary to look at his brothers. "My, my, my. What a happy, energetic bunch we have here."

"Just because you have a controlled atmosphere," Alan said.

"Wouldn't be alive at all, if I didn't," John reminded him cheerfully. 'Now, would I?"

Jeff frowned at Virgil. "You up to this, son? Alan can go in your place."

"I'll go!" Alan said.

Virgil immediately straightened. "I'm going."

"Maybe it's the 'women' bit he's not up to," Gordon said.

"Make sure you boys look presentable before you get there," their father told them. "All of you. You look ragged."

John continued on his commentary. "From what I can make out, the injuries aren't life threatening but they can't get out."

"So, why can't local authorities handle this?" Scott asked.

"It's raining. They're afraid the shaft will flood before they can get there. Apparently a third of the Outback is under water."

"I thought it was all desert out there," Alan said.

"Well, it's wet now. Fixed wing can't land. The soil acts like a bog when wet, they were telling me. Choppers are all out with urgent medi-evacs. A Mines Rescue team is two hours away and ground crews think they'll take too long to get to them by boat. They've asked us to help."

Scott took a deep breath, knowing mines were always tricky. "Okay. Two women in a hole."

"Gordon. Go with Virgil," Jeff ordered.

"Hey," Virgil protested. "Scott and I should do just fine if there are no serious injuries."

"I haven't forgotten you two were out all day yesterday and most of the night. Just in case either of you need to put your head down. Gordon. You go."

"I can go!" Alan exclaimed.

"You're still adjusting to the earth's atmosphere. Gordon."

"Yes, sir!" Gordon grinned at Alan.

"You wanted to work on Four," Alan whispered. "I'll cover for you."

"I'm going."

Grandma came into the living room behind them. She tossed Virgil a packet of headache tablets and passed a basket over to Gordon, which smelt suspiciously like the breakfast they had been enjoying.

"Bless you." Gordon kissed her on the cheek. "I really can't get by without my grandma."

Scott turned to Tin-Tin beside him. "You coming? You'd be welcome. I'm sure you could use a shovel as well as the rest of us."

She nudged him away with her elbow. "Brains wants me to help with the refit of Four's ballast."

"What can I do?" Alan asked anxiously.

"Help with the refit," his father told him.

"You never know," John said. "If it keeps raining like they predict, Four might be needed."

"Okay, boys. Off you go."

There was a simultaneous call of FAB. Scott watched Virgil stride to his panel in the wall and grab a fistful of his pyjama bottoms as the wall section lifted him onto the track that took him down to Thunderbird Two. Scott didn't, however, head for the secret panel that would take him across to Thunderbird One. Instead, he put an arm around Alan's neck.

"Little brother," he whispered. "You enjoy something that none of us have a hope of having while we're here. It's bad enough knowing what you two get up to. I don't like watching a lover's tiff at breakfast. Work it out. Today. Okay? Or I will."

Alan went red. "You wouldn't."

"Al, you know she adores you. Apologise. Admit you were wrong. Get down on your knees. Whatever it takes."

"I'm not wrong!" Alan said. "Since when is it wrong to care? You'd think the same way I do, I know you would."

"Whatever it is, I'm not interested in who's right or wrong. I'm interested in the morale of my team members." When Scott saw Alan's chin protrude, he added, "And those I care about. You've got until we get back."

"Scott?" his father said. "Problem?"

Scott pushed Alan towards the hallway where Tin-Tin had disappeared. "No, sir. Not any more."

"Good. Then Thunderbirds are Go."


"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two. What's your ETA, Virg?"

"Eleven and one half minutes."

Scott peered at the ground as Thunderbird One hovered near where John had pinpointed the distress call originated. It certainly was a desert scene with a deadpan landscape dotted with stunted tortured-limbed scrubs, though the water glinting in his landing lights was real enough. It was mustard red and spread before him as far as he could see. He surveyed the scene sceptically.

"Well, I don't believe this, but you're going to have to put down in water. I don't think it's deep, yet. A foot or two at the most but maybe you'd want to raise up as soon as you land so your jets aren't in the water. The only high spot is around the mine workings. I can see a collection of buildings. Old machinery. Bits and pieces. A couple of mine shafts, so far above the water level. Let's hope they're in one of those or we've wasted our time. And, ah, you might want to break out your cowboy boots."

"Boots? Why?"

"There's a herd of cows down there. About a hundred. An equal number of kangaroos and those big grey birds. Emus? All around the mine site. Trying to keep out of the water. They don't look too happy at the sound of Thunderbird One's jets. I don't see the need to set up Mobile Control so I'll meet you in the pod when you land. I'll have a look around while I'm waiting, see if I can work out what one of these shafts they're in. And it's raining so you might want to break out the wet weather gear."

"Message received. Two out."

Scott made contact with John. "Any further transmissions?"

"Not so far. It was very faint to begin with. She was on a UHF 40 limited range device. A five-watter, most likely. She was trying to call up the big house on the property but didn't have any luck. She said the ground gave way under them so that might give you a clue."

"I'll make a low level pass. That might prompt her to speak up if she hears the engines."

"Good plan."

Scott made a slow pass in Thunderbird One. It was not a good plan. The livestock scattered but not as far as Scott hoped. They were reluctant to go back into the water and wheeled and fought each other for dry ground rather than separate. Then to his dismay, he saw they charged towards the entrances of the mine shafts, which were just rectangular black holes in the ground. There was nothing to stop them falling in on top of their rescuees. Scott hit the jets and took his bird soaring.

"Anything?" Scott said.

"Not yet. Try again."

"Negative. Bad idea. I nearly sent those animals down on our people. Those animals are going crazy down there. I'll put down and look on foot."

He put down gently, grimacing as he felt the landing struts skid and settle into soft ground. At least my bird sits high off the ground. He spared a thought for Virgil who would have to put his precious machine down on its belly. He pulled on his wet weather gear and fired up his hover bike.

"Switching to the wrist-com," he told John.

He locked and left his bird, hunching against the steady rain. He took his bike towards the wall of bovine watchers.

"Didn't think to bring the bullwhip," he quipped to John.

"Yea-har, huh, Scott?"

"For the moment I'll go over their heads. Funny looking animals. Big humps, loose skin, droopy ears. Looks like cows and calves."

"Sounds like Brahmans. Popular breed in northern stations, so says the info I have here."

"Okay. Great. At least I'll know what to call them."

Scott took the bike over the heads of the animals, pleased they only ducked out of his way and didn't charge. They still did take more interest in him than he expected.

"Does the information tell you why these cows are bawling their lungs out at me? I can't hear myself think. Can you hear them?"

"Cows, did you say? Maybe they're expecting you to rescue them."

"That's unlikely."

"Hungry?"

"Well, heck. Virg doesn't pack a few spare bales of hay, by any chance? He's got about everything else."

"Nope."

"The problem is if someone calls. I can't hear above this racket. I'll look at the shaft entrances. Might tell me something. Any transmission?"

"Negative."

"Okay. Going in."

Scott took the hover bike over to the cluster of five shaft entrances. He was dismayed when the cattle actually followed him. He tried to herd them back but to no avail. He went to each of the rectangular holes. They were reamed out to about six foot by five, the edges sandbagged around the rim collar, and propped with square planks, a windlass with the remains of a rope and rusted metal bucket over the top. The one on the far edge drew his interest. It was much larger than the rest, the collar on one side had a broken away from the shoring, and the ground had slipped away at an angle into the darkness.

"Might have something." He took the hover bike in over the backs of the cows.

Just as he lowered the bike near the shaft, his attention on its surrounds, something flew at him. It was the last thing he expected. A dog leapt at his machine and would have taken a chunk out his leg if it could have reached. Scott yelped almost as loudly as the animal that was after him and he partially toppled off the seat of his machine. He clung on tenaciously as the bike bucked and swayed at his unorthodox dismount, keeping one eye on the hole and the other on the canine bearing its teeth and making valiant leaps for his person.

"What's that?" John asked.

"What does it sound like?" Scott breathed as he struggled to right himself without falling into the hole himself.

"Sounds upset."

Scott took his machine to the far side of the shaft only to have the dog sprint after him. He watched with consternation as the animal ran around the hole, the sides so soft they gave even under the weight of the dog. Debris and water flowed into the darkness below.

"Now I've got some dog after me. A black and brown bitch with yellow eyes and four hundred very sharp-looking teeth. Got a name for that, John?"

"Watch you language, son," his father cut in.

"I wasn't cursing, as much as I feel like it. It's a female dog."

"Very good," John said. "You're learning your animals."

"It's hard to mistake. It's got big – well – you know."

John laughed. "Mammary glands, you mean? She must have just whelped. Just had pups, for you. Sounds like a kelpie."

"Did anyone tell you how helpful you are? Okay, Dr Doolittle, consider this. I've got a wall of cows bellowing at me, a dog going crazy below me and I can't get near the shaft as the sides are caving in."

"Think that's the right one?"

"Pretty sure. The ground near this shaft's definitely been disturbed. Someone could have walked near the edge and it's given way. Maybe that's why the dog's here."

"Either the owner or her pups. You can't see where her pups might be?"

"The only other place they might be would be under the feet of these cows. I'm going to drop the remote camera just to be sure this is the right one. Give me an idea how stable the shaft walls are and how deep our ladies might be. Where's Virg?"

"Should be on your southern horizon."

Scott switched his com to speak to his brother. "Stay clear of the danger zone, Virg. Those jets of yours'll cause havoc with these beasts. And forget the wet weather gear. It must be 110 degrees. Humidity near one hundred percent. I'm saturated with sweat. The gear'll only hamper us."

"Gordon's suggesting wet suits. Spandex thins."

"Well, expect to get wet and crap filthy. This red soil looks like glue judging by the appearance of those already down here."

"FAB, Scott. Be with you in two point five minutes."


The three men gathered around the telemetry in Thunderbird One. Gordon was in his grey steamer, which covered most of his body, and Virgil had gone halfway with his Farmer John overalls, leaving on his blue uniform top. Scott had simply thrown aside his coat in Thunderbird One's hatch in disgust, knowing full well the gear wasn't going to keep him dry, and stripped off to change into his spare kit, thinking someone had better represent International Rescue by being in uniform. Scott released the mobile camera, a three-legged beetle look alike that he could operate by remote control, and they watched as it flew back to the mine site. He took it over the heads of the cattle in search of the shaft he'd located earlier. It was still raining heavily and the lens on the front of the visual unit blurred.

"Water's rising. But slowly," Scott said.

"Let's hope it's not rising below ground," Virgil said.

The others only grunted as they watched.

"Here...somewhere..."

"Don't let that dog get hold of it," Gordon said.

Scott stopped the unit and made it turn the full circle. The cows and their calves stared into the lens.

Gordon chuckled. "Look at those big eyes. At least they don't have horns."

"They're a lot bigger than they look and they're hungry," Scott said, lowering the camera towards the shaft. The dog was lying down, head on its paws at the edge of the shaft. It stood up to look curiously when the unit passed.

"Poor thing looks tuckered out," Gordon said.

"Until she wants one of us for a meal. Okay. Here goes." Scott turned on the lights that shone ahead of the camera unit and steered it into the hole. He tilted it to look vertical. "Clear down."

"Swing it around to the left," Virgil said. "Where that side's fallen."

"Clean fall. Surface water running in. We'd better bag it. Okay. Let's find our ladies and check out the rest of the wall later."

"Looks like the shaft's not wide enough to get a stretcher down," Virgil said.

"Horizontal might work. We'll take the compact."

The unit wobbled. Scott stopped it then panned the lens. "Small obstruction. Beam and debris. Have to be careful getting past that. Look at the gouges in the wall. Quite a ride for our pair."

He manoeuvred it around the length of timber lodged across hole. Scott watched the depth gauge. At just under thirty feet, the audio picked up a sound.

"Hold it," Virgil said.

Scott stopped the camera, panned it then tilted it. Instead of murky darkness, the light picked up something solid below it. He carefully lowered the camera a few more inches. This was the end of the fall. He moved it forward over debris, wood, water and equipment. Then he could see a human face.

He grinned.

An extremely dirty face grimaced as the light shone in her face. Scott picked up the microphone.

"This is International Rescue. How are you down there? Speak towards the unit and we'll hear you."

Scott was surprised when the female raised a brown bottle and toasted them.

"Come on down and party!" she yelled. "It's rainin'!"

They could only see her from the shoulders up. She appeared partly buried, partly surrounded by camping gear and canvas. Most of what they could see was reddish brown from mud, her eyes winking in the light like bright buttons on a dolly, her hair pulled back in a ponytail equally stiff from dirt.

"Gee," Virgil whispered. "I wonder what she'd be like on a good day."

"Well, that's neighbourly of you," Scott said into the mike. "We might do that. I'm Scott."

"Roxanne. Roxy, really. Foxy Roxy." She said her name a few more times as if she enjoyed the sound of it, and Virgil and Gordon glanced at each other. She took a long swig from the bottle with the yellow label before saying, "International Rescue, huh? You a Yank? You sound like a Yank."

"Yeah, I might be. Any objections?"

She humped one shoulder. "Might overlook it this time if you're good lookin'."

Scott chuckled softly. "Well, that may be a matter of opinion."

Gordon leaned towards the microphone. "He's as ugly as sin. Me, on the other hand, I'm…"

Scott quickly covered the mike with his hand. "Don't encourage her."

She gave a whoop. "What are you waiting for? Come on down! Hey, you on the other end. Mr S. Don't take it too hard, you've got a grouse voice."

Scott looked aside to his brothers. "Grouse? Is that good?"

Gordon raised his eyebrows. "She was smiling when she said it."

Scott watched her take another swig from the bottle and he withdrew his hand from the microphone. "Actually, Roxanne. There's a few of us, so you'll have plenty of company, soon. And what we'll be doing is coming down to get you out of there. As soon as we can. Okay?"

She gazed around her. "Oh, it ain't too bad. Once you get used to it."

"What's say you leave what you're drinking for us."

"Plenty more where this came from. Don't mind sharin'."

Virgil pointed to the screen. "Look." His finger rested on the image of three similar bottles to the one she was holding that had been discarded in front of her. "She's a little bent."

"Hammered, I'd say," Gordon said from the corner of his mouth.

"Hopefully she shared with her companion like she said," Scott said then pointed at the screen himself. "The way she's holding her right arm. Dislocated shoulder?"

Roxanne had on a sleeveless shirt. The UHF radio unit hung from a leather holster slung across her shoulder like an ammunition belt. Scott could see why the radio didn't work. It was crushed in at the top near the stub of an antenna and looked like something heavy had stood on it. It certainly accounted for the state of the woman's collar bone, Scott amazed John had picked out the signal at all.

"What's that dark colouring across her other shoulder?" Gordon said. "Bruising?"

"Too early to show," Virgil said.

"Air quality?" Scott said, studying the telemetry with more care for any information that might be useful. It never paid to be surprised under any circumstances.

"Good," Virgil said. "CO levels low."

Scott picked up the microphone again. "So, how are you? Doing okay? In any pain? What about your shoulder?"

"It's busted. So's me leg. And me guts don't feel too good, neither."

"Okay. We're coming down. You think you can hold on until we get to you?"

"Scared shitless but can't feel a thing thanks to ol' Fourex, here. Don't sweat it, S." As she jigged her bottle, she launched into a bawdy song about not giving a XXXX for anything.

The three men exchanged amused glances. Don't sweat it? Easy for her to say. Scott did a quick check on the water level above her to be assured the rate of rise hadn't changed since he last looked. He was already in a lather of sweat, his spare uniform saturated and he hadn't left Thunderbird One, yet. He drew his sleeve across his face and noticed the beading of moisture on his brothers' faces.

"How about your companion? We understand there's two of you."

She took another drink from the bottle. "Roxy's doing okay. As happy as Larry. Or would be if Larry were down here but he ain't so we are havin' a party." She cackled. "Scarlet, I don't know. She's makin' noises when she breathes. Can't get to her. I'm kinda stuck."

Scott was immediately on the alert. Noisy breathing was not a good sign. "Where's this Scarlet? Is she conscious?"

Their rescuee turned her head to their right. She punched at the gear beside her and the whole background seemed to heave.

"Hey, watch it," he said, alarmed something might shift and bury her completely. Scott watched a shallow ripple of water come towards the camera. He had visions of her drowning before they'd even left their Thunderbird machine. "Try not to move any more than you have to."

She pointed the bottle at the camera. "You're a funny man, you know that."

"I'm going to move the camera so we can see your companion. If you want to communicate, you just talk and we'll hear you."

"You do that," she agreed.

Scott sent the camera on a slow pan. Roxanne was caught among fallen rubble, debris and mud, which was getting wetter by the minute as water ran down the sides of the mine shaft. The bottom of the shaft opened wide into an open span, relieving that claustrophobic feel produced by the light bouncing off the sandstone walls. Two sides were illuminated by the light. On the third, the light disappeared into a spiral of shadows suggesting the possibility of an exploratory drive. He was pleased there would be room for them to work but disappointed there was no sign of another human. Scott lifted the camera and sent it towards the pile that had moved when Roxy punched it. As the camera moved over the bulk, they heard tiny whimpering sounds.

Pups. They were sightless little creatures, all on their bellies, nudging at the surface they were on and poking their snouts into the canvas. Except for their roundness, they were miniatures of what they'd seen on the surface.

"Can you see them?" Scott heard Roxanne ask just to the side of their camera. "I tried to reach."

"Two. I can see two." Scott swung the camera back to catch her reaction.

"Good. I heard Poppy upstairs. She'd be goin' troppo." She pointed to the sky. "How's the mob?"

"The –er – mob?"

"I think she means the cows," Gordon said.

Scott reassured her that Poppy, the pups and the 'mob' were okay. Hungry and wet but okay. He moved the camera further to her left. Something hit the camera as they heard a long sigh. Their view wobbled momentarily. When the picture cleared, the three of them reeled back from the screen. From seemingly out of the mire, something alive filled their monitor. It shone like a tarnished silver dollar in ultra close-up. It was eye shine.

Scott immediately turned the unit to the side to diffuse the light. The eye was brown and perfectly round, white sclera showing around the edges. When it blinked, long lashes scrubbed downward across the lens, covering a dash of an elongated pupil.

"That's not…" Gordon pointed needlessly.

"Not when I went to school," Virgil said.

"A horse?" Scott said. "Scarlet is a horse?"

Virgil swore softly beside him. "Looks a train wreck."

The horse was partially buried, upside down and appeared twisted, one foreleg wavered as it pointed to the sky, the neck turned back on itself. Scott could hear the groaning sounds it made when it breathed.

"Doesn't look good," Scott agreed. "Thirty foot drop. It's taken the fall. Must be why Roxanne's in good shape. Okay. The woman's on her own. And we have a badly injured animal. We have to get someone down there. Fast."

TBC