Triple Jeopardy – Chapter 30

Treading softly, or at least as softly as it was possible to do when sloshing through sole-high water, Alan followed the line of the corridor. He passed door after door, but none of them gave a hint as to what they hid and, as his scanner told him that none of them were hiding anyone remotely human, he ignored them and kept on exploring.

Until one of those doors opened and someone stepped out.

At first Alan was shocked to be faced with a human when he'd thought that none were close by. Then he realised that this wasn't a human. This was an android. An android nurse.

Saint Michael's knew that they had been invaded by International Rescue.

"Alan?"

Surprised by the vocalisation of his name, Alan did a double take. "Nurse Michaela?"

"Angelique," the former 'Nurse T. Michaela' corrected. "I hope you're not here because one of your team has been injured."

Alan relaxed a smidgeon. "No, I'm here in a professional capacity… That's my profession, not yours."

"Oh, dear. It must be serious if International Rescue were called in."

"We rescued one of your patients from the fire."

"Fire?" Angelique frowned behind her surgical mask. "What fire? Saint Michael's has full firefighting facilities."

"I understand that it was in one of the hangars. And there were extenuating circumstances which necessitated International Rescue's involvement."

"I haven't heard anything. I was rostered on to start work now, as our next patient is due to arrive this evening. I am currently," Angelique's cheeks nudged as if she were giving a shy smile, "assisting in a refugee camp. I've taken your advice and I'm trying to do some good in the world. I still work for Saint Michael's, but only when my schedule suits."

Alan would have been happy for her, if he hadn't been wary about what Villallobona's presence meant. "You might want to return to your refugee camp," he warned. "Any way you can get word to your patient and their team and tell them to cancel their appointment?"

"Yes. But why?"

"Saint Michael's has been hit by pressure wave."

"Pressure wave?"

"The complex is collapsing and seems to be being inundated with water." Alan lifted his waterproof boot and water ran off it.

Angelique looked down at her android feet which hadn't registered the sensation of being wet. "Are there people still here?"

"You mean non-android people?" Alan glanced ceilingward at the ANTs that trundled above them. "Yes. But we've been told that we've airlifted out the only patient and their support team."

"Then who else would be here? There should be no humans on this island… aside from the patient and their 'support team'."

"There's the person who called International Rescue in, but we don't know who that was…"

"Perhaps it was Mitch Satin. He's the owner of Saint Michael's."

"Does he often visit here?"

"When we have a very important patient and he wants to impress them."

"It could be him, then," Alan conceded. "But we are also registering other life signs." He indicated his scanner. "Plus," he decided to bite the bullet in the hope that it would help her understand the gravity of the situation, "we do know that Generalar Villallobona and his henchmen are on site. He's the one who released the pressure wave."

"Generalar Villallobona? The dictator! But what does he want with Saint Michael's? He was only here the other week, having an ingrown toenail operated on." Angelique's hand went to where her mouth should have been. "I shouldn't have said that. I've breached patient confidentiality."

"I won't tell anyone," Alan promised.

"So you're trying to find the person who called you, whether or not it's Mr Satin?"

"Yes."

"How are you finding your way around?"

"Blindly. Every corridor looks like every other corridor. As you know."

"Let me guide you."

"Thanks for the offer," Alan smiled, "but even though you're not here, I am concerned that if he releases another pressure wave, that'll fry your systems somehow. There might be feedback to the real you and I don't want to see you get hurt."

"I appreciate your concern, Alan. In that case, maybe I can help in another way…" And Alan was startled when Nurse Michaela started undoing the fastenings of her hospital uniform's top. Pulling the material clear, she revealed a featureless, but shaped, torso. "Can you hold my blouse open?"

"Uh… Yeah…?"

-F-A-B-

John had traced the other corridor to a dead end. Not exactly a dead end, but one where he knew it was possible that he could end up dead if he didn't end his hunt here.

This was the one place in this maze that he recognised. The waiting room where he and his brothers had spent so many hours waiting to hear if Scott was going to live. And if this was the waiting room, then through those doors was the landing strip. And if that was the landing strip, then Generalar Villallobona was only metres away.

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, John retraced his steps, arriving back at the junction where he and Alan had gone their separate ways.

But there was no sign of Alan.

Typical kid brother. Never on time… But then John wondered. What if Alan had run into trouble? What if he hadn't run into trouble, but was trying to help the people they were tasked to rescue, and he was in desperate need of assistance?

Okay, Alan. I'm on my way.

-F-A-B-

Terrance Whitney ran for his life. Behind him, slightly bogged down by the ever-increasing water, he could hear the sounds of advancing security An-Staff. His own legs weighed down by the water soaking his trousers, he tripped and fell.

Black arms rained down on him. Some grabbed his clothes and pulled him back towards the androids that surrounded him. Others slapped him with flattened pads, designed to apply soothing creams. Screaming for help, he raised his arms in a futile attempt to protect himself.

But no one came to Terrance Whitney's aid…

-F-A-B-

John, hurrying without running, and whilst trying not to create too much wash as he waded through the halls, stopped in shock. His youngest brother was standing in the middle of an corridor, holding open the blouse of a shapely young nurse, and staring intently at her exposed chest. His "Alan!" came out almost unbidden.

Alan looked up. "Good, you're here. This is Angelique, the Nurse Michaela I told you about. Angelique, this is John."

The masked Angelique turned her head. "A pleasure to meet you, John."

"Uh… Likewise…?"

John watched as Alan's eyes turned back to what had been holding his attention. "I think I know what I'm looking at," the younger man admitted, "but I could be wrong… Come and tell me what you think, John. You've had more experience at this than I have."

"What?" The inbred manners of a gentleman, plus the knowledge that Grandma would kill him if he behaved disrespectfully to any woman, dictated that John wasn't about to take one step closer.

"Since there are two of you…" Angelique looked back at Alan. "Will you need one each?"

"Is that possible?" Alan bent in so he could examine her chest closer. "It would be great if we didn't have to share."

"I'll find John another nurse."

"I'm sure he'd appreciate that. Right, John?"

"Alan…" John boggled. "What…?" He nearly fell over when the nurse turned to point to a neighbouring door. Her clothing and synthetic skin fell from Alan's grasp, revealing the electronic wizardry that filled her chest cavity.

"Angelique said we can use hers to help us find our way through the complex," Alan explained as she approached the door. "But I need your help to decide which one it is."

John blinked, trying to reconcile what he'd believed and what he was seeing. "Which what?"

"Navigation chip."

The door swung open, revealing a shallow cupboard containing a single hominoid figure. The android's eyes were glassy and staring straight ahead.

Alan did a doubletake. "Isn't that Nurse T. Michel?"

Angelique, already pulling at the nurse's top, nodded. "When in the thoracic department."

"Good. This is something that I've wanted to do ever since I discovered that none of you were human, and there's no one I'd like to do it to more." Stepping up, Alan ripped the surgical mask from Nurse T. Michel's face.

An approximation of a nose and lower face that resembled a bald egg was revealed to all.

Angelique giggled. "I've wanted to do much worse." She held the android's skin open. "Which chip do you think it is?"

Alan looked across at his fellow International Rescue operative. "John?"

"There's no chance of electrocution?" John checked.

"No." Angelique shook her head. "Nurse Michel isn't due to be on duty until tomorrow. The android's totally powered down."

"Good." This time John felt comfortable stepping up and pulling the powerless nurse further out of the cupboard. "Let's put a bit of light on the subject," he said, switching on his torch. He bent closer, peering into the cavity that was Nurse T. Michel's chest.

Alan finally realised what had stunned his brother.

He managed to stifle his snigger.

-F-A-B-

"Thunderbird One to base."

"Go ahead, Scott."

"I've arrived at the island. Looks like they're having a picnic."

A picnic that included real sand in their sandwiches, Gordon decided – if they'd had sandwiches. He watched as the rocket plane descended into the only spare space big enough to accommodate her. Which happened to be the same place where she'd met an undignified end a month earlier.

Removing his oxygen mask, Scott climbed out of his seat and jumped down to the ground with a lot more ease than he had that previous visit. He walked across to the group, meeting Gordon halfway. "Everyone all right?"

"We were until you filled our drinks with dirt," Gordon grumbled, fishing into his mug.

Scott grinned, recognising the joke for what it was. "How're our victims? You all had a tough flight."

"I haven't heard all the details yet, but I thought it must have been. When I got to the flight deck, Virgil looked like a grizzly bear. You…" Gordon pretended to appraise his elder brother. "More like a panda." He chuckled. "Thunderbears are go."

"Huh?"

"You've got the same oxygen mask imprint that he had. But you've also got the black eyes to accessorise your outfit." Gordon indicated some slight bruising to the bridge of Scott's nose. "What happened to you?"

"Hit myself in the face when I went Mach 4…" Scott glanced over to the rest of the group. The non-International Rescue members were doing their best to not show an undue interest in their conversation. "Where's Virgil?"

"Gone to check on the oxyhydnite."

Scott nodded his understanding. After his and Virgil's first and almost catastrophic experiment with Brains' new cutting gas, they'd both slept for twelve hours afterwards as their bodies had recovered. In International Rescue parlance, I'm going to check the oxyhydnite had become a code for I'm going to have a nap.

"Where are John and Alan?"

Scott's face hardened. "Getting the remaining, non-Villallobona humans off Saint Michael's."

"Why aren't you keeping an eye on your brood?"

Scott bit back an instinctive retaliation over the 'mother hen' comment. "Villallobona's latest weapon. It was either go through what Two went through, or get out of there while I still could… We'd better get back to your picnic. They're wondering what we're talking about."

"I don't know what we're talking about," Gordon admitted, as they began a slow walk back to the group. "You'll have to give me the full rundown when Ms Heeron's on her flight out of here."

"Agreed…" Scott fixed the president of Erikeep with his most winning smile. "How are you, Ms Heeron?"

Having just witnessed the power of a genuine Thunderbird land metres away from her, Essmour Heeron was only just regaining her power of speech. "I… Uh… I am well. Thank you. Your associates have treated us well."

"Glad to hear it. I've been reliably informed that your transportation is an hour away, so you won't be trapped here for much longer." Scott turned back to Gordon. "I'll see how he's getting on."

Knowing exactly which 'he' Scott meant, Gordon nodded. "Let us know if he needs a hand."

With a cheerful wave to the group, Scott headed for Thunderbird Two.

He entered the great green ship and followed the well-known path to the pilot's quarters. Taking care not to make any more noise than necessary, he let himself into the room.

Virgil's clothes were draped over a chair; except for his sash, which had slipped free and was flopped messily over the equally haphazard yellow-rimmed boots.

Turning to the lower bunk on his left, Scott crouched down, so he was almost at his brother's eye level.

Virgil was sound asleep, his battle against his own craft as he'd tried to prevent them all from crashing and burning having completely overwhelmed him.

Scott decided that the best thing to do was leave him to it, but, just as he'd regained his footing, the younger man stirred.

Scott swiftly crouched down again. "Hey, Virg."

Brown eyes opened and slowly focussed on the blue ones inches away. "Scott?" Virgil sat up, swinging his legs around until he was sitting on the side of the bed.

"Take it easy." Scott laid a hand on his shoulder to prevent his younger brother from getting up before he was ready. "No rush. The president's plane's not arriving for an hour, so you won't be going anywhere before then."

Virgil ran his hand over his eyes. "How long have I been asleep for?"

"At a guess, half an hour?"

"Guess I'd better get out there and check on the president." Virgil stood. He'd no sooner reached the vertical when he appeared to lose his footing, toppling against the grey-hued wall.

"Hey!" Scott reached out to support him. "Careful!"

"'m all right." Having paled at the sudden onslaught to his balancing system and with his eyes shut as a defence against the spinning room, Virgil didn't look it.

"You'd better sit down." Scott guided his brother back onto the edge of the bed. "Don't try to stand again until you're ready."

"What's going on?"

Gordon entering the pilot's quarters hadn't even registered on Scott's fraternal radar, and the elder looked up at his younger brother. "He overbalanced when he stood up."

Gordon frowned. "He was a bit unsteady when we landed, and he let me help him walk to the cockpit door, but he'd come right by the time we got to the sickbay. And Brains did a saliva test on him and that didn't show anything untoward."

"Even so…" Scott crouched down, so he was at Virgil's eye level – if his brother's eyes weren't still tightly shut. "Virg… I know you're not going to want to hear this, but if Brains gets her airborne today, I think it would be better if Gordon piloted Two home…" He placed a consoling hand on the seated man's shoulder. "Okay?"

"I'll go easy on her," Gordon promised. "No swimming in the Pacific."

"Don't…" Scott growled over his shoulder. "You don't know how close you came to doing that for real."

"What happened?"

"Generalar Villallobona's latest weapon happened."

During this exchange, Virgil hadn't offer up any words of complaint, nor opened his eyes; but now he spoke. "When Ms Heeron's gone, can you ask Brains if he'd mind seeing what repairs need to be done to Thunderbird Two…?"

"Virgil?"

"I'll help as soon as I can…"

"What…?"

"…but I've got a bit of a headache at the moment. So, if it's a quick fix, maybe Gordon had better pilot her home."

Startled Scott and Gordon glanced at each other.

"Virg…?" Scott squeezed the shoulder beneath his hand and hoped the sudden attack of nerves he'd felt weren't transmitted down his arm. "Can you hear me?"

Virgil opened his eyes. He frowned up at Gordon. "How long have you been there?"

"Uh… Coupla minutes?"

Virgil frowned. "What?"

"President Heeron wanted me to ask you if she could thank you personally…"

The frown deepened.

"That's if you're feeling up to it."

"Will you stop whispering!"

"I…" Gordon raised his voice. "I wasn't whispering, Virgil."

Now it was Virgil's turn to look startled. "You weren't?" He looked to Scott for clarification.

The elder shook his head. "Gordon wasn't." He looked over his shoulder. "I thought you said he was all right."

"I thought he was. We had a normal conversation when we were on the flight deck…" Gordon bit his lip as he remembered what had been said. "At least I thought it was normal… But then, thinking back, I asked him the things that any of us would say in that situation. How are you? Why are we on this island? type things." Gordon ran his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Scott… Sorry, Virgil."

"Huh?"

Scott directed a reassuring smile at Virgil, but spoke to Gordon. "It's not your fault. I didn't notice any problems with communications when he was trying to land Two, so he must be able to hear some things."

"That explains why he'd turned the volume of the radio up so high. But how much can he hear?"

Virgil had been following the pair of them as if they were volleying a ball between them at a tennis match. "Speak up!" he snapped, clenching his fists in frustration. "I can't hear you!"

"Sorry, Virgil." Scott apologised at an increased volume. "Can you hear me now?"

"Yes?" Virgil didn't sound like he was quite sure.

"I'll go and get Brains." Gordon slipped out the door.

Scott didn't react. "What are you hearing?"

"You."

"I want to know how much you can hear, Virg, so I'm going to say something, and I want you to repeat it."

"You want me to repeat what you say."

"Yes. Say…" Thinking quickly, Scott came up with a sentence that he figured no one could guess. "Say: The Flight of the Bumblebee is Mozart's greatest composition."

"Mozart didn't write the Flight of the Bumblebee. Rimsky-Korsakov did."

Despite his worries, Scott chuckled. "Spot on."

"Has Gordon gone to get Brains?"

Figuring that it was easier than shouting, Scott nodded.

"I can hear some things. They're just a bit fuzzy. If I concentrate, I know what you're saying."

"Good. Just sit tight. Brains will be here in a minute…"

Gordon had run through the aeroplane, but he stopped when reached the hatch that connected the corridor with the tropical island. Taking a deep breath to get his breathing and emotions under control, he stepped outside and sauntered over International Rescue's engineer. "They've found a fault in the oxyhydnite," he announced, and managed to ignore Tin-Tin's sudden expression of concern. "They need your assistance."

If Brains had had an eighth of his intellect he did, he would have understood what Gordon was trying to tell him. What he found tricky was trying to remain nonchalant about what he was being told. He decided that the best way was to not say anything. After a nod of acknowledgment, he retraced Gordon's steps.

Knowing that it would be suspicious if four out of the five International Rescue's operatives deserted the president of Erikeep, even though that was precisely want he needed to do, Gordon claimed a seat and treated Tin-Tin to a reassuring wink. "Have I missed any juicy gossip?"

-F-A-B-

Scott was relieved when Virgil looked towards the door when it swished open. "Did you hear that?"

"I heard something. I wasn't sure what."

Brains placed his bag on the seat next to the patient. "What's the problem?"

Scott indicated that Virgil should tell him.

"That pressure wave affected my hearing."

"And his balance," Scott added.

"Th-That is understandable."

Virgil frowned.

"You're going to have to speak up, Brains," Scott told his friend, demonstrating the optimum volume. "He can hear you; just not very well."

Desperate to show that this was the case, Virgil nodded. "That's right."

Brains attempted to make the appropriate vocal adjustment. "Any - dizziness - when - you - are - sit-ting?" he enunciated.

"Not when I've given my head a chance to come right."

Brains made a note on his computer. "What - happens - when you - stand?"

"The world kind of spins and I follow it, until it settles down."

"Do you have - a headache?"

"Yes."

"Any other - discomfort?"

"No."

"This is fortunate... There is a theory that if a sound is loud enough, it could create a pulmonary embolism, which is potentially fatal."

"Huh?"

Brains raised his voice. "Don't worry, V-Virgil. I was only theorising."

Scott shifted uneasily. "Just as well that was only a theory, otherwise you'd all be dead."

Brains didn't comment. He'd make a point of learning about what had happened during the flight later. Like most things in his life, it was valuable research.

He made sure Virgil could hear him. "Does your head spin when you lie down?"

"I've only lain down once, when I came in here to recharge my batteries… But, yes."

The door opened again and a seemingly autonomous cannister rolled into the room. It turned towards its master, Brains, and waited further instructions.

"I'll get out of your way," Scott offered, stepping backwards until he was able to sit on one of the other beds and watch over proceedings.

Brains made a swift and thorough examination, apologising when Virgil complained that the otoscope was cold.

Finally, once everything had been replaced back in the cannister and it had been sent it on his way, International Rescue's medical man gave his prognosis. "I don't believe there is long term damage, Virgil."

Virgil tried not to look too relieved.

"I-I think that the best remedy is for you to get some more rest."

Virgil accepted the prescription reluctantly. "Will you check Thunderbird Two? The vertical and horizontal jets weren't working, and I've probably burned out her VTOLs. If I can, I'll help with repairs."

"You'll rest," Scott growled.

"D-Don't worry, Virgil. I haven't had the chance to check her flight data nor run diagnostics on her, but I am, ah, hopeful that the theory that I have about what happened to Thunderbird Two means that she will be able to be fixed easily and without your assistance."

"You can double-check that she's A-OK when we're all back at base," Scott offered, knowing full well that his brother was as concerned about his aeroplane's flightworthiness as his own health.

Accepting this compromise, Virgil looked at Brains. "Now what?"

"Now you try to get more sleep."

"What about President Heeron?"

"Erikeep are sending a helijet to collect her and we'll make your apologies on your behalf," Scott told him.

"Gordon said she wanted to see me."

"T-The problem with the oxyhydnite is t-taking more of Thunderbird Two's pilot's time than expected," Brains told him. "You are unable to, ah, take time out of your work, as we need to ensure that she's flightworthy for International Rescue's next call out."

Virgil nodded his acceptance and allowed his brother to assist him back under the blankets. He lay down slowly, relieved that his head didn't appear to be spinning quite so much. "Let me know if you need my help."

Scott grinned. "Pleasant dreams."

Virgil was asleep before they were out the door.

But once they were through, Scott stopped walking. "I think Father's worrying about nothing, Brains, but I'm under instructions that you're to check me over too."

"Check you over?" Brains was intrigued. "Wh-Why?"

"I had to go Mach 4 to get away from Villallobona's weapon. It kinda took my breath away."

Brains nodded his understanding. "Let's go to the, ah, sickbay. No one need know about this."

"Except Father."

Brains nodded again. "I will send your father a report to reassure him that he has nothing to worry about." He looked back at the pilot's quarters. "About either of you."

"Thanks, Brains."

-F-A-B-

Lady Penelope had thought that she'd found the only way that she, Terrance Whitney, and the stretcher-bound Mitch Satin could escape. There was only one problem.

She turned into the thoracic department and felt her heart, maybe not fall, but drop a millimetre.

She had hoped that they could escape, with International Rescue's help, through the hole that had evacuated President Heeron. But two pressure wave explosions had put paid to that idea. The whole department had collapsed into a pile of rubble which was blocking off any hope of exit.

Time to retrace her steps.

-F-A-B-

He was alive. Ignored by the An-Staff that trundled endlessly along the ceiling and had barely noticed the commotion beneath them, but still alive.

At some point the security An-Staff had decided that he wasn't worth wasting time on. After a burbled conversation between them, they'd left him a bruised, and sodden mess on the floor and went on a hunt for other "hew-man" intruders.

Why had his life taken such a bad turn? He'd always been lucky up till he'd accepted Villallobona's invitation to an interview. His intellect was such that he could turn any situation to his advantage. It was a skill that he'd honed at a young age, manipulating his parents so that he was always their shining star and his younger brother the family whipping boy.

But now it was Terrance Whitney who'd been whipped.

A single phrase reverberated through his brain: "Be aware that from now on your life will never be your own."

Who'd said that to him? Someone who'd had a better understanding of the world he now inhabited than he'd had.

Groaning, not caring if anyone heard him, he rolled onto his knees; which ached from the bruises the An-Staff had inflicted on them.

Maybe he should crawl back to that office? At least it was comfortable, he could order ice for his wounds from the kitchen, and he would be well away from maniacal androids. He just had to find his way there.

His hands shaking, he pulled the map from his pocket and unfurled it.

It was broken. Smashed in the android attack.

Devastated, he collapsed back onto the soaking lino, and stifled a sob. He couldn't even remember which way he'd run from his attackers before they'd caught him.

Huge hands clamped down on his arms and he was pulled to his feet. He found himself eye to eye with one of Villallobona's vicious thugs.

The thug grinned. "Looks like we found the Generalar's pet."

There was a mirthless chuckle from behind him, and Whitney didn't need to look back to know that it was another thug, probably the twin of the first. Suddenly the mystery pseudo-nurse seemed like an old friend.

"We're gonna get in the Generalar's good books from bringin' im back," the first thug continued.

"Might just cheer him up a little," the one behind sneered. "He ain't had a good day since he shot at that Thunderbird." He guffawed.

Whitney felt his knees grow weak.

-F-A-B-

With Nurse T. Michel's chip firmly implanted into John's navigation device, he turned to the other nurse. "Thanks for your help, Angelique, but you're going to have to power down before we take yours."

She gave a nod of understanding. "I will tell my associates to stay well away from Saint Michael's until we hear from Mr Satin. And may I both give you a word of warning?"

It was Alan who accepted her offer. "Anything to make this job safer."

"I'm receiving reports from the An-Staff. Some of the security androids' programming has been corrupted and they have gone rogue."

"Gone rogue?"

"They're protecting Saint Michael's from everyone they meet, no matter who that person is."

"So keep out of their way?"

"Yes… The nursing An-Staff are caught in an endless loop," Angelique glanced upwards at the ever-trundling ANTs. "They'll just keep driving around and around until they run out of power and lose their grip on the adhesion system."

"Thanks. Anything else we should know?"

"Not that I know of. I wish I could help you more."

"We really appreciate all you have done," Alan told her. "Maybe someday, when neither of us are at work, we'll be able to meet someplace for a coffee?"

Angelique's cheeks nudged as if she were smiling. "I would enjoy that. Goodbye, Alan."

"Bye, Angelique…"

Both men saw her eyes glaze over.

"That's creepy…" Alan hesitated before reaching out to her circuitry. "Has she powered down?"

John wasn't as reticent. With a "Yep," and quick, efficient movements, he removed the nurse's navigation chip and slipped it into Alan's navigator. "Let's put her back into the closet before someone realises that she's been tampered with."

It took the pair of them a little under two seconds to secrete Nurse T Michel back into the storage cupboard.

Holding his Saint Michael's holographic map before him, and comparing it to International Rescue's victim locator, John made an unwelcome discovery. "Someone's coming!" he hissed.

"Who?"

"How should I know?"

"May be Villallobona. We should hide."

"Where?"

"With a nurse!" Alan pushed John towards Nurse T. Michel's charging station before squeezing himself into Angelique's. It felt odd to be sharing such a cramped space with something that felt human, yet exuded no warmth.

Come to that, it felt odd to be sharing such a cramped space with anyone so long after his college years.

He barely had time to analyse the sensation when the door was flung open and light from the corridor streamed into his cell…

-F-A-B-

"Generalar Villallobona!" one of Whitney's captors announced. "We have him."

Saint Michael's exterior was in even more of a mess than its interior, but Terrance Whitney didn't notice. All he saw were the cruel, hard eyes and broken beak of a nose that were thrust into his face. All he could smell was Villallobona's hideous breath.

Whitney had no doubt that the thugs who held him could feel his shaking, nor that Villallobona could see and hear his teeth chattering.

"Look what you've done!" The sweeping arm indicated the destruction around them, but Whitney wasn't sure if this was a shout of admonition or affirmation.

The Generalar Wass seemed impossibly close to shore. That, Whitney was sure, wasn't his fault. As for the rest… that was debateable. He hadn't decided to fire on a Thunderbird. He hadn't pushed the button at close range and multiple times. He hadn't…

"This is your fault!"

Maybe it was… In Villallobona's eyes.

"Get him onboard the Generalar Wass!"

"Ah…" Suddenly, the thugs seemed unsure of themselves. "Of course, Generalar Villallobona. Wh-When the, erm, bridge is completed."

"Bridge!?" Villallobona spun about.

By peering past the dictator's muscular arm, Whitney could see a crew of thugs, trying to build something that would allow them all to board the moored ship. The fools appeared to be failing. If they would only get some more…

No. If they got "some more…" they would bundle him onto the Generalar Wass and then his fate, whatever it was, was sealed.

Clearly annoyed by the lack of progress, Villallobona glared at his henchmen. "Lock Whitney away somewhere where he can't escape again, and then come back and help build the gangway."

Two more clueless thugs getting in the way of all the other clueless thugs as they tried to build a gangway was a recipe for disaster.

Terrance Whitney only just had time to process this thought before he was dragged, bruises protesting, back into the building and locked behind a stout, tight-fitting door…

To be continued…