Virgil was startled, firstly to hear an alarm go off, and secondly to see everyone run at speed in the direction of the lounge. Heart pounding he followed. When he reached the room he was surprised to see them calmly regarding the row of portraits.
He was even more surprised to see that one of the portraits had come to life.
"John?"
He was ignored.
He recovered enough to realise that one of his family had taken up position between two light fittings. His afternoon of surprises was clearly not complete as the wall swallowed up Scott before his eyes. Virgil was so shocked by this apparition, that Gordon tilting out of sight barely made an impact on him.Alan, followed by Tin-Tin, ran over to the concealed doors that hid the passenger lift and disappeared from sight.
Virgil, not for the first time, felt an uneasy feeling. As he tried to analyse exactly what it was that was troubling him, he didn't notice a roaring sound from outside the building, muffled by the glass patio doors. By the time the sound had permeated his brain and he'd thought to turn and see what was happening, all he could see was what he assumed to be sea mist.
He looked back at the portraits. Now Scott's portrait had become a live video feed. As he watched Scott glanced into the camera and then returned his attention to piloting the craft under his control.
Then the eyes in Gordon's portrait started flashing and Gordon joined his brothers and father in conversation. In shot, behind Gordon, Virgil could see Alan. It looked odd to see the middle portrait static as the three surrounding it moved and communicated.
Virgil wondered if his portrait had ever come to life, if he'd ever used it to communicate with anyone. With an effort he brought his attention back to the conversation that was occurring between Jeff and his sons."How far behind are you, Gordon?" Scott asked.
"I'm still in the hangar, Scott," Gordon replied. "Our radar picked up an unidentified craft shortly after you left."
"I didn't register anything," Scott said with a faint tinge of alarm.
"It was coming from due south," Gordon reassured him. "You were off the scope by the time we saw him. They had no chance of seeing you."
"Good," Scott said briefly. "Are you clear yet?"
"Nearly…" Gordon was clearly concentrating on some bit of equipment. "There! He's gone. Leaving hangar now."
"Concentrate on what you're doing, Boys," Jeff said. "Call me when you've got further information."
He received a "F-A-B" in triplicate and then all three men disappeared, to be replaced by their impassive photos once again.
Jeff turned in his chair and started as if surprised to see Virgil standing there. "Did you see Thunderbird One launch?" he asked.
Virgil shook his head wordlessly.
"If you're quick you'll see Thunderbird Two take off. She'll be getting ready at the end of the runway." Jeff unlocked the patio doors and led the way out into the bright sunlight. "There she is," he pointed.
Virgil stood by his side and watched as the green plane taxied sluggishly down the runway. From here, the only indication he had of its great size was from the palm trees, which had fallen back. He watched the plane stop near the end of the runway and then tilt upwards. After a suspenseful moment's wait there was a bright flash from the rear of the craft and it was powering skywards. A short time later he heard the roar of Thunderbird Two's jets."What did you think?" Jeff asked.
Virgil was still gazing into the distance; following the path of the plane that he'd been told was 'his'. "Okay I guess. I preferred flying in it."
Jeff chuckled. "That sounds like you. Though you were never happy having someone else fly you in Thunderbird Two."
Virgil continued to watch Thunderbird Two disappear into the distance. "They will be careful, won't they?"
"Of course they will," Jeff tried to reassure them, relieved that his son appeared to be showing genuine concern. "They always are."
"Always?" Virgil asked. "Look at what happened to me."
"We don't know what happened to you," Jeff reminded him gently. "But whatever it was, I would lay odds on that it wasn't your fault." They turned to go back inside. "How are you coping, Virgil?"
Virgil shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I don't have much option, do I?"
"No. I guess not..." Jeff returned to his desk, but didn't sit in his chair. He looked at his middle son. "Look. I'm going to ask you to do something, that I probably have no right to ask, since, in effect, you don't know me from Adam."
"Huh," Virgil frowned. "Who's Adam?"
Jeff gave a little smile. "It's a figure of speech."
"Oh," Virgil's frown cleared. "I knew that. I'm sorry, I guess my brain's overloaded at the moment. What do you want me to do?"
"Give Scott a chance. You two have always been close. I don't expect you to be best friends straight away, but if you could try to get to know him better, I know you'll like him."
Virgil was silent.
Jeff sat on the edge of his desk. "To tell you the truth, I've often wondered why you two get on so well. You're two totally different personalities, and there's enough of an age difference to keep you separated… I have a theory though…"
Virgil listened politely.
"After your mother died, I suddenly found that I had to care for five young boys, largely alone, until your Grandmother moved in with us. It was a daunting prospect, but I was determined to keep the six of us together." Jeff stopped and thought. "It wasn't easy those first few years. Both Alan and Gordon were little more than babies and needed plenty of attention, which meant you three older boys had to take the back seat a lot of the time, especially while I was working on making the company viable. Scott and John were both old enough that they were able to look out for themselves to a certain extent. But you… you were old enough that you didn't need the constant care of your younger brothers, but you weren't old enough to be independent. I tried to give you, all of you, the time you deserved, but it seemed that, every time, either Alan would start crying or Gordon would fall over and hurt himself."
Virgil waited while Jeff thought about what he was going to say next.
"It was at this time that Scott decided to take you under his wing. He'd spend time with you, make sure you were washed and dressed, help you with your schooling, teach you things that I wish I had had the time to teach you. Do you know, and I've never told anyone this, I was actually slightly jealous of Scott?"
"Jealous?" Virgil asked.
Jeff nodded. "Yes. I remember one day you came home excited because you'd been picked for the basketball team at school. But it wasn't your father you wanted to tell first; it was your big brother. It made me realise what a close relationship you two had. And that yours and mine wasn't as close as I would've liked."
Virgil suddenly felt sorry for him.
"As you got older Scott would take you to your music lessons. Not only that, he'd stay with you. There's not too many teenage boys who'd be willing to do that. He always said that it was because it gave him some time away from Alan and Gordon and he was able to concentrate on his homework. I think he genuinely liked sharing your lessons with you and listening to you practice.
"Later, when Scott was training to get his pilot's license, you'd spend hours with him, testing him on the theoretical questions. He had the natural aptitude for flying itself; you won't find a more gifted pilot; but he found the more mundane aspects a bit of a challenge. He was always too impatient to get into the skies. It was your patience and willingness to help him that helped him gain his wings. It had the positive spin-off too, that when you decided you wanted to get your pilot's license, you were already well grounded in the theory.
"In fact," Jeff continued on, "it's your piloting abilities that say as much about your similarities and differences as anything. Scott's an intuitive flyer. That's what makes him able to handle Thunderbird One with such ease. He knows instinctively what's going to happen and reacts accordingly. You tend to be more… reasoned. You analyse what you are going to do and why. You're still an amazing pilot… the things you could get Thunderbird Two to do, things that I would have thought impossible… but your abilities are based on rational thought, not instinct. And… if you tell anyone this I'll deny it… if I had to get to hospital in a hurry, and had to choose between you or Scott flying me there, I'd choose you. Scott would get me there quicker, but I'd have a more comfortable flight with you."
"But you wouldn't choose me now, would you," Virgil noted.
Jeff's expression saddened slightly. "No I wouldn't…" He stood suddenly, eager to change the topic. "I've got something to show you. I'll let John know where we'll be and then we'll go through to your studio." He reinstated the link to Thunderbird Five.
"Dad," John acknowledged. "Hiya, Virgil. "How're you enjoying the rescue? Are you bored yet?"
Virgil smiled. "I'm not bored, but I can't say a rescue's very exciting."
"No. Well Scott's still five minutes away from the danger zone. Not that he'll be able to do much until Thunderbird Two arrives and that'll be at least 30 minutes later. He'll get the logistics worked out and decide on a plan of action while he's waiting."
"He gives the orders does he?" Virgil asked John.
"Yes. And he's the best man for the job. I wouldn't want it, but he thrives on it."
"I can believe that," Virgil said dryly. "Is this the communication system you invented?"
"Yep. What do you think?"
"Impressive."
"Thanks."
"I'm going to show Virgil the Traceset, John. When you have news you can get me on my watch."
"Sure thing, Dad," John replied. "The Traceset's a good idea. He'll love it."
"He did before," Jeff agreed. "Let me know as soon has you've heard from Scott."
"F-A-B."
"F-A-B?" Virgil asked. "What's that?"
"You tell him, Dad," John said. "You coined it."
"Thanks, John. We'll talk to you soon." As soon as John's portrait reverted to normal Jeff began walking towards the door. "F-A-B, means that the message is understood and going to be actioned. The letters don't mean anything. I wanted something unique and I knew you boys would like something that sounded a bit mysterious and would keep the world guessing. It's certainly done that. The number of suggestions I've seen in the press…" He stopped at a cupboard and removed a large box. "This is a Traceset. Would you mind if we set it up in your studio?"
"I don't know what it is," Virgil noted, "but I don't see why not."
Once in the studio Jeff opened the box. Interested, Virgil looked inside. It appeared to be a jumble of bits of metal, in various sizes and shapes, some solid, some seemingly riddled with holes.
Jeff started removing a few of the bits from the box. "Back when my company was first starting out it was called Tracy Engineering. Naively my partner and I thought that since a famous astronaut headed the firm, people would be knocking on our door to give us work… It didn't happen."
"Who was the famous astronaut?" Virgil asked.
"Me."
"You?" Virgil stared at the other man.
Jeff nodded. "I walked on the moon before they started turning it into a tourist trap. It was a novelty then. While I was still with the Space Agency I was paraded everywhere as if I were something special. Then your mother died and I left the Agency… No one wanted to know me after that. I went from hero to zero in a matter of weeks."
"What's it like on the moon?"
"Grey, cold and dusty. The best thing about it was the view of the Earth. That was my first real understanding of how fragile life is… My second was your mother's accident."
"What was her name?"
"Lucille."
"Lucille," Virgil repeated. "It's a beautiful name."
"She was a beautiful lady. She meant the world to me… to all of us. She gave me five wonderful sons and I'm proud of them all."
Virgil suddenly felt very inadequate. In order to cover his awkwardness he held up a piece of Traceset. "So what do you do with this?"
"You join the pieces together to make things."
"Such as?"
"Whatever you feel like making. I got the idea from a similar set my grandfather had when he was a boy. As I was saying here we were, two owners, a company, staff, building, machinery and no work. We were haemorrhaging money. I was desperate. Then I remembered this toy of my grandfathers. One night I created a few pieces and then I took them home. I figured that if my five energetic sons enjoyed playing with it, then I was onto a winner."
"And…?" Virgil asked.
"And, you all loved it. So we went into production. It was never a huge seller, but it kept the wolf from the door, and gave us a foot in the marketplace. Parents would buy it for their children and then want to deal with its creators on their own projects."
Virgil looked at the box of metal and wondered what was so special about its contents.
"Here," Jeff took the piece that Virgil was holding and held it next to the piece in his own hand. "You fasten two pieces together with a bolt to create a longer piece, or if you prefer an angle. You can attach wheels," Jeff pulled one out of the box and attached it, "or sprockets, or gears," he pulled examples of each item out of the box. "It's down to your imagination what you can do."
Virgil was looking slightly confused.
"Scott always made a 'plane of some description. John would try to make a telescope, so I cannibalised an old pair of binoculars," Jeff retrieved a box and opened it, pulling out a drawstring bag. He tipped the contents onto his hand – four circular glass lenses. "Gordon would try to make a submarine or a boat and then complain that they would sink," he chuckled. "Alan always made racing cars and then would tear about the place wrecking the furniture."
Virgil waited expectantly.
"But I never knew what you were going to make. You'd make any of those things or something completely unexpected. I remember, once you'd been on a school trip to the construction site for a road tunnel. You came home and built a machine for drilling 'tunnels'. You built a body on wheels and put a series of gears, of decreasing size, on the front and said it was actually a screw for drilling. That was where the basic idea for The Mole came from."
"The Mole?"
"We haven't shown you that yet, have we? It's International Rescue's drilling machine. Slightly more effective than what you designed with this, but still the same basic principal." Jeff looked about in the box. "There's a wrench in here somewhere."
"Wrench?"
Jeff held up the tool. "Do you want me to show you how it works?"
"Yes, please."
Jeff realised that he'd been hoping that Virgil wouldn't need his assistance. He pushed down his feeling of disappointment. "Let's tip everything onto the floor. I wanted to show you in here, because you can leave your project unfinished, go do something else, come back, and you won't have upset your grandma with the mess."
Virgil smiled, but made no comment as the pieces of the Traceset were strewn onto the floor of the studio.
Jeff looked at his watch. "I'm going to check in with John and see where Scott is. I'll be back in a moment, unless you want to come with me and see what's going on?"
"Didn't John say Thunderbird Two wouldn't be there for some time?"
"That's right."
"I'll wait till they get there. I'd like to try this Traceset out."
"Okay, Virgil. I'll be back shortly." Jeff was true to his word. "Scott's arrived. He's evaluating the situation now."
"What's happened?"
"A car's gone over a bluff and is stranded half way down. There's at least two people trapped on board."
"Tricky?"
"Could be. Depends on how secure the car is. Scott will have all the information they need and a plan formed by the time Thunderbird Two arrives."
"What do you normally do while all this is going on?" Virgil asked.
"Me? I stay here and worry about you all." Jeff sat on the floor beside Virgil. "How far have you got?"
Virgil showed him. He'd attached wheels to a platform.
"What are you making?"
"I have no idea," Virgil replied. "I'm only fiddling at the moment."
"Let me show you how a gear works," Jeff offered. Efficiently he assembled the chain and gear mechanism. "See?"
"I see!" Virgil exclaimed. "You could use gears to link a variety of wheels together so they won't move independently!"
"That's one application. See what others you can find."
Virgil smiled, delighted by the discovery. "I think I like the idea of you being my father."
Stunned by the statement Jeff wasn't sure how to reply. Virgil didn't notice. "What do I normally call you?" he asked, glancing up at Jeff and then back down at his project. "Scott calls you Father and the others call you Dad.""What do you call me? Usually Father, occasionally Dad."
Virgil concentrated on adding a gear mechanism to his machine. They spent a companionable fifteen minutes working on individual projects, Jeff occasionally stopping to give Virgil some advice. He eventually stiffly stretched out his legs. "The floor's not as soft as it used to be," he grumbled."How's that for a first attempt?" Virgil proudly held up his contraption.
Jeff tried not to think that this was far from Virgil's first attempt at using the Traceset. "Looks good." He took it from his son to examine it closer. "Ah… What is it?"
"A plane… I think."
"Why have you got hooks on the top?" Jeff asked.
Virgil frowned. "I don't know. I thought they should go there. I don't know why…"
There was a beeping sound from Jeff's watch. "That's John telling me that Thunderbird Two's arrived." Jeff climbed back to his feet, grunting as he did so. "It was a lot easier getting off the floor when you were boys. Are you com…?"
Virgil was already on his feet.
"How's it look, Scott?" Gordon asked as he steered Thunderbird Two towards the danger zone.
"Precarious. I've sent the Aerovideo to keep an eye on things. The local rescue authorities have managed to get a man down there. There's two trapped inside the car, both badly injured. He's doing all he can, but he can only reach one of the victims. The car's too unstable to risk him climbing inside or across."
"What's the plan?"
"Lower Alan down to the other side of the car. He can assess the situation, especially the condition of the second victim and guide the grabs. I think you should be able to use the Grav-Weight to stabilise the vehicle before you use the grabs to bring it up to the top of the cliff again."
"F-A-B. Approaching now."
Scott stood up from his seat at Mobile Control and shielded his eyes against the sun as he watched Thunderbird Two swoop in. He raised his microphone. "Bring her in low, Vir…" he started to say and then stopped. "Sorry, Gordon."
"That's okay. I'd rather he was in the pilot's seat myself…"
Already in his protective suit, Alan stared out the windows down into the canyon. He gave a low whistle. "Look at that drop!"
Tin-Tin stood at his shoulder. "You'll be careful won't you, Alan?"
He gave her an assured smile. "Sure. No sweat." He looked back out the window. "There's the car. Must be at least 35 metres down. They were lucky they didn't fall all the way."
"They won't be feeling lucky," Tin-Tin noted. "Not until you've got them to safety."
"Come on," Alan said. "Time to get kitted up... See you soon, Gordon," he called over his shoulder.
"'kay," Gordon replied, his concentration focused on getting Thunderbird Two into position.
They both made their way down to the winch room where Alan strapped himself into his harness and then waited patiently as Tin-Tin double-checked that all was secure. He in turn checked that her safety harness was correctly worn and attached to Thunderbird Two by a lifeline.
"Are you okay with this?" he asked.
She nodded reluctantly. "I hope I don't do anything wrong."
"Relax. Gordon's got the hard job keeping Thunderbird Two in position. Just make sure that you lower me down steadily. Don't slam on the brakes." He gave her a reassuring kiss on the cheek. "You'll be fine, Honey. This job's a piece of cake. We'll be home before you know it."
"We're in position," Gordon announced over the intercom.
"F-A-B," Alan replied before turning back to Tin-Tin. "Ready?"
"Yes, Alan."
The temperature in the winch-room dropped several degrees as the wind whistled past the panel that opened in the floor.
"Lower me down." Alan stepped out into nothingness. He kept up a running commentary as the winch lowered him down towards the stricken car. "Glad the wind's not too strong. The ledge the car's on doesn't look too stable. It's not that big either." His words were transmitted back up to the winch-room and cockpit on Thunderbird Two and to Mobile Control. From there they were sent further afield to Thunderbird Five and halfway around the world to Tracy Island. Alan had an audience of eight.
"Nearly there," he continued on. "Slow down, Tin-Tin… Half speed… Half again… Get ready to brake… Touchdown!" he felt the comforting solidarity of the metre wide ledge. A small remote camera, the size of a model plane, zoomed in close. "Get that Aerovideo out of my face, Scott!"
"Don't undo your harness," Scott warned. "I want you tethered to Thunderbird Two at all times."
"I won't," Alan tried to make it sound like a statement, rather than a grumble. "Hi, there," he greeted the local rescuer who was on the opposite side of the car to him. "My name's Alan."
The other man seemed surprised at the unexpected introduction. "Oh, ah… Mine's Benny."
"Pleased to meet you, Benny." Without touching the car, Alan bent to look inside. "How are they?"
"Not good. I've managed to get an IV into this one, but I can't reach the other."
"Right. We'll stabilise the car first and then see what we can do about our victims." Alan carefully placed a small plaque on the boot of the car and then redirected his comments to his microphone. "Tin-Tin, I've positioned the locator. Home in on that and send the Grav-Weight down."
Up in Thunderbird Two, Tin-Tin understood. "F-A-B, Alan."
As they waited Alan took stock of the situation. "Do we know their names?"
"No," Benny shook his head. "No one's reported them missing and, of course, I haven't been able to search for I.D."
"Well, we'll worry about that later." Alan looked up. A flat plate, about half the size of the bonnet, was being lowered towards them, zeroing in on the signal given out by the tiny electronic transmitter Alan had placed on the boot.
Benny wondered what this Grav-Weight was meant to do. It looked too small and flimsy to be much use.
Alan watched closely as the Grav-Weight drew closer and closer to its target. "Five metres, Tin-Tin."
Thunderbird Two gave a lurch upwards! It wasn't much, only a metre or so, but it was enough to sweep Alan up into the air and knock Tin-Tin off her feet.Scott watched Alan's sudden flight anxiously through the picture transmitted by the Aerovideo. He grabbed the microphone, "Alan…! Gordon!"
Back on Tracy Island, his yell brought the lounge's occupants to their feet. "Jeff!" Mrs Tracy gasped."Hang on, Mother. I'll contact John and see what's going on."
Virgil closed his eyes, hoping that more misfortune hadn't hit this family. He struggled to picture Gordon, Alan, Tin-Tin… and Scott.
Dangling helplessly underneath Thunderbird Two, Alan was echoing his oldest brother. "Gordon!"
Up in Thunderbird Two Gordon heard the twin exclamations as he uttered a mild curse. "Are you okay, Alan?"
"Yeah I am. What happened?"
"Wind gust," Gordon admitted briefly. "Hang on. I'll lower her down again."
"Are you okay, Tin-Tin?" Alan asked.
Tin-Tin was lying on the floor of the winch-room. Her upper torso was hanging over the opening and she was looking down to the canyon floor, seemingly miles below. It was only the lifeline that had stopped her from plummeting into the depths of the canyon and certain death. She struggled to her feet. "I'm okay," she gasped.
Keeping a careful eye on the altimeter, Gordon lowered Thunderbird Two the required metre to bring Alan back down to the ledge.
"Are you okay?" Benny asked anxiously.
"Yep," Alan said nonchalantly. "These replacement pilots." He indicated upwards and chuckled as if it were some kind of joke. "Continue lowering the Grav-Weight, Tin-Tin."
Benny looked up at the bulk of Thunderbird Two suspended over them. "Trainee?" he asked nervously.
Alan realised that he'd worried the man unnecessarily. "Our regular pilot's got… is on sick leave. Don't worry. Gordon's an experienced pilot. He knows what he's doing."
The Grav-Weight had nearly reached its goal.
"Take it slow, Tin-Tin," Alan ordered. "Let it down a notch… Now another… One more… Contact!" With a 'chink' rather than a 'clunk' the Grav-Weight settled on the boot of the car. "Activate gravity field."
Tin-Tin threw a switch and a low frequency hum emanated from the Grav-Weight. Benny watched in astonishment as the car settled backwards. Suddenly the situation seemed to be less precarious… if you didn't take into account the front wheels hanging over the edge of the ledge.
"That should hold it for a little bit," Alan said and opened the rear door of the car. He climbed inside and began to check the unattended victim.
"How safe is it?" Benny asked.
"Safe enough for one of us to clamber about inside," Alan told him. "If you could stand back and let me know if there's any sign the ledge is going to collapse. I'm glad to see you've still got your safety line on."
"What are you going to do?"
"Get an I.V. into this guy and then get the next stage in their evacuation underway." Alan was delving into his first-aid kit.
He'd soon completed his task and climbed out of the car again. He looked at Benny. "I think we'll get you out of the way for this next bit. Can you tell your team to pull you up?"
"Thank you for your help," Benny said gratefully before radioing the message to those waiting at the top of the cliff. Soon he was being dragged out of harm's way.
"Send down the grabs, Tin-Tin," Alan ordered and looked up to see a huge panel slide back in Thunderbird Two's undercarriage. A large claw mechanism was lowered through the hole.
"Hold her still, Gordon," Scott instructed.
The grabs were opening slowly as they continued their decent. Alan kept a wary eye on them. They were big, much bigger than him, and the slightest nudge from one of the talons would send him spinning off the ledge. Worse would be if they nudged the car enough to tilt it on its axis and sent it the remainder of the way to the canyon floor. Even the Grav-Weight wouldn't be able to hold it.
Tin-Tin kept a steady hand on the grabs' controls. In contrast, Gordon kept a fierce grip on those belonging to Thunderbird Two. He was sweating under the strain and was keeping an almost obsessive watch on the various gauges.
"Steady, Tin-Tin," Alan intoned. "Slower… Slower… and… stop!"
"Will they sit under the body of the car, Alan?" Scott asked.
Alan crouched down to examine the clearance. "Should do." He stood back. "Okay. Everything's fine down here. Close the grabs slowly."
Tin-Tin did as she was told. With the screech of metal against metal, the end of the pincers slipped under the car, supporting it in the grabs firm grip like a giant hand clutching an egg.
"That's far enough," Alan said.
The grabs stopped closing.
"Activate magnetic field," Alan ordered.
Electromagnets on the end of each of the grabs' fingers hummed into life. There was now little chance of the car slipping.
"Retract Grav-Weight."
The plate on the boot released its grip and slid quickly back into Thunderbird Two's undercarriage.
"Give me a bit more slack, Tin-Tin," Alan instructed. "I'll ride up inside the car and keep an eye on our victims' condition."
"F-A-B, Alan."
"Is there any chance of the grabs slipping?" Scott asked. "I don't want you in there if there is."
"Nothing to worry about, Scott. Just remind Gordon to keep clear of the edge."
"I heard you, Alan, and don't worry. I know exactly where everything is."
"Good," Scott acknowledged. "Okay, Gordon. Alan's in the car. Lift away."
"F-A-B." Thunderbird Two began to rise higher into the sky.
"There's a clear area by th ambulance. Set it down there," Scott ordered.
"I see it."
"Once you've done that, Alan can release his harness, you can retract his lifeline and the grabs and then bring Thunderbird Two in to land on the playing field nor-nor-west of your position."
"Got it," Gordon stated.
"Did you understand that, Alan? Do not release your harness until the car is on the ground," Scott instructed.
"Understood," Alan said briefly.
"Tin-Tin. As soon I give the word, retract the grabs and Alan's harness. Once they're back on board, close all hatches."
"F-A-B, Scott."
Scott watched in satisfaction as Thunderbird Two easily lifted the car over the lip of the cliff and lowered it to the ground, precisely beside two waiting ambulances. "Okay, Alan. You can release your harness."
Alan did so, throwing his harness out the window and then turning his attention to the two victims.
"Retract harness and grabs," Scott ordered.
The harness snaked upwards on the end of its lifeline and the grabs opened fully, before they followed the harness back into Thunderbird Two's belly. Scott watched the hatches close behind them. "Gordon! You're cleared to land." He dropped his microphone into its holder in Mobile Control and locked the entire unit down. He then jogged over to where Alan was standing beside the car, ready to assist the paramedics who were assessing the two victims. "Good work, Alan."
"Thanks," Alan acknowledged.
Scott turned his attention back to the activity inside the car. "How do they look?"
"Not good. The driver wasn't wearing a seat belt. It's only the steering wheel that stopped him being thrown through the windscreen. It's also the steering wheel that's done the most damage."
"And the passenger?" Scott watched as a backboard was slipped behind the driver.
"Out cold. I couldn't give them enough of an examination to find out why."
Carefully the passenger was extracted from the car and onto a waiting stretcher.
Alan jumped when someone clapped him on the shoulder. "Nice one, Alan."
"Thanks, Gordon. I hope it was enough."
"Well done, Tin-Tin," Scott congratulated her as the driver was wheeled away.
"Thank you." She watched the departing ambulance. "Will they be all right?"
"We'll probably never know unless John picks up a radio message," Scott said. "But at least we've given them a chance…"
Later, after the evening meal, Gordon threw himself onto the couch. "That was a mission today. I'll tell you something, the Thunderbird Two simulator's no substitute for the real thing."
"Want me to take you out for some test flights tomorrow?" Scott offered.
"I'd appreciate that," Gordon picked up the latest issue of a scuba diving magazine. "That wind gust caught me by surprise. Virgil would have compensated, without any problems."
Virgil chose that moment to wander into the room. "I would have compensated for what?"
"For that wind gust that lifted Thunderbird Two during the rescue."
"A wind gust was big enough to move a plane that size?" Virgil asked in amazement.
"This one was," Gordon opened his magazine.
Virgil looked about the room. Alan and Tin-Tin were sitting together on the balcony, talking and laughing quietly. They looked too intimate to consider joining them. Gordon was reading, as was Jeff. Scott and Brains were playing a game of… something. His grandmother was knitting, and Kyrano was pouring cups of coffee. "You all look relaxed," he said.
Gordon lowered his magazine. "Yep. We need it after a rescue. A chance to unwind."
"What do I usually do?"
"Oh, um," Gordon thought for a moment. "Draw, paint, play the piano, listen to music, read…"
"Oh," Virgil acknowledged and thought for a moment.
"What can't you remember, Virgil?" Gordon asked.
"How'd you know I'd forgotten something?"
"Because you've got two frowns. One says you're confused about something and the other says you've forgotten something. You've got your 'I've forgotten' frown on."
Virgil displayed a third frown, which showed that he wasn't very keen on the first two.
"So…" Alan said. He and Tin-Tin had decided that the evening air was a little cool and had come inside. "What have you forgotten?"
"What's a piano?"
The room froze. It was as if an icy chill had descended upon them all.
"You know, that's really annoying," Virgil said testily.
"What is?" Jeff asked.
"I ask what something is, or how do you do something and you all go quiet on me. I know I should know these things, but I don't know them and it's really frustrating when instead of telling me what I should know you all clam up."
"Sorry, Virgil. It's always a shock. We don't know what you know and when we realise that what you don't know is what we take for granted that you should know, then…" Alan frowned himself. "I don't know…" He petered off in confusion.
"Right! Now that that's cleared up," Virgil tried not to sound annoyed with them all, "will someone please tell me what a piano is?"
"That's the piano," Gordon told him. "The white thing over there." He pointed at the baby grand.
"Oh." Virgil wandered over and looked it. He circled it warily, touching it with caution.
"I've got a recording of you playing somewhere here…" Jeff was scrolling through his computer's database. "Ah, here it is," he set the music to play. Soon the familiar sounds of a piano filled the room.
"That's me?" Virgil asked, amazed.
"That's you," Jeff confirmed.
"Wow, I'm good!" Virgil couldn't help exclaiming.
His comment brought forth a gale of laughter from his family.
He frowned, hurt. "You're laughing at me!"
The laughter stopped.
"Sorry about that," Gordon apologised. "Sit on the stool and have a play."
Virgil sat as he was told. "How does it work?"
Gordon stood beside him. "Lift the lid. No, not the big one. The long one at the end."
Virgil gingerly swung the lid open. He looked at the keys. "Now what?"
"Press a key," Gordon told him.
"I can't see a key here. Where is it?"
"Press one of those black and white things."
Virgil pushed one and jumped when it emitted a sound. He pushed another, amazed at the note the came out. He pushed three together and a discordant noise ran through the room.
Mrs Tracy uttered a strangled sound and dropped her knitting. She departed the room at speed.
"Mother!" Jeff exclaimed and followed her out the door.
"What did I do?" Virgil asked. "Have I upset her again?"
"It's not your fault," Scott reassured him.
"No, but I'm the cause," Virgil sighed. "What did I do this time?"
"It was your piano playing, Virgil," Gordon told him sadly. "You love playing the piano. You're good at it, as you just heard." Everyone else nodded their agreement. "I guess that seeing you asking how to play was too much for her."
"Oh," Virgil was a downcast figure as he looked at the keyboard.
"Do you want to know how a piano works?" Gordon asked, hoping to cheer his brother up.
"I guess," Virgil said non-committedly.
"You press each key, or a combination of keys, to create a tune." Gordon played a scale woodenly. "I'm no good. Come on, Scott. You're Virgil's understudy."
"Me?"
"Yes, you," Alan backed up Gordon.
"I'm not that good," Scott protested.
"I never said you were good. But you're better than the rest of us," Gordon told him. "Now get over here." He gave his big brother a meaningful stare.
"Thanks for the recommendation." Scott stood. "Will you excuse me a moment, Brains?"
"O-Of course," Brains acknowledged.
"I don't want to interrupt your game," Virgil told Scott as he vacated the piano stool.
"It's okay." Scott held his hands over the keys and then placed them back into his lap. "What should I play?"
"One Virgil's favourites?" Tin-Tin suggested.
"You've got to be kidding! That's way out of my league."
"The Th-Thunderbirds March," Brains suggested.
"Huh," Virgil said, recognising the name. "What's that?"
"Something you wrote for Father," Scott explained. "For International Rescue's launch."
"I'd like to hear it."
"Okay… How does it go? Do you have the music under here?" Scott lifted the lid on the piano stool and looked inside. He rifled through the sheet music. "Ah! Here it is." He pulled out a sheet of paper and examined it quickly. "I like the drawings you've done on here…"
"Quit stalling," Gordon told him. "Let's hear it."
"Okay. I'm warning you now, Virgil. I'm not very good."
"Oh, for Pete's sake. Just play it will you." Alan was sounding peeved.
"Right." Scott flexed his fingers, cracked his knuckles and began.
Virgil listened, fascinated, as the large white object projected a piece of music into the room. He stared at Scott with newfound respect.
After the last notes died away Scott looked up from the piano. "How was that? Terrible?"
"Not terrible," Gordon told him.
"Yeah. Just really bad," Alan added.
"Thanks," Scott said sarcastically.
"Don't listen to them, Scott," Tin-Tin told him. "You played very nicely."
"No, it was rubbish," Scott admitted. "Compared to how Virg… Virgil would play it, it was rubbish."
"I can play that?" Virgil asked. "Can you show me how?"
"Have a seat," Scott offered and removed himself from the piano stool. "We'll start with the basics. This key," he pointed at the keyboard, "is middle C."
"Why?"
"Oh, ah. It's the middle key on the keyboard, I guess."
Brains got up and quietly left the room.
"Why 'C'?"
"Well, there's seven basic notes. A, B, C, D, E, F and G, forming a scale…"
"But there's more than seven keys…"
Tin-Tin decided that she had something that she needed to do in her bedroom.
Scott continued gamely on. "See how the pattern of keys repeats itself? Each key has the same name as the equivalent key in the next octave…"
"Octave?"
"A group of those seven notes…"
"But you said seven notes? Wouldn't an octave be eight?"
Scott was beginning to feel out of his depth. Alan didn't help by following Tin-Tin out the door. "We'll forget all the theory, just remember that this key is A, this one's B, this is C…"
"What are the black ones?"
"Well… That one's C sharp, or D flat…"
"But they're not flat, they're raised higher than the white keys," Virgil felt a black key, "and it's not very sharp. And why have they got two names?"
"It's what they are called, okay," Scott struggled to maintain his patience. Gordon choosing to leave the room didn't aid his cause. He wished he could follow his brothers out the door.
"I'm sorry. I'm annoying you," Virgil said quietly.
"It's not your fault."
"But I'm the cause."
Scott clenched his jaw tightly to stop himself from screaming. "Look we'll forget about the black keys. We'll start with your scales. Place your thumb on middle C…"
Virgil did as he was told.
"Ah, better make that your right thumb."
Virgil changed hands.
"Keep your wrist level. Sit up straight. Feet flat on the floor… Elbow at right angle… Man! I sound like our music teacher!"
Vigil followed the instructions. It all felt natural to him.
"Good. Okay," Scott continued on. "Now play the note with your thumb… First finger… middle… ring… and little… Now reverse that."
Virgil played a scale.
"Good. Keep that up for a bit. Then try it with your other hand…"
"Where is everyone?" Virgil had suddenly noticed that the room was empty.
"I guess they had something else to do," Scott lied.
Virgil saw through the lie. "They didn't want to listen to me, did they? I've upset them."
"It's not your fau…" Scott decided he wasn't going to fall into the trap. "Don't worry about it, okay. Have some practise. Play the scales for a bit. Try them on different parts of the keyboard. When you've done that, see what you can play. You've got a musical ear and you might find that it comes naturally. I'll leave you to it."
"What are you going to do?" Virgil asked.
"I, ah, I'm going to head down to the gym. I'll come back and check on you shortly." With feelings that were one part relief and three parts guilt, Scott escaped.