Triple Jeopardy – Chapter 10

"Brains? Can you hear me, Brains? … Come in Thunderbird Five…" Jeff Tracy glared at the microphone in his hands. "Nothing."

"Do you think he's all right, Jeff?"

He looked over the top of his desk at his mother. "I haven't seen any evidence to suggest that he's not. I think the interference is being caused, somehow, by the auxiliary Mobile Control. It's too much of a coincidence for it not to be. Which means, judging by the fact that no one's tried to shut it down, Thunderbird One's crashed in such a way that Thunderbird Two can't get to the Mark II and kill it."

"Do you think he's all right?"

Hearing the tiny, almost frightened voice saying the very words that he was too scared to articulate himself; Jeff raised his desk out of the way, walked across to his mother, and wrapped his arm about her shoulders. "This is Scott, remember? The kid who tried to fly out of the tree, and managed to avoid killing himself by landing in the only hole in the whole field covered by a net of roots. The Air Force man who survived being shot down by enemy forces when on a mercy mission and singlehandedly got his flight to neutral territory. The pilot who, after being attacked by an alien race, survived a crash landing in the desert and was found by the only people within a hundred miles. If anyone can survive a plane crash, it's Scott." He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

"You said global positioning wasn't working. What if Thunderbird Two can't find Thunderbird One?"

"They had him on visual before he made his run for the island. They know exactly where he is."

"Then why don't they try to shut down Mobile Control? One of the first things they would have wanted to do is try to let Brains know what was happening. How… How he was."

Jeff pulled her into a full hug. "I know, Mother. And I wish I knew the answers."

She accepted his embrace for a moment, and then withdrew from it. "I'm not doing any good wallowing here in self-pity."

"You're supporting me, Mother, and I appreciate that."

"Th…d F… ca…. ba… … Thun… …ve …all… …se."

Jeff leapt for the microphone. "This – is – Inter-na-tion-al – Res-cue – base. Go – a-head – Thun-der-bird – Five."

"Th…bi… Fi… to b… … A… ne…?"

Jeff looked at Grandma. "What did he say?"

"Thunderbird Five to base?" she guessed.

"That's what I thought… Inter-na-tion-al – Res-cue – to – Thun-der-bird – Five. – Re-peat – Please – re-peat."

The Tracys could imagine Brains' frustration as he tried to interpret Jeff's words. "A… ne…? … Re… … …ny …ws?"

"He's asking if we've had any news," Grandma theorised.

"I think you're right… Thun-der-bird – Five. – We – have – no – news – to – re-port. – Do – you – have – any – in-for-ma-tion – for us?"

There was another analysing pause. "I… …ve …rd no…g."

Jeff sighed. "He hasn't heard anything. Ac-know-ledged – Thun-der-bird – Five. Will – re-port – if – we – have – news." He laid down the microphone.

"Why don't you take one of our planes and fly out to find them? Brains gave you the coordinates before we lost contact."

"Because the same interference that's destroying communications could send me in totally the wrong direction. I know the direction to set off on, but there's the potential that I could fly off course and run out of fuel before I found them or was able to return to base. Plus, if the interference disappears and we get word from them detailing what assistance they need, I want to ensure that when I fly out, it's with full rescue gear. I don't want to waste time because I don't have the right kit on board… Don't worry. Kyrano and Tin-Tin are getting my plane ready. If we got word, I could be airborne within five minutes."

"But how can you 'get word' if the Mobile Control's causing interference?"

Almost as if it was about to demonstrate the answer to Grandma's question, a communications console started beeping…

-F-A-B-

"…From now on we're in survival mode. We know that we can't let base know that we're all okay, and we know that we can't warn them that there's a rogue pilot at Thunderbird Two's controls. So let's concentrate on what we can do. And that's keeping fit and healthy. We only need the basics: food, water, and shelter. Concentrate on that and leave the unimportant stuff," Scott glanced at Alan, "like recriminations, until after the rescue party's arrived."

"If they can find us," John interjected. "The Mark II's screwing up the global positioning too. Dad could be searching for us now in totally the wrong direction."

"But you'd chosen this island for me, so he'll know this is where I was headed."

"True. But targeting this location with a malfunctioning global positioning system isn't going to be that simple."

Scott nodded his understanding. "Is there any point in you trying to cobble together some form of communication with what we have available to us?" He indicated Thunderbird One's cabin.

"I haven't seen Gordon's handiwork yet…"

"Hey!"

"…but I think there's every point. I may need our watches too."

Scott started unstrapping his from his wrist. "Gordon: You can be in charge of food. If that guy hasn't trashed One's emergency rations, that would be a good place to start." He handed his watch to John.

"Okay."

"Alan: You're in charge of shelter."

"Right." Alan handed his watch to John.

"And Virgil and I will hunt out a source of water."

Virgil nodded his agreement. "Any ideas where we should start looking?"

"I haven't seen anything yet."

"I may need you guys to give me a hand when I'm building the shelter," Alan admitted. "But the branches we found should be a good starting point."

"Here." Grimacing when the clasp brushed against the burnt back of his hand, Virgil unclipped a second item from his wrist and held it out to him. "You may need this."

Surprised, Alan accepted the blue and yellow paracord bracelet with some surprise. "Are you sure? It's your lucky charm."

"Sometimes you have to make your own luck."

John felt the weight of four watches in his hands. "I'll try to leave one intact. If the Mark II suddenly stops causing problems, we may need it to call home. Or we may need it to get a compass bearing." He looked at his own analogue watch face. Pointing the 12 at the sun, he took a reading at the halfway point between that and the hour hand. "North's that way," he said, indicating the peak that rose up from the centre of the island.

"Whatever bearing it is, it's a good landmark," Alan remarked, trying to pull the ends of the paracord free. "That kid did too good a job, Virg."

"Let me." Removing his pocketknife from his pocket, Virgil opened out the thinnest attachment and slid it under the knot's final loop, working the cord free.

Months earlier, they'd just finished a tricky rescue and he'd been heading back to Thunderbird Two, words of thanks from the grateful victims ringing in his ears, when he'd heard a quiet voice call "excuse me, ah, Mr International Rescue." He'd looked over to see and adult and a couple of children, standing alone behind a cordon, and guessed they were a mother and her offspring. He had no idea how they'd managed to sneak past the authorities.

Despite this, Virgil had been in good spirits. The rescue had been a tough one and he was still feeling the buzz of a job well done. He'd been more than happy to deviate his course to see the family. "Hi." He smiled, and the young girl had flushed red. The boy looked like he wasn't sure whether to run or hold his ground.

"When we heard International Rescue was in the area, we wanted to at least try to meet one of you," the mother explained. "We never thought we could but…" Gently, she pushed her children closer.

"W-W…" The girl had stammered and turned crimson. "We made this for you." She'd blurted out, thrusting her hand towards the stranger.

Surprised, Virgil had accepted the gift, at first seeing the sky-blue colouring with yellow highlights.

"It's a paracord survival bracelet," the boy explained. "It's your colours."

"It is indeed," Virgil had agreed holding it against his sash. "How did you know?"

"International Rescue wears sky blue," the girl had reminded him. "And the news says one of you has yellow too."

"That's me."

"Their hobby," the mother had begun, "is making paracord survival bracelets. They sell them to raise money for the local search and rescue, lifeguards, and other rescue organisations. It's their way of emulating International Rescue."

"What a wonderful idea," Virgil had enthused. "And that makes this even more special. Thank you," he read the name on the attached homemade card. "April and Olly."

'April' had given him a shy smile. "The clip is a flint," she told him. "So, you can light a fire if you ever get lost."

"And," Olly added, "it'sa knife and a whistle and you can undo the cord to do whipping or lashing and all sorts," he'd finished breathlessly.

His mother had given him a 'slow down' stroke to her hair. "And the inner cords…?"

"You can pull the inner cords from out of the blue cord…"

"It's 550 paracord and there's seven of them," April had interjected.

"And use them as a fishing line,"

"Or shoelaces, or dental floss, or…"

"Or use them as stitches," Olly had informed them all, "if you ever cut yourself."

"Or need to mend some clothes." The siblings' mother had given an embarrassed smile. "I'm sure you'd be able to find a use for it."

"I'm sure I will," Virgil had assured them, deliberately forgetting his father's rule about receiving gifts and accepting that he was going to get a roasting when he got home. "And I hope I never will need to use it, especially for the stitches, but I will always wear it when I'm on a mission – just in case…"

He'd almost been blinded by April's smile of delight and was uplifted by her mother's quieter smile of pride and happiness as he'd fastened the bracelet about his wrist. "I'd better get going, but I'll treasure this." He shook April's hand, nearly had his arm shaken off by Olly, and had finished by shaking their mother's hand. "Thank you."

Virgil had kept the bracelet hidden under his sleeve as he'd smuggled it back to Tracy Island, only revealing it when he'd asked Brains to check it for any hidden unfriendly surprises.

From then on, after a mild lecture from Brains and a less-mild telling off from his father, and a scolding from Scott for good measure, the paracord survival bracelet was one of the first things he'd put on whenever he got into his uniform.

The end of the paracord fell free and he handed it back to Alan for unravelling.

"How long is it?" Gordon asked as the blue cord lengthened.

Virgil cast his mind back to when he'd last read the card. "Two cords of about three metres each."

"So it's six metres and a little bit. Hold out your hand," Alan expanded, and when Virgil did so, tied the short length that had been the yellow paracord trim about his wrist. "There you go, you've still got your lucky charm."

"Thanks."

"Right." Scott clapped his hands together to ensure he had his brothers' attention. "Any questions?"

There were none.

"We all know what we've got to do. If you need help, don't be afraid to ask. And try not to stray too far from Thunderbird One."

Nodding their agreements, they all set off on their separate ways, Gordon joining John in Thunderbird One's cabin.

The latter braced himself against the incline of the floor. "We could save Alan some time and use this for our shelter… If there wasn't a chance that we'd roll out the door."

"Or on top of one another, smothering each other." Gordon watched as his elder brother began the task of separating the various components into piles of what he considered to be useable, and what was destined for the scrapheap. "I'm sorry."

Surprised, John looked up from his task. "Sorry? What for?"

"Trashing the radio. I tried to stop myself, but I couldn't."

"I don't blame you for…" John indicated the mess of wires that surrounded him. "…all this."

"I blame me. All the time I was doing it, I was wishing that I was you."

"Me?!"

"Yeah. So, I'd know what I could damage, so that I could make it look like I was totalling the radio, while not actually totalling the radio."

"Maybe you haven't totalled the radio," John offered. "Don't beat yourself up over it until we know how bad it is." He pulled the sole remaining wire out from the microphone boom and placed the metal tube on the pilot's seat.

Gordon picked it up. "I thought it wouldn't matter because I had an ace up my sleeve with the auxiliary Mobile Control." He slid the hollow boom between his fingers. "I also thought that if I did a real number on this radio, then he wouldn't hurt you guys."

"Do you really think he was going to hurt us?"

Gordon nodded. "When I first saw him, he was going to inject something into Virgil. He said that it would give him control of Virgil's mind, so he'd be his slave. And then the way he was kicking you fellas…" John rubbed his head. "…I knew he didn't care what happened to you. I had to protect you."

"And you did. We're all here, and we're all healthy. But…" John pointed the screwdriver attachment of his pocketknife at Gordon. "We're all going to be hungry if you don't find us something to eat. Some of us didn't get much in the way of breakfast, remember?"

"Yeah." Gordon remembered the freshly made pancakes that had been left on the dining table at home. "Scott must be dying by now." He surveyed the cabin. "What a mess." He started clearing things away as he made his way towards the emergency rations locker, stepping over a puddle from leaking water bottles. "That guy did all this, and I think he got a real kick out it. I don't know what he's got against us."

"John? Do you know where…?" Alan, his head sticking in through the entrance hatch, saw Gordon. "Oh, good, you're here too. Do you think you could both give me a hand?"

John nodded. "If you'll give me a hand getting these panels off." He patted the control unit adjacent to Scott's seat that housed the communications unit.

"Deal."

"In that case. Just let me get to a stage where I can leave this? I'll only be a tick…"

"Tick," said Alan.

"Tick," Gordon echoed, heading for outside.

"You're already a tick over, John," Alan warned, standing aside to allow Gordon to jump down.

"Doesn't matter. I'm finished." John laid down the mess of wires and jumped out of the hatch. "What do you need us for?"

"I was thinking that there's no point in reinventing the wheel. And that she," Alan laid his hand on Thunderbird One's hull, "is lightweight and strong. Do you think we could shift the tailfin from the beach back up here?"

"Lightweight's a relative term," John reminded him, as all three traipsed the length of the downed rocket plane. "You're still talking about a hunk of composite materials as big as a shed."

"Exactly. With those panels as the walls," Alan pointed at some that had been removed from Thunderbird One by the force of the landing, "it'd make an ideal roof for our shelter. No leaks."

"And you think the three of us will be able to shift it?"

"That's what I want to find out. I've already dragged the branches over there. And if that doesn't work, we've still got Scott's and Virgil's muscles to call on."

The tailfin was standing on the beach, the peak of its V-shaped profile pointing towards the sky, and it was easy to see what had given Alan his idea.

Gordon gave the scratched and scarred component an experimental push and sent it rocking. "You might have the right idea… Except it's a bit shallow."

"That's why I'm using it as the roof and not the full shelter."

"And…" John added. "It's lightweight for a reason. It's part of an airplane's tail unit. If we get a tropical storm it could fly away."

Alan frowned at his brother's negativity and looked upwards at the clear blue sky. "What storm? How long do you think we're going to be trapped here?"

"Just being a good Boy Scout and being prepared."

"We'll lash it down, or weight it down with rocks, or wedge it between a couple of trees, or something." Gordon, eager to avoid an argument, rubbed his hands together. "Let's get started. Do you think we can move it without the rollers…?"

-F-A-B-

Not too far away, their brothers were on the hunt for another of life's essentials.

"Logic states that gravitational forces will cause any water on the mountain to run downhill," Virgil was saying as they walked along the sandy beach that was the demarcation line between the island and the Pacific Ocean. "That's assuming that it isn't absorbed into the ground."

"Yes."

"And any water that isn't absorbed, could join with other watercourses and form a stream, a creek, or a river."

"Yes."

"And, on an island like this, where the coast is lower than the peak, those creeks will empty into the sea at some point on the coast."

"Yes."

"So all we have to do is keep following the coast until we find a source of flowing fresh water."

"Virgil!" Scott snapped. "I know all this. I don't need a blow by blow description."

"Oh." Looking downcast, Virgil stopped walking. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry. She'll be all right."

Virgil pretended to misunderstand. "Who?"

"Thunderbird Two."

"I'm not worried about… Hey! Is that a path?" Virgil took off towards a small clear strip leading up a ridge.

"Virgil…" With less speed and assurance, Scott followed his brother. "Stop."

Already ten metres up the track; Virgil stopped. "Maybe it's made by someone with communication facilities?"

"And maybe it's just a bit of erosion." Refusing to waste energy without good reason, Scott stopped at the bottom of the supposed track. "This island is uninhabited, remember? That's why John chose it."

"Maybe his information was wrong. Maybe there are some scientists studying the island's ecology or something?"

"Scientists who heard one plane crash, another land and then take off again, and haven't tried to investigate?"

Determined not to be dissuaded, Virgil shrugged. "Hermit then. Come on, Scott! We've got to check it out!"

"Fine, check it out… But you're wasting your time," Scott grumbled as he started to follow his brother up the dirt trail.

Virgil was already seemingly miles ahead of him when Scott stopped again. He wasn't feeling good. In fact, he was close to feeling terrible. The pain in his ribs hadn't eased off since he'd awoken next to his brothers and seemed to be intensifying.

"Scott!?"

"Coming…" Reluctantly, Scott took another two steps. Something caught in his throat and he coughed into the crook of his elbow; an automatic response ingrained into him as a young boy by, firstly his mother, and then his grandmother.

The pain in his chest intensified and he could taste something metallic.

Looking at the cloth on his sleeve, he saw a red stain.

It was nothing, he told himself, as he tried to rub it away between his thumb and fingers. He'd bitten his lip, or his tongue, or his…

He coughed again, repeating the automatic action. The blood spot multiplied.

"You were right."

"Huh?" Scott looked up to where Virgil was walking back down towards him.

The younger Tracy looked dejected. "It's only erosion. It doesn't even reach the top of the ridge."

"Any sign of water?"

"No."

"We've been gone long enough. We'll head back to camp."

"What have you done to yourself?"

"Huh?"

"You've got blood on your arm."

"Scratched on one of these trees." Scott indicated the scrubby plants that surrounded them.

He was relieved when Virgil accepted his story. "You've got to be careful. You could get an infection in this tropical heat. We don't have the medical facilities to treat it."

"I know."

The walk back to camp only took minutes but seemed longer.

They found Alan, John, and Gordon standing around the tailfin, which they'd managed to shift as far as the scorch marks left by Thunderbird Two.

"Good," John told them. "You can help us move this thing over there." He picked up a branch and placed it parallel to the others in front of the unit.

Virgil grabbed another from behind and did the same. "Why are we moving this?"

"Shelter," Alan explained. "It'll be more weathertight than a bivouac."

"Where to?"

"The far side of the clearing. It'll leave plenty of room for any rescue craft to land, and it's away from what appears to be the prevailing wind. Gordon and I can pull, John can move the logs, and you two can push."

"Right." Virgil took up position behind the tailfin. "Let's see if we can move this thing. C'mon, Scott."

Less enamoured with the plan, but not wanting to be accused of not pulling his weight, Scott put his shoulder to the grey metal and pushed…

-F-A-B-

Almost surprised by the beeps of an incoming call, Jeff faced his videophone. "This is Jeff Tracy."

"Jeff?" Lady Penelope's face appeared on screen. "Can you hear me?"

Jeff felt a moment's relief. "Hear you and see you, Penny. Does this mean…?" A glance at his watch revealed that it was still filled with static.

"I had a theory that it was only the organisation's systems that were being compromised," she explained. "I know that this network isn't as secure, but I needed to make contact with you. Have you any news?"

Jeff shook his head. "No. Nothing. Not even from Th… Brains."

"In that case, Parker and I shall fly out ourselves. We may be of some assistance."

"You'll never find Tracy Island, let alone the island where we're assuming Sc… he's..." Jeff chaffed at the need for tight security. "The incident happened."

"We were listening when John sent through the coordinates."

"Your global positioning systems will be just as screwed as ours."

"Do not concern yourself, Jeff." Lady Penelope treated him to a reassuring smile. "We have ascertained that so long as we are not using a system developed by… ah… the organisation, there should be no issues. We will hire a suitable craft."

The smile and words did little to reassure him. "Most long-range planes don't have VTOL capabilities. You couldn't do anything."

"This is true. We will, however, be able to ascertain the location, and the, er, condition of the ah, ships. If our reconnoitring dictates that further action is required, then we can contact the appropriate authorities."

"Authorities? Like International Rescue?" Jeff failed to keep the facetiousness out of his voice.

"Jefferson!"

His mother's admonition had Jeff hanging his head. "I'm sorry, Penny. I appreciate your concern, and that fact that you're able to do something when I can't."

This smile was understanding. "I know you are worried, Jeff. We all are. That is why I am doing what I can. As little as it may be."

"It's not little. And it is appreciated. Take care, Penny, and if you can, keep in touch."

"I shall. Keep strong, Jeff."

-F-A-B-

Virgil had a ringside seat when his eldest brother gasped, paled, and almost doubled over. "Hey!" Forgetting his tail-pushing duty, he rushed to his sibling's side.

Scott straightened, his hand to his lower chest, and with more sweat pouring of him than even the tropical heat could produce. "I'm all right," he gasped out.

"No, you're not."

"I'm fine."

"Let me look at your chest."

"I said I'm fine!"

His brother's short fuse had Virgil even more worried. "Humour me, Scott. Please?"

"No."

"I'd be a lot more comfortable staying here if I know you're okay."

Scott glared at his brother and then, with an exasperated look, lifted his shirt, exposing the inflammation on his chest.

Virgil sucked in his breath when he saw the discolouration. "Scott!" Automatically, he reached out towards the angriest scar.

Scott took a hasty step backwards; avoiding the advancing hand. "It's only a bruise. It's nothing."

"It looks like more than a bruise. I'd be happier if you let Alan give a second opinion."

"No need to worry anyone else."

"You can't hide a thing like that."

"You don't need to call…"

"Alan!"

Dropping his shirt, Scott rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"What?" Alan jogged around the edge of the tailfin. "At this rate it'll be dark before we have this thing in place, let alone usable as a shelter."

"Look." Before Scott could react, Virgil pulled his brother's shirt back up, exposing the livid red marks crisscrossing his chest.

It was Alan's turn to suck in his breath. "Scott…!"

He received an indignant glare. "You guys keep on dropping me into my harnesses and you're surprised?"

"What's the hold up?" Gordon, tired of nothing happening, rounded the tailfin. "Why are you all…" He saw Scott's exposed torso. "Scott!"

"It's nothing…"

Gordon couldn't agree. "John…" he peered around the side of the tailfin. "You'd better see this."

"What am I? A sideshow?"

"See what?" John inquired. "I hope it's important. It's getting la… Scott!"

Angry, Scott pushed his shirt down and out of Virgil's grasp. "I wish you guys would stop wearing out my name! And would mind your own business!"

"And you can pull your horns in," Alan told him. "Like it or not, you're injured."

"I'm not."

"How can you say that?

"I say that because it's not as bad as it looks."

"I'm the M.O. and it's over to me to decide that. Lift up your shirt."

"No."

"Scott…" Alan glared at his brother. "You're not getting out of this this time. We're trapped on an uninhabited island, with no communications available to us, and we need to know how bad your injuries are."

"It's nothing."

"Let me be the judge of that. Now…" Alan squared up to his patient. "Are you going to humour me, or am I going to get these three to hold you down?"

Whether it was because of John's, Virgil's, and Gordon's step closer, or the realisation that if his and Alan's roles were reversed, he'd be just as insistent and persistent, Scott lifted his shirt.

Alan leant in for a closer examination. "A little higher, please."

Scott lifted his shirt's hem higher, his head disappearing behind the material. He let out a muffled "Hey!" when Virgil and John supported his arms and the shirt even higher in the air.

Alan concentrated on one area that seemed more swollen and livid than the rest. "Geez, Scott, why didn't you say something…?" Intending to make a physical examination, he reached out…

Scott's reaction to the featherlight touch was instantaneous and concerning. With a yelp of pain, he dropped his arms and his shirt and took an involuntary step backwards; Virgil and John catching and supporting him when he stumbled.

"Steady, Alan," Virgil warned.

"I barely touched him."

"It wasn't you…" Scott protested. "It was…" Nothing he could think of to say would reassure his brothers that their concerns were unfounded. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

"You're clearly not." Alan put on his I'm now in charge and you'd better be serious and listen to me face. Something which normally had the opposite effect on his brothers; but this time made a deep impression on them…

Three of them anyway.

"There's nothing to worry about," Scott reiterated.

"Isn't there?" Alan folded his arms. "As far as I'm concerned, you're out of the game now, Scott, and you're going to have to sit in the bleachers and watch the rest of us in action."

"I can't do tha…"

"What you can do…" Spying a nearby flat-topped boulder, Gordon strode across and inspected that it was clean and smooth enough to use as a chair. "…is sit here and do what you do best. Order us about."

"No…"

"Yes," Virgil told his obstinate brother. "You wouldn't expect any different if it was one of us who was injured."

Scott knew that this was truth, and his brothers saw the fight go out of him. "All right, if it'll make you all feel happier. But we're wasting time. We're could be losing light soon, and we need be prepared to spend the night here. Alan: You'd better carry on with the shelter. Gordon: If you've found us something to eat, go with Virgil and see if you can find some water..."

"Won't be hard," Gordon told him. "Alan and I thought we saw a creek by where we found the tailfin."

"Good. John? How were you getting on with the radio?"

"I've still got lots to do, and you're holding us up by not sitting down."

With a reluctant grumble Scott turned to obey. He must have twisted his torso as he paled, and his hand stole to the site of his injury; not quite touching it. An unconscious gesture that didn't go unnoticed.

A silent but eloquent look passed between the younger Tracys.

A look that stung Scott as much as shouted disapproval. "I'm fine!"

This continuing obstinacy and unwillingness to face the truth proved to be the last straw for Gordon. "For Pete's sake!" the younger man snapped. "Do you think that if you keep telling us that you're fine, we'll believe you?! Okay, if that's what you want to believe, then fine: believe that we believe you. Like we believe that whoever shot you out of the sky and hijacked Thunderbird Two will return at any moment begging for forgiveness! Like we believe that the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus are going to appear and tell us that, since we've all been such good boys, they're going to wave their magic wands and send us home for dinner! Like we believe that we didn't believe that we were going to be mutilated by a madman! Why wouldn't we believe that there's nothing wrong with you when it's obvious that something is wrong with you!?" He slammed to a halt, breathing heavily. "And your shirt's too tight!" he finished morosely.

There was silence as his brothers, stunned by his outburst, wondered what they had yet to learn about the events that occurred while they were all unconscious.

No one said anything. Not even when Scott, realising that he was adding to the stress they were all already dealing with, did a wooden about-face, walked over to the makeshift seat, and sat down.

Alan was the first to break the silence. "I think the four of us can shift this over there." He pointed to the tailfin's original destination.

"Right," Gordon agreed, eager to put his rant behind him. "You fellas push, and I'll…" he picked up the last of the roller branches, "lay the track."

Deciding that now was not the time to comment on what had been said, nor the reasons behind it, Virgil and John joined Alan in putting their weight against the tailfin.

It rolled forward.

Scott watched his four brothers work; sweat beading on their foreheads and soaking their clothing. He should be helping! He should be adding that necessary bit of extra muscle. He should be…

He felt something catch in his throat. Suppressing it for as long as it took for him to pull a handkerchief from out of his pocket and cover his mouth, he coughed twice, feeling his lungs protest and ribs ache. When he got his breath back, he reflected that it was just as well the sound had been masked by the rolling of metal on wood and wood on stones.

He looked at what had been a sterile, white cloth.

It was spotted red.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Moving the tailfin hadn't been as easy as everyone had hoped, and the sun was on its downward trek when the Tracys were finally happy with their shelter's location.

They took a moment to have a breather.

"Guess we'd better – get back to our – original tasks," John panted. "That's unless – you need us to shift something else, Alan?"

Alan shook his head. "Maybe some more sheets, but I'll have to think about it. I'll let you know if I need your help."

"What I need is a cool, refreshing drink," Virgil stated. "Where's this creek you found, Gordon?"

Gordon stretched, feeling the resistance of the size-too-small shirt. "Not too far over there." He pointed past the original landing place of the tailfin. "How about, as a part of my food finding duties, I find something I can collect some water in, and bring some back. You guys can make a start on everything else."

"Sounds like a plan." John nodded his agreement. "Do you want to help Alan, Virgil?"

"Sure."

"We're going to need a latrine," Alan told his brother. "Would you mind making a start on that? I don't want to leave him," he made a gesture over to where Scott was still sitting forlornly on his rock, "alone."

"Okay," Virgil agreed. "I'll dig it over..." He evaluated the best location – well away from their water source and downwind of their campsite. "...there. In the trees. There's bound to be some stray bits of metal that I can use to make a spade. You'd better give me one of the internal paracord strands so I can lash it to a branch."

Taking care not to pull the rest through, Alan dragged one of the white core strands out from within the survival bracelet's blue sheath.

They all went their separate ways on their separate tasks, Gordon taking a detour to check on their leader. "I'm sorry about the way I blew my stack bef..."

"Don't be," Scott interrupted. "We've got to work together to get through this. Even if that means I'm banished from doing anything useful."

Gordon gave his brother's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I saw a creek over there and I'm going to check it out, before I get back to my hunter gatherer role. Alan's still working on the shelter and Virgil's digging a latrine. John's..." He looked over Scott's head to see John disappear into Thunderbird One's cabin. "John's trying to build a radio."

"I hope he succeeds."

"Yeah. None of us are going too far, so if you need anything, just holler." Gordon handed his brother a stick. "Or bang this, or something."

"I will."

Gordon went to take a step away and then stopped. "Maybe you can help. Can you suggest anything that I can use as a water carrier? Other than my wetsuit."

Disgusted, Scott pulled a face, before coming up with a suggestion of his own. "Coconut."

"Huh?"

Scott indicated the multitude of trees around them. "We can drink the coconut water and then use the shells as water carriers."

Picking up a nearby coconut from a Thunderbird Two flattened tree, Gordon weighed it in his hand experimentally. "That's if it's an edible species. It does look different to the ones we have at home."

"I saw a bird pull apart one that Thunderbird Two had squashed. It drank the water and ate the flesh, and seemed okay afterwards, so I'm guessing we'll be all right." At Gordon's inquisitive look, Scott shrugged. "Not a lot I can do at the moment, except bird watching."

"Which may not be a bad thing..." Gordon's hand automatically went to his pocket... Which wasn't there. He sighed. "My pocketknife's in my clothes. Which are in Thunderbird Two."

"Here," with the slightest of grimaces, Scott reached for his own pocket.

Gordon stopped him. "No, hang onto that. You may need it. I think I can use something else..."

-F-A-B-

Virgil found a stout branch, long enough for him to dig without putting too much bending strain on his back. A short hunt around Thunderbird One's damaged tail section revealed a slightly curved scrap of metal that he figured would be suitable for a shovel head. Taking out his pocketknife, he cut a groove in the end of his branch and slotted the metal scrap into it, hoping that the ground would be sandy enough that the blade would stay in place. Collecting another, shorter and thinner length of wood, he used his paracord core thread and whipped it across the other end of his spade, forming a T-shaped handle. Then he tested his newly designed tool with an experimental dig in the sand.

It wasn't ideal, but it would do.

Balancing his newly created spade on his shoulder, Virgil went hunting for the site for his latrine. He didn't want it too close to the shoreline, nor the water table, nor where there were a lot of roots impeding his construction.

He found a suitable location and started digging.

-F-A-B-

John returned to Thunderbird One's cabin. He began by clearing the floor of the residue left by The Hood. Why would someone hate them so much that they'd destroy for the fun of it; even going so far as to contaminate medical supplies?

He settled down to his task, methodically separating those items that were still useable, from those that could be useable in an emergency, from those that were unusable and probably downright dangerous.

Finally, he had the "useable" items stored in a locker that had been stripped of its contents by the hijacker. That task complete, he settled on the cleared floor and laid his brothers' four watches before him, intending to break them down into their constituent parts. He picked up the first one and turned it over so he could lever off the back. An initial caught his eye.

"S"

Placing Scott's watch to one side, he removed his own watch, turned it over so he could see the etched "J", pulled his pocketknife from out of his pocket and started levering the engraved casing off the timepiece.

"Hey, John."

John barely looked up from his work. "Gordon."

Gordon gazed about him seeing the relatively clean floor. "You didn't find the scalpel, did you?"

John's pocketknife pointed over his shoulder. "In the usable in an emergency pile."

"Huh...? Oh... Okay. Thanks." Gordon found the indicated pile of miscellanea and carefully sorted through it.

Being a reconnaissance craft, Thunderbird One's medical kit wasn't as extensive as Thunderbird Two's, but she still carried more than you'd find in your standard first aid bag.

It wasn't long before Gordon's fingers closed around the handle attached to the shiny surgical steel blade. "I'll bring you back something to drink."

His full concentration on his work, John didn't respond.

But he did look up the next time he heard his name spoken. "What are you doing?"

Scott was standing there, propped against the frame of the entrance hatch. "I can't stand the idea of not doing anything while you guys do all the work..."

"Scott..."

Scott ignored the warning note in his younger brother's voice. "...So I thought I might be able to help you. I could hold wires still or something."

John, seeing the sense in this, nodded. Without comment, he watched as Scott sat on the sill of the hatch and spun around until he was inside the cabin.

Scott took a moment to look at the devastation; a pained expression on his face. "I get damaging the radio, kind of, but why do the rest of it?"

John spread the contents of his watch on the floor. "I was wondering the same thing... Here." He held out the "S" monogrammed watch.

Scott took it reluctantly, noting that work had begun on dissecting the others. "Don't you need it?"

"I don't know yet. But I think it'll do more good on your wrist." Picking up the watch engraved with a "V" John separated the back from the case.

"I'm fine," Scott told him, shuffling closer with a grimace that said that he wasn't.

"John! Have you seen...? Oh, is this where you are?"

Trying not to twist his torso as he looked over his shoulder at Alan, Scott responded. "I'm helping John."

John was privately thinking that they'd be more help if they'd left him alone to get on with his work, when a third voice intruded into the cabin. "Who wants a drink?"

John's "Me", was only a fraction of the beat behind Alan's.

The youngest Tracy accepted his coconut with thanks. He drank greedily from the hole in its flank and then wiped his mouth. "Good idea, Gordon." He removed his pocketknife from his pocket, intending to enlarge the hole so he could eat the coconut's flesh.

"It was Scott's idea," Gordon admitted. "I just used the scalpel to drill the holes."

"Has Virgil got his?"

"He was digging that latrine like it he was intending for it to be someone's grave, so I put his coconut down, told him it was there, and got out of there in case that someone was me."

John slurped down more of the refreshing liquid. "You know that there used to be a myth that coconut water was the same as human plasma?" he asked. "The theory was that it could be used as a blood substitute in an emergency transfusion. It's a fallacy, but it is sterile and has saved at least one life by being used as an intravenous drip."

"Well, if it ever needs to be done to me, I hope someone puts some rum with mine." Gordon downed the last of his coconut water. "I'm going to check on the viability of that creek. Can I use someone's tester?"

"Here." Pulling a thin tube out of a pocket, Alan handed it to him. "Use mine."

"Thanks. Once I've got our water supply sorted..." Gordon grinned, "...I'm going fishing." He disappeared out the hatch.

"Guess I'd better get back to work too," Alan groaned. "Catch you guys later."

"Sing out if you need a hand," John said.

Alan chuckled. That had been an automatic response. His brother's attention was already firmly on the components spread before him and if any of them had required assistance, Alan doubted that John would even hear the call.

To be continued...