With thanks to Red H. for reviewing.

Concluding chapter.

I'm flying. Not sure why everyone else needs machines when it's so damn simple just to take your feet off of the ground and start that gentle swimming action. A lot of the time I just kinda forget I can do this and it's always a pleasant surprise when I remember how easy it is. I stretch out a little more strongly and float down the rotunda stairs and out of the main entrance to the villa, then pull sharply upwards above the trees and start to gain some height. I can see the island from above. Funny – my fear of heights dissipates totally when I'm doing this. I just know I'm not going to fall. Now if my arm would just stop itching this would be perfect.

Try flipping onto my back. Nice. Staring at the stars, floating upwards. One star in particular is looming larger and larger. The shape is kinda familiar, too. Donut shaped. This ain't no star; I realize I'm approaching Five. Scratch absently at my wrist. So annoying.

Five heaves ever closer into view. I can even see Johnny standing in the window, mouthing something at me. Can't quite figure out what he's saying.

I drift closer. The airlock is in sight now. A little more swimming motion and I'll be there.

It occurs to me that I shouldn't be able to breathe. Maybe that's what John's trying to tell me. But, hell, it's no trouble at all. There's obviously more oxygen up here in space than the boffins are letting on.

My wrist is really annoying me now; it's turning from a tickle to a definite pain.

And I can hear John's voice now, becoming clearer and clearer through the ether. Funny, I didn't think sound travelled in space. Must be something to do with this new atmosphere.

"Gordon, for the love of God, WAKE UP!"

Dammit, apparently I can't fly after all. Now that is a cryin' shame.

Push myself to a sitting position, slowly cognisant of the fact that Johnny is pushing twenty volts through my wrist-watch in order to wake me up. He'd better have a damn good reason for both grounding and electrocuting me. Okay, so it sounds like a contradiction in terms, but, hell, you know what I mean.

"John?"

"About bloody time. You got company, Gordo. They're almost on you."

It occurs to me I'm not in my bed. Hell, I'm, not even comfortable. Finally remember where I am. Fight my way out of the mosquito net and pull on my pants, blinking the last vestiges of sleep out of my eyes.

"Fill me in."

"There's movement to the west, no more than two miles from your position now. A small convoy – three vehicles, coming your way and fast."

"Scott?"

"On his way."

"F.A.B."

I flip open my special case.

The commotion has woken Martin who is regarding me, wide-eyed.

"Are we…"

"Under attack? Yes. Get the others."

He disappears.

Pull out the components of my sniper rifle, start to assemble it, pull out the hand-guns as Martin returns.

"You know how to use one of these?"

He nods, swallowing a little. I toss him a weapon. "Last resort. Keep away from the door and the windows, but if they get through then don't hesitate to use it, not for a split-second. They won't be our people." I glance at Stevie. I can see she's torn, bound by her oath. Do no harm. I gesture at the woman and the girl. "They won't kill any of you straight away," I tell her bluntly. It decides her. She pushes the others down underneath the table and takes one of the guns.

I smile. "Have no fear. Cavalry's on its way. Keep back from the wall."

Glassless window is a nice big target and the first place they're going to aim at. I place a couple of tiny charges low down the wall, one on each side, to take out a chunk just large enough to sight through. Indicate to the others to cover their ears. The dust settles. Down flat on my belly, squint through the 'scope; placed the charges just right, and I've got a good view of the lead vehicle as it appears over the dune.

It's a dead cert they're not here for a health check. Trigger finger tightens but I don't squeeze. Not yet.

"John? Update."

"TB1 is right on top of you," he responds promptly. "She's coming in just over Mach One and very low."

Let's see what they make of her.

"Cover your ears," I yell back into the room.

Just in the nick of time. The sonic boom is freaking mind-numbing, setting the nerves right on edge, even though I'm expecting it. I don't see her – she's crossed us from left to right before we hear her, but it gets a reaction all right. The convoy slews to an abrupt halt and there is a commotion.

A few moments later and he's swung back, down to a bare hover, and he's on the loud-hailer. Even if none of them speaks English his message is unmistakeable. He tells them to back off in exactly the same no-nonsense tones he'd use on us when we were kicking off as kids.

Apparently these bastards are harder to intimidate than we were.

They have surface-to-air and they launch in front of my very eyes. He veers hastily.

Even though I know that BB knows what he's doing my heart is in my mouth. I risk straightening my arms so that I can see through the side window – the fireworks start up in the distance as Scott releases a bundle of flares. I can't tell what's hit what.

"Thunderbird One to Field Station. Am turning for attack run now."

He doesn't have to take the time to tell me this, but it's his way of letting me know he's okay up there.

"F.A.B." I get my head down and squint along my sights again.

Not a moment too soon. A burst of gunfire rakes along our little cabin. The convoy has started forward again.

My first shot takes out the driver of the lead vehicle. It sputters, and stops, and I take down the unfortunate passenger as he steps from the vehicle, his machine pistol raised. The two in the back seat have the sense to exit from the side away from the hut and take cover. I roll across the floor to the other side of the room. They'll have made my position by now.

I can hear One coming. Scott targets the vehicle that tried to down him. They can see what's coming and most of them spill out in a panic moments before their jeep is hit. One braver but sadly misguided soul stays to ram another missile into the launcher. I don't see what happens to him. But their humvee disintegrates into a million pieces.

It's over, as quickly as it started. The survivors are not going to take on the might of our machines. They leave their dead, but pick up the wounded and pile into the remaining vehicle. Scott hovers, turns One around; I imagine he's contemplating giving chase momentarily, but he's a cool head in battle and he doesn't have any appetite for killing for its own sake. Any temptation to rout them further is summarily dismissed and his jets fire for landing.

Keep my head down a while longer, worrying as Scott exits his plane. There could be snipers out there. "Update again, John, please."

"I've got two hot ones on the ground near the jeep," he replies cautiously. "They're not moving so I'm guessing they're both dead. Two more near the vehicle Scott targeted. No-one else in the vicinity."

"Did you get that, Scott?"

"F.A.B."

"Take care."

"Will do. You just look after your people, little brother."

I glance back into the cabin. Stevie sits up, brushes debris off her clothes, reaches a hand down to a shocked and frightened Esme.

"Okay, honey?"

The doc glares at me for a moment until she realizes I'm addressing the kid.

"She's fine."

"Martin?"

He's sitting, back against the desk, the gun loose in his hand. He doesn't reply.

"Hey, man, it's over," I assure him.

Stevie figures it before I do. She's at his side in a trice. She raises his head, but his eyes are closed.

Her jaw sets tight.

And I close my own eyes at the waste of it all.

I've collected my belongings together.

The agency will send Stevie another nurse, someone who probably means as well as the rest of us, but who is unlikely to understand their culture the way one of their own does.

Virj has brought Two back to pick me up. Martin gets a less ostentatious exit, on the back of the dusty donkey cart his villagers have sent for him. They'll bury him at sunset, mourning the one amongst them who took on the developed world at its own game.

Scott and Virgil tie up the loose ends. To everything a time and season. We'll leave quietly and let these people get on with their lives. The women of the village do their mourning in style. But Stevie isn't the crying type. Not in public, anyway. Tough as old boots. The woman I met last night is gone, and the doctor is back; brisk, and business-like and brittle.

"We're pretty much all done out there," Scott tells her. By which he means they've buried the dead.

She nods.

"I don't think they'll be back," he notes reassuringly.

Her head swings to one side. "Listen, Michael…Scott…what the hell is your name anyway?" Her irritation shows. He's saved from answering for now as she launches into a tirade. "It's fine for you to say. What if you made them just mad enough to come back and finish the job? I have a clinic to run here. Some of us can't just leap into a plane and ride off into the sunset." She gestures sharply, and there's a slight break in her voice.

I contemplate telling her that she's mixed her metaphors, but think better of it.

To my surprise he pulls her to him and holds her close for a moment. "We'll be keeping a real close eye on the situation for you. I promise. And we're just a radio-call away." I recognize it; less to do with the fact that he fancies her like crazy, more that big brother instinct coming out, all re-assurance. He does it to the four of us all the time.

It's well-practiced and it works. Her shoulders slump a little. He pushes her back, aims for eye contact. She gives him a wan smile.

"You'll be okay. I promise."

He kisses her, a brotherly peck on the forehead. We'll have to work on that, I guess, but it's a start. He heads out towards his 'bird.

I line up. She views me through narrowed eyes. "Don't even think it, Red."

I grin and pull her into an embrace. "See you again, Doc."

"What is his name?" she whispers in my ear. "Mike or Scott?"

I draw back and wink. "Yes," I tell her.

She steps on my toe. I'm sure it's an accident.

Outside, the three of us fall into step.

Scott adjusts his shades, kicks his flying jacket back over his shoulder. "You did a good job there, kid," he notes matter-of-factly. He's giving nothing away but I know that he means it. He turns back towards his One true love.

Virgil lays a brotherly hand on my shoulder.

"Okay?" In contrast to Scott his voice is oddly sympathetic.

"What?" I ask him.

"Just want to check how you're doing."

Is he worried about my shoulder again? "I'm doing fine."

The brotherly concern stuff is a touch annoying. But he's nice to me – far too nice – all the way into Two and up to the cockpit; if he doesn't quit soon I will have to plan something spectacularly nasty to put our relationship back on its usual footing.

He looks at me oddly as I stow away my rifle case.

Oh, I see now!

Scott understands. Virj doesn't. I'm not the team sniper just because I happen to be the best shot. Scott knows, and Dad knows. This day's been a while coming, but it was always going to arrive. Doesn't change a thing.

It's a job. Just a job.

I do mine so people like Stevie and Martin can do theirs.

I'm the same person I was yesterday.

Study the back of his head as he finishes his pre-flight checks.

Every concerned brother has a silver lining, I say.

Slip into my seat, a little gingerly, eye him up sideways. "Yeah. Just fine," I reiterate, just a little too firmly.

The jets fire up underneath us, and she lifts tortuously, groaning under her own weight, grumbling at him. Outside another minor sandstorm; strike what's left of the Arctic this time, I guess.

"You want to talk about it, you know," he shrugs awkwardly, "you just have to say."

Keep tone just a little too bland. "Talk about what?"

He shrugs awkwardly. "You know…"

Stare straight ahead, not meeting his eye. "I'm good, y'know." Nod a little as though trying to convince myself. Straighten up. "I guess I just need a little time. To clear my head."

He nods knowingly.

Nod back just as knowingly. "Maybe tomorrow I'll head out to sea awhile, get in a little fishing. Y'know…time to think…"

"Good idea," he says approvingly. "I guess you'll want to be alone?"

Allow very fleeting – almost imperceptible - look of distress to cross face.

"Sure," said with a distinct lack of certainty.

"…because, you know, if you wanted someone around…you know, I guess I could…"

"Yeah? Really? You'd do that? I know how you hate those early morning starts."

"Early?"

"Best time for fishing, big fella."

"Yeah, well," he's just the tiniest little bit pained at the thought. "I guess…just this once…maybe…"

"Oh, man. You're a real pal, anyone ever told you that?"

A small, slow smile creeps across his face.

Nice to see the old boy happy.

Lean back and shut my eyes, content enough. Been trying to figure out how to wangle this for weeks and weeks. Scott bet me a twenty I couldn't get the big fella out of bed before seven of his own volition.

But a moment later I open them again with a jolt and turn my head to look out of the window. The image of the flash of brilliant white teeth against a handsome dark face is still just a little too vivid for now, and somewhere there's just the faintest aroma of snake stew…