AN: This is my attempt at giving Kayo some backstory. What is it with Thunderbirds and the lack of moms?

Though Lovers Be Lost

By Lady Razorsharp

Though lovers be lost, love shall not

And death will have no dominion.

-Dylan Thomas

One: Business Dinner

Jeff Tracy is building his empire, and meets an ally for the first time.

"What time are we to be there, Teri?"

The young dark-haired woman at Jeff Tracy's side consulted her wristwatch. "Half past seven," she informed him in lightly accented English. "We will be right on schedule."

"Good." Jeff hated being late, a personality trait that sometimes annoyed his wife. When one was in charge of wrangling three small children, one often wished for a more leisurely pace. Not that she complained, he thought with a smile, but Lucille had some very eloquent sighs.

A pang of homesickness went through him at the thought of his family, left back in the States as he conducted his business here in Malaysia. They would all be so much bigger when he returned, especially little Virgil, who was due to have his second birthday in three days' time. He made a mental note to ask Mr. Kyrano if he could recommend an appropriate shop for locating items that would amuse young boys, as well as mollify a wife who'd been parted from her husband for three months.

"Mr. Kyrano has two sons, doesn't he?" he mused aloud, watching the colorful homes and shops roll past the window of the car. "I know both of his wives have passed on."

Teri nodded. "Yes. One by his first wife and one by his second-Benjit, the eldest, and Belah, the younger. After they completed university, he brought them into the family business."

"I see." The family business was heavy manufacturing and shipping, two things which Jeff Tracy was very interested in. Mr. Kyrano had been the friend of a friend, and Jeff's mentor had graciously agreed to introduce the two. Over the course of two years, the two men had found a mutual passion for philanthropy as well as big business, but they had never met face to face. Finally, Jeff felt that he could no longer put off such a meeting, and despite his family's groans, he had made plans according to Mr. Kyrano's schedule.

Jeff glanced over at Teri, who was organizing her notes on her palm-sized tablet. He had asked the hotel concierge to recommend a competent secretary who could accompany him while in country, and the man had risen admirably to the challenge. Puteri Oman was a small, pretty, olive-skinned woman in her mid-twenties, with heavy dark hair twisted artfully and pinned at the nape of her neck and amber eyes that sparkled when she laughed. For tonight's dinner-which was supposed to be more social than business-she was dressed in a bright pink shantung sheath that emphasized her graceful neck with its high collar, but left her shoulders bare. Her legs crossed primly beneath the pencil skirt were encased in pure silk stockings, and her dyed-to-match shoes, while dressy, were of a sensible heel height. There was a white pashmina draped over her lap, and a delicate golden bracelet encircled her dainty right wrist.

She was pretty enough, he mused, to give any wife of an unaccompanied American businessman pause, but Jeff had instantly felt protective of her when they'd been introduced at the hotel. He hoped fervently that Mr. Kyrano's sons were gentlemen of their father's caliber.

Soon they were pulling up to a home half-hidden behind a tropical garden and a high stucco wall. The driver opened their doors, and Jeff gave Teri a hand to help her out of the car. A man in a white shirt and beige trousers waited for them at the gate, and he gave a little bow as they approached.

"Good evening, Mr. Tracy," said the man, opening the gate. "Mr. Kyrano is waiting for you in the lounge."

"Thank you." Jeff and Teri waited for the man to close the gate, then followed him through the vibrant garden into the house. "Very pretty," Jeff nodded, as Teri inhaled deeply of the scent of lilies.

The inside of the house smelled of sandalwood, with shiny wooden floors and beautiful Oriental artwork stretching out in every direction. The majordomo of the house led them down a hallway lined with golden statuary and inlaid tables, then turned a corner into an airy space furnished in cool blues. The night was promising sultry warmth, but this room instantly felt breezy. A fountain played nearby, and the smell of jasmine was nearly overpowering. Jeff tried to recall every detail to tell Lucille, but he knew he'd fall leagues short of describing such a lovely place.

A greying man with cafe-au-lait skin was seated on one of the couches, a sweating highball glass in one hand. He was dressed in a cream colored linen shirt and dark blue trousers, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, comfortably worn leather slippers on his feet. He was speaking to a younger man with skin the same color as his, only the younger was dressed more formally in a button-down light blue shirt and black dress pants. The younger man's short-sleeved shirt and black leather sandals seemed to be his concessions to the steamy evening, and the neck of a beer bottle was clasped in his fingers.

"Mr. Tracy and his aide," said the majordomo by way of formal announcement, then bowed and left the quartet to move toward each other. Jeff held his hand out to the elder man, who rose fluidly from his chair and took the proffered hand.

"Jeff, it's so good to finally meet you in person," said Ahmahd Kyrano, his olive-green eyes crinkling at the corners in pleasure. "This is Benjit, my eldest son." The two shook hands, then Jeff stepped back to bring the young woman at his elbow into the group.

"This is Miss Puteri Oman," said Jeff. "She's acting as my aide while I'm here-and has done a fine job of keeping up with me on this whirlwind trip." Teri blushed and gave the men polite nods, but Benjit stepped up and offered her his hand.

"Good evening, Miss Oman," he murmured. His eyes were the same shade of olive green as his father's, and they were fixed intently on the girl in the pink dress. "Welcome to our home."

Jeff and Kyrano Sr. shared an amused glance over Benjit's head. "Well," said Kyrano, clearing his throat pointedly, "shall we go into the dining room, or should we wait for your brother?"

At this, Benjit's head came up, and he frowned. "I told him to be here at seven, Father," he assured the older man. "I knew he'd be late. Our guests shouldn't have to wait on dinner because of his rudeness."

"Quite," Kyrano Sr. agreed. "Let's go in. He knows the way, that's for sure."

They were halfway through their entree of perfectly broiled fish when a commotion of noise and voices began in the hallway outside, and all four paused with forks above their plates as the door banged open to admit a man in his late twenties dressed in knee-length linen shorts and a brilliant blue satin shirt that was buttoned over his chest but loose over his abdomen. Diamonds glittered from both earlobes, and he wore expensive Italian-made sandals. His head was shaved to the skin on the sides and back, but long strands curled from the top of his head to fall over his right eye, and he was talking breezily over the protests of the majordomo as he entered.

"-I'll just stick my head in here to see-Oh, there you are." His eyes, the color of peridots, passed over the guests and settled on the eldest of the four. "Father, I need Benji's motor for the evening."

Benjit set down his fork with a frown. "Belah, you've got the manners of a roadmender." He turned to Jeff and Teri with an apologetic expression. "My brother, Belah," he said by way of introduction.

Belah gave Jeff and Teri a glance. "Charmed," he said in a bored voice. "Father, the motor? I'm due at the club in twenty, and traffic's simply appalling at this hour."

Benjit's face grew even stormier. "What's wrong with yours?"

Belah waved him away. "It's in the shop."

Benjit looked like he believed precisely none of this explanation, but his father held up a hand for silence.

"Belah, you may borrow Benji's motor on one condition: He must drive you."

Both brothers looked near to explosion at this proposal, but Kyrano Sr. wasn't done. "Why don't you take Jeff and Miss Oman to the club with you? I'm sure you young people would have a much better time than being cooped up here with an old fuddy duddy like me."

Jeff shot a glance at Teri, who had turned the color of her dress. "Mr. Kyrano, I'm not sure-"

Belah practically stomped his foot in petulant protest. "Oh, Father, you can't mean it!"

Benjit took up Jeff's side. "Really, Father, I don't mind-"

The flat of Kyrano Sr.'s hand came down on the table, making the cutlery jump, and the room was instantly silent. "Belah: You asked to borrow your brother's motor. These are my conditions. Accept graciously, or find one of your degenerate friends to take you down there."

With fury simmering in his eyes, Belah turned on his heel and stalked from the room. Benjit wiped his mouth and stood, following closely behind his angry half-brother. Kyrano Sr. chuckled, seemingly unconcerned, and turned to Jeff and Teri.

"Boys will be boys," the older man said by way of explanation. "Go and have fun while you're young. We'll discuss business tomorrow-that is, if you don't have a head full of champagne!"