4

Brains had subconsciously avoided the main lab, the spot where TinTin, possessed by the will of her twisted uncle, had attempted to kill John. Instead, he led the five brothers (Virgil and Alan had tagged along, as well) to his 'tool room', a beat-up chamber full of scuffed work benches and disassembled lab gear.

Speaking into his PDA, the engineer ordered a few quick changes to the hulls and programming of Thunderbirds 1, 2 and 4. Then, he briefed John and Scott, explaining what he'd done, and comparing notes on the evacuation problem.

John (slouching with his back against the wall, arms folded across his chest, left leg bent up and back to brace himself) listened to Hackenbacker's spiel for about two minutes before shaking his lowered head.

"Three million people! Ike, there's no goddam way to evacuate that many civilians from a city as densely populated as London. Not in time to do any good. Unless..., staging areas." John straightened up, his bleak expression slowly clearing. "We'll need to coordinate movement, maybe block by block, to six or seven easy-to-get-to staging areas, and have the RAF, the US Air Force, and anyone else who wants to lend a hand, pick them up from there. Question is, where's the best place for... Damn. I need a map."

Brains complied at once, fishing out of his research stacks a touch sensitive, electronic-paper chart of London. Then he turned his attention to the others, satisfied that John had the matter in hand.

"S-Scott, Gordon: Judging from Thunderbird 5's satellite images of th- the wreck, she's settled to the bottom a- almost upright, with her h- hatch covers ripped off, and a section of, ah... of hull plating peeled back. Rogue wave d- damage, probably, and a real, ah... real miracle that the 'cargo' didn't t- touch off right away. As John s- said, there's a strong t- tidal current to contend with, s- sweeping over and, ah... and through the wreck. It w- won't be long before s- something works loose and, ah... and triggers a b- blast."

Scott ran a hand over his bristling black hair and onto the back of his neck, which was knotted tight with pre-flight tension.

"Right. So, what do we do, Brains?"

"Th- the foam's being p- produced as we, ah... we speak, Scott. I've worked it out t- to expand a hundred-fold, and harden w- within 10 seconds of application, s- so don't get any of it on you, or you'll be b- buried alive and suffocated before, ah... before anyone can c- cut a way through. It's m- mildly neurotoxic, too. Harmless in the t- tank, though." (Like that was much comfort.)

"It'll be l- loaded onto a modified water sled, s- so you don't have to, ah... to wrestle with the tank, j- just guide the sled. I've included a long hose. Th- that way, the sleds won't accidentally t- trigger anything b- by coming too close. And if, ah... if all else fails, the dark energy generator should absorb a g- good part of the blast."

"Sounds like a plan," Scott replied, relaxing just a bit. Between John and Brains, the theorist and the mechanic, almost any scenario could be met, and overcome.

"Th- there's more," the engineer continued, seriously. "With the, ah... the recent storms, the t- tides, and the wreck itself, the w- water down there is turbid as h- hell. Visibility is j- just about nil. So, I've g- got these, for you and G- Gordon."

Hackenbacker scooped up what looked like a pair of girdles, and held them up for inspection.

"I c- could describe how th- they work, b- but the best way to learn is j- just to, ah... to try them."

They did so; Scott first, Gordon hanging back just a bit. Objectively, the boy knew that Brains was a friend, who not only meant no harm, but was actively trying to help. Emotionally, though... He'd had recent bad experience of doctors, or men who'd represented themselves as such, and he had to keep reminding himself that Hackenbacker was different, that he hadn't been involved.

Eventually, Gordon was persuaded to try the thing on, strapping it about his waist, under the tee-shirt, with a small sensory attachment clipped to his left shoulder. After he'd got himself set up, Brains turned out the lights, and an interesting thing happened. Every time he moved, the girdle hammered a little map of the surrounding surfaces onto his back. The information, after a moment of confused blundering, was processed by his visual cortex, allowing Gordon to 'see'.

"This is ace," he announced, turning completely around to watch the shifting, black and white landscape ripple and fade in his mind's eye. Somehow, amazingly, his sense of touch had been co-opted to provide him with ersatz vision. "Will it work underwater?"

"Ought to," the engineer replied, adjusting his glasses for night vision. "N- never been tested. It's modified, ah... modified fighter p- pilot gear."

...Which explained why Scott was less amazed, having detected many a streaking surface-to-air missile through the tactile radar map his instruments traced upon his skin.

Less than fifteen minutes later, while Brains' gadgetry was being packed and loaded, and Thunderbirds 1 and 2 readied for launch, Alan gave his best friend an affectionate punch on the shoulder.

"Good luck baby-sitting 'Anal-Retentive Man'," he said, grinning wickedly. Then, with a dramatic eye-roll, "I lucked out and got 'Captain Warmth and Personality'."

"Yeah, and he's right behind you, too." Gordon replied.

"Huh?" Alan pivoted wildly, eyes like manhole covers, only to find that the space behind him was innocent of avenging Johns. He turned back, snapping,

"Not funny, dude!"

"I'm laughing."

"That's cause you're an idiot!"

They shoved each other, Gordon falling back a step to regain his balance, Alan careening into a nearby wall.

"Seriously, man," Alan said, after accepting his brother's hand up, "Take care. 'The Replacements', right?"

"Right." Gordon responded with a warm smile, beginning their favorite quote from the old 2D sports movie. "Pain heals...,"

"Chicks dig scars...," Alan put in.

"...And glory is forever." Gordon finished up.

They tapped fists on it, and then there was no more time for good-byes.