Confrontation
We landed and I finally unhooked my fingers from the edge of the seat and massaged them to relieve the cramp.
Gordon noticed my actions. "Is Virgil's flying really that bad?" he asked in a stage whisper.
Virgil heard him, as he was meant to. "How about a little job, Gordon?"
Gordon sounded wary. "Doing what?"
"It must be pretty unpleasant in the passenger hold. Why don't you go give it a bit of a clean?" Virgil was grinning as if he'd scored a point.
Gordon screwed up his face. "I guess I don't have any option."
"Not unless you've got the skills to strap on a jet pack and repair Two's tail."
"Okay." Gordon conceded. "I'll raid the larder first and see if I can scare up anything to feed the hungry masses."
"I've seen that lot eat," I warned him. "Just make sure you get clear before you let them know food's available."
"They won't like what we've got anyway." Gordon said. "We're not set up to cater for more than fifty."
"And all we have are energy bars," Virgil added. "Can't supply salmon and caviar."
I caught up with Trixie outside. "How're you?" I asked.
"Oh 1! There you are." She sounded as perky as ever. "Where ever did they put you? I was quite worried."
"Oh they managed to squeeze me into a corner of the hold." I lied.
There was a hillock a short way away and a group of us climbed it.
People all around were talking ninety to the dozen.
"It's great to be on land again."
"I'm just glad to finally get some fresh air."
"I don't know why they couldn't have taken us straight to Anderson City."
"I think the damage must be worse than they let on."
"I'll sue the Gold Star Line for the loss of my clothes and jewels."
"Look!" Someone had turned back and seen Thunderbird Two. "It's huge!"
"That storm must have been really something to damage a plane that size."
I spoke without thinking. "The rain was so heavy, you couldn't see outside."
I was aware that everyone was looking at me and wished I could find a hole to crawl into.
"You were on the flight deck." A man said.
I became defensive. "No I wasn't!"
"But that's the only part of the craft with windows!" The man pointed towards Thunderbird Two.
He was right.
"I - ah - I had a video monitor to watch." I said lamely. I don't think anyone believed me.
I settled down to watch what was going on, hoping to distance myself from the stares I was receiving.
Gordon was moving everyone away from the hull of Thunderbird Two. Then to my immense surprise the whole body of the craft seemed to rise up in the air. I soon realised that Thunderbird Two's exterior had risen up on some kind of stilts, leaving the body on the ground. A flap opened up at the rear of the plane and formed a ramp downwards. Out trundled some kind of machine towing what appeared to be one of Thunderbird Two's panels. When the towing machine was clear Virgil hopped out (it was then I realised that his sash was yellow) and climbed the ramp, which subsequently closed. The stilts retracted and Thunderbird Two's hull sank towards the ground.
So enthralled by this scene were we that we almost missed the arrival of another craft.
"Oh wow!" someone ejaculated.
It was a silver rocket plane, smaller than Thunderbird Two but with the words Thunderbird One stencilled on the side. Legs extended and it gracefully landed behind us, red nose cone pointing towards its' sister ship.
"I don't believe this." Someone said. "Thunderbird's One and Two. I must be dreaming!"
"I'm going to get a photo." Another man said and started searching his pockets.
"You can't do that!" a lady told him. "International Rescue asked us not to!"
"I'm not going to sell it!" he told her scornfully. "I just want a record for myself.
He found himself the victim of a barrage of complaints and accusations, all of which he ignored. It was clear he meant to get his photos.
I couldn't sit by and let him take them. "Stop" I cried. But he took no more notice of me than of any of the others.
He finished retrieving his camera and gave it a quick check. As he raised it to his eye I did the only thing I could do. I quickly rose and stood between him and the plane.
"Hey!" He snarled. "What's the big idea?"
"I'm not going to let you take a photo!" I told him trying to keep calm.
"Get out of my way." He ordered.
"No!" I could feel my heart pounding.
He stood up. He was a big man. "You think that just because they let you ride on the flight deck you're a member of International Rescue. Is that it?"
"I wasn't on the flight deck." I lied miserably.
"Get out of my way!" he said quietly, but with menace. "I'm going to get my photo."
"No!" I repeated and held my breath.
"What's going on?" A voice, that seemed slightly familiar, intruded into our argument.
We all looked at the newcomer. He was clad in the distinctive International Rescue uniform except his sash and trim were pale blue. Black hair framed his face and his blue eyes were fixed on the man and his camera. "I'm sure that you were told that we don't allow photographs."
I recognised the voice. So this was Scott.
"I-I only want one for my album." The man, so big, brash and defiant before, was now on the back foot.
"I'm sorry, but I can't even allow that. If your photo were to get into the wrong hands, not only International Rescue's future could be jeopardised, but, as I'm sure you've heard, world security could be compromised." Scott's voice was calm and quiet and just as threatening towards the man with the camera, as his had been towards me.
The man offered a quiet apology and thrust the offending camera back into his pocket.
"Thank you." Said Scott pointedly. "And thank you for coming to our defence." He told me with a smile.
"Ah, um. That's okay."
He continued on down the hill towards his colleagues.
A kind of awkward silence settled on our group, and I contented myself by watching the International Rescue men.
Scott, Gordon and Virgil were in a huddle. I could imagine Scott telling the others about our little contretemps. In fact as I thought this all three looked in our direction. "Oh", I could imagine Gordon or Virgil saying. "That's 1." I reddened at the thought.
Discussion over, the three of them settled down to work. Gordon headed inside Thunderbird Two, I guessed to clean out the passenger hold. Scott remained outside to help Virgil, who was donning a protective overall. He hefted some sort of pack arrangement onto his back, ensuring that it was strapped on tightly. Scott handed him what appeared to be a length of rope and stepped back.
The next thing I knew there was a flash of light and Virgil lifted off into the air. Upwards he went, trailing the 'rope' behind him. When he came level with the cross piece of the tail section he changed direction until he was able to stand on it. Then he switched off the jet pack. He inspected the damaged section before setting down to work with what appeared to be a cutting laser. In the meantime Scott busied himself with attaching the new panel to the rope.
I realised that I was getting a quiet thrill from being able to name these men. To everyone else they were members of International Rescue. The man with the orange, or yellow, or blue sash. To me it was Gordon, or Virgil, or Scott.
Virgil had finished his cutting. The new panel was being raised to the tail at the same time as the damaged one, acting as a counterweight, was being lowered.
As the old panel swung around I could clearly see the sky beyond, through a gaping hole. The new panel reached its' destination and Virgil wasted no time in fixing it into position.
The sun was starting to set when he finished his task and, aided by his jet pack, flew back down to earth.
The three International Rescue men consulted again briefly before Scott headed back to Thunderbird One, avoiding our group on the hill. Virgil re-entered Thunderbird Two and Gordon climbed into the towing machine. Once again Thunderbird Two rose up on its' stilts, the ramp opened, and Gordon drove the towing machine inside.
As soon as the bulk of Thunderbird Two had settled into place a voice, Gordon's, was heard from loud speakers. "Would everyone please proceed to the entrance?"
I hung back as the others boarded. Then I saw Virgil walking past. "Um. If you'd rather I travelled somewhere else, I'd understand."
He hesitated. "No 1. Thanks but you're safer with us. Besides," he winked and I was struck by a similarity between him and Gordon, "you're already a security hazard and we'll want to keep an eye on you."
I was the last to board, and was aware of a number of people staring at me. It made me feel uncomfortable, but I didn't mention it to Gordon.
He followed me onto the flight deck, smelling strongly of disinfectant. "We've got a machine for cleaning out that room," he explained, "but there's only so much it can do!"
Gordon was ensuring that, once again, I was safely strapped in, when Scott made communication with Virgil.
"I'll follow you back to Anderson City." He was saying.
"Just in case anything falls off?" Virgil joked. At least I hoped it was a joke. He allayed my fears by continuing on. "I think we'll be fine, Scott. The diagnostics check out and I'm satisfied with the repair job."
"Okay Virgil, but I'll still keep within visual contact. I'm lifting off now." A moment later the hull of Thunderbird One, now coloured bright orange in the setting sun, swung briefly into view through the windows.
Virgil activated the onboard intercom. "We will be lifting off in one minute." He warned his passengers. He then turned back to us, a smile on his face. "All set for the final leg?"
"Yep." I said.
"F.A.B." said Gordon. I assumed that this meant 'affirmative' as Virgil settle back into his seat and switched on Thunderbird Two's great engines.
We landed and I finally unhooked my fingers from the edge of the seat and massaged them to relieve the cramp.
Gordon noticed my actions. "Is Virgil's flying really that bad?" he asked in a stage whisper.
Virgil heard him, as he was meant to. "How about a little job, Gordon?"
Gordon sounded wary. "Doing what?"
"It must be pretty unpleasant in the passenger hold. Why don't you go give it a bit of a clean?" Virgil was grinning as if he'd scored a point.
Gordon screwed up his face. "I guess I don't have any option."
"Not unless you've got the skills to strap on a jet pack and repair Two's tail."
"Okay." Gordon conceded. "I'll raid the larder first and see if I can scare up anything to feed the hungry masses."
"I've seen that lot eat," I warned him. "Just make sure you get clear before you let them know food's available."
"They won't like what we've got anyway." Gordon said. "We're not set up to cater for more than fifty."
"And all we have are energy bars," Virgil added. "Can't supply salmon and caviar."
I caught up with Trixie outside. "How're you?" I asked.
"Oh 1! There you are." She sounded as perky as ever. "Where ever did they put you? I was quite worried."
"Oh they managed to squeeze me into a corner of the hold." I lied.
There was a hillock a short way away and a group of us climbed it.
People all around were talking ninety to the dozen.
"It's great to be on land again."
"I'm just glad to finally get some fresh air."
"I don't know why they couldn't have taken us straight to Anderson City."
"I think the damage must be worse than they let on."
"I'll sue the Gold Star Line for the loss of my clothes and jewels."
"Look!" Someone had turned back and seen Thunderbird Two. "It's huge!"
"That storm must have been really something to damage a plane that size."
I spoke without thinking. "The rain was so heavy, you couldn't see outside."
I was aware that everyone was looking at me and wished I could find a hole to crawl into.
"You were on the flight deck." A man said.
I became defensive. "No I wasn't!"
"But that's the only part of the craft with windows!" The man pointed towards Thunderbird Two.
He was right.
"I - ah - I had a video monitor to watch." I said lamely. I don't think anyone believed me.
I settled down to watch what was going on, hoping to distance myself from the stares I was receiving.
Gordon was moving everyone away from the hull of Thunderbird Two. Then to my immense surprise the whole body of the craft seemed to rise up in the air. I soon realised that Thunderbird Two's exterior had risen up on some kind of stilts, leaving the body on the ground. A flap opened up at the rear of the plane and formed a ramp downwards. Out trundled some kind of machine towing what appeared to be one of Thunderbird Two's panels. When the towing machine was clear Virgil hopped out (it was then I realised that his sash was yellow) and climbed the ramp, which subsequently closed. The stilts retracted and Thunderbird Two's hull sank towards the ground.
So enthralled by this scene were we that we almost missed the arrival of another craft.
"Oh wow!" someone ejaculated.
It was a silver rocket plane, smaller than Thunderbird Two but with the words Thunderbird One stencilled on the side. Legs extended and it gracefully landed behind us, red nose cone pointing towards its' sister ship.
"I don't believe this." Someone said. "Thunderbird's One and Two. I must be dreaming!"
"I'm going to get a photo." Another man said and started searching his pockets.
"You can't do that!" a lady told him. "International Rescue asked us not to!"
"I'm not going to sell it!" he told her scornfully. "I just want a record for myself.
He found himself the victim of a barrage of complaints and accusations, all of which he ignored. It was clear he meant to get his photos.
I couldn't sit by and let him take them. "Stop" I cried. But he took no more notice of me than of any of the others.
He finished retrieving his camera and gave it a quick check. As he raised it to his eye I did the only thing I could do. I quickly rose and stood between him and the plane.
"Hey!" He snarled. "What's the big idea?"
"I'm not going to let you take a photo!" I told him trying to keep calm.
"Get out of my way." He ordered.
"No!" I could feel my heart pounding.
He stood up. He was a big man. "You think that just because they let you ride on the flight deck you're a member of International Rescue. Is that it?"
"I wasn't on the flight deck." I lied miserably.
"Get out of my way!" he said quietly, but with menace. "I'm going to get my photo."
"No!" I repeated and held my breath.
"What's going on?" A voice, that seemed slightly familiar, intruded into our argument.
We all looked at the newcomer. He was clad in the distinctive International Rescue uniform except his sash and trim were pale blue. Black hair framed his face and his blue eyes were fixed on the man and his camera. "I'm sure that you were told that we don't allow photographs."
I recognised the voice. So this was Scott.
"I-I only want one for my album." The man, so big, brash and defiant before, was now on the back foot.
"I'm sorry, but I can't even allow that. If your photo were to get into the wrong hands, not only International Rescue's future could be jeopardised, but, as I'm sure you've heard, world security could be compromised." Scott's voice was calm and quiet and just as threatening towards the man with the camera, as his had been towards me.
The man offered a quiet apology and thrust the offending camera back into his pocket.
"Thank you." Said Scott pointedly. "And thank you for coming to our defence." He told me with a smile.
"Ah, um. That's okay."
He continued on down the hill towards his colleagues.
A kind of awkward silence settled on our group, and I contented myself by watching the International Rescue men.
Scott, Gordon and Virgil were in a huddle. I could imagine Scott telling the others about our little contretemps. In fact as I thought this all three looked in our direction. "Oh", I could imagine Gordon or Virgil saying. "That's 1." I reddened at the thought.
Discussion over, the three of them settled down to work. Gordon headed inside Thunderbird Two, I guessed to clean out the passenger hold. Scott remained outside to help Virgil, who was donning a protective overall. He hefted some sort of pack arrangement onto his back, ensuring that it was strapped on tightly. Scott handed him what appeared to be a length of rope and stepped back.
The next thing I knew there was a flash of light and Virgil lifted off into the air. Upwards he went, trailing the 'rope' behind him. When he came level with the cross piece of the tail section he changed direction until he was able to stand on it. Then he switched off the jet pack. He inspected the damaged section before setting down to work with what appeared to be a cutting laser. In the meantime Scott busied himself with attaching the new panel to the rope.
I realised that I was getting a quiet thrill from being able to name these men. To everyone else they were members of International Rescue. The man with the orange, or yellow, or blue sash. To me it was Gordon, or Virgil, or Scott.
Virgil had finished his cutting. The new panel was being raised to the tail at the same time as the damaged one, acting as a counterweight, was being lowered.
As the old panel swung around I could clearly see the sky beyond, through a gaping hole. The new panel reached its' destination and Virgil wasted no time in fixing it into position.
The sun was starting to set when he finished his task and, aided by his jet pack, flew back down to earth.
The three International Rescue men consulted again briefly before Scott headed back to Thunderbird One, avoiding our group on the hill. Virgil re-entered Thunderbird Two and Gordon climbed into the towing machine. Once again Thunderbird Two rose up on its' stilts, the ramp opened, and Gordon drove the towing machine inside.
As soon as the bulk of Thunderbird Two had settled into place a voice, Gordon's, was heard from loud speakers. "Would everyone please proceed to the entrance?"
I hung back as the others boarded. Then I saw Virgil walking past. "Um. If you'd rather I travelled somewhere else, I'd understand."
He hesitated. "No 1. Thanks but you're safer with us. Besides," he winked and I was struck by a similarity between him and Gordon, "you're already a security hazard and we'll want to keep an eye on you."
I was the last to board, and was aware of a number of people staring at me. It made me feel uncomfortable, but I didn't mention it to Gordon.
He followed me onto the flight deck, smelling strongly of disinfectant. "We've got a machine for cleaning out that room," he explained, "but there's only so much it can do!"
Gordon was ensuring that, once again, I was safely strapped in, when Scott made communication with Virgil.
"I'll follow you back to Anderson City." He was saying.
"Just in case anything falls off?" Virgil joked. At least I hoped it was a joke. He allayed my fears by continuing on. "I think we'll be fine, Scott. The diagnostics check out and I'm satisfied with the repair job."
"Okay Virgil, but I'll still keep within visual contact. I'm lifting off now." A moment later the hull of Thunderbird One, now coloured bright orange in the setting sun, swung briefly into view through the windows.
Virgil activated the onboard intercom. "We will be lifting off in one minute." He warned his passengers. He then turned back to us, a smile on his face. "All set for the final leg?"
"Yep." I said.
"F.A.B." said Gordon. I assumed that this meant 'affirmative' as Virgil settle back into his seat and switched on Thunderbird Two's great engines.