So far, Virgil is a prisoner, and Scott has been shot during a mission in Macedonia. John is coordinating the recovery effore from Thunderbird 5. Brains, Penelope, Gordon, Alan and TinTin are on the way.

7

They were geared up and ready to go in less than two hours, once a plan of action had been decided upon. Thunderbird 3 wasn't the ideal choice for this mission- its specialty was space station service and resupply- but 3 could manage an awkward tail fin landing in a pinch, when no other 'Bird was available.

Alan and Brains would pilot. As International Rescue's chief engineer, Hackenbacker knew each of the Thunderbirds inside and out, and Alan had logged a little co-piloting flight time with Scott. He could point her in the right direction and make her go, anyway. Brains would handle the actual take-off and landing.

TinTin and Gordon would be passengers during the flight, held in reserve until needed for the mission. They remained in the lower cabin (jokingly referred to as "The Lounge" for its excruciating noise and vibration levels). There Gordon obsessively went over and over every detail and item of his dive gear, while TinTin practiced a few pertinent phrases in Macedonian (such as "stop", "put your hands up" and "move and your dead").

When the order came to strap in, the two got into their seats, set them back into launch position, and lay there tensely waiting out the countdown.

It began with a thin whistling noise that gradually grew in volume to a hornets' nest hum, then a subterranean rumble. The spaceship began to shake, then to lift, rising like a crimson spear-point from the mansion's lofty round house. Driven by a trio of rocket engines and a powerful impeller field, she shot into the night sky on a plume of white-hot flame. In less than thirty seconds the island was invisibly far behind, a mere speck in the vast Pacific.

'Shadowbot' covered their tracks, removing any sign of Thunderbird 3's flight path from radar tracking systems all over the Pacific rim. When the curve of the earth became visible through the forward window, Brains made a minor course adjustment and handed the controls over to Alan.

"J-just, ah... just keep to the flight plan and w-watch the scanners. If you, ah... if you have any questions, um..., I'll b-be down in the l-lounge briefing G-Gordon. Alright, Alan?"

The youngest Tracy nodded dispiritedly. "Sure thing, Brains. I know the drill; twiddle my thumbs and don't touch anything. If anything up here beeps, flashes or screams, yell for John. I can handle the excitement. Really."

Brains gave him a sympathetic smile.

"D-don't fret, Alan. Y-your chance will come, as it, ah..., as it has f-for all of us. R-remind me, s-sometime, to, ah... to tell you h-how Scott d-did, first t-time out."

Despite himself, Alan had to grin.

"That good, huh?" He prodded mischievously.

Brains shook his head, chuckling a little.

"Utter, ah..., b-blasted chaos, actually. M-miracle he made it b-back with, ah..., with a whole s-skin and m-most of a ship."

"Heh!" Alan gloated, as Brains took the lift down to the lounge. "Mr. Perfect, huh? Just wait'll I get all the details! Ol' Scotty-boy won't be able to find a deep enough hole!"

When the lift deposited him in the lounge, "Hackenbacker" walked over to Gordon, nearly tripping over a deck seam in his nervous haste. TinTin reached out and helped him to steady himself, earning a quick, flustered smile in the process.

"G-Gordon," Brains began, after regaining his equilibrium. "Th-this is for, ah..., for you."

Moving forward again, he held out a large squeeze tube filled with greenish gel. A bit had oozed past the cap and dribbled onto one ink-stained cuff. It smelled dreadful; like a truly stomach-turning combination of cough medicine, tobacco juice, bug spray and boiled cabbage.

Gordon recoiled. Although untidy at times, he was never less than fastidious in his personal habits, and the stuff genuinely reeked. Leveling a forefinger at Brains, he snapped,

"No! You c'n turn y'rself right around an' head back t' the lab with that crap, 'cause I'm not putting it on!"

"V-very well," Brains replied testily. "And your skin w-will peel off in, ah..., in bloody strips, and you'll d-die writhing in a-agony. S-suit yourself."

Glaring rebelliously, Gordon snatched the tube away from the waiting engineer.

"How much?!" He demanded, finally.

"A-all of it," said Brains.

"Just the exposed...?"

"Everywhere," Brains corrected firmly. "C-cover every bit of f-flesh th-that you've, ah..., you've g-grown attached t-to. Everything e-else is, ah..., is g-going to come off."

"Everywhere...," Gordon repeated, stunned. "But surely not... I mean t' say..., won't the wet suit provide enough... y' know... protection?"

"G-Gordon!" Brains snapped impatiently, "Focus! I'm, ah..., I'm not t-trying to embarrass or o-offend you! I s-said everywhere! D-don't, ah..., don't miss a millimeter, or y-you'll be sorry in w-ways I, ah..., I can't begin to d-describe." Glancing at his wrist watch, Hackenbacker added, "We'll, ah..., we'll be over M-Macedonia in j-just a few more minutes. G-get your gear together and, ah..., and get ready to m-move."

"Right." Shoulders sagging, Gordon drifted over to his dive bag and deposited the slimy tube in a mesh pocket. "Everywhere...!"