A note to my readers trawling their way through Triple Jeopardy. Firstly: Thank you for your perseverance. It's going to get worse before it gets better.
Secondly: I am trying to update daily. Unfortunately, FanFiction dot net has a tendency to not register my postings and push them to the top of the list of stories on the Thunderbirds "home page". (Yes: I have contacted support. No: I haven't had a response.) So if you haven't signed up for notifications (and you may like to, as we've still got quite a few chapters to go), and you intend to keep on reading, it might be wise to keep manually checking to see if the next installation has been published.
F-A-B
:-) Purupuss
Triple Jeopardy – Chapter 09
Brains was in a mild panic. Not a full-blown, totally out of control, unable to do anything coherent or useful, panic; just an I'm cut off from the world, my friends are in major trouble, and I can't get any reassurance from Jeff Tracy, panic.
He rebooted Thunderbird Five's computer system. Then he rebooted it a second time. Then, deciding that the old "third time lucky" maxim, whilst without scientific foundation, was worth trying, rebooted again.
Thunderbird Five was filled with static. He couldn't even hear a stilted, broken message from Thunderbird Two.
Brains felt very alone. Normally, he didn't mind this sensation. Being alone meant that he was free to get on with his latest topic of study without interruptions. Being alone meant that he didn't have to deal with social interactions and the awkwardness that went with that.
But now he was literally alone. He was thirty-six thousand kilometres, vertically, away from the nearest human being, and if anything were to go wrong, he would be, quite literally, on his own.
And something had gone wrong. Down on Earth Thunderbird One had been shot out of the sky. How was Scott? How were all the Tracys? What had happened to Thunderbird Two?
"Tr…y I…d c… … Thu…b… F…ve. …rac… …lan… call… …nd…rd …ve."
Brains leapt for the microphone. "Th-This is Thunderbird Five, Mr T-Tracy. I can hear you… Just."
"Br…? Gl… t… hear … voi… … you …ll …igh…?"
Brains made an intelligent guess as to what his boss was asking. "I – am – well," he enunciated. "But – Thun-der-bird – Five – is – ex-per-i-enc-ing – com-mun-ni-cation – issues. – I – think – the – aux-ill-ary – Mo-bile – Con-trol – was – switched – on – when – Thun-der-bird – One – crashed." He hesitated. "Landed," he added as a hopefully reassuring afterthought.
"We – c.. – bare… – hear – y… – Are – …ou – all – …ght?"
"I – am – all – right," Brains shouted into the microphone.
There was a pause and he wasn't sure if it was in frustration at the stiltedness of their conversation, or if Jeff was still trying to interpret what he'd said. "Wh… – do – y… – …w – …t – Thun… … – One – a… – …?"
Brains didn't need to hear the words to know that Jeff was asking after the health of his sons.
The only problem was: Brains didn't know the answer…
-F-A-B-
Don't… Gordon's mind pleaded, but he could do nothing but stare at the malevolent grin as he felt the laser burn into his bare flesh. It cut across his wrist and down, scanning the network of veins and arteries and recording his palm and fingers, before, finally sliding off his fingertips.
With a satisfied snap, The Hood switched the laser off. "The old ways may have been effective, but they were messy. And today, as modern technology requires the pulsing of blood through a living palm to unlock great secrets, the old ways are useless. However, a little fear to amplify that blood flow, and a device to record it," he turned to the palm recognition plate, "the key to the door is easy to find." The hatch slid open. "See… Enter."
Relieved that he was still in one piece, Gordon entered Thunderbird Two. Dad's gonna kill me when he realises that I'm the one that let this guy in. That's if Virgil doesn't kill me first.
"Lead me to the flight deck."
The lift ride upwards to the flight deck was agonising. More so when the Hood explained that his original plan was to release his International Rescue victims from the coma he'd put them into, and force them, using mind-controlling drugs, to do what Gordon was doing now. "Remember this. If you do not obey me, I will destroy their minds. They will become my puppet slaves. But now that I have you, they will stay in that coma…" The malevolent grin broadened and became even more sickening. "For ever."
No! There must be a way to wake Virgil up. To wake all of them up! Brains will have the answer…
Won't he?
The lift slowed and stopped, but the door didn't open.
"Another layer of security?"
Yes.
"I shall give you the…" There was that malicious grin again. "…pleasure… of admitting me onto the flight deck of the great Thunderbird Two."
NO! No, I won't. But Gordon felt his hand, inexorably, despite his whole body's resistance, steal up to the palm recognition plate.
"Press it."
Don't press it! You can't let him get access! Fight it, Gordon!
Gordon pressed the plate. The invisible scanner checked his hand, compared its veins and arteries with its database, and the hatch slid open.
I'm sorry, Virgil. I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry I'm not stronger. If I could stop this I would.
The Hood was unaware of Gordon's thoughts when he took his first step onto Thunderbird Two's flight deck. Or maybe he knew and was enjoying the distress his captive was experiencing. "Sit in that seat," he ordered, pointing at the passenger couch that Gordon had been occupying less than half an hour before. "And do not move… I shall return."
Now, Gordon! Now's your chance. He can't hurt you because he's not here. Stand up, walk across to the control panel, and lock Thunderbird Two down again. Situation-Y… Come on, Gordon! Move!
But Gordon couldn't move. He was still sitting there, barely blinking, when the Hood returned.
"Now… How to bring this craft under my control?"
You can't. Only Virgil can fly it. And you've put him into a coma… No. I don't want you to think that. The antidote you were going to apply sounds even worse than the state he's in now. I hope you can reverse both drugs, Brains…
Gordon was desperate to see exactly what the Hood was up to, but couldn't move his head, or even his eyes. But he could hear the criminal's feet as they padded across the floor, and then the whir of an electric screwdriver as bolts were removed from a panel, followed by the rattle of a metal plate dropping to the floor. There were some glutaral mutterings in a language that sounded familiar, more panels were removed, and then the sound of wires being clipped.
"There. That is done. I have wired my computer into Thunderbird Two's flight computer and I am reverse engineering your systems. By the time I have finished here I will have full control of this craft."
No! I won't let you! I must stop you! Gordon felt himself quivering in his need to do something heroic but couldn't spur his voluntary thoughts into actions.
"On your feet."
How about a please? Gordon stood.
The Hood looked around the flight deck. "When you are on a rescue, you have a mobile computer…"
Mobile computer? You mean Mobile Control?
"Where is it?"
If you think I'm going to show you, you've got another thin… Wait a minute! Mobile Control was fried by the lightning strike. Even though John put it into one of Two's hazardous materials bays, it was still stinking out the entire hold. If I show you that, you'll think that's our only 'computer', won't you? But we'll still have the Mark II available to us! All right, Pal. If you want to see Mobile Control, you'll get to see Mobile Control.
This time willingly, Gordon lead the way out of the flight deck, through the same hatch that they'd entered, and around to the external compartment that was totally separate from the interior of Thunderbird Two. Sliding the door that stood between them and Mobile Control open, Gordon was hit by the smell of burnt electronics. He was saved from taking an involuntary step backward by the rigidity caused by his hypnosis.
Whoa! That lightning really did a number on it.
He couldn't see the Hood's face to know if the man was disappointed or overjoyed.
He heard a malevolent chuckle. "It is not your lucky day, is it?"
Guess not. And not yours if you don't find out about the Mark II.
"That is one form of communication unavailable to you. What others do you have?"
You mean aside from the Mark II and Thunderbird Two? Our watches, Thunderbird One's radio, the backup radio on both Thunderbirds' flight decks, the emergency set in the first aid kit. The pod vehicles' radios…
"Show me Thunderbird One's radio."
Stop this, Gordon! Despite his resistance to doing so, Gordon was unable to prevent his legs from walking back to Thunderbird One's entrance hatch.
Leaning inside, The Hood saw what was obviously a communications unit attached to the pilot's console. "Destroy it."
No. And this time Gordon stood firm. I'm not going to damage Thunderbird One. Scott would never forgive me. And I'm more frightened of my big brother than you.
"Obey me."
I said no.
Gordon watched as The Hood grew visibly angry. The man's stare became so intense, that his eyes almost seemed to glow as he raised his hands as if he were directing some invisible energy Gordon's way. "I have spoken! Destroy… the… radio."
No! …. NO, legs! Do not climb inside… Don't take out the tool kit… Don't open it… Do not pick up that wrench, Gordon… Stop!
But Gordon was unable to stop. He found himself, as unwilling as he was, unscrewing the microphone boom from the communications unit.
"More. I want it rendered useless."
No!
"Remember what I have done to the others. I can cause them great pain." The Hood took a step towards the entrance hatch. "Is this what you want?"
Gordon turned to the communications console. Please no... Don't hurt them. Cut off my hand. Do whatever you want to me, but don't hurt them. He raised his spanner high… I wish I was John. Then I'd know what I could damage to make it look like I'm doing some major destruction without destroying anything vital. The spanner slammed down onto the hub of communications unit. A piece fell free.
Gordon heard an evil laugh. "Good. Again."
No… For the second time, the spanner hit the console; sparks exploding everywhere. Gordon flinched when some landed on his bare skin but was unable to do more than utter an internalised exclamation of pain.
"More damage. You will render the radio unusable."
Like a robot, Gordon raised the spanner high again. Don't blame me, Scott. Please. Don't blame me…
More sparks flew.
Why can't I stop myself from doing this? And if I can't stop this, what else can he make me do…? As he struck the console over and over again, Gordon felt so powerless, he almost felt like crying. He should be able to overcome this hypnosis! He should be able to stand up to the criminal's demands and dismiss them! He didn't want to do this. He shouldn't be doing this! He should be doing all he could to save his brothers!
He was saving his brothers. That was why he was destroying an integral part of Thunderbird One's systems. He was saving his brothers from being damaged in the same way that he was damaging the radio.
Or worse.
He heard the hated, glutaral voice. "Where is the first aid kit? … Ah…" With the old malicious gleam in his eye, The Hood pulled the boxes from out from their locker. "Allow me to have the pleasure this time." Throwing the various components around the cabin and contaminating everything he found, he stamped on formerly sterilised packages.
Satisfied with his destruction, The Hood chuckled, rubbing his hands together. "What other fun is to be had?"
None? As he brought the spanner back down onto what remained of the radio, Gordon heard the sound of lockers being opened and their contents scattered throughout the cabin and beyond.
You're going to leave us here, aren't you? Well, not for long. We have other methods of communication. Rescue will only be hours away.
"What other communications devices do you have?"
Fight him, Gordon. Just say one word. Just… One… Word…
"Tell me…"
You can do it… Now! Before he raises his arms again and his eyes glow…
"None."
I did it…? I did it! Well done, Gordon. You can beat him. Hold onto that thought.
The Hood stood in the middle of Thunderbird One's cabin, surveying the destruction about him. He seemed pleased. "Show me your other secrets."
There aren't any.
Unperturbed by his captive's lack of response, The Hood jumped down to the sandy ground. Kicking blue-uniformed figures clear of the medical kit that Alan had brought from Thunderbird Two, he picked up a bag and ripped it open. "What is this? More supplies? Such a shame that they are of no use." With an evil laugh he threw the kit into the shrubbery that surrounded them. Previously sterile bandages, tools, and medications were scattered about the undergrowth. "Any others?" Not caring if anyone was receiving further injuries, he kicked out at the comatose Tracys.
Hey! Those are my brothers!
The oxygen cylinder that Alan had brought out to revive Scott had been discovered. It was thrown with force and an evil laugh into the undergrowth.
I hope you're all alright, Fellas. Please be all right. Please be all right. Please…
The criminal turned back to Gordon. "Remove their guns."
They aren't weapons, you know. They'd only knock you out for a short time… Which sounds like a brilliant idea. Gordon collected his brothers' rescue stun guns from their individually coloured holsters.
"Come with me."
No. Gordon found his legs following his nemesis over to where Virgil was laying. The elder Tracy didn't appear to have moved since Gordon had last seen him, but at least he could now see that his brother was breathing and appeared to be free of external wounds.
After removing the contents of the yellow holster, The Hood kicked at the air-pump. "What is this?"
None of your business. "Air-pump."
"And what was he going to do with it?"
Don't give him the full story. Don't give him the full story! "Re-inflate the airb…" …ag under Thunderbird One to right her so we can access Mobile Control Mark II. "…airbed for the pilot of Thunderbird One…" Excellent, Gordon. Even when you're hypnotised, you can come up with a believable story. "He needs rest."
The Hood smirked. "He's resting now."
That 'rest' had better not be permanent. If it is, you'd better keep looking over your shoulder, because there will be a whole heap of us coming after you.
Something about The Hood's person beeped and he silenced it, turning to face Gordon with an almost excited gleam in his eye. "My computer has reverse engineered yours. I now have full control of Thunderbird Two."
That's not possible. I don't believe you.
"We shall leave now."
We? You and me…? Gordon found himself heading in the direction of the entrance hatch. You can't be thinking of leaving the guys here, unconscious, can you…? I guess you can… Still, that might not be a bad thing. If I can regain control of Thunderbird Two, I can come back and rescue everyone. Put them straight into the sickbay and get them medical help…
They had reached the shadow cast by Thunderbird Two's nose.
The Hood opened the hatch. "Put the guns in there," he ordered.
Gordon obeyed.
The arch criminal appeared to contemplate his options. I have no further need for you," he eventually declared. "I do not need your assistance with this craft, nor do I need the aggravation of a passenger …"
No, you can't…
"I shall leave you here.
...leave me! I need the opportunity to get…
"Sleep."
Gordon slept. Falling forward onto the rocky sands, he barely missed falling against The Hood, who took a hasty step sideways to avoid contact.
The villain sneered down at the sleeping man. "So gullible. Keeping you hypnotised takes energy, and it is energy that I have no need to waste. Not now that Thunderbird Two is mine." He grinned up at the great, green craft. "The power is all mine."
With a satisfied smirk, he kicked Gordon in the ribs for fun, and then let himself into Thunderbird Two; his mind already gloating over the control that he was going to wield over an unsuspecting world.
-F-A-B-
That was a familiar sound…
Wasn't it?
It was kind of familiar. Not the 'so much a part of your life that you automatically block it out' familiar. More the 'I've heard it often enough to know what it is, without actually knowing what it is' familiar.
But it was definitely familiar.
Trying to get a bearing on what that sound was and why it was so important to him, Virgil opened his eyes.
The noise seemed louder now, and he wondered why opening his optical sensory organs had increased the sensitivity of his aural cortex.
He sat up.
He felt like he'd been sat on. Sat on by something large and smothering. By some entity that was still holding him down and making everything seem like it was pushing through drying concrete.
Virgil rubbed his face, then he glanced to his right, seeing a splash of colour lying at the base of the dark, shadowy cliff.
That wasn't a cliff.
That was Thunderbird Two.
The splash of colour was Gordon's hair.
He wasn't moving.
The ever-increasing noise was from Thunderbird Two's engines as she prepared for lift off. No wonder it didn't seem that familiar. Virgil usually heard the sound from inside the craft rather than outside. And never this close to the VTOL jets.
Jets.
Jets blast things away from themselves to make themselves do whatever it was that they did.
Like blast flame and heat to lift off the ground.
Flame and heat that could fry anything in its way.
Anything: like Gordon.
"Gordon…"
But Gordon didn't respond.
"Move, Gordon."
But Gordon didn't move.
"Get up, Gordon."
But a sleeping Gordon wasn't listening.
A flash of clarity hit Virgil like a blast from those jets. Thunderbird Two was about to launch herself off the ground. When she did so, Gordon would be fried…
Forcing himself to his feet, Virgil staggered across to his prone brother, wondering why Gordon was wearing next to nothing. "Move, Gordon."
Gordon didn't answer.
Looping his arms beneath Gordon's armpits and feeling like the swamping concrete that surrounded him had congregated and solidified into a replica of his brother, Virgil heaved him off the ground. He dragged the younger man away from the danger zone, toes leaving twin gouges in the sandy soil that echoed the destruction left by Thunderbird One.
Virgil was unaware that he had almost made it to where their brothers were lying when he was blasted backwards. Without the time and mindpower to analyse what had happened, he theorised that whatever had caused that massive concussive thrust was still a danger to them. Desperate to protect a shirtless Gordon from the dragon, or whatever it was that was bearing down on them, he threw himself on his little brother to shield him from what was coming…
And then it was silent.
Silent, except for a moan from beneath him.
Not sure what had caused that sound, Virgil rolled clear.
Gordon moaned again.
It was too early to think about getting up, and Virgil wondered if he could lie in and get some much-wanted sleep. Or if Father or Grandma would soon be making the rounds to get them all out of bed and off to school.
Gordon coughed the sand and exhaust fumes out of his lungs. He'd believed that waking out of a hypnotic trance was supposed to make you feel refreshed and decided that whoever had told him that was wrong. He felt hot, dry, like his back had been blasted by a furnace, and his ears were ringing. Trying to remember what had happened to make him feel this way, he pushed himself up and sat back on his heels.
Four brothers lay before him.
Two showed signs of moving.
"Fellas…? Wake up… Please?"
Virgil was the first to attempt to sit up. "What…" He fell back against his arms. "What happened?"
Gordon, unsure if his intervention had prevented the threatened injection of mind controlling drugs, and desperate to find out the truth, turned the question back on his brother. "What do you remember?"
"Remember…?" Virgil frowned as he pushed himself upright and his mind through what seemed to be thick, black treacle. "I remember… I remember the…" He rubbed his hands over his face and frowned when Gordon pulled them clear. "It was going… launching … erm… Gordon was sleeping beneath her… Silly place to sleep."
Alarm bells ringing, and Gordon touched Virgil on the shoulder to make sure that he had his attention. "Tell me again, Virgil. This time with more detail. What happened?"
Virgil coughed. Then shaking his head as if he was trying to clear it, repeated his tale. "Must have been 'sleep… Not a good sleep… Feel stiff…" He massaged the back of his neck. "A noise woke me up… The… The big green thing was taking off." Bleary-eyed he blinked at his brother. "Gordon was sleeping on the ground under the…" He made a round-shaped gesture. "…front. I pulled him clear." He rubbed his eyes.
"Virgil!" Grabbing his brother's hand, Gordon tried to hold his gaze. "You pulled 'him' clear?"
Virgil nodded.
"Pulled him clear from where?"
"Underneath the… erm… plane."
"Which plane?"
"The one over…" Virgil waved his free hand in the vague direction of a recently departed transporter. "Can I go back to bed?"
"Not yet. What was it called?"
"Called?"
"Yes. It has a name. What was the airplane called?"
"Th… Thunderbolt…" Virgil frowned. "No… Not Thunderbolt." He shook his head again. "Thunder… Thunderb… Thunderbird."
"Which Thunderbird?"
"Which Thunderbird? … Some number… One?" Virgil stared short-sightedly at the silvery grey craft before him, but Gordon wasn't sure if he was seeing it. "No… Not One… The other one. One plus one…" Virgil stared at his fingers. "Two. Thunderbird Two."
This was marginally reassuring. "You said you pulled him clear of Thunderbird Two?"
Virgil nodded again.
"Who's him?"
Virgil stared his younger brother in the eye. "Gordon."
By now really frightened for his brother's state of mind, Gordon grabbed him by his upper arms. "Virgil! Look at me!"
"Look at you?" Slightly cross-eyed at being so close, Virgil obeyed. "I am looking at you."
"Who am I?"
"Who are you?"
"Yes. Who am I?"
Virgil looked bemused and confused. "Why are you asking me who you are?"
"I need to know that you're all right, Virgil."
"But you're asking me who you are."
"Yes. I know it sounds crazy, but humour me… Please… Now…" Gordon took a deep breath to try to sound calm and not borderline hysterical. "Who am I?"
"Gordon." Virgil responded. "You're Gordon… And I dragged you clear of Thunderbird Two when she was taking off…" Gordon watched as his eyes widened. "Thunderbird Two was taking off! Someone…" He looked around, seeing that all his brothers surrounded him in varying states of wakefulness. "Someone's stolen Thunderbird Two!" He leapt to his feet and dashed across to where he'd last seen his aeroplane.
He stopped, staring forlornly at the unmistakable scorch mark left by a VTOL rocket. "Someone hijacked Thunderbird Two."
Gordon got to his feet and, stumbling slightly as a case of pins and needles invaded his legs, joined his brother. "I'm sorry, Virgil… I…"
Virgil turned on him. "Are you all right?"
"Huh?"
"You were unconscious and lying there." Virgil pointed down at a spot that marked the beginning of two shallow channels in the sand that led back to where their brothers were displaying varying degrees of alertness. "You wouldn't have chosen to lie down that close to Thunderbird Two, or any of our Thunderbirds, and have a sleep. Since someone's hijacked Thunderbird Two, they had to have knocked you out somehow and left you there. So, how are you?"
"I'm okay. I think I was hypnotised," Gordon admitted. He rubbed his neck. "But I don't feel as refreshed as I would if I'd been hypnotised."
"You're not hurt?"
Gordon shook his head. "What I am is relieved that you're okay… You are okay, aren't you?"
"Yes." Turning his back on where his aeroplane had once been, Virgil was pleased to see that the rest of their brethren were sitting up. He and Gordon watched as Alan attempted to regain his footing, overbalanced, and toppled against Thunderbird One. "Guess we'd better check them out."
"They're going to have more questions than we've got answers."
Alan, upright with something approaching steadiness, was pulling Scott to his feet when they got there. "What happened?" He stared at Virgil. "The last thing I remember is you collapsing… Right before Scott did."
"Stop shouting will ya…" John wrapped his head in his arms. "Why didn't someone warn me against standing underneath the tree? The coconut must have been as big as a soccer ball."
Crouching down, Gordon touched him on the leg to make sure he had his attention. "There was no coconut tree, John."
John, after a quick glance at the tall palms that surrounded them, looked at him as if he were crazy.
"I mean you weren't hit on the head by a coconut. Someone kicked you." Standing, Gordon held out his hand and assisted his brother upright.
"Kicked me?" John rubbed the sore spot. "What did I do to them?"
Gordon shrugged his lack of understanding. "Got in the way?" He attempted a cheerful grin. "Cheer up. We'll let Dad know we're all alright and he'll arrange the rescue party for us and Thunderbird Two. I'm sure we can all survive a few hours on a tropical island."
"Thunderbird Two? I thought it was Thunderbird One that crashed." John, deciding that his headache wasn't as bad as he'd initially thought, was taking in his surroundings. "And where is Thunderbird Two?"
Virgil went to shove his hands into his pockets, but decided against it. "She's been hijacked."
There was a collective gasp of disbelief. "Hijacked?!"
"Does base know?" John asked.
"No."
"Then we've got to at least try to contact them." Alan jumped into Thunderbird One's cockpit before Gordon could stop him; inadvertently kicking a bandage that unravelled as it rolled down the floor and out the hatch. "Holy…" He took in the mess. "What happened here?!"
"Ah…" Gordon could barely look at his eldest brother. "It's kind of my fault. I'm sorry, Scott."
John, leaning into the cockpit to see the damage for himself, glanced at his younger brother. "Your fault? Why?"
"Um… Can we have that discussion once we've let base know what's going on?" Trying to look on the bright side of what was otherwise a colossally dismal situation, Gordon managed a smile and held up his watch arm. "After all, he didn't get these." Sensing a lack of optimism in his brethren, he looked at the face of his wristwatch telecom; seeing only static. "Mine isn't working."
"None of them are working, Gordon," John told him.
"They aren't? Why not? No, tell me after we've called Thunderbird Five." Despite his intentions to remain positive, Gordon could feel that this smile wasn't quite a bright as the former. "We've still got the auxiliary Mobile Control. I didn't tell him that it was in Thunderbird One."
"Him…?" Alan followed Gordon as the latter hurried down to the compartment where the Mark II was stored. "Who's him?"
"The guy who shot down Thunderbird One and stole Thunderbird Two." Gordon saw that the hatch that concealed the Mark II was partially blocked. "Don't worry about that. Virgil brought out the air-pump before he was zapped, so we can nudge Thunderbird One far enough to roll it clear. Once we can open the hatch, we'll be able to…"
"The air-pump won't be strong enough," Virgil told him. "Even if the airbag wasn't holed on landing. We were going to use the Firefly and jacks to help roll Thunderbird One upright, so we could switch the Mark II off."
"Switch it off? We need it to contact Thunderbird Five…"
"Gordon…" John sighed. "It's the Mark II that's causing this interference." He showed that his watch was just as static-filled as Gordon's.
"Huh? How?"
"I don't know. I just know that the Mark II was causing major interference after it was fried after the lightning strike, so I packed it away. I was working out of Thunderbird One while we were in Australia…"
"But we had no issues communicating with One, Five, and base prior to Scott eating dirt. Why is it causing problems now?"
"It must have been switched back on when Thunderbird One crash landed. And One, now that we don't have Thunderbird Two, had the only radio powerful enough to at least reach Thunderbird Five through the interference."
"Why didn't you tell me the Mark II was out of action?! If I'd known I would have…" Gordon didn't know what he would, or could, have done.
"It wasn't important until we lost all communications."
Gordon slumped against Thunderbird One's hull. "This is my fault."
"No, it's not, Gordon."
"Yes, it is. I didn't mean to… I-I mean, I didn't want to… I… He told me to…" Gordon looked devastated. "I destroyed our only means of communication."
John stared at him. "Huh?"
"I destroyed the radio." Unable to look at anyone now, Gordon flicked his head in the direction of Thunderbird One's cabin. "I'm sorry, Scott. He made me destroy the radio. But I didn't touch everything else! He did that."
"He? He who?"
"Dunno…"
"You destroyed the radio?!" Alan was staring at his elder brother. "Why on Earth…!"
"I had no choice!"
"No choice?" Alan flared up. "You had a choice! You had a choice between destroying and NOT destroying our only method of communication!"
"I didn't know it was the only one!" Gordon held up his hands in protest. "No one told me otherwise."
"What did that matter? You should have chosen to not to do it!"
"He was hypnotised, Alan," Virgil remonstrated quietly. "He didn't have a choice."
"Hypnotised? But hypnosis isn't supposed to make you do things you don't want to!"
"I had no choice!" Gordon repeated.
"You did!"
"I don't know what he would have done to you guys to make me obey him if I hadn't! He threatened you all. He was going to inject you with stuff to make you his slaves! His mindless puppets!" Gordon drew in a ragged breath. "Permanently!"
"It's okay, Gordon." John put his arm about his brother's shoulders. "We don't blame you. We know you were acting in everyone's best interests." He fixed his youngest brother with a stern glare. "Right!?"
Alan gave an exasperated sigh. Then he nodded. "Right." He picked up the bandage and began rolling it back up again. "Now what do we do?"
"Is anyone injured?" Scott asked. "John? How's your head?"
"Headache's almost gone. There's nothing wrong with me."
"Any injuries, Alan?"
"No."
"Gordon?"
"No." Gordon sighed. "Aside from sunburn." He rotated his shoulders.
"That's not sunburn," Virgil told him. "You were sand and heat-blasted by Thunderbird Two when I dragged you out of the way of the VTOLs. So were the backs of my hands." He held up his arm. "That's why my watch has fogged up."
"Ah. So that explains why you look singed."
"I do?" Seeing Gordon do a similar gesture, Virgil ran his hand over his face, feeling his eyebrows' and fringe's unnatural texture. He looked at his hand, seeing charred fragments of hair.
That was cosmetic, but Scott was unsure that Gordon was as healthy. "Are you sure you're not hurt? How'd you get that mark?"
"Mark?" Almost surprised by the discovery, Gordon examined the bruise forming on his side. "I don't know. I didn't even know it was there. Looking at its size, and the way that guy enjoyed sticking his boot into you guys, I wouldn't mind guessing that it's a size ten." He shrugged. "It's nothing."
"Well, let Alan know if it's not… Any problems other than being singed, Virg?"
"No."
"Good. Now, I know that the odds of righting a 140-tonne plane with a probably holed airbag are almost nil, but that doesn't mean we're not going to try. Where's the air-pump?" Twisting his body as he looked about for the inflator, Scott inhaled sharply.
A sound that had his brothers on high alert; Alan stepping up to his role as chief medic. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Scott let his right hand, which had grasped his lower chest, drop. "I think I must have landed on a rock when that guy knocked me out. Either that or he kicked me too. I've probably got a bruise like Gordon's."
Or worse…? When he'd woken from the Hood-induced sleep, Scott's immediate reaction was to sit up and ascertain what had happened to his brothers. An action he'd instantly regretted when a red-hot, knife-like pain cut through his chest, knocking him out again. He'd come to seconds later, relieved that the others had been so preoccupied with their own situations that none of them had noticed his pale and sweaty features. He'd also been grateful for Alan's assistance to his feet.
But he told himself that he didn't need Alan's assistance now. "Get the pump," he ordered. "I'm going to find the valve."
Keen to do something practical, his brothers didn't question him.
The valve was easy to find and, taking care not to twist his torso more than necessary, Scott felt along the airbag. "Feels intact," he told Virgil.
"Fingers crossed that it's all intact." Virgil swung the pump off his back and to the ground. "But it's not going to be much help if we inflate the airbag and One rolls this way instead of upright."
"True." Keeping a steadying left hand on Thunderbird One as he stood, Scott looked about him. "Let's see if we can find some sort of leverage to help us right her."
Virgil looked upwards. "Can we retract the wing? Having it sticking out this side when the other's somewhere in the jungle is going to make her off balance."
"Good point, but it's bent out of shape."
"We can still shift the centre of gravity closer to the vertical."
"Okay. Why don't you see if that mechanism still works, while I tell the fellas to start looking for branches we can use as levers."
"Right." Virgil clambered up the step into the cockpit. He stopped for a moment, taking the opportunity to look about him and ascertain the destruction. He hoped that, aside from the communications unit, the microphone of which was hanging limply on a single wire, all the damage was cosmetic.
Slipping into the pilot's seat, Virgil shuffled forward. Scott had the chair configured to suit his tall frame, and the shorter Virgil always had to resist the impulse to take an angle grinder to the seat. Still, he reminded himself, he wasn't here to fly the aircraft the thousands of kilometres to Tracy Island. All he had to do was start the power unit, retract the wing as far as it would go, and shut the whole thing down again.
If that was possible.
Running through the ignition sequence, Virgil felt the power surge through the rocket plane. "Well, that's one thing going for us today."
"You've got her running, Sco…" Gordon, leaning in the entrance hatch, frowned. "I thought Scott would want to see want damage I'd done to her."
"I guess he'd rather not until it's absolutely necessary," Virgil theorised. "Now, let's see if the connections to the wing are still intact."
"While you do that, I'm going to grab one of his spare shirts." Gordon hauled himself inside. "I know you said it's not sunburn, but it feels like it, and I don't want to pile that on top of the rest of the damage… That's if that guy didn't damage them too."
"What was he like?"
"Didn't you get to see him?"
"No. One minute I was walking towards the guys. The next I'm dragging you away from Thunderbird Two."
"Thanks for that, by the way… Big ugly guy. Bald head. Bushy eyebrows. And piercing eyes… No. Not piercing…" Gordon shuddered at the memory. "Staring. Almost glowing. I guess hypnotic's the word I'm looking for." He pulled at a locker door. "It's warped. Can you give me a hand?"
Virgil had run through the checklist of things that needed to be done before he attempted to retract a solitary wing. "Let me see if this works first."
"Okay." Gordon stood just inside the entrance hatch, looking up towards the extended wing. "It's trying to move."
"Trying's not what we want."
"How much power are you using?"
"I was at ten percent, but I'll push it to twenty. I don't want to burn out the power hub."
"At least that would make Scott mad at you and take the heat off me."
"He's not mad at you."
"He was quiet."
"He was evaluating our situation. At twenty percent."
"The wing's definitely shaking…"
"The whole ship's shaking. But is the wing retracting?"
"Nope. I can't see any sign of any other movement. Are you going to try more power?"
"I'll push her up to twenty-one percent."
They felt the vibrations increase.
"Whoa, Virg! Thunderbird One slipped!"
"Shutting down… What do you mean slipped?"
"I mean it's rolled further over the hatch. Only by a few millimetres, but I definitely felt it move. I nearly fell out the door."
Virgil sighed and got out of the pilot's seat. "We'll have to accept that this is as good as we're going to get and hope that the centre of gravity isn't too far over on that side. C'mon. Let's grab your shirt and get outside."
It took the pair of them a full minute of pulling, legs braced against the bulkhead, to wrench the locker door open. Pulling out a uniform shirt, Gordon slipped it over his head. "It's too tight across the shoulders," he grumbled. "He needs to build up his muscles."
"What are you going to do about the rest of you?" Virgil pulled a pair of trousers out of the locker. "You could wear these."
Gordon pulled a face. "I'd wind up with a mile of leg turned up." He extended a wetsuit-covered leg. "This is all right."
The pair of them jumped down out of the cabin and jogged over to where Scott was supervising the placement of a couple of large branches.
"Is that where you two were?" Alan grumbled. "We could have done with your help shifting these."
Virgil ignored the complaint. "Any more we can get?"
Rubbing his back as he straightened, John pointed to the edge of the clearing. "There's a log over there that we can use as a fulcrum. But it'll take more than two of us to shift it."
"Right." Eager to do something positive, Gordon lead the way.
But, despite their combined pushing and grunting, the log refused to move.
Virgil analysed the scene. "If we could get some round branches that are longer than this log is wide, we could use them to roll it over to One.
"Anything inside One that we could use?" John asked.
"Nothing that I'd be happy dismantling just yet. She's still got power and I don't want to jeopardise that."
"Why? Are you hoping you'll be able to repair her enough to fly her out of here?"
"Not with the damage to the tail unit."
"Okay," Alan sighed. "Let's find some branches." He looked about them, seeing nothing other than sand, rocks, and tropical foliage. "Where's Scott?"
His brothers scanned the area, hunting out a familiar blue-suited figure.
"There he is!" Alan pointed though the greenery. "Scott!" he yelled.
"I'm coming."
"Where have you been?"
"Not far." Scott walked up to them. He cuffed his forehead on his sleeve. "It's hot."
"We know that. Like you know that none of us should be wandering off alone."
"I was just scoping out the lay of the land. I didn't go beyond ten metres of the clearing."
"Did you find anything?"
"No. Except I think these must a different species of coconut palm. There's a lot more undergrowth about than we're used to."
Alan huffed his exasperation. "I'm sure that'll help us."
Ignoring him, Scott examined the log. "How are you planning on getting that to Thunderbird One?"
"Rolling it there on branches," John informed him. "If the FIVE of us can find enough."
"What size do we need?" Scott made a quick calculation. "Right. I think I saw a couple we can use back there. Let's see if we can find some more… But don't go too far," he warned. "We know the island's uninhabited, but we don't know what dangerous animals and other hazards there are. Keep within yelling distance and make sure you're back here within ten minutes."
The Tracys dispersed into the undergrowth; returning with their finds within the allotted time.
All except for one.
"Where's he hiding this time?" Alan grumbled. "He tells us not to go too far and then disappears into thin air." He dumped his branches into a pile.
"He shouldn't be too far away." Frowning, Gordon scanned what he could see of the landscape. "Which way did he go?"
"Back to where he was hiding last time. He said he'd seen a couple of branches, remember?"
"Then he should have been the first one back."
"You know Scott." Virgil pulled his pocketknife from out of his pocket. "He's always got to go one better. We'll be expecting two, so he'll turn up with five." He started stripping the bark and twigs off the branches.
Trying to get some cooling air under his wetsuit, Gordon had pulled it away from his body. He let it go with a snap. "Do you think we should go looking for him?"
John checked his watch. "It's only just ticked over ten minutes. If we start chasing after him now, he's going to think we can't cope without him."
Gordon, who was still feeling antsy after his interactions with The Hood, fidgeted. "I know we can cope without him, but we don't want to try. I think we should go after him."
Virgil had picked up a second length of wood and was trimming the bark and twigs off it. Now he stopped work. "He said we weren't to go outside of shouting range, so… Scott!"
"Here!"
Scott's brothers let out a collective breath of relief when he came back into sight, dragging his promised two branches. His shirt was out and he looked dishevelled.
After a pointed look at his watch, Alan fixed his frown onto his eldest brother. "You're two minutes late."
"We don't have a latrine, so I had to make do." Scott dropped the branches at his feet and mopped his forehead. "I've been thinking…"
"Don't strain yourself."
Scott ignored his youngest sibling. "We don't want to waste time and energy moving this log if we're not going to be able to use it to right Thunderbird One. We'll give the airbag a test run and see if there are any leaks before we go to any effort." Pushing through his brothers, he strode over to his downed aeroplane.
"Guess there's some logic in that." Virgil snapped his pocketknife shut.
He crouched down next to Scott. "Found the valve?"
"Yep. Can you bring the pump closer?"
Obeying, Virgil watched as the air-pump's connector was attached to the airbag's valve before reaching out for the on switch. "I've only dialled it up to one percent."
"That's enough for a test." Scott looked up to where their three brothers were standing close by, waiting to observe the result of their experiment. "Watch out in case she rolls," he warned.
John crouched down next to him. "We'll be all right. Her wing will stop her from rolling too far over."
"If it holds… Okay. Let's see how much trouble we're in. Start her up, Virg."
"F-A-B."
There was a whining growl and the air-pump began to suck in air before forcing it down the long tube and into the airbag.
Gordon ran his hand along ground, parallel to the edge of the aircraft, trying to feel any unwanted air currents. "Is anything happening?"
John, mirroring his brother's examination of the airbag, shook his head. "I'm not feeling anything."
Virgil, one hand monitoring the air-pump, the other on Thunderbird One, had been hoping to detect the slightest movement. "She's not shifting."
They heard Alan's voice from Thunderbird One's starboard flank. "We've got action on this side."
John started walking towards the scarlet nosecone, stopping when his youngest brother rounded it and proceeded towards him. "What action?"
Alan didn't answer, preferring to wait until the group was all together and he didn't have to shout over the pump. "You may as well shut that off," he told Virgil. "The airbag's holed."
Scott felt his heart, his spirits, and his head fall. "Bad?"
"Yeah." Alan nodded. "I don't know how much air this thing's putting out." He nudged the pump with his foot. "But it feels like it's all escaping from one point near the fore support."
Up till now, they'd been proceeding with a feeling of quiet optimism, but the realisation that, with little chance of reinstating communications, they were now trapped on a tropical island and facing a myriad of other problems, hit them like a blow.
No one said anything as Scott, running his hand across the surface of Thunderbird One, stood. They were caught up in their own thoughts as he gazed in silent contemplation along her damaged, gunmetal grey body.
Then he turned back to his brothers. "Right," he said. "There's nothing else for it. From now on we're in survival mode…"
To be continued…