5
The patch worked. Water still oozed from the cracks, but the plasticky concrete filled enough chinks to slow the leak to a trickle. Gradually, inch by boiling inch, the fuel rods were once again inundated.
Now the place would need to be decontaminated and sealed away, the rods removed for safe disposal, but the worst threat had passed. The impending meltdown had been averted. Thundering water jets from outside were already dealing with the fire, and crews were moving in to stop up the leaking dome.
Scott drew John's arm across his shoulders, and helped his unresisting brother out of the reactor chamber. They got out together, in blistered protective suits that would have to be buried in a salt mine, somewhere deep and lonely. The applauding Civil Defense crew gave them a wide berth, standing by with lead caskets for the radioactive gear.
Scott would have had John order them not to photograph or examine the hazard suits, but he rather doubted anyone was really game to try. 'Contaminated' was too mild a word. 'Shit-toxic' came closer to the mark.
"You going to be okay?" He asked John a bit later, in the shadow of Thunderbird 1, after the suits were off. His brother looked pretty rough; exhausted and ice-pale.
"I'm fine, Scott," John said evenly, his blue eyes impassive. "Need some time in decontamination, is all." Then, casually, "There's something I need to check on. Go ahead with the start up." He got to his feet, swayed unsteadily for just an instant, then went on, adroitly avoiding Scott's bracing hand. "I'll catch a ride with Virgil."
"John, you're in no shape to..."
"Like I said..., I'm fine. You've got things to do that won't wait. Don't let me keep you."
Tired himself, and angry now, Scott started to shout him down, then thought better of it. John would only get colder, and more stubborn, if pressed. There was no way to win an argument with John Tracy, short of pistol-whipping him. Scott shook his head. He'd never really understood his brother. Cared for him, yes. Figured him out, no.
"Don't be long," he finally, grudgingly, allowed. "Civil Defense's got this in hand, and we both need time in the infirmary."
John nodded once and headed off. As he was walking away, Scott called after him,
"You did good in there, John. I mean it."
"Thanks." Over the shoulder, and unconcerned.
Nothing, Scott decided, ever really shook John.
XXX
At first run-through, the rocky little village appeared deserted. Gordon wasn't certain what or who to look for, however, so he slowed down a bit for the second pass, peering into the dark interior of each square stone house as he went, calling out that Thunderbird 2 was about to leave.
Nothing. All was silent and still, baking in blast-furnace heat beneath the shadow of an on-coming radioactive cloud. Then, beside a kind of outdoor, hive-shaped clay oven, he spied movement. A cat. Grey and white tabby, with odd eyes. He laughed a little and went over, putting out a hand.
"Is that what this is all about? A damn kitten? Well..., come on, then, Puss. Someone really..."
The cat miaowed in a thin, chirrupy voice, rubbing its washboard sides against hard yellow clay. As the still-smiling boy bent to scoop her up, something rattled inside the oven. Confused, Gordon knelt down and looked within.
It was acrid-dark in there, but for a bit of light that got around him, and a ray or two through the smoke hole, and it took his eyes awhile to adjust. Then Gordon saw a tiny, huddled shape, crouched by the bread oven's far wall. Two years old, maybe, with dark eyes too big for her sooty face, and mussed-up brown hair.
"Hello, there," he said, smiling at the solemnly suspicious little girl. For some reason, she reminded him rather of Rosemary. "Given y'r mum a scare, haven't you? Come on, then," and he reached within, only to have the child shrink away, just out of range. Damn. It had never occurred to Gordon that she might be frightened of him.
"Right, then," he tried again, soothingly. "I'm no prize, but I don't usually inspire horror, either."
No good. Still the same huge eyes and bitten lip; and the clock was ticking. There had to be something, some way to win the lass over... He got a notion, all at once. Well, it had worked a time or two with stray dogs, might do with babes, as well.
Reaching into one of his belt pouches, Gordon pulled out a limp chocolate energy bar (never liked the taste much, really, but they kept him going). He broke it in two, took a small bite from his half, and offered the rest to the little girl.
Still looking fifty sorts of untrusting, she put forth a grubby small hand and snatched it away, too wise to quite come within reach, damn the luck. So, cutting off his wrist comm lest a sudden noise startle her further, Gordon sat down low enough where she could see him, ate his half of the candy, and started talking, keeping a weather eye on the approaching cloud.
"It's like this, Angel; that toxic nightmare over there's about to pop off, your mum's in a state, an' everyone's waiting. Now, I can't leave without you, Virgil damn sure won't go without me, and we're puttin' your whole village in danger, sittin' around, like this."
She listened, nibbled delicately away at the almost-chocolate bar, but stayed put. Still no score. Gordon tried again, doing his best to sound harmless.
"I can't get in there, Angel; too big about the shoulders. I can't break the thing over your head, and I'm not goin' back to your mum empty handed. Never be able t' live with myself. So, please..., trust me?" Then, as the kitten rubbed, purring, against his uniform sleeve, caging a bit of leftover sweet, "Look..., the kitty does."
Her big eyes went from the cat to Gordon, then to his belt, from which she evidently hoped for more candy. Making a careful show of reaching into the belt pouch, he drew forth another energy bar and offered it to her, close enough this time for a swift grab.
"Come, Sweetie, please. There's not much time."
As it turned out, no sudden moves were necessary. She made up her mind with childish speed (strange hair guy equals candy ), crawled nimbly out of the soot and ashes, and took the bar.
Deeply thankful, Gordon lifted her into his arms, picked up the cat, and got to his feet. The girl swung her legs contentedly and devoured the second energy bar, babbling away in foreign baby-talk. She seemed particularly fascinated by his red hair, clutching at it several times with chocolate-smeared little hands. Gordon hazarded a few answers as he jogged along the scorching-hot village street. Not that it seemed to matter. She was as uncomprehendingly happy as the kitten.
At length, Gordon remembered to switch on his wrist comm. Virgil was nearly beside himself with impatience.
"Gordon, answer me!" He snapped worriedly. "I'll set this Bird down and come after you if I have to, but you won't like..." Then, seeing his brother's sweat-streaked face on his right view screen. "Where the hell have you been? Did you find the missing... girl," he finished up, as Gordon, saving his wind for cross country running, turned the watch about to face the little one. "Okay, good enough. Pick up the pace, Kiddo. We've got places to be."
Sure. Right. Marathon furnace death-race 2065, coming up. He was starting to regret the sticky-sweet energy bar, which seemed to have formed an unholy alliance with the whiskey, or maybe the ash, falling now like soft grey snow.
Pouring on the speed, Gordon careened up the ramp a few minutes later, close to heat stroke. Holding child and kitten up above the villager's heads, he gasped,
"Anyone... here... want t' claim... these two?"
A long, wavering scream burst from the rear of the crowded pod, and the little one's mother dashed over, her husband following after at a more sedate pace. He looked decidedly contrite. Possibly the rest of his folk had been at him for how he'd treated his young wife.
The child was handed over. She pointed at Gordon's hair and laughed uproariously, saying something that her mother was too busy sobbing to hear. The teen-aged girl never looked at Gordon directly, addressing a long, heart-felt statement to the deck, but her husband extended a hand, which Gordon solemnly shook.
"Um... eh..., no good is..., my English," the man attempted bravely, one arm around the woman and child.
"S' alright," Gordon responded, hitting the wrist comm to let Virgil know he was safely aboard. "My... pretty near everything but a bit of Spanish... sucks, as well. An' I'm not all that good with that, either." And then, as the man gave him a rather bewildered smile, "Got t' go, Sir. Needed up top. Take care of them."
The pod door ground slowly shut on villagers and noisy menagerie, while Thunderbird 2 settled onto the giant container like a hen covering a very large egg. Gordon took his leave of the village headman, then turned and sprinted for the forward ladder, feeling 2's engines rumble alive through sounding hull and vibrating deck.