Not Enough Time
Not for Profit. Just for fun!
Thunderbird 1 scorched across the sky, leaving swirling contrails in loops and circles. Just below the powerful, sleek craft the heavy bulk of Thunderbird 2 seemed clumsy almost, but it too flew with an elegance contradicting its massiveness and ungainly design.
The two craft landed close to each other. TB1 first, touching down with a speed that would have confounded any other less competent pilot.
TB2 was more circumspect. Her greater size meant that she was not able to find a suitable space as easily as her partner craft.
Eventually, though her pilot found a likely spot. Fairly level and overlooking the view of the incident. It would have to do. There was nowhere else available and time was running out.
There was a long pause. No movement at all, thenTB2 rose up slowly on her hydraulics and revealed the Pod, waiting expectantly, like a Christmas present, to be opened, and the secrets within revealed.
There was no answering activity from TB1. She sat, almost ignoring the scene as if her pilot was content to let the huge green transporter do all the work, and get all the credit for the rescue.
The Pod opened, the door falling rapidly down onto the soft surface in front. And out, rolling, bouncing, jolting on its tracks, came Firefly, driven with haste and complete disregard for the difficult terrain.
The little yellow vehicle moved with a loud thrumming noise through the surrounding devastation.
Realising the urgency of the situation, and desperate for speed, its driver pushed it to the limits of its capabilities. Bumping over the rough haphazard terrain, pushing strange obstructions and obstacles out of its way with a total contempt for his own safety the driver reached the centre of the destruction.
It was then that it happened. The one thing that he had striven so hard to prevent.
Time had run out. In despair he heard the sound he had dreaded.
'Matthew. Tea's ready. Hurry up and come downstairs.'
With a heavy heart Matthew put his Firefly down on the bedroom carpet, stepping over his carefully constructed rescue site.
Maybe tomorrow.
Lightcudder