Chapter 97.
This chapter is dedicated to the amazing WillowDragonCat (a.k.a Mrs Space Bagel), whose Opposites Attract story was one of the main inspirations behind me embarking on this 97(?!) chapter journey. Her friendship and support mean the world to me.
-x-
Upon exiting their rooms thirty minutes later, John, Gordon, and Alan were surprised to find the den empty and Thunderbird One missing from the hanger.
Well, the den being empty was a slight exaggeration. Virgil was there. On the floor. Flat on his face.
"You okay, big fella?" Gordon quizzed, kneeling down next to the conked out chonk and poking him experimentally in the shoulder, "Anyone home?"
No answer.
"Must be asleep," Gordon mused, slightly confused as to why his brother had chosen to take a nap on the floor of all places, "Or dead. Either one suits me."
John's eyes widened incredulously, "You can't seriously mean that."
The aquanaut gave a semi-sheepish shrug, "Means I could inherit Thunderbird Two and finally start driving myself places. I feel like the only one who hasn't got his license some days. Having to ask for lifts sucks big time."
A pair of turquoise eyes squinted in suspicion, their owner making a mental note to remind Virgil to double check Two's launch chute for any nasty surprises that might aid Gordon in his quest for vehicular independence.
Speaking of Two…
"We can catch up with them if we leave now!" Alan declared, already halfway to the hanger stairwell, "C'mon guys!"
Gordon gestured helplessly at the boneless heap that was Virgil, "I don't think it's a good idea to leave him unattended at the moment. Johnny, can you run a quick med scan to check he hasn't passed out? The floor's not exactly the comfiest spot for a snooze."
The redhead activated his comm gauntlet and obediently began to scan the engineer's frame, his face frozen in concentration. After completing a cursory screening, he attempted to upload his brother's stats into the holotable, only to realise that the scuffle between Uno and Dos had rendered it inoperable.
One irritated sigh and a couple of finger swipes later, and the data was being transferred to EOS's main processor onboard Thunderbird Five. The AI would make shorter work of transcribing and translating it anyway…
"Pulse, body temperature, blood pressure and respiratory rate are all within normal parameters," EOS assured, "Although I am detecting traces of a commercially available muscle relaxant in his bloodstream. The brand name is Skelaxin and the compound is called Metaxalone, an aromatic ether with centrally-acting skeletal muscle relaxant properties. Would you like to review the structural formula?"
John sighed and shook his head. On his left, Gordon was attempting to mentally chomp his way through the list of scientific words EOS had just uttered, a straining expression on his face that could have quite easily been mistaken for a bad bout of constipation.
"So Scott drugged him?" John asked, dragging a hand through his hair, "Why am I not surprised…how long until the effects wear off?"
"Peak plasma concentration is achieved one hour after an intravenous dose," EOS confirmed, "The intel you provided indicates that administration occurred thirty one minutes ago. Side-effects are minimal, but can include drowsiness, dizziness, headaches and anxiety. I would advise against leaving him unattended until I've deciphered what the other compounds in his blood are. Metaxalone is the only one I've been able to accurately identify so far."
John groaned into his hand, "You mean it's not a straightforward sedative?"
"Oh, goodness no," EOS replied, "I'm detecting traces of at least three other chemicals. Unidentified, but combined with each other their soporific qualities are greatly enhanced. GDF records show that they've got something just like this on file at one of their laboratories in New York. It's a highly classified drug that's used to subdue hysteria in humans who require urgent medical intervention, usually in the wake of traumatic accidents. I reckon Virgil would benefit from having a stockpile onboard the med bay in Thunderbird Two."
"Guys!" Alan whined, gesturing at the hanger stairwell in a feeble attempt to make it look enticing, "We don't have time for this! Let's gear up and get going!"
"Hold your horses," John sighed, reluctantly embracing his role as the oldest remaining brother who was fully conscious, "We'll need to bring Virgil with us. You heard EOS, we can't leave him unattended until we know exactly what we're dealing with. Grandma isn't around to keep an eye on him and Brains doesn't have any medical training."
Gordon cast Alan a 'duh' look, before bending down and looping one of the engineer's arms around his shoulders, "Upsy-daisy, bro! Gyah! Geez, you weigh the same as a baby rhino. John? A little help, if you would!"
The next fifteen minutes passed in a haze of highly charged frustration as Alan waited patiently (fine, impatiently) for Gordon and John to maneuverer a limp Virgil down two flights of stairs to Thunderbird Two's hanger. After strapping the engineer in (with some difficulty), John jumped into the pilot's seat, discarded the option to select a module from the conveyor belt, and began to taxi down the palm-lined runway.
"Your impatience won't make me go any quicker," the redhead sniped, glaring as Alan bounced impatiently in his seat, "For crying out loud, put your heckin' safety belt on!"
Gordon sniggered as Alan dramatically did as ordered.
"There, happy?" the youngest snapped, crossing his arms and checking the time on his phone. Scott and Kayo had left nearly an hour ago, which would mean they'd no doubt be on French soil already. Meanwhile, his stupid carrot of a brother hadn't even gotten Thunderbird Two airborne yet…
"Systems check complete," John muttered, tapping some buttons on the dash and flicking a couples of switches above his head. Despite being fully trained to pilot all of his brother's crafts, he was always a tad nervous when faced with the prospect of flying something that was vulnerable to the effects of gravity.
"Uh, Johnny?" Gordon leant forward and tapped his older brother on the shoulder before gesturing towards Virgil, "I think we may have a small problem."
A hiss of exasperation escaped through the redhead's brace-enhanced teeth as he unbuckled his own safety belt and swivelled to inspect Gordon's claim.
Virgil was sat in the same seat they'd originally deposited him in, but was slouched over in a manner similar to that of a marionette with slack strings. Closer inspection revealed that the engineer was semi-conscious, but appeared to have zero control over his posture. The medic in John warned him that this would spell bad news in the event of an emergency landing.
"Virgil, can you hear me?" the redhead questioned, tapping the edge of his brother's tragus to gauge his twitch reaction. The only response he got was a trail of drool oozing out the side of the engineer's mouth.
Gordon wrinkled his nose in disgust, "Nasty. And I thought Alan was the only one who dribbled in his sleep. What should we do with him?"
Celery clamped her tail and scurried behind the vacant pilot's seat for cover as John began to loudly fossick through one of Two's many storage lockers, his eyes narrowing when he realised that Gordon had managed to stow the little mutt on board without his knowledge.
"Tie him up with these," the redhead instructed, handing his fish brother a couple of canvas straps that were usually used to secure cargo, "Make sure he's as upright as possible, but don't secure them too tightly. We don't want to compromise his breathing."
"F.A.B," Gordon replied, gleefully commencing his task of trussing Virgil up like a turkey. Thirty seconds later, and the engineer looked as if he'd been taken hostage. All Gordon needed was a spotlight to shine in his face and a pipe to smoke and the scene would be set.
"Scott's not answering his phone," Alan lamented, gnawing anxiously on his bottom lip, "What if they've left by the time we get there? Oh man, this couldn't be going worse…"
Gordon rolled his eyes and gingerly dabbed at Virgil's face with a tissue, "Relax, bro. We'll get your girlfriend back and make ol' Speedy pay for his treachery in the process. Have you ever been to Paris? The chefs there take forever to prepare food, and I mean forever. I got a last-minute reservation at the Eiffel Tower's main restaurant after rescuing a drowning kid from the Seine last year, and I swear the wait time between dishes was about nine hours. I was fresh and youthful when I went in. By the time they were finished with me, I had five grey hairs and a loose incisor."
John shook his head as the launch ramp elevated Two to the angle required for take-off, "We'll find them Alan, don't worry. I don't think any of us are finished with Scott quite yet."
Two seats back, Virgil slurred something that sounded agreeable.
-x-
Scott rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that hour.
He'd anticipated that Thunderbird One would draw some attention when he set her down on the Parc du Champ-de-Mars after receiving priority clearance from the French Armed Forces. What he hadn't anticipated was the tourist-like frenzy that had consumed Kayo the second she'd hopped down from the cockpit.
There had been pictures. Hundreds and hundreds of pictures. Portrait shots of impressive looking buildings, black and white filtered snaps of the Seine, and selfies…upon selfies…upon selfies.
"Just one more!" Kayo pleaded, her newfound excitement and enthusiasm unnerving Scott slightly, "Let's get one with the Eiffel Tower as the backdrop."
Scott obediently struck the required pose and waited until Kayo's phone clicked affirmatively. One apparently wasn't enough, because in no time she'd snagged an unsuspecting passer-by and asked them (in rather broken French) to take a couple of full-bodied shots of her and Scott together.
The eldest Tracy had always felt at ease in front of cameras and had been described as 'acutely photogenic' by several international reporters. His brothers refrained from making such compliments, no doubt out of jealousy over their own photographic records. Virgil had a habit of blinking at precisely the wrong moment and Alan suffered terribly with the red-eye effect. John was too shy to feature willingly in anything other than his passport photo, and Gordon was a chronic photobomber.
After getting the desired photos and thanking their new acquaintance (who happened to be a big Thunderbird One fan), Scott and Kayo began to make their way towards the restaurant where they had their reservation. Kayo seemed to have left her tough persona behind and was shamelessly allowing herself to get swept up in the romance of Paris, her expression sappy and gleeful as she practically skipped along the pavement, her right arm linked with Scott's left one.
Upon reaching their destination, Scott allowed himself a small puff of relief. Aside from the occasional curious murmur and a couple of candid photos, he and Kayo hadn't drawn too much attention to themselves. Their casual attires helped, but they both knew that half the city flocking to gape and gawp at Thunderbird One was the main contributor.
Scott had made it explicitly clear to his contact who'd made the booking that he wanted (no, needed) a table in an alcove with a good view of the door. The former to protect him and Kayo from unsolicited paparazzi shots. The latter to give him at least fifteen seconds warning if his brothers rocked up.
"Relax," Kayo soothed, blinking as Scott uncorked the three figure bottle of wine on the table and downed half the contents in five seconds flat, "I checked and this place is booked solid for the next three months. No way are they getting in here without a reservation."
Scott grunted and, like a baby drinking from a bottle, took another long swig of wine.
"We'll see."
