CHAPTER FOUR
Brains grew increasingly feverish as he toiled over beakers and Erlenmeyer flasks, open flames and computer diagnostics. Tin-Tin helped where she could, but she knew that when Brains was at his best, he was single-minded and focused, and any interruption by her could throw him completely off-track.
She therefore decided to go check on the Tracys in their bedrooms, to make sure they were still asleep and not trying to do harm to themselves or others. She doubted Brains even realized she'd left.
In front of the side Control Panel on Thunderbird 5 is a chair bolted to the floor. Having anchored himself to that chair with a tether, John had the thumb and forefinger of his left hand poised over two switches, and the thumb and forefinger of his right hand poised over two more. He watched out the view port as Thunderbird 3 came closer and closer. When it disappeared 'round to his left, John closed his eyes and counted down.
"7...6...5...4...3...2...1...0!" Quick as lightning, he flicked all 4 switches with his fingers. The airlock opened, sucking every molecule of fabricated air out into space. The rockets fired and the artificial gravity containment released. John felt Thunderbird 5 lurch violently as he was first pulled toward the airlock, then jerked to the right as the rockets fired.
The fourth switch shot four sets of metal grabs out from Thunderbird 5. As he feverishly punched a code into the computer, he felt Thunderbird 3 yank the space station but good as the grabs ground it to a halt. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he exalted his success in having stopped the space ship even as his fingers flew across the keypad to enter the 3rd party shutdown sequence.
Lights flashed and beeps and clicks were heard. Then there was silence. John looked out the view port and could see the stars outside moving past...but he knew it was Thunderbird 5 moving, not the stars. The quick rocket blast had evidently been strong enough to break the great station's orbit. John knew he had to get it shut down quickly. Thunderbird 5's orbit was highly secretive. If it moved too far away, Earth radar would pick it up...he shuddered. He didn't even want to think about that.
John untied the tether from his waist and bounced across the Control Room to the Master Control Panel. He entered a series of commands and flipped a few switches. Finally he could see the movement of the stars outside slowing until at last Thunderbird 5 stopped altogether. He checked his coordinates and found he'd drifted 82 miles. John bit his lip. Move Thunderbird 5 now or check on Alan first? The choice was simple.
"Check on Alan."
Tin-Tin tiptoed into Scott's room. To her great relief, he lay snoring atop his sheets, having evidently kicked them off at some point. She saw the sweat matting his hair and dripping from his face, but knew she shouldn't touch him. So she backed out of his room and headed for Virgil's. He was turned on his side facing the door, snuggled down into his blankets.
Leaving his room, she next headed for Gordon's. Tin-Tin frowned as she recalled his seemingly drunken confession about being in love with her. Now he lay peacefully beneath his covers, an almost angelic smile upon his face. How could she never have noticed his interest? But that got her to thinking about Alan, and her stomach flip-flopped at the thought of him piloting Thunderbird 3 half-crazed into the great nowhere of space.
Stifling that train of thought, Tin-Tin continued on to Jeff Tracy's room. Truth be told, she'd only been beyond the doorway twice in the entire time she'd lived on the island, and was a bit trepidatious to cross the threshold. She cracked the door and peered in. Jeff was obviously having a bad dream, tossing and turning, his sheets winding themselves around his legs and body as he moaned in displeasure. Tin-Tin walked about halfway across the room and, even in the dim light, could see the sheets beneath her benefactor were soaking wet from his sweat.
She shook her head as she watched, wishing she could somehow ease his mind, wishing she could help him, comfort him. But she knew that touching him could prove fatal. Still, she couldn't bear to leave just yet. His head rolled from side to side as his rugged face screwed itself up in an expression of anger. This man meant so much to her. He was her second father, and she greatly respected and admired him.
Tin-Tin was startled out of her reverie when she heard someone enter the room behind her. She turned to see Brains, still in protective suit, mask and gloves, holding a bottle of something in his hand.
"Oh, Brains, you startled me. Have you finished it?" Then she looked more closely at his face. His brow was furrowed and his eyes didn't look quite right. "Brains?"
"Tin-Tin."
"Are you all right?"
"No."
"The virus?"
He nodded.
"What can I do?"
"I think this serum...will work," he ground out between clenched teeth.
"Have you taken an injection yet?"
"No...fighting...the...anger."
"Brains, let's get back down to the Lab, okay?" she asked evenly, walking toward him.
"Want...to...smash...it," he hissed, raising the bottle into the air.
"No!" Tin-Tin cried, rushing him and reaching for the bottle.
As she sailed through the air, she managed to grab hold of the bottle, but a well-placed fist slammed into her, hurtling her backwards. She landed on the floor, her back hitting the wooden chest Jeff kept at the foot of his bed. Tin-Tin moaned in pain. She'd saved the bottle from being smashed, but Brains had disappeared. Moving gingerly, she got to her feet and shuffled out of the room.
"Brains!" she called out. "Come back!"
Suddenly he appeared in the entrance to the hall. He'd removed his mask and gloves and was clearly at odds with himself as several expressions fleeted across his face in rapid fashion. Anger...confusion...pain...sadness...anger again.
Tin-Tin realized the sick room was only two doors away. She walked slowly backward until she reached the doorway. Inside she knew there would be syringes. She didn't want to be the one to give this concoction to Brains, hell, she didn't even know if he'd stayed sane long enough to actually make a workable vaccine. But if she didn't try...she had to try. She just had to.
John checked his Locator grid. According to the readouts, Alan was currently in the cockpit of Thunderbird 3. That being the case, John knew he'd be able to enter the great ship through its side hatch...so long as Alan didn't beat him there, his younger brother would be no worse for the wear.
But John didn't have a sedative and he had no idea what shape he'd find Alan in once he got on board. The best thing he could think of was tying his brother up if he became violent. Securing a length of rope to his utility belt, John checked the Locator one more time, confirmed Alan was still in the cockpit, and allowed himself to float out the airlock.
He saw that three of the grips had indeed attached to the body of Thunderbird 3, while the fourth floated aimlessly, having missed its target. Jetting over to the hatch, he keyed the entry code and watched the door slide open. Pulling himself in, he shut the door quickly behind him, relieved to find his brother wasn't there. He decompressed and waited until the oxygen indicators were at a safe level before removing his helmet and gloves. Detaching the rope from his utility belt, he opened the inner door.
There was no sign of Alan. John headed for the Lounge, only to find it empty as well. He got into the elevator and as it rose, prayed long and hard for his and Alan's safety. When the lift reached the cockpit, he caught a brief glimpse of his brother through the window before the door slid open. Alan was in the pilot's chair, slumped over the Control Panel.
John crept nearer and found that his brother was, indeed, breathing, and besides being drenched in sweat, seemed to be okay. He pushed a few buttons on the small panel attached to his left arm and heard the metal grabs unlocking from the ship's hull. Then he keyed the release commands that would allow Thunderbird 3's engines to fire. Moving as gently and quietly as he could, John then picked Alan up and laid him on the floor.
Seating himself in the pilot's chair, John started Thunderbird 3 and maneuvered her so she was docked properly, her nose tucked securely into the side of Thunderbird 5. He then went about the task of getting his brother into a space suit.
Holding a syringe filled with 10 cc's of the liquid from the bottle Brains had almost smashed, Tin-Tin tiptoed into the hall...and ran smack-dab into Virgil Tracy.
She gasped. "Oh! Virgil!"
"Tin-Tin? What's going on?"
"What?"
Virgil yawned. "I feel like I've been asleep for a hundred years. What's in the syringe?"
Well, he seemed to be acting normal enough, but Tin-Tin was confused. "The antidote."
"Antidote? To what?"
"To the virus."
"What virus? Tin-Tin, what are you talkin' about?"
She blinked, staring up into his eyes. "The virus you and the others contracted on Cumbaquay."
"We contracted a virus?"
"Don't you remember not feeling well? Getting angry? Any of it?"
"Cumbaquay. Sure, I remember using the Muncher to get through the jungle. Alan tranquilized the dogs, we loaded the injured onto Med 1 and Umbabwe attacked Gordon and me before killing himself by jumping from a tree. Then Gordon, Alan and I took the Cumbaquayans to a hospital in Peru."
"And?"
"And what? Tin-Tin, what's going on?"
A voice from behind Virgil startled them both. "That's what I'd like to know. Where is everyone?"
"Gordon?" Tin-Tin saw that he, too, looked perfectly normal. They both looked a little confused, but other than that, Tin-Tin could find no trace of the lunacy she'd both heard about and borne witness to.
Gordon peeked around Virgil and saw the syringe in Tin-Tin's hand. "Who's getting the shot?"
"Oh, my gosh, Brains!"
"What about him?" Virgil asked.
"He's got it! He's got the virus! This...this is his antidote...where is he? Where did he go?"
"What virus?" Gordon asked.
"He's in danger, we have to find him!"
"Okay, Tin-Tin, okay, calm down. We'll go find him," Virgil soothed.
"But...no, you can't, you're infected, too, there's no telling what you'll do!"
Gordon and Virgil exchanged glances. Why was Tin-Tin acting so...crazy?
"Listen, Tin-Tin, I feel fine." Off her look, Gordon added, "Honest, I do."
"So do I," Virgil put in.
"But...I don't understand..."
"Neither do we, obviously. But if you say Brains is in trouble, let's go find him. All right?"
She nodded, following the boys down the hall.
"Where should we look first?" Gordon asked.
"Probably his laboratory," Tin-Tin replied, still trying to figure out what was going on.
"Right. Let's go."
Inside Thunderbird 5, John battened down the hatches and prepared to maneuver the space station back into its proper position. But when he flipped the switch that should've started the engines, nothing happened.
"Oh, no," he breathed. Next he tried turning on the gravity compensators. Nothing. The oxygen. Negative. "I must've blown them all out," he said to himself. "Now what?"
He turned when something bumped into him from behind. To his surprise, it was Alan, fully awake and trying his best to stay in one place in the zero G of the station.
"John?"
"Alan?"
"What's goin' on? How the heck did I get up here?"
"You don't remember?"
Alan shook his head. "And why are we in space suits on Thunderbird 5?"
"Cumbaquay? The virus? Hijacking Thunderbird 3?"
"Cumbaquay I remember. What virus? And what do you mean hijacking Thunderbird 3? Who hijacked it?"
"Uh...you did."
"You're puttin' me on."
"Listen, Alan, I don't have time to explain this right now. I honestly don't think I could even if I tried. We have to get Thunderbird 5 back into orbit."
"Why's she out of orbit?" Alan frowned. What the hell was going on?
"Later, I'll explain later. The rockets won't fire, but I have an idea. I'll need your help."
Gordon, Virgil and Tin-Tin made their way down the steps to Brains' lab. Halfway down, they heard glass shattering and someone yelling at the top of his lungs. They raced the rest of the way down and back into Beaker Room, as Brains called it. Gordon and Virgil skidded to a halt, causing Tin-Tin to run right into their backs.
"Brains? What are you doing?" Gordon asked.
For as they watched from the doorway, Brains was dropping and throwing any flask, beaker or container he could get his hands on to the floor and against walls. He was screaming at the top of his lungs.
"FINE! REJECT YET ANOTHER PROPOSAL, MR. TRACY! NEVER YOU MIND THAT I'VE SPENT SIX MONTHS WORKING ON IT!"
Virgil and Gordon skittered out of the doorway, pulling Tin-Tin with them, just as a vial of blue liquid sailed their way. It flew through the opening, landing on the floor. CRASH! POOF! And a small cloud of smoke rose into the air.
"That was close," Virgil said. "What's going on with him?"
"It's the virus, I've been trying to tell you. He's infected with the virus."
"What virus, Tin-Tin? I don't understand."
The confusion plain on Tin-Tin's face slowly dissipated as one thought occurred to her...then another...then another...until at last she shrieked, "I think I have it! I think I have it!"
"Have what?"
"Quickly, the sedative. We have to give Brains the sedative!"
"I'm getting tired of asking you 'What?' all the time," Virgil remarked.
"Never mind, we have to do this first, then I can try to explain," she replied, heading for a locked cabinet in the next room. She returned in less than a minute holding a syringe containing an amber liquid. "Now, I'll need your help. I can't possibly give this to him in his present state of mind."
"What do you want us to do?" Gordon asked.
"Hold him down."
"But he's flinging acid and God-knows-what-else all over the place in there!"
"Gordon, please, it's his only chance. If we don't get this sedative into him, he could very well try and kill himself."
"Kill himself?" Virgil asked, his voice rising in pitch.
"I know what you can do," Tin-Tin said. "Put on the hazard suits we keep down here. That way if he does get you with something, it won't harm you."
"Good idea," Gordon replied, heading for the closet.
"Thunderbird 3 calling Thunderbird 5. You reading me?"
"Loud and clear, Alan. You ready?"
"I sure hope this works."
"Yeah. If it doesn't, we're gonna rip Thunderbird 3 to shreds. You're certain you wanna try it?"
"F.A.B. On a 5-second countdown. Ready?"
"Ready."
"5...4...3...2...1...0!"
Alan threw Thunderbird 3's retros on, full-throttle. At the exact same moment, on the other side of Thunderbird 5, John wrenched two manual levers from 'Closed' to 'Open', one with each hand. This act jettisoned the coagulant compound from Thunderbird 5's double walls as well as plasma from the golden meteor deflector surrounded the great space station. The combined force of the releasing weight and Thunderbird 3's retros were enough to begin moving the satellite back the way it had come.
"Still in one piece?"
"Yeah, Alan. Still in one piece. Think you'll be able to pull her back into orbit?"
"Piece of cake."
John smiled. "Right. Piece of cake."
"Father's sure going to be pissed about all the damage."
"I don't think he will. Not after he finds out you're okay."
"Why wouldn't I be okay?"
"Never mind."
"Quickly!" Tin-Tin urged as Gordon and Virgil appeared wearing blue hazard suits. She had put on a mask and gloves, just to be on the safe side.
The men nodded and entered the Beaker Room, only to be pummeled with all manner of lab equipment. Ducking and running, they were soon one on each side of Brains, and before Tin-Tin could even blink, had grabbed hold of his arms.
"LET ME GO!" Brains yelled. "LET ME GO!"
"Come on, Brains, knock it off," Virgil said. "Tin-Tin!"
"Yes, here, hold his arm out for me, Virgil."
As much as he struggled, Brains hadn't a hope of getting free from both Tracy boys. Virgil succeeded in holding his arm fairly still, long enough for Tin-Tin to jab a needle into it. In a second, Brains went limp between them.
"Whew..." Tin-Tin breathed. "Let's get him to his room."
Virgil lifted Brains into his arms and carried him halfway up the steps to the landing, turning right to enter his bedroom. Tin-Tin turned back the covers and Virgil laid Brains gently on his bed. She then removed the engineer's shoes and glasses before Virgil tucked him in.
"Now, Tin-Tin," Virgil said as they left the room, "would you mind telling us what in blazes is going on here?"
A voice from the top of the stairs echoed down, surprising all three. "Hellooooo down theeeeeeeere!"
"Yeah, Scott, right here," Gordon replied.
"What're you guys all doin' down there? Nobody's up here minding the store."
"Oh, Scott," Tin-Tin sighed as she pulled off her mask and gloves.
"We'll be right up!" Virgil said.
"Thunderbird 5 calling International Rescue."
"There's no answer," Alan remarked as he bounced through the airlock. There really wasn't any point in sealing it, but he did just the same.
"So I noticed. I sure hope they're all okay down there."
"John."
"What?"
"Are you ever gonna tell me what happened?"
"Okay. Hang on. Thunderbird 5 calling International Rescue. This is Thunderbird 5 calling Base. Come in, please."
Silence.
"John?"
"All right, all right. The long and short of it is this: the four of you went on a rescue in Cumbaquay, right?"
"Right."
"You tranqued some dogs and delivered victims to a hospital. Right?"
"Right."
"Then what happened?"
"Uh...well, uh...I woke up here?"
John shook his head. "No, Alan, you got sick. All of you. It's some sort of virus from Cumbaquay. I don't know all the details, but you went crazy."
"I did?"
"You all did. Even Father contracted it. You stole Thunderbird 3 and he asked me to try and stop you."
"I stole my own space ship?" Alan's look was one of utter confusion. He truly hadn't a clue what had really happened. "And how the heck did you stop me?"
John shook his head. "Luck, bro. Pure luck."
"We did WHAT!" Gordon screeched.
Scott and Virgil tried not to laugh, as Gordon turned very, very red.
"I'm sorry, Gordon, but that's the truth. When Mrs. Tracy, Father and I returned from our shopping expedition, we entered the Lounge to find you and Alan standing here with no clothes on. It seemed as though you were all fighting."
"But how come we don't remember any of this?" Scott asked. "And why do I have this blistered mark around my neck?"
"I don't know, Scott. Whatever that mark is from must have happened while Brains and I were on Cumbaquay gathering the plant. As for why you don't recall any of this, the only thing I can think of is that the virus somehow caused a form of amnesia. Would the three of you mind if I took blood samples from you? I need to see if you're still infected."
"Infected with what?" came a voice from the hall.
Tin-Tin jumped and turned to find Jeff Tracy entering the Lounge.
"Mr. Tracy?"
"What on Earth was I doing asleep in bed, in my clothes nonetheless, in the middle of the afternoon?"
"Well, Dad," Gordon replied, "It's kind of a long story."
"Oh, my God," Alan breathed when John finished telling him everything. Everything he knew, anyway.
"You can say that again. Thunderbird 5 calling International Rescue."
"Here, John."
"Father? Father!"
"Yes, John, I'm here. Is Alan with you?"
"Right here, Father."
There was a moment of silence. None of them really knew what to say. Given what John had told Alan, and what Tin-Tin had relayed to those on Earth (for the time being leaving out the part about Gordon confessing his love to her), they were not only perplexed, but embarrassed as well.
In his best Desi imitation, Scott said, "I guess we got some 'splaining to do."