Things are finally resolving themselves for the members of International Rescue. Have you resolved to find all the Thunderbird references and email them through to turton-tracyathotmail .com?

Six: Heading home

Pod Four was a small white hill in the polar expanse of ice and snow. Practically glued to the window, Gordon strained to see if it had sustained any external damage.

"The outside looks okay," John commented.

He received a grunt in reply.

"You're going to have to ride down," Scott told his concerned brother. "I'm not going to risk exposing the Mark II to the ice until we actually pick up the pod." He indicated the controls for the rescue capsule. "Do you want to do the honours, Brains?"

"Of c-course, Scott." Brains stood and prepared the winching mechanism. "W-We're ready, Gordon."

Strangely, Gordon seemed to be reluctant to move towards the lift that would take him to the rescue capsule's bay. He took his time getting re-clothed in his polar gear.

"Come on, Gordon!" John prompted. "Get a move on. You want to see how she is, don't you?"

"I've only just got warm and I want to stay that way!" Gordon snapped. "I'd have thought that you, John, of all people, could understand that!"

"Okay, okay," John held up his hands in appeasement. "Sorry." He raised his eyebrows to his father.

"Could I come with you?" Virgil's question came as a surprise to everyone. "I want to check out the thermostat and get the pod defrosting while you check Four over. And if there's some damage to her I'll know how you… how to fix things."

Gordon stared at his brother, then he nodded slowly. "Yes. Thank you, Virgil," he said formally. "I'd appreciate your… help."

Virgil handed Thunderbird Two's control yoke to Tin-Tin. "Take care of that for me will you, Honey?" he asked, before pulling his polar jacket back on.

"I'd be glad to." Tin-Tin watched the two men depart the flight deck and then turned her attention to the steering unit in her hands. She ran a finger along one of the deep gouges that marred the surface and shredded the red trim. "Did this happen in the crash, John?"

"Huh?" John diverted his attention from the door through which his brothers had just departed, to his friend. "What?"

"These scratches," she elucidated. "Was it hit by something during the crash?"

"No," he explained. "It was the polar bear."

Everyone stared at him. "Polar bear!"

"And you've just reminded me," John sat down and pulled off his boot. "I'm sure I must have some whopping great bruises here." His finger went through a hole in the boot's trim. "It's punctured it!"

"What punctured it?" Scott asked.

"The polar bear…" John was removing his sock.

"Polar bear!" Scott said with concern. "You're kidding us, right?"

"It was either that or the abominable snowman," John told him. "And I've never heard anyone say that the Yeti has claws… I thought I was starting to feel a bit sore as I thawed out." He examined his ankle, noticing several red marks. "I hadn't realised that it'd drawn blood. Just as well it only caught my ankle; any higher and I wouldn't have had the protection of my boot..."

Tin-Tin placed Virgil's souvenir on the seat beside her and got the first aid kit. "Let's have a closer look, John," she said as she knelt down. She examined the wounds gently. "They don't look to be too deep, but I'll clean them to be on the safe side."

Jeff squatted beside her to see for himself. With concern he looked at the bruises and puncture marks. "And you're saying that a polar bear did this?"

"Uh, huh. If Virgil hadn't grabbed me and Gordon hadn't whacked its paw with the shovel, it would have pulled me out of the snow cave. You can ask them if you don't believe me."

"Don't worry, I believe you." Jeff straightened and looked directly at his son. "Now, are you sure you, or your brothers, don't have any other injuries you've 'forgotten' to tell us about…?"

When the rescue capsule had reached the door to the pod, Virgil looked at his jittery brother. "She'll be all right, Gordon. She's tough. Look at the pressures she has to withstand underwater. That drop won't have even knocked the gyroscope out of alignment."

"Yeah," Gordon said without enthusiasm.

"It would have been like falling into a big swell."

"Yeah."

"You'll be unlucky if there's a scratch on her."

"Yeah."

"Are you ready?"

Gordon took a deep breath. "Yeah."

Virgil pushed the button that opened the door to the rescue capsule and they felt the chill of the polar ice cap creep inside. Then he activated the switch that caused the access hatch to Pod Four to retreat. It slid open cleanly, revealing the darkness that concealed the interior of the pod. Virgil shone his torch about, checked the floor beneath his feet was clear, and stepped inside. Gordon followed him before the hatch closed behind them.

"Shield your eyes," Virgil commanded. "I'm going to turn the light on… if it works." There was a brief flicker and the unnatural glow of Pod Four's lighting system came into full force. "That's a good sign."

Gordon didn't answer. He was staring at Thunderbird Four. From here it looked like it always did, small, yellow and intact.

"I'll go and get the thermostat working, shall I?" Virgil suggested. "I'll be over here if you need me…"

"'Kay," Gordon articulated.

Virgil made his way to where the thermostat was housed, occasionally stopping to pick up the odd object that had been jarred loose. On the whole it seemed that the contents of the pod had survived the drop intact. He stepped over a fallen module and lifted the lid on the thermostat control box…

"Good day to you, Lady Penelope," Maxwell said as he held the door open. He was a Californian native who, although a trusted member of Jeff Tracy's staff, was not a part of International Rescue. "Good day, Parker."

"Howdy, Maxie," Parker said with a grin. He'd always enjoyed teasing the American servant. He placed an armload of Lady Penelope's distinctive pink luggage on the floor of Jeff Tracy's palatial home, and then retreated back outside.

"I'm sorry if we are a trifle late, Maxwell," Lady Penelope said graciously. "I'm afraid we were held up. Has Mr Tracy been asking after us?"

"No, Ma'am. I haven't heard from him since he alerted me to the fact that you might be staying the night."

"Oh, good," she said in relief. "I would so hate to worry him."

"Would you care for some dinner?" Maxwell asked.

"That sounds heavenly," Lady Penelope admitted. "It's been such a tiresome day. But first I would like to freshen up. I shall retire to my room for half an hour."

"Of course, Ma'am," Maxwell bowed and then, picking up the first load of pink suitcases, led the way up the stairs.

Parker arrived back inside with the second load just in time to see them reach the zenith of the stairwell. Determined to maintain his position as Lady Penelope's personal servant, he jogged up the stairs two at a time, arriving at the top slightly breathless but triumphant. "'Ere's the last of your bags, M'lady."

"Thank you, Parker. Put them down over there, will you?"

"Yes, M'lady."

"Will there be anything else, Lady Penelope?" Maxwell asked.

"Not until dinner," Lady Penelope admitted. "After which I simply must ring Mr Tracy and tell him that we've arrived safely."

Maxwell bowed again. "Very good, Ma'am. I shall ring the gong when dinner is served."

"Thank you, Maxwell."

Maxwell departed the room and Lady Penelope sank gracefully into a chair. "At last one can relax. It has been such a tiresome day. Firstly interrogated by that Hood gentleman and then by the police. Did they believe you, Parker?"

"I 'ad 'em eatin' out of me 'and," he grinned. "These Yankee cops are nothin' compared to the good old British Bobby. A bit 'o Cockney Rhymin' Slang and they didn't know whether they was Arthur or Martha."

"Good," Lady Penelope said. "We don't want them asking any more awkward questions about our 'disappearance' or poor Becky's unfortunate collapse." She rose to her feet. "I shall have a shower and change into clean clothes. I have a strong desire to remove every trace of that man from my person." She pulled gently at a manacle that still encircled her slender wrist. "I wonder if Jeff has any lasers in the house."

"'E probably 'as," Parker said. "The problem is workin' out what they're disguised as."

"True, and I don't want to tell him about the events of our day until after the celebration. If he knows someone has been leaking International Rescue's secrets it will spoil his enjoyment of the party."

"Or 'e might call it off altogether."

"That, I'm afraid, is a very real possibility..." She tried to slip the band of metal over her hand. "I do wish that tiresome little man hadn't welded these closed. It is much to hot to wear long sleeves. Are you sure there is nothing in the Rolls Royce that we can use to remove them?"

"'Fraid not, M'lady. The lasers we've got are too powerful. We'd probably cut our own 'ands off before we'd cut through these things."

Lady Penelope screwed up her face in disgust. "What a perfectly horrid thought… In that case I suppose we shall have to wear long sleeves until we are collected," she said regretfully.

"Yes, M'lady… Ah… Do you require my h-assistance now?"

"Thank you, but I shall be quite all right. You may relax until after dinner."

"Thank you, M'lady. I might 'ave a shower meself. That desert sand gets ev'rywhere."

"The snow's melting," Scott was watching the pod. "Looks like Virgil's got the thermostat working again."

"I hope Thunderbird Four's okay," John said. "Gordon will be devastated if anything's happened to her. I've had to put up with Virgil moping for the last six hours. I don't think I could stand two of them."

"Probably why Virgil offered to go with him, for support," Scott said, before initiating contact with Pod Four. "How's it going, Virg?"

"I don't know what's wrong with the thermostat," the occupants of the flight deck heard Virgil's voice. "Every time I change it back to the polar setting it swings back to desert. I'm having to adjust it manually. How's it look at your end?"

"Looks like the snow's almost completely melted," Scott said. "Ah… How's Thunderbird Four?"

"I haven't heard any wailing and gnashing of teeth," Virgil told him. "So I'm taking that as a good sign… Hold on. He's getting out now." He watched as Gordon clambered out of the yellow submarine, planted a big kiss on the number 4 painted on the side, and began circling the craft again, tracing his fingers along Four's exterior. "I think we have a happy little aquanaut… Gordon!" he yelled. "Is she okay?"

"Okay?" Gordon chirped and came running over to where his brother was standing. "I'll say she's okay. Not a scratch on her."

"What a relief," Virgil smiled.

"That's fantastic, Gordon," Scott added.

Gordon was all smiles, his concerns of the previous six hours vanishing. "I don't know what you guys were worried about."

"Huh?" unseen by his brother, Scott frowned.

"I could have told you she'd be fine."

"Gordon?" Virgil stared at the aquanaut.

"After all this is Thunderbird Four we're talking about. She's tough!"

"But…" Virgil tried to say.

"I always knew she'd be okay, despite what all you naysayers were saying. I wasn't worried in the slightest. I've always known that Thunderbird Four is the toughest craft in our fleet. She's... Ouch! Virgil! Why'd you do that?"

"The sad thing is," Scott heard Virgil say, "I honestly think you don't have any idea."

"Idea? Idea about what? Why'd you hit me?"

"Why do you think?"

"Virgil?"

"Gordon!"

"How's the thermostat looking, Virgil?" Scott asked, interrupting the argument.

"All clear, Scott. Bring her down."

"F-A-B. Descending now."

There was the slightest of grinding sounds as the Mark II sank down over Pod Four. "So that's what it's like from this side," Virgil commented.

"We'll have to get you down at the coalface more often," Gordon grinned.

"Coalface! I do more rescues than you!"

"As the delivery boy," Gordon teased.

"Delivery boy!"

"Why don't you stay home occasionally and let the rest of us get in a little flying time?"

"What!" Virgil spluttered.

John turned to his father. "We've got spare pods back at home. Why don't we leave those two here? If we miss them we can pick them up after the party."

Gordon was still needling his brother. "Remember? John was complaining about not getting enough action."

John reddened. "It was just after we'd crashed… I was in shock," he explained.

The clamps securing the pod to the Mark II slid home. "Are you two coming up?" Scott asked. "Because I'm not lifting off until everyone's securely buckled in and I, for one, am looking forward to getting home and putting my feet up!"

Behind him there was a chorus of, "Hear, hear!" from his father, Brains and Tin-Tin.

"Me too," John said as he rotated his sore shoulders gingerly. "I'd like to go and lie down in my own warm, soft bed and forget all about today."

Gordon and Virgil emerged into the cabin. "Thunderbird Four's fine," Gordon reiterated. "There's one or two minor faults, but I'd quite happily dive to the bottom of the Marianas Trench in her."

"Well, if you're expecting to do that on the flight home," Scott told him, "expect to stay there for a long time, because we won't be hanging around to pick you up!" He turned to Virgil. "Apart from Thunderbird Four, how's things?"

"There's a little bit of damage," Virgil admitted, "but nothing too major. Probably only a day's work." He gave his oldest brother a meaningful look. "I'm warm now."

Scott grinned. "Is that a hint?"

"Do I have to make it clearer?"

"Nope." Scott slid out of the pilot's seat. "She's your baby. You can see how she handles through cyclones."

"Unless you are going to let one of us…" Gordon was silenced by Tin-Tin pulling his hat down over his face.

"Shush," she hissed.

Scott leant closer to whisper in Virgil's ear. "What's the Mark II saying now?"

"Time to go home," Virgil grinned.

"There y'are. You're tuned in already."

Replete with a delicious meal, Lady Penelope sat in one of Jeff Tracy's overstuffed chairs and allowed herself to relax. A quiet buzzing in a neighbouring room told her that someone was trying to contact a member of the household. A short time later Maxwell entered her room carrying a portable videophone. "Mr Tracy for you, Lady Penelope."

"Thank you, Maxwell," Lady Penelope said graciously. "Good evening, Jeff."

"Evening? Is that what it is?" Jeff looked tired. "It's been such a long day that I've lost track of the time."

Lady Penelope double-checked that Maxwell had left the room. "The rescue?"

"Among other things," he admitted. "I won't bore you with the details now… Why I'm calling is to ask if you'd mind staying in L.A. for another day? The boys are pretty tired at the moment and I'd like them to have a break tomorrow. Would that cause you any problems?"

Lady Penelope shook her head. "Parker and I didn't get the chance to do the things we'd planned. We'd appreciate the extra time to do our shopping and see a few old friends."

"I guess you've had a busy day." He tried to stifle a yawn.

"Actually, we've spent most of the time sitting around," she admitted. "Go to bed, Jeff, I'll explain everything when I see you."

He blinked at her blearily. "I think I'll take your advice. The boys have already hit the sack." He yawned again. "Night, Penny."

"Good night, Jeff."

The monitor's glow bathing his face in a cold light, Gordon Tracy sat at his computer. He tapped at a few keys before hearing a quiet knock on his door. "Come in!"

The door slid back to reveal Virgil, clad in his pyjamas and dressing gown. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "Couldn't you sleep either?"

"No," Gordon admitted. "It must be all the coffee I drank to get warm. Is John asleep?"

"His light's not on, but that could mean that he's got his telescope out."

"Did you see that bruise he has on his back? It's the exact shape of the radio!"

"I know," Virgil shifted some of Gordon's clothes off a chair and sat down. "He's going to be sore tomorrow."

"Tomorrow or today?" Gordon had his impish grin on his face.

Virgil flapped his hand tiredly. "Whatever. Whatever day it is, he's going to sore. What are you doing?"

"Nothin' much. Just surfing. What are you doin' wandering around the house?"

"I thought I'd go see what else has to be done to the Mark II. Scott tells me they got hit by lightning on the way out so we may have to do some repairs to the outer shell."

"I thought Dad had done a Kyrano on us and pulled us from duties for the day."

"Doesn't stop me planning what needs to be done," Virgil said. "I want to make doubly sure that the Mark II is ready should we be called out. Now that we don't have Thunderbird Two…" his words faded away.

"I know we were decommissioning her anyway," Gordon confessed, "but I'm honestly going to miss her. She was an amazing craft… and she had an amazing pilot. If you two hadn't been such a great team there's no way that us three could have survived, let alone Thunderbird Four."

"I don't deserve any of the credit. It was all luck and Thunderbird Two," Virgil admitted. "But I am glad Thunderbird Four survived the crash. I would have felt guilty it if she'd been damaged… She's a pretty special craft too…" He looked his brother in the eye. "Her captain's special too."

"Thanks." For a moment Gordon looked embarrassed, then his grin broadened. "Now we've got all that mutual admiration rubbish out of the way, take a look at this. Would it make an appropriate fifth anniversary present?"

Virgil stood and moved closer so he could see the screen. A smile spread slowly across his face. "Oh, that's good. Very good indeed."

"What do you think? Do you want to go halves?"

Virgil nodded as he patted non-existent pockets in his dressing gown, "I don't seem to have my wallet on me at the moment."

"That's okay. You can owe me." Gordon moved the pointer and clicked on 'Send to checkout'. "If we order it now it should arrive while Thunderbird Three's going to get Alan."

Virgil chuckled. "That'll be a real surprise. Wait till we see his reaction."

"Virgil," Gordon began uncertainly. "I'm sorry for everything I said earlier… Everything about you crashing Thunderbird Two. Now that I've had the chance to relax and think, I know that I should have realised that something was wrong with the thermostat and…"

"It's not your fault," Virgil interrupted him, placing a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. "You had no reason to think the unit was faulty and neither did I. We'll learn from the experience, build a safeguard into all the pods and move on. Don't blame yourself." He rubbed his eyes and then yawned. "I think I might head back to bed. The Mark II can wait till tomorrow… or whenever," he amended when he saw Gordon open his mouth. "See what you can do about getting some sleep."

"Okay," Gordon agreed. "Good night, sleep tight, don't let the polar bears bite."

Virgil chuckled. "Pleasant dreams, Gordon."

Gordon watched his brother leave and then turned back to the computer screen. He resumed searching the web site before making one more purchase.

"Place your credit card in the slot and enter your password, Gordon," the computer intoned.

Gordon did as he was told. "To help you buy what you want to get… Use the last letter of the alphabet!" he chanted and punched the corresponding key.

"Thank you, Gordon. Your purchases are being despatched now," he was informed.

"Thank you," he replied to the faceless machine. "You are going to make our fifth anniversary very memorable indeed…"

Lady Penelope reclined on the sumptuous leather seats of FAB1. She languidly looked at her watch. "How unusual. Scott is one minute late."

"Maybe they've 'ad another call out," Parker hypothesised.

"Jeff said that Thunderbird One had just left when he called, and I'm sure he would have called again if there had been a diversion. No, something is not…"

"'Ang on," Parker was looking at the on-board radar. "'Ere comes somethin' now." He left the confines of the car and stepped outside the concealed hangar in which the Rolls Royce was hidden. "H-It's Thunderbird One alright!"

Lady Penelope followed him out of the hangar. Shielding her eyes from the desert sun's glare, she watched as the sleek rocket plane came in to land. The engines cut out, and as silence returned to the desolate landscape, a hatch opened and a blue uniformed figure jumped onto the dusty earth. "Hello, Lady Penelope; hello, Parker," she said to two astonished people.

"Miss Tin-Tin?" Parker choked. "You…? You're not…? Where's Mister…? Not that H-I mind, but… H-I…" He took a step backwards. "H-I'd bet'er get the bags." He hurried away.

"Tin-Tin?" Lady Penelope tried not to sound too surprised. "Why are you…?"

"Scott's gone with John to get Alan," Tin-Tin explained. "Virgil, Gordon, Mr Tracy and Brains are working on the Mark II. They're hoping to get all the heavy, manual labour finished before I get back and then I'll help Brains with what remains of the electronics. In the meantime…" she raised her arms in a gesture, "I was the only one free to collect you. I hope you don't mind."

"Mind? Of course not, but… No offence intended, my dear girl, but was Scott, er, happy with this arrangement?"

Tin-Tin smiled. "It was his suggestion. Though I think something Gordon said may have put the idea into his head."

Parker bought the first load of bags over to the plane and assisted Tin-Tin with the task of storing them into the hold. As she took an armload of shopping bags labelled with the names of some of Rodeo Drive's most exclusive shops, Tin-Tin nodded in approval. "You know the best places to shop, Lady Penelope."

"A lot of those are Parker's," Lady Penelope informed her as yet another load was brought out of FAB1's hangar.

"Too blinkin' h-expensive, h-if you ask me," Parker moaned. "H-If I didn't 'ave to keep h-up H-England's honour, I wouldn't 'ave bothered." He double-checked that FAB1 was securely locked away and then re-boarded Thunderbird One. Tin-Tin shut the hatch against the desert heat.

"Tin-Tin," Lady Penelope began, "you wouldn't happen to have a small laser handy would you?"

"Failin' that, h-a pair of bolt cutters?" Parker added.

Tin-Tin gave them a strange look. "Of course I do. Why?"

"Promise us you won't mention this to any of the Tracys," Lady Penelope requested. "We weren't going to mention it until after the party. We don't want to worry Jeff unnecessarily."

"You're being very mysterious," Tin-Tin got the tool kit and retrieved a small laser. "Why do you need this?" She gasped when she saw they showed her their wrists. "What are those? How did you get them?" She looked at them shrewdly. "What have you two been up to?"

Lady Penelope gave the young woman a brief summary of the previous day's events as her metal bracelets were removed. "I honestly believe that that 'gentleman' won't be bothering us again, at least in the short term, but I know Jeff would still worry."

"He would," Tin-Tin agreed, as, with a clang, the second of Lady Penelope's manacles fell to the floor of Thunderbird One. She turned her attention to Parker's chains. "And you say that this man gets his information from one of us? I can't believe it! How?"

"It is hard to believe," Lady Penelope admitted. "But that is what our friend insinuated. Of course he could have been trying to intimidate us."

"Didn't work then." Parker grunted in satisfaction as the first of his manacles hit the deck. Its partner soon followed and he rubbed at his now bare wrists. "Ta, Miss Tin-Tin. H-I'm glad to be rid of those things."

"It is indeed a relief. Thank you, my dear girl."

"It was my pleasure." Tin-Tin glanced at the bags from the clothing boutiques. "How on earth did you manage to hide them from the shop assistants?"

"We didn't. I told them that it was the latest fashion in English high society, and insinuated that America was behind the times," Lady Penelope said with amusement. "It was a symbol of our unity and showed that we were all linked together."

"Unity with what?"

"I don't know," Lady Penelope admitted. "No one asked."

"H-I told 'em the opposite," Parker explained. "H-I said that us working classes were wearing 'em as a protest, to show 'ow we're h-enslaved by our masters. H-I told 'em that, despite that, me guvn'r ain't a bad sort and felt sorry for me. That's why 'e was shouting me all this new clobber."

Tin-Tin laughed. "And they believed you? Still..." she reflected, "it's more believable than what really happened." She put the laser back in its box. "We'd better get going, I'd hate for someone to see Thunderbird One; I'd never be allowed to fly her again..." She double-checked that the door to the hold was firmly closed. "We were going to pick up Roger Lyon too, but when I heard that you were doing some shopping I thought we might not have enough room on board, so I've arranged to pick him up later." She looked at the bags that had forced their way into the cabin. "I was right."

"Oh, that's a shame," Lady Penelope settled into one of Thunderbird One's less than luxurious seats. "It will be lovely to meet up with the dear boy again… How have preparations for the party been proceeding?"

"Apart from Mrs Tracy baking herself into a frenzy, nothing's happened over the last two days," Tin-Tin said, bringing Thunderbird One back to life. "Everyone was too busy two days ago and no one had the energy to do anything yesterday."

"Jeff sounded tired when he called," Lady Penelope admitted.

"We all were. What with the rescue and worrying about the boys in Thunderbird Two, and getting the Mark II ready to rescue them, and the cyclone…"

"'Ang on!" Parker interrupted. "Wot's all this?"

"Didn't Mr Tracy tell you? Thunderbird Two crashed into the North Pole."

"Stone me!" Parker ejaculated.

"Was everyone on board all right?" Lady Penelope asked with concern.

"Perfectly," Tin-Tin reassured them. "But we didn't know that for about six hours…" She activated the VTOL jets. "…That was a long six hours…"

Thunderbird Three shot heavenwards in the dawn light - A Red Arrow shooting for what remained of the stars.

John Tracy sat back in his seat, and wished he hadn't as his bruised back complained.

Scott saw his brother's grimace. "Are you all right, John?"

"Yeah," John sighed. "I'm fine."

"You didn't have to come, you know," Scott told him. "Virgil or Gordon could have. Or Father… Or even Tin-Tin for that matter… Or…"

"You just don't like the idea of her flying your 'bird!" John accused. "Besides, Virgil and Gordon have more important things to do with the Mark II. And I've got to reset that computer that Alan reconfigured when he was trying to contact us…"

"Brains could have done that," Scott interrupted.

"And he's better utilised on the Mark II too, with Tin-Tin when she's finished her taxi service. I'm okay, Scott. It's just a few bruises. "It's not like the bear actually got a mouthful of me or anything."

Scott made a minute adjustment to Thunderbird Three's trajectory and made no comment.

For a moment John stared out of one of Thunderbird Three's viewports at the stars. "It's hard to believe that we've been doing this for five years…"

"I'll say. I also find hard to believe that we've actually managed to pull off some of the rescues that we have. At the time, when I'm giving the orders, it all seems so plausible. Then, later, when I get the chance to sit back and reflect on it, I think, 'how the heck did we do that?'"

John chuckled, then allowed his face to slide into a more serious expression. "Do you know what I've really enjoyed about these last five years?"

Scott shook his head.

"Actually it's probably a few years longer than that... What I've really enjoyed is the opportunity to work so closely with my family… even if I spend half my time 36 thousand kilometres away from you all. How many other guys my age get to do a job they love alongside the people who mean the most to them? And not just any job, but one that can actually make a difference… Know what I mean?"

"Yes," Scott nodded thoughtfully. "I know exactly what you mean. When you look at it that way, we've all been pretty lucky…"

A robotic gantry arm ran above the scar that scorched across the Mark II. A panel was removed and slid back along the gantry, revealing the internal framework of the aeroplane.

Virgil peered inside. "Looks okay, Brains," he said into the radio "But I'll run some tests."

"F-Fine, Virgil."

Gordon was working alongside his brother on top of the Mark II. He finished drilling out the rivets in the second lightning scarred panel, then, making sure he didn't snag the security harness he was wearing, got clear of the work area. "Okay, Dad. Take her away!" He waved at his father who was operating the controls of the robotic arm. There was a gentle whir and the panel was lifted clear and lowered to the ground away from the 'plane.

"Structurally intact," Virgil told the radio. "Send up the next panel, Brains."

"F-A-B, Virgil."

By using International Rescue's sophisticated robotic equipment, the four of them were able to do the work of twice as many men with relative ease. Before the morning was over the lightning damaged panels had been replaced and Virgil and Gordon were able to stand back and admire their handiwork. Ahead of them lay the broad expanse of the Mark II, marked out with a patchwork of muted silver panels against a background of matt grey.

"We'll have to undercoat those new panels," Gordon noted.

"I'll do that now," Virgil offered. "I've got some spare time before lunch. After that I want to check the engines again."

"While we paint the whole thing," Gordon said.

"Yep," Virgil grinned. "I'll leave you the fun job."

"Thanks." Gordon made a face. "What colour do you want her painted?"

"Green will do just fine. We're not repainting the pods, so we'll want to stick to the same colour scheme."

"How about brightening her up a bit? I don't mind painting purple polka dots on for a bit of variety."

Virgil shook his head. "No, thanks."

"Yellow polka dots then? Yellow and green go well together."

"No."

"White daisies?"

"No."

"Pink love hearts?"

"Gordon!"

There was an alarm from Gordon's new watch. He raised his arm. "Hi, Kyrano."

"Mister Gordon. A parcel has arrived for you."

"Great!" Gordon beamed. "I'll be right there."

Virgil grinned at him. "The gift?"

"I hope so. I can't wait to see it."

"Me neither. I'll come with you."

"I thought you were going to start painting."

"I will. But I've got to see this thing 'in the flesh' as it were. It's my money too."

"You haven't paid me yet."

They descended to the hangar floor.

"How's it looking, Boys?" Jeff asked.

"Fine," Virgil replied. "We're going to head up to the house for a moment to check the mail, and then I'll come back down and do the primer coat. It should be dry by the time we've finished lunch."

"V-Virgil," Brains stuttered. "B-Before you go, I-I want to go over th-the engine's diagnostics r-readouts."

Virgil hesitated only a second. "Sure, Brains... I'll see you shortly, Gordon. Don't let it escape."

"Okay," Gordon agreed. "See you soon." He walked quickly over to the monocar that would take him up to the Villa.

When he alighted, Kyrano was waiting for him. "Your parcel is in the lounge," the retainer stated. He paused. "It is larger than I imagined."

"I bought some other stuff too," Gordon said easily. He stopped short when he walked into the lounge and was confronted with a large cardboard box. "It's bigger than I expected too."

"Where do you wish to take it?" Kyrano asked.

"I was going to put it in my room," Gordon said a trifle reluctantly. "I'm sure it's only the packaging that's bulking it up." He examined the shipping label. "It's not heavy, but it's going to be awkward to move alone."

"I will get the trolley and I will help you," Kyrano offered.

"Thanks, Kyrano," Gordon said with gratitude. He waited until the Malaysian had left the lounge and then removed the delivery docket. "Yep, everything's here," he said to himself in satisfaction…

Thunderbird Three made good time on its flight to Thunderbird Five. The docking procedure proceeded smoothly, before the hatches between the two craft cycled open. Alan was through, almost before they had fully retracted. "C'mon, Fellas. Let's go." He hurried back into Thunderbird Five.

"You're keen," John noted as he followed his youngest brother at a more sedate pace.

"Are you kidding! I've got a party to go to. It's not everyday that Dad invites all and sundry to the island."

"Makes a change from entertaining stowaways, doesn't it?" Scott grinned.

"I see you've got everything ready," John said with more than a little sarcasm as he stared at the pile of tools and wire off-cuts that still lay where Alan had left them.

"I was going to tidy them up…" Alan stated. "When I had time…"

"'When you had time?' What have you been doing the last two days? Heading out on hot dates? Having friends over for dinner? Honestly, Alan, every time I come back here there's always some mess that I've got to tidy up."

"Don't exaggerate, John," Alan said defensively.

"Okay then… Every second time. I wish you'd remember that Thunderbird Five isn't your own private penthouse. You don't have a maid to run around after you…"

"Fellas," Scott interrupted. "Can we finish this very 'interesting' discussion later? There's a big paint job back at base that has our names on it."

"I'll bet Virgil gets out of doing any of the painting," Alan pouted. "He's an artist and it's his plane, you'd think he'd leap at the chance to decorate her."

"She needs work on the engines," Scott informed him. "That was a rough trip through the cyclone, and the couple of blizzards that we hit at the North Pole didn't do her any favours."

John was picking through the pile off tools. "Looks like all I'll need are some capacitors, and some datacomm cables…"

"What size?" Alan asked.

John was examining the computers workings. "Make it .8 and .4… No, make it .3."

"Okay," Alan starting moving in the direction of the supply room. "Anything else?"

"If I think of anything I'll call you," John told him. "I'm sure I can find a radio here somewhere…"

Grandma Tracy hummed to herself while she worked busily in her kitchen. As she opened the oven and removed one of her renowned apple pies, she allowed the aroma to waft over her and shook her head in exasperation. Fancy that son of hers talking about getting in professional caters! Ridiculous! What about security? She placed the apple pie aside to cool. Sure a little help would have been nice, especially after Kyrano had had that funny turn, and Tin-Tin had been called away to attend to other matters, but she'd cope. She hadn't spent years feeding five growing boys without learning a thing or two about preparing food! And if things got really bad she'd get John and Alan to help. They'd both complain, but five years of doing their own cooking on Thunderbird Five, even with Brains' creations, had given them more than adequate skills in the kitchen department. The other three had varying degrees of culinary skills too. No, if things got too stressful she had plenty of help she could call on…

A dull roar announced the return of Thunderbird One. Grandma put the kettle on to boil, double-checked that the silver teapot had been warmed and that the Earl Grey tea was to hand. She gave the silver tea strainer a quick polish and examined the fine bone china cups critically. By the time she had convinced herself that the tea tray was fit for a member of the British aristocracy, she could hear voices in the other room. She went through to greet her guests. "Lady Penelope. It's lovely to see you again, my dear."

"Thank you, Mrs Tracy. It is wonderful to be able to be present at such an auspicious occasion. Hello, Kyrano."

Kyrano bowed low. "Lady Penelope, Parker."

"And how are you, Parker?" Grandma enquired.

"H-I'm quite alright, thank you, Ma'am."

"Where's Roger?"

"I'm going to get him on the next trip," Tin-Tin explained. "I was just going to assist Lady Penelope with taking her things to her room."

"Now, your father and I can do that," Grandma chided. "You go down and tell that family of mine that the first of their guests have arrived and that it is nearly time for lunch. It is most rude of them not to be present when visitors arrive."

Lady Penelope gave a soft laugh. "I hope that I'm not regarded as a mere visitor," she said.

"It doesn't matter," Grandma said. "They should be here. I brought them up better than that."

As if on cue, one of her grandsons wandered into the room. "Hi Penny. Hi Parker."

"Good morning, Virgil," Lady Penelope greeted him. "You're not working at the moment?"

"I've just had a quick break to check something of Gordon's," he admitted. "I was heading back down to give the Mark II her final coat of primer."

"Not when lunch is nearly ready," Grandma scolded.

"I have to, Grandma. It needs time to fully dry before we put the final coat on. It can be drying while we're having lunch."

Grandma huffed her disapproval. "You can take Lady Penelope's bags to her room first."

In the Tracy family, Grandma's word was law. "Yes, Ma'am," Virgil said obediently and gathered up an armful of bags.

"Am I to be housed in my usual room, or with the other guests in the Round House?"

"As you said, you're more than a mere visitor, so you'll stay in this house with the family… Run along, Tin-Tin."

Having grown up practically as a member of the family, Tin-Tin was used to being treated as such. "Yes, Mrs Tracy."

"That's that!" John slapped his hands together in satisfaction and stood up, wincing slightly as the circulation returned to his injured ankle. Scott saw his reaction but made no comment. "Everything's working fine, AND I've tidied everything away."

"So can we go now?" Alan asked.

"I think so," John told him.

"Are you sure you've done everything?" Scott asked. "Put Thunderbird Five onto automatic? Powered down the life support systems…?"

Alan groaned in exasperation. "I've done everything, including putting the cat out and cancelling the paper! Come on!" he slung his carry bag over his shoulder and hurried into Thunderbird Three.

A short time later they were leaving the geo-stationary orbit of Thunderbird Five and were powering back into Earth's atmosphere.

"Did Gordon tell you about his idea?" Scott asked.

"Yep," Alan admitted. "It's a nice thought. Has the parcel arrived yet?"

"No," Scott shook his head. "We took off before the mail plane had arrived. He'll probably have it hidden somewhere by the time we get back."

Alan redirected his attention to John. "Can I see the scars?"

John frowned. "What scars?"

"The ones the polar bear left," Alan said eagerly.

"They're hardly scars," John corrected. "They're barely scratches… no pun intended."

"But can I see them anyway?"

"Alan," John said in exasperation. "I've had cat scratches that are worse than these. There's nothing to see!"

"Oh," Alan looked disappointed. "Did it use its right or left paw?"

"What?" Scott asked. "Why?"

"I was doing some research on polar bears…" Alan explained.

"Instead of tidying Thunderbird Five," John noted.

Alan ignored him. "…And apparently all polar bears are left handed… pawed."

"You're trying to tell us that an animal that lives exclusively at the North Pole is a southpaw?" Scott asked; the barest hint of a smile on his face.

"It's true," Alan insisted. "Polar bears are left handed. So what did it grab you with? It's right or left paw?"

"I don't remember," John admitted. "It wasn't high on my priorities of things to look out for."

"But you must have some idea."

"Sure, Alan. I'm being dragged outside by a hungry polar bear and all the time I'm thinking, 'Gee. The bear's left-handed. How interesting'."

"Can't you work it out?" Alan wasn't prepared to give up easily.

John sighed. "If I show you my ankle, will you try to work it out by yourself and leave me in peace?"

"Yup," Alan watched his brother remove his boot and sock. He stared at the healing scratches and blue/black discolouration. "Is that it!"

Scott laughed.

"I told you it wasn't much to look at," John reminded his youngest brother. "Happy now?"

Alan was on his knees. "If the bear was left handed, ah, pawed, it would have grabbed you like this…"

"Ouch!" John retracted his foot sharply. "Mind the bruises!"

"Sorry," Alan said as he stood up again. "I can't tell by looking at it."

"Ask Gordon. He got closer than I did when he whacked it with the shovel. In the meantime, I don't want to talk about it any more. I'll be happy if I never see another polar bear."

"I think you'll be pretty safe at home," Scott reminded him. "You don't find many polar bears on tropical islands…"

"Penny!" Jeff Tracy greeted her warmly. "It's lovely to see you again."

"Thank you, Jeff. I hear you've had a stressful few days." Lunch was being served on the Tracy Villa's patio, and Lady Penelope was already seated, enjoying the view.

"Did Tin-Tin tell you about Thunderbird Two's accident?"

"Yes. I'm glad the boys are all right."

"So am I," Jeff sat beside her and took his cup of coffee from Kyrano with a word of thanks. "How was your time in America?"

Before Lady Penelope had a chance to formulate a suitable reply, she was interrupted with a, "Hi, Penny."

"Hello, Gordon," Lady Penelope smiled at the grimy young man. "You look like you've been working hard."

"Yep," he pushed his hand through his hair. "We had to do a some repairs to the Mark II and a few minor ones to Thunderbird Four. It's been a busy morning, and it's going to be a looong afternoon, painting." He pulled a seat up to the table and sat down.

Lady Penelope noticed something in the younger Tracy's hand. "I would have thought that you would have had enough of ice, Gordon."

"Two days ago, I would have agreed with you," he admitted. "But after a morning of hard labour on the Mark II, this is what I need." He gave the multi-coloured ice cream a lick. "We were supposedly enduring the warmer months at the North Pole and we froze. We've only just entered spring here and it's hot!"

"You'll spoil your lunch," Jeff remarked mildly.

"No chance. I'm still recovering after six hours with nothing except unappetising, bear-slobbered, energy bars and snow."

"Ah… Bear 'slobbered'?" Lady Penelope enquired.

"Polar bear," Gordon explained. "When it discovered that couldn't have Tracys on ice, it made do with the contents of our packs."

"Oh, my!"

Gordon grinned at her reaction. "If you want to hear all about it, don't ask John. I've got a feeling he's sick of polar bears."

"Speaking of John, when are you expecting Thunderbird Three to return?" Lady Penelope asked.

Jeff looked at his watch. "I would think they'll be a couple of hours yet. They had a few things to take care of on Thunderbird Five before they left, but I don't think they'll be wasting time up there. They're too excited about tomorrow."

"How are preparations for the party progressing?"

"Well… I'll tell you, Penny. I found it more restful on your farm at Bonga Bonga than it has been planning all this," Jeff admitted. "In one respect I'll be glad when it's all over."

Gordon chuckled. "Don't believe him. He's as excited as any of us."

"Lunch is ready," Kyrano intruded gently into the conversation. "Where is Mister Virgil?"

"I believe he said he had to do something to the Mark II before lunch," Lady Penelope said. "Much to Mrs Tracy's disgust."

Jeff laughed. "Did it arrive?" he asked his son.

"Uh, huh. I've given it to Brains to look over. He seemed to think there shouldn't be any problems."

"Except getting it from his room without him knowing."

"You're dealing with International Rescue, Dad," Gordon grinned. "We're a resourceful bunch. It was gone before Thunderbird Three left."

Jeff winked at Lady Penelope's quizzical expression. "A little surprise we've got planned. You'll find out about it later. In the meantime we'll keep it secret."

"This sounds most intriguing," Lady Penelope noted. "I shall wait with anticipation…"

Two hours after lunch Gordon stood on the now green wing of the Mark II and rotated his shoulders to loosen muscles that had stiffened up through hard work. Then, after surreptitiously checking to make sure that he wasn't observed, he removed something from his pocket. He stood in thought for a moment before crouching down again.

"Hiya, Gordon."

Gordon jumped to his feet. "Alan! Don't do that to me!"

"What are you up to?"

"Nothin'. Welcome home."

"Thanks. What are you up to?" Alan repeated.

Gordon looked around again before replying. "I bought this new pen. They say it'll write on anything and I thought I'd check if they were telling the truth." He crouched down again.

"By writing on a Thunderbird? With a pink pen? Virgil will kill you!"

"He'll never see it, not here," Gordon insisted. He quickly scribed 'VT', drew a heart, and then added 'TB2'.

"He will see it sometime, you know that," Alan reminded him.

"It'll be too late by then," Gordon gently rubbed at his writing. "Well, what do you know? They were right. It is permanent."

"He'll kill you," Alan said again.

"I asked him it I could put pink love hearts on her and he didn't say no."

"I'll bet he didn't say yes either." Alan looked back at Gordon's writing. He sniggered. "He's going to kill you," he reaffirmed…

There's nine points up for grabs in this chapter. How many have you found? Please, email us at turton-tracyathotmail .com (remembering to replace the at with the appropriate symbol and removing the space before the .com)


Coming up next. "Party Time"!