Chapter 36: The Future

Thursday 12 October 2079

Thunderbird Two returned to Tracy Island and Scott and Virgil, having discussed the past and made plans for the future, decided to leave offloading Thunderbird One's airbag and camouflage until after they'd had lunch.

Not that they were given this opportunity when Brains pounced on them, grabbing Virgil's arm and dragging him out of the kitchen. "Wh-Where have you been?"

"Getting Thunderbird One." Virgil tried to release himself from what was a surprisingly strong grip.

"Didn't Tin-Tin tell you I wanted to see you?"

"She did, but we were hoping for a bite to eat first."

"That can wait."

"Brains?" Intrigued, Scott followed the pair down the hall. "Why are you kidnapping Virgil?"

"I need him in the H-Hospital."

"Hospital?!" Virgil finally managed to tear himself free. He stopped walking, digging his heels in when Brains tried to drag him away again. "Why?"

He got a shock when Brains bellowed: "They're back!"

Jeff pushed his walker out of his study. "Good. We were wondering where you'd both got to."

"What's going on?" Scott queried as Virgil, caught off guard, was abducted again.

"We don't know. Brains has got a bee in his bonnet about something."

"So I see. He said he wanted Virgil in the hospital."

"I think that's because Gordon's in there," Jeff reassured him. "Brains has been setting something up for the last few hours and Gordon's been getting very frustrated because he won't tell him what's going on."

Scott grinned. "I can imagine."

Virgil was dragged into the room where Gordon was recuperating and finally released. He stood there massaging his arm and watching Brains with a wary eye.

His invalid brother grinned at his unorthodox entrance. "Was this a surprise visit?"

"Yes," Virgil growled. "Only I'm the one who's surprised to be here."

Brains shoved a tablet PC into his hands. "You'll n-need this."

"I will?" Virgil looked around seeing boxes and crates. "This place looks like a workroom, not a medical facility."

"My feelings exactly," Gordon pouted. "I wish you'd released me from here before you turned this into one of your storerooms, Brains."

Brains, in the process of getting John and Alan on line, wasn't listening. "J-John, have you managed to set up the auto-transcriber?"

"At this distance it's not perfect," John warned, "but it should be enough for Alan to be on the same page as everyone else."

Hey I can see your words scrolling across the button of the screen scrolled across the bottom of Alan's delayed video feed. what page

"It's a voice recognition system that'll hopefully transcribe what we all say and relay it between Earth and Thunderbird Three in near real-time," John explained.

Gordon beamed at him, overjoyed at the prospect of some real-time conversations with Alan. "This is fantastic!"

Fantastic

"Don't expect one hundred percent accuracy." John typed something into his control panel. "But it should be adequate."

"I-I want everyone to understand my plans, Alan," Brains told the Jupiter-bound brother. "And it's just as important for you to have some input into this."

Okay

John continued fiddling with the controls. "How are you reading it, Alan?"

"Hey! I can see your words scrolling across the bottom of the screen!" Alan exclaimed. "What page?" It's fairly a curate although you get the occasional glish

"So I see." John made another alteration. "Sorry, Alan, but I'm going to turn your sound down. I'd advise you to do the same or else we're all going to get confused."

Will do "Fantas...!" Just make shore someone's watching my screen to sea what I'm saying

"It'll buzz us whenever a message comes through," John promised. "And I'll try to improve the system later."

Thanks

"Where's Tin-Tin?" Brains muttered. "Is she meditating again? Would someone go and get her?!"

"Take it easy, Brains," Scott advised. "She is pregnant."

"Pregnancy is not an illness, Scott."

"I know that. But she's worked hard when she should have been allowed to take it easy. We owe it to her and the baby not to tax her now."

Thanks Scott

Tin-Tin and her father entered the room. Her face lit up when she saw the video image of her husband. "Hello, Alan."

High ja honey

Tin-Tin looked confused as the words on the bottom of the screen combined with the out-of-synch picture to create the effect of a poorly subtitled foreign language movie.

"Sorry, it's not the best yet, Tin-Tin," John apologised. "I'll try and improve it lat..."

"Will you all be quiet?!" Surprised by Brains' uncharacteristic rudeness, everyone stared at him.

"All right, Brains," Jeff said calmly. "We're all here. What is it you want to show us?"

Brains took a deep breath. "Doomsday." He looked around the group; an almost fanatical gleam in his eyes. "I have always been concerned that we were spreading our attack too thinly and would not have the impact that we hoped. I chose ACG launch locations that I felt were going to be the most efficacious and easiest to reach with the equipment we could make ready in the time available to us. I had hoped that it would be enough to combat the threat, but now that I've had a chance to think about it I believe we can do more, and, as there is always a possibility that, ah, at least one of the ACGs may fail," he managed to refrain from looking at anyone in particular, "I think we should."

"Great!" Virgil enthused. "I'll do anything to help."

Brains looked at him from over his glasses. "Do not be t-too hasty, Virgil. You will have to consider what I am going to suggest. You may, er, feel that the consequences could outweigh the benefits."

Jeff, his elbows resting on the grips of his walker as he sat on the seat, steepled his fingers. "And this plan is?"

"A-Actually I have two plans. The first is to make use of a hole that, at 12,262 metres into the Earth's crust, is even deeper than the Challenger Deep."

"What!" Gordon stared at him. "But that's not possible! There's nowhere known deeper than the Mariana Trench."

"This is a borehole, more specifically the Kola Superdeep Borehole on the Kola Peninsula in Russia. I didn't consider this at first because the diameter of the hole is only a fraction over 200mm. When we were manufacturing the acoustic concussion generators I didn't believe that we could develop the technology and then make one that small in the space of three months, so I made the decision to concentrate on building three identical ACGs. But now that we have been through the development s-stage I am confident that, within a seven day period, we can build one capable of traversing the borehole."

Scott considered this. "Russia's a big area. Where's the Kola Peninsula?"

"Roughly 69° north; 30° east; er, the territory of Murmansk Oblast, close to the b-border with Norway."

"And do you think the Russians would have any objections to International Rescue dropping what is effectively a bomb down their borehole?"

"The Russians, or more correctly the Soviets as the project commenced in 1970, drilled with the intention of reaching the Earth's mantle. L-Lack of funding and the increasing temperatures at the drill bit closed the project in 2005, and the site was abandoned in 2008. Now all that remains are some buildings, including the t-tower that encased the drill."

Jeff gave a cautious nod. "This sounds promising."

"There are d-deeper man-made boreholes around the planet," Brains admitted, "but as they are all underwater and as we do not at present have the equipment capable of reaching them," there was a quick glance towards Gordon, "I d-do not consider them to be viable options. I also prefer the Kola Superdeep Borehole because it is part of the Eurasian Plate, which covers a greater land area than the Arabian Plate, while being on a similar longitude."

"Which means that if the Dead Sea ACG fails we've still got that part of the world covered," Virgil clarified.

There was a buzzing noise.

"Plate tectonics do not quite work that way, but yes, I am hopeful that reducing the seismic stresses in that region will have a flow-on effect."

"Alan's said something," John announced; but the words had already vanished when the family turned to read the screen, so he offered a translation. "He said that he thinks he remembers reading something about the Kola Superdeep Borehole. Isn't that the place where they drilled so deep that workers reported herring... no... hearing air... ah... eerie sounds emanating from the ground?"

Alan, reading his words being read back at him, felt a fool for introducing something so trivial into the conversation.

But Gordon snapped his fingers. "That's right. They said it sounded human. Some people said it was the screams of sinners in hell."

"There was that rumour." Brains gave a sniff that showed what he thought of those who believed urban myths over scientific facts. "T-Total nonsense, of course."

"Apart from the possibility of the Devil emerging from the depths to buy our souls in exchange for saving the planet, I can't see anything too controversial in this plan," John commented.

"There isn't," Brains admitted. "I believe that Thunderbird Two can deposit me, with an assistant, at the borehole and that we will be able to deploy a fourth acoustic concussion generator at this site without too many issues... It is my s-second plan that I have r-reservations about." He hesitated.

Everyone waited while he fiddled with the papers before him.

"Let's hear it," Jeff prompted. "We can't make the decision whether or not to proceed until we've got all the facts."

"Yes, Sir," Brains nodded.

He shuffled his papers again.

"If it's too complex to explain right away, just give us an overview," John suggested.

"Overview... Right..." For the first time Brains seemed unsure about how to explain himself. "What y-you need to be aware of... is th-that, wh-what I am… er… planning… no… um… s-suggesting c-c-could... potentially... be regarded as… er… as a s-s-s…" He took a deep breath. "S-s-s-s-s…" He stopped, tried to get his tongue back under control, and then started again. "A s-s-s-s…" He lapsed into frustrated silence.

"Brains?" Jeff touched the engineer on the arm. Brains' stutter was not something that the family commented on. They accepted that it was part of what made him the person he was and were quite happy to live with it. But this time he appeared to be having genuine difficulty in getting the words out. "Take a deep breath and try again, Son. Regarded as a what?"

Brains took the deep breath as he was instructed. "S-S-Suicide mission."

Virgil blanched, but made no comment.

Scott, however, went on the offensive. "No!" He exploded. "No way, Brains! We've already been through enough! We could have lost Virgil, or John…!"

"Or you," Gordon interrupted.

"We nearly lost Gordon! I'm not going to let you ask a member of my family to give up his life no matter how important the result is!"

Astounded and cowed by the outburst, Brains took a step back. "N-N-No, Scott! That would be m-m-murder! I-I-I d-did not m-mean that. I-I-I could not live with being directly r-responsible for one of your d-deaths!"

"We are aware of that, Brains," Jeff said; his voice quiet and even. "But who do you think would be willing to undertake a suicide mission?"

Brains swallowed. He removed his spectacles and polished them, concentrating on the action. Then he walked over to a crate that was propped up in the corner on its end. He pulled open its lid revealing its burnished copper contents.

Braman.

The family were stunned.

Brains' robot had been a part of his world for well over a decade. He'd built him from scratch, spending his spare time refining and improving him until the robot's artificial intelligence was close to his own. Since Braman's computations had saved Scott, Alan, and Tin-Tin's lives during the Sun Probe mission, the Tracys and the Kyranos all felt a degree of affection for the automaton. But that was nothing compared to Brains' affinity to his creation; often compared to the relationship between father and son.

Ashamed at his over-reaction, Scott shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm sorry, Brains. I should have realised."

Brains shut the lid of Braman's crate as if he didn't want him to hear what was being discussed.

"You said I had to consider the consequences of this plan." Virgil wasn't sure whether to feel relief or concern. "Why do I get the impression that this is going to involve more than Braman?"

"This plan involves us all; directly and indirectly," Brains corrected. "We must all consider the c-consequences."

"All right," Jeff nodded. "What is it you're going to ask Braman to do?"

"W-When I was planning our original strategy I considered a number of sites that had potential for aiding the successful launch of an ACG. F-For instance there are several mines around the globe that are deeper than both the Dead Sea and the Bentley Subglacial Trench."

There was a buzzing noise. There are

Brains hesitated, not sure whether that was a question or a statement. "Yes, Alan. For instance the TauTona open cast mine in South Africa is deeper than four kilometres…"

Virgil whistled. "And I thought the Mole was doing well digging 1.5 K."

"But it was not a suitable candidate because the African plate isn't showing strain from the, er, Doomsday pressures. Other sites I discarded because they were too inaccessible; or they may have been in a highly populated area. All my plans up to that point involved detonating ACGs close to 50 kilometres beneath the Earth's surface so that Doomsday's seismic energy would be dissipated deep within the crust."

Scott nodded. "We understood that."

"But now that you have completed our first deployment I have had the time to reconsider my hypothesis. At the time I thought that if we detonated an ACG at less than 50 kilometres then the resulting seismic energy release could be as c-catastrophic to the surrounding area as Doomsday threatens to be on a global scale. It was only recently that I remembered a part of the planet that, not only will give us an opportunity to release the energy building in a tectonic plate we have not yet touched, but is also almost devoid of all life. This ACG could be detonated within seconds of release with no fears of it causing death or destruction… Except to the, ah, 'person' who lays it." Brains' eyes darted towards Braman's crate.

"Why can't we just airlift Braman, or anyone else for that matter, out of the area once the ACG's laid?" Gordon asked.

"Because there is a reason why this area is desolate. It is also an area well known to International Rescue. I am, er, speaking of Yelcho."

"Ah…" They all remembered Yelcho in Chile, where a volcano had erupted beneath a Cobaltium 5 nuclear plant. International Rescue had tried to shut down the reactor before magma reached it, but had to retreat before the operation had turned into a suicide mission itself. The greatest explosion the planet had seen in millennia had deposited a radioactive layer across hundreds of square kilometres, wiping out all life and rendering the region inhospitable and uninhabitable. It was so radioactive that the area had been declared a permanent no-fly zone; something that even International Rescue had rigorously adhered to.

While the team had saved a good many lives that day, none of them considered that rescue to be a success.

"So far we have not found a way to release the energy building up in the South American Plate, and I believe that th-the Yelcho rift is deep enough for an acoustic concussion generator to be effective without the need to spend time drilling further. Also, the area's desolation means that a shallow earthquake will have little impact on the surrounding countryside. But, as you know, Yelcho is highly radioactive. Even International Rescue's equipment could not stave off radiation poisoning; hence the need to send…" Brains cast a guilty look towards the crate. "…Braman."

Is it two radio active for us to give him sum kind of protective shell and then retrieve him afterwards Alan's subtitles asked.

"Y-Yes. The radiation will destroy his systems. He will not, ah, 'live' for long once he is exposed."

Tin-Tin felt her heart go out to her friend. "Are you sure about this, Brains? We all know what Braman means to you."

Brains nodded, his eyes not able to meet anyone else's. "I can save all of Braman's software on the computer and can install it on a second robot. He'll be better than the first."

"Can't you make a Braman the second now and send him instead?" John suggested.

Year there are plenty of Roberts out their get someone elses and program it to do the job

It looked like this was Brains' preferred option, but he shook his head. "Braman's artificial intelligence is the most advanced in the world. His programming is specifically designed to accommodate his servos, linkages and, ah, other systems. Also he is more m-mobile than most. It would t-take too long to re-programme another robot, even using Braman's software."

Jeff felt that Brains would prefer to concentrate on upcoming events and try to forget his emotional attachments. "When do you anticipate we undertake this mission?"

"As soon as possible. He would need to d-detonate his ACG a matter of hours before the Mariana explosion."

Gordon frowned. "Why?"

"I'm s-sure you all remember what happened when the Cobaltium 5 exploded."

They remembered all right. The explosion had set off a chain reaction, causing a rift which had travelled under the Pacific Ocean and would have annihilated parts of New Zealand before it hit Sydney in Australia. It had only been through hard work and tenacity that International Rescue had managed to stop the potential disaster. They also had vivid recollections of the subterranean volcanic energy forcing itself to the surface at weak points along the way. One of those weak points on the rift had threatened to be Tracy Island.

"So you're concerned that we might ignite the volcano again," Jeff clarified.

"We've already extinguished it once this week," John exclaimed. "Could we do it twice?"

Scott clenched his fists. "We won't have Thunderbird One to work with this time."

"Or Thunderbird Four," Gordon added.

Ad least Thunderbird toos okay.

"But she's not manoeuvrable enough," Scott reminded Alan. "I only just managed to climb out of the crater last time… Before the blast took Thunderbird One's wing off."

Virgil was doing some computations. "How long would we have in the danger zone before the radioactivity levels became dangerous? What if we were to fly in and out at maximum speed...?"

Brains was shaking his head. "We're talking seconds exposure, not minutes. And, as Scott said, Thunderbird Two's not manoeuvrable enough to fly in, make the necessary alignment adjustments, and then fly out again." He straightened his papers. "My plan is that Thunderbird Two will fly above the radiation zone in Yelcho. B-Braman, in a protective capsule, will be parachuted into the rift. Then Braman will exit the capsule and plant the ACG."

"But why can't Thunderbird Two fire an ACG into the Yelcho Rift from above the radioactive zone?" John did a geographic search on Thunderbird Five's computer. "It's not like she'll be flying into an active crater. That volcano's..."

"Already blown itself to smithereens," Gordon offered.

"I was going to say dormant, if not extinct; but that's more accurate."

But Brains was shaking his head. "The radioactivity levels in the Yelcho Rift are so high that Thunderbird Two would not be able to get close enough to, ah, fire the ACG with any accuracy. Also, the acoustic concussion generator that I have planned will need to be placed in such a way that the maximum energy will be released downwards. This will require some degree of, ah, intelligent reasoning."

"And I suppose that level of radiation would render a remotely controlled vehicle ineffective," Virgil added.

"Yes."

"When will you think you'll be ready, Brains?" Jeff asked.

"We must be ready before the Mariana explosion, which, on present estimates will occur late on the 18th."

Kyrano gave a gentle frown. "Why do you insist on this, Mister Brains?"

"Th-The seismic energy released following the Cobaltium 5 explosion was strong enough that it, ah, passed out of the South American Plate, through the Nazca Plate, into the Pacific Plate, and would have continued through the Indo-Australian Plate..."

Up in Thunderbird Three, Alan rolled his eyes as he read Brains' words. We remember

"I am, er, afraid that the same reaction could happen again. U-Unfortunately I am working from, er, yet another hypothesis, but I hope that the release of energy of the Pacific Plate from the Mariana detonation will counteract any energy transfer from the South American Plate."

You think that Gordon' will cause the specific plate to scrimmage the Nascar plate and in turn push the south American plate back into place

"Erm..." Brains took a moment to analyse what Alan had said. "You mean the Pacific Plate would, ah, push back against the Nazca Plate and the South American Plate?"

Yes.

"That is my hypothesis."

"Brains?" Tin-Tin's pretty face was creased by a thoughtful frown. "Is there a possibility that the reaction caused by the Cobaltium 5 explosion could replicate itself, but move in another direction?"

"Yeah." Gordon tried to sit up higher in his bed. "Could it do something like bisect South America?"

"Th-That is unlikely. Any such reaction would take the path of least resistance, which would entail following the original path of the rift. Of course..." Brains bit his lip, "I was wrong about the possibility of a large scale event last time."

"We all underestimated the effects of the Yelcho explosion, Brains," Jeff reassured him. "But remember that we've always trusted you and we have no reason to doubt you now."

There were murmurings of agreement from the rest of the group.

"Th-Thank you," Brains stammered. "Th-Those are my suggestions. Do we proceed with them?"

"I think we definitely need to do the Kola Superdeep Borehole deployment," Scott stated. "Yelcho...? What does everyone else think?"

There was an awkward silence.

Jeff decided that as International Rescue's overall commander he'd have to take the lead. "It goes without saying that I'd rather we didn't have to sacrifice Braman," he admitted. "But I've had my concerns that we hadn't done enough. Unless anyone else has a better plan I believe that we have no choice but to proceed with it... I'm sorry, Brains."

Brains, his eyes downcast, nodded. "I will require your assistance, Virgil."

Virgil straightened. "Anything."

"I n-need you to make the capsule that will cocoon Braman from what will be a hard landing."

Virgil nodded, already formulating ideas. "To save time I'll start with some of our existing equipment."

"Good." Brains spread his hands. "D-Does anyone have any questions?"

No one did.

"In that case, I shall make a start on the ACGs. Will you help me, Tin-Tin?"

She gave him a hug. "Of course I will."

Everyone filed out of the room, leaving a still bedridden Gordon alone with Virgil; who tactfully waited until Brains had left before he started his first task.

He opened the crate and looked at the contents. "I'm sorry, Braman," he apologised and, using a laser incorporated into the tablet, started taking the robot's dimensions. "I feel like I'm measuring him for his coffin."

Gordon watched as Braman's height was recorded. "The way Brains was carrying on I thought he already had you measured up for yours."

Virgil, checking that the laser had correctly recorded Braman's chest dimensions on the tablet, cast a wry grin over his shoulder. "I've got to admit; so did I."

"For a moment there I wondered if I should vacate this bed so you could lie down."

"While I was contemplating resurrecting Gustav from the dead, grabbing a plane to get out of here, and disappearing into obscurity."

Gordon chuckled. "Hypothetically, what would you have done if Brains had said that the only way to save the world was for you to be on that suicide mission?"

Virgil stopped working to consider the question. "Hypothetically…? I'd like to say that as it was only my life against the lives of potentially billions I would have done it, but…" He made a helpless gesture. "I honestly don't know." He turned back to measure Braman's right arm.

"I suppose, hypothetically, that since you saved my life, then the honourable thing would be for me to say that I should go in your place." Gordon grinned at Virgil's surprised expression. "And then I'd hitch a ride with you in that plane and see if your makeup friends can disguise red hair and dashingly handsome looks."

The brothers laughed, but it was laughter without humour. It was one thing to fly into an almost suicidal situation with adrenaline pumping and knowing that they were someone's only hope of survival. It was another to leave family and friends and coolly fly towards certain death with no guarantees that the death would have meaning.

Neither of them knew for sure that they could have made the ultimate sacrifice, and both of them hoped they'd never be put into that position.

There was a pinging noise and a giant chessboard appeared on a screen. "Must be your move," Virgil commented, deciding their present subject was too morbid. "Who's winning?"

Chess was an activity that the entire family enjoyed and it was Scott who'd come up with the idea of each of them participating in a long-range competition against Alan. The board game's tendency to be made up of long periods of thought and followed by brief bursts of activity had made it ideal for a situation where there was always going to be a long delay between moves. And so Alan was engaged in a competitive struggle with his four brothers and father.

"I'd say we're about level." Gordon stared at the screen, trying to decide whether to move his bishop or a knight. "What do you think I should do?"

Virgil stared at the screen. "It wouldn't really be fair if I helped, would it? Alan's got no one to help him."

"White queen to Bish-op four. Check."

Startled by sudden intrusion of an electronic voice, Virgil and Gordon stared at the crate. Teaching Braman to play chess had been one of Brains' first successes with him, and in the course of his measuring Virgil had accidently switched him on. The robot's illuminated, but seemingly blind face, was turned towards the computer screen, analysing every move and counter-move.

"Out of respect to you, Braman, I'll follow your lead." Gordon made the move and sent the chess board back out into space

-F-A-B-

Scott was seated at his computer in his bedroom. "Hi, John."

His younger brother smiled back at him. "Hi, Scott. What do you think of Brains' latest plans?"

"I think the Kola Borehole idea is a winner," Scott admitted. "As for the other… I know he's only a robot, but I don't like the idea of sending Braman into oblivion."

"Better Braman than someone else," John reminded him. "And that mini-explosion of yours made it pretty clear that using one of us was a no-go… Especially if it was Virgil who was going to be involved."

"You thought he had Virgil lined up for the mission too, did you?"

"I think we all did. Brains was calling me up every ten minutes to try and find where he was, so I knew he must have wanted him to do something pretty big. And when he said that it was going to be suicide I figured you couldn't get much bigger."

Scott grimaced. "I should have known that Brains would never suggest something fatal."

"I would have said that it was unlikely, but not impossible. The size, scale, and severity of Doomsday might well have meant that he'd feel that the only solution was for one of us to sacrifice our lives for the greater good…" John regarded his brother. "Anyway, is this a social call, or were you hoping to do some brainstorming to see if we can come up with a better solution?"

"No, it's kind of a social call, unless you have some useful ideas."

"None."

"No, me neither."

"Okay, so since this is a social call, what do you want to talk about?"

"I've been chatting with Virg… That's why we took so long to pack away Thunderbird One's camouflage."

"Chatting?"

"I've told him about the plane crash."

"Ah…" John was surprised and pleased. "Good."

"I've told him everything. About Howard; about how I lied to everyone because I was too ashamed to admit that it gave me a heck of a fright; about how you knew all about it all along; about how you took me to see the O'Neils; and about how the whole thing had me so screwed up that I should have seen a Shrink months ago."

"I wouldn't say 'screwed up'," John corrected. "It was a blow to your confidence, that's all. And you've made huge gains in getting it back." He smiled at his brother. "I'm glad, Scott. Really I am. Not only because talking about it is going to help you, but because it means the two of you have finally resurrected that special relationship you always had. We all know how important you and Virgil are to each other, and we're all happy that you're finally realising it too. ."

Scott grunted. That was why he'd yelled at Brains earlier. He was only just letting Virgil back into his life and he wasn't ready to lose him again…

Even if it meant choosing between that and saving the world.

Unaware of his elder brother's thoughts; or perhaps because he knew exactly what was going through Scott's mind; John steered the conversation onto a different course. "You can tell him that if he wants to hear about things from my, or Tracy Aviation's, point of view, then he's welcome to give me a call."

"I will," Scott promised. "He's been great. I've told him that I'm going to see a therapist and he's offered to sit in on the first session and hold my hand. We were planning on flying out tomorrow."

"But what about Brains' plans? How can you justify leaving the island when Virgil's still got this capsule thing to build?"

"I haven't had the chance to talk it over with him since the meeting…" Scott ran his hand through his hair. "I guess it'll depend on how long it'll take to make the capsule. But we're not telling anyone else yet," he warned. "We were going to use the excuse that Virgil's back's still bothering him and he needs to get another massage. Which, between you and me, I think has more than a grain of truth to it. Not that you'll get him to admit it."

"No, of course not." John chuckled. This was situation normal for any of the Tracys. "Are you going to tell anyone else about the crash?"

"I've agreed to tell everyone once the therapist has given her verdict. Then I'll also be able to tell them how long I'm likely to be in therapy."

"For my money, Scott, unless she's after your money, it won't be very long. I've been able watch you regain your confidence. If I'd been away since before the crash and had only just returned, I wouldn't even know that something had been amiss. You probably don't even need to see a therapist."

"You mean that talking to you is enough therapy?"

John laughed. "I'd like to think that, between Virgil and I, we've got you fixed, but, if you feel you need it, it wouldn't hurt to get a professional's opinion."

"That's what I've been thinking. That I need to prove to myself that I'm okay."

"You mean that having the mental fortitude to fly a plane into the crater of an active volcano isn't proof enough?"

Scott chuckled. "Most sane people would say that that's a good reason to get psychiatric help." John laughed. "But that's where it's going to be tricky. Explaining where I've been going wrong these last few months without letting International Rescue out of the bag."

"You'll do it, Scott." John smiled at his brother. "You've never let anything beat you yet, and I'm sure this won't be any different..."

-F-A-B-

Virgil was already hard at work at his drafting desk in the workroom off Thunderbird Two's hangar, making sketches and plans for the protective capsule that would cocoon Braman when he hit the dirt at Yelcho.

He was surprised when he heard a sudden noise from out in the hangar. Curious as to what had caused what sounded like tools hitting the ground, he went sleuthing.

He didn't have to go far to find the culprit. "Gordon! What are you doing dow…?" He made a dash for his brother, managing to catch him before the barefoot, pyjama-clad invalid hit the concrete floor. "You should be in bed!"

"I'm fed up… with… being stuck… in bed… all day," Gordon gasped, as he allowed himself to be propped against the workbench that had a few moments earlier held a hammer, a few spanners, and a screwdriver. He took a deep breath to try to get some replenishing air into his lungs.

"I'm sure you are, but look at you! You can barely stand!"

"Just give me a few minutes… and I'll be all right… Brains said I'll probably… be able to move back to… my room tomorrow."

"That's your room down the corridor, not Thunderbird Two's hangar! And I'm sure he intends for you to stay in your bed. That's if he lets you loose now. You've probably undone all the gains you've made over the last few days!" Concerned that Gordon might slip to the ground again, Virgil took his brother's arm. "Let me help you get back up to the house."

"No."

"Yes."

"I don't want to… go back to bed," Gordon grumbled.

"What you want to do, and what's best for you are two different things."

"I think I'm the best judge of what's best for me."

"Gordon!" Virgil exclaimed in exasperation. "There were at least three different ways that you could have died the other day! I didn't pull you out of the Sphere just so that you can go and make yourself sick again."

"I won't."

"You will!"

Gordon pulled his arm free. He stood, not quite steady, and contemplated taking a step forwards. "I want to see Thunderbird Four."

"No, you don't," Virgil contradicted, aware of what was waiting in the pod.

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

What had been a minor tit-for-tat discussion was threatening to turn into a major argument when Scott arrived. "Gordon! What are you doing down here?!"

"I want to see Thunderbird Four."

"He wants to see Thunderbird Four."

"You want to see Thunderbird Four?" Scott turned to Virgil. "I can't believe you let him come down here just to see a submarine!"

"I didn't! He came down here under his own steam!" Virgil folded his arms and faced Gordon. "And he's nearly run out of it."

"No, I haven't." Gordon stuck out his lower lip. "I want to see Thunderbird Four," he pouted. Then he withdrew the lip and put on his most beseeching expression. "Please, Fellas…"

"No!"

The combined shout was enough for Gordon to take an involuntary step back against the workbench.

Scott, arms folded in a solid impersonation of a brick wall, towered over his younger brother, who seemed to have shrunk over the last few days. "You are not well enough to see Thunderbird Four."

"Not seeing her isn't making me any better. I've been lying there imagining the worst. I need to see for myself how bad she is."

Scott relaxed his posture. "If we're honest, Gordon, we wanted to save you from that. Virgil and I were going to start making repairs."

"I appreciate the offer, but he's got to do that capsule thing for Braman." Gordon jerked his thumb in Virgil's direction and nearly overbalanced. Both of his brothers made a grab for him.

"The capsule's not going to take me that long," Virgil said. "I'm going to modify one of the inflatable life-raft pods. It's already the right shape, size, and with a few minor modifications will be strong enough. I'll have most of it done by this evening and then I'll only have to worry about the incidentals." He glanced at Scott, who understood his hidden meaning.

"Okay, so you've got Braman's casket done, but," Gordon looked up at Scott, "you'll want to make a start on replacing Thunderbird One's wing."

He knew he'd struck a nerve when Scott hesitated. "There's no hurry to do that. She's not going to be needed for the next two missions."

"Not unless my ACG fails and we need you to extinguish the volcano again."

"I don't think that's going to be an option," Scott admitted. "Brains only had time to make one thermal missile and he's going to be too busy making two more ACGs to think about making a second." He took Gordon's arm. "Come on; let's get you back to bed."

"No!" Desperate not to be shifted against his will, Gordon pulled free and collapsed so he was sitting cross-legged on the cold concrete floor. "If I'm going anywhere it's in that direction." He pointed towards the pod bay.

"Get off the floor!" Scott demanded. "You'll make yourself sicker than you are!"

"No!" Gordon snapped. "I need to see Thunderbird Four."

"We'll take photos of her for you," Virgil promised. "Get up, Gordon."

"Not good enough." Gordon folded his arms tightly and glared into the middle distance.

Scott looked at Virgil. Then, without warning, both brothers grabbed their obstinate sibling by his arms and legs and picked him off the ground, dumping him on the workbench.

"Hey!" Disgruntled, Gordon let his legs dangle over the side of the bench. "Two against one. That's not fair."

Virgil stretched his back. "Neither's expecting the rest of us to do more lifting than should be necessary."

"Sorry, Virgil, but if the two of you hadn't wasted all this time protesting, I would have seen what I needed to see and could be back in bed by now."

Virgil sighed and then looked at Scott. "He has a point."

"I know," Scott growled. He pointed into the workroom. "Bring your chair out here," he ordered.

Wheeling the draftsman stool on its castors, Virgil complied.

Scott pointed at his auburn-haired brother. "You." His finger moved to the stool. "Sit."

"Woof. Woof." But Gordon didn't offer a complaint as he allowed his siblings to assist him down off the workbench. "You are going to take me to see Thunderbird Four, aren't you?" he asked as he made himself comfortable. "This isn't a bluff?"

"Yes, Gordon, we are going to take you to see Thunderbird Four," Scott sighed. "And then we're taking you back to bed. Understood?!"

"Understood." Gordon grinned.

It wasn't the easiest of journeys as the castors seemed to take on a life of their own and acquired a desire to travel in any direction except for that in which they were being pushed. "How's your back, Virg?" Scott asked as they wormed their way closer to Pod Four.

"Holding up," Virgil grunted.

"I can walk from here," Gordon offered. "It's not that far."

They ignored him, only stopping when they reached the door to the pod. There Gordon attempted to stand, but was restrained by his brothers, who held him in his seat until they reached their destination.

Finally Gordon was able to see the remains of his beloved submarine.

Scott and Virgil made no complaint as he stood and walked the two paces towards Thunderbird Four's jet units, reaching out to touch them as if to reassure himself that they were still attached. Then, leaning on her hull for support, he traced her outline as he moved towards her bow.

Virgil was about to chase after him when he was held back by Scott. "Is your back okay?"

Virgil winked.

Gordon stopped, shivering, when he came to the remains of her cabin. His brothers, concerned that he was overdoing it, carried the chair up and placed it behind him.

Gordon sagged, rather than sat, down. "She's not too bad, is she?" he asked; a plaintive request for some reassurance that the devastation wasn't as complete as it seemed.

"She stayed strong enough to save your life," Virgil reminded him.

"Ready to go back to bed?" Scott asked.

Gordon sighed. Then he nodded, trying to pretend that he wasn't overcome by fatigue and the sight of his sub.

He didn't say anything as they embarked on what seemed to be even more of a marathon; wheeling the wayward chair across the hangar floor.

"Why didn't we get a wheelchair out of Thunderbird Two?" Virgil moaned.

"I thought this was going to be a quicker option," Scott grunted, as the chair threatened to spin out. "Can't be right all the time."

"Hold it!" Gordon pointed into the shadows. "What's that?!"

"Something I picked up on my travels," Virgil told him, and prepared to try to regain control of the out of control stool. "You can look at it later."

"I want to see what it is now." Gordon was off the chair and lurching towards the mystery object before his exasperated brothers had a chance to react. He hadn't gone very far when, exhausted, he stumbled to a stop. "What is it?"

Scott ran his hand through his hair and decided that it definitely wasn't in the Tracy genetic makeup to admit to any weakness. "We'll show you later, Gordon." He carried the stool so it was directly behind his brother and, with a gentle hand on his shoulder, forced him to sit down. "You need to get to bed now."

Gordon ignored him as he peered at the tall, cylindrical object. It was as tall and broad as a shed, with a ridged peak narrowing to a blunt point. It also appeared to have been compressed vertically by a giant hand. Puzzled he scratched his head. "It looks like Alan's first homemade rocket after its maiden flight."

Virgil appraised the object. "I can see the similarities."

"Have you given up on painting and started sculpting?"

"Nope. I can't take the credit for that. Not all of it, anyway." Virgil rotated his torso as he tried to unknot a kink in his back.

"But what is it?!"

"Can't you tell? You've seen it often enough."

"I have?"

"And used it," Scott added.

"Used it?!" Aghast, Gordon stared at the object, which, made as it was of melted, scorched metal, seemed to have no form or function. "What on Earth would you use that thing for?"

"Let's see if you can guess." Scott pushed the chair around the side of the mysterious object. "Now what is it?"

Gordon thought that the thing looked just as indefinable from this angle as it did the other. "I don't kno… Wait a minute…." He shuffled forward on the chair. "It is… It was painted International Rescue orange, isn't it?"

"Yes," Scott confirmed.

"And that says…" Gordon craned his neck and twisted his head so he could read the barely legible word close to the object's peak. He sat back in shock. "It's the Mole ! But I thought it was a mile underground!"

"That's where I left it," Virgil agreed. "But I remember that there was an almighty explosion from the borehole as I was running for my life back to Thunderbird Two. I think all the volcanic pressures building up behind it caused it to pop out of the ground like a cork. It landed several kilometres away and John received a call from the local authorities yesterday to say that, as it had appeared out of nowhere and we'd told them that we were going to be working in the vicinity, they thought that it might be ours. They said that if we wanted to claim it before any undesirables realised what it was and who it belonged to, then to come and get it. So I flew out in Thunderbird Two last night and collected it," he gave the Mole an affectionate pat on its flank, "its tractor unit, and the Pup."

"The Pup?" Now that he was able to take his eyes off the remains of the once proud vehicle, Gordon noticed the smaller version off to one side. Even with its lid ajar and a spattering of solidified lava, it seemed in better shape than its parent. He looked back at the Mole. "I think you had the right idea escaping when you did."

"Yeah," Virgil agreed, and leant against the Mole's side as he looked up at its name. "I just wish I knew whether or not the sacrifice was worth it."

"Still no word from your ACG?" Gordon asked.

"No. John said he'd buzz me as soon he received a signal, but there's been nothing."

"There's no point stressing over it, Virg," Scott reminded him. "Each of our deployments are a gamble and none of us know for sure whether or not they'll succeed. We might be still receiving signals from Gordon's and my ACGs, but they could fail at the last minute. At least with the Kola Superdeep Borehole and Yelcho we've been given another chance to fight Doomsday."

"I guess so," Virgil pushed himself away from the Mole. "And talking Yelcho, I'd better get back to work. I don't want to let Brains down."

Gordon finally allowed his brothers to push him over to the lift.

Scott was just about to reach out and push the button to summon the car, when the doors pinged open. Jeff Tracy was standing there and he did not look happy.

All three of his sons were now adults. All three had been living their separate lives away from home for the last seven years. But it still took one look from their father to make all three of them feel like naughty schoolboys caught red-handed.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jeff snapped. "Everyone's been looking for you everywhere, Gordon."

"Sorry..."

"We've been worried about you!"

"I snuck out 'cos I needed to see Thunderbird Four." Gordon hung his head; fatigue, combining with shame, making it a pitiful gesture. "Scott and Virgil tol' me to go back to bed…" he added in a futile attempt to deflect their father's wrath away from his elder brothers. "They're takin' me back."

"On a draftsman's chair?"

"Didn' wanna wheelchair..."

"We suggested the chair as a compromise," Scott offered.

"I see…" Jeff let go of the handles of his walker and folded his arms. Glaring at his sons. "You nearly died four days ago, Gordon."

"I know."

"The family's under enough stress as it is without you disappearing or making yourself sicker!"

Exhaustion was clearly catching up with Gordon. "Had t' see Thunderbird Four."

"And have you seen her?"

"Yeah…" Gordon cringed. His father wasn't stupid. He'd know that he wasn't strong enough to make it all the way to the pod bay on his own. He'd know that he would have had to have help. And it wouldn't have taken an investigator of Lady Penelope's calibre to work out where that support had come from.

"He was stressing over Thunderbird Four," Scott explained, not willing to pile all the blame onto the AWOL invalid. "It seemed to be less hassle and less stressful to let him see her, rather than insist that he go back to bed."

"And with the two of us pushing," Virgil corroborated, "we were able to take him there and back much quicker."

"Then Virg'l was gonna go back t' work on Braman's cask't, erm, capsule."

Jeff reversed his walker further into the lift, leaving them room to move. "Get yourselves in here," he ordered. Then, as they sheepishly (and with some difficulty when the castors jammed on the lift's edge) wheeled Gordon inside, he spoke into his wristwatch telecom. "I've found him... He wasn't alone."

Everyone heard the relief in Brains' voice when he responded with: "That's g-good, Mr Tracy. Is he all r-right?"

"He's too 'all right' for his own good," Jeff growled. "But he needs a proper wheelchair. Can someone bring one to hangar two's elevator?"

"F-A-B."

Jeff lowered his wrist. "We'll look after Gordon. You can go back to work, Virgil."

Unwilling to leave his brothers to an unknown fate, Virgil hesitated.

"Go," Gordon told him. "I shoulda listened t' you in th' first place."

"And you don't want to put any more strain on your back pushing this thing." Scott indicated the chair.

"My back's fine," Virgil protested, but he stepped out of the car. "Ah… I'll need my chair back though."

"It will be returned to you as soon as Gordon has been transferred to a proper form of transport," his father told him. "Go back to work, Virgil."

"Yes, Sir." The lift doors closed in Virgil's face. Knowing that he'd got off lightly he stretched his back and grimaced when a muscle twanged in protest. Pushing Gordon about in that chair had definitely been a bad idea.

To be continued...

"Cobaltium 5 reactor" and the events surrounding the Yelcho rescue are from "Thunderbirds: Ring of Fire" by John Theydon – published by Armada Paperbacks in 1966. One of the best professionally published Thunderbirds stories you could hope to read.