Chapter 10

When Jason woke the next time, he was alone in the room. It was still broad daylight, so he couldn't have slept that long. He didn't think so, at any rate - it couldn't be the next day, surely? No, he still ached too badly for that. An extra twenty-four hours asleep with the implant doing its thing, and the symptoms from the high pressure would have gone, he was fairly sure of that.

He sat up just as the door opened and the blond kid from his nightmare awakening of earlier came in, Mark's fingermarks visibly purpling round his neck. "How are you feeling?" the kid asked him.

"Fine," he said shortly.

"Virgil said you're a race driver?"

"Yeah."

"Well, aren't you just communicative this evening?"

Jason favoured him with a paint-stripping glare. "Yeah, I just love making chit-chat when our ship's at the bottom of the ocean in a million pieces and you've taken my commander God-knows-where."

"Last I saw, your commander was sitting by the pool drinking orange juice," Alan retorted, unfazed, "and your ship's still in one piece, as much as it was after you crashed it, anyway. Just full of water."

Jason stared. "You're kidding."

"Not kidding. How about we start this conversation again? Hi, I'm Alan."

"I'm Jason. I'm the one you're supposed to be. I guess they got the height about right...and the build...but oh dear, the hair colour..."

Alan flushed a quite remarkable shade of scarlet. "About that. I would have denied it, but..."

"Come off it. I wouldn't have, either."

Alan managed a sick grin. "Maybe I can start a rumour that you work for International Rescue."

"If I ever need a false trail, I might take you up on that." Jason got to his feet with a groan. "I feel like someone beat me with a stick."

Alan rubbed his neck ruefully. "Me too. Possibly because your commander tried to."

"Like I said. There's one person on this planet who has any chance against Mark one-on-one, and that would be me. If he freaks again - and he might well - you get the hell out of his way. I'm guessing your commander has actually impressed that on the rest of you now."

"He has. And you needn't worry. I don't make the same mistake twice."

"Good. Now, the Phoenix isn't in pieces? I thought it would be crushed."

"Apparently the structural integrity was damaged enough in the crash that the water came in through the damage instead of crushing the hull." Alan raised his hands. "That's what I heard, anyway. Gordon's the one who would understand, but he won't be out of the chamber for another two hours."

"So she's not destroyed? You can get her out?"

"Whoa, there. I didn't say that. We rescue people. We don't do property."

"The Phoenix isn't property." Jason resisted the urge to snap. This called for diplomacy and tact. Not his strong point, but Mark was never around when you needed him. "The Phoenix is lives. Civilian lives, that the next Spectran mecha will destroy if we're not there to stop it."

"I don't believe you don't have a backup ship."

"That was the backup ship." Jason sighed. "Security are going to have my head for this, but, hell, we need your help. We lost the primary Phoenix ten days ago. That ship down there is it for the next month or so. There will be another Spectran attack in that time. There just will. There isn't anyone else who can stop them."

Alan swallowed. "Father isn't going to like it. IR just doesn't do equipment recovery."

"You're going to have to make an exception for G-Force."

"I don't know..." Alan gulped again as Jason turned the glare back on. "I'll talk to Scott. Actually, I'll talk to Virgil, get him to talk to Scott. I do take your point. But without Gordon, I don't even know if we can do it. Can't your people recover it themselves? It's not that deep."

"If ISO start moving heavy equipment down here and Spectra notice, they'll figure out in no time what's down there. Free shot anywhere they like without G-Force to get in the way. It's got to be best for you to do it. If you can, of course."

Alan grinned cheerfully at him. "Reverse psychology? I'm not quite that naive. I'll see what I can do, but not because we need to prove anything. Now, do you want to get out of the suit? Everyone else is out by the pool. We can discuss it there."

"Father, can I talk to you in private?" Scott asked softly.

"Sure, son." Jeff put his book down by the side of his chair, frowning slightly, and stood up. "Come inside."

He said nothing else until they were in the office with the door shut, and then he motioned to Scott to sit down. "What's worrying you?"

"Anderson."

"What about him?"

"He knows who we are."

"Scott, I've known David Anderson since we were at college together. You don't need to worry about his discretion."

"I wasn't worried about Colonel Casey's discretion either, and you've known him just as long." Scott sat forward. "I'd like to know why you told Anderson about us, and who else knows apart from the numbered IR agents."

"I didn't have much of a choice." Jeff's face took on a look of sympathy. "I approached Anderson years ago, when I first had the idea but not the money to put it into practice, asking if he thought ISO might be interested in being a partner in something like International Rescue. He said no, that they were putting all their efforts into interstellar exploration. I'd almost forgotten what I'd told him, it was so long ago. Then, when we started up, right after the first Fireflash rescue, I got a call. He said that he was fairly sure it was me behind it, but that given the level of threat they were handling he'd really like details of the stealth technology we were using so he could make sure we weren't misidentified as a Spectran mecha. Well, they've got better things to do than chase us, we've got better things to do than hide from them. I gave him the information, and that was the last I heard. I never discussed it with you because, well, I didn't want to reopen old wounds."

"He did that pretty darn good himself." Scott sighed. "I understand. Just - is he the only one?"

"He's the only one. As I understand it, our stealth signatures are hidden in their database of friendlies. If we get seen, we get ignored automatically, nobody else needs to know. And I never told him about you. He must have recognised your voice. I'm sorry, son. If you want to get away while they're here, I understand."

Scott shook his head. "I'll be fine. I deal with ISO pilots on a regular basis. One in particular. I need to be able to handle it."

"Virgil told me the Eagle is someone you know."

"Yeah - I suppose I should have guessed. It just never occurred to me that Anderson's nineteen-year-old protégé was old enough for that sort of responsibility. Heck, most people don't think he's old enough for a fast jet licence. Nice kid. Never struck me as the leader type, though. He must be one hell of a good actor."

"Right now I wouldn't put him in charge of a single seater Cessna."

"He's not himself right now." Scott leant back, feeling much better for the explanation. "Don't judge him by what you're seeing now, Father. He's a darn good pilot and a cool head. Remember that airshow where there was an attack right at the start and our T-17 prototype was destroyed on the tarmac?"

"I do indeed. And ISO's new prototype was cut down out of the air?"

Scott nodded. "That was Mark. Insane thing to do, going after the bogey in an unarmed plane. At the time I thought he was just so damn green it hadn't occurred to him that he ought to get the hell out of there. Now I'm wondering if he was drawing their fire, giving the rest of his team time to get the Phoenix in the air. There were a lot of civilians on the ground. It could have been carnage."

His father smiled. "Maybe you should ask him?"

"Maybe I will." Or maybe right now I'm feeling rather a fool for having given the Eagle a lecture on basic air combat tactics.