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Four: "All Creatures…"

Alan was kneeling on the floor, surrounded by circuit boards and other bits of equipment. While not as imbued with ins and outs of communications technology as John, he could still find his way around an electronics layout and transpose the information to the real world. He traced his finger along the schematics of a circuit diagram and then carefully compared it with the changes he'd just made to one of Thunderbird Five's computer systems. "No bugs," he said to himself.

Satisfied that he'd completed his task correctly, he replaced the plate that hid the computer's workings and pushed the remainder of the tools and excess equipment to one side to be tidied later. Then he activated the radio. "Thunderbird Five, calling Mateo Island."

It was his father who heard the call. "Go ahead, Alan."

"I've made the adjustments Brains suggested and I'm ready to try."

His announcement caused his brother and friends to stop their work. Scott removed his paint mask and abseiled down from the Mark II's tail to where his father was working. He was just in time to hear the order. "Try it, Alan."

"Yes, Sir." Alan flipped a switch and spoke into the microphone. "Thunderbird Five, calling Thunderbird Two." He amplified the signal. "Thunderbird Five, calling Thunderbird Two!" he repeated. "Come in, John?" He waited. "Can you hear me, Virgil?" Still nothing. "Gordon! Are you receiving me?" He repeated his call again.

The silence hung heavy on the airwaves.

"Anything, Alan?" His father's voice, although quiet, sounded loud.

"Negative. Only static. Maybe they didn't have time to get their Arctic survival packs. And I guess the receivers in their masks must be too weak, huh?"

Scott looked at his father. None of the Tracy men dared voice a more ominous reason for the continuing silence. It was as if they were all frightened that if someone were to suggest the worst, then it might just be proven to be true.

"Try again, Alan," Jeff requested. He listened in silence as his youngest son tried, in vain, to raise their missing kin.

"Nothing!" Alan said in frustration. "Any other suggestions, Brains?"

Unseen, apart from Tin-Tin who was assisting him in the pilot's cabin of the Mark II, Brains shook his head. "N-No, Alan. Is there anything to suggest a-atmospheric interference?"

"I'm getting a good view of the Aurora Australis," Alan said as he looked southwards out of one of Thunderbird Five's view-ports. "The way it's dancing above the Pole makes me think there must be some pretty major sun-spot activity going on."

"That's p-probably the reason why Thunderbird Five's signal isn't getting th-through," Brains suggested, trying to be reassuring. "I'm sure the boys have evacuated Thunderbird Two and have b-built themselves a snow cave."

"Well, we won't know for sure until we get back up there," Scott stated, before he ascended back up to his work area on the Mark II's tail.

Jeff pushed his feelings of concern to the back of his mind, waved a pesky fly away, and resumed his painting.

The three Tracy men had completed their snow cave and were beginning to settle down inside. Deciding to keep the walls of their shelter a safe 45cm thick they'd discovered that it was too small to build elevated sleeping platforms for all three of them. Despite that, inside, away from the biting wind, and with each other's body heat to sustain them, they were beginning to feel relatively warm. Their packs plugged the entrance tunnel, helping to trap the warm air inside their shelter, and a five-centimetre hole in the roof allowed carbon dioxide to safely escape. They even felt warm enough to remove their masks and gloves.

"This is cosy," Gordon said, as he smoothed down the ceiling above his head. "Almost like a Scout camp. Now, if I only had my guitar…" he mimed playing the instrument and began singing. "Gin gan gooli gooli gooli wat-cha…"

His brothers groaned.

"I seem to remember tents having a little more room," John grunted. Being taller than his brothers he was finding the lack of legroom a major irritation. He shifted, trying to worm a little extra space from the vicinity of Virgil's feet and grimaced as his left leg grated up against something cold and hard. "Virgil! Will you move that thing?"

"Why'd you have to bring it in here, anyway?" Gordon added.

Virgil pulled Thunderbird Two's control yoke from underneath his and John's legs and tried to find somewhere else to store it. "I wasn't going to leave it outside. It might blow away!"

"And that would be a bad thing?" Gordon asked as he fended off John's elbow. "I suppose we should be grateful that you didn't try to bring the flight recorder in as well!"

Hoping to avoid becoming caught in the crossfire of an argument between his two brothers, John diverted Virgil's attention with a question. "What do you think caused Thunderbird Two to break up?"

Virgil's thought for a moment, concentration creasing his forehead. "I don't know. The only thing I can think of is that, because the thermostat wasn't working on the pod, the upper right quadrant suffered from thermal stresses during the nucleation of ice crystals."

"In English?" Gordon requested.

"He means that the water expanded as it froze," John explained.

"Yes. We already know… knew that was a weak area," Virgil continued on grimly, "which was one of the reasons why we were replacing Thunderbird Two. If the snow that had collected on the pod hadn't totally dissipated before we picked it up, and if the thermostat failed again, the water could have been in the process of re-freezing and expanded, weakening the side strut just as we slid into position. If that side strut broke while we were in flight, the fuselage wouldn't have been able to withstand the sudden change in force..."

"And the loss of the side strut would have caused the pod to drop first," John hypothesised.

"Yeah," Virgil agreed. "The sudden shift in weight would have brought unnatural strains on the rest of Thunderbird Two and the tail section would have broken away from the front section..." He reflected for a moment. "It's only a theory. We won't know for sure until Brains has the opportunity to check the flight recorder."

"And he can't do that until they've finished the Mark II." John looked at his watch. "Well, we've been stranded for nearly three hours. Only another four or so to go." He grimaced and shifted position again. "How come I'm underneath the ventilation hole?" he grumbled and looked upwards as he felt something drip onto his head.

"Because you're tallest and you were complaining about not having enough room to stretch out if you were on the side," Gordon reminded him. "Why don't we try top and tailing? Turn around, John, so your back is where your feet are."

"And have my back against the draughty tunnel? I don't think so. You turn around."

Gordon leant forward so he was able to see Virgil clearly. "I'm wedged in. How about you? If you can turn around then John can shift over slightly and then if need be I'll be able to turn… I think."

"I'll give it a go… Here, hold this," Virgil handed John his souvenir from Thunderbird Two, and, with a bit of a struggle, which included having to lean on his brothers, managed to turn round. He ended up with his back beside the entrance tunnel and his feet in the corner. "Is that better, John?"

John gave his brother the souvenir back and shuffled over so he was closer to Virgil's feet. He was now sitting at an angle across their shelter. "That's better," he breathed. "Thanks, Virg. Now I don't feel like my legs are screaming at me to let them get out and go for a walk."

On the Mark II's flight deck, Tin-Tin started when her watch beeped an alarm. She frowned as she silenced the alert, trying to remember what she'd set the reminder for. Realisation dawned and she slipped out of the cockpit so she could make a call without disturbing Brains. Then she activated the wristwatch's telecomm.

Her father's face replaced the watch dial. "How are things proceeding, my daughter?"

"Slowly, Father. We still have to paint the starboard wing and the tail, and it looks like rain."

"Then why have you called me?"

"I have a favour to ask of you."

Kyrano smiled in pleasure, eager to be of service. "How can I help you?"

"It's Alan's pygmy alligator. I promised him that I would try to feed it regularly."

"And the feeding is due now?" Kyrano asked, knowing full well what the answer was going to be. His smile disappeared.

Tin-Tin nodded. "Obviously, I can't do it at the moment... I'm sorry, I know how you feel about the animal, but would you mind feeding it… Just this once?" She favoured her father with her most beseeching expression.

Kyrano hesitated before answering. He had had dealings with the crocodilian before and the two didn't always see eye-to-eye… Teeth-to-finger was a better description of their relationship.

Tin-Tin continued talking, trying to ease any negative ideas in her father's mind. "I think it's due some ocean perch this time, so you won't have to deal with any live insects or frozen mice. You'll find the fish in the deep freeze next to the enclosure. You'll only need one. Allow it to defrost before you feed it to the alligator."

Kyrano nodded slowly.

"Don't forget to use the tongs this time," Tin-Tin reminded him. "Throw the fish towards the pool. It probably won't recognise you as a source of food…"

Kyrano doubted that. He rubbed his finger where the memories, in the shape of a series of small scars, remained.

"… So it shouldn't jump out of the water at you," Tin-Tin finished. "Please, Father. Will you do this for me?"

"For you, my daughter, I will do this. But please inform Mister Alan that I am not about to become the personal servant to his pet."

Tin-Tin laughed. "Thank you, Father. I appreciate this and so will Alan."

"Also," Kyrano continued on. "I should like to know one thing."

"Yes, Father?"

"Why could you not buy Mister Alan an animal that does not eat meat?"

Tin-Tin laughed again. "We'll talk about it later. I'd better get back to work."

"Tell Mr Tracy and Mister Scott that my thoughts are with them and their kin."

"I will, Father. Thank you…"

"Gordon!" John complained. "That's ridiculous!"

They'd decided to pass the time by thinking up, preferably plausible, rescue scenarios and coming up with suitable responses to each situation.

Gordon was getting bored, as evidenced by the fact that he was fidgety and that his scenarios were becoming more and more outlandish.

"How on earth could I end up hypnotised, stranded on an asteroid, with a damaged rocket?" Virgil asked reasonably. "That's almost as bad as your, 'what would you do if Scott had his mind taken over by aliens' scenario."

"Which in turn makes your, 'an eruption is set off by a Cobaltium 5 explosion which starts a volcanic rift the width of the Pacific Ocean, ending at Tracy Island', scenario sound almost plausible," John added.

"Until you added that 'Tracy Island was about to be destroyed by a World Navy commander who's been instructed to kick us off and use the island for explosives testing'," Virgil finished.

"Well, I had to give it some sense of drama," Gordon protested. "I thought it was a bit boring up to that point. A bit like your 'what would you do if you're clinging to a log that's floating down a flooded river.' No imagination."

John rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Give me strength," he muttered.

"You struggled with the 'earthquake traps a bore team building a monorail tunnel' scenario, Gordon," Virgil reminded him. "Perhaps you should be trying to concentrate on solutions to realistic problems, rather than thinking up crazy ones."

"I had other things on my mind," Gordon said huffily.

"Yeah. Like thinking up daft situations to tease us with," John scoffed.

"Didn't you like the 'Lady Penelope kidnapped by South American natives' scenario?"

"That!" Virgil stated with conviction, "has to be the most outrageous story of all!"

"Yes," John agreed. "There's no way she'd allow herself to be kidnapped, not unless it was part of her master plan… Will you keep still!"

"I can't," Gordon admitted and shifted position again. "It's this cold weather. I'm busting to…"

"Aw, no," John interrupted. "Not in here!"

"Let me out then. I won't be long."

"Can you climb over me?" John asked.

"No," Gordon admitted. "You're going to have to shift."

"Okay," John sighed. "I'll get out. Are you coming, Virgil? Safety in numbers…"

"Yes. I need to stretch my legs anyway. I'll go first?" Virgil removed their packs, rolled over and slid headfirst down the chute that was their link with the outside world. He stood in the trench, flexing his legs while his brothers followed him out.

"How cold is it?" Gordon asked as the snow began to fall again.

"Not too bad," Virgil admitted. "We're out of the wind down here."

"Well, go and get on with it," John instructed, "before we're hit with another blizzard. Only don't go too far away, we'll want to be able to find you again."

"Give me a leg up then," Gordon ordered and his brothers assisted him out of the trench. One second later he was back beside them.

John stared at him. "That was quick."

"It's too cold up there," Gordon shivered. "The wind's blowing straight off the North Pole. I vote that as soon as this snow stops we build an outhouse!"

"I'm going back inside," Virgil told him. "This time you can sit with your back to the entrance, Gordon, then you can get out in a hurry if you need to."

John was the last to re-enter. He followed Gordon up the entrance tunnel and found that Virgil clearing the ventilation hole in the roof. "Problems?"

"Not really. The snow had clogged it up slightly," Virgil explained as he settled back down with his back against the rear wall.

Gordon, resting against the front wall of the cave, looked at his brothers. "Why don't we try our wristwatch telecomms?" he suggested.

"But they won't work," John insisted.

"I know you said that. But what if they've boosted the receiving signal on Thunderbird Five?"

"They will have," John began. "But it won't be enough to reach us…"

"Sh," Gordon hissed.

"…Not with the Aurora Borealis…"

"Shhhh!" Gordon held up his hand to silence his brother.

"What?" Virgil asked.

"Quiet!" Gordon commanded. "Listen!"

His brothers listened. John and Virgil looked at each other and shrugged.

"Can't you hear something?" Gordon whispered. "It's coming from outside."

"Like what?" Virgil leant forward to try to hear the sounds better.

"It sounds like a kind of snuffling…"

"P-Parker!"

Parker's head snapped around when he heard the unfamiliar, yet unmistakable note of terror in her voice. "M'lady?"

"M-M-Mou…"

Lady Penelope was the most fearless person that Parker knew. She could stare down the gun held by a ruthless criminal without batting an elegantly made up eyelash. Disarming a live bomb was all in a day's work, to be followed by a refreshing cup of tea. She laughed in the face of danger. But Parker also knew that there was one thing that could cause a fearful reaction in his mistress. He looked at the floor.

There, beside Lady Penelope's foot, calmly washing its whiskers, was a mouse.

"Get rid of it, Parker!" she whispered.

"'Ow?" He hissed. "You're closer. Shoo it with yer foot."

"I can't move." Lady Penelope felt as if she were frozen to the chair. Her eyes were glued to the 'repulsive' creature which had switched its cleaning activities to its hindquarters. She was torn between an irresistible need to know exactly where the rodent was, and an equally irresistible desire to have it removed from her line of sight.

"'Ere!" Parker tried kicking out, but the mouse, blind to the movement, ignored him. Instead it switched its ablutions from one side of its body to the other. Lady Penelope let out a quiet shriek when its tail brushed against her foot.

The mouse stopped washing, looked about, decided that the unexpected sound was nothing to concern it, and began washing again.

Lady Penelope bit her lip to stop herself from screaming.

"Shoo!" Parker said, but to no avail. "Shoo!" he said again, this time louder.

The mouse licked down its belly.

"H-Okay, let's try somethin' you'll understand," said Parker to the mouse. "Meow."

The mouse stopped cleaning and looked up.

"Meow," Parker articulated again.

The mouse crouched, ready to flee. Its whiskers bristled, trying to sense the approaching feline menace.

"Mrreow," Parker said again. For extra emphasis he added a low growl and a sound approximating the hissing of a cat.

Deciding that its life was in mortal danger; the mouse scurried away to the safety of a crack in the wall.

When she was sure that it had gone, Lady Penelope let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Parker."

"H-It was nothin', M'Lady."

"I didn't realise that you spoke cat so fluently."

"Me Mam used to feed 'er Ladyship's cats… h-and all the neighbourhood strays," Parker explained with a touch of pride. "H-I used to 'elp 'er. It got so that I could call 'em and they'd come runnin'."

"Well, I'm glad that you sent that rodent running. Oh, my heart. I can feel it hammering."

"Take a few deep breaths," Parker advised. "You'll soon calm down. A little furry fing like that won't 'urtcha…"

"I can hear something!" Gordon reiterated. "There's something outside!"

"It can't be Scott," John was looking at his watch again. "It's too soon."

Suddenly, the middle pack of their makeshift door disappeared down the tunnel.

"What the…!" Virgil exclaimed as his pack followed its twin.

Gordon grabbed the remaining pack and thrust it down by his feet, drawing himself away from the entrance hole as he did so.

John pulled his legs up tight against his body as he stared down the tunnel. "Is that what I think it is?"

The light at the end of their entrance tunnel was obliterated. A long, white, furry paw, topped with what appeared to be meat hooks, reached inside their sanctuary.

There were three yelps of "Polar Bear!" and the Tracys backed as far away from the entrance as was possible in their confined quarters, Gordon using the sole remaining pack as a shield.

The paw probed further. Its murderous claws raked along John's boot and he suddenly discovered that he was wrong in believing that he was unable to fit himself into a smaller area. He pulled his legs in closer to his body.

The paw scratched at the snow inside the door where Gordon had been resting only seconds before. Pulling part of the interior wall back down into the tunnel, it withdrew.

As the three brothers looked at each other, unsure as to whether it was safe to breathe again, Gordon removed and extended a shovel that was strapped to the pack he was holding and held it at the ready.

Their respite was only temporary, as the bear had decided that a change in the angle of attack was in order. Another paw snaked inside and clawed at the wall, inches away from Virgil's booted legs. It snagged Virgil's souvenir, but it slipped out of the bear's claws giving him the opportunity to rescue it before it followed the two packs down the tunnel.

"What do we do?" Gordon hissed; his eyes round as saucers.

"Don't move!" John ordered from the corner of his mouth. "Don't hit it with the shovel unless absolutely necessary; we don't want to make it angry. And don't make a noise!"

The bear scrabbled about with its paw again, scarring the surface of the snow, before deciding that whatever was inside this hollow was out of reach.

Virgil felt in his pocket. He was relieved to find that a pencil-sized laser, the one he'd used to release the control yoke from Thunderbird Two, was still there. He doubted that it would be strong enough to penetrate the animal's coat, but maybe it could singe a pad, or temporarily blind the beast… if he found himself within beam range, which wasn't an appealing proposition. He clutched the tool tightly, and prayed that he wouldn't have to get that close to an angry bear.

From his position in the centre of the trio, John could see clearly down the tunnel. He discovered that he had an eye to eye view of the bear as it strained to push its head up towards its prize. Fortunately for the brothers, the animal's torso was wider than the hole, but still John could see sharp, yellow teeth and black, piercing eyes. There was a strong odour of fish before the bear withdrew its head from the chute.

"What if it's got a cub and it sends it in to get us?" Gordon asked.

They could hear a tearing sound. The polar bear was ripping open the two packs it had claimed and was trying to find something edible.

"What'll happen if it tries to climb on the roof?" Virgil whispered. "Do you think the cave will hold?"

"Possibly," John replied in a soft voice. "I hope we don't have to find out."

But it seemed that the bear had heard them. Virgil became alarmed to hear something brushing up against the exterior wall beside him. Then he heard a soft thump as the bear reared up and placed its front paws on the cave, followed by a soft creaking from the snow and ice. He shifted so that he was crouched beside Gordon and as far away from the bear as he could get.

John looked up. The polar bear was sniffing around the ventilation hole. It licked at the ice and a drop of saliva fell down the shaft and onto the snow at his feet. He saw the claws again as the animal dug at the ventilation hole briefly and without conviction before dropping back to the ground.

The brothers looked at each other wide-eyed, wondering if and where the next attack was coming from. They heard part of the trench collapse as the bear climbed into it again and Virgil decided that he'd be safer in his original position. As he scurried back, the paw re-entered their cave and made a grab for him. It missed his boots, instead managing to hook one of John's. With a yell he was pulled off balance.

"John!" There was immediate chaos as his brothers sprang to his aid. While John frantically tried to hang on to something to prevent himself from being dragged outside, Virgil grabbed him about the chest and pulled back, digging his heels into the well-compacted snow of the cave's floor. Gordon lifted the shovel as high as he could in the confines of the cave and brought it down on the paw. There was no sound from the bear, but it let go of John and retracted its paw back down the tunnel to give it a bemused lick.

Virgil took advantage of the animal's preoccupation and dragged John away from the chute. His feet slipped out from under him and he ended up sitting on the floor with John partially on top of him. The elder Tracy rolled off his brother, and pulled himself away from the door, allowing Virgil to roll the other way, onto the control yoke. He pulled it out from underneath him and backed into his corner again.

"Gimme that!" Gordon demanded and reached across John, grabbing the piece of Thunderbird Two from Virgil's hands.

"What…!" Virgil exclaimed and watched as Gordon shoved the control yoke into the tunnel, using the column of the unit to keep his hands as far away from the bear as possible. They all drew back when they saw the paw make another assault on the cave.

The yoke was slightly wider than the tunnel, and the bear's claws caught on it, pulling it down towards the entrance. It jammed. The bear tried pulling again, first with one paw and then with the other, but was unable to shift the obstacle. It dug briefly at the entrance to the snow cave, stared back up at John through the spokes of the steering unit, and then gave up on its quest and moved away.

The Tracy men waited a full five minutes, hardly daring to breathe, before they began to relax. "Are you okay, John?" Virgil eventually asked.

"Yeah." John massaged his ankle. "Probably got a few bruises that's all. Teddy must have wanted to shake hands with me."

There was a moment's silence as the ridiculousness of what he'd said sank in. Then, as one, they burst out laughing.

Gordon wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. "I'm telling you guys now, I'm not leaving here until I know that Scott is standing by the door with at least one laser gun primed and ready."

John cautiously looked down the tunnel. "What do we do about the packs?"

"You could go and get them," Gordon suggested.

"I don't think so," John said darkly.

"Why not, John?" Virgil asked. "You're the one who wanted to risk your neck more."

"Though I think you've overdone it a bit this time." Gordon started ticking a list off his fingers. "You get Virgil to crash Thunderbird Two into the North Pole, then get blown up and nearly sliced in two by Thunderbird Two, then you get caught by a blizzard…"

"Two blizzards," Virgil amended.

"…Then you get caught by two blizzards, then you decide to take on a polar bear single handed. And you say you're not getting enough action!" Gordon shook his head in mock exasperation. "I don't know, Brother. You're a glutton for punishment."

"That wasn't exactly what I meant," John said. "I think I've had my quota of excitement for the day… Make that the year! I'll be glad to get back to Thunderbird Five. If nothing else I'll be warm!" He looked at his watch. "I wonder if I can get a message through to Alan."

"You said the signal wouldn't be strong enough," Virgil reminded him.

"True. But if I can cobble together our watches and whatever's still working on the radio in Gordon's pack, maybe then we'll have a strong enough signal to get through to Thunderbird Five."

Gordon started unstrapping his watch from his wrist. "Here. Do what you want with it."

"Better check that it's still operational," John turned his watch on. "Calling…" There was a loud screech of feedback and he hurriedly switched it off. "Well, that's still working."

Virgil rubbed his ear and handed his watch to his brother. "Can you find a less painful way of testing it?"

Scott stood, stretched, braced himself against the winds that were growing stronger, and squinted into the darkness, shielding his eyes against the glare of the powerful lights that bathed the Mark II. Earlier in the day he'd been briefly entertained as seagulls had taken cover on the nearby cliff face. Cursing one another as they crammed themselves into nooks and crannies, the birds had done their best to try to find shelter from the wrath of the cyclone. He had to admit that he was slightly jealous of their flying abilities as, despite being buffeted about, they had each landed with precision on their roosts.

"Scott!"

He looked over the edge of the Mark II's tail, down into the shadows, to where his father was standing on a ladder. He noticed that most of the scaffolding had been removed. "Have you finished?"

"Pretty much," Jeff yelled up, and then took a step up closer to his son. "I don't like the way the atmosphere feels. I think we'll be getting rain soon."

"I agree. It could be pouring down before the paint's had a chance to dry. We should get her under cover. I haven't got much more to do and I'll be wasting time if I get down to move the Mark II. Do you want to do the honours?"

"Will you be all right up there?" Jeff asked warily.

"Yes," Scott affirmed. "I'm tied on securely."

"Well, make sure you're sitting down throughout the manoeuvre," Jeff instructed.

Scott grinned. "This is me you're talking to, not Alan. I won't do anything stupid."

"You can be just as reckless as your brothers sometimes," Jeff reminded him. "Especially when their health is at risk." He started descending the ladder.

Scott double-checked that his safety harness was well secured and sat on the tail, his legs hanging over the side. He looked down on the Mark II. From this vantage point he could almost believe that he was astride the tail of a giant, grey whale. Then the powerful lights at the edge of the runway blanked out, and sank down into the ground.

Slowly Scott's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the night. As he looked past the megalithic body of the 'plane he fancied he could see the threatening clouds racing across the sky. Then he felt a tremor run through the mighty plane as her taxiing engines came to life and the ghostly palm trees lining the runway began to move. He briefly enjoyed the sensation of watching the world around him slide by, before the hangar's entrance loomed over him and he was inside. It was like entering the gateway to a different world. Compared to the external gloom, the interior lighting appeared to be unnaturally bright.

There was a slight bump as the Mark II came to a halt and the plane fell silent. Scott stood and began his final few passes with the paint gun. He felt the temperature drop sharply and he turned in time to see the heavens open and the cyclonic rains descend to the earth.

The hangar door was closed.

"Just in time," he shouted down to Jeff.

A moth circled the solitary light bulb in their prison. Parker watched it; its hypnotic dance numbing his mind to the discomfort he was in…

"Parker!"

He shook his head to clear it. "Yes, M'lady."

"I feel we have been sitting here long enough."

Parker couldn't agree more. "Yes, M'lady," he said with feeling.

"I have been doing a stock take of our situation."

"Indeed, M'lady."

"And I have come to the conclusion that, as they say, every cloud has a silver lining."

Parker looked at his mistress in interest. "H-And that would be?"

"That would be that I have not been doomed to spend 24 hours with Mr Chip Harrison."

"You didn't like 'im?"

"I don't trust him," Lady Penelope admitted.

Parker stared at her. "You mean you think 'e's tied up with this 'Ood geezer?"

"Oh, no. Nothing so nefarious. I mean that I've known Becky Hampton for years and, wonderful girl she may be, she has a simply appalling taste in men. They have a tendency to use her and leave her and this Chip Harrison has all the hallmarks of being no different."

"Indeed, M'lady."

"I only hope that she isn't going to be hurt, yet again."

"From what I 'eard it sounded as though 'e was on a sticky wicket 'imself."

"Her recitation about the men of International Rescue?" Lady Penelope laughed. "Oh, if Becky only knew, Parker. It is shameful of me, but it was all I could do not to laugh."

"H-I found it difficult keepin' a straight face meself. Which one of 'em do you think she'd go for?"

"Oh, any of them. It's the image of the man that she's focused on at the moment. Not the personality."

Parker winked and lowered his voice. "So you think H-I might 'ave 'ad a chance?"

"Unfortunately, my dear fellow, Becky would only ever see you as a servant. She will never know your true talents."

"Just as well," Parker noted. "H-I don't fancy livin' in 'Ollywood."

Lady Penelope laughed again. "Sadly the poor girl is deeply insecure. That's why she's had all that plastic surgery. She won't find someone she's comfortable with, until she's comfortable with herself." Lady Penelope sighed. "I wish I could do more to help her, but I suppose we should be thinking about helping ourselves. Can you move your chair?"

"H-I think so."

"Good. We must move fast. See if you can twist around so your back is to me and I'll try to cut you loose with my shoes. It was nice of our friend to leave me some of my toys."

With much scraping of the floor they endeavoured to turn their heavy chairs, Lady Penelope almost overbalancing. She let out a quiet sigh of relief when she managed to remain upright.

"Are you h-okay, M'lady?"

"Perfectly, Parker. I have no intentions of knocking my chair over this time. This floor looks much harder than the one in that boathouse."

At last they were in position. "Are you ready, Parker?" Lady Penelope asked, as she used the toe of one shoe to push a sequence of the diamantes that decorated the other.

Parker braced himself by pulling his arms as far apart as the handcuffs would let him, while at the same time holding them away from his body. "Ready, M'lady."

"I shall try not to burn you…" Lady Penelope raised one slender leg and pressed the right side of her right shoe against Parker's shackles. A small laser burst into life and started to burn through the metal of the chain that held his right arm to the chair.

Parker flinched.

"Am I hurting you?" Lady Penelope asked in concern.

"The metal's gettin' a bit 'ot," he admitted.

"Sorry…" Lady Penelope concentrated on her task. "Nearly there…"

Parker's hand flew free and Lady Penelope lowered her leg. "That's better," he grunted. "Lemme have your other shoe and I'll free one of your arms."

"Thank you, Parker. That would be most kind of you." Lady Penelope extended her other leg and Parker delicately removed her second shoe, before standing and, dragging his chair behind him, moved into position so that he could use the laser in the sandal to shear through the chain that held Lady Penelope's right arm fast.

When one of her hands was free, Parker handed the laser to her. "Would you mind carryin' on yerself, while I free me other 'and?"

Lady Penelope took the shoe. "Of course, Parker. We must make haste. Our friend may return at any moment, and I fear that any pleas that he release us because we are British, would fall on deaf ears."

"Indeed, M'lady."

"This is no good," John grunted and wiped a layer of moisture off the face of the watch he was holding. He reached beneath his polar jacket and unrolled the neck of his uniform's top so that it was covering his nose and mouth. He then returned his attention to the watch.

His brothers watched him in interest. "Who is this masked man?" Gordon asked.

"I'm trying to keep my breath off the electrical components," John explained, his concentration elsewhere, as he prised the back off the watch. "The condensation will play havoc with the electronics… Especially… if it… starts to… ice up." He gently teased a tiny wire from the watch's interior with a pair of tweezers he'd found in the first aid kit.

They were utilising what little they had available. The back of their sole surviving pack had become a makeshift table, wiring was being held together with foil from energy bars and tape from the first aid kit. John's tools were the tweezers, a needle off a hypodermic syringe and a small knife. He carefully tried to connect the wire from the watch with another that had been part of Gordon's radio. He managed to hold the two of them together with the tweezers and then, using fingers that were numb with cold, tried to wrap a tiny bit of foil around them. "Hold the tweezers, Gordon."

Gordon followed his brother's lead and pulled the neck of his uniform up over his own face. He then carefully took the implement from John and tried to hold it still so that he didn't disrupt John's delicate work. John tried to seal the two wires together with some foil, but only succeeded in nudging Gordon's tweezers and dislodging their tenuous connection. He uttered a mild curse. "This is hopeless!"

"Would it be easier if you had another set of tweezers?" Virgil asked.

"Yep," John sighed, and then stared at his brother. "What are you doing?"

Virgil had picked up the shovel and was tying a piece of survival blanket, flag like, to one end. "I'm going to get the other packs."

"But what about the polar bear?" Gordon asked.

"I don't think it'll be hanging round waiting for us to become an easy meal," Virgil said, as he cut the end off a piece of string that held one corner of the 'flag' in place. "But just in case it is, I want to have plenty warning before I stick my head out that door." He waved his flag. "Hopefully it'll go for this before I get outside." He pulled at the steering column of the control yoke, which was still forming a gate against the outside world. "It's frozen in place. I can't move it!"

"Maybe it's trying to tell you something, Virg," John said. "Like don't go out."

Virgil looked at him. "Can you complete the radio without the other packs?"

"Well… No. But then there's no guarantee that I can with them."

"So our options are that we either sit here and do nothing and hope that Scott's arriving back about when we're expecting him, or I go out there and get the packs and you try to fix the radio."

"Yes," John agreed with obvious reluctance.

"Well, I'm voting that we at least try something," Virgil said and starting using his pencil laser to melt the ice around the control yoke. "What if there's a hold up for any reason? What if that bear comes back and tries to do more than 'shake paws' with you? We might need to tell Scott to forget about the Mark II and get back here in Thunderbird One in a hurry."

"What worries me is that it's not me that it's likely to be 'shaking paws' with," John said with real concern. "You're the one going out into its domain."

"Don't worry, John. I'll be fine." Virgil was halfway through his task of opening up the entrance tunnel.

Gordon pulled his shirt down from off his face and exchanged a worried look with John.

Virgil finished one complete circuit of the control yoke and pulled at the steering column. The yoke moved slightly and then stuck. "The snow's freezing again almost as soon as I melt it," he complained as he got the remains of the survival blanket, threaded it through the spokes of the yoke and handed the two ends of the blanket to Gordon. "Pull on that while I cut again," he instructed.

Gordon did as he was told, initially keeping a constant pressure on the blanket and then tugging more forcefully as the yoke came free. When Virgil had finished cutting around the circumference of the unit, he grabbed the column and pulled again. The control yoke popped free and both men fell backwards.

Virgil sat up and examined his souvenir of Thunderbird Two. "It's damaged," he said sadly. "I've burnt it and the bear's scratched it."

"Never mind, Virgil," John said. "That control yoke's saved our lives more than once today. Just think of them as battle scars."

"Yes, something extra to remember today by," Gordon added. He pulled on his fur-lined mittens.

"I guess," Virgil placed the steering unit to one side and picked up the shovel. He took a deep breath. "Wish me luck."

"Hang on, Virgil!" Gordon crawled forward. "I'm coming with you."

"You don't need to do that. I won't leave the trench."

"I'm still going to watch your back. You haven't got eyes in the back of your head!" Gordon stared defiantly at his older brother.

"Okay," Virgil said gratefully. "Thanks… See you soon, John." He turned back to the tunnel. "Here we go." His flag leading the way, he slid down the tunnel. For a short time only his feet remained inside the cave. "Can't see or hear it," he eventually said, his voice muffled by the snow. "I'm going out," and his feet disappeared.

Gordon quickly followed him…

"'Ow's it goin', M'lady?"

"Nearly through, Parker. How are you, ah, going?"

"Slowly," Parker growled. "Me laser's losin' power."

"I probably used more than I should have when I released you," Lady Penelope admitted. "There!" her laser broke through her left chain and she straightened up, examining the shackles that still encircled her arms. "These bracelets are not exactly haute couture. Francois would not approve." She handed her laser shoe to the chauffeur. "Try my other shoe. There may be more power in it."

"Thank you, M'lady." Parker discarded the right shoe and set to work with the left. "Much bet'er."

"Good. While you're finishing that task, I'll have a wander round and see if I can find anything of use."

"Very good, M'lady." Parker returned his attention to burning through the chain that still bound him to the steel chair.

Lady Penelope prowled around the room, slowly examining everything in the hope that she might find something that would assist them to escape. She bypassed an out-of-date pictorial calendar decorated with animals gambolling in a forest, and turned her attention to a cabinet against the wall.

Parker concentrated on his chore.

He hadn't achieved his goal when the door to their prison slid open. Lady Penelope turned in time to see the Hood fill the doorway, a frightening expression of complete anger on his face. "So! You think you can escape, My Lady?" he snarled.

Parker froze, still trapped by the merest slither of metal in the chain that tied his left hand to his chair.

"I do appreciate your hospitality," Lady Penelope lied. "But I do not wish to overstay my welcome."

"It is time for you to leave, My Lady," the Hood agreed. "But you will be leaving without your slave. I will demean myself and play his role until I have gained access to the base of International Rescue." Parker watched as a gun was raised in his direction and tried not to show any fear as he surreptitiously tugged at the chain. "You will be put to death, as any mangy dog should be. Be grateful that I am showing you pity and will make your death mercifully swift, for I would take great pleasure in seeing you suffer." The Hood readied the gun for firing. "It is right that you are on your knees. You should be begging for your life."

And Parker waited for what he knew must happen next…

Have you remembered to keep track of all the references? 69 points are available from these first four chapters. Email the references you've found to turton-tracyathotmail .com. (remembering to replace the at with the appropriate symbol and removing the space before the .com) And even if you don't think you are doing very well with the challenge don't be afraid to email us. No one has got 100 yet.