As I'm going to be away for two weeks with limited Internet coverage (Thunderbird Five isn't talking to me), I thought I'd make up for it by forgetting about my usual Tuesday and Friday postings this week, and giving you an extra chapter. I will try and upload while I'm away, but don't be surprised if it happens on odd days.
:-) Purupuss
Chapter 51: Jovian Greeting
Alan Tracy, sitting in the centre of his universe at Thunderbird Three's control panel, studied the various screens and readouts around him.
Time to do what he'd travelled so far and so long for.
A video screen showed him asteroid 2070SB. Arnie filled the viewfinder, blocking out the even more impressive and intimidating image of Jupiter.
He knew that he could be wasting his time. The calendar programmed to follow the Earth's rotations about its axis told him that if his brothers hadn't succeeded in saving the Earth from Doomsday, then what he was about to do was probably redundant.
But still he had to do it in case it was vital to the survival of the planet he knew as home.
He had trained Thunderbird Three's telescope back towards planet Earth receding into the distance, and had been relieved to see that the globe was still revolving around the sun, but space and cloud cover told him nothing of the condition that his planet was now in.
Pushing aside any negative thoughts about what might, or might not, have happened, and trying not to let his mind wander into the unknown, Alan focused on the task ahead of him.
1) Affix the rocket booster to Arnie.
2) Move clear.
3) Fire the rocket.
4) Use the remote control to steer the astronomical lump of rock away from Earth and into Jupiter's gravitational pull, or else Jupiter itself.
5) Head for home.
Piece of cake. He done this many times before.
In computer simulations.
As his spaceship had drawn closer and closer to its target, it had regularly taken various types of photographs and scans of the asteroid. Each had revealed more detail about Arnie's surface, structure, and strongest and weakest points. This data had been fed into both the main and simulations computers to try and compute the best angle of attack.
Every day, latterly twice or three times a day, Alan had run a simulation to practise what he was going to do when the moment finally arrived that he had to do it for real. In theory, all he would have to do was steer the ship as the computer did the donkey work. His main role was to keep an omnipotent watch over proceedings; ready to override any system should he see a flaw in the computer's logic.
This is what he'd practised day after day. Hour after hour…
He never knew what fishhooks the computer was going to set for him. Would this simulation be a straightforward event, with no dramas to test him? Or would there be a minor hitch? Nothing to worry about… So long as he kept his head and his cool. Or would it be a major? Something catastrophic like the rocket exploding while still inside Thunderbird Three, shearing off the nosecone and catapulting what remained of the spaceship into Jupiter…?
Alan had woken up in a cold sweat for several nights after that one.
But now he took a deep breath and entered the initiation code. The first step was to find the best place to position the rocket. A helpful set of crosshairs on the asteroid's image solved that problem and, with a deft touch to the control levers, he inched his space ship around until her nosecone was parallel with the asteroid and lined up precisely with the centre of the crosshairs. He'd practised this so often that the control levers almost felt like extensions to his arms and that his body and Thunderbird Three's body had become one as he inched her into place. A comforting beep told him when they were in position.
The second step involved entering another code and transferring the operation over to the computer. Placing and arming the rocket was an exacting process; one which couldn't be rushed, and this was why it was the computer's job to ensure that it would fire properly. It accepted the task with alacrity and he watched, maintaining his feather-light hold on the levers, as the hatch in the nosecone folded back. He felt a tremor run up his seat as a robotic arm stretched and flexed, before withdrawing the rocket from where it had resided for the previous eight weeks. The arm reached out to place the rocket into position...
"Warning!" a harsh voice suddenly announced. "Meteoroid shower off Particle Accelerator Three. Speed: 42 kilometres per second. Time until impact: Eighteen point five eight minutes. Angle of impact: 90 degrees. Estimated external damage upon impact: 32 percent. Estimated internal damage upon impact: variable. Estimated damage level after impact: critical."
Alan had heard that voice often enough during various practise scenarios to not jump when he first heard it. That didn't stop a chill running down the length of his spine as his eyes flicked over the various instruments to discover just what that emotionless voice hadn't told him.
The meteoroid shower was a collection of small space rocks; probably the jetsam after one asteroid had crashed into another. He'd once heard someone say that Jupiter was a kind of "cosmic vacuum cleaner" with its enormous gravity sucking space debris into its orbit, preventing catastrophic collisions with the Solar System's inner planets such as Earth. It stood to reason that he'd run into some of those bits of rock attracted by the gas giant.
A pity Jupiter hadn't lured Arnie without his intervention, he thought.
He was relieved to see that the majority of meteoroids heading in his direction were grain-of-sand sized or smaller. If his craft was in flight mode, he wouldn't be under threat as Thunderbird Three's plasma shields were powerful enough to deflect the larger, coin-sized meteoroids in the shower.
What was concerning Alan was the open bay in Thunderbird Three's nose cone. As a result of its present task, this was totally unprotected by the plasma shield. Should any of the larger meteoroids plough into that hole in Thunderbird Three's fuselage, at the speed it was travelling it would punch a hole right through his craft.
Alan didn't panic. He had years of experience of quickly evaluating threats and the best way out of them, both in his former life with International Rescue and in his motor racing career. Eighteen minutes was plenty. All going well, the computer would deploy the rocket onto Arnie within seventeen minutes, leaving him one minute to make a hasty exit. The only other option was to abort the mission and risk damaging the rocket, the robotic arm, or Thunderbird Three.
He took a deep breath. "Keep cool, Alan."
With what seemed to be agonising slowness, the robotic arm continued to reach towards the asteroid.
"Impact: fifteen minutes."
The robotic arm was at full extension now. It paused, and then changed its mind, drawing the rocket closer to itself before stretching out towards the new optimum point.
"Impact: eleven minutes."
Alan could feel sweat beading on his upper lip and he quickly cuffed it away.
The computer finally decided that its robotic arm and, more importantly, the rocket were in the optimum position. The first of the bolts that were to hold the rocket in place was blasted into the surface of the asteroid.
"Impact: ten minutes."
The second bolt was fired into Arnie. Followed the by third, and finally the fourth.
The robotic arm retracted…
"Impact: nine minutes."
…but it hadn't finished its job. Reaching up to the tail of the rocket it hooked a 'finger' through a loop and pulled the entire tail section clear revealing the multi-directional jet units.
"Impact: eight minutes."
The removed section was carefully deposited back into the open bay for disposal back on Earth.
"Impact: seven minutes."
Now Alan was really starting to sweat. All of these precautions and all the steps that had been put into place to ensure that there was no chance of premature ignition of the rocket, were taking up precious time.
The robotic arm grasped a section around the circumference of the rocket and turned it clockwise.
That was the first stage of arming completed.
"Impact: six minutes."
Moving closer to the part of the rocket that was now attached to the deadly asteroid the robotic arm grasped another section; turning it anticlockwise.
Second stage of arming completed.
At its next announcement the automatic countdown seemed to have taken on an air of increased urgency. "Impact: five minutes!"
"Come on…" Alan muttered. "Get on with it!"
The robotic arm had shifted its attention to the middle of the rocket. Another section was rotated.
The explosive fluids that would provide the thrust to move Asteroid 2070SB out of its present orbit were now mixing together; ready to react with one another. But in order to stop them from turning into a useless slush in the cold of space, they were going to have to be stirred in a continuous motion.
"Impact: four minutes!"
A panel was opened in the rocket and a button pushed before the panel was sealed again. Now the fuels were being mixed together and the stir would continue until the rocket's life was over. If they'd had more development time Brains would have made the stir automatic once the fuels were combined, but instead he'd opted for the slower, but just as effective mechanical start to the process.
"Impact: one point five minutes!"
"What!" Alan jumped at the announcement. Time seemed to have moved up a gear. Something, maybe even Arnie's weak gravitational pull, had increased the meteoroid shower's velocity. A glance at the computer screen appeared to confirm this when he realised that the meteoroids' trajectory had been deflected towards the asteroid. This wasn't necessarily good. The combined force of impact, even from such minuscule particles, could counteract the rocket's thrust… That was if the rocket wasn't damaged by the meteoroids' assault and rendered useless.
And, if anything, Thunderbird Three with her open cargo bay was now even more vulnerable.
"Impact: T minus sixty seconds!"
But after all the preparations the rocket was armed and ready to fire. Seeming to be unaware of the impatient human inside the spaceship that was its brain, the robotic arm meandered to the jet unit at the tail, reached inside and pressed another button.
A light glowed on Alan's computer and he sat up straighter, his hands ready to tighten their grip on the control sticks and get him out of there. Soon it would be his turn to take control.
"Impact: T minus thirty seconds!"
Moving languidly, the robotic arm made sure it was well clear of its handiwork before folding itself up and retracting back into its storage bay.
"Impact: T minus fifteen seconds!"
A green light glowed on the console. The robotic arm was packed away. Now it was down to Alan. He had to get Thunderbird Three clear of Arnie; but he had to do it without damaging or dislodging the carefully positioned rocket.
"Impact: T minus ten seconds!"
He couldn't rely on gravity or any other external forces to get him clear. It was down to him and him alone. He punched the button that would shut the bay door…
"Nine seconds…"
Nudging one of the levers, two of Thunderbird Three's horizontal jets fired. She began a lethargic roll; rotating the unprotected bay out of harms way…
"Eight seconds…"
With the tiniest of touches to her rear jets, Alan encouraged the revolving Thunderbird Three forward...
"Seven seconds…"
The spaceship had made a quarter turn away from the converging menace, but her holding bay door was still closing. Despite this Alan couldn't risk increasing her velocity or speed of rotation; even to stop meteoroids from ramming into her interior. Not while he was still so close to the rocket that was designed to save Earth...
"Six seconds…"
A bit more power… A bit more speed… A green light on the console showing that the holding bay was locked and sealed… And he was clear!
"Five seconds…"
Now Alan was able to apply the power and fly Thunderbird Three out of the path of the meteoroids. "Fire rockets!"
"Four…"
Back on Arnie another chemical was released into the others being stirred. The resulting explosion was channelled back through the rear jets with a force that demanded that Newton's third law of motion be obeyed. Matter was forced in one direction, therefore the rocket had no option but to travel in the other, pushing asteroid 2070SB before it. By carefully increasing the rate of thrust on one side of the rocket and decreasing the thrust on the other, Alan was able to shift Arnie's angle so the astronomical rock became a shield to the unit that was propelling it.
"Impact!"
The meteoroids ploughed into the asteroid's unprotected surface, sending up an even more minute shower of harmless space dust.
Alan breathed a sigh of relief. That was one hazard averted. Time to do what he'd travelled so far to do.
With careful manipulation of the rocket's thrusters he set 2070SB back on course for its rendezvous with Jupiter's gravitational pull. Slowly at first and then with increasing speed, the asteroid left its path of destruction and moved out of harm's way. As he watched its progress on a monitor time seemed to speed up and it drew closer and closer to the gas giant before finally settling into orbit around the solar system's biggest planet.
"Simulation complete. Diversion of asteroid: successful. Earth saved. Equipment damage: nil. Congratulations, Alan."
"Thank you." Alan relaxed back into his seat. That had been one of the more stressful scenarios the computer had put him through and he was glad that it was over. Now he could take a moment to relax, mull over what he'd just experienced, and prepare for next time.
He still had about three weeks to go before he'd be doing it for real.
-F-A-B-
Thursday November 9th 2079
Standing at Landing Control, Lady Penelope bid farewell to the departing aeroplane with a regal wave. Then she hesitated, contemplating her next move.
"What are you doing down here, Penny?"
Looking over her shoulder, Lady Penelope treated Jeff to a smile. "Bidding Commander Foveaux adieu."
"You could have done that up at the house," he scolded gently. "Commander Foveaux would have understood."
"I needed to stretch my legs."
"You're meant to be resting them. Honestly, Penny, you're worse than the boys were when they were injured on duty!"
Lady Penelope declined to comment. Instead she looked down at the aforementioned limbs and tried to work out how to encourage them to turn. Her dislocated right shoulder was bound tightly in a sling and her infected right ankle was still too weak to support her weight. To compensate, strapped to her torso, she wore a frame that offered her a degree of mobility. Operating a left-mounted lever moved an artificial 'leg' on her right side, but she was still getting used to trying to coordinate the movements of her left hand with the actions of that right crutch in such a way that allowed her to progress in the direction she had planned.
"Would you like someone to give you a hand?"
"No, thank you. I am sure that I am perfectly capable of returning to the villa without any assistance." With care and a delicate frown of concentration, Lady Penelope managed to negotiate a 90 degree turn.
"Are you sure?" Jeff queried as she attempted a second quarter turn. "I could page Brains."
"No, thank you, Jeff." Lady Penelope was of the opinion that Brains would rather not be involved. The engineer had stuttered and stammered his way through the installation of the frame and had turned apoplectic red as he'd strapped the harness about her waist.
"One of the boys won't mind helping."
"I do not need their assistance."
He persisted. "Or I can call Parker."
"Parker is enjoying a well earned rest."
"As you should be. The doctors told you to keep off that leg…"
Lady Penelope shuffled forward.
"…and Brains' second opinion confirmed their diagnosis!"
Lady Penelope ignored him as she "walked" her crutch leg over the lip of the monorail car.
Jeff, frustrated by the aristocratic snub, but knowing better than to continue with his protestations, followed her on board.
With another slight hesitation as she considered how to manipulate her various limbs, Lady Penelope sat down on one of the seats. "I do appreciate Brains creating this walking aid for me, but it is quite tiresome to have to rely on a metal frame for support."
"Tell me about it." Jeff patted his walker as he sat in the seat opposite. "Your debriefing didn't take very long."
"There was little I could tell Commander Foveaux. He asked me if I could describe my rescuers, but, sadly, due to being unconscious during my liberation, I was unable to furnish him with any information. I believe that he wished to honour them with a reward."
"It's a shame you don't know who they were," Jeff grinned as he pressed the button that started the monorail moving towards the villa. "I'm of a mind to offer them a reward myself."
Lady Penelope gave her walking frame a nudge to stop it from digging into her ribs. "I believe Briney was quite pleased that my good friends the Tracys are willing to care for me during my rehabilitation."
"Glad to be of service. Any word on your kidnappers?"
"Ralph was detained at Kuala Lumpur airport. He was stopped by immigration, trying to board a flight from Malaysia to England without a valid passport. I have been informed that he is quite put out to discover that a member of the English aristocracy is bound by the same laws as every other citizen on the planet and that the Malaysian authorities have no qualms about holding him in accommodation quite beneath his social standing."
"Did The Firm arrange his detention?"
"The Firm have requested that their Malaysian associates hold him until they can discover evidence of his involvement in the kidnapping of one of their operatives."
"Fair enough," Jeff grunted. "What about Kyrano's brother?"
"He, sadly, has vanished without a trace."
"From what we know about the guy, they'll never catch him. Nothing seems to stop him."
"Unfortunately," Lady Penelope agreed.
"What'll they do to Ralph?"
"The decision has yet to be made," Lady Penelope told him. "I assume that Ralph will be returned to England. He will be granted bail, for I doubt that he is a flight risk. However…" she gazed over Jeff's shoulder with a reflective expression, "I have been wrong about him before."
"You were right about him, Penny. He simply was a tool manipulated by someone cleverer and with less scruples than him."
Lady Penelope sighed. "I almost feel sorry for him. He did save my life."
"Just shows you that he's not all bad, and that you're all good." Jeff felt sorry for her. "Don't forget that you're welcome to stay as long as you like."
She treated him to a gracious smile. "I know, Jeff. Thank you."
"It'll give you a chance to get some colour back in your cheeks. I'm not used to seeing you without your peaches and cream complexion."
"You flatter me."
"And you worry me…" The monorail stopped and Jeff levered himself to his feet. "Let me get someone to help you."
"Jeff..."
"Penny! Whether you are willing to admit it or not, you are not well! Now, let me get someone to help you!"
"Mr Tracy!" Lady Penelope found her way to her feet and gave him a look that would have had most mere mortals cowering. "I am not helpless! Please do not expect me to repeat the lecture that I gave you over your treatment of Tin-Tin!"
Unfazed by the look, Jeff stood his ground. "It wouldn't work this time. Tin-Tin is pregnant, and that, as you rightly said, is a natural state of affairs. However there is nothing natural about someone trying to twist your arm off!" Ignoring his guest he spoke into his watch. "Kyrano. Do you know where Parker is?"
"He is with me, Mr Tracy."
"Good. We're in the monorail: station 1B. Lady Penelope would appreciate his assistance."
"Jeff!"
"Mister Parker has said to tell you that he is on his way."
"Thank you, Kyrano." Ignoring Lady Penelope's admonition, Jeff lowered his arm. "Sorry about this, Penny. Like I said you are welcome to stay as long as you wish, but as long as you are here, I insist that you abide by my rules. And those rules are that, until such time as Brains gives you the all clear, you are to take it easy and allow us to assist you when necessary."
"You are treating me as much a prisoner as Ralph and that... that man!"
"Penny…"
Lady Penelope reigned in her temper. "I am sorry, Jeff. That was uncalled for. Please forgive me."
"I understand." While they waited for Parker's arrival, Jeff sought to turn the conversation to less controversial topics. "Is Commander Foveaux an old friend?"
"I have known him for years. Since before I first worked for International Rescue."
"He could have stayed longer if you wished. It's not as if we're on standby for any rescues."
"Briney had to return to The Firm on urgent business. I have offered him my resignation and he must reassign all my cases and find someone to replace me."
Jeff stared at her. "You've resigned? But why?"
"Because of The Firm's unwillingness to trust Parker and supply him with the necessary tools, I could have died: either through the Hood's actions or because of them."
"But Penny?" Jeff regarded her with a concerned frown. "What will you do? I can't imagine you sitting around all day knitting."
"The doctor has informed me that my shoulder will take some time to heal, and there is little that I can do during that time. Also I am confident that a more rewarding role will be offered to me in the near future."
Jeff looked confused. "You are?"
Lady Penelope smiled an enigmatic smile. "Yes, Jeff. I am."
-I-R-
-F-A-B-
Gordon, having received word that he had a phone call to make, retired to his bedroom. Once there he dialled a number. "Could I speak to Crawford, please," he asked when his call was answered.
"Of course, Mr Tracy."
After a short delay, Gordon was face-to-face with his solicitor.
"Thank you for calling me back, Gordon," Crawford began. "I hope you have recovered from your illness."
"I'm fine, thanks." The truth was that Gordon was feeling the best he'd done in weeks. "Do you have news about my divorce?"
Crawford hesitated. "I have received a communication from your wife."
"Marina? But she's been ordered to keep away from me."
"I believe that is why the…" Crawford hesitated again, evaluating his response for the pros, cons, positives and pitfalls, just as he did with every other legal situation, "communication was directed to your legal representation… and not despatched direct to you."
Gordon had to admit to being a little curious. "What does she say?"
"She has... requested… an attempt at reconciliation."
"What?!"
"She states in her letter… And I quote… I know that worrying about doomsday affected both me and Gordon. Now that doomsday has past…" Crawford paused, his lips pursed in disapproval at the use of the wrong word, "I would like to start our relationship again… She then requests that I arrange a meeting between… the pair of you."
"Nope," Gordon stated. "No way. I'm not interested."
"Is that your… final word?"
"That's my final word. Tell her I still want the divorce."
"I shall." Crawford nodded. "In light of your decision… I assume… that you would like to see some of the evidence that the private investigator has… produced against her?"
"He has some?"
"The private investigator has photographs… taken recently… of your wife… and an individual whom we have ascertained goes by the name of…" Crawford checked his notes to ensure that he had his facts right, "Rory Braithwaite… Does his name mean anything to you?"
"Rory Braithwaite?" Gordon repeated. "No… Wait a minute! I do remember Marina saying that she turned to a 'Rory' for comfort when I left her. I'd never heard his name prior to that."
"Do you wish to see the photographs to see if you recognise this… gentleman?"
Gordon had no complaints about seeing a few photos. "Sure."
The first picture was flashed up on screen. It was of Marina and another man; skinny, sallow-skinned, dark hair, and hard features; almost in every respect the antithesis of Gordon. The couple appeared to be sitting at a table at an outdoor café having a conversation.
"Is that him?"
"I believe so," Crawford said with his inevitable caution.
"When was this taken?"
"I was informed that it was yesterday." The notes were checked again. "11:46am."
Gordon studied the picture. It appeared to have been taken at a distance and with a telephoto lens. It was followed by a second, similar photo. The third photo was close to a carbon copy of the first two and Gordon guessed that the photographer had taken a series of shots in rapid succession. In all three Marina looked happy and her eyes were fixed on 'Rory' with something that could have been interpreted as adoration. 'Rory' seemed more interested in his coffee.
In the fourth photo Marina had raised her hand and the fifth had her caressing 'Rory's' face. The sixth showed him pulling her hand away with a scowl and a furtive glance about as if he was scared that they were being observed. Marina looked disappointed and hurt.
Gordon watched this montage of pictures parading by and wondered at his reaction. He was feeling no sadness for the loss of a relationship past, nor anger at the dismissal of future happiness. What he did feel was disquiet at the voyeuristic way that the photographer had intruded into a private moment of a couple; even if one half of that couple was supposed to be loyal to him till death they did part.
But most of all he felt complete and utter apathy towards the woman that he'd married. "This can't be used as evidence of Marina's infidelity against me while we were together, can it?"
"No… But now that we have these photos and the name of this," Crawford rechecked his notes, "Rory Braithwaite… we can look back into the time that you were together and… search out that evidence."
"Is there any point?" Gordon asked. "If I'm honest I don't care anymore. I just want the divorce settled and her out of my life. Is there any point bringing up past misdemeanours? If she's happy with this other guy, let her be happy. I'll cut her free with no strings attached."
"May I suggest caution?" Crawford's tone was begging for it. "Prior to today's communication your… former wife had requested a… rather large settlement."
"Not so large that I'm going to be a pauper though, is it?"
"No…"
"It's only money and she had to put up with me and my moods when we were together, so I'll agree to her terms. My only stipulation is that I keep the houseboat and she removes the 'improvements' that she made to it."
"The investigator that I have retained is… convinced that he will find evidence of further…" Crawford took longer than usual to seek out the right word, "infidelities."
"Leaving me looking like an idiot for not being aware of what was happening beneath my nose. Look, why make it difficult for both Marina and me and put us through public humiliation? Agree to her terms and let's get it all over and done with. What's that stock phrase they use? Irreconcilable differences?"
"Do you have a need for a swift settlement?"
Gordon seemed a little confused by the question. "A need? No."
"You have no legal requirement to be legally single?"
"No… Why?"
"You have no plans to remarry?"
"No. I'll have to find someone first."
"Gordon…" The lawyer was almost panicking, evidenced by his lack of contemplation of his words. "In that case my advice to you is to not make this decision now. Remember that she has asked for reconciliation, yet we have evidence of further infidelities."
Gordon had to admit that this was a fair comment.
"Any settlement will take time to be processed. Now that we no longer have to fear Doomsday the courts are full to overflowing and their backlog is likely to last for months."
Gordon evaluated the statement.
"All I ask is that you do not make a final decision until your case is ready to be processed and that you continue to permit me to make further enquiries into your former wife's activities as I see fit; just as I have for the previous four months."
Gordon considered the compromise. "And if, when the courts are free enough to process the divorce, I still don't want to put up any barriers, you'll process it without a fuss?"
Crawford seemed almost relieved. "If that is your instruction at that future date… Yes."
"All right then, I'll agree to your terms."
The solicitor appeared relieved. "Thank you, Gordon. I am sure you will not regret this."
-I-R-
-F-A-B-
10:15pm Tracy Island time
Tin-Tin stood on the patio, a tablet PC in her hands, looking upwards towards the multitude of tiny lights in the sky. Then she looked down at the computer, trying to make sense of what it was telling her.
She gave up and turned on the videophone function. A moment later her brother-in-law's face was revealed to her. "Hiya, Honey. What can I do for you?"
"Where is Jupiter, John?"
He frowned. "Jupiter?"
"Can I see it from here? Is it in the sky above Tracy Island?"
"Uh, yes it is."
"I've been looking for it and I can't find it. This computer is useless."
"Why?"
She made an irritated sound. "I want to know where Alan is!"
"Oh…" Now John understood. "Sorry… Let's see… You know what Crux looks like, don't you?"
"The Southern Cross? Yes. And Alpha and Beta Centauri."
"You mean the triple star Alpha Centauri A, Alpha Centauri B, also known as Rigel Kent along with Proxima Centauri in the constellation with Beta Centauri…"
"John!"
"Sorry. You know I'm a stickler for these things… We'll call them The Pointers, shall we?"
"Yes," Tin-Tin agreed. "Lets."
"Okay, Crux..."
"You mean the Stingray," she interrupted.
John was surprised and confused by the interruption. "The what?"
"Buruj Pari: the Stingray. It's what the Malaysian people call the Southern Cross."
He chuckled. "Touché. That constellation is almost due south at the moment; about five to ten degrees above the horizon."
"I've found it," she admitted.
"Good. Do a quarter turn to the west..."
Tin-Tin turned right as she'd been instructed. "I've done it."
"Good," John repeated. "Now, at about twenty degrees above the horizon..."
"How do I work out how many degrees is twenty?"
"Make a fist, hold it out at arm's length, and position the bottom of it so it's on the horizon," John suggested. "The top is roughly five degrees..."
"Palm down or sideways."
"Sideways... Make sure your thumb is lying next to your fist and not on top. That adds an extra two degrees."
"So four fists, one on top of the other, would be 20 degrees?"
"Roughly... Now, turn back east an azimuth of..."
"A what?"
"Bearing." John kept his cool. "Turn to your left about fifteen degrees."
"Is that three fists palm downwards?"
John grinned. "You've got it."
Tin-Tin placed the tablet on a table, measured along three fists, up four and squinted along her arm.
"See anything?"
She sighed and picked up the tablet again. "Lots of little lights. If only there was an arrow saying This is Jupiter!"
"Okay, try this," John suggested. "Where are you?"
"On the patio."
"Are the lounge lights on?"
"Yes."
"Is anyone using them?"
"No. Everyone has retired to their rooms."
"Can you turn them off and still find your way back to the patio?"
Tin-Tin huffed to herself. "John…!"
"I don't want you tripping over something and hurting yourself, that's all."
Tin-Tin did as she was told and then returned to her vantage point on the patio, using the light from the tablet as a torch. "I can see the stars much clearer now."
John grunted, wondering why anyone would try to view the night sky in the presence of light pollution. "Turn on the rear camera, point the tablet to the vicinity of where we were just looking, and take a photo."
"Then do you want me to send it to you?"
"Yes, please."
The monochromatic picture was duly sent. "Have you got it, John?"
"Got it. I'm just checking that I'm looking at the right object. Things look different from up here… There…" A circle around a bright dot appeared on the screen. "Have you got it?"
Tin-Tin held the tablet to the heavens and compared what she was seeing with the photograph. "I can see Jupiter now, John. Thank you."
"Any time, Honey. Give my best to Alan."
Tin-Tin turned off the tablet, placed it on a table, and allowed the dark night to envelope her.
She was still standing there, gazing towards that faint light, when her father found her ten minutes later. "What are you doing, Tin-Tin? It is late. You should be in bed."
"I am not tired," she admitted. Then she pointed up to the sky and showed him the tablet. "See that star?"
"It is special?" her father enquired.
"It is not a star. It is Jupiter."
Kyrano understood. "You miss your husband."
"Yes. I wish that I knew that Alan was all right."
Kyrano took his daughter's hand. "Believe that he will return to you unharmed, Tin-Tin, and he will do so," he stated.
Tin-Tin looked at him. "Do you really believe that?"
He caressed her face. "I know that. Just as I know that he would want you to take care of yourself and your baby so that when he returns the three of you will be a family."
She took the hand caressing her cheek and held it. "Thank you, Bapa. Thank you for always being here for me."
"That is my duty as your father. Now…" Kyrano looked up into the sky. "Shall we bid him a good night together?"
Tin-Tin turned back to the planet. "Good night, Alan," she called. "I miss you." She blew a kiss to that dot in the sky.
Kyrano gave a little bow in the same direction. "Be safe, Mister Alan. Know that you are not forgotten… Come, Tin-Tin. It is time for bed." He extended his arm and guided his daughter back into the lounge.
To be continued…
